Justice depends on your perspective

[Sorahn]

It was turning out to be a miserable night.

Rain poured on Radasanth like a torrential cleansing; washing out gutters and drenching all who dared to venture outside. Sorahn walked calmly down the deserted streets, water dripping from his soggy fur. He listened to the soft hum of millions of tiny drops hitting the ground, the splash of his feet stepping in the puddles forming in the street. He normally enjoyed these things, but for some reason, he was not in a particularly good mood. The dreary weather, of course, didn’t help, but the cause was deeper. He wasn’t sure why, but he simply felt bad.

It was a few hours after sundown and particularly dark with the moon and stars shrouded by clouds. He trudged his way out of the city gates, navigating a very familiar road leading to the small town in the mountains where he resided; where the Gol’Bron resided. What light there was began to fade as he left behind the lamps of Radasanth in favor of the tall trees of the mountain pass. Soft thunder rolled in the distance as he stamped down the now muddy dirt road.

He was looking forward to being home and relaxing by the fire with Rehnahlia in their newly completed house. Tonight was an excellent night for just staying inside and unwinding. Perhaps a good rest in the warmth would lighten his mood.

He rounded a bend in the road and looked into the distance. He knew he was getting close when he spotted a portion of the town on the hill. But something was wrong. There was activity; much more activity than normal. He broke into a jog as he turned the next corner. That’s when he saw it. Several buildings were on fire. Oh no… Nyris come at once!

He sped up to a full run as he approached the town gates. It could have been an accident, but he feared the worst. When he finally reached the gates he stopped, panting, and looked around. Everything was chaos. People were running around, looking scared to death. Then he spotted some of his men running past, weapons drawn. Turning a corner around a burning building he saw his men locked in battle with other men he did not recognize. These foreigners were well armored and armed, and showed considerable skill.

His mind went into a blur. He couldn’t think straight, and realizations came in waves. The men were dressed the same. Several were lighting the fires that engulfed the buildings. They destroyed everything they touched.

Suddenly one of the men darted past him. Acting on instinct, Sorahn quickly grabbed the man, whirled him around, and pulled him close. A black spear appeared in Sorahn’s hand in a cloud of smoke, and he held the long side blade to the man’s throat.

“You have three seconds to tell me what the hell is happening here before I end you!” Sorahn yelled to the man’s face, coming dangerously close with his sharp teeth.

The man looked mortified, but slowly his expression changed to a sly grin. Sorahn’s eyes narrowed, and he glanced around to see that he was surrounded by five men, all with their weapons drawn and pointed toward him. His lip curled slightly, and he released his grip on the man, and his spear disappeared as quickly as it came.

Suddenly he realized that all the men were soldiers. The one he had let go brushed himself off, retaining his pleased grin. “You have to be Sorahn un’ Rohnahmeh.” He said slyly as he reached into a pouch on his belt and removed a scroll. Unfurling it, he cleared his throat and read aloud.


It has come to the Empire’s attention that the Gol’Bron, a guild operating out of a small town outside of Radasanth, has been practicing numerous trades, gathering raw materials, and selling finished products, without the express written permission of the Empire and without paying proper taxes on all aforementioned items. It is also rumored that this villainous clan has been involved in numerous nefarious criminal activities, and may be related to the traitorous Red Hand group of several years ago.

Therefore, the Empire has no choice but to use force to eliminate this threat to society, preserve the peace, and protect the citizens of Corone as a whole.

Signed,
Viceroy Emien Harthworth
Viceroy Sivien Arundiel
Viceroy Athenry Sergio

[Mutant_Lorenor]

November 20th CP 1805
4:00P.M.


Success (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=8720) was bittersweet. On the one hand, his recent victory in Salvar was a testament to the growing cleverness of the small warrior. On the other, it had come at the cost of forgiving a former enemy (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=6278) encountered twice (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=6616). The ghoul chased his foe until finally, Lemmerz Xer'Xan ended up becoming the new King of Salvar. Right underneath all of their noses. This left the ghoul with a vile taste in his mouth.

The horse was purchased several days prior once the ghoul left Salvar to continue business with the Red Hand. Making sure that events in Y'hanz Zaar were left in full swing and completely operational, the ghoul returned home to Corone on a summons from Sorahn. Sorahn ordered Lorenor to return home via the mans of a parcel addressed directly to the ghoul and sealed with the official markings of the Red Hand. Lorenor knew it was official Red Hand business that called the ghoul back home. Completing his affairs in Salvar for the time being, Lorenor joined the first ship heading back to Serenti.

The whole voyage took a couple of weeks from Salvar to Corone on ship. It was an uneventful passage and the ghoul kept mostly to himself. He'd made sure that he fed properly before the trip and had a huge feast on one of the tundra's many large predatory beasts. Lorenor purchased himself a horse upon his arrival at Serenti. A busy port city, Serenti was home to the famous Serenti Invitational. Large fort walls surrounded the bustling metropolis. The ghoul quickly left the port city to return to the town that he called him. His black smithy and the golems long awaited his return.

As a journey back towards the mountains, a couple more days on horseback passed. He passed this trial without incident. Leaving Serenti behind, the ghoul noticed that the weather took a turn for the worst. Riding up towards a town nestled near the mountains was a treacherous act even for a skilled rider. The ghoul pushed his horse through the slosh and mud. Horse's hooves pounded the slick layer of mud. A sudden rain storm caught the ghoul on the second day out on his trip and the rains never stopped ever since.

