Welcome to Gaia! ::

Clangs and shouts echoed around the vast expanse, hordes of gilded soldiers littering the floor. A group of roughly 15 or so stood scattered across the precarious platforms, the last of the Senate's Disciples of Order falling to blade and spell. At the far end, closest to the behemoth of a door at the far end of the Guiding Tower's first floor, a black-clad angel of death stood on one side of the chasm, clearly at odds with an ornately robed man with blond hair on the other. The rest of Yune's battalion, the Compatriots of Chaos, some called them, simply stood, watching the scene unfold in front of them. They all knew that, if they cared for their lives, they'd stay back.

“Tah ha ha... So nice to see you, King Naesala. When you can't oppose me, that is. Your blood pact means that you'll have to betray your companions... yet again.” The Saint boasted, a victorious chuckle creeping into his remark. His opponent, though mighty in his own right by far, would be powerless against the magic of that simple note. One word, and the Raven would be forced to fight his foes, to die for Begnion, for the sake of Ashera, not for that vile embodiment of chaos those interlopers so eagerly followed.

“Not today, actually.” A sly, confident smirk shot from his face, his eyes glaring a vengeful, hateful glare that would rival even Lady Nailah's petrification. This gaze, were it magical, would likely encase one in a cocoon of ice, of pure, cold, calculating permafrost.

“What did you say?” The Senator shook slightly, his hand reaching for the Rewarp staff. Sadly for him, however, the staff was out of magic, frightened realization shooting into the man's eyes, making them shrink to the size of a pinprick. The Raven King had made sure to goad the man into exhausting his means of escape, to make sure that, when the time was right, nothing could be done. And this was indeed that time.

“Sorry to break it to you, Lekain, but I have recently...” his eyes gave a scheming gleam, one that would make the most dextrous and guileful of thieves seem like nothing more than backwoods pickpockets. “...been promoted, shall we say.” His eyes narrowed, the contempt nearly taking over his very body. Naesala had to fight it, to fight the urge to skip the talking. But this? Oh, this would be a once in a lifetime chance, if not a once-in-history opportunity. He wouldn't pass this up even for the granting of his wildest dreams, for this was surely the most desirable. “I now take orders from over your head, Vice-Minister.” Naesala closed his eyes, gently stroking a few stray hairs from his eyes. Calmly, his eyes opened, a blissful smile accompanying them as he saw Lekain take a step back, and begin trembling, almost visibly to the typical beorc. “From Empress Sanaki, to be exact.”

Lekain did nothing but tremble, the tapped staff clattering from his loosening grip. The shattering of the orb and sprinkling of bits of glass against his pants snapped him out of his shocked reverie. He stood, mouth agape, unable to move, unable to provide a witty comeback. “Wh-what...Whaaaat... ?!” was all he could say. Everything he had planned, all the manipulation of that dirty carrion bird, falling apart before his very eyes.

“The curse of the blood pact applies if the master's orders aren't obeyed, but...!” The Lord of Ravens smiled, crossing his arms over his shirt as he leisurely let his wings beat about a small breeze. “By the law of Begnion,” he outstretched a hand, pointing it directly at the Saint, his smile growing as he saw the rat begin to twitch and shudder, as if his pointing was a dagger hovering millimeters before his neck, “you're overruled. So, Lekain, right here, right now...” Naesala went from pointing to spreading his arms, as if he were a magician after completing a trick, or like he was about to give the corrupt man an embrace of death, one fitting of the Reaper. “I'm going to tear you apart, as I've been wanting to do for years.”

Lekain grunted as the laguz took a step backwards and began to fall off of the platform. He reflexively reached for his Rexaura tome, though his shaking caused him to fumble it onto the floor. But, he didn't dare reach down and get it, oh no. The slightest weakness, and he'd be done for. But, he couldn't exactly defend himself...

A shriek erupted through the air, reverberating off the far walls and halting all that was in progress as an ebon jet shot across the battlefield, colliding head-on with the quivering lump before rocketing directly into the airspace above. A deep, fear-consumed scream coupled the flapping of wings as the body was sent straight up on its own before stopping in midair as a hand grasped the collar. The hand held on tightly, as if releasing the grasp would kill it.

“Oh, Senator Lekain of Gaddos!” The laguz shook the man around, dangling him above the ground like a mother dangling food over her children's hungry mouths.”Do you know why I haven't killed you yet?”

Silence.

“Do you?!?” The king let out an uncharacteristically sharp sneer as he began to remove a finger from the collar. Slowly, the fabric began to return to a more natural shape, no longer compressing the collar quite as much.

“B-because you wish to take p-pity on me, and imprison me?” Lekain's response was pitiful, equal to that of a mewling child. Gone was his guise of an intelligent schemer, and here was the true face, one of concealed terror, of paranoia.

Naesala let out a sarcastic laugh, as if in disbelief of the answer. “If only, my good man. See...” Naesala began to rise higher into the air, each flap of his wings shaking the pudgy man as the pair inched higher and higher over the floor, over the abyss. “...the crimes you've committed against me, they're... they're unforgivable!” Rage shook both of their very foundations, Lekain's in fear of it, Naesala's in resistance. “I'm going to make sure, my friend... that you know exactly what you've put me through.”

“Think back, Lekain. Think back to... oh, almost 30 years ago. Near the Serenes Massacre. That night you arranged to... have a diplomatic meeting with the King of Kilvas...”

–|
It was almost sundown on a calm spring night. A cool breeze swept through the trees, the branches swaying marginally, but their combined motion made the sound of an area-wide natural wind chime. Scattered birds flew to their nests, torches were slowly becoming lit across the outside of a remote villa in Begnion. As the sun had left completely from view, a pair of black-garbed figures each with a pair of ebon wings landed at the door. The taller one reached a hand towards the metal ring on the outside, and gingerly rapped it against the door.

