Author Note: Lots of strange stuff been going on with the site of late it seems. My forum tab has disappeared from my profile, and it seems to be a universal affliction. I've posted a link to the forums at the bottom of my profile for the time being, and I welcome any input you might choose to give me on any of a wide variety of topics. Well, anyway, the intro arc is over, most the characters have been introduced, so now its time to get to know them better, as our two factions go through that whole, awkward "new roommate" process and adjust to each other. I plan to have a lot of fun with this arc, which will be eight chapters long, starting with this one, Your House, My Fortress. Then Your Gardens, My Pastures; Your Misfits, my Comrades; Your Spies, My Playmates; Your Crusaders, My Troublemakers; Your Justice, My Abuse; Your Training, My Bloodsport; and finally Your Daemons, My Hollows. The first 4 will be Crusader centric viewpoints, the latter 4 Shinigami centric. Translators will appear in "Your Training..." chapter, so until then, the usual "Normal" for Shinigami, "Bold" for Crusaders and "Underline" for common translation will hold true, at least in scenes where mixed conversations are taking place.

xxxx

Soul Society, Sereitei, Fifth Division Headquarters (Unused), January 13th, 3:00 pm

"What kind of headquarters is this?" Alyster commented with dismay, staring around the section of walled off city that their delegation had been apparently allocated for living space. It was quite spacious and looked very well kept, the paved courtyards swept, the gardens pruned and well watered, the groves of trees and beds of flowers laid out with artful grace and precision, the buildings were freshly painted or washed, the wood and paper panels showing no signs of rot and blemishes. Some effort had obviously been made recently, on the sly, to spruce the place up, but the aesthetics of the place weren't the Duke of Order's concern! Who cared how pretty the place was when it was obviously all but defenseless! The outer walls were barely ten feet high and didn't have any ramparts, palisades or even attached walkways for sentries to stand upon! There were dozens of small, mostly unsecured gates penetrating the perimeter wall, in addition to the large front gates, which lacked any form of gatehouse or other fortifications! There didn't appear to be any deep wells or sources of water other than ornamental ponds which would barely last a week in case of a seige, and there didn't appear to be any centrally defended vault for provisions at all! "How do these people sleep at night without being murdered in their beds? This place wouldn't last ten days if a major enemy force came knocking. Hell, it might not even last ten hours!"

"Well, they are inside a larger fortress's defensive works." Kinkaid pointed out with a frown, as he too cast critical eyes over the nonexistent defensive fortifications of their allocated quarters. If it weren't for the fact that he had seen several other divisional quarters, and they were all as vulnerable and defenseless as this one, he might have thought their hosts were trying to set them up for treachery of some sort. He wouldn't keep pigs in a place this unsecure, much less bed down there himself! Was this foreign land truly that peaceful, that they didn't even bother to set up basic defensive fortifications at their military unit headquarters? It boggled the mind. "But I concur, this simply won't do. It won't do at all." He cast a frosty gaze along the groups of lounging Crusaders who had been escorted here prior to their arrival, causing many of them, regardless of Squadron, to stiffen to attention and regard him attentively. "What are you all standing around like gentles at a town fair for? Have you all gone soft in the head? MAKE CAMP AND MAKE IT FAST! WE ARE STILL IN HOSTILE TERRITORY UNTIL I SAY OTHERWISE AND I WILL NOT TOLERATE SLACKERS!" Kinkaid hollered the last sentences loud enough to make the closest Crusaders flinch.

"What the heck are they yelling about?" Kiyone Kotetsu, joint 3rd seat of 13th Division, complained, covering her ears with her white gloved hands as she looked with annoyance at the grey haired, cold eyed, lanky giant of a foreigner. She was answered a second later when the gathered Crusaders began breaking into small parties and running to their parked supply wagons, uncarting bundles of tools, rope, canvas bags and other, less identifiable things. There was a lot of hubbub and chaos, all gibberish to her ears, but at the same time they were clearly all moving with purpose, in a definite pattern made easy through long familiarity and constant repetition. She and the other Shinigami officers escorting the Princess and her aides towards the Captain's quarters paused a moment to watch with bemusement that rapidly turned to shock and mild horror, as the Crusader work teams inexplicably began attack the courtyard and gardens with picks and shovels and pry bars with great gusto, tearing up the ground as they began digging trenches and carting away the dirt in huge piles. "WHAT THE HELL ARE THEY DOING?" Kiyone screamed, having just spent some considerable effort of her own supervising the extra cleanup of the 5th Division quarters in preparation for the Crusader's arrival.

"Damn, she's a noisy one." Mal commented irritably, cupping his own ears as he leaned away from the blond haired girl. "She looks like she's never seen anyone set up a war camp before. What kind of utopia is this place, where they not only don't put up defensive fortifications around military outposts, but don't even seem familiar with the mere CONCEPT of doing so?"

"Well, just look around you, man. They make their building doors out of paper and wooden struts." Vladimo pointed out, watching as a unit of disgruntled Crusaders from his squadron went to scavenge some wood from some outbuildings, only to find that most of it was too flimsy for use as anything other than kindling. "It's obvious that this city has never suffered a major invasion or seige. This entire place is a tinderbox waiting to ignite with just a single volley of fire arrows." He shook his head in despair. "Well, there go my hopes of actually finding anyone strong to fight with here. What kind of strength could come from living in such luxury? Fruitcake must be all bark, because anyone with bite wouldn't dare live in such a weak castle. That's disappointing."

