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[{IRS}Athos]

As Rindar returned to the new headquarters of the Noble Warriors, Astariel and Ouranos were sitting down to a cup of kaffe. Astariel looked up at him with a somewhat disapproving cast to her face. "I could have predicted that he wouldn't listen to you," she said quietly. "Tyr has always had a stiff neck. He must find his own path now... Light willing, it will lead him back to the Way."

Rindar clenched his teeth. "So that's all? You're just going to let him go?" He could feel his anger building. Ouranos made as if to set his cup down.

"Perhaps, my lady, I should leave you two alone..."

"That will not be necessary, Ouranos," said Astariel with her usual calm. Her grey eyes fixed on Rindar's angry green ones. "Believe me, Rindar, if there was anything I could do to sway him from his path, I would have done it. Tyr's fate lies in a different direction than ours. Be comforted. The path of his life may diverge from yours, but if his heart stays pure, all roads will lead to the Light."

Rindar's temper snapped. "Damn you, I don't want your platitudes!" he shouted. "Tyr was your comrade, burn it all! And now you've cast him aside! How long until you do the same to me? To Byron? To Ouranos?"

Astariel stood, and although Rindar was almost a head taller than her, her presence was imposing. Rindar took a step back. Astariel's normally soft voice snapped like a whip. "Enough! Accusing me of... I cannot..." Quite abruptly she cut off. Then something incredibly uncharacteristic happened. Astariel fell to her knees, and, putting her head in her hands, began to weep.

Rindar, aghast, dropped down beside her. "Light, Astariel, I didn't mean to..." He swallowed. Words failed him, and he put his arms around her. Astariel's head leaned against him, staining his white robes with her tears. The elf could discern words in his leader's quiet weeping:

"Tyr... Light forgive me, Tyr..."

[Vortigern]

The Tyrene Princess drew into the harbour at Sherat on the third day after the spring equinox. By summer solstice Tyrendos had inveigled, manipulated, bribed, insinuated and in some ways earned his way to the Duke's ear. On the fifth day of Aft-Summer, Tyrendos received a letter from Astariel.

My dear Tyrendos, it read.

How is it that in a mere turn of the seasons you have fallen so far from the pure path you once held so near to your heart? This year's fighting season has already seen too many dead on all sides, especially between the two cities we now call home. I have sought to understand why you would direct your wrath against me, and every time I conclude that you bear me ill will for the acrimonious parting we endured when last we saw one another. You know, my friend, that I abhor violence; why would you seek so to punish me for delivering the will of the Light?

Those accusations you placed at the feet of Ouranos have not only been proven erroneous this past season; they have been shown more to reflect your own behaviour. Ouranos has opened his temple as a sanctuary for those injured in the battles you have orchestrated against us, and has sent his chapter to help the unwary militias of Ateni time and again. I would ask what you have done, but I fear I already know the truth. The soldiers all tell of a mighty warrior in a white cloak who wields a sword of fire and cannot be cut down. This, combined with some news I received recently from Envael, leads me to believe you have acquired the cursed sword of Ashan'Ra the warrior mage. If this is so, I beg of you, for the sake of all the love you once bore me, to cast aside this evil weapon and end this merciless campaign against my friends. If it makes any difference to you, Rindar and Byron have taken to the field more than once and both have been done injury in the pursuit of the defence of this city. We are your friends, Tyrendos, yet you would slay us where we stand.

If you still remember the man who sought to protect and promote the Light, we beg for his safe return.

Hail, Tyrendos.

Tyrendos's fingers gently caressed the bronze blade at his waist. Cursed? What does she know? he thought. This sword was what had enabled him to force his way to the top so spectacularly, and he would be damned before he would relinquish his most valuable asset. She was right about his campaign, though. Revenge was a strong motive to plan a brilliant campaign, and he had done himself proud. Where once Ateni had controlled the lands almost all the way to the mainland from their peninsula, they were now hemmed in with perhaps fifty miles between the city walls and the Sheratene front line. By the end of this fighting season Ouranos would be dead and Ateni would be in Tyrendos' hands, the Duke had promised him that.

"You chose the wrong side, Astariel," he murmured, crumpling the letter and tossing it the floor. She would see. They would all see.

[{IRS}Athos]

The stone ceiling of Ateni's Chapel of Light echoed with song, as the setting sun sent long pillars of light across the floor. Hundreds of white-robed Paladins stood along Astariel's disciples, packed shoulder to shoulder despite the size of the nave. Individual voices could be picked out as the worshipers raised a prayer to the Light: the deep, sonorous bass of Ouranos, seeming to shake the paving stones; Byron's baritone, singing lustily despite minimal knowledge of rhythm or even pitch, and the soaring soprano of Astariel herself, her face rapturous as she lost herself in the words of the ancient hymn.

"Rorando coeli defluant,
nubesque justum depluant;
aperta terra machina,
florem salutis germina.

"Descenderos ecclesiae
inber sunt pernae graciae;
moras o illa corripe,
carmen de nostram suscipae.

"Aremus aridos riga,
luxata membra colliga;
culpas relaxa suplicum,
et punde lumen coelicum."

