This post is to provide information on the realm-wide storyline below and will be updated as the plot changes. It is purely to highlight key participants and plot points in the story.

Basic summary

The Mistress of The Shadow Marshes calls the Aliscowri to her. This is only the beginning. Darkness will cover Aleris and the light will slowly fade. Terra Vale's war was only a small stone in a very large pond of destruction. Will you try to preserve the light of Aleris or run to the solace of the darkness?

Participants

• Elijah Bluefield, eliskan, Soul, Verial Akilara, Deanna, Gethe, Ameerah Sultan, Valorius Malku, Nari, Layla Victoire, Elias Lowell, Camille-Lexus, Madrin Kir, Alastair Bluefield, Sahar, Lieron Brona, Darius Redmont, Maxim Redmont, Sorvynia, Tempesturo, Ainsley Redmont, Elysia

Rewards

• Each post earns you 50 gold for participating in this storyline. (Posts must be over 300 words to count for gold. You can post less if you want, but no gold will be earned.)

Global effects

• Storyline takes place approximately three weeks after "Ashes to Ashes - Aleris on Fire"
• A bright and mysterious light has lit up the entire continent of Arthuran, easily seen from anywhere on Aleris. What could have been the cause?
• Shimmer Town, is one again, the victim of an attack - only this time, the army is much bigger...

The Shadow Marshes, about three weeks before the Undead War

Elijah Bluefield sat in The Shadow Marshes, a swamp land filled with the stench and decay of dead bodies and other things that people threw into the bog wishing to rid of the world of their dangerous secrets. Here it always appeared to be night and bugs swarmed the marshes, some as bloodthirsty as vampires and with stings as poisonous as a basilisk's venom. Beasts and unknown creatures lurked in the murky, black depths of the marshes, waiting for the few and infrequent snacks that they could get. But travelers, most of them at least, were smart enough to stay away from The Shadow Marshes. So the vile monsters that haunted the swamp were usually hungry and were always searching for an easy kill. It was this thought that they thrived on.

The Bluefield Lord's situation was different and it allowed him to stay in the swamps without being bothered by the horrors it contained. As a werewolf, stuck in a perpetual state of undead, Elijah was not affected by the venomous bugs that flew through the marshes or the creatures that floated beneath the surface of the swamp. He could destroy them all. Elijah was a wall, an impenetrable force that could crush anything that tried to eat him.

Despite all this, being undead he could not heal himself any longer as most therianthropes could. No matter how much saliva he poured onto his open wounds, they would not close. Ainsley Redmont, after chasing him away from Tezzra's Gorge, had seen to it that his dead flesh would be burned. He had lost her somewhere during the chase, but his sense of impatience would not allow him to stay in the swamp like some sort of imprisoned hermit forever. No. The Bluefields needed to come back together and although he was very much alone, Elijah knew - he could feel - that there were still others of his kin out there.

With this thought, something started to rise from the swamp. Black water pushed upwards and a form began to materialize. Suddenly before Elijah there was a ghostly looking girl, though she was a completely black colored spirit with solid white eyes. Her head hung tilted on her neck, almost as if some one had broken it. Every part of her moved in slow waves: her gown, her stringy hair and her shadowy flesh. It was as if she was completely made of smoke, the darkest Elijah had ever seen.

"Elijah Bluefield," she spoke, her voice almost musical with a sort of eerie giggle to it. Elijah rose a questioning brow in response thinking that if this demon girl had come to eat him, he was going to finish snapping her head off her neck, spirit or not. "You have come to our bog, not by your own doing or to flee from Ainsley Redmont, but because we wanted you to be here. Do not be afraid. We are all creatures of nightmares and death and unspoken secrets."

"How do you know this?" Elijah said with a growl in his voice. "You know who Ainsley Redmont is?"

"We know very much, Elijah," she said. "We know you wish to start conquest with your remaining family members, however, there are more important things for you to do at this time."

"You don't know anything," Elijah said standing. He reached for the girl, to swipe at her with razor-sharp talons, but she flashed away from him and appeared behind him.

"This is not the time for violence," the girl said, a smile on her crooked features. "My Mistress... she is coming to Aleris. Darkness will descend upon these lands and will envelope even the bravest of hearts with fear. You... you have a task given by my Lady. Find us the Aliscowri and bring them back to The Shadow Marshes. They will be traveling throughout Eiler with a man named Jelaephon Delai."

"Why would the Aliscowri even follow me? I have no sway over them."

"Tell them that Chaos, unlike any of which they have ever seen, awaits them there. This is where their message of Chaos can truly start to flourish and spread, under the watchful and helpful eye of my Mistress."

"And what makes you think I would do something as insane as leaving this bog and going back to Eiler where Ainsley Redmont and any other member of that detestable family would slay me on the spot?" Elijah said through clenched teeth.

"Because," she said with a grin, "we know you do not want to be here, Elijah. And because we can make you right again. After all, an undead werewolf, no matter what way you look at it, is really only half a werewolf."

Offering Elijah motive, the spirit girl sunk back down into the swamp and seemed to disappear entirely. Elijah looked down at the spot were she drifted away noticing a few thick bubbles popped across the watery surface where she once was. So this girl's Mistress would turn him into his normal form again? Well that... that was something to look forward to. And so, Elijah Bluefield headed out of the dismal setting of The Shadow Marshes and made way to Eiler to find the Aliscowri.


