By the time Elias had made it to Bariston, it was too late. The city was in ruins and the streets were lined with corpses. People attempted to desperately clean up the wreckage and death that had befallen their beloved city, but at this point the effort was overwhelming. Fires danced on rooftops and all along Bariston's cobblestone roads, those people who were left, remained crying and shuffling through the dead, trying to find their lost loved ones. Elias stopped at the gates and dismounted from his horse. He stroked the animal across its nose for a moment and nodded gently.

"Head back to Vandual my friend. Where I am going, you will not be able to follow," Elias said. The spotted horse seemed to comprehend as Elias undid the saddle and bridle from the horse. As soon as Elias was done, the horse gave its master one last lingering glance and then headed off back towards Vandual.

Elias made his way through Bariston's streets and towards the harbor with a sinking feeling that there was no crossing to Elier. On his way, he dropped the saddle off at a stable since he had no need for it and thought Bariston's Calvary could use it more at this point. Continuing onward, Elias walked to one of the remaining docks and stood upon it as Maxim Redmont was leaving to seek out Meredia. Elias looked for Bariston's Transportation Manager, but they did not seem to be present. Instead, the only folks at the dock seemed to be those wearing Bariston's uniform. Soldiers. They were preparing to leave.

Elias stepped towards a sergeant and squaring his shoulders, he looked at the man coughing to get his attention. The sergeant lifted a brow curiously as he directed orders to his soldiers for departure. "What is it boy?"

"Are you heading to Eiler? I wish to go with you," Elias said.

The sergeant let out a small laugh. "Sorry. We're not taking any extra passengers and this isn't a civilian ship anyway. The Northwatch is only for use of Bariston's military."

"I need to get to Eiler, please."

"No can do," the sergeant said nodding his head with finality. "You're better off staying around and helping out the city anyway."

Elias let out a sigh. "Yes sir. Sorry for the trouble."

Intent that Elias was going to go assist the city in clean up, the sergeant turned and directed his attention solely on his men wanting to get the supplies loaded and ready before the Lord Commander came back. In the meantime, Elias walked around the length of the ship, following it until he was behind a corner of the Northwatch and out of view. He was going to get to Eiler, whether the sergeant liked it or not. Reaching into his pack, Elias pulled out a rope and grappling hook, attaching the two together. It was one of the few supplies he had brought along and thankfully it was going to come in handy.

Elias strapped his bo staff to his back so it was secure. After he was done, he launched the grappling hook onto the side of the ship, heaving it upwards with a rather strong throw of his arm. Tugging on the rope, Elias felt that it had caught hold of the ship's railing. Then, with lithe and quick movements, Elias scaled the side of the Northwatch, climbing along its wooden hull. He was quiet and made it to the top without a sound. Placing the rope and hook back in his pack, Elias stayed among the shadows moving stealthily out of view from the soldiers on deck.

At long last, he reached the ship's cabins and descended down into the cargo hold. There, Elias hid away inside a cabinet behind some more boxes. He scrunched his body up and remained as silent as ever save for the thudding of his heart. He was anxious to feel the ship move towards Eiler and even more anxious to get to the continent to help save a doomed Grand City. The thought of being caught occurred to him once or twice, flickering through his mind like a warning, but it was worth the risk. The young astronomer from Vandual had to get to Eiler.

A short time after he had taken his oath and had listened to the Regent rant on and on about honor and strength. Darius took what he heard with a grain of salt, Verial did not know the life the young Redmont had lived. His eyes scan the city and plains below squinting against the sun that shone high above. Madrin had wanted him to demonstrate to the men how a lycan moves and he had been sure to show them….

The unit leader had escorted him into the training yard toward the barracks while men stared and muttered. He had heard comments about his height and size from the big armored men and others judged his strength to be weak and that is why he had run. He could tell many of the men were green, unblooded, he smiled to himself as they walked dark grey eyes down to the ground how could he show them how a lycan moves?

The guard he had knocked on his ass stepped forward to shout to him, “I was really hoping we were going to have your head!” The man was still shamed by the fact the young Redmont had knocked him so easily over. “I didn’t know the Regent would allow such a child wolf boy into our midst.”

Darius frowned at the man, “I could have easily killed you twice and yet you still speak as though you ever had the upperhand.”

“Yand not much bigger than my young boy of three!” The guard shouted the others slowing their training to watch a circle semi forming around the two.

“Judging strength by size is like judging your ability to fight by how easily I knocked you on your ass.” Darius smiled to the man eyes glinting under the dark grey hair.

The man started forward pulling a sword from his scabbard, “I’ll cut you up wolf boy, lycan or not!”

“Have you ever fought a lycan before?” Darius said looking at the silver coated sword.

The man paused, “No but does it matter? You’ll die on this silver easy enough.”

