Ashariel

Temple of Ke'yei

Reinforcements had come, but they only helped to ensure that the Mortis clan was not completely wiped out. Already they had been decimated several times over; less than half of the fighting Mortis were still alive, though luckily the children and elderly were safe in secondary parts of the temple, for the time being. Ever since his amputation, Algor had not ceased his screams of agony. Though the pain would have decreased by now on a regular lich due to the nerve cells dying, the avatar of Mori's body could not rot, so that every nerve was still firing. He couldn't take it any longer.

"It is time, a rasping voice told the screaming undead man, "For you to die your second death."

"Yes," Algor pleaded, "Renounce my avatarship, let me leave this world."

"Oh," Mori replied, "No, you're not losing your avatarship. Only dying. I still need a vessel to save my favorite clan, now don't I?" His look of pain gave way to confusion. The pain stopped. He looked at his leg, and saw the flesh begin to rapidly rot away, as if years of decay were time-lapsed into a few seconds. The rot spread rapidly, leaving only bones. Algor lifted his arms to stare at his hands, but by then, all that was left were the bones of his fingers, which clattered to the ground.

Mori was sick and tired of not doing anything. For so long he had preached that activity in the mortal world should be limited. He was getting involved. He was the god of death! He could do whatever he damn-well pleased! As the line of rapid decomposition approached Algor's neck, his thought processes stopped. Death, simple nonexistence. To return to the state one was in before birth. His body was empty of thought, but only for a moment as his patron deity claimed the body and all the bleached bones of his avatar came together, even those from the amputated leg, to form a levitating skeleton.

"Fools!" a voice boomed, seeming to emanate from every ivory piece, "You dare attack a temple housed not only by its own avatar, but also the avatar of Death?" This was risky. Direct interference. At this point, Mori was practically walking the earth. Regardless, it was already underway, and the God didn't want to- or perhaps couldn't- keep it up very long. A bony hand shot out from its body to grab a scythe, and it started swinging.

It finally happened. The final had been given. The war in the mortal realm had reached a point so grave where god had made his own presence known in the mortal realm. the violence had now reach a peak in existence. The roots of conflict had now dug too deep into the world to be plucked out like some weed.

And now the decline would begin.

Genocide, the god of war, stared down upon the world. Many thoughts ran through his mind. Would the others be angry at this? Likely, they often had difficulty accepting the consequences of their own actions. Should he give the mortals a warning? Maybe, though only to those that would actually listen. Would people die? Yes, but twas the nature of conflict, it had to be enacted on someone.

Would another like him appear.

That was the greatest question on his mind. Genocide always say a light I'm peoples souls when they went to battle. A fire that burned brightly in their hearts, shining with the will to win. If one warriors light shown brighter then the other, then the victor of the battle would be him. And on that day, many many generations ago, a single man stood with a will so great, he was even willing to challenge the will of a god.

Genocide remembered that day. The day a light shown so bright it drew the war god in like a moth. A warrior whose appearance that they sent quakes through out the mortal, and even ethereal realms. From the roaring fire in the man's soul he could hear the thundering cry of everything he had lost and everything else he refused to surrender. The mantra that repeated in the mortals mind as he fought that day was forever etched in Genocides mind.

I have to win... I have to win... I have to win... I have to win...

Genocide could not remember the mans name. That was his greatest regret. But what he could remember was the ferocity the man fought with, and the immense pleasure it brought the war god. It was the greatest explosion of might a human had ever archived. Even if the some of the others chose to ignore it, Genocide would still remember. The day that proved that the mortal world was not just some plaything to be toyed with on a whim, and that even a gods will could be repelled by chance.

But these thoughts were only a distraction from what he was about to do.

When Mori exerted his presence directly upon the mortal world he weekend the stability of it. With the violence escalating to this point the world had now officially entered the fourth great war. Which meant that Genocide could now create his avatar. He held in his armored hand the blackened fetus, which now squirmed and struggled in his grasp. Genocide held it firmly as it thrashed an raged in his metal palm. He stared down upon the mortal realm with only one question left in his mind.

"Now who should I choose?"

Just outside Nonya

Two groups of humans of all ages walked down the street, a single mass but with a slight invisible boundary separating the two. All of them were dressed nearly-identically in baggy black. Every person looked related to every other in his or her own group, except for one. One woman seemed to lead the way, albeit off to one side, favoring one of the two groups. While everyone seemed to have pale skin with brown hair and eyes, she stood out. Her hair was black, though beginning to go gray, her skin brown, and her eyes a piercing green. She was obviously old, but she still retained a fine figure from when she was young.

This woman's given name was Yorina, her forsaken surname Daqar, and her clan name Exspectata. She was approaching her home city for the first time in over thirty years, for she left when she was a young woman. Now, the Elder leader of the Expectata clan lead her family, and the Salus clan, whom she had recently picked up, towards the northern gate. They failed to blend in with the others entering the city due to their strange appearances, but nothing beyond odd looks threatened them, at least for now.

"I don't like it," one Salus woman clutching a baby complained, "The omens were quite clear that we should avoid this place. Mori himself even warned us of a plague in the Dendapim! As soon as we heard that, we should have headed for the mountains." She struggled to keep up with Yorina' long strides while holding the infant, and glanced around nervously, as if any nearby non-Morian might snatch the baby without a moment's notice.

"Those omens have since passed," Yorina retorted, purposely walking faster, "And sometimes recent news can be more useful than old prophecies." She sighed. "They say that the cure for the plague is in this city, and all these people flocking for the gate confirms it. The safest place to hide is where guaranteed cures are, where it won't matter if one of us catch it." The elder sighed, unable to keep up her quick pace, as the Salus woman caught up.

"They may have the cure, but that doesn't mean they'll give it to us," she mumbled darkly as her infant began to cry. A man from her clan approached and took the baby off of her hands to quiet it as both clans made their way to the gates, hoping to be let through without a hassle.

The Realm of Dawn and Dusk

Ke'yei nodded to Riso as he entered his shared Realm. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a sound of pain came out. He looked down to see that a small hole formed where his heart was placed. He saw as the hole leaked--not blood, as he had expected, but rather a fine, black mist.

"Jiraba," he silently cursed. He looked to Raven, thinking about the situation. He summoned up two forms out of Lifeblood; one a humaniod, the other a bird. He gave each of them a command in a sacred tongue, then turned to Raven as they dissapeared.

"Raven," he began, "I believe that you are--or, at least, have been--used."

The Temple of Ke'yei

Each step Ke'vei took caused another screech, another implosion. He walked toward the biggest of them all, whose crossbow was now laying on the floor. It had taken him thriteen steps to get there.

He growled. "You are immobilized," he spat, "I could crush you like a twig." He raised an open palm and closed it, crushing a Shadowkin just next to them. "Why shouldn't I do the same to you?"

Gai'ai shakily stepped forward from the circular throng that surrounded the scene, a sword in her hands. "Ke'vei," she said, obviously afraid of the angered Avatar, "You should not let your rage control you..."

"Silence!" Ke'vei screeched, using the very blood in her body to push her back. He turned back to the large Shadowkin once again, growling.

The red liquid on the floor shot up began to form between the two, creating a humaniod out of the Lifeblood. The followers of Ke'yei gasped and whispered among themselves; it was a Blood Walker, a direct messenger of Ke'yei. They had only heard legends of the accliamed messengers of their god; surely, this was an omen.

"Enough, Ke'vei," the figure commanded, its voice sharp like a dagger, yet pleasing as honey. "Look at yourself; this is not what your God Ke'yei commanded you to do."

"I am obeying my God by protecting His temple!" Ke'vei spat to the figure.

"You stepped past the line of defense once you began to kill your Brothers of Shadow. They were immobilized, nutralized as a threat. And you began to slaughter them." The figure made little movement, speaking sternly. "Does that not make you as bad as them?"

Ke'vei, with sudden relization, fell to his knees, weeping. "Oh, Brother," he begged the figure, "Forgive me!"

The figure, having no face to do so, gave no reaction. "It is not my decision," he stated.

Ke'vei, weeping, ran past the crowds, outside of the temple, leaving them to mutter and worry.

The figure, its mission only partially done, turned to the still-frozen Shadowkin. "I will release you," the figure told them, "On the condition that you leave this temple and return to your homes. Your mission to spread fear has succeded; you have no fears of ridicule in your home."

The Truth of Ke'vei

Ke'vei ran and ran, running up to the tallest point in the entire city. In this place, there was a sacred fruit tree that was said to have been planted by the Lord of Lifeblood himself. It was here that Ke'vei came in his deepest need of his God, it was here that he sought refuge. Weeping, he called out for forgiveness.

The voice of his God came from the tree itself. "Of course you are forgiven--" the tree creaked, the branches moving downward as if to comfort the him. While this suprised him, the next two words that the voice spoke made his heart grow still.

"--my son."

Mori's Realm of Everlasting Graves

A bird flew into the Death God's Realm, sitting itself on a dead tree. The bird was composed of Lifeblood, and so stood out well against the black tree. Even though it was a technical living being, the effects of the Deathly World would not effect it. Being a Blood Walker, it would live as long as until its mission was finished, but no longer.

Noting that the God was not present at the given moment, the bird decided it would wait, singing out a happy melody.

"Good Gossip at the Gates"
The Northwestern Gate of Nonya

The Second Gate of Nonya was actually first in height, breadth, and traffic. The First Gate was on the far side of the Rock, looking over the sea, and would act as a primary defense in a siege, but was of little use to those seeking entrance into Nonya. Thousands had poured through this Gate looking for a reprieve from the Plague. Nonya offered a better life in every way. It had long been famed for its seventy-seven healing springs, which, at the request of Rawenya, had been carefully manipulated into a massive sewer system that sequestered and supplied water to all of Nonya from wall to sea. The streets were wide, tree and flower lined, and, interestingly, quite lacking in pedestrians. Since the popularity of the Floating Forest district, many builders had followed the leader, directing foot traffic to skybridges and over the roofs of public buildings, while cart traffic, aqueducts, and long distance travelers could effectively use the roads below.

Now at the Second Gate stood a particularly strange batch of immigrants. The Gate was wide opened, in fact, the door was yet unfinished, and at equal interviews across its expanse were a variety of guards at small makeshift booths with maps and papers laid out around them.

