Vestige

So I'll lay this out real quick for you. 1. A quick google search leads me to conclude that the time-frame for most empires does not last "thousands of years" just because the stars aligned for that length of time. I recognize that you can do whatever the hell you want in fiction, but you better have a damn good reason for an empire lasting that long. The Roman Empire lasted ~1500 years. The Ottoman Empire lasted ~600. Your opening line sucks. As a reader, my first question is: how did this empire last for thousands of years? Your response is: it just did. Who were the rulers? Who were the founders? How did the nation start? What about what the world USED to be like before it got dominated by Team Rocket? You don't get to conquer the world without making some enemies. What sorts of wars were fought during this period of thousands of years? What methods did the empire employ to subjugate the entire damn world? 2. Okay, so you're telling me this empire that has lasted thousands of years and dominated the globe was brought down because the "Nameless Emperor" died of influenza and his corrupt son-in-law took over? What about his actual children? What happened to them? What about the Emperor's knights? They just chilled while literally Hitler decided to start mucking things up? (Additionally, this Emperor doesn't even have a name--much like your empire.) 3. And again, I'm surprised it took thousands of years for this empire to turn shitty, but I digress. Here you make the point "there was nothing they could do to revolt" : "but all it took was one moment for that to change". So which is it? Can the people revolt or not? I'm out of things to quote now. Your setting and plot hook amounts to a whopping paragraph of description and detail. And that's being generous. Suppose I want to make a character. What sort of background can I write with the given information? I can't write anything. I don't know anything about the territories within the empire. I don't know anything about the cultures. I know nothing about the geography. We don't even get a time period. Stone age, bronze age, iron...? Is there magic here? How does that operate? What about other common fantasy tropes? Dragons? Elves? Monsters? Is this even fantasy to begin with? I could go on and on really. You need to create a world that is engaging. Edit: I see you've already made some adjustments in the interim, but I'll leave this here for posterity.

Alain had thought he'd tempered his expectations well enough, and yet he still managed to find himself deflating upon every corner they turned--all culminating in a final exasperated sigh as they approached what appeared to be the main hall. Had these people not been told of their coming by 'Lord' Belial himself? And despite that, the best they had managed to dig up was a ghoul who fancied himself a jester, and a corpse that had all but forgotten to stop breathing? This was the welcoming they offered to a Princess who stood before the door of acceptance? "Astonishing, simply astonishing," he gasped, taking in the full view of the hall. Not that there was much to take in to begin with. He was told there would be elders plural, and yet only Dumah was seated before them. Perhaps the hall was more a cemetery, and the remaining elders had long since been laid to rest? He looked between Duham and Raum, quietly lamenting his very own existence. I'm to fight Malaphar with this? He would be better served joining the remaining elders in the great beyond before Malaphar had a chance to burn him to cinders. He let out another sigh as Dumah began to speak, but slowly he found his exasperated disappointment giving way to begrudging acknowledgement. Perhaps his companions had failed to notice, but for all his faults the elder possessed a cognizance that was not wholly mortal. It was impossible for Dumah to have known his past without Belial's aid. He would know. He had experienced the same manner of revelations himself. Though it irked him that the man would speak of his previous life so openly in front of the very people he would have hoped to hide it from. But the point was soon forgotten once Cassandra began to speak. As he listened, he couldn't help but smile. For just a few moments she commanded the air with an authority that even she herself may have never known she had. Still she paled in comparison to Ethel, yet just days ago she was wrought with fantasies of life as a village maiden. And now she spoke of reforming a kingdom and killing a man who sought power to rival the lords of light and dark. A bold turn of character if ever he'd seen one. "It is as Cassandra says. As it so happens, the Malaphar you speak of is the very man that stands at the epicenter of this all. You have my condolences for the fate of your son. I myself have borne witness to the horrors of his realm," he revealed, a dark expression washing over him. Even now the sorcerer was likely seated upon his throne, plotting and planning. "My heart holds many desires Elder Dumah, but in this moment I desire the end to the man known as Malaphar."

