NationStates Jolt Archive

Four Thousand Years Ago…

The blood curdling sounds of war could be heard as fifty thousand men fought heroically against the Terian; a race of mutant beings, mostly consisting of human-like proportions. Primitive weapons of steel and iron clanged, slicing brutally into the flesh of their enemies. Explosions rocked the masses of warriors fighting, explosions that displayed beautiful, deadly colors in every direction. In the distance, an entire city lay in ruin; smoke curling wickedly to the skies, a grim testimony of the brutal primitive nature of mankind. Fire burned down the last remaining buildings of the once proud city of Karanin, a city that the world held in awe, a city that gravitated all education, all knowledge, all there could be to know.

Yet, it also drew its own fate…

In the midst of battle, a loud cry can be heard as a horn is blown strongly, a call of last defense, a call of honor, valor, and determination. In the distance, echoing from the mountains, drums can be heard suddenly resounding with a foreboding thunder, a call to an unspoken force.

Back in the midst of the battle, the horn blower lowers the horn he held tightly in his grasp, blood coating thickly all over his body and equipment. For now, there was a circle of fellow fighters valiantly defending him. He was their king, their leader, and their god. But he was mortal. He bore the same threat of death as any other man. His heart could be torn and sliced apart by any blade that ventured near.

The man looked around to the inferno that brewed ferociously around him, the epicenter of the bloody war that he was losing. In a voice that could have been best placed in the halls of kings, he called out defiantly, “The gates of Hell can break open upon us, but its minions shall never defeat us!”

A resounding cry of valiance and a renewed effort by his people immediately issued. The drums grew deeper, then went completely silent as the mountains themselves shook and tore apart by a powerful force of unearthly origin. A tremendous roar issued forth and broke the concentrations of all engaged in battle. Enemies and allies alike turned in fear and wonder as they beheld the being that now commanded the Earth. Magical shields faded away as all concentration receded into the comfort of primitive fear, survival.

The beast’s eyes lowered to the forces gathered before it and the city of Karanin. It eyed the city’s smoke and flames and then back to the gathered, and now silent forces that stood before it. It took a step forward and drew a large war-hammer with one hand and held its other hand outstretched.

Men and Terian alike suddenly cowered to the earth in abject fear, frozen to the spots they stood, their weapons falling from their hands. All except one.

The ruler and leader of men.

“Come forth, Drekai, and smite the enemies of men!” he beckoned in a loud voice. He threw up both hands to the skies and with twirling fingers, created a symbol that could only be best described as the hammer encircled with runes and lightning growing forth from each rune to the hammer.

The beast known as Drekai, stepped forward with a snarl upon its face. Each footstep was nearly a quarter mile in stride, leaving massive indentations in the soft Earth. A bellow issued forth as it took the war-hammer in both hands and raised it up. A blue and white aura suddenly surrounded the war-hammer and charged the runes encrypted upon the handle and head.

“NOW! AVENGE THE DEATH OF MY PEOPLE!”

The hammer moved slowly at first, but quickly built up speed and careened down with threatening death.

Ka-booommmm!

The Earth suddenly heaved and shook with a ferocity never seen before, a force of unparalleled proportions that issued a shockwave of epic design in every direction. What remained of Karanin was suddenly and utterly demolished to smoking rubble. The souls of thousands upon thousands suddenly screamed in their final cries of death as the hammer obliterated the King, and all engaged in the war.

Thousands of miles away, the shockwave rumbled past and collapsed buildings and killed billions of other lives, lives of innocent men, women, children, and beasts.

The battle was over. The epicenter was now the epicenter of a massive continent-spanning crater of death…

The colossal Drekai had also disappeared in a flash from the face of the earth…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Present Day

“Over the past couple of thousand years, the land had changed, a river had formed, and ancient civilizations have fallen here in the lands of Natallah-Rim and Natallah-Sephax. Great civilizations used to span the entire continent, until a tragic day when it was rumored that a meteor the length of a mile long collided into the Earth, effectively destroying an incredible number, almost 96% of all life on Earth. No records of that tragic day can be found anywhere. It is as if it were a Black Day, a day that shall not be named.”

“But I don’t understand master. Why no records? We have records of civilizations before that day---“

“Because we don’t. No one knows why. No one will probably ever know why. It just is how it is.”

The man blinked, then stood up from the edge of the crater-lake. He looked out across the lakes, to the mountains that now lined the horizon in every direction. The mountains formed the rim of the land, a powerful remnant of the destruction that happened four thousand years before, and yet none knew how…or why. The conversation from ten years ago with his teacher had remained with him to this day, and more so because the great mystery remained...

This land doesn’t look like it was formed from the impact of a meteor, but rather from something else…but what?

An eagle flew high above, its reflection barely seen in the rippling lake waters, surrounded by high forests that were covered in the bitter cold blanket of winter. Yet, it wasn’t so cold that the lake was frozen over. It swooped away and returned back to the mountains from whence it had come…

The sound of the crackle of arcane energy dissipating echoed and bounced within this dome stone structure. The spell was complete, the green energies were fading, and the air began to grow less energised with the raw power of magic.

"It is complete. Now, let's see if the histories were correct..." The mage spoke to himself, or the bodies of his late henchmen which lay about with bleached bones, in a reverant tone. His voice was like one within a vast library, and in some senses he was. It provided an odd follow on to the carnage the mage had defended himself again, with the aid of three dozen hired blades. Thier lives were sacrificed for this opening. The guardians were strong, but the mage's spells resisted thier onslaught.

The chamber was small, about ten feet in diameter. It was a tight place in which to fight the dark forces which had eviserated the mage's men. The mercaneries had no idea what they had gotten into, and as soon as that portal opened and closed, all were fighting for thier lives.

Including Arcadious, the mage which now was scribing runes into the dark stone floor with a calm excitement. His dark purple robes were ripped in places, with some blood stains to show his injury. The pale white skin on top of his bald head had a wound which was fatal if it were not healed recently. Fresh flesh had sealed over the massive gash which ran around seven inches down his skull.

The runes were formed into thier dark message of unsealing. The mage's hunched and fatigued form checked the runes again, and once more. He was not going to fail here. His mind screamed for rest, the arcane runes hurt his mind with a malicous passion which matched the mage's desire for the secrets within this ancient temple. His eyes were getting hazy and out of focus, but discipline and will kept his body from collapsing. Arcadious had summoned all of the arcane will he had ever mustered before, and he had often thought within the conflict that he would fall and follow the fate of his hired cannon fodder, and such a thought drove him onwards. He fought off the ancient spirits of shadow and flame with sheer acts of will sometimes, his staff blazing with his own dark magic.

The runes began to turn, and the ground began to glow a deep red, as if the stone floor had ignited with awaking.


And in some senses, it had.


Arcadious gazed downwards, as the runes continued to turn and spiral in a circular motion....and they began to fade...as did the smoldering floor. Despite the intense fiery glow of the floor, the air grew as cold as Arcadious' own heart, the winters of the far north showing no rival to this coldness. His fingers began to feel sluggish, his mind slower and it was harder to breath. His ragged purples robes did little to protect against this cold.

And then....the floor fell in completely, and Arcadious' world was engulfed with the cold nightmare of oblivon. A scream attempted to escape from the necromancer's pale and constricted throat, but nothing eminated. No sound was within this place.

The deadly dance of the demonic winter's gale swirled around the dark character, as hope began to fade from his mind. Nothing was visable, everything was numb, concepts of time and space diminised, washed away by this eternal exposure of this chilling prison.

But Arcadious summoned the burning embers of the coals of desire to aid his cause. The passion which had driven him for his lifetime to reach this point fueled his last, final effort, and to this, his mind spoke out into the void of the cutting frost which was ripping every shred of being that was this mage.


This....this will not.....end like this!


An explosion of will, a mental scream of anguish and pain, and the cold ebbed away, forced back by this dark man's soul and mind. Sensations returned, the demonic arcane temperature receeded, and Arcadious, upon his pale bloody knees, gazed upon that which was his life goal.

"At last.....I have done it!" The necromancer cried weakly in the ultimate trumph as he gazed upon the floating black object before him. He was surrounded by the stone of a different chamber, more of a throne room.

The black rod floated upon the throne, and weakly, and slowly did the practicer of dark arts and deeps crawl upon the stone floor. And as he neared the void of black...the stone glowed again with the maligant malice as it had done before.

Fear seeped into Arcadious' heart of failure, and was quelled with his willpower once again. He would not fail. There was nothing more to fight. The ancient text said of no more guardians!

The mage, filled with the lust for this god like power available before him, crawled where no other mortal had done before, the Gods had sealed this with a strength that was fading....

Could it be, that Arcadious would wield this power that no other mortal had done before?

Wide eyes gazed upon the glittering surface which had swirled in his dreams since he learned as a youth that such a device actually existed. It was so close before him.....only a little more.....a little more...!


A gloved hand of the mage reached out...and was blown back by a force which racked Aradious' very soul to it's core, the very foundations of his existance questioned and shaken, thrown away in disgust.

He flew backwards, his eyes still locked onto the item which he had sought for so long. Tears of bitter anger flowed down, as his cursed a thousand god's mentally.

And then a God answered his swearing with a message with a deep booming voice which rattled his soul further, and the content of such a message gave him the greatest terror a mortal has ever had to endure, since the mortals faced the great sundering which formed this island.

His soul listened with a desperate attentive ear, as the form sickeningly grew before him, and terror swarmed over his mind.

Your Destiny was to find this place and test it's seals, to trigger the catalyst.
Such it was preordained by Fate.
You have broken all seals but this young mortal.
Now, servant of the Dark Powers, face one which serves no God.
No Good nor Evil.
But itself.
Chaos.

The world faded, and his soul was no more, gone in a thought from the creature which the voice of the God's described. The thing, known only as "Chaos", slumbered once more, as if nothing had occoured, it's restraints of this room taking once more. With no entity to serve it's purpose, it lay in wait for a new one. It considered if such an action would have served it's purpose.

Powerful it is, yes. But useful to Chaos cause, no. One more flexible and maluble should be used, yes? One with greed, yes. But not of knowledge, no. Things of me are still outside, yes. Outside to do as Chaos will, yes yes. But such mortals are intellgent yes? They should discover both minor and major device quick, yes. But in speedy haste, no me thinks. No indeed. But soon. Yes....

An old wrinkled man stepped into the room, with the aid of a runic cane gripped tightly in his hand. He smiled and then asked, "You have been gone for a long time, Ralmir. Care to entertain an old man losing his sight?"

Ralmir smiled, "Hello Master." He held the elder's arm as he led him to the chair designed by himself as a gift to his master three years ago. He pulled up another chair, retrieved a pipe from his pocket and lit it, puffing slightly to draw out the flavor.

"I have been to the lake again. This time, however, I have a theory that conflicts with the meteor theory you explained to me years ago."

The old man shifted his position, listening attentively, "Do tell, Ralmir."

"You told me once that the land was formed into its current shape by a massive meteor that struck approximately in the center of the land, where the lake now exists. However, I was out there a week ago, studying the whole area. Something is not right master..."

Ralmir stood and paced the room, a hand upon his chin as he thoughtfully addressed his master.

"The location of the crater, seems...well, too perfect. As if it were a directed strike..."

The old man broke in, "Are you suggesting that this is a directed attack upon our forefathers by a race that exists elsewhere in the galaxy? To use such a powerful weapon, a meteor?!"

"No, not quite like that. Judging from the curls of the land, I would theorize that the force of the attack--"

"So it is an attack..." the old man spoke.

"Perhaps. But I am unsure as to what was used in the attack, as strange as that may sound. I found several large indentations that mysteriously lead to the lake from the direction of the western realm mountains. What I find most strange is that these indentations not only survived the obvious shockwave that was caused but also were created with precision. They kind of remind me of oversized footprints, if you will."

The old man stirred slightly, "Footprints? But what in the world would create such large indentations. Surely nothing that exists these days. I'm afraid you have been following a false theory, Ralmir. It is too outlandish to even consider the possibility of such a creature."

Ralmir's face tightened with frustration. Rarely had his master ever discarded his words with such nonchalance. What made things worse was that in the past, the master had proven his predictions correct.

"I'm afraid you're the mistaken one this time, master."

A sudden silence filled the room, as if it were the calm before a storm. Finally, the old man's failing eyes found Ralmir and glared, "Do you challenge my authority, Ralmir?"

Ralmir replied without a bit of hesitation, "Yes, master. I do."

Master and student glared defiantly at each other. Finally, the master spoke, his voice surprisingly calm, "Very well then. I will grant you the resources needed to at least get you started on your expedition I'm sure you're going to arrange. If you are correct, than you will have discovered the true history of the Natallahs. If not, I remain your superior, your master."

"I will find the answers I seek. I promise you."

"Don't promise, for then you shall fail. Simply go and do what you must, and may the Fates have mercy on you."

Ralmir nodded, then reached down and patted the older man's shoulder lightly, a remnant of affection for his elder. He turned and departed the room, closing the door behind himself as he was faced with the commotion of street life in the village.

Inside the home, the old man sighed and spoke with a hint of foreboding. In his mind, there were greatly troubling thoughts.

"I fear that you may unlock something that wasn't meant to be seen by men..."

The ripcage was morbidly interesting being splayed in the fashion it was.

The dark red contents of the owner of the ripcage were still bubbling slightly, and the smell of burnt flesh, and the familar odor of the O-zone being crackled and burnt in the process of magic loomed around the hall. The corpse was still twitching slightly, it's former mage mind been destroyed by a lash of better magic. It's black robes with a dark purple trim signified this subject's insignificance, and thus, no one was at a true mourning.

But the body did raise a few eyebrows of simple curiousity and silent interest. And if any mage within this hall was disturbed or horrified with this display of grotesque magic, none showed it. Cowls hid pale faces which now turned to the one who wraught this deed, his lithe hand was still energised with raw magical forces. He still held it outwards towards the one who had questioned his order with such deliberate ignorance...and a sense of self-delusion that made the Master of this place laugh....then silently released his arcane wrath.

The Master of this house was still in his throne, half raised, still in the posture of getting up, his hand still looming in the would be upsurper's direction...still glowing...still ready to strike once more against his bubbling chest. His chest was still sizzling with some vigour. The Master's eyes were visable from that infinate black cowl he wore, those green orbs which glowed with a strange cold enjoyment from it. It was as if he knew this would happen all along, and he was simply playing along with people until he knew how to take advantage of the destiny people trapped themselves with.

The Master returned to a relaxed posture, to his usual calm self. It was like watching a statue slowly move back into it's eternal position, the stone which had been sculpted so finely returning to it's place, morphing perfectly into it's surroundings. The Master's silk black robes engulfed the lower part of his throne like a looming and tyrannous shadow, the lines of silver runes casting a slight star within this night sky of terror. His glowing orbs of green closed from deep within his cowl, and it seemed as if this was just a shadow inhabiting a form of a synister shade robe from another dimension.

A slight sigh was barely audiable from the Master, but everyone heard it. The atmosphere was icey, everyone was concious of thier own breathing when such things happened. It made the chest constrict, the mind tighten, and the soul a growing tempation to seek redemption from such company. It seemed when the Master closed his eyes, everyone felt thier soul pieced with judgement from the Master, that time itself stood still to this judgement. Everyone knew that the Master had great power....but such power that he could know what one was thinking? What one was plotting? Perhaps that is how he is never suprised.

The eyes opened once more, the deep arcane green slits viewed the hall filled with mages of various standing, signified by the colours they wore. The atmosphere evaporated, and the usual method of things returned, and the proceedings were mostly forgotten as quickly as possible, even though the smell was difficult to remove from one's sinuses.

"Next."

The Master's voice was audiable to ear, his voice could piece stone and steel and spirit. It was not a cleansing voice, but one which was harrowing. No-one every grew used to it, despite meetings being once every week.

The one which wished to approach next was young, but held his piece for the moment. The Master knew that this new mage had much to learn about him, his ways and methods. The events which had just passed taught this budding studant the value of knowing one's place, and to question one's own intent, before questioing others. And also, that trival matters where none of The Masters concern.

However, the events of one Arcadious Ulrdianium...did.

And that was why the one entitled Keeper, approached from the sea of black and purple robes, various faces of various years looking towards thier mentor as he walked confidently, yet with respect, to this shade they called Master. He came from the far back of this long narrow throne room, the cielings reaching up to the expances of dark nothingness, the gothic style of stone reaching upwards, trying to find something to cling too. The air was cold, and the atmosphere was even colder and a dampener to one's hopes.

Hope was a dangerous thing here.

Keeper set forward. Keeper was far more human than his undead like counterpart, although if you met Keeper upon a cold lonely night with little light to go upon, one might mistake the spirits of the dead returning to take vengence. He was tall and zombie like, his tight black robes showing his ribs through the silk matieral. He walked slowly, his stride was long, and the manner which he carried himself was with odd dexterity. One would think that such a human of such little muscle with such sickly long arms and legs, that his gaite would be like an insect of some sort. Such a comparison could be made about many things about the man, but not about the way he composed himself.

He walked forward, his soft padded boots making no sound against the cold stone floor. His robes held tightly around his form, again making him silent within this place of whispers. He always stood out to his lesser mages, due to his hieght, and the fact that he prefered tight robes and trousers. Indeed, beside meetings, he wore tight silk trousers which were most like an assassins, which held the woven silver lines which showed his position.

Upon his hip was a small pale wood staff, much like bone in appearance, but the light wood curled at the end, with a cold blue arcane jewel within the tight dead grip of the chilled wood. It hooked around like one might hold a sword, and again, this was unorthodox. Most mage's preferred a taller, more stout staff, or a short sword which could be relied upon in the event that one's magic should fail or become exausted.

The Master held no weapon.
The Master held no trinket or ring.

He scorned them for his own usage, find them displays of weakness, but understood that others still relied upon devices, and not themselves.

The Master had no need for them.

