Quest And Sorrow Sang Softly

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

Northern fringes of Falwood
Early Evening

“Captain.”

Thorgauld stood before a tall table, leaning hard on his arms which he'd planted on its top. He was examining a map of the small city along with other scrolls sprawled around. Several other men were standing with him around the table, either doing the same as him or discussing things among themselves: defensive tactics; pedestrian traffic; casualty management. Strategists.

The Captain looked up, and approached his lieutenant who had called to him.

“Captain,” the lieutenant said again with an Anirian salute, “there have been more disappearances.”

Thorgauld turned away and looked into the great stone fireplace across the room. The castle's architecture was grand, and despite being unoccupied for many years it had held up very well. Only a few squatters had been ushered out when they arrived several months ago and set up shop.

He stared into the flame, thinking.

“So how many is that now?” he said.

“Eighty-seven,” the lieutenant replied.

He thanked his lieutenant and dismissed him before sauntering back over to the table.

“Captain?” one of the men said, noticing his less than enthusiastic demeanour.

“Another nine have been taken, same story…”

The men murmured between themselves before returning to their previous focus. They needed to secure the city. Whatever was happening could not be pinned down until that task was done – and so far it had be arduous.

The city itself was in poor shape. It at one time was likely much different, but decades of poverty and unrest had taken a heavy toll. The stone wall was in disrepair, collapsed in various places and altogether unsafe. Several battlements had even fallen off, near missing guardsmen standing on the ground below. The streets and alleys were littered with everything from rotting carcasses of beasts of burden and livestock to garbage and derelict wagons. Many buildings were abandoned due to collapse or other damage, and a large number of people had taken up residence in the streets out of whatever shelter they could assemble.

To make matters worse the fish from the nearby river had run sparse and the land yielded little crop.

The poor conditions were nothing short of a breeding ground for infection and other ailment. And sure enough, even before Thorgauld and his battalion had arrived the place was rampant with sickness. His healers did well to mitigate his men’s exposure and even help the locals, but they were only a few.

They were not exactly a relief squadron.

No, there was one thing that sent he and his men this far east. Something was stirring in Vel Anir, and from what he knew he could only imagine it was appetite. He wondered however, if this forsaken place was something better spat out.

“Captain!” another lieutenant came rushing in, “trouble at the gate, sir!”

“Deal with it.” was all he said.

* * *​

From under his hood his eyes peered out, examining what he could from where he was. The city’s walls looked rough, with mortar joints missing and many stones cracked. Hardly a fortified defense against any real threat – at least now. The gatehouse looked sturdier however, so too did the gate which barred his way. But it did not bar only his.

In front of him some 50 meters or more, a crowd was gathering. It had been for some time, and all the while night was approaching. Little did that matter; it had been raining for hours and the sky grey for days. Even still, he sat patiently atop a white horse. He had been told by someone passing by when he had asked that the gates only open just after dawn and just before dusk anymore – there was trouble both in and outside the walls he surmised.

And sure enough, not long after the crowd had grown larger did the group descend into arguing and fighting. It carried on for a time before shouting from the gatehouse managed to quiet the beleaguered men below: a sorry sort; poor looking and dirty. They’d been working beyond the wall all day he gathered, at what he could only imagine. Now soaking wet, tired, and likely hungry, he could certainly understand their displeasure in waiting for the gate. He certainly took no joy in it.

But some less than others.

Another fight broke out, this one far more violent. A few men assaulted several others and then attempted to take off with whatever bounty they’d scoured from them – likely low-level criminals disguised as working folk or perhaps just terribly desperate. They failed, stopped by the crowd which took to beating them mercilessly, some of them to their death.

The gates opened this time, and some frightened by the brutality rushed toward the opening only to be shoved back by a legion of guardsmen with large shields, brandishing pikes, and hollering orders. Erën snarled at the sight of them – only for all the trouble he’d recently been caught up in with the Anirian Guard. They rallied the crowd, gathering up the brawlers against the wall to deal with the recent outbreak in a crude manner of physical discipline and public interrogation. They ignored the dead altogether – left there in the mud.

He assumed now was the time as all the others not implicated filed themselves through the gate. His horse cantered up, decelerating to a walk as he drew near. A few of the guards turned to look at him and watched him enter in but made no gripe. He ignored them. He made his way into the streets. Navigating over trash and debris, through the sickly and the beggars and a few suspicious guardsmen inquiring about his business, he finally emerged out into the town square. Despite the rain a fair number of vendors were still trying to sell, shielded by little more than awnings and crates. The square was in much the same state as the rest, though slightly better kept. He moved from merchant to merchant as he crossed the square, speaking with one every so often in an attempt to familiarize himself.

It was certainly a sad state of affairs, but many pointed him to the inn. They said the owner was a charitable sort, offering herbal teas and soup to the less fortunate out of pocket and his rates had dropped considerably due to the recent circumstances. But he was still too rich for the poor. This suited Erën just fine, as his coin had become less as of late and had no desire to dwell out in these streets. So, he approached the inn. Out over a rather busy front entrance a large wooden sign hung out into the square – the only signage he'd seen. As he hitched his horse under a lean-to out front alongside several others yet to be escorted to the stable, he looked up at the sign.

It read: The Rogue's Hollow.

ElektaKount Anima

 

[Trajan Meng]

For the betterment of Mankind, they rode.

The ramshackle walls of the city before them. Trajan at the head of his small formation, eight faithful warriors of the Luminari and a bannerwoman, totaling ten in all and all mounted upon horses. A force truly insufficient for what this city truly needed, and it was indeed a sorry and sorrowful sight to see the very degradation of Mankind play out before him, encapsulated as it was in this singular city.

Trajan knew not the extent of the city's woes, nor would it make a considerable difference if he did know, for these woes would not be rectified in a day's time or a week's time or even perhaps several years' time. Yes, beholding the metaphorical manifestation of humanity's languishing made the cause of the Luminari seem all the more daunting. But the faith must be kept. He was but a man, and he could only affect things that were so within his power to change. In patience and perseverance did the rain reshape mountains, and so it was with the great and lasting feats of men.

They rode, approaching the gate.

Dio had been in contact with a potential recruit from here. Aiofe Lockwood, a healer and graduate of the College no less, was in the city combating sickness and injury. A Guardsmen battalion was in the city but what healers they did have was not nearly enough, especially where the general population was concerned.

And thus this Light Operari was born and led by Trajan. They wore newly crafted tabards bearing the decided-upon insignia of the Luminari, and even had a banner made bearing the same. They would ride into the city and recruit Aiofe into the fold and help the citizenry where they could, their mission to garner a good reputation for the Luminari, to establish it has a beacon of hope and charity and brotherhood and sisterhood for all Mankind. Mayhap they would leave the city with more than Aiofe newly joined in their midst, should they be so lucky.

The gates of the city opened at a distance to them and by the time Trajan and his cohort reached them the fight had ceased and the dead lay where they had drawn their last breaths.

Yes. A sorry and sorrowful sight. And yet Trajan carried the flickering fire of hope.

* * * * *​

The horses stabled, Trajan and his fellows walking through the streets in the rain. Aiofe's foremost suggestion was as astute as it was tragic. Food. She asked if Trajan could bring food for the women and children. He agreed, leveraging newly acquired wealth from Dark Operari raids on xenos to purchase a few wagonloads of it. The wagons would be due in tomorrow, or maybe yet early in the day after that at the latest. A meager offering, given the state of the city as a whole, but good done in the service to one's fellow man and woman could not be measured; a single bright day had the power to reinvigorate the human spirit to its utmost potential, and no darkness could withstand that.

