Pray I Don't Die.

[Lord Anglekos]

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Death. Death was all around him, and it was coming for the swordsman whether he was prepared or not. It didn't care that he was frightened out of his wits or that his blade was nearly slipping out of his grasp from sweaty palms. It didn't give a damn about anything like that. It wanted his soul, and by the gods it was coming for it.

Eric panted as he dodged the blade of another zombie, this one bigger than the rest he'd been facing so far. Some kind of super-undead, he guessed, as the thing's strength didn't seem to have a limit. Gritting his teeth he ducked once more as it moaned and sent the huge zweihander it was wielding in a horizontal strike just above his head. Then he saw it; an opening in the thing's defenses. Without another moment's hesitation he took it and swept his own sword upwards in an uppercut strike at it's main sword arm. There was a moment of small resistance, then the blade of his sword Amalia cut right through the dead flesh and bone, severing the zombie's right arm and making it drop the giant blade it had been wielding. For a moment the creature looked stunned at the loss of one of it's limbs, then once again began moaning and groaning before reaching for Eric with it's remaining arm. "Not this time!" He shouted, and taking his sword in both his hands cut the zombie in half, separating torso from legs.

There was sick thunk as it fell to the ground in two pieces and Eric leaned against a big sycamore tree, trying to catch his breath underneath the afternoon sun. All around him lay the scattered bodies and pieces of the undead that had attacked him. Most were your normal, average moaning and groaning zombie, but a couple had been both armed and armored, and seemed to have possessed expertise in the weapons they wielded. Wiping the sweat off his brow he sheathed Amalia back within it's leather scabbard and sat against the tree, looking at the scattered remains of the battle. There had been a lot, and as he had to run at first to keep from being overwhelmed there was a slight trail of bodies leading from where had come from. He smiled slightly at the sick thought; at least there was one way to find just where you were in these lands.

He looked in his bag and made sure his supplies and the papers he'd gotten in Radasanth were safe; they were. Those papers were the very reason he was here in Raiaera in the first place: They were his proof of recruitment. Time and time again he'd asked himself why in God's name he was joining another war, and time and time again he'd given himself the same answer; because it was the only thing he knew how to do. He was a soldier, it was in his blood. Maybe it wasn't the best or smartest thing to do, but he was good at it and he wanted to make a difference.

Still, he wasn't excited at the prospect of fighting horde upon horde of the undead, and even less so at the fact that they were armed and very dangerous. He'd heard rumors and stories in Dheathain, sure, but they seemed far more terrifying now that he'd experienced some of those horrors himself. Well, that's how it usually was.

Taking out his canteen he took a sip of water and surveyed the land before him. It seemed to be your usual farmlands and forest, and off in the distance he could make out the shape of a city, albeit even from here he could see it was in shambles. "Eluriand, huh?" He muttered to himself and shoved his papers back in the bag along with his canteen. He was a little surprised that he hadn't encountered any undead up to this point, and glad, because the way the draconian back at the tavern in Dheathain had told it he made it sound like the land was crawling with the unnatural beings.

And yet Eric could see signs of life all around him, strange for a place under onslaught by death. The sad stillness, the bone-chilling quiet, neither of those was here as he had expected. Yeah, the land bore scars of battles past and gone, but the swordsman could still hear the birds chirping, the rustle as a fox rushed by with it's newfound dinner in it's mouth. It was as if the land itself were rebelling against the creatures that now plagued it.

Smirking vaguely at the thought, Eric was just about to get up when he felt something latch onto his ankle. He let out a yell as he realized the upper half of the zombie warrior he'd "slain" had been slowly moving all this time until it had managed to grab onto him with it's remaining hand. Eyes wide, he didn't have enough space or time to grab his sword, and could only watch as it pulled itself closer to his face, maggoty jaws wide to tear off a piece of his flesh...

...that is, until there was a small woosh of sound and then it's head was pinned down to the ground by a quivering javelin, ornately made of some shimmering wood. Eric looked up in surprise at his rescuer and saw a tall, thin male elf with a scowl upon his face, crossing his arms in displeasure. He had dark, probably black hair, but that his skin was tan from working in the sun and his body hard and muscular, unlike other elves that Eric had encountered from his travels. "You alright?" He shouted down to the swordsman, who could merely nod as his adrenaline pounded through his veins with each heartbeat. With a small nod back the elf lept down from his perch in the tree and crouched before Eric, that same scowl upon his face. Now that he was closer the swordsman could see that the elf wore a suit of armor slightly covered by a green cloak, and that almost each armor piece was decorated by the symbol of a bird taking flight. At his side he wore an Akashiman sword, something called a "wakizashi", or Eric so believed. His voice was coarse, and also unlike other elves, there was a thin beard lining his chin and jawline. "You shouldn't be wandering 'bout here, stranger. Don't you know there's a war going on?"

