After several weeks' worth of voyaging, his final objective was at long last, finally at hand. So long was his journey, that any common horse would have collapsed and perished under his fully armored weight and the equipment he brought with him.
Thankfully for him, his own steed was far from the mundane ordinary. Despite her relatively small size, the mare was far stronger and faster than a steed twice her size. The sounds of her thundering hooves were what heralded the impending death the warhorse's rider wrought out to those who are found guilty of defying the Font, and her phantasmal mane flared a searing whitish-blue, burning with spectral fire so long as her master still lived.
It would also be foolish to dismiss the blue-blooded lord as someone plain and harmless. He was, after all, a hardened veteran of the Ancient War, fighting in service to the Dire Ancient in the past. Adorned in regal, atramentous robes over mistforged plate, with an aphotic face shrouded in pervasive shadows, the sight of this highborn man mounted on a ghastly warhorse was indeed an ominous sight to behold. The only thing distinguishing him from entities like the Chaos Knight was that he wasn't actively malevolent.
"Remain here, Jocheved," He spoke to his steed as he dismounted her. As always, his voice had a soft and wispy, almost whispering quality to it. "Watch over this area for me."
The noble mare heeded her master's request, watching him as he approached a clearing in the woods, where a large campfire burned bright and staved off the darkness of the night. As the lord neared his fated quarry, his enhanced senses detected the presenpce of an unknown individual slowly approaching.
Strange, he thought to himself. Why have I not noticed this newcomer on my way here? It's as if he just materialized into existence.
"Hey, easy now! We're nearly there!" A man's Slomite-accented voice was heard. "Alright, we need to set him down somewhere; he's bleeding all over the damn place. Mirana, help me out here. Get us some medical supplies, will you, Traxex?"
Spying the scene developing before him with twin orbs that glowed blue, the noble lord quietly shook his veiled head when he saw the newcomer's injured state, not to mention the opulently decorated armor he wore. Noting that revealing himself right then would not be optimal, the lord decided sit back and continue observing. He didn't feel like absorbing the full force of Nightsilvian Selemene-blessed arrow at the moment.
"Do you know who he is, at least?" A woman, clearly the Princess of the Moon, inquired the Lycan while they set their guest down over a spare cot, whose twisted, bleeding leg promptly bled all over. "He doesn't look like a bandit – not in that armor."
Banehallow gave a peculiar look at Mirana in response. "Would you believe me if I told you that he didn't even know what his own name was?"
"It's t-true." The man in the golden armor spoke weakly, nodding. "I may not know who I'm supposed to be, but could you at least tell me who you are?"
The Lycan suddenly paused for a while, as if deep in thought. Mirana was skeptical of the man's intentions, but she was the first to speak up, though somewhere at unenthusiastically. "I am Mirana the First, Princess of the Nightsilver Woods. You might have heard of the name before, stranger."
The wounded man grimaced and shook his head. "Forgive me, but I can barely remember anything at all. I don't think I've heard of you before, your highness." Not noticing the frown the Nightsilvian sported, the man looked to Banehallow. "What about you, sir? What should I call you?"
As the Slomite shook himself back to the real world, he noted the well-mannered and polite way the man spoke – certainly unbecoming of a common brigand. "Banehallow... of House Ambry." He told the man his name.
"A pleasure to m-make your acquaintance... though I wish we met under more ideal circumstances." The stranger paid a worried look on his crooked leg. "I can't even remember how I ended up like this."
"You truly don't remember a thing?" The princess queried, narrowing her eyes at the man. "Anything about yourself at all? Surely you must know something that we can use to set you back on the path you're travelling."
Before the man could answer, Traxex appeared with Banehallow's wolves, carrying a leather sack filled with salves and other medical supplies.
"Thank you," The Lycan took the sack from the Drow Ranger, peering at the contents inside. "This will do nicely."
"You're welcome," Traxex impassively replied, nodding. "I'll be the perimeter guard, since you appear to be occupied at the moment." She briefly glanced at the man with the injured leg.
Banehallow shrugged his broad shoulders. "Take the wolves with you. I'll have Mirana relieve you in a few hours, then. The princess hasn't been pulling her weight around lately."
"I'm standing right here, you know." The Nightsilvian protested, but to her great irritation, he ignored her, choosing instead to get down on a knee and give their guest a hard, unfeeling look.
"Aright, there's no use trying to sugar-coat this; what I'm about to do, is going to hurt... a lot." He gave the man's leg a light poke, causing him to wince slightly. "But don't worry about it too much. This happened to me before - you'll eventually get better, that I can tell." He then looked to Mirana beside him, handing her a rag from the medical sack.
"Put this over his mouth for me, will you." The Slomite asked of the princess, who merely stared at him as if he started growing a secondary head. "His screams will arouse the local wildlife. They won't be so docile around us much, then."
The man's eyes widened in apparent feat as Banehallow prepared to violently re-align his fractured bones. "W-wait, wait, WAIT! Don't you have any anesthetics I can take first?!
Meanwhile, at a short distance away, the noble lord sighed audibly. He was very appalled at Banehallow's lack of proper medical skills. They won't last six months without a proper healer, not with that Slomite dunderhead in charge. With a sharp intake of breath, he took a step forwards, into the light of the fire.
The Lycan grimaced at himself, understanding the man's trepidation. "If we give you a salve now, your leg wouldn't properly heal. You might end up stuck with a worthless leg twisted in an odd angle for the rest of your life." Nevertheless he pressed onwards, gripping the man's armored leg, while Mirana looked on in shock. "This will be over before you know it. Make this easy for all of us and don't make too much noise now, hm?"
Just before the inevitable happened, Traxex cried out in alarm, "On your guard! We have company!" She indicated at the woods up ahead, where a shadowy figure shuffled towards them at a steady pace.
Mirana was the first to react, taking out her mounted bow and standing firm. Without a word, she quickly levelled a sacred arrow at the potential threat and looked to Banehallow, waiting for his approval to fire.
Simply, the Lycan shook his head at the princess. "That's not necessary. He comes in peace." He told the Nightsilvian.
With a frown and a slight look of confusion written on her face, the princess lowered her weapon slightly. "What? You know this person?"
"How could I forget?" The Lycan replied, his sights still focused up ahead. "We fought together against the Radiant, you know. I caught wind of him coming - detected the scent wafting from his mare... I thought he'd be just passing by."
He breathed out a subdued chuckle. "Heh, as it turns out, the Avernal Font's chosen had been looking for us."
Realization immediately struck the princess. With a sigh, she put her bow away. "Ach, not him. Why didn't you tell us sooner, then? We could've prepared for him."
"Actually, I was provoking him into approaching us," Banehallow answered. "That little show I put on with him?" He offhandedly gestured at their shellshocked guest. "If I went through with it, I would have ripped off his leg from the socket. After all, we are in need of a healer."
Abaddon, the Lord of Avernus, walked into the Heroes' camp. At his presence, the light from the fire in the middle seemed to retreat, giving the once-brightly illuminated campsite a foreboding, desolate atmosphere.
He looked above the trees, and as was expected, he caught sight of a glint of steel in the leaves. The Drow Ranger was watching him very closely, and if he so much as appeared to look like summoning his frosted blade to existence, she'd have him perforated with arrows.
Of course, Abaddon was confident that mere steel would not suffice in harming him. Soon enough, the glint disappeared from sight as Traxex retracted her arrow, aware that her prey was watching her in turn.
"Archduke Banehallow von Ambry." The Lord of Avernus neutrally greeted the camp leader, his voice naught but a mere whisper. "We have business to discuss."
The Lycan did not seemed pleased at the slightest at the lord's mention of what he lost. "Don't call me that. My father was the archduke, not me." He said, bitterly.
Abaddon was unfazed. "Lord Ambry has been killed, and you are his sole living heir and inheritor. With the convenient death of the Slomite king at the hands of an unwashed and illiterate wildman, by the common law of the realm, your father's titles have since been passed down to you, need I remind... chief among them being the Nevsky Archduchy."
