Coartez and the Frozen Forest

[Cyrus the virus]

The tower stood in a world of its own, a world void of color and shape, without wind, air or water. The pulsing, black structure stood on a plain grey backdrop in a universe never explored, the only substance in a never-ending world of nothing.

The base of the Six Masters it was. Constructed by the combined efforts of the wizards, the tower had created this world of grey around it, had taken on sentience, and allowed the six humans within it to live simply because they had given it life. To travel to this realm was impossible without the tower's intelligent permission, so these five men and one woman were the only beings to have ever seen it.

It had taken years of planning to construct the tower, but in the end it had been completely worth it. It was a stronghold that was not only impenetrable, but impossible to find. Any one of the Six Masters could gate back to it in an instant.

Imposing.

The tower sent out a wave of some heavy, dark energy, shifted from black to dark grey, and seemed to sigh.

The cool, blue eyes of Coartez gazed longingly, lustfully into the million different glimmers of the crystal. A long strand of drool dangled from his lip, but he made no motion to wipe it. To the chubby wizard, the crystal pulled on every one of his senses as if it held the secrets of all life.

"Amazing, Vai," Freesh said. Her golden hair was the brightest of anything in the top chamber of the tower, save for the roaring fire. "You don't even need to touch it to sense the power it holds."

"Wow," Coartez mumbled, vaguely aware that the others were watching him closely.

Crowley, a burly man with broad, square shoulders and cheek-length brown hair like soil, snatched the crystal out of Coartez's thick fingers and looked at it himself. Coartez followed the crystal's movement with pleading eyes. "It's a beautiful thing, and yes, powerful. Have you finally done it?"

Vai chuckled and approached, looking into the crystal but not getting lost in it the way Coartez had. The crystal took the light of the flames into it, and cast a million sparkles onto the silvey-haired man's face. "I'm not sure yet, it needs testing. We're all capable of summoning elementals to do our bidding, but those stubborn magical creatures don't remain for long. This crystal is supposed to help remedy that, and if it does, I can build more."

Coartez rose from his seat by the obsidian table and, with a quickness uncharacteristic of a man his size, snatched the crystal back from Crowley and pulled it back near his face.

The other five wizards looked at each other.

"Coartez, I want you to take the crystal back to your home and work on stabalyzing it. You can do that, can't you?" Vai said.

Tearing his eyes from the crystal for but a moment, Coartez grinned and nodded, then seemed to evaporate into nothingness as he shifted back to the Althanas plane.

"What a fool," Illia said from his place by the fire. Brash nodded.

[Letho]

“So, whose idea was to take a ship to Radasanth anyways?” Letho asked, failing to stifle a smirk that came as a direct result of knowing the answer to the asked question. He was sitting on the starboard bulwark of the Fiona’s Cradle, a three-mast trader frigate that was so laden with cargo that the waterline reached well past the safe level. The captain ensured them multiple times it was just the way she was built, with a deep draft and what he very figuratively described as a fat ass, but that she would get them to Radasanth faster then any horse. They learned how far that was from the truth after two days of their voyage.

“Oh, shut up. I can’t make wind blow, you know?” Myrhia responded in her usual, half-angry, half-jovial and all lovely voice as she butted him with her shoulder. She was sitting beside the grumpy Marshal, and just like him, her hands held a long fishing stick and her eyes were on the eerily calm sea. The endless mass of water was as still as a mirror it seemed, its azure color somehow bland under the bright autumn sun, and it’s been like that for two days now. For two days the southern winds that usually blew along the shore incessantly were nowhere to be seen, abandoning their sails and leaving them dead in the water. There were no oars on board of the Fiona’s Cradle, and even if there were, captain Clortho didn’t have nearly enough men to use them. “I never needed them anyway,” he explained to the pair when the winds surprisingly evanesced into nothingness. “I’ve been sailing down the west shore for twenty years now and there was always wind aplenty. Sometimes even too much.”

The bald captain had a lot more to say after that; just like every man of the sea, he too had a wide assortment of tales of questionable authenticity. Myrhia was – unsurprisingly – interested in listening to them, Letho wasn’t, but at least the constant prattling of the captain’s raspy voice shortened the wait a little bit. The fishing was supposed to do the same, but the bulky Marshal was never much of a fisherman to begin with. It took patience and mental stamina to sit with a stick in your hands, waiting for something to take the bait and then hoping that you could pull it out before your thread snapped or your stick broke. That was, of course, in case you actually got something to bite on your bait, which was something that failed to occur to either of them. And while his redhead lover didn’t seem to mind the futility and the ineffectiveness of what they were doing, Letho was growing more and more irritated by it with every minute that passed by.

What deviled him even more was the fact that they were running late. Punctuality was something that the dark swordsman held in high regard, a trait that he respected almost as much as the usual ones such as honor and sense of duty, and because of that he hated when he wasn’t prompt. He was supposed to meet a man in the Rusty’s Emporium that allegedly had some information on raiders that have been terrorizing the Broken Tooth passage. It smelled a bit like a sham to Letho, but given the fact that there was a festival in Radasanth and Myrhia was begging him to visit it for some time now, he decided to link business with pleasure. So far he had neither, but being marooned on the deck of an unmoving ship had a tendency to do that.

