The Girl of the Sun

OOC: RP info here

IC:

PROLOGUE
The cloaked men descended the stairs, down and down below the surface of the world. They wore their hoods over their heads, obscuring their faces for the ritual to come. One among their number carried with him a black chest. The Grand Master–the most powerful of this sacred order of mages–lead the silent procession with a staff in his hand. Finally, after a long descent, the Grand Master and his twelve subordinate Councilors stepped off the stairwell and into a system of catacombs illuminated with torches. They pressed on, resolved to perform the ritual; a ritual that was destined to change everything. Yet, the world slumbered still–oblivious to the mages' betrayal.

They proceeded through the catacombs. Not one of them has spoken the entire way down here. The sounds down in the tunnels are few–the flickering torchlight and the mages' footsteps against the stone surface beneath them. The tunnels grew tighter and narrower as they progressed, to the point that they had to travel single file. Finally, however, they arrived in a spacious chamber at the end of a long hall. Before them was an iron door, barred shut. The Grand Master stood before it and shifted the angle of his staff slightly and the door was unbarred. The old man stepped up to the door which opened before him, clearing the way into a pitch black space. The Grand Master whispered some soft spell and the dark room was suddenly illuminated by the light of candles and torches mounted on the walls.

The room didn't seem like anything special at a first glance. There were no tapestries, fine decorations, golden treasures, nor a single barrel of ale or beer. Besides the candles and torches, there was only a large round table and thirteen seats–six on either side and a thirteenth at the far end of the table. The twelve lesser wizards moved past their master and assumed their places around the table. But they did not sit, instead standing before their seats. The Grand Master entered the chamber last and took his place at the helm of the table; the seat exactly opposite the entrance. The black chest was set down before him and out of it he produced a crystal orb and a cat in a cage, laid to sleep with magic. The ritual could now begin.

The Grand Master pulled down his hood and his fellows did the same. The Grand Master was an old man–his face was wrinkled and visibly aged, a long white beard stretched down from his jaw. The hair atop his head, too, was long and slicked back behind his head. The others looked considerably younger and had variety to their appearances. Some had beards or mustaches. Others did not. A few had rather long hair, either tied back in a ponytail or not. Some had short hair. Others were bald.

The wizards all took their seats in unison. Still they were silent, speaking nothing. The Grand Master looked around at the other mages, then returning his gaze to the crystal ball and the imprisoned feline.

"Produce the dagger," the Grand Master commanded. One of the other mages stood from his seat and walked over, offering the Grand Master a knife before returning to his seat. For a moment the Grand Master inspected the weapon, observing its craftsmanship. How the blade curved inwards and outwards.

He knew that what he was about to do was forbidden magic; blood magic. It was the utmost blasphemy to practice such dark arts. But he knew what he was doing. To every risk there is a reward, and the reward for what he was doing down here was far too good to let slip by. The Grand Master's secret ally in the shadows would see to his reward.

The Grand Master opened the cage and pulled out the cat.

"Let us begin."

He laid the cat before himself on the table and took hold of the back of its neck. He pressed the edge of the knife harshly against the feline's throat and pulled, slitting it and making way for a gush of blood. As the cat died, the Grand Master drenched his hands in the cat's blood and stood up from his seat. He walked over to each of the twelve other wizards and, with the blood, painted a marking upon their foreheads before returning to his own seat. Taking more blood in his hands, he slathered the orb in the deep red liquid before he began the incantation.

"Oh Salroth, great master of the darkness! Oh Salroth, glorious lord of the damned! Oh Salroth, true shadow king! Rightful emperor of the world!"

The other mages joined him, chanting in unison. "Speak to us, oh master of darkness! Speak to us!"

The bloodstained ball began to emit an ominous glow of fiery yellows, reds, and oranges–the very light of hell. It whispered in tongues of malice, a language that was on the surface forbidden to be spoken on pain of death. The mages pinched their eyes shut and the orb showed them things; it showed them what was to come to the world soon. It showed them the fires of industry and the thunderous marching of legions upon legions. It showed them the glorious light of conquest.

And then it showed them something else. It showed them a girl around whom radiated a blinding, holy light mounted atop a white destrier. It showed them the foe, behind whom too marched legions–legions of light instead of darkness. Then, it showed this girl as she was now–a lowly peasant woman attending to the fields far away in the lands of Korhal. The mages understood the vision.

"I too have seen the images of this peasant, these humans have yet to fully submit and this has delayed my plans. The time has come to bring them under heel once and for all." The Dark Lord spoke to them directly now. The aura of dark power coming off his voice was nearly intoxicating. "The Prophet will be sent with an elite bodyguard, once he has entered their lands I will unleash new plagues to cripple the humans' ability to fight back. The plague will deal with this peasant. Go, attend to the lords of the Human realms, and promise them all they could ever dream of. Once we control them it will be time to strike, and strike hard and fast."

The Grand Master and the other mages opened their eyes as the vision imposed upon them faded away. They knew what they had to do.

"Send for this… girl of the sun to be found," the Grand Master commanded. "Send for her to be brought here. We shall bring her to the Dark Lord, lest she reunite the Old Empire and gather the forces necessary to undo what is rightly to come." The mages nodded, cleaned the symbols off their foreheads, and departed. The Grand Master did away with the carcass and its blood, returned the orb to its black box, and joined them, shutting and barring the door behind him.

Salroth stood from his throne, and banged his gauntlet down sending a loud crash through the chamber. The black marble echoed the noise, and the massive chamber shook with such rage that the whole of the fortress seemed as if it would come down. In came Galmash, The Fates, and the Prophet. They bowed to their master as the dark lord stood, his anger was sucking the light from the room adding to the already ominously lit space. The Dark lord roared with such power that the great Mountain above them shook in fear at his wrath.

"The humans have a new hero. The mages came crawling to me to tell me about a peasant that they think will challenge the might of the lord of the damned! I can not allow this to come to pass, it is time to accelerate our plans to destroy them once and for all. All banners are to be raised, I want the Arkian chiefs brought to the fortress at once! The humans need to have their formations ready as soon as possible, it is time to show the world that the age of shadow has officially begun."

Galmash was the first to respond, his head hung low as he spoke:

"My lord, you can't expect a peasant to challenge you. The old man is still oblivious to your doings on Sorras these mages are nothing more than human conjurers. This peasant that they speak of is nothing more than an annoyance to you oh great dark one. I think you should forget about what these human mages say, we should move forward with our plans as we..."

"SILENCE GALMASH! If you think that I have not seen these images as well you are sorely mistaken! I have seen this girl in my mediations, I am a divine being not some wizard! Do not mistake your position in this world, my words are final. Prepare the banners."

Salroth had thrown Galmash against the wall with a thought, the Demon Prince hadn't felt such pain since the war in heaven against the old man. Salroth sat back in his throne and gestured his hand to tell his minions to leave the throne room. The Dark Lord was feeling something, something that he hadn't felt since he decided to challenge the Old Man, fear. All that Salroth had made, all that he had planned had the potential to come crumbling down around him, not because of some great man, not because of some King or prince that had spent their entire life preparing to destroy the Dark Lord, but by a peasant girl. Salroth had to act quickly in order to prevent this girl from gaining what she needed to destroy him.

The Master of Shadows walked from his throne and went deep within his dungeons to his laboratory. The grand staircase oozed the evil and malice of Salroth himself, the basalt steps were illuminated by an unholy red light that shown from the walls and lava flow beneath. Salroth designed these steps to serve as a line of defense, the steps and wall have a twelve foot gap before a sheer drop into the lava flow. Heroes of the past have met their doom in these very halls. This laboratory was a site where many a disease originated, however the current batch was meant to deliver a death blow to those who opposed him. The Dark Lord looked up as he held the vile with this plague, he smirked as he looked at the chains on the wall, his tests had proven successful, the prisoners had succumbed to the disease. Salroth summoned two of his most trusted demon lords to his side, they bowed as they entered and the Shadow turned to face them.

"You two will go to the most powerful cities that the Thirteen realms have and spread this plague to every single mortal you get your claws on. I do not care if you make stops in the Ux Martivir, they need to be weakened less they stop our glorious campaign from achieving its final goal. Leave me I have more planning to do. Take some Arkians with you as a guard, tell them that secrecy is of the upmost importance. I don't want the enemy to catch onto our plans until it is too late for them."

"My lord, our enemies will know true fear."

The demons bowed as they left, yet Salroth was not finished with his plans. There needed to be something in place to keep the most powerful lords from moving against him, and that is when the Dark lord summoned more demons to his side. These were not demon lords, that wouldn't work for his plan he instead called his best shape shifters and briefed them on his plan as they made their way to the lower dungeons, where the demon hordes prepared for the horns to blow. The demons were following quickly behind their master, they wanted to be there when the horns were blown but they also needed to hear what their master was going to say.

"My creations, I come before you to sound the drums of war! The Thirteen realms have long stood as the only barrier to our conquest of the entire world, this ends with our final campaign. Soon you will be let loose on the lands of man, Von Drache and the vampires will spread their gift to those who bend the knee but you my children will deliver the blow that will break the dam that has held our darkness back. Your hooves and claws shall be the instruments of fear as the realms of men are destroyed. Our faithful humans, bestowed with my gifts, will show these lesser men what the future of humanity will look like. The Arkians will join you on this final crusade, once we achieve victory we will cover this world in a shadow that will be unending! We shall take this world, and then we will kill the Old Man, and claim the cosmos for us!"

The horns were blow, and the hordes of demons began to move to the gate of the Teufelpunkt. Salroth then turned to face his greater demons.

"You will go to the courts of the lord of the thirteen realms. I want you to become trusted confidants of the lords, offer them your services. Find their sins and exploit them, I can promise them wealth, power or any other mortal wish. All you need to do is watch, adapt and keep the cogs of bureaucracy halted as the invasion begins. Go forth and bring down this pathetic kingdom."

The demons left and Salroth stood looking out at his fortress, a feeling of calm washed over him as his forces would surely achieve victory.

Picked up from Forests and Shadows

Arbia trekked south. The forests were calm enough and provided for her. That was the advantageous thing about Arkians. Their natural strength, agility, and ability to control elemental magic meant that they never had carry provisions. They could hunt and set up fires with their bare hands. So when Arbia began her trek towards the border of the Ux Martivir she went with nothing but the fur skin tunic and metal armour and weaponry she was wearing. It was all she needed. Hell, the trees even provided good shelter in the rain. The sturdier branches in the thick canopies making for a cozy bed when it rained.

Of course the armour made it a bit difficult to climb. She was used to just furs. Easy to climb in. But war armour made it harder. Still, she was getting used to it. And she was on a mission from Salroth's prophet himself. She should be dressed like a proper Arkian warrior!
Besides it would level the playing field against those accursed paladins...

It was night now... but she wasn't sleeping. she crouched on a tree branch as she spied hills ahead. The border of the Ux Martivir. Her tail was loose, helping her balance as she held a map in one hand and illuminated it with a golden ball of light in her other hand. The map was the one thing given to her by the Prophet. Salroth's forces, including her people, would depart by sea. But that would not happen for a while. Salroth needed to organize his forces. Meet with the Arkian chiefs.. and while that happened she'd be on her way to the Thirteen Realms to kill this peasant girl.

She eyed the hills ahead of her and then looked at the map. Crossing into the Ux Martivir was the easiest way to get to the Thirteen human realms. Ideally she could cross the border undetected and leave their realm before anyone noticed her but those Leonin... the paladins. She scowled. She would have to face them sooner or later. The question was when? It was been to decide that on her terms and sneak past the border at a weak point.

But even still... she was worried.
The humans in the Thirteen Realms were broken. At least that's what Arkians said. They had fought with Salroth in the past many years ago and crushed them. Now they had no empire, no emperor, no single realm! But the Ux Martivir... that was a different sort of thing. A "fortress realm" the Arkians called it. It would likely need the combined forces of Salroth to stand a chance at taking it, and even then it was no guarantee. It was dangerous for other reasons too though.

The Ux Martivir united races of all kinds. The biggest fear of the Arkians was that the broken human Thirteen Realms would join, and together they'd subjugate the Arkians.

That was what Salroth told them. That the humans looked down on her people, and would enslave them. That the Ux Martivir represented an alliance that would subjugate them in the name of brotherhood.
Salroth gave her people a purpose. Recognized their strength. Whereas the humans and the various races of the Ux Martivir would exploit them.

Of course Arbia had the feeling her kind was only useful to Salroth as fodder but at least he stayed out of their way when he was not calling them to battle. He was content to leave them be. Whereas these sorts wouldn't.

She grumbled again. This map... it was helpful but it had a similar ominous feeling as the Prophet. Just not as potent. Still, it felt like it was watching her. She rolled it up and stuffed it in her rope belt and used the free hand to clutch the branch she was squatting on as she kept the ball of light in her other hand.

"You've got secrets," she muttered.
"And I'll find 'em."

---

Instruments of Destruction by NRG, 3:23

Arbia had retreated up into the canopy of the forests that bordered the hills that marked the border between the Arkian lands and the Ux Martivir. It would do her well to get some sleep. She could scout tomorrow and then tomorrow night sneak across.

She found a sturdy tree branch in the canopy and, after hanging her twin swords off of a smaller branch, lied down to relax.

She was at the very edge of the Arkian lands... it was the furthest she's ever been from home and the first time she'd laid eyes on the Ux Martivir.

She knew of it though. She'd always been warned that if she was ever out this way to never even attempt to cross the border. Their Paladins were formidable warriors. Of course crossing the border was what want she wanted, but she wasn't a little girl anymore. She was a warrior too. Burdened with a great mission.

Arbia closed her eyes and thought. She tried to focus on that vision the Prophet of Salroth had given her. The thing was she never saw the girl she was supposed to hunt. She had seen the farmstead. She had seen the home of the girl, but not here. Though she had been close. Very close. Every living thing, everyone, had their own aura. And Arbia had felt the girl's. As if she were standing right next to her. If she had turned she would have seen her...
...but it was no real lose. She had sensed her aura and knew what to track. She just wanted to think as she drifted asleep. What kind of girl was this? The Prophet had said she was Arbia's age, but Arbia had been trained all her life as a warrior. This girl was a mere human peasant. She smirked as she closed her eyes. But that confidence gave way to curiosity. Why? Salroth was mighty. She had felt that first hand through his Prophet. Why did he want one girl dead? Why was she so important to single out and send someone like her ahead of the invasion to carry it out? Who was one peasant girl to Salroth?

Then Arbia thought... the Prophet of Salroth. Prophet. Was this down to prophecy? The Prophet hadn't told her the why. Only sent her own her way and promised her clan riches if she succeeded. Maybe he had foreseen something. Arbia grit her teeth as she imagined herself in the homesetad she had seen in the vision. It wasn't close to any shore she could see. It was inland, farmland. Mountains in the distance... she tried to remember the map she'd been given and where it could be... and then... she could sense her target. As if she were real. And in her vision she pulled one of the crossed swords from across her back out and let out a war cry as she sliced!

Her eyes shot open... it would be that simple.

She felt her stomach. Cluaran had taken her the other night. It was far too early to tell if a pregnancy had taken, but she rubbed her stomach underneath her tunic. If all went well she'd kill this girl and Salroth would grant her pitiful homestead to Cluaran and her. They'd let nature reclaim what humans had hacked away... it would be a good hunting ground for them to raise their children.

Arbia sighed. Salroth may have had his leash around the collective necks of her kind, but he was a fair master who left them be when he didn't need them. And that alone was worth doing his bidding. It would mean she could be with the one she loved. And if a human girl who would no sooner spit on her had to die? So be it.

Arbia breathed deep and let her body relax on the thick branch. Tomorrow she would act...and in her drifting trance recalled the Arkian warrior's creed...
"There is no peace, I live for battle, through the battle I gain pride, through pride I gain power, through power I can control chaos, and within the chaos of battle my chains are broken, and I will have been reborn..."
She felt it flow from her mind down her body like a stream, carrying her to sleep.

The hills unnerved her. She had grown up in the forests where you could use the trees and shadows to your advantage. Now Arbia found herself trekking across a hilly landscape with not much in the way of cover. Never mind that marching through hills in her war armour wasn't easy... she felt vulnerable. There were no trees or undergrowth to hide in. Anyone with a decent shot of her with an arrow could take it before she knew where it came from.

But she had done it. Crossed into the Ux Martivir. And she was calmed, at least a bit, by the fact that she had spent the entire day scouting the border and using her talent for sensing souls to stay away from any of what she presumed were border guards. The Ux Martivir and her people had a contentious history.

So she found a spot to slip through and now she had. She instantly disliked it.

But she trekked on, and by chance, saw a glowing light in the distance.

"Fuck," she muttered, dropping to the ground, poking her head up over the hilly landscape. She could see the light... it was down a bit, by a road. A house. She had come across her first settlement in "enemy" territory.

"Ok what would Cail say?" she asked.

"Kill 'em all!"

She shrugged at that. Not bad advice really. Kill them all and take what she could...but would that be smart?

She was wearing war armour, swords, her usual bearskin outfit... she was on a mission. She couldn't afford to lug much more around. But...

They had horses! She squinted as she took in the sight. Arkians could manage night vision better than humans, and had a superior sense of smell. They were cooking dinner...

"Ok Cail, not going with your plan," she muttered, as if her brother were there with her. It helped with the loneliness.
She'd sneak up on them, grab a horse. It had been a few years since she'd ridden one but she was sure it would come back to her.

She got up onto all fours and crawled a bit closer, using the hilly terrain as cover when she felt a ping. Someone was coming! It was... not unlike the souls she sensed when she was scouting the border. Paladins? Possibly. But whoever it was... she hopes up to her feet and moved as quickly as she could.

"Ok ok ok ok.... approach approach approach..."

She ran through everything she'd been taught about approaching an enemy encampment, both buoyed by the fact that it wasn't an enemy encampment itself and pushed because she could sense someone approaching from her rear.

Arbia ducked behind a tree, and glanced behind her. Someone was certainly pursuing her. And her blood boiled. Her kind were warriors! She could stand and fight! But...

She breathed deep, repressing the bloodlust. She had a mission. And she wouldn't risk it this soon into it by an unnecessary fight. She peaked up. She could see shadows move inside the home, against a hearth. Arbia spied the horses and went to get one before she noticed clothing hanging from a line. And she saw a cloak.

"Well... if someone's after me better to not be seen in Arkian war armour" she muttered, grabbing the cloak and tossing it over her as she mounted the horse.

The horse neighed loudly and Arbia could hear commotion in the house but she grinned, the horse's wild bucking almost a kindred language to her. She gripped the reigns and manifested a fireball in her free hand, using it to sever the line holding the horse in place as she pressed her armoured feet into its sides.

"Go!" she whispered, leaning over to the horse's ear, and letting out a wild yell as the beast took off. She looked back, seeing the inhabitants of the house start to mount the remaining horses and Arbia smirked.

"Gonna have to stop ya," she said to herself, splaying her left hand's fingers out as she swung it behind her, causing embers to fly out and set the land between her and them on fire.

"WOOOO!" she cried out before gripping the horse's reigns.
"Just consider yourself lucky I didn't take Cail's advice!" she thought as she smirked.

With any luck that would delay the people who she stole from and her pursuers.
"Ok horsie," she muttered.
"Let's just try to get to the next landmark on this creepy map without being caught."

---

The horse galloped until Arbia was sure she wasn't immediately being pursued and slowed it down... breathing deep.
"Ok... let's take stock."

She slowed the horse to a stop and hoped off, petting its mane.
"You're a good horsie aren't ya?" she asked with a smile before removing the cloak. It was cumbersome with her armour and swords. She began to check the horse's saddle bags.

"Jerky?" she bit into it.
"Not bad...hmmm... oh! Coins!" Arbia knew that here, as in the Thirteen Realms, you could use coins to buy things. But she had no practical experience with them. Her people bartered and traded. She bit into a gold coin and scowled.
"You're definitely not food," she muttered as she examined the different coins. She didn't know what the denominations meant but they might be useful.

Having sorted out everything she stripped her armour and weapons off, until she was just in her bearskin tunic and boots and rope belt, tying the armour and weapons to the horse. She tied the saddle bag containing the coins to her belt next to her map and tossed the cloak on over her shoulders before mounting the horse again.
Now far less weighed down, she hoped back on the horse and made off into the night...

Arbia finally allowed herself to slow the horse down to a slow walk. While it made sense to rush towards the border of the Thirteen Realms as fast as possible she knew the horse she was riding didn't have limitless energy. Besides, she was in enemy territory. Salroth's agents had told her people that if the Ux Martivir had their way her people would be reduced to pets and slaves, lower then even the Kenku. And given the ferocity their Leonin Paladins fought her people she had no reason to believe that wasn't the case.

So she rode with her cloak wrapped around her and the hood pulled up over her head. With her tail wrapped around her waist and the cloak and hood hiding her wild Arkian hair she should be able to pass as a human passing through. And if she were riding all casual like then, well, it would be easier to sell the illusion. Already it seemed to work. Some passing dwarves seemed to pay her no mind.

Not all was well though. She was started to get hungry and she'd devoured the jerky in short order. The problem was... she couldn't hunt! The forests were easy to hunt in. This comparatively open hilly countryside less so. Far less to hide behind. And more then that- less to hide her from potential enemies. She'd never be able to pass for a human hunting like an Arkian and with no trees well... someone would surely see her.

"Let's see..." she muttered as she pulled the map from her rope belt. The thing gave her the chills. It was the same disturbing feeling the Prophet of Salroth had given her, just less intense. She didn't even look at where she was going for a moment... just looking at the map itself. As if she were trying to stare it in the eye. And suddenly....

"AAAAY!" she yelped and tumbled off the horse, hitting the dirt road with a thud. The horse neighed and took off and was only stopped by Arbia firing a ball of lightning magic in its path to stop it. She threw the map on the ground and yanked her hood off, not caring if anyone saw her as she ran her hands through her hair.
"What are you?" she asked worriedly. She could have sworn that, for a brief moment, she saw a demonic face... it was a female face, yes, but also clearly demonic. Still, the map didn't answer. It just flapped in the wind on the ground, and Arbia realized that, for better or worse, she needed the thing. Picking it up, she scanned it, saw that there was a town ahead, and stuffed the thing into her rope belt again.

"Ancestors, keep me," she muttered as she hopped back on the horse, and made haste down the road as she flipped her cloak's hood back up.

---

What the map was, what she'd seen, it worried her. She felt like she could feel it, against her abdomen, a presence. Still, the grey skies gave way to night as she approached a valley nestled in the hills, and in that valley, the lights of a village. She had come upon a few settlements here and there since stealing her horse and cloak, but had avoided them. This time though... her stomach growled. Arkians loved to eat. Their ability to wield nature magic placed demands on their bodies, and they needed fuel. And since she had no eagerness to try hunting among the hills... she road the horse into town.
The simple act had her heart racing because she'd be forced to fight her way out if anyone discovered she was an Arkian. The village itself seemed calm. Leonin sentries gave her a passing glance before ignoring her, Loxodon and Dwarves seemed to mingle about. No one paid her much mind as she looked around. She was looking, in actuality, for the inn. Though her illiteracy in the alphabets of the Ux Martivir didn't help.

Eventually though she came upon a building that she could smell food from, and it was also the source of music and lots of chatter. Chatter she could parse out in her head, thanks to her people's superior hearing skills.
Arbia tied the horse to a post outside the building and grumbled...

"Ok... just get some food and leave," she muttered to herself.

The warm, welcoming smells and sounds of the tavern were enough to overwhelm her at first. Her people were warriors and hunters after all, and the smell of so much food being made... it paralyzed her. She had to shake herself to her senses, lest she start drooling on herself. Thankfully though, her entrance didn't cause much notice. She simply kept her hood up and found a table out of the way, across from a dwarf bard playing the lute, nicely tucked in the shadows. She hoped that with the shadows and her cloak her Arkian features- her hair and violet eyes- would go unnoticed.

"Hey, um, food?"

A dwarf who was wearing an apron looked over.

"Ye leekin fur a meal?"

"What?" Arbia asked, confused, before she was able to parse his accent out.
"Fucking dwarves," she thought to herself.
"Um yeah. I have coins. And I can get food?" she asked. She was still... not used to the concept of an inn. Thankfully the dwarf, clearly at the end of a long day, simply muttered "ye kin git a meat pie fur twa gowd pieces."

Arbia stared at him blankly for a moment. She was trying to remember if she HAD "twa gowd pieces."

"Urr ye slow lassie?"

"Um.. nah, no. Yeah meat pie. Sure...I have twa gowd pieces."

"It'll come soon," the dwarf muttered, clearly annoyed at what he thought was a human too slow for her own good. But it didn't matter. Clearly this town was on a well travelled road, so unknown people coming in didn't seem to phase anyone. Arbia even caught a glimpse of two actual humans out of the corner of her eye.

"Fuck... I hope they don't feel like socializing," she muttered to herself. So she sank back into the shadows and just tried to vanish into the background when....

"Kaw!"

"What the?!?" she exclaimed, only to settle when she saw the crouching avian creature. A Kenku. She had heard of Kenku but had never seen one before... but this was clearly one.

"Um... shoo," she insisted, but the thing just cocked its head.

"Shoo!" it repeated at her.

"Oh great," Arbia muttered. She knew the Kenku were cursed... but not much beyond that and that they were the bottom rung of Ux Martivir society.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" she asked it.

"A traveller?" it asked.

"Um... yeah. A traveller. Just passing through," she replied curtly trying to get the thing to leave her alone.

"Arkian are you?"

Arbia's eyes went wide.
How the fuck did this thing...
"Hey! Shh!" she insisted and pulled the thing closer into her. Someone, she forgot who, had told her that Kenku could only say things others had said, because they lacked creative thought. If that were true then this thing had seen an Arkian somewhere, or at least would have overheard someone who did.

"Don't say anything about that!"

The Kenku looked at her, and she felt this ball of frustration in her stomach. She couldn't tell if this thing understood what she was saying. So she... decided to try.
"Look... I'm... hiding. From everyone. If they find out who I am, they'll do terrible things to me."

The Kenku looked at her blankly for a moment before it nodded.
"Secret is safe," it said... "for half a pie?"

"Ugh... fine. Deal."

"Whit's that damn bird daein' 'ere?"

Arbia looked up at the same dwarf from before, holding her meat pie.
"He's um... my guide. I don't know your lands that well."

"Ye kin dae better than this clatty thing," the dwarf replied and Arbia strained to understand what he was saying again before nodding.

"Beggars can't be choosers."

"Ah hawp ye'r nae sae muckle o' a beggar that ye cannae pay."

Arbia grabbed the bag with the coins from her belt and pulled out two gold ones.
"Here."

"Guid," the dwarf replied. "Juist finish quick 'n' git that thing oot o' 'ere," he added as he took the gold coins.

Arbia looked down at the table. A fork and a knife and a spoon. She sighed hopelessly. This all seemed so complicated. But she figured eating with her hands might arouse suspicion so she awkwardly began to eat half the pie with her fork.

It tasted overcooked, and there was this substance, this sauce, that was way too thick and took away from the meat and vegetables' natural taste, but she was starved and it was food, and before she knew it she'd eaten half. The Kenku looked at her and cocked its head, and Arbia sighed.
"Deal's a deal and you got my tail in a trap over it," she muttered and pushed the half of the pie that was left to the bird.

"Thanks!" the Kenku replied before digging into the dish, but this, more than anything else, seemed to stir up the inn's denizens. Even the Kenku, who was clearly enjoying the meal, stopped.

"Howfur dare ye gie that thing fairn," the dwarf uttered, but Arbia just raised an eyebrow.

"It's my pie, I paid for it, doesn't that mean I can do whatever I want with it?"
Her kind lacked any experience with money but she was pretty sure that's how the concept worked.

The dwarf though, seemed very perturbed that she had given the Kenku a pie, and grabbed a broom to whack the creature.
"Git oot o' 'ere, git!"

But Arbia, not really thinking stood up and grabbed the broom, yanking it away.

"Dinnae git in mah wey lassie," the dwarf insisted, yanking back, and pushing Arbia back and tossing her hood off. Her wild mane of black hair and her violet eyes were now fully exposed.

"An Arkian!" one of the humans across the way said as he stood. In fact everyone seemed either ready to pounce or shocked. Arbia's heart raced and in a split second she yanked the broom from the dwarf and bashed it over his head.

"ANYONE ELSE WANNA TELL ME WHAT I CAN'T DO WITH MY OWN PIE?" Arbia shouted.

And that was it. Bodies lunged at her as she discarded her cloak, pushing a hapless Satyr blinded by the garment into another dwarf. She managed to best one of the humans before pushing the Kenku into the other, and then pulling it out of the way in time for Satyr to stumble into him. Before long the whole in was in chaos, and Arbia managed to push the Kenku outside.

"Just a second Birdie!" she called out after him before punching a third dwarf in the head.
"DON'T TOUCH MY TAIL!" she yelled and managed to get out of the inn. The Kenku looked at her worriedly and Arbia sighed.

"They're gonna fuck you up if you stay so..." she grabbed its feathered arm and pulled up up onto her horse, driving it as fast it would go out of town... just as the Paladins arrived.....

---

They rode deep into the dark of the countryside, until Arbia was sure that she wasn't being followed, the feathered arms of her companion clutched around her waist. And when she was sure they were safe she took them off the beaten path and into a forested glen, only stopping when she felt comfortable with the amount of tree cover.

"What's your name?" she asked as she used fire magic to turn some twigs into a small hearth.

"Scratcher," the Kenku replied.
"Thank you," it added.
"They would have hurt me."

Arbia nodded. From what she knew the Kenku were not particularly cared for in Ux Martivir society.
"Well you offered to keep my secret," she continued.
"You know, for as long as I could keep it," she chuckled.

"Monkey is very brash."

"What did you say?" Arbia growled before rolling her eyes.
"Eh it ain't your fault, just repeating what others have said. But you clearly know about my people."

"I'm a guide, know the border regions."

"Is that so? Do you have like... people? A home nearby?"

"A home down south, down south."

"I'm going south. I'm heading to the Thirteen Realms."

"Why?"

"It's a secret," she muttered as she felt the map burning against her.
"But if you can help me get to the Thirteen Realms, I can get you home? Keep you safe? I'm a good fighter. I can do that for ya."

"Monkeys good at fighting."

"Hey! Don't say that word! It's Arkian. I'm an Arkian."

"Sorry," Scratcher replied and Arbia sighed with a smile.
"It's ok. Are you ok to sleep here? We'll sleep here. Head out tomorrow?"

"Sleep yes," Scratcher said as he lay down next to the fire, stretching a bit before relaxing.

"I'll be up there. Hollar if you need me." Arbia kicked off her boots and let her tail hang loose as she climbed up a nearby tree to rest on a thick branch. But Scratcher didn't reply. He was almost asleep.

Arbia sent a gust of wind magic to blow out the fire before she too drifted asleep.

Arbia drifted off to sleep easily enough though something unsettled her.

Was it the worry that her antics at the inn would cause Paladins to find her? That possibility hung in the back of her mind even as she slept...

The map the Prophet of Salroth had given her was still rolled up and stuffed in her rope belt, and as Arbia worried it glowed. Just a little bit, but the markings on its parchment seemed to burn with smouldering intensity until they seemed to leave the page itself, moving like a snake around Arbia's body as she lay on the branch in slumber. Her own worries seemingly feeding the demonic energy...

The burning smoke formed a hand, caressing Arbia's cheek before it travelled down the trunk of the tree and formed the body of a Succubus, circling the perimeter of the small camp sight.

"A Kenku," the demon muttered.
"Not a bad guide," she shrugged as she toyed with her blonde hair and leaned against a tree trunk.

"Lord Salroth, your servant speaks. Your Arkian pet makes good time. She should, at this pace, reach the girl just before you launch your invasion. Hear me Lord Salroth, things proceed as planned. The monkey still has her doubts though... but they're simple things from a simple mind. I, your humble servant, will correct these misgivings. Do not trouble yourself Lord of Darkness, for your task is being fulfilled."

She broadcast that message into the aether and then looked up at Arbia and smirked. The demon moved like smoke on the water, and swirled up the tree trunk, and manifested in her demonic form next to Arbia, placing a hand on her throat. Gently at first. Caressing the girl.
"Pretty thing, for an Arkian," the Succubus muttered before squeezing Arbia's throat.

"AWAKEN!"

The voice boomed in Arbia's head. Loud yet quiet, and she gasped awake. She tried to thrash and kick but the Succubus held her in place on her back against the thick tree branch as she tried to fight. She desperately wanted to yell "WHO ARE YOU?" but the words wouldn't come as the creature squeezed.

Arbia looked up at it helplessly and then she realized it. The blonde hair that seemed like golden fire, the stark, stone white skin... the cold blue eyes like sapphires that lacked any compassion... this was the face she saw in the map and that revelation caused Arbia to whimper softly as she thrashed.

"Oh I see you recognize me," the Succubus said with a smile.
"Good girl. So that will make this easier. My task is to make sure you are focused on your task. Lord Salroth has faith in you, my eager monkey. But he understands your kind's prone to... lapses of judgement..." she flicked Arbia's forehead teasingly with her free hand and giggled playfully as Arbia stared up at her tormentor with a mix of fear and anger.

"But it's ok princess, because you've got me. Know every move you make, every thought you have, I know. And Salroth knows. But this is fine, isn't it? Because you're a good girl, right?" the Succubus leaned in and licked Arbia's ear. The feeling made her shiver and tense up, even as the sensation snaked its way through her and made her hips squirm, and toes curl. She could feel a part of her... enraptured? Like a chain around part of her mind... and the Succubus felt that too.

"It's ok my pet, don't worry... Salroth takes care of his servants. And when you obey, you are rewarded...."

Arbia bucked her hips and blushed as pleasure overtook her, just from the subtle way the demon manipulated her grip on her neck and spoke to her... it was almost like she was with Cluaran again....

"Oh you liked that? Well you need only to obey...otherwise...."

Arbia tensed up again, her body bucking because she felt like the Succubus was burning a hole in her throat! Her violet eyes wide and filling with tears. She tried to cry out but her voice was gone...

"Pain follows disobedience... now monkey. Do you understand?"

The Succubus let go finally and floated as a half cloud of smoke, half in her humanoid form above Arbia... Arbia went to speak, and feeling like she had her voice back meekly said "yes."

It was such a strange feeling. She would have normally been ready to tear apart ANYONE who treated and talked to her like this but the way this thing toyed with her mind, her body... it left her a confused mess of pain, pleasure... and no way to properly process it.

"Good," the Succubus smirked and snapped and Arbia sat up on the branch gasping.

"What's this?" she growled, her old self returning as she gripped her neck.

"Just something so you'll know I'm always watching. It'll remove itself when your task for our Lord and Master is complete."

Arbia felt around her neck. It was a chain. A chain around her neck. She glared at the Succubus and wrinkled her nose, growling as she was about to leap at it but the demon merely yawned and waved her hand. The chains seemed to burn and Arbia yelped in pain, falling out of the tree and landing with a thud on the ground. She forced herself up to her knees and growled "I get it! I get it! Fuck!" and the demon made the pain vanish.

"You know..." Arbia panted..."you know... I was gonna do everything Salroth asked... you didn't need to..."

"...collar you like a pet? Maybe not. I can read your thoughts Arbia of the Westlands, daughter of Unean. I know what your intent was. But my task is to see that intent becomes action. If you fulfill the task assigned to you the collar will crumble away, Salroth will reward you and your kin, and all will be well for you. But I am there to keep the doubt away."

"You're of the map."

"You could say that. Try to lose me and that collar will burn until you're forever mad with pain."

