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[Vortigern]

As they wound their way along the mountainside path, the trees began to thicken and the darkness became more complete. As the canopy grew more impenetrable, Naian too began to lose her bearings without the stars to guide her. Maybe it was the nature of night, that inherent fear of the dark in all things, maybe it was because she had spent so long trapped in a dark cell, but Naian was on edge, more so now than she had been at any time in the arena or during their break for freedom. Slight rustlings in the leaves, the screeching sounds of owls out hunting, the dry crack of the dirt under their feet, all made her nerves jangle more with every passing minute.

The path took them into a small clearing, wherein Naian was granted a look at the skies once more. She paused in her path to look up, but her attention was swiftly brought back to more present concerns as Morion let out a little 'Oh'. Instantly her swords were drawn as she realised that they had suddenly become surrounded by hooded foes.

"Hail Feruilen," announced Morion, regaining his composure.

"What does a human know of our gods?" demanded one of the figures.

"Not much," admitted the aforementioned human. "Not as much as I know about your king. He's an old friend."

"Put your swords away, girl," said a different figure, stepping forward. Naian did not move. "We're not going to hurt you."

"Then why are you stalking the woods clad in cloaks and shadows?" she demanded. The one who had spoken to her laughed, and raised a hand to his hood, pulling it down to reveal his face. Naian lowered her swords then, as much out of shock as out of acceptance of the man's word. Man? That can't be right, she thought. Across his face and neck and, she suspected, the rest of his body, though she could not be sure of that, were dark swirls and patches of skin, giving his skin the look of a man dappled in moonlight, but she could see that was not the answer. This strange man really did have swathes of skin in that mysterious hue. Then she noted his ears; pointed and slim like those of an elf.

"What's the matter?" he asked, uncomfortably watching her looking agape at him. "You never seen a deathknelf before?" Naian could not think of a remotely intelligent response, so she settled for the obvious choice.

"No." The painted man shrugged. Deathknelf? she thought. That's who Morion was talking about. He must have expected this. As she stared, the deathknelf suddenly drew back, sword raised and levelled at Vam'brac the Vyre's throat. The poor little creature had simply tried to get a closer look at the deathknelf's face. Naian suspected he too had never seen one of their kind.

"Why is this scum still alive?" he demanded, apparently withholding the killing blow should Naian or Morion care to offer a satisfactory explanation, but he looked eager to dispatch the Vyre immediately.

"Because he helped us escape from where we were held captive," said Morion, stepping forward and placing a hand on the deathknelf's sword, pushing it down. "I was led to believe Shadowfang Keep had become a place of tolerance, understanding and shared knowledge under King Rethalar's guidance. This hardly seems to enforce that opinion."

"Tolerance is all well and good, but Vyre are mindless killers who only seek to feed."

"Not any more," said Vam'brac, startling the deathknelf.

"Bring them all along," ordered the first deathknelf, for such he was now revealed to be; the six figures had now all lowered their hoods, and Naian saw that each of them had different markings on their faces, of different colours, shapes, textures, patterns... One had stripes dark brown, almost black, whereas the one she had spoken to had fairly pale purple, maybe a couple of shades darker than the flowers of the lavender bushes. "We'll ask the King himself whether he counts you among his friends." There was an ominous note to the deathknelf's tone that Naian did not miss. From what she had surmised of Morion, she suspected he may well be the kind of man to have 'friends' who would not take kindly to seeing him again.

[Copaman]

The trip in to Shadowfang Keep was not necessarily a long one - Shadowfang as a kingdom was not much more than the Keep itself. The sentinels, with Morion and Naian in tow, stopped first at their outpost. After reporting their findings and what actions they were taking, a replacement contingent was sent out and the group sent towards the Keep.

After the siege of the Maughold and the Reclamation, Shadowfang was (somewhat) restored in an incredibly and timely fashion. While the debt owed to King Rethalar and his people by the Kingdom of Envael was a large one, it could not possibly restore the city to its former greatness - time had given the city its original greatness, and only time could restore it.

The true issue with reconstruction of the Keep was the kingdom's lack of natural resources. The only things truly abundant were the trees and manpower, and with the Deathknelve being elfkin, the trees were not disposable. Politics, a legacy of military prowess, and some key trade routes fixed this issue for the new king and his kingdom. Shadowfang began an interesting trade plan shortly after the walls were repaired and the gates operational: the Keep became an enclave for warriors of all races and all kingdoms, in exchange for raw materials from those kingdoms. When kingdoms ceased sending materials, their warriors were politely asked to leave. So long as Shadowfang was receiving materials, however, foreign warrors were being trained within its walls - a first ever for the deathknelven people. King Rethalar promoted unity and acceptance of all within his kingdom's boundaries (unbeknownst to the general public and world at large, a much higher concentration of border sentinels was placed along Shadowfang's border with Imbara... the keep was hard to win back. None of the deathknelve want to lose it).

Morion and the sentinels arrived at the main gates well before sunrise. Even with the scant illumination of torches, the Keep looked... grander than Morion could remember. Inside the Keep, signs of construction were plainly visible - scaffoldings were present on nearly every street. The streets were devoid of life, save the occasional patrolling guard or passing messenger boy. In the open streets, the deathknelve walked without hoods or other identity concealers; Vam'brac and Naian were able to get plenty of observation time in at the unique characteristics of the species.

After climbing a small hill for a while, the group passed through an inner gate, then another, and yet another. Like the Maughold, Shadowfang Keep was a concentric city built up against a mountain. With each successive gate, the construction was much less obvious and the buildings larger and more perfect, until finally they arrived at the Keep itself. The massive castle sat behind a towering wall with one single gate: a giant, solid slab of iron brought to the kingdom by the dwarves in the mountains above them. Upon reaching the gaping mouth of the final wall, they were stopped by one last station of sentinels, this time in regal uniform with emblazoned tunics and polearms.

Because Tom really needs a royal guard, mused Morion.

A guard looked to the sentinel with the lavender stripes. "What's your business in the keep?"

"We found this band of travelers passing our border a few hours ago. They say they were kidnapped by the Embaru and were lucky to escape. This one," he nodded to Morion, "claims to be an old friend of His Majesty's. So we thought we'd see if he really is. Otherwise, figure out what they're doing here."

"Fair enough, but the King and Queen are sleeping, like most of the city. I don't want to be the one to wake them."

Purple stripes opened his mouth to talk again, but Morion jumped in: "I really don't think he'll mind you waking him up. Especially when he finds out who's here to see him. Do you know your King personally?"

"We've met, yes."

"No. Do you know him? Did you spend months with him, narrowly averting death on several occasions? Did you stay in the same inn as he did for months on end? Did you survive a siege of the greatest human capital city with him?"

"No. I can't say I have. But those are some pretty mazing claims you make, sir."

"Well then. I suggest that you send someone to go wake the King. Apologize to his wife for stealing him from their bed. It's been too long since I've seen him last."

"And if we find you're a lier?"

"Do what you will with me and the rest of those you found crossing your border."

"Fair enough."


The guard nodded and a messenger boy ran off towards the true doors of the keep, a set of solid wooden double doors several hundred meters back from the wall and the iron slab. As the boy crossed the green, Morion sat down and adjusted his belongings to make himself slightly more comfortable. As the doors shut with a resounding slam, he turned to Naian and the rest of the band. "Won't be long now. How would you like to sleep in a bed tonight and have fresh linens waiting for you in the morning?"

[Copaman]

The boy made his way through the keep, past halls where important meetings and fancy balls take place. He went up several flights of stairs and turned a sharp corner, where he was met by a door. He opened the door as quietly as he could and began walking through the corridors of the royal dormitory. After a few corners and another set of stairs, he was not permitted to go any further and had to pass his message on to a sentry guarding what the boy figured was the hallway containing the king's chamber as well as lavish rooms housing other important political figures and any high-profile guests to the Keep.

