Player Entries (Part II)

Kleidin saw the changes in the human empire, and became disillusioned.

The civil war - the poisoning by forces of Belial left her unable to have children herself. Eventually, she could not stay in a place that demanded sacrifice, with nothing more than disdain for those that did so.

SHe left Travance, and journeyed to the home of her mother, to the valley where the Glamour Grove stood linked to the Malloran tree in Selendria.

There she made her home. She spent many days at a time conversing with the trees. Onlt leaving when she sensed things that set of her witchhunter gifts. She would deal with them, and go back to the trees

The Natural Order of Things - Ravyn Aeronwen

Ravyn’s days of titles and duties had shifted once peace settled upon the world. Although she remained connected to Albriar, the Order of the Sagewardens, and Darkwood Academy, she had chosen to act as a support rather than a leader. In 1222, she had given up her position as a Professor of Bardics at Darkwood Academy, but promised Headmaster Wrenton Revlis that she would be happy to teach lessons whenever requested to do so. In 1223, Ravyn had stepped down as the Constable of Albriar, but requested to remain in contact with the land. Albriar would always be her home and Lady Lois, as well as Viceroy Selby, would have her undying loyalty. In 1224, she had finally turned the Order of the Sagewardens over to another promising individual, who vowed to uphold the mission of the Household. There were still magical artifacts and ruins to uncover and explore. Those beginning years were the hardest for Ravyn to navigate as the world went through its growing pains of finding its way after years of pain and hardship. The silence after the storm of war.

For the Call of the Ravyn had sounded for the last time and she recognized that her presence on the front lines was no longer required. Her roles had shifted and she grew to realize that she was quite comfortable with that. She knew that even in times of peace, a void would be created and darkness would rise up to fill it. So she remained ever vigilant and maintained her contacts - always popping in and checking on those she cared for, while performing acquisition runs and ferrying information. If her presence could be beneficial, she would not mind spending an extra day or two on a visit. Her travels took her wherever she was needed, wherever a client needed her to go.

Ravyn became whoever was needed - the stop gap of whatever an area lacked. For she knew each land, each village, and region would respond to peace in a different way. This was the natural order of things.

1225

The days with Captain were long and arduous now that gate runes weren’t as easy to come by, but Ravyn didn’t mind the solitude. Traveling by road was less dangerous and more convenient when done by mooseback anyway. Her time was filled with song and talking to Captain in between acquisition requests was honestly enjoyable. On the rare occasions that bandits attempted to rob her, they were met with a swift kick from Captain and the butt of a spear to the top of their heads. She would usually leave them tied to a tree & a simple note pinned to their shirt for passersby that read - “Bandits should seek proper employment. Robbing is not a profession.”

1228

After a few years of profitable acquisitions business, Ravyn’s visage became a notable one among the villages. A Hibernian on mooseback meant a shipment of medicine, someone to chase away the riff-raff, and a trustworthy informant for those who needed intel. Ravyn’s clients found her via word of mouth and before long, ravens came to find her no matter where she was.

1230

Her many years of dealings with her clients came as a comfort and felt like a calling since the funds acquired from those business transactions allowed her to travel and help smaller villages and innocents she met along the way. She kept in contact with those she cared for - such as Wren, Selby, Lois, Dirge, the Marcains, and others from her time in Travance. Sometimes she would return to ensure that the Dragon’s Claw was still standing, but otherwise she would pass through like a breeze. Overall, her visits were short, but frequent enough that she was able to keep tabs on those she cared about. Her travels took her far and wide, allowing her both freedom, but also saddling her with loneliness.

1231

Ravyn saw the notice from Baron Aleister Demirosz…, but 11 years had already passed and her visits to Travance had grown more far and few between. She had kept in contact with the residents of Albriar - but in the end, she didn’t feel like a citizen of anything anymore.

Did she really deserve to go back? A “heroes feast?” She was no hero, there was no war. She was a traveling assistant to anyone who needed her. What made her think she deserved to return back to Travance? She knew of no home any longer and though she was gravely lonely, her own insecurities ate away at her. Her duty was to the greater good and to those around her. A feast was not something she should partake in, but if they called upon her for aid or for acquisitions, that was something she would be happy to arrange for them. After all, it was the least she could do for the Barony that she called home for so long.

12--

Ravyn’s client was disgruntled at the dismissive tone, but she didn’t care. This was one event that she simply would not - could not - miss.

“I already told you. I have a prior engagement that day in the Capital of Quinaria. I must apologize, but you need to either change your intended acquisition drop date or find another individual to fulfill your request,” Ravyn repeated evenly, meeting the man’s eyes.

He jerked his head back and stumbled over his response, “But - but - I was told you don’t turn down requests very often,” he shot back, straightening his cravat.

“And I don’t, but I have business with the Ambassador of Quinaria that day that simply cannot be moved.”

------

Ravyn gazed upon the raised platform where the two dignitaries stood, once separated by an age old division that was now healed. Two old friends she had not seen in ages stood side by side, a table complete with parchment, inkwells, and quills at the ready. Today was a momentous day - one that would truly ring in a time of peace and tranquility after generations of hostility and bloodshed. Cinder and Astraea nodded to one another and took their respective seats at the table and, one after another, signed the treaty. As a Hibernian with a moose, she wasn’t exactly welcomed with open arms into this area of the Capital and thus she had taken up a place toward the back of the crowd. Nonetheless, she was able to clearly see Astraea and Cinder from her vantage point on Captain’s back. Ravyn was overcome with a sense of pride for her old friends and remembered their days in Travance fondly. She felt a pang of sadness for being unable to congratulate them in person, but knew she wasn’t a part of their world anymore. It was at that moment that she felt a passing breeze that overwhelmed her with nostalgia. Looking up at the shining sun, she inhaled the sweet scent of freedom and peace and celebrated the hard work she saw before her. She patted Captain once more before turning him back toward the gates and to the roads once more.

1235 - The Angst of Angst

Ravyn climbed the stairs in the main entrance hall, proceeding past the study, the library, and the hall lined with spare bedrooms.She passed through the open doors to the third floor, and proceeded upwards further and down the immaculately kept hall of the top floor, and toward one final heavy door that led to his office. The bright morning sun shone through the windows in slanted rays, illuminating the dust and making it dance as she walked briskly down the corridors of the large estate. Her first instinct was to bellow at him to open it for her, but he seemed to be in a meeting since it was closed. This was exceptionally odd since his schedule didn’t indicate a meeting today, but things change when you’re the most powerful man in Angst.

Shrugging her shoulders, she hoisted the bag on her shoulder higher and adjusted the boxes in her arms so she could press down on the handle with her elbow. This was just a routine drop-off and it was the beginning of the day. Mr. Important was just going to have to deal with a minor interruption since her travel plans were absolutely booked and if she did not get back on the road with Captain soon, she would be late for her next meeting.

Upon entering, she immediately regretted her decision. Damien’s gaze pierced her as if he had stabbed her with his trademark dagger - and his companion sitting across the table looked equally menacing.

“Mind I ask why you have interrupted us?” Damien asked, his body angling just enough for her to see his trademark pistol out and at the ready beneath the table and aimed at his guest.

“Special delivery?” Ravyn replied sheepishly, before attempting to whirl around and exit the room.

In that instant, the guest took the opportunity to dash toward the open door, duck behind Ravyn’s large form laden with boxes, and make a break for it down the hall.

“Oh, for the LOVE OF,” Damien scolded, as he stood and took aim over Ravyn’s shoulder before pulling the trigger calmly.

The loud BOOM echoed in Ravyn’s ears and she stood there in the doorway absolutely shell shocked and wide-eyed. After a moment, her hearing returned and she was vaguely aware of Damien making requests to his household’s employees regarding the fresh corpse in his hallway. If it wasn’t for the ringing that remained in her ears and the boxes in her arms, Ravyn would have cuffed him on the back of the head - “Most Powerful Man in Angst” or not.

“WHAT WAS THAT?” She shouted, a little too loudly, as she walked to the carved wooden desk and deposited the boxes she carried. “Should I worry about the DEAD MAN in your hallway?”

Damien leveled a look at her and cocked an eyebrow - his signature look, before replying coolly and wiping his pistol down, “He knew he wasn’t leaving today. Honestly I’m surprised he didn’t try for the window. And weren’t you supposed to arrive later today? Why are you early?”

“You’re complaining that I’m TOO GOOD at my job?” Ravyn retorted, riffling around in her bag for her ledger and rolling her eyes. “My apologies, Sir, I’ll make sure to be late next time so as not to interrupt your homicide appointments.” Upon finding her quill, she dipped it into the inkwell on Damien’s desk, turned the ledger toward him and motioned at the page, “Sign here, Mr. Marcain.”

Damien smirked and took the quill, signed on the line for his goods, then placed the ledger on the desk to dry. “He deserved it you know. The man was ruining the south end of the district and he couldn’t be reasoned with.”

“Is all of this power going to your head, or are you actually doing some good here, Damien?” Ravyn asked, softly this time. “I worry, you know.”

Damien walked over to the window and gazed outside, thinking for a moment. Of what, Ravyn would not guess, but she had an idea. Before long he replied in an earnest tone, “I’m cleaning up Angst in the only way I know how, and the only way it will respond to. Crime has been halved. My reports tell me that the slavers are essentially gone and are too afraid to return at this point. Abductions and kidnappings from perpetrators outside of Angst are essentially non-existent now. Legitimate businesses are actually beginning to thrive here! I’m making this the place it should be… the place it can be.”

-----------

Later that Day... (1235)

“Dirge!” Ravyn called, letting her voice echo as she walked. She heard no response.

Hmm… he must not be here. I am quite late given the incident from earlier.

She reached his study and checked for him, but it was silent and empty. She placed her encumbered bags on the usual sitting chairs and searched for a lamp to illuminate the space. After a few moments, and some quiet curses, she found a few lamps and lit them on the desk.

I’ll just lay out the parchment Dirge asked for, unpack the bags, and be on my way.

One after another, she unpacked the four bags Dirge had asked for this time. Usually the runs were for more cumbersome items, both magical and non-magical, but this time he had asked for maps, sketches, and paintings.

He must be on another inventing spree. Not surprising given his sleepless nights, but I guess that’s the life of a brilliant mind in a time of peace.

She attempted to unfurl the pages on the desk so they would be easier for him to read in the morning, but they kept coiling back up from their many days in the leather canisters in her bags. This wouldn’t do.

Ravyn moved to the bookcase and pulled a few random books to hold down the parchment to prevent it from curling. Ah yes - this would suffice. She turned around and grabbed a few more then turned back to the desk, but was startled when she heard the bookcase move and whirled around to find that it had slid to the left, revealing a secret room.

“Dirge?” she called into the darkened space. She knew she shouldn’t intrude if he had taken the time to enclose this area in his study, but her curiosity got the better of her. She grabbed one of the lamps from the desk and entered the secret room. It was covered in diagrams and scraps of parchment pinned to the walls. Bits of metal, screws, and plate coverings littered the table on the one side, along with more papers. She drew closer to the table to see a sizable wooden box covering something.

An invention, perhaps?

Ravyn lifted the lamp higher to illuminate the space as she removed the box covering the item. For a moment, she didn’t know what it was, but she was certain it wasn’t innocuous. Placing the wooden box on the floor, she glanced from the object on the table to the diagrams on the walls, then circled the room for answers. She scanned the schematics and, as the pieces began to come together in her mind, she grew more frantic in her search. Ravyn began to remember all of Dirge’s acquisition requests, the maps and schematics he had asked for, and looked up at the papers on the walls.

