The weather seemed to take a sudden shift and this change was mostly felt around the continents Eiler and Elved. Wind, previously non-existent, came to life, whipping across the lands of Aleris. This harsh and unyielding wind was then complemented by buckets of rain drenching the land. The sound of thunder boomed and cracked loudly followed by lightening crashing down onto the earth. While the rain and wind may have provided some relief from the intense heat, the stirrings of the storm where worrisome for many who began to witness its ferocity.

Lightening was striking in quick succession and the wind was starting to rip smaller trees from their roots. Many throughout the towns of Elved and Eiler wondered if their roofs would be ripped right off their homes or if the lightening would burn their houses to the ground instead. People also fretted over the possibility of floods. In Heruin, the winds created constant swirling sandstorms that raged over the land. Though Arthuran probably suffered the least, its now snow-ridden lands were drenched and flooded by the rain.

This storm, however, unfortunately for folks of Aleris, was the makings of something much bigger. Something that was well on its way...

(OOC Note: Below post is continued from Chat Night...)

Thankfully, she was finally dismissed from Deanna and Quinn's presence and she could once more be alone in her thoughts. Really, she hadn't been time to think for herself in the last few months and it felt strange. If it wasn't Six invading her mind, she was constantly hoping that she and Victor would survive. But now... now she didn't know what to do with the rest of her days here in Grand City.

One good thing had come out of meeting Quinn and Deanna. Together, they had come to the conclusion that Quinn was Six's host and he was able to confirm that he was now free of any demon. This made Wish feel more confident about Victor's spell, but Deanna was not as easily swayed. In fact, she appeared to be infuriated upon hearing the news about Six's banishment back into exile. This anger was mostly sparked by the question, "What if Six comes back and he no longer has a host?"

This was a question that had crossed Wish's head many times before. She couldn't fathom why Deanna would even ask such a thing, a thought which sparked a fuse inside Wish. The fae went off (perhaps it was mostly the whiskey in her talking) and she stared the shifter straight in the eyes. She was quick to let Deanna know not to worry because had Six somehow survived, the demon would probably come straight for her and Victor. Wish would write Deanna a nice, little note in her blood as she was dying. Or maybe... maybe they should have just left the demon inside of Quinn so at least they knew where it was.

In response, Deanna grabbed ahold of Wish's face, pinching her jaw tightly and demanding an apology to Quinn. Even if Wish had wanted to apologize to Quinn, she was currently unable to speak. The tavern manager was quite unaware that she was about to possibly break Wish's teeth in the process. If it wasn't for Quinn speaking up again, a voice which seemed to sort of soothe Deanna, Wish was sure she'd have a broken jaw.

After Quinn thanked Wish for sealing away Six, she was ushered away by Deanna from the tiny office in the Oak Barrel Tavern. She was pointed in the direction of a room that she could sleep in and the way of the baths that were beneath the tavern. Before leaving, however, she held her head up and looked towards Deanna and Quinn. It was difficult to speak, considering her jaw was now pulsating painfully.

"If Victor comes back here, please do not tell him I am here," Wish said. This was her only request as she left Deanna's office. She didn't question if they would honor it or not, but hoped the shapeshifting mage wouldn't be able to find her. After his leaving the alleyway and heading off to the castle, Wish wasn't sure she wanted to speak to Victor. That is, if he was even released or free to go from King Alerion once he got there.

Wish moved down towards that tavern's baths with a hope that submerging herself might make her feel somewhat better. Beneath the tavern were two communal bathing areas; one for women and one for men. When she entered the baths for women, she was pleased to find no one else was down here. After all, it was late into the night and most patrons that were renting rooms in the tavern had gone to bed.

The baths were nicer than she had imagined; she had seen some pretty bad public baths in her lifetime. The Oak Barrel Tavern's baths, however, consisted of large sunk-in stone tubs filled with water that pumped from underground hot springs. Steam wafted from the bath waters filling the room with mist.

Grabbing a towel and then undressing, Wish stepped into the tub, sinking down into the water as far as she could, the water level covering up to the bottom of her nose. This felt extremely good on her jaw and chin area, which she was sure would have a bruise come morning. For a while, she sat like this with knees hugged to her chest until she at last offered a weary sigh and submerged completely beneath the waters. Fingers threaded through tangled hair, taming the mess that was a result of days after days of traveling through Heruin. As she layered her body with soap, scrubbing vigorously, Wish could finally feel the sand, sweat and blood wash away.

Being in the baths was a much needed release, but one that could not be relished for too long. After rinsing off, Wish was moving away from the tubs to dry off with one of the towels. Because it was so hot out, the baths only provided limited comfort. Eventually staying down in the sauna like room would become too muggy, almost suffocating.

Wish dressed, pulling on extra clothes that had been stuffed into her pack, intent on throwing away her outfit that had been bloodied in Deanna's attack against the guards. She left the baths before she could start sweating again, although this seemed unlikely due to the weather. As she climbed the stairs to her room, she took notice that the heat had changed though. Did it feel slightly cooler for some reason?