With his legs hanging over the ledge, the Marshal gave his fishing rod a pull upwards, bringing out the fishhook and noticing that the bait was once again gone. Myrhia chuckled gaily. “It’s not funny,” Letho said, even though it was and he couldn’t stifle a smirk of his own that crept at the edge of his lips.

“I told you you’re doing it wrong. And you didn’t let me do it for you. Look how my bait...” the redhead explained, pulling her own fishing line and bringing out an empty fishhook as well. It was enough to silence her and make the grouchy man’s mood change to a more lighthearted one.

“Ah, yes. I see how I erred now. I should’ve used invisible bait just like you.”

She hit him again, this time her elbow burying itself into his ribs just hard enough to make his recoil minutely, but despite her disappointment, the diminutive redhead didn’t hold a sulking face for long. Unlike Letho, who merely dropped the baitless hook back in the water and hoped that there were fish that liked metal in their diet, Myrhia swung the hook back to her own hands and proceeded to put another piece of damp bread on it. “Good thing we’re not fishermen. We’d starve to death for sure,” she said, smiling by the end of her statement and sending the prepared bait with a swing of her pole.

[Ürei]

Radasanth is such a sinful city…

Grinning with amusement at joy as he walked down the streets of the Bazaar, Dresden couldn’t help himself but spot every crime that occurred in broad daylight in this overpopulated hell hold. One man reaching behind and stealing the cash pot from a wealthy merchant, then that same merchant in turn getting paid an inexorably obscene amount for an amazingly cheap item. Men and women stabbed in back alleys, then their bodies drug away before anyone cared to notice, even though each and every man who walked these streets didn’t care. Almost everyone, that is, for Dresden did care. Yet, his interest in these squabbling and squandering mortals was for a different type of help, and not a finger would be lifted in his part to stop their immoral deeds. In fact, he was here to encourage them.

That is, as long as they joined him. If not, then he shall do as the saying goes, ‘Join us or die.’ Or was that, ‘Resistance if Futile’?

The sky above was plain and gray, forecasting very little sunshine, no rain, and no clouds whatsoever. Wind seemed to be lacking as well, and the normal cool breeze that relentlessly swept through the buildings was absent. Running a hand through his hair, the Elf scanned the crowd for a choice pick before approaching a merchant whose booth was set up before an alley. Intelligent fellow, to provide himself an escape route; or maybe, it was a way for others to come in. The focus of Dresden’s interest wasn’t the obese and richly garbed entrepreneur, but the bodyguard garbed in full black and brandishing a sheathed saber.

With a wicked grin easily displayed across his mouth, he whispered to the guard, “I bet you have connections with the bandits and raiders around here. Why don’t you be a good boy and show me around.”

Backing off and laying one hand calmly on his sword’s hilt, the Elf stared deep into the stunned eyes before he saw what was there. Shock, yes, surprise, definitely, but also fear and hatred. Now this, he didn’t expect, and what was to come definitely caught him off guard. That is, for as soon as Dresden was about to speak up again in impatience the guard burst off at high speed down the alley, screaming in some strange tongue to others before him. Cursing, the Elf leapt over the stand and raced down after the guard. Luckily just as he entered he spotted the black garbed men turned the corner to the left, screaming again in that tongue-twisting language.

“Why do they always have to make it so damn hard to find an illicit warrior!”

Pushing his daylight form to the max and utilizing as much of the Elven speed the body had, Dresden managed to keep a pace with the men and found himself almost dragging behind. They had experience running, that much was for sure, and probably were part of the raiding party. Quickly the chase led out of town and into hilly grassland, a sea of green spreading out before him. The group of rogues crested a large hill and disappeared from his view. Cautious of an ambush, Dresden burst up the hill then slid down behind a small outcropping of rock. A quick glance showed nobody following him for the other hills didn’t have the room to properly hide a person, at least they didn’t look like it.

Panting for a few seconds, struggling to catch his breath, the Elf thought to himself for a moment, considering his options. He could break free of his hiding spot and rush them, hoping to attack them off guard and maybe take out one or two before trying to convince the others to join him. Or maybe, as a safer plan, he could stand and announce his intentions and see what happened from there. Neither seemed very secure nor foolproof, but after letting his body cool, he finally broke free of the protection and leapt over the rock. Laying one hand on his sword hilt again, finding a strange sense of safety in that sword even if it was nearly useless to him, he moved into the small vale clearing that had been hidden by the hill.

It was empty.

“Well that is just…just…damnit! Why do these stupid brats keep running from me! I’ve chased them all across Concordia and now that I finally thumbed them down they got away.”

Cursing and kicking the ground in frustration, he finally sat down crossed legged and pulled at the untamed grass. Brooding in his thoughts and glancing every few moments to the position of the sun, Dresden finally was about to get up and head back to town when he heard a loud thud. Nearby, a tuft of grass exploded upwards and a fully black cloaked man leapt up among the dirt, a white featureless mask across his face to hide his identity. Leaping to his feet, Dresden tried to speak up but again was cut off short as a series of quick thuds sounded all around him, a dozen holes exploding out of the ring-like hill and each releasing a battle-ready masked assassin. Silent, he lay his hand on his hilt once more.

