The Redemption of Tylermande

[Storm Veritas]

(closed to Shinsou and Flamebird/Felicity)

The road before him was littered with small rocks and pits, most of which the great beast Attila strode over as if they were bits of dust and seams of well fit hardwoods. The wide black back of the muscular steed swung a bit side to side, tilting the seasoned sorcerer atop him about while steadily moving forward. Attila was no pony anymore, but seemed not to have aged a day in the years where the stubborn animal had dutifully served the crotchety old bastard in the saddle. As the heat gently lay into the tandem, the rider noticed a thick glob of saliva form at the rein and swing wildly before falling to the road in a disgusting plop.

“Enough, boy. Grab some shade and water.”

Storm Veritas somewhat gingerly dismounted his equine friend, rubbing the thick, coarse hair along the jawbone as he led the tired horse to a thick maple tree. He could barely pour water from his saddlebag to the pail before Atilla dove in, greedily pulling the water in a lapping process that looked impossible considering the very geometry of the thing.

Quite the life, my boy. Walk, eat, shit, sleep, and screw. Seize the day.

The wizard drank from his own bottle as he rested, rubbing the sore seat that had been bounced around for a few hours. It wasn’t so long ago that his life was ultimately no different than the one he lovingly mocked his horse for; times of carefree hedonism where his ability to grift and steal easily bankrolled a lifestyle where the bills were as simple as food, whiskey and whores. It was a time before he had found purpose.

A time before the Brotherhood.

His partnership with Shinsou Vaan Osiris had led to a great sense of belonging in the greater world. He had a grand plan, goals, and a central vision for a united, free Corone that was still in play. The failed siege of Radasanth had proven a brutal setback; he had lost many good men in this life’s ultimate goal. They hadn’t died in vain, he surmised, and he would dedicate his life to ensuring the continent was unified under the Brotherhood’s Flag.

A mission. A purpose. The aging wizard continued to pontificate as he ripped a few bites of dried meat from his satchel, watching as Attila absent-mindedly grazed on the tall grass. The sweet late-summer air welcomed him here as dusk approached, and the shadows grew long as he considered his path.

Recently, a great betrayal had turned this entire “mission” on its head. Arius Mephisto had conspired with a plan to assassinate both Storm and Shinsou, luring them to the docks in their hometown of Tylermande to strike in broad daylight. Shinsou nearly died, and in the chase Arius had proven historically lethal. Arius would die, but Tylermande had also been stricken by the assault, left damaged and short of goods. Veritas had set out south to ask for assistance, in the last town he wanted to head. Further, Shinsou was there again, and had asked for help. The Telgradian was literally the only person upon Althanas that could call in such a favor.

”Fucking Whitevale. Why is he in Whitevale? Why does Whitevale have to have the best building supplies outside of Radasanth? The only place in the world that might hate me more than Radasanth does.”

The great black eye of Attila offered no consideration for the question, choosing instead to relieve himself in a mighty pile by the thick, peeling bark of the large tree. Whitevale had been the Brotherhood’s first conquest; a tremendous coup that ended in misery as an insurrection led to fire and death. He had helped to quell the larger danger to the city, but appreciation was lost as the duo was inextricably tied to stress, strife, and harm. To Attila, it meant nothing more than poorly prepared food and an irritated master. The electromancer smiled, on a knee as he bundled a few handfuls of felled twigs to use for kindling. Storm continued to work, lazily laying out his tent components and eyeing the skies for cloud cover. They would be dry tonight; Whitevale would be happy to rain on his parade in the morning.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Two days prior

The Telgradian sighed as he folded the letter into quarters, slipped it into an envelope and pressed the back with the Brotherhood’s wax seal. One hand reached up to offer the memo to a waiting courier, who darted to his side without hesitation.

“Storm Veritas, as quickly as you can.”

The messenger was gone before Shinsou had the time to turn around.

In a nearby ashtray, the singed remnants of a document lay in charred repose. Ghost white, the co-commander of the Brotherhood ignored the tired aches in his muscles and rose to his feet, emerging into the dying twilight of a corridor from the cramped study in which he had ensconced himself an hour earlier. The letter he had received had shaken his world to its core, but he could share it with no-one, save Veritas. Even the ever-present blanket of cloud over him since Arius’s betrayal hadn’t darkened his mood like this before.

No. This felt like the onset of night itself.

What am I going to do…?

His head felt light through sickness. As he passed a window, deep in thought, he caught his reflection for long enough to notice how much he had weathered. The long days of travel and battle had begun to show on his form once again; creases in his forehead, bags under his eyes and his white coat was streaked with marks. It felt so long ago now that he had last been happy.

You have to kill this cunt, now. he reminded himself ruefully. He knew that he needed friends, but friends were short in supply. As soon as he left behind the town of Whitevale, he would not have the luxury of a friendly face every evening. The only people who could stand to be anywhere near him at the moment were Storm Veritas, who was often on official Brotherhood business elsewhere, Felicity Rhyolite, who was often giving him radiation sickness, or Philomel van der Aart, who was still torn about him at the moment. Through the window, the ivory coloured stone buildings of the Brotherhood complex loomed in a mantle of shadows as Shinsou gathered his belongings from his personal quarters a couple of doors down from the study. Suddenly, behind him, there was the creaking of a light, rhythmic tread on the wood. Raine, he decided after only a moment’s thought.

