A Coveted Relic

[Scars]

“Is there anythin’ happenin’?” Tonas questioned, attempting to peer over the heads of those standing in front of them. “I can’t see shit, Finn.”

They hadn’t moved from where they had entered the tent, at the back of the crowd. Tonas Grahn had the idea that something special was happening and wanted to stay, against Ferael's wishes. He glanced from one body to the next, his brow twisted in puzzlement. There were so many people here, of so many different races; people of the likes of which Ferael had never seen before. He could not imagine what had brought this vast collection of individuals together, but it probably wasn't for a tea party. Though curiosity urged him to stay and discover what was going on, logic told him it was safer to move on.

However, he could not.

Tonas had attempted to move forward through the crowd, and had failed when he’d barged someone from his path, shouting a string of exasperated curses. The human warrior hadn’t fought back, instead just shooting the pirate a poisoned stare as he regained his balance. However, his friend had.

The man that had stepped up to oppose Tonas Grahn for his unruly behaviour was built, and looked like, a bull. His features more-or-less resembled those of a human, but his hair was white and seemed to grow over the top half of his face as well as on his head. From that messy white mane grew two horns, each about two hand lengths long. His hands, Ferael noticed, were large and taloned, and his eyes were twice the size of a human’s. The most defining feature about the strange protagonist was his height, and that was the thing that worried Ferael the most. He loomed over Tonas, the human only coming to his chest. He cringed when Tonas turned his attention to the behemoth.

“What?!” the buccaneer shouted, lifting his head to meet the gaze of his challenger. They stood there in silence for countless seconds before Tonas spoke again. “Move, ya dim-witted freak! What’s wrong with ya!”

The one facing Tonas lifted his right hand and squeezed, his knuckles cracking with a sound alike to the crunching of stones underfoot. He smiled, revealing a full set of huge, yellow-hued teeth, and from his throat was emitted a low growl. It was a clear challenge. Ferael made his way forward with intention to pull Tonas away and end the dispute before his companion was torn limb from limb.

“Right!” Tonas answered before he could move to restrain him. The real answer came as he jumped, wrapping one hand around one of the huge creature’s horns and pulling him down. Tonas’ rising fist connected fully with the giant’s jaw. As the pirate landed, his opponent stood straight.

And then toppled.

Tonas spat upon the fallen body of his colossal enemy, and then stepped over him, wide eyes following him as he disappeared into the crowd. Ferael moved in quick pursuit. Tonas Grahn had gotten lucky. Not every warrior here would fall to his practised punches, though Ferael guessed that Tonas believed so.

[Arawn]

“I’ve made up my mine, Moran,” Hikari no Ashigaru said to his superior, for this endeavor at least. “Give your speech.”

“Very well,” said the human and marched into the tent, his voice still uneasy from the woman's deliverance of a friend's message, which had caught both of them off guard. Nevertheless, he was the very picture of composure as he entered and waited for silence, a credit to Harsglen's people.

Hikari ducked behind the flap, lest he be seen. Due to the nature of his assignment, it was better that the main army decoy not be savvy to it. As Cael Moran made to the head of the tent, silence began to fall around the room. Those who knew him ceased to speak out of respect and those who didn’t simply followed along with the others. The entrance of Cael Moran did more than this, for it was a cue for the being Hikari had planted within the tent. Argen came out by the entrance Moran had used and stood before Hikari. The silver dragon was disguised as a human with dark hair, a form not usually chosen, but at the time, most convenient. In a town of humans, the race was more quickly accepted. Now, as Cael was within the tent and the elf and dragon outside, Argen waited in silence. They seemed two beings conspiring in the shade of the raucous tent, their plans involving those within.

“I’ve decided five is the number of individuals we’re taking along, Argen,” Hikari finally said. He had come to this conclusion with the arrival of Chelsi. “Now,” the elf went on to the polymorphed dragon in the dark, “I want you to first contact Chelsi and her companions. You may mention my name as she's a former acquaintances.”

She had been the leader of the Order Within Chaos, a clan Hikari once counted himself a member of. She was joined by three oddly-dressed men, and the dark elf thought it a possibility she would come more easily if not asked to separate from them, eager to have a known aide in their venture besides Argen. Her being there was pure luck and Hikari sought to cash in on it. With her, he would at least be assured skill, as was a prerequisite for their mission. He knew Chelsi to be a witch of some sort. Though he had never witnessed her talents firsthand, it was more to go on than was the case with the rest of the tent's inhabitants.

