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Crymadolos

The God of Pain, Misery, Tragedy and Fog

0 · 561 views · located in Creation

a character in “The Pantheon: Post Cataclysm”, as played by Binsetsu

Description

Crymadolos
Image


God Name: Crymadolos
Titles: The God of Pain, The God of Tragedy, He Who Suffers, Spreader of Misery, Lord of Tragedy, Lord of Misery, Bringer of Tragedy, He Who hides in the Fog, The Shrouded Lord, The Wounded God, The Divine Pain, The Divine Pain in the Ass, Slayer of Hope, Thrasher of Dreams, The Miserable God, The Unknowable One.

Creed: " …Suffer as I do...”

Gender: Male

Alignment: Hovers between Chaotic Evil, Neutral Evil and True Neutral

Portfolios Governed: Pain, Misery, Tragedy and Fog




God appearance: The Lord of Tragedy appears as a large man with long, unkempt, stark white hair and is clothed in black armour. He has dark skin and a pair of permanently blood shot, sunken and unnaturally light blue eyes. He wears a heavy cloak with a hood, that he prefers to keep over his head, to try and hide his face, which is usually stuck in a grimace and frequently twitches as pain works his way through his body. His body, although well-toned and muscled, is covered in wounds that never heal and can never be healed, that constantly leak out the black bile that is the god’s blood. He keeps these wounds bandaged and hidden away under his armour, but one look at his pain ravaged face would reveal that they exist. Surrounding him from all sides at all times are strange, wispy trails of fog. These wispy trails seem to almost vanish when one focuses on them, yet when one were to see them from the corner of one’s eye, or simple pass their gaze over them without paying attention they appear as thick chains, chaining Crymadolos to the very ground. On his back he carries his great sword, Torment.




Personality: As one look at his annoyed and pinched expression might suggest, Crymadolos is a grim individual. He accepts no platitudes and no compromise, believing only his path to be the correct one to follow and most, if not all, others to be wrong or flawed in some manner. Although this dislike of others their ideals and ideas comes mostly from a distinct disinterest and lack of confidence in others, beyond what benefit they might have for Crymadolos personally. He spends his life in constant pain and torment and it reflects in his personality. He is immensely fatalistic and believes he and all beings who are intelligent enough to understand the concept are meant to suffer. Despite his fatalistic attitude, he is also extremely wilful and seeks to change his fate, yet his efforts seem thwarted at every turn. He is highly cynical, failing to see any good anywhere, causing him to regard everything and everyone with suspicion. He is cold, uncaring and takes out his rage at the indignity of his suffering at the very realms themselves. Despite his occasionally violent temper and otherwise cold regard of all others, he only seeks an end to his pain, yet finds himself incapable of doing so. Something which only throws more fuel on the burning pyre that is his quiet rage. He is also fairly anti-social and reclusive, preferring to keep his own company instead of seeking out others, a character trait only exasperated by the fact he is imprisoned on his island, incapable of leaving.




Opinion of Mortals: Crymadolos cares nothing for mortals. Those who pray to him will see their prayers fall on deaf ears. Those that seek to appease him will see their efforts crumble to dust. For to receive the God of Pain’s regard is to invite eternal suffering and misery upon oneself. That said, he will occasionally make use of mortals, but only to further his own plans. To Crymadolos, mortals are tools and tools only. The one exception to this rule are his three children, who he seems to cherish. His lack of interest in mortals has given his mortal followers and regular mortals both quite a bit of leeway in what names to bestow upon Crymadolos, hence his great variety of titles.

When the relation is viewed from the other side, Crymadolos is not seen in a very good light by mortals. His dominion over seemingly negative portfolios has lead most mortals to see the God as a curse on the lands, a being whose presence only brings misery, pain and tragedy into their lives. Naturally, Crymadolos’ name and its many variations have quickly become a favourite swearword for when things go bad. Surprisingly, the few that do follow Crymadolos’ are fanatic to nearly insane degrees, despite the misery and pain he bestows on them. To these unfortunate few, pain, misery and tragedy are facets of life to be savoured and spread whenever possible.

Opinion of Immortals: Crymadolos cares little for his ‘siblings’ and would not care if they all disappeared. His only interest in them is their lack of pain, something which both interests and infuriates him.




Symbol: Eyes crying tears of blood.
Equipment:
Torment - the Sword of Pain, the mighty great sword of Crymadolos. Capable of inflicting immense pain from even the slightest of scratches.

Miserable Incense, ordinary looking incense sticks that will release a sweet smelling smoke once lit, that dull the senses, relieving any who inhales it of their pains. Provided that person is a god, a mortal might find his senses so dulled they simply fall asleep, never to awaken. However, even this smoke can only take the edge of the pain of He Who Suffers.

The Chains of Crymadolos, magical chains fashioned from his own power and pieces of his body, Crymadolos carries these chains with him wherever he goes. When he is calm these chains appear to be nothing more than wispy trails of fog, barely seen when focused on them, yet seeming to take the shape of thick black chains when one were to spot them from the corner of his eyes. When Crymadolos attempts to move, these chains become visibly more solid, though they only hinder his movements when he attempts to leave his island.

God's Domain: A small island, eternally shrouded in fog, where Crymadolos is lord and master. Where mortals cannot hope tread without falling prey to the pain of the Wounded God. Where even the gods themselves cannot tread without being influenced by the pain and misery of the god that resides there.




History: When a god is born from the magic that is a divine spark meeting a divine seed the process usually goes off without a hitch. Yet, in Crymadolos’ case, it was not to be. Even before his birth he was marked by wounds. Indeed, the very divine seed that would grow to be Crymadolos was damaged during the cataclysm. This damage made it incapable of completely forming the Lord of Tragedy. When Crymadolos finally came into being he was already covered in wounds that would never heal, could never heal. These wounds would cause him pain every day, with no relief in sight. As one might expect from such a difficult birth, many things were set in motion. Even as Crymadolos trashed and writhed in pain during his first moments of life, the pieces of his body that fell off formed to be mortals, Crymadolos’ first creations. And these creations would betray him. Making use of the power that leaked out of the Wounded God they chained him to the very place of his birth, so they might still his trashing and stop him from further injuring himself. Unbeknownst to them was that these chains, made from the same pieces that had formed their own bodies and infused with the gods power over Pain, would become so powerful that even the god from which these pieces came could not break them.

These chains have held him on the island of his birth from that moment on, to hold down Crymadolos so that he may stew in his misery and suffer alone.

So begins...

Crymadolos's Story

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”Pain…”

The Divine Seed had been waiting on a cliff besides the sea for its chance to become a god for such a long time. It had weathered storms, floods, tidal waves, earthquakes and more. It had lain there, patiently waiting for its chance to be more than it was now. It had even waited when strange beasts flooded the world, threatening with the destruction of all. It had waited patiently when the very gods fell to these beasts. It had waited, ever patiently, even as the cliff it had inhabited and was torn asunder by these beasts. It waited, even as such devastation damaged its defenceless self and it fell into the sea, to rest at the bottom there. But its waiting was finally at an end. It was its time to grow. Grow into a beautiful god and begin its great work. It had waited for this fated meeting with a Divine Spark, there at the cold bottom of the sea. The meeting, however, would not be a joyous one. The damage the Divine Seed sustained during the cataclysm proved too much and the god that was formed was marked by the wounds of his Divine Seed from his birth onwards.

”So much pain…”

Crymadolos opened his eyes there on the bottom of the sea. But even before he was greeted by the darkness, he was greeted by the pain of wounds. He could feel them, burning a way into his skull. Why? Why did it hurt? Why couldn’t he see? Where was he? Why was he here and why… oh, why did it hurt so? Together with pain, so did rage fill his head. A blind stupid rage, exasperated by the darkness of his surroundings. He struggled. He flailed. He raged. But he could find no purchase here, in the darkness. Find nothing to hold on to. The water was making his movements harder than they should be, even with his wounds. He needed to leave. He needed to go up. Ever up. With rage and pain filling his heart he released his power for the first time. He released his power with singular purpose. I want to go up. As if in answer, the ground beneath him and even the distant shoreline stirred. Stirred and moved. Changed, to lift Crymadolos ever higher. Away from that darkness and his pain. The soil rose and rose, until it broke the surface of the water. Rock and dirt from the distant shoreline arrived and added its mass. Together, they formed an island. An island that would be a refuge for Crymadolos. Where his pain would end. If only he were so lucky.

”It hurts…”

For only a moment was Crymadolos relieved to feel the gentle breeze on his skin. To see light, to see what rock and water looked like. A momentary reprieve. For his wounds had not stayed behind in the darkness from whence he came. They followed, for they were a part of him. And with his wounds, so did the pain follow. Pain unimaginable. Pain no living creature should ever have to endure. That pain hit Crymadolos like a wave, engulfing all that he was. Intelligence was for a moment lost, as Crymadolos roared in pain. A roar so mighty, it spread across the Middle Realm, taking its originator’s pain and outrage with it, so all others might know to what extent he suffered. Although the roar came to an end, Crymadolos’ pain did not. Nothing would end it, for his wounds were eternal. Wounds from a time before he even had the form he now had. The unfairness filled his mind, bringing with it awareness, intelligence. But what were such things against pain? For they could not venture an idea on how to end it. They could do nothing but stew on the unfairness of it all. So he raged, he flailed, he roared. With each violent motion bits and pieces of his flesh fell to the new ground around him. Each jerk made his injuries worse, brought even more pain.

”Please… help me…”

It was a simple thought. A plea for help. In a mortal such a thought might go unheeded. A private thought, never to be known by others. But this was no mortal. This was a god and each thought of a god holds power. That power now spread once more. It spread to the pieces of flesh that had fallen. Like the god had changed the earth around him, so now did he change his own flesh. He gave it legs, arms, hands with fingers and he gave them power. The power to possibly help him. But how could they help a god, their god? Their progenitor was in pain, but they were helpless. More pieces of flesh fell as Crymadolos jerked, flailed and raged and the young mortals knew if this kept up, their progenitor would die long before his time. They had to halt their god’s rage. Calm him somehow, but their pleas fell on deaf ears. Once more pain had stolen away reason and awareness. The mortals looked upon one another with determination. That had to stop their progenitor from moving. And so they did. Using the power Crymadolos had gifted them and the power in the fallen pieces of his flesh, they formed giant chains of black smoke. They attached these chains to their father, one by one and then tethered them to the island. It took many chains, but eventually, their father was stilled. Although his rage had not yet subsided, no longer did his outbursts damage himself. He was finally stilled and could express the rest of his rage in peace, until such a time came that reason returned to him.

”I… I’m imprisoned…”

And reason did return. But freedom from his chains did not. In their young foolishness, they had not realised the danger of carelessly using a gods flesh for power. They had formed chains to hold him, blind to the fact that these chains would not come off. They loosened some, yes, loosened enough to give Crymadolos some semblance of freedom. But not enough to free him. He was stuck, imprisoned on an island of his own making, by mortals created by his hands. His rage then, was a terrible thing. Different from the rage before. More targeted, no longer directed at nothing in particular. In his rage, he destroyed his mortals, the first of their kind. Or so he attempted to do. But the chains were new to him and they limited his movements. He destroyed the mortals he could find, but many more fled the island, tears in their eyes that their progenitor could hate them so. They fled to all the corners of the Middle Realm, in search of anything that could help their progenitor. Unknowing or perhaps wilfully blind that such a thing did not exist.

”I’m alone…”

Crymadolos was stuck. Although his pain had lessened to slightly more tolerable levels, he still couldn’t leave, even if he wanted to. He couldn’t do anything but stew in his anger. When a drop of rain blessed his forehead with a relieving coolness he looked up at the slowly darkening skies. His eyes narrowed as the rain picked up, slowly growing into a deluge. Crymadolos shook his head as he set off for the centre off the island, to build a house there and think on what to do next. Although he had purpose, he walked slowly, as his wounds slowed his movements to a lumbering limp and his new chains resisted every step he took.

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Crymadolos walked across his island, slowly, as he searched every hole, every corner, for his first creations. A few paces ahead of him loped Agony, the pack leader of his new creation the Hunters. Crymadolos had no idea where the other three had gone to, likely fighting each other over the pecking order in their little pack. Or perhaps they were still cowering, as they had done before, when that strange roar flooded his island, eliciting frightened howls from his new servants. It was of no consequence, Agony was here and if there were stragglers, he would find them, so that Crymadolos could destroy them for what they had done.

Suddenly, Agony’s ears stood up and the creature raced away into the thick fog. With an annoyed grunt Crymadolos set off after him, sticking to a slow, but steady walking pace. Running was hard, even now that he was used to his chains. Whatever Agony had found, he’d catch it and bring it back and if he couldn’t, then there was no point for Crymadolos to exert himself. As he was now he could not match the speed of Agony or any of the other hunters. After a few minutes Crymadolos could see Agony returning, this time with a strange shape in his mouth. A cruel smile spread across Crymadolos’ features as Agony dropped the shape on the ground before him and Crymadolos realized what it was. One of his first creations, the Vu’on Tahoom, had apparently been left behind.