What the boy didn't know is that his king chose to have the sentry guard a completely empty, dead end hallway. Any would-be assassins would get only as far as the end of the hallway - the king, and all of his political "friends" were housed in a completely different wing of the keep. The sentry herself was a Watcher; from her post on the far side of the keep, she contacted the bedroom attendants in the king's chamber. We're being asked to wake His Highness by the sentries out at the gate. They say that one of the King's old friends is here to see him.

At this hour?

The border sentries found him and a few others crossing our border with Imbara a few hours ago. He claims they were captured by the Embaru, but managed to escape, and now find themselves here.

And if they're lying, and just trying to get to the King?

Gods help them.

Fair enough. I'll wake him.

===

The bedroom attendant was a relatively young elf maiden, a close friend of the Queen's. She went to their bed and placed her hands on his arm gently, and began to sing a quiet, soothing song while shaking his arm gently. The idea was to bring him out of his slumber relatively slowly as opposed to quickly - she knew that his reaction would be much better than if she simply startled him awake.

Her plan worked, and slowly he began to stir. He rolled over on to his back, stretched his arms, and then opened his eyes. "Yes, Aesina?"

"My apologies, You Majesty, but the border sentinels say they found one of your good friends crossing in to our lands - from Imbara."

"At this hour?"

"Yes. I'm sorry. He, and the people with him, claim to have escaped from the Embaru and are seeking refuge. The man wants to see you, if you'd be willing to see him."

"What man?"

"He's told the sentinels his name is Morion. Do you know him?"

"Yes. I know him very well. Do you know where my regular clothes are? And could you please have a chamber readied for him, with fresh linens and some clothes for him as well? And please put the housing staff on standby. His guests are my guests."

"Yes, Milord. Regular clothes?"

"You know, like the ones I wear when I don't feel like getting all dressed up and being kingly? Even my training clothes would be fine."

"Ah. You have fresh training clothes waiting for you on the stand by your equipment. I will go let the housing staff know of your wishes."

"Thank you, Aesina. You're great."

"Thank you, Majesty."

Tom rolled himself out of bed and took one step to reach the stand Aesina was talking about. He kept his armor and his swords close by at all times. He dressed quickly, kissed his stirring wife to reassure her, and made his way out of the room and down towards the green.

[Copaman]

Tom pushed the twin doors open and strode out into the night. "Let them come," he called to the guards. He greeted Morion somewhere in the middle of the green, first shaking hands with him and then pulling him in to a brotherly hug.

"Morion, you dog, what have you got yourself into this time?" he asked with a laugh.

"I'm sure you've heard all about it already. The important parts, anyway."

"Yeah... I get to hear all the important everythings these days. Who're your friends?"

Naian bowed to the figure she presumed was the king-friend Morion spoke of. "I am Naian Blackblades, of Fenrig. You are the King Rethalar, sir?"

"That's me, yes. If you'd like, you can call me Tom. Sometimes I really get tired of all the formalities. I'm sorry but I'm afraid I've never been the good host type... come inside and I'll show you your quarters? It's a little late - or maybe early? - for social drinks and foods I think, but there's always tomorrow. I can promise you good food and drink. I've brought in some great cooks. Anyway. How does a bed sound?"

"A bed sounds great, Tom," replied Morion. "I've got to tell you what's happened in the morning."

Tom motioned to the group, and they all began to file in to the keep. "Tell me over breakfast. I'm afraid I have to do that whole Kingship thing tomorrow once or twice, but I'll see what I can get out of. Stick around for a few days? It's great to see you. Nobody visits nearly as often as they should."

"Absolutely. Staying in decent quarters - let alone these - for a few days could do wonders."

==

Upon arriving in their section of the royal dormitory, Tom showed each member of Morion's party their room. "The housing staff have prepared your beds and a fresh set of clothes or two for you. I ask that you wear the tunics I've provided for you while you stay here; they bear my symbol and so you'll be treated properly. My workers will wash all of your current clothes for you, and will wash your tunics daily. There's always someone in the halls so if you need anything during the night feel free to ask. I'm glad you made it here in one piece Morion. Everyone else, glad to meet you, sleep well, see you in the morning."

[some_weirdGuy]

((seen as the two other humans in the group have remained nameless, i shall now take the liberty of naming them Durnic and Breda. Durnic was the 'hulking man with the scar running down his face', who swung a club in one of my previous posts, and Breda is his brother))

During the entire exchange Vam'brac had, for lack of a better term, hidden behind his fellows... or perhaps that was the best term for it, as he had literally clung to Durnic's shirt, trying to hold the man in place as a prop to hide behind, not that it really have stopped Durnic from moving if the man had wanted to. Vam'brac also kept his head down for the whole time, under the hope that the king would just assume he was human like all the other members in the party.

"You can let go now, Vam'brac," said Durnic when the king walked off, pulling his shirt free as the Vyre let go.
"Sorry Vam'Durnic, I just got a little... nervous. I have never been in the presence of another race's... De- uh, KaDem," replied Vam'brac.
During their journey Vam'brac and the brothers Breda and Durnic had gotten to talking. At first they had remained distant from the Vyre, but after Brac's first exchange with the deathknelve he wasn't about to walk at the front, so he had stayed back with them, and as they went the three had become a little better acquainted.
"'Nother race's what?" said Breda, adding himself to the conversation
"KaDem... it means uh, king... I suppose."
To be honest, KaDem was a word Vam'brac had to make up on the spot, being a conjunction of Ka, (usually used to describe something relating to or belonging to men, such as Ka'hemash, Men's work,) and Dem, which is used when addressing a female. (In Vyre society the various tribes on the Isle are all lead by females, resulting in 'leader' and 'female' becoming synonymous). He hoped it would be considered 'right'.

It was a very strange concept for Vam'brac to come to terms with back when he found out that most societies are lead by non-female leaders, but it had never been a concern. However now was the first time he had been left in the predicament of what title to attach to these male queens.

KaDem will have to do, I suppose, he thought to himself.

[Vortigern]

Having bathed, eaten and chosen a new set of clothes from the wardrobe provided - plain cream-coloured cotton trews tucked into her knee-high black leather boots, loose dark-blue cotton shirt with a scarlet silk sash in the Envaelu fashion running across from her right shoulder - Naian felt herself ready to face the world once again. The deathknelf king, Tom - a mystery indeed, is that one - or Rethalar, she supposed might be more appropriate, given that she had barely made his acquaintance as yet, had invited their little party to dine at his table. He really did seem happy to learn of Morion's adventures. Once again she found herself wondering about Morion. Handsome and intelligent, for sure, and skilled enough with a blade for her father to approve of him, but there was something she found offputting about him, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Maybe it was the mystery surrounding every aspect of his life. How did a man with an assassin's sword come to be a friend of the deathknelf king? What was he doing in the mountains before his capture? What other paradoxes and confusions would there be the more she learned about him?

There would be time to dwell on that later. Right now her host was ready to receive her. Outside her door two deathknelve, tall and dark and strong, stood waiting for her, breastplates gleaming and arms presented as they stood to attention. They both offered courteous greetings and polite small talk as they shepherded her around the labyrinthine passageways of the citadel, no doubt designed to confound intruders - it works - until abruptly the corridor opened up into a large, wide, imposing chamber, at the far end of which were two equally imposing doors. The guard to her right stepped forward and pushed the heavy portals open, while his companion stopped a yard from the entrance and ushered her inside. They followed her inside, but took up positions just behind the doors, no doubt waiting to return her to her room when the meal was finished. She could not help but admire the organisation and discipline of the entire city.

"Naian Blackblades!" said a voice she instantly recognised. She bowed to Tom, and thanked him as he leapt forward to withdraw her chair for her.

"You're more of a gentleman than you used to be, Tom," observed Morion, already present and tucking into a steak the size of his head.

"I fear power has corrupted me," replied the king lightly, reaching across the table to seize himself a hefty pile of sweet potatoes, before pausing and offering them to Naian first at a gently scolding touch from his wife, sat comfortably on his right. "And my dear wife has made an honest man out of me."

