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Post by Chanticleer on Jan 19, 2020 15:48:36 GMT -5
Later Still ...
“All of them ... they are gone?!” Tears flowed liberally from mismatched eyes, one green and one blue. No longer the dark bride of the Demon Prince, no longer a child of prophecy. For the first moment in her brief existence, she was finally just Celestia.
Wilfred took her hand and gave it a tender squeeze, while Chanticleer, Garrott, Jolicia, and Jon watched. They were seated upon the ground in a loose, circular formation, their makeshift camp hidden within a ring of what Jon drolly termed “dick-trees.” From the ruins of the palace, they had backtracked through the mountain tunnels, across the valley that lay between the Demon Prince’s kingdom and the Infernal Path, and then to the edge of that mutated flesh-forest that some of them passed days earlier. This was their first opportunity to rest, and for Celestia to give voice to her many questions.
“Arturos and Renna died from Khal Ankur,” said Jolicia. “I saw both bodies.”
“As did the Lady Elias,” Chanticleer, his lips slightly pursed as he remembered.
His war axe was raised, but he was not prepared to strike. Not until Wilfred failed at his attempt to sway Celestia from the demon’s corruption; Chanticleer owed her that much.
Across the throne room, Jon and Jools battled the Demon Prince, tossing conflagration potions and other explosive objects crafted by the Britannian Tinker. Small bursts of flame and force struck at his head, wings, and hooves, knocking him back against the wall. Near the chamber’s entrance, Sofia repeatedly chanted three words of power: “In Sanct Grav.” Khal Ankur stood on the other side of her magickal energy field, and only she prevented him from joining the fray.
“I came back for you,” Wilfred pleaded from the base of the throne dais. “Not as soon or fast as I wanted, but I’m here now.”
“My beloved will consume your innards and drink your blood! He will strip your skin and wear it for a loincloth! Then I will remove it with my teeth, as we make love on your carcass!”
Before Chanticleer could deliver a humorous retort, a piercing shriek filled the room. Spinning around, he immediately noticed that Sofia’s protective barrier was gone. Khal Ankur stood at the doorway, her body dangling from the top of its halberd. Its point had pierced her chest, and blood poured from her wounds, her expression contorted with pain and terror.
“She was very kind to me.” Celestia then massaged the side of her jaw, which was marked by a large, blackish bruise. “I cannot recall any of it, not even why my face hurts so.”
“That ... was me,” Wilfred’s face flushed reddish with guilt. “I didn’t want to strike you, my love. I am sorry, I just didn’t know what else to do. You weren’t you.”
She raised his hand to her mouth and briefly pressed her lips against it. “There is nothing for any of you to be sorry about. You saved me. I only wish that no one else had to die. You mentioned another woman was with you, Jools? Who was she?”
Chanticleer’s expression soured at the mention of her name. “An enemy.”
With nowhere else to escape, they retreated to the throne dais in the center of the chamber. Thus far, Jolicia and Garrott’s energy fields had prevented the Demon Prince and Khal Ankur from reaching them, but both of the mages were struggling to sustain their mana against the incessant onslaught of their foes. Wilfred was busy tending to the unconscious Celestia, carefully cradling her head in his lap, while Chanticleer, Jon, and Jools urgently discussed their options.
The tinker held a small metal box in both hands. A perfectly-shaped cube, there was a tiny lever on one of its sides. “The explosion’s pure and enhanced dragon fire, Moriah helped me to craft it. Maybe not the big one, but up close, it’d surely destroy the armored one.”
“How close, exactly?” Jon asked.
She paused to spit on the floor. “Close as you can get.”
He grabbed for the device. “I will try my best then.”
“Fark that!” Jools yanked it away from him.
“That is foolish, I am faster than you.”
“I made it, lad, I’ll be the one to use it.”
“We are your enemies. Why would you die for us?”
“Jon.” Chanticleer stepped in-between them. “Let her do this.”
“Aye, you get it, don’t you, lad?” Her eyes twinkled with a new-found admiration. “My people, we follow the Eight Virtues, not the sun or fairy-tale goddesses. That’s what saved us from the Black Weep. Don’t care how I ended up here, or what we mean to each other. I’m a Britannian true, a Companion of the Avatar, and Sacrifice guides me here as it did in life.”
“I understand nothing.” The warrior half-shrugged. “I merely want you to die.”
“She was right about it killing Khal Ankur,” Jon mused. Two objects lay at his feet, the dagger Deadly Kiss, and a half-melted, rusted platemail gauntlet. “At least Arturos, Renna, and Sofia were avenged, though I am a bit disappointed the dagger was so useless in the battle. I was sure I found it for some higher purpose.”
“I’m not so sure,” Garrott tugged nervously at the sleeve of his gray-robe. “That armor was just the shell that bound Khal Ankur to our Master. If he survived, and we ever meet him again, he’ll appear in his true form, much more dangerous. Hopefully he’ll forget what we did to him.”
“Tell me, please,” an impatient Celestia interjected, “what happened to Lucas?”
With Jools’ sacrifice, and the destruction of Khal Ankur, they still had to face the Demon Prince, who remained largely impervious to their attacks. Neither the Fist, nor Deadly Kiss, nor Garrott and Jolicia’s spells were able to inflict more than superficial wounds. Nor did their very mortal resilience match his, and one by one, his talons and flames wore them down, until only Wilfred could be counted as both conscious and uninjured.
The Demon Prince then addressed the former guardsman. His tone was aggressive, but Celestia and Garrott were presently incapable of translating his guttural proclamations.
“You won’t keep her anymore,” Wilfred raised his battle axe in defiance.
Before the fiend could respond, a shadowy figure suddenly appeared, hanging upside down from a stone-relief carved into the ceiling high above, the image of five succubi fornicating with a human couple. In both hands, this new-arrival carried an ancient-looking bow. One-eyed and missing a foot, he let loose an arrow. The projectile struck the Demon Prince in the shoulder, and he stumbled backwards.
“Told you I’m the only one who could hurt him!” Lucas Drachen fired three more arrows that hit his target’s head and chest. Then, he loosened the grip of his legs upon the sculpture, and plummeted towards the ground below.
“Was that how he died? The fall killed him?!” “Actually, he landed on the demon’s back,” Jon replied. “I was quite impressed.”
“Rather spry for a cripple,” Chanticleer remarked with some amusement.
“Apparently, the bow’s limbs were detachable, and each had retractable blades inside of them, which seems excessive, now that I mention it. Lucas chopped off the Demon Prince’s horns, and then stabbed him through the skull. Unfortunately, his power kept the palace intact, and once he was dead, it started to fall apart. Garrott was able to find us a way out, and Wilfred carried you with us. But due to his foot, Lucas lagged behind us, and the last we saw him, he was crushed by a falling wall. Then the whole palace after that.”
“He was always my protector.” Celestia’s sniffling heralded more tears.
“That wasn’t the first time he dropped from the ceiling like that.” There was a hint of a smile on Jolicia’s face. “Lucas loved showing off.”
“He really did,” Garrott nodded with a cheerful grin. “I remember one time back in Magincia, we were with Shelley and Claudia, and Lucas -- ”
“No one asked you,” the blonde mage shot him a brutal glare.
His glee evaporated, and he nodded again. “Sorry, Jolicia. Besides, we need to stop talking and leave here. By now, word of His death will have started to spread, and the Infernal Path isn’t safe for us anymore. I do know about a portal nearby, maybe a day’s walk at most. It isn’t back to Everywhere, or even another Britannia, but it may be our best choice.”
“Lead on,” said Chanticleer. “But I will suffer no further treachery.”
“I wouldn’t, I have no reason to,” Garrott frowned defensively. “Thanks to all of you -- after so many years enslaved to that evil thing -- finally, I’m free.”
The warrior did not respond. Instead, he secured his war axes, the Fist and Magebane, while Jon gathered his souvenirs, Celestia and Wilfred enjoyed a few more minutes of quiet affection, and Jolicia continued to stare hatefully at the gray-robed mage.
To Be Continued …
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Post by Chanticleer on Jan 22, 2020 16:38:41 GMT -5
Finally ...
As they traveled for the next day, the group encountered denizens of the Infernal Path on four occasions: first, a sentient dick-tree dual-wielding a set of twin katanas; next, a band of vicious pig-goblin marauders; then, a tea-party attended by a score of imps dressed in formal attire; and finally, a pink, winged-demon that spoke only in verse. None ended peacefully, and they proved conclusively that the bargain between Jolicia and the Demon Prince was no longer in effect.
Eventually, they arrived at the site of Garrott’s promised portal, a small pond at the center of a vast field, shaded by a trio of huge oak trees. The scene was uncharacteristically ordinary for the Infernal Path; there were no freakish or mutated beasts, and the flora was appropriately colored. Except for the water, which was not water at all, but a putrid, thick slime-like substance that was difficult to stand near for a prolonged period of time due to its stench, and a barely-perceptible sparkle that permeated the surrounding air.
Together, Jolicia and Garrott used sticks to sketch a pentagram in the damp ground at the edge of the pond. The two mages repeated a series of arcane phrases, causing the faint glow to flicker and grow brighter, until it eventually coalesced into a red moongate.
“I don’t know the name of the world that lies beyond,” Garrott explained to them, his attention focused mainly on Celestia and Wilfred, “but it’s not a Britannia. It’ll be a chance for something new. No more prophecies or demons, or any of that.”
The former guard exhaled softly as he listened. “Something new sounds nice. Most of my life, I’ve made bad choices.” Then he turned to Celestia. “Only if we do it together?”
“Since the day I was born, all my choices belonged to others.” She wrapped her arms around his waist. “This one, I make freely.”
“Are ... are you sure that’s what you want?”
“You came back for me,” Celestia smiled. “Of course I am sure, Wilfred.”
“Call me Michael please. Wilfred’s just my middle name.”
A brief exchange of farewells followed: Wilfred thanked Chanticleer and Jon for their help, but said nothing to Garrott or Jolicia. Celestia fervently expressed her gratitude to all four men, and then she pulled the blonde-mage aside and embraced her.
“Auntie Jo, before we part, I want you to know I have forgiven you. You brought harm to me, yet I recognize it needed to be done. Perhaps, even, it was what fate demanded of us.”
“Thank you, Celestia, I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I hope you know, I ... ” Jolicia frowned as she struggled to arrange her feelings into words. “ ... I hope this next life treats you better.”
She returned to Wilfred’s side, and then Chanticleer escorted the couple to the threshold of the shimmering portal. “Celestia. Are you certain?”
“More than anything, my lovely friend. It is time for my second life to begin.”
“As you say.”
She hugged him tightly, and he returned the gesture. She whispered something in his ear, and his eyes narrowed in confusion. As he watched them enter the gate side-by-side, the warrior felt his chest tighten. He still cared little for Wilfred, but he would genuinely miss Celestia.
“What did she say to you?” Jon asked once they were gone.
“More of her cryptic babble. To remember: A sextant tells time, a ruby makes space. For her sake, I hope she refrains from such in her new life. It does little to endear her to others.”
“So I guess I’m next.” Garrott walked towards the portal. “Whatever awaits me, it can’t be any worse than what I’ve done and seen.”
Before he could take another step, the blonde-mage suddenly blocked his path. Her expression was completely devoid of any emotion, good or ill. “Your Master’s dead, and his power can’t protect you anymore.”
“Jolicia -- ?!”
“You think I’d let you go free?! After everything you did to me, Judas, the others? Celestia was born into shit you helped make, and that girl deserves a second chance. Not you!”
His bottom lip quivered for a few moments as he tried to conjure a response, until he lowered his head in defeat. “No, you’re right ... after everything I did, this was too much to ask.”
“Kal Vas Flam! Kal Vas Flam! Kal Vas Flam!”
The magickal flames quickly consumed Garrott of Magincia, leaving behind only charred bone and blackened ash. Chanticleer’s gaze shifted from the mage’s remains to his murderer’s face, and he nodded approvingly. “My thanks.”
Jon shrugged uneasily. “What about the three of us? No new beginnings, I assume.”
“We haven’t earned it. Jolicia wipe away one of the sides of the mud-drawn pentagram with her boot. The gate flickered as its integrity eroded, and then it altogether. “Not after what you both did. The others, I can understand why they did, but you two should’ve known better. There’s a war going on, and you just broke our side’s best weapon. Now we have to fix it.”
“One not worth the cost,” said Chanticleer. “What do you propose then?”
“The portal we used to come here our first time isn’t that far away.”
The warrior sighed irritably at her suggestion. “To Wrong? You expect me to return there?”
“I do,” she nodded firmly. “Unless you know another way back to Britannia.”
“Cheer up, Chanty, this time, I am at your side.” Jon grinned and playfully patted his friend on the back. “Besides, Jools confirmed Britannia is where Moriah plans to bring the Empress, so it was always our next destination. Leigh is there, and maybe we can get word to Kaylin and Ellin. The five of us together again, and you know how the old saying goes. Alone, we are but ... ”
“Jon?”
“Yes, Chanty?”
“I have a thought on where you can place that lone finger.”