Alain returned Sebastian's question with a snort. "It appears that Belial doesn't care much for appearances. Quite noble I should say. Equality for both the prince and the pauper. Though I'm afraid her Majesty's court demands a bit of a higher standard, so I wont be changing my attire anytime soon." He dragged his fingers along the earthen walls, chaffing away any of the dirt he'd picked up along the way. The place was every-bit as dark, dingy, and morose as he could have imagined. Granted, it sure beat Malaphar's world, but when it came to their tour-guide, well... Raum was every bit as shaky, hollow, and eerie as the grounds upon which he presided. Perhaps it was wrong to judge so early, but it was no surprise now that these cultists held the reputation that they did. To Alain's knowledge, this man marked the third Belialist he'd met--and between him, the old man, and Constance, they didn't really stray too far from the mark. They were all unhinged in one way or the other. Was it the the madness of Belial, or the stupor of old age? He couldn't know for sure, but an unsettling shudder crawled through his body all the same. Either would prove their own kind of damnation... "In any event let us be hasty Raum. I've traveled a great deal already, and I'm eager to meet these so called brothers and sisters of mine," he said. He began to usher the man forward but stopped to spare a glance back towards Naiman. Her proverb had been lost on him, but he could tell her interest had been piqued even if she dared not to admit it. He offered her a wry smile and beckoned her forward. Where had her haughty disinterest wandered off to, he wondered? "It seems you've made a good impression on her Raum, I'm impressed." Eccentric though the man was, they, like Belial, couldn't afford to give much credence to appearances, at least for now. They were in desperate need of powerful allies--hopefully the elders would provide. "The rest of you are free to remain here if you like, though I imagine staring at dirt walls and floors can only captivate for so long."

"Hm? Did I what? You must be imagining things Cassandra," Alain remarked coolly, the faintest hint of a smile forming on his lips. She'd heard him no doubt--the demon who whispers in the hearts of all men. But for Alain, such words came as mere assurance rather than grand revelation. It wasn't that he trusted the demon, as Belial's words seemed to imply--rather he trusted the demon's desires. Even for all his power, he was an entity cast out--maligned by all and his followers marred just the same. It was a laughable state of affairs and surely even he sought some form of change? "Indeed, it seems the path has been laid out to us. Soon perhaps, the truth of my words will be brought to light," he said, his eyes shining with wicked delight.

He returned Naiman's look with a nervous nod, already beginning his descent. Even he could admit that In the face of the natural order, mortal magic was a mere mockery of the elements. He'd died to a lightning strike before--suffice to say he wasn't interested in playing that bad end again. "Point taken. We'll see how far we can get for now. It shouldn't be much longer," he muttered. Hopefully. He turned to Cass now, and shook his head in dismay. "Unfortunately no," he said, wiping away some of the rain from his eyes. He's likely too busy laughing it up right now. "But I guess his lack of presence just further indicates that we're still on the right track," he added. "You seem fairly pleased with yourself this morning though. I think Mister Aurelio could learn a thing or two from his liege about complaining--or the lack thereof in this case," he said.

"I'd say the top of a soggy hill is a vast improvement over that hovel you were living out of. As long as we've not steered off course we should be fine," he muttered, slicking his hair back. Or so he said, but even he had to admit to being a little worried. The monotony of the landscape was hardly instilling any confidence in him, and there was always the chance that Malaphar had come by for another massacre. But what else could he do? Most of his tea-time chats tended to occur over the stench of his own death--and he wasn't going to stick himself on a sword just to show up and ask for some more directions. "I'd say the grey mist is a sign of our impending arrival." A total and utter lie, but anything to abate the mounting complaints for another hour or two. He looked over to Cassandra, curious as to her thoughts on the matter. She was the closest thing he had to another "believer" but it stood to reason that she too may have been questioning her faith. Either way, it was ultimately her decision on how they would proceed. At least Barry and Paul were having themselves a productive time. For a pair of uncultured brutes, they were surprisingly intelligible when it came to their debates... in a round-about sort of way. He pursed his lips together into something of a thin smile. The subject of their discussion was one he'd thought of once in a while, but he reached the conclusion that it didn't really matter to him one way or the other. He'd accepted Belial's call with the worst possible scenario already in mind. And as far as he was concerned, he was only in it for the knowledge. He was a mage after all, and of the three branches of magic only one remained wholly unexplored by most men. The truths between Belial and Engel changed little about his decision.