One voice, however, was conspicuously absent from the hymn. The clear tenor of Rindar was not to be heard, for the elf had not set foot in the nave of the chapel for the past week. By order of the healers, he was confined to the infirmary in the Chapel's north wing. Now he paced restlessly, forcing himself not to itch his right arm, which was enveloped in a sling of clean white fabric.

Bloody healers... with the magic they have at their fingertips, you'd think they'd be able to set things aright. But instead, they tell me that I must stay still. He shuddered. Still, it's well enough they reached me in time. They tell me that I may have lost use of the arm if I hadn't been helped in time. To never be able to draw a bow again... He shook his head. This was foolishness. He was well, but he still had a week of his "sentence" in the infirmary to go.

He heard the strains of the hymn echoing down the hall and translated the last verse quietly to himself. "Let us wet our dry cheeks, gather our limbs given to luxury, let go of faults of suppliants, and delight in the Light of heaven." He shook his head. Perhaps Astariel had wept for Tyr when she sent him away, but she seemed to show little enough emotion now. Whenever Tyr was spoken of, she had a faraway look in her eyes... not sadness precisely, but certainly an emotion akin to it.

To feel pity for him now is meaningless, thought Rindar harshly. It was her decree that drove him away, even if his actions led to it. Tyr has become dangerous. With the Sword at his side, he could rip this city apart stone by stone... He shook his head. Children's tales. Even the most powerful mages of the past would have to expend a great deal of energy to do that. Ashan'Ra himself...

Considering mages led him down another unpleasant train of thought. The undead mage Zhar, whom he had traveled with for some time in the past, had a great deal of power indeed. If Zhar could have done such a thing, then could Tyr...?

The door banged open, and Rindar started as Byron walked in. "Damn it all, I'm trying to think!" he snapped.

"Not about very pleasant things," said Byron. "You've a face like a thundercloud. What's the matter?"

"Tyr bloody well is, and I don't see how you lot can take it all so calmly," snapped Rindar. He fingered the fabric of the sling. "I know his soldiers injured you too, but I was nearly crippled for life. Maybe he was a bloody hero once, but he's certainly not any more. He needs..." Rindar stopped abruptly, then continued in a softer voice. "Astariel denies it, of course. If Tyr died by my hand, she'd never forgive me. But Tyr needs her forgiveness, and as it isn't forthcoming..." He shrugged with his good shoulder.

Byron sat down on one of the beds. "Rindar, you and I need to talk..."

[Vortigern]

The combined forces in the service of Sherat numbered some twelve hundred, roughly half of which were militias levied into service, largely against their will. The rest of the army was mercenaries and Paladins, Tyrendos's personal troop numbering just half a century for this foray into enemy territory. Of course, this was not all Sherat had, but it was all that would be heading out to take the riverside town of Spathis, less than thirty miles from Ateni itself. With control of Spathis, Sherat could effectively cut off at least half of Ateni's supply route, and the town was not even particularly heavily fortified; no invading force had ever reached this far before.

In spite of its lack of fortifications, Spathis would be no easy battle, Tyrendos knew. Ouranos and Astariel would understand the town's importance and send their very best to defend it, which naturally would mean Ouranos himself would be commanding the garrison, which was why Tyrendos led this army. His nemesis would be within his grasp at last, without Astariel to get in the way.

A bugle sounded down the column; the scouts had returned. Tyrendos spurred his horse forward towards the front. It was of vital importance that he knew everything the battle to come might throw up.

"What forces do they have?" he demanded as he arrived alongside the vanguard.

"Their forces do not equal ours, sir," began one of the scouts. "But they have built up the walls around the town and razed the buildings outside the wall to form a killing ground. We will not get close to the wall without incurring serious losses." Tyrendos frowned.

"What else?"

"More than half of their men are militias, my lord," said the scout.

"Locals?"

"Most likely, sir." Tyrendos sighed. Militia were militia the world over, but when defending their homes they would fight to the last breath. This battle would not be easy.

"Is there anything else of use?" The scout shook his head. "Very well. Dismissed." The scout saluted and headed back down the column. Tyrendos considered the matter. Right now they were about three hours' march from Spathis, or perhaps half an hour's hard ride. "Signal a halt," he ordered the bugler. The notes rang out clear and vibrant. "And tell the captains to come to the head of the column." The bugler did not even acknowledge the order, but did as he was asked, sounding the message. Within a few minutes the leaders of all the accumulated mercenary bands and levies stood before Tyrendos.

"We will camp here until nightfall," he told them. "We will assault Spathis under cover of darkness, and we will be subtle about it. If we give ourselves away we will likely lose the day, but if we can open the gates to the town unobserved, the battle will be ours to be won." Tyrendos thought for a moment. "I don't think there's anything more that needs to be said. Make sure all of your men understand the necessity of silence in this plan. Dismissed." The captains saluted with various degrees of formality, from painful-sounding chest-thumping to a single lazy finger raised to the forehead. Mercenaries, Tyrendos thought contemptuously. Fine soldiers, for the most part, but terrible people.



