Closed There Comes a Reckoning

[Elias Caldera]

88th Day of Fall, 518 AV

When they came, they came in darkness.

As the twelfth bell of midnight toiled, more than a dozen skiffs and rowboats crossed the cloudy waters of Lake Ravok under the cover of twilight’s fall. Lost in the stirring shadows and silent as the night they traversed, the small, ragtag armada sailed together loosely and without a single torch among them to guide the way. ‘No fires.’ Had been the command given as they set off, and so no fires they had lit. They moved only by the grace of Leth and his radiance, traversing the open, gentle waves of the lake, their destination but a meandering mountain of murky blackness in the distance.

They were close now though.

Closer than they had ever been before.

“All speed.” Came a low and rumbling hiss from the lead vessel. A chorus of grunts and shuffling bodies responded immediately, as the oars of every boat behind it began to drive harder and harder. This was not a date they could afford to be late to, but nor would Elias allow them to be stupid in their haste. If this was to be the hour of their triumph and not another tragedy like so many that had befallen him before, then all had to go according to plan, for even one mishap could spell doom upon the entire contrivance and all would be for naught. That thought alone had the swordsman, now perched at the bow of the cramped dinghy, craning his neck to study the two men sitting behind him.

“Are you certain Vernon Lark received my missive?” Caldera all but demanded for the third time that hour. His blue eyes reflected a harsh intensity about them as he leveled his gaze upon the subject of his harassment once more. Guldo Barsavi stirred, broad shoulders tensed and dark brow furrowing in exasperation. “Like I said,” The cutthroat grumbled, “I delivered the letter to the doorman and even gave him enough coin to consider not tossing it in the bin the moment I turned around. Just like all the other times. Just as you asked.” His voice was but a tense whisper half lost in the night breeze. Despite his stern posture and bristling indignation, it was clear he was nervous, or at least as uneasy as a man like him could allow himself to appear. It wasn’t as if the work they were up to tonight would prove any less bloody and dangerous than the thousands of other shady undertakings he’d been a part of during his long and illustrious career as one of Ravok's less than reputable entrepreneurs, but this was something altogether different, and they all knew it. They all felt it. The trappings and veneers of Ravokian subtly were abandoned and the nervous tapping of a stray finger on the hilt of his dagger was the giveaway that told Elias Guldo was far from happy about it.

The soldier scoffed under his breath, frustration and annoyance hackling at his own nerves. If Vernon Lark would not respond, then this could only end one way. Then so be it. he thought with no small amount of cold indifference to what exactly that meant. There is no stopping now.

As he mused, Elias’s scrutiny swept across the other men and the other boats that skimmed across the lake alongside them. He saw hard eyes and undaunted expressions glancing back at him from across the dark waters. Most were Guldo’s boys. Hardy toughs and thieves the lot of them. The kind that called Ravok’s back alleys and secret harbors both their homes and their place of business. The glint of sharpened steel flashed here and there under the moonlight, hinting at the lethal kind of work these men were accustomed to. Yet among their numbers sailed in silence those to which bloodletting was not just their trade, but their scared charge.

The men and women of the Ebonstryfe waited amidst their ranks, shrouds of shadowy, inky black armor interspersed among the rough and tumble assortment of leathers and chainmail that made up the criminal scum they now called allies. They were easy enough to pick out among the rabble. Like coiled snakes in the tall grass, he felt the tightening auras of each and every one of them as he looked out upon the lake. They weren’t eager, and they weren’t excited, but they were ready, and more importantly, they were loyal. Many were merely apprentices however, thus calling them ‘men and women’ was likely a privilege they had only ever received from their pale commander and no other. They were still children in every regard as much as he tried to consider them otherwise for the sake of morale. Trained but untested, they were accustomed to heeding the beck and call of their instructors like cattle. The louder one could yell from across the training grounds and practice halls, the more deference they showed. It was instinct, beaten into them over the course of years as the Stryfe endeavored to mold their soft bodies and childish minds into that of hardened killers and holy men.

Such concerns were of little matter though. They followed him, and that was all that counted now -and so they would be counted. Their numbers added to the lot of fools and hapless servants the sorcerer had massed under his banner.

Nearly fifty souls among a dozen different boats they totaled.

Elias grimaced.

His ‘army.’

It wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t perfect, but it would have to be enough.

Guldo noticed his ‘master’s’ distraction and took the opportunity to give voice to an unanswered question he’d had bubbling in his chest ever since they’d left the docks. “Perhaps now would be a good time to tell me something.” The gangster began, scratching the scruff of his rough beard with an idle hand. “See, I know why I’m out here, and I know why you’re out here, but pray tell you could enlighten me as to why the hell you have me riding alongside this mangy motherpetcher currently residing on my right, hmm?”

As the mage once more made his reticent tally of their ranks, eventually the pale man’s attentions fell upon that of one who could not be considered either soldier nor gangster. One whose scars marked him as apart from the others despite the fact he sat among them.

Einar the wretch of Sunberth was not a fellow Elias would have ever considered to be one he’d be marching into the abyss with, yet there he was on the same boat as Elias, sharing an uncomfortably cramped seat next to Guldo, his distinctive polearm resting in his clutches and ready to be wielded on a moment’s notice.

Even among the other criminals the mangled man stood out. Though outlaws and bandits by any other name, Ravokians at least had a measure of grace and culture about them. They may have wielded knives and cudgels under their coats, but they were still fine coats none the less. It did men like them little good to stand out amidst the well to do crowds of their most serene city, and often being well to do in their own right -at least by the rest of the world’s standards- their garb reflected as much. They weren’t ‘Berther born thugs or animals. They had class. They had pride. They had Ravokian sensibilities. Einar however, had almost an animalistic nature about him that set him so far apart from the others it was like staring into a flame at night. He was a different breed of man, if he could even be considered as much anymore. A killer. A monster. A beast of no nation or creed. His was a weapon that slew for no purpose greater than that of coin and desperate self-preservation.

He was dangerous. Perhaps more so than any goon or soldier there -and tonight, Elias intended to use that against those who would be foolish enough to stand against him.

“He is with me.” Was all the stryfer responded with. Guldo frowned, lips working themselves into a snarl before turning to face the scarred sellsword, thought better of it, and let the matter drop.

Elias pulled something from his belt and tossed it unceremoniously to the mercenary. The ruffling and crumple of parchment would herald the scroll landing in the foreigner’s mitts. “Use it if you have to, but don’t speak the words written unless you mean them.” Elias instructed. What he had given Einar was a pair of glyphed scrolls, each containing a destructive reimancy spell sealed within. Another went to Guldo, who caught the thing like one would a hissing skunk tossed into their lap. He balked and grimaced at the paper, knowing full well what was inside and what could be outside, burning him to a crisp in all but an instant if he made the wrong move. He glared at Elias, ungrateful for the gift but tucking it into his pocket carefully none the less. If all went well, then by the end of the night he’d be collecting those back and sparing the poor crime lord the heart ache of its presence.

Einar however, judging by the man’s plethora of new wounds and injuries since their last interaction, could keep his. He looked like he could use the help. He just hoped the wolf pelt wearing warrior could read nader-canoch.