Aiofe was in the city, but Trajan knew not where exactly. And so the inns became the best candidates to begin their search.

A sign for one such inn. The Rogue's Hollow. Perhaps not the most inviting name by Trajan's lights, but that was certainly the least of the city's concerns.

Trajan marched up the few steps to the door. The bannerwoman wrapped the banner around the pole and carried the pole as one would a spear.

And Trajan stepped inside, followed by his fellows. He looked about in the foyer for the innkeeper. Likely he would know if Aiofe stayed here or no.

 

[Talus]

Talus stood in the Corner of the small officers hall that had been acquired by the Guardsmen Batallion, listening to Captain Thorgauld curse the city that he had been sent to.

He couldn't help but agree with the man.

The Young Dreadlord Apprentice had only arrived recently, sent with a dispatch meant of fourth level Dreadlords designated as healers to help the sick. It was a mark of just how much Vel Anir wanted this city, though why he couldn't have guessed.

Sickness was rife within the walls, the people were poor, starving, and even the Guardsmen Batallion was having trouble keeping the peace. It wasn't their fault really, there was only so much they could do when they ventured out from the Keep. Talus had ridden through the streets on his way in, and the sights had made his stomach turn more than once. He frowned slightly, shaking his head as he heard the muttering of some. Of the assembled men.

Better to burn the place down they said.

It wasn't a bad idea, not with everything going on inside of the walls. One wondered if they could even do anything at this point.

"You there, Dreadlord."

Talus snapped his head up instantly. He was not yet graduated technically, though he had taken his final battle atop the tower. It had been a swift thing, the boy matched against him not up to the task. "Sir?"

The young man asked as he stepped forward so the Captain could properly address him.

"These disappearances, they're weighing heavily on the city. I need someone to look into them."

Talus was about to speak up, object and state the fact that he was neither a trained investigator nor did he have any sort of authority to do so. Before he could however the Captain Continued, stamping out any words that the young man might have to give.

"We are the law here, and I can't spare any of my men. The word of a Dreadlord means a lot, even if it is just a kid giving it. Find out what the fuck is going on in this city."

The Apprentice grimaced, realizing that he didn't really have much of a choice in the matter. His head bowed. "I can do it, but I'll need some help."

There was a pause, then the Captain nodded.

"What do you need?"

It was the first time Talus had ever gotten a response like that from what was technically a superior officer. Shock colored his face, but it quickly slid away as he recounted a small list of things he thought he would need.

Perhaps he was growing up after all.

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

The inn was busy tonight – it usually was these days given the owner’s predilection to help those in need, albeit only so much. A business needed to operate, even in a place like this. There was only so much charity one could give. But, in the midst of all this tragedy any little bit was indeed appreciated by most.

Since the Anirians had shown up, a little more coin had made its way to the business, and the flow of mead had become steady. They were a thirsty bunch, that was certain, and luckily alcohol was the one thing still in abundance here, at least for now. With only a small handful of taverns left in all the city and this one being the last true inn save for a couple less appealing ones, it was only a matter of time. Ties to the outside world were stretched thin, and very few merchants still came here.

Turidan wiped the bar, a recent spill now soaked up. Several men sat close to him, civilians, with their heads bowed low over waning mugs of mead – quiet. Most of the patronage behaved much the same way, weighed down with the plight of their lives. A couple tables at the far end were occupied by the Guardsmen, bantering and carrying on. They excluded that end to themselves, dissuading any others from associating with them. They wanted little to do with these homely folks.

He'd lived here his whole life, and at fifty-two years of age he could hardly blame even the young men succumbing to their despair…and giving up. His own business folded, and Rilthilian was good to him, giving him a job and paid as well as he could. For the majority of the time he tended the bar allowing the old elf more time for his alms-giving.

He looked up as Trajan entered with his troop following in. They were a different sort, not quite like these Anirians. He almost smiled, the thought of some actual kind of relief coming to the city had been a distant thought in his mind for some while now. The sight of them coming to their aid, like the Guardsmen who first arrived, was a welcome one – or at least that’s what he supposed this was all about.

He beckoned to them as they entered, “Evenin’, is there anything that I can do for you?”

~*~*~*~​

Erën’s eyes peaked up as a group entered in, their colors different from those of the Guardsmen. He examined them, uncertain if he was familiar with them. He couldn’t place them and imagined them some special contingent of the Anirians. Hopefully, they would be able to do something about this horrid mess. Though he cared for humans less so than others, he did not agree with anyone having to live in this kind of place. Elven leadership would have never abandoned their people like this.

But from what he had gathered, the leadership had left long ago, and what little had remained and held on was absorbed by the Guard.

That, quite frankly, was probably best. But it did bother him to see the Guard this far east. It reminded him of their campaigns centuries ago, warring with Fal’Addas and by association, warring with Sharyrdaes. He thought this place a strategic location should any such conflict begin again, with the river running south into the forest.

The bartender called to the newcomer and his group, certainly more excited to see another human than an elf. He was not the only one in the city, that much he’d seen, but there certainly were only a few thus far. There was one in particular he wished to speak to, and he was told by the barkeep he had taken to the streets with the Anirian healers and would be returning soon.

So, he sat patiently for now alone at a small table.

~*~*~*~

​

Rendel paced about, his hands wrapped behind his back and his eyes upon the ground, tracing the grout lines as he moved about. He was restless. And he was tired. He hadn’t slept all day and now he was to stand guard all night, stationed at the barbican of the city’s main gate. But he hated it here. Ever since they’d arrived in this gods’ forsaken city had he dealt with this feeling of uncertainty and… even fear. He had always been a reluctant sort, but even this was a little much.

“Can you stop?” Thomas barked from his perch atop a couple stacked crates, “you’re driving me mad.”

“Sorry,” Rendel replied, slowing himself to a halt. He looked outside, stepping close to the opening and placing a hand up on the stone, “there’s just something about this place I can’t shake. Why are we even in here? There’s gaps in the wall a full parade could march through…”

That was an exaggeration, but still. Yes, those problem areas were manned and not nearly as exposed as Rendel claimed, but he hardly thought it even necessary to be cramped up in here with those wide-open paths available.

“Because, if any more of us show up we need to open the gate. Rendel, come on.”

As Rendel looked out, he saw the clouds briefly break. Moonlight shone out onto the fields before them. Far out, he saw several dark spots spread across his line of sight. The stood up off the ground, and as he winced to see he saw that they were moving. Closer.

He turned to Thomas, “someone’s coming,” his eyes were full of terror as his imagination ran wild with what could be approaching.

Thomas didn’t really believe him. He’d known Rendel long enough to know that he could be mistaken. Thomas approached the window and looked out. The clouds had once again covered over the moon, but he could make out a fog beginning to settle in as the rain began to taper. He leaned out the window even a little bit, trying to focus his eyes to the dark that much better.

“Rendel I don’t-...”

Rendel looked on in fear as this ungodly creature reached up and ensnared his partner, a great mass of vine-like tendrils wrapping itself around his head, and then flinging him out from the gatehouse. Rendel shakily drew his sword as the monstrosity crept in through the opening. He slowly backed himself into a wall, pressing tightly against it as he beheld the beast. One of its legs moved forward, and it fell heavily on the stone floor. He moved to run and raise the alarm.

He reached out to grab it.

A single ring got out.

