NationStates Jolt Archive

In front of the steps of a temple built into a natural cave in the capital of Pythium people were waiting. Theurgs, apprentices, citizens of Pythium, travelers, people from the allied states... People from all over what remained of the once great Holy Empire. They were restless, what tidings would the Oracle of Pythium bring to them at these times of great peril?

After a while they heard irregular footsteps coming from the cave. From there emerged an old man, taking support from his decorated wooden staff. They waited for him to speak. Only seconds passed, but they felt like a lifetime to those who were present.

He shouted, standing at the entrance to the cave, "Fellow men, the Oracle has spoken. I bring you news," he sighed and continued, "That are not good."

For a while he just breathed. He was still taking support from his staff, which now seemed more like a long walking stick than anything else. "She said... She has said that we will not last. Postpone the inevitable we will, yes, but the undead horde will destroy us all."

He sighed again before continuing. "The reports say this as well. The beasts are advancing. Marignon has fallen. The tombs of C'tis have been desecrated. If this keeps up... May the gods' help us. That is all, for the moment."

This caused the ongoing conversation between the ones who had waited for good news to become much more tense. What will become of the Eastern Continent?

A tall man in black armor shouted in anger, with his fist in the air, "Hah! Your oracle is WRONG! Ulm shall never fall, unlike those WEAK Marignonian fanatics!"

He left, as did several others in similar armoring. Some of them were wearing just blue clothing, which is, for some reason, popular in Ulm. The group started to disperse, many of the people still trying to stomach it all.

The old man sighed. So this would be the end? All would fall in front of the Ashen Empire? All they had worked on... Everything would crumble. The Oracle had foreseen so many things that he would never question her abilities like the men from Ulm had. It would happen no matter what they did.

He slowly walked down the steps.

(OOC: Most likely anyone who would take part in this is a traveler. Reasons can range from magic and magical gems to sightseeing. Creativity is nice.)

OOC: Hey there! Mind if I join in?

IC: Shino walked into the crowd, hoping not to be seen. Wearing blue clothes which helped him blend in, he slowly mingled in with the crowd, and then searched for his first target. Selecting a young man in blue nearby, he casually made his way up to him.

"Hey there, what's going on?" he asked, trying to engage the man in conversation. "I hear something bad's gonna happen."

While the man explained the Oracle to the Shino, he slowly opened the man's pocket, and lifted some of his money, before putting it in his own pocket.

Smiling and thanking the man, he turned away and pushed his way out of the crowd, before running for cover. It was a full minute before the man realised he had been pick-pocketed, and Shino was long gone.

OOC: Hope that's OK! I'm open to it leading anywhere from here, Shino's not a character that will sit around and do nothing if he can help it! :)

(OOC: Yes, that's alright. Although I must wonder why a thief would want to stay in a dying nation, but it's alright.)

IC:

As the old man walked towards the closest temple of the order of Theurgs, he saw one of the men from Ulm who had been listening to what he had to say speak to some traveler. This was unusual. People from Ulm speak rarely to outsiders, but it is known to happen. Why would they keep to themselves now anyway, since the end is near?

He realized that the man was a thief when he took money from the pouch of the unsuspecting Ulmian, but he was too old to do something about it.

People these days... Nothing is sacred anymore...

The thief ran away, into a crowd that was in a nearby market place. The Ulmian was obviously angry, shouting. "Thief! Come back here!" and he ran after the thief, although it was obvious he would never find him. The others in his group laughed.

The old man continued to walk.

Counting out his spoils, Shino sighed. It was not much, barely enough to sustain him, and it was then he began to wonder if all this "oracle" stuff wasn't so stupid. Maybe this world was coming to a painful end...

He shook his head, and looked back at the crowd. The man he had robbed was being calmed down by some other citizens, all of whom were smiling, but he was still red-faced. Shino decided not to return to the crowd just yet.

Looking around, Shino saw an old man, the one who had been talking earlier about the end of the world...something about an undead horde, and postponing the inevitable... Shino began to wish he had listened better to the old man. It seemed to have been very important, now that he thought about it with hindsight. 'Maybe,' he thought, 'Maybe I should try and talk to that old guy...find out what's going on here...'

Shino had travelled many leagues to arrive here in Ulm, on a seemingly false promise of untold riches. Not a thief by nature, but by need, Shino had at first been disgusted by the idea of picking pockets. Now he did it to survive, and it looked like even that would no longer work. He had to do something. Looking where the old man was going, Shino angled his stealthy approach to intercept the old man as he was entering the temple.

(OOC I might join later with a new character. A rather small one, I do not intend to be dominating and uber powerful. Rather the opposite this time. And apologies for messing up last time Ermor in COB)

Shino had travelled many leagues to arrive here in Ulm, on a seemingly false promise of untold riches.

(OOC: The place this RP is taking place is Pythium. Ulm is south in the Eastern Continent now and Pythium is in the center (map here (http://sensori.soldats.net/ermor/ermor.jpg)). C'tis is to the north. Pythium is in a way a descendant of the Ermorian civilization. It's kind of like... Byzantium and ancient Greece with magic, while Ermor is like Europe in the Middle Ages and ancient Rome with magic, but there are obvious differences that grow as time passes. I forgot to tell this all in this thread, sorry about that. Ermor had priests and mages, Pythium has mage-priests that are called Theurgs. Ah right, and there are no horses in Pythium, they use giant lizards instead.

I posted a reply before like five times... First 4 times the forums were down, and on the last attempt, my computer crashed and I hadn't saved the post. Dammit.)

IC:

Looking where the old man was going, Shino angled his stealthy approach to intercept the old man as he was entering the temple.

He sensed the thief whilst he was almost at the entrance of the temple. Apparently the man had no idea who he was even if he did wear the bright yellow robe of the Theurgs, though he had left some of the emblems of his status to his room in the temple. He felt a bit annoyed, he did not exactly like being followed.

"Yes yes, what do you want? Are you here to attempt to steal some of my ducats as well?"

There were a few Emerald Guards standing in front of the temple entrance wearing their yellow armors, wielding their broadswords and tower shields. Their shields were bright green in color, with one exception. A yellow X went through them.

(OOC: And Kain, OK.)

Something lurked in the shadows casted by the old buildings within the city. Even during the frequent patrols it had not been caught. An ethereal spirit, a shade, from the Shadowlands, scouting the remaining lands of the living, searching for their weaknesses, seeking to corrupt them. But these are different... These beings seem pure in their convictions, but their lives would end with this war. They can only delay the inevitable, it could feel that they knew.

It was spying on the Theurgs at the moment. One of them was returning to the temple from the so called oracle. The shade had seen many things already, and apparently their Arch Theurgs were growing old and weak, but even with that on their side, it was obvious that the Ashen Empire would have to hit their mages first. Without them they would be powerless.

It chose to follow that old man. Maybe it would even get the chance to kill him at some point.