"... Madame Princess, what exactly are your people doing to our grounds? Have we done something to offend you somehow?" Ukitake asked, through Vice-Captain Sasukabe, as both Shinigami watched with confusion and some little worry as the Crusader work teams made rapid progress in digging a ten foot deep, ten foot wide trench in close proximity to the inside edge of the outer wall that borded all Divisional spaces. The excavated dirt was then piled up on the courtyard side edge of this trench, forming a heavily packed berm of dirt and stones about ten feet tall and wide. Other teams were working with fire magic of some sort to bake the dirt wall and trench so that it became as hard and solid as fired clay, even as others were removing bundles of sharpened wooden stakes, which were rammed into the sides of the palisade and the trench floor so that both surfaces bristled with wicked looking spikes. More sturdy wooden beams were being erected into an additional five foot high wall protruding from the top of the dirt palisade, and yet more beams were being used to construct some sort of rasied platforms or open sided towers at the main corners of the courtyard.

"Hm? No... I don't know what you me... oh, you mean the setting up of our nightly camp? I apologize for the crudity of their efforts, but you don't seem to have any ready supplies of heavy stone or other, more suitable materials for fortress building, so I'm afraid dirt and wood will have to do for the time being. I'm sure it will become more clean cut and secure as time goes on, especially if we are to stay here for any extended length of time." Lacus cocked her head questioningly, though she privately concurred with her subordinates in the thought that these Shinigami obviously lived in a paradise world of some sort, if they were so confused by the sight of simple defensive precautions on a dedicated military site. She sighed inside with envy... if only the Imperium could be blessed with such peace, how much more she would enjoy life there. She considered ordering the fortifications stopped, out of courtesy for their bemused hosts, but truth be told, she didn't have the energy for the ensuing battle of wills with the Dukes and her cousin right now, she was already more than tired enough from releasing her Arma earlier, and the stress of the diplomatic negotiations that followed. She just wanted a quiet room to sit and have a goblet of mildly spiced wine in for a few hours before she dealt with any more of the inevitable politics to come.

"This is normal behavior for your people?" Ukitake asked, to confirm, though he could sense from her posture and tone of voice that she was either confused or even bothered by his questions, as he might be if she were to confront him about an utterly unremarkable daily occurence of some sort.

"Yes, this is how we make camp every night when traveling. Is it not common sense to have a strongly fortified encampment to defend if you are attacked during the night? Especially with such a small unit as ours? Were even a moderate enemy force to happen across our camp, our only chance for victory would lie in the strength of our fortifications, yes? Pay them no mind, they will be done in a few hours. I apologize, but I'm feeling a little light headed. Could you show me to a place where I could sit down? It's been a long day already and I fear the night's rest will be elusive..." Lacus answered, adding an apologetic smile that felt like her lips were made of lead. She'd never had the strongest of constitutions, and her mind was aboil with all that she'd learned today. She needed to think it over in a relaxed environment for a while, get her head on straight, because her interactions with these people could very well be the most important things she ever accomplished in her extremely long existence, especially if she could eventually negotiate some sort of peace treaty or even a military alliance with these Shinigami. They plainly had troops to spare, and any assistance would be greatly appreciated in the lfiting of several seiges that had been running for several centuries now...

"Of course, my apologies, you must be very tired after such a long journey and then the meeting on top of it all." Ukitake smiled kindly and bowed them forward, thrusting the matter of the fortification work from his mind for the time being, though he would definitely bring it up to Sir Genryusai and the other Captains as soon as he was done helping the Princess settle in. He had a few other things to mull over as well, such as the Princess's comment on the "small" size of her several hundred strong contingent of escorts, a deployment of force larger than anything in Soul Society save a full on Divisional deployment, which hadn't happened in almost a millenium now! And though he tried not to consider it, he could not help but wonder at the actual strength of these people, if they needed to rely on such fortifications to defend themselves against attacks. Maybe they weren't as much of a threat as some had initially thought, if they needed to prepare their battlefields in order to emerge victorious. The sounds of Kiyone's protests from within the seperate officer's quarters building, shrill even to his long suffering ears, prompted him to quicken his pace to see what his well meaning but often troublesome joint 3rd seat was involved in now.

Upon investigating, the Princess still at his elbow, several attendants walking closely behind her with no apparent duty other than bundling up her enormous waterfall of crimson hair in order that she be allowed to move freely without tripping over it or stepping on it every other stride, Ukitake wasn't sure whether he should frown or hide a chuckle behind his sleeve. Kiyone was pursuing the large Duke who wore blue and red with the flamoyant black broad brimmed hat, which had even more brightly colored feathers stuck through the band, somewhat like 5th seat Aysegawa from the 11th, but even larger and more colorful, if that was possible, and on the hat, not the eyebrows obviously. The man was apparently making himself very much at home in the Vice Captain's quarters, Hinamori's old rooms, ordering lackies armored in more blue and crimson to deposit chests and coffers packed with clothing or other domestic items, as well as brightly colored pillows, sheets and thick fur blankets at random places around the room, while others worked at constructing the metal framework of some sort of folding bed of ridiculous size from a pile of disassembled parts.