“After that,” Hikari continued, “I want you to contact the female that came over to us. Those will be all.”

Hikari was not pointing into the tent to make clear his targets, but there was no need. Argen knew whom he meant among the mob. The trio with Chelsi was in by sheer circumstance. The girl would be coming along for her odd declaration of communicating with the dead. If she spoke the truth, she would be of great aid. If she lied, she would be best kept from the main army anyway. The white warrior wished to bring along some brute force, but it was impossible to choose among those inside the tent who was truly capable and who simply appeared so. He was about to leave somewhat dejectedly when he heard the sound of something heavy crashing to the ground. Looking in on the tent, he saw a pair of humans standing by a giant of a creature one of them had just knocked down. With a rare chuckle, Hikari grabbed his dragon's human arm and pointed the men out.

"Invite them as well."

Without a word, Argen went into the tent and Hikari marched off in the dark back to a smaller, private tent he had Cael Moran set aside for his purposes in the encampment. Argen was to walk among the group in the larger tent as Moran gave his speech and telepathically invite the people his master had mentioned to join Hikari once the speech was over. The individuals would never know where the message came from, but simply hear it in their heads. It was an invitation to go outside, discreetly, and go where they were instructed. The dark elf’s location was directly to the left of the large tent’s exit. Those Argen contacted would get his information and presumably leave after the speech, not drawing attention to themselves in all hopes.

Hikari’s face was set as he walked into the room where they were to convene and made to sit behind a plain wooden desk. He took off his black cloak and put it on a stand, revealing the brown leather garb adorning his muscular white form. Sitting behind the desk, he faced the only entrance and exit to the study-like tent. There was a bookshelf to the elf’s left with manuscripts and documents not pertaining to the moment. All that mattered now was a map set in the middle of the desk. There were ten chairs opposite him, only seven of which would be filled. So, Hikari waited for Moran to give his speech and the chosen few to arrive, that he may begin briefing them on the truth of the matter and debriefing them on the fanciful tales of heroics Moran was doubtless spouting out at the moment.

~*~*~*~

Cael Moran’s heart was beating fast as he made his way o the head of the tent. There was a platform raised about a foot high at the end. He stepped up and silence ensued. He was then standing alone, a solitary figure about to address the masses. He knew the speech he planned to give by memory and was thus empty-handed before the crowd. He saw Argen entering the tent from where he had just come and proceed to walk amongst those gathered in front of the surviving leader of Harsglen. Hikari had told his ‘pet’ those he wanted to accompany and, as was their plan, Argen would contact them individually. Cael would not know whom the dark elf had chosen until his speech was over and he saw them leave. He hoped they would be discreet, but a wary eye would be able to spot them. He then began his short speech.

“Comrades, I thank you all for coming,” he dictated with a boom in his voice expected of a man held in such esteem. “There are few present here who can say they have not witnessed the undead that threaten to grip our town in their favor, whether it be in your coming or in defense of it. I will make no claims to the glory of our cause, but simply say that we are fighting the worst enemy any man can ever face. Know now that we do not confront faceless masses of enemies, but our own friends as well. I have seen the blood of my dearest companions spilled by one of their own and have, in these days, been forced to raise my sword against companions I cared for dearly. In joining us you forfeit the right to mercy if you are taken by the enemy. There is no salvation from such a conversion, a lesson we have learned with blood and tears,” he paused for a second before going on.

“Yet, there is hope. Some said we would not last a night against the undead, but we have lasted far more. They fear us. They know we have more power than they can challenge, which is why they fall back on underhanded tactics of trickery and ambush. Now, there are those among you with your own agenda, doubtless attracted by the promise of treasures I gave. This was not an empty proposal. I’d rather empty the town’s coffers than see it burn to the ground. Money, if such is desired, will be given to any who aid us now. As for our mission, it is simple. We seek to defend this town without question. As I said before, our enemies are not marching upon us because they can’t. What little we know of them tells us they are far from their main citadel and are weakened. We will wear them out in our present defense and so weaken them for our later advancement. This is not a task to be taken lightly and any man believing they will show cowardice in the frontline may leave now or be killed in their retreat. A dead ally is preferable to another undead enemy…”

So on and so forth went his speech, each word slightly more bitter than the last, until, “…I now call upon you to take heart and aid us in saving this town from the accursed undead.”