The Keeper walked to his position, not casting even a passing glance at the deceased student of his. Truth be told, Keeper did not enjoy that mage too much, his attitudes were not what the Coven required. A mind full of dreams of grandeur, new movements and faerytale endings. The Keeper did not like teaching him, for he knew as soon as he had taught him, that this piece of the puzzle could not be bent and reformed, it had to be snapped to show other pieces the fate of those who could not adapt to the harsh realities of things.

Keeper went upon one knee, the bone structure of his thin kneecap showing. His whole body seemed to be so delicate in it's composure, it seemed that it could snap if a staff tapped it. With a black silk clad glove, Keeper removed the cloth around his head, showing his bald tatooed head. His gaunt eyes were to the ground, as was the proper sign of respect to one's better within the community.

There was a palpable sense of order within the Coven, a order which was required for the practices they did, and the true purpose of the Coven, which few did know of.

Keeper did know of the true purpose of the Coven, and shaped others so that when the time came, they would be ready to perform as they had been intended to do so.

"Master." The Keeper spoke, his raspy voice almost rattling within his throat.

The Master returned the greeting, with a emotionless acknowledgement of, "Keeper."

A pause, as was required. If one raised an issue with another, it was customary and expected that the one who called an issue would begin. But if the one who was of higher status had an issue of his own to raise, or a question of the true intent of the raising of the issue was found, the higher, in this case obviously The Master, would go first.

If The Master went first, that often meant you were dead.

It was only a matter of time.

Keeper had checked his intention, as one was supposed to do before asking a question before The Master. Keeper checked his soul, his mind, and his logic and reason, and found them all in check.

He proceeded.

"Arcadious. He has ceased to exist."

No words were uttered in speculation out loud, but every mage from the lower acolyte to the highest arch-mage was interested, and was forming theories and questions of thier own.

The Master did something very uncharacteristic at this point, which did raise an eyebrow, and a heartbeat. This was unprecendented, what did it mean? He had never done this before! Could this be it? The final act?


The Master.....stood up within the Hall. Something which within his vast history of being within the Coven, he had never once done. He was always seated, within the statue posture. None saw him sit down, none saw him get up from his place during meetings, before or afterward. Everyone would leave or enter, and there he was. Even during the eary reform of the mage coven by The Master, when this Hall was attacked by the Crimson Blades, a fantatical relgious cult of fools in most opinion, well in most opinion which mattered in here, The Master destroyed them all without raising to meet them. He cast magic against thier numbers, and not one mage within the Coven fell. The Crimson Blades lost many a powerful paladin, and a hard lesson was learned.

One could not fight such a creature.
The Master was not of this world, his powers were Godlike...

The Master, now raised, approached his rapt audiance. Taking long, infinately slow strides which seemed to bring a void of dark peace around the mages, The Master approached The Keeper.

Those dark green eyes looked down upon his bowed subject, indeed one of his most valued subjects, his eyes once more seeming to warp the world that everyone saw into something more relevating and one which yeilded truth. His eyes then cast up slowly, looking to everyone it seemed, the green eyes being the portal into The Master's vision.

He spoke, and the words would change the Coven forever, and the events of Natallah forever. The cold voice showed emotion, the emotion that a revolutionary gets when his dream is soon to completion. This emotion was shown slightly, like it was a crack within the Master's perfect swirling armour, but the emotion was clear.


"Our purpose...will soon be forfilled."

"One would expect fewer questions about one's faith when one is only a squire. You should not question your most fitting position within the Lord's eyes. Your role within his great plan will form into greater and more glorious paths...should you keep faith and vigiliance. But enough of this. The buildings of Dark Ones comes into view."

The great paladin spoke to his squire, who looked up with a look which was similar to a child who had recieved a telling off, but a lesson to learn for the future. The squire turned his shaved and youthful head towards the rather humble yet synister buildings his mentor referred to.

The snow crunched under foot, the paladin's great plated boot leaving great treads into the fresh white snow which fell slowly in the dark blue sky. The sun was barely visable, leaving a haze of a beautiful red orange in the sky. The squire's own leather foot scrunched into the snow, his smaller feet leaving less trace of his passage.

Within the horizon, three broken stone thorns were slowly rising into view. They had a lurching view about them, as if the back's of the stone were cracked and whipped into forming thier shapes, tinges of purple streaking upon the cold black surface of the stone.

This place was a wasteland. Few people came here, traders occasionally hazarded the place in order to make buisness with the mages which lived within such harsh buildings. Traders who braved wind, snow, rejection, bandits and worse....mythical creature....all in persuit of the coin which still was the blood of this struggling nation called Natallah.

And these elements were being braved by this young boy and the elder paladin, who stayed close to one another, and thier weapons within thier hands. The youth's short sword gripped tightly, his anticipation of a combat being one of inexperiance and excitement...and the grizzled warrior of holiness with his plated gloves ready to draw his great hammer which was strapped to his broad back.

The paladin was a grizzled veteran, and a high ranking individual of the Crimson blades. His might was well known, and his powers in relation to God were mighty indeed. His hair was grey in many places, and his eyesight might be growing weaker, but his indomitable will against those agents of evil was resolute, and his faith within the Lord was unquestioned. A Paladin which had unquestioning burnt a mage village down to the ground due to thier acts of Heresy, this holy warrior was the warrior which smote down evil whenever they gazed upon it.

At least, that was what the Crimson Blades used to be able to accomplish. The Crimson Blades, the greatest and indeed, only organisation and force which served the Lord in the eternal war against evil....most bitter foe was the heretic, the weaver of lies and spells for thier dark masters.

In other words, anyone who used the common spell, wheter black clad pale skinned necromancer, or a mother who uses a spell to create a fire, is seen as a heretic, and worthy of purging.

Such a ruthless prejudice against magic has made the Crimson Blades feared, thier tyranical passing across village to village have left many a place with blazing bodies. Magic, as a result, was in thier eyes, a sin, and a sin which was unforgivable.

But thier rule was hardly universal or widespread. Most magic users knew of a Crimson Blade inquisitors coming well before they arrived, and either left the area for a few days, or changed thier habits and homes.

Time had changed. The Crimson Blades once ran everything, magic users once were few in number and disorganised. The holy order of witchunters were feared, and no real shelter was around.

Then....the Master came and founded the Fortress of Knowledge.

That changed everything.

The Master with his own religous disciples, those dedicated to the worship of magic with a powerful lust, repaired the ancient buildings of the ancient civilisation. Within this snowy plain, the Crimson Blades were blissfully unaware of such an organisation growing, building in both resources and numbers. Many a magic user came to this place of new found hope. In return of the Master's protection and resources, new initiates were expected to return his kindness and protection with devotion to his cause.

A cause which was soon to be forfilled.

When the Crimson Blades discovered this place, they grew enraged and declared the Gods would not accept this congregation of sinners. They readied thier greatest paladins in a effort to smite the sinners once and for all, and display the supremacy of thier God over those who would worship the Dark.

They attempted to raid the Fortress....not one survived.

All smashed without effort by the Master's immense magic to which there was no opposition. The Paladin's had attacked thier enemies within the dark church, against thier Saviour, and they had failed.

What they had succeeded in doing was creating a utterly devoted cult of magic users which served the wraith like leader.

And this squire, and the old paladin were walking towards the Dark Fortress, in order to observe any more activities. It also served a double purpose, in showing the young boy in what he was being trained to fight with his divine soul and might. The youth...around fifteen, and without a lot of experiance or indeed skill, followed his powerful master towards the place where the Paladins did not speak of anymore, expect within their prayers...to give them strength to defeat.

The squire looked to the setting orange sun, and smiled a little. The warmth was refreshing to the damp snow which was falling all around them.

But his Paladin mentor was hardly admiring the view. He had just drawn his great hammer, and a prayer of faith to his lips...for he saw a creature that his squire did not.

A griffon, diving down towards to two, was about to evicerate the two....

Clink, creak, clink went the sound of the rings on the rope of the sailboat, a boat that bore the symbol of the clan that Ralmir belonged in, the same as the master's. A white circle, split in half, encircled dual runes of water and wind. It symbolized the clan's strength being in the wielding of the elements of both. A powerful combination when used together, for it could spawn hurricanes, tornadoes, even snowstorms. For now, Ralmir looked toward the east and rose his hand to the sky, now adorned with a glittering ring of power, a ring with a rune encrypted diamond. It supported the arm that held runic symbols tattooed on his flesh, dark blue in color and encircling his arm up to his elbows. His power was focused, and if he wished, deadly Within moments, the rushing wind could be heard as it approached the small water craft and gently pushed it away from the dock. The boat, guided only by the wind at the command of his fingers, was taken to the center of the lake.

Finally, Ralmir lowered his hand and listened as the wind died immediately. He navigated to the front of the craft and hefted the anchor overboard, watching as the rope slid rapidly into the abyss below. Ralmir glanced around, noticing that he was the only one in the area, the nearest watercraft returning to one of the harbors. He stripped off his robe, a navy blue robe of fine fabric and tossed it within the small cabin of the sailboat. He reached inside and retrieved a small box of intricate design. Opening it, he revealed two small slits, one currently occupied by a ring with a blue sapphire stone with a water rune encrypted on the stone and on the band. It was quite similar to his other ring except for the element, which he took off and placed in the empty slit. He put on the water ring, immediately feeling the soothing rush of the magical properties of the water that surrounded the watercraft. Closing the cabin and locking it, he strode to the rear of the sailboat and stepped off.

Yet, he did not sink. He stood atop the water and stepped a few feet from the boat. He closed his eyes, and rose his hands to form a circle in front of his chest. All around him, water began to circulate his body higher and higher until it closed itself around his body completely. It surrounded his body, but allowed an air pocket to remain. He remained completely dry, even as the orb sank beneath the waves.

Deeper and deeper the orb sank, hundreds of feet below the surface. It seemed that the lake had no bottom, that it was an endless watery chasm. Finally, he reached the bottom, the sand swirling around the orb as it settled softly on the bed of the lake. Far above, the faint light of the sun, even as weak as it was, could be seen. In a few hours, both of the moons, Rela and Corin would rise, within four hours of each other. Together, the two would reflect enough light from the sun to keep the night decently lit. Thus, he had all the time in the world to remain down here in the depths to conduct his studies.

Ralmir orchestrated the orb to move toward the nearest underwater tower of rock that bulged wickedly upwards from the floor, stopping only after a hundred feet. Within the orb, he kneeled, taking a closer look at the design of the rock, before cautiously reaching out and penetrating the orb with his hand. The orb sealed around his arm, but allowed his arm to continue to pass through until it touched rock.

Pieces of the rock broke apart after some effort, revealing coarsely cut stone.

Of intelligent design, this rock is...mysteries upon mysteries... Ralmir thought to himself, as he reached his other hand forward and began to pry away at the floor of the lake. Finally, he stood, slightly irritated as the sands of time defied his fingers' work. With both hands, he raised them, watched as the runes on his arms began to glow faintly at first, then grew stronger. The water around the orb began to come to life, and began to swirl. Soon, a gigantic whirlpool formed and funneled away the sand and rock from where he had been working. Up on the surface of the lake waters, sand and stone shot up into the sky, nearly fifty feet and was flung outwards, only to crash into the lake waters several hundred feet away. It appeared as if the lake were belching fountain of the earth below its waters, a magnificient, yet fearsome sight to behold to the bystanders on the far shores.

Finally, he lowered his arms and watched as the structure before him stood stark of sand and stone, revealing the man-made building that surprisingly had remained intact.

Greater curiosity spurred Ralmir to continue to unearth the ancient building below him...

The griffon's first meal of the day was not relished too much, as he ripped off the old knight's head in a clean snap of it's beak as it swooped down upon him and arched back into the sky as it chomped on the head. Even if the old Paladin was wearing a helmet, the griffon would not much care.

The young boy could not absorb what was going on. All the teachings about staying your ground, fighting till the end, all of his combat maxims drained as he saw his mighty master's headless body gushing out high pressured blood upon the white snow, and flop like a ragdoll. His great warhammer was still clenched within his old steel clad hands, and would not be removed.

What was the squire to do? He had not even drawn his sword! He could not run from this thing, nor could he fight! There was no-where to hide! These snow fields had no forest available, and nor could he run back the way he came.

The Squire ripped his short sword out of his scabbard with frustration, holding it with a shaking hand. He still was looking for options...and he was serverly running out of them. The griffon was in his half arc, and still preoccupied with his meal. Perhaps he would leave me alone now, the squire thought with a glimmer of desperate hope.

The griffon turning it's head and screeching towards the young teenager was a sign that he had certainly not forgotten about him. The feathered beast was arching around in that frosty sky, ready to bear down upon his young target once more.

The boy was losing hope, and his feet were frozen to the snow floor. He was frustrated, panicked and uttered lost as what to do. And then, he looked directly ahead....and only a second of deliberation, sprinted for all his worth towards his intended salvation. It was his only chance, and he did not know what would happen when he did, or if he got there.

He was aiming for the Dark Ones Fortress, those looming dark buildings were so far away...there was no chance he could make it, not with such a fast creature before him.

A fleeting hope was better than facing the hopeless hope.

His legs moved faster than they had ever done before, his body moving across the white snow with great determination. The snow reduced his speed, but because he wore nothing but colourful padded leather armour, a armour with his master's crest upon it, which increased manuverability but not protection.

Like he was going to be protected from that thing!

The griffon engaged in a decent, enjoying the terror upon his target's face from his beady black orbs. It snapped it's beak in anticipation, and dived faster and more dangerously.

I am not going to die like this! No! This can't be like this! Not from some frelling griffon!

He saw the building ahead, and if under calmer conditions he would have hesitiated even going towards it in the first place. But these were hardly calmer conditions. His legs were growing like leg, fatigue was setting in, and the boy knew it. He felt the whoosh of air from those powerful wings of the griffon as it loomed behind him, and tears formed within the boy's eyes as he grew more and more frustrated.

He could see wizards! He could see them in thier black and purple robes outside of the building! Surely, they must have some compassion! The boy tried a last desperate attempt at life, and called out hoarsely and raggedly, "Help me please! Grant me protection!".

It was the call of someone pleading for thier life.

The boy fell down suddenly after he had made the desperate call, and the boy cursed the mages for not helping him. He blamed them for not doing anything, and the knights for sending him here with a worthless old dog for protection! He had tripped on nothing, and that greatly frustrated the boy too. He could not work out what had tripped him up. Thse thoughts were lighting, as his body was laid out flat against the snow, quivering in both fear and shock.

He awaited the deadblow, that beak, it's claws....in the darkness of his head within the snow, the coldness of it. But...seconds passed and all that came was a strange sound indeed, and then a very strong sensation of heat over his head. A terrible screach from that hunting bird, as it writhed in agony from the conflagoration which was sent it's way.

The boy dared not get up, look up to find out what was going on. Could it be that the mage's had answered his call for help? This was cause for celebration...then he realised that he might have sold his soul or some other strange deed for this protection...that this would mean he owed the Dark Ones a favour. The Knights had told him that they were trecharious, and never helped another if it did not advantage them.

The griffon retreated from the arcane flame, and the mage's receeded in thier onslaught. The three of them began to walk very slowly towards the boy, who was still some distance away. The three mages looked like looming shapes within the snow, things which were alien to this snowy place.

The boy slowly gathered some strength to get up from his position, his arms and legs still shaking from the shock of all of this. His master being killed, his vows of combat being broken, being helped by his supposed enemy, and now the mages approached. What was he to do? He still held the sword within his hand, but it was hardly a weapon, but a thing gripped when someone was scared. And a sword was hardly going to do these people harm, not with thier power!

The Dark Ones approached, the three of them not showing thier faces. They faced the boy in a line, not surrounding him or threatening him in any way. They stood, as if expecting something from the boy, or if they were deliberating something.

The boy swallowed hard, trying to bring some words to his dry mouth. But none came. He was face to face with the things he had been told to fear and hate with all of his heart since his joining of the Knights four years ago. What was he to do?

The center Dark Mage answered his question.

"We have granted you protection, and an answer to your call. But it would be wrong of us to save you from that creature and then not save you from another." The mage said slowly, and rather knightly indeed. He did not have the deep raspy voice the boy expected, but it was rather young and well spoken. Hardly what the Knights would portray.

"Come with us into our home for the night, so that you may be protected from the snow storm which will approach." He continued, and took off his hood. HIs face was nothing like the boy expected.

He had purple eyes, eyes which seemed to swirl and hypontise in a fascinating way, and he had wavey hair of gold. His features were indeed youthful like his voice, and his face did not denote a evil feature within the man. It was like a myth being totally smashed before the boy, and the Mage realised it.

He extended a black gloved hand towards the boy, and smiled. He spoke reassuringly, with a light tone and elequence.

"Within our house, we do grant kindness and protection to those who do require it. Do not fear, if you wish to leave in the morning without repaying us, that is fine, although we would prefer if one would repay our kindness. Do not worry. The tales of your Knights would have you believe we are snakes, correct?" The mage said with a light hearted chuckled. It was if he was mocking the Knight's ways, and make them out as impractical or utterly illusional. And in many ways, he was correct.

The boy nodded his head, with a slight smile of his own. It was what he was thinking, and slowly and more surely, he was starting to think what the Knights had taught him was frankly, bullshit. But old habits died hard, and these people were hardly the most freindly looking...

"Well, you can either freeze out here, or come inside and learn the truth about us, and get a hot meal. How about it?" The mage said commitedly, and extended his hand further.

The boy after not much thought, considering the winter cold and what reaction he would get if he returned, that is if he could remember the way back, and decided to take the mage's offer. He took his hand and followed by his side.

As they walked towards the place, the Mage asked what the boy's name was.
He replied, "It's Elix."

The mage replied pleasantly, "Mine is Dumar. I will give you some advice. While you are in our home, leave the sword at the door. Respect our ways, and don't protest if you see something which you do not understand or might not agree with. Our ways require a long time to understand fully. Some Mages are not so....comprimising with visitors. Just stay by me, and speak only when spoken to, and with respect. You will be just fine."

The young man listened attentively, and entered the buildling, unsure to what was what he was going to see...


Then, sights and sounds which he had never dreamed of welcomed him....