"Ali'el, give it a rest." A throaty female voice interrupted him, and another elf emerged the shade of the trees. She was shorter and thinner than he, but she possessed the same hard stature and armor like that of her companion. Upon her back there was a round, golden shield and a short sword made it's place at her side. Golden eyed and haired, she stared at Eric in what he thought was a mixture of distaste and scorn. He didn't like it. "No human would simply be wandering around these times or he'd already be a dead man. Speak, human; what is your purpose in coming to Eluriand?"

He started to growl back a sarcastic response, but caught his tongue. If his instincts were correct, these two just might become his superiors, and getting on their bad side would not be a smart move. "I was recruited to fight." He said simply, and reached into his bag to give her the papers. Handing them to her, he noticed that her hand was decorated with scars.

She glanced at them off handedly before handing them back. "More recruits, eh?" She looked at Ali'el before nodding. "Come along then, we'll escort you to our fallen city." A small smirk graced her face. "You must be either brave or foolish joining this war, stranger, but we're glad to have you along."

[Cyrus the virus]

Death. Death was what Xem'zund represented.

It was a fearsome yet elegant thing, dying. That’s what Luc had heard, anyway, from those undead he’d ever asked about it. The mage had contact with such beings, used them to answer questions about dimensions he didn’t yet have access to. They were biased, of course, were connected to the Abyss and the Great Nether and were warped by them.

Luc Kraus rarely concerned himself with the idea of dying. When he confronted the necromancer Xem'zund, however, he realized that it was a very real possibility. The necromancer had power far beyond his, powers which toyed with the truth of life and death. Luc needed to know more about the relationship Xem'zund had with the dead, how he was able to call the dead forth to walk once more.

And so he’d pledged his loyalty in return for information. Raiaera could burn, for all he cared.

The tome he carried under his arm, thick and protected by a white cover, had been read in its entirety. It had taken him a year to get through it, to understand all he could. It was a frighteningly powerful spell, the spell to return life to the dead – to bring it back as it once was, not warped like Xem'zund’s many minions. Luc didn’t have the experience necessary to cast such a spell, but wanted desperately to know how. Needed to know how.

These things in mind, Luc felt no guilt as he marched along the barren ground of this section of Raiaera. He recalled a time when he wanted nothing more but to own the elven capital, Eluriand – now it held none of its former beauty. There was nothing for him here but the orders of Xem'zund. The mage was to destroy all the supplies of a recently abandoned elven town, to level the buildings and walls, and to erect a new town for Xem'zund’s forces to use.

Walking made his trip much longer, but Luc enjoyed the atmosphere of the region. It was alive with the dead, in a sense, and bustling with magic that tickled his senses.

It had been too long since he’d felt such magnificent power.

[Griffin Rampant]

Death. Death was something that Sophie Cantor had thought she had been used to. It was a part of life, whether natural or unnatural, and it had to happen in some form for the world to spin on as it was meant to. It was nothing to be shocked over, nothing to make one feel weak and silly, like a newborn kitten…

Or so she had always thought.

This place had proven her so very wrong.

There was such a thing as too much death.

There was a perimeter around the camp, a knee-high wall of splintered bone, moldering and desiccated; of skulls with dark, empty sockets staring into infinity as they slowly turned the color of old piano keys and the small statues the Mother Abbess had kept in her study at home; of bodies that even the wild animals wouldn’t touch.

I want to go home now, Sophie thought, startled at how much her mental voice sounded like a small child’s. I’m done.

She sighed off the thought with a pang of guilt. She was a knight (or would be, once she was finished in this land). She shouldn’t be having thoughts edged with fear, especially not a fear like this. This had been growing since her mentor had told her what her final quest would be, where it would take her. Now it lurked on the edges of her mind, prying at her defenses – a thief, internal and self-created, with a very large crowbar.

It’s this place, she had thought at first, traveling through the Red Forest. It had taken her and her companions (simple mercenaries from various lands, whose ship she had shared) a month to reach the defenders. It is different from the old trees of Concordia. It had only taken a day to realize how different.

