Bloody Coronation

[Slayer of the Rot]

"The time is now. The world is ripe to rape as we please. We'll take the chaos the world is consumed with and laugh all the way to the bank."

They walked with their eyes straight ahead. Each step was taken with purpose, drawing them closer and closer to the tools they needed to rain hell down on Althanas. The monster and the geomancer moved through the Coronian streets shoulder to shoulder, wild excitement burning in Dan's eyes. His smile reached nearly from ear to ear, stretched to an incredible length, revealing each and every razor sharp tooth in his head.

"My timing was bad before," he continued, looking excitedly at Luc. The blond man looked as calm and composed as ever, but the Saraelian could tell he was just as eager. The two's history was a long and bloody one, and they'd gained respect for each through one binding link - power. Dan Lagh'ratham had it in his body, with every beat of his heart pumping blood through his body. Luc Kraus had it in the very air and earth around him, any thought or movement could destroy a man.

"We weren't ready yet. Neither, really, was the world. But now Althanas is killing itself. The kings are weak, the peasants dying. Corone is ripping itself apart. Raiaera is being swallowed by that which it tried to forget. Salvar is bleeding itself dry with a shadow war. Fallien is under siege from the Harpies and the Cult of Mitra. All we have to do...is give it a little push. Keep the wars going until the countries are so bloody and battered; it will be like killing a newborn." It was obvious Dan was pleased with what he was saying; his grin was threatening to split his entire head in half. Whether it was that the Coronians recognized the two, or simply the monstrous glee present in the taller man, they quickly scurried out of the way. They rounded a corner and the sight of Brendeth's pub raise over the crowd's head. Brendeth had been Dan's personal henchman and crony; after the clan had been broken apart, the Saraelian had helped the man get the loans needed for the place. The pub had been popular. Not only had it been a good place to get rare whiskey and liquor, it was a hot spot with mercenaries, criminals, and others seeking out hard to find information. Dan pushed a bearded man out of their way as they approached, threw the door open, and flung his arms out over his head.

"The time...is now!" The Saraelian hesitated, his enormous grin faltering as he took in the interior of the bar. Slowly, he dropped his arms.

The place was a wreck. Not just in the sense that there were overturned tables, dirty mugs, and spilled drinks everywhere. All of that was present, but shattered glass littered the floor. Smeared blood was spattered across one of the walls; it was obvious someone had tried to clean it off, but had done a poor job. A few of the tables had been broken in half; the scars on the wood betraying an axe blow. Sunlight glittered off jagged shards of glass still clinging to the window panes. The counter was half burnt, and the whole bar stunk of ash and spilled whiskey.

Behind the counter slumped Brendeth. The short man's head was all but lost in bandages, stained red in places from fresh wounds. One of his arms was in a sling, and most of his bare flesh was mottled black and blue. Without even checking to see if Brendeth was all right, Dan stormed towards the counter, leaped over it, and vanished through the open door way behind it. He came back a few moments later, eyes narrowed, mouth drawn tight and small.

"The...the time is...not now." Dan turned towards Brendeth, his face going slack, taking in the state of the man.

"Urgh...I'm sorry, Dan. It was a couple of men in black cloaks. I couldn't see their faces. They came in at a peak hour, killed some people...seemed to know what they were doing and looking for. I tried to stop them, but I don't even know what to do with even a knife. They took the rings."

"Shit," the Saraelian muttered, running a hand through his black hair. "Scry for them. You can do that at least, can't you?" Brendeth nodded, his pale gold hair falling out from under the bandages, and into his face.

"Yeah, I can. Why do you want them, though?"

"There's work to be done," Dan replied, his smile returning.

[Cyrus the virus]

The day was young, birthed from the eastern sky that carried about it an orange glow. Luc and Dan were side-by-side once again, archetypes of their individual specialties, soaking in the stench of power and wrongness. They were more aspirational than evil, but each had more than their share of victims.

It was a day or two past when Luc had met Kially, the young Naturian boy who had surprised the mage at every turn. So innocent yet impressionable, he had already killed once while in the older man's presence, and seemed to do so with no remorse. Kially possessed magic similar to what Luc himself had possessed at a young age, and fate itself had brought them together.

