Open Chronicles The Eternum Crosses the Channel

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

Hawk. You must travel to the Blightlands. With the information you gather there, you will face your final trial.
And your training as my Champion will be complete.
If you do not succeed, I will not be as forgiving as last time.
Do not fail me.
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​

A loud banging came from the door of Sparhawk's room. He sat in the middle of it, in a meditative position, sweat beading down his forehead. His chalk-white staff rested beside him, as did his robe. Nemesis sat outside in the Tavern Stable. The room was small, with a table, one chair, and a straw-bed, enough to sleep on, but cheap-enough to induce one's back into cramps.

"Maho, open this door! Maho, i know you're in there... MAHO! For Christ's sake, open the damn door! MAHO!" The man shouted through the cheap, timber door.

No response.

"Maho, if you don't open this door... fine." The man muttered a few short words, of a foreign language. The border of the door glowed for a short second, and then slammed open.

There stood a man, about Sparhawk's age. He wore traditional Elbion attire; off-blue robes and Oaken Staff imbedded with the Elbion Sigil. He was beginning to bald, his blonde hair slightly thinned. He had striking blue eyes, bordered in white. His skin was pale in comparison to Sparhawk's, signs of a court mage, or - at the very least - an ill travelled sorcerer. Sparhawk turned, recognising the Sorcerer as an old friend.

"...Toron? Wh-"

"Sparhawk!" He interrupted, angrily. His face had contempt and disgust written all over it, as if he was looking at a cereal killer. Perhaps he was.

"I've travelled Hundreds of miles to find you. Hundreds!"

"Why are you here in the first place, not that I mind." He asked.

"The College had made an official enquiry into your actions. There'd been rumours Maho. Terrible, terrible rumours. I've travelled to Fal'Addas, Alliria, Molthal even! But Belgrath... Maho..." He could barely keep eye-contact with Sparhawk; horror was written in his eyes.

"I didn't believe the rumours... I couldn't. The Arch-Mages had told me the most horrific things, but I refused to believe that Maho Sparhawk, could commit such heinous acts. I walked to Belgrath Maho. Do you know what I found?" He approached close to Maho, slamming the door behind him. Sparhawk stayed silent.

"DO YOU KNOW WHAT I FOUND?! Bodies, Maho. Rivers of bodies. Belgrath was only down to a few thousand people when you and Gerra arrived. Now; Belgrath has no people. I was meant to report straight back to Elbion if I'd found any proof of your actions, but... I had to see you for myself. I had to ask you for my own conscious. Maho, look at me."

Sparhawk looked up from the floor, a solitary tear travelling down the contours of his face. He looked at his friend in the eyes.

"Tell me you didn't do it." He said, faintly, desperate.

"Toron. I... I don't... I-" He was lost for words, for even he could not face his own demons.

"I'm sorry." And with that, Sparhawk stood up, wiped his face with his arm, picked up his staff with the other, and slung his robe about himself. He had a bag packed on the bed, with essentials for long travel. He placed that on his back, fastening his staff to the side of it. He walked towards the door, but Toron stood his ground, blocking his way.

"You know I can't let you walk away, Maho." He said, coldly, standing his ground against his friend.

"I don't have a choice."

"We all have a choice."

"That's naive."

"Sparhawk believed we all had a choice. You can't be Maho. You can't be. Maho's dead."

With that, Toron stormed out of the room, and out of the Tavern, tears running across the timber floor as he stormed away. And Sparhawk's head was full of silence, except for one, solitary thought, that floated there;

I wish I was dead.

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​

The flight to the Blightlands was long and hard. It reminded him of the March he'd made to Belgrath. All those orcs, in the freezing cold, the frozen winds making their way from the lower lands of the spine all the way to Molthal. He remembered the frostbite he'd endured, on that longer, 3 month march. And although Nemesis made the transit far, far easier, the snow that nipped at his features still reminded him of those days spent in tired agony.

What shocked Sparhawk on his way to the coast however, was what he'd found on the ground; footsteps, tens of thousands of them, all following the same direction he'd been flying in, spanning in that direction for what seemed like miles. The floor was littered with tattered clothes and weapons, blood, and bones. He knew it was unlikely that they had dropped skeletons on their way to wherever it was they were going, which could lead him to only one conclusion; undead.

He'd heard rumours many months ago of a force of undead being amassed, but he dared not believe it. After fighting off hordes of undead at that fishing village on the Elbion coast, he grew increasingly concerned of this kind of threat. It could spell the end of the world as he knew it. Necromancers.

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​

As he approached the coast, he'd realised that the only feasible reason they'd want to reach the coast, was if they were to set sail. That was a terrifying thought indeed, a force of that size travelling by boat to god knows where.

He couldn't let that come to pass.

He flew past the aftermath of their march, with bits and bobs of armour, weaponry and bodies being strewn about the land. Small settlements burnt down, more blood. Last time he'd dealt with a Necromancer, he'd nearly lost his life. He hoped not to repeat the same mistake twice.

By the time he reached the port, it was too late. They had obviously set sail. He had failed once more. The only chance he had now of stopping them, was to meet them in-sea. They must've travelled a day at least. He knew he could catch up very quickly however, with Nemesis by his side.

He just prayed he'd be ready.