 

[Trajan Meng]

Trajan did not see Aiofe in the inn's tavern. Convenient if he had, but he did not expect as much. Likely that she would be elsewhere in the town, Dio had gotten the impression that she was of the tireless and dedicated sort; a perfect candidate in that regard for a core Luminari member. He had but a thin description to go off of, other than asking about with her name, and with this he was keen to find her as soon as possible. He would need to speak with her, this a process that mayhap could take a considerable amount of time.

The terms "initiated" and "uninitiated" had begun to gain traction within the Luminari, now that they were growing more and expanding the scope of their mission. Trajan was wary of qualifiers which could sow division being used in the Luminari, but in this instance he could see the reasoning behind the terms and reluctantly accepted their use.

Uninitiated Luminari members were those who did not yet know the full meaning of the cause and all of its ramifications. They who joined because the message of a united humanity, the brotherly and sisterly love that flowed from this core ideal, appealed to them. And as well it should. But they were unaware, perhaps willfully or perhaps naively or whatever the case may be, that the xenos abounding across Arethil felt something similar. Yes, it was true. The xeno elf, the xeno dwarf, the xeno orc, all of them, they all felt a similar binding of kin, though such paled in comparison to the Human Spirit. The xeno may yet squabble and bicker and savagely assail his fellow xeno, yes, but when faced with the light of Mankind they all invariably grew jealous. There with a common enemy before them did the xeno and his fellow xenos come together, a bond forged not from true selfless love but instead a bond forged from the green chains of envy. And thus they would come together to aid their kin more out of spite for humanity than anything else.

Put simply, initiated Luminari members understood the xeno. Uninitiated Luminari members did not.

Aiofe was as yet uninitiated. Willis Reede, one of Clarissa's new ally recruits, was uninitiated. Many new recruits were. It was a troubling but firm fact that years of idling and layabouting and complacency and outright sympathy for xenos proved in many cases difficult to rectify, perhaps impossible, as regrettable as such a situation would be and most certainly is were it was true. The languishing of one's spirit inured one to the encroaching xeno, made one forget their true family.

Aiofe seemed to harbor a promising mindset, so said Dio in his correspondence with her. Perhaps it would be so. A pleasant surprise, if she proved herself initiated before Trajan himself even broached the topic.

The barkeep hailed him. Trajan broke from fellow and approached the bar, resting the head of his warhammer down on the floor.

"Good evening. Five rooms, for my fellows and I. We expect to stay several nights." Trajan regarded him. "And perhaps you might know. We've come here at the beckoning of a woman by the name of Aiofe Lockwood, a mage versed in healing disciplines. Maybe you've seen her, here or otherwise?"

The chime of a bell, muted inside the inn. A single ring. A signifier of the hour or a call to church maybe. The Luminari men and women behind Trajan glanced about with their eyes for a moment but then let it go.

 

[Talus]

It was an hour later that Talus stood in the courtyard of the Keep with exactly what he had asked for.

He'd not needed any weapons or that sort of thing, the Academy had him well supplied in that regard, but Talus had known this city itself put him at a disadvantage. Most of this place was unknown to him, and the people were strangers.

So he had asked the Captain for two things. One was a man from the Batallion itself, the best archer that they had. In a funny twist, that man turned out to be a woman by the name of Maria. She was a lithe thing, not much older than Talus himself, though taller by a span.

Odd, but she had greeted him kindly enough and had assured him that she would be no trouble.

The second thing he'd asked for was a local, one loyal to Vel Anir and who knew his way around the city.

That was who arrived in the courtyard a few seconds later. It was a man, probably in his early thirties. His face was haggard and grizzled, though by the clothes he wore it was obvious he did his best to keep himself together. The man's name was Varok, and as it turned out he was a former Anirian Ranger.

Part of a scouting division that answered to the Guard.

Apparently he had moved to the city after his service nearly five years ago. Since then his fortunes had turned, along with the rest of the people in this city. "Alright."

Talus said to his two compatriots.

"First things first, we need to talk to the guards at the gate." A curt nod from both his companions, and then the three quickly set off.

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

Filth here, trash there. And then more trash. Sergeant Girrel was certainly not a fan of this city, nor were any of the other dozen guardsmen accompanying him. Of all the destitute places in the world, why did he have to come here. It stank, it seemed to rain every other day, the sky was always grey, and problems never stopped. A fight here, a robbery there, and of course the kidnappings. Apparently, they’d begun even before the Guard showed up and started to keep track, so who knew how many there really were.

It was even likely more people went missing that no one even knew about. No one even cared. Girrel didn’t really care either, but at the same time… he wouldn’t stand idly by either. They were mostly human victims after all.

He and his men entered the town square. Just as they did, they heard a peculiar sound: the singular ring of a rather large bell. He looked to the northwest, the castle. He looked east, the main gate. It was hard to tell where it had come from with it echoing lightly through the streets. It grabbed the attention of the few people who remained out, and then went ignored. Even by Girrel and his sort.

But as they crossed the square there grew an unsettling quiet. The rain began to cease. A fog began to roll in over the walls.

He heard hurried feet, coming their way. A lone Guardsman, sprinting, came into the square. He saw Girrel and his men, and scurried over.

“What's going on, soldier?” the Sergeant said.

A few laboured breaths, “the gatehouse… its empty…” he paused, taking a deep breath. “There also appears to be… something wrong with the gate. Sir!”

After briefly having the soldier catch his breath to explain himself a little further, Girrel issued some orders.

“Alright, you head to the castle and explain what's going on.” He dismissed the lone soldier, “Kal, go to the tavern. Tell'em break’s over. The rest of you, follow me.”

They headed toward the gate.

~*~*~*~

​

The sound rang clearly in his ears. He could almost feel them twitch – if they did that. For a moment, the crowd inside quieted, but after no further alert they carried on. He too thought little of it.

He sat and watched patiently, listening in on any conversations of interest from the Guardsmen across the room, the poor looking fellow adjacent to him and his friend, several others, and of course the most recent entrants. He heard the bartender tell them that the inn could accommodate them, with pleasure. How nice. He also casually inquired about their business – Erën too was curious.

There was time for a few more words before another man entered and grabbed his attention. He was inconspicuous for the most part, just another Guard, but he seemed troubled. He looked around before spotting the group on the other end, moving toward them.

Get up, Sergeants orders. We got problems at the gate, a few of our guys are missing.

He wasn't particularly quiet.

The guards gathered themselves and began to file outside, bumping shoulders with the Anirian healers – returning without their self-appointed guide. He’d wait for a few moments, and hopefully he’d learn something useful – or the owner would return.

~*~*~*~​

A wry smile was cast upon his face, his head tilted back, and his eyes closed. Spent. Ril’thilian stood alone out in the field, far off from the city. He'd parted with the healers a few hour ago, after having led them through much of the western part of the city. They were a noble sort. A shame.

The time had come to leave this god forsaken place. But first, he needed to tie up some loose ends.

The friends he had told the healers he needed to tend to. It was likely they would reach the inn before he did.

He laughed.

 

[Trajan Meng]

Trajan paid little mind to the other patrons in the tavern, the conversations of the citizenry and Guardsmen. Mostly it consisted of the city's current woes, of which he was already well aware. Here a stonemason's lament about the futility of all the extra work he was putting in. There a man's choking confessing of his mother's disappearance and how he never got to tell her sorry before she was gone. Add in the Guards receiving new orders from their sergeant; trouble at the gate. More senseless violence no doubt, spurred on by the desperation of the city's plight and the terrible lack of brotherly love and unity and the cohesion of kin that was so needed to see one through dark times.

