Open Chronicles Friend or Foe? | The Empire

[Argath]

Lazular, the great farm city of Amol Kalit. Situated on the Baal-Asha river, it served as a convenient trading post between Amol-Kalit and the rest of Arethil, through proximity to a Portal Stone and Elbion College. More than that, it was also the largest source of grain in the entirety of Amol-Kalit, supplying the majority of the desert's food, let alone the Empire of Amol Kalit.

But neither trade nor grain had incited Argath's appearance. As Grand Sorcerer of Molthal Argath had begun to hear rumors of the "God King" that lead the Empire. Argath had his suspicions, but he dare not leave their confirmation to a simple Blight Orc. Some jobs required a certain discretion that only a half-giant enclosed in flame could truly understand. He had chosen Lazular due to it's proximity to the portal stone, and also because it's apparent higher concentration of humans in comparison to the other cities of the Empire. His sources said the Sand Elves of this region were particularly devout to Gerra in some fashion, and Argath had no desire to stir little Gerra's pot unnecessarily. About ten miles outside the city Argath spotted a small outpost, filled with what appeared to be soldiers or scouts. Argath headed over, greeted by a complement of a dozen Kaliti Soldiers.

"I seek an audience with the God-Emperor. Tell him Argath of Molthal comes bearing gifts." Argath declared as he arrived at the outpost, soldiers enforcing their distance by the tips of their spears. "And unless you wish to incite the Emperor's rage, tell none but your highest superior what you have seen." Argath declared, aiming to narrow the spread of tales of a second fire-giant in Amol Kalit. He said not another word to the patrolsman, but merely took a seat and moved it to the corner of the outpost. It would take some time for the message to reach Gerra, and it was unlikely Gerra would be the first to see him. Others might come first, trusted advisors or lieutenants to discern Argath was really here, and whether or not he intended to kill Gerra. In fact, Gerra might simply send assassins to attack him. That was the way of the Bastard Circle after all.

Whatever Gerra did, Argath was ready. The Empire could prove a valuable ally, or a dangerous foe, but Argath would not deal with uncertainty any longer.

 

[Ptah]

Lazular was home to a great many people, and it's commerce of grain had garnered the attention of a certain specimen of jeweled scarabs. While revered as a symbol of Naspar for magic and scholars, the little beetles had a knack for finding their way into the grain stores and sacking it for their own gain. A different collection of beetles also had a habit of finding the dead and dying animals around the city and swarming the body once it became less than savory. While they never invaded the personal homes of the people, their presence was starting to garner attention, meaning Ptah would have to relocate his gathering of jeweled beetles soon.

Where was the question that plagued the king of the jeweled scarab horde. The large swarm had already moved a number of times, cleaning the bones of fallen beings in the desert they stumbled across. A number of fights with native insects taking some of their numbers down before coming here to the large agricultural center. They had replenished their numbers, but now were beginning to become all to often noticed for Ptah's liking.

The tremors that ran through the ground startled the large beetle, his swarm becoming almost frantic before being quieted by Ptah and relegated back to their duties. Gold to grain collection. Green to cleaning up decay, the others currently had no purpose, but their use was undoubted and for the time being set to storing the grain in the extensive underground home they had dug out for themselves. The entrance was near to the outpost guards used for watching things afar.

The large being that approached the outpost was not unseen by Ptah, and quiet curiosity filled their mind. This was one similar to the being that the other beings spoke of so fervently. A chance perhaps? A meeting of great beings possibly? A chance to secure a place for his horde possibly. The king flicked his wings, the wing shards buzzing as a group of gold beetles halted and gathered around him. The small dance conveyed his orders, scents and sounds exchanged as they set off in a chain to relay messages.

The gold beetles eventually made their way to the outpost, crawling over walls and through crevices before finding the large being that commanded the view of the outpost. One skittered near the being, antenna moving over it's skin before quickly retreating to inform the next beetle in the chain, the pattern repeating as the first returned to watch events unfold as the message was relayed to Ptah.

A large being, angry? Gruff, rumbling. Watching, waiting. Silent. For what they did not know. Ptah waited for more, not leaving the throne just yet. A small mob of golden hued jeweled scarabs swarmed the outpost now, crawling along the walls and over baskets to get a better view. Other beetles filled the gaps in the chain to make the flow of information quicker to the waiting king.

 

[Argath]

"Did you see that?" Two soldiers spoke at the edge of the room, thinking that Argath would not hear.

"Scarabs outside, trailing out into the dunes. They've been spotted eating the grain in town. "

"It is a judgement against the Empire. Maskat no longer blesses our grains, and Hissut has brought a plague to our people as punishment for calling the Emperor 'God'."

