[Cobalt Mountains] Money Talks, Knights Walk [Xalet]

[Sighard]

“It was delightful, actually.” The squire laughed rigidly, and his tones were slowed to a syrupy consistency, penetrated by the icy grip of winter. He aspired to fluently crane his neck to accommodate the words of Xalet but he managed only a slight turn before a subtle pop warned against any such foolish motions. A sidelong glance would have to suffice as the men of the Syliran knights pushed forward, deeper still into the heart of the mountains. Their descent urged a quicker pace and often the squire had to jerk his reins to keep his steed from tumbling headlong into the frozen earth below. Ain’t any interest in broken product . . . Wicar’s proclamation lingered in his thoughts for a while and he’d wondered how much farther it was until they reached the village. Or worse, how long would it be until things had gone awry.

Sighard looked forth to examine the wilderness going forward. It seemed to progressively thicken as their group managed to progress. Curling branches extended closer and closer with raking claws they grew larger and more gnarled. Frost bit more heavily in this portion, layering the rising sheers of rock that rose to either side of them, evoking a sense of diminutive stature, specks of gristle between the mammoth teeth of the Cobalt range. The wildlife too, seemed less shy and more rugged. He noted the thickening crowd of black birds which eyed them warily, their glances but cursory warnings to the dangers ahead. Even their feathers were unnatural, torn in some places and ruffled in all others. The squire seemed to forget the cold, and recognized only the unease of the situation. “What I wouldn’t give for a drink . . .” he mumbled inaudibly under his breath, expelling furls of wispy frost in the process.

“I’ve looked at maps of this place before. We have penetrated considerably into the mountains and the village will likely have a path—forking off this main road. It will likely not be marked on any map and will be difficult to navigate. There we will find out just how legitimate the dealing truly is.” Sighard mused, mostly to himself, but loud enough that the Akalak aside could hear. There was an ominous foretelling to the statement, an uncomfortable unknowing that sat in the faces of all involved save for the merchant, who looked expectant, hungered by the pursuit of profit or eventual bloodshed.

Ahead their patrol leader kept his stature with an unnatural elegance. He wore no hood and so exposed his mop of slick, greased hair which fell just to the nape of his neck. The wind whipped against his features and painted them a cherry red, but he was resilient, maintain a rock hard demeanor which hid true emotion, and simultaneously raised the spirits of all those who looked upon it. He chattered idly with the merchant, though the words were consumed by the howling of winds and one could only see the shifting of his blue, cracked lips.

Almost there . . .

[Xalet]

Xalet's body rocked slightly each time the creature beneath him shifted, his hips attempting to move with the saddle provided by the Knights. Never quite as elaborate or comfortable as the expertly crafted and cared for equipment those whom had gone through their Quest had obtained, but functional none the less. The plates of his armor, articulated as they may have been didn't always serve to allow the best range of motion. "To survive away from the walls seems to be gambling with death. Outposts and patrols or not. But, I suppose it is the will of all people to explore and conquer." Xalet felt the very same thing himself, wishing to expand the boundaries of Syliras, providing a larger and safer haven for the people that sought sanctuary within the confines of the Castle City. Provided they could follow the rules, of course.

Xalet had learned to become more observant in his times as a squire. During routine patrols his Patron would often ask him questions, such as what a pedestrian that just passed them was wearing, or how much a vendor was selling their apples for. It was all just an exercise to teach a young man how to actively watch, instead of passively observe. As Xalet watched, he began noticing things, and he felt like he wasn't the only one picking up these pieces. His angle was slightly different however, based upon the very nature of his sight, "There's less up here. Maybe it's the elevation, or the cold. Less of everything. Less life." Typically when Xalet saw life, he noted a particular radiance of heat. In the chill of winter, the luminance of something warm and living -- a rabbit or a bird perhaps -- gave off a very perceivable aura to his Akalak eyes. Now there was nothing.

The leader could feel it as well, years of life experience had taught him many things, including the treacherous nature of Mizahar. You didn't live long as a Knight outside the walls unless you were prepared to learn about the very things you would be dealing with. In particular there were things birthed from the land itself. Given life and shape by the will to live found deep beneath the surface of the known world. These creatures sought only one thing, to grab hold of the potential for life, and fight for it feverishly against anything that crossed their paths. From the front that man's eyes squinted as he looked at the creature, looking back at him. It's skin crusty and broken, small pebbles and thick slates covering it's Humanoid form, almost like a natural armor. Dark eyes nearly disappeared into it's deep sockets, while the off white teeth, sharp and long, contrasted sharply against it's grey lips.