OOC: Thanks for the lowdown on Pythium etc, very helpful! :) Sorry for any mistakes I may have made thus far! :oops: And thanks for the map, very pretty! :D Bummer about the computer crash, hope it's OK now!

IC: Seeing the guards, Shino stopped short. He hadn't seen them until now, a rookie mistake. Figuring he may not have time later, he quickly berated himself for making such a simple mistake as not scouting properly first, he replied, "No such tricks, your..." He searched for the right title, "...your...holiness." He decided. "I merely wished to talk awhile, to discover that which you might know, to ask a few innocent questions. Nothing more."

He hoped the old man believed him, as he didn't like the idea of being skewered by a longsword. He never had liked that idea.

"No such tricks, your..." He searched for the right title, "...your...holiness." He decided. "I merely wished to talk awhile, to discover that which you might know, to ask a few innocent questions. Nothing more."

The old man made a grin-like smile. "There's no need for that. I'm just a humble Theurg, not a god. I did some less than legal things in my own time too." He briefly looked at the sky, after which he continued. "So, you seek answers? Ask whatever you wish. Us Theurgs always have time for questions. It's not like I would have anything better to do anyway."

Such nice weather... It's hard to believe that the undeads are just around the corner.

"Blasted halflin! What where ye thinkin when you set about this god forsaken journey! Filled with that prattle about the big deal ye big fool, there is no frellin deal here! There aint nuttin but misery and dispair! I swear Cesp, you will be the deat of me!" The gnome snapped angrily as the caravan plodded along, the pony at front carrying on it's relentless plodding.

The caravan was made for smaller people, certainly not for human sized individuals. It was brightly painted, with wild streaks of blues and gold adorning it's wooden surfaces, with the bright letter in a multicoloured "magical" paint, "The Treasure Trove!" and in smaller writing, "Gatecrasher and Cespenar's buisnesses" the names of the owners of the caravan and small exotic shop.

The caravan looked fantastic on the outside, but the inside was very crapt, the walls covered with items to sell. It had around four rooms, barely enough to live in. Most of the time when they were traveling, they would sit on the top of the caravan, as the gnome Gatecrasher was doing now, as he held onto the riens.

Gatecrasher as he was commonly known (in fact, no-one did know his real name) was called such for his ability to bring down any door no matter what. Any lock could be picked he said, just the matter of skill he said. He had never to this day failed to pick a lock, or open a door. Explosives were always a last resort, but they were an option none-the less.

He wore a large leather hat upon his head, with a brightly colour feather from some exotic animals which he claimed was an extinct species of dragon.It was bright pink, and shined in the light most wonderfully. He wore a blue jacket, with yellow trimmings on. Upon his person wer absolutely tons of items, pick locks, magical items, ropes, lanterns, small jars filled with flurosenant liquids, and many many keys. He had a whole bunch of them upon a ring, which cingled noisily wherever he went. To match the exotic and bizare nature of the carvan, he wore a very stricking and ill-colour co-ordinated cape. It was a patch work of many different matierals, all the colours of the rainbow splashed all over the surface of the quilt. It looked like it had it's origins of a bedspread.

http://www.wizards.com/leaving.asp?url=/dnd/images/MotP/Gatecrasher.jpg&origin=dnd_ag_20010908a


He was riding on top of the carvan, mumbling to himself as they approached the city's heart, the halfing within the Caravan was preparing for buisness, rushing form place to place. He was muttering to himself as well, his elequent and noble sounding voice rather different from the gruff, swearing gnome. Indeed, they dressed far differently.

(OOC I wrote WAY more than this, but I could only recover parts of it, so I wil let this picture do the talking. this is Cespanar)

http://www.wizards.com/dnd/images/dd_gallery/dd1/Garl_p70.jpg

"He is frightfully rude....I wonder why a great merchant such as myself continues with such a woefully dreadful state of affairs. Oh shudder the thought! I could have bought a nice little cottage and settled down, would never had to live in these dreadful conditions......frightful. Simply frightful." the halfling muttered to himself.

The caravan plodded along into the city.....and there were agreat number of people. The carvan stopped and Gatecrasher looked around discouraged by all of the low spirits.

"Damn this place is dead." gatecrasher said quietly to himself, and hopped down and prepared to caravan for buissness, as was his freind Cespenar.

A man in a yellow robe ran to the caravan. It was obvious that the newcomers were merchants, but they were in the wrong place and he needed to inform them of this, even if it wasn't really his job. He hadn't seen many dwarves nor gnomes, but he had seen quite enough of magical beings not to seem surprised by them.

He raised his arm in a greeting, his elbow at the shoulder level and his hand up. "Welcome, travelers, to our holy city." He lowered his arm. "I am sorry, but you must move. This particular area is not meant for selling things. Go to the market place." He pointed north. "It's right there, you can see it from here."

"Ye wha?" The gnome spluttered in confusion as he continued to set about putting up the caravan. He paused for one moment, and then Cespanar jutted out his head from one of the windows, his great and very striking mustache barely fitting through the window.

"I do believe that we are in the wrong spot Gatecrasher my boy." Cespanar said politely, although with a sense of lordness which Gatecrasher never got used to. It only aided his irritation.

"Wha te bloody ye tellin me now ye blasted dolt! Why didn ye tell me, when we had the frellin chance, to get the frellin market eh? Now we are gunna hav te move!" The gnome said exasperated, removing his hat, scractching his finely kempt hair, while shouting at the top of his lungs towards his halfling companion.

The halfling simply smiled, and light-heartedly said as if they were playing a game, "Well I did not know that. And I do believe that that man does not appreciate you creating such a frightful commotion in front of all these people old chap."

The gnome looked back at the halfing in disgust, and looked as though he had swallowed a lemon. He got onto the top of the caravan again, and continued to mumble to himself, something about "halfing ethics".

Cespanar looked towards the person who had the yellow robe. He shaked his hand vigerously, smiling as he said "How do you do." Unfortunaltly, it was far too vigerous as he fell out the window into a brightly coloured heap.

He looked rather dazed, as if wondering what had happened. He simply looked around as if to wonder who was responcible.

A roar a laughter came from the gnome, who had stopped what he was doing, as he banged his hand against the caravan in laughter. Cespanar was fuming, putting his hands upon his sides in anger.

"Well! I have never been so humilated in all of my life! And you can shut up you stupid braggard! get this caravan moving if you want to make any kind of money today!" Cespanar fumed, and the gnome simply chuckled to himself, jungling as he did as his chest moved up and down. He wiped a tear from his eye, and kept on chuckling softly.

Cespanar brushed himself down, infuriated that heclothes which he took great pride in keeping elamacualte had been dirtied. He said to the guard, slightly irratbly.

"Oh forget that gnome. he simply does not know when to be polite. Being polite can get you anywhere in the world so I say!" The halfling paused, looking around.

"Say..there sems to be a frightfully lot of people here. If this is not the market....why is everyone here?" The halfing said quizically in curiousity.