It had been six hours since Ralmir had descended into the depths of the water. Now, he floated just above the bed of the lake, encased in the air sphere. Occassionally, he had been forced to return to the surface to renew his air supply, once ever two hours. His eyes scanned the unearthed and remarkably still-standing man-made structures that sat before him.

An entire city...

Now, after all this excavation, it was time to explore with caution into each of these buildings. Ralmir studied the building structures, identifying them as best as he could. Yet, the wear and grindings of the sands of time made many unidentifiable.

The orb floated silently toward a standing building in the center, a strange one that once had seven towers reaching to the skies. Now, all that remained of the towers was only the rubble foundations. Yet, Ralmir was able to identify them, as well as the wall that connected the seven towers and enclosed the central building.

A castle? he wondered as he entered the great portal doors, the doors long decayed and missing. Inside, he moved slowly from room to room, taking in all he saw, taking note of the corroded signs that indicated the purpose of each of the rooms. Convention Room, Great Hall, Armory, Servants Ward, and a Libary. The library was straight in from the main doors, and beckoned for Ralmir's inquisitive eyes. These doors, however, were made of a metal, as if they were to hold in something dark, something secret...

Ralmir raised his hand with the sapphire runic ring and watched as a jet of water pounded unto the doors, the metal groaning under the force. Finally, it gave way inwards to a dark tomb-like room.

Ralmir moved the orb closer...

Suddenly, a large creature of some sort escaped the room, screeching its unhumane voice in anger...or was it gratitude? It was gone moments later. Ralmir watched where the creature had gone, thinking deeply for a few moments. He dismissed it and returned his attention to the secrets of the Library.

His orb floated inside, past the weathered metal doors, and toward the first overturned bookshelf. Scattered around on the floor were a number of books, surprisingly intact, yet weathered. He bent down and extended a hand outside of the orb once again, this time to take hold of the largest book nearest him.

He read the title carefully, Mollyr Ersuird Shiedohim. He had no idea what it hid inside, but continued to probe under the covers of the book...

The notice was clear for all to see within the small public loungue of the Dark Ones. Dark robed bodies remained and flowed from here, talking about recent events and more often than not, it involved another mage's reputation in some form. Regretablly, although this place was a place dedicated to bettering one's knowledge, it also came at a price at being at competition with others. And often not a healthy one, backstabbing and slander was often a part of mage politics. Of course, the highest were above such behaviour, and anyone who spoke ill of them often faced reprimand, or worse, exile. To slander a mage was one thing, to slander an arch-mage who's loyality and commitment is unquestionable, was suicide. Only the foolish or the ignorant spoke ill of the arch-mages, or at least in a manner which donoted gossip. Constructive critisism and minor grumblings were accepted, but there were limits to everything, and when the line of authority was clear to all to see, few tried to test the boundries set.

The mages within this place tended to be unforgiving, as much as the frozen isolated world around them. The black robes which the commited wore was a reflection on thier cold and bleak outlook on life.

However it was not suprising that Dumar had allowed the teenage squire his life and grant him shelter within the Fortress. The mages always did require more initates to swell thier ranks, although this was not the reason Dumar had saved him. Elix was wondering this right now as he gazed upon the oddites of this place.

Did he simply want to use me for some experiment? To use me to sell my soul? Maybe these people are not so bad afterall, like everyone said back at the Crimson Blades...maybe these people were just victims of prejudice. Maybe they were noble people, who seemed evil from the outside.

The boy was wrong in his worst estimation, but neive in his highest and noblest estimation of the mages.

The Mages were simply practical, that was all. Practical meaning being practical to themselves, or the good of the community. Of course, some mages bore more virtues than others, some more vices, although in this place, as long as you followed the rules, this place was haven and a place where judgement was not cast. The rules were clear, and one of these rules stated that if anyone wished shelter under true intention, the Fortress would grant them protection under that person's knowledge that they should repay thier kindness.

It was one of the fundamental ways that the Master had so many loyal servants and mages with thier own servants. If you saved another's life directly, they would owe you a debt of gratitude. Of course, this would not last a considerable deal, but continuing assistance like the teaching of the arcane to the new initiate would warrent additional service and repayment. Gold was not satisfactory enough in most cases.

The Master favoured a service, or pledge of abilities towards the cause they served. It was this way, that the Fortess grew, and the cause gained more individuals who one day would be ready to perform thier purpose.

And the day was very soon upon them.

And such was the talk which the Mages chatted about in excited whispers. Elix heard an almost rabid young mage chatter to his more composed, yet equally excited master, about recent word about what was going on.

All hear say, rumours about possibilities, possibilities passed on as liklihoods. The older and more experianced were more wary of such information, and waited until they were told by the Master himself, of thier supiours.

"What is the commotion?" Elix asked, which was matched by an angry glare from his saviour, Dumar.

"Hist!" He said quietly and harshly towards him. He increased his pace, and kept his hand tightly around Elix's arm, almost dragging him through. It was like going through a sea of robes, drowning in the darkness with your only method of survival was to hold on. Occasionally Elix would hear things, comments directed at him, or a question about who he was towards Dumar. Dumar remained silent, apart from the word, "Sanctuary."

Everyone knew what that meant. It signified this person was recently saved, and that this boy owed him a debt. A new initiate to the cause, or at least, good as, most people assumed. But the boy meant more than that to Dumar, and Dumar valued him more because of this.

Eventually, through corridor, stairs and the eternity of dark robes, they finally came to thier destination. It was at the end of a flight of narrow stone steps, which had very few other mages walking upon. Elix felt terribly alone in this place now, Dumar seemed not to care anymore. He would regret this decision, but then, he realised he would be dead without him.

At the top of these steps, lay a solid black wooden door, which seemed completely unmovable and unsmashable. It had a slightly imperfect varnish finish, the glowing lanterns which hung around the stairways giving light to this fact.

Dumar extended a gloved hand, knocked twice in quick succession, and then once slower than before. His hand went back into the darkness of his robes, and his face turned to Elix for the first time since his telling off for trying to ask a question.

"Elix, remember. Answer when spoken to. Do not ask question of him. He is my master. Know this, and respect. For if you do not, the coldness of outside remains an option." Dumar said coldly and harshly, the words draining Elix of both hope and colour.

The door opened slowly, revealing a gaunt, tall mage, who wore tight black clothing, and seemed more undead than living. Dumar lowered his eyes in the proper manner, as it was highly rude and insulting to a mage of better status to look him in the eye first.

"Ah, Apprenti. You have something for me?" Dumar's master said in a dark deep voice, one which denoted a plotting nature and knowledge of things best forgotten.

"Indeed Master. Keeper, I present a source of information. One I am sure you appreciate." Dumar said, raising his eyes and meeting the dead yet intellegent ones of Keeper's.

Keeper looked at the boy, raised his eyebrow, and curled his thin lips very slightly. That subtle movement made Elix want to scream out in terror, repent for his sins and wish his soul saved, even if it meant freezing in that thundra. Even if he did, Dumar's grip would keep him in this place. He was too valuable right at this very point.

"Enter, bring him. Then leave us." Keeper instructed, and let Dumar in with Elix.

Dumar bowed, then shut the door behind him, his robes like shadows escaping from the light. Dumar had utter respect for Keeper, as did everyone. More so, because Keeper had saved Dumar when he was around Elix's age, and thus, had been brought into the Fortress.

Keeper's private quarters were indecorous, more practical to the study of magic and the plans of the Gods lay neatly upon his desk. Various coloured potions lay upon racks, scrolls were filed in his cabinant, tombs with spidary words upon thier spines lay open with strange illustrations upon them. Dark blue light illuminated this place, and made Keeper more looming and eerie to Elix.

Elix appeared a lone sheep, ready to be preyed upon by the rearing wolf.

Keeper stood tall over Elix, regarding Elix strangely. Staring into his soul, his mind and body being under judgement. The scene seemed to be observed by the shadows, and some dark thing which haunted this place. After long drawn seconds, Keeper spoke long words which chilled Elix's blood. His words seemed to hiss out of his long lips, and each words was timed so malicously for maximum affect.

"Now, you will grant me information upon where you have come from. If you do not, you are useless and will be disposed of swiftly.. Do the Crimson Blades know of either the Artifact, or the Tomb. Speak quickly.Your soul depends on it."

The tomb of exiled knowledge opened it's covers to reveal itself to it's finder. With an intellegence it did react, with forgotten magic did it hold secret, with words it did reply to the call of time and mortal folly. The voice eminated within the uncoverer's mind, a intensely deep and slow voice which was beyond time itself. It spoke in riddle, and it was recalling histories of time before mortals, and politics which mortals rarely did affect. The private matters of the Gods, and thier movements which shaped reality.

The voice spoke, revealing in crypic words it's message. The voice was deep and echoey, like a messenger coming from another dimension to herald a reply from the things which were not in mortal comprehension or understanding. It revealed it's words.

Long since have I been read, investigated or probed by mortal or immortal, and your mind tells me that you know not of that which you have uncovered.

Your path remains clouded and most interesting to follow by other mortals I find, and to immortal it does raise concern and even fear.

Few cause calamity within the halls of those who move pieces, but you do it well, and for that, you should feel proud.

It does please me that mortals do retain their own natural tenecity and zeal to find me, and my brother I realise has been found before myself.

So this turn is over, the pieces moved, both devices found.

But to what end I wonder?

To what purpose do you raise me from neglect from mortal minds and exile from immortal ones?

To bring about my maker's rise, or to ensure another does not?

Most interesting your path.

Most interesting indeed.

Explain what road you intend to walk, to use my services to your freewill which is your pride.

Ralmir replied aloud, his voice strong yet soft. Around him, the orb shifted and moved with the currents, yet did not break. Ralmir kept the back of his mind concentrated on that, for at least a small part of his mind was needed to keep the orb activated. Otherwise, he'd drown, and the pressure of the water, being as far below the surface as he was, would likely also crush him.

"I am Ralmir. Your secrets I uncover, yet I know them not. Speak of this ancient power you say is your master. Who is it? To what purpose does it exist? I seek only to uncover the true history of the Natallahs. What deserves to be uncovered, I will uncover, and what doesn't, I shall bury them until the passage of mankind has come. So is my promise."

Ralmir waited as he held the book in his hands, attempting to read the inscription on the front page. Woefully, it was a language of the past, a forgotten language. I will learn the speech of my ancestors, one way or another...

The book chuckled darkly, more out of entertainment of all of this situation. It was like the laugh of those who do things simply to observe the reaction, and seen something rather typical. A sort of cynical chuckle, which was slightly frustrating due to the knowledge this book possessed, that it knew many things this individual did not.

Ignorance is a common trait of my finders, yet a common trait of men also found in wish of ignorance dispelling? Indeed, found it again do I now.

I have had no master, many creators, yes, many users, yes. But Master? Nay, no Master will you find in the river of time behind the current flow. User be you now, if that what is meant by your words, as time changes and individuals fade in and out, blinks in the endless eye.

As to your words concerning deserving. Odd word no? Deserve. Deserve. To whom makes the judgements? Yourself? I? Nay the Gods? Whom? One could argue rather logically of the deserving nature of most things mortals have uncovered and curiously revealed, and find fault, yet mortals do proceed. Do you apart yourself from such? Or remain ignorant in your own logic?

A question, as the specific names of things you name, change as time does swiftly. Natalllah...such place is here? This isle? Agreed no? One does help my nature by providing definition of your language, as names and places change too fast. Such a problem I find, which Brother does not. He remains above, I remain below. I think, he affects. But I confuse you, yes? Ask further questions, remain curious. It does help one situation rather.

The book had hardly satisfied any of Ralmir's unanswered questions. One question suddenly burned at the fore of his mind, and worked its way to his tongue.

"This brother you speak of. Who, or what is it? What does he do?"

Ralmir gently flipped through the pages, seeking to find clues as to the mysterious words inside that spoke riddles to his mind. He was searching for possible familiar words, pictures, anything...

Ah, that question is most wise to be asked. Brother have I, only one, and most potent it is indeed. It is the second, not first. I am first, the one whom brings the entity known as Gods as Chaos. The second, my brother, reinforces the seal around the entity known as Chaos. Rarely have I been used, although when used have I brought much change. Past shows this change. This place, Natallah made by change. This change drastic. But not fully realised. Brother usage prevented entire change. Most regretable that. The tomb said, in a slightly more revealing way. His tone was still still in that informative riddle of his, but he seemed almost sad that this change had not been fully realised. The change to which he was referring to was the desruction of all life within Natallah, and indeed this realm of existance.

As the pages flipped, one remained in place, two images upon each ancient page. Highly decorative images of the devices, and a language explained what these devices did hurt the mind to look upon. Upon the left parchment, there was an image of a strange artifact...something which represented a long pole. There were diagrams which explained it's usage, things which could not be decifered due to the ancient language. It spoke of incantations required, gestures required. The tomb explained.

The device you look upon is Brother of mine. Tool of sealing it is. Seal Chaos it does if user wishes, but only with myself. One most possess both devices, myself and brother, in order to act. Continuing pages explain this process, although I sense you do not understand the language of the Gods? Most puzzling. Most users know this language, but alas, time proceeds and knowledge is lost. You wish for me to translate? The tomb asked helpfully.

Ralmir studied the ancient images inscribed into the pages. 'Brother Two' caught his interest greatly. If 'Brother One' was the Pandora's Box, then Brother Two was the padlock on the box.

The pages continued to flip, the now ever present images displaying incredible actions that must be performed to control this...Chaos.

Chaos...The God of Destruction. No wonder the two are separate from each other. To find one with the other would spell doom for quite possibly innocent souls. I must look into this book more...

"I must admit I know your language not. A translation would be most appreciated, and perhaps you might be capable of teaching the very language itself. I will bring you with me..."

Ralmir hesitated momentarily, giving the book a chance to speak against his decision. It never did so. Finally, he pulled the covers together once more, and bound the leather binding carefully. Just as this was completed the binding glowed briefly a purple hue before fading away.

"What was that?" Ralmir questioned the book.

Security it is. Only the user can initiate entry to my secrets. Speak your pass words, you must, for security is good. Bind itself to you, the book does."

Ralmir thought momentarily and gave the word requested. After that, he held onto the book with both arms and holding tightly...

Damn this is boring. Boring as fucking hell. Man, when are these pompous pricks going to use me beside admiring? Damn, this is the worst place I have been in. I cannot even speak normally! I have to put on this pretence of being all holy and shit. I have not had a speck of blood on me in decades, only been drawn in ceremony! God damn, when is my useless brother going to be discovered! He has only had, what, since all the fucking time since last time!

The device grumbled to itself silently, it's golden blade and jewel incrusted hilt granting no door into it's thoughts. If anyone looked at it, it was simply the Holy Blade of St. Artinaurch, which was sat in a royal stone, bathed in golden light and within a glass container. It was looked upon regulary, taken out rarely, and never used in combat, despite it's immense combat abilities. Most of the paladins had forgotten it's potency, thinking that only a Saint could use it.

This was all much to the frustration of the device which could cause the destruction of the world. It could not do anything too drastic yet, he had to wait for his brother to be found.

The device, in the form of a massive claymore which shone with divine light, was going to continue it's most undivine grumblings to itself, when....something changed.

Could it be that my Brother has done it? Oh horray! Finally! Time for some play time! Time for killin! Time for slicing and dicing, and stomping and smashing! I will win this time too O brother! You don't have a chance! My new fighting techinique is unstoppable! Now, time to get a decent swordman to use! The sword was laughing inwardly manically, it's sociapath nature being completely contrasting to it's holy glory.

Time to get into character for my big speech I s'pose. The blade said to itself.



It was three minutes before breakfast, when the first chores of the day were being completed, that a resounding booming voice, the kind of voice which God has but with slightly more romance to it, the voice which could start a crusade. The voice went around the Crimson Blade's temple of inquisition against magic.

"THE SPIRIT OF GOD SPEAKS THOUGH ME! ONCE MORE HAVE I FOUND EVIL WITHIN THE WORLD, AND I DEMAND THAT THIS EVIL BE SMITED FROM THIS WORLD! I CALL UPON THE GREATEST PALADINS TO MARCH TO WAR AGAINST THE FOULNESS IN THE WORLD, TO FIND THE EVIL ARTIFACT WHICH THE DEMON HOARDES HAVE PLANTED MOST HORRENDOUSLY! COME! TO WAR! PREPARE! PREPARE! DESTROY THE DARK MAGES! FIND THE ARTIFACT WHICH THEY WOULD USE TO GRIND WHAT WE LOVE AND CHERISH INTO DUST!

Needless to say, there was a hell of commotion in the Crimson Blades. Breakfast was swiftly canceled, and everyone went ot the blade. Soon, warriors donned thier armour, equip thier weapons, and then everyone attempted to wield the weapon. The sword would deny the weak, and eventually it found the right....weak minded warrior in which to possess.

And then, they prepared to go to war against the Dark Robes.


If the sword could smile, it would have a manical smug look on it's face, like a small mental child with a rather large knife, poised at your kneecap.

Ralmir had been ascending to the surface of the lake once more, slowly, so as to counteract the effects of 'bending'. Despite magic, some forces of nature still ruled as master, and he was forced to obey.

Ralmir looked up to see the faint sunlight filtering through. He was almost there. In just a few more moments, he could escape the forces of nature at will.

The explosion from the lake rose high into the sky, sending water sprays in every direction. It was mounted upon a tower of surging water that spun in place. It was truly a magnificient display of raw power as Ralmir looked down upon the lake, the ripples still violently disrupting the waters.

Impressive your skills already show. Your will is strong, even for a mere mortal such as you. commented the ancient book.

Ralmir smiled, "Your words are taken to heart." He had enjoyed flexing his arcane abilities without fear of injuring innocent bystanders. Indeed, he rarely got this chance, and he would be damned if he didn't exercise such an opportunity now.

Ralmir commanded the water tower to lower the aqua orb toward the small sailboat. He stepped forward, immediately watching as the water orb fell about his feet and covered the deck. The small sailboat rocked with the massive retreat of the waves. Ralmir looked in every direction, and was pleased to find no witnesses nearby. He descended into the cabin and opened the small drawer in which he kept his rings secured. He gently placed the book carefully inside the drawer and stopped momentarily to admire its intricate designs on the cover.

