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The Luminosity
Unknown Compound, Gallitrim
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The chanting continued to grow in intensity. The echoes of their vile calls to unknown entities surrounded him, demeaning him. He was led into a large open room with no apparent walls or ends… such walls were covered by masses of kneeling apostles. Rising platforms among rising platforms rose up to an extreme height above him. He found himself with what seemed to be an auditorium, and all eyes were on him as he entered.

The yellow robes he had just recently received were stripped off of Aillein’s body, revealing the black wool clothing under. He was led to the centre of the room where there stood a circular platform. Atop it stood a lone figure, clouded by orange robes completely filled by red runes of some indefinite language, and then pushed down to the floor.

The two apostles, who had brought him behind him, kneeled and both yelled out formally with their right hands clutched to their hearts, “Command us, Lord Surrealist.” They both stared upwards at the man centered in the room, one shrouded in orange.

The orange-robed man, the Surrealist, stood with his face covered by a hood. He spoke with a strangely-accented voice, “You may stand, my loyal Red Guard. You will soon be a part of something very important, so do not falter in your post now.” His deep voice reverberated around the room, filling every crack and corner as if magically augmented. He began to lower himself from his pedestal position.

The Surrealist looked into the distance, “Norijk! Bring the robes.”

A black-robed apostle approached with loud footsteps, bringing with him a dense robe of white made of what seemed to be silk. His dark form came closer and closer until he was just a hair length away from Aillein. Around his shoulders, he put around the robe, covering his back and front-side. The robe did not seem to have any holes or place for his arms. The chanting continued to grow louder and louder.

The Surrealist looked straight at him, now standing a slight, and level, distance away, “Prince Aillein.” A chuckle escaped from his darkened hood, “I’ve been waiting for this moment the entire length of my life I had learned of it.”

The hissing aftermath of the Surrealist’s voice, the moment he had just finished saying the word “it,” made Aillein shudder in fear. He knew exactly what he was speaking about, the one thing that he was forced to swear to never reveal to another the moment he was brought into adulthood.

* * *
“Son, it is on this day that you rise to a new level. For the sixteen years of your childhood preceding this very date, you have learned very little of the role that a rightful individual of royal blood should have. You were a boy-prince, nothing but a useless cub. Today, however, that ends.

“There are countless tomes of knowledge that I could share with you, as my father had to me during my age of rightful inheritance, but that can wait. Something more important awaits… a knowledge that very few know and a secrecy that should be upheld.

“Son, stop fidgeting! This is not like any of those foolish classes you’ve been to before. This is a matter of family heritage.”

The young boy sitting opposite of the aging form of the King of Gallitrim looked up from his previously passive expression, eyes full with wonder. A fireplace beside them beheld flames dancing in erratic directions, casting an orange tint upon the interior objects of the room. “Father, what is it you wish of me?”

“As I was saying earlier, I must relate to you a very important story. Come close and listen.

“There was at one point in time, large and long vast plains of wasteland that once occupied the land we now call Gallitrim. They stretched endless miles, as far as the eye could see across the horizon in patches of barren societies. Then one day, our forefathers arrived. No records exist from before their arrival, but we do know that there was one they all served under: our ancestor. He, and the other forefathers, was what they called derofĭ or an archaic form of alchemists. He stretched his hand outwards at the barren wasteland and proclaimed to all his observers this direct quote. ‘On this day I henceforth proclaim this land as my own, dedicated for the organization of a utopian and knowledgeable society under my ruling government. We will wipe the scar off this land and begin its healing. We are healers of the land!’

“And then he did the most wondrous thing of all. He raised his hand towards the sky then, and said, ‘We will heal with the Creator and Begetter of all things; of life. We will use light from that great, omniscient disc in the sky, the Sun, and create… create our future, create life, create a society, and create an improved land.’ With a blindingly quick movement of his wrist, a sudden burst of bright light blinded everyone around him, stunning them. When all consciousness returned, our ancestor held, secured between two outwardly-extending fingers, a single particle of light. With this light, he became a god.

“Across the wastelands in front of him, he waved out his hand with the Light and in an instant all the barren ground disappeared. In the wastelands’ stead stood thousands upon thousands of acres of arable land in which our forefathers took upon their right to settle and create the society we know now as Gallitrim.”

“Why is this so important? I’ve heard this story before, many times. It was part of our study of the Historical Records of Creation.”

The king then bellowed out with constant laughter that shook the room around him, “Patience, son! The best is yet to come.”

* * *

The memories rushed into him like a river channel flowing down a mountainside. He felt all he had learned and was sworn to secrecy regarding return to his mind as if he had just learned them in that very moment.