((If anyone besides IRS wishes to join in with this, go ahead. Just make someone up on either side and join the fun.))

[{IRS}Athos]

Rindar leaned back against his pillow, his brow furrowed. Even after listening to Byron and forcing the young man to repeat himself twice, he still wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. "So what exactly is my role in all of this going to be?"

Byron sighed gustily and rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath that was probably a criticism on the flighty minds of elves. "Light above, Rindar, I've been over this three times. You've had enough time to get over your initial shock and awe, and begin actually thinking." He added, in a rather lower tone that Rindar could barely hear, "For once."

Rindar gritted his teeth and sat straighter. "Listen, boy, what you're talking about sounds dangerously close to treason."

Byron's eyes glittered with a combination of anger and conviction. "I've thought this over, and even if I haven't spoken to Astariel about it, I'm sure that she would..."

"That she would what?" demanded Rindar, keeping his voice low. Despite his disbelief, he had no desire to get his comrade in trouble, no matter what madness he was talking. "Condone the murder of one of her allies? Light, man, Astariel wouldn't condone the murder of an enemy. If Ouranos dies suddenly, and under suspicious circumstances... It may remove one of Tyr's motivations for attacking Ateni, but it sure as hell won't stop him on his march. He has the Sword of bloody Ashan'Ra, and once a man has that kind of power, he can't just set it aside!" He moderated his tone slightly. "Besides, if one of her allies, with whom Tyr should have had no quarrel in the first place, ends up dead, and obviously murdered, do you think she'll forgive him that?"

Byron paused. "Yes," he said softly. "I think she will."

"And if she finds out that we were behind it?"

"The alternative is a war, Rindar. Somehow I think that the death of one man, friend of Astariel or not, will more than pay for the thousands of lives that would have been lost otherwise." He took a deep breath. "We'll head to Spathis and... do what must be done. Then we'll give Tyr a letter of treaty, and see what happens."

Rindar put his head in his uninjured hand and groaned. "Light... What have you gotten us into?"

Byron's voice was sharp. "Make your choice. Will you help me, or not?"

Rindar straightened up. The ghost of a smile played across his face. "I'm in, you flaming idiot. Light willing you don't throw us both in the fire."

[{IRS}Athos]

The docks at Spathis were usually a bustling, busy place. However, with the rumors of a mage-knight approaching from the south, most ships were on their way out, not wanting to get involved in the conflict between the Paladins that controlled the peninsula. Dock workers, bare-chested or with their sleeves rolled up, were helping to unload one of the few ships that had arrived since the rumors of Tyr's coming had begun. The captain, a tall, clean-shaven foreigner by the name of Syphax, watched them, tapping his foot. It was a mark of his daring as a captain that he had come here: he hoped to unload, sell his goods, and quit the city as soon as he could, making for a new destination. Perhaps Imbara, or Valenti...

Syphax's thoughts were interrupted as an undersized man in immaculately pressed robes emerged out onto the deck. Syphax smiled at him, although it was the last thing he wanted to do. No good getting a Magus angry... he thought. Still, I wish I'd never agreed to let him come aboard. Aloud he said, "Ah, Magus Tair. Is there a problem?" He deliberately pronounced the word "magus" as closely to "maggot" as he could: mispronouncing Tair's title was the closest he'd get to outright disrespect.

"Not at all, Captain," said Tair in an oily voice, smiling slightly. Syphax refrained from gritting his teeth with difficulty: the man's smiles irritated him. He never showed his teeth, and if that was the smile of an honest man Syphax would eat his own boots, unsalted. Tair's voice continued on, his lips barely moving. "I merely came to inform you that I am disembarking here."

Syphax concealed his joy by speaking quickly. "Is this because of the accomodations, Magus? I assure you that if you have problems with them, they can be resolved. We would regret losing a passenger, and..." Light send that he's really serious about getting off this ship! He'd better pay well, for all the trouble he put us through...

Tair held up an impatient hand. "No, not at all. I have reached my destination, so I am disembarking." He handed Syphax a fat purse, and the captain's eyes gleamed. He didn't open it, though: it would be bad form to count the money out immediately, as much as he disliked the magus.

Syphax gave the magus a half-bow. "I will instruct two of my men to accompany you to the inn of your choice. They will bring your luggage." And that will be the end of it. I won't have to see you anymore, you creeping slime...

Tair's thin smile flicked across his face once again. "My thanks, Captain. I will see them rewarded for it." He looked to the side, seeing two sailors heaving his large trunk up the companionway. "Farewell, then." Turning in an impressive swirl of robes, Tair walked down the gangplank towards the city, with the two sweating crewmen following him with the trunk. Syphax watched them, weighing the purse in one hand.

If that man's straight, I'm a Vyre, he thought. Then, irritably, he turned around, barking orders to his crewmen. "Come on, you layabouts! On the double! We want to get out of the port before that thrice-blasted mage knight burns it down to the water. Any man I see slacking will meet the end of a knotted rope! I'll keel-haul anyone who I see slacking twice! Come on, move!"