Shit…

[Cyrus the virus]

The girl's expression wasn't hard to read. She was shocked, hurt, angry, perhaps she was only now understanding what had happened.

A half hour of intercourse with Luc Kraus wasn't a bad thing, but no matter how arrogant he was, the mage couldn't convince himself that it was effective enough to bring such a look to her. She'd been raped, he realized, and even more shocking, he didn't feel bad about it. She was recovering from his spell, but by then it was too late. He'd already pulled his clothes back on his body, and was just then tying the golden cord that held his cape to his neck.

She made some noises, beginning to form words as his Enslave spell wore off. She was a stupid creature, a strangely beautiful half-elf who had fallen among the humans at a young age, though of course Luc didn't care about that. All that mattered was that she was a beautiful thing, and was stupid enough to fall under control of his spell. She'd done everything he wanted, no questions asked, and it satisfied him.

He took a final glance at her naked form on the bed, her milky skin glistening with sweat. Her hair was dishevelled. She looked like a woman whose spirit had been broken, but he didn't care.

Luc himself was a bit surprised at his lack of emotion as he pulled his gloves back on and left the room.

The sun felt very hot as he exited the building, the girl's home, he supposed. His heart was racing, his breath was still a bit heavy, and he looked quite tired. He swallowed and looked about, wondering precisely what it was that had driven him to do what he did. Luc moved down the street, taking quick strides. The mage needed to distance himself from that building.

He walked faster, crazed eyes darting about. Everyone seemed to be looking at him, everyone seemed to know what had happened. Why did I do that? he thought to himself, a myriad of other thoughts creeping in his mind.

People knew him, knew who he was. The girl in her bed might know who he was, too. It was too much to bear, so he took to the sky, not caring that the Radasanthians were watching him. He needed to soar above them all, above the half-elf, soaked with sweat in her bed.

Luc managed to forget, temporarily, his injustice. A few moments of blissful flight through the cool Corone sky later, and he was near Concordia. He thought he would go to one of the lakes within and wash away the sweat, the perversion, the guilt. Little did he know that in the end, none of those things would matter to him.

The mage paused suddenly, looking below. He almost hadn't noticed them on his way by, but on the ground stood a single male surrounded by a dozen others. Such occurances weren't unknown in Corone, for gangs and organized groups sometimes sprung these types of traps on caravans and nobles, but the single elf seemed a strange target.

On a whim, Luc descended among them, momentarily shocking the sprung assassins. He gave a sidelong glance to the elfish male, dressed somewhat regally. It made sense that the ambush was set up for him.

Without a word, which was strange for Luc, a conjured wind erupted around himself and the elf, whirling outward to pluck each and every assassin from the ground and send them flying awkwardly backward. The move strained him, but the display of his own power washed away a lot of Luc's guilt. He exhaled, emotionally spitting the regret out of his mouth.

"Long way from home?" Luc asked casually, his eyes tracing the embroidery of Dresden's clothing. The mage was unfond of elves, but was even less fond of cowardly ambushes.

The assassins were not dead, were not even unconscious. One was standing again, so Luc lifted his hand toward the masked humanoid. The ground below rumbled and softened, them mud climbed around him. It surrounded the thrashing, frightened assassin far too quickly for him to hope to wipe it off, and just as quickly, the mud hardened into dirt, into stone. Luc couldn't hear any of the frightened screams the man was emitting.

It put a smile on his face.

Then, oddly enough, a strong gust began to blow about the land of Corone.

[Letho]

“...and then the kraken went for our mainmast. It was pure mayhem! My crew flying aloft and overboard, ropes snapping, sails tearing!” Captain Naith Clortho was almost shouting at this point, reaching the climax of his story. With no navigating to do due to the lack of wind, boredom crept even into the bald captain whose stories were way too hackneyed for the members of his crew. He found a victim in Myrhia, who abandoned the futility of fishing and turned her attention to the tale of a sea leviathan whose tentacles crushed ships as if they were made of plywood. She sat on the bulwark now, her back turned to the sea and her emerald eyes peering into the world of imagination that depicted the story that was being told by Naith.

It was a story whose multiple versions Letho heard too many times for it to be intriguing though. That was why, instead of lending an ear to the captain, he opted for exploring the ship a little bit. Granted, there wasn’t much to be explored; there was only so much that a man could see and do on a deck of a ship. But walking around and scouring the distant shore with the captain’s spyglass seemed like a better use of his time. It wasn’t terribly eventful, but at least he didn’t waste his time and patience on correcting the captain when his story went around the bend and then being at an end of an empty, perplexed gaze.

“We hacked at it, fired our guns, but alas, it was to no avail. It tell you, if that thing didn’t get a bellyful of wood and sailors, it would’ve gotten to me too. But once it had its fill, it returned to...” Captain Clortho was reaching the conclusion of his story, but then his head snapped sideways and his nostrils widened, leaving Myrhia with a cliffhanger. “I think... Yes, I think it is. I think we’re finally getting some wind.”