“Fool! Do not escape conscience on me now; it will not be as easy as that.” The Surrealist pushed his hand up and grasped his chin, sending pain throughout his upper chest area. His face was pushed up in an arc so that he had a forced view of the Surrealist’s face. He saw the man’s face, now fully visible by the torchlight behind him, interfered by the forms of apostles chanting so that there were distinct slits of light and darkness. He gasped in fear and understanding, feeling more memories comes back to him, faster than ever.

* * *

“The Light was forgotten as time passed. It was swept into the endless desert of Oblivion, among other trinkets, events, memories, and people we no longer remember. Gallitrim came to be in this newfound land, becoming a highly sophisticated and well-organized society as our ancestor had foretold. Castles rose and fell. Kings came and went, replaced at their prime of age when all that was left of them was an equally aging mind with a weakening exterior, becoming as frail as a raisin.

“However, this did not last. The Light came to be found again, by another of our ancestors, King Ellaid III. He had declared that a single man, an Alchemist monk and theorist, he had befriended would be given the opportunity of a lifetime: the chance to forever put his name in our records by proving himself worthy of the ability to transform the Light, that single particle, into something more.”

“More, father? Whatever do you mean by more? I thought that the Light was almighty, a pinnacle of our creations,” he heard his own voice seep into the crevices of his memory. He was still sitting by the fireplace that he had first sat by hours ago. The flames had long deteriorated.

“True. The Light was a pinnacle of our creations, a trophy of our success as a people upon this land. However, it could still be improved, despite your imaginings of its power. At that time, all this Light could be used for was for creation: to simply be able to create, but since the Light only could create through Natural Alchemy, it could thus only create things in Nature. It could create forests, bushes, flowers, rivers, mountains, but not buildings, structures, or anything that we had designed and created ourselves as a species.

“This monk’s true goal, thus, was to transmute this Light’s roots in Natural Alchemy into a new form so that it could be able to affect and control any and all forms of alchemy. If he could do that, then he could create the ultimate artifact: an object that could be used to craft entire cities, build and manufacture weapons, even synthetically manufacture gold! However, this goal was never met, as far as we could tell. Instead, this theorist had managed to do something much different. He had managed to transform the light so that it could take on an entirely new shape and appearance; he changed its entire composition so that it could metamorphose…change into new forms and structures.

“He had managed to give the light the ability to do many things. He had managed to give it the ability to defend, or rather create a form of defense that was natural and thus not an infringement upon the nature of the light itself. The Light could be changed into a crystalline structure, a distinct pearl-white crystal that could be placed atop a high structure and surround a large radius of land around it with a powerful and indestructible shield made completely of alchemical energy. Thus, that is the exact reason of the construction of the Temple of Orgoaris. On its highest tower and this temples highest peak was placed this Crystal. Around it were placed the great three capitals of our kingdom, so that there would not be one place in which all power was held but three with equal unity, so that all three cities were placed in an equally-lengthened triangle found around this temple.

“That was only one of its forms. I will explain the others later, but let me first tell you what happened with this crystal. For a long period of years this crystal existed in relative peace within the walls of the Temple. The theorist who had created it was long gone, dying with the only knowledge of its most central secrets. However, elders of the three cities that had surrounded the temple began to learn more and more of its origins. They learned of its power, of the things it could do. Great disputes were found within the High Councils for Gallitrim. One man above all others headed this dispute. His name was Ruilthurt. He was a high alchemist, one of the many who was revered mainly for his… harsh use of alchemy. He abused it and found more ways to use it for destruction than for other applications. When the King had realized the great risk of the crystal, and its potential for harming our kingdom, he had it taken away and reverted back to its original form as the Light.

“However, because of the theorist’s tinkering, it was… different. It was no longer the form that could create but another. This form could lead to all of the others of this single particle of light, but could only be activated by a living heir of the king, one of his bloodline. You and I are two such individuals, and it is this grand secret of an almost-disaster that I had wished you to know.

“Ruilthurt, following the abolishment of the crystal, became very angered at the monarchy’s actions. He disappeared for a very long period of time, and no one had any idea where he had run off to. A number of decades later, he returned to the history books, and our society. He was an entirely different individual at this point. He was part of the cult we now know as the Self-Illuminated, and came to one of our capitals bearing news from their cult. They swore to our monarchy that they would someday take ownership over the Light, Alchemical Luminosity, or whatever name it has ever been called, and return our land and kingdom to its rightful form. Whatever he had meant by that, nobody now knows. Today, he is the Surrealist, or cell leader, of one of the cells of the Self-Illuminated, but we don’t know which one. Following this surprising appearance at the capital, he escaped the history books again, except for slight rumours and gossip there and here.