"I don't need reminding." Now, Banehallow appeared livid. His hands were balled tightly, and his eyes began to glow even brighter. "What the hell do you want with us, Abaddon?"
The noble lord seemed to pause for a while, before he quietly raised a plated hand in the misty air. Within an instant, he conjured his sword into existence. Mirana jumped back in alert, and Traxex struggled to quickly re-adjust her aim, towards Abaddon.
The Lord of Avernus snatched his weapon from the air in one smooth motion. With the wicked blade in his grasp, he plunged his hand downwards, in an apparent effort to strike the Lycan down before he could even react. If he wanted to kill Banehallow, he would have nothing to prevent him from doing so, despite the best efforts of the other two Heroes.
Banehallow merely folded his arms as the blade narrowly missed his shoulder, imbedding its pointed edge into the ground beneath his feet. He only raised a brow in mild surprise when Abaddon slowly knelt down before him, with the pommel of his weapon in his grasp.
"I'll pledge my blade and my skills for you to use as you see fit, Slomite. All I ask is your assistance." Seeing the silent, inquiring look on Banehallow's face, Abaddon continued, "We walk the same path, you and I. My sole intention is to see to it that a valued ally and friend of the Avernal Font is returned to this world, alive and unharmed."
At the lord's last words, Banehallow was genuinely surprised. "Stand up. You have a lot to explain for us, Abaddon."
While the Avernal Lord re-secured his footing, Mirana gave an disapproving look at the Lycan. "You can't seriously be considering his offer, Banehallow. Disciples of the Avernal Font can scarcely be trusted to hold on to their word. Manipulation and lies are their chief weapons, lest you forget."
"I know, Mirana." The Lycan replied, sounding sure of himself. "But he knows something we don't about Kunkka's voyage. A 'friend' of his was inside the Claddish flotilla before it disappeared. We're going to find out who was it."
"Uf," The princess made a noise of disgust. "At least get him to fix our 'guest' first. By the looks of him, he'll pass out any minute now." She turned to her side.
"Since I obviously cannot contribute anything to assist you, if you'll excuse me, I'm heading back to sleep." With that said, Mirana walked away and disappeared into her tent.
Abaddon banished his sword back into the immaterial realm. "Consider me impressed, archduke. These former servants of the Radiant appear to trust you enough to lead over them. Tell me, what does it feel like to make new friends... after abandoning your old ones to die?"
Banehallow flinched slightly. "Still bitter, huh. You could've defected with me to the Radiant - you were certainly one of the saner ones under the Dire."
"The Dire Ancient promised to put an end to the myriad of threats plaguing my House... until you betrayed us to the Radiant." Abaddon's voice did not change from the wispy tone it had. "Is it only a matter of time before you betrayed the princess and the ranger, too?"
"That would be the dumbest thing I could possibly attempt to do." The Lycan said. "But you... you actually believed the Dire Ancient - the unholy protrusion of all the evils in the world - to honor its promises? Unlike you, Abaddon, I know better than to take the Dire's word to heart."
"But what about the promises the Radiant Ancient promised you?" The Avernal Lord inquired the Lycan in turn. "I wonder, have you since retaken Slom from the hands of the local lords and avenged your kin lately?"
Abaddon's question tore through Banehallow. He was silent for a while, before he responded, "No, I haven't done any of that lately. However..." He sighed. "I'm working on it."
A small chuckle came from Abaddon - a rare occurence. "I'll give you that point, old friend." He said, as Banehallow looked at him, astonished. "I could have been still at the gates of the Font and defending my birthright from zealot scarabs, but here I am, on a faraway land on a suicidal quest to rescue an old colleague of ours."
While Banehallow was eager to know just who was Abaddon referring to, he remembered a more pressing matter that Abaddon's presence would be better spent on. "Alright, we'll talk about that later in the morning. Right now, I need you to keep a guest of ours from dying."
Abaddon need only to look at the wounded, amnesiac man before he got to work. A black, misty beam escaped from the shadowed part of his veiled helmet, healing the man's fractured leg with a stream of potent restorative mist.
Banehallow beheld Abaddon's work with keen interest, watching as the man's leg appeared to set itself straight. "Hm. I see your breath is as fresh as ever. You've been taking Jakiro's wintermints, I take it?" He deadpanned.
"And you are as repulsive as ever. Indeed, you still smell like a wet dog." The lord sarcastically replied, not losing his uninterested tone of voice. "Honestly? I'd have done the world a favor if I killed you earlier then."
The Lycan shook his head and smiled. "I've given you the perfect chance to do that, and you squandered it. No matter, we all make mistakes."
Nautilus awakened at the soothing sound of the rolling ocean waves, and the intermittent calls of seagulls. Memories of the previous day immediately rushed to his head, making him twist and buckle at the absurdities of it all.
The last thing he remembered was being blasted by a crimson ball of energy from an undersea eldritch horror's putrid mouth, after being informed that he wasn't anywhere inside Runeterra anymore. He also remembered traveling and fighting alongside a fish-woman with the name of Slithice. Lastly and more importantly, he remembered being forced to enter an agreement of some kind with the slithereen farseer:
I was... I was tasked to find a landwalker... with the name of Mirana, resounded Nautilus' murky thoughts. They needed me... to protect the Siren...
F͏ind̶ M̀I͢R͡AŅA. Fi̕nd́ S̵LI̵TH́I̢C͏È.͘..
The displaced Bilgewatian grumbled inaudibly as he opened his eyes, finding himself lying on his back on a wooden surface, his gaze facing towards the dark, lightly raining skies. He stood up and looked around, finding his surroundings to be somewhat away from the water this time - he was standing at a weathered dock of some kind, with several fishing vessels anchored to the side.
Just after Nautilus finished checking himself for damages and if his personal possessions were still there, he stopped at the sound of several firelock rifles being primed to fire in rapid succession. The Titan turned to his side and found a small company of men in blue and white army uniforms, staring him down intently at the barrel of their guns.
"You are standing on His Majesty's restricted grounds, outsider!" The lead guardsman shouted at the Titan in an accent eerily similar to that used by the Bilgewatian upper-class. "State your business, or face Claddish justice!"
Nautilus noted the foreign design of their weapons and uniforms, and the unfamiliar structures looming behind them deeper into the settlement. Furthermore, he took note of the foreign design of their arms and uniforms, lending some further credence to the sea-wurm's assurance of his displacement.
"I mean you no harm," Nautilus' voice was tremendously deep, which was made even more intimidating when filtered by his helmet. "I don't know where I am, nor how I got here, but I need to find a slithereen woman named Slithice, and someone else named Mirana."
The guardsmen all slowly lowered their firelocks, coming to point them down on the wooden floor. "Wait, are you a friend of the Heroes?" The leader inquired, all the more enthusiastic suddenly.
Who the hell are the 'Heroes'? Nautilus thought, before deciding to spare himself the trouble. "Yes." He nodded rigidly.
"Bloody liar!" One of the foreigners immediately said in response. "None of the Heroes mentioned you at any point before, so why should we believe you!"
"Stand down, corporal." The leader quieted his subordinate down rather quickly. He then looked to Nautilus. "If what you say is true, then you're not going to find Princess Mirana here in Wellington any time soon - she's in Nightsilver, you see."
My quarry is a damned princess? Nautilus thought in irritation. He has had unpleasant experiences with royalty. In particular, the Pirate 'King' himself, Gangplank. Ah, wonderful.
"But the slithereen you just named - Slithice the Naga Siren, has just been sighted inside the city limits." The leader continued, "There aren't many slithereen around here, so you should be able to locate her easily."
The Titan nodded and started marching forwards, while the guardsmen parted off to the side to let him pass. Once he left the docks and made his way into the city proper, he stopped to behold the sight before him.
It was a veritable ocean of people - an unholy mix of civilians walking on foot or riding by carriage, yordle-like creatures scurrying around, tense-looking, firelock-wielding patrolling soldiers and other oddities like warriors mounted on panthers and wearing armor with distinct lunar motifs as well as what appeared like walrus-people wearing clothes and walking around on two legs.