But she was here now, a human conscript in a mostly-elven army, in a land she barely knew, and that was that. Those were how the cards lay, and she would have to play that hand.

She finally stood from her seat beneath a still-healthy birch tree, in a chime of shifting mail and the crack of muscles too long in one place, to pace the borders of bone. Powder crunched beneath her booted feet: crumbling remains and dead grass mixed in a twisted parody of natural decay.

There was an unseen border here, a strange application of Turlin magic, holy and pure. The undead couldn’t cross it as long as those who cast it were alive to renew it, but that didn’t keep them from trying. It made her feel safer, knowing it was there, though the regularly went through it themselves. Not content to wait for the fight to come to us, she thought wryly, one hand always on her sword hilt.

The Elves were a divided people, it seemed. Proud, but not too proud to accept her help, and the help of the mercenaries, though she had not seen them since they arrived. They seemed cold, too, at times, and far off, and she often felt alone, and…

There. That was the way of thinking that kept catching her off her guard. She scowled at nothing in particular, stomping through the chalky dust. She didn’t mind being alone. She didn’t mind only truly being there to help the elves. She didn’t-

Motion in the trees before her cut her thoughts off, and she slid into the leeward side of a huge oak, half-sliding her sword from its sheath, just far enough to make it easier to draw in a hurry. Grey eyes narrowed, focusing on the movement...

And then she breathed a sigh of relief, letting the hilt go as she pushed away from the tree to creep back to the camp proper. It was Ali'el and the elf-woman whose name she had not yet managed to catch, and a human who she did not know. He wasn't dead, he looked too healthy to have been on his own long, but he also looked tired. He was dressed for battle.

He's probably like me. She watched as they drew closer to the camp, noting the sudden stillness in the clearing. The others were watching as well. Conscripted.

[Lord Anglekos]

"Another human, eh?" A thin, wiry looking elf examined Eric from head to two, walking around him with with his hands clasped behind his back. His movements were slow and easy going, but the swordsman had a bad feeling that if this man wanted to, he could cut off Eric's head before Amalia had even come out of it's scabbard. The human's two companions, Ali'el and the still unknown blond elf, stood by silently in their capes and armor, seemingly casual to the naked eye. The camp itself was filled with warriors such as they, elves and a mix of races here and there. Some were patrolling, some were sharpening their weapons, some were watching this new exchange with disturbing interest. Eric felt their eyes upon him, every single one of them, and resisted an urge to slump and scratch the back of his neck. He was tired and wanted to rest from his journey, but he couldn't show that weariness now.

The elf walking around him was dressed in the same armor as Ali'el, save a few different colorings and armor placement. His cape was green to the larger elf's blue, and scars upon his neck and face told of experience earned through bloodshed. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but that smile did not reach the elf's grey eyes. "Nalith won't be too happy." He seemed to be commenting more to himself as he came into Eric's view again. "But then again, when is she these days?"

For a couple moments more it went on like this, the elf muttering to himself, until his subject could stand it no longer. "Please, sir." Eric addressed him formally, bowing slightly although his mouth really wanted to tear this guy a new one. "I have travelled long and far, and would like to rest. Are there quarters I can put my gear in?"

Instead of answering directly, the elf turned to a woman sitting in the branches of a tree, and Eric could tell by her looks and armor that she was human like he. From this distance he could not really make out her features properly, but saw she had light earthen hair "Sophie!" He shouted, and her head jerked to him in attention.

"Sir!"

"Take this new recruit to the barracks and help him prepare. Report back to me once you have; Lady General Nalith needs to see you as well."

"Yes, Sergeant Tal'rossa."

Turning back to Eric, he grinned slightly. "No rest yet, human; you might as well come along too. This mission she has in mind could use some manpower."

Eric couldn't help it; he groaned, and as this Tal'rossa walked away the swordsman could hear him chuckling evilly to himself. "Bastard..." He muttered under his breath, and caught a sharp look from the female elf standing next to him. "What? I just got here and he's already grinding me to the stone."

"That's the way he is." She replied simply, and walked up to the lady that the Sergeant had referred to as "Sophie". "He didn't say this, but get him properly outfitted as well." She told the light haired woman before her. The elf looked over her shoulder back at him and grimaced slightly. "That breastplate isn't going to do well up against what we're facing here."