However, the big Duke, Vladimo, Ukitake thought his name was, was inadvertantly causing a lot of damage to the room as he walked around and inspected things, obviously unfamiliar with how to open the sliding doors, he'd ripped most of them apart, and even walked right through a wall panel that didn't swing open like he'd thought it would. He didn't seem embarassed with his mistakes, if anything he seemed scornful for the flimsy construction of the chambers. Kiyone was trying to simultaneously chase him down, pull him back into the hall and scream him deaf with her outrage at his rough treatment of the officer's room, but given that Kiyone was not a big girl, even by Shinigami standards, and Vladimo was every bit as large as Kenpachi Zaraki, there wasn't much his 3rd seat could do to bring the man to heel. In fact, it was all she could do to avoid being trampled by the sneering, dark haired man as he tromped about, having seemingly tuned her very presence out of his perceptions, something Ukitake momentarily wished he was capable of doing. Finally though, Kiyone's stubborness seemed to get through to Vladimo, and he turned his blazing emerald eyes on the obstinate third seat, even as he called out something to Princess DeCirc, who replied shortly afterwards, her tone admonishing.

"What did he say?" Ukitake asked, noting the slight flush that crept onto the Princess's cheeks as she considered her reply.

"I shan't repeat the exact words, as they are both crude and mean spirited. But suffice it to say, Duke Morieth was wondering what the purpose of your young officer was exactly? She seems to be attached to "his" room, and he's willing to accept her as a fixture there, but only if she's going to be sharing his bed, otherwise he strongly desires that she leave him alone. I assume she has no amorous intentions towards him?"

"Ah." Ukitake flushed a little himself, suddenly wondering exactly what the Duke had said and whether or not he should be angry, rather than embarassed. "No, I don't believe Kiyone has any feelings of that sort for your Duke. She's just a bit overzealous in her pursuit of her duties is all. She can be quite the bully if you let her be." Ukitake smiled fondly for a moment, before ordering his third seat to leave the poor Duke alone, deciding to sit upon the translation of the Duke's comment in the interest of peace and quiet. He made a note to keep a closer eye on any attractive female subordinates in the future, in case this Duke decided to make other lewd propositions, regardless of his reasons. Most were used to such advances, especially coming from the 11th division or Captain Kyoraku, but it would be harder to take things in stride coming from a foreigner. Upon returning to the hallway, Ukitake frowned again. Huntmaster Grey and Duke Fane were outside, directing the establishment of the defensive fortifications, and Duke Morieth was just behind him... but where had the fourth officer, Duke Elkiran, disappeared to? Now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen the man since before he'd escorted the Princess into the officer's quarters. How troublesomely stealthy... he hoped he wouldn't have another situation to defuse shortly...

xxxx

Fith Division Headquarters, Main Divisional Barracks, second floor, same time

Carefully reaching out, Mal opened the deceptively fragile wood and paper sliding wall panel that served most of these rooms as doorways and stepped into the nondescript bunkroom that served as living quarters for several Shinigami, or had before they all moved to the 10th Division area in the wake of the Winter War. Of course Mal had no idea about the reasons for why the 5th Division barracks was empty, but it was one of those things he was determined to figure out. However, as Princess DeCirc had already introduced him publicly as one of her advisos, he would be limited in what sort of snooping he could accomplish himself, and would often be forced to be in public view. Fortunately, the Duke of Shadows had a personal cadre of extremely reliable subordinates to pick up the slack, and it was them that he was currently meeting, while the rest of the Crusaders were busy setting up their accomodations in a fitting fashion for a lengthy stay. Regardless of what Kinkaid wanted, Mal knew that they would not soon be returning to the wilds and their nigh endless pursuit, not before the Princess managed to come to some sort of permanent accord with these Shinigami anyway.

Mal was pleased to be greeted with a room crowded with cowled figures in dark robes and cloaks, with blades and bludgeons menacing in their fists, even though the room's occupants knew full well who was opening the door, through both spirtual energy senses and regular scent, their olfactory sensitivity being significantly greater than human norm. As was only fitting, since not a one of them was a human norm in any way. It was only after he fully entered the room and slid shut the wall panel behind him that his agents relaxed, and then only slightly, serrated daggers and weighted saps disappearing back beneath the hems of their black and dark brown cloaks and mantles, and additional agents stepping up out of seemingly inadequate shadows, suddenly adding another five occupants to the already crowded room. Muttering under his breath, clasping both hands together, closing his eyes and bowing his head, Mal invoked a little known Prayer spell, Prayer 32, Mist of Secrets, which filled the room with barely tangible spirit energy that kept sound in and light out, making it almost impossible to eavesdrop upon those within its radius.

It was only when their privacy was assured that his minions respectfully drew back their hoods and dropped to one knee in front of him, their lord and master and savior all combined as one. The reasons for his concealing Prayer would be immediately obvious to anyone within the Prayer itself, as his agents differed signficantly from human norms not just in their powers and sensitivities, but also their very appearance. Which was only logical, since they weren't really humans at all, but a related sub-species known in the Imperium as "Fey-Bloods", or more commonly just "Fey" or "Goat-Men" when the speaker was being derogatory, which was most common. At some point in the impossibly ancient past, the Fey-Blood had a powerful Daemon of some sort in their ancestry, and though they were undeniably Plus type souls, they embodied the very darkest characteristics of such Souls, inheriting forms that most people regarded with fear, supestitious dread and digusted hatred.

Fey were roughly as large as humans, with skin tones that ran the gamut from brown to alabaster, their bodies almost entirely hairless save for their heads, which always had thick manes of oddly stiff and wiry hair, often in fantastic colors such as bright green, blue, red, orange or even white, often two or three seperate colors per head, this hair often stuck up at wild angles or in exotic and very distinctive patterns, and was usually worn long, the longer and more exotic the better and more socially adept a Fey was acknowledged as being, at least among their own culture. Of course, those who opted to take service with the Duke of Shadows had to make certain sacrifices, including short hair and severe, even boring, hairstyles, but it was a small price for most Fey to pay in order to repay their racial debt to the much storied Duke Elkiran.