Today Kially was off doing boy things; perhaps playing, studying, or just enjoying the city. Luc and Dan had reacquainted in the Dajas Pagoda, sensing that they each had been wasting time with small fry since their last endeavor as Audeamus. Time had passed, and Luc was somehow wiser. This time it was about more than spilled blood. For the time being, Kially couldn't be with them. The boy's inclusion in Luc's aspirations would be carefully weighed and considered.

The mage remained quiet as his counterpart spoke, nearly frothing at the mouth at the sound of his own ideas. Luc agreed with them, naturally, saw the wisdom behind the monster's visage, but accepted those thoughts with silent consideration. Radasanth parted before them - Dan was feared for his fearsome image, Luc for his notoriety and earth-shaking power.

Brendeth's pub's doors shook on their hinges as a gust of wind pried them open, Luc entering several steps behind Dan. A drawn-out breath escaped Luc's nostrils as his eyes danced about the place. "Miserable atmosphere," he mumbled to himself with a chuckle.

Debris thrust away from him with a sudden gust of wind, Luc followed Dan to the counter and was carried into the air, brought to a sitting position on top of it, legs dangling near the hunching Brendeth. Remaining silent, he observed the discourse between Dan and the bar owner. Watching with keen interest, Luc observed that Dan seemed somewhat calmer than in the past, when he might have killed Brendeth instantly rather than seeking aid. Admirable, perhaps, though a little more boring.

Brendeth's spellcasting was intriguing, however, intriguing Luc as he watched on.

Threads of multiple colors wove into each other from the air, glowing mildly as they formed a frame. Those colors became a solid somewhat like a basket, and in it, water appeared. "Just give me a moment," Brendeth said, fingers dancing in the water. Imagining what was to come, Luc descended and drew his blade, igniting its tip and steadily sending it about the floor.

"Here we are," Brendeth said as the water settled, showing a caravan making brisk time in a sea of sand. "Fallien?" he scoffed. "So far in such little time, I can hardly believe that."

"Fallien it is," called Luc, backing away from a circular, flaming glyph he'd carved into the floor of the bar. Expertly designed, the many rune-shaped carvings radiated magical power, and would until Luc himself used them. Beckoning Dan, the two entered through the shallow flames, and Luc concentrated.

Their vision blurred slightly and their forms shook, until suddenly they were gone in a flash of white light. The next thing Luc knew, he was frowning as sand buffeted his face.

[Slayer of the Rot]

Dan lifted a brow as the familiar threads began to sprout from Brendeth's fingers, glowing silver. He was starting with Fallien, but his curiosity wasn't levied at the man's choice. It was at the new shape Brendeth's scrying had taken. The blond man scowled as he moved his hands carefully through the water in the bowl, as the threads that composed it shifted from silver to gold. Then, from gold to red, to blue, and finally to emerald. "Have you been working on your scrying? This is new." Brendeth simply nodded intent with his work. Sighing, the Saraelian straightened his posture and looked towards Luc. The geomancer was busy as well; flourishing his thin, burning blade, inscribing odd symbols on the pub's floor.

Brendeth called out, and Dan whipped around, eyes wide and furious, staring into the thread-bowl. Within the trembling waters, still churning from Brendeth's motions, was the crystal clear image of a merchant's caravan. It was cutting a quick path across endless yellow dunes. "Fallien," Dan growled, clenching his fists. "Too fast to have gotten there by boat. One of the sneak-thieves must be a mage. That they had the mind to get as far away as possible tells me they know who we are." Luc, much more mindful of the situation than Dan, had already prepared for transit. The geomancer waved him over, and the Saraelian lunged over the counter, right into the circle.

The flames seemed to engulf them an instant later. Dan could already feel the unsettling sensation of insubstantiation set in. It was like dying, albeit very quickly, and very peacefully - you felt yourself there, in one moment, the heat of your body, the beat of your heart, the breath passing your lips. Then, it was gone, in one shuddering gasp. The feeling of being wind, of air, of space, unfulfilled. The unpleasant sensation was gone a second later, replaced with hot, dry wind, and sand stinging his eyes. The Saraelian cursed, and expelled the grains with a slap of his hand.

