(I received a PM from Adobe, and was more than happy to incorporate the idea into the story. If you have any suggestions, whether it be pairings or otherwise...by all means, PM them to me before the plot and pairings are set in stone. :) Any and all ideas are welcome, but probably not all will be used... sorry 'bout that. I still want it to be my story, ya know.)

Ch. 4: To Meet at Last

Once their conversation was complete, Nergal smiled softly to himself while chuckling lightly… with such a force on his side, what could stop him now but the promise that he himself had just made? Turning his head slightly after dispelling the orb of light that had transmitted his image to the Grado keep, he once again admired the majesty of the Dragon's Gate, even while it remained locked from the unreachable realm on the other side. He knew there were other dragons, however, and had seen them himself, roughly half a century ago. Upon thinking about Arcadia, his thoughts immediately turned from blissfully reminiscent to sour.

That had been his first meeting with Athos, the archsage. Both had cheated the debilitating plague known as old age and had discovered the path to unrivaled longevity, and each wished to learn more… for what was all of time, if one could not take advantage of what had been given to them? Why live life in utmost ignorance, when the potential for unlimited knowledge was at his fingertips? Having wandered what felt like years beneath the harsh Nabatan sun and the fiercely frigid desert nights, they had finally come upon what they never thought was possible… a village, where dragon and human lived together in harmony. It was there, within the beasts' library, that they found their fountain of knowledge… springs of information that would have never otherwise been discovered by human minds, as the dragons far surpassed the inferior intellect of the human psych. It was then that he discovered his lifeblood, which now sustained his life once again… quintessence.

Having sacrificed his body and quintessence to open the Dragon's Gate those few fateful years ago, he cared not to wonder just how or why he had returned from his grave. Either the gods somewhere favored him, or some god-forsaken saint was cursing him from afar to have filled his newly regained vision with painful mortality. Yes, Elimine must be mocking him somewhere, keeping that ever-constant, gentle smile on her face as she watched this 'wicked, wicked man' writhe in his misery. He had always hated that forsaken, blonde witch of a bishop, and had wished her dead from the moment his eyes had been filled with her illustrious light. She was luscious, indeed, and that made her all the more despicable, in his eyes; she had been a vile hypocrite, smiting the mighty dragons with the power of light she should not have been able to wield, had she followed her own teachings of nonviolence. The woman condoned murder, and yet committed it time and time again through the ages of the Scouring, covering her hands with blood of the most powerful beings alive… she considered the murder of all life forms to be vile, though dragons seemed to be the only exception to her rules. Though she had not been there to see the acquisition of his first strands of life, the weak threads that had been taken from a mere insect, he knew she would have been disgusted to see him go so against the teachings she held so dear.

He could just hear Athos's voice, too, hoarsely chastising him from wherever he now lay. He had no idea that the famed Living Legend had ceased to be, with his corpse being buried in a land far from the Gate he now stood in, nor did he care. All he was concerned with now was this… blasted mortality. He hadn't felt this truly vulnerable since Elbert had driven the dagger through his abdomen, which had left him bound to his bed until his faithful creations had returned to him with the energy he required to sustain his ill-gained longevity and power.

The level of quintessence within his body was running dangerously low… and yet only several thoughts elicited attention in his mind. Morphs… they were what he needed to regain his strength; however, he would need an adequate source of energy before he could even begin to consider the recreation of his perfect morph, Limstella. Ah, how he missed her… she was a daughter to him, albeit a nonliving one. It was as close as he was going to get to recreating his past… his son, his daughter, and now the two morphs that made poor emulations of the soul-filled children that once shared his genetics. He never bothered with the creation of a wife, however… for some reason, it just didn't seem right to recreate love in such a fashion, even though children were not beyond his moral limits. And so, he had placed his thoughts on his former daughter, and how he might dote upon her once she reawakened from her eternal slumber.