Dear gods, was all Nautilus could think of saying at the disorderly sight. Even during Distribution Day, Bilgewater wasn't nearly as crowded or as diverse as the city of Wellington. Well, it's time to go look for a minnow in this lake.
Steeling his resolve, Nautilus dared to take a step forward. He took the inquisitive glances and the gawking stares suddenly directed at him in stride - he was already used to such things.
"Hello, um," Slithice hesitated, thinking her question ridiculous. "Have you perhaps... seen a tall human wearing a pressurized suit made out of steel and rubber and hauling around a landwalker brig's anchor somewhere in the city? His name is Nautilus, and he's a friend of mine."
Wellington's guard captain, a mustachioed, portly man by the name of Wallace, scratched his balding head. "That's ah... well, quite the strange inquiry, Madam Siren. Every day, we've had close to seven thousand foreigners pass through the city gates, which includes traders from Blueheart, allied Dark Moon warriors coming straight from the Nightsilver Woods, and keenfolk scientists and merchants. Hell, we even have had sixteen of your kind enter the city at one point today."
The guard captain frowned. "But I'm sorry to say, we never had a person like the one you described logged in any of the gates around Wellington. Though if it's any consolation, you can rest assured that if this Nautilus does show up later today, you'll be one of the first to know."
The Siren smiled faintly and nodded. She wasn't quite fully satisfied with the assistance she was offered, but she was at least content at what she received from the Claddsmen. "You have my thanks, captain. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll have to continue surveying the city for-"
Suddenly, the double doors to Wellington's primary guard station were pushed open, and in came a quartet of guardsmen, animatedly chatting with one another.
"-this bloke in the copper diving suit and the anchor, he's bloody well huge, and when he talked, his voice- my Soul, his voice!" The one on the front said and made gestures, standing on the ball of his feet and spreading his arms wide. "You lads shoulda seen him - he said he's a friend of the Heroes, or something; said he wanted to see Slithice and Mirana."
"Eh, bastard's lucky to have a Hero looking after him," Another one said, sounding downright envious. "Would be nice to have Sharpeye out on patrol, he-"
"Pardon me, Claddsmen," Slithice cut in, pulling her greathelm's visor up. "I can't help but overhear your mention of a man in a diving suit and anchor. Perhaps you've seen him wandering around the city? If so, I'd like to know where you last saw him."
"Whoa." The guardsman on the front had to physically close his open jaw. "Um, er... he's was at the docks, but he quickly stormed off to the city center to look for you, Ma'am Siren..."
Slithice felt somewhat flattered to know that the first thing Nautilus did after awakening was to immediately try to find her, and not hitch a ride to Nightsilver to get at Mirana. "Alright, thanks. Is Kunkka's ship also docked in Wellington, by any chance? I need to talk to him, too."
At this, the guardsman frowned. "Ah, well, the grand admiral had embarked on a voyage to the Rishi Isles a few months ago, taking along a warship flotilla and several other Heroes with him. Not to worry, he'll probably be back in another few months' time."
"I understand..." The Siren thought she could use the admiral's help with locating Mirana. After all, he's the prime ambassador to the Nightsilver Woods. She gave her thanks to the man again and quickly slithered out the guard station.
"Well, it's not every day you get to talk to a Hero for an entire two-thirds of a minute, Jefferson!" One of the guardsman' colleague gave his shoulder a rough shake. "How'd it feel like?"
"Like I've just got a pay raise... while being promoted." Guardsman Jefferson dreamily sighed. "She was one of my favorite Heroes, too."
It was morning. The amnesiac man was fast asleep as recommended, in order for his leg to heal quicker. Mirana and Sagan have slipped out of the camp to a nearby stream to wash themselves free of dirt and grime, and Traxex was still in position above the trees - nonchalantly skimming through a book she received from the princess about politics, castles, cold weather and court intrigue.
Meanwhile, Abaddon and Banehallow were seated near the snuffed out campfire, discussing with one another. During the course of the night, the Avernal Lord ushered his mare into the camp and just stood around, never requiring much sleep. The Lycan, on the other hand, spent the night stripping pelts from the creatures he hunted down in the previous days.
"So you see, I was sought out at the Font one day, by the Veiled Oracle herself," Abaddon started recounting his story to Banehallow, who was mostly paying attention. "It was just after a major zealot scarab incursion, so I was a little unbalanced by adrenaline."
"Nyx is still giving you trouble after all these years?" The Lycan looked up from cleaning his rifle barrel.
The lord nodded his covered head. "Yes. They never forget their enemies, even if we used to serve a common cause once." He sounded slightly bitter now.
"Alright," Banehallow set his gun aside, leaning on a tree. "What did this Veiled Oracle tell you?"
"She told me that a valued cog in her prophecies - and a trusted friend and ally to the Font - has gone dark. A prized assassin of hers went missing on a routine assignment." The Lord of Avernus told the Lycan. "Her target was a person inside one of Grand Admiral Tresham's vessels, and it was presumed she disappeared with the Claddish flotilla while carrying out her duties."
"Who is 'she' exactly?" The Lycan inquired, briefly holding up one of his hands. "I crossed a lot of Veiled Sisters even before my time in service to the Dire, and three of them even managed to survive me."
He scoffed. "I thought leaving them close to death and terrified out of their wits would be enough to send a clear message for their Oracle, but clearly I was mistaken."
Abaddon made an exhaling sound, "Like I said the previous day, I am looking for an old colleague of ours, and there is only one Veiled Sister we used to closely work with. Perhaps you'd remember her?"
The Lycan slowly nodded as realization came upon him. "Yes... now I understand." He grimaced, memories of throats being cut open and bodies being sliced into halves came to mind.
"But what of Mortred's target?" He then inquired cautiously, scanning the other man for any subtle changes in body language. "...please tell me it wasn't Kunkka."
"You needn't worry, she wasn't there to assassinate the admiral as far as I'm aware." Abaddon said, to Banehallow's slight relief.
It was Princess Mirana's turn to ask. "Hmm, perhaps it was Luna, then?"
Abaddon flinched slightly, his surprise at the princess' sudden appearance apparent. Banehallow, in contrast, detected her coming even before she came close.
"...No, her quarry was the one we're all expecting the least: the Omniknight." Abaddon said. "Mortred rarely failed her tasks - her skill with the blade is unmatched, as you both can attest to. If I could hazard a guess and my memory serves me correctly, Hierophant Thunderwrath should be already dead, regrettably."
"I think you're underestimating Purist," Mirana said, looking smug.
"And you're overestimating Mortred." Banehallow finished for the princess.
Abaddon didn't appear to adopt any sort of emotion thanks to his shadowy features, but his voice was enough to convey his irritation. "Perhaps, but it matters not. My task remains the same. Mortred will see her home once more."
"Not that I'm complaining about you coming here to help us out, but why are you going through all this trouble to assist the Veiled Oracle?" Banehallow questioned Abaddon. "Her whims and interests shift like the sands in the Scintillant Waste, must I remind you. You'll never know when she decides to send one of the Veiled Sisters to kill you, and it's all too possible that it'll be the Phantom Assassin herself hunting you down."
The Avernal Lord was very still, like a statue. "I will not be swayed by your talk of the Oracle's supposed disloyalty. The Sisters of the Veil are the most esteemed and trusted allies of House Avernus, and Mortred is considered by the Mistral Apostles, the Vespertine Guard and the Drowned Horsemen as an honorary Lady of the Font."
"If that's true, then your first course of action should be to send off your most trusted soldiers in your stead, so you won't have to leave to Avernal Font unguarded." Mirana pointed out. "Any decent lord with common sense knows that one shouldn't embark on a long and dangerous course all by oneself just to rescue an old ally, even more so when the realm is currently under siege."
Banehallow submitted to Mirana's superior court wisdom at times. "The princess is right, Abaddon. You wouldn't come this far if you're just after someone you'd call a work friend, especially when Nyx's forces are throwing themselves onto the Font's defenders at this very moment."