Because Fey had more than just wild hair on their heads, they were all born with horns that grew out of their skull at some point, anywhere between one and seven horns were common and sometimes more, that appeared in all different shapes and sizes and forms, from simple knobby goat horns to bull horns to deerlike antlers to curled ram's horns and spiraling antelope horns, usually between four and ten inches long and often richly colored in matching shades to the Fey's reigning hair colors. Additional unsettling characteristics included clawlike fingernail talons on their hands, mouthfuls of fangs or other non-human teeth, and disturbingly shaped and vibrantly colored eyes, with pupils that were like hourglasses, hexagons, stars, crosses, squares or even odder shapes, which glowed slightly in the dark and allowed the Fey to see perfectly regardless of ambient illumination. Indeed, they were known as hideous monsters by most of the Imperium's population, dread harbingers of sickness, blight and moral decay, known for cursing good people and corrupting the youth of the land with their hedonistic ways.

This was largely superstition and hearsay of course, as most Fey preferred to keep to themselves in their own hidden communities deep in the wildest spaces of the Realm, and most ugly incidents involving Fey and Imperial citizens occured because of the citizens provoking the Fey in their fear, often mistaking the Fey for a real Daemon, despite the obvious lack of a Daemon Brand or Sigil upon their bodies. And while the Fey were a hedonistic race much given to pleasures that an Imperial citizen might consider debauched and degenerate, they hardly had much interest in the youth of another race entirely, as lacking horns, wild hair and other Fey characteristics, most humans were dreadfully unattractive to Fey in any physical sense. But the Fey were few and the Imperial citizens many, and much prone to banding together in witch hunts and pogroms to "cleanse the blighted monsters from our lands". And when certain intolerant Crusaders happened to get involved, well, not even the Fey's unique brand of magic spells had been entirely enough to prevent them from being hunted like they were plagued rats, and in a matter of a decade, the entire race was very nearly wiped from existence.

The only reason they hadn't been was because of Duke Elkiran's direct intervention on their behalf. As Duke of Shadows, it was Mal's duty to police the underbelly of his beloved Realm as well as deal with the shadier sort of operations against the Daemon hordes, and in pursuit of his duties he was given near total freedom of resources by the Rex Divinia. Though no more tolerant of the unclean and perverse, much less Daemon-blooded mongrels, than any of his peers, Mal had learned to selectively channel his intolerance for the good of the entire Imperium. Exterminating the Fey would be emotionally satisfying and a great victory for public order, but it would also be a terrible waste of a potentially extremely valuable resource. As they were partially Daemonic themselves, the Fey could provide much insight into their distant kin, and their unique magic spells and other abilities were simply too useful for Mal's duties to be casually thrown away in the name of racial purity. So he had extended his remit of Royal ordained resources around their race, and in becoming the savior of their race had secured the total loyalty of the remaining Fey for as long as he might live, an oath sworn in blood.

With proper training and discipline, the Fey were spies and assassins par excellence, at home in the deepest dark of night as they were at brightest noon, possessed of noses and ears ten times as keen as most humans and with a naturally occuring affinity for spiritual powers, especially their unique brand of Magic, known as Curses, that drew not upon the power of the Rex Divinia but upon the latent and subtle energies of the world itself, especially the darker types of energy. Whereas Castigations were directly offensive or in some way bound or immobilized their targets, and Prayers were defensive and healing in nature, Curses utilized indirect offense, debilitating foes with a variety of conditions that were not usually themselves fatal, but which caused pain and discomfort and even blindness or paraylsis or other conditions that affected a target's ability to fight and defend themselves effectively. Tutored in these Magics by the Fey elders, Mal had acquired yet another ace in the hole unavailable to his more puritanical peers.

And with the Fey being unquestioningly loyal to him and him alone, to the death and beyond if need be, since it was by his protection that their race continued to exist and for no other reason, he had a cadre of bodyguards and agents that he could trust with the most sensitive of tasks. If anything unfortunate were to happen to him, well, the Fey race wouldn't live too many months past the day he was put in the ground, and they all knew this. Of course, Mal did his best not to overtly abuse his absolute power over his chosen minions, because everyone worked more efficiently when there was a degree of mutual respect involved, and though he was usually happy to be feared instead of being loved, he would prefer those he trusted his life with to be more in love with him than afraid of him. Mal was far from a perfect man though, and near the opposite of a saint, and he had something of an unhealthy addiction to female Fey warming his bed whenever the mood happened to strike, finding them to be both incredibly virile lovers as well as totally submissive, without any real need for commitment on either side. After all, they were ALL bound to him for as long as he lived, inextricably... they might as well be married to him, in fact they were closer than that, as their lives were his to spend in whatever way he saw fit.

At the moment though, spending lives wasn't in the cards, because they had to tread very carefully for the time being. They were all strangers in a strange land, and the slightest misstep could be the death of them all. The Crusaders, the Princess and most importantly, Mal himself, needed more information on these Shinigami, the Sereitei and the Soul Society as a whole, and the sort of information they needed most was exactly the sort of information that no one would willingly share with strangers... communication protocols, logistical plans, locations of supply stashes and weapon depots, troop numbers and dispositions, lists of powerful individuals and key officers, weaknesses of defensive fortifications, locations of political leaders... many, many things vital to the defence and administration of a Realm. And things that the Crusaders, if theyw ere to know them, might be able to use as leverage, both political and military, to manipulate events to their best benefit. Not exactly honorable, in fact it was clearly the opposite, and their actions were a clear provocation to their generous hosts should they ever be found, but then again, this was exactly what Mal Elkiran, Duke of Shadows, lived to do! This was his purpose in life.

