Fantasy (Closed) Retough IC

[Dragongal]

Magic was always dazzling. Blast after blast proved devastating to the enemy. He internally made a note to himself about the girl with the spoon - she was a caster. Potentially a very powerful one at that, though if she knew the extent of it or not yet Danny wasn't certain. The fact that she was travelling with a man who could summon stars - that made them quite the dangerous pair. Danny hadn't gotten the same feeling from Hazm, but then again different casters have a different.... aura? No no that sounded too official and legitimate, and Danny just marked it down to gut feelings. If he thought about it too long he'd just get a headache.

And of course, he was rather busy using his greataxe to keep enemy soldiers at bay. He had never used a weapon while on horseback but it was always a good time to learn something new. Besides protecting his newfound friends (?) he had to make sure no enemies touched the bishop. It was all like a demented game of capture the flag but if their flag was captured he would be literally murdered. He didn't know this bishop but clearly he was an important man and at this point, Danny would do anything to spite the invaders simply because he could.

"We're going North, towards Gromm's Point. When we reach the fork where the Grynnin Stream meets the Baramouth Strait, we ride East. I can assure you all we will find a haven from which we can plan our next course of action."

Danny knew the path they were on well, it was the main path out of Fort Hemmis. Why would they just... stay on the main path for that long? He searches through his memories to see if there was anything significant about this fork by the Strait and nothing at all comes to mind. Danny's walked this road thousands of times... where the hell were they going?

 

[Viper Actual]

Hearing the very loud result of his spell Maldorn was satisfied and lowered his staff, for he had no reason to imagine something he'd witness many times in the past. It pained him slightly that a spell created to deal with creatures of dark powers could be used to such efficiency against mere cavalry though the situation was indeed dire. In the end such desperation warranted desperate measures.

"Defensible, no. Safe, yes." Retten swerved his horse haphazardly to avoid a structural failure that nearly knocked him off his mount. "Believe in me as you would believe in the pantheon, all. I will guide you to safety."

While Maldorn was a bit skeptical regarding this haven Retten had- if not out of sheer self-preservation- guided him and Dahlia safely thus far. Adding to that, the hermit was a bit curious where the man would take the party.

Perhaps a brothel or some secret military dugout? Maldorn smirked slightly. Maybe it's a wine-cellar.

After narrowly avoiding a second charge from the enemy cavalry Maldorn allowed himself to relax slightly as the group left Port Hemmis and entered the countryside. It was at this point where he began to feel the strain from the spells previously cast in combination with his aging physical frame. Surely, had there been another two engagements he might have been forced to withdraw to the rear.

Right now however Maldorn was able to recuperate his powers slowly by holding his staff near him in one hand. In the other, well, he was unsurprisingly eating an apple. It had a golden hue and looked almost like it had been plucked no more than hour ago.

The old man paused to observe the trees around them before letting out an audible Hmmph. Maldorn turned to Dahlia and smiled briefly before speaking; "This forest was but a field of saplings the last time I was here. Nature truly is fascinating."

kaito9049

 

[Solar Daddy]

Vace Vail countryside, North of Port Hemmis

The journey to Bishop Retten's haven was long and tiresome. Though they did not ride particularly hard, it was a grueling day with hopes diminished and worries abundant. Leading the chevron of riders at the front was the Bishop, a grimace plastered on his face. He rode with his eyes focused ahead, rarely veering to check their surroundings. The Bishop would answer most questions posed by the group if they had any, though his answers were short and to the point. He seemed interested in keeping them mostly in the dark until they arrived at their location. Through this, Lera found herself at first being overwhelmed with questions, ideas and solutions that plagued her mind. She had to halt herself from bolting off to the nearest Praetian military camp to go over numbers, equipment, tactics, anything that could provide their country a better understanding of their enemy. In the many conflicts between Ykrum and Praetum, neither had impressive navies and therefore rarely relied on amphibious assaults. In all her time studying Ykrumic doctrine, landing an invading force along the gulf was never a play in their rulebook. This idea further led her to think that Ykrum wasn't the cause of the invasion, though her skepticism would remain high. She wouldn't let a new tactic be the reason she lets an Ykrumic coward stab her in the back.

Though most of their ride was on the main road North of Port Hemmis surrounded by a thick wood or occasionally an open field, the sun had fully set a mere hour in to their ride and the last beams of warmth through the thicket had vanished. The group stopped only momentarily to drink at a spring or a river, sometimes halting for a bit longer to check on deceased bodies by the roadside. Some warbands must've travelled further inland from the main force to run down potential news-carriers and keep the invasion as hushed as possible. The Bishop had little fear in running into such small groups, choosing to believe they were more interested in covering ground than thoroughly checking the same spots. In fact, the Bishop even saw the bodies as a sign they would be free from trouble in the meantime. Of course, bandits and thieves were likely answers to the killings as well.

Most had lost track of the journey by the time Retten finally pulled them from the main road and down a winding, rocky path deeper into one of the many forests of Praetum. The Bishop had expertly used a ball of flame cradled in his offhand to provide light on their movements. He kept it dim as to not possibly attract attention. From here, they followed a river maybe seven or eight meters wide, which wound through the hilly terrain. They followed it upstream until they met a convergence, no doubt the Grynnin Stream and Baramouth Strait mentioned earlier. Both had their origins in Teathe's Ridge from melting snow high up in the mountains, though the Grynnin Stream began far to the North while the Strait was almost directly East. Through a rickety old wood bridge, closer in quality to a log crossing the stream, they found themselves on the north side of the bank and proceeded into the night.

Finally, after their crossing, it was only a mere few minutes to Retten's destination. Though it was far too dark even with his light to make out much but the closest trees to the road, a looming, craggily structure blotted out the stars as they approached. Seemingly a few tens of meters tall, the outline was similar to that of a temple or church, though even in the dark its state of decay was easy to tell.

"We dismount here." The Bishop spoke with a hefty sigh, halting his mare as the rest did with their own. Retten and Lera planted their feet firmly on the moist ground and hitched their horses to a piece of debris, a large stone chunk that had been displaced from the structure's wall. Those that had no saddle or reins were gimmicked into a harness from various materials, including spare rope and even woven improvised grass strands. Sure, they weren't strong, but it was enough for the horses to hold still for the time being. The Bishop's light shone along the cracking, aging stone walls before them. It was maybe thirty meters wide visible from the outside and the entrance to the building was wide open, the doors having been knocked down ages ago and completely covered in dirt and foliage. "All answers will be provided soon, my friends. Now is time for an initiation, one I pray you accept. Not for the good of Praetum, or even myself; but for Retough as a whole. This continent needs you, all of you, now more than it ever has."



Inside the cathedral was a sorry state. Lights bounced from uneven surfaces and illuminated many structural failings. A hefty gust of wind was still palpable in the air through many toppled walls. The roof was barely in tact, most of which had collapsed in and covered the ground in a layer of jagged stone. Whatever damage this building sustained must have been old as overgrowth was plenty, with saplings, grass and vegetation growing across just about every open surface. The faint sound of a shallow creek was more loud now than it was outside, quickly allowing the cast to come to the realization that enough time had passed for an entire waterway to open up inside the structure of the building. Time had not been kind to this temple, long forgotten by all.

As Retten moved through the cathedral, he passed a series of braziers which he lit with little care. Each one illuminated the room further, until finally enough light had consolidated to bring the entire building into rough view. Most notable were the 8, maybe 10 meter statues lining the walls on either side, but most predominantly the left. Some had swords, clad in heavy armor and wielding mighty stoic poses and expressions. Others had fabric imbued into their likeness with hoods, light armor, knives and staffs. The depictions that weren't completely destroyed seemed to be from many different backgrounds; dwarves, elves and humans were all easily identifiable even with only a handful still standing. All in all, around a dozen statues permeated the hall all the way down until the end of the building, a half crescent shape similar to many cathedrals of Praetian style.

Retten walked the halls of this place as if he had memorized its layout, expertly weaving in between the toppled stone and clattered wood beams which once held up the roof. Among the rubble, occasionally peeking out from the rock and foliage were skeletons, deeply rotted and fully assimilated into nature. "Remain here," The Bishop spoke, halting the cast at the stream which ran from the left end of the room to the right. He cast some form of magic, which allowed him to step over the stream without getting his feet wet in the process, similar to an assassin or thief's silent step spell. He lit the brazier on the other side, which revealed a final statue in the center of the far end of the room. This one was clad in royal robes and adorned with a jagged, broken crown atop his deteriorated head.

Spoiler: Images

With the hall now ablaze with renewed light, filling the entire cathedral with hues of flickering red, the Bishop turned back to the rest of his group. "I've been cryptic, I know. I've met all of you just a few hours ago, to which I am grateful for. Without all of your contributions, I would never have escaped Port Hemmis and the Praetian resistance to the new front would go without support. Throughout this cast before me, we have many skills available to us. Healers, mages, warriors. Though you may not be the most experienced, I would trust you all with my life, as I already have many times this day alone." The Bishop took a pause, glancing at each of the people before him across the stream. "A long forgotten sect was created and destroyed here, almost as old as humanity's time in Retough itself. In times of great crises, a coalition was formed to protect this continent. Borders, backgrounds, identities; none of these mattered. When the time was right, kings, queens, emperors would call upon their best to protect the realm from destruction. Syndicates, they were called, spearheaded by a Praetian king long since passed. It was his vision to see not Praetum's success, but Retough's."

The Bishop motioned behind him to the crowned statue, gleaming rock eyes staring them all down. "These syndicates, four in total across Retough's history, were all disbanded upon completion of their goal. The last to be formed here was over a hundred years ago, as was it's decommission. It is my goal now, with the threat of foreign invaders, to light a new beacon. A syndicate from which these threats can be washed away."

Retten turned to look specifically at Hazm, then Dahlia for moments each. "We know the army that attacked Port Hemmis was not from Ykrum. Even despite the ongoing war only a few hundred kilometers from here, this threat was seaborne, hailing from a land I believe rivals our own. For across the Breathing Sea, other lands with their own greedy kings vie for control of whatever they can get. It is my belief that these hungry conquerors found Retough some years ago, and are now finally committing themselves to taking it for themselves. As such, it is within my power as a Bishop under Grand Primarch Aunslas II to form a new syndicate to combat this grave threat. I will provide you training, housing, and knowledge to accompany a position within this syndicate. I can answer all questions I know the answers of, and I can provide deep immunity from near all repercussions of state, not just from Praetian law, but all governmental bodies. Believe me, my friends, that this is the start of a desperate time in Retough history. I need your help to make sure there are those alive to write it."

"Any wishing to flee to their beds and cower before certain death can leave now. Those who wish to save their loved ones, their homes, their way of life, should remain."

 

[Viper Actual]

Upon reaching the overgrown ruins which lay far away from prying eyes Maldorn instinctively reached for the pendant around his neck. He could feel it's cold sting on his bare skin though it wasn't uncomfortable but rather soothing and calming. Whispering something to himself Maldorn massaged the pendant between two fingers and followed the party inside.

Even in its current state Maldorn could feel the very aura of the cathedral. Despite having been ruined and left to fight the test of time what was left of the structure demanded absolute respect of all those who visited it. The statues appeared both as solemn reminders of days past and as silent sentinels, watching over the cathedral still.

As the group went further inward the pendant's chill grew in intensity. Then, as the bishop ignited braziers all around to reveal an intimidating statue at the very rear of the room. Maldorn tilted his head and narrowed his eyes while studying the features of the rocky and moss-covered face. Could it be? No, though they do look quite alike...

When Retten spoke Maldorn focused all of his attention at the bishop while holding his head up high. The pendant vibrated. A cold spring morning wind washed over him.

Bishop. Bishop. Bishop.

Maldorn glanced downwards at his tunic. A faint glow painted the bottom of his neck in blue. Surprised, Maldorn reached for the pendant but just as he was about to place it atop his tunic the pendant glowed brighter and began to hover. It ascended slightly, positioning itself in front of Maldorn's chest and pointed directly at Retten.

The voice inside Maldorn's mind spoke again, louder this time;

Fulfill your oath. Carry my light. Destroy the darkness. For your brothers. For me.

Maldorn closed his eyes and spoke softly. "For my brothers. For Varaena." His whispers were barely audible though what came next was not.

Opening his eyes the hermit gripped his staff with both hands, rotated one third of it and drew a blade which had been concealed within. The sound echoed across the room as Maldorn held his sword in front of him with the tip of the blade pointing directly upwards.

"I will stand with you," Maldorn said. The sword was spun and Maldorn buried the tip into the floor while taking a knee. As he knelt the arms on Maldorn's robes were drawn back, revealing gilded forearm-armor with fine and intricate details. The armor practically glowed with a faint hue of sunlight, as did his sword which appeared to have been just as expertly crafted.

"My days may be numbered and my body is old and worn but I will help you any way I can. In the name of Varaena, She who guards the Light, I swear allegiance not any kingdom but to this mission. If our adversary truly consort with dark powers then I shall see them stopped- lest we see our earliest and darkest history repeat itself."

 

[Aeris]

The exhaustion fully hit Eilonwyn about an hour into their journey, though she didn't dare try to sleep. Not when the person leading them was choosing to keep their destination a secret. As much as Winnie wanted to ask the list of questions she currently had, something in her told her it would be better to wait. Or, perhaps the elder's words of being patient were finally resonating with Winnie, though she highly doubted that.

Eilonwyn was pleased to finally be in the countryside, however, even if bodies littered the path every now and again. She chose to look away whenever they stopped to inspect the deceased. On the occasion they did stop to drink water or rest, Winnie took the time to scavenge the forests for medical supplies. With the long periods of silence, she couldn't help but let her mind wander. Was her home okay? Her friends? What about that mother and her child Winnie had helped earlier that morning? There was no use in thinking of questions that had no answers, of course, that's what her friend, Lily, would have said. Even so, that didn't stop Eilonwyn from bowing her head in prayer.

