Reestablishing what was lost.

[Ranger]

To the human population of Althanas time si the eventual destroyer of all things material. They have an almost definite limit attached to their petty lives. Once they run out of time they are gone forever. Perhaps that is why they move everywhere in a rush. They grow so quickly, fade so fast, that they must hurry to accomplish all their trivial tasks as quickly as possible. It is no wonder then that they are the starters of so many wars, aggressors creating so much terror. If your life had a short limit, would you not want to live in peace for as long as it lasts? Is the guise of power and wealth truly as important as it is professed to be?

So much had evolved and changed in the short year since I had departed. The group I had been devoted to for years had all but become extinct with the lack of a true presence. The Gol’Bron was not a simple obstacle that could easily be parted with in time. Governments were constantly under siege, such as Corone’s civil war, but they were run by hasty humans. Though the Gol’Bron ran like a small government, it was dominated by men who could last centuries, and their patience was limitless.

I was one of those men. Where Lord Ithermoss – Rakh as he was known now – had gone was unsure. The second in command was absent as well, Sorahn. It left me, a lone drow prophet, the only one with memories of the Red Hand fresh in the forefront of his mind. But alone I was useless. I could work the mines, or move on to his fields and land, but one man could not be the Gol’Bron. I needed to summon the others, reestablish the outpost, and regain control of the mines and the Radasanthian Bazaar traffic if at all possible.

It would be a slow, step-by-step process.

It seemed daunting task though, but a vision of a small city appeared before me as I looked over my empty lands. It was full of people, all kinds, working and living. They thrived and survived under the steady eye of the Gol’Bron. Overhead the flag flew the symbol of the clan, a seven sided star with a burst of light exploding from the center. Beneath it were two pennants, one a red fist, the other a black fist. To me it was a glorious sight to behold, one that brought a genuine smile to my lips. The resurrection of the Gol’Bron would be on my land… If it was not the gods that had spoke, it was easily my own pride.

“Nailo,” I turned. Those who had defected from the Legion of Light were following me. There were a mere forty men, but they had nowhere to go to. They were soldiers of a fake religion. I had destroyed their ‘god’, a daemon centuries old, and had set them free. “Is this is?”

“Patience,” he was human, I reminded myself. His thoughts are on how long it will take to accomplish the difficult task ahead. “This is my land, but will soon be the home of the most powerful group of Althanas. We must gather the others… we must summon them and pull them to me and the resurrection of our great clan.”

“How are we going to do that?” Lieutenant Frihaen’s tone was sarcastic as always, but the man lacked faith. But I understood nonetheless. His god and savior had been removed as a falsehood. That which he had places so much faith into had turned out to be nothing more than a lie. I had felt the same thing, the same confusion. I, however, had challenged Aerian and come out victorious. I only wished the mercenary Osato had followed me, but alas, some paths were carved from destiny itself and his was not the same as mine. “You made it sound like there were many that belonged to this… clan. It is going to be impossible to find them all. They could be scattered anywhere across all of Althanas…”

“No,” I responded slowly, “I have offered a prayer to the Thayne and they will provide for me and us a miracle. I am going to send thirty of you out, the wills of the Thayne will guide you all.” I held up a hand to still the budding arguments that I already knew where forming on the ends of their sharp tongues. Humans could be so vexing at times.

A slow wind was growing, building, blowing from the mountains. It was steady and soft, but comforting. I closed my eyes and let it pass over me, cooling me from the morning sun. It swept through my ragged clothes, quickly cooling the beads of sweat that budded across my toned muscles. The sweet smell of the plains grass rushed with it. It was so clean, so pure, nothing like Radasanth. “Each of you will divide into groups of two,” I said at last. My voice was strong, the leadership of my commands being carried with the winds towards the men. I did not doubt that most, if not all, of the former members of the Red Hand would be found, hopefully those of the Black Hand too. We would need all the help we could summon. “Prepare yourselves however necessary; whenever you are ready I would request that you move quickly. Time is against you all, and it will not be easy to find all the previous members of the Gol’Bron again…”

((Closed to the Gol’Bron!))

[Sorahn]

((Gonna need to use some liquid time. This will take place after my solo.))

The cool wind rushed past Sorahn as he soared through the air. He sat confidently in a saddle strapped to his faithful familiar: a black dragon that Sorahn had named Nyvahriseth. Nyris, as he was known commonly, flew gracefully, his powerful wings sending him forward with amazing speed and agility.

Sorahn shared a special bond with the dragon which he couldn’t quite explain, but it grew stronger with each passing day. At first they could communicate thoughts, then they shared feelings, then they always knew where the other was located. It astounded him, but Sorahn felt as though the dragon was a part of him, and even now soaring hundreds of feet in the air, he felt as though he was guiding the dragon’s every move. They were still separate creatures, but at the same time an extension of each other.

With just a thought, the great dragon banked to the left. He could feel the muscles flexing beneath him as the huge wings adjusted their position. Sorahn scanned the landscape below them for familiar places, and the dragon followed his navigation. Then he saw it: one particularly distinct mountain. It was a very important mountain in Sorahn’s life. It was where he had lived and worked for years, and where he had met some of his closest brothers. It was Pandemonium’s Fist.

Sorahn tightened his grip on the handle on the front of the saddle, and on command the dragon arched his back and fell into a dive. Slowly the calm wind brushing against his face turned to a hurricane force which made his fur ripple. Soon the area where Sorahn knew the hidden entrance to the Fist was located, or at least used to be, came into view. Nearby he saw a meadow with a handful of men and drow that Sorahn recognized. Nyris’s wings stretched out and the dive slowed, so as to not alarm those below.

Although Sorahn felt his very appearance might be alarming. Most had never seen a creature such as him before. He was covered in short, white fur, with a five foot long slender tail and large swept-back ears. As if this wasn’t enough, his appearance had changed a lot since last he was seen. He now only wore a pair of tattered black pants, leaving his upper body exposed, which was covered in ritualistic Ranoan tattoos. He had gained a few, giving him the rightful look of a tribal warrior.

They descended over the meadow. Nyris banked slightly to position himself to an open area in the meadow. He came to a hover with one great beat of his wings which sent a ripple through the plain of grass, before landing softly on the ground.

Sorahn leapt gracefully from the dragon and walked toward the drow he knew as Ranger Nailo. His tail swished slowly behind him, revealing his excitement that this was happening. Finally the group he pledged his allegiance to so long ago would be resurrected; brought forth from the ash like a phoenix, reborn into new glory. The Red Hand would rise again.

He didn’t know where Rakh had gone, but he had assumed that this once powerful group would recede quietly in his absence just as it did when Ithermoss had first left. Sorahn was always loyal to Ithermoss, and on his deathbed he had declared Sorahn to be the new leader of the Red Hand, and gave him the name Cruor’Gal. It was a name he never spoke, and he was sure no one else knew, but still he held on to it as the memory of his great leader.

Ithermoss later returned as Rakh, and his great presence ignited a new life in the Red Hand, and it was reborn as the Gol’Bron. But just as before, when Rakh left, the group fell back into the shadows.

Whether or not Sorahn would again lead the group in Ithermoss’s absence mattered little to him. What mattered was his central involvement in breathing new life into this group. He would be honored to lead the group, but he would also be honored to take any place where he was needed.

A grin crossed his face as he approached the drow. “Ranger, It’s good to see you. My lord Ronah told me you sought to restore the Gol’Bron. I hope I can be of some help.” He said with a smile.

[Of Free Will]

The sound of flipping pages and closing books echoed throughout the dark, quiet library. A rusted lantern provided the only light in the vast room. It rested on an oak table, next to piles of old books and scrolls. The scent of paper and mold was both appalling and comforting to Elijah. The stale smell of rotting paper could also be thought of as the scent of knowledge. That is what Elijah smelt.

Elijah had found this forgotten place with nothing but a rumor to guide him. A traveling fortune teller had told Elijah that if it was knowledge he sought, he should have faith in the constellations. The teller was of course referring to the name carved into the stone wall of this age old library. " Celestial Tomes ". The term celestial had nothing to do with the contents of the library. It referred to the location of the library. It was out in the open where the starry sky could always be seen through the glass roof.

But there were no stars tonight. They were hidden behind a curtain of gray clouds. Even the silvery shine of the moon was blocked by the thick clouds. The orange glow from the lantern provided enough light though. Elijah had been reading for what seemed like days, researching all he could about the dieties of Althanas.

One particular group of dieties had caught his interest; the Thayne. According to the writings, the Thayne were seven dieties that were once one. Although Elijah could find no detailed information on the one known as N'jal. However, one of the other six dieties caught his attention. Kal'jaren the Sage, as he was called seemed to have something to do intelligence and learning as a whole. Though Elijah only had the most basic understanding of the Thayne, he was already hooked on Kal'jaren. He had been reading books about him for hours.

Elijah set down the thick book he had in his lap and reached for another. He nearly had another book in his hand when he noticed something crawling across the surface of the old book. It was a mantis. A tiny, common green mantis. The tiny arhtropod tilted its head, seemingly examining Elijah, just as he examined it.

" How strange. What a coincidence that I should see a creature such as you as I research the mantis diety himself. "

Elijah extended his gloved hand out to the tiny creature, letting it climb into his palm. He held it for a moment, staring into it's eyes. The tiny compound eyes of the mantis reflected the light of the lantern like a thousand tiny mirrors.

" What lovely eyes you have dear friend. "

The mantis fluttered it's wings and flew from Elijah's hand. It fluttered higher towards the ceiling and slipped out of the building through a hole in the glass roof. Elijah chuckled and reached once again for the old book. But he was interrupted yet again, this time by a voice.

" Elijah? "

He turned towards the doorway of the library and saw two soldiers standing in the doorway, armed with spears and a torch.

" Elijah of the free will? "

Elijah rose out of his seat and dusted himself off.

" I am. How may I help you gentlemen? "

The soldiers glanced at each other uneasily. The soldier to the right nodded, as if to reassure the other.

" You have been summoned by the Thayne to assist in the rebirth of the Gol'Bron and the Red Hand. "

Neither of these names meant anything to Elijah other than what he had read in the very books that surrounded the three of them.

" I'm sorry, you said I have been summoned? "

" Y-yes. We were ordered by our leader to seek out the former members of the Red Hand and bring them back to him. He gave us no names, nor a direction to travel, he simply said that the wills of the Thayne would guide us. We were all very sceptical at first, but that very night Kal'jaren came to my friend and I in our dreams. He told us that you would be here, in that exact spot you are standing in now. He told us that you're thirst for knowledge would be essential in the rebirth of the Red Hand. Please sir, you must come with us. "

Astonishing. First the mantis on the book, and now this. Had Elijah finally found a true diety in this God forsaken land? Books could only tell so much. if these men were telling the truth, he could learn much from this leader of theirs. He seemed to know his way around the Thayne better than anyone else he had met.

" Very well gentlemen. I don't know how much help I will be, but I will accompany you back to where you came from, if only to speak with your leader about the Thayne. "

[The Barbarian]

A pair of lightly armored soldiers waded through the thick masses of a small town somewhere in countryside of Corone, a couple dozen miles south of its capital. It was an oddity, being a ethnic melting pot instead of a predominantly human culture that surrounded this place. Apparently most of the beings here, which consisted of elves, dwarves, humans, and a number of other creatures, sought one place in particular. Cries of anger and triumph raised like waves of an ocean slapping the shore. Chants and screams could be heard coming from the center of the town, where most of the population came from and went too.