Looking up at a night sky without a moon, the land was bathed in an age of eternal darkness. A second age of darkness. The ghoul felt slightly confused since there wasn't a burning red star anymore. Naye, that star was apparently a hallucination since the Dark Mother's prison lay on Althanas' single celestial palace, the moon. Lorenor observed the night and saw that everything was bathed in pitch blackness. All of his senses combined together to allow the ghoul to better obtain a general knowledge of his current direction. Sounds and smells guided Lorenor through the darkness.

He wasn't that weakling ghoul that first graced the hallways of the Gol'Bron so many moons ago. He remembered his first meeting with Ranger Nailo and Sorahn Un' Rohnahmeh. The ghoul thought back to that time (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=5803) with a fond memory. With the darkness everywhere, the ghoul felt a complete existence. Empty sockets contained an amethyst glow that flared out from the epicenter as the dark rider guided his beast through the wild. He was coming up to the mountain range now. His journey took a sharp incline across a well trodden road. Catching a familiar scent through the heavy sheets of pouring rains, Lorenor knew that Sorahn came through this way not too long ago. He followed that same path until the town of the Gol'Bron became aligned with his immediate peripheral vision. He wore his hood tight about his person, and the fist of the Red Hand was emblazoned brightly across his vlince cloak. Horses hooves pounded through the mud as the skilled beast pushed onwards.

Lorenor saw smoke in the general direction of the town and heard people screaming in agony. The ghoul drew his weapon and prepared himself for imminent battle. The Endless followed him in a special container he'd put the the creature in which was attached to his saddle and bounced alongside his horse. Preparing for the battle ahead, Lorenor purchased himself a new sword at Serenti before he headed out. It was a plain old Steel Masterwork sword that would be used as a back up weapon should things get out of hand and Lorenor became unarmed again. Thunder struck in the distance and his blade flashed with the color of the natural light. Moving towards Figment's position, he released the creature into the night and it immediately went for the horse that he was mounted on. There was a tremendous cry from the horses' muzzle as the beast felt Figment begin to overtake him. The horse went mightily up on its hind legs thrashing against the Endless, but somehow, Lorenor held onto the his reigns. The horse developed a darker hue to its coating and its eyes burned a deep red. The heartbeat became faster, and muscles bulged out with strength and fury. Lorenor commanded his newly acquired organic weapon through the mud and he pounded the earth. Ahead of him, the ghoul saw a familiar figure surrounded by unfair odds...

The ghoul approached the battle deciding it was high time to become an equalizer. The strangers wore uniforms he did not recognize...

[Witchblade]

The soldier was just beginning to roll the parchment back up when the sick sound of something sharp cutting through flesh rent the air and a pain unlike anything he’d ever experienced before tore through his torso. His surprised eyes first glanced around at his men, only to find that they weren’t looking at him. They were all still looking upon Sorahn as if there was nothing wrong. Looking down, he saw the fires they had set reflect off the surface of a blade sticking out from the left side of his chest. Crimson drops of his blood began to bead off the tip of it and fall to the hard packed dirt at his feet.

Coughing, he began to feel the blood invading his lungs and throat, causing it to spurt from his mouth and slither down his chin. Just as suddenly as the blade was thrust into his back he felt it slid free. Reaching up with one of his hands, he pressed it against the wound only to feel an expulsion of air through his fingers and the blood that came with it. His head was starting to feel light and places across his body were beginning to go numb. It was such a weird feeling. The heat of the flames around him lessened and the words of his men seemed as if they were miles away, like they were talking to him underwater. He knew they were asking him if everything was all right, but he found himself unable to answer. As his vision began to blur, his legs gave out from his weight and he slipped to the ground, the impact was barely more than a slight jarring of his limbs.

As he fell, a shadow rose behind him. The fire that ragged behind the person left them completely overshadowed and cast in nothing but black. The only thing that was visible was the bloody dagger clutched in their pale hand.

Witchblade smirked as she heard the last beats of the man’s heart echo in her ears. The eyes of his men were all focusing on her now and leaving Sorahn to his own devices, just as she had planned. No one attacked her leader and got away with it, not while she was still breathing. Feeling the need to spill more blood rush through her system, the halfling tensed her legs a split second before she launched herself towards the closest soldier. Her body was a blur of darkness as her cloak billowed around her, concealing most of her form from their view. Even her face was hidden in the shadows of her cloak.

With her superior speed, she covered the small distance of only a few feet in roughly a second, leaving the soldier no time to react. One moment she was a few feet away from him and the next her body was pressed up against his as her dagger buried itself in his gut. Warm blood spilled down across the guard and onto her hand, staining her gloves and armguards, but she didn’t care. They were already covered in the blood of so many; one more would make no difference in her mind. She heard a gasp of surprise come from his open mouth as his eyes went wide. Digging the blade in even further, she heard the gurgle of his own breath in his throat just before she ripped it out of his side, allowing his innards to freely fall from the open wound and to the ground below. His hands desperately clutched at his stomach as he fell to his knees, but there was nothing he could do to save himself. He would be dead in less than a minute if he were lucky.

“I appear to be a little late,” The halfling said, her telepathic link left open so that any in the immediate vicinity would be able to hear it, including the three soldiers still standing around her and Sorahn. “You have my apologies, it was a long trip back from Dheathain…”

Witch had not been in the Gol’Bron town since she’d lost herself in a series of events she still didn’t understand and killed five soldiers she had been growing rather fond of. The incident had left her feeling unworthy of staying with the Gol’Bron, not to mention she thought it would be better and safer for everyone if she just left for a while. That was over two months ago and yet already she found herself back here. Not particularly because she wanted to for she still had not solved her daydreams, but because she had been summoned.