Moments later, an elderly voice beckoned them inside as the door swung open. Most likely, the voice was a butler of sorts. The pair entered, their hands clasped together like a pair of jolly, skipping twins or inseparable lovers. The fact that they were in an unknown country, in the hospitality of a man they'd never met didn't assuage the tension, either. Well, they could only go so long without meeting their gracious host, obviously. They walked, absentmindedly, into a dining room. A glass chandelier hung from the ceiling, giving off small rainbow-colored refractions on the edges. Two candelabras sat on opposite ends of the table, each candle lit with a bright flame, leaving orange streaks across the tin covers on the various dishes. At the far end sat a young man, looking to be in his prime. He had golden blond hair on top of slightly tanned skin, coupled with white and red garbs of the Senators and a full wine glass cradled in his palm.

“Come, come, sit down.” The man waved them over with his free hand, a gesture the pair readily complied with. The man pulled out the chair for the woman, a gesture she giggled at as they began to look playfully at one another before sitting. The man was tall and thin, entirely black save his fair skin and navy hair, which was tied into a ponytail and dropped limply onto his back. The woman wore a dark blue shirt with dark green pants, sandals, and had a brown scarf draped around her neck, with her forest green locks of hair draping onto it.

“I am Lekain, Duke of Gaddos and Vice-Minister of Begnion's Imperial Senate.” He took a drink of his wine, looking nonchalantly at the pair as an amused smile came to view. “Now, for the sake of formalities, an introduction from yourself?” Lekain waved a hand towards the man, a cue he took to begin his own introduction.

“I'm Naesala. The King of Kilvas, the nation of ravens.” He said it almost mockingly, as both men full well knew his name and the rest of that spiel. “And this lovely lady,” he smiled towards her, watching her timidly blush, “is Arlette. I wished to have someone accompany me on this trip, and my typical 'nanny,' Nealuchi, was ill and couldn't make it. So, he sent his granddaughter instead.”

She chuckled, still blushing as she tried to compose herself. “Y-yes, that's true. Though nanny might be a bit much-”

“Nonsense, we both know that you're the intelligent side to this coin.” Under the table, the raven pair's hands were tightly grasped, typical of a young couple. They both looked into each others' eyes, until a scratchy, throat-clearing noise shook them out of their reverie, snapping both of their faces towards it.

“Hah, young love... May we start dinner?” Lekain couldn't help but smile. The couple looked about as old as he was, but they acted like they were about to run off and elope at the slightest notice. A diplomatic meeting can't very well be held if such a thing happened, now can it?

–

After the dinner, which was uneventful and boring, nothing but international relations, to be precise, Naesala and Arlette relaxed in their quarters, laughing and carrying on like children well into the night. Long were the clothes discarded, but that's not as important to this story. Soon, morning came, and the crowing of roosters brought the king awake. He gently slicked out from under the blankets, making sure to cover Arlette fully once he was standing. If someone happened to come into the room for whatever reason, they couldn't have such a sight occurring, could they? Not without ridicule and all that, of course.

Naesala slipped into the adjacent bathroom, and began all of those cleaning-up things that men are likely to do after a night of such activities. You know, food fights and things like that. Too lazy to get out of the bed and shower before they slept, and those snacks were quite sticky. A few minutes later, because who really wants to see that description go in-depth at a time like this, he emerged from the room, steam seeping out behind him as he stood with little more than a towel around his waist. But, Arlette wasn't in bed. Curious, the king quickly got dressed, and began to wander the halls.

After little time, he came to the dining room they had eaten in the night before, his eyes widening in shock as he saw the raven girl bound to a chair, Lekain standing next to her, dagger in hand. Immediately after the king's muscles began to tense, soldiers came from all entrances, barring exit with their bows. He was trapped, trapped like a rat, powerless to stop whatever the twisted man had planned.

“King Kilvas...” he mocked, sliding the curve of the blade dangerously close to the girl's throat, “I despise sub-humans, I really do. But this...” He smiled, let out a maniacal laugh, and continued. “This... is too good. Not only do I have a direct path to a king's heartstrings,” he looked out a window, where Mainal's Tower of Guidance loomed. “I've got this, a memento from the past king.” He took out a sheet of paper, worn and tattered, with faded ink.

“...a piece of paper.” Naesala was dumbfounded, about to just laugh. What could a simple paper do to him, really? Give him a paper cut?

“Not just a piece of paper.” Naesala gave the Senator a skeptical look, as if there was something more to the parchment. “This? It's called a Blood Contract, sub-human. It's a nice little paper that, when signed by two nations, gives one... complete control over the other. We say jump, you ask how high. We say kill, you ask where to put the body. We ask you to... wage war on Phoenicis, you do nothing more but ask when.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Your people will slowly but surely die. They'll die a slow, painful death, an unknown plague sweeping the citizens until you are all that's left.” Lekain shot a confident smirk at the raven, watching as he cringed, his eyes going wide. “Well, assuming they don't kill you first.” The king was silent, unable to reply. What could he say? He was trapped. He couldn't attack Lekain, he had Arlette as a hostage. He couldn't refuse, people would die.

“...okay.”

“What was that now?”

“...what do you want?”

“Well! That's the way to go about business, my good sir! Get right to the point, and we're all happy. Except you, of course.” The man pondered in thought for a moment, until an especially devious grin came to light. “...we could always use more workers! Ah, I'm so brilliant! There's a thought!” A gleam was in the Saint's eyes, one with particularly unholy malice. “What I want you to do, King Naesala, is supply my nobles and I with your wretched sub-human hides. I don't care where or how you get them, as long as they're alive and they can work.” He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small pouch of gold. “Of course, I'll pay you. Not too much, obviously, but gold nonetheless.”

