[Morgoth]

The lights had been magnificent. Tarv had stared out of the library window, his eyes glittering with excitement as flash after flash of blue and purple pulsed outwards from the trees that surrounded the Glade. Never in his life had he seen such a display, not that his life had been all that eventful, most of it taking place within the dusty chambers of the castle, but he knew without a doubt that even for an experienced traveller, the lights would inspire awe and amazement. Combing his thin, dark blond hair backwards in a move of habit so ingrained not even the library’s head mistress had not been able to beat it out of him, the young boy had stared, his mind taking in every detail of what happened outside, never taking notice of the keepers, who for once had lost their calm, serene demeanour. Ignoring the confused cries of the students, the robed men and women flocked like sheep sensing a wolf, out of the library, hastening to something of obvious importance. Guards appeared to keep the students calm, preventing them from panicking and spreading out into the huge maze that was the castle. Tarv, however, needed no calming. He watched with transfixed fascination as the lights slowly died out, leaving shadows that moved silently through the woods, towards the castle, as if they had a mind of their own. Soon after the first screams shuddered through the building, there would be much more before the rebirth of the sun.

The dying embers of the camp fire reached one last time for life, brightening enough to illuminate the three figures surrounding it and the looming presence of huge, ancient pine trees encircling them like silent, unmoving sentinels. Two of the figures whispered quietly as not to wake the boy who sleet in exhaustion from the panicked flight through the woods.
“We should reach the city in two weeks time, although the settlements between should provide us with some safety on the way I think it might be better if we try to stay as much as possible out of sight.” Clad in a thorn robes, once light grey but now coloured beyond recognition by blood and mud, the speaker sketched the route in the dirt with a long, thin knife.
“Which city would that be? I’m not familiar with these lands.” Long past his prime, the soldier still looked capable of pulling his weight in a few fights more. His face and arms were covered in cuts and gashes, some still oozing blood, puss or both.
“Skitt, it is the only city still held by the emperor outside of the dessert.”
“But the emperor is the enemy, why would he help us? Why not just seek help from the Allmun’s? They would surely, if nothing else provide us with a sanctuary.”
“Pah, I have little faith in the Allmun’s or any other of the nations within the alliance. They are to caught up in their own pathetic struggles to pay any attention to the threat until they come face to face with it, and by then it will be too late.” The keeper shook his head.
“No, the only person that can help us is the emperor.”
“I still don’t understand how it all came to this. We did what we were supposed to do. We followed the instructions to the letter. There must have been an error, perhaps our faith wasn’t strong enough, perhaps..”
“Stop it!” The voice of the keeper shivered with suppressed emotions.
“The fault was not in our knowledge, nor our actions. If you are going to blame someone, do not blame yourself, blame the founders. Their ignorance, their blunt stupidity is the reason things turned out the way they did.”
“Blasphemy! How can you say ..”
“Shut up!” On his feet the robed man shivered visibly with rage.
“Finish that sentence and I swear to whomever is listening that you will find my knife stuck in your throat. Blasphemy? There is no such thing, not anymore. Haven’t you realised? Our beliefs, what we have dedicated our lives to, it was nothing but stupidity or outright lies. What does that make of us you think?”
“Calm down, you’re panicking. If you don’t lower your voice you’ll wake him!”
“Like it matters if he sleeps or not. He just stares straight ahead as if he is some kind of zombie. How do we even know he is sleeping now? His eyes are open, unblinking as always.”
The old soldier turned his head, letting his eyes rest warmly on the boy, letting the sight remind him why he had to go on.
“His breathing is calm, when he’s awake he seems to be constantly on the brink of hyperventilating. I do not know what he saw in the castle that frightened him so, but I know his only reprieve is sleep.” The soldier staggered to his feet, lifting his sword so that it’s tip rested against the keepers chest.
“His only reprieve is sleep, and if you take that away from him, you’ll be sorry the guardian didn’t finish you off days ago. Are we clear?”
The robed man nodded and sat down carefully. Flickering lights from the dying fire found mirrors in droplets of salty water that dripped down his cheeks. The forest was silent.

The scream woke the two men instantly. The young boy sat upright, facing the woods, screaming seemingly without having to draw breath. The soldier was on his feet in an instant, blade in hand he moved forwards to stand in front of the boy, facing whatever was out there. Crawling clumsily forwards, the keeper moved next to Trev, slipping his arms protectively around him. The forest was a wall of impregnable darkness, revealing no clue as to what could be hiding within. The screams stopped, silence descended but for the panicked breathing of the three. They waited, sweat coating their brows. Nothing happened, there were no sounds, no signs of there being anything out there. The land seemed empty, devoid of life.
“Perhaps he was just having a nightmare?” Hope tinged the keeper’s voice, for a moment the trees were not as threatening.
“If so, then what plagues him when awake has found him when he sleeps as well, perhaps death will be a mercy.” The soldier turned, looking at the boy with sad eyes that promised safety and warmth. For a moment, Trev’s breathing slowed, for but a second his fear was kept at bay, but then his protectors neck was pulled back with a sickening crunch. Splinters of bone exploded through the skin of the man’s throat, releasing cascades of dark red blood that flowed out of him to create a pool of darkness at his feet. The carcass was thrown into the woods as if it was a doll, the crack of bone signalled it hitting a tree somewhere beyond sight. Something stepped forwards. Shrouded in shadows their hunter was barely visible, only its eyes, yellow and glowing strangely, as if fevered, gave its position away. Mustering his last bits of strength, the keeper tried to step forwards in order to position himself between the hunter and the boy but he found that he could not. As if made of iron, the boys right hand had locked itself around the wrist of the scholar preventing him from getting up. Beneath the warm flesh of the boy’s hand, the keeper felt his flesh grow cold and numb.

The hunter stopped, as if considering what to do, and then it was thrown backwards into a giant oak, the force of the impact so strong the gigantic tree was ripped from the ground and tumbled backwards into the rest of the forest with a deafening crash. That was not enough though, the hunter got back up on its feet and advanced towards the pair once more. Eyes burning with madness and hatred grew slowly cold with intent. The ground heaved, moss, grass and earth split and tumbled away as a wave of force rolled from the boy and the old man, straight for the attacker. This time though, the attacker was ready, and the wave barely slowed its advance, rolling past and into the woods, uprooting trees and hurling them away as if they were toys. Another wave hit, and then another and then another. Behind the approaching hunter, ancient trees, once huge and majestic lay in broken ruins as the waves of power had ripped them into pieces. The hunter, however, had not even stopped. Then a sound, barely a whisper, shivered through the forest. Turning his head slightly, the apparition listened, and then it was gone, leaving in it’s wake a shivering boy, and the drained husk of a man. On the horizon, the sun took its first steps on the path of resurrection.

*

“Hey kid” The voice was faint, as if coming from a great distance. Eyes opened ever so slightly, letting for a heartbeat the painful rays of the sun intrude into the protective darkness that kept her safe.
“No don’t open your eyes. Better they stay closed for a while.” Large hands slipped around her tiny waist and lifted her gently onto her feet.
“We better go little one, he was not a well liked man, but he was important. No don’t open your eyes yet.”
“What happened to the bad man? Did you scare him away?” She could still feel the pain of what he had done to her, pulsing inside her like a maggot digging through her flesh. She knew she probably should be scared, but there was no threat in the hands that guided her, no ill intent in the presence beside her.
“No little one, you were the one who… scared him away, and don’t you worry, he wont be harming you again. Or anyone else for that matter.” The last sentence was said in a half whisper, obviously not meant for her ears.
“We’re turning left after five more steps, there will be a lot of sounds from the street, but don’t open your eyes.”
“Why am I all sticky?” She could feel her fingers sticking to each other and she didn’t like it at all. Also, she felt drenched, as if from heavy rain, but the ground felt solid and dry, not muddy and wet as it would after rain.
“Oh that’s nothing. Mud that’s all, better we get you somewhere to wash it off though. No, please don’t open your eyes. Wait until we’ve cleaned you up a bit. You’d not want to see yourself all dirty would you?”
“No, I spose.. “
“That’s a good girl. You know I’ve got a boy at home who’d love some company. He’s a few years older than you but I don’t think that’s a problem. He doesn’t talk, and he shivers a lot but you, I think, will be just what he needs. I found him a few days back, all alone among the hills just north of here. Something frightened him half to death but he wont talk about it. He wont talk about anything at all really. We’re turning to the right in three steps.”
“You’re just talking to keep me too distracted to think about opening my eyes aren’t you?”
“Now why would I do that? Another right in five steps.” The sounds of people, horses, and all other kinds of life teeming within the city threatened to overwhelm her senses, but she knew the man would keep her safe.
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
“You remind me of a little girl I knew once. Ah, here we are. We’ll get you cleaned and fresh in no time.”
“What will I see if I open my eyes?” There was silence for a few seconds and then the man answered silently.
“A nightmare hun, a nightmare. Now, let’s clean you up, eh? Have someone mentioned to you that your voice has a strange echo? No? I thought not, I’ll leave you and the water alone now. Me and the boy will be in the other room. If you want anything just yell Harve, that’s my name, and I will come running. Ok?”
“Ok..”
“Right, before I go, what’s your name?”
“I ...” Tears welled up in her eyes as she found she could not remember, she didn’t know her name
“I don’t know..” Frowning, Harve considered what she said for a second.
“Well then, I’ll call you Rita, after my wife. Enjoy your bath Rita.”
“Thank you Harve.” Rita whispered as the door to the small bathroom closed silently behind him as he left.

