AC 2021 - Round Two: Team Four

[Preston]

Round 2 will begin January 5th, 2022 at 12:01am EST.

Round 2 will end January 21st, 2022 at 11:59pm EST

Team 4
- Elite Optic
- Storm Veritas

[--Prompt--]

The country of Alerar has been turned upside down by the emergence of the Demon Gate. While it was first thought as a mere inconvenience to be studied, a thing of cultural significance to the demons of the Tular Plains, now it has become a nightmare. Demons of Haiadia are spilling forth into Alerar, swarming the open countryside and the Khufein plains as they advance towards the isolated cities of the region. Mere shock-troops and scouting parties have advanced so far from the ruins, but surely more is to come as the portal remains.

In response, the Southern Border of Alerar has been encroached upon, and being overrun, by the Tular Plains demon population. These far more humanoid demons, having lived on the surface of Althanas for decades, can feel the calling of their Infernal brethren. They take up whatever arms they can find and march towards the plains, unorganized and fanatic commoners, but en mass number upwards of tens of thousands.

From the North, the dwarven armies emerged as well. They are not only acting in defense of their mountain fortresses, but actively marching into the open flatlands of Alerar. Slowly they advance towards the gate in an organized force.

[--Challenge--]

Your challenge for Round 2 is to find a way to continue your story from the end of round 1 seamlessly into round 2. What has transpired since you ended your last round? How have you, and your new partner, come to end up working together?

Additionally, you should incorporate the factions that you had worked with initially, and how they progress towards the ending - with elaboration on the end goal.

[Elite Optic]

The beginning of their quest had been a battle of the minds. Who could they trust, and who should they hate? How would they venture to their destination? What would they do when they reached the Demon Gate? Elite was sick of asking the same questions. He preferred to get on with it and keep it simple - Get to the target, take action and move on. Sorian had been the man to remove the frustration of politics off Elite’s shoulders, this was a strong point that made them a good team.

Etherea had sheltered them for the night, the aging walls of their Inn “The Lost Sailors Widow” were enough for a single night’s rest but nothing more. They now stood on the outskirts of town as they waited for the rest of the group. The dry musty scent of the Tular Plains blew in from the north of their position, a horrid smell that Sorian saw as a sign of the death that was to come. Then, the sudden approach of a galloping horse suggested more than just a bad smell. The blood-stained saddle and adrenaline fueled sprint said all it needed to. Shrieks erupted so loud they echoed into the maze of streets for everyone to hear and drew the eyes of anyone bearing a sword.

Anyone who worked in the hillside fields came charging back into town like panicked rats running from rushing water. Sorian waded past the scrambling bodies of frightened early morning citizens, his hood pulled back and his sword drawn. They slowly walked up the path, eyes focused on the demonic looking silhouettes that formed under the burnt orange of the morning sun. Only the early risers of the morning were up to witness them arrive, but soon the town of Ethera would awaken.

“A scouting party perhaps?” Sorian shouted over the fearful cries. “One of us should wake the others.”

“Perhaps… If you consider them intelligent enough to form such a plan.” Elite took long, strong strides as he followed closely. His appearance gave the locals a fright as they tried to flee into town, rapidly changing direction upon sight of him. “Let us engage. The others will have to catch up.”

Somewhat humanoid in appearance, the first demons were quick on their feet. They were disfigured with scars and deformed with extra limbs, horns and claws that protruded from their various extremities. Some even carried weapons; dark metallic blades that curved and twisted unlike anything forged in the modern world.

Sorian glared back into the fearsome beast's blood red eyes. Raising his sword above his head he braced with both hands as the demon drove down its horn-shaped hand. It landed with a clang as the metal of Sorians sword met his attack, but before a test of strength could commence Sorian slipped under its arm and twirled into a long deep slice that ripped into the demon’s torso. It roared in what could not be determined as either pain or enthusiasm for the fight, but as Sorian followed up with a swift beheading it slumped to the floor. Sorian’s scimitar style blade was as sharp as ever, so clean was the cut that any mere mortal would have died from the initial blow.

Elite, trusting in Sorians capability, did not watch. Raising his cleaver above his head he drove the rusty blade down in an angular attack. The second demon, appearing solo in its approach, ran into its demise against Elite. The fusion of Elite’s physical force and the weight of the delyn blade cut through the demon in a single blow, shoulder to hip, before jamming clumsily into the ground.

Knowing he could take a moment, Elite watched as the demon slipped off his weapon and landed halved upon the ground. He stomped his foot into the face of the gurgling demon and smushed it into the dirt.

“Sorian… What are you doing?”

Sorian was knelt by the demon, blood filling the dirt at his knees, and ran his finger against the crudely bladed shards that had been forced into the horn to form it into some sort of mace. “They made it here faster than anticipated… And they are better armed than I would have expected.”

Elite pulled his cleaver from the ground and knocked on it with his knuckles .“Stop wasting time… There are more demons to slay.”

Elite stepped away to engage further combat, the few citizens of Dark Elves that had evacuated the surrounding area were back within the town, but with no walls to protect Etherea only the town guard and any armed locals could protect the rest of the populace.

—---

Elite and Sorian laid waste to the demons before them, effectively defending from the front as they waited for their colleagues to make an appearance. Gradually the rest joined the fight, but there had been little time to converse, as the sheer amount of demons that were making their way to Etherea was no small number. The idea of Sorian’s scouting party seemed far-fetched at this point.

Elite paused as he found a moment. Blood dripped from the rust of the cleaver and the bodies of the lesser demons lay at his feet. Even with Sorian’s youth-like agility he could not avoid the staining spray of the rotting blood from the demon corpses. Their new allies, Leoric and Emi, still separated by the demon horde, battled not too far from their position - using a thick stone wall of a large house to protect their rear as they thought side by side. It was thanks to Emi’s boat that they were able to be here for this battle, without it any slower ship would have been arriving today, probably to a besieged or destroyed settlement.

