The Reaping (Earthdawn)

Imperial Overlord · Post by **Imperial Overlord** » 2013-08-28 01:26pm

The dust cloud was a mile wide and did little to obscure the size of the Sorchers that made it. Jasper blinked a mote of dust out of his eye and kept walking forward. There was not point in trying to evade them. Only another Cavalryman or an airship could outrun Scorchers and if their had been an airship within a hundred miles Jasper would have been on it. He kept walking forward, the steady and relentless stride of his legs eating up the distance.

The Scorchers kept coming. They weren't pushing their steeds, but they were making a good pace. He could make out the banners on their lances and saddle pennants, a fist holding two lightning bolts on a red background. Not renegades then, but the band was too big for that to have been likely. A good sign.

They were at least five hundred strong, riding in a line. Most of them were on horses, but the cluster at the center were mounted on dyres. The shaggy beasts looked like humpbacked crosses of bulls and bears the size of small elephants. They had no necks and a pair of horns curved back from the top of their skulls. Dyres were quick witted, bad tempered, and could crush just about anything short of a castle wall under their paws. Orks loved them for all those reasons.

The Scorchers were well equipped. Almost all of them wore scale coats that reached to their ankles and heavy greaves on their lower legs. Horn bows hung on their saddles along with long hafted axes, heavy curved swords, and spiked maces. All of them bore lances and they wore elaborate helmets crowned with horns and spikes over mail coifs. A few, mostly the dyre riders, wore harnesses of full dwarvish plate.

They slowed to a walk, laughing and joking amongst themselves. Jasper got a good look at their features. Like most orks their women were tall and broad shouldered as human males and their males were bigger still. Their skin was tan or olive-green and their dark hair was long and braided. Ritual scars stippled their cheeks and tusks protruded from their lips. The males wore short, neat beards and mustaches and both sexes wore gold rings in their ears.

The Scorchers slowed to a stop. A female ork, taller than most of the males, leaned forward from her saddle on top of her dyre's back. "Ho traveler."

"Hello warrior," Jasper replied. "Do you have business with me?"

"Should we?" she replied. Several orks chuckled.

"None that I know of," Jasper replied. "Unless you need a message delivered. I am, however, currently engaged and cannot take on any assignments for another week or so."

"We've heard about some bandits in the area," another ork said. Jasper turned his head toward him. The ork was among the dyre riders, but mounted on a horse. His skin was light pink and his cheeks unmarked by scars. His short beard was blond and he wore dwarvish plate. "Have you heard or seen anything?"

"No bandits. Three days back I encountered a manticore."

"You look awfully alive to have fought a manticore," said the woman. "With no weapons."

"I hit him in the face with my staff," Jasper replied. "He reconsidered making a meal out of me and decided against it."

The orks laughed. "You must be stronger than you look," said the woman. "Although you almost look the part."

"Stretch you imagination," Jasper replied. He knew what the orks saw. An obsidiman, half way between an ork and a troll in height and heavier than both put together. Only his hairless, elongated skull and his hands were exposed to the air. The rest of Jasper's body was covered by a light green traveling robe marked by a pattern of silver crescent moons. Hands that seemed to be carved from granite held a staff of iron bound oak.

"But no bandits?" said the blond ork.

"No bandits."

"Any other problems?" the blond ork asked.

"None. Why?"

"The city boy's asking because we're on contract with Throal. He's the dwarves' representative."

"Throal," said the blond stiffly, "is more than just dwarves."

"Throal is also city boys and girls," said the woman, "but his blood runs strong enough to be a worthy Cavalryman. Throal's coin, our honour, to keep the peace and maintain justice."

"My honour is the delivery of my message," Jasper replied.

"Go about your business," said the blond. "Safe journey messenger."

"Victory to you Scorchers," Jasper replied. The ranks parted to let him through. The obsidiman resumed walking. His responsibility was the safe delivery of his message. That all of Barsaive might shake in its aftermath was not his concern

Imperial Overlord · Post by **Imperial Overlord** » 2013-08-29 09:29am

Kerlun was one of Barsaive's innumerable mid sized towns. Too small to be called a city, but larger than a village and with ambitions to be larger still. It existed at the periphery of Throal's reach, too far from the Serpent River to benefit directly from the trade the t'skrang ran up and down the river, but close enough for the trading communities to do business with Kerlun. It was too strong to be targeted by slavers, but not large enough that it didn't have to fear the larger Scorcher bands. It could grow and prosper or it could be burned to the ground by the armies of powers greater than it.

None of this concerned Jasper. It was a town, like many others. He walked passed the outlying farms while the sun blazed overhead and through the open gate in a wall not much higher than he was. Two humans wearing ring mail hauberks were laughing together. "And then the troll tries to get up," the older man was saying, "and he's swaying like a ship in a gale. He lunges at the windling and he's got to be seeing three of the little bastard by that point. Which ever one he was aiming for wasn't the right one because he doesn't even get close and goes face first into the floor."

"Excuse me," said Jasper. "I am looking for Melora Thrice-Burned."

The guards paused for a moment and stared. Then the younger one answered. "Sure thing. She has a townhouse near the base of the hill. Big one, two stories, along Spicer Street." He pointed almost straight away in the opposite direction. "That way."

"Thank you," Jasper replied. The town wasn't big enough for it to take long. He took a wrong turn, but corrected that easily enough. The buildings grew larger and more elaborate as he approached the hill and he could see the the hillside was dotted with manses of the wealthy. He found Melora's easily enough.

It was a two story square building with an interior courtyard in the center. He walked up to the heavy oak doors and knocked. A moment later a blonde woman answered. Her long hair was gathered in a braid and she wore a short tunic and sandals. A short sword was belted around her waste.

"I have a message for Melora Thrice-Burned."

"Come with me," she replied. She lead Jasper through the house to the interior courtyard. A dozen women, mostly human, drilled with staves and heavy disc shields under the eyes of two well muscled women.. One was a short haired blond a little over six feet tall with tan skin marked along with arms with white scar lines.. The other was a little shorter with golden skin and night black hair worked into a long braid. Her skin was unblemished and the Troubadours merely exaggerated when they called her beautiful beyond words instead of their usual outright lying.

"My lady," the young woman addressed the woman with the dark braid., "this messenger is for you."

Melora Thrice-Burned turned her dark eyes on Jasper. She looked somewhere around thirty, even though she had to be somewhere between forty and fifty. "Honour to you messenger."

Jasper inclined his head. "Melora Thrice-Burned, I have a message for you." He reached into his envelope and pulled out a leather wallet. He pulled open the strings and withdrew a folded piece of paper.

She took the letter from Jasper and opened it. Her eyes went wide as she read and then her face went hard. Steel would shatter on that expression. Her hand trembled. "Do you know the contents? Can you speak to its truth?"

"I know nothing of what it says. I can only say that it came from within the House of Garlin in Travar. The commission came from one of the questors."

"Thank you messenger. Your diligence is valued."

"You are welcome Warrior. My duty is done, I take my leave." Jasper turned and left the way he came.

"What is it?" the short haired blond asked.

"News," Melora whispered. "Teyata, I will need you to take over all the training duties."

"Of course," she replied quietly.

"Thank you." Melora stopped for a moment. "I may be gone for some time. I'll make arrangements. Money, support, whatever you might need."

"Melora."

Melora took a deep breath. "Jahken. He might come as well."

"If you need swords you have them," said Teyata. "From here to Death's halls."

"Not for this," said Melora. "At least not yet." She took in another breath. "Deshad is alive. Alive but not well. He needs my help."

"The Vanguards of the Storm are no more," said Teyata.

"And not all the bonds are broken," replied Melora.

"If he is still your comrade in your heart, there is only one answer for a Warrior. You must go. And one duty for me. I will hold."

Imperial Overlord · Post by **Imperial Overlord** » 2013-09-02 08:19am

Melora walked to the back of her house. There, under the shade of the peristyle, Jablin was putting the edge on a new sword. Thin slivers of metal fell away from the sword as he meticulously worked the file. He didn't turn to look at her as she approached, but he was a Weaponsmith and their discipline emphasized focus and dedication. "Anything interesting or just the usual nonsense?" he asked.

"You need to read it yourself," she replied.

He put down the file and stood. She wasn't a small woman but her husband was a head taller than her and built like a mountain. His chestnut curls were tied back, as they always were when he was working. He took the letter and opened it.

Melora Thrice Burned,

I am Iblin, High Questor of Garlen and Master of the House of Garlen in Travar. A patient was brought to us by a band of adventurers, who claimed to have recovered him from the lair of a Horror they slew. The patient was badly maimed, but was able to communicate to us that he his name was Deshad and ask that a letter requesting your help be sent to you.

Given the extremity of his injuries, the patient is barely able to communicate and is unable to perform any Talents or display his Discipline. His very survival despite the gravity of the wounds he received does suggest he is an adept or extraordinarily hardy. Deshad's face is well known, but the patient is heavily disfigured and there is little even the power granted to me by Garlen can do to change that. As such I cannot confirm his identity in any way

May the Passions keep you well.

Iblin, High Questor of Garlen

He stroked his beard, a habit Melora found slightly irritating. "How much does he still mean to you?"

"Enough that I have to go."

Jablin nodded. The way of the Weaponsmith focused on dedication. Dedication to their craft above all else, but it applied to all the other aspects of their lives. "You'll need to pack, of course. Have you decided how you're going to travel?"

"Horse maybe. Riverboat would be faster, but the distance between the horns of a crescent is a lot shorter than the length of the crescent. No regular airship stops so that's probably not going to be in the cards."