The guard carefully observed the group. Technically, his only job was to insure that any plagued attempting to enter the city take a detour around the North Wall to the First Gate and Trinity Palace to be quarantined and cured. This lot, however, was of a different breed. Avuvians, at least, appeared to have had a moment in the sun, but this dreary group were all pale as death. Their clothing was particularly off-putting. They must have come from far off, as no sane man would wear such heavy blacks in a Dendapim summer. There was one Dendapim woman among them, who the man approached, speaking quietly in earthy, trilled Nyarladhotepna.

"Any plagued among you?" The man eyed the group. They were all related. Rather impressive, since most Dendapim were unable to produce more than three or four children. They would certainly do well here, since certain pools in Nonya were famed for their ability to grant fertility. Before the woman could respond, the man quickly continued,
"And do they have a place to live? Our Lady, the Avatar, has just died, and a ceremony is being held. They may be mistaken for a Death Play."

The Death Play was a usual part of a Dendapim festival. Whether funeral, wedding, new year, or military victory, the Dendapim were content with the same sort of celebrations. Festivals in the streets and fireworks. For the crowning of a new Avatar, a sudden festival had to be prepared, and no true party was complete without a Death play. The process involved criminals being dressed in grays and blacks, often painted to resemble skeletons, and being paraded through the streets, where they were bombarded with anything from confetti to stones. It often removed the need for public execution.

The Funeral would take place atop the Main Bridge, the beautiful metalwork stretching from the two houses of government, atop the Avatar's Tower, hanging elegantly over the river Apt. The people would gather onto barges to observe the entombment before the fireworks, and the revealing of the next Avatar. It was a shock to all that the new Avatar had already been chosen. The Funeral was bound to be interesting, as there had been express orders that the Avatar's body would never touch the ground.

"On Death and Dying"

"The ruins of the crash have been found on a cliff at the eastern end of the mountain range."
"And the body?"
'That's the thing, sir."
"We have to have the body to be embalmed properly! We can't say that the very Avatar is too mutilated-"
"It's not that sir. We think, that it was not Rawenya"
"What? This was a hoax? The Avatar commissioned this program herself!"
"The Avatar was undeniably in the glider, but the body at the scene appears to be another woman's. Her legs are not mangled, she is taller than Rawenya was, and the Eye is missing."
"What of the tattoos? What of the scars on her arms?"
"Neither are present."
"How did this happen? Explain this!"
"Sir, I don't know. But... sir, even stranger, at the scene of the crash, there was a note."
"Dear god, don't tell me they want a bribe!"
"No, sir. It was in Rawenya's hand, and had her seal. It said that the glider was her body, it's skeleton as much her corpse as her own remains. It said her successor would be the wildman Ayden Spiro, and that she was to be entombed in the hanging tower of Nonya. We believe she means the glider."
"So she knew that this would kill her? This was suicide?"
"I'm afraid so sir."
"This is the greatest of insults! Dissallowed by every law!"
"I know sir."
"No, this never happened. Never! Get the propagandists! Tell them to spin the tale and round up anyone who knows!"
"Of course sir, but, what about the Wildman? Can we really ignore the Avatar's express order? Even for such a..."
"Actually, on that account, she may be right. Only hours ago the Wildman approached me. Seems he's come quite a ways."

"Defying Gravity"

"Flight. It's the feeling of absolute freedom. Where no being, God nor mortal, can hold you down. To dance among the clouds and follow behind one of Aleron's storm. To skim upon the surface of Ulmo's waters. Oh Lady Avatar! If you were to taste flight, you would forever more have your eyes turned skyward, longing for a chance to return!"

The words had been a drug to Rawenya until. Simply words had been, to her, a hollow love, a tepid affair with no resolution. They had tempted her, led her like a mirage in a desert to nothingness. Dwayin had seen her longings, Cirealla could not soothe her, she was more and more distracted. Her personal project, in her last days, had absorbed her life. To others, it was a strange obsession, but to her it was all of life brewed into a liquor. Every experience taken to its roots and savored.

But she had been wrong.

It was a thousand times more wonderful.

Supported by planks of wood, cloth, the dreams of a few crazed men. Oh to fly was the truth! In that moment Rawenya knew the birds envied men their rooted lives as she envied their limitless ones. She knew that every winter was spring, and sorrow, joy, love, loss, were merely words! Stone was no different from wind, seas no different from stars and man no different from god!

She looked out, beneath her, supported by all the earth, by all the skies, the emptiness beneath her stretched on into eternity, and all that was empty was wholeness.

Too long she had lived a life believing in limits! Even with her legendary strength, she felt limited, but this was endlessness! Where did the fires and the cosmos and the earth stop and her own being start? Nowhere. This was a singularity. This was a moment of clarity!

If any would try and find her, they need only look to the All! To the wonder! To their skies and seas and selves!

And then she slipped, silently, over the edge.

Vyrykon - The Temple of Ke’yei

Two things happened. First, Mori appeared. Second, Ke’vei appeared. Many of the Spectres were cut down from the combination of being frozen by Ke’vei and sliced in half by Mori.

Vyrykon stood in the shadows behind them all. He watched with meagre interest as each Spectre was crushed or decapitated. The Avatar of Ke’yei reached Liezart but was stopped by what appeared to be a humanoid blood figure. Liezart himself looked entirely unconcerned about the whole affair, he was growing in anger at being disarmed but he knew Jiraba would not let him fully die even if he was smashed to a dark pulp. Vyrykon grew tired in his endeavour, it was Suhpyt’s idea anyway and he had fallen several minutes ago, Vyrykon expected to see him back at the cave in due course, as it was common occurrence that Suhpyt was gripped by the dark rage and got himself killed. Dying would be a strange event for Liezart however, he had no recorded deaths and even Jiraba claims never to have seen him return to the Shadow Realm.

Regardless, Vyrykon lost interest and left. Leaving Liezart and the remaining Spectres at the mercy of the Morians and Ke’yei’s followers. Luckily it appeared that Ke’yei himself did not want such mindless bloodshed. They were released from their constraints. Liezart recovered his crossbow.
“Tell the avatar to board up his windows and bolt his doors. For if he ever meets me again, I will show him no mercy.” Hissed Liezart, shouldering his weapon and turning around. The surviving Spectres milled around for a few seconds until one of the older ones took charge. As a group they sunk into the Shadows, travelling back to the main cave of the Shadowkin.

Vyrykon - Deep Underground

“Finally, you have arrived Vyrykon.” Said Drazivoyrc. As the avatar walked into the small oracle building he looked around, some of the Seers were standing around at the back, Drazivoyrc was standing in the centre, Suhpyt to his left. Vyrykon gave a low hiss and waved his hand for Drazivoyrc to continue.
“Reports tell us that the Behemoth has found a host volcano, we can estimate it’s time of eruption, but we cannot be sure how accurate it is.”
“How soon?”
“Very.”
“Vague. Is that what you would have me tell Jiraba? I already know he would not be pleased with that answer.”
“I cannot give you any more than that Vyrykon.” Drazivoyrc shrugged.
“Fine. Suhpyt, nice of you to join the living again.”
“To hell with you.” Hissed Suhpyt.
“At least we know he’s back to normal.” Came the eerily jolly voice of Phantomb.
“Is there anyone else coming to this meeting?” Asked Vyrykon.
“I am late, but you can blame your holy Avatar for that.” The irritated hiss of Liezart resounded around the small building.
“Should we wait for Edinoryp?” Inquired Vyrykon.
“There is no need to, he is better out in the field than here. Moreover, we must get down to business.” Said Drazivoyrc.

Jiraba - The Realm of Riso and Raven

“Well. I cannot sit here all eternity.” Jiraba spoke aloud to himself. He stood up, stretched and contemplated his next move. He had sensed a great shift in power from the Realm of the Gods to the Mortals. He would have investigated it, but he did not. There was little about it that interested him enough. He eventually settled on visiting Raven, he might as well.

He appeared in the Ream and much to his disgust he found that Ke’yei was still here.
“A God of Red should not dabble in the affairs of the Black. Stay too long and you could change your colours. Then again, all colours fade to Black in the end, all Gods and Mortals do is delay the inevitable.” Jiraba said, leaning on his staff.

The Temple of Ke'yei

As the aggressive shadowkin retreated, Mori began to doubt his decision to appear in the mortal realm so strongly. Though he had not stepped into the Mortal Realm in his true godly form, the God of Death had completely overtaken his avatar's body, killing him in the process. Even so, it was too late now. The few surviving warriors followed their floating skeletal deity back to where their children and elders sat, scared in their beds. The entry of a levitating skeleton did not help their fear.

Eventually, however, everyone calmed, and the results of the battle were explained. What was left of the Mortis clan was six elderly, nine children of various ages, and only five adults of fighting age. Plus, of course, Mori himself, in the flesh- or rather, in the bones. Finally, the skeleton spoke, "The Mora have hid in the shadows too long, have been weak for too long." His voice seemed to emanate from everywhere at once. "Soon, a new avatar shall be chosen. They will not be of your clan, but they will wield unimaginable power." The floating bones slowly drifted to the ground as the voice of Mori became weaker. "Fear not death. Your losses will be avenged tenfold, and you will prosper."

The bones lost all of their power as Algor's posthumous avatarship was revoked. The Mortis clan was stunned, unsure of what to do. Finally, Pallor, sitting motionless in his bed, spoke. "Take care of the dead. We need a Passing Circle."

Just Outside of Nonya

"No plagued, thankfully," Yorina replied to the guard in her native tongue. "As for housing, we were hoping to rent a few apartments. I hadn't realized the avatar has passed, I'm sorry to hear that." That was an outright lie. Yorina had forsaken her Dendapim heritage, losing any patriotism in the process, and being a Morian, she didn't even feel a twinge of sympathy for someone having died. Regardless, she knew general Dendapim manners, unlike the rest of them.

"No plac- no pleg- no sick!" a Morian child added helpfully in Nyarladhotepna, a language that the Exspectata clan was slowly picking up. Yorina smiled. "Thank you for the help, we'll make sure to be careful," she finished, "If that's all, we should be on our way." The Dendapim native lead The Mora into Nonya as she struggled to recall where the apartments were.

