The Legion Immortalis: The Bulwark of Heaven (Part 4)

[Radobe]

Siron gives both of them curious look. It appears his first assumption might have been off the mark. Since his curiosity has risen yet again and the alcohol has made sure that there are plenty of holes in his tactfulness. After asking for another tankard he begins.

“Well” He begins after having another mouth full of ale. “Lurien did say that the Blood-Wardens are fierce combatants. Bah that will be something I will further ponder in the morning now however, I am curious” He takes a short pause looking at all of them, as if to see if he should continue. “Why do that “Var-” character and the Crimson Wolves rub you the wrong way? Siron holds in his smart-ass smirk, until he judges if he has gone too far.

[Cameron]

Sig snorts at Blood's remark. "There's more than one way to make a person look foolish, lass. With lute, axe, or fist in equal measure."

Sig sits back and takes a large swig of ale. When Siron makes his inquiry to Blood, Sig grins and finishes his first tankard in one fluid movement.

"You got some heavy brass on you there, lad. Careful no one takes it from you."

Sig continues grinning as he looks back to Blood. This is going to be good.

[john greymore]

Anger, scorching and searing hot, ran through Fenwick's veins in reply to Serenity's doubt at Cael being the killer. To him, to deny the killer was to deny the event, just as to deny a window frame was to deny the window. He attempts to hold himself together, but in his emotional state, it is likely that some of his poisonous feelings have been betrayed by his body language.

Yet the suggestion that follows this denial is mad. Find Cael's whereabouts? Then what, go there and face certain death? But he was new. There was no way Cael would've any sources of information on him yet. A dangerous, seductive plan plays in his head where a trap is set up for the Otaktay, but it fails and Serenity is killed. Yet the information that would be gleaned from the trap, if properly planned, would be invaluable in overcoming the Immortalis' mortality.

A kind heart? Perhaps when viewed at an angle with the moonlight shining on his face as he speaks.

"My parents were murdered. I know your pain. Lead the way."

[Faidth]

@Fjorin:

You can practically feel Lai squirming in the back of your mind. The suggestion makes him uncomfortable, but he does not seem to be entirely adverse to the idea. 

“I… I guess I could… maybe… do that…”

You feel a strong tugging in your skull, as if something with great suction is being removed from your brain. There is a swirling of air to your right, and within moments, a very attractive, blonde-haired, blue-eyed  beauty is at your side. Apparently in his transforming, Lai forgot to form himself clothes, and when the bald-headed Smith of Avalon exits the door of the tavern, he stands absolutely dumbstruck, staring open-mouthed at the creature.

He quickly averts his eyes with a quick, “Pardon, m’lady," before scurrying off in the opposite direction.

“Well that was mighty rude!” spoke Lai, crossing his arms over his breasts. “Oh… Right. Clothes. Just a tick.” There is another shifting within the winds, and Lai is dressed in a rather modest, yet beautiful, blue gown.

“In my experiences, women are usually treated with a bit more kindness in these drunken situations than men. The women sit back and watch the males make fools of themselves or stumble about wildly. I must say, I rarely see a woman drunk. Why is that?”

“Well, lead on, friend.” He/she links his/her arm through yours. Now that you think about it, as a spirit, does Lai even really have a gender? Granted, the few times he has assumed a human form it has mainly been in the guise of a male, making this both unusual and amusing for you.

“Oh… You know when I do this I can’t really act on objects. I need a human body for that. So you’re going to have to open the doors for me and pull out my chair and….” The rest of his rambling registers in your mind as blah, blah, blah, blah. He really is pulling off the part of a woman quite well!

You enter the tavern and perhaps find yourself, and your “companion,” somewhere to sit.


@Siron:

   In retrospect, you know provoking a caged lion probably wasn’t the wisest course of action, and this is reinforced to you as Blood stomps her foot on the ground. This rather unremarkable action produces an unforeseen result: it sends both you, and your barstool careening across the room. You are unceremoniously thrown to your back, while the barstool smashes into a wall, breaking into dozens of pieces.

   From your vantage on the ground, you see Calming smack his palm against his face and shake his head in disappointment. “Third blasted stool this week!”

Calming grumbles under his breath, but Blood merely shrugs, takes a final swig from her tankard, and without another word, departs through the tavern door. On her way out, she nearly knocks over a tall, beautiful, blonde woman whose arm is linked with an imposing gentleman you recall having seen at the funeral. Blood stops in her tracks, narrows her eyes and glances from the man to the woman. Blood scowls and vanishes from view.


@Fenwick:

   Serenity smiles, the first time you’ve seen her smile all day, and grabs your hand. “I know Dethys is meeting with General Fury right now. He likely won’t be back for hours. That will give us plenty of time. Come on!”

   She hurriedly guides you to Dethys’s clockwork home and is greeted with a wave by Caerina, Dethys’s wife. She holds her infant son in her arm and offers a slight smile as you enter. “Hello, Serenity. Fenwick.”

   “Hello, mistress,” responds Serenity. “Dethys sent me to gather some materials for him.”

   “He did?” Caerina frowns. “That was awfully daft of him. Given the circumstances, I assumed he would be sensible enough to give you some time off.”

   “No, no.” Serenity shakes her head. “I find it helps to keep distracted.”

   “Well, alright then.” Caerina smiles again before departing into the living room.

   You follow Serenity to Dethys’s laboratory where she begins to rapidly search through drawers. “I guess it would be more of a help if I told you what we are looking for. It’s an orb. A very small, green one. It can show you the location of anyone you wish. I have never seen Constancy’s killer, but you have. In your mind, you must have a clear image of what he looks like. You hold the orb in your hand as you do so, and it will show you where the person is. It is our best bet at getting revenge for my brother.”

   You both continue to search through the drawers and cabinets and it is you who is lucky enough to find it. Under a messy stack of papers, and an unusual looking key, your hand closes around a small green orb.

   At the lack of sound from your rummaging, Serenity hurries over. “You found it! Now quickly we have to-”

   You feel a hand upon your shoulder and you see that Serenity’s face has taken on a ghostly shade of white. You notice a second hand upon her shoulder, and then you see the face of Dethys Night lean forward to inspect the contents of your hand.