Bunny my character however you wish. Dialogue, actions, whatever is up to you. If you need reference, he's sort of a cross between a cliche' hero and an anti hero.

[Cyrus the virus]

Xem’zund had offered him minions, but Luc had declined. He had no need for them, for one thing – but he also enjoyed his solitude when in battle.

He’d been in dozens of battles with allies on his side, especially in his early twenties, when Luc’s power was much more limited and his attitude much more pleasant. The only time he liked the help was alongside Dan Wilmhearst, whose sheer strength and dense muscle often made him the focus of their opponents, leaving Luc to create catastrophes from afar.

Dan was gone now, though. They’d separated a few years prior, and Luc hadn’t heard a whisper from him for some time. He was too powerful to be dead, surely, but Dan had bouts with solitude that Luc himself often took – Dan was probably underground somewhere, sleeping or reflecting on the last few years of his life.

A chill breeze ran across the Raiaeran landscape, tussling the mage’s brown locks and throwing his cape to the side. A wind opposite it followed soon after, maneuvering his hair and cape into more attractive positions.

He’d come to the gates of the town. There was no indication of life beyond it, no sound of conversation, battle or bustle. The heavy wooden portal offered no entry, stood tall against the outside world as one of the few refuges left against Xem’zund’s forces.

“You there!” he heard a voice. Looking up, Luc saw the small form of an elven warrior peering over the side of the wall. “Town is closed up and evacuated! Citizens are to travel to Istien and rendezvous with the people there. I’ll send a soldier to accompany you.”

“Just a minute!” Luc called.

He had a moment then to reflect as the elf paused to see what he had to say. Luc had betrayed his humanity and was realizing it for the first time. Xem’zund had every intention of destroying this land, killing every living being in it and perhaps going even beyond that in the future. Luc was aiding him to the best of his ability simply for the knowledge of life, to make the ability of resurrection available to him.

This was different from Luc’s usual questionable transgressions. Killing was an individual thing, had no overarching effects on the world or the struggles of good versus evil. One soldier killed had no real impact on the world.

Luc looked back and saw scores of undead shuffling toward them. The elf guard noticed, too, and called out a warning to the town and whoever still remained within. Evidently, Xem’zund didn’t think Luc could accomplish this mission on his own and had sent troops after him.

There was no going back. Not now.

A breeze picked up around him, swerving around the mage as he held out a hand toward the wooden doors. The whirling gusts became loud and violent, focusing around him before shooting forth with tremendous force. The doors buckled, cracked and splintered, bent inwards as the wind punished them. After a brief moment of sustained pressure, the doors shattered and flew into the town, a shower of fractured wooden splinters littering the ground.

[Griffin Rampant]

"Yes'm." Sophie gave a hasty salute, though she looked at the man out of the corner of her eye as she did. He looked younger than she had originally thought, barely more than a boy. She shook the thought off. She'd been trained to be a warrior when she was barely more than a girl, why should that matter?

She waited until the elven woman had returned the salute and faded back into the camp to turn to the man. "You heard the Sarge," she managed a slight grin. She only ever called him that to his back. What worked for the guardsmen and soldiers of her homeland lacked the dignity befitting an elf, and she knew it. "I'm Sophie." She held out one leather-gauntlet covered hand, trying not to think about what orders Lady General Nalith would have.

The man took her hand, shaking firmly. "Eric." A warrior's greeting. Last names were unneeded in these circumstance, just extra data to be forgotten. Sophie consigned his name to memory as she turned, heading for the makeshift armory. She had been lucky when she arrived. Her traveling had gone unhindered, and her gear had, until recent skirmishes, gone undamaged.

"Well, Eric..." She turned aside the canvas curtain of the large tent, waving him ahead of her. "I assume you're a conscript too?"

"Yeah." Eric nodded, pausing to look at the gear scattered in neat stacks through the inside of the tent. "Am I just supposed to pick...?" Sophie returned the nod.

"There's not much," the length of the war and the destruction of the elves' once-great cities had seen to that. The weapons and armor that made up the piles were far from the best the nation had once had to offer. "But yes. 's what she said to do, anyways."

"Right..." The man made his way down the narrow pathway between the racks of freshly made bows and a pile of dented shields. " And as for being a conscript, I was recruited in Radasanth. I mean,” He looked at Sophie with a somewhat lopsided smile. "I’m a soldier. That’s just what I do.”