END PART SEVEN
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Post by Chanticleer on Feb 14, 2020 16:57:40 GMT -5
PART EIGHT: EVERYWHERE WAR (II): ENDINGSExcerpt from a History of the Everywhere War, by the scholar Relvinian: “ ... in the latter days of the conflict, while the forces of the Alliance and Lady British were at an impasse, the prisoners of the dungeon Wrong rebelled suddenly, seizing control of the prison and overthrowing and slaughtering the overseer and his guards. This uprising was rumored to have been orchestrated by three individuals affiliated with the Alliance, who found a way to infiltrate the dungeon and free its convicts from their cells. However, while most of the rioters were killed by Britannian soldiers as they attacked the City of Minoc, this incident did prove to be impactful on the overall course of the war. The Alliance quickly took advantage of this distraction to push even closer to the City of Britain ... ”******** -- “The Loathsome Death of Jon Abbot” -- Minoc was still grieving. Days before, the escaped prisoners of Wrong had suddenly swarmed the city, savagely assaulting its residents, and pillaging their homes and shops. The attackers claimed to be retaliating against Lady British’s reign, and years of cruel imprisonment, suffering constantly under Wrong’s creed of, “ Reform Through Repentance.” Yet, this destruction was executed with such perverse enthusiasm, it belied any purported righteous motivation. The kingdom was already at war, but Her Majesty did not hesitate in sending a detachment of soldiers to liberate Minoc, and they quickly overwhelmed the invaders. Little effort was made to recapture the fugitive prisoners, and most of them were slain. In the days that followed, the city slowly recovered, burying their dead and rebuilding their shattered livelihoods. Somehow, The Clamorous Cock had weathered the carnage untouched. A rustic one-story tavern located at the foot of Mount Kendall, it was a favorite of miners and lumberjacks looking to escape the condescension of their more skilled counterparts: the smiths, the carpenters, the tinkers, and the glass-blowers. Especially those self-important glass-blowers. For in the Minoc of this Britannia, sacrifice was not merely a guiding virtue, it was compulsory, strictly enforced by the Mayor and his council. Residents did not choose their jobs, they were assigned by the city’s leadership, and it was no secret that the most prestigious and lucrative ones could be obtained through sufficient power and influence, or outright bribery. This was a system that blatantly favored the wealthier citizenry, and The Clamorous Cock was a place where lower class laborers could gather to whisper complaints and passively stew in their dissent. Jon Abbot was not typical of the establishment’s clientele, but on that particular afternoon, while most of Minoc was preoccupied with the reconstruction effort, he sat alone at a table in the back, intermittently sipping a mug of ale. Each drink was a buffer against the next round of tremors: a sharp agony originating in his right shoulder, his entire body convulsing as it spread throughout, until every part of him felt like it was aflame. Then it would dissipate abruptly, and Jon was left to wonder when the next round of pain would recur. The arrow responsible for his predicament was long-discarded; Chanticleer had immediately yanked it from his shoulder, while Jolicia bombarded him with various healing spells. Still, the wound festered, discharging a malodorous black fluid and causing the surrounding skin to crack. This blistering had gradually increased in diameter, eventually covering from the top of his upper arm to his right collar area. Jon recognized that it was poison, but it was not one that he had ever encountered. And so he drank, and suffered, and drank some more. Besides the dying Emerald Fist member, The Clamorous Cock was nearly empty: a bearded, elderly tavern keeper stood behind the bar, serving a pair of disgruntled and unemployed miners. The trio were engaged in a heated discussion about local politics, and there was no indication that they even noticed the newcomer’s distress. Jon was half-way through his third mug of ale when the ranger strode into the tavern. Tall, lean, and fair-haired, he was the very model of a champion of Britannia, dressed in fine dark leathers with a longbow strapped across his back. The only aberration in his appearance, if it could even be called that, were his hands. At first glance, they looked like oversized metal gauntlets, with each finger skillfully crafted for maximum articulation. Except, these gloves were also grafted to his wrists and further connected to his forearms by a series of thin, pneumatic tubes; even the slightest hand gesture was accompanied by the quiet noise of hissed air. “Do you recognize me?” The ranger directed his question to the three locals. “A-aye,” said the tavern keeper, who was unable to conceal his astonishment. “I’m here on the crown’s business, and demand that you all leave immediately.” They obeyed him without hesitation, and once they were gone, he turned his attention to Jon. “Even a novice could have followed the trail you left, so I suspect it was intentional?” “Those hands of yours, they were made by Technocrats?” The ranger seemed surprised by the question. “You ... know of them?” “I have even seen the Techno-Prophet’s private chamber pot up-close. Have you ever wondered where all the piss and shit goes in a flying city? The thought has been bothering me ever since.” Jon then erupted into a violent coughing fit. “The only things concerning me are the whereabouts of your two companions -- the male warrior and the female mage -- and your reasons for kidnapping the seer.” Catching his breath, the Fist member smirked at his would-be interrogator. “Listen, friend ... can I call you Shamumu?” “I am Shamuno, Lord Ranger of Skara Brae.” “You were right earlier, it was completely intentional. I have no idea where Chanticleer, Jolicia, or Morganna currently are, and it was my job to make sure you did neither.” “And you volunteered for this, because you assume there is no cure for the poison.” When there was no response, the ranger continued. “Very astute of you, for there isn’t. Did you hear of the Black Weep wherever you’re from? Emerald Town, right? That traitor Conor Starfalcon must have told your people all about the Black Weep.” Jon winced as the convulsions started again. “After the Avatar cured it, I kept a small sample, and Jools and Moriah helped me distill it into a liquid. I don’t typically employ poisons, but this isn’t a typical poison. The Black Weep doesn’t assault the body, but the spirit, causing it to slowly decay until there is nothing left of its victim and who they were. You’re actually the first person I’ve used it on.” “What ... an honor.” “I mention this because I’m not sure of its effects. No doubt, you’ll die, I just can’t predict how or when it’ll happen. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to stay and watch. Your friends’ trail might have grown cold, but I’m still Lord Ranger of Skara Brae for a reason. I’ll find them.” His eyes glazed over briefly, and then Jon refocused on Shamuno, a strange grin spreading across his face. “Kindly wait a moment.” He then reached downwards, slowly unsheathing a dagger from his belt and placing it on the table top. A verite blade and a golden handle, it was his Deadly Kiss. “What’s this for?” The ranger asked suspiciously. “You can’t possibly fight me like this.” The Fist member weakly flicked the weapon’s pommel, causing it to slide to the other side of the table, stopping at the edge directly in front of the ranger. “I just figured out its purpose.” “I don’t have the time for this ... ” “When I first took it off that brigand, I thought it was meant to play a role in our adventures. But it was useless against the Demon Prince and Khal Ankur, and hardly of any use in our liberation of Wrong. Only now, dying in this shit tavern, am I finally enlightened.” “You’re delusional, the Black Weep must be rotting your senses. It’s just a dagger.” “It’s a distraction, you ridiculous, metal-fisted bastard.” A towering figure, his features concealed by the hood of his dark robes, apart from his strange eyes and that familiar, sinister smile that always hovered at the edge of Jon’s nightmares. Three words of power swiftly followed. “ An Ex Por.” In a fair fight, Shamuno, Lord Ranger of Skara Brae, that very model of a champion of Britannia, would have certainly triumphed. But the sorcerer known as Renthar was never known for fairness. “ Kal Vas Xen Corp.” The minutes that followed were brutal and frantic, and Jon struggled to keep track of the rapidity of their combat. Once it was done, pieces of Shamuno were spread throughout The Clamorous Cock: his head was lopsided upon the bar, his blood and guts stained the floor, each of his limbs occupied a different bar stool, and his metallic hands were fused together by daemonic flame. With a snap of his fingers, Renthar dismissed his demonic summon and then moved calmly to his former protege’s side. As he studied the poisoned man carefully, a frown crossed the sorcerer’s face. “Well, I usually love to be the bearer of bad news, but ...” “How ... are you here? Why are you even here? … I mean this as insulting as possible ... you are the last person I want to see before I die ... ” “Jo Jo told me what happened, and I told myself, no one gets to murder Jon Abbot but me.” His mouth twisted in amusement. “Or maybe I want to save your wretched life.” “The first is ... much more believable. Do you ... know if Chanticleer is safe?” “I know that not-my-boy-knight and the gypsy have crossed into Alliance-controlled lands, but we’re Everywhere, Jon. Nobody’s truly safe here.” Jon’s eyelids weakly fluttered as he nodded. Renthar emitted a loud, dramatic sigh. “I suppose I should’ve asked what he poisoned you with before eviscerating him.” His voice grew weaker. “He said ... Black Weep ... no cure ...” “ Shit, that’s a bit outside of my expertise. Not that I won’t try, and you’ve little to lose.” “What do you think will ... what happens ... when I die?” “That’s something that everyone frets about. But I’m not a seer, at least not without a steady diet of gypsy eyeballs, so even I’m ignorant about what awaits us.” “Not that, the Time Lord’s contest ... the Clocks and the Bracelets. If I die ... if I never return to when I can from ... how badly will that affect things?” The sorcerer lowered his hood, revealing a softer expression than Jon had anticipated. “After the Empress told me about this contest between the Time Lord and the Dragon, I actually spent some time pondering your very question. Why would the Time Lord take such a risk? For a being who appointed himself the caretaker of such things, it didn’t make much sense to me,” Renthar shook his head. “Until I realized there wasn’t any risk to begin with.” “But ... any of us could have died.” “My pet theory? For those Clocks and Bracelets from the past, such as yourself, whose death or disappearance could conceivably sodomize history to the point of never being able to sit again, he somehow used his abilities to split time itself, so that there were two versions of you -- one that stayed in the past, and one that was brought to the present. This way, it would not matter if you died. And if you did eventually return to whence you came, you would merge with your other, vanish entirely, or something similarly innocuous.” He then gave Jon’s shoulder a gentle pat. “But it’s largely academic at this point, since you’re not going to die today.” “ Shamumu ... he said ... no cure.” “Which one of us are you going to trust? Your lieutenant, or that ‘metal-fisted bastard’ whose intestines now decorate this bore of a tavern?” Droplets of fever-sweat covered Jon’s furrowed brow. “ Why? You never really cared about me ... anyone else ... always just yourself.” “I could tell you it’s because what I did to you, all those years ago, that it’s one of few regrets. I could discuss the transformative power of love, and how finding Jo Jo’s made me a better man.” Renthar then offered one of signature, eerie smiles. “Or I could repeat what I mentioned before, that no one gets to murder Jon Abbot but me.” “What ... exactly ... what are you going to do?” “I’m going to preserve what the Black Weep hasn’t yet destroyed,” the sorcerer excitedly rubbed his hands together. “Now close your eyes already, it’s time for me to get to work.” To Be Continued …
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Post by Chanticleer on Feb 22, 2020 17:27:33 GMT -5
Excerpt from a History of the Everywhere War, by the scholar Relvinian: “ ... among the most formidable and loyal of Lady British’s followers was the person known as the Avatar, the champion of Britannia, and the Avatar’s Companions: Moriah the Mage; Yolo the Bard; Goffrey the Fighter; Jenna the Druid; Jools the Tinker; Duprey the Paladin; Shamuno the Ranger; and Katarina the Shepherd.
When the Everywhere War entered its final months, most of the Avatar’s original Companions were dead or otherwise incapacitated. Yolo and Duprey were executed by Leigh D’arc on the orders of Lord Neville Holden prior to the start of the conflict; Jenna, Jools, and Katarina never returned from their expedition to the Lands of Unknown Despair, the first two were slain and the third was imprisoned in an Emerald Town cell; and much later, Shamuno was slain in Minoc, as he hunted the Alliance agents responsible for the liberation of the dungeon Wrong.
But other defenders of Britannia rose to replenish the Companions’ ranks: Ag Lem, a wingless gargoyle; Glenna, wife of Yolo and an equally skilled minstrel; Raven, a pirate and lover of the Avatar; and Sparkles, a hardened, eleven year old slingshot expert from the streets of Trinsic …”******** -- “Masquerades” -- A perfectly manicured finger carefully traced the surface of one of its emeralds; the mask did not move. Two slender hands pulled at its edges; the mask did not move. Another woman wearing robes of blue chanted words of power: Ort Por Ylem, Ex Por, An Ort; the mask did not move. “I am sorry, my queen,” said the green-eyed, brown-haired mage. “I have been trying for many weeks now, ever since we fled the southern wastes. Whatever enchantment protects that mask, it is beyond even my power to remove.” “My own too, it seems,” Lady British pouted her thick lips as she turned to face their prisoner. “Who are you really, Emerald Empress? Who is the face that lies beneath that mask?” But the green robed woman, her black hair filthy and matted from weeks of captivity, offered no reply. She simply sat on the floor of her barren cell, staring back at her interrogators. “She was like that our entire journey north,” said the mage. “Silent, but also not resisting. I will continue to search for a way to remove the mask’s enchantments.” “Aye, Moriah, thank you. Now, we should return to the throne room, for the Avatar -- ” “You want so badly to know who I am?” The Empress abruptly asked. “I’ll remove my mask, if you do the same.” Lady British bristled at the question, and Moriah was surprised by her reaction. “My Queen?” “Never mind, Moriah. As I was saying, the Avatar and the other companions await ... ” A few minutes later, and the exchange was no longer on the forefront of their minds. The queen had assumed her place on her throne, and the Avatar knelt in front of the royal dais, as did the Companions that flanked the hero of Britannia. On the Avatar’s right stood Goffrey the fighter, Moriah the mage, and Glenna the bard, and on the Avatar’s left side stood Raven the pirate, Ag Lem the gargoyle, and Sparkles the veteran child. Only two of their illustrious brotherhood were missing, Katarina the shepherd, still detained in the far south, and ... “Where is the Lord Ranger?” Lady British’s eyes narrowed with concern. “It is not like him to be so tardy in response to my summons.” “It’s not good, Your Majesty,” replied Goffrey. “Guard Captain?” She gestured for those gathered to rise, and they did. “We only just received news from Minoc. As you know, the Lord Ranger was investigating the breakout at Wrong. According to his last report, he’d located the three responsible, even hurt one in a skirmish. They then split up, so he decided to follow the injured one and promised to send another report after capturing him. Two days later, the guard discovered Shamuno dead inside a tavern near Mount Kendall, no sign of the fugitive he pursued.” “To be sad!” Ag Lem exclaimed. He flapped his arms excitedly, in the manner of the wings of his larger brethren. “To be angry!” The Avatar placed a calming hand on Ag Lem’s shoulder. “We all are, my friend, we all are. Shamuno was one of us, and the virtues will guide us to bring his killer to Justice.” “I will pen another verse to the Song of the Fallen Companions,” Glenna shook her head sadly. “He will be remembered like my beloved Yolo, and all the rest.” “He will be missed,” Moriah nodded solemnly. “Did his report identify any of the culprits?” “Partly. Shamuno was sure that one was the Destroyer, and another fit Sister Antos’ description of Jon Abbot of Emerald Town’s Fist. The third was a female mage he didn’t recognize. They were also with the seer Morganna, and she seemed to be their prisoner.” Lady British’s mouth twisted slightly. “Did he know the reason why they held her?” “ No, my queen. Shamuno was trying to find out, but ... ” The Guard Captain trailed off mid-sentence, and the others grew silent, bowing their heads and waiting patiently as their queen pondered the matter further. Her brow heavy with thought, she caressed the large ruby at the center of her amulet. Finally, she cleared her throat and turned her attention back to the Avatar and the others. “Morganna’s involvement is certainly troubling, but we should address the main reason I have summoned you here.” “ Finally!” Sparkles whispered, somewhat obnoxiously and not so quietly. While everyone else disapproved of his comment, Lady British merely chuckled in response. “I am sorry if I have inconvenienced you.” “ Forgive him, Your Majesty,” the Avatar pleaded, “Sparkles is young and impatient.” “I’d also like to get back to killing those Alliance fuckers!” The veteran child grinned. “Your enthusiasm is noted, Sparkles,” said the queen. “Do not forget, we are at war, and war is never frivolous. Sending soldiers to protect Minoc from the Wrong escapees was necessary, the city is strategically vital, and allowing it to fall would have undone our efforts to protect it last year. But my decision did weaken our defenses, and the Alliance has now practically reached the walls of Britain. While this conflict is yet winnable, it may require drastic measures.” “Yer talkin’ o’ usin’ the ruby, are ye?” Raven asked curiously. “Aye, I am.” “Been wonderin’ why ye had’na afore.” “If it comes to that, I shall, but it is very much a last resort. Unleashing that kind of power could result in harm to the very people we are striving to protect.” “We shouldn’t underestimate them,” Goffrey interjected, “but our forces are stronger, especially since they can’t use the Infernal Path against us anymore. More importantly, we are unified in a way they’ll never be. Until Neville Holden, most Alliance factions were bitter enemies. Only two things are holding them together, a shared hatred for our kingdom, and the stability of their leadership. If we could capture or kill certain key ones, like Lady Deniah, the Mage-Lord Raef, Salix of Talon’ Craig, Chieftain Sydney MacConnor, or Leigh D’arc …” The queen leaned forward in her seat, watching the Guard Captain intently. “What exactly are you proposing then?” “I have a plan, my queen. Five separate and important tasks, split up between everyone present, the men, women, and Avatar that you can trust the most.” She motioned for him to continue. He stepped out of formation, and then positioned himself at the base of the dais, so he could face everyone at once. Stroking his thick moustache, Goffrey proceeded to speak. “As always, my job is to secure Castle Britannia and protect the crown. I have some thoughts on how to bolster our defenses, in case Britain’s walls are breached.” Lady British nodded her approval. “Our prisoner from Emerald Town is important, Moriah. Not just for the information she has, but it’s also possible they want to rescue her. That makes her bait for a potential trap.” “I can prepare for that eventuality by increasing her guard,” said the mage. “I will also continue to remove the mask’s enchantments. I believe there is an ally I can call upon for that.” “Avatar, you and Glenna will travel directly to the front. Commander Sentry and Sir Zegg-alien could use reinforcements, and it’ll help boost our soldiers’ morale. But your real mission will be to move you closer to the Alliance targets I mentioned before, so they can be dealt with.” “The virtues will lead us to victory!” Proclaimed the hero of Britannia. “And justice for my beloved’s death,” added Glenna. Ag Lem’s began to thrash his arms up and down. “To want a quest! To help!” “ Yeah!!!” Sparkles eagerly agreed. “We want to kill shit too!” Goffrey sighed at them in annoyance. “I’m not finished. The two of you and Raven are going to look into two problems that could be related. Why did the Alliance kidnap Morganna? And are the rumors of an Alliance spy infiltrating Castle Britannia true?” “A spy?” Raven seemed skeptical. “Or maybe a traitor. How else could the Alliance know that Morganna’s the one person in all of Everywhere who can -- ” “That is quite enough of that, Guard Captain!” Lady British exhaled a sharp breath, and it took a few moments for her harsh glare to fade completely. “You mentioned five tasks earlier. Should I assume that you also have a role for me to play?” Goffrey lowered his head in shame. “I do, my queen. With your permission, of course.” “Aye, you make speak freely, Guard Captain. On this at least.” “I humbly ask that you prepare yourself for the outcome you hope to avoid. If the rest of us fail at our tasks, then it’s up to you to use your ruby and end this war -- ” “ -- whatever the cost to Britannia.” To Be Continued …
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Post by Chanticleer on Mar 1, 2020 21:49:48 GMT -5
Excerpt from a History of the Everywhere War, by the scholar Relvinian: “ ... after suddenly losing access to the portals of the Infernal Path, the Alliance forces were split across Britannia, into three campaigns now separated by great distances and unable to properly coordinate their offensives. Due to the intervention of the Avatar and the Companions, Yew was saved, and the Highlanders of Justice and Lunar Forest elves that besieged the Deep Forest were largely decimated. The invasion of Jhelom, conducted by the Order of Automata and New Fawn mercenaries continued, but most of the fighting was confined to the outer Valorian Isles.
Meanwhile, Lady British’s decision to defend Minoc from the escaped prisoners of Wrong gave the main Alliance force the chance to advance upon Brittany Bay. Under the direct command of Lady Deniah, this contingent consisted of Moonshade Tactics Squad mages, Sanctum paladins, Talon’s Crag lycans, and a mix of soldiers from other factions.
Britain’s defense was overseen by two accomplished knights, Commander Sentry of the Order of the Silver Serpent, and Sir Zegg-Alien, The-Knight-Who-Fell-From-The Stars. These veteran warriors responded to their invaders’ presence by razing its hamlet of South Britanny, erecting walls and other barriers, and digging trenches. The remnants of the kingdom’s navy were also recalled to block any attempts to attack the capital by sea.