This thought was brushed aside as she entered the room she was staying in, locking the door behind her. Once more, she undressed again and wasted no time to duck beneath the covers of her bed that looked oh so welcoming. Wish turned onto her stomach, the bed sheet coming up to the small of her back and buried her face into her pillow. Resting blue and grayish colored wings lazily against her back, she wondered for a moment if she would finally be able to sleep, if her mind was free of Six? Or... would a sleepless night be filled with wondering thoughts about what was happening to Victor.

Either way, she wouldn't find out. Once more rest and closing her eyes was an impossibility. Eiler was unleashed with a storm; it was as if the sky had been opened up and in result, a terrible and frightening fury of wind, rain and lightning was plagued upon the land. So that explained the difference in the temperature she felt. Wish turned her head to the side, looking out the window of her room to see lightening wildly flickering on and off and raindrops beating against the glass.

What's going on out there...?

The ships rocked under impossibly massive swells. Waves crashed against the creaking boards, water spewed over the decks. Lightning and rain pounded down, crashing to the ocean in a cacophony of titanic fury.

Djarin struggled to hold onto the railing as his vessel plunged through the furious storm. Bolts of lightning lashed across the sky, revealing his determined grimace, a visage cracked with madness.

Despite the horrible weather, the fleet headed steadily north, propelled by a persistent north-eastern wind. The gods, despite their harshness (or perhaps because of it), seemed to favor the group of desert dwellers, for every drop that gathered in their groaning ships splashed out eventually, and not one ship had floundered in the dangerous weather.

Another swell pushed Djarins' ship skyward, threatening to flip the entire boat and it's crew into the oceans salted depths. Instead, buckets of water splashed off the ships' stern and it righted itself, cresting the wave harmlessly. His fingers bone-white, Djarin simply clang on for his dear life and watched as the fleet pushed through the storm while his crew scrambled to tighten riggings that the wind and water threatened to unravel.

Ahead, the storm seemed to be weakening. Djarin couldn't be happier. He wasn't getting seasick, but the churning waves made him feel weak, and his arms were sore from clinging to the railing. The rain whispered to a drizzle, and Djarin could see for the first time the entire fleet of ships.

Thirty or so vessels churned through the tumultuous waves. Trading ships, mostly, with the exception of two galleons which had been the entirety of the Aste'Tenur navy. These two great ships were in the lead, their white sails tattered and dangling as a result of the vicious storm. Behind them followed ships of every shape and size, colors ranging from sea-worn brown to vibrant yellows and greens.

Aside from superficial damages, the ships all floated proudly into the calm eye of the raging storm. The wind pushed them with a will of its own, leading them north and into the heart of Aleris.

--

They were making impressive time. Djarin wasn't a nautical man, but riding in the storm's eye was obviously earning them much-needed speed. Winds whipped at his back as the vessel tore through the foaming waters beneath, and Djarin guaged they were moving faster than a horse at full gallop - a measurement he understood, since he'd once helped raise the T'ral Ithan desert horses, sturdy beasts with cruel temperaments that eventually convinced Djarin to leave the animals alone to trainers more suited.

It was early afternoon, and a grey light filtered down from the clouded heavens. He stepped back from the rail and turned to a man busy lashing the halyard against the base of the mast - the sail had been repaired crudely, stitches repairing a deep rip that the wind had caused.

The man was solid, a sailor and by the looks of the scars on his bare back, a warrior as well - in particular, a deep sword slash running from between his shoulder blades and down to the side of his hip showed either signs of combat, or of betrayal. Djarin was less interested in the scars on the man than his opinion, so he called him over with a wave once the sailor caught his eye.

"Do you see that?" he asked, motioning out into the water.

The sailor squinted, shielding his hand from the dim sunlight - more out of habit then necessity, since the glare of the sun was buried beneath layers of roiling clouds.

"Ey, what? I don't see.." he paused midsentance, squinting again. "Oh."

Something had peaked above the water, a jagged black shape with a darkly curved fin, then dipped back into the sea.

"Well?" Djarin asked.

"Whale, you ask? No, I don't think so.."

Djarin didn't know what a whale was, so he didn't press. "Then what?"

"Could be anything.. Sure, might be a whale, but aint seen a whale with spikes like that on it's fin.. Besides.. Wait, there it is again - see? Closer, now."

Djarin could see it, the fin breaking the surface again. Dark red spikes pierced from the smooth black skin, and Djarin turned to his companion fearfully.

"It's a beast! Get any weapons you can. We'll fight this, if we must - the revelation we intend on bringing to Aleris cannot die on these waves."

The sailor nodded in agreement, then ran towards the back, hollering out commands to his companions. A red flag was raised, and waved - a signal to the other ships of warning. The fleet prepared.

The sailor reappeared, another man with him. The sailor reminded Djarin of an ox, while his new companion a cat - thin, but deadly, with tensed muscles coiled beneath his meager frame.

"Seer," the sailor said to Djarin. This new name was one Djarin enjoyed, a title of honour and power, for it represented all the truths he had seen, which he had shared. "This man says he knows what beast approaches. His name is Jelaephon."

"Oh?" Djarin looked expectantly at the newcomer.