Of course, who else should be his opponent but the most powerful man in the world? It was all starting to come back full circle wasn't it? Belial, the elixir, Malaphar, his world, the cults, the dreams, and now this. Damn it all. Anyone else. If it had been anyone else, he would have been fine--confident even. Sure he was no military general, but he had a fairly sharp mind. But how was he supposed to win a war against a man who could decimate entire tribes of people by himself? By himself! He had stunning mastery over magic. He could bring people back from the dead. And worst of all, he could play god in his own little world. This was a man who had lived at least twenty of Alain's own lifetimes. And the only thing Alain had in the way of a trump card was a key to the backdoor that he didn't even have control over. Unfair didn't even begin to describe it. "I'm aware, but if we are to remain allies, I'd rather not have them doubting me at every turn," he replied. Cassandra had a point though. It was better if these tribesmen didn't understand Belial or magic in general. He didn't really need them to. Where Naiman and Astaroth were questioning its merits, he would soon have the rest of the northern tribes questioning its limits. With that, he would have a proper vehicle to garner their support. Although... wasn't she acting a bit too rational and composed? There was little merit in bringing up Malaphar now in front of the entire group, but surely she knew as well as he did about his involvement. It was a bit surprising then that she wasn't trying to convince him to drop the act and plan for a swift retreat instead. Did she... even understand just how dangerous things had become now that he was involved? Or did she just not care? "In any event, the sign which you all asked for has come to pass. We should make haste," he muttered, his gaze lingering on the arrow. It hadn't been anything as flashy as a beacon, but it was sure to suffice. Though no doubt Naiman would try to pass it off as some trickery, but it didn't matter much. As long as his "friends" had managed to steer clear of Malaphar, he would have his vindication soon enough.

Such arrogance... That this paltry "chieftain" would speak of him with such brazen condescension was at once both infuriating and amusing--and with such casualness! Alain shook his head, his eyes filled with incredulity. Engel above. He could only imagine what sorts of vile sins his tribe must have committed to have been cursed with such a man as their leader. "For a people who know very little beyond the scope of hunting and gathering, you lot speak as though you were born with enough knowledge to surpass my own mentors." He ran an idle hand through his hair, trying to maintain his composure. Somewhere within the darkest depths of his heart he could feel wicked desire beginning to surface. Oh how it longed to deliver the man to the abyss which he mocked with such conviction. When Belial's kin had him in their grasp, ready to sate their hunger, what sort of drivel would he vomit out then? Would he curse his folly, or hold true to his conceit? He shook his head and let out a tired sigh. Such cruelness was ill-befitting of him, and the imagery itself was enough to sate him. In fact, the folly was his own. He was expecting far too much from a man who knew far too little. The very idea of an army was sure to have roused Belial's interest. Even if it took a miracle, he'd get what he needed. He was certain. "As I recall, you were feeling quite slighted by Cassandra's words last night, were you not? And yet here you are, singing very much the same tune. How odd." He frowned, his attention turning towards the huntress. Regrettably, her own tribe had apparently been decimated much in the same way the Uuliin's had. And not too long ago in-fact. But rather than showing some humility, she continued with Astaroth's mockery where he had left off. Could he fault her for her skepticism? Perhaps not. But still... He cocked his head to the side, bringing a hand to rest upon his chin. "But of course you're right, what need have we of such blatant nonsense? Surely the huntress knows better than I on matters of the arcane. Shall I go and gather some bundles of grass to win our battles then? Or shall we instead wage war with sharpened sticks and pointed rocks?"

