A Palladium Fantasy

[Jaster]

Prelude

The Rise and Fall of Power

An old man shuffled into the room with great effort, his cane clacking along the white marble gilded with gold - the only sound in the room. He eased himself down upon the pillow laden floors, slowly breathing in the smell of the freshly lit incense, flames still licking the scented wood, his gaze passing over the two women before him. The two woman, his daughters, looked almost exactly alike, black hair tied back into short tails, resting along their necks, and their milky white eyes following him as he walked, dots of white in seas of blue, one ahead of his position, the other lagging behind. Neither strained to discern the old man in the dim light. The women sat before the old man as he slowly pulled out a long, thin pipe and a pouch of herbs and waited for him to talk.

"Come my Daughters, it is time I told you a story." The man said, his hand finding the pipe's tip without hesitation. His gaze wandered the embellished room, passing over the ornate gold carvings on the walls, inlaid with gems, "The story of this world, long before this world even came to be. First, there was just one thing, the greatest power, Xy. Xy was alone for eternities, learning of itself and how to master its own power, testing its limits but never finding any. Xy spent only the blink of an eye and an ever lasting age learning to master these powers and understand them fully. But in this time, Xy realized there where others with in this place, others like itself, beings not created or born. Like Xy, they simply were, these beings, called by the mortal races the 'Old Ones,' the 'Slumbering Ones,' the 'Nameless,' the 'Chaos Lords.'"

The man paused to pluck the smouldering incense, snapping it from the stick without a sound and setting it along the tip of his pipe, inhaling the smoke deeply before letting it drift from his lips. "In the end, there were eight. The eldest of this family was Xy, the Great One - its power limitless, stopped only by its own understanding. Xy ruled over these Chaos Lords. Netosa, Xy's younger brother, was a beast. Netosa's power matched his elder brother's, but it was twisted reflection, and he festered in his place as the second. Though none could compare to Xy or Netosa, Al-Vil had power in her own right. She always looked for what she wanted, but she could never focus on what she wanted long enough to attain it. Ya-Ahk-Met focused only on his goals, ignoring all others in his hope to rise above his siblings in power. Erva hungered only to spread darkness, making all feel pain, so all could be equal, none shining through her darkness. Tarm-Kin-Toe came to accept his place among the younger Chaos Lords, and instead of focusing on improving his own power, he sought to bring the others down until he stood alone at the top. Ya-Blink knew he would never become the greatest. He sought instead to gain the trust of his Eldest brothers, and thus be given boons of which he might take advantage. Last of these Great Lords was their Sister Agu, who did not partake of the petty games of the others. She merely observed as they struggled in vain with one another, watching the cycles in their power, their suffering, and their pleasure."

The daughters listened and remembered each word as the rich, sweet smoke of the pipe filled the room. Their father took another deep puff. "It did not take long for them to begin to squabble over power, and though only Netosa could dare challenge Xy, he was far too wise. He chose, instead, to spend his time proving his power to the younger siblings while they wrestled for dominance. Xy however, craved to understand his own power. To experiment, he creat world and destroying them with a passing thought, shaping the mountains and valleys with a whim, building the seas with a passing motion, and molding the sky to place. Yet the landscape was barren and unchanging. So Xy created a mirror world wreathed in chaos and boiling with unkempt change. Thus he formed the Elemental Planes. He bound the two realms and those who lived there, letting them move on their own accord with neither stagnation nor unchecked destruction. Soon, this world he made filled its seas and oceans with water, the earth became rich and fertile and the air breathable, grass and lush forests sprouted throughout the lands, while heat from a new sun warmed the land.

"Netosa followed suit, crafting his own realm, which mimicked Xy's new world, but it was hellish and disturbed, with rivers of flame, and spires of broken earth. In an act of thievery, he also bound his realm to the Elemental Planes, to leech from his brother's success. The Eldest named his realm Palladia, while Netosa's realm became known as Hades. But something was missing. Xy soon understood what it was, and so he crafted his first being, Kym-Nark-Mark, who in turn spawned the Dragons. They claimed Palladia as their home and created nations and kingdoms within it. Netosa, in turn, formed Golgotha, who formed his own Dragons, who claimed Hades as their lands. But upon the very breath of their creation, these two races began to war upon each other, slaying each other for joy, material, or in the names of their creators. The dragons held vast powers, and their warring threatened to destroy the three realms entirely. Xy knew laws were needed to limit the powers of these minions. To this end, Lokum was created as the living embodiment of these laws. He, along with his Choirs of Angels, enforces law upon all, while Lokum's counterpart, the Angel Taobo, reads and interprets the laws for all, finding those who needed judgment."

The old man puffed one last time on his pipe before tipping it to the side and tapping the tip sharply to spill the ashes into a small pile. "The laws themselves are too complex for mortal kind to understand fully, but they encompass things that all are bound by, laws such as, 'Only some beings may escape the ground,’ 'Mortal kind must eat and drink or suffer death,’ 'Those who knowingly slay their family suffer death themselves,’ 'Names of a beings true form will give the speaker domain over that being.’ Xy also created the words of power and brought his brothers to agree upon them. Any who many speak these words have power over the worlds, taken from the creators. In time, Dragons and Mortals would learn to use the great power found within these words to become Magi.

"With these laws and treaties in place, the younger Chaos Lords began taking interest in these creations and laws. They learned to separate their own flesh and power into creations, which they used to test one another, sending their creations to war against the creations of another of their brothers. Many of these creations, failing in their god's eyes, were brought back into the darkness of nothing. Others displeased their masters and where cast aside and tortured. Some died with the passing of time, unable to survive from flaws in their creation. A few managed to survive the untold ages of war, and these can be seen today. In their ages of war, the younger Old Ones learned to create more and more powerful minions: beasts who could crush mountains into plains or choke the seas with blood. Woe to the world if one of these had survived into our age.

"But Xy was different. Since his appearance, Xy knew how to create minions of unstoppable power. He wished, however, to control his power. He restrained himself, creating weaker and weaker minions, to whom he gave choice, and freedom. Birthing races of animals, Elves, and Humans, he let them grow without guidance or orders. Netosa watched from afar, gaining knowledge of his brother that might aid him. He mimicked Xy's actions, but lacked understanding. Why would such a powerful being waste its time with such trivial minions, who required an army of their greatest to slay a maimed dragon? For a time, the Younger Lords took note of this practice, but seeing little in it, they returned to their wars amongst one another, watching their servants shed blood for their own pleasure."

The old man set his pipe along the wall, his gaze never breaking from his two daughters, focused upon their eyes perfectly. "Xy lost himself in his work, sending only his servants to wage in the Great Lords' wars, taking little interest himself. He watched his creations with surprise, seeing how each one could grow and bring themselves to great heights. Even his weakest defied nations and crushed mighty opponents, despite their challenges.

"But this experiment was not to last, and in a great act of betrayal, the Seven Younger Lords found a way to bring low the greatest of their kind, his very essence vanishing from the world. Their arrogance would be their undoing, and without the greatest of them to keep the teeming mortal races in check, they too where beaten after generations of war, locked away forever by the heroes three, Lictalon, Kym-Nark-Mar and Lokum.

"Once the ashes of the war settled and the rivers of blood dried, the remaining races looked upon themselves, and Lokum and Taobo came to judge the fates of the survivors. To the elves, who had played a vital role during the war, along with their own god and Aryan, Lictalon, Lokum gave the right to dominate and rebuild the remains of Palladia. To the other races, he gave places within this world or another, while the forces of Darkness, those who still sided with the Slumbering Ones, Lictalon locked away within a far corner of the world. The Aryans tired of battle and of putting their breathern and children to the blade. Many Aryans who still stood with their Masters were likewise imprisoned, while those who fought with the Light were allowed to remain free.

"The worlds ambled along without guidance, spiraling through the ages without its creator to maintain balance. Civilizations rose up and sank again, only to replaced, but there always remained those who would see the Old Gods returned to their place in the world, and those who would rise to slay those who risked putting the worlds back into the Fires of Chaos.

"But as the wise say, 'All good things must come to an end,’ and this Age of Man slowly draws to its dusk. The next great change is coming to pass."

______________________

Reems of arcane lightning boiled across the room, passing through the eight statues and back through the wall like a ghost, touching nothing. Another surge ripped through the room, passing through the room's only occupant. A massive beast of a man, he shielded his body with nothing and dressed in nothing but his own fur. His lower half was shaped with the cloven hooves of a mighty bull, and his chest was bare, toned and bronzed. He wielded a mighty ax to match his size, made of a black metal and seeping with blood. Along each blade two graven bulls spat fire.

Turning his eyes from the door in front of him, the bull scanned the far door. He was alone for the moment, with only the statues of the Great Ones to accompany him, but he knew it wouldn't be long. He glanced at the nearest of the statues, a tall man made of black obsidian that still glinted from the play of lighting which had cascaded from it.

"This is your doing, isn't it?" The bull asked plainly, voice hard and thick, though he hoped no response would come. Turning to face the opponent he could sense clearly, he hefted the ax to a shoulder just as the door burst apart, crashing into the wall behind him. "I thought the Elf would fail to stop you."

"Out of the way De-Theed." The voice came hard and resolved as his form became clear through the dust and rubble still falling from the impact. Gone were his normal adornments and marks of rank. He wore nothing but the simple black pants. His trademark cloak and vest were missing, and his chest was covered with the shallow cuts he had earned getting this far. His black hair hung tangled and unkempt around his shoulders.

"It's too late. None can save the Father. It is the age of the Seven now."

"I said get out of the way." As the man's voice issued again, a torrent of arcane energy passed through him and an obsidian blade, his height in length, perfectly straight, simple, and unadorned sprang into being in his grasp.

"Conjured blades?" De-Theed scoffed, "Hardly enough to beat me." He spread his stance and made to ready his ax. He held no fear for the young human. But before the haft of his weapon found the palm of his hands, his opponent had tightened the space between them, and was now too close to swing at. The human's blade tasted air and a solid impact caught him between the shoulders, slamming him into the ground, as the bull's ax clattered to the floor. The stone tiles exploded from the impact as De-Thee clopped to the ground, spinning the ax effortlessly back into his grip. He started to speak, but stopped as the sword blade came at him again. Eyes widening, he vanished and the sword caught air once more as the ax plunged to the floor beside the black-clad human, biting into stone as if it were clay. Bracing the blade of the sword, the man spun his body, drawing in a torrent of stray energy that blasted through the room to reveal the form of the bull, who, having grabbed the fallen ax while in mid-air and using the energy to conceal himself, was already in mid swing. Unable to avoid the ax, the man spread his fingers apart, pointing them toward the blade. Blue energy flared from his fingers, forming a shield, but the ax connected with enough force to send the smaller man flying across the room. He impacted along the obsidian statue and burst it apart, shooting dagger shards of obsidian out into the room.