“Y-you sick...!” Naesala's voice became shallow, as if he had the air knocked out of him. No matter what, he couldn't do anything, he couldn't escape this trap. Ruin the lives of his people, or ruin the lives of different types of people. Or die.

“And the first one...?” A sly smirk from the controller, a flinch from the controlled. “This one here.” He pointed down towards Arlette. Nealuchi's granddaughter.

“N-no...!” His breathing became heavier, his fists were clenched, his body ready to spring at the human and rip him to shreds. He couldn't do this, not to her! He'd sooner give hims- “Wait! ...take me instead, Lekain.” His body relaxed, resigned to his fate.

Lekain smiled. Such devotion was to be admired, really. “No.” There was no fun to be had in bargains like that! “I'm taking the girl, and you'll work for me. Now go, so I can break her in.” He waved a hand, and guards dragged him out, kicking and screaming.

The moment they let him go outside the door, a flash of gray light erupted as he changed into his avian form. With a flap of his wings, blades of wind felled the guards around him as he shot into the sky, circling the villa, watching. His eyes picked up on the man, dragging his love through a hall with a window stretching the length they were walking. Those overdone windows were bound to mess with someone. With a furious screech, he began his descent, the window getting ever closer. As he became close enough to see Arlette's attempts at escape, Lekain turned towards the window. The shadow he'd been casting gave him away. The Senator smiled, pulling out his Rexaura tome.

A flash of light, and an explosion later, the bird was soaring through the sky, not of his own will, but due to the force of the attack. Backwards he flew, unable to move, unable to change direction. Slowly he fell, gravity taking him to a distant river. Splash. He submerged, snapping to consciousness as his breathing was stopped by the flow of water. He thrashed about, climbing to the surface through the dark, murky water. He returned to the air above, but could not leave the river's current. He tried, tried, and tried again, but his wings held him there, until he sank once more beneath the current.

When he awoke, a pair of angelic figures stood above him, their songs echoing through his mind. He felt rejuvenated, restored, as if nothing had even happened. Naesala sprung up, still drenched with water. Hands gently moved forward in a gesture to calm him, the galdrs trailing off as the pair focused their attention on their guest.

“...King Naesala of Kilvas, to what do we owe the honor of saving you?” the elder heron asked, a hearty smile masking the concerned gaze.

“Lord Lorazieh, it's... it's Begnion.” He coughed, spitting out a swig of water before continuing. “This one, Lekain. H-he took her, and n-now I...”

“Calm down, calm down. You're in no shape to do anything, Naesala. I'll tell you what. Rafiel will take care of you, and I'll go meet with Misaha. Her and her daughter should be able to get to the bottom of it. Just stay here to regain your strength, and return to Kilvas. I'll take care of it.” He gave Rafiel a nod and transformed, taking wing for the capital. Naesala had never met Rafiel before; it was always Reyson and Leanne. He'd had struck up conversation, but he was still exhausted, and went right to bed. When he awoke in the night, he left for Kilvas. When Nealuchi began to pry, he said that Arlette had decided to stay there to learn more of beorc culture.

A year later, he heard of a terrible tragedy. The forest of Serenes was razed, the Herons blamed for Misaha's death. Naesala left Kilvas the moment he heard, making utmost haste for the forest, meeting a certain Senator on the way. Lekain was travelling, oddly enough, like he'd come from the forest. Silently, Naesala crept up on his carriage, knocking out the driver before kicking the door down.

Lekain was hardly surprised, almost expecting the raven to appear. “Well, well, Naesala. You've been slacking off...”

“Arlette.” His hands tightened into fists, prepared to pummel him into a pulp if he didn't give the right answer.

“Oh, that waste...?” He sipped a cup of tea, in no way threatened by the royal laguz within lethal distance. “After I broke her in, she had a kid, you see. And then, since she couldn't transform, couldn't be a carrier pigeon, I killed her.” Naesala snapped, taking the man by the throat and pressing him against the wall.

“You b*****d...!” The grip tightened, the embodiment of sin's eyes beginning to bulge from his head, like some sort of stress toy.

“Oh...” he coughed, “...don't... worry.” The grip loosened slightly, the assailant expecting some sort of bright and happy reveal. “...the son is safe. I sent him off to another senator's care. I sent him to Persis, I believe. The ruler there is such a doddering fool that the babe would likely go unnoticed and starve to-” The sentence wasn't completed as Naesala's grip tightened, and a fist went straight into Lekain's stomach. Any air he may have had was gone now, for sure. But, the senator managed to give some sort of signal, and a man appeared behind the carriage door, crossbow aimed at Naesala's head.

“Let him go, and leave the carriage.”

“...damn...” Naesala had no choice to comply. He couldn't kill the man if he died first.

“Now go back to where you came from, you dirty sub-human.” The bowman prodded him in the back with the loaded arrow, shoving him away. Again, the king had no choice but to comply. He wouldn't be able to attack the man without getting injured in the process, and then Lekain would finish him off.

“Oh, Naesala!” Lekain called out, throwing a napkin over the tea that splashed onto the floor. “Do try to keep up with that deal I gave you. You don't want to start seeing your precious buzzards dropping like the insects they are, do you?”

Naesala didn't even respond, transformed, and flew back to Kilvas. The next decades would be the most miserable of his life. Betrayal after betrayal, all for a paltry sum of ill-gotten coin. After five years, Lekain decided to prevent the Kilvans from making money through honest means, forcing them to resort to piracy and thievery. And Naesala was powerless to refuse.