“What a mess… There’s simply too many to stop this town from being overrun.” Sorian wiped his blade clean with some spare cloth.

“Are you get…” Elite paused his response as he turned and cleaved another demon into the earth. “Are you getting tired?”

“As spritely as I am… Age has its limits…. Plus, while I see Emi and Leoric… Where is Mr Veritas?”

[Storm Veritas]

Madness.

The salty sea air still behind them still meshed with the foul, sulfurous odor of the Tular Plains ahead. Their journey was moments old when this idyllic treasure hunt had yielded to chaos. Demons were darting about all around them, perhaps a half dozen that had chased the bleeding, bedraggled group of novice adventurers back to port. The travelers’ horses chuffed desperately as they pounded by, rearing when they reached the grounds as if about to die. The demons pressed on behind them, insanely kicking tufts of dust with each footfall. They seemed blood-lusted on the kill, savagely and uniquely obsessed with the notion of finishing their hunt. How long had they chased these poor travelers? Five miles? Fifty?

The portal is open. There will be hundreds of them, maybe thousands. If these few get back to the larger group, they’ll report a story of a vulnerable port, full of a hundred mead-fattened and soft targets. A port full of ships… including MY ship, with MY women.

They’ve all got to die.

The mercy of this initial volley laid in the humanoid nature of these demons. Storm had met far more vile and terrible creatures than these; they looked like wider, thicker, slightly piggish variants of human. The first one that dashed by was six and a half feet tall, no less than two normal men wide, and perhaps four hundred pounds. From a half mile, it was unmistakably demon, but nothing too monstrous. He lumbered like a bipedal rhinoceros, long and lunging strides that moved slowly as he chased the horses toward Storm, who had become separated from the others when the desperate evacuating travelers raced by. When the first looming goliath reached a hundred yards, the wizard crouched and gathered himself into a tall, ready position, speaking with poise and confidence.

They can’t get to camp, and they sure as hell can’t get out. We need to finish them quickly, and get our boats off the docks. They don’t get to run away.

A wry grin crossed the wizard's face, listening to the satisfying crunch as he twisted his right foot into the thin layer of red sand above the crust of the plain. He looked to his left, seeing that Sorian and the great bone man had begun tearing through a small pack of demons.

This other small pack though was his. Storm squeezed his long fingers into the bony fists that emerged from his trenchcoat, a series of loud pops resonating from the knuckles. He felt his body channel the power, that light, crackling sensation of channeled energy.

“Head’s up! Cover your ears… Sorian”

Veritas avoided losing his concentration at the predicament of the earless skeleton, instead watching the bull charge of the demon in front of his little pack.

Of course, this matador had a special type of sword ready.

At twenty yards Storm Veritas released the whirlwind, a twisting, arcing blast of white and blue lightning that simply eviscerated everything above the shoulders of the snarling demon. It wasn’t a splash or a splat sound, but rather a horrible booming noise that left the body rolling limp and hapless to a smoldering heap before them. Secondary tendrils flickered out from the initial impact, seeking the metal chestplates of three of the four demons left and knocking them down.

The fifth demon was frozen as Storm leapt towards him, a cobra striking with shocking and unexpected speed. His metal soles propelled him forward into a pounce, and kicked down on the collarbones jointly like an eagle striking a hapless perch. The sickening crunch of yielding bone was followed swiftly with a dagger pulled cleanly across the throat. Demons were a very different type of creature, but their wiring wasn’t altogether unalike. Thick, burgundy fluid poured openly from the arteries in the neck as the wide eyed demon clasped fruitlessly at his fatal wound.

The wizard stood above his fresh kill, listening to the gurgling sounds of desperate choking and gasping beneath him. Although the magician wasn’t without mercy, he was wholly unaffected in the business of killing demons. The terrible blackening stains of demon blood upon his expensive trench coat filled him with enough disgust to propel him forward.

Three left.

The demons were rising quickly, roaring in some horrible primitive barking language at each other as they began to circle the adventurer. His magic was feeling drained from the tandem attacks; he was still good enough to get one more, but worried that the power of these terrible animals would overwhelm him. A holler to his old friends carried urgency along with it.

“Sorian, Elite! Maybe a little less time cleaning your swords, a little more helping?”

-Are- they friends? Why would they bother helping me?

Time would tell, and the clock was ticking as the trio of demons banged their metal weapons and barked at each other in fury.

[Elite Optic]

Sorian immediately perked up to the call from his comrade at arms. Loyalty was no issue; when it mattered, he was there. While there were those he did not trust and did not wish to, there was no issue with his once worthy opponent of the Citadel. Sorian launched into a swift march, each step filled with a determination to reach his ally in time. He almost lost his footing as he stumbled over the loose stones of the path. A brief touch of his hand on the floor to stop the tumble, he did not falter and arose to his feet with purpose.

“Arrrrrrr!” Sorian roared through his teeth like a beast as he charged up behind the closest of the demons. It was enough to grab the demon’s attention as it caught a glimpse of his threatening lunge from behind. The creature lashed out with its grotty arm and claws. Sorian almost crashed into it as his weight came forward - the connection knocking them both off their feet as they fell into a cloud of up-turned dust.

Sorian’s blade escaped his hand as he landed with a thud. A brief moment of daze hit his eyes as he stared up into the sky. He rubbed his eyes, coughed and gave a quick shake of the head. His sword lay just an arms length from him as the demon began to stand.

Frog-leaping across the floor, Sorian gripped his sword as the demon attacked, the first attack tearing up the floor behind his head. Sorian elbowed backwards into its face, the blood smearing into his robe as its nose buckled. Then it’s second hand grabbed his sword hand as if to fight for the weapon itself. Sorian rolled and pulled the blade away desperately, the resulting scramble quickly lifting the demon over him, pinning him to the ground.

Sorian felt the pressure of the demon. It twisted his arm and aimed the blade towards him, its muscles bulging in power against his old tired arms. Unfamiliar with his situation, Sorian felt his mind panic at the slow push of his own sword towards him. The beast pushed now with both hands.