De-Theed took a steadying breath, eying his opponent. The human had never had enough strength to deflect one of his blows. He should have been devastated by the stroke. Obsidian fragments from his enemies impact bounced harmlessly from his chest. Catching a sense of shaping arcane in the maelstrom around him, he started spinning the ax to make a shield. Darts of fire burst from across the room through the blue streams of lightning and smoke. Seeing the human's form push through the smoke, making for the adjacent door. De-Theed shifted his grip, hefting the axe through the air, and vanished in a breath. The man spun around, arcane tendrils pouring from him, twisting along his arm. The black blade reformed in his hands just in time for the side of the guard to clip the blade of the axe. The bull reappeared with his hands on the axe, eyes wide. Looking down, he saw he had reappeared onto the human’s blade, impaling himself. Black blood poured from his shoulder. He started to pull back in pain, only to vanish again. The man spun his free arm to his left with an open palm, blue flames pouring out like a flame thrower. He couldn't see, but he could hear De-Theed howling as he tried to pull away from the flames.

Taking the moment he knew he had bought as the bull recovered, the arcane maelstrom stopped for a heart beat as every spark and ounce of energy pulled into Jaster's body. He threw both arms forward with a scream, eyes lighting with energy, and dozens of black orbs sparked into being around him. The bull appeared at the room's shattered exit. He lifted his arm, and the ax reappeared in his grasp. He panned the room, plotting a pathway through the black orbs. Though they moved slowly, he could sense their power, each feeling like a star amid black skies, pulsing with immense power. Seeing his path unfold before him, he took off with powerful stride, fragments of the floor spitting up from his hooves with every step. He ducked past the first orb, and vanished to reappear several feet away, already mid-stride and running through the field of destruction. His eyes caught the first orb as it hit the ground, where a perfect sphere of rock simply ceased to exist, gone without a sound. Sensing a pair of orbs approach him with alarming speed, he vanished as the orbs converged, destroying the very air around them. He appeared some feet away, leaping into the air. He hefted his ax down at his opponent, who was forcing the doors open. A sphere jumped toward him, only to catch only air as he vanished. A second orb intercepted the ax, snapping its blade from the haft like it was nothing but water. Appearing grounded, with a clear run, De-Theed rushed his opponent with his horns lowered at the man's back. He stopped suddenly, feeling a grip on the horns. The man had caught his charge, stopping him utterly, without even showing effort. Eyes raging like a furyed storm, the man thrust one hand down snapping the horn clean off. The man thrust it to the side as De-Theed reappeared at his side, only to feel the horn between his ribs. The man opened the door, and the bull made no effort to stop him.

"It's too late, Brother." A calm voice spoke from the darkness. Illuminated only by the blurs of energy spiraling from the center of the room, an elf with robes of blood crimson watched as the energy storm bent and twisted in its death throes. The young man stood in horror at the sight. He stepped forward, his eyes dimmed by fury, his rage overcome by the sorrow and sight of his life shattering before him.

"Brother, don't." The great black and gold dragon, coiling along the rooms walls, was ignored as the man stepped into the swirling energy's heart. The elf and the dragon observed as he knelt at the center of the maelstrom, where nothing but a black silk robe, ordained in gems and gold, remained of his father.

"There was no other way, Brother. In time, you will understand." Sorrow was clear in the elf's voice, both for the loss of their collective father, and empathy to his younger brother.

The man clutched the black robe tightly, muscles twitching in uncontrolled anger. His voice was choked with tears. "Lictalon. Kym-Nark-Mar. You . . ." He stuttered out, "How could you do this?"

"We had no choice, there would be no freedom while he remained. We have a chance at true freedom, now. For everyone." The dragon replied, "If there were another path, we would have taken it. We all made this sacrifice for the greater good."

"The thing you took from me today will never be forgotten." The man spat out, but he was interrupted as a blinding light filled the room. The final of the brothers appeared, his splendorous form,radiantly garbed in white plate, slowly descending from the light above. His great sets of wings provided no shade from the light burning behind him.

"I have seen the betrayal. The hands of the Seven bear blood. Punishment will be extracted in accordance to the laws. We will accept your proposed assistance in this end." The voice of the angel informed, as if ignorant to the suffering of his youngest brother, or the loss of his father.

"Lokum! It wasn't the Seven! Lictalon, he did it!" The young man's childish voice shouted from the center of the room.

"They only just arrived. This act of slaying of kin was enacted by the Seven, and they will be punished."

"Let him mourn." Lictalon ended the discussion, "In a few decades, perhaps he'll feel better. We have much work ahead to gather an army strong enough, a great Army of Light."

The other two nodded, moving across the room. The storm of energy slowly faded, unable to sustain itself any longer. The dragon arched his head back to look at his younger brother a moment, hearing him mutter something.

"I . . . . Won't let this end . . . I won't let you fade like this." His voice was weak, hardly audible even to those close to him, "Give me, one last . . . " His voice faded completely.

"Jaster! Cease!" The dragon boomed, seeing at the last moment what happened. A black shard the size of a fist, the last remnant of their father was in his brother's hand. Kym-Nark-Mar watched helplessly as the shard vanished into Jaster's chest, the spiked tip exiting his back. The storm of energy reversed suddenly, pouring into his body, back into the now pulsing shard. New blood poured out of the wound.

[Jaster]

Chapter One

The Beginning
Of the End

A young man stepped out of his small village house, in the small farm town of Southcross. This being the first year that he was old enough for the field work with his father and two brothers, he looked over the few getting an early start at preparing for the festival or the fields for the harvest. Narrowing his eyes in the bright light, hand instinctively running through the short cut brown hair to shield from the light, Gean took his first step out side into the light of the morning, feeling like a man.

"Gean!" The voice of his mother rang out from the house, "Get back in here and finish your breakfast and put your dishes away!"

"But I'm going to be late!" The young Gean whined, his ego shrinking back down again.

"Gean, don't make me come out there!" His mother demanded in her characteristic motherly tone.

After finishing his breakfast and putting away his dishes, Gean set out once more to the fields of wheat. Walking though his small village, he greeted everyone he knew along the way, which was everyone. Coming to the heart of the small city, a simple water well that doubled as a gathering place for many, Gean noticed a small cluster of people gathered around tightly, shouting. Gean moved closer, trying to find an opening in the group to see what was happening.

"Ethain! Gat off'em!" A woman's voice shouted, as Gean finally pushed his way in to see his friend Ethain kneeling over someone. Ethain was a year older than Gean, but he looked much older, standing well past six foot already, and with a width to match. One of Ethain's hands pinned his opponent, Gean couldn't make out who, to the ground, while two other men held Ethain's other arm back, preventing him from adding to what already looked like a broken nose. The kid struggled to get out from Ethains heavy grip, arms flailing without effect. In one last effort, Ethain lunged, dragging the two men holding his arm forward, almost, but not quite, buckling their footing. He let his opponent go with a snarl and pushed himself to his feet. Shaking his head, Gean moved closer to Ethain. Glancing him over and seeing little harm beyond some bloodied knuckles, he asked, "What happened now? That was the Daougal's kid, wasn't it?"

Ethain looked up, just now noticing Gean's arrival, face brightening, "Gean!" He exclaimed as though he had not seen him in weeks, "Yeah it was, but he needed to learn some god-damned manners, because his pap sure as hell isn't teachin' him."

"Your knuckle's bleeding." Gean remarked, "So what did he do now? Still throwing rocks at the cattle or something?"

"No, brat spit on Sara." He remarked, glancing at his fist. He shook it out a moment and pressed the cut between his knuckles to his lips, "Must've cut it on his teeth. Whatever, was worth it, I mean I know she's a Southerner and all, but that's just uncalled for."

"He did what?" Gean replied, taken off guard, glancing first over his shoulder, to see if the kid was still within arms reach, then around to find Sara. He found her leaning against the well, a hand running through her shoulder length, black hair, her deep blue eyes fixed on the ground. Thaar stood between her and the crowds, talking to her, as Gean and Ethain approached. Hearing the two get close, Thaar turned around, his short brown hair bristling in the wind, emerald eyes narrowing at Ethain, "You need to be more careful about who you start slugging. You know who Daougal's father is. We have a blacksmith stop working because he's out for your blood, things aren't going to be pretty." Thaar snarled out in annoyance, "There are better ways to deal with these things."

"Gimme a break Thaar, he needed his nose broken, besides, his pap's too busy at the bar to give a damn what happens." Ethain said, rolling his eyes.

"Ethain!" A man's voice called out from the crowd, "Get your ass over here, right now."

Sighing and hanging his head just far enough back to see who was talking, "What?" Gean and Thaar both shook their heads, knowing well the futility of trying to dissuade him.

"I said get over here." The man said, face livid with anger. Gean didn't know his name off-hand, but could see he was probably one of the farm hands. He had a body strong from field work and stood at a level height with Ethain, and a head over the others.

"I can hear you just fuckin' fine from here." Ethain said, but turned around to face the other man, who grimaced in anger, striding closer.

"What the hell has gotten into your damn skull? You been getting into your dad's kegs again?" The man snarled, getting within a few inches, voice only getting louder, "Starting a fight over some foreigner?"

Ethain straightened himself and closing the distance until he stood an inch from the other man, looking him down, "Yeah you got some problem you wanna settle with it?" Ethain snarls back.

"Please, Mr. Sosha," Thaar interjected, doing his best to wedge himself between the two, "I'll talk to him, and have my father makes sure Daougal gets looked after."

The man's face contorted further in anger a moment, glancing between Thaar and Ethain, "You're just damn lucky kid, one day that ain't' gonna cut it." He threaten, taking a hard breath to compose himself again, "Say hello to your dad for me, would you Thaar?" He finished, face still red, but his tone much calmed.

Thaar turned back to Ethain. "You can't make anything easy can you? Look I need get back to the estate and let my father know about all this . . . "

"Yeah, well we'll see you around, you're still on to help run the throwing game like we planned, right?" Ethain asked, as if nothing had just happened.

"If I get the time, sure."

Gean shook his head, moving instead to Sara, "You ok?" He asked, taking a quick glance over her. He knew she was used to discrimination, but this was a step more then the norm.

"Yeah I'm fine." She replied in a quiet tone, folding her arms tightly around her hips.

"You sure? You don't seem fine." He said, motioning for her to follow, making a short wave to Ethain, "I'll see you on the fields?"