Eiler, the outskirts of Grand City, about a day or so after the Undead War

Elijah had made it to Eiler and was witness to the destruction that was brought onto Grand City. From a concealed hillside alongside the city, he watched as flames burned buildings and as an undead army attacked the entire town ruthlessly. He would have smiled, if he was not brought to this city for some other purpose. However, as he scouted he realized that this attack and his goal to find the Aliscowri were linked. The Aliscowri, the cannibals and the Dead Seed, were helping to destroy the city.

As the battle died down, Elijah kept watch over the Aliscowri's every move. For some part, they seemed to disappear, but then in the aftermath they were led away from the city by a man, a man who Elijah assumed was Jelaephon Delai. Elijah waited until they were completely alone, until they were far from Eldric Stormshadow and Grand City, and then approached the lot of them.

The Aliscowri and Blend were hiding in one of the forests close to Soul's Ferry Cemetery when Elijah found them. They looked startled at his presence and well, his appearance. After all, it was not often that one saw an undead werewolf. Elijah held up a clawed hand, motioning them to stop before any could attack.

"I come bringing an invitation," Elijah said. "The Mistress of The Shadow Marshes beckons you all. She wishes to see the fierce Aliscowri. She wants to assist you in spreading the message of Chaos, but you must come meet her. Head to The Shadow Marshes and be there in three weeks time."

As soon as one of them opened their mouth to question Elijah, the Bluefield werewolf had already bounded out of the forest and was on his way back to The Shadow Marshes. He had done his part and he wanted to meet this lovely lady of the dark more than anyone else. Truthfully, he hoped this wasn't some sort of trick or else he was really going to put an end to that disgusting little spirit girl.


Three weeks later, The Shadow Marshes

"Where are the Aliscowri?" the spirit girl asked as she waited with Elijah.

"They will be here," Elijah said. "Some of us are very anxious to meet this mistress of yours if what you say is true."

"I do not speak lies," the girl said, her face serious if one could imagine it that way. "Once the Aliscowri arrive, my Mistress will come as well then the revelation of Chaos - of darkness - can begin to spread throughout Aleris. One being from this realm has wronged my Mistress, you see, and so these now cursed lands and all within are subject to death and punishment. Just you wait..."

They say Tempesturo is a mad god, that the Lord of Summer has a mind as twisted as the chaos he commands. Perhaps that is why Tempesturo's followers are so frightful.

The Aliscowri had earned a bloody reputation, and Blend felt uncomfortable the entire time he shared their presence. Why should he? He helped save them. In a way, he was one of them. Their leader, he thought miserably. He knew why he was disturbed by them. It wasn't the cannibalism.

It was their damned unpredictability. They were as insane as Tempesturo.

Delorah was a prime example of this. She was a Dead Seed, and more of a leader to the Aliscowri than Blend could ever be. In fact, she was a product of their atrocities during the attacks on Eiler, and the process of her birth sent shivers down his spine. Some poor men had been raped then killed on the threshold of climax, and their dying seed was used to create these monstrosities. For a monster, she was incredibly beautiful and soft spoken, but Blend knew she was no older than a month. He himself had seen her age at least two years within the last week, and she appeared well into her twenties.

When he had first met her, she seemed to be fourteen years old, and was happily blasting Aliscowri into bloody ribbons to charge her sorcerous attacks on the Grand City. Now she walked beside him talking merrily about how much she loved the swamp, leading eighteen other Aliscowri on a mission to meet the Mistress of the Shadow Marshes.

"I hate this blasted swamp," Blend stated, swatting at a mosquito as it tried to land on his neck. The damned vampire just flew around to try a different approach. "Too many bugs, too many crocodiles, and too many monsters."

"We're the monsters here," Delorah offered with a giggle. "They won't bother us."

"Ohh?" He swatted another mosquito then thrust out his palm towards the girl, where a smear of insect and blood remained. "They won't bother us, you say?"

"That's just a mosquito. Looks like you bothered him more than he bothered you, anyways."

Blend grumbled and pushed through the marsh. If it was one mosquito, he wouldn't mind. For every damned bug he killed, three more seemed to appear in its place, and they seemed to favor the taste of a sailor over the taste of cannibals for they swarmed hungrily around Blend. His face and arms were smeared with mud, but that did little to prevent the mosquitoes from finding a way to drink his blood.

"Ohh, look at the snake!" Delorah quickly reached out and picked up the reptile. She then started pet-talking to it. "Aww, isn't dat just a cute wubbly wittle furry fwiendly snakey critter? aww yes it is.."

"Snakes aren't furry," Blend pointed out. "Besides I think that's a water moccasin. They're poisonous."

Delorah gave a frightened squeak and tossed the snake back into the water. "You could have told me before I picked it up!"

He shrugged. "You're the one with ancient knowledge of dark rituals. Aren't poisonous snakes right up your alley? Hey, maybe you know a thing or two about undead werewolves for that matter?"

When Elijah Bluefield had approached them for the first time, Blend thought he was having a nightmare. He'd seen plenty of undead during the assault on the Grand City, but he'd yet to see a werewolf - even a living one. What Elijah said woke Blend up mighty quickly, a promise made by this Mistress of the Shadow Marshes: "She wants to assist you in spreading the message of Chaos, but you must come meet her."

Delorah smiled. "I already told you, I don't know who this Mistress is. But if she can help spread Tempesturo's will..."

"What if this is just a trap? Everyone wants us dead."