[Vortigern]

Spathis was bathed in a dim orange glow as Tyrendos gathered his captains just barely within sight of the town. Even from here, though, he could see it was a town ready for war; braziers were lit along what walls there were, serving the dual purpose of warming the men on guard and providing straightforward beacons should an attack come, and the gates had closed almost before the sun had sunk down beyond the horizon.

"Taye, you will take your complement round through the docks. There are only low walls there, but you will likely meet with patrols and plenty of angry residents. Don't hold back." Taye, a tall, slim woman wearing brown leather armour, nodded, her plaited hair swishing in accompaniment. "Theramon, you will make straight for the gate. Break it down and clear the walls as best you can. Girvan, your men will head into the hills behind the town and come down on them while we have them distracted. I will be holding my men back until Theramon is through the gate, and then we will engage what real soldiers the town has. Any questions?" There were none; all understood the plan and their part in it. Tyrendos nodded approvingly. He had chosen these mercenaries on the basis of their captains, and these three were the best of the best. With them at his back he felt certain victory was within his grasp. "Girvan, get going now. Take Shadrac, he can send word to me when you are in position, and then we will move in." Shadrac was an old friend of Tyr's from within the Palatinate, and usefully had in his possession a communicator, its partner being on the leather thong around Tyr's neck. With those two little devices, Tyr and Shadrac could remain in contact across all of Arsencia if need be.

"Let's get ready, then."



((Battle to be written later (or by someone else), I'm going to catch up on my other roles now.))

[{IRS}Athos]

Byron and Rindar, somewhat rumpled and both dusty from the road, slapped each other's backs and congratulated each other. Riding hard through the night, they had reached the city before the sun reached its zenith. Both were tired, but exhilarated. "All we need to do now is find who we need to find and do what must be done," said Byron, being deliberately vague. Rindar's grin faded. In the thrill of the ride, he had forgotten somewhat their purpose. The knowledge of it seemed to swing back and hit him like a hammer.

"I don't know how we're going to do it," he muttered. "He's bound to have plenty of guards, both magical and non-magical, and elfsong won't carry me far against trained battlemages. And don't get me started on the wards he--"

"May have," said Byron. "Let's not get too fatalistic yet, shall we?" Inwardly, the young man was seething. He brings up too many good points, Light blast him! I never should have asked him to come along... I never should have come up with this damned fool plan in the first place. Still, it's too late to back out now. Ouranos has my respect, but he must die if Mirmida is to see peace for the next generation.

Rindar leaned back in his saddle, stretching as much as he could without falling out. "Let's find an inn. I don't care if we have to sleep on the floor of the common room, we are going to get some sleep before we embark on this great quest."

"Fair enough," said Byron, concealing a yawn in his hand. He twitched the reins. "Onward, ever onward..."

The inn they chose was called The Spears, and its sign lived up to the name. The sign hung on rings set around a spear set point-out from the wall, and it was painted with a shield over a trio of spears. Byron tossed a copper to the stableman, who took their reins with a practiced if somewhat indolent hand. Byron had to duck his head to enter the low door. The common room was beginning to fill up with men looking for a drink and gamble over their luncheon, but there were still several empty tables. "Food first, then sleep," said Byron, looking a bit more alert. Rindar agreed, so the pair seated themselves at one near the bar, and were greeted by one of the bartenders, an clean-shaven young man with glossy black hair. Byron slapped down a couple of coins on the counter, and the bartender slid them drinks. They picked them up and sipped appreciatively as he spoke to them.

"Just came into Spathis, did yeh?" he asked in a low voice. "Couldna picked a worse time, I'm afraid. Rumors of some mage or other makin' for the city, eh? I'd just as soon be gone, but I've got a girl in town, and, well..." He laughed. "She wouldna leave her missus, and I couldna let her stay here alone. I'm summat surprised, though. With the two of you, that makes three outlanders at the Spears."

Byron and Rindar exchanged a look. "Who's the other?"

The barman shrugged. "Magus type. Far outlander, by the looks of him. Leers at the servin' women, aye, an' the men just as well." He shook his head. "Someone asked him why he was here, and he murmured somethin' about lookin' for a man. Oran, or somethin'. That's all I heard, at least." He looked at them curiously. "Why d'ye ask?"

"No reason," said Byron and Rindar in unison. They looked at each other and laughed nervously, their thoughts running along the same lines.

A magus, probably looking for Ouranos. This could be promising...

[Rafv Nin IV]

A drenched thing, towed for a thousand nautical miles by the migrations of tuna, washed up on Spathis's rocky beach as the sun rose over the sea in a stereotypically romantic fashion. Mara shook her head and flung her sparse strands of hair over her ears. She smacked her lips. Pink flesh stuck out at odd angles from the narrow gaps between her teeth, and she poked idly at them with her tongue. Mara bent slowly and rested on a rock, trying to regain her breath; she was unused to expanding her lungs, and had to return to the habit. As she sat, a small ball of brackish water and sand rose of its own accord and floated towards the girl. It broke in front of her mouth and sawed around the fangs and the molars. Mara spat, then peered into her reflection in the lapping waves.