"Eh, doubt I'll show today, got stuff to do for the festival." Ethain replied, leaving in another direction. Gean shook his head, not able to count the number of times Ethain had skipped out on work. He turned his focus back on Sara, "So what happened?"

"It's not that, it's just . . ." She started, eyes trailing off in thought, "I've just been having those dreams again, just a bad feeling I think."

Gean sighed, "We've talked about this all before, they're dreams." Gean reminded her, recalling the days when she first came to the city, when her nightmares where almost a nightly occurrence, "Just try not to think about them, they'll fade like they did before."

"I know, just, be careful. When you're in the fields, that is." She said, voice still low.

"I will. When am I not?" Gean assured her, not knowing just how one could be reckless gathering wheat, "Just try to keep occupied with the Festival, I heard that with last year's harvest, they even had enough money to buy some fireworks and everything."

Sara nodded, saying nothing as they arrived at the fields. The golden waves of wheat blew in the wind, and Gean's two brothers were already reaping the stalks down. His father was still handing out tools and directing people, "I'll come find you once I'm done here ok?"

Sara nodded and smiled, returning the wave from Gean's father, who made his way to the pair as Sara departed.

"Hey there son, ready to get to work?" His father said with a broad grin, his large hand patting into Gean's back.

"Just show me what to do!" Gean responded with the enthusiasm of youth.

____________________

Sara sighed to herself, looking around the people busily setting up the tents and tables for the harvest festival. Not generally welcome to help others, being seen as the outsider of the city, she kept to herself. She watched a group of men raising one of the large tents across the way and listened to them shout over each other for direction. She thought to herself of her home, only a hazy memory. She had been just a child when her mother brought her here from the South lands, leaving the oppression of South Wind in hope of finding a new life in the Knighfalton Empire. But they were not greeted with open arms. Her mother was labeled a witch, and Sara fared no better. Their narrow eyes were an easy indication of their status as foreigners. Pale skinned, they stood out among the deep bronzed skin of the westerners. She found friends eventually. Gean defended her early on, and Ethain and Thaar gave her a great deal of protection within the town. Despite that, she still could feel the suspect glances of others, and could rarely participate in festivals and events.

"So, watch'a thinkin' about?" Ethains loud voice broke into her drifting thoughts. Dropping himself on the table she was, the wooden table creaking under his weight.

"Nothing . . " She replied voice distant, "I thought you where helping with the festival?"

"Na, just didn't feel like work'n my ass off in the fields today." He says, waving off the comment, "So, what's been on your mind?"

Sara sighed, "Just this feeling I've had, like I should leave." She tried to explain, sighing in frustration.

"What? If this is about this morning, Jimmy's just being a punk."

"No. It's not about that at all." She said mutely, "It's just, I can see this black cloud coming here, and choke out everything here . . ."

"Gonna take more then storm clouds to send us packing." Ethain chuckled. Sara simply shook her head.

____________________

Thaar descended the final step of the cellar, looking along the hallway. "Father?" He called into the dim light of the basement. The servants had told Thaar his father was down here meeting with somebody. Why he'd meet someone here, Thaar couldn't understand, it's not as though they didn't have rooms for company. Moving deeper into the hallway, his eyes saw the flicker of flames behind a door and heard voices. Stepping closer, he silenced himself, trying to hear the conversation on the other side Peeking through the small opening in the door's frame, Thaar saw his father sitting at a desk with a man Thaar had never seen before sitting with his back towards the door. A black cloak covered the chair he was in and any other details, beyond a long black braid that trailed along the cloak. Thaar looked around the room itself. It was one he'd never seen before, and seemed to be set up as some sort of temporary office space. A sparse few books stacked the shelves, candles and containers filled with unknown contents accompanied them, along with a few casks that were stacked in a corner.

"I don't appreciate being called without good cause. Get to the point of your request Alurian." The cloaked man's voice echoed in the small room, annoyance and impatience clear.

"It was part of our deal, was it not?" Thaars father replied, "You're a learned man, tell me, have you ever heard this old tale? Once there was a rich man who was riding through the forests in leisure, but in the distance he heard a scream. Spurring his horse to speed, he spots a villager fleeing from a black clad man, who lay in pain in the ground. Dismounting and approaching, he sees it is no man, but the Grim Reaper, sitting in pain, his ankle shattered from a fall. Hesitant a moment, he approaches, asking the specter if he needs help. The ghastly skeleton of a man is prideful, but accepts the offer, knowing he cannot fill his role until he is mended. The nobleman helps the specter to his feet and sets him upon his horse, and takes him to his estate to let his bones heal. In time, Death healed, but upon his departure, the Nobleman demanded an offer, that he would send a messenger before the Noble's death, so he would know his time is ended. Death agrees to these terms before departing."

The black clad man nods, listening to the tale Thaar was familiar with in silence.

"Time passed and the nobles life changed. He became a renowned fighter, having no fear of death. As he grew older, his body ached, but he knew it was nothing for Death's messenger had not come. He continued his life until one day, growing ill, a terrible fever struck him, but he still struggled to manage his affairs, knowing he would not die. He refused to waste his money on doctors or medicine, but instead watched for a messenger, which he instructed be turned away before they reached his door in hopes it would stop death's return, or at least, delay it. As he struggled with his illness, he became delusional from the fever, unable to even manage his own affairs. His wealth fell apart, and he was doomed to a life of destitute and despair. Then finally, upon awaking in his bed, Death was there at his side, telling it was his time. He begged and pleaded, saying Death had not held is word, no messenger came to warn him of his death. Death looked at the man and said,

'Did you not see my aid, Age?''

The other man cut in, "For he left his message upon the lines of your face. My friend Sickness came to you and warned you with the pain in your body, and my ally Delusion came to your side to tell you of my coming. And now I am here. Yes, I've heard the story, do you have a point?"

"Don't presume to rush me. After we made our bargain, I did some research on you, don't take me for a fool." His father said, standing, eyes locked onto the other man.

"Oh? Is that so? And just what did you discover?" The man countered, his voice losing its angered tone and becoming slightly amused.

"I found out what you really are." The older man said, eyes narrowing, "You lied to me, you're not some wizard conducting research, as you claimed, not that I expected you to be. You're a specter, a ghost of a past age. Thirty years ago, you came here again, and yet you hadn't aged, and when I checked with Ileaidria's guilds, and not only did I find you where not a member, but a scholar saw you there within a week's time of coming here. It would take even the fastest courier months to reach here. Not only that but you have not kept your end of the agreement in full. I did not seen you help at all when I ascended my position, you all but vanished and left me to work on my own towards whatever end you needed."

"You did far better then I expected." The man said with a somewhat pleased tone, "But I have helped you far more then you could imagine. Why do you think the crops here grow so well? Why there has been nothing more severe then a storm? The areas around you wilt and burn from the drought, but your lands are fruitful. No raid has ever occurred since you took office, and even Lord Grishop, an upright and honorable man, turns a blind eye to your skimming. Do you think you are responsible for this? You would have been pulled from power by either the Empire or your subjects if it where not for my aid."

"You claim power over weather, even others' choice?" Alurian said, disbelief in his voice, but his eyes opened slowly, "What are you then? A demon? Have I sold my soul in some dark pact?"

"Come now, would you even care? You've done worse in the past." The man said. Alurian's eyes widened. "I do my research long before I make a move Alurian, do not think me ill informed of your past, of how you got this estate, nor of how you stay in the good graces of Lord Grishop. You will uphold your end of the agreements, it's too late to back out now."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Thaar's father said eventually, carefully studying the stranger, "But if you are some demon, then I want to know some things."

"Very well, I suppose I could reveal some truths to you, but make it quick, I've little time to waste."

"How will I pass from this world?"

"Your feelings for your son will lead to your death."

"So I will sacrifice myself for him?" He asked, dumbfounded, but he received no reply but a shrug from the other man, "When will my domain be taken by another?"

"Much sooner then you think, should you fail to prepare, upon the change of the season, an army will come for it, and raze it too the ground. But you will survive and I will ensure you find another domain."

"What? Why would you not warn me to this? The festival is only a few days away! I cannot raise an army by then!"

"Nor will you need to, simply do what you do best, protect your own survival and you will do so." The man reply's coolly, "I have already seen to the details."

"But what of all my hard work here? Am I just to throw it to the wind?"

"It will be remembered well, and your actions here will forever change the face of this entire Empire in the coming years. I assure you that you will be remembered in the hearts of those that matter to you, even after your passing, and from it, a new House shall be formed, one which will ascend to the greatest places humanity has to offer."

"So I will be martyred? Will the Church laud me as such?"

"That is all the time I have, I've already had to delay my plans because of this, send a messenger to deliver word to House Grishop, by the time the soldiers arrive, the timing will be perfect."

Thaar widened his eyes as the man stood and turned to the door. Panicking, he scrambled into a nearby doorway, hiding himself in the recessed arch of it as the man stepped out. He dressed fully in black, with the cloak covering most of him and gloves covering his hands as well. The man's hand trailed on the door, pulling it shut behind him, and his head turned a moment, surveying the hall as Thaar pushed himself further against the wall trying to avoid being seen. Pausing a moment, Thaar pushed his face along the edge of the archway, just enough to let one eye peek around the corner as the man looked back towards the stair well. Thaar caught a strange scar along his throat, a small circle with an 'X' cut through it and small marks around it as the man turned and walked away. Taking a deep breath as he left, Thaar waited a moment to recompose himself, then knocked on the door his father was in.

"Enter." His fathers voice calls muffled through it, eyes seeing Thaar as he pushes the door open, "Thaarsis, what is it?"

"Um, it's Daougal. Ethain attacked him a bit ago, I thought I should tell you." Thaar said, eyes looking around the room again, trying to make sense of what he just watched.

"This is why I told you not to accompany that overgrown brat. Damn it, this is not what I need right now." His father cursed, "Look, I'll attend to it later, but I forbid you from spending time with him or that southern girl, we do not mingle with trash, understood?"

Thaar simply nodded as his father gave him a dismissive wave, before closing the door again, eyes narrowing in anger behind the wooden door.

____________________

"-and after you pack it together, tie the bundle off with some rope." Geans father finished explaining, "If you need help, Low-Keen will be in the next barn."

"But I want to work. In the fields!" Gean whined, trying to avoid the low-end tying work.

"You may be old enough to work, but you’re still a bit small to work a scythe in the field." His father explained, "Just do this job for a while, you'll get your chance to work along side the rest of us in the fields."