"This is not a trap," she promised, her voice solemn. Delorah had said as much multiple times before. When questioned beyond this point, she would shrug and say to trust her.

Frustrated, Blend charged ahead through the marsh, trying to outrace the mosquitoes which buzzed around his head. Delorah and the eighteen Aliscowri followed.

--

The water moccasin struggled with the impossible. Tempesturo's revelations had reached his hungry reptilian mind, passed from the Dead Seed's poisonous touch, and he struggled to absorb what the chaotic revelations meant as he slid through the water.

I am just a snake, the reptile wanted to reply, but he was drowned out by complex arguments which pounded against his small brain. A snake, a snake, and so much more.. a child of chaos, carrying so many false burdens.. Sacrifice, immortality, destruction and creation.. The snake couldn't grasp it all.

He hissed and swam through the water, uncertain where he was going. Hunting was no longer a priority. He had to think.

Chaos can make you stronger, the revelation whispered to the snake. Discard your needs, give into the sacrificial change, and emerge as something new. Shed your skin. Shed your soul.

I need my soul! I don't want to change!

Change is inevitable. You only suffer, to resist it so.

The water moccasin returned to his burrow and coiled up in the comfortable darkness. He wasn't hungry anymore. Like the Aliscowri before him, the snake was making the first and easiest sacrifice - the sacrifice of sustenance. Chaos was feeding him now.

A day or so after the battle….

Soul’s Ferry Cemetery was the perfect spot to sip on his rum, and seemingly the perfect place to eavesdrop. Soul had no idea what was going on in the world, he’d been up in the mountains, which the locals called Hyperborean Mountain, not for any particular reason but when you live forever you try to see everything you can. He’d heard of battle in Grand City but when he had arrived the battle was over and people were starting to pick up their lives. With nothing to do he had purchased one of the few unbroken bottles of rum and headed back toward the mountains.

He had stumbled upon the Cemetery on accident and decided it was good a place as any to lounge and look at grave stones. He probably would never have a grave, when someone did finally kill him, the magic keeping his acidic blood from burning away his flesh would disappear and he would dissolve into nothing. It was almost a sobering thought that in an instant he could be gone, but he had lived such a life that death never put fear into his heart.

He had been staring at the memorial for the Immortal Kings when had heard a voice from a distance out in the trees. Curiosity had never hurt him before, at least not too much. He had moved quickly through the trees, much more quietly than a man of his stature should be able to. The undead lycan had been leaving just as he came to spy on a most peculiar group of individuals; they seemed remnant of the battle that had just been fought.

The arraki, his curiosity peaked completely now decided that he should follow them. They were heading to a place he had yet to be so this made for a double reward, a new place to see and maybe some interesting context to go along with it. If he was discovered as their shadow, well, playing a drunken vagabond never hurt.

In the swamps…

The bog left little place for a seven foot creature to hide itself in, the arraki slipped from dark murky pool of water to the next, the liquid making it hard to remain noiseless. It wasn’t the worst place he had been, though the smell was a bit on the strong side. He kept a good distance from the group he followed, trying to stay close to trees and other bundles of vegetation that could mask him. Though when the flat areas came it was into the water he went, without fear or apprehension to what lay within. Once a reptilian creature had snapped at him and he had broken its neck and let the body sink deep into the murky depths.

He sits a distance from the group, watching the one man smack at mosquitos and obviously complain about the environment. He caught bits and pieces of the conversation, the man was worried it was a trap, and the girl thought it was not. His rum had run out days ago leaving him with nothing to do but follow and listen.

A mosquito lands on his exposed knuckles and he watches slightly bemused as it stuck its needle like appendage into his hand, it tries to fly away as the drops of blood it sucked burn up into its body, it made it mere inches before it no longer existed. He shook his head and continues on his way through the mud, jacket pulled back and exposing the runes covering his flesh.

He watches a snake slither by, noticing it seemed to be shaking its head back and forth as though it were arguing with itself. He cocks a brow studying it before it went out of sight into a burrow. This was a strange place indeed to drive a simple snake mad at itself.

He shrugs and pulls himself another couple feet. Where were they going? They’d crossed sea and land to get here, sea having been a real treat to try and follow them across. He was annoyed that he had missed what the undead werewolf had said but the creature had spoken when he was out of range. Why were they going to this place? Thoughts were pondered; he almost wished they would discover him so he could just walk the rest of the way. But until they did, stalking them was more than enough entertainment for now.

Didn't he leave this place - the spot southeast of Grand City where the sandy coastline met a field of long green grass? How was it that he was still at Deanna's grave site when he clearly remembered leaving? Or maybe he had come back for some reason, though he could not recall why. Verial had said his farewells and knew there was no cause to linger on here. So if he knew all of this then...

A dream.

Of course. It made sense now. Verial surveyed the plots of land that Deanna had bought by the ocean. As before when Verial was last here, it was night out and a full moon hung in the evening sky. The place looked exactly as he had left it about a week ago with one exception. The gravestone with a single letter "D" that marked Deanna's resting place was gone. Where it once was the ground was smoothed over and grass grew as if a hole had never been dug there. In its place, sitting among the tall grass, was a strikingly beautiful creature. A white tiger with black stripes sat unmoving and stared at him with amber colored eyes.

Perhaps foolishly drawn to it, Verial took a few slow steps forward in the direction of the animal. The tiger did not move, save for the slow sway of its tail behind it. As Verial neared it, he let one of his hands reach out to gently touch the creature across its head. Like a moth to the flame, the tiger lashed put and bit down on Verial's hand, sharp canines crunching through bones and breaking open skin. Blood flowed from the palm and back of Verial's hand.