They walked down a large street and, lo and behold, a small crowd was prepared for people dressed in black and painted pale with confetti and rocks. The first stone hit a small child, who instantly broke into tears, which was followed by several more. "We're not a Death Play!" Yorina screamed, hoping to stop the attack. It worked, along with the fact that the people realized that there were too many children for it to be a Death Play. Just a bunch of weirdos. A Dendapim man, presumably caught up in the excitement, threw one last rock the size of a fist straight at Yorina.

The rock soared threw the air and hit her straight in the forehead, crushing her skull and piercing her brain. She hit the pavement with a sickening thump, the back of her skull getting another massive crack. Blood poured out into the street as the attacker fled. The Mora stared on, a few more children crying but the majority of the adults silently staring at the crowd, wary of further attack and ready to flee. Their Dendapim guide had yet to explain the concept of a Death Play, so they were understandably scared and confused.

Mori’s Graveyard

The skeletal god surfaced from his tomb, to be greeted by a strange, bright red bird. “A creature of Ke’yei,” he muttered, staring intently at the creature. “What are you here for?” he asked while other parts of his mind worked.

One part was keeping track of Ashariel’s many deaths, as it always did. Here was an interesting one, a Morian just killed by a rock. Good, pious, and the only link to the culture that two clans were visiting at the moment. Yes, she would make a fine avatar, and she was easily deserving of a second life.

She was so mutilated that he would have to undo the physical damage; sometimes he could get away with leaving any injuries, like if the heart was pierced by an arrow, but in this case she would be returned to her previous state. Mori didn’t like to make a lich in public, though. He would wait until she would be in private or until he could wait no longer. Then, he would have a new avatar.

At Sea
They were attempting to use sea water to remove the flaming liquid. Admirable, but foolish. Water did not only fail to extinguish Avuvian fire. Rather, it caused the flames to be spread throughout the ship as they attempted to pump the liquid away. Soon enough, three ships had become infernos, its inhabitants screaming as they abandoned ship and the ships themselves pulling off course into the thickly packed lines of the Mastalkians. If they continued pumping water, then the whole Mastalkian armada may just burst into flames.

Avuvian Mariners fired their crossbows, taking down many soldiers, weighed down as they were by their heavy armor, before they could board the dolphins. Nonetheless, despite smaller pumps pouring Avuvian fire at the boarders, some reached the ship and Avuvian Regulars quickly engaged them shield and spear in hand while Mariners fired their crossbows or snuck behind the invaders with their knives.

The Dolphins were meant to take the brunt of the frontal assault, their rams colliding with the enemy's ships while Avuvian fire was poured upon the rest of the ships in range, a few even slipping through to sail between bigger ships, pouring Avuvian fire upon their sides. Thus, the enemy's attention was diverted from the Dragons, who had finally all came within range of the Mastalkians and fired their projectiles with deadly accuracy, explosions racking the the ships. The Avuvian Admiral fingered his communication crystal with a grim smile. All units were moving in concert, unlike the bigger, clunkier ships they face. He whispered an order through the crystal and, with his spyglass, saw his orders undertaken. The krakens were bringing down some of the bigger ships as well as any that were particularly giving the Dolphins trouble.

Ioclus
Admiral Alaceus was annoyed, but unsurprised at the latest attempts of the Mastalkians to sabotage the city. It was fortunate that many of the buildings were made of stone, lest the city become an inferno. As it was, the fires did not prove a great a challenge for the civilian firemen escorted by Avuvian Regulars and militia while squads searched the city for the saboteurs and either killed or subdued any they found. Nonetheless, the city was not unscarred. There were civilian casualties, both from those who refused to retreat to the safety of the well-guarded Citadel and the workers necessary for damage controlled murdered in their sleep. Any captured saboteur would not receive mercy in interrogation. In the meantime, siege engines were being constructed and repaired as the city prepared for another assault. The Mastalkians were sure to continue their bomardment.

He eyed the Mastalkian camp, smiling slightly. One ill turn deserved another. Even as he pondered his own strategy, Avuvian saboteurs had infiltrated the camp. One such saboteur had just murdered a couple of guards before crushing a flask of Avuvian fire against a half-finished siege engine, the sparks lighting the flame of the combustible liquid. There wasn't much time, he knew, before their disguises were seen through and they were discovered so the saboteurs were acting quickly, dismantling, crushing, or setting fire to siege engines while they were undetected. The saboteur approached one of the tents containing rations for the army. The plan, he knew, was to retreat to the forest after he was finished, but he felt that any small act of sabotage could be undertaken before he was caught. He threw another flask into the tent, smiling slight as it began to catch fire.

"They Call Him the Wildman"

"...His stench will strike you dead..."

The song of the Wildman was always a childhood favorite. His story was always fresh and interesting. He was always from a place just over the hill from where you were. He always traveled through your home town and left some famous ruin or strange pile of rocks on a hilltop. Everyone knew a man who knew a man who knew him, and his pure strangeness was the stuff of legend.

Upon growing up, one might be pleased to find the Wildman was based on a real man, one Ayden Spiro, who really had travelled by foot all over the Dendapimaria and left numerous ruined buildings and strange rock formations in his travels, and was now at least eighty, if not closer to one hundred years old. He still wore strange colors, pale yellows and sickly greens, and smelled atrocious. He was actually a traveling alchemist, who moved from place to place gathering herbs, nuts, flowers, spices, and all manner of strange creatures for him to test. Although most Dendapim alchemists kept their work very structured, clean, and simple, Ayden was a master of ritualistic, complicated Alchemy which produced strange and volatile results. His distinct aroma was usually due to the stench of potions and alcohols with which he worked. He kept his living by brewing famed liquors and extracts and selling them from his hand cart.

But the man who pulled a hand cart through the gates of Nonya a few days prior to the Avatar's death, was nothing like the Wildman. He was neither ancient, nor poorly dressed, nor even doused in toxic filth. This was a handsome young man, dressed in a great swath of midnight blue, holding onto a broad silver circle hanging from a chain around his neck.

The High Hall and the Artisan's Council were meeting before the funeral, explaining what had happened. In his wanderings, the Wildman came across a high cliffside, where he had seen a great stone be struck by lightning. Arriving at the scene, he found a blossoming flower, and nearby, a pool of water in which a minute fish swam.

Taking his findings, he brewed a powerful balm, thick as hard syrup from the bones of the fish and the nectar of the flower. Upon merely breathing the fumes he was overtaken with energy and power, and suddenly regained his senses. Suddenly he regained his youth and strength and power.

The councils looked on, as disturbed as they were amazed. How could this be true? This was unheard of, and tremendously difficult to prove. However, whether this was the truth or not, the man had the Starweave, and was thus the new Avatar of Nemea, and they would have to suffer his presence anyway.

In Northwestern Nonya

The Near Guard hated a scene. Scraping a criminal's body to a side room while a Death Play moved on was one thing, but by the looks of it a good Dendapim woman had fallen in the fray. A moment of shouts from the crowd and indistinguishable blathering from the pale ones set the Near Guard in order, parading the dark clothed crowd to a nearby kiosk, a particularly large Near Guard carrying the body of Yorina.

The Kiosk was just down the road, a tall round tower on the corner of a square. The whole square was emptying as the festivals drew to the center of Nonya, and the Near Guard were able to shuffle the strange crowd through the tall, thin archway. The kiosk was essentially an armory, full of armor, muskets, buckets, and other social service tools, with a wider empty hall. The Near Guard were spending their time overseeing the festival and city planning, so it was essentially vacant.

The men spoke too quickly to be understood, and quickly brought Yorina to a back room, where a table and a skinny old man awaited.

"A body, best get her done quickly, there's bound to be more deaths by the end of the festival."

The rest of the guard were holding out papers and asking for money. They'd figured quickly enough that these were newcomers, and were ordering them to a nearby mass of new apartments to the Northeast. They would prepare Yorina's body for burning or burial and they could retrieve her soon. In the other room the thin man and a few guards prepared their instruments.

Northwestern Nonya

Most of the Exspectata clan knew a bit of the language, but not nearly well enough to understand the fast-speaking guards. The Salus knew only Common and a bit of Dwarfish, and so waited, confused at what was happening, frightened for their lives. Luckily, a few of The Mora did understand the gestures combined with the words, and so a slow transaction was made. The newcomers overpaid horribly, but this was balanced out by the fact that several of the coins were from foreign countries many miles away. An elder from the Exspectata family took the papers and managed to get going in the right direction. They stuck to smaller streets to avoid the killing crowds, which now seemed to the Morians to be commonplace in Nonya.

Regardless, they settled into their new apartments. They managed to take up an entire communal area, two apartments for each family. They were glad to not share homes with any of these crazy, tan-skinned, homicidal maniacs. The Salus strongly considered leaving then and there, but the truth was that everyone needed to rest after a long journey. The Exspectata shared similar desires, but insisted that they at least wait until the body of Yorina be returned for a proper Circle before they leave.

Meanwhile...

A loud rattle escaped from the dead woman's body, as if she were trying to take a breath. Her hands convulsed slightly, seeming to clutch the table that she lay on. Then, nothing. A minute passed before Yorina's head spontaneously reassembled, leaving no trace of injury. Her closed eyes shot open, and she took another rattling breath. She sat up suddenly, clutching her heart. It wasn't beating. She stared at the old man before her, and quickly backed into a corner.

"Welcome to unlife," a strange clicking voice told her. Was she insane? Was she dreaming? "You are now a lich, my avatar, and I am your god, Master of Mortality and Recorder of Death. Your record of death has just been erased." She felt her skin. It was cold, and had taken on a grayish hue. Usually a lich's skin would be paper-white, but for the darker-skinned Dendapim native, it was a deathly grayish-brown. The new lich finally ran her fingers over her face. Flawless. No sign of the rock that had killed her. "Why...?" she asked, staring around the room, "Where am I?"

"Get back to your clan," the voice told her again, then relaying the location, "And make sure to check your tunic." With that, the voice was gone, a bizarre deathly presence leaving her mind. She felt her side, and there was something there. A box? No. A book? She would look at it later. For now Yorina kept it tucked in the folds of her loose clothing, then stared at the old man before her.