"Aye," said the second man, his voice low and controlled. "But call me Blend, sir. The beast is a Kharl'at. A dragon, borne of the seas."

"A dragon?" Djarin glanced at the waves, but the fin hadn't reappeared yet. "It looked more like a fish to me."

"You only saw it's fin," explained the man carefully.

"What do you know of these beasts, then?"

"They are old. Older than you can imagine, thousands of seasons old. They are rare, sir, but not unknown to me. I make a habit of knowing such mysteries.. These creatures, sir, they are not violent. They prey on small things, such as fish, by luring them with magicks. They are wise.."

Djarin hadn't expected this description. It wasn't a violent monstrosity. But, nevertheless, the creature approached through the waves, perhaps even now it lay under their ship patiently searching for a perfect approach to its' attack.

An idea came to the man. "They are wise, you said?"

"Yes."

"Then there is hope yet. How do you suppose they will respond to the revelations of Ae'Tescra?"

Blends' eyes widened slowly as he understood, then he grinned. "They may embrace it, with their great wisdom."

"Indeed."

Djarin turned his gaze to the waves once more, but his eyes no longer reflected fear. Instead, expectancy replaced that role, and a small smirk graced the corners of his sun-weathered mouth.

--

Djarin made the first move - calling out to the water. "Dragon! I know you are there!"

Yes, he knew the dragon was there, but he had no idea if it could understand him. He spoke in the tongue of the T'ral Ithan, the same tongue used across the desert, though that language failed to spread beyond the parched southern continent.

No response. He stared at the waters, frowning, then tried again. "I am Djarin - the Seer of Ae'Vescra, I bring knowledge! I wish to speak to you, Dragon! In peace!" His voice range out across the eerily silent ocean. All eyes were on him, the fleet standing still in patient caution.

Perhaps the concept of peace was one the dragon mocked, knowing full well it intended to destroy the fleet. Or, Djarin hoped, the creature was as wise as Blend had suggested.

Bubbles broke the surface in front of his ship, then a series of red spikes pierced the surface, followed by a narrow black head ridged in red. The head rose from the water on the length of a long serpentine neck, the body coated in a layer of black scales, save for its belly where a soft layer of grey-white skin ran down the beasts body.

Cold blue eyes regarded Djarin in silence. The mouth, surprisingly small and wolfish, opened to speak in a series of growls and clicks. The words were beyond Djarins' comprehension, sounds of an alien tongue, but meaning pushed at the edge of his mind eagerly. Frowning, he turned to Blend.

"What is it saying?"

Blend was wide-eyed, staring at the elegant but frightening monster that now stared at them. It took him a moment to realize Djarin asked him a question, and he started, turning to the man.

"Err, well, it wants to talk to you. But sir.. you just need to open your mind."

"Open my mind?"

"Sir - it's speaking in a draconian tongue - a language of our minds. If you stop resisting, understanding is instinctual."

Instinctive understanding? Djarin doubted, but he turned to the Kharl'at once more.

The creature understood his problem, for it spoke again. Trying to relax his mind, Djarin found Blends' advice to be true - ancient words poured into his brain, words of an elder dragon, the Kharl'at before him.

Seer, the words grated through his mind as the dragon clicked and purred in front of him. Your intentions are dark, and my kind knows what lays ahead for you. You must turn around, or you will be destroyed.

Grey threads of fatal sorcery began to weave around the dragon, radiating from the dark-red spikes and markings that laced its draconian form. Combined with the words, the dragon made a deadly warning, and Djarin understood it well. This dragon had no doubt it could destroy his entire fleet - in some way, it yearned for it. Blend paled considerably beside him, understanding the words as well and all they implied.

"Dragon, you misunderstand. I have no dark intentions.." Djarin stumbled for words. But what could he say? There was only one thing, and it took more than just simply saying. "I bring a revelation, a truth more ancient than even you. This storm, these seasons - they are our only hope to share this power with the world.

"Here, let me show you."

Djarin held out his palm. The dragon hissed, then leaned its' head forwards and into the Seer's touch.

--

Ternal, the fifth Bled Sword of the Kharl'at, the heir to the Throne of Earth, reeled as his mind embraced the darkness that Djarin pushed into him. Starvation, hunger - and through it, the promise of immortality - all granted by the desert, the sun. Something even greater than that, something which threatened to tear his ancient soul apart.

The beast yanked his head back violently from Djarins' touch, but the damage was done. The images continued to flood through the corridors of his mind. How could he not have known all this, before? How could this knowledge, this power, be passed on from a simple mortal?! But those questions were quickly drowned out in the hurricane which plummeted through his thoughts.

No, this can't be. To live, we must sustain.

His mind struggled to hold itself together. But slowly, the revelation came to him, the power of the mortals touch. New energy flowed through the ancient dragon as it looked down on the ship and clicked out a series of whistles and growls.

I must show my brothers.

(OOC Note: Most of this is continued from Chat Nights. Yeah, you probably should have been there)

The sun should have been creeping over the horizon announcing a brand new day. Its rays should have lit the sky in wondrous rays of pink and gold, shining light to chase away the darkness. The sun, was obviously, on vacation.