As he took his injured hand away, Verial woke up and pushed himself to a sitting position. He was in his private chambers in Grand City's castle. The room was all but dark except for the small light of a candle that was nearly finished of its wax. Verial looked around it, confused for a few moments. When was it ever a good idea to try and pet a tiger? Even in a dream it was a foolish idea. He had been lured in by those amber colored eyes that appeared to be inviting and calm.

Those eyes, he thought. Then it hit him. Verial knew those eyes.

Moving from his bed and pushing blankets away, Verial grabbed his clothing pulling on a pair of breeches, a shirt and boots. He headed towards the door of his room and made way to leave, stopped in the process by the two guards that were usually stationed there. Verial rolled his eyes and ducked past them.

"Listen, I'm going to the observatory," Verial said. "I want you two to go find Maxim Redmont and ask him to meet me there. And if you follow me, I'm going to make sure you're both switched to construction duty."

"Y-yes, M'Lord," they both chimed in at the same time.

Verial could have asked them to search for Quinn, but the brother of Maxim Redmont had not been seen in quite some time. Part of Verial was glad, as the last time Verial saw Quinn the man was a mess, unable to pull himself together. Verial had heard on a wind that over the weeks following the lycan got no better. In any case, Verial was closer to Maxim, much like a brother, and felt they could speak more calmly to each other.

As the two guards headed down the hallway, Verial went in the opposite direction towards the castle's observatory. It was up a few floors and down the southwest corner of the castle facing Hinewai Harbor. Verial climbed the stairs to it and when opening the door, he was thankful it was empty. The observatory was a fairly good sized tower with a dome shaped ceiling. The ceiling was held in place by several stone columns leaving the room with no walls. Around the circular shaped structure, quite a few advanced-looking telescopes were situated for multiple views of Grand City and its skies. Verial went towards one of these, sitting in a stool next to the telescope and gazed out across the city.

Thanks to the perhaps foolish deal he had secured with Alastair Bluefield, they had managed to start reconstruction in many places. After all, having half the city's treasury in exchange for the capture of Elijah Bluefield was better than nothing at all. And then once Elijah Bluefield was delivered to Alastair, the rest of the city's funds, should Alastair wish to keep his promise, would be delivered. Honestly, Verial couldn't believe Alastair had agreed to it, but the were-cheetah seemed desperate to get his hands on Elijah Bluefield. Alastair was also kind enough to inform Layla and Verial it was in their best interest to catch Elijah anyway, since they would eventually be caught up with the therianthrope's presence once more. Verial could only imagine what that meant.

As a start, the castle was slowly being rebuilt and with it, Verial had made new plans. Two watch towers would be erected not far from the city, something it was lacking before. It would provide soldiers better views to see an approaching attacking. These guard towers would also be used as training academies for both combat and magic users. It was a necessary step to help rebuild the Grand City army by teaching new people who wished to protect their kingdom. For the city itself, many of the buildings and houses were in the works of being rebuilt. A lot of the buildings were still skeletal-like, half wooden and stone frames. The people of the city, and Verial, did what they could to continue on.

In addition to all the reconstruction, the wounded were pretty much back on their feet because of a good number of healers. All the dead that came from the result of the tidal waves and Terra Vale's attack had been cleaned off the streets and buried in Soul's Ferry Cemetery or burned on pyres, whatever their family's wish was. There was still quite a bit of water damage in places, but overall, things were starting to turn around.

Nevertheless, as he leaned back from the telescope and looked out at the quiet sleeping city before him, Verial couldn't help but feel something was terribly wrong. Some gnawing feeling was lurking in his gut and he couldn't seem to let go of it. Verial remembered this sensation; it was the same feeling he had the night before Oneiro - his home kingdom - was destroyed and when his dragon's soul was possessed by those albino beasts of its own kin.

This eerie feeling was followed up by a sudden throbbing and painful sensation in his hand. Verial looked down at his lap and noticed that his hand was almost entirely bruised where the tiger had bit him in his dream. Pain ran up and down the length of his hand and he realized if he dared to move his fingers, his body protested in response. That was no ordinary dream for sure. Something was going on with that white colored tiger and Verial had a hunch it was linked to Deanna DiCorvino. More than anything, he wanted to be wrong about these thoughts he was having.

The silvery golden slivers of light that announced the coming of dawn had threaded their way through the dark remains of night, proclaiming a new day. A woman walked alone along the shoreline, the chilled waters of the ocean lapping at her bare feet. The footprints in the sand were the only inclination that she had even been there, and they were slowly being swept to sea. Her name was Deanna, though she would remain ignorant of this important bit of knowledge until the time was right, and seemed rather hale and hearty for a woman who had risen from her own grave not particularly long ago.

She had taken first breath within the eerie silence of her own coffin, blind inside the blackness of her tomb. In her panic, she attempted to sit up only to have her head connect with something hard. Her chest rose and fell with rapid and jerky movements, as the energy she had built with her own fear aided in her escape from imprisonment. The grassy earthen mound had quaked and split in half which was followed by fragments of the coffin bursting outward, raining down debris of broken wood and bent nails. Amber orbs adjusted to focus on a sky that was still dark and littered with millions of stars as she struggled to calm herself while her senses returned slowly, overwhelming her at first.