   His expression is unreadable. His lips are taut, but his voice is calm. “Have to what, exactly?” You’ve never seen Dethys Night angry, but you get the feeling you are about to.

[Radobe]

   Though some form of retaliation was expected, this was not in the list of anticipated responses. Siron is perplexed, as he lifts himself back up. Needless to say he is angry for this unwarranted kick, but still surpriced that only a stomp did that to him.

   “What the hell is wrong with you!” he screams at the woman stomping out of the building, after which he proceeds to dusting off his clothes and moves back to the bar. “Sorry for the stool, I have no idea what was wrong with her!” After a few seconds in thought, he points his finger towards Calming and says “Wait! Was that my fault?!” Moving his finger towards the door and gazing downwards. “Should I risk going out there to apologies?” Though it is said out loud, the question is directed more towards himself rather than Sig and the barkeep. “One last question.” His finger moves from the door towards the blonde woman and her companion. “Who are the people she chose not to stomp, didn’t I see one of them today?” Siron looks at Sig who is grinning. “And you! This was not funny!” He touches his aching back and gives off an angry, mixed with frustrated, expression on his face. “It kind of hurt…”

[Faidth]

@Siron:

Calming shakes his head. "Boy, do you have a lot to learn." He slides you another tankard to nurse your injured pride. "Don't worry about the stool." Right on cue, Calming opens a door to the right of the bar. You can see that it is stacked from floor to ceiling with barstools. "Broken stools tend to happen a lot around here. In fact, it would be unusual if one didn't get broken while Blood was here. Lots of stress that one. If breaking a stool keeps her from bludgeoning Childer Immortalis such as yourself, she can keep on busting them up as she pleases."

"Though..." Calming chuckles. "You did kind of bring it on yourself. Shouldn't have mentioned Var-" His voice drops to a whisper. "Vartan." He resumes his normal tone. "Bit of a sore subject with her these days. His absence has been wearing her patience even thinner than usual. Honestly, she's a totally different person when he's around. Probably the only thing in this world she actually loves and no one has heard from him in weeks. Fury knows where he is, but she's not talking. Secret mission, Bulwark business and what-not. For future reference, best to avoid the topic of Vartan Crozier and the Crimson Wolves, at least when you're around Blood. Will likely save you a beating. You're fortunate, really. I've seen that woman literally snap a Forsaken in half. If the most you get is tossed across a room, count your lucky stars."

"As for apologizing, you could take your chances. I've found it's best to let her cool off a bit." His gaze moves to the couple who narrowly avoided Blood's wrath. Calming shrugs. "Well, the woman. I'm not too sure. Never seen her before. The lad there, Childer Immortalis, such as yourself. Fjorin he's called, or so I am told. Just arrived in Avalon."

[Cameron]

Sig is no longer grinning. Instead, his deep rolling laugh rings out through the tavern.

"Oh, it was funny, lad! Just not for you."

Sig gives Siron a hard (probably too hard) slap on the back, quaffs his other tankard, throws some gold coin on the bar top, and swiftly exits the tavern. Once outside, he calls after the departing Blood.

"Leaving so soon, lass? I was hoping to have another drink off with you! I wager that I could probably fare a lot better this time!"

[john greymore]

Serenity had to be insane. Only an insane person could so smoothly go from near-tears to wearing a haggard, tired smile as they lie to a seemingly unsuspecting lady. Fenwick watches with casual care to pick up any signals that suggests suspicion.

But this wariness is unneeded as the two of them swiftly search the drawers and the orb is found by Fenwick. Shimmering with excitement, a hint of doubt paralyses him as he questions whether he truly wanted to proceed with this.

Time, however, waits for no man. The face of Dethys, strange, unreadable, suggested that an explanation was in order at once on pain of whatever tortures there were.

His hand forced earlier than expected, Fenwick pulls upon the charm he had learnt as a travelling merchant and tries to calm himself despite the adrenaline coursing through him. The result is drama.

"It doesn't matter, you are here now. Behold the being that murdered your apprentice!"

And he draws upon his trained ability to focus and keeps his mind on the one known as Baeyard Cael with all the spite and terror that he can muster.

[Faidth]

@Fenwick:

The orb in your hand springs to life and erupts with green light that swirls within the glass confines of the all-knowing sphere. Serenity watches with eager eyes. Her hand clasps your forearm as she impatiently stares at the orb, waiting for it to bring the image of Bayard Cael. There is an eruption within your hand, and suddenly

Nothing...

 After a few moments, a ghostly image of Dethys Night appears before you, a perfect likeness of the man you grasps your shoulder (save for the ghastly green glow of course.)

The ghost Dethys erupts in wicked laughter. “Mwahahahaha! You thought you had me, didn’t you, Fortuna! Well, I’ve got news for you! You… You… Don’t have me.” The ghostly Dethys appears uncertain as to what to say next. “Well… uh… your plan failed, better luck next time and all that. Ta for now.” Ghost Dethys disappears and the orb is once again silent.

“But-but…” Serenity is on the verge of tears again. You can tell that failing in ascertaining the whereabouts of her brother’s killer weight heavily upon her.
Suddenly, the orb erupts in light, and fake Dethys appears again. “Oh… and by the way… this orb self-destructs.”

“For pity’s sake!” cries out real Dethys. His hand still fastened upon both you and Serenity, he mutters a few quick word under his breath and you all are instantly transported from his laboratory to the living room.

Caerina stands, little Laertan still sleeping soundly in her arms. “Dethys, what is-”

Before she can finish her sentence, there is an enormous explosion that shakes the foundation of the entire house. Down the hallway, a gout of flame erupts from under the door leading to Dethys’s laboratory. Dethys mutters another spell under his breath and the flames are extinguished.

Dethys casts a nervous glance at the sleeping infant, and lets out a grateful “Whew, he’s still asleep.”

Serenity affected by the smoke still floating in the hallway sneezes, and little Laertan is suddenly awake, crying at the top of his lungs.