As Crymadolos looked the boy over, for a youngling it certainly was, he was pleased to find the boy was still breathing, despite the intense pains he had and was still suffering even now. The boy had clearly been deeply wounded during Crymadolos’ attack on his kind. He could see deep wounds with strange white creatures crawling in them. The sight pleased him. With a wave he dismissed Agony, who disappeared into the fog. With a tap of his foot he rolled the boy on his back and sat down on a nearby rock, as he waited for the boy to come to. He did not have to wait long, as within moments after Crymadolos sat down the boy drew a shuddering breath and opened his eyes, fearfully scanning the area before they settled on Crymadolos. Tears formed in the boy’s eyes as all colour drained from his face. Crymadolos cocked his head slightly before speaking. ”You are in pain…” Crymadolos’ voice sounded strange, even to himself. Quiet, barely more than a whisper, and raspy, not deep, powerful and soothing as Crymadolos would have hoped. The boy seemed to collapse in on himself, holding his knees and shaking his head.

With a pained sigh Crymadolos got up from his rock and slowly moved towards the boy, kneeling almost directly before him and placing a hand on his shoulder. ”Shall I take your pain away?” He asked, trying to sound as gentle as he could. The boy looked up for a split second, before shaking his head and speaking in between sobs. ”You did this to me, to my kin! Why would you take it away now? “ With a second grunt Crymadolos removed his hand from the boy’s shoulder. ”I give and I take away. I gave you and your kin life and so I took it away. I bestowed this pain upon you and would now take it away.” Crymadolos responded, with a shrug. ”If you would wish it I can take this pain away from you and give you the power to reunite with your kind.” He continued, even as the cruel smile on his face grew wider.

The boy did not respond, but the disbelief was written clearly on his face. ”I am a merciful god, not above acknowledging my own mistakes. However, your kind left before long before I could do so and I am now left here, unable to contact them. In return for taking away your pain, I would make you my messenger, to deliver my message to your kind. Do you accept?” Crymadolos spoke, ignoring the soft drops of rain that had begun falling. He studied the boy, who clearly seemed conflicted. Distrust warred with his desire to be free of his pain. Crymadolos wondered impatiently whether he really needed permission for what he was about to do. Perhaps not, but watching the traitorous child squirm pleased him almost as much as getting his revenge on him would.

Suddenly, the child simply nodded. He had decided then. No more pain. Crymadolos slowly lowered his hand over one of the child’s wounds, the one with the white creatures in it. ”What is your name, child?” Crymadolos asked. The boy whispered in response. ”Gyrewell.” Crymadolos nodded once, before he released his power. He watched the boy’s expression change. First he seemed relieved as the pain from his wounds faded away. The fear crept into his expression as a new pain set in. Slowly, the boy’s body changed, the skin turning white and rubbery, even as he grew exponentially. A scream erupted from the boy a second before his entire body disintegrated into a uncountable number of maggots. The strange mass squirmed and surged in front of Crymadolos, moving this way and that until Crymadolos spoke.

”Gyrewell, I have made of you my messenger. Now go, ease your pain by delivering my message to those that used to be your kind. Tell them their creator has not forgotten their treachery and will never forgive them.” A chilling screech emerged from the creature, a screech that continued even as it made its way away from Crymadolos. Crymadolos stood panting slightly because of his sudden exertion, with a happy, but cruel smile on his face. They would all suffer for betraying him. They would suffer for an eternity. When Gyrewell was out of sight Crymadolos turned on his feet and waved his hand in front of him. A moment later the fog all around him began to flow, slowly growing more solid until it formed a modest two story house in front of Crymadolos.

Crymadolos went inside and carefully lowered himself on a chair before closing his eyes. He reached out with his mind, until he found his Hunters. As he had sent Gyrewell into the world, so would he sent his Hunters. He ordered them to explore the world beyond his island and to return with anything that might be of interest to Crymadolos. When he was finished Crymadolos sighed slightly. His house was too empty. He would have to rectify that.

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Character Portrait: Rhaegar Character Portrait: Mathias Character Portrait: Adarani Character Portrait: La'Moire Character Portrait: Crymadolos
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Mathias

Mathias sat within the great hall, finding himself in a throwback of the previous one. It reminded him so much so of it, he began to reminisce the first time he arrived. It was during a mass of confusion back when he was still realizing his capabilities. A great swirl of emotions and power during that most chaotic court. Kreios, Kylian, Ulmo, and many other gods of the past, it seemed like a life time ago. He would soon be broken out of his reverie when a mighty vision of a God appeared before him. It was much different than from what he was accustomed too. Most gods have a similar appearance like himself, yet this one had the visage of a beast! Despite the wildness of his appearance the God exuded majesty and pride. Mathias stood up and bowed in grace to his introduction.

"Welcome my kin!" "To what I believe to be the new Hléradr, Hall of the Gods!" Mathias spoke fondly. "It is a pleasure to make the acquaintance of such a young god." "I hardly ever get the time to meet my distinguished kin." Mathias spoke some what sadly. "That aside, I am Mathias!" "And as you've understood it, Elder God of Justice and Civilization." Mathias clearly spoke as he introduced himself with much authority. It was then a new vision of a Goddess appeared before them. She came out of butterflies, a most angelic vision. It was then a pretty young, girl came forth and introduced herself as La'Moire. Unlike Rhaegar who boasted the wilderness, much like Cragin, yet his name rang with a civilized savagery. Something he had not yet felt before, the Wild mixing with a from of Civilization. It reminded him of the Ossis Society.

As for La'Moire, the name was bright as herself, and a feeling of hope surrounds him. Mathias bowed before his kin in the same manner as Rhaegar. "Greetings my kin!" "I am Mathias, Elder God of Justice and Civilization." "I too welcome you." Mathias spoke as he responded with a benevolent smile. Then as he finished his introductions he returned to his seat, as Adarani entered the Hall. She immediately sat next to him. Which Mathias payed no mind to until she brushed up against him, in an intimate fashion. Mathias was slightly blush himself. He has trouble expressing feelings of intimacy, he never hardly has to demonstrate such emotions. Yet, he knew it appropriate to do so, but thanks to lack of experience he may appear distant; as he merely gently patted her on her back. He looked upon her with a kind smile, but his feeling of closeness seems to end there. It was rather quite hard to do something he really hasn't had much understanding of until late. Still his effort, even though may seem lackluster, was not devoid of genuine care. Yet, this may be normal of him as males normally have greater difficulty expressing such emotions than females.

Despite this he is quite happy to seem more of his kin. Feelings of family ties came once again, always bringing him some measure of joy. Not to mention the comedic acts of the flying pups, adding more relief to these recently straining times. He had only hoped to see more arrive. But in the mean time he shall wait until Acanthus appears and presents the details of this meeting.

Saffron

The Golden Helmet Archangel, took the longest to find a deity to tell them of the meeting. The others seemed to instantly come upon them while Saffron can't seem to find any. Perhaps certain Gods are more accessible than others? Whatever the case his luck would soon pick up, or perhaps his misfortune. Saffron picked up on the whereabouts of a deity, but the force of power was something dark, and he could swear agony was involved. The archangel soon came upon an island covered in thick, concealing fog. Within the mist was a source of godly power, but the fog was ominous and doubt entered his mind.

Would such a God who chose to live in such a dreary place be wise informing of? No! Lord Mathias did instruct them to speak to his kin and treat them with respect despite how much fault may be found. Saffron boldly entered the fog and touched down before a great home. It was foreboding and hallow but within there he would find a God, but a God he had not expected to meet. Saffron entered through the front door, as the light that once made his helmet gleamed, left and made the helmet appear dull. Saffron found himself before a dark and brooding figure. He sat upon his chair and seemed to be in deep thought. Yet as Saffron drew nearer it would appear the being was wrestling with some sort of discomfort. Either way Saffron made his presence known.

"Greetings, mighty God." Saffron spoke as he saluted the being. "I present to you a message of great necessity!" "My Lord, Mathias, has commissioned me to find another of his kin, and inform them of an urgent meeting occurring in Acanthus's Mountain Fortress." Then suddenly Saffron began to feel dull and pained. "Mathias...*grumbles*.. greatly wishes that his illustrious kin...argh... be present for this meeting." Saffron spoke finishing his piece as he his body began to feel weaker. This gave him worriment over the current situation. He hoped the God did not interpret his grunts as offensive, he did not mean as such. Yet, ever since he touched down on this island a force began to make him feel pained, even though he has no injuries. It was an odd sensation to feel such fatigue as if he went through a glorious bout. Still Saffron stood tall and hid his current emotions and feelings before the grim God. He did not want him to interpret any offense, so he went to great lengths to stand tall and appear respectable to the brooding God. He will endure as long as it takes to make sure he clearly received the message, after it was a duty bestowed upon him by his Lord Mathias.

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Character Portrait: Mathias Character Portrait: Crymadolos
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Crymadolos stared into the slowly dying flames of his hearth as he reflected on recent events. His island had been purged of his treacherous creations and now he felt alone. The occasional whispers from his hunters did little to ease this feeling, his island was empty except for himself and the pain that kept haunting him. His frown deepened as he continued to stare, slowly grinding his molars together in thought. So deep in thought was he that when the helmeted angel entered his abode he had not noticed and instead continued his obsessive observation of the fire.

Only when the angel spoke did Crymadolos finally register his presence. His head snapped round and his eyes were wide as he stared at the being. His mouth stood slightly agape as he stared at the winged man, surprise, suspicion and curiosity warring in his expression. After a few moments, curiosity pushed away the other emotions. What manner of creature could this be? His stance and physical structure reminded Crymadolos slightly of himself, but with wings. Wings like he had seen on the strange beaked creatures that fled whenever Crymadolos approached. With a slight frown he noted the angel’s helmet and armour. Suddenly, Crymadolos felt underdressed, as if the robust and powerful visage of the angel somehow diminished his own more modest one. A ghost of a smile appeared on his face when he imagined himself, for a split second, armoured in a similar fashion as the angel. His own majesty pleased him and he made a mental note to create such an armour for himself soon.

So lost in the moment of observing the creature was he, that the message was barely heard. Not that it would have made a difference, terms and names were used that Crymadolos had no knowledge off. What he did know was pain. And the creature was clearly uncomfortable in his presence, if his grunts were anything to go by. Crymadolos’ eyes narrowed slightly when the creature finished speaking. ”You appear to be in ill comfort.” He said, even as he struggled and groaned while getting up. With little threat or urgency in his slow gait he walked over to the angel, stopping before him and pulling himself up to his full height. With little interest in personal boundaries or common etiquette he held his hand in front of the helmeted face of the angel and attempted to ease his pain. He frowned slightly when he was done a moment later, as if unsure whether or not what he did had any effect.

With grunt he turned around and moved back to his chair and sank back down, returning his attention to the fire.”I must admit my own ignorance in regards to the one you call Lord, Mathias, was it? Yet, you would call me his kin. I would not belittle your knowledge, but I can but fail to see how I could possibly be kin to an individual I have never met or have any knowledge of.” He said, as much to the flames at to the actual angel, his voice strained and his visage grim. ”As for your invitation, I regret to say I find myself incapable of attending this… urgent meeting.” Crymadolos said with a grimace, even as he stretched his back and shoulders somewhat, as if moving some unseen weight from one shoulder to the next. ”My apologies to you, as you have travelled here only to have me refuse your lord’s request. If your journey has tired you, I offer the hospitality of my home, bleak and meagre though it may be.” He continued, with a slight wave to a chair near a table with some fruits and, by the looks of it, stale bread.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rhaegar Character Portrait: Nylia Character Portrait: Mathias Character Portrait: Adarani Character Portrait: La'Moire Character Portrait: Acanthus Character Portrait: Crymadolos
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Mathias


Mathias at first was happy to see more of his kin appear, even Nylia. But the reverie was quickly halted as Adarani lashed out with words towards Nylia. He had remembered the message Davidni had spoke with the God of Justice. That her people were conquered by the Amares. He hadn't the time to give condolences but at the time Adarani seemed to be at peace. Mathias now knew this was a facade, she was in great pain. Mathias could only wonder what she was going through. To feel every being's feelings, thoughts, and dream and all of a sudden they are wiped out. A most breaking feeling. Mathias would speak but Adarani's surprising rage kept many of us from intervening, even Nylia had to wait before her defense.

The pups, particularly Davidni, did his best to calm her down. He himself probably couldn't have placed it in better words. War is an inevitability whenever there is conflict. Yet, being a goddess of love, perhaps war hits her the hardest than even himself. Mathias for the most part has no qualms with war, yet he does not approve of war for the sake of war. Still any war always has losses, and Adarani seems more susceptible to these losses than any. For that he felt sorry for her and does not wish to see this kind of torment. Before he could chime in, Rhaegar, their newest kin, speaks out on this topic.

The God of Beasts helps confirm Davidni's platform. War maybe a creation of intelligence, but conflict itself is in it's essence a way of nature. Something Mathias always had trouble understanding was the seemingly nonuniform, and random ways nature carries itself. No rules, regulations, or government. Still Cragin has taught him to respect it, even though Mathias may not be loyal to it. Therefor he shows respect to such Gods as Mérida and Rhaegar, everyone deserves some matter of respect. Then Nylia retaliated, and despite her calmness her words felt the most biting.