"Yukmen." the Sergeant said knowingly, reaching slowly over toward his shoulder to withdraw his crossbow, "They never stand alone, not in a hundred years. Wing halt! Ready ranged weapons!" The various Knights kept their eyes open, watching intently around them. Some had seen such creatures, some had not, Xalet being one of those first experiencing the sight. Tense as any man would be faced with an opponent, everyone seemed to follow directions well enough. Some used bows, some crossbows, some throwing javelins, others could always prepare their best spear or lance for a charge.

From the rear, Xalet could only catch a simple glimpse of the thing before them, most of his attention focused on getting his crossbow ready while his horse shifted nervously. Resting the butt against his plated abdomen, he reached forward and pulled the bowstring rearward. That was until he got pelted with a rock, striking his pauldron before skipping onto the ground beneath, leaving a powdery stain behind, "What the..." he looked up the side of a nearby where almost half a dozen creatures awaited with fist sized rocks, tossing them down below. From the front, utilizing the downhill charge, another dozen creatures joined their single brethren that had first made it's appearance, running past him toward the warm meat below.

[Sighard]

The curiosities of the Cobalt Range were fantastic, dreadful things that accommodated the sleazy backdrop of petrified gray and white with uniforms of gem and silt. Fangs of a burnished white dripped hot beads of saliva from their tips onto the ground and elicited hissing steam as they compacted against the thin layers of stone below. Their eyes lacked the leveling of reason, but rather their widened dispositional and hungered emanation told the knights only of instinct, a perpetual need to kill and feed armed only with what the forest could feed them. As the main force scampered down the descent, shrill voices piercing the otherwise silent night air, several more rose from the earth in haunting gesture, pulling up soft layers of sediment and snow that covered their bare skin like armor. Sylir save us all . . .

Sighard’s thought was a momentary echo, calm before the inevitable storm that headed his steed to the front of the formation. A harmonious trotting ensued and before long the rough barks of his commander had three men heading the formation, their spears and lances pointed purposefully towards the oncoming charge. The squire was but one of these men, extending the spear of his shaft out and watching down its length towards the savage creatures below. He watched the tip waver, swiveling between the coursing, fluent tide of Yukman who approached with disorganization. Fear made the palm shudder and the stomach churn, but the snap of his commander’s voice had pushed him into action regardless.

Three steeds rode elegantly along the sloping path in order to engage, the pull of gravity slowing their progression slightly and imposing a slight gravitational tension that worked counter to their aims of a charge. Seconds were like hours, and time ebbed painfully forth. Sighard could make out every gritty detail of the Yukmen, from the rocks embedded into their muscles to their black, frost-bitten appendages covered veritably with swathes of thick, greasy hair. Their odor pervaded, and wafted ahead to assuage the knights in front. It was a terrible, unidentifiable stench which caused Sighard’s eyes to water and—

A beast leaped, high into the air towards the squire with its appendages wildly swinging. Sighard recognized only the beast, and could not have seen the synchronized leap of several others unto the knights whose lances managed such suicidal charges easily. Sighard accommodated for the leap, adjusting his spear just so as the Yukman came down to earth so that it would land neatly upon the tip. It shrieked, a ghastly, unearthly wail as it struggled along the shaft, arms desperately reaching to grab as it moved further along, penetrating deeper, and getting ever closer to Sighard before it died. A meaty fingertip managed to scrape along his features.

The squire wrenched his weapon free from his opponent with a single handed twist and simultaneous pull that elicited a glorious spray of dark blood that spilled onto the snow below. The sight was grotesque, a mangled, bloody mesh of flesh with a tear in its stomach that allowed its dirty guts to fall out. He’d never seen such death before and the sight would have made him vomit if not for the immediate retribution of another Yukman comrade that bashed its shoulder against the skull of his horse and sent the steed wildly reeling. Unskilled, Sighard fell from the beast and landed upon the compact, hard ground below, the wind knocked sufficiently out of him.

