Fantasy &nbsp; TOTTDLMTH Episode 2

Soviet Panda

Hershey shot a deathly glance at Fealca, getting back on her feet as she did.

"Perhaps Hershey's haste had proven most impertinent. However, we have little time to waste, General. While Hershey has yet to make sense of the immediate circumstances, there are much to be done..." Hershey noted, turning towards her master once again.

"It is a relevant matter to restore our Master's memories. Not just for His own good, but for ours as well. Even now, there are wicked eyes fixed upon us." Hershey claimed, as she unfolded her Grimoire's pages.

The words danced upon the parchment, giving life to the otherwise static novels. It was better to show than tell, thought Hershey. The pages began to tear, spiraling all around the group, as the vibrant tornado of papers molded the surrounding little by little. The room was immediately transformed. A simulacrum of the Dreamweaver's more vivid memories of her travels. To those that stood within the room, they would bear witness to the Dreamweaver's repressed memoirs. Harbingers and Companions that she had encountered were slaughtered before her very eyes. One by one, each of varied methods. The assailant, wrapped in light and darkness, was akin to that of a swift zephyr. For many moons past, the aries had smiled less and less. Tormented by the deaths of her fellow Harbingers on Grozny, it seemed as if the hostile shadow that trailed her was reveling over Hershey's distraught. A sadistic beast under no flag, with no conscience. Neither Harbinger nor Iris were exempt from their silent wrath. Eventually, Hershey sought out the Daemon Lord alone, fearful of the fate she might bestow upon her associates should they be involved. But even so, her reunion with Hassan had stirred a soft, but remarkable zeal in her. When all her comrades have taken into sights the dreamweaver's forlorn encounters, she sighed heavily, turning away from them.

"As much as it pains this unworthy dreamweaver to even voice her request for aid, t'is the inevitable truth. Our enemy resides in the shadows, hunting Harbingers as they see fit. Their objective is no doubt our master, for reasons unspoken, Hershey truly does not know. But, it will only be a matter of time until the Harbingers are extinct and there won't be a soul left to defy their foolish motivations. One by one. Alas, Hershey will not strip thee of thy personal principles. But ask thyself if thou yearn for a blissfully ignorant demise, or be able to dictate thy decease." she said with a firm voice, albeit melancholic as she silently wept for those Harbingers that passed her by.

"With all Hershey's strengths and minds, her Master shall return to power and remind all of Grozny their rightful places. Sepulcher, Xan, Ostrogoth... what is owed in blood, must be repaid in kind." Hershey concluded, with a pair of determined eyes fixed on Sertek.

"My Aetherial Master, it is time for thou to voice thy decision. T'is neither a personal vendetta nor a wishful delusion of restoring the olden days, but a statement to our shadowed company that thou art present. Present to give us hope. Present to take command of Fate. And present to guide us. Hershey need only hear thine affirmations, and will dispose of herself if needed be." she prompted Sertek to speak.

Her words as blatant as she could be, was aimed at the homemaker before her, in hopes of catching a glimpse of her former master just once. Even if his answer was to repel her service, then Hershey could at least live with the fact that she did what others could not. A small compensation for her prideful nature.

Worthlessplebian · Feb 14, 2021

Preston Saytzeff Pacer, Preston of Met Di Plurida
Mentions:

Larry

Preston toiled in his laboratory. The reagent that he refurbished from the collected chemicals did aid the arachnid in his investigative research. At first, he did not quite understand what the intent was behind this ashen-residue-turned-sludge. Yet during this laborious task, an idea birthed itself within Preston's mind. What if he married the substance with the flesh of mortality? A simple idea but one that he had not thought of until now. A minor grumbling escaped from him, agitated at the prerequisites for this nuisance. As fate would have it, Preston did have cells to be subjected to experimentation. Not his own, obviously, not only would that be unprofessional but Preston had an uneasy feeling about this. . . thing making contact with his body, let alone his cells.

A fridge with a blue top, transparent door and sturdy lock held what Preston needed. A twist of the key unlocked the door, a bone-chilling sensation seeped. He retrieved a vial of erythrocytes, their coagulation suspended from the added heparin. With a pipette, the spider sampled the blood. Applying them to glass slides, he then carefully separated a portion of the sludge.

He dripped a dot of the sludge into the small pool of blood. Carefully—with two layers of gloves on—pressed another translucent slide on top.

Preston closed his minor eyes, leaving only his two primary eyes to peer into the ocular tubes of his microscope. After adjusting the focus, the sight of it all paralyzed Preston to the microscope. His attention fixated on what was happening in the little blood sample. The sludge. . . It was absorbing the red blood cells. At such a rapid rate that Preston thought impossible. He must test more types of tissue now!

Dashing to his fridge again, this time retrieving some hepar aka liver cells. No time was wasted in preparing the new sample but he still maintained the utmost caution, especially after having witnessed that.

Preston found that this time, it was different. Instead of absorbing the red blood cells and indeed replacing them. The black sludge modified the liver cells. Adding another nucleus, on top of the two already present, and drastically altering its' form. Incredible. . . and absolutely terrifying.

After another bout of testing, this time armed with new knowledge and vigilance, Preston determined that these new cellular forms allow an improved way for magical energies to be channelled through them. Indeed, the magical energies could even bend the cell itself or influence it in some way. He hypothesized that a wizard or other magic user with monumental skill could do just that.

Appalled by his recent discoveries, Preston shut down the clinic room-turned-laboratory and properly sealed the leftover chemical or substance from his experimentation. He painstakingly took efforts to cleanse himself of ANY possible residue then departed for Sylvia's residence however in his haste, he had neglected lock on his building. Hopefully, no perpetrator decides to take anything on this very day.

He wanted to head for her abode immediately but due to an unusual amount of foot traffic, was forced to take a detour. During the small change in course, he happened by the Ortolan Cafe. By chance, he glanced into the interior of the little place and spotted Sylvia with another gentleman with a black coat on his chair, who Preston had not recognized from afar. What luck!

Entering the cafe, Preston rushed over to Sylvia and the gentleman's table. At a closer inspection, the man appeared to be the former Chief of Logistics, Ódhran von Starkenburg of Iris Company. This surprised Preston partially although catching up with him will have to be done at another time.

"Sylvia." Then turning to Ódhran. "Ódhran." Minding the pronunciation. The spider leaned over to whisper to Sylvia, he did not want to involve Ódhran as Preston has/had no prior knowledge as to whether Sylvia had appraised him of the situation. The other reason was that who knew what dastardly devils darted amongst the crowds. "I have made a worrying breakthrough. This substance that you found. . . to put it plainly, it is a highly mutagenic compound that alters the structure of living tissue and supersedes the presence of blood cells, taking them over and replacing them with it. Another property that I found is that it seems to make the changed sections channel magic frighteningly well. So much so that one gifted with great skill could puppeteer the individual. In my eyes, this was concocted by magic so vile and great that I have never seen before or technology so advanced that it would baffle the brightest minds." The worry in the Spider's voice was palpable, few things could shake him and this belonged in that tight category.

Pilgrim59 · Feb 17, 2021

Sylvia
Ortolan Cafe, Central District

Sylvia dwelled on Odhran's remarks. Being in the shoes of a prophesied champion of Grozny came at a cost. Like Odhran said, she sought neither glory nor fortunes, but a purpose. Had she chosen wrong when she stepped foot on Saarema? Was there a reason for her predecessors to not follow through with what she did? These thoughts troubled her. Even with the war concluded, the fight now consumes those that returned home, and even more so for the warmongering ones. War gave profits at the behest of the continent's physical suffering. Without war, Sylvia, alongside numerous of others, must now live with the consequences of peace. A mundane habit that was far from comforting. All sense of spontaneity lost, replaced by a common denominator of being sidelined and eventually abandoned. But all things must come to an end, she resolved. If it is not by her hands, someone else will follow through with the invasion of Saarema.

"Prophesied hero huh?" Sylvia muttered softly to herself, donning a grim pair of eyes that drifted across the street and into oblivion.

Odhran wanted her to open up, whether she yearned to be understood or not. Even now, she chided herself for going against the currents, where Friedhelm had told her off. She did not realized it until now that rather than putting her on trials for interfering with his investigation, the man had simply cast her off. It dawned on her, that even behind his justified disdains for her, Friedhelm was a man of reason. While he did not voice it, she now understood that he only meant for her to cope with her new life. Rather than being confined to a perpetual cycle of seeking her self-indulged ventures for justice. It was also a reminder that she was not above the constitutional law, for power often corrupts. Sylvia knew, even if Friedhelm does not acknowledge it, that they would eventually have to make amends in the future. One of the few remnants of their humanity worth salvaging, she contemplated, was their forsaken friendship.

"You have always been a compassionate person and a good listener since we met. Although, I can't guarantee worthy stories to tell, so you might want to get comfortable." said Sylvia, tucking a rogue lock of her bangs behind her ear.

Sylvia then started to recount her return from Saarema, then her encounter with Ra'el. The day drifted by slowly, filled with tidbits of her new life. From a dogged commander to that of an awkward girl in love. It was as if her life was reversed in terms of the associated norms. Where orphans grew up in the streets, wishing to explore the outside world, she was an orphan that went on adventures in order to learn about her ultimate purpose for those children. A spontaneous journey, sprinkled with tragicomedies. The height of her development by blood and sweat for Grozny, rather for herself. As such, she had only seen herself as a light that keeps the darkness away, but in turn, had proven to blind those that stood in her aura. Sylvia knew not herself or what she wanted to do. The one constant thing was her propelled zeal to be a part of a cause. Farming did not suit her, for it was too calm. Housechores made her felt confined in a cage. Ultimately, being an ordinary person was as hard as being a public hero. Nightmares kept her company when the light extinguishes, and the long day made her impatient.

The eternal cycle of expecting and hoping to not expect. Was this truly a way to live? She asked herself. This cycle felt all too familiar. But even sentiments are sealed behind hazy memories. One thing is certain, her childhood remained as a basement buried by rubbles. Was it wise to seek after this knowledge and fulfill her predestined fate? Or carry on and become someone she wants to be? Too many questions, with little to no answers. The Gods shut their eyes and prayers fallen on deaf ears. At the very least, Sylvia had the luxury of Odhran's presence. Surely, he does not comprehend everything she said or meant, but by fate, the man shared her resolve - like a patient biographer, peeling away at her pages one by one. It brought her comfort, that even if no one else cared for it, Odhran did.

"Preston. Come. Share a drink." said Sylvia softly as her arachnoid companion emerged.

Preston's recent works brought her attention to their case. A puppet-master? As far as she could recall, the closest individual she could associate this act with was the Countess of Frisia. But following their raid on her castle in western Saarema, her blood was destroyed. The crime scene did not show any signs of corrupted blood. No, this was something else, she thought. She studied Preston's body gesture. The man was surely puzzled by their discovery. There, Sylvia resolved to take the matter into their own hands. While Friedhelm was more than capable to handle the situation should it the threats be identified. Alas, the mysterious agent they found only further complicates things. The last thing the hero wanted was to let Friedhelm be caught up in a fight he could not resolve. She owed the Grandmaster too much after Onyx, and this would not dissuade her from intervening. For now, they were on their own.

"If this... substance... is distributed throughout the city, then we are looking at the next Necropolis. However, Friedhelm will not let us interfere per protocol. We are on our own, Preston. We have to locate and destroy the origins of this substance before it is too late." she commented.

"I'm sorry, Odhran, but it seems we have a situation on our hands. You may forget what you heard, for I do not intend to let you get in harms way. Not when the Company is disbanded and what we do from now on is deemed illegal. Besides, you have Saoirse to tend to. All my life, I go where the banners point, this is my purpose. But you have your own life to live." Sylvia said to Odhran.