“Remember your oath to me, slayer. Remember your oath to her.”

“We draw near.” Came a hushed bark from nearby.

“Quiet. Quiet! Leash your tongues you louts.” Another harsh hiss joined them from elsewhere.

Elias turned, focusing his eyes forward into the night. They were right. Not forty or so meters sat their prize; The Lark’s most indulgent and gaudy proclamation of prosperity and pride to date. The massive, forested pleasure barge known as the Floating Botanicals.

“Stow the oars. We run silent until the signal.” Elias commanded, making sure his voice was just loud enough to carry among their party but little further. He heard the quiet compliance of his troops respond back to him along with the muttered acquaintance of Guldo’s crew.

Now they waited. Waited for their man on the inside to give the signal that all was clear and they could land unimpeded. Radcliff may have agreed to this parlay, but that didn’t mean he trusted it not to go tits up the instant they set foot on that eyesore of a floating jungle. It was what he would do after all. Set an ambush. Lay in wait. Kill his enemies before they had a chance to kill him. The imported foliage provided the perfect cover for such treachery.

Well they’d already taken their gods damned opportunity to end his miserable life and missed… more than once! Now it was his turn, and all Elias needed was one shot to end this war once and for all, and this was where he intended to take it.

“Come on, pup. Light the way.” Elias muttered under his breath as he scanned the horizon.

Death or destiny, one way or another, this all ended tonight.

WC - 1864

[Rook]

Tonight was the night. All the work over the past seasons, the blood sweat and tears, the pain and sorrow and hard back breaking work with no end in sight. Finally it was here! Tonight it ended, one way or another. Rook had no reason not to trust in Elias’ talents, but more than that, backing out simply wasn't an option. They had driven their prey into a corner, whether he realized it or not. And if they didn't strike now, then their advantage was lost. Deep breaths. Teeth clenched tight. Ready. Go.

The previous night Jessica had invited the kelvc into her study. The candles had burned down three bell marks by the time the telling was complete, and as the telling went on a smile had slowly grown on Rook's master's face. It was a foreign expression for the Ebonstryfe Commander, and Rook had been forced to swallow his chills at the unsettling light reflected in his master's eyes.

“Good,” she said finally, when Rook's words had reached its conclusion. “Very good pup. A good strategy, considering your lot's talents and capabilities. This was Elias's plan, correct?”

Rook nodded. His throat was too dry and his nerves too tense to formulate any sort of reply. Jessica's pleasure could be good...or it could could be very bad. It was hard to tell with her.

“I don't have much of a stake in your bondmate's freedom,” the soldier said. “But if you can take out one of those wretched Larks then… well, how can I refuse? You've got my blessing pup.” Shadows lingered in the cracks of the woman's face, dancing in the candlelight. Rook suppressed another shiver and nodded once more.

“I have a present for you,” said Jessica, and Rook swallowed a sudden bout of terror that surged through him like waves breaking against the shoreline. Jessica smirked at his expression before slowly standing up and ambling over to her desk. Rook silently berated himself. Stupid! She's just trying to get a rise out of you! Rook had been exceptionally good for his master since her discovery of his newly found loyalties, and punishments had been few and far in between and privileges growing in number. He had done nothing wrong here. He was, strangely, remarkably, valuable to the Commander.

“Catch pup,” said Jessica, tossing something at Rook and forcing him out of his thoughts as he lunged forward out of his chair to catch the small object. Rook stared dumbstruck at the object, then glanced up at Jessica, half in disbelief. Lying perfectly in the pup's hand was a key.

“Just for the night,” Jessica told Rook with a wink. “We'll get you locked back up once you're home safe. Got it? Oh and pup...try not to die. You're too useful for me to lose you now.”

Leth rose high in the sky. Pale blue light painted the botanical gardens. Rook had visited with Shiress earlier in the day, under the watchful eye of Kylar. They had spoken nothing of the night that would follow, exchanging only scraps of information and loving reassurances through their bond and behind closed lips. After some time, Rook had bid his bondmate goodbye. But he had not left the gardens. Instead, he had slipped the key out of his pocket, and within the shadows of the foliage dotting the garden, Rook had undressed, hidden his clothing, and taken to his wolf form like a fish takes to the water. No one in the botanical gardens nor anyone employed by the Larks had seen Rook in his animal form. It was simple enough for the kelvic to slip in among the greenery. Yet another strange creature among the menagere of strange beasts living here, many of which were kelvic slaves in their own right.

And for hours he lurked and waited. Sleeping might have been wise, but he was too full of anxiety to do so. And, finally, when Leth rose high in the sky and the darkness and silence had consumed the ship but for the chirping of bugs and birds, Rook shrugged out of his hiding place and took to the dark pathways of the ship, gold eyes bright in the dim light. His destination had been planned, and he honed in on it like a predator to the hunt.

Several times, Rook had experienced the strange sensation of knowing a kelvic by sight. He had seen a few kelvics around during his time in hiding, but those creatures had wandered around in a half-drunken stupor; likely high on some drug or another so they didn't make much of a fuss. When Rook's nose caught the telltale scent of one of his kind, he crouched and looked. Rook's eyes weren't the best in the dark, but his hearing and smell was exceptional. It was a simple enough matter to triangulate the source. Resting on a lower branch of a strange tree, facing the edge of the ship, a tiny owl turned its eyes towards the sea below. It's yellow eyes and keen ears were exceptionally sharp, and Rook felt a sudden rush of terror as it turned its head and zeroed in on something on the water below. There was no time to think. Rook darted out of the shadows, and pounced. The scuffle lasted only a moment. The kelvic owl had no chance to cry out before Rook had snuffed its voice from it forever.

He paused a moment with the owl still dangling from his jaws and scanned the water below. His eyes could spot nothing, but the soft sound of water lapping against something in the dark made its way to his ears. Rook dropped the lifeless owl on the ground, and slowly patrolled the edge of the ship. He snuffed out the life of one more spy, then returned to the place that the sound of waves slapping against something in the water below.

Nearby, a rope ladder had been placed to allow access to maintenance workers making repairs on the outside of the ship. Rook seized it with his jaws and dropped it over the edge of the ship. The soft clunk of wood against metal made the hair on the wolf's neck stand on end, but a moment of observation revealed no sounds aside from those below. Rook let out a soft sigh, then lifted his head and let out a deep cry. The strange sound was unique to maned wolves, called a roar-bark. As echoing as a howl, but not so distinctive. Most people believed Rook's form to be a true wolf, but it was not. And this strange sound could belong to any creature in the menagere of the Floating Gardens. But Elias would know what it meant. Rook would stand guard at the ladder, eyes scanning the plantlife nearby. And he would wait.

Rook

[Shiress]

The Lark Family Floating Botanicals has graced the Northern area of Ravok for nearly five seasons, her majestic buoyancy offering the denizens of Ravok a small paradise to escape the bustling city of chaos, a beacon of peace and tranquility.

"Paradise, indeed." The Lark smiled at the hypocrisy of the night's impending venture over the rim of his wine glass. "A paradise awash with the blood of my enemy is a paradise indeed."