While it seemed Nylia attacked Adarani more than she did to her, her words aren't without merit. Not even Mathias has this deep connection Adarani placed herself through with her creations. Mathias does not know every aspect of Valeish life, he had considered it once before, but felt it an invasion of privacy. His only way of knowing about the Valeish community is when they pray to him. His answering of prayers are the only thing that keeps him connected with his people. Any further involvement he felt would violate individual liberty. His people already pray and worship him, and how much more would be consider right until its wrong? Despite this Mathias grew tired of Adarani's pain and he stood up. He walked over to her and put his hand out for her to take it. "Please clear your tears...go and sit down and relax, you need the time for yourself." Mathias spoke concerned. "Please don't take this as a dismissal of problems, but as a means to handle these problems." "It won't do anyone any good if your like this, so please, dry your tears." Mathias asked with a sad frown.

Saffron

Saffron stood at attention, like any good soldier. He was perplexed by this God, so much different from Lord Mathias. He was distant, ominous, and yet courteous and mannerly. Still Saffron worried he was completely dismissed by the God, he seemed deep within his thoughts to concern himself with him. But The Solemn God stood and offered to relieve his pain. Saffron found this being surprising. Despite the negativity he offered his assistance, and in true godly might relieved him of the agony he felt since landing on the foggy island. He then bowed, "Your aide is much appreciated your Lordship." Saffron spoke as he returned to his orderly posture. Saffron watch curiously as the God return to his seat and then spoke his regrets.

Saffron listened as the god summoned a table and chair for his rest. "You are too gracious your lordship." Saffron spoke with gratitude. Feeling some what tired from the strain of pain he endured he took a seat, not only that it would seem rude to deny such a boon from a God. He could even consider it one's misfortune to deny a God's hospitality. So in respect he sat. The food however looked questionable, especially the stale bread. Still Saffron tore a small piece of the bread, he slowly lifted his helmet only to reveal a portion of his chin and mouth, and then swallowed the bread. His helmet then was allowed to cover the rest of his head again. Saffron looked at the god through the slits for vision through the helmet. He asked an interesting question earlier, one he was not sure he could answer. Still if a God asks for something it would be best to indulge as best as possible, "Well your lordship, I don't believe I could make a competent answer, but I find it like this," Saffron cleared his throat, "You are both Gods, almighty beings that watch over this world." "You are part of a this grand family known as The Pantheon, you are worshiped and beloved by your followers." "Not even Kings and Emperors have such influence and adoration as Gods do." "Having this great lineage and power, it could only mean you are a God and therefor belong to the grand family." "No other such being exists in this world with such a description, it stands to reason that you are apart of this greatness." Saffron then paused as he took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry if my answer is less than satisfactory." "It would be nice to know your kin before, one considers themselves kin, but we have lived in the presence of these Gods, so it is just a servant's perspective of his Lords." Saffron finished as he stood. "I thank you for your hospitality and I am sorry to hear you won't be able to join Lord Mathias, but it is of no problem." "I will return to the others now, I bid you good day my Lord." Saffron spoke as he saluted. He then turned to towards the door and proceeded to leave.

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Crymadolos sat and listened quietly to the angel’s explanation of Crymadolos’ and Mathias’ bond. Although he never went as far as to consider there might be another like himself, to hear that there was and more than one besides, somehow did not surprise Crymadolos. When the angel finished and apologized Crymadolos merely waved his hand slightly, even as a ghost of a smile crept onto his face. ”Do not apologize. Your words have enlightened me more than all the days I have spent on this island combined. I thank you, for your selfless imparting of knowledge.” Crymadolos said, his voice raspy and quiet, but with a hint of joy hidden somewhere inside of it.

When the angel excused himself Crymadolos could not help but feel a hint of sadness. He had hoped to learn more from this creature, but it seemed busy and Crymadolos would not abuse his deference for selfish reasons. He was thankful, after all. One did not place those he was thankful to in an awkward position. Instead he rose, somewhat slowly, like an old man and inclined his head to the angel as he left. ”Your visit has proven most interesting. Please impart my apologies to your lord for being unable to come to his summit and tell him I’d be most interesting in meeting him nonetheless.” He said to the angel, before following him outside to see him off.

Crymadolos watched the angel leave, his mind racing with thoughts due to the new knowledge he had obtained. He was a god and he was not alone in this world. And it stood to reason all of them had the power to create lesser beings and likely all had at some point. This was a most joyous occasion. Surely amongst this so called ‘Pantheon’ there was a god who could heal his wounds and ease his pain? He would have to prepare for that meeting. With a roll off his shoulders he summoned the fog to him, where it slowly coalesced and began to form armour around him. To accompany his new regal bearing he needed a weapon. A great sword to defend himself and destroy his enemies with. As he held out his hands the fog gathered once more and formed into a great sword and scabbard, which Crymadolos swung casually onto his back, before heading back inside. There were other things to prepare for, such as a more impressive feast for his guests. If the servant did not seem inclined to partake, what might the lord think of food such as that?

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Crymadolos watched, helplessly, as his creation, one he would call his son, slowly walked away from him and towards the boat the Kyauk had prepared for him. It would seem his recent frenzy of creation, partially inspired by the winged messenger of Mathias, was doomed to fail. The first, the Kyauk, were utterly helpless, completely reliant on the direction of others. Not that it mattered overmuch, they had been an experiment to begin with. The second, the Ayr were more self-reliant, but xenophobic and seemed unwilling to take the Kyauk in and protect them. Saddened by his failures, Crymadolos had dismissed both races, they were free to do as they wanted and so they did. They left the island in droves and settled on the nearest coast.

The following were successful in a fashion, though not what Crymadolos had wanted. The Goyre were powerful and self-reliant, but lacked the intelligence to make use of those gifts, leaving them susceptible to manipulations. The belligerent Syskek seemed perfect at first, they were self-reliant, powerful and intelligent. Unfortunately, their only desire in life appeared to be the gathering of power and they quickly began manipulating their predecessors. In the end, none of them were worthy of Crymadolos’ time. It amused him for a while, to see them all end up settling down in the same place, as if the filth and unwanted gravitated towards one another subconsciously. But their failures were lessons, or so Crymadolos had told himself.

He had attempted to create races and so far they were all failures. He would need to focus on individuals. And so he did. First he had created two women, in his own likeness. One like the Goyre, strong, self-reliant and angry, but not as stupid as they were. Proud of his daughter, Crymadolos gave her a sword like his own and created a flock of black crows for her to command. He had then send her out into the world beyond the island, like he had the Hunters. But this time he had no commands for her, he wanted her to experience the world he could not and return to tell him of her travels. She had not returned. Saloym had not returned and so he tried again, with another. Kaquya, his second daughter he based on Kyauk, subservient and eager to please, but with a mind and desire of her own. He had hoped she would travel the world like her sister, but instead she confessed to some apprehension and decided to remain on the island instead.

His final attempt, his son, Gellyk, had proven equally disastrous. Based on the Syskek, he was wilful, intelligent and powerful. But he suffered under the same curse the Syskek did. He was possessed by petty envy and desired nothing more than personal gain. The two had clashed on multiple occasions, which lead them to this exact moment. Gellyk, his son, his favourite was leaving for that miserable city of failure and petty desire. Crymadolos sneered, even as the fog around him began to grow thicker, hiding him from the eyes of the small gathering of people on the nearby shore. Simultaneously, the fog on the entire island began to grow thicker, to the point one would have the trouble seeing more than a couple of metres ahead. And this way it would stay. He should never have tried to create creatures so complex. If he wished his creations to know of the outside world, he needed simple creatures, not complex ones. As he closed his eyes, he envisioned such a creature. Shapeless, like the fog. The ability to communicate, but only with one another or Crymadolos. And the ability to see. That was all that was required. These creatures would be fully appreciative of the gifts of freedom, unlike their predecessors. They understood nothing else.

A soft mournful moan emerged from the fog, from the corner of his eyes he saw the creature he had envisioned. The he saw two, three, their numbers were increasing at a rapid pace. Soon, the entire island seemed littered with the ghost like creatures. With a sigh Crymadolos turned around and began to walk back to his house. ”Watch him… and the others.” He said quietly, even as the Mistlings began to disperse, seeking out the misty places and foggy areas of the world to settle in.

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Gellyk - son of Crymadolos
The City of Tragedy


Gellyk walked behind the elderly Syskek that had come to fetch him from his tent just outside on the shoreline near the City of Tragedy. He was slowed by an ache that had set into his lower back during the journey, no doubt because of the long period he had sat still, but he was still forced to slow down every few steps, as the old man dragged his feet in a most annoying fashion. However, despite the annoyance of this tiny fact, a part of Gellyk appreciated the chance to admire the location his father’s rejects had chosen for a home. A dreary place to be sure, with little of value beyond some fertile grounds, a river filled with edible fish and a particularly rich iron deposit in the vicinity. But that was not what caught his attention. Instead, his attention as drawn to the budding city they walked through. Sure enough, it had the appearance of a ruin, but considering the fact they had only settled here a short while ago made it somewhat impressive.

As they walked through the city Gellyk saw what had caused this rapid appearance of a city. Everywhere he looked the Kyauk walked to and fro, working on multiple building projects at once and seemingly oblivious to the corpses they were stepping on as they did so. It appeared that the Syskek were not blessed with the ability to live without sustenance, or blessed with the strength to fight for it like the Goyre. It was no surprise they were dying in droves. A cough erupted from the elderly man in front of him and he made to sit down on a nearby log. Gellyk had thought to speak up and accost the man for taking a break without asking for permission first, but he let it slide for now. There would be time enough for that later. With a sigh he walked towards a nearby corpse and studied the woman’s face. The look of disappointment there made Gellyk wonder at the woman’s final thoughts. Was she disappointed that she would die in such a manner, or was she disappointed at Crymadolos for letting her die in such a manner?

When Gellyk thought on his own query for a few moments he realized that the mental exercise was meaningless. Gellyk had seen first-hand a giant multiple headed creature soaring through the skies in the north, albeit from a safe and considerable distance. It had driven the dread realization home that his father was likely not the only god out there and, to Gellyk’s mind, likely his father was considerably weaker than whatever god had created that awe-inspiring beast. The woman would’ve been better off spending her last moments praying to that unknown god than to his father. A grunt from the elderly man informed Gellyk that is was time to move on. With a sigh Gellyk followed the elderly man. Although there was more to see still, he had had enough. He had seen enough. He had thought to leave his father’s failures here to be consumed by the outside world, but now he felt it was wrong to do so. No, ‘wrong’ was not the correct term. It was not expedient. There was potential here and with his father to preoccupied with himself to care about these useless beings Gellyk could capitalize on that. With an expectant grin on his face he continued further into the city, slowly approaching the palace of the Syskekian king.

The Syskekian king’s palace was as unimpressive as Gellyk had imagined. Only half finished, to the point where the king’s throne room did not even have a roof as of yet. Similarly, the king was hardly regal. Of short stature, wearing a mask and a bright red robe and a sceptre constructed of some strange metal Gellyk didn’t recognise. It seemed the only claim to power the man had were his hulking Goyre bodyguards, standing to each side of him clutching giant swords. Suddenly a screechy voice filled the silence in the throne room. ”Son of Crymadolos, your presence here is surprising, but not unwelcome. I hear you requested a formal audience and wish to offer your services to me, Kortwell the first. Well, I would like to s-“ With a derisive snort Gellyk cut the king of in the middle of whatever rambling speech he had planned to embark on. There was no need to drag this out. With a nod to the two Goyre Gellyk spoke two simple words. ”Kill him." Without a moment’s hesitation the two giant beasts grabbed the king and with a savage tug tore him apart. How foolish the king was, to believe he somehow had more control over Crymadolos’ creations than even Crymadolos’ own son. With a sigh Gellyk ascended the steps infront of him and sat down on the blood smeared throne without a moment’s hesitation. With a nod of his head he drew the attention of the elderly Syskek, who had been staring at the corpse of his king dumbfoundedly. ”Your old king is dead. Now begins the reign of King Gellyk, son of Crymadolos. Everyone is to begin work on finishing this city immediately. I have already sent out the Goyre to gather food and raw materials for this task. Now go, spread the word.” With a whimper the old man sped off. His reign had begun indeed and his first order of business was ensuring this city would not be crushed by whatever powers might lie outside its walls. Gellyk frowned slightly as he looked up into the night sky. For a moment he feared to see the giant beast with multiple heads flying overhead, but it seemed fortune smiled on him today. He would need to prepare this city for when it didn’t.

---

Melek – Valeish acolyte to Mathias
Azermaine – Outside of the Grand Courtroom


Melek limped away from the applause emerging from the crowds behind him with a scowl on his face. The fools celebrated justice today and pretended to know of its meaning. Sure enough, the vile mass murderer had been caught, brought before the court and punished according to his crimes. Or so the blind crowds had led themselves to believe. They believed the punishment now levied against that scum was justice. Oh, how wrong they were. His execution was far too soft a punishment. He would be granted the sweet release of a quick death even as the corpses of those he burned still cooled in the ground. Melek could still hear the screams of his wife and daughter, could still feel the pain of the leg he burned trying to save them. At night, when he slept, he could see it happening all over again. No, these fools had lost the way of justice. A crime should have a punishment equal in severity. Those that have made others suffer must be made to suffer equally, but those damned fools calling themselves justicars had wrapped themselves in soft blankets made out of the lies they told themselves about what justice truly meant.