[Karsa Orlong]

His mind was still sometimes numb, as if packed into wool. The nauseating feeling that normally preceeded it assaulted him right out of nowhere and once he almost fell of a mountainside because of the vehemence of it. What was he doing here...where WAS here, anyway. He didn't understand. The shaman had performed the ritual on him...and it had worked, he knew it, because he could feel the overwhelming power that coursed through his soul. And then...something had gone wrong, had to, because when he opened his eyes...he was lying on the ground somewhere...gone was the shaman's tent, gone was Azrai, the shaman and gone were his warrior brothers...he had never seen such a landscape...it couldn't be anywhere near his homeland. Now he was wandering around in this seemingly forsaken land for a week...he hadn't seen anything that could have helped him recognize where he was. He had discovered that his shamanistic powers were gone...but somehow it had been replaced with something else...he felt a new power rise in him. His struggle to unearth it, to gain control of it was another bringer of mindsplitting headaches. He sighed.
Fortunately the accident with the ritual hadn't robbed him of his belongings. He still had his black armor and his sword. He was glad that the ritual had succeded or else he wouldn't have been able to put that huge sword to good use. It was way too heavy for a normal man...
Something disturbed him in his thoughts....a smell... he looked up. His blue eyes saw a twisted column of black-grey smoke on the horizon. As his eyes adjusted he saw that it was more than one of those fireborn pillars.
A camp...or a city. Finally i will get some answers! His face lit up with new hope and his pace quickened.

Over two hours later he stood in front of a huge city. It looked dirty and somehow beaten. He saw a lot of armed men stroll around, prancing themselves up like roosters. They all looked as if they would draw steel and shed blood for the least of insults...it reeked of pent-up bloodlust.
I don't like it one bit...but I will get answers here. Think of your mission.... He drew up the hood of his black cloak, looked around one last time and then strode down the last few hundred yards to the city below.

[Iron Bars]

Ashfair took a swig of the local camel-piss swallowing it quickly before it left to much taste in his mouth, and stole a look at his cards, an Ace, a pair of three’s and the emperor of Swords. Might actually win this time. He hoped the thought was not to obvious on his face. The three men playing with him had parted him of most of his small coins already. In return he had heard a couple of rumours that were new to him. There seemed to be some kind of wager about which one of the gods has disappeared and why. Not that he cared much for gods but that things like that were spreading this fast was a big sign that the local priesthood hadn’t regained it’s hold on the city. Ashfair suppressed a chuckle and played one of the threes. Not that is was such a brilliant move, but maybe it would confuse his fellow players. One of the stonefaced bastards did react but not at Ashfair’s move. Slowly he turned around and watched a woman hobble in. She was leaning heavily on a stonewood staff. Pretty even if I can’t see her face yet. The strange gait couldn’t completely disguise her easy way of moving and so Ashfair concluded she was not really limp. She walked over to the bar. One of Ashfair’s fellow card players grunted and so he returned to the game only to notice he had lost the upper hand. He’d lost the first round as expected and now they were playing Shields were Ashfair had thought they would play Swords. Keeping his face in check he played his second three, washing his anger away with a large gulp of warm ale. Instant regret was his reward as the taste lingered a bit too long. Stonewood, the thought shimmered thru his mind, not used by many groups around here. The tingle at his back told him she had used some form of charm. Resisting the urge to turn around he played the Ace of Shields, which was promptly overrun with a ten. And so again he donated his coin to one of the three, who could have been brothers, three blank faces stared back at him as the coins were quickly stuffed into pockets never to be seen by Ashfair again. ‘I have no idea how you do this, and if I ever find out it’s cheating…’ He let the tread hang in the air for a moment as all three started smiling. Sighing he motioned for the next deal.

Now he thought he had them figured out. His cards were not to bad either and more important he was to play first. His concentration was broken when the strange woman came walking down the stairs again. She was still ‘limping’ on her staff. Ashfair swung his gaze thru the entire room once and settled back on the game. He would find out later who she was, and what. Somehow she smelled not totally human. With that kind of equipment she would be easy enough to find. The three card-players had tricked him again he noticed, but he couldn’t care less as the mystery woman was approaching their table. Again he could feel her using some kind of charm as she took the last chair and sat down.

“Mind if I join in?” She asked and threw some coins on the table. The three ugly brothers nodded their agreement as the charm settled on them. Ashfair kept silent for a bit and looked at his card again. ‘Sure, please join in, than I might not be the only one losing the entire time.’

They played a couple of rounds in silence, Ashfair parted with some more of his money. The woman didn’t win but somehow she didn’t lose either. ‘You look like you could use some money.’ She suddenly said to him. He slowly turned and looked at her, putting a bit of despair in his look. ‘What did you have in mind?’

[Malaclypse]

The ruined old man knelt before his Emperor for the first time, a ghastly smile stretched across his lipless mouth. Hood thrown back, the horror of his existence was etched plain for all to see. He was a monster in truth, a demon to stalk the dreams of naughty children - Skull bulging and misshapen from multiple fractures, ragged ribbons of scar tissue laid overtop, empty pits where eyes should have been, and dangling scraps of flesh in place of lips and ears. And yet he smiled.

The boy accompanying him was a study in contrast: tall for his age and fine-featured, his wavy blue-black hair trailed down to the middle of his back. A ‘black-eyed Malagosan’, he was a picture of masculine beauty according to the tastes of his homeland. His nut-brown skin was without blemish, his build that of a dancer’s. Bohdan knew these things only second-hand due to his blindness, but had no cause to doubt. He had plumbed the depths of more than a few minds in recent years, adding their memories to his own, and had learned to trust his gleanings. The boy’s spirit shone like a signal fire, a constant and pleasant presence at his side these past few weeks. So earnest and trusting, Bohdan almost regretted what was to come. It was a risk, leaving the decision with the Emperor, but a negligible one, according to his new Mistress. The Goddess had observed Emperor Qyrkayxhun for centuries, five hundred forty-six years to be exact, and felt she knew him well enough to predict his response. As for the Emperor himself, he registered as a normal man to Bohdan’s senses, no hint of any Gift whatsoever, yet he ruled unchallenged over a vast hierarchy of Gifted and a sprawling empire, apparently immune to the ravages of aging. A puzzle indeed, one that Bohdan intended to unravel in time. For now, though, he concentrated on hiding the extent of his power from the Gifted in attendance, his thoughts dwindling away as being became non-being, mindfulness became oblivion, reality became the void. It was in this state that he had first encountered the Goddess in her own realm, seeking solace from the horror and pain that was his life. He had tasted Oblivion and was not afraid. And his reward? What else but Continuity? His smile widened.

The boy struggled to overcome his anxiety, standing before the most powerful single individual in all the Endless Jungle - straining, despite the enchanted necklace they had given him, to understand the language of the Qyr as the Emperor began to speak.