The pair of men held their breath as their own vision came true. This was the three story oak laden building they had seen in their minds just a mere half day’s journey from Ranger’s plot of land. Draconus the Ancient had shown it and an extremely large man, rippled in muscles and towering over everyone. The cries and chants were just as real then as they were now.

“’ey! Ya’s ‘ere ta bet?!”

A worn and beaten woman eyed the two men that had unknowingly wandered closer to the entrance of the building. Torches lined the doorway, shadowing half the woman’s face, making the other visible section seem much more haggard and dying. One of the soldiers nodded and placed five gold coins in her hand, that she shook approvingly with a soft motion of her wrist, and handed them a card.

“Move! We’s go’ moe’ bettars!” She shouted as they walked into the small hallway. One of the men glanced nervously around the room that presented itself at the end of their short walk; a large caged dirt ring sat in the middle, with hundreds of spectators, all holding different colored cards, shouting the names of two people. It seemed people wanted a man named Tyrael dead.

“He can’t go on foreva!”

“Kill ‘em Jacki!”

“Sho’ em wut yous made of!!”

A giant of a man bounded through an opening gate, which was promptly closed and bolted shut, and roared at the crowd. His short blonde greasy hair was glistening with sweat or water and he wore make-shift leather and iron armor on his chest and legs. From the opposite side of the gate was a small wooden bench, which was occupied by a figure bent over, resting his elbows on his thighs. His long black hair draped over his face, making it almost impossible to see.

Except for the glowing sapphire that escaped through the cracks in the mane. Eyes burning bright and hot, obviously angry and eager to kill. It was then that both soldiers noticed that the man was covered in blood. No, covered would’ve been an understatement.

He was drenched in it.

What could only be described for his attire was that he was wearing a crimson suit with matching shoes. The only thing not covered in the dripping life force was his thick, snow streaked hair.

Suddenly the man sitting down snapped his head up and looked directly into the eyes of one of the soldiers. It caught the man off guard and he felt his breath slide out of his body slowly. The only thing that returned it was the grin that came on their target’s face.

Tyrael stood up from the bench and cracked his neck. “Yo,” he said as he pointed at the still taunting man, “I gotta get goin’. Let’s get this ova’ with.” Picking up the bench by kicking it up with the back of his heel, he caught it and hurled it at the back of the man who had foolishly ignored his warning.

The wood smashed into his skull, knocking him unconscious. He slammed into the dirt with a heavy thud, soft plumes of dust rising from the exhaling wind of his nostrils. Stepping over to him, he looked at the crowd and smiled as more than half of them booed him. To answer them back, he slammed his foot down on the man’s neck, breaking it.

This was a death arena. The only way one of them could get out was by killing the other. His pity for the dead fighter was nothing more than the pity who would’ve felt for squashing an ant.

Enjoying the roars of anger and cries of joy as a few spectators cashed in on his victory, he walked up to the gate and motioned for them to open it. Obeying immediately, he exited the blood filled ring and walked into the stands and towards the two soldiers, who had by now gotten a grip on things and stood at full attention.

“Ya boys are a little late.” They looked at him quizzically, “He told me you’d be comin’. I figured I’d raise a little money for the efforts while I waited.” He led them to a back room as he talked, shoving past drunk and angry audience members, clearing the way for his hulking form. “Thank those damn gods too…I was feelin’ a little lost in what to do next, ya know?” The soldiers nodded with enthusiasm. They were relieved to see he wasn’t all blood and guts.

Entering a room with a guard, he was let in to gather his gear and came out fifteen minutes later, less bloody and slightly cleaner. A large titanium battle axe and bastard sword were strapped to his back. On an ordinary man, this would seem extremely heavy and awkward. On Tyrael, it looked as if he had a small hand axe and a small sword clinging to him. He then produced a delhar short sword and strapped it to his waist, along with a large bag with contents unknown to the men.

“Alright boys, let’s get goin’. I know we ain’t got lots of time right?” Tyrael said with a wink. “Oh, and hold onto this.” He handed them yet another bag, this one slightly smaller than his knapsack he held onto at the moment. “Five hundred gold right there. Won it from the fights. Use it for the cause.”

Smiling at the much larger man, they all quickly exited the battle house, which now sported two female creatures dueling in mud, and made their way back to Ranger and his virgin land.

[Oracle of Jomil]

It had been weeks since the Spidermagi had destroyed the temple. Weeks since the priests and clerics had been murdered. Weeks since Eisa had begged them to run with her because she had foreseen this coming. Weeks since she had hidden in the snow beneath the massive monoliths that made up the Icehenge dedicated to Jomil. And it had been weeks since Eisa had prophesied anything, much less dreamed.

Last night though, huddled in the barn of a merciful farmer who had felt sorry for the tiny Oracle, she had been visited by Jomil. The vision was cryptic as always; a large crimson fist reaching from the south to pluck her from the darkness and carry her through the clouds under Jomil's smiling face to an island in the distance. At first it had frightened Eisa, but as she recalled it to herself, the hand had not been painful or forceful, simply irrevocable. And what it had done was blessed by Jomil, therefore she would not fear it.

When the farmer came striding into the barn with a pair of men behind him bearing a red fist on their insignia, Eisa met them with no suprise. She simply nodded, ran a quick hand through her growing halo of dark curls, and joined the men.

"The Thayne sent us to find you," one said unnecessarily as the farmer looked on doubtfully, "Jomil showed us where you would be and said we must protect you and take you somewhere she could watch you and give you dreams."

Eisa smiled and nodded again, unsure of what they had said but recognizing the name of Jomil on their lips as well as the word for dreams. It mattered not. Her goddess wanted her to join these men, and they would take her somewhere that she could once again serve Jomil. Her gold eyes sparkled as she took the farmer's hand and shook it gratefully, illiciting a happy laugh from the rotund grey haired man and a soft pat on the shoulder.

"Godspeed little one," he said by way of farewell, "You certainly seem to need it."

[Witchblade]

She was bored and tired of it all. Life was the same never-ending circle that had long ago trapped her within its grasp and refused to let go. No matter what she knew of Althanas and its true form, it’s true identity; it didn’t help her in any way. She was still forced to do what her creator wanted one way or another. There was no escaping it. Sure, the woman could no longer outwardly control her actions, but she could influence the world around her. So what was the difference? What was the point in knowing this great piece of knowledge if it did her no good? There wasn’t a point. It was just another random piece thrown into the mix of her life. If you could call it a life at all.

Concordia was just the only place she could find some semblance of peace within herself and the world around her. There were no pestering humans; in fact there was nothing but her and the nature that surrounded her. Or at least that was how it had once been. The civil war in Corone had driven many people into Concordia, including a resistance that was trying to amass strength and win back their precious home. It was just dirt. They could go someplace else and build a new home and a new way of life without their government ruling over their every move. But they were so attached to dirt that they would kill for it.

“And what do you kill for?”

What did she kill for? Right now…she killed for the Audeamus. But before then, there had been a clan she had killed for and a person she had protected.

Chelsi…

Where that person was now, she didn’t know and would probably never know. The woman had such a knack for getting herself in sticky situations that she was probably dead by now. And that elicited no false feelings of remorse from within her. She wouldn’t pretend that her cold heart cared.

Witchblade shook her head. There was no point in thinking about the past. What had brought it up within her mind now of all times she didn’t know. But she didn’t want it there. The past was the past and no amount of musing on it was going to change anything. One could not live there they could only look back and what was and what once could have been. Both would do nothing for her. She was stuck in the future, in a world she didn’t belong in and in a place that didn’t really exist. Wasn’t life grand?

Her crimson eyes glanced towards the canopy above her and the dancing of green that the wind produced. It blew against her, ruffling her clothes and cooling her already deathly cold skin. Through the green she could make out the blue and the dark it was turning to. Night would be upon Concordia soon and she would not sleep. She would never sleep. But the forest would. The sounds of the birds around her would slowly fade, replaced instead by the sounds of predators and gentle lullaby of crickets. Around the moment of dusk, the forest floor feet beneath her would light with the colour of fireflies. They would dance and flow, like the ebb of a river. This was what Concordia was like at night.

A branch broke.

The sound echoed loudly throughout the trees, which seemed to shudder at the intrusion. No animal made that much noise. Not unless it was a monster. Tilting her head further into the air, the halfling sniffed the breeze and immediately her face twisted into a mask of hate and anger.

Humans!

This deep into Concordia she couldn’t believe it! She thought that coming this far would save her from their presence, but even here she found them. No matter where she went she couldn’t get away from them. Soon enough, their voices filled her sensitive ears as they continued toward her.

“I think we’re lost.”

“Nay, the Thayne said that she was in here. We must trust in the Thayne!”

“As we trusted in our other God?”

The Thayne? Why did that name sound so familiar to her?

Their voices were silent, but their steps were not. Humans truly did not understand how to tread softly within the forest. By now probably half of the waking predators in this area knew they were here, including her. And she was the most dangerous of them all. Within another minute she could see them clearly. Their person covered in armour with weapons hanging from belts around their waists. Upon their chest plate was the symbol of a red fist. It struck her as familiar. A deep part of her mind that rustled with the sight of it, but no pictures formed themselves. Whatever it was she didn’t care. She was going to enjoy tearing them limb from limb though.

Soldier scum, they were probably from Corone. What side she didn’t care.

They were drawing closer to her perch above the forest floor. Once they were within feet of it, she dropped down through the treetops and passed the interwoven branches to the forest floor below. When she hit the ground she barely made a sound. She was just a black spectre, an anomaly that appeared before them and they, too stunned to do another about it. Slowly, she raised her head and glanced through the veil of her long black hair towards them. Before they could speak or act, she tensed the muscles in her legs and leapt for the blonde. His green eyes widening in response as her body slammed into him and brought him to his back.

“W-wait…stop!”

His friend did not attack her. The fool.

The nails on her fingers grew and hardened turning into claws as she prepared to rip through the soft flesh of his throat.

“Witchblade, wait!”

The name stilled her, but her hand was still raised to kill his friend at the slightest moment.

“Speak!”

“W-we were sent to find you, we were sent to find all the old members of The Red Hand. Hromagh came to us and told us where we could find you…”

Hromagh? The name finally clicked in her head. He was one of the Thayne, Gods of Althanas.

“Keep your false Gods, I want nothing to do with them!”

“But Nailo is re-establishing The Red Hand and you have been summoned to help!”

That was interesting. She had only been a member of The Red Hand briefly before it had fallen into ruin. And yet they wanted her back.

“Fine.”

She removed herself from atop the human, but offered him no helping hand. She would go to The Red Hand, but they could keep their false Gods to themselves. She wanted nothing to do with them.

[Ranger]

I sighed as the men seemed to do little more than doddle about, obviously unexcited about placing their trust in yet another set of gods. Difficult for the short-lived, fragile humans, but disappointment was something they would have to work through. Though the sooner they fell away from their false gods influence and accepted the Thayne the sooner they could perform well again. In only hoped they realized or where given a sign of some sort by which to replace their shattered faith.

