far away… The dark forest was dimly lit under the thick canopy. Rare beams of hushed light winked through the swooshing brown leaves as a chilling breeze slithered through the ebony trunks. There were soft, crisp crunches of old fallen leaves as a small company of shady looking men, lead by a bald man dressed in a deep black walked through the isolate environment, accompanied only by faint bird calls and their iron weapons. Suddenly a man in the corner began hacking violently and the others turned to him with a jump, their stomachs curled as they watched the poor man start throwing up red fluids and breathing heavily before collapsing face first in a mixture of soil, leaves, and red vomit. The others quickly went to investigate, the leader being the last in the worried column. His heart pounded anxiously, something wasn’t right. Then he noticed the tiny red feathered dart in the back of the fallen man as the others crowded around, checking for signs of life. A curse found its way to the dry lips of the bald man, but not before the fearsome sounds of buzzing darts found its way to the once calm atmosphere. The man swore repeatedly and fled the scene, having been spared a grotesque dart. He could hear the others behind him, howling in a rush of pain, their screams interrupted by horrid sharp retches and dry gags. Suddenly all was quiet, save for the chilled wind rushing past the sprinting mans red bitten ears. The anxiety at this point had blossomed into an outright fear. He had no idea where he was going, and every deformed dark tree looked the same to him at this point. The darkness swirled the landscape around him as the seed of utter hopelessness took root in his scared heart. His lungs strained for the cold breaths the forest had to offer as he exhausted his burning leg muscles, the adrenaline pounding through his veins being the only source of energy, next to his deathly black fear. His mind raced along with his clumsy legs, but the forest just kept going, and going silently. His heartbeat was the only sound that thudded in his ear drums, and his body shook with fright, his legs almost failing him. Suddenly a rogue root caught his foot and his stomach felt as if it was to be repulsed out of his body, as if he was to suffer the fate of his company. The adrenaline was banished by pure opaque fear, as was all rational thought as he felt his body hit the gritty forest floor harshly with a loud echoing thud. He quickly rolled to his back and cumbersomely clammered to his feet, but when he stood up he found himself face to face was a dire monstrosity. The large monster stood like a man over him, and looked like a man, but twisted by evil. Dark hair weaved its way from behind the monsters ears and shrubbed his head in a thick mat. The nose was almost dog like and pushed in, as jagged teeth jutted out as if a warning from the figures bright blood red lips, contrasted by dark coal like eyes and a spotted tan. He was no man, thought the bald leader, he was a Half-Gnoll. The burning coals of the half mans eyes stared angrily at the other man, who stood frozen in fear. A muscular hand with yellow nails shot out from the monster and grabbed the leaders throat, lifting him in the air with a tight clench against the man's windpipe, a little blood trickling down from where the hideous nails dug into the soft flesh. A dark snicker boomed against the stone cold wood a the Gnoll laughed, his voice soon being taking over by a serious and deep tone that was laced with every bit of death, “It is not sufficient that we succeed, all others must fail.” With these few words, every one stabbed the bald mans head with a great emotional strain, as he knew what was to come next, he strained hopelessly against the clawed grasp. After a disgusted look twisted the half mans face into a snarl, the beast threw the pathetic excuse down, the leaders body crashing against the forest floor, and legs cracking off a outcropping of rock. The man laid there screaming in pain as his blurry vision swept back and forth, staring at the canopies. Tears swelled below his eyes when suddenly a new face entered his view, a broad man standing above him, painted in a dark clay and holding a gruesome and chipped butchers knife big enough to prepare a wyrm itself. The bald man sputtered, “J-J-Joe-” but he was cut off with a strong and hefty booted stomp on his throat by the burly Joe. The bald man screamed hoarsely as Joe continued his crude and violent attack. His studded soles ripped at the skin and tore it up in harsh tears of blood and skin as the stomping slowly drowned out the helpless yells into a soft and sharp gurgling, until all together with a loud snap, the sounds stopped all together. Joe looked up casually from the mess under his now red boot. The forest had returned to a gloomy and calm silence once more, only to be interupted by Joes strong voice, “come Cassewah,” he said in a deep and disturbed tone, “The Father of Lies surely waits for our return.” [I]yesterday...[/i] Kepeshi casually strided into the grand hall of the Skyhaven palace, his padded boots made no sound. As if it mattered, he thought to himself, for someone had already gotten rid of all the royal guard, and when all the high lords were there to boot. Kepeshi shook his head, “day by day, they just make it easier for me,” he mumbled to himself. The hall had been deserted that afternoon to usher in a night of sleep for their graces, and a young servant knelt in the corner cleaning a boot scuff when she caught wind of the mysterious blackened stranger standing by the entrance. “oy, you!” his voice bounced off the glorious walls with a volume one octave louder than Kepeshi cared for. Kepeshi spun to the man, and confusingly pointed at himself while walking closer, “who- me?” He said sarcastically with a slight pause. The servant began to stand up as Kepeshi stood in reaching distance now “yeah you!” Kepeshi