None of them understood, not the justicars and least of all the priests. Oh, Melek had visited them all, wishing to be free of the nightmares, the blood chilling screams he could hear every waking moment, the burning pain, as if his leg was still on fire. He wished to break free the shackles of the tragedy he had endured and crawl out of this pit of misery it had dug for him. But instead they had given him platitudes! Justice will be served and no criminal can hide when the just eye of Mathias turns to regard them and their vile deeds. Melek had believed them, for a time. He had even marched to that damned courtroom to see justice being served. Instead it was Melek who was served the harsh reality of this world. They had all lost touch with what justice truly was. Well, it was no matter. Deep inside he had always known that simple fact. He had not been preparing for what he was about to do if he wasn’t. After limping the long way from the court room to the modest temple he now lived he sighed slightly before slowly walking down the stairs to enter the acolyte’s chambers in the cellar. For the time being he was the only acolyte here. The priest of the temple was a notoriously grouchy man and few young men eager to serve Mathias were interested in learning under a man who did nothing but complain and teach them nothing.

Melek slowly limped through the darkness until he reached his private chambers. With a slight twist of his hand and a few words he lit the candles there through magic, which was the limit of his power and walked towards his chair and sat down. With a slight tremble he reached into his satchel and removed the small rounded Idol from it. For a few moments he stared into its face, which despite its simplicity still conveyed to Melek a great sense of pain. As he looked into that face he knew he was staring into a reflection of his own face. He had found this Idol only a few days after his wife and daughter had died and had kept it ever since. In a world of blind fools this Idol was the only thing with any kind of clarity. Its words were raw, hard and painful to hear, yes. But they were the truth, Melek knew. With a grunt Melek got up from the chair and left his chambers, still tenderly cradling the Idol in his hands. After a few laboured steps he reached the pantry and opened it. With a satisfied smile he looked upon the terrified woman he had bound and gagged the night before after finding her out on the streets. The Idol had spoken true so far, it stood to reason the rest must be true as well. He carefully put the Idol back into his satchel before dragging the woman from the pantry and throwing her on the floor. If he could feed the Idol enough pain, misery and tragedy it would give him the power needed to punish the one who murdered his wife and daughter. He would be free to dispense justice as it should be, harsh and unforgiving. With a distorted smile Melek took the Idol from his satchel again and set it down on a small altar, before turning his attention back to the woman.

Melek knew of the pain and misery fire inflicted. He had heard the screams of his family as proof of that. With this, Melek knew enough on how best to feed the Idol.

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Aerumnan


The recent venture allowed his people a stronger support by means of resources, but it was a crutch nonetheless which he people leaned heavily upon, it was not uncommon to see the common citizen suffering from malnutrition or even one felled in a street from starvation. They tried desperately at fishing to no avail, tried desperately at farming and they got far less than what was necessary. The time had come for the man in his old age to look to conquer lands once more, for his people he would achieve this. Almost on a whim he'd announce from an upright sitting position on his dark wooded throne.

"Perymon, if you would please let General Vogthar know that he is to send his men," Cravenwell would stand suddenly with restored purpose, his dirty scarlet hair cropped and knotted with lack of health, his face crisp with stubble making his elongated with worry features drab, the deep purple beneath his eyes a cause of alarm against the darkness of his skin. He would find himself before a map of the Middle Realm his long frail index finger peaking out from beneath his thin regal robe to prod and poke at the features of the rougly drawn representation of the lands surrounding the Republic. "He will travel down this peninsula following the shore." His voice would be timely and uneven as he addressed his assistant Perymon who would nod.
"Yes, Grand General, as you wish." For an Aerumnan this man was oddly small though ripe with small muscles hidden beneath his simple clothing, standing at five feet, six inches tall he lacked substance needed to make him imposing, beneath his drab vast was a sickly looking dagger. His dark hair in a braid and his eyes wild, he looked to be middle aged, but there was something off about his character.


General Vrogthar


He was a strong young man, and a truly exceptional warrior, his tattoos speaking of great achievements including a mark of one-hundred kills from battles with odd beasts of a God before in the island off the West Coast of the Republic. He had earned a name for himself there, "Bane of the Resistant." His tactics surpassed long standing generals, and his display of skill lead his men to fight that much harder. In hours he had sent out for his troops and in a matter of two days they had assembled. Two-thousand, and one-hundred assorted soldiers. He had been granted use of three Hyasrhin and five Artshryn, his own armies Hydra that went by the name of Argyle and had a distinct ability to breathe fire, a blessing by Charoum that made him one of the favored Hydra when it came to military use, however his temperament making him one of the least favored when giving care and affection.

The march was long under the deep yellow sun of the Xenyit lands until a point came when it became a trek through the deep swamps, losing valuable time in the murky and dangerous environment. It should be noted that these swamps were often hunted, the rarity of massive crocodiles had once been common, but as for their precious meet they were now seen fading, a dying breed. They could grow to be more than twenty feet, strong and swift, the intensity of the swamp allowing them to exceed the rational interpretations of a beast. A single skilled hunter could fight one, but it was more common for a pair of two to fell one, their two families being able to live off the feast for months.

Eventually they reached a shore, the lands ghastly in appearance, even the ocean seeming to take on a strained appearance. They stopped to camp for a night, and in the morning continued. If ever there were mortals in sight, they eluded the keen perception of the army. It became so dire a mission that they had the Hydra mount an aerial scouting mission overhead to look for signs of civilization.

This lead them to spot a massive construction project and the beginnings of a large spanning culture. Within a half of a days marched they reached the outskirts of this settlement, and even by Aerumnan standards they were appalled at the sights, all manner of dark creatures radiant with pain, their uttered tongue either inaudible or screeched in foreign tongue. Vrogthar would pull ahead of his army and halt the march. He'd grab at the reigns as his Kruvulum let loose it's clear disapproval struggling and huffing, it's deep uneven breaths that of fear.

The army would be silent as he beckoned for a second in command to come forth, this man adorned in the platemail of his people in it's dark colors and elements of small design. "Send Argyle soaring over the city, we will have it complete two rounds before coming back to this point." He'd hesitate a moment before continuing, "Have every champion mounted, and have the rest of the cavalry form up behind me."

Within moments the Hydra was soaring overhead the incomplete city, and with one-hundred and twenty men formed up behind him, mounted on their large steeds, General Vrogthar entered the settlement, hoping to find a leader of some degree as the sound of hooves beating the ground beneath the column could be heard throughout. The beings regarding them with fear or pain, the screeching as disheartening as it was, did nothing to the steel determination and courage of the force amassed.

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Gellyk - son of Crymadolos
The City of Tragedy


The streets of the city had been mostly empty this day. The screeches of the Ayr had all but left the city and the majority of the Syskek population had hid within their half-finished huts and houses, leaving only those too young to be afraid and those with too little to lose to care. The only creatures who seemed oblivious to the tension caused by the arrival of the foreigners and their giant flying beasts were the Kyauk, who continued their work on the city as if indifferent to the arrival. Gellyk wasn’t pleased with this. Whatever lived to the north had clearly not been as safely far away as Gellyk thought. He had hoped to prepare the city adequately, but instead they had come while the city was only half finished. Not that it would have mattered, there was nothing in the city that could stand up against the flying beasts, safe for possibly Gellyk himself. With a grimace Gellyk admitted that even he did not felt confident about taking on one of those creatures and they had brought several with them, as if the strangely dressed and coloured army now squatting on their doorstep was not bad enough. Sure, numerically Gellyk had the advantage, even if it was a modest one, but judging from the reports he heard of the men riding their strange beasts his ‘army’ was no match for theirs.

But it seemed that for now at least, they had not come to raze their town to the ground. Which relieved Gellyk somewhat, who had feared just that result when the multi-headed creature flew over the city for the first time. But it was a slight relief, one soon plagued by new worries. Not only was a detachment of the strangers headed straight for him, half of the council he had appointed to manage the city had turned on him the moment the foreign army was within sight of the city. Cowards one and all. So afraid were they of the foreign army on their doorstep that they immediately hatched a half-baked plot to hand Gellyk’s head to them on a platter. Luckily they were as imcompetent as they were cowardly and Gellyk had sent them all off to the dungeons beneath the palace for death and worse. But that still left the strangers and their intentions.

Gellyk rolled his shoulders slightly, judging from the path they had taken, they would arrive in this particular area soon enough. He had arrayed his giant hulking Goyre around the slightly raised dias, both for protection and intimidation. But he doubted the second would work, these men did not have the smell of cowardice about them, judging from the way they boldly rode into town with only a fraction of their soldiers. Still, Gellyk was the son of a god and he commanded others capable of inflicting violence just as they did, it was best if they realised this straight away. With a grunt he looked at the remains of his council that remained loyal, arrayed before his dais. Loyal though they may be they did not seem inclined to stand with their king at this time. Gellyk sneered as he noted how they had positioned themselves to the sides, ensuring none of them would get in the way should the strangers and the beasts they rode decide to charge the dais. No matter, Gellyk was not afraid of these foreigners, he was the son of a god, he had no cause to fear them. He reminded himself of this fact again when he could see the ‘delegation’ approaching in the distance.

With a frown on his face he went over his approach to this situation. He would allow the riders to come close, though, not to close, observing them to see who their leader was. Once he picked the leader out, he would raise his voice, allowing it to fill the square as he spoke and ask a simple question: ”Why are you here?” Simple and straightforward. He imagined these foreigners with their audacity to enter the city as they have would appreciate that and he wasn’t about to give them the chance to voice their demands as if Gellyk was some back-alley whore waiting to be commanded.

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General Vrogthar


General Vrogthar would hold up his right hand, signalling with two fingers for the column to stop. He'd ride forward a few more paces grabbing the face mask of his helmet and lifting it so that his face would be visible. Thus far they'd been regarded with indifference and it'd be odd for him not to admit that this sudden speaking revived the nerve within him. The man before him was powerful, there was no doubt, you could tell by the confidence and disposition as he seemed to command massive beasts bustling about ready for a defense of the slightly raised platform.

”Why are you here?” The sudden booming echoing about the silence of the opening, half sprung up walls about here and there setting a strange tone about the soon to be battlefield. The massive gruesome looking beasts of which their numbers were overwhelming giving the state of his force. Based on the tone of this leader whose appearance was equally as macabre and wicked. In the very nature in which he presented himself to the detachment. It became clear what was necessary, the confidence was uncanny.

Not to mention the guardians as they seemed to be prepared already for a fight. He considered his choice to march into the city with only a handful of his force, perhaps it had been a mistake. No, this force had allowed them easy entry into the city and such a small force allows them mobility. He'd hold up his hand once more, and the clack of kruvulum hooves on the ground beneath would sound as they spanned out trying to gain position on the platform.

Moments would pass as the question hung in the air before Vrogthar answered, trying to allow the Hydra to come back around in it's second round. "We're here to take your city." Vrogthar would say it and immediately following his held up fingers would collapse in two sharp motions. The kruvulum would pound as he pulled his sword from it's sheathe charging forth with his men, the beasts would easily clear the small rise of the platform clashing with the massive Guardians who would give deep unsettling sounds of aggression.

A champion would be sent from his kruvulum, clashing with the ground he'd land in a roll on his shoulder as one of the Goyre swung his massive weapon, he'd fling himself into another roll beneath the swing coming up from it the champion would rise cutting a clean vertical cut in the back of the creature's leg separating the calf muscle into halves, it'd buckle forward with an inaudible grumbling shout, going to turn on it's good leg to swing with malice at the champion who would nimbly slink down to avoid the swing slashing a horizontal cut in the creatures thigh, it'd come down once more and the champion would swiftly slash it's neck open as it would raise it's arms as if to attack again, they would hesitate a moment in the air and then fall back as blood erupted from the wound, the champion would pull away as another of the guardians approached with a roar.

As one of the cavalry would go to collide, the Goyre would simply sweep with it's massive axe sending the rider a hurtling missile of bloody mess from the platform yards away, it'd go to grab the kruvulum and break it's neck before tossing it to the ground.

General Vrogthar would be bloodied as one of the fearsome guardians fell to the right of him, his sword buried in it's cracked mask of bone up to the hilt in the Goyre's skull. He narrowly avoided another as it came rushing forward, now without a weapon he narrowed his eyes looking around as the monster delivered a diagonal slash at his right shoulder. He'd dodge slinking to the right so that it crashed on empty space to his left. Grabbing the arm he'd jump up planting his feet in it's gut looking to use the momentum to knock the creature off it's feet, it would stand resistant, dropping it's weapons to wrench him from it's core. He'd struggle staring the creature in it's face as it held him up to look at him victoriously before it pulled him apart.

But that wasn't the case. A crash came from behind the Goyre and within a second a massive head erupted from behind finding it's mark on the guardian's mass, Vrogthar would fall as his opponent was whipped away, it's body sent flying as the Hydra flung it from it's jaws to find another victim. He would grit his teeth rising from his back.