An hour, maybe a bit more, passed. Before me a few groups had left, suddenly. Their faces had lit; they had stood, and then were off. I bid them farewell and a passing blessing, after asking which way they were being guided. Of course I would not interject into what course they were going to take, simply gage what direction and possibly Thayne they would take to heart. Those that did not take to their feet, or at least show a little sign of their faith in myself and the Thayne, I would begin assigning locations where the others were not going.

While lost in thoughts of where I could possibly send some of the men – with the occasional smirk on my face – over head a bead formed. It was a mere dot on the horizon, but pushed across the cloud spotted sky quickly. The first soldier to see it and sense danger tapped my shoulder, whispering. “A dragon of the hills is coming this way. Now what? Already half of our numbers are gone, we could not hope to defend ourselves.”

“Truly?” I looked to the sky, covering my eyes from the harsh sun. I saw it, but from the closing distance it was impossible to guess how large the drake could be. I turned to the remaining men. Even with their dulled armor further wrapped beneath leather or scale the collection of men stood out. Half glints refracted and reflected off sharp edges and exposed points.

However, their first instincts were the most curious, and yet impressive. Each had retrieved a weapon, most something of a projectile type. But they kept their weapons secreted away, as if to hide them from the approaching dragon. A few of them had weapons glowing softly with magic. I could see and understand why the Legion of Light had held itself for so long. Power was individual, and had little or nothing to do with blessing from a patron deity.

“At least hold your fire until I give some form of command,” I did not want them to pester it, instead of killing it. If it truly was to be our bane than we would at the very least strike in unison. However, the closer it grew the less fear I felt. It was a solemn, unexplainable comfort I felt, very deep down. Since my exploits into the cave, and after having part of my soul siphoned, I would constantly ‘feel’ less and less emotions. This, however, was more deep than most.

By the time the dragon dropped the men had formed loose, yet disciplined ranks without order. I stood before them though, a smile beaming across my normally stoic face. “Sorahn,” I returned with a friendly smile. “It is good to see you as well. I am glad that your lord came to you, for I have just now sent out scouts to seek the rest.”

The anthro was a vital part of the Gol’Bron, the veritable heart of the clan since the disappearance of Lord Ithermoss – or Rakh since his reincarnation. I saw not another man to be added to the ranks, but a true leader amongst the group. I stretched out both hands and signaled the men to return their weapons. Those that had not already did so, and those that were to be sent out rose and began to wander off. “It may be a few days yet before results of the Thayne’s guidance come back, a week or more till the first members return. I hope you are not above some simple manual labor. We are going to need a great deal of raw materials for the development of our new home, and even more hours of labor to create what was lost.”

Despite myself, and the situation, I laughed. “And I would gladly turn the leadership of the Gol’Bron back to your steady and knowledgeable hands. As it stands, I have been working on whims and what spiritual guidance the Thayne has provided.”

[Daggertail]

Okay so my new career of adventuring and treasure hunting wasn't being as hot as I hoped. I was finding ruins and the like and getting to the treasures and artifacts that were missed but it seemed there was a reason for them to be left when things were picked clean. It was junk and while it was worth something to collectors, thanks to trash and treasure being points of view. I had enough money to eat and have an occasional night in a bed with a bath but that was it, no chance of buying a home or some place to live, no getting new tools and fun was far between.

"This stuff's trash!" the merchant yelled out as he slammed down some coins and sent them rolling off the desk and on to the floor, making me work extra to catch them and pick up the ones that fell over. Looked to be enough for one night and a decent meal as well as some dried portions but that was it. All for a whole day of combing a minor ruin just outside town and fending off some goblins. It wasn't easy but this was my life, no more buffing the steel tables in a demon tavern.

Alright I know it seems odd to talk about me scrambling on hands and knees for a measly payment for a bad haul but that's when something special happened and a pair of cowled figures came in, holding a strange amulet amber that they put it near me and it started to glow swirling green. I was hypnotized for a moment as they looked at me.

"She's the one Y'edda chose?" Asked one of the figures, not very happy to see a girl with a long tail looking up at him.

"Yes she's the one, a chosen follower."

"Follower?" I said waking from my trance. "I don't know who you are or who Y'edda is." My tail lashed back and forth as I looked at the two. "Anyways I don't follow anyone." I said not liking the idea of being a follower.

The cowled figures looked at each other and I couldn't see their faces so who knew what they were up to when they whispered to each other.

"Well, I guess some Y'edda chooses wouldn't be the kind of person that would follow blindly. So how about you come with us and we'll show you something. We're part of the Gol'bron of the Thayne and you being chosen will have the opportunity with the rebuilt red hand as well. No more relying on those who have greed as their guide."

The merchant slammed the counter again and was ready to throw us out and we left. I wasn't sure if I could trust them but it seemed like a good idea to see what they meant, so I went with them but made sure to have kept an eye on them to be safe.

[Sorahn]

Sorahn was relieved to see a familiar face from the old days of glory. He could only hope this new rising would reach a fraction of the power that was once held by the Red Hand, but it was worth trying.

With a thought Sorahn dismissed Nyris, who leapt into the air with one great push of his legs and took off to look for a snack, but always stayed nearby, ready for his master’s command.

“Of course I’m ready for some manual labor! I would not dishonor myself or you by simply watching as others did my work for me. I have come to work in any way I can.” He replied to Ranger with a smile.

Ranger’s next comment surprised him. He had to admit he had thought about assuming leadership of the group again, and thought that Ranger might ask him, but he still felt like a failure in the sense of leadership. When Ithermoss returned, he assured Sorahn that the original downfall had not been his fault. He told him that all things must end, and it was simply that time for the Red Hand. But still he had the nagging feeling that he could have done more to save it, to keep it alive. He wondered if he could have done more to preserve their glory, so that at this moment they would be enjoying yet another day within the halls of the Pandemonium’s Fist, rather than standing here trying to rebuild what was lost.

Yet the same thought that made him hesitant, also made him driven. He felt as though he needed to prove his worth; prove to everyone that he could lead the Gol’Bron. He had to try again. He needed to know if he simply wasn’t cut out for leadership, or if he could truly be a great leader. Ranger’s words also rang clearly in his ears. ”steady and knowledgeable hands” If his fellow clan member had such confidence in him, there must be a reason.

Finally he straightened himself and responded. “I would be honored to lead the Gol’Bron.” Quickly the grin returned to his face. “Yet while we wait for the others, we must talk about these plans of yours. You’ll have to be my second in command, so you’ll need to bring me up to speed.” He said with a smile. If he was to lead the Gol’Bron, he would need someone he could trust to advise him.

He looked around the small encampment. “We need a command tent to discuss in.”

[Mutant_Lorenor]

(I'm working off the events of the other quest so I have some sort of back-story since Lorenor's been in hiatus for a long time)

In one of the few remaining structures of the old Red Hand lurked a group of men. These individuals' persons performed their duties several stories in one of many sub-basements of the building. This particular building, a training building, served as the primary educational center for training The Gol'Bron's units in deadly combat. One of the individuals, a boy at the center of the current sparring session hated The Thayne probably more than any other of the current members of Gol'Bron. His guiding hand was an ancient enemy of the land of Althanas. One who sought to usurp the power of the Thaynes and bring about a second age of darkness. The boy, Lorenor, hadn't arrived into the fold of the Gol'Bron as the others had.

His was a tale of happen-stance and treachery. The missing Elder Thayne, N'Jal, decreed that the boy join the Gol'Bron as a representative of her order, the Spider-Magi. Still a young warrior at best, Lorenor's formal knowledge of warfare and tactics lost itself in his current incarnation. The proud heritage and legacy of the warrior from so long ago now lost in the ancient text and history of the Monks of the Citadel. Lorenor, openly declared war against the Thayne-hood and sought to disrupt them every chance he could. After his battle against his then-best friend, Zephyriah Alibrone, the Thayne known as Draconus violated the well being and shattered what remaining sanity the boy had at the time. The battle set the foundation for what would become hatred and resentment towards the rest of the Thaynes.

Lorenor, an outcast, joined the Gol'Bron because the Dark Mother decreed he do so. Lorenor mentioned to none other than Ranger Nailo where his true allegiance lay. Now though, the soldiers of the Gol'Bron worked to turn the small wretch into a combat-worthy unit. Not even they remembered Lorenor's ancient stories. So long was he lost to the world of Althanas that the stories of his exploits fell into myth and legend. Now, Lorenor needed to start his story anew from the beginning. Even as he felt the pain from the wooden sticks that the man used against him. The lad Lorenor currently fought against bore the marks of some other tribe.

Lorenor knew not what those marks meant. The boy moved quickly against the wretch sending his combat sticks to harm the smaller lad. Lorenor stood approximately 5 feet tall and had a tendency to hunch over. This bad habit made him seem much smaller. Lorenor grunted with every impact against his body, already several visible bruises present on his person. A small group of well-trained warriors observed the melee carefully. Two of the warriors took notes about the battles for the records of the Gol'Bron. After the last of the stronger boy's attacks, Lorenor found his person on the floor looking up at the boy in disbelief. Lorenor's training so far, slowly going, been a total of three moons. The young immortal made very little progress as he yet had control of his rage and anger. The head instructor, a man by the name of Nocks looked at Lorenor with impatience.

"I don't know what The Master Nailo saw in you. But we've been at this for months now. Still you make no progress. You're better than this but you hold back. The basic techniques you've been learning with the Wooden Sword apply to actual combat. You'd be dead now is that what you want? Is your brain feeding worms? You have to focus past your rage in order to become an effective weapon!" The man said.

Lorenor's mind wasn't on the fight. It was elsewhere. He thought about the vision back in Haide when the Spider Queen visited him. Lorenor knew that this too was part of his destiny. He had to learn everything from scratch again. Spitting out blood, the young Immortal stood up and started up at his opponent, who was much taller. There was one thing that could be said about the young student, he was very determined. Lorenor tried to ignore the pain he now felt all over his person. He tried to ignore the distraction of his recent memories. I have to train if I'm going to become a Spider Magi. Spider Magi are much more dangerous than this. One of them would instantly kill me right now. Lorenor took his two wooden swords in his hands again and moved back towards a combat ready position.

"AGAIN!" Nocks said and the two youths proceeded with the spar.

[Koran]

((Both Koran and Bernard are represented in this post.))

The common room was silent, the daily crowd long since gone, the night crew settled in and holding quiet conversations with each other in their own separate parts of the room. Only half the candles were lit, as there was no real need for any great amount of light and when a man, or woman decided to leave for the night, they would not have to worry so much about their eyes needing to adjust to the night. Seated in the furthest most corner from the door was a man of a young age, perhaps his early twenties, light brown hair with the ever so genetically popular brown eyes, staring blankly into a brown pewter mug, filled to the brim with dark ale. After a few moments of silence, he looks up to a man who is standing just to his right.

"Are you certain? I mean, can you honestly say for sure that they're really going to be there?"

The man whom he had been speaking to, a broad shoulder, muscular man, with coal black eyes and a lifeless smile, shifts his stance a little and squares his back against the wall he is leaning against. His eyes, without iris or pupil, seeming to either be staring blankly into oblivion, or every direction at once, glance over everyone in the room for a moment, before answer the young mans question.

"I'm as certain as I can get. As for them being there, we shall see when we get there. Finish your ale and get some sleep, we leave at dawn."