Worthlessplebian · Feb 19, 2021

Preston Saytzeff Pacer, Preston of Met Di Plurida
Mentions:

The Arachnid considered his commander's invitation. Cafes do not suit Preston, but an exception will be made this time. He drapes the perforated, brown coat over the chair then sits. On his right is his former leader and on his left is the former aide-de-camp. His mind wandered to Friedhelm and how he imposed upon their investigation. They must've already taken the ash or substance to chemists who exceed Preston's skill. Except what if they haven't? What if they blithely picked it up? Exposing themselves to the will of a malicious manipulator who will make their knees bend to his tune? Frightening speculation that all the Black Watch would be compromised overnight. Preston's elbows rest on the table as his clawed hands clasp together. A waiter approaches, noticing the new arrival to the table. "What can we get you, sir?" The waiter asks him, with an upbeat tone.

"Ah. . . A cup of your strongest coffee." Preston replied, masterfully hiding the worry in his voice. Sylvia had decided to voice her thoughts on the matter. Preston agreed with most of her postulation yet disagrees on some areas. "An interesting proposal but I believe the culprit plans to utilize strategic strikes to usurp control then work his way down. After all, would it not be more logical to assume that political figures and their underlings possess more value than the average layman?" His hypothesis laid bare to be judged.

The waiter returned with his cup of coffee. "Thank you." Preston expressed his gratitude.

Pilgrim59 · Feb 20, 2021

Sofia IV Nowak
Sky Garden, Aurelian District

Midrick

The woman, while concerned about his wounds, quickly adhered to his reply. From his expressions, she could make sense of his desensitized eyes. Gloomy and eerily composed - a fatal charm that bespoke a great warrior. The way he egressed the frenzied skirmish to that of his inquisitive side, it seemed that Markas was not an average soldier. While he has yet to disclose his background, the woman deduced that he was either a Drakensreiter or perhaps from the Sygis's retinue. It mattered little of his background, the woman owed him much.

"Have you not heard of Lady Nowak?"

"Emilia, courtesy."

"Yes, I apologize, milady."

"My apologies, Mr. Vik. I am Sofia the Fourth of House Nowak. Your accent is quite exotic to say the least, but not too foreign to my ears. Alas dare I presume your origins from the highlands of Blackford, yes?"

Sofia reached for Markas's invitation letter, of which was now drenched in blood, and effectively unrecognizeable, aside from the hard-pressed seal.

"I will not hinder your judgment. I shall get you into the Sky Garden. But first, we need to address your current... fatigues." Sofia remarked, signaling her help nonverbally.

It did not take long for the Vigiles Urbani to emerge. Their accounts were promptly addressed by Emilia, of whom was told to impart the details on Sofia's behalf. It seemed as if Sofia had expected such a thing to happen prior. She appeared untroubled by the recent developments, with her eyes fixed on the anomaly of the situation - Markas. She pondered to herself of the man's true mission. But as far as she could tell, he was simply an unexpected intervention by volition. While he could have played dumb to go for a swift kill, it would otherwise contradict his actions thus far. Perhaps a change of hearts? That was out of the question for someone with a pair of cold eyes that were bred for war. It mattered little now, she concluded.

With the law enforcers leaving a detachment behind to secure the perimeter, Sofia gave a slight sigh.

"Now... where were we?" a rhetorical question with a playful smile to go about its delivery.

Emilia quickly picked up a measuring tape and promptly examined Markas's figures with haste.

"How should we go about this, milady?"

"Hmm, perhaps a Peninsular style. Formal - three distressed buttons. Mr. Vik does not strike me as a person to go for shines or impractical adornments."

"And the lining?"

"Lunala silk. I want it done in ten minutes top. Spare no expenses." Sofia said to her aide, tearing off a cheque with precision, of which was quickly received by Emilia. The latter promptly exited the shop and headed down the street with speed.

Upon Emilia' return, she had a brand new set of jet-black attires and new set of bandages in her hands, of which were turned over to Markas.

"Go on, Mr. Vik. We shall await your presence in the lobby." she said to Markas, closing the door behind her.

"Milady, are you sure this is wise? We know little to nothing about him." the maid remarked with a concerned expression.

"It's the least I could do for a hero. Besides, it would make for quite a ceremonial entrance. If my competitions are as bold as their recent course of actions, I'll be sure to return the favor tenfold." Sofia said, with a daggered smile.

As Markas exited the back room, dressed accordingly to Sofia's expectations, the woman held onto his left arm.

"Shall we, Mr. Vik?" Sofia said, looking up to her tall savior with an elated visage.

Escorted by a squad of police officers, the trio was taken towards the Sky Portal. An assembly ground filled with garden hedgerows atop a cliff. Above them were spirals of floating islands. Affectionately called the Sky Garden, the floating Gardens of Dragonsreach was a place for the elites and wealthy to gather. Be it seminars or gala dinners, the Sky Garden is perhaps one of the most eye-catching spot in all of Dragonsreach. Using a complex aetherial lift system, the guests are teleported towards their reservations.

The Sky Guards were quick to hinder Markas, but was quickly dissuaded by Sofia's presentation of her family crest. The other nobles looked on with curiosity at the sight of Sofia going hand-in-hand with a stranger. Among the bachelors, she was an opportune acquaintance and perhaps a viable courting target. With her hand clinging onto Markas as they strode towards the portal however, the Dragon Slayer had unknowingly made enemies of the other men. With a turn of her family's crest upon the Sky Portal, the circle beneath them glowed briefly. Emilia made a curtsy as her mistress got past the VIP line.

"Hold on to me tightly, Mr. Vik. Lest you end up falling from the sky." Sofia remarked, despite the fact that she was the initiator.

A warm zephyr, followed by a blinding hue of cyan and amber. Markas and Sofia found themselves amidst a lavish hall filled with attendees and refreshment staff. The entire facility seemed to be built into the floating rocks, where glassed corridors were also visible from outside. As the two paced themselves down the landing corridor, there were Drakensreiter circling around the Sky Garden and the other floating islands.

"Magnificent, isn't it? You can see all of Dragonsreach from here. Hehe..." Sofia giggled softly.

"Milady Nowak." one of the older gentlemen parted from his conversing circle to greet Sofia.

"Mr. Redas Fenris of House McMillan. Let me introduce you to my friend - Mr. Markas Vik."

"Hahaha. A friend of Miss Nowak is a friend of mine. A pleasure, Mr. Vik. Tell me, what do you make of Krissenacht's recent acquisition of Hetzer's factory in Karelia?" McMillan greeted Markas with a friendly chuckle.

"A good question for another time, Red. What you should be asking is what Hetzer has to say about it today. Besides, Krissenacht had already made their move." Sofia replied with a sharp smile.

"Oh dear. Are you alright?"

"Do not be alarmed, Red. I am still breathing thanks to Mr. Vik here."

"I see. Thank you, Mr. Vik. Truly. How uncivilized of them to go after Miss Nowak. Without her here, they will surely tarnish the Nowak's name and we will not recover from it. What a bunch of animals, no different from the Aetherial beasts." McMillan commented, with an angered expression.

"Worry not, I have yet to unveil my own cards." Sofia said with a confident grin.

Markas's Details ( Midrick ):
Markas chose to attend the seminar, despite his wounds. He was given a brand new set of attire to change into, as well as Sofia's help to enter the Sky Garden. It is revealed that he was acquainted with Lady Sofia IV Illyrian Nowak, a renowned pharmaceutical billionaire. Markas had inadvertently thwarted an assassination attempt that would otherwise be detrimental to the Nowak's cause.

ElenaIsCool · Feb 20, 2021

Bisila Nzo

Isern Braede, Epirean District

Interacting with:

Soviet Panda

Bisila nodded along with Galious's words, since it made pretty much sense. It was a bit amusing and sad to see the reptilian with an ego bigger than he is accept that he couldn't get the recognition he wanted. Hey, someting new to use against him. It would be cute to see his reaction after she teased him about it. The woman's brow raised when Galious suggested a plan with an amused smile when he said that his cuteness had it's advantages.

"Nice to know you admit to being adorable"

She grinned at him before he waddled back to Sertek's side and asked for his interest in products. Right, she had to act like a servant. Wasn't hard. Bisila had a smile on her face as she followed her salamanderian partner. She was a bit curious as to where he was going with this and knew where she'd have to pick up. Wouldn't be the first time she'd posed as something she's not even though she had to admit it took her a lot to not break character infront of her ex-boss. It was still a bit..Unbelievable. Well, all she had to do now was try to convince not-really-Sertek to either buy meat or leave. Would't be the first time she'd done something similar either

"Ya, we've got some 'o the best quality meat 'round, courtesy o-"

Was it just her or were those paper pages floating in circles around them. Bisila glanced around and noticed that it wasn't just her. There were words swirling from the pages and those words eventually became..Diffferent scenes. People died or were killed, some that she recognized others that she didn't. Bisila wasn't sure whether to feel either sad or scared. This mysterious assailant that was hunting people she'd known and people she didn't.. It kind of made her remember the Crow people from the prision.

Hershey's explanation went from one ear and out through another for her. She was mostly feeling confused, scared and most importantly; not very happy. Sure, there was something out there hunting Iris and Harbingers alike but..

Bisila shook her head, the smile that had faltered came back up as she turned to Hershey. She was smiling but her eyes were just straight up glaring daggers at the aries

"That'sa real scary story n' all but..We've got more pressin' matters t' deal with..Like what would the master like to get?"

Bisila turned back to Sertek, her smile seeming more forced as she emphasised on certain words. She had to think of something fast to cover this up. Hershey, why were you acting like a fool? That would have to be answered later. For now; Sertek.

"Don' mind the lil' one, Master! She jus likes t' show off some tricks for a ryn or two, some tips n' the like. She knows better than t' bring so much attention t' herself"

Another subtle glare at Hershey, accompanied by a glance at the others to help her out on this one. They would have a long talk about this later.

Pilgrim59 · Feb 21, 2021

Friedhelm of Brecourt
29th Street, Central District

Pilgrim59

The pendulum swung, testing the patience of the solitary Grandmaster. Whether or not d'Orier's imparted intelligence was accurate or not, it presented Friedhelm with an opportunity to finally hold Sylvia and her retinue accountable. Yet, there was a part of him that have yet to execute that notion, keeping his hand from issuing the order he had long written upon his desk. A probable cause, a written warrant, and the Empress's eyes upon his endeavor. Alas, the man would not move, for a certain sentiment kept his personal grievances at bay. If it was not for the hero, he would have drowned on Wyvern Beach. He had hoped that the Angel of Verdan would adhere to his words. For every passing seconds, he clung onto his deep-seated feeling to relinquish his grasps. Hopeful that his expected informant would abate all the pre-conceived truths from his mind. He did not trust d'Orier, not now, or ever. But even if he did not conform to the man's words, he could not in his conscience deny the facts. All these thoughts quickly dissipated when he received a courier at the door. A decision was made for him.

Within minutes, the attendants of the Keep watched on as an array of jet-black paladins followed their Grandmaster down the grand hall. By columns, they swept the hall clean of murmurs and thoughts. With zeal in their synchronized steps and purpose in their invisible eyes, it was clear that Friedhelm had a fish to catch for the day, and there was no one to dissuade him off his mission. The Black Knights mounted their steeds in one coordinated saddling action that seemed as if they were replications of their leading commander. The occupied staging ground quickly emptied its inhabitants. From the Sky Garden, it seemed as if the stable had unleashed a black horde upon the city. A malevolent force of cavalry that have not been seen by Dragonsreach since the exodus of the Havenite Expeditionary Force. As Friedhelm rode forth, his eyes were hidden beneath his czapka, well-aware of what must be done. But this was no ordinary hunt.

Sylvia, accompanied by Odhran and Preston were nearing the latter's clinic, in preparations for their next course of action, were acquitted of their recent discussions at the Ortolan. As the trio recounted Preston's discoveries. Amidst the quiet discourse, Sylvia got up from her seat gradually, motioning her companions to be still. Her eyes fixed on the door, as the eerie silence prolonged. Glasses quickly shatter, as multiple canisters entered the room. A few sparks followed, unleashing a thick smoke screen. A loud bang on the door caused it to come tumbling to the side, as a rank of black silhouettes parted the smokescreen. The distinct thud in unison were none other than the typical squareback anti-riot formation.