"I need not explain myself to you." Abaddon responded, only relatively calmly. "My reasons for attempting this task are hardly relevant."
The Lycan and the Princess of the Moon shared a brief conspiratorial look. He made an ineffective attempt to suppress the look of pure mischief through his glowing eyes and his wolfish half-smile, and she merely scoffed and rolled her eyes.
Banehallow looked to Abaddon once more, having reverted his expression to that of neutral stoicism again.
"Sure, Abaddon. We understand you perfectly." He reached for his rifle and began cleaning the barrel again. "I'd be more than a little worried if I left no heirs before I die, too. I'd rather not leave my house extinct, even without a title to my name."
"I admit, it's highly unusual for a blue-blooded lord such as yourself to take such a specific interest in a commoner, but I guess there really are some arbitrary fellows who take such a... peculiar interest in the common folk." Mirana chuckled softly, in a very refined and 'regal' manner.
It appeared that Abaddon had completely turned to stone. The temperature around the camp was felt dropping subtly. "I know not of what you speak of. I owe the Sisters a favor... one that I intend to repay with Mortred's return."
Banehallow was a master of deciphering body language, and despite Abaddon's infamous lack of facial expressions and austerity, he remained unconvinced. "Oh, please. We're not as dense as you may think. You put up an act to appear emotionless and aloof, but it appears even the Font's chosen can develop feelings."
He stood up from his seat. "Ah, but what am I saying... this isn't any of my business. I'll leave you to do whatever it is you want to do, Abaddon, just don't stand in our way." Rifle in hand, the man quickly shuffled off.
Abaddon silently watched as the Lycan slowly vanished from sight,
"You see, Avernus, he might be alright with letting you tag along," With the Lycan's departure, Mirana's cordial demeanor immediately dissipated. "But let me be clear: I'm not. You're Dire, and if you went on to prove yourself to be any kind of threat towards either Banehallow or Traxex, I'll drop the goddess' wrath all over you."
With her chin up in the air, Mirana haughtily turned about and walked away, leaving Abaddon alone with his thoughts.
"Hey, you there! The man in the can!"
Nautilus leaned forward and glared at the walrus-man merchant he was interrogating for answers earlier. "We'll settle this later." He said.
The merchant could only fearfully bob his head up and down, thoroughly intimidated by the Titan's tall, armored form and his unnaturally deep voice.
"That armor is downright impressive! I wish I made mine to look as fearsome as yours." Nautilus ponderously turned around and came across one of the yordle-creatures looking up at him. Like the Titan himself, this creature appeared to be wearing an all-encompassing, pressurized suit of armor, though his did not seem to be made with deep-sea diving in mind.
"Did you commission it from someone, or did you fabricate the individual pieces and welded them all together yourself?" The creature enthusiastically continued with its inquiries, and before Nautilus could answer in proper, he was already talking again.
"I'm an engineer, a fabricator, an inventor and a part-time clockmaker by trade myself - I invented several suits like this Clockwerk Warcog powered armor I'm wearing." The creature indicated at his suit, taking obvious pride in his work. "It can fire long-range missiles, discharge a grappling hook and withstand being directly hit by an artillery shell!"
"Most impressive," Nautilus remarked, rather half-heartedly. "My suit can withstand being in waters as deep as nine hundred meters for months at a time."
The armored creature was seemingly impressed, though his facial expressions were hidden beneath a metal rebreather helmet. "If it can hold up in such depth and in that amount of time, then it must do very well in combat!" He laughed. "The name's Rattletrap, by the by. I'd shake your hand, but I might need to use a bigger gauntlet and rocket thrusters to do that."
The Titan nodded disinterestedly. "Nautilus." He simply said.
"Say," The Titan noted the sudden shift of Rattletrap's tone, his earlier jovialness replaced by a businesslike tone. "You seem like a kind of guy who'd been into a fight or two. And judging by those recent scratches and dents on it, you've been in a scrap with the slithereen lately."
"Not the slithereen. Levianths." The Titan corrected.
Rattletrap made a single nod, "Well, that only means that you're a lot more qualified than I thought for this job I'm about to offer you. Are you in need of some cash, Nautilus?"
Nautilus was penniless, but he cared little for money. "No." He shook his head.
His answer didn't seem to put Rattletrap even slightly off. "Aha, but that's what you think. The Grand Prince of Kievansur is giving away a very lucrative reward of two-hundred thousand crowns in exchange for the head of a particularly meddlesome tundra-wyrm plaguing the countryside. This reward should be enough to-"
"Oh, there you are!"
Nautilus looked to his side and was surprised to see Slithice approaching him and Rattletrap. She appeared completely out of place in the surface, surrounded by landwalkers.
"Slithice," In contrast, the keenfolk engineer didn't sound caught off-guard at all at the Naga Siren's appearance. "I've had a feeling you'd be back. Did you rethink my previous offer?"
The Siren gave Rattletrap a weathering glare. "For the last time, Clockwerk, no. There are several other urgent matters I need to attend to. Slithereen lives are at stake, for heavens' sake." She then looked to Nautilus, as Rattletrap inclined his head to the side in confusion.
"I trust that you received a task from the farseers before they let you go - one that's connected to mine," She said before pausing, as if to carefully choose her next words. "...tell me, is it true that you came from another world entirely?"
Nautilus looked away, to the crowd of people behind Slithice. "It would appear so, yes." He hesitantly answered, not so sure of himself. "But it matters little now. I was tasked to protect you as we look for someone named Mirana. She has in her possession a 'moonstone', which is what your farseers really required."
Slithice slowly nodded in affirmative. "Yes... um, can you take that helmet off? Your voice sounds... strange." She neglected mentioning her curiosity as to how the tall landwalker really looked like.
"Ha." The Titan heaved a spiteful, bitter breath of a laugh. "I wish I could still do that."
A brief look of confusion crossed the Siren's features before she shook her head and cleared her thoughts, "Right... should we get started with our task, or do you want to look around Cladd for a moment?"
Rattletrap knew that something important was going on, but he couldn't quite guess what it is. Knowing that he won't get any helpers out of Nautilus or Slithice, he walked off to find someone who will take up his offer.
"We must proceed with our task," The Titan decided. "There's nothing for us here."
"On the contrary," Two soldiers approached Nautilus and Slithice from the crowds, one Claddish and one Nightsilvian.
"The Claddish ruler requires your presence here in Cladd," The Dark Moon soldier said, with some measure of excitement and enthusiasm in his voice.
"More specifically, King Frederick wants you two to present yourselves at his castle before nightfall, at the center of the settlement." The Claddish soldier elaborated, after giving her partner a pointed glance. "You must not keep his majesty waiting. Patience is not one of his virtues, I'm afraid to say."
"We cannot do that," Nautilus started. "Tell your king to-"
Slithice cut him off. "We'd be honored to attend to his majesty's gracious invitation. Tell him we'll head over to his castle as soon as we're able."
Nautilus looked at Slithice with an irritated look, but he didn't make any objections.
"Splendid." The Claddish soldier clasped her gloved hands together. "If you'll excuse us, we'll have go and alert the-"
"Just a moment, Valeria." The Nightsilvian soldier interrupted his Claddish counterpart with a hand to the shoulder. He then looked to Slithice, grinning all the while. "If it's not too much of a bother, I'd like an autograph from you, Siren. We're both admirers of the Heroes, you see."
The Claddswoman swiped away the hand on her shoulder, glaring at its source. "What are you doing, this is bloody unprofessional!" She hissed at her partner.
Nautilus observed silently as Slithice tore a piece of one of the scrolls she was carrying on her hip, branding the runes forming her name on the paper using some sort of clerical spell. "I just can't comprehend why you landwalkers value my mark so dearly. Perhaps one day, I'd start selling them." She handed the object over to the pair of soldiers.
"That's... actually a wise decision. I'm willing to bet that some of your fellow Heroes have resorted to this scheme at one point." The Nightsilvian slowly nodded as he received the gift. "Our most sincere thanks, Siren. Please, come visit the king at your convenience. I'm sure he'll understand any 'delays' you encounter on your way to him."