It certainly didn’t seem so. The readhead lifted her head towards the sails only to see them serene and limp. “I’m not so certain,” she said, thinking that the captain was dipping into the grog barrel just enough to make himself believe he had the gift of precognition. But even as her coy voice evanesced, there was a movement in the fabric of the sails, a tiny flutter that started at the last mast and came forward like a tide. By the time there was enough wind to make the sails snap and grow taut, the masts were moaning and the captain was screaming, calling for the “miserable maggots” that was his crew. However, unlike the winds that got them this far, there was an eerily chill riding with every gust, the wintery kind that seemed to go through the clothes as if it wasn’t there with an announcement of sleet. Myrhia had to scurry to their cabin to fetch her scarlet vlince cloak and even then she felt the icy touch of the wind.

“Boy, when it blows in the north, it really blows!” Captain Clortho said with a raspy chuckle as he took his allotted spot behind the helm. All around him, the ship was brought to life, the bluejackets emerging from below like ants taking care of their anthill. And before long they were sailing at full speed, Fiona’s Cradle and her fat ass nearing Radasanth with each passing minute. Myrhia and Letho were doing their best to keep out of the way of the busy sailors, the pair standing at the prow with their eyes on the horizon, where the vast docks of the Corone capitol could already be seen.

“It’s so cold all of a sudden,” the redhead said, pulling the cloak tighter around her scrawny form and stuffing her hands deeper into her pockets. Her visage, usually fairly pale, was developing a mild rosy blush. “We should’ve brought some furs.”

It wasn’t that cold – the redhead was just very sensitive when it came to low temperatures – but Letho had to admit that the change was drastic to say the least. What was most peculiar was that it was the south wind that was blowing, and south winds weren’t supposed to feel as if they were announcing sleet. But the muscular swordsman didn’t make much of this deviation in the weather. Instead he approached Myrhia from behind and wrapped his arms around her in an attempt to keep her warm until they reached the shore.

[Ürei]

Frozen in stone, his face was lost under a mask of mud. The man that Dresden had been following was standing there, but held a voice to never again speak with, and a frail heart that had long since stopped. Intervention by this strange but powerful sorceror was unexpected at the least, and the Elf thought that maybe his own life had just been saved. A quick decision proved his best interests lay within this man, and maybe it would be best to keep him around for a while. Lost in thought, he took a few steps towards the encased assassin, laid his hand on the earthen coffin and chuckled in amazement. That definitely was an interesting power he had there, and if he chose, the man could just as easily dispatch Dresden as well. A good thing to keep in mind.

Turning around, Dresden was about to answer the man's question when he saw one of the quicker recovering assassins drawing a silent black sword and approaching the mage from behind. The arrogant man hadn’t yet noticed the change, and that simple knowledge brought a grin to the Elf’s face. Gripping his sword, he burst into a dash. This was perfect, and if it had been scripted it couldn’t have gone any better. Gain an ally and get to rip apart a foolish adversary all at once. Sweeping past the unwary mage, he sword flashed out, the hilt flying out to ram the black clad human’s nose. A loud grunt came from his mouth and he fumbled backwards, far enough for Dresden to draw his blade without the mage getting in the way. Blood had already begun to soak through the black cloth, dripping down from his long crooked nose.

In the last seconds of the assassin’s life he shouted out a command in the strange harsh tongue that they all spoke, then his cloth mask fell off, his voice going silent. A line of blood spread across his neck, splaying violently down his chest as his mouth gurgled a final phrase. The Elf simply watched him fall, the dark liquid on his blade dripping on the man as he struggled futilely to hang on to life. Finding the struggle intriguing, he let it continue, until finally the man’s shoulders lost their tension all at once and his body slumped to the floor.

Sad. In the end, he was nothing but a fragile mortal. They never learn, until it is too late, that for them death always lingers around the corner, waiting to mug you of your soul.

Dresden’s gaze swept over the remaining assassins, each of them had a similar look in their eyes as he stared into them. Fear. It was nearly solidified in their bodies, creeping up each muscle and vein, encroaching upon their heart and mind. Cowardice and the will to survive when faced by two brutal men who had so easily taken the lives of their friends and companions. It was pointless to fight it, and though they still outnumbered the duo, each acted separately and individuality. Personal struggle caused the first to break line and squeak in their twisted tongue as he scrambled away in a sloppy rush. That was the last straw, the rest of them had already decided but weren’t willing to be the first to act, but that fool was gone and the rest quickly followed suit as they disappeared into the surrounding hills.

Wiping his blade on the black shirt of the assassin before sheathing it, Dresden smiled with satisfaction. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to get any information or recruits from the event, but he had possibly gained a stronger ally then those fools would have ever been. The cold wind had so far gone unnoticed in his excitement, yet not for long, as he turned and saw the worried look on his new companion’s face. As if there was need for some explanation, the Elf spoke as calmly as he could, keeping the guise of a Raiaeran in place.

“I protect those who protect me.”