So it was ended and the mass of people was allowed to mutter once more as Cael got off the platform to walk and talk among them. He felt guilty. He was playing with their pride with his words, convincing them they were the greater force. He did not lie in that the Inferi were afraid to advance, but it was not for fear of the Harsglen resistance. After their first assault, the vampires of Joran’Kal attacked them from behind and decimated many of their forces. Likewise, it has been seen that when the elite clan of vampires has advanced, the Inferi take the chance to strike their greater enemy. Harsglen was not a threat to either group. In fact, Cael Moran had yet to hear a report of one of the Potissimus vampires slain by their own. Hikari and his troupe had the fate of Harsglen in their hands. The dark elf had to convince Rector of an alliance against the Inferi. Otherwise, Harsglen would be no more than a footnote in the retellings of the great war about to erupt.

I leave to each of you the individual phraseology of Argen's telepathic invitations.

[Iriah Caitrak]

The woman before Ira never had a chance to respond to her for at that moment Cael Moran was moving through the crowd and everyone was beginning to grow silent before he addressed the large group of men and what few women there were before him. Though the words he spouted were daunting and could make the most battle seasoned warrior want to turn tail and run, they also inspired hope in those around her and Ira could see he was boosting their moral.

”He’s lying.”

Ira blinked and looked at Jonathan floating beside her, the man had his eyes on his old friend who could not see him.

“How do you know?” Ira whispered, not wanting to be disrespectful and not wanting to draw any stares.

Jonathan gave a sad smile, “I was there at that battle and I saw what happened, even after I’d died. He’s trying to boost everyone’s morale and he’s probably got some kind of back-up plan because there’s no way we’ll win fighting the army of undead and the vampires.”

”Vampires?”

Ira really was lost in the world outside of Fallien when there were so many races she’d never heard of. Her tribe was too isolated for it’s own good.

”Plus,” Jonathan continued with a lighter smile, [/I]”Cael’s eyes always go down and to the left when he’s lying.”[/I]

Ira had to stop herself from laughing at that one. Just like a good friend to know exactly when someone was lying by way of his body language. Still, it wasn’t something she should be chuckling over, if Cael was lying about what was going to happen then a lot of people in the army who went head to head against the undead were going to die. A lot of people in this room were going to die.

It was at this time, while Cael continued on with his speech, that Ira felt someone invade her mind. She stiffened, every muscle in her body locking tight, at first she thought it was Gereint but then she realized her body had reacted so because it was an unfamiliar presence.

”Your presence is being requested, once Cael Moran finished his speech you are to leave the tent as discreetly as possible and make your way to a smaller one off to the left side.”

Just as quickly as the presence was within her head it was gone and she relaxed, still, she felt slightly violated having an unknown person inside her mind. It left her feeling a little vulnerable and her eyes travelled to those closest around her and those in front of her but she could have no idea where the message had come from. The thought of ignoring it did pass her mind, but someone was clearly looking for her help and she knew that Cael was lying about the military forces thanks to Jonathan, so why would she want to stay here?

”What’s wrong?” Jonathan asked.

She glanced over at him, “Someone was poking around in my head and asking for my presence elsewhere once Cael finishes his speech.”

”Perhaps the old dog has a few tricks up his sleeve after all…”

A few minutes later, Cael finished his speech, something Ira had been patiently waiting for and in the hustle of the tent and all the clatter of the talking warriors afterwards, Ira found it easy to leave without anyone notices her and if they did they just didn’t care where she was going. Once outside, she saw the smaller tent off to the right that the voice in her head told her about, how she wished she could strangle the bearer of those words and how they’d disrupted her equilibrium.

”Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I don’t like it when people poke around in my head, the only one I let in there is my shaman Gereint and having an unfamiliar presence speaking words to you can be a mite unnerving.”

She was speaking out loud and louder than she should but she didn’t care who thought she was crazy.

