Stradia: The 4th War - Book 1 Thread 3 "The North Falls"

[Lumenskir]

Avelia's Temple
Ari tried to process the stream of information, his new tricks took a necessary portion of his concentration and the recent flood of new events was a small trial.

Best to focus on more pressing matters. The enemy's boardroom was set aside, a conversation beyond a wall for the time being. The enchanter stood and appraised Oyo, conjuring up a cloth for the hunter to clean himself with. As Oyo wiped down the weapon, Ari pondered the newest wrinkle in the cracked city. A surprise third party in stealth was much like a surprised third party in the bedroom, either a welcome new addition or a foreboding indicator of problems ahead. "Hmm, if he didn't identify himself to you, but killed an enemy...a strange bedfellow. Now that I think about it, I haven't received word from the outside." The meager preparations Ariosto had made for communication had been seldom used in the past time. He could make out Phillip's strained voice, but Mithik had remained a silent correspondent...but who else could Jyde have sent? A stealth assassination, from Oyo's description a quick and utilitarian affair, was below the skill of the female mage and too detached for the sociopath.

"Could you find him again? Track him somehow?"

"I don't know, I barely caught his actions. He might have been using magic for all I know." Oyo's voice sounded not fearful, but unsure, a quality Ari would never have attributed to the hunter.

"Still, we must know if we have engendered a new foe or seen the roots of a new friendship." The boardroom was brought into minor focus again, merely to confirm Ari's thoughts. "They think we will attempt escape again, afraid to be caged. If we stay away from the bars we can avoid the sharpest scrutiny, so stick to the middle, with these other..."

Ari stopped himself, for the host of his probe had begun to move, away from the description of the temple escapades, following...Father Vincent. And then she stopped the priest outside, and Ari had to funnel his own river of thoughts towards his inner water wheel.

*****

Outside the Guild House

"Father, just a moment." The elf clasped Vincent lightly before releasing the robe. She half started a few thoughts before settling on the correct approach.

"I don't think it is possible for me to understand your inner turmoil after...the farm, nor do I think it is possible that I could, or should, ever shoulder your grief...but I-" Ishva searched for the correct verbage to explain herself, "I can claim to have experienced a similar pain. I may not have killed Penn, but he alone paid for my stupidity. I need to begin my atonement, and first I must settle myself with the Order. Just as you rightfully receded inwards, I must right myself before I can be of any use to you, or Penn, or Gole. I will leave your side tonight, I just wish you to know that I am secluding myself away, not withdrawing from you. Hopefully, I will have found my peace by morning. Goodnight."

Her piece said, Ishva didn't await a reply. She strode off, telling herself that the Father too could use time without his satellite leash in a bid to soothe her.

The spider clung to the folds, a silent beacon to its master.

*****

Avelia's Temple

"...And what if this assassin is a stronger adversary, one who doesn't take affronts kindly?" Oyo listed his reasons for unease, but Ariosto had formulated a bigger series of events to attend to.

"The Kenshurans will be looking for someone trying to escape, if you just look around they shouldn't take much notice. And if you're worried about a-" Ari danced around the synonyms in his head. He didn't want to insult the hunter, but Jorluke did have a rather impressive gallery of imposing mercenaries. "If he turns out to be a worthy opponent, take this." From the conjured air a small purple orb appeared, which swiftly passed from its maker's hands into Oyo's, who regarded the object like any magical oddity. "It's activated by command word...let's say 'threesome'. Say the word and it'll provide ample distraction, as well as alerting the Kenshurans to their newest enemy."

Ari surveyed the hunter, now bereft of gore and incrimination. "Now go, keep your head down. I have a plan to make a few more distractions as cover, but don't make them a necessity." After shooing out Oyo, Ariosto centered himself. The priest and monk had parted ways not long ago, and he had constructed his plan mostly bereft of full furnishings. And then the sequence came to him, a conflagration of thought and ingenuity that scorched itself across his mind.

He set out of the temple, only getting a few dozen paces before crossing Father Vincent. He nodded towards his 'fellow' priest, a gesture meant to be noticed but not scrutinized. After passing, Ariosto continued walking forward, his facade stripping away and reforming into a new face.

*****

Ishva's Dwelling

The elf-monk paced her abode, unsure of how she should proceed. Her nerves were too wracked to attempt any meaningful meditation, and she was worried that anything sedentary would only promote more jags. She settled on making tea, an action some of the elder monks swore by, and more than active enough to distract her deeper emotions. When the knock at the door interrupted the process, she didn't know whether to be grateful or perturbed. When she saw the solicitor she didn't know what to think.

"Might I come in?" Father Vincent stood at the door, a weak smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"Buh, I-I mean, yes, of course, it's just-" Ishva allowed the priest in, baffled with surprise.

"I know I cannot hope to help you shoulder your grief, but I've brought along Avelia's...I've heard she's quite strong. Oh, tea!" Vincent strode past his host, fumbling with the whistling tea pot. Ishva slumped down, overcome with conflicting emotions. When Vincent joined her, pouring each of them a cup, he seemed to notice the stricken face of his guardian. "I know you asked me to leave you be, but after...the farm, I receded only because I thought I could not ask for help. I desperately wanted someone to understand my grief...I think I most wanted your, uhm..." He let the thought trail off, hanging in the air like a confusing perfume. Both parties drank from their cups, Ishva noticing an odd twang in her tea upon draining the liquid.

Intent on pressing forward, Vincent set down his cup and poured Ishva another. "I heard a story about Bahamut that I thought might help you through this troubled time." Ishva sipped from her cup, entranced by Vincent's tone and cadence. She nodded him on. "A lone monk came upon Bahamut, and found the great dragon bawling, great tears. The monk approached the dragon-god and asked him, 'Why do you cry, oh powerful being, surely you can correct anything that could sadden you?' Bahamut looked the monk in the eye and simply said 'I have seen how pathetic my followers are.'"

Ishva set down her second empty cup, absorbing the small...parable? It had started off with promise but the ending...Vincent didn't seem to notice the small discomfort, but his next words struck a nerve in the now calmed monk. "Why do you cry?" This was not the voice of the Father, it was Gorn's unique speech that repeated the question, and Ishva's semi-doze was stirred.

"Wh-what!?" She watched as Father Vincent's face twitched away, replaced by a scowling grin of an unfamiliar face. She attempted to move her limbs but found them weighed down. "Who are you?!"

The intruder stood up, pouring the tea out inside her house, stifling a small chuckle. "Oh, me? Shucks, I guess my little disguise as your lovebug is gone?" He felt along his face, mock-surprised at the sudden change in disguise. "Good thing you downed two cups, or I'd be dealing with someone fully in charge of their facilities, heh."