Dethys’s face is scarlet, and you can see his fists clench at his side. “You… you… You lie to my wife! You break into my laboratory! You attempt to steal from my personal belongings! And now! Now you wake the baby!” Masses of bright, green light pulse within his fists.

“Dethys, dear. Show mercy on them. Serenity just lost her-” pleads Caerina.

“All the more reason to be furious about this!” yells Dethys. His gaze turns to Serenity. “You really think Constancy would want you trying to track down his killer. No! Your brother has always done everything he can to keep you safe! To see you are taken care of! And you would disgrace his memory by throwing your life to the wolves!”

Serenity’s bottom lip trembled. “I’m sorry! I didn’t think-”

Dethys’s face softens considerably. “No… You didn’t think at all. I understand you are grieving, but slinking about behind my back and trying to take matters into your own hands will do nothing but get you killed. You, you’re not in your right mind. But you!” Dethys turns to face you, his features contorted with anger, his visage so terrifying in its sheer ire that you can feel your knees begin to tremble.

“You, Fenwick, are in your right mind. You have no excuse for what you have done tonight. You were supposed to be one of the smart ones! The Archon himself predicted greatness for you, and now you show yourself as a common thief, and don’t even try to explain otherwise, lest you forget that I know the nature of your heart, and can tell in an instant if you are lying. Really, the only one you are lying to is yourself. You still haven’t made peace with the death of your parents, and now you decide to throw caution to the wind and waste the chance the Divine himself gifted you with! He gave you a second chance at life and you would have gone with Serenity and both of you would have cast it aside!”

“And then! To come into my home! To lie to my wife! To search through my personal belongings! Serenity! You could have come to me! I would have helped you work through this! But instead, you go to this Childer Immortalis and put him and yourself in danger! You’ve both given me no choice!”

“Dethys!” shouts Caerina.

The green light that had been confined in the clenched hands of Dethys Night erupts from his palms and hits both you and Serenity full in the chest. It knocks the wind out of you, but save for that, doesn’t seem to have any lasting effects. Serenity lets out a deep sigh of relief.

“Don’t be too relieved just yet, Serenity. I’ve affected you and Fenwick with a Binding spell. Neither of you will be able to use any of your magic again until I see fit to remove the spell. Furthermore, you are both banned from leaving Avalon,” responds Dethys.

“Dethys, that isn’t fair!” exclaims Serenity.

“I think it is plenty fair. I could drag both of you before General Fury right now. I could likely even have you expelled from Avalon for this betrayal of my trust, but I have decided, given your fragile state, Serenity, to show some degree of mercy… but know this… If I EVER find out you two have entered my laboratory without my permission again, you can say goodbye to Avalon forever.”

“Dethys, are you sure this isn’t too harsh? You can’t just…” Caerina is interrupted by a fit of coughing, and Dethys’s expression of anger turns to one of concern. He gently places his arm around his wife’s shoulder and takes his son into his free arm. “Come, dear. Let us get you to bed.” He begins to lead his wife up to their bedroom. He casts a glance back to you. “I trust you know the way out. Serenity, I expect to see you first thing in the morning.”

Serenity takes you by the arm and steers you out of the front door, leaving you both standing in front of Dethys’s home.

“I am so sorry, Fenwick. This is all my fault,” apologizes Serenity. “But I can’t thank you enough for trying. I… I must be getting home. But before you go…” Serenity stands upon her toes and gently kisses you upon the lips. “This night, you have truly done me a great service, and one day, should you ever need my help, I stand ready to offer it. I will find a way to avenge my brother… despite what Dethys says. I know Constancy wouldn’t want me to be hurt, but he always worried too much for me. Goodnight, Fenwick.” Without another word, Serenity makes her way towards her home, not far from where Dethys resides. You see her vanish into her doorway, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

[john greymore]

The plan fails, the bloodhaze clears. The consequences of his action are thrown upon him. Disbelieving, he attempts a spell among his arsenal, randomly grabbing one in an attempt to cast it. Nothing happens, as expected. Mistrusting reality, he sits down for a moment on a nearby chair.

He was in this state because he had been passive. In a sense, it was no different from the murder of Constancy. His recent actions had been dreamlike, as if he was not in control. But deep down he knew that the fuel behind this, the emotions, were all a part of him.

As a whole, however, he was secretly grateful. Behind a harsh punishment was the secret relief that the choice he had to make was nil for now. As an aside, he had gained the loyalty and friendship of Serenity... But at the cost of Dethys' trust. And he liked Dethys.

The question now was what to do and who to turn to? It was obvious that an apology was in order, but now was not the time. Still, a note was what he could do. He scrounges around for some writing material and writes the apology note:

"Dethys,

I am sorry for my transgression. I should have taken more responsibility, and no excuses are allowed.

Fenwick."

He leaves it on the table and leaves the place. There is no where to go, but he tries to find his way to Cleo's place. It is highly likely that he would not be travelling with his companions any time soon anyway.

[Archdemon Stu]

“I… I guess I could… maybe… do that…”

Fjorin was lucky he had not yet ordered a drink, or he would have lost a mouthful of it to the sight of Lai's latest form.  Instead, he seemed to choke on nothingness.  Of all the possible shapes Lai could take...

By no means was Fjorin unfamiliar with the female body, as many women in the Ebonmane Clan had attempted to sleep their way into royalty, but to see Lai's bare breasts was more than enough to befuddle the barbarian... and enough to cause him to make noises in his throat that sounded suspiciously close to laughter, as Lai had already managed to make an Immortalis scuttle off.  The power behind choosing a womanly form was already apparent.  Clever indeed.

“In my experiences, women are usually treated with a bit more kindness in these drunken situations than men. The women sit back and watch the males make fools of themselves or stumble about wildly. I must say, I rarely see a woman drunk. Why is that?”

Fjorin, finally having been able to gain the ability to look his spirit friend in the eye, responded, "It is simple; they are the wiser breed.  By choosing such a form alone, I think you've proven yourself clever enough to act as one." he half-jested.