"It'll take you more than an hour to prepare. I'll finish the blade in that time. You won't be going alone."

Melora smiled. "Packing for two then. And it'll take me more than an hour. Too many entanglements and responsibilities. Besides, I have to ask around and find out if an airship is coming. We could get lucky. So one more night in our own bed, at least."

-----

"Ever seen anything like this?" M'trengeth asked. The t'skrang's tail flicked rapidly from side to side.

"Like what?" Valoda asked. The dwarf rivaled the t'skrang for the honour of the being the most flamboyantly dressed Name-giver within fifty miles. True, she lacked the advantages of having jade green scales and a rose-red head crest, but her bright yellow robe and her hat adorned with brilliantly coloured jungle griffon feathers more than made of for the lack.

"These tracks," the Swordmaster replied. "I don't recognize them and whatever made them has a lot of legs."

"You want to tell her or should I?" Valoda asked their partner.

"Go ahead," grunted Kreth. The troll was as tall as both of his friends stacked together.

"Tell me what?" the t'skrang asked. "Come on, out with it."

"The tracks are from a jehuthra," said Valoda. "The reason there's so few bodies is that they took them with them back to their lair and possibly to their maker."

"What in the name of the Passions is a jehuthra? And slavers wouldn't have left many bodies behind either."

"Some Horrors can make minions. Servants. They need raw material. Sometimes what they do is just corruption and the changes are minor. Sometimes they aren't. Ghouls, cadaver men, black mantises, and so on. When a Horror makes a jehuthra, what's left doesn't much resemble a Namegiver. Hate makes a lot of them. Maybe most of them. Maybe it invented them."

"Are you saying Hate could be at the end of the trail?"

"So you haven't heard of jehuthras but you've heard of Hate," Valoda chuckled. "Better not be Hate. Going to be hard to get paid if it is."

"Paid. Yeah."

"Tracks lead to the jungle," said Kreth. He hefted his rectangular shield, which was six foot by three feet. The Sky Raider was clad in a knee length hauberk of fine mail called Iron Guard, forged for him by the Weaponsmith Garron Rockbreaker. In his hand he held a heavy war maul of living crystal, infused with True Earth. "Horrors and horror constructs need killing even more than Theran slavers."

"Right," said M'trengeth. "No problem. Just head into the Servos jungle and kill some horror constructs and maybe a Horror. Possibly Hate, who has wiped out whole villages. No problem."

"If being a hero was easy, every fool would do it," said Kreth as he started walking toward the jungle.

"In for a copper, in for a gold," muttered M'trengeth as she followed.

Imperial Overlord · Post by **Imperial Overlord** » 2013-09-10 05:25am

The outskirts of the jungle wasn't dense and the trail made a horse drawing a plow look subtle and stealthy. Claw marks and drag marks scored the soft earth and lead deeper into the jungle. "Truly," said M'trengeth, "a tracking job the demands the attention of an Elven Woodsman."

"Huh," grunted Kreth. "Fresh." He stepped under the shade of the trees and peered into gloom of the deeper jungle. "Don't see 'em."

"They like ambushes," said Valoda. "So an obvious trail is an obvious place for an ambush."

"Watch up," said Kreth. "They can climb almost as good as spiders and they're even uglier."

M'trengeth brushed an imaginary speck of dust off her brilliant crimson tunic. "Shall we go?"

Kreth strode forward, his massive maul in one hand and his shield at the other. "I guess that that's a yes," said M'trengeth.

"Talking is not really Kreth's strong point," said Valoda. "Except when bragging or intimidation are called for." She said something under her breath and exhaled heavily while touching M'trengeth's back. Air swooshed through her clothes, forming a protective cushion between her clothes and the leather breastplate she wore under her tunic. She repeated the process with Kreth and then herself.

M'trengeth drew her blade, a slim broadsword with a thirty inch blade and peered ahead. The canopy ate some of the light, but there was still plenty to see by. She couldn't see anything in the gloom, but but the dwarf and the troll had eyes adapted to deep caves and could see body heat the way she could see light. If there was something lurking out there, they should see it first.

"JEHUTHERAS!" Kreth roared. M'trengeth darted forward and saw them. They had emerged from behind the boles to two large trees, uncurling their legs and scuttled onto the trail. They were, in a word, grotesque.

They superficially resembled large, pale spiders. Ten legs sprouted from a six foot long swollen thorax covered with bristles. The legs were tipped by stubby digits halfway between fingers and toes, tipped by short, thick claws. A ghastly head was attached to the thorax. It was not the head of a spider, but the distorted head of a Namegiver. The eyes were pools of blank darkness and the skull was pale and hairless, but even with the lower jaws distorted into mandibles the origin of the monsters was terribly clear.

The jehuthras reared up gestured toward Volanda and M'trengeth with their foremost pair of limbs. In doing so they exposed a web pattern worked in silver on their underbellies. Their second pair of limbs stroked the web patterns. Mist swirled around Volanda and dissipated. On M'trengeth the mist congealed and hardened into barbed and bladed bonds of ice.

Volanda's hands moved and a ball of fire shot forth, bursting into a fiery cloud when it reached the Jehuthras. The spider-monsters chittered as their hides burned, but they did not fall. The tree above Volanda's head quivered and shook as the Jehuthra's raised their limbs again. Giant blades of ice formed around the limbs of one jehuthra while a web of phantom iron quivered into existence into the air, rapidly spreading down the path before fading back into nonexistence.

Kreth's shield smashed into the blade armed jehuthra's face, backed by over five hundred pounds of angry troll. The creature reeled back as the huge maul rose and fell. Kreth's blows smashed pulpy holes into the jehuthra's thorax, sending gouts of slimy ichor up into the air. The Sky Raider kicked the dying horror construct out of the way and turned towards the other one.

The wounded jehuthra scuttled back and wove bonds of ice around Kreth. The troll roared and flexed his muscles. Shards of razor ice flew as the Sky Raider shattered his fetters. As he did so a tangle of phantom iron strands again spread over the path. This time they solidified instead of fading away, creating spread of passages woven of iron brambles. Each adventurer and jehuthra was in a separate passage and each passage lead to the tree above Volanda where a third jehuthra lurked.

It skittered down the iron web, great ice blades glistening on its legs. Kreth roared and trotted down the narrow corridor, intent on coming to grips with the jehuthra. The burned one danced away, skittering to the edge of the web and exiting. M'trengeth pulled herself up the web, jumping and seizing hand holds as she scaled the web.

The jehuthra landed in front of Volanda, icy lacerators raised to slash and stab. The Elementalist stepped back and flicked a pair of coins at the jehuthra. Two spiked mace heads made from jagged ice and connected by a chain of the same materialized and flew at the horror construct. They struck the jehuthra's limbs with a sound like an axe hitting wood. Green pus oozed from the mangled limbs as the ice chains tangled up the maimed limbs. The jehuthra chittered angrily and struggled to free it's limbs as Volanda retreated from it.

Kreth reached the end of the iron web and was confronted by the sight of the jehuthra raising its limb and rubbing its belly web to invoke another spell. He dropped his maul and pulled a weighted dart from inside his shield. He threw and his aim was true. The dark struck the jehuthra between the eyes and the tip smashed out the back of its skull.

M'trengeth pulled herself up to the web nexus and then dropped down after the last jehuthra. The Swordmaster landed lightly on her feet. She lunged. "Die." Stab. "Die." Stab. "DIE!" Stab.

The jehuthra shuddered and collapsed, it's thorax riddled with stab wounds. The iron web collapsed back into nonexistence. "Well that was unpleasant," said M'trengeth. "It totally went our way, but unpleasant. If we do this a dozen times a day, then we might end up with a wound of two. Maybe."

Kreth retrieved his dart and cleaned the dart on a large leaf before clipping it back onto his shield. "Still no bodies. And not enough jehuthras."

"Down three though," said Volanda.

"True enough," said the Sky Raider. "Three less is three less."

"Keep a look out," said Volana as she brandished a dagger and approached the closest jehuthra's corpse. "The thorax web is real silver." She went to work. She folded up the swathes of skin into a bag that seemed far too small to hold all three hides.

"Let's go," she said. "If we're lucky we can pick them off piecemeal."

"We aren't that lucky," said Kreth. The troll looked suspiciously down the trail. "Huh. Cut trees." Here and there the sides of the trail was spotted with freshly cut tree stumps.

"Just stumps," said M'trengeth. "Crude cuts. Where did they take the trees?"

"Ahead," said Kreth.

"Sweet Lochost," Volana said. A low mound lurked in the gloom ahead, half obscured by shadows. It was formed from ragged tree trunks, mortared together with dirt and mud. A gaping hole at the base of the dome lead into darkness.

"That's not good," said M'trengeth.

"No," said Kreth, "it's not."

"That's a very big dome. That's a lot of ugly bastards inside," said M'trengeth.

"Yes," said Kreth.

A jehuthra came out of the hole. And then another. And another. And another. Then a stream.

"Thystonius be with us!" Kreth shouted.

"Damn," whispered M'trengeth. "We're screwed."

Imperial Overlord · Post by **Imperial Overlord** » 2013-09-25 08:18am

Fire blossomed and a hammer blow of hot air out at the adventurers, nearly knocking M'trengeth off her feet. The fireball had burst amongst the jehuthra's, scorching their flesh and knocking them off their feet. "Keep them contained!" Valoda shouted as she shaped magical energy for another spell.