"Corydon..." The Claddswoman, Valeria, started tapping her foot in impatience as she continued to glare at her partner.
The Nightsilvian, Corydon, held up his gloved hands in a placating manner. "Right, right. Off we g-"
Nautilus and Slithice watched as Corydon was violently dragged off by the shoulder by his partner, away and further into the crowded Claddish streets.
"Is there any reason why we needed to see this... king?" Nautilus inquired the Siren, just as the two soldiers vanished into the colorful assembly of Cyrillian citizens. "Never forget - the marai's time continues to run short as we delay."
"Believe me, unless you're the ruler of a colonial power like Cladd, you don't want to get on Frederick's bad side," Slithice responded. "He's an impulsive sort of fellow - but you can hardly blame him, given his youthful age."
The Titan inclined his helmeted head to the side. "Hrm, 'youthful age'?"
"By the First One's light, what the hell is that?"
"Stand clear, men! Retreat to a safe distance!"
"Keep moving! Save yourselves!"
"No, it's too late for me! You have to let me go!"
"That's an order, Shyvana! Don't let it take-"
A powerful odor assaulted his nostrils, jolting him awake.
"Aaaugh..." The nameless man groaned as he pushed himself up to a sitting position. He opened his eyes... and awoke to the sight of an oversized, demonic-looking wolf with embers in its mane breathing down his face.
Gasping in fear, he scrambled back into a corner of the tent he was in, his eyes darting everywhere for anything he could defend himself with. He tried to tell himself that he was in a particularly bad fever dream, but the way his environment looked and felt real convinced him it was the contrary.
The wolf advanced menacingly, its jaws salivating in monstrous hunger. Backed into a corner and with nothing to fend off the creature but his own hands, the man figured that his fate is in the hands of the gods now. Not willing to die without a fight, the man reeled his fist back and swung the first blow...
...only for the wolf to suddenly disappear with a sharp crackle of red electricity, just before his fist made contact with its snout. The man tried to thank his god for saving him, but to his mild surprise, found that he couldn't quite come up with a name for his deity. He cautiously stood up to his feet, briefly examined his rather unremarkable clothes, and made his way out of the tent.
Once he got out, he shielded his eyes from the sunlight. His eyes adjusted alarmingly quick to the light, however, and he came upon the sight of a man in plate armor, with a face framed in the shadows of his dark blue hooded robes. The other man sat near a snuffed campfire, appearing to look up at him expectantly.
"Ah, the new arrival. So it would seem that your limb has fully healed," The other man spoke with a voice like shredded silk - low and quiet, but cold and harsh. "Take care not to injure yourself again. My abilities could only ever heal injuries to an extent."
The man looked down, and true enough, he couldn't feel any more pain from his injuries. He looked back at his present company. "I... thank you, stranger."
"That reminds me," The faceless man in the robes shifted his weight from his seat, the plates on his armor clinking together as he did so. "Lord Banehallow instructed me to inform you that the nearest settlement from here, the Auroch fishing village of Lithowajnya lies a great deal of distance away, to the direction of the southwest."
The nameless man kept silent, waiting for his present company to continue speaking.
"Unfortunately, the path to civilization is paved with countless dangers and hidden hazards, and since our own path lies in the direction of the east, we cannot afford to spare the time in escorting you to safety, lest we lose sight of our endeavor." The faceless man informed.
"So we're offering you a choice," The faceless man continued, and the nameless man quickly noted how he never seemed to move an inch as he talked. "You could either depart with your gear and some of our excess supplies to try your luck surviving the journey to Lithowajyia alone... or you could stay with us until we cross paths with another far-away settlement."
The nameless man could vaguely recall being a fighter of some kind in his previous life, but that's all he could remember along with the two names his dreams kept bringing up. He was unsure if he could survive the perilous walk to civilized society without anyone to watch his back.
"What's this endeavor you speak of, the one you're so focused on?" He then inquired, in his curiosity.
The faceless man answered within a split second of the last word leaving the nameless man's mouth. "Old friends and comrades of ours have disappeared in their own journey across the ocean. We're trying to find them - bring them back to their homes."
"Rescuing old friends is as good a cause as any," The nameless man said. "Perhaps I may be of use if I joined you. I don't remember much, but I think I used to be a soldier of some kind... I may be able to provide my skills in service to your cause... if you'll have me."
"That'll be for me to decide,"
The nameless man instinctively tensed up as Banehallow walked into sight, carrying with him the segmented lance that somehow ended up in his possession. The man figured that the lance, as well as the unnecessarily decorated plate armor he wore the night before, were his.
"How well can you fight?" Banehallow inquired forthrightly. "Our journey will be as every bit as dangerous as the path you'd tread towards Lithowajnya, if not even more so. All four of us are recognized as some of the best fighters in the region, and I'm not willing to jeopardize our cause by having a weak link in our chain."
The nameless man started having doubts about his decision. But then, he figured he wasn't the kind of person who wavered at the prospect of a challenge. He felt it right to take up a righteous cause, giving his existence a purpose.
"There's only one way to find out, I say." He stood up straighter, more wary. "Hand me my lance. Try me."
Banehallow quickly obliged, not wasting any time. "In all likelihood, you've forgotten how to use a weapon like that. But since you haven't forgotten how to speak or walk, I'll assume that your memories will return to you eventually." He adopted a contemplative pose. "...but what should we call you?"
The nameless man didn't feel even slightly weighed down by the weapon in his uncovered hands, signifying his seeming familiarity with it. "You can call me whatever it is you have in mind."
"I propose we call him 'Shyvana'." The man in the dark robes piped in.
Banehallow looked to him, appearing confused. "Care to tell me as to why we should, Abaddon?"
Abaddon answered immediately, not skipping a beat. "He muttered that name in his sleep. Numerous times, I might add."
As the nameless man examined the lance in his clutches, he stopped to observe a dark shadow approaching. In a moment, the bow-wielding, white-haired woman in hooded leather armor appeared again.
"It rolls off the tongue like a rather exotic and foreign name... but it also sounds a tad too feminine, perhaps." She noted thoughtfully.
"Traxex," Banehallow greeted with a nod. "Mirana has relieved you from your post, I take it?"
"Yes, and I'm here to get some rest before we start moving again. Although..." The ranger answered, before looking straight at the nameless man.
"I'm curious - does the name 'Shyvana' mean anything to you?" She inquired, as he looked up from his weapon. "I think I've heard of it before during my travels... but I just can't place where..."
"It might've meant something to me at some point," The nameless man paused to think for a long while, before his shoulders slumped. "No... no, it doesn't."
Strangely, he felt somewhat saddened at that fact. He thought that name was something important to him - something he should care to remember. And yet, his mind came up with nothing.
He was then suddenly shaken out of his contemplation when he found Banehallow's hand over his shoulder. "How about we jog those memories of yours with a sparring match?"
"Against you?" The nameless man inquired. "Do you intend to fight with a bayonet fixed on a gun?"
"Me? Ah, you wouldn't be fighting me." Banehallow said. "I'd snap you in two like a chicken-bone if I'm not careful - and that's just with my bare hands." He boasted, smirking as he did so.
He turned, gesturing at the man in the robes. "Abaddon, on the other hand, favors restraint and a careful approach to battle. He'll go easy on you, I'm sure-"
Without warning, Banehallow abruptly stopped talking as his form tensed up significantly, as if stirred by a powerful force.
"For High King Yaroslav!" A hoarse, menacing voice shouted from the direction of the woods, in an accent not unlike that of a Zaunite's. "Kill the traitorous pretender! Death to House Ambry!"
A look of pure, unbridled rage crossed Banehallow's face, and for a moment, the nameless man was struck frozen in anxious trepidation at the palpable amount of hate that was present in Von Ambry's expression. It was also then that the man finally noticed the abnormally sharpened fangs he possessed.
"Gadovi!" In fury and anguish, Banehallow cried out a foreign word as he faced the source of the voice. "Come out then, monarchist lap-dogs! Face me, I am not afraid!"