Stepping over the now fallen body of the human, the halfling turned her crimson eyes on the last three soldiers. They reflected in the light of the fire as she spun the dagger between her fingers, flinging blood in an arch in front of her.

[Ranger]

((This is post-solo (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=446)))

The night was silent, but held an uneasy sense that drew over everyone within the still new town of the Gol’Bron. Ranger sensed it, but could not find a single reason for it. Alone he wandered the empty streets of the town. Normally the soft lights of the houses, the laughter and the chatter of the town’s denizens, and the rain would have comforted him. The Red Hand was something more, something better than it had ever been. They had lost the Pandemonium’s Fist stronghold, as well as the outpost that rested by its entrance, but had gained the permanence of a true city. Never before had they held their own town, never before had they tried though either.

Glory like they had held in the past was being reestablished through the wills of the members of the Red Hand. Each person had pushed themselves, and under the leadership of the Ranoan, Sorahn, things were slowly being rebuilt. The prophet was pleased, as pleased as he had ever been. Yet, that unwelcome unease still taunted him, played with his thoughts. Something was off.

It wasn’t until he rounded a corner that the sense came to light. The streets were being spanned by a large group of cloaked men. Some held torches; all had weapons waiting at their sides or in hand. The drow was unprepared for what would come, no weapons waited at his side, and his mind was hardly prepared to handle an attack. He did not let that stop him though. He knew he needed to find his way to his own house, where his weapons waited, but the streets contained an unknown number of assailants. Ranger also had little idea of who they were, where they had come from, or what their intentions were.

Slowly he backed away. He never moved his eyes from the skulking group, but quickly found out they had spread out more than expected. Ranger did not even have time to turn towards the noise behind him before he was struck…

The brunt of the blow dropped heavily against the base of the prophet’s back. He felt a pop, felt a sharp pain flood his body. It rose through his spine, tingling and throbbing, flooding his head. Before he knew what happened his head was spinning and black spots were dominating his vision. The blow had come as a complete surprise. The last thing he remembered thinking before dropping heavily to the rain soaked ground was questioning what had happened… who had struck him in the town of the Gol’Bron, home?

~*~

Thoughts flitted through his unconscious mind.

Drifting in the silence his mind was alive, his subconscious escaping, unhindered. Visions danced behind his closed eyes, as if the Thayne were giving him a reminder of where he had come from, what he had gone through, and the backdrop of the problem that threatened to unravel all the work the Gol’Bron had done. And, despite his will to rise himself and find out what had happened, a will that pulsed through his mind, he was helpless to do little more than wait.

Corone was an ‘empire’ divided. It’s once docile ways had been shattered, pieces had been scattered to all corners of the island nation. The civil war that raged had placed the majority of the island in a constant peril. Where the peril was absent, safe zones for the two sides, domination of everyday life through militaristic demands was present. None were at peace. Everyone was living a day to day life wondering what would come the next day, fearing that the war would come to their doorsteps and absorb them in a conflict they wished nothing more than to be rid of.

However, the Gol’Bron was never absent from conflicts on the massive island. Years of budding power as the Red Hand had come to fruition, sending the powerful group into a state of dominance. Once they had been the head of all powerbases outside of governmental, they had woven their wills with those of the people and assumed their position at the head of the island. Few would have stood against them in those times, be they of the Coronian government or lesser groups of power. Those that willed to demolish the powerbase were snubbed quickly; those that rose in power were either torn down or absorbed into the group’s ranks.

At one point the Red Hand had assumed control of the Bazaar. The war had been blessed by the Thayne themselves, allowed through the long standing alliances with the Bandit Brotherhood. Corone had not been split in those times, had been a solid power and an impressive one too. Even in those times, they had been powerless to stop the dominance of the group, loosing control of the Bazaar and giving over the rights to Corone’s most powerful shopping district to the Red Hand. Perhaps it was for that reason that the split government had taken time and power away from their defenses against each other, and instead focused on the Gol’Bron.

They feared the group, they feared the rebuilding, they feared what may happen if the group rose to its former power on the divided island. Anything was possible, especially the utter destruction of the Coronian Empire and the coupe of the Gol’Bron. However, it would take much more than in the past years. It would take more than throwing money at the problems, paying of mercenaries and governmental officials. It would take the perfect harmony of the group, the willingness of each member to do their part, and the blessing of the Thayne…

[Wizo]

It had been sometime since Wizo had gotten back into his little cabin in the middle of the wilds. He was not too surprised that it was not ransacked. Nobody was sane enough to come out in the middle of the Corone country side for no good reason. Despite his distance from the populace of the island, Wizo had means of getting information via messenger birds. Luckily for him, one was scheduled for today and he would know if any news about the Salvarian Civil War.

The civil war was getting tense and Wizo had to take a few jobs to upkeep his house. While he got little money out of it, he did get major leads about Otano relics. The mass amount of information from his last job seemed to show a circulation in the black market. This will mean trouble for him in the future, not just the orbs he found, but whatever else that lay hidden from the hidden temples in Althanas. He also recalled entire libraries in these ruins. The books contained too much information on his people, forcing him to burn a good number of them.