Then, the black eyed man is gone, having vanished through a nearly hidden door just behind him that lead to the stables near the rear of the Inn, leaving the young man alone to stare blankly into his drink. He remained as such for a few more minutes, before downing his drink in six long gulps and rising from his seat to leave. A moment later a server appeared to clean the table and remove the pewter cup.


*~~*

The sun sat low on the horizon, the very tip of the life giving yellow ball just visible over the tips of the mountains, as two figures slowly made their way quickly from the Inn. One rode on horseback, two short swords balanced on either side of his waist, with a small, rolled pack of provisions strapped tightly against his back. The other, leading a small pack mule laden with various supplies such as food, oils, lamps, a canvas tent and various maps, carried on his back only a large sword, which dangled almost to his ankles, with nearly a foot of hilt jutting from over his head. Neither looked back as the Inn slowly faded into the distance.

They did not stop again until it was nearly night fall, the shadows stretching so long before them that they could not determine what was real, and what was just shadow. They pitched their tent near a small creek, the cool water flowing steadily south, which allowed for easy access to fresh water for dinner, and to refill their own stores. They both sat silently around a small fire, the young man eating heartily at a small dinner of roasted rabbit, boiled onions, potatoes and diced carrots, while the other simple sat and watched the night. After the young man had finished his meal they both discussed the days sights and events, the young man explaining extravagantly about a great wild bear he had seen. The other man listened, nodding where appropriate but after a few minutes of listening, quieted the young man down and told him to catch some sleep, that they would be leaving early again. The young man sat silent for a moment, staring into the fire, before nodding and crawling into the canvas tent. The other man turned his back to the flames and watched the night, letting the fire run its course and eventually die out.

*~~*

The next day, and the following four days, were much of the same. Rise before the sun rose. Ride or walk until the shadows grew to long for safe travel. Then camp for the night, the young man having a modest road meal, talk about the days events and then turn in for the night. On the fifth day, and consequently the final day of their trek, they finally came upon the place that the black eyed man had been initially searching for.

It was a large valley, cleaved clean down the center by a great flowing river, surrounded by the same lush forest the pair had been traveling through for nearly a week. Near the center of one of the sections of valley, was what almost looking like a small, bustling town. Rich and bustling with activity, the small town looked to have seemingly sprung up from out of no where.

"Is this the place?" The young man asked, riding up close beside his companion.

His companion, who was still leading the now nearly empty packhorse, looked out across the valley for a long moment before finally nodding. "Yes, it certainly looks that way. Here, take this and walk into the town. I'm going to take a look at things from a better vantage point." With that the other tossed the young man the lead to the pack horse and then turned around, heading back toward the forest. Moments later a winged formed burst up from the trees, wheeled in a tight circle and then flew silently toward the town. The figure then vanished over the tops of the trees on the far side of the town.

The young man, having caught the lead and watched in silent awe at the winged form of his companion, shook his head after a moment and kicked his horse gently to get it moving again.

"Well Wind," he said to himself. "Let's see what this 'Gol'Bron' is really all about, shall we?"

[Witchblade]

It wasn’t what she expected.

Travelling to the sight on which the Red Hand was being rebuilt had been slow and tedious with the humans. They required rest and sleep. She did not. So she’d left them behind, much to their relief she was sure. After all one did not easily forget the look of death staring them in the face and wishing to rip their throat out. She had only travelled with them a short time, but discomfort and tension had been ripe in the air. When they made camp for the night, she had gone on ahead, telling them that she did not wish to be slowed down. Normally, Witch had a lot of patience when it came to traversing across the lands. She took her time and slowly made her way to whatever her destination of the week was. However, this had been different and patience had eluded her.

Once she’d found a clearing in the trees, she’d called forth her wings and endured the pain of them ripping through the flesh on her back. It was a small price to pay to once again feel the wind on her face and rustling through her cloths as she sped across the skies. With her speed it had only taken her six or seven hours to cross Concordia and find the place. The soldiers would probably need at least three or four days to get out of that place. Flying really did come in handy.

Now, the halfling found herself sitting in one of the many trees lining the perimeter of…something. She’d expected a fort, a base, or even a rundown castle of some sort. She expected there to be more than just a clearing filled with a lot of tents. It looked like a small village sprouting from nothing and invading her forest. The one place she found peace, the one place she wished humans would stay out of. Now, a small corner of it was being taken over by the Red Hand, but was she truly upset about that fact?

“Why do you care so much about this Red Hand?”

Why do you care if I care about it?

There wasn’t a large group of people before her. She was estimating it to be somewhere between twenty and thirty. But she had noticed in the hours she had been watching the place that more people had begun to filter in. Most, if not all of them, were being escorted by the same type of men that had come for her. Apparently she was not the only one being called back into the clan. As of yet she had not seen a single familiar face though. But if she did, would she really remember them?

“You don’t even remember their names, do you?”

No…

There was no point in lying to The Malice.

It didn’t sadden her, nor anger her. Witch had not become comrades with any of the old members of the Red Hand. She had not stayed for very long within its ranks either before practically disappearing off the face of Althanas. It would surprise her to find anyone that could remember her name amongst those here, even if there were some older members in this place. She almost wondered how different things might have been if she had stayed. Then again, if the group was reforming now, it must have gone through some kind of disbandment. What difference would her presence have made then? None.

Still, she was here for a reason now. False Gods aside, lately the halfling had been searching for some kind of purpose to her life. Wandering over Althanas for years she couldn’t count made her weary. Yet what kind of purpose could she even hope to find here? It was filled with disgusting humans and… that’s definitely not human. As her eyes scanned the thin crowds, she caught sight of two individuals talking amongst themselves that stood out greatly amongst all the others. The one was easily recognisable to her eyes having spent time with Izvilvin before. His grey skin a stark contrast to all the pale faced humans milling about. And the second one, well, he was some kind of furry thing. Lately she had been running into a lot of these furry abnormalities. They didn’t bother her too much, especially the ones that took after their animal side. She just found them a little odd.

Witch shifted slightly in her position. Her arm extending out from the pitch-black cloak she had wrapped around her body as her fingers wrapped around the rough bark of the branch she was perched on. The cloak along made her difficult enough to see through all the foliage and branches, but it also had a chameleon enchantment. That made her nigh impossible to see. Only someone who could send her or who had extremely good eyesight would know she was here. With a quick push her legs, the halfling shifted off the side of the branch and dropped down. Her hand stopped her freefall for a brief moment until she let go and fell the rest of the seven-foot distance. She landed on the rotting mass of leaves and twigs with a soft and barely audible thud.

Standing up, she quickly crossed the distance to the two men, avoiding any and all who happened to step into her path. Witch removed her hood once she was before them as her cold and dead eyes looked from one to the other.

“I am Witchblade. I seek whomever is in command.”

[Of Free Will]

Elijah's feet landed with ease on the earth beneath them. The forest floor was covered in fallen leaves which had made it feel almost like walking on a cushion. It had made the long days of walking much easier for the three of them. Though they had only been traveling for a few days, Elijah had gotten to know both of the men pretty well.

The older of the two was named Rodrick. He was in his late forties. His silvering hair was an obvious indication of his seniority. He and Elijah had a lovely conversation about his favorite books. Rodrick was an educated man, an oddity amongst common soldiers. He favored fiction.

The other man was much younger. Elijah was unsure how old he was exactly, though judging by his appearance, he must have only recently become a man. His name was Francis. Francis had more questions than Rodrick did, another sign of his youth. Francis could not read, but Elijah could sense that he longed to understand the world around him, and that was admirable in itself.

Both men had an off-white aura, so Elijah knew that they were good hearted men. Perhaps they had made a few mistakes in their life times, but then again, they were only human.

" We're nearly at the camp sight Elijah. Are you ready to meet our leader? " Rodrick spoke without turning to face Elijah.

" Sure am. I'll have many questions for him. "

Already Elijah could hear the sounds of construction. The thud of an axe blade colliding with a tree, the ever redundant clang of a hammer on a stake; it seemed that this Red Hand had already begun it's own revival.

The three men pushed their way through a few low hanging branches, and suddenly found their feet on hard, orange, rocky ground. Small clouds of dust trailed behind the many moving feet of the construction sight. Most of the men were dressed in the uniforms Rodrick and Francis wore.

" That's him. The grey one. We call him Nailo, although I think his first name is Ranger. "

" Thank you Francis. And thank you both for allowing me to accompany on this short journey. "

Elijah shook hands with both men and said a short prayer for each of them.

" May the grace of God grant you peace. "

With that Elijah turned away from the men and strolled ever so slowly towards the one they called Nailo. He looked back and forth as his eyes locked onto those who passed by. Everyone seemed to be stable enough, their auras never darker than a faint grey. That is until Elijah saw the woman standing near the grey man. Her aura was very dark, almost black.

Guess I'll have to mind my manners around that one.

The other that stood with the grey one looked like a cross between a man and a...a fox? No no a cat! Maybe a dog?

Whatever he is I hope I'm not allergic.

Elijah finally got close enough to approach the grey one. Before he spoke however, he glanced both left and right, getting a closer look at both the fuzz ball and the apparent asylum escapee. Elijah's ever present care free smirk was worn proudly on his face as he looked the two over before speaking to the grey one.

" You must be Ranger? I am told that you are in charge of this establishment. My name is Elijah. "

Elijah turned to the other two and bowed lightly in respect.

" My introduction is directed at all present. "

[Ranger]

I could barely keep in my laughter. The man was probably no different than he had been years before, but I had never kept very friendly relations with him. It had always been strictly business. He kept to his alchemy, I spent my time deeper and deeper in the mines, and we would nod at passing. Now though, he seemed lively, energetic, and eager. Maybe it was the fresh air, or the sunlight, or any number of things relating to the difference between a home within the hills – like a dwarf – compared to a home in the sweet open countryside.

“Our plans can be discussed in my tent, it is currently the largest one on the North side, away from the forest and hills.” I had chosen the spot, but the men had opted to grant me the largest tent. I did not like being honored for simple tasks that the Thayne guided me to accomplish. I felt as if I was earning trust and faith that would have been better placed in a god. “My mind is boiling with plans for the future, though. We must get them out and share what the goals of the Gol’Bron – as well as the Red and Black Hand’s – will be for the future. The sooner we lay our foundation the stronger and longer lasting we will be.”

“I do not intend for us to fall into the trappings of time again,” I added, my tone serious. I turned and led Sorahn to the tent, where we would discuss all the intricate details of where the clan would be going and what we would be doing. There were concerns with members to work out, existing members yet to find, and a number of tasks to be assigned to those that had willingly come to join. If we could easily and quickly sort it all out there was nothing that could interfere.


[Later that Afternoon]

Time was of the essence, but from what I could tell our greatest aspect. Since speaking with the Ranoan more had shown up, simpler people, those not sought. They were workers, travelers, curious, and some with their families. We were building something a bit longer lasting than the Pandemonium’s Fist. The stronghold was virtually impregnable, a defensive position that would stand the test of warfare and time. But what I saw before me was a group of like-minded, yet completely unique individuals. Each had come for a single purpose, to establish a life for themselves.

A grin slipped across my face. The Lieutenant was already moving people to do what I had asked him to. Wood was being leveled and drawn in piles. A line of men were sheering the branches and useless pieces of wood. It was being dragged in, while those that either did not have tools or did not know how to do the work were gathering the branches for fires. A machine was being made of men, a machine that would grow on its own and only need a bit of observance and oil here and there.