All about him the disorganized shouts of knights and creature meshed into one chaotic affair. Sighard could make out the buzzing of arrows whirring through the air and thudding into the coarse flesh of their targets. Drops followed these shots, and they were numerous. Of most immediate concern, however, was the Yukman that stood triumphantly over him, its legs straddling his torso and its fangs hungrily snapping, sending furls of awful smelling saliva against his features. With no discernible weapon in reach, there was a pervasive feeling of despair that petrified the squire and caused him to stare blankly against the beast in front of him.

[Xalet]

Xalet sought retribution as his crossbow string was laid upon the nut, keeping the tension strong while he procured a bolt from his waist pouch. It was a matter of staying calm, keeping his sights open, and focusing upon his target while simultaneously processing the ever changing battlefield. Below him his horse twisted slightly, it's hooves clicking against the frozen rock beneath, seeking to move from it's current position. As one silver eye followed the length of the crossbow, training in upon the target in the distance, Xalet let fly a bolt. He watched the slight arc and although he had adjusted for the distance, it still sailed over the left shoulder of the dusky skinned creature whom paid it no mind. The bestial life form went about procuring new rocks to throw downward at the wing.

Quickly Xalet worked a second bolt from his pouch, placing it in his teeth as both arms flexed inwardly, pulling the crossbow string back one final time. By now the charging creatures had come across most of the caravan, and the various Knights were involved one way or another in a grand melee. Sliding the bolt into the groove the squire replaced his deadly ranged weapon against his right shoulder. He stared back down the field, remembering his previous error, and released a second bolt. The tipped shaft of stout wood was high once again, but landed a potent blow to the upper clavicle of the creature he had aimed for previously, causing it to spin in a half circle before tumbling backward down the hill.

"Xalet, let me have a chance!" that inner voice spoke to him, it's intonation was more clear now than it had ever been. Xalet had met his creator and made an oath to recognize both sides of his existence for once.

"Alright, you keep saying you'd show me how its done. Lets see it." he responded to Xuphim, an internal dialog that no one else was privy to.

In an instance that huge purple body changed hands from one Soul to the other. Xuphim allowed his sight to blur, the battlefield merging into a blob of color and heat, but only for a moment. The mark on the back of Xuphim's neck, hidden by his gorget and armor flared beneath the beaten plates of mail. An invisible aura surrounded the Akalak, and through it a barrage of information came, trying to stake a claim into his head. A creature was approaching the right flank of his horse, he could pick out that single movement the moment that spawn of Mizahar stepped into his sensory bubble. Twisting the lash of his heavy crossbow around the horn of his saddle, he yanked on the reigns and met the incoming humanoid with the rear of his horse as the mount spun in a half circle, the sheer weight of over half a ton of equine knocking the thing straight off of it's feet.

Time seemed to slow down as Xuphim locked eye's with that creature, it's legs giving way as it rolled onto it's back. The Akalak dismounted, a heavy thud seeming to ripple through the snow as some four hundred pounds of man and metal landed. Pulling his cloak back the first sword was retrieved, carried high upon his left hip. The short sword glowed softly within his hand, it's blue luminance leaving a pale reflection against the dull armor held near it.

As his opponent made it's way to it's feet, the squire pulled his shield around his shoulder, quickly getting a hasty but serviceable hold upon the strappings as it slid upon his forearm. It snarled at Xuphim, and Xuphim snarled back. Charging one another the creature lept, met with Xuphim's shield in mid air. Rather than being rebuffed by the large, banded piece of wood it simply wrapped it's limbs about the defensive bulwark, clinging to it as Xuphim continued his movement forward. Despite it's weight the sheer strength and size of the Akalak managed to drive it some half dozen feet backward into the side of the caravan, loosening it's grip enough for the squire to pull his shield back and drive his short sword into the gut of the ravenous Yukman. Saliva and bile ejected from it's mouth, splattering across Xuphim's breastplate, causing him to retract his arm and stab the thing another two times in quick succession before driving the edge of it's shield right against the side of it's cranium, knocking it down to the ground in an immobile heap, three sequential holes perforating it's body.