This is the moment that historians in every part of the Natallahs has been waiting for! he thought proudly to himself, Finally, we shall learn what may have happened to our ancestors!

Ralmir's hand moved to remove the ring that controlled the water elements. His fingers grasped on bare skin. Startled, he looked down. What he saw surprised him more. He raised his hand to the light issuing from the small door.

The book's voice echoed softly in Ralmir's mind, I have decided to assist you with your items of power. Your ring of the waters became one with you. Put your ring of the winds, which sits next to me on as well. It will do the same.

Ralmir stared in disbelief at the intricate rune that now wove itself delicately on his hand and up his arm. He looked at the other arm, as plain as ever.

Go on, mortal. This gift I give you you freely. the book prodded.

Ralmir obeyed, and retrieved the second ring and put it on. Almost immediately it wrapped around his hand and also wove itself up his arm.

Splendid.

Ralmir emerged out of the cabin, his face full of wonder as he studied the ancient runic patterns on his arms. Suddenly he broke out in laughter, his voice carrying well over the waters.

And he danced with newfound joy as he simultaneously commanded both the winds and the waters to his call. The winds arrived with a glorious strength and the waters rose to meet the boat. Together, the two merged as one force propelling the small watercraft toward the faraway shore. The wind howled under his command, the waves surged like a tsunami, both dancing in tune with Ralmir's own!

The heavy air was filled with the holy incense and spices of the God of Reality, the God which the Crimson Blades worshipped and looked for advice. It was the God which demanded that reality remain as reality, that those who would attempt to bend and warp the ways of things though such blasphemous methods such as magic should be punished. The God's name was Seppitos, a God which used to be non-existent until the Crimson Blades decided to adopt his ways, although not all of them. The founders of this organisation needed an army which would fight the mages with zeal, and by resurrecting this mostly dead God and rewriting some of the scripture to suit their purposes, they had an army to fight in a war which was long forgotten. The legion remained, their mission statement still there, the prejudice still rife.

Seppitos was the God the device had impersonated. And seeing that Seppitos had not any achievements the divine intervention department, and his extremely minor God status was blinking in and out of existence due to wars within the God community, it was easy enough. The device had no other materials to go on, and who the hell was going to say that did not sound like Seppitos? No-one had heard anything from him since the world was young.

Things were going well, the imitation of Seppitos thought. It was currently gleaming brightly within the plate mail hand of his user. Well, a more accurate term was host. A long procession had occurred, where the blade had been held by each knight, and judgements were made. The device which could destroy this world cycled through each one, cutting down the contestants to the strongest in body and the weakest in mind. In other words, the paladins who were most blind in faith, and the least logical. The ideal zealots to whip his army into a massive war frenzy, and the ones which were most easy to compel.

The one he had chosen after not much deliberation, out of purely instinctual reasoning, was a hulking individual who bore the mighty claymore proudly as he sat upon a throne, looking down in a stupid grin upon the legions which had come to hear his mission statement and plan.

He towered over most ordinary folk, his muscles like an ogre or a minotaur. His face was grizzled, marked by the ravages of magic. Obviously something acid had burned his face into the mess it was now. Straggles of bright red hair was upon his chin, where hair could still grow that is.

He had a deep raucous laugh, and a sense of a sort of simplicity with his mind set. An honest individual, who had obviously given not much thought about his career, but gave his heart and soul to the cause. He had countless battle wounds which in his right simple mind would love to share the story of their origin, whether if he was leaping through a wall of flame to grant a pyromancer cold steel, or taking the blast of an ice storm to protect some children, they always had the magic user demonised and himself lionised.

Well, what other way could there be?

The device loved this guy immediately. He spoke roughly, his jaw was made of granite, and he had no questioning to the holiness of this blade. He spoke in rough grunts often, not aggressive, more of a bawdy lout who loved to tell a tale or do some activity to prove his masculinity. Finally, the device could swear and bellow out in a raged stupor insults to his enemies. This guy might be slow....but his body was the best out of all of them. It was as if the Gods had drained all mental capacity and made this giant barbarian a hulking force which looked like he could smash down stone walls with a shoulder barge.

The armoury had provided him with the greatest equipment they could provide. Instead of his rusting plate mail which was dented and scorched by magic, he now wore the brightest plate mail you had ever seen. Golden plate mail, polished to a high finish to reflect the world in his glory was strapped to him. It was as if he wore the sun to ward any shadows away from his presence. The plate mail was adorned with images of the God Seppitos, the great unmoving tower. It looked down upon demons who threw petty spells into the air, trying to stop the devastating punishment the tower was bringing upon his enemies, by causing an earthquake. The tower was the only thing not affected, it remained unmoved. A rather nice depiction of the ignorant belief system, the violent inquisition faith being rather persuasive to these paladins who all held scorn to magic users. The chest plate was huge, unbelievably huge to encase his hulking form.

His movements were slow yet steady, his great form clanking around when he moved, his bricks of legs punishing the ground with his great weight. He always seemed to look around, judging things as if he was a new found God. That is what he believed in the dark abysm of his mental activities, that he had suddenly become God, the one which he had always bellowed in combat. He felt mighty, mighty enough to shatter mountains with a roar of his laughter.

His hands were almost over spilling in the plate gauntlets he had on, his golden plate making his appear like some strange statue. One of his ham fisted hands was clutching his device of power, the massive Claymore. He could lift it with one hand, and swing with it one handed too. He had a massive circular shield upon his back, which again, had the same brilliant gold shades about it, sparkling jewels and depictions of the tower upon it. If put up against some individuals, it could come up to their neck it was so massive. This holy juggernaught seemed to be able to lift it and carry it like it was a light Frisbee, something to play with. His face never strained to carry any of his gear, a sign that the God favoured him.

And this false God, this device had granted him new abilities. New wonderful abilities which would allow him to slay whoever had the book. The device's champion was ideal, as he already had some limited magical resistance, although he did not know it himself. He would not have been able to resist so many blasts otherwise. The brute thought he was just extremely strong or that girly magic was useless. Hell, someone had cast a flesh to stone spell upon this individual, yet his flesh only seemed to harden slightly, his movements slightly sluggish and the mage responsible soon feel the hulk's claymore rip him clean in two sideways. The champion did not realise what a powerful spell had been hurled towards him, he thought he was trying to make him itch so he would drop his weapon! The dolt.

"We talk about the plan now." The champion said stupidly and slowly, every syllable seeming to take great thought. Already, the sword was leeching this barbarian's will to speak, to be replaced with the blade's own.

"We stand attentive, holy spirit who guides Franz." A nearby paladin said respectfully and in reverence.

So this is what this dolt's name is? Franz. I don't like it.

"Listen to me. The spirit...demands that I be called something else. A holy name, the name of a holy warrior." Franz said slowly, his words changing how they would normally changing. The device was taking a tighter hold now, it's iron grip upon this individual's free will being choking.

What to call myself.....hmmm. Something more spiffy. Something more....kickass. Something that sounds cool. Hmmm. I know!

The device came to a decision and immediately acted on it.

"The name of Ash. My name is Ash now, the avatar of His will. Question this not, for the private matters and reasons of the God, Seppitos, shall not be asked the reason for." Ash said, his new found name deemed kickass by the device. Looks of blankness and acceptance came from the crowd of high ranking paladins, responsible for legions of their own.

Ash sensed the apathy to them, and added cleverly and slowly, "Do you question my word? Do I command heretics?". Ash brought his left gauntlet clad hand around in an arc, and clenched his fist powerfully.

The reaction was huge this time, a massive unified answer granting Ash's armies cohesion in will.

"Never Lord Ash!"

A smile came across Ash's broad face, as he realised this army was like wet clay to be formed into something most powerful indeed. It was never this easy.

Brother, your really messed up this time. There is no chance you can stand against me! Hell, I don't think you have the right champion! I cannot sense him....or her....you always did make odd choices. That is what makes you lose so much! The device thought to itself, manically cackling silently within the empty space where Franz's mind should be.

His Brother certainly felt the sensations of this champion....knew the general location, and the general power of this champion. At the moment, if the two champions were to face on another, without doubt, Ash would be victorious.

Tomb's champion would have to use cunning...and perhaps call upon allies to win this day.

There was a slow but steady commotion within the Fortress of the Dark Robes. People were omving faster than normal, the seas of dark robes within the corridors or the stairways were ebbing and flowing with a much greater speed than before. The currents were being urged on faster by the pressing deadlines, the plans being made, the preparations that had to be done. Spices were being exchanged and moved, staves checked and positioned in defending points, and people getting thier supplies ready.

Each mage had been given a perfectly written letter within a perfect envelope, marked by the wax mark of The Master, an unmistakable black wax with a skull with two stars within it's empty eye sockets. The house symbol was rarely seen, and when one looked upon it when it did appear, one paused to remind oneself of it's nature. The coloured version, which would appear upon the spines of his highly potent and influencal work, little was it was, had the stars glowing green which reflected The Master's own green eyes. The skull was a perfect white, an almost glowing white in the illustrations, as if the skull had swallowed the moon and it glowed with it's ghostly spirit. The wax which was upon each letter, personally addressed with the full name and title of each mage. Rather a feat considering that there were just under a thousand mages. Most of these mages were not weak apprenti like in most mage sancuaries. A considerable degree of these mages were powerful mages who could hold thier own, yet still learned from those more powerful.

This was not a force to be underestimated.

Within these perfectly crisp envelopes there was a prestine letter within them, with orders to what each person had to do. Soempeople had minor rather menial task which they did attend to, moving items or rearranging thier rooms in case of an attack. Others had more vital orders, like forming thier studants into combat groups and teach them about group fighting, and the area which they would be assigned. Each letter was highly detailed and personal, the details being precise and mentioning detail to the way it should be done in a highly professional method. The hand writing was in fluid flowing black ink, the handwriting of the Master presumably. So elegent and refined...

As the entire place moved in thier tasks, preparing for whatever may come, the event which no-one really knew what was, The Master was within his study. He was looking over maps, over reports from scouts all over Natallah. He was analysising, looking over detail again and again, trying to uncover where what he sought remained.

He had felt the disturbance, as did the scouts who were closer. He had instructed his many scouts to go around in groups and search for arcane activities. He knew that the Crimson Blades had something arcane, something immensely powerful. And that was one of the devices he sought, he knew that. The other device was lost....but there were vague reports to various magical disturbances which did attract his attention. The boy who Dumar had brought in had told him of a holy sword....but that was much it. The Master had dismissed it, holy swords were no importance to him. The boy was under Dumar's wing, he knew. Already, he was learning magical abilities which would aid him in the following conflict.

He would gain that device, and become to most powerful mage. He would crush the Crimson Blades, then rule this land, ensuring that magic would never be banned or feared again.

But first, he needed to find the second device....or gain the first one. But....how?


He waited for his scouts to tell him more on thier findings, as he sat alone and still, looking over his information again and again, while the rest of the Fortress was in the preparations for a siege.


How to gain the device.....the question lingered....

One more thing, mortal. Tomb likes you, so Tomb has decided to remain with you...

Ralmir paused from his attention of propelling the tiny watercraft toward the shores, its movement slowing as he listened to the book.

What are you talking about? he questioned the book. No response. He looked up to see the book rising from the cabin of the sailboat and toward him. It paused before him, unaffected by the wind that blew past.

You wish to know more, do you? Tomb questioned.

Yes... Ralmir replied.

Good. Hold still. the book commanded as it moved forward and began to glow with a red hue. Ralmir grunted lightly as he felt the book lose its familiar shape of a book and become a runic shape that spread across his torso, stretching down from his neck to his naval. He looked down to see the last of the red glowing fade away, replaced by a crimson red shape of an elegant 'X' with a vertical shape in black outline piercing vertically.

The Runic Tomb (http://www.venusgospel.net/sydney/gallery/syd_30.jpg)

Ralmir studied the design, Interesting...

Yes...it is...Now I shall remain with you and help you.

Ralmir returned his attention back to the movements of the sailboat, calling the winds and the waves once more to complete the last fifty meters toward the shore. It soon beached itself, and Ralmir disappeared into the cabin, retrieving a hooded cloak. He wrapped it around his toned form and pulled the sleeves down his arms, covering all but his hands. The only runes seen were on his hands, but few would even know what it was, and not just a tattoo.

Booted feet stepped into the soft sand, sinking slightly as he made his way up the beach. He paused momentarily to draw the hood over his face, casting a dark shadow across his face. His mouth and chin were the only visible part of his face...

Upon those soft sands, another two footprints slowly sank into place, soft shoed and slender. It was barely noticable at the moment, the sand forming into a depression near this wielder of this device. But soon, the air around the footprints began to throb, a blister in the mind which was not ignorable. The footprints were warning signs, a massive pillar of disturbance which demanded attention. Well, at least Ralmir sensed it was. The world seemed different now, everything was more acute, the subtle now obvious, the impossible now possible. Such changes were swift, but not complete, nor final.

The sand soon became populated with a new figure, a figure which was pushing himself into reality it seemed. The air parted like a great blanket, a slender man slipping out of it elegently. His form was still of a strange energy, pulsating and evolving, snapping into it's correct form. The tendrals of uncooperative organs and limbs were soon snapped back into thier correct locations, and the man was complete, the light faded to grant him his correct pigmentation.

The man was slender, almost unhealthily slender, his bare pale chest showed ribs which seemed to press painfully against the tight straightjacket of smooth flesh. His arms had spacious and billowing folds of dark blue cloth, which was decorated by words of an ancient language, painted in golden lettering. Already, the Tomb was working on deciefering the words as they formed upon his arms, and trying to tell his user what they meant.

His legs were wrapped in the same way, the flourishing dark blue clothing fastened around him with a descreet shining black belt, the matieral being like a strange hardened leather. Upon this belt there were small satchels, possibly containing gems or jewels for spells, the odd small knife upon his person.

His face formed completely, the pale flesh was wrapped around a rather feminate bone structure. Apart from slightly pale pigmentation, his flesh was perfectly smooth, as if you could stroke the flesh like a smoothed sculture, the cold surface wonderful to feel.

His eyes were blue, a dark blue which matched his odd attire. They seemed to have an offputting quality to them, as they refocused to this new enviorment. Those eyes seemed strange, as if the mind within this person was unorthodox, or had seem things which most do not see.

He saw Ralmir, and his face contorted into concentrated inquisition. His eyes hardened, and his voice was spoken quickly and demandingly.

"Dark One or Crimson Blade. Who do you serve! Speak!" He uttered, his voice having hard edges to it, it glided directly to the ears and sliced through defences. It was clarity defined, the words seemed not to be spoken but it was like mind thoughts translated into sound directly, without losing any facet of the thought.

He moved his hands, as if he might have a combat approaching. Even as this individual had formed, Ralmir detected that another was coming, someone very different in the same manner this man had arrived. Very different, differetn shape, different nature.

Ralmir studied the figure carefully, his eyes looking over the man's slender figure with care, studying his features, his runic inscriptions. Through his eyes, the Tomb worked, deciphering the runes.

Purveyor of events, voice of the ages, strength of the wise...

Ralmir turned his thoughts inward.

A prophet?

He turned his attention to the man before him. The man could only see his mouth speaking, his teeth flashing in the sunlight.

"I serve neither of them. I despise their rebellion, their warring factions. Now out of my way, stranger, leave me be!"

Another disrupts reality. It comes closer...

Who?

We're about to find out...

"Then what is the meaning of this!" The prophet declared angrilly. He looked around for others, obviously expecting an army of some sort. He now seemed extremely flustered.

The other came into view, towering over the both of them. He was two men's height, and highly lumbering. He was pure energy at the current point, not sliding into existance, but urging his will into this one. His energies were more of a grey colour, with tinges of crimson to them. It was interesting to behold, but due to the physical size of such a thing, it did make one cautionate.

The massive form reached out with both arms, and put his hands together, the palms flat. He was trying to squeeze through this rift from another location, moving his hands outwards, in a large arc to push himself through.

And he did so, with some effort of will. The prophet mage still regarded the man with some frustration, as if he was trying to muster some deduction from all this. His jaw moved strangely, as if he was chewing on something.

"Such transporation. Does not abide well. With my structures. Testing." The massive figure said, as he snapped into being from this small hole in the air. The figure now recieved his share of proper colours.

And as he did so, the Tomb's voice informed Ralmir who it was.

Damascus golem, guardian class. With additional, unknown capabilities. Ingeniously created, immune to most magics. Highly power.

And this golem was certainly awe inspiring. It's surface was of a highly polished dark silver colour, a metal of unknown origin. Perhaps damascus was a type of golem, or type of metal. The golem was huge, it's limbs in mighty blocks which were connected by bright glowing gold, like solder for the joints. It's head had three eyes, two of a blue colour and one of a red colour, more dimmed than the two at this point. It's mouth was carved into an unmoving grimace. This golem seemed ancient, and most powerful. An escort for this prophet? Or an ally?

"Do you require repairs?" The prophet asked quickly, his tone changed to one of a more practical, freindly nature.

The golem shook his head slowly, his joints making no noise as one might expect.

"None. I am operational. This one in front. Bearer of Tomb. No side. Yet." It declared factually, looking at the man with an impassive look of all three orbs for eyes.

The prophet seemed to wait a few moments, and spoke.

"Who are you, and what are you doing with the Tomb?" He asked curiously, still on guard. The golem stood beside him, focusing on the tomb carrier.

"To you, I am no one. I do not owe you any explanation of myself, nor anyone else."

That Damascus, an interesting one I must admit. But...wait...what's that? I sense another force...something more sinister...

What? What is it?

Nothing.

Ralmir grew flustered mentally. Tell me!

Silence.

"What is this Tomb you speak of? I know not what you seek." he questioned the prophet, his voice taking on the mask of an oblivious one. His eyes scowling in the darkness of his hooded cloak that hung around his body, covering his body as a whole.

Tomb! Tell me what you see!

Silence.