"You speak treason!"

"I speak of the old ways. Amol Kalit has had a thousand kings, and will have another thousand before my grandchildren are gone. What makes this 'Gerra' any-" The guard coughed, looking at the other trying to speak again, but he only coughed once more.

"Solas, are you alright?" The other guard asked, putting aside his spear and grabbing the man's shoulders. But Solas did not answer, putting his hands on the man's shoulders in desperation before falling to the ground. The guard knelt to his feet, and found Solas dead on the floor. He looked over at Argath, but only saw the half-giant silent and un-moving, as it was before. The soldier gave a grunt, then picked up the corpse of Solas and began to move it.

For a fleeting moment, Argath was alone.

Save, of course, for the beetles that had made a trail into the room. An elaborate way to monitor a situation, but Argath had little doubt the beetles were the beginning of a spy network. A typical insect, mindless as it was, searched for food, and signaled others as it found a hearty meal. These insects maintained a loose line, and kept a specific distance from one another. Argath assumed it was the radius of their ability to communicate. The beetles would have little need to move before creating a chain of messages to wherever the destination. It was efficient, for the purpose of speed, but it made the network noticeable.

Argath's motion was fast, faster than the beetle could evade his motion. In a swift grab Argath had put one of the golden creatures into his hand, trapping it but leaving it well alive. While the Dreadlords of Vel Anir trained their whole lives to become soldiers, Argath did not have that luxury. As his father Menalus did not trust the Blight Orc Shamans, Argath had to learn and utilize many magics the Dreadlords would consider utilitarian.

Interrogation among them.

The sorcerer probed into the mind of the scarab. Compared to a human, the process of breaking through the creature's defenses was simple. However, the process of understanding was far more difficult. A human thought as Argath did, but insect and animals had much baser instincts. Everything needed translation. Argath could gather a few words from the surface of the creature's thoughts.

Large . . . Silent . . . Captured . . . Fast . . .

It was basic, but at the same time, it was him. Argath was being spied upon. He'd have to give Gerra credit, beetles were perhaps the best way to gather information he'd seen. The Emperor had just overdone it. Argath began to squeeze his hand together, giving the beetle less and less room to move before it felt the pressure of the half-giant's fingers.

"I would prefer not to play games." Argath said, then released the beetle from his grasp, unaware this message would soon reach Ptah rather than his brother Gerra.

 

[Traecon Maxwell]

He felt... nostalgic, standing upon the desert grounds once more. A much more welcome sight compared to the horrors of the Forbidden City, equally harsh as it might have been. His armored boots sank ankle-deep into the sands, but his stride was unbroken nor slowed in the slightest. He marched towards the closest civilization he could find, the traces of his memories before his ventures conjuring up a single word.

"Gerra."

He had almost forgotten his... indentured servitude to the King of Amol-Kalit - or was he named God-King, now? He wasn't sure. Perhaps an audience, this king could grant, if only for nostalgia's sake. His eyes gleamed once, beneath the shadow of his hood, as he spotted a white dome in the distance ahead. A mausoleum, or a similar like. He trudged onward, careless of the occasional scarabs he crushed beneath his boots, unaware they were but subjects of another king.

He soon found himself near an outpost, where... a guard was moving a corpse of some kind. And further in, was a giant of a man, gazing at a beetle of the desert fly off. He masked his curiosity as he approached the outskirts of the post, and inwardly whistled. He hadn't the pleasure of seeing a giant of this like. More acquainted with stone and metal giants.

But alas, he could not approach the entity further, his armored gauntlet coming up to deflect a stray arrow. The metal head broke beneath his armor, and the warrior turned his gaze to the roof of the building, where two archers stood guard. The shaft was in his other hand, having caught it as the head broke from the force.

"Not another move, stranger! State your intentions!"

And these men simply let the half-giant in? Compared to him, literally half the giant's size? He would voice a complaint, but settled for glaring at his would-be attackers.

"I come in peace." He growled, tossing the arrow shaft behind him. He marched onward, but then stopped again as an arrow buried itself in the sand a few feet before him.

"Hardly convincing, given your armaments, stranger. Why would one need to be armored and armed like you?"

Joy, he was stuck with the prodding type. He was tempted to simply cleave the building in half, archers and all. It would cause a ruckus, and perhaps even bring the King himself down on his head if he were messy enough in his rampage. Sorely tempting, as he mulled the option over. But he knew better. He came for a different reason, and indiscriminate slaughter wasn't a step in the right direction.

"It is my trade."