Sucking in wind the Akalak spun in place and noted the squire Xalet had most recently been talking to in a grounded grapple with another thing. Gaining momentum the heavy footfalls of the seven foot tall behemoth called to the attention of another creature which managed to escape Xuphim's divine field of vision granted by Wysar. Even his Evantian Aura had holes, and it still needed plenty of practice to become perfect. One such savage jumped upon Xuphim's back, trying desperately to bite down upon the metal of his upper greaves, unable to get at the sweet flesh beneath but leaving stains of goo and teeth impressions against the metal nonetheless,"Sighaaaaaard!". Though slowed, the Akalak kept his forward motion moving enough to drive his shoulder against his shield, and thus plow his shield into the creature which had been straddling Sighard, rapping squarely against it's slightly over-sized head and driving it off of the Human. The creature was far from finished, as the bludgeoning Xuphim had dispensed was merely enough to give Sighard some breathing space. It may have looked like the heavy Knight in training would have trampled the other squire, but Xuphim managed to widen his last stride enough to clear the young man, although he unbalanced himself in the process, bending his body backward from the weight of the thing on his back and nearly falling in the process.

[Sighard]

Petch, petch, petch! The paralysis of fear had numbed all motor function and his face had likened to the snow, turning a sickly pale as the Yukman above drew its claw back dramatically, causing flecks of stinking dirt to tumble against his features and assert his inevitable demise. Moments were a hazy blur, and his gaze filtered from the dizzying, out of focus creature to the sky. He did not want to watch his own demise. He prayed the pain would be quick and that he could meet his end with some dignity. He noted, with mild, weak humor that the sky above was so tranquil compared to the scene of disarray and bloody violence. A good life, my service was good it. . . Xalet?

A rumbling boom pervaded all senses and the heavy footfalls dominated the surrounding noises before all he heard was the powerful clangor of heavy Akalak pushing the Yukman back. The creature gave a startled cry as it tumbled back against the snow, losing footing, and growling angrily towards the man. All at once the scene seemed to return to him in real time, the quickness urging his palm to fumble with the scabbard at his side and draw blindly outwards and across. He felt immediate, tough resistance, but it was quickly freed and was followed by an ear shattering cry. Sighard snapped up to a sitting position to look across towards his work; a one legged Yukman lay writhing on the ground next to his severed limb which spurted pumps of fresh blood against it. Disgusting!

Few moments emphasized such quickness in the boy who’d not realized he had shuffled to his feet, and had twisted his neck to extremes to attain a cursory glance of Xalet struggling with the beast at his back. Wicar, however, had quickly resolved the situation, heaving his axe with terrifying power on the skull of the thing which attempted to drag the Akalak squire to the ground. He maintained such control that no damage was possible to the Knight beneath, but only so much that the beasts head split clean in two through its neck and exploded in a pool of blood and brain all over the Knight below. A roar complemented the display, in all its gory magnificence and Sighard averted his gaze back to the scene at hand.

The field had become considerably tamer, where several Yukman corpses had littered the ground underneath the practiced trot of several knights who were busy slaying what creatures remained. None had remained on the cliffs above, and the squire could not have guessed whether the corpses had amounted to all those slain, or if the Yukmen actually knew fear and had retreated. In any case, it seemed the worst of the attack was over, and losses were minimal. He saw his mount skittering to the side, eyeing the dead creatures warily and raising its voice in a negligible neigh. Fear seemed to course through its veins and it took a minute for the squire to effectively calm and mount his steed.

He trotted along the ground, careful that his mount did not step along the bodies with careful twitches of his reins until he was gathered with the group. A somber expression was painted along the tense lines of his features and a dull throb ran along his back. He could give no words because he was still uncertain as to what he’d witnessed. It all happened so fast that he was a bit intimidated to even ask the obvious question, although the Sergeant answered it as if knowing the universal question.

“The dangers of these mountains are not to be underestimated. Consider yourselves lucky that this was all we faced. Move on.” His expression retained its determined candor, and it seemed as if the conflict had not affected him at all, as if he’d seen a thousand of them and successfully conquered them vigorously.

[Xalet]

Xuphim had been attempting to rid himself of the awkwardly placed creature even while Wycar was preparing to shower the Akalak in entrails. Again and again Xuphim's metal clad elbow jammed backward into the abdominal area of the creature clinging onto him so desperately. He could feel some of the resistance probably made by a rib cage like structure give way after the third or fourth reverse elbow strike. Steadying his legs the infuriated squire was just about to flip his short sword about and jam it behind him when a black slush spurted over his helm and into his field of vision.