Friedhelm, of whom was standing tall over his men on the street, shot his death-like glares towards the besieged building. Watchers and vigiles urbani surrounded him and the rest of the streets. Some in cover, others formed up in a double-rank firing formation. Most of the riflemen's weapons were fashioned with non-lethal adaptors, meant to cause bruises. While close-quarter troopers were equipped with batons and blunt weapons. Several magic support units on scene had already conjured their binding spells to be fired at any point. Even with these in place, Friedhelm was sure that it was not enough to bring the stubborn Angel of Verdan back in one piece. The Grandmaster had a piece of parchment within his reach. A signed document that justified his presence. Neither a courteous notification nor a stout proclamation, Friedhelm had already let his dogs of war loose. Knowing Sylvia and her companions, they will not adhere to his words. The only frequency that befit them was swift actions. Having taken precautions with a ten-blocks perimeter and fortified checkpoints, Friedhelm was not going to let Sylvia walk away. Even now, the hero's home had already been besieged by the rest of his Order.

Friedhelm withdrew a green grozium from his pocket, tossing it slightly in the air, before throwing his hands forth to form a diamond. The diamond was brought back to his chin, then rotated inward towards himself. The grozium glowed as it levitated above his hands, echoing his voice towards the clinic.

"You knew better than this, Sylvia. It's over, do not attempt to resist. This is your one and only warning!"

The irony in Friedhelm's mission was the warrant for the siege. Of all the things he could pin on the Iris Company, it was their possession of illegal substances. The Grandmaster could only hope that Sylvia could see the situation she is in. Should she defy his orders here and now, she would not only make an enemy of him, but of Haven as well. The vanguard of shielded troopers continued to march into the clinic slowly, checking their corners in anticipation of a counter-assault.

EPISODE II: Pillow Talks

Episode IIB

Despite their reunion, Hershey's actions have been met with various reactions - most of which were lukewarm, while others frustrated with her. Hershey made her stand and is hopeful to follow through with her plan to retrain the Daemon Lord - with or without the Harbingers' help. To this end, the Harbingers must now voice their concern on the matter. On the precipice of their accomplishments thus far, will Ra'el truly give in to the call? Or turn a deaf ear to the dreamweaver's plans?

Meanwhile, the Hero had their reunion with an old friend, before letting them in on the Nova Heights case. Before the trio could press on with their works, Preston's clinic was besieged by the Black Watch and their contingents of squarebacks and law enforcers. Consequential of Sylvia's decision, and not unpredictable, it is as the hero had mentioned earlier, she was now a criminal. Stones unturned and mysteries unsolved, there was only one truth to be made.

Location: Haven
IRIS Objective: Survive the Black Watch's pursuit
HARB Objective: Improve current living standards

"A truth may be far-reached, but you must first reach far for it."
- The Fallen Eagle, Luca di Maroni (750 AC)

Malphaestus

Zariel

Doctor Nope

Midrick
@Remembrance

Nessi

Soviet Panda

Worthlessplebian · Feb 23, 2021

Preston Saytzeff Pacer, Preston of Met Di Plurida
Mentions:

Larry

The trek back to the clinic went unabated. With curiosity and dread engulfed Preston's mind, the eagerness to continue his research was not superseded by the hesitation, but it did make him pause. When they reached the tiny porch, Preston had found that his precious clinic was not locked! This forced him to expect the lock to see if there were any signs of foul play. Sadly, either he could not determine this.

They had begun the discourse about Preston's findings. Except. . . A nagging feeling ate away at Preston. It bothered him deeply. He likened it to when a patient had received an incompatible blood group; the patient felt terrible dread as if he knew that he would die. Unfortunately, the medical practitioners present, Preston included, could not save the man.

When Sylvia had gotten up and motioned to him and Ódhran to exercise subtlety, it tightened Preston's muscles uncomfortably.

Then the inexpensive windows of his clinic shattered as grey canisters were flung into the room. Smoke spewed. The door busted down, made Preston think as quickly as he could. In his rapid assessment, he deigned the best course of action was to retreat from their currently complicated position. He got as close as he could to Sylvia, perching himself atop his desk. "I need a minute!" The tone of the arachnid's voice was heavily restrained. He could not risk tipping off Friedhelm and the goon squad.

Leaping from the desk, Preston hurriedly rushed over to the examination room door. Shoving it open, he was thankful that windows would void any doctor-patient confidentiality and was prohibited from installing any. From cupboards, Preston retrieves large, opaque bottles with tight necks with a brown, light-isolating colour. "Haven't done this much chemistry since my mentorship. . ." He grumbled. He only needed sixty seconds to prepare. Just sixty freaking seconds.

Pilgrim59 · Feb 25, 2021

Sylvia
29th Street, Central District

Friedhelm of Brecourt
29th Street, Central District

Cpt. Hellriegel
29th Street, Central District

Their world had turned upside down. Sylvia was no stranger to the voice that was responsible for their impending apprehension. Could this be driven by his grievances? Most likely the furthest from the truth. She knew him better than that. Nay, this was Friedhelm, a man of logic and reasons. A part of Sylvia wanted to believe that Friedhelm was not one to dispense injustice, but reality could not be any grimmer than to be in the crosshairs of the Grandmaster. A man of principles. Principles that must be justified by solid evidence and backing before actions. But even she knew that Friedhelm was an ardent believer of actions over words. There had to be someone behind the curtains pulling strings on him. Either way, perhaps Sylvia chose wrong when she brought Preston and Odhran into her selfish crusade. However, for better or worse, they were already backed into a corner. The illusion of choices were often made for her and the Company, under the pretense of world peace. But that time came and passed. This time, it was moreso to pursue the far-reached truth that Sylvia embarked upon. She turned towards her arachnoid companion as he voiced his concerns. Preston had already made up his mind. But what of Odhran? He need not shed his blood here.

"Ódhran... both Preston and I are here of our own volition. This is your last chance to relinquish the Company's chain. Friedhelm will not mistreat you, I guarantee it. Walk away now." Sylvia said, offering Odhran the chance to surrender without further hardships enforced upon the man by her self-indulged recklessness.

Having said what she needed to, Sylvia erected her Solomon's Edge. The lance materialized with a faint glow and a reticent hum. Rather than a full length spear, the weapon had its shaft shortened to that of a long hilt. For an indoor clinic, it was unwise to deploy a far-reaching spear. After all, Sylvia did not plan on staying here for a long time. There was another person that she needed to see before she commit herself to this new life. Reaching into the paperbag that had her recently-bought cravat, Sylvia secured it beneath her attire. Tucking it tightly upon her bosoms, the lancer drew an audible breath. She got on one knee, grasping tightly onto her lance.

"Saint Basra, make me fast and accurate. Forgive me not, Friedhelm, for I must unravel this truth that I seek." Sylvia muttered softly to herself, before getting up. She gave Odhran and Preston one last look, before turning towards the wall before her. The squareback's footsteps drew closer, ready to round the corner.

"Sixty seconds." she concluded, before leaping forward.

Using the smokescreen as her method of concealment, she sprung into action with great speed. Her lance positioned backwards, poised on making a full swing. With the Imperial troopers in her range, the woman switched her stance, adjusting her spear in a horizontal posture. A rush of wind followed her, as she used her weapon's shaft to knock back the tightly-packed rank with sheer force. A textbook dressing of rank like that of the Arishan Era's infantry officer. Sylvia relieved her left hand and channeled a spell from her lance. Solomon glowed brightly, before a gust of potent force blew the soldiers off their feet, while the furnitures shot in all directions. Before the troopers could get their headings, Sylvia made haste to follow up on her blinding area-of-effect assault. Using the blunt-ends of her tri-point Solomon, she mirrored her mentor's movements and hammered the armored troopers into the ground. Her lance usage became that of a hammer, immobilizing the soldiers with a series of hammer-down strikes. Rather than outright piercing them, the hero attempted to minimize, if not, refraining from any fatal casualties possible. After all, they were not her true enemies.

A mere thirty seconds had passed. With no response from the vanguard, Friedhelm shook his head slightly, as he grabbed his echo grozium midair and put it into his pocket. His hand curled up into a "C", with a doorknob turn motion. His index and middle finger separated, pointing towards the entrance. The soldiers quickly followed suit with his nonverbal command, and took up positions. They split into two groups, one for the middle finger to the left, while the other for his index finger to the right. The two groups stacked up against the surrounding buildings, with their rifles in enfilade. Their rifles were quickly mounted with a muzzle adaptor. Chambering a blank round into their rifle, the riflemen then finalized their procedure with an amber-marked warhead mounted atop their rifle's muzzle.

Friedhelm nodded at his aide, to which they relayed their hand signal to open fire. The riflemen relieved their stacked up positions and formed two lines. Their rifle butts against the ground and the rifles went off in unison. The rifle-grenades flew into the room where Sylvia was standing. The grenades surrounded her, with their pins removed. Sylvia quickly made sense of the amber markings on the grenades, and brushed her gauntlets over her eyes, with her Solomon stemmed against the cherrywood floor. Her eyes were quickly shielded with a luminescent veil, formed by sinews of temporal aetherial energy. She clenched her teeth, as the grenades went off, sparking bright detonations around her like firecrackers. The tight quarters only help to enhance the reverbing effects. While her eyes were spared from the blinding lights that scattered across the room, Sylvia had to bear with the deafening noise that disoriented her hearing. Her ears were ringing, reminiscent of the hundred thousand shells fired from the Kaiserin Airin II dreadnought. The veil around her eyes eventually dissipated, unveiling a pair of scowling crimson eyes. It was only a matter of time before Friedhelm sends more men into the fray. While her eyes were still intact, Sylvia's ears were still ringing. Even with her Solomon's Edge, she was at a disadvantage in a small room. It was best to tale the fight to them by sallying forth. At least when she is outside, she could make good use of her eyes, rather than be confined to a room where Friedhelm would surely launch another hail of flashbangs to disorient her. Forty seconds had passed, she would best make use of it.

As the smoke cleared and the sizzling flashbangs extinguished, Sylvia launched herself out the front door, as the second line of armored troopers approached. The ranks quickly broke from her momentum, as the deafened hero swept her oppositions with her Solomon's Edge elongated, increasing her area-of-effect melee. The riflemen reloaded, but had to take their time removing their muzzle-launching adaptors. The multitude tried to hamper the hero, but to no avail. While she could not see their expressions beneath their standard-issued helmets, she was sure that they did not want to hurt her. Not after everything they heard or seen of her during the war. The icon of Grozny's hope against Sertek, only to be made an enemy before them. But like her before, they had their orders.

"So, the Angel of Verdan has finally been flushed from the den. Captain, plug the gap, if you please." Friedhelm remarked, before turning to his subordinate. He was neither stirred by the commotion she caused, nor moved by the urgency of the falling frontlines. After all, he had expected as much of the hero. Right now, where they stood, she was simply a rogue lancer.

The Grandmaster's champion ventured forth, as Sylvia already plowed her way to the third line. The soldiers withdrew, keeping their distance with the hero, while the center line parted gradually to make room for a lone figure in black. Silence befell them, as Sylvia relieved her lance. The hero counted the last five seconds of which was entrusted to her by Preston. Sylvia could not make sense of the mysterious figure's eyes, for they were hidden beneath their czapka and long white bangs. Judging by their black cloak and cap, they are a member of the Black Watch. Unlike Friedhelm's stern composure, their visage derived from a gleeful disposition. While they have yet to show any signs of aggression, Sylvia was uneased by the sudden tranquility woven in the air and written on their blank face.

"Greetings, Angel of Verdan. The Grandmaster wishes to see this conflict abated by any means necessary. Please stand down." the Black Watch captain said.

"And what do you wish to do, miss...?"

"The name's Hellriegel..." replied the captain, drawing a deep inhale.

"... I just wanted to say, I'm a huge fan of yours! Think I could maybe get an autograph? I already made a bet to get your signature for the boys in Fifth Company. Please, please, please?" Hellriegel continued, sashaying towards Sylvia with an open journal and a pen in hand.