The Redmont closed the distance between the two hands held out at his sides, he was still unarmed and only wearing the tattered remains of his pants from his transformation. “I’ve been fighting the undead, the therianthropes, demons and monsters of the night since I was 12 years old.” He tilted his head, “I was a human then and they moved much faster and were much stronger than I. That is why I chose a crossbow for my weapon, when you are small you don’t want to get into hand to hand combat. Especially when one bite from most will make you into a monster.” He frowns remembering his change, being tied in a dungeon by Isabella at Maxims order and forced into being a monster.

“Oh how nice for you, a hardly believable story. Since you were 12 ha!” The man spoke laughing his blonde beard shaking.

Darius moved faster than most of the men in the yard could follow, in an instant he was behind the man, the man’s own sword held against his throat and his arm twisted behind his back arching him up. Others aims their bows and draw their swords, Madrin had warned them. “You see a lycan is very fast.” He says it loud enough for all to hear. “Their claws are as hard as any steel and their teeth sharper than a razor.” He kicks the back of the man’s knee dropping him to the ground, “They will not show mercy either, they will kill you or they will change you.” He drops the sword in front of the man, “Your honor means absolutely nothing to them.” He pulls the man back to his feet and pushes him away.

“Madrin wanted me to show you how fast they move.” His body begins to sprout the dark grey fur that matches his hair as he transforms his voice getting more animalistic as some men flinch backwards. The man had picked up his sword but took a step back, the young Redmont bounded to him, the man swung a sword that was blocked at the hilt by a fur covered arm the second wrapping carefully around the man’s throat. In his wolf form he was taller than the man now and he bares his sharp teeth to him smelling fear. “You cannot fear the werewolf, they do die as easily as any man but you have to beat their speed and their strength first.” He releases the man who stumbles back.

“Archers will be your main defense against them, silver tipped arrows raining down on their army will hopefully do enough damage so you can face the lycans 3 or more on 1. I do not doubt any of your strengths or bravery but lycans do not care for your bravery and they are stronger than you. You must be smarter and you must not hesitate, for whoever hesitates when it comes to life or death is the one that dies. You must stab them through their evil monstrous hearts with your silver swords and keep stabbing until they stop moving.” He turns his large wolf head left and right as he speaks making sure it sinks in at least a little.

He shifts back to human form and walks to the unit leader who had joined the rest of the crowd, the leader hesitates and then turns to show him to the barracks, the Redmont hadn’t hurt anyone after all. He follows through the men who parted and to the barracks to get dressed and up onto the watch tower where he was to be stationed.


He found himself now in the light armor of the city guard the white tunic with gold trim and the symbol of Grand City upon the breast, chainmail lining of course with pauldrons on each shoulder. He had kept his black pants on, trying to off set the brightness of the tunic.His shield was left on the barracks bed he would have no need for a shield in the tower and if combat to close he would not need the sword either.

His crossbow had been retrieved along with a sleeve of silver tipped bolts; he ran a hand along the oak stock checking for any damage that could have happened. They had offered him a long bow and even one of the front loading guns of theirs but he was much faster with his crossbow than either long bow or gun. His strength gave him the ability to load a bolt with two fingers and pull back the string fully in a matter of seconds.

Dark grey eyes stare out over the city and the land beyond looking for any sign of the enemy army. He stood where the guard had stood on the tower the day he had spied on the training of the guard. He glanced occasionally back that way watching the men. He had been part of one siege in his life in Mystra Amor with his fellow Redmonts. He remembered the nine foot demons and the flesh golem that had towered over all the rest. It had been less than a dozen Redmonts against an army and the army had not fared well, but these men, though strong and brave were no Redmonts.

He frowned at the thought, he didn’t like to watch people die it made him feel weak and out of control. How many had he seen die? He never let himself get close to anyone anymore death was always around the corner to take them away. He takes a deep breath and a drink of water from a waterskin. He had heard rumors of others offering help, he just hoped it would be enough or many more innocents would die and Darius Redmont’s rage would grow even larger.

With night settling deep on the Almeddans, the march had slowed to a halt and camp was being set up. The darkness was blinding - the moon hadn't risen yet, and the stars were buried beneath a layer of hazy cirrus clouds.

Blend had fallen silent for once. The skeleton sat with his back against a tree, staring blankly at the campfire, while the squads worked busily on their camp.

Tarc strode up to Jasker. The Venefican mage was sweating even as the night chill pierced the air, pulling out a begrimed rag and wiping at his brow with studious diligence every few minutes.

"He's gone again, sir." Tarc pointed at Blend's skeleton with a rounded finger.

Jasker frowned, glancing towards the figure. It hadn't moved in a couple moments, but Blend had carefully positioned himself to appear conscious. Little use it served him, since they could sense the presence of his spirit (or lack thereof) through the Venefican's sorcery. "Seems that way. Where's he keep going?"

Tarc shrugged. "I have a few ideas."

"So?"