Though given the situation it was without comedic value, the headless body of the creature still hugging into Xuphim's body was almost chuckle-worthy. Viscous mucus continued to pump across the now clearly tainted chrome of Xuphim's full plate, spreading across his back before he finally managed to fling the twitching corpse over his shoulder and onto the ground. "Ugh! Oh petching Priskil's panties! It's everywhere...dirty bitches..." he groaned, nearly oblivious to the fact that the mud and earth crafted creature had just tried to snuff out the lives of both the Knights and he. Immediately Xuphim pulled off his helm and tossed it into the snow, spitting wildly onto the ground trying to ensure to the point of all possibility that none of that stuff got into his mouth. Although it was fortunate that no internal organ puree was coming out of Xuphim's mouth, Sighard would have definitely noticed that the profanities were flying with little regard. The first meeting with Xuphim was always a doozy.

Soon enough the skill, equipment, and preparedness of the Knights fought back their opponents. They had picked the wrong targets, for were they a family or a gang of traveling merchants, things could have gone different. However, and there was no room for argument, the Syliran Knights were the more thoroughly trained and best equipped known fighting force in all of Mizahar. It was too bad the Yukmen didn't pay attention to rumor.

Once all was calm and everyone was retrieving any ditched arrows, weapons, as well as a few horses that had backed off a bit from the fighting, Xuphim retreated back as well, leaving Xalet to clean up the mess, and what a mess it was. Almost daintily he removed a cloth from his pack and began meticulously cleaning that strange blue tinted short sword he wielded. Once the remains of his former opponent had transferred from the blade to the cloth, he looked at how tarnished that square of fabric was, simply sighing and tossing it over his shoulder. After that stench had gotten into it, that cloth was all but useless now.

Adjusting his scabbard slightly he replaced the weapon back in it's holster, it's other worldly glow fading as it was stowed. He saw the shocked expression Sighard carried with him, and even if Xalet had seen combat before he wasn't all that passive about it either. Xuphim had to deal with a majority of the battlefield trauma, which simply didn't seem to bother him all that much. It left Xalet more time to deal with less mentally oppressive issues, "Sighard, you all right? Looks like everyone is in one piece." he commented before untwisting the hasty lash he had made for his crossbow and properly slinging it over his shoulder. "Was that your first big melee? Seems like an eternity while you're in it, but then afterward it's like all that went by was the blink of an eye. I know the feeling." his words seemed genuine, after all it wasn't too long ago that Xalet first felt the sting of death's clutches coming all too close. Saddling up he steered his mount to recover its previous formation, the horse beneath him snorting in rejection to the scent now covering Xalet's body.

[Sighard]

Burgundy rivulets coalesced along the firm steel of the squire’s blade, icy red rivers that shuddered with the passing breezes and led in their general direction. Near petrified, the boy’s instincts told him not to sheathe, a petrified grip cast white knuckled fingers about his gilded hilt and conformed as to the mold of the blade which bobbed in accord with the rhythm of his steed which negligibly ambled through the battle-torn fields, its hooves naturally eluding the frozen carcasses whose bestial features were immortalized and frozen in place. That notion, which remained wordless penetrated the mind of the young boy and consumed all thought, forcing him into a transient daze as he contemplated the vigorous expression of those dead. Even on the throes of death they do not fear for their own mortality. . . What manner of man could live in this place.

The thought echoed, a resonating chill spreading across his features and gripping him with a silence that was soon broken by the Akalak’s deep booming tones. “My first kill as well. . .” He choked in mucusy tones which caused him to cough violently and finally wretch over his steed, his free hand lashing out wildly to catch the reins and balance himself as he expelled what vomit had congealed in his stomach. All at once the nauseating stench of death and the compounding scenes of bloody snow and guts synthesized to his dismay and accorded the knot he’d felt in his stomach. Upon finishing and loosely hanging his head to the side he noted the stinging chill of winter again which embraced him immediately upon the absence of adrenaline. He fumbled to sheath his blade and, in the process, stained his cloak with a smattering of blood.