During the first week of fighting, neither side made any significant gains; the Alliance failed to gain a foothold inside the former South Britanny, and the Britannians were unable to inflict any serious losses on their enemies ...”******** -- “Frayed Alliance” -- It was long past the setting of the Twin Suns, though the lateness of the hour did little to curtail activity inside the command tent at the center of the Alliance camp. Dim lantern light projected silhouettes of blurred figures against its walls, while thick canvas muted the sound of voices within, contributing to the perception of secrecy amongst those excluded from the gathering. “ This is the current state of our war.” Lady Deniah stood at the head of a large, rectangular table opposite the tent’s front entrance. On its surface lay two maps; the first one depicting the entire Kingdom of Britannia, and the second one focused on the Britanny Bay region, including Castle Britannia, the City of Britain, as well as the four hamlets of North Britanny, South Britanny, East Britanny, and West Britanny. The knight held a wooden sceptre, which she used to point at each city as it was mentioned. “We destroyed Skara Brae and Paws beyond rebuilding, at least for a decade. New Magincia and Cove are untouched, but they lack any value as resources or as targets.” “Unless you’re looking for sheep to fuck or eat,” the Mage-Lord Raeff interjected with a grin. The blue-robed mage sat at the opposite end of the table, alongside Governor Salix of Talon’s Craig, Chieftain Sydney MacConnor of the Highlanders of Justice, and the unnamed Order of Automata emissary. “Before the war started, the Consortium of New Fawn invested a significant amount of gold into Vesper, negating its effectiveness without shedding a drop of blood. A similar strategy also worked to buy the neutrality of the Pirate-Lords and Thieves Guild of Buccaneer’s Den.” “Winning by contract,” Leigh D’arc dead-panned. She loomed behind Lady Deniah, outside the radius of the lanterns’ light, her Pagan-magick infused talismans glimmering in the shadows. “For now, Jhelom and its mercenary guilds have been contained by the Consortium and Order of the Automata.” “ Dissent: the value of the coin peddlers is limited to their abundance ships,” the Emissary’s inhuman voice echoed throughout the tent. “ Containment is solely the result of perfection’s might. It is not temporary, Jhelom will be crushed.” “Och, fewkin’ golems,” Sydney MacConnor snickered, “always talkin’ loik ye kin win tha’ war singled-handly.” “ Use of the term ‘golem’ reflects your meager mental means.” “Aye’ll shove me meager mental means oop yer meager metal arse!” Ellin Lionsden and Kaylin Windsong observed the discussion from the back of the tent, near an assortment of crates, barrels, and chests containing more maps, supplies, and other items. When the bickering began, the two Fist members exchanged disapproving glances. But the argument ended as soon as Lady Deniah continued talking. “Both Trinsic and Serpent’s Hold already sent most of their forces to Britain, so we do not need to worry about reinforcements. But Moonglow, Minoc, and Yew are almost done rebuilding, and will soon rejoin the war. If we have not won it by then, then we will not win it at all.” “We will only fall if we are weak,” Salix growled. “If we are weak, we deserve to fall.” “As m-m-much as I appreciate that philosophical nugget,” Relvinian spoke up from across the tent, “I believe it’s more complicated than that.” The bespectacled scholar turned away from his pile of books and parchments in the corner of the tent and approached the table. “Questions of weakness and strength mean n-n-nothing, our Infernal Path strategy should’ve worked.” “As useful as they were, those portals depended on the word of a demon,” Lady Deniah said pointedly. “Virtue should never be forsaken for convenience, and part of me is glad that we can no longer be tempted to use them.” “R-r-right or wrong, it’s important we learn why the Demon Prince suddenly broke the bargain made with Jolicia. To do so c-c-contradicts everything I know about demonic nature.” “You tell us then,” Raeff sneered. “ You’re the demon-lover here.” “F-f-or the last time, I’m n-n-not that Relvinian! It’s actually a fairly c-c-common name where I’m from, and I r-r-resent the imp-p-pli -- !!!” Lady Deniah shot the Mage-Lord a warning glance, and then gave the scholar a kind smile. “No one is questioning your integrity; Lord Holden trusted you, and so do I.” She paused, waiting for the indignation to vanish from Relivnian’s countenance. “Th-th-thank you, Lady Deniah.” “A more pressing matter, our mysterious traitor inside Castle Britannia informed us Lady British has summoned the Avatar and all the Companions back to Britain, and the Avatar has been asked to assist in the defense of Britanny Bay. Whenever our forces have directly faced Lady British’s pet hero -- in Trinsic, in Yew, and in Moonglow -- we were defeated.” The Emissary’s mechanized neck hummed as it rotated around the tent, its artificial eyes gazing upon everyone present. “ Query: does this intelligence possess external verification? There is a significant possibility this spy is an enemy effort to deceive and manipulate us.” “We will learn soon enough. There are plans for an in-person meeting, and I will use this chance to test their sincerity.” “It’s more lying.” Leigh directed her comment at Lady Deniah. “Nobody that close to Lady British or the Avatar would ever try to help us.” She tapped at her red-hued bracelet. “Also, I’m not scared of the Avatar. I killed two Companions, I killed the Alliance leaders that refused to join Lord Holden, and I beat Emerald Town’s champion. I’ll beat the Avatar too.” Both Ellin and Kaylin grimaced at Leigh’s reference to her duel against Sir Starfalcon, but they refrained from responding. Lady Deniah’s bottom lip curled slightly in frustration. “It is past midnight already, and I doubt I am the only one who needs sleep. We can continue this in the morning.” “Can we talk about the Empress first?” Kaylin stepped forward. “This spy confirmed Moriah brought her to Castle Britannia, right? We should be making plans to free her.” The knight exhaled an exasperated sigh. “Leigh, your friends are here as a courtesy. Please deal with this and return quickly. There was something else to discuss before I rest.” The meeting then dispersed. Once they were outside the tent, and beyond the sight of its guards, Leigh’s demeanor shifted abruptly, her dark eyes flashing with hostility as she poked her right index finger at Kaylin’s chest. “ Don’t do that again.” Kaylin stood firm, and her hand briefly grazed the hilt of her sheathed kryss. After a moment, she shook her head at Ellin. “Deal with this before I do.” Leigh’s gaze intensified and she grasped at her silver bracelet. “ Try it.” The scout relaxed her stance, “You don’t impress me, Leigh, no matter how many new spells you know. To me, you’ll always be that crazy little bitch who needed people like Chanticleer, Sanjuro or Markus to stop the world from putting you down.” “ Fuck you, Kaylin!” “I don’t blame you for trying to survive. Problem is, every time you find a new protector, you’re quick to throw away the old ones.” As Leigh seethed silently, Ellin gently maneuvered herself in-between them. “You did promise to speak with Deniah about rescuing the Empress. Did you even ask her? She seemed surprised when Kaylin mentioned it." The half-elf released her grip on the silver bracelet and glanced down at the ground. “ No.” “Why not?” The monk asked, visibly struggling to restrain her annoyance. “We already told you how much she has done for us, and how she also wants to help Chanticleer.” Leigh just shrugged, and without a word, turned away and retreated towards the command tent. Ellin’s brow creased with concern and she leaned closer to Kaylin. “Could she have learned the truth about the Empress? That could explain her behavior.” “Maybe,” Kaylin whispered her response. “Or worse, there’s another reason Leigh or Deniah don’t want to help. Either way, it looks like we're on our own." To Be Continued …
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Post by Chanticleer on Mar 7, 2020 22:54:37 GMT -5
Excerpt from a History of the Everywhere War, by the scholar Relvinian: “… unlike this author’s native Sosaria, the Cove of Everywhere’s Britannia was a village known for healing and contemplation, and devotion to the nearby Shrine of Compassion. There were no fortress walls, or the constant threat of orc attacks. Because of its peaceful nature, during the Everywhere War, Cove saw no fighting, and nothing of consequence occurred there …”******** -- “Healing Hands” -- Every time she tended to the sick or injured, Nastassia recalled her mother’s guidance, “ A healer must always maintain a veil of calm compassion. Letting it slip erodes the patient’s confidence, and the sense of detachment necessary to properly treat the affliction.” Following this advice, she always kept her distance. She cared for them while ill, and mourned them privately when they passed, but Nastassia never allowed anyone to see beyond that healer’s veil. Until the day she met that black-robed stranger, and his ailing companion. “ Everyone knew of the Avatar, champion of Britannia, who saved the kingdom from the Black Weep! So handsome and beautiful, so honest and brave and caring!” Years later, and she still recalled the name of every victim she treated, every deadly symptom she observed, and the overwhelming helplessness of watching the disease corrupt and destroy those it touched. Her family and friends, her neighbors and complete strangers, all were lost to the Black Weep. Until the cure was announced by Lady British, and the Avatar’s heroism enabled Nastassia to claw back from the threshold of madness and despair. But what if the Black Weep returned? What if the Avatar had failed her?! What if -- ?! ******** Nastassia’s two-room hut lay on the outskirts of Cove, half-way between its western edge and the Shrine of Compassion. The back room was solely hers, a bed, a hearth for warmth and cooking, a small table for dining, and a collection of humble belongings. The front room was for patients, infirmary beds, shelves and chests filled with books, herbs, and medicines. A simple and orderly home that she rarely strayed from, a barrier against the world’s suffering. Then that tall, black-robed stranger burst into her home, cradling an injured man in his arms, and her sense of safety and security collapsed into disarray. Ignoring her questions and protests, the intruder pushed past the healer and deposited his charge onto one of the empty beds. She rushed to his side, demanding to know the cause of the illness. Unfortunately, he did just that. “That’s just not possible.” Nastassia stood awestruck by his explanation. “The Avatar cured the Black Weep. I should know, I’m one of the healers that helped confirm it.” “Surprise, surprise.” He did not bother to hide his contempt. “The world isn’t what you thought. Someone, probably the very Avatar whose name you invoke, had the delicious notion of creating a poison from the Black Weep. I’ve removed the poison and stopped it from spreading, but I’m not exactly known for my healing hands. That’s why I need you to save his life.” “You removed the Black Weep?! How?!” The stranger smirked and condescendingly snapped his fingers. “ Magic!” “But the most powerful mages in Britannia studied it for years, and even they weren’t able to do anything. No one could figure it out, until the Avatar achieved enlightenment.” “Because those inept fools tried to destroy it, while I treated it like any other poison, and sucked it right out of him. I’m just not sure how much of my friend was left intact.” The healer exhaled her astonishment. “You sucked it out?! You could be infected!” “I doubt it, I have a rather strong constitution.” “That doesn’t even make sense!” “You’re staring so hard you’re starting to drool,” said the stranger, the corners of his mouth expanding to form an eerie, disconcerting grin. “Can you help him, or not? If you can’t, at least your insignificant little village seems to have an abundance of healers.” Swallowing her fear, Nastassia knelt down and tended to her unexpected patient. Carefully, she began to wipe away the dried, blackened discharge clustered around his wounded shoulder. ******** Nastassia never recalled falling asleep, only that she was now awake. She lay on the floor, her slight frame spread awkwardly between two of the infirmary beds. Her hut was dark and quiet, except for the slivers of moonlight that penetrated its windows, and the slow, rhythmic breathing of her unexpected patient. In time, he would recover, at least physically. There were no signs of that dark-robed stranger; she was glad to be rid of his unkind words and offending smile. The healer ignored the aching of her body and lifted herself off the wooden floorboards and fell onto the nearest of the beds. Shutting her eyes, she did nothing to resist a return to slumber. For the next few moments, she lingered on the threshold of unconsciousness, and then -- She felt it as much as heard it, a faint moaning and grunting that pulled her back into awareness, compelling her to stagger towards the window that faced the Shrine of Compassion. Slowly, she yanked it open, and ignoring the chilly night air, thrust her head outside.
The moon was full in the sky, perfectly illuminating the area around the Shrine. Nastassia easily spotted them, two pale naked figures entwined on the stone altar. The first was a man, tall and dark haired, and somehow, she knew him as the black-robed stranger. The second was a woman, smaller and fair-haired. The healer tried to look away, but something forced her to watch as they defiled that sacred place with their lust, violating each other in every way imaginable.
A strange sensation filled her loins, and Nastassia’s thoughts shifted to her first meeting with the Avatar. They discussed the Black Weep, the terrible threat it posed to the kingdom, and the numerous lives it had already claimed. Yet, despite the gravity of their conversation, Nastassia’s gaze kept drifting back to the would-be champion’s eyes and mouth. So handsome and beautiful, so honest, brave and caring. Across Britannia, people were dying from a seemingly incurable plague, and all she wanted was to kiss the Avatar!!!-- Nastassia was overwhelmed by nausea and emptied the contents of her stomach onto the floor of her hut. She spiraled back towards an infirmary bed and into darkness. ******** In the morning, Nastassia scrubbed herself and her home clean, until her flesh was raw and the varnish of the floor peeled, and there were no physical remnants of last night’s incident. Shortly before noon, she placed a damp cloth against his forehead, and her unexpected patient’s eyelids fluttered open. “Where am I?” “You’re near Cove.” Her tone was soft and soothing. “What do you remember last?” His response was a pained and confused expression “I ... I don’t know. Nothing.” “A tall man in black robes brought you here, but he’s gone now.” He slowly shook his head. “Did ... did he know who I am?” And so the healer related the story she claimed the black-robed stranger had told her about the unexpected patient. His name was unknown, and by profession, he was a Preacher of virtue. He followed a path of peace and avoided conflict at all cost. In a world troubled by too many fists, he offered an open hand to those he encountered. “A Preacher?” His brow tightened. “That doesn’t seem familiar at all.” “I wish I knew more, but that’s all he told me before leaving. It’ll be weeks until you’re back to full health, and there’s a war tearing apart the rest of the kingdom. But you’re safe in Cove for now, and maybe,” her voice cracked with hesitation. “... maybe while you’re recovering, we can figure it out ... together?” An affable grin suddenly spread across his face. “I ... I think I’d like that.” And all of a sudden, Nastassia noticed how handsome and beautiful the unexpected patient truly was. Finding comfort in his honesty, bravery, and caring, she smiled in return. To Be Continued …
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Post by Chanticleer on Mar 29, 2020 11:16:51 GMT -5
Excerpt from a History of the Everywhere War, by the scholar Relvinian: “… Year Fifteen, Month Eight of the reign of Lady British, the Avatar arrived at the Britannian front lines, joining Commander Sentry and Sir Zegg-Alien in overseeing the defense of Britanny Bay. The forced evacuations of North, West, and East Britanny soon followed, abandoning these small hamlets to looters, smugglers, and occasional skirmishes between the two armies.