Yes, she had been a marvel to behold, that morph… a pale beauty, with cascades of ebony hair coursing down in waves down her back as her golden eyes seemed to always stare emotionlessly into the soul of another. He had dressed her elegantly, with her fine, long sleeved white shirt of silk underlying an ebony dress that reached up to her neck. The fine embroidery of the gold-spun string made her all the more extravagant in all her soulless glory, and yet the outfit did not restrain her movement too much in combat. Her constantly calm, obedient, and quiet nature made her the perfect servant; she was a woman who would never argue against her master, fight back against him, and was a specimen that would give her life without question for him. Her might had been unparalleled by any other magician in all of Elibe, and her morph 'brother' had been no exception to this rule. He gave her life, and she had been more than willing to give her everything to see him pleased. He had placed a part of his soul into the creation of his two marvelous creations, Limstella and Ephidel… and yet, neither had survived the cataclysmic clash with the Elibean soldiers those twenty years ago. Though he had no knowledge of the time that had elapsed, his view of the now cobweb-covered stones of the Gate's floor bore witness to its solitude.

A mere twitch of a muscle was all that was needed to catch his eye as one of the nomads that had died upon the isle had revived, pulling herself up slightly before, realizing whose company she was in, had hastily flopped back onto the ground. The gesture was more than enough to awaken the thirst for life within the blackhearted druid, and immediately his hand outstretched towards the former warrior. Rushing forward with speed that belied his stature and old age, the man was upon the nomad before the Sacaean bowman could so much as budge. Placing a hand to the woman's thin neck, a maniacal glow filled Nergal's hungry eyes as he began to strangle the green-haired woman where she lay.

Trying to get away with the best of her ability from the sheer amount of pressure that threatened to collapse her windpipe, the Qu'tol tribesman could feel the very life drain from her as the oxygen left her lungs. Nergal's thin, clawlike hands grasped at her neck as if there was nothing more important than throttling the woman's throat, with his strength seeming to be fueled by desperation and need. A strange, emerald glow enveloped the girl's vision for a quick moment before the pain began wracking her body in earnest; tremors overtook her from the sheer agony as she could feel something in her heart simply tear away, with only one strangled cry of pure suffering tearing from her held throat before the Sacaean lay still. The remnants of foaming saliva gathered at the corner of her lips, and her chocolate eyes had rolled backwards from the trauma while the eyelids themselves remained eerily open.

Getting up, Nergal made do with tossing the still-warm corpse aside before marveling at his work, caring not how rigor mortis treated the woman's frail flesh. Her quintessence had been wonderful, however, which led him to wonder how he missed such a promising feast that had lain within his grasp. Weaving several threads of the opaque green light known to the dragons as quintessence around his fingers, he admired the elegance of the energy; the woman' life, this was, coiling around his hand… a life that had been pledged to the Fang, which now fueled his own. Breathing in deeply as he allowed the energy to circulate through his body, he smiled and opened his eyes before motioning to a figure that stood vigil in the back of the room. Though the corpse had been reanimated in the forests of the Isle, none of his morphs had returned from the dead… for they were never truly alive to begin with.

"Come to me." He barked, pleased when the red-headed figure gingerly stepped forward before kneeling deeply before him. The figure's brown cloak drifted down, caressing the stone floor with its soft edges as it hung from its wearer's shoulders. Her hair, which appeared a dark crimson in the shadow, was short, but nonetheless covered her facial features from him as he stared at her, immediately remembering who she was. Simultaneously recalling her area of origin, he inwardly sneered for a minute. He could tell that this girl who appeared no more than twenty did not altogether trust him… or rather, did not trust him at all… but he did not care. Not even waiting a moment to let his newfound servant speak, he reached out his right hand and cast out some of his valued quintessence towards her.

The woman was taken aback as the strings took their hold on her body, wrapping around her in an emerald embrace as the strands of energy grasped her neck, arms and legs in almost binding fashion. However, this quickly dissipated, becoming absorbed into her body as Nergal quickly clenched closed his outstretched hand. He heard her gasp from the sudden acquisition of energy, with the woman clutching her chest as she struggled to hold the sudden wave of new energy within her under control. She fought to keep herself from collapsing onto the stone floor, maintaining her kneeling position before him, but unable to move from that spot unless she wished to threaten her sense of balance. The newfound power left her lightheaded, but seemingly added nothing to her fighting prowess. Though confused, she kept silent until curiosity bade her speak.

"…What have you done to me?" Refusing to address him with any title, as she felt he did not deserve one, she let her slightly quaking voice pass through her lips as she struggled to form a coherent question. The shock of feeling another life force within her own, especially when she had been without one for the better half of two decades was overwhelming, and she did nothing to hide her discomfort. Her body had erupted in shudders, with her shoulders visibly shaking from the energy that now enveloped her senses. Entertained but refusing to let her see that, lest she knew how to use that power against him (he had not considered the fact that she had never read from Arcadia's ancient texts, as he had), Nergal spoke, keeping his tone calm and emotionless.