Swiftly kicking between the legs Sorian aimed for the groin. Yet as the blow landed, the demon did not squeal.

No balls?!?!

“WATCH YOURSELVES!” Storm’s voice called out with great haste.

In that very moment the air filled with an electric energy. Sorian’s hair stood on end as he felt the air pulse with power, and the ground shook with a rush of wind as Storm’s magical energy continued its destruction.

As if to energize Sorian, he pushed his blade to one side, letting it stab with the demons weight into the floor. Then, while off balance, Sorian pushed his boots into the gut of the demon with all his might. The battled-for blade now a hinge with which to help flip the demon over Sorian and onto its back.

Reaching down to his belt Sorian grabbed his dagger, then while still laying upon his own back he thrust the small blade into the demon’s forehead. Again he stabbed in desperation, again and again and again.

Elite, distracted by Sorian’s predicament, had paused while they scrambled in the dirt. Unclear if this was a moment where he needed to intervene, a sigh of relief escaped him as Sorian dealt the winning blow.

Turning to look at Storm, a smoking pair of feet stood paced out in front of him and his hands still sparked with blue and white snaps of electrical power.

Heh, obliterated… eh… duck you idiot! Following Elite’s snicker was the sudden realization that the third demon now approached at Storm’s rear. Turning his cleaver upside down Elite with haist postured into a throwing position. Reacting instead of shouting Elite threw the cleaver like a spear, not designed for such use it looked somewhat clumsy and tilted as it traveled through the electric sparking air of Storm’s attack. Lodging itself with a meatly thud the cleaver protruded from front to back, stopping the demon in its tracks. Hahaha, that was excellent!

Rising to his feet in another moment of calm, Sorian recovered his sword and wiped the dark demonic blood off the dagger before belting it once again. He looked around, noticing Elite’s air fist bump and then in the background the others. He knew they needed to get together quickly as being separated with so many enemies was not wise.

Sorian coughed and cleared his throat as Elite recovered his sword from the corpse. “Being this far apart is not tactically sound. I highly suggest we remain together.”

Yet even as Sorian spoke those words he could see Cazri pointing back into town. The Dark Elf was directing some orders, seemingly sending them back towards the docks, but at this distance it was impossible to hear her, or read her lips.

[Storm Veritas]

Things wouldn’t slow for long, but the moment of silence after his last kill was an unnerving moment of ease. Storm heard the soft whisper of air escape the lungs of the demon he rose from, wiping his dagger off on the side of the leather strappings that mounted metal plates upon his prey. They hadn’t helped much for the demon, and were useless for much else now that they were stained with the acrid smelling fluids which bubbled sickeningly from the felled foe’s chest cavity.

You motherfuckers are even grosser dead than you are alive.

The wizard stood with a sneer, feeling aches from a litany of spots upon him. A deflected blade had grazed his shoulder; his arms trembled from the work and hips and knees were sore from his rapid pouncing. He could still certainly move with the lethal speed that had helped him rise to power, but the pains of age lingered far longer now. His back also groaned with dismay at all the torque he had introduced, which did not bode well for the long ride ahead. Still, there were more pressing matters at hand.

If a skeleton could smile, the looming goliath was beaming. This abomination was made for war; he seemed wholly satisfied with his work, having killed a few demons swiftly. Sorian, the more reasonable of the pair, wore a blend of relief and fear upon his face that seemed altogether familiar.

Cazri had directed them inland, and offshored their boats expeditiously. Bringing Storm a horse was a shrewd move, if only for her own self-preservation. He was no damned good twenty miles back, and at his age and level of degradation, it was highly unlikely he’d be able to keep the pace. Worse, Demons could run them down if they weren’t on horseback. Elite could easily pace with them; his strides were long enough that a smooth gaited stride was the speed of a cantering horse.

The horizon was clear for the moment, but the wizard’s eyes continued to squint as he imagined new packs of demons emerging as little black silhouettes. The plains were long and flat; he could hallucinate a lot of terrible things over the miles ahead. Worry plagued him as he tried to gently ride his able horse, gently adjusting in the saddle as he tried to recenter his satchel behind him. It was clear from his stolen glares that Sorian felt unsettled by the helpful elf, but for the life of him Veritas couldn’t pin down why.

Poor poker face, Sorian; we’ll have to gamble sometime. Not today. Focus on the real threat. Need to stay away from any new packs coming in. Only takes one mistake against these shitheads to end it all.

The cold air blew across their faces as they began to move, carrying that awful sulfurous scent that reminded Storm of fouled eggs. It wouldn’t be long until they grew nose blind to it, and at this point he longed for the ignorance. Annoyed by the quiet, he began some chatter.

“Thanks again back then. I think I’d have been okay, but better not to have found out. How about you two? Didn’t catch you with my little shot across the bow, did I?”

Sorian offered a polite if unexpressive acknowledgement. Elite merely nodded, as though the magician would deign to understand what he meant. Better, Storm thought, to not understand and fake it than risk upsetting the beast. Allies were in short supply, and it was a near miracle they had escaped the first volley as cleanly and healthy as they were.

“And you? For all your work in saving the ships and our asses with these horses, it looks like you were able to escape combat. That’s good; we need you alive.”

The silver haired dark elf snapped back at him. “Just because YOU don’t see something doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. I took out one of these monsters for my trouble. I also had to put down a woman in camp that had been attacked by the demons. She was beyond saving.”

Cazri’s gaze drifted over the horizon, which was now lighting up more brightly as the morning sun grew taller. It seemed impossible they had all endured so much so early today, but that was the fact of the matter. They still had hours before noon, and long miles to travel. As for the elf, the sadness in her eyes told of a woman that had lived for hundreds of years and not seen such horror. She had walked a fortunate path upon Althanas, but the magic ride was over.

“It’s… it’s never easy.” Storm’s tone slowed now, free of panache or bravado, but rather offering empathy. “The three of us, we’ve seen war plenty, and it’s terrible every time. I knew when they mentioned the portal that there was a chance our expedition would include death; I’d be lying if I didn’t say it shook me every time a battle ends. How many times we walk the tightrope. How easy it would be to slip.”