"Radasanth. Really?" Sophie watched as he reached out, running his hand over a half-buried piece of mail. "I grew up in Concordia..." And have never really, she admitted to herself wryly, been that wonderful at talking to strangers. “Still miss it, sometimes.”

It came as a relief when Eric had picked out his new gear. The time had been spent in cautious, slightly clumsy (on her part, anyway) conversation that frequently lapsed into awkward silence, and getting out of the tent meant there were more people around, more people to distract him from the fact that his guide was well on her way to becoming a bumbling idiot in the face of real conversation.

“Lady General Nalith.” Eric broke the silence as she found the path to the barracks. The path was a thin corridor into the woods, still covered by a thick layer of shrubs and trees. It was better hidden than the rest of the camp, though no less warded. “What’s she like?”

“Terrifying.” Sophie winced at the first word that blurted from her mouth, looking behind her. There may have been elves all around and she would have never noticed – stealth and stealth detection were not her strong points, and it showed, here. “I mean. Well. No, I mean that. I am sure she is on our side…” She paused again. “Or, rather, she’s not on the Necromancer’s side, but she…ah.” She tried to find words that would make it seem less like a condemnation, more like a simple sentence, but eventually she just settled on. “I don’t think she likes humans very much.”

And by much, of course, I mean ‘at all.’

[Lord Anglekos]

Eric glanced back at Sophie's answer to his question but did not say a word. That seemed to be the general attitude of all the elves around, but here the woman seemed to portray the Lady General as some man-eating monster. Were humans really that scarce and needed that she would swallow her pride and summon them for help? However, Eric did not ask anymore questions; those could come later for the Lady General herself. The swordsman continued walking with the female knight, wondering what thoughts of her own dwelt within her head. She was the only other human he'd seen in the camp so far, so yes, he felt a small affinity towards her that company with the elves lacked. Experience, however, had taught him not to become too close to the woman; war had a bad habit of taking the things closest to him without a moment's notice.

Speaking of her, however, Eric used the time spent in time to get a better look at the woman. So far their exchanges had consisted of short, brief spurts of conversations followed by extended interludes of silence, and he couldn't get a good judgment as to her capabilities or personality, truly. She spoke nervously, he thought, and knew that she was unused to being in charge of anything; probably a fellow soldier like he most of her life. Her light brown hair was kept in braids away from her face, so he figured that either she'd been in combat before and knew to keep her hair out of her eyes or she just liked it in braids. As he watched, one of her disturbingly gray eyes slowly began drifting on it's own, and they became glazed and out of focus. He resisted the urge to laugh.

A clank from her armor alerted him to his current irritation; the amount of armor he himself had been ordered to wear. He'd gone his entire young adult life wearing nothing more than his father's first breastplate and a pair of matching gauntlets, and had survived at least one war with them. The fact that he was being forced to be burdened with more was teeth-grinding in it's frustration, but he was too tired to resist orders. So he'd discarded the iron armor he'd worn in favor of a few pieces he'd picked up in the armory. Simple steel, but elven-make had made it lighter than normal, which was a relief. He was no knight, and had never pretended to be; armor was not his strong point. He'd adorned himself with simple chain mail and had covered it with his shirt before putting on a smaller breastplate than his own that had obviously seen many battles and fought many foes from the scars and scrapes along it. His iron gauntlets found themselves replaced by steel versions that went all the way up his arm, and while the feeling was new and uncomfortable he figured it was better than having his limbs chopped off. Finally, he grabbed a set of shin guards and a helmet that at first felt several sizes too small. His legs though he left uncovered; armor just wore them down.

Still, all these new pieces of armor felt like strangers clinging to his body, and was saddened at the fact he'd left his father's armor back in the armory. A rite of passage? He did not know, but that's sure what if felt like. Holding his helmet under the crook of one arm and deep in thought, Eric did not see the tall dark-haired elf called Ali'el until he'd almost run into the taller man.

"There you are." That gruff voice growled out at the two, both of whom jumped in surprise. Ali'el stepped out of the shadows of the wood, and swordsman's first thought was; Can ALL elves do that? His second thought was drowned out by the taller man's voice once more. "Where are you heading to?"