‘Sage Gazen has told me some of your story, boy, but I would hear it from you’. The youthful Emperor, said to be immortal, smiled warmly and settled back on his pillow-strewn dais of dark green jade. Suddenly forgetting his nervousness, the boy launched into his speech. One of only three to survive the training, he had been chosen, in part, for his affable nature.

‘Lord Emperor, this man is Master Bohdan, a subject of yours long absent from your realm, returned to ask a boon. As a young man, he served as a soldier near your border with my homeland of Malagosa, and was taken prisoner when he crossed the border on a dare. The council was very suspicious of you and your Empire at that time, and ordered him to be questioned. Due to his resilience and fortitude, extreme methods were employed over the course of many years, long after it became clear that he knew nothing of any real value. Forgotten by the Council, his jailers continued tormenting him, far beyond what their superiors would allow, had they known. Master Bohdan’s strength of will and determination was an affront to these simple men and they punished him for it, over and over. Until one day, the Dreamer herself took notice of his plight and, angered by the actions of her own people, gifted him with Power. In the state you see him now, he overcame his captors and walked out of his prison, straight to the Grand Temple, hurling all opposition aside until he stood in the council chamber itself. The councillors immediately recognized his Power and its flavour, akin to their own. Through a mindlink they communicated with him, as his tongue had been torn out. His wisdom was great and the Goddess’ favour was strong. They offered him a new life in a new body, to atone for the way he had been treated and to allow him to teach others of the Goddess. He replied that he would not accept such a thing without leave from his Emperor. And so we have come, Great Lord, to petition you for his life.’ Finishing, the boy bowed low and took a step back, satisfied he had done well.

The Emperor stood, gathering his silks about him. Regarding the strange pair for a moment in silence, he heaved a great sigh before taking two long strides forward to stand before his long-lost subject. Bohdan turned his ravaged face up, still swimming the void but sensing the man’s presence. Without a word, Qyrkayxhun placed his hands on either side of the old man’s head, seeking with his mind…

Hovering in darkness, Bohdan considered for a moment, then unleashed a string of memory, interested to know what the Emperor’s reaction would be…

Screaming in a universe of pain, the prisoner writhed in the grip of his tormentors. The skull splitter halo was tight against his skull, its spikes penetrating deep. The straight belt kept his arms locked to his sides, not that it would have made any difference. His fingers had been crushed and severed long ago. Years? Decades? Time meant nothing to him anymore. There was only now, and survival. One of his jailers, the one Bohdan knew as the Artist, due to his creativity in devising new methods of delivering pain when more familiar techniques failed, yanked on one of the handles of the skull splitter, dragging him stumbling out of his cell and into the yard. He was speaking.

‘Come with me, ****-Eater, I have something to show you’ He laughed and gave the halo a cruel tug, sending new rivulets of blood streaming down his prisoner’s eyeless face. Bohdan struggled to keep up, his only thought that of avoiding pain. Reaching another building which smelled of new wood, the Artist flung his victim down on a stone floor and slammed the door shut, laughing as the sound of his footsteps receded. Surrounded by the hiss of steam, Bohdan settled down to endure this new hell. He had long ago given up on reckoning time, yet knew from his regular meal of bug-infested gruel, which he was obliged to lap up like a dog, that days passed before his nemesis returned. When he did, it was at the head of a handful of other guards. They were in high spirits, laughing and joking, certainly drunk. A kick knocked Bohdan flat on his belly, drenched skin sloughing off where the boot made contact. The prisoner made no sound, not yet, his screams would come when they had a chance of drawing his tormentors off. Now the guards began sinking their fingers into the sodden flesh of his back, competing to see who could push in the furthest. The Artist managed to bury his finger to the first knuckle. Still Bohdan kept his silence, strangely distant from the proceedings. The drunk guards laughed as the cavities filled with liquid, kicking him desultorily. Disappointed with the lack of a response, most of the guards quickly grew bored, but not the Artist. Lacking inspiration, he simply tightened the skull-splitter, giving the screw a brutal twist. Agony swallowed Bohdan whole as his skull cracked audibly and finally, he screamed, an inferno of rage and pain consuming his mind...

The Emperor reeled, steadied by a subordinate. Raising a shaking hand to his brow, he stared at the old man before him, tears welling in his soft brown eyes. Bohdan remained still. Turning to the boy envoy, Qyrkayxhun spoke in a shaky voice.

‘I ..I am inclined to grant your request, but before I do so, I must know how this miracle is to be accomplished, how can he enter a new body?’

The boy struggled not to smile, sure of success now. ‘It is a ritual commonly employed for the greatest among my people. Master Bohdan has been trained in its execution, Great Lord.’ Running his hand through his long brown hair, the Emperor considered this for a moment.

‘And what about the new body? Where does it come from? And what of its..present occupant?’ It occurred to the boy that this man didn’t look like much of an Emperor – short of stature and unremarkable otherwise. His confidence increasing, he answered in a strong, clear voice.

‘Usually the new body comes from someone specially trained for that purpose. When the recipient’s life-force enters the new body, it assumes control. The one whose body is taken leaves the physical world and travels directly to the Dreamer as a reward, never to suffer the pain of rebirth again.’ Unable to restrain himself any longer, the boy beamed a huge smile at this most delightful of thoughts. Narrowing his already close-set eyes, the Emperor leaned forward.

‘And who is to provide Master Bohdan’s new body?’ Suddenly irritated at this disappointingly dull man, Boy answered with furrowed brow ‘I will, of course’

Bohdan opened his eyes, a smile stealing across his darkly handsome features at the memory of the dream and the delicious sensation of waking up with his lusty baker woman clinging to him, one leg drawn up to rest on his thigh, her head resting in the hollow of his shoulder, hand resting on his chest…Life is good. He chuckled softly, not wanting to wake her. Gently disengaging himself from her, he slipped out of bed, donned his ragged grey tunic and belted it with a length of rope. Thrusting both hands above his head he stretched until he heard the muffled pops that told him it was enough before padding noiselessly across the room and out the door, closing it behind him. Making his way down the stairs to the shop, he considered the dream. Why should he have that dream now? Such visions were never innocent or meaningless. What people tried to achieve with dreamstick, he lived with all the time. Vivid, prophetic dreams, often from past lives. Shrugging, he gave up on that line of thought for the moment, his thoughts turning to Taisa, his baker woman. Three nights now, time to end it. He had seduced her anew each day, making her forget him as soon as she drifted off to sleep, taking no chance that she might escape with his secrets in the middle of the night, unlikely as it was. He would miss her for a time, he knew, and suspected that the smell of bread had forever lost its aspect of…wholesomeness for him. He grinned at the thought. She seemed to trust him more each night, despite her certain ignorance of their previous encounters, likely owing to his own growing knowledge of her personality. In any event, she had chosen to share the only serious problem of her life with him the previous night. A group of thugs extorting coin from the businesses in the neighbourhood, ‘protection’ from their abuses. As a parting gift, that practice was going to end, today. He had plenty of time while the armies continued to hesitate. Absently patting Massipa, the ineffectual guard dog, he unbolted the front door and slammed it closed behind him, knowing it would wake her.

Despite his rangy build and natural grace, Bohdan tended to remain unnoticed until he chose differently. People failed to see him entirely or forgot him the instant he slid out of their field of vision, a manifestation of his Gift. So it was a simple matter for him to make his way past the various strongpoints manned by elements of the allied forces and into the sprawling slums of Skitt, collectively known as The Wallows. As the first fat drops of rain started to fall, the name started to make sense. The dirt street quickly transformed into thick soupy muck, a pigs’ paradise. Tossing his head to clear away the loose black curls sticking to his face, Bohdan smiled, enjoying the feeling of mud squelching between his toes as he headed towards the south wall and his sanctum. The streets were nearly empty, most denizens being late risers by custom and inclination. There were enough abandoned buildings that noone had to sleep outside and in The Wallows, you looked after your own. Old Chanka was not a typical Wallower in that he was an early riser, spending long hours labouring over the various herbal concoctions he sold before opening his dingy little shop. It had been a real boon discovering Chanka. In return for sharing certain obscure herbal lore, Bohdan had procured a safe haven for himself and a ready source of local herbs for his own purposes. And Chanka asked no questions, heard nothing he didn’t want to hear. A useful man indeed. Navigating through the twisting warren of narrow alleyways, the young man finally cast his old eyes upon Chanka’s truncated tower with its absurdly solid iron door. Struck by lightning some time in the distant past, the once-grand structure had been reduced to a single storey of black-green basalt with a shanty roof of rough boards projecting out to either side. Lifting the huge knocker, he slammed it hard into the rough, pitted surface of the hollow created over long years of use. The old man wasn’t easily distracted when working at his craft and was hard of hearing besides. Long minutes passed in the rain before the rasp of bolts coming free broke the dreary monotony of rain pattering around him. The huge door opened a crack.