If some soothsayer had predicted the end of the Aleris, the end of the world and its people, Deanna would have ripped out their tongue for spreading such false tales that would send the people in a panic. That was then.

Early morning had come and gone, but one would have never known it from the sky above. Thick black clouds obscured the sun, leaving the world in a perpetual state of dusk. Mother Nature screamed her fury with torrential rains that, if they should not cease soon, would cause massive flooding. The strength and speed of these waters would destroy crops, drown both people and animals, cause lakes and rivers to overflow with nowhere to go but to sweep through cities and towns in a violent rush of watery death. Nothing would be spared.

If that wasn't enough, furious winds raged through the continents, uprooting trees and other natural wonders to be used as projectile missiles. Man made structures were not spared either as tornadoes ripped through with such ferocity, that buildings and other structures, if caught in their paths, were reduced to nothing but rubble. The final slap in the face was the lightening, which fell from cloud to ground in brilliant displays, but set to fire whatever was struck. Mother Nature was wicked pissed.

Now as the shifter stood in the bedroom she shared with Quinn, who was not surprisingly still asleep, Deanna peered out her window and wondered exactly what was done that could enrage the gods so much that they felt the complete annihilation of the inhabitants of Aleris was in order. Her gaze traveled back to the slumbering form of her mate, and Deanna felt something she hadn't felt in ages. Cold fear. If something wasn't done, if something could be done, they would all cease to exist. Deanna couldn't speak for others, but she wasn't ready to die.

Not today at least.

The shifter padded out of the room and into the kitchen area, her brow furrowed as trouble thoughts ran through her brain. The small fire was lit in the kitchen hearth and Deanna filled a cast iron kettle with water and hung it over a hook that protruded from the wall of brick. Tea. Hot tea was in order, which was laughable considering just the other day she had been complaining to Quinn of the sudden unbearable heat. The gods had a sense of humor, it would seem.

While waiting for the water to boil, she ran over the events that had taken place within the past ten hours, wondering if they were coincidence or did in fact have something to do with the gods and their abuse and/or loss of their powers.

There was the fae Wish and the mage known as Victor Sage and their sudden appearance in her tavern. Strangely, even after the confrontation with the city guards, Victor had gone willingly to see Alerion or some other important official in regards to whatever business they had with the mage. After speaking to Wish, she had found out that Victor had once been manager of the Oak Barrel, but something had taken place to put him out of his job.

Deanna had gone to the tavern a few hours past to go through the piles of paperwork that she had been unable to review before due to the mad rush of business as of late. She had finally had a quiet moment to herself, but not for long for who should appear but the Redmont Lord himself, Maxim. Saying his visit was a surprise would be an understatement, and Deanna couldn't help wondering if perhaps the vampires appearance coincided with the situation with the gods, though it was doubtful.

Then their was the woman who entered the tavern just moments after Maxim's arrival. A strange woman indeed, though Deanna heard the seafaring folk were a bit on the weird side. Perhaps it was due to too much sun and salt water. In any case, Deanna served them both drinks, chatted with Maxim for a bit before deciding it was time for both to leave. When goosebumps prickled her skin, Deanna felt a sudden urge to return home to Quinn. So she kicked both vampire and what she previously took for a human women, but wasn't sure now, out. Another quick check on the sleeping Wish and Deanna grabbed her paperwork and ran like hell for home.

She didn't bother to sleep even though she was beyond exhausted. Her life seemed a never-ending circus as of late, and despite Deanna's pride in being able to somewhat hold everything together, she concluded she needed a vacation soon. Now that the gods decided to fuck with their world, Deanna didn't think it bloody likely.

The water was ready and Deanna poured it into a chipped cup that contained a mesh bag of tea leaves. Steam rose with the fragrance of chamomile and she carried her drink into the living area before setting it on top of the small wood table that stood next to Quinn's chair. She sunk into the worn plushness and let her tea cool as she sifted through a few newspaper articles that caught her attention.

According to the Chronicle, Victor Sage was accused of some pretty heinous crimes, including raping of women. How very interesting. Deanna set down the papers as she sipped her tea, wondering if the scorned mage acted against the gods in an act of revenge. Was this the reason the City guards were so adamant about retrieving the mage? Deanna frowned then. Wish was a relative stranger to her, yet she couldn't believe that the fae would associate with such the piece of shit that Victor was made out to be. Though it wasn't often Deanna was wrong in her judgement of people, in her humble opinion, there was always a first time to make a mistake.

The pounding of the rain and wind against the house sent a shudder down Deanna's spine. She hoped the structure would hold up, knowing that she and Quinn probably hadn't helped matters with their extracurricular activities as of late. Speaking of Quinn....

The shifter walked soundlessly into their room once more to peek on her mate. She had to smile upon seeing him. He was laying on his side, clutching a pillow to him, looking boyishly cute as he dreamed. She bent down to pick up a shirt he had worn the other day and slipped it on. At that moment, something strange happened to Deanna. She had a sudden urge to do something that she hadn't done in ages.

Deanna decided to pray to the gods.