Kreth didn't need to be told twice, or even once for that matter. He understood the value in the bottlenecking a numerically superior enemy. They were dead if they didn't. He rushed forward, but M'trengeth was quicker. The t'skrang's sword punched through the lead jehuthra's hide again and again, blood spraying from the wounds as the Swordmaster repeatedly punctured it before the monster could regain it's feet.

Kreth's method was less elegant, but it generated no complaints. He smashed down the next jehuthra with a brutal shield slam just as the horror construct regained it's feet. Hammer blows kept it from ever rising again. The other horror constructs righted themselves and glared at their attackers with dead black eyes set into their skull-like heads. Several them had limbs sporting half melted ice blades while others were armed with dull claws. They rushed forward.

Kreth braced and took the first on his shield. The jehuthra's weighed almost as much as the Sky Raider, but he held. At first. Two moved to flank him on the sides while the following one added its weight and strength to the efforts of the one pushing against the Sky Raider's shield.

The jehuthra trying to flank on Kreth's right lost a limb to M'trengeth's sword and limped back. The other lashed out with half-melted ice blades that struck with bruising force against the troll's mail but lost their edges in the impact. The troll grunted, but did not yield so much as an inch. The troll put his face behind his shield and swung blindly with his hammer.

Another fireball burst in the tunnel. Flames jetted out and enveloped the jehuthra's, the furthest tongues licking at the surface of Kreth's shield. "A little close!" he yelled as he swung his shield around the block the flank attack. M'trengeth put her blade through the left eye of the jehuthra on his right. Steel scraped loudly on bone as the blade came out.

"Would you have preferred I didn't get them all?" Valoda replied.

"She didn't get the ones on the side," M'trengeth replied as the jehuthra's righted themselves. "Looking crispy. Why no iron web?"

"Then we'd all be in the web and no flanking. Too tight for them already."

Ice blades materialized on the limbs of the flanking jehuthra as pale blue mist swirled around M'trengeth and Kreth. The mist solidified into ice bonds, pinning the adventurers. The jehuthra slashed at Kreth, tearing at the troll's armour and hammering his flesh. "Valoda!" Kreth shouted as he kicked the attacking jehuthra in the head, driving it back. The other jehuthra, scorched and singed, surged forward.

But they were too late. Another fireball blasted them, scourging their already burnt and scorched flesh. Wounded and burnt flesh became charred and crippled. Blistered and blackened hide peeled away and exposed muscles and organs fried. They fell, dead and dying, smoking and burning. Kreth roared in triumph. "Die! Fall and die!"

Only the flanking jehuthra was left. It regained it's feet and and turned to run. Spiked mace heads made of ice flew through the air and struck the horror construct in the legs, breaking bone and tangling the creature in the chain. Kreth shrugged free of the ice bonds as M'trengeth struggled to free her limbs. The troll was on the jehuthra as it struggled to rise. His hammer fell and it ended.

The ice bonds around the t'skrang cracked as she struggled. Kreth assisted by seized a coil in a gauntleted hand and pulling. The rest fell away. "Head on attack isn't like them," said the troll as if they were discussing the weather while having a pleasant stroll. "Value their hides too much."

No, it isn't, a harsh, rasping, sibilant voice said within their minds. Hearing it was like having a barbed blade stabbed into their brains and then twisted. The adventurers fell to their knees, clutching their heads in pain. But they are my slaves and do as they are bidden.

Charred jehuthra corpses were pushed out of the way by something with thin, monstrously strong limbs. "We killed them," said Valoda through gritted teeth as she raised her head, "we'll kill you too." She staggered to her feet, wobbling.

Do you think so? the horror replied. A grotesque form, an unholy fusion of spider and maggot pushed itself into view. It's glistening, wormlike body was twenty feet long and supported by eight spidery legs. Four more limbs protruded from segments closer to the horror's head, that ended in glistening blade-claws. A ring of glowing silver eyes surrounded a lamprey mouth. They were my victims and then my slaves. Easily made and easily replaced. You shall join their numbers when your minds and bodies fail, when the pain and despair becomes unendurable and sanity flees, when at last your heart fails and your bodies collapse. But only then, only after you have reached the plateau of your suffering and all that you are has been wrung out. Only then will you find that neither death nor madness are escapes. This is the beginning of that which will never end. This is immortality.

Imperial Overlord · Post by **Imperial Overlord** » 2013-09-29 10:36am

"You . . talk . . . too . . . much!" Kreth growled. The Sky Raider got to his feet and raised his hammer. "SEE THIS?" he roared. "This is your death!"

The horror turned towards Kreth. How can you hope to fight me, when just my voice drives you to your knees?

"I'm . . . standing now," said Kreth through gritted teeth. "If all you've got is pain, you'll be going to Death's halls soon enough."

I think I'll start by taking a hand, replied the horror and rushed the Sky Raider. It raised it's blade-limbs to strike. Kreth raised his shield and howled. The very air shook with the force of Kreth's exclamation and the horror took back a step. Then it fell on him like an avalanche.

Blades tore at shield, scaring it's surface. Others cut and stabbed at his body, bruising and cutting him. The troll swung his hammer, but caught only air. It retreated a few steps and then lunged again, stabbing and slashing. It laughed and the touch of its laughter was like a spinning blade ripping through flesh.

Bleeding, Kreth fell back from the slicing limbs. The horror tripped him with one of its spider legs and towered above him, laughing. Then it screeched and turned to the side. M'trengeth danced away, yellow ichor dripping from her sword and the joint between two of the horror's body segments.

"It's true," the t'skrang said, "you can get used to anything. Even your shit sucking voice."

Ice maces flew at the horror and exploded into mist before they touched it's hide. Not good enough magician, it sneered. Now I'll taste all of your blood.

M'trengeth gave ground as the horror advanced. "Now would be a really good time to come up with a good spell Volada!" Blades flashed at her. The Swordmaster parried, sidestepped, and took a shallow cut on her left arm.

A crippled troll, an impotent dwarf, and a t'skrang who is running out of space, said the horror. How do you like the pain now? How about I try something new? Would you like that? I think I will.

It waved it's blade-limbs through the air. In the astral plane, currently closely aligned with the physical universe, it formed astral energy to threads and tied them to the energy pattern of a spell. A crack rent the air. M'trengeth fell to the ground with a broken thigh and a broken rib. Still up for a fight Swordmaster?

Kreth groaned and raised his head. Smoke rose from his wounds, streaming from the blood that had already left his body. He heaved himself to his feet, flames now rising from where the horror had wounded him. He charged, hammer raised. The horror turned it's head as Kreth brought his hammer down.

The exoskeleton around the horror's leg shattered. Yellow pulp splattered Kreth's shield and the ground. The horror staggered and screeched. "How do you like pain!?" Kreth roared. "Have some more!" Another swing cracked the chitin around another leg.

Blades came slicing down. Kreth sidestepped, moving towards the horror's maimed leg and raising his shield. It limped around, trying to line up for a good strike but the Sky Raider didn't let it. Hits scored his shield and tore the earth, but not him. Behind the horror, M'trengeth raised a flask to her lips and drank. The t'skrang let the empty container fall from her hand and drew out another.

The horror wove another spell. Kreth jerked to the side as an invisible force jerked him back towards the horror's head. It raised it's blade limbs to strike. By all means, use your magic to heal these wounds as well. I don't want you to die for a long, long time.

Volada finished weaving the threads to her spell. It was ready to be unleashed, but would the horror shrug it off? Odds were good that it would. Unless it had help.

A silver stud was attached to Volada's left earlobe. Set into the stub was a small pearl, speckled with red. Blood red. Volada's blood, a small portion of it and a small portion of her life force. The blood charm held the power of her blood until needed and now it was.

The power of the blood charm flooded into her spell and the charm detached from her flesh. Mist formed around the horror's blade limbs, cohering into vaporous bonds. Is this your best? it laughed. Volada winced against the agony inducing rasp, her eyes watering with pain. The spell had bitten, that was all that mattered.

The blades came down, but they were slower than before and the strikes were awkward. Kreth wasn't there when they came down and this time it was not a Namegiver that screamed in agony. Lightning arced from the storm manacles and played over the horror's limbs. It shrieked and fell back. Kreth stepped forward.

The exoskeleton on a front leg cracked as M'trengeth regained her feet, courtesy of the two healing potions she had downed. She leapt forward, sword darting. The blade slide off iron hard hide and then sank deep into the soft flesh between two segments. She twisted the blade and withdrew as the horror shrieked again.

It whirled, striking out, and missed. Again lightning wracked its body and it writhed in pain. Kreth's hammer smashed another leg as M'trengeth stabbed through another gap. The horror shrieked again and fell. M'trength stabbed again, this time driving the blade in almost to the hilt. She twisted clockwise and then counterclockwise. The horror convulsed. She pulled the blade out.

Kreth strode over to the horror's head. He raised his hammer. "I told you this would be your death. I try to be a man of my word." It took three blows to finish it.

"Well, that's done," said Kreth. The troll was half covered in yellow ichor. He started wiping ichor and charred blood off. "Hurt too much to want to do that again."

"Ended up worse for him though," said M'trengeth.

"How do you know it was a him?" replied Kreth.

"An assumption based on a lifetime of gathering evidence," said Valoda. She walked over to the body and spat.

"What now?" M'trengeth asked.

"That's a silly question," Valoda replied.

"It's easy," Kreth replied. "We loot."

-----

The interior of the mound was utterly dark. Valoda took out a foot long shard of crystal and filled it with light. Gold and silver coins glittered amongst a pile of bones. Rings, necklaces, amulets, and chains were mixed in amongst the bones. M'trengeth whistled. "That could be a lot."