Arrows would be loosed with rapid precision, a Goyre falling with several buried in it's torso, falling dead in it's throws of violence against anyone within reach of it's massive weapons. The Hydra would whip it's tail and attack with such fury, sending breath of flame on the guardians that seemed oblivious to the fact that they were quickly losing the upperhand.

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Character Portrait: Crymadolos Character Portrait: Charoum
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Gellyk - son of Crymadolos
The City of Tragedy


Before Gellyk could even register what was going on the square exploded in a maelstrom of violence. The square that had been calm, if filled with a foreboding sense of dread, was now a sight straight out of a story. Everywhere hulking beasts fought against pale warriors, left and right people were dying, their mournful death cries ignored by those around them in favour for the cries of war. Yet, Gellyk could not comprehend what had happened just moment before. They had come here to take this city? Gellyk was sure they had come here to raze it to the ground, or if not interested in destruction, to steal what supplies they could before going on their way again. But they were here on conquest? A sudden dread realization spread through Gellyk. They were after this city, not the people in it. The violence before him proved that. They cared nothing for Gellyk and the people of the city, they were simply in the way. With a sneer Gellyk stopped his theorizing on the foreigners objectives to see one of them make his way through the press, cutting his way through two Goyre as he rushed towards the dais Gellyk stood on.

The man closed the distance with remarkable speed, closing the distance between himself and Gellyk before Gellyk could react. He stood before Gellyk and their eyes locked, even as the man’s sword came swinging down. But Gellyk had no need for such archaic means of combat. With but a thought he send unbearable pain into the man, focusing on the arm wielding that sword. With a twisted smile Gellyk watched the man’s arm cramp up and buckle, before he dropped the sword he was holding. Gellyk could feel the same pain in his own arm, but cared nothing for it, a small price to pay to punish this fool. But to the man’s credit he did not scream, he did not so much as grunt at that pain. With a delighted grin he opened his mouth to speak, to taunt the man before squeezing the life from his body, but before words could come out he saw the man’s other arm jerk. With grace Gellyk had not seen before the man managed to catch his falling sword with his other arm and now moved to stab him. With a savage jerk Gellyk moved his body out of the way, even as he felt the sword cut through leather and flesh. A maniacal screech emerged from Gellyk’s throat as he drew his dagger and stabbed the man in the neck, repeating the motion multiple times as he carved open the man’s face even as he was falling.

Panting heavily at the sudden exertion he was forced to endure he watched as three more foreign warriors emerged from the heaving press of violence and death before him, neither intimidated by the savagery they must’ve witnessed or afraid of the man who perpetrated it. With murder in his eyes and the maniacal screech still fresh in his memory he unleashed the full potential of the power his father had bestowed upon him, filling their bodies as well as his own with pain unimaginable. Much to his delight, this time they did scream. A savage and maniacal grin spread across his mouth as he watched the men squirm in agony. He lifted his hands and gathered his power when suddenly a stinging sensation in his shoulder destroyed his concentration. His jerked his head around to see a knife of foreign make now jutting from his shoulder. Disbelieving Gellyk turning his attention to the three men before him to see one with an outstretched arm. Sudden rage exploded within Gellyk as he unleashed his power on the men. Raw force buffeted them and two were send of flying far beyond the battleground and the third, the one who had thrown the knife, was crushed into a bloody mess of mangled limbs where he stood.

For the third time now Gellyk turned his attention back to the battlefield. The giant beast was swooping down, devouring Goyre while another head burned them alive. The foreign warriors, who had nearly disappeared beneath the massive bodies of the Goyre were suddenly clearly visible as they cut a bloody swath through the Goyre. Gellyk fought the urge to laugh at this, at the absurdity that his warriors were being slaughtered. Calling upon the rest of the Goyre stationed throughout the city was meaningless. Even if they somehow managed to kill the warriors here, the ones outside the city would make short work out of all of them, Gellyk included. With a grimace he tore the knife from his shoulder and once more let his deep voice spread across the square, amplified with magic this time. They all needed to hear this. ”ENOUGH OF THIS !” Gellyk’s amplified voice boomed across the square. The Goyre, who had been possessed by savagery only moments before now suddenly stood still as if some force was holding their entire bodies frozen in place.

Gellyk could only hope it would be enough to halt the foreign warriors as well, for the next message was meant only for them. ”I… am willing to negotiate terms for the surrender of the city.” Gellyk said with a sneer, his back held straight. This city wasn’t worth dying for. And these foreigners presented certain… possibilities.

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Character Portrait: Crymadolos Character Portrait: Charoum
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General Vrogthar


He rose with heavy breathing pulling a sword he'd taken off of a fallen cavalrymen from the body of one of the Guardians, even in it's death it's mouth was open in anger as if still ready to destroy, the rest of the enemy stopped suddenly and his soldiers stopped accordingly, and they reacted as if stunned staring up into the before so outrageous monsters. They'd remained defensive after recovering their weapons, the nonchalance in which they went about tending to what wounded they managed to salvage a mirage.

The sights were savage as gnarled and malformed wounds covered the dead and hindered the wounded scarred for life in ways unprecedented before. Vrogthar was followed by a handful of soldiers as he wove between the dead, wounded, and still-life forms of the Goyre halted by the call of their King, their imposing forms wary and ready staring down at the activity before them. It would not go unnoticed that the horror that befell their brothers in arms was strongly regarded by the soldiers spanning out across the platform.

He would approach the dais looking up at the king, "It's a shame we came to this point." He would stop to straighten up pulling his helmet from his head and holding it at his side. "I'm sure we'll come to an agreement that will prove to benefit your people as well as my own." His smile would be small but lighthearted in nature and welcoming.

It would be silent before he recovered his manners, adding, "I'm Vrogthar Rilentaine, and what our people truly need is food.."

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Character Portrait: [NPC] Bartender Character Portrait: Crymadolos Character Portrait: Charoum
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Gellyk - son of Crymadolos
The City of Tragedy


Gellyk was more than a little baffled by the ease and nonchalance the foreigners acted now that the battle was over. Their arrogance infuriating. They had no idea their lives were but puppets in the hands of Gellyk and that right now at any moment he could… Gellyk halted his train of thought even as an ugly sneer crossed his features. Realizations such as the one he was handed here were ugly, but he wouldn’t be his father and deny the ugly truth, or hide away from it like a coward. He held no power now and the slight satisfaction that there might be a possibity to look into the dying eyes of the foreigner’s commander as he crushed the life out from him was no match to the suffering of watching whichever of these foreigners would then look into Gellyk’s eyes with the same satisfaction. Not to mention there was no real guarantee he could even call for the rest of his Goyre now. The foreigners were victorious, but no doubt wary of betrayal. A sudden gathering of additional warriors would send them rushing back to their army, cutting a blood swath through the city and leaving with minimal losses.

Conjecture about the possible endings of betraying these foreigners now were useless, even more so as the ending of such an act was obviously clear. No, he should focus on how to salvage this situation. Gellyk glared at the left overs of the battlefield. The foreigners were retrieving their wounded and the Kyauk in the vicinity had arrived to assist them, where they were allowed to. In other places they simply gathered the dead, treating the foreigners with surprising respect, whereas the Goyre were simply piled together for burning. Gellyk continued glaring as his ‘council’ of Syskek gathered around him, quarrelling amongst themselves of course, to watch the enemy commander approach them. Gellyk’s temper was not hidden and only barely contained when he commanded them. ”Leave. Now.” Confused glances were exchanged before they went scurrying back to their hiding holes. Following their departure the commander approached and expressed his regrets. His regrets. A vicious sneer appeared on Gellyk’s face even as he balled his fists until the knuckles turned white. Regret?! He had caused this! The damned fool came into the city and attacked at the first possible possibility and now he regretted it?! Gellyk grunted then, without bothering to hide his obvious distaste at the commander’s words, but made no mention. Defeat was his and the victorious decided on the details of whatever had occurred.

Gellyk continued to listen with no comment as the man offered platitudes. Only when the man stated his name and purpose Gellyk’s face light up slightly. They needed food? That’s all? Gellyk licked his teeth slightly as he considered the position. ”Rilentaine... I am Gellyk, king of the City of Tragedy, which you have so handily turned black with the blood of my warriors, and son of Crymadolos.” Gellyk didn’t bother to hide his bitterness as he added the utterly needless point of his warrior’s death. With a sigh his face lightened up some more. ”If it’s food you want, for the moment we have plenty. Half of my people don’t eat and the rest seem better at finding and producing it than they are at eating it.” Gellyk explained, if it’s food they wanted food they would get. But they weren’t here to raid a city just to take food for this army of theirs. There was no point, attacking a city with a hungry army was madness, even if there was no other source of food anywhere nearby. And he did mention his ‘people’, which Gellyk doubted was just this force here. ”Your army should be well fed. But I doubt you came here just to find food for them. Am I wrong in assuming you came here to feed more than just your soldiers? Because if I am, we could come to a mutually beneficial agreement.” Gellyk said, even as something approaching a smile crossed his mouth. In his head, wheels were turning and plans made. His army was weak and the next army to come knocking on his doorstep might not be as partial to just stopping with what they were doing and take food back with them. Gellyk smile grew wider when he spoke again, just barely a moment after he had ended his last sentence.

”As it happens, I have come to the dread discovery my army might not be capable of much more than looking intimidating should a force come here to eradicate us. Mutually beneficial you say? As it stands you need food, which I can provide… on a regular basis.” Gellyk said, what he was suggesting obvious, but he did not speak the words out loud. It would seem more like politeness to silently suggest that he offered the food in return for protection, rather than going out of his way to voice it. This Vrothgar might take it as a demand. Better he hears the suggestion and suggest it himself, he might even consider himself wise and political. Gellyk’s smile faded as he considered the possibility that perhaps his new foreign ‘friend’ would just take the food and completely ignore the idea Gellyk had so forcefully tried planting in his mind.

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Character Portrait: Rhaegar Character Portrait: Mathias Character Portrait: Adarani Character Portrait: Crymadolos
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Mathias

Mathias was overjoyed and the quickness of Adarani's latch upon him nearly knocked him over. He laughed as it followed with a kiss. He slowly stood up as he disconnected the kiss. "Well then if that's your answer, then this ring should look much better here." Mathias spoke as he took the ring and slipped it over her right ring finger. "There that is much better." Mathias then smiled. "Soon we shall be wed, but first we have to finish our business." Mathias spoke. Before he could elaborate Mariva and Davidni flew to them. The Winged Pups then handed two beautiful objects to them. Mariva gave the Sapphire Egg to Adarani and the Emerald Egg was given to Mathias by Davidni.

"Ah, are these gifts?" Mathias asked. "Yes they are but not from us." Davidni spoke. "They are Fae Dragon eggs given to you by Miss Mérida." "They are for your union and she hopes they will make good companions." Davidni finished. Mathias looked towards the crowd hoping to catch Mérida but she was gone. "Well if I see her I will tell her it is a marvelous gift." Mathias smiled. "Anyway soon I will need to step a court hearing to address these murders." Mathias then paused, "If it is no problem, I ask that you come along and assist me." "If that is perfectly alright?" Mathias asked. He awaited her answer.


The Valeish

Within the Towering Skyline of Azermaine there another criminal was hung in the gallows. Yet, despite the dispensing of justice it would seem not all took to the answer in good stride. Unknown to all a new criminal now was on the rise and soon his brand of evil will reach into the streets. It has already claimed a life. It is here that we turn to those Enforcers of Justice, The Constabulary.

Constabulary-Seventh-Cliff Precinct
Crime Scene- Downdry Street
Investigator- Oleandru Nevitt


The Iron Backs were taking in Accounts from nearby Bystanders who could elaborate but already this seemed like a cold case. Already they got a report in about a missing persons this morning. When a woman named, Meleva Durain did not come home last night. She was last seen at her job at the nearby Tavern. She was just a barmaid, but still it was terrible to not know your daughter would come home. They already investigated the Tavern, and the Bartender last saw her leave through the front door. Luckily he knew her well enough that she would take Downdry Street, a few blocks, then turn left on Laines Street, and the make the next right on Warlborough till she hit home. Couple other Constables have hit those streets, and Investigative Officer better known by their slang term, Iron Hounds, Oleandru Nevitt was combing Downdry.

Nevitt, looked over the street and first glance nothing. The Cobblestone stood as ordinary as ever. Even worse no eyewitnesses that was on this street the night of the abduction. Which might make their first look, be the one. If anyone was kidnapped, it would be here. From what could be told, the others were taking much longer to search their streets, meaning they could be taking Accounts. Yet, Nevitt could be wrong, after all he was combing the longest street, Miss Durain walks upon. He searched and searched and well into the morning nothing could be found. "Damn it." He muttered to himself. It isn't uncommon for missing people to stay missing in this massive city. Nevitt was about to call it in, when he noticed some off the corner of his eye. There were traces of blood. Perhaps this could be the struggle where Miss Durain met her assailant. The blood splats were in front of an alley. Nevitt decided to investigate.