"This is hardly everyone. You could call this place a temple square. Our order has a temple here, then there's the Oracle's temple, a temple of the lizardmen of C'tis, even those of Ulm have a temple here, although their beliefs tend to be strictly secular. There are other temples too, but they are less... Influential. Most of these temples used to be for the Ermorian religious cults, but ever since the fall..."

So many things have changed. He remembered being in Eldregate just a year ago. He had had hard time adjusting to it all, knowing that all the people who he knew there were dead now. His expression became very serious for a moment. He tried to keep those thoughts tucked away.

"One of the reasons why there are so many people here now is that the Oracle of Pythium spoke, or more like one of the Arch Theurgs spoke on her behalf. Not many know what she looks like anyway. Other reasons usually range from religious ceremonies to sightseeing. This place is usually quite crowded. Not all are even temples in the normally accepted sense of the word, but laboratories and libraries of followers of different magical paths."

"Does this suffice as an answer to your question?"

The shade had continued observing the man. He was having a conversation with someone obviously not from either of the Continents, but that was a useless detail. Some people had traveled here after Ermorians had started to explore the world, made its presence known.

Such a weak old man he was. It would not require much effort to end his life and his time draws close, even if no one kills him. But killing an Arch Theurg would be an act of great importance to the Ashen Empire, no matter how old he might be. In death he would turn against his old ways and join the ranks of the Ashen Empire.

In another land about as far away from The Holy Empire as one could be in this twisted multiverse, in the city of Luca, the new capital of Spira, Lulu the Black Mage finished her report for the Premier.

"Everything in the ViewSphere was accurate to what is going on in Ermor Yuna," Lulu explained to the new Premier and her eternal friend, "Their nation is falling apart to this death cult, I fear that a new Theocratic Tyranny is rising. We cannot allow another Yevon to rise." Premier Yuna sat in thought for a moment and then said, "We need more information, send an investigation team to Ermor for recon and have them report back to Luca as quickly as possible." "Of course Yuna." Lulu said before bowing slightly and left.

An Hour Later a small Airship, the Pyrestar was sent with a recon team to Ermor.


Premier Yuna
http://images.google.com/images?q=tbn:XJbG5VHntqwJ:www.ffs.coolfreepages.com/ffx/yuna1.jpg
“I fight for Spira”- Yuna’s answer when asked by a Maester why she wished to finish her Pilgrimage despite the treachery of Yevon
The Allied States of Yuna United Spira

[OOC: Yes I know my gnomes names are dwarves names.]

Another airship started to fly over the city, this one belonged to a traveler from the nation of Techon, a nation that was far away from here. This airship's color was jet gray, and black. It was all dark wood, and much of it was metal. Onboard was the crew, a crew of four.
The airship landed in a clear area of the city, it landed in a gnomes garden to be percise. The ramp was thrown down, and a human, and two gnomes walked down the ramp. After they were at the bottom another human sped down with lightning agility. He looked around at the bottom, then stood still.

The other human had the name of Imitus, he had on blue gray robes, with shining silver breatplate overtop. In his left hand he bore a staff, and in the other he bore a sword in its sheath.
The gnomes names were Uri, and Duri. Uri had a long brown mustache, and Duri had a long black beard, and a black mustache, starting at the bottom of his nose Duri had a blonde strip going down from his mustache, to the bottom of his beard. Both of them wore blue and silver robes, and Uri wore gogles.
The last human was Crath, he used to be in a thieves guild, and many had died before his hands, no one knows in all reality how he got to be so fast, and he has never told. He had a red hood over his head, conseiving his face in a shadow, he wore black clothes, and his voice would always send a chill up someones spine. On his belt he wore two daggers.
Immediately the gnomes who owned the garden came running out yelling.
"Let me deal witht them," Imitus said walking forward.

"Ok, ok, don't get agressive," Imitus said as he threw the bag of silver into the gnomes hand. "Were might I seek the temple?"
The gnome pointed in the direction, and Imitus began to walk off. "Uri, follow me, Crath, Duri stay here."
"Yessir," Uri and Duri said, but Crath remained silent. Uri pulled the goggles over his eyes and began to follow.
They reached the step of the temple, and saw the guards. "Might I speak to the old man who went into this temple?" He asked.

The old man was still conversing with Shino right outside of the temple and he happened to hear what the other travelers said. He instantly knew they were talking of him, he happened to be the only one of the elder Arch Theurgs who had come to this temple today. In fact, he's the only Arch Theurg who lives there.

He turned his head and shouted to them, "... But I'm still outside! What do you want from me?"

He turned his head back to talk to Shino. "What a strange day this has turned out to be. Usually you travelers don't flock to me like this," he murmured.

Imitus and Uri walked over to the old man.
"My name is Imitus, and my firend here is Uri." He said motioning to the gnome, who bowed, his goggles still on. "I greive for your land," He said. "As you must know already of the scourge that is here. I sensed it, and came to do whatever I could do."

"As you must know already of the scourge that is here. I sensed it, and came to do whatever I could do."

"Yes, yes. It does not take much in the ways of 'sensing' to sense the warped unholy energies that come from the Western Continent with the wind. There's nothing wrong here in the Eastern Continent, yet. The lizardmen of C'tis and the knights of Ulm are keeping the enemy at bay whilst we are making preparations."

He sighed.

"But the Ashen Empire grows in power. We know already that we can't stop them, no one can. Not even the gods' themselves could stop their unholy march. We can only delay the inevitable, as the Oracle said. There's still some hope of survival, but not here."

"And you can save your pity. It does not bring back the dead who were reanimated as undead. The end of living Ermor is close, but we will not despair."

The milk was sour.

Something was wrong.

Second glared angrily at the massive poster map on the wall. It was magic, and somehow it managed to squeeze all of creation into its boundaries. He pointed one long, craggy finger at a certain spot on that map, and he smiled.

"There. That is the source of our problem, and that is where you will be headed. Take some devils with you, I won't miss them and you need the command experience. Hurry back."

Sethric turned, and stepped out of Second's office. The man didn't rule Impworld, but he might as well have. The only person with more power than Second was First.

"Oh what the hell. Anywhere has to be better than this hellhole."


And so, Guardian Commander Sethric Velisar reined in his horse at the massive portal that was the only way out of the Impworld, well, unless you were a friggin' force of nature, like First was.

Surrounding Soak were ten red skinned, horned, devils. They wore armor of black wrought iron, and stood close to nine feet tall. Each one carried a jagged-blade scythe and a great black sword in a sheathe on their back.

The Guardian Commander was nothing so impressive. He stood at exactly six feet in height, and his muscles were as developed as they could get. He wasn't imposing, and one look at him told you that he was built for speed, not brute force.

He wore his snow-white hair tied back in a pony-tail, and his piercing violet eyes had been witness to many things. His skin was as black as ebony, and if that didn't make identification simple enough, his pointed ears did.

He was Drow.