"Have to dig through bones to get it all," grumbled Kreth. "Least the horror's dead."

"Why did it collect all this?" M'trengeth asked. "It's not like it can spend it."

"Bait," said Kreth. "Lures. And curses."

Valoda expanded. "The horror curses something valuable and its servants drop it some place it can be found. Someone picks it up and the curse strikes. And the horror feeds."

"And those?" M'trengeth said, pointing at the wall. A half dozen troll sized cocoons were stuck to the walls of the mound, about half way between the ground and the ceiling.

"Victims," said Kreth. "Valoda?"

The dwarf shifted her sight to the astral plane. From this perspective she could see the magical patterns wrapping each cocoon and the decaying threads that tied each cocoon to the horror. What was inside was recognizable. Unfortunately.

"Jehuthras," Valoda said. "They aren't finished yet. All except that one. I think it's still a Namegiver."

"You think?" asked Kreth

"The limb count is low. And I don't know about his mind. I think it's male."

"Could be sane then," said Kreth. "If he'd broken completely, he'd be another jehuthra."

"How come so many?" M'trengeth asked. "It only just started attacking."

"Here, it only just started attacking here," replied Valoda. "It moves. The last area it was in, it ran out of victims. So it moved here and set up shop, starting all over again. It's jehuthras bring back victims, it tortures them until there's nothing left for it, and then they become more jehuthras. When everyone has moved away or been killed, it moves on and builds a new lair. It could have been doing this since the beginning of the Scourge. Or earlier."

"Enough talk," said Kreth. "Ready a flying spell. I'll put down the jehuthras and peel that poor bastard off the wall. See if there's anything left to save."

"Sure," said Valoda. "That's what heroes do, right?"

Imperial Overlord · Post by **Imperial Overlord** » 2013-10-01 12:11am

"Is that Travar?" Jablin asked. The couple were on horseback, smeared with dust from hard riding. They had pushed south, skirting most of the Servos Jungle and avoided the Mist Swamps to turn east toward Travar. It had taken them eight days of pushing their horses hard, but they were good horses.

Melora patted her black's neck. The warrior was clad in ebony plate, adorned with gold-orange orichalcum. The horse's Name was Joy and she was strong, swift, and sweet natured. Her mistress was far more stern. Jablin's roan was Named Rogue and he was playful and swift. Jablin himself was clad in silver mail of his own forging.

"It is," his wife replied. "The towers and spires glow white in the sun. The roofs of the palaces glow gold. It's spectacular. Those smudges up there? Airships. The city's navy. Travar's glory survived the Scourge, undiminished."

"So I've heard. I've also heard about the trials to choose the magistrates."

She smiled. "Tervog was one of the champions. Eight years back now. There's a huge coliseum in the center of the city and everyone who can attends. We were there, of course. There was something like thirty or forty contestants that year, each one an adept. Each one representing a claimant for one of the three ruling magistrate spots. It was a typical year, I was told.

"The Body of Five are all magicians and they create some damn exotic trials. Of course they have to do it each year so the citizens of Travar are pretty jaded, but that was the first time I had seen anything like it. They had duels on floating discs fought with whips and staves above burning coals. They had a race through a hedge maze where the contestants were chased by wolves. They had another race that was a series of logic puzzles and another that involved herding cats."

"Now you're lying."

"No, I swear to Mynbruje. All these tough guys and girls, men and women who could break Ork Scorchers with their bare hands, trying to coax kitty-cats out of trees and into reach so they could drop them in a cage."

"Good time to be a Beastmaster adept."

"There were two of them. They cleaned up in that contest. Tervog did well. He uprooted a small tree with three cats in it and carried it over to his cage. Plucked them off and dropped them in the cage, neat as can be."

"Regret not entering?"

"No. The money was good, but we had money. Risking my life to help a rich merchant get richer by twisting the law wasn't why I became a Warrior. Besides, if I was a champion I wouldn't have been able to watch."

-----

It was almost dark when they reached the gates. Three foot long light crystals were held in iron scones on either side to the gateway, turning the whole area as bright as noon. The guards by the gate wore long mail coats and were clearly bored. Not many people came into Travar on foot, near dark. Not from the west. The Byrose River to the east and airships handled the lion's share of Travar's trade.

The warm glint off the orichalcum on Melora's armour caught their eyes. "Name yourselves and show your work," one of the guards called out.

Melora smiled. Those marked by horrors rarely retained the ability to produce anything of beauty. They deteriorated in other ways too, but checking for some sign of artistic craftsmanship was a good test for corruption. It was also, imperfect as it was, about the only test. She reached into her saddlebag and pulled out a small wooden scepter carved in the shape of a running wolf. "Melora Thrice-Burned," she said and tossed the scepter to the guard.

"Jablin," replied the Weaponsmith and drew his broadsword. The Name Foesplitter gleamed on the watered steel blade. "Weaponsmith."

"The Melora Thrice-Burned?" one of the guards' asked. "Of the Vanguards of the Storm? Slayer of Furnaceheart?"

"The same," she replied.

"Be welcome hero." The guards all bowed.

"Is the House of Peaceful Repose still open for business?" she asked.

"It is, my lady," one of the guards replied.

"Good," she said. She nudged Joy forward and entered the city.

"House of Peaceful Repose?" Jablin asked. The streets of Travar were broad and still somewhat busy. The white spires of the towers glowed a soft rose in the sunset and the golden palace roofs gleamed in the last light of the sun.

"It's really quite amazing. Nicest place I've stayed except for the palace at Throal. When I was there they had this amazing pastry chef. What she could do has to be tasted to be believed."

"Maybe she could teach you how to cook."

"Don't be silly. That's why I have a husband. And a cook."

"How did the Harbringers handle cooking?"

"We rotated until we figured out only Trevog, Selayin, and Farantine were good at it." She pointed across the street to a big three story of white washed wood with real glass windows and a large light crystal mounted by the door. A sign depicting a bed and the Name The House of Peaceful Repose hung above the light crystal. "And here we are. Let's get a room and see to the horses."

"And then the House of Garlen."

"And then the House of Garlen."

Imperial Overlord · Post by **Imperial Overlord** » 2013-10-02 09:07am

A soft melody floated through the night air as Farantine entered the garden. Light crystals hanging from golden chains or set in golden scones on polished white marble columns turned the night into a twilight fairyland. There was just enough wind to keep the warm night air from being sultry and oppressive. He walked passed two white rose bushes taller than he was into circular patio half enclosed in white marble columns. The marble flags were covered by a thick, dark red carpet upon which were set several white marble benches and several heavily upholstered chairs. A golden box on a foot stool was the source of the music.

A young man and a young woman wearing white gowns were attending a dark haired elf woman of incredible beauty. Her hair was piled up ivory combs and her white skin almost glowed. Her jade green eyes blazed like stars and her form was covered in a loose gown of black velvet. Gold gleamed at her throat and wrists but her most striking feature were the thorns that pierced her flesh. They were nearly an inch long and spaced an inch apart and they covered her entire body.

Her eyes met Farantine and dismissed her servants with a wave. "Farantine, I'm glad to see you so soon." She gestured to a table set with several platters of fruit, cheese, and cuts of meet as well as a flagon of wine. "Help yourself."

"Your message said urgent," replied Farantine. "So I came quickly." He walked to the table "What's so important Selayin?" He plucked a pair of green grapes and tossed them into his mouth.

"I have sources who say Deshad is alive."

"Really?" said Farantine. He poured himself a glass of dark red wine. "So I guess that report you got about him being dead wasn't true. That's good, I guess. I never liked the asshole, but he held up his end." He took a sip of wine and reached for a wedge of cheese. "Mmm. You always set a good spread." He picked up several sliced of garlic laced lamb. "Expecting other guests?"

"They'll wait. And no, it's not good."

Farantine stop chewing for a moment and then finished off what he had in his mouth. "What the fuck did you get into?"

"The report came from the man who claimed to have killed him."

"And he just happened to be bragging to one of Deshad's former comrades?"

"Of course not. He told me because I provided some assistance. He assured me he had finished the job."

"And now he might not be dead and he might know that you fucked him and this is the part where you convince me to step in between you and the Bone Harvester. Pass, my dear. You might be a Troubadour, but I'm a Swordmaster. I've slung some bullshit in my time and your bedroom skills aren't exactly a sweetner for me."

"Oh Farantine, you're already there," Selayin. "There's a few details I haven't gotten too yet. The first one, and this is a big one, is that he didn't just walk into town. He was found in a Horror's lair."

"Fuck."

"Yes. So you can see why he might have been reported as dead. Unfortunately, he retains enough sanity to remember his Name and that could mean all sorts of unpleasantness. Especially if there was gloating involved before tying him up next to a horror's den."

"Sounds like a 'you' problem Selayin. I don't ever recall saying 'let's kill this asshole.' So fix your mess."

"Think this through Farantine. If there was gloating, then more than my Name might have been dropped. And even if there wasn't, Deshad will probably figure out that one or more of us assisted his enemy. He's a Nethermancer. They don't do regret or remorse. Total dedication. And he's been tortured for close to two years. He knows who was close to him once and might wish him ill. What do you think will happen? I'll tell you. He'll harvest bones. Ours. After he's ripped our skin off."

"You had one of his Pattern Items," said Farantine. "You gave it up along with the Key Knowledges."

"Yes. But Deshad won't know that for sure."

"But he'll know it had to be one of us once he sees it."

"Now you're catching on."

"Why?"

"Why not? We were broken. In pieces. He wasn't one of us anymore. There was no more 'us' and he had more to do with that than anybody. He had cost me. So I recouped the cost."