As Lai feigned grasping Fjorin's arm, he suddenly became aware of just how committed to the guise Lai was.  After a moment, he responded with an awkward bow, smirking as he noted the ridiculousness of the situation, and proceeded to the celebr-

With a sudden crash, a chair shattered against the wall.  Fjorin raised a quizzical brow, but did not seem to react otherwise.  More startling, however, was the source - a scowling, grey-eyed, almond-maned woman came barreling toward the door, nearly running over Lai in the process - whether they made contact or not, he was not sure, but judging from her scowl, it appeared she either knew what Lai was, or was simply in a particularly bad mood.  Either way, it mattered little.  He felt it would be overboard to defend Lai's honor so early in the night.

He did know one thing though: there was a similar presence in that woman... similar to General Fury.  The determination of a martial expert, a will of fire, and eyes that had seen enough blood to sail upon.

Now was not the time to dwell on such things, however.  Though Fjorin's etiquette was abysmal, it was fortunate Lai had been babbling on long enough to give the Prince of the Ebonmane some semblance of what he was supposed to do in such a situation.  With a sigh, and a roll of his eyes, he drew a stool out from under the bar, and with a subtle gesture, "M'lady."

It would take him some time yet to adjust to Lai's antics, and the internal confusion that came with his... or her... shape.

They were seated next to an empty space - no doubt where the shattered stool originated - and near the barkeep, "Calming" General Fury called him.  For the sake of throwing Lai a curve ball... "Barkeep, how much for your finest mead?!" a line he learned to feign enthusiasm for well.

However, his plan quickly backfired as he reflexively reached for his pocket...

Two gold coins.  Each one worth more to him than any of the items in his possession combined - perhaps even his very limbs.  For a brief moment, he paused, and gave them one last look.  For that moment, it was as if he trapped in his memories.  As he held the coins, he could hear the voices of the comrades he left at the shore that fateful night.  He froze as the cold of the metal chilled his fingertips.

[Radobe]

The young knight’s eyes narrow as he looks at the short man laughing in front of him.

"Oh, it was funny, lad! Just not for you."

He gives off a rather distant impression, before he begins to laugh as well. “This reminds me of one time…” His thought is interrupted by a melancholic feeling, his smile slowly fading and suddenly returning as his eyes come back to life. “Well back than I wasn’t tossed around with a stomp, but otherwise it was pretty similar!” Sig gives Siron a hard slap on the back, before he finishes his tankard and chasses after Blood.

"Boy, do you have a lot to learn."…   …Just arrived in Avalon."

“Normally now I would offer the big guy a drink, but I think I’ve pissed off enough people for tonight,” After having a good long look at the woman accompanying Fjorin “ plus, he is in good hands I recon!” with a smile he looks at calming,  giving him the “ If you know what I mean!” look.  “I dare say I did not do badly for my first day. I witnessed some more death, pissed off a terrifying woman and I got a little tipsy.” Siron stands and checks out his clothes for any stains or remaining dust. “I can’t wait to see what the morning holds for me!” With a smile, he waves the tall man goodbye and leaves the tavern for the night.

Heading back to the barracks, Siron feels the tranquility, under the night sky of Avalon. The undisturbed noise of the insects, the moonlight showering the streets, an explosion in the distance… He looks in the direction the explosive sound came from and listens for a few seconds, to see if there will be a follow up. Nothing happens, so he shrugs and continues on his way, thinking his stay here might actually be enjoyable.

When in the barracks he finds no desire to sleep, instead he gets his gear and tries to find a training ground. He has been slacking with his practice, thanks to the events of the past week, so it was about time he did some good old fashioned training. Should he find a place to do so, he will train to the break of dawn and then retire for the night.

[Kitharsis]

"You look..."  Faile cocks her head to one side, then the other.  "Delicious."

Field mouse Sembas Filden squeaks as loud as his little lungs will allow.  This is followed by mile a minute chattering as he gives a long deposition on the reasons why he would taste horrible.

"You do realize that all your squabbling will attract every predator within a mile radius.  Not to mention the... alluring way your are flailing about that will surely catch the eye of any owls hunting the night."

Two little paws clamp his little mouth shut as he scurries between two ginormous blades of grass.

"This is not the way I saw myself spending the evening."  He mutters.  "Stupid field mouse..."  Without thinking he licks his paw and cleans his whiskers.

"But hey now, whats that smell?"  He scurries through the grass a few feet to find some crumbs from the stale bread that fell out of Dennan's hand.  His cheeks stretch as he stuffs a few rather large pieces into his mouth.

"Where did you go?"  Faile demands.  "Don't run off like that!  Its hard to keep track of you, you little morsel."

Sembas stops chewing as the realization hits him.  Nobody takes notice of a little mouse.  He could practically disappear if he wanted to, being so small.  This could be incredibly useful.

"Who's the new guy?"  A voice asks from the grass.

"Dunno, he smells funny though."  Another responds.

"You're one to talk."  Yet another.

What is even going on here?  Sembas swallows the rest of the bread stuck in his cheeks and looks around.  His nose tells him that there are other mice about.

"Hey!  Save some for me, pal."  A rather large mouse saunters past and starts stuffing his face with breadcrumbs.  Seeing that the coast is clear, two others skip past and join him.

"That dumb falcon can't even see us when its this dark out boys, don't even worry about it."  The large one says between bites, breadcrumbs clinging to its whiskers.

This is outright crazy.  Sembas can barely take it all.  He feels like his little heart will beat right out of his chest.

"Scatter!"  The fat one shrieks as it back peddles into thicker grass.  The two smaller mice are gone in an instant.  Dumbfounded, Sembas sits up on his hind legs, wobbles, then looks up.

An annoyed Falcon is staring down at him, eyes narrowing.

"Where did that fat one go?"  She fumes.

"He's gone, and you very rudely just interrupted social hour."

"Hmph, the world of mice is as foolish as the world of men."

Sembas watches as a pebble soars through the air.  It takes a high arc, and he nearly loses it for the stars.  He raises a paw and opens his mouth to speak, but a sly grin takes place of any words.

"What's so-" *Plink*

The pebble connects with Faile's head, and from the distance you can hear, "You big oaf of a chicken!  Now's your chance!  Run!"