The sorcerer stared at the skeleton with his cold blue eyes. "Xezvimhi would have went to Silenti's realm - Hades, Hell, Elysium, the Underworld .. call it what you will. Since the ritual, though.. he worships a new god.."

"Tempesturo."

"Aye."

"Then Blend went to Chaos.." There was an awkward silence as the two men peered into the flames. The tendrils of superheated plasma curled eagerly into exotic spirals as they climbed into the sky, a beautiful dance between Chaos and Order. Jasker sighed and turned to Tarc. "Keep an eye on him. Let me know when he returns. I'll leave Cherin here with you to cover the first shift. I want a mage at his side at all times."

"Alright."

"And Tarc... see if you can stop his spirit from leaving. It makes me nervous. We'll have to --" Jasker was interrupted as a rider charged up to the camp. It was an Evincan scout, wearing the green robes that marked the combative House.

"Sir!" The rider pointed towards the north-east. "There's a camp, ten miles distant.. sir, they are clearly positioning for an assault on the Grand City. There are ruins nearby of a tribal campsite, though I saw no bodies the blood was fresh enough to drip in places."

"I need figures, soldier. How many people were in this camp?"

"I couldn't get close enough. There are lycanthropes, I heard them howling.. I.. sir, I'm just a scout."

Frowning, Jasker studied the man. "Did you see anything else?"

"They are settling in for the night. I suggest an ambush."

"Are you a scout, or a commander?"

"I.. err.. Sorry, cap'n. I'll be on my way, sir."

"Good. But first, tell the men to pick up camp. We're not staying the night. Sleep's for the weak, anyways.."

--

"Hey Fingers, wake up.." Blend looked over to the bulky sailor. They were sitting in the same place as before, crosslegged beneath a now golden sky. The larger man had apparently fallen asleep, his chin resting on his chest and a deep snore rumbling out of his mouth. Blend nudged him.

"Who... What?" Finger's head whipped up and glassy eyes peered at Blend. "I wasn't sleeping."

Blend nodded. "Sure. Why are you waiting around?"

Fingers stood up, dusting bits of grey pine needles off his pants. Strange, Blend thought, considering the lack of trees in this particular area. Glancing down at Blend, he offered a crooked grin. "I wanted to show you somethin'. Get up, you lazy git."

--

"What the hell is it? It's makin' me dizzy just looking at it."

"Well it's a bunch of gears."

"Really? I didn't notice. Are you goin' to explain or just mess with me?"

"It's an altar to Tempesturo. The Iltorians made it, thousands of years ago.."

The pair was staring at a truly confounding device made of thousands upon thousands of gears. Each gear was oddly shaped, no two alike, and even the spacing of teeth failed to remain consistent. Regardless of these seeming impossible configurations, the gears whirled and turned smoothly.

Fingers pointed to a slot where one of the gears went inside. "The gears are always changing. Watch.. as it goes into the slot, and there it comes out different."

"It's been working all this time?"

Fingers nodded. "The construction is amazing. I thought you might want to see it.. You know, have you ever tried to beseech Tempesturo?"

"No.. I never really saw the need."

"Why not? You worship a god, but do not ask favors.."

Blend was staring at the mechanism, but his thoughts traveled far away to the memories of his past. "I remember talking to a priest in Joi. The man worshiped all four gods, with equal piety. He said something that's really stuck with me." Blend turned his head, looking at Fingers. "Asking for favors is the easiest way to lose faith, he said. Men assume that by begging for help, they will receive it, and so are disillusioned when the help does not come. Yet, the betrayal is often not the fault of the deity, but of the mortal who demanded too much.

"When I ask a god to do me a favor, it is essentially demanding them to repay my loyalty. And if the god obeys, they may betray themselves. If they resist, they betray me. But again the fault is in the devotee.. Besides, if they were to fulfill my favor, I would be obligated to return the deed. Never much cared for debt."

Fingers shook his head. "Well, fine. Don't beseech Tempesturo. Just ask him if he wants to have a chat with you. You two might get along. I'll be over at Agatha's hut if you need to find me."

"A Demigrath squished it."

"Ahh, yes, well she's been busy since we left."

--

Alone at last, Blend stared at the mechanic altar. He wasn't one for praying, so he spent five minutes just thinking about what to say.

"This is all wrong," Blend complained, grabbing a rock and walking over to the machine. He wedged the stone into one of the gears and the altar's mechanism ground to a halt. "Better."

He sat back down and stared at the altar for another five minutes before finally speaking to the god he'd worshiped from afar.

"Tempesturo.. Hey, man, whats up? I mean.. My most venerable, honored Lord of Creation and Destruction, who rests on the Golden Throne of the Sun, how's things been? I noticed you were trapped in a sword the last time we hung out. I bet it feels good to stretch your legs..

"Is it obvious I'm bad at this? Anyways, we should probably talk. You see, there's all sorts of things happening on my side of the fence. For starters, the Grand City is about to get attacked by Deanna, lycans, vampires, saber toothed squirrels, and an army of Aliscowri - which, by the way, were supposed to be MY army. But the scales are evened out with dragons and green-armed men and that evil witch who called me a runt.