"You sold him out to the Avelones."

"Yes, they've been most helpful. You know how much he cost me when he killed Gristor."

"He was a pig who deserved what he got."

"A well connected, wealthy, and useful pig. One I could cut deals with, use- never mind. Having this argument again doesn't change anything. I rebuilt the bridge that Deshad burned without consulting us by selling Deshad to Yelash. Now it looks like instead of finishing him cleanly Yelash fed him to a horror and that's going to come back to bite all of us in the neck. But if we act now, there's still a good chance of cleaning up this mess before it costs us too heavily."

"How?" asked Farantine, taking another sip of wine.

"Simple. Deshad was taken to the House of Garlen in Travar. My spy said he was maimed. That can be fixed, but not easily. If someone were to kill him now, before he can recover, we can end this before it begins."

"I notice you didn't decide to do it yourself."

"I'm not the killer you are, my dear. There are adepts who will defend the patients at the House of Garlen. I might be able win, but if I do that then I'm not here lining up our friends and allies in case the strike fails. You, on the other hand, are both deadly and stealthy and conveniently right at hand. I can have you on an airship to Travar within the hour."

"I notice that this plan has the benefit of committing me to your cause."

"It does. Do you want to spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder for Deshad? I thought not. Kill him and be free."

"Fine. You owe me. For this mess as well as the clean up."

"Of course darling. You know I'm good for it."

Imperial Overlord · Post by **Imperial Overlord** » 2013-10-08 08:03am

Melora climbed the worn steps of the House of Garlen, Jablin following her one pace behind. Behind the column lined facade, the double doors stood open but the four soldiers by the door made the welcome less inviting. They wore high crested antique bronze helmets over armour of steel plate. The held spears with gleaming steel tips in their right hands and bore heavy bronze shields marked with worn and faded engravings on their left. Two large and empty wooden racks were adjacent to the door.

"Hail Warrior," the oldest called out. He was a solid oak of a man, tall and broad. White hairs mingled with black in his beard, but age had yet to sap his strength.

"Hail guardian," she returned. "May we pass?"

"All are welcome in the house of the mother," he replied, "but all must relinquish their arms before doing so. All who are within are in our charge."

Melora stopped. "An unusual request," she said as she unbuckled her weapon's belt. She handed it to the leader. "But I will honour it."

"Thank you mistress," he replied. "All your weapons. And your armour."

Jablin came forward and began to help her with the buckles. "Is this recent?"

"No mistress, this is ancient. From before the Scourge. There was fighting once, over the ruling seats. Blood in the streets. The violence didn't end there. A gang came here, to finish off their rivals. There was a terrible sacrilege. The questors, they tried to protect their patients, but only one really knew how to fight. The gang went berserk. At the end there was, well at the end my order swore to protect the house. We had lost three in the massacre and Warriors know the value of hearth and healing better than most. And so here we are."

"You know who I am?"

"Melora Thrice-Burned. Yes, we know. And he must be your husband. Jablin, Weaponsmith. And we know why you must be here."

"Of course you do."

"We know you are honourable mistress, but if we do not enforce the rules for everyone then once day we will be wrong and there will be blood."

"I understand," she said, handing her armour over piece by piece. "What about magicians? And Beastmasters."

"Orichalcum alloy bonds."

"Of course," she said, handing over her last dagger. She wore a light white shirt and dark pants under her armour. She shook a leg and the armoured boot at the end. "May I keep my sabatons?"

"Yes," he replied.

"What is your Name Warrior?"

"Karlin Ironhand."

"A pleasure," she replied. Jablin handed over his swordbelt. Melora went to help him with his coat. They handed the armour over.

"Enter and be welcome," Karlin said. Melora grasped his arm. He completed the grip.

"I will."

The interior was painted white with dark floors, clean by stained and scuffed from long use. A woman and two young children were inside the entrance antechamber, being helped to a room by a brown robed woman. A woman, perhaps fifty with silver streaked blond hair, remained inside. Another warrior, armed with a short stabbing sword, was also present.

"Melora Thrice-Burned," the woman said.

"Wow," Jablin whispered, "everyone really has heard of you."

"My ears still work well, young man," the woman replied. "And while I have heard of Melora-Thrice Burned I wouldn't have recognized her if I hadn't overheard the conversation outside. You'll be here for Deshad."

"Yes," she replied.

"Follow me," the woman said. "Be warned though, the damage is extensive. He was badly maimed by the horror."

"The damage is worse when it isn't physical," replied Melora. The woman lead the way down a corridor.

"We did our best for him, but there is a limit to even the High Questor's powers."

"I understand. It's bad. I've seen bad. I've burned by dragon's fire. Just bring us in."

She nodded and opened the door in front of her. Inside was small room dominated by a large bed. Moonlight streamed in from a high, barred window. A hooded lantern containing a small light crystal stood on the small table by the bed. There was enough light for a human see clearly by. That was not a gift.

The bed contained human wreckage. Deshad had been on the lean side, the occupant of the bed was emaciated. Short, bristly hair sprouted from the top of an almost fleshless skull. The right ear was missing. The right eye was a crater. The man's left arm ended at the wrist. Scars ran the length of his arms and criss-crossed his chest.

"Passions," Jablin whispered. The head turned towards them and the eye opened.

"Who?" he asked in a rasping voice. Only a few teeth remained in his mouth. "Melora?"

"My friend," she said softly, eyes glittering. She fell to her knees beside him. "Oh my friend." Tears streaked her cheeks.

"No longer so pretty eh?" His laugh came out as a cough. "Not something that can just be fixed with a spell."

"No," she whispered. "No longer." She paused. "Forgive me, but I have to ask: what did you give me as a wedding present?"

"So," he rasped, "that bad. That's alright. Sometimes I think this is a dream, an escape to madness. But it goes on too long. I should wake in a jehuthra's body, my memories faded tatters. I gave you a pair of robes, woven with my own hands with only a little help from spirits. White silk, embroidered with grey."

She bowed her head. "I will see you healed, however I can. Whatever it takes. I swear it."

"Good. Make me something close to whole. This must be paid for and I intend to exact the price in full."

Imperial Overlord · Post by **Imperial Overlord** » 2013-10-11 09:46am

Melora took Deshad's hand and gently put in back onto the bed. She looked her friend in the eye. "Rest," she said. "Regain your strength. We'll talk again later."

"Later," said Deshad. His eye fluttered. "There will be a later."

The Warrior rose to her feet and retreated to just outside the room. A tall, barrel chested and taller than Jablin, had joined them. He wore a robe of green silk and white streaks shot through his brown beard and hair. "Melora Thrice-Burned, I presume?" he asked softly

"You do so correctly."

"Let us walk," he said. His sandals made soft slapping noises on the floor. "I am Iblin, High Questor of Garlen. I imagine that you have many questions."

"Prognosis?"

"Relatively good," said the high questor. "We have managed to repair the damage to his remaining organs, although we cannot restore what was taken from him. I doubt he would have survived to reach us if he hadn't been an adept rescued by adepts. The damage was most severe."

"I've seen worse, but not often," she replied. "And I've only seen above the waist."

"Yes," he said, "that isn't all of it. He has, however, put on weight since he's been in our care and his periods of lucidity are increasing in frequency."

"He was perfectly lucid when we talked."

"Good. Perhaps you were lucky or perhaps seeing a familiar face helped."

"He was a faithful comrade," she said. "I owe him, by the bonds of war and by other ties. Whatever resources are required, I will provide."

"Thank you. That's why he asked for the letter be sent to you. He was quite sure you would help. It's not that we won't, but there is a limit to the resources we can spend on a patient. What help the healing gifts of Garlen can provide has already been given."

"I understand. Garlen's magic is not the only healing available. We were wealthy before we cut a dragon's hoard seven ways. If money can buy it, it is within my reach."

"Then he is fortunate. I cannot speak to the higher arts of great magicians, but there are blood charms that replace lost limbs. The cost to the body is high and they are expensive, but not enough to be a concern for a woman who has one seventh of a dragon hoard."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"Three adventurers were hired to stop caravan attacks. They found out that a horror was responsible and killed it. They found him inside the horror's lair." He spread his hands. "I'm sorry, but I'm no Troubadour."

"Anything else?"

"Not that I know. Perhaps you can ask the adventurers. I understand that they can be found at The House of Peaceful Repose."

-----

"It makes sense," said Jablin as they walked down the steps from the House of Garlen. "They're flush with getting paid and the loot from a horror that robbed caravans. Of course they're staying at the nicest place in town. Well, the nicest place in town that will take adventurers, but you know what I mean."

"I know," Melora replied. "That's not what's bothering me."

"What is?"

"Two things. One, Deshad was the Bone Harvester. A horror that could take him down is dropped by three adventurers who hunting bandits."

"Perhaps it was resistant to sorcery. Or maybe Deshad had a bad day."

"Maybe, but that leads to two. He said he had people to kill."

"Forgive me, but from his reputation he always had people to kill. And meeting him in person did nothing to dispel that reputation."

"They all needed killing," she replied. "And if he was overpowered or taken by treachery and then fed to a horror, those who did have earned a trip to Death's halls ten times over."

Jablin took her hand. Melora turned to look into her husband's eyes. "He wasn't my friend or my comrade, but I am with you in this. Every step of the way, as far as you feel you need to take it. I swore to stand with you for all my days and I knew I was giving that vow to a Warrior."

"I know," she said softly. "And it means more to me than I can say easily." She leaned over and kissed her husband.