These little mice were standing up to Faile.  Sembas stands flabbergasted.  They just met him, but they were risking life and limb just to save a stranger.  He is humbled.

"Promise me you won't eat them?"  Sembas pleads.  "I would like to have a few words with these fellows."

"You owe me a weeks worth of honey buns when we get back to Avalon."

[Faidth]

@Sig:

You manage to easily get the attention of Blood as she retreats towards her home.

“Getting a bit too crowded in there for my tastes. Think it’s time to hit up my private reserve,” she says moodily. “But I’ll look like less of a drunk if someone is drinking with me, so you’re welcome to come if you wish.”

A Chosen of Alviss never turns down the chance at free booze, so you follow Blood back to her home. You’ve been inside once before (tied to a bed so as not to drunkenly wrestle inanimate objects.) However, as you were quite inebriated the last time you saw it (drunker than you’d likely been in a long time) you do not recall much of the outside

As you follow Blood, your eyes can make out a large home within the confines of a black, iron fence. It looks at least fleetingly familiar. Tall posts with lanterns affixed to the top line the walkway, spilling light over the front yard. There are blood-red rose bushes that dot the front of the house at precise, evenly spaced areas. The house itself is an off-white color, with criss-crossing sections of brown wood.

She leads you through the front door, down the hallway, and into a kitchen located in the back left of the first floor. This is a room that looks as if it has hardly even been used. She opens a closet that is lined with white brick and mortar on the inside. As you walk by it, you notice the room is surprisingly cold, then you realize why. There are casks of wine, bottles of liquor and kegs of ale and beer.

“Dethys owed me a favor. Enchanted the room.” She selects a dark brown bottle from her private stash, puts her teeth on the cork and gives it a mighty yank

“Keeps it nice and cold. Just the right temperature.” She takes a swig before offering it to you. “So what do we drink to, Sig?”

@Siron:

It is easy enough to find training grounds near the barracks, in fact, you can see them from the little window of the room you have selected to sleep in. When you make your way down to the training area, you find you are not alone. A large, imposing young man with shaggy, blonde hair and piercing blue eyes is hacking away at a dummy in the corner of the yards. The greatsword he holds in his hands glints in the torchlight that surrounds the yards. The young man wears a set of impressive golden chainmail and despite his furious swinging, he shows no sign of stopping.

However, your footsteps attract his attention and he turns to face you. The smile he gives is a welcoming and genuine one. There is a certain aura about him that immediately makes you like him.

“Oh, hello,” he greets you. “You’re one of the Childer, right? Uh… Fjorin… No! Siron! Siron, right?” He extends his hand out to you. “Corvus Virtue. Pleased to make your acquaintance. I don’t suppose you would be willing to spar with me. Want to keep my skills sharp between now and the time I return to the front lines. Don’t want to get soft, right?”


@Sembas:

You owe a certain falcon a large quantity of honeycakes, but this new and exciting experience certainly may be worth it. With a promise to keep an eye on you from afar, Faile takes off, settling in a tree nearby.

The largest mouse moves forward. “Oy! What were you doing there? You were just staring at that flapping featherhead like you were scared to death! Don’t be scared of them. I’m sure not!” The large mouse wiggles his tiny pink nose and touches his whiskers to yours. Though he never says his name, you are somehow told what he is called through this action. “Boris.”

The second and third mouse repeat this action: “Paolo” and “Chico.” They look very similar, but on closer examination, you notice that Chico’s coat is slightly lighter in color than his companion.

“What’s with the ruckus, boys?” a fourth mouse bounds forward, stopping beside Boris.

“It’s a new guy, Cosette!” explains Chico excitedly.

“New guy, huh?” The mouse called Cosette comes forward to greet you. “Well, we can’t be letting ourselves out in the open like this for long. Those blasted birds will make a quick meal of us. Our home is nearby. You’re welcome to hide out there until you can find a place of your own,” offers Cosette. “What’s your name, friend?”

You’re about to respond when you hear a loud screeching and find yourself flat on your back, a massive talon wrapped around your chest. You look up into the eyes of a falcon, but not your dear friend, Faile.

“Gah!” You hear Faile shout in exasperation as she careens through the sky and slams her body into that of the other bird. Both of them go rolling away in the grass.

“Come on! Run!” cries Paolo as he drags you to your feet. They begin to lead you away from the field and towards a thick copse of trees.

Behind you, you can hear Faile admonishing the other falcon. “Besnik, you twit! You leave those mice alone!”

“Well, I was getting it for you!” snaps Besnik. “Aren’t you hungry? You have to stay nice and fat. Can’t keep the eggs warm with a scraggly body like that. My children aren’t going to catch their death because their mother didn’t have the decency to eat a good meal when she saw one!”

“Besnik! You-you! Get back to the nest right now! I’ll explain it to you there!” snarls Faile.

It seems your falcon friend has been keeping secrets from you. This mouse form is paying off already!


@Fjorin:

The bartender, a tall, slender, man with shaggy brown hair, brings you and Lai each a tankard of ale. "Don't worry about it. We don't deal in money. If I can get you anything else, just let me know. Calming's the name. Galenus Calming." He heads back to the bar to tend to his other customers.

"You're welcome!" calls Lai after him. He/she looks back to you. "That' correct, right? Someone gives you something and you say 'you're welcome.' I can never be sure. I know I heard Aras use it. Called it having 'manners.' Forsaken don't usually say those types of things. Not exactly a polite bunch, mind you. You give them something nice and they would say, 'Hey, Carnis! Where's the rest!' Blah, blah, blah. Anyway... They're a nasty sort. Especially that Lieutenant Cauter. He told me to take the form of General Fury once so he could pretend to paw at me and do other unmentionable things. I told him I had more self-respect than that and he had me confined for a year! A year! Stuck in that stupid Spirit Trap until Lord Severan took notice and demanded I be let out. Wasn't so much him being nice as he needed me to go interrogate Aras."

[Archdemon Stu]

Calming's voice snapped him out of his daze, and back into the light and warmth of the tavern.  He quickly returned the coins to the comfort of his pocket, and took a mighty swig of his mead... it was like nothing he'd ever tasted before!  How did his fellow man even drink the horse swill they did when there was mead like this about?!