Guardian Commander Sethric Velisar stepped into the crackling field of red and orange energy that was the portal, and he visualized his destination.

His eyes snapped open, and the two sabres that were his preferred weapons were part of the way from their sheathes.

The devils fanned out around him, the pulsing red runes on their black-bladed scythes glinted wickedly, and at least one smiled, revealing fangs that somehow managed to remain a beautiful shade of pearly white.

Sethric was all of a sudden glad he had brought the devils, after all, one could never be too careful.

(OOC: There are some things I must ask of both "Yuna United Spira" and "Impworld", first being pretty obvious. Where are you going? To the Eastern or the Western Continent? The Eastern Continent is still pretty much under human control and alive, whilst the Western one is dead and controlled by the Ashen Empire. The place this RP is happening in is in Pythium, which is pretty much in the center of the Eastern Continent, and the capital (the city where this RP mostly is taking place) is landlocked.

What tech level are you, United Spira? Modern and future tech is ignored. Magic is the way in Ermor. On tech, Ermor is in the range of Ancient Rome/Ancient Greece and medieval Europe. You can of course still fly to Ermor, as long as you're not using some modern/future tech things to do it.

Impworld, if you are going to the Eastern Continent, why are you bringing *devils* of all possible beings? This applies less if you're going to the Western one. Blood magic is banned in the remnants of the Holy Empire, so if you're going to the Eastern Continent, you're asking for trouble - which you would be asking for no matter where you went with those devils.

The Ashen Empire's domain has a nasty effect on the living as it makes you age rapidly. There are some ways to counter this, as there are ways to counter the perpetual coldness and darkness. But understand this. Going unprepared to the Western Continent equals to committing suicide and even if you're prepared it's damned dangerous.)

OOC: So I am ok tech wise?

OOC: So I am ok tech wise?

(OOC: Seems so. The airship you used didn't exactly seem modern. More like one of those things a gnome could invent or something, so it ain't that bad. We should continue this RP, but I just don't have nothing to reply to.)

"This is hardly everyone. You could call this place a temple square. Our order has a temple here, then there's the Oracle's temple, a temple of the lizardmen of C'tis, even those of Ulm have a temple here, although their beliefs tend to be strictly secular. There are other temples too, but they are less... Influential. Most of these temples used to be for the Ermorian religious cults, but ever since the fall..."

"One of the reasons why there are so many people here now is that the Oracle of Pythium spoke, or more like one of the Arch Theurgs spoke on her behalf. Not many know what she looks like anyway. Other reasons usually range from religious ceremonies to sightseeing. This place is usually quite crowded. Not all are even temples in the normally accepted sense of the word, but laboratories and libraries of followers of different magical paths."

"Does this suffice as an answer to your question?"

"Oh it does indeed freind!" The gnome happily proclaimed, and shook the guard's hand some more. The caravan began to move away, with the sound of the gnome's grumbling voice growing fainter all the time.

"Harry up Cesp or I migh hav de good fortunune to be rid of ye!" Gatecrasher cried out, the caravan slowly trundling along towards the market.

Cespanar looked around and took his leave. He bowed before goign to guard.

"Frightfully good to meet you old chap, but I must be leaving!" the halfling began to ran stangely after the caravan, each shoe giving off a click as he went. Cespanar turned around and shouted to the guard again.

"Oh and if you ever need any kind of magic items from the mundane to the exotic, come to-"

The halfling was cut short by the bark of the rough gnome.

"He don't care about our wears ye blasted fool! Get in the caravan Cesp!" he cried, a tirade of swearing coming from his lips, fortunatly quietly to himself within that long beard of his.

"You know, sometimes I mistake him for a dwarf." the halfing muttered to himself pleasantly, and then ran after the caravan and eventually hopped as it rode away to the market....

OOC: As myself and Ermor-mun have discussed on IRC, My guys are going to end up in the Western Continent. Of course, that won't stop me from crossing over to the Eastern Continent if it proves necessary, but for now, that is where I am.


IC:

Sethric groaned. He leaned heavily on the quarterstaff of ash that he was so very glad he had packed. He was feeling very tired for some reason, which was very odd.

His movements were considerably more sluggish than normal, as if something was leeching away his strength. His hand closed around the small pulsing ruby he wore on a white-gold chaina round his neck, and he felt the warmth of the Gem rush through his body like lightning.

He noticed that the effect wasn't as strong as it usually was, and that worried him. The devils were getting it too.

They moved sluggishly, leaning on their scythes. The flames that burned in their eyes were lessened, and it wasn't just the cold. He had blocked out their whining, but it was still grating on his nerves.

He was relying too much on the Gem's powers, and it annoyed him. He wish he'd thought to bring somebody with magical skills, but they were increasingly rare in the Impworld, and the only one he could thing of was that Lecherous Chaos Lich...

Ire might very well be the strongest Chaos Lich in existence, but as she put it she 'had the Hots for him.' Incidentally, an umpteen thousand year old skeleton, no matter how powerful, wasn't his idea of a good time. Period. No exceptions.

Of course, right now, Guardian Commander Sethric Velisar, Chosen of Chaos, had one thing on his mind. Getting whatever the hell his job was done, and then getting the hell home.

He -really- didn't like this place.

There was something there in the darkness... He could feel it. The Censor and his legion stopped. No words were said, all of them just halted their movement at the very same instant. They had been patrolling the cold, dead lands behind the Ermorian Citadel close to the Ulmian border, but only the Censor cared. Only he was sentient. The longdead legionnaires he was commanding were merely dead shells. Skeletons with rusted armors and weapons they were.

There's something... Something living... I can smell it... I can feel it... It is coming closer...

The Censor let out a disheartening shriek. The legion changed direction and started marching again. They had found something... They would see what it is soon enough.

Sethric frowned. Something felt wrong. His grip on his quarterstaff tightened, and he heard the Devil's adjusted their stance. He slowly removed his grip from the quarterstaff, and it shrunk down to about a foot in length.

He snatche it out of the air, and slipped it into the carrying case specially made of it on his belt. His hands dropped to his twin sabres, and he pulled them in a cross-draw.

They had long, curved blades of blackened steel, veins of pulsating purplish energy ran the length of the blades, and they seemed to burn with energy.

He felt better already, some of it was purely placebo, but some wasn't. He reached up to brush a stray lock of white hair that had escaped its pony tail from his eye, and he signalled the Devil's to continue their advance.

Something was close. Very close. He closed his eyes for a moment, then snapped them open, and his vision was heightened to a painful clarity. He saw them coming, hundreds of them. A legion of the dead.

He had fought undead before, but never quite that many. He knew that the devils saw the same things he did, and the grim smiles they displayed went miles towards reasuring him.

Devils were far from stupid, and if they felt confident, well...

Guardian Commander Sethric Velisar, Chosen of Chaos, smiled, and in that smile, there was a whole new world of hurt.

His lips moved, a few words of power were all that he spoke, and nothing happened.