Ishva struggled internally, face-to-face with the apparent Venurian spy and unable to do anything. While he rambled on, Ishva's mind raced, trying desperately to think up a way out of this predicament. The weight in her arms shifted along her body, encroaching on her mind...and then she remembered her teacher's words on the extent of her shapeshifting abilities. Trying to avoid alerting her captor, Ishva focused on her veins, pushing the dull weight down until it was safely dispersed.

"...And now that I've got you, my true plans for the downfall of Gole can begin, starting with-" Ariosto turned around, unable to finish his wheelspinning as Ishva's form lunged, scaled claws flailing. After raking across the enchanter's face the two combatants fell into a tussle on the floor. When it seemed that he could no longer fend off her attacks, he muttered a few guttural hexes. Immediately the room succumbed to his spell, a sort of natural opposite of Aieris's light-bomb; all the light in the room rushed into one point, casting Ishva into darkness.

In the ensuing confusion Ishva stumbled around the room, until finally the spell wore off, returning her vision. The enchanter had escaped during his illusion. She considered the next sequence of events to undertake, and decided that she needed Vincent's, and eventually the other champions, to help.

Like in the ritual room, she found her body possessed of a newfound reserve, pushing her frame to its fullest. She careened out of her house, the ground swelling alongside her as she made her way to Gole's temple. Blowing open the doors with a gust of wind, the elf's slitted eyes darted among the priests and injured, settling upon the true Vincent. With the drive of a mad-elf, she pulled the Father from his current ward and examined his face for any claw scars. Satisfied, she let the surprised priest down, and spoke in a rushed voice. "Father, the Venurian just attacked me! We need to act now!"

*****

Gole

Ariosto finished up his handiwork. It was nothing particularly special in its magical compostion, merely an example of a magic-released message. The only extra addition he had made was to give the message an overwhelming radiation of magic, and that was merely to set off the stone. Gorn, or indeed any other mildly inclined sorcerer, merely had to apply a small snippet of magical residue to fully reveal the hidden message.

"Hey, you! What's all this then?" Two Kenshuran guards had stumbled upon Ari's workings.

"Oh, just working towards your city's downfall. You're helping, of course." Before they could register any surprise, their eyes had developed a familiar glaze. Ari inspected their faces, then waved their old visages away, replacing it with his own. Feeling along his cheek, he grazed the edges of the recent scratch. The drug's tranquilizing effect had always been secondary, but he had hoped to come away unscathed. Now he had to watch as his new doubles developed the same new injuries, all in the sake of completion.

Once he was satisfied with the two new Cantares, he stepped back. "Now, run along, look mildly devious, whatever you think I would do." The Aris seemed to compute this, then set off in opposite directions. The true Ari wandered off on his own, intent on seeing Gole one last time in the hands of Kenshura.

[TheBlindMime]

Loki was idly scratching behind his ear as Graeme spoke, Graeme's words rang true albeit mundanely. Loki remembered the situation with a much larger emphasis on the thrill of battle, the drive to act and the desire to kill. However as reports go, he supposed this worked. Then Graeme turned the floor over to Loki, "The door gave way some time during our retreat, and by the time we arrived, the Venurians had disappeared in pursuit of the priests and priestesses who had barred themselves inside Avelia's sanctuary. We would have to fight to enter the temple, but I think that is a story Loki is best able to tell."

Loki nearly laughed aloud; the next portion of battle the most muddled portion of his memory. He assumed it was due to his near death and loss of blood, still Loki wasn’t one to give up an open floor. He hopped off his stool and gave his new beard a few quick scrapes before beginning, “I think it best if I explain the farmstead situation ‘fore I move ontah the temple. As Graeme stated the McGuiness farm was under attack by a number of Virnirans, a dozen or so gaurgouyles and a pair of elementalists. We cut through the,” Loki pondered the attack on the farmstead for a moment, “Well I charged through the wheat as it was the most direct path to the Virnirans, Penn, Vincent and Ishva all circled around the field. I met the first three gaurgouyles in the field, first one caught me by surpize, cost him his life. Second and third I cought by surprize, also cost them thur lives.”

He stroked his chin thoughtfully as the battle became clearer in his mind, “Yes, by that point I’d called on a partial bearform to overpower the gaurgouyles, then I charged out of the field without… without my mare Vulni. To distract us from our counter-offensive, one of the elementalists set fire to the fields, I managed to pull Mrs. McGuiness out of the fields but Vulni, my poor mare she was caught in the flames. I took an oath of vengeance right thur to avenge Vulni and kill that elementalist, I beset my hammers then upon the second.”

Rowan seemed somewhat annoyed by the shifting of reporting style but said nothing, which was quite a surprise to everyone. It was likely he believed interrupting Loki would only lengthen the tale, which was true. “Why did you not immediately avenge your… Vulna was it?” Ereagus asked either confused by Loki’s tale or merely the heavy accent in his voice.

“Vulni was her name, and the bastard ran into the forest a’fore I set eyes upon ‘im.”

Ereagus paused before asking, “Then how do you know it wasn’t the second elementalist who killed her and set the field ablaze?”

“I know.” Loki said with his hands at his hips, it was stated as if nothing else could be considered true now. The group waited quietly before Loki offered an explanation, “The second elementalist was a crazed sociopath, twas obvious he believed in the exclusive use of lightnin. It was lightnin that he used to torture Mr. McGuiness and lightnin that he used to try to stave me off. And it was lightnin he used to kill himself rather then face me hammers, I’ll speak no more of ‘im.” Loki spat on the floor as a final show of his unwillingness to taint his tongue with such a man.

“As Graeme said we arrived to the temple later and helped them even the odds against the trolls ‘fore pressing into the temple. I stayed by the gateway hoping to provoke the hit ‘n run gaurgouyles to come a bit closer, unfortunately I got me wish. Three gaurgouyles launched down from above and attacked me, twas both luck and me skill that save me.”

“You fought another three gargoyles all at once and won?” Ereagus asked incrediously, Rowan shot him an angry look. Ereagus believed the look was meant to stop him from questioning Loki’s skill with his hammers, when Rowan just wished Ereagus would stop questioning Loki at all.

“Aye!” Loki declared proudly as he drew his hammers to demonstrate, “Now they gashed me leg as I rolled aside but I forced meself to stand and face them as they came, first the one who tried to stab me from behind, backstab if ye will charged in. I popped his spear above me like so, then hooked it and slammed down Cain to sunder the weapon.” Loki began his imitation of the battle and continued the remainder of the way through his speech, “Fore he knew what was what I hip checked him to the ground and slammed me boot to his stomach, his friends Right and Left were quick to move in, but I repeated the maneuver. Knocking thur weapons up above, but instead o’ sundering weapons I aimed for thur knees. HA!” He swung his hammers down dramatically, “Unfortunately, Backstab caught his breath ‘fore I had a chance to finish ‘im, I rolled away from his punch and straight into the lance of Left, in desperation he’d thrown his weapon and the lucky bastard scored a hit! Backstab moved in as quickly as death, twisting the weapon intah me wound, the moment he yanked it out to end me however things changed.”