Radcliffe leaned with his arms resting against the balustrade of the Ukalas Lookout, a wine glass suspended between his dangling fingers. He gazed down on the segregated section of the vast gardens made for parties and large gatherings, occasionally sipping from his goblet. The white stone floor had been cleared of its tables, leaving a large open area. White silk curtains hung loosely from floor to skylight ceiling like columns, encircling the floor, sectioning off the area from the rest of the gardens. Between each of the cascading drapes, large lavender allium plants stood tall from the center of circular pots. From the center of each plant, from the center of each plant, rose a rot iron plinth supporting a thick wicker torch, their lights casting a sinister glow against the shadows of the dimly lit botanicals.

A fitting touch I think, Radcliffe mused.

The sound of steps ascending the stairs to the lookout drew the Larks attention. He turned to see a black-clad figure approaching. Morgan Lark was a large figure of a man. A warrior trained, built like a blacksmith and twice as strong, there were few men Radcliffe would entrust his life to, but his loyal to a fault cousin was one far above the few.

"Morgan" he greeted, giving a slight nod of his head.

"Your brother, Barin, just arrived with the soldiers and awaits your word" Morgan said, nodding his head in return.

"How many?" Radcliffe asked

"Thirty soldiers and four Paladins." his cousin replied

"Bowmen?"

"Four" Morgan pointed to four separate areas, three encompassing the gathering area and one he turned and indicated the lookout. At each indicated point a leather-clad Ebonstryfe soldier wielded a crossbow.

Radcliffe nodded "It's nearing the time, take your positions, and await my orders. I'll be there shortly."

Morgan Lark turned on his heel and headed for the stairs. Radcliffe soon followed his cousin down the stairs, stopping at the doorway that led into the base of the structure.

"Bring the slave."

Kylar turned to Shiress "Let's go"

-------------------------------------------------------------------
Shiress knelt on the floor where Radcliffe had left her, unharmed and unhurt. Shiress had no idea of Elias's plans. She knew of the conversation and little else. Of his plans, who was accompanying him, or his weapons Shiress knew nothing and thankfully she had finally convinced her Master of the fact. After a long and disgusted glare, Radcliffe had swiped a bottle of wine from his desk and stomped from the room. Shiress had remained where she was, unmoving and silent, mind swarming with thoughts of what was to come, but why Elias was doing this still eluded understanding. What if he's hurt? What if he's killed? Shiress's heart sped up at just the mere thought.

"Let's go."

Kylar's words spoken into the silence of her tormented thoughts had the slave jumping as if shot by a bolt. The guard offered a hand to Shiress, and she took it, coming to her feet.

"Caldera is a strong soldier, a skilled warrior." Kylar said as if reading her thoughts. He smiled down at Shiress, offering comfort with his words "He knows what he's doing." The slave gave a weak smile in return, following her guard from the room, fervently hoping that he was right about Elias.

Ahead of them, Radcliffe emerged from the shadows. As he entered the designated area, Shiress watched as three men broke away from black leather-clad soldiers. One Radcliffe embraced and could have been her Master's twin had it not been for the dusting of gray at the stranger's temples. The man had the same sharp features as her Master and carried himself with unmistakable confidence and poise. The other two, one a massive brute of a man, slid in behind the Lark men, hand on their swords. Bodyguards then. Shiress swallowed. Radcliffe Lark anticipated violence.

Shiress was led to Radcliffe and forced to her knees. Kylar took several steps away and became still. Slowly, the Slave looked up, surveying her surroundings. To her left, the soldier's stood in three rows of ten. Further down from the soldiers, four others stood, a female and three men. They were dressed similarly as the Ebonstryfe, but each of these wore a black cloak over their leathers. Shiress watched as the Lark brother said something to one of the soldiers. The soldier nodded, turned and spoke to another, and then was followed from the area by half of his comrades.

Shiress peered around the shadows, uneasy, and gasped as a crossbow receded from a sliver of light. "Ambush." Shiress said, her voice a dispairing whisper. Radcliffe turned to her and smiled, his blue eyes glinting with something nefarious.

The Slave's emerald gaze fell to her lap and she began to pray.

[Belugnir]

"I know from experience that mangy motherpetchers make for a dandy distraction of any twat who likes to flail around a crossbow.", Ein sneered, smug and bitter reminiscing grumbling together in his voice. He recalled both saving Elias' hide after the sorcerer already had a bolt in him... and taking several bolts of his own on the day of his recent reckonings... And his resentment toward arbalests was hardly the greatest of his presently weighting grudges. After all, here he sat, fully expecting that he'll have to fight and kill on the behalf of the preaching cocksucker who'd carved an explosive sigil onto his chest... and to save a condescending saintly bitch and some brat at that... Perhaps he'd mind his circumstances an ounce less, yet it had been a busy, unforgiving and all together horribly irritatingly self reflecting season, this autumn... And though he didn't want to admit to himself just how vast of a shyke bag he'd been... he was well aware of the fact. And thus here he was.


The scrolls he was given were unfolded and looked over, rather casually at that. Ein had come to terms with the fact that Elias wielded plenty more power than him, hell, plenty of people did... And the mercenary was better versed in the ancient tongue than any a fellow would give one of his ilk credit for. There was no unease or apparent wonder as the southerner studied what he could from the parchments. In fact there was an almost jovial, rather satisfied grunt as he'd scrolled the things back up and tucked them into their containers and then upon his belt. If push came to shove, he would gladly use those things instead of risking overgiving... especially considering the brief, silent tales of thunder and icy hails that the scrolls told him sounded reasonably more potent than whatever brief and self-hazardous flicker of fire he could conjure... Mind, he barely understood the way the scrolls functioned, but he did gather to what end they could be utilized.

And thankfully enough, struggling an ounce to read through the damn things with his less than optimal knowledge and in dim light occupied his attention for enough of the dull way across the lake for Ein not to start a brazen argument with either Elias or the twat with whom he'd been sharing a seat.

And then they were climbing up the rope ladder, with Elias' brief reminder echoing at the back of his head.

Oath? He means the scum sucking fiery blast he carved into my chest? Had Elias been in his line of sight as he climbed, reminiscing about the words and the inferno that tore his body asunder weeks ago, he'd have heartily spat straight at the stryfer's face.

Thankfully the inconvenience would be avoided this time around, and soon enough Ein would find gimself standing beside a rather familiar creature. Really, it would be hard to forget the distinct stature of the maned wolf who'd been the first kelvic he'd ever witnessed transform.

Rook, however, might have had a harder time recognizing the mercenary, had he even spared the attention to do so. Face dry and mangled, copper hair brushed apart by ashen strands, absent his armor and bearing the charred hide and morbid limbs of the fiendish woodland hound over his attire instead. Still, it would be hard not to take note of the poleaxe he held, or the ungraceful, grumpy posture with which he held himself.

Though he felt as if he ought to speak to the kelvic lad, as if he were obliged to after how they'd last parted... Ein frankly couldn't find anything to say that wouldn't poise him as an absolute arse... or an absolute spineless twat... so he kept quiet, staring about impatiently and awaiting to follow whatever lead or order he was presented with. To get this night over with.