Before the nameless man could take full stock of the situation, he found himself spattered in a thick spray of blood. Recoiling in disgust, he swiped his face from the red fluids blinding him, and immediately came upon the sight of Banehallow kneeling on one knee, with a crossbow bolt speared through his gut, and another through his right shoulder.
A group of six men dressed in crude platemail armor and ragged animal furs emerged from the shadows of the trees, menacingly brandishing their arsenal of blades and crossbows as they charged forwards.
Slithice had no choice but to meekly weather out the unwavering assault of Nautilus' intimidating glare on her. She watched him lift a covered hand as if to strike her, but he merely made some of his hand signals.
The two of them heeded the Claddish king's request to report to him at his castle. At that moment, they stood inside Frederick XIV's opulently-decorated throne room, with His Majesty himself and his most trusted councilmen and courtiers seated in front them, watching them interact with one another tentatively.
He is not what I expected from a king, Nautilus articulated, expecting Slithice to be the only one inside the room to understand his hand signs. Perhaps we'd be taking his business from his chancellor, or his steward.
"Nonsense. You'd get my business directly from me," Before Slithice could answer, King Frederick stood up from his throne and started speaking. "The people of Cladd were like you, once. They doubted my ascension to the throne because of my youth - they believed me to be as every bit as spoiled and incompetent as my predecessor, if not more..."
Nautilus and Slithice kept silent as they watched the Claddish king walk forwards. He only stopped when he was within spitting distance of the Titan.
The displaced Champion looked down at Frederick, who couldn't even come up to half his height. He figured the king wasn't even sixteen years of age. The dark-haired, brown-eyed child-king wore a moderate amount of regalia, which included an ornate armill in each arm, a modestly-decorated crown, fine white gloves, a blue-and-gold ermine cape, and a gold signet ring. Even from a distance, Frederick exuded an aura of nobility, making him impossible to mistake for anything other than royalty.
Nautilus mentally shook his head; the amount of fineries he kept certainly helped in that department.
"Needless to say, those doubts are gone now after I've restored the kingdom from economic ruin and technological stagnation, as you might have read. I even started our efforts into colonizing the wild, uncharted lands to the east, and quadrupled our efforts into civilizing the existing colonies in the New World." The precocious boy-king of Cladd continued, thoroughly astounding the Titan into a deeper kind of silence.
"Already, our navy is the most formidable in all of Cyrillia, with legendary figures such as Grand Admiral Lord Tresham, Vice Admiral Howe, and Commodore Lord Newton in its glorious, most esteemed ranks. Soon, this great kingdom will evolve into an indomitable empire so vast, that the sun would never set on it!" Frederick grandly declared, his voice while somewhat higher in pitch, carried the weight of his entire realm with it.
"My domain will be a beacon of prestige and majesty... the toast of its allies and vassals, and an unceasing nightmare for its foes." He continued with his speech, not looking the slightest bit bothered by Nautilus' unchanging, rather apathetic stance. "Prosperous, benevolent, merciful and fair during peace, but relentless, cruel, vengeful and unrepentant at war."
"This very ground you stand on, Wellington, shall the seat of the Claddish Empire, my legacy to the world. I fully intend to carve it into the annals of history if I must. Never again shall we be found wanting, vulnerable from foreign threats. So Soul help me, by the time it takes me to leave the throne, demonic invasions shall be the least of our worries."
And with that said, the king finished his speech, looking only slightly bit winded. He stood straight, righted his crown, and refocused his sights on his present company again. "Now that that's settled, let us proceed with the current matter at hand..." He held up a hand, beckoning his steward behind him to come forward.
The steward, a thin, sickly-looking man in strangely-designed, multi-lensed spectacles ambled up towards his liege, with a rolled-up letter in his clutches. "Your majesty..." He muttered, as he handed over the letter to the king.
Slithice leaned over to Nautilus, just as the king struggled to tear off the red wax seal keeping the letter from being opened.
"Quite the character, isn't he?" She whispered to him. "Imagine if he's twenty years older... that would be quite the encounter we'd have."
Nautilus merely shifted on his feet and nodded, now aware that the Claddsmen also know about Bilgewatian sign language. Whispering back is out of the question, he figured, what with how even his indoor voice could be heard across the throne room.
"Ah, here we go." The king removed the seal and held open the letter for his two visitors to see. "Perhaps you've already heard of this predicament my realm has fallen under. No less than eight months ago, I authorized the naval expedition to a neighboring set of islands, led by none other than Admiral Tresham himself. Unfortunately, the flotilla he commanded should already have returned to us about six months ago, and this suspicious absence of such a popular figure as the admiral has caused some of my subjects to start protesting, necessitating the mobilization of local militias just to keep order in the realm. You've noticed the increased amount of patrolling soldiers around, have you not?" The king informed them of the situation thus far.
"Since you two are obviously equipped for sail- ehem, travelling... the oceans," Frederick gave Nautilus and Slithice a quick look-over. "It falls to me to request your assistance in tracking down my lost flotilla. I've already sent that renegade lycanthropic Slomite after the admiral's trail, but I shouldn't rely on him succeeding in his endeavor." He closed the letter, stuffing it in one of his pockets. "Of course, in exchange for services rendered, I'll be able to-"
"Your majesty!" A man in copper-red and faded gold military uniform barged into the throne room.
"We must prepare! Delegates from Empress Daemyra's court are coming!" The man's appearance, albeit somewhat ragged, suggested he was Frederick's war marshal.
The king's young eyes widened in shock. Nautilus turned to his side and found Slithice sporting the same expression. "Daemyra? Oh, it's that dreadful skywrath harpy again! What does she want now?"
While the marshal explained away to his liege, the Titan took the time to inquire about the situation to Slithice. I don't suppose you'd be so kind as to tell me what's going on right now, slithereen. He conveyed his words through sign language again, for convenience's sake.
Slithice was silent for a while, before she responded, "Empress Daemyra Aeryn is the current ruler of the Empyrean Dominion, a massive industrial and military empire hidden beneath the clouds. What's worrying is that lately, the Dominion's known for its expansionism and warmongering... not to mention the fact that the empress gained her position through courtroom intrigue and by disposing of her older sister, the true heir to the imperial throne."
The Siren shuddered at the thought, remembering that the same event she spoke of was the source of the creature known today as the Vengeful Spirit. Once known as Princess Shendelzare of House Aeryn, the former heir to the Empyrean throne was believed to have been assassinated on orders of her treasonous sister, only to resurface one day in the reluctant service of the Radiant Ancient. The precise details of how she came to be involved the conflict was yet to be discerned.
"I don't know what imperial delegates are doing here in Wellington, but I predict that things will be very busy here soon." The Siren's resolve to leave Cladd strengthened. She wanted no part in whatever business the skywrath and the Claddsmen might have in the coming days.
Nautilus haven't a choice but to take the Cyrillian native's words to heart. He was about to suggest departing from the city immediately, when the situation devolved into utter chaos.
A full platoon of Claddish Life Guard soldiers and Nightsilvian auxiliaries broke into the throne room through hidden entrances, all outfitted in battle gear and brandishing an arsenal of rifles, pistols, swords and bows. The king, who looked like he was about to protest the intrusion, was silenced when the room's main entrance also burst open.
Then in came the expected visitors. Nautilus silently whistled at the sight; this world he found himself in just kept finding even more ways to surprise him.
What could only be described as a cohort of winged creatures each resembling men with avian features quite literally fluttered into the room. Those of them who were very obviously diplomats were all very tastefully dressed in fashionable court garb, emphasizing their 'pretty' appearances. Those who appeared to be bodyguards were decked in well-decorated, black and orange ceremonial-styled plate armor.
Two of the birdfolk stood out from the rest. One of them, the red-eyed female head diplomat with bronzed feathers, sported a long red robe, an emerald-encrusted gold circlet on her head, and a blinding amount of gemstones and jewellery. The diplomat emanated an aura of affluence, elegance and beauty, but also of pompousness and deceit. Nautilus kept wary around this skywrath rose, for he was all but aware that it possessed its thorns.