He expected he was not heard by Sorian or Elite, as the winds lowered much of his voice for him. Either way, it was nothing he’d be willing to walk back.

“You’ve already proven very valuable; I meant what I said.” The traveler raised his right hand again, removing the glove and letting little pale blue tendrils of electricity dance across his fingertips. “It’s easier to be brave with the curse, here.”

Cazri seemed somewhat unmoved by his gesture. “That’s just it. You three were chosen to come here because of your magic. You arrive conquering heroes, without a thought in your heads for what people here think of you. Because you’re not from here.”

“But MY people? I told them of my dreams, my visions, and they think of me as a witch. I’ve seen this all so far, and it hasn’t helped anyone, I couldn’t stop anything. They wouldn’t listen to me when I said we’d need the dwarves. They cast me out here in my home for alluding to the possibility that the elves alone would need help to stave off the red ones.”

Her eyes were welling, although her tone remained steady and stoic. “They hate me for doubting them, when I’m just trying to save us all. That woman I killed in Etherea, she looked at me and begged me for the end, and all she could say was ‘I’m sorry, Cazri.’ How does that help either of us?”

Sorian and Elite joined Storm and staring upon Cazri for her admission of possible precognition. It was hard not to gawk at such a claim. Veritas chose to believe her, for pragmatic purposes.

“Maybe I do believe you. What else have you seen? What do we do?[/i]

Cazri rubbed her face, clearing any tears as though it were no more than winds-carried silt. Her gaze caught Storm, a known liar, but found him to seem earnest enough. Survival was a hell of a motivating tactic to rally around. “We ride north, staying east of the portal. Meet with the dwarves first. We need their axes, and more importantly their machines, if we’re going to have a chance.

“If what I saw is what’s actually coming, none of this may matter.”

[Elite Optic]

Sorian had mixed feelings about leaving the others behind, even if everything was secure back at Etherea there was no way the others could catch them up now. Elite could care less about them and the truth was that they were not part of the original plans, it was always supposed to be; Cazri, Elite, Sorian and Storm. Emi, their ride to Alerar, was just that, a ride. Leoric, a thoughtful hero traveling to do the right thing - to stop the uprising of the demons. Neither were truly ever meant to be there, and with organizations such as the Penumbra Syndicate involved random adventurers were best steering clear.

Still, even under orders to help destroy this gate, working for an organization had it down sides. Sorian suspected they had not been told the whole truth about what was going on over here, and with his own secret orders regarding Cazri, he held his own secrets. So far Sorian had held his tongue about his feelings regarding Carzi’s actions and opinions, and while she rode close to Storm it only helped to frustrate him as his mind wandered with theories.

What is she saying to him… Sharing private information about this mission… bitch… Telling him a sob story? Giving him Advice? Asking if he’s okay from the fight? She’d rather I died I’m sure… Maybe they are planning against me… Sorian’s train of thought was broken with a deep cough, the dry air, sometimes filled with the sulfur like sand that blew with the wind, dried his throat like an internal desert.

“You’re quiet.”

Sorian carefully took a drink after Elite’s comment. Even at a slow trot, riding a horse and drinking at the same time was not easy. A few splashes escaped, pouring over his chest like a child’s first attempt at a drink. Embarrassing. “I’m over-thinking. I think.”

“As always. You’ll have plenty to think about when we arrive at the gate.”


Sorian continued regardless, a small gap opened between themselves and the other two allowing a conversation to be said without being overheard. “They suggested, strongly… That she is masterful at getting what she wants…”

“Why does that matter? The end result is the same regardless of what she does.”

“Because…” Sorian scowled with frustration, he needed Elite to think ahead. “Mr. Veritas makes a big difference here. He’s powerful… we both know that.”

“Ah… The Citadel… Memories…”

“The point is… that if she gets him onto her side. Then it could be a serious problem.”

“What makes you think he isn’t already?” Elite cited a problem that Sorian hadn’t thought of.

A grimaced look crossed Sorian’s face, quickly followed by an instinctive motion to scratch his beard back to a relaxed state. “Valid point. Maybe something we should question. Yet I don’t believe so. From what I’ve learned his motives are entirely his own. Money.”

“Regardless of other peoples additional motives. Selfishness can only go so far before it’s stopped. We’ll destroy the demon gate, then we’ll deal with her. It’s that simple.”

The journey across the plains and hills passed much faster than they expected. Sorian held his tongue for now, it wasn’t worth making a move to get Storm until they knew more, and while he believed that Storm would support them when it mattered - making the approach at the right time was vital.

Elite could only maintain a certain speed over such a large distance. The breaks in between travels made for a good time for the weary horses to rest, and Elite would always stand guard as they slept or rested. More hordes were sighted on the horizon but their destination was not to engage hordes as a group of four, but to meet an opposing army that could help match demonic power with physical resistance.

[Storm Veritas]

The warm rub of tobacco smoke filled his lungs as the wizard reflected on their ride. It was morning, and once more the sun was just rising on their left, possibly casting long shadows their way from the great demon gate. Two very long, stressful days, and two brutally cold, terrifying nights. The sulfur smell was gone now, but so was the pleasant, almost citric scent of the tobacco. He was tired; he wouldn’t concede the fear that had led to short nights, or the tricks that were required to keep them safe. More than a few more days like this without a true rest and he’d break.

While riding atop his horse, Storm had learned that the thin dust atop the plains carried heavy iron content. This was fantastic news for him, as he could lift and swirl the sands into rolling clouds before them, hiding them from moving bands of demons. Twice the first day he had used this little trick; it was a brutal, taxing effort that exhausted him every time. Still, it was effective, and looked foreboding enough that it kept the visitors away. The swirling winds would hide any ambient noises of the clinking metal on Elite’s neck, or the nervous braying of the horses. The wizard had no idea how far out they’d need to be for the demons to smell them; so far, so good.