He heard these things, but knew and understood the extent to which he could help. Which was to say not very much. Again, this city's cascading misfortunes would require more than Trajan could offer, even if he had the whole of the Luminari put to the task. Yes, it was tragic that he had the will but not the means to bring salvation to this city, but the cause had to come first. This city was but a battle, the awakening and restoration of the indomitable Human Spirit the war. A harkening back to the Age of Expansion, and yet beyond it to new heights in which Trajan harbored no doubt in humanity's ability to attain. Once this dream was made reality then the likes of these current woes would cease to be, the very mindsets which inevitably lead to such unmitigated tragedies supplanted in favor of the joyous and unconditional love for one's kin.

So Trajan waited on the bartender (perhaps he was both bartender and innkeeper, not unheard of) to return with the keys to the rooms. He glanced around the inn's tavern and noted the presence of a few xenos. A few elves, a strangely short and frail-looking komodi of all things. Hmph. Trajan would scarcely be surprised if one or all of them had some sinister hand in the plight of this city. Certainly they enjoyed witnessing the languishing of the men and women here, whether they had a hand in it or not. But this was a Light Operari, Trajan and his fellows all bearing the symbol and colors of the Luminari and openly proclaiming their allegiance to it. Reputation would have to be carefully garnered, focusing more on the charity and selfless service and defense of Mankind than proselytizing the truth about xeno encroachment and menace. This done in equal parts as a more effective means of converting idlers, layabouts, and complacents to the cause, but also so as to not make xenos unduly aware of the true intent of the Luminari and thus opening the organization up to xeno trickery and deception.

The bartender came back. Trajan took one key, then passed out the other four to his fellows. He and his Luminari cohort walked in a stately manner from the tavern, heading upstairs and to their appointed rooms. They paired off without Trajan having to suggest or prompt as such.

Trajan put the key in his door. Turned it and opened the door and stepped inside and laid his traveling pack and cloak down on the small table. The man who had paired with Trajan in the room was Zachary, though 'man' was perhaps generous. He was the youngest among them, a farmer's boy, so quite large and fit for his age. A quiet boy, he followed orders and instruction without question and believed in the cause with all his heart. He had, Trajan noted, on several occasions during their journey cast longing glances to their bannerwoman, Bellatrix, when she wasn't looking; that manner of young, budding affection Trajan himself was familiar with at one time, far too many years ago.

"Trajan," Zach said.

"Yes?"

"May I ask you a question, sir?"

"There's no need to call me sir."

"I'm sorry, sir. Oh, sorry. I was just raised to say sir and ma'am to everyone."

Trajan looked to him. A curious interest. "Everyone, you say? That's unusual."

Zach shrugged. "Not many lords and ladies around where I come from. They's all far away and don't ever come by."

"I see," Trajan said. "Your question?"

"Ah. Right. How..." He seemed to have trouble forming the question. "How does a city...come to this?"

Trajan put down the ration he'd taken from the traveling pack. Regarded the boy. The question spoken in all earnesty, that much evident by the expression on his face. It was clear that Zachary had never before seen a sight such as this, let alone ventured far from his father's farm before joining the Luminari. He'd never seen Mankind in such an awful state of disrepair, the depths to which kin could fall if they so allowed it through inaction.

Trajan regarded the boy for a moment more.

And he told him.

 

[Talus]

Talus managed to arrive at the gatehouse with his two companions in step just as the sergeant and his men arrived.

The two small groups almost crashed into each other as they walked down separate side streets, one of the Anirian guardsmen with the Sergeant so jumpy that his sword already half left it's scabbard by the time anyone recognized what the hell was going on.

"Calm down kid."

Varok was the first one to speak, earning a look of ire from one of the guardsmen until he spotted the crest sitting upon Talus' chest.

It was not every day that ordinary soldiers bumped into Dreadlords, and although Talus looked young his station was well above the Sergeant. The man that had drawn his sword completely paled, opening his mouth to speak before Talus cut him off. "Where are the gate guards?"

He didn't have time to fool around with any of this.

Talus had been assigned to do a job, he intended to do it.

The Sergeant seemed to recognize that as well, not wasting any time and snapping into attention. His shoulders stiffened and he quickly explained.

"I'm not entirely sure sir, they seemed to have disappeared."

A frown touched the Dreadlord's face.

"You and you with me, Maria take the others and block the road. Vorak." He jerked his head and drew his blade. Whatever had emptied the gatehouse might still be there, and with the rumors of this city Talus wasn't going to take any chances.

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

There also appears to be… something wrong with the gate.​

The fog was not so thick he could not see through it, but his vision was certainly blurred after several meters. He looked to the gate as they approached the doorway, leading up the stairwell to the gatehouse above where the men had gone missing. He couldn’t see anything from where he was – except along the bottom of it. Girrel followed the Dreadlord’s orders, without hesitation – but his curiosity was piqued.

“Sir, the gate,” he motioned, and he moved closer to inspect it.

The planks that made up the gate looked as though they had grown roots, which plunged down through cobblestone and shoved them aside. The gate was sealed shut. Other strange features had taken shape, the wood turning dark and he could swear even the grain patterns had taken a different shape – twisted and disfigured. The iron bands were covered in a strange moss – the likes he’d never seen before.

Then, one of the soldiers shouted from afar, crying out for him to move.

He threw himself to the side, falling against the road. Behind him one of the battlements from above had fallen and was sure to have killed him had he stayed put. But he looked up and beheld the blurred image of a man standing atop the wall… no… not a man. A beast, a foul creature formed by some terrible evil. The creature descended upon him and crushed him under its weight as it landed – killing him.

It stood easily two meters in height, and its features were like those of man and branch twisted into one. Where skin should be there was dark bark, where fingers should be there were tendrils of vine, and where eyes should be there was only black. Two more descended either side of it, each one configured in its own way, and to those looking up several more leaping over buildings to descend into the street or even further into the city could be spotted. They moved awkwardly, but their strength could propel them far.

The three by the gate approached the Dreadlord and his remaining troops, while a half dozen other beasts moved to engage the other Guards blocking the road – and attack nearby pedestrians who were trying to see what the fuss was about.

~*~*~*~

Moments after…

​

A crash atop the roof of the Hollow, then several more, and then loud scream from outside. Erën shot up from his chair, and with a few startled gasps the tavern fell silent. He hurried to the door and flung it open. Outside in the square, he could see several creatures he was unfamiliar with harassing the square. People ran for their lives, while others less fortunate were bound by strange stretching limbs, pierced by sharpened ones, or stomped under large feet – more akin to the pulled base of a tree.

Even out of homes people fled, the creatures breaking their way into anywhere and everywhere they could, goring all who came before them. Erën of course, had to act.

He leapt from the porch out onto the cobblestone and drew his swords. Two of the creatures approached him as a few terrified townsfolk ran past. He brandished his swords and prepared to attack. Then one of them did, reaching up with one of its abnormally long arms, and shot forth a twisted mass of writhing vines to ensnare him. He slid to the side and hacked through the mass of limb, slicing through cleanly. Where flesh might have been there was very soft wood, and in place of blood a thick, dripping black sap. Some splashed him when he struck.

It sizzled and bore small holes through the cloth of his cloak, but his armor was left unmarked after it steamed away. It stung against his skin, but what little touched him dissipated away before it harmed him.

He whirled around and leapt at the creature, bringing both swords down upon it. Under his blade the beasts' body splintered a broke, and it writhed in pain. He wrenched his blades free with a great kick, then he spun around to strike the other. It threw one of its limbs up, and as his sword struck against it as though he had clashed with steel. The beast pushed him back, and he slid. Beside it he saw the first, coming to stand again as new growth sewed its wounds back together. They were strong, could contend with his blades, and regenerate to some degree.