Of course he would entrust some of these investigations, the most minor and least sensitive, to other members of the Shadow Squadron, with the expectation that they would in turn likely be found and watched by whatever resident intelligence agency these Shinigami had, who would then hopefully be content and think they had tabs on all his spies, when in reality they were only watching his least talented agents, while the real spies operated unnoticed. And in plain view for that matter, as the Fey had another racial talent that he often found most useful for this sort of highly sensitive work. But first... "You may report." Mal ordered, his face a mask of professional neutrality.

"Ayi, melorrd." One of the Fey, Dain Lebora, the leader of his elite cadre and prbably the closest Mal had to an actual second in command, spoke up, his words slurred and a bit mutilated by his only part human vocal configuration, his tongue forked like an adder's, his mouth filled with literally hundreds of needle-like hypodermic fangs well suited for piercing skin and sucking out the fluids beneath, rather than chewing. Dain's main form of sustenance was in fact blood and other vital fluids, much like a spider or a vampire bat, and this form of nutritional intake was actually fairly common amongst Fey, as their race was one of the originating archtypes for the "Vampires" of myth and legend. Dain had carefully trimmed hair of crimson and raven black, seemingly slicked back with a heavy application of oil though it was just how his hair naturally grew, with a six inch long, dull reddish curved horn protruding from just above either temple, like those of a Grecian Satyr. His skin tone was slightly darker than Mal's own light tan, and his eyes were dark blue orbs with vivid yellow pupils shaped like hourglasses.

"Thiy watched us closily, but not closily inough. Wi ded not go farr, as wi weshid to waet forr yourr orrdirrs, melorrd." Dain explained, rolling and extending his "R's" while swapping pronounciation of "e" and "i". This was not a disfigurement of Dain's, in fact, he spoke better "human" than most of his race, but it definitely took some getting used to. And Mal saw now reason to correct his underling's speech patterns, as if even he had to work to decipher what they were saying sometimes, it made it much less likely that any eavesdroppers or spies would be able to decipher their communications either.

"Thierr sinsis arri dull and lemeted. Thiy sii, but thiy do not undirrstand what et es that thiy sii." A second Fey added scornfully, her skin pale, accentuated by her white, blue streaked hair, purplish goat-like horns and eyes of black with orange star pupils. Her name was Flaya Vex, and she was Dain's mate and partner. She had a tongue just like a human's, except that it could extend to over two feet long and was prehensile like a tentacle, with fine dexterity and a strong grip. And she knew how to use it too, both in pursuit of her duties and... other ways. Mal did his best not to think of those other ways, as his time with Flaya had been over long ago... he wasn't so addicted to the Fey that he would chance ill feelings by sampling from a mated pair, and he genuinely liked Dain besides, he was as close to a friend as he had, other than Vladimo. "Thes well bi an iasy job, mithenks, melorrd."

"Perhaps so, but that is no reason to slack off. I hope I don't need to stress how important your duties will be. You will be my eyes and ears and fingers, and, if need be, my knives and nooses too. Never forget that Vandire is still in the area somewhere, and that a cornered rat will even take on the biggest cat. You cannot afford to be caught, alive or dead, and if you are, you could very well provoke a war between the Imperium and these new "Death Gods". We are operating in the heart of unknown and potentially hostile territory, and we have no time to learn the lay of the land." Mal instructed them, leading up to the really distasteful order. Well, distasteful for them, he couldn't care less, as it was a necessary precaution.

"Wi arri yourr's, melorrd." Dain buzzed, followed by a surrusation of agreement from the other Fey. "Command us to spy orr slay, et makes no deffirrinci to us. Wi arri thi Fiy, and thes wi sworri."

"Glad you feel that way." Mal said, with a shark toothed grin, opening his coat and withdrawing several items hanging from loops along the interior sides, which he then dropped to the floor with a muffled clatter. They were collars, collars with bells, and at the sight of them several of the Fey made barely audible groans of complaint and disgust. Dain whirled upon his compatriots, displeasure stamped across his face and flaring in his eyes as he put one hand on the grip of his Arma Sancti, a throwing dagger named Umbra Scalprum, sheathed in its bandoleer running across the front of his chest.

"Selinci, you engrrati's! Thes es ourr chosin duty, es et not? Wi sworri to sacrrefeci all forr Lorrd Ilkeran, ivin prredi, ivin degnety, ivin ourr virry soul-sparrks! Do not lit mi hiar such muttirrings frrom any of you agaen! Wi arri farr, farr frrom homi, yis, but destanci dois not lissin ourr vow, et should only strringthin et!" Dain chided his fellows harshly, waiting until he was met with serried ranks of unblinking, slightly glowing eyes before finally turning around and bending down to pick up a collar. There was distaste in his own eyes as he laced the collar around his throat, jangling bell ringing sullenly, but no hesitation, and soon his example was followed by the others, until they all wore the belled collars around their necks. They then began divesting themselves of their other clothing, even their Arma Sancti, which they bundled up in neat, unobtrusive piles, which they then hide in the walls and ceiling and floor of the room, stashing them for later retrieval. They stood unselfconsciously naked, Fey culture not being one with overmuch reliance on clothing in the first place.