--|

Naesala still held Lekain by the collar. He sneered at a putrid smell, stifling a chuckle as he noticed the goldenrod splotch growing on the senator's pants. Naesala began to laugh, in a way he hadn't since that night with Arlette. Granted, he'd long moved past the loss, finding a sort of kindred spirit with Princess Leanne. Luckily for her, she was outside the tower, protected by Tibarn, his goons, and Nealuchi. The king smiled, closed his eyes, and began to speak like a siren, heralding the man's death.

“Lekain, you should have known that this was coming!” he cackled, slowly rotating in midair to further disorient the wretch as he reached into the man's pocket. “You should have known that after what you've done to me, what you've had me do, that if anyone killed you but myself, the world would fall at my hands!” Lekain said nothing, primal terror keeping him from speaking. “And now, it's time, Lekain. It's time...”

The Raven removed a sheet of paper, stuck it into his shirt, and let go of the man, transforming just as his grip was released. In a split second, he shot off into the distance, turning back around and gaining even more speed as he let out a primal screech. Lekain watched in horror as the descent began, as the harbinger of doom came closer and closer. A sickening crack echoed through the room as the raven collided with the man. Blood shot from his arm as it seamlessly disconnected, flying off into the abyss. Before Lekain could even scream, Naesala shot off again, this rebound bringing him straight into the other arm, making two jets of blood as the other arm flew off to another abyss. He pulled up, ethereal lights casting a large, avian shadow over the floor below. With another screech, he shot down, barreling straight towards the dismembered schemer. With a final crunch, Naesala shot right through the man's stomach, shooting straight down towards the ground.

As the laguz began to get closer to the platform, he slowed his descent, finally returning to his human form and landing gracefully on the ground as blood and organs rained down around him, the two severed halves of Lekain's body landing in front and behind him. He nonchalantly removed the parchment, ripping it asunder with one quick motion. He smiled, reached up, and ran a hand through his hair, removing a few bits of gore, and looked around at his allies, inwardly grinning at their awestruck faces.

He took a few steps forward, towards the massive door ahead, and shouted. “Come on, what are you all waiting for? We're getting nowhere standing here!” Finally, he'd gotten the revenge he so desperately desired. Revenge for Arlette, for Nealuchi, for Serenes, for Kilvas, for all who were affected by the massacre, for everyone his actions harmed. He could drop dead here and now, and he'd be happy. A sound came from behind him, calming his body. Reyson's galdr always did the trick.

“Well, Naesala, let's go.”

“...yes, lets. When this is over, why don't we drop by some of those Senatorial Estates, and see what we-”

“Naesala!”

“Relax, Reyson! I was kidding!” He sheepishly laughed as the heron stormed ahead, before smiling and muttering to himself. “...as long as you're within earshot, of course.”

NOTE:THE FOLLOWING MAY NOT BE CANON. I HAVEN'T DECIDED. ;D


Bramimond rolled about in his sleep, tossing blankets and drenching the fabric on his bed with cold sweat. In reality, it was clear that he was in a small room, with stone walls, and many tables and bookshelves about, holding tomes of valuable arcane knowledge. But in his mind, he was hundreds of years in the past, on one of, if not the, darkest days of his long life.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Smoke choked the young druid in his sleep. He shot bolt upright, and as he gave forth racking coughs, as his eyes darted around his surroundings, trying to remember where he was. As a semblance of calm was brought to his mind, he recalled that he was in a tent, a part of Hartmut's army, riding towards a battle against the Dragons, the foul creatures that wished nothing but ill towards mankind. He stood up, and scrambled around the small enclosure, trying not to trip over his heavy blankets as he collected his customary robes, some pouches full of medicinal herbs, and three tomes. First, he grabbed Luna, a tome that held within it the power to pierce magical wards and protections. That tome and others like it had given him great protection against the hides of the Dragons. He then grabbed Flux, a spell he hadn't used recently, but he always held it with him, as a backup weapon, in case Luna ran out of energy. Lastly, and with a half of a second thought, he picked up Apocalypse, the mighty tome he himself penned; the epitome of Elder magic, the likes of which made chills run up even his spine, and could bring the weak-hearted to their knees by merely touching it. He stowed them all in a bag, and slung it around his shoulder, but kept Luna nearby. He then strode out from his tent to discover a scene of terror.

Smoke rose into the sky from hundreds of tents, all burning, the stench of burnt leather combining with that of live burning flesh made Bramimond sick to his stomach. He saw dozens of Dragons flying through the air, swooping down to pick up whole men in their jaws, and swallowing them whole. Jets of liquid fire shot from their mouths, making lines of death in their wake. Ash was blown through the winds, and quickly became stuck in the druid's long purple hair. Bramimond's head whipped around, and his deep, dark purple eyes caught sight of Roland, hefting his sword Durandal, swinging at the scaly beasts as they dove down, several trying to consume the valiant Hero, but all failing to overcome his stoic defense. The druid ran to him, and quickly began to speak.

“Roland, what in the abyss is going on?!”, the worker if Elder magics gasped. The hero turned, and smiled. “Ah, Bramimond! I'm glad you're alright! The Dragons launched a sneak attack against us! They must have known that we were coming, and they came upon us barely a few minutes ago. We all thought you were dead! I was just coming over to see if someone had roused you, or if our worst suspicions had been confirmed.” Bramimond, by now, had caught his breath, and his mind began racing, trying to find out about the other heroes, and whether they were harmed. “Well, Durbans raced off after any Dragon he could find, and last I saw him he was hacking one apart that had made the foolish decision to get too close to him. Barigan is also galloping about, and I believe a few kills have been attributed to his lance. Hartmut and Hanon are both somewhere in that direction, using their long range abilities to strike those who still fly. Athos ran off with Elimine, who wanted to try and heal any wounded she found. I believe Athos went with her to-Aha! There he is now, you can see the glow from his Forblaze from here! That seems to be a little far from where they were headed before though, I hope they didn't get separated....”