She didn't kneel or sit in some fashion. She simply stood there, arms hanging loosely to their sides, her gaze settling on Quinn. She wasn't sure whom to pray to. The Spring Goddess Aurora? Deanna considered her for a moment, then discarded her almost immediately. If the Goddess was so weak she could not control her own season, then perhaps she did not deserve Deanna's attention. Tempesturo was definitely out. It was that bastard's fault for Summer's early arrival, at least Deanna thought so.

That left Elysia and Galenous. She didn't know much of the latter, but Maxim had mentioned Elysia before, the goddess he personally followed. Eh, perhaps she wasn't a flake like her sister and brothers and actually gave a shit.

She was rather uncomfortable speaking quietly to an invisible goddess, but figured nothing ventured, nothing gained.

"So I feel rather stupid talking to, well myself, but since I'm not about to make the trip to your temple, this is all I've got." Deanna shifted from one leg to another, thinking that perhaps this was a ridiculous idea, but continued on regardless.

"You're probably aware of what's going on, Elysia, and if you're not...well, it just confirms why I don't worship deities. Anyway, I guess why I'm wasting my time and yours is because...." Deanna paused then, a perplexed look crossing her features. What was the point of this foolishness? What good would her words do? This was stupid, she thought angrily. She had enough on her plate as it was, and didn't need to delve into the bullshit games the gods played. So she reacted in the same way she always did when she felt helpless in a situation.

She unleashed her inner bitch.

"You're the gods, you have powers. So wave your magic wands or rub some balls, smoke some shit and chant...whatever it is you higher beings do. I'm not asking for much from you gods, I'm just asking you to DO YOUR FUCKING JOB and protect your people and this land." There was a defiant tilt of her chin at that last bit, knowing she had probably offended Elysia, but it wouldn't be the first time she had offended someone. Matters were getting worse, and it was high time these deities shifted their asses in gear to correct the grave situation at hand. You know, before they all died horrible deaths?

"So, thanks for listening, and uh, good luck with all that." Satisfied with the way she ended her lame excuse for a prayer, she slid into bed next to Quinn and snatched her pillow back from him. Deanna's lids were heavy and she fell asleep almost instantly. Right as she was about to get sucked into the realm of dreams, Deanna could of sworn she felt someone other than Quinn in the room with her. She only hoped it wasn't a pissed off Elysia planning on doing something nefarious to her when she slept.

Victor Sage had been a thorn in his side for months now. There had been a complaint on his desk ever since the damned "Rumor Has It" article came out about the man possibly drugging and raping customers of the Oak Barrel Tavern, during his time as manager there. Trouble seemed to follow this man everywhere he went. Shortly before he was terminated from his position as manager, the Oak Barrel Tavern was blown up. Citizens demanded his arrest afterwards.

So, King Alerion issued a warrant for his arrest. It'd been months since he'd heard of the mage. There was a part of him that had hoped the wizard was laying low and waiting out this backlash. There was no way one man could actually be this big of a pain was there? Of course there was always the possibility that he was as bad a man as everyone thought he was.

When the man came and calmly introduced himself to the guard at the front gate, Alerion was alerted immediately. It was dark, but the King hadn't been able to sleep, it was too hot outside for him to sleep anyways. Alerion sat in his thrown, his brow beaded with sweat and his clothes where clinging to him. As the wizard was brought to him, he had someone fanning him from the side.

"Wizard Sage," he began, "I've heard a lot about you. Possible rapist, arsonist, kidnapper. It's an interesting resume you've got yourself. Oh and the assault on two of my guards and the death of another two." as Victor was about to comment the guard that brought him in, hit him in the back of his leg, causing him to fall to one knee. "Sorry about that. However, I'm not done."

"I'm giving you a chance to prove all those people wrong. As I'm sure you've noticed, there seems to be a heat wave going through Aleris. It's not natural. So, you're being drafted Victor Sage. Welcome to the Aleris Guard, and no, you don't get a say, that's why they call it 'the draft'. And since you're now a member of My city Guard, I can deploy you as I see fit. Go figure out whats going on and why this heat has been hitting us this hard."

Almost as soon as he said that, thunder clapped outside and rain started pelting the castle. For just a second, it cooled down, but quickly after that it just became extremely humid and harder to breath. "Go. Now. Fix this, or I'll make sure that you're arrested, brought on trial, and found guilty of everything people think you've done. Whether you're actually guilty or not." he stared at the wizard to make that understood what was being said.

Dismissing Victor Sage with a wave of his hand, the King stood and left the thrown room, motioning for the fan boy to follow. It was still too hot to sleep without a little bit of help.

Sorcery tore through the ocean, rippling beneath the frothed surface in a myriad of colors. Djarin watched as a red arc of energy pierced the surface of the water and lashed towards a ship nearby. The contact shattered the ship, sending bits of wood sailing through the air, trails of black smoke left behind in their wake.

He turned to the sailor, who'd made himself known as Fingers. His fingers were quite unremarkable, so Djarin didn't understand the name, but he didn't bother to ask. More important issues, what with the war waging beneath the water.

"Can we move any faster?"