The reflection, of course, distorted her image. But Mara knew her teeth were clean, regardless. They felt fresh.

A boy shouted at Mara from perhaps sixty feet down the beach, where he bent over a spade in a lackadaisical effort to capture clams. "Girl! Ain't that water cold? Goddamn, you got guts to go swimmin' now. It ain't even proper daylight yet!" Mara ignored him.

After several minutes of rest, wherein the scaled humanoid fully evaluated the land-organs until complete assurance had been reached concerning the operation of lungs and light-filtering eyelids, Mara stood and swayed into the town proper. Every time Mara came to fraternize with the land-beings, she brought new meaning to 'losing the sea legs'. The journey had drained Mara, and although the day had just begun, she wanted nothing except sleep.

Third eyelid drooping, Mara staggered through the doorway of a dingy land-dweller's inn. There, at The Spears, she booked a room for the next two days.

[{IRS}Athos]

The attention of everyone in the inn was distracted by the appearance of a strange-looking young woman, walking as if she were drunk. Of middling height, the skin of her face seemed almost transparent as it stretched across high cheekbones. A scar meandered across the left side of her face, though Rindar had no idea how long it could have been there. Come to think of it, he couldn't put an age on the woman either.

The rest of the inn gaped in silence as the girl, her lips barely moving, booked a room for two days. Although she was turned mostly away from Rindar, he caught a glimpse of sharp teeth. His eyes widened, but he concealed his start by taking a deep drink from his mug. How strange. That makes, what, four outlanders? He nudged Byron.

"Buy her a drink."

"But--"

"Buy her a drink. I want to hear why she's here."

"But--"

"The magus can wait. We've got a full day, unless Tyr plans on crossing the fields at night. He'd break the legs of all of his horses, and a few of his men's, too. No, I think we can afford to wait until tonight. So buy her a drink."

"But--"

"You're not a bloody parrot, Byron. Now."

As he called the barman over and tossed him a coin, Byron ruefully wondered when he had lost control of the expedition. "Give a drink to the lady over there and tell her it's on us." He turned to Rindar. "Satisfied?" The elf managed only a quick cough before he burst out laughing.

[Rafv Nin IV]

"No," Mara muttered at the barman standing over her, "No drink. Just a glass of water and some salt and something to eat. Make it raw." She held her right hand over her mouth as she spoke, and didn't remove her hood even though inside; she didn't want to spook one of these creatures prematurely. "Please," Mara added as an afterthought, "and I'll pay for it myself." Tossing the man a few tarnished coins, she slid awkwardly off of her stool, balancing with her left hand clutching the counter. Why does this always take so long? You'd think I could walk properly by now. It's been hours.

Mara grumbled as the barman sauntered over to the two men and returned their money, with his apologies. Although she hated to admit it, she appreciated firm ground every now and then. In particular, Mara liked falling asleep and waking up in the same place. There just weren't enough currents in the air-ocean to make people drift, especially if they were tied into their beds with linens. And, despite her initial distaste at learning to walk again, Mara improved her technique quickly. Already, she moved smoother than the old human women. It would take some more time to have any sort of grace, however.

Taking care to avoid all the trip hazards common to a tavern--table legs, emancipated mugs, drunk men--Mara shuffled to the table where the two men that had offered her a drink were sitting. She settled into a chair without asking. The thicker and burlier of the two--not that he was particularly thick or burly, except when next to his partner--opened his mouth, but Mara spoke first, in a quiet voice that somehow rang with intensity.

"I am rarely confused, but I am now. If you have seen me, then you would not buy me a drink like some loose, unaccompanied woman. If you have not seen me, then you should not buy me a drink because you don't know what caliber of loose, unaccompanied woman I am. So, either you are blind, stupid or have a different purpose. Because the first two get me nothing, I'll assume the third. So what gives?"

[{IRS}Athos]

"We were wondering what brings you to--oof!" Rindar elbowed Byron hard in the ribs.

"I'll do the talking," he said. He bent over his mug and spoke in a low voice. "Spathis is about to be attacked by Tyrendos par Sharlac, a former comrade of ours. We serve Astariel, known to some as the Lady of Light, and we've come here to try to stop the war, however we can. Now, the attack on Spathis is no secret. People who aren't involved in the war between Ateni and Sherat--"

"Tyr's quarrel with Ouranos, you mean..." muttered Byron. Rindar glared at him.

"People who aren't involved in the war have the good sense to stay clear of it."

Byron cut in. "Unless you've been living under a rock--which, no offense, seems like it may be a possibility--you would know about this war and be far away from Spathis. But you aren't. You're here, and you must have a reason for it." He looked apologetically at Rindar. "You were being too oblique." Rindar waved a hand as if it was no matter to him, but his eyes showed irritation and his tone when he spoke showed no less.