Incredible. Alain brought a hand up to his mouth. He didn't want to disrespect the already wounded warrior, but the way she spoke of Danval was almost too much to bear. Who could have imagined that charlatan and his band of lecherous brutes were playing such an integral role in maintaining the power balance of the region? He might have felt bad if not for the fact that the Dragons weren't exactly paragons of noble intentions. The world was probably better off without them. "A good start, but far too narrow in scope Graham," he finally said, regaining some of his composure. "It's not a matter of gathering the "good" tribes to fight the "bad" tribes. That's too simplistic. It's too naive..." A knowing look began to creep up on his face--one that he made no efforts to hide. It's a matter of survival. And when it comes down to that, well, you tend not to give a damn about being on the good side or the bad side. What matters is ending up on the winning side. "A king has a duty to protect his people before all else. I imagine the same holds true of the tribal leaders of Magonsaete," he said, looking between the three present natives. "Unfortunately, it appears Uuliinyagaantsetseg has seen first hand what lies in store for those who try to be "good". Now tell me, who among you would you stake the well being of your entire clan on some grand delusions brought forth by... a bunch of misplaced foreigners, a disgraced warrior with no home, and a self-important chieftain?" He let out a pained laugh. "Some people might. I sure wouldn't," he admitted. "Honestly, we have no way of knowing just how outmatched we really are. And the way I see it, there's simply no guarantee that the tribes of the north will readily come to terms with us--even with the backing of the Asarai." He sighed. Worse still, he had no way of knowing how outmatched he was. Politics was one thing, but he was no General Tarasque. The best way to learn a game was to play it, but this was surely one hell of a game to be playing... "But I do know that allowing this conquest to continue unimpeded could have dire consequences on the war that surrounds us. The momentum of this southern coalition will likely engulf this land and stretch its arms towards either Raewald or Wyke--both would be disastrous for reasons I need not explain," he said, holding steady to Cassandra's gaze. "What we need is something that will make our side seem like the winning side from the outset. Otherwise, joining us instead of fleeing or allying with the southern tribes would be tantamount to suicide. Luckily, I have some "friends" in the region who happen to dabble in these so called 'devious' arts," he said, his eyes gleaming with devilish intent. If he could gather Belial's followers under a single banner, then what their group lacked in numbers they could make up for in sheer strength. Petitioning the aid of the remaining tribes would be a far easier task with a legion of sorcerers at his beck and call. "I do wonder what sorts of stories the people here tell of Belial."