The geomancer had transported them into the outer edges of a mild sandstorm. With a grunt, Dan pushed more sand away from him, squinting through the churning clouds. "I don't see any damn caravan, Luc," Dan snapped angrily, raising a hand up before his face.

"I'm just going to assume you were a little off, and assume that you've never been here before. You haven't, have you?" Before the geomancer could respond, a disturbingly female shriek tore through the storm from above.

[Cyrus the virus]

"A minor inconvenience," hissed the mage, waving a hand to create a wind current with enough power to counter the storm. Powerful as he was, the elaborate winds were impossible to slow completely. While sand stopped whipping them, it still danced around to a silent song.

"One of several, perhaps," he continued, looking up to the source of the screech. Above them swerved a score of harpies, blood-red feathers alit in the light of the sun. Diving down at the sign of meat, the creatures didn't care to know where Luc and Dan had arrived from.

Luc took a sidelong dive, his feet finding wind and throwing sand about as a harpy crashed down. A gust carried him away from Dan, splitting the twenty harpies as they descended, talons rubbing against one another in hungry anticipation.

Landing, the mage threw his cloak behind a free arm and threw his hand forward, summoning a violent funnel of wind that caught two harpies. Swerving his arm around, it picked up speed and drove itself into the sand, burrowing deep down and dragging the harpies with it.

The others were among him, coming from as many directions as an octopus had appendages. Bellowing three command words, Luc suddenly became incorporeal. The harpies soared through him as if he were a spirit, some knocking into each other, others whirling about in surprise. Using the shock to his advantage, Luc threw both hands out on either side of his body, sending dozens of wind blades through the bodies of four confused harpies, mangling and disemboweling them.

Quickly as it had occurred, the Ghost spell wore off. Luc had felt it fading, so he had already begun chanting his next incantation. A harpy that had taken to the sky once more suddenly lost its balance, flipping upside down. It flapped its wings haphazardly, without direction, condemning itself to death against the sand as it drove down head-first.

Feeling the creatures were too close, Luc focused and sent a gust out in front of himself, catching the remaining three harpies' wings and pushing them back several feet. Drawing and igniting the Slykrit Blade, the mage sent starving flames into the sky.

The harpies rushed in unison, too hungry for sense. Swinging the sword with calculated precision, Luc manipulated the flames to rush forward in a horizontal arc, growing larger in the brief time it had to travel. Quick as they were, the flame was a surprise. It swallowed the harpies and solidified, holding them in place as they were immolated.

[Slayer of the Rot]

"Sky hags," Dan growled quietly, staring up into the clearer sky as the monsters circled above. They seemed to bicker at first; diving at each other in a furious flurries of scarlet feathers. The Saraelian wondered if that was the natural color, or if was the product of stains from their gruesome meals. Sighing heavily, he gave them a dismissive wave and started forward, trudging through the sand. The sun was beating furiously down upon the two, and he could feel every wavelength of the harsh white light on his black clad shoulders.

"Come on...we don't have the time for women. Even if they are just fre - “A harpy ramming into his back cut him off. He stumbled on the uneven footing of sand. A wave of irritation swept through as he noticed the stirring in his groin, feeling the monster's hot, sun darkened breasts pressing against him. The harpy's wings beat at him for a moment, talons tracing thick red lines across his face. Roaring with anger, the Saraelian reached up and locked his hands around its throat. It fell limp as he felt its spine crunch beneath his fingers.

Through the glaring sun, came another, its taloned feet outstretched. Dan's arm lashed out, grabbing it by its ankle, and whipped the monster to the ground with bone breaking force. The harpy managed a choked cry before the shining point of a meat hook dove into its neck and ripped its throat out in a spray of gore. Straightening back up, he found himself admiring the way the sunlight glittered off of the blood soaked blade. It was the weapon's first use, and it had done well.