Raven and Riso
Raven squinted at the god of Rage. "How have I been used?"
"Please sister! Listen to him. Jiraba uses you for his own selfish needs!" Riso yelled, taking a few steps closer to his sister. She would be getting weaker now, now that the Dawn had broken through. Riso could feel his power returning.

Jiraba himself appeared once more in the realm of Dusk and Dawn.
"A God of Red should not dabble in the affairs of the Black. Stay too long and you could change your colours. Then again, all colours fade to Black in the end, all Gods and Mortals do is delay the inevitable.” The god of shadows said, leaning on his staff.

Raven looked at him. "Jiraba? Have you been using me?" He voice turned raspy and sounded like te mixture of a women's voice and a raven's caw.
"If you have, we'll have some serious problems." Her giant wings flapped and banshees began to appear around her.

Riso, in an attempt to tip the scales of power when his sister was distracted, blessed their avatar with a drop of happiness.
A certain type of happiness that Yahall had been denying herself for her whole life.
Yahall
"Oh. Alright then." Yahall said, slightly hurt. "I understand. But Cuore will not back out of this alliance."
But then, she felt something strong, something that could only be a gift of Riso.

She leaned in and kissed Caspian, long and deeply.
Yahall back away horrified of what she had just done. "I'm sorry." She breathed heavily and cover her mouth.

Jiraba – The Realm of Riso and Raven

Those interfering “do-gooders”, they had filled her mind with disgusting lies, but more importantly, they were more believable than his own. But had he really lied? His power had increased, but so too had Raven’s. There was no questioning that. Both sides of the agreement had been fulfilled, no more, no less. It was Ke’yei and Riso poisoning her reasoning.

“Using you? Dear Raven, you would know about it if I was using you.” Jiraba turned to Ke’yei. “How do you know that he is the one who is telling the truth?” He faced Raven again. “You base this from the word of an outsider. This is borderline treason on our pact. I hope you had not forgotten, because as I recall we were obligated to swear an alliance.”

Jiraba turned as if to leave. He stopped and addressed Riso. “God of Dawn, it’s your turn I feel. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Oh and Ke’yei. Accuse me of breaking an oath bonded with my own essence again and it will not end well. You forget that Darkness comes once a day everyday and in Darkness, Shadows come out to play. You may have won this time, but next time Mori wont be there to stop me.”

He opened a portal back to his own realm; he had outstayed his short visit, being ridiculed on all sides.
“Raven I’m willing to forgive you.” He called back to them. “But you two have a new name to add to your enemies list.” And with that he prepared to step through, lingering long enough for a response to be made and heard.

Vyrykon – The Volcano

“Let me get this straight. You don’t know when this volcano will go off? Only that it will do.” Asked Phantomb for the millionth time.
“Look. I can’t control nature.” Said an exasperated Vyrykon.
“Who needs it? I say we get back out there and cull the lot of them!” Hissed Suhpyt.
“And then what? Gather fear from the daisies and the shrubs? Fool, we need the mortals!” Shouted Liezart.
“EVERYONE! Quiet!” Shouted Drazivoyrc, “I have a cunning plan.” A wicked smile spread across the Seer’s face.

A few hundred miles underground, travelling by shadow, the party of First Ones arrived in a cavern adjacent to the bubbling magma.
“I’ve had it! This volcano is going to blow right now! I’m not waiting any longer!” Shouted Suhpyt. “Give me the device Seer!”
“Not so hasty Spectre.” Said Drazivoyrc, clutching a small box to his chest. “This is very volatile, one errant twitch, one accidental shake and it could bring the whole volcano in on itself and us.”
“That is no problem, Jiraba will resurrect us.” Suhpyt hissed.
“That is not the point. Some of us have a clean sheet to keep.” Said Liezart. Phantomb nodded in agreement. Suhpyt snorted in frustration.
“Fine then, get on with it.”
Drazivoyrc walked up to the rim overlooking the magma, restless but not quite ready to blow.
“The time for waiting is over.”
The black lump containing the Behemoth bobbed to the surface.
“It is now that we resurrect the last of the First Ones.”
Drazivoyrc dropped the small box over the edge as the group retreated into the Shadows.

A small sucking noise was all that the box made as it dropped beneath the tide of fiery goo. Around thee hours passed with no events. Then, from seemingly nowhere, the earth gave a mighty groan and the magma rumbled in the belly of the volcano. The Shadowkin had accelerated the activity, and now, after such a long wait…

The Volcano erupted.

"Sans une parole"


Morticians were not well liked among the Dendapim. It was actually a very lucrative position, primarily due to a great shortage in workforce. Morticians, despite having nothing to do with anyone's actual death, were considered unclean, and often mad. No sane Dendapim would willingly spend so much time around death. It wasn't normal. Still, it would be worse to have to deal with the dead themselves, so the Dendapim happily passed their deceased over for disposal. The Dendapim view of death varied. For the poor and middle class, the value of your death was based on the impact you had on the world around you. It was ingenious propaganda. Amongst a populace that was wildly self-interested and cut-throat, the myth had arisen that after death, your zi or "efficiency" could actually affect the waking world. A poor man, or those who worked without producing, or those with few children, had not attained much in the way of zi and could "make up for it" by giving their bodies to be burnt in forges or used as fertilizer. Middle class people, who often had sizeable families and at least could live on in memory, often sold part of themselves for fuel or fertilizer, while leaving some parts, usually remaining bones, to be kept in a small shrine with their name. As income increased, friends and family could commission a short history be carved in stone as well, and more elaborate tombs.

In Dendapim culture you build a wall for a birth, a road for a marriage, and a fountain for a death. The councils of the Dendapim soon took over, allowing private donations to be made for the construction of such things. The truly wealthy, particularly those with much zi who had come from nothing, often had the areas where they were born, married, and died, redone in elaborate squares and palisades to commemorate their power. The dead got their due and the government got a city of monuments, all privately funded.

But a woman killed accidentally, one not so wealthy, judging by her attire, was hardly worthy of any elaborate procedure. All the small old man would have to do was drain some fluids and perhaps shave her before sending her off.

That was all. A simple procedure before the criminals would arrive to be similarly prepared.

Then a rattling. It sounded to the man like one of his assistants was coughing. No, it was the body!

Staring on, dumbstruck, the men watched the body convulse. Of course, there were the occasional post-mortem spasms, but nothing like this. It sounded so... violent. A death spasm was pathetic, this was like a struggle.

The thin old man backed away upon seeing the woman's shattered face suddenly become unsullied. It happened as quickly as a ball of yarn unraveling down a slope. She rustled, this was incredible. This was impossible!

As soon as the woman sat up the assistants ran out in shock. The old man just fell back into a chair, staring. Hoping she would leave, just stop.

He tried to open his mouth, but what could he say? This was a dream, or a nightmare. This was not real. He exhaled, with a look now of more intrigue than horror. But that was all. He said nothing, just stared.

When would it end? When would this stop?

Surely he was in the strangest of all dreams.

Don't Cry for Me

Nemea was pacing in her High Hall, furrowing her brow. Grumpsh sat a ways off, legs crossed, speaking in eager whispers to a dwindling lantern. The lantern, a beautifully crafted thing, had no fuel or fire, just a brightly lit mist billowing out from an indistinguishable center.

Grumpsh' grumbling was in an almost abhorrently bizarre language, with sounds like a thousand voices all at once, and the light, ever fading, but never exhausting, would respond in similar whispers and a breath of color. Their conversation was splendid, exploring all the depths of the cosmos in mere syllables, dancing about all the wonders of life and beauty.

Nemea looked over, glaring at Grumpsh, so contentedly communing with the unnaturally preserved conscience of her former Avatar. He looked so... happy. He had returned from a seemingly endless quarantine, only to greet all of Nemea's gift with feigned affection. Then her Avatar commits suicide, and suddenly Grumpsh is overtaken with joy. The stupidest, vainest act, wasting Dendapim resources and making a huge spectacle in the process was what had Grumpsh interested. It was disgusting.

Grumpsh continued to speak with the flickering lantern in the language of the dead. His calm eyes lit with interest. His smile permanent, blurring his already inconceivable speech. The shadows of his face dancing in the brilliance of the light.

"Mori would not want to be left waiting." Nemea kicked the lantern, throwing it against a pillar, where it shattered, despite its strong metal frame. The light dispersed like mist into the empty air. Grumpsh turned without a glimpse of disdain. She loathed it, his contentedness. He never wanted anything more in life. He could never be hurt. It was its own form of torture, trying to please he who was pleased with everything. He seemed to ignore that there was anything objective in life, and everything was just as wonderful as he'd like to think.

"Why are you rewarding her? Her idiocy did nothing but damage! She killed herself, she scarred all her engineers, left the Dendapim without a leader-"
"Nemea, I merely found her spirit noble"
"Noble? Her spirit thought her own problems were greater than the entire world's! She honestly thought she was weak, and actually preferred death to life! It's selfishness! No ones pain is so great as to warrant this!"
"It was not pain, Nemea, you don't understand."
"Don't understand? She was my Avatar! I was with her in the night! I felt her warm tears as well as my own! I could smell her pain as she mourned her lost love and lost potential. It was her inability to see past herself that she did what she did. She does not deserve to be exalted."
"It was not weakness that made her do this. You felt what she felt but only through a goddess' veil. Humans have such splendid perspective." His ever-present smile widened at the thought.
"Don't go justifying her! She went into her death like a lamb to slaughter. She fitted herself in her own deathbed! It's sick, regardless of perspective."
"Nemea, you don't understand."
"Because you never tell me! You've never helped me. You go on and on about life and love and beauty and all these lovely words that don't mean anything. You never explain yourself! God of secrets. God of wickedness! Secrets ruin lives and let the few control the many. They let gods plot to destroy each other, and send the world to chaos alongside! You never help, you have to be sought out and wrestled with just to exist. You infuriate me."

Grumpsh nodded approvingly, with a look of pondering, as though sorting through her words and finding them each perfectly sound. The look a man has when calculating the weight of cattle, not dealing with a broken soul.