That smile that was still present, that was a promise of a fate worse than death.

The Censor still could feel the intruders. They were very close now, but he found one thing surprising, there were so few of them. If the longdeads stayed in formation, it would be disadvantageous to the legion. He screamed again, and the legion changed into a wall formation of four lines. No small group of mortal men would be able to fight them and win. He did find it weird that they were still alive, but did not care much. They would have to die anyway.

A black servant observed the situation as it progressed.

The legion in question had been hit badly while in combat with the Marignonians, so they were left to patrol the rather peaceful surroundings of the Citadel. It consisted of only about five hundred longdead legionnaires.

Imitus sat atop the airship, looking down at the western continent. It was a wreck to say the least.
"Sir," Uri said. "What should we do?"
"Fly back to the city we came from," He answered, standing up. "We can't do much here."

Imitus sat atop the airship, looking down at the western continent. It was a wreck to say the least.
"Sir," Uri said. "What should we do?"
"Fly back to the city we came from," He answered, standing up. "We can't do much here."

Sethric nodded gently at first, then one more time. He changed his grip on his sabre's, and he was off. He knew the Devil's wouldn't follow, their part was yet to come.

He saw the mass of undead, spread out like god knew what. He smiled grimly, as the first part of his plan triggered. He began to move even faster, his motions were blurred, and he was ever drawing nearer.


It would have been suicide, for anybody else, but Sethric was one of the best. He hit the prepared line like lightning, Sabre's whirling about him in dual cross-cutting paths. Normally, this would have had minimal effect on skeletons, but these weren't normal blades.

They glowed an unearthly purplish color, and when they struck, a blood red flash of light seemed to leech forth from the point of contact. He cut through the undead lines, and then he was through, ought the other side.

He spun about, smiling grimly. It would have been suicide for anybody else, but not for him. That was when the Devils appeared in bursts of flame, they smiled their fanged smiles, and went to work. Setting aside their wicked-bladed scythes for the more close-combat friendly swords, they drew those wicked black blades from their sheathes, and as the blades ignited in flame, they charged.

Sethric sensed a magical presence, and that was where he went. His Sabre's blurred as he plunged back into the fray, fighting towards that magic force. He had a pretty big hunch that he would find something important at that source.

Just call it a damned good gut feeling, and in combat, one learned to trust one's instincts.

Or one got dead.

The Arch Theurg scratched his balding head. Apparently the group of travelers that had been asking for him ran off as soon as he had made his presence known to them and had even spoken to them. Odd. They didn't even say goodbye.

"So, what did you want to ask, anyway?" He was growing rather impatient. He didn't have all day to wait there.

(OOC: Although the main place this RP is taking place right now is the capital of Pythium, I'm not stopping people from coming to Ermor elsewhere, like Impworld's character did. Consistency, people!)

--

The Censor was surprised. So few of them, yes, but they were much better than the humans. In fact, at that moment, it became obvious that they weren't humans and why they had survived. Demonic beasts! Beasts of sacrifice! They would indeed require more effort than he had thought.

And one of them was coming straight for him. But he was not quite like the ones he commanded. He quickly reached for his battleaxe that was under his red cape and took it into his hands, and prepared to block the impending attack.

The Black servant started to run towards the Citadel as quickly as it could. It would take some time for it to reach it.

Sethric smiled as the red-cloaked figured pulled an axe. This would be over quicker than he had thought. He dove in with his left sabre leading, his right following in a lightning quick twin strike, his lead sabre went high, his left went low.

His violet eyes had a blood-red glint to them, and it gave an eerie reddish-blackish-purplish totality to them. He was in his aspect, combat was his thing. He hadn't expected a warrior, but it would do just as well.

The eight-pointed star set into the pommels of his sabres glowed faintly as he ran, and it was apparent that he wasn't normal. He was the Chosen of Chaos, the Guardian Commander, the only man Ronald Soak trusted these days.

You see, Ronnie was well known for his close association with women of all sorts. He only allowed people like second to stay around because they were pretty good at what they did, and good help -was- so hard to find.

Regardless, Sethric kept concentrated on the task at hand, and that was killing this thing in front of him.

Ever Onward.

He knew that his axe can't really compete with two swords, but at least he could stop one of them. Also, he is able to bring more power to his hits than the swordsman. But he had one thing on his side, and it was his state of unlife. No matter where the swordsman would hit, he would not die. There are no vital points in the body of an undead.

He swung his axe, swiftly and with skill, to divert the path of the sword that was coming in higher.

The lower sword hit him, rending his armor and cutting through to his withered flesh, but he was able to continue to fight. It was obvious that the swords his enemy was using weren't just any swords. They were magical. He took a couple steps backwards and he swung his axe again with haste, from upper left to lower right, in an attempt to hit his opponent.

He felt something strange. Pain. Something an undead does not feel. And he felt strangely alive. Something he had not felt for so long...

[OOC: I am going to add airial units to the undead army.]

Imitus watched from atop the airship. They were returning to Pythilium. He was about to go below deck, when he heard a noise. He ran back on deck, and saw two big flying beasts. The beasts eyes glew red, and their necks were very ong, they had a wingspan of about sixty feet, and they were about eighty feet from nose to tail, which was very long as well.
"Get ready to fight!" He called out. The gnomes ran onto the deck, with crossbows in their hands. Crath came out as well, with daggers in hand.
The beasts soared down towards them, and Uri, and Duri let off shots, the bolts pierced one of the beasts in the neck. It faltered a bit, but regained its balance.
Imitus conjured six majic missiles. The little red balls soared and hit both beats, three each, on the chests and necks, leaving black burnt marks.
Crath had pulled out a handheld crossbow crom under his cloak, he fired it, and the bolt hit the beast in the head. The beast let out a shrill cry, and tumbled down towards the ground.
The second one had reached the ship. It dug its claws into the wood, tearing a lot apart.
Uri and Duri had reloaded, and they fired again. The bolts hit the beast in the neck again, in the meantime Imitus had created a white orb, he threw it at the beast,and it smashed into the chest with extreme power, the beat fell back, and then tumbled down towards the ground as well.
"Let pick up the pace Duri," Imitus said looking over the edge.
"Yessir," The gnome replied.

Sethric danced away from the oncoming axe, his sabres twisting as he moved, and then the second part of his preparation took effect. His sabres lit up with a fire of constantly changing proportion and coloration.

He made his attack then, starting high, he slashed down at an angle, the cuts would form a large 'x' in the air, who knew what it would do with a cold body.

Sethric grinned grimly, he was always detached from his actions in combat, it was as if a different person took control, and he simply told it what to do. It was quite useful when commanding a unit, as it let him analyze the battle without having to worry about the actual heat of combat...

Of course, some would say that he lacked the spark that was needed to grow from merely a superbly masterful combatant to a true god of the battlefield, but, all things were trade-offs in the end.

Even life.