The blood trail grew smaller and smaller, as the blood seemed to stop. It was until he came upon a group of upturned trash barrels he saw, where a greater struggle was made. It was time for the noses of the Iron Hounds to hunt. It would seem like anything, Woman fights her Abductor, and it would seem she either kicked things over and she dragged him into and rolled around a bit. It would look like the latter seeing how everything was scattered. Then it would appear the abductor got control of her. Then he carried her off, judging by the trash that seemed to follow down the alley some. And then they entered the next street. From their the trail went cold. "Damn it." He muttered again. Well at least they started to get somewhere. She was abducted on Downdry and taken east unto Rollins Street. From there who knows, but now they have a new area to canvass. Oleandru would return to the rest of the unit and sent them to investigate the new area of interest as well as canvass any witness to take accounts of. Hopefully they will pick up again.

Damias, Forester of the Brotherhood of Ancient Silence, Captain of Hood Squadron

Damias led his team within the Karlibor camp. "Pay no heed to it, it bothers me not." Damias responded to the cubs activity. They watched the Karlibor carry on with their day to day buisness, despite the attention they were receiving. Especially from Priyah, as even the cubs seemed to acknowledge her beauty. She gave soft smile and spoke nothing of it. She obviously didn't mind. Damias the chuckled, "Yes she turns heads sometimes back at Headquarters." "I do not!" Priyah interjected. Damias only chuckled. "Yes, doesn't Davenrow fancy you?" Nassandru teased. "Oh please not him." "He is such a moron and a pig." Priyah complained. "Well at least he's persistent." Damias teased as well. "Shut up." Priyah scoffed. "Well these people do like to train." Totheran added. "Yes, which is good reminds me of Headquarters." Damias added.

Soon they entered the Lodge where Makilik seemed to have been leading them. They sat upon the logs as Makilik offered them foodstuffs. "Oh why yes I will takes some!" Totheran spoke until he was cut off by Damias. "Totheran you know the rules!" Damias scolded. Totheran retracted his hand and then had an ashamed look upon his face. "I am sorry, we appreciate it, but we always eat before we leave, and we don't drink alcohol when moving." Damias spoke as he looked towards Totheran on that last bit. Totheran then lowers his head. Damias then turns to Makilik, "We are honored to meet your Chieftain but really are message is not just for your leaders, but for your people as well." Damias spoke. "We hope a meeting with the populace in some location is not a burden is it?" Damias asked. "Either way I'm sure your Chieftain could benefit as well form our mission." Damias spoke as he waited for this Pauni.

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Character Portrait: Crymadolos Character Portrait: Charoum
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General Vrogthar


Gellyk was noticeably distraught over his loss, and perhaps that was reasonable. But as far General Vrogthar was concerned he should be in good spirits, they had come and merely sought to win in combat, not hurt anyone or anything, not destroy their livelihood. He listened intently, and would appear to be unphased by the unwelcoming attitude, the acidic nature of this king. Like him or not, he commanded fierce warriors and himself had put down several men. He had earned their respect and would be treated as such until the man outright disrespected the General or his men.

He would nod in acknowledgement, the man seemed to be proposing some kind of alliance or deal. He would hesitate a moment as a man came forth, a soldier, bloodied and near dazed and yet alert and prepared, leaning over the man would whisper into the general's ear.

He himself was torn, he couldn't outright declare an alliance, Cravenwell hadn't approved such a thing, he looked out over the battlefield witnessing the gentle people of the city helping tend to their wounded, much to his amazement. It brought a smile to his face as he witnessed the beauty of it. Who know if this Gellyk were to be trusted or not, but he seemed genuine or at least seduced with the possibilities of a military alliance.

"Well, King Gellyk." He'd flick his tongue over his canines in consideration. "If you supply us with food, you will be considered a state of the Republic and under our protection." He figured the man however dastardly would care for his people and the ruling of his city. It looked as if he were doing well by it so far. "You can rule over your city however you wish, and no one will be harmed or assumed under our control." Perhaps he should try at intimidating the man.. No, it would serve to sever whatever connection they had made and the man no doubt would only grow more angry. "If you withdraw, we may be forced to return with harsh intentions.." Vrogthar's voice would be genuine and he would seem generally indifferent to whether or not he would have to fight once more. But he was no doubt hopeful that they could enter into the agreement.

He'd look for the man's approval of the gesture so that he could leave with his army.

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Character Portrait: Mathias Character Portrait: Crymadolos Character Portrait: Charoum
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Melek – Valeish acolyte to Mathias
Azermain – Streets


Melek was running through the streets of Azermaine, desperation and fear clinging to his back as he tried to make his way through the thick, concealing fog. Behind him the baying of hounds followed him, their intensity and loudness unnatural to Melek’s ears. Melek panted heavily, unable to catch even a few moments of rest as he ran for his life. He turned a corner, running as fast as he could before running straight into a wall hidden by the fog. Cold sweat ran down his back as he could hear the scratching of nails on the stone street behind him. Loud and deep panting, like that of some gigantic beast, emerged from the fog all around him. With a whimper Melek turned around and stared into the gigantic muzzle of an enormous white hound. He lifted his gaze slightly and then stared straight into the creature's four blood red eyes. A wordless scream emerged from Melek’s throat as the beast's maw suddenly opened wide and slammed shut around his neck.

The wordless cry continued as Melek shot up to sit up straight in his bed. Cold sweat streamed from his body and soiled his bed sheets. His eyes were wide open in terror and he was panting heavily. A nightmare. But not like his usual ones. Melek slowly moved his legs out of his bed and sat there for a few moments, as terror slowly faded away thanks to the sweet relief of reality. He needed to clean himself. With a grunt he got up out of bed and walked towards the small bucket of clean water he had prepared last night. After a few steps Melek froze. He could still feel the pain of the burn wounds on his leg. But no longer were they hampering his movement. He slowly looked down. His leg was as it had always been, but somehow, strength had returned to it. He slowly lifted his other leg to move all of his weight to the injured one. Nothing. Not even a stumble, or the sudden loss of all balance as the leg buckled beneath him. A small red drop fell down from his face and landed on the floor. It lay there, its bright colour in stark contrast to the cold grey of the ground. Stunned, Melek moved his hand across his face and felt strange wet streaks beneath his eyes. Suddenly fearful, he held his hand in front of his face to see it soiled with red. Blood. Melek surged out of his small chambers and rushed to the Idol. As he picked it up he could see the same bloody tears running down its face. He should be frightened, but somehow, he felt relief. His rituals had worked! The Idol had restored the strength of his leg! Melek once more surged into motion, quickly cleaning his face and throwing on his robes. He would have to find more sacrifices!

Melek moved up from the cellar where his chambers were and placed his hands on the heavy doors leading out of the temple. But when he made to push he could suddenly feel a large and heavy hand on his shoulder. Melek spun round, fear and anger twisting his face, and he looked straight into the stern eyes of the temple’s priest. For some reason, the old grouch’s face seemed somewhat kind now, his eyes though stern, filled with concern. And his hand, heavy and strong held Melek in place. Had the man always possessed such strength? When the priest suddenly spoke Melek stared him dead in the eyes. ”You won’t find the answer there, Melek.” Melek continued staring, dumbfounded and frightful. The priest seemed to notice his confusion and continued. ”I know where you go each evening, son. There are no answers in the depths of bottles. It is a road many have travelled and just as many have drowned.” Melek suddenly looked away. He tried stammering out an answer, but no words could make it past the fear that gripped his throat tight. Many moments passed, as Melek avoided the priest’s stern gaze. The priest then sighed and released his vice-like grip on Melek’s shoulder. ”Go then. Let this be the last night you flee this temple in terror. Come the morn, I shall help you fight your demons.” Melek grunted slightly when he heard the concern in the man’s voice, before turning and opening the doors of the temple. Gods, but it was a foggy night. It was like he had stepped out of the temple and straight back into his nightmare. With a frown Melek pressed on, too afraid to look back. Because of this, he did not notice the priest as the man stared straight at the satchel Melek carried, unknowing the priest knew of the Idol within.

After some confusion while navigating the streets concealed by the unnaturally thick fog Melek finally found the tavern he frequented. With a sigh he entered and took a look around. Nearly empty. He expected no less, this night carried with it a foul air. He slowly moved towards the bar and nodded to the bartender, who stood there lazily cleaning a glass with a rag. He seemed distracted. ”One of these days Melek, you’ll start making me feel guilty for peddling my wares to an acolyte.” The heavy-set man said, his voice somewhat raw and his eyes somewhat drooping, as if he had not had enough sleep. Melek shrugged slightly. ”What happened?” He asked, watching the bartender clean the same spot on the glass over and over again. ”Meleva disappeared. Even got them Iron Hounds in here to investigate.” The man sighed, before putting glass away. ”They say she might’ve just ran off with ‘er boyfriend or something. But Meleva wasn’t that kinda girl, y’know?” The man continued. Melek averted his eyes somewhat before responding. ”Mathias protect.” The bartender repeated what Melek said before setting down a glass infront of him. Melek took the glass and took a heavy swig, before turning his gaze towards the inside of his tavern. There was hardly anyone here. Only old Tolik, the giant of a man who came here each night drowning some horror only he knew, and Feren, the city guard who lived nearby and came here to avoid the complaining of his wife. ”It wasn’t them, y’know.” The bartender said, causing a shock of fear to shoot up Melek’s back, he quickly turned around and managed to stammer out a confused inquiry. The bartender simply shrugged. ”Ya were looking like some damn beast, sizing them up. Don’t worry, we all cared fer her. Them Iron Hounds will find her soon enough.” Melek shrugged in turn, he stammered of some apology of being tired before heading out, obviously in a hurry.

As Melek walked the streets he cursed himself quietly. Could he have been more suspicious? And worse, on a night like this there was no one out on the streets. The very air was oppressive, as if Mathias himself was watching them all with a disapproving glare. Or perhaps he was just staring at Melek. Suddenly, Melek caught movement in the corner of his eye, followed by the sound of a soft moan. Melek stood and stared for a moment, before heading into the direction of the sound. Slowly, the moaning became clearer, until he rounded a corner, where the moaning turned to soft giggling. In the fog, he could see two distinct shapes, slowly walking towards him. As they passed, the man and woman, holding each other affectionately, nodded at Melek, before continuing. He had found someone. No one was around but them and even if they were, this fog hid everything. A savage grin crossed Melek’s mouth. He slowly looked around and found a large piece of timber. As he picked it up, he could feel strength filling his muscles. He followed the pair around a corner and closed in. With two savage blows he knocked both out and threw the piece of timber away. His smile grew wider as he threw both the limp bodies over his shoulders, barely bothered by their weight, and set off towards the temple. He had found new sacrifices.

A few paces away, four blood red eyes stared at what had happened in the alley. They continued watching as the man in an acolyte’s robe slowly shuffled away with the pair of victims he had found. A few moments later the mournful howl of a beast unknown to the Valeish reverberated throughout the alleyways, even as the fog grew thicker.

---

Gellyk - son of Crymadolos
The City of Tragedy


Gellyk watched Vrogthar closely, taking in every detail he could. Unfortunately, the man seemed stoic to a fault. He gave nothing away for free and the few things Gellyk could discern were next to useless. When the nod came something did flicker to the surface. For a moment, the man who had seemed incapable of displaying anything but sincerity and decisiveness suddenly seemed indecisive, if only for a moment. Not perfect then, Gellyk thought with a slight smile, ignoring the fact his own face was much easier to read than the face of Vrogthar. When Vrogthar averted his gaze to observe the battlefield Gellyk took it as a minor victory on his part, childish though it may be. The foreigners seemed stoic and aloof at first sight, but it seemed they were not as unworldly as Gellyk had first suspected. This could be used.

The continued silence worried Gellyk, however. Each moment the man spend indecisive was a moment he came closer to denying the deal. The silence stretched on, impossibly so to Gellyk’s mind, whose rational thoughts confirmed only a few moments were passing. Suddenly, Vrogthar broke the silence. A sigh of relief escaped unbidden from Gellyk’s throat. The man approved. Gellyk rolled his shoulders slightly. He didn’t know much, or anything, of their republic, but with an army like theirs he was sure being a part of it would be much safer than facing the other terrors of this world alone. Gellyk made to speak, but was cut off when Vrogthar continued. "If you withdraw, we may be forced to return with harsh intentions.." It was clearly a threat. But somehow, Gellyk had trouble accepting it as such. It was almost as if the man spoke of the falling of rain after witnessing dark clouds overhead. It was a fact. And the harsh intentions would no doubt mean Gellyk’s days were numbered. Gellyk sneered, trying and only partially succeeding to hide the fearful gulp before he responded.

”Very well. We will become part of the republic and provide your people with food. I’ll have servants prepare carriages of supplies for your army and for wherever the rest of your people are.” Gellyk snapped his fingers and repeated his orders to one of the Syskek councillors who seemed to have shrunk four inches the moment he wandered close to the general. The man then scurried of, multiple Kyauk in hot pursuit to prepare the supplies for Vrogthar and his army. Gellyk rolled his shoulders again. ”I wish you well on your return journey, until then, the hospitality of my city, unfinished as it is, is yours for the taking.” Gellyk continued, quietly wishing the general and his army would be on their way as quickly as possible.