Sylvia stood dumbfounded by her opponent's excitement instead of hostilities. While cautious, Sylvia could not deny Hellriegel of their request, especially the way the latter had nonchalantly brushed up to the hero's side. Meanwhile, Friedhelm from behind the crowd of troopers let out a heavy sigh, as he pinched his temple. With Sylvia's autograph secured, Hellriegel bowed graciously with an appreciative tone. Before long, the two had found some common grounds as Sylvia inquired of their journal's origins. It did not take long for the Grandmaster to become impatient, as he let out an audible cough.

"When everything is sorted, please invite me over sometime!" smiled the captain.

"Perhaps." noted Sylvia, still puzzled by Hellriegel's eccentric conduct.

"As for what I wish to do..." Hellriegel paused, as they turned over their shoulders and smiled at the Hero.

"...I gotta see my job done by the book." she finally said, as the ground beneath Sylvia glowed brightly.

Before the hero could evade the deceitful attack, the ground shook and ushered in a circle of detonations around Sylvia.

"I'm really sorry, Mrs. Sylvia, but I'm still on the clock. Surely, you understand, it's nothing personal." Hellriegel turned back to the smoky scene. A slight gasp came, followed by a whirl of zephyr that filled the vacuum between her and the hero. A flash of cyan deflection followed, as Hellriegel was thrown back by the nearly-invisible projectile that made her danced.

Sylvia emerged from the smokes, materializing her Solomon, having thrown it at Hellriegel a mere second ago. Hellriegel adjusted her hat slightly, as she got up from her crouched posture. The hero's armor was filled with brazen marks, with most of her gaiters torn. The hero was clearly caught off-guard by Hellriegel's skillful distraction.

"So that's the power of Solomon's Edge... that was quite a spectacle! The way you emerged from my laid runes unscathed was pretty stylish!"

Despite Hellriegel's words, Sylvia stood strong, unresponsive to the former.

"As the legend that precedes your name, although I am convinced that you are modestly sober rather than stoic."

"I am but an instrument. Instruments need not retort." Sylvia replied softly, donning an apathetic visage.

"That's poetic. Right... Time to go work... Ahem. Knife to meet you!" Hellriegel clapped her gloved hands, before shooting her left hand outwards.

A hail of cyan daggers came forth, unleashed upon the lancer. Sylvia stemmed her lance into the ground before her, as she extends her left hand forward. Arrays of dark blue projectiles materialized around Sylvia, flying forward in a counter-charge. The cyan daggers exchanged blows with their darker counterparts, sparking colorful flashes between the two. Despite the frontal attacks, Sylvia contemplated the entire ordeal, measuring Hellriegel's capabilities from her position. The battle became a proxy war between the two, as their projectiles carried out their bidding. Yet, neither of them have yet to achieve a breakthrough. Rather than a simple knife-throwing contest, Hellriegel was patiently waiting for Sylvia to make a move. It was already unusual for a lancer to keep their distance with a complement of projectiles, let alone their powerful artifact - Solomon's Edge. Sylvia must have some sort of action beneath her eerily calm posture. If anything, Hellriegel should have an advantage over Sylvia at range. A caster of her magnitude could easily pepper the melee-oriented lancer hero. But before Hellriegel could commit to her next attack, she must quickly decipher Sylvia's intentions. Sylvia on the other hand, was gradually murmuring beneath her breath.

After thirty seconds of the constant bombardment, Hellriegel eyed Sylvia's visage. Rather than focusing on her weapon, the captain noticed an unusual feature that was exercised by the hero ever since the runic detonation. While it could easily be passed for shallow breaths, it was illogical for a well-conditioned veteran to quickly fall out of shape. This was the one and only Angel of Verdan that Hellriegel was facing. The one that slayed countless Shadow Legionnaires during the war. The one who spent more than two months in the wilderness of Sealow Heights with nothing but their lance. Hellriegel studied Sylvia's mouth, carving it deep into their memories, as they broke the traditional norms of simply following the evidence. A hunch, some would call it, was as good a tool as what the Black Watch has taught her, Hellriegel thought. A cumulative pattern of tens, with small deviations. What could Sylvia be planning? Hellriegel diverted her gaze, as she studied her surroundings. Not a single defect, but it quickly occurred to her of why Sylvia was on Twenty-Ninth street. This was not her home, but an acquaintance's, perhaps even a friend. A busted pot of plants, broken glasses, and a broken sign that belonged to the building - more precisely a clinic. Sylvia had sallied forth by herself, but she could have ran off, rather than storming the front. This, in addition to the locale that was clearly not Sylvia's home. From these thoughts alone, Hellriegel concluded that Sylvia was not alone. If so, where are her compatriots? Should the captain voice her concern, Sylvia's expressionless visage will neither answer her concerns, nor will it benefit her. What bothered Hellriegel overall was Sylvia's nonverbal murmurings.

It was time to press the attack lest Sylvia's plan come to fruition, thought Hellriegel, as she launched herself forward. Her left hand curled up, while her right pivoted from her flank towards Sylvia. A cyan rope emerged from her hand, of which was fashioned into a lasso. Twirling herself, the Watcher threw her line at Sylvia. The latter picked up her lance and parried. Hellriegel retracted her cord, fashioning the aetherian lasso into a double-handed sword. Another swing was made, this time from up high, Sylvia leapt away as the collision cut the pavement clean. Before Sylvia could react, however, Hellriegel detonated her rune - of which was cleverly placed while she went in for a feint high strike. Sylvia slid back towards the clinic, neverminding the ember sparks that caught her shoulder sleeves. The aetherian flames ate through her lamellar gradually, before being extinguished by a quick pat. While she did not flinch, the burning sensation upon her shoulder was hard to simply ignore. Raw aetherian flames of this caliber for a mere Solarian was peculiarly rare. Even more so for a Black Watch captain, of whom would usually be equipped with an assortment of S-Grade magitech. These are typically defined by the distinctively branded Solingen steel and Axian fibers. Sylvia, however, saw neither on Hellriegel. Clearly, if they had kept their main armaments hidden, it was best to confront the Watcher here and now. What mattered the most, was that Sylvia had bought more than enough time for Preston to prepare their concoctions.

Nessi · Feb 25, 2021

Ra'el

Ra'el didn't know how to

feel anymore. Apparently he truly was the demon lord, the one who had caused so much suffering and death for so many. Sertek, the one beyond the stars, the master of the people in this butcher shop. And even though everyone was trying to play it off as a child with an active imagination, Ra'el had the feeling that she was sadly telling the truth. The look that everyone was giving him was like he was a walking ghost, and that would make sense, they thought that he was dead, he should be dead. But he wasn't, by some miracle he was alive, and had married the woman who had supposedly killed him. Ironic, wasn't it.

In one hand, Ra'el wanted to just walk out of the butcher shop, and pretend that this never happened. Even if he was the demon lord, that was in the past, Sertek was dead, killed by the hero Sylvia. He was Ra'el now, the powers he once had were gone, and he was happily married to his beautiful wife Sylvia. He didn't have to get his hands dirty with this at all, he could just walk away, he barely knew these people anyways, it's not like he actually cared for them. So who cares if they died?

Ra'el wished that was how he truly felt.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he cared for them. He didn't know their names, and could only faintly remember their faces, but he still cared for them, he cared for the strangers that he had met only a few moments ago. The strangers that were most likely murderers who killed people because he ordered them to, people that should be executed for the things that they've done, and Ra'el couldn't just let them be hunted down. He couldn't just leave them to slowly die out one by one, he couldn't deny that these people were ever in his life.

Ra'el turned to Hershey, and got on one knee so that he'd be on eye level with her, "I don't exactly know who you are, I don't know who any of you are to be honest. However, something inside me is telling me that I should help you all. That I need to help you all. But I want to make one thing clear, whoever I was in the past, that person who you want to look up to, Sertek? he is gone, dead, I am no longer him, I am Ra'el, and I'll do my best to lead you all, to protect you from those who wish to do you harm. But I'll need your help, to remember how to fight once again." Ra'el said. He stood up, and faced everyone. "Old comrades of mine, will you let me lead you once more? Even if it's just to help you all get back on your feet?" He asked everyone.

Celestial Speck · Feb 25, 2021

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Hassan Nox I-Sen

Isern Braede, Haven

The surreal silence that befell the room as the old demon lord spoke once more- the surreal silence and bottled up storm of feelings deep inside of him, it was all too much for Hassan- the Endless Swordsman, feared for his skill and training that nearly turned the tide of the war several times, just couldn't handle this. The words Sertek- no, Ra'el spoke to him hit a completely different part of his being altogether. Those words that resonated weren't those of loyalty and pride for the return of his old master- it was, something else. Something much simpler. Hassan could remember- it was the same feeling when Ra'el first announced him as his second in command. His natural pride as a Harbinger was there, but...

But there was happiness. A genuine, almost simple happiness. The happiness a friend would feel after being accepted by someone they looked up to, like a brother, or a close friend, or even family...

In front of him, as much as he tried to, Hassan Nox I-Sen couldn't quite see the Demon Lord anymore. He couldn't see his immense strength, his leading charisma, or even the beyond-this-world powers he wielded. In front of him, he saw a kind, simple man, just like he saw when he first laid eyes on him a few moments ago. At first, he wanted to deny it, but just as quickly he realized he couldn't, that this was reality. He didn't quite know how to react for a moment aside from feeling a certain bittersweet melancholy, but Ra'el's words, his kindness, his definitive wish...What he achieved, what he had gotten- Hassan respected it, and deep down, he yearned for it too, despite not knowing it yet.

A small droplet of something yet came from his left eye- gone just as quickly as it came down. A quiet sniff, before he cleaned his eyes. Harbingers don't cry. He told once told himself, but this was an exception.

Could they really be called 'Harbingers' anymore? Well, maybe the others could, but Hassan made his decision.

Stepping in front of Ra'el at a respectable distance, the orphan from Jianki stared at the other's eyes. There was no sort of hidden layer of feelings there, it was just him, staring at the man he so deeply respected, and opening his mouth to speak honestly and clearly from him. "My name is Hassan Nox I-Sen," he began, his voice firm, despite the singular tear and strain that plagued his heart a mere moment ago. "We met, twenty years ago, in my home country, Jianki. I was just a child back then with a simple dream."

'I want to be the strongest!' The child yelled out, bloodied and bruised to the armored individual in front of him. Despite only hitting against the other a few times and gained much larger and severe bruises, he still found within himself to stand up and face the immeasurable wall in front of him.

"...Yet you took me, you accepted me for who I was- just like the rest of us." A smile dared to creep itself up his lips, yet he didn't care. That smile, almost gently showing his teeth, was the most genuine smile he gave in a year. "And you accepted us for who we would become. You were selfless as you were cruel. But even then..."

The feeling of wielding the two swords, Umbra and Solaris, was indescribable as he swung them. His hard work, his loyalty, and his skill- it had been acknowledged. Sertek welcomed him to become his arm with open arms, but he could see the smile behind the daemon's face hid something else. Something he didn't realize until the war had ended and they were all lost.

"There was never a moment I thought you as my lord first and my friend second. You were like a brother to me."

Those words, likely heretical, were true. Despite his immense respect for him, despite his loyalty, despite all of those things one would expect from a Harbinger, he thought of him as his companion, as a family first before a leading figure. Should that have been the correct way to do things? Perhaps not, but he was glad for the path he had gone with because otherwise, he doesn't think he could be doing what he currently was at this moment.

"You aren't the man I once met and one day...I'll...Make peace with that," He mumbled awkwardly, looking to the side. It still hurt, but that wasn't the point now. "But due to that, I cannot let you lead us once more. You're a man with a family, with a home, with a place here...Leading us would one day stray you away from that happiness you found for yourself, but...I'll allow you to walk among us, as equals. You'll help us, and we'll help you. And if it's just me doing such,"

A single hand extended itself from him, the edges of his skin trembling slightly, but he did his best to steel himself.

"Then I'll be happy to protect you and your family from the shadows by my lonesome when this is all over, if you will allow me...R-Ra'el."