"We're almost there," he replied. "If they're serious about carousing, they haven't gotten close to finished drinking, but have probably gotten very talkative. Best time to ask questions."

Melora smiled at her husband and entered The House of Peaceful Repose. They walked down the dwarven rug with it's intricate patterns and past elven tapestries depicting bird filled forests. The elegant human hostess at the desk bowed as they approached. Perfect white teeth smiled at them. "Welcome back, honoured guests. How can I be of service?"

Melora momentarily wondered how any woman could manage to squeeze herself into the confines of the cerulean and gold gown the hostess wore. Having no muscles to speak of probably helped. "I was informed that three adventurers might be staying here. If they are available, we wish to speak with them."

"The adepts in question are in the common room. They like company. They are somewhat boisterous. If you would prefer a more sedate dining environment we can serve you in your rooms, of course."

"No," said Melora. "We wish to speak with them."

The hostess pointed. "This way then."

"Thank you," Melora replied and walked down the corridor, Jablin trailing her. She pushed open a solid oak door and walked into a elegant dining room. There they saw M'trengeth, Valoda, and Kreth holding court in front of an audience of a dozen well dressed men and women. Tables and chairs had been moved into a semi-circle around the the tree adepts. High quality dwarven stout was flowing freely.

"It's not the biggest or ugliest thing I've killed," M'trengeth was saying, "by which I mean it was really big and ugly. And the smell. You get one whiff of that thing's stench and you'll want a dragon to come down and burn everything in a mile. It took me three days to get the stink out-" she saw Melora and slowed down "of . . my . . nostrils."

Eyes turned to the married couple as they walked towards the three adepts. "I am Melora-Thrice Burned. This is my husband Jablin Ironbreaker. We would have words."

Valoda bowed. The dwarf's hair was curled into cylindrical rolls and she wore a bright blue robe. "Of course mistress."

"In private."

The adventurers exchanged glances. Valoda nodded. "Of course."

"Our rooms?" Melora suggested.

Valoda nodded. They followed the Warrior upstairs to her suite. Melora pulled the bell rope and ordered refreshments from the servant who arrived in an instant. She sat down at the end of the low table. "Sit," she said. Her husband joined her and then the adventurers.

"Let me first say," she began, "I am grateful for the rescue of my friend. There are some debts that can only be paid in blood, matters of life and death that surpass everything else. I am Thrice-Burned, but because of Warrior magic and Deshad's spells there is no sign of the damage I received. That will be payed.

"What you took from the horror is your plunder, but that doesn't mean Deshad forfeits the rights to his own possession. Whatever you have of his, I will pay a reward for it. For rescuing the man himself, I will pay another. For anything useful you can tell me, more."

"Mistress," said Valoda, "with respect, you are the Harbringers of the Storm but we are not without our pride. And not without respect for what you have done." Kreth nodded.

"We're not just mercenaries," said M'trengeth. "As you said, there are things beyond money. Everyone who steps into a horror's nest should stick together right? Besides, the gratitude of the Bone Harvester is probably worth more than money."

"Thank you," said Melora. "There are a number of thread items he carried. Black mesh armour, a platinum and jet ring, an-"

"No," said Volada. "There were no thread items. Nothing bound and powered by woven threads. Nothing to indicate he was a great hero. No grimoire or pledge coin either. We had no idea who he was until the high questor told us who he claimed to be and we were skeptical. Well, until we saw you."

"Then he was robbed before the horror took him."

"Yes," said Kreth. "To feed even an enemy to a horror . . . . only death can answer this."

"Yes," said Melora. "And it will."

Imperial Overlord · Post by **Imperial Overlord** » 2013-10-12 08:15am

"You're looking better," said Melora. The questor of Garlen at Deshad's bedside scuttled out of the way.

"Focused," replied Deshad. "Focused. I have more . . . clarity. I still look like a cadaver man."

"You would know."

"Yes, I do." He sighed through his teeth. "Still not enough strength. Tired too easily. Need something better than broth."

"Not yet," the questor replied. "Solid food next week, if your improvement holds."

"Fucking . . . healing schedules . . . for . . fucking mundanes. I'm an adept. I've . . .lost enough . . . time."

"Easy," said Melora. She stepped forward and took his hand. "Easy."

"Fuck easy. I was thrown . . . like a dog's bone . . . to a horror. Thrown to suffer. . . and die. It had me in that cocoon for . . . nearly two years. Two years . . . of pain. Delusion. Of taking pieces of me. My reward . . . for forbearance. Compromise." He spat the word out as if it was poison. "For mercy."

"Who did this to you?" asked Melora, but she already knew the answer. She was sure what it would be.

"Yelash Avelone. He had . . . a lot of help. Enough . . . in the end. And . . . my pledge coin."

"You always keep it with you."

"Stolen. Stolen and replaced. With a copy. He . . . showed me both when he explained that death . . . would not be swift or clean."

"So it might have been one of us."

"Who else? Knew the coin, knew where I carried it."

"Which is why you only sent for me."

"Yes."

"Focus on getting stronger. If you know of any magic that can help, tell me. We'll find a magician to use it."

"No need," he hissed. "Already know how. Need workspace. . . and ingredients."

"Your not strong enough to try anything yet."

"Only need to do . . . one thing. And it will . . . wait. The list . . . won't be short. It'll take you . . . awhile."

"Alright."

"Get me pen and paper. Or . . . stylus and clay. Or wax."

"Sleep now," Melora said. "Make the list when you're stronger. They'll leave wax and a stylus by the bed. Finish it and I'll get started. Deal?"

"Deal."

-----

"This is quite the list," said Jablin. "It doesn't do anything to reassure me about Nethermancy."

"It gets the job done," replied Melora. "He wanted it soon."

"In the shape he's in?"

"Nethermancers. Warriors have honour and loyalty. Weaponsmiths have dedication. Nethermancers have remorseless pursuit of their goals. They pay a heavy cost for their magic and places them on a dangerous road. The Discipline teaches them to avoid regret and second guessing. Like us, when they decide to do something they do it."

"You know him," Jablin said with a shrug. "What else is on your mind."

"He might have been betrayed."

"Might?"

"I'm not sure. He's sure."

"That could mean trouble. I take it he thinks it was a Harbringer?"

"Yes."

"Well, it wasn't you," said Jablin. "It wasn't him. That leaves five."

"Four. Trevog wouldn't do it. He would kill him with his axe, but not with treachery."

"And the others?"

"Yes, I can see them doing it. And Narka is the most likely."

"Why?"

"Because it would have been easiest for a Thief."

Imperial Overlord · Post by **Imperial Overlord** » 2013-11-05 08:30am

"Easy," said Melora as Deshad hobbled forward on one leg. The Warrior held the Nethermancer upright with his arm around her shoulders. Deshad's right leg ended just below the knee.

"The floor is cold," Deshad rasped. Her wore a short robe which revealed spiderweb network of scars on his limbs. More were hidden under cloth. Melora helped him down the halls of the House of Garlen.

"We have everything set up as you asked," Melora said. "It wasn't cheap and some of it was hard to fine. Might not have worked in a smaller city. Other than Bartertown, of course."

"I'm good for it."

"I know," she said. "Treasure vault in Throal. Not far from mine." She stopped at the door at the end of the corridor. She pushed it open with her free hand.

The room was gloomy, lit by a single light crystal in an iron sconce at the other side. A rug was laid out along the middle and the right side held a large trough filled with a dark fluid. A strong iron reek came from the trough. Boxes and bags were lined up in front of the trough.

"Will it do?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied, detaching from her to kneel on the rug and begin checking the containers of ingredients. "Yes it will."

"It was a pain in the ass getting that much blood without committing murder."

"I imagine it was," said Deshad. "But it was necessary." He turned and face the wall. "I can handle it from here. You don't have to stay if it makes you uncomfortable."

"I've torn men's guts out with an axe," Melora replied. "I doubt this will be that bad. I'll see it through. Like always."

"Yes, like always." He faced the wall and held out his hands. "Andira Voyace, The Morning Star and The Night Scythe. Teacher, I call you forth from beyond the veil of Death. Andira Voyace, I call you forth from the netherworlds. Andira Voyace, Master Nethermancer from before The Scourge, I call you forth!"

Shadow poured from the corners of the room, streaming and congealing into a mass in front of Deshad. The mass took shape. A tall woman, slim and sharp featured with hair that fell almost to her waste. She wore several layers of elaborate robes. "Deshad," said a soft voice that seemed to be the echo from an impossibly distant speaker. "Deshad, I hear you and have come."

"Teacher, I need your help."

"I have fulfilled our bargain," she replied. "I taught you as a Ghost Master and you passed along my teaching to others. My legend lives upon the Earth and my legacy is held by two generations of students. The bargain is fulfilled and done, unless you wish to advance yourself further along our discipline and I can see that is not why you have called me."

"You have fulfilled all your obligations teacher, but I come asking help. My flesh is ruined but it can be restored. Only a few can perform the necessary magics and you are one of those few."

"You call me forth from beyond the grave to keep you on your side of it," she replied. "Yes, I know the spell you mean and I know the changes that must be made. Casting a Named Spell is not lightly done, but it is not beyond me. I would ask you what is in it for me, but I will not lie. It pleases me to help you, it pleases me to extend my legacy in Barsaive, and it pleases me to be owed a favor. I will restore your body, Deshad, Harvester of Bones, and for the rest of your days you will be a living icon of my craft."

"Thank you teacher."

"Be thankful that vanity is a vice I never conquered," she replied. "I will make you whole Deshad. The rest is in your hands."