Arbia gripped the chain collar with one hand. It filled her with rage but she could see that the Succubus enjoyed that, so she growled as she tried to simmer her own emotions.

"I understand. But... but what do I call you?"

The demon approached the kneeing Arkian and placed a finger under her chin, and stroked gently, coaxing her to stand. Arbia stood... and the Succubus leaned over to whisper her name in her ear.

"Ember."

With that the demon vanished into burning smoke and reconstituted the map's lines. Leaving Arbia shaken as she stood there in the dark. The chain around her neck light... but just tight enough that she was aware of it.

"You awake?" Scratcher asked as he lazily raised his head.

The Kenku shook Arbia out of the trance Ember had put her in and she looked back.
"Sorry Scratcher... I just... fell."

"Oh... sleep now," Scratcher replied, yawning before he rested his head again.

"Yeah... sleep now..." Arbia muttered. She climbed back up to her branch and lay down. Jaw locked. Desperate to just not think about the demon that had rendered her so helpless...

She drifted asleep again, this time was a pit in her stomach.

---

Smoke on the Water by Deep Purple, 5:40

They continued south. Arbia was thankful for Scratcher, because he meant that she didn't have to look at the map all that often.

The map. That thing.

Arbia was a warrior. Which meant she knew what it was like to lose. Arkian children with a warrior's instinct were known to fight each other for fun. Be it Cail, Cluaran, or any of the other children in her clan, she was drawn to fighting from a young age. And that meant she lost as much as she won.
And of course losing sucked. It meant having to lick your pride and get razzed by whoever beat you (incredibly lame if it was your own twin brother) but you moved on. Because you could. You could train to beat whoever beat you. You had a goal. To get better. To sharpen your skills. Get faster or stronger. Or practice manifesting elemental magic. Or practice climbing trees and fighting from the canopies. Or any other of a million other areas you could improve.

But this was different. This Ember.
She was a demon in league with Salroth. She had powers Arbia could never comprehend. She had the power to arouse her, cause her pain.... all with the flick of her wrist. Arbia could never, ever, be strong enough to defeat Ember. And the black chain collar around her neck reminded her of it. She gripped it, felt it. And let go. She sighed. She could never fight this thing. And Ember... she could read all of these thoughts. That's what fucked with Arbia most of all. She was powerless. It made her feel weak and small. And that in and of itself fuelled the being that made her feel this way. She grunted and put Ember out of her mind.

Fishing had helped with that. Well not so much "fishing" as much as it was hunting for fish. Scratcher was an excellent guide who had led her around the settlements that dotted the windswept mountainous hilly region of eastern Ux Martivir. And between his guide work and her ability to sense souls they were able to keep their distance from anyone who might be looking.
And having come up to a remote rocky and grey and muddy spot the only spot she could hunt was in a nearby stream. The water chilled her bare body, but the exercise of swimming after fish and catching them helped keep her mind off of the damn Succubus.

Arbia broke through the surface with a fish flopping between her teeth and she climbed out wet and shivering.

"You're wet," Scratcher said as Arbia dropped the fish from her mouth into the pile of fish she'd already caught.
She quickly shook her tail and hair dry before she put on her tunic and boots.

"Hey!" she called out as Scratcher had one fish in his beak.
"I didn't even cook that yet!"

"Arkians cook, Kenku no," Scratcher replied.
"Well!" Arbia shot back, "I like 'em cooked and so does Horsie."

The horse neighed as Arbia used a ball of fire magic to roast the fish.
"And anyway Scratcher, I know you like cooked food."

Scratcher looked at her curiously as she fed some roasted fish to Horsie- she had decided he was named Horsie- and used a second blast of fire magic to start a hearth near some rocks that made for a decent shield against the wind. She was still cold from her excursion in the stream and picked up the pile of fish as she led them to the makeshift hearth. They cuddled around the fire and rocks as Arbia roasted the fish over the flames.

"Someone's following us ya know," she said. She genuinely didn't know what to make of Scratcher. He could only repeat phrases said to him, but he also didn't seem like he was all there? Yet there was clearly some intellect... either way he made better company then the demon that enjoyed mindfucking her. She traced the thin black chain around her neck absent mindedly before putting Ember out of her thoughts.

"Someone's following us, and has been since the inn," she repeated. Scratcher looked confused. Or... just regular. It was hard to tell.

"It's the same person. Same soul, same aura," Arbia muttered.
"Maybe a Paladin? One of those Leonin pricks who keeps your sort down?"

Scratcher didn't say anything but Arbia just shrugged.
"Doesn't matter. They've been a day behind us since I picked 'em up. We're good. But whoever it is, I'm gonna circle back and end 'em before I get to the Thirteen Realms or we get back to your village."

"End? Why end?"

"Because whoever it is, is after you or me or both and I'm not lettin' us go down to some 'civilized' prick," she explained as she munched on roasted fish.
"I'm gonna..." she said with a full mouth, "keep us safe and kill 'em and..." she swallowed, "no one will even know what happened to the poor bastard." She used a particularly durable fish bone to poke at some meat stuck in her teeth.

"Paladins strong. Mighty weapons," Scratcher replied as he ate but Arbia chuckled. She stood and began to unload the aromour and weapons that she'd packed onto Horsie, and scratched his mane calmingly to get him to relax. She picked up one of the two Arkian swords from the ground and sat down next to Scratcher.

"This is an Arkian seax blade," she explained.
"It's not as big or long as a warblade, but it's swift, and can cut. And you can use it with one hand, so you can use two. I have two," she grinned.
"I'll be all over any Paladin like a storm of blades. Don't worry. You and I and Horsie? We'll be safe."

"You go to Thirteen Realms?"

"Yeah I have... things to do there. You know how the Leonin, the Dwarves, the Khenra, and all the rest keep you down? They treat you poorly?"
Scratcher seemed to understand and nodded.

"Well..." Arbia continued, "humans in the Thirteen Realms want to do that to us. They think we're lesser then 'em, and if they ever get united they're goin' to hurt me and mine." She munched on more fish.
"Some girl, I donno, but if I kill her they won't be to do that. And..." Arbia shrugged.

"I donno, Scratcher. Do you have a mate? Do Kenku... do that? Have mates?"

Scratcher nodded.

"You have one at home? Your home?" Scratcher nodded again, and Arbia chose to interpret this as him affirming her questions.
"Ok well I have a mate," she said proudly.
"And...he and I will have a baby. I can feel it. Sense it. I don't want my baby and our family livin' in a world where humans keep us down. You understand that, right?"

Scratcher nodded a third time and Arbia smirked.
"Maybe once we finish with the humans we'll come here and free your people?"

Arbia grinned when she saw that elicited something like a chuckle from Scratcher.
"You're good friend," he said before finishing up another fish.
"But you sleep. Lots to do. We get to Thirteen Realms border by noon. But only if you sleep."

Arbia yawned and stretched out by the fire. Normally it would be too early for sleep but between the goal of getting to the Thirteen realms by noon tomorrow and the fact that swimming in that ice cold stream zapped her of some strength, she was quite willing to lie down next to the fire.
"Just... feed Horsie, Scratcher."

"Feed Horsie, feed Horsie," Scratcher nodded as Arbia drifted asleep.

And as she did... Scratcher eyed the black chain collar around her neck. He'd been acting like he didn't notice it. Arbia not being sure if he was fully sentient helped him play dumb. But he had noticed it. He knew exactly what it was. And he knew what to do about it. He waved a feathered hand above Arbia's faced. She grumbled and wrinkled her nose but didn't wake. Content that she was asleep he grabbed the Arkian seax blade Arbia had been showing off and took it to a ridge that overlooked their camp. He found a crack in the rocks and drove the blade into it.

Perfect. The Arkian weapon would make the perfect signal to the approaching presence.

"She's asleep," Scratcher said with a nod.

"I can see. That's good. You did well to get her to a place where she'd have to exhaust herself in cold water. This would be infinitely more difficult if she were awake."

"Demon didn't think I saw it two nights ago but did."

"Demons talk a lot but they're like anything else. They have weaknesses. The sage powder will keep the Succubus from even knowing we're here for now."

"Collar. Collar will force her to do demon's will."

"It's a Succubus collar yes..." a hand caressed it around Arabia's neck.
"I can't remove it."

Scratcher grumbled.
"But you said you have magic?"

"I do my Kenku friend. But it's not all powerful. I can't remove it because..." a thumb was placed on Arbia's head as she slept. The same powder that kept Ember at bay kept Arbia in her deep sleep.
"... she genuinely wants to complete the Succubus' task. Oh she's angry about being treated like this... VERY angry... hehe... she's her father's daughter, truly. But she's committed to the task because Salroth's lies have her convinced she has to. And the collar is tied to the Succubus' desire to keep her on that task."

"Nothing you can do."

"Oh Scratcher... of course there is. This collar will turn to ash once she's completed her task. That's the spell. But... if I add corn powder... her namesake... and..."

Scratcher watched as his guest began speaking in a language he hadn't heard in a long time as she sprinkled corn powder over Arbia...

"Mo nighean domhainn nad inntinn, tha thu nad thràill do dheamhan sam bith, gun dorchadas. Na leig leis a’ ghnìomh air an deach do thràillealachd a dhèanamh do cheangal tuilleadh. Nuair a chì thu solas na grèine, brisidh do cheanglaichean."

Scratcher watched. Arbia's nose twitched from the powder being sprinkled everywhere but she fought off the sneeze and rolled over on her side towards the fire.

"There. The collar will now turn to ash and free her if and when she decides to that the task is no longer something she has to do. I can't change her mind... but I can give her the means to free herself if she decides to do what's right herself."

Scratcher nodded as his guest smiled.
"Take care Scratcher."

"You too."

"And keep her safe until the border."

Scratcher nodded as he ate one of the last fish.
"Least I can do."

His guest smiled and set the sword that had been used as a marker back with the rest of the weapons and armour, and walked into the night....

Salroth was in his private quarters, he was looking into the mirror enjoying the moment. He had been in this angelic form for so long, his true form was something a mortal couldn’t comprehend and his demonic form didn’t allow for the same type of devotion. But in his private time he would occasionally turn back into his true form. The mirror shattered as the ball of shadow took up the room. The light was sucked away as he moved around, it was nice to not have the restrictions of a physical form again. Then there was a knock at the door, Galmash opened the door as Salroth turned back into his angelic form.

“My lord, Ember has requested to enter your chambers and I don’t think she’ll take no for an answer.”

“You’re right Galmash! As if the big man would say no to me.”

Ember walked over to Salroth, her blonde hair flowed as she approached the Dark Lord. The sound of her heels clacking on the black marble floors, she reached Salroth and put her hand on his chest. She looked up at him, his hand under her chin.

“Galmash, you need to leave.” The duo said in unison.

Galmash growled as he left the room, his hatred for Ember was immense. The Succubi were the children of Salroth and Ember, so these little meetings tended to go on for a long, long time. Galmash walked down the hall where several guards looked at him, he waved his hand and continued down the hall.

“That monkey girl believes in the mission, we don’t have to worry about her betraying us. She’s devoted to finishing the mission, but why are you so worried about this peasant? You’re one of the most powerful beings in the multiverse, what could she do?”

Ember walked over to the bed, and laid down. Her wavy hair sprawled out, Salroth walked as he got closer she playfully put her heel on his chest. Salroth looked at her, there was a grin on both of their faces. The black lace on her leg meshed with the heel, all of this matched Salroths long black hair.

“Now tell me, how do you know that the monkey is going to do her mission? Last time I checked you can’t read minds. Or did you give her one of these!”

Salroth snapped his fingers, and a collar appeared on Ember's neck. She gasped and looked up at him. The two beings kissed, there was a moment of passion and then Salroth pulled away.

“You’re right my lord, I gave her a collar. But you’re wrong. I can read minds, and I can tell that she believes in our mission. I can see exactly what's going on around her and in her mind. I didn’t give you a collar but I can tell exactly what you’re thinking right now.”

She stuck her hands together and rope appeared on them, Ember looked up at Salroth as he came in for another kiss.

---

The demon hordes were mustering at the designated grounds when the Arkains arrived. The Demons were being commanded by the Prince of Vampires, Von Der Drache. The Vampire was waiting in his, Piobar walked in.

The first Vampire stood to greet the Arkian, the two warriors had served in many battles though there was an odd tension. They had never met, and each being a long standing commander had a level of arrogance to them. The first to pull away from the handshake was Drache, he began to talk about the plan.

“Our forces will land on the eastern shores, the lord of that realm should be under our sway before our arrival. We should be able to avoid needless casualties by…”

“Would it not be better to push our advantage in surprise and have all the realms delacre for us on our initial landing?” Piobar added.

“That would be a plan, and an effective one, but our masters plan requires there to be some form of stability so the civilians don’t all move at once. The girl must be found, and I worry about your daughter’s ability if…”

“Leave her out of this!” The Arkain stood and faced the Vampire.

The vampires and the Arkians started to size each other up, this fighting all quieted down as the Prophet of Salroth walked in. All of the hardened warriors looked like scared puppies as the Demon Lord spoke.

“I came to bring news from our master, but this is the welcome I receive. You fools are truly incapable of understanding the significance of this moment. With the destruction of the Thirteen realms and Ux Mativir we will be able to take the will of our god to the whole world, these two realms will provide us with all the needed manpower and resources to cover the world in a darkness so powerful none will challenge it. The elves on the other side of the continent will be short work, the heretics of Geldenbaum will be forced to see the error of their ways, and the Boreans will be wiped out. The continent will be whole, and the perfect staging ground for the destruction of the rest of the world. We leave in the morning, prepare your men, pray to our lord and be ready. Retribution is at hand.”

Arbia woke early in the morning while it was still dark out. She was chilly, with the hearth from the night before gone. So she, drowsily, made another before smiling peacefully and stretching out by the fresh fire and relaxing by the heat. She quickly fell back asleep... and was so tired she didn't realize that much of the frustration, anger, and anxiety that had plagued her so far was gone. She just drifted asleep again.

She wasn't sure how long she slept after she woke up but the sun was peaking over the horizon, by just a bit, when Scratcher shook her awake.
"Wake, wake," he said.
"Wake, much land to cover today."

"Ugh no...." she growled. The new fire she'd set was still burning and she wanted to just lie there, sleeping.
"Yes," Scratcher remarked, being surprisingly insistent.
"Human lands within the day. Come, come."

That woke Arbia up, if only for the news that she'd be able to get the Thirteen Realms.
"Fine," she muttered, getting up on her palms, arching her back to stretch, and yawning. She scratched her head and behind her ears absent mindedly as her tail swayed lazily, packing her armour and weapons onto Horsie. Scratcher watched, curious to see if Arbia would notice the bit of rock and just on the sword he'd used to signal his ally, but in her still sleepy state she didn't.

"Come on," she mounted Horsie and held a hand out to pull Scratcher up. And wanting to avoid the map she asked...
"So if we follow this mountain range south we'll get to your village and then I'll get to the border?"

"Yes but we get to the border first. I go home after."

"How far is it?"

"Not far."

"Then I'll take you home. I can manage on my own to the border."

"I promise to guide you to border. Will do that. Then home."

Arbia chuckled as she used wind magic to set the hearth out and start down the windswept stony road. She was a bit shocked at the depths of the Kenku's loyalty. Scratcher was the only one she met, but her mother had spoken of them now and then. And Arbia never got the idea that they held honour in as much regard as Arkians. But Scratcher did, and it cheered Arbia up even if it meant waking up before it was even really light out.

"So if you live near the Thirteen Realms, do you ever go into them?" Arbia asked as they continued along, Horsie's hooves clicking along the stone, rocky road.

"Sometimes, borders don't care for game. Food is food."

Arbia nodded. That made a lot of sense. A deer or rabbit or pheasant didn't become something different if it was on one side of an imaginary line on a map or the other. But she thought back.... the Arkians had two borders. Salorth's realm and the Ux Martivir. And her own people told her under no uncertain terms were they to cross into either. Salroth would call any Arkian he wished to see to him. The Ux Martivir were this imposing frontier beyond their lands who Arkian warriors spoke of as being guarded by fierce paladins.

Wait! That paladin... Arbia suddenly perked up and let a warm feeling deep inside of her fan out from her.... and....
"Huh" she muttered.

"What?" Scratcher asked.

"That person who was following us, since the inn. It's not following us."

"You sure?" Scatcher asked, wanting to see how perspective Arbia could really be.

"Yeah... I sense it, but it's fading. It's moving away from us."

"Oh."

"That's great!" Arbia said excitedly.
"Look I'd love to kill an Ux Martivir Paladin. Oh fuck, the look on Cail's face if I did!" she beamed before shrugging.
"But I have a mission, and I'm not riskin' it for some dumb cat."

"To kill human girl?"

"Yeah. Honestly a Paladin would be a more honourable fight, I think. I normally wouldn't go outta my way for some peasant but it's what Salorth wants, and his Prophet told me it would be good for Salroth and my people to do it. I don't know HOW, if I'm bein' honest Scratcher," she shrugged, "but that's what the Prophet said and he didn't seem like he was kiddin'."

"Are you a sure it was a Paladin following?"

"I mean... it was someone."

"How can you tell?"

"Ok well..." Arbia had refrained from going into detail about this skill of her's since she was sure Scratcher couldn't understand it, but she was starting to think she underestimated him.

"I can sense souls. It's not even a thing our people have, just...me" she said softly.
"Our village priest said it's a gift of the hunt that's super rare. And I guess I got that. But like...how it works is... everyone has a soul. An aura. You, me, even the ants and the lizards, the birds, and rabbits, everything. But souls feel like... individuals, not like... races. I don't know if whoever was following us was a Paladin, or even a Leonin. It was just somebody. But those are my best guesses."

"Never felt that before?"

"Nope."

Scratcher shrugged.

"But whoever it was, they're turnin' 'round. Guess they got tired of trackin' us? Either way... good. Won't have to off 'em then. Save me some time."

Scratcher nodded, and secretly... well he was glad Arbia wouldn't be killing that presence.

Arbia's thoughts drifted back... her people were told never to cross into either realm they bordered, not unless Salorth or his minions told them too. She was nineteen after all. And this was the first time she'd ever travelled outside of the Arkians' traditional lands. She wasn't sure if the Ux Martivir was what she imagined it would be but... she was glimpsing things that fuelled her curiosity. Part of her was eager to get to the Thirteen Realms not just to complete her mission but because she'd seen even more of the lands beyond her borders.
Even if she was only able to do it because Salroth had sent her. She began to resent the notion that his commandments had kept her people in their lands, but that brought a faint burning in the chain collar around her neck and she winced.
"Ok, ok," she growled.
"I get the picture," she muttered, looking down at the map stuffed into her rope belt.

Scratcher watched. And sighed just a bit. After last night it was made that Arbia could be free of that thing, and the demon who put it there, if she realized that the mission itself was wrong. Yet for all of Arbia's hesitations about Salroth she still believed everything he and his forces had said. She still believed in her task. So the collar stayed on, binding her to the will of the Dark Lord of the Schattenreich.

They road, and the sun seemed to follow them, over the mountains to their west. The mountains to one side and, as they boxed them in the further south they went, the sea to the east. She looked out to the east, to the wild sea against the grey sky.

"Do you ever think about travelling beyond the seas?" Arbia asked Scratcher.

"Human realms is one thing, no seas," Scratcher replied.
"Boats. Need sailors. Flock not sailors."

"Flock? Your family?"

"Family, village, yes."

"Oh well. I don't think any of my people are sailors either," she said as she watched the white capped waves crash the stony beach.
"But we do have water magic. Even though it's the hardest to use."

"Water magic? You? You show?"

"You serious?"

"Yes!"

Arbia chuckled and slowed Horsie down, dismounting and helping Scratcher down.
"My people know nature magic. Fire, air, lightning, and water. Water is the hardest."
She smirked. She was quite proud of her abilities, and Scratcher was if anything a curious audience.

"Each kind has it's own technique."

Arbia held out a hand and flicked her wrist and made a glowing ball of fire energy appear in her hand, before, tossing it at some rocks. It exploded them and Scratcher screeched in shock.

"That's one but also this!" Arbia proclaimed as she pulled her hands back to her sides, and then pushed them out. Combustive explosions rocked the air in front of her, and a larger rock face shattered as she grinned.

"Those are fire techniques. Electricity and air, they have their own too. Water does, but it's harder. With fire you gotta feel your own inner heat and everyone has that so it's easy. Everyone has their own air and their own energy too. But like... you don't feel water the same way? You have to feel it in the air..."

Arbia knelt on the rocky beach, facing the water. She closed her eyes, but focused on the sound of the ocean. And she brought her hands together in front of her chest, and she tried to imagine that sound of the ocean... between her palms. As if she was trying to feel the water molecules in the air. She focused and focused and.... a wisp of water appeared to dance between her palms. As soon as she felt it she smirked and pivoted one hundred and eighty degrees. The wisp of water expanded suddenly into a charged stream of water, Arbia screaming a warcry as she brought it the expanding whip of water crashing against the rockface facing her, and the water cracked it! It seemingly lost its weaponized nature and splattered against the cracked rock but Arbia smirked and splayed her right hand, raising it up. Suddenly the splash of the water froze in midair and she swung her hand across her body, the water becoming shards of liquid energy, skewering a seagull.

Scratcher shrieked but Arbia pumped her fists.
"YES!" she said and blasted the dead seagull, roasting it before she collected it.

"The hard part," she said with her mouth full of meat as she yanked the seagull's leg off and bit in wildly, "is..." she chewed, "makin'..." she swallowed.
"Makin' the water. You gotta tease it outta the air, but once you do, you can use it wickedly. You want the other leg?"

Scratcher nodded and Arbia ripped it off by the drumstick and tossed it to Scratcher, who began to pick at it.

"But you know..." Arbia continued to dig into the bird's carcass with a bit of savage glee, "there are warriors better trained in it then me. I like fire magic."

"Fire magic cooks."

"Yep it does! If I stopped to try and use water magic in a battle I'd get myself killed. Leave it to the experts an' all that." She tossed the rest of the carcass to Scratcher, letting him pick at it before helping him back on Horsie."

"Let's go!" she exclaimed and, for the first time today, drove Horsie hard. Scratcher gripped her tight around the waist, but even his tight grip around her tail didn't bug her too much as she felt the wind of the gallop in her hair and on her face, crying out in excitement. They were almost there. So close... she didn't care much for stealth. She could sense they were free to the border... just.... "OH FUCK!"

Arbia pulled back on Horsie's reigns causing him to go to his hind legs. Scratcher gripped her tight, and Arbia winced as his grip actually pinched her tail, but thankfully he loosened his grip when Horsie settled and they levelled out.

"What wrong?"

"There's... a whole lotta someones up in those mountains!" Arbia gulped. She had been so lost in the thrill of the ride that the souls she sensed had smacked her all at once.

"Of course! Flock lives there!"

"WHAT?" Arbia replied, her readiness to throw down if she had to replaced by... well... the good news that she didn't? She broke out in laughter.
"It's your flock? Oh thank the fucking ancestors..." she chuckled.

"Up the road, into the mountains, past the cragged stone, my flock lives."

"And... you don't want me to take you?"

"Promised the border. The border is soon. Can make it back."

"You said you had a mate?"

"Yes."

"Children?"

"Yes."

Arbia sighed and closed her eyes.... she felt another soul. The one inside of her. She pat her stomach and nodded.
"Good to know," she said, starting Horsie up, continuing south....

---

The ride forward continued for a bit longer, most of the next hour, as the sun, hidden by the grey clouds, seemed to peak just overhead.

"There," Scratcher said.
"Where the hills poke out, beyond that, humans live."

"The Thirteen Realms?"

"Yes. Aviskon."

Arbia thought for a moment...
"Aviskon were the swords clashed. Marrin where the maces bashed," she said recalling an old Arkian song.
"One of the human kingdoms."

"Will not go with you though, promised border. Now must return to flock."

"I wish you'd let me take you."

"No. You go. Can get back."

Arbia dismounted Horsie again and let Scratcher down. She looked him over and then hugged him tight. It just... well... it seemed right. He'd helped her. She wanted to show him affection.
"Thanks for holding me up for that pie at the inn. I really appreciate your help."

"Promise is promise," Scratcher replied and Arbia smiled.
"You have kids? Look, I didn't bring much but...." she created a gust of wind magic to blow some twigs up and she reached back... her wild black hair went down to her mid back, and she undid the twine that held it in a cinch. She shook her head a bit and then used the twine, and fastened a doll out of the sticks. Complete with the end of the twine forming a tail.

"An Arkian doll. For your kids."

Scratcher smiled, holding the doll in his hands. He wanted to tell her WHY he'd sought her out. Why he'd helped her. It was far more than pie... but it wasn't time for that. Not his place to do it either. So he nodded.
"Thank you, Arbia. Thank you."

"Thank you too," Arbia replied, and then quickly jumped to mount Horsie again pulling on his reins.
"I'll see you when we've won!" she called out, before driving Horsie fast towards the border. She had no idea WHERE in the Thirteen Realms her target was. But as the wind again blew through her hair and against her face, she smirked because she was eager to start searching.

As she rode off Scratcher watched. She'd have to figure it out for herself beyond where the hills poked out onto the beach. She looked down at the stick doll. She'd have to. For everyone's sake.

Warning
While the below confirms to TNP RP's PG-13 standards it does involve topics of a sexual nature. If such things offend or otherwise bother you please skip this post.
Thank you.

This was more like it. No, these woods were not Arbia's woods, but the forests of the human Kingdom of Aviskon, one of the northern most Thirteen Realms, put her at ease. So much so that she felt comfortable enough bathing and washing in a woodland stream. She'd only left with one set of clothes and armour, and her bearskin tunic, boots, and wrist guards were starting to stink. And honestly? Given everything? She just... needed to blow off steam.

Maybe it was the excitement of reaching the Thirteen Realms? Maybe it was her relief to be in a proper forest again, maybe it was the safety she felt sensing no person anywhere near her... maybe it was all three, but she let loose! Swimming through the stream, chasing fish not even go eat them, just to do it! Her clothes sat wet and washed by a resting Horsie as she swam, popping up for air occasionally as she dived back in, just... her heart sang. So much tension and uncertainty, but she had this moment, just to be carefree again.

She splashed up, a single fish between her teeth, having grabbed one because she was starting to get starved. She took the flopping fish and roasted it with a ball of fire magic before she sighed, totally carefree, floating on her back, as she munched the fish, spitting out the scales.

This place... it was so peaceful. It reminded her of her home.
When the humans were gone, and no longer a threat, she'd maybe like to come down this way? Her and Cluaran.

Arbia tossed the picked at fish skeleton onto the shore as she floated peacefully in the stream, bare as the day she was born save for the collar Salroth's Succubus had given her, her tail happily swirling in the water, and thought. Cluaran. She and him... they'd settle right here. Maybe a few other young warriors from their clan. Start a new clan here... with their child.

She felt her stomach. She could sense she was pregnant. But she rubbed her belly a bit, trying to see if she could sense a bulge? No of course not. It hadn't even been a month. But still... she felt anyway, curiously.

Arbia closed her eyes and finally let both arms float peacefully, gently using her tail to direct her in the stream when she opened her eyes and yelped, falling back into the water before growling and looking up with a blush.

"It's you," she muttered seeing Ember floating above her.

"I'm always here, don't act so surprised."

"Don't sneak up on me like that I don't like it."

"You, the girl who can sense anyone, doesn't like being snuck up on? Colour me shocked," Ember teased as Arbia growled softly as she treated water, now upright rather than lazing about.

"What do you want?" Arbia asked but Ember just ignored the question.

"It's because you're so good at tracking that I like to sneak up on you. It keeps you humble. And your reactions are priceless anyway," she giggled.

Arbia rolled her eyes and turned to swim back to shore but Ember's eyes narrowed and Arbia cried out before falling under the water. Ember smirked, self satisfied as Arbia struggled to swim to the surface. The collar, the chain collar around her neck causing so much pain... thrashing about as if she were a young child tossed to the waves.

Ember smirked at the Arkian's discomfort but relented. Arbia gasped as she broke the surface once more, now free of the pain from the collar, and clutched the shore of the stream.

"Why?" she growled looking up at Ember who manifested right on the shore where Arbia had grabbed onto.

"You maybe won't believe me, but I do admire how every time I test you, you growl. Lesser beings would cower but you don't. I see what Salroth sees in your kind."

Arbia looked up at this Succubus, confused and angry. Was that an ancestors damned compliment?

"Whatever," Arbia muttered, just about to climb out of the stream when Ember pressed a finger to her forehead.

"No Arbia of the Westlands," she said.
"Stay in..."

Arbia... she nodded. Ember's finger in the middle of her forehead seemingly trancing her. And then... Ember stepped into the water. Steam instantly began to rise from where her skin touched the stream but she didn't boil the water. No... the water around her was warm. Inviting. Arbia's bare toes flickered the silt at the riverbed as she followed Ember back into the stream, like a devoted puppy. Almost as if the collar around her neck were attached to her mind.

"Pain and pleasure, remember that Arbia," Ember said as she turned around and pushed her back, against some smooth rocks that jutted into the stream.

"I showed you pain, because it's important. Important that you know it, to truly appreciate the pleasure..."

Arbia felt her body pressed against the smooth stone, her tail pinched at a slightly uncomfortable angle as Ember's steam surrounded them. She was almost lost into the sensation of it when she noticed...

"You're wearing one too."

Ember stopped and chuckled nervously, running her fingers over the same sort of chain collar around her neck.

"You didn't have it last time I saw you," Arbia smirked. Ember chuckled.

"There's only one being who could give me this... and it's the one who's tasked you with a most holy task. And me with... ensuring you accomplish it."

"And how..." Arbia asked as Ember pressed closer, "does this do that?"

"Motivation," Ember replied with a curled smile, leaning in to kiss Arbia deep...

She wasn't sure what to do at first. She was in no position to resist... but even then... she just let Ember kiss her until the warmness of the water around Ember and the fog... it compelled her to kiss back. Long. She thought of Cluaran.

"Oh look at that eagerness..." Ember replied. All mortals could be easily snared by seduction but Arkians were the easiest... they had far less in the way of mental blocks regarding their primal desires.

Arbia squirmed between Ember and the rocks she was backed into, still a bit more than waist deep in the stream. It was undignified and she wondered why she was so willing to be led like this... and she has no idea. Ember kissed her again and this time thrust a knee between her, under the water.

Arbia's eyes went wide and Ember merely whispered... "ride"
She lost all sense of herself. The sensation of Ember... that warmth and power... against her there was undeniable. She began to move her hips like she had with Cluaran.

"Thinking about him are you?" Ember tease as Arbia's violet eyes shot open.
"Oh that's ok... I'm not jealous. Think of him... and what you'd do..." she pressed her knee against Arbia's flesh and she let out a feral growl, like the one Cluaran had coaxed from her lips that night...

She lost track of time as she felt her being melt into Ember's, and her heart raced... but eventually she fled Ember grab her mane of wild black hair and yank, pulling her to the shore, by her drying clothes and Horsie, gasping in the grasp as the steam vanished with Ember leaving the stream. Arbia for her part felt weak and spent for who knew how long, but she managed to pull herself to her feet.

"I know your kind distrusts demons," Ember said with a grin, standing before her.
"But Salroth has use for us as he does for you. And you, Arkian, have been given his most precious task. You know you're to obey, yes?" Ember reached out and caressed Arbia's check, and she nodded. Almost like she was still in a trance... and nuzzled the hand.

"Good girl. We all have our tasks, for the world our Master promises," Ember said.
"Don't you agree."

"I... I do..."

Ember smiled and reached back, pressing a thumb on the base of Arbia's tail, against the matted brown fur.

"AHHH!" it was one last deep sensual feeling Ember left her with.

"Good" the Succubus whispered as she pressed down on her tail and before Arbia knew... she was gone...

Arbia panted, blushing, soaked from the steam, and looked around. The forest was empty save for the animals that called it home... and Arbia's senses began to return to her. She growled shortly and shook her head as she came too, like shaking off cobwebs in her mind.

Still what had happened if... her heart began to race again and she muttered "no time to dwell" before getting dressed.

She'd had her moment to rest. And now was determined to fulfil her mission.

---

"Have you dealt with the problem?"

"Yes Lord Salroth," Ember replied.
"The Witch's magic was on the monkey, I could smell the sage and corn dust. The spell could not be broken... but it doesn't matter. The girl will never think of betraying you. Not now. I've... persuaded... her rebellious thoughts."

"Excellent Ember. Now go. Keep an eye on her and see to it she destroys the peasant. All of the Thirteen Realms will burn."

The night was still, and Arbia watched the scared human from the thick leafy covers of the tree tops. She could smell his fear.

He heard something among the darkness and glanced up scared but Arbia had leapt to another branch. She smirked. She couldn't kill this one so she'd have fun with him as long as she could, crouched on a high branch, obscured by leaves, her tail swaying in the still night. He was waiting. He didn't know it but he was waiting for her.

So she remained still. And watched him. The way humans were... it was disgusting. Soft, weak. Skittish just at being out in the dark. He kept glancing around as if the slighted movement of a leaf or blade of grass was ready to make himself piss himself.

"Might as well be prey," she muttered. Still, she was wearing her armour, a head banned stained red in ceremonial pigment, swords crossed across her back. She knew she'd terrify him.

He felt his heart about to pound out of his chest when... he felt it. Hair on the back of his neck standing up on edge. And he heard a growling behind him. He gulped and turned around, and saw her. The wild hair... the savage gleam in the eyes that glintered in the moonlight. The human shape that just acted savage under that brutal armour... he was looking at an Arkian. He gulped.

"Are you Lord Sal..."

Arbia growled and pushed him against a thick tree on the edge of the forest outside of the city of Forlen. The city, affiliated with the Templar Magi, flickered in the distance.

"Do you have what I need?" Arbia asked, pressing the human into the tree branch. She was shorter than this fully grown man, but she was a trained warrior. He was a meek bookish sort and they both knew he couldn't fight her off. That weakness made Arbia scowl. Perhaps she could appreciate humans who allied with Salroth, but they just struck her as weak. An enemy that stood their ground and fought was a worthy opponent. Opportunistic cowards though? Well her threatening stance made that clear.

"Yes, yes..." the associate of the Templar Magi muttered.
"I have... I have the location of the girl."

"Good because I've been stalking every village in Aviskon and I'm starting to get annoyed she's nowhere to be found."

"She's in Korhal," the man said.
"To the south. In the heartland. It's all I know. All I was told."

"Korhal?" Arbia replied.
"Ok..." she kept her armoured hand pressed against the human's shoulder, keeping him pinned in place as she thought to herself. She'd need to stay off the roads. Keep to the woods and mountains. But if she made good time...

"Can I just said Lady... um... Arkian... that my masters are very grateful that you haven't slaughtered those other villages before the time comes for their plan. We know how tempting bloodshed is for your kind and we wanted to sh..."

"Shut up," Arbia shot back with disdain.
"If I don't find her in Kohal I'll burn those villages down and maybe I'll even come up here to visit you again?"

The man gulped. He'd never met an Arkian before. But the way this one looked at him... like he was a stag and she was a wolf. The inquisitive side of him wanted to ask what the various emblems etched into her armour meant. Tribal emblems? Or her family clan? Research into Arkian social structures was sadly lacking but he got the sense she wasn't in the mood.

"Understood. I promise you, our information is as accurate as we can ascertain given what Lord Salroth's prophet shared with us."

"Good," Arbia pulled her hand away and the man nervously straightened his cloak out and nodded.

"Is there anything else I can do t..."

"You can get out of my way," Arbia muttered.
"I have someone to find."