And this time, he stood where he was, eyeing the arrows in the archers' quivers, as well as the state of the bows. If they dared fire another at him, he would... take action, this time around. Forget the building - he would settle for their heads. He reached a hand behind him, the arrows aimed at his head ignored. From his back pouch, he drew a bag of coin no bigger than his fist.

"Will this... suffice?"

He would see about getting work in the main city to earn more in the long run. He tossed it at the men, the bag sailing through the air like it were an arrow itself. The archer on the left barely caught it, and nodded in satisfaction.

"Very well, stranger. You may enter."

He inwardly scoffed, absent-mindedly swatting aside another scarab. He moved into the building itself, stopping just a stone's throw away from the giant. He remained silent as the entity observed the beetle, his presence announced but largely inert. He would react, instead of act.

 

[Ormr]

Travel to Lazular was not easy for the Half-Giant. Ormr did not leave Nordengaard often. He had little concern for the politics of men and less a care for them. On the highest peaks of the Frostpeak Mountains he dwelt, waiting until he heard the call of battle again. Perhaps that is why he ventured so far into the west by way of Portal Stone and to the Baal-Asha River. Eogorath guided him.

The Desert of Amol-Kalit was anathema to Ormr, the icy blood in his veins stifled at the heat however the proximity to the river and the blessings of Eogorath made it tolerable. When Ormr saw the Outpost it was at a distance. This was the place Eogorath had lead him. The Half-Giant muttered something incomprehensible.

Ormr was drawn to great battles, that is what drew him to this place that is why Eogorath had brought him here but he saw no battle about to take place nor a worthy foe to crush in the palm of his enormous hand. All there was was a small Outpost filled with Soldiers. he assumed and other creatures beneath notice. It so happened that he had no idea that another Half-Giant was present.

In the distance the Soldiers manning the walls of the Outpost and standing at the Gates would see his silhouette, it was massive and dense and likely caused a stir amongst their numbers. Perhaps they would mistake him for someone else. The Half-Giant wore a cloak, its hood drawn high over his head to shield his skin and eyes from the sunlight to which he was unaccustomed. A Sword, taller than a man was sheathed over his back with the hilt extending skywards. There were gauntlets of thick furs covering his hands, extending back over his forearms the bones of slaughtered animals fashioned in crude knuckles.

He stood there, allowing himself to be seen in the distance. Narrowing his eyes he'd turn his head to look all around him, waiting expectantly. An exhale of breath, ice cold creating a cloud of mist that dissipated in front of him. Why had he been called here...

 

[Gerra]

The magic mirror hovered above the ground inside the Emperor's private chambers in the Alabyad Palace of Ragash. Gerra glared at what the mirror showed him and pushed it away, leaving smudges on the glass. He walked toward a balcony overlooking the courtyard. The mirror followed him, bobbing in the air irately.

"Ever since I prised you out of Bardya's treasure trove you've been useless and inert. Why now?" he rumbled, irritation seeping from him like hissing lava from a trouble volcano.

The mirror bobbed furiously, then came to hover in front of him, still displaying the image of his brother upon it.

"Argath."

Gerra's lips curled.

"Why would I ever go see that self-absorbed sorcerer? He's just like the rest of them."

The mirror tilted.

"You wouldn't understand. The types of games they would play... Sharpest Blade. They'd cut off the limbs of prisoners in a single stroke. The one with the cleanest cut won. But it didn't have to be with a blade..."

Hate filled eyes stared once more at the image of Argath.

"Some used magic."

Again, Gerra pushed away the mirror and stormed to find an Immortal bodyguard. He did not have to wander far.

"Bring me the Speaker's Stone."

He did not wait long before the bodyguard returned and handed him the perfectly polished orb. Gerra held it aloft in one palm, gritting his teeth as merely holding it left him feeling drained and dizzy.

When he spoke, his voice would boom many, many leagues away, in the minds of any listener should they be unwarded.

"Riches await the one who brings Argath of Molthal before me in chains."

 

[Jakub Bram]

He shook himself, glancing around. The sun was beating down on him. He had left his heavy metal armor in the shade, was was equipped with just his sword and loose fitting clothes. He wasn't built for this kind of heat. He had come from Alliria, doing odd jobs all the way up to Elbion before hitching a caravan into Amol-Kalit. It was a long trip.

This weather was very different then his home. Alliria was surrounded on two sides by ocean, there was always a chilly breeze. This place however, with sand and the bright sun was very different. His armor was hot to the touch, it got incredibly cold at night despite the heat. He was debating if it was even worth it at this point, coming all this way simply to look for work. Well, he was a little committed now.