[Elias Caldera]

The sight of the auburn tinged wolf was no small comfort to Elias as he crested the ladder’s edge.

What followed in his wake was a procession of soldiers and thugs, each one with a task that sent them hurrying this way or that once they had solid ground beneath their feet once more. The commander himself strode over to Rook remained vigilant, dark copper eyes scanning their surroundings for even the smallest hint of danger amidst the thick and manicured foliage. He noticed -with some surprise- the speck of blood marring the kelvic’s snout as he drew nearer. It was still fresh. Rook had killed something recently, it seemed, and for some reason that sent a sudden flush of appreciation through the Ravokian. It was only in that moment as he beheld the lanky predator did Elias realize that of all the souls involved in this mad endeavor, only Rook could be considered more determined to see it succeed than even he. Since the beginning, the pup had been committed to his bondmate’s freedom, and though he and Elias could not quite agree on everything, never once had the wolf faltered in his loyalty to Shiress, never once had he shown doubt or disloyalty. He was here because wanted to be. More than that, he was here because nowhere else meant as much to him.

Tentatively, Elias rested a hand on upon the fur of his unusual companion’s neck. It was obvious he was both unaccustomed and uncomfortable with such displays of affection, but in his words carried what his actions could not.

“I’m glad you’re here, pu- Rook... Tonight is the night we bring her home.”

The stryfer joined him on his vigil as the rest of the men clambered into place behind them. They knew their places and they knew their purpose. It was just a matter of waiting and-

The tense, quiet nature of the night was suddenly and jarringly shaken as the sound of a chest hitting the floor snatched everyone’s attention. The noise had been thunderous in the absence of any other, but it was the jingle of coins as they spilled unceremoniously from the chest that seized all eyes and held them hostage. The two fools who’d been carrying the chest looked up in dismay, only to noticed Elias blue glare burning down upon them.

“Pick it up.” The sorcerer hissed gravely.

That chest held within its simple oaken bounds more gold than most men could make in a year. Not a single coin could go missing from pilfering hands or plain ineptitude. He would have given the task of carrying it to his own men, but he needed each every stryfer under his command with a weapon in their hands and zero distractions. Guldo’s boys had been the only alternative and now Elias was questioning that decision as he watched the two buffoons hastily scrambled to sweep the assortment of coin back into the box they had been charged with.

“Don’t fret. It’ll all be there when it comes time to count it. My lads know not to- oh petch me, it’s a wolf!” Guldo yelped under his breath. He’d been saddling up next to Caldera to assuage any concerns only to notice the wolf standing by the mage’s side a little too late. Elias looked at Rook, then back to the crime boss with a placid expression. “He’s with me too.”

Guldo shot him an exasperated guffaw. “No, of course he is. I’m not sure why I was surprised. You got any more of your friends hiding around here? Maybe a Dravlak squatting in the bushes? The Voice herself perched like a parakeet in one of these trees? Best lemme know now, ‘cuz lord knows how much I love a good surprise, Caldera.”

Elias ignored the man, turning from the balcony of their staging ground to the ladder as he noticed a familiar face being shoved up unto the landing. Mazrim stumbled to his feet as his two black clad handlers ushered him along. Though the man grimaced when touched and scowled when prodded, the look in his eyes as they met Elias’s were as hollow and devoid of spirit as they had been for days now. He and the pale stryfer had been spending a great deal of time together as of late. In fact, there was rarely a day that went by since his capture when Mazrim had not know the mage’s company. Weeks and weeks of continuous hypnotic conditioning had left the slaver a blank and broken thing. One proselytized to Elias’s will and convinced of his place as the blue eyed man’s servant. A servant with plentiful secrets and insights into their enemy’s treasure trove of hidden assets.

Elias motioned with a nod and the fallen slave lord was shoved along, his hands rebound by shackles and his head covered in a deep cloak.

“Tannen?” The commander abruptly called out, careful to keep his voice just loud enough to be heard by those he wanted to hear it. “All clear, sir.” A young man’s voice responded from somewhere in the shadows beyond. A quick scan with his auristics confirmed as much.

“Then we move.”

The trek through the jungles of the gaudy attraction ship was a nerve wracking one to say the least. Elias was sure that during the day this place was likely a sheer marvel to behold, but at night it was a veritable horror. They followed a trail clearly cut out and roped off from the greenery around them, but still the looming pines and towering branches surrounded them menacingly from every side, cascading in shadows that shifted and danced with every errant breeze or anxious pulse of the imagination. The eerie noises it all made were even worse to endure.

Still, ‘the wonders of the wilds itself brought to Ravok for the convenience and enjoyment of her people.’ It was something the Lark’s could genuinely be proud of accomplishing, and even their enemy that night could not deny as much. Perhaps he should have made an effort to come earlier and enjoy the spectacle while he still had the chance. It was a shame then what he would have to do to it when all was said and done.

Eventually, the flickering promise of firelight ahead of them caught the procession’s attention and their pace suddenly grew even more tense -if such a thing was possible.

“Remember, keep your weapons sheathed, your eyes open, and minds clear. Radcliff Lark is a hypnotist. He can infect your thoughts with his own with a mere look. You listen to my orders and my orders alone, understood?” Elias spoke to all those who followed him. “Were not here for a bloodbath, but if they give us no choice make no mistake, they all die. No survivors.”

It wasn’t long after those words were said before Elias was staring into the smiling eyes of the very man he’d been warning of.

“Ah, at last. Our guests have arrived.” Radcliff of house Lark cooed from his dais near the fountains. He smiled even as the armed men filled into the small, lushly furbished clearing amidst the gardens. A sophisticated and shyke eating grin than immediately put his pale counterpart on edge. He wasn’t the only one. There wasn’t a man among them not ready for violence at the drop of a hat. Hands slid to hilts, eyes searched for traps, and tempers began to flare as the two forces and all the players took their place upon the stage.

“I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to finally make your acquaintance... Mr. Caldera.”

[Rook]

The sound of the cool water lapping against the side of the ship gradually distorted, and Rook turned his vigilant gaze away from the surrounding greenery for a moment to watch as one by one the soldiers clambered up the side of the ship and softly dropped themselves onto the hard wooden deck. Most of the faces were unfamiliar to Rook, but they all had a faint smell of Elias, and even if they weren't friends exactly Rook knew that Elias had at least enough trust in them to see them on this highly important mission. Whether that was the trust of a true friend, or a trust garnered with blackmail or favors, Rook had no way of knowing. It was a bit beyond him. But he at least had faith that Elias wouldn't bring anyone here that would put Shiress in immediate danger, or turn on them at the drop of a hat. That matter didn't reduce Rook's vigilance any. He was prepared for a trap and would be ready for it.

When a familiar figure breached the side of the ship, Rook balked. It was unmistakably Belugnir. The man's armor might be replaced by a mangled animal hide that stunk of violence and completely changed the man's silhouette, but the familiar scent of blood and desperate living still clung to the mercenary like a shroud. Rook vigilant stance relaxed in a moment and his mouth parted and tongue lolled in a canine smile. The kelvic gave two brief wags of his short tail before he remembered that he was actually still supposed to be angry with Belugnir and stopped abruptly, tongue retreating into his mouth.