Loki paused for effect, both Rowan and Ereagus mouth’s were agape, he’d caught his audience as soon as he was wounded. “I slammed me hammer into the beast, I would have split his skull but he were too tall, so I smashed his good hammer!” All the male audience members familiar with dwarven slang cringed at the thought, “Bastard should know better then to twist a weapon in a dwarf wound while he still draws breath. His friends however had drawn thur bows, I painfully rose to me feet and charged. I had no other choice but to rush them, luck was on me side though and Left’s head split like an old melon, his bastard companion however ran for it. After finishing backstab I made me way into the temple, but not soon enough I’m afraid. I saw a terrible sight then, a most unnatural and evil thing it was.” Many people leaned forward as Loki wiped a hand through his beard and steadied himself for the next part.

“Twas a giant oak, that had rose from the earth!” Loki thrust his hammers up excitedly, “It’s branches scraped the sky and the earth was rent beneath it, it marched at a steady bead towerds us, boom, boom, boom.” Loki replaced his hammers and began slapping a fist into an open palm for the sound, increasing the intensity of the act the further into the tale he went. “It moved with an eerie grace, one that was not meant for mortal man to watch, we could not fight such a thing so we moved into the temple, to the meager safety it provided. The sound followed us, growing louder with every moment, in the din of battle however I lost track of it, but I now know it found another target and left us for a time…” Loki paused and ceased the clapping sound, “I will explain in a moment, for now the tale as it happened, with us collected in the temple Penn healed me as best he could then I charged ahead calling on the form of a … twas a wolf this time. In my feral form I loped down the halls and met up with Bentis who was fighten his way into the main chamber.”

“These were not the same soldiers we fought to earn entrance into the temple, these were veteran fighters with enough skill militiaman before they fall, however, they had not seen the likes of Bentis Fairtide!” Ereagus almost stepped in at the slight of militia men but beamed alongside Bentis at the cheer of his subordinate. “By the time I arrived Bentis was at the advantage, knocking all sense out of that mangy troll, ha! Were he using a sword the boy would have cut the beast in twain!” Ereagus slammed his fist upon the table with a laugh only to catch a stern gaze from Gorn, who then turned the gaze upon Loki. Loki cleared his throat for a moment understanding he’d reached the end of his rope. “We were able to battle our way into the main chamber where we found a final troll of unnatural size and strength, even fer trolls.”

“It was only through the combined efforts of Graeme, Bentis, Ishva, Penn and meself that we slew…” Loki paused, he was sure he had known the name of the creature, he had learned it in Muldoon hadn’t he…. Alas, it was gone. “We, we slew the beast but not before he had gotten his due as well. Last thing I remember fore passing out was a new troll entering, then… black. I’m not sure how long it was fore I was awakened to find the entire temple coming down all around us. The Oak had returned and was bearing down upon us, fortunately we managed to find an old tunnel and we crawled our way to freedom as the temple was destroyed. A few minutes later the Oak fell over dead as well. We did not slay it, it passed on of its own accord it seems. The third elementalist had let us live.”

“Third?” Rowan pressed.

“The farmstead’s fire, the roads upheaval, and the idiot’s lightnin were all works of amateurs, that tree. That tree was the work of a true caster, nay a demon. Thur were at least three.” Loki set his hands at his hips again, a sign that he spoke only truth, a commonly abused dwarven hand-sign.

“What was the Oak’s target then?” Rowan asked, doing his best to keep all of the tale straight in his mind.

“Right….” Loki reached into his pocket and pulled out the melted arrow tips, “Kenshuran archers use these metal tipped arrows; which is why Aieris came to me blacksmithing shop to purchase some. I know fer fact that she uses fire magic, which is why all of these are melted.” He handed the stubbed metal out to each member of the audience.

Rowan asked the obvious question, “What does this have to do with…” He didn’t even have to finish before he realized what Loki was getting at.

“That’s right, twas she who was the Oak’s target, twas she who took the focus of the Oak from us, twas she who led it away as best she could…. Gentlemen, Aieris Adelphie is dead. She died to save us.” It was at the mention of saving them that Loki turned to Bentis and Graeme, on the trip home he had never mentioned the arrow heads he carried, nor their meaning. He didn’t want to burden them with it, but now it was time to share his burden. They had all lost a valuable ally… a friend.

What Loki didn’t know however was Aieris was still alive and well.

“From there, the trip was uneventful. So what are we to do now my old friend?” Loki looked to Gorn hoping for answers.

[Azisien]

Gole - Border Ranger Guild House

Gorn finished writing. His eyes had never left the stone, but he had carefully split his attention between the rune-casting and conversation going on around him. The Zogite stone pulsed the same orange as his own quill-tip all along its surface, illuminating the snaking stream of runic script. Each pulse was dimmer than the last, until the stone finally settled.

"Such bright storytelling for a dark tale." He began, smiling at his friend Loki. "It saddens me that the Venurians found the temple before you arrived, and that more could not be saved, but I believe I sent the right people. Without your aid, no one would have left it, and Gole would not have a new defense against the magical powers that assail us." He glanced quickly at the stone, then back to the other end of the table. His mouth opened, but the coming speech was interrupted by a polite cough off to his left. A guard stepped nervously into the room and placed several pieces of parchment on the table surface near Gorn. With a quick glance around the table and the realization of how many powerful people he had just interrupted, the guard made an 'eep' sound and got out of the room as quickly as possible, flushing.

Gorn watched the young militia man go, then turned his attention to the delivered parchments. "First, I would like to pay my respects to Aieris Adelphie. If she was truly lost in the fight against these wicked enemies, then may Avelia guide her to peace." The depth of the silence in the room after Gorn's words seemed like a sound of its own. "Our losses will mean nothing if we do not move on to defeat the Venurians. The young private there was kind enough to deliver to me Alandir's final progress reports. I am afraid someone will have to take up his duties as defense coordinator." Gorn Altreas turned his gaze to Graeme.

"Sir Oakhill. Under any other circumstances, given your rank, experience, and discipline, I would have gladly bestowed such a task to you." Gorn spread out his hands dramatically, addressing everyone. "But given the countless Venurians you've slain, the wicked sorcerers you've conquered, and even the giant tree you escaped, I believe all of your skills could be put to more practical use."