I turned; the voice that caught me was intrusive and made me want to cringe. It was not the sound of peace, or harmony. What I saw before me was an infamous female that I had only seen once before, but had heard rumors told. I carefully looked her over, not looking at her physique or personal choice for style, but at her reddened eyes. She was something dark, like the mysterious Lorenor. But I gauged my strength and hers, finding myself stronger. The Thayne would protect me either way.

Just before I could respond another approached. He had about him an aire of elegance and grace, and strength. I could feel something odd about him, something that was not normal. His eyes were as dark as his hair, off-set by the light tone of skin. He was my polar opposite. His skin light and eyes dark, my skin tinted and eyes bright. I returned my attention to Sorahn and the one known as Witchblade, a wicked witch of old, but a powerful ally once part of the Black Hand.

“Welcome to the Gol’Bron,” I responded with a dip of my head. I knew patience, and I knew etiquette, but I would not truly bow to someone I did not obviously know was above me. I smiled. “I am Ranger Nailo, master miner and second in command. This,” I said as I turned to the ranoan, “is Sorahn, the leader of this group.”

“I shall take this one,” I said as I turned to Elijah. There were more cautious intentions that went far beyond selfish when it came to turning to help the less dangerous of the two. I knew of Sorahn’s prowess in battle, and his abilities. If anything turned for the worse I would be able to help from a distance and come in when least expected. However, I worried more for the people that were further off, and would have to put myself between them and the woman in case anything went wrong. “I will speak with you later Sorahn.”

I bowed to him, and nodded to the woman once again. A smile once again found my face as I closed my eyes just for a second, letting the cool winds blow through my ragged robes. When I opened my eyes they gleamed with the light of the slowly descending sun. “Welcome Elijah. If you’ll come with me I can answer any questions you may have as well as direct you towards whatever you will be most useful doing until we get a better handle on what is happening. And I am Ranger, but not the first in command as I said earlier…”


((I think it’d be best to use a bit of liquid time to get some of this moving along. Talk and do what you want to for now, but with so many of us it’s going to take forever to get anywhere if we each go post by post to rely on time. Plus the constraints of people coming at different times means we have to catch up to each of them too…))

[Sorahn]

Sorahn emerged from the tent full of optimism for the future of his clan. Ranger would be a powerful ally in most any task that needed to be accomplished. Squinting, he noticed the late-afternoon sun. He didn’t realize how long they had been discussing plans and strategies. Dusk was approaching, and a soft breeze blew through the encampment. It was altogether a pleasant evening.

He was pleased to see work was already underway. Ranger’s men were well disciplined and hard workers. He smiled at the thought of working with such honorable men.

Suddenly, a voice from behind him bid his attention. He turned to find a girl, almost his height, looking at him with red eyes. She made him a bit uncomfortable, but he retained his stoic, leader-like poise.

The girl was soon followed by another man, who assumed Ranger was the leader. Quickly, the nagging doubt returned to Sorahn’s mind. Am I so unsuited to be the commander of this group that people assume I am not? Could it be the way I look? He had to admit he did look very different than any race on Althanas, so he was used to being approached with apprehension.

Then I must show them what being a Ranoan warrior really means. I need to lead this group with confidence and power… and tact. He smiled politely as Ranger corrected the man named Elijah by introducing him as leader. Ranger then turned to leave with Elijah, and Sorahn bowed to him as he left.

So he was left with the girl who introduced herself as Witchblade. She didn’t appear to be very strong, but Sorahn had a feeling there was more to her than meets the eye, in a bad way. His training had taught him to always be prepared, but he had a feeling that if her intentions were hostile, they would be in the midst of battle by now. Instead he responded politely but firmly.

“As he said, I am Sorahn, and I am in command here. What can I do for you?”

The look on his face was both strong and welcoming at the same time. His tail swished slowly behind him, serving as yet another reminder that he was not a local.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Fire coursed through his veins. Many more hours passed while the mad melee played its coursed. Somehow the battle forged itself into a dance. The older boy moved with greater skill than the young immortal yet the boy reacted quickly now. A portion of the elder monk's speech fueled the boy's desire to succeed now. Maybe it had to do with the content. Maybe it had to do with the timing of the monk's words. Concentrating fully on his reactions the boy parried each incoming attack. Only a matter of hours passed. Several swings from the older came in simultaneously soliciting the proper reactions from the young immortal.

"Each movement must be reactive, adaptive. Remember Lorenor. Technique doesn't imply experience. You must react and trust the flow of energy around you. The chi around you. Everything has chi. We are all part of the chi. The divine ones (Note not the Thaynes I recall that the Monks of Ai'bron don't worship the Thaynes :P ) manifest their life energy in all things. Once you understand that you are a part of this life energy even in your darkened state you will become a weapon. Just as the great Ithermoss was many ages ago. The body is a weapon for martial purpose. The wooden training swords you are using are merely extensions of the will of that weapon. Reacting without thought is the basic principle of martial combat. In combat effective foresight of your enemies' actions will allow you to plan strategies almost instinctively!"

Listening to the Elder Monks' instruction while he reacted to the older boys' attacks Lorenor attempted to memorize everything. All at once various stimulation played itself in his brain. The old combat instincts worked to resurface themselves after ages of incarnations, reincarnations death and also re-birth. As an apparition this seemed like only the latest chapter in the saga. An anomaly within the normal time/space continuity of Althanas the young immortal clearly seemed like a blotch on all things. A living curse manifesting itself age after age one that refused death. Become a living weapon he said. As the boy moved the Endless reacted in an interesting way guiding his thoughts. Reacting quicker now each blow met with an equal parry, an equal counter-maneuver.

Still though the lad held back and the gathered monks knew this. They read the charts provided to them by the Monks of the Order. Attempting to find some link between the information placed on the documents and the small warrior standing before. Bewilderment filled the monks' expressions since the data didn't match up. The darkness seemed a clear connecting factor but the levels themselves didn't match up. This worried the monks as they whispered amongst themselves.

None of that mattered to Lorenor. In his current incarnation the past meant very little to him if anything at all. Any connections to the past severed themselves in his last incarnation with the exception of a deep bonding to a man named Zephyriah. The only other bonding that mattered was to an individual named Neosaim Hyakureiki. Through him an older incarnation of the lad met the mysterious Golems, a race of sentient machines somehow native to Althanas. Through him, the boy once came across the mysterious town simply dubbed Dressed Fished Town. Deflecting another volley of attacks the lad felt no weariness.

"In order to become the living weapon you must stop holding yourself back boy. Counter-attacking, all though a good strategem, is trumped by a skilled attack."

The boy's back-side faced the gathered congression of monks so he never saw the hand signals quickly flicked in the direction of the older lad. Catching the new instructions quickly the older boy suddenly reacting by launched a more advanced technique against the young immortal. Tapping into his available reserve of chi, a sudden phosphorous glow erupted from the older boy's person. Feeling the surge of energy instinctive (As the Endless provided a semblance of warning) the young immortal attempted to prepare himself for the coming onslaught. Yet, time somehow slowed itself down around the two warriors. The older boy reacted quickly several after-images flowing as liquid at his back. The small warrior felt his heart beating in his throat loudly.

Seeing the in-coming attack the lad knew no option. Within seconds of movement the older boy launched himself upon the young immortal. A hideous of sound of fleshy impacts filled the room in succession. The grunts of pain barely audible against the tornado-like impact of flurries. To the on-looker, the older boy's combat sticks might seem as a blur. Almost a trick of the mind, the older boy's presence almost phantasmal in nature. Flickering in and out of physical movement like a candle-light. Chi rippled across the air with a mysterious residue. Now, the small warrior found himself in a daze. A song of violence burned within. The impact of the older boy's attack resonated in a far-away fashion.

Breathing heavily the lad felt himself slow down somehow. Seeing the ripple effect of the chi around him, The Endless somehow absorbed that living energy like a parasite. The Monks immediately saw the consequences of their ill-advised action but it was too late to react. Wheels of fate turned around The Gol'Bron and the mysterious boy played a deeper role. Seeing the lad attacking him something unpredictable happened. When The Endless channeled the living Chi it triggered an unforeseen reaction to the boy's native sensory capabilities awakening a hidden feature.

Concentrating now the young one no longer saw an opponent. Instead an intense heat drew itself out from the more experienced warrior's vessel. This heat suddenly transformed. No longer seeing the residue of chi, a brilliant red magma-glow flowed from within the boy's vessel. A spark of living eternity shined like a tree from within. Seeing the miles upon miles of veins flow an intricate tree of life from his opponent. A deep sense of desire suddenly filled the predator. Soon the desire turned into an uncanny, ancient hunger. Feeling the ancient hunger once more, the final pieces of the circle came into place as the lad remembered ages old predatory instincts.

All of this happened in the passage of mere seconds. In a hideous transformation the boy metamorphosed from a wretch into a monster. Yells from the monks didn't register themselves to the boy's senses. Only the need to satiate the painful desire as The Endless sang. They instructed the boy upon the feed and his face became a weapon to draw the life-blood from his opponent. Remembering what Nocks instructed about becoming a living weapon, the young immortal rushed towards the older boys' exposed back side. All he saw before him was that mysterious well-spring of the blood, naye, the life. The blood was the life. The Endless sang to the boy as insanity took over the lad's already broken psyche.

In one fell moment the boy felt ages' old ferocity in his system. He WILLED himself upon the younger lad catching him almost completely off guard. The only reaction the older lad managed was placing one of his wooden combat sticks in a futile sort of way square against the boy's chest. Moving to attempt to get at the older boy's throat the predator suddenly found his face shifting to allow him access to the precious life-blood. Everything about his demeanor shifted into a more aggressive state, an animal-like state. The boy felt temporary pain while his jaws extended and opened up at the bizarre scarring present on his lower jaw, right underneath the bottom lip. The organic apparatus opened itself up almost like a leech. (Think Blade II)

Observing his heart's desire the boy stared hungrily a the life-substance for a long time keeping his prey at bay. Suddenly thoughts of Rangers' instructions and past meetings with old friends long gone became a louder music than The Endless' songs of temptation and conquest. Staring at the object of his personal desire for a long moment another ancient urge quickly filled his head. I remember feeding from monsters. I remember conquering the old urge to kill humans needlessly. I remember-- The Endless music suddenly became an almost overwhelming symphony attempting to cause the young immortal to black out. The boy suddenly gained an incredible sense of self and will power. Deciding to take control of the situation, the boy suddenly backed off with a tremendous burst of speed, ending up on one of the walls away from the older lad. He observed the situation now feeling the tremendous pain in his person. Still observing the flowing blood in the older lad the Monks continued to remain shocked.

"NO! I WILL NOT GIVE IN!" The boy suddenly yet and retreated from the situation receding into the lower dark chambers of the building. Pain coursed within him now as he fought against his newly revealed nature. The boy made his way to some of the lower floors of the building where darkness ruled.

The entire time, The Endless sang songs of mockery to the emerging nature of the predator life-form.

[Witchblade]

So the furry thing was the new leader. She could deal with that, it was much better than following orders from a human. Plus, this Sorahn had a certain majestic air about him. She couldn’t quite describe it even to herself. But she was rather certain—his own lack of self-confidence aside—he would make a fine leader. He just needed to start believing in himself.