She hadn't noticed they reached their destination until the Bishop's voice broke through her thoughts. Eilonwyn quietly dismounted from her horse, reassuring the mare she would be back soon, before following the group into the temple ruins.

Inside the ruins were impressive, if not a little sad. Perhaps once upon a time, the cathedral had been loved by someone dearly. Though now forgotten, Winnie was pleased to see nature was taking its toll, at least it was still being loved by someone. Even if that someone wasn't a person.

And then the Bishop spoke again, drawing Eilonwyn's attention away from the statues she had been admiring. She frowned, unable to understand quite what was being said. The one thing that was apparent was he needed help, and this group appeared to be chosen, should they accept. This alone left Winnie at a loss for words. The Bishop had said they could leave, there was nothing stopping her from going home right now. She wasn't strong enough to fight, she wasn't good with magic. All she had was her medical knowledge and even that probably wouldn't do the group any good. She would be downright useless if she said yes, she knew this. Just someone who would get in the way and be more trouble than help.

However.

Would turning and going home even be safe? Would she make it home alive? What would the court say if she came home, knowing there had been the option to stay and help? Would they even care?

The questions were too loud. Eilonwyn was almost grateful for the distraction when Maldorn spoke up to pledge his allegiance. She watched the scene quietly before looking around at the rest of the group. Winnie waited several seconds before concluding no one else was going to speak up at this time.

"I'll join." The words burst from Eilonwyn's mouth before she could really think her decision over. Her face reddened slightly at her surprise outburst. "I mean," she continued, taking the time to step forward, "I'm not a fighter, and my magic isn't the best...but I can offer my medical knowledge if that would be alright, then I'd be happy to help."

 

[kaito9049]

Like the others, Dal was silent for most of the ride. It was more than exhaustion. The screams of shock and anguish, the way those riders' bodies had fallen from their steeds as they vainly grasped the icicles embedded in their torsos — that had been her doing. The scene replayed in her mind over and over, inscribing it on her memory more fully than any pen could mark paper, and summoning with it a dozen other sickening recollections.

Scribe was engaged by hostile forces, with the overwhelming preponderance of evidence indicating severe to lethal bodily harm if such forces were left unchecked. Scribe utilized offensive spells as recommended by "Words and War," Chapter VII, which is among the Academy's authorized treatises on the subject of self-defense during the execution of official duties. Scribe requests that this report be filed as supportive documentation and receive no mention in the primary narrative, as her actions during the event have no discernible historical or research benefit.

Dal tightened her grip on Horse, her distaste for the beast entirely forgotten. The words of the report she'd have to send had flooded her mind. It wouldn't be the first time she had to file that particular note. It was merely a formality, something some poor first-year scribe would have to open, sign, and move to a different stack. It hadn't struck Dahlia before that the clinical way her ilk handled a horrific and brutish event was likely by design. Scribes were trained to describe massacres and famines dryly — with scholarly excitement, at most. Why would their own involvement, however justifiable in the death of people who doubtless had their own families, their own plans and ambitions and tastes, be treated any differently?

It was a tempting prospect, one toward which Dal felt drawn more and more as the scenery around her became stranger — where was the Bishop taking them? — and her thoughts darkened with the sky. To be able to literally write everything she'd seen and experienced off as data points in the dizzying constellation of history would be a wonderful boon. It was even strictly necessary, in some situations. That monotonous, sturdy voice at the back of her head pressed her to move with the danger, or even into it, when all her other instincts screamed at her to run. Why couldn't she entrust to it the guilt that she now felt?

No, Dal decided firmly. Her actions had been her own, and so would her shame. She would not numb herself to it as so many others — even her own parents — did, not completely. But neither could she allow it to paralyze her. She would record her faults in the report she sent to the Academy with no appended recommendation. Those with more authority than she would decide whether to include it in the final draft.

Satisfied, for now, with her conclusion, Dal allowed her attention to be pulled to the cathedral in which her group had sought refuge. It was an amazing work of architecture, particularly the stone statues that seemed to guard the hallowed halls. The sound of Dahlia's pen against her notebook echoed lightly through the room. What a marvelous archeological site! She could only guess as to its original purpose.

Fortunately, she didn't have to guess long. Bishop Retten addressed the group, explaining his intent to reform the syndicate he claimed had protected Retough in the past.

Dal's head was spinning. This was almost too much information to take in a short amount of time. She knew some basic information about the previous syndicates, but it occupied the same space in her mind as heroic myths and the price of grain during hundreds-of-years-old wars. That is to say, more space than it did in the average person's head, but still a small portion.

But if the Bishop truly intended — and had the authority to — reinstate the syndicate...well, her headmasters had wanted her to pursue more interesting histories. And any self-respecting organization needed someone to document its successes and failures, or at least make sure everyone's names were spelled correctly in the records. On the other hand, Dal would lose much of the objective tone a quality historian was usually expected to give their works, and some of the other scribes might question some of her details because of that. Yet what choice did she really have? If joining this syndicate was the best possible way to inform future generations about the people who stopped an enigmatic invasion of Retough, she would take the opportunity.

Besides, if they failed, no one would be reading her reports anyway.

Still, Dal, as always, had questions. She tried to project an air of skepticism as she stepped forward. "I appreciate Sir Maldorn's and Madame Eilonwyn's enthusiasm," she said slowly, nodding to her companions, "but I have just a few questions that, I imagine, would help more than a few of us in making a decision regarding this alleged syndicate.

"Firstly, where are you getting your intelligence regarding these invaders? We know they're not Ykrumic, but this other information is new to me.

"There is one additional point," Dal added, glancing briefly at Hazm. She hadn't missed the look Retten had given the two earlier. "Not all of us are...accustomed to your gods, or your ruler. A cynical person might see the formation of a syndicate as a way for Praetum to consolidate its power in a time of crisis, or maybe even take advantage of its neighbors' sacred oaths to seize a leading role in this conflict."

She didn't make the other, adjacent point she was thinking. Yes, the integrity of Praetum's leaders was a concern; she wouldn't put it past the Grand Primarch to try to influence the group, despite the independence it historically enjoyed. But she was equally worried about her own country. Would Ykrum honor its oaths while it still waged war with Praetum? Moon above, was something like this even possible anymore? The syndicates always felt like something that could only exist when they were first formed, hundreds of years ago. Now that she was confronted with the prospect of a new one, it all felt a little foolish.

 

[0stinato]

•••
It's easier to uproot the seedling than to cut down the tree.
•••​

In general, Sohrab avoided places of worship. A looming location built by men to celebrate Gods he didn’t associate with. Did they judge him? More than 200 Terin gods gathered on sandstone spires to stare down at him, with disgust or judgement, invisibly repulsed by his own ways of doing things? Or was that him judging them and disliking his own difficulties with them? If he was ever called upon to perform a Praetum funeral rite, nothing of worship or gods would come into it. Funerals served the living: they could do nothing for the dead.

He probably would have turned his horse away to escape into the darkness if not for the fact he had little to no control over it. The Bishop was leading and Eilonwyn’s charming had persuaded the beast into following. All he could do was hold on, agitated by the invisible, imagined presence of gods that weren’t his. Were they spiteful that the country had allowed the Cathedral to fall to ruin? And what was a Cathedral doing so far away from a city anyway? Why waste a structure of this magnitude? There weren’t even any stragglers that he could detect, no travellers or outcasts that had formed society here in the scorned shadow of Praetum’s civilised cities. The lack of a campfire glow and woodsmoke told him there truly was no one here. Nothing about it was making sense, and Sohrab realised that his unsettled emotions were probably stemming from the discrepancy this location existed within.

He was still carrying the banner he had swiped from the invaders and during the course of the escape, he had doused it in whatever blood he saw. He thought about jamming it into the ground before the Cathedral, but leaving it out here would be more of an invitation to others than a repellent. If any Praetum infantry were combing the countryside, they might charge in ready for war and without the ear for reason. So, reluctant that he would have to shoulder the unwieldy item, he took it in with him to the building.

It became clear that life existed in this space, but it only unsettled Sohrab more to know that the survivability of this place had not attracted any stragglers. As the Bishop lit the braziers, revealing the twinkling stream and darker corners, Sohrab knew this was a place he would have lived if he had found it. So how come no one else had? A water source in a forest with plenty of places to hide if authorities came knocking, if city guard even bothered coming out this far. He didn’t say anything, didn’t move more than he had to, lest the souls who remained in those statues put their attention towards him. There was one other reason he didn’t move, and that was his fractured rib: in the heat of battle and fleeing, he had toughed it out, putting faith in his orcish heritage to keep his body strong and defiant in the face of adversity, but he had been sitting on the back of a horse for hours now, and the fire that had burned within his wrists and his core was little more than white ash.

The Bishop spoke of a time that seemed to Sohrab a long way off, but the more the man said the more Sohrab was able to fixate on him to avoid thinking about the building. He’d never heard of these Syndicates. Never heard of whatever they had done, and wondered if Retten was just a mad old man putting stock in an overdeveloped tale of battle. But the statues existed, this place existed, and some strange presence lingered in the cracks between the walls. He spoke of history, of geography, of a grand order devised by the Primarch. Sohrab found himself breathing more heavily, though he could not determine why just yet.

"Any wishing to flee to their beds and cower before certain death can leave now. Those who wish to save their loved ones, their homes, their way of life, should remain."

His lips parted to respond, but Maldorn’s pledge broke the silence first, and as the old man promised himself to the mission, Sohrab stood stunned and dizzied by the weight of it all. He hadn’t heard the name he spoke either, Varaena, she who guards the light, a seeming destroyer of dark powers. What was dark and what was light? Did dark powers automatically denote evil actions? Sohrab didn’t think so. A man could wield radiance and heavenly-descended blades to hack the head off an innocent with the same ease a dark sorcerer could wield a barrier of necrotic energy to protect a family. If a crow eats the seeds in a harrowed field, one does not define it as a dark creature, but hates it for its actions. He wouldn’t say all this though, especially because Maldorn had simply not said enough for Sohrab to determine his stance. He would not judge the man now, for doing so would be a contradiction. Eilonwyn spoke next, giving an affirmative along with Maldorn, but didn’t share her reasons. Dahlia was next, raising questions that were certainly worth considering before pledging to join.

But during the ride and the internal struggle between one answer or another, Sohrab had felt the cry of common sense rise up from his brainstem. The animalistic note begging him to rest. Rest, rest, rest, and get Eilonwyn’s attention. If she spoke truthfully, she could help him. If the Bishop followed the loose footsteps of other clergy people and knew healing magic, Sohrab would be nothing more than a bloody fool to wander away into the darkness now.

He'd let his position be known sooner rather than later.

‘If I’d’ve been more careful, I’d’ve been gone at th’ first mention of your mission, Bishop,’ Sohrab spoke, his accent growling out the final word. ‘You’re living a fantasy if you think I’d join your storybook ranks. I’ve had lives as a man, a mortician, a wanderer, and in the eyes of some, a crook. In none of those lives was I a hero. But, I can’t leave; I’m injured. Th’ night’d see me exhausted or dead. I’ve got no choice but to remain. So.’

He raised the blooded banner horizontal in his hand, and let it go. It clattered against the flagstones, echoing a staccato of wood and metal around the broken building.

‘There’s my evidence of sacrifice to the rest of you, and in return all I want is healing from those that would offer it, and a safe rest. I’m not inclined to join you given what you’ve said, but, as it is now, I won’t leave ‘til dawn.’

He let his words settle for a second before dropping his alert stance and allowing his shoulders to fall. With one last glance up at the Bishop, he turned to the nearest brazier to rest by it. Roughing it on flagstones served no problem, although it would be a stark contrast to the shelf he was sleeping on in Port Hemmis.

That little building had received the joint wrath of two major elements. Fire and flooding would have torn the soul out of that place, but Sohrab felt no sense of loss. Occupations came and went, such was the norm in the life he had orchestrated on Retough. And if foreign invaders from across the seas saw fit to uproot civilisations and embed themselves in streets previously walked by Praetumian and Launcish people, he would adapt to that, too.

It would take any invading force a few decades to get to Amkaor. At least, he reckoned so.

--
Interactions: Solar Daddy
Mentions: Aeris Viper Actual kaito9049

 

[Solar Daddy]

"I will stand with you," Maldorn said. The sword was spun and Maldorn buried the tip into the floor while taking a knee. As he knelt the arms on Maldorn's robes were drawn back, revealing gilded forearm-armor with fine and intricate details. The armor practically glowed with a faint hue of sunlight, as did his sword which appeared to have been just as expertly crafted.

"My days may be numbered and my body is old and worn but I will help you any way I can. In the name of Varaena, She who guards the Light, I swear allegiance not any kingdom but to this mission. If our adversary truly consort with dark powers then I shall see them stopped- lest we see our earliest and darkest history repeat itself."

Maldorn's response gave Retten a renewed hope in the world. If there were still brave souls to be found in Retough, even as aged as the man appeared to be, then maybe the realm wasn't doomed to fall. The Bishop's shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. The worst was over; he had at least one who would accept his crusade and that was enough to bring vigor to the aging clergyman. "The continent will be forever in your debt, Maldorn. All those living, and yet to live, have you to thank." The Bishop gave a glance across the remaining yet to answer, his eyes landing on Lera, who had planted the blade of her sword lightly into the cracked stone beneath her with a raised head. Retten didn't even feel the need to ask her, it was clear as the light of Vrem.

"I'll join." The words burst from Eilonwyn's mouth before she could really think her decision over. Her face reddened slightly at her surprise outburst. "I mean," she continued, taking the time to step forward, "I'm not a fighter, and my magic isn't the best...but I can offer my medical knowledge if that would be alright, then I'd be happy to help."