"What a woman you must be, my lady, to have turned such a scoundrel into this charming fellow," said Morion with a tricksy smile, addressing the queen.

"You should see me in bed," answered the queen with a wink, and Naian almost choked on her food. Apparently barracks humour was the norm for male and female alike in the deathknelven fortress.

"Yes I should," said Morion with a lascivious grin, happy to carry on the easy banter.

"Hands off, Morion," broke in Tom. "As if you could ever be man enough for a deathknelven lady anyway."

"Now that is a challenge, surely?"

"Just don't get any of my soldiers pregnant and we should be fine, assuming any of them can stop laughing at your little body first."

"Little?" burst out Morion. "I'm barely an inch shorter than you, you blackguard!"

"What you two do in the privacy of your bedroom is not appropriate conversation for the dinner table," said the queen, and she, Tom and Morion all burst out laughing; Naian was not sure she understood, and the smirks on the faces of the guards around the chamber only served to heighten her embarrassment. Fortunately her blushes were spared by the arrival of Breda and Durnic, and Vam'brac a moment later, who diverted everyone's attention for the remainder of the meal, poking every morsel of food suspiciously until he came across the partridge, which he recognised and devoured heartily, much to Tom's amusement. Even when they were done eating, Vam'brac started wandering around the room, asking Tom to explain the details of every little aspect of the room's decoration, and asking questions that left the king at a loss. They all retired late that evening, slightly (or in some cases, very) drunk, and heavily fed. Vam'brac seemed, to Naian's eye, noticeably larger around the belly than he had been before. That night she dreamt of Vam'brac and her father sat on the ground playing a game of runestones, but upon waking was unable to remember any more detail than that.

* * * * * * * * *

"So what has brought you this far from Fenrig?" asked Tepescu, the deathknelf Tom had called up to show her around the fortress. He was unusually short for a deathknelf, only a few inches taller than Naian, and his stripes were less pronounced. However, he clearly had a prodigious intellect and an understanding of military and political theory that Tom proudly declared was unrivalled in Shadowfang Keep. "I was under the impression that Fenrines rarely left the confines of the peninsula."

"We're not widely travelled," she agreed. "I suppose I left because it became necessary. From what I've heard, the whole of Arsencia is in turmoil these last few years." Tepescu nodded gravely. "We need something to help us defend our borders against the threats we now face, and as the warlord's eldest child, the responsibility falls on me to find what that may be."

"You mean the Embaru?" queried Tepescu. "You need have little worry on that account, at least for the next ten, maybe fifteen, years."

"How can you say that?" wondered Naian. "They have already invaded from some unknown shore and carved a vast swathe out of what was once a great kingdom. Who's to say they would have any difficulty dealing with Fenrig?"

"Their resources are exhausted. When they arrived in Arsencia, they brought with them everything necessary for an extended military campaign, but their social and economic infrastructure is still very much lacking. Politically, they have done nothing to seek the friendship of the other nations of Arsencia, and their enslavement of the former free population of Anvar has earned them the emnity of Envael and the Valentine Mark, who are undoubtedly the two wealthiest and potentially most dangerous foes Imbara will have to face." Naian remained silent, thinking through what Tepescu was saying; obviously there was merit to his words, she could see that plain enough, but if Tom's opinion of Tepescu's knowledge was justified, she would do well to heed his words.

"What about when those ten or fifteen years are done? I will likely be Warlord of Fenrig by then, which means any expansionist ideas of the Embaru would conflict with me, directly. My search is still a valid one, I feel." Tepescu inclined his head in agreement.

"I don't know what you expected to find on this journey, Naian, but I feel you would do best to seek out the beneficence and goodwill of larger nations than yours. I daresay Tom would be willing to throw his considerable political weight behind Fenrig in return for certain concessions." Naian did not fail to note that Tepescu used his king's nickname as well; she wondered again what kind of king was so willing to let his authority slide through such informalities, but could, once again, only conclude that the deathknelven mentality was vastly removed from that of the Fenrines. No real surprise there.

"How would you like to look around our training grounds?" asked Tepescu. Naian nodded eagerly. If half of what she had heard of the deathknelve was true, they were warriors to put every Fenrine to shame, down to even the weakest among them. "I must warn you, the first visit to the training ground means you must test yourself against a warrior of the training master's choosing. Through this method we determine what skills a warrior has and what skills he or she must learn."

"That won't be a problem," replied Naian, smiling for the first time this morning. Tepescu nodded.

"I know."

* * * * * * * * *

Naian had selected for herself two sabres almost identical to her own obsidian blades in weight and curvature, and she now stood on the sand some ten feet away from the another human, one of several she had observed on the training ground. He attacked first, long rapier in his right and knife in his left. The rapier flicked out, testing her defences, and she skipped aside, brushing the blade away with a little flick of her elbow. The man attempted a similar manoeuvre again, aiming for waist. She saw through the feint and, instead of dodging away again, caught his rapier between her two blades and wrenched it around and up, breaking the man's hold on his sword in a moment and tossing it out of reach. Barely a second later the man found himself with an outstretched blade at his throat.

"Veron yields!" the training master bellowed, and a cheer went up. "Anyone want to tell me what he did wrong?" Several shouts immediately rose out of the throng; only then did Naian notice that the entire training ground had stopped their drills and their training to observe the competition. The master pointed at a deathknelf and the shouts subsided.

"He underestimated her," said the deathknelf, and the master nodded sagely.

"And then he attempted to test her twice, unwisely, and she made him pay for it. Very skilfully, I might add," he said, casting an approving glance in Naian's direction. "You can learn everything you need to know about an opponent's defences from a single attack."

"How about we test the lady properly?" shouted a voice from the crowd, and the faces immediately parted to reveal Tom and Morion strolling forward. Naian dropped to one knee in deference. "You don't need to kneel here, Naian," said Tom, lowering his voice so as not to embarrass her. "On the training ground we are all equals. And I'd rather you didn't kneel anyway, to be honest. It makes me rather uncomfortable." He smiled as he said it to lighten the words, and Naian rose to her feet again.

"My lord, do you intend to challenge the lady yourself?" enquired the training master.

"Yes, Kessid, I do. I wish to know if she has earned those fine black blades she carries." Naian's face froze. Not at the prospect of the challenge, but at the implied insult. Surely Tom had seen how easily she dealt with that Veron? Then again, maybe Tom only considered immensely skilful warriors to be of any worth whatsoever. They had heard of the Warrior King of the Deathknelve even as far away as Fenrig, and she had little doubt his skills were not exaggerated.

"Don't worry, Naian," said Morion, sidling across to her. "He talks a big fight, but he's just a lot of hot air really."

"You misunderstand, sir," she replied stiffly. "His skills I do not doubt, nor do I have any cause to fear them. What I object to is the slight to my own abilities."

"Then come and prove me wrong and we'll say no more about it," said Tom, dancing from foot to foot as he limbered up. Naian said nothing, merely inclined her head slightly in acquiescence.

Abruptly Tom ceased his preparations and launched his first attack. Naian threw her swords up just in time to parry a thrust to her ribs, and immediately found herself on the defensive as Tom launched flurry after flurry of lightning-fast blows. Naian parried, blocked and dodged desperately, but did enough to ensure Tom could not break through her defences. She saw an opening just for a moment and took it, landing a kick on Tom's right knee, not hard enough to do any damage but with just enough force to make him stumble and to throw him ever so slightly off his stride. In that moment she seized the initiative, hurling herself at him and forcing him back across the sound. Slash to the left coupled with thrust from the right. Turn on left heel, right blade at neck height, duck and thrust. She had now regained almost all the ground she had lost in Tom's initial assault, but then the king changed things up again, blocking her blades, one with each of his and holding them rigid for a moment before he flung them up into the air and somersaulted backwards and out of reach, landing upright just in time to catch the blades again. It was only then that Naian realised she had not seen Tom acquire the blades in the first place, and once again her opinion of his skills was reshaped.