"You're welcome!"

In a strange way, it was a relief that Fjorin had the company of someone worse with formalities than he was.  After a relieved breath from the mead touching his belly, he answered gruffly, "Close enough."

It was nice to hear Lai speak of Aras.  In a way, Fjorin had adjusted nicely in the domain the Lady of Shadows dwelled.  Aras always was a gentleman, perhaps Fjorin could have learned a thing or two from him.

As Lai continued though, Fjorin had begun to see that he was not the only one with a past.

"Especially that Lieutenant Cauter. He told me to take the form of General Fury once so he could pretend to paw at me and do other unmentionable things. I told him I had more self-respect than that and he had me confined for a year! A year!"

The last of the Ebonmane had encountered many brutal opponents and tribes in his time, but he wondered if he had ever heard of such a twisted individual as this Lieutenant Cauter.  Fjorin dared not ask what Cauter asked of the carnis, as a part of him felt he already knew.  At least Fjorin knew now he was on the right side of the war.

Another thought came to him.  Lai knew much of the Forsaken.  Death wounds, locations, names, abilities, weaknesses, the information extracted from Aras... No.  Lai had been through enough.  He would not ask a single detail of these things.  He was familiar with prisoners of war, and he was always certain to show them the same respect.  The carnis had been used for people's personal gain enough; Fjorin would not lower himself to that of Deceit or Cauter.  Tonight was a night of comfort - to ease the mind.

[CONSTITUTION: SOAK] Fjorin downed the rest of his mead, and shortly after, Lai's.

"Well then, if you value your self-respect, you won't like what I'm about to ask you to do." it was clear the drink was already hitting Fjorin.  "Dance."  Fjorin looked to others in the bar, dancing to Muse's uplifting tune.  It was a strange ritual where in one flailed about indignantly in order to have some illusion of fun, something as strange to him as drinking... and yet here, he would do both.

Fjorin found it stupid, but long ago, Bjornfir took it upon himself to teach him the most basic of steps - ones even Fjorin could learn - claiming, "I'll not have you embarrass me in front of the lasses any longer!  Me blade needs sharpenin'!"

He stood abruptly, and put his arm out for Lai to grasp once more.  So, this was Fjorin when touched by the drink...

Should Lai accept the invitation, he continues the topic, though attempting to skip the less than favorable details, "How was it yourself and Aras came upon the Lady of Shadows after the Forsaken?"

[Radobe]

Siron is a bit surprised at the sudden meeting.

“Oh, hello,”… Don’t want to get soft, right?”

“Hello” The blond man with blue eyes standing in front of him, has an air of importance around himself. If it wasn’t for the equipment alone, his presence was one emitted by royalty and leaders: intimidating, yet welcoming. “I am Siron Entrima from the house of Entrima. It is a pleasure to meet you.” He gives a small bow to show respect. “As for a spar,” A quick flashback takes him back on the floor of the tavern “from what I’ve seen, you people are everything else, but soft!” He says with a smile. “No worries though I don’t mind a spar, just give me a few moments to warm up and work the last of the ale out of my system.”

It takes only a few minutes, for the young knight to prepare himself physically for the challenge, but if someone asked if he was mentally prepared to be laid out on his ass again, that would be a definite no. Siron readies his sword and meticulously performs a few combination attacks on the dummies. With a series of small jumps and dashes, while holding his sword, he readies the rest of his body. Feeling the familiar feeling of blood rushing into his muscles, he gives Virtue a nod, telling him he is done warming up. He has left his shield and mace on the side, since his opponent and him wield a weapon, that he is proficient in using, he chooses to face him with the same weapon.

[Kitharsis]

Little legs can run quite quickly, Sembas finds.  If he thought his heart was beating fast before, he was woefully mistaken.  It is a small wonder that one of Besnik's talons didn't puncture anything important.  Sembas makes a note to double the amount of Faile's honey cakes upon his return. 

It is an even larger wonder to hear talk of eggs and mothers coming from Besnik's beak.  More than slightly overwhelmed, putting one paw in front of the other is all that Sembas can manage for the time being.

The mouse pack makes it to the treeline with swiftness.  They reach a large old pine tree who's roots have overgrown its base.  Boris leads the group through a hole between two of the twisting roots.  He stands at the entrance waving everyone through, giving a wink to Sembas as he runs past. 

Having ushered everyone into their den, Boris squeezes himself through the hole, shimmying his hind quarters for the tight fit.

"We made it!  What were those birds brains even doing?"  Paolo asks.

"Lovers quarrel, Paolo, didn't you hear them?  Going on about eggs and nests and all that nonsense."  Chico answers.

"Phooey, more chickens to worry about."  Boris spits.

"I think we'll be sticking to the woods for a while, fellas.  No sense in picking fights with a family of falcons."  Cosette nods his head matter of factly.

Is Faile... pregnant?  Or even worse, has she already laid eggs?  Sembas sits wided eyed, even for a mouse.

"Oy, lad.  It won't be that bad, we'll just stick to the tunnels."  Boris points behind him to a network of holes dotting the far wall.  "You'll see, it'll be fine."

"Hey that's right, we never caught your name buddy!"  Cosette looks on expectantly.

"Sembas, I'm called Sembas."  He replies.  "I must apologize for putting you all in such danger.  Thank you for helping me, but you see I'm actually-"

"Putting us in danger?!"  Boris erupts with laughter.  "Lad, we've brushed off more than that before breakfast."

"How?  How do you deal with it all?"

"Biting."  Paolo says plainly.

"Scratching."  Chico adds with a shrug.

"Whatever it takes, lad.  You cannot stop and you cannot give up.  And if you see a fellow mouse in danger you do all you can.  Because they would do the same for you."  Boris nods reverently.

"So, where are you from, Sembas?"  Cosette asks.  "Can't say we've seen you before." 

"I'm from Avalon, the city of the Immortalis."  Sembas replies, with a slathering of pride.

"The whosit's?  Can't say I've heard of it."  Boris says dismissively, deflating Sembas quite a bit.