The man gulped, and watched as the young Arkian woman made her way back into the forests. He could sense he wasn't supposed to follow. So he just... waited until he was sure she wouldn't be coming back, and made his way back to the city.

---

The collar...it was on Arbia's mind even after she had mounted Horsie and began riding south.
It weighed on her. It wasn't tight enough to choke her but tight enough to always remind her it was there. And for an Arkian warrior that was... a heavy burden to be reminded of servitude. Pride chafed against it. More and more... she felt anxiousness rise up in her.

This girl had to die. It would free her of this burden and it would let her be with the one she loved...

And if she had to kill her way through Korhal to do it so be it.

CHAPTER ONE

Arlowyn stepped into her family’s farmhouse and took her place to rest at the table. The sun was already setting outside and she’d just gotten done with a day’s work out in the field with her father. She was her parents’ only child so it fell on her to help her father with the farmwork. She took her simple leather canteen and walked over to one of the barrels she and her family used for storing drinking water. She dipped the leather pouch under the water to fill it with the freshwater, taking a drink after pulling it back up.

Arlowyn’s father, Leufred, walked through the door and moved over to stand by the table, exhausted just like she was but without the youth to counterbalance it. She was younger and could handle the backbreaking work. As time went on, as it did everywhere, her father’s back would increasingly be unable to keep up. But that was a problem for the future to worry about. For now, he toughed it out.

“Another day is done with, no?” Arlowyn’s mother, Murina, looked to her husband and daughter.

Leufred took out his water canteen and took a hearty gulp to refresh himself. “Well the trouble’ll be worth it, I think.”

“Oh?” Murina raised an eyebrow as she laid out rye bread and bowls of pottage to eat with tankards of ale. “I take it the harvest is looking good?”

Leufred nodded as he broke up a piece of bread.
“Oh yes. Arlowyn and I will load everything up in the morning and head out to deliver what portion of the harvest is owed to Lord Sigismund. Then we’ll take what’s left to market. We’ll be able to get it sold off at a good price.”

“Is your father’s plough still holding up, Arlowyn?”
Murina spoke to Arlowyn now, who stepped away from the water barrels and came over to take a seat at the dinner table.

Leufred rolled his eyes, hearing his wife worry over his plough again.
“I’ve told you, Murina–the plough’s fine!” At this, Murina just scoffed. But Leufred insisted.

“Grifo swore up and down about how well he put it together in the workshop, and I believe him. I’ve had it for two years and it’s held up just fine!”

“The last two ploughs you’ve had broke after having them each for two years! Grifo’s a shite craftsman and nothing he makes lasts long!”

Arlowyn chuckled as she took her spoon, pulling some pottage up to her mouth and blowing on it before taking a bite. Leufred and Murina looked over at her, waiting for her answer regarding the state of the farming equipment.

“The plough’s just fine, Mother.” She took her father’s side. He was right that it was holding up, for now at least. But even Arlowyn had to admit that Grifo’s ploughs didn’t have a good record for longevity. Her mother was right in that regard.
“The oxen pull it and it does its job just fine.” Her father smirked. Her mother rolled her eyes.

“Though I will say,” Arlowyn began and her father’s smile faded. “Investing in another new plough soon isn’t a bad idea.”

Leufred shot Arlowyn a look as he was lifting up a bite of pottage with his spoon.
“I’m just saying Mother has a point: Grifo’s not that great a craftsman. Gods know why Lord Sigismund keeps him around, but I do not.”

Leufred sighed, not doing a good job of hiding his frustration.
“Grifo’s plough is holding up just fine, you two,” he stated matter-of-factly. “I think it best that what coin we spend is spent on things we need. A new plough can wait until the one we have now really starts falling apart.”

“I suppose,” Murina sighed. "We need more bread anyway."

Leufred took another spoonful of pottage whilst Murina gathered her own food and took a seat at the table. She always insisted that Leurfred and Arlowyn eat first.

"On that note, how is Miriam?" There was a change in the mood of the room with Leufred's solemn question. Miriam ran the village bakery with her husband, Paul, and their children.

Murina took a drink of her ale.
"She does well, given what happened. My heart aches for her old and weary soul. To lose a child so quickly to such a nasty fever…"
She visibly shuddered. She knew exactly what Miriam was suffering through and yet the thought of a mother burying her child still greatly discomforted her. Some things just aren’t things people can get used to, she reasoned.

“And Paul?”

Murina swallowed a bite of rye bread and took another swig of ale.
“Paul has elected to put his grief into his work. Miriam told me that he’s been far quieter, more soft-spoken with Lexine’s death.”

Leufred glanced down at his bowl of pottage, by now half gone. He stirred it with his spoon as he nodded. Arlowyn, for her part, had more ale. She was her parents’ only child not because she never had siblings, but because none of them were still alive. Even with her parents, it still felt lonely sometimes.

Arlowyn fidgeted with one of the beaded bracelets she wore on her wrist. It was customary in her village for every child in a family who lived to the age of ten to wear a beaded bracelet on either wrist, for each sibling of theirs who died before turning ten; a bracelet on the right for every brother, and a bracelet on the left for every sister. She had three on the right wrist. Two on the left. But these bracelets were her’s alone to bare–that, through living in the beads on their big sister’s wrists, the five souls might still experience the world.

Miriam’s seven-year-old, Lexine, passed from a horrific fever. She still had two sons and a daughter. But her second girl was gone. Her children would now carry on with a lefthanded bracelet, living for their little sister just as Arlowyn would do for all of her siblings.

Arlowyn stood from the table. This talk of a child’s passing, being reminded of her own deceased siblings… it had all stolen away her appetite.

“Thank you, mother, for cooking supper,” she bowed her head a bit to her mother. Murina was concerned, for a moment, as usually Arlowyn never went to bed early after a hard day’s work out in the fields. “May I retire to bed?”

Murina, though, understood. The thinking on death and grief had to have been too much for her daughter’s appetite. She couldn’t blame her.

“You may, dear. Sleep well.”

“Thank you, mother.” Arlowyn stood from the table and went off to her room to prepare for and retire to bed for the night.

Murina waited until her daughter was out of sight before she shot Leufred a look, as he was still eating his rye bread.

“What?” Leufred asked from beneath a mouth full of bread, not seeming to get the memo.

“You needn’t have brought up Lexine’s passing!”

“I didn’t,” Leufred corrected his wife. “I asked you how Miriam and Paul were. You didn’t have to make any mention of Lexine’s death.”

Murina rolled her eyes and the two sat in silence for a moment.

“Well then, I suppose I’ll retire to bed as well.” Murina stood from the table. Leufred nodded as he bit into yet more rye bread. He’d always been a man of great appetite.

---

Arlowyn washed her face and threw on her nightgown. She dowsed a candlelight in her room with her fingers, climbed into bed, and drifted off to sleep.

She opened her eyes then. But she wasn't in her room. Her house. Nor anywhere recognizable. It was this sort of blank white... place. As if it was all snow in every direction.

But there was no snow. It wasn't cold here. It was pure white in all directions, but somehow she didn't instinctively squint her eyes. It didn't feel bright enough to do so.

She still had her nightgown on. But her silvery white hair, strangely, waved as though she were submerged in water.

But there was no water. She could still breathe.

"Arlowyn."

A voice of some kind called her name. It was a man's voice, no doubt, but felt like a chorus of many men's voices speaking in unison. There was a certain feeling when it called her name. It imbued in Arlowyn a sense of awe that was overwhelming in its purity–its divine aura.

"Arlowyn."

It called to her once more. Again, she closed her eyes.

She was back in her bedroom. Or at least whatever part of her hadn't been there. It was morning and the sun had already begun to slowly illuminate the world, casting its light through her window. Arlowyn sat up in her bed and rubbed her eyes.

A weird dream, she thought to herself. What in the hells was in that ale?

She climbed out of bed. She had to get ready to go with her father to morning market.

Arbia was riding Horsie slowly through the woods. She wasn't so much relaxing as eating, tearing the meat off of a roasted rabbit's leg with her teeth.
She'd been driving her poor mount hard as she raced south to Kohal, but she'd slowed down to enjoy her lunch.

She had kept to the backroads and forests, off the main roads. It was essential that she not be spotted by any humans. Her appearance at that inn in the Ux Martivir had started rumours of an Arkian being sighted, but she didn't know if they spread this far south. Either way she would keep her chances to be seen to a minimum.

She was also correlating what that human had told her about this girl living in the "heartland" of Kohal. It fit with what she had seen in her vision from the Prophet of Salroth. She was in a village with mountains in the distance but no coastline.

Arbia was actually certain that she'd crossed into Kohal some time before, though keeping off the main roads made that hard to tell. So she just rode south slowly, tossing the carcass of the rabbit she'd cooked aside. She'd let the meal digest before she took off at full speed again and...

Her violet eyes shot wide open. Her tail, which had been swaying lazily behind her, went stiff. And her hands gripped the reigns tight. She pulled back on them, bringing Horsie to a stop.

Her mouth was agape, her tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth like a predator that had just found its prey... that feeling. She sensed it. After all this time... she felt that essence she'd been searching for. That essence she'd felt in the Prophet of Salroth's vision. It was faint. Faint and still distant... but she felt it. Like the smell of dinner cutting through a spring air. Or the unmistakable call of your name from somewhere in the distance.

This was... this was it. She, for the first time, could feel it. And she'd snuff out this life force and secure a future for her family.

"Go!" she cried out, and she road south with haste, following the aura that called to her.

“The dark master bids thee welcome to his home. What business do you have wizard?”

Galmash stood at the foot of Salroths throne, the wizards from the thirteen realms sent a messenger. The mortal was shaking he was so scared, but that tends to happen when shown the horrors of the Eldritch worlds. The mortal mind, no matter how connected to the magic of the universe can only handle so much.

“Oh dark master, the crows have come back to us. Your Arkian scout has been located, and due to her location we can send our own scouts to find the girl you need not worry yourself…”

Fire, fire sprouted forth from the throne of the Teufelpunkt, the heat of the sun itself seemed to radiate from the singular entity. The Dark Lord had heard enough.

“You, a mortal. A being who has heard of the deeds I have done, one who has accepted my gifts, questions my vision? I have fought wars against GODS! I have laid mortal realms to ash, I have brought once mighty hero’s to their knees, yet a collection of mortals think that they know the best way to kill an enemy. Galmash I must be losing my mind, after 24,000 years of ruling this empire I am incapable of dispatching a talented assassin. Allow me to educate you mortal on what I know.”

Galmash laughed as he banged his staff on the marble floor, in walked two vampires. Their heads bearing the marks where the mask was applied to their faces, The only wound they can never fully heal from, the duo grabbed the wizard and held his head forward to look at the dark lord. At first the wizard felt relaxed, the angelic form of the dark lord made the wizard at ease. Then the armor of Salroth began to turn to smoke and engulf his entire body, what was once an angelic face turned to a swirling mass of smoke and flames. There was no way to pick out the numerous different figures, body parts and faces that could be seen when looking into the mass of whirling smoke and fire.

The wizard began to scream as he looked deeper and deeper into the form that was slowly floating towards him. The light of the room vanished despite the torches being lit, the wizard heard a faint whisper enter his ears and again he was calm. The shadow was gone, and he found himself in a void, a void that despite having nothing in it felt like it was an immeasurably small space. Then in an instant everything happened at once. Several billion years of time happened in an instant, the wizard felt every emotion in an instant as he saw worlds immeasurable. He saw what looked like ships flying in the void between worlds, he saw humans on his own world building the first homes, he even saw a world much like Sorras where men fighting under a purple banner killed their countrymen with firearms that shot incredibly fast. Then it all stopped and shrunk again, with that crunch the wizard felt his mind go with it.

Back in the throne room not even a minute had passed since the wizard was seized by the vampires and Salroth was coming into his angelic form again. He smiled while looking at Galmash.

“I got him with the same trick I used on the dwarf all those years ago.”

He rubbed his wound from that hero, the only wound that the Dark Lord had. But the wizard let out a loud gasp as his head shot back up. The only noise that the man could make was a shriek.

“Send him back to the wizards with a note. Let them know what happens when they question a god.” The Dark Lord said as he stood from his throne.

"You have a lovely family Scratcher."

"You have a lovely family," Scratcher repeated in a way that was both mimicry and a compliment.

"Thank you. My daughter can be very hot headed," Seilg replied.
"But you helped her avoid the Paladins. You have my gratitude."

She sat and ate some stew with Scratcher as his chicks played with their mother.

"Helped get her to Salroth's goals though."

"I can't do anything about that," Seilg replied.
"Arbia, for all her rebelliousness, doesn't know anything else. She needs to learn the truth for herself. At least I was able to give her the freedom to leave Salroth's control if she does."

"Big 'if.'"

"I know but... sometimes we just have trust in things."

"Not sure peasant human can beat Arkian warrior."

"Arbia's trained but she's still young and full of herself like most warriors are at her age. It's strange to say as a mother, Scratcher, but I'm pulling for her worst instincts to get the better of her. Besides.... the human girl isn't just any girl."

"Oh? How."

"I don't know. To be honest I don't know. But Salroth wants a human peasant girl dead? I don't believe that. There's something about her that scares him. And I'm hoping that whatever it is saves her against Arbia."

"But what if it helps her kill Arbia?"

Seilg's expression went worrisome and she looked down at her bowl of stew and sighed.

"We just have to trust in things," she repeated.
Knowing full well her daughter could die.

For the first time… she saw her. Arbia crouched low, in a bush on the edge of the forest. The girl she was sent to kill was there… far away enough that Arbia couldn’t make out much, but she could sense it was her. It was… it was almost like the world was in black and white and this girl that Arbia could only see in the distance tending to farm animals was a blaring, red beacon.

Still, she waited. There were many ways to kill one’s prey. But a good hunter used the fact that her prey didn’t know of her presence to stalk, study, and wait. Arbia was confident in her abilities as a warrior. Especially against peasants like these… but she wouldn’t be foolish. Being rash was an easy way to get a pitchfork stabbed through one’s back, or bludgeoned with a shovel.

Shovels. Pitchforks. Strange things. Made possible by smelting metal. Arbia had a low opinion of how humans lived, ravaging the land rather than living in harmony with it, but she was admittedly a bit envious of how they could shape metal to do their bidding. Unlike Arkians, humans had no natural affinity for fire magic. Yet they made use of it to do these things. And Arkians just… didn’t. She shrugged though. It was fine. Salroth provided them with armour and weapons. And who needed shovels and pitchforks anyway?

As the sun rose in the sky Arbia grew a bit bolder. She’d studied the farmstead in the distance, how the people moved to and fro. She dashed from the safety of her forest to a tree by the farm’s main fields, quickly climbing into its thick leaves, hidden. There she balanced herself on the branches… and watched. Waited. There she was…

For the first time she saw her prey up close. “Arlowyn” according to her mother. She clenched her jaw to keep herself from growling. Her muscles, tense from balancing in the tree, wanted to leap down. Even with no weapons on her, leap down and savagely beat this girl and set her aflame.

But she didn’t. That would be foolish. Leave her exposed. So she waited… getting a good look at her through the leaves in the tree…just waiting. It felt like hours. Holding her position, her heart beating slowly as she controlled her breathing. Even her tail, which usually liked to sway when she let it loose, was still. She just studied Arlowyn… her mind racing about who she was.
She was just… a girl. Her age, but unlike her this Arlowyn was just some peasant. She didn’t seem to be a warrior. Or anything but some girl who knew how to tend to a field or milk some crows. She was the sort of girl that if Arbia were rampaging through this countryside with her people she wouldn’t even see her as someone to waste time killing. Why would Salroth send her HERE? Was her time really best spent here instead of marching with her people’s army?

“Agggh” she cursed under her breath as the chain collar around her neck burned.
“Ok I get it,” she thought to herself. Ember was making a point. Her job wasn’t to understand why, just do. And the pain around her neck subsided.

Arlowyn looked around at her muffled grunt and Arbia’s violet eyes went wide. Had she heard her? She even looked up at the tree… Arbia gripped the branches as tight as she could. She didn’t want to do this now but if she had to…

…and Arlowyn looked away. Arbia’s heart slowed and she waited until she could hop down from the tree undetected. The sun was starting to lower, and she darted back to the woods. She’d gotten up close to her prey. She’d strike soon.

She'd spent the rest of the day watching Arlowyn and her family finish their routine. In some ways it reminded her of her own family. Arlowyn and her parents seemed to love each other.
But… this girl was the one thing that stood in her way. If she killed her she’d be rewarded. Her and Cluaran could settle anywhere and raise their child… the qualms over killing a happy family that was no immediate threat to her were pushed to the back of her head.

Her father had taught her that when stalking prey one had to be cautious. Arbia had trouble with that because she had always been too eager to attack, but here? Now? She would do this properly. Study their routine. Study them… and then strike.

She was leaning against a tree trunk as the the sun began to set when….

“AAAAAAAH!”

Arbia winced in pain. Someone had grabbed her tail! She grit her teeth as her heart raced.

“What's all this then?”

It was a male human voice and Arbia tried to think of how he could have snuck up on her but the pain from being grabbed by her tail…

“Arkian eh? Don't see much ‘o you types! My lucky day it is! Imma cut your tail off I am, ‘less you show me your horse! Good horse’ll go for more than a monkey tail I reckon!”

He was a bandit. Arbia growled even as she whimpered. An Arkian’s tail was quite sensitive… would he cut it off? She shivered at the thought. Horsie had been tethered to a tree with her supplies and armour and weapons deep in the woods…

“I’ll…” her voice was shaking.
“Take you too my horse…but… let go….”

“Ain't no way, lass.”

“Can't move…. too much pain….”

“Just gonna have to find a way youse is!”

Arbia growled, breathing deep. She's trained with the other warriors her age to deal with your tail being grabbed but… well… it was a matter of experience. And she and the other younger warriors still had that sensitivity the older warriors had managed to move past.

Still she slowly began to turn and the bandit pressed a knife to her back as he gripped her tail…

“Jus’ real slowly there…”

Arbia tried to breathe deep… and then…. she had bitten into her tongue to numb the pain in her tail as she swung around, seeing his putrid, filthy face for the first time as she knocked his hand with the knife aside.

“AHHHH!” he screamed as he squeezed her tail.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGG!” Arbia cried out in return as she bared her fangs to him, fighting through the pain as she drove her right fist into his head. The punch knocked loose enough for Arbia to yank her tail away, quickly wrapping it around her waist before kicking him in the gut.

“‘ELP IT’S A WILD MONKEY!” the bandit cried and indeed all this commotion resulted in candle light illuminating most of the farmhouses, even Arlowyn’s.

Arbia gritted her teeth, held her hand out, fingers straight and together like a blade.
“FLAME SWORD!” she called out, manifesting a blazing inferno around her arm, like a blade of fire. She swung once and the fire magic blade cut his head clean off, the fire cauterizing both ends of the wound.

Arbia breathed deep, heart racing as the sound of dogs and humans approached. She picked up the ugly mug of a head and tossed it up into the thick leafy cover of the forest. And she grabbed the decapitated body and hauled it up the tree wedging it between some branches out of sight from the ground before she absconded further up into the canopy of leaves. Watching. Intently.

Her heart was beating in her ear as the humans approached. Arlowyn was not among them. But her father was. With some more human males from the village.

Arbia narrowed her eyes. She wanted to get closer to hear what they were saying. But she wasn't taking chances, staying as high up as she could go and stay covered, propping herself up between two branches.

She thought she heard them mentioning noises but…

Was there anything else? The dogs started barking up at her tree.

“Fuck,” she muttered. The men began looking up, trying to use their candles and tourches to see up.

“Whose idea was it to domesticate a fucking wolf?” Arbia muttered to herself.

“Ok ok ok… this better work…” she thought and…

BOOM

The men all looked back startled. The field that led to the woods… there'd been an explosion! A fireball that scorched the ground! Arbia blew out the smoke rising from her fingertip and, just as the men were all looking that way, kicked the headless body of the bandit out of the tree!

It crashed to the ground with a thud and the men were all startled once more. Arbia used their shock twice over to leap to the next tree, and made her way deep into the forests, not looking back. She could hear the murmur of men behind her as they noticed something jumping through the trees but…

When she finally saw Horsie she hopped down out of the canopy, heart racing and muscles taut as she grabbed one of the saex blades strapped to him, ready for a fight as she growled. Baring her teeth to anyone who might come… but… after a while… no one did.

Soon her ready stance loosened… and then… she dropped the weapon and looked over at Horsie.

“They didn't follow me…”

Horsie looked back. Stoically.

“...cause they're afraid!” Arbia declared. She dropped to her knees in relief and began to laugh. Laughing into the night.

Arlowyn pulled herself out of bed and threw on a set of clothes appropriate for fieldwork. She left her room, not really noticing her parents or their faces; a mixture of shock, disbelief, and relief at seeing their daughter.

Her mother spoke just as she was about to head out the door, catching Arlowyn in her tracks.
“Where were you?!”

Arlowyn furrowed her silvery-white brows in confusion. She had that weird dream, sure, but she hadn’t physically snuck out into the woods in the middle of the night. As far as she’d ever known, she wasn’t the type to sleepwalk.

“What do you mean, mother?”

Leufred stamped over. Got in his only daughter’s face. He was visibly infuriated. He hid the fear and relief inside well, though. At least from Arlowyn, to whom none of her parents’ behavior made any sense.
“Where! Were! You?!” He bellowed his wife’s question, jabbing his pointer finger into Arlowyn’s shoulder with every word.
“There was a madman yelling in the woods last night before an explosion went off on the other side of the field! Woke everybody up! Your mother came into your room to check on you and you weren’t there! We’ve—”
He choked on his words.

“Everyone’s been looking for you for hours! Scouring the surrounding woods and fields! Nobody found anything, and then you just waltz right out of your room! As if nothing had happened!”

Arlowyn’s confusion only intensified, but Leufred grabbed his daughter by her broad shoulders and shook her a bit.

“We thought you were dead!”

Arlowyn opened her mouth to say something—to explain the dream she’d had—when one of the townsfolk burst through the door. It was Ragnfred, one of the other farmers living on the local lord’s land.

“Leufred, we’ve—”

At that moment, Ragnfred saw Arlowyn alive, present, and well. His eyes went wide. He looked as though he was about to freak out and start shouting, just as Arlowyn’s parents had done. Instead, he sighed, trying to put the pointlessness of the hunt for Leufred’s daughter, and turned to him.

“Leufred, we weren’t able to track that… thing we saw last night. Whoever or whatever was up in the trees—they’re gone!”

Leufred let go of Arlowyn, who was at a loss for words at this flood of information. He sighed.
“Go tell Steward Otker. I’ll be taking our harvest to the manor soon.”

Ragnfred nodded and left. Arlowyn looked back to her father.
“Father, what’s going on?!” Leufred had tried to explain it to her amidst his ire, but there was so much information flooding in all at once that Arlowyn was struggling to understand the events of last night—which she had somehow been absent for. The only logical conclusion she could make was that her apparent missing was tied to that dream of hers. The white, empty space. The voice that knew her name…

Arlowyn’s mother had sat herself in one of the chairs by the dining table—moreso a bench and attached seating. Her face was buried in her palms, sobbing. Leufred crossed his arms, frustrated. He relaxed, though, or at least tried to; reaching out a hand and resting it on his daughter’s shoulder.

“Look,” he’d calmed down now. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
Leufred wore a gentle smile, patting his daughter on the shoulder. Murina finally pulled her head out of her hands and looked over, a face of tears.

“Where did you go, Arlowyn? You had us worried sick.”

Arlowyn opened her mouth to speak and explain the dream. Then she paused. Hesitated. Would they understand? She asked herself a question she couldn’t really answer. She had to. If word got out, would people call me a witch?

Leufred spoke before she could, though. He turned and looked at Murina.
“That doesn’t matter right now,” he turned back to Arlowyn. “She’s back, she’s safe, and she’s got to help me with the harvest. We’re due to bring the crop tax to the manor before the bailiff starts a fuss.”

Leufred moved to the doorway, stopping just short of the outside world beyond before he turned back to Arlowyn.

“Coming?”

“Yeah, coming.”
Arlowyn walked over to Murina and gave her mother a peck on the cheek before she followed her father outside, into the warm daylight of an early autumn’s morning.

---

Leufred and Arlowyn gathered the harvest and packed it into the horse-drawn cart to set off toward the lord’s manor which formed the heart of the village. Leufred yawned as he whipped the reins, commanding the horses to make for the dirt path leading away from the farm. As usual, with every harvest, most of the season’s yield was given to the lord at his estate, and whatever was left went to the market to make a coin or the family kept it for their own sustenance. But that usually wasn’t much.

Leufred and Arlowyn sat beside each other in the seat of the cart. The ride toward the lord’s house wasn’t bumpy or unpleasant. It just took a while to make the trip. Birds chirped and flew about. The morning sunlight glistened off the morning dew that had graced the grass. There were the consistent, though by no means disruptive, sounds of horses’ hooves and the cart’s wheels walking and turning on the dirt-and-gravel road that led into town. Arlowyn stretched her jaw in a yawn. She knew she’d slept but she didn’t feel very well rested.

Murina would have, by now, collected herself and gotten to work by the time father and daughter set off for the manor—milking the cattle, feeding the chickens and pigs, churning butter, washing clothes, and other such tasks she had performed daily for years. No one could afford to just sit around and do nothing—everyone had to play their part. Ragnfred, his family, and the other farming serf families were already awake and immersed in the labors of their strips of the farmland. As Leufred and Arlowyn slowly trotted along toward the lord’s house, the older teenagers were helping their parents in the fields or barns or pens, whilst those too young to work frolicked, giggled, and played.

Arlowyn envied them, looking down at the beads around her wrists. She could have had siblings to play with growing up—hide-and-seek or foot races or exploring the woods, maybe. But the Gods had bereft her of these things. Still, though, she wished to have enjoyed their company longer before they were taken by the diseases that plague and often claim the very young.

But she had survived early childhood. Now she would be their eyes and ears into the world they had been ripped out of.

Arlowyn rubbed her eyes. Last night was… odd. She had fallen asleep and was met with the strangest dream. That in itself stood out to her. She never dreamed in her sleep. Or, at least, she never remembered any of her dreams. She tried to take her mind off of it; to chop it all up to something strange in the food or ale she had the previous night. But the dream… it lingered in the back of her mind, taunting her thoughts.

That dream—it had stuck with her. It didn’t feel like what she thought dreams were supposed to feel like—sort of a daze where she’d be only half-aware of it and forget about it upon waking. No, it felt like it had been real. As if she had been taken somewhere else by someone or something that knew her name.

That her name had been called out in her dream was strange to her. She could still hear it playing back in her head, over and over.

“Arlowyn.”
“Arlowyn.”

It said her name twice last night before she woke up just a few hours ago. The voice itself was undoubtedly masculine, but it had many dimensions to it. Arlowyn could pick out the different ones that made up the larger whole. Some sounded young. Some sounded older. But they all spoke as one, echoing off each other.

“Arlowyn.”
“Arlowyn.”

Her mind played the voice calling her name, again and again. She wasn’t aware she’d begun to mumble to herself, as her senses and awareness faded or drifted away from her present body.

“Find it… find it…”
“In the mountains to… the east…”
“It was left there… find it… find it…”

“HEY!”
Leufred nudged Arlowyn with his elbow. Hard. It forced her back into reality. She rubbed her eyes again. Leufred raised an eyebrow.

“Are you alright, Arlowyn?”

Arlowyn looked at her father, who himself looked genuinely concerned now. He sighed, as he was one to do before he got serious.
“Listen, if something’s up you need to tell me or your mother. First you vanish, then you just reappear, and now you’re mumbling and whispering and carrying on to yourself.”

He adjusted his position in the cart seat.
“I don’t know what kind of magic you’re playing with, girl, but I’d just be careful—you know what happens when the Templar Magi find women playing with magic, don'tcha?”

Arlowyn grit her teeth at the thought. She’d heard the stories of women trying to learn magic elsewhere, how the Templars caught them. Bound them. Burned them. Women were forbidden to learn magic and punished harshly for trying.

But she hadn’t practiced magic. That dream, that place she was pulled to, that wasn’t her doing. Something did it to her. But Arlowyn wasn’t wholly convinced that it’d be believable. That it’d save her from a witch’s fate.

For now, though, Leufred and Arlowyn rode along toward the manor. The path they traveled brought them within a few yards of the tree line. The greenery glistened with sunlight off the dew.

Arlowyn had lived in this area her whole nineteen years. But for the first time, something felt… off about those woods. She didn’t quite know how to describe it or put it to words. Was something watching them go along? Watching her?

She felt like there was someone or something out there. Ragnfred had mentioned seeing something move around in the trees last night. Arlowyn felt anxious. Paranoid, even. After all these weird happenings, she couldn’t help but feel on edge.

Father and daughter, a duo of horses, and a cart full of wheat and carrot and cabbage made their way along the dirt and gravel road. The world seemed as normal as usual. But still, Arlowyn had her suspicions.

Massive ships crash ashore as the Dark Forces of Salroth land. What seemed like an endless tide of Demons, Arkians, and Humans came ashore and started to muster. They would not make camp here though, after the several hours of mustering to banners the force began to move inland. It made for the regional population centers, smaller units began to break off they would be the eyes and ears of this army but they also had another mission. They were to escort demons that were skilled in shapeshifting to the holds of all the thirteen lords and these demons would deliver the promises of Salroth. These lords could receive anything their heart desired all they needed to do was bend the knee.

The army was not a mix of colors, as you may see in other realms, the mass was a black mob with streaks of red that was, except for the Arkians. The force looked like a snake that stretched into the distance, an organism made up of smaller pieces. The blocks of infantry only broken by siege engines, the creation from Salroth's art lab. Massive machines with the goal of destroying any and all walls that get in the way of this Dark Host, the Prophet of Salroth stood on an adjacent hill giving sermons. His voice was always loud but it never seemed like it was a yell.

"Rejoice for you are the instruments of our Dark Master, these thirteen realms are made up of the Humans that abandoned or rejected the Dark Lords gifts and promises. If not cast down these humans would look to subjugate all of us under their feeble kings! Our king, the king of kings, our Master Salroth the Great gives us the choice of submission. The God of Choice, the God of free will. His turn from the old man ensured that all beings on Sorras would keep their free will! Rejoice in carrying out the goals of the Master of Freedom, soon we will wet our blades in the blood of those who would seek to make you all slaves! Fear not for their armies for you are the mightiest force on the planet and will bring victory no matter the cost!"

Von Der Drachen stood under a shaded area watching his army begin to move, it was a black mass moving in a singular direction the military discipline on display would make the empires of old shutter. Drachen had seen these empires rise and fall, his long life being one of Salroth's first gifts. He never minded not going in the sun, eternal life and immense power would allow him so much more than a day in the sun could. He thought back to that stone mask and the day it all changed, he thought back to the previous invasions of these lands. Finally he thought of the damned Arkians, these creatures were a troublesome one and he didn't like that Lord Salroth decided to send one of them when his squadron of Vampires could get the job done just as well. His thoughts kept getting interrupted with the Prophets sermon, Von Drachen never liked the Demons. Vampires and humans had something in common, they all started as mortals, but Demons were devoid of any free will. Demons were nothing more than a tool made by Salroth to carry out his will, Drachen hated when they would stare they are incapable of any meaningful conversation so they would just look and respond in seemingly programed ways.

"Lord Drachen, Galmash is here. He is demanding a report." A demon bowed as it spoke to the Vampire.

"Very well then." Drachen turned and the Demon Prince was there.

"Lord Galmash, I was just making sure the muster would go according to plan." Von Drachen always hated seeing Demons appear out of no where, all these years and they still startled him.

"Our Master is confident in your ability, but he is demanding that the first cities be spared of destruction. He would like to lure these humans into a sense of security, control your forces when they take these cities. Our Master's plan must succeed." Galmash began to turn away.

"Lord Galmash, why do you not stay with the army? Your skills with magic are unmatched save for our Master himself." Von Drachen said.

"I would love to, but I am needed back at the Teufelpunkt. We are planning the next steps, as the second in command I need to be ready if our Master decided to leave the fort." Galmash said and began his spell to teleport away.

Von Drachen turned back around, he began to speak to three figures standing menacingly in the shadows.

"I have a mission for you, find the human girl. Kill her before the Arkian does, if she gets in your way end her." Von Drachen said as he signaled for the demon mages to cast a spell that would block out the sun where the army went.

The Vampire Lord mounted his horse and followed his army. He was confident that his trackers, despite not having the gift that the Arkain has, would be more than capable of finding and killing the human before the monkey could.

Arbia bit roasted quail from the bone, raising an eyebrow as she plucked feathers from the carcass she'd missed when she first roasted it with a fireball. She'd been watching Arlowyn for two days now. Going over her and her parents routines in her head. And the routines of the other villagers who visited the house. She was tense because the time to act was approaching. She knew just how to do it too. There was a precious moment near twilight when Arlowyn was alone. One swing of one of Arbia's blades and she'd have a head to present to Salroth, and the darkness of night to cover her escape from this village. The place bothered her. It was so.... civilized. It reminded her of the Shrumish human village she'd been tasked with watching three years ago.

But as close as the time to act was it wasn't yet. Tomorrow evening would be when...

"You're dallying."

"Fuck off Ember."

"Is that an invitation?"

Arbia rolled her eyes and leaned against the tree trunk as she ate more quail meat off the bone as she watched Arlowyn's house.

"You wanted..." she said with her mouth full before swallowing and then licking her fingers before tossing the picked clean bone aside.
"An Arkian assassin, you'll get Arkian hunting techniques."

Ember chuckled and walked in front of Arbia and pressed her finger against the Arkian girl's forehead. The touch... and the glimmer of Ember's golden hair in the setting sun's dying light was mesmerizing for a moment.

"I can read your mind. I know you've never been one for your father's lessons of patience while on a hunt. Why now?"

"I thought you could read my mind?" Arbia asked with a smirk as she managed to pull her attention away from the feelings the demoness arose in her.

Ember growled at this primitive, one of her Master's pet monkeys, getting the better of her.
"When I say I can read minds I sense most things. But sometimes smaller details elude me. So humour me."

"This is important," Arbia said, going from relaxed against the tree trunk to standing firm and pressing her forehead against Ember's finger, almost like a challenge.

"You know I want to kill her, you know I want what Salroth promised me. But it's important," she repeated.
"So yeah I'm actually gonna listen to father's advice on this one. Understand?"

Ember was taken aback. Arkians were headstrong, especially the warriors. Especially the young warriors. But she'd thought her seductions and the collar had tamed her enough. But apparently not.

She lowered her finger.

"No need to get all aggressive on me. I'd normally let you spend your sweet time, but time itself is of the essence. Salroth's armies, including your own, have landed. Lord Salroth wants the girl dead while this war is still young."

That made Arbia gulp and nod. If Salroth had landed then...

..."ok I'll kill her. Now. But I need to know. Why?"

"It's not for you to know why."

"Listen Ember..."

"No you listen you upstart monkey you..."

"NO! QUIET!" Arbia growled, baring her teeth. And then she smirked.
"Make the collar burn hotter Ember. I don't think I'm feeling it quite yet."

Ember wrinkled her nose. Arbia was getting used to the pain. So she got rid of it, for now.

"My people fought and died for our master and are ready to do it again, so no more 'monkey' talk you hear me?"

Ember rolled her eyes but nodded.
"Fine."

"I've travelled all this way to kill this girl and what do I find? Some peasant bitch. If she was an Arkian she wouldn't even volunteer for the warrior trials. She'd pick berries or heal or help raise children and be happy for it! She's... she's just... nothing! Why does Salroth want me to kill her!"