They edged forward, both wary and on the defensive. Tom flicked his swords forward time and again, making use of his longer reach to weary her before he could make his real attack. You'll be disappointed there, she thought, grimly but happily. The Fenrine Warband was the most physically gruelling undertaking she could even imagine, and she had fit in with the hardened veterans of the Warband for seven years now. Stamina was one area where she would never be outdone, not even by an inhuman immortal. At least, she hoped so.

Then Tom's attack came. This time he went for strength over speed, forcing her blades back and closer to her with every blow, but equally leaving himself slightly more open as his wider swing took a fraction of a second longer to land and to return, but he covered it with the force of the blows landing on her blades, rendering her unable to attack fast enough to reach through the gap, or such at least was the plan. Naian blocked several blows first, retreating as she did so, but then abruptly stepped in to meet the next blow, rolling her sword along his and lashing out with the power generated by his blow. She felt the flat of her blade land against his tunic, mere fractions of an inch from his heart, at the very same instant his other sword landed gently on her neck. Silence fell over the training ground.

"It's a draw!" bellowed Kessid, and the silence broke to rapturous applause. Tom dropped his swords away and reached down a hand to pull Naian back upright.

"If I impugned your honour, I apologise," he said. "You have definitely shown yourself to be a worthy opponent."

"You must be out of practice, Naian," said Morion as he strolled back over. "You nearly this blind old fool get you." Tom rolled his eyes in mock exasperation.

"Let's take a walk somewhere quieter," Tom suggested. "I'm sure we must have important matters to discuss." Tepescu and Morion fell in behind them as a nameless deathknelf relieved Naian of her training ground swords. "I suggest the tower gardens. Very impressive feat of engineering and horticulture."

[some_weirdGuy]

((edit: i like what you did with Vam'brac, it captured him perfectly, good work ))


Vam'brac had slept in. It had been a good meal last night, and everything here was so new to him. The closest he had ever come to this kind of royal quarters and company had been at a wealthy merchants house once, but he had only seen the houses interior through a window, and had been shooed from the premises quick smart, after all, can't let a Vyre near a rich man.

He knew that only their KaDem's approval protected him in this place. It was obvious that a few around here weren't to fond of Vyre (though there were some exceptions), but Vam'brac just ignored it. Many in this world shared similar views, atleast these ones were polite enough to keep their attitudes non-physical and even non-vocal, even if it was technically under duress.

Vam'brac got up. It was strange sleeping in such a soft, yielding bed. Vam'bracs new cloths were also very soft. It had perplexed him to find these news cloths presented to him, but he was told that his travel worn 'rags' were not suitable in the presence of the king. Vam'brac had eyed the speaker suspiciously at this, he thought that the man just wanting Vam'bracs cloths for himself, a suspicion that was confirmed when he later found his cloths to have been stolen. He thought on it now and came to the conclusion that they must have taken the cloths in exchange for the ones he was now wearing instead, after all, the wardrobe would soon be empty if everyone was allowed to just take the cloths.

He felt a little sorry for the next visitor, who would be stuck with his tatty cloths while Vam'brac got to keep these lovely soft ones. Equally he wondered what cloths the previous person had gotten in exchange for giving the deathknelve these ones, after all, you would be a bit annoyed if you gave up a good set of cloths to get tatty ones in exchange...

He made a special note to make sure his weapon didn't similarly get traded, it would be next to impossible to find another like it.

Edited by some_weirdGuy, 04 August 2010 - 06:30 AM.

[Copaman]

Although he was the King, Tom Joad was still the competitor he was years ago. She's only human, he mulled over in his head. And I was holding back somewhat. If we ended up on opposite sides of a fight, I could take those swords of hers. Hell, I wasn't even started with the ebrion, and I have soulfyre as well. Yes. We may have drawn but had we been fighting for real I believe I would have come out the victor.

That being said. She is, beyond any doubt in my mind, the best mortal swordsman or woman in the whole of Arsencia. She's the heir to Fenrig, small as it may be. So just there, I should be more than courteous. She's got a well trained (even though it may be small and somewhat unorganized) army at her back and she'll be heading up a monarchy in a few years' time. Connections, Tom, connections.

"I feel refreshed. It's been too long since I've had a true opponent, so thank you Naian. Perhaps we can spar again before you continue your search? I would honestly enjoy it. What are your plans when you feel ready to leave Shadowfang? -and please, let me know a few days out. I can't have my friends stop by and then continue traveling in the same manner."

He looked aside for a moment and spoke directly to Morion. "Hey, if you see any of them while you're running around... please tell them to stop by. I don't get out enough and entertaining the nobles and political guests gets really boring. I miss you all."

Morion nodded his agreement, and the group kept walking. The tower gardens were a marvel to behold; not nearly as impressive as the new hanging gardens in the Maughold, but impressive nonetheless. "Naian, who smithed your blades, anyway? I'm curious. They're impressive instruments. You should get an actual look at mine sometime as well."

[Vortigern]

"My father had them made by a dwarven smith in Gulgottir," Naian answered. "You'd have to ask my father if you're after details." Tom nodded and for a moment they both walked in silence, listening to Morion and Tepescu chatting about some historical irrelevance.

"Do you know why the Gotti migrated to their peninsula, Naian?" asked Tepescu, noticing their interest. She merely frowned by way response, indicating that he should continue. "They once ruled Valenti, around three thousand years ago, though it was under a different name back then. For some hundreds of years they were wholly in command and unchallenged, until their king was murdered and civil war broke out. The claimants to the throne each sought alliances and the backing of foreign powers, but ultimately spent so long fighting each other that the kingdom fell to pieces around them. They were thus unable to defend themselves against the power of a human mage called Tabarayn, who fancied himself as a monarch and set about destroying all who stood in his way." Tepescu paused, but he needn't have; Morion and Tom were both looking interested, but Naian was fascinated. History was not something past Fenrines had cared about overmuch, so she had little idea of her own nation's history, let alone of anywhere else. The thought that knowledge of such a time could exist was incredible to her.

"Under the threat of magic, the Gotti common folk decided their best option was to flee. Some stayed and took shelter as part of Tabarayn's kingdom, but the majority did not like the idea of a mad, sadistic mage ruling them. Legend has it that he flooded an entire province once just to see what effect the sudden prevalence of water would have on the elemental balance." Naian shuddered involuntarily; magic was anathema to her. Fenrines survived by strength, cunning and bravery, not dangerous charlatanry. "They fled as far as the land would allow, ultimately arriving at the northern tip of their peninsula and founding Gulgottir there, although there are some who suspect that some did not stop there, even, heading out across the Great Ocean. This opinion has gained weight in academic circles since the arrival of the Embaru, but there is still little evidence for it," added Tepescu, in what seemed more a thought spoken aloud than part of the story.

"The exile of the Gotti is an object lesson for all rulers. Strength and wisdom are needed in equal parts to hold a kingdom together and to keep enemies out." Tom cut in then.

"I can't help you much with holding your kingdom together, but I'd guess you've got that covered anyway. What I can do is offer you the support and assistance of Shadowfang Keep for whatever you require. We cannot let the Embaru grow too powerful, or we risk another Envael. One nation with so much power is not good for anyone."

* * * * * * * *

The next day Naian, Morion and Vam'brac departed Shadowfang Keep, travelling north at Tepescu's suggestion. Naian carried around her neck a gold talisman, token of Shadowfang Keep's protection, which Tom assured her would grant her audience with the Convocation of Princes in Tyburn and the Pontifex in The Meres. Those were the two nations which Tepescu and Tom agreed would be most help in defending against the Embaru. When Naian asked about Envael Tom merely smiled and told her Envael owed the deathknelve more than a few favours.




((Copa, I'm not sure if you're interested in carrying on in this thread, but if you are, I'm sure you'll find a way to carry on your involvement. Mike and SWG, let's get this show on the road, both in a metaphorical and literary sense.))

[some_weirdGuy]

They left the small kingdom of the Deathknelve, moving further north. They were now making their way through some wooded country, airy and pleasant.