And then they began to leap out the window, one at a time. But even as they leaped, their bodies began to shift, to flow, to morph, and it wasn't a horned and befanged naked humanoid which hit the ground lightly outside, but instead a goat, with a wiry, shaggy pelt of the same basic color of the Fey's hair, and horns to match. In a matter of seconds, there was a herd of almost a dozen exotically colored goats milling around in high ill humor outside the barracks building, clattering bells around their necks announcing every step they made. This self polymorphing ability was the real root of the derogatory nickname of "Goat-Men" that they Fey were labeled with by their detractors, and though this beast form was a natural and normal part of being a Fey, none of them particularly enjoyed or liked transforming, even though they retained almost all of the abilities of their humanoid form when a goat. Too many Fey had been killed and eaten by unsuspecting serfs while in goat form for them to ever feel entirely safe, and the full coat of smelly fur was an offense to most Fey's aesthetic sensibilities. Fey liked masquerading as goats as much as humans might like transforming into baboons, assuming they could do so, except even baboons had more inherent dignity than a goat!

Walking out to meet his "flock" a few moments later, Mal lengthened Mercurius, his Arma, from a truncheon sized rod hanging at his belt into a full size shepard's staff, the gleaming, silvery metal glinting in the cool afternoon sunlight. Needing no prompting from their master, the Fey-goats allowed themselves to be herded back towards the center of the 5th Division Headquarters complex, drawing strange looks from several Crusader work parties, though they took care to stare only discreetly, as none wanted to attract the attention, much less the ire, of the very Duke of Shadows! It was well known that Duke Elkiran had many strange habits and hobbies, and if he wanted to herd around a bunch of mangy looking goats, well, nobody was going to look twice. They'd all seen him do weirder things, things no one wanted to even remember, much less talk about!

Meeting up with the Shinigami Captain with the long white hair, the infirm one with some sort of lung disease, as well as the mustachioed translater Vice-Captain, who had apparently dropped the Princess and her retinue off to make themselves at home in the officer's quarters, Mal grimaced at their increduluous looks. Not because he was afraid of looking strange or eccentric, but because in order to develop this plan he was going to have to reveal that he spoke and understood at least some of the English language that Princess DeCirc and the translator had been using, which was a trump card he would have normally wished to hang onto a bit longer. It was always better to have those you were listening to think you couldn't understand them, you could find out SO much that way. Well, it was a relatively small sacrifice in the scheme of things, and the potential rewards would far outweigh the sacrifice. "Excuse me, Captain." Mal hailed them, and gestured to his herd of Fey-goats. "Might you have some place where I could shelter my herd? These are very special animals, used for our most important religious ceremonies, and I need a safe place to store them now that we will be staying for a while."

Ukitake was a bit nonplussed at the request, though perhaps that was because he was still adjusting to the vista at hand, the black coated man with his silvery staff and his herd of goats with fur of white and blue, or black and red, or orange and green or even wilder combinations. He'd never seen any animals like them in all his life! But then again, before this morning, he'd never seen any Crusaders either, so who was he to say what animals might be like in their Realm? Many Crusaders had already expressed great shock at seeing Hell Butterflies, so it was plain there were some animals that existed only in Soul Society, why not vice versa? In any case, the Captain-General had told him to be as accomodating as he saw fit, and the last thing Ukitake wanted to do was somehow interfere in these people's religious ceremonies or rights, as that was a surefire way to provoke intense bad feelings. "Um, yes, I think we can find quarters for them. Do they have any special requirements or needs, sir?"

"They're wiley bastards, cunning to the bone, so not just any animal paddock will do. As you can probably tell, they possess an unusual amount of spiritual energy, which is why their coloration is so odd. These are special goats bred specifically for the use of the Royal Family in our most important rituals and ceremonies of consecration. You might even call them holy goats. They are objects of reverence, and though they are well capable of fending for themselves, they are still just goats. Truth be told, the best way to take care of them is to just let them wander... they will self feed and they are not messy, but since we can't really trust you people not to kill and eat them... which would be a HUGE sacrilege and nobody wants that kind of travesty... I guess we'll have to lock them up somewhere. Pity, they have a tendency to sicken when cooped up for long periods of time..." Mal answered with a dolorous expression on his face, probably overacting a bit, but there was a cultural barrier to overcome, so it probably went unnoticed. On cue, Dain and Flaya attempted to break away from the herd, moving with blurry speed, and only a quick shift-step from Mal put him between them and the open gates leading out into the rest of the Sereitei.

Ukitake watched the black coated Duke manhandle the two rebellious goats back into line, really having to struggle to do it without harming the creatures. Ukitake was still blinking a bit, as those goats had very nearly shunpo'd away, and he'd been definitely caught off guard by the sudden burst of movement. Special goats indeed, and obviously not the sort you could just fence in. Locking them up in a barn or storage shed would probably do the trick, but if the goats got sick and gods forbid, died, then it could not help but sour relations between the Crusaders and Shinigami. On the other hand, Duke Elkiran made a good point, that if they were left to wander, the goats might be preyed upon, especially by the 11th Division or, gods forbid, the 12th, and that was an international incident waiting to happen! Well, perhaps if the Captain-General was to make a special announcement regarding them...