Gean sighed, glancing at his father and back at the field, but resigned himself to it. He started to bundle the cut wheat and pack it together. His father nodded, leaving for other tasks, as Gean simply tried to gather as much as he could into a bundle, quickly tying it off and heaving the sloppy tied bundles into the barn. He hoped that if he could catch up until no wheat was left untied, he'd get a chance to do the real work. However, even trying to rush through it, people kept dropping more and more grain into his barn, and he couldn't even keep up to the demanding pace, much less surpass it. Trying harder and working faster, his body burning in protest, he lost himself in the repetitive task, pushing the severed stalks together over several ropes, and pulling them into tight bundles of wheat, before moving to a fresh pile of wheat, laying ropes and then pulling them together and tying them tight, and finding a fresh stack of wheat. Wiping the sweat from his eyes, Gean looked out over the fields to see the sun arching down to the horizon again. Much of the fields were cut and ready to be bundled, and the field workers had mostly departed, getting ready for the festival.

As he took in the fields, he noticed that many had left their tools waiting in the field for them when they returned. Glancing around, he felt he'd at least worked hard enough to give field work a try, and the fields were empty enough for him to do it safety. Or at least, without detection from his father. Moving out to the nearest abandoned scythe, he lifted the large tool in his hands, feeling its weight. His hands slid to the grips, and quickly getting comfortable. He took a few swings to practice holding it and swinging it with his waist rotating around. Feeling confident enough that he knew how to use it, he moved to some of the remaining sections of wheat, his body still protesting the much more demanding work, but cutting down large swaths of grain, and quickly, far quicker then the other workers he noticed. Feeling as though he was doing what he was supposed to, he took another swing and felt the blade cut through mostly air. He had finished the field he started on. Looking around, he saw the wheat on the ground in his wake. Realizing in annoyance that if no one bundled and tied off the remaining grain, it would just be blown away or picked off by animals, and that he was going to have to do it himself, he took a deep breath to clear his lungs, gripping the scythe again to return it to it's proper place before he figured out what he was going to do, even though his back already screaming to stop.

"Gean, what did I tell you about that scythe?" His father's voice pierced out through the dusk, tones of anger in his voice.

Turning to face the voice, Gean spun around, eyes widening as he realized the Scythe was still in is grip. Unable to stop, he watched as the dulled gray blade slashed into the larger man’s leg, catching him just behind the knee. Gean’s father emitted a pained scream, dropping to his hands instantly. Gean froze in terror, dropping the haft of the tool. He was unsure what to do, still processing what he had done in the first place.

"Gean! Grab his feet!" Gean shook his head, realizing his brother, Low-Keen, was shouting at him, lifting his father’s shoulders. Blinking a moment, Gean moved, grabbing his ankles and lifting, not even aware of his actions, simple moving as ordered, "We have to get him to the docs!"

______________________

Gean sat on one of the tables, eyes staring blankly over the people dancing and laughing over drinks. It had been two days since he crippled his father, though the doctor managed to stop the bleeding, there was nothing to be done, and he didn't know if he'd walk again, much less work. Taking a deep sigh, he sat with his thoughts, considering leaving. There was no way he could face his brothers or his father after this. He knew it was his fault, he should have listened to his father and not have touched the scythe, or been smarter and not turned like he had. Perhaps he'd wait until Lemuel, a former wizard who traveled through every few months, returned to the town. Gean had spent much time with while he stayed, even becoming only the fourth person to read within the town because of it, though he didn't understand half of the things he tried to teach. He could try to make his way to Ileaidria and become a real wizard. He sighed, letting himself flop to the table, staring at the stars sprinkled over the blackened sky. A loud whistle pierced the air and intense blues shattered over the sky as the first of the fireworks exploded to the cheers of the people at the festival. It was the first time almost any of them have ever seen fireworks. Gean barely noticed, thinking as he was of how he could at least apologize to his father or his brothers.

"Gean!" Ethan's deep voice called over the crowds, causing Gean to push up on his hands to see Sara next to him, as both moved to Gean's isolated place, "C’mon, no sense in being way out here by yourself." Ethain said, trying to rip Gean from his stupor. He set a pair of large mugs next to Gean, as he jumped up to the table, ale jumping from the mugs as he landed.

"I don't really feel very festive."

"Well don't worry about your old man, it's not like he won't heal, I've seen him take some pretty mean hits. You remember when that bull got him?"

Gean nodded, remembering when a bull went on a rampage and his father attempted to draw it away from the other workers, only to end up getting trampled by it. His arm had gotten mangled in the process, and one of his fingers never set right, leaving it noticeably crooked.

"He got hit by thunder too." Sara said, her voice just over the fireworks.

"Yeah! He dusted the fires out and was working in two days, I tell ya, your pa's had Anubis chasing him a while now, an' he ain't been stopped yet."

Gean nodded, remembering how when it happened, his hair got burnt off. Everyone had teased him for months until it regrew.

"I suppose you're right." Gean caught Thaar approaching out of the corner of his eye, a small group of other kids coming with him. Few were older then twelve, other then Jimmy, who stood out easily with the bandage wrapped around his nose, avoiding looking at Ethain.

"I thought I should bring some of the party over here, you three seem so distant," Thaar said with a laugh. "So, enjoying the fireworks? Crop keeps up like this and we can get them every year."

"Well, I'd rather see 'em import some of the ale from the Eastlands, or the Scarlet Mountains." Ethain replied with a chuckle, lifting his mug and taking a long drink from it.

"Well, I'll see what I can do next year." Thaar said, as a shrill sound came from another table, piercing over the sound of the other festival goers. Everyone looked over sharply to see an older woman, Sara's mother, speaking swiftly in her native tongue, waving a finger in scolding aggressive motions at a drunk old man.

"Damned old man. . . " Ethain spat out. He took a deep breath and slammed his mug on the table, pushing himself off and moving towards the pair as onlookers talked among themselves.

"Think he's actually gonna do it this time?" Thaar asked, taking Ethains' place on the table as Gean shifted, sliding towards Sara, "Be a terrible time for him to start a fight."

"I'm sure he will." Gean said, shaking his head. The entire town knew Ethains father, a former soldier who mostly lived off his remaining pay. A drunkard and braggart, he caused trouble for everyone near him. "Sara, what's your mother saying?"

"She's saying that he should learn manners, and saying he grabbed her." Sara informed them, the only person in the town who understood the language, often acting as a translator for her mother, who never learned to speak Western beyond a few words.

The group watched as Ethain closed the distance in a few sprinting strides, a fist arching back, landing it on the unsuspecting larger man hard along the jaw, sending him sprawling back as the festival goers watched in shock. The talking suddenly ceased, only the sound of the exploding fireworks filling the void. After a long moment, the man pushed himself to his feet, looked at Ethain a long moment as if he would strike back, but instead spat a red splotch to the ground, grabbing his mug and leaving.

"Didn't think he'd hit first . . ." Gean said, shaking his head a bit as Ethain returned, one hand massaging his knuckles.

"Hopefully that will keep things calm for tonight." Ethain said, grabbing his wooden mug, taking a long drag from it, and tossing it to the table.

"You know it's against the Book to shed the blood of the family Ethain, I think you need to talk to the priest when he comes next week." Thaar said, in actual worry.

"Yeah well if the Church has a problem with me putting him in his place they can bite it." Ethain spat. The younger kids were shocked. "I'd better make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, I'll see you guys later."

Gean nodded. More then once, Ethain’s father had tried to burn a house down, or take in more then just ale.

"Thaar! Tell us another one already." One of the younger kids pleaded to break the silence, referring to the stories Thaar often told during special occasions. They were simply memorized from the Book of Ma'at, but entertaining to kids regardless.

"Fine, fine." Thaar said, thinking a moment on what to tell, "Ages ago, when the world was young, it was ruled over by two brothers, Set and Osiris." Thaar started, trying to remember how the legend was written, "Osiris, as I'm sure any of you could tell me," He paused with a joking glare, "Was a fair and just god, judging the wicked and protecting the innocent, while Set grew jealous of his power and the love others had for him. In the blackness of night, when Ra was resting from his tasks, Set stole into the house of Osiris, finding his son Anubis, and corrupted his dreams and thoughts, until the young Anubis sought Set out. Through the magic of Set, Anubis too became jealous and hungry to usurp his fathers position, and the two made a plan. Set ambushed the great god Osiris as night fell, wounding him, but in the battle, Osiris reclaimed the upper hand. He was ready to strike Set down for the attack when Anubis struck from the shadows at his father, wounding him, and the two gods changed their attack, striking the pillars which held the building. Stone blocks rained down, felling the great god. But in the darkest moment, Isis returned home, and, seeing the the damage done, she tried to attack the traitors. But the wounded and exhausted pair fled. Rather then give chase, she called for the aid of Ra and Horus, pushing the stone rubble from Osiris, and with their combined magic, each sacrificing some of their own life and body, they returned the great god Osiris to life."

"That's not how it happened." Gean's voice cut into the murmurs of the other listeners.

"Oh? Suddenly you're the expert? You spend more time studying the eldrich then you do the proper texts." Thaar said, looking back at Gean over the crowd of on-lookers, who glanced back and forth between the two as they talked, "If you're so informed, how does it go?"

"Isis never came back. Anubis and Set, knowing Osiris could be returned to life, butchered his body, severing it into 16 parts, and hid them all over the world to stop Isis from resurrecting him."

"Then explain how the world continues to turn without Osiris guiding it? He is how new life enters this world, and how the dead enter Ma'at without him."

"I . . . I don't know." Gean admitted after a moment, getting a few snickers from the crowd, "Maybe he doesn't control how new life appears . . ."

"You're lucky Father Daral isn't here or he'd have you in pillory for uttering such blasphemy." Thaar said, narrowing his eyes and taking a composing breath.

"I guess he'd know how a father-killer would think." An unseen voice muttered, just loud enough to be heard, from the crowd.

"Who said that?" Gean's voice spat out in anger, looking over the crowd which had suddenly gone dead silent as his accusing glare looked over them. A breathless moment passed in silence, only the sound of the surrounding festival filling the void. Gean's hand slammed into the table as he pushed himself to his feet, swiping a nearby mug and sending it spinning into the crowd. "Fine, fuck you all." He spat, turning from the group and stomping away in rage.

"Gean . . ." Sara's voice eeked out after him. She started to follow, but Thaar grabbed her shoulder. “Better let him figure that one out on his own."