He would test that degree.

~*~*~*~

​

On the rooftop the beasts pounded down, seeking to gain access to the inside. Some more perceptive ones began to climb down into windows, smashing through them with their size. Screams rang out in the hall as guests began to bolt from their rooms, meanwhile others merely peaked out to see what was going on.

These creatures acted with aim, their master having impressed and particular objective upon these ones: reach the healers and kill them all.

 

[Trajan Meng]

All at once the evening became deadly.

The loud crashing on the roof. Muted thumping across the same. The scream from the outside. Zachary looked to Trajan and he looked to the younger man. Trajan lifted his warhammer and stepped curiously into the hallway of the inn and saw several of the other Luminari's number doing the same, glancing about--

When one of the doors further down the hall burst and splintered open and some manner of...man-like tree demon spilled out, having pounced on the occupant therein.

"Luminari!" Trajan shouted. "To arms!"

He started to make his way toward the monster and the poor man suffering its vicious assault. Nearly all the doors on the floor swung open and the panicked occupants stampeded past Trajan, making for the stairs and thereby the exit. Trajan pushed and shoved his way against the tide, shouting, "Make way! Move!"

He reached the monster. Swung his warhammer in a large and powerful upward arc and knocked the creature from the bloodied man and bark splintered and flew. Trajan held the shaft of his weapon in both hands and charged and rammed into the monster and shoved it out through the glass of the window at the end of the hall and it toppled out and to the ground below.

Trajan turned. Went back to the man and crouched down and examined him. He was dead.

"I failed you, brother."

There was nothing to be done now. Other lives were at stake. Trajan's men and women were fighting two other tree demons as best they could in the cramped and narrow confines. The two men fighting closest to him landed a combined killing blow--so it seemed--on the demon they fought. One man had crouched and thrust his sword into the demon's abdomen and retained a measure of control over its movement while the other man hacked its head off with great effort.

Black blood from the creature spilled onto the crouching man's face. And he immediately let go of his weapon and clawed at his face and hollered in pain and the sound of sizzling was enough to turn Trajan's stomach.

"Torvid! Torvid!" said the man who'd fought with him.

"Beware their blood!" Trajan shouted as he ran up and rejoined his fellows. "Addagast, get Torvid up. Help him out."

At the other end of the hall Zach moved deftly out of the way while Bellatrix impaled the other tree demon with the spear-tipped end of the Luminari banner and drove the demon to the stairs and yanked the banner loose and the demon went tumbling down and down and down.

"Outside. Move," Trajan said. "We'll fight where we've sufficient room and we can see them coming. Let's go."

Two-by-two they filed out along the hallway and down the stairs and passed by the seemingly dead tree demon at the base of them. Torvid's arm slung over Addagast's shoulders and helped along in the rear, Trajan making his way to the front as they crossed through the mostly abandoned tavern of the Rogue's Hollow.

Trajan shouldered the front door of the inn open and he and all his fellows stepped out. A cloaked and hooded man fighting several of the demons in the street before the inn itself. The panicked citizenry running this way and that both nearby on the street and further up and down it. Pockets of Guardsmen engaged with the demons from what Trajan could see as well. As if this city's woes could not get any worse.

Tonight, Trajan and his fellow believers would stand. For this was the true purpose of the cause; the fight of one man, one woman, indeed one city as it was here, was the fight of all Mankind.

And they would hold true to this ideal. In victory or in death.

 

[Talus]

Before Talus could even speak Maria had drawn her bow and loosed an arrow.

The shot was so fast that the Apprentice could barely register it, his face a mask of slight confusion until he realized what was going on. A hand instantly shot to his blade, the ring of his sword leaving it's scabbard sounding out in the gatehouse.

Within three steps he reached the monsters.

Behind him his third companion broke into a startlingly loud warcy. It pierced the walls, his blade biting into a monster before Talus even had a chance.

The creature cried back.

It's guttural screech pierced the ear, a wailing cry that seemed to pull at ones soul. Talus had no idea what it was, no idea what it wanted, but in that moment he didn't much care. His blade flickered forward, dashing and cutting through muscle and flesh.

He danced around the beast, carving it to pieces before he slipped and moved towards the next.

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

Erën fought with the beasts, striking them down as more came. At first, they healed themselves and even pulled themselves together – literally – but ultimately, they were slow and far too cumbersome to deal with the likes of him. Whatever force regenerated them could only persist so long. He was joined outside by the newcomers, who fought valiantly against the demons.

Soon, more Guardsmen rushed out into the square, advanced on the gate, and quelled the spread of the creatures with efficiency. The bulk of Thorgauld's men were well seasoned, well trained, and of course expertly organized. They knew the city well enough now to navigate it, despite the disrepair, without so much as a hiccup. They reinforced the Dreadlord and his men, the square was quickly secured, and before long the call went out that the creatures had been stopped.

Erën sheathed his swords, lowered his hood, and looked around.

A group of horsemen cantered up into the square, moving through and inspecting the scene. At the head of them a man barked a few orders, noticably glared at him, then they headed off toward the gate.

The Captain, no doubt.

A crash then came from inside, and out ran an Anirian healer who called out desperately to Trajan. Her robes were burned away in places and her arm was bleeding. A roar came from inside and one of the beasts broke through entryway, smashing it to pieces. It followed the healer as quickly as it could, closing in on the group the she'd now assembled with.

Erën intercepted it, and after a few vicious blows the beast fell. He kicked a few larger pieces away for good measure.

“Is everyone alright?” he called to the group.

~*~*~*~​

Thorgauld rode up toward the gate. He dismounted near the men, rallied where they'd barricaded the road. He searched for Talus. He found him shortly and came toward him, his entourage in tow.

“Dreadlord,” he beckoned to him. As he came close, he gave the leftover heap of creatures Talus had just dissected a curious kick, “what do you make of these things? Anything to do with our missing people?”

He didn't expect a huge explanation – hell he'd just sent him out to investigate.

A soldier hustled over to him.

“Captain, it seems we have the situation under control… we have a number of casualties, and likely more.”

“Gather up the dead, and find the healers. As for these beasts...”

He looked to Talus, awaiting his impromptu assessment before making a call.

 

[Trajan Meng]

It was a brutal battle against the fiends.

Trajan and his fellows fought, though it was unavoidable that some of the foul blood would land upon them, burning holes of various sizes through their tabards and their clothes. Blood. It seemed as blood, but it was thicker, more viscous, more the consistency of tree sap than blood, matching in its sinister way their appearance. Hmph. A further corruption by these fiends, for it was likely that they did not merely mock the sacred human form by appearing as such by chance. As dreadful a possibility as it would be, some varieties of fiends and monstrosities across Arethil were known to be parasitic or defiling in general, taking over and twisting good men and women with their foul ways. Trajan could pray that it was not so here, but he reserved the grim acceptance that it may yet be so.

They'd suffered a number of conventional injuries from the fiends' assault before the Guardsmen came to reinforce. The creatures were resilient, no doubt. More than once Trajan or one of his believers would seemingly fell one of them, only for it rise again and strike when they were preoccupied with another. Trajan's brigandine had warded off some blows, yes, but he suffered multiple cuts and bruises on both arms and a blackened eye and a bloody gash on his left temple. But none among the Luminari suffered a fate worse than Torvid. He had been sat down by the stairs to the Rogue's Hollow, and there he sat now, slouched forward, his face gone, the skin burned away by the horrid blood of the fiends. Strings of blood and scraps of muscle dangling down, bone visible in spots.