Suddenly, a loud voice boomed in his head. He quickly reached up to rub his temples as it spoke.

"Riches await the one who brings Argath of Molthal before me in chains."

He had one real question.
"Who the hell is Argath?"

 

[Mirielle Merlon]

LAZULARI OUTPOST
TEN MILES SOUTHEAST OF THE CITY WALLS

In Mirielle's experience, news rarely traveled fast enough. That was why, around once a week, she spilled a murderer's blood specifically for scrying purposes. In a silver basin of bloody water, she looked for threats and asked the Serpent Gods for glimpses of things she should know.

As Gerra's magically amplified voice boomed across the wheat-fields, Mirielle slid off her mare just shy of an outpost that swarmed with beetles. A Kaliti sentry appeared from effectively nowhere and bowed. "Lady Mirielle."

"You have a traveler inside." She drew her Sereti steel knife, wiped it with the paralytic venom of a secruyu lizard, and sheathed it again. "A half-giant."

The guard went pale, as much as a sand elf could, but his back straightened. "What is the Amir's will?"

"At this stage, nothing. I'll speak with him." Mirielle squinted across the rolling hills at the distant, separate figures of Ormr and Jakub Bram. "Keep an eye on whoever those are. I don't like the look of the big one. But if they approach, let them in."

She ducked inside the outpost, which currently held only Argath and Traecon Maxwell. Men of action, certainly. Men who could kill her on a whim.

She sat on a rickety bench by the fireplace, more or less between them, and kept both in her peripheral vision. They'd see a pale Epressan woman weathered by a couple of years in Amol-Kalit, wearing the clothes of a local noblewoman, with a jeweled dagger at her belt and traces of blood under her fingernails. A guard watched from the door.

"Welcome to the lands of Farid Ibn Baha, Amir of Lazular. I'm Lady Mirielle Merlon, his sister-in-law. My gods and the scarabs suggest one of you is important. Which is it?"

Gerra Ptah

 

[Argath]

The half-giant was soon joined by a wanderer. The man had a warrior's look in his eyes, but his dress and demeanor suggested a sellsword rather than a commissioned soldier. A mercenary? The man seemed content to sit, perhaps waiting for Argath to draw the first move.

He wondered silently if the man was an assassin, but decided against it. No one in Molthal knew Argath was coming here and Gerra would have had to be remarkably quick to send an assassin this quickly. More importantly, any human assassin whose plan for assassinating a half-giant was to be seen and sit with him was of too poor a stock to be hired by Molthal or the Empire.

Why then, was he here?

Argath barely had time to ponder it before the room was joined by an assortment of guards, spears raised. Gerra's word had poured through their minds, and their minds had filled with the prospect of coin. He had given them his name, and they had begun to mobilize.

"Your children will thank you if you stay your hands young soldier." Argath's voice boomed to the patrolsman, but his eyes stayed on Traecon. The patrolsman would be little trouble, but he suspected the man with the cursed arm could be trouble. The patrolsman had decided not to advance, but instead held their positions. Perhaps two minutes later a hand was put on his shoulder, and he turned and gave a gesture of respect.

Then Mirielle Merlon entered. Finally someone in charge.

"This man is more than he seems." Argath said, with a loose gesture to Traecon Maxwell. "But he is not a part of my retinue. I am Argath of Molthal, here to seek an audience with the Emperor." Argath pulled what appeared to be a large rolled up rug from his back.

"I bear three gifts as a sign of good faith. The first of which is this rug, crafted by the finest weavers in Bhathairk." Argath said and unfurled the rug.

Most would find the rug quite ugly. Argath paid a strong price, but had poor knowledge of rugs, only remembering that his brother Gerra enjoyed the sight of them. When the rug was unfurled a dwarven war-axe was revealed, built to be used by a man of half-giant's size.

"The second is this ax, made by dwarvish smiths in Alliria. The last is a personal gift, unfit for other's eyes."

 

[Ptah]

The message had been relayed, with some delay to Ptah's dismay as a swath of the beetles had been crushed beneath the foot of another large being that had come into the area. Then another, and then a report of lots of people moving around the one that had sent him a message for his brother.

Wings flicked nervously. The chance to meet this god king would likely not come again, at least not while another seemed to draw his ire. Long finger like appendages clacked against his carapace in thought before sending the message to gather in mass at the outpost to all of his kin.

The beetles in the city moved in unison, dropping their cargo before flicking their wings open and taking to the sky. Dark clouds formed as they swarmed together and made the journey, citizens staring at the dark mass as it flew out and over the dunes.