While he did burn most of the books in the libraries, he did retain a few of the most important ones including lores, history and technology. These books now fill his cabin shelf, which Wizo enjoys reading when he returns from his jobs.
As Wizo looked around his cabin, he noticed the silence of it all. “Quiet. I may need a pet or something.” A simple thought, though the fear of starving an animal quickly got that out of his mind. He would consider the birds pets, but he only feeds them when he sees them, and they have other customers as well. As he began to organize his items from his travels, a small pecking sound came from the window near the front door. Wizo laid his bag down on the floor and walked over to see a small bird with a letter in its beak. Wizo opened the door and took parcel from its mouth. “Thank you. Your food should be at the usual spot. Hope you enjoy it. ” Wizo said to the little white bird. The bird just nodded and flew away to get its payment.

Wizo sighed for a moment as he opened up the letter. Only few people knew where he lived, and how to contact him. He began to read the note:


The time has come for you to meet with Sorhan. I hope you have chosen a Thayne to serve under, if you have not though of one, and then do it before you get here. You are about to be a full fledge member of the Red Hand, I expect you to act with some decency on your visit to our town of Gol’bron.

Sign
Lorenor

Wizo smirked. “My dear friend. I already have chosen a Thayne which I will falsely serve. I believe Jomil tolerable” He gave a chuckle to himself real quick and began to repack a few things with him. Jomil to him was easy to serve under. One was that she was a free spirit, no main temples exist. The places of interest for worship were not hard either and he would visit them when he had the time.

Wizo began to pack provisions for the journey again. He really wished he could stay but after his oath to Lorenor, it could not be helped. He thus began to travel to the main city of Radasanth. The trip was long, but he had enough food and water feed him for the trip. He passed a few people, the norm for him. Always someone hunting or digging something up around the country side. Though that was still a ways from his house and he never worried about it that much.

The last time he passed Radasanth was when he headed to Salavar for his last mission. This time, he would not even go through those gates. He just needed to go to the town of Gol’bron quickly. He was told that the region was treacherous by horse or foot. Wizo could see the rumors were not lying. He dared not jump like a mountain goat on the rocks, as they seemed loose and drenched enough as it is. “The Red Hand must be insane to build a town in such this Gods forsaken place. By Pele, this is insane!” Wizo screamed out. His legs were covered in mud and it seemed to just make this journey worse for him.

As he steadily kept trudging throw the dirt road, he saw an orange glow coming from the distance. “Finally, I can at least get something to eat.” Wizo said in a deep sigh. As he pushed even harder to get to Gol’bron he saw men, women and children flee as he came upon a burning town. “.. I seem to have this kind of luck. I wonder where Lorenor is.” Wizo said as he entered the burning town.

As he pressed into the inferno he noticed an array of bodies lying on the floor. Near them he saw Lorenor among other people in a group. He was unable to make who or what they were, but he figured that time will tell them. He began to half run to the Lorenor, showing a bit of a rush in the situation. Wizo needed to see a familiar face, be it dead or otherwise. “Hmm, I see that I came at the wrong time. I didn’t expect my first visit to be in flames. I am sorry for my lateness Lorenor; living out in the wilds can delay you in the means of mail. ” Wizo looked at Lorenor, waiting for a reply, but his eyes kept jarting to the scenes of the town. His mind wondered off to what was behind this.

[Tenki]

In the large blacksmith building in town of the Gol'Bron, Tenki was up and about trying to find a good spot to watch the sunset. As of late he had entered a sleep pattern he hadn't had since before the academy, sleeping till early afternoon and staying up till around dawn. He found himself outside his bedroom in the second floor gazing from one of the windows, he paused and considered it all. He had begun to see this place as home over the month or so he'd been here, or as close as he was willing to call it. He'd traveled with Lorenor many times shortly after his arrival here on Althanas, and despite the self professed hybrid's greed and own skewed view of the world, he found himself caring for the being as a friend. After all a friend was about the only thing he had left on this world besides himself and Luin. He'd also figured minor hints on what happened to the research ship he'd been with. Near as he'd been able to piece together, he and the ship ended up in different points along the time line of Althanas, but he had yet figured out where the remains of the ship lay, or how far back it had really been. His travels also eventually lead to meeting with Sorahn during one thing Lorenor has asked for his assistance with. In the aftermath, Tenki had been offered a place and job amongst the people here. He wasn't quite sure of what all it meant just yet, considering the town was just now becoming easily recognizable as such. But it gave Tenki some comfort just to watch the city. Somewhat impartial to it all but still glad to have some part in all this. More than anything he knew the Gol'Bron wanted power and technology. Things he could feasibly help with he knew, but it would mean going against one of the directives of his home world unless he tread very carefully. He knew the odds on that were low, but it couldn't hurt to be optimistic along those lines. But if he could help them, they'd return the favor. Especially with the clout Lorenor seemed to hold, at least enough to get one of the major buildings in the town under his supervision it seemed.

Tenki looked down at the pendant around his neck.. Luin. His closest friend, ally... and at the same time, a constant remind of his difference to the people around him. As much as he acted nice and happy around the townsfolk, he couldn't help but feel out of place and it bothered him. "Sir, you are not alright?" Luin piped up in the middle of his introspection, and caught Tenki off guard. Collecting his thought back to himself, He shook his head. "Nah, I'm okay. Just thinking about home is all." "I do the same thing." This caught Tenki a bit off guard as well. He'd been caught up in himself and never realized that Luin would have the same troubles. "That's right, you'd have been overdue for maintenance if still back home. How are you feeling?" "No troubles to report. Self repair systems have kept me adequate." "Good. Hopefully I'll be able to come up with something soon to take the strain off of you." "No trouble. I'm upholding my end." Tenki broke a smile at that. "You certainly are partner, you certainly are." The two both went silent at that, and Tenki went back to his room to work on some of the notes he'd been keeping.