"You...you do not know what you possess!" The prophet exclaimed incrediously. His eyes looked over the man in front of him, and spoke more calmly, more controlled and composed. His mouth uttered words once more. The golem remained fixated upon the individual who had so much power now, his three eyes turning very slowly, analysing and predicting.

"Who you are is very much my buisness. And the buisness of those two factions. Have you realised what a vital piece you have now become, and as such, are going to be attacked by both sides of this war? You have initated the first move. The other pieces are reacting. To what end have you done this? Or....have you found this monumental device of power in ignorance?" The Prophet said, mocking him slightly if that was the case.

"More intruders enter the vicinity. Twenty Dark Ones. No Crimson Blades. More shall follow. Your command?" The golem growled information to the prophet helpfully, as his senses detected the forces around them. Indeed, he was correct. Both sides had launched scouts in the general vicinity of the power surge. The Dark Ones had the advantage of being prepared and having very swift transportation, although the Crimson Blades had far more places of origin.

The Prophet seemed not really mind the information of the presence of the Dark Robes.

"So what now? Will you side with them?" He asked decisively.

Join them. They will help you. commanded Tomb.

Why? I do not know much of these Dark Ones. Who is to say they're trustworthy?

Do what is safe, you must. Your destiny, you must choose. Face against both Dark Ones and Crimson Blades, if you choose neutrality.

Ralmir closed his eyes and opened them after a moment of hesitation. He eyed the two before him from under the dark hood.

"I will make my decision upon meeting them. No more, no less." he spoke, crossing his arms across his muscled chest, which was covered by his robes.

"Fine, choose them. But be warned. Manipulation lies in every corner of this world!" The prophet exclaimed, pointing his strange finger at the tomb bearer, his eyes narrowing as he did so. His mouth was a strange curl, a sort of grim satisfaction.

The golem looked on impassively, it's eyes continuing to swirl. It seemed unmovable, a dominating tower of this land. Perhaps even guardian to it. But such an idea was idiotic. This guardian served few purposes, and that certainly was not the welfare of the people. Such a strange construction of unearthly metal and possessed intent. It seemed like those massive blocks for hands could smash down castles with only a swipe, it's body being able to receive gruelling punishment, that shining black matieral which shone in this dying light.

The sun was glowing a soft red as it dipped slowly into the horizion. The sky seemed to be bleeding into the blue waters, the crimson blood illustrating the world with it's mortal wound.

The prophet turned, and began walking in the other direction. His movements were quickly made, obviously attempting to get out of the area as quickly as possible. His clothes made a satisfying noise as he span on his heel, the whoosh noise of air being moved against.

This golem, which stood lurking over the tomb bearer, seemingly still trying to deduct something from him, did not move until shortly after the Prophet had began to walk away. Such was the golem's instinct and instructions, to protect his master. The golem moved it's massive chin, making no noise. It seemed to be making an attempt to speak again, for it's own will. It managed to do so, it's voice now quiet, almost reflective, imparting some words of secret wisdom to this tomb bearer.

"Master used to be one of them. He has read. Lustful he is. Betrayed. Waiting. Waiting he is. Careful you must be. Caution." The golem spoke subtly, apparently without his master's consent or notice.

After that small rather cyptic message, the golem turned and began to plod away, it's movements slow but powerful, it's limbs hard and heavy. His boots of metal sank into the sand less than it should be for one of such make, one would expect him to sink many inches into the damp sand. Possibly the assistance of magic there, or the light nature of the shining black metal used in his construction.

The two faded as they had appeared, seeming unreal spectres in this world. Had they even been real? They hopped into this place so easily, and departed so quickly, that the mind did not really think they were there at all. Such strange people.

The sparse darkened clouds began to rain, a light shrinking of tears to mark the occasion of this bleeding and dying sun as it sank slowly into obscurity for this life. The sound of the large screach of water which the tombbearer had just come from was pleasant, the large amounts of tears meeting oceans of sorrow, gentle splashes coming from them. The area around the tombbearer seemed completely isolated and alone now, but he was very far from. This scene seemed slightly grey, and hopeless as a result.

A gust of gentle cold wind mournfully passed Ralmir, in the direction the new figures approached from.

The Dark Ones. Mages of secrecy. Mages who sought what Ralmir had now. All with specific purpose and own personal drive, and utter devotion to the one who would send thier orders.

The golem was indeed correct, this was a small determined group who had not just stumbled on Ralmir by chance. They knew where he was, and had arrived here shortly. Other groups had teleported into other suspected areas, but now confirmation of a powerful entity had been sent.

The Master was pleased as he heard the news, and sent his instructions.

The group of around thirty black robed figures, thier cowls preventing any dying light from revealing thier various and differing faces, approached with zeal. Thier movements were strong and purposeful, but organised. They did not talk to one another. Such was unneccisery. All knew what this person meant to the Master, and as such, that meaning was transfered to all members of this elite coven.

They began to walk forward, soon approaching. All had staves, ones made of a strange dark purple wood.

Like a dark cloud, they advanced forward, like a group of the acolytes of death.

Ralmir remained where he was, studying the approaching Dark Ones with hidden eyes under his cloak's hood. In the dimming of the light of day, the shadows had grown longer, and now his entire face lay in deep darkness. Ralmir studied each's face, their attire, their items in hand.

I sense power in these men.

Dark Ones they are. Powerful in arcane they are. More are coming. Suspect you to be bearer of Tomb, they do. Tell not of this.

Damn right.

Ralmir watched as the Dark Ones approached, then halted before him, fanning out to form a half circle around Ralmir. Ralmir spoke,

"Why do you bother me with your presence, Dark Ones?" he demanded, his eyes flashing briefly under the hood with defiant strength.

Ralmir remained still, his senses deep in the realm of the arcane. They would not even be able to begin any incantations without him knowing. In his mind, he realized that he could sense the arcane much more clearly now, it was as if he had almost become a god. His breathing was deep and slow, his posture relaxed but expectant. His presence seemed to dominate the landscape, the fabrics of reality folding aside to allow him to pass. Ralmir's hands remained at his side.

Inside, Tomb smiled...

The Dark Robes slithered around the Tomb Bearer, thier dark robes having a sort of animation of thier own, the heavy matieral moving slightly in the cold wind. The weather was growing more ominous, those dark clouds now having streaks of darker lines, possibly lightening was building. Perhaps these Dark Robes had summoned up a thunder to strike this man down? Such things one could not know, few knew of thier power.

The clouds seemed to blot out the sky, the dark grey now covering this area like a cancer. Distance grey trees, grey waters, grey faded sunlight, as if it was filtered to old age. Time seemed slower, abstract now as these Dark Robes as they were known, swirled around him, forming a circle. The circle was connected by the touching of robes, the solid thump of a staff as it touches the grey ground. In unision they stamped thier purple staffs, as if to signify the circle had been formed. Was this too, a spell? Or just a method of doing things? Pragmatic or a traditionalist way? More speculations.

Another thump on the ground. A growl from the heavens above, the arguement of thunder in the sky. Soon to crash down to earth it appeared. A large rush of wind rushed past, animating those black robes, making the circle seem like a constantly twisting snake of obsidane, scales of cloth and fangs of jade wood. The wind did not reveal these mage's faces, such an action was done only when required. A mage's cowl offered them a certain protection, and a certain superior power of being unknown to the world.

One did however, make some movement which was different from the others. With his left hand, gloved in a soft and immaculate black matieral, he reached for his cowl, preparing to show himself.

---

We have found this individual Master. What now?

A rare communication. Such times gave chills of excitement through the most resigned and cynical mage within this coven. These orders were coming from The Master! Few spoke to the Master at all, personally, let alone a mental communication. Such times gave new hope and zeal to these mages.

The Master was currently within his own study, looking at his maps, deducing and rethinking plans for the hundreth time. His eyes scanned arcane symbols dipicting planned teleportation areas, hands went over features on his strange and mystic map which responded to what he wanted to see, and his mind continued to control the movements of all.

The Master replied quickly, almost a hint of excitement in his voice. The Master was never sad, never happy, never really pleased in normal times. But these were not normal times. The Master had gained a more human nature, but only slightly. His appearance was still one of a wraith, his repuation of being cold and efficent chilled the blood and sobered the senses, his intent with the coven ever revered. It was a slight fracture in his mask, if he did have a mask. Many doubted he was even human.

Some even whispered he was the avatar of the God of magic, such was his power and reputation.

The Crimson Blades believed he was a demon, summoned by the Dark Robes and revered for instruction, such was his power and infamy.

The Master's voice was confident, strong and clear. The words projected mentally to the leader of that small group of Dark Robes.

Bring him back here. Summon other groups if required. At all costs. Use any means. Good luck Dumar.

The word was sent instanously.

Orders were sent. People were put onto standby. If Dumar required, the entire Cathedral of Dark Robes could be summoned, to get that tomb. Utter devotion was to the Master, and his word was the word of God. He wanted that tomb, and nothing would stop them.

Nothing.

---

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Dumar Guildenstern. May I ask, what you are doing in such parts? More specifically, what are you doing in such parts with such a device? You know of what I speak."

He spoke rather eloquently, his accent being knightly and refined. It was a voice hardly suited to the blackness of the robes, but his face told differently. His face was not ugly, no harsh lines of concentration or of stress. His face was shapely, well formed and proportioned. His hair was well kempt, combed in the manner a noble might have it, although still practical an managable. Those golden locks were still bright in this grey situation, the oppressive land around them seeming not to touch him. Indeed, he was part of it in some ways.

His purple eyes swirled, those depths having knowledge that one such of his age, according to commonfolk, should not know. Those purple eyes seemed to be honest, his intent pure. No deception in his heart.

This much was true.

Dumar awaited an answer, his thoughts hardly on the boy he had recently saved. He did not have egosentric thoughts about how he would be put down in history as being the one responcible to bring the Tomb back. Hardly that. The Dark Ones, by nature, were rather humble and orderly, never boasting, and never really concerned with personal glory. Personal power and status within the coven, status which provided one with further knowledge and further recognision in the coven, perhaps. Knowledge was thier faith of choice, and the Master was thier God. The Master did not like bigots, but devoted and wise acolytes. Such people were useful, pliable, practical.

Dumar certainly did not want to fight such a man. He very well knew that he could die easily, his power was not great. Others would come to assist them he knew that. But such a being could do terrible damage before he was contained.

He wondered what the device was, he knew little about it. Master had explained some reason why he needed such a device, and that the owner of it would be immensely powerful.

Master spoke of it in a strange way, like it was the holy grail, the secret to immortality, the prime mover of everything in his existance.

He awaited his answer, his spells on his mind and his heart racing. Death was close, he knew that. Every word he spoke had to be said carefully, for a wrong word at the wrong time could spell his doom.

Ralmir glared at the mage from the darkness of his hood. When he spoke it was with a sense of raw power that unwittingly accompanied his every syllable. A lesser man might have cowered from his voice alone, so potent it seemed to be.

"I am from these lands, from the day I spew forth from the womb. I assure you, there is no device on my person of which you seek. If you would explain what it is you seek, perhaps I will assist you in locating it. The strength of my family is strong in the arcane, descendants of a long lineage of arcane users."

Ralmir glanced at each of them, remaining perfectly still. He knew what the Dark One was seeking, but he didn't know why. Besides, he wished to keep his discovery to himself, lest they try to wrest it from his grasp. If it came to that, he would not hesitate to defend his possession by all costs. If it were something indeed terrible, he would keep it from the wrong hands, and keep it from worldly knowledge.

Good, good. Wise in consultations you are...

Ralmir secretly summoned a light breeze to flow toward them, from over the water and blow pleasingly past this group. It would not raise any alarming behavior, and it's summoning was hardly on the arcanic charts, so subtle, so careful he had summoned it.

Dumar's face kept that same composed and rather polite face, all sign of fear swallowed within his soul, his physical manifestation in this worl revealing naught of his concerns about this situation. It was not over the lie that this solitary man span, nor was it over the concerns that he might die. He had overcome that fear a few seconds ago, understanding that everyone must die. He reminded himself of a sermon that Master had given to everyone previously, when the great scale of events was revealed more fully. Such sermons were rare, one had to savour every teaching word that the Master spoke, it was like God himself had spoken his word to his chosen.

It was over the idea, that troubling thought that his recent aquired apprenti, that squire which this very group of mages had saved, would be left without him if he died. Over the short period of preparations, his new found apprenti was highly questioing, and very much still frightened. He was a small child thrown into this frightening world of adults, and such adults that were uncaring and cold. But not Dumar. Dumar was the only real one to show compassion to Felix.

What would happen to him, that shaking and inexperianced squire should he die? He knew that no individual would dare use the squire, or really care to speak to him if his master was alive. But if he fell in this battle, who knew what that squire would have to face?

Abandon such thoughts. Dumar rebuked himself for thinking like that, it could cost you your life, he knew that. Greatness requires sacrifice, not only his own. He was willing to take those risks, for there was much to achieve here.

Dumar spoke, his voice still calm, requesting and polite.

"Please dissist in these lies. You will not convince us that which we all feel and know. We come here to understand your intent with the device. You can understand our concerns with such power you wield, thus the protection. Also, the Crimson Blades would be far less talkative about such matters."

Again, this much was true. The Dark Robes as they were known, wanted to use this individual to thier advantage. There were many continigency plans, and the Master had reinstructed Dumar as he spoke. The Master had a new set of thoughts, ones which were far more practical and effective.

Dumar felt slightly more relieved.

Ralmir growled silently. These Dark Ones were probing too much for his patience. He had had enough of their petty behavior toward him. With a swift motion he reached up with one hand and pulled the hood off his head. He quickly undid the cloak that covered his body, revealing the tattoo'd lean and muscular body of Ralmir.

Ralmir rapidly conjured and combined the elements of his family's strength and pulled them toward the epicenter...himself...

The winds picked up rapidly and spun wickedly around the man as he also commanded the waters to surge from the basin and angrily crash toward the Dark Ones. In the midst of the chaos that had seemed to suddenly unleash, Ralmir's voice was heard seeming to come from every direction.

"Leave me be! Your mistakes are great, Dark Ones"

The village was aflame, the sky painted a glowing orange red under the orders of the newly in command avatar, Maxx. This village was harbouring mages, and so must be put to the torch, he said. And so it was done.

Maxx's army was an impressive one. Knights with gleaming ornate armour, thier grizzled faces beaten into shape by thier prejudice driven conflicts of many years, and thier weapons forged into thier hands, always gripped against the foes of thier God. Younger more inexperianced knight errants, who were attempting to prove thier worth to thier mentors, thier newly made chain mail and small spherical shields with the decoration of thier coat of arms proudly displayed on their bodies. Thier faces were young, but thier eyes in combat became mad with zelous bloodlust, wanting to crush the enemies of thier religion to gain more appraise within the eyes of his peers.

Such young knights were burning the village, the populance fleeing in all directions to this carnage. These warriors were not used to such scenes, but thier conscience had been honed into a fined and deadly weapon by the Crimson Blade's words.

Whatever it costs to remove the taint of the Dark Ones from this land. Those who it has touched must be removed, purged, cleaned.

Arrows flew from numerous archers within this torn apart community, the skirmishing archers on foot releasing thier arrows into any target. If it was an old husband with an old family sword within his weathered hands, a wife who was fleeing into the fields of corn that was now slowly becoming alight, or children crying in the dark safe corners of burning buildings, all were put to thier deaths. To purify the body by killing it, to let the soul be free and become clean in it's reincarnation.

Maxx looked down at the village from atop a overlooking hill, the flame's taint cleansing light forming a devilish warmask upon the hilltop, which seemed to mock the inhabitants as they were all slaughters.

Maxx was pleased.

Things were going ahead as planned, and his forces were being refined further. He had formed a new regiment, a highly secretive one in order to forfill his purposes. Knowing that at one point, when he was victorious, that this host would need to use magic to create the desired outcome, and possibly even to fight the magic users of this world, he needed those more elite to understand this.

What he created, was an elite, inquisitoral unit. Small in number, but versed in the arcane. His explaination was to this small specially selected group, was that in order to fully remove the taint, it would be required to use thier own power against them. They were the martyers of this cause, people who would be forever remembered for allowing thier bodies to become a tool for the cause. The end justified the means.

These Inquisitors kept to themselves in marches, thier minds working and learning. Maxx had been teaching them magic, both of light and dark, elemental and universal. They had been apt studants, not being the strongest, but the most intellegent. Being the most intellegent, these were the most likely to rebel and cause distruption if they, without guidance, saw his own magic and saw the hypocricy of it all. Within thier new positions, they could be constantly assisted into accepting it all when the time came.

They learned as thier journey continued, more power seeping into them, a deadly combination of swordsmanship and arcane might. They had more power than knights now, both in combat and status. To other parts of this army, these individuals were respected for their skill and sacrifice for the cause. Thier bodies would become more tainted supposedly, and thus make them unable to enter the happier elements of the afterlife.

The end justified the means. Such a maxim was burned into all of the armies minds.

Maxx was pleased indeed as he watched his army lay waste to this place. Many scouts and informants were far ahead, a few Inquisitors along with them, to make decisions and relay news. Inquisitors were not the blunt objects like the knights, who had to be directed at every turn. This elite selection of individuals were granted logic and wisdom, to make decisions of thier own. As users of the arcane, they could inform Maxx almost instantously of the current situation, and ask for advice and orders.

The host's mind had gone, and the device had possessed him completely, the host's soul almost completely driven out.

Inquisitors were going to be the victory of this war, Maxx thought with a degree of pride, the flames warming his cheeks.

If these mages were concerned by the turn of events, they showed no sign of it. They continued to stand in that circle, remaining motionless as thier robes whipped about their persons. The winds threatened to lift them from the floor, thier robes to ripped from thier bodies, but they held firm.

Dumar frowned in something of frustration, the only sign of concern from this group. This was stupidity on the tomb bearer's part! Evidently the one who held this was either addled by the new power which he now possessed, or naturally eager to fight. Perhaps it was prejudice against their kind, he thought reflectively.