 

[Magnan Smithson]

Magnasandree looked out upon the ocean ahead of them, silent. Pale blue and dark purple orbs blazed with light as they gazed upon the horizon. They still had a ways to go, but even now... the environment was growing colder. The air began to freeze, with their first snow having been the day before, and the still living members of the ships began to clothe themselves in greater amounts of furs. The lich, of course, had no such worries, and had been alternating their time between taking care of their empty body (Eilasandree) and ensuring that the troops knew how to fight, as well as breaking up said fights when things got tense (Magnan). They would have hard times ahead of them, and the Lich refused to throw them away into some sort of meat grinder for some petty gain, despite what Eilasandree's consciousness urged.

Eilasandree was... a monster, he had found. They shared thoughts, and while they were capable of hiding some thoughts (like these ones), even the surface ideas had shown him such... unnecessary cruelty it had shocked the Lich Knight, reminding him too much of the blight orcs. Were she in a separate body, perhaps he would have struck her down then and there, if he had known. She did not care for the people, as he did. She wanted only power, and the freedom that came with that power. That was her ultimate goal, as far as he could tell. If only it didn't mean standing upon a pile of corpses large enough to rival the spine.

Yet with each day, he found himself... understanding. More and more. He didn't like it, and he never agreed, of course. But... one rarely sees themselves as the bad guy., and Eilasandree certainly didn't, although she knew what she was doing could be seen as 'wrong'. As her memories and thoughts wafted through their mind, Magnan found himself growing more and more... he wasn't sure, but he didn't like it.

They still had a few weeks to go, but he hoped that when they got there it wouldn't be long until he was free of her. After that... he wasn't sure.

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

It had been 8 days. Luckily for him and Nemesis, there were small plateaus spread across the sea, allowing them for rest. Initially, he had not factored that they would have to travel so far, and had to go without food. He could create his own of course, but he'd rather save his energy for what was to come.

It got exceedingly cold. Sparhawk couldn't tell however, as he could not feel heat. But he knew; the land grew hard and the grass died, the fish swam towards the shore, escaping the frozen waters that were never to thaw. Despite the campfires he created not offering him any solace, it kept him comfortable, and made him feel safe on the long travel ahead. He had brought a small satchel bag of personal belongings he wanted to look at, in case the worst happened:

His old staff, the one he'd created all those years ago, a crack still in the middle from where he had snapped it in two. A small ring that Jerik had left him - the only thing he'd left him. Engraved on the inside of the silver was 'Greatness needs not a silver spoon'. The last thing he'd brought with him was a small piece of folder parchment, a very old letter, where the paper had yellowed with age. At night, he'd open it to read it's contents;
______

Maho,
When you told me you were a Sorcerer, I was so honoured to think you'd give up that life to be with me. But I know now that that can never be. You aspire to be so much more than a farmer's wife, and I can't be the one to rob you of that dream. I'll always love you, and I'm only doing this because of that, but I'm leaving to visit my mother in the south, and I've sold the home to that lovely couple we met in the Spine. Do you remember? I've left the flower you enchanted for me when we first met in this letter, so - eternally - you know my heart is yours.

Yours, always.
Alina.
_____

From the letter dropped a small, yellow flower, perfectly preserved as the day it was picked. He held it close to him, and inhaled it's sweet scent.
He rocked himself to sleep, surrounded by the crisp, white snow that fell on the island, whilst Nemesis sat beside him around the fire.

_____________________________
​

"Nemesis, we should be nearing she ships soon, we should fly above the clouds to avoid being seen."

The horse grumbled annoyingly, but it was an agreeable grumble, and they began to sail above the clouds.

The snow was particularly heavy that day. The sky was a winter blue, the clouds in multitude in the sky. The sun struggled to make it's way through the thick atmosphere around them. The sea battled with itself too, the waves swaying heavily from side to side, yet keeping an odd calm amongst the chaos. It seemed fitting. If anything, it at least gave him some cover. Small mountainy planes past him as he flew, springing up from almost nowhere, having to dodge out of the way of more than one. It became hard to concentrate after 6 hours riding.

Since the snow fell fairly heavy, there was a mist about the sea now, which concealed him, unfortunately, it also hid the numbers of the ships. But from what he could gather, there were more than a few of them. He knew undead didn't usually concern themselves with space or resources, so they were most likely packed densely on each ship. It would be a foolish move to land on a single ship, since it would be easy to get overrun. It would be a better strategy to fly about them and assess the situation, and then fire from the clouds. This would allow me to now get caught up in the battle, and reduce the numbers of the Undead, perhaps even taking down the whole ship. Then again, what if the Undead can swim? I haven't considered this yet, there could be so many variables to this battle... i could very easily get myself killed. But then again, if i try to-

Whilst he was mumbling to himself, he had forgotten to check what direction he was going in. Nemesis began violently pulling back at the reigns, clearly wanting him to move, or do something.

"What is it Nemesis! I'm think-" He looked forward, only to see a large island formation only a few metres in front of him.

Oh god what do i do? I can't avert it now, i can't give away my position. My plans... What do I do... WHAT DO I DO!?

In the heat of the moment, he sent his hands flying forward, and from them, sprouted a great plume of flame almost larger than any he conjured before, it's crimson red reflecting off of the sea bed like the sun gleaming of a sword's blade. It sent him and Nemesis flying backwards, struggling to hold on to one-another. As they spun, Sparhawk struggled to regain control of Nemesis, the force completely discombobulating both of them. Once he had regained control, he realised the updraft created from the ensuing explosion had cleared some of the mist surrounding him.

Through the break in the fog, he saw a ship amongst several others, teeming with undead. Many of them turned to face the island from where the Inferno had come from.

And in that moment, Sparhawk could only form two, distinct words;

"Oh... SHIT!" He screamed.

This hasn't gone to plan.