That was all that was needed, and Bramimond ran off in the direction that Roland had pointed out as Athos and Elimine's original direction. “Please be all right, Elimine...”, Bramimond prayed.

He didn't make it far before the screams of those nearby drew his attention, and he stopped to find out what was going on. He turned to his right just in time to see the tail of a Dragon escape his vision, and he was then pulled to the left with a sharp jerk. “Druid! Thank the gods you're here! You must help us, these foul beasts are ripping the men apart! Please!” Bramimond began stuttering out a response. “B-but Elimine, I have to-”, but he didn't have a chance to finish, as he was dragged behind the man he met to a small group of them, hiding under a large boulder, using it a a shield against the flaming exhalations of the Dragons. Amongst them, Bramimond noticed a mage, holding a Thunder tome, a Knight encased in his armor, a Mercenary who's sword was already covered in blood, a Cleric, who's healing stave had to be running low in magical energy, Bramimond assumed. The man who had grabbed him, who was holding a large ax of some sort, pushed him in front.

“Here, he'll save us! He's the Druid of the heroes! You'll save us, right?”, the axeman said, with a slight tone of fear in his voice. Bramimond gave a weary sigh, and nodded. “Yes, I'll do what I can.” The Mercenary began speaking. “Thank you so much, we thought we were done for! We can't take many more of those atta-” the man was cut off when his top half was suddenly bit off, the culprit being a Dragon who had landed on the rock, it's snakelike neck reaching into the small alcove and devouring one of the staunch defenders.

“By the gods, we're all gonna die!”, the axeman shouted, and began running. The Knight stood in his path, trying to get him to calm down, and was pushed out of the way to the ground. The Cleric immediately tried to help the Knight up, as the axeman, his morale finally depleted, fled the scene of the carnage in whatever way he could.

Bramimond did not have that luxury, however. He opened his Luna tome, and spoke the ancient language depicted on it's pages. As he did, a purple collection of runes appeared above the page, and when he finished speaking the incantation, one that had become ingrained in his mind from the long war, he outstretched his hand, and a rune appeared in the air between the two, a long shape made of interconnected circles. From these circles orbs of dark energy shot, and as they collided with the Dragon, they pierced it's magical defenses. However, to Bramimond's immense surprise, that shot didn't finish the beast off, and it reared it's head back, and shot a stream of liquid fire at the druid. As a reflex, he raised his tone towards his face, trying to block the flames, but immediately realized that this was a mistake, as the book of eldritch magic burst into dark purple flames, burning his hand. The flames of the Dragon's breath circled around him, burning his arms and face, but the tome's magic managed to defend him from the brunt of the damage. As the fire subsided, Bramimond swept his arm back, unleashing an arc of magic that blew the remainder of the flames away from him. As his tome burnt, he began casting the spell again. The run once again appeared in the air, and as it's deadly magic leaped forth, it finally extinguished the life of the beast.

Bramimond resisted the urge to shout in pain as this flesh practically boiled from the intense heat. His face, as well his arms from his hands to his forearms, burned in pain. He turned from the still-smoking corpse of the Dragon, and tried to continue towards where Elimine was supposed to be. However, before he could get more than a few steps, something grabbed his arm, and he turned with a harsh glare at whoever did it.

The young Cleric fell into his gaze, a young woman with light brown hair, gentle brown eyes, and freckles on the ridge of her nose. She immediately realized what she had done, and let go of the burns on Bramimond's arm. “I'm sorry, sir, but I thought that, since you got wounded, I could use what's left of my magic to heal you...” Bramimond softened, and smiled at the girl. “Thank you miss, I would appreciate it.” She instantly cheered up, nodded, and held her stave towards him, her eyes closed, and the orb on the end of the stave began glowing a gentle blue. As the magic worked, flesh knitted itself back together as his burns disappeared. Just as his remaining injuries healed, the orb cracked, it's former blue color fading into a hollow black. Bramimond reached into his pouch, and pulled out a Vulnerary. He gave it to the girl. “Keep this with you, and use it if you are injured. In the meantime, try to stay out of battle. If you can find a stave, use it. We'll need the help.” She nodded, admiration in her eyes as the druid turned and ran, trying to find Elimine.

The Dragons continued to wheel above the battlefield, diving down, and coming up with handfuls and mouthfuls of men, the soldiers with whom Bramimond had served for the past year. As he rounded a corner created by the burning wreckage of various war machines, he saw a man in a blue robe, with pale blond hair, holding his arms up, a stave in one, and a red tome in the other. As he finished speaking an incantation in a language that seemed much more benign than Bramimond's own, his tome gave forth a bright light, which resolved itself into a line. Then, as Bramimond's attention was drawn skyward by the screeches of Dragons, he saw what had been conjured: several balls of fire, each one the side of a catapult at the very least, plummeted from the heavens, as if the very gods were weeping at the slaughter. The orbs of fire collided with Dragons on the way down, until they finally struck the target, incinerating it in fire. As the light faded, three Dragons lay dead, burnt almost to the point of being unrecognizable. Bramimond ran forward.