"Thank you."

"Disrobe and immerse yourself. I shall begin. Warrior."

"Yes Ghost Master?"

"Leave us and close the door. This will take a lot of time."

"As long as it works," Melora replied. She deliberately didn't look at Deshad as he shed his robe and hobbled over to the trough of blood.

"Leave that to me. As I leave the killing to you."

Imperial Overlord · Post by **Imperial Overlord** » 2013-11-23 07:15am

"Well well well," said M'trengeth as she climbed the last steps of the House of Garlen, "what do we have here?" The Swordmaster shaded her eyes and mimed peering into the distance. "Passions! I think it's a human!"

Valoda chuckled. Kreth didn't. The two adventurers were following one step behind their comrade.

"Funny," drawled Jablin. The Weaponsmith was sitting on the bench near the guards. "You can't see it, but inside I'm consumed by laughter."

Kreth chuckled. "All Swordmasters think they're funny, right up until they've talked themselves into trouble they can't trick their way out of."

M'trengeth drew her sword with a flourish and sliced a complicated pattern into the air. "Nonsense!" she declared. "When we can't talk we can trick and when we can't trick we can fight! No such situation exists! Haha!"

"Where's the wife?" Kreth asked.

"Subtle and full of dignity," Valoda murmured. "And she's inside. That's her harness on the stand just inside the door."

"Huh," said Kreth, peering through the doorway. "So it is."

"Anyway," said Valoda, "we were wondering if you might want a night out. Five course dinner, dwarf stout, the whole nine yards. We'd be honoured to host such a famous Warrior and her husband. And gain whatever helpful tips on not dying you might give."

"By 'you' you mean 'Melora'."

"Yes, but I was trying to be inclusive. Besides, I have no idea what valuable knowledge you might have other than on how to marry well."

"It's a valuable skill that pays enormous dividends in future happiness. I also know how to handle money and trust me, that's a rare skill for an adept and even more scare on professional adventurer-." His eyes went wide and narrowed.

"What is it?" Valoda asked, turning her head to look behind her. There was no sign of monsters or assassin gangs, just the wealthy people of the city and their servants going about their lives.

"What is it? What do you see?" M'trengeth asked as she craned her head this way and that.

"Well he knows he's blown now," said Kreth as he hefted his hammer. "Might as well point him out. Wait, never mind."

"That one," said Valoda. "Who is he?"

"Farantine," said Jablin. "Farantine the Blade Wind."

The Swordmaster was a human of average height with a lean build. He wore a cloak of scarlet esperaga scales over a light blue robe embroidered with green oak leaves. His hair and beard were blond, short, and neatly trimmed. His eyes were blue and danced with amusement. "Jablin! Nice to see you!"

"Farantine," said Jablin warily. "What brings you here?"

"Same thing as you. My old friend Deshad."

"And yet no letter was sent to you," said Jablin. "So how did you know to come? And you never got on that well with Deshad. At all. What were your words? 'A stuck up piece of dried shit with delusions of brilliance and just enough power that his delusions mattered.' I think those were it."

Farantine put his foot on the steps. "Clever as well as handsome," said Farantine. "I don't suppose you'll believe that I feel the old ties still bind?"

"I recall you saying you hated the idea of being tied down." Jablin drew his sword and slid his hand through his shield straps. He turned to the guardians. "Karlin, he's here to kill Deshad. Send someone to get Melora."

"She doesn't have the time to dawn her harness and against me without armour . . . " Farantines voice trailed off. "Does she know that she took my leavings?"

Jablin laughed. "You were a few days entertainment, that's all. And those days, they weren't that good. You spent too much time preening to be that good of a partner."

Farantine began to ascend the steps. "You three might want to stand aside. A body could get killed getting in my way."

"Might do that," said Kreth, "but I like them better than I like you, little man. And you're alone."

"Kreth," said Valoda warningly.

"A man stands, not cowers in fear."

"Fuck," she said. "You're going to get us killed."

"Really killed," said M'trengeth as she pointed her sword at Farantine.

"Your funerals," said Farantine with a shrug. He opened his robe revealing white breaches and a cuirass of black leather. He drew a slender broadsword with his right hand and a thick short stabbing sword with the left. The blades were smooth black crystal shot through with orange-gold veins of Orichalcum. Murder and Mayhem, blades ancient and storied when the Martyr Scholar unearthed the First Book of Harrow which foretold the coming of the Scourge. "Who's first or shall I pick?"

The two guardians lunged forward. The leaped into the air and glided down the stairs, their feet sliding on air an inch above the stair. They fell on Farantine like thunderbolts with their spears extended.

His blades moved and swept the spears away. He struck impossibly fast, far too quick to follow. Blood flowed in the blades' path. Murder severed the younger Warrior's arm at the elbow while Mayhem punched through flesh just beneath his breastplate and opened his bowels. The follow up stroke by Murder took his head clean off while Mayhem came around to parry Karlin's next strike. The Warrior was cat-swift but compared to the Swordmaster he was fighting under water.

Blood fountained from Karlin's left thigh, right breast, and throat. The Warrior fell from the air and tumbled down the white steps, leaving red ruin in his wake. "Not bad, but not exactly in my league," said Farantine. "The advantage of numbers also brings with it the complication of getting in your own way. And, of course, engaging with me. I am Farantine, The Blade Wind, Thirteenth Circle Swordmaster. Who will be next?"

Imperial Overlord · Post by **Imperial Overlord** » 2014-01-16 05:04am

"I AM!" roared Kreth. The troll's shout was followed by him leaping into the air, an impossible leap into the air that sent him plunging down on top of Farantine.

"Fucking Sky Raiders," the human muttered as he jumped to the side, narrowly outracing the head of Kreth's warhammer. He had, however, dodged into M'trengeth's path. The Swordmaster was lunging with her outstretched blade seeking his chest.

Farantine parried with Murder, beat back her counter attack, and pinked her in the side with Mayhem. A thin trickle of blood seeped from the t'skrang's armour. "Not bad," said Farantine, "but not good either. First exchange and you're already bleeding."

Jablin advanced down the stair, sword at the ready. He moved to come around on M'trengeth's right and flank Farantine. "Come pretty," said Farantine. "I have sword enough for all of you."

Kreth roared in response and surged towards Farantine. His hammer blow was so far wide that Farantine barely had to dodge, grinning as he did so. That was his mistake as Kreth's intent was not to strike with his hammer. The charging troll's shield clipped the Swordmaster as he was caught between the troll's hammer and the t'skrang's sword.

Farantine rolled with it, tumbling down the stairs and then regaining his feet. The three adepts came at him, M'trengeth in the middle, Kreth on his left, and Jablin on his right. "Well if you all want to dance, we can dance," said Farantine. "It's your funeral after all. Playtime's over."

Murder flicked at Kreth's face, causing the troll to take a step back while keeping his shield low to block if the attack had been a feint. Which it was. Mayhem parried a strike by M'trengeth and then swept low in order to strike if a hole opened in Kreth's low guard. That didn't happen but that wasn't what Farantine was after. The Swordmaster struck with Murder, the long blade flickering out almost too quickly to see. He opened a long cut on the troll's forearm and a shallow stab to his shoulder. Kreth's armour might as well be gauze for the protection it provided.

Fire and smoke rose from Kreth's wounds as Jablin and M'trengeth drove him back. Above them Valoda shouted into the sky as her spell reached a crescendo. Lightning crawled and flowed over Farantine in a falling curtain, dying out in hissing sparks at his feet. "Yeah, it hasn't come up yet, but it takes real work for spells to bite on me. Want to try again? Your friends don't have much time."

Jablin lunged, Farantine parried with Murder, flicked the blade to the side to twist and parry M'trengeth, drove her back with a thrust of Mayhem, and slashed at Jablin with Murder. The broadsword caught him in abdomen and rang against the silvery mail. Jablin grunted and stepped back, raising his sword to attack again.

"Your armour held," said Farantine with respect. "Granted it wasn't a hard blow, but it held. Well done. Did you forge it yourself? No, of course you did. You're a credit to your discipline. But you know how it goes."

Kreth brought his hammer down. Farantine slide into the attack and cut with Mayhem. The short sword cut through armour and flesh while scoring bone. Kreth groaned and dropped his hammer while Farantine freed Mayhem and stabbed him in the thigh and hip. Blood jetted from his wounds as the Sky Raider fell. To Farantine, his senses hyper alert, the troll fell in slow motion. Farantine had more than enough time to parry M'trengeth's strike with Murder and riposte, puncturing her lung. Jablin's thrust at his left side was sidestepped and Farantine ran him through stomach.

Farantine stepped back. "As I was saying, mail's best against slashing cuts. Not so good against thrusts." He advanced on them all. Murder and Mayhem flashed at almost imperceptible speeds. He beat M'trengeth's sword out of the way and stabbed her in the right shoulder, throat, and thigh. She fell jetting blood as he fell upon Jablin, stabbing him in the right lung with Murder and hacking open his left thigh with Mayhem. "Or a fierce enough blow."

Kreth rose up behind him and Farantine spun, droplets of blood flying from his blades. He stepped into his thrust. Murder punched through Kreth's shield, the arm behind, through his sternum, and out the back. Blood splattered on the steps and cobbles. Kreth tried to move, but the strength was draining out of him. Farantine put a boot on the shield and pushed. Murder came free and Kreth tumbled down the stairs. "Should have had Jablin make you some armour. Your harness wasn't up to the job."

He turned towards the top of the stairs. Lightning cracked and fell off him again like rain off an oilskin cloak. "Not so good," said Farantine. "And now you're out of time."