No one dared speak while Gorn cleared his throat and collected his thoughts, though almost everyone had something to say about his words. The elder continued. "Rowan Hunt, you are the Master of this House, and with a calm precision you also gladly organized the evacuation of both Gole and Weste. Thanks to you, hundreds of innocent lives will reach Midgaard safely. I believe that same attention to detail will be useful in organizing the militia for the coming battle. My friend, you know the city and your knowledge of tactics is superb, you have free reign to take up where Alandir left off." Gorn nodded to Rowan, and the young Hunt descendent bowed his head, obviously flattered by a Kenshurian Lord's compliment.

"With your permission my Lord, I will take my leave and see to my new duties immediately." Rowan said flatly.

Gorn nodded, and with a wave of his hand, delivered Alandir's reports to Rowan's waiting hands. The Hunt quickly proceeded up the wooden staircase to the second floor of the house. Gorn continued. "Sergeant Ereagus, you've gone far and above what your rank calls for in this struggle. Though Alandir organized the construction of the trench, none of us could go an hour without hearing your gruff bellows spurring the effort onward. It is my understanding you worked in the construction personally each day?"

Ereagus just managed to set down his cup and swallow as Gorn asked the question. The sergeant nodded quickly. "Admittedly, I probably helped worsen morale in doing so. Those lunkheads couldn't find the right end of a shovel without my help, let alone dig properly with it. And now I'm waiting for battle and they're all sitting in their bunks sucking their thumbs. A couple days of hard, honest work and these kids are writing letters to their mothers. I kept telling them, 'if you think this is tough, wait until you're face to face with a gargoyle!'"

He managed to get a hearty dwarven 'Hah!' out of Loki.

Gorn continued speaking, his face unreadable. "I can find no better man to lead our troops into battle. Simon Ereagus, and witnesses, let it be known here and now that I name you the Captain of Gole. The fate of the city is now in your hands."

For a moment, everyone thought Ereagus's jaw would hit the table surface. The new Captain had no retort, though he smiled a little.

"I believe that settles the official delegations. Captain, like Rowan you've got quite a bit of work to do. I suggest you get to work, and do not even think about objecting to the traditional bodyguard escort of your new rank. Especially now."

Captain Ereagus stood, bowed to Gorn, bowed to the gathered heroes, and gave a quick wink to Bentis. He strode out of the room. With multiple nods from Gorn, all of the militia in the room followed their new Captain out.

Gorn stood and began pacing. He addressed the much emptier room. "It is a shame Penn, Vincent, and his Order friend could not be with us. If it is their eventual decision to help me in the war effort, they will be filled in as well. There are facts about this war, and this battle, that have been kept secret..."

Gorn faced the mirror. Anduil's face glanced back at the elder, frustrated. "I do not leave you a choice in this, Gorn. You will force Gole to stand its ground. The Venurian armies will come, and we will face them. We will slow them for every week, day, hour, and minute we can. We will drive them back into the Border Forest, or we will die trying!"

"You would really sacrifice all this, won't you? Just to stop Jorluke?" Gorn's expression was one of shock, he couldn't believe what he was hearing, what he was seeing.

"You have not witnessed what I have, Altreas! With every day that passes, we can strengthen the enchantments around the artifacts, and we can better hide them." The King paused, and his face twisted in a sort of agony as he recalled bitter memories. "Twenty-five years ago, he nearly captured one. I may be known as the Lightbringer because I threw down his army and drove him back to Venuria, ending the Third War, but Gorn...I have never gladly accepted the title. He nearly had it in his hand on that final day. If he had grasped it, history would have been much different. I laid on the ground, bleeding, dying, defeated, by his hand. With my last ounce of strength I distracted him for just a moment, just long enough to wrap my fingers around that cursed rock...Then it was over. The power of it, Gorn, it is like nothing we have ever known. I have studied and trained in the power of Avelia since the age of eight, and I have never felt warmth like that day. With a thought, my wounds disappeared and my pains faded. Jorluke charged at me and I watched him come at me. Through my eyes, he moved as slow as Avelia's own Beacon in the sky. I struck him down and banished him back to Venuria in one fleeting second."

Gorn seemed confused. "I've spent most of my life as a scholar. Imagine the magician I could be now, had I specialized in that trade...But there are very old tales that speak of something similar. Hm. It amazes me to this day how much truth can be found in myths and fables. These artifacts you and Jorluke spoke of, they are the fragments of the Heart?"

Anduil seemed shocked now, that Gorn possessed such knowledge. "How did you..."

"You forget how much older I am. So, this War is not about land, metal, wheat, wood, or water...Though it is about riches. The fabled Heart of Avelia herself."

"Just one of them, Gorn, and I threw down the most powerful warrior in all of Venuria. Easily. Now, do you understand what you must do? What we all must do?"

Gorn nodded. "I do. But sire, I must ask one thing. If the fragments are in our possession, why not simply use them against Jorluke and his armies? Why not banish him again, with ease?"

Anduil's expression turned even more sour again. "The Heart of Avelia is just a name. I can assure you...Avelia was not with me when I held that stone. But...something else was. No, Gorn, no one will touch them. I have spent twenty-five years hiding and protecting the ones that I'm aware of.

"And why not scatter them into the endless depths of the sea, like you said you did?"

Anduil shook his head. "I could not. Trust me, I tried to. The stones wouldn't have it. I'm afraid I do not understand them very well from a technical point of view. I've kept them so undercover, few have been allowed to even study them superficially."

Gorn nodded. "Perhaps now is the time to consider actual scholarly research, my King. If the artifacts themselves cannot be our weapon against Jorluke, perhaps knowledge of them can be."

Anduil, finally, agreed with the elf. "First your task is with Gole and the first of the forward Venurian armies. When you reach Midgaard, you and Hebridean can research the stone there."

"It will be done, my King." Gorn bowed his head low, and Anduil's face faded. The mirror returned to its normal reflective surface. Gorn raised his head and looked at his own reflection, watched the tear roll down his cheek. "It will be done."

"Tommorrow there will be a great battle. Men will take up arms, they will fight, bleed, die. Perhaps we will hold the Venurians off, perhaps we will not. My friends, these are the realities of a war without magic. But we face more then that. The poison that has stricken this city and the perpetrators involved, the great treant you barely escaped from, are proof enough of that. There are powers at work here far above the normal man or woman. I am afraid the final outcome of this war will not be decided by the masses of troops rallying here, or some miles north, nor throughout the realm or in Venurian and Kenshurian cities. No, the fate of this struggle will be decided by a few, great individuals. Perhaps you had the unluck of facing one of them at the temple. The very reason you survived is the reason I am telling you any of this. I believe each of you have the potential to walk in the same league as these greats. I am nearly three hundred years old, a Lord of Kenshuria. I have studied magic, though not only that, for almost that long. And you, the lot of you, are but a small fraction of my age, and you've accomplished feats I could never have dreamed of. Don't think for a moment you are not special."