“He’s still alive?” Aillein gasped, trying to digest all he was hearing, but was beginning to become very confused.

“Of course he is. Those in the high levels of the Self-Illuminated have all developed some strange affinity to longer lives. None of us who’ve never been in the cult can explain it, but it has to deal with some strange new form of alchemy we do not know of. Do you have any more questions, son, or can I continue?”

Aillein frowned slightly in embarrassment, but replied, “No. Continue, father.”

“Now, this is important son. We are the keepers of this artifact, and it is in your stead to continue its protection.”

“What are the other forms, and how is it activated, father?”

“That I will tell you also when the time comes.”

* * *
“Ruilthurt…” the name expelled outwards from Aillein’s mouth, barely a whisper. This was that alchemist who had betrayed his kingdom, who had left us to travel down a path of crooked magicians.

The Surrealist released his grip upon his neck and chin, and stared at him with slit-open eyes. Aillein was afraid to look up, but the image of his face was burned within his mind: an oval-shaped mold of skin in which was molded wrinkles upon wrinkles over a strong outward-exposing nose, long full lips, and abnormally small eyes. His eyes, however, were the strongest features of his face… the pupils were a deep and complete red.
His lips then stretched out wide in the obvious appearance of a smile. The Surrealist, Ruilthurt, replied with his ominous voice, “Interesting… very interesting. Yes, that is my name, young heir, despite the fact that very little knows it. I would ask you how you came to know it, but the answer is obvious, isn’t it? The young prince’s father knows more about me than I had come to expect.

“We will not tally. I have waited for this moment my entire life… a long series of over two hundred years. Now, I will reach that peak… that pinnacle of moments I have always longed for…dreamed for. You are the key…you and that damned blood you have in your veins!” He pointed towards the prince and then addressed the rest of the room in a loud voice, now silent in sudden anticipation, with a quick rotation of his body.
His hand came out from within his robes, and he clutched some invisible object in the air above his head. Almost suddenly, a blast of light escaped his grip, and as he moved his hand away from its original position above his head, the thing that came to be was now visible. It was the beginning of a long and complicated spell, Aillein knew: a small whirlwind of air that was defined by a vibrancy of different colored streams of unknown particles vibrating and rotating in the air. Around them, Ruilthurt and Aillein both remained in the centre of a now quickly-intensifying orchestra of chanting that was louder than ever before.

Apostles from every direction came to the centre and kneeled down on the concrete platform, clutching knives from inside their robes and then stabbing themselves in the heart with one final cry that ended their definite chanting. The whirlwind grew in intensity and size as more and more added to the amount of sacrificed suicides.

“Do you know why I chose this very spot, Aillein, to be the centre of this cell? It’s a very easy answer. I had, through long decades and years of research, study, and searching, found the definite location where the Luminosity was hidden. The very spot this concrete complex was built was that same location. The Light was transferred as energy to all of the nature that is under this very floor. It is in the rocks, the soil, the plants and animals, and all living things that are down in that subterranean underworld.” His voice was hardly audible over the growing chanting.
“Stop it! The Light should never have been re-released to this world… it should always stay as a part of nature since it is in nature it was created,” Aillein tried desperately to shout over the voices around him… the closing darkness that decreased his confidence with every passing second.

“Fool. Like any prince or king would say. That is all you royal descendents would say, and then simply hide behind those words. The Light was created for us… to create us. There is no reason why it shouldn’t be with the people, where it belongs!” Ruilthurt’s voice replied.

Ruilthurt was now a longer distance away than he had remembered when Aillein risked looking back up, his obvious form easily found in the madness and chaos of insane apostles committing suicide, and flurries of dancing robes as members of the cult who seemed definitely female joined in the fray in the form of dancing around the glowing orb. Ruilthurt was behind the glowing orb, staring at him from across the gap between them, now growing with dead carcasses of different-colored robed apostles who had given their lives to supply the ritual with more and more energy. “You’re wasting away their lives for a reason that is not worthy enough, Ruilthurt!” Aillein said, his voice now carrying less confidence than it had earlier… his goal now seeming farther and farther away.

“Stop denying what this kingdom really needs. You will release and activate it, or else I will….”

“Or else you will what? There is absolutely nothing you can do to me. You can’t kill me because you need me to activate the particle, and you can’t torture me because doing so will do nothing but harden my resolve that you and any of the members of your cell are not worthy for possessing the Light.”

Ruilthurt chuckled. Beside him, three forms approached from the mass of cult practitioners. One was Orogoim, shrouded in his dark robes, and beside him was one of the Red Guard. In his grasp, the Red Guard member clutched Aloris by the collar of her clothes, her hands apparently bonded by alchemy as they had done to Aillein and Aloris multiple times in the past. She seemed to be in a feeling of utmost defeat, her face in obvious turmoil.