Words of encouragement rarely if ever left the halfling’s mouth. However, she found them free flowing at this moment. “You are not unsuitable to be the leader of The Red Hand, or whatever you may be calling it now. You lack confidence in your own abilities, yet someone of your authority should be wary of the thoughts that flow through your mind, especially ones such as those. You never know who might be listening and humans are such a fickle race. They will attack you from the first sign of weakness. Remember that.”

They did seem out of place coming from her, odd even. They were spoken in a cold and distant tone that perhaps put all the more emphasis on their meaning. Witch was not one for idle chatter after all. She spoke when necessary and expected those around her to listen for they were seldom needless words.

All about her and the fur ball, the sound of work echoed through the clearing. Truly she had been interested in rejoining The Red Hand when those men had come for her, but now she was not so sure. As all the noise pummelled her sensitive hearing and the humans continued to fill the settlement, she felt uneasy. She felt more like she didn’t belong here, just like she didn’t belong anywhere else. And The Malice. It was grating against the back of her mind, whispering thoughts to her and trying to influence her as best it could. It filled her thoughts with death and blood and the sweet satisfaction of taking a life. She could barely stand it.

Outwardly she showed no change in her stoic appearance.

“You asked me if there was anything you could do for me…it was the wrong question. The right one would be to ask what can I do for you? I was a member of The Black Hand many…years ago.” She could barely remember that time. “Your soldiers came to be retrieve me, oddly enough even knowing my name. I am here to rejoin the ranks of The Black Hand in any capacity you need of me. I ask only that you keep your false Gods to yourself; I want nothing to do with them. But I will rejoin you, if you’ll have me.”

[Sorahn]

Sorahn was completely stunned by what the girl said to him. He was quite sure they had never met before, but yet even she could see his lack of confidence. Apparently his insecurity showed outwardly more than he thought. Her words caught him completely off guard, yet they were sage advice. Sorahn had experienced first hand the cruelties of the human race, and combined with their apprehension with him and their desire for power, he could be overthrown in an instant.

Yet still the problem itself, his own insecurity, was being more and more alleviated by the words of his comrades, including Witchblade’s. Finally Sorahn’s expression shifted from surprise to stoic understanding. He nodded slightly, indicating he would take her advice to heart.

The girl spoke again, continuing to show wisdom beyond her apparent age. She seemed to be willing to devote herself to the cause, even though she didn’t accept the Thayne teachings. Sorahn could live with this. The Thayne do not show themselves to all individuals in the same way that Ronah showed himself to Sorahn. His beliefs, while encouraged amongst members, were not necessarily a requirement of membership.

So far Sorahn had been impressed with the girl’s wisdom and confidence. He also somehow got the feeling that she could be a valuable ally in combat, something Sorahn had the unsettling feeling they would be having in the future. The old Red Hand had many allies, but also many enemies. By the time of the decline he felt as if most of Althanas had grown rather resentful of their power and economic dominance. This time around Sorahn hoped to shed the group of that negative image. Still now, as then, he was ready and willing to go to war to ensure the group’s survival and prosperity.

Until now he had not given thought to the resurrection of the Black Hand, the old enforcement division of the Red Hand. They were really a band of mercenaries, many without talents besides killing, ready and waiting to do anything their leader commanded. As a warrior of Ranoa, Sorahn respected this militant group and saw their value. Now, during this time of rebirth of the clan, he decided that perhaps it was time for the Black Hand to return as well.

“I would be glad to have you.” Sorahn responded. “The days ahead may prove difficult, and I believe we will need the Black Hand to ensure our prosperity. As for the Thayne, I am not so narrow-minded to think that everyone must believe as I believe. I respect your beliefs as long as you respect mine.”

“Your specific role, as of yet, is undetermined. As you can imagine these early days are proving to be rather hectic. For now I ask only that you help out in any way you see fit. However rest assured, the ranks of the group will be sorted out soon, and you will have a more specific assignment.”

Already Sorahn’s insecurities were melting away. He couldn’t believe how these words of authority flowed from his lips with such ease. Perhaps he was better suited for this position than he gave himself credit. All he needed to do was be confident in himself and his comrades would follow.

[Witchblade]

((This will probably be my last post in this quest, unless you need me for something else.))


Witchblade smiled ever so slightly. It was an action that pulled on the strings binding her lips together, but she didn’t mind and did it anyway. It appeared that the furry creature had listened to her words and she could already see he was growing more accustomed to his new role as leader. All he needed was people to look up at him; that alone would give him confidence. It wasn’t only her words that had alleviated his worry but what her words meant. Words were just sound, it was the meaning behind them that mattered and clearly this Sorahn had understood that perfectly clear.

“I understand…”

The group was new to form and, not surprisingly, not everything was as of yet sorted out. There would come a time when her blades were needed, but now was not that time. Now, it was her strength that was needed to help rebuild the once great Red Hand.

“Respect is not freely given…it is something you will have to earn and I assume I will have to earn it as well. For now, I shall assist where my physical strength is needed. Call upon me if you have something more…interesting for me to do. Where I can put my skills to greater use.”

She turned from him them and headed towards the main hub of activity. It was mostly filled with humans and though inside her head was a screaming voice to slaughter them all, she ignored it. Now was not the time for bloodshed. That would come soon enough. So The Malice was pushed to the far recesses of her mind where she could hopefully not hear it and be influenced by it. As long as none of the filthy humans touched her, she would be able to control the urges to spill blood. Besides, as long as she worked and concentrated on the task before her, it would be easy to distance her mind from that screaming voice.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

(Sorahn I was waiting for Kyle's next post but that won't be for a little while yet so I'm just gonna go ahead and post. If you don't mind I'm gonna go ahead and state that it's night already okay man?)

"What's that smell?"

"I don't think you want to know man."

"Look! Its dead rats, and they've been torn apart."

That's how the conversation went as the group of Monks and several other members of the Gol'bron descended down into the pit of darkness. They were moving into the subterranean levels of the compound now and there were still some ancient passages that lead into the Under-Dark. Lord Ithermoss' original plans for the Pandemoniums' Fist were constructed well. Following the trail that was provided by the boy, the men made their way through the darkness. They were amazed at how quickly the boy moved from one location to the next when enraged he showed a deeper state of skill than he lead on that he actually knew. The Monks took note of these emerging powers for their personal archives back at The Citadel. Every warrior was important to the archive records, but the Elementals (Like Storm Veritas; a little head-nod right there to you bro) were considered priority warriors. It was obvious now that Lorenor held tremendous capabilities as a darkness elemental warrior. Whatever that meant for the Gol'bron only the fates knew.

Weaving their way the dark with their lanterns in hand, the warriors followed the trail. Carefully they finally stumbled upon a whimpering form. The trail of rats lead directly to their target who made no attempt to hide himself other than a shroud of darkness. "Don't point that light at him, he'll get hurt just put them all down okay?" Nocks said. They obeyed and stepped back or put the lanterns down away from the boy. Nocks made their way towards the boy, he was crying, and a cumulation of dead rats rested before his person. Somehow, the floor was a mixture of earth and ancient stone, creating a sort of rough texture underneath one's shoes. The lower floors of the building connected themselves naturally to the ancient caverns and walls that formed a network underneath the surface. This network was used by Drow often in ancient times. Nocks approached the crying boy who currently ate a dying rat. He saw the boy's lower jaw opening up and shivered despite himself. Knocks kept a distance away from the boy, but enough to speak.

"You can come out now." Nocks said. "Nobody is angry at you and nobody will hurt you."

The boy saw lamps lit in the distance and shuddered at the sight of them.

"The lamps. They will hurt if they are too close. They already make my eyes ache. Please take them further away." The boy whispered and Nocks motioned to his men. They did as they were told moving the lamps out of the chamber where they could leaving only one behind, and turning off others. The men whispered in a far away and thanks to the Dark Mother's blessings, the boy could hear what they said despite his low sensory array at this point in time. His senses peaked particularly close to his person where they were at their most powerful. The boy watched Nocks for a moment, a purple glow the only tell-tale sign that the boy even stood there. Thinking about what Nocks said, The Endless sang songs of trust. They needed Nocks to trust the boy as well and vice versa. The boy finished eating his rat and the corpse on the floor. "I'm sorry about the mess. I needed to eat something right then and I didn't want to hurt anybody." The boy whispered in a low, pained voice.

"I know you are a good man despite your dark inclinations. Ranger Nailo saw something powerful in you and I see that strength now. The strength to control your own future. That is what the enemy wants from you." Nocks extended his hand. "Come with me, we'll go outside. The others have already started to gather and I want you to meet Sorahn." The Monk said and Lorenor nodded, he took the man's hand.

****************************

Night fell across the land. The Dark Mother's graces now washed upon everything like a cloak. Subtly affecting the very physical properties of everything that the darkness touched. Night was the realm of the Dark Mother and she plotted and schemed well during this time period. Many tents were busy with activities even at this hour. The boy saw that the sun finally set and the sky was lit up with stars. He looked up at one particularly bright red star, the prison of the Dark Mother. The Lady N'Jal awaited patiently for the second Days of Torrent to begin. As a child of N'Jal the boy knew perfectly well what that meant. They moved across the emerging town and made their way towards a particularly large tent. In the time of the boy's training many newcomers had arrived into the emerging town to work. The boy nodded at this progress. He followed Nocks to a particularly large tent where a furry white individual awaited. Lorenor approached this man who he assumed to be Sorahn and knelt before him. "I am Lorenor V'halkulus my Master. I am told that you are the Lord Sorahn. I am completely at your disposal as are The Endless."

[Sorahn]

Sorahn didn’t even realize how late it was until it became too dark to see what he was doing. Without looking up from the table before him, he waved his hand carelessly in the air above him, and a streak of pure light appeared there. It lit up the whole tent like a lamp, positioned directly above the table. Using this newfound illumination, he retrieved a small sharpened piece of coal and resumed sketching on a piece of brown parchment.

All along the table lay various pieces of parchment, each one serving as a notepad on which he jotted down ideas for the clan and laid out various plans. He had continued his work even after Ranger had left. However now he had pushed these ideas to the side. Further clan planning would have to wait for another day. Right now he needed to focus on more personal matters.

In front of him was a rough sketch of a house. Sorahn didn’t want his house to be large or ornate, as some leaders might have done. After all, he had spent several years living in a small room carved out of rock deep underneath a mountain; an abode that ironically enough lay only a few hundred yards from his position, yet still unattainable.

As Sorahn continued drawing, he was beginning to see that the house would need to be larger than he originally wanted simply out of necessity. He would need a bedchamber and a living space, as well as a private study for clan work, and a room for his alchemy practices. All of this added up to a lot of space, which to Sorahn translated to a lot of backbreaking work gathering wood and constructing it. He was sure there would be plenty who would offer to help him. From what he could tell so far, most of the clan was made up of genuinely kind people, or at the very least they wanted to suck up to their new leader. Sorahn, however, would have great trouble accepting this help on principle. He wouldn’t let someone else bear the burden that was his. He would simply have to work hard for a long time to build this house himself.