Oh, Dirge, no. Please - this must be a mistake. You haven’t…

At last, her eyes settled on a single piece of parchment on the wall. Meticulously drawn, but worn at the edges. She removed it and looked it over. This had been handled many times by Dirge. Many...many times. Ravyn’s heart began to beat faster and she felt an impending sense of dread.

Dirge - you’re my friend. Please - this is an obsession. This was well over a decade ago. The man is long gone. How could you plan something like this?

Nonya: Stew ------- “Hmph. You do not exactly look like a deity.” Nonya appraises the being in front of her in search of holy adornment or signature, and is found wanting. They look perfectly average. As mundane and as unique as any person she had ever met. ‘What does a deity look like?’ they ask politely.

“I was thinking perhaps… bigger. Glowing face. Horns or intimidating clothes perhaps? Voice like rusty nails?” ‘Would it comfort you for me to appear in those ways? I can alter myself if you want.’ “Bah. No, look as you wish. Who am I to judge after all, eh?” Her hand does not tremble as it usually does when she reaches for her pipe. Placing it to her lips, she moves to light it before halting. “May I smoke here?” ‘If it would please you. You have never asked anyone that before though, have you?’ “I have never met a deity before. Why would I ask normal person if I can smoke?” A flame appears, lighting the contents of the long, sleek pipe. Here, it looks as new as the first day she had found it. Nonya inhales, her shoulders relaxing. “If I am to die, then I might as well be polite to the one guiding me, eh? I am not stupid.” ‘No. You are not.’ Nonya extends her arm, offering the pipe to the being. They raise a hand to politely decline. Shrugging, she returns the pipe between her lips. “Will there be stew where I am going?” she puffs after a careful moment of contemplation. ‘I… am sorry?’ “Stew! Surely you know of stew where you come from? Like soup, but… chunky. Thick pieces of meat. Preferably with potatoes. A rich broth. Hearty. To keep bones strong. I would prefer beef but I will make no fuss if you only have elk or pork.” ‘You will not need to keep your bones strong once you are there.’ “You intend to rob me of my love for stew? What hellish abyss are you bringing me to, eh?” The being smiles. It is like rays of light that shine through stained glass. ‘That is not where I shall guide you, Nonya. And all that you love shall be there. Stew included, if you should wish.’ “Hmph. This is… acceptable. I suppose,” she grumbles, leaning backwards. Her thin finger taps her chin in thought. “All that I love. You can promise this?”

The being nods their head gently. ‘I can. I know of those you wish to see again.’

“Of course I wish to see them! It is sixty-eight years by my count.” She frowns, and looks down, her wrinkled brow furrowing in a tired frustration. “But only thirteen by my heart. If my memory proves sharp, that is.”

‘You have been cheated of much time. For that, I am sorry.’ “Do not be. Silly. You were not the one to do it.” Looking up, she squints at the figure, growing suddenly suspicious. “You are not Gaia, are you?” Again, the figure smiles their warm smile. ‘No, I am not.’ “Good.” Nonya sniffs, relaxing yet again.

‘But I hear that you have been making up for the years you have lost. Is this correct?’ “Aye. Your information is good.” ‘May I see it?’ Their eyes meet. And for one, flickering moment, Nonya hesitates. Not wanting to move forward into wherever this being wishes to take her.

But it is only a moment. She hands them her journal, the blue binding worn, the paper yellowing. Heavy with the weight of inked words on every page. The being slowly flips through the book. Taking careful time to read and absorb and remember every story that has been written there. Hundreds of tales, hundreds of glimpses into unique and splendid lives. Some of joy, some of woe. Some of terror, some of excitement. All from the hearts and minds of Travance. They take in the faces, scribbled into the margins and bottoms of pages by a shaking hand. Faces of those she would call friends.

They take their time reading every word. They take eons upon eons upon eons. And moments later, they reach the end. The final, blank page. “So. What now, eh my friend?” Nonya asks. ‘Now, I will ask you.’ A quill appears in the being’s hand, and they place the tip on the page. ‘Could you tell me your story?’

Keola: Borrowed Time (Part II)

1227 “Keola, where are your gloves?”

The Londwyn asked in distracted curiosity as the Sylph lightly tugged him along by the hand. Not many things Nigel paid attention to, especially when so enveloped by his work, but the odd feeling that he noticed from Keola as she went down the hall snapped him from his usual haze.

“I could not think of another way to talk to you two- This was important enough I just- I had to do something,” she said in an uncharacteristically exasperated tone.

Opening the door to the study, Robert- Dirge- was where he usually was, trying to be five steps ahead of a spiraling plan. He looked up with his now commonly forced, tired smile but seeing the expression on Keola’s face changed his own, a neutral feature as the smile dropped, being polite enough not to pry into the Sylph’s mind: At the moment. “Hello Keola, Nigel. How are things?”

“We need to talk,” Keola said flatly, pointing between Nigel, Robert, and herself. She lightly let go of Nigel’s hand, “May we sit. Please,” it was added as an afterthought, but some semblance of friendliness could remain. Dirge played the smile again and after a few moments had situated a few comfortable chairs. Nigel took a seat, looking between Robert and Keola quietly and Dirge did as well once he realized Keola was not going to take her own seat. She was looking between Nigel, then Robert, and back several times and was silent, focused on her own thoughts and then she took in a deep breath, “I understand what obsession is, what it looks like, and this is getting out of hand.” There was a small pace, back- forth, and she stopped next to Robert, looking at him as she offered her hand without hesitation, an intent expression, “Take it. Your mind is better than both our words and if I can paint the picture for you, perhaps you will understand.”

Dirge calmly took her hand and Keola flinched, it was not because of anything he did but just a natural reaction from faded years that held ancient scars. She held his hand quietly for a few moments to process what she felt from him and maybe give him a moment to really understand what he could feel from her. First, it was relief as she got a sense of his own emotions: maybe Robert wasn't completely gone after all.

This was mixed with a genuine concern that was usually only reserved for Nigel as far as Dirge could tell in her tone of voice and her feelings. From her touch, it was clear she spoke the truth with every word, “You are our friend Robert and this is me just trying to give you a chance. But, we should not be here anymore. Maybe- if nothing else- you can come with Nigel and I. After that, you will have all the time in the world if you still really want it. Maybe?”

In those silent moments as Robert considered this, Keola could see Dirge’s mind quite clearly, perhaps he had forgotten a moment they were still connected, albeit in a small way. He considered how to keep them from leaving, what temptation may work or- what he had to do to get rid of them because they knew too much of his plan, they were a threat if they left. There was a sense of regret and abandonment but these thoughts were flash paper and dissipated as Dirge made his way to a side table and procured two very elegant letters: two invitations of audience to meet the Faerie Queens of Fire and Water. "I have work to do still, but it does appear you should not be here anymore. I called in a favor, and these arrived this morning. If I survive the work, I hope to join you then."

Keola looked to the letters, gilded filigree practically dancing in the light and she wrung her hands together in a small frustration. Maybe Dirge was not ahead five steps, but he was at least two. She was not completely surprised, but realized maybe she should have tried talking to Robert sooner. “...And Nigel’s done enough work that he can go too? After all, you will let us know when we can help you again, so that he can see his work come to life?” Keola asked the question in an even tone. She did her best to not let Nigel see that, perhaps, she was desperate. There was a pleading look on her face for Robert to respond because, perhaps, they both knew Keola wasn’t enough to get Nigel to leave, especially when there was work to be done. Dirge actually looked annoyed, “Nigel goes where he wishes. I do not keep slaves.” Keola could sense the sharpness of the word ‘slaves’ The trio knew very well the implication of that word. Keola frowned lightly, a little worried that it might not work out, but by the time she was looking back at Nigel she was smiling to him, “Want to finally go on that adventure?”

Nigel looked between Dirge and Keola and then back to Keola with, perhaps, an apologetic look, “Keola, this is a chance to be able to finish this. We’ll be able to destroy all those abominations. I just need time. This will be something that will be remembered.” There was a moment Keola forgot herself- a moment where Dirge may have considered his previous options again, but it was clear something had broken, her expression tried to even itself out as she let go of the psions hand. She quietly acquired her gloves tucked into her belt and put them back on trying not to shake as she spoke in a quiet tone, “Make sense.” It was a tense moment as she simply flicked a smile to them both and looked to Dirge pointedly, “I guess Nigel is in your care then until I return. If anything happens to him, then you’ll have hurt two of my friends and that will not go well for you Dirge. But, you wouldn’t let anything happen to him, of course. He has something magnificent to create.” She looked to Nigel then and she looked like she was going to say something but she did not, nodding her head and turning to walk out of the room, her face unknown, but her voice held a quiver, “I’ll be gone in the hour.”

Late 1227 Keola was not able to find any of the other sylphs. It seemed this meeting would be her own. Her meeting with the Queen of Tides and Flame went… well, considering. Both met with the young Keola, listening to her request and remembering the offered favors to speak with their mother years ago. They allowed Keola to stay in their realms for a time, granting an extension of her years as she completed her tasks. It was a small adventure all on its own. The trial of water helped Keola to understand her own peace and turbulence, and after a time she was granted the Favors. However, Alluria set her on a very special both, before they called their brother and sister together to meet Fyperia, one that Keola had to do on her own and make her own decision on. 1230 Within the small kingdom of the fire faerie was a temple of sacred fire with two keepers that made sure the flame always remained lit. To keep a little fire burning steady for centuries was symbolic of the control and poise they, as a people, vowed to have in order to wield their element with elegance and precision. This most sacred temple a testament to taming a wild and destructive thing.

During certain festivals or events, it was customary to go to this place and place your own fire into the sacred flame for luck. Queen Alluria invited Keola to this festival, to see if Keola was ready to face something truly dangerous and unknown with a calm mind: her own heart.

A light kiss to the Sylph’s forehead burned with an intensity she had never felt before, but she held fast, accepting Alluria’s blessing to protect her from the fire completely scorching her away.

When she stood before the flame, fire faeries watched her curiously and she took in a deep breath, staring into the soft ember glow, seeing the shot of blue white flame within. She plunged her hand thought to herself: You know my desire, show me how to get it.

The fire showed her what she needed and she blinked, wishing she was confused, but understood. Tears she had denied herself for years finally fell and she thanked the flame quietly and made her way from the sacred site, a new mission burning in her heart. 1235 Keola had made her way back to Dirge one day, practically ecstatic. She had acquired what she needed and her goal was almost fulfilled now (though she seemed a little sad Dirge was struggling with time) It had been long enough, no one quite noted her lack of gloves. Her request was simple: She just wanted Nigel to visit with her. After all, if Dirge had taken care of him so long, he would continue to do so: obviously his heart was in the right place and she had been wrong after all. Nigel agreed to a brief trip, if nothing else he was slightly curious about the promise of something ‘new’ she gave. Dirge’s asset had completed what he needed, so it was no distress to him.

So, to Travance they returned and, to Nigel’s surprise, his old home and lab were pristine and clearly still lived in, though there were more than a few new homes nearby. Kormyre, it seemed, had settled into expansion quite well in this time of ‘peace’. Keola began to explain as Nigel looked perplexed, “What was left of the powers of Arawyn and beyond, they were… kind enough to warn me years ago. My immortality is going to be found in the memories of those that remember me. Some kind of fuse was set that cannot be stopped. I- I guess everything really will fade with time now. So- I have made sure we were memorable. We need to stay here for a little while but I promise- you will not miss a thing. I kept your work progressing to help the people here. They know your name and soon they will know your face so you can be remembered too.”