The wind was back, whipping violently at his body, throwing his hair into his face. The heat had intensified as well, but neither was a product of Fallien. All around Luc, the harpies were dying, torn to bloody pieces or sizzled to blackened, sticky skeletons. The Saraelian grinned widely; any display of the geomancer's powers was sure not to disappoint.

The harpies seemed to decide they would have an easier time against the man in the black suit, than the one turning the very world against them. They wheeled in the sky overhead, and then dropped down on Dan's head, eight sets of talons and stinking bloody wings pressing in on him, threatening to suffocate him in their heat. Talons tore through cloth and flesh, spilling blood, and from the center of the swarming monsters came a furious bellow. A pair of hands appeared above the mass, clutching on of the monsters. The fingers had driven into the dark flesh, blood welling around the knuckles. With a heave, it was torn in two, spilling a steaming load of entrails and blood across them.

The harpies went wild, screeching and writhing in their blood orgy. A feathered headless body went sailing through the air. Razor sharp teeth gnashed and sunk into feathered flesh, and a throat-less harpy dropped to the sand. Where its breasts had been was a pair of bloody, dark cavities. With a grunt, the Saraelian bucked wildly, throwing the remaining monsters off of him. One eye was swollen shut, and he was drenched in his own blood. Most of his suit above the waist hung from him in shreds, revealing scores of seeping wounds.

The remaining five screeched in unison and came at him again. Dan caught the two in the forefront, hands wrapping around their heads. His arms flexed and shook for a moment, and then their skulls burst apart in his hands. The pulp from the last two kills still clung to his hands as he dispatched the next one with an axe kicked that drove it down to the sands, crushing its spine. Two simple plynt longswords appeared in his hands, and the last two harpies lost their heads with two quick strokes.

"Bloody fucking hell," the Saraelian spat angrily as he glared down at mess the two had made. Already, his wounds were beginning to scab over, and his ruined suit was pulling itself back together. In a few minutes, he'd be picture perfect, aside from the blood on his face.

"We really didn't have time for that. It was good exercise, yes, but there are more important things to attend to. Luc! The rings should be giving off a powerful signal. You can track it, can't you?" The swords vanished from his hands and he rose up into the air, looking frantically into the horizon.

[Cyrus the virus]

Stepping over a smoldering corpse, the sound of sizzling flesh audible over the sand-filled wind, Luc tightened a glove. "Aye. They're the only magical items for miles, due West but not terribly far."

He gave the towering man a glance-over. The gashes in Dan's flesh crawled with new flesh and skin, like water filling a basin. "Follow."

They walked through the storm, Luc's power making it durable. The mage's arms stung with the occasional slap of a grain, but their faces were safe. Over and around the dunes they traveled, a brisk pace pulling them closer and closer to the rings that rightfully belonged to them. To Luc it was like moving closer to a warm place that affected only his insides, as the magic beckoned him.

After some time they reached the crest of an impressively high dune. The sun was high over their heads, shedding light upon them, the sand, and a slow-moving caravan in the distance. Several figures rode about the wagon, upon Suravanian horses that trod the sand with ease.

"You go ahead," he said to Dan. "I'll slow them down and catch up shortly."

Expecting the lumbering beast next to him to charge down the dune, Luc planted his feet firmly into the sand, pushing his cape back to give his arms room to move. He extended them ahead, facing right, creating a visual wall of black scales against the side of the moving wagon. Gathering power and focus, he suddenly shot his hands across to the left. In the distance, he watched as men fell from their horses amidst a furious sandstorm brought on by a huge gust. When the sand settled once more, the wagon had tumbled onto its side as well.

Tightening his glove again, Luc fell into a low fly and began to close the gap.

[Slayer of the Rot]

"Stop them, yeah, just don't kill any of them yet," the Saraelian grunted as he began to carefully move down the sloping dune, his pace quickening the farther he went. The words suddenly felt foolish in his head. Luc was a great deal more reserved than himself. Where he would draw first blood, the geomancer would take the more through route, the path less traveled. His legs scissoring at a rapid pace now, kicking great plumes of sand with each hurried step, he let his mind wander.