“Athos! Please tell me you've seen Elimine!”, Bramimond shouted, panic in his voice at realizing that the woman was alone, without the fires of the Sage to keep her safe. “Bramimond! Thank the heavens you're alright! We thought you were done for in the first attacks! Many died in the first flames of the Dragons, before we knew they lurked in the night sky. Elimine was with me, attending to the wounded, but a large Dragon appeared, black in color, and I was needed to try and combat it. I know not where it went. I've been trying to find my way back to gentle Elimine, but to no avail.” Bramimond shouted in frustration, and the dark book in his pouch seemed to throb with his anger, feeding. “I will find Elimine. You do what you can against these beasts. I will see you when this is over.” Bramimond's words were terse, his anger not aimed at Athos, but at the Dragons, who's blood he vowed to spill in unending torrents if his beloved was harmed.

“Bramimond!”, Athos yelled, and as Bramimond turned back towards him, a stave was thrown at him. He caught it in one hand, and looked at it's features. It was gold, with silver trim, and it's brilliant blue orb seemed to shine in the night. “It's Elimine's Saint's Staff. She left it when she left her tent, and she's the only one with the expertise to invoke such miracles from it. Take it to her when you find her.” He smiled at the Druid, and he smiled back. “I will, Athos. Good luck out here.” He turned, and ran off at a sprint towards where Elimine was hopefully waiting.

He weaved through the planks of wood and cinders of buildings. It dimly occurred to Bramimond that he must have entered a town in his flight, the one they had camped near to purchase supplies from. The Dragons must have turned their baleful glare towards the citizens. Bramimond bobbed and ducked through small openings and doorways, trying to find evidence of Elimine. He stepped through a door frame, the door having been ripped off it's hinges in some display of bestial might, and his eyes fell upon the Bishop.

She stood upon the ruined pieces of a building, holding her tome Aureola in her slender fingers, speaking words of exalted power, in the common tongue of mortals. “Radiant light of the gods, shine down on this world! I am Thaumaturgist! Wonderworker! Performer of miracles! Suffer the wrath of the gods, and die in their Supreme Light! Aureola!” A beam of undaunted light pierced the clouds, and struck the Dragon who had had the audacity to land in front of the Living Saint. The light started as gentle and calming, but quickly coalesced into a narrow beam, and a bright bead of light followed the path, as if the gods themselves decided to strike down that beast. The bead hit the Dragon in the back, and an explosion of divine light radiated out, burning the creature until nothing was left. The waves of holy power swept dust and ashes back, and Bramimond shielded his eyes with his sleeve. When the attack was over, he ran up to Elimine.

“Elimine! You're alright! I thought you might need my help, so I-” Elimine cut him off with a sharp bark. “Why would I need your help, vile shaman!? I am the light of the gods, I do not need the aid of the dark powers you worship.” She gave a hmph, and began looking through the wreckage for and wounded. “W-well, I know you don't need my help, but I still wanted to giv-” Elimine cut him off again. “I don't care for your honeyed words, shaman! Now either help me heal the wounded, or leave! And is tha- it is! That's my Saint's Staff! Give it back! It's not as if a depraved soul such as you could use it!” Bramimond gave the stave to her, and she marched off. “Now let's go see if we can heal any survivors! Or has the teachings of your vile patrons deadened you to the suffering of your fellow man?!” Bramimond sighed, and followed her.

They made it into the center square of the town, the vast open space filled with wounded who were being tended to by Clerics and the other workers of magic who could harness healing magic. Elimine raised her Saint's Staff, and began speaking. “Radiant light of the gods, shine down on this world! Fill the souls of these valiant defenders with your power, and let them fight on in your name!” As she lowered the stave, the wounds of every man and woman in the area began closing, as the immense magic she held in her hands healed their wounds. “Bless Elimine!”, they shouted, tears streaming down the faces of those who thought their time on this world was over. The Clerics flocked to Elimine, all wanting to meet the Living Saint, and she smiled at them, and sent them off to find more wounded to attend to. The revitalized warriors began streaming from the square, ready to resume the battle.

As the square emptied, Bramimond stepped forward. “That was a very powerful miracle you performed, Elimine. I'm sure everyone in this army is glad to see you when you arrive.” She gave a derisive laugh, and looked back to Bramimond, her blue eyes full of pity towards what she saw as a lesser being. “Of course they're happy to see [me, druid! I'm am the Saint Elimine! Who else would they be glad to see, you!? You're a worshiper of vile demons! They should run when you arrive!” Bramimond sighed again, now used to Elimine's stinging hatred of him and his kind. She stepped forward, and climbed to the pedestal in the center of the square to survey the surroundings.

Before she could utter another word, however, the two heard a piercing roar in the sky. They both quickly turned towards the source of the sound, and saw an immense Dragon, it's scales a deep black. It flew past the square, almost missing the pair. Elimine scoffed at it. “How dare he ignore me!? Take this, vile beast!”, she shouted as she used a Lightning tome to attract it's attention. The spell slashed at the Dragon's side, tearing small gouges in it's flesh, and it roared in anger. It turned back towards the square, and rapidly flew towards it.

“What are you, insane?!”, Bramimond shouted. “It was going to leave us alone! We could have attended to the wounded, instead of having to fight this beast!” Elimine looked back down towards Bramimond, and ignored him. “This beast has felled more of our soldiers than any other. I say we take him down now, while there's no one here, and we can use this large space to maneuver! Didn't your fiendish masters teach you anything of strategy?” Bramimond thought about it, and decided that it was an alright plan, and prepared for the beast's arrival by withdrawing his Flux tome. Elimine, however, decided to use Aureola again, and put her Lightning tome back in her pack. “Elimine, are you sure you'll have enough time to cast that? Maybe you should back up first, to give yourself more time?” Elimine ignored him, and began casting her spell, her eyes shut in prayer. Bramimond looked up, and saw a horrifying sight. The Dragon, much larger than it's fellows, was quickly approaching, and would be there in a matter of seconds. Bramimond started backing up. “Elimine, run!”, he shouted, as he ran to the far side of the square, but Elimine would not interrupt her prayer, and she did not escape in time. The Dragon landed, crushing two houses on the far side of the square with it's hind legs, and swept at Elimine with a claw. The Bishop tried to dodge while continuing casting, but the tips of the claws slashed through the robes on her sides, and she was thrown to the back of the square. Bramimond gasped in shock. He ran to her, the few steps remaining between the two of them after she was launched that impressive distance, and checked her for a pulse. “Her heart is still beating, so maybe there's time...”, he thought, as he pulled out a Vulnerary and applied the healing salve to her wounds. He wrapped a bandage around her as well he could, to stem the bleeding, and looked towards the Dragon. It's neck was reared back, and a furious exhalation of acid was spewing from it's mouth, almost replicating the foul swamps that black dragons call home. Bramimond held his Flux tome in his hand, and tapped into it's Elder magic to make a shield, and interposed it between the acid and him and his ally.