Obsession Part 2:

Robert sat in a dungeon with a group of assets, people who could still do things for him. To his left, Tari, to his right, Dr Hawkes. Another row of assets in front of him. Further ahead, Aleister, a man both dead and not, and Lucius in chains sat, seemingly defeated.

Robert pondered regarding Lucian's body language... Though he was beaten, he remained confident. Surely he had to know what was coming, that there was no rescue for him. There was no True Warlock, who's essence resided in a bottle, to save him. No Esper, bound in dragon Ice, to aid him in commanding respect. No Djinn... What was his third wish...

Robert Morgan's mind started racing, realizing the implications... was there time to react? To warn them of what was to come?

"I wish..."

Dirge started to speak, but in this moment, he realized his silence spoke volumes more. He sat calmly, waiting for what came next. He mentally laughed at Aleister, knowing no warning would come into time, as the cell was warded so heavily, no one could not get through. Panic set in as the cell began to crumble, smashing down on Lucian, The dead man, and Aleister, as he remembered the Phoenix. Every time...

Dirge woke from the nightmare, the same nightmare he had endured nightly, for almost 15 years now. It became so common place, that he generally had a cup of hot cocoa waiting for him, so that he could go over the plan while he sipped it. He put on his slippers, and walked to his study, but instead of getting comfy in one of his chairs, he moved to a book case, pulled a book from memory, and sipped from his mug as the book case slid to the left, revealing a secret room.

The room was covered in diagrams, tidbits of information, that would give no clue as to what he was planning on their own, but together they painted a picture of his plan. As he went over the details, he wished Keola and Nigel had been willing to see this through to the end, but they had their own path. Shame about that. Even without them though, everything was in place. All he needed to do now was get permission from Baron Aleister to use the gates, and he could finally deliver his final revenge on Lucius Baliol. Final Justice... Even if it killed everyone in his capital city in the process.

In the ongoing years, Tari felt her power waning, unlike others though, she had continued to use her power. Tari knew if she did not practice, she would grow weak. She could not have that because she knew someday someone would come for her.

Tari had told people for years there was a monster in her, no one wanted to listen. Well now the monster was out and free and it never wanted to be contained again. Tari had never forgotten the old injures Travance had caused all those years ago, how they all turned their back on her. Well Tari was their monster and now they were going to have to deal with her.

During peacetime her friends had all abandoned her, the one thing they never said they would never do. But everyone lies, Tari knew this to her core. They all went off and had their wonderful lives leaving her on her own. Tari had nothing to return to, nowhere to go, hence why she turned to the dark…to the undead. In a way it was justice, what she should have become long ago, what she was always meant to be. Even Tari’s great grandfather many generations back had been the first lich. It was almost completing the circle. Tari wanted to make them all pay, everyone who ever wronged her, mocked her, or doubted her, they would now see what she had become, what she was really capable of.

But first…power, Tari now finally understood the thirst and longing for more, how consuming it could be, how she could never have enough. But first she had to assist Cyan, afterall she owed him for helping her reach her full potential. He continued to say there was a plan, things would happen soon. Well soon was taking far to long and Tari was getting tired of waiting.

The Next Chapter Pt 2

Ser Keladry stood looking at the small home in front of her. What had once been her home as a squire, now stood empty. Upon her return to Drega’mire she had been afforded a larger dwelling, but today she felt nostalgic. “Stay, Valor,” she gave the command to the large black warg behind her before she stepped forward and pushed open the door. For a place full of so many fond memories, it was hard to see it so empty. But then again, that was how she had been feeling lately.

As the magic waned over the years, she had noticed the sense of disconnect she had been feeling. The powers granted to her by the Light had long since disappeared. Sometimes she wondered if she had done something to displease Valos. If she hadn’t been fair in something or had strayed without realizing. But others seemed to be suffering the same fate, and so she pushed forward. These past few years, however, she had noticed a different sort of empty feeling. Those double emotions, the amplified feelings she had always gotten from her dragon spirit weren’t always there anymore. When they were it was… almost a feeling of annoyance. Like they were struggling to keep that connection. What had once been strange to her, had become a comfort. Always knowing that that other being was with her and watching. And now… now it seemed she was losing them. “I never even got to know your name….” she whispered quietly. But the only answer was silence.

Stepping out into the yard she passed by the overgrown plot that had once been her herb garden. Walked past the pen where Hope had once lived, her original warg had passed, but Valor was one of Hope's descendants so she always felt like she had a small piece of her first companion with her. Finally she looped back around and back to the front of the house where her warg waited. Her hand lifted up to her chest, where tucked beneath her armor she kept a folded piece of paper. The letter that Winks had sent to her requesting her to return to Drega’mire as his First Knight. Determination set into her face. Even though it felt like she was losing a part of herself, she still had something to hold on for. When the call had come out for people to return to Travance she had toyed with the idea. But when her former Knight reached out to her to tell her of his new title and ask her help, she knew it was time to return home. Travance still needed her it seemed, and so she would continue to answer it’s call.

“Come on, Valor,” she said, pulling herself into the saddle. “It’s almost dinner time. And you know if I’m not there to remind him Winks will work right through it.” With a small smile, she guided her mount down the roads of Oringuard. Leaving the past behind her as she moved forward towards the future.

Azwren Vayli- As it Should Have Been

((CW: Burns, blood and gore))

A life a day was hard enough as it was, especially when Azwren tried to find people who at least deserved it at first… his failure to do so would only rack up his debt more. Almost a decade now… the number owed was in the thousands… and there was no way he’d done that much. If he was lucky, he’d maybe broken a hundred, but thousands…? He would’ve been caught long ago if it was thousands. This additional failure, of course, meant he burned. At this point, The flesh on his arms was long gone, and the burns had spread across a few ribs on his right side. He practically looked demonic himself, perhaps even a bit undead… but he knew, in he heart… he probably wasn’t?

It was unbearable. Day in and day out. Burning flesh. An angry, hateful voice, each day more furious in the lack of lives taken. He tried, truly he did, but it never felt any less evil, it never got easier, like the voice said it would. He just couldn’t… not anymore.

So north he went. He wasn’t sure exactly where he was, at this point, as the pain was often blinding. But he new, if he went far enough north, especially with the seasons changing… he’d find it. A nice, snowy landscape. One he could freeze in, like he should’ve all those years ago.

When he finally found it, he fell. Naturally, the area around him thawed, melted, and steamed. He would not be let go that easily. But, his decision was made. This would be as far as he would go, whether that meant freezing to death… or burning.

...

“What… is that?” A gentle voice mumbled to herself. She wasn’t quite sure why she was out here, but… *something* had drawn Ilana this way. A feeling… something she hadn’t felt in a long time… something strong enough to cause her to bundle herself up, and simply walk. Walk in the hopes of finding something. And find something, she would.

A circle of steam and smoke, in the middle of a snowy field… something blacken and burnt, but no fire to speak of. Had something caught, and burned out? Or been put out by the snowfall? No… the ground wouldn’t still be clear. She prepared herself, in case whatever it was would prove dangerous. What she found, however, there wasn’t too much of a way to be prepared for.

“Azwren?!”

Damien- Tidying Up

“I’m sure you understand, yes?”

Damien pulled his dagger from the stomach of the man he had just betrayed. As the body slumped to the ground, he cleaned his blade, and lowered his mask. “Rotten bastard,” He growls at the corpse, “eight months of faking a partnership and you haven’t even the decency to host a dinner once. No, no *I* have to be the one to serve *you*, and you have to bleed all over *my* rug.” He sighs heavily. “Well, at least that’s another down. If the rest don’t give up or run after this, I’m not sure what will make them.”

The next few hours would be spent cleaning the mess that had been made, and double checking his ledgers. With all he had gained over the past decade, a final push would grant him control of the last few pieces of the city that hadn’t submitted yet. Crime had nearly been halved, though for Angst, that still left a lot to be desired. But more importantly, with a bit more work, this damned city might actually become something worthwhile…

He could hear the front door of his estate open from his office on the third floor. Quickly descending the stairs to meet his guest, a smile crossed his face, as it was exactly who he hoped it would be. “Lockmoore!” He pauses, allowing his friend to meet him the rest of the way, on the second floor walkway above the main entrance. “I take it by that grin, you were successful?”

“Had to sink two, unfortunately, but aye, the port is yours.”

“Excellent. Any casualties?” He gestured towards the sitting room, offering his normal hospitality to his personal privateer captain.

“Eleven dead, eight injured. My crews are hoping for... a bit more pay, to make up for our losses, yeah?” The comment was friendly, if slightly demanding.

“Did any ships surrender, or did anyone not sunk choose to flee?”

“A few had no choice but to anchor, we had a *very* good angle on the docks.”

Pouring a glass or something far more expensive than he could have ever hoped to afford a few years ago, he offers a drink as the woman sits. “Anything good on them?”

“The cargo will likely fetch something decent.”

“Take it. And any of the ships you want. On top of what was agreed upon. Will that suffice?”

The two would only talk business a few minutes longer, before moving on to friendlier topics, beginning to drink the night away as the old friends they were. In the morning, he would get back to work securing his control over the rest of this gods-awful place.

…

“So… Is that good or bad…?”

“I don’t know, Jules… I’m… He’s… *We’re* just… weaker, for some reason.” Damien tried and failed to meet his sister’s concerned eyes. “I’ve heard of similar things happening to others. Magic just… isn’t as strong a force as it used to be.”

“Well…” Julia looked her brother up and down, “You still don’t seem to be aging as quick as you should, so… that’s probably a good sign that things are okay between you two?”

“We can hope.”

Damien spoke with confidence, as to try and soothe his sister’s worries. But deep down, he just couldn’t be sure of how things will would work out.

Winks Part 2

“You’ve followed me to the Abyss and back, through war and peace, and there’s no one I trust more with protecting the land that I know we both love so much. Rise, Lord Nurodo the Undaunted, and be recognized as Lord and Defender of Drega’Mire!”

Standing in the audience hall of the Lord’s Manor in Oringard, Winks reflected on Aleister’s words from two years ago. He often used them to mentally center himself before hearing the day’s rounds of petitioners. Each of the lords he had served seemed to make this look so easy. Angelica, Aleister, even Ilservian and Apollo, each of them had their own ways, for better or worse, of dealing with the actual duties of lordship. Winks had promised himself that he would only take the good from those experiences and develop his own ability to govern, but honestly so far it had been kind of a mixed bag.

While the vast majority of the subjects of Drega’Mire remembered and respected him, he was still a Goblin, and skepticism remained high as to his fitness to hold his position; possibly made worse by the fact that he had retaken his original family name, given permission by the last wishes of his grandfather, the late Lord General Githrawk Nurodo. That was a letter he had been incredibly surprised to receive, but he supposed that after so many years and all of his effort to help the rebellion in Gaaldron, as well as all of his accomplishments in Travance and Kormyre, the Lord General had developed a sort of grudging pride in his errant grandson.