"The world is more complicated then you know in your wooded realm, Arbia," Ember said seriously.
"The universe itself is vast an unknowable. A butterfly flaps its wings on the other side of the world and empires here rise and fall because of it. Salroth's prophets have their visions. I don't know them. But this girl has to die. So you want me to take you seriously, Arbia of the Westlands? Fine. You need to murder that girl because it has to happen for Salroth to win. So your people can live free of human domination. You want that for them right? For your child, right?" Ember looked down at Arbia's stomach.

Arbia blushed a bit and nodded.
"Go wherever you go when you're not with me. I'll kill her tonight."

"Our master will be very... proud... of you."

Arbia watched as Ember vanished into smoke and once the last strands of it evaporated Arbia turned and sprinted through the woods, jumping over logs and streams and grabbing onto branches to swing when needed, finally arriving at Horsie.

"Good news," Arbia said as she ran up, her heart racing.
"We're going a day early. Which means you won't have to be tied up here as long."

Arbia stroked his mane once before she unstrapped her armour and weapons from him. Dull grey, almost black, plate metal covered in metallic spikes, pauldrons, hip skit pieces, gauntlets, wrist guards, boots to replace her bear skin ones, all over the rest of her bearskin outfit. She tied the dyed red headband around her head to keep some of her wild black bangs out of her eyes, wrapped her tail tightly around her waist, and sheathed the two saex blades behind her back.

Weapons and armour made in Salroth's forges. What her people couldn't make, he provided. It was heavy enough that her quick dash through the forest wouldn't be repeatable but that was fine.

"Stay put," she said softly to Horsie, making her way back towards Arlowyn's village. The dead leaves and twigs snapping under her plate armoured boots.

---

Arbia paused just long enough at the edge of the woods to see where everyone was. And as luck would have it only a single glimmer of candlelight was flickering in Arlowyn's home. Her room. Her parents must be elsewhere.

So she marched. Out of the forests towards Arlowyn's home. And as she got closer... as the sun began to set... she grabbed one of the blades from behind her back.

And was ready to do the deed.

The city of Tulla stood in front of the Host of Salroth, the human settlements walls stood high with walls of stone. The Demon host began to fan out and form siege lines, the tens of thousands of Demons, Humans and Arkians looked like a black wave that spread over the land. They dug trenches which caused the land to look like a perverted mockery of the once beautiful fields that spread across the landscape, trees were felled and the landscaper resembled that of Schattenreich.

On the walls the soldiers of the city watched the city become ringed by the black ocean, the once sunny day became dark and cloudy a storm seemed follow the host. Theodoric stood there shivering at the fear that overcame him, the waiting started. The Demons started to roll out their siege works, massive iron barrels were wheeled forward Theodoric was puzzled. He had seen the siege works of the other lords of the Thirteen realms, Tulla had been under siege before but there had never been a wave of forces like this.

Suddenly a voice seemed to come out of the horde, it was loud but not a yell.

"Humans of the city of Tulla, your salvation is at hand. My Master Salroth has deemed your city worthy of liberation. Your lords have taken your wealth and used it to fatten themselves, Salroth does not wish for these things. Salroth has no desire for wealth, he has no desire for you to die. Salroth only demands your worship, forgo the gods that allowed damnation to approach and be spared by the true lord of choice. If you show us your submission, even if your lords deny us, raise a black banner over the cathedral. We will spare your lives and only kill those that defy us."

Theodoric looked behind him as the citizens of the town began to rush towards the cathedral, fear seemed to wave through the population. There were guards in the streets trying to hold back the tide of peasants but it was no use. Then the lord of the town ordered the guards to start killing those who tried to betray the duchy. fighting started to take place in the city, citizens broke through and started to raise a black banner over the cathedral. A horn rang out from the Demon lines and the horde began to lurch forward.

Loud thunder came from the iron barrels and fire spewed forth, in what seemed like an instant the walls began to be struck with a projectile that caused the stone protecting the city to splinter like wood. The once sturdy walls began to shake, the guards fell down or stumbled where they stood. They were ordered to return fire, the defenders stood and knocked arrows they let loose in one grouping. The hundreds of arrows hit the attackers, the front line fell but the wave was not stopped. The Attackers climbed over their fallen comrades, the defenders prepared to fire again but another volley from the siege engines fired it was another loud thunder and the walls shook furiously again. Holes punched through the walls, the defenders fear was so thick that you could cut it with a sword.

The defenders let loose another volley and before they could prepare another one ladders began to slam onto the walls. Arkians and demons began to flood over and through the walls, where the holes were larger demons the height of houses began to pour into the streets. Theodoric was face to face with a demon, its armor and horns made it look like it could have thrown the man across the city. The demon swung first, his strike clashed with the humans blade. Theodoric's arm shook with the strength of the strike, he backed up and prepared for the next one. The demon raised his blade and Theodoric saw his opening, the human stabbed at his enemy. The demon let out a horrible screech as it died, Theodoric looked around and saw his allies laying dead around him. The fighting was quick and it was bloody, but not for the attackers the demons and Arkains were cutting a bloody swath on their way to the keep. Theodoric was knocked to the ground, a demon grabbed him and brought him over with a number of the surviving guards. At the beginning of the battle the city had over 300 defenders ready to defend their home, now at the end there were only twenty defenders remaining.

Theodoric was forced to look up in horror as he saw the demonic army brought him and his fellow defenders to the keep. The walls were a good distance from the keep, the Lord of the Duchy would not surrender the keep, the Arkians were at the gate with a large demon who was pounding on the door. The forces of Salroth banged on the door, over and over until finally the Prophet of Salroth walked up to the keeps wall. He looked at the tower that he suspected the Duke would be in.

The Prophet spoke again, his voice was again loud yet not a yell.

"Warriors in the keep, you need not fight any longer. The people of the town surrendered to us, the walls have fallen and all that remains is the keep. There is no one going to come and save you, now is your chance. Open the gates and we will only kill the Lord of this duchy, keep fighting and we will kill these prisoners and all of you when we break in. The choice is yours, the God of Choice is awaiting you."

Theodoric was kneeling shaking, he did not want to die and the decision was left up to the defenders of the keep. These were elite guard who have devoted their lives to the art of combat, years if not decades of training in swordsmanship. These men would surely not want to surrender their stations, Theodoric did not want to die.

Then the doors to the keep opened up, the guards brought the lord of the Keep to the Prophet of Salroth in chains. He was gagged, but the look of fear was in his face. The guards threw him to the ground and the Prophet walked over to him, his movements were more floaty than a walk. The Prophet seemed to glide through the air, The Prophet stood over the bound man and for a moment they just stared at each other. Then the bound man started screaming into his gag, he was writhing on the ground until he suddenly and violently stopped.

The dark voice rang out once more.

"People of Tulla rejoice for the Lord of Choice has liberated you. Our armies will be on our way now."

Theodoric was stripped of his armor and weapons and let go, a few humans from Salroths army stayed behind as a garrison. As quickly as the demonic army came, it left.

The sun cast its radiant orange light unto the countryside as it inched toward the horizon while the darkened silhouettes of the forest stood in stark contrast to that descending heavenly flame. The leaves gently danced to their own rustling tune as a light, chilly breeze came in and went on its way.

Arlowyn was busy in the stables with the horses, fastening a saddle and some supplies to one of them. She was about done.

For two days, Arlowyn had felt watched. Stalked by someone or something out there. She felt it in the fields. She felt it in the animal pens. By the Gods, she felt it in her own home. She even felt it here, in the stables with the horses. Someone was out there, in the woods probably. Someone bad, looking for her. She didn’t feel safe here anymore. She wasn’t sure she could feel safe anywhere.

The voice continued speaking to her in her sleep. And sometimes, when she was helping Leufred in the fields or Murina in the pens for the pigs and hens, she could see someone out of the corner of her eye. It was like a man in pearly-white robes, whose skin glistened like gold even in the dark evenings and early mornings. The golden man would whisper her name from behind a tree,
“Arlowyn.”
“Arlowyn.”
And disappear. Again and again, he did this for two days. Leufred had started to notice it when they had gone to deliver the harvest to the bailiff. Murina had first noticed her daughter staring off into the distance that afternoon when the two of them were attending to the animals. And atop Arlowyn’s physical disappearance that night? They knew now, something was going on with her.

Last night saw another of Arlowyn’s dreams. The golden man appeared in her dream and told her to go. He showed her a vision—the towering peaks of the great Aggetine Mountains to the east; and a sword, deep into the Aggetine caves.

The golden man had imbued her with her purpose.
Find the sword.
Find the sword.
Find the sword.

Arlowyn’s preparations were complete. She had the saddle fixed onto the horse, with provisions and supplies to boot. She was about to climb onto the horse and take off when—

“What are you doing?”

Leufred’s stern tone broke the silence. Arlowyn whirled, looking behind her to see her mother and father. Standing there, looking on at her.

Arlowyn opened her mouth to explain—
Leufred stepped up to start taking the saddle off the horse. Arlowyn, thinking quickly, tried to intervene. The two wrestled there for a moment—Leufred trying to push to the saddle while Arlowyn tried to keep him away.

“You’re not taking this horse out,” Leufred stated in a raised tone. “I don’t know where you think you’re going, Arlo, but this trip of yours is over!”

Arlowyn put all of her strength into keeping her father back from the saddle and the horse. But it wasn’t working. He was bigger. Stronger. He was pushing her back. Then he shoved her aside and grabbed hold of the saddle, beginning to untie it from the horse.

“Leufred, wait! Let’s just let her explain herself before we jump to conclusions!”
Leufred didn’t listen. Murina stamped over and tried to calm him down. To no avail.

“Murina, something weird is going on with our daughter!” He bellowed.
“I don’t know what it is, but I want answers! And to get them, Arlo has to stay here!”

Arlowyn, though, thinking quickly grabbed a shovel in her hands and just swung it, hitting Leufred in his back with the shovel’s underside. It was enough to knock him down. Arlowyn jumped at the opportunity and climbed up onto the horse, whipped the reins, and bolted for the road leading out of town, to the east and the Aggetine Mountains.

“ARLOWYN!”
Her mother called out. Half angry, half distressed as she tended to Leufred who groaned in pain as he lay on the muck and dirt of the ground.
“ARLOWYYYN!!!!”

Arlowyn, though, had sped away along the eastern road and into the night sky glistening with stars. She could explain herself when she had obtained the sword—when she had fulfilled that purpose given to her by the golden man. Tears started building in her eyes over what she’d done, how she couldn’t explain. She held them down and away, and rode along. She could apologize and explain when she returned.

---

Murina carried Leufred through the front door of their home, which had already been open when they went to the stables. Away she carried her husband, not to their own room, but to Arlowyn’s. It was dark outside, now. Murina laid her spouse upon her daughter’s bed gently, minding his back and it being the source of his suffering. She moved over to a nearby stool, sat down, and buried her face in her hands. Arlowyn’s room was illuminated by the silent flame of a candle.

“Why?” Leufred managed to speak, amidst the groans of pain. “Why would she do that?!”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Murina’s muffled distress was barely intelligible from behind her hands. “She’s been acting so strange these past couple days! Then she disappears to the stables to prep a horse and hits you with a shovel! I don’t know what’s happening Leufred! Something’s going on with her!”

Leufred lay there for a moment, breathing raggedly. Murina wept quietly, in her hands. Then she rose to her feet, moving to leave the room.
“Hold on, my love—I think we might have a healing potion or two here somewhere.”

Leufred nodded, wincing at the pain in his back.

---

Arbia marched towards the house as the sun began to dip below the treeline. She somewhat worried someone would see her, but she marched with determination. She’d do the deed and flee with the girl’s head to present Salroth. Done, easy.

The armour weighed on her. It took away some of her agility but it also made her feel… unstoppable. The grass crunched under her plate-armoured feet and she approached the back end of the house. The window she knew was Arlowyn’s. Wrinkling her nose at the glass she extended an arm out and held her palm up. She gripped her wrist with her other hand and concentrated.

“Torrent strike,” she muttered and a powerful gust of wind shot from her palm, shattering the glass. Instantly she slept on the windowsill and into the room, drawing both blades, growling as she looked around and… nothing.

The room was empty. Just a bed, a table, a chair, and a candle, slowly burning down. Arbia’s head dashed side to side. This was her room! She knew it had been because she’d spied on her through this exact window! Yet the room was not large or complicated. Arlowlyn was nowhere.

Arbia growled and sheathed her swords behind her back and tossed the mattress of the bed aside. No one was hiding beneath the bedframe.

And in a moment of frustration… the key to everything she ever wanted gone…she forgot her desire to be stealthy and cried out in a feral anger.

She stopped herself though, hearing voices. She’d gotten someone’s attention. And, filled with hope that she’d get her prey after all, drew one sword and as soon as the door opened, she grit her teeth and drove the blade through the person who opened the door.

“Arlo…”

Murina gasped as the sword pierced her gut. Her expression was one of hope that her daughter had returned to pain and fear as she gasped, only holding back from screaming from the shock and pain. She looked at this Arkian… she had never seen one herself… staring back at her.

Arbia felt her heart race. This wasn’t who she was supposed to kill. And as she told Ember… these people would hardly be worth the time to kill if she was with an army moving through. But…call it a combination of Arkian battlelust and frustration at being denied her prize…Arbia drove the sword deeper.

“Where’s Arlowyn?” she growled. Murina looked at her assailant, wide eyed, and gasped before calling out “Leufred…” meekly. Arbia pulled her sword from her victim and pushed her over, emerging from Arlowyn’s room as Leufred, rubbing the back of his head, emerged from the other room in the house.

“Murina…oh gods!” he cried out. Looking at Arbia with a mix of fear and anger. He looked back at her and then his wife, bleeding out on the floor, to a club by the door to the house, used to bash coyotes who got too close to the fields. He hesitated before running to it but Arbia shoulder checked him and he collapsed against the ground, the spikes in her shoulder pauldrons piercing his torso.

“WHERE’S ARLOWYN?” Arbia demanded, but Leufred looked up… in pain… but… defiant.

“She’s not here… and you’ll never find her.”

“You don’t know who I am,” Arbia smirked.

“The legions of Salroth… Leufred muttered.
“Will never…” he coughed up blood, and Arbia, her heart racing, and her anger growing at the denial of her prize, brought her sword down and severed his head from his body.

She looked back at Murina and growled. She was still, in a growing pool of blood. She turned, kicked the door out from the inside, and left the house before tossing a fireball back at it…

The small town, which had begun to drift into the sleepiness of the early evening, was caught off guard as one of the homes burst into flames. Panicked townsfolk all looked on… panic turning to dread when they saw an Arkian warrior emerge from the dwelling.

No Arkian had been seen here in three hundred years, but between the brutal armour forged in Salroth’s domain, the wild hair, and the tail wrapped like a furry belt around her waist… there was no mistaking her.

Arbia’s violet eyes dashed back and forth as she studied the shocked villagers.

“THERE’S A GIRL NAMED ARLOWLYN! SHE LIVED HERE! TELL ME WHERE SHE IS AND YOU’LL LIVE!”

Arbia tried to stay collected, but she was panicked. She had the innate ability to track souls. It was how she found Arlowyn in the first place. And as early as this afternoon she had felt Arlowyn’s presence on her homestead and farm.
But now… now she felt her, somewhere. In the mountains to the east perhaps? But it wasn’t clear. There was something…like fog on a window…obscuring it. It was a feeling Arbia had never felt before and the panic that she’d lost her prize only fed her battlelust and anger.

No one answered. So Arbia approached a man who was still staring in shock.

“Where’s Arlowyn?”

Ragnfred said nothing but looked at Arbia and shook his head, before he looked down. He was muttering something…something Arbia recognized after a moment as prayer. She drove her sword through his stomach.

“ANYONE ELSE?”

Villagers panicked. Men, women, children… they all ran and Arbia tossed fireballs after the fleeing peasants. Some were struck in the back, falling to the ground as they burned alive, as Arbia then threw fire at the homes and buildings of the village.

“WHERE ARE YOU ARLOWYN?” she cried out as she burned a path of destruction through the village.

“AYE!”

Arbia turned around. A human male wearing leather armour, with a patch that had the emblem of the Duchy of Korhal.
“AYE YOU VILE BEAST!” he called out again.

Arbia looked at him and cocked her head.
“ARE YOU WHAT THIS TOWN HAS FOR A DEFENDER?”

“In… in the name of the Duke of Korhal, in the name of the gods I…” he stammered before Arbia charged him.

The footman to his credit drew his sword quickly, his longsword clashing with Arbia’s twin seax blades. He was shaking… clearly someone who had never seen actual combat before. But whereas Arbia could see him trembling as their blades clashed, he could see her, smirking. She pushed back and he swung again, Arbia able to parry easily enough, staying on the balls of her feet as she danced around him, leaping under or over his blade as he swung. It took him a while to realize… she was toying with him.

“You’re the closest thing this rat’s nest has to a challenge,” Arbia smirked.

“DIE MONKEY,” the footman yelled, charging before she crossed her blades, deflected his blow, and drove one into his side. She parried and pulled the blade from his ribcage before kicking him in the back and toppling him over.

Arbia gritted her teeth though, as a mob of men, all with farming tools, had gathered to confront her. She kicked the longsword out of the gasping hand of the footman and looked with grim determination as she marched towards the mob.

And one by one cut them down. The peasants and their farming implements no match for a trained and armed Arkian warrior.

And as the last one fell, the shovel dropping from his hand as the town burned to ash around them, through it all… Arbia felt something.

They said Arkians were a warrior race. And the focus, the rush of battle, even against unarmed peasants, it focused Arbia’s mind. And as the last of her would-be challengers dropped to his knees and the fires burned Arbia felt Arlowyn’s soul. Her focus had cut through whatever had been fogging her up.

And, unconcerned with the cries of children around her, Arbia marched off towards the mountains in the East. Where she felt Arlowyn’s soul.

---

Arlowyn galloped through the woods. She had, by now, been off the main road for some time. The woods were dangerous at night, but she didn’t have much of a choice. She could rest in the next tavern she found, for a few hours perhaps. But she had to keep moving.

Sorras’ dual moons—known in Korhal as Argen and Ayuanar—were ascendant in the sky and cast their luminescence upon the countryside below, which itself played host to the chirping choirs of crickets and the buzzing of other bugs. Twigs and leaves cracked and crunched beneath the horse’s hooves. It was cold at this late hour.

Arlowyn was tired. She wanted so desperately to stop, build a fire, and rest—get a few hours of sleep and have a bite or two of the food she had brought with her. But deep down, in her gut, she knew she had to keep going. At least until she reached the next town and its inn. She had some coin with which she could buy a room and more supplies. It’d be enough.

But she knew they were somewhere out there. That something—or, someone—looking for her.

When I find this sword and get back home, Arlowyn resolved in her mind, weary from the trip, cold and tired atop a horse in the autumn night. I’m getting mother and father out of there and we’re heading for the Imperial City.

Something was wrong—very wrong in the world now. She could feel it. And yet, deep down, she had some ominous sense that being rid of it wouldn’t be so easy as packing up and moving away from home.

---

OOC: Post written in collaboration with @Prydania

The Three Vampires began to hear whispers of an Arkian attack to the north. At night they could move at such a rapid pace that it was like they were sailing the winds themselves, superhuman speeds reflexes and hearing allowed the hunters to quickly gain on their prey. The trio came upon a town that had been burned, and the vampires could smell day old blood, they walked to the center of the town where a man in leather armor stood. The massive frame of the three vampires dwarfed anything man that had ever been through the whole duchy.

"You three there, state ye business or leave. This is an active investigation."

The three Vampires paid no attention to the guard, they continued on their way and the human man got annoyed at their indifference.

"Aye, yous boys best be leaving."

The guard tried to grab the middle vampire on his left shoulder. The middle Vampire grabbed the mans throat and lifted him off the ground, they met eyes and the man began to tell the Vampires everything that he knew.

"Yesterday A girl ran away from home, then an Arkian came through looking for her, damn near killed everyone in the town. Survivors petitioned the duke to send help and now about twenty guards and I are here." The guard said as the Vampire put him back on the ground.

"What should we do about the monkey girls mistake?" The Vampire in the back said, in a menacing pose.

"This town would take an instant to wipe off the map, maybe we should kill everyone so there are no witnesses." The Vampire who was standing above the guard said.

"No, leave them all alive and move on our way. The monkey blew the cover of the invasion, let the humans think that there may have been a mistake. Tell that guard that there are looters in the region who did this, send the locals on a goose chase." The last Vampire said, he was posing on the roof of a nearby house.

The vampire again grabbed the guard, using the same hypnotic trick on him.

"There was no Arkian, you did not see any Vampires, looters attacked this town. Now tell me, where did the Arkian girl go?" The Vampire said.

"She went that way." The guard pointed as he managed to get the words out.

Arbia growled as she pressed her right hand to her temple. There was something... something that kept her from focusing on Arlowyn's aurora.

The clarity her battlelust had given her had faded... she was... here. Somewhere. Here, in the mountains. The village burned behind her as she climbed the ragged rocks and made her way through the woods that dotted the mountain pass, but this should be easy. But something.... something was clouding her ability to sense Arlowyn. It was specific too.... She'd tested it herself when hunting for supper. She'd tracked a rabbit down easily enough. Whatever this was...

Could this be why Salroth wanted the girl dead? Could she have powers untapped, powers unknown? If so... why had she allowed Arbia to track her in the first place? Why was this haze only setting in now?

Arbia shook her head as she sat on a log, angrily biting into the rabbit meat she'd roasted, almost feral as she bit and tore the meat from the bone. She was so close and now... something....

"If you're a witch..." Arbia thought as she stood, "then I'll force you to show me your full power."

She continued on. Through the woods and into the rocky, jagged landscape of the mountain pass. She grunted as she climbed and jumped, shaking her head to try to find some clarity and then...

It was a plant. Growing out of a rocky slope. Very unremarkable. But... Arbia got close to it... and yes. She saw it. And she pulled the strand of fabric off the plant's brittle branch.

It matched a garment Arbia had seen Arlowyn wear and she quickly sniffed it.
It was her.

Arbia smirked and balled her fists up. She's been born with a remarkable gift. One she didn't really understand other than that she had it at all. The ability to track souls. But whatever power Arlowyn was using... it had fogged it up in her head.

But Arlowyn's witchery couldn't project her from good old fashion hunting skills. Arbia sniffed the strand of fabric and sniffed at the air. It was faint but she made her way down a barren, jagged path.

Arbia crouched on her haunches as she examined the tracks. The rocky pathway made it hard... and the cloudy skies made of clear wind was coming, so she had to be quick. But she could make out indents in the dirt. Footprints. Not too far off from her own in size... she was on the right track. She sniffed the air. Arlowyn's scent was masked a bit by the moisture in the air. Rain was coming with the wind.

Arbia leapt up to a rocky hill and surveyed the path... she was deep into the mountains. Part of her was impressed this peasant girl could have gotten this far up on her own. But Arbia would find her... after all this wasn't so unlike the place she survived when she was thirteen, tossed into an inhospitable mountain pass and told to survive for a month. She'd survived that. Now she would hunt the human down and...

A sharpness cut through her mind. A black, haunting, sharpness.

---

Ten years ago
Arbia looked up as her and her brother and their friends were gathered around the communal hearth. The flames dancing against the dark sky.

It wasn't any different from any other night except...

Unean, her father, dropped to one knee and bowed his head. The vampires said something though Arbia couldn't understand it, and eventually they let her father rise. He led them into their dwelling and Arbia went to go after them.

"No you don't," her mother said matter of factly, pulling back on the nine year old's hair.

"You're not to bother father as he meets with Lord Salroth's emissaries."

"I wanna see the vampires!"

"Arbia! No! Mind your father's business."

"Yeah besides you'd just embarrass father anyway," Cail added and Arbia reached to grab her twin brother but their mother held them both apart as they growled at each other.
"Calm down! Both of you! Didn't you get enough fighting out of your systems earlier? Go play with your friends. And behave!"

Their mother stood up and made her way to the family's hut, entering it to greet their guests with her husband. Arbia and Cail each settled down next to each other. It was strange. Normally the adults and older children would be enjoying the evening. Eating and dancing and talking. But everyone was tense. Eyes glued to their chief's home.

Vampires made Arkians nervous. Even ones sent in good faith by Lord Salroth.

"What doya think they're talkin' about?" Biatais asked.

"Dad says Lord Salroth wants to know about the Shrumish frontier," Cail replied, clearly proud that he knew that.

"Do you think Salroth will let us attack 'em?" Cluaran asked excitedly.

"I think so!" Cail replied!
"We can fight and get our land back and prove we're great warriors!"

Cail, Cluaran, and Biatais all pumped their fists and high fived each other but Arbia just looked at her home through the flames.
Her brother and their friends could believe they'd be allowed to fight in a war that wouldn't happen all they wanted. Hell, Arbia had played soldier with them as they pretended to liberate Arkian lands from the Shrumish humans.

But...

She just didn't think that was what was happening.

"Arbia! Mom said to say here!"

"Mom's not a warrior! I am! I thought you were too," she replied with a smirk to Cail.

Cail grumbled and got up and followed his sister. Biatais and Cluaran stayed put. Unlike those two they weren't the Chief's kids. They could get in trouble.

Arbia dashed out to the woods surrounding the village and Cail chased after her.

"Where are you gooooooinnnggggg?"

"Everyone will see if we go the front way," Arbia muttered.
"Now follow me and be quiet!"

That they were too young for boots helped, their bare feet barely made much noise on the grass and twigs and dead leaves of the forest floor. And though it was night and pitch black outside of the warm glow of the hearth, they knew the woods around the village like the back of their hands. They snuck up on the rear of their home, a dwelling made of sturdy sticks, twine, leaves, mud, and animal skins.
The two nine year olds pressed their ears to the outer wall. They could hear their father speaking and the voices of three men they didn't recognize. Very elegant voices. Aristocratic that made them sound nothing like anyone in the Arkian lands- Salroth's vampires.

"I think I heard dad say somethin' about the Shrumish!"

"Shhh Cail!"

Cail didn't take kindly to being shushed and he pushed against her. Arbia pushed back and after a brief tussle...

"ANCESTORS DAMNIT!"

Unean's conversation with the vampires was cut short as his twin nine year olds fell through a patch of thatched branches and
mud, collapsing into their home.

"Cail! Arbia!" Seilg admonished.

Unean was incensed for a moment but grabbed both by the hair and pulled them to their feet.

"My lords," Unean said, his stern voice now sounding more nervous.
"I'm sorry for the interruption. My children apparently can't listen to their parents."

"No need to apologize Chief," one of the vampires replied with a soft chuckle, clearly amused by the creatures before him and his comrades.

"No need at all."

And that's when Arbia felt it as her father held her in place by her hair she finally got a good look at the vampires she's been so curious about. And that curiosity had turned to dread as it looked into her soul.

---

Present Day

That feeling... it was that same feeling and for a moment... Arbia trembled like a scared nine year old again. She could vaguely sense Arlowyn, whatever was fogging her ability to sense souls was obscuring it but she was tracking her traditionally. But this...

This was her ability to sense souls uninhibited. From back in the village she'd destroyed. The same terrifying, dark sense she got when she and Cail failed to eavesdrop on their father a decade ago. Salroth's vampires... the same vampires. They were here.

Arbia wondered what it could mean. Why would they be here? Could Salroth have decided someone else should kill Arlowyn. She growled under her breath. No. That was her prize. And what it would mean for
her and her family.

Fine. If they wanted to follow her... then they'd find her always victorious. Arbia leapt from the rocky hill and continued down the mountain pass. She'd march through the coming wind and rain if she had to.

How long had it been, since she’d fled the farm? Two days? Three? Arlowyn had lost track of time—she was so tired. She had, by now, reached the Aggetine Mountains. Whatever she was looking for—this sword that the golden man had compelled her to find—it would be here.

Arlowyn had left her horse behind as she began to climb the mountainside, trekking up the narrow mountainside path typically used for going through the Aggetines. She had slept a few hours at the base of the mountain. Still, though, every movement felt heavy. Sluggish. Exhausting. She hadn’t eaten much lately, which only made everything feel worse. Still, though, she pushed her haggard self further up the mountain.

She had gotten a decent way up the mountain. Arlowyn didn’t really know exactly where she was going. It was more like she felt pulled in a vague direction, rather than having a specific and laid-out path to follow. She had no treasure map, no bold red “X” marking “the spot”; some kind of… feeling beckoned her this way. A strong feeling. A commanding sense that she must go.

“Arlowyn.”
That voice. Again. It didn’t sound like it was in her head. It sounded real. It sounded like it was coming from behind her. Arlowyn spun about, looking behind herself. Sure enough, there he was.

The golden man. His skin shone with a radiance to challenge the holy sun. His shoulder down to his toes was all covered—wrapped in a white toga that, too, shimmered and shined as if made of marble, pearls, or fresh snow of winter. His hair was long, wavy, and just as white as his toga. His eyes had no pupils but instead seemed to glow with blinding light. On his lips, he wore a gentle, warm smile. It was as if he was an old, close friend of Arlowyn’s and happy to see her again.

His presence, before just noticeable for a split second here and then, was here and now before Arlowyn. He gave off such a divine, overwhelming aura that the Korhish teenage girl was, nearly immediately, on her knees before what could only be a god.

“Arno…” She mumbled a name she knew from prayers and sermons and religious teachings at the village church, but her lips and voice acted on their own initiative—not hers. Still though, who else could this be, save the mightiest of all the gods?
“The god of the sun… the father of man…”

The golden man—Arno the Sun God—raised his palm to Arlowyn. As if desisting her from groveling at his feet in worship and reverence.

“Arlowyn of Korhal, daughter of Leufred and Murina, born of peasant blood,” Arno spoke in that voice again; that voice which echoed a chorus of men’s voices, speaking in unison. Arlowyn had heard this voice before in her dreams, but not once before did it boom with such infinite divinity.

“I have chosen you for a most needed calling—a most harrowing and dangerous destiny.”

Arlowyn was still on her knees, basking in the light of the sun god. Her worry grew at such words; the worry of what exactly she was being forced into here. Still, she stayed on her knees, in awe of the avatar of godliness only a few feet in front of her.

“Here, deep into these mountains, shall you go, oh Arlowyn—saint and prophetess, in my name. Find the resting place of the sword of Haril the Great, the first emperor of men—the Sword of Light—given upon him, and now upon you, by me. Wielding this sword, oh Arlowyn, you shall unite the kingdoms of men and lead them against the forces of the Dark Lord, Salroth.”

Arlowyn was confused. “What do you mean?”

Arno spoke gently and patiently, still wearing that friendly smile. “The armies of Salroth have landed along the coasts of the east. Tulla, the throne-city of the Marrins, has fallen before his wrath and that of his demons and Arkians.”

Arlowyn wanted to ask more questions, but Arno carried on.

“Already, the Dark Lord sends out his scouts and his deceivers to spy on and tempt the kings and dukes and doges in their courts, whilst his main forces push deeper into the realms of men. You, oh Arlowyn, shall carry the realms of men to salvation in my name—take the sword, unite the realms, reform the Empire as empress of men, and destroy the Dark Lord, oh Arlowyn. This is your destiny.”

Arlowyn was speechless as she tried to process everything she’d just been told. But then her mouth moved on its own.
“Wait—why me?”

Arno raised one of his pearly-white eyebrows.

“I’ve never led an army, I’ve never seen an army—I’ve never even held a sword. Why me? Of all people, why me?”

Arno stepped forward, standing over Arlowyn now. He looked around. There was a cold breeze a storm brewing, drawing nearer. Around them were rock faces on either side of the path, with some plant life and a tree here and there that had managed to make a living up here. Beneath their feet was a mixture of gravel and dirt. But above all that, Arno knew she was out there tracking his appointed one.

Arno snapped his gaze back to Arlowyn.
“Go further up the pass to find the entrance to a cave. In the caves, you will find it—my Sword of Light—but you must do so quickly, oh Arlowyn.”

“Why?”
Arlowyn had the sense too, to some extent. She’d felt watched and stalked since she was back home and she had an ominous feeling that whatever shadowed her there had followed her here.

“You must reach the cave entrance and find the Sword of Light before the huntress finds you—the Arkian.”

“An Arkian?!”
The spike of fear in Arlowyn’s tone was unmistakable, but she kept her pitch down, fearing that this huntress would hear her.

“Yes,” Arno further confirmed it. “She has been sent by Salroth to kill you, oh Arlowyn. You must reach the cave before she finds you.”

Arno turned and stepped away, seemingly leaving. Arlowyn jumped to her feet and reached out a hand as if to grab the god of the sun by the shoulder. Arno looked back swiftly, whirling and now with a stern, angry face—that a mortal, even though his appointed one, dared to attempt to touch a god…

Arlowyn, seeing Arno’s face, though, recoiled. And Arno’s seeming irritation relaxed into a more calm expression.

“This Arkian possesses the ability to sense the souls of others. That is how she found you in Korhal. Since you have left your family’s farm, I have been clouding her ability—but she is still tracking you. Conventionally. You must reach the caves before she catches up to you.”

“I–I,” Arlowyn could barely get a cohesive thought out before Arno started walking away, opposite the direction she had been instructed to go.

“Wait!” Arlowyn called out. Arno stopped and looked back to her.

“Is my family okay?”
That an Arkian was tracking her. That an Arkian—a savage soldier and worshipper of Salroth—had tracked her to and from her family’s farm back home. That the demons of Salroth had come and taken the city of Tulla. Her parents’ safety was the one burning question on Arlowyn’s mind. She was desperate for an answer.

Arno, though, simply turned and walked away. Arlowyn thought to chase him, just for a split second, but before she could make up her mind on whether to do so or not, the god of the sun had walked behind the bend of the path.

And disappeared. Arlowyn was alone now, save for the huntress—unseen to her, though perhaps not the other way around.

Arlowyn turned and kept going up the path, toward the caves wherever they were. She was running out of time. She was tired only a few minutes ago but now she felt energized and reinvigorated by perhaps the scariest motivator.

Arlowyn was being hunted. Naught but prey. She was unarmed, and even if she had a weapon, how could she best a snarling, rabid barbarian born and bred for war by the Dark Lord? Worst of all, though, Arno had left her question about her family unanswered. It didn't help her feeling that something terribly wrong had happened back home.

A chill went down her spine, so she pressed on. Feeling watched. Feeling endangered.

Word had, by now, reached the court of the Grand Duke Ruthren of Korhal. He sat in the ornate chair that served as a throne in the throneroom of his great hall at the heart of his city, whilst his steward, his son the Captain-General, and his court mage—a Master of the Templar order.

Tulla, that great port city of the Marrins, had fallen. A new demonic invasion, heralded by the Black Prophet. The Dark Lord Salroth is making war on the realms of men once again. Or so it was being said.

And yet, where was Ruthren amidst all this? Where were his generals and captains? His infantry? His archers and arbalists? His men-at-arms?

His forces were not ready. Neither were his commanders and vassals. And here was Ruthren—in his hall, listening to his steward, his son, and a Master Templar bicker and squabble.

“The Black Prophet brushed Tulla aside! As though but a stone on the road to our damnation!” Carloman, Ruthren’s son and his second-in-command in military matters, went back and forth with his father’s steward—Engilbert. Carloman’s built form, physically fit from training since boyhood to be a warrior and tactician, stood in stark contrast to Engilbert whose body was pudgy and was never one for the sword.
“The Dark Lord’s forces will continue to plunder and butcher their way through the land until there stands no one to oppose him! We must call to arms the bannermen! Assemble forces to face the Black Prophet in battle!”

“Lord Carloman,” Engilbert addressed his Grand Duke’s son. “We cannot afford to go charging into war so hastily. Raising the bannermen and the armies will take time.”