Eilonwyn was the next to speak. In a similar way to Maldorn, it seemed contemplation was not required for some to make such taxing decisions. Retten would give himself credit for giving such a rousing and convincing speech which had no doubt turned so many to his cause. "Eilonwyn of the forest, the realm of Man is forever in the debt of you and the Fey. We require not prowess in battle, nor magic, nor medical knowledge. It is drive, determination, unwavering support to the continuation of life which is necessary to this quest. You, I sense, will be a perfect addition to the Syndicate."

"Firstly, where are you getting your intelligence regarding these invaders? We know they're not Ykrumic, but this other information is new to me.

Now would be the time for the skeptics to voice their concerns, Bishop Retten thought absentmindedly as he listened to Dahlia. The scholar made good points, valid to anyone paying close attention to both history and current events. It was clear Verne wasn't bluffing about her historic knowledge. "It's no secret the original settlers landed in Retough a millennia ago as a result of infighting. Our world, once whole, has been fractured in the ages long predating ourselves. This fracture broke apart continents, land masses. It flung many to desolate corners of the known realm, to which the survivors greedily clung for whatever power they could. It's a story as old as time itself; one ruler would come out on top, and any of the transient souls who wished to escape absolute destruction would flee their homes on ships. These outcasts would often die out at sea, never to carry on a legacy. Those that found a new home, a new realm, would grab whatever land they could, fight off any others, and the cycle would continue. We, the people of Retough, are all the successors to those that lost a home, probably countless times."

The Bishop cleared his throat. "To that end, I believe the same event is occurring here. These fake Ykrumic people, they hunger for land. But their military, their organization, the quality of their gear... It's far too wealthy for a clan that simply lost their home. No, I believe these people hail from a land close to Retough, who wish to add this realm to their conquests.

"And they found Port Hemmis." The Bishop gave a pause to let the words hang in the air. "A regional city, on the far side of the Crivess Gulf, on the other side of Arsinia. They bypassed Launce, Ykrum, Sazaki, Sashao, and Valesky to reach the city. This place of landing was no mere accident. These invaders knew of Port Hemmis and sought to take such a place first, though they likely sprung multiple landings across the continent. This is my reasoning as to why I believe this was a planned invasion, with strategic plotting and tactics."

"There is one additional point," Dal added, glancing briefly at Hazm. She hadn't missed the look Retten had given the two earlier. "Not all of us are...accustomed to your gods, or your ruler. A cynical person might see the formation of a syndicate as a way for Praetum to consolidate its power in a time of crisis, or maybe even take advantage of its neighbors' sacred oaths to seize a leading role in this conflict."

"You need not be of Terin faith to join the Syndicate. You know as well as I, historian, that Syndicates have been created outside of Praetum or its influence in the past. Half, to be exact. Launce and Ykrum both sported their own flavor of Syndicate at one point in history. Every major government in Retough has agreed to the importance of the idea of a Syndicate. Though, these pacts were made long ago with long dead rulers. Part of our job, as members of this order, is to ensure the cooperation of every major power in Retough. This includes... replacements, should some rulers object to such ideas.

"And before you get ideas that this is a Praetian conspiracy, let me remind you that Praetian Grand Primarchs have been felled by Syndicates in the past. The state I represent is not immune to this creed's influence." Retten breathed in heavy after his longwinded speech, hoping his answer was enough to convince the historian. "We seek only to halt the current conflicts to ensure everyone's survival. They'll all get right back to bickering amongst themselves once the threat is over, be assured."

‘There’s my evidence of sacrifice to the rest of you, and in return all I want is healing from those that would offer it, and a safe rest. I’m not inclined to join you given what you’ve said, but, as it is now, I won’t leave ‘til dawn.’

Damn. Retten had hoped none would outright refuse. The skull-adorned warrior thief would provide plenty to the group, if he could be persuaded. "Your sacrifice is more than acknowledged, Sohrab. Under the Syndicate, we could provide you whatever you require. Food, a home, training, wealth... All members of a Syndicate, even tangentially involved, had seen riches beyond belief in their time. I can offer you these things should you change your mind in the coming hours.

"We have plenty of healers in our midst, Sohrab. It is not my place to speak on their behalf, but I'm certain someone will be willing to assist you. Myself included." The Bishop gave a nod to the orc, hoping he could convince Sohrab through further persuasion after the ceremony was over. They needed all the help they could get.

The Bishop turned to face the rest who had yet to answer; Daniel, Nyota, Odette and Hazm. "What say you? Does the call beckon you?"

 

[Dragongal]

For quite a while, Daniel was on edge. He had his double-sided, pole-arm style axe in hand as he kept an eye on the woods around them and behind them for any signs of an ambush. He was used to walking paths alone, and he'd had his fair share of ambushes, but above all he was used to the sounds of a forest. Having multiple horses around made it tricky, yes, but he could hear the wind rustling leaves and bending branches, birds flitting through the canopy, and a distinct lack of wildlife. No skittering of chipmunks or squirrels, barely even the buzz of an insect. The smoke from the burning city behind him likely helped quell the tiny bastards and the ruckus from the soldiers had likely scared off anything in these forests that had any interest in staying alive. Then there was the smell of death... especially the smell of burned flesh, that was one of the worst smells in his humble and correct opinion.

Eventually it seemed to be a safe bet that nobody was still pursuing them. Or, if they were, there would be enough warning to draw a weapon. Daniel put away the long axe and took the reins again. He acknowledged he was lucky to be one of the ones whose horse actually had tack; this ride would have been much more unpleasant otherwise. Really though, it was quite nice. Ignoring the whole being chased by a small army of unknown invaders part, of course. If everyone were less tense, it could almost be considered leisurely.


The decayed kind-of-temple was quite the sight, and Daniel was surprised he'd never found it before. He didn't make a particular habit of straying off paths with no reason to, but it was still rather impressive that this giant, ancient location was so well hidden... almost like it was intentional. And maybe it was. But it was also fair that nobody was using it so nobody would manage the upkeep and like many things it was allowed to fall into decay.

Daniel looked over the carefully carved stone and pondered on the time and effort spent making this place; the artisans had clearly put their hearts and souls into this. That it should fall to decay was natural, but a shame nonetheless. He knew that the masons had to have known this would happen: like all artisans when creating works of art it is understood that eventually it will decay. Eventually people will forget the value and it will lose its purpose. But it had had its function: to honor these people, apparently heroes of old, for as long as possible, and to bring the appropriate sense of awe to this place of importance. To raise an emotion in people. That was always the point of art of any kind. He could understand an ancient stonemason's zeal and hopes for this place even knowing it would decay, and knowing that the decay, in itself, would be beautiful. Human hands had had their turn, now it was nature's, and it still served its purpose of raising an emotion.

As a woodcarver of course, Daniel had always been more fond of crafting practical things, small things that would bring little sparks of joy or comfort to people. Little warm emotions, not big ones. This was, after all, why he hunted monsters of both human and non-human forms. He had learned over time that that was one of the only things worth fighting for, those warm little moments. Not glory or gold or fame; he couldn't stand the thought. While most could not carve a figure from stone, or be worthy or being an image carved in stone, there was still always the gentler moments that made life whole. And he had slaved away for the past however many years trying to protect that for other people, to catch the briefest reflections of that feeling.

"My days may be numbered and my body is old and worn but I will help you any way I can. In the name of Varaena, She who guards the Light, I swear allegiance not any kingdom but to this mission. If our adversary truly consort with dark powers then I shall see them stopped- lest we see our earliest and darkest history repeat itself."

In the very short time he had known him, there had already been a lot of weird hints about Maldorn. So Danny really should not have been surprised when he revealed a sword and ornate armor as he formally pledged his allegiance to the Bishop's cause. This did not stop Daniel from being a bit surprised. It definitely appeared that he was playing in the big leagues now, so to speak. This man was pledged to a god he was not familiar with, but that was not odd to someone who had been raised Praetian - there were many gods and goddesses and he had stopped keeping track of them a good time ago. Still, it was always good to have a possibly blessed individual fighting at his side.

"I'm not a fighter, and my magic isn't the best...but I can offer my medical knowledge if that would be alright, then I'd be happy to help."

The poor fey. While any healing would be appreciated by all, he knew he'd have to keep an eye on her. But nobody had a right to deny anyone the chance to fight for what they believed in, in this case protecting the very land and people they called home. Her bravery was admirable and he felt a little smile pulling at his lips as he thought about it.

"Not all of us are...accustomed to your gods, or your ruler."

The scribe. She was right to be wary, but any help was needed. Especially after those spells she cast earlier were so effective. Daniel almost wanted to promise that any issues of religion or race he would handle himself in his own typical manner of handling such issues, but he kept his mouth shut and let the Bishop speak. After all, Praetians who had strayed from the faith like himself weren't always well received but he had father that this Syndicate was more important than such a petty thing, what with everyone's lives on the line.

"I’m not inclined to join you given what you’ve said,'

Well he had every right to be wary. To want to run off and hide, find any loved ones he might have and try to keep them safe and spend his last few years with them, living his life to the fullest, rather than most likely sacrificing it in a painful death that may not amount to anything. Realistically they were signing up for months or years in absolute living hell attempting to maybe save the continent. Maybe. Honestly? The thief probably had his head screwed on the best out of any of the group for saying, or nearly saying, no. Still, he would be damned useful.

Retten made his speech and turned to look to Daniel.

The smallest voice in the back of his head screams at him, Haven't you done enough? Do you not deserve to ever rest again? To go home?

Danny looked at the broken statues on the floor. Yes, these noble folk were gone, and so were the creators of such a space, but the fact that it could be observed as it was now, that life could be lead peacefully in Praetum, was thanks to them. Everything good that had ever happened in his life, every peaceful moment, was because some people stood up and said "Fuck this and Fuck you, even if we don't win we're going to make you bleed for this."


Danny looked back at Retten, chuckled and shook his head, a wry smile on his lips, his backwoods manner of speech intentionally overplayed as usual, "Well I've spent a lotta my life tryin' ta protect people, ta let them have good lives. Ain't much point in that if there won't be anything left to protect!" He gestures to the axes on his belt, "I know I'm just a woodsman, but I promise: I'm going to do everything I can to help."

 

[Solar Daddy]

Nona fluttered about the open cathedral as if the bird were a dog on patrol. She'd occasionally land on the shoulder of a still standing statue, monitoring the group before gliding off again to some unknown perch. An occasional coo reverberated across the cracked stone. The sound brought Nyota a small sense of comfort in such a strange and unique place. Priestly was no newcomer to exploration and enjoyed the discovery of something knew, so a grand architectural wonder lost to time such as this was endearing for the wanderer. Her sage robes glided across uneven pavement as Nyota weaved between the collapsed structural damage and statues with the rest of the group, remaining particularly close to Daniel and Eilonwyn. The familiarity of Daniel and the comfort of Winnie did even more to assure the traveler that her company was respectable.

Upon reaching the far end of the cathedral and listening intently on the words of the Bishop, Nyota halted her steps alongside the others while Nona momentarily returned to her. Though the owl's talons were sharp on her shoulder, the bird was gentle with its perching and expertly kept from harming her companion. Nyota whispered something inaudible to the pet before Nona returned to her explorative flight.

Retten's offer was... intriguing. Nyota was, first and foremost, a messenger, a traveler, a nomad. She found comfort on the road and had explored countless places of interest in the past. She was also one to practice the art of healing, something you could never have enough of. Lastly, Nona, her companion, would no doubt be priceless in her ability to spot imminent threats with the intricate communication the two were capable of. Perhaps her expert scouting abilities and knowledge of land could be of use to such an important group? She was surrounded by skillful tradesmen, all with their own niche expertise. Surely they could find use in someone such as Nyota and Nona. The invitation to join a group working for something the entire realm can look to for hope was weighing heavy on her soul. If nature had a way of righting the wrongs of the world, maybe this was her chance to help? Maybe this was what she was living for, a purpose greater than herself?

Danny looked back at Retten, chuckled and shook his head, a wry smile on his lips, his backwoods manner of speech intentionally overplayed as usual, "Well I've spent a lotta my life tryin' ta protect people, ta let them have good lives. Ain't much point in that if there won't be anything left to protect!" He gestures to the axes on his belt, "I know I'm just a woodsman, but I promise: I'm going to do everything I can to help."

Nyota gave Daniel plenty of time to speak before letting her own words sing across the hall. "Nona and I would be honored," Nyota spoke with her distinct Launceen accent. She stepped forward with one pace, Nona landing expertly and almost on queue with Nyota holding her arm out as a place for the owl to rest on. "I will apply all the help I can to the cause." The two looked across the small stream at Retten, washed in golden light from the fire in the brazier beside him. Silence filled the hall, with only the occasional crackle of fire or gust of wind filling the space.

Bishop Retten gazed upon the next batch of people to speak. The two travelers, Daniel and Nyota, how fitting for them to go one after another. Retten became more and more assured of the group's chances as they agreed to commit to the cause. A few of them seemed less than likely to apply themselves, while others, such as those yet to speak, seemed apprehensive to even join in the first place. Seeing as the silence was not lifted by the remaining to speak, Retten decided to offer some respite from the sudden and demanding coronation.

"To my friends who have yet to be fully convinced of the nature of this Syndicate," Retten began, looking to Dahlia, Odette, Sohrab and Hazm each. "I'll give you time to rest and think upon my offer. I'm sure given time you'll be swayed to the cause. For now, we can celebrate our survival of the disastrous event today and receive our much earned rest. The full ceremony can wait indefinitely. That's all it is, no need to make tradition the lifeblood of who we are."

Retten returned across the stream, using his thief step to traverse it without getting his shoes wet. "I'm sure everyone is thinking about food as much as I am. Perhaps some skilled hunters or trappers can help us feed ourselves for the night, yes? I've no food to offer, but I can assure you all, I'm known far and wide for my rabbit recipe."