The thought warmed his soul for a moment, before it sent his mind into another spiralling tangent.

“Who’s Canen?”

Too late. His thoughts faltered as the beautiful redhead, dressed in her armoured Gilded Quint battle corset, invited herself in as she always did.

“So you’ve read my personal correspondence?” Shinsou muttered darkly, clearly annoyed, “That was marked Private and Confidential. Anyway, why do you care?”

“I’m your bodyguard,” the woman teased, much to the Telgradian’s chagrin. “I need to know about any threats to your safety.”

“Durandel takes care of my security, actually. Who appointed you my bodyguard, exactly?” For not the first time, Shinsou repeated to Raine his official refusal of her services. It was absolutely pointless, though, seeing as the Telgradian’s deal with the Lily and the Assembly to keep him away from Terrinore was to have Raine by his side, but he thought it necessary to remind her of this every single day. Secretly, though, Osiris was warming to her.

“So, who is he?” She pressed him again, relentless in her pursuit of a straight answer. He sighed, knowing that he was only delaying the inevitable.

“…I don’t really know, honestly…” The response was downbeat, and Raine knew he was telling the truth, “…but I don't think he is lying. I need to talk to him. Storm will be here soon, as will Felicity. Don’t say a fucking word to anyone, Raine, pl-”

“I won’t,” Raine nodded, coming closer to him. She put a hand tenderly on his shoulder. “I won’t, ok?”

Shinsou nodded solemnly. There was a moment’s pause, before he walked towards the door. He stopped short, his back to her as the white, frayed edges of his coat scraped the frame.

“If this is true, this could be bigger than anything we've faced before. I just want to establish the facts.”

The words shocked Raine out of her stupor, but before she could say anything to him, Shinsou’s tread had taken him through the door and out of the corridor.

[Flamebird]

The cold winter like climate was unyielding. The weak corpse of a tree gave little protection from the wind as she leaned against it, sweating.

Honestly, getting away was nice.

Felicity loathed thinking of herself as a slacker, irresponsible, yet she needed this. Away from being a general, away from her office, away from Hayate, away from facing all the internal problems that had built up a mountain in front of her. Here, she was training. Just training. No gimmicks, no dragons, no nuclear power. Just training.

Her katana lay on the dirt infested ground. Felicity lifted a jug and allowed water to fall into her mouth. It took nothing to cool down after working out; the bitter weather took care of that. As she rested after hours of practicing form, she saw a flash of white from the corner of her green eyes.

She turned to see an own land atop one of the many cut branches of the dead tree. Felicity smiled, this was no regular bird. "Gwenael."

A flash of light covered the fowl in a bathing cloak. Felicity's magic affinity sparked as the shape of the being changed. It grew, developed limbs... Soon enough, the magic faded. In front of her way a young man. He appeared around her age. The perfect build, long white hair. Amber eyes glimmered as talon feet clunked on the permafrost ground. His white wings fluttered and twitched.

The entity bent down and picked up one of the branches. Precisely cut, light and rotted. "I take it you are fitting in well."

Felicity looked ahead again. Allowing the harsh wind to blow her red hair in her face, she took time to look back. "A dragon ruined everybody's day. Hayate picked a fight with me. I'm a general with no idea how to be one. And, my office is still wrecked from that fight Hayate and I had."

Gwenael raised as eyebrow as he tossed the wood away. He stepped forward, leaving marks in the ground, and picked up the katana. The blade was expertly forged, made of powerful prevalida. He made a cut in the air, testing the sound of the swing with positive results.

Felicity eyed the blade and blinked. She started thinking again. "I know why I can't outrun my past now though. And people... they... actually respect me here." She lowered her head. Her vision of the long, winding landscape was blocked by her long hair.

Gwenael spoke up, still testing the sword. "No situation is perfect. All walks have a mixture of ups and downs."

Felicity blinked.

Gwenael continued, lowering the sword. "Do not despair over the setbacks. This is the best path for you."

Felicity scoffed, looking up at him. She smiled as he gently lowered the blade to the ground in front of her. She spoke, "I know it is. And how can I turn back now?"

Suddenly a distant toll could be heard. Felicity turned her head to the city in the horizon. From behind the walls, the church chapel bell rang. It was noon.

Felicity bent over and reached for the sword, getting ready to stand up. "I need to get back."

"Not to join the Ethereal Sway service I hope." Gwenael retorted in amusement.

Felicity chuckled, eyeing him with a playful challenge. "Give me a good reason to follow those extremists instead of the Thayne." She picked up her supplies and darted down the hill. Next to a puddle, a white mare freely drank. "Come on, Chamomile! Back to town!"

Gwenael smiled as she tried to take control of the rather stubborn horse. As he watched her, the Lesser Thayne's wings curled in delight. "She shall be just fine."

[Storm Veritas]

Whitevale had been rebuilt, a wooden-walled city that spoke from a single gated mouth to the north. It was light security when the aging electromancer arrived, and portended to be a simple affair. The gates of Whitevale opened wide, the creaking metal hinges squealing in protest to the quickly advancing winter. Had it really only been a day ago that he felt the warmth of the sun on his horse? Today, the sky was that grey-blue that echoed an unmistakable chill in the air, and some of the grass that skirted the road still wore the glisten of breaking frost.