Upon entering the small room he was using he took a quick look around. As much as he enjoyed the hospitality, he was still slightly distrustful of some in the Gol'Bron and always took a moment upon entering and leaving his room to give a once over for any signs of tampering. He hid his notes well, but it didn't mean they were unfindable. He kept them in a false bottom he's personally learned to woodwork in the small dresser in the room. One of only four bits of furniture in the room besides a bed, nightstand and slightly out of place sat a small two person table and set of chairs he'd asked for. The only true oddity was the lone quill and inkwell resting on the table. He'd set the table near the window in his room so he could look out at the mountain with the windows open in fair weather and stay in his room to work. While this confused many of the villagers, they nonetheless waved to him when they would look up once in a while form their labors. He'd always be nice enough to wave back, occasionally leaning out and find out what was going on. The notes he worked on would have made nonsense to anyone else looking at them anyway, since Tenki had written them entirely in mid-childan script. The notes, as he continued to refer to them, were a series of musing he had over the level of technology on Althanas, what was widespread what was uncommon, what was impossible... all of these notes served a dual purpose. First of all it helped Tenki to catalogue the world's progress, and second it allowed him to work out what exactly he could help with. The first thing he'd been able to spit out and Sorahn had asked him what he could help with had been an Engineer, a designer of things. As such he was trying to uphold his end and had made these notes a guide to himself as ideas for basic improvement he could suggest and walk them through working out how to implement. Tenki went to the table and lit the lamp in his room with a match from a nearby matchbox. with the room well lit once more, he went over to his dresser and removed the notes from the false bottom, returning to the table and the objects sitting on them to continue. He'd finally gotten some suggestions picked out for some fortification and structure strengthening that we wanted to present to Sorahn upon his return and would need to transcribe them from his own mid-childan notes to tradespeak, which he'd finally gotten the hang off both in speaking and writing. He noted the storm clouds moving in from over the mountain, but paid them no head. other than closing his window prematurely.

A couple hours later Tenki's attention was wrestled from his notes by sudden screams of torment and sounds of chaos. His eyes unfocused for a moment as he looked up form the papers in just as long. Hearing the sounds of the rain from outside on top of it all, he quickly stuffed the papers away in the dresser once more before open the window slowly to avoid being noticed if the trouble was close.

Close nothing, the trouble was here. The light of fires and smell of smoke was all around. People were running, no, being chased in the streets by soldiers. as their homes burn. While his own place may be safe from burning, being designed as a smithy workshop first and foremost, it didn't stop some of the soldiers from trying. Although they really didn't quite get why it didn't burn as other did. Further away Tenki could just make out several of the Gol'Bron at odds with the soldiers. Tenki quickly turned and closed his window once more, picking his thick, heavy duster jacket off the bed and slipping it on as he went out his door and out onto the gallery the connected the lower floor where the metalworking was done to th second floor, where Tenki and a few others lived. Fastening up the duster jacket and pulling up both the hood and the face guard piece, as much to cover him from the rain as to hopefully spook the soldiers some, Tenki quietly spoke up. as he began down the stairs. "Luin, we've got work to do... Set up." "I'm on it, Set Up." Going down another few stairs, Tenki reached out as Luin's shaft materialized in mid air in front of him, by the time he'd finished going down the remaining steps on the small stairwell, Luin was fully corporeal in its Lancer Form, A spear like battle staff nearly the same size as Tenki himself with a split bladed tip and a large jewel like core towards the end.

Tenki emerged from the smithy just as a lone soldier was coming around the side of the building, Tenki quickly brought the butt of the staff up into the unaware soldier's exposed face, which stunned him just long enough for Tenki to pull back and hit him harder once again. Bone crunched as the man's nose broke and he fell back, writing in pain for a moment before going still. Unsure as to if he'd killed the man by sending his nose up into his brain or just knocked him out cold, Tenki paused for a moment before catching very shallow signs of breathing form the man... out cold it was then. Turning on his heel, he made his way towards where'd he'd just made out the other Gol'Bron gather. For good or bad, this attack needed to be repelled. He would not lose himself another home.

[Sorahn]

Rain fell on Sorahn’s head in sheets. It dripped off his fur and slicked his black hair. He stood perfectly still as the soldier read the parchment, paying close attention to every word, each one filling him with more hatred. His muscles were tense, his fists clenched. His sensitive ears were filled with the sounds of burning houses, screaming women and children, and the clash of blades, all dulled by the steady din of the downpour of rain, but still sharp in their meaning.

His people, his town, the life they had hoped to build for themselves were being crushed underneath the boot of totalitarianism. All because some self-righteous and self-proclaimed dictators had decided that they had become an obstacle and needed to be dealt with: a speck of dirt that must be removed from the white veil of perfection which covered the reality of servitude. The greed of man is completely unfathomable.

His teeth were bared, his breath coming faster. All the while the rain continued to soak his matted fur, building a puddle of mud around his feet. He could tell the smug soldier was gaining much pleasure from his anger and misery, which only made him angrier.

However it was not long before the sound of blade on flesh pierced the air, resounding in his ears like a cannon blast. It was the sound of retribution, and it was swift and merciless. A satisfied grin formed on Sorahn’s face as the soldier fell to the ground, landing in the puddle of mud with a loud splat. In his wake stood Witchblade, holding a blood-soaked dagger.

And now… you shall feel the wrath of the Red Hand.

With merely a gesture, Sorahn released a powerful shockwave which shook the very mud. All three soldiers that remained were knocked off balance, and the battle was over before it started. Instantly the black spear reappeared in Sorahn’s hand, and in less than a second it was driven into the first soldier’s chest. Blood flew from the soldier’s backside as the black blade passed completely through his body.