To say she had climbed from the grave would seem insulting, for had anyone been present to witness, she had simply floated to the surface in one exquisite movement to survey her surroundings. It had taken her some time to adjust herself to the coils of mortality.
Once the panic had fled, leaving her with a strange sense of clarity, pieces of the puzzle were soon put together as she realized she knelt beside what was her own grave. That she had died was obvious, though the how, when and why remained shrouded in mystery. Struggling for answers proved difficult as whatever traces of her past that had once made her who she was prior to rebirth were wiped clean. There was no clue upon her tombstone either to offer her identity or her age, save for a simple letter, D. She should have felt concern regarding the strange amnesia she seemed plagued with or at best why she had managed a resurrection, yet as she peered at the gravesite and the stone that remained standing, she felt oddly detached.

Even as she looked upon her tombstone, elegant fingers tracing over the single letter that was carved in the center, she tried to muster some feelings to associate with what she was seeing. Revulsion, perhaps? Gratitude for being given a second chance? The woman simply felt nothing. Somehow she knew her reaction was wrong in some sense, and had tried to muster up some fleeting emotion that one would associate with humanity; there simply was none.

Clad in the linen robe she had been buried in, she had shrugged out of the already deteriorating linen shift and stood naked in the moonlight. She knew she was close, very close in fact, to the ocean. The sound of the waves breaking upon shoreline, the briny scent of salt water, oceanic plant life and sand flooded her nostrils, the gentle breezes carried all toward her, playing with the dark auburn tresses around her face and she inhaled deeply, allowing the cleansing breath to refresh and renew her.

She had offered one last glance at her gravesite when something caught her keen gaze. She crouched near the tombstone and sifted through sand and rubble for a moment before her fingers encircled an object she was unable to identify. It was circular and not particularly large, with jagged edging. Appearing fascinated, she held the object toward the moonlight and watched the shifting display of colors played against the obsidian background. It was so light and thin, one would expect too much pressure in handling it would cause it to shatter. She thought it to be such a strange singular object to be located at a burial mound. As she stood, she almost tossed it casually aside again, when something nagged at her to reconsider.

The disk shaped object in hand, she glanced around and watched impassively as thin tendrils of shadows began creeping from the grassy fields toward her. She stood motionless and unafraid as they inched closer, finally upon her bare skin, lapping at the flesh as they wound themselves around her body. Cloaked in darkness, infused with moonlight, the shades slid across her bare skin until all at once, settled into place. She was covered from her waist down in the unusual material that made up the skirt that reached her toes, slit in the center for easy mobility. The material was as black as night, iridescent shades of other vibrant hues would tease the eye as the fey cloth shifted with her movement. Her torso was bare save for the same alien material that wound around her breasts to disappear behind her back. A hand brushed against the cloth that covered her thigh, finding it soft to the touch. The obsidian disk that had been hidden against her palm was now around her neck, held by a rope made of the same material as that she wore.

It was time to move on. There was work to do. Despite everything, somehow she knew she had purpose for being. What it was would ultimately reveal itself in time.

******

The fishing village was within sight. Men had come from the sea, displaying proudly their nightly catch to their families and loved ones. A larger ship was anchored not too far from the shore, and men rowed from the larger craft in smaller boats that held nets filled with fish, crabs, shrimp and other delectables. There appeared at one point that a dock had stood, for remnants of it still remained, but no longer. Unbeknownst to Deanna, the tidal waves had destroyed it.

One of the sailors noticed her approach as he dragged his small boat ashore, hauling his net with him, a small frown forming upon his weathered, lined face as he squinted in her direction, unsure if she was real or not. Where had she come from? Perhaps she was lost and required assistance? His companion was babbling to himself in his usual jovial manner regarding the size of his catch compared to his older friend and had not noticed Deanna’s presence. The elder fisherman was quite aware of her movement, which was sleek and purposeful, moving with graceful strides that the sandy ground did nothing to hinder.

He nudged his companion, gathering attention as one callused finger pointed to the woman who was now less than hundred feet away. “Where do you suppose she came from? Think she’s lost somehow?” The younger man shrugged and laughed. “Who cares? Look at her! If she came for action, she’ll get it, by the gods! I’ve been out at sea way too long to refuse a pretty woman.” The men stood with their hands upon their hips as the woman finally came to stand before them, amber hued orbs fastened on the ship before turning to acknowledge them, and finally she spoke.

“You will take me to the Shadow Marshes,” she stated without greeting. The elder fisherman couldn’t help but hear how rough her voice sound, as if it hadn’t been used in quite some time. It was pleasant all the same, but with raspy undertones. He was about to politely explain how they had just come from a trip to sea and were not planning on venturing out again when his younger, and in retrospect, foolish companion threw his head back and laughed.“The Marshes? On Arthuran? Are you mad? No one travels there willingly! Lady, crazy or not, I’ll be more than happy to take you to my bed where you can spend hours entertaining me, and maybe my friend here later if you’re not too exhausted, but there is no way in hell that we-“

The elder man, if asked much later, could admit he saw a flash of movement coming from the woman, but the action happened so fast, his eyes couldn’t be trusted with what he saw. In one moment, his friend was laughing and quite frankly, crudely insulting the woman, the next, all sounds died as his head was lopped from his shoulders, bounced once before it rolled aimlessly upon the sand, his lifeless body slumping where he had stood.