“You are mistaken, fool. I have her,” Ruilthurt said and brandished a ceremonial dagger from a sheath around his waist, “She is a Life, and thus carries all of the energy associated with it. If you do not activate the Light, I will kill her.” He moved his hand so that the dagger was positioned to Aloris’s throat, as small streams of blood escaped the place where he held the dagger.

“No! Don’t! I’ll…I’ll do it. Just don’t hurt anyone else, and I’ll do it.”

“Aillein! Listen to yourself. If this is as important as it may seem, you can’t do anything on my –” Aloris screamed out but was abruptly muffled by Orogoin’s hand.

Ruilthurt smiled, “I knew that you had a weakness. Everyone does. Of course I won’t hurt anyone else. The spell is just near completion, anyway.” His words proved true. The fury around him slowed to a rate which could be easily accounted for as the apostles returned to their original positions and stopped chanting. The dancers had disappeared, back into the crowd where they were first standing. The whirlwind was now wide enough to fill the long gap between Aillein and Ruilthurt. In a sudden moment of stillness, the whirlwind suddenly underwent a sudden movement: little flecks of glowing dust were sucked into the centre of the whirlwind from all around them, first coming out from the ground.

It was soon all over. Within the centre of the whirlwind there stood a tiny particle of light: the Alchemical Luminosity.

The ride to Antioch was for the most part was uneventful. Nothing extrodinary happened. As they entered the giant gates Nathen sighed a small breathe of relief, the first part was over. Now the hard part. He glanced over to Hienrich to see how the other two were. He was talking to the guards, asking where the closest inn would be. Nathen all ready knew where they were going. The Tiger's Eye. An inn down close to the noble part of town. Something like the Tower in accomidation, and an excellant source of information. It was where they were to meet the agent from the guild, and learn the next part of their mission. Nathen was just glad for the moment he had some time to get off his horse and relax.

They made their way through the crowds of people, merchants haggling wares, Hawkers trying to convince others that their wares were the best. Rich just snorted and walked off. Nathen ignored the crowds and followed him and Lena into the Noble section. Taking an hour to arive from the main gate.