The elder cleared his throat, and continued. "But enough flattery. And do not take my words too seriously. You still bleed. You can still die. Because of my faith in you, I am entrusting you with the task of safeguarding not just Gole, but Kenshuria itself. While the battle for Gole rages on, we must do our own part. The Venurian champions must fall by our hands, for we are the only ones powerful enough."

A long silence dragged out, until Graeme finally broke it. "My Lord, perhaps I am alone here, but what exactly are we to do now?"

Gorn smiled earnestly, for the first time since the meeting started. The ancient elf picked up the runic Zogite stone and watched it glow a strong red. "Whether you accept the grand mission or not, that is your choice. While you're under my command within Gole's walls, however, we will begin the first part of that task. We're going spy hunting."

******

Oyo kept his head down indeed. He had stashed his newfound weapons on the way to the temple to meet Ari, and went to retrieve them immediately after seeing him. With a great deal of trouble, he did his best to conceal the shortbow beneath his cloak, and the shortsword beneath his tunic. Lacking a clear set of objectives, Oyo decided the best course of action was to safeguard the person who seemed to have forged his own.

Standing on the dark street corner, the Venurian infiltrator watched as Ariosto created two duplicates of himself out of Kenshurian militia. When the Venurian enchanter split up from his newfound minions, Oyo began shadowing him. Professional as he was, even Oyo didn't notice the small cloaked and hooded figure shadowing him.

[Loki, The Fallen]

“…Hopefully, I will have found my peace by morning. Goodnight."

Vincent was once again taken aback by the insight shown by his guardian, once again seeing past his smile. She reads me all too well. He bowed his head toward her, and when he looked up, she was gone. “Good night, Ishva, may The Light guide you in your time of trouble.”
…are you one to speak?

Vincent drove the voice away, walking quickly to the Temple. Just…a moment… then I can begin treating them. He strode purposefully, nearly colliding with a fellow priest. “Forgive my haste, brother.” The priest nodded and continued on his way. He pushed onward.

***
Just outside the Inner Sanctum, Temple of Avelia, Gole.

“Father, one of the men in the east wing is asking for you, says you know something about his condition.” The priest was right on his heels as Vincent walked quickly toward his destination. The priest had a worried look about him, Vincent would usually stop everything else should someone need help. “Are you okay, Father Vincent? You look pale.”

“I will be fine in a moment, please give me some time, I need to set this right.” Vincent instinctively grasped his hand and looked at it, searching for the paleness that had occurred on that fateful day. That wasn’t what he meant. Am I unwell?
He can tell. He knows what you did.

He stumbled, grasping his head, trying to stifle the pain the voice caused. Whatever it was that tormented him, it was trying its best to stop him before he reached it. “Set things right, Father? What is wrong?”
What is wrong Father? Need to kill another?

“NO!” he shouted. The priest that followed him stopped, startled by the outburst. Vincent reached the door. He grasped the handle. It felt like a kiln, he would have sworn his hand was actually burning, but knew it had to be his tormentor. He turned to the priest.

“Father Marcus, forgive me, I am desperately in need of some time for prayer, please inform the head priest, I will return to my duties in a moment.” Through the imaginary pain, Vincent pulled open the door, then paused. “Who was the one who asked for me?”

“Mr. Petrov, the Baker. He has a horrendous cough.”

“Ah, Theodore. Speak to Father Erik, he has the herbs I need for the tea.” Vincent entered the room and pulled the door shut behind him.

“Father?!”

***
The Inner Sanctum, Temple of Avelia, Gole.

Vincent breathed a sigh of relief. The voice is gone.

The darkness of the Sanctum greeted him. The candles had not been lit, possibly neglected due to the tragic turn of events. The room was still spotless, well kept due to the reverence with which the order treated it. Vincent removed his hood, then his cloak. He was not dressed in the formal grab of a priest now; he had taken no time to change. His simple clothing would have stood out in this place, but there was no one present but him. He allowed himself a moment for his eyes to adjust, and then walked forward to the statue. He threw himself to the ground before it, and let the tears fall, the only words he seemed capable of speaking were “Please Forgive Me”.

He felt as though he had been there for hours, wringing his hands, weeping, begging for forgivness. He did not notice for several moments, but a warmth had started to engulf him, to surround and comfort him. When he noticed the sensation, he lifted his tear streaked face, and looked toward the statue.

Light had streamed into the room, illuminating only the statue and Vincent. The Form of Avelia had a warm look upon its face. Vincent could have sworn he saw tears there. As he stared at the eyes of Avelia from his position on the floor, he felt visions streaming through him. Some of the painful memories he had from the previous days. This time, it was not from his eyes, but from others. It happened so quickly that he could not understand all of them. The last image he saw was that of two books on a table, side by side, in the great library in the temple at Midgaard. One he immediately recognized as his own hymnal, the other he had not seen before. The head priest was there with him, along with The Light, he could feel that. The Light seemed to echo the priest. Vincent was unable to understand the words.

“Father Vincent!!”

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Vincent turned quickly to see Father Marcus standing behind him, the now open door to the chamber flooded the area with light. Vincent turned around, looking at the rest of the room. His vision had left, he was right next to the entrance to the Inner Sanctum.

“Father Marcus…” Vincent was already standing, his cloak was over him, and even his hood was still up. “What is sir? How long have I been out?”

“’Out?’ Father Vincent, I followed you in!” Marcus pulled him outside, and shut the door behind him. He appeared baffled as he looked over Vincent. “I was going to tell you that Father Erik has been missing for several days, perhaps the same day you left…” He looked Vincent in the face with a serious expression. “…What happened?”

Vincent waited a moment, expecting the voices to return, to assail him again. “Father Vincent?”

“I’m fine now, Father Marcus.” Vincent looked over his hands, rolled his shoulders, feeling little stiffness. “I’m…fine?” He smiled broadly at the priest before him. “I’m fine! Let us go, Father Marcus. I think I remember where Father Erik kept those Herbs.” Vincent hurried off with new energy in his step. The other priest hurried to keep up.

***
Beside the Bed of Theodor Petrov, Temple of Avelia, Gole

“There you are Mr. Petrov, drink it slowly, it is still quite warm.”

“Thank-y kindly, Fatha! Stuff alwas tastes better when ye make it!” Theodore Petrov appeared much more relaxed, his breathing less labored then it usually was. “Sherly have to make ye some of ye favorite bread for this.”