"We come here without affront, peacefully and willing to speak, yet you throw this back in our faces! Such brutish and simple manners will get you killed if you proceed in this way!" Dumar cried over the winds his finger pointed towards the tomb bearer, his voice slightly strained as he attempted to raise his voice over the crashing waters which threatened to engulf them within a few short moments.

Ralmir glared at the man. His lips were pursed tightly with a hatred of these men that had come to bother him. He growled at them, his voice easily rising above the winds.

"Did I not ask for you to leave? Do you not see I do not wish to discuss this any further?!"

His rage mounted with each spoken word, until it burned in his mind, his blood pounding at his temples as he roared and released the fury of the waves and winds upon the mages. In their confusion he escaped the circle and leapt to the lake not too far from them. He strode upon the water, commanding the waves to whisk him further from the mages. He turned to look upon them in his rage, still commmanding the waves to pull him further from teh shore...

"Ae-feaeoh!" Dumar spoke, the words of magic commanding the spell which he had around him. A contingency spell, a spell which made himself, and all the other Dark Robes fade from here, into nothingness in a short snap of blue energy, the sound echoing as if struggling to make itself heard on this existance.

The circle of mages faded, only to reappear upon those waters which were spraying beautifully under the Tomb Bearer's command. They were floating just above the waters, thier robes untouched by the water which was violently being sprayed at them. Indeed, they kept the same increasing speed as Ralmir. The mages floated above the water, no ripple or disturbance did they cause, they glided close to the water gracefully. The black robes cast thier own shadows behind them, the reflections of the water making it seem like some monster was lurking beneath each and everyone one.

"Calm yourself. Discussion is what prevents conflict. You want conflict? Because your very presence here causes conflict between us mages and those fantatics who would oppose the abilities we display here today! Innocents will die if you are ignorant." Dumar said convincingly, being directly in front of Ralmir, his voice carried over the roar of the main player's command of the waters. Dumar seemed calm, his thoughts composed and utterly unfearing. His golden hair was not moving as it should at such speed Ralmir noticed, and neither was his robes, nor the robes of his comerades did move as they should. They gently swayed as if a gentle breeze was upon them, but hardly the affects of the great force they should recieve was evident.

And in the middle of the lake, Ralmir finally halted and turned to the mages that had followed him. They sense a strong power, and they want it for themselves...who wouldn't? he thought to himself, as he crossed his arms in front of the Dark Ones and looked upon them.

At long last, the drama flowed with his words, "What do you wish to do about them?" he asked, indicating the Crimson Blades. He could sense their relief, their joy to see at long last, that the Tomb bearer had opted for discussion. In a way, they could even see his intelligence, which began to show from behind his mask of arrogance.

Dumar was indeed pleased, his relief that he would not have to call upon his magic to attack this man. The others stood above these waters, calmly and collectively, the relief shared but not shown.

"The Crimson Blades, as I am sure you will know, are seen as a group of rightous paladins, who supposedly protect the realms against all who would use magic. They see the gift of the arcane as the devil's touch. To them, to use magic, is to be condemned in God's eyes. They have remained oppressors to not only us, The Coven, but to all magic users, who would be independant, or those who form thier own groups. But, now things have altered for the worse. The Crimson Blades have gained new direction, a new strength and zeal to end our kind. For indeed, wheter you like it or not, to the Crimson Blades, we are ally. The Crimson Blades will ensure both alterers of reality and those ignorant and innocent who they suspect might hide us or being lying about us, will die by thier sword or burn to thier zelous flame."

"Such things we cannot allow to happen. The device you have is the other side of the coin, the equilibrum of this conflict. The Crimson Blades, we have been informed, have recovered something similar to what you now possess. Fate has granted magic users with our own equal device, to ensure we have a chance. Not only for our own existance and survival, for to protect the innocent from thier ignorant crusades, which has already claimed many innocent lives, both mage and non-mage."

A pause to allow the words to affect.

"What the Master, the one who guides and protects all the Coven and has all magic-user's interests at heart, proposes, is that you listen to him. he wants an audiance with yourself, to ask of you questions, to ask your assistance, your allegiance. Appreciate the gravity of such a request, and the implications it could have. The Master has never asked an audiance with anyone outside the Coven, and very rarely does he ask for one even within it. Together, yourself and our forces could battle the Crimson Blades and ensure our survival, and that of this world's order."

Ralmir glanced down into the waters, noting the fish that swam beneath the surface with passing curiosity. Alas, he could not just remain here and watch the fish idle on by, carefree.

Carefree...something we have forgotten...

Tomb's voice interrupted Ralmir's thoughts, bringing him back to the conversation.

Wariness, I warn you. Something is not right about this Master. Take caution, you should.

Right...

Ralmir looked up to the mage, "I don't believe I've caught your name? I am Ralmir. Who are they?" he asked, gesturing to the remainder of the mages behind their leader.

Just as I feared...brother has been found.

What is this brother you speak of?

He is the sword, I am the sheath. Together, we form a strong bond, and maintain unparalleled strength. Apart, we only balance, neutralize.

And this is why you are sought...

Yes. Yes... Go on, make your decision, you must.

Ralmir spoke once more, "Let us meet your Master. An audience I shall grant him, at the least."

"I am Dumar, Dumar Guildenstern. These, these around me are simply representations of mages. Illusions if you may, that if a combat arises, will be replaced by an actual mage. Hence, thier emotionless appearance, thier static qualities. A spell devised by The Master himself I might add, one which allows us to appear more in number in escorts, when there are very few actual mages present. Thus, we can appear numerous in many places, and actually defend where we are needed. Deception has been our survival for a great time." Dumar said, explaining.

That much explained these bodyguards. They had no independant thought, but each illusion had a capable "user". In various locations, some indeed in the Cathedral itself, there were mages ready to replace them within a few short seconds. The further the mage was from the actual illusion, the faster they could appear. The spell was almost completely flawless, and almost completely undetectable as well. The Master knew how to weave his spells.

"Now, I will take you to The Cathedral as some call it, or the Fortress. It is our main home, it has sheltered all of us, and it is where we reside. The Master can be found there, and it is our inpenetrable castle. My spell shall allow you to pass into this place, allow it to occour."

Dumar breathed out slowly, moving his hand in small circular motions. He began to chant softly, ""TEah-seeeay-lu-raae-see-peahn, deahmah-baeoon-de. KUah-luoo-ha-te baeahn-kuoo-ha, aemmoo-fe haah-fe raaen-seeoo-haeay-lu-ku."

The world faded from view in a bright blue, to be slowly replaced by white....then a intense black.


---

This is as it should be?

Indeed. You have done well, our cause is closer to suceeding due to your actions. Such actions will be remembered.

My thanks Master!

Remember. Speak nothing of this. Remember your vow.

I remember it well Master.

Do you trust me?

Of course! There is not one of us who does not!

Good. Then allow him to come into this location I am providing. I shall meet him there, alone.

Very well. Wisdom and guidance.

Such I provide.


---


Senses returned to Ralmir, but vision did not it seemed. This place was slightly cold, the smell of magic was in the air. The smell of items used in spells, that odd fragrance that very magic user knew well. The hairs on the neck raised to attention of this place, it seemed baptised in the raw essance of the arcane, this place was indeed like a Cathedral. It seemed to sooth and guide, make thoughts clearer and more eleqoent.

But, there was not sight here. Everything was dark, an eternal blackness. This lasted only for a short number of seconds. A faint blue flickered on both sides of the eyes. Then, another pair, which illuminated the area slightly. Were they on the ceiling or floor? Another pair, and another. It was on the floor, and this chamber was massive. It was longer than it was wide, and slowly the detail filled the room.

The floor was a cold black marble, with dark blue flowing within the rock. The small orbs of lights hovered gently above the stone, providing light to this training room. The lights continued to turn on slowly, provided a small light in this massive place. Then....they stopped.

"Ralmir Firifo. Do you know where you stand?"

The lights became brighter, to reveal the full colour and shades of this place, and the figure who said such words. The voice seemed so powerful, his presance commanding awe and utter respect. It seemed like a God was here, commanding time and space to speak with you.

He had black robes, his figure was impossible to judge what was body or robe. He seemed like a curling shadow even now, within this soft blue light. Only two things were really distinguished, those bright slits of green light which were his eyes. THat green did not reveal malice, nor compassion, just observance.

Ralmir squared off with the Master, and looked him dead in the eyes. The Master, although his gaze was potent, was unable to shift Ralmir's own eyes away. Ralmir studied the man, studied his walk, studied his voice.

Highly skilled he is...rarely have I found such a strength in my past.

I can tell...

Proceed with caution, you must.

Who wouldn't, before him? Ralmir replied sarcastically.

He never shifted his gaze from the Master, and finally spoke at long last.

"You know me. I know naught of you, except what your minions have told me. This is your domain, I presume..."

The air seemed to get more colder in this place. If one felt it, one might not think that this man was chilling the room because of his dark nature and spirit, but that it was becoming colder due to the chamber's strange holiness. As if the heat was being drawn out of it to make it more pure, more reverant. The lights continued to glow, the soft blue light suiting this room very well, and also making the cold seem more natural and less oppressive.

The Master spoke, after a few seconds after Ralmir's turn of conversation, replying in the same controlled and calm manner. His tone was neutral. No...it was not neutral, not neutral at all. As his words came forth, it was as if he was speaking to a studant, or honoured guest. They seemed to make the world more comprehendable, more understandable.

"You are the first to stand there, without being one of my community. What the Crimson Blades would have to learn what we keep within these walls, what preparations we have made for them over the decades, what this temple holds within it. Consider yourself privilaged in that regard." The Master spoke, almost musing to the ideas presented. He seemed to play with his words, as if testing the imagination by using them. The Master had surprising charisma, one seemed to trust his words and be drawn into his enthralling schemes, his posture and manner graceful and sublime, his intellegence a fountain of knowledge, his instructions flawless. Never surprised, never caught off guard, The Master was the head of this community, and almost worshipped by his followers. Not with blind devotion, like the Crimson Blades, but worshipped almost like some sort of father figure, a teacher and guide.

The Master outstreached his hand, the hand shrouded by shadow and black cloth, the robe's material reacting slowly to the movements being made, as this was all a dream.

"And...and in the regard to what you now possess." The Master said softly, almost a whisper. There was no jealously in his voice, no oppressiveness.

The arm withdrawed back to it's original position, by his side, becoming one again with the shadow that was him. The blue light shone around him, highlighting some form of his robes, the sleeves, the trim...but little more. Those green eyes sparkled as they looked into Ralmir's own.

He turned his back on him, a sign of trust or insult? The Master spoke again, his near whisper voice still holding true that unattainable sense of clarity. This wraith mage seemed to have every movement prepared, every gesture deliberate and practiced, like some evolving theatre where the only actor who knew where everything was going was him, and him alone.

"Do you know fully what you possess, magi?" The Master said, now with a slight hint of amusement. Very faint, very subtle. More freindly than mocking.

Ralmir gazed intently upon the backside of the Master as he responded.

"Would you reveal your secrets to a complete stranger? Would you show them how to defeat you by showing the entire 'assembly' picture? I think not. Therefore, I shall only tell you this. What I possess is something far complex, for even yourself, and Fate has led me to its possession."

How's that?

Tomb is impressed with your wisdom.

I don't know if I call it wisdom, but rather wariness.

Call it what you will.

The Master inhaled some air sharply through whatever lips he had. The sound was distinct, long drawn. It created suspence in the air, to what this mighty arch-mage's responce was going to be. He extended both arms outwards, in opposite directions, like the way you do to hug someone. His wraith-like robes extended outwards, hanging grandly from his mysterous frame. The shadows extended to greet this movement, and his voice came out with still that oddly pleasant, musing tone.

"What secrets?"

He turned, his arms still extended as he did so. Those green eyes were laughing at him it seemed, a private sick joke.

"I know what you possess. I know how to use what you have. I know the incantations required, the runes needed to etch, I know everything about what you possess, both in that Tomb and you as a Magi. I was just wondering, if you yourself knew what gravity such an item carries with it...and responcibility. I will assume you do...." The Master said.

He brought his arms back to his side, this almost theatrical performance continuing.

"What do you intend to do with it." He asked plainly.

Ralmir closed his eyes momentarily and then looked back at the mage before him. His question repeated itself over and over in his mind.

"What do you intend to do with it."

I do not know...

"What do you intend to do with it."

But fate must lead me as it will...

"What do you intend to do with it."

The real question however...

Ralmir looked back up at the Master and intoned, "Perhaps, the real question here is what do you intend to do with this...and myself?"

"Why, save what I have worked hard for. For magic to be accepted, and freedom restored. As a result, the Crimson Blades must be twarted. They have a device. If you are not on our side, then we do not. If the Crimson Blades win, we all lose." The Master said cooly and collectively, the question completely anticipated.

"Now, back to my question. What are you going to do with it. What side are you on." The Master asked directly, taking a step forward, his robes flowing forward to accomidate this change.

Ralmir lowered his head as he thought to himself. The Crimson Blades, although scarcely heard of by himself, had been known to be ruthless to the point of destruction. He thought back to his family, and how the Crimson Blades would destroy them, as well as those like himself, arcane users. I can't let that happen...

Ralmir's face rose from under his mane of hair that hung down, framing his face like elegant curtains of black. His piercing eyes matched that of the Masters, and for a moment, the two appeared to be equals. When Ralmir spoke, it was with a sense of responsibility, of determination. The words were like music to the Master's ears.

"I'm not going to thwart them...I'm going to stop them."

Ralmir held his hand out, "Are you and your minions with me?"

The Master had gained a new extremely powerful ally. It did not matter if this ally was slowly being eaten alive by the device he had, his own mind becoming more and more dedicated to actually using it to reseal the protections around that dreadful thing of legend, or unleash it. The result was the same, or at least the motions were now. The Crimson Blades held the other device. The Master without this ally, would be in a serious situation. Now, the levels had been evened, perhaps now the Coven had an advantage.

"Good. I suggest you work with us, and not direct us. We have been working on this campaign for an extremely long time, longer than you have existed. I have all my plans arranged, all preparations set about. The Crimson Blades will be arriving here within two short days. We will defend this place. Agreed?"

The Master was more directing than asking.

Ralmir nodded in understanding, "That we shall. However, I suggest you understand that I am not under your control. I am merely an accomplice of similar interests. Now what have you done in regards to preparations for their arrival?"

Ralmir crossed his arms in front of his muscular chest, his legs spreading out a bit more for balance. In a sense, he almost appeared arrogant. Then again, Tomb was having a small hand in that...

The Master turned and began walking, his robes moving enchantingly behind him, like some character from a morbid story. He spoke as he did so, his near whisper voice audible to Ralmir. Ralmir followed his movements, as it was clear that he wanted to be followed.

"Follow my steps." He instructed, more of an afterthought as he began to walk towards a featureless wall, the light blue illumination making it seem a cold stone wall of impassive nature. The Master strode towards, and into it fearlessly, his shadow form dissolving completely into it.

Ralmir, trusting the Master, and knowing that this place was a place of magic and riddling logic, followed. The wall, when walked into, melted into nothingness to the eye, although to others it would be intact. The wall seemed to have a disturbance, a set of ripples, then fade completely from view, to reveal an eternal black corridor. It was like waking up from a deep slumber, dark patches still remained...and this corridor did indeed have things within it.

The Master could not be seen, although the tomb bearer knew he still walked on.

"Continue to walk." The Master said, his distinct voice carrying from down this corridor consisting of a sea of black. The entire experiance was eerie, a strange world of unrealities which interwined with realities. The Master himself was the greatest oddity of this place, a creature of gentle words and well placed gestures, made of shadow and eloquent magic. Strange was this place, the world's sense seemed not to touch this place.

The black, supposed corridor, as steps were taken by Ralmir, soon shattered and reformed into something different. The walls surged backwards and forwards, reforming it seemed. Ralmir knew this could not be true. What he had just walked through, was most likely just a portal of sorts, and this room was coming into "focus" as it were. Most likely at least.

The room was like a sea, a sea which now contained more than just that empty ocean of black. It now contained smudges of grey, which were smeared in random places. They pulsated sickeningly as this room came into sharper reality, the room gained dimensions. The walls pulsated less, the movements seemed to stop.

A soft light, not artifical now, filled this place. A warm, glowing red light of the sun. Rays of it flowed into the darkness in a brutal manner.

Then, everything came clear.

They were in what would seem the top of a tower, the highest room in this chapel of magic. The walls were not walls, but completely made of glass windows, revealing the desolate surroundings. A warm dying sun was going down for the day, and already one of the two moons could be seen rising in response. The chamber floor was a dark black marble, with no visible enterance or exit.

The Master was looking out these massive panes of would be glass, looking at the grey desert which surrounded this momumental arcane church. It oversaw everything around, well, the everything that was nothing. Not a tree, not a rock. Only a white-grey snow which covered it all, this bitter deadland. The splattered rays of dying crimson light made these surroundings more wounded.

"They will attack us in two days. At least, the first assault to test our defences. A minor skirmish, which will barely test us. These minor skirmishes will continue for a while, almost relentless. Aimed to tire us. Aimed to make us arrogant, overconfident. Then, after two more additional days, they will assault us in full force. Such will be the way of this war." The Master informed. His wraith form was looking out of the window, his arms nondescript, hidden in his pillar of black.

"I have prepared everyone. They all have thier orders. Everything is in operation. We can fight these Crimson Blades with your assistance. Thier champion, and his elite group will be the the focus of thier assault. You know something of the opposing force's champion?" Master asked, more of affirming things he already knew.

"Fall to my blade Dark Robe!"

A clash of steel and a grunt of exursion from both sides, the Inquisitor's mace coming down full force onto the mage's crackling staff, the glowing green energies attempting to whip at the Inquisitor's determined face. The two were locked in this death grip, the Dark Robe trying to channel more energy into his staff, the black steel surging with power, and the Inquisitor dampening the magic with his own chanting. The two were alone in this conflict, the death lock occouring on this almost pitch black cornfield. Sparks of light illuminated this arena of combat, the green energy would arc from the Dark Robe's staff towards the Inquisitor when he gained the upper hand in the battle of wills, only to be bounced away by a swift counter force of a dispel. The blackness flowed back in when the magic was suppressed, the sharp flashes of unnatural green light illuminating this skirmish.