He was dead. And when the battle had come to a close and Trajan had turned about to observe the state of his fellows and saw Torvid there, his heart ached with the thought that if only he could have done more, he might have been able to save the man. It rested with Trajan, the responsibility for Torvid's life, and now he bore the unenviable task of informing Torvid's family of his fate here. His mother and father, his wife and his children. They would know that he died for what he believed in, so strong was his faith. Torvid's selfless sacrifice would not be forgotten.

Horsemen walking through the square. Trajan paid them no mind. He went to Torvid and knelt down and put a hand on his shoulder. Said, "If only I had half of your strength, brother. Today, you have shined the brightest among us all."

A crash from the inn. The door flung open. A robed woman, pursued. Trajan stood quickly and gripped his warhammer. A lightning quick thought, that she was Aiofe. No. She wasn't. She didn't match Dio's description. One of the healers with the Guardsmen unit, perhaps; she didn't appear to have the airs of a Dreadlord.

Regardless, Trajan put himself between her and the fiend scrambling after her, the rest of the Luminari forming a rough circle about her. Yet, before the fiend reached him, the man who had been fighting with them in the square--not a man, actually, an elf--rushed forward. Fought and dispatched the fiend.

Hmph. It was not completely alien that men and xenos should on occasion harbor a common goal. A shared goal only in the most immediate sense, as it was here against these fiends which cared not for the manner of flesh they would rend. Yet one would be wise to maintain a constant awareness of the xeno. What further trickery they might be playing at.

Is everyone alright?

A huff of air from Trajan's nose. His ragged band of men and the bannerwoman behind him. He said dismissively, "Alright..."

He turned from the elf and spoke to his men. "Addagast. Harve. Secure Torvid's body." Then he stepped toward the woman and asked of her, "Are you a healer? If so, how arcane fatigued are you? I would ask for your aid for my men and women if you are able to spare it."

 

[Talus]

His companions had managed to survive the brief bout of combat, and Talus was oddly glad about them. He did not know them for long, but he would have felt bad if they'd died here. Lips thinned as the Captain asked him a question.

The Apprentices gazed dropped to the creature, then the brackish blood coating his sword.

Fingers tightened, and then slowly he shook his head. His own magic was strong, but...it did not deal with this sort of thing. He wished that Sierra or Hal were here, both of them could have told the Captain more about what this was. "I'm not sure."

He decided to be honest.

This man was trying to help the city, and if he lied now he might put more people in danger. Talus was not a caring person, but he did not like seeing unnecessary death.

"But there is a ritual I can do." Every Dreadlord was taught College Magic. "I can trace whoever created these...things."

It would be hard, but he could do it. "I need some time, and one of the corpses."

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

“That won't be necessary.”

A voice came from a darkened alley nearby. Out from it came the local innkeeper, Ril'thilian – whom Thorgauld was loathed to deal with on the best of occasions. Nor did he enjoy their conversation being disrupted by an elf.

He turned his head to the left, and one of the men he'd brought along with him started up.

“You best leave from here, you. The Captain will have none of your nonsense!”

Ril'thilian ignored him, and continued to approach, but did keep a wide berth between he and the group of Guardsmen.

“But please, allow me,” his hand came to rest over his heart, and he bowed his head, “I only wish to save you the trouble of finding that which I already know.”

Thorgauld himself turned to him now, “Give me one reason not to lock you up now for interfering, elf.”

Ril'thilian lifted his head, his face ridden with displeasure, “because dear captain, this is indeed elf magic… but not from the likes of me and mine – but another, foul sort,” his eyes became slits, “and one of them has come here, bringing with him these fiends.”

~*~*~*~​

“Yes,” She said, “I can tend to them, just after…”

Her able hand hovered just over the wounds on her arm. Between, a slight shimmer in the air, almost like air just over hot stone on the horizon. A nasty gash was tethered once more with flesh and skin – nearly untraceable afterward. Then, her attention turned to the injured of Trajan's company.

“What…what were those things?” Her eyes didn't leave her work.



“They are An’syiil,” said Erën, “and they do not belong here.”

 

[Trajan Meng]

"You have my thanks."

A small fortune that the healer could help them, though Trajan feared that it was but a brief reprieve from the evening's woes, like the short-lived glimmer of sun shafts breaking through stormclouds. Torvid was dead, Aiofe was yet to be found, the plight of the city was only made worse, and the mystery of these fiends remained unsolved. What more could he do than fight and pray for these languishing souls? These men and women who suffered here, tormented by hunger from within and now monsters from without? A flickering hope that this sudden assault would be the first and last of such, but a solemn knowledge that these fiends may yet come again. And Trajan and his believers would fight them, fight until they emerged victorious under the banner of the Luminari or join their brother Torvid in perishing under it.

Trajan had yet his duty to Aiofe; her fate uncertain. As the Anirian healer worked, Trajan thought of how best to scour the city in search of her. For her sake, he would need to make the right decisions, find her before yet another misfortune struck this embattled city.

The healer pondered out loud. And the elf, curiously, answered her.

Trajan turned and regarded him. A firm consideration. "And how do you know that? The name of these fiends, and their nature."

He almost said elf after he had said that. The word had been there in his mind, but he tempered his speech. Trajan was gruff and stern, but a good number of people were. Such was not out of place. It wouldn't do to be openly antagonistic toward the xeno elf, not during a Light Operari, though he retained a healthy measure of concealed suspicion.

As any sane man or woman should.

 

[Talus]

Ever since meeting Fraeya all those months ago Talus felt it difficult to hold the same prejudice against Elves. Vel Anir was rife with such sentiments, this city too, but The Apprentice had a much more pragmatic view of such things.

He hated his enemy, not the people that produced them.

The Elves could make useful allies, Fraeya had proven that to him. Though he would never fully trust one, Talus knew that it was folly to simply ignore the word of one out of a hatred created hundreds of years ago. For the Elves it might have been a short time, but for humans?

For them it had been generations passed now. Tolerance could pay off, though even he had his limits of course. This wasn't a charity. "Let him speak."

Technically he had no authority to command anyone, but the sigil on his chest was enough to command the fear of everyone around him.

Most would be loathe to question his word.

"The faster we can find the source of this the faster we can end it." Behind him the Archer nodded slowly in agreement. Some of the soldiers grumbled, but it was clear that they would not go against his word.

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

“Hmm…”

Thorgauld crossed his arms. He didn't trust elves, at all. His forefathers had fought in the wars against Fal'Addas, and long had his family stoked the flames of disdain. But, the Dreadlord seemed inclined to heed him nevertheless. Of course he knew: Talus, though young, was a Dreadlord all the same – taught in ways that Thorgauld would likely not understand. He nodded in agreement.

“Very well,” he announced, “speak innkeeper.”

Ril'thilian bowed his head to the Dreadlord, then regarded the Captain once more, “they are an ancient sect, and their home is found in the eastern reaches of Falwood…” his hand waved over toward the ruined creatures, “there even the forest aims to end you, remade by corrupted elves there…”

“You know how to find this elf you speak of?”

“They will be fair, wear cloth which bear the markings of his religion, and possess a blue gemstone – a tool of their magics.” Ril'thilian turned to head toward the inn, “they will likely be looking for lodging, some place to cast their spells inconspicuously.”

Thorgauld's face stiffened as he watched the elf turn to lead them back to the square. Then, he remembered seeing an elf in the square – just after the monsters had been stopped. He ordered a few men to follow the innkeeper, then turned to Talus.