((Castle servants are actually really well-paid, so it’s a fairly respectable job.))

~~~~~~~~~~~~
Awakening
Dawn Horizon, Antioch
~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am the Wardstone of Antioch; an alarm, if you will. I will aid you as I can at the moment in preparation for what is to come. You are one of the major pieces in this chess game, though you know it not yet. Antioch needs you greatly. Beware of yet ally with the returning stranger who is known to you. He can yet be saved. Go now, and defend your homeland.

Anais’ eyes abruptly opened. Above her, she could see the familiar stone ceiling of her chambers in Dawn Horizon. It seemed that the only light in the room was cast by her bedside lamp; no light came through her red curtains. Why was she here? It didn’t make sense. Hadn’t she just been out in the gardens only a few moments before? Yes, she had. Then…

The Wardstone. That was what had happened. She let out a sigh. She didn’t know whether or not it was more comforting to remember the strange warning or not to. At least one of her questions had been answered; the Wardstone could speak to her only by drawing on her own strength, so she had collapsed after it had relayed its message. How was it that she was in her room, then?

“Anais? You are awake, right?” A soft, feminine voice drifted through the room, causing Anais to turn to face the door. Her friend, Jillian – a maid at Dawn Horizon – was standing in the doorway, clutching her formal robes worriedly. Jillian’s amber eyes were fixed on her, a smile brightening her face. Seeing Anais’ eyes on hers, she gracefully walked through the doorway, then sat at the side of the plush bed.

“Would you mind explaining what just happened?” Anais asked, sitting up so that she was face-to-face with Jillian. She brought a hand along her forehead, brushing her bright brown hair out of her eyes and behind her shoulders. She returned Jillian’s smile, as if to tell her that being confused didn’t stop her from being happy to see her.

“Just happened? You have been out for hours.” Jillian tilted her head to one side, her long, bistre hair moving with it. “Well, as far as I can tell, the Wardstone is active again. The runes have changed again; when you passed out, they only read ‘Illyria.’ They now say ‘Antioch: Beware Illyria.’ Lord Dashran said that the stone activated in order to warn us about the Empire.” She placed her hand on Anais’ arm comfortingly.

“They were always so far away before; it seemed as if they could never touch us. Antioch’s natural borders are formidable, as are our defenses. An invading army does not have that kind of advantage.” Anais hesitated, then met Jillian’s eyes. “I heard the Wardstone, Jillian. It spoke to me.”

Jillian nodded. “Lord Dashran said that that may have happened. He sounded eager to find out any message you could deliver the High Council.”

Anais shook her head, scowling. “I do not care what the High Council wants.” She looked back at Jillian, taking a breath. She then quoted what the Wardstone had said to her, word for word, trying not to leave out any details.

Jillian was silent for a time, her lips drawn thin as she considered the monument’s message. “That makes no sense.” She said finally. “The returning stranger who is known to you? A stranger is not known. Why would they be a stranger if they are returning, especially if they are known to you?” She sighed. “The only stranger around here is Visage.”

“Visage?” Anais narrowed her eyes. “Who is Visage? And why do they have such a strange name?”

“Oh, you have not met him? He appeared earlier today and requested a position as an imperial alchemist. The High Council tested him against several other court alchemists, and he managed to outdo them all. Odd person, though. Visage is not actually his real name. That is just what we call him, after the mask of steel he always seems to wear.” Jillian frowned. “I thought you knew him. He was the one that carried you away from the Wardstone.”

“I… need some time to think. I am going to have a shower and mull things over.” Anais stretched and stood up with Jillian.

“I thought so. I laid some fresh robes out in the bathroom wardrobe and I made sure that the crystal’s flame charged it for you.”

“You know me too well.” Anais replied, and drew Jillian in for a close hug before heading off to the bath chamber.

((You’re probably wondering “what the hell? Zenithan is letting his characters have running water in the beginnings of the gunpowder age! What a godmodder!” Let me explain. Antioch has a large aqueduct system. Clean water runs through the aqueduct, and run-off can be used to create a low-pressure shower, provided that the aqueduct is above you at the time. The drains then carry the waste away through the sewer system.

Additionally, the ‘crystal’ Jillian spoke of is an alchemical storage device of sorts. It absorbs heat from, say, a fire, and then delivers it into something else when it is needed. In order to have a hot bath or shower, one of these ‘alchemical crystals’ can be charged and then discharged into the water. Anyone without one of these just has a cold shower, or their bath is heated manually.))

"Welcome to the Tiger's Eye my name is Silis the inn keeper here. How may I take your fancy?" The Man looked to be a middle aged man of respectable presence. Sturdily built behind a set of girth from working an inn for a time he had the stance of a soldier now retired. Nathen ran a armoured hand through his hair and sighed. "Two rooms with meals for a few days." The inn keeper nodded and smiled. "One minute I'll get the keys." He came back a few minutes later with two large silver keys. "First two on the right going up the stairs. Only given to the important nobles here. From your look you seem fairly important. Nice weapons and armour."

Nathen nodded. "Thank you, my Grandfather made them for me. He's a superb crafters. Made my companions to." He lied, not wanting to lose the cover they came in as. The man nodded and said little else. Nathen turned to Rich and Lena. "Let's go and put our stuff away." The Warden fished into his coin pouch and pulled out three gold coins marked with the Tower Insegnia; A hawk flying over a high Tower like building. The inn keeper looked down and scooped up the coins. Years of experiance in the army were effectively shown when he spotted the picture. He nodded to the three of them silently saying they were safe here. Nathen simply inclined his head and made his way up the narrow steps to the second floor.