“You’re a different man when on the field of battle, a rougher sort than I it would seem.” He chuckled weakly as a flush of color bloomed over his features at the gesture. By this time they’d trudged along the incline which acted the graveyard for several Yukman, and continued on away through the trail. That rising feeling of dread soon pervaded all involved and the frigid air became the fear over another encounter. The further they pressed, the colder it seemed to get, and the further they were from the comfort of their own home. There is little glory in this. . .

Wicar, now heading the group, raised a thick, hairy palm into the air and the entire unit snapped to attention, the trotting of hooves fading to nothingness as he jerked the same arm towards the direction of a narrow trail cut off from the main road. It was thin and overgrown, and had the merchant not wordlessly pointed it out, could have passed against the eyes of the ever watchful knights. The large men pressed on and ushered the procession of the caravan again that ambled swiftly into quick stride along the broken path, sensing the nearer end of their journey.

It was a clunky ride, filled with crags and branches which violently snapped out as the group tried to work through it. They’d found their first headlong charge was a fruitless attempt to stuff a horizontal row of soldiers along it, so they’d had to approach the path 1 by 1, and even then it was a suffocating journey that threatened to slow progress and trap them in some of vicious natural web. Sighard noted with dismay that the trail seemed to wind much further through rough wilderness, and began to understand how people could survive living so deeply from intrusion.

[Xalet]

Xalet was relieved when he had gotten up atop his horse. It seemed no matter how often he wore his platemail, it still seemed just as heavy and tiring as the day he got it. In reality he was pushing his body further with each passing season, but the results came slow enough that he couldn't have described them with words if he had to. A pity for his horse, whom instead had to shoulder the burden of an already sizable Akalak, adding full platemail and other equipment into the mix. Though the young Akalak could not defend his actions, he tried to at the very least apologize for his behavior, "Yes I...try not to get ahead of myself. I suppose it is simply my way at dealing with the repugnant and mortal nature of combat. I try to remember that I fight for the protection of Sylira and it's people, and you should to. Those that threaten our society and civility which we have built after all these years must be dealt with if they refuse to accept surrender or defeat."

Were those words harsh? Xalet didn't think so. Much like Priskil, it wasn't that he had become 'battle hardened', for after all he had only faced a handful of true battles now, but that he understood there was a time to deal a killing blow against that which endangered Sylira's people and it's servants. With this experience in his past, he decided to take a moment to speak with Sighard philosophically as they traveled onward, not only to share his thoughts, but likewise to keep the young man's feelings away from the death and focused upon something else. "For some time now I have been a friend of the Luminescent Lady Priskil. She is unlike any other Diety in that she seems to have a strong understanding of her followers, and of people in general. She seems very real, should you meet her, as she has feelings and doubts like anyone would. I have learned through her that what it is we do, this pursuit of justice and a better, safer lifestyle for all is a righteous cause. She taught me that it is not combat, death, or violence itself which is evil or wicked, but instead...'violence for the sake of violence'. These actions, the selfish actions of those that would sacrifice others to fuel not the improvement of lives of their fellows, but instead only their own power is true darkness, and is cause for sorrow and regret. However, to fight to protect the sanctity of the innocent and to instead sacrifice your own power for the benefit of all, that is the path of the light, and is cause for feelings of faith and hope."

Xalet was attentive and receptive to any response Sighard would have as he felt it was not his place to sway feelings, but instead to fill gaps or holes of uncertainty with ideas. A man could feel however they wished, as long as they understood how they felt, he believed. Soon enough it seemed another pause in the travel would befall them, and when the entire wing halted Xalet felt a constricting feeling within his heart. There was some relief to find not that it was an opponent, or a natural disaster, but instead an overgrown path that did well to keep it's presence from any common traveler.

Even a short distance into that path, as the growth seemed to swallow up the group of warriors, Xalet felt all but lost. He was simply following the horse in front of him, unsure exactly which direction they were moving any longer. He could only determine an incline from a decline, but beyond this his sense of navigation was woefully unequipped to plot out such a route. It took all the concentration he had to keep his horse and his own self from being caught up in low hanging branches, their limbs looking more like scraggly fingers, the leaves and brilliance lost with the cold, than the lush greenery that spring brought with it.