Winter comes for us all, I’m afraid.

The face of Storm was commonly clouded in smoke, but this morning it was the simple condensation of his warm breath in the dry air. Snarling atop his great black horse, the gatekeepers stared at him as though he were the rider of the pale horse.

…and death follows with me.

The wizard was the face of calamity here, and it wasn’t so long ago. Still, the guards wearing tattered armor that looked worn and weathered actually weren’t glowering at Storm Veritas, but rather distasteful at another visitor. Storm could have been anyone here, and it would have meant nothing more or less to these men.

“Shinsou.” Storm peered through his squinted eyes, closed by the long road and early morning. The guard first simply crossed his arms, smirking defiantly. The burly, bearded man spat a mouthful of fresh smelling tobacco into the hay at the magician’s feet before he spoke.

“What of it? That’s not the password today, old man.”

The cold blue eyes of the mounted adventurer flashed white as he felt rage bubble over him. Storm was too experienced to expect the type of boundless gratitude the insolent shit of a guard should have offered. He knew better than to wait on a genuflection and the washing of his feet this fat fool should have offered. Hell, he could understand some degree of anger towards the wizard, who had led to chaos before helping save this God-forsaken town from its own demise. What was simply not acceptable, however, was ignorance. The desire to destroy the man with a savage burst of clean smelling ozone and electric anger hit him like a wave.

Attila brayed, rearing slightly at the open gate as he sensed his master’s fury. Two spearmen approached the horse, their weapons raised at the great steed with fear at the sudden arousal.

Nope, not fucking today.

With a wave of his hand, the metal spear-tips were pulled out of the hands of the guardsmen, volunteers who leapt back at the seemingly possessed weapons. Storm raised his hands, gently lifting the spears over the thick wooden palisade wall and releasing them, hearing the lifeless rattle-clang of the polearms some fifteen feet away. The big bearded fat one had approached, his delicious chain mail shirt beckoning while stretched across his substantive belt.

“Enough.” Storm pushed his hand out once more, pulsing electromagnetic radiation at the shirt.

The tobacco-spewing guardsman froze as he felt his shirt stop moving, and then his own vestment pulled him up from the earth. Confused and terrified, he opened his hands and showed his palms wide from his body, far too late for any sign of peace. The other two simply stepped back, their backs pressed firmly against the stacked timbers behind them. Slowly, the links of chain began to fold back over themselves, as Veritas constricted the metal with incredible ease. He could feel the man’s chest as the air between his fingers, and could as easily collapse the metal through the fool’s flesh as a child could squeeze a ripe banana between his fingertips.

“Tell him the devil isn’t dead, and he’s come back to save his sorry ass again.” Opening his hand, Storm released his spell, allowing the man to fall helplessly three feet to the earth. Flabbergasted and terrified, the guard kicked his feet furiously into the earth, driving his body backwards as he desperately scrambled to tear away his armor.

And the man would tell him where to go. And the man would never forget the name Storm Veritas.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

The progression of the sun creeping across the sky told Shinsou it had been roughly an hour since he had entered his quarters. The troubled man had done little else other than stare blankly at the town over the rim of the Brotherhood headquarters perimeter fence, thinking only about one thing. It was the same thing that had infuriated the Telgradian for the past few weeks, and that was that the traitor Arius Mephisto still drew breath, despite his best efforts. The most progress they had made amounted to a dead frost dragon and some re-plastering in Whitevale, but other than that there was very little to show for the hunt. Just as Shinsou was starting to calm down and accept that he and the Brotherhood might be in this very personal war for the long haul, a letter landed with him. The contents of that letter, if true…

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door that stirred Osiris from his thoughts. Sighing, the Telgradian pulled the curtains to and turned away.

“Yes?”

“It’s Durandel”, the elf’s familiar Raiaeran accent permeated the air, “Your guest has arrived.”

“Show him in.”

The wing his quarters was situated on had been eerily quiet, the only sound being the faint morning breeze brushing past the cracks in the wood of the window panes. Durandel had taken care to lock the doors leading to and from the section of the building, as ordered, ensuring the hastily arranged meeting had enough secrecy and security to go both unnoticed and undisturbed. Once those bolts had been latched, a cold feeling had swept over the elf. The section of the building around them looked like it had been abandoned for so long. Its once-quaint rooms with their small vaults and low wooden arches now seemed somehow filled with an empty sorrow.

As the tall elf opened the door and looked at his leader, Durandel got a bad feeling, although he couldn’t place what. He stood aside and immediately to attention as a figure emerged from behind the other side of the wall and slowly entered the room. The man, as tall as Shinsou but slightly stockier, was of pale complexion and swathed in black robes that seemed closer to mock tribal dress from Akashima than Coronian attire. A loose shirt and nondescript pants, all woven from simple black-dyed fabric, could be seen underneath a flowing imitation haori. The man’s jet black hair swayed at his waist and underneath several matted strands of fringe were a pair of emerald green-

“He was armed, only with this, and surrendered it willingly on arrival.” Durandel interrupted, handing Shinsou a heavy looking broadsword. As the Telgradian took the hilt in his hand he anticipated an immediate, awkward force on his forearms, but the lightweight characteristics of the weapon surprised him. He was able to hold it easily, and single-handedly.