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Character Portrait: Mathias Character Portrait: Adarani Character Portrait: Crymadolos
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The Valeish



The King was pleased the Sacrirans would obey their laws and rules. He soon dismissed them as he did with the rest of the court. As the other high officials of the land left, with mixed responses.


"Ah my old friend Kelzor! "How have you been?" Lord Herrock approached his fellow nobleman. "Ah Mattias!" "It has most surely been a good time for I!" Lord Roseum energetically spoke. "What's more is our new visitors!" "Already they are quite fascinating specimens!" Kelzor Roseum spoke with glee. "Ah I knew you would fancy the Sacrirans." Mattias spoke with a grin. "Yes, do you think they would allow me to study them!?" Kelzor spoke excitedly. "Perhaps they will allow me a feather from their bodies, or present themselves to me anatomical study!" "OH OH!" "They may allow me access to their deceased!!" Kelzor spoke with scientific interest.

"It sounds you still collect and dissect butterflies, Kelzor!" Lord Asher mocked. "I bet he plays with multicolored water in jars!" Lord Creuzfeldt added with a chuckle. Behind them Lords Kazarian, Malachai, and Vanderpoole laughed. "Pay no heed to them my friend let us leave their presence." Lord Herrock spoke as he dragged Lord Roseum along. "Just so you know, that multicolored water has a name!" "It's called Chemicals!!" Kelzor egged on. Then Mattias did his best to rush him along. Soon they were with other friends. "Ah Andru, Lavarius pleasure to see you two again as well!" Lord Herrock spoke to Lords Tobin and Nestor respectively. "Hello, Lord Herrock and Lord Roseum!" Spoke Lord Tobin. "Please you may just call me Mattias, we are friends after all." Herrock smiled. "Yes, sorry I keep on forgetting." Tobin spoke slightly ashamed. "Hello Mattias and Kelzor." "Quite the assembly today." Lord Lavarius Nestor spoke. "You couldn't be more correct my friend, quite funny isn't it?" "To have visitors from another land." Spoke Herrock. "Oh I think it's fascinating!" Kelzor added. "As curious as always Kelzor?" Spoke Lavarius.

"Of course he is!" Herrock entered. "We all are!" He spoke with a smile. "Well, I'm sure they would bring something new eh?" Andru nervously added. "Most possibly." Mattias replied. "We shall see in the coming months." "In the meantime I would like to invite you all to dinner, would any of you be able to attend?" Mattias asked. Lord Herrock was soon replied with an yes by everyone. "Excellent meet me at my Manor at Kingsroad by Seven." Lord Herrock spoke as the friends soon dismissed each other as well.


The impact of the Sacriran refugees was, a blessing or a misfortune, depending on who felt the impact. While the Monasteries did enlighten new and young, eager Valeish within it's walls, it did bring ire of the National Clergy. Most importantly to The Bishops. At first The Clergy disregarded the Sacriran Monasteries as small timers, or worthless of any person's time. Yet, the affects The Sacrirans brought seemed to have a deeper spiritual connection than even The National Clergy could give. This threatened many of the established Churches. Bishops were regularly sending Deacons to bring word to the Archbishop and their words would not go unheeded. The Archbishop thought it prudent to sort of have a war to win over more followers. The Archbishop ordered Heralds to spew propaganda of following the National Clergy has the best in mind for the people! He also had parchments set up all across community boards every where, spreading the word of the Clergy trying to draw in more hopefuls. They even trained their Priests to act much more homely and warm to tempt more people to remain. The Priests also set up regular events at their Churches to not only draw in more, but also reward those faithful. These propaganda tactics have meet with success, as their recent plummet of parishioners has started to erase itself. Soon The Clergy regained a healthy amount of followers, but it was never again at the same numbers as before. This was much to the dismay of the Bishops.

The Clergy was not the only people to have sort of negativity towards the Sacrirans. Their agriculture was, undeniably more successful than local Valeish farmers. This has led to resentment, as their farms are declining as the majority of the demand is for Sacriran grown produce. This especially hit the small farms and ranches, as they could not keep up with the Sacrirans and had to close down. These poor Valeish Farmers were frightfully upset and wanted something done. They went to their local Municipal Governments to have something done. But the Government Officials spoke that no wrong has been done, no law has been broken on their account. This made these farmers quite upset as they left the Municipal Government in even more bad spirits. These citizens were becoming agitated and even began talk of aggression towards Sacriran Farms. They considered burning them down. They were not alone in support however, even the successful Valeish Farms have lost much of it's consumer base, bringing them down into poverty. They still survive, but they have had to relinquish much of their lands for they could no longer pay to keep it managed. Losing much of their farmhands, and therefor losing more crops bring them further into poverty. They had never suspected the Sacriran Agriculture would be this successful, and this has made them upset.

Then of course those in High Society, look down of the Sacrirans as foreigner garbage. Many of the Nobles find them horrid and rather worthless. They often scoff at the feathered beings and soon discriminatory, and derogatory jokes and comments were made. The success of these words have trickled down into normal society and any who have resentment towards these visitors often use these words as well. Yet even the Nobles could see the success of the Sacrirans here in the Country of Valeora. While some prefer to remain traditional even going as far as to buy Valeish only made products. And supporting Valeish made and operated businesses. Some have considered using them. Their healing and products could make even more of them wealthy and often try and coerce secrets from them. Some even send Couriers and have them speak offering some to work at their homes as residential gardeners or nurses. While they may offer work as servants they still treat them as lower compared to them. Some Valeish even go up to the Sacrirans and demand services, as if they are there for entertainment only. Which coincidentally they do enjoy the tournaments. Yet, some come in hopes to see one of the competitors seriously harmed or injured.

Despite the negativity obviously brewing much of society enjoys their visitors. At first they were strange to them, but seeing as they want to help they most appreciate it. While health care was a bit underfunded The Sacrirans have really boosted interest in the healing arts. Resulting in many to seek Sacrirans for teaching in the ways of medicine and healthcare. Others enjoy the products of the Sacrirans and really enjoy the affordable prices. Their arts and crafts entertain many a Valeish, some even coming to Sacrirans as Art Students. A surge of authors came from this as more Valeish became novelists and wrote of their lives or their culture, or even fiction. The Valeish that do enjoy them find their being here the will of Mathias. While a new movement of Anti-Sacriran propaganda has arisen. Focusing on the premise of "This Sacred and Selected Land Belongs To Those Who Were Chosen" meaning Mathias gave them the Valley only for The Valeish and the Sacrirans should not be welcomed. Yet those in opposition claim that no being should go without care and consideration. All deserve the right to live wherever, and be protected wherever, for it is the Will of Mathias that these unfortunate people are to be sheltered here in their land. So much dissent goes on between those that are Retainers (Con-Sacriran Deportation) and the Expellers (Pro-Sacriran Deportation).


Constabulary-Seventh-Cliff Precinct
Crime Scene- Brokandry Street
Investigator- Oleandru Nevitt


Back in the city of Azermaine, The Constabulary received a letter a day after the disappearance of a couple. Rogan Talmoth and Cinthia Calrow. Soon a squad was sent to the last known location of the couple, a small corner cafe on Brokandry Street. There Investigative Officer Oleandru Nevitt was on the scene. What brought him back here was a more than suspicious coincidence. This abduction was near the one Miss Durain was taken. While the Seventh-Cliff Precinct declared it cold, Oleandru Nevitt sought to rekindle the fire. He and several other Iron Backs were canvassing the populace. The only thing they all seemed to get was how foggy that night was. Which was odd, fog hardly ever happens here, it sometimes comes up from the river below the huge canyon in which Azermaine is built into but, they all claimed the fog was uncommonly thick. Meaning no one would have been able to see any details even if they tried. Since finding witness seemed to be a dead end, the only lead they have is to comb the streets.

Nevitt searched up and down Brokandry and found nothing. Would this happen again, twice in a week an abductor manages to kidnap three people? Oleandru then thought to himself, No! I mustn't give up! Any crime leaves behind some sort of clue, some sort of evidence! I just need to broaden my search. With stubborn determination, Oleandru continued to search in hopes of finding something. It wasn't until he was called around the corner when when an Constable found something curious. Oleandru headed right on his flank as he stood next to him. "What is it Officer Varble?" Asked Nevitt. "Sir I found something you may want to look at." Varble did lead Nevitt around a corner on to Sanchester Way, and there he found blood and most of all, a weapon. "Thank you Varble!" "You may have just turned this case around!" Nevitt spoke excitedly. "Just doing my job sir." Officer Varble replied.

Nevitt closely examined the piece of discarded timber. It would seem the Abductor knocked out his victims with this. He's becoming smarter, he knows trying to drag a conscious victim leaves too much to chance. Knocking them out removes the struggle leading to an easier abduction, not to mention the cover of the fog would obscure any vision as to who done it. This abductor must be stopped, that much is certain as Oleandru stared at the timber. "Have you found anything else?" Asked Nevitt. "No sir, but I thought you would be able to deduce that and all." Officer Varble spoke a bit hesitantly. "Quite alright, I shall look down the alley with any luck more clues could be left behind." "Make sure no one else enters this alley I need time to investigate." Nevitt ordered as Varble went to blockade any civilians. As Oleandru set out to investigate the alley the one thing he went to search for was a large gathering of blood. Since there are two victims he assumed the Abductor would have to leave one behind in order to deliver just one victim. Normally taking two people would be too much of a hassle, but with the cover of fog he would have enough time to do so. While he searched it became more clear that he did carry to people at one time. It was remarkable, the abductor must have great strength to pull this off. Perhaps they should search for a heavily-muscled suspect?

Despite this setback nothing else could be found of anything that would tell him where his killer is or who he is. Except for the piece of timber. He returned and then asked Varble, "Please send a retrieval unit, I want this piece of timber collected and make sure they keep it secure." "Of course sir." Responded Varble as he moved off to do what he was told. Soon more Iron Backs came and brought a small chest with them as they went to carefully place the timber inside and then locked it. "Good." "I shall request on my desk as soon as possible." Nevitt ordered. "But why sir?" One of the Constables asked. "Because I have an idea." Nevitt spoke as the Retrieval Unit did as they were told. Soon Nevitt left the scene and returned to Seventh-Cliff Precinct where he would be greeted by his fellow officers. Soon he arrived at his desk with a fellow Iron Hound as well. "So Oleandru, quite the case you have youself there." Spoke Investigative Officer Lolan Desbrook. "Yes quite." Nevitt spoke as he opened the chest. "So a piece of bloodied wood is all you got?" Lolan asked. "Unfortunately, but it will be useful if what I have planned works." Oleandru spoke in a serious tone. "Well what is your plan, might I ask?" Lolan spoke. "I am going to bring to the one person who could make sense of anything, Doctor Heyfeldt." Oleandru spoke with conviction. "Heyfeldt? The crazed antiquarian?" "Surely you have a better plan than that?" Lolan almost mockingly spoke. "Doctor Heyfeldt has a curious skill with alchemy and his love of antiques will help us out." Oleandru spoke. "How?" Lolan asked. "He can use these potions to deduce a history of an object." Oleandru explained. "Yeah like any so called Antiquarian can do." Lolan added. "Yes, but with one big addition, he can also tell who held it." Oleandru almost melodically spoke. "Ah, wise." "So when are you going to meet the old loon?" Asked Lolan. "Right away." Answered Oleandru spoke as he closed the chest and then prepared to leave. Hoping the Doctor could tell him what he needed.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Mathias Character Portrait: Crymadolos
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Melek – Valeish cultist of the Idol
Azermain – Melek’s household

Fire raged all around him as Melek stood in the broken down door of his home. Smoke blinded him even as it stung his eyes to the point the tears wouldn’t stop flowing. From upstairs he could hear the shrill shrieks of his daughter. He was back again. Back at the day of his greatest failure. He remembered every minute detail. The creaking of the chair he received from his wife’s father when the last one he gave broke, it burned in a magnificent shade of orange. The smouldering remains of the cabinet he kept his writings on the possibilities and potential of other gods besides Mathias. Even as he watched the raging inferno that took everything from him, he reflected on the fact he had never been a particularly pious man, or even serious follower of Mathias. He kept up pretences for the sake of civility, but never truly embraced his lord. He stomach clenched as he crouched to take a deep breath of what little air remained. His wife was upstairs. He had to go safe her, futile though he knew it was. With desperate strength he ran up the stairs, even as flames hungry for his flesh licked at his leg, destroying it fully, though he did not know it when this was actually happening. He simply wanted to safe his family. The shrieks grew louder as he approached what he knew was the master bedroom. He readied himself to kick down the door with what little strength remained in him. If only he knew it meant he would see the ceiling collapse. If only he knew it meant he’d see into the eyes of his family one last time, to be forever haunted by the sight. With a roar he kicked with all his might, stumbling and rolling through the door when it gave way.