Beset by a sense of childish mischief, Alain peered through the entrance of the tent. He hoped to catch a glimpse of Naiman scrambling to arm herself as news of their impending visitor roused her from her sleep. Such an image would prove to be a valuable source of ammunition with which he could assail the confident warrior with at a later date. As light spilled inside, he felt his muscles tense and his mouth begin to dry. His cheeky grin was erased from existence, replaced by the clear understanding that he had, in fact, lost his boyish innocence long ago. In a moment that spanned for eternity, he stood frozen, bearing witness to eight-hundred flowers in full bloom. Despite his intrusion, she continued her stretching unfettered. Unlike Accolon, she hadn't spared him so much as a look. Had she, in overwhelming good faith, assumed that he'd remained outside as a proper fellow ought to have? Or was she simply displaying a boldness he would have to learn was rather typical among Magonsaetian women? Intoxicated as he was, Naiman's cold voice shook him back into sobriety. He cast his gaze aside, hoping against all hope that his oft-praised silver-tongue might present for him a string of pleasant words to abdicate him of his heinous crime. "... ... ..." "... ... ... ..." "Pardon me." He excused himself with demonic speed, unsure of whether he should work towards purging the memory, or capturing it forever. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, letting out a deeply troubled sigh. Once was somewhat excusable, but twice in such a short span of time was starting to become a depressing ordeal. Before he'd had proper time to compose himself, Naiman made good on her word, readying herself in record time. He tried to confront her for a brief moment, hoping to catch a glimpse of her face. Did she know, and not care? Or was he about to lose his eyes come nightfall? He had to know. But she, perhaps feeling as though he'd caught enough glimpses already, strut past him with icy resolve, dragging a frigid wind in her wake. Woefully defeated, he meandered after her, sparing a passing thought as to whether powerful men such as Malaphar and Olaf had ever encountered such moments as well. -:- "Even so, it pays to be cautious in this land. The fate of your caravan is proof enough of that," he said, rejoining his companions. Any indications of his petty troubles had been pushed aside to deal with the issues at hand. "To take anything at face value here is nothing short of folly." A woman like Scuttle had been proof enough of that. He wasn't interested in any more reminders. But as things were, he found no ill-intent from the woman now kneeling in the face of the abyss. She announced herself as Uuliinyagaantsetseg, and she came bearing rather harrowing news. He stole a sideways glance over to Naiman. They bore rather similar names all things considered. Was it mere coincidence, or were they part of the same tribe? Strangers though they were, he couldn't help but hope it was the former. He owed her that much. But still, he wasn't as surprised as Cassandra seemed to be. Wyke was long the object of affection for the bordering tribes and bandits. It was no surprise then that with her fall, a warlord should rise to begin its conquest in earnest. Barbarians or no, Magonsaete was not an exception to the rules. Some men were born to lead, and some men were born to follow. Who they followed was ultimately of little consequence. "It shouldn't be so unimaginable, Cassandra." He swiped his hand through the air, and upon his command the abyss began to fall upon itself. The earth began to return as it once was, leaving Uuliin with room to breathe a little easier. "You saw the sheer stupidity of Danval's men, did you not? They followed an incompetent fool like that until the bloody end. If the lot of the southern tribes are anything like that, then it was only a matter of time before a wolf would rise to corral the sheep." But even so, the speed with which this operation was unfolding was troubling. Even if the sheep were waiting to be herded, the individual tribe leaders surely would have put up some sort of resistance. He folded his arms. Just who might this faceless wolf be? Whatever the case, he could at least be sure that this turmoil would jolt Cass from her fantasies. And if the tribes of Magonsaete should unite under a banner, why should they not unite under hers? This faceless leader had done much of the work for them already. They just needed to dispose of him, and take his place. Yes, this was the prime opportunity to muster a force strong enough to take back Wyke--with or without Owen's aid. Either he would seat Cassandra atop the throne, or strengthen Ethel's grip upon it. Choose wisely, my dear friend.

Alain raised a brow at Astarosh's apparent lack of faith in him, but he paid little heed to his poor criticisms. "You wound me chief. But if you fancy yourself so bright, I implore you to vault over yourself and see the outcome," he sneered. He snapped his fingers, and an array of hands reappeared from the void, lurching upwards into the air and then slinking away with abject disappointment. "Men of low intelligence are quick to assume the same of others. Pray that you do not become such a man before you find yourself no longer able to pray." He brushed past Astaroth, letting out a snort as he went by. Cassandra, at least, had seemed stricken by the display. He gave her a smile, and made his way over to her tent. She'd mentioned Naiman was still sleeping, though the idea that she would be the last to rise was rather amusing. She seemed to be the type to rise the earliest. He opened the flap of her tent, and called out to her. "Hello, Miss Eight Hundred Precious Flowers, your attention is required immediately. We have a visitor approaching."

Where Cass' dreams were free from worry, Alain's were marred with the reflection of Malaphar's world. Seeing Emmet all but confirmed his visions weeks prior when he'd met with Constance. Malaphar sure knew how to pick his allies--or servants more likely. That the man who'd spoken of Alain's supposed immortality with his dying breaths had somehow achieved it himself was an unfair sort of irony. Worse still was that Malaphar seemed to be acutely aware of Claire's infringement upon his domain. To think, she was trying to oppose him and thus far all she'd done was strengthen him--to the detriment of everything around her no less... What a mess. "Charge if you like, but it's just one woman," he scoffed, emerging from his tent. Astaroth's yelling had done his sleep no favors, but at least he'd been made somewhat aware of the situation. The woman was every bit as towering as she'd been described to be--likely even bigger up close. But big or no, as long as she was sufficiently far away, he had ample time to prepare with Balor. He opened his tome, and began to manifest his will. The ground ahead slowly began to blister and erupt with a murky tar like substance. As the darkness began to pool and clot, long tenebrous arms emerged from its midst. The hands clawed at the earth with rapacious delight, relenting only after the darkness had been sufficiently shaped to Alain's whim. He stepped back to admire his work. The woman would have to be consumed by madness or desperation to attack across such a divide. Any attempts to circumvent the length of barrier would give the rest of his companions ample time to ready their weapons and apprehend the tribeswoman. He wiped some sweat off his brow, and turned back with a grin. "And now we wait."