Jonathan just nodded his head and followed her towards the tent. Pushing back the flaps, Ira found herself standing before a rather sparsely decorated tent with a large table meant to seat ten people and one person inside. Ira had never seen anything like him, used to men of dark complexion from her native Fallien, seeing someone so white, well, it was a little weird. His hair was blacker than sin and…he had fangs. Just barely seen, but they were there. His eyes were just as dark as his hair and Ira changed her swirling silver ones to match his blackness.

Ira leaned back against the wooden post by the entrance and crossed her arms under her breasts.

“I take it you’re the one who called?”

She recognized his presence from the one she’d felt behind the tent flap when she’d spoken to Cael about Jonathan. Even though he was easily more powerful than she was and his appearance was…daunting, he didn’t intimidate her. It was hard for the living to intimidate her anymore when she’d seen so much of the dead. Instead, she found him fascinating.

[The Name is Mudd]

He’d not felt the grace of a ‘dame’s touch for months, a real ‘dame - not the scabby kraut war widows whose nazi husbands were killed fighting for Das Vaterland. They all lost what he needed, and as sorry as he would be to admit it, the kid really needed more than fifteen minutes in an outhouse with his pin-up magazines. It was the only woman he ever got on the front. As odd as it was, when you spend day in and day out breaking the back of a regime bent on world domination, risking your damned neck for a world you didn’t exactly have much hope for to begin with, all you really want is to get your rocks off. With this in mind, Private Mudd’s response to the Russian made sense when he interrupted.

“CAN IT, SLOB,” he spat back frustrated. The private could stand for a little more of what the lady had to offer, not to mention the private’s privates, that was for damn sure. He didn’t mean to turn the word Slav into a racial epithet, and he could feel the angry soviet staring back at him from behind his moustache. Everyone was pretty on edge. Mudd was one panzer tank short of a blitzkrieg in the “keep it together” department. He was a loose cannon; a fitting description despite him having lost his M1 in the Ardennes.

When the little lady gave him orders, however, she became something besides a ‘dame. She became a sass: another breed of female he was quite used to. Just because he had a cod to swing didn’t mean he would be tripping over it, chasing after some lousy skirt. The other two officers turned away, the Russian nodding in acknowledgment, and the Frenchman doffing his hat. Mudd barged right between them, parting them like so much water in the Red Sea. The grunt marched right up to the brat, extended a grimy finger and jabbed her a few times with it on the shoulder blade.

“Look. I don’t take orders from no ‘dame. You’s for beddin’ and weddin’, so I’ll have no undue fussing from someone who can’t pee standing up. And I don’t wanna see you try, neither. I’m going where you’re going.” He paused. He had ignored the metallic-purple hair havin’ broad until her last little bit - talk of purgatory, heaven, and hell. She was talking as if someone was really there. He couldn’t resist. “Who’s the space cadet?” he joked. A few others glanced at the private with an odd expressions. “WHAT?!” he flung his arms up in the air. “Don’t eyeball me, son. I’ll hit you so hard, you’ll be talking to yourself too. I’ve got a shovel that’d look great against the side of yer hea. . .”

He stopped. “What in all hell,” he glanced over his shoulder with a mutter. “Someone’s calling my name. You hear it?” he asked Chelsi. “Oh... wait. I’ve not introduced myself yet. The name’s Mudd. Graham P. Mudd. The guys just call me Grampy. Coulda swore someone just said my name.” The grunt looked left and right, peering over the top of the woman’s dark haired head as if someone was standing behind her, and throwing his voice. Bewildered, the only place he hadn’t looked was up.

“Mudd. The other tent. Doubletime.”

He glanced warily at the little lady next to him and proceeded into the tent, this one a little less spacious. The speech was like one he’d heard back in the second Great War: the one about insurmountable odds, and not surviving another week, and not having enough supplies, and the sobering sound of church bells in the background that made a booze-buzz a lost luxury. Mudd sighed his reply, managed to draw in a shuddering breath, and fell silent.

[Chelsi]

Beneath the surface of every pond, is a myriad of secrets. Of course, anyone looking at a pond will only see its calm, cool, and inviting surface, or in some cases, the threat that accompanies a watering hole of which all sorts of predators call their own. It is because of this outward appearance that we never examine it closer than need be, willing to accept everything at face value. And for that reason, we never really see the beauty hidden beneath the waves… or the deeper, darker, danger.