The people of Drega’Mire came and went, and Winks remained standing through it all. He had resolved early on to never sit while receiving his people, unless they sat as well. He wanted to give them as much or more respect as they gave him. Although his knees and back pained him--how was he forty already?!--he never faltered. In between each hearing, he looked back at Keladry, his First Knight, in her shining armor provided by the finest Kormyrian blacksmiths, and nodded to show he was still able to go on. He knew that when he gave the word, she would gently but forcefully move everyone out, concluding business for the day. After her knighting they had gone separate ways for a time, performing different duties for the kingdom, but she had jumped at the chance to rejoin him in Oringard.

Winks was incredibly grateful for her support, and her presence. His family, although growing, was dwindling at the same time. He had grandchildren now, which was every bit as fulfilling as he had always imagined, but his wife was no longer with him. It’s not that she had died, because he actually didn’t know that for sure. One day she was just gone. He wasn’t sure, but perhaps she had gone to join Andorra. He kept thinking he should ask Galladel, but he could feel that his connection to the Lord of Judgement wasn’t quite as strong as it once was. Perhaps Galladel had no more need of a Soul Blade after so many years of peace.

As the Lord of Drega’Mire continued to serve his people, he thought of others who he wished he could see again and bring to work for the good of the land once more. He had no idea if Annora was still out there, but he had sent a squad of his personally trained rangers into the deep swamps to search for her, so far with no results. He hadn’t yet tried to contact Talaniel, but he appreciated her organizational skills so much more now and would have appreciated her aid. With the other old Travancian “heroes” who had returned, he still hadn’t seen Caelvan, and hoped his old student was doing well. Even after so many years he still maintained most of his underground contacts, and wondered if he could put the word out to try and find Therion or Sergei. And he knew that at least once a month he could travel to the Proper and seek out Aleister and Angelica, for their advice, and to relive some of their camaraderie.

The line of petitioners ended for the day, and Kel brought over a chair that Winks gratefully sank into. He flexed his knees to work feeling back into them, then rubbed at his temples--when had he gotten so much gray hair?--to avoid developing a headache. “I wonder when the kids will visit again,” he wondered, as Kel fussed over him and brought up the subject of dinner. At the same time he also thought, just as he had after first being knighted, “I hope I can live up to this task.”

Mae

Mae watched her family cook together with a maternal glow, holding her baby with one arm and watching her toddler run around, singing in the sweet voice she had.

"Kamei, come here my love," she said and smiled as the child ran to her, singing now to the baby sleeping in her arms. "Be careful but watch over Tomasu while he sleeps, ok?" She lay the baby in its crib and carefully walked to the door, closing it firmly behind her. With that simple movement, her entire stance changed to be more offensive as she heard the footsteps of the undead shambling towards her.

"I tire of this but I suppose you will not end until magic is completely gone. Happily, I dont need much to rid myself of you."

WIth a flicker of magic, she dispatched it with ease before heading back inside. Inside her soul, she felt Namisar move if faintly. She clung to that feeling, that connection, with her entire soul, closing her eyes and meditating. "Stay with me, my friend, my sister. Stay and watch this century with me as well as help me watch over our family."

Allyce

"I have your reports for you."

Nodding her head, Allyce didn't bother looking up at her assistant. Not at this point. She stretched instead, looking up at the window and marking the time. So much time had passed. And yet, she was still able to keep up with her trainees at least. It had been awhile since her organization had been tested but she still liked to do drills when she could plan them. Her people did well- she made sure they did.

Sighing, she looked at her reports. Did the stack ever get any smaller anymore? When was the last time she had taken a job? She needed to take another shift- she was getting slow.

Getting up from her chair, she started moving and stretching, passing her guards and marking their appearances, weapons, and stances to ensure that they were correct. Each acknowledged her with a even nod but with nothing else- still, she knew their loyalties lay with her. That was all she really needed to know- she had stockpiled her goods and gold long ago and used it to ensure her seat of power. She had increased it over time with business- legal and illegal. Taking down slavers had been difficult but fruitful, now she ran a protection squad for others that needed it as well as.... distribution. In a way, she was a protector just as Oren had wanted. But in her own way. Always that.

Time to train again.

Ilana: Breaking the Chain (Part II) February 1226 Several months had passed since Ilana had gotten permission to prepare a small scouting vessel. All the supplies and the small crew were selected: the pair of gate runes if they had to abandon ship meant there were not many on the vessel to investigate the danger ahead. It was preferred: she didn’t want to risk too many for a hunch that… well, she honestly hoped was wrong. Quietly the adventurers traveled the Southern seas, spending an extra week out than intended to confirm the sense of unease building within the search party as something became perfectly clear: The DreadIron fleet was no more, but neither were the Isles of Sevenlore. There was no ruined landscape, devastated waters, or maddening Weave Storm in the sky: it was simply empty. There was no sign the isles or its assailants ever existed. Was Anjira behind this? No- she wouldn’t really remember any of it had existed, right?

She returned to Kormyre with the news, though the kingdom had its own concerns and was mostly relieved to hear there wasn’t a war to deal with while scholars were scrambling over their maps. June 1226 “Rise, Lord Fergal Vanier of Pendarin,” the great hall cheered as Ilana, with the graces of the kingdom, presented her title to one of the few people she did trust to take her place. He was someone she had worked with in Vindholm fifteen years, he had an attention to detail she had, and was just as committed to keeping the peace between the northmen tribes that were still free of Kormyre’s control but worked closely with the land despite old history. The last shackle was broken, now she could finally thrive.

Sam (not many called him George anymore except old Travancian friends), stayed at her side. While they would never allow themselves to settle into a life with something like children because of the powers that had muddled their blood, they still cared, even loved, one another. He had no home, but his heart was always with Ilana so he would be as well.

Acer was happy to see Ilana not surrounded by people that ruined the puzzle that she was anymore and curious about other places (besides, the last time he got to travel somewhere very far he got to stab a ‘god’ in the eyes and he was excited to see what ‘terrible’ thing he could stab now.)

While he would be losing his titles, Bishop had squired to Ilana and was her knight for a few years now. When she extended the offer to travel in a group, he was ready for an adventure at her side.

Arradir, unsurprisingly, was also very happy to join in as well. ‘Ilana’s maps were so outdated’ after all. She needed a proper cartographer to update the new routes that had sprung up with progress or faded with time. Arnveir, a well established smith from Arnwhul had always expected to join the ranks of Travancian heroes but… whatever happened left the moment short. He kept close to the vassals of Pendarvin, waiting for a chance to grow and proving himself whenever he could, so was ready to head out when Ilana wanted to explore. Only a slight surprise to some was Simon Belson and Vyrelian. While homunculi were much more common around nowadays (but it seemed Vyrelian was the last of his siblings), they wanted to be *heroes* and that was not something they could do idling around. They both had helped when the fight against the creature in Pendarvin happened and had continued to help with small skirmishes on the outskirts as they tried to help settle things in New Gaaldron and beyond. If Ilana was looking for where people might need help, Simon and Vyrelian wanted to see those places too.

Others came and went during their travels, but Ilana showed them all the places she always spoke about that she enjoyed as a child, traveling the continent of Palmydia. After that was done, they started to push to other continents around Arawyn, wherever their travels could take them, they followed. Ilana had a decent nest egg of fortune and between all their talents, they were able to sustain themselves with ease for a while.

The first time a gate rune failed caused a small pause for concern. It did work, after the second try, but the rumors they had been hearing may have been true after all: Magic was beginning to weaken. The troupe had not noticed immediately, they had gone through a lot of trouble to keep their overall skills sharp, though their variety of spirits did seem… further away. When both gate runes failed and continued to fail… Ilana decided it was best to return to Kormyre. It was time to start a different adventure.

1230 While some went their separate ways, Ilana had set up research and rooted herself once again. She had notes from several years ago on the Gates of Passage and she used all the resources available to her to keep working. As the new Baron was announced and the expansion of Kormyre was presented on the continent, the kingdom offered the former Lady of Pendarvin her own opportunity: To formerly *head* the research of the Gates of Passage. They would fund all the research necessary, she would have full control of her teams and what would happen. She agreed on the spot and sent out a call to her old friends to see if they would return and, luckily, they did.

1232 For a full year the team had focused on keeping track of the nearby planes between small tests. After all, with magic declining, there was a concern about the balance of all the planes that touched Arawyn, even the faeries in their spaces if they bothered to keep contact. Magic was getting quieter on the Material Plane, but was it elsewhere? Elsewhere was exactly what they were about to find out. Ilana took in a deep breath, looking to the others and she smiled brightly to them, “In this together, right?” The Gates of Passage hummed quietly, a faint twilight light emanating from its passage, a reflection of the setting sun(?) on the other side. The first expedition was a success! A new world was found! It was an exciting moment and Ilana’s team continued to a variety of worlds. Sometimes it was a struggle however: the Kingdom was still interested in its expansion but Ilana seemed very good at keeping the idea… just out of reach for the worlds found beyond the Gates of Passage. Between new civilizations, some not very safe locations, and a focus on recording more worlds instead of focusing on one... it never was 'the time' for Kormyre to expand. The next few years would prove a few things: -No one else seemed to know of VIM, Amatoth, Sevenlore… these words meant nothing and nothing seemed to compare to them. -Power was slightly different in other places… though Ilana tried *very* hard to remember her lessons from years ago. Power was power… perhaps in a new place, their energy could learn to flourish? -There were worlds that may need heroes, but could Arawyn provide? The compatibility was the curiosity and while small tests had been conducted, these had successes of drastically varying degrees.

1235

Folks began to whisper, wondering if The Gates of Passage could survive much longer. It seemed all the relics and runes had finally given up but the Gates still held strong. For now. Ilana presented the idea to her travelers quietly, unsure the opinion of the kingdom: What if they just… left. They had found several worlds, maybe one would just be… better to be on. It would be something to consider, it would take time to prepare. They did not have to go to a place together but go their separate ways and... perhaps find a way to be together again if they wished.

But, it seemed adventure was running out of time on Arawyn and it was time to explore elsewhere for good.

Seth - Luck

Seth - Luck

When he had turned back, Magnus had already gone. A man he had respected, even feared at one point. A friend. He never expected to beat him, but it made sense. They were all losing it, weren't they? Seth could feel the toll, but not the same as everyone else. The vast majority of people he knew, especially those of Travance, had been able to command magic at their fingertips. Horrible and frightening power, capable of leveling entire mountains. And yet, that power was dwindling, wasn't it? Seth could feel it too. He wasn't as fast, he wasn't as strong. Little by little it felt like age was catching up with him. Faster than it should. But he was still miles ahead of those who were losing their magic. It's the only explanation that someone like him could beat Magnus. Fiona must be dwindling as well. The gods, the dragons, they must all be losing power.

How Lucky, he thought. Finally, a world with no gods. No ruler beyond mortals. He chuckled to himself as he brought the water meant for Magnus to his lips. His thoughts were sounding a bit like his current target. His prey. That long forgotten enemy of Travance.

It was Grashugel who contacted him with the lead. While on a mission for Jackdaw and his crew, Gras had intercepted Seth with information, and a hunch of nefarious plans. The Count's Death stunk of politics. A man who didn't age, locked in eternal slumber, suddenly passed. While Seth had his suspicions, Grashugel was determined to uncover the truth. And somehow, either through a purposefully laid trail of breadcrumbs, or pure dumb Luck, that had lead them here. While not their original quarry or goal, a target like this, they couldn't let go. A being who had caused pain since the first age itself. With a wake that rippled fervently through the years, destroying weak and powerful alike. The Eidolich himself.