Next, the Avatar led a successful charge against the Alliance forces, pushing them away from the ruins of South Britanny and towards the edge of the bay region. Meanwhile, rumors spread that the City of Yew had recovered enough to begin sending its militia to reinforce Britain’s defense, which further eroded Alliance morale. Unless their circumstances soon changed, Lady Deniah and her advisors privately accepted that they would lose not only the Britain campaign, but the entire war …”******** -- “Midnight in East Britanny” -- “If you attract notice, I will remove your tongue.” Declining to wait for her response, Chanticleer tightened his grip on Morganna’s arm, dragging her alongside him as he approached the abandoned farmstead. He did not bother with stealth, dressed as he was in a full suit of valorite-hued platemail, and in his free hand, the warrior held the Fist at the ready. Her hands bound behind her back, she did little to resist him, keeping silent as they approached the hamlet of East Britanny. Under the light of a full moon, the village was the embodiment of rustic Britannia, a picturesque collection of modest homes and barns, croplands, and barracks for its farmhands. At its center stood a tidy market square filled with a handful of quaint shops catering mainly to local needs. Since the Avatar ordered the inhabitants removed to Britain, East Britanny was meant to be deserted, but despite the appearance of such, the occasional stray sound hinted that some, like Chanticleer and Morganna, had chosen to ignore the champion’s edict. Shortly before they entered the square, the warrior paused again. His suspicion was palpable as he spoke to his companion in hushed tones. “Is this further trickery?” “Nay,” replied Morganna. “I have witnessed it in my dreams. Our path forward lies at the heart of midnight in the easternmost Britanny, amongst the flesh of the fallen.” “As you say.” The seer was almost silent, while each of Chanticleer’s platemail footsteps scraped awkwardly against the cobblestone layering the market square. This soon attracted notice; a group of nine men and women clad in studded leather and ringmail were waiting at the entranceway of the local provisioner’s, the closest of several shops that lined the perimeter of East Britanny’s center. Their leader, an unusually tall woman with a handsome smile, advanced towards them, and two of her allies followed closely. “Howdy.” She casually angled her spear forward. Chanticleer stepped in front of Morganna and nodded his response. “That’s some fancy armor you’re wearing.” “Nice and blue,” said the mohawked man behind her. “Like a giant tin can,” another giggled. He wore a large hat and a fat moustache. “Give it to us,” said their leader. “Give it, those war axes, and all your gold.” “That would leave us vulnerable.” “You’re already vulnerable, tinny,” she retorted in amusement. “But it’d keep you alive, while refusing will just leave you dead, and your wom -- ” Before she could complete her threat, the warrior let go of Morganna and charged at the brigand. He swung at her throat, and she narrowly avoided it; instead the war axe damaged her spear shaft and much of her right arm. Chanticleer then pivoted, grabbing the seer and pulling her alongside him as he fled towards the covered gazebo in the middle of the area. Two of the bandits rushed to help their fallen leader, and the rest gave chase, the fastest of them lagging only a dozen paces behind their quarry. “ There,” Morganna fixed her gaze on a tanner shop on the opposite side of the square. “If you wish to survive, o’seeker, enter that place. As it was foretold!” Chanticleer acquiesced, and they reached the stone structure only a few moments prior to their pursuers. The warrior was surprised to discover the front door was not only unlocked, but ajar. “Amongst the flesh of the fallen.”Once they were inside, Chanticleer finally understood the seer’s words. Not human flesh, but the flesh of animals. Finished leather goods adorned the storefront’s display cases, stands, and wall shelves: clothing and armor, bags and packs, and various footwear. In the back, furs, hides, and skins were stretched across wooden frames. Some were nearly finished, while others started to rot and attract flies, suggesting the shop’s abandonment had been sudden. The smell that filled the shop was unfortunate, the aroma of new leather mixed with the stench of decay. “Our path forward.”And there was that path, four figures huddled around the front counter: a woman dressed in dark leathers, a mage whose hair and robes were colored blue, and three hirsute scouts wearing the uniform of Talon’s Craig. On all sides, expectations were equally defied. “ Chant?!” When she recognized him, Kaylin smiled and briefly lowered her kryss. Then the brigands appeared. Though their numbers were equal, Chanticleer and his comrades possessed the advantages of equipment, power, and skill, resulting in a quick resolution to the battle. Surveying the bloody corpses of their six attackers, the warrior wondered if Morganna’s words had predicted their deaths as well. “We barely escaped the Infernal Path,” Chanticleer explained to Kaylin and Raeff as the Lycans dragged the brigands’ bodies into the back room. “In Wrong, we surprised the guards and freed enough of the prisoners to overtake the entire dungeon.” “Then the rest of the Alliance owes you one,” the Mage-Lord chuckled. “That little rebellion in Wrong gave us the chance to move against Britain. You happen to know what caused all those Path demons to turn hostile? We’re still confused why the Demon Prince broke the deal.” “No.” “I guess it’ll stay a mystery,” Raeff shrugged his shoulders, not entirely convinced. “What happened to Jon and Jolicia?” Kaylin asked. “After capturing her,” the warrior gestured to Morganna, “we were ambushed and separated. Jon was wounded, so he led away our attacker. Jolicia then departed to search for her master, while I sought to bring the seer directly to the Alliance.” “Seer?” The Mage-Lord squinted as he carefully scrutinized Morganna’s features. “ Shit, I know her. That cheating fortune-teller from way back when I was hunting Twilights.” “I too remember you and your threats,” Morganna sneered. “Perhaps, o’seeker, in the days to come, you will appreciate that you did not ‘slit my lying throat’ when we first met.” As Raeff considered that, the two Lycans rejoined them, and Kaylin pressed Chanticleer further. “Isn’t she the one who sent you to Lady British after you came to Everywhere?” He nodded once. “But why bring her with you? And how’d you even find out we were here?” “She claimed our path required a midnight journey to the center of East Britanny. You were not mentioned, but all of this seems a strange coincidence. I will explain the reason for her capture once you share the reason for your presence.” Her reply was hesitant. “We’re supposed to meet ... someone.” “Elaborate.” Kaylin, Raeff, and the Talon’s Craig scouts seemed conflicted about how to answer, and it was the Mage-Lord finally who did. “There’s a traitor in Castle Britannia feeding us information. A meeting was set for here and tonight, but so far nothing. We were already suspicious, which is why Deniah didn’t come, and now you suddenly show up with Lady British’s pet gypsy?” Chanticleer shook his head and turned to Morganna. “Seer. I warned you to be truthful. Is there some foul purpose at work?” “You hurl accusations in the wrong direction, o’seeker. Look instead behind you.” Before the warrior and the others could fully react to her statement, a small, circular stone passed through the front doorway of the shop and struck the side of Raeff’s head. He collapsed onto the floor unconscious, blood flowing heavily from his injury. “Always shoot the mage first!” The speaker was a blonde, shaggy-haired youth, no greater than five feet tall and approximately twelve years old. In his hands he wielded a slingshot, its next missile already prepared for release. Next to him stood a wingless, red-skinned gargoyle with an enthusiastic smile, and behind them was a slender, dark-haired woman wearing an impractically tight pirate’s outfit, complete with leather leggings and a half-unbuttoned, puffy white blouse that accentuated her unusually large breasts. “To trap!” The gargoyle frantically flapped his arms, as if they were wings. “To trap!” Immediately, Chanticleer, Kaylin, and the three Lycan scouts armed themselves and slipped into formation around the fallen Mage-Lord, while Morganna quietly retreated behind the counter. “Who are you?” The warrior took the lead, maintaining a defensive posture. Above the enraged snarls and growls of the three Talon’s Craig scouts, Kaylin stated, “They’re the newest Companions of the Avatar.” “Call me Raven.” Smirking, the pirate performed a slow, mocking curtsy. “An’ that’s Sparkles an’ Ag Lem.” She then nodded towards the cowering seer. “Looks like yer did us two favors if that’s who I’m thinkin’ it is.” Sparkles aimed his slingshot at Kaylin. “Kill ‘em all except the blue mage! We’ll torture him to find the spy and rescue the gypsy! Then back to the castle for pancakes in the morning!” “To love pancakes!” Ag Lem shouted in agreement. “To love them a lot!” “Morganna!” Chanticleer barked without looking at her. “Did you foresee this?!” She exhaled quietly. “I see only the inevitable.” “Aye,” said Raven. She reached down with both hands, and with a dramatic gesture, unsheathed both the rapier and dagger hanging from her thick black belt. “Tis time -- ” -- and then she plunged the larger of her blades through the back of the gargoyle’s skull. He died instantly, his wingless form crumpling onto the floor. A confused Sparkles spun around in time for the pirate to slash the smaller weapon across his throat. Then she delivered a forceful kick, propelling his dying form towards their opponents. “A peace offerin’, an’ a snack fer yer pups.” “As I said,” the seer whispered sadly, mostly to herself, “I see only the inevitable.” While Kaylin bandaged the sleeping Raeff’s head, and the lycans eagerly and loudly indulged upon the remains of Ag Lem and Sparkles, Chanticleer confronted Raven, his fist still clenching the Fist’s handle. Upon his approach, the pirate slowly lowered both her weapons and made no move to protect herself. “Twas good fer us the queen sent me an’ these idjits after the one’s feedin’ information ta the Alliance. As ye’ve likely guessed, I’m yer spy.” “Why?!” The warrior demanded. “Yer askin’ why I’m betrayin’ Britannia? I’ve bin against Lady British from the start.” He shook his head. “If it talks like a treacherous pirate, and dresses like a treacherous pirate.” “Figured ye’d be more interested in wha’ I can do fer yer side than tradin’ insults.” As Kaylin finished tending the Mage-Lord’s wounds, she glanced up at them. “I also heard you were fucking the Avatar. How can we trust you?” “Ye’ve heard the ole sayin’,” Raven licked her lips. “Shortest distance twixt two points is a tight hole. An’ now they trust me like one o’ their own.” “And it also fornicates like a treacherous pirate,” the warrior interjected. They both ignored him. “A friend,” Kaylin asked with trepidation, “was captured by Moriah. She’s called the Emerald Empress. Do you know if she’s still alive or where she is?” “She’s bein’ held down in the queen’s private dungeons.” Chanticleer grunted at a distant memory. “A foul place. Can you aid in her rescue?” “Likely so, but I’m plannin’ far bigger than tha’,” the pirate flashed them a wicked grin. “If yer side’s willin’, I’ll hand ye Lady British, the Avatar, an’ victory fer the whole damn war.” To Be Continued …
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Post by Chanticleer on Apr 19, 2020 8:47:50 GMT -5
Excerpt from a History of the Everywhere War, by the scholar Relvinian: “ ... one of the more fascinating figures of the Everywhere War was the pirate Raven. A native of Buccaneer’s Den, she was also the secret daughter of Samhayne, one of the lords of that lawless isle. Tasked by her father with infiltrating Lady British’s court, she accomplished this by joining the Companions and taking the Avatar as her lover. Their ultimate objective? Nothing less than dethroning the queen and bringing real change to Britannia ... ” ******** -- “Misfortune Favors the Told” -- By early morning, all the relevant parties were convened inside the Alliance command tent, and the space was rearranged to properly conduct the meeting. They were divided by a long, wooden rectangular table positioned horizontally between them; on one side sat Lady Deniah at its center, with her attendant Leigh D’arc, the Mage-Lord Raeff, and the unnamed emissary of the Order of Automata on her right, and the scholar Relvinian, Governor Salix of Talon’s Craig, and Chieftain Sydney MacConnor of the Highlanders of Justice on her left. Before the Alliance leadership stood Chanticleer Reich, Ellin Lionsden, and Kaylin Windsong of the Emerald Fist, alongside two prisoners, the pirate Raven, her hands tied behind her back, and the seer Morganna, whose mouth was gagged, her hands and feet manacled together. The Fist members wore armor, but noticeably, lacked their own weapons. No guards were permitted within the tent, though an entire squad of Sanctum Paladins dutifully protected its entrance perimeter, prohibiting all others from approaching. The rest of the camp, already troubled by the war’s lack of progress and the increasing likelihood of Britannian victory, were acutely aware that something momentous could be decided that day. “Tis a simple enough offer,” said Raven with a sly grin. She was dressed far more modestly than her usual attire, a simple Moonshade Tactics Squad apprentice’s robe used to conceal her identity during the previous night’s trek from East Britanny. “I’ll smuggle yer men into Castle Britannia, an’ lead ‘em straight ta Lady British’s quarters while she’s sleepin’.” “An assassination,” mused Lady Deniah. Clad in the platemail armor of the Order of the Silver Serpent, her hazel-eyed stare settled upon the pirate. “Not direct confrontation.” To her right, her attendant clutched at a strange silver bracelet, whispering words of power to herself. “Aye, I’d prefer survivin’ the experience,” Raven nodded, matter-of-fact. “Ye know who’s my father, an’ the guild has ways o’ gettin’ past Britain’s walls. A map ta the sewers’ll connect ‘em directly to the castle, an’ I’ll be waitin’ fer ‘em with guard uniforms ta complete the disguise.” “Sounds too easy,” the Mage-Lord flaunted his skepticism. “Hard to believe that the bitch-queen of Britannia doesn’t ward her own home. Especially a back door.” “Castle Britannia’s the sorta place folks be tryin’ ta escape, not sneak inside. ‘Sides, I never said the castle’s sewer entrance is unguarded. But I kin take care o’ Shari ahead o’ time.” “ Shari?” Relvinian adjusted his spectacles. “I’m not f-f-f-amiliar with that name.” “A talkin’ rat,” She groaned, almost embarrassed. “Yer best off not askin’.” “What other sorts of defenses might our men face?” Lady Deniah’s unflinching gaze continued to scrutinize the pirate. “How many can you grant access to the castle?” “Half-dozen, I’m thinkin’, more an’ yer riskin’ detection. The Avatar an’ Glenna are out o’ the Castle, so ye need only worry ‘bout Goffrey an’ Moriah now. He’s been makin’ plans ta increase its defenses, but did’na reveal details. Our real challenge’s catchin’ Lady British unaware.” “ Query: Has the spy-traitor planned for the Avatar’s demise?” The Automata Emissary asked, in a tone that managed to be both emotionless and condescending. “ The Flesh-Champion of the Britannians is allegedly comparable to perfection. Emphasis: Allegedly.” “Might have a chance if ye send yer best, an’ Goffrey, Moriah, an’ Glenna are dead already,” the pirate’s mouth twisted into a slight frown. “My aim’s ta strike at Lady British while yer soldiers are keepin’ the Avatar busy on the front lines.” “You want us to send you six of our best to probably die, and then throw our people at Britain to maybe die too?” Leigh rolled her eyes at the notion. “ Which side are you spying for again?” “Do you detect any falsehoods?” Lady Deniah asked firmly.. “She’s not lying,” her attendant half-shrugged. “Her plan’s just stupid.” “My attendant is correct,” the knight nodded in agreement. “You ask us to take great risks, yet offer few reasons to trust they will succeed.” “Her stabbing the kid and the gargoyle convinced me,” Raeff quipped his response. “Not like we’re full of options, so I vote we go along with it.” “How do the rest of you say?” Lady Deniah then turned to the other Alliance leaders. “ Conclusion: Affirmative,” said the Automata emissary. “No,” said Salix. “Victory must be won by strength not trickery.” “ Aye,” said Sydney MacConnor. “Nay honor fer Lady British.” Lady Deniah acknowledged each choice with a nod. “I have reservations still, but I am inclined to agree too. We are four to one in favor. The next question then, who do we send to do this?” He loudly cleared his throat, ensuring that he had their attention, and then Chanticleer said, “You shall send me.” All eyes shifted to the warrior, though none of them, particularly Lady Deniah, were pleased by his interjection. “I understand you are concerned about the Empress, but regrettably her rescue is not a priority at this time. We can look to this after Lady British and the Avatar are defeated.” “Ye should know, Moriah’s expectin’ tha’ an’ plannin’ ta set a trap,” said Raven. “This is not about the Empress,” Chanticleer pointed to Morganna. “It is about her.” “A v-v-valuable prisoner indeed!” Relvinian could barely stifle his excitement. “My research on Morganna the seer indicates that she’s not only allied with L-L-Lady British, but she possesses a special c-c-connection to Everywhere. Imagine what we can learn from her!” “I have learned already.” The warrior then tore the gag from the seer’s mouth. “Tell them of my fortune. The one you foretold when first we met. The one regarding my return to Sosaria.” At the removal of her gag, Morganna coughed gently, attempting to moisten her dry mouth with her own phlegm and saliva. “If that is your desire, o’seeker.” “It is.” The seer closed her eyes and her words flowed forth, a perfect recitation of a destiny first shared a dozen years before. The cadence of her speech, the inflection of her phrasing, each and every movement, were an exact replica of what Chanticleer had witnessed that day in her wagon: “I see ... mad eyes. A man who dreams he is a woman.” Her voice went quiet. “A prison that cannot be breached ... a demon's tongue defiles its child-bride ... a town of emeralds ... a one-eyed mechanical monstrosity ... a clash of elements ... an inverted ankh ..." The seer swallowed hard as her expression grew pained. " War comes to Everywhere ... a gem made from the stars ... and with it, comes change and destruction. You will encounter your friends again, old enemies as well, and you will come to regret both!” She struggled against her chains in a failed attempt to swing her fist. “You will return to your home, but never again shall it be as you remember it! Time will always and forever pass you by!” Once she was finished, Morganna exhaled a long, exhausted breath and lowered her head. When Chanticleer moved to cover her mouth, she seemed to almost welcome the gag’s return. “A dramatic display,” Lady Deniah glared her annoyance, “and also a meaningless one. What insight are we supposed to gain from her ramblings? We have important things to consider, so if you have a point, kindly make it.” “You understand not,” the warrior countered with his own judgmental scowl. “Nearly everything the seer foretold occurred in one form or another.” “He’s right,” said Kaylin. “We can give all the examples if you’d like.” “Of most importance?” Chanticleer continued. “I am fated to depart Everywhere. Lady British is the one who controls such, and Morganna has also stated that my path leads to her. I am meant to confront her again.” “Please listen,” Ellin took a tentative step forward. “If the Empress was free, she could explain it better to you, but Chanticleer needs to be there.” “Consider this too,” said the warrior. “Except for the treacherous pirate, I am the only one who has been inside Castle Britannia. Prophecy aside, it is an advantage you must not ignore. Unless you are so foolish you wish to hand victory to -- ” “That is enough!” Lady Deniah shouted over him until his voice faded to silence, her irritation replaced by anger. “I am beginning to understand why Lord Holden despised you. You erode an already tenuous argument with your contempt and disrespect.” She looked again at those seated alongside her. “Are any of you persuaded by this? Or can we just move on?” “I don’t believe in the gypsy bullshit,” said the Mage-Lord. “Chant can handle himself in a fight though, so I’m fine with him going along.” “ Conclusion: Affirmative,” said the Automata emissary. “ All humans look alike. All humans die alike. All humans foolishly embrace fiction in their prophecies and gods. This human will be as competent as any others for the task. At least it knows how to kill its own kind.” “ No,” growled Salix. “He’s been lying about what happened in the Infernal Path. Throw him in a cell and by fang or claw, my men will force truth from him.” “Nay,” said Sydney MacConnor. “He’s a fewkin’ coont.” “Then we are decided, three to two against,” Lady Deniah stated. “I am also in agreement with the Governor of Talon’s Craig that we should uncover -- ” “ Wait,” Leigh suddenly spoke up. She glanced at Chanticleer, Ellin, and Kaylin, before turning back to the Alliance’s commander. There was something unusually sad, even pathetic, about the gesture. “ Change your vote, Deniah.” “ ... Leigh ... what?” Lady Deniah responded with a mix of surprise and confusion. “Just do it?” She pleaded. “For me?” No one moved or uttered a word while Lady Deniah sat there in contemplation. After a handful of moments that felt like far more, and despite an obvious disapproval, the knight slowly nodded to her attendant. And then quietly she said, as if her prior declaration was never issued, “Then it is decided, three to two in favor.” To Be Continued …