 

[Solar Daddy]

Lera had kept her eyes switching back and forth between Retten and the rest of the cast. She was hesitant to believe that a few would join, and as it became apparent, it seemed Sohrab, Hazm and Odette were not convinced just yet. Dahlia had managed to be swayed with Retten's answers, something Lera was grateful for. The historian had a certain... air about her. A wit unmatched, or power yet to be tapped. Lera was no seer and she was no mystic but the Verne girl would be helpful. As one by one each member agreed to join the Syndicate, Lera's breath grew less and less shallow. There was no doubt, even Retten could see, of Lera accepting such an honor. The ability to represent Praetum and the entirety of Retough on a front so dire would be a symbol of her pride and her devotion to ensuring a lasting future. No matter the cost of this title, Lera would bear it proudly, to her death, if need be.

Retten's voice once again peaked over the hushed mutterings of the crowd. "Lera," He motioned forward. While the rest of the group exchanged ideas on who would forage for berries or firewood, hunt for animals, or gather leaves for makeshift bedrolls, Lera and Retten stepped off just a few feet away. Anyone interested enough could hone their ears to the conversation, but otherwise the prospect of food had gotten most thinking only with their stomachs. "I'm finished with the formalities of this evening, Lera Heloys. I mean to make this quick and forgo the spectacular extravagance. Here, take this," The Bishop produced a cylinder the size of his palm, holding it out for the soldier to take. Upon closer inspection, one end of the cylinder had two chevrons, mirrored slightly within one another. "A seal," He further explained. "This will be your way to signify that you are a member of the Syndicate to anyone in high status. "You can also use it to stamp letters, should you need to write official requests or statements to kings, leaders, warlords, what have you. I make my leave in the morning, for I must finish the actual creation of the Syndicate. We do not have the time, however, to wait until I can reach Brimwough to appeal to the King. It'll take me a week to get it sorted with Grand Primarch Aunslas II. Until then, I would refrain from contacting anyone of too much esteem." Retten gave a hopeful smile as Lera pocketed the item.

"You're leaving us, Bishop?" Lera questioned, her brow furrowed as she quickly hid the seal away.

"Not voluntarily, but yes. Aunslas must be made aware as soon as possible. It will take a great deal of time to convince him that a third war has just broken out on Praetum's shores. We're all living testaments to that, though. He must see reason, and I do not trust a delegate to perform such a task. Plus, I'm not much of a fighter myself." Retten gave a casual laugh, motioning to his stout figure and less than optimal physique.

Lera gave a smile, if only to let the Bishop feel his joke had landed. In a lower voice than before, she asked, "Am I to lead this group in your stead?" Her head tilted in just a bit, as if the mere question could get her hanged for assuming such a position was hers for the taking.

"Lera, I've seen you lead this group of... wandering souls out of an invasion. I've seen you expertly fight not just with skill, but tactics and as much of a level head as can be expected. And, as I'm sure you're aware, you've become quite famous to the south. Word's spread far and wide of a lowly tar haired girl, a peculiar friend of the last Grand Primarch, leading entire regimes out of danger when your commanding officer was killed. I trust no other soul in Retough quite like I do you, Lera." The Bishop made a fist with his final sentence and held it up lightly, showing his fervor. "And, let this be the least swaying thing I've said all night; you're all I have right now, Lera. Trust in my decision, you will lead them with passion and zeal, I see it. Now go. Bond with your newfound Syndicate members." Retten smiled, taking a step back and motioning to the group.

Lera had felt like she just spoke to a trickster god in disguise. Retten's words were perfect and practiced. He must've thought about that conversation the whole ride here. Was Lera really his first choice as a leader? Lera held no reservations of her own skill and prowess in such regards, but this was an entire continent that needed saving. Not just one major conflict, but several, all with their own intricate problems and complex solutions. Retten had entrusted her, and this handful of civilians, to bring peace to the realm, in whatever way they could find it. And sure, Retten said he would be creating more than one party for this Syndicate, but Lera's was the first. There was always a certain nobility held to the first of anything in Retough. Retten had enough faith in her, and in her newfound friends, to be considered the first Syndicate party in over a hundred years. Lera felt the weight on her shoulders grow heavy, but she refused to falter. Lera thought long and hard on a few subjects, primarily the way she would structure this Syndicate, if it needed any. She had a wide array of skills available to her, but who would take her place should she fall in battle?

"Daniel," Lera motioned, similar to how Retten had called her over earlier. She motioned with her hand forward to summon the brute. "I must speak with you momentarily."

Daniel had been advising on foraging and hunting to make sure they weren't doubling up on tasks. Mainly who would be in charge of finding windfallen wood for the fires and who was foraging and for who didn't know how to forage in this area, where to look. He also was able to advise on a stream he knew was nearby if someone wanted to take a literal stab at some fish. He turned and looked to Lera as she called him. He gave a nod to Nyota and walked over to Lera since she seemed to maybe want some privacy for this conversation. Once he was beside her he asked, "What do you need?"

Lera looked up at Daniel, finally realizing how heavy her helmet had gotten. She undid the strap beneath her chin and took off the helmet, as well as the small cap under it. Her hair was a complete mess beneath, and the few drops of blood that had flicked in between the holes in her helmet stained her face. "I won't mince words or make this a big deal. Retten entrusted me to lead the party." Lera, similar to Retten, produced the seal, showing it to Danny without giving it to him. She stowed it away again before continuing. "I want you to lead should I be unable to. If I get captured, become ill, die, whatever. Can you do this for me? Can I trust you to be my second?" Lera, with her left hand holding her helmet, extended her right to the larger fellow. "This is a dangerous profession. I can't assume I'll be here for it all. None of us can."

Seals were all well and good, but Danny knew full well that who was actual leader would not be determined by a seal but by the group's trust and performance. She was right to be worried, though, all of them were at great risk and to assume they would all survive would be foolhardy. "Well, you know the risks, clearly. I'm not a trained military man but I've led a few groups in my time. It's a bold assumption you'd be injured or killed before me though, with my reckless methods," He laughed a bit and took her hand and shook it firmly, but didn't let go until he finished saying, this time mirthlessly, "But if this does turn into some kind of crusade, I'm ending it," with a dark edge to his voice that implied he didn't just mean disbanding the group. Dahlia was smart, and he wouldn't lie that she had a point of how easy this defense of their homelands could turn into crusades.

He let go of her hand and added with a chuckle, back to his usual friendly and practical self, "Now, imposing a command structure on this group may not be so simple, but we'll see how the leaves fall."

Lera wasn't expecting his sudden change of tone, something which rather shocked the smaller of the two, though she kept her expressions to a minimum. Lera wasn't sure if Daniel was native to Praetum, but she had to admit, her ilk had a tendency to get... religiously zealous at times. This would not be one of those instances. Lera was a follower of Terin, but she was not so devoted as to make this war about the gods or their wills. She was not a Bishop. "I wish not to force them all into a regimented battle unit, but the Bishop entrusted me. I'd like to think he has some forethought in his decision. Should I ever be absent, I trust you to make the decisions should they be required... Thank you, Daniel. I trust we can set things right in Retough. Let us return to the group. I feel myself withering away with every moment that goes by without a bite." She produced a faint smile before setting her helmet down atop some rubble and returning to the group.

Dragongal

 

[Dragongal]

(Collab with Shadowed-Cherry-Blossoms )

Daniel returned to those who still hung around and clapped his hands together, "So, if you feel comfortable going on your own feel free, if not, pair up or stay here. I'm heading off to forage since I know this area. Nyota is also an excellent resource for foraging advice. Remember to grab any windfallen wood you can, stuff that's nice and dry so we can try to have a smokeless fire." He wouldn't admit that he was only broaching the option to go alone because he was pretty sure Nyota could ask Nona to fly around and find them. He just simply had a back-up plan, one that they didn't need to know he had thought of unless it became pertinent.

He made sure to keep an eye on them before he strayed off toward the woods. He wasn't too far from the road, just in case an enemy were to see them and decide to venture in. If someone was going to have to take someone out in the dark, Danny wanted it to be him - or at least not Nyota, Winne, or Dahlia (thought Dahlia seemed to be a very skilled offensive caster but maybe rather shaky afterwards?). Lera could handle herself, so could Hazm and Sohrab and he was fairly certain Odette could too. She reeked of untamed magical energy, after all.

There was a soft hush of chainmail armor brushing against itself off to his left. He knelt, put down the berries and roots he managed to find so far and pulled one handaxe off of his belt, spinning it idly in his hand as he stayed low to the ground, narrowing in on the noise. It was definitely armor. He could see the slight silhouette in the moonlight of an armored individual with a sword on their hip. So someone found them.

There was the sound of a gong and the clatter of plate smashing on plate as Danny landed on top of the armored individual, arm barring her throat and axeblade pressed just above his forearm, grinding over the coif protecting her windpipe. “State your name and allegiance or I crush your throat and leave you to suffocate alone in those reeds,” he growled, keeping his voice low in case reinforcements were nearby.



The woman below him stopped struggling. While the arm pressed to her throat cut off most of her ability to speak, she was still able to laugh. Laughing at the threat, laughing at the situation she was in, and just laughing at the seriousness on Daniel’s face. She brought her right hand up, palm open, and began to tap his arm to try and get him to ease up.


Danny paused. Most people do not laugh when they’re about to be killed. And most people don’t have that laugh. He moved back a little, lifting his forearm off of her throat and
moving the axe away, “Wait… Lia?” It was almost too good to be true and he had to wonder if exhaustion was just making him confused.


Liathana’s laughing subsided, replaced with a cheeky grin. “Good to see you again, Danny. How’ve you been?” She shifted a little to prop herself up onto her elbow, which was easier said than done with the larger man still pinning most of her body. She raised an eyebrow, gesturing with her head as she spoke. “So are you going to let me up, or are we going to stay here all night?”


Now it was Danny's turn to laugh. With confirmation of who she was, he got off of her, put his axe back in the ring on his belt, and held a hand out to her. "Lia you scared the daylights outta me!"


Lia accepted his proffered hand, allowing him to help her to her feet. “So it seems, you usually don’t tackle and threaten your friends!” She noted as she brushed herself off a bit. Her eyes gave him a quick once-over, taking in the slightly more ruffled and haggard appearance. “Clearly I missed something though. You look like hell, what happened?” There was an edge of concern to her voice under the casual tone she was striving for. Her left hand drifted to rest on the hilt of her sword as her weight shifted to her back foot as if to lean without a tree or wall to prop her up.


Danny crossed his arms over her chest and glanced over her to make sure he didn't hit her too hard. Sure she was sturdy, but he wasn't exactly small. "Well, did you not notice the entirety of Port Hemmis on fire? I got chased outta there along with a Bishop and some others by a bunch'a cavalry. They really wanted that bishop I'll tell ya. Hell I had my first time as part of a shield wall and that was an experience." A thought crosses his mind and he slowly adds, "Y'know… apparently the invading force isn't even from this continent. We've got the bishop's blessing - it's a lot to explain - to basically have access to whatever we need to keep this invasion from getting out of hand through whatever means necessary. We've got a couple Ykrumians, a half-orc, a fey, basically a, ah, international group tryin' ta save the continent. A syndicate of legend if we even survive. I'm sure someone else could explain it more eloquently. Long and short, do you want to join up? It'd be dangerous as hell but we might just save the continent."
Danny wasn't much of a betting man, but he would put quite a bit of gold down on Liathana being very interested in any excuse to kill some bad guys.


That earned another eyebrow raise from the woman. “I had noticed the smoke, but hadn’t realized that you were in the area. Though I have to admit, if what you’re telling me is true, then that makes for quite the problem,” she mused. Lia was sure that he had noticed the gleam in her eye when he was explaining, not that it bothered her that someone she considered a good friend knew her so well. “Well, I had been in the area looking for more work, so this works out quite nicely. Here’s hoping the rest of this group won’t say no to a little extra help.” She paused for a moment before smirking. “You realize that you didn’t have to sell it quite so hard right? Hell, I’d do this just as a favor for a friend.” As she spoke, she stretched her shoulders a bit, rotating them to make sure Daniel hadn’t done much damage. While it was obvious that he had a size advantage against her, she had forgotten just how unfortunate it was to be on the receiving end of his attacks.


Daniel winced a bit as he saw her roll her shoulders - she didn’t seem too hurt at least..? “Personally I interpret going on a potentially many week, month, or even year long and extremely dangerous adventure as a bit too much to ask of as a favor.” He reached out to tap her and with a mumbled word and a dim glow of gray light eased some of the ache from any bruises he had left. That was about all he could do in the way of healing, especially since he had cast similarly earlier in the day. “I’m sure this group needs an extra hand, especially from someone so skilled in battle. Come on, we’re all out foraging for food, if you help me hunt something or bring back extra forage, they’ll have no choice but to love you.”

 

[queendilettante]

Hazm's brow sunk into deeper and deeper recesses as the day wore on.

He couldn't have predicted what was to happen, obviously, but the pounding in his head, ever worsening by the second, made him regret this hangover more than any previous. It was classic al-Qasi timing, truly. Of all nights to drunkenly collapse behind a tavern...

Not that the trash heap called an alley by the Praetumian's was exactly prestigious or particularly becoming of an Achaemisid son; it reeked like the people from this cesspit did. It was, however, thankfully devoid of the Bishop's droning, and Hazm couldn't help but feel nostalgic in the face of that revelation.

By the time he'd arrived to the stronghold with his newfound "allies," his headache had spread into forcing his left eye into a perpetual twitch. It was, of course by Hazm's luck, his good eye that was arrhythmically convulsing. He could only stand to hope that these "allies" were true in their intentions and he would not be forced to entertain combat with the lot. They didn't need to learn of his poor vision, lest they find themselves wont to abuse it.

When the Bishop's annoying performance lingered on both Hazm and Dahlia, the other Ykrumian in this unfortunate band of refugees, Hazm felt his blood begin to boil. How condescending could that revolting man get? Focusing on the two of them so directly, as if it wasn't a self serving maneuver - it was despicable.