______________________

[Jaster]

Gean kicked a small stone along the ground, and watching it as it skipped along the ground, zig-zagging each time it touched the dirt, until it vanished in stillness. The lights of the village, now distant, glinted faintly. He lifted his head to look over the starry sky where the full moon was glowing just at the center. He was listening as the soft wind blew through the unharvested wheat, when a bright flash of red suddenly illuminated the fields, making everything starkly visible for a brief moment until it faded slowly. Startled, Gean's snapped his head up sharply, just in time to see the burning red embers of a firework trailing down from the stars. He was just able to make out the dim cheers for the display from the town. Sighing to himself, he let the thoughts amble through his head. How would his father heal? Could Gean even face him again after what happened? What would he say to his brothers? Or his mother? Or anyone else? His thoughts where interrupted by another massive bang that he felt through his whole body as the sky erupted in bright greens. He stopped his brooding for a moment and simply watched the bright colors splay over the sky, burning with bright, vibrant life for a few meager seconds, before fading into blackness. Sitting in the sodden dirt among severed reeds of wheat, Gean watched as more fireworks launched into the air, more and more quickly, creating a burning splatter of color upon the sky until it burnt out.

Gean brought his eyes down along the low-hewn wheat as the colorful explosions continued. He slowly became aware of the trail of blood staining the ground, one end in the near-by barn, the other end trailing away toward the town. Realizing it was his father’s blood that stained the ground, Gean stared at it a moment before pushing himself to his feet decidedly . Watching for a moment as another bright explosion reddened the sky, turning the ground a deep crimson, he turned his back and strode away from the village, choosing to leave it all behind him, find a new path and leave the past in peace.

Time passed slowly for Gean as he walked away, moving through fields thick with wheat that measured nearly to his shoulders. Striding slowly through the blackness of the night, he felt the wheat brushing along his body. A bright flash of blue granted another moment of illumination. Gean paused a moment, shaking his head, but continued forward on his choice. At another bright flash of blue, Gean stopped again, sure this time that there had been no concussion, no explosion of a firework, only light. He glanced over his shoulder to see a warm glow rising from the village - a glow not from candles or torches or lanterns, but from a smoking house, burning in the night. Quiet now himself, he could hear that it wasn't cheering from the festivities that he’d been hearing, but screaming. Another flash of blue streaked over the town like a silent lightning bolt, striking some unknown spot within before suddenly vanishing as quickly as it came.

Gean’s eyes widened. Turning about-face sharply, he sprinted off towards his home as quickly as he could manage, despite the tall wheat whipping against his body with every step. As he burst through the last field, picking up his pace once free from the stinging wheat, another flash of lightning streaked down, illuminating his surroundings for a moment, as well distant shapes of men in armor around the village, metal axes and swords gleaming in the firelight. Gean pitched himself to the side to follow the blood trail to its source. Gene fumbled about in the pitch blackness of the barn until another flash of blue gave him a momentary view of the crescent blade with blood caked at its edge glinting in the darkness. Snatching the scythe up from its discarded position along the ground, he took another deep breath, forcing himself to ignore the exhaustion overtaking him, and pushed himself back outside. Letting his eyes adjust to the light of the stars and the steadily growing light from the town, flames spread from building to building, Gean saw that two of the armored men had noticed him. The first was man of great size, with an equally impressive claymore hefted along his shoulders. He was scarred and crudely garbed in dirty, heavily worn armor. Gean almost mistook the smaller creature next to him for a child, but its silhouette, with misshapen head and elongated ears, marked it as a goblin, wearing scraps of leather for protection, and with a thick dagger in its hands.

"Lok, ah pent sazed reepar!" The human said in rough, barely understandable Kighfallen, pointing at Gean and chuckling to himself, "Lok, ya poot 'at dewn an' come wiv me, an' Ah dun' cut y'er arm uff."

Swallowing hard and tightening his grip on the weapon, Gean sprang forward, swinging the scythe at the man's stomach with a fierce shout and as much force as he could muster. Slapping his heavy blade down, the bandit stopped the swing cold, sending reverberations ringing through Gean's arms. The bandit landed a firm kick to Gean's stomach, sending him flying into the dirt. The scythe clanked to the ground. With his body numb, his vision blurred, and the taste of blood in his mouth, Gean forced himself to sit up and make out the shapes of the two in front of him. The goblin dashes up, pushing Gean back into the dirt hard, dazing him and pinning him there. The goblin reached for a trinket around its neck and held it near Gene’s face, where it began to emit a gentle blue glow. The goblin scrambled down.

"Weel, git’im ta th' bass." The man snapped, seeing the glow from the goblin’s trinket. He hefted his blade back to his shoulders. "Dam gorblins, lazy fackers," he muttered under his breath, walking towards the barn to search for more intruders. The goblin grabbed Gean roughly by the wrists, dragging him through the dirt. As Gean’s mind slowly reconnected, he struggled against the goblin until he felt his foot brush against something - a wooden shaft running along the side of his body. In a sudden burst, he wrenched a hand from the goblin’s grip, slamming it to the dust and pulling back hard. In a flurry of dirt and grass, the blade of the scythe sprang from the dirt behind the goblin, connecting sharply with the back of its knee. Sending an ear piercing shriek through the air, the goblin released Gean’s other hand, crumpling to the ground to grab the wound that was bleeding into the ground. Rolling to his feet, Gean glanced behind him to see the other bandit already responding. Gripping the scythe, he pushing off towards the town with the man in pursuit.

It didn't take long for the outer buildings to become visible, along with the temporary tents and stands for the celebration, most torn down or aflame. Gean’s lungs already burnt from exertion, and without thinking he stopped his stride. Leaning against a building to take a deep breath, he sucked in the burning air, swallowing down a cough of ash that suddenly filled it. In no more than the space of that breath, it left him as the bandit, closing the distance between them, ended in a full tilt slam into the young man that sent him sprawling to the ground, the scythe spinning away into the trodden roads.

"Cleva oh ya wiv’a scythe, baht Ah ain no gorblin." He said in only half discernible words with his foot planted hard along Gean’s spin, "Baht ya did wat'cher tald an' get ta tha tewn, na jast kap' goin." Planting his blade into the dirt, half an inch from Gean’s neck, the bandit pulled his foot away. Nodding, Gean pushed himself to his feet, trying to stay calm in the raging flames. The sounds of the battle were dying out, only the sharpest of distant cries discernible over the devouring flames around him. He took a long moment to consider how to beat the man, though scythe too far to grab, and he lacked any weapons and was clearly out matched. His thoughts were interrupted by the rough push of a blade’s tip that left a small cut along his shoulder blade and prompted him to walk. Gean shuffled through the streets of what had been his home, but was now a blackened inferno, seeing other raiders pillaging houses before setting torches to them. Bracing himself, he looked at one in particular, which still stood - the village doctor’s home. One of the few homes built of solid wood with a roof that wasn't thatched, it was where Gean had last seen his father. Swallowing hard, he looked through its open windows. Seeing nothing but darkness within it, he felt a spark of hope. Turning to take a better view of his captor and saw that the man also looked at the building, lost in a trance, paying no heed to anything around him. Unconcerned what the bandit was looking at, Gean reached to his side and ripped a burning plank from what was once a table. Swinging it with all his might, the plank connected hard with the man’s temples before he had a chance to even turn, slamming him to the ground with a puff of burning splinters and a pained cry.

Considering fleeing for a moment, he instead took a step towards the hospital until he heard a sharp pained scream coming from the center of town. He hesitated. "Oi facker . . ." He heard his former capture muttering, standing unsteady, Gean sprinted toward the center of town with his flaming make-shift club. Sprinting past buildings and through the narrow spaces between them, Gean jumped into the town square, where he halted in horror. The simple open space, the gathering point of the village, had been transformed. Eight wooden stakes had been erected, each with a villager tied to it, and a crude alter placed over the well, which lay empty. Dozens of captured villagers stood off to a side with several human, orc, and goblin guards watching them. One man, clad in black robes with crimson edging, stood near the alter in a deep focus, almost meditating. While considering what to do, Gean suddenly found himself out of time, having been noticed by many of the guards. Three of them pulled away from the captives, brandishing weapons as they closed the distance to Gean. Turning to go back into the ally he came from, he found his road blocked by the first bandit, a red burn along the side of his face, pushing through the tight walkway.

Gean brought his weapon forward, gripping it with both hands, as his attackers, two orcs and another human, advanced and spread out to encircle him. Trying to watch all of them at once, his gaze frantically moved between them as they closed. He made a panicked swing with his burning plank, trying to keep them at bay. It worked for a while, keeping them fearful of the burning weapon, but it soon lost its effect as they circled around him, readying their own weapons to block any attack.

"Facker, tha wes ah dam mane trek ta play ahn meh." The first bandit snarled, taking a firm grip on his claymore and taking a broad swing towards Gean, who leaped back. He realized his mistake too late, as another bandit cut into his side between his ribs and arm. Reeling in pain, he swung his rude weapon again, slamming it into the man’s shoulders and sending him stumbling through the dirt without hurting him much. As he tried to dash through an opening, a hand snared his arm. An orc wrenched him back, throwing him to the ground, and slammed a foot into his shoulder hard. Gean heard a dull crack and pain shot through his shoulder. With vision blurred, Gean grabbed the orc’s ankle, trying to free himself as the first raider stood over him, claymore in both hands, ready to drop it into Gean’s chest. Eyes fixed on the tip, his mind went blank. There was nothing he could do.

Gean watched the tip of the blade sway with its wielder, its tiny movements seeming to span feet as it was lifted slowly, inching up over an eternity. Then in a flash, it spun around as its wielder turned suddenly to face something else. His body and another blurred over Gean, who suddenly became aware of a deep voiced scream and the sound of flesh ripping. Feeling the foot lift from his shoulder, Gean looked around to see several men in Kighfalton Militia armor thrusting long spears into the orcs, who dropped their axes to the ground in agony. Near his feet, he saw the massive bulk of Ethain standing with a bloodied broad sword in his hands and several nicks and cuts across his frame. Gean pushed himself to his feet, realizing Ethain was helping him stand.

"Where's Sara?" Gean forced out, a hand covering the cut along his ribs, blood running down his arm.

"Are you ok?" Ethain asked, eyes focused the bloodied arm.

"I'm ok." Gean parroted back, "Where's Sara? Is she ok?"

"Yeah I'm sure she's fine. Thaar's house got hit too - most the troops are there, but I brought some out here, I don't know where Thaar is though." Ethain explained as the militia men formed up, six in all, spears ready as the remaining guards held their ground. The black-clad man between them was seemingly oblivious to what was happening around him.

"Com'on, we need to get outta here." Ethain ordered, pulling Gean’s arm to prompt him to follow.

"No, not until I find Sara." Gean protested, pulling his arm away, trying to force his sight to focus, "We need to help."

"These guys have it. They’re good. You need to get out of here." Ethain ordered again, voice more stern.