But his voice had already begun to drop even before he was done, because his eyes had gone skyward. Something deeply wrong was occurring and every inch of his soul was screaming a warning. There was a change coming, a twisting that each fiber of nature could sense. The birds had gone quiet, and the trees swayed eerily in the new wind. A southern wind, yet as cold as if it blew from the depths of Berevar. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, yet the sun’s shine had dulled. Then Dresden’s nose caught a scent he hadn’t smelled in a long time. This far south, it was rare during the middle of the spring, if not impossible. Indescribable, the odor came to him every time, and it was undeniable in his mind.

What…?

“Snow…?”

[Cyrus the virus]

The blue light reflected in Coartez's placid eyes, the tiny orbs to his soul darting between the crystal and the odd metallic device that held it, turned it, and shed a magnificent light through it. Coartez didn't understand the machine, didn't understand any machine, but it was simple enough to stick the crystal inside of the thing and press a button.

Now he simply watched, mesmerized, as the crystal illuminated the massive chamber with a billion tiny specks of blue light. The humming whirr of the machine told him it was working, and it pleased him greatly to know that the first creature of the army would be his.

The crystal pumped magical energy through the machine, but unbeknownst to Coartez, who had grown rather cold over the last few minutes, the machine couldn't handle such an amount. The focused gem above the platform that stood in the center of the room should have harnessed the crystal's energy, and created from it an obedient elemental, the first of what would eventually become thousands. Instead, the gem was not reacting in any way, and the excess energy was building up within the machine itself.

Something was wrong, and he finally realized it. The machine hicupped and sent the energy back through the wires and into the crystal, making it glow a deep navy blue. By instinct Coartez through up a magical barrier, and he'd done so just in time.

The crystal exploded and blinded him with light. He was suddenly frigid. He could feel the strongest sense of magic he'd ever felt, and he was scared.

When the light died, Coartez' barrier was gone. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, mumbling to himself as he took a step. The slick surface caught him off guard and his feet flew out from under him, bringing him down to the ground in a heap. He could see again, and the ceiling of his headquarters was frozen solid.

It took a few moments for him to rise, given that the surface of everything near him was covered in a thick sheet of clear ice. When he could finally stand, Coartez was short of breath. The room itself was massive, flat and full of awkward machinery he didn't quite understand. He'd never liked this room, and now it was frozen in some eternal limbo. Time seemed to have stopped.

"It's so quiet," he said, and he could hardly hold a thought otherwise.

*****

The mage was so occupied with his showcase that he wasn't aware of the man behind him. If Dresden hadn't been so very quick, Luc was sure he'd have been skewered. As grim as the thought was, the mage was rather satisfied with the result.

"A fine philosophy. Keep yo-" he stopped. "Snow?"

Luc considered it, and found that he too felt the nip in the air. Then, almost instantaneously, his senses were overloaded and the nip became something more. He felt the cold moving rapidly, growing closer somehow. On instinct he readied a spell, but paused and grabbed Dresden's arm first. Their forms became wind, lightless and formless. It gave him a sensational feeling of weightlessness, of without body.

Then the freeze came. Like a rabid animal that tore across the landscape and crawled over everything, leaving it frozen in it's wake. Even as wind, Luc and Dresden would have been able to see the freezing effect. It was like a massive wall taller than the highest trees, moving incredibly fast.

Luc watched as the ground, the bodies, the fleeing assassins, the dead men, were suddenly motionless and covered in a thin ice. And as swiftly as it had happened, it was gone.

The freeze itself swept over a great portion of Corone, the freezing effect leaving half of the continent in stasis. Radasanth was completely still, and the wind moved nothing when it blew.

Dresden and Luc were once again whole as Windwalk ended, and Luc could hardly believe how cold he was. The ice was so pure, so very slick, that at his touch he almost fell. But he balanced and looked about. Dresden was with him, and that kept Luc from letting himself be afraid, not wanting the elfish male to see him in such a state.

"What happened?" he asked, but knew Dresden wouldn't have the answer. He was rather shocked to see that his breath came out as cold vapor, as if it were winter. "Let's get back to town," he said, unable to disguise his worry this time.

((I know Luc and Dresden haven't introduced themselves, I figured we'd get to that once we find Letho (I wonder if Myrhia will be saved). Good luck Duro! I know you'll make this seem more badass than I did :p Urei, get us on the way to Radasanth. You can bring us inside and describe the scene if you want, but you don't absolutely need to. The best idea would be for us to come across Letho in Radasanth, so just get yourself there however possible. And in case it isn't clear, the freeze should completely solidify the water too, but it can certainly end at a certain point, just abruptly.))

[Letho]

Myrhia was the first one that saw it and the sight of it sent chills through all the parts of her body that were warm. A wave of white energy swept over the mainland like a tsunami, leaving bleached landscape in its wake before it struck the shore. By then Captain Clortho saw it as well, the man caught aback by this anomaly that was racing towards them. The seasoned naval commander saw his share of storms and waves and oddities that each corner of the sea had in ample supply, but the sight of the incoming wave left him speechless. In all his years he had never seen the ocean grow as much as an icy crust in the shoals, and now this wave was coming at them, freezing the salty water solid. His hands weren’t as static as his tongue though, automatism taking over them and making them steer the ship parallel with the wintry magics as if it was an ordinary wave.