"Must be that place where my dad got our old bed from."  Chico points to a large pile of fuzz in the corner.  "Says he got it from a big Human that smelled like a mouse."

Dennan!  As enjoyable as it is conversing with these mice, Sembas is more than ready to be home and back in his normal body. 

"How did he get there?"  Sembas asks with anticipation.

"The tunnel on the far left..."  Chico says, ominously.  The three other mice all turn and look at it.  "Nobody ever comes back from that tunnel.  Nobody except my dad, that is..."

He must get home.  But running along the path would be suicide, and Sembas does not want to spend the rest of eternity inside of something's belly.

"I have to get back to Avalon."  Sembas says, with a serious tone.  "I thank you all for the warm welcome, and the help that you've given me, but I need to return home."

Determined, Sembas scurries over to the far left tunnel.  He sticks his nose through the threshold before being inundated with squeaking and shuffling from behind him. 

"We can't let you go off alone like that!"  Cosette says chastizingly.  "Not after seeing what kind of trouble you get yourself in.  No, no.  We're coming with you."

"We need a new bed anyway!  Paolo stunk up that one already."  Chico explains.

"I keep saying, He's the one that smells funny!  Nobody ever listens!"

---

The tunnel is long.  He wishes Faile had not flown off with that buzzard Besnik.  No wonder she is keeping her distance.  They have a lot to talk about...

"You guys smell that?"  Paolo asks, a bit of concern marking his voice.

"Of course, I've been behind you the whole time.  Don't you wash, Paolo?"  Chico retorts.

"Feh, no, I think there's water up ahead.  I can hear it now too."

Sembas can hear it also.  After a short while the group of mice finds themselves at the end of the tunnel.  It opens up into a cavern housing a small stream.  A hollowed out log sits perched on the bank with a pebble keeping it from rolling into the water. 

Cosette examines the situation.  He sniffs at the log and the pebble before returning to the others.

"Its a boat!  Yes, a boat.  Chico's dad must have used it ages ago.  Lets go!"

The four mice all run into the log and look expectantly at Sembas.  There are obvious holes in Cosette's explanation, but he simply shrugs and hops on.  A mouse is relentless, after all.

Boris kicks out the pebble and they roll into the water.  The log is immediately taken by the current and swept downstream.  Before long the stream picks up in pace as it exits the cavern and opens into the early morning sky.  Sembas does not recognize the fields and forests that are rapidly passing by.  They must be outside Avalon somewhere.

"We're booking now boys!"  Boris shouts from the back of the log. 

"What is that up ahead?"  Paolo asks.  "It looks frothy."

Cosette scampers to the front of the log, peering out.  "Just some morning mist, Paolo."

Sembas sprints to the front, nearly bowling over Paolo and Cosette.  He knows where they are now.  And he knows that its not just mist.

"We need to get to the bank!  Now! Run!"  Sembas shouts desperately.

He starts running up the inside of the log and it slowly spins under his weight.  The others waste no time in joining.  The log begins rolling in the water, causing it to sluggishly veer off towards the bank.

Between heavy breaths Cosette yells, "What are we doing this for?  Whats wrong with that misty stuff?"

"Waterfall!"  Sembas yells as he grunts with determination.

The four other mice realize the direness of their situation and run even faster.  They grit their teeth as they run as fast as they can.

"Come on boys, I'm not in the mood for a swim today!"  Boris shouts in encouragement. 

The log bounces off of a rock.

It starts spinning wildly through the water.

The five mice scream as their boat careens over the edge of the waterfall.

-------

Sembas's little lungs run out of breath for screaming so long.  Finding the need to inhale odd he opens his eyes.  He was in the middle of a mouse pile, each of them clinging tightly onto the other.  Blinking, he watches as clouds roll by the two openings of the log.

"You all are very loud."  Faile mutters from above.  "Also, your running total is three dozen honey buns."

"Faile!"  Sembas squeaks.  "Thank The Divine you caught us!  It's alright guys, she's my friend.  She'll take us straight to Avalon."

"Your friend!?"  Chico shouts.

"Told you he smelled funny!"  Paolo says accusingly.

The four mice hop away from Sembas and stare.  It seems that their new friend was not an ordinary field mouse.

"Oy lad, I think you owe us an explanation."  Boris says, quite sternly.

Cosette crosses his paws in front of him, clearly upset.

"Well, where to begin...  I'm not a field mouse, well not usually."  Sembas explains, hemming and hawing.  "I'm a human.  My friend Dennan changed me into a field mouse and left me in the field where I met you all."

"Come to think of it you do smell a kinda funny."  Cosette says, as if realizing it for the first time.

"I've been sayin!"  Paolo cries.

"Yes, well, Dennan said he'll turn me back into a human once I find him again.  I have responsibilities that I need to tend to.  I promise to return you all home once I change back, if that is what you want."  Sembas says, clearly despondent.

The four mice sit in silence for some time.  They aren't sure what to think.  Sembas feels like a heel.  These brave mice helped him a great deal.  He couldn't just leave them once he returned human. 

Faile conspicuously clears her throat and says, "We're almost to Dennan's house.  Hold tight."

Dennan watches as Faile comes flying towards him.  Curiously, she is carrying what looks like a hollowed out log.  He leans his axe against the chopping block he was working on and waits for her to land.

"What sort of trouble has little Sembas gotten himself into, girl?"  Dennan asks in his deep voice.  He leans down and peers inside the log.  Field Mouse Sembas Filden is staring up at him.

"Hi, Dennan."  He says, with a pause.  "Please give me a moment."  Dennan nods as he sees the four bewildered mice sitting in the middle of the log with Sembas.   He takes a seat a few feet away until his friend is ready.

Sembas turns and looks at his four friends.  "I should have told you all from the beginning.  I'm sorry for hiding what I really am.  You all have been so kind..."

Boris stands and paces over to Sembas, tickling their whiskers together.  "Sembas, as far as I'm concerned you're as much a mouse as any of us.  Just remember what I told you.  Us mice do whatever it takes, and if we see another mouse in danger, or that needs help, we do all that we can."