Vam'brac had decided he liked deathknelves, well, more specifically rich deathknleves who gave him good food and a load of free stuff, though he was sure this same affection would apply to any people who did that. Still, King Tom had proven to be quite a good aquaintence, even if they hardly spoke during his visit. Vam'brac had walked away from the whole affair much better of then he had started, and they had even been given some money to help them on their way, meaning that the kerfuffle at the arena was but a distant memory in the sometimes skittish mind of Vam'brac the Vyre.

Despite being accustomed to day-light waking hours, Vam'brac was still a nocturnal creature, and as evening approached his spirits lifted, as an anxious wakefulness settled over him. The rest of his group seemed a little travel weary, after spending nearly the whole day on the move, Vam'brac however had taken lead of the column, and had gone a fair way ahead before noticing that the rest had stopped to set up camp a little way back. They had moved off the path into the shelter of a small thicket, but Vam'brac could still scent them out.

He somewhat envied the Melds in this respect. It was said they could follow a target on scent alone, following even a cold trail for miles, even across streams. Vyre were good hunters, but not that good.
"So, we're setting up camp here for the night i take it?" he said,
"well, we do have to sleep, and not like we're in any huge rush"
Vam'brac mumbled his agreement, though he felt somewhat disappointed. He really wanted to get back to prowling the night, unfortunately though most races slept through the night, making it hard for a nocturnal person to deal with them.

The next day, they continued their journey. They were almost at their next destination.

[Vortigern]

Naian stood looking over the rail of the galley as it plied its nimble way through the shifting sands and currents of the Meres, Morion by her side. He had opted to stay with her through her journey, and for that she was grateful. He was an able and pleasant conversationalist and given to unsuspected insight in a great many matters. Despite the several months they had now travelled side by side she still felt she knew very little of who he truly was. Her reverie was interrupted by Vam'brac the Vyre, her other companion, bounding up to her and grabbing her hand, pulling her along the deck to see his latest discovery.

"Look!" he cried, pointing down into the waves. Below them a shoal of fish darted this way and that, their scales reflecting the light like a thousand tiny mirrors. Naian could not help but to smile, and to marvel at the wonder Vam'brac found in the world. When the Vyre achieved sentience many had returned to their island or taken up with mercenaries, but not Vam'brac. He had wandered off to see what he could see and had stumbled across Naian and Morion in the oddest of circumstances, and now here he was, exclaiming in wonderment at the activities of mindless fish. He gasped as they scattered, avoiding the net one of the crewmen had cast over the side in search of dinner.

The Meres were a colossal archipelago, extending for hundreds of miles and including hundreds, perhaps thousands of islands. Legend told that once they had been dry land, but when the cataclysm came which ripped the world asunder at the dawn of Arsencia, the land had been riven and half of it had sunk beneath the waves. Naian wondered what terror the natives must have felt as nature reclaimed the territory from under their feet. The islands now were governed by a figure called the Pontifex, which she understood translated as 'bridge-builder', a title she did not really understand. There seemed to be remarkably few bridges in evidence, though perhaps the centre of the archipelago would prove otherwise; at the moment they were scudding through the waves of one of the outermost realms in the west, against the Tyburn border, fresh on their way to meet the Pontifex from the Convocation of Princes.

Tom Joad's token had seen her accepted into the Court of Hidden Faces, the parliament of Tyburn. Each of the princes had worn a mask for the session, eyes covered by the semblance of their house's totem. It had been a singularly unnerving experience. Ultimately the princes had decided to offer their formal support to Fenrig should Imbara make war against them, but would need to look to their own; they had been as unhelpful as Morion had insisted they would be. The Convocation of Princes was notorious for its inability to make decisions. A popular joke had it that they would all burn to death deciding which route to take out of the building, and having seen this indecision first hand, Naian was inclined to believe it. She had higher hopes for the Bridge-Builder.

The captain of the galley approached them where they stood by the rail and coughed to attract their attention.

"My lords, my lady," he began, a little over-formal. "We will be docking at Trevelyan soon. The lord there is named Jairus. He will see you safely on your way to Arnholt." Arnholt was the island citadel in which the Pontifex dwelt when not delivering justice to the counties. Naian thanked him and, sure enough, they soon set foot on dry land once more. The dockyard guardsmen escorted them to the manor where Jairus received them warmly.

"It is high time we kingdoms of the north banded together against these invaders," he said, signalling for Naian to sit. He was a big man with a matching beard and a hearty, jocular manner. It was immediately obvious to Naian why this man was a popular ruler in his little realm. The hall in which they sat was well-furnished, but far from opulent, which Naian attributed to the wealth she had seen distributed among the common folk here. "They came here as a military force and, frankly, it seems a bloody miracle to me that we haven't already been overrun."

"From what I saw in their lands, they have problems of their own," explained Morion. "Their lizardmen slaves rarely take their situation lying down, and they've lost a lot of them already to the wilderness. New continent, new opportunities," he added thoughtfully. Jairus scowled.

"The notion of slavery does not sit well with me at all," he said. "My father always taught me to respect my fellow man, and I hope I have succeeded in passing that along to my children. We should be banding against these foreigners to drive them out, to free those they keep in chains."

"A noble goal, and one worthy of respect," agreed Naian. "But one far easier said than done. As you said, they are a military people and will not be easily dealt with. I feel we may have to deal with them as neighbours for a long time yet." Jairus sighed and nodded.

"An unhealthy peace is better than no peace at all."

Over dinner that night Jairus promised that he at least would send what aid he could spare should Fenrig come under threat, and he felt it was likely that the Pontifex would agree. They dined on the vegetables that grew all across Jairus' realm and the fish that swam in his channels. He explained that they were a breed unlike any other in the world, considered a delicacy among many other nations, and truly they were delicious. The next day he accompanied them to the docks and saw them safely aboard the Whitefish, named after the fish that made up the shoals Vam'brac had observed. Needless to say, the Vyre was thrilled with this news. He was equally as excited by the bright and varied pennants that hung from the foresail, tokens of all the realms of the Meres, granting the ship safe passage through their waters.

"It will take you perhaps five days to reach Arnholt. In that time I suggest you think carefully about what you will say," was Jairus' parting advice. "The Pontifex is a very shrewd man, and cautious. He will not act unless convinced, but I see no reason why he should not be so. I wish you all luck, my friends."

"And I suggest we sit back and enjoy the ride," said Morion as the ship pulled away from the harbour. Naian smiled. She planned to do just that.




((OK, I appreciate that there isn't a whole lot going on, but this has more of a political feel than the other threads anyway. We'll get to some action soon, I promise.))

[some_weirdGuy]

Vambrac had not been near the ocean in who knows how long, so he couldn't help but feel excited. It reminded him of the days of the awakening a little, with so many new things to discover. On the ship he had taken to spotting. That is, he would look intently into the water for any hint of the funny creatures within. He had seen water creatures in streams and rivers before, but there was something different about the ocean life.

He even found himself suppressing the primal urge the chase the gulls that dived, flew and occasionally landed around the ship. (after all, he did not want to make a fool of himself). Their calls were pleasant and different, and all these stimuli helped to smother out the unpleasantness that the boats rocking embedded in 'Brac's stomach.


((so, are we going to combine the two stories into one along the way?))

Edited by some_weirdGuy, 25 November 2010 - 12:12 AM.

[Vortigern]

((Yeah, at some point.))


The Whitefish made excellent speed through the Meres on its way to Arnholt. The first sight of the island fortress took Naian's breath away; the sheer cliff face below the similarly impregnable wall made for an imposing sight. The ship set a course directly for the cliff face, which confused Naian until she saw the harbour entrance, carved from the rock face itself. No, not carved, she realised. It was a natural cave, perhaps enlarged by the inhabitants, and the jetties were definitely not natural, but either way it was an impressive sight.