 

[Amankh Kaltar]

Amankh was once more at the deck of the ship, a hand folded behind his back as another gripped the staff, his eyes searching the waters in consideration of the mist-filled horizon before them. While his gaze did not stray far from the crashing waves and the undead fleet that sailed across them, his mind wandered as he thought further upon the goal they were setting forth for, and those he shared it with. It settled upon each of the main members of the Eternum, drawing up a mental consensus on what the mummy thought of them, before then traveling to ponder over the various arcane spellcasters he had been teaching and their skills so far.

Watching the tides shift and sway, rising and ebbing with the boats, brought a steady rhythm to his thoughts. Memories of watching dunes of sand get blown across the desert floor from his balcony suddenly returned to his mind's eye, a brief return to that time millenia ago. Fragments, that's all they were, fragments that were more scattered and dust-covered then the buildings he had them in. A hand drifted to the gold mask that laid atop his skeletal features, tracing the intricate designs etched into it idly as he delved deeper into thought.

In the mists surrounding them, brilliant crimson red flames suddenly scorched the air before impacting a nearby island. Within an instant, the undead atop the deck sprang to life, as empty eyes drifted to view the unexpected disturbance. A question hovered in Amankh's mind, and as it was silently asked, more rose alongside it. Was this an attack, and if so, by who? His second question was answered as quickly as came, although not in detail. Exposed by the retreating mist was a man, seemingly mounted atop a flying horse akin to those brought by Steve. If anyone was the source, it was him.

The mummy quickly tightened his grip on his staff, as ice quickly manifested itself around his palm. He turned his vision first to Magnasandree, who stood at the helm of the ship, before looking to the mages scattered across the deck. "On guard! A mage has revealed themselves," he commanded, shouting it out to them. Various members of the crowded deck nodded, revealing staffs as they quickly moved to the sides of the ship. Upon reaching the edge, a few pressed their hands out, carving a symbol into the air as mana flowed out from them, imbuing the air with an ethereal light as magical wards were suddenly conjured into existence. The wards spanned the length of the boat, coating it in the otherworldly glow. How long it would hold depended on how powerful this attacker was, but it should grant them some protection against whatever was to come.

Amankh watched the mounted sorcerer with a focused gaze, as from his hands he spawned a jagged glacial spear of ice. The ice hovered beside him, his hand drifting over it in preparation as he waited to see if the man continued his supposed attack. The other mages did the same, bringing forth magic to their palms and staffs, aiming it and readying themselves for any attack.

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

As he looked towards the boat, he'd quickly realised that - of all the boats to see him - this was the least favourable to his 'plan'. It was difficult to the the Necromancer that seemed to summon a spear of frost, but it was blatantly obvious the ward they casted over the ship; many mages equipped with staffs. And, although seemingly weak independently, together the ward was strong. From what he could gather, they'd foreseen something of this ilk happening already, which put Sparhawk at a distinct advantage.

Could he negotiate? No, it was too late for that, and even if it were, he wouldn't be willing to. He knew the ward was strong enough to defend against a fairly strong blast, but he wasn't sure how strong. It was clear that the Necromancer with the spear was the lead Sorcerer, at least on that ship. He thought it'd be wisest to aim for the undead mages; perhaps if he could break their wards, he could weaken the ship's.

Alright... Calm down...

He closed his eyes, and for the briefest moment, he focused completely on himself, independent to all beings and to his situation. His eyes opened again, and they smouldered a fiery red. Although his control of Imamu's powers were limited, if he was careful, he could tap into them without letting go of his fragile mind.

From his back, he unfastened the Staff he had acquired from the Witch Sue, from the white Tree of the forest; it's chalk-colour was struck by blue light, going through the seams of the various runes and symbols engraved their, mostly in Oskavosh. He pointed it at the ship, Nemesis still circling around the same area.

He began to recite words quickly, in a language completely foreign to him, but he seemed to understand it better than he used to. As he spoke each word, mana began to travel from his shoulder, twisting betwixt his arm, coating it in flame, eventually making it's way to the tip of his staff, circling it, becoming denser and denser with each word that escaped his breath, until eventually his body could take no more. The fire he conjured blazed forth, in a great display of Flame, the likes of which he'd never conjured before, like a red wave from an ocean of tinder. It rushed it's way to the ship, looking to hopefully put their ward to the test.

Good...​

 

[Magnan Smithson]

Magnasandree had reacted the moment the first gout of flame had appeared in the air, their head snapping towards it even as Eilasandree detected the level of magical power upon display and Magnan's finely honed instincts drove them into action. Eilasandree called the Manticore toward them, whilst Magnan was given control over their body. This was no time to argue, whatever this was, it was a threat, and they needed to be at their best for this. As the manticore flew from where it had been enjoying Steve's company, Magnan shoulder open the door to the duo's cabin, the wood splintering under and impact the skeletal titan didn't even feel as they snatched up four vials of ruby red liquid, contained within crystal and steel canisters. They slotted three of them into a row of open slots at their hip, spinning the leather around to ensure that the containers were at their back upon their waist.

Stepping back out, Eilasandree let out a noise of alarm at the sheer scale of the power upon display as a veritable tide of flame rushed forth from the intruder. Magnan, however, was far more concerned with other matters. 'That's Amankh's ship!' He thought in a panic as they raced to leap upon the back of their patchwork mount and took off into the sky, heading towards the fire mage at the safest angle they could. 'The sand elf is more than capable of taking care of himself.' Came Eilasandree's terse reply, feeling the magical response from the galleon full of empowered mages. 'He will be fine. Our other ships won't be, however, unless we can crush this fool that attacked us. Now, give me the sword for a moment.' Magnan wasn't sure of her plan, but as the icy blue runes along his shield began to blaze a bright purple-pink, he relinquished control for a moment.