But we need to reach the dwarves soon. The packs seem to be getting bigger, with larger numbers and even some of the wolves. Still, I doubt bitching will go far here.

His eyes stole a glance of Elite, who marched ceaselessly, miserably, and without complaint. Elite had been their salvation. At nights, when Sorian, Storm, and Cazri shared the tent to combine their warmth against the long, ripping cold wind that tore across the plain, Elite simply sat sentry outside, his bony dome scanning endlessly about the horizon, focusing on the northwest and the location of the terrible gate. Several times he would jostle the tent with his enormous hand, sending Storm out quietly to survey the landscape in the moonlight. One such awakening would be a band of demons that required aversion by way of sandstorm; the next would be simple packs of animals looking to pick carrion. The animals quickly turned tail when they laid eyes upon Elite Optic.

The demons that had started showing last night rode large wolves. These shock white, awful looking beasts presented a new danger. They’d no doubt be fast, likely faster than the horses, and Veritas intuited that they could smell close to the skill of the dogs. He wasn’t sure how the sulfurous fumes would affect them, but decided it would be unwise to presume their sense of smell was diminished.

Instead, we choose constant terror. What a delight.

The little trek had been quiet for some time, and the trio of mortals looked haggard. Perhaps the troubled nights and scary days had successfully shaken the three riders. Storm was convinced Elite was scared of nothing, but then he knew the great skeleton could also re-assemble and animate once more even if battered to pieces. Stakes may be lower for the big guy. Ignoring that component, he spoke in a firm, even tone to Cazri. He’d unbare it a touch.

“Can’t take this shit too much longer. No fire at night, wide open and vulnerable, always on pins and needles. Sleeping like hell with the cold; I thought demons would fare pretty poorly in the cold?” He let his words linger to the elf; it was a show of deference to her age and wisdom. Elves were not immune to flattery.

“Is that a question?” Cazri, unamused, stared forward. Her retort was met with silence, and she acquiesced to the suggestion. “Demons don’t feel much of anything, best I can tell. It does slow them down, though. They’re big, and run hot, and the night’s cold doesn’t suit them. Based on the stars last night, it can’t be more than three hours. Then we should start meeting with the dwarves; I suspect our latitude may be well north of the demon gate by now, but we still have a little movement left.”

“Never soon enough, but good news.”

He pulled his pipe to spit upon the ground, clearing his nasal cavities of the backup that had accumulated in the cold. The water casks on their horses had another two or three days left in them; it was a pleasant surprise that they had made better time than expected. A good thing, too, based on Sorian’s seemingly declining demeanor. Storm tried to offer an olive branch with his inquiry.

“And you? How are you hanging in?” The inquiry to the Bone Titan’s familiar was a mix of real concern and skeptical prodding. The glares Sorian reserved for Cazri were icy; there was something bubbling under the surface that created a terrible tension, particularly in the night within the small tent.

Sorian returned a knowing gaze to the wizard, pointedly shooting his eyes back and forth to Cazri, silently informing the wizard of the anonymous subject.

“Well, we’ve all got problems, right? Looking forward to getting out of the saddle and cleaning up. Could use a proper meal and less of the salted meats. A tall stein of ale would do me well.”

Another dart of the eyes back and forth to Cazri, who was presently ignoring Sorian. His answer was throwaway nonsense; he was sharing his suspicions once more without tipping his hand to the elf.

And here, Storm had thought his fellow human incapable of subtlety.

[Elite Optic]

Corone, the day they gained notice of the Demon Gate.

Sorian pulled up his sleeve, hiding the scars from his experienced body, and began tying the button and loops of his shirt. He closed his eyes as he could feel the fabric brushing against his many life experiences; battle scars, accidents, memories and mistakes. Each filled him with a strong sense of nostalgia.

“WOAH! What made that one?!” The young boy asked excitedly.

“That’s when I asked someone too many questions!”

The young boy gaped before Sorian gave him a soft pat on the head followed by a teasing smile. Then after taking a few uncertain steps backwards, the boy ran out of the room.

“Sorian…” Her young voice called out. It was the lad’s older sister, leaning against the stone of the door frame in a clean blue dress. “You can be so cruel.”

“Delina my dear, neither of your two siblings seem to understand the meaning of privacy. Always breaking in and waking me up in the mornings.”

She laughed knowingly and knocked back her dark hair before moving over and sitting upon the edge of his bed - her grin still present as she posed as if to show off her new dress. Older than her brothers she was in her teenage years, but still full of innocence and youth. She was the only that Sorian had really connected with. “I guess with us young-uns it must get annoying.”

“New clothes? Expensive.”

“YES!” She exclaimed loudly, “mother said it’s for special events only. But I couldn’t help it. I had to try it on! Does it look good, yeah?”

Sorian smiled at her, she was beautiful, still young and growing, but in time she would most certainly attract a suitable husband. “Yes, quite lovely.”

“It has these tassels that come down the arm, and if I hold them, they do this!” She held out her arms and like wings the extra foldable fabric opened up under the arms and drew in his eyes. Marked with white flower and petal designs it looked fit for a princess as it connected from wrist to hip.

“My, my. You look wonderful my dear.”

His compliment was quickly interrupted by the opening of the front door. It creaked absurdly loud to the point not even a thief could have snuck into this house. Delina almost froze as she heard her mothers voice call in having returned from the early market stalls. She looked at Sorian and then without a word dashed out of his room holding onto the dress to keep it off the floor.

Sorian continued to get ready. He wouldn’t say anything to get her in trouble and planned to forget anything about a blue dress. He straightened his plain clothes, attached his belt and scabbard and slipped his faded green cloak over his shoulders. Then headed downstairs.

“You know I don’t like it when you bring your work to the house.” Meridith spoke out candidly. Delina’s mother was always blunt and honest, even with the difficult things. “It’s one of the terms of your stay… I’m supposed to kick you out.”

Feeling confused, Sorian paused for a moment and looked around the family room. There was nothing different, just the same seating, dining table and kitchen merged into one decently sized main room.