“Remarkable,” Shinsou said as he marveled at the silver blade, “What is this metal? Aluminum? Some sort of alloy?”

“Volak,” The man in the black tunic spoke clearly and deliberately, “As strong as steel, but half the weight.”

“I’ve never heard of Volak before. Truly remarkable,” The Telgradian repeated. He paused for a moment before handing the sword back to its black-clad owner, holding up a reassuring hand as Durandel stepped forward to protest. “It’s fine. I’d be grateful if you could leave us.”

The elf, momentarily stunned, eventually nodded and cast his eyes to the floor briefly in thought before leaving through the open door. As the brass latch clicked behind him, Shinsou stood with his back pressed against the room’s wall, the fabric of his dress shirt managing to soften the pressing, whilst his darkly dressed guest sat in a nearby chair upon invitation from his host.

“The reason I’ve never heard of Volak, I assume, is because it native to your homeworld, Canen?” Osiris’s arms were folded loosely before him as he perched.

“What’s left of it.” The man, Canen, let his bright green eyes flit back and forth between various items in the room as he tried to weigh up his host. Every single thing in here would tell him more about the infamous Shinsou Vaan Osiris’s lifestyle, personality and even his eccentricities. It was his brother Gideon who had taught him attention to detail, and it would be a useful tool in assessing a man whose surface publicity had been such a taboo in Corone, but whom very few people knew much about underneath all the tavern bluster. “I brought my proof. I know you didn’t ask for it, but I want nothing left to doubt.”

Silently, the swordsman rose to his feet and produced a satchel from his robes, pulling out a small shard of metal. Rubbing the dust from the surface with the pale heel of his hand, he handed it over to the waiting Telgradian, who had left the comfort of the wall and was now stood in front of him.

Drawing in a deep breath, Shinsou’s eyes ran over the surface of the metal. It was a piece of a breastplate, marked with ancient symbols that he could not decipher, but ones he immediately recognized.

“You must understand that this is impossible. This is from Executor ISOS’s armour,” The Telgradian murmured, recalling the relic that he and Storm Veritas had destroyed in Whitevale on the day their coup had succeeded, “Me and Storm Veritas obliterated it a year ago. There was nothing left, we checked. How do you have it?”

Shinsou looked up as Canen’s eyes drew to him, his dark hair spilling down his back and over his face. His expression shifted subtly as a came to him; eyes opening a degree wider than before, his jaw muscles flexing.

“Arius Mephisto and Executor ISOS are one and the same. Four hundred years ago, a man named Arius Mephisto led an army called the Castigars long before your Brotherhood’s namesake existed. It was during that time that we suspected he was experimenting in powerful and unorthodox sorcery of the likes not ever seen. Rumours were flying around that he was trying to find ways to become immortal, and there seemed to be a fascination with messing around with time, but attempting to become immortal destroyed his original body . At this point he became like a wound, lost his physical form, and then attached himself to this armour. ISOS was the name given to this new entity, and the man Arius was forgotten.”

Shinsou’s hand played on his coattails, his fingers finding the rough chords that made up its lining. “If this is true, Canen, then that would make you…”

“The Khaian people don’t succumb to age like humans do. We live for over a thousand years, thanks to the preservatives in our blood,” Canen slid up the chair, pulling himself up and running a hand over his head. “But now, I’m the only one left. I was young, but I was there for the Castigar War. We rode under the banner of the Red Dragons. Myself, my brother Gideon and my friend Kaiser. We had this 'ISOS' holed up in his fortress, but we got careless and he slipped away. Gideon eventually tracked him down to a dead coral reef on the outskirts of a village called Karak, and challenged him.”

“What happened?” Shinsou turned his face to Canen once again.

“We don’t know exactly how it happened, but Gideon lost and ISOS escaped.” The Khaian’s answer came in a more subdued tone, “There were no witnesses to the battle. All that was left were scorch marks and that chunk of armour, glowing white hot. The mystery plagued me for centuries, but recent events have shed light on what might have happened. I think that ISOS had used a portal to escape, and it turns out that portal had dumped him elsewhere in time. It's one theory, at least.”

“Sounds a bit far-fetched…” Shinsou shut his eyes as something thumped against his nerves. “If this is the same man, or entity, I haven't ever seen anything that suggests he had any manner of control over time. But, I have seen him use portals similar to what you described, and he was hardly likely to show me any such power if he did have it."

There was a moment of silence as Shinsou quietly turned back to the window, throwing open the curtain that he had closed.

"Once the possible has been eliminated," The Telgradian mused, "only the impossible remains. If what you've said is true, it could be that he re-forged or repaired his armour here, and then he found a host body and subsumed it. It could be that 'Arius' was the one I recruited into the Brotherhood. The armour we destroyed contained sorcery that was brainwashing the people in Whitevale - clearly it was significant. We just didn't know why.”

“So, what happens now?”

It was then that Shinsou spied some commotion at the gate through the glass pane. He watched as a small number of guards began hustling towards the entrance, disappearing through it. A moment later, a number of lances levitated from the outer wall and cascaded into the square, barely missing a patrol who, bemused, stopped to investigate the pile of discarded weapons.