“Its quite alright, sir. I’m happy to serve you. Perhaps you should take a break for a day or two, It would be a shame to have you get sick again.”

Theodore flexed his arms, “Sorry, Fatha, but we got stuff to do, Venurians ain’t waitin for us!”

Vincent place a hand on the man’s shoulder and smiled. “Stay safe sir, you have a family to thi-“

A violent commotion interrupted Vincent. A blur had thrown open the ward, then flew toward the priest, pulling him fiercely from the baker. He found himself face to face with an obviously agitated Ishva. She looked intently at him for a moment, then released her grasp and quickly spoke. "Father, the Venurian just attacked me! We need to act now!"

Vincent looked over the new arrival with concern, her words worried him. The spy got this close to. She appeared to have minor scratches from an altercation. He waved off the other priests who were approaching. “Are you okay, did they injure you?”

The words sunk had sunk in, concern for the people flooded into Vincent. His demeanor changed, his face took a more angered look. “They are near. We must stop them!” He turned to a nearby unoccupied member of the clergy. “Quickly get the Head Priest, he must be informed.”

The young one looked questioningly toward the other priests. Father Marcus approached him. “Father Vincent, we have been unable to find him. He may be…”

The sentence was unfinished, but Vincent understood what was implied. Will their treachery know no end?

Tonight it will.

Vincent looked to the others, who were awaiting his response. “I’m sorry, I don’t recall your name…”

“Paul”

“Paul, please make haste to the Guild house, inform them that the spy has struck recently, he should be near. Then stay with them, it will be safe there. Father Marcus, once Ishva and I leave, I need you to shut the gate to the temple, and isolate the injured, I don’t want him to strike here where we may be vulnerable. Allow no others in for now, it is too dangerous. May The Light protect us in this time of need!”

The priests jumped to action as Vincent turned his focus back to Ishva. “We must go, we may be able to stop them. What can you tell me about them?” As he turned to walk, he noticed Ishva’s hesitation. “Are you okay?”

[Lumenskir]

Ishva had been caught in a calm wake in the recent excitement, but when she fully processed the implications of sending a runner to the Guild House her entire body tensed into action. She assumed a quick stance and pushed her arms out, a wall of earth breaking through the temple's floor and halting Paul's momentum.

"I am sorry about your temple, but you do not understand Vincent. The Venurian knew exactly where to find me alone, and knew exactly what to say to delude me into complacency." She looked into his eyes, confirming that such secrets included aspects unspeakable for both of them. "If I hadn't broken through his poison I would not be here, and my escape has surely made him double his precautions. I am positive that this is the same sorcerer that enchanted one of our own archers to attack you...sending Paul out alone would only put him at risk of the same fate."

Ishva retracted her initial motions, the earthen wall sliding back into its original form. She turned back to Vincent. "He came to me as you Father. We must assume that he knows how to infiltrate anything we attempt...but only if we are apart. Together he cannot fool us, and with Gorn and the Zogite stone and the rest of the group, we can stand a chance against his machinations!"

[Azisien]

Border Ranger Guild House - Upstairs

A soft rapping on Penn's bedroom door roused the ranger. Though he hadn't allowed himself to sleep, he had dozed here and there. His major wounds were healed, but his whole body ached and his chest felt stiff, like an extra weight on his body as opposed to a part of it. Slowly he rose and answered the door.

Rowan Hunt stood in the door frame, smiling. "Quite an adventure you've had?"

"Sir." Penn bowed his head a little.

Rowan shook his head. "You can be at ease in your own bedroom! Though I've come for a reason. Time is against us, so I will be brief. Me, you, Gorn, the others, we're the heart of this city. The people are the lifeblood, but we are responsible for keeping it pumping. A little poetic, I know, but all I'm saying is we need you back in fit condition. Are you able now...?" The Hunt paused and looked Penn over. "Hmm, not in your current state. You're no doubt suffering from over-healing? Magic has healed your wounds, perhaps even kept you alive, but now your body is trying to catch up with the constant change. Here..."

Rowan reached into a pocket behind his mail and pulled out a vial no larger than one's pinky finger. "The Drake herb mixture. You've heard of it I'm sure? It's one of the only known cures to over-healing, short of an extraordinarily powerful healer. Too bad it's so very rare. This is my only vial, here, take it. It's very fast acting and takes awful. Drinking plenty of water will help, but within a few minutes you should feel good as new. Go on, take it!" The vial was shoved into Penn's hands before he could say no. "I've much work to do. Hurry downstairs to Gorn and the others, and arm yourself well."

******

Border Ranger Guild House - Front Steps

The usual two guards had been upgraded to eight since Alandir's murder, but they all moved out of the way as Gorn Altreas opened the front door and made his way out onto the street. Loki and the others followed closely. When they were all on the street and out of nearby earshots, Gorn stopped them and formed a close circle. He held out the runic Zogite stone.

"Hebridean gave me a few suggestions on tracking an enchanter. The Effervian line of runes is a handy one dedicated to tracking magic in general. I've spent some days researching how to combine some of the more powerful runes and even experimenting a little on my own." The elder smiled a little. "I may not have as much practical experience as I should, but I've got at least a hundred years of theoretical magical study under my belt. The stone should have little trouble tracking him. Be on guard my friends. Anyone, even a supposed friend, could be the spy now."

Gorn held up the stone and activated it without speaking. "Ah, grab onto me and let the stone's magic filter through to you. A simple linkage rune of my own, but surprisingly hard to combine with the Effervian's."

Not really understanding the arcane-speak, Graeme and the others grabbed arm and shoulder. Immediately, their vision was overlaid by wispy trails of purple along the streets. Gorn frowned. "Remnants of the fever poison, I believe. But that is his magic. If we find a far more intense amount of it, especially centered around a person, it is likely our spy, or someone he is controlling. Come, we should proceed to the temple to fetch Father Vincent and Ishva. Keep a keen eye out."

[Loki, The Fallen]

The sudden appearence of the earthen barrier breifly startled Vincent. The young acolyte blocked from his exit, he cried out in surprise. Vincent swung around and looked for the source, edgy due to the new information...

"I am sorry about your temple, but you do not understand Vincent." Vincent turned to Ishva. "The Venurian knew exactly where to find me alone, and knew exactly what to say to delude me into complacency." Vincent faced Ishva, meeting her gaze. He could see she was troubled, but he no longer felt wracked with guilt. Why don't I have that anymore...? Visions flashed within him. They are still foggy and hazy, but I still..."If I hadn't broken through his poison I would not be here, and my escape has surely made him double his precautions. I am positive that this is the same sorcerer that enchanted one of our own archers to attack you...sending Paul out alone would only put him at risk of the same fate."