But of course, the good sir need broadcast his acceptance to all he deemed equals. Single the two Ykrumian's out, placing Hazm and Dahlia upon a pedestal of equality as if it didn't serve the exact purpose he aimed for. Odette wasn't Praetumian either, but need not focus on her, eh? Of course, in the event Hazm denied the cretin's offer, he'd be allowed to leave in peace. The pinnacle of chivalrous acceptance wouldn't enforce that request with violence, no no.

Hazm scoffed and looked at the shorter woman next to him. "They're not going to accept us, girl," Hazm mumbled so that only Dahlia could hear him. "These Praetumian's taught me the meaning of prejudice and I can't help but doubt this invasion is going to soften their attitudes toward us any time soon."

Dal raised an eyebrow. It seemed her countryman had something of a chip on his shoulder on this point. She could hardly blame him; she’d endured enough stares and whispered comments since she’d come to Praetum to get a sense of what its citizens thought of Ykrumians. And though she’d ultimately agreed to the bishop’s proposal, she wasn’t entirely convinced some opportunistic warlord — like the woman who kept having private meetings with Retten — wouldn’t eventually turn the Syndicate into a knife against Praetum’s enemies.

Still, what point was there in blaming everyday people for their prejudices? Few people could afford the educational opportunities she’d been granted — she doubted very many of even this group had formal academic training. It was unsurprising, then, that the vast majority of Praetumians would embrace their suspicions so uncritically. If they had access to the wealth of information present in Ykrum’s academies, maybe things would be different — assuming, of course, the average Praetum even had the inclination to learn.

“If I cared about their acceptance,” Dahlia replied to Hazm in a low whisper, “I would have never left home. Better that someone be here to ensure the narrative gets written down properly before some royal scribe tries their hand at it in five years.

“But your point is well-taken enough,” she added. “It might be easier for us outsiders to keep a hand on the reins if we were to stick together. Which raises a question — what brings a holy man to the land of heretics?”

Hazm fought the smile gnawing at the edges of his lips. This girl was something. It was a rare sight for someone as obviously young as her to demonstrate such a forward-thinking concern for historical records. It was extraordinary to, in times of invasion, be more concerned with the narrative than the story.

She was of noble birth, that was immediately evident; perhaps Hazm had even known her family. She could be an important ally, if he played his cards right. Though perhaps he'd be best to avoid cards, lest he end up in another stupor in an alley.

"A good question," Hazm said, running his hands through his greasy black hair. He'd prefer to keep picking Dahlia's brain, but he desperately needed to bathe.

"Heretical attitudes have one of two ends, girl: revelations or Revelations. Plus," he grinned and met her eyes, "the Achaemisid need eyes where there is something to see."

Dal smiled back. The expression came too quickly to be entirely unforced, but it lacked the customary strain around her cheekbones to which she’d long grown accustomed. For all of her bluster, it was good to speak with a fellow Ykrumian again, even if this one seemed a bit unkempt and a tad eccentric — not terribly uncommon for a monk. Perhaps she’d missed home more than she’d thought.

But she hasn’t missed how Hazm hadn’t quite answered her question. She considered pressing him on the point, but decided against it. They’d all had a long day, and now that the deadly fights, chases, and world-shattering revelations were past, she was beginning to feel a growing soreness in her legs and forearms.

Besides, if Hazm elected to stay, Dahlia would have plenty of time to crack his mind open later.

“Well, I hope the Moon finds it fit to keep your vision among our ranks,” she said with a nod. “I’m sure there’ll be plenty to see.”

Hazm nodded to the girl, but said nothing else. It was off to the baths for him, then to tell the heretical Bishop that he'd play the game for now.

Dahlia was exactly right; there would be plenty to see.

 

[Viper Actual]

As the party scattered in search for food, wood or conversation Maldorn was left alone at the place for Retten's speech. He leaned on his staff and watched with curious eyes as some folks sought out others while some ventured off by themselves.

Shifting his focus elsewhere, Maldorn spent a few seconds admiring the ruins around him. Largely impressive considering their age these walls and monuments of a bygone era would serve once more- just like Maldorn would.

The hermit approached a large piece of rock that rested by the stream. Dislodged either by force or time itself it would seem that it had once been part of a wall. Maldorn ran his wrinkly and aged fingers along its surface, both sensing and feeling the mix of imperfections intertwined with expert masonry and craftsmanship. He could feel moss and leaves- nature's way of reclaiming what had once been left behind and forgotten.

Maldorn began to hum to himself. It was a song he had heard only once and many, many ages ago. Yet the memory of it remained. It was calming, soothing even. But it was also a reminder of his brothers, of days long gone, of a beautiful dawn filled with sparkling light and the scent and warmth of someone dear left behind.

Looking around, Maldorn realized he had been idling for perhaps one too many minutes. With slow and gentle steps he began to collect wood lying about within the perimeter of the ruin.

After collecting enough wood to at the very least start a fire Maldorn made his way over to one of the walls. Setting up a fireplace so close to a wall could risk inviting the uninvited but at the same time the bright light would serve as a beacon for his comrades.

Sitting down with an audible oumph Maldorn produced a piece of flint from his satchel and got to work. Unfortunately the weather had not been kind and the hermit found himself attempting to ignite a piece of damp and wet flint. Cursing, Maldorn glanced around to make sure nobody was watching before raising his hand above the firewood and muttering something inaudible.

A drop-shaped fire projectile shot out from the palm of his hand straight down into the pile of wood. It didn't take long for the fire to catch on- for magic fire was far more potent than its average counterpart- but Maldorn still required more firewood if he was to maintain a sturdy fireplace.

While waiting for the others to return to the ruins, Maldorn used the butt of his staff to stoke the fire as well as to arrange a measly fireplace wall with the few rocks and stones lying about. As Maldorn tinkered about his humming grew louder and louder until he finally began to sing in a lowly tone;

Ó faernadai, Faerni
Ó faernadai, Faerni
Valnadraz ó maerith

Ó faernadai, Faerni
Ó faernadai, Faerni
Azlandri mar taelith

Ó Faerni, ó handrae mar taelith

Ó faernadai, Faerni

Khalvai mar taelith, ó faernadai mar taelith
Faerni mar taelith, ó Valnadrazi

Jhasaraa mar taelith, ó Azlandri taelith mar faernadai

Ó faernadai, Faerni

Ó Faerni

This verse repeated itself with Maldorn singing it over and over, waiting for the others to return.

 

[Solar Daddy]

Lera wasn’t much of a hunter outside some very basic trap techniques she’d picked up from her father, mostly as a tool to try and keep the field mice out of their farm. Since she highly doubted she’d have any luck with hunting or even foraging, she offered to help in the cooking process and relinquished herself to a dusty table pushed to the center of the room where the light from the brazier was best. Retten had offered Lera a map of the country and she examined it intently, formulating a plan of conquest across the realm. First in her mind was stopping Alwyn’s Rebellion to the south. A large chunk of Preatum’s forces were holed up the capital, fearful of any move Alwyn might make on the city should Aunslas leave it unguarded. Every cell in her body urged Lera to then march further south to Emberwood, but Lera couldn’t justify it. That’d take her cast to the far end of Retough, where they couldn’t act on any other conflicts without immense travel first. Right now, it looked to be that they would head north after Alwyn to reach the border to Ykrum, in an attempt to halt the war going on there.

Lera racked her brain for solutions to complex, decade-long conflicts that plagued the continent. Before anything, though, training was a must for the group. Her Syndicate would not end in failure as a result of poor discipline from the masses. There was a hidden training ground atop Mount Damnen to the East, where Lera had trained many years prior…


Daniel led the way back into the clearing by the old temple. He could see the light from Maldorn's fire, a humble beacon calling everyone back to safety. Hopefully everyone else would have seen it as well and already have returned; running into Lera had taken a bit of time.

Danny had done his part for foraging by finding some edible berries and herbs as he was not much of a hunter and didn’t feel like he really had time to go through setting up a fishing pole or trap. Besides, Daniel had something better than the rest: provisions. After all, he had been in the markets getting ready to travel to the next city when the attack took place, so he still had that flour, jerky, and dried fruits that had been intended to last him for a week or so. It would not last nearly so long with so many other people using it but it was what they had for the moment.

It did cross his mind to sneak back into the port for supplies but that thought was quickly ignored by the fact that it was absolutely foolhardy. They could survive off the land. It wouldn’t be easy, but that’s why they would be surviving and not thriving.

Daniel stepped into the light and said to anyone around, “My foraging was a bit too successful! I didn’t find much food, but I did find a friend!” Hopefully this would deter anyone from outright attacking Lia, whom he gestured to.


Lia, having let herself fall back a few paces as they neared the glow of the campfire, took this moment to step into view. A small grin crossed her lips as she gave the group a small nod. “I heard you all ran into some trouble and at least a few of you are planning on pursuing this further,” she said, figuring it best to not mince words. “I would like to offer my services and assist you, if you would have me.”
All things considered, it was a strange position for her to be in. Sure, she may be used to stumbling across someone in need, but it felt a bit odd offering up her help like this. More often than not, she would come across a problem that needed more immediate intervention. It had been a very long time since she had to appeal to others in such a way. Though the nostalgia of this feeling helped eased her anxiety as she waited for an indication from Daniel’s new companions on their opinion.

She paused, considering her options before continuing to address the group. “I may have distracted Daniel from his goal of foraging for food, so I do still have some rations that I am willing to share to make up for that regardless of your decision.” Liathana took that moment to reach into the rucksack she carried and retrieved a pouch. “I’ve been pretty lucky in foraging up until now, so there should be a fairly reasonable amount of dried berries and jerky in here,” she added, offering the pouch up for any of the others to take.

Lera was lost in her tomes, maps and ideas to focus on Daniel and his companion’s entrance right away. It had taken a few moments for the soldier to tilt her head up, realize the recent buzz was surrounding a new stranger brought into the temple by Daniel, and stiffen her posture at the sight of them. He brought someone here to their sanctuary? How much did he trust this woman?

Once aware of the situation, Lera glided around the table and mustered her way to be in their presence. Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword in its sheath. Her first question would’ve been how well he trusted Lia, but she figured he was smart enough not to bring anyone untrustworthy directly to the temple. Clearly she had been informed of their mission by Daniel, and even offered her assistance already. Lera chose her words for a moment as she eyed the stranger. “I am Lera Heloys, leader of the first party of the 5th Syndicate. I see you’re already well acquainted with Daniel. What is your name? What are your skills?” Her words were more curious than pointed. It was clear Lera trusted Daniel’s judgment. If he believed she would be a boon to the Syndicate, then she would let him prove his faith.


The grin on Lia’s face widened at the tone Lera addressed her with. She nodded respectfully at the introduction. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lera. My name is Liathana. As for my skills…” she trailed off with a bit of a chuckle. She gestured with the hand still holding the pouch of rations. “Well, for one, I’m pretty good with foraging, so the rations I carry with me tend to be more precautionary than anything.” Her smile faded as she continued speaking. “Otherwise, I do have quite a bit of experience fighting monsters all across Retough. Usually I prefer the sword,” she said, gesturing to the sword on her hip, “but I’m pretty capable with most close range weaponry.”

Lia glanced at Daniel briefly before continuing to plead her case to Lera. “It was on one of those jobs that I actually met Daniel,” she commented before returning to the points of how she could help the group. “It’s pretty clear that all of you are all quite capable of handling yourselves in a fight, so those skills may not be quite as needed, though I feel it should be noted that I’m also remarkably hard to kill.” It was obvious from her tone that she was quite impressed with the feats she had heard about, but there was a smirk on her face as she finished the thought. “It would certainly be at least one weight off of your shoulders to have someone like that around, wouldn’t you agree, Lera?”

Lera had already made up her mind upon first glance at the fighter entering their midst. While Lera wouldn’t trade anyone in the cast, she didn’t have many close-quarters combatants in the cast. She needed every last infantryman she could get, no matter what their skillset was. If they didn’t have enough of a frontline, their backline would crumble or route in the face of overwhelming opposition. Lera listened closely as the new member spoke, before responding.

“I would.” She spoke simply with a nod. She extended her hand. “Welcome to the 5th Syndicate, Liathana. Feel free to acquaint yourself with our other members. We ride for the Wyrm Mountains at dawn.”

 

[Viper Actual]

Still humming on a verse that was older than himself when Daniel returned- alongside an unknown newcomer- Maldorn perked up at the sound of voices while still tending the fire. He was about to greet them both when Lera stood up to greet and, no doubt, inspect the newcomer and determine whom they were and whether or not if they could be trusted.

Watching with great interest Maldorn's eyes paced between Lera, Daniel and the newcomer- Liathana- as the three engaged in conversation.

“Welcome to the 5th Syndicate, Liathana. Feel free to acquaint yourself with our other members. We ride for the Wyrm Mountains at dawn.”

As Lera welcomed Liathan into the fold Maldorn- still seated at the fire- cleared his throat and nodded towards the campfire in front of him.

"Please, child, come rest your weary feet at the fire," he said. Maldorn then turned towards Daniel; "You as well, mercenary. Come, let us all embrace this warmth."

To nobody's surprise Maldorn grabbed his satchel and reached into it, producing an apple that looked like it had been picked five minutes ago. Water drops were still covering its red and gold surface, sparkling in the light of the fire. He extended his hand towards Liathana, offering the fruit.

"Apple?"

 

[Pipsqueak]

Nyota hadn’t been very attentive since the killing. It’d been hazy, but as her and Nona rested against the walls of the cathedral it seemed to clear just a bit. She glanced around the room, wide eyed as their party members began skittering around, getting ready to gather supplies for their rest tonight. She hadn’t spoken to anyone for a while, and her throat felt very dry. Nona wasn’t looking much better than she felt. Nyota wasn’t exactly sure what she could do to help, but she certainly needed more supplies for protection. This place was incredibly uncomfortable despite the holy implications.