“Even so,” Medard, the Templar mage, spoke. “Have we even any confirmation that Tulla is besieged at all? Much less by the demonic hordes of the Dark One?”

“Oh, how I’d expect a mage to know of these things,” Carloman scoffed at the high mage standing opposite him. Medard furrowed his bushy brows and looked visibly angered by such a slight. “You Templars and your witchcraft! I ought to not harbor any doubts that your Order, with its love of secrets and the unnatural, are the ones who invited the Black Prophet and his horrid master to the realms of men! Spells, foul trickery, and ungodly rituals!”

“How dare you!” Medard snapped. Carloman did not flinch.
“Our spells, our magic, and our rituals have only ever been in the name of mankind’s benefit! It was in part thanks to our Order that man survived the last war with Salroth! That the Dark Lord’s armies were thrown back into the Sea of Nightmares!”

“HA!” Carloman laughed in Medard’s face. “And yet when the emperor Ademar died having left no son, and the Old Empire fell apart, you magicians and court jesters carved out your domain the same as all the other lords! Do not attempt to wave away your Order’s hypocrisies, wizard!”

Carloman and Medard were in each other’s faces. Fuming. Ready to tear into each other. Engilbert moved to break them up before the throne room.

Ruthren lept to his feet at this, his son and court mage about to rip each other apart.
“ENOUGH!”
All three of the men in the room with the Grand Duke turned their heads to face their sovereign.

“This bickering has tormented me for long enough! I will not sit here behind my walls and listen to you lot arguing while demons come to pillage my lands and slaughter my people!”

“What is to be done, my lord?” Engilbert asked, awaiting orders.

“Raise the banners of war, and prepare to defend Korhal. We shall prepare and ride north to meet the armies of the Black Prophet. If the armies of the other realms will join us, I do not know, but I do know that we will not wait for the bastard Prophet’s hordes to come to us!”

Engilbert bowed his head. Carloman smirked.

“I shall send word to my master in Ayleidor, oh Grand Duke.” Medard bowed his head and begrudgingly went on his way, back to his chamber within the great hall.

---

Medard took the cloth off from over the crystal orb and waved his hand over it, silently mouthing the incantations necessary to form the connection back to Ayleidor. He had told the Grand Duke Ruthren that he would inform the Grand Master of his decision and that he would—but further duties remained.

The connection was established.

Does he suspect?
The Grand Master asked.

No.
Medard responded.
But his son does. And the Grand Duke has elected to raise the banners of war to confront the Prophet in battle.

This resistance to Salroth’s forces cannot be allowed to progress.
The Grand Master was clear.

Has the huntress found the prophetess?

She closes in for the kill, in the mountains.
The Grand Master explained.

Good.
Word has not yet reached the Grand Duke of the girl’s village being destroyed. Though I must express my frustration at—

It is not your place to say.
The Grand Master cut Medard off.
Do whatever you can to undermine the Grand Duke. Salroth must win this war and no army of men can be allowed to stop that.
If the Grand Duke’s Captain-General can be dealt with, and a rift formed between himself and all around him save you, Korhal will be without strong leadership. Find a way to… address his troublesome son without rousing unneeded suspicion. And find a way to sow the seeds of paranoia in the man. Lord Salroth shall soon send one of his tempting servants to assist you in undermining him from within.

Of course, Grand Master.
With that, the communication ended. Medard threw the cloth back over the orb, and went on to plan and plot and scheme the downfall of the Grand Duke.

Old Things and Grey Stones Part I

Eight Years Ago

“MA! MA! MA!” Arbia ran up to Seilg as she tended to a warrior’s wounded shoulder, manipulating water over and through the wound.

“Shhh!” Seilg insisted.
“He's asleep and healing. He took a bear’s claw to his shoulder so we could all eat, he doesn't need you waking him up.”

Arbia sighed and blew her bangs out of her face. Her mother was right of course but…. ugh it was annoying!

“Ok,” Seilg continued as she tended to her patient.
“Tell me what has you all excited.”

Arbia grinned and went to reply before catching herself and keeping her voice down.

“I won! Look at what I won!” she proudly clutched a red banner with a black half circle and an arrow through it… the banner of the clan.

“Oh that's impressive,” Seilg said looking up from her duties.
Arbia and Cail were eleven… getting to be the age where they'd receive actual training as warriors. And the Gauntlet as it was known…. well…

She was a healer. She was a healer before she mated with Unean and came here, and was a healer after. Didn't matter if it was her home clan or her new one, the Gauntlet produced a lot of injured children aged 11-13, in one massive tussle in the wilderness until one found the flag and returned it to the village.

Seilg looked over near the edge of town, and indeed the older warriors were leading the kids back, scratched, bloodied. She'd be very busy but her work on an older warrior meant she had some time for…

“Ma! Oh forget it,” Arbia huffed.
“Knew you wouldn't understand.”

Seilg wrinkled her nose as her daughter turned to leave and she smirked.

“You think because I’m not a warrior I don't know how impressive your victory is? Of course I know!”

Arbia turned and smiled. Indeed she'd been through the gauntlet. She was covered with scratches, bruises, and bite marks, but despite that she seemed in her element.

“Sit and tell me, as I work on his wound here.”

Arbia sat and nodded.

“I actually managed to catch myself with my tail after I got pushed out of a tree!”

“Oh? Dexterous. So where did you find it?”

“Well,” Arbia held the banner up, “Dad hid it in a glen, past where the hills get REALLY bumpy. And I could sense that all the animals were gone!”

“That's how you found the flag?”

“Well yeah!” Arbia said excitedly.
“I remember like two years ago? Dad said he was annoyed that the Gauntlet flag was moved by some birds making a nest? So he'd make sure all the animals were gone? Remember when he said that?”

Seilg thought for a moment and nodded. It had been a whole thing a few years back.

“So you used your little skill to figure out where the animals weren't…”

“That's right ma!”

Seilg smirked. It wasn't her place to tell her daughter what she should do. She was as free as anyone to follow her own path. And make no mistake, she was very much a warrior in training. The smile across her face despite being covered in the aftermath of a massive fight between her and her peers proved that.
But she also had a mind of her own, could think of things beyond just a will to fight.

“I told you Arbia, your gift… it's the gift of the forest. Always listen to it, and it will never lead you wrong.”

Arbia nodded and Seilg took the banner from her, wrapping it around her arm, like the bands the actual warriors wore.

“Go show off,” she chuckled.

Arbia nodded and got off to run towards the rest of the battered 11-13 year olds when Seilg added.
“And just because I’m no warrior doesn't mean I don't appreciate what you did. I’m proud of you, Arbi.”

Arbia grinned ear to ear yelling “thanks Ma!” as she ran off to her friends and Seilg returned to her work. Even as she soothed the wound on her charge though, her mind was racing.

She knew the truth about Salroth. And what he'd done to her people. Yet she couldn't say it. Not even to her own children. Salroth’s spies were everywhere. Best she could do was give them hints, and hoped in time they figured them out. So Seilg reminded her daughter of the way her gift helped her understand the forest. Because she knew deep in Shattenreich, where Salroth was strongest, life like the forest… wasn't possible…

---

Present Day

Arbia felt the cold wind blow past her. This barren mountainside. Where her quest had led her… rocks and cold wind blowing across them. Desolation… like what she'd visited upon the village.

And she was between two forces. An encroaching darkness and a fuzzy, unclear sense of… where Arlowyn was. Darkness, fog…she didn't like it. It left her feeling scared, confused… but she trekked on. She'd followed Arlowyn so far and now… Arbia climbed a pile of rocks, and saw her…

And in a moment…. the fog was lifted… there she was…

Arbia looked over her shoulder. The darkness- those vampires- were still some ways away. They could cover ground quickly, but she had time.

Arbia drew both Seax blades from behind her back and, atop the rocky hill, called out…

“ARLOWYN!”

She growled, bared her teeth, and jumped down, landing on her feet as she straightened herself up and sized up her target. Her prey.

---

Arlowyn was defenseless. She glanced over her shoulder with almost every step she took. The golden man—Arno—told her to find a cave nearby.

The cave. She had to find the cave. But with that demon-worshiper tracking her, she might never find it. A cascade of nightmare scenarios rushed through Arlowyn’s mind as she pressed on. All the horrific, clever ways an Arkian could think up to kill someone. That’s what Arno told her this Arkian was here to do: kill her.

Arlowyn was shaking, just a little. Around her were the hollow whistling of wind passing through the mountains, her footsteps, and her breathing. She focused on that slow, paced breathing to keep herself calm as she glanced around for signs of a cave entrance.

She couldn’t focus on those bad scenarios in her mind. If she did, she’d lose her nerve. She’d panic. She’d give herself away to this demon-cultist woman. And, ultimately, she’d be brutally murdered. She had to keep calm. She had to keep calm.

Arlowyn pressed on, up the path. She turned the corner around some rocks to see the gravel and dirt lead up, into an open, plateaued opening up against some rock faces. There, she first glimpsed it. The entrance to the caves.

“ARLOWYN!”

Arlowyn whirled, looking back behind her to see a rock face she had passed coming up here.

And an Arkian huntress standing there, having called her by name, her blades drawn. Snarling and baring her teeth while her messy black hair caught the breeze. The Arkian jumped down from the rock wall and looked Arlowyn over. The Arkian was larger than Arlowyn. Stronger. Better equipped. Faster too, surely. Arlowyn quickly glanced over her shoulder, back toward the cave entrance. It was a narrow fit to slip into, but it was her only chance at safety.

Arlowyn turned her attention back to the Arkian huntress. At that moment, the Arkian broke into a sprint for her target. Blades drawn for the kill.

Arbia dashed. All the unease and adjusting she’d had to do to acclimate to plate armour was gone. She swiftly, heart pumping. Her blood, bred for battle, driving her. She smirked as Arlowyn ran for the cave. She wouldn’t just cower. Good. After so long… she wanted a good hunt.

Arlowyn turned and ran, desperate to close the distance between herself and the cave entrance—a mad dash for survival as the specter of death surged forth behind her with only one dark, driving goal in mind. Her legs moved on their own, her breathing fast, panting. She was so close, just a little further—

Arlowyn tripped and stumbled forward into the gravel, sand, and dirt. The Arkian rushed forth, raising her blades to deliver a swift strike to end her. Arlowyn had just a second to think of something. She took a fist full of sand in her hand, and as the Arkian closed in she flung it at her face.

“ACK—FUCK! MY EYES!”

Arbia tossed both of her blades down as her eyes burned. How did she not see this coming? She growled and pressed her palms to her eyes to try and clear them. She’d underestimated this one. She snarled and occasionally wildly swung her arm to create some distance.

Arlowyn could have used this as an opportunity to grab one—or even both—of the Arkian woman’s weapons. Then she’d have a fighting chance. She could kill the Arkian and just go home, leaving all of this nonsense behind her and return to the normal, ordinary life she had back on the farm.

No. She couldn’t fight this Arkian directly. She had never held, much less used, a sword of any kind. The savage could have deadly magic or another blade. Arlowyn’s only chance was that cave. That narrow entrance she had been instructed to find.

In an instant, while the Arkian was distracted, Arlowyn picked herself up and resumed her dash for the hole in the rock face. The Arkian noticed this, and pursued her. But Arlowyn had a head start and she was so close. So close. Just a little further.

Arbia blinked and, vision blurred, sent a scattering of embers forward. It was all she could do, not being able to concentrate. She blinked, her eyes watering, but mostly clear… the embers she’d scattered were flickering on the rocks, and her blades were… there.

“The fucking peasant doesn’t even know an opportunity when she stumbles into one,” Arbia growled to herself. She grabbed both blades and, gripping the one in her right hand tightly, banged it against her baskin-clad chest and let out an angry, determined howl before chasing her down into the cave.

Arlowyn made it to the rock face first and hurriedly started slipping into the narrow entrance, with the Arkian huntress closing fast. Desperately, she worked to pull herself through. It was a tight fit. She was fighting to slip through—fighting to survive. The Arkian was just a hair’s breadth away when—

Arlowyn slipped through the narrow sliver of an entrance just as the Arkian reached it, narrowly escaping a savage end. The opening, though, was too narrow for the larger Arkian to get through. Especially in her armor.

The opening, though, was too narrow for the larger Arkian to get through. Especially in her armor. Arlowyn got up and looked at her, this barbarian monkey woman tasked with her demise. For the first time, they were face-to-face. The Arkian snarled at her.

“Just you wait ‘till I get in there, bitch! You’re dead!” Arbia bared her teeth, making sure she ran her tongue over her canines, to intimidate the girl. And then she spat. Whatever Salroth was, this human… this human represented every danger her people faced. In that moment she’d smash her skull against the rocks if she could. And then she stormed off to find another, larger way in.
Arlowyn looked over, behind her—deeper into the cave network. She knew she had to find this sword. So she dusted herself off and set out, further into the mountain tunnels in search of some sword no one had seen in centuries.

---

Down the mountain

The Vampires were gaining quickly, Arkians were fast, humans not as much, but the Vampires of Slaroth were given gifts that let them move like the wind. These Vampires were nearly as old as Von Drachen, their abilities were honed, and their bloodlust high.

“I smell the monkey up there, and the girl.” One of the vampires said, crouching down while looking towards the peaks.

“Do you smell the monkey, or are you finally smelling yourself? Take a bath for Salroth’s sake.” Another one of the Vampires said.

“I’ll take a bath once this is over, you know how badly I want this fight. If Von Drachen sent us, these warriors must be something special!”

“If you think that you’re going to take all the glory then there is something wrong with you! It must be because you’re only 8,000 years old.”

“As if 2,000 years makes that much of a difference Jäger!”

The two Vampires started to walk menacingly over to each other, when the third yelled down at them.

“Jäger, Von Morrison, that's enough! We didn’t come here to fight each other, we need to deliver on Von Drachens mission.”

The two other Vampires backed off from each other and gave a half bow to the third.

---

In the caves

Arlowyn delved deeper into the caves, slipping or crawling through the narrow passages. The huntress was still surely after her, looking for another way in. It was dark. Dark enough that she had to feel her way through the passages.

The internal panic built within her. She was trapped in these caves, searching for some sword she would not know how to use. Hunted by a savage warrior who knew fighting and magic. She was going to die in these caves; she was going to die!

Arlowyn took a deep breath. If she freaked out now, that would be what got her killed. She had to stay calm. Well, calm as one could be while being hunted.

In, three breaths. Out, three breaths. In, three breaths. Out, three breaths.

And so she pressed on.

OOC Note: Co-written with @Arc and @Ianmey7

Old Things and Grey Stones Part II

Arbia shivered almost as soon as she entered the larger cave entrance. No, it wasn’t because the dark unnerved her- it didn’t. It was that… she… she felt them. The vampires. Salroth’s vampires. They were, in theory, her allies. Yet if they were coming… it could be to interfere in her mission.
But more importantly… she remembered when she was nine. Just a small girl, too full of herself for her own good, seeing them with her father. Those vampires…it was the first time she’d ever been afraid. Truly afraid.

That was ten years ago. She’d grown into a capable warrior and an expert huntress but…that fear… never left her. She looked over her shoulder. The sun was setting. And then looked into the cave. It wouldn’t matter. When Salroth’s vampires found her, she’d have Arlowyn’s head as a trophy.

So she breathed deep, sheathed her blades across her back, and created a glowing ball of light in her palm to light the way as she entered the cave. Arbia honestly had no idea how human eyes were in the dark compared to Arkian eyes, but it didn’t matter. There were no torches, and the sun was setting. Arlowyn had no magic, and Arbia had the ability to light her way and sense her soul. She’d find her.

And then… Arbia had been delving deeper into the caves, following her sense of where Arlowyn’s lifeforce was. Whatever was fogging her abilities… it didn’t matter. They were so close that even fogged she could tell where the human bitch was. And as she got closer she picked up pace. Until she nearly ran into a wall of rock.

“Fuck,” she growled. Arlowyn was there. Right there…

“SOLAR FLARE!” Arbia cried out, thrusting the light ball forward, and for a brief moment the cave Arbia was in was as bright as a field on the clearest summer day. And in that moment Arbia realized that the rock wall had no way through. Not that she could see.

She sensed Arlowyn on the other side though, and something else… not the vampires. No. But… something else. And she didn’t like it. There was no time to find another way around. Arbia paced back and, turning to face the rock wall, she wrinkled her nose, balled up her right fist, and punched her left palm in front of her chest as she focused on the most powerful fire attack she’d been taught.

---

Arlowyn fell out of a crevice. She hit the rocky ground with a thud and groaned but… water.
Yes, that was water. Not deep enough to worry about drowning but… she looked down. And she could see a trickle of a stream and…

Wait.

She could see! She looked around, at the large cavernous area she found herself in. It was more spacious than any area in the cave system she had been in so far. For a moment her fears were forgotten as she looked in awe at the beauty around her. Stalactites and stalagmites gleaming like jewels surrounded her, little lights flickering like stars against the dark rock…

“He… he wasn’t lying,” Arlowyn said to herself. She saw it. As she took in the sites around her… she saw it. The source of this chamber’s light. Lying against a slanted slate of rock. This sword, its golden hilt giving off an otherworldly glow that illuminated this chamber. And slumped down against the rock that held it was a skeleton, in radiant gold and scarlet armour. Its hand outstretched, gripping the hilt.

Her worries of being hunted… of dying… vanished. All she could hear was the soft trickle of water as she approached.

It was here. Her gods had not lied to her. Whatever they wanted or desired, whatever their intentions were… they had told her the truth.

Arlown approached, eyeing the skeleton for a moment before she placed her hand atop the bony one that gripped the hilt. Her hand trembled. She had no idea who this was… other than someone of importance.
“I’m sorry,” she said, softly.
“I don’t mean to disturb your rest.”

She carefully removed the hilt from the skeletal hand and gripped the blade.

Her blue eyes went wide as the light that seemed to radiate off the blade intensified. And filled her with warmth. For just a moment she was filled with a calm warmth.

It didn’t last. An explosion rocked the chamber, as dislodged rock trembled and fell. Arlowyn gripped the blade and turned. Fire and smoke had cleared and above her, across from a shallow pond, was the Arkian girl. Up on a ledge.

Arbia looked down, and wrinkled her nose.

“I knew I’d find you,” she called out, and jumped down. Grunting as she landed in the ankle deep water, but rising to her feet.

Arlowyn gripped the blade.
“No demon or demon’t thrall will take me today,” she called out as rocks fell from the aftershocks of Arbia’s explosion.

Aribia growled under her breath at that. “Demon’s thrall” was too accurate for her liking, but a thrall to a demon was better than broken to a human master. She gripped her seax blades from behind her back and bared her teeth.

“Yes, go. Kill her. KILL HER!” a voice echoed in her head.

“You’ll get what you want,” Arbia muttered, shutting Ember up. Arlowyn stood her ground, gripping her blade.

“You found a sword, but you’re just a peasant girl. I’ve been trained in the art of war since I was child,” Arbia called out.
“Put it down, and I’ll give you an easy death. You just prolong your suffering by fighting.”

Arlowyn was trembling. This Arkian demon worshiper was right about that. She’d never held ANY weapon before this but… this sword gave her something. Some reassuring sense of warmth.

“Then you shouldn’t have a problem with me.”

Arbia growled again and took off. Water from the underground lake splashed as Arbia charged through it. Arlowyn was taken aback by how fast she was. Before she knew it Arbia had jumped, bringing her twin seax blades down. Arlowyn put her blade up, holding for dear life, and deflected the attack!

The Arkian was not so easily bested though. Arbia let herself follow through on the momentum Arlowyn’s perry had caused, and she brought her swords down against Arlowyn’s blade again. Arlowyn trembled, the attacks causing the sword to shake in her hand violently, and Arbia leaned into her. She wasn’t much taller, just an inch or so, but she had strength. And as the blades pressed against each other, and Arbia could push back and force Arlowyn to lean back as she pushed and leaned over her, she growled. Once again they were face to face.

“You’re going to die,” Arbia growled.
“Give in.”

“Why should I die, for your foul master?” Arlowyn shot back. She could see, this close, the deep sense of passion and hatred this Arkian had in her deep violet gaze. And… why? She didn’t know her.

“Why should I die,” Arlowyn continued, “to someone I’ve never wronged?!”

It was… something that she didn’t expect. A burst of strength perhaps? Maybe, but it was more than that. Arlowyn felt… almost like it was an out of body experience. A flash of light from the blade, and Arbia had stumbled back.

“Your kind,” Arbia continued as she was unexpectedly pushed onto the back foot, “will be my world’s undoing. And I won’t let you!”
She charged again, aiming with both blades. Arlowyn had no idea what she should do, she had no training in sword combat. Yet it just felt like she knew how to move, the sword she was holding warming her even as it rocked in her grip. She parried the Arkian again, and this time sent Arbia stumbling into the ankle deep water again. And for the first time she sensed the barbarian getting frustrated.

“I don’t know what you think I have done or will do, monkey, but your kind’s ravages and your unholy master have no place in my lands!”

That insult. Coupled with her frustrations, it made Arbia lose her cool and she wildly charged. Arlowyn trusted in the feelings that flowed through her with that warmth, and managed to use her sword’s length compared to the twin blades the Arkian had to keep her at a distance. Slowly she gained an appreciation for what she was doing.

Arbia growled again. This fucking peasant! She’d been bested in sparring before, but by other warriors! Not this… this milk maiden! Arbia charged once more, leaping again and twisting her body, to turn herself into a vortex of blades. Arlowyn kept her distance though, deflecting Arbia’s swinging blades with her sword. They momentarily came face to face as their blades met up, and Arbia jumped back.

“If she thinks a fancy sword will save her,” Arbia muttered. And smirked. It unnerved Arlowyn. Arbia had been getting angrier and angrier. But now she was smiling? And then Arbia sheathed her blades across her back.

“Giving up so soon demon worshiper?” Arlowyn called out.

“Oh,” Arbia smirked. She spread both of her hands and fingers out and then quickly used them to make the approximation of four Arkian runes, symbolizing four sources of heat of the body. They were quick, and Arlowyn didn’t know what was coming until…

“FIRE BLAST!”

Arbia called out and a boom seemed to push Arlowyn back before…

It was hellish. Fire almost traveled at the speed of sound. Not dancing as in a hearth or on a candle wick, no. Arbia had summoned a powerful flame moving through the air like a scythe through wheat.

Arlowyn had just enough time to think it would kill her when….

She opened her eyes. Fission and speed had ceased, and instead the flame… circled around her blade! She had half a mind to drop it but… she saw the Arkian. Arbia was, for the first time, afraid.

That was it. The most powerful fire attack she knew. Just earlier it had blasted a hole through solid rock… and now…the powerful fission she had summoned had been plucked out of the air by that blade…

Arbia trembled and Arlowlyn moved the sword a bit, as the fire danced around it. Their eyes locked and Arbia could see Arlowyn could sense her fear. And no human would ever take her fear.

She overcame her doubt.

“FLAME SWORD!” she called out and a blade of fire engulfed her right arm. She charged and… Arlowyn countered it. When Arbia’s flame-empowered strike hit the blade, the fire was sapped from her. Arbia froze in time, as she felt momentarily helpless, before being tossed back into the shallow water. She hit with a thud.

Arlowyn gripped the blade with both hands… the fire that had been pulled from Arbia was now making her own sword glow like a brilliant torch. And she awaited the Arkian’s next attack. Instead Arbia just trembled, soaking wet.

That blade… had stolen her fire. The natural heat of her body that could be channeled into flame magic was gone. She looked at Arlowyn utterly terrified and collapsed to her side in the shallow water. Part of her wanted to fight but… she felt so cold…so helpless. She trembled, chilled and desperate for some warmth as she wrapped her arms around her legs, half submerged in water.

Arlowyn couldn’t believe what she’d seen. Arkians were fearsome creatures from what she’d been told, and this one had lived up to that reputation. Yet now…her sword had an effect on her that had rendered her almost prone like. Part of her thought she should take advantage of this turn of events. Slay the barbarian right now. And she even moved a few steps closer thinking that.

Arbia thrashed up though, stumbling to her feet before falling back to her knees, growling. Her hair wet, clinging to her body, her face. She wasn’t going to let Arlowyn kill her. Even suffering from whatever her sword had done to her, this Arkian would fight to the death. Arlowyn stepped back. Perhaps it was best to just find her way out of here? Clearly this creature was no threat….

Arbia tried stand, only to fall… she felt off balance. Like something essential to her had been broken and taken. And seeing this creature clearly struggling in pain in the waters of this cave…

“Unlike your gods, mine value a life spared. I hope against hope you make the most of this mercy,” Arlowyn said before she turned. She would retrace her steps. Get out of here. And hopefully understand what this sword was.

Arbia lay in the water, watching Arlowyn leave. She managed to turn herself over onto her back so she wasn’t in danger of drowning. She lay there in shock. Not only had this peasant girl bested her… but she’d… she’d rendered her most powerful magic useless! And taken it from her! She winced as she forced herself to climb out of the water. Her bearskin tunic was soaked through and clinging to her adding to her feelings of coldness. She collapsed again on the dry rock, Arlowyn was nowhere. The light from the sword was gone as she was left in darkness, her body heat itself seemingly gone.

She didn’t know how long she lay there, in this state of shock when she felt a hand on her hair pull her to her knees. She struggled to see, but soon Ember’s face was close enough.

“YOU FAILED!”

“I…she… she took my fire… my heat… I’m so cold…” Arbia muttered, her jaw trembling. Ember though rolled her eyes, and let go of her hair, sending Arbia to collapse on the ground.

“Monkeys are always so dramatic. Your body always produces heat. That parlor trick just stole your body’s reserves. You’ll recover it soon enough, and your precious fire magic with it. You’ll be fine. UNLESS YOU LET THE HUMAN GIRL GET AWAY!”

Arbia managed to get to her feet. She still felt cold, but Ember’s assurance that she wasn’t permanently damaged had helped dispel most of the shock.

“She spared my life…”

“Because she’s stupid, and naive, and you’re a warrior of Salroth! Make her pay for her mistake!”

With that Ember vanished, back into the chain collar around Arbia’s neck. Arbia breathed deep trying to calm herself. There was still time… even as Arlowyn raced towards the cave’s entrance.

---

At the Entrance

“There you are, we have been looking everywhere for you.”

The vampires stood at the entrance to the cave, moonlight causing them to be nothing but silhouettes. Their immense frames and relative lack of armor are still abundantly clear even in the near total darkness. The first of the three started to move in, his arm outstretched.

“Please little girl, give me that sword. I would hate to make this worse for you than it has to be.”

“All I have to do is wait until daylight and that will kill you. You don’t scare me!” Arloywn yelled out.

“HAHAHAHAHAHA, well that is a rather brave response from you isn’t it. Now little girl, please let's make this quick. It’s already embarrassing enough that we have to kill a child, now give us the sword so we can move on.”

Arlowyn got into a fighting stance and prepared to take on the vampires.

“So you got away from the Arkian and now think you’re something special eh? Fine, I’m the youngest of my group, fight me. Let's see what you can do.”

Arlowyn swung at the vampire, her sword glowing red with some sort of power. This caused the vampire’s eyes to widen, her blade sliced through the air and the Vampire was inches away from being hit.

“That sword, where did you get that? I saw your village, there were no warriors there. Where did you get that?”

Arlowyn swung at the vampire again, this time erratic.

“Ahhhh, you don’t know what you’re doing. How did you get away from the Arkian then? We saw that she killed many in your village, I’ll give you a secret, we finished off the rest. Their screams were intoxicating.”

Arlowyn, not knowing the vampire was lying, began to swing her sword. Tears were swelling in her eyes as she desperately tried to kill the massive vampire. Every swing of her sword hit nothing but air. The vampires started to laugh at this girl, only causing her to get more and more aggravated. Finally the vampire grabbed Arloywn by the back of her neck.

“Girl, you fought. Now you die.”

The vampire opened his mouth and Arlowyn could see his fangs, as he started to lunge towards her throat she stabbed him in the stomach and the Vampire dropped her.

The other vampires started laughing.

“Von Morrison you fucking moron.”

“Girl.” Von Morrison said.

“You’re going to die now.”

Von Morrison pulled out his own weapon and started to move towards the girl, each step was more menacing then the last.

Arlowyn raised her sword and a light emanated from the sword, as bright as the sun. The light caused the Vampires to immediately find somewhere to hide. Arlowyn took this time to run out of the cave leaving the trio in the cave wondering what just happened.

---

Arbia was grunting. She felt… exhausted. Empty. Ember’s words were accurate though. She felt some heat in her blood again, the coldness that was chilling her bones receded a bit. Moving helped, and it wasn’t too long that she could sustain a fiery ball in her palm to light her way.

Still, she was a mess. Her tunic and hair were drenched, clinging to her. And she was still a bit wobbly on her knees as her body recovered from having its heat sapped from her. She exited the cave with a groan, as the night sky sparkled above her. She tried to focus. Despite everything she could still sense Arlowyn and if she hurried she could…

And then it was there. Cutting through her mind. Salroth’s vampires were nearby. She reached back, and drew one of her seax blades as she walked fully out of the cave. Knowing they’d be here. Soon.

“Hello Monkey. It seems we’re after the same prey.”

The lead Vampire Von Rammstein walked over and looked over the Arkian.

Arbia shivered. That fear. She looked at him. Von Rammstein. Ten years ago. That was him.

“The Prophet of Salroth tasked me with killing her,” she said as she clutched her blade tightly and looked up at the vampire, glaring at him.

“Aye, the Prophet did. But Von Drachen tasked us with the same prey. It seems like you’re a bit over your head princess. We have thousands of years of experience, please let us do our job. Go back to the tree you live in.” Von Rammstein said, waving his hand to brush the Arkain off.

Arbia clenched her fist around the hilt of her blade tightly. The fact was that she was terrified of these creatures. That terror, though, drove her bravado. She had been bested in battle, had her fire magic temporarily drained and left shocked and broken… but she would be damned if she let this vampire see her that weak, or afraid. The vampires were powerful looking warriors. Elegant, but strong. It was something that confused her Arkian sensibilities, but she wrinkled her nose and walked closer to Von Rammstein, lifting herself on her tiptoes, eyes locked on the vampire angrily.

“Then show me,” she growled.
“Show me the human’s head. Show me what your thousands of years of experience is good for, and I’ll go back to my tree,” she said, smiling slightly.

“There was something… That sword allowed her to harness the sun. We had to hide or we would have been an ash pile.” Von Rammstien said, his eyes darting to his allies.

“How on Sorras did a peasant girl get a magic sword anyways? What if she manages to go and help the enemy?” Von Morrison said.

The Vampires started to walk towards the Arkian, there were three of them. Arbia was outnumbered, and the vampires were towering figures. Arbia lifted her swords to Von Rammstien’s throat, she bared her teeth at the lead Vampire.

“Ahhh, well I see that you’re feeling brave.” The vampire said.

Arbia felt her teeth clatter as she eyed them. She was very, very afraid… but after what she’d been through, she was also angry. And anger was a great way to vent her frustrations and defy her own childhood fears. The memory of these same three vampires with her father ten years ago flashed in her mind and she pushed the swords just a bit against Von Rammstein’s throat.

“Brave, yes. I’m not scared of you. Not anymore.”

She steadied herself, resisting the urge to tremble. These beings were powerful, otherworldly. Realistically she knew luck was her only chance to best one of them… much less three. Yet they were all on the same side. Arbia wasn’t looking to fight, really. Just vent her frustrations and regain some semblance of honour.

“You have no idea what that sword is. I didn’t either and it nearly killed me. She’ll be the end of you.”

Arbia was working through the problem in her head. Salroth’s Prophet had sent her to find Arlowyn, but Von Drachen had sent the vampire trio. If she was to claim Salroth’s favour and win the benefits of Arlowyn’s death she’d need to kill her before these vampires. And they were, on the whole, more formidable. Her best chance was to scare them into giving up.

“It sucked the very essence of fire from my body,” Arbia continued.
“Fire, light, that’s what the sword is. I don’t know what, some infernal human magic, but I know what it does. It’ll burn you all alive. Go back to Lord Salroth and Von Drachen. I’m strong enough to kill her, and I will, now that I know fully what I’m up against.”

Arbia breathed heavily, her heart racing in her chest as she clenched her blades against Von Rammstein’s throat, her muscles tense as she held a stance that was ready to fight.

Von Rammstein pushed his neck into the blade to make a cut, the entire time he stared down the Arkian, his eyes glowing a golden color. The cut made the Vampire smile, his fangs showing clearly as he started to speak to the Arkain.

“I can hear your heart beating, I can feel your breaths. Your body betrays you Arkian.”

Von Rammstein grabbed the blade with his hand and began to lower it away from his throat, the smile that he wore got wider and wider as he felt the Arkian heartbeat. All of Salroth’s creations had the same glowing eyes that the dark lord possesses, it was called the devil's stare.

Arbia quickly dropped the blade and jumped back, she prepared for the Vampires to come after her. Instead they stood there, menacingly.

“Go home young one. We need to find our prey.”

With that the vampires left into the night, Arbia stood there shaking as the vampires left. The fear and anger caused the young warrior to fall to her knees, tears swelling as she put her hand on her mouth.

She ran her other hand through her hair as she grabbed her swords from the ground, looking at them. Von Rammstein had forced her blade to cut his throat, and the black liquid that had seeped out had eaten away at the steel of the blade. She nearly dropped to her knees as she was overcome by terror, but gripped the blade and punched the rockface, the adrenaline and the pain distracting her from that fear.

She smeared the black vile onto the rocks before sheathing her blade. Horsie was still there, in the forests outside of Arlowyn’s village.

She’d get him and ride north to Salroth’s front lines and…

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Ember stood in the moonlight.

“I told you to hunt the human down! Did her magic trick fuck with your ability to track?”

“I’m going to the front,” Arbia grunted, paying Ember no mind.

“I SAID FIND HER AND KILL HER!”

Arbia grunted and ignored her, beginning her trek down the mountains when a sharp burning pain in her collar caused her to cry out. She gripped it and turned around, nose wrinkled and eyes full of fire.

“I’VE HAD IT WITH SALROTH’S DEMONS!”

“THEN KNEEL!” Ember’s voice boomed. No longer sweat and seductive, it boomed like an eldritch abomination, and Arbia dropped to one knee, but she resisted the force. She resisted going to her second knee. She looked up at the Queen of the Succubi and gritted through the pain.

“Salroth sent me, so I could kill her without anyone knowing there was an invasion! The invasion’s started so that’s not a concern! LET ME GET MY MATE AND BROTHER! THE THREE OF US WILL KILL HER, FOR SALROTH. FOR YOU!”

Ember tilted her head as Arbia forced herself to explain through the pain she was forcing onto her. She was a determined monkey, she had to give her that. And regardless of if she knew it or not… she had a point. Salroth had many lovers, many allies, many underlings and servants all vying for his favour. Ember had found herself tasked with shepherding Arbia. If Arbia completed this task then she would see her favour with the Dark Lord increase.

Ember sighed and the pain scorching Arbia through her collar was lifted. The Arkian gasped and stood.
“I’m not abandoning my task, but…”

“Yes, there are three of the bloodsuckers and one of you. Go then. Go to the Front, collect your mate and your brother. But do not dally!”

Ember faded from the physical world once more as Arbia began her trek down the mountain. She was not eager to see her people again having failed, but she also knew Cail and Cluaran would jump at the chance for the glory this promised. And deep down Arbia knew it probably should have been the three of them anyway. So into the night she went, determined that the human girl who bested her would never get a second chance.