He waited a moment, then said, “I don't trust elves, Talus. This one less than most, I'd like you to have the ritual preformed – soon.” He looked toward the middle of town, "After we've dealt with this."

He got the feeling that even if what Ril'thilian had saud was untrue, who he claimed to be responsible could still prove...difficult.

~*~*~*~​

Erën examined the remains. Though there were various differences from what he was familiar with, their flesh, and their blood – unmistakable. Right down to the smell. It wasn't particularly potent, airy and almost sweet.

He eyed Trajan and his company. He felt a familiarity in them. Not a personal one, but an older and less pleasant one. A divide, more akin to the days of war between Fal'Addas and the Anirians. But then… there was a lot of that going around lately.

“I have encountered them before. They are born of a curse, one which has stricken deep into the eastern Falwood, long ago. But… it has only ever remained there…”

Erën looked to the sound of more Guardsmen re-entering the square – led by an elf. Curious.

An accusing hand pointed toward Erën, and his face grew stern. First the accusation of murder in Vel Anir, and now this. As he reached for his swords once more, a particular human saying he'd recently grown familiar with occupied his mind.


Fuck.

 

[Trajan Meng]

A curse.

The elf had spoken his words. If they were true, it seemed to suggest a number of things: that there had been someone who first enacted the curse, that the curse itself had perhaps spread through some means, and that the source of these fiends was magical in nature and would require a magical solution.

If the words were indeed true. It may well be a red herring, or just complete fabrication. Neither would surprise Trajan. Both were well within the purview xeno trickery, either to throw Trajan off the truth of the fiends or simply to waste his time.

"Will the fiends come again, then?"

He'd scarcely time to finish his question when he heard armored footsteps. Trajan and his Luminari turned, saw the approaching Guardsmen into the square. And though Trajan was heartened to see more Guardsmen, brave men and women putting their very lives at hazard for the sake of mighty Vel Anir, he was not pleased to see yet another elf. This one walking in front of them.

That elf pointed to the cloaked elf close to Trajan. And he, under the weight of an accusatory finger, laid his hand upon his swords.

Trajan shifted his hard gaze to the Guardsmen and back to the cloaked elf. He made no overt move. Yet. But he kept his warhammer cradled firmly in his hands. Light Operari or no Light Operari, it would not do to meekly stand idle as a xeno attacked the good men and women of the Guard, or indeed any soul of Mankind.

Trajan watched the situation unfold. Ready to step in. If it was fated that another man should fall today, he prayed that it would be him. His believers, the Guardsmen, Trajan wanted nothing more for them than that they should live long, fruitful, and joyous lives. If he could so help it, if he yet had the strength within him, he would not allow any of them to join Torvid.

 

[Talus]

Talus nodded in response to the Captain.

He would have to try to remember the ritual as best as he could. Study of magic had never been particularly his strength back at the Academy, but he felt he could remember it well enough if he tried. At least that was what he hoped.

Fingers tightened, and slowly he glanced around at the creatures. He found one that was mostly intact, motioning for some of the remaining guardsmen. "Bring this thing back to the Keep."

Whatever was happening in the square could be dealt with by the regular guardsmen.

"Captain." He called as he and his two companions turned away. "I suggest we regroup at the Keep with whomever else you deem necessary."{/color]

It would be safest to perform the ritual there, and...well, it was also the least likely place for the creatures to attack.

At least if they wanted any chance to succeed.

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

Thorgauld nodded, “agreed, we will meet you there shortly…”

He gave a few more orders to several guardsmen, having some remain here to inspect the gate and re-secure the gatehouse. Those who remained were given his final orders before departing.

“You two, gather some men and inspect the wall – make sure the breaches are still manned. Report to the keep when you're finished.”

As their company dispersed, Thorgauld his made way for the square.

~*~*~*~
​

As the guardsmen led by the unknown elf approached him, he tensed. They drew close, and moved to surround him. He prepared to strike, waiting for the opportune moment to break past their line and make an escape. He moved to pull his blades from their place, but some unseen presence compelled him to refrain.

He felt a pulse resonate through his body, and in his mind strange voices all cried out at once, No!

He froze.

Someone, or some thing had somehow touched into the channels of the collective within him – and silenced it, albeit briefly. But it did not seem malevolent, rather it seemed desperate.

Only a fleeting moment, but time enough to make his choice.

“Don't be a fool, its over!” one said.
​

“You'll be answering for what’s gone
on here, sorcerer!” said another.​

As the guardsmen circled round aiming their drawn weapons to him, he took a passive posture and raised his hands. He was dropped to his knees and bound, and stripped of his weapons.

Ril'thilian spoke out, “Look, on his cloak! The cursed c-"

“Enough!” Thorgaulds voice boomed through the air like thunder, and all the bustle became quiet, “another word from you, and you'll be in bonds too. Off with you, this is Anirian ground now, elf, and this is our business.”

He then ignored the elf, ordering a few men to escort the innkeeper to his establishment, such as it was following the attack.

“Take him to the castle. We will have a talk with our… new friend. The rest of you… clean up this mess, and find Aiofe!”

Erën groaned as the guardsmen tied his arms behind his back, offering no room for comfort. Then he was forcefully stood up again and given a spiteful shove to urge him on toward the castle.

Erën’s eyes turned to Trajan, “the beasts will return!” he called as he was shoved along. There was something else he called out, though muffled under the shouts of the guards. Something about the dead.

The Castle

Nightfall​

It was always very quiet in the outer court, but tonight more than others. With most of the men having departed for the disturbance at the main gate and in the city, there were little more than a dozen left on guard. That was plenty enough, they were some of Thorgauld's finest. As the young Dreadlord approached with his companions the order was silently given and the gates were made open. Drawn bows aimed out past them as they approached, ready to drop any unwanted followers.

None proved so bold.

Behind them the gates would be closed once more, awaiting the return of the captain.

A small handful of them came to meet Talus, and offer what assistance they could. Some could not help but stare uneasily at the beaten creature they'd carted along with them.

"My...lord," one uttered, his face gone white from looking at it, "what is that thing?"

 

[Trajan Meng]

The cloaked elf almost made a grave mistake. Almost. But his faculties of reason triumphed, an occurrence uncommon for many xenos, and the cloaked elf gave up. Trajan relaxed. Watched for a moment as the Guardsmen took the cloaked elf into custody.

Then he turned to address Addagast and Harve, saying, "Carry Torvid up to your room and lay him there. We will return him to his family for a proper funeral; our work here will be cut short on account of this tragedy."

They each nodded, and set about their task.

Then Trajan heard the Guard Captain mention a name. A familiar name. Aiofe.

He turned to look at his fellow Luminari, and they at him. Zachary approached. But before he could speak, the cloaked elf called out something. Something specifically to Trajan, as a glance well enough informed him. The beasts will return. Trajan's brow slanted in consideration.

"What do you think?" Zach asked.

Trajan did not answer immediately. "I do not know."

"They came from nowhere, these fiends," said Alric, a veteran of the Guard like Trajan himself. "They could very well come again."

"Or something worse yet," said Bellatrix. A small portion of the Luminari banner near the top of the shaft destroyed, eaten away by the foul blood.

"Yes, this is my concern," Trajan said. Another pause for a moment of consideration. In this time, Addagast and Harve returned and gathered round. And Trajan finally decided, saying, "It will slow our search significantly, but we must stay together."

Alric gestured his head in the direction the cloaked elf was taken. "Think he was telling the truth then?"