xxxx

5th Division Compound, Main Courtyard, Northern Observation Tower, an hour later

The troops were making good progress, Alyster assessed with a critical eye, and at their current rate of accomplishment, the baseline defensive fortifications would be done well before dusk, even though they were securing a much larger area than they usually did. There was nothing they could do about the stone fence... he wouldn't dignify such a feeble construction with the term "wall"... that the Shinigami had constructed bordering this compound, but should a foe breach that fragile barrier, they would find themselves staring at a much more daunting problem. The defenses started, as did all good fortresses, with a ditch or trench, ten foot wide and deep, not so wide that a Daemon or other supernaturally powered foe could not cross it in a single bound, but with a ten foot dirt wall and five foot wooden palisade rising from the far side of the trench, it would have to be more than just a common Daemon hordeling, and that was what the soldiers patrolling the walltop were for. The trench, filled with holy water or sharpened holy stakes, with more stakes in the dirt wall and palisade, was just a deterrent, meant to slow, not stop an assault.

While attackers were navigating the defensive works, they would be under constant fire from magic strong Crusaders and those whose Arma Sancti took the form of ranged weapons, most commonly the crossbow, famed for its range, accuracy and hitting power, if not its fire rate. Better one good shot than three mediocre ones, was the standing philosophy. Larger weapons, bolt hurling ballistae and stone or greek firing hurling onager-catapults, were currently being constructed from the remains of what outbuildings hadn't already been torn down and their materials repurposed for reinforcing the gates or constructing watchtowers like the one that Alyster now stood upon. These heavy anti-infantry weapons would provide greater long range punch and area of effect attacks, especially against large and slow moving foes. Pots of blessed oil were being boiled and set up along the palisade and in each watch tower, ready to be dumped upon the heads of any attackers.

Meanwhile, ordained Warpriests and sanctified Abbots were doing their best to purify and consecrate the grounds within the fortifications, as well as the fortifications themselves, with the blessings of the Rex Divinia, which would make any Daemons who happened to get within the fortifications uncomfortable and lethargic, while at the same time bolstering the resolve of the faithful and lending extra strength to their Ornatus Sancti to preserve them from harm. Bundles of bolts and throwing spears were infused with low level Castigation powers, allowing them to explode in bursts of holy fire or ice or lightning when thrown or shot, and covered aid stations were set up for the healers to shelter in while tending to the injured, within easy sprinting distance of the walls. The smell of incense, mhyrr and other meditative spices was strong on the wind, as was the taste of light censure smoke mixing in with the heavier flavors of the cookfires that were beginning to be lit to cook the evening meal, several deer-like creatures having been provided by their hosts, which was a nice gesture, as it had been a while since they had last had time to eat anything but dried meats and travel rations.

After fifteen years of making such camps almost every day, the troops needed little in the way of direction from their officers to do this sort of work, and Alyster spent more time observing that he did supervising. That was just fine by him though, as he had a lot to think about anyway. His pride still smarted from the beating it had taken today, mostly at the hands of his beloved Princess, but Alyster could not find it in him to resent her for her actions. Upon reflection, he realized that he had been acting quite boorishly, and that she had been right to chastise him. Regardless of their personal relationship, it was not his place to preserve her honor, if anyone were to need to make such a protest, it should rightly be Kinkaid, as he was her kinsman, albeit a distant one. They were strangers in a strange land, as Mal had said... flexibility and a generous attitude would serve them better than prideful bluster and a hair trigger temper.

It was hard for him though, hard for him to scale back his testy attitude, hard for him to remember to take a deep breath and not spit out the first impulsive thing that came to mind. He was yet young, barely out of childhood by Imperial standards, and it still showed, despite his best efforts to compose himself. It didn't help that he held the position and responsibilities of a man three times his age, and had to struggle every day to prove his worthiness not only to his own detractors, but his own troops and himself as well. The Duke of Order was a prestigious position, even amongst the Sanctus Dominus ranks, as it was the traditional position for dispensing justice, not just in warfare, but also to the Imperial citizens, serfs and Crusaders both. It was a huge responsibility, and impulsiveness was a luxury he could not afford to indulge in when interpeting and enforcing the law!

Of course he was blessed with more than enough personal power to justify his appointment to such an exalted rank, but in truth, Alyster was not fully comfortable with his power. He felt like he'd acquired it too quickly, if that was a thing. Here he was, at an age where most Crusaders were still standing boring sentry duty on walltops and digging defensive trenches more than any actual fighting, and he was responsible for the lives of more than 25000 Crusaders of both sexes and a huge variety of skillsets and power levels! Or at least he had been, before he'd selected a hundred of his best troops and taken on this mission to find and render justice unto Vandire. Lacus had told him that the reason he had such strong powers at his age was because he had a particularly strong resonance with his past lives, which wasn't something he understood at all, but was prepared to take her word for it.

People often asked him, with varying degrees of condescension, whether it bothered him that the woman he loved was not only about as far above his social class as it was possible to get, but also about ten times his age, and far more experienced in basically every worldly matter other than phsyical combat than he. Wasn't it intimidating, even unmanning, to be in the presence of such an ancient and powerful being, especially at such a young and untested age, they wanted to know, the ill hidden light of envy flickering in the depths of their eyes. What was so special about him, Alyster Fane, anyway? Well, it didn't bother him, any more than he expected a regular Crusader would be bothered that he himself had more fighting power than them, and both he and Lacus despised the very idea of social class determining whom you fell in love with.