Ptah stood, and the beetles around him moved to follow his command as he exited the lair and flicked his own wings in preparation. There was no prayer of any sort to bless this meeting in his favor. Simply a will and drive to do so as he took to the air behind the dark mass of golden glinting beetles.

The scarabs in the outpost drew together in a cluster, moving away from the giant and the assembled guards as they massed along the top of the wall and cast a glaring ray of light into the fray below and all along the wall above as the sound of beetle wings filled the air. A droning buzz as more beetles gathered and glinted in the sun. The loudest of them all arriving as Ptah skimmed the dunes, low and quick to the eyes of those outside the outpost.

Landing on the ground outside, he clambered up the wall before a path opened before him on the rampart, giving him a clear view into the courtyard below. Emerald eyes examined the scene, claws gripping the edge of the wall as he stood in plain sight of those below. Hunched over, he could almost be mistaken for a cat had the golden beetles around him not illuminated his iridescent blue form.

 

[Jakub Bram]

Jackub leisurely walked back towards the outpost. The whole point of this walk had been to try and get used to the heat a little. He didn’t feel any better though. There had been that sudden voice in his head, offering riches. Still, likely had nothing to do with him. Either the heat was messing with his head or something way over his non-existent paygrade was happening. Obviously whoever this Argath guy was, he had pissed off someone powerful.

He waved to the outpost guards, who let him pass without a fuss. He had been through already before, after all. He went over to the shade where his armor lay, carefully picking it up. It still stung to the touch. Producing a cloth, he grabbed much of the armor with the cloth inbetween his hand and it. He was going inside before he started hearing any more voices.

On his way in though. There was a loud buzzing, a huge insect, what had the traders called them... A scarab, that’s right. He didn’t like em. In Alliria if you wanted a bug dead you could swat it, these ones felt like you needed to hit them with a sword.

Suddenly, a buzzing all around. There was a lot of them. He squinted his eyes, the sun was reflecting off all of them while they moved towards the wall. He quickly moved inside to escape the creatures.

Inside wasn’t much better.

He glanced around at the room of half dozen or so people. No one was looking at him, and he could probably slip outside. No, he’d suffer a heatstroke.

He attempted to silently step to the side, wincing with each jingle of the armor he was holding. If he was lucky, no one would notice him and he could get away with sitting in the corner cooling off.

 

[Mirielle Merlon]

Mirielle sat by the fire, listened, and watched. Argath drew attention innately. Ptah, crouched glistening on top of the outpost wall, was even stranger and more eye-catching than a half-giant.

When Argath gave his name, Mirielle's attention spread to her guards, to Traecon Maxwell, and to Jakub Bram. All of them had heard Gerra's voice offer a significant reward to whoever brought Argath to him in chains, gifts or no gifts.

"I face conflicting duties, Argath of Molthal. Where I come from, hospitality is sacred. But I serve on the Imperial Divan as an advisor to your brother, for the security and benefit of my people. What is personal honour compared to that?"

The guards were eighteen kinds of on edge.

"Fortunately," she added, "I have a third way."

She unclasped a necklace, a delicate silver chain with the Ashdell coat of arms. She'd worn it in Gerra's presence more than once.

"Put this on, Argath. On my honour and the honour of the Amir, Lazular's guards will take you to the Emperor as you wish, in good faith, and in-" She tossed him the necklace. "-chains, as he requires. This way Lazular and I keep our honour from both directions."

 

[Traecon Maxwell]

The rumbling of this tone was... familiar. Perhaps it was Gerra himself, to decree whatever order he was issuing among his subjects. Quite the voice, to echo that name to here, which was liable to be a fair distance even for birds to travel. The name was unfamiliar, but for it to come up suddenly was no coincidence. Evidently it had to concern itself with the giant beside him, and as the half-giant announced his name, Traecon was tempted to take action. His right hand curled and flexed, while the gauntlet on his left remained idle.

A giant in chains and himself possibly granted an audience with the King? Two birds with one stone, he mused, gauging his odds. The soldiers with spears would be easy enough - break the haft with a simple broad sweep, and land a blow to the giant's side with his gauntlet in the same motion. He would require enough force to break the wall to knock one of this size unconscious, but he had dented foot-thick metal walls before. This one would be no different.

But then came one who forced him to reevaluate the situation. No violence.

The newcomer was... new. But then again, the only ones he had a pleasure of working alongside with were the Bronze... Claws. A mercenary group, like he had once been. The name was a blurry mass in his head, full of unrecognizable faces and tones. But he could recall the gist of his experiences with them. - nothing but bloodshed, in the honor of a kingdom to be built. Ah, now he could recall with some clarity, his servitude under the king. And an elfing, whose gaze at the king was... interesting to say at the time.