"Basically. Why are you here?"

~~~

Janis watched the man and the elf drinking with some interest, and even more when the odd young woman moved over to them. He heard the first exchange, but afterwards, the elf lowered his voice, making his words too quiet for anyone but his two companions to hear. Janis muttered a spell under his breath, and listened closely. "...par Sharlac, a former comrade of ours..." "Nay, 'e did! 'E said 'is woman..." Irritated, Janis refined the spell. He had no wish to hear the drunken boasts of a local. He was interested in the outlanders.

The refined spell resolved just in time for the magus to hear "...stop the war, however we can. Now, the attack on Spathis is no secret. People who aren't involved in the war between Ateni and Sherat--"

"Tyr's quarrel with Ouranos, you mean..." cut in the young man. Janis gave a start of surprise at hearing the name, causing him to lose control of the spell. It didn't matter: he'd heard what he needed to. His eyes narrowed as he considered what they had been saying. Tyrendos par Sharlac was a former comrade. Their aim was to stop the war, however they could, and they viewed it as a quarrel between par Sharlac and Ouranos.

A thin smile spread across the face of the magus, and he stroked his goatee in consideration. These outlander warriors could fit in quite well with his plans. Quite well indeed...

[Rafv Nin IV]

Mara hesitated several moments before replying. What am I supposed to say? "Nice to know that you're here to stop the war, but I disagree. I'm here to make everything much worse. If all of you land-races kill each other off, I have to do a lot less work." Blinking with two sets of eyelids, Mara fingered her scar and thought. Luckily, the barman returned at this point, and set Mara's order down on the table.

"Here yuh go. Right raw, just like yuh said. You want it cooked, huh?"

"Thanks," Mara muttered, not bothering to raise her eyes to look at the barman. She grabbed the salt bowl and dumped several spoonfuls into her glass, swirled, and removed the spoon, placing it neatly beside her plate. The plate itself contained a chunk of tough muscle, cold and raw. Mara heaved it in her left hand and tore at it voraciously, swallowing the whole roast in three enormous bites. She didn't chew, but she pretended to do so in order to gain time to better determine her response. Although she doubted the two land-things truly understood, Mara grinned within. Her comment was possibly the greatest understatement in Arsencian history.

"I'm here, men, because I have a vested interest in a few deaths of various peoples. And I'm hanging around in case the war doesn't see to that. But I don't want unnecessary trouble. It might be more efficient without the war, indeed. No sense in doing more than absolutely necessary." Yes, disease works better than war and takes a lot less effort. But that's hard to orchestrate. "So, what's your plan to stop this madness? It would be nice to be able to move around the area without always having to look over my shoulder for patrols." If they actually know what they're doing, I've got to find a way to stop them. War is one of the great destabilizers, even if not the best.

((Anyone ever notice how completely unrealistic our meetings always are? "Hey, I'm on a secret quest." "No way! Me too!" "Dude, wanna unnecessarily exchange vital information and see if we can cooperate?"))
((VORT: I'm currently working on the theory that Arsencia has high natural levels of narrativium. It may be somewhat unrealistic, but the prospect of us all writing huge introduction posts is even more so.))

Edited by Vortigern, 18 December 2010 - 09:50 AM.

[{IRS}Athos]

"So you're here to kill people? What a coincidence, we are t--oof!" Rindar elbowed Byron hard in the ribs once again and laughed nervously as he looked back to Mara, but not before hissing under his breath to Byron.

"Are you mad?" He returned his voice to a normal tone, although still quieter than usual. "As it is, he is telling the truth. As we said before, we believe that Tyrendos is attacking this city because of the presence of Ouranos in the garrison." He took a deep breath, then finished in a rush. "And so, if Ouranos goes... Tyr goes too."

"Now who's being blunt?" muttered Byron.

Across the room, Tair's smile widened.

[Rafv Nin IV]

"So," Mara mused, lowering her voice, "I deduce from your willingness to tell me all this that you two may know how to kill, but you don't know much about keeping secrets. If I were planning to assassinate a military man, I would at least keep his name secret. Ouranos, from what I've heard, is no stranger to violence."

Mara paused, thinking. If they assassinate Ouranos, it's unlikely that the war will actually stop. Quarrels between individual men are settled with knives in back alleys, not with catapults, rank and file. And if this city-state's only true general is murdered, they'll stand no chance...Excellent. Tyrendos par Sharlac can keep on conquering as long as I can help him.

"Luckily for you, though, I'm after the same man, so your secret is safe." Lying smoothly, Mara continued, "I meant to wait until the dust had settled to hunt him down, but if you're willing to help, I might as well knock him off earlier. You'll find that I have many talents that you can access nowhere else." Lowering her gaze, Mara grasped her glass of saltwater. In what was clearly meant as a demonstration, she tipped the glass over--but the water stayed cemented in the glass as if it were rubber. Mara twirled her wrist and pointed the ring on her right thumb toward the water, and it shot forward, off the table, and hovered in the air briefly before lengthening and thinning into an arrow-shape. Mara's hand struck the table; the water bolt struck the ground.

Byron peeped over toward the floor. Three wooden panels had broken through into the cellar. He glanced back at the strange woman with a new understanding.