Gean shook his head as he sensed something, he wasn’t sure what, and saw a spark of erratic blue, the same color as the lightning from before, scintillating from light to dark around the robed man. Gean could feel an intense pressure grip him, a surge of energy like the screaming winds and something he couldn’t describe, a strange desire and dread. His eyes widening, Gean throws himself into Ethain, knocking the surprised man to the ground as a jet of flames spewed from the black-clad man's hand. It poured over the militiamen, melting their metal armor instantly, their screams of agony and the smell of seared flesh filled the air. Forcing himself to stand, Gean glanced around. Ethain was already up, spear in hand, charging the wizard. The spear struck true; the man had not even tried to avoid it. There was no blood. His robes didn't even flow from the impact. The tip merely stopped, a spark of blue lightning struck where it pressed. Gean shook his head, realizing he wasn't even standing, but on his hands and knees, one arm covered in red from the deep cut along the inside of his elbow. The man's arms began moving strangely, then an actual lightning bolt struck Ethain, followed by a deafening thunder, as Ethain crumples to the ground. Gean screamed, forcing himself to his feet, ready to swing at the mage. He felt his body suddenly stop, a heavy pain and pressure in his chest. Looking down through blurred vision, he saw Ethain’s spear lodged into his stomach, blood pouring out around the lodged shaft of wood and metal, as his world melted into a soft, screaming blackness.

______________________

The blood rushes out of his head, dimming the sounds around him, as he stands. He is unsure how much time has passed. The thought of time seems a distant and and elusive concept. Gean struggles to open his eyes, intensely focusing, intent to return vision, then realizes that his eyes are open. He is surrounded by black - not the black of night, where shapes may be discerned through formless nothingness, but pure unending void. Stars are covered, shapes gone, even his own form dimmed, he is unable to tell if his eyes are open without waving his hands before them. He feels no ground under him, his pain is gone, but a terror and a pressure are upon him, an unexplainable fear of the unknown, or of the truth. Sweat forms at his brow. He swallows hard, tries to speak, and fails.

"Hello?" He finally manages, weakly, both seeking and dreading attention. His voice echoes off the nothingness, amplifying and returning to him repeatedly until it pounds upon his ears. It stops suddenly. Pausing a moment, he realizes the sound hasn't stopped at all, but has become part of the nothing, present if he tries to hear it, but gone if he loses his focus.

"Greetings." A deep voice blasts through the blackness, shaking Gean through his bones. He feels as if the sound will rip his ears open, feels as if he is being beaten, feels as if he is being pricked with a million pins at once. He tries to cover his ears, to no avail. The voice isn't coming from the outside, but the inside, trying to rip its way out.

"Little. Being." The voice continues, demanding to be heard. It is not just speaking, but showing - a barrage of imagery bursts through Gean's mind, "Accept."

"Ac - accept what?" Gean stammers out, hands grabbing his ears to at least reduce the sound’s effect.

"Accept. Power." It explains tersely. The voice booming over Gean's mind sparks a strange thought there, that it's voice is straining, distant and weakened, as if it is barely alive, speaking slowly and with great effort, "Power. Save. Friends."

"I don't understand, what are you?" Gean asks, realizing he's shouting as he feels the pain of his fingernails cutting along his scalp.

"No. Understanding. Show." Imagery fills Gean's eyes and solidifies, fixing upon his village. The voice is still there, describing every detail. Every breath is accompanied with words: the precise color of the wings of the insects flying over corpses being piled is noted, the sound of their flight and erratic movements, the sounds of labored efforts of men dragging screaming prisoners to posts and binding them, the complex movements of a black clad wizard's hands as he starts his slow chant, the precise flowing of his robes as they follow his hands, the light flashing from the crimson flames sewn to the edges, how Gean’s body lies on the alter...and now things Gean has never seen before, that he can’t understand: rivers of energy pouring along the ground, a great nimbus of energy, each person’s energy glowing as an illuminating aura, flowing around them, interacting with all they touch, the chants of the wizard causing a great stirring of energy around him, his hands snapping energy from himself and the area around him with each motion. How Sara hangs from a post, unmoving.

"I accept!" Gean shouts back, not even thinking. His world instantly blackens again.

______________________

Gean opened his eyes, but was unable to move. He heard things around him, saw things around him, but couldn't so much as bat an eyelid. He was locked down completely. A river of blue energy poured from his body, and those around him, into the black-clad wizard, pooling within him for a moment before bursting out again into a swirling orb before Gean’s eyes that grew slowly. Energy cascaded within it as if it were trying to rip free. Instead, it split open, collapsing into itself. The skyline suddenly opened like a window, as if a curtain was ripped open by the energy, revealing some hellish world behind it - flames and mountains of fire in the distance, the smell of sulfur and death pouring through, wind buffeting around from the portal. Suddenly the hellish landscape was obscured by a massive head, like that of a bat, with fangs and reddened skin, eyes burning with flame, and smoke drifting from its nostrils.

"You are mine demon!" The wizard shouted over to the massive creature, "I have called and you shall serve!" The demon glared back through the portal, seething hatred in his eyes. An arm reached through the portal, the gateway too small to allow easy passage for the massive demon, which towering over the buildings near by. Followed by a foot, pulled through the opening, which seemed to bend to allow him passage.

Gean twitched, and he felt himself breathing again. His eyes darted around. He lifted his arms, which still moved like soaked paper, and fumbled into a sit before realizing he had been noticed. The wizard was looking down at him with an incredulous stare - amazed, even terror stricken.

"That's not possible. . . ?" Gean heard the man mutter, glancing up at the demon, "Kill it now!"

The demon snarls at the order, looking down at the small child barely able to sit. The demon’s hand balled into a fist, which he raised high over Gean and dropped in a burst of stone, dust, and dirt that filled the air. The fist crushed the well-top-turned-alter and sent stones shooting out, blasting into houses. A moment passed as the dust settled, and the demon lifted its man-sized fist, revealing nothing. Perplexed, it looked closer, peering to the large well-hole. Its eyes snapped up to see the young boy holding onto one of its fingers, his form almost completely obscured by an arcane field that pulsated blue as it dissipated the impact, then faded away.

Gean's eyes were wide. He was unsure how he had not been crushed to death, but he pushed it from his mind quickly. Letting go his hold on the large fingers, he dropped to the ground with a thud, legs refusing to hold. Now taking this opponent more seriously, flames began to lick along the demon’s hand, growing and coalescing until a burning whip sprang to life within its grasp, cracking through the air. Reacting without thinking, Gean's hand shot upwards to shield his body. His fingers cut through the burning whip, severing it with a touch. The top spiraled away through the air, burning itself out. Gean slowly felt his body return to normal, seeming to strengthen and tighten. He felt as if there was a boiling pot within him, burning from within. He felt it burn and boil over, and as the great demon brought the whip back up, Gean let loose a bellow and a bright flash of blue covered his eyes, drowning out everything as his eyes burst with energy that swarmed over his form. The demon lurched back to the portal at his side, trying to escape, but it surged shut around him, leaving only a severed arm, leg and head as evidence of its passing. The limbs dropped to the ground in a bloody thud.

He turned in time to see the crimson trimming of the wizard’s robe vanishing behind a building. Rage boiling over, intent upon vengeance, he took a step that sending him flying through the air, gliding over the building to land feet from the wizard, who, panicking, tried to back track to find space. Swallowing hard, he spoke a short eldrich word, and a sword of blue flames grew in his hand.

"Show mercy and you'll never see me again." he said, voice remaining stern and dignified even in the face of death. Gean gave no response, but shaking in rage, he mimicked the wizard’s act, and a massive blade composed of blue flames grew in his hands. Pouring energy into the weapon, it grow in size until it was thick bladed and as tall as he was, held with a single hand. The wizard took a deep breath, taking the initiative and dashes toward his younger opponent, trying to dodge as Gean swung the blade at him. The very air screamed in torment as Gean’s blade cut through it. Abandoning his attack, the man brought his weapon up to block more then fast enough, but the weapon did nothing to help. It blew away like a candle being snuffed out, and Gean’s blade connected with the eldrich shielding that guarded the mage, which erupted in a flash, offering no protection as the blade then found flesh, skin, and bone, burning it away as if it never was.

Feeling a calm wash over him, Gean’s blade vanished, exhaustion slamming into his body like a raging horse. Muscles protesting movement, he dropped to his knees, trying to speak, to call out to someone, but only blood splattered from his mouth as he collapsed again into the dirt.

[Jaster]

Chapter Two

Roads of Stone and Ash and Dragonscales

The sun held high, burning away anything, brown grass mixed with patches of open dirt, a few collections of brown trees withering in the sun, striped horses, lions, boars and other animals hiding from the noon sun under them, watching the strange sight. Hyenas laughed from a distance, vultures screamed for their meal, circling around the hateful glare of the sun both vying over each other as to who will get there first and claim an exotic prize. Stains of bloodied foot prints follow the legacy of death and suffering that walks through the savanna of the old kingdom, an elven man, left with nothing but a sash and a mask of resin, tied to his face, hiding it from the world. Brown hair tangled from days of walking, feet bloody from the dirt and grass, rocks cutting at the bottom of his bare feet for weeks, skin red and cracking in open cuts as the sun burns away his existence.

He lost track of time. How many days he had done this already, and still feeling at the start, body having no food, no water, for nearly a week of walking, no tools to hunt with, no food in the savannah that can't eat you first. He glanced again behind him at the trail of hyena that followed, they learned already to wait until it was time, but they took their injured away before he could hope to use them as sustenance. He's not sure he could do it again. The elven man collapsed into the dirt, forcing himself to stay at his knees, enough presence to keep the scavengers away, vision blurred, he couldn't even see is hands if he held them to his face and know what he was looking at with assurance, swallowing the dryness in his throat in futility.

He felt young again, in the home he never felt comfortable in, learning the true face of the world as he ran to play with the other children, feeling mocked by them, their smiles lies as they run to play with each other, growing embittered, spiteful as their rejection grew more apparent with age, until they finally mocked him in open. Years passed as he endured their assaults, he learned his skills, learning how to hunt, how to be alone, away from others, the city, at least, appreciated what he could do, though still not him, it kept him from being cast out. Until the the Revival of Lictalon, a great festival his people held every five years, he knew a woman, a girl of great radiance, who abided his presence, swallowing his difficulty, he approached her, asking her hand. Young perhaps, but he knew what he wanted, worked tirelessly for her. She rejected him.