"I'm thinking.. you know, about balance and all that. Maybe the equation is TOO balanced, understand what I'm sayin'? Perhaps I should stir things up a bit. It's no use having a stagnant pond..

"I'm sure you know all about stirring things up. You're like a cosmic blender. So let's chat. I'll tell you about my ex girlfriend, you can tell me about that Goddess you banged a millennium ago. Then we can get our mix on."

Blend stared at the altar for another five minutes.

"If you don't speak now I'm going to take my rock back."

"What dark herald have you for me this time, oh Blind and Nameless One?"

A year had passed since the Lady Dreamer learned the death of her second born son. She did not at first believe the Aspect, but alas, her own search for the truth had found her grief.

She would not turn to face the grave-pale One, leaving her back to the breathless voice that pressed the weight of the Old World against her dark wings.

"The third generation of your blood has been destroyed."

This time she did not question the tidings of death. No further details were given.

"When one thing rises, another falls before it. And when one thing falls, another rises from the ashes."

There was nothing but silence and empty space around her as she slid her arms into her jacket. The haunting was over and her grief had just begun. She left the Villa that very day, having quietly explained to Bansca why. She would tell Ita herself when she returned from seeing Verial.

Verial. She felt numb at the thought of speaking to him. She was going in the situation blind, in the sense of unknowing of so many things concerning the matter. She touched her cheek and drew dry, gloved fingers away. She thought she was crying, she knew she had been, but there were no tears. Not yet. The first tears belonged to Verial.

Fledgling dead seed fighting for dominance and looking to Gethe as a teacher was only the beginning. By the rules the demon followed the male with a skilled throwing arm would take precedent over the others until he was taken down by another. However, he didn't want to neglect the other eager minds in front of him. They could learn much from him since they use similar magic to Gethe's. He had no control of fire so he could only show them part of their potential.

The recent slaughter left a few corpses to rot even though most were claimed. He led is main pupil to one of the mostly intact bodies, and showed him the location of all the major organs so that he would know how to kill with minimal effort. Several other dead seed watched at a distance including the girl that was knocked out. Gethe had healed her concussion with little effort before seeking a practice specimen. It was a pity no one was left alive for hands on experience. The dread mother had insisted there be no infighting so he made due. Next he showed them How to cloak themselves in shadow so that they would have the drop on any opponent. Some had a greater aptitude for subtle uses of power while others were powerful destroyers.

The dead seed differed but as Gethe was about to show his pupils artful uses of dense darkness for dealing death, he sensed humans approaching the outlying camp guardsman. The fools likely thought they were a safe distance from the sentries but, they could not comprehend his power. The night was his element not theirs. Unfortunately, there were too many humans some with mage blood for Gethe to kill alone. However, he had eleven dead seed eager for a battle test following him closely. He sent the girl that he viewed as the weakest because, she had been knocked out to warn Elijah and his mistress of the ambushers. The humans would find out they were walking into a trap shortly.

"Come my students cloak yourselves in shadow, it is time for your first battle." He smiled as they complied with his suggestion. He remained visible so that the fledglings could follow otherwise they would be lost to each other. He could sense them as they followed, some decided to break away but most waited to spring into action.

Gethe approached the nearest sentry and spoke quietly so that the guard's enhanced hearing could pick it up. "Howl lycan, to warn the camp now." The beast complied and the enemy attacked shortly after that. "Pupils charge this sentry with your collective power." The lycanthrope was shocked when Gethe grabbed him by his throat and tossed him at the incoming soldiers. The shifter was charged with the power of several dead seed when he exploded on impact with the nearest opponent. The demon had manifested a shield for all with him with reflective qualities. Anyone within a mile of that explosion would hear it and wonder. The whole first wave on that side was devastated in one powerful blast. He laughed loudly as his two long knives appeared in his empty hands. They began their whirlwind of death as he shot blast of darkness at nearby enemies. "Time to play children make daddy proud."

High above Gethe and his Dead Seeds and the men he was fighting a large bat winged creature floats on the night air circling. The humanoid body of the being was naked except for tattered black pants and markings across its whole body. Chaos had been created in the underworld when Soul had been taken there, he had been created evil and in the darkness and thus embodied this two things. Except now, with Tempesturos revelations the evil had subsided and in place had been left with a need to balance. Obstinata hadn’t been able to stop the corruptions from affecting both Black and himself like it had Soul maybe that had been for the better.

A couple days ago aboard the Scarlet Pearl..

The airship was out over the open water and after Souls teleportation there he had been put to work dragging crates of cannonballs from the hold to their cannons. Nari had seen to the ship getting ready for battle and would not give the arraki a free ride across the sea. The work had been easy and a couple of her men watched as the arraki carried two two hundred pound crates through the decks.