Just as he was contemplating how he would arrange and support this structure he heard the tent flap open behind him. Sorahn turned to see a boy standing before him, who quickly knelt at his feet. Though surprised by this at first, Sorahn managed to maintain his stoic composure. The boy addressed him as “Lord Sorahn” and instantly his mind raced back to the days when he led the Red Hand in Ithermoss’s absence. The title was as appropriate now as it was then, though Sorahn was still getting used to the idea. Remembering Witchblade’s advice about revealing weakness, he also managed to appear indifferent to this comment as well.

He quickly sized up the boy. He appeared rather pitiful. Covered in rags and looking scrawny, he had the appearance of someone once dead, and the smell to match. Sorahn struggled to ignore the stench that assaulted his sharp sense of smell. However, just like when he met Witchblade, he got the strong feeling that there was more than met the eye. There was a darkness about this boy. He would wield plenty of power before long, which could be good or bad. However, at the very least he appeared loyal, which was important to Sorahn. “Lorenor V’halkulus…” Sorahn repeated to himself, and then addressed the boy, “I have a feeling you will prove to be a vital asset to the Gol’Bron. I will have specific tasks for you soon, so I ask that you continue to prepare yourself for them. In the meantime, please do what you can to help complete our base.”

Sorahn’s eyes narrowed slightly, focusing on the boy. He had mixed feelings about him. Something told him this boy would be important, and would help the clan greatly, yet at the same time he got the feeling of something evil about him. Sorahn considered seeking the advice of Ronah about this one.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

The boy listened to Sorahn's words calmly. The transaction revealed to him a couple of things and they were mostly positive. Their leader was young and generally inexperienced at leading, still learning how to lead. Singing to him, The Endless spoke of budding destruction on the horizon. Pleasing to the boy he nodded to himself at the commands of the other warrior. What can I do? The boy thought to himself just then. Still in training to become a skilled warrior for the Black Hand, The Boy suddenly remembered his application process. That's right I can focus on my black-smithing skills as much as I focus on my combat training.

Still standing in Lord Sorahn's presence letting himself linger for a moment longer, the Endless raised valid questions. Things that needed discussing. The boy worked up enough courage to speak to the Lord Sorahn further about the matters that need inquiry. He walked forward towards the man's desk for a moment with a walk that still lacked some confidence. After a moment came the boy's raspy voice once more and he had many questions to ask.

"My Lord Sorahn, with your permission I'd like to speak about some matters concerning my entry into your outfit. I also have a few suggestions I'd like to make if I may be so bold."

[Sorahn]

The boy lingered in his presence, and Sorahn continued to look at him, creating a rather awkward silence. Sorahn felt like he had said what he needed to say, which wasn’t much, so he would wait to see what the boy wanted.

Finally, after several moments the boy spoke again, very humbly. For a moment Sorahn wondered if he was being overly flattered, to the point of sarcasm, by the boy. But he had to assume his feelings were genuine. He shrugged it off, assuming he still needed to adjust to being spoken to in this manner. After all, he had spent many of his recent years as a slave.

It finally dawned on him that perhaps some of his hesitation to lead could stem from his slave attitude. He was much more used to being commanded than doing the commanding, although he despised the former. Well he would show them then. Despite what the emperor had told him, he was not destined to be a slave. He was destined for greatness, and he would soon prove it.

Realizing that the day was getting very late, he would have to finish his plans tomorrow anyway, so he decided to listen to what the boy had to say. So far the advice of his followers had proved valuable, this might not be different.

He leaned back against the table, which creaked in protest, and folded his arms. “Alright then. Feel free to ask away and I will do my best to answer you.”

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Thoughtfully, the boy didn't want to seem like a fool so he carefully prepared an answer. He'd already thought about the questions he needed to ask but for the time being he knew they needed to be careful ones. In the presence of the white fox the boy wanted to make a powerful ally. The Endless sang their praise of the boy's effort at political matters. Swallowing his own pride, Lorenor proceeded to ask the questions he needed to ask and make the suggestions he wanted to make. It seemed like Sorahn was a transparent leader available to those that served underneath him in the same command.

As a member of the Gol'bron, the boy liked that fact about him.

"My Lord. In helping to assist the building of our Power Group I have one big suggestion. We seem to be without a smith forge so far. I know that there are several competent Smiths in our midsts but they are without a place to work in. I think this matter should be looked into. If you want, I can assemble a team of people to work on such a thing on our own. Materials are abundant out here and so are workers. Which brings me to another point. I've been studying hard with our allies in the Monks of the Order and I've succeeded in starting to become a skilled warrior. I am interested in dual-membership in the Black Hand as well that Gol'Bron. I think I can do well in both since my basic trade is as a black-smith. Ranger already knows this one matter I am about to disclose to you. I feel since you are my leader and I serve the Dark Mother it is imperative that you know this as well. I follow The Dark Mother, N'Jal. I have reason to believe that I am a young Spider-Magi somehow. I haven't quite figured it all out yet but I believe it has something to do with The Endless." The boy said not knowing how Sorahn might take it. Ranger accepted it, but would Sorahn?

That was the key question there.

[Sorahn]

Sorahn listened patiently as Lorenor began detailing everything on his mind. As the boy spoke, he interjected his responses, one by one, to his questions.

“Naturally, as a trade group, we must have facilities for the tradesmen we harbor. Just as the old Red Hand headquarters had appropriate spaces, we will also provide work areas. Eventually the village will contain a place for the blacksmiths, the tanners, and the alchemists. But construction takes time and effort. If you desire to be a smith, I ask that you contribute to the construction of the forge. If every tradesman does his part building their place of business, we will make short work of this task.”

Sorahn was pleased with the boy’s next comment. In the days ahead, he would need as many skilled warriors as he could get, for he feared that no matter how he approached it, war was on the horizon.

“I’m glad to hear you are working to improve your battle prowess. It’s something I practice regularly. We will need skilled warriors in the coming days. Plus it is a valuable skill to maintain. Keep up your practice in the art, for if there’s one thing I know it’s that being a warrior is not a destination, it is a path you must walk down endlessly, constantly trying to improve yourself, never resting in this pursuit.”

The traits of a warrior was one thing Sorahn understood all too well, having trained as one all of his life and engaged in battle many times. It was one thing he felt very confident advising Lorenor on.

The boy’s next words caused Sorahn to freeze. His eyed narrowed and he stared at the boy intently for a moment, as if trying to determine if he was playing some cruel joke, unaware of the seriousness of what it was he just said. After confirming his earnestness, Sorahn contemplated killing him right here and now. The world could use less followers of N’jal. But he decided to show restraint, which took great effort.

He leaned in a little closer to Lorenor, lowering his voice some, but speaking with force. “You listen to me very carefully. I’m going to be perfectly honest with you. I don’t know if you fully understand the scope of what you just said to me, but the fact is I really should kill you right now where you are. No one would blame me if I did. However as you can guess, if I wanted to do that I would have done so by now.

“The fact is, Ranger trusted you, and I trust Ranger. I believe you can do great things for this group, so I will let you stay. Also, I’m not so blind as to not appreciate you actually disclosing this information to me; an act most would think twice about. Your honesty inclines me to trust you, but understand that in exchange for this trust I require your loyalty. N’jal is powerful and only seeks destruction, most certainly destruction of this clan. I will be watching for any sign of defection, and I will not tolerate disloyalty.

“Don’t make me regret this decision, or I will surely make sure you regret it as well.”

At first Sorahn thought he might have been too harsh with the boy, but this thought quickly faded. He would be forceful when he needed to be, and this was one of those times. A follower of N’jal within the ranks of his own clan greatly distressed him, and was not a matter he took lightly.

Sorahn stood up straight again, looking down on Lorenor. “Let me ask you, then.” He said as his sharp eyes focused on the boy.

“Do you pledge your allegiance to me and to the Gol’Bron?”

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Lorenor remembered how calmly Ranger Nailo took his preference of being a servant of N'Jal. The boy thought back to that adventure, its rewards and its pit-falls. Sorahn spoke of things partially true and mostly untrue. He attempted to second guess the Dark Mother. This was something that the boy knew to be dangerous by nature. Only the children of N'Jal even remotely knew the Dark Mother's motives. But to call Sorahn a liar to his face might be out-right blasphemy and could get the boy killed. The Endless didn't want this, and neither did the Dark Mother. The boy's destiny seemed far too important for him to go out like a dog before his time. Killed by a warrior who might be a great ally and asset. The Endless spoke words of caution to the boy as to how to proceed. Everything up onto Sorahn's angry words seemed like an attainable goal. He listened very carefully trying to pick up everything he could in the bitter-speech. The boy accepted the fact that if he revealed his status as a Child of N'Jal to certain members of the Power Group, there might be open hostility towards him.

The boy prepared to deal with that. As Sorahn himself stated, he wanted no dissent within the ranks. For a moment, an eternity for the boy, he considered leaving the ranks of the Gol'bron to preserve its integrity at having such an ugly stain in its membership body. Still though, the boy was no fool. He understood that the Black Hand required ugly tasks to be completed which might be perfect for a Child of N'Jal. The Thaynes worked the great mystery all around them, and N'Jal's mystery was worked thickly around the boy's destiny. The boy remained silent for a while pondering his answers very carefully since he wanted to give the warrior no further cause of agitation. He took Sorahn's words very seriously. The glowing wisp of purple energy above the white fox's head was a testament to the power within the warrior. Ranger couldn't have picked a better leader. The boy spoke after a solid ten minutes passed. It was clear that some particular matter conflicted inside the boy--but allegiance wasn't one of them. In the previous adventure he fought alongside Ranger Nailo and earned the other warrior's trust risking his life to save Nailo's own more than once, and he vice versa. He knew he could fight alongside Sorahn.

"I swear allegiance to the Gol'bron and to yourself and Ranger Nailo. I will keep my secrets of the Dark Mother to myself. But should I find anything that would be a benefit to you concerning the Dark Mother I shall reveal it to you in private counsel. The Thaynes are not the only ones who move the Great Mystery forward. She has her own agenda, and destruction is not her main goal contrary to what many might think. But I shall leave it at this for now. I know that what I've told you has caused you a great deal of stress and I know it is a matter--sensitive--to some. But I also know the Black Hand will require a warrior with the potential talents I will receive as a Child of N'Jal. I will work hard to become a great asset for the Gol'bron. Rest assured my Lord Sorahn, my allegiance rests with the Clan. I will do nothing to place danger upon all of our companions and family. I have already fought alongside Ranger Nailo." The boy said, in a very sincere and somewhat confident tone despite having his existence threatened by Lord Sorahn. That was a matter that the boy didn't take lightly at all, any other would've been killed on sight. The boy continued.

"I want to further add that you've accepted me without having to. I am very grateful for this blessing."

[Sorahn]

Sorahn was genuinely impressed with Lorenor’s answer. His tension eased considerably; it was clear the boy would be loyal. He still didn’t rule out the possibility that the boy was lying, but something told him otherwise. For now, he trusted him, and hoped this wouldn’t prove to be a fatal mistake down in the future. He didn’t think it would.

His face softened into a pleased smile. He spoke with a much friendlier tone; his apprehensions assuaged. “Very good. Actually, I agree with you in believing the Black Hand could use someone of your talents. I’m also glad you have realized the potential danger in disclosing this information to anyone else. I’m afraid others may not be as forgiving as me when it comes to N’jal.”