Rook gave the mercenary a wary look. What was he doing here? Was this city really so small as to keep bringing them together over and over? Was he here to make amends for his actions against Shiress or did something else bring him here? With Elias, anything was possible. Rook saw the mercenary glance at him briefly, but nothing came from his mouth. Rook might have greeted him if he had a human voice, but for the moment that was impossible. The wolf simply watched the man for a moment before turning his vigilant gaze back to the ship's dark surroundings.

When Elias finally moved to Rook's side, the wolf studied him passively. He had all the intensity of a man on a mission, which was the best Rook could hope for him. If there was one thing that Rook could say about the soldier, it was that he was a person with the means and the will to see his plans enacted without failure. If anyone else were shepherding this mission, Rook would have been considerably more worried than he was now. Things would still go wrong of course; but Elias would have a way to deal with that wrong, whatever it happened to be.

Elias’ light touch on the back of Rook's neck made him flinch, and he glanced up at the soldier warily. Rook was entirely unused to physical contact from anyone other than has bondmate, and Elias was the last person Rook would have expected a gesture of affection from. In spite of the awkwardness of the gesture, the words coming from the man's mouth struck home. The intentional use of the kelvic's name in absence of the usual nickname shuddered with unspoken meaning and worth. Rook straightened immediately and his eyes Amber eyes met those of Elias’ icy blue. He gave the man a nod, then turned his gaze to the surrounding ship and let a soft growl roil from his throat.

Rook startled at the thunk of the chest hitting the deck of the ship and the jangle of golden coins spilling onto the deck, and stiffened, entirely unamused. When the man approached Elias’ to offer his reassurances and balked at Rook standing next to him, Rook flattened his ears, curled his lips, and let out an unfriendly growl.

The rest of the comings and goings into the ship did not leave much of an impression on Rook, although he studied Elias’ expression to reassure himself that things were going, indeed, as planned. Rook kept to Elias’ side as the group proceeded into the dark jungle of the ship's innards, keeping his ears pricked for danger. Once during their walk he sprinted off into the surrounding bushes, and the cry of an animal was heard. Moments later Rook returned, licking blood off of his teeth and muzzle.

When the group finally found their way to Radcliffe and his group of men, Rook's eyes flew to that of his bondmate, kneeling adjacent to Radcliffe and his men. Rook almost went to her in that moment, but he steeled himself and held himself back. Better that he not give himself away in this moment, or give them reason to attack. Regardless, Rook reached out through their bond and sent Shiress a wave of reassurances. Everything was going to be fine. The situation was in all the right hands and everything was going as it should.

Rook

[Shiress]

Shiress had known Soldiers before. She had lived for many seasons in a city ruled and governed by Knights clad in the metal livery that marked each out as a fighter, a protector, a defender. She had witnessed the immovable courage, unwavering confidence, and steady resolve, and even raw fear ignite in the soldier's eyes as they marched from the city toward some unknown fate.

But what Shiress glimpsed on Elias Caldera's visage as his cold, blue gaze found Radcliffe Lark was something Shiress had never observed on any man's face. Brazen and glacier, the look carved onto the face of the man that she loved was such that even she feared him at that moment, but still, she was unable to look away from the hardened Soldier. Her soldier.

Staying true to his word, Elias had come for her at last.

Then, she noticed Rook. Rook! Why was he still here! Remembering the crossbow threat, Shiress was overcome by sudden trepidation and tried to yell out, coming to her feet, but the warning choked off in a croak with a look from her Master. Gods damn Radcliffe and his magic Shiress cursed, inwardly, glaring defiance at the man as Kylar pushed her back down to her knees, his soothing words unheard as fear and anger roared in her head. Why had Elias allowed her Bondmate to come? Why hadn't Rook told her that he would be here when they were allowed time together earlier?

Opening herself to her Bondmate, reassurance, and strength, not her own flooded her senses, and she eased into Kylar's firm grip, allowing herself to be pushed back to the floor and remained silent.

For now..

-----------------------------
Radcliffe let his caustic greeting fall into the foreboding silence that followed the cacophony of booted footsteps and creaking leather as his 'guests' ambled to a halt, his pale blue eyes searching the faces of his enemies. The Lark's thin lips stretched further into a smirk even as the muscles of his jaw clenched with recognition. With a glance, a soldier moved close, and Radcliffe leaned in with a whispered order, then stepped from the small platform surrounding the fountain, wine glass held loosely against his stomach, two men moving in silently to flank either side.

"I see your demand to come alone was a feeble one." he said, motioning idly to Elias's entourage with a finger raised from the goblet "So I'm sure you won't mind that I brought a few guests of my own."

Two sets of fifteen black leather-clad soldiers stepped from obscurity and encircled the outside of the closed off area, flanking Caldera's company. Far enough away to not cause his anxious visitor's immediate alarm, but close enough to warrant concern. Radcliffe attempted and failed, to hide a contemptuous grin behind the rim of his wine glass as weight shifted and an inch or so of metal appeared from sheaths opposite of where he stood.

"Oh come now." he said, feigning a wounded tone "You would think I mean you harm, Caldera," Radcliffe sauntered up to lean carelessly against a discarded table "as if you had done me some great wrong that I might seek some bloodlust retribution from you." Setting down the wine glass on the table beside him, Radcliffe propped one arm atop the other as it crossed over his chest and ran a thumbnail across his bottom lip, his piercing gaze taking in each face that surrounded the man that had thwarted his mission at every turn.

In the wake of that gaze a subtle wave of djed brushed against a mind, a whisper of an alliance for his part, a hint of doubt for his counter, his craft flowing deep, seeking out the weakness in each mind, not even the wolf escaped his scrutiny. When his eyes found Mazrim Taim, they narrowed, his craft clawing deep...deep into a...broken mind, torn asunder by... His eyes snapped to Elias, and he did nothing to conceal the raw hate and disgust he felt for the Caldera. There was murder in Lark's pale eyes for what Elias had done to his most favored employee, or more so, what the soldier had gleaned from him.

"What could you possibly want from me, Caldera?" he snarled as he straightened to his full height, hands falling to his sides in fists of rage, eyes flicking to the chest by Elias's feet. "You seek to buy my pardon with coin? You pompous fool!"

Four cloaked paladins filed in behind Radcliffe who began to step closer to Elias, eyes ablaze with uncontained rage.

"There is no amount of coin that can replace the coin you stole from me when you decided to meddle in the affairs of your betters!"

With a flick of a finger, the sound of crossbows readying themselves reverberated through the air.

Not moving his eyes from Elias, Radcliffe stepped forward, coming face to face with the man, his eyes conduit for a craft that he threw against Elias's will with all the strength the hypnotist could find within himself.

"I will see no satisfaction with anything you offer if it is less than your own life."

[Belugnir]

It was a hearty side of sneers and scoffs on account of Guldo's boys that Ein choked down once the ransom chest struck the ground and spilled its contents... Albeit soon he returned to a lazy stance to the side of all the busybodies who were still boarding, eyeing the exchange between Rook and Elias with a sidewise glance... and ultimately settling his attention on the edge of the vast... forest that they were about to traverse.