(OOC: Techon, as long as you don't add much more of them, it's OK. They have some flying things anyway, but not many.)

IC:

He was able to block the hit, after a fashion. He had placed his axe in a way that should have blocked the attack from hitting him, but much to his dismay, the axe gave in and broke, and the swords cut into his armor, breaking much of it.

It burned. He felt he was... Dying. Again. He once again took a few steps backwards. He looked around him, and he saw a rusted sword on the ground. He took it. This wasn't over, not quite yet. Although the enemy was obviously far superior to him, he would not surrender his unlife. Not to a living being who is bound to the path of blood. Not like this.

His eyes blazed with a fiery red glow. He said with a cold, dead voice, "Let us finish this."

And he waited.

Sethric smiled grimly, and he moved. The attack was foolish, but it was effective. Both blades scissored in from the sides, hooking up slightly.

His Death's Head grin betrayed his confidence, but not much else. Sethric's lethal steel betrayed considerably more, of course, it wasn't really steel. Sethric didn't even know himself what kind of metal the sabres were made of, but they were plenty damned effective.

Stage Three of his spell took effect, and the eight pointed stars in the pommels of those sabres began to glow wickedly, promising all sorts of nasty stuff to whoever so happened to piss of their wielder.

They were the blades of the Chosen of Chaos, taking whatever form they felt was appropriate to that Chosen, and their nature was as mercurial as could be.

Only one thing was certain about those blades, and that was that they were death made solid.

And they Promised a World of Hurt.

He took a defensive stance and he shrieked again. This would be his final stand. Thoughts of finally dying filled his head. What it would be like, he wondered. But he still wanted to stay in the realm of the living.

He tried to parry the attack to no avail. The rusted steel of his sword broke, and the swords of his enemy cut deeply into him. He felt pain, worse than the one before.

He grabbed the blades of the swords with his gloved hands, and forced them deeper into his corpse. He let out a hideous laughter, after which he forcibly moved the swords to cut his upper torso off his body, which meant his destruction.

His severed corpse fell down to the ground and the remaining longdead legionnaires stopped fighting and started to wander.

--

The Black Servant had found its way into the Citadel and had informed them of what had happened. Caractor the Arch Censor himself was there.

"The living... Here?! Such INSOLENCE! LET US KILL THEM ALL!"

He took his Sun Slayer and stormed out of his blackened room. He did not say nor shout anything, but the undead knew.

Caractor left with a legion of the best undead in the Citadel with him and they followed the Black Servant to the place it had spoken of. Caractor himself was guarded by a group of Lictors. If the enemy was still there, they would pay dearly.

Sethric pulled his blades free, reaching down to wipe the residue from his blades on the enemies corpses, and he summoned the devils to him. They appeared beside him, still smiling that god damned devilish smile.

The group set out quickly, running for the figurative hills, where they would hopefully be able to wait until reinforcements manage to arrive, as it happened, they didn't have to wait for long at all.


Sethric spotted the mounted figure straight off, tied to the figure's horse was another horse, and he immediately knew who it was. He sighed, but still, it would be nice to have the help.

Ire met him half-way, her grinning skull looking down at him.

"Hey there, Gorgeous. Thought you could use some help."

Sethric attempted to suppress a gag, and succeeded admirably, though not totally.

"Can it Ire, I'll take my horse, and I'm glad to see you, but we just got through shredding a couple hundred Undead to piecees, and I have a feeling that somebody is going to be missing them."

She smiled as he snatched up his horses reins and slung into his saddle, and she smiled and followed as he lead the group off. The Chaos Lich felt right at home in this deathly place, while Sethric seemed to be using his Gem almost hourly now.

It wouldn't kill him, it just annoyed him. He was really beginning to hate this place.

He also had a feeling that the place hated him back.

The Black Servant stopped and shrieked. They had reached the place.

Yes, crushed undeads were plentiful here. Someone had been here and left in a hurry. Even the Censor had been taken out. It had to be someone not human. The faint tinge of energy that was left there suggested that they were of infernal origin. No wonder. Without the help of priests and mages, they never even had a chance.

Several longdead riders were sent to search the immediate surroundings and to look for the enemy. Maybe they hadn't gotten far yet. They would have to pay for the loss of unlife they had caused here.

But they weren't found, although there was an obvious trace of energy. They could be tracked. So, the very same black servant that had seem them was put to follow them. There was no point for the whole legion to follow them. Maybe some other legion would find them.

Caractor took the legionnaires left without leadership into his legion. There was no point staying there, so they left for the Citadel. When they would reach it, they would strengthen the patrols and also make them more frequent. This would not happen again.

(OOC: So, of all the nations that at least implied that they would take part in this RP, only Impworld has made a real effort in the last days. Techon, I, nor anyone, can't reply to your post, at least any further. United Spira, can't reply to your post either. Kain, the most current post you've made is pretty much unreplyable too. Shadostan, I'm waiting for you to reply. Impworld on the other hand has *promised* to reply, so I won't say anything about 'im.

You can call this a long bump if you want to, but I'm really just trying to get the people who have posted to this thread to do something. All of them, if possible. I know that TGs should work too, but still!)

[OOC:Just to let you know Ermor, not every post has to be answered.]

The airship landed in the city once again. Imitus walked through the streets, along with Uri again. He walked to the old man.
"So tell me, what is there that i can do?"

[OOC:Just to let you know Ermor, not every post has to be answered.]

(OOC: But it isn't nice to just pop in and say you're doing something and then stop posting. Not enough people in this RP for everyone not to count, you see.)

"So tell me, what is there that i can do?"

"I have no idea. What can you do? You can't stop the Ashen Empire, that's for sure. Look at our armies that can only keep them away from here. None of the scouts we have sent there ever returned, except the few Theurgs who were sent there to check what we're up against, although most of them had lost their minds. Apparently there are now millions upon millions of undeads marching in the Western Continent."

For a while he was so deep in thought that it seemed that he wasn't quite there.

"Oh, but I guess there's something you could do, if you really want anything to do. We have gotten some strange reports of small groups of undead raiding the countryside, but every time we get there, no one's left anymore. We guess this is a way for them to bring up their numbers. That isn't too weird in its entrity, with the Ashen Empire being right next to us. Sometimes undeads wander to our side through the sea, but they are usually quickly taken care of."

"But this is where it gets strange. These same reports tell of *humans* being with those undeads, maybe even commanding them. Apparently they wear big black robes and hooded cloaks with some golden ornaments on them. And these things happen on the eastern side of the Eastern Continent, not on the western side, where the undeads usually come from. We really haven't been able to track them down. They seem to wipe their tracks very clean, almost too clean. With most of the troops protecting the border, and the garrisons in the towns don't really do thorough patrols, so... The farmers and the like are pretty much on their own. You could always go and find out what's happening there."