‘Open up, Chanka, who else would be here at this hour? I’m soaked to the bone already.’ The door swung open on oiled hinges, Chanka’s withered form appearing out of the gloom. Pushing past, Bohdan resolved, not for the first time, to replace the leaking roof as he splashed through shallow puddles on the ancient stone floor.

‘I’m sure you’re busy, my friend, so I won’t waste your time or mine with idle chatter. My hit wine should be ready by now, shouldn’t it?’

‘In your room, Bohdan. A most interesting formula’ replied Chanka.

‘Yes, it is, and most useful. Thank you for your diligence. I trust you find the secret of its making suitable compensation?’

‘Oh yes.’ The old man smiled, revealing blackened stumps. ‘About that infusion you mentioned…’

‘Not today Chanka. Too much to do. Don’t fret my friend, I will share it with you before I leave. Good day to you.’

‘And to you, Bohdan.’ Chanka shuffled off to a large side chamber, lined with tables filled with stoppered bottles while Bohdan made his way to the far end of the main room, entering a small cell bereft of furniture, and heading directly for the curved outside wall. Running his hands along the smooth basalt, he depressed several innocuous triggers, in a particular order, before the secret door popped free. Pushing the slab of stone inwards and to the side, he entered the passage. The wall here was much thicker than one would expect, but not so it was noticeable to the casual observer. Sliding the door back into place, Bohdan proceeded in total darkness into the bowels of the tower. Coming first to his small cell, he lit a torch from a small reservoir of burning oil, mounting it in a bracket to one side of the doorway. Then he seized a large bottle filled with dark brown fluid from his small table, wrenching out the stopper and sniffing the contents briefly. Smiling his approval, he poured a generous amount into his cupped palm and began rubbing the liniment into his heavily-callused hands, one then the other. One of his past lives had been spent as Uska, a warrior-monk, and the secret knowledge of that long-vanished order was rich plunder to one such as Bohdan. When he was satisfied with his ministrations, he dropped to the rough stone floor, alternating between knuckle and finger push-ups, stopping just short of exhaustion.

Dripping with sweat, he rose and spent a few moments grabbing rapidly at the air with his hands before leaving the room with his torch, continuing down the dark hallway. At the third doorway, he ducked into a spacious chamber, the sound of a man weeping confirming the choice. Following the right-hand wall, he lit several torches mounted there, dispelling the darkness to reveal a man chained to the wall, stinking of his own waste. Naked, with his arms stretched over his head, the man was nonetheless formidable in appearance. Barrel-chested and brawny, the man’s many scars declared him a seasoned warrior. Yet he cried like a small child, his eyes red-rimmed and pleading as he gazed upon his captor.

‘Please, some water! I’ll give you anything you want! Anything!’ The words came out as a croak.

‘Knight-Commander Orko, you have some bad habits. Raping little boys…. Hmmm…that’s going to get you in trouble someday you know. Acquired a taste for them on campaign, did you?’ Bohdan smiled coldly. ‘You would like some water? How long has it been? Two days now? Are you prepared to answer my every question honestly then?’ Bohdan tilted his head in query, eyes wide with affected innocence. Orko nodded vigorously, not trusting himself to speak.

‘I’m not convinced’ said Bohdan, his voice hard as he turned away and walked to stand before a wooden post sunk into the floor. Continuing his workout, he slapped the post with his full strength, first the palm, then the back of his hand, as his captive writhed behind him, rasping out an unintelligible string of words. By the time Bohdan switched hands, Orko had fallen silent, watching the spectacle with eyes wide. Finishing, Bohdan stalked out without a backward glance. Returning to his room, he reapplied the ‘hit wine’, removed his tunic and headed for the pool. When he returned, wearing a fresh tunic and carrying a pail of water in each hand, the Knight-Commander sagged with relief.

‘Some water then, to start things off.’ With that, Bohdan approached to within a few paces and doused the man, washing away the pile of faeces that had accumulated on the floor. Hefting the second pail, he approached the sputtering soldier and lifted it to the man’s chapped lips, giving him a long drink before tearing it away.

‘That ought to be enough for the time being. Now then, Knight-Commander, answer me truthfully and I’ll let you go. I can make you forget all about me and this place so it would not endanger me to do so. You could make up any story you want to explain your disappearance. But defy me and I will break you, body and mind. Do you doubt me?’ Orko shook his head slowly.

‘Good. First, the one you know as the Fool, where is he?’ The burly commander swallowed before answering.

‘I don’t know’ he mumbled.

‘Oh that’s not going to be good enough, my good man. You see, I know that you were assigned to command his guard, without even the God’s knowledge, since his aspect as the Scholar is sadly absent in these dark times. Your loyalty to your God is touching and strangely appropriate, given your similar circumstances. It will avail you nothing but pain however. Wait here.’ He smiled cruelly before walking to a long table along the far wall, spending several minutes selecting from the plethora of instruments collected there. Snatching up one of his favourites, he sauntered back to his victim, letting him get a good look at the joint splitter. Two iron blocks mounted with a double row of spikes to form a fearsome set of teeth and held together with large screws at the ends, the joint splitter’s purpose was immediately obvious to even the most simple of men. Knight-Commander Orko was no exception. Shaking with fear, he blubbered in his eagerness to avoid being crippled.

‘No, please, Gods! I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you everything!’ Urine sprayed from the man, hysterical with fear. Bohdan paused in his approach, held up the splitter.

‘Go on.’ He said, voice cold.

‘He..He stays on an estate west of town, priests in constant attendance on him, he does not sleep and utters confusing pronouncements carefully recorded and examined as prophecy. He…’ and on it went. When Bohdan determined that he had everything he needed, he exchanged the splitter for mutilation shears and ended the danger that Orko posed to the boys of the world before depositing him to bleed out in an alley, mind emptied just to be sure of things. Let him explain that to his friends.

Feeling refreshed, he strolled through the rain back to the Merchants’ Quarter in search of Taisa’s thugs. They were not hard to find. The residents were only too eager to point them out. Leaving nothing to chance, Bohdan simply executed them, one by one, until at last, there was only the leader. Having tracked him to a seedy open-air tavern, he was forced to chase the miscreant into an alley. As he threw the man up against a building, he sensed a presence approaching at speed, full of hate. Faintly amused, he held the thug’s gaze until the last possible moment, letting him see the death in his eyes before delivering a quick, brutal strike to the man’s throat, crushing the trachea and letting him fall to drown in his own blood. Turning his attention to his surprise attacker, he barely avoided the staff aimed at his head. Taking two quick steps back, he attempted to take her measure. Short but well-proportioned, the young woman was strikingly beautiful despite the fury blazing in her slightly tilted eyes, like pools of molten gold. A two-legged lioness, this one. He smiled as she approached, her every move reminiscent of a great cat on the hunt. Her long, tawny hair was tied up in a single tail reaching down to her buttocks. He wondered absently what it would look like unbound. She held her staff diagonally before her, prepared to strike with either end, obviously well-trained.