It was one thing to hear off handed banter about the ship and it's... Idiotic extravagance, it was one thing to see it from afar in the dark, looking belike an inland isle upon lake Ravok... It was completely something else to stand upon the damn thing and witness the view from it and upon it... And to then wander into a literal petching forest upon the deck... Ein rarely admitted ought, but now he had to admit without any argument... That nordlings had way too much cocking coin to toss and prick around with... And that they spent it on the dumbest shyke a man could invent with unrivaled zeal. Then again, you twats probably wipe your arse with a prayer and a fanatical gleam in your eyes...


It was a doubtful brow Einar rose to the sight of Rook vanishing into the boat's forests... And a brow remained furrowed for he couldn't rightly see the marks that the wolf boy's kill left upon his snout. Other than the notion of Rook's brief departure, the whole stroll through this uncanny jungle was rather uneventful, for indeed, at this point, unsettling rustles in the undergrowth at night were naught but umeventful to Einar.


Finally, thr group recieved their greeting. And as the two leaders walked up to stand face to face, Einar came to a stand, grumpily measuring up the men who came out of the forest to surround the gathering within which he found himself. He sent a brief and minor ripple through the crowd, handing out shoves left and right to stop the glaring and cussing thugs around him from standing too close together as if they'd meant to put effort into providing Radcliffe's bastards the means to see how many neatly gathered gobs a spear and sword can go through at once.

Now Ein was not a fellow half as dense in the head as most people gave him credit for... But between exposure to death and the denting of one's mind through the poor handling of sorcery... Well, the man's ability to act upon knowing better was rather diminished. The self-taught instinct that told him to keep alert and wait for a better provocation was awful distant... And that's to say nothing of the fact that he never cared much for twats who felt the need to prolong every conversation by a mile, bantering some shyke all important and meaningful-like.

Plenty of loose stones upon that mound, but the one that threatened to truly cause an avalanche was the sound... At the snap of this bigshot boat-farer whoreson, it came. The infernal noise of strained crossbow mechanisms. He'd jested about it back on their way here... But the notion of having one pointed at him from afar caused the motion of his hand gripping about the weapon he held to become almost audible. It was a recent vendetta he'd acquired for any bastard under the sun who'd held a crossbow in their life, but it was a mortal one... And he wouldn't stand still listening to some nordling pricks weave their willies about while his head began to ache with the memory of recieving a shyking crossbow bolt threatening to reenact itself... He wouldn't wait for long anyway... And should Elias have decided to indulge this Redcliff, whatever his name was, prick, and not cut to the chase, Ein would soon enough have barged his way toward the pale stryfer's side, rumbling through a low grunt to rebuke the last ounce of bullshyke that had made way tk his ears.

"Would you like the lot of us to line up on our knees and gob you off while you're at it, too?", dry would be the words and indifferent the mangled face that delivered them. "Or would you rather cut your princeling speechifying bollocks out and get your business over with so that neither of us needs to scrub another man's guts off this deck before going to sleep tonight?"


Alternatively, had Elias been quick enough to retaliate to Radcliffe's welcome on his own, Ein would have found enough reason to linger in the crowd, albeit still slowly making way for the front of the group.

[Elias Caldera]

Elias was no stranger to this sensation of anticipation. He had known conflict before. Had been on the front lines of countless engagements and stood shoulder to shoulder with his brothers in black as armies assembled and foes squared off, each exchanging glares and insults from across the chosen field of battle that would soon be drenched in blood. Never before had these clashes been called ‘a war’ however, for the word alone insinuated consequence and grandeur unbefitting the ugly and insignificant squabbles that they all ultimately boiled down to, but this… standing with his men on one side, Radcliff and his troops on the other. The smell of steel and sweat in the air. The exhilaration of expectancy. The crushing weight of inevitability. The tension. The fear.

This had all the makings of a war, and the stryfer was starting to feel it in his bones. Yet in what might have been the first time in his barbarous life, Elias Caldera wasn’t thirsting for the carnage to come, but instead, was hell bent on ending it before it ever had a chance to begin.

Such profound caution and he were the strangest of bedfellows, and yet the necessity of their alliance this night was as tangible as the hostility in the air. It was a tension everyone could feel, and it showed from the most undisciplined street tough to the battle-hardened officers in attendance.

Speaking of which… He knew some of these men and women. The one’s the Lark had assembled. They hovered around their noble born paymaster like leashed dogs, ready to jump to the bastard’s command on a moment’s notice. One he recognized right away, for it was hard to miss the man, even in the dim and dancing firelight. Morgan Lark, a giant of a man clad from head to toe in glistening gold and ebony armor. They called him the ‘Fortress’ around the Vitrax. As he had been told, the big man’s skill with shielding was so profound and impenetrable that if he so chose he could become virtually untouchable by every conceivable method of harm under the sun. A veritable walking fortress in other words.

There were others of course. The one called Barin whom Elias had occasionally seen before in brief passing. He didn’t know much about the man though, and he knew even less about the other two standing besides him. The Caldera strained his brain for any hint of past recollection however, anything to keep his mind clear and his focus off of Radcliff as the man rattled on with all the expectant showboating and threats the mage had long since played out in his heads a thousand times over during his planning for this very encounter. Boredom however, was not the reason the Ravokian avoided the man’s eye or even distracted himself from the hypnotist’s ranting. As always, there had to be a method to the madness.

He counted thirty or so among their number, likely more hiding elsewhere waiting to spring some ambush should -or when- things doubtlessly kicked off. The soldiers were of little real concern, however. Elias’s men were still filing in, and if it hadn’t been clear before, it soon became so as the last of the Caldera’s jack-booted retinue made their way into the lavish courtyard. Radcliff and his lackey’s were outnumbered. It made their attempt at a flank from both sides a risky one when their numbers were not enough to contain either completely. Divided, they were weakened, but the complexities of whether or forty or so untrained thugs could overwhelm a contingent of Ebonstryfe troops was not the matter that concerned the Ravokian at that moment. It was the four paladins currently hustling towards him that at an alarming speed that suddenly gripped the sorcerer’s attention.

For the second time in what felt like as many chimes, Elias was once again confronted by the man whose very existence sparked an incalculable hatred in the stryfer. It had done so when they’d first made eye contact in the beginning, where Elias, despite the warnings he’d issued himself to avoid even so much as a glance at the hypnotist had still allowed himself to look into those beady black eyes. The rage had nearly overwhelmed him in an instant, with fists tightening and teeth grinding every despoiled memory of the wrongs he’d committed bubbled their way up to the top. The swordsman had almost lost himself in the maelstrom, only just barely retaining control as he remembered why he was here in the first place -why he was fighting this fight at all.

Shiress.

Another pair of eyes he told himself to ignore. As much as it pained him to forsake those emerald pools he could feel watching him from afar, he knew all too well Radcliff was a man who would not hesitate to exploit their bond at the slightest hint of hesitation or heartache.

Just hold on He thought to himself as if the words could traverse the silence and reach her ear. Tonight is the night I take you in my arms again.