Sorahn could imagine the scene: A random clan member talking to the boy, perhaps harassing him about his appearance, or perhaps merely curious. Lorenor letting slip his allegiances. The man becoming enraged and drawing a blade and killing the poor boy on the spot, without the slightest warning. Sorahn didn’t want this to happen any more than he wanted to kill the boy himself. He needed someone such as him, for he was sure he would have many unsavory, but necessary tasks that the boy would be perfect for. Plus Sorahn wouldn’t tolerate the death of a clan member who was as loyal as Lorenor professed to be. He knew there would come a time when that loyalty would be put to the test, and in the end the boy would either be cemented as one of Sorahn’s closest, trusted few, or…

Sorahn thought of Kahsheth, a captain in the Ranoan militia in ages past who divulged secret battle plans to the opposing side in a massive civil war against insurgents, costing hundreds, possibly thousands of Ranoan lives. Now, his very name embodied the height of treachery, and calling another Ranoan a Kahsheth was the greatest possible dishonor, for Ranoans are naturally a proud and honorable race and couldn’t tolerate traitors. Sorahn was no exception to this rule. He himself had even accused Rehnahlia, his lover, of being a Kahsheth when she betrayed him. If this boy betrayed him in the midst of a battle, causing the death of any of his men…

But Sorahn looked down at the boy and somehow knew he could trust him. Even through his dark appearance and evil connections, Sorahn knew he was genuine. Perhaps he was naive, but somehow he knew the boy was telling the truth.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

The boy felt that Lord Sorahn seemed much more acceptant of his person after his response. Good. The Endless needed Sorahn and the Gol'bron for some purpose other than to serve the Dark Mother's will. This was the boy's personal secrets. Once the discussion point reached a climax the young immortal realized his place in the Gol'bron felt cemented.

For the first time since he awoke to this new existence, Lorenor obtained a purpose. Ideas and thoughts poured into his un-dead brain. Was that a dangerous thing? The boy didn't think so at the time. He knew that a smith-house was needed and he'd help out with the construction. He thought about things for a moment longer before asking one final question.

"Then my lord, I have your permission to help begin construction of the smith-forge? The men are eager for more work to commence. We should use our work-force to its fullest capacity." The boy suggested.

[Sorahn]

((I think this thread has run its course. This will be my last post.))

Sorahn nodded to the boy, the smile returning to his face one again. “I’m pleased with your eagerness. Yes, you may begin work immediately. Gather the other smiths and anyone else willing to help. Tell them I have put you in charge of the project, and if anyone has any problems with that they can come to me. Collaborate with them as to what would be the best design and layout for the building and commence construction.

Now if you’ll excuse me, it is getting late and I have many things to see to before I sleep tonight.” With that he nodded politely to Lorenor and turned back around to face the table full of plans behind him.

He didn’t want to be rude to the boy, but he felt everything that needed to be addressed had been, and Sorahn had other things on his plate right now. He needed to finish the plans for his own house and alchemy area, and the contractors had arrived to begin construction on the defensive wall around the town. He glanced at another couple pieces of parchment which contained their designs, pending his approval.

Yet despite all these things he needed to do, he didn’t feel weary. On the contrary, he felt excited. He was beginning to see the plans being set into motion. Construction was beginning, and details were falling into place. He felt like he was working toward a goal, and that goal was within reach. Knowing the hard day of real labor that awaited him tomorrow, he knew he needed to get to sleep soon, but he was too excited to leave the plans alone.

Again he began sketching and refining the designs. Overcome with inspiration, he lost track of time. He was so consumed by his work that he didn’t hear the soft swish of the tent flap admitting another person.

“Sorahn, what are you doing?”

Normally he would have been startled by the sudden voice, but this voice was very familiar. It was soft and smooth and comforting to his ears, making him instantly forget what he was doing. Not to mention it was speaking Ranoan.

Sorahn turned around to face his mate, Rehnahlia. She gave him a half concerned, half disgruntled look that instantly told him he had been working far too late. He couldn’t help but notice how the dim light reflected off her long red hair and made her soft white fur glow. Sorahn could’ve sworn that she grew more beautiful by the day.

Without need for words, she simply walked over to him and put her head on his chest. As he wrapped his arms around her, he realized that there were things more important than even leading the Gol’bron or building a town. This can wait until morning. He thought to himself.

He took her hand in his, and with a wave of his other hand, extinguished the light he had created over the table and set off toward his personal tent.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

((My conclusion post))

Just like that, Lorenor's role with the Gol'bron cemented itself. Somehow, the group provided him with a purpose. Already growing late into the night, the boy needed to retire but could make himself stay up a little while longer. He stared at the site for a lengthy period attempting to identify a good spot for smithy area. Some of the workers manning the night shift and the graveyard shift greeted the boy, already used to his dark presence. The boy of course, greeted them back. Some of these men and women might serve to become his work force while he attempted to build a real smith shop.

The boy listened to The Endless while he searched. Finding a size-able area around on the Gol'bron's grounds, the boy's eyes moved to the spot. A foundation from some previous structure already lurked their cutting their work-load in half. Moss and other undergrowth covered the basic foundation of a once proud building used for who knows what purpose. Lorenor guessed that many of these remaining structures were left over from the time of the original Red Hand.

With the night-time hours fading off into infinity, the boy knew it was time for him to enter into his chosen resting den. He could be up in the day-time hours so long as he was under-ground and away from sun-light. The boy looked up feeling the temperature already changing subtly as the Dark Mother's realm slowly passed.

The boy eyed his spot once more finally confirming to himself that was the location of the new smith-shop. With excitement burning in his stomach, the boy started a march to move to the training center. There, in the dark bowls of the huge building lurked the area where his own home was. The boy greeted more people on the way. Entering the building, he receded towards the darkness of the sub-basements. With thoughts of the new project at hand, he took some parchment from a storage area and some writing tools and began to scribble his notes. The project needed organization, planning, man-power. They had everything readily available. And so, Lorenor started to forge his future.

******************************************

****Spoils Request****

001--Monks of Ai'bron Training (Passive Skill/level 0) With his basic training complete, Lorenor is now a capable warrior with his basic unarmed combat skills and his basic swordplay. The boy is somewhat proficient using long-swords and short-swords in combat. He uses the technique used by the Warrior Monks of Ai'bron. This is the basic most level of his training.

002--H2H Combat Sphere level 1 (Competent) Having trained with the Monks of Ai'bron, the boy has now become competent with all forms of basic hand to hand combat. The boy can execute combination maneuvers with some degree of control and can use his body effectively to inflict added force damage upon his basic attacks. (By shifting his body weight and momentum to add extra power) Lorenor is dangerous in close-range combat using his claws and fists.

[Letho]

General Notes: Apologies are in order for the lateness of this judgment. I could try to justify myself with real life issues, but I won’t because this should’ve been done regardless of them one way or the other. So, the best I can do is say I’m sorry for the long wait and get onto the judgment. Since there was no comment preference with the submission and there are quite a lot of people involved in this, I’ll just give some general comments.


CONTINUITY – 4

Continuity is probably the hardest thing to do right in recruitment threads. When you have a bunch of people, each with their own stories, it’s hard to link them in a single plausible thread. Especially one that most abandoned by the end. Sorahn naturally did best here because he was present throughout the thread and is the leader of the group in question. Of Free Will had a good start, but left no conclusion. Witchy was expectedly solid. Mutant_Lorenor seemed to be playing his own story for too long given the nature of the thread. The rest got lost sometime after their first post. This hurt the flow of the thread considerably since a lot of characters were introduced, but only a few actually did more then introducing themselves. All in all, a rather classic gathering thread where some make it and some don’t.

SETTING – 6

Surprisingly poor, I have to say. There were a couple of good details (Koran’s description of the site was quite vivid), but mostly everyone just focused on the characters and interactions and not on what was going on around them. Saying there is a bustle around and people working isn’t enough to create a believable picture in the readers head. But this was a gathering thread, so I cut you all some slack. After all, it’s still a town in the making.

PACING – 5

The fact that a good number of people (Three? Four?) posted only once certainly didn’t help. It introduced four different stories and failed to give anything more then an introduction. However, those who saw the thread to completion did fairly well to make the thread move to its goal. I wasn’t too fond of Lorenor’s lengthy intro, though, because I feel it needlessly shifted the focus from the gathering to his sparring. Which, by the way, is an intro you already used once, Lorenor. I believe I read a thread of yours which also started with your character sparring. Using the same motif twice doesn’t speak well of your creativity, so try to avoid it in the future.

DIALOGUE – 7

Good for the most part. There seemed to be a clear distinction between different types of characters, whether it was happy-go-lucky Elijah, morbid Witchblade, uncertain Sorahn or overmodest Lorenor. I especially liked the exchange between Sorahn and Witchy. It did get kind of repetitive near the end though, with Sorahn having to tell every person the same damn thing, but that’s recruitment threads for you. You can seldom exactly make an epic out of it. It would be nice if somebody did, though.

ACTION – 7

In terms of action this thread was rather demure as these threads usually are. But that doesn’t mean I’ll score this low. Action also constitutes the actions of characters and I think they were done well here. Just like I could hear the dialogue coming out of the mouths (or minds) of the characters, I could see them perform most actions. Some were still a little weird, like Ranger so offhandedly handing over the leadership to Sorahn, but I guess that was necessary given all the inactivity that plagued this thread.

PERSONA – 5

Let me say something first. I think that Character in general was the best part of this quest, which isn’t very surprising. In lieu of some action or a deeper story, people mostly turn to the narrative that explains their inner emotions and thoughts, which isn’t bad. However, I gave a five here because not all those involved did this, mostly due to inactivity. So I, as a reader, was left with a handful of characters that I knew little or nothing about and whose stories were dropped somewhere around “gods summoned me and I answered”. There so real way to remedy this other then activity and participation until the end.

MECHANICS – 6,5

Some wrote exceptionally clean posts (like Koran and Sorahn), while others faltered here and there (like Ranger and Lorenor). It’s nothing too terrible – you all know what you are doing and nobody really dropped the ball here – but all things added and subtracted, it comes to about the score of six, six and a half.

TECHNIQUE – 5

There were glimpses of some good technique that added to the imagery, like when Koran said that the river “cleaved the valley in half”. Such little details in writing can really speak more then a whole paragraph of description. If you can find a way to say more with less words, it usually makes your writing spring out of the paper/screen and stab the reader in the eyes. In an entirely good and not painful way, of course.

CLARITY – 6

This was fine. I had little trouble following the story, though the lengthy training session came off as a bit confusing near the end.

WILD CARD – 6

People bailing out should’ve dropped this lower because I dislike unfinished stories, but given the effort Sorahn and Lorenor made to wrap this up more or less, I’ll give it a solid six.



TOTAL SCORE – 57,5

Congratulations!



SPOILS:

Sorahn gets 1700 EXP and 260 GP.
Ranger gets 900 EXP and 90 GP.
Witchblade gets 1000 EXP and 120 GP.
Of Free Will gets 320 EXP and 75 GP.
Mutant_Lorenor gets 1000 EXP, 250 GP and the requested spoils.
Koran gets 300 EXP and 50 GP.
Daggertail gets 200 EXP and 50 GP.
Oracle of Jomil gets 200 EXP and 50 GP.
The Barbarian gets 200 EXP and 50 GP.


EXP/GP added. Phew, that’s a lot of people.