The Dragon snorted, jets of foul air blasting from it's nostrils. As the fumes from his acid began to settle, he saw that the small spellcaster was still alive, having protected himself with his magic. It roared, and prepared to breath another gout of acid at the two. Bramimond did not give it the chance. He shouted a few words in the Elder tongue, the casting time of his lowly Flux tome much shorter than that of Elimine's powerful Aureola, and he created a spherical void in front of him. Then, it sank into the ground, and a rune appeared below the Dragon. Tendrils of dark energy sprung forth, and tried to lash at the Dragon. But the spell did not have enough power to pierce the Dragon's magical resistance, and he laughed at the puny attempt. Bramimond cast the spell again and again, but to no avail. The Dragon finished gathering it's breath, and another fetid blast of acid shot forth.

This time, Bramimond was almost caught unprepared, and he barely erected a shield in time. The acidic fumes swept around him and Elimine, who was still unconscious from the concussive force of the Dragon's throw. The acid burned at Bramimond's eyes, and his forearms and shoulders were rapidly exposed as his robes became damaged. As the Dragon finished it's attack, Bramimond's skin was raw, his arms and chest exposed from the acid. He immediately checked to see if Elimine was alright. The repeated blasts of acid were quickly suffocating her, even behind the shield. The druid rose, and faced the Dragon. He sent several more Flux bolts at the Dragon, but they had no effect. He yelled in frustration, and the tome in his pouch responded in kind, giving a mystical pulse. He threw his surprised gaze to the tome, and realized that it was time to unleash it's power. He threw his Flux tome to the ground, the damaged book bouncing off the cobblestones. He reached into the pouch, and he withdrew his foul creation. It's bindings were inlaid with silver, and gold leaf adorned the cover. He opened the book, and felt another presence in his mind. He was drawn in, and found himself in a void.
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Bramimond looked around, suddenly in much more regal robes, and saw nothing but inky blackness. The cloying shadows pressed in on him, and he felt claustrophobic. Suddenly, he heard a voice.

“You have not the power to save the one you love.”, the voice said, it's tone full of controlled malice, the words feeling silky and seductive in his ear. “I can give you the power. I can give you the resolve. But I want something in return.” Bramimond felt movement on his right, and before he could turn around, he felt it on his left too. He heard a whoosh, as some being rapidly began enclosing him. “I want your mind. I want your soul! Only then will you have the power to defend yourself, to conquer all opposition, to destroy those who stand in your path! What say you!?” The shadow began enclosing him, almost as if it already knew the answer to it's question. “Anything for her. I will give what you ask.”
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Bramimond found himself back in the square, the Dragon having just finished it's acidic breath, barely a moment after he withdrew the foul tome. He knew that the deal was made, all that remained was to cast the spell. He stepped forward, and help the tome aloft. His frame was meager, he had no musculature, but in his eyes was the wrath of the gods, and he would not be denied. “Foul demons of the dark abyss! Hear the call of your new master! I am warlock! Oath-breaker! Worker of foul magics! Tear at the flesh of my foes, and condemn their souls to Oblivion's Darkness! Apocalypse!” His hand was outstretched, and the dark magic was cast. Thirteen purple flames appeared around the black Dragon, and quickly disappeared, bringing in their place a cloud of purple miasma, both above and below the beast. Bolts of malevolent lightning arced between the two, but the spell was not done. The clouds coalesced, and exploded in violent fury, unleashing powerful winds that blew away entire piles of debris. The Dragon threw it's head back and forth, wondering where this power could have come from, before it's live was ripped from it's body, the demons of the abyss finding fresh food. It was ripped apart by the spell, the pieces of it's body crushing walls that they were thrown against, such was the Dragon's size.

The remaining Dragons all stopped their attacks, seeing that their leader was felled like a petulant child who knew not what he had tampered with. They quickly rose to the air, and flew away with as much haste as they could muster. Their king would want to know that his son had been killed.

Bramimond was aware of none of this. In his mind, chaos ran rampant. He felt as if he was in a boat, a mighty vessel that cut the waves before it, but now it was being stripped away, board by board, until there was nothing left to guard him from the waves. He fell into the water, all land out of sight, and was battered by waves. He was shoved under, brought back to the surface, unable to take in air. He looked up on one of the rare occasions that he was above the sea, and saw a massive wave looming. He was shoved under before he had a chance to think.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Suddenly, it was daytime, and Bramimond's eyes flew open. He looked around his surroundings, realizing he was in a roofed cart. Someone must have picked him up after the battle. He got his robes back on; someone had fixed them while he was unconscious, and he felt something on the edge of his perception. It felt like a beetle had crawled under his skin, and was trying to worm it's way from the back of his head into his vision. The feeling was maddening. He stood, and fell from the back of the cart as he tried to climb over the gate. He looked around, and his mind felt like it had caught on fire.