---

At the base of the mountain

Arlowyn raced down the side of the mountain, the sword at her side as she leapt onto her horse. Her horse. She was still here, even with the savage monkey and now vampires chasing her. She took the reins and kicked the horse’s side with the heels of her leather shoes, launching the steed into a sprint. She needed to leave. Now.

She leapt over rocks and fallen trees, weaving between the standing ones. She glanced back over her shoulder to see if the Arkian or the vampires were still following her. They weren’t. At least, for now.

But if what Arlowyn knew of the Dark Lord was true, from the children's stories and the legends? They would not dare return to him empty-handed.

Her village. The vampire said that the Arkian had killed many in her village. And that they had finished the survivors. Briefly she glanced to the wooden beads around her wrists. Tears swelled in her eyes that her mother, her father—everyone and everything she had ever known in that small little fiefdom—was already gone. She had lost so much already. Baby brothers and sisters. She couldn’t lose more. She couldn’t lose more. Again, Arlowyn kicked the horse’s sides and they sped through the woods.

Toward the village. Toward home.

OOC Note: Co-written with @Ianmey7 and @Arc

What Was Lost

Arlowyn had been riding for days by this point. The Arkian. Those vampires. By now, she had lost them. Surely.

She was almost home. Her horse galloped along the dirt trail headed west. Her village was only a little ways ahead. Arlowyn had barely stopped along the trip back, only for a few hours of rest and resupply at a tavern along the way. She was exhausted. Out of provisions and low on water, at least she was almost home.

She still had that sword on her. The one she had used to fight off the Arkian huntress. She had no sheath for it, and so had hastily fastened a tie for it with her belt around her waist. Its fire had gone out. And she didn’t know how to bring it back.

That sword had… helped her fight that Arkian woman. It was odd and hard to explain. But these were strange times when gods told peasants to find magic swords. Arlowyn had never used a sword in her life but suddenly she could defend herself against a trained killer.

She was bracing for a dramatic confrontation with her parents. After all, she’d hit her father with a shovel. They’d be furious, first and foremost. Would they even believe her story? Of an Arkian huntress vampires sent by the Dark One himself to kill her? Of a magic, flaming sword? That she had personally been told to find that sword by the god of the sun? They’d laugh it off, surely—or, gods forbid, think her crazy. They’d never treat her the same.

Just up and over the hill ahead of her, her village would be there. The dirt trail leading forward stretched out just a little bit further.

She brushed the side of her horse.

“C’mon Julia, we’re almost home.”

Arlowyn could only hope that none of her hunters had followed her home. They would only kill themselves by returning to the Empire of Shadows without her head in their hands.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.”
Arlowyn pulled her white horse down to a stroll as she came up to the base of the hill. The girl and her stead came up the crest slowly, finally peaking at the top.

Then Arlowyn saw it. She saw it all. It took Arlowyn a moment of dawning horror to realize what she was seeing. She lept down from her horse’s saddle and took a few steps forward, scanning her village. Or what was left of it.

The burnt fields. The ruined buildings.

In the distance towards the fields she would work day in and day out, she saw her own home in ruination. The house she had grown up in–now reduced to a charred husk.

“No...”

Her parents. They had to still be alive. They had to be; they were all she had left!

Arlowyn broke out into a sprint, down the hill, and across the fields. Tears built up in her eyes as she ran, hoping against all hope that her parents would still be alive. That there wouldn’t be any bodies. They escaped. They must have.

Arlowyn was panting by the time she climbed up to the small hill on which her house was built. The door had been busted ajar. The roof had collapsed. The windows were smashed. The farm animals were nowhere to be seen. And a horrific stench permeated from within the house.

Arlowyn was gagging as she stumbled in through the door. That godsawful smell. She couldn’t stand it. It wasn’t a good sign of what she would find in here and she knew it. Still, she held on to hope. Maybe they were still alive somewhere. Maybe.

“Mother! Father! Where are you?!”

The collapsed roof had left a heap of rubble all over the interior. It was tricky moving around, having to climb over everything. She clamored over the debris, toward her parents’ bedroom. No one in there. She didn’t see anyone under the wreckage.

That stench emanated from around her own room. Not a good sign. Arlowyn rushed over the rubble to the doorframe of her bedroom, that smell becoming stronger. She could see human feet through the burnt beams that had fallen down. She bent down and pulled the blackened support beams for the roof up on off the person; the charred remains of someone.

“No…!”

Arlowyn looked over at her bed. Rubble had covered it too, but out from beneath the debris extended a burnt, blackened human arm and hand.

“NO!”
Her parents were dead. They were dead, ripped away from her and she didn’t even get to say goodbye. Arlowyn broke down and buried her face in her hands. She sat there for what felt like an eternity. And she just sobbed.

---

Hours passed. By now Arlowyn was all dry of tears to weep. She stumbled her way out of the house as the sun started to set. The dusk sky turned orange as the sun crept below the western horizon.

She still had that sword on her. The one she had found in the Aggetine Mountains, off to the east. The sword she’d rushed off to find and abandoned her family for. Arlowyn pulled it out of her belt and held it in her hands. She just stared down at it, lost for words and lost in her thoughts.

She had rushed off away from home for this sword and left her family to die. Every ounce of her being demanded that she smash this sword. Break it and leave it. Bury it. Just get rid of it.

Why should she be damned to live on without her family? Her parents were the only people close to her whom she had left. She should have just forgone the quest for this sword and died with them.

She sighed. She just dropped the sword on the ground and turned to go back inside. Then she felt his presence.

“That’s no way to treat my gift to you.”

Arlowyn turned to see Arno standing there. Radiant with light and golden aura. But this time, unlike on the mountain slope days ago, she did not kneel.

“What are you doing here?”

Arno was taken aback. But Arlowyn wasn’t going to grovel at his feet this time. Her god had sent her to find a sword. He told her to take that sword and lead an army against the Dark Lord. And while she was away her family had been taken from her.

“I asked you if my parents were safe,” Arlowyn took a few steps forward, coming face to face with the avatar of the highest of the gods. She wanted to hit him, take up that sword and strike him.

“I asked if they were safe and you didn’t say anything. I could have come back. I could have saved them. Why didn’t you tell me anything?”

“I needed you focused on finding the sword, Arlowyn,” the golden man spoke calmly and plainly, as if all was still well.
“It is your destiny to take up the sword and defeat the Dark Lord.”

“If getting this sword and fighting Salroth means I have to lose everything I had left,” Arlowyn pointed down to the sword, resting there on the dirt where she had dropped it.
“Then you can take it back. I found it for you. That should be enough. Take it and give me back my parents!”

Arno shook his head. He looked down to the blade and noticed that its fire had gone out.

“To restore the fire to the sword—”

“I don’t care! I don’t want to know!”

“To restore the fire—”

“I DON’T CARE! YOU LET THEM TAKE MY FAMILY AWAY! YOU—!”

“Silence.”

With that one word, Arlowyn felt herself unable to speak.

“Kneel.”

Arno spoke again in a stern and commanding voice, and Arlowyn fell to her knees. She looked up at him, still unable to speak. Tears again formed in her eyes. Her gods were supposed to be caring and compassionate; gentle lights in an uncaring and dangerous world. Yet here was the greatest of their number twisting some grand purpose for her and having done nothing to save her family.

“I thought you might have preferred the life I offer to the life you had. A life of purpose to a life of squalor,” Arno scorned his prophetess over her insolence.
“You will take the sword. You will defeat the Dark Lord. I will make you empress of men in my name and you will obey me.”

Arlowyn sobbed silently as she just knelt there, in front of him. She had no one to turn to, no one left whom she trusted. What choice did she have left but to go along with Arno’s machinations?

“Understood?”

Arlowyn dipped her head down in a reluctant bow. Arno smirked. This mortal had stepped out of line only to come right back. Too easy.

“Now, this sword has within it a sacred flame. The Arkian’s fire magic only temporarily restored it.”

Arno pulled out a sheath to match the sword, seemingly out of thin air. He tossed it before Arlowyn’s knees.

“Invoke my name in prayer to summon the sword’s fire on command. Sheath the sword to put it out. This sword and its fire will allow you to make quick work of anyone at the Dark Lord’s command—demons, monsters, men led down dark roads. You may speak and stand, Arlowyn, but if you become disrespectful again I will make quick work of you.”

Arlowyn fell forward onto her palms. She wanted to taunt him into killing her. Then, maybe, she could be with her family. Her parents and all her siblings. But…

She knew if Arno killed her, he’d repeat all this with someone else. One more dead family. One more child to lose everything for a god looking to appoint some great quest.

No. She couldn’t wish that on anyone else. She would die one day, then she could go to her family, but that day couldn’t be today.

“I have never fought a war,” Arlowyn again explained her inexperience with what she was being “asked” to do. “I don’t know how to lead an army or fight against one. How will I learn?”

Arno appreciated the change in tune.
“There is a chivalric order of knights within the Thirteen Realms. They are devoted to me, whereas others are devoted to those who walk alongside me. They will come here to find the sword. And they will train you.”

Arlowyn climbed to her feet. She took the scabbard for the sword, and then she picked up the sword itself and sheathed it. There was still one question that she wanted answered though.

“Who?”

Arno raised an eyebrow. Perhaps she meant who this order of knights was? As he opened his mouth to answer, Arlowyn elaborated.

“Who killed my parents?”

Arno took a long pause. A gust of wind blew through and the fields—what was left of them—danced in the breeze.

“The Arkian who was hunting you. The one you fought in the cave. She was the one who killed your family and villagers.”

Arlowyn just nodded solemnly. She had spared that Arkian woman in the caves. Now more than ever, she came to regret that decision deeply.

“Wait for the knights, Arlowyn. They will take you in and train you. From there, with your newfound knowledge of war, you will defeat the Dark Lord and save the world.”

Arno turned to walk away, disappearing behind a tree. Arlowyn just… stood there for a long moment in silence. Trying to take in everything. She turned back to her house, her home. The only one she had ever known. Charred, blackened with ash and burns. Inside lay the burnt corpses of the only family she had left as the bodies of the people she’d grown up with scattered the fields and roads between other ruined homes.

In that moment, as grief and anguish and rage pooled and swirled within her, Arlowyn just stood there as the sun set and darkness settled in.

“Next time, Arkian, I won’t be so merciful.”

The Arkian wasn’t here. It was more of a promise to herself than the huntress.

“I’ll kill you if it’s the last thing I do.”

The black army encircled the city, the siege weapons perked upon the onlooking hills preparing to unleash fire and stone upon those who would defy the Dark Lord. The hordes of Demons, Arkians and Men waited, there was a pause where even the air itself seemed to stop.

Then a voice could be heard, loud but not yelling. The air itself shook with the power of the voice, each word coming across like thunder the sky itself lit up with each syllable.

"You have been chosen by the Dark Lord, in his infinite wisdom, to be destroyed. Your city will be razed, your civilians taken as slaves, those who do not throw down their weapons will be slaughtered. You have until our forces enter the city to make your choice. Anyone found holding a weapon will be slaughtered. May Salroth have mercy on your soul."

With the end of this speech, the horns of shadow blew.

The demonic artillery, its barrel cut to look like a dragon's mouth spitting fire into the air, bore down on the ancient walls. Shot after shot rang true and began to break holes in the walls each hit making the gap larger and larger.

The defenders prepared for the worst, for weeks they had gathered from all corners of their duchy, they had even been bolstered by any man in the town who could hold a spear. On the walls the sound of yelling and the chattering of teeth sounded out to meet the horns and shouts of the dark army as it began its advance.

Giant demons were released from their chains, some began digging towards the wall, others began to run towards the gate. Behind them comes the rest of the army of the Dark Lord, thousands of demons lurched towards the walls. Arkians ran to the gate, being given the "honor" of taking the entrance to the city. The greater demons reached the gates to the city, they banged on the door they slammed into the gate and eventually they broke through and started to engage the human pike formation.

The Arkians behind received volley after volley of arrows, their ranks being thinned. Arkians looked around for their allies, however there were just a handful of demons. The Arkians, despite being alone, decided to advance.

The force ran through what used to be the gate. Piobar, the Warchief, felt the wind through his hair. The rain of arrows had thinned the ranks, but the Warchief would not be so easily caught off guard a second time.

“FIRE ATTACKERS, ADVANCE!” he bellowed. He’d have his warriors skilled in fire magic incinerate the next barrage of arrows.

“Father!”

Piobar looked to his side. It was Gobhar, his son. At only sixteen he should have been left back home, to guard the villages with the other young and old warriors. But he was his son- the Warchief’s son. He would come with them, and win his glory here, so could have a claim to leadership when he passed on.

“Son! Stay with the vanguard!”

“Look!” Gobhar screamed, pointing up. Indeed. The young warrior had seen what Piobar, in his haste, hadn't.

As the Arkians began to enter the city the defenders on the walls had started to pour burning oil onto their heads. The burning oil caught many of them off guard, not giving them the chance to use their magic to counter the flames.

“Gobhar!” Piobar screamed. The boy had barely avoided the oil, but Piobar knew what was coming. He knew his son had no idea what happened when fire and oil mixed. He pushed aside his own guard, trying to get to his son when…

“FIRE BARRAGE!” Gobhar called out, trying to lobby fire magic at the human guards above them.

“NO!”

The flames danced on the oil already scolding the nearby Arkian soldiers, and in a moment….

Piobar was dizzy. The explosion, the flames…. He blinked as he tried to regain his balance and then….

In a flaming molten prison, amidst the rubble and flame and oil… Gobhar cried out in animalistic pain and fear, his own fire attack and a wayward cascade of oil had not only caused the explosion, it had engulfed the boy in his own hellish cocoon.

“SON!”

Piobar frantically tried to get up only to be held back. Unean had pulled the Warchief away. All Piobar could do was watch, and thankfully the boy soon expired, dropping in a flaming heep amidst the charged human and Arkian bodies.

“MY SON!”

“HE’S DEAD!” Unean barked, and Piobar turned to growl at the leader of the Westland clan, who dared to speak to him like that while one of his own children was off safe on an errand for Salorth while his own progeny had perished before his eyes. Unean, however, was not going to back down.

“HE’S DEAD! HE’S LOST! WE NEED YOU TO LEAD US FORWARD!”

For a moment Piobar listened…and… it made sense. His son… his son….HIS SON!

“I’LL KILL THEM ALL!” Piobar roared, the mighty Arkian shoving Unean aside, and pushing past his own Flame Vanguard.

The human soldiers who had come out to meet them met his own flame magic, and then his own blade but…

“FORWARD!” Unean called out. It was the only thing he could do. Just moments after Gobhar died his father, the Warchief of the Arkian nation, had met his end from another barrage of human arrows.

And to command the Arkian forces forward was all Unean could do to keep them moving. More volleys of crossbows and the infantry of the Humans advancing, the Arkians fought on despite the challenges.

The walls and breaches were different, Demons scaled the walls and began to cut down the peasant levies who attempted to hold them back. Fear began to grip the forces of men, defenders on the wall began to break and run into the city. Even in the holes in the wall the humans who had first bent the knee began to break through the pike formations of the defenders, these "Chosen" were the beneficiaries of Salroth's gifts. They broke the will of their enemies and also broke into the city.

The Arkians, however, continued to hit setback after setback. Artillery had done the least amount of damage to the area surrounding the gate and due to that, the defenders were able to rain arrows down on the Arkians.
Cluaran stood strong with his comrades, cutting down humans left and right. While Unean, his Chief and the father of his mate, lead the main Arkian attack his comrades near him in the battle rallied around him. And of those, was Cail. They fought and fought until a relief force of Chosen slammed into the rear of the human formation. The surrounded defenders were cut down, and on the walls the defenders were forced back. The organized defense was broken, and now the real violence began.

Demons ran through the streets, houses were set alight, citizens were cut down, there was no order to it all, there was no sense to it, all pure violence. Around each corner was a new display of cruelty, Cluaran was shocked by what he saw. He had trained to be a warrior all his life, there was a code of honor associated with it and what he saw was in stark contrast to his idea of what a warrior was. The Chosen were grabbing women, clamping them in chains and bringing them back to their camp, demons were cutting down anything they saw.
Clauran stood there when a woman ran by him, she was being chased by a very large human adorned in the ornate armor the human ran past Clauran bumping into him as he went by. The Arkian yelled at the human as he went by, gripping his sword and turning to the man.

"Excuse me, but what are you and your men doing captain?"

"Sacking a city, wouldn't you know anything you savage ape?" The human said, turning his sword drawn as well.

The Chosen and the Arkians began to gather around their compatriots, all of the violence in the city seemed to stop for a moment as these two fighters circled each other.

"Listen here monkey, you don't want to do this. It is our right to plunder, Salroth himself promised us the riches of warfare. Go back with your friends and don't embarrass yourself."

"I've killed dozens of men before, you will be no different." Cluaran said.

The two came to blows briefly before a detachment of humans ran around the corner and presented pikes, the forces of Salroth seeing the threat began to form up. The chosen presented their pikes in response, but the Arkians got caught in the middle. The two sides started to advance towards each other, the Chosen called out to the Arkians to advance as a vanguard, the Arkians obliged, they used their magic and skill in combat to break up the human pike formation, despite heavy casualties. Then the Chosen crashed into the men of the thirteen realms. A melee broke out, pikes were dropped in favor of swords, the Arkians and chosen started to slaughter the enemies of the dark lord.

"Leave the city monkeys, if you don't want to enjoy the spoils then get out of our way!" The chosen captain said as the men of the thirteen realms broke and ran from the melee.

Clauran had nearly had enough. He was done being insulted.

“Say that to me, or any of us again, and I will skewer you all where you stand,” he growled.

“Come on, let it go,” Cail insisted, placing a hand on his friend’s armoured shoulder, but Clauran shook his head.

“I didn’t come all this way to be insulted by my own ‘comrades.’ And I came to fight Lord Salroth’s enemies. Not pillage women and children who can’t defend themselves.”

“We’re on the same side,” Cail growled back. And this got the Chosen captain to snicker.

“You’re the brother of the monkey the Prophet sent? Well I guess you’re not TOTALLY useless. Maybe not on your sister’s level, but at least you have a few brain cells to rub together. More than your captain,” he added, poking Clauran.

Clauran shook his head slightly. He loved Cail like a brother but… ancestors damnit. He was always way too eager to please. And he could see it. The Chosen captain’s words got to him. He was blushing and holding back, but he wouldn’t do it, because deep down Cail wasn’t a leader. He was a follower.
But that was fine. Cail wasn’t their captain. He was. So Clauran sighed, smiled, and nodded.

“Maybe he’s right, Cail. Maybe. But on the other hand…” and then he brought his armoured fist against the Chosen captain’s temple, causing him to stumble back.

Both sides- Chosen and Arkian- looked at each other. In shock, mostly. They’d traded barbs and insults, but they were all servants of Salroth. This… this wasn’t really something either knew to expect. The Chosen captain and Clauran brought their weapons against each other, Cluaran’s mace against the captain’s sword. Biatais, one of Cluaran and Cail’s longtime friends, watched and went to draw his sword as Cluaran and the captain brought their weapons against each other.

“No, it’s his fight,” Cail muttered as he saw Biatais grab his sword.
“Got it?”

Arkian bands had a formal leader who got their position through combat. That was Clauran. No other command structure existed outside of that. Yet Cail, being a Chief’s son and Clauran’s close friend, commanded a lot of informal authority.

So Biatais and the other Arkians heeded what he said, to allow their captain an honourable fight against the Chosen’s.

But the Chosen hadn’t shared Cail’s concern for an honourable duel. When the Chosen’s lieutenant saw Cail order his comrades to stand down he gave a different order.
“ATTACK!”

And as Clauran’s mace clashed with the captain’s sword, each leaning in trying to gain leverage… Clauran heard the command. And saw the Chosen’s captain smile wickedly as Chosen soldiers swarmed him from all sides, swords driven into any spot on his body not protected by armour. He cried out in pain, and then, brought to one knee, looked up at in defiance. And cried out in anger. The Chosen’s captain smirked as the Arkian troops were set upon by his own, caught off guard. And then he looked down at Clauran.

He just smirked again and raised his sword. He expected something from Clauran. A defiant last word. But instead…

“I’m sorry Arbia,” he whispered. He’d let his foolish pride lead him to this…and in doing so his love… his mate… darkness… there was darkness as his head hit the stone pavement underfoot.

The Captain looked up, disregarding Clauran’s body as it slumped to the ground.

“LEAVE THAT ONE!” he bellowed as he stepped over slain Arkian bodies to look at Cail. He was being held down, Chosen soldiers grabbing hold of his shoulders and forcing him to his knees.

Cail was utterly shocked. He’d been taught about war. About battle. And honour dictated that if two comrades came to blows, it was their fight and their fight alone… Cail had told his comrades, his friends, to stand down… and now they were dead around him. Because HE told them to let their guard down. He wasn’t even struggling against the Chosen that held him in place. He was shaking.

“Look,” the Captain growled as he leaned down to look Cail in the eye.

“You’re one of the Arkian chief’s kids, yeah? You really are the brother of the girl the Prophet sent?”

Cail nodded frantically.

“Good. I picked a good one to save then. Ain’t that right boys? Some humans ambushed us. Arkians fought hard and gave their lives… but this one, probably thanks to his pop’s teachings, managed to survive. Ain’t that right?” he pat Cail on the cheek, condescendingly. Cail felt his heart race. He’d heard him alright. And he realized…

Salroth likely wasn’t in any mood to let his troops slaughter each other… but… but… his men. They were dead because of him… Cluaran. Oh fuck… Cluaran… Cail looked past the Captain to the dead body of his best friend and his sister’s mate…

He was dead… they were all dead. But if he played along…

“Yeah… yeah I get it. I understand, I remember that…” Cail stammered.

“Good monkey,” the Captain grunted.

“Then you’re with us, until we’re back with the main army. Hope you don’t have the same issues with looting your friend did.”

Cail was pulled to his feet, and he trembled. And shook his head.
“No.”

“Good.”

Cail just tried his best to stay out of the way of the Chosen as they rampaged through the city, though the Captain never let him out of their sight. Arkians were primitive, but they were powerful. And troublesome in large numbers. He’d been happy to kill a rebellious troop of them, but if word of that got out well… Cail was his key to making sure it didn’t.

And as the city’s main square burned, Cail was happy to see the main Arkian force. And his uncle.

“Uncle!” Cail cried out.

Spogan had been speaking to a few of his officers when he heard his nephew.

“Cail!” he proclaimed, his pride turning to worry seeing his sister’s son with a contingent of Chosen rather than his comrades.

“Where’s Cluaran?”

“He died, the rest of them died,” the Chosen captain said coldly.
“Defending us. But Cail here, he came through…a tough one, he is.” He firmly pat Cail on the back, and Cail… in his moment of truth… well… he disregarded it.

“Cluaran and the rest fought bravely, but… the humans blindsided us.”

Spogan sighed. He was relieved that his nephew had survived, but his niece’s mate was among the slain. And he knew Arbia. This would… not be easy. That was, however, for later.

“We’ve made headway into the central city,” Spogan told the Chosen Captain.
“I’ll see to it this hero here has another chance to prove his metal.”

“Oh good,” the Captain smirked, patting Cail on the shoulder again, before leading his troops off. And as Cail watched them leave… he thought he could maybe tell the truth. But instead… well…

“Where’s father?”

Spogan’s jaw went tight. That.

“Your father’s dead.”

The colour drained from Cail’s face. He’d watched his entire troop- most of whom were friends he’d known and trained aside his whole life- die at the hands of their supposed allies. And now… now… his father…

“Father…”

“Unean lead us when the Warchief fell,” Spogan replied.
“He died an honourable death, like Cluaran.”

That… it made Cail’s stomach sick for a moment but… he saw something in his Uncle’s eyes as he spoke. In all the darkness around losing his friends, losing his brother in law, lying about it… finding out his father had died… he saw pride in his Uncle’s eyes. Pride that Cluaran had, supposedly, fought to his death to defend his allies. Pride in Unean for leading the charge when the Warchief fell. And pride in Cail for being a survivor.

“We all fight for the same cause,” Spogan said.
“These deaths, these honourable feets… it’s been hard. Salorth has given us the enemy’s strongest flanks. Many in the ranks grumble about being sacrificed. Stories of honourable service to our master… they’re needed to remind our troops of their oaths and duties.”

Cail looked past Spogan for a brief moment. Among the Arkians he saw securing territory was Spogan’s son, his cousin, Peirsil.

“Right, Uncle, right,” Cail said, trying to hide the shaking in his voice.

“Good,” Spogan replied.
“Your cousin needs to hear it. Keep him focused. We have more of this city to take. We’ll mourn the dead and honour their sacrifices when our enemies are vanquished.”

Cail nodded. He nodded, he smiled. The lie, the story that he’d just perpetuated about Cluaran…it was for the best. For his people. And for Arbia. No doubt she’d be distraught, but it was for the best if she believed he died an honourable soldier of Salroth. It was better that way. He regained a sense of composure.

“Peirsil!” he called out to his cousin.
“Peirsil! I didn’t fight off a horde of humans while my troops died around me, for us to be satisfied with one town square.”

Peirsil looked back at his cousin. Cocking his head just a bit in confusion. Cail, however, cleared up any doubt.

“Gather your men! We’re not done yet!”

Spogan nodded.
“Go with your cousin, son. He’s your new troop leader.”

Cail smirked, and Peirsil fought off the urge to grumble. Normally Cail would have to earn that through combat with anyone else who felt ready to lead, but they were in the midst of a war. So… it was fine. It had to be fine. There was no other choice.

“Yes father! We’re at your command, cousin.”

Spogan smirked. He watched as his nephew led his son and the rest of those under his command deeper into the city. And, out of a sheer hatred for the humans who had taken so many of them on that day, he summoned a fireball in his palm. And used it to light the Church of the Sun that had miraculously avoided the fires of war so far, aflame.

It was raining and Arbia had to constantly brush her wet hair out of her eyes.

Her heart was racing. It had been since going north. The latent fear of the vampires still clung to her. As did her defeat at the hands of the human. Perhaps she had been overconfident. Too sure of herself. She had proudly gone into this sure of her skills and her abilities but... she was only 19. Only three years removed from being made a warrior. Clearly she had much to learn.

And perhaps any other time that would give her something to aspire to. But now... now she just grit her teeth as her hands clutched Horsie's reigns tightly.

Because this wasn't any other time. She had it. She had what she'd been sent to so. She had Arlowyn dead to rights... all she had to to do was... was.... she tossed her head back, water whipping back in the rain as she looked up and screamed in frustration. It echoed through the empty, windswept, rained out countryside. And she felt her body slump as she panted. It felt good in a weird way. To let that out.

Everything she ever wanted... Salroth would give to her if she'd killed Arlowyn. But instead the human had... had zapped the fire magic from her. Her own body's heat from her. Left her broken and cold until she'd recovered. How? How had she managed that? She'd never heard of such a thing... and it had made her a failure.

That was why she was so nervous. She'd arrive back at the front lines a failure. Her father, her brother, her mate, her uncle, her cousin, friends... surely they'd won glory for themselves and she... she hadn't.

But... it was necessary. Arlowyn either knew magic she'd not let on or her sword had done it for her, but it was dangerous. Not just for her but her baby. It would be a while yet before she began to show but it was there... he was there... inside of her. And she would risk more than she had to. So she would grab Cail and Cluaran. Together they'd be more than a match for Arlowyn.

The rain continued to fall on her. The countryside was empty. Truly empty. Town after town devoid of a single living soul. Even the animals had fled away from Salroth.

Arbia stopped along a muddy road and slicked her wet hair back into a ponytail, tired of wiping it from her eyes.

She tried to imagine her father. What he'd say. This wouldn't be the first thing Cail ragged on her for, and Cluaran would be supportive. It was her father she worried about. She didn't want to let him down.

Her heart raced in her chest and she breathed deep, continuing on...

---

Arbia remembered a story her father told when she and Cail were young. As the story went her kind lived as beasts in the deep forests. No language or culture, no tools, and no ability to control their magic. Salroth came down to them from his high perch and granted them clothing, tools, language, the ability to build shelters and form clans, and most importantly he taught them to control their innate magic.
As she learned, their Lunar Goddess and Solar God had left them to fend for themselves in the wilderness but Salroth gave them everything. All he asked for was their loyalty.

Even as a child something about this story had bothered her. While others accepted it uncritically she wondered. If they had a Lunar Goddess and Sun God before Salroth were they really just beasts before he arrived? Beasts didn't pray to gods and goddesses.
It was just this thing that, as a child, she asked about only to be told to stop being "impudent" from her father. So she shut up and never said another word about it, but it sat in the back of her mind. Like a splinter. Never feeling right, always there, never entirely unignorable.

And it had forced itself to the forefront of her mind as she thought about her father as she approached Salroth's lines.

Her father. Cail would complain that their father favoured her, but Arbia found that laughable, just more of Cail's suffocating insecurity.
The fact was that Arkian society was rather egalitarian when it came to sex, but still... she could tell that her father had expected his twins to mirror their parents. The son would be a warrior and the daughter a healer.
It wasn't that her father disapproved of her being a warrior. No, he was very encouraging when she displayed a clear aptitude for fighting and hunting. But she got the sense he was amused by this unexpected turn of events... amused with her while just expecting Cail to be a warrior. She wished she could just have that. And she felt her heart lodge itself in her throat as she saw Salroth's banners in the distance.

---

Demons... the weight of the demonic was crushing... so much so that Arbia barely noticed the soil turning to dust as she approached the ravaged lands of the Thirteen Kingdoms. The devastation she had wrought to Arlowyn's village was nothing compared to what she saw here... it took her a moment to realize the scoured field she was riding into was the remnants of a city. The burning building- or rather the burning frames of buildings- scattered throughout the only hints of what was once here.

"HALT!"

A patrol of Chosen had stopped her.

"WHO GOES THERE?"

Arbia stopped Horsie and removed the twine holding her hair slicked back, shaking it as it resumed its wild shape. And then she dismounted and approached.

"My name is Arbia of the Westlands! Daughter to Chief Unean and an Arkian warrior of Lord Salroth! I've come to see my clan's warriors. It's vital if I'm to complete Lord Salroth's task!"

The head Chosen looked her over. She wrinkled her nose and growled a bit... it was mostly instinct.

And... he laughed. She frowned but he was amused.

"Oh you're an Arkian alright. Can I see your tail?" he said with a smirk.

"I don't know. Can I see your dick? Or did Salroth take that?" Arbia shot back as she traced her tail around her waist.
The Chosen leader chuckled to himself.
"I do like a monkey with spunk. Why aren't you with your army?"

"Lord Salroth's Prophet gave me a task. I need to gather some comrades to complete it."
"In other words, monkey, you failed."

The Chosen leader leaned into her but Arbia was undeterred. The frustrations dealing with Arlowyn and the vampires had left her wanting a fight. If he was willing to test her then she'd throw down."

"That's between me, the Prophet, and Salroth himself," she growled.
"So let me pass, so I can get on with my business or we'll have a problem."

"Heh," the Chosen leader shrugged.
"The Arkian horde is due northwest, camped on the south shore of the river."

Arbia was a bit disappointed he wasn't going to take her up on her offer to fight, but it was probably for the best that she not start a fight with her allies on the front lines. So she nodded, mounted Horsie, and took off in the direction told to her.

"You caught her name? Who she said her father was?" one of the Chosen asked their commander.
"He's dead."

"Yes. Not my place to console savages. Let her find out on her own," the Chosen commander remarked. Watching as Arbia rode off.

---

Arbia looked around her. The ground was dust. It was impossible to tell what was once land, and what was once the paved streets of the human city that had been here. The hills themselves seemed to glow as ash and embers....

And she had a sinking feeling in her stomach. She had been told that some of the Thirteen Realms would be given to Arkians. To let nature reclaim what humans had bastardized. But this was... not nature. This was demonic fury. Still... she said nothing, even as the rain mixed with ash from the air.

And then... she saw it. The multi-coloured banners of the Arkian clans! They were fluttering on poles driven into the dead ground, behind pikes and packed in soil, defensive positions. She road towards the line with haste, and let out a loud, almost euphoric howl!

It was fuelled by her desire to see her brother, her father, and her mate. And it was unmistakably Arkian! And indeed, the soldiers guarding the trenches, camped behind the pikes extruding outwards like a tangled mess of thorns, stood, and seemed to recognize her as one of them. One, a burly male clutching a warhammer, emerged from the trenches and, as Arbia stopped, let out a howl of his own!

"WHO RIDES?" he called out.

Arbia had Horsie trotting slowly towards him.

"Arbia of the Westlands! Daughter of Chief Unean! It's important I see my father and my clan's warriors!"

Arbia continued to ride closer, at first not realizing the burly soldier who had come to meet her wasn't replying. It was only when she got close though to see his face that she noticed he was... looking uncertain.

"I need to see my father and my Clan! I have a task for Lord Salroth and I need to gather some comrades to complete it!"

She had ridden right up to him. And he looked down for a moment.

"Arbia of the Westlands," he said, realizing
just who she was.
"I think it's important that you see the Warchief."

Arbia felt a hole in her gut open up. The Warchief? Had word of her failure reached here already? Had those blasted vampires done this?! If so... no! She wasn't going to get dragged before the Warchief. No.

"No. Time's been wasted already! I need to see my father, and I need to gather my comrades. I don't have time to deal with Piobar's theatrics and..."

"Piobar's dead."

Both Arbia and the burly soldier she was speaking to looked on as another soldier, another female warrior, approached from the trenches.

"And you will very much need to see the new Warchief."

Was her father the new Warchief? It was possible... if Piobar and his son died... her father was a respected warrior and clan leader of one of the larger clans...
Arbia dismounted from Horsie and approached the other female.

"Who's the new Warchief?" she asked.

The other female grunted. and looked at her.
"Spogan of the Burned Spirits."

"Uncle?"

"That's right, princess."

"Call me that again and I'll strangle you with your own tail."

"I'd love to see you try. I noticed you don't have a human head with you."

Arbia and the other female growled as they closed in on each other and burly male was forced to separate them.

"There's enough killing without us doing it to each other!" he bellowed.

"Fine," the female soldier grunted.
"Go see your Uncle. And do whatever you came here to do."

Arbia looked into the camp behind the trenches and nodded.
"Look after my horse," she grumbled as she walked off.

"You got an issue with her?" the burly soldier asked, as he went to grab Horsie's reigns.

"Never saw her before the Prophet did that thing with her in the valley," the female remarked.

"So what's your problem?"

"She's a chief's daughter and now the niece to the Warchief. Salroth's been grinding us to nothing and does her kind care? No. They're happy following his orders."

"That's dangerous talk."

"Like I give a shit. Know what's going to happen? She's gonna go on about her father's noble sacrifice. And then we're gonna have to fight it out in the muck."

The burly soldier grunted.
"Just be careful who you say that shit to. I don't need to worry about watching our front AND our rear."

---

Her heart raced. Something was... amiss. It was a lot of little things and one big thing. The obvious one was... the mood. Arkian warriors lived for battle. To fight, to win, even to die was glorious. There was no shame in dying in battle, and a fallen warrior's comrades would sing happily about it.

But as she walked through the Arkian camp Arbia noticed everyone was... dour. There were no songs, no celebrations. And by the looks of it they had rendered a human town to dust! Why was there not a glorious celebration? Was it because the Warchief was dead? Surely not! Her Uncle would surely have used it as an excuse! A grand celebration on the land of their vanquished enemies to honour Piorbar's heroic death in battle!

But everywhere she looked Arkian soldiers looked sullen. Worn down. And angry. Was it the rain? Or... had she missed something?

"Arbia!"

"Peirsil!"

Arbia ran, boots sloshing in the mud, as she embraced her cousin.