Rawenya, meanwhile, was having the rare pleasure of dying twice. Already she had felt the overwhelming calm, only to be summoned up by Grumpsh as though wakened from a dream, and now, as she looked ethereally on, she saw a crying woman and a city on the sea. A tall tower and a couple looking out over a balcony. She saw an artist and a murderer, a graveyard and a mountain. All of them hanging down from the vast ceiling of Earth, stretching down their hands like roots into the endless sky. None could mourn her death, first or second, for truly nothing existed. That was death, such a blissful emptiness, as beautiful as the hollow of a cup.

"Slipping"

In the Dendapimaria, a few small quakes moved through the land like a breeze through the aspens. The buildings of Galatzella were strong and low, hardly shaken. The people stood back a moment while the quaking passed, and continued unabashed. Nothing new. Galatzella often shook. Simply the shifting of volcanic vents. The largest volcanoes were far off, and would certainly only erupt when it was convenient. Whenever a volcanic eruption was convenient. Over the hours the quakes were quickening. A far off eruption must have been echoing down the line. Nothing.

In Nonya, the quakes were perhaps more memorable. Weaker, but more vivid on the rooftop marketplaces of the tall buildings. The trembling earth set certain fountains stopping and starting. It was uncomfortable, but nothing too great to stop the crowds from gathering around the two halls of government straddling the river Apt. Boats had been tied together across the river, so that people could float and look up at the tower, hanging there in the center of the bridge, where a great mass of cloth was covering the skeleton of some contraption, and a mass of very official looking people were conducting an indistinguishable ceremony. As the crowds moved through the streets, setting off their fireworks, a quake or two was nothing to worry about.

And in Galatzella, the air became sour with sulfur, and the whole city felt a great heave, as though the mountain was a ship on a sharp wave. With that great, sudden movement it had begun.

Nonya

Yorina stared at the Mortician a bit longer before deciding to follow her god's command. Besides, if she waited much longer, the Dendapim police would invariably come, considering several apprentices had just fled. She bolted out, running past the old man, and made her way out. On the way out, she passed a few more guards carrying in a criminal's body, but she didn't bother slowing down to remain inconspicuous. If anyone pursued her, they'd easily lose her in the crowded streets. She only hoped that she wouldn't be mistaken for a criminal to stone again.

Luckily, she went to her new home safely, and her family was more than a little shocked to see her. The Exspectata and the Salus each occupied two of the four apartments in their building, but at the moment all of them were sitting or standing around the communal area, most of them glumly discussing what to do. Even the children were melancholy. Everyone went silent as Yorina, who everyone had seen killed before their eyes, stepped inside. A cheer erupted as her family gathered around her, hugging her, and congratulating her. Although neither family had received a lich for a generation, The Mora immediately knew that she had been chosen as Mori's new avatar, it was the only explanation!

They began to form a circle around the hexagonal communal area. A circle was required, no question about it. They went through their regular procedure, but with one exception. Rather than Yorina praising Mori while the others spoke in the Language of Death, it was the new lich that spoke in the Language of Death, affirming her connection with the patron deity. The others praised Mori in Common. "Thank you, oh great God of Death, for allowing Yorina to return to us," one man said, while another immediately added, "Though we know you must one day claim us all, as it should be, we are grateful that you have allowed the kind and great Yorina a second life, an unlife." This went on for about ten minutes before the circle finally dispersed.

Yorina left more confused than before. She had had the Language of Death, the thoughts of Mori, run through her head before, but this time, it seemed different. Like she could almost understand the holy language. It was worried and regretful, but at the same time thoughtful and hoping. There seemed to be deeper emotions, too, as though Mori had several different minds layered on top of each other.

An old Exspectata elder approached the avatar and gave her a hug, clapping her on the back. "Good luck," he said, "I'm probably the only one here old enough to really remember the last lich we had, and I'm sure you're confused. Ask Mori first, as you are his avatar, but be warned that he isn't a very active God. Anything he won't answer, I can try my best." Yorina smiled slightly before replying.

"Thank you, Praeceptor," she responded, smiling slightly while pulling out the strange book from her tunic. "I've heard enough stories to know most of what I need, but there is one thing I'm very confused about," she continued, staring at the book. The cover was hard, white, and blank, as though it were made of bones smelted together. Praeceptor looked perplexedly at the book. "What is this?" Yorina asked, handing him the book.

He took it gingerly in his hands, flipping it open and scanning the pristine white pages. They were marked on in millions of strange, almost microscopic little dots and dashes. He flipped through the pages. All of them had the same strange markings. After a moment of contemplation, Praeceptor handed the book back to her. "I have honestly no idea," he replied, "I've never heard of nor seen such a book."

The avatar frowned, taking the book back. "Tomorrow we'll get settled in better, but at the moment it's dangerous to go out due to the festival," she explained, abruptly changing the subject, "Here, everyone will need a job and the children will go to... ah... teachers." Best not to tell a respected elder that all the children would train under prostitutes. Besides, the Common word for "prostitute" did have different connotations than the Dendapim word.

Talingue drifted, drifted as he had done for longer than he cared to think about. The ethral plain was most definately an interesting one, but not one he enjoyed anymore. Truth be told he found it a dark and loathsome place. His thoughts turned to the mortal realm, to his people. No, that was wrong, Aleron's people now. He had been forgotton by the Avians. He knew why and he accepted it, but it didn't mean he liked it. After all one cannot leave their people for near to a decade without them loosing faith. It wasn't his fault of course. The creature, the "Eyes of the Dark" as it called itself had detained him. In truth Talingue had come into contact with the ethral being that refered to itself as the "Eyes of the Dark" years before the present time. This creature was god like in power and had disturbing plans for the mortal realm. Talingue stayed locked in combat with the monster for 9 mortal years untill he finally banished it to a forgotten corner of the ethral plain. When Talingue returned to his people he found Aleron in power and his one time followers worshipping this new God. Talingue was saddened by this, by how quickly his people turned from him, but he understood why it had happened and so returned to the ethral realm to drift and to watch. And here he had stayed. He would pry open the walls between the two realms and peer into the mortal world from time to time, but little changed. That was untill recently.

An energy seemed to be in the air, things were building for some sort of unseen climax in which both Gods and mortals would be invested. He didn't know what it was, but it had little to do with him now. And so Talingue's thoughts went, as he drifted. He nearly lost contact with the mortal realm for a time as his thoughts slowed and he began to slumber.

Then he heard it. The solitary voice echoing across the void. It was quite and Talingue opened his eyes and looked across the vastness of the spiritual realm. He saw the clouds of colors and the almost complete emptiness but not the source of the sound. Then he heard it agian but still could make no sence of it.

Talingue righted himself and cleared his mind, listening intently for the voice, and when it came again.... he percieved.

It was a mortal, a priest to be exact, and the prayer was to him! With a thought the veil between the realms was torn and Talingue soared into the mortal world. He followed the prayer like a hound on a scent and landed in the midst of a large and ornate temple. He could not be seen, but his spirit was there and he looked upon the Avian preist as he prayed and begged for the mercy of Talingue. He spoke of how Aleron had abandoned them and that they were in desperate need, in need of a god. Talingue's heart went out to the man and he knew that his time had come.

With a sound like a rushing gale of wind Talingue caused the alter before the priests to erupt into white flame. With a gentle touch, like the kiss of the breeze he caused peace to enter into their hearts. Their God had heard them, and would never leave them again.

Realm of Dusk and Dawn

Ke'vei gave a thundering laugh as Jiraba went to take his leave. "Oh-ho! My Brother of Shadow, it sounds almost like you forget the Circle!" He wiped away a tear. "Do you not remember on how the light comes after the dark? Or how the mortals use the night to continue their race? Day follows the night as surely as the night follows the day!" He shrugged. "Besides, Jiraba, do you not need a light to create a shadow?"

While this happened, he was also conversing with Ke'vei, as well as sending his messengers. Mori wasn't the only one who multitasked.

The Truth

Ke'vei stuttered, surprised. "M-my God, surely you mean that metaphorically--?" Ke'vei knew that the favored words of Ke'yei were "Brother" and "Sister"...but "Son"? It was unheard of.

The tree shook. "No, Ke'vei. You are my son. Conceived in a forbidden love of immortal and mortal." He tree gave a laughing sound. "Why, even look at your name--'Ke'vei'. Do you not know that it means 'God's son'? And what of your extreme power? While I have blessed past Avatars in the past, none of them have been able to conjure up what you have tonight. No other has been able to ride the Ai'ai." The tree shook again. "I wanted to see if you could find it for yourself, but now there is no time."

"But, my God..."

"Please, Ke'vei...now you know. I am your father...please call me as such."

"My G--ah, Father, how? How did this all happen?"

The tree used its branches to give a slight push away. "Now, there is no time. Your people need you." Ke'vei hesitantly ran back to the Temple, but not before hearing. "Ask your mother!"

Mori's Graveyard

As Mori appeared and took notice of the bird, it chirped. "Greetings, O God of Death. I bear a message from your Brother. He asks that you allow Na'lee, the Mother of Ke'vei, to return from her grave to the land of the living."

The bird hopped down to a lower branch, then continued. "My Master wishes that you erase the name of Na'lee from the Book of Death so that he may rewrite it in the Book of Life." The bird then hesitated. "He understand that this would be against the Cycle of Life, but his people are not prepared for any kind of war that may be coming...only a leader such as Na'lee could do so. My Master offers anything that he can give in return."

Mori's Graveyard

The bird declared its message, and Mori was shocked. Surely, Ke'yei knew that the God of Death would never allow such a thing? The moral implications! The hypocrisy! He supposed that he could make her an avatar, a lich. No, no. That would never do, he wanted to keep his current avatar for a while longer. Mori would have to deny his brother's request. He wondered why Ke'yei had sent a messenger, and not come personally. Perhaps his fellow god was ashamed of the request. Perhaps the request wasn't from Ke'yei at all? No, no. Only the God of Lifeblood could send such a creature. Ke'yei had always been kind to him. He had done so much for Mori. What had the God of Death ever done for his brother? Nothing. Surely, he could bend the rules for his kin?

With a flick of his wrist, the grave in his realm for Na'lee left its spot, fluidly merging with the ground. It popped up before the God of Death. His hollow skull turned to address the bird. "Request accepted," he clicked, and the tombstone shattered into tiny pieces of gray dirt, merging with the monotonous gray earth that was all throughout his deathly realm. "Tell Ke'yei that his human will appear in his temple and that nothing is needed in return." With that, every one of his bones burrowed back into the ground to rest.