Sophie recovered first. Stepping forward, she looked up (way up; Eric was 5'10" and he felt like a dwarf compared to the dark-haired elf) into Ali'el's face with a small breath. "The barracks, sir. Sergeant Tal'rossa told me--"

He cut her off with a wave of one large hand. "Not enough time. I'll take your supplies to the barracks for you; you two go and report to Lady General Nalith right now." He winced, and Eric felt a small shiver of apprehension go down his spine. "Be warned, she is not in a good mood."

With a groan Sophie handed over some of the supplies she'd been helping to carry and Eric did the same. The ominous note in that groan did not bolster his confidence at all. Without another moment's notice they were off towards a large-looking tent where Eric could see several dark shapes moving around. Upon entering, those dark shapes turned out to be other elves and recruits, always moving around doing something. Laying out plans, maps, discussing tactics, etc...everyone was doing something. It seemed like chaos at first glance, but further scrutiny revealed this mess to be an organized chaos: Everyone worked together, one actions creating another which created another and went on seemingly endlessly. They reminded Eric of ants.

In the center of this chaos was a female elf. As the swordsman watched, she slammed one gauntleted fist on the wooden table, obviously arguing with an older-looking elf in front of her who had an expression of slight bemusement upon his face. As Eric watched, he could make out her words above the din of the masses swirling around Sophie and him. "...can't! Xem'Zund's forces are already moving towards Galonan! We have to cut him off before he can swarm around and--"

With a sharp look the elf woman turned to Sophie and Eric, who were trying to stand there and look as insignificant as possible. It wasn't hard. "Who're you?" She snapped, and the soldier knew at that exact moment that his was the infamous Lady General Nalith. Dressed head to toe in battlescarred mythril armor vaguely covered by a blue vlince cloak, she looked every inch the hero of Raiaera, right down to her lean, hardened features. Her hair was thick and wavy with few curls, going down to the base of her neck, and had it not been for the promise of absolute descruction upon her features she might have been attractive to him. At her side an Akashiman blade, this one longer than the one the golden-haired elf had been wearing, made it's trademark place at her hips. All the while he'd been assessing her the Lady General had been tapping her foot impatiently. "Well? Don't keep me waiting."

Again, Eric was saved from having to answer directly. The older-looking elf she'd been arguing with came forward, took one glance at Eric, and turned back. "These are probably the recruits you asked for."

She snorted and turned back to her plans in an obvious show of disdain, and Eric felt anger flood him. He was a person for God's sake, not an object. But before he could open his mouth and slam her with his own repressed feelings, the cold touch of metal upon his arm stopped him. He looked to the side, and saw that Sophie was holding one finger to her mouth with eyes wide. He understood; opening his mouth would be a bad idea at the moment. Humbled slightly he fell back into silence, holding his feelings in check.

"Get over here." She snapped, and both of the humans hastened forward. Without bothering to check if they were paying attention she continued on, pointing at the map in front of her. "About a couple weeks ago we got news of a force of undead heading in this direction," She pointed to a spot on the map. "...And our spies have learned they mean to turn the town of Lotho'eianal into an outpost for their troops." She stepped away from the map, pacing back and forth as she considered the two before her. "We've evacuated the town's inhabitants, but their supplies are still there...and we are in dire need of supplies. Your job..." She turned to them with her hawkish eyes fixed upon theirs. "...Is to gather as much supplies as you are able and take them back with you. Make return trips if you have to, just get them here."

"What if there are forces already there?" Eric blurted out, then quickly covered up his rudeness with a small "Milady."

"There shouldn't be. We've posted a few of our own there as well." She lifted one cold eyebrow at him. "If there are, however, you are to destroy them. Is that clear?"

The words "Even at your own death." were unspoken, but Eric heard them almost as clear as day from the tone of her voice. "Yes milady."

"Good." She stepped away from the table. "You will be accompanied by two Bladesingers and a driver for your wagon, but that is it. I will not sacrifice valuable troops over this." She turned one eye on them before stepping out of the tent, accompanied by two guards who were as silent as the grave. "Good luck."

[Cyrus the virus]

Xem’zund had laid waste to the region of Raiaera, destroying cities and transforming them into frightening hubs of undead and dark magic. Luc, a mere digit in the necromancer’s outstretched hand, was all too eager to help him.

The mage hadn’t always been so powerful. He was once a prodigy, a gifted child whose magic was miles ahead of the abilities of his peers. As a result, he was allowed into Istien University – now Eluriand’s strongest resistance against Xem’zund – one of few humans accepted in that era. Even there, he was beyond his peers, and even more gifted than many of his professors.