"Anaburg's is bigger," said Morion, looking unimpressed as the Whitefish cleaved a path through the waves and into the shelter of the cavern. Instantly they felt the wind die away. Peering over the side, Naian saw the rows of oars lowering down from their little portholes to sink into the water and propel the ship the remaining distance to the dockside. Vam'brac came scrambling down from the rigging to join them. Over the last four days he had asked so many questions about the ship that Naian suspected he now knew more than any of the individual crewmen. One had found a pair of rigging-shoes small enough for Vam'brac's feet. The sailors used them to gain purchase on the ropes, which often became treacherous during bad weather, but Vam'brac had cast them off immediately, saying his feet were fine for the job as they were and proving it by running headlong up and down the decks, rails, rigging and mast.

"We could use a few like him in a storm," the captain had commented idly. "My men spend half the time falling over and the other half getting up again."

The route from the dock to the castle was up a wide, sloping road cut out of the rock itself. At either side of the road were stepped paths, for those who preferred, and just inside those were wheel-ruts to ensure carts did not go off course. All things considered, it seems very well constructed, Naian reflected.

They saw the Pontifex after only a very short wait; he admitted to no small intrigue when he heard a Fenrine warrior princess accompanied by a Vyre had come seeking audience.

"Our nations should stand together against all enemies," he said when Naian had outlined her proposal. "The Meres can command a navy with more ships even than the Embaru, though theirs are larger and carry those accursed fire-launchers," he added, somewhat disgruntled. It was obvious he did not like the idea of his people being second to anyone in the naval theatre. "Naturally, we should expect similar assurances from Fenrig should we come under attack from these foreigners."

"But of course," Naian replied, surprised that he even need ask. "What dishonourable wretch would come seeking a deal with nothing to offer in return?"

"Quite, quite," agreed the Pontifex. "To honour this treaty, I insist you join me for dinner tonight. Our nations will be unified in the face of the common threat, and we shall all drink to that."

"Hear, hear," said Morion happily.

* * * * * * * *

"You know, if you truly seek to strengthen your kingdom, my dear girl," said the Pontifex, wine lending his cheeks a crimson hue, "you would do well to continue your journey east, to Stavangr. There are places there around which the basic laws of reality seem to fold in on themselves. Rumour has it that there are all kinds of magical devices." Naian began to listen closely, pressing the Pontifex for more details, but he did not seem to know any. "I have always considered the simple strength of a man's arms and heart to far outweigh any magic," he informed them.

"What do you know of Stavangr?" Naian asked Morion that night. She had left her room, slipping past the guard at the end of the hall and into Morion's allotted bedchamber with no trouble at all.

"Not a great deal," he admitted. "I've never had cause to go there. What little I do know is passed on from an old friend of mine, a minotaur." Naian's eyes widened, and Morion chuckled. "Yes, I'm friends with a minotaur. Yes, he's bloody enormous. Anyway, he once told me that Stavangr is a collection of isolated fortified towns built at strategic points along roads to defend against minotaur. The bulls in the north are a great deal more savage than their southern cousins, which is where Rom hails from. Apparently the towns are all built with very narrow streets and lots of alleyways to give the townsfolk lots of places to run if they get attacked. When they get attacked, I should say," he amended thoughtfully. "Rom tells me most of the towns come under attack four or five times a year, at least."

"That doesn't sound like much of a life," commented Naian. "How do they farm? Why don't they just move somewhere else?"

"The minotaur understand that if they kill the humans in the fields there won't be any food for them to plunder, so they leave well enough alone," Morion explained. "As for the second question, it takes a lot for a man to uproot his family and start a whole new life somewhere else. Besides which, there's every chance the bulls will kill them on the road. I think they figure their best chance is to stay in the town and hide when the minotaur come."

"It doesn't sound like a very happy place," Naian said. Morion merely grimaced by way of response.

"It's cold there as well, that much I know for certain." Morion looked closely at Naian all of a sudden, as though only just noticing that she sat before him in a borrowed nightdress. "You'll need far more than that to keep you warm."

"I'll ask the Pontifex if he can lend me some furs," she said. Morion nodded, and came to sit next to her on the bed.

"Can I ask you something?" he enquired. She nodded, shifting slightly to face him. "Have you ever taken the time out from your life to be a normal girl?" Naian blushed slightly, but did not look away.

"I'm hardly a girl, Morion," she said.

"Yes, I've noticed," he replied, deliberately looking only at her face. Her slight blush grew to full-on scarlet, and Morion could not help but smile at her discomfort. "How old are you?" he wondered.

"I have just passed my twenty-third winter," she said after a moment's thought.

"Hm," said Morion. Is that all? Naian thought. She had expected Morion to say something useful, at least. "You should probably get back to your room," he said. "We wouldn't want our friend the Pontifex to think you were off sneaking around his castle." She nodded fervently, glad to have an excuse to leave. It wasn't that Morion made her uncomfortable, but... he raised some issues she had not even thought about for years. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she walked straight into the guard on her corridor. With a mumbled apology she ignored his surprised look and entered her room. She spent a good few hours unable to sleep that night but eventually drifted off into dreams.

* * * * * * * *

Bundled up in her new furs, Naian nudged her shaggy little pony along the road. The beast had stopped to nibble at a patch of grass that had enterprisingly sprung up amidst the tundra. Even though spring had well and truly sprung in the south and west, up here patches of snow remained and every dawn saw the morning dew frozen to the leaves. Vam'brac seemed entirely unfazed by the weather, explaining that it was not dissimilar to that of his native island in the winter.

They finally encountered some sign of civilisation with a road sign, crooked and presumably largely ignored by the people of Stavangr. Wrede, it said, the once-defined carved hand pointing them further east. At least now they were sure they were headed in the right direction. The Pontifex had had his librarians dig up a little bit of information about Stavangr from among the massive collection of books his castle housed, and they had suggested that Wrede would be the best place to take their search.

"If anything in Stavangr can help you look for the areas of magical flux," the scholar had said, "it will be in Wrede."

A howl split the crisp afternoon air. Naian shivered. Even in the middle of the day, wolves were not afraid to be out and about, aware of how little the humans left the safety of their towns. At least they didn't have to worry about bandits out here. No right-thinking highwayman would set up in minotaur country on roads with so little traffic. Melds, though, were a different matter entirely. That had been the other advice the head librarian had given them in Arnholt, she recalled.

"After the Battle of the Maughold, most of the surviving melds fled to the eastern plains. It seems they've been breeding as well, so we really have no idea how many there will be by now."

Suddenly the distant howls seemed a great deal more ominous.



((I'll let you guys choose the next incident. Anyway, welcome to Stavangr, the newest addition to Arsencia's geography.))

[some_weirdGuy]

((just asking cause of the low activity, like here in this topic it seems to be only you and i posting))

Vam'brac looked around nervously.
"Are you sure this is really a good idea? I love magic as much as the next person, but Melds... They are no small matter, they are creatures created with the one purpose of killing. The gift of the mind may have made our races smarter, but if the melds are like vyre than for some it didn't do anything to change their ways, and the from what i know the ways of melds were far more ferocious than vyre"

"That's debatable..." said Morion, remember back to fierce encounters with vyre "but you're completely right that melds were fearsome beasts, probably among the most dangerous in physical terms"
"not just there but across all of Arsencia" asserted Vam'brac fervently, unsure where in Arsencia the land of 'physical terms' was located, but certain that melds were just as dangerous everywhere else as well.

[Copaman]

Rethalar's political ties ran deep - it was not long after Naian and Morion's departure that he began to keep tabs on their journey. For each political head they visited, word was sent back to Shadowfang Keep so that Rethalar could evaluate the nations that Naian was allying her people with. As much as he liked the girl, his people's well being was at stake. Gods forbid she made an enemy along the way and suddenly he was tied in to it.

Having been given an observer's shard (a polished piece of metal used in a fashion similar to farsight technique used by the Watchers), Falarin was able to stay in contact with the King - at a given time each night, one of the King's mages would open a link between the shard and the King's chamber, allowing the King to speak to Falarin personally.

It was in this manner that Falarin learned that Naian and Morion were seen by the Pontifex of the Meres, and were headed to Wrede in Stavangr next. Naian was in search of slight magical understanding, in addition to another political ally. His king neutral about the alliance between Fenrig and Stavangr, Falarin's next goal was to meet with and join the traveling group. In a city full of humans frightened witless by Minotaur, he figured it wouldn't be too hard.