[quote]

"I have no idea. What can you do? You can't stop the Ashen Empire, that's for sure. Look at our armies that can only keep them away from here. None of the scouts we have sent there ever returned, except the few Theurgs who were sent there to check what we're up against, although most of them had lost their minds. Apparently there are now millions upon millions of undeads marching in the Western Continent."

For a while he was so deep in thought that it seemed that he wasn't quite there.

"Oh, but I guess there's something you could do, if you really want anything to do. We have gotten some strange reports of small groups of undead raiding the countryside, but every time we get there, no one's left anymore. We guess this is a way for them to bring up their numbers. That isn't too weird in its entrity, with the Ashen Empire being right next to us. Sometimes undeads wander to our side through the sea, but they are usually quickly taken care of."

"But this is where it gets strange. These same reports tell of *humans* being with those undeads, maybe even commanding them. Apparently they wear big black robes and hooded cloaks with some golden ornaments on them. And these things happen on the eastern side of the Eastern Continent, not on the western side, where the undeads usually come from. We really haven't been able to track them down. They seem to wipe their tracks very clean, almost too clean. With most of the troops protecting the border, and the garrisons in the towns don't really do thorough patrols, so... The farmers and the like are pretty much on their own. You could always go and find out what's happening there."

"Black clothed figures." Imitus said to himself. "Hey Uri, doesn't that sound like a sorceror?"
"Yes," The dwarf said. "Yes it does."
"Looks like we will be visiting the country side then. Thank you for your cooperaion, umm, what is your name old man?"

"Why do you ask? It is Kheiron, if you must know, and it was my pleasure. Oh right, take this."

He took a map from one of his many pockets and gave it to Imitus.

"You might even actually find them if you used this. The locations they have raided have been marked on it. Getting lost isn't something you'd exactly want to do."

The places that have been marked on the map were within the borders of Pythium and the area they are in looks small enough, but they didn't seem to form a pattern.

Sethric sighed. This god forsaken land was starting to really get on his nerves, and the arrival of that be-damned Chaos Lich was only making it worse. Oh, of course, she would be just flaming -dandy- in a fight...

But she was completely unbearable otherwise.

He sighed, and let his hand close over his Gem again. The warmth shot through his body like lightning, and he felt better. He'd be ever so happy to be out of here, the drain was beginning to show, his eyes were bloodshot.

Of course, Ire felt straight at home around here. She -loved- this kind of thing. Damned Liches...he never had liked them, they tended to think they were better than he was...constantly.

Which got very annoying.

He sighed, as he slipped his pack of his shoulder and produced his banjo. The instrument, seemingly miniature, grew to full size once he removed it from his pack. He sighed, as he checked the tuning, then began to play.

He was rather good at it, though it didn't sound like any banjo playing people had ever heard before. It was a wilting, haunting melody...and he began to sing. Softly, to himself.

His music kept him sane these days...Completely isolated from anybody like him, well, except for the other guardians. Of course, they didn't really count. They were more of extensions of his own will than actual people.

Sethric played deep into the night, always softly, trusting in the wards he and Ire had put into place to alert him of any...problems.

They handled themselves differently, but they were Guardians one and all, and the most deadly of them was the Chosen of Chaos, for in his eyes was the promise of finality, and his hands there was the promise of nothing.

Nothing at all.

It had run so long. So long in the cold darkness, following the faint trail, distortion caused by the beings not of the Underworld. And the trail was, finally, becoming stronger. But there was something... Magical? Something magical was around them, so it could not get much closer. It stood there, thinking what it should do next.

It felt a presence behind it. When it turned, a sword that glowed green hit its torso, cutting clean through it. It tried to look at the attacker, but couldn't see what it was, it was too dark. The attacker did not seem solid. It tried to scream, but it couldn't. It felt its unlife leaving its black, shadowlike body...

Etimmu felt a surge of energy go through his body as he drained the Black Servant's body of its source of unlife. No one would know of his doings. There were the beings which presence he had felt when the Censor had lost its unlife. He let out a short, chilling laugh, and continued to ride towards the source.

(OOC: I never meant for this to be this damned short. Still waiting for post(s) from Shadostan, Kain Irenicus and Yuna United Spira. Techon and Impworld have posted the most in the few last days, so I won't go whining about them. Although even of their posts some seven days have passed.

If you join an RP, please, keep up with it. The point isn't just to say that you're going to do something and then stop posting completely. As I said before, there isn't much I can reply to even, so that can't be the reason for... Not posting.)

[OOC: Sorry it took me a while]

"Thank you sir," Imitus said, and he gently took the map from Kheiron. "Uri, lets go."
"Aye sir," The gnome said.

They were back on the Airship, and heading towards the county side, Imitus decided to go to the most recently attacked one.

Sethric's eyes flicked open, and his hands fell to his sabres. Something was coming, something he didn't particularly want to meet, none-the-less, he didn't particularly want any of the others in his party to meet it either, and besides, he could use a breather.

He rose to his feet, dusting off his cloak as he did so, and stretched. His black armor was light as a feather, and protected better than anything he'd ever experienced before. It was also almost too comfortable.

Of course, as armor went, he wasn't complaining. There had been a time when he had fought without armor, as speed had always been his preferred defense. They can't hit you if you weren't there, after all.

He reached down and touched his Gem, feeling the warming energy whipcrack through his body like a jolt of lightning, and he was wide awake.

He muttered a few words in a language long lost to the mists of time, and then he set out. He moved to meet this entity, moved to fight, moved to kill.

Sethric Velisar, Chosen of Chaos. Sethric, who had come to Impworld without a house to call his own. He had been a mystery, an enigma. A fighter with no history, nothing to call his own but the blades he carried and the skill he had.

Then, on one bloody, lethal night, he had been made the first lord of House Velisar. Velisar, from the ancient tongue. Shadow-Blade was the rough translation, though it meant more. It had connotations of extreme skill and speed, and now it was the first of the Impworld's new Warrior Houses.

House Velisar, who's battlecry remained that of its founder, "Vas Kaer Margath." Death through thought.

Sethric smiled, and the Hunter of Kaer Ghelan went forth to meet his pursuer on the field of battle, and only one of them would leave that field.

and Sethric had a schedule.

Etimmu stopped advancing as he saw a man running towards him with awesome speed. They had obviously already spotted him, but it did not really matter. But strangely, only one of them was really coming at him. He laughed coldly and drew one of his swords, but he did not dismount, nor did he move.

"I am not here to fight you, at least for now! And you could not kill me here even if you tried! You are in the Ashen Empire now!"

He waited for a reply. The devils that he had felt told of magics forbidden in the ancient times. Of infernal magic. Blood magic. Even if the... Man would choose to attack him, this would be interesting indeed.

His ethereal body would make it hard to see him in the darkness, but the strange, colored light his horse emits would also give him away. The horse, of course, is ethereal as well.

The shade was growing weary. How long would the Arch Theurg stand out there? It knew it would not be able to strike openly as the guards would notice it and quite possibly would also kill it. It would have to stay unseen in the shadows. Although it was undead, it had been blessed - or cursed - with the gift of reason. It is not one of the mindless undead but it is not fierce either. It would wait till the time would be right.