As he fell to the ground, the black spear slid out of his now lifeless corpse, leaving a trail of blood behind. With blinding speed, Sorahn spun and brought his spear in an arc, cleanly removing the head of the second soldier. Like moving art, he followed the momentum of the spear in one fluid motion, executing perfect form. The blades whirred as the sailed over Sorahn and descended on the last soldier’s head, cleaving it with a sickening thwack. The Ranoan stood with his spear in the man’s skull for a moment before hearing the splash of the second soldier’s head hitting the mud.

With a firm jerk he removed the spear, letting the soldier’s body collapse to the ground, and began slowly walking into town. All around him the streets were lit with the flames that laid waste his way of life. Death and destruction engulfed him like water. Making his way into the center of town, he saw hundreds of soldiers. They had come in force, and now were busy gleefully setting fires and chasing women. He walked slowly into the very center of the town square. All around him he could see soldiers, performing various acts of wickedness; each one filling him with a rage beyond the fires of hell.

“HEAR ME NOW, VILLAINOUS BASTARDS!”

Sorahn yelled at the top of his lungs. One by one the soldiers turned from what they were doing to set eyes on the Ranoan. He stood like an angry beast, covered in mud and the blood of his first victims. His teeth were bared and he held the black spear firm in his hand, bloodlust in his eyes.

“The blade of reckoning falls upon your heads, and it will be wielded by a Red Fist! Let it be known, that the Red Hand seeks WAR! Vengeance will come swiftly and it will leave a wake of destruction beyond measure! As for you soldiers of wickedness, I bid you leave quickly, or I swear, as Ronah is my god that each and every one of you will die by the crushing retribution of the Red Hand, and may the Thaynes have mercy on your soul, because lord knows I won’t!”

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Since his departure from Salvar; the ghoul had learned a great deal many things about power and the nature of his dark abilities. His goals were the goals of the Red Hand and he sought to improve their way of life greatly. The dark rider gave himself an ulterior motive and was deeply concerned about the safety of his shop. It was well built and could serve as a fortress for those who knew to use its safety. Riding powerfully atop his nightmare through the ongoing battle; Lorenor was mostly concerned with securing a safe place to attack from.

They needed one basic base of operation. When Lorenor saw archers sitting in the rooms on the second floor of the shop; the ghoul grinned. The Thaynes bless those quick witted Black Hand warriors. They holed themselves up in the smith shop under the guidance of the Golems. When he heard one of the warriors attacking towards the southern quadrant of the town; Lorenor made his way towards that portion of their home. He could feel the hooves of his companion beating the earth powerfully. The nightmare made a powerful familiar taken over by the ravaging forces of the endless.

Lorenor held on to the reigns due to the increased speed and agility of the horse. More than double the normal capacity than the riding beast of burden could ever hope to achieve on its own. Aided by supernatural forces; the horse became a devastating monster. Once he obtained his objective; Lorenor's position was now on the southern side of the smith shop. Just as he had suspected; the golems were holding off the soldiers that were attempting to come too close to the shop. Refugees could make their way into the shop and be welcomed by Red Hand and Black Hand warriors. A series of arrows and bolts made their ways into the crowd of the soldiers as they were preparing to mark a counter offensive maneuver.

Lorenor admired how quickly the Red Hand and Black Hand was able to mobilize their available units in a desperate situation. They were physically up against the Corone Empire now. War was the inevitable outcome. The ghoul made his way towards the thick of the battle. His weapons were charging and preparing themselves. He saw his son; Number 5,325 and a group of companions bravely facing off the horde from the Corone Empire.

He noticed Witchblade fighting alongside Sorahn and knew that the other did not need his assistance. Only the people needed him. Lorenor had developed a profound greed for the safety of his hometown. They are attacking my home! Lorenor noticed that the Golems had dropped their disguises and were wielding their natural weapons. You are screwed now soldiers of Corone. The Paladin of the Golems is upon you now! A pox upon your houses! Lorenor thought angrily as he made his way to the position of the Golems.

He stopped his horse approximately a few paces away from the thick of the battle. Preparing his crossbow; Lorenor fiddled with the weapon for a few moments thanks to the heavy rain falling upon his person. He was thankful for his cloak and gloves; they kept his body dry. Wearing his hood up; the thick Vlince perfectly protected his person. He fiddled with the weapon a bit more and luckily managed to load the bolt in the lock just right. He held his weapon up and struggled to take careful aim at what he perceived was something standing nearby. His senses were sharp; and this assisted him in the crossbow process. It was a new weapon and he had to train with it effectively in order to fully unlock the potential and grace that the weapon would afford him in the future.

Lorenor let the bolt fly through the darkness and hoped he hit something. He was standing nearby to the Golems; and his son, Number 5,325 waited for Lorenor to situate himself firmly in the conflict. "Glad to have you hear with us Father." The Golem said. Now, the Golems hailed from a small town in Corone known as Dressed Fish Town. The initial population of the Golems rested in the single digits but now there were hundreds of them.

They moved from Dressed Fish Town to their promised land; a place of living computers known as The Ark. Lorenor looked at the black body of the creatures known as Golems. This particular individual was his son; an experiment by the Golems using Lorenor's own DNA. The Golem society labeled Number 5,325 as a failure. But it was Lorenor's greatest prospect ever. A combination of his own bloodline mixed with the advanced Golem technology. Lorenor liked the idea. Lorenor saw that his son's arm was transformed into some sort of cannon that fired off multiple rounds of hot steel into the enemy. This weapon mowed the enemy down. The ghoul prepared himself tactically for the situation at hand.