"Yeah, sure we could, if this damned wind would stop trying to push us south." The sailor was staring wide eyed at the ocean. Roughly thirty vessels had set out, and while the storm from earlier hadn't sunk a single ship, the sorcerous conflict now taking place beneath the water had destroyed a good ten or more. Bits and pieces of these wrecked vessels littered the ocean, strewn about like so much rubble.

The wind wasn't helping. They were still riding the eye of the storm, or so it seemed - there was little rain, and visibility was good. But they were no longer being pushed, and instead the storm seemed eager to reclaim their fleet, for a wall of looming grey clouds pursued them as they zig-zagged north, pushing against the winds.

The Kharl'at he'd spoken to earlier had vanished beneath the waves, and all had seemed calm for twenty minutes - until this happened. Another fatal slice of energy weaved through the ocean, thin strips of blue cutting through a ship like a thousand blades. Djarin watched in horror as the remains of that vessel sunk to the ocean.

"They're trying to kill us all!" exclaimed the sailor. "Damn it, this isn't good.. if one of those things fires our way.."

Djarin felt sick, but he tried to keep his voice calm. "They're not shooting at our ships, I think we're just collateral. They're fighting each other. If we're lucky, we'll be just fine."

"Yeah," grunted the sailor, unconvinced. He spit over the railing and stared anxiously at the water.

The black head of a dragon rose from the waves and the sailor leaped back, cursing. But there was nothing to fear - the eyes of the dragon were blank, its face torn by a thousand minute wounds. Severed from its body, the head floated on the waves, bobbing helplessly while its brothers and sisters fought in the waters below.

To Djarin, the dead sea-monster seemed to be grinning.

What's so funny?

--

The battle had lasted for hours. Djarin and his vessel survived, but looking around, he could count only eight ships including his own. That put well over twenty ships under the waves, countless lives lost.

He shook his head, then turned to Ternal, the Kharl'at he had spoken with before. The dragon was covered in wounds. His right eye had been burned shut, and thick red blood had congealed beneath the wounded scales of his face. His lone left eye regarded Djarin coolly.

"What happened?" Djarin finally asked.

The dragon hissed and clicked a response, and the ancient words pressed into Djarin's mind. "There were.. complications.."

"I'd say," he managed with a forced grin.

"There were those among us who would not accept the revelation, unless forced."

Djarin wasn't surprised. He'd seem similar reactions in Aste'Tenur. People feared the unknown, yet refused to embrace understanding. Thus, they fought.

"Those we could not force, were killed."

"How many... did you get to receive the truth?"

"Two hundred. There are many more of my kin in these waters, spread out - it will take more time, but I am confident we will get more."

So, Djarin thought to himself. They are now slaves to our god, like I am. Two hundred ancient dragons. Eight ships, probably leveling out at around two hundred people, especially counting that galleon.

Djarin had made a small army. Judging from the way the Kharl'at stared at him expectantly, Djarin could tell he was now the leader for both men and beasts alike. But that wasn't entirely true, was it? For he was only a king on the chess board, whereas surely something greater played the game, manipulating pawns and rooks to get that precious victory.

But who, he wondered, would be his opponent?

"Kharl'at, can you help us along somehow? This wind is slowing the fleet down, I wish to reach the land by nightfall."

Ternal nodded and sunk beneath the waves.

--

The dragons had a two-pronged approach to assisting the fleet. Sorceries were woven behind the ships, and unnatural winds propelled the vessels north. Combined with the sorcery, the dragons had tethered themselves to the fore of the ship, two and sometimes three dragons per each boat, and they now tugged them along diligently.

The result was a ridiculous pace. What had taken them hours before, now only took minutes - if that! The waves broke around the ships and they tore through the water. The ship Djarin rode creaked with the pressure and the speed, but a glance over at the sailor Fingers and Djarin was put at ease - the rugged man had an enormous grin on his face.

Djarin looked out to the waters. They were going to reach land by nightfall. There was no doubt about it.

--

The coast stretched before them. After two days on the open ocean, Djarin was pleased to see the land. He could tell from the other men on his ship that this sight was a welcome one. Blend, the man who'd identified the Kharl'at for Djarin, now stood by his side and was talking eagerly about the coastline.

"Over there, if we got closer, we'd be able to see the Zuiden Mountains. Beautiful place, but I bet with the weather lately it's a giant landslide. To the north more we'll see the rivers Euphoria and Joi, and the cities of the same name, where there's good trading to be had, though I've never been much further north than Euphoria myself. You'd think they'd have plenty of salt, but the guys treat it like gold. I traded a pound of the stuff for enough food to feed a small fleet."

Djarin chuckled. "Our fleet?"

No one in the fleet was hungry, or thirsty. They had been blessed.

"Hehe, I could feed this fleet for a week with a bread crumb," joked Blend. Then his face turned more serious, and he looked at Djarin. "Now what?"

"Now what?" Djarin shrugged. "You know this continent better than I do. Where are the biggest cities?"

"Hands down, Jade and the Grand City. But Jade is way on the eastern coast, even at this pace it'd take us weeks to get there. The Grand City however, is to the extreme north, two days away at the least."

The Grand City. Djarin heard of this place - who hadn't? But he never imagined he'd visit.

"And before then? Somewhere closer, perhaps?"