"I heard your father is Warchief!"

Peirsil sighed. And Arbia gave him a curious look.

"What's wrong?"

"You should speak to father."

"No! Peirsil... no!" Arbia broke off their embrace and shook her head.
"I've had my tail pulled every which way since I got here! Including by some Chosen who wanted to actually pull my tail! What the fuck is going on? Why does everyone turn into a smirking asshole or a sullen fucking troll the moment they hear my name."

"Father will..."

"Peirsil, tell me what the fuck is going on!"

Peirsil sighed and looked away for a moment. He knew his uncle should tell her. Or at least her brother. But...

"Peirsil," Arbia repeated. Less angry, more soft. Almost using his name to plead with him.

"Uncle Unean... your father... is dead," he said, trembling in the rain as he said it. He had to force himself to look at her.

And he saw his cousin shake and freeze up. Arbia's mouth opened as she went to speak but couldn't think of the words...

"Arbia there's mor..." but he didn't get to finish. She'd walked passed him.

"UNCLE! CAIL! CLUARAN!" she called out.
"UNCLE!"

Peirsil turned to run after her and they both saw Spogan emerge from a tent flying the Burned Spirits banner.

"Arbia."

"Uncle!" Arbia was almost out of breath. Not due to physical exhaustion but shock.
"Peirsil... he said... he said father was dead..."

Spogan shot his son a look as if to chastise him with a glare for telling her before he could but he didn't linger on it. What's done was done.

"I'm afraid, lass, he's right. Your father rests with the ancestors now."

Arbia looked utterly shocked. Her father. The strongest person she ever knew. Her family's protector. Who wasn't scared of a damn thing. Not even Salroth's vampires... her father... who was invincible... at least in her eyes...

She knew what was expected of her. To be a proud warrior who would drink and sing to her father's glorious sacrifice but... but... she felt like a scared little girl. Knowing her father was dead.

"I'll kill whoever took him..." she growled.

"I'm afraid we likely slaughtered him. Very few humans were left alive," Peirsil said.

Arbia looked up to her uncle.
"I need to see Cail. I need..."

"Cail has assumed command of the Westlands clan," Spogan said.
"I know you have a claim too but in the midst of battle we needed a leader and Cail proved himself."

"I don't care about being Chief, Uncle," Arbia replied, her voice trembling.
"But... but I need to see him. I need to talk to him. I need my brother, not a Chief. I need my brother."

Spogan nodded. He was going to leave it to Cail to tell her about Cluaran when...

"I need my brother and my mate, uncle. I don't know... I mean... I need to see them because..." she wiped some water and tears from her eyes in the rain.

"I need to see them is all."

She'd come here to recruit them to help her kill Arlowyn. But right now... she was trembling. She needed her mate- the father of her child- and her brother. She needed them. Needed them to help her understand why her father was gone.

And Spogan realized that perhaps making that Cail's responsibility was unfair to the young Chief.

"Cluaran is dead."

He said it quick. He knew it would best be handled like a bandage over a scab. Best to rip it off quick.
But even then his own heart sank as he saw Arbia... shatter.

Her wide violet eyes just grew dark and...

"Arbia..." he said softly. Wanting to comfort his niece.
"I'm so sorry."

Arbia collapsed. First to her knees... in shock. In the mud. And then, as she went to cry, she fell forward onto all fours, and bawled.

She was lost. The sounds of her uncle and cousin trying to comfort her just distant echoes as she cried.... she cried and, her emotions unrestrained, she felt every. Single. Arkian. Soldier's soul... everyone but the two that mattered most to her. And her fists balled up in the mud and she bawled.

Tears ran down her cheeks, burning in contrast to the cold rain.

Her mate. Cluaran. The father of her son... the baby growing inside of her... her love... the love of her life... she cried, on all fours in the mud, as her uncle dropped to one knee. He loved his niece and nephew like his own son, and put a hand on her shoulder to raise her up to her knees at least, but her nose wrinkled and she growled viciously, slapping him away!

"Cluaran! Cluaran!" she called out. Spogan wasn't deterred by her though, and just hugged her as they both stayed there on their knees.

"Lass, it's ok..."

"NO! NO! FATHER! CLUARAN! MY LOVE...MY LOVE..." her cries devolved into sobbing again and Spogan hugged her tight in the rain. Comforting her. He looked up only to whisper "get Cail and meet me inside my tent" to his son. Peirsil wanted to comfort his cousin too, but knew this would help and ran off. And as he did Spogan held Arbia tight until her thrashing stopped and in her distress she sunk into her uncle's embrace.

He held her close to him. Holding her head against his shoulder as the rain fell.

"I'm sorry lass," he said when her bawling had begun to get quieter.
"I'm sorry."

Spogan didn't care that others saw. It was understandable. He just wanted to get Arbia warm and dry. For her sake and her child's sake.

"Arbia, my dear..."

Arbia cried into his shoulder, but gasped and sniffled as he spoke now.

"Your cousin is gathering your brother. Join me in my tent. By the fire. You need to get out of the rain."

"I feel so cold..."

"No sense in feeling cold on the outside when grief will do that from within."

Spogan stood, and pulled Arbia to her feet. And she stayed standing. Lowering her head as if to look at the shattered shards of her life at her own feet. Soon though, she was walking into her uncle's tent. The Warchief's tent. And the warm hearth within.

And when they were alone Spogan tossed her a warm, thick fur blanket.
"Get out of your rain soaked gear. You need to stay healthy. For both your sakes."

He turned to give his niece some privacy as she stripped out of her armour and bearskin clothing, turning back to find her wrapped in the blanket by the fire. Looking listlessly into it.

"You know then, about the baby?"

"Age," Spogan said, as he sat next to her, "imparts some wisdom. You and Cluaran had been mates for what? Three years? You looked at each other like young lovers holding back their urges to rut look. But when we met your clan in the forest on the way to see the Prophet, well... I knew. You two looked like a proper mated couple. I knew you were carrying his child."

Arbia said nothing at first. Just clutched the blanket around her and looked into the fire.

"I failed," she eventually said, softly.
"I failed in my task... father is dead. Cluaran is dead..." she began to cry again and Spogan shook his head and placed a hand on her shoulder to comfort her.

"Your mate died fighting alongside Cail. Cail said he fought bravely until the very end to stave off a human ambush. Your child..."

"My son."

"Your son has a hero for a father."

"I know I should celebrate that," Arbia muttered listlessly.

"But... I just want to cry."

"Losing a loved one hurt. Losing two is..." he sighed.
"Your father might as well have been my blood brother," he added.
"I know how much his loss hurts, at the very least."

"Can you tell me how he died?" Arbia asked softly.

"Arbia!"

Arbia looked up to see Cail arrive with Peirsil! She almost stood before deciding to stay seated. She felt warm and comfortable for the first time in a long while.

"Brother!"

Cail dropped down to his knees next to his sister and the two embraced.

"I'm so sorry about Cluaran," he said softly.
"But he died a hero."

"That's what Uncle was saying."

Peirsil and Cail took their seats around the hearth and Spogan nodded.

"It's us, then. Family. Arbia, you deserve to know what happened. I wasn't there to see Cluaran's heroics. But Cail was. He should tell you, fully, about how he did us all proud.

Arbia smiled softly for the first time since hearing Cluaran was dead, but the smile was short lived. Because for a split second she saw a look on her brother's face. One that twins know all too well.

She could tell when he was about to lie.

Arbia stood, her bare feet on the furs inside her uncle's tent as she clutched more around her body. The world was... like somewhere else. Like it was something she was not a part of, merely observing. The rain that hammered down on the Arkian camp was both loud and distant, the sound of soldiers barely registering with her.

Cail, Peirsil, and Spogan were sitting around the hearth. And as much as she wanted to be with them... she also very much didn't. It wasn't that she'd lost her appetite for war and battle... it was hard to explain. She had never lost anyone truly close to her before. And now she had lost two. Her father, and the father of her child. Her mind was a mess. She just stood there, facing the rain and the camp, and neither her brother, cousin, or uncle felt compelled to get her. And even their voices and the cackle of the hearth were like distant echoes.

Her kin, and the Arkian soldiers who looked her way, might wonder what she was thinking. In truth, she wasn't thinking of anything. Her mind was too distraught, too broken. To try and focus on anything was near impossible. And when she did manage it, she would nearly break down because eventually she'd think of her father or Cluaran.

Eventually she shifted her grip of the fur she was clutching around her body to free her right hand. She let it slip out of the fur, and for a moment she just let it hang by her side limply. Eventually she raised it, very slowly, and inched it closer to the tent's opening, on the border of the dwelling's sanctuary from the elements and the rain. At first she just felt a bit of mist. Wayward drops from the sky. But eventually the tips of her fingers crossed the threshold. And soon her fingers, and then her palm.

She froze again, not doing anything, blocking out everything else from her mind, and just focused on the torrent of rain hitting her outstretched palm. The way the water splashed against her flesh, the way the pattern of drops hitting her palm was always changing. It was always the same, yet changing every second.

She wiggled her fingers slowly, at first just moving them through the cold air and rain. She'd played in the rain countless times before. Of course her parents, like all the other parents, wanted their children in their huts during a storm. But it was because their parents wanted it that sneaking out to play fight in the rain, to let yourself get muddy and covered with leaves and grass, soaked through to the bone, so fun.
Arbia smiled at those memories, before gasping softly. Her violet eyes went from her hand to looking down at her feet. Her father. And Cluaran. Every time she tried to think about something, she remembered them.

Her child would grow up without a father. Or a grandfather. She nearly collapsed on the ground there in tears, but thankfully she had something else to focus on. Something that didn't require much thinking. Only doing. She looked back at her hand in the rain, and began to move her fingers again. Not wiggling so much as.... feeling. Feeling the water in her palm. The water around her hand. The water hitting her palm. She focused on it. The sensation of the water, and nothing else. She breathed slowly, moving her fingers and he palm in concert with the beat of her heart. Her tail, which hung down limply in the fur she was clutching around her, began to sway to the same timing.

And then the rain began to dance. The strands of water danced and cut through their brothers and sisters as Arbia watched on, more strands of rain joining them as they swirled in the air...

It was sublime. Water magic was the one discipline of nature magic Arbia had never felt truly comfortable with. It took a lot of focus, and a lot of practice. But here... by clearing her mind... she was making the rain dance for her.

"Arbia."

The sound of her name coming from her brother caused her to tense up and the dancing water strands followed suit. Becoming ice spears over her palm. She ignored Cail for a moment and flicked her wrist. The ice spears fell to the ground and she pulled her arm back in.

"Arbia?"

She turned and faced her cousin, brother, and uncle.

"I need to change," she said matter of factly.

"Your skins should be suitably dry by now," Spogan said before turning to his son.
"Peirsil, fetch your cousin her clothes."

Peirsil nodded. He looked back to Arbia. He was lucky. His beloved was back in their clan's lands. She was a healer. She was safe. Arbia though... he hated seeing his cousin like this. He fetched the bearskin tunic and rope belt Arbia had come here in.
"The boots will take a bit longer."

Arbia just nodded and took the garment, moving quickly behind a hung bear hide, the closest she had to privacy as she let the smaller fur she had been holding around herself fall to her feet and she slipped on the mostly dry bearskin tunic that went to just above her knees. She tied off the rope belt at the waist and returned to sit next to her brother, still somewhat listless in movement, but happy to get her bare feet close to the fire.

"What's that?" Cail asked, pointing to the black chain collar around her neck. Arbia might have blushed any other time, but she was utterly over the world and all the fucked up parts of it.

"It's just something I picked up on my travels. Salroth's 'well wishes.'"

"Oh," Cail replied.
"Was it given to you or..."

Arbia shot him a look.

"Cail!"
Spogan growled at his nephew.
"Your sister's had to deal with much today. Spare her your pestering over jewellery."

Cail nodded.
"Sorry."

"'tis fine," Arbia replied softly as she stared into the fire, eyeing him to the side. The line of questioning was annoying... but it was more than that. Cail had told her how Claurun died. How the father of her child had heroically stood his ground against the armies of men.
And Arbia knew every word of it was a lie. He was her twin. Despite their rivalry growing up, they thought along the same lines. They knew what the other was thinking, what the other would say. And they could tell when each other was lying.
She didn't know how her mate had died. But she was certain that Cail's account wasn't the truth. She didn't know if her uncle and cousin were part of the deception. She said nothing further though, just looking ahead into the flames. And after a few more moments of silence, Spogan spoke.

"As Warchief, elected by the clans, it falls on me to lead us through this war," he said gruffly.
"The leadership our people have known has suffered loss, but it falls on me to rebuild. My son, niece, nephew, you're all warriors. And my kin. I need all of you by my side. It's more than just the Burning Spirits and Westlands that look to us. It's all of our people."

Arbia sat there, pulling her knees to her chest. She had come here to recruit Claurun and Cail to help her kill the human girl but so much had changed. She just sat and listened to her uncle.

"We will lead by example," Spogan continued. "Show them we fear no human, and lead as we march south with the rest of Salroth's host. The human realms have been infiltrated by Salorth's agents, and humans who have secretly come over to our Lord's side. While we push south they will work behind enemy lines to..."

"We're just going to go then?" Arbia asked.

"Don't interrupt uncle," Cail said firmly, but Arbia just glared at him.

"What was the name of the city father and Claurun died in?" she asked.

Cail stared blankly and Arbia turned to Peirsil.
"And you, cousin? Do you know?"

Peirsil said nothing and looked down. Spogan shook his head.

"Arbia I understand you're upset but..."

"So I won't be able to tell my son where his father and grandfather died," Arbia said with a bit of a chuckle. And she felt the collar around her neck getting hotter. But it only made her more upset.

"They died honourably. True Arkian warriors, fighting our enemies."

"So I'm told," Arbia muttered.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Cail shot back. Arbia could hear the panic on his voice, over his story not being fully believed. She didn't smile, but she felt like it, for having confirmed the truth as easily as she did. But it did encourage her.

"All of our dead, not just father and Claurun, all of our dead. Have we given them proper sendoffs to the next life? Have they been purified with flame to enter the next world with the rest of our ancestors?"

"I thought my sister's husband raised a warrior, not a shaman," Spogan grumbled.

"They deserve at least a proper funeral," Arbia shot back.

"In a time of peace perhaps, but death in service of our cause is its own reward," Spogan countered.
"Your mate and your father wouldn't want you..."

"NO!" Arbia stood up, promoting everyone else to.
"No, no... I'm the only one who seems to care what they want," she growled, and the burning around her neck was now bringing her to tears, but she fought through it.

"This is war, girl!" Spogan said, getting closer to his niece to impose his size and strength over her.
"I have tried to give you your space, allow you to work through your losses, but this is war and you are a warrior! Like your father and your mate. They died for our cause. Now fight for it and honour them," he growled.

It was a shock for Arbia. Spogan was always a kind, encouraging man. He'd shower her and Cail with gifts, usually a sweet root you could only find in his clan's territory that made for a delicious snack. He'd always bring as much as he could though. And when Cail and Arbia made it known they would both be warriors, he and his son, Peirsil, would help train them, spar with them. He'd teach them about the finer points of hunting even their father didn't really know of. He was always there. Kind. Encouraging.

And now he was baring his teeth to her, to get her to stand down. But that shock was overcome from the pain the chain collar was causing. No doubt Spogan assumed her tears were due to her sorrow. And in some ways they were, but the burning metal around her neck was what drove those tears.

"I'd only be honouring them if this cause was worth fighting for," Arbia shot back. She was shorter, weaker than her uncle. But she didn't stand down. It was a matter of not letting him assert dominance. Even as a sharp pang from her collar made her wince and twitch.

"You are an Arkian warrior and the child of a paramount Chief,” Spogan said firmly.
“It's your duty, our duty, to serve our master. After all he's done for us…”

“MY FATHER IS DEAD!” Arbia screamed. Cail and Peirsil both took a step back.
“Your brother in law…” she said to her uncle.
“OUR father!” she said, looking past him to her brother.

“He's dead, Claurun’s dead…”

“Yes! They're all dead!” Spogan grabbed his niece by her arms to hold her in front of him.

“Listen to me you selfish girl… you think they're the only ones who died? WE ALL LOST SOMEONE! While you were out galavanting…”

But Arbia brushed her uncle’s hand aside as she marched towards the centre of the tent, turning to face him.

“Everyone lost someone uncle… and was it worth it for any of them more so than me? Go outside in the rain, WARCHIEF, and find me someone who lost someone who isn't feeling what I’m feeling…”

“Cail…” she looked at her brother. He'd lied to her. She knew that. But in this moment.
“You can't just…”

Cail looked down. His father. His father… who’d he'd only ever wanted to impress. Who… he just… who he couldn't because… because… he looked at Arbia.

“Uncle’s right. You weren't here.”

Arbia felt a sinking feeling as her brother refused to even share in her grief.

“Cail…” she felt the collar burn again and she gritted her teeth before looking at him.

“You know what Salroth had me doing? He sent me to kill a peasant girl. A girl who’s never picked up a sword before. A girl who’s afraid of her own shadow. Does that sound like an honourable task to you?”

“Well…” Cail began…

He never asked for Arbia to be born…

That was a selfish thought. He didn't need anyone to tell him that. It was selfish by its very nature. He'd suppressed it. But looking at her now… all he'd wanted to do was live his life. Win his father’s approval. Win his friends’ approval… but no one ever saw him as his own person. He was one half of a pair, and Arbia didn't even have the good sense to realize that he should be the one to take the lead as the stronger one…

He loved his sister… but he'd never asked to be someone’s twin. Never asked for someone else… who thought like him, fought like him…

“You failed to kill that helpless peasant girl. What does that say about you?”

The burning of the metal around Arbia’s neck peaked as Cail’s words cut through her. She looked on in physical pain as her brother… her brother just tossed her aside. She turned and walked out, still barefoot, into the rain and mud of the camp as Arkians all taking shelter in their tents looked on.

“It says I won't be trying to kill her again!”

With one movement she gripped the black chain collar around her neck and yanked it… the black metal turning to ash as it hit the mud… and as the rain hit it… it steamed.

And the steam formed into the shape… the shape of the Queen of the Succubi.

“Hello monkeys,” Ember smirked as the war camp looked on in terror.

Except for Arbia. Who just stared at her through the torrent of rain.

---

Dream On by Killer V, 4:36

Ember looked at the camp as the rain fell. She saw fear on the faces of most of the Arkian warriors... and it emboldened her.

Because despite everything, she was afraid. Far more than these simple, primitive creatures were. What were they afraid of? Of demons? Of one simply more powerful then them? Pain. It came down to pain. They were afraid of someone hurting them. Ember though, Ember was afraid of what this meant. The black chain necklace that Arbia had tossed onto the ground turned to smoking ash in the rain. It shouldn't be possible! The spell Ember placed on her meant that the collar would only free her once the human peasant was dead! But here it was... Arbia had just tossed it off...

And that scared her. Her power. Her unfathomable power, the depths of the universe.... and this monkey managed to undo it! How? And further...what would Salroth say? What would he do?

Ember steeled herself. She couldn't show fear. She showed fear she'd lose control...

"Arbia, Arbia... what a disappointment."

Arbia said nothing, but walked towards her, not seeming to care about the rain pouring onto her or that she was barefoot in the mud. Ember looked over her shoulder, into the Warchief's tent as the Warchief, Arbia's cousin, and her brother came out after her. Ember smirked looking back into Arbia's violet eyes.

"When the spirits of the forest you live in whispered to Salroth and told him of an Arkian who could track souls, he had such high hopes for you," she smirked, using her bravado to mask her nervousness.
"But you couldn't even kill a peasant girl!"

She yelled it. She knew the Arkians valued strength. And if she could demean Arbia's fighting prowess then... well... it would make whatever had to be done easier.

"Why don't you tell your Uncle, the Warchief. How you couldn't kill a human girl?"

Arbia got closer. She let the rain hit her face, run through her hair. She'd just dried off from being drenched but now.... now the rain and the mud didn't feel like a burden... no... she felt free. It was cleansing.

She had decided she wouldn't be Salorth's pawn and... and the collar had come off! She didn't know how... but it did. Defiance... had power. And Ember's words, like the rain, just hit her harmlessly.

"Why don't you tell my people and my kin why Salroth is afraid of a human girl?"

Ember smirked again, lowering her head to shake it dismissively, before going to backhand the impudent monkey when Arbia grabbed her wrist out of midair. And squeezed. Ember gasped.

A silence fell over the camp, even as the rain came down.

No Arkian had harmed a demon in over seven hundred years. Salroth was their master. His demons his heralds and soldiers. Their allies... but here, Ember's facade cracked just a bit as Arbia squeezed Ember's wrist. And Arbia's expressionless face turned to sly smile where you could just make out her canine teeth...

Ember panicked. She couldn't afford to be seen as weak....

"WARCHIEF! CONTROL YOUR NIECE!"

Spogan was horrified at what he was seeing. Salroth wasn't just their master and saviour. He wasn't just the being they pledged themselves to... he was immensly powerful. More so then any Arkian could ever hope to be. He would not risk his people on his niece's rashness.

"Arbia! Release our guest! She represents Lord Salroth!"

Arbia, though, just kept her grip tight.
"Beg, demon," she growled, as Ember looked on, insulted, scared, and outraged all at once.

"ARBIA!" Spogan called out before turning to his son.
"Go get your cousin back here, now!" he barked at Peirsil, but Peirsil was in awe of what he was seeing. An Arkian just defied a demon! He didn't even really hear his father's command. And Cail instead moved in, hoping to win his uncle's favour.

"Sister," he said gruffly, grabbing her shoulder.
"Let her go."

"Beg," Arbia insisted again, ignoring Cail.

"Listen to your brother, wench," Emeber hissed back.

Arbia didn't turn her head when she addrssed Cail, instead looking right into Ember's eyes.
"Get your hand off of me Cail."

"NO!"

Cail pulled, and Arbia's mind raced. She thought, quick, and yanked Ember forced, forcing her to trip and land in the mud as Arbia spun and broke free of Cail's grip. And then... she ignored him. She walked through the rain, up to the nearest cluster of warriors.

"Did you know that was my mission?" sha said, not just to them, but loud that anyone could hear. Ember angrily picked herself up, wiping mud away as went to attack Arbia, only for her turn and...

A forceful gust of air blew from Arbia's palm through the rain and knocked Ember back.
"I'm not finished!" she insisted, before turning to the group of warriors.

"Frostrunners?" she asked as she noticed their blue and white banners.
"Your hard sorts, aren't ya? My pa always said so... well? Did you know that was my mission? To kill a human peasant girl?"

The group of warriors looked at each other and one shook their head.
"We knew you were chosen to kill a human."

"A peasant girl!" Arbia called out.
"Salroth fears a peasant girl! And you might ask me why I didn't kill her..." Arbia laughed. She eyed Ember and walked to the battle totem in the middle of the camp, her mudd covered feet stepping onto one of the bottom layers so she could address the whole camp.

"Because that peasant girl has a power. A power that's more frightening then anything Salroth has! And he fears it! But I FELT it! Salroth uses us! He sends us to die, he sent me to die, because he's too fearful to fight his own battles!" This got the Arkian camp in an uproar as jeers towards Arbia turned into arguments amongst themsleves, and through the increasingly loud chatter Ember glared at Spogan.

"FIX THIS" she mouthed and Spogan looked at his nice.

"ARBIA! I expected better from you!"

Arbia, still standing on the lower levels of the battle totem, just shook her head.
"First the demon, uncle, now you? All I can do is dissapoint! But I guess the truth is dissapointing."

"The niece I saw grow into a warrior..." Spogan began. He took a deep breath. He'd cut deep. He'd have to. He didn't want to hurt his nice. He truly didn't... but... but this was war. And Arbia had to understand that.

"Was a girl I thought new what war was! Your mate and your father, my brother in law, died! YES THEY DIED ARBIA, BECAUSE WE! ARE! AT! WAR!"

Arbia's mood turned stoic again as she looked down at her uncle from her vantage point.
It was true... what was she expecting? That after a few battles her lover and family would be safe and sound? People die in war... and it echoed in her mind for a moment... people died in war. She had trained for war. She had trained to give her life... anyone dying... that was war... but... but....

"Then why do we risk everything..."

"Arbia, shut up."

"...when..."

"ARBIA! QUIET!"

"WHILE SALORTH SITS IN HIS FORTRESS SAFE FROM BATTLE?"

"I AM YOUR WARCHIEF, ARBIA, GET DOWN! NOW! AND BEG FOR FORGIVENESS FOR..."

"I CHALLENGE YOU TO SABAID'URRAM!"
The quiet pause that followed that was but a split second before the camp- the entire camp began to cheer and chant.... Spogan looked like he'd seen a ghost. Not because he was afraid of his niece.... no. He just wasn't expecting her to challenge him to ritual combat.
"QUIET!" Spogan yelled out, followed by an eager Cail echoing his uncle.

"QUIET!"

Spogan looked at nis niece.
"You're too young to understand what you've just done so..."

"No. I know what I've done."
Arbia grabbed the upper level of the battle totem and pulled herself up. Just like climbing a tree.
"AND IF I'M RIGHT LET THE ANCESTORS GUIDE ME, UNCLE. AND IF I'M WRONG STRIKE ME DOWN AND LET ME JOIN MY MATE IN THE AFTERLIFE!"
Spogan looked up at her.
For a moment he could just see the little girl he'd see when he visited his sister and her husband. He just saw... he just saw his niece...
Could he do this? There was no coming back from sabaid'urram. He would have to kill her. He was sure he could. He was positive he could. He just... couldn't bring himself to...

"Do it," Ember growled in his ear.
This was perfect. Spogan would kill Arbia. No, it wasn't the success Salorth had hoped for, but it was a potential trouble spot snuffed out. Salvaging the situation.
"Do it. Kill her. She's in open rebellion against our Lord and master. Finish her off, and I'll see to it Salorth knows about your loyalty."

"She's my niece..."

"Better her die then your whole race," Ember snarled.

Spogan felt truly cold for the first time despite standing in the rain as he saw the pure depths of icey darkness in Ember's eyes. And that fear... moved him. Because he didn't doubt the sincerity behind the implication for a moment.
He nodded and....with a flick of the wrist a concentrated fission of fire launched from his palm to the wooden totem. It was meant to be lit after a great victory, but he wanted to end this quick. Arbia was caught off guard, leaping into the mud and dirt as the wooden structure lit up in flames. She... realized she would not get a chance to ask for her boots.

"I NEVER WANTED TO HURT YOU, NIECE," Spogan called out, the loose mob of Arkian warriors now encircling them around the totem. Arbia pulled herself off and muttered to herself.

"Fuck."
The totem was the only thing like a tree around here. She liked to used the momentum from jumping down to make up for her strength disadvantage against males... but that wasn't an option.

"YOUR MOTHER WILL NEVER FORGIVE ME BUT YOU LEAVE ME!" he brought a wave of electricity cascading at Arbia, and she stumbled just getting out of the way.

"NO CHOICE!"
Spogan ran through the mud, his boots thumping as he took advantage of his niece's uncertain footing and decked her across the head. Arbia landed back first on the ground and Spogan went to finish it. It would be ugly but quick and he'd psyched himself up just long enough to be able to do this. He let out a fiersom yell and aimed his right arm down towards Arbia to blast her with fire when....

"UGH!"
Spogan gasped as Arbia wrapped her legs around her uncle's arm and yanked him down. Her head was still spinning but she had to focus on the fight... just the fight. And as soon as her footing was just a bit stable...she leapt. Twisting her body to bring her bare foot down on her uncle's head as he was stumbling over.

"AAAYYYAAAA!" she cried out, blasting her uncle with a wave of fire of her own... she was crying as she did it. Tears streaming down her cheeks at having to kill her uncle. But it had to be done. Had to for...

Arbia gasped. Spogan had walked through the wall of fire Arbia had consumed him with. His pelt under his armour burned at the edges... but... he was fine! He grabbed Arbia by the neck and lifted her up slamming her into the mud and dirt back first.

"You foolish, stupid girl! I'm the Warchief! Do you think I was proclaimed that for any reason other then I am the strongest..." he squezzed Arbia's neck causing her to gasp and squirm helplessly as Ember looked on delighted.
"I loved you, but if you are too stupid to live, then you are just as weak as your mate, and I do your child a mercy by not letting that meekness into our world..."

Arbia gasped.... but Claurun...
Her child... was Claurun's... her uncle... she flet her body go tense... she felt something... some deep, primal energy... it was like the heat she felt with fire magic but... stronger. And more naturally flowing through her. Spogan raised his other hand to suppon an attack but Arbia dug her feet into the ground and lifted herself up, forcing Spogan up to his feet with his hand still around her neck....

Arbia growled and bared her teeth... unaware of the golden energy radiating from her as everyone looked on in awe...

"Don't say that about Claurun," she growled, this primal energy and rage dancing and then....

Peirsil saw his cousin force her uncle up depsite the fact that her uncle had her by the neck and... and... then.... that golden energy was gone... but Arbia had changed. Her black hair was golden.... her violet eyes were jade... and.... the energy that had caused this had knocked his father back! He looked to Cail, who couldn't believe it.

And then with one motion Arbia summoned a fission of golden fire that shot through his father's chest... the blood and meat and fur and metal from his clothing and armour shooting out the back as Arbia effortlessly... killed him.

At least... he thought was Arbia. The hair... the eyes.... he wasn't sure if that was still her in there.

---

Arbia felt her body radiating.... she had just... lost herself in anger and primary fury and now... now.... with one move.... one motion that seemed more like instinct then deliberate, she'd killed her uncle. His corpse fell to the ground.... And she turned to Ember. Glaring at her.

Ember was utterly shocked. The battle potential of Arkians was an occassional discussion amongst Salorth's inner circle, but this wasn't anything anyone thought... Ember looked around at the Arkians watching and....

"Nuts to this," she muttered, vanishing in a whisk of black smoke.

Arbia breathed deep and looked around. To Peirsil whose father she had just killed. He was looking on shocked. And she hoped... hoped that now that she was...

"WARCHIEF!" she cried out.

The awe tha had washed over the crowd...erupted into a primal chant.

This was... something so beyond... that no one had any context what this could be... but this girl, she had just transformed and killed the Warchief in one on one combat! She had to be procliamed.

"WE SERVE SALROTH NO LONGER!" Arbia called out.
"I WILL LEAD US TO THE HUMANS AND TOGETHER WE WILL..."

"NO!"

Cail stepped forward into the enclosed area where Arbia now stood, still radiating. Even more so as the sun began to set.

"I won't let you sister. Salorth... is our Lord and Master. He uplifted us. From beasts. Do you forget that?"

"I won't let anymore of us die to be his pawns," Arbia shot back.
"Brother, please. I've killed enough blood today... don't me kill you."

"Would you?"

Arbia said nothing... and her golden hair faded to black, her violet eyes returned. She panted for a moment. And said nothing.

"If you won't..." Cail cotinued, "then I claim the mantel of Warchief! And we will fight for our master! Our lord! Until the end!"

There was a silence only underlaid by murmurs. Arbia had had just slain the Warchief. By all rights she was the rightful successor.

"I don't want to fight you Cail."

"Then don't."

"You saw what I did to uncle."

Cail gulped. It was true. He did. And he was partially terrified at what he was doing. What his sister had done... if she could achieve that again... it was.... powerful. It was awe inspiring. And he hated it. He fucking hated it. His sister. He couldn't... fucking deal.... he wanted her to kill him. End it. End it now... but she wouldn't. And if she wouldn't sieze the moment...

"If you won't fight me, sister, then as Warchief, I banish you."

Arbia stood there and looked at her brother. She chuckled. He really did have the balls to claim that title, after SHE had won it...

"And be lucky, sister, that I don't avenge our cousin by having you killed."

Arbia looked at Peirsil. Only for a moment. She'd killed his father. And she couldn't bring herself to look at him before turning to Cail.
"You sound ridiculous."

"I sound loyal," Cail muttered.
"Fight me, or leave."

Arbia felt that strange, easy, natural, primal energy peaking again, but supressed it. She was on the verge of tears over killing her uncle. She couldn't kill her brother. And if this was.... the end... then....

"I'm going. Because I won't be a pawn to demons any longer. Enjoy your kingdom, Warchief," she spat at Cail. Turning to leave as she, barefoot, walked out of the camp, her hair soaked through, damp.

Cail was ready. Ready to attack her. To spit... to declare one a coward... but he stopped himself and proved his sister right. Because he knew... if she could achieve... whatever it was she just did... he would die. And as much as he wanted her to end it for him... he was too cowardly to initiate it himself.

---

Arbia walked through the rain. The mud. Leaving the camp behind. Where would she go? She didn't know. South. Somewhere. Try to find some humans. Try to find a way to fight.

The banners that marked the Arkian camp were ahead. And the sentries that had greated here here were gone. Indeed the whole army was... where she'd just been exiled from.
But there he was.

"Horsie," she said with a grin. She was damp, rain soaked through her hair and tunic, barefoot in the mud, but Horsie was where she'd left him.
"Come on," she said.
"We... we gotta go..."

She'd pulled herself up when...

"Horsie? You named your horse Horsie?"

Arbia turned...

"Peirsil!"

"That's a real shit name."

"Well yeah yours is, but don't take it out on Horsie," Arbia replied with a smirk. She just... said it. She always found it easy to talk to her cousin... even after what had just happened.
"Why are you here?"

"We're following you."

"Who?" Arbia asked. She was shocked. Because if anyone was going to hate her... surely it would be Peirsil... but that was not the most important thing he'd said. He said "we're."

And suddenly the murmurs of the Arkian camp, which had gotten softer and softer the further Arbia had walked from it... began to get louder.

"There's a fight comin,' cousin, and by the end of it, you're not goin' be alone."

[h[/h]

Burn by 2WEI and Edda Hayes, 3:21

A pillar of fire formed on the ground by the camp of the armies of darkness. Demons were burned to a crisp as the pillar expanded, first came Galmash the right hand demon of Salroth, then out stepped the sisters of fate. The Prophet of Salroth walked over to the inferno and with his powerful voice he said.

"I introduce the Emperor of the World, Master of Darkness, Lord of Demons, Slayer of Heroes, Lord of Temptation, King of Kings, Lord of the four corners of Sorras, and Master of all beings: Salroth."

The Dark Lord strode out of the pillar of fire, the lieutenants of Salroth first knelt, then did the army. The Dark lord came to his forces with his armor on, but now his helmet. His long, black, wavy hair fell past his shoulders, his red eyes glowed and around him light seemed to disappear. His immense body would make him tower over greater demons. There was an irony to the intimidating appearance, Salroth's face was fair, his beauty made all who see him feel both peace and fear. Salroth looked around as he walked to the center of his forces; he was speaking in a soft, comforting tone as he moved. When the Dark Master first appeared there was fear, but hearing his voice brought peace to the army.

"My children. I am most pleased with your victories, remember marching under the black banner brings victory should you march for me you will conquer." The Dark Lord stopped in the middle of the army.

"I am most displeased to hear that there has been a defection." Salroth's voice changed, where there was once a calming, almost intoxicating tone was replaced with an immense sense of dread.

"I have heard through the birds, and winds that my tracker has broken with my forces. I hear that she achieved a power that none of you could match. I wonder where my greater demons were when this traitor killed a war chief? I wonder why the other Arkians did not cut her down where she stood when she defected? Perhaps there was fear, fear that you must think is more than what I can provide." The Dark Lord waved his hands and chains sprouted from the ground. They latched onto Ember and Cail.

Ember was brought directly to the Salroth, she came face to face with the Dark lord.

"Why is it when I'm with you I always seem to be tied up?" Ember said though her sweating brow betrayed her.