"How long have they been here?"

"A few hours now."

"How many losses on our side?"

"We lost several buildings already. Most of the survivors are already holed up in the shop; the building is immune to their fires."

"Then we did our job building a safety net for the people."

"Yes."

Lorenor suddenly heard Lord Sorahn's cry. Turning his attention to the Ranoan warrior; Lorenor sheathed his crossbow. The weapon would be useless in the rain anyway. Hearing his orders amongst his Lord's cry Lorenor prepared his damascus longsword. "For the Red Hand!" The ghoul suddenly yelled and rallied those warriors who were fighting near his person. Lorenor was fighting alongside the four Golems that were at his disposal and that made him feel powerful. He never noticed it; the but the endless rejected the horse unit since it was unsuitable for combat. Seeking another host...the slick creature made its way through the mud looking for one of the Empire's units to capture.

And so began the battle at the Red Hand's Villa.

[Ranger]

The thumps of the intruding feet pounded against the muddied dirt streets, sending their vibrations to the ears of the downed drow. His long, thin ear was against the ground; despite his unconscious state he could hear the world in chaos. The sounds of the screaming, the popping of the flames lapping against unpurified wood, it all came to him and woke him with a start. Platinum eyes were given a scene of desperation. A scene that he did not care for in the least.

The town that he had established and had given his all to was going up in flame. People he cared for were panicking and being run down by the invading forces. Children were crying in the streets, their mothers and fathers fighting the monstrous soldiers that cared little for the pleading kids. Ranger stood up, shook his clouded head, ignored his pained back, and charged forward in a fit of rage.

“By the Thayne you will not destroy what we have established!” The prophet grabbed a handful of hair from one of the offending soldiers and pulled back. As the man fell he dropped his weapon and reached for his head, only to find a very heavy handed hack smash into his throat. Gurgling and rolling on the ground, he gasped for air as the unrepentant drow threw a booted foot into his face. Two soldiers that had previously been occupied by a single man turned towards the prophet. “What is your business here,” he roared as light filled his cupped hands. “Speak now, or die in your silence.”

“By order of the Corone Empire you and the clan of the Gol’Bron have been deemed an immediate threat and have disregarded multiple laws regarding the harvesting of raw materials and the taxes on the finished products. As a member, you are under arrest, and obviously resisting arrest… so must be silenced with whatever means necessary.”

The man was a bit older, obviously one of the original guards of Corone before the split between the two sides. His wizened face was worn, but the glint behind his eyes spoke of a youthful like exuberance allowed by the destruction. Ranger doubted any form of warning had been issued, or any word to allow any to surrender before the fighting. The prophet knew none would have anyway, but it proved that he Empire was by far the tyrannical group that the rumors had spoken of. The man’s stoic face drew as the other, a younger man with eyes that darted back and forth, moved towards the drow.

“I am Ranger Nailo, prophet of the Thayne,” he said as he drew his shoulders back and raised his head level. His hands flashed with light as he thrust them forward. “And you have created a war which will be the downfall of your usurping faction. Fall away, return to Radasanth and give heed to your government not to interfere with our ways. If you fail to follow my instructions and continue to advance, you will be killed.”

The two snickered, the younger ones face painted with a mix of fear and excitement. They did not stop advancing though, and that was what Ranger had assumed. His fingers flicked away from the cupped light, and stretched out full. The magic at hand exploded forward and struck the two, solid beams of light that pushed them both backwards and off their feet. Heavily, with armor clattering loudly, the two fell into a thick puddle of mud. Before they could move though, the younger was cleaved through the chest by the heavy hafted axe of the man they had cornered before the prophet’s arrival.

The older man bellowed in anger, rolled onto his hands and pushed himself up. He retrieved his muddied sword and swung at the drow. Ranger ducked, shifted, and wove his way back, waiting for an opening. Behind the older Empire soldier the woodsman was forcing the axe head free and chopping again into the boy, cleaving his head from his armored shoulders. The prophet’s moment came when the gurgled and muted scream of the boy was cut short by the falling blade. In that moment the guard let his eyes slip way from Ranger, and he struck, sending a blade of pure light through the throat of the man and out the back of his head.

“Are you alright?” Ranger asked the woodsman. The brute smiled, teeth missing but with a glint of happiness at seeing the prophet. “Good, if you have family secure them, take them to wherever is safest. If you do not, let the Thayne guide your strikes and your aim be true, for I fear this night will be soaked in blood.”

“Sir Nailo,” he said before turning and leaving for whatever path he had chosen. “Thank you for your help, and I will pray to the Thayne that you, Sorahn, and the rest survive…”

[Mutant_Lorenor]

(Sorry for my delay in this post)

Lorenor suddenly found himself in a bitter struggle. Taking up a steel longsword, masterwork in design, he clashed blades with several swordsmen bearing the marks of the empire. The Golems all had bio-mechanical weapons of choice and their large forms were concerned with getting the innocent to safety. Number 5,325 remained with his father at all times. He shot a blast of his gattling weapon right at a group of soldiers sending them flying backwards through the mud. The sound of the weapons rotations was like a symphony of destruction. Number 5,325's slick form was built for traction and thusly, his large size was quite agile. He need not worry about slipping in the mud at all, or loosing his balance. Several warriors of the Red Hand surrounded the mutant's position as well as it was clear that some sort of cohesion and rule still existed within the township. Orders were handed down from the highest echelons of power. The Red Hand's township -must- be secured at all costs. The innocent had to be taken to a safe location.