Lera had stepped back from the small crowd that had formed to inspect the new mysterious member of the Syndicate. She still had plenty of work to do, plans to make, associates to send messengers for, problems to solve. Where everyone else had to simply be present at the moment, Lera needed to prepare for the next years of intense complex issues that could arise while she was to lead this party.

But on her way back to her map, she noticed a figure standing a bit far from where most had been congregating. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but the shape of her hood and the owl perched nearby gave the mysterious person away.

Lera closed the distance and leaned against the wall beside Nyota. “How’s the bird?” She asked, keeping her eyes ahead towards the group. “Surprised Nona managed to stay safe during the invasion with the waves of arrows. Well, I guess I’m surprised any of us survived the day.”

Nyota watched Lera as she approached, giving a half hearted smile.

“She is alright, all of the things considered.” She waved a hand at the owl, who was already beating the rest of them to a slumber.

“And how are you miss Lera? You are not injured too badly, no? I would offer to assist, but… well.” The messenger pointed at her bare feet, which were badly scratched up and covered in dirt, grime, and whatever else she had stumbled upon to get here.

“Is there anything I might do here? Perhaps I should be hopping the ideas between us. That is something you do, yes?”

Lera didn’t answer her first question. She chose to merely skip over it. She never questioned whether she was alright - the soldier was either in need of medical attention, or she was doing fine. Lera glanced down and frowned at Nyota’s bare feet. She ran through a crumbling city with no footwear? Not even bandages? The poor girl. “Oh Nyota, you can’t be expected to perform your duties like this. We’ll make a stop on our way to Damnen Mountain, see if we can’t find something for you. Until then, we’ll cobble together some kind of protection for your feet.”

Lera let out a sigh, realizing just how underequipped her group was. This was no band of warriors. These were tradesmen, wanderers. Hopefully they could pull through. “As for what you can do, I’d like your help planning a route to the Wyrm Mountains. You’re a traveler, yes? Are you experienced with this part of the world?”

Nyota frowned, finally meeting Lera’s gaze.

“I am nothing if I cannot feel the earth beneath me. It may be a hazard, but it protects me from bigger things.” She sighed before relinquishing her weight from the side of the cathedral.

“I have been in that area many times, yes. I shall help you. Where is your map?”

Lera lifted up from the wall as well and motioned forward. “This way.” She walked further into the cathedral, where her barely intact desk held up an old map lit by the nearby brazier. It was a local map of the area, encompassing most of the Northwest portion of Praetum.

“Here we are,” She said, pointing upriver on the Baramouth Strait where it met the Grynnin Stream. “We’ll need to cross the river and head Southeast. Our destination is Mount Damnen.”

Nyota bent down to the splayed paper, scanning her eyes over the drawn geography. She rested her elbows against the wobbly table, bringing the flower necklace Danny had given her so long ago to her mouth as if in habit.

Tilting her head, she nodded carefully.

“I cannot say I have been exactly where we are now, but I do know a few safer paths to get to the destination. Our nearest path will be there.” She pointed to a section just on the edge of the river.

“However we go, it shall be about a week’s journey. There are safer points to cross the water, but the safest route will take more time. I say we cross the river here, then head straight south for a mile or two. If my thoughts are correct, there have been many cases of the death holes around this area,” she circled a particular place on the map and glanced at Lera to make sure she was following, “It would be faster but much more dangerous, yes? We will turn to the correct position after we are safely away. Southeast, you said. The area is rocky after the trees, but if I were to have the petals of the red flower we would be safe.” Finishing her speech, she ended with a wordless rap on the wooden table with her knuckles.

“I hope the earth does not resent me, or we will be in great danger no matter the path. Nature does have the funniest ways of serving cold dishes, no?”

Lera listened in and watched closely as Nyota explained the different paths they could take. “Safe won’t save the continent,” She chimed in after a short moment. “We take the fastest route, always. We care not for danger.” She looked over the various troubles she marked on the map. Death holes? Did she mean the Returned? Lera would ask later. Whatever the danger was, it would not be of consequence to them. Lera had confidence in their ability to traverse the countryside.

“Nature does have a way of making things complicated,” She agreed, a bit more pragmatically than her spiritual counterpart. “We will take the fastest route as you’ve described. Your bird can help us keep informed of danger on our travels, I believe. Thank you, Nyota.”

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Nyota smiled.

“You are very welcome miss Lera! I shall inform Nona of her job. I am positive she will be most pleased in being useful.” With a small curtsy Nyota left Lera to her maps and her thinking and returned to a still sleeping Nona. She would tell the owl later- they all needed as much sleep as they could get.

 

[guac]

Odette sat away from the others, legs crossed on the cold and broken stone floor of the ruined cathedral. A question hung heavy like a smoke about her head:

"What say you? Does the call beckon you?"

Whether the Bishop had noted her silence, she did not know. It was not a decision she had the privilege of making, regardless. Her fate was for the Stars to decide.

Odette closed her eyes and waited. Sooner or later, a voice would emerge and give her guidance on where to go — they always had in the past. She breathed deep, taking in the damp air of the mossy ruins.

She sat this way for a long time — what felt to her like hours of grueling silence. It didn’t usually take this long.

Does the call beckon you? A simple enough question, Odette thought at least. She couldn’t fathom why it would be so hard to decide one way or another, especially when the Stars so clearly planned for her to arrive at this destination. Why else would they have sent her to Port Hemmis to be swept up in the tidal wave?

Does the call beckon you? The call to a greater purpose, is that what he’d meant? It had been so long sitting here that Odette had begun to forget some of the details. She had trusted the Stars to keep track.

Surely they would want to send her down this path, wouldn’t they? What was the point otherwise?

Odette was meant for a great destiny; she knew this deep in her bones. So what other answer could there be?

Does the call beckon you?

“It does” she spoke. She opened her eyes. The Bishop was gone. The others gathered by a fire, and there was a new stranger among them.

Odette waited to be admonished, to feel some sort of pit in her stomach or ache in her temples to punish her for making the wrong choice — but nothing came. She smiled and slowly stood, moving to rejoin the others.

 

[Solar Daddy]

To Sohrab’s practiced hands, the waters of Praetum always felt somewhat colder than those of Amkaor. There was an argument that it was merely the comparison between the temperatures of the water and the surrounding forest air, which, even at this time of night, offered a comfortable chill to Sohrab’s orcish skin. With temperatures dropping below freezing up in the Grimm mountains every evening, the tributaries and streams were saved from icing over only by the flow and crash down the gradients of the peaks. Still, the water here felt colder, more frigid than he was used to.
In areas where the river had splashed him, it clung uncomfortably to his clothes as well, but still Sohrab was not eager to edge closer to the fire over which the fish he had caught for the group was being prepared among the other foraged goods. Through distance from the others, he was reserving his own bubble and his own ability to leave whenever necessary, even if it meant travelling with damp sleeves.
But - he’d eat first. His source of income had most likely burned to the ground alongside half of Port Hemmis, and finding his next actionable steps would best be done on a full stomach.

Bishop Retten had spent the time after his sermon warming his chilled bones by one of the pires. Even someone as well versed in the arcane arts preferred to use the Earth around them and conserve mana whenever possible. The ache in his bones when he was mana fatigued was worse than most he’d felt. He’d used plenty of magic throughout the day and could feel the bags under his eyes already. His shoulders drooped. The Bishop unfortunately was not able to call upon his gods to help lift them. He would if he could.

But the gnawing in his thoughts perturbed the cleric enough to cause sudden action. Retten would not simply give up on trying to bring the more unsure of the group into the Syndicate. They needed every last person they could. Retten had to get more on Lera’s team. His stride was almost levitation-like as the robes he wore hid the movement of his legs across the cracked tiles. He eventually wound up coincidentally just off to the side of Sohrab, the non-human in their company who’d so vehemently denied the call to service.

The cleric stood idle as he observed the orc. His mind raced with information, ideas, tact. How best to deal with someone of Sohrab’s ilk. Retten paused before speaking. “Rh Heth chose our land to provide prosperity and future,” He said, closely watching Sohrab’s reaction. “We cannot sit idly by and watch Retough rip itself apart. Regardless of what I believe, Retough must endure, and we must help it. There are far too many conflicts and far too little willing to resolve them.”

Initially not realising how close the Bishop had got to him, Sohrab was content to simply sit and watch the flames that were being tended to by some of the others. Way back when, while he was a lad, he was told a terrifying folk story about how staring into fire would make you evil. Nowadays, Sohrab reckoned it was just a way for the adults to prevent the clan children from straying too close to flames, to prevent them from becoming entranced by the flickering dance. But when he was young, he truly feared staring into that bright energy, for fear something devious lurked in wait. Even doing so now felt taboo. It felt like he was disobeying a rigid worldly law.

When the Bishop spoke, it took Sohrab a moment to realise it was not the fire speaking to him. And that moment certainly was filled with deep, vile horror, despite what was actually said.

He looked round at the Bishop, staring up at the spiritual figure from his seated position. Without his mask, and with his long hair tied back in tight braided ringlets, his heritage was obvious, but with the Bishop’s words, it had been exposed to the frigid air of the night.

‘That lyric you quote isn’t referring to Retough. You may have a pact with Amkaor, but you don’t have its rites.’

The Bishop knew this would not be an easy conversation. Sohrab had been distant and standoffish about the idea of the Syndicate - or, at least, joining it - since they arrived at the cathedral. “Rites are an important part of our culture as well, Sohrab. It may not be as prevalent as in Prehlaami, but we honor and demand respect for our dead all the same. One of the prerequisites of becoming a Bishop is to serve as a Tribulator for many years before taking office.” The Bishop was well aware he was pulling on some strings he knew bound many to Prehlaami. But he was interested in securing Retough. Anything was necessary.

The Bishop paused before sitting beside the orc next to the fire. Warming his hands, he continued. “This Syndicate will not just be saving the Triumvirate from certain doom. It will be saving every nation. Every region. Amkaor is no exception. The Ykrumic invasion of Ogaram can be halted, reclaimed. You can have an active part in securing Amkaor from invasion, much like we plan to route the seaborne invaders at Port Hemmis.”

The initial reaction Sohrab had was to the Bishop’s word, ‘Tribulator.’ It was Retten’s word, he owned it: it was a word of the High Scepter, and so it belonged to his soul. Yet, Sohrab knew how to perform that rite. He had never actually found himself in a position to do it, but he’d studied the theory by any means he could when the rare chances showed themselves to him amongst his unique lifestyle. But that word, he would never own it. Never. Whether or not Retten’s gods existed, Sohrab held no care for them. But still, if the moment arose, he would perform that sacred rite within his highest ability, even if it drove him to the edge of his orcish constitution.

So, where did he stand on that word, on that rite?

No, no. He knew where he stood. Doubting himself now was not conducive to keeping his guard up about the Bishop and about this Syndicate thing. Still, something had him hold his tongue, even when the Bishop mentioned Port Hemmis. A biting remark about the utter loss of that oceanside city stood to attention in his mind, but he didn’t verbalize it.

‘To Amkaor, I am a blasphemer. To Ykrum I am the enemy, and to Praetum I am a crook. And those are all true terms. I’d never dispute them,’ he paused and flicked his eyes towards the Bishop. Beneath his heavy brow, his sickly blue eyes shunned the light of the fire and seemed to glisten with energy beyond the visible. ‘For whom do you perform the duties of a Tribulator? Who is most important to you while you pray over the carving of the headstone?’

Now that was an interesting question, and Retten glanced over at the orc as a result. He was accustomed to such philosophical talks, most in the clergy preferred large flowery words and deep thoughts shared with others. “Believe it or not, despite being in such a high office, I pray not to one of the Big Ones in Terin. I prefer the lesser known Gods as the recipients of the soul I help bring across the bridge of Death. I find it’s more… personal. Being a Tribulator is about the deceased. They should be given a guiding hand meant solely for them, if even only for a short time. When the gods receive them, my work is done.”

The Bishop went quiet for a moment. “My rites are delivered for the deceased. The gods are witnesses, as is the family.”

‘Everyone I have ever met would agree with you,’ Sohrab replied. ‘Certainly those in Praetum and Launce, since being Tribulator is equivalent to being a psychopomp. But I don’t see it that way. I don’t disrespect the dead, but nor do I, or would I perform rites for them. I respect life. I respect the living, even if the living would sooner respect their dead than me.’

“That’s a noble way of looking at it,” Retten nodded his head. “There is plenty of death ahead. Plenty of living to deliver rites to. No one else in this lot has the kind of knowledge and care you have in this field. Retough would benefit with your presence.”

‘And, what happens when your country becomes aware that a Bishop of its High Scepter, and indeed a soldier of its Primarchy, is being aided by someone they would persecute? I’m not the only one here with a criminal label on me, I assume, but my involvement would surely make the Syndicates’ job that much harder.’

“I could give two answers to that kind of question.” Retten spoke softly. “The first, less personable, more objective one; you get political amnesty from all major organizations in Retough. It doesn’t matter if you’re wanted for regicide, it can’t even be thought to put you in a cell until long after the Syndicate’s job is over.”

Retten let the answer hang in the air for a bit. “The other answer, the one I’d prefer to give you, is that The High Scepter, Praetum, Retough as a whole; it needs someone like you. Do you think Lera’d be able to use might and sheer bravado to win every victory? No, tact is required. A wide range of skills, including ones unfavourable to a society, or a god. It’s why I didn’t just ask a retinue of soldiers to form the first party of this Syndicate. It’s because all walks of life are needed at a time like this. Even if Kings and Queens can't admit it. If I’m being perfectly honest, Sohrab, I’d wager your help could shed years off the length of this bloody chapter in Retough’s history. Because the others can’t get their hands dirty like you can. Even if it’s reprimanded publicly, your work will be invaluable.”