"You and I will have a serious conversation back at the Teufelpunkt." Salroth said with a smirk.
"As for you, Arkian, I have a proposition for you. I can give you a power you could only dream of, pledge yourself to me for eternity and I will make sure that the next time you see your sister you won't have to hide with your tail between your legs." Salroth spoke to the Arkian, if you could call it speaking. Cail's head heard Salroths voice but his ears heard something else.

"Arkian, you shall go back to Schattenreich with me, there I will determine if you are worthy of remaining in my army."

Other Arkians jumped up and threw themselves at Salroths feet to beg for the young warrior's life. The leadership of a great clan was reduced to one living heir. There was a commotion around the Dark Lord, but Cail did not pay it any mind. His thoughts were stuck on Arbia, and his reaction to her. He couldn't shake the feeling he had when Arbia killed their uncle, the power he felt from her, he was jealous. The envy of his sister grew and grew by the second, then he came to his answer. In his mind he responded to the Dark Lords proposition.

"My Lord Salroth. I accept." Cail said with determination.
The Dark Lord smiled as he looked at the Arkian.

"Then you shall become the greatest Arkain warrior of all time." Salroth spoke into his mind.

"I am bringing these two back to Schattenreich to be judged. I leave you in the command of the Prophet of Salroth and Von Drachen. Go forth and conquer.”

The Dark lord lifted his arms and a new pillar of fire engulfed the beings who were going back to the Teufelpunkt. The armies of darkness cheered as their master went back to his domain. They knew that under the Dark lords banner they would conquer.

“You heard our Master!” The prophet said.

“Get some sleep mortals! Demons set up a perimeter, we don't need a human ambush tonight!”

---

The Teufelpunkt dungeons were a never-ending labyrinth of chambers. All manners of Demons would walk throughout the complex, they would grab some poor unfortunate soul from a cell and drag them off to experience what could only be described as damnation. For days after agreeing to receive the power that Salroth promised Cail was subjected to the worst treatments imaginable. Demons would press burning irons depicting runes onto the Arkains tail, back and arms. They would carve words into the arms of the Arkain, but Cail did not know what these words meant. Cail was required to drink the blood of demons, this typically poisonous drink seemed to give the Arkian an odd feeling though.

On the thirteenth day, Galmash himself came down into the dungeons and stopped in front of Arkain's cell.

"It is time boy." Galmash said as the door was opened.

"Are you going to kill me?" Cail said, he looked up at the Greater demon meekly.

"No, our lord is ready to give you the gift of true power." Galmash said with a smile.

Cail was grabbed by two demons and carried up the thousands of stairs to the main part of the fortress of Salroth. The grand hall's golden mosaics depicting the great victories of the Dark Lord showed all who were waiting for an audience with Salroth who exactly they would be meeting.

The black marble doors opened and the honor guard of Salroth strode towards the Arkian. Cail was still unable to stand on his own, the honor guard took him into the throne room where a slab was in the middle of the room.

The slab had manacles on the top and at the bottom. Cail was strapped in by the guards, he did not flinch though. The Arkian had steeled to the treatment the demons were giving him, the Arkian looked at the Dark Lord.

Salroth had been sitting on his throne watching the Arkian, Ember was there as well, however a chain connected her to Salroths throne. Salroth stood and his black robes trailed behind him, the fringes seemed to be burning constantly and then reforming.

“Arkian, I am here to bestow upon you the blessings of Salroth. For thirteen days you have been branded with and carved on the runes of the Dark Lord. The final step is upon you, do you choose to accept?”

The dark lord's voice boomed in the Arkians ear, it seemed as if it was two voices, the voice of a man followed by a deeper, much more sinister sounding voice. A voice that almost seemed like a drum being beat the voice was so low.

Salroth held an obsidian chunk in the air. There was a moment, Cail felt no fear and looked at the chunk as it swung down and pierced his chest.

“By my might, I bestow upon you the powers of hell. Go and destroy your enemies, go and destroy mine.” Salroth said, keeping his hand on the chunk.

There was a purple fire that shot out of the chunk and then Cail's mouth and eyes. There was no pain though there was only the feeling of power.

Meritocracy was a strange thing. To display skills worthy of leadership should entail loyalty and belief in one's ability to lead.

Arkian society rested on a violent form of this. Even the chieftains who passed their rule down through their bloodline could see that lineage toppled if a weak leader was bested by a challenger.

The sanctity of this principal- that displaying one's ability to lead through strength qualified one to lead- was paramount.

Yet for seasoned Arkian warriors some were questioning if this nineteen year old girl was truly fit to be Warchief?

She had killed her uncle, the last Warchief. But even then... many were only here because of the power that she'd displayed. Power that had caused much murmuring amongst those that had followed her.

Arbia had finally found some boots, her feet no longer chilled to the bone. And she sat crossed legged, her tail idly swaying behind her, under an animal skin tent. As these elder warriors who had promised to follow her yet weren't entirely sure if they should, gathered around her, and her cousin Peirsil.

"You should have killed your brother."

Arbia looked up. They were all gathered in close to stay out of the rain.

Buntata, a female warrior chieftain from the southeast, had spoken up.

"Your brother challenged you. He claimed leadership after YOU bested your uncle. You should have killed him. You'd have cowed the rest of them into following you."

Arbia grumbled softly, not enough for her to hear, though it was clear her jaw was clenched for a moment.

"We need to keep moving south there's..." she tried to say as she pointed to a map she'd laid out for everyone.

"Why didn't you?" Buntata interrupted. Arbia twitched her head just a bit.
Buntata had followed her with whatever warriors she could convince to leave Cail, but this was a challenge. Or a test.

Arbia looked up.
"I didn't best my uncle. I killed him..." she said coldly. She could feel Peirsil- her cousin and the son of the man she'd killed- looking at her but she couldn't bring herself to look at him. So she kept looking at Buntata.
"...after I found out my mate and my father were both dead. I wasn't going to kill my brother."

"You're going to have to. When the time comes will you be ready?"

Arbia didn't say anything for a moment. Buntata cut her off when she went to speak.

"If not how can you lead us?"

"Because," Arbia stood up. She was younger than Buntata by a good fifteen years but she was mostly eye to eye with her. The two growled a bit before Arbia smirked.
"I'm Warchief. If you want to lead, fight me. Cail is my kin, and enough of my kin's blood's been spilled lately. But I'd have no problem spilling yours."

Peirsil stood now. If only to try and calm the situation. The last thing anyone needed was a fight here. Their ragged army had barely set up a camp and the rain was intensifying.

"Cute, girl," Buntata replied. Still, despite her demeanour, she was scared. That... power Arbia had displayed when she bested her uncle was... like nothing she'd ever seen before. She had no desire to fight it. And what's worse? She suspected Arbia could smell that fear. Unean's daughter had always been a good tracker.

"But when," she continued despite her doubts, "we meet them again, you'll have to fight Cail."

"I've been fighting Cail my whole life, I'll do what I have to do."

"Buntata lacks tact as always," Spaudan of the Broken Storm tribe added. Buntata rolled her eyes but let Spaudan continue.

"But she brings up a worthwhile point. Why don't we turn back and attack the others? We don't even need to subdue them all. When you kill Cail they'll fall in line. And then we can attack Salroth's demons head on."

Arbia smirked as she returned to her sitting position alongside her cousin.

"You'd think we can fight all of Salroth's demons, and him himself of course, on our own?"

"Girl,"

"Warchief," Arbia corrected him. She wasn't a child any longer. And she hadn't killed her uncle to win his title only to have it disregarded.

"Warchief," Spaudan corrected himself, "with the power you displayed, I believe you could do it yourself."

Arbia looked up at him. That... that power...

"I don't even know it happened. It was like a rage consumed me and then... I was floating in pure power."

"Can you do it again?"

"I haven't tried."

"You should. It's a gift from Ghrian."

Arbia looked up, shocked. She knew who that was but...

"I never took you for a worshiper of the weak old gods," Buntata said with a chuckle.

"I wasn't," Spauduan replied matter of factly.
"Until I saw her hair turn into gold and her eyes into jade. Just like the stories of the god Ghrian."

"If the Warchief has been gifted the power of Ghrian," Lieub of the Central Glens spoke up, "what does that mean? Have the gods finally returned? After leaving us for so long? Do we worship them? Even after they abandoned us?"

Arbia shook her head. She was not willing to able to tolerate a theological discussion.

"Whatever it was that I have... and will
master... arguing about old gods won't change things now!"

"Look here!"

She pointed to the map.
"Even if I kill my brother, and most of the rest of his followers follow us instead, it's a suicide push. Would you all risk everything on the gifts of a god who abandoned us?"

There was quiet, as the rain came down on the tent.

"If what I do have is a gift from a god..." Arbia pointed south.
"We need to move south. Away from Saltoth's forces, long enough to regroup at the very least. And... and find someone else who has the gift of a god."

"Who?" Lieub asked.

"Salroth sent me to kill a human girl," Arbia replied.

"You failed," Buntata shot back. Arbia didn't stand this time, but she looked up.

"Yes. I did. And so I know what I'm talking about."

A hush came over the crowd again for a moment.

"I chased her into the mountains by her village," she continued.
"She was scared. Like a fawn separated from its mother and father as you close in. It's not moving to stay alive or because it hopes to shake you, it's moving like a panicked helpless thing that doesn't know how to fight back. That's how this girl ran from me. When I saw her, face to face, she was terrified of me. She had no look of defiance in her eyes, no certainty her gods would protect her, she was terrified and she could only run deeper into the caves. But when I found her... she was holding a sword."

Arbia trembled a bit. That sword. It had rendered everything she knew helpless. It had sucked the fire from her blood and left her trembling and cold. But... that was why she was telling this humbling story.

"This girl... this Arlowyn... wields a sword that can render powerful magic useless. She didn't know she was destined to have it until she did, but when she did she proved how powerful she was with that divine blade. If we are to bet our cause on the gifts of gods, we need to find her. I felt what that sword can do. It rendered me helpless. Imagine if it could be thrust into Salroth's heart?"

"So you'd ally us with a human," Buntata said, frowning.

"We need help, to survive. Otherwise we will die and Salroth will never free our people. Your children, your grandchildren, will never be anything more than his thralls. I'll side with a human if I think they can help us win."

"How do you know where she is?"

Arbia smirked.
"The same gift that helped me find her before. I know what her soul feels like. And we'll head south to find her."

---

Arbia's tent wasn't nearly as big as her uncle's had been. But it was enough to stay warm and dry in the downpour. She removed her gauntlets and boots to warm herself by the fire as she and Peirsil were left alone.

"Allying with a human is..."

"I'm sorry I killed your father."

Peirsil gulped. He... desperately avoided that since he'd joined the Arkians who had followed Arbia... but Arbia, looking into the small hearth at the centre of her tent, had just blurted it out.

"Father was..."

"He was my uncle..." Arbia continued. And Peirsil looked at her... and could see tears in her eyes.

"He was my uncle... and he..." she burried her face in her knees for a moment before she breathed deep and looked up. She couldn't cry. No... she couldn't cr...

...Peirsil hugged her tight. Out of nowhere he squeezed her.

And HE was crying. Softly. But clearly.

Arbia pressed her face into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry..." she said softly. It was the last thing either of the cousins said that night, as they cried together.

CHAPTER TWO

Arlowyn spent the entire night digging burials for the bodies. She had gathered all the corpses she could find, sprawled and scattered across the remains of the village and surrounding farmlands. She could recognize a select few of them—their faces untouched enough to be familiar, but now pale. Cold. Devoid of life for days now.

But that could only be said for a few. Most of the bodies were too charred and burnt to be clearly recognizable.

Still, though, these were her people. She’d grown up with them. Danced with them. Drank and worked and went to church with them.

She labored for the whole night in the fields to the north side of the village, not far from her old home. There, where the field met with the woods just before one would come upon a small creek, she dug out a ditch for each and every body she had been able to find. By the early hours of the morning, she had laid nearly all of them to rest.

Nearly all of them. Her parents remained.

Again, Arlowyn ventured into what used to be her home. For a moment, she just stood there in the doorway looking at the ruined interior where she could still hear the echoes of memories in her mind of her and her parents eating, drinking and socializing. If she dug deep enough into the back reaches of her memory, she could still remember, faintly, her long-gone brothers and sisters there too.

She looked down to the bracelets on her wrists—one for each lost sibling’s soul. She felt so much loss. She felt so alone in a world that seemed to be falling apart all around her. She wanted to just collapse in the doorway and cry.

Arlowyn let out an uneasy sigh as she steadied herself and fought off more tears. She took the first shaky steps into her ruined house. Then she went off to the side toward her room where she had first found her parents’ bodies. She took the first body in her arm—undoubtedly that of her mother, though missing her head—and took it down to her makeshift graveyard. The sun was rising. The night sky was slowly becoming brighter.

Arlowyn’s body felt weak. Exhausted. She fought to stay awake and stay standing. She had spent the last week or so constantly on the move with only the bare minimum of rest. It was taking its toll on her. She managed to get her mother’s body down to the graveyard without dropping her, and gently laid her to rest before heading back to the house to fetch her father. She pulled his body off her own bed and onto a large enough wooden plank that she could use to drag him to the grave.

The sun’s light began to make its presence known as a warm, orange light slowly arose from the far eastern horizon. It was cast upon the forests and fields, and as Arlowyn dragged her father’s body to its final resting place, she could feel Arno watching her.

She laid her father down into the grave he was to share with his wife. They were shoulder to shoulder, in there. As Arlowyn climbed back out after settling Leufred’s body down, she took one last, long look at her parents’ bodies. These two had raised her–did everything in their power to make sure she was healthy and safe. And now, like all her siblings, they too were now gone. She wondered how many other young men and women, even children, were now burying their own parents like herself. Or even how many parents were burying their sons and daughters.

As Arlowyn took a shovel in hand, and began casting the mound of displaced dirt back over the grave, as she had done with the other bodies, she now couldn’t help herself. With every shovel full of dirt she threw back over the last of her family, the tears finally fell again. She took a long, solemn moment to look upon their faces one final time before she gently poured dirt over top of them.

When she was finally done, the sun had, by then, risen. Her god loomed over her, casting upon her radiant light from atop the heavens — and yet, she felt cold and hollow. As the birds awoke and they played their chirping tunes, Arlowyn knelt down before the bare dirt that now covered her parents.

And she just sobbed.

---

There was a low unnatural growl as it moved toward her, it was hunched over like some sort of predatory scavenger, eyes of baleful red glared at Arlowyn with soulless hunger. A long fleshy tongue flicked back and forth as burning gouts of smoking saliva flowed from between rows of blade like teeth. Its body was a vile jaundiced yellow and its flesh was a tapestry of twisted sinews and bent limbs, as though it had been quite literally forced into its present form by some cruel shaper. Upon sighting Arlowyn the monster let out a blood curdling roar that made her blood run cold as ice before rearing up, ready to pounce.

Suddenly the beast seemed to slacken, its body going limp as it was lifted above the ground, a fissure seemed to burn across its ribcage, and it was held aloft by what Arlowyn could only describe as a lance of pure shadow. A black tendril of inky darkness pierced the demon's chest and as it rose up it flicked the impaled creature aside as though it were nothing more than excrement from a boot.Arlowyn watched in stunned confusion for a moment that seemed like an eternity, then she beheld the stranger and her blood felt like ice once more.

She stood alone, surrounded by writhing shadows that seem to flow and twist around her as though alive, she was a woman at first glance but that did little to assuage Arlowyn’s fear. The stranger wore black from head to toe, her attire the practical leather and cloth of an adventurer or burglar and about her waist rested two long knives that seemed to promise menace with their mere sight. The figure strode toward Arbia, shadows slowly fading as she drew closer.

“So, this is the one who has been making so much commotion” the stranger said in a voice soft as silk and menacing as poison

She was tall, perhaps a little too lithe for a normal human, there was an alien quality about her form and the strangeness only seemed to grow more pronounced as she pulled back her hood to reveal a face like none that Arlowyn had ever beheld. Her skin was the color of slate, not an ounce of warmth seemed to flow across the stranger's flesh and while her features could almost be called beautiful with her graceful aquiline bone structure, the eyes were as black as coals with no pupils to be seen. Arlowyn shuddered, they were like pits of soulless void.

“What...who...are you?!” Arlowyn asked by now having raised her blade defensively

The stranger smiled “you might want to mind who you point that blade at, for now lets just say im an enemy of Salroth” the stranger said eyes fixed upon Arlowyn like some sort of predatory horror

“Does the enemy of Salroth have a name?”

“Miasa”

“Weird name”

“And who do I address now?”

“Arlowyn”

“Well met, now as much of a pleasure as this is, we need to move, there will be many more like the one I just gutted looking for you, you are like a lantern surrounded by moths out here”

Arlowyn firmed her lips. This being, this… Miasa. She dispatched a demon so effortlessly…

“I can take care of myself,” she remarked, trying to toughen up in posture and tone for this… thing.

“Besides, I was told to wait here anyway.”

Miasa’s expression shifted briefly, the briefest flash of something resembling a frown appearing and then vanishing almost imperceptibly. Arlowyn felt her stomach knot as she realized she had no idea what this strange being was thinking, whatever strange intelligence was at work it was shrouded behind two eyes that better resembled inky voids. Miasa turned slightly as a gust of wind flowed past and smirked, an expression that seemed more menacing than comforting.

“I dare say your wait will not be long” Miasa said in an amused tone

In the distance a sound began to appear, like rolling thunder pounding the dirt, Arlowyn soon realized what it was. Though resembling a storm, the sound was of a more terrestrial source, the sound was the crashing of galloping hooves, riders were approaching.

“Your rescuers will not extend the same courtesy to me, i leave you now, but i will be watching, we will meet again when the time is right” Miasa said ominously

Arlowyn was about to respond when the words died stillborn in her mouth, Miasa stepped back and seemed to melt into the shadows right before Arlowyn’s eyes. One moment the stranger was standing before her and the next she had completely vanished, swallowed by a cloak of shadows. Arlowyn sat there for what seemed like an eternity, finally rising when she was certain she was truly alone, shaken but determined the would be champion of Arno readied herself to greet the riders.

“Demons, dark lords, arkians, vampires and now… whatever that was…”

Arlowyn let out a heavy, exhausted sigh. Her legs grew weary. The sword she had found, that she had been holding onto, felt heavier than before. Especially after the digging and dragging of bodies from last night. She just collapsed where she stood.

---

Three men on horseback trotted up into the village. Before their eyes they saw the legacy of ruination. Charred buildings and smoke plumes.

But no bodies.

“I don’t see any bodies, Sergeant Abbo,” one of the men commented on the missing villagers. “Do you think the Black Prophet’s armies took them–?”

“As slaves or something worse? I’m not sure.” The more gruff of the men finished his subordinate’s sentence as he scanned the scene.

He saw, on the north side of the road, what looked like mounds of dirt. Dozens of them. Almost like hastily-made graves. Abbo pointed off in their direction and his two men galloped over on horseback, himself quick to follow.

When the three men came upon the scene, they saw the graves—and a young woman of pearl-white hair lying in the grass. A sword by her hands.

THE sword. The one they had been looking for. Exactly where the chaplain’s vision from the holy god of the sun said it would be.

“So that’s the Sword of Light, yeah?” One of the men hopped off his steed. And went to collect the blade. Upon touching it, he felt a sharp and intense burning sensation in his palms. He instantly recoiled and dropped it back onto the ground.

“Bloody hell!” He exclaimed as he waved his hand, as if to swat the pain away. The other two just chuckled.

“That girl must be the prophetess the chaplain spoke of. And the prophecies. Geoffrey, wake her up and get her on horseback, we have to get going.”

The men nodded to his commander before turning down to Arlowyn, who had passed out cold on the ground before they had even showed up. Geoffrey shook her shoulders gently, trying to wake her up.

Arlowyn’s heavy, weary eyes opened. Groggy and slow at first, she jolted awake upon seeing someone in front of her. Immediately, she reached for the sword and jumped to her feet, pointing the blade at Geoffrey to keep him away.

“Woah woah woah! Hey!”

“Stay back! I don’t know who you are, but stay back!” Arlowyn felt exhausted and wobbly.

Geoffrey held up his hand to his fellow knights, telling them not to draw their own weapons.
“Hey, we’re not here to hurt you, lass. We’re human like you.”

Arlowyn’s breathing was ragged and heavy. The sword still felt weightier than when she had first found it. She’d been running from demons and arkians and vampires. Now, with three humans before her, she just fell forward onto her knees and stood the sword up, blade in the grass with her hand on the hilt.

“What happened to your village, girl?” The gruff sergeant, Abbo, asked from atop his horse.

Arlowyn didn’t look at him. She hung her head low.
“An arkian huntress was hunting me for the Dark Lord. She came here to find me and killed everyone.”

The three men exchanged glances. Geoffrey was the first to speak up next.
“What’s your name?”

“Arlowyn.”
It was more like Arlowyn had exhaled her name than she spoke it. An exhausted whisper.

“Okay, Arlowyn,” Geoffrey began in a calm tone.
“Come with us, back to our order. We’ve got food, water, and a bed waiting there for ya. The Grand Master will want to speak with you.”

“Why?” Arlowyn looked up to this man.

“We were sent here as members of the Order of the Knights Solar. There’s a prophecy that says a peasant girl, with hair white as winter snow, will slay the Dark One using a flaming sword. We came here to find her — to find you.”

Arlowyn let out a tired chuckle. “He said you’d find me soon enough…”

“He?” Geoffrey furrowed his brow. Could she mean…

“Arno,” she dipped her head again. “The sun god.”

Geoffrey came forward to help Arlowyn up to her feet. She sheathed her magic sword and climbed onto his horse with him. Off the four went, back west to the lands of Arden.

And to whatever fate Arlowyn was staring down.

---

OOC:
This post was co-written with @North Timistania

Reis of the Frostrunners was not particularly notable. He was the son of two warriors, and a warrior himself. He was never a runt or a weakling, but never a powerful combatant who made his elder and teachers look on in awe. He was... there.

He'd thrown his lot in with Cail of the Westlands, despite the fact that his sister had been the one to display insanely powerful abilities. And had been the one to kill the last Warchief.

Hell, Reis may not have been remarkable, but he was no idiot. He knew full well that under any other circumstances Cail would have been laughed at and tossed aside for having the nerve to claim leadership without even besting the person who had just claimed the mantle of Warchief through combat.

But this was not a normal circumstance. No...

Because Arbia of the Westlands was a traitor. And her brother, whatever his follies, was the one who stood by Salroth. To claim the title of Warchief was one thing but to abandon their lord and master was...

Reis didn't really know how to put it. It wasn't a concept anyone could really put into words. The whole camp of Arkians that had followed Cail was nervous. Angry. And unsure because while there was some intangible reasons why they followed him, it seemed to violate all of their traditions and even instincts as Arkians.

Maybe Reis could think of the words to express that conumdrum. He had time after all, being put on sentry duty.
He hated it. Not because he hated the act itself. He'd spent enough time in the cold wilds of his clan's homeland holding watch. But that was sort of the point.... his homeland was the coldest of the Arkian territories. And the Thirteen Realms were... warm. Fuck, even the light rain that seemed to shower their camp seemed warm to him. Still, it gave him time to think. And just.... try to comprehend what exactly they were doing.

After all... they were camped here. Waiting for Cail to return from Salroth himself. He had failed to even attempt to fight his sister after she had honourably won the mantle of Warchief... and they'd only followed him on the tenative concept that he was right beyond just their traditions. What Salorth gave him to prove he had the Dark Lord's favour would go a long way to rallying support for him.
Even then though.... what Cail's sister had done... that power. That momentary explosion of power. It had awed him. It nagged that he'd perhaps chosen the wrong side. Cail- and those that followed him- could be torn apart by that power.

Reis bit the inside of his lip as he shifted as he stood guard on the outskirts of the camp and squinted. There was... something... off in the distance. Something....

...

it was so strange. It glowed like fire. Enough to be visible in the dark of night but it was.... faint. Like it resisted giving out light even as it did so.
Should he gather some more guards? Should he tell one of the elders who were keeping the camp together in Cail's absense?

Maybe he should have. He probably should have.

But that fire... that purple fire... it danced and vanished and mixed with the dark around it. He gripped the spear he was holding and walked out, eventually coming to the rocky hills that formed the border their camp had chosen to settle in, and jumped onto the highest peak, standing there trying to seem as intimidating as possible as he gripped the spear with one hand.

"WHO GOES THERE?" he called out, just as the purple flame was close enough to make out... it was multiple flames! A procession of Arkians holding torches. Was this... was this the party that gone with Cail?

"Be you friend or foe?" he called out, keeping in mind there were now Arkians who were enmies.

"The procession came to the foot of the rocky hills. One of the Arkians at the base looked up.

"Kneel," he said, "for the emmissary of the King of the World."

Reis looked at the procession before him. None of them were Cail... except a cloaked figure to the back of the group.

"Cail of the Westlands! Is that you?" Reis called out.

The figure moved forward... slowly. And without raising his cloak to make his face visible he simply replied "that wasn't a kneel" and Reis shriked in pain as he dropped the spear and collapsed to all fours, crying out in panic. He was a trained warrior. He knew pain. He knew broken bones. This was nothing like any pain he'd ever felt. He felt like... like his very being was burning from the inside out. He cried out in pain and tried to beg for it to stop, but his mind was so consumed he couldn't form words. He couldn't... couldn't speak. Eventually he collpased, his body limp as he cried in sheer agony helplessly as the procession climbed the rocky hills before helping their shadowy leader up. When the cloaked figure stood before Reis' crumpled form the pain... suddenly stopped!

Reis caught his breath and breathed deep.... even as he was disorieted. His mind was dizzy...

Cail pulled his hood back. He looked to those in his procession.
"Pick him up so he's standing before me."

They obeyed and Reis was forced to his feet, his body still limp.

"You go ahead. And tell the rest of the camp that the Emmissary of the King of the World is here. Salroth has betowed me with a sign of his favour. Go now."

Reis was still whimpering and gasping. He felt a dull pain deep inside, impossible to place, but he didn't let that stop him.
"Ye...yess...." he said before turning to run.

"He was loyal," one of the Arkians who had returned with Cail said.

"He was but loyalty needs to be reinforced with a reminder of why obedience is important," Cail muttered.

"Come."

---

Cail was greeted by the elders and leading warriors of those that had followed him, but even the common foot soldiers were out, curious to see what he'd return from Salroth with.

"You come from Salroth, does he give you a sign of his favour?" Okre of the Deep Forests asked gruffly.

"Yes," Cail replied quietly. He knew Okre. Though not of his clan, he was someone his father knew well, and respected. He'd grown up seeing him around enough. He wondered how he felt? Now following the boy he'd watched all those years.

"He's jealous, he'll kill you," the voices in Cail's head whispered. Since the ceremony they hadn't stopped. When he didn't excercise his powers fully they were quieter, but this one he heard. It slithered through his mind.

"What then? Show us."

Cail removed his cloak. And then... he removed his tunic, so he was only wearing his boots and a bearskin wrap around his waist. His tail hung loosely behind him, as he looked up ast Okre. And from an almost limp, lifeless state he suddenly clenched his fists and let out a hellish scream....

Okre and the others had to shield their eyes with their hads as Cail... his body... covered in demonic runes now.... they glowed. They seemed to glow from his skin, purple.... his eyes, naturally violet already... now burned with purple fire.... and his black hair had turned luminicent purple.... not unlike the golden glow Arbia's hair had turned when he dispatched the last Warchief.

Okre smiled.... because it was more than he could have asked for. Even accounting for his loyalty to Salroth... the power that Cail's sister had displayed worried him.... but now... it wasn't the same power. But it seemed stronger.

Cail breathed deep as he felt his body adjust to this power.... the glowing demonic runes all over.... the demonic voices that now dominated his thoughts....

He slowly stepped forward.

"Show your Warchief your unquestioned obedience."

Okre didn't resist. He dropped to his knees, and lowered himself, to prostrate himself before what he saw... an Arkian radiating with the power of Salorth.

When Cail was content with the show of sumbission he yelled "STAND!"
Okre stood. He'd known Cail most of his life. He was a fine warrior, if insecure. Now he barked orders but... he had the right to.

"THERE IS A LEGEND OF OUR PEOPLE, IS THERE NOT?" Cail called out.
"THAT AN EMISSARY OF GODS, A MALE WITH VIOLET EYES, WILL LEAD US? I COME TO YOU WITH VIOLET EYES! AND THE GIFTS OF SALROTH! I AM THE WARCHIEF PROMISED. OBEY ME! AND WE WILL RAVAGE OUR ENEMIES!"

There was a hush for a moment. Okre knew that prophecy, and had even told Unean about it when Cail and Arbia were born, both with violet eyes. Most Arkians had brown or black eyes. Some females, not a lot but still enough to not be especially notable, had violet eyes. But a male with violet eyes was incredibly rare. Cail had them. He was the son of a respected chieftan. And now he had the gifts of Salroth. He was about to proclaim his loyalty when another voice spoke out.

"You have violet eyes because you're your sister's twin."

Cail turned. Leann of the Southern Winds.

"Don't mention my sister," Cail grumbled.
"This will be my only mercy TO ANYONE when it comes to her."

"You saw her," Leann continued.
"Her mane glowed golden... her eyes green like the pools of life. I am not a religious man, but she displayed the blessings of Ghrian, the Sun God."

"If you are so impressed," Cail said as he approached Leann, "then why are you here and not with her?" He'd considered displaying his power right now, but he was... so enraptured to be in this form. The power surging through him. He wanted to toy with this ant.

"Because I have lived my life believing in Lord Salroth," he answered, keeping himself composed.
"I owed it to you to see what the Dark Lord would gift you, to show his favour."

"And are you not impressed?" Cail asked.

"Of course he is," Okre called out.
"Leann, we all had our questions, but he stands here with Salorth's power! He has the Lord's favour!"

"You claim a title based on a prophecy, when you only have your eyes because of your sister. And now all Salroth can muster is an immitation of Ghrian's gifts she has displayed? No."

Leann turned around. He felt he had nothing to fear. Arkian tradition held that any disagreements would be solved on the battlefield. An honourable fight. But Cail... he felt... he knew... he was beyond his people's traditions. Hell... he even smiked. He'd chaffed under the insult "monkey" even their allies used for them, but it was funny now. The voices in his head made him realize how... small they seemed. With their primitive tradtions. He grabbed Leann, forced him to turn around and when they were face to face.... he opened his jaw. And emmitted purple flame from his gut... through his throat... it erupted from his mouth and devoured Leann's head as he shrieked for a moment, and then....

The body of Leann collapsed to its knees, and then fell over. There was no blood. Just an ashy stump of where his head once joined with the neck. Cail held up his hand, and erupted a purple flame into the skies.

"WE WILL MARCH FOR SALROTH! AND I AM HIS EMMISSARY. YOUR LEADER!"

The shocked Arkian warriors, one by one starting with Okre, all knelt and bowed their heads. And acknolweged their Warchief.

And Cail, quietly as they all knelt and bowed, laughed to himself. Giddy. That now he could force the world to see his true potential.

Arbia had seen enough. As her army marched south, every night, they saw it. The fires against the darkness. Sometimes burning bright enough to turn the night sky orange.

The fires that burned behind them were distressing enough...Salroth and his forces were advancing through the countryside.
Arbia had a hard enough time keeping the Arkians loyal to her focused. To them the burning fires at their back represented an enemy to fight; a challenge that all Arkian warriors should strive to meet.
And yet Arbia insisted they had to march south. The human. Arlowyn. With the sword. Her Arkian followers thought if she tapped into whatever power she had that bested her uncle that Salroth would fall. Arbia, however, wasn't so sure. But Arlowyn... that sword... if it could do what it did to her then... then it could save them all.

And yet Arbia didn't want to think about that right now. No. She'd seen the fires burning too many nights now. And as they made camp she... just needed to be by herself. But even that small desire was denied by fate.

"You look comfortable."

Arbia looked up. Peirsil had entered her tent as she lay on some furs, pressing her hand against her belly.

"I've spent better nights in worse places."

"Some day," Peirsil said as he sat crossed legged by the small fire in the centre of Arbia's tent, "you'll have to tell me about your trek south."

Arbia shrugged.
"Tracked a peasant girl, became a mind slave to a demon, had my body heat stolen by a magical sword... oh and I made friends with a bird."

"A bird."

"He could talk."

"I see."

Arbia chuckled.
"You're making fun of me."

"I wouldn't dare," Peirsil replied, chuckling along.
"That's it then?"

"Well..." Arbia propped herself up on her elbows.
"The humans and dwarves have this thing called a meat pie."

"Meat...pie? What's a pie?" Peirsil asked, more confused than anything. Arbia though, she licked her lips. The memory along was enough to make her mouth water.

"I think it may be the greatest thing I've ever eaten."

"What was it?"

"It's hard to explain. This edible shell of... I donno! Stuff! But instead was cooked meat and vegetables and... other stuff!"

Peirsil chuckled.
"Very descriptive, cousin."

"Hey! It's hard to explain. You just need to have it. The shell...what humans call bread."

"Oh I've had bread. One of father's scouts brought some back! I hated it."

"Well this bread was good."

"It doesn't seem natural. You can't grow bread. I don't know what magic they use to make it."

"Whatever it is, it's good when it's pie shaped," Arbia replied.

"What's a pie again?"

"Well like bread... in sort of a mushroom shape, with all the stuff inside."

"Mushrooms!" Peirsil replied, his mind now off the pie subject entirely.
"Will the Shroomish invade now that we're...distracted?"

"Probably. They think they can just take from us," Arbia sighed.
"I spent my first years as a warrior of the clan watching them. But whatever. When we've defeated Salroth we'll be able to impose terms on the peace. And secure our lands."

Peirsil gulped and looked into the small hearth.
"That's what I came here to ask you..."

"You weren't here to talk about pie?" Arbia asked as she lay down on her back again, and went back to stroking her belly.

"I just want to understand what this is all for. You say this human has a sword..."

Arbia sighed, and growled. She didn't like
explaining herself. Why couldn't her stubborn, arrogant people listen to her and just.... she sighed again. This was her cousin. She owed him a lot.

"Salroth sent me to kill a human girl, no older than I. But unlike me she had never held a weapon before in her life. She was just... some girl. Barely worth a thought over."

"Why did Salroth want you to kill her?"

"I didn't know at first. It seemed nuts! Father told me Salroth was the strongest being in the world..."

Arbia could see Peirsil nodding. He'd been told the same thing. Every Arkian had.

"Why was this being so powerful even the mightiest Arkian warriors trembled before him so concerned with a human girl who didn't know what end of a mace to hold? But she got that sword before I could kill her, and I realized why. She has a sword, Peirsil, that masters magic. It... I don't know how... but it zapped me of my fire magic. My body's very heat. It left me weak and unable to move, without even having to cut or stab me."

"And you think this girl, or sword, can kill Salroth?"

"Salroth is a magical being," Arbia replied. "He's made of fire, light, and darkness. The sort of thing I know this sword has mastery over."

"What makes you think this Arlowyn will help us?"

"We have a common enemy," Arbia said softly.
"And when her sword left me weak and feeble... she didn't kill me."

"She could have?"

"I was drained of all energy. I was shivering from the inside out. My body could barely move and it was weighed down with armour or water logged furs. I was helpless. She spared me."

Peirsil stood to leave, Arbia still lying by the fire, stroking her belly.
"I hope she's still inclined to offer you some mercy, otherwise I don't know what we'll do."

"I hope so too," Arbia added softly, pressing her palm against the bare skin of her stomach. She wouldn't remain not showing for long.