"It is to assure your loyalty. While my quintessence runs through your veins, you carry with you my eyes, ears, and hands. You are to gather adequate quintessence from other sources, former traitor. You may travel as my morphs once did… providing that your loyalty shall never falter. You have two weeks to gather ten measures of quintessence… roughly the amount we received from Elbert. Oh, wait…" He said, pausing before moving closer to the girl, watching her grow nervous at his approach. She had only hinted at this with her emotions, not letting her body betray her feelings… but he, having lived for so long and having felt these waves emanating off of others for so long, could sense nervousness, anxiety, and fear as easily as he could end the said victim's lives.

"You never did see that, did you? How Elbert writhed on the very floor you stand on, simply embroiled in his own personal purgatory of pain." He smiled at her, and watched her visibly flinch before him. He knew that she didn't wish to show him any sort of emotion or weakness, and that made her moment of vulnerability that much more enjoyable for him. It was a slap to the face against her country of origin, he thought, and it would have to suffice… for he had not the strength to combat the powerful nation alone. "Well, nevertheless, those are your orders, on pain of death. Once, you were Ephidel's toy… and now, you are a degraded slave. Complete your mission, or return to rot in the earth, wench."

"…I care not for death. I shall take my leave." The teenage girl muttered bitterly in a servile fashion, getting up once her lightheadedness had left her. Moving towards the entrance of the Gate, she closed her eyes, allowing the energy that coursed through her body to envelop her in a cocoon of crimson light as if, despite it being her first time doing so, it was second nature to her. As her form lifted into the sky and scattered into the breeze, she thought only of one place that she wished to be, more than any other…a place she had never gotten to visit before her death, and had regretted that she had never done so before.

It was less than a second before her form rematerialized in a small village in Ostia, which now lay in nothing but desolate ruin. Buildings were torn down, and those that remained intact bore the cruel scars of a ruthless blaze that had swept through and engulfed the now skeletal building frames. Pens that once held animals had been torn apart, and the hoof prints left by escaping or stolen horses were all but invisible now. She gasped, her eyes widening at the sight of one thing…As she had moved forward, she noticed the marble slab that lay beneath her feet… beneath her lay the grave of a certain, charismatic Ostian thief; the one who had stolen her heart, never returning it to its owner until just before she took the mission that stole away her life. His grave had been looted recently, it seemed, as the dirt before it was roughly overturned and the contents of the coffin eerily empty.

Falling to her knees, the other thief could do nothing but weep bitterly at the headstone of her love, letting the tears fall freely from her crimson eyes for the first time in her life. She had fulfilled half of her promise, but had never had the chance to speak to the parents of the man she held so dear…nor did she ever have the chance to tell him the words that regret had haunted her with for so long.

--

Nergal, having watched her leave, found that he had nothing to accomplish by simply staying here, waiting for some response from the ruler of Grado… he could leave this place, his own dominion, if he wished. However, he noted, he would also have much to gain by staying near this Gate, considering its rather infamous reputation… it would keep potentially dangerous armies at bay while allowing him to wait for the girl to return. There was also the fact that there was a slim possibility that the Gate could be reopened… if he could find another naive mamkute to fool.

What he had gained in patience over the years was severely off-balanced by his anxiety and the anticipation for what was at hand… the chance for his ultimate revenge, his tyrannical acquisition of power, and the toppling of the peace between humans and dragons that Athos so treasured.

Channeling a good portion of his remaining power to his body, he recalled the selected region that had been on the map that the Demon King had passed to him before allowing the energy to envelop his body. Feeling the familiar waves of warmth surround him before closing in on his body, he placed the coordinates first and foremost into his mind before, in a flash, he was gone… and had reanimated outside the gates of Grado Keep. Shaking off the warm, fuzzy aftereffects of the teleportation, he allowed himself to take in the geographical surroundings of the castle before smirking to himself as he ran his plan through his mind.