Political amnesty from all major organisations in Retough, eh? Sohrab stared into the fire that was currently being ignored by most others as they worked on greeting the new arrival. Whoever she was, Sohrab didn’t care at the moment. After all, even if she was someone with malice at her core, the wise would not demonstrate that when surrounded by so many eyes. He could afford to focus on his own thoughts for now, including the memory of Lera’s sword, and the slice he’d put into the leather around its grip. Had he not done that for the reminder of political amnesty?

But then, he had been taking advantage of a situation in which he was about to fight anyway. Whenever he got the chance to shed blood and dance with his blades, he revelled in it. But he never drew a blade or raised a fist to someone who had not done the same to him. He respected the constancy of life, and knew cities kept themselves upright on the hard work of those living within the tangled streets. But those false-Ykrumian warriors from the waters - how had been fooled by them when they arrived by ship? - were ripe for his blade, and he made them pray.

Was he willing to pay his time into this endeavour for the sake of amnesty? He disliked the Bishop’s other arguments though, tying Sohrab’s involvement to the saving of lives. It meant if he walked now, his mantra of respecting life fell false, it meant his desire for Amkaor to stay strong would be unfounded, if the remainder of the group failed to consider it.

He had to make his station clear first.

He turned to look directly at the Bishop, ‘If you were to die, if Lera or Daniel or anyone else was to die in this endeavour, my first thought would be to steal from your corpse. How do you feel about that? If you saw me doing the same to the body of someone else, what would you do?’

The Bishop knew his stance on this question undoubtedly. He had reprimanded many a graverobber in his past. Soldiers were often told not to steal from the dead, lest their ghost’s unrest lure their souls to become Returned. But Retten’s opinions didn’t matter in a time like this. A white lie to secure the future of Retough was hardly considerable.

“I feel as though the needs of the living outweigh the needs of the dead.” The Bishop spoke, his expression unchanging. Retten had perfected his ability in conversation to hide what he wished to hide. Choosing words carefully and thoughtfully was a part of his job. “If my robes, or Lera’s shield, or Daniel’s axe were more useful in helping a survivor, then so be it. I would bet they’d see it in a similar light.”

Sohrab held the Bishop’s eye for a moment, but the man’s visage, although carrying the kind openness one would hope from a spiritual figure, was shrewd. Whatever he said was what he believed, to Sohrab’s eye. Soon, though, he broke eye contact and looked away.

‘Right. A soldier’s arms cease to be his the moment his soul begins to Gather Twigs. A body becomes empty, becomes an “it” rather than a “them.” Unfortunately,’ he stopped, he sighed. The sound wasn’t without a hint of frustration, a hint of surrender. ‘Unfortunately, I can’t… refute what you’ve said previously. So, you have my arm in this - but. I reserve the right to walk away when I choose to. I won’t run in the middle of a fight, nor desert without a word in the face of grave danger; I’ll leave with respect to the rest of you. But until then, I suppose, I work for your greater good, and I work for Amkaor.’

Bishop wouldn’t show it, but internally, he let out a great deal of relief. Lera’s company would need all the help they could get, and securing Sohrab as another member to her company would prove most valuable, Retten believed. Hopefully she could understand the same level of handling required to deal with Sohrab, or else he may run off the moment Lera mentions something about the dead. She had tact, though. The Bishop had faith.

“I could ask nothing more of you.” He spoke to Sohrab. “You’ve done us all a great favour by accepting. You are welcome to come and go as you see fit. We truly require your help, but I, nor Lera, nor Daniel, would halt you should you find the company unworthy of your presence.”

The Bishop stayed by the fire a moment longer, then stood silently. “Fight well, Taiwo.” The Bishop left the fireside as if a ghost had shimmered from existence.

 

[queendilettante]

Daniel had collected all of the foraged foods and assured everyone that he would handle the prep and cooking - after all, he could skin a rabbit and descale a fish, he was used to this lifestyle of surviving off the land. In honesty, he also found a rare bit of peace in cooking meals, and he enjoyed it much more when he wasn’t just cooking for himself. He set up a cooking fire built into a nice, low pit he dug, which would allow him to protect the fire from the wind and make sure that the food could lay right over - or in - the flames without issue. The fire was set up just outside of the temple, so there would be some protection from the elements at least. It wasn't far from the more standard fire that Maldorn was maintaining for light and warmth, just far enough to provide room for everyone to move around.

Hazm found himself, in spite of his numerous reservations to the people he was surrounded by, sauntering over to the man at the fire. The talk with the Ykrumian girl had suppressed his anger for the time being, and he had just agreed to assist - at least for now.

And, really, he was doing himself a favor by approaching the man by the fire. These Praetumian’s weren’t particularly known for their cooking, and any assistance Hazm may be able to provide was worth more for his taste buds than his pride.

“Hello,” he offered as he came within soft-speaking distance. “I’d be happy to help you prepare food for the group if you could use it.”

Out of everyone in the group, Hazm was definitely the one Danny was least expecting to offer help. Still, Danny wouldn't ignore a chance to build bridges so to speak. They'd have to work together for some time, if Hazm stuck around, so it wouldn't benefit anyone to foster animosity.

Daniel looked up at Hazm and offered a friendly smile. "Well hello. You can certainly help, any assistance is welcome." The assistance was not necessary, no, but a cooking fire was an open space for any to join and Daniel was not about to disrespect that. Besides, maybe they couldcould find some oncommon ground.

Hazm knelt at a diagonal from the man and graciously bowed. He said, “I am glad to be of service.” Hazm rubbed his hands together before sticking them out toward the fire. He wasn’t particularly cold, but it was an effort to appear normal to the man he had repeatedly insulted just a few hours ago. “What is on the menu for this evening?” he asked, doing his best to gently smile from across the fire. “Or, need we still hunt and gather for the meal?”

Daniel wasn't about to psychoanalyze Hazm's every move - the man was trying to forge a bond, whether as a ruse or a genuine attempt Danny wasn't sure but it really didn't change anything for Danny. He wasn't going to put much trust in Hazm either way, but he wouldn't be outrightly impolite without direct confrontation. Pride would only lead to mistakes, so Danny didn't mind insults to himself. In his travels, he had learned that sugar did indeed catch more flies than vinegar - and it was a hell of a shock when someone sweet finally snapped. "No, the team did very well actually." Daniel showed Hazm the water-filled bowl of fruits, plants and roots as well as a large fresh fish Sohrab had been able to spear - Daniel had set it aside in a bed of leaves. Thankfully he had a small cast iron pot since he had been preparing to leave the city with all of his equipment when the attack happened.

"I've been washing the berries and roots and vegetables and uh… checking to make sure they're all okay," he chuckled. It wasn't that he didn't trust them, but he knew that not everyone was used to foraging in this area. "So far, nobody picked anything toxic, thankfully." He nodded toward the flour and the fish and said, "Lia and I had flour, jerky, and preserves with us so… we're contributing those. Do you want to try to make some hard tack bread, or do you want to descale the fish? Either would be a huge help to me."

Hazm reached into his pouch for the hard tack he already carried on his person. He handed it to the man. He smiled with only a bit of pain behind it. “Here, take this. I’ll handle the fish too.”

He reached for the bucket of fish and pulled a small knife from his belt. He was quite used to surviving in the wild like this with Odette - though she was normally the one descaling the fish - so having so little to do felt like a nice change of pace. Even the company, despite his nationality, seemed polite enough.

“How are you feeling? We’ve had a long day.”

Daniel accepted the hard tack and set it aside on some clean cloth. He resumed checking the roots and berries as he sighed, “We have. Honestly, it feels like it all hasn’t even set in yet.” He held a berry up to the firelight, then tossed it away. It wasn’t poisonous, but definitely had insects in it. He resumed checking the foraged goods, “This morning, I woke up planning to take some time to shop the markets and then head out on the path again. This evening, the city is burned and pillaged by an unknown army and myself and my new companions nearly got killed multiple times. And I get the feeling the long days are going to keep coming.”

He filled the pot with fresh water from his canteen and began cutting the inspected vegetables and roots with the cleaned head of one of his hatchets. Despite the sharp edge, he didn’t bother with a plate, instead cutting the items like one might peel an apple. The roots and vegetables definitely needed to be cooked, so might as well throw the fish in and make a kind of soup, then the jerky, hard tack, and fruits could be eaten separately. “How are you feeling?”

Hazm chuckled. His knife was gliding underneath the fish scales, swiftly removing them. It was almost a meditative process, in spite of the circumstances. “This is just an average weekday for me, kid.” He tossed the first descaled fish toward Danny before continuing. “I’m quite accustomed to hostility from many people in your country. If anything, this invasion feels more honest.”

To be completely honest, Daniel was more shocked at being referred to as a ‘kid’ than he was at Hazm bringing up nationality. It had been a long time since he’d been considered young and Hazm was predictable on the other topic. Daniel shrugged though and finished pulling the bones out of the fish as he said, “If you witness full invasions every day of the week, then I worry for you.”

“Hah!” Hazm snickered, almost slicing his finger in the process. “No, no, a very different kind of hostility.” Hazm threw a few more fish into the bucket. “What’s your deal, anyway? Aren’t you a bit young for all of this?”

"Well it's not like only older folks were chased out of the city," Danny said with a touch of a smirk. He figured Hazm meant the whole adventuring thing, but 'all this' really did come down to fleeing an invasion and he had no control over that. To answer the point Hazm seemed to be getting at, Danny said, "I hunt monsters for a living."

Hazm grinned but left it at that. He had lived long enough to know better than to press. Monsters? Why, a “monster” could be anything. Hazm didn’t particularly care to know if people like him were on that list.

Not yet.

 

[Solar Daddy]

The night was far too short for most. What little sleep was achieved was only a small victory, as the sun soon broke over the hills of Vace Vail. Still, simply seeing the next sunrise was enough for most to be content, regardless of the bags under their eyes. Lera was quick to rouse any late sleepers, and their equipment was all packed within the hour. Fires stomped out, rations stowed, wounds tended, and mounts secured, Lera and Retten spearheaded the exodus from the crumbling ruins South towards the Baramouth Strait. When they reached the main road, crossing the river and splitting off into three separate directions, Lera slowed the group to a halt and extended a hand to the Bishop, who clasped hers immediately.

"Good luck on your journey," Retten spoke loud enough for the entire company to hear. "Don't hesitate to stop by my office in Brimwough, should your travels bring you by."

"We'll be sure to find time. After all, we need to check in and make sure you actually convinced Grand Primarch Aunslas of starting the Syndicate officially. Until then, we'll be fixing this damn realm, one problem at a time."

Retten gave a nod, looking back at the group. "Bring Alwyn and that Porhawir idiot to their knees. I have absolute faith in you all. Dahlia, Maldorn, if I'm ever in trouble, you're the first ones I'll call upon." Retten gave a parting wave with his signature grin before he spurred his horse and made off on the shaded Southwestern road alone, whistling a tune as if this was just any other day.

Lera waited all but a moment before shifting in the other direction, leading her mount down the Southeastern path. "We'll be seeing him again, I'm sure of it. Let's get moving, there's much to do and danger won't wait for us to be ready."

---

Ambiance​

The course plotted by Nyota proved efficient; despite the constant threat of danger, the group was skilled enough to avoid most encounters and proceeded on their almost week-long journey South with little hindrance. In the few events where combat and direct interaction was required, Lera would do her best to organize a defensive or offensive formation, based on the situation at hand. Of course, considering she was - as far as Lera knew - the only one in the group with military experience, this tactic often devolved into smaller skirmishes, with the more eager of the group branching out and committing to their own personal fights rather than staying in a tight-knit formation. Most often, they faced the Returned, living dead who scour desolate battlefields to wallow in their misery and bring others into the afterlife with them. It seemed the invaders had refused to send their main force inland as of yet, but scouting parties and smaller warbands prodded the countryside endlessly. The Syndicate had good luck in avoiding these troops, but confrontation was guaranteed sooner or later. Luckily, Lera's warband proved resilient, and survived a handful of skirmishes with invading forces.

With their journey finally reaching its end, near the summit of Mount Damnen of the Wyrm Mountains, Lera had requisitioned a makeshift banner to be made as an identifier for their warband over the past few nights. The last thing she needed was for the Syndicate to get run down by an eager lord of the manor, hoping to score an easy victory against an invading scouting party. Lera had commissioned Sohrab and Nyota to turn a ragged quilt found abandoned on the roadside into a coat of arms; The background was a deep red symbolizing Praetum (entirely to ensure they weren't labeled an enemy while in Praetian lands), while the sigil was a hand-painted chimera to symbolize the amalgamation of cultures and backgrounds represented by the group. It wouldn't make sense to any Praetian forces, but the red background was enough to at least keep them from getting attacked on sight, and the chimera was a symbolic gesture to prove the cast was not just looking to preserve Praetian interests.

The mountaintop was a harsh contrast to the lands below. Their trip to the summit was sunny, hot, and filled with people, be it enemies, travelers, or wayward civilians looking for respite from the invasion. As they made their distance from the coast, they ran into more and more people living their lives normally, clearly not having received news of the fall of Port Hemmis. In the first few towns they stopped in, Lera as well as others in their party attempted to warn of the invaders, but they were taken less and less seriously as they made their way deeper inland. Now, however, they'd not seen a soul in almost a full day, while the gusts of icy wind nearly toppled the riders from their mounts. Had they not stopped at a handful of stables and secured proper saddles, their mounts would have been abandoned long before they started to trek up the mountainside.

Lera trudged through the snow atop her horse, contrasting its dark coat with the knee-high snow as they cleared a path for the following adventurers. For most of the trip, Lera could barely keep her eyes open from the barrage of snow and ice hitting her face constantly. The rather steep incline didn't help; it was hard to believe their path was even considered a road from how inhospitable it was. Of course, their destination was no hot spring or festival; no, they were here for the art of war.