He would ask the King to be sure.

Eyeing the half-giant at the comment - not an understatement, that was, but one would mention the sword on his back was more than not natural. The faces of those tormented were quite intricately carved on the flat of the blade.

Nevertheless, once the half-giant, named Argath of Molthal, presented himself, the warrior bowed slightly towards the one in front of the soldiers. "I am Traecon Maxwell, traveling sellsword. I come seeking refuge in the city, and perhaps an audience with the King."

He had no gift to offer - all he came for was simple coin, and a clue towards the shadow that seemed to be the source of his sword.

Then his eyes shot upwards, meeting emerald with his silver. He could not help himself with the motion - what seemed to be nigh-years of constant combat had made violent reactions almost reflexive. He could only control the strength of the knee-jerk attack, not cancel it entirely.

To most eyes in the room, he only placed a handle on his blade, perhaps a gesture he was to make good on the King's decree. The next moment, a section of the wall came apart, collapsing into blocks. Inwardly, Traecon could only sigh. Normally, he'd swing with enough force to blast those pieces outward. And that would have been a disaster. Looking up at those insectoid emerald eyes, the man bowed.

"Apologies. Force of habit."

In all respect, it had been a bit... sudden.

He eyed the amulet that was given to the giant, and wondered if he could somehow fit into the whole picture. He would get an audience with the King first, then go about selling his services for coin. He stepped forward, much to the apprehension of the guards, all of them unnerved by his swordplay. Not the kind of foe a simple jab of a pointy stick could defeat, obviously.

"If I may... be a part of this little play? As one who aided in his... capture."

A long shot, in all honesty, but he desired this objective over with in the quickest way possible.

 

[Argath]

Argath watched as Jakub Bram entered the room, and silently began making plans to leave. The outpost was large enough to hold the half giant, but not large enough for him to put in a proper swing. If things turned violent it would be best to do away with the walls. Mirielle Merlon spoke well, of duty and honor. then she tossed him a chain, bearing a coat of arms he didn't recognize. Argath let out a strong and hearty laugh as he looked at the necklace in his hands.

"My brother is honored by your wit Lady Merlon." He complimented, and put on the necklace. It barely fit his around his neck, but was just long enough as not to confine his breath. "Should you ever find your services unappreciated, please seek me beyond the Spine."

Argath would then roll up the gifted rug, war ax in tow, and sling it over his shoulders as it had been before.

"I suspect it would be best for the Lady if I were to leave immediately." Argath looked over at the guards. A couple began to stand to attention, while the other went to gather the rest of the forces in the outpost. He then turned his gaze to Traecon Maxwell.

"I have little care who takes credit for what, but I'd suggest you maintain better control of that curse you're afflicted with." The decision was Mirielle's of course; Argath's words were more of a warning than an approval. Argath would not tolerate an attack disguised as an errant twitch.

"It has been a pleasure." Argath would say to Mirielle before leaving, trusting the Lazular guardsman with showing him the path to Gerra.

 

[Ptah]

The surprise attack took golden beetles with it, as Ptah fluttered and hovered above the wall in a jump at the alarmingly quick motion. Settling along another place on the wall, more beetles arrived, varyiing in colors intermingled with the gold, solid black, shiny greens, shimmering blues, along with speckled ones. They wove in and out of each other, a sea of shifting colors as Ptah flicked his wings to get the womans attention.

"I come. Meet, speak, in peace." A dry, parched voice projected with magic would say to her. Not truly a question, but the words lacked any tone. The long arms of the scarab being held up in a display resembling the intent of no ill-will.

 

[Jakub Bram]

Jackub exhaled slightly, the situation had gone smoothly. But gears were turning in his head now. What he had thought to be a situation far from him was very much close. He could try and accompany this Argath to, Gerra. The God-King (Or so he's been told.) and attempt to try and cash in on this reward.

There was an issue, however, being that he was still almost certain this was above his pay grade. Sure, he had come to Amol-Kalit for work and coin, but this situation could very likely end in him getting more than he bargained for.

But there was gold to be had, and stomachs to be filled, it could end very well.

If he got lucky.

"I'd be willing to assist." Jackub said, hesitantly. "Some extra coin wouldn't do me any problems." He spoke, may as well be honest with his intentions. "And even if you are unwilling, I am going in the same direction anyways, so we may as well travel together."

A raspy voice appeared, and quickly turned his head around, peering out. That was a big bug. No, not a bug, he thought, it had limbs. It certainly looked like one though. It wasn't adressing him however, so he stayed silent, studying the creature and how the others would react.