“Letho, what... what is that?” Myrhia managed to ask in trepidation, a shiver claiming dominance over her body instead of just passing over her. Over her shoulder, Letho peered through the spyglass, observing the approach of the abysmal wave. The sea itself seemed to yield before the chilly energy of it, its waves and ripples paused and encased in ice in less then a blink of an eye. It was a momentary metamorphosis of the entire proximity, murdering everything in its path with icy fingers, and Fiona’s Cradle wasn’t to be spared.

“I don’t know, but it’s not stopping. Quick, get behind me,” he responded with the strict curtness that always surfaced when the time for fooling around came to an and. Even though she felt like there was no safer place on the ship – or the entire world for that matter – then Letho’s arms, Myrhia squeezed out of his embrace and cowered behind him, her pale hands clinging to his leather overcoat.

“STAND FAST, MAGGOTS!” finally Captain Clortho found his raspy commanding voice, trying to snap his crew from staring at the wave with blank eyes. “Hoist the sails! Tighten the ropes! Prepare for an impact, starboard side!!!”

All the preparations did little good in the end. The wave passed over them as if they weren’t even there, coating them, the sails, the ropes, the entire ship in a thin film of frost, paralyzing them instantaneously. Some faces were halted in a cringe, others in panicky, almost comical expressions, but they all became as lifeless as if they were made of marble. All but Letho and Myrhia. They were the glitch in the system, the one point in space and time that defied the onslaught of the wave. The magical barrier came at them, but Letho’s dragonscale gauntlet stood against it, the swordsman’s fingers splayed as if they would be able to gesture the wave to a halt. But while his hand failed to succeed in something as drastic as that, it managed to create a sphere around the pair whose shell the wave tried to abrade. The chill closed in around them as the wave passed, making Myrhia cling to Letho with both of her arms, her eyes closed as claws of frostbite almost literary pinched her behind. The ordeal seemed to last for minutes, but it took only several seconds for the barrier to pass over them and proceed towards the open sea, leaving a white world behind its passing.

By the time the timid redhead finally let go of the bulky swordsman, the puffy contour of their every breath was clearly visible. They were the only ones breathing though. All around them stood a theatre of motionless, frozen sailors, some hanging from the ropes above, some holding to the bulwarks, some shielding their faces from the wave. Myrhia’s face, already almost deathly pale due to the frost, grew even more pallid at the sight. She blew into her hands, rubbing them together as she walked precariously over the slippery deck.

“Are... Are they dead?” she asked, her hand reaching for the bald captain, but stopping before making contact with the petrified flesh.

“I think so.” Letho tried his best not to sound emotionless, but his rigor had a bad tendency of nullifying any surfacing feelings. His feet tested the ice-coated surface of the deck before making the first several steps.

“So many. And how many more on the land?” Myrhia asked, her doleful voice fluttering. “What happened, Letho? Who did this?”

“I don’t know. It looked like some kind of wizardry. And where’s wizardry, there’s a wizard that fiddles with things he shouldn’t or a dragon that just woke up from slumber. Either way, there’s only one way to find out.”

“We’re going to find whoever did this?” she asked.

“It’s either that or skating back home.”

***

Two figures braved the wide delta of Niema river, a pair of specks moving through a motionless world of white. The spiked chains wrapped around their feet made little noise, but in the eerily silence that the wave left behind, the sound of their footsteps seemed as loud as if there was a legion marching down the frozen surface of the river. Around them, Radasanth Docks were standing still, making Letho and Myrhia look like a pair of renegade characters that dared to move in a picture a painter made by using way too much white paint. It was a snowy wasteland, riddled with haunting faces and the wind that, despite its mildness, managed to drill through their clothes and bite their flesh, and it seemed to have no end.

[Ürei]

Everything happened so fast that Dresden barely had time to react. His gaze had fallen towards the sorcerer’s eyes but never made for a massive white force stole his attention. Moving like a tidal wave over the ground with no obstacles even slowing it down, the ‘Elf’ almost instantly saw that his first impression was wrong, it wasn’t white, it was clear. The buildings, trees, and hills behind it had turned the purest white from its passing. It was freezing everything. He didn’t get the chance to gasp in shock, for the mage instinctively reached out and grabbed his arm, both of them becoming bodiless wind only moments before the curse would have slammed into them. The human had never even turned around to see it coming, strange.

His mind was too preoccupied to even think about the bodiless, senseless form before they were dropped from it. Cold struck him instantly, chilling his fragile daytime skin and bringing frost’s harsh bite to every breath. It was something amazing, staring out across the winter wasteland that had been Corone plains land only seconds before. Wordlessly bending down, Dresden cracked a frozen blade of grass and examined it. Not only was it covered in a beautiful glistening gloss of frost, but the wave had frozen it to its core. So fast had been the expanding solidification of water that the grass blade was split and destroyed, fissures having ruptured along the edges. If it had that effect on a single leaf of grass, it was horrifying to imagine what it had done to people.