_________________________

“Look, I’m not sure what they teach you in the army, but the least you could do is buy a girl dinner before you start poking her from behind,” Chelsi said, rolling the innuendo over her undeniably full, feminine lips, as she spun on her heel after being turned down by the purple-haired woman and her imaginary friend.

In the background, the young witch also heard the beginnings of Cael Moran’s preemptive eulogy for all the gathered soldiers. The American before Chelsi went through a stream of chauvinistic insults, most of it she had heard before.

But the man won points for his retro jargon. At least that was kind of original. By the time the bizarre grunt was done his spiel, the young witch found that she liked him even more. However, further thoughts along those lines were interrupted, as Chelsi too felt the mental intrusion.

Miss Chelsi I presume. An old friend of yours requests your presence. Please be discreet. Make your way to the tent left of the gathering, if you will.

“…eh?”

As the telepathic message ended, Chelsi found that the soldier was gone. Apparently, he too received the mental invitation. Or at least, she hoped he did. There were still questions to be asked.

“There’s so much going on, I hope I’m going to find him here. And if nothing else, Maybe Cael Moran can take me to him…”

The observant witch, noted to, that the odd woman whom she had also spoken to briefly had left before the conclusion of Cael’s speech. An interesting party, if that’s what the psychic messenger had in mind. Perhaps, the pursuit of him might be interesting in and of its own. But from the feel of the air, and from Cael’s ominous tone as he gave his speech, Chelsi was certain that if nothing else, she was in the right place.

As inconspicuously as possible, the slender woman exited the tent, all eyes still on the leader on top of the wooden platform. Making her way to the designated tent, Chelsi stopped for a moment, and fished around in her backpack. The exterior of the camp was deserted now, and after checking for any movement, she retrieved the items she was looking for; a pack of matches, and a sealed scroll. With one last nervous glance, Chelsi struck the match and set it to the paper. It caught the flame instantly, and the cryptic witch let the burning parchment fall to the dust at her feet. With that, she finished the short trek to the meeting place, and joined the three people waiting there. The purple haired woman, the infantry man, and a pale-skinned man, who’s appearance ignited the tingling of memories in the back of her mind. Some accomplishment from her past, now buried in failure.

As she fruitlessly battled the haze caused by years of alcoholism and other distant memories, the paper she left in the dirt outside neared the end of its destruction. Only the last few lines were still visible as the flame consumed it.

_________________________

…As an agent I feel I can trust, and who’s goals are not so dissimilar from my own, I hope that the terms I offer you and the task I put before you are to your satisfaction. Of course, you will receive payment as payment is due.

I humbly await your arrival.

-Sincerely…

A

[Arawn]

Paul, Hikari is hardly dark-skinned. Heh.
Scars, your guys can barge in before my next post, if you’re still into this.

“Yes, I am the one who asked you to come here,” Hikari replied to the woman who was first to enter the tent, looking her over just as she did in kind. “I’ll explain things in a moment.”

Seconds later, they were joined by the oddly adorned man and Chelsi, both of whom remained silent upon entering and rejected the seats set for them. This might be a good indicator of the personalities he’d chosen, but the drow couldn’t be sure. In any case, the others seemed disinclined to follow suit, failing to enter the tent after the foursome waited in silent expectation. Deciding to push onward, Hikari rose to his feet from behind the desk. This was no small detail, his height almost a foot above the tallest person present. Towering above the others from his position of power, he finally addressed the room at large, feeling oddly out of place as a leader rather than a lone wolf.

“First things first,” he began tersely. “Forget all the lies Cael Moran spouted to his precious few recruits.”

The white warrior’s black orbs scanned their eyes. This came as little surprise to the purple-haired female, at least.

“In this case, what seem like insurmountable odds are actually worse than so. Not only have these people no chance of defeating their enemy, but their foes come twofold, both already in full capacity of sending this little town to oblivion, leaving not a living soul the wiser. The only reason it hasn’t been swallowed up in the rising surf already is that the conflicting currents have been competing for supremacy.”

With this, in came Argen. His dark hair was now a silvery white, his features elven. No longer seeking to blend into a crowd, the dragon had assumed his favored humanoid form. Without a word to the others, he maneuvered across the enclosed area to stand beside his master behind the wooden table, not meeting anyone’s gaze with his silver eyes turned downward. Hikari continued, patting Argen on the back.