The Temple of Ke'yei

Pallor was sitting in the main room of the temple, in a chair that a few of the children had provided, for his two usual helpers had been slain in the battle. He was busy assuring the Mortis clan that everything would be fine, taking back the leadership role that Algor had possessed for so long. Meanwhile, the few surviving adults gathered their dead for the largest Passing Circle that had occurred in decades. The younger children were crying, the older ones barely resisting the urge to follow suit.

Suddenly, a woman surged out of the floor of the temple, before the fountain of lifeblood. She exited the earth without marring the ground at all, seemlessly. She breathed and her heart pounded. She was the first to have ever had a true second life, not a lich's unlife, but a true, second life. Any sign of injury or sickness was gone from her. She was perfectly healthy, good as new. Na'lee lived.

An apartment in Nonya

Yorina Exspectata was laying in her bed. A Dendapim bed. She hadn't been in one for so long. She had slept in more comfortable beds, bigger beds, better looking beds. But this one reminded her of when she was a child. The day had been long, and though it was not yet night, she was tired. She dreaded introducing her adoptive family to the Dendapim culture; it was sort of embarrassing for her, though she didn't know why. It should be normal for her, she grew up here. But it was strange. The avatar stared out the window. The sill had a few assorted dead bugs; it hadn't been cleaned very well. She looked out onto the city. Things had changed a bit in the time she was gone, just enough to alienate her.

She opened the book that Mori had given to her, unable to read it. The new avatar thought about it. She remembered circles, when Mori spoke through her in the strange Language of Death. Perhaps this was its written form? She tried to remember the different strange syllables. Clicks, clucks, whistles, hisses, all with different tones and pronunciations. The marks were organized into so many groups. A few marks made up a small group, smaller groups made bigger groups, those groups formed even bigger groups, and so on. She squinted. Despite being tiny, the letters were all just dots or dashes, so it was simple enough to read. Dashes were long, dots were short. She tried reading a small group. "Click click click, clack click clack, clack clack," she murmured. Good, now three clicks sound like a hiss, a strange voice in her head told her. Yorina did that, and the voice taught her more aspects of the language of the dead until she had the pronunciation almost perfect. Mori couldn't have his avatar struggling too badly.

She read a whole page out of the book out loud, quietly. The letters, if you could call them that, lit up for a brief moment. Bizarre, but nothing more seemed to happen. No magic. No fireballs. She yawned, put the book under her pillow, and fell asleep for a nap. A moment later, the wings of a crushed fly that had laid dead in the window sill buzzed to life. The mutilated fly's body attempted to take flight, but quickly died of the wounds that had killed it.

Mori's Graveyard

The bird gave a chirping thanks. "Indeed I shall, dear God of Death. I am sure my Master will be full of thanks." With that, the creature flew off out of the realm and into a different one.

Realm of the Circle, Ke'yei's Realm

The red bird flew into the partially-forested realm of its Master, perching upon one of the largest trees that grew. Underneath the tree was a stone throne, with a stone pedestal before it. The pedestal had a symbol of a circle with two notches in it, the notches directly vertical to the ground below. On the pedestal lay an open book, various names filling the pages. These were the names of the living; the born, the breathing, and the barely surviving. It was the Book of Life, the record of everything that lived. A red-feather quill was there, busy writing down the names of babes that had been born and crossing out those who died, ready to be written into the Book of Death in Mori's Realm.

The bird chirped. "Hear me, my Master's pen! God Mori has erased a name from the Record of Death! Re-write the name of Na'lee, the Great Leader and Warrior, Mother to Ke'vei!"

The pen stopped its business for a moment, as if hesitating, then turned several pages before re-writing the name into the Book with red ink:

"Na'lee".

Temple of Ke'yei

Many of the Followers murmured among themselves; scared, lost in direction, without a leader. The Priests and Priestesses tried to calm the crowd, but they themselves were lost.

Then, as if a miracle, the body of Na'lee rose from the ground without marring it, breathing and with beating heart, but eyes closed as if in deep sleep. Her long black hair covered her face, but it was apparent that she was very pale, as if coming from the grave. "Look!" shouted a young male. "Na'lee! Mori has brought us Na'lee!" But that was not the end to the happy and confused shouts. The Lifeblood on the ground made its way to the female, filling the body with it.

"And now Ke'yei gives her life," wheezed an older man, a priest by his clothes, who had known the woman in her glory days. "The acts of two gods...it is either a blessing or an omen...or possibly, both."

The woman, whose flesh now flustered with color and warmth, opened her eyes, being welcomed to light and stares. She stared back for a moment, then answered the people with, "What are you all staring at?" She noted that a fight had recently been fought, for bodies and wounds were seen everywhere. "Stop gawking like a flock of seagulls in a fish market and care for the wounded!" She shook her head as the people snapped to attention, heeding her orders. "I awake to this? I distinctly remember dying." She looked up, past the ceiling. She softly murmured, "What reason have you for this, my love?"

Ke'vei then ran in, halting at the sight of his long-dead mother. His heart stopped. Surely he was dreaming. He could not stop the tears as she smiled to him. "Ke'vei, my son!" She came to him, taking him in her arms, sighing. "Ah, how long it's been."

"Mother..." Ke'vei happily cried, not caring if it was a dream, nor what happened. "You--you're--"

"Dead then, yes, living now." She temporarily waved the matter aside. "I don't know how or why, but explanations will wait. Now, we need to lead." Noting that the followers of Mori were also with them, and sustained their own injuries. "You there!" she barked to a group of younger lads, who were frozen in shock. "Take care of our guests! They've sustained injuries and deaths themselves!" The lads quickly did as they were ordered. Na'lee smiled.

"It's good to be back."

A Separate Room under the Temple

An older man in white garb whistled as he piled on black coals onto orange ones, continually feeding the heat that supported what appeared to be a large red egg. He stopped shoveling to view his handiwork, wiping the sweat from his brow. How lucky they had been, how blessed were they to receive such a living gift. Such was the reward of kindness. Only the Gods would know when the creature would...

Crack.

...hatch.

The man, intrigued, hobbled closer as the cracks grew across the span of the egg, being hit by the creature inside. Crack, crack, crack. The red egg tipped side to side as the infant rocked it.

CRACK.

With a final splintering of shell, a red head appeared, followed closely by a body as the creature crawled out of the ashes, giving a clicking noise.

"Hello there, dragon." The man smiled. "Welcome to your new home, little one."

"Sober Me from that Other Wine"

Nonya was aflutter throughout the night. The new Avatar had finally done it! The Wildman, the crazed one who made liquor out of hazelnuts and called it alchemy was now wearing the Starweave and besting death! The fireworks were minimal, as they simply couldn't be prepared, but girls still ran through the streets with streamers, criminals were stoned, and musicians sailed down the River Apt in dinghys, playing every tune they knew. Of course, Avatar Rawenya was freshly dead, but this was even better! After her death, she had long ago written that all her wealth was to be poured into Qtoli Square in Trinity Palace, and the creation of new bathhouses, aqueducts, and fountains. Already her treasury was being emptied, and the contractors were being called. Her death, however mysterious, was still a fiscal affair for the Dendapim.

But the new Avatar! Many now-ancient women had been his lover in their youth, and spoke now in wonder at his new, youthful form, beautiful as he was innumerable ages ago. Their lofty exaggerations only fed his legend. Few had even seen him, save from a distance before the Avatar's Tower. Even the Council couldn't keep their stories straight about him. Of course, skeptics ruled the day. Even amongst the dancing and alcohol crowds gathered to debate the impossibility of it all. The Dendapim were taught that death could be conquered, but plenty had their doubts. The myth so far had been he found a magical flower and a magical fish. He made an aspic and breathed fumes and suddenly he was young. It was dubiously lacking in evidence. However, the Avatar made his rounds through the city, appearing amidst parades with a strange type of torch, telling those around him to breathe the smoke deeply. The people, overcome with excitement, would leap to try, no matter how old, and make themselves feel young and spry from its effects. The delusion was impressive.

When the night was quieting, and the people retreated to their homes for rich food and company, the Avatar quietly slipped from the gates of Nonya, moving to a shaded mausoleum without a name. Moving inside the remains of a small lifeline, he pressed a false stone and slipped down a dismally lit stairway.

"You got it, the Starweave? All has gone according to plan?"
"Yes, they are all fooled. Enough are sated to shut up those still hungering."
"And the Propagandists?"
"I'll become the head of the guild tomorrow."
"The parchments?"
"I have told my aides to search through any writings we have. I made the request as erratic and convincing as possible."

The man he addressed nodded from the shadows.
"Is it true that death-worshipers have taken to this city?"
"Well, I can't say. I saw many nationalities-"
"But any of them worshipers of Mori?"
"I don't think so. Why?"
"Because I do in fact get out of this tomb and I saw them walk through the gates. If you are to succeed you must know everything that happens in the city of Nonya."
"You can't expect me to-"

A faint rumbling shook the cavern. The unlit lantern overhead started to swing. It was curious, whatever was happening. The Near Guard had not gotten any sort of report from Galatzella about eruptions or earthquakes. In fact, from Nonya, where the city of Galatzalla could be seen on a clear night up on the mountains, it appeared all was calm.

"I expect you to do all of this and more. Anyway, I will be moved soon, and you need not come scrambling out to the necropolis just to speak with me. Take these, flowers that grow only here."
"These are just poppies"
"No, they only grow here." The voice grew stern. "Never go out of your way without plucking something worthless and touting its benefits. You must keep busy with alchemy to keep them from bothering you. Here, take this as well."

The Avatar grasped the bottle of mead, and as Ayden walked back to his chambers he politely downed the whole of it.

"Hated in Self Defense, for Want of a Stronger Weapon "
Galatzella

Galatzella had been a loud city. The construction was slow and tedious, and the people were bitter. They considered that the world ended shortly beyond the walls of the great city, and that the rest of the Dendapim were either en route to Galatzella, or fools. They were the city folk, the civilized people. All around the Dendapimaria jokes were made how if Galatzella was smote from the face of the Earth, then the Earth would sink, having lost its greatest store of hot air. Fishermen claimed that Galatzellaiq were so angry because they didn't get enough salt and sea air in their elevated mountain living. Others figured it was too hot and dry there. Some mused that it was too windy and unshaded. Others figured it was all the volcanic fumes, and, if the Dendapim were lucky, those fumes would suffocate those worthless, unfriendly, self-important city-dwellers.