"Repent magic user!" The Inquisitor demanded, his mace being forced more into the mage, who was by now struggling to keep his muscles in contest with the Inquisitor's own. Another desperate blast of magic came from the staff, arcs of crackling energy which would have scorched both mind and body if it had connected. The Inquisitor, trained to fight the mages by using thier own techniques against them, prevailed again, the magic bolting harmlessly into the sky, the frustrated arcane force almost like an angry serpant as it had no target to unleash it's rage on.

The moon witnessed this combat with a passive eye, a cold passive eye which hung heavily in this clear sky.

The smell of burning o zone was heavy in the air from all of this magical usage. The Dark Robe had used numerous magics against this foe, but to no avail. Almost all of them the Inquisitor had matched with his own, or used cold steel to prevent the chanting from being completed. The Dark Robe was bleeding from his left arm from a slashing attack which caught him off caught, but the Inquisitor had been slightly crippled by an acid splash from the mage's own. The Inquisitor called upon religous will and fantatical zeal to ignore the pain and press on.

The Dark Robe called upon inner strength, and the raw will to survive to contest with this onslaught.

The two, determined to defeat the other, continued to chant at increasing volumes to outdo the other, the Inquisitor occasionally beaten, the Dark Robe occasionally losing ground. Both were well matched, so well matched that this battle could result in both of them being killed.

The Dark Robe, his robes slightly flayed from falling to the ground one to many times in his attempt to escape the Inquisitor's mace as he tried to prepare a spell, or teleport away. Alas, the Inquisitor with his own magics prevented escape.

Thus was the end of many of the scouts who did not get away in time, a bitter conflict to the death with one who could match thier own spells.

"I will not let a....mindless dog defeat me!" The Dark Robe retorted, his forehead furrowed in effort to keep the stronger man off him, and to summon all his mental prowess to aid him.

A flare of magical energies, a surge of power exploded into the Dark Robe as he called upon desperate and wild magic to his command. It was immensely dangerous what he was performing, a surge of magic through his body which would power his spells ten fold, but most likely be completely unmanagable.

But unmanagable would be good here.

An explosion of crimson energy, a physical force rammed into both of these warriors of high fortitude. The crimson energy was blinding, and it made the two fighters recoil from it in opposite directions, such was the intend. A fluttering of robes and the swoosh sound of a mace flying into the air, away from it's user.

The two were hurled away from one another, tossed into the field of corn. A few seconds past, and it was suprisingly the Dark Robe who rose first. His lighter robes and grasp of the situation gave him the inititave that he required.

"Fall damn you!" The mage almost screamed at the Inquisitor, who was slowly getting up from the floor, dazed and confused by the mind numbing energies which had just been displayed. The wizard was exausted by that, but by will alone, he dealt his last display of magic.

With an outstreached hand, half burnt from his own magics, a surge of pure white energy beamed from it truimphantly and desperately, a high pitched chime of the energy surging into being filled the air and the ears of both of them. The ray was overwhelming, and what defences the Inquisitor could call upon were not at thier full strength after that battering from that last surge.

The Inquisitor was engulfed by the white energy, and if the sound of the magic was not as loud as it was, a scream would have been heard coming out chillingly from that zelot. Even if the mage could hear him, he would grant no quarter.

He would not have done the same for him.

The beam ceased...and the mage stood swaying, in the night's cold air, under moon's stare, with the crop of corn as the audiance...and collapsed in fagitue, his last effort before blackness took over was to send a message.

They approach....


This war was soon to begin.

Ralmir stood at the window, gazing intently out into the surrounding lands. He glanced down to see they were at least seven stories high. More than enough height to see any activities outside the walls. He did not respond for a few moments as he studied the terrain.

Well? Now's the time to tell me what you know of your 'brother'...

You know enough, bearer of Tomb.

Very well then...

Inside, if it were even possible, the Tomb grinned to itself. Ralmir was doing just nicely to keep his plan in action. Humans, no matter who they came from, were always easily manipulated. Such had been the way with the one who had buried Tomb in the great lake of the Natallahs.

Ralmir turned his head to the Master and replied, "The other bears the second half of this relic. It is more aggressive, it is perhaps more dangerous. It will do everything it can to keep its goals alive..."

As if struck with a revelation, Ralmir continued, "That is why I'm here. To stop its plans, whatever they may be."

Ralmir turned to the window once more, gazing upon the landscape with piercing eyes. "I shall fight the bearer of Tomb's brother when he is revealed to me. I suspect your mages will be strong enough to dispel the normal enemy troops. I also suspect you will partake in this as well, to keep morale high. Undoubtedly, should the enemy see you in combat, their confidence will sway, their strength depleted by your mere presence. Use the reactions carefully, and use them well..."

It seemed that it wasn't Ralmir speaking those last words, but rather the words of Tomb itself, twisting Ralmir's tongue to its desires.

"No need to instruct me on how my presance will affect others. I know that well enough. Our mages will be greatly outnumbered, ten to one. The Crimson Blade will fall, but their Champion could present a serious problem. That is why you are the key to this combat, this siege. You will need to reach the champion, and combat him. To do this, you will need to combat your way through." The Master told.

"That same group which welcomed you will be your guards, along with some new additions to the group. These mages who will allow you to punch through the armour of the hulking giant. They are the best." The Master said quielty, still looking out of the window.

Another voice came from behind Ralmir, that deep throaty voice which all too real, not like the whispery voice of Master.

"So, this is the tomb bearer? You are to be the hand which brings our victory?" Keeper said, his gaunt face looking over the man.

Keeper was insect like, his long limbs seeming always on the verge of snapping. His tight fitting robes were practical, not the long flowing things of other mages. It shined in this crimson light, like leather around his body. He had a white bone short staff which was around his belt, much like a sword.

Ralmir studied Keeper with a cool gaze, and watched his eyes. They moved quickly, perhaps a little too quickly, as if Keeper had been caught with something he wasn't supposed to have. Then again, it could be just a mix of training and experience.

He would assume the latter.

"I will do what I can." Ralmir replied at long last, locking and keeping his gaze with Keeper.

Keeper gaunt face twisted into a sneer, those eyes of his seeming to find dissatisfaction in everything outside of the Coven. Those eyes were like the Master's in some respect, eternal and ethreal, outside of this world. Spheres which were just resting in this body. The Master's eyes seemed like energy, whereas the Keeper's were highly polished black marble, spheres which had little movement or emotion within them.

"It better be, for the sake of us and the rest of those who wish to use magic." He said derisively, crossing his thin arms tightly, revealing his arms boney nature. His elbows jutted out obscenely, he was like a skeleton with clothes fastened onto it, and tightly wrapped in pale white flesh which showed decades of worry and stress, frowning and toiling.

He raised his eyebrow, making his flesh streach out in responce to it. Those eyes remained focuses, scrutising. His throaty raspy voice spoke again, more cynical and with a hint of dark, black amusement.

"What sort of mage are you anyway. WHat is your major sphere of magic? Nercomancer? Abjuration? Elemental? Elemental. Am I right? And what degree have you achieved, what tests have you passed?" The Keeper asked, his voice growing more and more confrontational.

The Master simply looked out of the window, listening but making no comment. He seemed deep in thought, no, that was the wrong word. He was more of a musing of the events which were occouring, and events which he knew would occour.

Ralmir's eyes had the look of one who bore a heavy weight upon his shoulders, yet they were still light, giving the simultaneous look of carefree nonchalance. He drew his sleeves up and showed Keeper the incredibly intricate and detailed spells that wove around his arms. It was a testimony to high skills, and an experienced one could see that his skills were powerful. He lowered the sleeves once more and looked at him.

"I don't think I need to elaborate on my abilities. However, if you wish a demonstration, then I shall provide."

He glanced over as the Master turned to look out the window in deep thought. He turned his eyes back to Keeper and continued, "However, the possession of Tomb will grant me more strength in non-elemental spells."

He shifted his footing, squaring against Keeper. His gaze remained cool throughout the increasingly confrontational inquiries. He exerted an air of extreme patience, yet still harbored a presence of power that could not be hidden under his robes.

"My tests I have passed to the highest regard. My family alone is among the strongest air and water elementalists of the entire region. That alone commands respect, for we have worked at what we do with great diligence."

The Keeper seemed half satisfied as he let down his scowl a little and gave a little "humph" noise. He looked over his shoulder slowly to see that the Master had his hands on the large complete windows which made this chamber's walls up. He held out his wraith hands, the tendrils of shadow touching the glass, snaking across it slowly and enchantingly. No words came from The Master, but it was apparent that he was casting a spell.

"Ah, they have arrived then. Good. I did not even sense his arrival." The Keeper said hoarsely, his throat being in a constant state of strain it seemed. His throat had very thin skin on it, almost transluecent in appearance. He turned to the window which The Master was almost leaning on, looking in attention.

The Master was in the same position still, but the glass seemed to move....the glass wall seemed to shift further away from him. An intake of the cold air rushed into this chamber as it was unsealed and revealed to the elements. Due to the height they were at, the wind was utterly bitter, the savage seas of air crashing all around them. Keeper held his arms around him, and bent his legs slightly to prevent being blown away. The Master however, remained as nothing had happened.

The glass panel, like a drawbridge, lowered to make a bridge into the air, stopping at perfect level with the floor. Thus, it made a platform in which the Master could greet....whoever it was.

The Master strode forward into the elements, the air seeming only to pass by his as if he was a column of dread to them, walking calmly out on this glass window which supported him. He did not seem strained, those green eyes looked out to the distant sky for the one who they were expecting.

The winds howled in this chamber, howled against this magic using it seemed. Keeper winced his eyes slightly and put his slightly limp hand up to his face to block some of the gale. His voice strained as it normally did to be audible, this time fighting both the wind and his throat.

He asked, "What do you know of pegesai?"

Ralmir felt the twisting winds coil and whip up his robes around himself. With a hand that rose up, the winds surrounding him settled to a whisper, calming the winds in the room. He looked over to Keeper, nodding slightly.

"Pegasai are rare to be found, but are graceful creatures. I am familiar with them, and their uses."

As a sort of test to demonstrate to Keeper his abilities, he suddenly put his fingertips together steepled, with the palms facing each others. Instantly, the raging winds surrounding them suddenly gravitated underneath both Ralmir and Keeper. He focused it some more, bringing more rushing wind under their feet. Moisture began to condense together, forming misty platforms underneath them.

And to Keeper's surprise, the two rose into the air, supported merely by the force of wind. They remained several feet off the ground, with Ralmir's voice calling out.

"Is this good enough for you?"

"Hardly impressive. But nevermind that. Look ahead. See the beasts which approach." Keeper instructed, looking forward raptly and attentively himself. Obviously, something important was coming.

And The Master was there to greet them. The three of them.

At first, they could not be seen. But...soon, distant glimmers of colour, colour which broke against the crimson sky, the cloud being stained by the dying rays of light. It seemed far too surreal, that this was just a painting. Just a weaving of colours to please the eye, nothing more than that. Just an illusion which hid more ugly things which the eye did want to see, but prefered to devour these sights of falsitudes.

The three glimmers of striking colour came forward, the features becoming more clear now. Indeed, there were three. Three pairs of wings which beat slowly and heavily against the winds which were rapid and merciless. Twelve hooves which rode against the wind path, graceful they were.

But these were not normal pegasai. Something rode them, something too which was different.

Three black armoured figures were upon these creatures. And these creatures were the same shade of horrible black that the Master was, except with shades of purple which shone morbidly off thier reflective hair. These pegasai were far cries from the pearly beasts of legend, but rather the darker side of the tale, the side which had been forgotten.

Oh such creatures. They seemed to swim in these airs, blots within the sky which disturbed this picture of beauty. They...improved it, the constrast of this dying sun of golden crimsons, the dancing of light upon clouds which billowed together, and the dark pegasai which rode defiantly in the center, making the clouds themselves fear the dark riders, and allow them passage.

They drew near, and came towards The Master. The sound was heard now, of those beast's snorts and flaring, as they rode in utter contempt of this world. They rode, wanting to bring carnage around them, those burning eyes of pure manical flame granting them sight to see thier targets. The hooves seemed to crash against the sky, beating it, hammering it with the unholy metal which was burnt on through devil fire. These creatures were not of this world.

However, the riders were from this world, the darker unbelly of it. These knights, carrying mighty lances which threatened to tear a great rend in the skies themselves with those warping tips of infinate purple blackness, things which were both beautiful and dreadful to behold much like the dark pegasai. Within thier armoured sheilds they held light and practical shields which covered most of thier body, shields made of a most strange matieral which surface seemed to crawl with a life of it's own. The designs of the armour seemed too small, too weak at first...but then, it was realised that the design was elven. No, not elven....

"The Drow Skyravagers, I greet you." The Master welcomed the three knights which hovered impatiently by the Master's platform, thier armour making no noise, only the pegasi themselves made a noise, that of hooves scraping fleeing air and thier nostrils flaring.

"Master, we greet you and your Coven." The central knight said, his voice sophisticated and cruel, elven in accent, with a hint of a delightful cruelity about it.

"Are you prepared? Are we still in agreeance?" Master asked, as if speaking to equals. He was asking the question as if it did not really matter, that it was just another thing to muse.

The head drow knight nodded, his large malicous helmet nodding gently. A low laughter came from it, and an affirmation. "Yes, we certainly do. We shall be ready, when the time comes."

"Good. My thanks." The Master replied, and turned back inside the chamber.

And with that, the dark pegasi and the dark elves, reared upwards and turned back in the direction which they came, the sounds of thier hooves and graceful but malicous presance gone for now.

The Master returned into the chamber, and as it did so, the glass resumed it's full position. His robes curled around him in the usual fashion, as he looked at Keeper, then at Ralmir.

Ralmir watched quietly as the Pegasai disappeared from view. He mulled over their presence, all the while looking between Keeper and the Master. Finally, when he was sure both would be listening, he addressed the master.

"I've got several questions for you. First of all, those Pegasai. What will their purpose be in this conflict?"

He glanced out the window to the setting sun, taking comfort in the soft hues that painted the skies.

"Secondly, how is it you're able to foresee these events? I find that to be nearly impossible."

Nothing's impossible.

But surely foretelling the future is...

Be surprised, you will...

Ralmir looked calmly at the Master, awaiting his response.

The Master was almost ritualistic in responce, everything traditional in manner and reaction. Nothing was new, and nothing was unexpected. Those green slits which he had looked the same as they always did, observant and musing to the ways of the people around him.

"The Pegasi will deal with particular events during the course of this combat, depending on what choices are made. Or rather, the outcome of a massive array of choices. Think of these noble knights being the ones who shall adapt to this conflict as it continues." The Master answered with a slow calm pace, the pace of a teacher repeating old lessions to new studants, or an actor playing his part once more to a fresh audiance.

The Master flowed onwards, his movements without flaw or mistake. The wraith like magi seeped onwards, proceeding towards the wall which they came from. He did not answer the second question just yet, he flowed into the wall in the same manner as before, his jet black robes of fantastic nature became like mist in the warming morning, it faded into whisps of nothingness.

Keeper did, however, answer that question, or rather gave an indication of what the repeated questioning might portend.

"The Master has various methods of knowing what he knows, and such things you do not need to know. Just in the same way that you keep your methods and own ways to yourself, so does The Master. Satisfied?" Keeper asked, tapping on the head of his short staff which hung on his belt like a sword, the bone white wood giving a strange tap.

Ralmir's hair swung about his neck softly as he watched the Master depart. He turned his attention back to Keeper and listened to his words.

"Your words are true. My apologies then."

He turned to the wall and stepped through, feeling the now familiar warping of reality as he moved. He appeared on the other side, and moments later, Keeper emerged behind him. He turned to him.

"Perhaps we should rest. I'm sure that despite our strengths, rest is still something to be held in regard. Our enemies will be driving toward us with little rest, and so their thoughts will be fractured, unorganized. We can hold the trump card over them with that alone."

<<OOC: I know tags really suck and break up the flow of a good RP, but I wanted to let both of you know how much I'm enjoying this story...I mean...REALLY enjoying this story! Kudos, good work...DON'T STOP! >>

"Done. We this night, tomorrow, and then in the morning, they shall come." The Master repeated the facts, and walked off in another direction. They had teleported back into the main chamber which Ralmir had originally been summoned. The Master walked into the wall, and disappeared, a divine ghost in this place. This domain was his, and his alone. He was not going to be taken by the Crimson Blades.

Only Keeper and the tomb bearer were left within this place. The cold blue light seemed harsher now, more acute and precise, less warm and welcoming. The runes on the walls seemed to confuse and mislead, the very walls themselves contristricting. If they had emotions, they might dislike and revile, if they could move, they might constrict and rumble. So it seemed.

"What do you make of such a.....man." Keeper asked, walking around this chamber, his left hand on the sphere head of his staff, the other by his side. His eyes looked at the walls and the lights, but occasionally glanced back on Ralmir's reaction.

Ralmir also studied the walls. They seemed to speak cryptically in their pulsating runic inscriptions, as if they dared him to raise an attack against the runes themselves.

As he looked about the room, he did not respond immediately, but gathered his thoughts. Such a strange one. Yet he commands an untold number of forces with a simple flick of his hand. They would willing go to war all for his glory. That is true power...

Tomb agrees. Master has shown a level of power beyond many that Tomb has encountered. He is indeed the perfect one to ally with, Tomb-bearer.

Tomb...what are you planning? Ralmir demanded, suddenly seeing a glimpse of some hidden plan.

Trapped, Tomb didn't reply immediately, I only seek to gather more knowledge of the current world affairs...and to grant you my abilities at your disposal.

Ralmir scowled internally, You're lying.

Tomb knows not how to lie.

Ralmir scowled again. He didn't like how Tomb seemed to be avoiding his questions, his pointed words. He looked over at Keeper, who had been watching him carefully.