The other was the blue-eyed, silvery-feathered bodyguard captain - a warmage who wielded a scepter of obvious sorcerous might, with an ornate officer's sword secured by straps to his hip. The captain was the only one of his kind who took to the negotiations in blue and gold lightplate armor, a sharp, visually striking contrast to the darker, heavier and more intimidating plates his comrades donned. Nautilus was most cautious around this one, however. Unlike the diplomat, the captain's thorns, or rather, his weapons, were quite obvious enough... and his repulsive scars meant that he knew perfectly well how to utilize them.
The imperial delegates approached the king and his guardsmen, seemingly undeterred by the amount of Claddish rifles and Nightsilvian arrows levelled over at them. The group halted at a short distance to Frederick, but the head diplomat dared to advance further up to the monarch, just within striking distance of a bayonet, or a sword.
"King Frederick the Fourteenth of the Claddish Kingdom, of House Blackwater. Formal elector of the High Kingdom of Candoness, the Margraviate of Hohenstaufen, and the Principality of the Nightsilvian Woods, claimant to the throne of the Isle of Songs, and heir to the Viceroyalty of Narkhali..." The Empyrean diplomat enumerated the Claddish king's numerous titles in a venomously alluring, sing-song tone-of-voice.
She smirked, a sight that could kill lesser men who beheld it. "...better known as the 'Blackwater Bastard' outside his realm. How have you been enjoying your tenure on the throne so far, little one?"
Frederick seemed familiar with the delegate, as he only appeared mildly annoyed rather than insulted. "Imperial Chancellor Ekaterina, Archduchess of Eirhaght." The young monarch greeted his company evenly. "Your husband's still a pain in the arse, I take it?"
Chancellor Ekaterina let out a single snort of a laugh. "Oh, but what could we expect to gain from political marriages except for a higher rung up the gilded ladder? The archduke is such a bland and uninteresting sort of person in and out of the bedroom, but it's truly... unfortunate, that he had just been recently blasted to bits by a dreadful assassin's black sorcery."
Frederick seemed to wince. "Ah, that's too bad. But since you don't seem to be bothered too much about your husband's death, I take it that you inherited his titles since he died without heirs..." He paused and looked up at the skywrath, directly at her orbs of pure scarlet. "...nor any surviving relatives. I find it strange that most of his kin died under suspicious circumstances."
Ekaterina smiled sweetly, a vision of honeyed venom. "You're not the only one who does, your majesty. But rest easy, you can count on the perpetrators being brought to justice very soon." She fluttered closer to the king and reached out with her hand, as if to touch his face. She had to stop when every Claddish Life Guardsman present pointed their guns on her head.
"It'd be stupid of us to assume that you only came here to have pleasantries with me. Let us proceed with Her Imperial Majesty's business, chancellor." With his arms folded over his chest, the boy-king spoke. "What does she want with Cladd?"
The chancellor kept smiling. She slowly reached out again, and this time, she did so very steadily and at a leisurely pace so as to not alert the soldiers. "Something you'd undoubtedly come to like, for the good of your kingdom."
Frederick reluctantly let the chancellor pat him on the head, like a mother would her child.
"A union of realms." She said, rather simply. "Yours... and hers. Either the peaceful way, or the skywrath way."
In an instant, faster than anyone could react, Traxex had nocked an arrow on her longbow, took careful aim over the advancing group of Slomite assassins, and let loose. The projectile briefly sailed through the air, before it planted itself on an unfortunate assassin's unprotected throat.
The downed assassin writhed in agony as he gasped and clawed at his throat. His comrades, however, all but ignored him as they kept up with their advance, screaming battle-cries as they did so.
The Drow Ranger saw the suspicious figures crouched under the thick foliage, but she reacted too little too late to prevent the three crossbowmen from jumping out of cover and unloading their bolts on Banehallow, who she saw go down with steel bolts sticking out of his body.
The sight of the Lycan in pain didn't bring Traxex relief like it did so in the past. Now, it only made her worried for an ally's safety. She nocked another arrow and had it encrusted with frost, while Abaddon charged into the fray, summoning his mistral blade as he did so.
One of the assassins summoned two wolf familiars to follow him as he charged in with his axe, intent on halving the wounded Lycan with a heavy-handed downward slice. Abaddon quickly responded by summoning the mists of Avernus to shield Banehallow from death, and the Drow Ranger quickly banished the familiars back to the void with her expert marksmanship.
Banehallow let Abaddon's aphotic shield absorb the coming blow then utilized the moment his foe spent retracting his blade to quickly stand up, deliver a crushing right hook to the man's ribcage, and as he reeled back in pain, discombobulate him by clapping his hands over his opponent's ears. The Lycan then proceeded to utterly demolish the disoriented man with one crushing strike after another. He drew more and more blood as he struck his opponent's battered face, only stopping when he delivered one final punch - one made and more devastating by the aphotic shield's detonation.
The assassin was sent flying back by the explosive punch, his body singed with spectral flame and his face utterly mangled beyond recognition. The Lycan was left with no time to celebrate his victory, however, when another crossbow bolt impaled one of his legs, forcing him down again. Moments later, before he could recover his stance, he was put down again by another bolt through his other leg. Traxex was in the process of taking an arrow from her quiver, and Abaddon had just finished running through one of the crossbowmen with his deathly cold blade.
One of the crossbowmen had just finished reloading his weapon, immediately putting the iron sights down on Banehallow on his knees. He would've fired the shot that reunited the last Ambry with his fallen House, when he found himself swatted aside by something heavy and sharp, throwing him to the ground on his hands and knees.
Traxex had finished re-arming her bow, and she would've been the one to avenge the Lycan's death. But the nameless man spared her the trouble after he finished off her target with a thrust from his segmented lance through the man's back. The last crossbowman drew his dagger and prepared to shank the vulnerable man from behind, but against expectations, the lance-wielding stranger anticipated the attack and stepped off to the side to avoid it, then counter-assaulted by using the sharpened handle of his lance to repeatedly impale the assassin's throat, splattering himself in red.
The last assassin watched as the last of her colleagues went down, gurgling and choking on his own blood. She dropped her twin blades and held up her hands, in apparent surrender.
"Do you yield?" Abaddon pointed the edge of his blade at the assassin.
"Secure her hands - I'll keep watch on her." Traxex never let their new captive leave her field of fire.
Banehallow, however, knew better. "Dammit, don't let her reach you!" He cried out through ragged breaths. "She has the wolf's blood! You'll be torn apart up close!"
The assassin suddenly froze on her tracks. "Jebi ga!" She then let out a harsh, ear-piercing howl as she started morphing into her wolf form.
Abaddon steadied himself - dealing with a Slomite lycan was always a grisly kind of business. Traxex, however, appeared to pale when faced with news of an enemy werewolf.
To the surprise of everyone who saw it, the nameless man suddenly leaped into the air with an incoherent battle-cry, his lance - now glowing a bright golden light - was positioned to impale the lycanthropic assassin through the chest.
Traxex, Abaddon and Banehallow were thoroughly shocked out of their wits when the lance made contact, and to their surprise, it missed the foe and struck the ground. Nonetheless, the nameless man hit the earth beneath him and his foe in a manner so powerful, so forceful, that an ear-shattering thunderclap was heard as he did so, and the ground shuddered and gave way around the affected area.
When the dust cleared, the three Heroes beheld the sight of the nameless man, tiredly leaning on his planted lance and standing over his vanquished foe's battered corpse. Most unusually, he was also surrounded by a raised circle of earth that appeared to resonate with fiery energies. A moment later, the raised earth crumbled back down.
With the fight concluded, the Lycan let out a sigh as he relaxed, propping himself up under the shade of a low-hanging tree. He kept himself as comfortable in his position as possible, as he figured he was slowly bleeding to death.
Traxex was the first to recall the Slomite's grievously-wounded state, and immediately rushed over to him in order to provide her assistance in any way she could. Abaddon followed her, but he didn't appear to be in a hurry. The nameless man stared off into the distant woods with glazed eyes and quivering hands, looking quite shellshocked.