[Sighard]

“Explanations are not needed, friend. I imagine I’d have been in a tighter position had you not been as aggressive as you had. I’ll certainly have a drink to that!” The tones were a mixture of kindness and naivety, which were burdened with the ignorance of the true situation. A smile placated the squire’s features, although he’d not been sure as to what he was exactly smiling about. Scents of death and rot did linger from every orifice of this unholy place and made even this most accommodating, warm conversations between men seem to lose their power of motivating steps which pressed onwards at an oozing pace. Sighard smiled for life, although his thoughts lingered in death and their contemplative mysteries. Xalet’s ramblings offered some semblance of balance, a holiness which comforted him in these dark, foreboding trails.

"She seems a noble deity indeed. . ." the squire offered, after ascertaining that the squire just behind him had indeed been talking about a goddess. Religion never bothered the boy, per se, for most of his live he'd held reverence to his name and all that came with it. He did not worship himself, but rather the honor of men who served the noble cause of the Syliran Knights. And, of course, he'd recognized the ultimate power of the Windoak whose influence spread throughout the entirety of Syliras. As the moments dwindled following the boy’s statement, he contemplated the empty seconds in the air which were filled with the guttural sound of choked trots ripping apart frozen foliage and snow underfoot. "Forgive my lack of discussion on the matter. My father always taught that the highest power was law, and that the Knights were the protectors of order beyond anything else. I have . . ." He paused a moment, an uneasy mumble finally eliciting from his lips, "I have never considered any other gods, although I recognize their influence."

Words were a powerful thing indeed, for even the inkling of a higher, luminous power did add warmth to his churning stomach and develop meaning, although it was vicarious. He knew he worked towards maintain the rigid standards of the knights, and that was his dogma. His father could never accept that he’d adopt a deity in place of that, in place of his morals in which he’d tried so hard to perfect and imbue into his very personality.

[Xalet]

"Heh heh heh..." it was a chuckle, the very first that Sighard had heard from Xalet. Or perhaps chuckle would have been presumptuous, as his deep throaty response was more of a chortle. It seemed the relatively dry Akalak did have some sort of sense of humor, as obscured as it may be. It was the curse of his people, and Xalet did well to remember it for some thirty years. The possibility of the darkness over-taking an Akalak at any time meant they had to be prepared, both mentally and emotionally for anything. Allowing themselves to become too nervous, fearful, excited, passionate, or any other extremest feeling meant losing oneself to the darkness. Or at least, that was how it used to be for Xalet. Ever since that fateful day when he had almost lost his life, when he met his very creator, the God Wysar, the young Akalak had finally begun to learn the value of the second soul that resided within his body. Their body.

Was Xuphim dark? Certainly. Vicious, ruthless, barbaric, crass, and completely inarticulate. But the soul wasn't evil. Xuphim still had things in common with Xalet, such as their love and respect for Priskil and Wysar. Their approach was anything but common, however. Where as Xalet approached the tenants of the Lady Priskil with calm, compassion, and integrity, Xuphim accented her destructive side, the ability to destroy that which brought pain and suffering to the world. A sword to strike down the wicked. Not violence for the sake of violence, as Xalet had said to Sighard, but violence for the sake of cleansing the world of the infidels.

"Your father is not wrong. Perhaps there are times when even the Knights look to someone for guidance. Even if Sylir is no longer present, he gives us direction. Some would also find solace in the teachings of Tyveth, or Yahal. I found myself attracted to the teachings of Priskil, the Goddess of Hope and Vigilance. She is all that is peaceful and kind, but it is her holy light that burns through even the most powerful evil. Most unusual as well, she gives everything, but asks for nothing. To be her friend and trusted companion is all she asks. No prayer, no sacrifice, just to have something in common, as any two friends would." Clearly Xalet felt passionate about the Lady. Even if his words were as level as they had ever been, the soft, slow stoicism of his speech ever apparent, he certainly had plenty to say about her, "For all her understanding, she is unbelievably strong, and that too is admirable. It is said that the Master's of her light can shape it to their will, even creating swords of radiance that slice through evil."

Turning slightly in his saddle, Xalet cut his speech short, stopping himself before his rhetoric got out of hand, "I hope not to bore you though. It is something I simply feel strongly about as well. I had not considered such things myself, until I met her for the first time."