Necrophitus Arcane.

Gras returned later in the day from his scouting, back to the camp. Immediately he noticed there had a fight, yet a body was not present. His weapons were already being drawn before Seth dismissively waved a hand.

"Magnus came to repay an old debt." the man said to the elf, who looked a bit disappointed he had missed an old friend. But the conversation and reminiscing did not last long. Grashugel had found their target, the time was to strike now. A cave, not three leagues from here, patrolled by undead. Seth wondered asked aloud how big the fight seemed, and Grashugel informed him that it seemed like a trap. Despite his immense power and ingenuity, Necrophitus seemed to be being protected by, for lack of a better term, a skeleton crew. It didn't add up. They both agreed the cave must be absolutely crawling with the majority of defenses, the undead outside merely scouts. Two warriors, one disadvantage by the sapping of his magical power, against the creator of Necromancy himself. This would likely be their last mission. That didn't matter. They couldn't wait for backup. Necrophitus moved constantly. This was their only shot. And if it was their time...then Seth knew he could face her without an ounce of guilt. He had done everything he could.

The pair advanced on the cave, the sun still up, though quickly retreating behind the surrounding mountain peaks. The scouts put up a pitiable resistance. Seth recalled the deadly strong and terrifyingly fast undead warriors of ages past. Could Necromancy being losing its edge too? The two friends didn't want to believe it. They couldn't allow themselves to. If they went in expecting an easy fight, they would surely die. They had to expect the worst, they had to prepare for the legions of undead to come upon them with no remorse and no rest.

And yet... the horde never came.

The exploration of the cave was eerily silent. Seth, his eyes not as attuned to the dark as well as an elf's, stayed within close distance to Grashugel, who lead them through the various tunnels. Their weapons out, and making quick work of what only amounted to marionetted bones sent to oppose them. It wasn't long until they found him. The Eidolich. The binder of gods. The great crafter of undead. The changer of the world. And Seth thought what he had been thinking again and again recently. He was one of the lucky one.

Necrophitus lay, pale and sickly. He looked starved, deteriorated. His structure protruding roughly through tight skin, his muscles atrophied to the point of disability. He looked no better than the bone scarecrows he had set up to protect him. It really was the last of his power, wasn't it? The once terrifying wizard of immeasurable trickery and overwhelming magic, was sprawled out on the cave floor before them, looking up with fear in his eyes. At that moment, the pair knew what he was feeling. Fear of death. Fear of being weak. Fear of the afterlife that seemed to await him. One who had defied and bound the gods, to be sent to their mercy and leisure. Or perhaps, it was fear of the worse thought. Fear that...maybe even the gods themselves no longer held power. Maybe...maybe there wasn't anything waiting for them on the other side.

As Seth began to lose himself in these thoughts, Grashugel ended it quickly. A simple sword through the neck and it was over. There was no pity, no remorse for someone who had ended the lives of countless souls. A grim reminder that the world really was changing. A grim reminder that magic was leaving, power itself was being sucked away from Arawyn.

On their way out of the cave--four days later-- and before they departed each others side, the two pondered the possibilties of these results. The thought of the gods themselves losing power was both terrifying and relaxing to Seth, but Grashugel seemed to not want to think about it too deeply. They would find out when they died, wouldn't they? Their job still wasn't done. This didn't answer any questions about the sudden death of the Count. The countless writings, scrawling's, and mad ravings Necrophitus that he had written over the years barely made mention of the Count or Travance. Despite spending days researching his work it seemed only that he had become obsessed with finding a way to return his power. He was unsuccessful.

As Gras gated back to Crystanthalis, Seth stayed, thinking of their last conversation. The elf told the man he was going to keep looking for the Truth behind the Count's death, and asked if he would help him. Seth responded that he still hadn't repaid that debt, and would do whatever he asked. Whatever he needed.

But still, Seth couldn't get it out of his head. His life long friend was weaker. Much. The power that coursed through his heritage and veins, depleting. He would keep that promise. He would find out the truth about the count. But he couldn't bring Grashugel along when he did. He wouldn't get his friend killed. He refused to. By then his magic would be likely entirely gone.

Seth would face the fight for him, but alone. It's humorous, Seth often considered himself at an extreme disadvantage because of his lack of connection with the weave. But it seems Seth finally knew the truth.

He had Luck.

After verifying that Galderon was a lost cause, Bitzzz traveled to New Galderon, and looked to show knowledge was not only the hobgoblin’s prerogative. She would show the might of Enax to those too blind in their devotion to see how they are blind in their ways of ruling.

Enax wants devotion, but he wants them to succeed above and beyond the human kingdoms. Continually attacking them was a waste of resources. Galderon learned that the hard way.

New Galderon has a chance to rival Kormyre as a nation, if they do it by being a superior nation. Skilled artisans, trade and proper farming of land, sea and mountain will make them stronger, richer and better.

Stupid hobgoblin priests ignore ogres as only there to die on the front in battle. Bitzzz is smarter than that. She read everything about the Galderon Empire, and their mistakes over the years. They will not be repeated again.

There are many who want New Galderon to succeed. Bitzzz will work to make it happen.

Myrdez continued to serve Cinder, as crown prince, and as someone who always treated her, and her family with respect and grace.

She healed those who followed his ideal of honor and merit for the people. Those who tried to depose the king found themselves without support, and somehow unable to assassinate either the Prince, or the king.

Her family’s name will one day, become one honored with respect in the kingdom.

A new voice

Merikh walks the streets of Amon’kas. Searching. Searching for someone he hasn’t seen in almost 30 years. He heads to the temple to Ahmenu-set and finds Auset kneeling in front of an altar to Almenu-set, the Reaper. He kneels down next to her and puts his hand on her shoulder. Her body collapses in front of the altar. Both he and her are transported to Eodra in front of Galmachis’s throne. She kneels as Galmachis rises and gestures her to a door at the end of his hall. Merikh stands up as she moves to the door and looks at his Lord. Galmachis nods and they both disappear in a bright gold flash. They both appear on the Prime Material in mortal form, wearing their gold armor, holy weapons in their hands, in the desert on the outskirts of Amon’kas. Galmachis turns to Merikh and says, “Even though followers are dwindling elsewhere in the world. The Iijat Al’Qadr will live on here. With Auset’s time coming to an end, I will need to inform the new Z’Hade Enam in the sands of her role.”

Merikh looks back at him and replies. “She is a good choice my lord. I follow your lead. As always.”

They both proceed to head to the city to find the new voice.

None of our business

It’s the year 1234 and Caelvan just heard of the former Count’s Death. He read Aleister’s note, he’ll never call Aleister by his title after everything they went through together, a few years ago and decided not to go. The death of the Count hit a button that hadn’t gone off in a decade. So he went for a walk.

Caelvan wanders in the central woods of Selendrias all these thoughts going through his head.

These past 15 years went by uneventfully as far as Caelvan thought. He trained a few new Wardens, he accompanied diplomats on their journeys to various kingdoms, but nothing too adventurous as far as he thought. Though he did notice, as many others had, his agility was waning more than the years should cause. He was able to hold on to it better than some of his former companions but it was still waning. There are still the miscellaneous brigands and such to deal with as one of his duties as a March Warden. But these are minor things in comparison to what he was dealing with 20 years ago. He comes across a wall of swirling mass of vines and branches. It parts in front of him and leads to a grove with a large oak tree overlooking a small pond. The air shimmers and suddenly there is a female form appearing in front of him. With her green skin, brown colored veins, as well as twigs and grass in her hair most would confuse her for a Dryad. She starts the conversation. “So. What will we do?” “With what? We have duties here.” “You read what the new Baron of Travance wants.”

“Yeah. He wants to expand Kormyre. None of my business.” She reads him well being in the same body for the past 20 years. “None of our business? You do know you are still supposed to go there periodically to check on things on behalf of the Queen right?” “Yeah...but..”

She crosses her arms. “No. There are no buts here. You want to go. You’re just trying to find excuses not to.” Caelvan sighed. He really should understand that she knows him just as much as he knows himself after all these years together.

“You’re right.” Caelvan whistles and a falcon comes out of the heights of the oak tree. He writes a note, addressing it to the Selendrian capital to inform the Lord Marshal of his intentions.

“Good thing we figured this out right?”

The female spirit smiles and nods before turning into an emerald smoke and merging with Caelvan again.

With his affairs settled, Caelvan puts his hand on the tree in the center of the Grove, there is a flash of green light, and he steps out in front of a tree outside the Dragon’s Claw Inn.

“Time to see what Aleister has in mind.”

Serr Thomas Bell - Quiet Times

Amber fields of wheat danced with the wind beneath the Hearth. The fortress had become stiller and stiller as the fields below grew and grew. The Sun had taken to setting and the people had retired from their choring. The fields were silent save for a pair that lounged about the paddocks of a cottage.

"And just like that-" The bard clapped his hands together- the little girl listening to his story gasped, "The last of evil in the world... was vanquished. Squashed, not for glory, but for justice- and for love, for an act of love is always stronger than an act of evil."

"And then?" Esther implored her storyteller, as though she had not heard the story 1000 times.

"Well-" Kin took a heavy slow breath. He looked out to the fields, gaze cast far beyond their stead. Watching how grasses gently swayed, his tone sobered, "The Ratcatcher gave his life in that great, final battle, but friends and family did not miss him alone. All the kingdoms, from Londwyn to Khitan mourned his passing for two weeks and a day. Great statues were built- holidays were scheduled- Tom became the most popular name of that dec-"

"Are fillin' her head with talltales again?" A dull scrape, as Serr Thomas Bell stiffly limped his way to them- leaning himself against the doorway, "Weren't y'all meant to be goin' over letters?"

"She insisted." Kin dropped his dramatic pose and gave him that look, that sideways smile he couldn't be cross at. Far as Tom could tell that look was the first thing Esther had learned from him, "I cannae be stifling her creative growth. T’would be some poor fatherin' indeed!"

"Spose yer' right," Tom ran his hand over the off-grey bristles that had taken to his chin, "Speakin' a-which Jim's comin' by fer dinner. Esther, go make the table- make sure uncle Chud gets the sturdy silver." Esther nodded and scuttled off with that getsome Tom remembered having.

Kin rolled his eyes, waiting for Esther to be out of earshot, "Why? Jude, his lot, Dale, his missus, their kids, and Chud, and the twins-"

"Jim ain't met his granddaughter." He mumbled it like a dog who got caught eating off the table.

"Fer damned good reason that is. He still hates me, and I, him!" "Oh come on- he tolerates you plenty-"

"He hates Jude's kids as well-! The green ones, that is."

"Yeah- 'don't right know what that's all about-"

"So what if he-?"

"-Don't like that we got her made?” Kin’s lips press into a tight line. "I just don’t want her to get hurt cause he doesn’t love her as a Granda should. She won’t understand yet that he don’t love much at all.”

“Well then we'll love her plenty- Love ain't somethin' we're short on and it was never somethin' he could much spare."

Kin sighed, assuaged, then managed a little grin. “Ye know Jim'll hate this."

"I know. It's why he thinks it's just three of us."

Tom exchanged a rye grin with his mister. As Kin rose and passed him he ran a hand through Tom's greying hair before calling out to Esther, "-no, the BIG silverware-!"