Mara spoke. "Still, I've only just arrived in town; I haven't located Ouranos yet. I'd need your help in orienting myself. Do we have a pact?"

((I don't really have any clear idea what to do next, other than tag along and kill land-dwellers, so I figure we just follow your plotline, IRS?))

[{IRS}Athos]

Byron extended his hand. Rindar slapped it aside and extended his own. "We have an agreement, then." After a moment, Mara took it and shook it once. Rindar was somewhat disconcerted by the firmness of her grip, and didn't manage to hide his feelings very well. "We'll start in the citadel. I'd assume that's the best place to find city leaders. Still, we ought to find disguises first. I doubt Astariel would be pleased if she found out that we were assassinating one of her allies." He glared at Byron, his eyes making his thoughts clear. This is your fault. This entire harebrained scheme.

"I may be able to help you with that," said an oily voice. Rindar and Byron looked up guiltily, their hands immediately going to their daggers. The magus who had walked up to them extended his hands to show that he was unarmed, and although this did little to relax the warriors, the magus took his seat at the table. "My name is Janis Tair," he said in a somewhat simpering tone. "I am a magus of no little power, and..." He suddenly noticed Mara, and started slightly before pasting on a smile once more. "Ah. I am willing to help you with your... endeavours."

If the man's straight, my grandmother was a Ssadjin, thought Rindar irritably.

((Yeah, that sounds about right. ))

[Vortigern]

We're ready, Shadrac's voice echoed across the ether. Tyrendos smiled grimly, and signalled Taye and Theramon. They both acknowledged his signal and began leading their corps into the night. Useful, these little communicators, Shadrac continued. Mind on the job, Shadrac, Tyrendos reminded him. Of course.

It was a matter of only a few minutes before the signal went up from Taye's troop going through the docks, a single flaming arrow shot out and away from the town. Get your men moving, Shadrac, Tyrendos ordered. We're underway.

* * * * * * * *

Theramon ordered his men to bring to ram to the fore. They did so in an orderly fashion, being the well-drilled professional soldiers they were. The canvas roof of the ram kept the slings and arrows away as they battered at the gate, smashing a hole through it in two mighty blows and breaking the entrance wide open with the fourth. Theramon's mercenaries poured through the breach, swords and shields raised high. Immediately a contingent turned aside from the forces that stood before them to make for the stairways to the rampart. Theramon moved with the main body of his men, driving a wedge straight into the defenders in the street behind the gate; he was not the sort of commander to take a back seat while his men did the work. He stepped into a gap in the line as one of his men fell back clutching a wound to his sword-arm, instantly delivering a deadly blow to a man's throat, ripping flesh and blood away.

* * * * * * * *

Ouranos shouted orders in all directions as his town came under attack. From his vantage point he could see the signs of battle erupting on three sides around him, which left him with only one direction unchallenged. Sadly, as far as his survival was concerned, that was through a solid wall. The only chance Spathis now had to save itself from falling into Sheratene clutches was the bravery of the men inside. No chance, Ouranos thought to himself. These are civilians, not soldiers, and we're up against professionals. But aloud he carried on the charade. It wouldn't do for the men to see their commander panicking.

Nonetheless, it was time to make his escape. Without him, Ateni would lack an overall commander. Worse, he had heard rumours that Rindar and Byron, Astariel's two most trusted friends, had disappeared. He feared that Tyrendos may have been behind it, sending assassins in the night. He's definitely not above it. Ouranos made his way down into the street, sword and shield at the ready just in case. His entourage guarded him on all sides, though what use they would be when faced with a sizeable troop of mercenaries was questionable at best. The docks were deep in the midst of battle, but there were still places to slip through unnoticed. Ouranos had but to hope his transport was not at the centre of the furore.

* * * * * * * *

Tyrendos licked his lips hungrily at the sight of battle before him, fingers curling tightly around the sword of Ashan'ra at his belt. Even just touching the hilt gave him such a rush. He wondered how he had ever gotten through life before this artifact came into the equation. He must have felt so empty, without even realising it.

He raised the sword above his head, and around him the army of former Paladins surged forward, making straight for the breached gate. Battle would be joined in moments, and Spathis would be his before sunrise.



((There you go, chaps. The battle is underway, and you have the perfect cover for your assassination attempt. Sorry if you wanted more planning time, but I was getting bored. ))

[Rafv Nin IV]

They crouched behind a stack of crates filled with something putrid as they waited. Spathis had clamped down in preparation for the battle; nobody had entered, nobody had left, and vegetables once freshly sold in the central plaza festered in the humid air. Byron rested, cool and focused, concerned but not excessively worried. Rindar seemed more anxious, Mara noticed. Right now, the elf inspected the fletchings of his arrows--he had already done so three times. Perhaps a mouse lived in his quiver, and Rindar needed to keep its home tidy. Perhaps he had doubts about their mission, Ouranos's death. But Mara knew that, even if Rindar backed out in the end, Byron's determination would see the deed done.