Alain stifled a laugh as Naiman's facade began to slowly unravel around her. She'd put up a fairly stoic front during the wagon ride, but now the manner of her words betrayed her. Just getting her name right was cause enough for the huntress to offer him some praise. It wasn't the first time that he'd been complimented on his eloquence, but it was admittedly a bit surprising to hear a total stranger be so forthright with him--especially one who rightfully had little cause to appreciate the tongue of nobility. Some quick thought into the matter led him to conclude that perhaps Naiman's prolonged exposure to Sylvia had simply whittled away at her expectations. But if merely uttering her name correctly was enough to get on Naiman's good side, he was happy to oblige. And as it turned out, the sentiment behind her name was actually rather poignant. Though he would be remiss to say he believed the name actually had anything to do with her survival. If all it took was a name, he may as well have started calling himself "Naimanzuunnadintsetseg Duhamel" for all the good that was going to do. But perhaps...? No... I dare say it doesn't quite suit me... "Quite the story. I have to admit I feel a touch of sorrow for your parents though," he said. "They went through all that trouble of hiding you from Death himself, and yet you're out here doing this." He motioned to his stomach, cutting a line across as he used to free hand to mimic the spewing of bloody entrails and whatever else was locked away inside the human body. He even threw in some poorly crafted sound effects to enhance the imagery. "I have to imagine Death has taken a great deal of notice of you by now. Feminine name or no. What with all the help you've been giving him." He wore a wry smile, though he was admittedly more perturbed by her deftness of hand than he let on. The idea of being on the receiving end of such a gut opening wound sent a quiet shudder down his spine. He wasn't sure if Belial would bother bringing him back from such an end. Best to keep my wits about me. "But tell me, Miss Naimanzuunnadintsetseg, if you're so inclined. You seem a bit far from home," he said, pausing for a moment. "Well actually maybe not. I don't really have any idea where you're from after all," he said, letting out a nervous chuckle. "But what's the plan? Not to question your tastes, but a group of foreigners such as this is a bit of an odd fit for someone like you, wouldn't you say?"

"And there she goes." Alain let out a chuckle as he watched Cassandra make her timely getaway. He laughed, but it was admittedly painful watching Cassandra continue to throw away the greatest opportunity life could have given her. She was clearly unsatisfied with the status quo, but despite having the means she lacked the will to change it. It was the height of folly. He was certain Ethel would have agreed. "I'm not going to claim I know what's it's like to live out here, but I figure I have a better idea than most. It must be irritating hearing a girl like her speak of life out here like a mere trifle, but she's faced her fair share of tribulations as well. If you can find it within you, please indulge her fantasy for a little while longer. She'll be waking up sooner or later," he said, turning to face the tribeswoman. Even outside of battle she managed to strike quite the imposing figure against the glow of the fire. She and Sylvia both had a kind of intensity about them--but Naiman seemed to have the extra ardor found only among beasts of the wild. How fitting, that. "Naimanzuunnadin... tsegtseg, is that right? We don't hear names like that where I'm from. It's quite, er, fascinating," he said, nodding to himself. Good lord, what a mouthful. What had Astaroth said her name meant? Eight hundred flowers or some such? He wasn't exactly a flower fanatic, but that still seemed like far too many flowers for any one person to be carrying around. Why couldn't her parents have just settled for five or six flowers like rational human beings? And if someone was to go through all the trouble of gathering eight hundred flowers, why not go the extra step and make it a clean one thousand? "Something to do with flowers, yes? Any type in particular that catches your fancy? Your friend Sylvia seems conflicted about which she likes the best... it's a bit unsettling actually," he grimaced.