Tom stayed behind a moment, enjoying the breeze. Things had been quiet. Travance as it was was gone. No vermin, no adventurers, no ratcatchers... People had been fed. No lean winters across Kormyre. No war. No nightbeasts. No wizards. No adventure. Tom scooped up a smooth stone, and set his sight on a nearby post. He lined it up as he remembered doing and whipped it. The stone flung wide- puttering into the grass. Missed. He smiled and went inside to help set the table for supper.

Alone in its study,

Alone in its study atop the highest peak of their home,

Alone in their study above the rot and fog perched atop a writhing cacophony of legs and wood,

Alone they sit to think. This was the only place they could hear each other any more. As the years passed and that band of thieves became a dreadful congregation, part of them wished to have turned them away. Oxmeth and Michail so strongly so they fought amongst their counterparts to run, to flee to the farthest reaches for freedom was not a luxury they could grasp themselves any longer. Oloph and Vasime laughed at the two, for how could they ever turn this away, these people made them out as a god; The sheer sway of that retained them their power.

When the magic subsided they began to sloth.

They began to sloth so readily, skin from muscle fell in sheets with the sound of wet leather. What held them together began to unravel, each would fray and take a piece with them. Traian was present but hadn't spoken in a years time, murmuring incoherent songs only def poets ears could translate. Death, or more readily death such as this was not an option they could consider.

It was Rwenn, Sorin, and Aurgime that took hold while the others bickered, and drove these sad people that surrounded them to zealotry. Aurgime in particular drove the nail, their freedom, the very right to join their people in their homeland was not one they could share. No longer were they alive, to these people they had become an idea, and this idea had become cornered. Unlike an animal it did not just become violent, it became spiteful, they all become spiteful. For when faced with a death such as this, it was only the world to blame again. If such a world grew weak from it’s stagnation, if they could not survive such a world, they must bring horror and ruin.

For in their desperation, if they could anger this world to it’s very core, if they could commit atrocities so vile as to inspire a hero, maybe then magics would begin to build again. For without their magic holding them atop their pyre of anguish, they would be just another mad man. ~m.o.o.s.t.r.a.v~

Niko - Isolation (Part II) It had been seven years since beginning his castle in the mountains. A few brave adventurers had attempted to end the vampire's life, but after their deaths, the rumors in the nearby lands began to spread, and fewer came after that. It wasn't a display of grand power that killed them, but rather, he just got lucky. He wasn't as strong as he used to be and it had been years since he gave up the mantle of paladin. No, this was just some lucky corridors and a well placed axe to the head for the lot of them. Niko had secluded himself and shunned away almost all contact with the outside world. He cared little for any attempts to reason with him over returning. He was blinded to the prison of his own making, and worse still, it fed further into his deteriorating state. The castle had been built, but his work was never done. Instead, he continued on and on, adding hallways and doors and floors and rooms, not always connected and not always relevant. Most of the structure was empty, after all. The more he built, the more he lost himself in the labyrinth of the Nazogora Castle. And if something did not pierce through his madness, it would likely become his tomb. Wrekk - Wanderer (Part II) The lack of adventure was unkind to Wrekk. His sense of purpose waned with his strength and the spirits he called to for guidance were steadily becoming faint voices of the past. He took to a nomadic life, searching out the purpose and meaning he lost. Along the road, he helped everyone he could, as his ethical code required of him. This gave him enough to continue his travels, as the people he aided would gift him with money or food or other provisions as thank you for whatever work he did. It was a simple life, but oddly, one in which he could not yet see that the journey itself was what he had sought. So on he travelled, looking for something he already had, but was unaware, hoping that he would find it.

The Coursing Of Hounds, Part 2: Greying Of The Muzzle

The Hibernian force was mopping up with those that surrendered being put in a clearing. One of the commanders called for a guard on every man, and the prisoners to be kept from talking. The armored monster stalked into the tent that had previously belonged to Lord Dinwimple of Kormyre. The man was a merchant given title, one of the nouveau riche. Title given based on money, rather than deeds.

The Athair Gaisgeach hated such men.

In the tent, there was a number of chieftains, and several Ridir from the Dawn Blade present around a foppishly dressed man. They looked to him, the warrior priest for guidance.

“We found these documents in the tent next door, as well as a feather bed.” one of the Ridir stated mockingly. “Athair, you know these Lowlanders better than we, and the ferocity of your Glen Athyll and Caer Fayolin force was second to none. You lads know how to buckle for the dust.” “Faolan, spend your life fighting either giants or Gaaldron, you learn how to give a kicking real quick. Let me look over those documents, and question this...man.” Donald stated, spitting the last word out in disgust. He turned to the fop. “So….Lord Dimwittie…” “Dinwimple, you Hibernian cur!” the fop barked out in disgust.

Donald let out a growl his eyes dimply glowing purple. The weedier man squeaked in terror. “So….you come from Travance, at the behest of Baron Demirosz, to expand east, and you got lost. Is that it?” Donald asked.

“Y-yes….” “Laird, How BLOODY STUPID DO YOU THINK I AM? YOU TURNED NORTH! BURNED FARMS AND SLAUGHTERED HIBERNIANS ARE IN YOUR FORCE’S WAKE! I even have your map. What do you think I should do with you? What should I do with your men?”

“Hang the men. Ransom me back to the Baron.” the lordling said without deliberation. The Priest smiled. “Oh…..I do not think so. Too many of my warriors died. My own father, who was King of all Glen Athyll for a month, met his end with his axes in hand. HE WAS NINETY! My nephew almost died, as did my brother in law, and several others of my close kin. Your men are brave. You...not so much. They have earned a warrior’s respect. You deserve only to die in a ditch like a cur. You got adventurous in the wrong way, killed my people- we have those dispatches as well- and expect to be treated like some sort of god cause you got a fancy title and money. Oh no….things do not work that way here.”

The lordling attempted to run, only to be tackled by the guards.

“Take him to the block. His cowardice, and adventurism have condemned him to death. Bring me an axe.” “Isn’t the tradition to behead a noble with a sword?” “Aye, but this is a cowardly cur. There is nothing noble about him. I’ll behead him behind the tent, so as to not cause distress among his men. They earned their lives, and to go home.”

And so it was, Lord Dinwimple left this earth, earning the nickname in ballad as “Lard Dimwit”, and a messenger was dispatched under a flag of truce directly to Aleister. The letter was poignant. Baron Demirosz and the people of Travance and Kormyre,

Lord Dinwimple was executed by my hand. He was a base, venal coward, who sought to corner another market in wool, by conveniently getting lost and adventuring into our lands. Those documents including maps, dispatches and other documents are with the messenger who brought you his head. This is the kind of man I feared coming when you and I were living in Travance. His men -brave lads- will be back home in another week, escorted by my people to safeguard them back through the wilderness. No harm has come to them of their surrender, by my word. If that has not been the case, please let me know. My people do not desire a war, but we will defend ourselves. Please respect our sovereignty, and I will not trouble your expansion eastward. I merely wish to protect my people. May we treat with one another now as we did then.

Regards,

Father Donald MacFhionnlaigh

Donald felt a bone weariness overcome him, the legendary belligerence and resilience being tougher to call up with every day. The next thing was to elect a king when they got back home. Oh dear….that means he is up for the ballot.

Magnus- “Your Reward” Magnus neatly put away the last of his belongings, and signed the paperwork awarding his title and lands over to Odette. He knelt down to take off his boots and let out a sigh, from his mouth came a slight bluish mist escaping from his lips as he did so. “Surely you knew this was a possibility when peace came?” A familiar voice spoke from the shadows. “You are an echo, you were created for a reason, that reason is complete. You should go, get your reward before it's too late” Magnus smiled, and stepped out of his boots. He began stretching almost like he didn't hear what was said, then finally after what felt like hours of silence he spoke. “The mortals, they really are incredible. I’m glad they were able to help you in the end, oh and thanks for visiting.” Magnus stared at the exit to Corvancia with his eyes adjusting to the sunlight. “It's a nice day for a run isn't it? Take care of yourself my friend”. With a blur of speed Magnus was gone. The immortal being let out and audible sigh from the shadows. In all of his time from the beginning of existence it had never gotten easier to say goodbye to mortals with their short fragile lives, but with Magnus it was different. “A world so safe that it didn't need heroes,” was a goal none thought would come to pass. It was assumed by many that Magnus would be there forever, just like the rest of the immortals and astrals. Finally the creature spoke from the corner “goodbye my friend.” Sebastian, A few short steps as the world blurred past Magnus, and suddenly he was at the front of a large crowd. The current Steward of the kingdom was giving a speech as a coffin was being lowered to the ground. Magnus watched quietly paying his respects to the man he fought with and served next to for most of his time on this plane. Then with another blur of speed he was gone Jackdaw, Another few short steps and Magnus was watching a group from the woodline. Magnus admired as they discussed their plans to go after yet another noble who had been bleeding a village dry. Their plan was almost complete with only one hiccup they needed a key to get into a particularly well guarded chamber. Magnus smiled and with a blur he was gone, seconds later Jackdaw the leader of the group could swear he felt a tug at his belt. The next morning while going through his belongings Jackdaw found the very key he needed in his pouch. Seth, Magnus barely felt his feet touch the ground twice before he was attop some remote mountain standing behind a man wielding a greatsword still dedicated to his training. “I promised you a fight a few decades ago, but we never got around to it. Care to go a few rounds?” Without hesitation the man spun swinging his great sword, Magnus drew his blades barely parrying. The two men fought with a ferocity the world had not seen in years. Each swing, every step, every parry was perfect, as if the powers they once held were letting out a desperate last gasp. A single mistake would cost either of them the match yet they did not falter for what felt like hours till finally an unexpected feint threw magnus off balance, his opponent pressed the advantage till magnus stumbled backwards defeated, but smiling with pride in his friend. The fight finally caught up with both men as they gasped for air, this fight leaving them far more exhausted than it would have years ago. Magnus’ opponent smiled and turned to grab them water but when he returned Magnus was already gone. Annora, Magnus raced through the swamps of Dregamire pausing briefly to inspect every drake he saw from afar, till one larger and more majestic than any beast he had seen caught his eyes. A guardian of the swamp, not what he was expecting when he trained her all those years ago, but then again Magnus’ didn't turn out to be the type of paladin Sir Crestingstar expected either. Briefly Magnus’ smiled with pride in his first student finding her own path, and continued his run.” Alister, A noble stood in front of a group of would be adventurers giving a speech about travance’s revival, as the kitchen staff of the Dragon’s Claw brought out trays of food. The group was smaller than expected and so few familiar faces, but this still felt right. The noble raised his glass ending his speech with “Let the feast and festivities begin” and turned to return to his seat at the nobles table, yet when he turned Magnus was in his chair giving him a mischievous grin. The Noble rubbed his eyes in disbelief but when he opened them the man was gone with nothing but a note in his chair. He looked around, apparently no one else had seen Magnus, carefully he opened the note sealed with wax, it simply stated “Hey Alister check out my new wax seal.”

Marcy, Vulps, Kanas

Magnus was running out of breath, but he needed to drop off some gifts before he could rest. 3 beds in different parts of the world. In the first bed slept a slender but strong Sylvan man with red hair, whom he bestowed upon his chain shirt and leather armor for Magnus could no longer keep him safe. In the second bed slept a powerful woman with curly black hair at the foot of this bed he left his shield, knowing she would use it to protect those in need. He raced across the world in a few short steps to the last bed, their slept an elve with curled blonde hair, for his last gift he left a pair of swords “Edrig’s Guard” knowing that this man would carry on his memory.