Speaking of people, the Elf stood, moving with careful ease to not slip, and glanced over the edge of the hill. In mid run, the assassins were caught in time, strange poses amongst them. Of them, one had even fallen over after being frozen and lay face down with arms and legs stretched at queer angles. Other then that they looked fine, frozen solid but not broken apart. Maybe this magical icing had just made them into Popsicles, not killed them.

“How in Haide does something like this happen?”

Dresden didn’t expect an answer from the mage, because he looked just as baffled. Sweeping their silent surroundings to look for any sign of unfrozen land, the Elf found nothing. Suppressing the pessimistic comment that came to mind he strode to the south side of the basin and climbed as best he could to the top. Having only a tiny bit of trouble in his day form battling the slippery ice, Dresden soon found his footing and stood atop the highest part of the hill, gazing in the general direction of Radasanth.

“If there is anything surviving this deep freeze, I bet it would be smart enough to seek shelter. The closest thing I can think of is Radasanth. It is going to be a very cold night, and even with the sun at full I can’t feel any of its warmth. Once we get a roof over our heads, then we can think of maybe what we are going to do about this.”

He waited only a moment to see the mage nod and start up the hill along behind him before heading out. With everything frozen it was somewhat hard to discern which direction they were going, and the sun seemed to have disappeared in the sky, a perfectly gray overcast roofing this whitened landscape.

It was quite some time before he spoke again, and by then the buildings of Radasanth were visible, with the Citadel towering high above the rest. Dresden watched the crystalline walls of the city for movement and could barely concentrate in awe at how magnificently beautiful the city looked. Silent and still, it seemed holy and ancient. Some lost treasure in a long forgotten tundra. Strange to think of it as such, though, for it was living and breathing when he left it earlier this evening. Pondering aloud, the Elf muttered, “ Someone had to cause this, maybe a dragon or a foolish adventurer releasing some ancient curse.”

Finally he stopped at the gates of the city and simply stared at the scene. It was at once lovely and horrifying; people moving about their daily tasks, moving through the city with their stubborn ease. Some of them had turned towards the wave in shock, others were distracted and had never even taken aware of it. Some had even tried to take shelter, running into buildings. A grim view, like a painting of a mad man. No matter who did it, nobody deserved this. Somewhere a spark of pity was formed in the Elf’s cold heart, and that spark kindled the beginning of an angry vengeance he had not felt in years.

“We are going to fix this. We are going to kill whoever did this.”

Turning and gazing at his companion, Dresden’s eyes were blazing with a sad but angry dedication. He just hoped the mage would agree.

[Cyrus the virus]

"Madness," the mage mouthed as they came upon Radasanth. He'd had doubts about the city surviving, as he couldn't feel the magical tug of earth as they drew near, but seeing the frozen city was still a shock.

The crunch of breaking ice was all they heard as Dresden and Luc approached the frozen city and entered. When there was no more grass, all they heard was the tap of their own boots and the sounds of their breathing. The mage was growing more and more restless; it seemed unnatural to stand in the Radasanthian bazaar with not a single sound in the air.

He tried not to let his gaze linger on anybody for long. The freeze had covered each person with a thick glaze, preserving whatever look of terror, of concern, of worry that they had. The purity of these expressions struck Luc, as he wondered if they would ever be animate again.

Briefly he wondered what the woman from earlier, the woman he'd raped, looked like now.

"This is unworldly," he managed to say. By then the two had passed the bazaar and were approaching the docks. Luc could see that beyond them, the ocean itself had been iced over and halted; even the waves had been frozen in place. "Some ancient magic or curse, yes. Can you imagine if this is all that has become of our world? That we are the last of the old ones? It's as if the world, or we, have moved on."

He stopped there, not wanting to face the realities of such a situation. They had reached a small cabin by the side of the docks, likely used to sell tickets for the ferry. It would be small enough that a fire would keep them warm as the sun lowered, and thankfully, Luc could make one.

Luc tugged at the door and found it unresponsive. He tried to shift the ice with his magic, but that too did not work. It was magical frost, and of a caliber which made his ability to manipulate worthless.

He drew his sword, which mercifully burst into flame when he willed it to. A ball of the roaring fire floated from the sword and to a place just above his free hand, and then he sheathed the weapon once more. Luc then set himself to melting the ice, expanding the ball of fire he held until it blanketed the entire door. The warmth was a welcome change.

Eventually he was able to push into the cabin. It was more than large enough for the two of them, and Luc imagined it would keep them alive for the night.

He willed the ball of flame to the center of the room, where it expanded to become a roaring fire that kept them warm. The ice lining the walls, too, began to melt.

"I don't think I'll find any sleep, especially since I must sustain our fire. I think we must speak... speak of where we will go and what we will do." He paused. "Do you... Have any ideas?"

((I figured Letho and Myria would come upon us, since they should be able to see the smoke from the fire (as it burns the door, let's say). Then someone can put the idea in Luc's head to 'focus his energy' to locate the source, and he'll do that. Maybe Dresden can do that in his post, a moment before Letho arrives.))