 

[Ormr]

A voice rung inside of his head causing Ormr to shake it back and forth slightly. His expression changing to one of discontent...

"Sorcery."

...the rumble of his voice seemed to indicate he had no love for trickery yet it may have revealed his purpose in coming to this place. This Argath of Molthal, he may have played a role in why Eogorath had summoned him all the way to this wretched land.

The Half-Giant was late to the gathering as well. He had seen a small figure wandering towards the Outpost, the Scarabs that had swarmed and the woman who had rode up on a Mare. At a distance it appeared as though only Ormr hadn't made his way to the Outpost but he did now.

As he drew closer to the Outpost the massive figure of the Half-Giant would grow more evident, towering above anyone not of a similar origin as himself. He ignored the Guardsmen for now, watching carefully as he came closer...

"Argath of Molthal!"

...the boom of his voice was like the blast of a horn, deep and resounding then Ormr would turn his head to see if someone answered his call. He'd made his way towards the Mare that Mirielle Merlon had ridden to the Outpost, setting a large hand over its neck and patting it easily. It was a fine animal.

 

[Mirielle Merlon]

"Very well, Argath. And this curse I lay on you: if you harm any of my men unprovoked along the way, may your privates rot. Simple precautions; I'm sure you understand."

Divine magic was unpredictable stuff, if you could even really call it magic. Maybe the Serpent Gods would follow through to one extent or another. Maybe not. She'd killed a man for them today, so what was a little genital corruption contingency plan?

She turned to the senior guard, who looked less than thrilled. "Captain, you have your errand-" She glanced at Traecon Maxwell and Jakub Bram. "-and my blessing to hire a few additional swords as you see fit. Enjoy your holiday in Annuakat."

The space was too crowded and the fire too warm. At Ptah's invitation, she stepped outside into the rapidly cooling evening.

"Greetings, watcher. How can I help you?"

The bulk of her attention, however, rested on Ormr, who was both loud and petting her horse.

 

[Argath]

"Of course." Argath replied to Mirielle Merlon, at her mention of a curse. He wondered the price she payed for such a thing. How her scarabs and gods played into magic. It was little matter though, he had little reason to break such a curse. Should he find himself in danger, it's bounds would evaporate. "Until next time." He gave the slightest bow, then turned and followed Lazular's captain, him having procured the services of Traecon Maxwell and Jakub Bram.

They did not make it far before he was called out. A turn of the head showed Argath he was greeted by another half giant, yet he was obviously no son of Menalus. Was he of the frost? The storms? Argath did not know, but he had heard tale of the . . . disagreements different types of giant had with one another. Did that hatred breed down to the half-breed kin? He supposed he would soon find out.

"Indeed." Argath's voice boomed to Ormr. The guards, already on edge, obviously did not appreciate the presence of another half-giant, though Argath thought it made things interesting.

"What is it you wish from Molthal's son? I warn you if it is blood, it shall not be granted without cost."

 

[Ormr]

The answer of Molthal's Son prompted the cool gaze of Ormr to turn back towards him. Another Half-Giant, it interested Ormr to look upon him though as he spoke is warning it prompted a small smirk. With the evening descending it appeared as though Ormr was coming further into his element. In the deep desert of Amol-Kalit it would have been foolish for him to venture far but here, on the outskirts and in the cooling atmosphere as the sun sank it appeared as though he was fine.

Ormr had been stroking the neck of the mare that Mirielle Merlon had arrived on, his hand all but eclipsing its neck. He'd seen the others with Argath, Traecon Maxwell and Jakub Bram but he paid them little mind. Nor did it seem he paid much attention to Mirielle or the Scarab Man, Ptah...

"The call of Eogorath usually summons me to some great battle."

...he explained, in a deep voice that came as a rumble...

"Yet there is no battle here."

...considering how he chose his words and the expression he wore Ormr may have been disappointed however he was not roused to particular anger, the reasons of which were explained as he remarked...

"A Voice rang in my head which promised riches if Argath of Molthal was brought before it in chains. Either you are a great Warrior or a foolish one. If you answer the call of the voice on its terms, I wonder if you will live."

...he only spoke as much because he had come so far but this prompted his next statement...

"If you survive the voice surely there will be a great battle. I will fight in that."

...then, his hand still on the mare he would have tightened his grip and began to move away, the mare turning in his hold as resistance would have been futile he would begin leading it away from the Outpost back in the direction he had come from...

"I'm taking this horse."

 

[Traecon Maxwell]

"Cursed... you say?"