They got their wish.

The eruption was bizarre, unnatural. The city bridged two mountain ranges atop a high pass, terraced hillsides sweeping smoothly down to Nonya, and a stark series of cliffs down to the valleys to the west. Though volcanoes rose in the mountain ranges, their eruptions were mild, hardly hiccups. The pressure of the distant eruptions had released underneath the cliffs of Galatzella. The quakes were as quick as they were violent, whole quarters of the city dropping in moments. There was no rocking or trembling of the buildings. They simply dropped, as though they had been suspended until then. The air of the city, once home to weavers and children and soldiers and good gossip, was suddenly overtaken with vast amounts of toxic gas. After that came a great rush of ash. The City could not be harmed by tremors or whole lakes of lava pouring against its walls. In that situation it was unconquerable.

But no city could be prepared to have half its foundations fall like games discarded by distracted children.

The ash erupted up, cascading down the new slopes of West-Galatzella, down towards the cliffside. Screams were lost in the air, the fires and floods and cries were horribly delayed. It was as sudden and unlikely a way to die as any, in the middle of the night, during the dwindling lights of a festival.

So when the dark skies came in the morning, and Galatzella was covered in a heavy, steady smoke, who would have thought that those nosy, superior city-folk would finally be gone. In a blast of hot-air no less! As perfect an ironic fate as any.

And the Earth really would seem to sink.

Cloud Spire, palace of Windsong

The city of Windsong fairly buzzed with excitement and activity. When the high priest and his acolytes came running from the temple shouting that their prayers had been answered, word spread quickly. The had gone immediately to the palace, to the tower of Cloud Spire which was in close quarters with the temple square, crying out all the way that a god had responded in their hour of need. The priests were taken in unto the king and queen to explain what had happened, all the while gossip and hearsay filled the city with conversation of new gods or the sudden return of Aleron.

King Azure listened closely and carefully to the high priest's explanation. They had tried for months to praise Aleron and to provoke his return to them, but the priest addmitted that he lost faith in their patron god. He had remembered finding an old text that spoke of another God of the Winds, a Lord over the Sky.

"His name is Talingue," the priest said breathlessly, "I thought that perhaps if Aleron would not answer us than this old god might. So I offered prayer to him and the alter before us burst into white flame and peace was spoken unto our hearts. My leige, Talingue has adopted us as his own once more. He was the God of the Avians many years ago, but he has returned to us. We have a God again!" The king nodded and stroked his short but bristley beard.

"Are you certain of all this?" He finally said.

The priests in the room exchanged glances and looked confused. "Sure about what, my lord? We did in fact see the fire and feel his influence in us if that is what you are refering to."

The king shook his head in responce. "No, I mean this new god,"

the priests interupted him, "In point of fact he is an old god sir, he just.."

"I know!, but why did we cease to worship him in the first place? Should we trust a god that we do not know?" The king's logic was undeniably sound and the priests began to converse between themselves. The high priest put up a hand to silence them and frowned.

"The text I read about this Talingue states that he 'vanished like the wind over which he rules'. We do not know why he left, only that he did, however all references to him seem to suggest that he as a just and loving god." As the high priest spoke the king went to stand beside the queen who stood at the window. "My lord," The priest continued, "we have very few options."

The king looked to his wife as if he was asking for her council and she gingerly touched his face. "My love, we need a god, the people fear for the future. You and I both know that the world is on the tpping point of somthing great, we need divine guidence." The king embraced his wife and kissed her ont he cheek.

"The Queen is right, learn all you can about this God, this Talingue, and prepare a festival in his honor. If we are lucky he may choose his Avatar at such an occasion." The priests bowed and rushed from the room leaving the King and Queen Azure to their thoughts.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Windsong, capital of the Avians

As the people chatted busily one with another, many opinions and stories could be heard. Some spoke of a new God who had heard their pleas, others said that Aleron had returned and that talk of new gods was blasphemy. There were yet more who scoffed and said that all this talk of Gods was nonsence, that nothing had changed and people were getting their hopes up for nothing.

Talingue was quite amused as he flitted invisibly amoung them. He wound through out the city, naught but a breeze it seemed as he listened in on the various conversations to be found. He was particularly interested in a man who stood before a crowd and declared that There could be no new god because the gods were a myth and that all who believed in them were fools. Most unfortunate, his choice of beliefs. With a slight effort of will, Talingue kicked up the wind and caused the man's robes to fly up into his face much to the delite of the crowd. With their laughter ringing in his ears Talingue rocketed upward to look over the whole of the city.

It was beautiful, all crystal spires and waving banners. The city itself was built in a large circle upon the top of a great hill. The city had various sections and leveles that were separated by walls and turrets. In the middle of the city rose the palace, Cloud Spire as it was called. An immensly tall and twisting oblisk that jutted up into the sky. The temple was directly adjacent to it, a long, domed structure that was lined with white and blue marble columns. It was a good city, and had progressed much.

A Nonya apartment

The Exspectata and Salus families awoke slowly, a few at a time, but once everyone awoke they all shared a large breakfast made out of some of the food that they still had from their trip. Nothing fresh, nothing particularly delicious, but enough to get the day started. A peek outside revealed that everyone was already quite busy in the city. They had slept in quite a bit; they had been kept up by the night's continuing festivities and several minor earthquakes. The Morian adults split into groups of two to four, all with at least one Exspectata member to translate, and went into the city in search of work. They wouldn't be able to do much, seeing as even their translators knew only a tiny bit of the native language, but they hoped to get some work, probably manual labor. A few of them that were better at speaking Nyarladhotepna tried getting work at a blacksmith or a tailor or some other craftsman's job. The Mora made their own clothing, tools, and weaponry, for the most part. Getting an entry-level position in a job like that should have been possible, despite the many differences between Morian crafting and Dendapim crafting.

In a shopping center in Nonya

Praeceptor Exspectata lead two young Salus men into the city, looking all around the many shops. Though several of his family knew the spoken language, including himself, all but Yorina were illiterate. He had the words "Help Wanted" written down on a piece of paper that Yorina had given several of them. He found a shop that looked like a blacksmith of some sort, judging from the pieces on display in the window, with a large "Help Wanted" poster posted up. The three men stepped inside, all pale and dressed in black. They must have appeared quite strange to the man at the counter, to whom Praeceptor approached, the two Salus men following right behind, staring around the shop.

"We need jobs, you give?" the old man asked the person at the counter, "No speak good, but can make things, see?" Praeceptor withdrew a Morian sickle and small shield and put them on the counter as examples to what he could make. The pieces were no-doubt quite foreign-looking in design, but the man who made them had obviously paid great attention to detail; they were nearly flawless.

Another street in Nonya

Yorina lead a group of around a dozen children as she searched around for a prostitute. Several people gave her odd looks; the kids were all pale and dressed in black, after all. She spotted a woman with a few children trailing her, and walked up to her. "We've just moved to the area," she explained in perfect Nyarladhotepna, "And my family's children need a prostitute to teach them, do you know where I can find one who is available to teach all of them?" She gestured back, towards her group. "Most of them don't speak Nyarladhotepna well, though, because they weren't raised in the Dendapim," Yorina continued. She bit her lip anxiously. It had been so long since she had been taught by a prostitute, and she didn't quite remember how it worked.

The Temple of Ke'yei

As most of the Mortis family was ushered towards wherever they needed to go, a few to the infirmary, but most of them back to bed, Pallor refused to budge. Not that he could move anywhere on his own, anyway. "You," he called out, "Avatar of Ke'yei, I believe we must speak. That woman who just rose up out of the ground, too." The old lich commanded a few nearby young men to lift up his chair and bring him towards the two, and they complied. He was set down a bit too suddenly, however, and took a moment to compose himself before speaking again.

"The avatar of Mori, Algor Mortis, has died," he explained. "So I am now once again the leader of the Mortis family. Although the Shadowkin have retreated, I still sense some great magical being here in the temple. At first I thought it was simply the act of the gods that brought you here," Pallor gestured to the woman, "But I still sense it. It is much different than the Shadowkin, something less sinister, and it's coming from below the temple." The lich paused. His slightly decomposed brain took a minute to think of what to say next. "Come to think of it. Na'lee, is it? How did you even get here?" Pallor asked, confused, "Mori is a kind god, but the Master of Mortality has only ever revoked a death for his own avatar, and even then, a lich only lives halfway, in a state of unlife."

Almra's Fine Axes and Amputations
A Marketplace in Nonya

The man at the counter was merely an apprentice, who, upon discovering the men were looking for work quickly ran to a door, draped with silk.The titular Almra had been scribbling down some specifications when the three pale men entered, only to appear, her fingers blackened with ink and her obviously rough exterior yet-untarnished by a long day of forging.

"Foreigners, they want jobs." She nodded, approaching. She was a slender woman, though it was hard to tell, as she was caked in layers of leather and covered in bulging pockets. She picked up the sickle without a word, eying it critically, running her fingers along the metal.

Looking back to her eager apprentice, she smiled. "I will hire them." Turning to the men, she spoke very clearly, with only light trills, more like purrs, that were uncharacteristic both of Nyarladhotepna and her appearance.

"I see how you work today. Base pay off that. If good, tomorrow jobs."

She thought a bit before nodding, and adding. "But one of you become courier... Carry packages." She gestured to the men with a map of Nonya, one of the many that had been circulating from the Propagandist guild. Beautiful detailing of every street and bridge and paid advertisement. She pointed to where her store was, looking onto "Faru Oasis" where the name of her shop was one of the many written over the guilds surrounding the empty square. Theoretically the square was going to have a giant reflecting pool put in, not the usual fountain, just a great flat pool to reflect the tip of the Element Tower, but it was not slated for construction until the apartments above the square had reached half capacity.

Almra turned, speaking quickly to her apprentice that he'll be a glorified translator if these men prove better than him at making axes, and if they learned to communicate properly, his job would no longer be needed.