He saw no source of his pain, merely other soldiers, who now stopped marching to look at him, trying to find out what was troubling one of their leaders. As they drew closer, the feeling grew worse, each one feeling like a maelstrom overtaking him. He shouted at them, told them to stay away, and ran. He tripped over his own feet, unable to maintain a steady gait. He saw his friends ahead, his fellow generals, and drew near them. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed. He felt as if he was in the center of a storm, each of them throwing off some kind of energy the likes of which he never felt before, and his crazed lurching was reduced to a stumble. As he drew near to Elimine, he looked up at her sitting on her horse. “It looks like the heretic has finally sold his soul, doesn't it! We thought you wouldn't wake up for weeks, but it seems that your foul masters have given you strength stand, if not walk. Leave my sight! I do not wish for my eyes to fall on a wretch such as yourself.” She gave a small hmph, and Roland looked to her. “Come now, Elimine, he's been through a lot for you. If he hadn't helped, we wouldn't even have a skeleton to bury.” Athos nodded. “Leave the poor man alone, he's already been through enough. Come, Bramimond, I will help you back to your seat.” His words fell on deaf ears. Bramimond swayed, his mind unable to take any more, and he dropped to his hand and knees. His stomach rebelled, and his arms were soon covered with the contents of his stomach as he vomited. Athos dismounted his horse, and ran to his side. “Bramimond, are you alright!? Talk to me!” The other heroes dismounted as well, Elimine was the only one that remained. “Serves him right for throwing his lot in with his foul masters! He'll get no sympathy from me!” Athos rose, and snatched the stave from her hand. “Well, he'll get it from us! Barigan, go get help, get as many Clerics as you can bring, and if you find any Shaman or Druids, bring them here! One of them might know what's wrong with him!” The stoic Paladin nodded. “Stand strong, young Bramimond, help will arrive soon.” He mounted his steed, and galloped off. Bramimond was turned to face the sky, and the last thing he saw was his friend's faces, and Elimine riding off in disgust, as he blacked out.
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Bramimond opened his eyes again, this time much slower, and his vision swam. He looked around, and saw Athos was in the cart with him, with a pan full of water and a damp cloth, trying to cool down his fevered head. When his eyes opened, he seemed overjoyed. “Bramimond, you wake! Thank the gods! We thought we lost you again!” Bramimond's head still pounded, but he now felt as if he was only in a rainstorm, not a force of nature. He looked at Athos, and tried to speak. “By the gods, Athos, what's happened to me?” He was shocked at what came from his mouth. His voice sounded almost like....Athos'? He continued trying to speak, but could not overcome the strange problem, only occasionally taking on the voices and personae of others. Athos shook his head, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Bramimond, we don't know what's happened. I've used all of my magical power to try and divine what has become of you, as have all of our Clerics and Shaman. Every time one of them tries to heal you, or analyze what has happened, they can find nothing, and those who look at your open eyes are struck with some sort of revulsion, and begin shouting at themselves, their voices becoming an echo of their own voices, as well as those nearby. We're at a loss to explain it.”

A tear ran down Bramimond's cheek, as he remembered what happened at the square. He remembered the deal, the dark force, and the shattering of his own mind, the pieces of which were scattered to the wind. He retold the story to Athos, who's face grew pale. “Bramimond, why would you do this?! Forsake your sense of self?! What prize could that be worth?! Don't tell me you did it for power, or I will consider you lost to the fate that so often befalls those who use your magic!” Bramimond shook her head, and turned to look out of the uncovered back of the cart. The glare of the change in light hurt his eyes, which were now covered with his hood. He looked and saw his friends riding behind the cart, waiting for him to come out, and for Athos to finish talking to him. He looked at Elimine, and she looked away in disgust, spit on the ground, and rode off at a trot, seemingly only staying because the others implored her. He then looked back at Athos, his calm blue eyes full of worry and concern. “No, not for reasons as base as that, friend. I did it for her, Athos. To save her.” Bramimond looked down at his feet, and wept openly. “I did it for her...” Athos stood, and put his hand on his shoulder.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Bramimond woke, and threw his blanket off himself. He stood from his cot, and drew his robe around himself. He then strode across his small room within the Shrine of Seals, and went back to his work. It was more than one thousand years since that day, and he remembered it just as clearly. He sat back down in his chair, and looked to the cage on his right. Within it was a rat, squealing and running to escape the void it felt in front of it. Bramimond sighed, and said a prayer to his beloved Elimine, now raised to the pedestal of a Goddess. “I am sorry for the sin I am about to commit, and hope that you find it in your loving heart to forgive me...”, he whispered, continuing the prayer as he held his hand in front of the rat, and as it shrieked, he drew a fine, pale blue mist from it's eyes, the very substance of it's soul. He contained it in a vial, and the rat grew limp. “...bless the Living Saint, the protector of our souls, and may your radiance clean the souls of us, the less worthy. So be it.”, he finished, reciting a prayer from the books of the Goddess Elimine, one for those who find they cannot avoid sinning against her name. Bramimond put the vial in a rack, which now held fourteen such vials. He then opened a book, and began scrawling notes on it's heavy pages, the handwriting of which changes from a stylized, personal handwriting, to a more and more blocky one, eventually turning into an example of fine penmanship, as if it were a machine behind the action, no longer a living, feeling man.

“Obtained another vial of quintessence, may Elimine bless my soul. Will continue experiments. Magic is unconquerable. If there is a way to create a soul, I will find it. When I am human, I will die. I am not afraid. No matter where I go when I die, I will find her. Even if she finds me detestable. I cannot live without her. I will not live without her. I cannot bear it.”