"In light of Torvid's sacrifice, we would be wise to maintain a high degree of vigilance for the duration of our time here," Trajan said.

A silent, nodding agreement among his faithful. It would be a tragedy if their slowness led to Aiofe's demise should the fiends come again, given the assumption that she yet lived, but it would be a catastrophe if Trajan and all his fellows were to perish under the weight of being overwhelmed by a new fiendish threat, their strength divided by splitting up. Haste was the downfall of many a tactician.

"Wait here," Trajan said to his believers, and they complied.

Trajan went to have words with the Guard Captain. He approached him, stood before him respectfully, and said, "Captain, forgive my intrusion. My name is Trajan Meng. I could not help but to overhear you mention the name Aiofe. I wonder, is it Aiofe Lockwood of whom you speak? She is a healer, from the College. I and my fellows have come to this city at her behest. We have only just arrived here, but we have been unable to find her. It is a wretched time indeed, what with this fresh plague of fiends. I wish only to ensure her safety, and you seek her out for her talents I presume. I would propose that what Guardsmen you can spare and I and my fellows work in tandem. Search for her. And let one another know once she is found."

* * * * *​

Aiofe Lockwood sat huddled in a small, shivering ball in the closet of the home. A large family lived here: grandparents, a husband and wife, the wife's widowed sister, six children. Aiofe had come to work on the wife, to alleviate the symptoms of her sickness and work to treat it. Dysentery, the scholarly texts called it. An embarrassing and debilitating illness.

It was quiet throughout the house now. Those...those monsters just came from nowhere. One had torn its way into the home. It looked right at her. Right at her. Oh gods, the horrid thing. The husband had a shortsword handy, and fought with the beast.

Aiofe didn't know what happened. The husband had yelled at her to get inside the closet and close the door. She did. One of the creature's limbs had punched through the wood of the door, and there it rested, limp and still. Still, like the pervasive feeling in the house now, going hand-in-hand with the eerie quiet following the chaos of the attack.

Aiofe had soiled herself in fear. Urinated in and stained her robes. But her mind was distant to it, aware but distant, the knowledge of it like an ill-defined thing on the horizon.

She had her face buried in her arms, her arms folded on top of her knees. She had been weeping, but the sound of it had grown soft and weak.

Trembling. She just couldn't stop trembling. She had never known fear like this before.

 

[Talus]

Talus shrugged. "I don't know."

He realized that a lie likely would have provided some small measure of comfort to the Soldier, but he wasn't here to provide comfort.

There were no other Dreadlords in this city, none that he knew of anyway, and that meant most of the responsibility of this fell to him. The thought might have been narcissistic, but he knew of no other way to solve this. Magic had to be met with magic.

That was what the Proctors always said.

"But we'll find out." Talus said as he motioned over towards his companions and then the center square of the Keep. "Place it there, bring me some chalk."

He then turned to the soldier. "I need wolfsbane, Areck Flower, and some Killun Paste."

The soldier stared for a moment, then quickly nodded and rushed off.

As the creature was placed on the ground Talus quickly began to draw on the floor with a piece of chalk he was provided. The symbol he drew was elaborate, but he had enough awareness to overhear the words of the guard captain and Trajan Meng as they spoke.

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

“Indeed,” said Thorgauld, regarding Trajan with a permissible nod. He listened while they continued on their way to the keep. “Yes, that is whom I speak of, she is the most talented in her craft of all those who have traveled with us. Her death would be a terrible misfortune to us here.” He slowed to a halt as they entered through the gate.

“Very well, I will have some of my men join you.”

So, some thirty men or more were assigned to work with Trajan – among them various swordsmen, axemen, a healer, and some of Thorgauld’s best archers. Thorgauld thought that should the beasts return a formidable escort for Aiofe back to the castle was necessary.

There in the courtyard was Talus, his task already set well in motion. Ushered past him was the prisoner and the few guardsmen assigned to him. He was to be interrogated – and it was not likely to be an easy interrogation. Elves could be hardy – worse yet for them: stubborn. At least the men would have a little fun with it.

The Captain snickered, watched as he was taken inside and then turned back to the display the dreadlord was creating. He was by no means a magician himself, but it always fascinated what those who were gifted could accomplish.

The Brig​

The chair he was thrown into nearly straight back, but another aggressive shove from behind set it back on its four legs. He however – not yet bound to it – was left in a heap on the hard floor just in front of it. He was hoisted back up and sat firmly back on the chair before a man’s fist struck him across his cheek.

Everything went white for and instant, and his head rolled before he gave it a gentle shake to reorient himself.

“What’s your angle, coward? You like to pick on innocent humans? Well I guess its too bad you didn’t know about us here isn’t it?”

Erën said nothing.

Another punch across the other side – this one at least anticipated.

“Speak, you long eared bastard!”

Erën’s stern gaze fixed upon him, “I’ve come bearing no evil, it is your foolishness that will be the end of you.”

A swat on the back of his head from behind, and then a punch to the gut – followed by several more.

“Well then, why is it when you’ve just arrived all fucking hell breaks loose! This close to your damned forest, I bet you been planning this for a while.”

“This is an ancient curse more powerful than the likes of me,” Erën coughed, then spat at the guard’s foot, angering him, “its more likely someone has been conjuring it here for a long time.”

“You seem to know quite a bit, elf.” The guardsman said through clenched teeth, “And I’m going to find out what all you know.”

The Inn

​

Ril’thilian complained as the guards hauled him away from the Captain. He was unsatisfied with their lack of consideration for what he had said – but little did it matter. He would find another way to acquire what he sought.

He entered the Rogue’s Hollow. It was a mess, but it was far better off than some other parts of the city. Again, another irrelevance. This place had all but served its purpose to him.

It was empty, the occupants had all been left in disarray following the attack and no one had yet returned. That was perfect. He strode over to a closed door, opening it and descending the stairs into the basement. Just after he'd gone through, Trajan's men passed by. He ignored them, thinking them too occupied with the misfortune of their friend.

But, there was yet more to their friends misfortune, as they would soon come to see. An entertaining thought to him. Wretched humans. He'd lived among them too long, and would soon be rid of that burden.

Below, through a maze of stacked furniture and other items appeared the entrance to a long corridor hollowed out of the ground itself. He traversed through it, and then just after the tunnel grew almost too narrow to walk it opened into a wide chamber. There at the center of the floor an enormous rune had been drawn. It glowed with unsettling energy as over a dozen individuals robed in red encircled it, chanting, and incanting and driving their magics and malice into the rune.

A terrible spell, channeling a dark power the likes of which should never have touched this place.

A smile came across Ril’thilian’s lips as he drew near to the ritual, and from it waves and pulses of dark magic washed over him, invigorating the wretched hunger he carried within. He joined with them in their incanting, drawing runes of dark light in the air in front of him with a sparkling finger and casting his magics into the spell.

Soon all that was needed would be done and with the Captain and his men pre-occupied with his alleged culprit, he was left to fulfil his task in peace.

There, in the center of the town square beneath the growing pile of the defeated creatures and many of the townsfolk as well, the great rune began to take shape. Slowly it bled into and through the stone and into the ground, and in the ethereal realm twisting spirals of magic whirled all about, stretching out all through the city reaching even into the castle grounds, into the interrogation room, and even into the closet of a dwelling across town. ​

Unseen, but not entirely unfelt. With each moment the spell’s power slowly grew, and with it came an uneasiness, a heaviness, or perhaps even just an inclination or suspicion beyond any doubt. ​