"Fine with me Chief," Alain said, looking over to Aurelio. The man seemed fairly keen to return to Wyke at the soonest possible hour. Apparently, nobody had told him that there were no plans to do so. How sad. Though, he had to admit he was surprised that Cassandra had chosen to ignore his comment. He'd expected her to clear the air immediately. Was she feeling sorry for the man, or was she herself having second thoughts? He walked up to the fire, and folded his hands behind him. "Impressive work there Cassandra. Good to see your control of magic isn't as horrendous as Claire's. You'd think after seven years she'd have a handle on it by now. Shame she isn't here to see your progress. It does make me wonder how our friends are faring right now though... "

He let out a deep sigh. They'd managed to finish the battle without suffering any serious injury, but he still felt mentally exhausted. So much so that he'd whiffed his last few spells. It was quite embarrassing, if he had to be honest. All this diplomacy and war nonsense had left him little time to give his sorcery any serious consideration for a fair while. Hopefully he'd be able to change that soon, but there was more talking to be done so that would have to wait. "Forgive me Cassandra, but I'm not sure if boldly proclaiming your royal bloodline in a country of brigands and thieves is a particularly smart idea," he said, interjecting himself into the conversation. Admittedly, he was pleased that she was still holding on to her identity--it was a good sign for the future. But it didn't take a genius to understand that royalty would fetch a high price among the right group of people, or the wrong group as it were. It was never wise to provoke an enemy into a second wind, no matter the situation. "Do be more considerate in the future." He turned to the other woman, eyeing her carefully. "In any event, I suppose the fact that you haven't tried to kill us yet is a good sign, Sylvia," he said. "If you don't mind me asking, what is a Toulousian doing all the way out here with some nameless merchant caravan?" He had his eyes fixated on her gun, trying to make sense of the odd contraption. It didn't seem particularly magical, not in the way his tomes were, but it had definitely killed some men. It even sounded similar to his thunder magic.

"She told you to heal my wounds damn butler, not open up the old ones," Alain huffed, rolling his eyes as Sebastian's quips. He took a moment to scan the battlefield while he waited for his strength to return to him. Things were looking fairly good as far as their group was concerned. What once seemed like a giant horde of brutes had been cut down to a mere handful of fools. Their southern "companions" seemed to be having some trouble though, but they needed to deal with Danval first before they could worry about that. "Hey Graham, here's an idea. Why don't you put that over-sized armor of yours to some actual use and show Danval the Dangerous what a nobleman of Wyke is really capable of?" He offered the boy a reassuring smile and gave him a push forward. "I'm sure Cass will be thoroughly impressed. Don't worry, I'll back you up." Graham moves to (11,6) and spears Danval with the Partisan Alain moves to (10,6), takes the Partisan, attacks Danval with Adhan

Alain moves to (12,3) Thunders Thief #5

"Well if he may be so bold, Sir Duhamel thinks that our mounted friends should just scurry away on their mounts if they're really in that much trouble." Graham moves to 11,4, Steel Bows Killer Axe Man Alain moves to 10,5, Thunders Killer Axe Man

"Like moths to a flame, huh? I'm really not in the mood of dealing with those Reliants guys right now," he sighed. He was sure he'd killed enough Reliants to last him a life time already, but it seemed like they just kept lining up for him. Perhaps a more subtle spell would have sufficed... In any case, they had an ever encroaching bandit problem to deal with first. The rest was for later. "Hey sorry, boss lady wants you dead. Nothing personal," he muttered. Alain teleports to (7,4) and brings down a storm on Bandit #3

Pursuit of Darkness Alright, that takes care of one. It was a solid hit, but it hadn't sent the bandits into as much of a frenzy as he'd have liked. Luckily though, it had still given the women enough time to break away from the mid-ground. He raced forward, curious as to the nature of their two newest "comrades". They were an odd duo to say the least, but that was par for the course in a place like Magonsaete. The younger of the two seemed to be a native, and nothing about her particularly stood out to him at first glance. The older woman on the other hand had him positively intrigued. It was hard to ignore the odd contraption she was clutching, and some guesswork led him to conclude it must have been something of Toulousian design. He'd heard rumors at the college about a group of mages from Toulouse who didn't need traditional tomes to conjure magic--"black iron mages" they were sometimes called. It was all hearsay of course, but it stood to reason that Sylvia could be one such iron mage. But then, that begged the question... What the hell is a Toulousian doing all the way out here? Alain to (9,4) ; Equips Thunder