His Princess could be extremely intimidating, to the point of unmanning much stronger men than he, so that was nothing to be ashamed of. She was a Royal after all. But while he might be intimidated, he was never SCARED of her, which is what those people asking meant. His Princess was the gentlest, kindest, sweetest person in all existence whenever she had the chance to be, it was only when life circumstances intruded upon her natural disposition that Lacus brought out the Princess DeCirc side of her, which had been much in evidence throughout the day. And though he knew most people wouldn't ever be able to understand what he meant, he knew that it was his very youthfulness and the limitedness of his existence that his Princess so loved. She found him endlessly refreshing and vital, someone who lived in a world of black and white, definite right and wholly wrong, rather than the shades of subtle grey that she was forced to live in because of her bloodline. As for him, well, he couldn't define it very well, but he just felt like he BELONGED when he was with her, and that was a feeling that he wouldn't trade even for his own soul!

Propping his shield up on the balistrade of the watchtower, Alyster set his helmet aside for the time being as his hand stroked the hilt of his Arma Sancti. "Judge the guilty, Onere della Guistazia." Alyster commanded softly, gently activating his Ascension powers, building up and releasing the power softly, so as not to overtly alert or alarm his compatriots. His Ascension granted him several useful powers, including increased speed, strength and stamina, but it was his shield's power that he valued most and used most often. That power was the ability to look through the back of the shield like it was a one way mirror, but when he viewed people or creatures through the lens of his shield, he saw them not as they physically were but how they morally were. In short, someone who was selfish and abusive and evil would show up as a twisted, black auraed reflection of themselves, while someone who was noble and trustworthy and good shone with a divine halo. It was both a simple power and a frighteningly powerful one, giving him the ability to see the "flavor" of a person's soul, something that was normally completely private to them and them alone.

There was the added caveat that the shield used his own moral compass and definitions of right, wrong, justice, injustice, good and evil in order to make this determination, but Alyster trusted in the purity of his own faith, as exemplified by his noble love for his Princess. He could not view his own soul through the shield, but as long as his Princess continued to love and cherish him for his actions and deeds, how could he doubt her judgement as to his qualities? Alyster peered through his shield, sweeping his esoteric gaze through the ranks of the working Crusaders, as he did at least once a day, just to make sure Vandire didn't try and slip another infiltrator into the camp to cause havoc. Anyone that followed the traitor was sure to appear warped and defiled by their deeds and choices, but today he detected no more than the usual smattering of petty guilts and selfishness, reprehensible perhaps, but not unexpected amongst opinionated and stressed out people like the Crusaders. As usual, his view was blurred somewhat while looking at Kinkaid, though whether this was some secret known to the Royal bloodline or a function of Kinkaid's steel strong devotion to whatever his own ideals were, Alyster could not say.

Neither Vladimo nor Mal was currently within his view, and truth be told, Alyster was glad of that. Ever since the assassination attempt on the Rex Divinia, when the Duke of Battle and Duke of Shadows had selflessly thrown themselves between their lord and the treacherous Duke of Vengeance, taking the brunt of the corrupting attack meant for their lord, they had both been changed men. Darkness had taken root in their souls, and neither of them had exactly been pure and good in Alyster's estimation in the first place! Vladimo was addicted to combat and was a shameless womanizer and a boorish drunk, while Mal openly consorted with dark spirits, treated his subordinates with near tyranny and worked with criminal elements in the pursuit of his duties! But the true evil of the First Daemon, dread Asmodeus, was now clawing at their souls, threatening to turn them forevermore into Asmodians... half Crusader-half Daemon monstrosities constantly at war with themselves. An inner war, that should it ever be lost, would certainly result in them fully becoming Daemons and extremely powerful ones at that, a major threat to the entire Imperium Animi!

With his shield, Alyster could see just how much of a hold each Duke's newly released Inner Daemon had upon them, could track how close they were to losing control and falling into irredeemable evil. But just because he could do so, didn't mean he enjoyed doing so. What was happening to his elder Dukes was not fair, not after the selflessness and nobility they had both displayed in shielding the Rex Divinia with their own bodies! There was no telling the scale of the catastrophe that would have been if the Rex Divinia himself had been infected with a released Inner Daemon! It could have spelled the end of the entire Imperium! They had made the ultimate choice of the Crusader, to defend others at the cost to their own lives, and if things kept on as they were, their only reward would be an ignominous and likely secret execution and disposal, for the sake of the Imperium. And it was going to be up to Alyster to make the call as to when they had fallen to the point of irrecoverability, he was the one who would sign their death warrents, and it might even be he that was required to perform the execution itself. Such were the duties of the Duke of Order. Such was the burden of his position.

Moral inspection complete, Alyster resealed his Arma Sancti and began clambering down out of the watchtower. He would go and report on the progress of the defensive works, as well as the moral state of the troops, to his Princess. And then he would apologize for his crass and childish behavior during the earlier part of the day. Perhaps they would even "kiss and make up", as the modern saying went. His heart beat a little faster at the thought. But he forced himself to calm down and think of the Princess's needs over those of his hormones. She would no doubt be tired and drained, she always was after releasing Regina della Tranquillo, even for a short time, and the added stress of stepping in to cover for his own diplomatic inadequacies would not have helped any. He would offer her whatever support he could, even if it was to just sit by her side and tell her a funny story or sing her a song. Or just sit in silence together. That was the mark of a true love, Lacus had told him once. The ability to just "be" together without needing a topic of conversation. Well, there was no love truer than his, not in all the Imperium... and he was glad to devote the rest of whatever life he might have to proving that to everyone!