He had no true intention of fulfilling his end of the bargain until he was assured that the land of Elibe could come under his control with the quintessence of dragons, but there was no need to tell the Demon King that. After all, why sour a relationship that would gain him so much in the long run? The Demon King had power that was monumental, he knew, and the strange book that the youth held was now a new object of curiosity. It had been a volume he had never seen before, not surprisingly, and seemed to depict the images of stones. Could these, perhaps, be used to channel magic? He was most anxious to know, for a potential catalyst for magic was always helpful to have at hand.

Hearing a loud, piercing screech of a wyvern species that he had never seen before, Nergal looked inquisitively to the sky before arching an inquisitive brow. His reaction was a mix of confusion, curiosity, and pity as he spied the rider atop it as they took off towards the West. The Moonstone, Valter, had only just returned, and already had to leave the palace on yet another seemingly frivolous mission. However, for him, any mission that included bloodshed was a mission worthy of his lance.

The poor beast has lost its front legs, Nergal thought, peering at the empty expanse of smooth skin where the front legs of a wyvern should have been. Truly a pitiful existence. And what of its strange, elongated front teeth? Surely one cannot expect a beast to attack, let alone eat with teeth such as those. And why does it not have the tough, armor-like scales of its cousins? Why is its tail so thin, so that it may not strike its foes with it? Its back legs barely look to have claws upon them, either! Surely it must be able to defend itself somehow… Have the great dragons degenerated so much as to produce a creature incapable of living without human care?

Deciding not to think on it now, the dark druid made his way inside, guided by the strange, one-eyed behemoths that guarded the gate with their massive bulk and excessively large axes. Pock marks lined the muscular arms and legs of the beasts, which shamed trees in their thickness and density as they used the muscle to hold up their immensely tall and thick bodies. Though not morbidly obese, the creatures were solid, carrying more muscle on their bodies than their swollen bellies made them out to have. The said beasts of myth and lore had grunted at him before motioning him to enter with a large sweep of their hands, each of which were easily the size of his chest. His head could have been within their hands by now, he noticed, and had decided that it was for the best to follow them; for the sake of his meeting with Lyon, as well as for his own relative safety. Without the quintessence he needed, he was like a normal human… frail, killable, and frighteningly mortal.

Lyon, having known him to visit, had dismissed the normally posted guards in favor of larger, stronger guards; if this man was malicious, normal soldiers would barely be able to hurt him, but cyclopses were not easily felled. Their bestial appearance was enough to drive most men into cowering from fear, and, though he did not want the dark druid to necessarily fear him, a healthy respect was mandatory.

Descending down the stone labyrinth that lay beneath the noses of the (normally present) castle guard, Nergal continued with his escorts, who had paused before the door to Riev's barrier. Bellowing loudly, the cyclopses were greeted with the opening of the door, allowing the plague of Elibe to enter into the jaws of Magvel's blight.

Things were going to be interesting…

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Rushing quickly from the deserts of Jehanna to Frelia despite their knowledge of the Grado army's whereabouts, Eirika and Ephraim's army had proceeded to rudely ignore any mercenary groups that had challenged them in favor of pressing on towards Renais's close ally. Both Innes and Tana were anxious as to the fate of their father, with Moulder, Vanessa, Syrene, and Gilliam sharing the same fear for their lord (Though Gilliam didn't bother to show his emotional status to them, the others knew him well enough to know that he, too, was worried for Hayden.). Luckily, the Republic of Carcino was far more receptive this time around, allowing the army to have free passage through their lands as an attempt at apologizing for their earlier hostility.

Upon arriving at Border Mulan, however, the group was immediately forced to a standstill at Tana's report of their surroundings. They were not alone… and clearly outnumbered by the force that now resided at the fort that lay just a few miles from the Frelian capital. Almost driven to tears from the mere sight of the mass that had accumulated there, it was up to Vanessa's statistical report to relay the numerical figures to the lords. Forced to find a place to hide, they made do with staying within Renais's mountainous borderline with Frelia, where there they met to discuss possible scenarios for several hours while they anxiously awaited the knight's return. Many of the army members camped a small ways away from the strange wyvern corpse that had fallen into the ridge that they stayed at, whose scaly hide was emblazoned with a crest on its saddle that no one recognized.