“However he came to be, or came to Althanas, it doesn't change a damn thing. He must die. See that?” Osiris buttoned his coat as he pointed to the unrest outside, “That is exactly one third of ‘what happens next’. If you think I'm pissed off with Arius, wait until you meet him.”

A moment later, Durandel was through the door and at his side.

“Before you say anything, Durandel, I know,” Shinsou sighed, pre-empting the elf’s report on Storm Veritas, “I knew he wouldn’t like coming back, so he’s probably in a foul mood. Get him in here as soon as possible. While you’re at it, find Rhyolite and get her in here too. Escort Canen to his secure quarters.”

“What are you doing?” The Khaian raised an eyebrow as Shinsou’s elven guard stood to his side, trying hard to not seem too intimidating.

“Right now I trust you, Canen, even if some of what you say seems a bit fantastical. But, if any of this turns out to be bullshit, I’ll know where to find you.” Shinsou explained in a calm voice as the Khaian watched Durandel stride over and clap a hand on Canen’s shoulder. “You’ll be given every comfort and courtesy, but you aren’t going to be leaving Whitevale until I can prove your motives and story. Once bitten, twice shy. Oh, that reminds me…”

Shinsou walked over to Durandel, and held out his hand. Canen’s broadsword was immediately relinquished to him.

“Does this sword have a name?”

“Valiance,” a visibly annoyed Canen responded, eyeing the Telgradian through narrow slits.

Shinsou held the grip with one hand, before pulling Canen’s sheath from his back with the other.

“I like your sword. I’m keeping it.” The Telgradian said with a glint in his eye and the slightest of smirks.

[Flamebird]

As usual, the ride back was filled with gloom. The landscape was miserable. The remaining grasses of the dry, dirt coated ground were brown and withered. Trees were fading into haunted shadows. The color scheme looking down was a dreary brown. The sky above was a chilling grey. The great mare Chamomile trotted in defiance of the depressed world around her. Head high and bopping up and down. The white steed trotted across the deathly dirt road with a bounce to her trot. Felicity wished she could share the stubborn horse's spirit. The redhead pulled her scarf up, hiding her nose and mouth from the parched wind that blew unchallenged across the once flourishing grasslands.

As they neared the wooden walls of Whitevale, voices could be heard. Excited shouts. Were they scared, thrilled, or overjoyed? Felicity squinted, unable to tell. Chamomile was just as curious about this, breaking into a canter. Felicity yelped, grasping the reigns of her steed as she darted past the guards, whom peered into the gate without leaving their posts, and into the city. There was a crowd gathered of soldiers, workers, villagers, and all else. They all were clamoring to get a view of something Felicity was too short to catch sight of as Chamomile steadied to a stop, ears twitching as she observed the crowd. Felicity sighed in relief that the horse had stopped and dismounted. At first, all eyes were gazing at the crowd; then a single worker happened to glance at Felicity pulling her equipment off and dashed towards her. Leaping over the nearby wooden stake fence, he called out, "General! I apologize for the delay!"

Felicity only raised an eyebrow as the young man started to tend to Chamomile and lighten her load. "What's going on?"

The man spoke while he continued to work, his voice filled with energetic wariness. "It's Storm Veritas. He's back."

Storm Veritas! Felicity's eyes widened. The co-founder of The Brotherhood alongside her mentor, Shinsou Vaan Osiris! Excitement boiled as her attention darted to the crowd. Her katana and war bow were held limply in her arms. The sound of Chamomile snorting and reigns being pulled called Felicity's attention back to the stable hand. The boy had placed her gear beside her and was pulling Chamomile towards the stables. "Chamomile will be tended to. Your gear is ready for you, General."

Felicity nodded distractedly and glanced at the weapons, alchemy kit, and equipment placed neatly against the fence. She blinked, eager and anxious that the Storm Veritas was here! What should she do? Go greet him? Alone? She lifted her hand, pressing her lips against a finger. Then, she decided to go for it. She lifted another hand, snapping her fingers once. "Where's the overseer?"

A gaurd, who was also trying to get a glimpse of Veritas, looked briefly at Felicity a he squeezed his spear's shaft. "Trying to get the stables back in order. One of the gaurds got ele-"

Felicity cut him off, "Oh well. I need a hand!"

Another head poked from the outskirts of the crowd. A female elf. "Yes, General Rhyolite?"

Felicity crossed her arms in a business like fashion, "Why don't you take care of my equipment for me? Take it to my office, be careful. I do not want a bow snapped or blade blunted." She narrowed her eyes, "Understand?"

The elf's ears twitched, shoulders slumped. She obviously wanted to see Veritas. Alas she followed orders and took care of Felicity's possesions, save the top tier arming sword Felicity had strapped to her belt. The elegant weapon, Splicer, was made of prevailda. The black blade was engraved with a dragon with gothic artistry. It was a well made, expensive weapon. A sign of stature. Felicity reached back and combed her hair back with her hands, making it fall into some sort of order. As she walked towards the crowd, she straightened her outfit from the ride and wiped the dust from her trousers. She cleared her throat when the crowd did not part at first, but upon seeing the stout general the mesh of species and ranks started to leave room to walk. Felicity lifted her chin, straightened her back, and marched through the crowd. She awaited Veritas.