Their sword raised to point towards the figure in the distance, almost hidden behind the wave of flame they were sending towards the other ship. A wave of ethereal pink light flowed from the shield and through the pair's body, running over the steel of the large sword and coalescing at the tip. Without a sound the light flooded forward in a beam of necromantic magic towards the newcomer, aiming to rip their very life force from their body. Of course, such a magic could not be sustained for long without a power source, and it quickly shut off before the undead below began to take losses. They just hoped it would help whilst they closed the gap.

 

[TTamark]

Steve was amazed by the first bout of flame. When the second came he grew incredibly concerned. There were few mages capable of unleashing such flames, most would knock themselves out, or kill themselves if they attempted such a thing. Steves concern for the mage was quickly suppressed by his concern for what the second wave might do to his companions. Steve had all his animals jump off the boat and try to meet him on land, except for Buttercup, the flying horse, and Ghost, the loyalest chicken. Steve if this fight proceeded he would be little help here, he was not one to shoot energy blasts, and release destruction and devastation with a wave of his arm.

So Steve took to the air with his horse, his chicken, a small pot of stew, two wooden bowls and spoons, a small sack of potatoes, and a bundle of potato flowers. Steve flew up high enough that if the mage did attack Steve he would not hit the ships as collateral. Steve then tossed a potato at the man, and using a potato to amplify his voice Steve called out to the him,

"Are you alright? I trained at Elbion's college of magic, and I know very few who could survive using such strong magic. Please sir, magic always has a price, don't make it your life. Come with me and sit on some nearby neutral ground. You have already lost the element of surprise, and cast the most magic, taking a break now will only be advantageous to you. So come sit with me, and we can talk a bit over stew so we can come to an understanding about why we must fight one another. Trust me the stew is to die for, HAHA, that is not to say it will kill you, besides I am sure a mage capable of such magic as you have shown would be able to detect poison. Again come with me, let me offer you my flowers, show that I do not wish for your doom, and if you wish for mine at least give me the chance to know it before it comes. I can even call the other leaders to meet with us if that is what you wished for. Please, you can always kill us later, just give me a chance to stop even a little bit of suffering, even if it is only for the man who wishes to kill me. Please."

Steve sat there tears in eyes, those same eyes pleading with the man, as his arm remained outstretched offering the man some flowers.

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

Okay Maho, you're doing okay. If I can manage to break through this barrier, I may be able to break through the line, and fight more efficiently. This is tiring, haven't even used this volume of magic in a while. Maybe i'll talk to Widogast if I survive this. It'd be nice to grab a bite to eat or something. I miss our talks. Didn't think I could create this much fire. Maybe Imamu will even let me go after this! That'd be nice. I think i'd become a farmer. Myles would like that... Maybe... Then again-

Seemingly from out of nowhere, he heard a high-pitched ringing in his ear, and his eyes began to hurt, badly.

What is that-

He looked to his left, and he saw a blinding pink light, brighter than ever he'd seen before; brighter than all the lights he'd seen conjured in Elbion. It was... clean. A pure, blank light that shot towards him. He had no clue what it was, or what it aimed to do, but he was too focused on his Pyromancy to concern himself with it. He thought he'd take the hit, and although he may be injured, he should be able to recover from it. It'll all be fine, he told himself.

Uugh-

Something is wrong. Why can't I see anything... What's going on... Where am I, WHERE AM I!? Oh god... that beam... Oh god oh god, oh no, not yet. I'm not done yet, i've got so much left to do, please! I'm not ready, i'm not ready, please... Oh god... Wigogast... Sue... Anyone...someone please... I'm scared... I... I don't want to die...

You were weak, Maho Jerik Sparhawk.
If you won't be my Champion,
No one will.
​

This body is feeble. But it's magical potential will do nicely.

Now, where were we.

The Sorcerer looked at the direction the beam had come from, and saw a hulking beast of a being, teeming with potential and strength, most likely one of the strongest in their undead legion, perhaps the leader. It wasn't sure. His eyes were completely red now, with the spirits of the sacrificed. He looked at this hulking, skeletal being, and shot him a smile. And through the fire from which he had ceased firing now, he mouthed;

Thank you.
​

Suddenly, almost from out of nowhere, another Sorcerer appeared, on a horse very similar to his own. He offered - of all things - soup, and a conversation, including a favour, asking he do not prolong the fight.

"Take me to your Leaders. I wish for no man's doom." Something was horribly different about the way he spoke. His voice was deeper; it didn't sound as if it was coming from him. His body was hot, yet no sweat came from his brow. He looked towards the boat he blasted an Inferno at, and - as if his voice was amplified by some otherworldly power, calmly stated;

"I Surrender."

 

[TTamark]

"Not a huge fan of the way you emphasized doom, but I will pass it along."

Steve rode back informing Amankh and Magnasandree of the turn of events.

"He wishes to meet with you to discuss the terms of his surrender."

 

[Amankh Kaltar]

Flames suddenly collided with the ethereal barrier, fanning over the wards to create a brilliant wall of embers that rose to the same height as the boats. The battle between the fire and the wards coated the deck in different hues, orange light mixed with the varied colors of the undead mage's mana. The ice spear which hovered beside Amankh abrubtly shattered into a mist of frost, the icy cloud quickly spreading to cover the ward as an extra layer of defense against the pyromantic wave.