‘Monster!’ she yelled, initiating a dizzying series of attacks. Taking a solid hit to the ribs, he staggered with the impact and exaggerated his injury, stumbling backwards. Emboldened, she rushed forward, intending to deliver the killing blow. Suddenly reversing his movement, Bohdan was inside her guard, his hands outside hers on the staff. Turning his hands and body in unison, he tore the staff from her grip and tossed it down the alley before facing her again. She was still reaching for her knives when he grabbed her arms, holding them fast to her sides. Leaning in close, he planted a kiss on her forehead, willing her to forget him, but not before she landed a solid kick to his groin.
Grunting with the pain and silently admiring her spirit, he reached around to release the knot holding her hair before stepping back to satisfy his curiousity. She would be dazed for a few moments only, so he stole his look and hurried away. A lioness indeed. Back in the street, he headed back to the Wallows, well-satisfied with the morning's events. Enough excitement for today. Now for that roof…

[Cause]

He was enjoying himself more than he had in days maybe since this war began. The war was nearly over and tonight was a night for celebrating. And that was what he had been doing ever since skit had fallen. It was so good in the common room of the quaint inn that one might even be forgiven for forgetting their even was a war, only the large amount of armed men gave any hint. The ale was good, the music better, and the beautiful woman the best. He had been flirting with the serving girls earlier, until he looked at his sister’s face and saw she was ready to do murder. He and his sister were close, perhaps closer than brother and sister should be. He often wondered if it was due to the ritual the priests of the twins had performed on them when they were still babes. With their mastery over life and death they had fused their spirits together making them mimicry of their god who was one and yet two. He was perhaps a little drunk but only a little but he was having too good a time to care. “Dance with me sister” he called dragging her from her stool. His sister resisted at first but warmed to the idea, so leaving their drinks at their table they joined the many other celebrators out on the floor. The many benches in the room had been pushed back long ago to create more room. It seemed all of skit was caught up in the celebration.
***
The old man had been waiting for the opportunity to present itself and now it had. Moving quickly he moved from the shadow of the wall to the unattended mugs. He caste one final cautious glance at the twins, certain they were too drunk and distracted to notice he began his work. Out from a pocket in his cloak he drew what resembled a candle though it had no wick and a small knife. It was dream stick and with great care he began to cut shavings off it over the mugs. Very small shavings, too small to be noticed he hoped. He only prayed the results were what he had foreseen.
***
Laughing they took their seats again to catch their breath. Hazeel was ecstatic he could feel his life turning around again. Soon the war would be over and the killing stop. He could go back to Trannis back to the temple. Drowning what was left of his ale in one long swallow, he looked at his sister and said “Time for bed”.
“And than for sleep” she answered mischievously.

When sleep finally took them they had such vivid dreams, of past occurences. Their bond only enhanced the effect of the dream stick. A bond that forced them to share each other’s dreams as they slept.
***
“Ahh young Hazeel and little Leezah are you ready for today’s lessons.” That was hot the prince-bishop began every lesson. “Yes my lord bishop” Hazeel answered. “Tell me Leezah how many gods are there,” the bishop asked. “Nine of course” she answered without hesitation. “Are you certain, did you count both of the twins” he asked amused. “Then there are ten” she answered doubt now fully exposed in her voice. “But what of the fool and the scholar, the lover and the widow” Hazeel pointed out eagerly counting the gods on his fingers “There are eighteen”. “Yes eighteen gods for eighteen aspects well done Hazeel but tell me why than are they called the nine.” The bishop asked. The question was not meant to be answered but he left them for a few minutes in silence to think on what he asked before continuing. “You see children the gods are nine just as they are eighteen each of the nine having two opposing aspects, and in that confrontation a balance is found reducing eighteen to nine but the nine are not separate either. The gods are bound to their aspects but often those aspects overlap, work together, reducing nine to but one. The gods are nine as surly as they are more and as surly as they are but one being.”
“But how can that be lord Bishop, I can understand that the twins are one being yet they or rather he is the god of both life and death. That he cherishes life and yet chooses when to end it. That he brings balance to cycle of life death and rebirth ” Leezah shot out in her haste to understand. “ahh child you answer your own question but do not see it. The cycle of life death and rebirth the domain of the twins but is not a cycle an example of continuity and is not death the oblivion of that life, the loss of that life’s accomplishments and memories. And that is only one example of the overlap a wound to the heart is the cause, death the effect but whose domain is that. The twins or is it the domain of the workers. And tell me if the rules of cause and effect were broken would that not have an impact on order and chaos. The gods are all important without one all would collapse. Just as you would not be whole with a missing limb the gods would not be either without all their number. If one failed the balance they all maintain will be compromised. It is good than that nothing can stop a god. No.”
***
Hazeel watched in horror from his position of safety inside a trench as he saw the Lauren mages draw the life force from captured prisoners and hurl it at the walls of skit. Had they no respect for life did they not understand the difference between murder and killing at need. Those soldiers had surrendered their threat ended long ago. He wanted to stop them but knew it was foolishness. If he tried he would lose his own life and self-preservation was one of the major precepts of his religion. Besides his sister knew his mind and already had his arm in a vice like grip to hold him back. He watched in even greater horror at witnessing the power of the priests and lords of change. Their counter strike a blast of unimaginable power saw the mages thrown aside like dolls in a storm. Everywhere he looked it was the same, he saw Lauren infantry charging the walls and gates with ladder and ram, the towers already reduced to smoldering ruin. Saw them get cut down like wheat before the scythe. The Laurens lived and died by the will of the lord and lady, their faith was immense but it was misplaced a dangerous thing. They worshiped the same god though he may call them by a different name. Yet to look on them racing to their doom you would never know. “Look Hazeel” Leezah screamed pointing east. Hazeel could not believe it; there his god walked the earth. He was an amazing sight, so majestic so powerful. Seeing that he knew his life held meaning and purpose. He threw aside the power of the priests of change and unleashed his own. Nothing could stop a god, yet having just witnessed the power of the priests of change for he first time he doubted those words. It was heresy to say perhaps even to think but may haps nothing could stop a god but another god. With fear in his heart he took a furtitive glance towards the heart of the dessert. What waited them their. He realized the wall had fell silent as more and more of the heretic priests fell and where his god walked the injured rose anew and healed. Not the dead, never the dead, it was in his gods power to do so but he never would. The raising of the dead to life was the most heinous of sin. That almost all the followers of the twins or lord or whatever he may be called could agree on. Those cults that did not were seen as heretical. The sight of their god sent the Laurens into fervor and with renewed effort they stormed the walls and the gates of skit. With a scream his sister ran forth to join them, taking his shield from his back hazeel ran to follow her.
***
She and her brother fought well together; if what her brother did could be called fighting, all he ever did was defend himself with that damnable shield. Still the men he held at bay allowed her to do her own deadly work easier and more than once today alone her brother’s shield had stood between her and death. She did not fear death but now was not her time. She had work to do, the heathen needed slaying. Channeling a small amount of her power she began to move faster and faster until her weapons were a whirlwind of death. She hated that the use of her magic drawing as it did on her and her brother’s life force shortened their lives. She would never understand why the gods had chosen to give her brother the greater power knowing which they must have that he would squander it. He never used it always reminding her when she tried to push him that his magic drew on the life around him. That he would not have that on his conscience. It was the one thing she envied of her brother his power he never used. Having defeated that small group of guards they moved on. The garrison seemed small. Once the priests power had been removed by the nine the cities resistance had crumbled. Only small pockets remained scattered through the city, more than once she had stumbled on a guard trying to change out his uniform to hide before killing him. “Leeza” she heard someone to her left call “quickly where is your brother”. Many of the soldiers in the coalition new them, most only knew her to find her brother though some appreciated her fighting talent. But she knew her brother’s talent for healing was the pair’s real fame. She saw Hazeel run to inspect the soldier’s wounded comrade. “I can not save him” she heard her brother say defeated. “There must be something you can do,” pleaded the soldier. “There is,” he conceded pain in his voice “do you know the price of life”. The soldier hesitated before answering, “the price of life is death”.
“And are you willing to pay that price, the balance must be maintained” her brother finally asked dejected. “Sol here has fought at my side since the beginning of this god forsaken war. I owe him my life a few times over, of course he owes me his too” realizing he was mumbling the soldier stopped than answered “yes”. Bending to place one hand on the wounded man chest her brother ordered, “give me your hand”. She thought about trying to stop it she knew her brother would feel guilt about this for days to come, but than she knew he would feel more if he did nothing. She had the gift enough to sense the life force flow from the soldier through her brother and finally into the wounded man. She needed no gift to see the effect. The wounds heeled, the mans breathing steadied his colours returned. What she saw next evoked hatred in her for both the soldier and his friend sol. Looking up at the soldier with tears in his eyes she heard him mutter “I fear the price you paid was a heavy one you have maybe five more years”. Suddenly her brother shot up and looked straight in the direction of the city center. He stared straight at a wall but seemed not or care or notice. “Did you sense that sister, such a power to leave this world? I wonder what man could have possessed such a spirit. His power must have been frightening. ” She had sensed something but it had been faint, but considering it must have been a powerful spirit indeed for her to sense it from so far away at all.
***
Awaking with a start his mind was racing. ‘What could kill a god’, ‘the balance must be maintained’, ’such a power to leave this world’. His high hopes of just hours before were broken. A god had died; the balance would soon begin breaking. It was a question of time. “What’s wrong brother” his sister asked “why are you so tense”. “That spirit we felt die. It was so powerful I thought it must be a priest of change killed by one of the nine. I know suspect the opposite. Something is wrong sister, I know it. We must try and figure it out.”
“Don’t be a fool only a god can kill and god, and why would the nine choose to harm each other”
“That is my greatest fear. We have seen his priests power it is greater than any priest of the nine. What if the emperor speaks the truth what if he is a god, truly”
“But if a god is truly dead why have we not seen the effects what has prompted you too these thoughts brother”
“Have we not. The war is almost over yet the conflict escalates. At our moment of victory disorder and bickery sweeps through the ranks. Something is wrong sister we must find out what,”