"We must hurry, his time runs short." The ranger worriedly stated, but she kept calm. Turning around to face the Avernal Lord behind her shoulder, she ordered, "Abaddon, if you've got something you can do to stop the bleeding, do it now."
Abaddon briefly considered disobeying, as it was unusual for a blueblood to follow a commoner's instructions. His tutors even advised him to disregard the peasantry all together, for their concerns were almost always not worth the time for a lord of such a high standing as him.
Then again, he wasn't one to conform to his teachings as a child anyway. "I'll see what I can do, drow. Now stand aside."
The Drow Ranger immediately did as requested. "Keep watch on him, I'll get the healing salves from-"
"Προσοχή!"
Just then, Mirana and Sagan strode into view. With bloodied robes, disorderly hair and an almost depleted quiver strapped to her mount, the princess looked like she went through a warzone. Just as well, Sagan's claws, fur and fangs were caked in red fluids.
"Pack your damned things up, we're leaving this forest now!" She shouted in alarm as she arrived to the camp. The princess then promptly halted Sagan on his tracks when he saw the devastated state of her new surroundings, with the most striking sight being that of the unnamed newcomer, bloodied and standing still, looking ahead at the woods as if deeply disturbed by something he witnessed.
She was about to inquire anyone near about what transpired without her, when she learned the reason why nobody paid attention to her yet.
"Moon above..." She dismounted from Sagan, putting her bow away as she did so.
Banehallow shifted from his slumped position. "Princess," He croaked out. "You've been... busy. Heh, finally been pulling your weight around I see..."
"Be quiet." Abaddon was actively trying to stifle the Lycan's rampant bleeding by smothering his wounds with the healing mists of Avernus. "Rest. Don't talk."
Mirana moved over next to Abaddon. "This is not good, von Ambry. You're not in a condition to even walk, and as we talk, more of your friends are coming. Why didn't you tell us that you were being pursued?"
"I'm always being pursued," He responded, ignoring Abaddon's intensified glare. "How many were they - around a dozen?"
The princess shook her head. "Gods, I wish! We're being hounded by no less than a hundred Slomite assassins, with some of them being afflicted with the same condition as you. If we stand and try to fight them off, not everyone's going to survive."
Traxex appeared into sight again, her bow slung across her body and carrying a bag of salves. "I suggest we split ourselves into two groups, traverse the terrain further east while avoiding contact with the Slomites, then regroup at a hiding spot once we're in the clear."
Taking everyone's silent, urging looks at her for their approval, the Drow Ranger continued, "Abaddon will be in charge of the Lycan because he's a healer, and a third man will watch over them for danger. Two of us then will have to stay behind for a while to buy Abaddon's group a bit of time, then retreat before the Slomites overtake our position. Anyone willing to volunteer themselves to stay behind?"
"I volunteer," Everyone turned to look at the nameless, resolute-faced stranger, who firmly held his weapon pointed upwards like a proper soldier. "I'll hold them off as long as I'm alive, and you can depend on it."
The ranger took a while to nod, she took careful note of the man's still-unarmored state. "Thank you. Your plates are stored along with our supplies inside the camp, in case you've need of it. Anyone else?"
The princess stepped forwards. "Count Sagan and I in." She grinned. "But this'd better work. The lives of countless others lie with the success of this endeavor, need I remind everyone. Dying is not in our plans for today."
"This leaves me as Abaddon's watch." Traxex muttered to herself, before turning to her fellow Heroes. "Very good, everyone. We'll leave in less than a minute, so pack up and restock on supplies before we're forced to move out."
She stopped, hearing a tiny voice whispering words of pure honey to her - imploring her to take the mask up again while promising to provide her with the full extent of its maddening power. Shaking her head to clear it of any more demonic thoughts, Traxex returned the expectant looks the team was giving her.
"Well, what are we standing around here for? Come on, let's get on with it."
"Ah, so I see." Frederick put a gloved hand to his beardless chin. "It's a fine proposal, I must admit. Of course, the peaceful way meant that I must swear fealty to the empress as my liege lord, and the 'skywrath way' involves open war between Cladd and you Empyreans, does it not?"
"Well, you are right about the second part," Ekaterina nodded, smirking. "But the peaceful way doesn't have to involve depriving you of your independence. Her Imperial Majesty is being very generous to offer you her hand in a strictly political marriage. Your acceptance would mean that-"
Frederick seemed to look appalled at the offer. "Forgive me for interrupting, but I must refuse this 'generous' offer of yours. I intend to marry as my heart dictates, chancellor, and more importantly, I also intend to produce heirs. I don't believe our two races can interbreed."
"There's no way to suggest that you could not, either." Ekaterina said, a suggestive expression on her face. "Your union would be the first of its kind documented-"
"Allow me to finish," Frederick cut in again. "What's more, not only does Daemyra exceed my age thirty-four fold, but since I'm only human, she's also very likely to outlive me for several hundred years more. Without heirs to take up my crown and without any capable relatives of mine to hold my realm together, in accordance to the laws of the realm, my titles would be passed over to my next of kin," The king grimaced. "Which would be the empress, in this scenario."
For the first time, Ekaterina was beginning to look impatient. "You've grown a lot wiser the last time we've met, young king. But as I've said, we still have no idea if humans and skywrath could produce offspring. However, since we do have evidence to suggest that our races came from a common ancestor, there is hope that this union can work. All we need is your approval."
While the king stepped back to converse with his councilors as to the best course of action, Slithice knocked the side of Nautilus' armored arm to get his attention.
"We must be on our guard, landwalker." She told him in a low, whispered voice. "We might see conflict between the Claddsmen and the skywrath delegates soon."
And if that indeed happened, what should be our immediate course of action? The Titan inquired through signals. I could probably knock down one of the walls close to us - we can depart from there before we get involved.
"I think we should aid the king's men first before heading on with our path." Slithice suggested, to Nautilus' surprise. "It's only fair that we take Frederick's side - he's a good ruler, even if he's more than a little ambitious."
It's your call, Siren. But do remember, the more time we spend here, the less the marai have before extinction. Nautilus articulated, trying to stress the importance of their duty.
"Indeed," Slithice nodded. "Then we must be done as quickly as the tides shift."
Only a few moments later did the king reach an impasse with his advisors and all was already said and done. He walked back to the imperials with a look of uncommon valor on his young features.
"My mind is made up." He talked, with a tone of resignation. "I cannot accept Her Imperial Majesty's offer at this time, but we do appreciate the gesture. Perhaps we'd reach an agreement next time, when there's actually something beneficial to Cladd you'd be so gracious to bring into the table."
Ekaterina nodded with a smile so wide, it threatened to reach to her ears. "Ah, that's unfortunate."
In a movement so quick that not even her own men anticipated it, Ekaterina brought her palms forwards and unleashed the full extent of her sorcerous might against the two guardsmen standing on the king's flanks, incinerating them with twin streams of baleful fire.
"The skywrath way it is, then." She crooned, as the king staggered back in shock. "Men, we're taking the king back to the empress. Kill everyone who stands in our wa-"
The chancellor never did find the time to finish the rest of her sentence when the ceiling above her was blasted open. She was struck by a veritable tempest of magical flares from above, quite literally erasing her from this plane of existence.
Everyone present shielded their eyes from the sight, lest they go blind. In the chaos and confusion, the Empyrean guard captain took the opportunity to fly over to the Claddsmen's side of the room.
"No! I have had ENOUGH of this!" He cried out to his brethren, after murdering his charge. "If Daemyra wants more lands to conquer, then she can count me out of it! I've put up with the many lines she crossed during her reign, and she doesn't even bother to remember my name, NOR those who died under my command under HER orders!"
Frederick looked up at his new ally and smiled. "You chose the right side, warmage." He said, before refocusing his sights on the disordered ranks of the skywrath delegates. "Guardsmen, drive the imperials out of my city!"
The guardsmen were glad to oblige. "In His Majesty's name!" They took aim and opened fire.