It seemed for a while that nothing was capable catching Innes's attention from where he had been conversing with Eirika and Ephraim… or rather, had been 'comforted' by the twins of Renais. Being far too prideful and much too stubborn to accept any such condolences from a rival or a startlingly beautiful woman, he had made do with creating battalion tactics with their available units, trying to create as many ways to use their numbers to their advantage while keeping their casualties to a minimum. It was as if he was a madman now, poring over his maps of the area while seemingly trying to calculate possible points of vulnerability and strength within the enemy armies… even though he was trying ten times harder to simply get his mind off the foreign princess. Not the Rausten princess, of course, since she was far more concerned about righteous duty and her appearances than her uncanny ability to scare anyone from her presence… but rather, it was the fare dame of Renais that had captured his fancy, and he certainly felt a bit guilty for that.

He had found that to be a problem, as of late… whenever he had been confronted by Princess Eirika, he could never help but find himself flustered; a weakness he would rather not have in the presence of an old friend. As such, he was left with one of two decisions; either he would live with this strange reaction and allow himself to see her, or avoid her at all costs while simultaneously ignoring this said frivolity. Of course, he had chosen the second, given the current and rather traumatic experience that had occurred in the deserts of Jehanna; even a few days later and after receiving the aid of healers, he could still see the finger-shaped bruises from where the monster's hands grasped her wrists… and, to make matters worse, there seemed to be a silver sigil of a lance burned into the base of her neck, which was now hidden by her red shirt collar. He had only come to see this when she had first been rescued, and had taken her from Seth's grasp to relieve the exhausted knight of his load to make traveling to the healers that much faster. Her head had tilted backwards, giving her a full view of her voluptuous neck, with the marvelous sight interrupted only by that startling silver lance.

Where had it come from? Innes thought for a moment, allowing his concentration to drift for a moment on the sight that had plagued his dreams for the past few nights. Surely she wouldn't have hidden it from her brother or her knight, as she always shared her pains or ailments with them if she knew it would cease their worrying… but neither of them seemed to have taken notice to the strange wound that time and magic would not heal, focusing instead on the marks that the Moonstone had left on her flesh. Even stranger was how, even though she slept in the same tent with her lord brother at night, he did not notice how the spear eerily glowed a soft light from a patch of skin that should never have been able to produce the shade of the metal it resembled in the first place.

Slapping himself on the forehead as he growled slightly in frustration, Innes returned to his work, cursing himself for letting his mind wander and conjure up such… impure thoughts. Perhaps L'Arachel was beginning to rub off on him, after all, considering that lust or wanting for another was an impurity of the worst sort, unless someone was infatuated with her. However, even then, love and need were always mysterious things… never abiding by rules, never staying within boundaries, and quite frankly not caring as to whether or not it was considered righteous or not.

"Cad! Beast! Pervert!Devil!" And, not surprisingly, L'Arachel's said shrieks of fright and her yell of surprise easily told everyone around that someone had misinterpreted something important or sacred in her presence. Quickly recalling that Dozla, Rennac, and Ephraim were the only ones who would touch her with a league-long spear, and deducing that the former two would do nothing to spark such frivolous cries of shock, Innes let a small sigh escape from his lips as he thought of what Ephraim could have possibly done to rile up the she-devil. She certainly wasn't hard on the eyes, and the low-cut front of her corset didn't help matters, but the façade of a brilliant and flawless nymph of myth shattered the moment she opened her mouth to speak. It was no wonder her uncle let her run off… it probably staved the pains of a possible headache or two for the poor man.

"Prince Innes!" A familiar voice immediately made his head snap up to attention as he looked to the sky, pleased to see his emerald-haired pegasus knight returning from her scouting endeavor. What confused him as she descended, however, was that someone appeared to be following her… a slightly different species of pegasus, discernable by the slightly smaller stature of the animal, flew dutifully behind her as the orchid-haired rider commanded her winged steed with utmost mastery. Running over to meet them, he noted that the girl behind Vanessa had squeaked, almost instinctively pulling away before forcing herself and Makar to the earth. The fierce look in Innes's eyes reminded the girl much of Hector's gaze of anger when he faced a foe, making her uneasy; however, duty outweighed fear as she gingerly cleared her throat, gathered her courage, and began to speak.

"S-sir Innes… my name is Florina, wife of the Marquess Ostia." Even now, the title sounded strange on her tongue, but she ignored it for the most part, choosing instead to continue on. "I… I hail from the continent across the sea, from… from one of the provinces making up the Lycian League." Her tone was as strong as she could muster, but even the totality of her courage could not stave the stuttering that ensued from his predatory glare.