“Ermm…”

“It’s on the table. A letter for you. Handed to me as I arrived back from the market. I had my hands full with baskets and the little man slipped it into my fruit when I wasn’t interested.” Her hands rested firmly on her hips and her eyebrow raised as if to wait for an apology.

Sorian opened the letter, slipping his finger under the sealed fold and tearing it. Unmarked he already knew it was work, so did Meridith and while her glare moved onto her work load. She stomped a little harder as she walked. He had promised her that any work relations would remain separate while under her roof. His extended family were happy to shelter him, but she hated anything with swords, knives or fighting, and Sorian had unfortunately lived a life of it.

He scrunched up the paper in his rough, dry hand and dropped it into the dying kitchen fire. He had been summoned by the Penumbra Syndicate, and while it stated no explanation or information, its destination was always the fire. Secret organizations do not like evidence left strewn about. He wandered to the door rather sheepishly, he never liked upsetting his family, even if they were only distant relatives. He had no other.

He coughed, and then felt the urge to cough again. The chesty sickness had been bothering him for a little while now, and it was just getting worse and worse. He cleared his throat and then grabbed a quick drink to swill around his dry mouth.

“Have you not been to see the doctor yet? I swear by the god of the skies if you pass anything onto my children I’ll kill you myself!”

“No… I haven’t found the time.”

Then make the time. You’ll be surprised by what they can do.”

“Yes. I’ll see one on my way back. I can’t imagine I’ll be gone too long.” He paused by the door as it creaked open for his exit. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“I’m not interested in apologies, I want actions, they speak much louder than words and would be promises… Are you not retiring yet?”

“Retiring isn’t really my style….”

“Great.. well keep it away, please. Oh, and your skeleton friend is still sitting in the barn. Please take him away for the day. He scares the sheep.”

—----

Sorian felt the stiffness in his bones as he clenched his hand. His dry dusty fingers were cold and most certainly old, and it was only then he realized the addition to his scar collection. Running from the back of his hand and up to his wrist, it was a long one, and must have happened in the brawl at Etherea. He ached so much he hadn’t noticed his new mark. The cold wind of the plains had really taken an effect on him and even with pulling his cloak over his face, it seeped into his lungs and hurt his chest. He coughed again, hard this time as he placed his hand firmly over his mouth to muffle it. Then, he sighed.

Cazri, at this time riding closest to him, gave a slight glance in his direction. A small acknowledgement ticked in her mind as if to suggest this cough was a sign he was too weak and old. Sorian could feel it in her eyes, but as she turned away and moved into a more leading position, he had no moment to speak up.

Finally they were arriving at their location, moving off the lower plain and around a rocky ridge they finally moved into a position where Storm’s dusty aid was no longer required. The horses made short work of hilly terrain and then revealed before them by the ridge, camped an army of dwarven might. Nestled in amongst the grey rocks tents and temporary structures; dwarves, armour, weapons, more horses, carts and other mysterious siege like weapons that Sorian had not seen before.

Wow… She really has been busy. What possible connection could she have with this army?

[Storm Veritas]

The Tular Plains seemed to come to an abrupt end where the dwarves began. The high sun shined brightly on the forces before them. This army was sprawling and confident; it seemed as if the omnipresent Demon threat was little more to them than a showcase for their weapons of war. The troops stood short in stature, of course, but spread wide, at least five thousand foot soldiers with a few thousand more on horse. Worse, there were simply enormous vehicles at every turn. Large, spiked wagons with heavily shielded noses rolled on robust iron wheels. The air here was heavy, filled with a thick coat of coal and soot that descended over them all, like a sour mist. The thick little fellows were largely unaffected.

By the Gods… what have you walked us into, Cazri?

Large firing devices were locked and loaded, looming over the soldiers ominously. They held massive arrows as long as two men, and as thick as a torso. The giant barbed head of the thing was even more intimidating; it was two feet wide at the base and came to a sharpened, shining point that looked fit to pierce the earth itself. All of these machines - and there was no less than forty of them - included coal powered engines mounted upon them. These terrible machines appeared dreamed up in some other dystopia.

“Cazri, what in the seven hells it this?” Storm’s call went unanswered as the dark elf charged forward on her horse, met by a roaring little dwarf that rode proudly on a quarterhorse that looked more like a clydesdale in contrast. As they spoke, a convoy of twenty cavalry rode from both flanks to surround them, the front horsemen blowing trumpets that bellowed a triumphant tune.

“The promised ones arrive! And not a moment too late!” The white beard of the first representative jostled as he spoke, flakes of ash and soot liberating themselves onto the generous belly that festooned atop his little belt. “Well done Cazri! With these two we’ll roll over the gate!” His tone lowered to address only Cazri.

”A small detour on our path to Ettermire, and real justice!”

Storm felt his nostrils flare, but kept a straight face. He’d won huge sums of cash keeping cards close to the vest; a string of unanswered questions filled his mind as the trumpeting cavalry escorted him (with or without his approval) towards the front lines of the welcoming dwarven army.

Why do they want us?

Did Cazri know all along that we’d come to her?

How is the crown involved with all this shit?

Are they taking -Ettermire-? Did I hear that right? What?

Fat little palms clapped him on his back - soldierly dwarves with hands off their swords and big smiles on their doughy, bearded faces. Their armor was all iron or steel; the thought rose in the mind of the wizard that he could make a definitive example of one of these soldiers should he wish to send a defiant message. The raw numbers of the army (and number of horses, and vehicles) warned otherwise. Desertion was death - perhaps even for the big skeleton.

“I’m sorry - do we know you? Storm Veritas, of Whitevale, South Corone.” The wizard offered an empty hand, which was eagerly met by one of the jovial warriors.

“Me? Gods, no, engineers and simple soldiers don’t make much for fame around here! Fjor, of the Blacktar family. Pleased to meet you fine warriors, after all we’ve heard.”