He became aware of elven pride quickly, as he was unable to make friends among the haughty race. Even more shocking was the betrayal of his professors, six of whom gathered together in a ritual which stripped Luc of his powers and affinity to the elements. He never again trusted an elf, but he did manage to regain his magical prowess through sheer determination, study and effort.

He became obsessed in his early twenties, hypnotized by the idea of owning Eluriand, of ruling it with an iron fist. He’d never come close except for in one case, when he infiltrated Istien and murdered several professors there. It was the furthest he’d gotten.

In time his obsession passed, and Luc separated himself from Raiaera, focusing on bettering his magic. He even became a professor himself in a Scara Braean University, teaching basic magic to new students. The quiet life didn’t suit him, and he soon gave it up.

Yet his hatred for elves never quite dwindled.

The elven soldier atop the wall was shaken by the doorway’s forceful destruction, but he quickly recovered his balance. Overcoming his shock, the warrior prepared his bow and notched an arrow, releasing it. Luc created a translucent wall of air in front of himself, stopping the projectile.

He drew the Slykrit Blade and ignited it, giving himself flame to manipulate. He swung the blade and caused an arc of fire to shoot forth, sending it into the city wall and setting it ablaze. That wasn’t all, however, as he manipulated the fire to climb up to the elf, surrounding him with an inferno so intense he was consumed in seconds. His scream was swallowed by the sheer intensity of the blaze.

A commotion arose in the town, screams of surprise and a call among the soldiers within to suit up and prepare for battle. Luc approached with deliberate footsteps. It was like being twenty-two again.

[Griffin Rampant]

Sophie stared after the departing general, feeling the dismay lurch in her stomach. She was a fighter. She was used to fighting. It was what she knew. This mission was simply more of the same – more of her being placed in a situation that she knew next to nothing about. She kept her silence until they were outside, but then she snorted, glaring.

“Supplies? Seriously? I’m not…we’re not, humans aren’t her little chess pieces to move around like this! There have to be people who would be better at this, I mean, she’s seen me try to sneak! It’s like…a big dumb dog trying to move like a cat.” She spat the words out, the last few weeks’ frustration showing for all of a second before she shoved it away, smoothing over that section of her thoughts with a growl. “Just… nevermind.”

Eric eyed her with some understandable skepticism. “Hey, it’s not what I signed up for, really, but you go where you’re ordered, right?”

He had a point. That just made it worse.

Sophie just grumbled, wordlessly, and trudged away from the tent. If the elven warriors hustling and bustling all around them had heard her outburst (and she was rather certain they had) they chose to ignore it. Silly little humans with our silly little emotions, she thought, sullen, heading towards the makeshift horse corral. Just because your race is too old to remember…

There was a cart outside the pen, and a young looking elf – his hair a dark, ruddy blond, caught back in a loose ponytail – preparing the horses. He didn’t look up as they approached, even when Sophie trailed to a slow, uncertain stop.

"Is that our cart, d'you think?" She asked the question, though she was fairly sure she knew the answer. It was the only cart being prepared, the only cart visible, for that matter. Who else could it be for? But the horses between the shafts were as different as night and day: one had to have been pure-bred Fallien, spirited and golden, with a frame built for speed and feet that danced even standing still. The other...

The other was where Sophie was hitting the problem. The other wasn't a horse. Or, rather, it wasn't entirely horse. It was horseshaped, but bone-white and furless, as if its entire surface was covered with iridescent chitin, or mother-of-pearl, if mother-of-pearl veered toward the moss-green side of the spectrum. It reared an earless, split-faced head, and turned its sickly yellow eyes (it...has three... took that moment to sink in, slowly. Sophie tried to pretend she hadn't noticed.) towards the humans with a restless whinny.

"...I think it is?" Eric, for a brief second, sounded as uncertain as she felt. Then he seemed to gather himself, striding forward with a great deal more confidence. "Excuse me," he called out, Sophie on his heels, "But are you-"

"Camthalion." The elf turned from the living horse with a quick, appraising look. His eyes were the same tawny-gold as the elf-woman from earlier, though they were warmer, flecked with green. He had the right number of them, as well. Sophie felt a sharp pang of embarrassment when she realized she'd actually checked. His lips twitched in a thin smile. "Don't let Bonejack scare you," he continued, chucking the strange creature under the chin with narrow, scarred fingers. "He's as harmless as a kitten."