At the center of the crowd, several high ranking guards prevented anyone from the crowd from getting in. Behind them, seated on a barrel, was an older looking man. His frame was scrawny compared to Felicity, but he was way taller. He appeared to have lighter eyes, with dark hair edged with black. His face was wrinkled, from either age or temper - or both. His face was burrowed in a grimace of unhappiness and impatience. Obviously, he did not like the attention. One of the guards stepped in front of Felicity, blocking her view. Felicity looked up to see the man blinking in surprise. "General Rhyolite, we were told by the overseer not to let anyone through."

Without a moment's passing, Felicity pointed to herself with her thumb, "I outrank to overseer. Let me in."

The man bowed his head after hesitation, lowering his eased pike. "As you wish."

Felicity nodded and stepped through. More commotion was raised from the crowd, causing Felicity's cheeks to burn hot despite the frigid climate. How long can I keep this up? I'm not nearly as competent as I appear, or confident.

Her head was lowered again until she found herself standing in front of the grouchy man that was Storm Veritas. He looked up at her with a raised eyebrow, arms crossed as the cold overtook all. Felicity lifted her head again, regaining her former composure. "I am Felicity Rhyolite, General of the Brotherhood of the Castigars and Apprentice of Shinsou Vaan Osiris." Her voice somehow managed not to crack, despite her heart pounding so hard it could explode from her chest. Her green eyes narrowed, meeting Veritas' grey orbs. "I understand you co-founded this party. I salute you." She flashed a sharp salute, eyes starting to soften despite her tense, proper body language. Then, to affirm his higher ranking, she kneeled. This felt more like her place, the servant or student of someone better, more legendary, She was always humble, it was her home. She never knew anything above it. Still, her voice was assertive as she asked, "What brings you back to the base of operations?"

[Storm Veritas]

Never one to shy from theatrics, Storm was nonetheless annoyed with the commotion his little stunt had created. People flooded into the area by the front gate rapidly, lemmings marching towards potential slaughter. It brought a crooked grin to his face, considering how these fantastically vulnerable fools so readily raced to behold the spectacular capabilities which so easily could be their undoing. There were whispers he’d heard about a dragon recently around these parts; how many of these two-bit townies ran into its mouth to get a good look at the fire?

A town full of the fake tough and stupid brave. They march up without hesitation, but lower their eyes to avoid my gaze. What they don’t know makes them brave; the little that is understood showcases their cowardice.

One woman, a kid as his own years would perceive, had to be special. She had the look of it; she came up boldly through the crowd, introduced herself without quiver in her voice, and looked him directly in the eye as she spoke her name. The un-gifted humans never had balls like that. She wasn’t tall, but didn’t look frail, either; her frame reminded him of the beautiful mage that he had fallen for so long ago. This girl looked almost inhuman with her muscular and skeletal density, but the red hair and brilliant emerald eyes were an echo of Karuka.

Then she dropped to a knee, an act of subservience that broke his flickering memory like a dropped glass. Both flattered and annoyed, the wizard snapped a response that was an attempt at courtesy and correction.

“Get up! A General of the Brotherhood kneels for none!” He reached to his bag and withdrew a large leather water bottle, fervently twisting the cap free and enjoying a quick pull of the hot, sweet mead. The notes of honey soothed his throat, which stung in the cold air. He smiled and extended the pouch, but the girl resisted. Perhaps a moment of sound judgment on her behalf.

“Call me Storm, and save the formalities for Shinsou. It’s odd to hear of an apprentice making general, but I’ll have you at your word.” He rubbed at his chin, feeling the thick whiskers that had been borne of his recent trials. It was uncharacteristic for the electromancer to ride into… well… anywhere looking this haggard, but if his suspicion was correct, he rode in with a singular purpose, and it was entirely apolitical.

We’re going to kill that bald motherfucker.

He breathed deeply through his nose as he considered his words, impressed with the girl who chose not to fill the air with senseless babble. She had asked his purpose, respectfully waiting out his response.

“Your brooding mentor sent me a note, asking for help. Since he asks for help about as much as I ask for torches, I’ve got a pretty good idea of what he’s really asking for.”

The powerful looking kid who called herself Felicity tried not to look confused at this, and her failure was respectable. The older traveler smiled more earnestly at this, clapping his horse about the neck as Attila brayed in satisfaction. Storm could feel the wrinkles about his eyes and forehead form deeper as he took some mild amusement at the confusion, still impressed with the young woman’s focus.

“You aren’t meant to read my mind, relax. Bear in mind that when I was your age, you were a twinkle in your mom’s eye and I was half as smart as these fence-posts. If you’re not going to drink, just take me to Shinsou; I suspect we have quite a bit to discuss.”

The presence of doubt was warranted in Whitevale; for all his smiles and charm Veritas still kept his eyes darting about his perimeter. His quick checks were guised as the smiles of a politician greeting his people, but in reality crowded places were disquieting. It was a gathered crowd that gave the would-be assassin cover to shoot his best friend from a distance. It was a gathered crowd that slowed Storm’s pursuit of Arius Mephisto, allowing the menace to escape.

Read me, kid. Get me the fuck out of here and let’s see the man in black.

Mercifully, the young general was instinctive. It was mere minutes before Attila was led to a stable to be watered and fed, and Storm followed carefully into the large, stone administrative building, where whale oil lanterns cast a pleasant orange glow over the inside of the building. His thoughts raced in memories of the place as he approached the thick wooden door that led to the Mayor’s Chambers, dense oak that once held his own office space. It was strange to be a stranger again.