It was here where Soul found himself at the moment when Chaos and Black broke through the walls of their cages. Obstinata was trying to do all it could but the arraki was on the floor shaking in pain as the two souls pulled away from his body. To spy on the arraki at that moment would be a very terrifying sight. From either side his arms doubled skin pulling at itself as whole bodies from either side emerged. One was Chaos, bald and pale yet the same size as Soul and with the same markings, demonic wings unfurl from his back stretching at their sudden freedom. Black was small, barely six feet tall and his body had no such markings and his black hair was cut short to his skull.

All three panted on the floor looking at eachother, seeing who was going to get up first. Obstinata forced a fresh soul’s energy into Soul uprighting him in an instant with the three blades of his gauntlet stretching out toward Chaos, the more dangerous of the two clones. If one were to describe the three; Soul was the neutral and honorable warrior, Chaos the savage monster and Black the master of subterfuge.

“How did you get out?” Soul asked as Chaos rose to his feet.

“Tempesturos little pet give us a jolt when he touched you, weakened our cages and showed us the “light”.” Chaos chuckled, “Apparently this God is the god of Chaos as well, how fitting.”

“We want to help, for now.” Black whispered, also to his feet, adjusting his leather trench coat on his body.

“Help? Like hell I’d let you two run around this realm!” Soul snarled, though he could almost believe the two.

“Soul there is a battle about to happen and it seems evil has the upperhand there is no balance we can help you set it straight.” Chaos said extending his arms, “Or you can try and stop us and after our last fight I don’t think this ship will last very long.”

Soul glanced at Black and then back to Chaos lowering his arms, “Fine.” He knew he couldn’t stop them here that much was true. “Will you listen to what I say then?”

“Of course, we are yours to command.” Black bowed, though Soul knew but what he had felt that was only as long as listening to him benefited balance.

Soul glanced between them again, “Chaos I need you to find the enemy force, don’t interact with them if you don’t have to. If you get into a fight back off their queen is pretty powerful and the demon general she had. Black, go into Grand City, Chaos will carry you near the walls, stay hidden when the battle starts try and save as many people as you can.”

The three ascended to the top deck the men of the Scarlet Pearl giving them looks, hadn’t there only been one? Chaos picks up the smaller Black and drops off the ship without another word, they had a mental link being copies of one another, or well as close as copies could get. Soul turns back as they swoop away in the direction of Grand City.

That was a mistake Soul. Obstinata speaks in his head.

“We will catch them later, it would have been a blood bath on this boat if I hadn’t.” Soul spoke softly as he descended back into the hold. He felt lighter but also different. The two copies always had slight presence in his personality; the sneaking in the swamp had been a characteristic of Black and Chaos had shown inside his combat more than once. He sits in the hold pilfering a bottle of rum from a crate, Nari wouldn’t miss it and he’d pay the pirate back.

Present..

Soul sat on the deck of the Scarlet Pearl eyes closed as he watched the battle below through Chaos’s mind Gethe, the demon that tried to buy his soul, was busy training his little monsters against some men Soul didn’t know, he studied the demon and his work with his knives and shadows. He studied the creatures’ movements.

“Going to have to brush up on using the light, can’t be drained the next time I use it if I have to fight him.” He whispered to Obstinata. Chaos was probing back if he should interfere and Soul sent a mental head shake back, “Only if they attack you first, your shadows versus his shadows would leave you both in a deadlock.”

His gaze switches to Black, he almost missed having the clone inside him, he was the best of the three at disguise and it didn’t help that was as gigantic as Soul and Chaos. The streets of Grand City flow to his mind; he remembered some things from his brief visit but didn’t recognize most of what he saw this would be good for when the arraki got there.

Black hobbled through the streets of Grand City, his eyes bloodshot and crossed teeth missing from his mouth and his right leg lame and half dragging. No one paid him any attention and most made effort to avoid him. Soul mentally directed him toward the castle and looked through his eyes toward the defenses the men had been working on. Good at least they were preparing and with the enemy army so close the arraki knew he had to get there soon.

He then transferred to his third connection, the man who had touched him with Tempesturo and led to the conformity of his two clones, at least for now. The being seemed to be trying to speak to the god he believed in, the arraki watches for a moment through his eyes. He hadn’t known the connection had been established until a day ago when he had felt the presence again and had come face to face with him in the spirit world. The man had quickly pulled away but Soul had tried to follow and for a moment he had succeeded before being forced back, now he was stuck merely watching and hearing gurgled words.

Another moment passes and his eyes open again staring at a couple of Nari’s men watching him. “Let Nari know we might be in battle soon I plan on riding this time as close to the city as we can. Also ask her if she has any silver we can pack into her cannons to launch at the lycans. I am sure she can come up with something.” He lifts the bottle of rum to his lips, he had drunk four bottles, and he was going to owe Nari at least a month of service at the end of this. He chuckled to himself softly, I don’t even get drunk.