“-less than your own life!" Radcliff’s bark brought the stryfer hurtling back to reality as he and the Lark’s eyes locked once more. It felt like staring into the roaring maw of a gargantuan beast. All heat and horror that threatened to take hold of his heart and bring him to his knees, but Elias merely glowered at the man for a moment, the stink of fine wine and expensive perfumes bringing him back to the present- to the truth. Radcliff Lark was just a man. A man with a stupid mustache and far too much coin and arrogance for his own good. A man who had never known a true challenge. A man who bled. A man who feared. A man who could be destroyed like any other.

“Master Morgan.” Elias spoke, turning away from Radcliff and instead making an acknowledging nod at the threatening paladin standing at his side. The other man seemed surprised for all but a tick by the sudden and unexpected greeting, especially considering his cousin’s reaction to being so blatantly ignored.

“Commander.” Morgan answered casually. “I don’t suppose I could order you to stand down and end this peaceably, could I?”

The pale mage’s response was a polite but curt “I don’t suppose you could, sir.”

“Punk.” The bearded Barin spat with a grimace.

“You understand what this means, for you and your unit?” Morgan continued, looking down his chin at the smaller soldier. Elias expected the giant was a man who looked down on everyone, whether he meant to or not. His tone however, was casual, non-hostile despite the hostile situation, as was his was candor. “My men know the risks. These soldiers are here because they choose to be.”

“If you two are quite done, perhaps we can get back to-”

“These aren’t ‘soldiers,’ boy. They’re children. Children you’ve dragged into your squabble.” The Paladin pressed, interrupting his finely dressed kin. Radcliff scowled, but both men ignored his fiery glare. “Stryfe fighting Stryfe. Is this truly what you want, Caldera? A war?”

Elias turned his gaze on the big man now, truly giving him his attention while at the same time studying him as well. After a moment of consideration, the pale mage responded. “You have no idea what I am willing to do… What lengths I am willing to go to…” He hissed, and for the first time since he’d arrived, allowed his gaze to find her’s amidst the turmoil.

“But, if you’re concerned with the formalities, then…”

His hand dipped to his belt, and as he drew his dagger forth, it felt as if the entire courtyard flinched as one. Hands fell to hilts, postures shifted, adrenaline surged. Everyone readied themselves for what they all dreaded or yearned for… but it was not to be. “Consider the challenge issued.” The commander spoke, before abruptly flinging the blade into the dirt at Morgan’s feet. The big man didn’t stir, didn’t so much as a bat an eyelash. “And accepted.” Morgan muttered grimly.

If it hadn’t been for Einar’s timely interruption at this point, the glares both Elias and Morgan were silently shooting at each other may very well have sparked into all out combat. Thankfully, the perceptive and ever mindful sell sword had made his concerns known to the group with all the usual tact and charm he was infamous for.

“I like dogs as much as the next man,” Barin grumbled sinisterly as he glowered at the unkempt killer from Sunberth. “But if you don't muzzle your hound, I will.”

“He’s right.” Elias stated indifferently. “We’ve wasted enough time. Before we start drawing swords however, you’ll want to hear what I have to say.” At that, a figure from behind the ghostly white sorcerer began to move. Shuffling between the crowd of heavily armed and antsy thugs and apprentices came the meek and meager looking Mazrim Taim. If any among the Larks once knew him before his incarceration at the hands of the Caldera, they would be able to see in an instant how much he’d changed in that short amount of time. His usually sleek and raven black hair was a mess. His finely trimmed and platted clothes appeared as if they’d been slept in for days, and small scratches and cuts could be seen around his wrists and neck. He was pale, sickly looking, but most telling of all were his eyes. Deep, black bags hung under a bleak gaze that was once cool, calculating and ever alight with the hint of unspoken awareness. Now that light had faded, and as Mazrim shuffled his way demurely to the Stryfer’s side, it became plain as day what had happened to the once proud and prestigious slaver.

He had been broken.

“Tell them.” Elias commanded.

The frazzled Taim shuddered as if struck, before nervously licking his lips. “I… I facilitated the sale and transfer of approximately one hundred and thirty seven slaves during Fall season of five eighteen.” He began. “These slaves had been designated “Deplorables” by the state, and were illegally trafficked to numerous buyers and sellers at exorbitant prices due to the ban.”

“Mazrim…” Radcliff warned under his breath threateningly. The slaver however, was not deterred. There were now things in this world more terrifying than the vengeance of an angry Lark. Elias had made sure he understood that.

“This was done under the order of the Lark family, to which I answered to in all things. Among those in charge of the operation was master Radcliff.”

Morgan and Barin exchanged looks. Radcliff in the mean time was seething behind a quickly cracking veneer of regal composure.

“Tell them what else you told me.” The Caldera prompted casually, and Mazrim obliged.

“I have disclosed a number of other… questionable practices that I have been privy to while in the employ of the House; Smuggling. Murders. Acts of treason against the state along with espionage against the other great Families. I have informed master Caldera of our secrete convoy routes, our spies in the employ of our enemies and allies, hidden stashes and debts and-”

“Enough of this shyke!” Barin’s gravely voice boomed. He glared at Mazrim, but the slaver had cast his eyes firmly to the floor and refused to budge them, even as he flinched under the barrage of insults that followed. “The word of one milksop petch isn’t going to convince anyone of this crap you’re trying to pull!”

“Maybe not alone.” Elias countered coolly. He proceeded to then fish something out of his pocket and non-chalantly toss it at Paladin Morgan. The Lark caught the small object with surprising alacrity, eyeing his pale counterpart coldly the entire time. When he finally did take the time to study what it was he now held in his hand, the mage continued. “But with a number of signed and sealed documents all either eluding to these crimes or outright confessing them, some might start to begin to wonder about the validity of these claims. Documents that my servants have been ordered to deliver to all five of the families come the dawn’s early light should I fail to tell them otherwise.”

Morgan was still staring at the stolen signet ring of house Lark in his palm when Barin snatched it from his cousin’s grasp with a hiss. The other, older Stryfer studied the thing for all of two ticks before letting loose a salty “Bah!” and unceremoniously flinging it into the nearby jungle. The exact reason Elias had decided to give it first to Morgan. It was clear the big man was starting to grasp the narrative their commander was conjuring. “A forgery. A petching lie. No one will believe it!” Barin spat furiously. The man reminded Elias of a rabid wolverine, his tall, spiky hair streaked with grays and white trembling in unbridled rage as he all but foamed at the mouth. He was right though. They were all forgeries. “You forget who you’re dealing with, you little shyke. We have friends everywhere. High places and low. You really think the Sun are going to care about any of this?”

“I don’t believe for a moment the agents of the Black Sun will care about a few swindled slaves. Upholding the law doesn’t interest the Church unless it benefits them in some way. What they do have a penchant for however, is making sure they are never perceived as weak. The Druvin in particular wield something more dangerous and demanding than any sense of justice; and that is Pride. The pogrom maybe over and all the fuss quieted, but the fact remains you disobeyed the Church. When the Sun learns that their holy decree was not only ignored, but blatantly broken by an arrogant family who consider themselves above Rhysol’s doctrine, they’ll have no choice but to act. Maybe they make an example out of you, maybe you become another Galatos, but even if their ‘divine retribution’ is little more than a fine and a few beheadings, they won’t be your only concern and we both know it. All these secrets exposed, all these weaknesses brought into the light. The blood will be in the water, and the other families won’t hesitate to swarm the Lark’s like a shiver of sharks.”