Back to the room in the Citadel with the dozens of doors, with the intense wind. Then to the chamber with the dirt, and the stone, and the trees. He'd killed Luc that day, impaling him on the Rotslayer. Both had come a long way since that time. The geomancer had become an intelligent, calculated destroyer; Dan had regressed into a bestial ape, gnashing his teeth.

Shouts drew him out of his reverie. Great clouds of spinning sand were moving through the caravan, knocking riders of their horses. The beasts neighed and screamed, and all came to a lurching stop. A thin man in a white turban and green silks eased himself out of the main wagon and began to shout in Fallien's native tongue, waving his arms in the air. The rider and the man didn't seem to notice Dan or Luc; they were too busy throwing their hands around, pointing excitedly, and babbling loudly. A man with a black bandanna tied around his mouth poked his head out of the wagon's tarpaulin, and began to shout too. The sides of his head were shaved, so only a thick crop of brown hair crested his head. The man in the green silks turned and began to speak quickly to him, grinning wildly, gesturing to the riders.

Dan scowled at the sight of the black cloth...you'd either have to be insane or a masochist to wear the color in the desert. There was something familiar about the man, too. As the Saraelian reached the bottom of the dune and began to approach, the man with the black bandanna glanced at him, began to look away - and his head shot back, eyes wide and terrified. He vanished, and Dan could feel his scowl growing. Something odd was going on.

The man in the green silks glanced back upon seeing his passenger's reaction and gasped. "Rings," Dan snapped, unable to suppress the angry tone in his voice. He wanted the rings back, safe and sound in his possession again, as soon as possible. If that meant taking them without shedding a drop of blood, so be it. Killing wasn't the task today, after all - the retrieval of the rings was.

"Escoose me? Reengs? I no -"

"A set of nine rings," Dan continued, cutting him off quickly. "Different colors. One is white, one is red. The symbols in them are Saraelian hieroglyphics. The studs in them can not be broken. They look like glass." The man was a merchant; he could tell by the way the man held himself, rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

"Oooh! Those! Yes, I have! Whole set, only ten thousoond pee-sees!" The man was utterly elated at the prospect of a sale. He was almost dancing on the sand; his posture ram-rod straight, hands shaking as they rubbed together. On and on. Beneath Dan's one, gray eye, a muscle jumped beneath the skin as he stared at those fidgeting hands. The accent still echoed in his ears...like the nagging voice of a woman. Like glass breaking.

"The rings are mine," he muttered numbly. One part of his head madly told him that reason would work on the merchant, but still, an axe appeared in his hands, and then blood was spraying across the canvas tarpaulin of the wagon. The blade dripped as the wagon shook. Inside, somebody was yelling to take anything they could grab.

And then, he was moving. Ready to make Hromagh proud.

"Let's kill them, Luc."

[Cyrus the virus]

Luc soared at a leisurely pace, not overly excited to overtake Dan and meet the natives ahead. He could sense the rings, pulling at his intestines, stomach and heart like a distant ache.

He watched the slayer's moving back, the long strides of muscular legs and the swing of tree-trunk arms. They were far from the battleground of ghosts and elephant siege weapons, far from blood-splattered mud and severed bone. He remembered killing Dan, remembered vividly how they'd plummeted deep down into a chasm below the surface of that battle. Teleporting to the surface, Luc buried Dan beneath tons of mud.

He arrived just in time to watch a spray of blood slap across the tarp of the wagon, staining the surrounding sand. "Ever sensible, our conclusions," he mused. The thieves had their rings, certainly, and diplomacy took so much time.

Crawling from the carnage, a dozen men produced shining scimitars and three crossbows. His hands suddenly pointing and pulling, Luc bent the weapons, melted them, buried them in the sand, buried them in a sensitive belly - dropping a man to the dry sand.

They were fodder, a meek shield between a pair of dragons and their treasure. Confused gasps died in the wind, but they had nowhere to run. Luc threw a pair of them down with a gust of wind, playing with them like a child would manipulate a toy. He buried their faces in the sand.