When he opened his eyes the smoke and fire was gone. Only fog remained. The floor beneath him was no longer made of wood, but of grass and dirt instead. Was he still dreaming? It felt so real and he was no longer forced to re-enact that horrible moment. He carefully got up off the soft ground and looked around. Fog, as far as the eye could see, which wasn’t very far at all. He could barely see his own feet through the fog and could feel its humidity enter his lungs with every breath. Suddenly, a hand appeared on his shoulder, as if materializing from the fog itself, followed by a soft voice. ”Don’t be afraid.” Melek spun round, eyes suddenly locking with a pair of startling blue eyes. The eyes belonged to a pale, white haired woman, dressed in some manner of fur coat utterly foreign to Melek. His mouth stood agape as he stared at the woman. Upon noticing it, the woman smiled brightly. Melek was stunned once more at the ease the woman showed when it came to emotions. What had been a face contorted by worry before had now transferred to a perfect face worthy of a thousand pictures. Melek shook his head as he realized he was staring with what was no doubt lecherous intent. ”Who are you?” He asked, his voice sounding softer and more fragile than he would have liked. The woman’s smile faded ever so slightly, before she answered. ”I am Kaquya, lady of the mists. I wish we had more time to get to know each other, but there is no time. I am here to warn you, before my father finds you.”

Melek stared at her once more, but this time in confusion. A million questions fought in his mind, each wishing to gain dominance over the other so that the question might be asked. Who was this woman, really? How come Melek could understand her, despite her not being Valeish? None were asked in the end, as the woman continued without caring for the question’s battle for dominance. ”The Idol won’t save you. You should get rid of it, turn it over to a priest and be done with it. It’s far too dangerous to carry. It’ll manifest soon…” Just as it seemed she were to come to the most pivotal moment of her conversation, she stopped. A sudden dread crawled up Melek’s spine and his breathing suddenly became laboured. Even without seeing, he could feel something approach. Something which cared nothing for his life and would have no qualms or problems ending it. Her face suddenly wrought with concern again, the woman said only one more thing. ”Get rid of it, while you still live!” Melek tried, but he could not make out the last words. From all around him darkness was rushing in and it was as if she was suddenly speaking from very far away. Melek reached out with one hand, to no avail.

With a gasp Melek awakened. What was that? Was it truly a dream. Melek shook his head to shake of drowsiness and brought a hand to his face. As it had before, it came back painted red with the blood running like tears from his eyes. With a grunt he wiped his hand on his pants and looked around. When his eyes travelled down to his lap he noticed the Idol was laying there. Had he brought it with him? He could specifically remember placing it on the altar. Even as he pondered about its location he noticed a new change. The Idol was cracked and from the cracks now slowly trickled a white substance, almost like fog. He couldn’t tell. He needed light. With ease remarkable even to himself he got out of his bed and walked to his desk. He placed the idol there and waved his hand and said a few words to light the candles. The sudden explosion of fire nearly burned his eyebrows off. He stared, partially frightened, partially amazed as his desk slowly burned. The Idol had blessed him once more! Sudden footsteps sounded from the hallway. Melek only had time to swing round to face the door to his modest chambers before the priest walked in, his face set in an ugly grimace, his eyes hard and focused. When the man noticed the fire and the Idol on the desk he sneered before speaking. ”You’ve been through a lot Melek. But my patience with you and your little Idol is at an end. I don’t know what it did to you, but this is not right.” The man’s nostrils flared even as his eyes screamed barely contained fury. ”I know what you did. I was too late, but I finally know. How could you! In the house of our lord, no less.” As the man approached Melek suddenly noticed how large the man truly was. A man of thick muscles and hard edges. When the man grabbed Melek by the shoulders and squeezed, Melek screamed, waving his hands frantically.

Suddenly, the man caught fire. With a scream of terror he led go and began hitting his sides with his open hands to put the fire out. Melek panted, as he watched the man panic more and more. A nervous giggle escaped from Melek’s throat, even as he waved his hands again and spoke more words. With a sudden burst the man combusted, his screams growing intensely loud before entirely fading away, even as what was once a man fell to the ground. A grin crept over Melek’s face as he hurried over to the Idol. The cracks were slowly spreading even as more fog poured out. In his head, Melek could hear it. It wasn’t making sense, but then, it never had. But he still understood it, as he always had. It was almost free, just a few more moments! Melek cackled as he set the Idol on the altar and took a few steps back, taking in the power flowing from the Idol, waiting for the moment it’d be free and give him the power to punish all those who had spurned him, all those who had and would hurt him. Almost…

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Mathias Character Portrait: Adarani Character Portrait: Torsc and Riomu Character Portrait: Crymadolos
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The Valeish


Secret Meeting

The small group watched as the one they have summoned, appeared. And of course the Sacriran was tense, and prepared for attack. Even alone they so foolishly allow themselves to become victimized. Yet, this was a meeting of business not war. As they small group of Valeish watched Abnersa there hands near weapons themselves if needed. When a cloaked Valeish stood out above the group.

"Welcome Abnersa, I presume?" The Valeish spoke in a whimsical tone. "There is no requirement for such defensiveness, you are safe here." The Valeish spoke. "I understand you must be horribly confused as to why, we called for you." The Valeish spoke as he begun to pace. "Well the matter is quite simple really." "I understand you hate us and well, we don't much care for you either, but," The cloaked Valeish paused in both is speech and movement, "It doesn't mean we cannot benefit from each other." He spoke. "We have something that should be of great interest towards you Abnersa." "For we have the very documents that will decide the future of your war efforts." "Remember what happened at the High Court?" "When this Hanryyt, appeared and presented documents to some of our people." "Well these documents have very, very important details, internal, private details, and if they happened to end up in the hands of the, West Consul, your war effort will be...ceased." He spoke.

"Now why am I telling you this?" "It's because I am willing to be professional here, and assist you." The Valeish man spoke. "I ask of you to act the same, as I am here to give you a proposition." The Valeish man then paused.
"We are on the verge of collapse, we the Expellers, and all of our efforts will end, unless the Sacrirans leave of their own accord." "What I ask you is this," he then paused, "Convince your people to leave our lands forever, and I will present to you these documents to do with as you wish." The Valeish man offered. "You will receive them once the last Sacriran exits this land." "If you fail to cooperate with us or do anything to betray us, then we will mail these documents to the West Consul and your efforts will be in vain." The Valeish man warned. "Do we have a deal?" The Valeish man asked as he held out his hand for a confirming handshake.


The Town of Trisinad

The Valeish were going about their daily routines that day. Blissfully unaware of the world beyond the mountain walls of the valley. The town is rather sleepy, as activity is dull and slow in the town of Trisinad. Everyone stuck in a mundane cycle. Despite the exciting news going on at the White Capitol, the Valeish at Trisinad are not lucky to have such riot. That was until one unsuspecting woman looked up at the sky. Her blood curdling scream was heard by those around her as Valeish of all shapes and sizes looked up to see the aircraft. They stared in awe as some ran for their homes. A Valeish Constable ran to the scene. "What's going on?!" He asked. The people pointed and with speed from for the Constable's Office. "Sirs!" "We have a situation!" The entirety of the Trisinad police force came running to see this spectacle.

Unsure of what to do the Shrievalty or Sheriff of the town asked for a courier. One such came and the Sheriff asked to bring word to the city of Bristiel and tell the Municipal Mayor to send word to the capitol. The courier rode by his horse for Bristiel from there word will be sent to King Telondris in Kelzekia. In the mean time the Valeish stared in a mixture of awe, horror, and suspicion. They were not sure what may happen.


Kolson Wells-Sacriran Tea Shop

After the handshake Marilaiku asked if she could sit at the table. Then Kolson looked towards her and spoke, "If you wish." Kolson spoke. His mind half-focused on her and the other half focused on business at the academy. It was until then his tea was finally brought to him. "Here is the House Brew." A young Valeish man spoke as he handed him the hot cup of tea. "Yes, thank you." Kolson spoke as the young man bowed and the left. He blew the steam off the top and took a small sip. Then placed the cup back on it's plate coaster. It helped eased his thoughts but worriment still pressed through.


City of Azermaine-Tooley Street
Constabulary-Seventh Cliff Precinct
Investigator-Oleandru Nevitt


Investigative Officer Oleandru Nevitt stood at the base of the steps to the apartment at which the crazed Doctor Heyfeldt lived. As he stood there, Desbrook (Who came for a laugh), stood next to Oleandru. "So you really are going through with this madness Nevitt?" Desbrook rhetorically asked. "Well just because you might not care about this investigation, doesn't mean I do." Oleandru defended. "Oh it's not that I don't, I just know this is a waste of time." Desbrook responded. Oleandru only shook his head as he walked up the steps to the door of the apartment. He then knocked. "Open up this is the Constabulary!" "We only want to talk." Nevitt stated as he waited for a response. "Brilliant Nevitt, I'm pretty sure if I was a loon I would still have the mind not to answer to the Constables!" Desbrook criticized. Oleandru then looked towards him, "What you find procedures a waste of time too?" Oleandru retorted. Then the door opened when a young woman answered.

"May I help you officers?" she asked. "Yes, we would like a word-" Then Oleandru was interrupted, "What my friend here means we would like to see the good doctor beautiful." Lolan spoke as he gave a playful wink and a smile. "Yes, Doctor Heyfeldt is this way." The woman did lead them, completely ignoring Desbrook's advances. Oleandru could only sigh in annoyance. "What?" Lolan whimsically asked. As they entered deeper into the complex. The hallways seemed litter with pictures and objects. All seem old in their appearance. Soon they came upon a disorganized, and messy lab. Filled with loose papers, texts, and vials. The woman then knocked on the door gentley. "HM!? What!?" Doctor Heyfeldt nearly jumped out of his skin as he looked to see his assistant. "Oh Aliandra!" "Didn't see you there." Doctor Heyfeldt spoke. "Whose this here?" He asked. "Yes sir these are two officers here to see you." She spoke as she then left the guests with him. "Yes come here chaps!" "I am quite busy on some really exciting matters." "Yet, what can I do ya for?" "Oh and please don't mind me, I have a connection of ideas and don't wish to lose sight of them!" Doctor Heyfeldt spoke rather erratically. "Yes sir well I was hoping you can tell me more about this." Oleandru presented him a chest.

"Hm?" Doctor Heyfeldt took a quick look at the chest. "Jaymander Woodworks, Circa 293 3A, Birch, common storage item, used by your Constabulary." The Doctor spoke as he went about his business. Desbrook looked astonished and then Oleandru spoke. "No sir not the chest but what's in it." Nevitt spoke as he opened it. The Doctor took a quick look through his sporadic movements and the gasped and stepped back. "What?!" "What is it!?" Nevitt asked concerned. "Blood!" "I hate blood!" Doctor Heyfeldt spoke. "I'm sorry to hear that but please I need your skills to help tell me who held this piece of lumber." Nevitt pleaded then the Doctor carefully took it out. "Timber, cut short off of a 2x4 plank, used in construction, originally made in Jorsen's Lumber Mill." Doctor Heyfeldt spoke. "The blood, A positive and...O positive?" Doctor Heyfeldt spoke some what confused. "Yes two people were struck with this weapon." Nevitt explained. "Yes, yes that is certain." The Doctor agreed. "What I need though is you to tell me who has held this, it's history." Nevitt asked. Doctor Heyfeldt looked towards him and then gave a smirk, "I have been wanting to try something." Doctor Heyfeldt then quickly runs to his desk and then wipes the table clean, to show an intricate circle. "Now then boys, allow me to show you the magic of alchemy!" He spoke with glee as he it would seem at random he poured potions upon the wood. "Now then." He added some powder and the circle glowed with unnatural light as the wood caught a flame with a blue flame. "What in the Inferno are you doing!?" Desbrook shouted. "Lolan wait." Nevitt spoke. "He's burning your evidence Nevitt!" "He has to stop!" Lolan shouted. "Hush, you two I'm not burning it!" The Doctor spat. Soon the fire revealed finger prints all along the board. "Now it will take me some time top decipher the prints, but rest assured it will be done swiftly." "Aliandra!" He called. "Yes Doctor." She spoke. "Take these men to the kitchen and give them something to drink while they wait." He ordered. "Yes, Doctor, come with me." She spoke as she took the men's sleeves and dragged them. "But wait the evidence." Desbrook protested but was rushed along.

It was some minutes later when the Doctor came into the room and told them of his discoveries. He gave them names, but not just names but the time frames of when the names held the items. The latest names were people from the Constabulary and were not the killers then those that held the piece of lumber before were a few people who could fit into the time frame of the abductions. There was a Garbage collector named Garin Tessem, a bookstore owner named Tobe Kesster, and a Priest's Acolyte named Melek. The Investigators thanked Doctor Heyfeldt for his help and took the evidence with them, but Oleandru was brought back for a quick, whispered warning. "Becareful Officer, the fingerprints also brought up traces of some very dark magic." Doctor Heyfeldt warned as Aliandra showed them out. "So will you still accompany me to dinner?" Desbrook asked as she closed the door on the both of them. "She really likes to make you work for it." Desbrook smirked. "Please she probably finds you nauseating." Oleandru joked. "Oh now you have a sense of humor!" Desbrook spoke equally amused. "Besides how can she find this face nauseating?" Lolan laughed as did Oleandru. Despite the lightheartedness, Oleandru had names and once he returned to the Constabulary, he asked for files on the three names. It gave them locations and home addresses, and families. It was time to find their culprit.