A frightened sound gurgled from the man’s throat as he backed away quickly, unable to take his eyes off the woman, the way she held up her hand, a hand that had no business belonging to a human woman. Four inch long curved claws sprouted from where fingernails should have been, elegant onyx colored weapons that dripped with blood, the blood of his friend. In one blurred moment, she had lashed out faster than his aging mortal eyes could comprehend and now his fishing companion of the last ten years was dead by decapitation.

Before he could blink, the man whose name was Joseph, stared in awe as the woman’s hand appeared normal once more, astonished that even she stared at her appendage as if surprised she could transform herself in such a manner and even more so as to why she had executed his partner in one single cold-blooded movement. Then she settled those predatory eyes upon him. He need not be a genius to figure out that this woman was no ordinary human despite her lovely appearance.

“You will take me to the Shadow Marshes upon that ship of yours,” The woman spoke quietly, casually. Idly, she glanced down at the head of his now deceased friend, nudging it with the tip of her toe before turning her attention toward Joseph, a brow raised in question. “I…I….,” the poor man stammered, and she could smell the scent of urine as he had pissed himself out of fear. She took a step closer, her head tilted to the side as she considered a further course of action. It was not necessary. The man dropped to his knees and covered his head with his hands. “Puh…please! Please!! Don’t! I’ll…I’ll take you! I swear, just please don’t!” Joseph suddenly felt a strong hand grab him by his salt encrusted hair and yank him to his feet, where he met her unsettling gaze.

“You are wiser than your friend,” she spoke softly as she released him. “How long?” Joseph blinked in rapid succession. “To…to…Arthuran? My crew, it is small, only a handful of men! Two weeks to cross the sea. Maybe longer depending on the weather and if the gods are good.” He flinched then seeing the slight narrowing of her eyes then, hoping she wouldn’t strike against him. He was rather fond of his head, amongst other body parts.

Deanna eyed his ship for a moment, seeing his meager crew staring at them even from this distance, then turned back to him. “You have one week.”

The man’s eyes goggled out of his head. “One? Please! You must understand….this voyage cannot be made in a week! It is impossible!” He began to tremble then as he backed away, coming to a halt as his back hit the small boat he had dragged ashore only moments ago.She stared at him for a heartbeat or two, her brow raised, unimpressed with his news as she brushed past him and climbed into the smaller vessel, leaving Joseph with no choice but to drag his boat into the water before climbing into it himself and rowing to his ship. “Nothing is impossible.”

He led the woman on board, careful not to touch her and gave sharp orders to his crew never to speak to her or acknowledge her presence. Once on board, she leaned on the railing silently staring at shore, as Joseph barked orders to his men, and soon the ship began to sail once more. Land had become nothing more than a dwindling memory before the aging sailor finally drew enough courage to approach the woman who had yet to move from her spot.

Tentatively, he stood in her peripheral vision and waited as the long seconds began to tick by before she turned to face him, giving her silent assent to speak. “My…my lady,” he began nervously, licking at his lips. “Micah, he err….was the one who…..” As she raised an elegant brow, Joseph quickly backtracked. “It isn’t important, but my lady, you must understand, he was truthful when he stated no one willingly goes to the marshes.” The woman shifted position then, leaning against the railing as she gave him her full attention. “Err, begging your pardon, but…” Joseph began to sweat as he seemed to fully feel the impacted weight of her startling gaze, his bowels turning to jelly as he bravely fought through and continued. “It is no place for a woman such as you.” He paused then, considering. “May, may I ask why the Shadow Marshes?” He then held his breath, fully prepared for his final moments aboard his vessel.

She pushed away from the railing then and inched closer to Joseph, who let out a squeak as her presence invaded his personal space. She cocked her head to the side as if listening to a voice or voices that went unheard by others. After what seemed ages, she offered an answer. “My children wait for me there,” she offered simply before amending, “as does He Who Shall Lead Them.” There was no further explanation as the woman promptly dismissed him, returning to her earlier position to gaze out to sea. Joseph stared in awe at the woman, amazed she had even bothered to offer a reason for her journey, cryptic as it might be. Children? Her children were in the Marshes? The again sailor shook his head, decided some things were best left unknown and left her alone.

******

Somehow the gods were on the side of Joseph and his crew, for they managed to reach their destination in eight days. Somehow the woman either lost count of time, or she simply forgave them a day. Either way, they were grateful. The exhausted crewmen were all too happy to have this she-demon leave their ship, for each one had witnessed the horror that had befallen their mate, Micah. None were heroes though and had no plans for an uprising against the woman. None were brave enough. As far as they were concerned, the Shadow Marshes could have her and her bloody children.

The ship was miraculously steered through the narrow strait between Elved and Arthuran, the body of water that divided Shimmer Town and the lands that led to the Erronei Pass. They could go no further. As they docked near the treacherous rocky shoreline, Joseph had located the woman on the upper deck. “My lady, this is as far as we can take you. You…you will have to make the journey the rest of the way on foot.” He rang his hands, gauging her reaction. She said nothing, simply indicated for him to lower one of the smaller raft boats to take her ashore, of which he did. Her silence lingered during the short boat trip ashore, and he even offered to help her out of the smaller craft and onto land, so anxious was he to be rid of her, to which she accepted. He couldn’t help grimacing as her hand gripped against his, the icy chill of her skin was discomforting.

The woman regarded the landscape for a moment before turning her attention back to Joseph. “A storm comes,” she murmured softly, and without a single show of gratitude, walked from Joseph and his men in the direction of the Shadow Marshes. Joseph watched as the woman left, and when she was finally out of his line of sight, dropped to his knees and wept brokenly.