[Letho]

Inquisitive as usual, Myrhia barraged Letho with dozens of questions as they trudged over the frosty surface of the river. Was entire Radasanth frozen? How about the rest of Corone? Did the wave reach Willowtown? How could it be this cold this time of the year? Could it be reversed? Would the lilies in her garden survive it? Those and many more the redhead asked in what seemed like regular intervals, desperately clinging to the scarlet fabric of the overly thin cloak. Unlike usual, however, this time around Letho didn’t have the answers to the questions. What happened was surreal, unlike anything he ever witnessed, a white nightmare from which neither of them could wake up. And regardless of how much he pondered on the issue, the lack of concrete information prevented him from reaching any conclusions that would explain the unnatural winter.

What he could say, however was that the wave probably didn’t originate in the Corone capitol. Magical or not, waves generally obeyed the basic rules of nature, spreading around its center in concentric manner. And given the curve of the translucent wall of energy that conquered both land and sea, the pebble that stirred this particular ripple was located outside of the city walls. However, in order to reach the source of this madness, they needed provisions and – which seemed infinitely more important – clothing that would allow them to survive the night and its chill. That was why, once they reached the first berth of the docks, Letho led the way through the still streets and towards the Bazaar.

Around them the imagery was even more haunting then back at the ship. The streets of Radasanth were turned into a maze filled with the most realistic statues ever crafted. None of them saw it coming, their eyes as lifeless as marbles as they fixated on one order of unfinished business or another. Pushing carts, small-talk on the porches, a fat store-keeper chasing after a street urchin that stole a fistful of peanuts, a hawker whipping his mule, those and a myriad of other motives glared back at them with their dead eyes, asking the same questions that Myrhia already didn’t get answers to. For the briefest of moments Letho thought that he heard voices, but after he stopped and the rattle of the chains around his feet ceased, there was once again nothing but silence drumming against his ears.

When they reached the vast Bazaar and its once colorful stands, Myrhia said: “I dreamed once that I’m alone in the Bazzar and that I can take anything I want,” but unsurprisingly there was no mirth in her voice. She touched neither the people nor the wares, fearing their eyes as if they were sentries that watched her every move. Only when Letho led the way into a hunter’s lodge and told her to find a fitting fur-coat did she force herself to rummage through the hanging coats under the watchful eyes of the frozen owner. She picked up the first one that seemed to fit, a sable coat whose usually soft fur felt as if it was made of plaster when she first put it on. Unlike her refined taste in attire, Letho opted for a huge coat made of bearskin and a fur hat that almost fell over his eyes. He picked up one for her as well, a smaller one whose dark brown color didn’t fit with the hue of her own coat, but either of them worried about fashion right now.

“It’s going to be alright,” he assured her as he put the hat on her head, her emerald eyes the only thing peeking from the bulk of the furs, scared, uncertain. What if some devilry killed the world and they were the only two people left alive? It was a pessimistic prediction, but then he kissed her lightly on the forehead and she realized that it could’ve been worse. She could’ve wound up all alone.

With the furs donned, they both looked almost twice as bulky as they really were, but for the first time since they saw the wave they were both warm and that was something to be thankful for. Before they left, however, Myrhia insisted on paying. “Once we defrost them,” she said, her optimism returning with the warmth, “they’ll be pretty angry if they found out somebody robbed them.” Letho didn’t argue, even though his glass was half empty and he believed that there was no way to fully fix this mess. Instead he counted what he considered an appropriate amount and left it on the frozen wood of the counter before re-entering the Bazaar.

They were in the process of picking up some food from one of the stands – “At least it won’t spoil,” Myrhia said with a smirk as she struggled to detach the frozen parcels from the stand – when they heard voices again. This time, however, they didn’t go away when the pair stopped their foraging. Though they were mere incomprehensible whispers, they seemed to be coming from the direction that the pair came from. Stuffing what little provision they were able to tear free, the pair scuttled back towards the docks, the chains around their feet rattling, announcing their approach.

By the time they left the Bazaar behind them, the voices had faded, but there was little doubt that there was somebody else alive aside from them. The audible evidence was supported by even more proof when Letho found a pair of footsteps on the frosty cobbles that didn’t belong to them. A notion that someone else was alive aside from them brought a timid smile on Myrhia’s face, but the high collar of her coat did a good job at keeping her reaction hidden. However, not even the furs were able to stifle the sigh of relief that she uttered when they came upon the small shack and the flicker of the fire that burned within. The doors of the cabin were gone, cracking coyly in the middle of the room as two men sat around it, warming themselves on the vivid flame tongues.

“Hail, strangers!” Letho’s voice rumbled through the thickness of the fur, an intimidating voice of the bear-man that stepped through the doorway. “It is good to see that some unfrozen faces.” It wasn’t necessarily the truth; Myrhia was always enough of a company for the swordsman.

“We thought we’re the only ones,” Myrhia added in her tiny, fragile voice, appearing from behind Letho, a significantly smaller ball of fur next to the larger, more menacing one. Her eyes looked at the two shortly before getting locked on the fire and the warmth that spread over her face like a warm towel. “Do you mind if we warm ourselves by your fire? We have food and we’re willing to share.”