However, as suddenly as the attack came, it ended, the flames which were previously attacking their wards dispersing into nothingness. Amankh turned his gaze skyward, looking out to see the acts of the sorcerer responsible. Something seemed strange, the mummy noted, and his feelings were amplified as the sorcerer uttered his surrender. He cast a glance to his pupils, silently advising them to hold the wards regardless. This sudden surrender after an equally sudden attack felt odd, and when such a powerful spellcaster was the source, caution seemed like a reasonable path to take.

The Archmage walked to the helm of the ship as Steve descended on his mount to inform him of the sorcerer's desire. "Very well. If this sorcerer wishes to have a discussion, let him come and do so on our terms. I would like an explanation for this attack." He turned his gaze to the attacker, ready for whatever discussions -or attack- were to come. He beckoned a few of his mages and the ship's armed undead forward, taking positions nearby as a form of protection in case things went wrong.

This should prove interesting.

 

[Magnan Smithson]

A rare moment of happiness could be felt from Eilasandree as the beam connected, and all of a sudden... no. She wouldn't have. 'Hm. Interesting.‘ She murmured, as an image of the pale elven banshee appeared in their mind’s eye holding a ball of orange, crackling energy. ‘This was not the intended purpose of the spell. It was merely to damage one’s essence, not siphon it entirely. For this to have happened, one would need to have an extraordinarily tenuous grasp upon one’s soul, which only really occurs when... outside forces are involved.’ She mused, not paying much attention to what was going on outside of her magic.

‘Then you’re gonna want to look at this, because odds are that has something to do with the “outside forces”’ Magnan quickly replied as he gazed upon the body that, despite apparently having its soul ripped out, was still moving and even talking. Surrendering, as well. Which was... something the Lich Knight didn’t exactly trust. He’d accept the parlay, of course, but- ‘What do you mean, accept?!’ Screeched Eilasandree within his mind as her hands played over the ba- no, the soul within her grasp, plucking and weaving. ‘The soul tells me that is a demon. We cannot allow it to near our ships. Not until I know exactly what we’re up against.’ ‘And how are we going to do that?’ Questioned Magnan. ‘I am a necromancer of the highest caliber, to give this fully formed soul a body is childs play. Don’t insult me.’ Came the terse reply, even as the potato farmer, STEVE (as she was irritatingly reminded by Magnan), approached them to share the message they had heard. The ‘doom’ thing was certainly... distressing, a word he had learnt from Eila.

“Grab Amankh and a few of the students that are better at suppressing flames. Find a nearby island and we’ll talk there. Don’t let him near the ships. We’ll join you as soon as we are finished with this.“ The two say/order, as their arm raises, palm up. To Magnan all that was there in the palm was empty air, but to the two necromancers the light of Maho’s soul could clearly be seen. With that, the two made their way back to the ship as fast as possible. They were going to need a skull, a runemage, and luck.

 

[TTamark]

"Alrighty, see you two there in a bit, and maybe think about whether, or not we should allow whatever that still resides to know the soul isn't gone. I have no idea what it is, if or what it knows, but on the off chance it doesn't know what is going on, only that it now has a body. I don't know if you are familiar with a card game called "Go Fish" but just like in that game we should think about how to best use what we know, and not just show our hand, might be useless, but it might also prove useful. I'll get Mummy boy to gather the mages, and again... see you soon."

Steve traveled to Amankh and filled him in on Magasandree's words,

"We are concerned about why the mage's body is still alive, and awake when its soul should have been destroyed. That surrender was just too weird, even with my moving words, HAHA. Gather some of the mages you think would be best at suppressing fire, and we'll gather on nearby island to do the talking."

Steve returned to the mage, he spent a moment hovering beside him looking at his face before continuing,

"We will be meeting with you at a nearby island to discuss your surrender. I will ask that you please follow me. Before we head off just give me a second."

Steve reached into his cloak, and pulled out some thread. stringing it through several potatoes, before tying it into a rough 8 shape. Steve spent a few moments, pouring some stew over the object, and finished up the enchantment. If Imamu had knowledge of enchantments through its own knowledge or through Maho's, it would be able to tell that there were two its first one was one to absorb magic power into itself from spells that were cast. The second, covering the first to any who would look after it was cast, was one to suppress fire magic. As Steve's neared Imamu he suddenly gasped.

"Mango Spoonhawk! It is! It is great to see you again old friend. I am sorry, but I will have to ask that you wear this, you did just attack us with fire after all. Oh, and I would appreciate it if you would keep secret that first bit. Come on, I will make sure they go easy on you. How long has it been?"

Steve shot him a huge smile. As he began leading towards a nearby island Steve kept his eye on what looked similar to be a face he had seen a long time ago, looking for any information it would tell.

 

[Amankh Kaltar]

The mummy awaited the return of Steve, nodding once he returned with further information. He turned away from the sea, emptied eyes searching the horde of undead for the most skilled of his mages. He picked a few out, beckoning them forward with a skeletal finger. The crowded deck parted for the mages, the undead spellcasters coming to Amankh's side.

He turned away, first casting a glance to the island they were meeting at before looking down to the tumultuous sea that separated them. The lack of mounts capable of flight aboard the ship made the prospect a difficult one, but not quite impossible. The mummy stepped onto the edge of the boat, and without warning, dropped off the side of the ship.

However, there was no sound of splashing water from his impact. Instead, ice crystallized and frosted over the ocean surface upon his feet touching the waves, freezing over immediately. The mages followed suite, landing on the platform of cold. Amankh took a step forward, the ice reflexively spreading to cover the water below it. Waves that threatened to hit them froze to crystalline sculptures to be stepped over as the group began to walk across the rough and discordant sea towards the island.