As Heinrich opened the door he chuckled. "Different than the rooms back home." NAthen nodded remembering the small rooms of the Warden's Den. This room was much larger, sporting two big beds, a chair that was next to a Mohagany writing desk. A full pot of ink and several quills placed on top of several sheets of paper. A medium sized window displayed the Castle, Dawn Horizon perfectly.

Heinrich shucked off his weapons and armour. "We should get some sleep, the night folk doesn't start for another bit. Nathen nodded and did the same.

Standing in an open field... looking for something, A hawk flys over head Nathen watches it from the ground.

"Where am I?" He asked the empty air. He noticed he was wearing his armour, his weapons were strapped to his sides. "This is a dream."

"One could say that, then again...one could say that this is a warning... a preminition for what is to come?" Nathen flicked his wrists and two long blades shot out of his wrist guards. "Who's there?"

"A friend...or an enemy." A melodic voice answered. "Be careful who you trust Nathen Degra your skill has not gone unoticed. Seek out the person you need quickly." The voice started to vanish.

"Find who quickly? What will happen?" He yelled. Confusion clouding his thoughts. "WHO?!"



Nathen bolted up right. Sweat streaked hs face and chest. His laboured breathing could be heard through the soft echo of people down below. "Nathen are you all right?" It was Heinrich putting on what looked to be his normal everyday clothing, a Black and gold tunic, a pair of black pants and black boots to go with it. What people didn't know was that in both boots were two long daggers, under his belt was a short sword. Locking his equipment in the trunk they were given. Rich turned and threw an out fit at him. "I went shopping today for normal wear. This should fit."

NAthen nodded and threw on the red Tunic and black pants. Putting on the leather work boots on after. He stuffed his equipment into another trunk except his bracers. "I'm fine by the way." Nathen called over his shoulder Heinrich nodded. "Good because I have a feeling we might need our strength for tonight. Something doesn't feel right." Nathen froze. Just like in the dream....

He cleared his throat. "Yeah...i do to." With that they both walked out quietly down to the bar.

"General, I come with from the Praetorial Council."

General Ernst Ostmerck was seated on a stool easel with a large canvas attached to its front. In his midst of landscape painting, the General didn't like being interrupted. He was painting the skyline of the mountains that marked Illyria's southern border to Barbaria. Barbaria, however, was the common name by Illyrians for anywhere that happened to lay outside its primary borders and secured territory. Southern Barbaria was known by scholars to be known as Antioch and that it was fragmented and scattered around the fixed point of its largest city that happened to be called Antioch as well, a demonic city at that.

Ostmerck turned around with his eyes closed, being an eccentric, he placed his black tricorne snugle on his head and fixed it properly. He placed his brush and paint on the rugged wooden table he had next to him and breathed in slowly through his nose and exhaled. After about a twenty second dramatic withdrawal from his artistic side he slowly turned around to face the messenger. "What do you want?"

"I come with news from the Praetorial Council." It was a Field Lieutenant on top of a black stallion. He was wearing the typical Centurion armour covered by a black cloak that signified Praetorial Guard stance. Over his heart he sported the gold crest insignia of a crow and had striped yellow and black feathers erecting from the top of his silver Imperial Gallic H-type helmet. He adjusted his reigns to move his horse, which wasn't content with standing still.

Ostmerck closed his eyes. "You previously stated that, lieutenant! What news is it that you speak of?" The general demanded.

The lieutenant readjusted his horse. "The Praetor has ordered the further advance into Antioch, Primary Routine."

Ostmerck grumbled incomprehensibly. He wanted to continue painting. He and Illyria's Eighth Legionaire Group, an army of roughly ten thousand strong had secured one hundred kilometres from the Empire's lands in less than a few weeks. Resistance was next to nothing, but that didn't need to go in the report. "Give me the orders on paper and I'll listen. Otherwise the Praetor can come down here himself and give the order."

The lieutenant gazed at the general, dazzled by his aire. He shook his head to himself and retrieved the scroll from its holster under his cloak. He dismounted the horse and passed it to Ostmerck without a word. The general accepted it. "What kind of a ride is it to here from the capitol? A month?"

The lieutenant didn't reply right away. He climbled up onto his horse and turned it around to face the way he came. "Long enough," He said before riding back down to the encampment.

Ostmerck opened his orders and read through them. He smiled to himself. He had heard about the new fleet of airships that had been prepared, but he had never actually seen them. He read that supposedly five of them were on their way to his position and would be there within the closure of the week. He had to go over a strategy with Commodore Nelsen Wolf, commander of the air fleet en route, and his own officers for the destruction of some damn place called Pellenos Tower. A few thousand demonics strong and a hub for anti-Illyrian extremists as well as a safe house for spies and others coming or going from the Empire.

Ostmerck sighed and continued painting the distant mountains on the other side of the plains of tall yellow grass that reached far off until it became nothing but a blur.