[Morgoth]

Here we go, let's ge this going. Ignore my cliche's, I was in a peeculiar mood

-----------------------------

At the edge of the great desert, sprawled next to a huge oasis, lays the city of Skitt. Once the proud heart of an ancient kingdom, recent years of war and foreign conquerors have reduced it to but a pale reflection of its former glory. Being one of the first cities that fell to the emperor, Skitt became the main base of operations for the military campaign that led the forces of the emperor deep into the continent, conquering all upon their path. Those years represented a time of renewed hope for the citizens of the once fair city. The thousands of soldiers, supply wagons, priests, engineers entrepreneurs and administrators that moved to, or passed through the city during these years became a major source of wealth, returning a measure of what was thought to have been lost forever, to the city. Indeed, Skitt became the unofficial capital of the empire, having much more of a strategic importance than the Emperor’s own capital, located at the heart of the desert, isolated from most of the rest of the world.

The emperor’s armies seemed for a time to be invincible. They conquered city after city, state after state, nation after nation. Unable to see past their own differences, the unconquered nations were unable to form a common front against the enemy thus they were unable to do anything as more and more of them disappeared, swallowed by hunger of the great imperial beast. All seemed lost, the empire covered two thirds of the continent, and more land was taken every day. But then something changed. Sure of his impending dominance, the Emperor proclaimed himself the mortal shell of the only true god. All other religions were banned, temples honouring aspects of the nine were thorn down or converted, changed to represent the Lord of Change. This was the first, and most likely a fatal mistake the emperor made during his reign.

Within a year of his proclamation the Nine started showing themselves. By the very essence of their nature, the gods forced the remaining nations to unite. They made them ignore their differences to focus all their energy on the common enemy. United, the free armies and the Nine with all their mighty powers turned the tide of the war slowly pushing the enemy back to the edge of the desert from which it came. With the fall of Skitt, the only remaining city of the empire lays within the heart of the desert. However, the Emperor is far from beat. His armies are still massive, and controlled not as much by the Emperor himself as the iron will of the high commander. A fearsome, cold man named Fyrner. And the priests of change, while few, wield a power unmatched by any except the Nine themselves.

The war has reached a standstill. The free armies are unwilling to invade the desert, fearing the hidden dangers within. Bogged down at Skitt, differences temporarily ignored have started blooming once more. What was cooperation is now next to an open conflict. Soldiers of different factions fight each other in the streets. There is little order and next to no law, anarchy is held in check by the fear of turning a corner and meeting a god. And among the dead hills of the south, the soldiers of the emperor are waiting..

In the middle of this mess, between the wars of gods and mortals, our adventure begins. In Skitt it begins, who knows where it will end.

*

[Iron Bars]

‘Look at this. Were letting some sand stop us when victory is imminent.’ The large bull placed his rough hands on the outer wall of the city. ‘If I was commander I would have pushed on now that we have the momentum.’ An undertone of outrage could be heard under this statement. ‘Sir, you know that we don’t have enough supplies to feed the entire army long enough to break their army.’ Sir Gard turned around and grimaced, his hand floating near his sword. ‘Everyone seems to be a tactician these days.’ Gards temper was legendary and the tread he put in almost every word he spoke could hardly be missed. ‘I don’t need to hear things like and certainly not from the likes of you.’ The man standing about five paces away put on a small smile, it didn’t fit his gaunt features or worn armour but Gard looked satisfied by it. ‘You know why I summand you, Ashfair?’ It didn’t sound like a real question so the gaunt man waited a few heartbeats before he answered. ‘Your probably wondering why one of my men stabbed that rich ‘warrior’, who turned out to be a son of Lord Amber.’ Gards frown deepened, Ashfair had sounded too much at ease with something this important. Gard took a step closer to the middle aged looking warrior, hulking over him but not coming too close. Ashfair brushed his hand thru the grey hairs that gave him his name. ‘He insulted Mule’s mother and so ended up on the end of Mule’s knife.’ Ashfairs contempt for the upper class must have been a bit to forward. Gard moved one step forward, standing at about two paces now because of the smell that surrounded his officer. ‘It’s bad enough that there is fighting with soldier of the other armies, but we can’t start fighting among ourselves. Even your rabble has be contained.’ Gard turned around and watched out over the desert again. ‘Bring this Mule to me so I can pass my judgement on him.’ Ashfair lifted one of his eyebrows, twisting his already ugly features into an even more hideous position. ‘Sorry sir, but I need him.’ Slowly Gard turned around again, the threat now even more obvious. ‘Why can’t you obey me like the rest of my commanders do?’ His hand was now resting on the pommel of his worn old sword. ‘Because sir, unlike the rest of your commanders I am competent.’ A bellowing laugh was released from the commanders tight features, no real amusement seemed to be present in it. ‘That’s probably the only reason you weren’t executed long ago. Now get the hell out of here before I change my mind.’ Ashfair saluted and left the private balcony of the supreme commander of the Allmun High Commander.

Swinging his cloak back Ashfair released his grip in the worn bastard-sword. Idiot. The thought floated thru his mind. This one was only out for personal glory. He had more pressing business to attend to. If Sir Gard was only a bit more interested in his army he would have known that one of Ashfairs soldiers was worth ten of those rich boys. They might not know the difference between wine from the Allmun centre kingdoms from those more to the north, but they were the best light infantry in the whole of this combined army. That and the fact that they would be the first on enemy territory should give them some credit with the High Commander. Ashfair recalled the High Commanders he’d served under and smiled, something he didn’t do to much of late. He couldn’t even remember when he first offered his service to the Allmun empire, offered the use of his special talents. Not many remembered his talent for problem solving now so Ashfair pretty much did what he thought was best now.

He found the man he was looking for in the Crest bar, one of the bars used by the underbelly of society in Skitt, playing some form of cards Ashfair was unfamiliar with. Pulling the man closed to Carn out of his chair he sat down. ‘Would you be so kind as to deal me in.’ His voice was a rasp as he stared the loose lipped merchant in the eye. ‘Sir Ashfair…’ The rest was lost in a gurgle as the tall warrior lifted him off his seat and almost carried him out back. When Carn finally landed his feet on the ground they were in an ally. ‘Had a nice little chat with Munster last night.’ Carns face turned even paler than it had been. ‘Sir I would never…’
He was cut short by Ashfair.’ Don’t lie to me, you should know by now that I have certain methods of finding out the truth.’ Carn turned a shade paler, if that was possible. ‘You know what I have to do now don’t you.’ Carn tried to crawl away but Ashfair grabbed him and pulled him up. ‘Sir you don’t know what they did to me to get me to talk.’ Ashfair smiled. ‘Probably make sure your drink was full at all time.’ Carn, who had felt a spark of hope at the smile started struggling. ‘Sir, my wife and kids….’ Further than that he would never come as Ashfair started struggling him. No-one would ruin his plans now that they had come this far.