The moon hid behind the Hyperborean Mountains as if frightened to see the scene of slaughter in the plains beyond. The stars were more curious, and peeked out from the clouded heavens to witness the battle before ducking behind their veils once more.

This wasn't how I planned it, Jasker thought to himself as he swung his destrier around. Already, the ambush was fouled. The howl of a lycanthrope announced their presence to the slumbering army, and moments later a deafening concussion came from the vicinity of the Fourth Squad. Inexperienced bastards. Jasker had joined the Second Squad as they maneuvered towards a flanking position on the campsite.

Now he was torn between the need to attack the awakening army and the desire to defend the Fourth from whatever nightmarish assault was south of them.

The screams behind him closed the deal. This attack was destined to be a failure now that the alarm was raised, and Jasker had an obligation to protect his men.

"Almeddans!" the Captain hollared, waving his sword in the air. "South! Rally with the Fourth!"

--

Cherin dove behind a boulder as a wave of deadly sorcery ripped through what remained of the Fourth Squad. Burning heat licked past him, blacker than night but hotter than hell, and Cherin prayed fervently to whatever Almeddan god might listen.

"Praeda, hey, give me a break here.." he groaned, pulling out an arrow from his quiver and loading it into his bow. "Contego, if you're watchin', let this one pass.." He ducked out from behind the rock and let his arrow loose. It flew towards the demon and his violent children, then skidded off an invisible barrier. "Damnit, Vita, I'm beggin' you."

A bolt of cold red lightning ripped into the rock and it cracked loudly. Cherin whipped towards a nearby tree as another arrow was readied.

"Gazah, you know I lit a candle for you last month!" The archer peeked out from behind the tree and let another arrow fly. The shot was beautifully accurate - but it flinched away at the last moment, skidding off the repulsive barrier Gethe had raised around his youthful entourage.

"Olima, you know this next one's fated to hit.." Another arrow, another miss. "Silenti's droopy old balls!" The archer shielded his face with his arm as the tree exploded into a thousand splinters, some of which laced his face and hand with bits of wood. Crying out, the archer retreated to another boulder behind which the Venefican mage Tarc was busily fussing over ... a pebble. The overweight mage had a look of extreme concentration as he angled the stone carefully.

"What in the hell are you doing?!" Cherin demanded, blood leaking down the left side of his face from the shards of wood. "Don't you see --"

"SHUT UP, YOU FAT COW!" The mage screamed, then blanched. "I mean.. let me focus."

Cherin sighed. Mages are never any good in a fight. If only they had mages like those Dead Seed. Chaotic energy swirled through the battlefield, but for the moment Cherin and Tarc seemed ignored. The archer readied another arrow.

"Denuo, umm.. I don't know. Nevermind." Cherin grunted, whirling out from the boulder --

-- only to be destroyed by a wave of energy that emanated from a young boy waving a human leg bone.

"I got it!" Tarc cried out victoriously, turning towards his companion, who was now nothing more than a smudge of black smoke. Shocked, the mage took a step backwards, nearly tumbling into his meticulously designed spell circle. Recovering himself, the warlock knelt over the pebble and chanted rapidly.

The stone began to glow a deep red. Tarc reached out with a twig and touched the stone, and an explosive red energy blossomed into the air.

"INTO THE GATE!!!" Tarc cried out as a rift opened in the spell circle. He wasn't sure if anyone heard him. The mage lurched into Almedda as quickly as his feet would take him.

--

Jasker and the Fourth Squad charged towards the battlefield, but the Captain had a sinking feeling in his gut as they neared the scene. The eleven children and their demon protector had carved through the twenty Almeddans, leaving a trail of corpses and sulfuric smoke in their wake. He couldn't see any survivors, yet waves of energy roiled from the attackers nevertheless. His eyes followed the attacks and noticed Almeddans retreating from the onslaught.

"They've seen us!" The Captain pointed his sword. A red blossom of sorcery had spread behind a large boulder which the Dead Seed were even now obliterating. It would be moments before they destroyed the gate as well. "Over there!! The ripping gate! Hurry!"

The Fourth Squad fled into the hole and away from the fouled ambush.

--

The Ripping Gate slammed shut with an explosive crash. The dark skies of Almedda greeted the decimated company. At day time, the realm's sky was grey at best, coated by thick layers of man-made clouds. In the night, it was an unobstructed blackness. The air was thick and harsh, and within moments of passing through the gate the Almeddans were coughing.

"We need to return to Aleris. There's no cities nearby," Tarc pointed out, wiping sweat and blood from his brow with a damp rag. He used the same rag to cover his mouth as he hacked out a cough. "This air is polluted."

Jasker took an inventory of the remaining Almeddans. The Second Squad was virtually obliterated. Tarc remained, along with three Evincans and one Accersan. That put the losses for the Second at fifteen men. All by little children, the Captain sourly mused.