She then turned to the men again, gesturing for them to pass through the silk-draped archway to the forge in the back, where anvils, ingots, and wooden arms were crammed into a tight space before a room with the forge, not yet fully heated.

Madame Ursa
A Street in Nonya

The prostitute Yorina approached nodded, gesturing in the appropriate Dendapim way, with the thumb, never showing the palm, towards a tall building at the end of a nearby road. It probably resembled a temple to the non-Dendapim, having great round colonnaded courtyard before a tall door and a spire. Its metalwork gate was half-open, indicating that the brothel's nighttime rituals had not begun. On balconies jutting off the outside of the roof were women tending to various household chores.

"Ask for Madame Ursa, she teaches language, and will be coming by soon. She'll even take her pay at the end of the month. There she is!"

At that moment, through the gates of the enclave came a tall, elegant woman in vivid forest green. Her age was imperceptible, as she had a youthful figure and neck, with a faint wear about her face. Her hair was a dusty black held up in an elaborate bun, obviously freshly oiled and with birds of paradise flowers poking out of it in an asymmetrical display amidst a single chain of silver. Her green gown was fashionable and reserved, draping about her. The detail was gratuitous, but was otherwise quite simple. Behind her were three children, two girls and a boy, dressed plainly. She was gesturing towards the Rock and explaining that they were making their trip to Trinity Palace today, speaking clearly, the children visibly mouthing the words when she paused.

Jiraba – Riso and Raven’s Realm

Jiraba stopped. The portal closed and he stepped back into the realm.
“Forgotten the circle? There is no circle. Darkness does not become Light, Light does not become Darkness. Light obscures Darkness, it does not vanquish or change it. Take away Light and what are you left with? Darkness. Take away Darkness and what are you left with? Nothing. Darkness is eternal, you can mask it with Light but it will always be there, and there is nothing you can do to change that.” Jiraba paused, taking in the final statement of Ke’yei. “That may be so. But not all Darkness is manifest. The purest form of Darkness is trapped in here.” Jiraba tapped his skull with a finger. “That is true Darkness.”

He leant on his staff, giving out a heavy sigh. “But why discuss such things with a God who is blinded by passion and rage and cannot hope to see things from the view of a being who is Darkness. You look on the brighter side of every situation I have seen you in, you should embrace the darker side, and in the long run it will save a lot of trouble.”

Somewhere in the Sky

Following the eruption, the large lump of shadow hurtled through the air, thrown like a ball by a giant. It spent a good deal of time up among the clouds, due to its virtual weightlessness; besides, can you really weigh a shadow?

It travelled a good distance before landing in between the borders of the Avians, the Cities of Mask and the lands belonging to Ke’yei.

At first it did nothing. It was white hot and burnt the surrounding foliage down. Grass, trees and shrubs all. It began to cool and give off thick billows of black smoke rising some three hundred foot into the air. But still it slept. It would take more than just a volcano to wake the Behemoth.

Vyrykon – Deep Underground

When the smoke cleared they could see clearly into the magma chamber. Thanks to Drazivoyrc’s magic they had managed to seal the entrance to their cavern to stop the magma flowing in.
“Well, it’s out there now. We just have to wait.” Said Drazivoyrc.
“Wait? We have not come this far to wait!” Shouted Suhpyt.
“You will wait. We will all wait; you cannot speed up what is destined. All will happen in time, so you will wait.” Vyrykon said.
“The next person who says ‘wait’ will be thrown into the magma? Got it?” Hissed Phantomb before the group slinked back into the shadows, back to their village.

Realm of Dawn and Dusk

Ke'yei sighed. It was obvious that this quarrel between himself and Jiraba would only continue. "Brother, we both know that our bickering will not end, so I wish to silence it now. Go! Continue on whatever plan you have concocted that lies at my People's borders." He crossed his arms. "Though if you wish for me to embrace negativity, I shall do so now. Though I am no future teller, I have seen the path of life, death, light, and dark enough to make a prediction: you will succeed in your plans; but through your success lies failure." He gave a grim chuckle. "Just remember, Jiraba: I do not fear death. He is my Brother. Nor do I fear you, for you are the same."

Ke'yei said no more to Jiraba, knowing that, proud as he was, he might say something that may only worsen the argument between them.

Temple of Ke'yei

The mother and son turned as the old lich Pallor called out to them, then listened to his questions. At the mentioning of Algor's death, Ke'vei gave a quick prayer to his undead brethren, giving grief, but also thanks, for his final rest. Na'lee, as asked where she came from, only shrugged.

"I do not know." She put a hand to her chin in thought. "I distinctly remember dying, then waking up in the middle of all this. Hm." Her eyes concentrated on Pallor for a moment. "Is it possible that Mori and Ke'yei did this in unity? A deal of some sort?"

Ke'vei, while his mother asked her own questions, got the attention of one of the priests, an eleven lad. He knew of only one magical creature that was hiding below the ground of the Temple. "Go to the Ember Room, then report back to me if there has been any change." The priest nodded, then dashed off. Ke'vei listened to Pallor's answer.

Then, a woman, dressed like that of a rag-tag warrior, ran up to the group. "Ke'vei, my Avatar! There has been sighting of a strange, smoking white light landing at the edge of our lands!" The woman was obviously nervous, biting her lip.

Ke'vei sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "If it's not one thing, it's another." He looked to the woman. "Go to the gaurd and tell them to assemble a small patrol to keep watch of this...thing. They are only to observe, and report back any change. Got it?" The woman nodded, then fled off. Na'lee smiled and obnoxiously hugged him.

"Aw, look at my son, all grown up and leading people!"

Ke'vei turned a shade of pink in embarrassment. "Mother..."

The Dragons' Maw--The Mountains

Many of the Dragons had been busy with their duties, when a rumbling and smell of sulfur forced them to stop. "Impossible..." One of the Elders spoke, her voice creaky and sooty. "Everybody! The volcano sends its warnings! We must move." The Elder, color of a dusty black, began to make its slow way out of the cave, with younger and older Scales alike questioning her.

"Move?" "Are you mad?" "But...our home..." "Where will we move?" "Warning? Hah! We are Scales, we will survive..." "What of our Archive of Gems?"

A mere twenty feet from the entrance, the Elder stopped and sighed. She turned around to face the crowd. "Whether or not we can survive this is not the question; the question is, can our home survive?" Silence. "Exactly. There is nothing that we can do to stop it. Our only option is to separate, to find new homes until we can rebuild our old one. As for the Archive...well, grab the most important ones. The rest will be left up to Draig." With that, she lead the group out of the cave, some of the others lagging behind as they grabbed several large gems from the Archive, dragging them out. The mountains shuddered violently as the cave began to crack.

She began to instruct them. "We will leave in pairs...larger Scales with smaller Scales. We will communicate by the smaller ones, who will run messages. I will be found in the Forests of the Far East, in the City of Red Water." As they flew away, they watched as their home collapsed. "May Draig watch over us..."

A Smithy in Nonya

Praeceptor smiled and thanked the woman. Understanding a language was always easier than speaking it, so he managed to understand pretty much all of what was said to him, though her rapid-fire speaking to the apprentice was beyond him. The old man quickly explained in Common to his companions what was happening, and they were happy, though less excited than their leader. The Salus clan's elders still wondered about the wisdom of staying here.

"Unum has a good endurance, has good direction sense," he told his new boss, handing the map off to the older of the two young men, "But only if he does not must talk." Praeceptor explained the situation to Unum. He seemed less than thrilled, but didn't let it show in front of his boss. All three followed her into the back room. The elder gazed around. Not bad. "What we do first?" he questioned, examining the various tools and materials. A bit strange, but it was all the same materials for the most part and probably the same procedure. What would be stranger for the old man was working in the Dendapim.

A Street in Nonya

"Thank you," Yorina told her, approaching the prostitute clad in green. "Excuse me," she asked, "Madame Ursa?" The group of a dozen or so children followed behind. Genders were fairly even, though there were a few more boys than girls. They seemed to have groups of ages; four children were around sixteen, another three just entering adolescence. Another half-a-dozen were around seven or eight, and a few just a few years younger. The waves indicated when two Morian families had met, and no doubt in eight months or so another round of children would start appearing because of the meeting of the Salus and Exspectata clans.

"Hi, I'm Yorina," the lich continued, "My family and friends of ours just moved into the city, but the children don't speak much Nyarladhotepna. About half have picked up a little, but the other half don't know any. They obviously need to learn the native language before learning much else here, language is, after all, very important." Ironic considering that she was a bit rusty from not using it for years.

A young girl tugged on Yorina's sleeve and demanded to know who this woman was. "Madame Ursa," she replied in whisper, "She is a great teacher for you."

She protested in Common, "I don't need a teacher, I..." she stopped and started again in the language of the Dendapim to demonstrate her point, "Me spek... good, see no require?" Yorina sighed and rolled her eyes, chuckling a bit.

"As you can see, they do need help," the lich continued, "But if we've caught you at a bad time, I can come back?" The little girl demanded to know what she was saying, seeming to forget her previous claims of language fluency, but Yorina disregarded her for a moment. The other children just stared at the strange woman and the strange kids behind her. Naturally, being part of a migratory race, they had seen many foreigners. Just none like this.

In The Temple of Ke'yei

"My, my," Pallor sighed, slowly bringing up a weak hand to massage his temples, "So much going on. Too much." The ancient lich stared at Na'lee a moment longer. "You're definitely one-hundred percent human," he told her, "Mori alone couldn't have done that, and Ke'yei alone couldn't have brought you back from death. Still, Mori doing such a thing..." he shook his head. Such a thing was unbelievable.

"A circle will be done tomorrow, I shall see what Mori has to say then," he finished decidedly. Something deep under the temple, something crashing out in the forest, Algor gone, Livor gone, Rigor gone, almost everyone gone. Their family was destroyed. One of the largest Morian clans had crumbled. The old man sighed, then yawned. "It is night, I am not a night-dwelling shadowkin. I'm going to sleep. Have someone bring me to my bed," Pallor requested before beginning to nod off in the uncomfortable chair where he sat. With a final yawn he uttered, "Keep me updated on what happens with all this." Then, silence. Then, snoring.