He left the lifeless body of the merchant in the ally and walked back into the bar. ‘Now can someone explain this game to me or should I have some more talks outside?’ He asked the patrons with a smile. What a weird day this was becoming

[Morgoth]

Bloody maximum word limit..
-----------------------------
Sir Gard stomped into the council room with no regard for the priceless mosaic floor he was tearing to pieces with his armoured boots, his two advisors scurrying at his heels to keep up with him . His mood was not good, not good at all. The conquering of the city had been devastating, more so for the Laurens than the Allmuns obviously, as the Laurens had lost a dozen life drainers, more mages than the Allmuns could field in total, but Sir Gard had lost almost two thousand knights and more than ten times that number in peasant soldiers, a number of casualties never before experience by the royal armies in a single battle. And this bogging down, almost within sight of the last imperial city, was destroying the already frayed morale of the alliance troops. Allmun and Lauren troops especially, killed each other on a daily basis. Each day the number of casualties grew higher, the morale lower. They were on the brink of open revolt, and only a complete withdrawal or a continuation of the invasion would prevent it. And if that wasn’t enough, someone went around killing priests, slaughtering whole temples without making a sound, without sounding a single alarm. Somehow, Gard knew this meeting would not be a good one.

The council chamber was already resonating from a somewhat heated debate between Tanner and Breznik, a discussion they had kept on with at every single meeting so far. Gard could but groan, he truly didn’t need theological debates at this point, but there was little he could do to stop them.
“But if your god..”
“He is your god as much as he is mine, together with his Lady he is the god of all.” Like an old tutor lovingly and patiently explaining the most basic of concepts to an especially stupid child, Breznik did sound nor look like the leading commander of an army of fearless fanatics. Old, wizen, and slightly bent, with short, silver hair and a kind, gentle face covered in wrinkles he generated the impression of a kind and slightly eccentric grandfather. One who’s favourite past time would be to sit by the fire cradling his great grand children on his lap while telling stories from his childhood. Gard knew though, that behind the calm exterior burned the hearth of a religious fanatic. The Lauren commander would do anything, sacrifice anyone – including himself - for his gods and his country. This burning fervour climbed to the surface on a few occasions, and Gard could never help but take a step back when that happened. The old man scared him, he could not help it. Pit me unarmed against a horde of raging Wolf Clansmen any day. .
“Yes, yes.” Tanner waved his hand in annoyance. “But if this god granted us sentience, the ability to formulate thought, to develop ideas. Wouldn’t it then be .. heretical of us not to use that gift to the fullest. Would this Lord and his Lady not prefer us to appreciate his gift to the extent of our abilities?” While obviously a very intelligent man, Tanner found himself unable to cope with the calm and seemingly irrational man in front of him. As always, Gard knew, the Belderan commander would get nowhere, but still he refused to give up. Someone might see it as an admirable tenacity, the big Allmun saw nothing but blind stupidity.
“I can understand why that would seem like the logical conclusion to one such as yourself. But did not Father Benitus write in his great work; “the Path of our Lord”, that we have been given the skill of thought to better worship our holy couple. And thus thoughts should be focused solely on their divine glory. The development of these machines of yours is a deviation from the holy light of our divine protectors, it breeds impure thoughts and heretics everywhere.”
“If so, then how can you possibly expect your nation to survive? Surely your Lord wish for the survival of his.. chosen people. How can you protect yourself against something if you don’t know what it is? Learning, dear Breznik, does not consist only of knowing what we must, and what we can do, but also of knowing what we could do and perhaps should do”.
“So you say, but if only you would let a few of our judges within your borders and you would discover, to your horror I’m sure, the amount of heretics within your borders bred by this ungodly lust for knowledge. Evil hides within every shadow, creeps out of every corner. Your neighbour may just as well be a worshipper of malign spirits as he is a good citizen. Was it not merely a few months ago that two of our Judges uprooted spirit worshippers of the most terrible sort within the village of Argas? After days of questioning the seemingly innocent peasants our Judges were told of how, late at night, the cultists gathered in a basement, bringing with them a toddler which they threw between them until it died. The last man to hold it while it was alive was made the leader. That is but one of the many horrors learned.”

“ And for what your judges did to those citizens of my homeland, we brought them to face true justice deep beneath the royal palace. I’m told their screams can be heard even at ground level.” Gard stepped in between the two commanders, barely containing his fury. “Now, I believe we have a meeting, let us get it over with.”
Breznik blinked, momentarily startled by the interruption, but he quickly gathered his wits, once more becoming the knowing tutor.
“Yes, indeed we need this meeting.” The old man snapped his fingers, and one of his aides came running forwards with a bunch of papers.
“These are reports of priests being slaughtered within the walls of this fair city. Now, we would not be bothered about the deaths of heretics, but one of the temples of which priest have been slaughtered was dedicated to the Lord and the Lady. We agreed to the Allmun forces taking charge of security but we can do so no longer. You let our temple be desecrated!” The last word was a scream. The change seen in the old man was violent and terrifying. His eyes grew wide and burning, his mouth stretched into a sneer of anger and hate. Veins on his forehead and neck throbbed like slithering maggots. “Devoted worshippers of our Lord and Lady were killed and you did nothing! You have not even found the murdere!”
“My men are searching, it will only be a matter of time..”
“Silence!” Sir Gard was thrown back by the fury thrown at him, it chilled him deep down. He could naught but close his mouth and remain silent.
“We made a mistake putting our trust in infidels, we should never have put the safety of our own with you. This will now change. As was decided when this alliance was created, if the Allmuns are unable to keep security, then the responsibility moves to the Lauren authorities. In other words, this city is now mine and I will ensure the safety of every true believer. Pyres will burn with cleansing fire, brining an end to heretics who’s only goal is the destruction of the true faith.” Though his words still burned, the old priest visibly calmed down, his demeanour changing back to his normal one. “There will be order once more.” He took a few deep breathes.

[Morgoth]

Nothing could be heard in the council chambers apart from the slight hiss of burning oil, kept safe within the glass and metal of lanterns placed evenly around the room. Shock and fear covered everyone’s faces, including the other Lauren representatives. Even Sword, who had silently arrived at an unknown time, seemed slightly less calm than usual. His stance more rigid, more dangerous than normal.

A hand moved across a wrinkled brow, scattering droplets of sweat. Breznink spoke once more.
“My first step will be to put this city under hand of the judges, their word will be law and their authority will reach everyone but the high commanders and their closest staff.” As if having received some kind of signal, the doors to the council room swung open and in walked a man, his walk efficient and focused, yet not in any way rushed. He knew where he was going and he would get there no matter what but he showed no wish for rushing, yet neither no wish for stalling the approach. A smile played along Breznik’s lips as he took in the puzzlement, anger and mistrust of his companions.
“This is High Judge Bran Dar’Natian, he will from this moment take command of this city and all souls within it. Except for those already noted to be outside of his jurisdiction, of course.” Judge Bran made the smallest of bows at the mention of his name and title, his wide brimmed, dust grey hat rustling slightly. In fact, the whole man was dressed in grey. They were of different shades, but still grey. He was tall and thin, almost alarmingly so, yet there was no air of weakness surrounding him, quite the opposite. His long, silver and black hair concealed most of his face, but his eyes were clearly visible. Grey, cold, hard, they shifted unblinkingly from person to person within the room, resting slightly longer on Sword than the others before moving on. The gaze bored into everyone it touched, pulling apart their walls and protections to stare directly into their most hidden secrets, drinking in the souls of all present. Sir Gard, the veteran of countless battles, a man who had seen horrors that should be witnessed by no man, felt himself inwardly shrink from that gaze. He knew he had been weighted and found wanting, as had everyone else in the room, everyone perhaps apart from sword who’s hand had unnoticed slipped down to the pommel of one of his two swords.