"I'll never forget, Boris."  Sembas says, with a catch in his throat.  "If there is ever anything you all need.  Please let me know and I'll do whatever I can."

Paolo, Chico and Cosette all run over in a chatter, saying good lucks, good byes and you're always welcomes.  After thanking each of them individually, Sembas calls over to Dennan.

"Ok, Dennan.  I'm ready.  I think I've found what I needed to."

[Faidth]

@Siron:

Corvus takes a ready stance, and ever the gentleman, signals you to make the first move. 


@Fjorin:

Lai nervously accepts your invitation. “I… Uh… Don’t really know what I’m doing, but I’ll give it a try.” She sways to and fro, content to let you take the lead. Lai manages to stumble about convincingly enough, but when she falls and her hand passes through a nearby table, the stares from the other Ageless make her quite uncomfortable. They likely already know what Lai is. News travels quickly in Avalon, and strangers do not really exist. Given the countless Carnis they have likely faced on the battlefield, it is understandable the Ageless might be apprehensive about being in the company of one.

Lai contemplates your question, trying to determine how to best answer it. “I… I don’t know if I can really express what transpired. It would probably be better if I showed you.” Lai gestures towards a dark, unoccupied corner of the tavern. Once seated, she places her hands on top of yours. Though her hands look perfectly solid, she is just an illusion, and when her palms press against the backs of your hands, you feel a slight chill rather than the pressure that should accompany them.

“Close your eyes, Fjorin.”

You are looking at the ground, muddy and wet. Leaves stick to your brown leather boots. You hear noise behind you, and you turn to look.

“Lai, we must go faster. Get us as far away from her as fast as you can!” Aras’s voice.

You realize that you are Lai as he inhabits the body of Aras. This must be just after they escaped the Forsaken.

“I’m trying, Aras,” comes Lai’s voice. “I really am. I don’t want to go back there again, either!”

“I know, Lai. I know you’re doing the best you can, but we have to move faster!”

You see Aras’s legs begin to accelerate as you race through the woods, trying to lose the Forsaken pursuers. There is the sound of something sliding over the leaves, and suddenly, Aras is suspended upside down from a tree. Footsteps continue in the distance moving ever closer to Aras. His weapons had been taken from him during his imprisonment, and he has no means to protect himself.

“You’ve really managed to get yourself in a bind, haven’t you?” There’s a woman’s voice from below. Aras attempts to focus on the figure. A woman with bright red hair and clad in billowing robes of black. You immediately recognize her as the Lady of Shadows.

“Who are you?” asks Aras.

“That is none of your concern, Aras of the Shar’ada,” responds the Lady.

More footsteps.

“I will agree to set you free, but in return, you must promise to complete a task for me.”

Within Aras’s mind, you hear Lai speak. “Don’t do it, Aras. You don’t know who this woman is. What if she’s working with the Forsaken?”

“Then she wouldn’t be offering to help us, Lai,” returns Aras.

The footsteps of the Forsaken are even closer now. They would surely be there within moments.

The Lady crosses her arms over her chest. “Well, what will it be?”

“Fine! Just get us down!” concedes Aras.

The Lady snaps her fingers and the rope separates, sending Aras to the ground. She hurries forward, wrapping her cloak around Aras. “Now, be still and don’t speak a word.”

A group of 6 or 7 Forsaken pass within inches of the Lady, Aras, and by extension, Lai. One of them stops to examine the broken rope trap. “He was obviously here. He can’t have gotten far.”

“I don’t see any tracks leading away.”

“Well, look harder!”

Eventually the Forsaken abandon the area and head west, certain that is the path Aras had taken.

You open your eyes and find that your vision is a bit blurry, but they quickly adjust and you find yourself staring at Lai. 


@Sembas:

Dennan reaches his massive hand out in front of you, laying it flat so that you may climb onto it.    Once you have scrambled onto his palm, he raises you to eye level with him.

“You must think of Sembas… Human Sembas. You must imagine your limbs growing back to their normal shape and size. You must think of the world as shrinking around you, until you find your own two feet back on the ground again. It seems a simple task, but when you have stayed in the form of an animal, especially for an extended time, it can become difficult to focus. I would caution you not to maintain a form for too long, at least not at first. Eventually, you may forget your true form, and if you do, you will be stuck as an animal forever.”

[Radobe]

Siron takes his stance. Taking an “en garde” position, his legs form an L shape. The left foot is extended forward and the diagonal line of the L connects to his right foot. He holds his blade with his right hand, firmly grasping the area of the grip, directly under the cross guard and his left hand, tightened above the pommel. His sword lifted, so that the sword’s grip is on the level of his waist. The distance the sword holds from the body, is such so that the guard doesn’t go further than the tip of the left foot.

Normally he would be an aggressive combatant, but lacking the protection his shield offer and facing an unknown opponent, he chooses a slow and steady advance. He wants to feel out his enemy, it is very important to grasp the rhythm of his movement and the speed of his sword. His first attack doesn’t have much force behind it and its goal is to see how the ageless is going to take the attack. When his sword is almost in range of the enemy’s sword, he will make a quick small step forward and slash downwards towards the wrist of his sword arm. Should the strike connect, the armor he is wearing will be more than enough to take the force of the weak strike, so there is no danger, but had this been a powerful strike, depending on the armor worn, the wrist could suffer a cut or a fracture.

Siron will observe his opponents reaction and stay alert should he take the initiative.

[Faidth]

Corvus, having inherited DEXTERITY: CELERITY from his esteemed parents, quickly reacts to Siron's weak strike. Still holding his greatsword with only his left hand, he reaches out his right hand, slamming it into the tip of Siron's sword. The tip of the blade makes impact with his gauntlet, and the resulting force is so great that it sends the weapon backward. Due to the downward force of the initial strike, when the sword is forced backward, the pommel strikes Siron in the abdomen . As it is a defensive maneuver meant to throw the opponent off balance, it does not do lasting damage, but is enough to knock the wind out of Siron.

Corvus takes a step back to give Siron a moment to catch his breath. "Do not be timid, Siron. There is no room for fear when facing down Forsaken."