shook his head and put a hand on the defensive, “ I’m just one of the decorators sent to spiffy up the place my dear lad,” Kepshi said with a reassuring voice, but a very unbelievable one. “thats the worst lie I ever did hear, you sneak,” the servant spat out. “well thats too bad,” Kepeshi said, letting go of the mans shoulder, his voice was laced with a pseudo sadness, “considering thats the last words you’ll even hear.” Kepeshi began to walk away as the man called out after him “what do you mea-” The servant collapsed to the ground with a squeak as he attempted to gasp for air, his airways painfully swelling shut as he convulsed violently on the ground until with a sudden last jerk, he laid dead. Kepeshi playfully juggled a miniature vial and a thumbtack sized needle with a big grin as he walked deeper into the palace... -------------- “The Black Scorpions” Also known as The Skinless by the Ashtoken, or Without Token (hero/honor/faith/Ashishian ideals) The fearsome group of outlaws and contract killers known as the Black Scorpions are a renown organization numbering close to a thousand, though no formal census can actually say. Their roots are rich and coincide with the Ashtoken pretty closely, as Ashishia was their country of origin and they date back over three hundred years, founded as a rogue military operation to combat gnolls by First Star Jufih Aceroth. They dress in black robes and paint themselves with a clay based paint, just as dark as their ambitions. Very few ever feel it necessary to actually wear defensive clothing as their crimes and assassinations are normally smooth and committed silently. Their weapons of choice happen to be bias towards Ashishian arms, among them being the elegant Ashishian curved sword, nasty desert darts, and the composite bow. However, they have grown into a nasty reputation for using various poisons to aid their kills. Originally when the group was founded, the Ashtoken were exploring new medicines, and in contrast, the Black Scorpions explored new poisons with a range of effects. They protected the desert and the tribes as loyally as any other Ashtoken for a good two hundred years, keeping honor and conduct up to par with the rest of Ashishian military standards. Sadly, during the last one hundred year stretch they reared off the just course and fell into corruption, as other figures of importance would buy them out to do personal dirty work and smuggling. Eventually the council of the stars were forced to bring up the topic of disbanding them on accounts of criminal activity, spear pointed by First Star Hevi Deprash against the head of the military organization, Lori Deprash, distant cousin of the old Voice. This did not go over well and an assassination attempt that the Black Scorpions were so famous for was directed at The First Star himself. The plot was foiled by the Ashtoken guard and Lori Deprash was killed in the conflict. Most of the members of The Black Scorpions left the organization or integrated into the border militias when they had discovered the plots of Lori. Not surprisingly though, many of the higher ranked and richer Scorpions delved deep into the endless desert in exile as ‘The Skinless’(coming from their now lack of Ashtoken value and the giving up of the Ash for black clay) to continue their criminal activities in secret, recruiting outlaws and vagabonds of all sorts. This trespassing didn't last more than a year, as the Ashtoken guard tracked them down, and with the aid of a few magi’s, forced them to retreat out of Ashishia for good. Over forty years have passed since then (twenty years before The Great Gnoll war, ironically), and rumors have it, they are stronger than ever, and providing all sorts of shady services to even shadier clients. Noteworthy current members: Skinless Kepeshi, the Bane of Nobility Kepeshi is perhaps one of the more colorful members of the Scorpions as he is very egotistical, a trait almost unheard of in someone who grew up in Ashishia. He is 36 years of age, but joined the order at the age of 14 after running away from home. He blossomed in the order as one of the most proficient killers and skilled in the use of poisons and the environment for untimely deaths. There is rumor long since dried up that he is a close relative of one of the leading figures in the Tribes of Ashtoken, making him one of the few remaining links between the Scorpions and their old origins. Lori II Lori cursed and threw down his real name at the death of Lori Deprash and took Loris title as his own, and convinced the highest members to escape with him to the desert(until forced out of Ashishia), and donned the title skinless. Lori II is now 67 years of age and still the head of the Black Scorpions, and possibly one of the most dangerous men in all of Elyden, as any name spoken from his lips is as good as slaughtered. Joe the butcher No one is sure where Joe came from, but he is a good, or terrible, sign that The order isnt exclusively exiled or criminalized Ashishian natives., but has recruited criminals from other regions. Joe’s name never struck fear into the hearts of his enemies, but this was usually because he had already cut it out with his signature cleaver the size of a forearm. He coats himself in the clay like the rest of his houseless brethren, and kills just as well, or better than the average scorpion as it may be. He is a man of little words, but a man who does not hesitate to delimb a target in front of their own mother, as one poor noble found out. Cassewah Jemjo A unique man, if one could call him that. His nose is pushed in like a dogs, and his teeth are long and sharp, better to eat you with he might add. Cassewah is a half Gnoll, his unknown mother was raped by Gnolls, and killed by his own birth, his first target if you will. Cassewah is skilled in stealth as well as dispatching enemies from great distances, or in quick hand to hand skirmishes.