"Woooow! Real nice shortcut you picked out for us butler. I'm sure we'll be able to shave off a couple hours now." From what he could see, they'd landed upon the classic scenario of bandit meets girl. Well, bandits meet girls really. Looks like there were a lot more people with them at one point... Cass seemed like she wanted to help, but perhaps a bit surprisingly she wasn't too sure one way or the other. He sighed, quickly trying to deliberate the best course of action. Admittedly, their odds weren't too good. The enemy had about three men for every one of their own. It was a tad worrying to say the least. That being said, they had just gotten done fighting Deira's trained soldiers so perhaps a ragtag team of bandits wouldn't pose too much of a problem. Hopefully. "It's a pain in the ass, but I think I speak for everyone when I say it'd leave a sour taste in the mouth to just turn back now," he said, turning to his companions. "We'll see if we can't give them a hand. If things start to go south though, we're leaving. No questions asked. I'm not here to play the part of the Justice Jokers," he muttered. He could live with the guilt if it meant getting to keep his head. "Cass brings up a good point, so I'll lead off. I doubt these guys have seen a lick of magic in their life--hopefully the two ladies make good of the chaos and create some distance. We'll rush in and back them up. It's not much of a plan, but judging from the circumstances it's probably as good as we're going to get." He looked back at the unfolding scene and noticed the older woman had the bandits enthralled in some sort of monologue. It seemed like she'd caught on to their approach. That was good, but it also worried him a little. "They seem fairly occupied now, so get ready. Just keep one thing in mind. Don't assume they wont turn around and gut us once we're done dealing with the bandits. This is Magonsaete after all." With all that said he stood up, snapped his fingers, and brought the sky crashing down.

Alain let out a snort. "A thousand pardons my good sir. Had I known the plan earlier, I'd have packed my own lunches thank you very much," he replied, offering an overly grandiose bow to Sebastian. What he wouldn't do for a steward of his own right now. It's not that he didn't have vassals... he just didn't think to bring them. The trek itself had proven to be fairly ho hum. It was a blessing to be sure, but the walking was proving dreadful and he didn't have much in the way of company. Graham was, well, Graham--and Sebastian was a man of few words. Although, among the Wykians he was the odd one out so who was he to be complaining? I should have brought more reading material. Magic tomes could only get so much more interesting after a thousand repetitions. "That's awfully nice of you Captain, but I should remind you that just because we all got here in one piece doesn't mean the tin can and his butler aren't going to meet their untimely end on the way back. Plus I'm sure the boy is simply delighted to be here, ain't that right Graham?" he said, winking at the young Herman. It didn't take a genius to figure out why Graham was playing tag along, but he'd been oddly muted since the journey began. A sign of maturity, perhaps. "In any event, I'll agree. Best to find a place to call home before venturing out in uncharted territory for some off-handed sight seeing," he said.

Luck is hot garbage. Biggest regret of my life was taking a 70% luck growth. Don't let Shin trick you into thinking it's valuable. Just as a general point, I noticed your strength bases and growths are fairly high. Prepromote caps are 20 points, and with 80% growth you're liable to cap out strength like a solid 5 or 6 levels (potentially more) early which would leave you with a lot of "wasted" points. This problem could carry on beyond promotion as well depending on how high Shin sets the caps. You're free to do as you like of course, but it's just something to keep in mind.

"A pleasure? Not every day I hear that one," he chuckled. "Please, be at ease," he said, waving his hand towards the guard. "Yes, I'd like to discuss a small matter with the General. Tell her it wont take up too much of her time." Natalia Tarasque... He'd never really spoken to her before--save for perhaps some passing pleasantries amidst the castle halls. Their realms of expertise weren't exactly all that related. That being said, he was well aware of her stature among the noble houses. Not that she needed any noble titles. By all rights, she was a military genius--and a fairly young one at that. Her reputation was based on merit alone, of that he was certain.