Vincent looked at the young man. He is in no shape for this. But they wouldn't suspect a member of the clergy... He shook his head. No, this is not thier responsibility. They are priests, acolytes. This is not thier's, they are not... "Paul, forgive me, I have thought too quickly. Assist Father Marcus to the best of your ability."

The earthen barrier dissipated, operning a path to the door. "He came to me as you Father. We must assume that he knows how to infiltrate anything we attempt...but only if we are apart. Together he cannot fool us, and with Gorn and the Zogite stone and the rest of the group, we can stand a chance against his machinations!"

Vincent heard the words, but his mind was to his next action. He processed the information as it flew from the monk. She knows these things more then I. But I will not allow him to strike again. Then something clicked within him. "Poison?" He inhaled deeply, and steadied his nerves. A calm existed within him, certainty within his actions.

"Our first priority..." Vincent placed a hand on the elf's shoulder, "...is your health." , and channeled Healing energy into her, focusing on pushing the poison out. Vincent quietly spoke a verse from his hymnal, a song of aid and comfort. The energy coursed comfortably from Vincent through Ishva, a vast change from previous usages. ...as it should be... Vincent appeared confident. He finished the verse, a serious look returning to his face. He lifted his hood over his head. "There, now there is no time to lose. We will find him, and in order to succeed, we must stick together." He took a breath and thought of the others. "We may meet our companions in route, but if not, I have no doubt that they will join us when we do discover the location of the Venurian..." He walked quickly to the door, he looked back to a puzzled Ishva with a reassuring look.

The Light will guide you.
"...The Light will guide them, as it will guide us."

[Azisien]

Gole - Along the Main North-South Street

Traffic in the street was sparse as Avelia's Beacon descended in the sky and allowed darkness to spread its immortal blanket over the land. Civilians were all but gone. Those die-hard Kenshurians that had chosen to stay with Gole were for all intents and purposes militia now. Most had retreated to their homes to either tend to the sick, rest, or avoid the spread of the poison. Several militia patrolled, some on horses and some on foot.

Gorn knew the temple would still be busy. His first priority had been to dedicate Gole's rather small healer regiment to returning the militia to full fighting power. Those not participating directly in the fight, if sick, would have to wait. He knew deep down this would cost lives, but lives were going to be lost either way. It was a brutal time.

He moved south, following the faint purple trails of the Venurian enchanter with Graeme, Loki, and Bentis in tow. They could not all keep direct contact with each other, and anyway that would have looked very strange, so Gorn took the lead with the Zogite stone held tightly within the folds of his robes. Multiple stones would have been a nice luxury. Without the stone, the enchanter might be able to cloak himself against the others. They continued to move south, but Gorn spotted nothing more intense than the minute traces of poison that pervaded most of the city.

"I'd be feelin' a whole lot better if I knew what we were lookin' for..." Bentis commented from the flank. His staff was held at the ready and his eyes were alert. Graeme and Loki each had similar expressions, though their weapons were both still sheathed.

"I would say we should look for something out of the ordinary, but..." Graeme started.

Gorn finished it. "But this foe's very nature is to make the extraordinary seem quite ordinary. No, we would be quite lucky to find him, or her, with our God-given senses." The central building of Gole was only a few hundred feet off when Gorn spotted something. At the city center street traffic was heavier. It was closer to the temple, after all. In the crowds, a quick glimpse of intense purple. The old elf quickened his pace to a jog and the others broke out in a run.

No words were exchanged, they all knew what was going on. They just didn't know where. The four of them rounded the corner and looked down the main East-West street. Ariosto was walking along the side of the road, and the Zogite stone outlined him in a brilliant purple light to Gorn's eyes. He pulled the stone out of his robes and tossed it to Bentis. "You see him? The purple man! Knock him out, quickly!"

Bentis, easily the fastest of the bunch, broke out into a controlled sprint. He wove through the crowds easily, and before a minute had passed, he had reached his target. Ariosto only had time to turn around and give a faint smile before Bentis whacked him hard, but not too hard, over the head. Instant knock-out, and the Venurian enchanter hit the heavily trotten dirt road with a small thud. Loki and Graeme arrived in short order and made a path through the circle of frightened villagers that formed around the unconscious man and his attacker. Gorn, panting, walked quickly up to the scene and retrieved the Zogite stone from Bentis, who was already busy watching the crowd that had formed.

Gorn knelt and placed the stone in Ariosto's limp hand, then forcefully closed the cool fingers around the hot red magic detector. The runes flared, and the enchantment magic was dispelled. The illusory form around the militiaman disappeared abruptly, causing several people to scream in surprise. Bentis and Graeme moved to try and crowd control. Too big of a scene could alert the wrong people...

Gorn gathered several militia and had them carry their unconscious companion away. He returned to Graeme, Loki, and Bentis as the crowds finally started to thin. In hush tones he spoke to them. "If these were dire straits I would have requested lethal force, but I am glad I decided against it. That, my friends, was a decoy. Come, we must hurry!"

The commotion wasn't large after all, but it did spread enough to reach the ears of Father Vincent and Ishva as they made their way back to Ishva's dwelling. Both curious and frightened that the enchanter had struck again, more openly this time, they made their way to the scene and just caught Gorn and the others moving eastward. "My friends!" Vincent called out, but they were out of earshot. Their friends were moving fast, so they quickened their pace to keep up.

They found the second Ariosto by the eastern wall and moving south. This time Gorn employed all three of his helpers. "The man looks the exact same, clothes and all. Touch my shoulder and you can see for yourself." With no other strong magic detection in sight, Graeme, Bentis, and Loki dove into the evening street traffic after their prey. The pause allowed Vincent and Ishva to catch up with Gorn.

"Elder Altreas!" Father Vincent shouted, startling the old elf. Had it not been for the familiar voice and formal greeting, Vincent could have been a pinkish splatter across the surface of the road.

Gorn smiled, noting this was the real Father. "Good evening, Father. How may I help you tonight?"

Vincent bowed his head but did not return the smile. "It is I that can help you, Elder. Ishva?"

As Ishva presented herself to Gorn, he thought for a fleeting moments he spotted a flicker, no, the tiniest purple gleam in the eyes of the monk. Then there were several screams from the direction of Loki and the others. Ishva spoke. "I was attacked in my home, the small dwelling southwest of here, purchased by the Order. By the Venurian. The foul trickster presented himself as the Father here and drugged me, attempting to overtake my mind. But he underestimated my own strength, Elder, I broke free and even scratched him before he escaped. I do not believe he is very powerful, Elder. Together, we can take him!"

Gorn saw Loki round the corner of a house along the east-west street, holding Able and looking proud of himself. He turned back to Ishva and considered the story. If Ishva was in such recent contact with the enchanter, the purple gleam would make perfect sense. "He has planted decoys throughout the city. We've disabled two of them, but come, we should proceed to the Order dwelling immediately."