Pilgrim59 · Feb 26, 2021

Hershey
Isern Braede, Central District

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Hershey had finally received an answer from her Master. A progressive decision, something that would otherwise be easily overwhelmed by the majority of contemptuous eyes upon her. One that was worth her gambled decision to seek after Sertek. While Hershey expected Hassan to relinquish his temporal sentiments for the greater good, it was a far-reached success to even get the swordsman to adhere. She concurred with the man's words, for Sertek was not ready to take the reins. At least for now, they needed the instincts of a warrior.

The ambiant streets turned quiet. A little too quiet for what would otherwise be the most busiest time and place, thought Hershey. Before she could celebrate her master's remarks, the aries sashayed over towards the shuttered windows. There she laid eyes upon the crowded streets, where the colorful attires were replaced with urbani green, Imperial whites and distinctive black cloaks that was none other than the Black Watchers themselves. The streets barricaded and checkpoints garrisoned with regular squarebacks. This was no ordinary lockdown. Could it be that the Harbingers were compromised? Judging from the back of their helmets, the squarebacks were facing something else. Their weaponry were befitting that of a containment operation. This was a siege. But to whom were they after? Hershey's eyes widened as her question was answered by a visible spark that erupted in the distance. She had seen those daggered crosses before. A spectrum of royal blue projectiles. A spear towering above the crowd. There was no mistaking it.

"The Angel of Verdan..." Hershey muttered audibly in shock.

The speculative situation posed questions. But there was no denying the reality that the Harbinger's archnemesis was the subject of the Black Watch's interest. A duel had taken place between a Black Watcher and the Hero. Could this always have been the agendas of the Watch? Or are the ones that chased Hershey responsible? The latter was a far-fetched hypothesis, but nonetheless a plausible one, regarding the timing of the incidents that occured of late. It was troubling to see Dragonsreach, the paragon of the Harbinger's hatred, to make an enemy of their iconic figure. Even for a Harbinger, these developments posed a problem for Hershey's plan. Without the Iris Company's meddling, perhaps it would do the Harbingers some good to be off the grid. However, the Harbingers risk losing their only shroud of protection from the ghosts in the shadows. It was safe to say that the Company was not their enemy, but a means to help them rid of the malevolent forces pulling the strings. Thusly, it made sense that these phantoms were an enemy to both the Iris and the Harbingers.

The question that kept Hershey back was what she should do about it. Should Hershey break their concealment here to break the tide, she would compromise the Harbinger's hidden posture. If she does nothing, then the Iris would surely be torn out of the picture, making them vulnerable to the ghosts. Whoever was behind the Nova Heights incident and this siege was truly a vile mastermind. But Hershey will not concede to their foolish ambitions, thought the Astrian. By throwing a wrench in Hershey's plans, the aries was furious to repay the favor threefolds.

"Harbingers. A siege is underway. For reasons unknown, the Angel of Verdan is resisting the authorities. This is an opportunity for us to follow retrieve an item of great influence." Hershey announced, as she neared Ra'el.

"A fragment of our master's armor, molded with his own flesh, possesses the aetherial property to restore a part of his memory. Ever since our master's descent from Mount Hornet, much of his personal belongings fell into Imperial hands. The item we seek is now residing in the Starline Magecraft Institution. To them, it is just a trinket to be put on display. But to us, it is a vital piece of the puzzle to restore our master's power. It is imperative that we secure it." said Hershey to the Harbingers.

"General, Hershey thanks thee for thy hospitality. But it is time we move. For the sinews of Fate will not offer us another opportunity greater than the chaos of present. Thou may disregard this endeavor of ours and resume thy mundane life, or take up arms with thine old comrades and reclaim what we lost." Hershey stated, eyeing Fealca.

Having spent the last few months reviewing intelligence on Dragonsreach, Hershey was keen on seeing her grand plans carries out. Dragonsreach was the first step, for there were many pieces of Sertek's trinket scattered all across Grozny after Mount Hornet. By the complex integrity of the Aetherial Nebula, Sertek's belongings were often deemed as cursed for its unusual structures. But to those with an adept pair of eyes, these trinkets are embedded with Sertek's essence. Bound to the Daemon King like that of the Sygis's artifacts. Even now, much of these knowledge were either lost to time or simply handed down differently as accounts varied. In the end, very little is known about Sertek's true origin and the machinations of the great wars. One thing was certain - Grozny will always be chaotic, with or without Sertek. The latter was the true rallying figure for the Groznyan, however they perceive him to be. Hypocrisy is a symbiotic balance to deter extremities. A world without the stars and the sun, must be united by the need to provide for themselves their own stars and sun. This is what Hershey saw in her master. And to that end, they must shoulder the responsibilities for the eternal struggle. By their lives, or those of their future successors, the perpetual cycle must remain. This is the last cry for battle. Those that remain here will be given a chance to live out their mundane lives. While those that carry the burden upon themselves will reap the fruition of their labor.

ACHIEVEMENTS UNLOCKED:
Ra'el - "Re:Boot"
Harbingers - "The Harbingers, Long Divided, Must Unite"

Worthlessplebian · Feb 28, 2021

Preston Saytzeff Pacer, Preston of Met Di Plurida
Mentions:

Larry

Preston had begun the delicate task of mixing the chemicals present to make an explosive exit. Despite the chaotic battle that went outside, his hands did not even twitch with fear, anxiety, or even anger. It was like he had been transported back to the war, only instead of piercing a patient's skin with surgical needles to then sown them shut with sutures. Sylvia had managed to give Preston just enough time to make around eight bottles of the explosive compound. There was no doubt that he could've made more, but the risk was too great.

The spear-limbs of the arachnoid grasped the bottles with the setules and with the cunning application of the van der Waals forces; Preston carried the bottles to the reception area, traversing by memory as smoke fogged up the room. Glass is a difficult material for a majority of arachnoids but with practice, it is quite possible.

Preston lined up the six, glass receptacles against the wall that Preston assumed to be the weakest. Turning to Ódhran, Preston whispered to him. "I have another idea. Step over the web-line if you plan to go through the front door." The arachnoid darted back into the exam room to retrieve the last two bottles. Preston, through meticulously placed threads, set a trap for whoever decided to step through the door. When the line was triggered, the two bottles would fly from their corners and collide. The velocity combined with the sudden stop should be enough kinetic energy to trigger the reaction.

It's time to escape.

Preston rushed to the antic to grab a large kitchen knife then stuck (with his webbing) a rag soaked in alcohol on the handle. Returning to the reception room, Preston lit the rag then gripped the knife by the blade. Raising the knife behind his head, the heat from the flaming cloth threatened to burn him, but that would pale in comparison to the pain that he'd endure if Friedhelm had his hands on him. "Take cover!" He shouted as he threw the knife. As the knife flew in the air, Preston made an impromptu shield of webbing. He hoped it would stop the fragmentation but was not sure it would stop the pressure.

The knife cracked the shattered the wall of the glass container. . . Flame touched liquid. . . A woosh was heard for a split-second as the burning liquid turned inward. Then BOOM! As fragments of wood, glass and other material were sent flying in all directions. Now that'll get peoples attention. The shockwave slammed into the spider, forcing him to exhale as the pressure tightens his chest. Albeit his eardrums roared in pain, they did not rupture. The trap that he set, rattled but did not trigger, thankfully.

Cough, cough.

"Next time. . . trigger explosives. . . From a distance." Mental note completed. Preston had gotten his second wind and witnessed the result of his work. A gigantic hole in the wall, flanked by tiny flames in his precious clinic. He tossed the web-shield aside then began running into the filthy alleyway. If Sylvia decides to follow, her reaction speeds should be fast enough to dodge the trap, I've made. . . Hopefully!

Using his legs and two of his spear limbs, he jumped to the side of a wall. Clearing the way for Ódhran to move, should he decide to escape out the back.

Larry · Feb 28, 2021

Ódhran von Starkenburg
Location: 29th Street, Central District (Preston's Clinic).
Mood: Running on adrenaline.
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Pilgrim59 |

Worthlessplebian .

"Preston!" Ódhran yelled before ducking behind the shield of webbing that his compatriot formed before the explosion ignited. Debris flew everywhere as the islander held his head, the reverberations from the explosion disorienting his hearing greatly; only by straining could he make out Preston's mutterings. As he returned to a state of equilibrium, Ódhran noticed the result of Preston's handiwork, a gaping hole in the side of the clinic, leading out and past the flanks of the Black Watch troops that found themselves ensconced in a formation surrounding the ongoing battle between Sylvia and a figure clad in black. Whoever they were, Ódhran surmised, the degree of respect that the Black Watch soldiers showed her is enough for the young man to worry Sylvia, in the instance of a prolonged fight. Impressing upon himself the need to manufacture an opportunity for all of them to escape from Friedhelm and his subordinates, Ódhran turned to strategising. The main issue to deal with was Sylvia and ensuring that she, with as few injuries as conceivably possible, escaped from the encounter and allow her to rendezvous with Preston at a more discrete location. Though they had a history of correspondence during the war, having to report to the Black Watch commander on the activities of Iris Company, Ódhran was somewhat trepidatious as to what Friedhelm would do should he find himself in his power, despite the claims of clemency.

Having deliberated for a few moments, as the clangs and whirlings of combat continued outside the clinic, Ódhran formed his plan.

"Preston," the young man began, glancing over to the wall where his companion situated himself on, "I've thought of something of a plan that will allow us, hopefully, to get out of here unmolested."

With his statement concluded, Ódhran turned to the crux of his plan. How long has it been since I've made one of these, the islander thought to himself as two, picture-perfect copies of the former Iris Companion shimmered into existence to the left and right of him. Ódhran wasn't exactly sure what the upper limit was in his capacity to create clones, never having to make more than four or five at a time but such quandaries would have to wait for another time. "I plan to send these clones down the street to Sylvia's right and, hopefully, I intend to have her join them and if she does so, this will, in the best scenario, force Friedhelm to send a portion of his troops after her. After he gives the order, we'll use the opportunity to escape down 27th Street; Sylvia will be able to communicate with us a place for us to re-group and ruminate on our next course of action. I-I pray...that this works."

With a mental directive, the clones dashed out through the hole in the wall and circled around to the front of the clinic, their appearance, on the face of it, seeming to perturb the troops situated them. This allowed them a few precious moments to make their way down 27th Street, not before one of them yelled "Sylvia!" as an indication, the original hoped, that she would follow in their wake.

Ódhran waited patiently, peering the windows of the now quite-smokey clinic, waiting for the plan to unfold.

Pilgrim59 · Mar 1, 2021

Laure
Central District

Laure was on her way home when a multitude of soldiers stormed the streets. Taking concealment in the shadows, the astrian worried for her friends. Eventually, she witnessed her home being broken into by the Watch and squarebacks. It did not take long before the words on the street has it that Sylvia was to be arrested by the authorities. Since the soiree, Sylvia had personally asked Laure to keep an eye on Irelia in case they needed the Iris help. She took to heart this mission that was entrusted to her by Sylvia. The irony, was that Sylvia was now the one who needed help the most. The matter was only worsened when Laure learned of Friedhelm's involvement. The man has always been poised to apprehend Sylvia on several occasion during the war. This time, however, Friedhelm had taken the matter into actions rather than abate his deepseated contempts via politics.

First things first, she needed to find Sylvia. Laure picked up her pace, eavesdropping on the squarebacks' relayed messages and chatters as she navigated the backalleys towards Twenty-Ninth. A few blocks down, she witnessed Sylvia battling against a Black Watch member. Following the intertwining streets, the Astrian made her way down Twenty-Seventh. At the same time, Laure turned towards the floating isles above the Aurelian District. Hopefully, Markas would be far enough from the fighting and do his best to not instigate any of the local enforcers.

Sylvia
Central District

Zariel

Midrick

Friedhelm of Brecourt
Central District

Cpt. Hellriegel
Central District

The secondary explosion caught the authorities off-guard, as Hellriegel realized too late what Sylvia had been murmuring since their exchange of blows. As the captain feared, Sylvia was not alone.