“Here is the voice that brought you here on my command. He’ll be coming along with us. Now, as for the reason I gathered you…”

Finally, the pale drow drew their attention to the map before them on the wooden counter. It showed the present state of affairs to the best of Moran’s intelligence. It would look childish to a martial officer, but it was the best they had. At first glance, one could hardly make out the defending forces among the gargantuan enemies squads pressing in on all sides. It was now that the futility of Cael’s inspiring words was made plain. On the map, the path they would be taking, along with an alternate route, was denoted in brown, cutting through forest and enemy groups. Hikari had cut this path himself with Cael’s aid, proposing that it might be the trail of least resistance, though they would still likely meet their share of foes. Pointing to it, he spoke once more.

“We have a marginally less hopeless course ahead of us than that of our peers. As you can see, our path takes us deep behind enemy lines. I intend to contact the leader of the Joran’Kal manor with a message of alliance. Cael seems to believe Rector’s hand has been forced by others and that an emissary would be welcomed most favorably by him. However, this does not mean his forces will not attack us on our expedition. A white flag will only be stained red in this war.”

Coughing lightly, he paused, thinking of the letter to Rector hidden in the folds of his hanging cloak.

“We all have our reasons for being here,” Hikari looked at the trio. “You are not in this yet, though you be privy to information of a gravely sensitive nature. I have need of companions to ensure the message gets through. Monetary compensation is no object. You’d be surprised how freely an ill-fated town opens its treasury. So, who of you is willing to embark on this venture by me?”

As he finished, his eyes met Chelsi’s. He suddenly felt outside himself, as if he were witnessing the moment from a separate viewpoint. He felt his right eye wink at the witch, though he had not willed it to do so. Coming back to himself abruptly, Hikari blinked a few times in quick succession, as if fighting back fatigue. Unsure of what had just happened, or even if it had transpired at all, he gave no further confirmation that anything odd had passed, letting the silence invite the others to speak up.

*~*~*~*~*

“How is our spy fairing?” the dark lord spoke regally from his black throne in the Inferi fortress, a smile playing across his face from within the concealing full helm. Every word echoed poisonously from the hall’s onyx walls.

“Our mole has been most conveniently placed to reach Rector, my lord,” spoke a specter to its master. The phantom floated in the air before the Inferi commander, mist composing the majority of his present shape, though he had been invisible when overhearing Hikari’s choice of companions outside the main tent.

“And I suppose the convoy will be departing soon,” the chilling voice came once more.

“Yes, my lord,” the ghost replied simply, not exiting as expected.

“Is there something more?” the black king asked, his short temper already rising.

“Well, master, it’s our chosen ally. Is it wise to trust such a being?”

All of a sudden, the black plate mail clanged loudly as its wearer got to his feet. Holding out his silver, orb-topped scepter he began to speak words of an ancient language, every indecipherable word a menacing hiss in the specter’s direction. The effect was plain for anyone to see. A lightning bolt-shaped crack began to course its way downward from the ghost’s forehead, glowing a brilliant white. It screamed in such agony as he thought was lost to it in death. With a crack, he was split in two and sucked instantaneously into the swirling black orb atop the scepter. With an enraged exhale heavy with fury, the armored being sat back down on his skull-adorned throne. His eyes burned bright red, just as when he had addressed the captured vampires.

“Never question me,” he commanded the room, now devoid of any sentient presence besides his own.

[Scars]

((Better really, really late than never.))

* * *

Ferael Finn found his troublesome companion standing amidst a sparse crowd near the front of the tent, listening intently to Cael Moran’s speech, his arms folded over his chest. Ferael grabbed Tonas’ shoulder and turned him. Frustration washed over him as he watched Tonas Grahn meet his gaze and smile.

“What the hell d’ya think yer doin’?” Ferael growled. “Yer gonna get us killed. We gotta leave.”

Tonas shrugged in response. “No-one’s followin’ me, are they? Quit yer worryin’, Finn. And we’re stayin’, ‘cause I’m listenin’ t’the speech.”

“We’re goin’.” They needed to get back to the ship. He didn’t know what time it was or how long had passed, but he didn’t want to be left here, especially not with Tonas Grahn as his only companion.