In the day and a half he had been in Wrede, Falarin had been the subject of many pointed fingers of bewilderment, agape mouths, and frightened looks. While it had been years since the Deathknelve returned to their rightful home and began establishing a respectable place in the world, Stavangr was somewhat... removed from the ongoings in Shadowfang's part of the world. He assumed many of the people thought him a renegade - while they had most likely heard of the deathknelve, Falarin doubted many of the stories lent themselves to a positive picture of the striped race. He also suspected that the overwhelming majority of Stavangr's population had yet to see a deathknelve.

It was mid to late afternoon when he caught wind of Naian's group. The people of Wrede we whispering of a Vyre in their midst, a new attraction to stare and point at. This will be easier than I thought, reflected Falarin before setting out to find the trio.

[Vortigern]

The walls of Wrede first came into sight shortly before sunset that day. Naian could not help but heave a huge sigh of relief; she had not fancied the thought of a night camped out in the freezing cold of this bleak northern wasteland. Those same soulless howls they had heard before had remained with them all day, perhaps only through the acoustic properties of an empty realm or perhaps through beasts travelling in the same direction, Naian really could not tell. Morion was confused as well, which had set him on edge all afternoon. This was not a good place.

A distant rumble shook Naian from her horseback reverie.

"What is that?" she wondered, looking up to see the blood draining from Morion's face.

"We need to get inside the walls, now," he said, spurring his pony forward at a gallop. Naian cursed and followed suit.

"What is it?" she demanded again, shouting at Morion across the gap his pony had opened up with its head start. Behind them somewhere Vam'brac had given up on trying to make his pony do as he wanted and was running on his own, low to the ground on all fours, seeming to have no trouble keeping pace with the horses.

"Minotaur!" Morion bellowed over his shoulder. Moments later they saw the gargantuan bull-men, galloping toward the town from some way to Naian's left; at the moment Naian, Morion and Vam'brac still maintained a lead, but the minotaur were faster. Morion swore, loudly enough for Naian to hear. She followed his gaze and immediately saw why: the townsfolk of Wrede were closing the gates. And who can blame them? the rational part of her brain asked, but she overruled it with the terrified and mortal part of her.

"What do we do?" she shouted to Morion as they reached the shadow of the wall, solid and uncompromising in the fading light.

"Turn left!" came the reply, but it did not come from Morion. They both looked up to see a wholly unexpected face; it was that of a deathknelf, hood down and shouting at them. Morion shrugged and did as he was bid. Naian followed suit. The deathknelf disappeared from the wall, somehow emerging ahead of them from a little iron gate set in the wall, far too small for a minotaur to pass through, barely big enough for the ponies. Morion was forced to lift his legs away from the horse's sides to fit through as the deathknelf led the beast by the bridle. The moment all three were inside the deathknelf shut the gate once more, removing the latch that held a chain in place. With a heavy clanking of iron against iron, a very solid bar was lowered across the gate.

"Nobody's getting through that," Naian thought aloud, barely noticing that she was speaking.

"I would have thought not," replied the deathknelf. "I am Falarin Bladewalker."

"I'm guessing Tom sent you to meet us?" asked Morion.

"More or less. I've been following you for a while, but I thought it prudent to arrive here in advance."

"Prudent indeed," Morion agreed. A mighty crash echoed around the town.

"Follow me," ordered the deathknelf, turning away. "The minotaur have broken down the gate."



((Dun-dun-duh! Savage but still intelligent minotaur have made it into the town! Surely a fight scene will commence? These minotaur carry clubs, not axes or giant swords, because they haven't really bothered learning metalwork. They're more like intelligent animals than people, kinda like how the melds were originally, but a bit smarter. Smart enough not to just eat everything and starve later on, but to ration their stealing into a suitable parasitic invasive force. Anyway, action!))

[some_weirdGuy]

((hey i just realised, do we still have those other guys with us? the two humans))
((No, they're not. Let's go with they stayed at Shadowfang Keep. Also, remember that this town is basically made up of tiny narrow alleyways built off the main road, so the minotaur can't follow us if we run away. The whole place is designed to be anti-minotaur.))

People ran, hiding or screaming as the vicious looking minotaur strode forward.

"You know why we here!" yelled one of the Minotaur in fractured speech
"Give!"
He brandished his massive club in one hand and raised it to the sky. More minotaur came in, moving to raid and pillage. One minotaur got his hand on a touch, and made to toss it into a building, but his buddy clubbed him in the face with a backhanded fist, retorting something in the minotaurs language that obviously amounted to 'no fire'.

A number of the towns defenders shakily moved forward, dwarfed by the huge minotaur. The raiders smashed through them, hardly even hindered by what amounted to a defense, with only a few exceptions. The counter attack did little to hinder the minotaurs progress however, as the others not engaged in combat moved to store fronts or houses, filling sacks or taking cartons and wagons of food and supplies, batting away any of the common folks attempts to resist with no effort.

One man ran at a minotaur screaming, a pitch fork in his arms. He buried it in the minotaurs back, and with a bovine yell the minotaur turned and angrily clubbed the head straight from his shoulders, taking the time to run over and stomp the headless corpse and roar angrily.

Minotaur were moving to intercept stranglers, and a small group of them decided it was time to intercept this group.

Everyone readied for combat as both parties continued running forward on a collision coarse. One minotaur ducked his head, and began to change. At the last second everyone scattered out of the way, narrowly avoiding the attack.

Vam'brac pulled out his weapon, loosening and unclipping the chains. Morion had gone to face the one that had charged them, while the others faced a second, leaving Vam'brac alone with the third. He swung the weapon a couple of times to build momentum then leaped for the nearby minotaur, smashing it((his weapon)) into the raiders face. The minotaur raider dropped his club, clutching at his face with a cry. Vam'brac then used the second part of his weapon to cut into the minotaurs back, using it like a pick. The minotaur swung blindly but Vam'brac skitted out of the way.

Looking over he saw that atleast a couple of the villages defenders were putting up a fight, though soon more minotaur began to notice their comrades troubled and joined in to swat the troublesome defenders.

That will be us next if we don't wrap up these fights quickly and escape, thought Vam'brac, Its only a matter of time before some of them decide to come over here and help their friends against-
A scream escaped Vam'bracs mouth as his body was smashed aside by a log which was being used as a make shift club by one of the minotaur.
"No!" Naian screamed, seeing Vam'brac sent flying, only to dodge under a deadly swing from the minotaur she herself was fighting.
Vam'brac's attacker walked to his friend that the Vyre had been going at, helping him up and muttering something in the minotaur language, to which his friend merely grunted, swaying a little.

Vam'brac on the other hand lay smashed against a wall, twitching slightly. The minotaur looked over at his still body, snorted, then moved to help the others who were under attack.

As Vam'brac lay against the ground he felt the first stage of restoration begin, complete numbness. He sat, a forced grin on his face as he swallowed down the blood coming out of his mouth. The Minotaur obviously didn't understand Vyre or else he would have come over and crushed Vam'brac properly. Slowly feeling came back to Vam'bracs extremities, and he could feel the muscle and bone shifting into place once more.


Its something truly bizarre to experience regeneration, the pain recedes like the tides so that you only feel the movement within as things are put back to their rightful place. Then as your insides (and sometimes outsides) are brought back to health the feeling slowly returns, like the warmth of a camp fire moving towards your center.
Your flesh crawls like when you get goosbumps,, as if your own body is creeped out by the strange feelings too, and sometimes as things are still fixing themselves up you get 'fizzes' that travel through your body, like when you hit your funny bone in the wrong place. Finally you get a hot flush, which slowly fades to only pins and needles in your hands and feet.