The Shadow Marshes were as dismal and deadly as tales were often told. The woman continued her pace, never faltering, never hesitating. Her bare feet travelled upon wet mossy plains, the ever present cloud of haze clung to her skin. The stench was unbearable, the foul smell of rotting corpses and decaying waste a permanent reminder in the air. None of this bothered her; none deterred her in her journey. Creatures great and small, those who brought death to those who dared venture into their lands, avoided her presence without hesitation, scrambling under logs, into trees, slithering into the murky dark waters. All feared this woman, and did little to hide that fact.

Out of the mists she finally appeared before the Aliscowri, Blend, and Elijah. A dread Queen, regal in appearance, a deadly predator in movement. Her amber orbs flickered over the Aliscowri and Blend, a simple nod of her head was offered, perhaps in approval. Her gaze passed over Elijah, showing no inclination of recognition. He was a gruesome sight to behold, this was true, but he would lead her children in the destruction of Aleris. The New World Order under her rule.

The woman, finally recognizing herself as Deanna, spread her pale, lovely arms wide, somehow knowing the words to say. Her voice rang loud and clear as she spoke. “My children. My beloved children of Chaos. I come before you, your Dark Mother, your Dread Mistress. You have waited so patiently, my children, for a chance of retribution. For vengeance against those who spurn Chaos, who deny the very existence of Chaos. I come to you, out of the shadows and the frightful dark, born of fire and baptized by blood, your Mother. I come to you to lead you to your destiny, to take back what is rightfully yours…Aleris.“ She turned then toward Elijah Bluefield and pointed in his direction. “And He shall lead you. My Army of Dark Children. He shall lead you to spread Chaos and Destruction, to lay waste upon the lands of non-believers. To bring ruin to false gods and those who worship them.”

She lifted her head proudly, her glowing amber gaze fastening upon each and every single being in her presence. “Give yourselves to me, and I promise to give you the world and more.” She glanced once more at Elijah. “I shall give you all you desire in return for leading my children, to ensure my victory. Do as you will, wolf, I give you free reign. All I ask is that you leave the “false goddess Elysia”, to me, and serve me, your Queen.”

She regarded Elijah with a cool look, though a hint of smile could be seen upon ashen lips. It was simple. He would serve….or he would die screaming as would many others.

Mortals always fear what they don't understand and Gethe was one big question mark to their weak minds. He was driven to the realm of Aleris by a desire to rule the multiverse. His power hungry sacrifice had a similar ambition, so when he called Gethe was drawn to him like a mosquito seeking fresh blood. Gerthluo's foolish vanity was the most appealing trait the worm had. Gethe always wondered why mortals sought the temptation of the abyss when they wanted something. They made it easy for his brethren to escape their own realm into other unsuspecting dimensions. The weak sacks of flesh impaired the true power of a demon like him but, transportation is hard to find. In Nirdor he was worshiped as a unstoppable god. However, in Aleris the death of his shell would send him back to the abyss. That is until another foolish being called him again to wreak havoc on their realm.

Gethe landed in Aleris on the deck of a pirate vessel crewed by fifty pathetic humans from all over the realm. The captain challenged his presence immediately with a shout about not accepting stowaways. Gethe laughed hysterically at the foolish and, pointless words of a middle aged man shaking like a leaf. "Good, I need nourishment anyway portal jumping is always tiring." The captain gave orders to kill the madman and ten of his men attacked with swords drawn.

Suddenly out of thin air two long knives appeared in his once empty hands. The wounds he inflicted bleed like geysers of hot and tasty water. The blades absorbed the blood to feed their masters craving for food. The weaklings didn't last more than a few minutes as blood coated the deck and any nearby crew. It's always the most flavorful when the victims were what many would call evil. Their fluids had replenished his power to the fullest. He felt something call to him as he prepared his next action, it had an appealing feeling to it. Next he blanketed the entire ship in a black mist that sought the darkness in someone's heart, to give him control of their minds. His ability only worked well on the truly evil he needed living buffers to do more without major strain. Gethe hated being deprived of all the power he had accumulated in Nirdor. However, he could sense a great force stronger than him that called to his baser emotions.

His slaves sailed towards the power in the northwest by his navigation. After two weeks they made landfall off the coast of a place the mortals called the Shadow Marshes. Gethe had to sacrifice three more of his slave pirates to restore his strength on the way. The denizens of the swamp could sense the terror that walked their lands but, two more of his servants died. One was eaten by a large lizard that dragged her away and the other came down with some kind of mortal disease. His blood was a little bitter but, Gethe liked trying different things. The remaining thirty-five followed him to the center of the marshes were he saw an undead werewolf, a dumpy little man that looked like a sailor and a delicious looking auburn haired women that was the source of his journey to this lovely place. There was also a pack of cannibals that still smelled of fresh blood. Gethe and his slaves all knelt simultaneously in front of the dark women who's power exceeded his own by miles.

"Greetings mistress, I have come with these thirty-five sacrifices for you to use as you will." he put on his most charming smile that showed his razor sharp white teeth as he offered his slaves to the goddess. "Please command me." In the hierarchy of the abyss the strongest always commands and the weaker follows orders until they find an opening to gain rank. Something was thrilling about walking that line it always made him hungry.