Tonas laughed disdainfully, and then shook his head in response. “We’re stayin’. I’m stayin’. You can leave if you want.” He turned away, then, returning his attention to the unnamed speaker at the front of the huge tent.

A minute or so passed where Ferael found himself tempted to draw his dagger and bury it in his friend’s spine. He tried to calm himself by doing as Tonas was and listening to Cael Moran’s preaching, but the arrogant pirate still stood in his peripheral vision, and he found his focus moving from one being to the other as he bit his lip in frustration. He considered leaving, but how would he know where to go? And what of the undead plaguing the surrounding woodland?

Those thoughts aside, Ferael needed to urinate. It was when he finally looked elsewhere in search of an exit that he heard a voice in his head. Ferael stood still, looking lost, as the voice summoned him and his friend for an audience with someone he’d never heard of in another tent. He spoke Tonas’ name, and the other buccaneer turned his head.

“I still ain’t leavin’,” Tonas chuckled, and Ferael sighed.

“Y’sure? I think I know where there’s drink,” he countered, and then smiled.

“Aww, shit Finn, ya shoulda said before.”

* * *

The two pirates stumbled into the tent as Hiraki drew attention to the map that was displayed before him. Tonas leant in to Ferael, whispering in his ear: “Where’s the drink?”

“Just shut up and listen,” Ferael retorted, and for once Tonas did as he requested.

It was when Hikari finished speaking that Tonas Grahn repeated his question, addressing it to the rest of the group.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Ira was glancing at the poorly drawn map before her intently. The man, which she was sure he wasn’t even human, had finished his speech on how hopeless their mission was a few seconds ago and the moment afterwards someone had raised his voice about drink. She was ignoring him; perhaps he had stumbled into the wrong tent, though she did find it odd that no one, not even their ‘leader’ had seen fit to kick the two of them out. Perhaps like the rest of us they had been invited only they’d decided to take their damnable time and were on the rather rude side.

”The plan isn’t a solid one but he is right, Rector has normally been of no trouble to us even though he is a Vampire. Something must have happened at the manor and this may be the only way to save the village…if only Cael had told me about this earlier…”

She didn’t bother to look at the form of the slightly transparent Jonathan she could feel floating beside her, looking down at the map as well. So lost in her own thoughts Ira didn’t even blink about talking aloud to Jonathan, it was just too natural for her and her people back home. She did keep her voice low in the silence of the tent.

“As I was looking this over I thought that maybe a safer course of action would be to take everyone through Purgatory.”

”Purgatory? Isn’t that the place you told me about earlier where souls go when they can’t move on?”

“Yes, a Calerian can take other people into Purgatory with them and traveling in Purgatory is like travelling through the land of Althanas, if you walk ten feet from where you entered Purgatory then leave, you exit ten feet away. However, with all who have died in this war Purgatory may be filled with Fallen who can be just as dangerous as zombies.”

”I see why you didn’t suggest it.”

“Though this course of action is indeed not safe I see no other way of traveling to this Joran’Kal manor. I also do not see much that I can help with in this fight, though I wish to.”

Ira glanced up from the map to Jonathan, he was watching her intently, his eyes saddened, perhaps in the fact that he could not fight his own cause any longer, perhaps in the fact that if he’d known about this plan earlier he might have been more cautious. She didn’t know and she was no telepath to delve into his thoughts and find out, not even sure if she would want to.

”This is not a cause you have to fight for but…”

Ira smiled at him, “I know you want me to fight for your village, it’s written all over your face. My skills lie in the dead though, not in war combat.”

”Yet you fight the dead in Purgatory, you must have skills to defeat them, use your skills to defeat the dead crawling through these lands.”

Looking passed Jonathan Ira’s gaze fell to the being that had brought her here in the first place. She must have shown something to inspire him to ask her here. Perhaps it was her commune with the dead, perhaps it was something else. She carried not a single weapon on her that anyone here could know about and her dress looked nothing like a warrior but he asked her here to fight in this cause and she knew it was worth her time, blood, sweat, tears and maybe even her life.

“You can count me in for the cause.” Ira said to him.