Ten years later, he finally breathed free again. They no longer mocked him, but they would no longer look at him. They all knew what he did, he did too, no one would ever forget, his branding clear to all the world to see, ears severed, forced to walk as a human or low being may, no longer given work, he lived only by begging now that he was allow to walk free. Ten years was all they took, but they would never give to him. He would not beg. He would make them all see their errors, to see that he was worthy of it all, worthy of praise, worthy of fear. He found those who mocked him in the past, those who rejected him, who cast him away, starting with his Tribunal. One by one they vanished, no one could find them, within a week, they where all gone, and no one could find him, or even enough evidence to do away with him even if they did. As his rage grew, so did his thirst for it. It made him careless. He was caught, they would have killed him then if they could, he traded those he left for a slow death and his other ear, for banishment over death, and he fled before they would betray their deal.

He wandered the savannah then too, he grinned in amusement, but at least he had a bow then. Now he had not even clothing, they left him only a sash and a mask. He followed the same star then too, the great star that hung over Knighfalton, the one their first human king followed to found it. He found employment, humans where far more willing to kill, far more willing to find a use for him. In time, even the empire found use for him, they let him serve their armies, paying him well for the right, in time growing to fight among their best, the Jassienaries, but they grew tired of his ways, his arrogance, his effectiveness, and after half a human generation, they too cast him out. He learned to ply his trade else where, always someone needs a dealer in death, and he learned to find their subtle calls, and offer his arrows to the highest bidder, always someone needing something. He enjoyed his new life, he could do what he wanted, whenever he wanted to, kill how he saw fit, and enjoy the fruits of his labor however he desired. He knew they would hunt him, families of those he killed, and he was vigilant, but decades passed, his honed skill, his vigilance, faded in time, even his skills waned, that he was most ashamed of. And one night, after he was enjoying the fruits of his work, they came for him again, beat him, stripped him and brought him far into the wilderness to die a slow death.

Faces of those he's murdered, most of them too far to even know for sure, haunted him now, mocking his failure as he still spat in their face, what where a few deaths in the great picture of things, surely the gods would have punished him directly if he was so horrific, crippled his bow hand, or snapped his bowstring. Faces of those he fought beside, who died so he could win, men he shot through without remorse to achieve the mission. The woman he once desired more then life who rejected him, leaving her beaten and dying. He pushed aside his feelings, forcing himself to stand again, mind focusing as an arrow head, leaving another bloodied footprint, vengeance again, his desire to push forward. Realizing the sun had finally fallen below the sky, he kept trying to walk, seeing a blazing effigy in the distance, nose picking up the smell of death and ash on the wind, knowing it was an effigy to his own kin, those who will kill to take, knowing he can find employ there.

[Jaster]

An unerring calm lay over the village, smoke gently wafting up from smoldering wood, the genital crackle and popping of timbers filling the air, along with the song of distant birds as day started to break, soft light brushing over the horizon. Warmth filled the air from both the heat of the now black wood and the coming day, with the clattering of crows overpowering the song of birds, the smell of ember and ash filling the nose, fighting for supremacy over the smell of blood and smoldering flesh. A flash of black filled the air and the panicked caws of large crows as movement twitches on the ground, Ethain rolling his head through the dirt, trying to remember how to move, finally digging his fingers into the dirt and pushing, body tense and ached with pain, a large black burn running through his now seared and largely absent hair and down his back where he was stuck by the bolt. Blinking several times, forcing his eyes into focus, he took in the scenery, a devastated home, still burning in fresh ruin, corpses of those he knew, friends and neighbors, strewn upon the ground or tied to quickly erected posts. Wiping his chin, realizing he had just finished vomiting, he spat out to remove as much of the taste as he could, pushing hard on his palms to an unsteady stand, looking around, he could hear something under the clatter of birds. Quieting himself, straining to hear, still unable to identify the sound. Glancing at the clatter of black noise, he lifts the nearest object, smoldering chunk of wood, heaving at the disturbance, the flock again fleeing to the safety of the air in a burst of warning caws, before going silent again. Listening, Ethain heard the noise again. Breathing.

Turning to face the sound, he tried running, legs screaming in pain for him to stop, he listened, settling for a swift limp, Sara laying on the ground, her clothing soaked in blood, and deep cuts still seeping from her, but still alive. Pushing the section of wood which concealed her away, little more then a plywood table stand, and throwing it away, Ethain grabbed her wrists, dragging her away from the building she was near and laying her out. Looking around quickly, trying to find a search team, or militia, or anyone, who might help him, but he was the only one standing. A pained, frightened scream echos over the village, birds filling the sky from the entire ruins, as though a wolf had howled, warning of their hunting. Ethain spun to face the sound, knowing who it was, spurring himself to a limped run again, to a back street, Gean collapsed to the ground, form spasming erratically, before settling still again, still twitching every few seconds, an unearthly blue flashing from under his closed eyes as if a man possessed by some evil. Ethain stepped forward, unsure of what to do, but quickly making up his mind, grabbing Gean's arms and dragging him to the square, laying him next to Sara. Again, he looked around for a search party, running his hand along his scalp in thought and frustration, quickly regretting it as it touches the sensitive burn, cursing loudly in pain, shaking the offending hand as though it would help ease it.

Looking at the two who managed to survive, he looked at the others who didn't most needing no confirmation of survival, thick cuts along their necks or opened stomachs quickly attested their fate as to the hands of Osiris in the next life. Not wanting to leave them like that for long, but knowing he needed to tend to those who still had a chance first, he took to work to find any other survivors, finding several, pulling them out from whatever trapping they where in, most where still unconscious, or too wounded to be lucid, and dragging them where he left Gean and Sara. Nearly six people. Six people and nearly two miles to walk. Starting to run his hands along his scalp again, Ethain pulled it away at the last second, instead settling to rub his jaw line repeatedly, unsure if he could even walk that, much less get six others there.

Wheels, Ethain thought to himself, Need a cart . . . He pondered, finding nothing of the sort, instead finding a table, flipping it to the top, bracing himself for his body's protest, lifting his leg up and snapping it back down as pain shot through the limb, but the table's leg bent in protest to a hard angle, nails unable to withstand the heavy force. Bracing himself again, his second stomp sheered the limb of the leg off, kicking it aside and flipping the now slanted table to a lopsided stand. Pulling down a tent set up for the festivities, he coiled the rope used to stand it, tying it securely around the attached legs, and holding the ends, testing his primitive 'cart', able to drag it with strained ease like a sled, legs able to pull without bumping the removed table legs, and able to set it to rest if he'd need to. Nodding in approval at his quick creation, he gathered all those he found to survive on the table, doing his best to use the rope to secure them to it. Lifting the rope again, he braced himself, pulling slowly, the overloaded table straining, inching along the ash covered road, his foot giving way on the poor surface, landing shoulder first on the hard ground, a puff of ash flying up from his impact. Biting the pain back, he struggled to his feet, starting to pull again, adjusting his stance to allow a stable pull, dragging the table though the ash, leaving cleared lines as he made slow progress.

______________________

Watching soldiers load wagons, Thaar sat along the front of his fathers mansion, damage to it minimal, several marks and scars cut into occasional pillars or fence, a few doors had been smashed in, but the militia kept the raiders at bay, though suffered several deaths in the attack. Thaar kept his eyes low, not wanting to let his vision drift to the devastated village below, no one returned from the night. Instead, Thaar glanced over his shoulder, seeing Garrick scanning the area, the militia captain, assigned to make sure Thaar didn't run off, wanting to dash down and search for survivors, delayed far longer then what should be already done, his father still locked inside the manor, forbidding anyone to come or go until the raiders where assured to be gone, Damn bastard coward . . . Thaar thought to himself, letting his eyes gaze upward, the ruins flashing past his sight a moment, looking at the sun, hanging in the sky, bright yellow in its morrow light.

"Ra, how can you watch this and not act?" He asks mutely to himself, shaking his head, "At least it could be raining and hidden from your sight. . ."

He glanced again at Garrick, considering trying to best his speed to the village again, having two tries ending in failure before he reached the gates. He glanced again at the path to the gate, looking the the soldiers several near it, knowing he'd need a distraction or they'd grab him cold. Looking past them, his eyes widened, a dim shape struggling with something, he couldn't tell what, but it was clearly a person, pulling a cart or sack along the stone road leading to town. Leaping to his feet without thought, taking off without warning or explanation, a shout coming from Garrick to stop him, the other soldiers glancing around in frantic response, not the first time today they've been called to stop the child's mad sprints, Thaar dashes past the first, as another pair of arms snatched his arm, yanking him back.

"Survivors!" Thaar screamed out waving one arm towards the figures, the other pulling at the hand that kept him in place.

"Yeah kid we know, we'll get down there soon." One soldier muttered in annoyance, struggling to keep the young man in place.

"No dumb-ass, there!" Thaar yelled out, trying to keep the pointing steady.

"He's right! Men, get over there and get them some help now." Garrick shouted, relieved, the other soldiers dashing out of the gates, Thaar in tow. It didn't take them long to make out the frame of the survivor, collapsing as they approached.

"Ethain!" Thaar's voiced shouted out, seeing the damaged form collapse in the dirt road, a make shift cart slumping to the ground, several bodies laying on it.

"Get them into the mansion and have the doctor take a look'at'em now!" The guard captain shouted, the men quickly complying, pulling each one off the table, and carrying them off, "Ok Sir, you too, back in the gates."

"Garrick, how can you do this?" Thaar pleaded, "There could be more . . ."

"I know dammit." He spat out, refusing to look at the child, "Look, your father wants us to wait for reinforcements before we leave, they'll be here in a few hours, we don't know what happened down there, or how many enemies are still there . . ." The older man rationalized, voice embittered.

"Please, we have to try . . ." Thaar said again, arms twitching, trying to stay steady in his desperation, "If Ethain made it back like that, you think there are any left?"

Garrick grimaced knowing his logic was flawed, "Fine, but if your father hears of it, I'm just chasing you."

Thaar nodded, looking past the other man, several soldiers watching from a distance, Thaar stepped forward a moment, winking to the other man, before unexpectedly shoving him down and dashing towards the town as fast as he could manage. Bewildered a moment, the other man understood, allowing himself to struggle to his feet, motioning for other militia men to follow, as he runs after Thaar, keeping himself paced behind the younger one.

The pair, far ahead of the others, vanished into the ruins. Thaar ducked into a ruined house, lungs demanding air, burning, as he braced himself along the wall heaving for air, amazed he managed to run the entire way here, he heard Garrick run past, knowing he'd need to hide from the others, glad the captain wasn't truly looking for him, knowing for sure anyone how passed would have heard him breathing alone. Thaar peeked out of the remaining door frame, seeing no one watching, he slipped out, headed to the far side of the town, eyes wide as he approached the center, corpses laid upon each other, many still hanging from posts, bodies mutilated, stomachs and throats cut open, crows feasting on the carnage. Swallowing hard, trying not to let his body cave to the demands it suddenly made he forced himself to keep walking, keeping his eyes away from the horrors of the aftermath, focusing on getting to the far side of town, hearing Garrick calling out for survivors, but getting only crow caws in reply. Thaar glanced again behind him, quickly ducking around a corner, finally able to see some of the other militia entering the far side of the town's main road, figuring many would focus on finding survivors rather then him, but not a risk he wanted to take. He started walking, thinking to himself, the point of all this carnage, and how the man he spied on his father talking to was connected, trying to figure out who could gain from this destruction. His eyes snapped to the road, glancing around quickly as he heard something move, like a foot dragging along dirt, struggled walking.