The tension in the room was so thick it could be cut with a knife. Tanner tried to look nonchalant, as if this kind of thing happened to him all the time. Sir Gard, unconsciously started pulling his sword from its scabbard only to realise what he was doing and push it back and then start extracting it once more a few seconds later. Sword leaned against the wall, a finger tapping the pommel of his sword with a monotone rhythm., his eyes focused on the figure standing silently and unmoving at the opposite side of the room.
“You have much to discuss yet, and I have little patience for politics.” Judge Brand’s voice was startlingly deep and beautiful, every word he uttered seemed to ring like music through the room.
“I will take up my duties from this very moment. The heretics will be found and Judged, every single one of them.” With those words, he turned around and walked out of the room, letting the high commanders take their first deep breath since the doors opened for him.

Tanner was the first to break the silence following the Judge’s departure. His voice was low, yet growing in strength as his courage returned to him.
“Right, we better discuss the possibility of forced conscriptions to bolster our armies. The last battles have reduced our fighting capabilities quite heavily.” Little by little the council changed back to its former self.

[Lord Gordonis]

As Kaweil left his dwellings, on one of the many side streets that lead to the main street of Skitt, he seemed that everything was going to be alright, though it seemed to him it was like any other day, but it wasnt he was going to meet his associates who belongs to the one who has hired him to do something. He checked he has got everything where it should be, the 2 throwing knives down by his boots and his katana that his father gave it to him.

Hopefully I will get some answers from this person, to see if they know who killed my parents

So Kaweil went to go and see the person at a bar called Crest for it was a local bar for Kaweil because he could get lots of information from most of its inhabitents. But it was quite a walk for Kaweil for the bar was on the other side of the city and it would take him about an hour to get to the bar to see the associate of the person who wanted his skills.

So he starts walking on the main street, towards Crest bar, for it was well known that there was alot of people who got killed if they havent got anything on them, so Kaweil was taking no chances on the route towards Crest bar.

On the way he kept looking around to see if anybody was following him, though it was one of the busiest days in Skitt because it was market so everyone was out buying their food and to see whats new if there was any.

[Lord Gordonis]

As Kaweil turned into the street where Crest was, he noticed that there was a person following him. bet he was an assassins or this person was ordered to follow me here As Kaweil entered Crest the person attacked Kaweil from behind with a dagger, the first strike missed his neck as Kaweil twisted, he pulled out his katana. now who has the advantage , Kaweil first strike was a feint to the left hand side then twisted the strike to the body where Kaweil plunged his katana into the body. Kaweil kicked the body off the sword, and let it drop the the floor. ah great shouldn't have done that, best be off then, before the towns guard get here. Kaweil ran from the bar entrance straight into the alley ways and headed back home.

[Cause]

Walking the streets was a dull affair. The enthusiasm of victory for the soldiers and liberation for the city had been snuffed out with one act, the releasing of the judges upon the city. Everywhere he looked the streets were empty and when on rare occasion he did spot someone it was a group of soldiers never fewer than five most groups larger than ten. And even than they probably walked the street not by choice but by need. That same day they were appointed in charge of the cities security at least 30 had been charged with heresy. Their burnt bodies now standing watch like scare crows outside the Lauren temples. Rumor had it they had even attempted to arrest an Allmun officer in his own camp. That attempt or so the story went had ended in bloodshed with the Laurens and Allmun soldiers clashing. He feared the judge’s reckless arrogance would see the alliance destroyed. It was said they by the Laurens they knew just by a look if you were guilty or innocent so true and pious was their faith. It was said by most others that they decided if you were guilty or innocent when they met you and acted accordingly. After all torture would make the most hardened spirit plead guilty just to escape the pain. Though she hid it he knew his sister was worried as was he. After all they prayed to the same gods to as the Laurens but called them by different names, their manner of prayer involving different rituals. They were seen as subversive a more subtle heresy than worshiping spirits but no less dangerous. They would have to be on guard.

His sister moved forward to pear around the corner of the coming intersection. She looked back and waved him forward. The way was clear. He ran forward joining her. Signaling they should keep forward. It seemed so strange having to slink about in the daytime but the Judges curfew was in viable. The gates of the city were closed and squads of Lauren infantry ran endless patrols. No far easier to move in the day than through the false cover of darkness. They could not get out the city either the gates were guarded by a judge at all times. But they needed to move. It was well known were they had been staying and they thought it better to move than risk a visit from the judges.

Crossing the street Hazeel was struck dumb by an overpowering sensation of life. It was coming from the tavern on his left. “Such life sister coming from inside their” he pointed “and its flavor, its flavor I am sure is not human. I must see what causes it”
“Brother we have not the time we are not safe until we have new lodgings ”
Ignoring her he moved to the door and stepped inside. Scanning the room he quickly found what he sought. Their in the left corner a cowled man nursing a mug of ale but it was not him trying to conceal his appearance that alerted him, the man actually glowed with the power of life before his eyes. A glowing brightness that diminished his ability to sense the souls of he others in the room. He had been searching for a sign that all was not well with balance and he had found it. The man was not human could not be with a life force such as this, but he could not be a moree nor a geldar and certainly not a jendrek. His build made these entire possibilities mute.

He needed to talk to him; he had been looking for signs that like he suspected the balance was in flux and chance had delivered to him that very proof. Were was he from and what was he. He needed to know, needed to understand. He had no knowledge how to combat the imbalance any clue might help. He noted the mans sword an impossibly massive thing, a two handed great sword. That sword gave him an idea of how to proceed. He noticed his sister along side him. “The proof sister to assuage your doubts across us sits. Something other than human we must speak to it learn its intentions grasp what it means.”


Walking the streets was a dull affair. The enthusiasm of victory for the soldiers and liberation for the city had been snuffed out with one act, the releasing of the judges upon the city. Everywhere he looked the streets were empty and when on rare occasion he did spot someone it was a group of soldiers never fewer than five most groups larger than ten. And even than they probably walked the street not by choice but by need. That same day they were appointed in charge of the cities security at least 30 had been charged with heresy. Their burnt bodies now standing watch like scare crows outside the Lauren temples. Rumor had it they had even attempted to arrest an Allmun officer in his own camp. That attempt or so the story went had ended in bloodshed with the Laurens and Allmun soldiers clashing. He feared the judge’s reckless arrogance would see the alliance destroyed. It was said they by the Laurens they knew just by a look if you were guilty or innocent so true and pious was their faith. It was said by most others that they decided if you were guilty or innocent when they met you and acted accordingly. After all torture would make the most hardened spirit plead guilty just to escape the pain. Though she hid it he knew his sister was worried as was he. After all they prayed to the same gods to as the Laurens but called them by different names, their manner of prayer involving different rituals. They were seen as subversive a more subtle heresy than worshiping spirits but no less dangerous. They would have to be on guard.

His sister moved forward to pear around the corner of the coming intersection. She looked back and waved him forward. The way was clear. He ran forward joining her. Signaling they should keep forward. It seemed so strange having to slink about in the daytime but the Judges curfew was in viable. The gates of the city were closed and squads of Lauren infantry ran endless patrols. No far easier to move in the day than through the false cover of darkness. They could not get out the city either the gates were guarded by a judge at all times. But they needed to move. It was well known were they had been staying and they thought it better to move than risk a visit from the judges.

Crossing the street Hazeel was struck dumb by an overpowering sensation of life. It was coming from the tavern on his left. “Such life sister coming from inside their” he pointed “and its flavor, its flavor I am sure is not human. I must see what causes it”
“Brother we have not the time we are not safe until we have new lodgings ”
Ignoring her he moved to the door and stepped inside. Scanning the room he quickly found what he sought. Their in the left corner a cowled man nursing a mug of ale but it was not him trying to conceal his appearance that alerted him, the man actually glowed with the power of life before his eyes. A glowing brightness that diminished his ability to sense the souls of he others in the room. He had been searching for a sign that all was not well with balance and he had found it. The man was not human could not be with a life force such as this, but he could not be a moree nor a geldar and certainly not a jendrek. His build made these entire possibilities mute.

He needed to talk to him; he had been looking for signs that like he suspected the balance was in flux and chance had delivered to him that very proof. Were was he from and what was he. He needed to know, needed to understand. He had no knowledge how to combat the imbalance any clue might help. He noted the mans sword an impossibly massive thing, a two handed great sword. That sword gave him an idea of how to proceed. He noticed his sister along side him. “The proof sister to assuage your doubts across us sits. Something other than human we must speak to it learn its intentions grasp what it means.”