A bat flew into the little clearing screeching at the collective group of evil and undead folk. The seven foot figured covered in mud and carrying a half drunk bottle of rum grabs it out of the air. “Captain Jefferson where do you think you are going?” The man slurred his words and tilted his head back taking a long pull on the rum some of the dark liquid running into a tangled dirty beard.

“I told you not fly of—“ The man finished with a hiccup spying the group next to him, “Well hello.” The dark red eyes had been replaced with orbs of dark blue and he smiled a gap toothed smile. “Captain Jefferson and I were just talking and got..” He hiccupped again, “Mad at me for calling him a flying rat.” The man chuckled taking another long drink of rum his lips puckering at the burn, “Oooohhh that’s good stuff.”

His eyes widened spying the undead werewolf and he turned huddling to the bat, obviously annoyed with the animal in his hand, “You didn’t tell me anything about a werewolf that looks like a zombie! Or, or a group of weird lookin people that look like they might want to pick my flesh from my poor drunk bones, and, and a ghostly looking woman dressed in shadows or how about that other guy?!” The message was relayed to the small rodent imprinted on its tiny mind, but it knew where it had to go.

The arraki turned arms up to the group the bad pulling away from his fingers. He stares at the creature in anger, “Come back you little bastard!” He takes another long pull of the rum, setting off at a step before slipping in mud and into a pool of water. “Oh now look what you’ve done! The rum is all gone!” The arraki pouts at the bottle digging in his tattered brown coat for another bottle smiling his gap tooth smile at the group.

“None of you happen to have some rum on you do ya?” He continues to pat his pockets his external charade paying off for the moment but the arraki was ready for an attack at any moment, it wasn’t every day you broke into a meeting that seemed to spell demise for the world.

----------------------------------
While the arraki hopefully distracted the group of unsavory characters the bat raised high into the night sky turning toward Grand City, it would take it a couple days travel but the arraki was not stupid. The bat carried at least a hint to whoever was in charge that some kind of mischief was a foot. Soul had never meddled much with mind control though he found it convenient that one of the first times he had to to it was such a simple mind.

The animal had darkness in it already, it had taken a bit of effort in the muddy waters of the swamp to uncorrupt it to the point it could carry a message. Whoever touched the bat first would get the information Soul had embedded on the bats feeble brain and the animal would probably die but at least hopefully its message would be received.

Blend would bet his left shoe that a stranger assortment of people had never gathered in Aleris before. Certainly, they were the most frightening lot he'd seen. And he thought the cannibals were bad..

When they virtually stumbled into the decrepit werewolf, he didn't know what to expect. He was greeted by a cold stare and another mosquito. The undead monster seemed disinterested in him, as Elijah's gaze had turned towards the woods where a shadow stirred and coalesced into the slim figure of his Mistress.

To his surprise, Blend had met the woman once before, and recently at that. He was unlucky enough to be there during the gruesome scene of her death, though all he caught of that morbid affair was brief glimpses of Terra dueling with the woman who now stood before him. She had changed drastically from the woman he helped guide through the Grand City's hidden hallways. Most obvious was her clothing, dark as night and seductively strewn in stark contrast across her pale flesh. Some changes were clearly more fundamental, in the way she moved and the cruel glint of her eyes. She didn't even seem to recognize him.

She then proclaimed herself their Dark Mother... the Dread Mistress.

What had happened since Deanna last saw him? Blend recalled their few encounters.. There was the appearance in the Grand City, where Fingers had been killed and Djarin had vanished with the dragon into Chaos. After that, Djarin returned to lead them through the castle, where he touched the King Alerion and got himself killed. Blend, being the resourceful man that he was, fled the scene instantly leaving Deanna and Quinn to face the justice of the King in his stead. The last time he'd seen her was in the Grand City, dueling Terra Vale.

Nothing could easily account for her rapid changes. Unless..

He kept silent while more figures approached from the depths of the swamp. Thirty-six in all, including a vicious looking man with ferocious teeth. His followers appeared dejected and humiliated by the burdens of their new-found slavery, and their eyes were downcast as they followed their bloodthirsty master. All of them bowed before Deanna, and their leader offered the others as sacrifices. Blend turned his gaze back to the Mistress, a mute observer to the tribute being placed before her.

His attention was drawn instead to Delorah, her petite frame kneeling before the Dread Mother. The last Dead Seed stared up with eager brown eyes at her new Mistress.

Blend didn't know what to say, whether he should bow and profess his loyalty or stay standing and unassuming. A part of him refused to conspire with the darkness now manifesting itself in the marshes, and yearned to leave this dreadful place. Deeper within his soul the chaotic nature of his beliefs resisted the urge to flee, so instead he watched curiously as the scene unfolded. His voice had abandoned him, and Blend wouldn't trust the jumbled words he wanted to speak.

To his fortune a brilliant distraction lurched out of the mud. The man was massive and coated in layers of filth. Beneath the swampy murk he could make out runes. Whatever magical investments blessed his skin, the man before them was blasted drunk, and he hollered unintelligibly at a bat he clenched in his fist. Something about rum, Blend assumed as he watched the man stumble into a puddle and relinquish Captain Jefferson.

What a day, he thought to himself as he stood back, remaining deliberately silent. There was no way Blend was going near that massive, mud-covered brute. The Aliscowri didn't seem as disinterested. Weapons drawn, a few of them bared their teeth as they approached what surely seemed like a tasty morsel. Blend grimaced at the thought. I hope they wash him first.. that mud's no good for chewing.