"Time's up." said the hero, as she threw her Solomon's Edge at Hellriegel.

"Whoa hey-...!" exclaimed Hellriegel as her eyes widened at Sylvia's words.

The captain attempted to dodge the spear thrown at her, but as she made an evasive maneuver, the spear detonated mid-flight - unleashing a powerful glow that blinded those within the immediate vicinity. The mages and sharpshooters positioned atop the roofs of the surrounding buildings were quickly disoriented by the blinding lights. Even the Grandmaster of the Black Watch was taken by surprise, shielding his eyes immediately when Sylvia's spear came his way. As the smoke cleared, Sylvia emerged from the blanket of foggy screen like a drake charging to break through the enemy lines. Following up on her companions' efforts, she came to realize that Odhran had committed himself to her cause. Despite his circumstances, the man made himself able to be counted on. The apparitions that emerged alongside her were a testament to that. The hero leapt forth, materializing her lance once again as she barged her way through the crowd of disoriented soldiers.

"Hellriegel!" yelled Friedhelm, as he rubbed his eyes in frustration, prompting Hellriegel to follow suit.

Hellriegel slid her index and middle fingers across her eyes, trailed by an amber light like that of Sylvia's aetherial blindfold technique. Hellriegel's vision was soon restored just as Sylvia broke through their left flank. Hellriegel's posture staggered, as she noticed the hero had already made her way down Twenty-Seventh.

"Wait a minut-... Mrs. Sylvia! Whoa... I'm seeing two more... what the... Oi!" Hellriegel uttered out of confusion, turning back and forth between Sylvia and the hole in the wall.

There was little time for debate on the matter, thought the captain, as she commanded her rifle platoon to storm the building while she chase Sylvia. Clearly, this was a divide-and-distract tactical withdrawal. The problem is that Hellriegel have yet to decipher which was actual. Surely, it would be easy to go after Sylvia with the trail she left, but would that be a mere distraction while her comrades bust through the hole in the wall? Sylvia's silhouette began fading away in the distant horizon. Surely, Sylvia must be the acting rallying beacon and the distraction at the same time. If what Friedhelm imparted upon her was true, then it was best to follow her instincts than waste time breaking the scenario down in her head.

The formation of rifle platoon walked straight into Preston's tripwire when they entered the building. Another explosion followed, putting the clinic-breachers out of commission.

Hellriegel steadied her posture, as she cast a few cyan steps before her. She sky-stepped past the squarebacks' heads, hot on Sylvia's heels. Sylvia swirled herself in a circular motion that let her briefly discharge a burst of projectiles in Hellriegel's path. Following through with a fluid action, Sylvia resumed her escape. Hellriegel managed to dodge the incoming projectiles, letting out a sigh, before some loud shrieks caught her attention. The projectiles rounded its initial pass, like a drakensreiter flight squadron in first contact.

"Oh come on!" exclaimed Hellriegel, levelling her runed steps to higher grounds, in hopes of keeping Sylvia in her line of sight, while directing the homing missiles towards the sky.

Sylvia's blue missiles shot up into the sky, homing in on Hellriegel's aetherial signature. Having achieved a high ground just above the tallest building in the area, Hellriegel deactivated her runed steps, and let herself freefall past the missiles, of which the latter were keen on Hellriegel's last rune plate above her.

"Nice try, Mrs. Sylvia. But those are probably duds! There's no way you would-" before Hellriegel could finish her sentence, the missiles exploded midair.

"Oi oi oi! That's cruel, Mrs. Sylviaaaaaaaa!" yelled Hellriegel as she fell into a dumpster bin just outside a local butcher shop.

Hellriegel clawed her way out of the dumpster letting out an exhausted sigh. Meanwhile, Sylvia led the apparitions down the alley past them. She swung her lance at the soldiers at the checkpoint, knocking their barricades down, before turning in the opposite direction. By the time Hellriegel caught up to the corner of the street, she had lost sight of the hero. Before Hellriegel was a destroyed barricade and soldiers recovering from the concussion strike caused by Sylvia. While this was a clear attempt to distract Hellriegel in pursuit, it could also be a strategy of simplicity. Hellriegel swiped the space before her, conjuring forth an aetherial rune to detect aetherian signatures left behind by Sylvia. While she was able to procure results, a small problem presented itself. There were three aetherian signature, instead of one, all leading to different directions.

"Well this is bamboo shoots, the Grandmaster is gonna chew me out for this one..." Hellriegel sighed, as she removed an expired oats bar from her pocket. A souvenir from the dumpster.

The Grandmaster eventually caught up to his subordinate with the other Black Watch besides him. Hellriegel smiled nervously.

"You lost her." said Friedhelm calmly.

"In my defense, Grandmaster, there isn't a handbook out there for Sygis containment procedures. I will take full responsibility for my failures, Grandmaster." replied Hellriegel.

"No matter. She won't get far with the city under lockdown. Square yourself away, Hell, we've got a job to do." Friedhelm eyed the captain with a stern face, void of any frustrations, of which was far more threatening than earlier to Hellriegel.

"Yes, Grandmaster!" exclaimed Hellriegel, as Friedhelm turned away.

The captain withdrew the oats bar from her pocket and attempted to consume it, not before the Grandmaster's hand knocked it out of her hand without even eyeing her. Hellriegel's face soured, pouting nonverbally, albeit with acceptance.

"As much as I appreciate your malleable abilities at the cost of your gluttonous habits, please refrain from further defiling the image of the Watch." Friedhelm nudged Hellriegel subtly.

"My apologies, Grandmaster." Hellriegel saluted with a long face, as she eyed the fallen piece of meal upon the sidewalk.

Friedhelm sighed heavily at his subordinate, before handing her his hardtacks from his pocket. Her face lit up, like a child that has been gifted free candies by a shopkeeper. He then pointed at the expired oats bar that he had knocked out of her hand that was laying on the ground.

"Pick that up and dispose of it properly. Git." remarked Friedhelm, prompting the recently food-bribed Hellriegel to follow suit.

Friedhelm then turned towards his other subordinates, delegating tasks and coordinating with units on patrol to expand their grounds to search. As the Black Watch and the squarebacks canvased the immediate area, the common folks displayed their concerns. A large scale manhunt, for none other than their beloved Sygis. Mixed sentiments followed, as the citizens of Dragonsreach expected an answer to the commotion. They wished to be placated by false hopes, or rather, an answer that was worthy of their icon of hope. Could they be wrong about the Sygis this whole time? Or perhaps were they so removed from the reality of things that they had learnt to cope with what was fed to them by the authorities?

Sylvia caught up with her breath, as she leaned against the wall of an empty alley. The voices of squarebacks echoed across the bigger avenues. Despite this, she remained composed, calming her nerves by brushing her sweaty face with Ra'el's handkerchief, of which was entrusted to her last winter. Taking a deep inhale, she reminded herself of the course she had taken. There was no turning back now. Before long, she got back up on her feet again, hoping to reunite with Preston and Odhran. Weaving her way through a labyrinth of alleys, she evaded the squarebacks. Time and again, she would hold her breath. Her steps were muffled with her gaiter bindings. Tearing her sleeves, she wrapped the torn fabrics around her lamellar and gauntlets to conceal its glints that would otherwise attract unwanted attentions. Navigating around the backstreets, she finally caught up to Preston and Odhran. Before she could take respite, two squarebacks stumbled upon the scene. Sylvia's hand moved with speed, as she knocked one out with her gauntlet, before sweeping the other's leg. Binding their arm back, as she pinned them to the ground, Sylvia choked them with her right thigh. The two soldiers were quickly neutralized by Sylvia, before she stepped forward. The hero was surprised to see her mentor before her.

"What have you done this time to invoke Friedhelm's wrath?" asked Laure.

"There is more to what the surface presents thus far. An old enemy returns, and you know that we are the only ones capable of putting a wrench in their plans."

"The Harbingers?! But how?"

"It matters not. Their renewed existence is the cause of our current misfortunes, based on my observation of the scene at Nova Heights.

"Nova Heights?! Sylvia... Why must you run headlong into everything without any thoughts brought forth?!"

"I... can't just let things be unresolved... It's not the same since Saarema..."

"Sylvia..." Laure said softly, as she examined Sylvia's impetuous eyes. While Sylvia did not express it verbally, Laure could see the distinction between the mundane Sylvia and that of a war hero.

To Laure, it seemed as if she had wronged Sylvia greatly, having raised her with a warrior-like mentality. Everything Sylvia needed to learn to survive the war and the consequences that came with it, would become the byproduct of her restlessness of late. Laure could tell that Sylvia had harbored her inner struggles for some time. But those treacherous expressions could only hide the war-molded Sylvia for only so long. A purpose to press on, the thrill of the hunt. Laure blamed herself for it. Alas, the situation at hand must be resolved before they dwell on it.

"Mark my words, I will make sure to bury the Harbingers twelve feet deep this time." Sylvia concluded with a stern visage. Her red eyes filled with contempts.

"We will discuss your gung-ho habits later. The old Companions must rally, before all else. Friedhelm would already have the city on lockdown. What is your plan, Sylvia?" Laure sighed heavily, before inquiring Sylvia of their next move.

"We need to egress from Dragonsreach and go off-grid. It won't be long until they have eyes in the sky from Fort Vesta to support their troops on the ground. Most importantly, I must retrieve my husband before we depart." Sylvia said.

"How do you reckon we get past both the Drakensreiter and the boots on the ground?"

"We get down and dirty, like Tsaritsyn." answered Sylvia, as she materialized her Solomon's Edge and pried the manhole beneath her open with it.

"We'll have a small window of opportunity to displace before the Black Watch wisen up. The sewers should keep the Drakensreiter off our backs and slip us by most ground-level checkpoints. Our egression rallying position is going to be beneath St. Keed's Chapel once we secure my husband. Laure, have you seen Irelia or Markas of late?" Sylvia continued, before turning towards Laure with concerns for her other missing compatriots.

Laure then withdrew a firefly from her satchel, deploying it swiftly before colliding with the shadowed backalley. Her message was sent to Irelia with haste. Hoping that the squarebacks have yet to take her into their custody.

"I've dispatched a firefly to Irelia two blocks down. As for Markas... I have recently sent him to the Sky Garden for a seminar, I'm sure he'll pick up on our scent soon enough once the news get out." replied Laure.

"We can only hope. From here on out, we're running this show of our own accord and will most likely have to resist most of Grozny's uniforms. I am sorry for bearing this upon you all, and I should shoulder the blame alone. There is no turning back now. I will see to it that the Harbingers answer for their crimes and your honors restored, or die trying. Lend me your strengths once again, my Companions, for this time we have only each other." Sylvia eyed her companions with a determined look.

Zariel · Mar 1, 2021

Wreathed in a black faux leather trench coat, Irelia concealed her visage with a loose hood. Black long boots fit tightly against her legs. Her breathing was controlled, and she made sure to suppress the aetherium emanating from her person. The sun forsaken alleys were her cover. She was like a wraith, melting into the shadows. Perfect.

Every inch of Dragonsreach was on high alert, and though she lacked the details, she remained vigilant. Laure, Sylvia's trusted mentor had delivered a message of utmost importance. Irelia was to rendezvous with the others beneath St. Keed's Chapel. On foot, Irelia estimated it'd take her anywhere between fifteen and thirty minutes given the level of security.

Sylvia, my dear friend, I know not what you have done to perturb the Black Watch, but rest assured, I will find you, and free you from this unfavourable plight, Irelia made a promise to herself.

So far, Irelia had done well eluding unwanted attention. Just a little further to go, and she'd arrive at the designated location. She continued through uneasy streets, feelings of trepidation and anger stirred inside of her. How was it that those she labelled allies had turned against them? Do they fail to remember the acts of heroism that brought them salvation? Surely, there must be something more sinister at work here.

Eventually, Irelia turned one final corner, bringing St. Keed's Chapel into view.

Irelia glowered. Her palm instinctively opened at her side, ready to manifest Amaterasu.

"Of course," Irelia muttered inaudibly.