Rain poured down in thick rivulets but that did not bother the mutant one bit. He was capable of seeing the blood within each of the players on the battlefield. Glowing red, every humanoid on the field had a core within their vessel representing their blossoming heart. A higher unit represented the brain of the creature. Energy cascaded from each unit that signified the magic of life. Lorenor could see this energy at will. If it was hallucination or not, was another story. The mutant punctured the armor of a nearby warrior who couldn't have been more than nineteen. Such a waste of blood. The empire was clearly overzealous in its current set of actions. Acting quickly, Lorenor yelled commands at a few nearby guards that were acting as a make-shift militia. Following the orders of the council member to a tea, the soldiers began their rescue operation. The gattling weapon that the Golems wielded took several moments to cool down and become reuseable. Steam flowed from their arm that looked like wisps of dragons flowing in the air.

"Get the big ones!" Yelled a soldier carrying the escutcheon of the Empire. Lorenor couldn't tell them apart due to the steel helmets that they wore with visors down. It was a frantic street fights now. "Switching to armored mode." Number 5,325 said and immediately converted to a defensive posture. His body became bulkier as a second skin was activated to add increased protection on the level of titanium to his core vitals. The other Golems reacted in such a way due to a mental command as they proceeded to save all they could. Lorenor clashed blades with the nearby warrior as he was locked in a stalemate. Each blade swipe was skillfully countered with another blow and the whole world went quiet. The rain seemed far away and surreal as it fell before him, splashing mud weighed his boots down. At the same time, it weighed his normally fleet footed opponent down as well, it was a blessing from N'Jal. Arrows and bolts flew across the air and, Lorenor managed to duck one that came within his sensory array just in the nick of time. It barely grazed his right trapezius muscle.

A bruise formed there beneath the Endless that the mutant ignored for the time being. His heart was pumping acid. His legs felt like rubber, but he was pushing them well past their limits. He'd trained for this moment with the Monks of Ai'Bron and this was his personal test of survival. The rules had become kill or be killed. Lorenor wanted to see the banners of the empire burn to cinders. Water flowed in streams from his blade as it was captured along the side of the object. Weapons had various reflections of light from the eerie glow of torches. Some had their own imbued halo. There were a few soldiers armed with plynt swords and even damascus weapons. Lorenor made it a point to steal what equipment he could. He pushed that thought to the back of his mind as he fought. A loud click, suddenly signaled that Number 5,325 was ready. A second squad of soldiers had come in from the East and were engaging Lorenor and his companions. Under Lorenor's command was a squadron of at least ten defending units, including the Golems busy with their side tasks.

"Main weapon at the ready." Number 5,325 said calmly. "Fire at will!" Lorenor yelled and ducked, several other soldiers that were in his proximity ducked as well from the defending forces. His opponent took a cleaving swipe at where his head just was, and Lorenor felt pain as one of his dreadlocks were cut cleanly off. Number 5,325's hand began to rotate as several long tubes that were thick at the front emerged from the Golem's large hand. The weapon was completely powered by steam and other forms of energy. It began to rotate quickly and spew out thousands upon thousands of rounds of lethal, super-heated bullets made their way at a pre-determined speed and mass through their air. Brilliant glowing objects passed through the air and were super-heated as they smashed their way through armor melting it quickly and passing through the exposed flesh underneath. Several more units fell quickly. The unit that Lorenor was fighting was cut down due to his proximity to Number 5,325. The Golem could produce a virtually unlimited supply of ammo, but the gun needed to be cooled down in a period of at least ten minutes.

Firing the last round of bullets into the enemy units, the Golem relaxed his stance for the briefest of moments and conjured a weapon from its internal functions. The weapon was a glowing sword made of energy. It was colored a brilliant white color and boasted the capacity of being able to slice through raw titanium. A distinct humming noise filled the air as the Golem prepared for close-quarters combat. The small mutant saw this and grabbed the sword of his opponent out of the dead clutches. It was a green bladed weapon which was masterwork in nature. The mutant grabbed the plynt sword and sheathed his other weapon knowing it would be all but useless in the melee. Lorenor was frantically looking for Sorahn or Ranger Nailo. He looked at Number 5,325 and barked the order. "Locate Ranger Nailo's position!" The Golem stared ahead as his head rotated in unnatural ways. "Initiating scanning mode." The Golem's eyes began to glow a much brighter red as it watched the field attempting to locate Ranger and Sorahn's unique heat signatures.

Ranger was spotted several yards away in deep combat. A second individual that the Golem recognized as one of the locales' fellow woodsmen seemed to be aiding Ranger. He could not find Sorahn. There were too many people actively on the field to locate that Ranoan warrior specifically. If the leader of the Red Hand fell in battle, they were doomed. Though the Golem knew that Lorenor and Nailo would continue to fight until the Thayne deemed that it was their time to fall. Armed with shield and sword now, the mutant felt extremely uncomfortable holding a shield that carried the emblem of their enemy. Despite that thought, he moved forward anyway with shield before his person. Several clangs were heard as arrows and bolts struck against his shield. Lorenor knew that if not for his quick thinking, he would have been pierced by those accursed ranged weapons. "Flank them on either side. Stay in formation at all times!" Lorenor yelled as his platoon split off into two groups. Lorenor's platoon had the Golem within it, so they were able to sneak around the forces that were rapidly approaching them.

Preying to the dark lady, the mutant whispered words that would hopefully secure their victory over these scum tonight.