He turned on Morgan then, a fire in his belly that shone now in his cold, hard glare. “You were right when you called this a war, master Morgan, because that is exactly what is. A war that will claim more lives and more Lark coin with each day that passes. More slave caravans raided. More ships sunk. More of your family under threat. And like all wars, it has grown bigger than just one man. Even if I am to die this day, or we all do, this conflict will still rage on long after for all those still counted among the living. It will be long, it will be bloody, and in the end, its cost will far outweigh the price of victory. So like I told your father, you have a choice to make. Either-”

A strangled scream cut through the air like Isurian steel through butter. Suddenly every head whipped around to find its source, and when Elias’s blue eyes fell upon it, his heart sank.

“This is my fault.” Radcliff Lark bellowed arrogantly from the center of the clearing. In his malicious grip struggled Shiress, the noble’s hand gripping her hair and hauling her off the ground. “I allowed you to believe there was a place for words here.” Indignation and wounded pride were written all over the Lark’s face as he stomped towards Elias and dragged his hostage along with him. “I gave you the impression that anything other than complete submission was permitted.”

“Let her-”

“I see now that I was wrong. I showed you a modicum of charity by allowing you to draw breath in my presence. Now it seems, we must forgo the formalities and jump right to the part where I teach you the price of petching with me!”

[Shiress]

Morgan turned from the approaching Radcliffe and his slave back to Elias, hard gaze focusing wordlessly on the scarred Soldier's features. After a tick of thoughtful silence, the man looked to have come to a decision. Turning to Barin, he gave one swift nod, and the two men moved to intercept Radcliffe, Morgan halting the man with a firm grip on his shoulder as Barin stepped in behind his brother.

"Enough of this, Radcliffe." he said, voice low and demanding. "Let the slave go."

A look of utter confusion crossed the younger Lark's face, eyes darting from Morgan's stern visage, back to Elias then again to Morgan.

"What concern do you have for a Slave?" Radcliffe said, frowning.

"I don't, but Uncle..."

"Father?" his frown turned to a scowl "Father knows nothing of this!"

Morgan shook his head "Your Father knows all, Cousin. It ends now."

Radcliffe went very still, studying Morgan's face. "You betray your own family?"

Morgan's hand darted out, pulling the knife-wielding arm from the slave. "I remain loyal, Radcliffe." In one depth movement, Morgan shoved Shiress aside and attempted to twist Radcliffe's arm around to his back, but the Slave Master rounded with the momentum, coming free of the big man's grasp.

Then everything seemed to happen at once.

Even as Radcliffe brought his arm around, slashing the blade toward the Paladin's face the rank of black-clad soldier's moved in from the sides, swords unsheathing to stand before Elias and his men, but they did not advance.

Behind them, Morgan caught Radcliffe's arm, wrenching it around to his back, successfully this time. The struggling Lark's free hand shot out, grabbing his brother by the collar and pulling him toward him, eyes intent. Barin stiffened, then stepped back unsheathing his sword.

"Turn!" Radcliffe bellowed

At that moment, Shiress saw that several soldiers behind Elias hadn't stepped forward to engage Lark's men, but instead turned, shoving their neighboring comrade aside to draw steel against their own rank. She saw one man grab ahold of Belugnir's shoulder with one hand, spinning the sellsword around, as the other curled into a fist, poised for a blow to his scarred face. Another soldier took two long strides, his heavy booted foot aimed for a kick to the wolf's side. Another stepped up to the man who had spoken, Mazrim, Shiress thought his name was and ran his sword through the man's chest. He dropped to the ground in a boneless heap.

Shiress wanted to cry out a warning, scream one, but she was shoved one way, then the other. She was facing Radcliffe and his men now and what she saw was no less confusing than what she had with Elias's. Barin, the one she suspected was her Master's brother had his sword unsheathed and pointed at Morgan's chest. The big man stood with one hand against Radcliffe's chest, the other outstretched in warning toward Barin. It seemed everyone was yelling and screaming, turning on friend and foe alike.

Barin advanced on Morgan, and the big man had no choice but to let go of Radcliffe and draw his own blade, taking a defensive stance.

A hooded figure stepped calmly around the others and Radcliffe, catching Shiress's gaze. One of the Paladins, she thought. Within the man's hood, Shiress could see his dark eyes were intent on someone behind her and instantly knew the elite warrior was looking at Elias. The man's black-clad arm raised and Shiress could see a bright, burning ball forming between his claw-like fingers. Like tossing dice, the reimancer flung out his arm in a forward motion, releasing the ball of fire aimed at the center of Elias's chest then took off at a dead run toward the Soldier, long sword sliding free of its sheath.

Shiress was knocked to the floor and immediately tried to crawl out from beneath the melee, but got a kick to the head for her efforts. Sprawled on her back, Shiress blinked the stars from her vision. When her sight cleared, she saw that her Master hovered just above her, his finger's clutching the jaw of a Soldier, his eyes unblinking as he spoke sternly in the man's face.

It was one of Elias's soldiers!

Green eyes went wide with the realization; Radcliffe was using his hypnotic craft on anybody he could reach. Her Master was a powerful, manipulative shyke of a hypnotist and Shiress felt sure he would continue to inflict all around him until he got what he wanted. And she had a fair idea that what he wanted at that moment was Elias's blood on his hands.

It had to stop.

And she had to be the one that ended it.

If only...

With new resolve, Shiress bent her legs beneath her and stood, crossing the floor toward the dagger Elias had thrown at the big man's feet. The one she knew was only a few paces away.

She closed the distance to the weapon with relative ease -seemed the Slave had been forgotten about- and wrapped slender finger's around the hilt. Straightening, she turned, and suddenly everyone and everything around her vanished in a haze of intent as emerald eyes locked on her Master, unadulterated hate burning in her gaze.

Shiress could feel the long-dormant beast, the one borne of pain and humiliation at the hands of a Sunberthian Master, begin to stir deep within her core. That beast had ended Elijah Jordan all those seasons before, and Sayana had silenced it, pushed it back down, willed it still, bound, and forgotten. But it was Elias that had reminded Shiress the beast still lived, that it was still there. He was the one that had ignited a fire of self-will within Shiress, awakening it.

Now it writhed with a hunger desperate to be sated on the blood of those that chained it.

Five steps forward and Shiress rammed into her Master with what seemed an affectionate embrace. Radcliffe's eyes flew wide with surprise and Shiress mimicked her Master's expression, green eyes widening as if she too was surprised by her gesture. She followed her Master's gaze as it dropped to the six inches of steel buried to the hilt in his stomach, and to the thick, sticky blood that slowly seeped over her fingers. When his eyes lifted, Shiress's visage shifted from one of innocence, her mouth slowly deviating into a wide, cruel smile, as the hilt twisted within her grasp.