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Post by Chanticleer on Apr 27, 2020 23:07:25 GMT -5
Excerpt from a History of the Everywhere War, by the scholar Relvinian: “ … during the Everywhere War, there were few moments of calm … ”******** -- “A Conversation Piece” -- Despite their minimal contribution, only a couple dozen soldiers for the Britannian and Twilight Juvenalia campaigns, Emerald Town was still considered a full partner in the Alliance, and its two-person delegation was provided with their own private tent. Located on the southern edge of the camp, an intentionally noticeable distance from the center, it was bestowed for pretenses, and not sized for comfort. Already too cramped for Ellin Lionsden and Kaylin Windsong, it became even more so after Chanticleer joined them. An oval table, a few chairs, and a chest filled with provisions and supplies occupied most of the tent, while the rest of it was apportioned for their bedrolls and equipment. But there was always one recurring point of contention between the three. Reclining on her bedroll, Kaylin kicked at Chanticleer’s platemail helmet, which had once again rolled into her part of the tent. “Can’t you find another place to store your damn armor?!” “No. It cannot leave my sight.” He reached for the stray helmet, and returned it to the haphazard pile of armor next to his own bedroll. It was evening, and the tent was poorly illuminated by lantern light, so it took the warrior a few minutes to reorganize the pieces to prevent them from falling over. “If it puts an end to the fighting,” asked Ellin from her side of the tent, “why are we hiding it from the rest of the Alliance? It could convince them the Empress needs rescuing.” “The Empress chose not to tell them,” said Chanticleer. “Unless she is rescued and we learn her reasons, we must do the same.” “ Maybe it’s the reason they don’t want her rescued. Maybe it’s -- ” Kaylin halted mid-sentence and gazed warily at the closed tent flap. “Someone’s outside.” The canvas around the entrance shiftly slightly, and a familiar voice announced itself. “It’s me. Can I come in, Chanticleer? We need to talk.” “Leigh?” The warrior frowned as he spoke her name. He looked to Ellin and Kaylin and noticed that neither of them were pleased by the proposition. “I will join you outside.” ******** They walked for fifteen minutes without a word. Due to the late hour, most Alliance soldiers were at least attempting sleep, and any they did encounter paid them little heed. One sentry, a Lunar Forest elf with pink spiked hair, moved to intercept them as they crossed the southern perimeter, but he refrained once he recognized who Leigh was. They did not wander beyond shouting distance of the camp, stopping beside a collection of birch trees at the eastern edge of Spiritwood. Much of that forest had been devastated during the first months of the war, but the areas closest to Britain were unscathed and retained that elusive and mythical quality Spiritwood was traditionally known for. Above them, the night’s sky was calm and clear, the moon only a few days past its fullest form. Chanticleer carried the Fist and his shield, but had forgotten his cloak, and his dark leathers were insufficient to fend off the chill of early spring. Leigh was better prepared for the cold, she wore thick dull-red robes, its hood and sleeves concealing her Pagan-infused jewelry. He exhaled slowly as he faced her, mostly through his nostrils. “ ... I know not the answer.” She squinted in confusion. “I didn’t ask you anything.” “Not yet. But I have been trapped in Everywhere for a dozen years. Since the beginning, it is that same question every time.” “What question is that?” “Did you fall? Or did you leap?” His fists clenched tightly as he repeated the words they always asked of him. “As I said, I know not.” ******** “In New Umbral, a discussion that was never finished.” “Which one?” Leigh pulled back her hood. “I mostly remember killing blood-suckers.” “Semidar’s portal. Ten members of the Fist entered to destroy it from the other side. The two of us, Bacchus, Aria, Janus, Collan, Ezekial, the two witches, and Iago. We survived, and you told me Dubhlidais reached Pagan with you..” He sighed wearily. “What news of the others?” “I’m sorry if you thought I knew more.” She chewed on her lip for a few moments. “ Maybe I saw Dumahbh die, but I’m not sure about that.” “Ah, I see. And Dubhlidais?” “We split up right after making it to Pagan. I went looking for supplies and didn’t come back. I don’t know if she waited either.” Leigh shrugged her indifference. “I started wandering around and learned all their different magics, which is how Holden captured me at Daemon’s Crag.” “Why abandon her? You were both Fist.” “So were you,” she shook her head. “And you were dead.” ******** “Deniah thinks you’re lying about what happened in the Infernal Path. She can’t ignore it even if she wants. The others won’t let her.” Chanticleer pressed his lips together and nodded once. “She is right to be suspicious. I was part of a group that violated the truce and freed Celestia. We destroyed the demonic prince.” “ Why?!” “I do not abandon those I care for. Of everyone, you should know this already.” Leigh groaned in annoyance. “I can’t protect you from that.” “Is that why you spoke up at the meeting? To protect me?” “That’s one of the reasons. I also figured you were probably right.” He smiled briefly, and then his expression sobered. “If we are discussing deception, then know this. I am aware Moriah did not assassinate Neville Holden.” “W-what, no ... “ Her denial sounded less than credible. “Moriah, Jools, and Katarina confirmed it. You, Deniah, the Empress, and Renthar lied.” ******** Chanticleer flinched first. He then relaxed his stance, lowering his war axe and shield. In turn, Leigh grudgingly rolled down her right sleeve, covering her bracelets. “My apologies.” He spoke calmly attempting to reassure her. “This was not my intent.” She continued to stare at him in disbelief. He allowed the Fist and his shield to slip from his grasp; both landed with a muted thud. “After everything he did to us, how could you follow him?! He tricked us into battling paladins and Britain soldiers. The Grand Paladin, Chancellor Levant, and many others were killed. His men also murdered Petal’s father when they stole the Seal of Hydros. He was allied with the Stower responsible for Ssin’urn’s death. Neville Holden was a true monster.” “You weren’t there.” Her gaze dropped to the ground. “ None of you were. They found me on Pagan when I studied with the sorcerers. A lot of people died that day too. Then we came here, and ... ” She looked at him again. “I resisted at first, but after awhile, it didn’t matter anymore. I realized I could be his prisoner or I could be more.” “As you say.” Her voice cracked with upset. “Back in Britannia, you were always there to protect me! You or someone else. Everyone thought I was crazy, especially after ... what he did.” “They did not. And Kensdrick paid for his transgressions.” “ You killed him. Just like Sanjuro helped me recover. And Markus saved me from the Entity.” Leigh raised her right arm and her sleeve fell down again, revealing her red and silver bracelets. “Maybe Holden was a fucking monster. But I don’t need a protector anymore!” ******** “The Empress was present when Holden was slain.” Chanticleer paused to assess her reaction. “Is this why you and Deniah oppose her rescue? Because of something that she witnessed?” “That’s part of it.” Leigh shrugged uncomfortably. “Then why else?” His eyes narrowed in thought. “Have you seen her unmasked?” “I don’t want to talk about it.” “Leigh,” he said sternly. “Who is she?” “No, but ... I can tell you what really happened the night he died.” ******** “Have you ever pondered what happened to them?” She seemed confused by his question. “Whatever happened to who?” “The Fist who did not enter the portal to Pagan. The Empress brought Jon, Ellin, Glade, Kaylin, and Thalesa to Everywhere, but only because they were Time Lost. What of the rest?” “I never thought about it,” said Leigh. “ Markus probably regrets he wasn’t with us.” “I suspect Erik Kidd is still glad he refused. No doubt he returned to foul piracy.” “I hope Sanjuro’s happy.” “And no longer defiles corpses,” Chanticleer smirked. “Likewise, the horses of Sosaria are only safe as long as Tyler remains imprisoned for murdering Aleron’s master.” “I bet Aleron opened his own shop selling books and potions.” “I suspect the loss of Janus led Annah to poorer choices. Hopefully Alec watches her still.” “Do you think he and Adegas ever had kids?” A wide smile spread across her face. “If they did, how many did she poison?” He shook his head at her jest. “What of Steel?” “ Who?!” “Steel. Of the Legion of Dark Nations. He joined us for a few weeks at the start.” “With that evil goatee?” She crinkled up her nose. “I definitely never thought about him.” ******** Leigh exhaled slowly and continued. “Holden said he’d let the Empress and Starfalcon live, but the Fist had to die. She wouldn’t agree, and that’s when she removed her mask. Maybe she thought it’d make me do something.” “Why? What did you see?” She shook her head. “I already told you I can’t.” “Fine,” Chanticleer sighed in annoyance. “Who else was present?” “We were in her private meeting room in the keep. It was me, Deniah, Holden, Relvinian, the Empress, and Renthar. He was the one that started it.” “What did the foul sorcerer do?” “His hands were chained. Holden had hit him a few times because he wouldn’t tell us where the Stratos seal fragment was hidden. Then Renthar started laughing and ...” She sighed again, this time louder. “ ... he told the truth about the Titan Seals. How the prophecy was a trick for the Titans to invade Britannia. How Holden was never going to be king. How after Lord British, it was Casca then Dawn and finally Blackthorn. He kept taunting Holden, asking how he planned to beat a King Blackthorn who had the whole kingdom united behind him.” “Did Holden believe him?” Leigh grimaced at the memory. “He made me use my magic to prove Renthar was a liar. But he wasn’t, and I couldn’t. Holden became so mad he ordered Deniah to kill me.” Her body started to tremble. “She wouldn’t and that made him madder. He attacked us, and ... ” “Did you slay him?” “Deniah did it. It was Renthar’s idea to blame Lady British.” “One thing I fail to understand,” he eyed her suspiciously. “Deniah was a knight in service to Holden for many years. Why would she abandon her oath to defend you?” ******** “Do you think people remember us? And what we did?” “I care not,” Chanticleer scowled. “Any who would crown foul Blackthorn as their king are not worth consideration. They were not the reason for our sacrifice.” She blinked in surprise. “I wasn’t talking about the Fist. I’m talking about Sherry!” “Your ... musical theatre performance?” Leigh nodded emphatically. “It was the best night of my life ... ” ******** There was a palpable apprehension to her explanation. “Both of us lost people. I thought you and the others died. Her brother Danforth and most of her friends were left behind on Pagan. Holden’s gone. Novae died to bandits right after we came to Everywhere. Saria died when we took Moonshade. And Lester was killed in Trinsic by the Avatar. Except Relvinian, we’re the only ones who survived it all together.” Chanticleer’s forehead wrinkled slightly. “So the two of you ... fornicate? As lovers do?” “No,” Leigh snorted awkwardly. “We share our bed, but it’s mostly not like that. I love her and she loves me, and it makes sense.” She carefully considered her next words. “It’s different than with you. I loved you, Chanticleer, but never the way you needed me to.” “Ah, I see.” And then he asked tentatively. “Are you ... happy then?” “I think so.” “Very well,” he nodded, oddly satisfied. ******** It was nearly dawn when their conversation ended, the Twin Suns preparing their initial ascent into the sky. Across the field, the Alliance camp stirred with activity, and both Chanticleer and Leigh understood the war that was everywhere would not wait for them any longer. She departed first, hurrying back to Deniah. He watched her skip across that empty field, not as the woman she had become, but as the woman he remembered best: friend, lover, aunt, burden, guilt, and inspiration. All those things and so much more. Once she disappeared into that crowd of tents and soldiers, he felt a piece of himself was gone forever. And for that, he was grateful. Chanticleer picked his war axe and shield up off the ground. Curiously, their weight seemed lighter than the night before. To Be Continued …
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Post by Chanticleer on May 16, 2020 6:29:14 GMT -5
Excerpt from a History of the Everywhere War, by the scholar Relvinian: “ ... after Lady British ascended to Britannia’s throne, her father’s court magician Nystel and his associates vanished mysteriously. Their last known whereabouts was an ancient, abandoned tower located in the wilderness between the city of Britain and the village of Cove. And on the base of this tower was engraved a simple phrase: ‘Turis-Scientia-Magnopere’ ... ”******** -- “Tower - Knowledge - Deeply” -- It was Market Day in Cove, and Nastassia the healer departed her hut promptly at the ninth hour of the day, holding an empty basket in each hand. While her own garden was sufficient for the cultivation of herbs, flowers, and weeds associated with her chosen craft, she was reliant upon her neighbors for other necessities. During the past three weeks, her unexpected patient -- the man she affectionately referred to as Preacher -- had contributed greatly to her rapidly dwindling food supply, so despite her reluctance to leave him alone, Nasassia accepted it was time to venture outside. Halfway into her twenty minute journey, and in the midst of her musings about how much longer Preacher might remain, she spotted a score of riders charging towards her from the opposite direction. The healer stepped off the dirt road and waited there, recognizing there was no point in fleeing if they were determined to harm her. But they continued past without issue; as they did, Nastassia saw their armor, the symbol of the Silver Serpent emblazoned on their tunics. For the first time since the Everywhere War’s start, Lady British’s soldiers had visited Cove. Was it because of her unexpected patient? The black-robed stranger with the unkind words and offending smile? Should she flee home to warn him of the danger? Or should she be brave, for the sake of the man that she ... cared for.“How’s that new patient gettin’ on?” Mather teased with a grin. A short, mulleted purveyor of provisions, Mather’s goods were always her first purchase on Market Day. “Rayburt’s seen him through yer window a few times while out huntin’ with Regal. Said he’s handsome too.” The healer just ignored his comment “ ... I saw soldiers.” The provisioner groaned. “What a mess that was.” “ What did they want?” “Ye didn’t hear?” Mather side-glanced left and right, before lowering his voice. “ Ole Otto got it in his head that war’s a good time to start his own kingdom. Callin’ himself Baron and tellin’ everyone to make Cove independent. When Mayor Heather heard, he sent a bird to Britain and Lady British’s soldiers came to put a stop to Otto’s little rebellion.” “I don’t understand. A rebellion?” “Don’t get it either,” he shrugged. “Cove’s my home, been here my whole life and I love it more than I got words for. Only a half-wit would plan to start an independent kingdom from here.” “Was anyone hurt?” “Just Otto. Broke his legs and arms and he’s restin’ up at the temple. The others got sent home with warnin’. Luckier than they deserve, ye ask me.” Nastassia sighed her sense of relief. “So that’s the reason they were here.” “Not the only. They were talkin’ to De Maria about somethin’ too.” The bi-weekly market was held adjacent to Town Hall, a cube-shaped building on the east side of the village. Twelve wooden stalls were arranged in a rectangular formation, and they were filled by local shopkeepers offering discounts on their usual merchandise. Because of Cove’s limited size and population, visitors often questioned why it was a special event. But Market Day was a centuries old tradition, and Covians were never discouraged by sound reasoning. The healer found De Maria the bard munching on a fillet of fried cod he bought from Pete the fisherman. Thin and swarthy, he was inclined to wear colorful outfits with puffy sleeves, and his salt and pepper hair was fashioned in a ‘short-in-the-front, long-in-the-back’ style preferred by most men of Cove. Reflecting his personal flair for spectacle, the back-length of De Maria’s hair was skillfully braided into a singular tail, like that of a rat. Upon spotting her approach, De Maria gulped down the rest of his cod and performed a graceful bow. “Ah, dear Nastassia, it is a pleasure,” he smiled, his grey moustache and goatee covered in food crumbs. “Wouldst thou like to hear a song?”* She declined with a polite shake of her head. “I heard you talked to those soldiers.” “Thou art curious!” His free hand pointed to his lute, which leaned upright against the edge of Pete’s stall. “Shall I sing a song which is a tale about my conversation with the soldiers?!” “I don’t want a song, De Maria.” “Nastassia, the only unhappy person in Cove! The only person in town without a lover! Not for lack of suitors, thou art quite beautiful!” She flinched at his words. “ Please -- ” The bard continued nonetheless. “I heard a rumor Nastassia is not unhappy now. Is he thy love? Thy flower? Thine angel? The provider of the sweetest nectary thine mouth has ever known?! The light of thy day? The notes of thy song? The flesh of thy -- !” Her face reddened. “ -- stop.” He gave her a lewd wink. “Thou dost apprehend my meaning.” “We did speak ... ,” De Maria paused mid-sentence for dramatic effect, “ ... of the Tower!” “The tower?” Nastassia tilted her head to the left, not quite comprehending. “The Tower! Turis! Scientia! Magnopere!” “That old one along the road to Britain?” “Aye, aye, the very same!” His hand moved through the air, as if plucking invisible lute strings. “I shall tell thee a story! Not half a week ago, a humble bard of extraordinary talents in love and song did wander from his home searching for inspiration.. ‘Twas sad, he could not range as far as he did once, for his beloved Kingdom was consumed by war! After some hours of wandering, he paused for a rest, in the shadows of an ancient tower.” “You fell asleep there? That’s dangerous when there isn’t a war.” “Ah, Nastassia, tis unwise to confuse protagonist and narrator, at least until a tale is done. ” “But it was you, right?” “Twas me,” the bard nodded grudgingly. “Twas me. Thou art not wrong, beautiful Nastassia, for when suns had set and night arrived, I awoke with such a fright. From my hidden perch, I spied two figures approaching that ancient tower. I listened and watched, as they whispered their dark words amongst themselves, and then cast their spells to enter the tower.” “I thought no one can get inside. Not since -- ” “Lady British ascended to her throne, and all the greatest mages of her father’s day, Nystel, Lady Xioa, Nicodemus, and Cove’s own Rudyim, demonstrated their defiance by fleeing to the tower and hiding away for the rest of their days.” He then sang, “So the old king was dead; His daughter ruled in his stead; But the mages, refusing to cower; And sealed themselves within the Tower.”“Could you hear what they said?” “ Little, for I confess, time has ravaged the former perfection of mine ears. A handful of names and phrases was all I could capture,” De Maria sighed his regret. “Twas most confusing. They discussed Relthor and how his preparations were nearly done. Another, called Faeryl, who aided him in gathering the power of the Titans. They also mentioned a suit of armor and a Voice only heard by a few.” “Do you remember anything else?” “A recitation of the black-robed man. This, I recall, for I have lived my life pursuing verse and rhyme. ‘When it’s time, she will search the shrine.’ Aye, I am satisfied those were his words.” The healer hesitated before asking. “Black-robed man?” “As I related to the soldiers, who I must lament, cared little for my report, these interlopers were a lady, small and fair of hair, whilst he was much larger and wore black robes.” She felt the back of her neck tense. “What about ... his mouth?!” “His mouth, beautiful Nastassia?” De Maria frowned. “I do not apprehend -- ” Her nostrils flared, and she began to weep uncontrollably. After an hour spent convincing her neighbors that nothing was amiss, Nastassia finally returned home. Preacher was no longer asleep, and he greeted her warmly; she responded by pulling him close and pushing her mouth against his. This surprised him at first, but then he reciprocated. Still, it was not enough to distract her from De Maria’s tale. “ When it’s time, she will search the shrine.” Somehow, the black-robed stranger, with his unkind words and offending smile, knew what was buried near the Shrine of Compassion. Somehow, he was talking about Nastassia. To Be Continued … *Credit for some of De Maria’s dialogue belongs to OSI’s writers for Ultima 7.