It was not inaccurate, but not quite correct either. It was true the weapon had been nigh-symbiotic, but it only served the function of turning into a sword at the correct motions. As it was now, it was little more than a weapon capable of harming spirits and those whom dwelt in the in-between. An executioner's blade in size. The half-giant could also have been referring to his left gauntlet, a couple sizes too large. It was how he replaced the limb after it had been cut off to create the greatsword.

And when yet another new face strode forward to give - nay, state - his opinion before leaving, the warrior stepped forward.

"If it is a fight you want,"

His silvery eyes gleamed with a curious glint.

"Perhaps I can indulge your battlelust."

That, and walking for hours in the desert had frozen his limbs stiff. He needed something or someone to help take the edge off, and here, he had a decent outlet. The size of his to-be foe was irrelevant - he had experience fighting against such sizes before. It didn't matter much when magic was involved either - his blade could deflect direct spell-casting.

Said blade found itself planted in the sands, Traecon's hand gripping it tight.

"Your choice."

 

[Ptah]

The large bug twisted its head at her words, arms coming down and helping him scurry down the wall towards her slowly, stopping when three of his lengths were between them. It tilted its head at her once more, ignoring the large behemoths that were squaring off with one another behind her. The one taking off with the horse. It twisted once more, the gold of it's carapace shimmering as it spoke once more.

"This, god-king. He is good? Kind?" Ptah spoke once more. Having listened to a few more voices rather than hide in his lair had done wonders for inflecting a little bit of tone to the disjointed voice he projected. "I help him, he help me?" The big was not mincing it's words. The concern for it's own safety was paramount, and securing safety from the god-king was a sure way of sealing it. The beetles still clung to the wall, moving slowly in interweaving patterns of color.

Mirielle Merlon

 

[Mirielle Merlon]

Was Mirielle going to let Ormr take the horse? Yes, yes she was. And was she going to tolerate him fighting Traecon Maxwell? Also yes. She'd resolved the Argath situation as well as she could. She'd pushed her luck quite a bit tonight. So she just moved away from it all to speak alone with Ptah.

"Few would call Emperor Gerra either good or kind," she said. "Admirable, sure. Well-intentioned. He's a builder of empires and a maker of friendships. He crushes rivals and enriches their people. I once saw him besiege a poorly ruled city by throwing bread over the walls instead of catapult stones. He would be very interested in what you and the Empire can do for each other."

 

[Ormr]

The Half-Giant had intended to walk away, leaving any potential combat behind but then a voice, a challenge found its way to his ears.

Instantly he had stopped moving away though by this point his long stride had taken him well out of reach of anyone else. He considered moving on but that was not possible now. With his back still turned towards the others his voice would have rumbled, calling out...

"Very well."

....before he reached with his right hand and clamped it around the throat of the Mare, his left hand had been set on the neck of the beast to guide it along with him as he moved away but now it moved to its flank. In what was essentially a singular motion that followed Ormr whirled around and took the Mare with him as easily as he might have a child's toy.

As he came around the Half-Giant had already lift the Mare off her feet, swinging her with the momentum of his body. The Horse was flung effortlessly towards Traecon Maxwell, Ormr hadn't bothered to look and see if the Sellsword was still in the vicinity of others he only knew that he had been the one to step forward.

The massive Sword worn, sheathed over his back hadn't been touched yet. Perhaps Ormr wondered if he would even need it. The Gauntlets that covered his hands up to his forearms were a gruesome piece of apparel, stitched together from a number of beasts and inlaid with bones that came across the knuckles.

All Ormr did then was lift his right hand and beckon the Sellsword forward. Now that the evening was starting to set in he seemed much more comfortable.

 

[Traecon Maxwell]

A bloody horse.

The giant had thrown a live animal in response to his little quip. The swordsman turned around, seeing the troops wary and very, very frightened at seeing an animal of such size thrown with so little effort. The warrior would use other terms for such an action. More... unruly and rude terms.

Still, better than extendable arms and gimmicks.

He stepped forward directly beneath the horse's trajectory (as disbelieving as that sounded in his head) and with a huff, set the animal on its hooves, like snatching a pebble out of the air. No good that did however, as the horse stumbled over its own hooves, evidently dizzy and dazed from the sudden repositioning. Despite himself, Traecon patted the equine's neck as a gesture of comfort.

"That was simply unnecessary." He was almost chiding in his tone.

The words were spoken as he stood right in front of the giant, greatsword out. He had crossed the distance in mere seconds, not a tune nor crack to be heard in his voice. Twisting with his hip, he slashed, a broad sweep aimed to shear the giant in half at the hip.

Ormr