Syrr's Temple finally protruded from the mountainside upon crossing a particularly treacherous expanse through the rocky terrain. Its design was utilitarian, cold, nearly impossible to make out its stone grey walls from the stone grey surrounding it in the snow. It looked as though it matched the mountain it resided atop perfectly, with the only dead giveaways being the sources of light protruding through murder holes and hourde slits inside. Smoke billowed from at least four separate booming fires within its walls, a clear sign that the temple was in full use as they approached.

"Hoist the banner," Lera shouted through the heavy wind. She wasn't sure just how far her voice carried, but considering Dahlia rode not far behind, she was confident she'd heard. The main gate of the hold was in sight, though its doors clearly hadn't been opened in some time as the snow piled high along the entire perimeter.

Dahlia nodded, reaching down to unclasp the flag she’d strapped to the left side of her saddle. The banner unfurled rapidly in the wind, dancing in the snow like a candle’s flame. She still felt uncomfortable being the one to hold the group’s standard; it felt like just one more step down a road she probably should have turned from at the start. But Dal had worried that declining the assignment would make the others suspicious. Despite what the bishop had said earlier, she doubted being from Ykrum inspired any warm, fuzzy feelings in her new colleagues.

Moments passed and nothing happened. Lera kept pushing forward, her heart sinking slowly as time went on. Was anyone watching from the guard posts? Was anyone even inside at all? Invaders hadn't made it this far inland, there was no way they'd been overrun and massacred before the Syndicate arrived, right? Lera couldn't simply turn her force back, so she kept forcing her way through the snow despite her horse's neighs of complaint. More moments passed, and nothing.

Finally, a horn sounded clearly through the wind. Another moment passed and the gates began shifting in their place before finally swinging inward. Lera had a wave of relief wash over her. Finally, it seemed there would be something that went right for the first time in ages. Lera ushered in her force, their steeds all marching in single file until the last was in. The gate was shut behind them as quickly as it had opened.

The interior of the fort was of little note. A wide open courtyard, with wagons, crates, and weapon racks lining the perimeter. Snow piled into the corners of the keep with pathways poorly maintained, wooden hourdes sat dilapidated atop crumbling stone walls. Soldiers lined the ramparts and the courtyard to gaze upon their visitors, probably some of the first these soldiers had seen in months. Behind her, Dahlia continued holding the banner up into the sky, Lera looking back at all the men posted to the temple.

One soldier stepped forward from the crowd of gazing eyes. Her chainmail clattered loudly in comparison to the silenced wind, blocked by the high walls of Syrr's Temple. The red and black tabard she wore had the rank of captain emblazoned on the shoulder, as if the engraved spangenhelm resting in her arms wasn't homage enough to her high status. The woman stared up at Lera and her group atop their mounts with steel eyes, a mix of boredom and annoyance upon her scarred face. Her dark, shoulder length hair flowed lightly in the wind, snow catching easily in it. More than once did the thought that this soldier was a Returned who'd come back to life graced Lera's thoughts.

"Who are you, and what's your business here?" The captain spoke loud and booming, with a near stone-like visage that refused to change.

Lera straightened her posture and raised one hand as she spoke. "Lera Heloys, 13th Gryph-" She suddenly cut herself short. Lera's hand faltered a moment before continuing. "...Of the 5th Syndicate, dedicated to the realm's survival. We're here to-"

"Halt," The captain spoke, raising a hand. Some of the guards actively placed their hands upon the hilts of their swords in a way that wasn't immediately obvious. Lera sharpened her gaze. "This is no place for civilians playing at war. You're interrupting official Praetian military activity here."

"The Syndicate has been activated again. I am its first party leader. Bishop Retten of Port Hemmis declared it so as of last week." Lera withdrew the official seal from her pack and tossed it down to the captain. She caught it with such little effort, it almost looked inhuman.

The captain glared at the seal from different angles for a time. With a hefty sigh, she threw the cylinder back up to Lera, who stowed the item instantly. "Guess it's really as bad out there as they say, if a Syndicate's popping back up."

"You don't know the half of it." Lera dismounted her horse, holding it in place by the reins as her boots sunk into the snowy mud. "I'm here to procure training for my warband. I need housing for a dozen troops, rations to equal it, and a spot in the courtyard to train." Lera's demands came instantly.

The captain handed her helmet to a lackey nearby before crossing her arms. "One of my men will show you to the barracks. Meals are served twice a day at 08:00 and 18:00 daily. You can use whatever spot's available in the courtyard. Just do me a favor, Syndicate; this is my temple. Treat it, and my soldiers, with respect." The captain turned and began walking towards the keep. "I'm Captain Isabelle Hale. Welcome to Syrr's Temple."

 

[Viper Actual]

The night came and went just as expected. Maldorn found himself half-resting near the fire, watching over it so that others may sleep. It was a relatively quiet night- for much blood had been shed hours before. Somewhere, both near and far, a bird cried in pain. Elsewhere a new life was born into the world, working to even the balance.

When sunrise came the skies were but a strong crimson. Maldorn watched the vibrant colors with glass-like eyes before uttering a prayer for the many that had died. Let the Light guide them home, let it lead them away from the darkness and to a harbour of eternal peace.

"Dahlia, Maldorn, if I'm ever in trouble, you're the first ones I'll call upon."

Maldorn bowed his head, one hand over his heart and the other gently gripping his staff. "Blessings upon you Bishop, may Varaena light your path and keep you safe in the darkest of nights."

The hermit then turned towards Lera, nodding with a faint smile on his face. "Lead the way, we shall follow."

*
​

The many skirmishes with the Returned was a grim reminder of both Varaena's vaning power as well as days long gone where restless creatures such as these were but a rare sighting. They had once been few and far between- thanks to cooperation between kingdoms and robust knowledge on the subject. Now they were like a disease, one that Maldorn lacked the power to root out and remove on his own.

Any encounters with the invading force proved less somber but far more difficult and challenging. Maldorn did his best to support the rest of the party with his spells and many a light cavalry scouts would bet met by a fireball or two. If not directly assaulting the enemy Maldorn would support the party in other ways, such as providing simple wards and shields or by igniting the weapons with the Flame of Varaena.

When the party did finally reach Mount Damnen and its surrounding peaks Maldorn found himself sitting upright with little to no care for the relentless blizzard around him. Any keen-eyed individual however would quickly note that Maldorn didn't have an ounce of snow on his robes. In fact, he wasn't even wet.

No, any snowflake flying his way seemingly vanished into thin air. It may look like sorcery of the highest order though in reality Maldorn had simply surrounded himself with a thin barrier of warmth. The spell did take some energy from him though the added comfort for both himself and his mount made the exchange worth it.

As Lera and the captain spoke Maldorn watched in silence, sitting near Danny and Sohrab. Without a word he took a loud bite from an apple which looked like it had been freshly plucked from a tree on the same day.

"Windy today, no?" He said aloud to nobody in particular, still looking at the captain.

 

[queendilettante]

Hazm regretted leaving Odette to fend for herself among the strangers she was assigned a room among. The Dan fellow seemed trustworthy enough, though Hazm doubted Odette would care much for his opinion on that matter. The girl didn't exactly look to him as a role model for character assessment. In truth, he was surprised to see her sticking with this group at all in the wake of her attempts to flee from him on the morning of the invasion's outset.

It would most assuredly work itself out in the end. He'd look to the constellations later for reassurance if he deemed it necessary.

He probably wouldn't.

Hazm packed light, often with hardly enough to last him a single day. It was simple. Effective. And as a man who found himself waking in ditches or alleys as often as tavern beds, it seemed the most sensible thing to do.

So when he found himself being lead to the barracks and assigned a room with the Praetumian girl-soldier and the scholar from his homeland, there was nothing for him to relieve from his person. He'd have been embarrassed if he thought himself worth the effort. Instead, he simply strolled into the assigned room and sat down on the furthest bed from the door. He yawned.

It wasn't the silken sheets and luxury mattresses of his youth, but it sure as Stars beat cobblestone. He rubbed the coarse sheets between his fingers and smiled.

He yawned again and rubbed at his eyes. How long had it been since he had a bed assigned to him in any capacity? Was it since he left the monastery? Had it really been more than a decade since he had a bed to call his own? Could that be why he was finding it... it so...

Hazm drifted to the first peaceful sleep he'd known in many years.

 

[Pipsqueak]

Nyota had fallen asleep on more than one occasion as they rode up the mountain. Her horse, who she had decidedly named Hoof Hearted as a small tribute towards her feelings for the rest of the trip, followed along blindly with the others. Despite the cold, she managed to stay marginally warm against Nona's ruffled feathers. The two hadn't slept all that much since her first killing. Nyota hadn't bothered to speak with anyone since she'd helped with Lera's map and her banner, which she now noticed stood tall against the billowing wind thanks to that woman Dahlia. The sting of frost against her dry hands kept the traveler out of her head for the time being, granting a clearer thought process as they neared their destination.

She'd just traveled miles and miles with people she didn't know, except, of course, for Daniel. Nyota slid her gaze over to his hulking figure a few feet from where she was now. What did he think of the others? Had he had any time to speak with them? It was funny how much she really trusted him despite their brief encounter years prior. She knew he was good, and good was trustworthy. She couldn't say the same for most of the people she'd run into during her lifetime.

Making a mental reminder to ask about the others later, she gently led Hoof Hearted behind the masked man's horse, keeping a watchful gaze on the towering building before them. Only a minute later did the alarming sounds of horns ring out against the eerie silence. Nyota jumped slightly, earning herself a glare from a newly awakened Nona. Unsurprisingly, Lera was the one to speak out first. Nyota was thankful the woman was used to taking things like that upon herself. She didn't think she would be able to do that.

Nyota listened with mild interest in their conversation, much more busy taking in the sights around the group. When they were given the okay to find their rooms, she breathed a sigh of relief. It sounded much more cozy than sleeping in the snow. Digging around in her satchel, she leapt off Hoof Hearted and made her way to Odette's, Daniel's, and her room. The freckled horse walked with her and Nona before being placed just in front of the sleeping quarters.

"It is alright, Hoof. You may rest now. And here," Nyota calmly dipped an antler she'd found in their first resting place into some honey and wiped it on the animal, "That is for you. Though I have no desire to own you, I love you very much. You have helped us on this journey for many days now, and I believe we are friends. Good day Hoof." Patting the horse's head with a smile, she made her way into their room.

It wasn't much to look at, but it was certainly comfortable enough. Nyota made her way around the room three times, checking every nook and cranny. She'd placed a small lavender flower there, a pinecone there, and.... yes, the honey should be the last ingredient! There would be no lies told in this room. Feeling much better about this, she finally plopped onto her bed and stared up at the ceiling. She couldn't wait to discuss the others!

 

[Solar Daddy]

"Doesn't seem like it'll die down at all, either." Lera responded to Maldorn's offhand comment without taking her eyes off Hale as she walked in to the keep. She tugged on her horse's reins, guiding her group to deliver their mounts.

Lera spoke as they all maneuvered to the stables at the other end of the compound. "Get settled and meet me back out in the courtyard in an hour. We've got to make the most of every day, and some of you need some serious catching up to do when it comes to self defense and unit cohesion. We'll break to grab a bite with the other soldiers, then we turn in for the night. Any who wish to continue training afterwards are welcome to do so. We will remain at the temple for a few nights at most, so get comfortable, but don't get attached."

Lera first made sure her pitch black horse, who she had come to refer to as Bellum, had been situated well at the stable. She'd allowed herself a short moment to pet the animal, but only did so for a short while. Before she departed though, Lera had produced a crisp apple from her satchel; one she'd asked Maldorn for earlier in their trip up the mountainside. She allowed Bellum to eat the fruit from her hand, a faint smile tugging at her lips as the stoic beast ate the apple in record time. She gave him a few parting pats before leaving the stables to drop off her gear at her assigned bunk. She cared not for the glances her and her group received from the soldiers stationed at the temple. She knew they probably didn't trust the presence of Ykrum citizens, but they'd simply have to deal with it. As a member of the Syndicate, each person in her party technically outranked everyone here. Even Captain Hale could do nothing but grovel at Lera's requests. Of course, the Heloys girl knew when not to step on toes unnecessarily. There was no reason to treat Hale as a lesser person. Making enemies was the last thing she needed.

Lera carried in the handful of bags, gear and other utility items inside, tracking snow and mud in with her. The floor was heavily stained from the constant foot traffic that was entering and leaving the castle, and it was clear inside that only the bare minimum was done to keep the interior operational. Cobwebs filled corners, boxes lay broken and beaten against the perimeter of the rooms, even the large roundtable at the center of the atrium looked to be on its last leg. Guards were posted sporadically throughout the keep, either stationed at doorways and points of interest, or simply lounging about. At the table mentioned before, four soldiers played a game of cards with - seemingly - loafs of bread as the currency up for grabs. One even offered for Lera to join in, to which she hastily declined and made her way for the stairs.

Upon entering her assigned room, shown to her by one of Hale's soldiers, Lera noted Hazm already inside and testing out the new bed. After a moment of fumbling her things in through the door, she realized the old monk had dozed off, and a light chuckle escaped her lips. It seems he was living in the lap of luxury and enjoying every bit of it. Lera would've denied it, but she instinctively began putting away her items more quietly after the realization.

Dahlia had been the other one assigned to her room. Lera had a fleeting thought as she unpacked; did she trust herself to sleep soundly with two Ykrumic people within arm's length of her with no backup? Was she willing to risk her life on it?

The answer she gave herself was almost immediate. Of course she would. If they had false intentions, Lera would have been dead already. In addition, she also needed to show trust. It would do no good if she refused to sleep alongside the people who she expected to help her save the realm. Lera sat upon her bed, which creaked beneath her, and awaited Dahlia. She had given the group an hour before meeting her out in the courtyard, and until then, she planned on keeping herself nice and warm inside. Hazm seemed to need the beauty sleep, so she let him rest while he could get it. That left Dahlia as her last hope against boredom. In the meantime, Lera sharpened her hand axe and arming sword quietly, whistling the tune of her battalion to herself.