[The Name is Mudd]

Mudd hadn’t been paying attention to the map, but rather burying his nose in a pinup magazine he kept rolled up in his bag. The broad with the bombshell legs, oddly enough, painted on a bombshell, had taken his interest hostage. Map, shmap. Between weirdy and crazy-woman, there really wasn’t that much along the lines of easy pickin’s. At least the fine ‘dames in his magazines didn’t reject him. Little did he know that he was shooting himself in the foot, in that regard. “Hell. If crazy-girl’s goin, I might as well. Someone’s gotta keep her from spacing out, talkin’ to thin air an all. Only time I’m planning on seein’ purg-a-whatta is when I buy the farm, and,” he paused, looking up from his literature of choice, “and I never fancied myself a gardner.”

He smiled at the seadogs, mostly because they reminded him of the comics and reading Treasure Island as a child. He restrained all urge to break out into a stereotypical “Arr! I be havin termites in me leg,” nodding instead. When they asked about something to wet the whistle, the private took special care to hide his canteen. It wasn’t water he had in there. It wasn’t liquor either. When you’re out in the middle of nowhere without a tree, or bush to pee on, it just doesn’t feel right; your parts hangin’ out for the world to see, and such. If memory still served, Mudd couldn’t remember ever seeing a male dog lifting a leg to open air. It was an instinct.

“Well shit, when are we gonna head out? Let’s get this thing moving eh? Before something really pisses in the pickles. C’mon. Can’t be that bad, right? They’re already dead. Just whack em somethin fierce a few times to remind ‘em,” he laughed nervously. Rolling up his magazine, returning it to the pack he had slung over his shoulder to keep the pirate-lookin fellows from getting any ideas, he jabbed the witch lady a few good times to get her attention. “You got any good stra-tee-ger-ees on how tah take these suckers down? What’cha gonna use?”

He was hoping she’d say something sexy.

“Crazy girl could probably just spook ‘em with her heaven and hell talk. Coax em into fighting for us by puttin’ in a good word with the Man Upstairs, mh? Mr. Pale Guy could just blind them senseless. If they’ve got noses, those two could take them by smell alone,” Mudd grinned. “Me? I’ve got my own aye-dee-er,” he smirked, pulling the trenching shovel from his harness with a click. “Dig a grave infront of ‘em, I’ll be sure they get to running. Hobbling, limping, staggering, skippideedoodaah whatever a dead thing’d do.”

[Chelsi]

Hmm… Two pay checks. Not a bad deal I suppose.

“Alright, count me in… Hi… Hikari?”

Of course. The OWC. Chelsi’s clan of old, back in the days of her highest pinnacle of accomplishment.

How long ago that seemed now. She didn’t even really recognize the dark-elf. Not physically anyways. Although his presence inspired memory.

Unfortunately, with memory, came that nagging sense of lack of accomplishment. Almost half a decade ago, scores of people had followed Chelsi without question, respecting her as their leader. More recently, she had been a trusted advisor and friend within the legendary Bandit Brotherhood. Now she was a petty thug for hire. Perhaps that was why she had come here. To be part of something greater. To be a bigger player in the grand scheme of things.

Chelsi shook her head sharply to clear away the unpleasant thoughts, as she tried to focus on the rest of Hikari’s story. She had been too busy reminiscing to notice the entrance of the striking elf-like creature which now stood beside its dark-elf companion, or the entrance of the two pirates.

The young sorceress was returned completely to her senses as the soldier she had been speaking with earlier, jabbed her in the ribs. She laughed offhandedly at his comments as she looked at him, perhaps a bit harder than she intended too. Those questions about her world and her origins now burned again, and Chelsi winced.

She wished for a second that she could just keep her mind on the tasks at hand for more than a minute, and agreed with the pirate’s sentiments as he requested booze.

I should get down to business, or he isn’t going to be very pleased. I need to find him soo… wait a second…

A smile began to find a find itself on Chelsi's full, black lips, as the girl, now relieved for the first time since she had arrived at the camp, began to believe she had solved the mystery of her enigmatic employer. The contents of the letter...

"Well big fella, I say you put that shovel to good use and we take the route this little children's drawing has planned out for us."

She wrapped her arm around the soldier’s broad shoulders, and turned her gaze back to Hikari, smiling pleasantly.

“Let’s be off! We have some undead to fight.”

The crafty witch, now believing she had solved her personal puzzle, suppressed an ironic laugh as she spoke those last words.

Hikari’s subconscious wink hadn’t gone unnoticed.