Oddette, Aikai, Jericho.

Magnus’ muscles burned as he raced back towards the capitol, the world passing him by in a blur, Blue mist continued to escape his mouth as he joined a crowd. Three ceremonies were to be held this day, Coronating Aikai as General of Kormyre, Odette as a Lady of Kormyre, and Jericho as a knight. None of them had seen Magnus in almost a decade yet if you ask any of them they would swear he was in the crowd at their Coronation raising a flask to each of them.

Jun,

“Hold her Steady!” the captain of the tupperback screamed, as his ship creaked through the wind of the hurricane, a smaller vessel trailed behind attached by a chain. Jun would get them to safety if it was the last thing he ever does. Suddenly there was a crack as a frayed knot snapped under the pressure, he looked on in panic knowing the main sail wouldnt last without that rope holding it in place. The wind picked up obscuring his vision as he waited for the sail and the mast to fall, but it never did. His eyes darted back to where the rope snapped and there he saw his oldest friend holding the rope taught with all of his strength. Jun returned to the wheel and guided both ships out of the storm and to safety. Once safe he searched the ship from top to bottom but Magnus was nowhere to be found.

Cinder and Astraea,

The Blue Mist was now escaping from every pore of Magnus’ body; he stepped no more than three more times before he was at the Capitol of Quinaria. Magnus looked on from the crowd, the two of them together, the Prince of Deepholm, and the High Ambassador of Quinaria signing a treaty that had started with Magnus all those years ago, finally ending hostilities that have lasted for generations. Both of them looked older now, but in Magnus’ eyes in this moment no two mortals had ever shined brighter. Finally what was happening caught up with him, he wanted to go to them, he wanted to stay adventure with Cinder again, to build a life with Astraea again. A thousand memories flooded his mind, a million futures where he was with the two of them raced, his brain spun with ideas on how to stay but before he could speak the treaty was signed true peace had been achieved. Magnus’ heart swelled with pride and love for those two who had changed his life in so many ways. Magnus turned around and sprinted off again, gone in a blur.

His Reward,

Magnus stood in the Hero's Graveyard, out of breath the blue mist pouring off his body as he looked down at a grave “Edrig Segram”. Magnus’ took out an alchemy stick and a flint and steel, he had quit these decades ago but now seemed like an appropriate time to have one. He inhaled a long drag before finally speaking. “Did i do right by you? Did I do what you hoped you could have?” He finished his Alchemy Stick and smiled slyly “Thanks for giving me a chance… and thanks for the memories” With those last words his body began to shine and break apart into the blue mist he had been exhaling since this began till there was nothing left of Hero but a memory.

No one knows why, but Historians have records of people all over Aarwyn hearing the same song in their sleep that evening “ Come neighbor, get ready to dance for your bread…”

((oog link to the song https://youtu.be/5vW_u6zarMI ))

After years of wandering the world, seeing sights he had yet to see, visiting those he no longer saw regularly. Uralt started to settle down in Morchrim. His father got on in years, already an old dwarf, retired and gave control of the shop to Uralt. Business prospered as Uralt moved the main production from items of war to industrial components for the miners with help of his Gnome friend Poshment providing the designs. Staying in shape was never too hard for the aging Dwarf. Young ones all across Calasvorin heard that a Dragoon had officially retired and wanted to spar. There was a steady stream of people wanting a shot at defeating him. Only a couple managed to pull a small victory over the first 5 or 6 years, but Uralt felt connection to Eldegone, and his magical powers fading slowly. There was only so much time left before his powers would become history. He attended the last great feast at the Dragon's Claw Inn. It was filled with plenty of faces both familiar and unfamiliar. It was nostalgia like he had never felt before, he never realized how much the life before peace meant to him. Not out of want for combat, but for the bonds he formed and memories forged every month.

One night in the year 1234, Uralt awoke with a searing pain, it felt like Eldegone tearing his mind apart mentally, before the Dragon's spirit secluded itself even deeper in the recesses of Uralt's mind. Only later did Uralt understand, when the news of Count Everest's death reached him. He knew immediately Eldegone may never return to the forefront of his mind. Mirrormeere's spirit had left Arawyn. Uralt cried deeply that night. The memories of the day She had bestowed personally both Wardterran and the Quest to seal, not just it but the Morghazzi away forever upon him, flooded his mind with both happiness and great sorrow.

Reno Linsaria - The Tower

For five years, everyday went the same way for the Half-Lehuine. They woke up, did their long early morning training, went about their duties as a knight, and then went to bed. Reno did everything within their power to try to keep their life the same. Their free time went to helping the town’s people in Gwenllyn on Aris and travelling between Kaladonia and Alok Malagan to visit Narcissus.

Accepting the peace was not something they were about to do.

1225, The sun had risen upon Reno’s home but things were different. Rather than their cozy manor in Gwenllyn on Aris, it was a dark Keep in Alok Malagan. Their days went on very similar to how it did at their previous home, early morning wake up to do their usual training.

But there was something off, deep in their core they felt a change.

Their training wasn’t going so smoothly anymore, they could feel their connection with their Dragon Spirit falter and struggle. Palinthorn felt further away than usual. Casting became harder. Their Druidics became even more untamable than it was before. They became even less capable to turn into the animal they aspired for. Their divine magic, which they had more confidence in, would occasionally misfire into a different spell or just fizzle out. At first it wasn’t very frequent but as time went on, it became more and more noticeable with each day.

They were not ready to lose Palinthorn.. And their power.

The days turned to years but thankfully Reno’s focus went to more than just their desperate struggle to maintain their connection to their dragon spirit. They had two children to spend time with and adorn with love and affection. Oriel, a child born with the aid of magic. A beautiful little girl who had the bloodline of both Narcissus and Reno. Nox, a newborn orphan created by Narcissus’ miscalculation that Reno requested they take in. Their unique family gave joy and hope to the elf who slowly grew burnt out from the ever looming weakening of their power.

Their family became their thrilling adventure.

It was like any morning, the air was cool and crisp, Reno’s favorite. They had not a single inkling of any odd pits. All their inklings in that moment went to their training. “Today was going to be different.”, they thought to themself. It was the same thought they had everyday. In their hands were two gorgeous basket hilted swords, the pair that had not seen combat for years. They stand before a training dummy in a field of sacred char marks that have scared the ground around them, all evidence of their daily struggle. “Almighty Palinthorn, Hear my prayer, grant me the power to protect those I love. Allow me to smite down evil before me!” Their voice is filled with a determination as they lunge forward at the dummy, their swords igniting with a white flame that appears to flicker like an almost empty oil lamp. The dragonic flame that had coated the blades had extinguished before making contact with the dummy. Reno had tried several more times, getting the same result each time. “Why can’t I do it? I don’t want to be weak again!” They sound frustrated and pained, dropping their swords to the dirt, “I know it isn’t Palinthorn.. It can’t be… It must be me…” They follow lead to their swords, crumpling onto the ground in tears. Just like the desperate hope at the start, this was also the usual ending of their training. But things went a little different this time. “Zazzy, Why are you crying?” A small child’s voice can be heard not too far away. When Reno looked up, there was the young and confused Oriel before them. “O..Oh.. Zazzy’s just having a hard morning, sweetie. I’m surprised you’re up this early,” They state with a fabricated calmness as they start to stand up. They are interrupted by their daughter, who scurries forward and hugs them tightly with her small arms, “I heard you from inside.. You look like you need a hug.” She says to her parent wholeheartedly. All Reno could do was just hug their child back and smile. The smile was a mixture of wistful and peaceful “Thank you, sweetie…” They say before lifting their kid off the ground, scooping up their swords as they do so. “Let’s go get breakfast.”

No matter how weak they became, They knew that they would protect their family no matter what the cost.

By Firelight

The fire crackled warmly as its light battled against the darkness of the night. Sergei sat with his back against the vardo. The wagon's wood a reassuringly sturdy presence. He stared up at the stars. This was to be an eventful night.

The bushes rustled. Sergei stood, his hand slowly moving to the hilt of a dagger hidden from view. A figure stepped into the firelight. It was a man. Of middling height, his face with a short-cropped beard beginning to show age, as did his hair, once dark, now salt and pepper.

"So. After all these years. You wish to be speaking with me again, eh? If not for your sister and mother pleading, we would not be having this conversation," he said, toying with the hilt of a knife on his belt.

Sergei's face set itself emotionless to show no expression.

"I felt it was finally time to speak. It has been some time. I am not the angry youth I once was... Father."

Nicolae Petsho sneered slightly. "And just what is it you are wishing to speak with me about, chavo?"

Sergei's hands clenched a bit at the dismissive tone his father used. Taking a deep breath, he spoke.

"It has been many years since I left the kumpania. I have changed much since then. I was young. Angry. Bitter at the world. Bitter at you. I threw myself into magic. I learned to hone it. What was it you said? 'No blade is as sharp as one's mind?' I learned that lesson very well. People here, our people and gadje alike look to me for wisdom and intelligent advice now. I have... flourished here. I have attained power amongst the gadje here that our people have not seen in ages. I have met their gods. I have met with Talos himself, had a conversation with him. I have stood upon the soil of ancient Argentia, our home. I have accomplished much. I thought I would at first throw these accomplishments into your face. That I would gloat that I became so much more than you."

Sergei sighed deeply, as Nicolae's sneer became a frown.

"But I do not want this," Sergei gestured, his hands palms up in a gesture of peace.

"Instead, I wish to just speak with you. As equals. I am a grown person. I can admit when I have done wrong. I was... rash. Impulsive. I said things to you that I felt deeply at the time but I now realize were hurtful. I will not ask that you forgive me. I do not ask for that. Instead, I ask that you see how we both have hurt each other, to look at the person I have become, and I hope to be able to be able to be... perhaps not father and son, but maybe friends? I think friends is the right word."

Nicolae thought broodingly for a bit. For Sergei, the seconds seemed to stretch on for ages. What would his father say? Would he speak civilly? Or would the words that came from his lips sting like acid? The last time they had spoken, it had turned quickly into an argument that had almost come to blows. Only the intervention of Vasilica, Sergei's mother, had prevented it.

Nicolae looked at the vardo. At the fire crackling quietly between he and Sergei. Reaching into the pocket of his coat, Nicolae pulled out a worn metal flask. Opening the cap, he took a swig. Sergei could smell the alcohol from where he stood. Wordlessly, he pulled out of his coat a metal flask of his own. Opening the cap, the sharp smell of grappa wafted out. With a wry expression, Nicolae briefly raised his own flask. Both men took a long swig, the liquor burning its way down both of their throats to pool in their bellies.

Nicolae sat cross-legged before the fire.

"So. You wish to talk? We will talk," he said, taking another swig from his flask.

Sergei nodded, sitting down across the fire from his father. It promised to be a long night. But for now, it was enough.

“Such choices.” Again he finds himself in the refectory lit by his single candle.

Reciting from memory, “Thou shall not covet power or titles nor the trappings of mortal riches. Yet here is our church wielding power, giving titles, gaining riches.” Although spoken softly, there is a low echo of his words in the empty hall. “First Primus, then Abbott, then the hierarchy restores the title of Bishop. Now this? I am not at ease with these titles.”

“Good. That is exactly why you have earned them,” from across the table, the ragged man covered with the dust and grime of traveling long roads.

“What happened to Haigan’s reforms when he took the name Artreus? Have we become complacent? Are we slipping back?” the priest adds.