"Is anyone there?" He called out, keeping his voice modest, enough to be heard, but not wanting to risk militia men, or perhaps other raiders, to his position. Silence replied. Trying to remain silent, straining to hear, Thaar jumped with a frightened yell, turning suddenly as a heavy thud sounded from behind him, Spinning around, Thaar saw a man collapsed in the dirt, dressed in only a sash, skin seared red as if he spent weeks in the harsh savanna sun, bleeding cracks along his joints. Without thinking Thaar turned him to his side, eyes scanning over his face in confusion, seeing it wasn't a man, an elf, but the elven ears had been snipped off far before their point, leaving both mutilated, his face covered by a black resin mask, exposing only his face over his eyes, which fluttered to try and stay open. Trying to pull the man into the main road, Thaar struggled, even the lighter frame of the elf dragging hard, almost completely dead weight, making little progress.

"Garrick!" Thaar yelled out at the top of his lungs, trying to bring attention to his spot, still struggling to drag the other man out into the open, looking like his nose might be broken, blood dripping from the small holes in the mask used to breath, wondering if he hurt himself collapsing, and how he even got behind Thaar in the first place. Thaar shook the thoughts from his mind, trying to just focus on getting him to safety, knowing for sure it wasn't a villager, not sure if he was one of the raiders or not, and not caring. In minutes, the captain found Thaars position of frantic yelling, snapping into action quickly hefting the lighter man into the light of the open road, looking at him in a moment of panic.

"Thaar, what the hell, this is a raider!" He replied, dropping the other man, hand going to his blade, before realizing the other man was in no state to swing at a fly, much less a blade.

"Great, then once he's awake we'll figure out what happened, just help me get him back home." He ordered.

"No chance in hell, I'll put him out of his misery now." He snarls, eyes blazing, the sound of iron clearing a sheath.

"Stand down captain." Thaar's voice became harder, but still unsteady, pushing himself between the elf and Garrick, "We're taking him back, or I'll tell father why you where down here."

"You wouldn't dare. . ." He started, looking at Thaar's eyes, knowing he would, "Damn two timing kid, fine, but you'll get to explain him to your father."

______________________

Thaar sat in what was once the study of the manor, a large room with bookshelves lining several walls, a large fireplace sitting on one side, now converted into a make shift infirmary, blankets and furs laying out with wounded survivors set upon them, about a dozen in all. Ethain, Sara, Gean, and the elf Thaar insisted be put here and examined, all lay near a corner, Garrick standing there too, unwilling to let the bandit wake and either escape or kill more, as a doctor examined the elf.
"Well, if this was a bandit, I doubt he did much during the raid, he's clearly dehydrated, and as pretty sever sun burning, I'd guess he was out in the wilderness like this for a week or two, I'd be surprised if he could walk at this point. Judging by his body, he hasn't eaten in some time either." The doctor explained, wiping his hands with his apron.
"So what the hell was he doing here?" Garrick asked, still unconvinced.
"Couldn't tell you." The other man replied shrugging his shoulders, "Might've been a slave that escaped from the raiders during the attack, maybe he got lost and the burning city acted like a beacon to someone in the wilderness at night. But so long as he gets some food and water, he should recover and be well in a month or two. Can ask him when he wakes."
"Ok, well, how many survivors do we have?" Garrick asks, motioning to the doctor to follow, as the pair walks.
"Well we've thirteen of our own, the three kids included, most of'em should be fine, either they where just stuck in a burning house for too long, or they where sacrificed, sadly they where pretty effective in the raid, the people are either fine, or dead . . ." The doctor explains, voice slowly fading with distance, "The young girl might not last a week, and I'm not sure about the younger kid, he seems fine, other then the obvious, . . ." The voice finally fades into the hallway, leaving Thaar alone with the wounded, most still in a slumbering recovery, looking over them. His eyes gazed first to Sara, her face had been bruised, swollen purple around it, probably hit for trying to escape during the raid, but otherwise she was ok, but her sleep was restless, shifting every few minutes. His eyes moved up, Ethain, who's body was nicked and cut, feet bleeding from his walk through brush, debris and ash, though now bandaged and cleaned, the side of his face blackened from something, but Thaar could only guess, the doctor said it looked like he was hit by lightning. Then Gean, who had no wounds at all, not even a scrape or bruise, but he was the most troubling, the doctor almost refused to examine him, and even when he did, found nothing wrong. Gean shifted often, as if seizing from some unknown force, eyes fluttering, even under their lids, they would glow with unearthly light, and when they fluttered open for even a moment, sparks of lightning would spill forth, enough to illuminate anything around him. Finally, his gaze ended with the stranger, shocked to see him already sitting up, glancing around in mild panic.
"Where's my mask?" His voice forces out, sounding as if he could barely talk, voice choking with each word, and speaking through gravel. Thaar paused, looking him over, an unremarkable appearance, long hair, dirtied brown hair, almost shoulder length, unkempt and frayed, dark blue eyes peering around the room to take in every detail, his face seeming haggard and aged, a well defined line visible from his mask surrounding his jaw and shallow cheeks. Finally, Thaar stood, pulling the resin mask from the fire places mantel, and offering it to the man, who quickly secured it, seeming much more at ease as it covered its place with perfection.
"Where am I?" The elf asked, eyes finally focusing on Thaar.
"You're in Southcross." Thaar started, then sighed, "Well, what's left of it."
He thought a moment as if struggling to do so, "So, south east Kighfalton?" He asks after figuring out the name, "Little trading post farm? And you're . . . Thaar?"
Thaar nods to each comment, "How did you know my name?"
"I've been awake since your guard dropped me here." He says in simple fact of the matter way, "Get me some water."
"Wait, you've been awake this whole time?" Thaar asks in disbelief, "Why didn't you say something?" He asks.
"Guard didn't like me, would have been pointless, I only blacked out for a moment on the roof when I fell. . ." he remarks in a bit of remorse, before changing the subject, "Water."
"When you . . . so you got behind me by coming from the roof?" He asks, shaking his head to himself, rising and fetching a skin of water left in the room, "So you are one of the raiders?" He asks withholding the water.
The elf shakes his head, eyes focused on the water, "No, at least not the ones who hit here."
"So you are a bandit then?" he asks warily, but offering the water to the elf, who tilts it back along with his head, pouring water openly along his mask, the life giving liquid pouring through the small holes , trapped in the tight hold of the mask to be swallowed.
"Not exactly, I'm an ace." He replies after drinking his fill, voice smoothing out noticeably, Thaar nodding, the soldier's slang for assassin, "But I ended up out of my element and was ambushed and left for dead in the wilderness until I saw the flames last night."
"So why where you on a roof and avoiding me?" Thaar asked eying the man, who spoke evenly, eyes locked onto the child's, no hint of dishonesty in words or look.
"I was planni-" The man started, his voice cut off, a door slamming closed, the elf already looking to it before the sound even started, Thaar spinning around to see his father, along with Captain Garrick, standing at the doorway.
"What the hell is this Thaarsis?" His fathers voice bellowed, "Garrick, get this low life scum out of my estate, and into his grave."
"Father no, he's not a bandit!" Thaar responded, voice pleading, interjecting himself between the two.
"Sire with all due respect, I'd have to agree with the doctors opinion, the elf was too sickly to have aided the raid . . ."
"I don't care." The elder man replied, "See those ears? That's how they mark criminals out in the old kingdom, they cut their ears off and cast them from their people forever marked, bandit or not, he's a lowlife murderer who'll revisit it on us in our sleep. Look, he even covers his face! I'll show mercy and simply turn him away into the wilderness. Do it now Captain" His voice hardens, glaring at the soldier.
"Yes Sire . . ." Garrick grimaced, stepping forward, one hand lowing it to his blade, "Come on."
The elf nods, pushing himself to his feet unsteady, following the other man in silence passing by Alurian, stopping a moment glancing at the other man, eyes locked on his for a split second, no words in passing.
"Father!" Thaar finally interjected as the pair had left the room, "You cannot be serious in turning a sick man from the doors!"
"Silence." Alurians stern voice cut in, glaring at his son, "Do not question your father, we have enough problems, I will not add to them by letting a killer bed under our roof." He paused, as if to explain more, voice calming a bit before looking Thaar over in consideration, simply leaving in silence.
Thaar signed, looking back to the others in the room, sitting on the now empty bed, trying to take everything that's happened in. His eyes trailing over the wounded, not just his three friends, but the nearly dozen of people, most half awake, and his mind trailed to the hundreds missing or found dead, and to the vast open plains outside the window, broken only by spares canopying trees, and the wall that circled their estate, the late day sun starting it's trek back down the skyline over the Old Kingdom plains. Thaar's head jerked to the side, seeing a bright flash of light within the room, Gean's form jerking hard in the bed a moment, almost throwing himself from the cot before settling again.
"How . . . long I been out?" Ethains forced voice broke the moment's silence as he blinked hard, trying to look around the room, Thaar rushing to his side.
"About a day." Thaar responded, placing a hand on Ethains shoulder to keep him still, offering a skin of water, "The others are still out though."
"What happened?" Ethain eventually asked, hand tentatively touching the burn along his head, again, quickly regretting his curious attempts.
"We where hoping you could tell us. We've heard some tails of demons, but the others you got out, they're too shaken to say much, and none of the militia came back . . ." The younger explained slowly as the older greedily emptied the water skin, most of it missing his mouth.
"It's kinda fuzzy, remember charging in with some of the guys, wizard down there got me good though, couldn't even touch'em some spell I guess." Ethain grimaced at the thought, "When I came too, everything was over already, Gean did something . . ."
"We think . . . he made some pact, doctor thinks he's possessed. . . "
"The doc thinks that." Ethain cut off, "You know Gean would never do that."
"You haven't seen . . . " Thaar started again.
"Yeah I have," Ethain cut in again, "I saw his eyes. But, I know Gean. He questions the Ma'at, yeah. But he wouldn't up and sell his soul. Ok?"
Thaar averted his eyes, having trouble finding any other reason, "I'd better get the doctor, I'm sure he wants to do a check up on you."