"Well met, Dame Florina… I am Innes, Prince of Frelia." Innes answered, albeit a bit suspiciously. Never before had he seen a member of royalty ever refuse to flaunt their power, with the exception of the new Carcino panel of executives; they did not hold much prestige yet, but knew they were to evolve to become as disrespectful and as arrogant as the princess of Rausten. Then again, he had never seen this new country yet, either, save for what Tana and Neimi had seen over the horizon. Vanessa, standing patiently to the side, awaited them to finish their short introduction before speaking.

"Milord, this is the group that we have seen in Border Mulan; the Lycian Army. According to Lieutenant Khris of the Third Wing's report, they had arrived after the capture of Castle Frelia, and have confirmed the identity of the attackers with the help of this foreign army. Apparently they have liberated the castle and had driven out the intruders, but only Khris seemed to have witnessed this feat; none of the other knights even recall there being a struggle for the kingdom's salvation. One of the army's members swore on their honor and another on their blood that they told no lies, but we should continue to investigate into this matter…" Immediately silenced by a slight gesture of Innes's hand, Vanessa awaited her liege to speak. However, it was not he who spoke, but rather his rival, the Prince of Renais.

"What choice to we have, Innes? I see no alternative but to trust them… I doubt they would not speak the truth." Ephraim said simply, not even bothering to blink when Innes fixed a rather disapproving scowl towards him.

"And if they lie? Shall we be surrounded by an enemy force that could have possibly taken down my father's kingdom in the first place? You are a naïve fool, Ephraim." Striving at this point to keep his voice calm and controlled, Innes nevertheless could not help but growl this last statement. He was bitter, angry, and confused at the reason for the attack on Frelia, but could immediately pin it on foreign forces who had wished to obtain portions of this new land.

"I do not believe this lass to be capable of a lie… she looks unlike the type to fall back on deceit and espionage." The azure-haired lord spoke, shaking his head slightly as he answered. The man so reminded her of Eliwood, Florina realized; though as to why, she could not place it. This 'Innes' reminded her of her own husband… so distrusting, easy to fire up, and with quite the caustic tongue.

"I... I have not lied, Sir Innes. P-please… look at this." Holding out the crest of Bern, she then pointed a frail, gloved hand to where the wyvern corpse lay frozen by rigor mortis in the mountain. Indeed, the emblazoned crest matched exactly to that of the corpse, leaving Innes to look at her skeptically. Of course, being in her nature, she flinched slightly at this look, for it was filled with distrust, suspicion, and masculinity; three things she would have preferred him to be without.

"Who rides with you, Dame Florina? And who has attacked my kingdom?"

"…I ride with my husband, Marquess Ostia, Eliwood, known as Marquess Pherae, and Lyndis, the abdicator of the throne of Caelin. All three of them ride forth from the Lycian Alliance, and all wish to join arms to defeat a common foe." Fueled by defiance against his suspicion and skepticism, she scarcely noticed that she had lost both her fear and stutter as she spoke to him. Now using her political power as a sort of bolstering tool, she stood up straight and looked almost like Serra told her to… only, she couldn't quite imagine that Innes was an insect (The thought of seeing any sort of human as a miniscule arthropod never quite worked in her mindset, anyway.).

"Prince Innes of the kingdom of Frelia, the man we seek, the monarch Zephiel of Bern, is the commander of the army that struck your kingdom. Let us fight, side by side, and thus ensure victory against a common enemy." Holding out her hand to shake, she paused, realizing how audacious her speech must have sounded in the ears of monarchy. Almost shrinking back and beginning to apologize, her eyes caught for a moment an entertained smirk from the Frelian Prince. Having been quite entertained by the shy knight's sudden boldness, Innes thrust out his hand to catch hers, surprising the young woman by shaking her hand with a grip famed in the ranks of the Frelian archers. Pretending not to notice as she winced momentarily in pain, as even Ephraim could barely stand his crushing grip, he was surprised to see her return it with as much strength as he could muster.

"Well met, Florina of Ostia… well met." And thus, with a simple shake of a hand, an invaluable bond was created between the two continents... and created a possible spark of hope within their ranks. Perhaps, with the help of another, peace could be attained between two ill-fated lands…