A group of militia men walked by carrying another unconscious Ariosto, while Graeme, Bentis, and Loki rejoined the group and exchanged greetings. Loki nudged Vincent. "I knew ye couldant stay awey from us fer long!"

Gorn caught up with the militia, dispelled the magic - much to their surprise and horror - and returned to the group. "Let's go."

******

Gole - Along the main south road

Ariosto couldn't help but stop abruptly as his connection with not one, but both decoys was cut off. There was no way both could be discovered so quickly without the help of...A quick look around, and the real enchanter began walking again, at the same pace as before. Although losing the decoys was unfortunate, whatever magic they had used to sever the connection had given him a very rough idea of where the disconnect occurred. The first, he knew was from mental map, was close to the temple, and the second by the eastern wall.

Ari made his way closer to Ishva's dwelling, but at the nearest opportunity he found a secluded area between homes and cloaked himself. He linked with some of his gnat swarms more intimately and dispelled most of them. Most of his energy would be needed for the near future. He dispatched a single swarm to the area between Ishva's dwelling and the loss of the last decoy. Invisible, he concentrated on the vision his bugs could provide, and searched for his hunters...

Oyo saw Ari disappear between the Kenshurian homes, but couldn't safely shadow his friend. Instead, he kept walking north towards the center of town, slowing his pace steadily. The figure that had been shadowing him for the past half hour had disappeared altogether.

******

Gole - Ishva's Dwelling

"Pfft! Plah!" Loki spat out a swallowed gnat and swatted at its kin. "Must be tha' time o' tha' season, pfft!"

Gorn flicked his wrist at the front door and a powerful 'whoosh' of air forced it open, rattling the frame slightly. The enchanter was no longer present in the dwelling, but his trace was. It was as if a faint purple dust had been sprinkled around the room. The message on the wall was easily visible, but it perplexed Gorn.

Graeme was the first to notice the elder's vexed look, and glanced at the wall himself. "What is it, elder?"

Gorn shook his head. "Either our Venurian has a very eccentric personality, or he knows we're after him."

Recognition clicked on Graeme's face, enough so that all of the others looked at the wall the pair were now staring at. The knight gripped the hilt of his sword. "I...can't quite make it out. It seems to fade just when I am about to comprehend it..."

Gorn nodded. "It is an enchanted message. It reads 'Why do you cry?'"

[Lumenskir]

Ishva lunged, her claws ripping through the air as the wind around her sheared away. Amid the displaced boom Gorn reacted faster, the ground around him springing to his aid, slamming Ishva against the wall. As he brought a spike of earth to his fellow elf's neck, her once stoney facade evaporated into jags of tears.

"NO! I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I can't stop him, Vincent, please..." Her head lashed back and forth while her body remained pinned to the structure. Gorn hastily brought the stone forth, causing Ishva to struggle more in a sick frenzy. "NOnonono, Vincent help me, don't touch me with that! DON'T TOUCH ME!! He says that it'll kill me! Don't let it-AUGHGH!"

Her voice sounded like something was cracking it apart, slipping in and out of her normal tone in sync with her wild throes. As the heroes watched, her facial features contorted with her movements, becoming more in tune with the figure they had just dispatched twice. And then, when the elf now resembled a bald version of the decoys, 'he' stopped his tantrum, eying his captors with a mindful gaze. "Sorry about that rough start, but I can't let an opportunity to talk in my own voice go to waste." The voice was a foreign one, but would have been immediately recognizable to Ishva. 'His' focus snapped back to the stone in Gorn's hand before shaking in disappointment. "Tsk tsk, this isn't some hack illusion. You try that on your friend and she's liable to die in the process. And, oh illustrious Father, you're free to attempt a banishing, provided you can excise my hold faster than I can force this girl into a quick suicide. I'm willing to play with her life if you'll match me."

Although he was satisfied that the current status quo was maintained, the face of Ari was disappointed at the lack of icebreakers. "Do Gole's champions have nothing of import to say to their enemy? Or maybe some introductions are in order? I am Ariosto Cantare, lieutenant in the Grand Army of Venuria, Practitioner of Enchantment and Conjuration, poisoner of Gole's militia, virus among its citizens, and bane of those who would claim Avelia's warmth. When this city is little more than a smoldering pile of ashes and dried blood I will stand in its center and desecrate all that it held sacred, and history will glorify me as the man who brought down the North, ushering in the grand age of Venuria." After a perfunctory cough he continued. "But, since we're all friends, call me Ari."

[TheBlindMime]

Before he could even ponder the baffling message Ishva lunged for Gorn, the stone reshaped beneath them before Loki could even move to swat the girl down. The earth as it shifted had a strange swirling beauty to it that Loki was sure only he noticed, it seemed only Dwarves had a true appreciation of such things. At least it seemed that way to Loki. If this was what Gorn was capable of with a moments thought and he believed that the champions could become stronger then he, they assuredly had a long and tough path laid before them.

Loki was lost to that thought for only a second before the curiosity of the scene before him fully engrossed him. Ishva fighting tooth and nail against Gorn and Gorn imprisoning her, it was all very confusing and grew worse with each passing moment. As Ari took full control of the monk Loki growled, he could not think of any other recourse. Then the growl grew into an aggravated shouting, "You lily little cowerd bastahd! How dare ye believe that ye have defeated us so easily, we'rr Kenshuran's ye fool! How grandiouse ye must be in yer little Vinurin world. The 'grand age of vinuria Harhar! And ye will be a hero, I can see it now, 'Ariosto Cowerd, the biggest arse we ever sent to die in the hands of ower enemies!' Virus among its citizens my arse, you are no worse a threat then the gnats! And I'll wager your head burst just the same when pressure is applied."

Loki swung wildly and knocked a few more of the pesky buggers away from him, "Ye think ye be strong, ye hide in the shadows and strike wee little babies wit yer poisons! That makes you a member of the 'Grand Army', HAH! Bunch of moronic cowerds who fight only when numbers favor them, or when those they fight cannot strike back, why else would ye talk to us through a friend of owers. Cause you have naught the power nor strength to face us in the light! That is unless you have a dozen ally's at yer back, filthy cowerd!"

"So tell me Ariosto, Oh wait I'm sorry, Cowerd, tell me just how long ye think ye've got to live? I know what yer thinking, we kenshurans will be dead when the siege comes, but that wont be for at least anuther day, plenty of time to find ye and hold ye to the light by my reckonin'. So, Cowerd, how long have ye to live? How long?!" It was more then a little obvious that Ari had gotten under Loki's skin.