"You speak with Tomb?" he asked carefully. Ralmir merely nodded briefly. Keeper nodded in understanding, "I see..."

He turned away once more, "So what about Master?"

Ralmir replied, "A strong one he is. I admire his ability to mold the forces at his beckon. He possess vast stores of knowledge and is wise in many things."

"Quite correct. Quite correct. I wonder, why do you think we all follow him?" Keeper asked. He rubbed his chin with his right hand, that near transparent hand moving the skin on his face lightly, and rather grotesquely. His eyes looked up at a central rune in one of the walls, a eye which seemed to be watching the entire conversation and be an arbiter for it.

Why was Keeper even asking these questions? Was he geniunely curious? Or was he just keeping himself amused....characters around this place seemed to have thier own motives and ways of doing thing which advantaged themselves, or at least amused thier own devices.

Ralmir shook his head negatively. He could tell this was a trick question. "The reasons to follow one person differ from one to another. Each has their own reasons to believe in the cause that the Master immortalizes."

He turned the questions around to Keeper, "But what about you? I have noticed he trusts you with a degree unseen with others. Why have you followed him? What is your purpose to remain at his side?"

Interesting...

Quiet...

He chuckled darkly to himself, shaking his head slowly. His hair was in whisps, faded and almost dead it seemed.

"I do not entirely know that one myself. But, I was here at the begining. Before this Chapel was even fully built. When it was dedicated to other causes. Other Gods, other ways. Few even realise the old nature of this place." Keeper said slowly, remembering the begining, a long time ago.

The old wood, natural and untouched by magic. The corridors which had wide windows, with painted saints and depictions of angels slaying demons. The constant smell of incense, and the muttered prayers of travellers who would visit this place for guidance and protection. Such a place was adopted for the cause....

"I was here since the begining." He repeated. "Since the Coven formed and our intent was clear and decisive. Such a long time ago. Such early days still have The Master's direction. Of course....nevermind." The Keeper stopped. Apparently, in his depth of nostalgia, he had overstepped slightly in his next sentance. What was he going to say?

Ralmir studied Keeper with an intense look, yet oddly still calm in a strange sort of way.

"Tell me of the early days of this place. I am quite curious to know." he asked as he glanced about the room with a casual look.

"No."

He flatly denied the questioning that Ralmir wanted, shaking his gaunt face slowly, a slight smile upon his taught face of experiance and his eyes closed. His whisps of hair gently passed around his face, what was left of his hair.

"You seek knowledge of this coven, of this place. You do not need it. I have granted you too much information already, your device made me loosen my discipline. I shall not allow it to do so again." He said quietly and sternly, reprimanding himself for granting the little information he had to this outsider. He touched his temple with his elongated hands, his fingers applying a gentle pressure, perhaps to ease the pain of a headache, or somehow assist his bolstering of mental defences.

A weakness was shown in this individual's armour. Despite those black spheres for eyes he had within his decadant face which granted him that inpenentrable impression of him, he was still able to be harmed, and be weakened. Unlike his Master, he still revealed some human weakness, although it was rare. Such an exposure left him frustrated and irritated with himself, although to what degree was not visible.

"Dumar shall be here soon. I depart.", the mage replied curtly his voice barely a whisper as he turned and paced slowly, as if in deep thought and reflection, towards one area of the wall which would grant him passage to his own private quarters. He needed rest himself, to prepare and write his journal entries. Entries which would reveal his thoughts and lifestory should he die, should the Crimson Blades breach this place of cherished thought. The Crimson Blades would burn this place to the ground, he knew. They would destroy every piece of information, from tombs of knowledge to paintings of ancient powerful mages who formed the foundations of magic all those centuries ago. They would burn it all, wanting to erase the memory of such a gift from the world, so that magic would be something of whispered fairy tale, demonised and branded evil in contrast to the lionisation of the faithful ignorant.

If they won, and he fell, the books would be reclaimed by the Master. Such journals of his contained the inner workings of this place, his reflections of the years past which were intentionally shrouded in mystery. Few knew the truth, and The Keeper was one of the closest people to knowing it, but was still deluded. The Master was the only one who knew the truth of the origin of this place, of the past and the events which had led up to present day. The Keeper knew little of The Master, and that little was more than anyone else in existance. The Master knew the truth, and therefore was the most powerful place within this temple dedicated to the curiousity to the possibilities that truth could be, that of the art of magic. Truth was relative, and The Master knew this all too well.

The Keeper was about to phase through a section of the wall, to leave the tomb bearer on his own thoughts before Dumar arrived to greet him and show him to his chambers, when he turned his head slightly to address him once more.

"The fate of The Coven, and the knowledge of our art, as much as I hate it, is within your hands. Your inexperianced hands made potent. Your mind made elevated by your stumblings on the grail. Our...grail." He said, his raspy voice barely audible.

He phased through the wall, silently, his message hanging omniusly in the air.



Exactly a minute passed before another figure entered the room. A figure who was not supposed to be here. A teenager, swathed in fresh black robes with a white trim, instead of the traditional silver trim. It denoted his inexperiance, and his training under another magi. A rune upon his robe's chest depicted a name in arcane language, denoting who taught and owned him. If that symbol was not there, he would be in great peril in his current inexperianced state. Initiates to this place were granted protection, in return they served and learned in these halls. Passing tests for progressed knowledge, if they failed the tests, they faced punishment. Too many failures resulted in death. The reason behind this was to prevent the lazy from using these halls to thier advantage. They could not just throw those who entered out, they would reveal thier secrets. And beside, their bodies could be used for experimentation and slave work by being resurrected. The undead do not complain and make good servants to fetch components.

He phased in through a near wall, tumbling in rather ungracefully. He robes fluttered about his person as he rolled in, a few low curses muffled by the black matierals about him. He did not fall over, although he was rather close. He regained his balance, and posture, brushing himself down and looking around. The apprenti was not expecting the sight he saw.

"Your.....your....him!" He exclaimed in disbelief. His natural responce was refreshing in comparison to the controlled manners of the other mages, seeming far more human than the others in his youth.

"The fate of The Coven, and the knowledge of our art, as much as I hate it, is within your hands. Your inexperianced hands made potent. Your mind made elevated by your stumblings on the grail. Our...grail."

The words kept repeating themselves in Ralmir's mind, as if they were an impending doom to his purpose for existence. So odd it seemed, to be so important, yet not quite fully understand how...or why.

He turned his head to the ceiling and stared at the swirling runes. They floated past, keeping the very room of nonexistence, existent. He did not bother to twist the runes to his desires, but rather let them float on unimpeded in their trajectory across the ceiling. He was pulled away from his meditations at the sounds of someone slipping through the wall and cursing. Without turning, he kept his ear on the arrival, knowing it was not Dumar.

"You're.....you're....him!" the boy's voice cried out in exclamation. Ralmir turned his head finally, taking in the boy's presence. Apprenti...

He reads like book. Felix is his name. New to this coven he is. Tomb uttered in the depths of his mind.

As if I couldn't tell... Ralmir replied sarcastically. He studied the boy's gaping face for a few more moments, then turned away.

"Shouldn't you be somewhere else, Felix? Studying your lessons perhaps? Nevertheless, come closer, let me ask you a few things..."

His face grew less astonished and slightly more insulted. He crossed his arms in protest, and gave out a small unapproving humph. His eyes looked up and down over Ralmir, scrutising him now.

"That is extremely rude and unethical. There are only two people who are allowed to do that, my Master and the Master of all, and only at certain times. You might be the one who will save us all supposedly, but you should respect other people's private thoughts. Tis' taboo! Who do you think you are....and what is your name, seeing as I have better respect of you to ask your name instead of reading your mind!" Felix reprimanded the outsider. His manner was uncontrolled and his words formed without too much thought behind them.

Ralmir turned to the boy, his eyes changing from the calm dark blue to a tumult of colors. It raged like the orchestra of the formation of a thundercloud, growing darker by the moment, becoming electrified with energy. He focused his eyes upon the boy coldly.

"You dare to challenge my rank, apprenti?! I may be new here, and reading your name from your mind may have been unintentional, but that does not give you right to foul me with your anger! Your name, you gave of your own will, when you realized who I am. Do not blame me for your failure to guard your thoughts!"

Ralmir had seemed to grow in his ferocity, his face now twisted in a dark scowl that spread across every inch of his face. He was now standing in front of the boy, his taller, more muscular stature dwarfing the apprenti's own form.

And as quickly as the storm had brewed, it disappeared. He turned and walked away, keeping his back to the boy.

"My name is Ralmir." he spoke at long last, as he crossed his runed arms across his chest, the sleeves falling back a bit to reveal them. He turned to face Felix. He was calm once again.

"Lay off huh-lujah! I just performed that phasing for the first time, and you allow yourself open to such channels of thought! Just because you are so high and mighty that you don't have to try and read others thoughts! Close your damn ears to the voices of others minds when they are vunerable! I would expected better of one who everyone speaks of!" Felix retorted angrilly, not at all frightened by this man's presance. Since his recent initiation, he had learned to cow down only to those whom he respected. This man, although he could save the entire Coven, he did not have to accept the lecture on a way which was not the Covens. He moved his jaw strangely, his hands clinging to his robes as if they would shield him from the words and make his presance slightly larger than it was.

Huh-lujah was a neutral term referring to someone outside of the Coven, someone who was not part of it, but had magical abilities. As such, that individual could be respected to some extent when it came to arcane matters when it came to thier rank, but should not be looked for guidance. Strangers were never within the Coven, so when one came in, and attempted to teach someone else's apprenti a lesson, this was looked upon harshly.

"I would respectfully ask you to leave my apprenti alone, as he has a serious point. Possessing such a powerful device, you have abilities which you should control as not to insult and break our law."

It was his master, who had phased in shortly after his apprenti. It was Dumar, his golden hair still finely combed and well kept, his robes shimming as he flowed into the chamber. His purple eyes looked disapprovingly upon the man who he would be defending with his other mages. Dumar, like Felix, held a far more human quality to themselves, in contrast to the other ethreal wizards. His skin was a healthy hue, and his body still held considerable strength within it. Only his purple eyes which fascinated and enraptured could really be called odd about the man, suggesting his career.

"I would take it that within your own mage society, other mages are not allowed to reprimand other mage's apprenti. Such is an insult to the master. May I remind you, although we are relying upon you to fight beside us, we still require that you respect our ways and customs to make this as easy as possible." He said sternly.

Inside, Dumar was thinking how powerful this young mage would actually be without his precious device. If this was the judge of anything, it proved a lack of control and calmness that the Master and Keeper possessed, and that was something which the Coven promoted heavily, remaining calm. He told himself to remind Felix of this. Felix was not going to get completely away with that, and he was more humble in his master's presance. His youth still made him willful, and his short time within the Coven had made him more disciplined, but not completely straight as an arrow.

Ralmir looked upon Dumar, and sighed, "My apologies. Your apprenti needs lessons in maintaining his own...behavior. No insult to you."

He looked at Felix and nodded. Yet, he could sense the lack of respect from the boy. Nevertheless, he would not press the issue any further.

Damn you Tomb! You took hold of my tongue!

Did I? Sure are you?

Don't play these frelling games. You're starting to really--

Suddenly Ralmir collapsed to the ground, clenching his head. He groaned audibly.

I warn you. Tempt not the power of Tomb!

Ralmir squirmed and twisted on the ground before Tomb finally released him. Ralmir, panting, looked up at the ceiling, his eyes far away.

Dumar was suprised when he saw the internal conflict this man was having. Suprised and enraged. His brow furrowed darkly, his eyes gaining a more sharp and stern degree to it, those purple eyes critically judging this man.

"You better have a better grasp over your powers when the battle commences! If you cannot control your precious device, then hand it over to someone who can! I will not let this Coven, and the fate of all the magic users of this realm to forfeit due to your lack of control!" He snapped angrilly, holding Felix's wrist, drawing him closer to himself forcefully. Felix obeyed without protestation, although he did wince slightly at the man's tight grip. Dumar was feeling extreme frustration that The Master had allowed this...this weak magic user to possess the device. Why not just take the device from him, he reasoned.

Ralmir remained where he was on the ground, unmoving. His blinking eyes were the only indication he was conscious. Dumar's words passed like a whispering breeze through his mind, a mere suggestion rather than a threat.

Perhaps I should do what he suggests?

Destiny bring Tombearer to Tomb. None others suited for burden.

But the Master is much more qualified!

No, Master is corrupt. His strength lies in mysterious control. Tombearer is different, has no power, save for his own. Tombearer worries not for coven. Master does. Master bound by success. Tombearer is free--

All right, I get the idea. Shut the frell up.

Tomb fell silent, saying no more.

Ralmir breathed in deeply then slowly got to his feet. He looked at Dumar and spoke in a low tone, "None other are suited to hold Tomb. Fear not of my abilities."

His eyes peered with a darkness about them as he looked between Dumar and Felix. Strangely, it seemed that a new power had arisen in him, a power of determination, of personal commitment.

"I do not fear your abilities, I fear your inability to control what you possess! And I am sure the Master can find a way to harness the 'Tomb' as you call it, he has been searching for it since the begining of this Coven! Do not betray us due to your ineptitude." Dumar snapped bitterly, getting slightly more frustrated than before.

Ralmir's face grew visibly darker as he stepped closer to Dumar, getting right up into his face. When he spoke, it was with a deadly calm, as if he were a venomous snake ready to strike out and immobilize its prey.

"I will have you know this one thing here, Dumar," he glared into the man's eyes, "Once my loyalty and support have been pledged to a cause, I have never fallen to the wayside, or become corrupt to another cause. I will remain true to this coven, for the reasons I'm here, and none other."

The two glared into each other's eyes, the room seeming to reflect their conflicting personalities like two flames that fought to best the other.

"Now, if you don't mind, I am tired, and rest is vital to our success." Ralmir stated, personally finished with this conversation. He stepped away, glancing at the apprenti and asking one more question to Dumar, "Where is my chambers that I am to reside in?"

"I am not saying that you will betray us through your allegiance, I am saying that you could betray us through your ineptitude. If you are not up to the task, hand over the responcibilities to another." Dumar said calmly, his robes reforming at his feet as he strode towards another wall, forgetting Felix.

Felix looked quizically at his master and the tomb bear for a few moments, and then followed in tail as Dumar walked towards a section of this wall. It was like all of the other sections of the wall, but of course, when one knew which sections teleported one where, this place was just a normal corridor. You could tell my arcane signatures within the walls.

"This way." Dumar said without much emotion, his purple eyes closing as he phased through the wall, a subtle high pitched whine filling the ears as he did so, the transferance of energy audible.

Felix followed suit, as did the tomb bearer, to the chambers granted to the one who would save the Coven, or at least destroy as many Crimson Blades as possible.

---

The room was well prepared, hardly luxurious, but intensely pragmatic to the ones who were of the arcane profession. This chamber was lit by small lanterns, which glowed the same odd blue that the previous teleportation chamber did. The lighting could be dimmed or changed in colour to accomidate the user's tastes or requirements.

It was furnished to provide purpose, the writing desks and racks would normally be filled with components and matierals if there was a studant residing within this place. But as it happened, the one who had been residing within this place had recently died from summoning too many beasts within her own quarters. Within this room, were slight traces of this occourance, as the wild surge of magic allowed the tainted bear to smash the young woman to pieces, before collapsing itself under instability. The door from the inside had claw marks from where the mage had been pinned to it, by the bear's talons slicing through his lungs. There still was a slight smell of blood from one corner of the room where his blood exploded to when her neck was pentrated. The studant did not even have time to defend himself, she had made no preparatons for this. In truth, most other studants did not like her, due to her cocky nature, and it was most fitting that she died from her own lack of preparation and refusal to summon something smaller to test her own circle of protection.

Most of the possessed had been removed, the rudimentary supplies of herbs and books, had been left for the next occupent.

There were no windows, and a bed which was neither luxerous nor poor in standard. Like many things within the Coven, it was pragmatic, and rather humble. Humble surroundings usually prevented the cockiness that some amges felt when they first summon up energies, and realise how powerful they could become. One day. But not soon.

"This is your room." Dumar stated. "Get some rest, we train tomorrow, and introduce you to the group which shall be protecting you within the fight. There is some food within this room somewhere, if you are hungry. You will hear the central bells chime to signify that it is time to wake. You will have ten minutes to prepare yourself, then we get a fast breakfast, then we enter the training chambers for group combat. Goodnight." Dumar promptly said, not asking if there were any questions. Oddly, Felix was not with him. He was most likely outside, waiting for Dumar.

Dumar turned, and made his exit out of the door, his dark robes flowing out of the room swiftly, leaving the tomb bearer alone with his thoughts.

Ralmir nodded, bowing slightly to Dumar. "Until then." he replied before seating himself on the bed, and removing his footwear. He removed his shirt, revealing his ornately tattooed body as he stretched out on the bed. He didn't bother to move under the covers as he fell asleep swiftly.

As Ralmir slept, he dreamt not dreams of peaceful manner, but dreams that bespoke horror, and war. His mind rotated through innumerable visuals of soldiers standing at attention, looking toward him. The voice that spoke was not his own, for it was deeper, and commanded greater attention than he could ever imagine.

"Today, we set forth in war! Today, the Terrians shall fall, for Drekai is at our command!"

A resounding cry rose from the troops as ancient weapons were raised and beaten against the shields, or thrust into the air. They chanted, their morale high, the feverish eyes of war that thirsted for enemy blood. They cried as one, their voices rising high enough to reverbrate against the mountains far away.

Preparations for war was witnessed as great weapons were primed, sharpened, and spells practiced or recited to memory. War was coming. It could be seen in every face, each face feverish to bestow glory upon the family. Glory and honor in exchange for their efforts in combat.

Suddenly, Ralmir startled awake, the dream ushered by Tomb into his subconscious still fresh in his mind. The sunlight shone weakly through his window, barely an indication that morning had arrived. He rubbed his eyes with one hand and got up to dress for the day's events. Once complete, he lay back down, staring up at the ceiling. His mind turned the dream over and over in thought, trying to fully understand what he had seen.