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Post by Chanticleer on Jun 2, 2020 12:58:03 GMT -5
Excerpt from a History of the Everywhere War, by the scholar Relvinian: “ ... accordingly, six individuals were chosen to infiltrate Castle Britannia as part of the pirate Raven’s plan to overthrow Lady British: the Mage-Lord Raeff; the Order of Automata Emissary; Chanticleer Reich, Ellin Lionsden, and Kaylin Windsong of the Emerald Fist; and a New Fawn soldier known as Goodie, who had a reputation for survival, often the last one standing in battle, enabling her to rise through the ranks of her mercenary company despite unlikely odds. The two Alliance leaders were chosen for their loyalty and prowess, the three Emerald Fist members were as a result of Chanticleer’s demand to join the mission, and Raven personally requested Goodie, citing her father’s close relationship with the New Fawn Consortium.
The infiltration of Castle Britannia proceeded as planned; Raven’s contacts in the Thieves Guild smuggled them into Britain, provided authentic guardsmen uniforms and even escorted them to the sewers. The tunnel map was highly detailed and despite the smell, the route to the castle was easily navigated. Lady British’s appointed guardian of the castle’s sewer entrance was Shari, a rat of unusual size and aggressive opinions. She greeted them as a corpse, already a victim of Raven; the pirate’s dagger penetrated her skull and the rat’s tail was scattered in pieces across the undercroft’s stone floor.
That was when the Emerald Fist refused to continue, unless their Emerald Empress was rescued prior to confronting Lady British. The Automata Emissary and Goodie wanted to execute the trio, but Raeff and Raven cautioned compromise, recognizing that halving their numbers would also decrease their chance of success. When asked what benefit freeing her might bring to their mission, the Fist revealed the origins of Chanticleer’s armor, and how only the Empress knew how it could play a role in ending the Everywhere War and defeating Britannia’s queen ...”******** -- “An Inconvenient Rescue” -- At first, she was dreaming -- -- of a man she had never met veiled in green robes and white light warning her that the one she loved the most was endangered and only she could make a difference because of a debt the man she had never met owed to her family -- -- and then she was awake -- -- it had been this way for many weeks, since she was forced from her home and dragged across the barren wastes and placed in that castle cell. Many weeks since she last removed her mask or her green tattered robes, and everything smelled and tasted of stale and rot, and she despised the constant realization that she was the source. But not as much as she loathed Moriah and her ally with the apocalyptic tongue -- -- except, this time she awoke it was different. This time, the voice of her captor was surprised. “What are you doing down here, Raven? Was the gypsy found or the spy uncovered?” “Aye, ye kin say tha’. The queen’s sent fer the prisoner.” The Empress pressed her mask against the bars, but all she could see of the conversation taking place inside the dungeon’s vestibule were shadows and flickering torchlight. “I heard nothing about this. Nor do I do not recognize these guards. And why does that one wear blue armor?” There was a pronounced pause, then the sound of a weapon unsheathed. “Foul mage. I recognize you.” She was an indirect witness to that battle, seeing nothing and overhearing everything. Uncertain of its participants and speculating on its outcome. Yet, a part of her preferred not knowing to knowing and being unable to act on her own behalf. Another part of her was so exhausted from her recent ordeal that she barely cared about the outcome. A few minutes later, the noises of combat and death had abated. Ellin and Kaylin soon came for her, wearing the uniforms of the Britannian guard and carrying the key to her cell. Beneath her mask, the Empress discovered an unexpected smile; perhaps she had a preference after all. They half-carried the freed prisoner to the front hall, where the others of her rescue party awaited them: Chanticleer, the Mage-Lord Raeff, one of the machine-men, and two women that were unfamiliar to her. Five corpses adorned the floor, Moria the Mage, her apocalyptic tongued ally, and three of his similarly garbed, grey-robed brethren. The last of their life’s blood flowed from the various cuts, breaks, and stab wounds that covered their bodies. “ Fuck,” the Mage-Lord spit at one of the grey-robed bodies. “They’re Chaos Cabal. Lucky the crazy bastards didn’t Armageddon us all.” “Aye, Moriah spoke o’ recruitin’ help. Now we’re left wonderin’ Goffrey’s extra defenses,” said the pirate woman whose voice she heard Moriah call Raven. When she was escorted into the room, Chanticleer bowed his head in greetings. “Empress.” He had shed his false guard’s uniform, an ill-fit for his full suit of valorite platemail. She noticed the runes etched into the armor’s helmet, upper left armor, right gauntlet, and lower left leg. The symbols of the Titans of Pagan: Hydros, Lithos, Pyros, and Stratos. “Good to see you’re not dead,” Raeff acknowledged her with a nod. “We’re short on time and there’s a reason we came for you first. So let’s get to it.” The Empress’ response was sluggish. “I don’t understand ... ?” Goodie sighed, dismissively. “We can’t sit around in hopes she is going to be useful.” “John says his fancy blue armor’ll beat Lady British and end the war,” explained the Mage-Lord. “If he was lying just to free you, we’re going to have a big problem.” “I’m bettin’ on a problem,” the pirate grinned. Still leaning on Ellin and Kaylin for support, the Empress quickly realized the controversy. “ ... he’s telling the truth. It’s the Titan seal fragments that are now part of the armor. The power that made them is equal to Lady British’s magic so she can’t harm its wearer.” “That’s all?” Raeff’s skepticism was obvious. “You’re sure of this?” “Renthar is. It was his theory.” “A weapon ta stop Lady British, an’ ye give it ta him?” Raven rolled her eyes. “Besides my personal feelings,” said the Empress, “he’s the only one guaranteed to meet Lady British again.” The Mage-Lord muttered to himself. “Guess it’s time to kill ourselves a bitch-queen.” “ Wait,” Kaylin gestured towards the Empress with the arm not holding her up. “She’s not in any shape for this.” “Leave her behind,” the New Fawn mercenary suggested. “This was not the solution.” Ellin frowned at that. “She needs a healer..” “Agreed,” said Chanticleer. Then he turned to the pirate and the three members of the Alliance. “Let them escort the Empress from this place. My armor should be sufficient for our purpose.” “ Dissent: execution remains an appropriate response for insurrection,” the Order of Automata Emissary declared coldly. “ This perfection is always prepared for that task.” Raven and Goodie exchanged glances, and then the former shook her head. “Nay, let ‘em go.” The New Fawn mercenary nodded. “We have tasks that are already on our plates.” Raeff looked at them in surprise. “What? You even believe this armor shit?” “ If they kin find a way out o’ here,” Raven shrugged. “Tryin’ ta kill ‘em’ll just cost us. There’s time fer reckonin’ later.” “Before we leave,” said the Empress. “I need a few minutes alone with Chanticleer.” “For fuck’s sake!” The Mage-Lord’s hands flew up in frustration. “For fuck’s sake!” “It’ll take you that long to hide Moriah and the others,” she countered. Raeff did not bother arguing; instead, he commenced with the magickal burning of corpses. ******** “We don’t have much time,” the Empress told him within the privacy of that small cell. It was not locked, nor was it her cell, but even a simulation of confinement was arduous for her. “Then speak,” said Chanticleer. “You’ll return home soon -- ” “How do you know for certain?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “ -- and you’ve learned about the true nature of things. The history of Everywhere and the way it was supposed to be. Carry this with you, but don’t be too quick to share it.” “Simple enough,” the warrior smiled slightly. “I hardly understood the half of it.” “Lady British is scared of you. She thinks you’re the Destroyer, but that’s not you.” She then reached to remove his helm, and grudgingly, he assisted her. With no small affection, her fingers gently brushed at his cheeks. “I won’t see you again until your birthday. I wish it was sooner.” He was perplexed by the familiarity, although he did not object. Instead, his gaze locked upon a pair of dark brown eyes that were conveniently similar to his own. “I am aware Moriah was not Neville Holden’s assassin. It was Renthar.” She blinked a few times but held onto his face. “What makes you think that?” “Leigh told me. And that she saw you without a mask.” “And ... what else did she say?” “She refused to disclose your identity. Leigh wields the power of Titans and yet your true face unnerves her. Why?” There was silence and he continued. “Are you somehow Leigh? Another version or a counterpart? You have the same dark eyes, and I have witnessed an occasional stray black hair. It makes little sense, but we are in Everywhere, and too often have I experienced the foul consequences of time and space.” Reluctantly, the Empress pulled her hands away and she emitted a soft sight. “I can’t tell you. When I’m finally able, you’ll understand. I’m almost sure of it.” “Is there no end to your secrecy?” Chanticleer’s head shook in disapproval. “Sir Starfalcon is dead. I thought you should be made aware.” “I ... I guess I’m not surprised at all. If he was still alive, he would have been here with you.” There was a quiet sob from behind her mask. “How did it happen?” “He gave his life so that others might live. Myself included.” “Yourself especially. That was part of his oath to me. To keep you safe … always.” ******** As Chanticleer, Raeff, the Emissary, Raven, and Goodie ventured upwards into Castle Britannia, Ellin and Kaylin retraced their path back to the undercroft, guiding the injured Empress towards an escape. A flight that passed without incident, until they neared its completion. Their travels to the hidden center of Everywhere had familiarized the two Fist members with the flesh-machines of the Technocrats. Now, half a dozen of these drones -- the perverse fusion of corpse, metal, and power crystal that inexplicably floated rather than walked -- hovered around the sewer’s entrance. But they were somehow different from the ones created in Logosia, as if cobbled together from spare parts by someone who only half-understood the technology. Nonetheless, they were an obstacle, and one not easily circumvented. “ That must be Goffrey’s extra security,” Kaylin mused bitterly. The three women were huddled in the shadows of the corridor outside the undercroft, barely beyond the drones’ perceptions. Ellin shuddered. “I hoped never to see them again.” “Can we sneak past?” The Empress asked, her tone anticipating an unwanted answer. “Doubtful,” said the scout. “I’ll distract and lead them away while you run for the sewers.” “No, Kaylin,” the monk frowned. “We need to stay together.” “Ellin’s right,” the Empress emphasized her agreement. “We’ll find another way.” “You’re too wounded, and I’m a better fighter than Ellin. Besides, if it wasn’t for bringing us to Everywhere, we probably would’ve died or faded away years ago. You saved us, Empress, and I know that you’re going to save more.” “But Kaylin,” Ellin’s voice quivered with unease. “As Jon always likes to remind us -- ” Kaylin smiled faintly and deftly unsheathed her kryss. “Then I guess I’m but a finger again.” To Be Continued …
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Post by Chanticleer on Jun 20, 2020 20:36:19 GMT -5
Excerpt from a History of the Everywhere War, by the scholar Relvinian: “ ... as the pirate Raven’s plan unfolded, the forces of the Alliance launched their final, desperate assault against the Kingdom of Britannia. The attack was led by Lady Deniah herself, clad in silver-white platemail. Because in Everywhere’s Britannia, the Silver Serpent was also used by Lady British, Deniah eschewed her order’s traditional symbol for a new one, a Silver Ankh. This image also appeared on her banners and the uniforms of her personal guard, while the other coalition soldiers continued to employ their own identifiers.
As always, Leigh D’arc was at Deniah’s side, her mastery of Titan magics making her one of the invasion’s most formidable combatants. Governor Salix of Talon’s Crag and Chieftain Sydney MacConnor of the Highlanders of Justice personally led their respective troops, the Moonshade Tactics Squad marched under Laroo and No-Vowels, two of the Mage-Lord’s closest advisors, and the contingents of Sanctum paladins, Lunar Forest Elves, New Fawn mercenaries, and the Order of Automata were commanded by officers gfrom within their ranks.
The leaders of Britannia’s defense were equally accomplished. Commander Sentry, current head of the Order of the Silver Serpent (Everywhere’s version of the very same association that Lady Deniah served in her native Sosaria), was a veteran knight and associate of the Avatar. He was appointed to his position by the queen, following the sudden betrayal of his predecessor, Sir Conor Starfalcon, the traitorous Black Knight. Sentry was assisted by Sir Zegg-Alien, known as The-Knight-Who-Fell-From-The Stars. An inhuman, cat-like creature with a thick moustache and beard and a square jaw, he arrived in Everywhere a decade prior, when his mysterious sky chariot crashed into a pumpkin field in West Britanny. Welcomed by Lady British, he soon joined the ranks of the kingdom’s foremost knightly order.
The Avatar and the minstrel Glenna, who were sent by the crown to help Commander Sentry and his second, contributed little in the way of military strategizing. They advised only upon request, instead spending most of their time privately discussing plans known only to them.
The Battle of Britanny Bay officially commenced on the second to last day of Year Fifteen, Month Eight of Lady British’s reign. Shortly before dawn, following two weeks of static front lines, the Alliance suddenly charged forth, swarming the Britannians camped below the remnants of South Britanny in what appeared to be a rather reckless move. But it yielded the desired results, as the defenders were driven towards their fortifications erected around the razed helmet, and then even farther back into the City of Britain. By then, the Britannian side recovered enough from this unexpected onslaught that Commander Sentry, Sir Zegg-Alien, and their subordinate officers restored enough order to their ranks that they avoided losing additional ground.
For four days and three nights, the region was consumed, the conflict quickly devolving past the point of control of each side’s leadership. Reinforcements from Yew were anticipated to arrive within the week, and once they did, there was no chance for an Alliance victory. So the invaders fought not only for conquest, but for their very survival. And many on the Britannian side began to wonder if the kingdom would endure long enough for their allies to make a difference.
From the ruins of South Britanny to the outskirts of Britain, and from the borders of Spiritwood to the waters of Britanny Bay, the attackers, defenders, and even civilians engaged in flurries of conventional combat, guerilla tactics, wanton destruction, and outright slaughter. It was as if, intuitively, all participants recognized that the end was drawing near ... ”******** -- “The Battles of Britanny Bay, Part One” -- First Morning: The Avatar and the minstrel Glenna were quartered in a modest tent in the rear of the Britannian encampment, conspicuous only because of the Golden Ankh emblazoned on its front. This was Commander Sentry’s first destination the moment the alarm was sounded, when Sir Zegg-Alien roused him from his sleep and advised him of the Alliance attack. “Avatar!” Commander Sentry shouted as he burst into the tent. “I bear ill tidings, the Alliance has -- ! ” Not only were the tent’s occupants unfazed by the knight’s entrance, it went without response or acknowledgement. The Avatar was posed cross-legged upon the floor, bereft of all clothing and eyes closed in meditation. Glenna was perched on a bench alongside a wooden table, its surface covered by crossbow bolt heads and shafts she was in the midst of assembling. “ Avatar?” Commander Sentry repeated himself. The hero of all Britannia did not react, and instead continued chanting. “… AHM … MU … RA … BEH … CAH … SUMM … OM … LUM …” The minstrel looked up from her work in annoyance. “The Avatar’s busy at the moment.” “Milady, perhaps you do not realize the urgency of my visit.” “The Alliance finally made its move, aye?” She paused to tighten a loose bolt head. “Heard the horns blaring earlier. We’re neither of us deaf, Sentry.” “… AHM … MU … RA … BEH … CAH … SUMM … OM … LUM …” “They have already breached the South Britanny fortifications and may soon arrive here. I have called for our forces to pull back and regroup outside the capital. That includes the both of you. We cannot allow the Avatar to fall into enemy hands.” Glenna chortled at his suggestion. “The Avatar’s the Avatar.” “... AHM ... MU ... RA ... BEH ... CAH ... SUMM ... OM ... LUM ...” The knight's face flushed with embarrassment. “I did not mean otherwise.” All of a sudden, the Avatar’s eyes opened and the chanting ceased. “Something’s not right.” “Avatar!” Commander Sentry exclaimed again. “The entirety of the Alliance has just attacked us. We need to evacuate you and Lady Glenna to Britain immediately.” “I am well aware, my friend.” The hero of all Britannia rose from the floor. “ Told you,” the minstrel rolled her eyes as she finished affixing the non-compliant bolt head. “The Avatar’s the Avatar.” “My meditations inform me that something’s wrong.” The Avatar approached an ornate wooden chest located near the tent wall. “The Alliance can’t expect to win this way. It has to be some kind of trick that we aren’t seeing.” “If not a retreat, then how do you propose we respond?” The knight asked. “No, Sentry, your plan to regroup outside Britain is a really good one. You also need to warn the queen that the Alliance is up to something else.” “And what of you, Avatar? What will you do?” “I’m going to get dressed and figure out what’s going on.” Bending over to open the chest, the Avatar glanced back at them with a confident smile. “And then I’m going to save Britannia!” ******** First Night: The building lay along the Queen’s Highway, the central road that connected all the major cities of Britannia, midway between South Britanny and Britain’s southern gate. A structure crafted from brick and wood, it was originally founded to provide food and shelter to the destitute of Britanny Bay. After the Everywhere War began, its purpose was expanded to aiding refugees, particularly those of Paws, whose village was destroyed by the invaders. Now, the shelter was surrounded completely by the Alliance vanguard, while a mixture of poor Britannians, survivors of Paws, and badly-injured soldiers cowered within. A scrawny, blue-robed mage with an improbable mohawk stood at the forefront of the gathering. He was known as No-Vowels, due to a name consisting solely of consonants. “ Burn ‘em out?” “Ye kinnae,” Sydney MacConnor countered grimly. “Tis a shelter, ye fewkin’ blue-brain. An’ Deniah’s orders are nay ta kill tha’ wounded an’ unarmeds.” “Well, Lady Tall-Titties ain’t here, is she?” No-Vowels sneered. “And my men are sayin’ the soldiers that carved up my friend Laroo are hidin’ in there.” “ Conclusion: Affirmative,” the nearby Order of Automata interjected. “ The flesh vagrants are complicit in this opposition. To spare them encourages further resistance. The Highlander's moral inferiority is overruled.” The Chieftain shook his head in disgust as he stormed off. “An’ I’ll nay ‘ave any part o’ it.” “Don’t let your precious kilt hit you in the ass!” With a wicked grin, No-Vowels turned to the scores of soldiers who awaited his orders. “Let’s burn these fuckers!” Despite the swiftness and impressive stride of his steps, they were not nearly enough for Sydney MacConnor, Chieftain of the Highlanders of Justice, to escape the ensuing screams. ******** Second Afternoon: Leigh touched the silver bracelet and said softly, “ In Wis.” “Which of your many spells is that one?” Lady Deniah cocked her head to the left. Across her lap rested her blood-stained longsword, which she cleaned diligently with a small piece of wet cloth, originally intended to be used as a bandage. The wooden guard tower was situated on the edge of former South Britanny, one of a handful of edifices still intact, and its walls offered them a sorely needed respite from the fighting. They sat upon a makeshift bed made of straw and discarded clothing, while outside, more than a dozen paladins protected them from any interruptions. “Nine years later and you still don’t know them all? Maybe you aren’t paying attention.” “To you?” The knight’s unoccupied hand affectionately grazed the half-elf’s knee. “I think it is easier to count the times you are not on my mind.” Leigh’s response was heralded by a small smile. “It’s the divination spell. For time and place.” “And what information have you divined for us?” “We’ve been at this more than a day.” “Even without any magic, I could have told you that.” Lady Deniah finished her cleaning and slid her blade back into its sheath. “Not what I’m counting. It’s also been almost two days since Chanticleer, Raeff, and the rest left for Britain. Lady British should be dead by now, right?” “Yet I wonder, are we already past the point that her death would end the fighting?” ******** Second Night: He stood over the two corpses, watching their demise with cat-like curiosity. In the beginning, he used the blade, long, sturdy and silver-hued. But the pointy ears were fast, equally-skilled with their spears, long and sharp. So he forsook his weapon and the stifling metal gauntlets. The dead ones were elves. Natives of a distant Lunar Forest. But for all their self-proclaimed superiority, they died exactly as men did. He felt no difference as his claws tore their throats. His pursuers deceased, he continued his task, stalking the edges of Spiritwood until he reached the place his allies knew as West Britanny. The large barn which concealed his secret. Honor. His oath to the Silver Serpent and their queen. This, he would never betray. But he was also something else. An allegiance of birth that could not go un-remembered. One beyond the capability of the Kingdom of the Britannians to fathom. So he had deceived them. His allies called it Sky Chariot; its true name was Blood Fang. And when he gazed upon it, still functioning despite his past assurances otherwise, a familiar hiss escaped his fur-covered lips. “ Kill … wrath … y …” To Be Continued …
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Post by Chanticleer on Jun 30, 2020 16:14:19 GMT -5
Excerpt from a History of the Everywhere War, by the scholar Relvinian: “ ... as the third day dawned, everything beyond Britain’s walls had been overrun. All three of the remaining Britannys, North, West, and East, were devastated, corpses littering their streets and fields, and their buildings demolished or still aflame. Outer Britain fared little better; while the defending soldiers and townspeople did their best to stave them off, the Alliance would not relent in their constant advances against Britain. There were rumors that some of the attackers had found a way past the city’s walls, and that the fighting would soon spread there.