The Swordmaster cleared the stairs in three heartbeats and put Murder through Valoda's heart in a fourth. The dwarf fell, dark blood frothing on her lips, her body sprawled on Farantine's feet. "It could only have ever ended this way. If you had only stepped aside, you would have lived. Why you people engage in such pointless sacrifice mystifies me. Hello Melora."

The Warrior had just emerged from House of Garlen. "Farantine."

"Your husband might not even be dead yet," he replied. "And if he is there's still time for a last chance salve. Go to him and let me catch up with our old friend. You didn't even like him much."

"Didn't like you much either and now I like you even less."

"You're wearing an arming doublet," said Farantine. "It's been woven with elemental air and fire to be very comfortable, but that's it. Plate's nice, but it takes time you don't have to don and that's with help. There's only one way this can end."

She pulled a long handled axe with a blade of blood red crystal and a brutal back spike from the weapon racks and took up a silver shield with the image of a rearing griffon engraved upon it. They were Spellmirror and Oceanmaker and their Legends had only grown upon joining with hers. Her skin darkened from gold to a cold mottled grey and her features grew more angular and jagged.

Farantine's jaw dropped. "You always did talk to much," she said as her feet left the ground. Two steps she climbed up into the air and then leaped down upon Farantine like inexorable judgement.

Imperial Overlord · Post by **Imperial Overlord** » 2014-01-30 11:00pm

Oceanmaker bit stone, sending chips of marble flying as Farantine danced out of the way. Melora slid through the air and struck again, impossibly quick. Farantine barely knocked the axe aside with Mayhem. A riposte slid off Spellmirror. "Raggok take you," Farantine hissed. "Why won't you take the damn deal?"

Farantine unleashed a flurry of blows. Several only cut air, one was blocked by Spellmirror and Oceanmaker parried another. A strike from Murder struck Melora high in the face with a loud ringing sound. A thin cut opened on the Warrior's cheek. "Fuck," said Farantine.

A crowd was beginning to gather on the street. More and more onlookers were peering out of windows and standing on balconies. Melora lashed out with a sweeping kick at his knees, forcing Farantine to jump back. She followed up with a shield charge which the Swordmaster didn't quite manage to avoid. Farantine opened a thin cut on her right arm with with Mayhem as he reeled down the stairs from the shield bash. Melora swooped down with Oceanmaker. Farantine sidestepped and stabbed, connecting with a ringing sound as he opened a shallow wound with Murder.

"Nice trick," said Farantine as he slowly backed away. "I mean who needs plate harness when you can give your body the strength of stone right? If your flesh was mortal I would have cut through it like water and down through your bones as if they were jelly. Now, not so much." He smiled from ear to ear. "So this really will be a fight!"

He lunged, feinting towards Melora's legs with Mayhem and her arm with Murder. Axe and shield caught the swords as Melora pushed forward and stomped on his shin and head butted him. The Swordmaster staggered back and she slammed him in the face with Spellmirror as Murder held Oceanmaker at bay and Mayhem sank into her side. With a surge of strength she pushed and sent him sprawling. Farantine somersaulted to his feet. "Not bad, not bad. Shall we go again? You husband doesn't have all the time in the world."

She came at him in a blur, feet not quite touching the ground, and Oceanmaker descended like a thunderbolt. Farantine's stood his ground. No armour, not even a set with enchantments as potent as his, would be able to withstand the coming blow. He parried with Murder, intending more on redirecting than blocking. The shock of impact ran through his arms, back, and legs. His knees bent with the force as he turned his body and the course of the blow, pulling it and Melora to the right. Pulling her guard open.

Spellmirror caught Mayhem, but Murder slipped through. Slipped through with most of Farantine's considerable strength behind it. Murder was a storied blade in the hands of an adept with superhuman prowess who was channeling enough magic to rival a dragon. Even stone-hard flesh had limits. Blood gushed as the blade pierced Melora's lung.

Murder came free in just enough time to block Oceanmaker's backswing. Mayhem pierced her gut. Bloody froth stained the Warrior's teeth, but she neither backdowned nor yielded. "Is that your best?" Melora asked, words snarled through bloodstained teeth. "Not enough. Not enough by far. I burned. Three times I burned. Each time I stood."

"And you still stand," said Farantine as he circled her. The Warrior's feet still did not quite touch the ground. She could explode into a blur of superhuman speed at any moment. "But you're also bleeding from mortal wounds. I'm a little tired and a little bruised. Time isn't on your side and it wouldn't be even if your husband was healthy."

She charged again. Predictable. Farantine met her again. She twisted, Spellmirror blocking Mayhem and Oceanmaker's angle of descent turning. Axe met sword and Murder was pulled down and to the side before the weapon's disentangled. Oceanmaker cut into the meat of Farantine's thigh. The Swordmaster fell. Oceanmaker came down again. Murder blocked, but spun away. Oceanmaker came down again.

The axe's blade cut through flesh and bone. Blood geysered from a staved in chest and ruined lung. Farantine's leg wound was crippling and the chest wound was both incapacitating and fatal. The Swordmaster parried the next strike with Mayhem, reclaimed Murder and stabbed at her face, driving Melora back as he stood up on the bloodstained cobbles.

"Fuck me with a kraken tentacle," Farantine swore. "And fuck Selayin too. Teaches me to listen to that bitch. And fuck Deshad. To think I would be cutting and bleeding over that asshole." He sucked in a breath. "Well struck. This round to you." He began to back away. "I'll take my leave unless you would prefer to chase me instead of pulling your husband back over the brink of death."

Melora let him go. Farantine backed away and then turned and walked through the crowd. It parted before him. He eyeball fucked the leader of a group of city guards. "Don't even think of it. I'll carve you new assholes before you can blink. I just left six adepts dead in the street and anyone of them could have taken you." The guards backed away as Farantine pulled a small bronze flask from his belt and took a pull from it. The flow of blood from his wounds stopped. "That's better."

Behind him Melora knelt by Jablin's body and pulled out a small vial of purple liquid from her belt pouch. She poured it into his wounds. "Live please," she whispered. "Please Garlen. Please Astendar. Please live." She lowered her head to his face.

Jablin's body jerked and he took in a ragged breath. Melora laughed, short and harsh. His eyes opened. "Melora."

She smiled. "Yes. You're going to be all right."

"Did you kill the motherfucker?"

"No. He got away."

"Next time."

"Next time."

Imperial Overlord · Post by **Imperial Overlord** » 2014-03-13 05:05am

Valoda woke to an ache in her chest. Her eyelids felt as heavy as tombstones, but she managed to open them. She was lying on her back, in bed. In what was probably a room in the House of Garlen.

"I can't believe that fucker failed to kill me," she rasped.

A slim middle aged human woman held a cup to her lips. The cool water within was almost as good as ale. "He didn't," the questor said. "He killed you stone dead. The House of Garlen does maintain a policy of free healing to those that fall in its service and that includes last chance salves."

"My friends."

"They're fine. Well, recovering, but they'll be fine. Adepts heal well."

"I know. I'm as weak as a kitten."

"What you need now is rest. You can go stick a sword in someone in a few days."

"Don't be silly. I'm an Elementalist. I'm not going to stab him. I'm going to set the motherfucker on fire."

-----

Deshad sat down on the bench beside Melora. Before them the heart of Travar was revealed. The view was excellent.

The Nethermancer was still skinny, but was no longer emaciated and his skin was smooth instead of a snarl of scars. He had most of his parts back too, except from a stone of blue crystal that replaced his left eye. He wore a lose white robe, belted around the waist with a length of rope. "Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome," she replied.

"This has cost you. I appreciate it."

"I had to do it. Skip the pleasantries Deshad. I appreciate the effort, but we were never close and we both prefer to face the problem directly in front of us."

"It won't be just Farantine next time," said Deshad. "And I'm vulnerable."

"I've been thinking about that," said Jablin as he walked through the doorway. His steps were slow, like those of an old man but their was still strength in the Weaponsmith's body. "Why Farantine alone?"

"He was in a rush," said Melora.

"Yes, but why alone? How did he know to come here? How did he know that time was of the essence?"

"Someone talked," said Deshad. "The House of Garlen is not the House of Secrets."

"Exactly," said Jablin. "But how does that careless word get to Farantine so quickly? Does he have a network of spies, rushing messages across Barsaive for him?"

"No," said Melora. "Someone else did and got word to him quickly. Got word and transportation."

"The Avelones," said Deshad.

"Or Selayin," said Jablin. "She's set herself up nice and cozy in Urupa. She easily has the means to contact Farantine quickly, if not instantly."

"What about Narka?" asked Deshad.

"He might have the spy network," said Jablin, "but he hasn't been seen. Selayin we know has the spy network."

"And the Avelones," said Deshad. "We know they're involved and they know who they are in league with."

"What are you saying?" said Jablin.

"You're asking why just Farantine?" replied Deshad. "We know the answer. He was the only living legend they could get their hands on quickly and the force had to be small. So it was just him, because a high Circle adept is not much different than a dragon. It takes a lot of small fry to matter to them. We know the Avelones looted me and we know they're involved and we know until they've gathered their strength, they've shot their bolt. That gives us an opportunity to strike before they're ready."

Jablin looked at his wife. "What do you think?"

"There are no certainties in war," she said, "but this way we can learn who are enemies are and strike at them when they are vulnerable."

"And if they aren't vulnerable?"

"War is risk, but we will not be blind. We have our eyes and Deshad's spells. It'll be hard to escape our gaze."

"Then let's do it."

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