There were multiple voices behind the door, and the wizard’s tension was at last released when he heard the familiar chatter of an old friend.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

What seemed like an eternity flew by before Veritas's knuckles hammered on the office door. Shinsou knew it was the electromancer straight away, simply from the manner of his rapping. It was as if a drunken man was knocking on his locked front door to wake his pissed off wife and this was always telling of the mood Storm was likely to be in.

Neither Shinsou nor Canen spoke again as Durandel slipped to the door and let both Veritas and Felicity Rhyolite enter in tandem. In every way possible, they were completely dissimilar; his best friend Storm with his ageing, hardened features, slicked dark hair with the odd fleck of grey, with hers flame red and wavy. His eyes seemed cold and his gaze sharp as he took in the sight of Canen next to Shinsou, whilst hers were wide and eager to explore. While Felicity was by nature a bright and emotive person, Veritas could be dry and introverted. While her smile was enthusiastic and endearing, his spoke of mischief and arrogance. They were both intelligent and athletic, but in vastly different ways; Shinsou wondered if it would take a miracle to get them to work together.

"Lord Osiris," Felicity stopped in the centre of the room, on the red carpet, and stood to attention respectfully. She seemed more tense than usual, and the Telgradian could probably guess why.

"Seems like everyone is on edge,” Storm finally spoke, breaking the fragile silence with a characteristically sculpted expression of neutrality on his face. He leaned against a nearby bookshelf, breathing deeply of the fresh tobacco he had lit in the well of his pipe. "A couple of the guards needed an attitude adjustment, as you probably gathered. Next time they'll remember whose hand it is that feeds their sorry asses. Anyway, I assume we're not here on a social call?"

Shinsou smiled as Felicity shot Storm a sideways glance whilst the wizard's eyes explored Canen. In turn, the Khaian seemed as bemused by him as Felicity. Anyone else would have considered the electromancer rude and uncouth, but the Telgradian knew him well and this was his way. “You assume correctly, my friend.” he replied, his voice low and melodic.

He outstretched a palm towards his guest, and then back to them. “Canen, this is the co-leader of the Brotherhood, Storm Veritas, and General Felicity Rhyolite. Now, Durandel will see to your needs, and I'd be grateful if you could follow him to the guest quarters. Please forgive me for not seeing to this myself, for I must discuss your information in detail with my colleagues and there is a lot to be done, as I'm sure you can appreciate.”

Accepting at last Shinsou's 'invitation' to leave, Canen noted the pair and nodded in acknowledgement before leaving the room with the elf. Finally, it was just the three of them.

"Canen is a Khaian," Almost immediately, Shinsou dived into the details, “Now, I doubt either of you have ever heard of a Khaian, as they are not native to Althanas, much like me. They have many interesting characteristics, but the most important one is that their people tend to live for hundreds of years and don't age. Why is that relevant?"

Neither Storm's nor Felicity's expressions wavered. He realised they'd probably grown accustomed to such long winded stories from him. He turned his gaze and looked through the window, at the scouring sun.

“This is why. Four hundred years ago, a man who happened to be called Arius Mephisto was the leader of an army called the Castigars. Canen claims to have lived in that time. He told me that he was part of a force dedicated to fighting him, and that they thought that he was trying to find ways to become immortal by fucking about with dark magic, specifically time. He obviously tried something and ended up destroying his original body, lost his physical form, and then Canen said he attached himself to a set of armour. They then called whatever the end product of this was 'ISOS', and after a skirmish he used a portal to escape. Storm, does this sound familiar to you?”

Veritas faltered with his pipe, raising his eyes to the ceiling in thought. "Bits. There was a set of armour here when we took over from the council. Executor ISOS's armour. But we destroyed that; every last bit, and there was no sign of anything living in it. So, can't be the same guy. The portals stack up though as Arius was keen on those. I don't know, Shin. This whole thing sounds like a crock of shit. How do we know Canen isn't a Mephisto plant, fucking with us?"

“Canen brought me a shard of the armour” Shinsou continued speaking, “It could only have existed in his time, before we destroyed it, or he's a fucking magnificent counterfeiter. I know it's a lot to gamble on, but either way, I'm working on a theory. Assuming all this is true, this means ISOS and Arius have always been one and the same, and the Arius we know is just a host body he subsumed when he got to our time. Can you see the issue?”

“…He could be anyone.”

The simplicity of Felicity's reply was cold water to a fire. There was a collective pause for a minute as everyone absorbed the statement.

Exactly. Which is why-

Storm could see the determinedly downcast lines of Shinsou's brow, and finished the Telgradian's thought.

"Which is probably why we can't find the fucker." he ventured.

“We have to flush him out, somehow,” Shinou answered, looking up at the pair again. As always, he caught the flicker of emotion in Felicity's eyes as they met hers; and then his gaze immediately escaped again to the neutrality of Storm's. "There are a whole host of scenarios. Number one; he could still be in his old body and just be very well protected; the last sighting of him was about four weeks ago. Number two, he's switched bodies and is going to keep doing this until he finds the right fit. Either way, the one common denominator is that if Canen is right, and I realise that's a big "if", he is looking for a powerful body; something unique."