***

Nathen sipped his ale as the crowds continued to file in. No one looking like the description given by Arthur about the man who had seen the murder. That wasn't the only thing bothering him. The dream he had, what could it mean? Find who before what? The questions stabbed at him like knives. Each one getting deeper. Nathen shook his head and drank another two healthy swallows of ale before he could place it in the back of his head. Half way through his second he noticed something from the corner of his eye. Finishing the ale he leaned over to Heinrich. "The picture?" The massive Warden passed a small picture of Natalia, a small roguish looking character about the same age as the three of them. Bright red hair and big blue eyes were showed her from the rest. Nathen looked up from the picture to spot a medium sized woman about his age walk into the inn. Bright red hair tied in a tight pony tail. "We have our girl." Lena nodded and took a small peice of cheese, chewing softly. Nathen stepped up and made his way through the crowds. Closing in he tapped her on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, I think I might know you from somewhere." He flashed his bracer sign and smiled. "Natalia, it's been a long time."
The woman got the hint and nodded. "It has hasn't it." Nathen looked over to Rich and Lena and nodded. The two made their way to them and left quickly.

"CAn I get your names by chance please?" Obviously confused.

"Nathen, this is Lena and Heinrich...you've seen a murder of an important member of our guild?" She nodded quickly.

"I was close friends with her, we had a small buisness. I would find potential customers and she would sell them potions and such. It seemed safe at the time...then, "

"Can we get a name?" Natalia heisitated. Lena put a reassuring hand on her arm.

"WE should get her safe first..."

"Her name was Natalie...." NAthen froze...He spun quickly and grabbed her by both shoulders.

"What was her name?" He demanded.

The rogue struggled and stared him in the eyes. "I said Natalie now let go of me...your starting to hurt..." Just then Rich's hand went to the knives in his boots.

"Get her out of here...we have company." As the crossbowquarrel shot for Natalia's head she let a small scream and closed her eyes,

and opened them to see A wrist blade deflecting the bolt. "Lena get her out of here. Your the quickest out of us all. Take her back to the inn." Heinrich and NAthen took their steps forward and found that there were five armed men, black cloaks, pants and boots shrowded their complexions. NAthen smiled.

"I wonder if they know what we are?" Rich chuckled and spun his knives.

"Nah, but they'll find out."

~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bathing and Battle
Dawn Horizon, Antioch
~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nothing made sense anymore. Why had she received a message from one of Antioch's past rulers? Why would anyone leave an object capable of 'warning' a future occupant of Antioch? Anais really felt as if she knew the man (for it was a man, she knew) who had created the obelisk, but in reality, she didn't even know his name or his face. It was as if her encounter with the monolith had helped her to experience part of the creator's mind.

Shaking her head, she unwrapped the soft towel from around herself, then enveloped her wet hair with it. She stood for a moment, watching the last streams of water from the bath course down the drain, taking large bubbles with them as they went. She decided she was done and reached for her intricate robes, sliding her naked form gracefully into them.

Finally, she opened the heavy wooden door, allowing the mass of steam to gush out of the room. The haze dissipated in the wide hall. She made her way through the castle's comforting corridors, the towel still wrapped around her head. At night, after she bathed, she usually went to visit the castle gardens; the air was always fresh and invigorating, almost as if she was being cleansed.

The huge, double castle doors swung shut with a bang behind her as she stepped out into the youthful night. The stars above her seemed to shine brightly, although they cast next to no light on the ground below. The moon did, however, manage to provide a slight amount of luminescence to the otherwise shadowy garden. There was an ominous breeze drifting through the vast maze of pathways. It was chilly, but not unpleasantly so; the wind explored her robes, caressing her newly-dry skin.

She wandered barefoot along the winding cobblestone paths, appreciating the differences between the gardens in the day and in the night. They had a more serene, but less colourful feel in the darkness. By the light of the moon, it was almost as if she was in a completely separate world, away from everything that she knew.

“Do you enjoy the night? I have not seen many other wanderers around the gardens. Perhaps few can appreciate the night's inherent beauty.” A deep, careful voice sounded out from behind her. She turned, facing the man. The moonlight revealed that the man was wearing a silver mask, which disguised his entire face.

“Visage, right? Is there a reason that you are following me?” She spoke quietly, concealing her fear at having someone following her.

“I have come to test your strength, Anais. Have you grown, or have you let yourself become weak?” It almost seemed as if he was smiling, but the impassive, disturbing mask said absolutely nothing about what he was feeling.

“An assassin?” She asked, taking a step back from the imposing man.

“Not quite. If you pass the test, you live. If you fail, you die. Therefore, all you need to do is pass.” He inclined his head, reaching for the hilt of his blade.

Anais panicked; she had no weapon, and needed something - anything - to use. She clapped her hands together, completing an alchemical circuit within herself. She then traced her hands along the ground, bringing up a long, metal sword. A bright red glow seemed to emanate from within her robes as she brought the short sword up, ready to face her opponent.

He darted toward her, drawing his sword and using the force of the withdrawal against the blade Anais was holding. It vibrated with the force the blow, sending a dull ringing out into the night. She struck back immediately, their blades connecting with a force Anais hadn't really known she was capable of.