Janis Tair was a different matter. The sorcerer lied prolifically, hovered back while others risked their lives, stuck his greasy little fingers where they didn't belong and kept them there. People like Tair helped inspire Mara on her mission of global cleansing every time she thought about quitting. Nothing under the waves produced such scum--and when scum surfaced anyway, it stayed on the surface, whether it could breathe above water or not. The mage slouched, back against the filthiest crate of the bunch. Idly, he twirled a stick he'd picked up in one hand and held a fly he'd caught--removed its wings--in the other. He tormented the fly as the ragtag assortment of assassins-to-be passed time in boredom, summoning small bits of flame to singe it just the point of death and then backing off. At least Mara killed her prey swiftly. And if it was suitable, she ate it. Tair just wasted effort and meat. Mara hated him.

The whole operation depended on Janis Tair.

Slowly, Tair perked. "He's coming down the east alley, the one that parallels the main paved street. They're leaving Spathis, heading for the docks. They'll hug the side of the plaza and turn north. There's a skiff already waiting for them. This is the only chance we'll have, unless you want to swim after him. He has an entourage, at least six guards and less than fifteen but I can't tell for sure, not yet anyway. One of them knows enough magic to make discerning their exact numbers and position difficult. I can take care of him, but you'll have to take care of the rest. We've got two minutes until they're here."

The group creaked back to life. Byron dusted his coat and drew his sword; Rindar nocked an arrow. "Rindar," Mara thought aloud, "Elves can see much better than humans. So can I. Janis doesn't really need to see, he knows where they stand regardless."

"Yes. So?"

"There will be fog. Lots of it. They won't be able to peer more than fifteen feet in front of them. We can come at them from any direction, and they won't hardly know until there are shafts through their backs." Mara concentrated. Clouds descended from the sky and steam rose from the docks not far off. They swirled, coalesced, interacted until the blind could walk through the plaza nearly as well as the unimpaired. Suddenly, as if Mara casually flipped the weather's switch, the movement stopped, the fog socked in and the moon illuminated little besides a pearly white haze. Less than thirty seconds later, the assassins heard the sound of steel clanking. Ouranos had entered the plaza.

Edited by Rafv Nin IV, 25 March 2011 - 07:04 PM.

[{IRS}Athos]

Rindar muttered softly to Tair as he moved forward. "You're going to have to identify the mage for me. We'll have to shoot him first, or he might be able to warn the others in time for them to get up a shield-wall. We won't get a better chance than this, and I don't want to throw away an opportunity."

Tair waved a hand blithely. "Stop worrying. Regardless of whomever we--that is, you--shoot first, all of these people are going to die eventually. Lord par Sharlac will see to that."

Rindar gritted his teeth. "Yes, but if we don't stop the invasion, thousands of innocents will die for par Sharlac's revenge. As a disciple of the Light, I cannot permit that to happen."

The mage gave Rindar a thin smile. "I love your hypocrisy," he said. "You're willing to murder a man in cold blood because you think it may save the city, all because you feel that you owe something to this Tyrendos. He's probably as bad, if not worse than, the man you're about to kill. If you don't kill Ouranos, he will sack the city and probably kill hundreds or thousands of the locals. If you do kill Ouranos, but fail to get to him in time, he will descend upon a leaderless army and slaughter them even more quickly. Your hope for this mission is that you will, somehow, beat all the odds and play the hero. How do you justify this to yourself?"

Byron glared at the pair. "Talk later. We have a minute at most before Ouranos is back under cover." He took a bolas from his belt and began to whir it around, the stone balls clacking together. "Direct me," he said to Tair, straightening to throw.

Tair held Rindar's icy eyes for a moment and smiled slightly. Then he nodded to Byron, pointing towards the soldiers. Rindar drew back his bow, straining his eyes to see the faint outlines of Ouranos' bodyguards. Both loosed their weapons at the same time, arrow and bolas whirring off through the air towards their intended targets.

Neither of the missiles reached their mark.

The arrow, flying faster, shattered into splinters on a shield of air that appeared halfway between the men and their would-be assassins. Rindar whirled, drawing his knife, but it was plucked from his hand by a gale-force wind and clattered down on the pavement behind him. Byron was thrown back against the crates by another wind, and Mara was blown halfway across the alleyway. Tair backed up, eyes glittering maliciously, as Rindar lunged for him again.

"Now, now, we can't go spoiling the fun, can we?" The mage cocked an ear in the direction of the gates. "Unless I'm mistaken, your friend has already penetrated the defenses. Anything you do will be all but pointless. I'm just looking out for your best interests." The mage threw up a hand, halting Byron in midair as he leapt for Tair's throat with a dagger. "Now, now. Don't you have innocent lives to save?" He flung Byron back into the crates and, with a swirl of his cloak, vanished into the mist. Rindar uselessly ran for his bow and fired three arrows after him, but he heard all three clatter to the cobblestones in the distance.

Damn that man!

[Vortigern]

Tyrendos had found a good vantage point to watch as the town fell to his army. He wouldn't even need to get involved, such was his superiority. There was no way out for Ouranos now. Even if he should survive the battle, Tyrendos would see to it that he didn't survive the night. Compassion had no place in war. You didn't always feel that way, chimed in a small voice in the back of his head. He dismissed it. Strength and mercy were incompatible, he saw that clearly now.

We're in the town, came Shadrac's voice through the ether. Just a matter of time now.