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

Imamu had heard the whole conversation.

It was strange. This was the first time Imamu had inhabited a body. He was not used to the ringing of the ears, the sweat trickling down the forehead, the snow falling onto his person. When you spend an eternity looking down on the mortal plane, these things aren't taken into consideration. The smell of the dirt and sea, and the feel of Nemesis' matted main, wet with the sea-breeze. The oddest thing was, he almost enjoyed it.

"Mango Spoonhawk! It is! It is great to see you again old friend. I am sorry, but I will have to ask that you wear this, you did just attack us with fire after all. Oh, and I would appreciate it if you would keep secret that first bit. Come on, I will make sure they go easy on you. How long has it been?"

Mango Spoonhawk.

I'm dealing with a fool.

"His name was Maho Sparhawk, and i'll wear your crude excuse for Sorcery."

He put on the hastily made charm. Although it did it's job, it was a sad excuse for an enchantment, and Imamu didn't even totally understand how it worked. The magic of this world is odd indeed.

"Thanks for making them go easy on me, I appreciate the help. Oh, And - Steve - You're funny. But I wouldn't make that the only thing I remember you by. No one likes a dead fool." He said, coldly.

Whilst Imamu gestured Nemesis to fly to the island, he turned to see the Necromancer, freezing the ice beneath him to create a walkway. He recognised him as Amankh Kaltar; he'd watched him for many years. Many. He thought it curious he hadn't seen him use any Dark magic yet, then again, most considered Necromancy dark magic anyway.

Interesting.

Imamu flew to the island at a quick pace, smiling all the way there, his eyes still glowing a bright red.

This is all very interesting.

 

[Magnan Smithson]

'Curse these oafish hands!' Eilasandree muttered within their mind, as she did her best to split her attention between both the act of carving into the skull and maintaining Maho Sparhawk's soul within her power. If her concentration split for even a millisecond, it would be ripped form her. This man's soul was being contended over, but no puny god or demon could best her in necromancy, something she was all too happy to prove as she continued to defy them. If she had her real body, or just any body that wasn't shared, this would have been far easier. But for now, she needed to make due, and to ignore the spike of irritation coming from Magnan as the former smith did his best to follow the movements. Carving and finely made enchantments weren't what he knew, damn it! Shovels and the odd sword were!

It had been touch and go after the first skull shattered under his strength, but fortunately that had been nearer to the beginning of the process, and the second time was the charm. The skull sat upon the deck within the captain's quarters, intricate and flowing runes running along the sides and coalescing into a swirling pattern in thee centre of the forehead. 'Try to hold still. This can only be done once.' Eilasandree warned Magnan, as their arm reach forward, palm open, and the Banshee Queen began to push.

Slowly the blue light that made up the inner parts of Magnasandree's arm began to change to an alternating orange-red, as tendrils of light began to flow from the centre of their palm and into the skull. Every now and then the light would... spasm, for lack of a better word. Going jagged and jerking itself in multiple directions, as if being tugged by some unknown force, yet Eilasandree kept a tight control over the mage's soul, forcing it into the simultaneous prison and wall that was the skull. Once the pyromancer was properly placed within, the runes carved into the bone began to glow that same alternating orange-red, as safeguards and walls were placed, and the being was tied to Eilasandree, with a thread only the two of them could feel. It would be able to speak, but its magic was sealed until Eilasandree lifted its restrictions. The man had tried to kill them, after all.

"Speak. What is inhabiting your body, and do we need to kill it?" The duo asked, once all was said and done.

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

So empty... so cold...

From the pits of the void, a bright light shone, like an opening at an end of a tunnel. It was blinding, much like the magic that separated him from his body. Except this... it felt inviting. As if it wanted him to follow it. In the deepness of his despair, he opted to follow it. He walked towards it, the voices of those he'd condemned entering his head once more. And, for the slightest moment, he swore he'd seen his own death...

Everything is... floaty...

Everything was, indeed, floaty. He couldn't see, feel or touch, but he felt present. He knew he was no longer in that dark, endless hole of nothingness.

"Speak. What is inhabiting your body, and do we need to kill it?"

A voice... I can hear-

Gods... No...

He'd almost forgotten the words of Imamu. If what he said was true, his body was inhabited by the Fire of Lions, Imamu.

I have to warn them.

"Listen to me... You have to do something, now. Our conflict means nothing now in comparison to what you've unleashed upon Arethil. You can't kill him, but you must stop him. He is Imamu, the Fire or Lions, one of the most violent Gods of the Elven Pantheon. I fear that whatever you Undead had in mind for Arethil will be poultry in comparison to what he plans now. I do not know what you believe, Undead, Sorcerer or... Necromancer. Whomever you are, you must warn the world of this being. This could spell damnation of our world." Though he didn't speak with vocal cords, he knew the worry of his concerns were expressed through spirit. He knew better than anyone, that if Imamu were given ample time, not even the most powerful Sorcerer in Arethil could do anything against his might.

 

[Former and the Foal]

He was not his master. No.
It took a good while to figure that out. The horse was not mad or furious. But Spahawk. That it was not.

Whatever the animated body took was with it now, but packs, satchels and gear still left on the horse departed with the beast as it's massive wing beats would hover him above the ships again.
A single circle was made before gliding underneat some raising. Eventually the horse would glide beyond the horizon.
Nobody knew where it would go. Perhaps Sparhawk did.
Nemesis followed a trail.

 

[TTamark]

"His name was Maho Sparhawk, and i'll wear your crude excuse for Sorcery."