During the battle, Lady British was uncharacteristically absent, with no encouraging speeches or reassuring words for her people, and the gates of Castle Britannia were sealed shut. This led some to wonder if she had abandoned them, or worse, if something terrible had befallen their beloved queen. Soon, they would learn the truth, but not yet.
The third morning was also when the Britannians received an unexpected reinforcement from a new weapon, unlike any seen before or ever since ... ”******** -- “The Battles of Britanny Bay, Part Two” -- Second Night: The Highlanders of Justice had suffered significant losses during the Everywhere War. Chieftain Duncan MacConnor, their leader proud and fierce, was slain by the ranger Shamuno earlier on, and by the time of those final days of Britanny Bay, only a handful of the old guard leadership, veteran warriors and advisors still lived, leaving a nearly impossible burden for Duncan’s heir and successor, Sydney MacConnor. His father’s son, both in temperament and physique, the younger MacConnor was an adherent of clan history and tradition, and faithfully embraced their ancient oath: Meus honor est iustitia, et iustitia mea non honoris. Or, in the commonly spoken tongue, “My honor is justice, and my justice is honor.” Following the burning of the poor shelter near Britain, Chieftain MacConnor issued new orders, demanding that unless an absolute necessity to achieve victory, his soldiers would no longer fight directly alongside the Moonshade Tactics Squad, New Fawn Mercenaries, or Order of Automata. “ Honorless ‘an unjust dogs,” he cursed them, and rather frequently. To avoid further conflicts with other factions within the Alliance, the Highlanders of Justice soon shifted tactics; scouting parties would track and identify targets that met their Chieftain’s loftier principles, such as guards, soldiers, and adequately-equipped townsfolk, and then call in larger raiding parties to strike at them. This did little to endear them to their allies, but anytime other Alliance groups complained or hurled insults about his cowardice and foolishness, Sydney MacConnor simply repeated those sacred words, “My honor is justice, and my justice is honor.” On the second night of fighting, Highlander scouts investigated reports that a Britannian military commander had slain two Lunar Forest elven rangers while fleeing towards West Britanny. They witnessed their quarry enter an abandoned barn, followed by a burst of strange, sorcerous lights. Upon learning of their findings, Chieftain immediately mobilized his troops. The capture or kill of a high-ranking Britannian could not only change the course of the conflict, but vastly improve the Highlanders’ standing among those few allies he still tolerated, allowing him to affect a more honorable and just outcome. Sydney MacConnor was determined to personally lead the hunt. And that was how the Highlanders of Justices’ role in the Everywhere War came to a bloody end, decimated by a sky chariot that fell from the stars. ******** Third Morning: “ Oh what secrets we could tell if you'd listen and be still.” The large gray lycan emitted a confused murmur. “ Rid the stink and the noise from our skirts.” She turned to search for the source of the song. “ But you haven't got the clue and perhaps you never will.” Then calmly lowered her war axe. “ Mute we stand on the cold plains of Wiltshire.”* She wore a pleasant, dog-faced smile as the crossbow bolt pierced her brain. Glenna emerged from the concealment of the alley, a narrow passageway between adjacent butcher and tanner shops, and retrieved her bolt from the creature’s skull. The lycan warrior was part of a raiding party she had been stalking since daybreak, all now dead through a combination of her crossbow and lute. How they originally penetrated Britain’s walls was a mystery, but one that was largely irrelevant to her present task. “ Shouldn’t we be with Sentry or back at the castle?” Her question was asked the evening prior, after she and the hero of all Britannia had defeated a unit of Sanctum paladins. “No,” replied the Avatar. “My meditations tell me that my true battle lies somewhere else.” “Your true battle?” “There’s more than just the war. Something’s out there. Something dark, a power just like my own, it’s familiar and calling to me. That’s where I need to go now.” “Anything I can do to help?” “There was a vision. I’m looking for signs, three in total, but I can’t do it all alone.” “I’m a Companion, Avatar, as much as my beloved husband or any of the others we’ve lost,” the minstrel nodded firmly. “Tell me what you saw, and we’ll do this together.” Glenna had been searching ever since, but despite the carnage and variety of their foes, she saw nothing that remotely resembled the Avatar’s abstruse description of wind, dirt, and flame. ******** Third Afternoon: From her position atop the hastily-constructed guard tower, little escaped Lady Deniah’s notice. The Alliance occupied South Britanny and the surrounding area, the Britannians controlled most of the City of Britain, and everywhere else was trapped in-between, a constant back and forth of mutually-inflicted savagery. Burning fields and ransacked homes, an expansive mass of corpses, wounded, and dying. This was the war Neville Holden had wrought. No, this was what Deniah had wrought, her terrible tribute to a fallen mentor. “Milady, you have a visitor.” A platemail helm belonging to a Sanctum paladin peeked up from the ladder leading to the tower’s roof. “Is it Leigh?” The knight tried to suppress her excitement. “No, it’s the Governor with her regular report.” On the second floor, Governor Salix greeted her with a nod. The room had been converted into a poor approximation of a meeting room, with wooden crates serving as both table and chairs, and the two leaders, holding no true affections between them, quickly seated themselves. Even in her human form, the lycan’s every word was weighed with guttural disapproval. “Little has changed since morning, but time advantages them, not us.” “Has there been word on their reinforcements?” “ None. The Thieves Guild promised a warning, but I place little faith in those who derive power from coin and subterfuge. Their tunnels have provided us access into Britain, but the Britannians have found and destroyed some.” “What about Chieftain MacConnor? Have our healers said anything?” Salix’s mouth twisted in annoyance. “The fool will likely live, nearly all of his men will not. He should never have acted so reckless.” “Do you believe our intelligence is accurate, a ship that can sail the skies?” “Others encountered it since, with fewer casualties. The sky ship’s captain refuses to fly near the ground, so it can be evaded if spotted first. Moonshade and Lunar Forest now hunt it with their dragon shepherds. They may even succeed.” “Please keep me informed,” Lady Deniah nodded absently. “Something distracts you,” said the Governor. “Never a good idea in the midst of war.” “It’s nothing.” “You fool no one. Do not let your concern for her keep you too long from battle.” Salix smiled cruelly, revealing her sharpened teeth. “It could be seen as a sign of weakness.” ******** Third Night: Commander Sentry’s left eye squinted tight as his right eye scouted the night’s sky. The golden spyglass was a gift from Sir Zegg-Alien, one of a handful of mementos from before his arrival on Everywhere. The gesture had transformed a burgeoning camaraderie into true friendship, which only intensified Sentry’s guilt at employing the tool to reveal Zegg-Alien’s possible betrayal. The feline knight was always elusive about his origins, insisting they were no longer relevant, all that mattered was his oath to the Order of the Silver Serpent and crown of Britannia. Even now, Sentry wanted to believe otherwise, but the past day’s reports contained numerous sightings of a ship that sailed the skies, one that matched descriptions of Zegg-Alien’s sky chariot. As the minutes passed, the Commander stood upon the roof of the Order’s Britain garrison, his spyglass scanned the skies. From his position, he had a wide view of Britanny Bay. Fighting consumed the Britannys, the enemy infiltrated the city using smuggling tunnels operated by the Thieves Guild of Buccaneer’s Den, and the defenders’ morale was evaporating. After two days without sleep, Sentry was meant to be enjoying an hour’s rest. But he refused to end his search. Not until he discovered whether his truest friend should be condemned. Or exonerated. ******** Third Night: After hours contending with the conflict that overwhelmed Britain, utilizing her Pagan-magicks -- fire, earth, and air -- to remove any obstructions, living or otherwise, Leigh had finally reached her destination. If only she knew why. “ In Flam.” The torch sconces along the walls of Britain’s Chamber of Virtue ignited in quick succession. “ Flam Por.” In a burst of smoke and flame, Leigh appeared within the massive stone chamber. It was devoid of decorations, except for nine oversized floor tiles. Square-shaped and colored solid green, each had a different golden symbol at its center. She recognized eight as Britannian virtues: Honesty, Compassion, Valor, Justice, Sacrifice, Honor, Spirituality, and Humility. These were arranged in a rectangular pattern around the ninth tile, which featured an unfamiliar symbol, two overlapping triangles that faced opposing directions, with three adjourning circles at their midpoint. “Do you like it? The queen built it after I cured the Black Weep.” The calming voice originated from behind her. Leigh spun around, grasping frantically for her dark red bracelet. “ Wait.” Besides the suit of golden platemail armor that seemed to exude mystical energies, the figure was difficult to describe. Tall or short, man or woman, warrior or mage, it was like gazing upon everyone and everything and so much more. “Not here. This is where I come to think, and I’m not the only one. No, it wouldn’t feel right to do it here.” “Do what?” Her face wrinkled in confusion. “You’re Leigh, right? I’ve felt your Titan power calling to me for days now. You probably felt the same thing or else you wouldn’t be here.” “I don’t understand.” “Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself,” the speaker smiled modestly. “People call me the Avatar, and I think you might be my opposite.” Leigh shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense.” “It’s complicated, but I’ll try my best. I became the Avatar when I achieved enlightenment. But the darkness we all carry inside us had to go somewhere, right? For years, I’ve been searching for mine. That’s what you are.” “What the fuck?!” She could not prevent herself from laughing, even as her grip on the bracelet tightened. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” “I told you, not here. I have a better place in mind.” “And then what?!” “And then,” said the hero of all Britania, “our battle will determine who really wins this war.” To Be Continued …*Credit to David R. Watson (Iolo) and Kathleen Jones (Gwenno), the authors of the song Stones.