Sophie raised an eyebrow, exchanging a look with Eric. Eric just finished what he seemed to have been planning on saying in the first place.

"-our driver?"

"Ah." Camthalion bobbed his head in a brief nod, waving a hand at his garb. He was wearing denim and linen, loose and worn, though neatly patched, and a leather greatcoat over top. "Well, I certainly don't look to be a Bladesinger, do I?"

"No sir," Sophie shook her head, already heading for the corral proper, looking for Stuart as she spoke. "Did, ah. Did Nal - did the Lady General say anything about my horse?" He was there, right now, barely visible between the trees - the sun speckling through the leaves made his dappled coat blend in.

"Yes, actually." Sophie looked back at the carter, hopefully. The elf's smile was gone, and he didn't quite look at her, bending over Bonejack's broad back to wave his hand at the traces on that side. "Could you..." He waited until Eric had handed him the leather strap to answer her question. "She said he's to stay here."

Well. There went the little hope for something familiar. "Aw, damn." When she looked back, Stuart had vanished further back into the trees. It's probably better this way, she told herself as she hurried to help Eric and Camthalion finish hitching the horses. You don't really know if Xem’zund can raise horses. Though, looking at Bonejack...

She shivered, slightly, and set about tightening harness buckles to distract herself.

"Well, it'll be easier for that sneaking you were talking about without him, won't it?" Eric half-sounded like he was teasing, once they finished. Sophie shot him a dirty look anyways, leaning against the cart back.

They only needed to wait for the Bladesingers now. They stood there, beside live-horse and undead (or simply unliving, she wasn't entirely sure which) thing, and waited.

[Lord Anglekos]

It wasn't long before they were on their way. They did not need to wait long for their Bladesinger company; "Bonejack" and the other tawny horse had just gotten hitched up to the cart when they heard the telltale clank of armor and the slightly familiar lilting of that female elf's voice. "Cam, please don't tell me we're traveling with that unsightly piece of flesh again."

Eric looked to the source and found the golden-eyed elf woman from earlier standing there with her hands on her hips. She looked fully suited for battled, wearing almost all of her Bladesinger armor save for her helmet, which she held at her side. Her silken hair, glimmering in the sunlight, was held up in a ponytail, and as she strode forward he was fascinated by the way it swung back and forth. She glanced at him, in his newfound armor and glory, and snorted. "Was this the best we had in there?" Once again she addressed Sophie, using her free hand to indicate Eric in his trappings.

However, he was tired of being treated like he wasn't there, and saved his new companion the trouble of having to answer. "Or close to it." He spoke loudly to get her attention.

She snorted again. Did she have a problem with her nose, he wondered? Turning from him she spoke to their driver, an eccentric elf if he did say so himself. However, this Camthalion made the swordsman feel more at home than any of the others had, so he figured it was no issue. After all, he'd dealt with stranger folk before in Saleria. "I thought you put that thing down long ago." She spoke to the other elf, and despite his own inherent distaste for the strange steed, Eric found her bluntness a bit rude.

To the swordsman's surprise, it seemed Camthalion was used to it, as he just chuckled and patted the object of her scorn lovingly. It neighed again, and the sound was just as unnatural as it's appearance. "Oh, Laraiel. Why you dislike 'im so, I'll never understand."

"You never could, brother, what with those strange tastes of yours." She chuckled, and the air around her shifted perceptibly. Eric's eyes widened as he realized he was seeing this elf (Laraiel, it seemed she was called) for the very first time as an actual woman. Her stance shifted and her hips went out to the side, and it unnerved him how they separated their work from their lives so casually. Why, when he was a soldier...

"Oy." Ali'el's voice barked out from the trees, and the four figures standing around the caravan turned as one to see him striding out from them dressed in battle armor just like Laraiel's. He had a stern frown upon his face, but his gait was relaxed and his hands by his sides. "We were supposed to leave ten minutes ago. What's taking so long?"

Sophie spoke up. "We were waiting for you."

"That's no excuse. We would have caught up sooner or later." Despite his words, however, he began putting his own supplies into the caravan. "Next time, go on without us."

Camthalion rolled his eyes and winked at the humans. That wink said all sorts of things, but mainly that the elf was just teasing. Eric relaxed slightly and climbed into the back, giving Sophie a helping hand just as their Bladesinger bodyguards did so as well. When they were all gathered and ready, the driver snapped the reins with a "Hyeeah!" and off they went.