The fight continued, but Visage always seemed to be one step ahead of her. His blows were swift and numerous, and always powerful. It was all she could do to block each one. Soon, her entire body felt as if it was being drained merely by maintaining her grip on her weapon. She managed to get a hit in every once in a while, but Visage always seemed able to evade or block it.

“The fact that you can block my blows speaks enough for your skill.” He paused, swinging at her again. At the last moment, he diverted his aim, sacrificing power for surprise. She managed to lower her sword just in time to catch it, but the blades connected at an odd angle and sent hers flying out of her hands.

Not allowing herself to be surprised, she pressed her palms together and then vaulted forward, pressing her hands against Visage's arms. “Retreat now and I will spare your life.”

“Do you honestly think that you threaten me?” He put his hands on hers, the mask's empty eyes staring at her. “If you use alchemy, you will soon find yourself without arms. Are you truly willing to sacrifice that much of yourself pointlessly?” He shook his head, almost as if he was laughing at her. “I will go for now, but know that this is not over. If you inform anyone but your servant of this meeting, you will regret it.”

And with those words, he vanished as suddenly as he had appeared. Anais slid to the ground, exhausted. The towel slid off her head; her lustrous hair was dry. Who was Visage? How did he know her? She sighed, gazing up at the moon. She still had no answers.

A Defined Quest North
The Underground
Killius, Gallitrim
---------------------------------------

Sylaris stared at the man in front of him as he was speaking. His voice was thickly veiled by some strange accent, possibly originating from the north. He seemed to be very well-built, bearing strong muscles and a thick body. The shine emanating off his navy-blue eyes seemed to reflect understanding and knowledge. However, at the same time, the man’s demeanor also displayed a sort of savage side of his personality.

“Are you listening?” The man asked.

Sylaris seemed to awake from a daze. He shook his head lightly and glared at the man’s face, “Of course. Sorry. Please continue, Kurick. You were speaking of the caravan you wished to accompany, were you not?”

Kurick, the man sitting opposite of him on the next bar stool over, gave out a short-lived chuckle. “Yes, I was, Sylaris.

“I was sayin’ that there was a caravan heading towards the north within the hour. They are a caravan existing solely for purposes of trade, but I’ve managed to persuade the leader of the party, Elruidic, to allow me and one other to accompany his caravan as long as we can sustain ourselves and provide them protection from any harm.

“That man I was talkin’ ‘bout, Elruidic, has, of course, some noteworthy connections to some officials in the military command who are currently overlooking the city. He has managed to persuade a friend of his to allow the caravan to leave without interruption through the wall and blockade.”

“Interesting; I, of course, would love to accompany you. I am, also, in search of those blasted apostles of the Duil’rimgata and would provide aid towards your search in any way possible,” Sylaris replied with agility and with a smooth voice.

“Hmph. I’m very interested in finding out why you harbor such a hatred towards that cult, but we can talk ‘bout that on the road.

“You seem strong enough, and restoration abilities that you most likely know would be of great use. So, tally along. It’s not like there’s anyone else as stupid as us two in this lot,” Kurick replied.

“Before you continue, I’d like to ask you about this map that I was told you have in your possession?” Sylaris asked with wonder.

“Right you are ‘bout that,” Kurick said and rummaged in a pouch on his side until he recovered a map written on what seemed to be lambskin.

He unrolled it on the bar so it clearly showed an accurate representation of the landscape and landmarks of the Kingdom of Gallitrim. On the top of the map were a collage of various forests and small villages and hamlets. At that end of Gallitrim, in what is known as North Gallitrim, the amount of civilized land begins to decrease rapidly. Most it is wilderness. However, at the bottom end of the map was a mosaic of a large abundance of metropolises and cities, surrounded by small foothills, small-scale mountain ranges, and swamps or the occasional wasteland. The south end of Gallitrim that faced the sea and coastline, or Coastal Gallitrim, was the most civilized part of the Kingdom of Gallitrim. Somewhere between these two parts of Gallitrim, in what is known as the Feridur Plains, is a large vast open area of land, notated on the map as an almost bare spot of ink, except for the occasional place where a city or town was. In that plain is where the village of Killius resides.

Kurick glanced at Sylaris and said, “This is the map I found on the body of a dead Duil’rimgata apostle. Don’t worry, I didn’t kill him, but I did find him just lying there in this cavern. I think I must have just got there as the rest of his companions fled; they probably didn’t have enough time to clean the mess.

“It looks like any other normal map of Gallitrim. However, this is one great difference.” Kurick raised his finger and pressed it down on a place in the northwest of Gallitrim. He brushed it off that part to show what was there. Where his finger had landed there was a small part of a forest that just isn’t there; it was a circular gap in that forest. In the centre of it was a clearly defined red dot of ink, with the letters “DCR” beside it in the same color ink.

“And you suppose that is the location of the Duil’rimgata’s compound?”

“Quite definitely; look at any other map of Gallitrim and all you’ll find there is wilderness and woods. On this map, there’s a red dot. Why do you think that a map behind held by a Duil’rimgata apostle would have such a visible addition and modification?” Kurick said in a confident and exuberant tone.

Sylaris glanced up at Kurick and said, quite eagerly, “I think we have ourselves a quest.”

Kurick chuckled and bellowed out loud, grasping his pint of beer and swallowing it in a gulp. “A quest in search for the apostles!”