Black Watch troops had set up a perimeter, barring off all entry towards the Chapel. In fairness, they weren't wrong to assume a building of prayer and repentance would be an ideal refuge point for fugitives. It'd be the last place ordinary law enforcers would search.

But Black Watch are far from ordinary.

"You there, halt!" a squareback officer ordered.

Irelia's jaw clenched tightly. She knew that was meant for her. A shame, and after she'd gotten this far.

"Remove your hood and identify yourself," the squareback demanded in a stern tone.

After a slight pause, Irelia smirked, lifting back her hood.

Upon seeing her face, the imperial soldier soon recognised her. Her pure white hair and the red ornament hanging from her forehead were hallmark features.

"She's part of the Iris Company!" the squareback was quick to raise his gun and point it at Irelia. His numerous comrades followed suit. "Ma'am, you are being detained, stand with your hands in the air!"

"If you insist," Irelia complied, though a nonchalant tone laced her voice. "But hear me, I have no intention of kneeling to the likes of you. Backstabbers."

"Ma'am, please stand down."

"'Tis a shame, only a mere dozen of you? That's hardly a warm-up." Irelia mocked.

The Black Watch soldiers grew increasingly nervous and impatient, prompting a second gunman to blurt out, "We have more than three times the number of troop stationed within the chapel! Surrender now! This is your last warning!"

"Hmph! Is that so? Good. Because you're going to need to bring a lot more to even have a chance at capturing me." Irelia said with confidence, and a soft smile.

Nessi · Mar 2, 2021

Ra'el

Ra'el listened as the man whom ha

d come outside to retrieve Hershey, and grabbed his hand, giving it a firm shake. His name was, Hassan Nox I-Sen, and apparently, Ra'el had found him when he was just a child, and took him in as a harbinger. Ra'el couldn't imagine what was going throughs Hassan's head, to have someone who was like a brother to you all of a sudden forget your existence. He couldn't imagine what it would be like if he suddenly forgot Sylvia...Sylvia, the Hero, the one who slayed the demon lord and saved millions of lives from painful deaths. Ra'el mentally smacked himself when he realized what he had just gotten himself into. Sooner or later, he'd have to eventually tell Sylvia about his true identity, and something told him that she wouldn't be happy to know that she had married the same man who had killed so many just to further his own goals.

"Just what was I doing back then, I had to have a reason to start those wars...If only I could remember..." Ra'el muttered to himself. He wiped around when Hershey said that Sylvia was fighting the authorities. He rushed to see what was going on, and watched as his wife combated a woman who wielded strange blue projectiles. "What the hell...Why would Sylvia be fighting the authorities....something isn't right here." Ra'el told himself. As much as he wanted to go out and help his wife, he knew that he'd only be a hinderance to her during her fight, somebody to protect. When Hershey proposed that they go to the Starline Magecraft Institution, and retrieve a piece of his armor.

"Hershey...if your certain that gaining a piece of my old armor will restore a piece of my memory, then we should go and retrieve it while the authorities are preoccupied with finding my- the Hero." He said, catching himself from admitting that he had married the same woman who these people loathed. This wasn't good at all, Ra'el was truly considering if this was the right way to go.

Zariel · Mar 2, 2021

Patience was one of Irelia's virtues. But right now, she hadn't a second to spare.

A wispy streak of golden particles glittered above Irelia's raised hands. Amaterasu materialised and Irelia's fingers wrapped around the hilt. The golden sheen of the blade sent a dazzling flash of light towards the squarebacks obstructing her path.

Despite their impaired vision, the troops' guns were drawn and loaded. But before they could pull their triggers, Irelia was already prepared, and her sword engulfed in flames.

"Sun Art: Dragon's Breath," Irelia spoke the incantation, performing a calm underarm swing with her blade, it hissed, and a giant plume of heavenly fire ruptured from Amaterasu, rushing towards her opponents like a harsh wave.

The Black Watch soldiers opened fire but to no avail. The raging flames cast forth by Irelia devoured their pitiful bullets and destroyed their blockade with ease. Lucky for her instigators, Irelia held back quite a bit, refraining from using excessive force. Her spell shouldn't kill... it shouldn't. But that didn't mean her victims were free from searing agony.

The Dawnbringer lowered her sword and proceeded to walk past the smouldering aftermath of her attack. As she neared the entrance of the chapel, she looked down to see a squareback splayed out on the ground—she could see his chest rising and falling ever so slightly. The ambient sounds were now quiet enough to hear the faint sizzling of the man's scorched gear.

Irelia's wrist twitched. Her sword hummed as it pierced downwards, splitting the air. The weapon impaled the glenohumeral joint of another fallen soldier, lying behind her. Surprisingly, this one had enough strength remaining to attempt to reach for the gun six hand spans away from him. A bold attempt.

"Almost..." Irelia whispered impassively, looking down at the man through the corner of her eye.

She removed her weapon from the man's body, surely severing a tendon in doing so, and carried on towards the chapel doors. Before she entered, the tip of her index finger glowed, and she drew a circle. Then she performed a series of hand signs, conjuring an illuminated mirror that hovered at her side.

Finally, she opened the door and stepped inside.

"He wasn't lying. This place is infested with Black Watch." Irelia murmured to herself, as she was greeted by far more than twenty pairs of eyes.

Irelia enjoyed the respite of silence, as she granted the imperial soldiers a generous few seconds to decipher the situation. Her gentle smile was a testimony of this. She was able to relax, slightly, as she'd already anticipated what was about to happen within the next few heartbeats.

The appointed leader of this particular squad narrowed her eyes. It was fairly obvious that Irelia wasn't one of their own, there were telltale signs. It was Slyvia's companion who stood opposing them, with a sword at her side, the tip of her blade dripping with freshly drawn blood.

"Put her down!" shouted the woman dressed in uniform, commanding the Black Watch forces.

"Mistake," Irelia said, though her voice could not be heard above the fusillade of gunshots.

The brightly glowing mirror she'd previously constructed moved in front of her, shielding her from the projectiles. When the firing ceased intermittently, as the soldiers were required to reload, Irelia wasted no time and seized the opportunity to counter. Her mirror turned a whole one hundred and eighty degrees while firing a flaming hot beam of bright light, which burned down the Black Watch horde. The few who evaded the attack in front of her were quickly dealt with, as Irelia slashed horizontally through the air, projecting an arc of sun-fire ahead of her. As a perfectionist, she deftly cut down the remaining stragglers so they wouldn't be a nuisance later. In a matter of seconds, the last of them fell.

It was over, for now. Or so it seemed that way.

Looking around, the chapel was in utter ruins. It was never Irelia's intention, but the collateral damage was unavoidable. Besides, that was the least of her concerns. Remembering the message sent to her earlier, Irelia made her way to the rear of the chapel, finding a spiral staircase leading underground. Now, she had to wait, and pray that Sylvia and the rest would make it to her... alive.

She dreaded it, but she had an ill feeling that this was merely the calm before the storm.

Doctor Nope · Mar 3, 2021

Eryn Leasath Cissnei
Location: In the sewers somewhere.
Objective: Figure out why you're in the sewers.

When Eryn finally woke, he was in the sewers, sat against one of the walls. Eyes bleary and head throbbing, he could vaguely make out the sounds of hurried footsteps and yelling on the roads above. After rubbing his eyes and taking a look around, he figured out where he was. Having found the answer to that question, he moved on to the next most important one.

"Why am I in the sewers?" He asked aloud to nobody in particular.

To escape the clinic, his own mind answered to him.

"I guess that's as good an escape route as any..." The H2 gauntlets would make removing and replacing manhole cover quite quick, so it'd make sense for him to choose such an escape route.

While standing up and brushing himself off, he noticed an intense sting on the back of his shoulder whenever he moved it. Taking a look at the area, he noticed that his otherwise pristine white cloak had been stained red with blood in that location. Looking at the shoulder beneath, there was gauze covering a wound there. He'd carried his medic bag with him, and checking the tools inside he saw that the gauze had come from his own kit's supply, and the tweezer's looked recently used. Which explained the bullet that was on the ground next to him. If Eryn had chosen to remove the bullet, that'd mean he'd deemed it safe to do so, and that the wound itself was pretty shallow. Maybe he'd been shot through a wall or something, and combined with the nature of his cloak put a severe dampener on the penetration.

"Now, who shot me...?"

Black Watch.

"Ah, of course."

After a few moments of walking aimlessly through the sewer's tunnels, he suddenly remembered that Black Watch shooting him was not supposed to happen.

"Why the fuck was I in a shootout with BLACK WATCH?"

As far as he knew, he hadn't done anything to warrant a raid by law enforcement on his residence. Except for....

"How did they know?!"

So now he was apparantly being hunted for the illegal use of experimental homebrew drugs. He wasn't allowed to prescribe things to himself, so he'd often needed Doctor Preston to prescribe him the things he wanted. Experimental and unapproved drugs did not provide that option however, and somehow Black Watch found out about it. Speaking of Black Watch, he now noticed the gun at his side.

"Ew.."

It was a revolver, which would have been what he preferred, if it were his own. This one didn't have a partner, and the scratches and markings identified it as someone else's. It'd make sense if it had belonged to one of his assailants, since this was a standard sidearm of the military. Four rounds in the cylinder. If he'd only had his H2 equipped at the time (which was almost ALL the time), he wouldn't have time to equip his revolver holsters considering the limited time in such a situation. After conducting a search on himself, he found that amongst his current posessions were the gun, the cloak he wore and its related supplies that were typically kept in its pockets, his medical bag, and both the H2 and ICU visor.

"Okay, now what?"

Unable to think of anything else to do, he proceeded to continue through the sewers to wherever the tunnels would eventually lead him.

Soviet Panda · Mar 3, 2021

Fealca could not make head nor tail of what was going on. First Hershey showed them a flurry of images, of a shadowy creature hunting down both Harbinger and Iris, something truly dangerous then. Then she once more insisted on calling the amnesiac in his shop the Demon Lord. Which he then seemed to simply accept that he might have been him at one point in his life. Perhaps luckily, though, Ra'el did not offer to lead them once more into battle but instead to help them onto their feet. Before he could point out that they were standing in his shop, Hassan began to speak, seeming to come to grips with the fact that this was no longer the man they had agreed to follow. And once more he was interrupted and stopped from pointing out where they were, this time by Hershey claiming that Sylvia was fighting the government and suggesting they go and take back a piece of Serrtek's armor. Before leaving, she said one last thing to him, continue living peacefully in his shop, or help them one, if only one last time.

"Bloden sott." Fealca muttered under his breath, disappearing into the back room. And when he returned, he was carrying a set of keys and once more made sure the sign in his shop window read closed. "I will help you, it is far to late trying to pretend like I do not know any of you." He made a move to go check a noise he had heard coming from the dumpster, but decided better of it, whatever had landed in their probably wasn't in the best shape.

Huntertabbysandshark3 · Mar 4, 2021

Galious
interaction:

Galious had tried his best to keep the ruse, that the others had hastily come up with going. even going so far as to degrade himself to just being an adorable storehand as much as he loathed it. Aaaannnd then Hershey just went and spelled everything out again having hidden information from the other, at this point Galious failed to be surprised by that only the implication of something hunting them truly worried him. Oh and the fact the man who Was once their leader could very well just rat them out to the empire and be done with them.

Yet want happened next did surprise Galious enough for his already huge eyes to widen sertek kneeled down to Hershey's eye level.... And agreed to help them out. Galious didn't really know how to feel or even what to say if anything. The fact that it took him time to convince the other harbingers he was actually who he claimed to be put no doubt in his mind that Sertek wouldn't even have the vaguest memories of him and was it even right to keep referring to this man by his previous name no... ra'el was his name now. Though it seemed that Hassan was the first to speak it was fitting in a way. "Hassan's right you done a lot for us already... even just accepting us again means... well a lot it's only fair we at least return the kindness" Galious spoke but only softly lacking the boisterous ego behind the words, and just a goofy little grin on his face.

as quickly as this moment of relative calm had arisen it feel swiftly away Hershey announcing the very street they were on was under siege by the blackwatch and their target? The so-called angel of verdan. Why such an event had occurred briefly gasped Galious’s attention only for it to be whisked back to Hershey as she explained the next step in her plan was to retrieve a part of Ra’el’s armor. Luckily for everyone he seemed to be in agreement though how he‘d cut himself off had Galious suspicious “former nemesis?“ Galious offered as a suggestion to what Ra’el had tried to say. ”so... how are we getting out of here because I have a feeling the city will be on lockdown, and I don’t think a few shoddy construction golems will be helping us much this time“ Galious comment was mostly directed at Hassan after-all he’d chosen to take the mantle of leadership.