The Fourth was less harmed, but counting heads led Jasker to the realization that two men were missing. They must have fallen behind.

"Let's go north a couple miles and return to Aleris. With any luck, we'll open up the gate right inside the Grand City. Where the hell is Blend?!"

"He's still in Chaos, but his corpse is over there tied to the horse. Never-mind him. Two.. miles..? Sir.. we have thirty minutes, at best, before this air will poison us. Even then.. prolonged sickness.. unpredictable tumors.."

"I understand the risks, Tarc. Right now we have little choice." Jasker paused to spit out soot-colored phlegm. "Would you rather return to that bloodbath?"

--

Twenty minutes later, a crimson rift opened two miles north of Deanna's army. The band of ragged Almeddans poured out from it, coughing and wheezing. A tearing sound followed by a loud crash announced the doorway's closing.

Before them was the Grand City. Behind, the remnants of the battle where the Almeddan ambush had become many Almeddan's demise. The attackers were, for the moment, out of their sights. That didn't ease any thoughts, as the potential for pursuit remained. Furthermore, even if they managed to reach the Grand City, there was no guarantee they would be allowed in. It was very possible they would be crushed against the castle's gates by Deanna's army.

Tarc grunted. "Nothing like being pinned between a rock and a sharp place."

The journey from the Grand City to Elved had been long and arduous for Lady Layla Victoire and the soldiers or Bariston. All had been on edge and filled with dread over what they might find when finally landing in the Port City. The airship was perhaps another hour or so away when Layla, accompanied by Senior Captain Ambrose Pennington and his successor, Captain Miles Andrew Long, decided to leave the inner cabin of the airship to venture upstairs onto the upper outer deck.

Both seasoned soldiers could see the worry lines that creased the corners of their lady’s porcelain skin near her eyes, both could tell by her hardened expression that she was nothing short of a wreck on the inside though she did her best to portray outward calm. Clad in somber dark grey, Layla rest her hands upon the railing that encircled the deck, eyes that were a few shades lighter than the gown she wore were focused southeast, scanning for land as they sailed over the water. Though the night sky was cloudless and the moon illuminated their way, it would have been nearly impossible to see the Port from this distance. They would have to travel a bit closer for that. Layla was determined not to budge from her spot, standing rigid and vigilant.

It was only when the hawk landed unexpectedly on the outer deck but a few feet from Layla did the Lady of Bariston utter a small sound of surprise as did Ambrose and Miles, their bodies jerking as they startled at the sight before them much to their chagrin. It was Miles who peered curiously at the winged creature who presented the sealed scroll, watching as Miles bent to retrieve it with curiously knowing eyes. The young Captain handed the scroll over to Layla, both men and hawk regarded her quietly as the Lady broke the seal and began to read, her lips moving ever so slightly over each word.

“It is from the Mayor of Vandual,” Layla intoned. “He informs that Shimmer and Garis have been obliterated, and that the army was headed to Bariston.” She turned her attention to Lieron Brona. “It is written that I am to ask you of Bariston’s fate, Lieron Brona.” As the shapeshifter began to take human form, Layla stepped backward as she sucked in a sharp breath. Though no stranger to immortal and mystical beings, it still startled the blonde woman to see the transformation that took place from the shifters. The ruler of Bariston was silent as Lieron in his fatigued state told her of his findings. The shapeshifter spoke of the creatures that were employed in Deanna’s army. Of the self-proclaimed goddess herself, Layla visibly shuddered to hear the savagery in her attack against Layla’s most loyal soldiers. Vaguely Layla heard Lieron mention Elijah, the Aliscowri and others, but the grief stricken lady paid little attention.

The parchment slipped from her fingers, and under the illumination of the moonlight, Layla Victoire went deathly pale, her eyes seemingly large and round as she turned her head slowly, her features grave as she stared solemnly at her two most trusted and respected soldiers who bore matching expressions of grave sadness.

“Our city has fallen, and with it, our people,” she said in an eerily soft voice. “She did this. She brought her army, and with them, she brought death.” Layla said nothing else as she returned to her post by the railing, her fingers gripping at the steel as she stared off into the night. Lieron had uttered something about requiring rest, and Layla could only nod, understanding his need. “My most humble gratitude to you, sir,” she murmured faintly.

Time ticked by and it was Miles who stood to Layla’s right who noticed the flicking of orange in the distance, followed by another and another. “What is that?” the young man had asked. Layla knew immediately, but it was Ambrose Pennington who responded. “It is fire, Miles. Several fires actually. Bariston burns,” the senior Captain’s words were harshly uttered, his voice thick with emotion. “It wasn’t enough for the bitch to slaughter our people; she had our city burned as well.”