Then its done. Vam'brac stood back up, stretching a little as he examined his cloths for damage and blood. Luckily it had mainly been internal, crush injuries, so the only blood came from where bone pierced the skin. He retrieved his weapon, and went back to the fight, more cautious this time to watch his back. While he may be able to fully heal, it still bloody well hurts, and Vam'brac hated the moment before the numbing set in.

[Copaman]

Falarin closed the gap to one of the minotaurs as quickly as the minotaur could have him. Nimbly he leaped up and to the side of the minotaur's sweeping strike, countering with what appeared to Morion and Naian to be bands of...something. They were not quite shadow, not quite purple-tinted magic; try as they might, neither Morion nor Naian could get their minds to solidify what, exactly, Falarin was striking the minotaur with.

The bull roared in pain as the bands lacerated his flesh. In its fit of rage, it turned to smash Falarin in to the dirt with it's club, a reckless strike that left its soft spots exposed. Falarin danced around the incoming blow and lashed out with the bands once more, cutting bloody valleys in the Minotaur's hide. He continued his acrobatic dance around the bull, slowly taking chunks of hide here and there, serving only to enrage the Minotaur further.

He's toying with it, realized Morion. He could have killed it no problem by now. His style is rather unique though - in close to his target and dancing like Tom Joad, but casting some kind of cutting spell to harm his enemy. Whisperblade Weaver? Something like that anyway. I've never seen anything like it as far as the stripers go.

And then the moment of clarity came. The bull managed to glimpse Falarin's next move, and brought its club around quickly in hopes of knocking the pestering elf out of the city. Falarin brought his hands up just in time to deflect the club by guiding its momentum above his head - the moment of panic forced Falarin to drop his illusion weaving and reveal the blade he had been striking with. A hand and a half weapon, somewhat plainer than the blades Joad had carried but equally sinister and deadly.

After escaping what would have been the killing blow, Falarin quickly danced his ways to the rear of the bull's legs, where he lashed out and cut the bull's primary tendon, which promptly gave off a loud snap which was followed by a bellow of pain. As it fell forward to its knees in pain, Falarin leaped up its back and drove his sword into the base of back of the beast's skull, cutting through its brain stem and in to its windpipe. Falarin withdrew his blade from the corpse and hopped off nimbly as the body fell forward on to its face. Just as quickly as the blade appeared during the killing blow, it disappeared when the elf landed.

"Enough games," he said to the group. "Now that one of their brethren has been slain they'll mean business despite the fact that they're halfwitted animals. Let's take care of this bull-man raiding party, hmm?"

[Vortigern]

Naian had already drawn her swords, obsidian blades glinting darkly in the half-light.

"You know, every time I see those swords they get more impressive," Morion commented idly, his own bootblacked blade matte and dull in comparison.

"A sword is only impressive if you know how to use it," she replied coolly, surveying the rampaging bulls before her through the narrow opening at the end of the alleyway in which they were tucked safely away. In the main street the minotaur smashed their clubs into the ground, the walls and those townsfolk foolhardy enough to get in their way. "You know, I'm thinking discretion may be the better part of valour in this case."

"Couldn't agree more," said Morion. "I've tried fighting minotaur before, and it never ends well. Deathknelves aside," he added with a nod at Falarin. The deathknelf snorted, either in humour or contempt.

"Fine," he said. "We shall find a way to somewhere more safe. The Minotaur cannot get to the upper level, so that is probably the direction we should take. Tie the ponies here," he mentioned as an afterthought. The beasts didn't seem remotely fazed by the marauding monsters not ten feet away; doubtless the Stavangr ponies were well used to minotaur.

"Why can't they get to the upper level?" Naian asked, but Falarin was already up and away, propelling himself upward from a doorframe to a windowledge and then wedging himself between two tightly-packed houses and inching his way to the roof. Morion followed suit with an ease that spoke of long practice in attaining rooftop passage, while Vam'brac simply dug his claws into the wattle-and-daub walls and scrambled up. Naian gritted her teeth and sheathed her swords, doing her best to imitate Falarin and Morion. Pushing off the doorframe with which Falarin had begun his ascent, Naian leapt for the windowledge on the floor above but slipped as she landed, catching on to it with her fingers. For a moment she clung there before attempting to pull herself up, only to find a helping hand grab her wrist.

"Silly humans just can't do things right," Vam'brac tutted, holding tightly to her wrist and hauling her up the wall behind him.

"That was ignominious," Morion commented as Naian and Vam'brac came over the eaves of the thatch. Naian merely glared at him by way of response.

"This way," instructed Falarin, running lightly along the peak of the roof and leaping lithely to the next. Naian and Morion exchanged a glance and shrugged simultaneously.

"Ladies first," offered Morion, so Naian took off running after the deathknelf. She could easily see now why the upper level of the town was off limits to minotaur. The entrance appeared to be via ladders carved into the rock in the appropriate sizes for human hands, and even if the bulls found some other way to climb, the ladders all led to narrow archways in the wall ringing the town centre.

"There is another way up," Falarin mentioned as she caught up to him where the rooftops ended, some five yards from the sheer rock. Too far to jump, she thought. "A road runs up around to the other side, but there are six gates, each as thick and solid as the main town gate, but a little smaller. Given enough time the minotaur could probably get through, but as I understand it, they tend to give up after they get through one or two gates and find more in the way. Ah, here we go," the deathknelf said, dropping to a crouch and withdrawing a long plank from beneath the thatch. It extended all the way across to the rock, fitting snugly into a nook beside the ladder. Naian could only marvel at the genius that had gone into making this town safe from the minotaur.

"These people have escape routes for their escape routes," said Morion in near-disbelief as he arrived, Vam'brac hot on his heels and smiling widely. The vyre seemed to be enjoying the view from the rooftops.

"Ingenious, aren't they?" agreed Falarin, ushering Naian across. "Just go up and we'll meet you there."

Perhaps two minutes later all four were stood in the upper town, watching from the rampart as the minotaur ran through the lower reaches of Wrede. Soon the beasts began to thin, retreating as they realised there was nothing for them to loot.

"They won't be happy to see a few of their own dead," commented a man watching from beside them. "I counted six."

"How many do you normally kill?" Naian enquired. The man looked at her, curious.

"Two or three, at most," he said. "You're not from here." It wasn't a question. Naian's Fenrine accent marked her out as a foreigner in most of Arsencia, and it was a small wonder more people did not comment on it. "And they're not even human," he added, taking in Falarin and Vam'brac.

"Being human doesn't look all that great," said Vam'brac. "You get injured and sick and sad and hungry and you can't climb things very well." The man paled at the sound of the Vyre talking, and hurried away.

"Get used to the looks," Falarin advised. "The people here probably haven't seen a Vyre in fifty years."



((I promise, we'll get on to a proper quest soon. There's just so much I want to explain before then! ))

[some_weirdGuy]

((I always tend to like what you do with my characters, you seem to get a fairly good feel for them, and its interesting to read what my character does when its not me in control))

Vam'brac shrugged. Running off was a more friendly response than how many reacted to Vyre, and atleast he didn't have to endure any foolish intimidation attempts. Most didn't realise that their outward shows of bravado were betrayed by the smell of fear they sent wafting in all directions, though Vam'brac found that the best course of action was usually to ignore them and play it cool, rather than call it out, it just helped prevent violence from escalating.

Vam'brac looked around "so, did you see me get whacked? I'd say that was a more than good hit. I lost my sight for a bit there, and that doesn't usually happen unless I've been hit pretty hard... I was lucky he didn't come over and finish the job actually"
"You need to be more careful" replied Naian in a fairly stern voice as they continued walking
"You don't need to tell me three times" answered Vam'brac, ribbing his ribs where a little bit of blood still stained his cloths
"Twice" corrected Naian absentmindedly, turning the corner with the others
"Huh?" said Vam'brac, stopping for a moment and cocking his head to one side
"Nothing" replied Naian, shaking her head slightly as Vam'brac stepped back in to catch up.

They heard another cry, and a crash from where the minotaur were, the raiding still continued, though things seem to have quietened down a little.

Edited by some_weirdGuy, 05 December 2010 - 03:00 AM.