Steve's smile switched from one of happiness of greeting an old friend, to one of amusement like a cat sizing up its prey.

"I thought it would be rude to not at least give you the chance to pretend to be Maho. I respect the honesty all the same. I do hope you will continue with such honesty with me for the time being. So obviously you know at least roughly as much as Maho should. I wish I knew more about the man, but oh well. What I really wish to know is why when Maho was shot with a beam to tear apart ones soul, you came into possession of his body. I assume you are not just a very bored high level spirit that was stalking him. No... I know that both Maho and Telemachus were at the Belgrath siege, Telemachus had agreed to sell us bodies, and even back from my school days, there were rumours about his morality; stuff about some of the contracts he would make. As for Maho I met him in person only once, but I heard about the great things he did at Belgrath. I think I have solved that mystery myself. Right? So the real question, even before what you are exactly, is what can we do for each other before the others show up? Maybe a some transportation? HAHA. Come, sit with me and take part in some of my stew. I know not if you care for flowers, but they are a gift I give you freely, I do hope we can be friends after all. Talk freely as it will still take Amankh some time to cross on foot."

Steve sat upon a rock before pouring some of the stew into both bowls, and offing the body of Maho a bowl of stew.

 

[Amankh Kaltar]

The sound of undead feet hitting the cold icy surface of the conjured pathway continued unendingly, the only other accompanying sounds being the waves they were moving across. It was slow and monotonous, but at the very least the tiring nature of it was negated by their nature. Partway through their travel, Amankh noticed the mount the sorcerer had been riding ascend and leave, distinctly missing a rider. Odd.

Amankh and the group of mages eventually made it to shore. Behind them, the pathway made of ice quickly fell and dispersed into a myriad of fragments, each vanishing into the wider expanse of ocean. Stepping onto dry land for the first time in days, the mummy immediately eyed the sorcerer with a keen curiosity, dark sockets searching its form for any information that betrayed its identity. Unfortunately, he found no such thing. "I hope I am not interrupting anything," he said, looking between Steve and the sorcerer, steadying his gaze against the man shortly afterwards once more. "Tell us," stated Amankh, "who - or what - exactly are you?" The red eyes suggested something otherworldly in origin, but what such a being would want with this particular body was as of yet unknown and something the mummy very much wanted to know.

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

"I thought it would be rude to not at least give you the chance to pretend to be Maho. I respect the honesty all the same. I do hope you will continue with such honesty with me for the time being. So obviously you know at least roughly as much as Maho should. I wish I knew more about the man, but oh well. What I really wish to know is why when Maho was shot with a beam to tear apart ones soul, you came into possession of his body. I assume you are not just a very bored high level spirit that was stalking him. No... I know that both Maho and Telemachus were at the Belgrath siege, Telemachus had agreed to sell us bodies, and even back from my school days, there were rumours about his morality; stuff about some of the contracts he would make. As for Maho I met him in person only once, but I heard about the great things he did at Belgrath. I think I have solved that mystery myself. Right? So the real question, even before what you are exactly, is what can we do for each other before the others show up? Maybe a some transportation? HAHA. Come, sit with me and take part in some of my stew. I know not if you care for flowers, but they are a gift I give you freely, I do hope we can be friends after all. Talk freely as it will still take Amankh some time to cross on foot."

"Sparhawk did Nothing. If it weren't for my godly abilities, he would have perished in the skirmish. He was a fool to think he could claim the powers of a god for his own. And I am not drinking your stew. Sparhawk may have needed nourishment, but I do not. And I shall not divulge to you anything, mage." He spoke, straightly. He had no respect for the man speaking to him, nor did he know his identity. Whether that was because he took no notice, or whether Sparhawk didn't, he was not sure.

Amankh eventually made his way onto the island, followed by a small group of Undead sorcerers, most of whom were the same ones who summoned the ward that Sparhawk failed to penetrate.

"I hope I am not interrupting anything," he said, looking between Steve and the sorcerer, steadying his gaze against the man shortly afterwards once more. "Tell us," stated Amankh, "who - or what - exactly are you?"

Imamu smiled, showing Sparhawk's well kept teeth, his eyes seeming to pulsate brighter with his mood.

"The Feeble vessel I reside in is that of Maho Sparhawk. I, however, am above mortality; I am Shtor'Tak'Kortos. To Arethil, I am known as Imamu, the Fire of Lions. I am disappointed by the group you arm yourself with Amankh, I'd be surprised if they could defeat Sparhawk, let alone I." He said, cockily. He, however, had the feats to back up his cockiness.

 

[Amankh Kaltar]

The mummy listened intently to the being, who revealed themself as Imamu, the Fire of Lions, and the body itself as that of a man known as Maho Sparhawk. Neither of the names were familiar to him, however it did confirm some of his prior wondering. The man who once resided in this body, whoever Sparhawk was, was gone; whether his soul retreated to somewhere else or was permanently destroyed was something else. Now, the Fire of Lions had taken the reigns.

Amankh was pulled from his internal considerations and dialogue when he heard his own name leave Imamu's lips, mingled within a remark against the company he traveled with. It was not outside of the realm of possibility Steve had given it to him, being the kind to commonly partake in socializing, but something behind that statement implied a sense of recognition, a familiarity from Imamu that Amankh did not have in kind. That thought brought an uncertainty with it; if his observation was indeed true, should he be flattered, or worried? The question hung in his mind, unable to be answered.