Malphaestus · Mar 4, 2021

???

DRAGONSREACH
'NEATHWOLD, DRAGONSREACH UNDERGROUND

It was with bated breath that he had managed to return safely beneath the streets, into the comforting sogginess of the Wold's wet walls and confining protection. It had been chaos, for reasons he could not possibly explain nor reason with, up above. For whatever purpose the surface, so wretched in its constant-ness and monotonous in it's similarities between one day and the next, was everything but now. Streets assailed by uniformed cohorts wielding the peak of what the modern-day could offer them in armaments. It had been so fast, within mere moments rank and file had saturated the streets of locations he'd no reasons to suspect due to the communal information that congregated amongst the Dwellers, not even allowing the backalleys to be any kind of safe haven for those deathly-brave few who deemed the day to be their time of hunting for their livelihood, forcing all but the treasonous state's own uniforms to flee under threat of violence. It was not with intention of braggery that this fearsome dweller had decided that the day would be his time of hunting, he was confident in his war-forged prowess, and it was with fairness that he made his name within the rung of the Day-time Scavengers. But as confident and impressive as he was, he was not someone capable of defying the endless cohorts of a Black Watch fully mobilized, especially not when they wielded weapons the likes of which he'd never seen during his now distant years of fighting. Time had passed him by as he had made his arduous life deep below, and it had now been made evident that the age was not what he thought it was.

Even so, as he dodged and stumbled through the shadow-swept alleyways, gunfire slipping him by through the skin of his teeth as the audible commands of a modern-aged infantry group pursued him from corner to corner, he counted himself fortunate enough. Having avoided death under the circumstances he'd just experienced, only to slip deep below where no one sane would venture, he felt there was some kind of protection bearing down upon him. A sense of safety he'd never before in his life experienced. His exhaustion evident, his back fell upon the wet cobble of the 'Neathwold sewers, it's moist smoothness guiding his rear against the ground as he was now sat alone within the dark heaving from his lungs the needed energy to stand back up.

It had been too exhausting, however. Fighting for your life through sprinting at your most extreme was a difficult thing to do, and even more so when all you've had in your bodily storage being a rotten loaf of bread two days back. His hunt today had been forced by circumstance, and circumstance did not deem it fit for him to prosper this day. He had his life, but perhaps that was, too, a mockery of circumstance. He eyed his waist, his vision shook by his deep inhalations and sparse exhaling respire. At least he had not lost his aged sword under the chaos, still fastly joined at the hip to his belt. It had begun to rust since many hundreds of moments back, but still held firm. A suitable instrument with which to force kindness upon individuals who otherwise would have no desire to mete out that little loaf the deepest rung demanded to simply keep existing. Few would expect, but he was one of few Imperial Duelists back when such a title meant more than the superficiality of the modern age of warfare. Back in the recently distant age of sword and magic, as opposed to gun and spear. Those few and brave, who were tasked by the Imperial Crown to fight alone and win, those who would saturate the battleline when a breakthrough was most needed. It had not been too long since that time, yet it felt like an eternity had past. Progress had been swift, unnaturally so, freighteningly quick to the point where generals did not truly know with what they were playing with until they were forced to learn through the blood and toil of many deaths.

In his last battle before his retirement, that one which had cost him his sword-arm, he found out the hard way that those fire-spewing armaments of industrialized death would put him where no one would desire to be. He had been shot, once, and it had taken his arm as compensation. The god of industry not deeming it worth his time to repay the toil and sweat which those who came before had paid to pave the path for progress. In mockery, the Crown had tended to him on the battlefield, and when his use was over, and the rank of duelist no longer had merit, he was tossed to the streets, forced to find his way into the denizenry of the Wold.

His name had been Albert, but now it held no meaning. No man or woman who lived their life below found identity with who they once was. He was now 'the duelist,' a bitter-sweet name. A simple, and concise identity which was the epitome of what the 'Neath desired. His gaze was planted at the invisible sky, as if to see it through the cracks of the sewer's cobbled roof. Naturally, it was a fruitless endeavour, but the duelist found no other method to cope with the events that had transpired. His breath had settled, but his mind continued racing. Past traumas once forgotten emerged, and his hatred of the modern-age grew greater with every passing wheeze. He heard the clamouring heel marching above him. But it was a different world long-since seperated from him, a world which he desired to escape, and had done so with death tied at his throat. It was all irrelevant now, that he was below. Let the Black Watch march as they will, I'll simply die here in peace and be done with it, was all he could think as a manhole seven meters distant began rattling.

Disbelief turned to panic with a singular twitch of his lip. Surely, the Black Watch would never venture here. They'd never, none had ever. All who wander here are lost, or at least that's how it should be. He stumbled to his feet, as he heard the distant voice of a woman who spoke with conviction. Her voice muffled by the tunnels, impossible to make out. But she had something to prove, he could feel it. Didn't sound too dissimilar from how Black Watch soldiery held themselves, and with that thought etching itself further and further into his troubled mind, he drew his blade, and dispersed into deeper into the Wold, far away from whatever dangers might reach down from above and clasp at him.

As he turned the closest corner, some twenty breaths from the manhole covering, he was free from whatever ruminated above. But he had forgotten, in his panicked stupor, that whilst he was safe from the surface, the deep had its own dangers to deliver. His life ended, swiftly, as his chest was impaled with a black-iron pole. His body falling upon its knees as he simply impaled himself deeper upon it under the strength of his own hurried sprint. Blood-spewing pants all he could deliver as his body numbed and his strength turned fleeting. Were it not for the dim candle to his immediate side, he would never know from whom death was struck. But it was, and he knew. He knew all too well that what he should fear was never the above-world, but the 'Neath. It was a nether-plated gauntlet which firmly held onto the pole with strength of adamantite, it was a nightly-dark chest of steel which he held onto as his form flowed from standing to suspended under the strength of the 'Neath's own terror. His hands fell against his sides, and his sword fell against the ground, a rusted cry all it could deliver as it's clang echoed through the sewers.

His muscles eased, and his head fell limp, his consciousness all but evident as all he could still comprehend was the bloodshot crimson which delved beneath that mask of iron. It's texture so gross it would haunt him even in death.

He was now dead, but his body still had a purpose to serve, impaled upon that pole. It had become a banner, and its bearer, a metallic demon of a kind never-before-seen, held the gospel of death in high regard. It's dark metal steps loomed through the tunnels, as it thrust, with immense force enough to shake the tunnels themselves, and bear rubble down from above, that banner of death into the ground.

Those who desired to venture amidst the lost, whether for intent of justice-unserved, or simply circumstance, would perish.

It was this gospel that the Dark Gospeller left for those who would soon delve from above to emerge within a whole new realm entirely. Hero or not, it would not matter.

As quickly as the Dark Gospeller had emerged, he had vanished behind that same corner with which the Corpse-Banner had been produced.

All that which happened, was no stranger to them.

ElenaIsCool · Mar 5, 2021

Bisila Nzo

Isern Braede, Epirean District

Celestial Speck |

Pilgrim59 |

Huntertabbysandshark3 |

Soviet Panda |

Nessi

Bisila's smile turned into a thin line as the man she once knew as Sertek knelt to Hershey's level and began to speak, marking an end to their little charade. She didn't know it would hurt to hear him say he didn't know them. She wasn't one to take account of other's opinions of her, her entire lifestyle being proof of that but he was..Different. She didn't really seek his approval or anything but it was always enough that he accepted her for who she wanted to be. Something they never did. Well, she didn't have to worry about that. He wasn't Sertek. Not anymore. It couldn't be so hard, right?

Well, Sertek or not, she'd always follow his orders. That's the least she could do.

She didn't say anything but simply nodded along to Hassan's words. All of this was happening really quickly. Too quickly for her. The storm in her thoughts had evolved into a hurricane, one that she needed to calm quickly. Outwardly, she remained unflinching and stangely quiet but inwardly, she was a mess to say the least. Hershey's words made Bisila glance over to her aries companion with alarm and edged over away from the window's view. Had they started to look for her already? She had no doubt that if the Hero was there, so would be guards and where there were guards, there was risk of her going back. She didn't want that.

The White Wolf's relief that she wasn't their target was evident but it got shadowed by the surprise that the Angel Of Verdan, of all people, was fighting the authorities.

"Now this I gotta see"

The woman walked towards the window and tried to see before letting out a dissapointing whine. Too many people blocking the way, most of them squarebacks that she probably knew a handful by name. She got reminded of one that she reccomended to become a barber and wondered how he was doing. What could make the Hero herself get into a fight with them? She definately wasn't one to commit a crime. Maybe the status went over to her head. Her thoughts got interrupted by Hershey's next announcement and their next move. Bisila blinked. They were now going to reclaim Sertek's weapons? This whole thing was going too fast for her. The hurricane on her thoughts was making a noise, making Bisila close her eyes, tense all of a sudden and her hands clenching into fists

"..'scuse me for a bit"

She quickly muttered and and stepped towards the kitchen, blue eyes glazing over the room for the kettle and finding it on the low counter where Galious had left it. Her hands fumbled as she made the drink.

She was all in for their next step, excited even. So..Why did she have doubts this time? Everything would work out, like it always did. She was always a quick thinker. Just because she got caught once didn't mean she would fail again...

...Would she?

Deep breaths

Her mind went back to that moment in the cell, when she realized she was going to die. What if they didn't come back for her? Would it have been the end? She never planned to escape or anything..But neither did she plan to get executed. She always just..Thought delaying it would do her good somehow, give her enough time to work something out. She thought she could get out of it, she always did..But those weren't her thoughts when it was her turn.

She needed some tea

Each gunshot, each inmate that fell that got closer and closer to her turn. She knew them all by name and by crime. Each gunshot slowly made her more terrified. Not that she would ever admit it.

The whistle of the kettle snapped Bisila out of her thoughts and settled the storm. It took her a few seconds to remember where she was and what she was supposed to do. Oh right. Bisi sighed as she searched for a teacup and poured the hot liquid on it, along with a spoonfull of sugar and took a sip. It was a bit too hot but it did the trick. She took another deep breath as she walked back to the room where the rest of the Harbingers were in, sipping the tea.

She wouldn't let them take her. Not if she had to say anything about it

"So Hersh, it's nice that you're taking the innitiative, real adorable and I'm all in for your plan but there's a few things we've got to get ready for"

A sip of her tea and a small, smug smile, one that she always had.

"First off, there's the little fact that I'm technically a fugitive. We'll have to do something about that. No doubt there's gonna be people on the lookout either now or soon enough and you all busted me out. Someone's bound to recognize you unless you managed to kill every guard and possible witness you came across, which I kinda doubt. A mask would be nice but my old one is out of commission. Too recognizable."

Her brow raised, mainly at Galious's direction. She wasn't exactly confident that he could kill anything without his armor.

"Also the little lizard man needs a golem or a weapon. No offense but that adorable face won't exactly do us much good in a fight and I honestly don't think you're proficient in anything else..I take that back, all offense meant"

She grinned at him before taking another sip

"And I'll need to do some pick-up too. I have a client that might have one of my special guns and I have a feeling that I'll need em."

'Not to mention having to look at whatever those bird-men had on them'

Bisila sipped the last bit of her tea and put down the cup on the table, her smile evolving into a wolfish grin

"So taking all that into consideration, what exactly is your plan Hershey?"

Pilgrim59 · Mar 6, 2021

Sylvia
Sewers, Central District