"The church is in constant need of reform, as is each member.”

“Even the clergy.”

“Especially the clergy.” A short silence fills the hall again, as their words fade into the dark.

Framed by the small globe of light from his candle the priest asks, “If I accept this offer, how am I supposed to continue the good work done here? Is this not important?”

“Do you really think that you are irreplaceable? There are many who can fill the ranks.”

“Then let one of them take this position offered to me. Maybe I should just retire and go fishing?”

“Do not scoff at the well deserved rest of others,” as the man in rags admonishes the priest.

“What if someone discovers my association with…”

The man interrupts the priest with his laughter. “You still have an eye for his conversion, don’t you? That’s why I like you so much. I like him, too...mostly.”

“Sometimes he seems more Valosian than the rest of us. He’s certainly making sure justice is done; people are getting what they deserve.”

“More Valosian than the rest of us?” as the ragged man raises an eyebrow.

The priest’s head bows down into his supporting hands as his elbows weigh down on the wood of the table. “I’m weary. I’m old. I really don’t want to do this.”

“You are certainly not an immortal god, are you. But you have much work to do.”

“I suppose so...” after a brief pause “...and the years are showing on the Pontiff. He does indeed need help.” Another long pause as the priest’s head shakes slowly, “What should I do?”

With a shrug the ragged man responds, “Is it not the difficult situation that leaves one choosing between unconditional love and trust, or a reassessment of one's faith?”

As the priest’s head lifts up and his arms collapse onto the table, “Must you always give counsel in puzzles?”

“Must you always make things more difficult than what they are?”

“Must you always answer questions with more questions?”

“You seem to do well with that yourself,” as the ragged man smiles and forces a lightening of the conversation. Silence ensues as the priest also smiles and then sits deep in thought. The man tells the priest, “My dear friend, take courage. You’ve made the choice already. You know it. It’s in your heart.”

“The Heart of Valos. Yet another title given to me.”

“And the truest one. Remember who gave you that title.”

“Along with this crown.”

“You’ve used it well. Use it still. Whatever path you choose I will be with you.”

As Ephrem looked down at the crown of golden-wrought laurels in his hand, he noticed a faint glow around it. Looking back across the table he saw a brief glow of light where the ragged man had been, as if one looked briefly at the sun and could still see the image within one's closed eyes. He knew what he must do and he knew there could no longer be hesitation.

He wrote letters of appointment to the new Abbott of the monastery along with specific instructions. Now that the title of Bishop had been restored to the Diocese of Travance, his letter of resignation made the additional title of Primus defunct. Bringing his own personal books over to the monastic library, he bid his friend there a rather tearful goodbye. He packed his traveling bag, took his walking staff, and left for the Sanctus Luminarium to speak to the Pontiff. “Cardinal it is,” he said to himself, “but as Valos desires it to be, not according to these human-made laws”

Later years told tales of a wandering pilgrim. He would stay a week, a month, or however long it took revealing the corruption of a local magistrate, restricting the legal hand of an overreaching lord, restoring goods to a victim of theft, or even settling a land dispute between two feuding families. Along the roads he walked hostels would be established for travelers, brigands and bandits would suddenly disappear, or a lone traveler would now have a companion. Some say he was a Cardinal of the Church, others that he was a useless beggar; but whether in a small village or some squalid urban quarter, there was always left an ever so subtle lightness of heart in his wake.

The Descent Pt 2

Wild eyes stared at the body before her. While the remains looked like someone who had withered and decayed years ago, the man had been alive not an hour beforehand. Khala snarled, flashing back to his words.

“All right, I’ll talk!” the broken and battered man said, pleading. “They found out yer ma passed about a year ago. With her gone, and you presumed dead, they had no use for yer da anymore. Took him out too. Took his business. Now please… please let me go….”

She hadn’t listened to his pleas if the corpse was any indicator. Snarling, power oozed from her. Why… why had they sent her to Travance so long ago? She had been a CHILD. Why did they abandon her to that place? And now she would never be able to ask them. Never be able to find them and truly know the reason. As far as she knew, it had something to do with that rogues guild there… all of this was their fault. It had to be. She would take care of that problem…

It started at the entrance to the cave in some Kormyrian mountain range that she had claimed as her lair for the time being. The plants outside withered, collapsing in upon themselves and shrinking back from the corruption she was releasing. It spread until there was a large swath of dead plants, withered and broken trees, corpses of animals that could not flee it in time… they littered the woods outside. She didn’t know it now, but when it was eventually found, even druids would struggle to bring life back to the land in that area. She had noticed her power starting to wane and was struggling against it recently. It seemed only when she was truly angry was she able to cause something of this magnitude anymore, and even this seemed to be losing its strength.

Finally noticing what she had done, she realized that it was time to leave this place. She gathered up any notes of importance, shoving them into her bag. Years of research into how to keep her power and gain more. Things to help increase and fight against what she thought was an affliction of some kind, possible paths to immortality… there were so many possibilities. She grabbed only those that had actual progress made on them, the rest might show what she was looking for but had no real info other than failures on them.

Standing at the entrance to the cave she grinned and released the enchantment on the cave. Behind her, the guttural sounds and snarls indicated the awakening of her ‘pets’. Large monstrous aberrant undead that looked like they have been stitched together of all the best parts of some of the more powerful apex predators, she had created them a few years back when she was still at her peak and held in place with various enchantments. They would stay in this cave and eliminate anyone that attempted to inspect it closer. She hoped that she could make more whenever she found a new lair. Already she was straining just to keep the two here under control. Beads of sweat dotted her brow and she studied them for a moment. Would they actually remain in the cave like her spell was supposed to do, or would it break? The magic wavered for a second and one swiped at her before she was able to pull it back into her control. A mad laugh escaped her lips as she realized she didn’t care if they stayed here in this den of theirs or terrorized the countryside. Instructing them to stay, she disappeared off into the night.

Over the next few weeks, the deaths piled up. In Bordertown, bodies were being found strung up around the city, each one marked with the Eye of Malyc. Anyone who dug deep enough might find how they all were connected to Khala’s mother in the Rogue’s Guild there somehow. And just as soon as they had started, they stopped. And Khala disappeared into the world again. She would find a way to get back to her full strength. No one was going to stop her. After all, there was always a way to achieve your goals so long as you were willing to stop at nothing to achieve them…

Aleister - Homecoming (Part II) "My only condition, Regent Stonewall, is that I be a part of the decision. He entrusted me with the crown's location, I should at least be allowed to see its placement to the end." Aleister was firm on this stance, and he stared with a determined look until the regent agreed to his terms. With the accord reached, he handed the regent instructions where he would find the crown and returned to his office in the capital to carry on his duties. Three more years would go by and he assumed this would be it. Administration till his retirement. The days of his sorcerous adventures were now past him, and he had little need for great magics anymore. Along the far end of his office hung the magic Glaive, crafted by the pentirr smith for him, and now nothing more than a decoration - a trophy from days long gone by. That was, until 1230 when his new appointment was made... Though out of practice, this was a moment that brought joy. He was going to go home. And in all the time he had been gone, he longed for nothing more. The familiar lands were almost empty and the joy was not what he had hoped, but this was a time to revive that. He was going to revive Travance to the land of heroes that he remembered it as. With the Eastern Expansion at his command, he was going to need help. Soldiers would be good, but heroes, adventurers... they were the foundation of such an endeavor. ---------------------------------------------------

Standing proudly in his manor in Travance proper, he had made himself feel at home once again, but it was already time to get to work and so he drafted a notice to be spread across the kingdom: "Subjects, Heroes, Adventurers, I, Baron Demirosz of Travance, call to you. The Eastern Expansion of Kormyre has begun and it is to you I look for aid. Fame, glory and riches like the heroes of yonder years await you! Join us, as we bring our kingdom to new heights and explore the yet unknown! Upon the Eleventh day of April in the Year 1231, the barony of Travance will be holding a great feast in the halls of the Dragon's Claw Inn, but not in my honor, rather, in yours. That day will begin the first Baronial Hero's Feast, of which we will hold monthly, to celebrate and support your efforts in the expansion of the kingdom. Friends, I know many of you have been gone for some time. And if you have read this letter, o heroes who I once fought beside, heed this call. The time is now. It is time to come home. By My Will, Baron Aleister Demirosz, The Phoenix"

Narcissus Malagan - Desperation Narcissus looked into his ornate glass mirror, backed by a non holy metal so he could see his reflection. There has been a shift recently on several fronts. He could feel it. He did not like it. “Perhaps this is what you meant with your name, did you know this would happen all along Melarus?” Narcissus says quietly looking at himself, though talking to the beholder that is bound to him. Melarus was bound safely to Narcissus at this time, but as surely as vampirism knocked at his door, so did the inevitable weakening of his power. This begged the question, how long would Narcissus be able to prevent the beholder from escaping it’s chains? Melarus would wait for the right moment and less power meant less strict control.

He would need to find a way to remedy this. If there was a way.

Narcissus pulled his hair up tightly before fastening it.

There was always a way, it just depended on how deep and dark he reached. He had stumbled upon an odd pit deep within the ruins of his Grandfather’s legacy. He wondered if Pesmerga had been the one to cover it or if it was covered long before his family had arrived. Either way, it was sealed with some sort of magical seal as well as a carving of a rat. He had been taking the last few nights debating whether he should dismantle the seal or not.

But this shift, the beginning of it, urged him to go tonight.

The crying of a baby snapped his attention from his lingering thoughts as he rose to walk over the black crib. The crib emulated the beautiful design of Argenti Caravans as he reached into it and raised the child to his chest. He rocked them softly until the child, Nox, quieted. It was harder for Narcissus, he lacked the warmth that Reno had. But Reno was already long asleep.

Nox was the constant reminder of the mistake he had made. He swore to never create an orphan and he had tried to be so careful about who he fed from, but here he was, raising the child at Reno’s request because of his mistakes. It was no matter in the end, it gave him someone to focus on, a new generation, perhaps someone to continue on anything that he gripped so tightly to.

If not Nox, then Oriel, a child created with magical assistance for Reno and Himself, blood related, true family. After thinking about this abnormal family of his design, he places the sleeping Nox back into the crib before grabbing his cloak.

Securing more power was more important now than it had been at any other point in his life. On this night of 1225 he stands above the pit’s seal. This was a place of power, but he knew it whatever lurked beneath was dark but desperation to secure power before he could weaken caused him to repeal the magical seal.

The seal flashed sickly muddled colors as it began to weaken. But it did not repeal immediately. Narcissus frowns, while he was already certain it would take some time to completely weaken, he had hoped that his estimates were wrong.

Again, no matter, he would spend this time preparing for the moment that it would fully weaken.

He would gather whatever he felt he needed for that moment. Write letters to his family about the progress. Life was almost normal, except the magical seal that was weakening weighed on his already fragile mental state.

So he waited.

Then, time moved faster than he expected, if his estimates were right it would be opening tonight. He stands, not over the pit but some distance away. There was a chance he made a grave error and would need to abscond quickly. He spent the better part of a decade preparing as much as he could for what may come out of the pit. Though, in truth he held onto hope that it would just be a font of power that he could use.

As he waits for the last little remnants of the seal to dissipate and in this moment the only facts he knew to be true were:

His family was the most important thing to him.

That He would grasp whatever power he needed, if he could, to ensure their future.

Even if it meant deals and favors with dark forces.