The Port City, or rather what was left of it came into view, and though none were surprised to see most of the vessels reduced to nothing but wreckage, they were bewildered to see the massive warship that was anchored not far from the docking station. Both Captains arched their brows in confusion, but it was Layla who drew in a breath, only to expel it in a sigh of relief. For the first time in days, a genuine if not brief smile had touched her lips and it was only then that the two men who would give their lives for their lady understood her reaction.



Words could not describe the horrors that awaited Layla, her Captains and her soldiers as they landed and made their way by foot through Bariston. Words did not capture the massive scale of destruction and devastation that lay spread out before them. The acrid stench of smoke coupled with the rotting remains of thousands, permeated the air enough to choke anyone who had not wisely covered their faces. Unable to draw their eyes away, all viewed the mangled corpses of men, women and children, commoners and nobles, soldiers and sailors alike. None who were unfortunate enough not to flee in time had been spared. Fires burned non-stop, lighting their way through the darkness. It was a living nightmare.

Her mansion was within sight and standing amid the rubble and charred building was an imposing armor clad figure bearing the Bariston colors of crimson and grey, his scarlet hued orbs revealing his immortal status as vampire. Lord Commander of the royal guard of Bariston, the armed forces of Elved, Maxim Redmont stood alone, his pale youthful features grim as he watched the woman with whom he swore to protect, her life and the life of her people. No….their people.
Layla ceased her movements and dismissed her guard, her words throaty and raw as she breathed in ash particles that were carried by the wind, particles that stung at her eyes and clung to her form.

“Leave us. All of you.” Her men complied until only the Lady of Bariston and the vampire Lord Commander were left in the courtyard. Painstakingly slow steps were taken as she finally approached Maxim who respectfully greeted her before asking his Lady of her personal knowledge regarding the tragic situation at hand. Layla stared at him for what seemed ages, fully prepared to answer him, but the unthinkable happened at that moment. The great Lady of Bariston broke, her normal steely resolve crumbling under the weight of grief and guilt. Burying her face in her hands, Layla wept brokenly at the loss of her people, repeatedly asking the vampire Lord ‘why?’ though she knew he had no answer to give.

She felt strong hands grip her shoulder in a firm but reassuring manner and Layla lifted her face toward Maxim’s, her eyes bloodshot and teary, her perfect mask she so carefully wore in front of others had crumpled like so many of the buildings that had once proudly decorated Bariston. She could see in the vampire’s eyes that he was hell-bent on revenge; his determination to seek justice was noted before he even uttered an oath to his Lady. Layla nodded slowly and let out a breath to steady her as she brushed the trail of tears from her cheeks. No words were spoken, but at that moment, both Layla and Maxim were in perfect harmonious unity. Both knew what had to be done, and neither was unwilling to accomplish this task. In this moment, she had absolute faith in Maxim, unshaken and unwavering. She had only hoped to feel the same about the ruling King, Verial.

Maxim finally released her just as Layla placed a hand upon his armored chest, right above where his unbeating heart lay buried.

“Whatever it takes, Maxim,” Layla’s words were icy as she spoke, her grey eyes hard as steel. “Obliterate them, Maxim. Each and every one,” Layla paused then, her eyes flashing with fury. “Especially her. I want her head and that cold black heart of hers.” Layla’s hand slid down to grip at Maxim’s forearm then. “Let nothing get in your way.” Her gaze locked with his in that moment of unspoken understanding concerning Verial.

“Nothing Maxim and no one.”

When she emerged from her son's shadow she remained close and unseen behind the pillar of his form, hearing the voice of a female speaking. The Angel sensed fear or dissembling. She certainly recognized the name Layla. She recognized many things in just the few minutes of her unknown presence. Despite what might of been happening; who this female was that Verial was talking to, or what he was doing, what Sorvynia had come for took precedence over it all.

“That is, if you would allow me to remain here by your side, at your service, my Lord.”

It was with those last words that Sorvynia could no longer stand her own impatience. She slipped her hand upon Verial's shoulder from behind and gave a gentle squeeze.

"Forgive my interruption Son, but I must speak with you...-now-." She said softly, with woe and insistence in her tone. It was then that she stepped around, seeking his gaze, hoping that she would not see that he did not know yet. A part of her did not want to have to be the one to tell him, yet another part did not want him to first find out from any one else. She was afraid, not even being able to answer him how or why. She had hoped they could find out together.

It had been of no concern to the herald that had visited her, for It was only fulfilling its purpose, to tell her when her blood's been spilled. It was all the Aspect could do now, as who It once was did not exist anymore. She thought, just perhaps, there was some slight fragment of a soul's memory within the Aspect. It helped make sense of why It lingered on, so displaced and not belonging to the fabric of time any longer.

To the female that had been selling herself to gain the place at his right hand she turned with a genuine bow of respect. "Forgive my intrusion. I am the Lady Sorvynia, Lord Verial's mother. I am about urgent family business."

Before Verial could speak she grasped his hand and squeezed it. She wasn't going to be leaving any time soon. Not for a while. She wasn't going to let him out of her sight.