Fun was fun, but Luc knew it could get better. A wry grin appearing on his thin lips, Luc chanted a brief incantation and pointed a finger at Dan, his spell painlessly manipulating the slayer's body. In a second or more, Dan stood at double his normal height and possessed double of his typical strength, which was anything but typical.

All too eager to watch the show, Luc dropped against the sand in a crosslegged position, resting his chin against a gloved hand.

Dan could be very artistic, sometimes.

[Slayer of the Rot]

Dan heard the sound of canvas ripping as he neared the wagon, but his attention was drawn by three annoying stings - three well aimed crossbow bolts, sticking out of his chest. He paused in mid stride; he didn't wince or cry out. The Saraelian simply looked at them, annoyed, and snapped the shafts off with a brushing motion, turning towards the riders. The men on horseback started yelling again, tossed aside their spent crossbows, and spurred their horses. Steel glittered in the unforgiving sunlight as they raised their scimitars high. Two branched to either side to flank him - they arrived first. A steady yell, full of rage spilled from his cracked jaw as hunched down, waiting for them to arrive.

With a great underhanded heave, Dan sent his great axe straight through the neck of the horse on his left. The blade tore straight through and ripped into the rider. Pink intestines snagged just beneath the massive head of the axe, wrapped around the delyn haft. Too stubborn to slow his momentum and remove them, the Saraelian simply pushed more strength into his arms, pulling the bottom of the first rider's corpse with him. Its legs waved wildly through the air as the weapon came down on the second rider's back and sliced through man and beast, spilling them in a crumbled, gory mess onto the sands.

The third rider came up the middle, whirling his scimitar overhead, and whooping like a fool. By the time the sword began its descent, Dan was ready. His axe vanished, and he grabbed the rider's wrist, stopping the swing easily. The Saraelian yanked the man off the horse, twisting his curved blade out of his grip, and the drove the weapon through the man's chest, pinning him to the ground.

Three men were charging clumsily up the hill the wagon had been stopped beside. They were clad in white, aside from the black bandannas wrapped around their faces - and suddenly it clicked. Hiding the faces. The image of anonymity. Old Audaemus agents. In the hands of the one he'd first seen was a long, thin box, his knuckles white around it's worn brass handles. Another stinging pain, suddenly; Dan turned to see more of the caravan guards, barely registering the bolts in his arm and side. "Damn...Luc! The three in whi - what are you doing?" The Saraelian snapped his mouth shut and opened it again, prepared to scream obscenities at the geomancer.

Then, he began to grow.

Within seconds, he was towering over the approaching riders, breathing heavily as any wounded, angry beast would. The guards pulled on their mount's reigns, but were far too late. Dan lurched forward, stamping down on one as he bent to crush another two under his fists. The massive Saraelian snatched a lone, panicked horse up by its neck, and launched it with incredible force into another group of guards, hesitant to enter the fray.

Turning back to the hill, the three thieves had barely gotten any farther. They were too worried with the slaughter happening beneath them - so worried that they didn't realize their Founder had found them at last, until he began to move, stepping down upon the wagon's back. It gave way immediately with a horrid cracking and splintering noise, and he took another step, planting one huge foot down on the dune. The former agents simply watched in horrid anticipation as the Saraelian leaned down over them, planting one huge forearm into their immediate escape route.

"And what do you have to say for yourselves, you little pricks? You understand, I hope, and remember, the penalty for betrayal of the clan, even the old order, is death?" His hot, horrid breath bore down upon them, and two of them winced away, raising their arms up to try and fend off the beast. But one of the former agents - the one with the odd brown hair, the first seen - stood, trembling before their founder's wrath.

"Who are you to judge us, huh?" His comrades looked at him in horror, but his outburst had given him courage. He continued, bolstered with his courage in the face of a monster.