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Post by Chanticleer on Jul 12, 2020 9:20:46 GMT -5
Excerpt from a History of the Everywhere War, by the scholar Relvinian: “ ... these recovered documents revealed that before the Technocrats’ decision to withdraw to their hidden home at Everywhere’s center, Lady British ordered Guard Captain Goffrey to collect samples of their superior technology. This was done over a lengthy period of time, so as to avoid risking their allies’ notice. These stolen samples were then provided to Jools the Tinker, one of the Companions of the Avatar, who after months of study, adapted them so that in the event of war, Britannia would have its own soldiers crafted from metal and flesh ... ”******** -- “Secret Weapons” -- When he gazed upon them, Chanticleer saw the obscene, bastard children of the Techno-Prophet. Ossified skin and gleaming metals and misshapen bodies, the most unnatural of combinations. He barely encountered any during the Fist’s visit to the hidden center of Everywhere; he and Sir Conor Starfalcon remained in frozen Glacia while the others journeyed to Logosia. But Ellin, Jon, and Kaylin did not spare him from many gruesome and detailed descriptions. The warrior also recalled his native Sosaria, and those harrowing days of Blackthorn’s deluded attempts at revenge. The proponent of Chaos and racial tolerance suddenly entered into a bizarre and unexpected pact with the abomination Exodus, which led to Blackthorn’s transformation into a being not unlike the Techno-Prophet of Logos. The half-automaton mad man then betrayed the very kingdom he once defended, waging a brutal campaign of war until he was killed by Dawn, an excessively plucky farm girl from Yew. Chanticleer was a witness to their final battle, and many of that conflict’s previous ones. Because of these memories, and more, the sight of the two Logosian minions protecting Lady British’s throne room enraged the warrior. His fist clenched around the Fist, he charged at them. “ Forul Solum!” Channeling the magicks the Emerald Knight had taught him, his body flashed with pure, light blue energy, and he swung his war axe at the first of the floating creatures. Ten paces to the warrior’s rear, Raven’s rapier grazed against Goffrey’s heater shield. After the Alliance’s would-be assassins failed to locate Britannia’s queen in her master bedroom, the pirate led them to the castle’s great hall, where they were intercepted by the Guard Captain and a dozen grotesqueries duplicated from discarded Technocrat technology. “ Traitor!” Goffrey muttered as his battle axe approached Raven’s left shoulder. “ Fooled ye, did I?” She smirked and easily dodged his weapon. A short distance down the hallway, the Mage-Lord Raeff, the Order of Automata emissary, and the New Fawn mercenary Goodie engaged the rest of the hybrid flesh-machines. Betrayers were human-shaped and reeked of undeath, yet were inexplicably capable of spell-casting; juggernauts were purposed for bludgeoning, their massive bodies covered in bulky armor that protected and concealed most of their once-sentient components; and minions were malformed metallic drones with diminished intellects that hovered above the floor. “ This is not perfection.” The Automata Emissary’s antipathy for its technological counterparts was evident. Every time it struck at one, a typically static expression morphed into a smile. “Necromancy, that’s what it is,” Raeff grimaced and flipped open his spellbook. “Never figured preachy bitch British approved of fucking necromancy.” “ Consecrus Arma.” A soft cerulean glow enveloped the Fist as Chanticleer expunged the second of the two minions. He then rushed towards the Mage-Lord and the others. The muscular, thick-mustached Goffrey towered over Raven, and his chainmail offered superior protection to her pirate leathers. Before joining the Avatar, and later Lady British’s castle guard, he honed his skills in Jhelom’s dueling pits, resulting in a fighting style that adapted easily to his opponents. She was faster but weaker, only managing a rapier’s scratch to the part of his face left vulnerable by his chainmail coif, while the swings of his battle axe came closer and closer to landing a fatal blow. “ In Sanct Grav.” Raeff paused and then cast it again. “ In Sanct Grav.” Two adjacent barriers of magickal energies manifested before him, blocking the advance of a juggernaut and two minions. There was a slim gap separating the two protective fields, and that is where the Mage-Lord focused his next spell. “ Vas Ort Grav.” Streaks of lighting rained down on the malformed constructs, until they were no more. Though he greatly despised all mercenaries, ever since the original Emerald Fist’s frequent clashes with a company known as the Black Rose Society, Chanticleer chose to aid Goodie first. A juggernaut had shattered her broadsword and pinned her against the wall. “ Forul Solum.” He struck at the monstrosity’s rear, causing it to shift its attention to him. “ Kal Vas -- !” The Automata Emissary lunged at one of the betrayers, silencing its magics by snapping its neck. “ Corp Por!” Another betrayer’s energy bolt knocked the emissary backwards into a pair of juggernauts. Each of the larger creatures seized one of the sentient automaton’s arms and started to pull. “ Vas Flam! Vas Flam! Vas Flam!” The Mage-Lord hurled a trio of fireballs in rapid succession; another of the floating minions was slain. Chanticleer watched as the defeated juggernaut landed on top of the pieces of Goodie’s broken broadsword. The mercenary nodded in acknowledgement of his assistance. For the first time, he truly noticed her face, plump but not altogether unpleasant. On her neck, she wore a pendant that was a replica of her shattered weapon, which the warrior found peculiar. A loud, inhuman scream echoed throughout the hallway, causing Chanticleer, Goodie and Raeff to turn immediately towards its source. One of the juggernauts had succeeded in tearing an arm off the Automata Emissary. As the small cut on his cheek began to fester and burn, the Guard Captain felt the inexplicable slowing of his movements and a weakening of his swings. At the same time, the pirate somehow became faster. Stronger. He knew something was amiss. “Tis a parasitic poison,” the pirate grinned at his realization. “Usin’ ye against ye.” “Traitor and a coward,” he spit at her. She replied with two quick thrusts of her rapier, neither of which he was able to avoid or parry. Nearby, the remaining few counterfeit Technocrats were destroyed by Chanticleer and the Fist, Goodie and her backup blade, Raeff and his spells, and the Automata Emissary wielding its own severed arm like a club. “ That was a close one.” The Mage-Lord exhaled an exasperated breath. “Might’ve gone easier if we hadn’t let half our fucking group leave earlier.” “Cease your complaints,” said Chanticleer. “And count again. Three is not half of eight.” “ Conclusion: Affirmative,” the Automata Emissary interjected. “T he Mage-Lord demonstrates an inferior grasp of basic mathematical principles.” “As I said,” the warrior smirked slightly. Raeff raised both of his middle fingers to them. “Fucking hate the both of you.” Together, the four of them stepped around the piles of the shattered flesh-machines and joined Raven’s side. She hovered over Goffrey, who lay unconscious on the floor, bleeding from chest wounds inflicted by her weapons. “Should we not slay him?” Chanticleer asked plainly. “ Leave ‘im fer now,” Raven said. “Could be o’ use later.” The group then retrieved a keyring from the injured Guard Captain. The pirate identified the one they needed and used it to unlock the throne room’s double doors. “ Easier ‘an pickin’ it. The Automata Emissary entered the first, still using its detached arm as a weapon. Chanticleer went next, flanked by Raeff and Goodie, while Raved trailed slightly behind them. Lady British waited alone at the other end of the hall, seated upon a lavish, ruby and silver-hued throne situated atop the royal dais. She was dressed not for confrontation, but for holding court, her perfect, feminine form draped in flowing robes of purple and white, and her head adorned with a platinum and sapphire crown. The queen’s too-blue eyed gaze settled only on one of the five intruders, disregarding the rest. “ Destroyer,” she hissed the epithet. “As foretold, you have returned to my home. If only I had listened to the warning; never should I have granted you such mercy.” Chanticleer glared back at her. “You should have sent me home. Instead, you imprisoned me in this mad world of yours.” “As I told you when we first met, I know well your name, and everything about you. You are Chanticleer Reich, a Magincian, a Time Lost, an Emerald Fist, and the Destroyer. But there is one answer that eludes even me. During the Fist’s final battle, did you fall? Or did you leap?” The warrior’s lips pressed together. “I have made peace with that question. It matters no longer, I am here. Everything that happens next? You have only yourself to blame.” “You believe you pose any danger to me?!” Lady British rose boldly from her throne. “I am the queen of Britannia, the guardian of Everywhere, and you are nothing in comparison to me. Your allies even less. A feckless mage, a treasonous pirate, a greedy mercenary, and a false life.” “Go feck yourself, you queen bitch!” The Mage-Lord shouted at her. “An’ I’m nay a traitor,” said Raven. “Always been loyal ta the Guild.” “ Dissent: a verbal altercation is fruitless,” the Automata Emissary voiced its disapproval. “ The flesh queen of the Britannians is the obstruction that must be eliminated.” Without another word, the queen reached for the circular amulet hanging from her neck, and she gently touched the gem affixed at its center There was a wild explosion of magical energies, and then the entire throne room was enveloped in an eerie, ruby-red glow. To Be Continued …
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Post by Chanticleer on Jul 26, 2020 22:21:57 GMT -5
Excerpt from a History of the Everywhere War, by the scholar Relvinian: “ … on that third night, in addition to the events transpiring within Castle Britannia, two other confrontations of importance occurred. The first was high in the skies above, while the second was on the ground far below. As unlikely as it might have seemed to their participants, these two confrontations soon became entangled … ”******** -- “Shroud off the Avatar” -- Commander Sentry had yet to concede defeat, his golden spyglass continuing to scan the night for signs of the errant Sir Zegg-Alien and his chariot of the skies. For over an hour, and what seemed like much longer, he viewed the same moon and clouds and stars, touching upon the secret places where the Twin Suns hid themselves until dawn. He saw the same combatants struggling over the same fields and buildings and streets, neither Britannia nor the Alliance gaining real ground. With Yew’s reinforcements still days from arrival, this was not going to change before the outcome still mattered. The knight was committed to his task, past the point of reason or responsibility to his queen or kingdom. Soon, his men would appear on the garrison’s roof, calling for his return to a hopeless battle. When they did, he wondered what he would tell them. ******** The place looked familiar, a group of birch trees along the eastern border of Spiritwood. Then again, there were many instances of birch trees clumped together around Spiritwood. Here, there was a large clearing adjacent to the birch trees. That entire night she spent talking to Chanticleer, was there also a clearing next to the birch trees? Leigh was not accustomed to polite conduct from her enemies, only hate or disregard. But as they journeyed to the site of their impending duel, the half-elf found herself oddly at ease around the hero of all Britannia. As they walked together, the Avatar said very few words, and they were all spoken in kindness and accompanied by an promising smile. Their exit from Britain was less arduous than she predicted though not for a lack of interference. Every few minutes, they met another band of Britannian or Alliance soldiers. The Avatar’s very presence, a sublime effulgence of virtue and prowess, was sufficient to diffuse hostilities. Even Leigh, habitually suspicious about everything and everyone, was somewhat impressed. “What’s that?” Leigh asked shortly after they left the city. The Avatar looked at where she pointed. An unidentified object, barely discernible except for a constant blue glow on its aft, streaked across the skies above Britain. Four dragons flew closely in pursuit, attempting to damage it with their fiery breath and potent magics. “If I had to guess, Sir Zegg-Alien just lost an eighth.” “An eighth? An eighth what?” “ Honesty. He told us that his sky chariot was destroyed.” When they reached the large clearing near the edge of Spiritwood, a woman was waiting on a gnarled, lichen-infested log situated between two birch trees. Her shoulder-length hair and eyes were similar shades of brown, and there was a lute strapped across her back. Dressed in leather armor, an elaborate-looking crossbow rested across her lap. Upon spotting her, Leigh squeezed her dark-red bracelet; the Avatar interrupted her with a stern shake of the head. “Don’t worry, that’s just Glenna.” The woman nodded a greeting to the Avatar, but refrained from acknowledging the half-elf. “One of my Companions,” the hero of all Britannia explained. “She’s here to witness our fight because a couple of years ago, you killed her husband. His name was Yolo.” She frowned at the memory: Lady British had sent three of the Avatar’s Companions to establish diplomatic ties with the new King responsible for uniting the disparate factions of the Alliance of Rival, Powerful Kingdoms. Neville Holden rejected this offer, and her envoys were beaten and tossed into a cell. On his orders, Leigh executed the paladin Dupray and the bard Yolo, and then severed the hands of the ranger Shamuno. Recently, she gloated about this incident to Deniah and the rest of the Alliance leadership. Now, she was just ashamed. “ Name!” The Avatar abruptly raised the question. “Leigh D’arc,” she replied without thinking. “ Job!” “I’m -- why are you asking me that?” “Sorry, it’s a habit of mine whenever I start talking to people.” As Glenna watched them from her log, they moved to opposing sides of the glade. “From what I heard,” said Britannia’s champion, “your power comes from another place called Pagan. Earth, fire, and water, but not water, and you focus it through that jewelry you wear.” When Leigh failed to respond, the Avatar smiled again. “I discovered the Mystic Weapons and Armor during my quest to cure the Black Weep. They were crafted by Zirkon, who belonged to some secret cult of blacksmiths that exist on many worlds.” The hero tapped at the platemail’s tunic, which, like the rest of the armor, shimmered perpetually with a faint blue light. “Did you make your bracelets and necklace yourself, or find them like I did my weapons and armor?” She groaned, unsure of which was more disquieting, the Avatar’s attempt at casual conversation, or the minstrel Glenna’s cold-eyed stare. “Can we just fight already?” ******** It was not the sky chariot, but the tail of a dragon, that first crossed the scope of the spyglass. A shift in angle, and Commander Sentry was able to track the entire spectacle. A quartet of red-scaled, greater dragons, likely under the thrall of one of the Alliance factions, pursued Sir Zegg-Alien’s sleek, angular craft. Their chase zigged and zagged above the war-torn Britanny Bay, dragon flames against the vessel’s counter-strikes, which were reminiscent of a mage’s energy bolts and flamestrikes. Commander Sentry cheered silently as the sky chariot adeptly maneuvered itself below one of its enemies, unleashing a barrage of energy bolts that functionally decapitated the reptilian creature, sending its corpse plummeting from their aerial battlefield. He soon despaired as he saw two of the dragons imitate Sir Zegg-Alien’s bold strategy, a sudden mid-air pivot that brought them behind his craft. Frustrated that the distance prevented him from warning his friend, the knight stared helplessly as the Alliance pets viciously rent the back of the ship with their talons, causing part of it to explode. The blue light radiating from the sky chariot’s rear sputtered and faltered, before it faded entirely. Then it too began to fall. ******** Leigh soon discovered that the Avatar’s sword, one of the so-called Mystic Weapons crafted by the blacksmith Zircon, was aptly named. In the hero’s skilled hands, it was capable of deflecting most of her Pagan-derived magics, like In Ort Flam (“Flame Bolt”) or Kal Vas Ylem Por (“Call Quake”). The blade also cleaved through her defensive spells, such as In Flam An Por (“Fire Shield”) or In Sanct An Jux (“Intervention”). Worse, whenever she did manage to directly hit her opponent, the golden-hued Mystical Armor blunted the blows. Her own dull-red robes provided lesser protection but quicker movement, and she used this to keep one-step ahead of her more powerful opponent. One misstep, a dodge instead of a crouch, and the tip of the Mystic Weapon sliced her left arm. Flam Por (“Flash”) and through smoke and fire, she reappeared on the other side of the clearing. Vas In Mani (“Restoration”) and the small wound was instantly healed. Quas An Lor (“Fade from Sight”) and she vanished behind a mantle of invisibility. Leigh, recognizing this respite was fleeting, and struggled to formulate a new strategy. Was Rel Sanct Ylem (“Rock Flesh”) sufficient, or could the sword penetrate magical stone? Was Kal Vas Flam Corp (“Conflagration”) enough to burn the Avatar, or would the hero’s platemail absorb her deadliest casting. She knew she should at least prepare a Vas An Corp. During her duel against Sir Starfalcon, despite his numerous advantages, she maintained her confidence and composure, and it led her to victory. This one was different; the half-elf felt overwhelmed and panicked. There was also Glenna on her log, stone-faced and inscrutable, her triple crossbow readied for firing. Once again, Leigh thought of Yolo, and the way the bard had melted into ash, and she thought of how she might feel if confronted with Deniah’s murderer. Or Chanticleer’s. “Maybe you didn’t realize,” said the Avatar. The Mystic Weapon was sheathed, swapped for a red spellbook. “I’m also trained in magic. Wis Quas! Wis Quas! Wis Quas!” And with each chanting of the reveal spell, Leigh’s concealment came closer to being negated. ******** The Blood Fang was built for the use of the Empire’s elite. The Blood Fang was not intended for failure. Yet twice now, this Blood Fang had. The day it brought him to Everywhere, and the Kingdom of the Britannians. Then again, on this night, when it was savaged by a pair of winged reptiles, and sent hurtling towards the earth below. The cool-headed press of a button, and the cockpit unsealed. The flick of a lever, and the pilot’s seat was expelled from the craft. In the safety of his slow-descending escape mechanism, he saw the Blood Fang meet its demise, crashing into a small field on the eastern edge of Spiritwood. ******** Glenna and her log were at a safe distance, and Leigh narrowly avoided the blaze and the flying metal and chunks of futuristic space technology, though the force of the explosion knocked her across the glade. But the Avatar was in the direct path of the falling sky chariot. Her body was covered in scrapes and bruises from when she hit the ground, and it was more than a few minutes before Leigh could move. As her awareness returned, she noticed Glenna hovered above her weapon in hand. Surprisingly, the triple crossbow was not aimed at the half-elf; the minstrel’s attention was on the wreckage in the middle of the clearing. The figure that emerged from the flames of the demolished vessel was the Avatar, yet no longer the Avatar. The fire had eagerly consumed the Ankh-emblazoned surcoat, while the golden-hued Mystic Armor exhibited no dents or blemishes. The height and build was the same, but instead of that face, described as so handsome and beautiful by the loneliest healer in Cove, the hero’s visage was twisted in a manner that exceeded any degree of burning. Hairless, red and shaped like a skull, with a prominent brow ridge and yellow-orange glowing eyes. This strange being marched towards the two women, halting only a few feet in front of them. Its new voice, sinister and booming, addressed Leigh. “I was wrong. It wasn’t you, it was me.” “Avatar?” Glenna tentatively fingered her crossbow’s trigger. “Is that you?” “I always thought enlightenment had removed the darkness from me. All these years, I’ve been trying to find it and stop it. It wasn’t the Black Weep and it wasn’t the Black Knight. This time, I was so sure it was you.” The former Avatar gestured to the half-elf. “My darkness didn’t go outwards, it crept inwards. I see it now. I am my own darkness. I am my own opposite.” Defiant tears filled the minstrel’s eyes. “ Bullshit! I’ve known right since you came through that moongate. You’re the Avatar, our hero. The best person I’ve known, better than my poor Yolo. What you’re saying? A bad end to a good tale. Nobody wants to hear an ending like that.” “I’m so sorry, Glenna, I wish I was wrong.” “What ... what will you do then?” “I need to find a Shrine. I need to meditate on all of this.” Her sigh was desperate and pleading. “And the war? We need you. Lady British needs you.” The red-faced creature gazed towards the direction of Castle Britannia and slowly shook its head. “Again, I’m sorry, but I think the war’s over. And Everyone and Everywhere lost.” The former Avatar then turned away from them, following some unseen path deeper into Spiritwood. For a time, both women were silent with their thoughts. Until Leigh glanced up at the minstrel and asked warily, “Do you understand what just happened?” Glenna shrugged nonchalantly. “Some of it. The most important part.” “What’s that?” “If you’re not the Avatar’s enemy, you’re mine.” Heralded by a loud clack, three crossbow bolts were fired simultaneously. ******** After landing safely in an empty field west of Britain, Sir Zegg-Alien calmly unstrapped himself from the ejected pilot’s seat, and returned to the city. His honor and oath to the Silver Serpent and their queen dictated that surrender was the cost of his betrayal. When he presented himself at the entrance of his order’s garrison, the guards immediately escorted him to the office of their superior. So it was, in those final hours of the Battle of Britanny Bay, two close comrades and friends were reunited. “You have always been among the best of us, my friend,” Commander Sentry spoke from behind his large desk. “That is why I fail to understand. Why deceive us about the sky chariot?” “ Old allegiances,” Sir Zegg-Alien replied with a cat-like growl. “ Beyond this, I am unable to explain, for the good of all. Yet I swear, Blood Fang was used only on behalf of the Kingdom of Britannians. Never would I bring harm to those I am charged to protect.” “Had we known about your sky chariot, we might have incorporated it into our defenses.” “ For this, I am guilty. I gladly accept whatever punishment is rendered. Execution even.” “Your punishment?” The other knight chuckled. “My friend, by all reports, you and your sky chariot inflicted significant losses upon our enemies. I would sooner kiss you then execute you!” There was an awkward pause as they both contemplated that latter statement. “Come, I have need of my second-in-command. We still have a victory to achieve!” ******** The news reached Lady Deniah while she was in a council meeting with the surviving Alliance leaders and faction commanders. A patrol of Lunar Forest rangers were investigating word of an explosion near the forest, when amidst the ashes and metal debris, they discovered Leigh D’arc. Her breathing had already ceased, as she bled heavily from the crossbow bolts embedded in her chest. Next to where she lay, her red and silver bracelets were smashed into pieces. The scouts decided against leaving the half-elf behind, and she was reposed in a nearby healer’s tent. The loss of one of their greatest tactical advantages deeply alarmed the rest of the attendees, but not Deniah. At that moment, she was not worried about being deprived of a faithful attendant, or the effects this would have on the war effort. She thought only of Leigh, her best friend and her lover, and the knight began to weep. Her reaction did not go unnoticed, not by Governor Salix, nor any of the others present. To Be Continued …
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