OOC: Sorry about disappearing, Ermor! Totally forgot! Irresponsible I know, but I hope you can forgive me! I should probably just pull my character out of this thread, so I will. Sorry for the bother!

IC: Shino turned and walked away, straight past the shade, oblivious to ist presence. It seemed there was nothing to do here but die or wait to die, and Shino had no intention of doing either. He walked away from the Arch Theurg, away from the city, and he didn't stop walking until he reached the sea. Commandeering a small boat, he set sail. He decided to return, one day, and find out what had befallen this seemingly-doomed isle.

He again scratched his head in wonder.

"Strange people, yes... Strange. Come to talk to me and leave just as they came, never even saying goodbye," he said to himself.

He stood there for a while, watching at the sky. It was midday. He began to look at the temple's entrance and at the guards, after which he continued to walk towards the temple, not knowing of the shade waiting for him in the shadows.

--

It knew its time was about to come. The Arch Theurg was coming closer... Closer.... Ever closer. Soon he would slaughter him and leave for the Western Continent.

(OOC EDIT: Oh right, Shadostan, you could've continued. Was just wondering why you just stopped posting, it's not like this thread has moved much. ;-) )

OOC: OK, cool... Maybe I could introduce a new character? Shino didn't seem right for this one. I'll think about it and mget back here if that's OK with you? On that note, what exactly is a shade? :? How would one, ah...dispose...of it? :twisted: Just out of interest, of course! :wink:

[OOC: From my knowledge of a shade, it is a 3d shadow. To kill it you either use majik (magic), or beat down on it.]

The Airship landed nearby the little village.
The four men walked into it, looking at the smouldering ruins, and people limping around, crying, it looked like they had a heavy attack, except there were no bodies, none whatsoever.
Imitus walked over to a man. "What happened?"
The man looked at him, fear in his eyes. "Who are ya'?"
"I am Imitus, a traveller," Imitus said quietly. "What happened here?"
"Undead," The man said, then gazed around as he paused. "Undead attacked, they came from the west, they killed all they saw."
"Why are there no bodies, have you burried them all?" Imitus asked.
"No, the bodies, the bodies were dragged away, I think they to will turn into one of those zombies."
"I am sorry," Imitus said.
The man walked away, without even saying goodbye, odd Imitus thought, well they did sustain a big attack, many people he knew were probably killed.

Sethric slid to a stop, kicking up some small amount of dust as he did so. Those bright violet eyes of his studied the being, this man who claimed he could not be killed.

It was almost uncanny, the way Sethric had locked on him, but he had a sense of absolute direction that defied reasoning. His senses were tied into a central net, and he used them to their full extent. He immediately placed the location the being had spoken from, and there he had found said being.

He raised an incquiring eyebrow, and his second sight kicked in. It was through this sight that he saw connections, patterns, and energy. He smiled idly, and forced the second sight into submission.

It had its uses, and it had told him what it had wanted to tell him. The being in front of him was an apparition.

Sethric paced the man at one hundred feet. He didn't raise his voice, but it rang clear and strong. It was one of the tricks of his command presence, and when those tricks were combined..well..

The story went that he had walked into a room containing just about every damned high ranking officer and most of middle rank in the entire army of the Impworld, such as it was.

These were undisciplined men, obviously. Warriors all of them, but not a one was a soldier. They had pointedly ignored him as he stepped to the front and took roll...then he'd stepped forward, and keyed up the presence.

Legend had it that every single man in that room was on his feet and saluting.
...
and that was pretty damned close to the truth.

Regardless, Sethric smiled to himself, the task at hand.

"So, you wanna talk, then talk. I'm all ears."

He let out a cold laugh again, still mounted on his ethereal steed. He said, "I can see and feel you are not from here, from Ermor. I feel that you wield some power I do not know, of, but I also feel that it is quite weak at the moment. At least compared to the potential it holds."

He briefly looked at the sky, or where it should be, but cannot be seen. The unnatural darkness that lies upon the Ashen Empire is just too great.

Then he spoke again. "I am more interested in *your* motives. Why are you here? What do you seek to accomplish in these lands, controlled by undeath?"

He still had his sword in his hand as he knew that the man he was speaking to was not just any man. He still being alive was a perfect show of this, although he could also feel it. Obviously the man was connected to the infernal powers. Even if the dominion of the Ashen Empire made him much weaker, he still seemed to be a formidable foe.

And soon Etimmu realized that they were much alike.

Sethric snorted loudly.

"Y'know what the kicker is? I haven't the foggiest idea what I'm doing here. I pretty much just got tossed through a dimensional portal, and ta-da, here I am. Orders to the effect of: 'Oh, Yeah, today you're gonna go to this dead place. Have fun.'"

He shrugged idly.

"So, more or less, I'm stuck here 'till the boss realizes I'm gone and comes to get me. Then I'm going to kill Second."

He thought for a few more minutes...

"So, to answer your question. I have absolutely no idea why I'm here, what I'm supposed to be doing while I'm here, or where here is."

He smiled wickedly, "Aight?"

He was surprised by the answer, but he could feel that the man was sincere. He just laughed for a while.

"So, you are here, destroying our patrols just because?!"

He laughed again and he sheathed his blade. He was still mounted on his ethereal horse.

"You amuse me. That is rare indeed. When you die, humor usually dies with you. You surprised me with your answer. No living being stays here as long as you have just to see the nonexistent sights of this barren wasteland. Especially since you and your comrades are obviously connected to the fiery part of the Inferno. The cold must do you good."

Sethric grinned like an idiot, and his hands moved from his sabres to cross before his chest.

"Oh, aye, humor does tend to do that, and yes, my comrades are somewhat inclined towards warmer places. I myself, am more adaptive. The cold is a hindrance, aye, but nothing more. And, as you say, it just might be doing some good."

If only it would serve to cool that damned liches bloody lecherousness. If she wasn't such a damned good mage, he'd have taken her down a long time ago, but she was irreplaceable, and she bloody knew it, too.

She was almost as bad as a damned elf, but not quite. Nothing ticked him off as much as those bloody arrogant worthless slimeballs, and their holier-than-thou attitude.

Well, almost nothing, anyways.

He laughed yet again.

"But you still do look like you could use some help. Take these..."

He took a ring with a blue, glowing gem in it and a crown made of bones from his ethereal saddlebag. Human bones they seemed to be. Innaturally small ones at that, as if they were made of some child's bones. He threw them to Sethric.

"Those should help you in your quest to be a tourist in the most unlikely places."

He grinned and contemplated the idea for a second.

"The ring will grant you resistance to the cold, and the crown will turn you ethereal, and the undead who wander here will see you as a friend. That is, of course, if you are willing to wear the Wraith Crown, as it is called. Most living beings are unwilling to wear it."