With this, Storm smiled back, crows feet popping at the sides of his eyes as he feigned obedience. He shot eyes briefly as he continued his toothy grin, catching the bewildered look of Sorian.

He doesn’t know what the fuck is going on, either. Good company.

“I’d do for a tall mug of ale, if you have any. Not sure what you’ve heard of us, but humans get plenty thirsty and dwarven beer is famous Althanas-wide.” The diplomatic magician stole another long look at the army around him, hearing the clanging and banging of machine work as dozens more of the little men were hammering away on the ass end of one of the larger, death-bringing vehicles.

Dutifully, the little Fjor motioned to an even smaller fellow, a dwarf amongst dwarves that Veritas estimated to be an adolescent, perhaps akin to a page. Fjor made a drinking motion, followed by holding up four fingers - not exactly the most shrewdly codified secret language. Fjor reared back to speak loudly once more.

“Of course! You’re all legendary in these parts! The wizard with the lightning hands, who can bring power to our newer machines, and the fighting tandem of Elite Optic and the swordsman Sorian! You boys set your feet up and relax for a spell - you’re the final links in our magnificent chain here!” The little fellow practically vibrated with excitement, even as the duo of Cazri and the white-bearded emissary came back to greet them, with squinted eyes and stern looks.

Behind them, Storm focused on the back of the vehicle from where the clanging had echoed. Two large steel bars were wrapped with coils and capped with copper domes. It was a conduit of some sort, no doubt designed to harness electrical energy. In front of the machine, a massive metal helmet ominously lay atop the vehicle.

So they plan to use me as a glorified battery charger to overthrow the most important city in Alerar. Beautiful. That helmet is too big for any man; the hell do they have up their pudgy little sleeves?

[Elite Optic]

Sorian stood in disbelief at what they presented before them, everything he had seen before him was beyond anything he ever expected. Weapons he had never seen before but were clearly designed for destruction. He tried hard to hide his expressions of shock and awe. He had seen many armies over his years, but he had never witnessed such features of technology before.

The brief message he had been given before his departure was now feeling inadequate - they were never overly verbose, but now it was feeling that even those that provided his mission were misinformed. Cazri’s facial expressions were a mix of pride, excitement and supreme confidence - her nervous demeanor from the past few days of travel had now disappeared.

Elite had remained silent, thankfully, without muscles in his face he could hide any visual feelings towards this moment from any prying eyes. Under his bony shell was not fear or shock, it was curiosity: what was all of this, what did it do, and what did it have to do with them?

Fascinating… The minds of those under who desire to reach further than they are destined to. I can see it now… blood, bodies, death, war and a path leading upon it all to the end. But who travels this path?

“We have more planned for the three of you than you would ever imagine.” Cazri interrupted Elite’s train of thought as she proudly began her presentation that she had been waiting to introduce for so long. “Elite, Sorian, please follow me. Storm, please follow my associate until I catch up with you momentarily.”

Sorian coughed, lightly this time as Cazro began walking Elite towards another tent. The many bodies of the Dwarven army parting like a river cutting through the earth. He looked up at Storm, his eyes full of an emotion he could not announce through fear of those around him. He stared directly into his eyes, concern for the future was clear, but without the ability to pass on his thoughts this was the best he could do. Then, he turned and followed Cazri once more.

“You probably imagined that we were just marching with swords and shields. I know that’s your style. However we are much more sophisticated here in Alerar.”

“Well you are full of surprises.” Elite tried to focus on where they were heading, but it was hard to ignore the many Dwarves that stared up at him, full of excitement and awe of his presence. Though exactly why was not yet clear.

“Never play your hand too early.”

Approaching a obnoxiously large marquee style tent, two Dwarves appearing to first guard the entrance, pulled on two parallel large ropes, opening the entrance to them as if they were kings. Initially ducking under the door Elite could stand upright inside, the tent structure as much more than that once inside. Decorated fabrics lined the walls, mahogany tables and giant gold lined candles lit up the room. Why such wealth needed to be displayed in such a place was unclear at this time, but it felt unnecessary to both Elite and Sorian, and gave them internally a inadequate feeling; they certainly weren’t dressed for such luxury.

A fancy looking Dwarf of equal luxury stepped out before them, wearing a robe that hung off him like it was designed for someone much bigger, but the quality was not in question. His thick hands slipped out from under his robe arms and wided in greeting to them, his fingers decorated with rings and gems, he smiled.

“Friends! Welcome to the beginning of your future!”

Sorian stepped forward politely and held out his hand. “Greetings, my name is Sorian.”

The Dwarf stroked his grey beard momentarily and then wrapped his fingers around Sorian’s outstretched hand. “Yes, I’m sure you are.” He smiled, making only brief eye-contact with Sorian and then looked up to Elite - he looked strangely excited.

Elite peered down at the little man. “I don’t shake hands.”

“I’m quite sure you don’t, but I’ve not had you brought here to shake hands. I’ve something quite extraordinary for yourself. And I’m very much excited to get your input. My name is Aratmus Barrelborn. I am here to offer you power, not just within my army, but within my Kingdom to be.”

“Go on.”

“The world is incredibly unbalanced, and there are many now who see the wisdom in paying for my rise to power. I have more plans than I could ever share with you… But in all honesty, it is not something you need to know, nor would you care to know.”

“I would be interested in knowing.” Sorian interrupted, shaking his hand in the air as he tried to get the Dwarf to look in his direction.

“Well. Maybe that would be a story I can share with you another time. For now it is not important. So I’ll cut to the point and get to my prized asset. I need you for one very good reason. You, my good Sir, are dead.”

“Your observation skills are remarkable.”

“When this technology and power became available to me I was not sure what it meant. I believed it was a power that was too dangerous to keep, and thus, I was going to destroy it. Little did I know that someone like you actually existed.” He looked Elite up and down, stroking the rough of his boney leg down with his fingers as if to admire it. His eyes constantly and firmly locked onto Elite as if he was obsessed. Sorian had only seen such obsession from men when a woman was involved, but this man was not envisioning a woman in this obsession.