The young woman took a deep breath. "How many special bodies are out there? How would he know where to look, or who to choose?"

“I don't know. Maybe he has an ability like mine, where he can somehow sense power. His current body allowed him to be quite proficient in magic, as me and Storm found out, but he's missing his ring finger now and that'll limit his ability to shut us out again." Shinsou replied, his voice low once more.

Again his words were simple, but they offered no solution. As the sun cast its glare over Whitevale, the convened mulled over the future with pause for thought.

[Storm Veritas]

Not every silence need be awkward, but the young general had a nervous tension about her that pushed the deliberation well into the sphere of the uncomfortable. Storm had grown accustomed to allowing the vulnerability of his intellectual limits to be known to Shinsou, but amongst others he enjoyed a terrific air of superiority that he rarely failed to lord. Pulling the sweet cherry richness from his pipe, the wizard stared briefly at his shoes for answers that weren’t available on the beaten leather boots. They lacked the sheen he would prefer to garnish, but riding into town on horseback looked patently absurd if you didn’t wear boots.

“Time magic… shit, we get a chance to feel how the townfolk feel about us. Time? This asshole’s more than powerful, it makes him a god.”

Click. Light had dawned, as he tried to work the logic out loud.

“I had presumed he had shot back to you using a portal, but if he can control time, wouldn’t we be dead?”

In his own modest mental capacities, Storm was sure he’d discerned something here. Freezing time altogether or popping back and forth through time would render someone literally invincible. It’s very easy to win a fight when you’ve already fought it and know your opponents moves; easier still to simply put a wire across his throat in his sleep as a child.

Still the same, we’ve just jumped into water over our heads.

Another puff of smoke filled him; his lungs tingled and heartrate settled. There was something reassuring about the posit that he had made. If he was going to embark on a mission against someone with something so intimidating as fucking time at their disposal, then he’d need a dose of confidence in his corner.

“He’s bound by rules. He HAS to be, or we’d be long dead by now. He wouldn’t have waited through Radasanth or allowed us to come close to stopping him in Tylermande.” Storm was facing the bookshelf now, trying to glean information through the copious stacks of green and black-backed hardcovers that he absolutely had not read.

“That’s the good news. The bad news is time is still a trump card far and above my big fancy magnets and your assorted bags of tricks.” He wondered about the young-looking stranger introduced as “Canen”, who apparently didn’t age. Did he have any magic to bring to the table? Perhaps something equally preposterous? The ability to summon meteorites, perhaps? Those seemed to do a number on the place.

Probably a fancy turn of phrase for a vampire. Ageless, silly, and weak as an elderly fart.

With this, he turned an eye toward General Rhyolite, who appeared to move back and forth. She was still a bit of a mystery to him; perhaps she had something up her sleeve as well. After all, it was unlikely she rose to the ranks of General based on cheekbones and an extra strong jaw.

“Still the same, not too many can make a scene better than we can. If we can’t figure out his rules, do we have anything? Does your old-teenage-looking buddy know anything of value? A family home that I could torch in the cold light of day? A few similarly long-toothed friends of Arius that he’d be upset to see turned into a human firework?”

Veritas turned back to the others in the small room, rubbing his temples with his right hand. “Would like to play offense for a change. Make him act irrationally, out of rage, and outside his comfort zone.”

A cunning smile as he turned to the relative newcomer. “Generally General-like general ideas, General?”

[Flamebird]

Time.

Felicity knew a powerful weilder of time very well. Would he help, however? The fumes of Storm’s pipe penetrated the room as her nose was filled with that smell. Felicity generally ignored it, however, as she thought of him. She paced back and forth, arms behind her back as she fidgeted her clasped hands. Looking down at the floor, she considered the options. She looked up at Shinsou, her walking slowing to a stop. The floorboards stopped creaking below her as she lifted a finger.

“I know someone. He’s, like, really good with time. His ability to control time is actually phenomenal. I’d argue unmatched.” She lowered her finger, looking down at the unswept floor, “Before I met Shinsou, he sorta found me. Took time to train me for a bit and even granted me a small portion of his powers. I don’t think those limited powers could help; but what about his?”

She then then turned to face the window. Uncertainty crept in as she walked towards it. The bleak sky did not help the mood here. Neither did the absence of a certain white owl. “Thing is, he had to swear an oath to not get directly involved with the battles of mortals. He can’t use his power to change any tides unless it’s within his realm of direct duty. So,-“

Felicity looked back at Storm, then Shinsou, “-Can he help us? He loves to ‘indirectly’ help me, but not much else.” Thinking about the way he aided her so much in the past, even as a voice in her head, made her feel strangely warm inside. She was unaware of her cheeks burning as she continued. “He is compassionate though. And I wonder if he’d step in to defeat someone who can manipulate time like that. He exists to avert time abusers, after all.”

She turned back to the window, placing a four fingered hand on the cold window sill. “Want me to summon him? Worth a try, right?”

Her thoughts grew anxious as she considered the impressions on Veritas and the lasting impact on Shinsou. She hoped this was not a hopeless idea. After all, this was someone of great importance. This was the Thayne of Time, who just so happened to notice her.

Outside, that white owl landed on the roof of the building opposite of the office.