"Yeah! You rotten bastard, telling us agents we were never good enough! Called us insects! Well guess what? We're the kings now! We've got -"

"SILENCE!!!" Dan rose up, grabbing the other two thieves, and crammed their bodies into his mouth, tearing their upper bodies off in his teeth. He cast them aside like trash and he chewed, blood running off his chin. "Enough of your posturing, boy! You knew your place when you joined us. And now, you stand as though you deserve something better." Dan reached out, and the former agent cried out in terror and stumbled back, dropping the wooden box. The clasp broke, and out they tumbled. The rings, glimmering in the sun. Dan was so taken with the sight of them that he nearly forgot that they were stolen, almost forgot his vengeance. He spotted his own ring, shining bright and white, and Luc's, blazing red into his eyes. The agent leaped onto them, scooping them up with one hand as he scribbled symbols into the sand.

Suddenly, a new wind emerged, but this one was disturbingly nostalgic to the Saraelian. A look of troubled curiosity crept across his enormous face, and suddenly, in thin air itself, a jagged line cut itself. Dan realized the agent was chanting now. The crack drew wider, becoming a rift - and from it, a score of decaying hands emerged, grabbing at the thief's hair, arms, shoulders. He was laughing, too - the last laugh, as it was.

"It took a lot of research to find your world, but here it is! I die, but your precious gods damned rings are lost forever!" Dan realized he was shrinking, and soon enough, he was on his knees before the rift, watching as the agent was drawn into it by dead hands he thought he'd lost long ago. With a stomach turning, sucking noise, it sealed, taking the thief into it.

On the sands before him, came two shining lights. Still numb with the sight of his ruined world, he picked the two things up. A pair of rings; one white, one red. He slipped his own into the breast pocket of his jacket, and clutched Luc's in his hands as he slowly rose to his feet.

"You can feel it too, can't you?" He asked the geomancer as he approached up the dune. Dan turned, holding out the red studded ring.

"That won't be the last tear. That idiot made a stupid mistake...we can still recover them."

Spoils: Dan receives his Audeamus ring. It is white in coloration, with the Saraelian character for "Nothing" floating inside of it. The ring allows Dan brief control over the size, and or mass, of anything he touches. Will elaborate in my level update.

[Cyrus the virus]

A summoned branch of grapes in his hand, Luc popped them into his hand one at a time, chewing loudly as the lumbering slayer brought carnage to the desert. Taller than a titan, Dan's performance was amusing - though not to the extent Luc had hoped.

The rift, however, was the real show. From it seeped the thick flavor of magic, the promise of another dimension and of otherworldly things, items and places that fascinated the mage, took his curiosity and held it close. He rose to get a better look, but by then it was closed, and along with it the majority of magic he had been sensing.

Spilled guts were already cooking in the sun, and their smell was fierce. Careful to avoid stepping into an opened torso, Luc met Dan halfway. "A rift in the surface of space and time. Where in the world did he learn that?" he wondered aloud.

"But I felt it, indeed. I don't know where it led, but I sense that you do." he took the ring from Dan's bigger hand, examined it closely. "I do know that such a place is wrought with the dead, somewhat like the Nether. I've no interest in returning there unless I am utterly prepared."

He removed a glove and slid his ring onto his middle finger. It felt warm, as if it'd never been out of place. Replacing his glove, the mage gave a satisfied sigh.

"Let's get out of this sun, mm?" he asked, slapping Dan's arm and gripping it lightly. In a moment, they had turned into wind and were whisking through the skies.

Spoil: Luc regains his red Audeamus ring. It has the symbol for 'Wrath' floating inside of it. When Luc spills the blood of a victim, his elemental power over one element is greatly augmented for a very short time.

[Skie and Avery]

Quest Judging
Bloody Coronation

Just numbers, as requested.

STORY

Continuity ~ 7/10.
Setting ~ 8/10.
Pacing ~ 7/10.

CHARACTER

Dialogue ~ 6/10.
Action ~ 7/10.
Persona ~ 6/10.

WRITING STYLE

Technique ~ 7/10.
Mechanics ~ 7/10.
Clarity ~ 8/10.

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~ 5/10.

TOTAL ~ 68/100.

Slayer of the Rot gains 1969 EXP and 102 GP
Cyrus the Virus gains 2203 EXP and 102 GP

Both gain their rings.