"Well, there are cities on the deltas of both Euphoria and Joi. Euphoria isn't that big, some maps don't even mark it, but like I said the trading's good. But Joi is definitely worth a stop if it's people you're looking for."

Djarin nodded. "Let's pay them a visit."

The first signs of civilization littered the coast as the fleet ventured north. Houses, some no more than huts, and occassionally a small boat moored in sandy beaches. Djarin had called a halt, and eight ships floated in the ocean swells. The galleon was nearby, an impressive vessel with at least sixty oars. So close, he could count dozens of heads peering at him expectantly from the fifty yards that separated them. In comparison, his ship was small, manned by no more than twenty men and women and lacking oars entirely. No deadly cannons jutted from the sides of his measly boat, a trader ship named "Charias".

He turned to Blend, the catlike man leaning against the rail of the starboard side of the ship, his eyes studying Djarin carefully.

"There is something.. wrong.." Djarin said, his tone implying a question.

"Yeah." Blend shrugged. "I haven't eaten for a week, and I ain't hungry. We're being towed by evil-lookin' dragons with a fondness for shooting beams of fire through ships, and this rain is makin' me feel like a damn dolphin. Other than that, what do you suppose is wrong?"

Djarin grinned, but the smile lasted for only a moment. Then he frowned. "The suffering.. it's.." he struggled for words. "If thirst is our strength, and we do not thirst, then how do we suffer? And if suffering is the source of it all.." He trailed off.

Blend grunted. "Start talking sense, man."

"The gods.. they demand a sacrifice. We have only one left, one thing we cling to.."

"What?"

Adrenaline pulsing, Djarin drew his knife and rushed towards the man. Blends' eyes snapped open as he realized what Djarin intended, and he ducked into Djarins' gut as the knife Djarin drew flew from his hand harmlessly. Blend was fast, and snatched the knife from the floor of the ship before it skittered off the deck and into the water, and he whipped towards Djarin, knife pointed outwards.

"What the hell?!" he screamed at Djarin, then grunted as Djarin swept his feet and jumped on his collapsing body. The knife flailed at his face, and Djarin had no time to react before his left eye was stabbed clean through. The pain was incredible, immense and overwhelming, and Djarin struggled to maintain consciousness. The tip of the knife burrowed deeper, pushing into mangled nerve endings. Furious burning pulsed through his head, down his neck, the pain becoming everything.

He felt a surge of energy, fueled by the certainty his life was moments from ending, and he yanked his head free from the knife still in Blends' hand. His left forearm pinned Blends' hand and he grabbed the knife with his right hand, wrenching it free from Blends' bloodied fingers. Looking down at Blend with his last eye, struggling through the waves of nausea and pain, Djarin grinned wickedly.

"You will be their first sacrifice, my friend. Consider it a great honor."

Then he slit the mans throat.

--

His eye bandaged, Djarin stared out at the rest of his fleet. Chaos had briefly taken hold of the ranks, but with it came the carnage Djarin knew was demanded. As peace finally retook the survivors, a good quarter of the people on each ship had been killed ruthlessly.

The dragons had even assisted, binding down the selected victims with tendrils of rope-like magic while they were slain by their comrades.

This violence was not without a purpose. New energy flowed through the ranks of his small army, an energy borne of chaos, an energy worshiping Tempesturo and the powers he promised. Djarin had never felt this powerful, this alive - even as the throbbing in his destroyed eye reached a crescendo. The pain, he knew, was only another way to suffer, only another thirst that may eventually be quenched eternally.

The bodies of the slain were tossed into the sea and the fleet headed into Euphoria, a small town at the delta of the river sharing its name. Djarin knew the visit would be brief, for his ultimate destination was the Grand City, but he intended on leaving a stain that would spread from Euphoria and into the greater city of Joi.

The sailor Fingers walked up to him. "I hope the sacrificing is done for now," he hissed at Djarin. Blend had been his friend, and Fingers eyed Djarin with a cold hatred.

"Never," Djarin said calmly, smiling out at the ocean. "The sacrificing has only just begun. Now let's make a landing over there. We'll go into the city on foot, in small numbers. I want to get as many people inside the city before they respond." He turned from the water and looked at Fingers, and the sailor was taken aback by the friendly sheen to his face. "We'll seek an audience with the captain of the guard, before the rest approach the city. Hopefully, we can convince him of our.. intentions.. and secure the town without relative difficulty. Just in case, we will bring the galleon and the Kharl'at into their harbor after the fighting starts. I'd rather finish this entire event in a day, so we may continue our voyage north."

Fingers sighed. "You're insane, you know that?" He grinned hesitantly. The deadly glimmer in his eyes had left. "I guess we all are. Your plan sounds good. I'll tell the others."

The ships moved towards the coast. Within an hour, the motley gang of soldiers and citizens had poured out onto the shore. They were separating into smaller groups of five and ten, and headed to all points of the compass but south, planning on entering the city from multiple angles. Djarin, with two of his T'ral Ithan brethren, was heading into the city first. They earned the luxury of getting horses, three of only four that had been brought over on a merchant vessel, and they rode off on these towards the city, rushing down a beaten path. To an untrained eye, they seemed like no more than a trio of desert traders.