“Aratmus.” Cazri, who had remained leaning against a wooden pillar, stood upright and interjected. “Would it not be easier to show them than explain. Describing such a feat of power…. It just doesn’t do it justice.”

His now crazy looking eyes blinked as he took his focus off Elite’s structure. “Yes. Yes. A demonstration is in order. Besides, I would like to speak with the wizard.”

“Mr. Veritas is waiting outside for you anyway.”

“Yes, I can have my private conversation with him afterwards. I want to see him marvel as this wondrous invention.”

Sorian’s instinct screamed to get out of there, he was terrified of what was happening. So many different scenarios ran through his head, and there was nothing he could do. Nothing he could say that wouldn’t put himself into a worse position. For now, he had to just go with it.

The proud Aratmus walked to the army's admiration, they clearly believed and followed him, and many bowed or tipped their head as he passed. Cazri walked alongside him, appearing a trusted advisor regardless of her different race. How she had gained such a position alongside the Dwarves was a question that circled in Sorians head.

They soon returned to the strange device that they passed earlier, Storm remained waiting patiently but perked up to their presence. He did not look as fazed as Sorian did, and that only continued to make Sorian feel ever so more alone within this sea of dwarves.

“Mr. Veritas!” Aratmus called out, his open arms wide as if to invite a hug. “We have much to discuss, but little time in which to do so. So before I take you aside, let me use your gifts to present my demonstration. Cazri, please show Mr. Optic what he needs to do.”

Storm was invited closer to the device while Elite was ushered up and between the copper domed pipes. He walked up to it, intrigued, the base was on a simple platform that could be wheeled along with the army, but unlike a catapult the steel struts and poles that raised up were not attached to rope and wheel mechanisms. Elite had not seen such a thing before, and with no fear of the consequences he climbed up on the wooden base.

“Take hold of the mask, then stand between the poles.” Cazri called out leaning over the edge of the wooden base.

Fearlessly Elite stepped forward, resting his giant sword on his shoulder rack, he collected the strange metallic mask. Formed to look somewhat human, but with wires protruding out and into the base of the steel poles beside him. It had eye holes which somewhat limited his vision, but no other facial holes. He inspected it, there were no clamps or straps of which to tie it to his head, and while the steel dome inside wouldn’t be comfortable for a mortal, it fit perfectly for his skull.

“Bring the demon!” Cazri shouted out unexpectedly, and both Elite and Sorian peered over to watch as several heavily armoured dwarves dragged at poles length a demon. The tight nooses around its neck controlled its movement, forcing it to its knees before the device and pinning it down in the yellow dirt in submission. It’s veins pulsed, its mouth frothed and it’s eyes glared out at all of those around it. Like a wild beast it looked ready to attack at the slightest hint of weakness, something the armoured dwarves did not show.

“Put it on, Elite.” Carzi shouted up to him.

There were so many questions to ask at this point, but Elite did not want to ask questions, he wanted action, he wanted to know what this was all about, and the best way was to learn by doing. He raised the mask up and slipped it over his skull and almost instantly felt it cling to him, a strange feeling struck him, it reminded him of the warm sensation of heated water being poured over his head. Hidden beneath the magical silence of the mask, Elite could not hear the actions besides him. Storm erupted a powerful wave of electric energy, pouring from his hands like an erupting volcano from the dull earth. The two copper domes lit up, sparking and almost exploding as beams of blue and yellow electric light streamed through the sky. Everyone stepped back from the electrical explosion and then silence fell upon them all.

Elite's vision seemed to black out for a moment, a solid darkness slowly brightened as the various colours of the world returned to him. The red of the demon's blood, the brown of the copper domes beside him, and even the dark blue of Cazri’s skin as she stared up at him. The sound of a voice echoed in his head, rough and deep, it roared for help, it roared in an effort to fight, and it was filled with an enduring anger that did not wish to quell.

I can hear you. I can feel your presence without speech. Stop.

The voices of those around him dampened as if they were under water, and only the demon’s thoughts before him became clear. The dwarves released the nooses under Carzi’s command and the demon looked up to Elite who stared down like a giant to a wild mouse. A strong urge to control overcame him, the inner feeling like he could talk to it, control it, lead it wherever he wanted. It was under his control. What was causing this sensation?

Kneel before me.

The demonic beast stopped flailing around and kneeled before him as he commanded. Elite could feel the hate coming from the beast, words of rage and anger still lingered in his mind, and yet it still followed his command.

Kill yourself.

To everyone’s surprise the Demon placed its hands either side of his head, low and high, and twisted sharply. The loud snap cracked, making a few cringe at the noise, and then it collapsed. Sorian’s mouth gaped, his eyes never leaving the dead body of the demon. Why did it do that?

Elite removed the helmet, the sound of the real world returning to him, cheering Dwarves shouted around him, followed by the almost sadistic laugh that escaped from Carzi’s smiling lips.

“You see Mr. Veritas,” Aratmus reached up and patted his shoulder. “The first thing I need from yourself… is to do just that. The sheer amount of power that we need to do it alone is too time consuming, whereas you can produce this far, far easier. However, I have even more than that planned for you. Please follow me back to my tent. We have much to discuss.”

Sorian felt so small right now. Not only had the plans of Cazri been beyond what he had ever expected, but the Penumbra Syndicate had clearly underestimated what was going on here. Had he come here simply to die?

“You look surprised?” Cazri leaned over Sorian, her prying silver eyes trying to read his every thought.

“I think it’s clear that you don’t really care about closing the gate… Maybe you don’t even care about the sword.”

“Oh, we care about the sword, but while others think so small, we plan bigger.”

Sorian coughed again, the recurring chesty cough getting sharper and sharper into his lungs, so much so that as he pulled back his covering hand, a bit of blood smeared his palm.

Cazri did not miss the sight of blood on his hand, and proceeded to wrap her arm around him in a fake display of caring. “Don’t worry. Old age hits us all, you aren’t really needed here anyway.”