"Considering the soul that once resided in that vessel is now removed, I believe defeating this Sparhawk is no longer necessary for now," the mummy replied calmly, the undead visage not betraying his internal dialogue. "You speak is as if you know who I am, and yet I have neither seen nor heard of you, or the mortal whose body you reside in. Why do you know my name?"

 

[TTamark]

Steve lightly chuckled at Imamu's fiery correction, while he gently petted Ghost, the chicken, in his arms.

"I am sorry, when the tales of Belgrath were told to me I was not told from whom his power derived. It was not my intention to injure your pride. Be careful even if the pride is deserved, you know what they say: pride comes before the soul destroying beam. HAHA.

I am saddened that you do not wish to partake in food and conversation with me, but what do you not wish to divulge with me? How you came to reside within Maho's old body? I would have assumed it had something to do with the contract I assume you two had made. Why, is there more to it than that?

Oh, right Amankh is coming! Ok... ok... fire twice on the left side for yes, twice on the right for no! Or you know just pour some magic into this potato, and think really hard about what you want to say."

Steve threw a potato at Imamu before turning, and running towards Amankh tears forming in his eyes. eventually hiding himself partially behind him.

"Amankh, he is just a big meanie! When he ended the fight I was like, 'This has to be a good guy because he doesn't want to cause unnecessary death and destruction,' honestly traveling with Elisandree has kind of lowered my standards a bit. But back to the point, so I fly him over and offer him, some flowers, and some stew. While I am at it I bother to ask him how he came to inhabit Maho's body, and that if there was anything I could do for him that he should feel free to ask. I went even farther offering him some transport as his horse flew off leaving him behind. Do you know how he responds? He refused my stew... he just refuses my stew, saying he is above it. Well Mr. Imamu no one is above my stew, thank you very much. Also it was a simple question, you didn't have to be rude, and emphasize mage weirdly. A simple 'I would prefer not to talk about that' would have sufficed. Jerk!"

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

Though this body wasn't his own, Imamu could feel the blood in his veins boil. His arms reached to his neck, as he ripped off the charm the Necromancer had hastily made for him. Sparhawk's body had been completely revitalised since Imamu was the only being inhabiting it, returning it to it's state before Sparhawk struck his deal, perhaps even more enhanced than before, his muscles strong, and his constitution returned. He could feel his chest expand as air entered his lungs, and fury entered his heart.

"LISTEN HERE YOU FOOLISH CHILD! I WILL NOT BE DISCUSSED ABOUT LIKE A CONTEMPTIBLE SORCERER DABBLING IN PYROMANCY!" He could feel rage surge through his being, as fire began to envelop him. The inferno of which lifted him off the ground.

"I HAVE KILLED SCORES OF THE GREATEST WARLOCKS KNOWN TO THIS FORSAKEN REALM, WHOS POWER EASILY DWARF YOURS! EVEN SPARHAWK'S LIFELESS CORPSE HAS MORE POTENTIAL THAN YOUR SORRY EXCUSE FOR A VESSEL! I HAVE WATCHED AMANKH FOR CENTURIES, AND THAT IS THE ONLY REASON YOU ARE NOT ANOTHER SOUL TO ADD TO THE PANTHEON I HAVE AMASSED OVER THE TENS OF THOUSANDS OF YEARS I HAVE EXISTED! THERE HAS ONLY BEEN ONE MORTAL WORTHY OF SPEAKING TO ME IN SUCH A FASHION, AND I AM CURRENTLY HOUSED INSIDE OF HIM!" He shouted, his voice booming above any reasonable level, surely reaching the shores of the beach from where the Eternum had set sail.

 

[Amankh Kaltar]

A prolonged sigh escaped the mummy, frost cracking in the air as Steve's complaints against the godlike being before them continued. Eventually, an end came to the necromancer's protest, a hushed remark pointed toward Imamu being his final word. Unfortunately, albeit expectedly, the Fire of Lions reacted poorly to the series of comments that streamed out of Steve's mouth.

An inferno immediately flared, the crimson flames wrapping around Imamu and bringing him up into the air as his voice projected far across the island and the sea it sat on. The mages immediately stepped back, preparing arcane wards hastily in case the situation were to turn further dire. "Steve," Amankh said pointedly, his gaze focused still on the inferno before him. He took a hand, beckoning the necromancer to step out from behind him. "I recommend you come to the realization that there are more important matters in this world to complain about than a mere refusal to eat stew, and I recommend you come to that realization quickly," he stated crisply, a serious tone appearing in his words.

"Imamu," he called out to the whirlwind of fire and embers. "Fire of Lions. Disregard the words of Steve. I believe there is a discussion to be had here, one that would be far more beneficial and informative than catering and responding to the remarks of a single man, especially remarks of such a minor nature below you."

 

[TTamark]

Steve stepped out from behind Amankh, head held low.

"I am sorry I hurt your feelings Imamu, it was not very nice of me. Me resorting to name calling was immature. I am also sure you know how to behave yourself, and know your manners so it was mean of me to act like you did not know how one should behave. I am sure you are under a lot of stress right now it and I should not have been adding to it. So I hope we can all calm down, and feel like we don't need to resort to yelling to get ourselves heard. communication is important and we should be able to say what we are feeling without resorting to threats of violence, yes? I will go first. When you said you did not want to eat my stew, that hurt because I put a lot of hard work and effort into it. Also from the way you talked to me, I felt like you were being mean to me. I may have also not liked being yelled at. Over all I was trying to help you, and it felt like you did not want my help, which is fine, but it felt like you reacted with a lot of hostility, that I did not think I deserved... I lashed out, and I am sorry.

Ok, now you go..."