Djarin grinned. Today, there would be sacrifices.

By some grace of the gods and a bit of skill of Philippa Grant and her crew, the ship formerly known as The Revenge had been moored at the docks in Grand City a mere hour before the storm hit and the torrential rains began pouring down. There’d been something going on out there at sea. For days there had been no playful porpoises following in the ship’s wake. There’d been a period of four days when they’d been all but dead in the water with barely even a breeze to tickle the sails, let alone enough to fill them and set the ship into motion. The worst part of this was that she knew they couldn’t have been more than half a day from their destination. And the heat! That had been completely unbearable. There had been no snuggling up to Lysander during those long, mostly sleepless nights in her quarters. Hell, she didn’t even want clothes touching her skin when it could be avoided because of the copious, unladylike amounts of sweat… errr… perspiration that she’d been exuding.

The sailors—a most superstitious lot, as sailors are wont to be—had been whispering and muttering about the ‘Calm Before the Storm’ and how these were all signs of the end of times. She had worried that it might only be a matter of time before they started in on how they were fools for following a mere girl as Captain when everyone knew what bad luck that was. Wouldn’t that be irony to have gotten this crew by inspiring mutiny in their hearts, only to have them all mutiny against her?

She didn’t really think that would happen. She’d weeded out the ‘bad seeds’ from the crew before they’d set out for their little adventure for revenge, but their supply of water had been getting dangerously low, which hadn’t been helping things. A body could do some crazy things when they got desperate. It would have been rather unfortunate to have survived and been victorious against the Duke… to no longer need to be on the run and hiding from her own shadow… for it all to end like this!

Just when things had seemed at their worst, there had been a sudden wind, and Phil had jumped into action, yelling out orders to get things underway. She hadn’t liked the look of the skies that accompanied that wind and knew that they might very well just be trading one form of danger for another.

They had made it, though, and Phil had gone out for a bit to investigate how things were going in Grand City. From what little she’d been able to gather from her usual informants (the young street urchins who worked as beggars and thieves), things hadn’t been any better in the city than they had been out at sea. By the time she’d returned to her ship, her head was soaked, though the rest of her had stayed mostly dry, thanks to the oil skin coat she’d borrowed from one of her men.

Her personal steward, who she swore was a saint, had managed to get a hot meal prepared and had even had time to get a bottle of wine or two from somewhere on shore. He took her coat and wool cap, and he departed while she dropped down at the table across from Lysander, whom she was not at all surprised had beat her back to the ship (assuming he’d left at all). She took up a roll, still hot from the oven and far softer and tastier than the weevily biscuits they had gotten down to since the galley cupboards had become nearly bare. And meat! Mutton by the looks of it, which while not her favorite was much preferred to the burgoo they’d been living off of for the past week or more.

“I didn’t think I’d get used to this whole personal steward thing, but the man’s growin’ on me.” She said between bites. “And I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to be on...well, near dry land… even if things really aren’t any better here than they were out there…” A gesture in the direction from which their ship had come into the harbor earlier that day before she would reach for the glass of wine that had been poured for her; though she would pause to let her fingers stretch out to run along the back of Lysander’s hand.

It is a little known fact that deities, much like all races and creatures, can get headaches as well. This is usually the cause of too many people praying at once or the stress of knowing that literally the weight of the entire world is on your shoulders. At this moment, while Elysia was speaking to Dravvin and Rahne, she had a big headache caused by the booming voice of Deanna DiCorvino.

The woman sure knew how to speak volumes.

"...I'm not asking for much from you gods, I'm just asking you to DO YOUR FUCKING JOB and protect your people and this land." The words echoed loudly over and over again inside the goddess' head.

It was not the first time Deanna had prayed to Elysia, if you could call it that. The first time being when Deanna's friend, Mal, had been viciously slain by a pack of blood-thirsty therianthropes. Elysia did her part and ensured for Deanna that Mal's soul - one that was almost completely lost - was kept safe within her care. Whether Deanna realized this or not, Elysia did not know, nor could she say if it mattered.

Elysia was far from offended by Deanna's words. She had heard worse in her time and she didn't expect the prayers she received to be sweet and devoted all the time. She could also tell that the shifter, despite all her fury and pride, was afraid of dying, just like everyone else was. The storms, sudden and violent, were a sign of just how weak most people are in comparison to nature's fury when it was unleashed.

Nevertheless, Deanna was right about something. Elysia had to protect her land and people. Although part of Elysia's alignment symbolized death, she wasn't for killing off the entire population. Then again, Deanna was also wrong about other things. Snapping fingers, waving magic wands and rubbing crystal balls wasn't always the solution to things.

All things aside, wherever Deanna was at the moment, she would hear Elysia's voice inside her head. Though the two had never formally spoken, Deanna would know it was the Goddess of Winter. So honoring one of Deanna's requests, Elysia gave her some sound and very serious advice.

"Deanna DiCorvino, we shall meet in the future, but for now... take those you can protect and head to higher ground. Now. Do not delay."

Elysia's message - her warning - was gone from Deanna's head as quickly as it came.