[centre][color=9e0b0f][i]Zerabil, Prophet of Vowzra, Blessed of Undasis

Level 3 Hero, 22 Khookies[/i][/color][/centre]

[hider=Summary]
[list]
[*] Zerabil's response to Undasis' blessing
[*] Zerabil's years of preaching and gathering followers
[*] Zerabil's visit to the town of the Strong Tribe
[*] Zerabil's creation of the Order: Vowzra's Victors
[*] Zerabil's founding of the town of Orabson near Orabil
[*] Zerabil's founding of the fortified mountain monastery Mountain's Crown in the southern mountains, beyond the radius of Orabil's influence
[*] Zerabil's extermination of the Dyun bar two younglings whom he has kept
[*] Zerabil's reception of the letter of Invidia's emissary
[*] Zerabil's invitation to the Sanguinary Communion, the Uri and the Kings of the Realms of Man to meet in Orabson to discuss the CimeXeno threat
[/list]
[/hider]

Zerabil remained on his knees in awe of the divine being before him, and as she sunk back into the waters, he put his hands on the ground and allowed himself to prostrate before her, muttering words of gratitude and praise of the divinity. He remained like that even after she had disappeared and several minutes had passed. The feelings of great honour and gratitude were great, but what rocked his mind and soul more than anything else was the enormity of the epiphanic, euphoric experience running through him. The mere presence of She of the Waters before him, even in a form that would not utterly destroy his body and mind, created within him a pleasure and insight he could not truly grasp. He had not felt this when standing before his Father, that had been very different. She of the Waters brought upon his parched soul the liquid embrace of water, the loving touch and fragrance of femininity, the wisdom of an ancient divinity, and the suffering of a god - and what a suffering was that! 

Even as she disappeared, he felt his very soul crying out in grief at her departure, as if screaming, [i]'Do not leave me, my Lady! Oh let me bask before your glory for even a second longer!'[/i] but it was to no avail, she was gone and Zerabil remained there, prostrating himself before the river where she had appeared to him. Perhaps an hour passed before he raised his head, sand clinging to his forehead and nose, and he looked upon the place where she had been. His heart was still beating at speeds he did not know possible, his yearning to see her again only increased by the second. He crawled towards the river and clutched at the cold water, attempting to bring her back. The water caressed his hands, much as her presence had caressed his very soul, and he gave out a small, longing sigh.

[color=9e0b0f][i]'Thank you, oh most honoured and beautiful goddess. I shall carry your presence in my heart always, and I shall carry words of your glory to the ignorant, and I shall carry the warm taste of death to all who wage war upon and reject your splendour and majesty.'[/i][/color] his vow taken, he cupped the water of the stream in his hands and drank deeply, as if drinking enough would satiate his aching to see her once more. He stood up and turned to Rejys who was standing there still as a statue, and he wiped the water from his lips. No words passed between them for a few seconds, and then Zerabil spoke.
[color=9e0b0f][i]'Did you feel it too?'[/i][/color] he eyed the metal being.
[color=f26522][b]'Perhaps,'[/b][/color] it said, its usually monotone voice trembling ever so slightly - so slightly that Zerabil thought he may have just imagined it, [color=f26522][b]'But I Would Say That...Perhaps It Is Rather Heretical To Take Only One God As A Cherisher And Sustainer Above All Others After All...'[/b][/color] Zerabil smiled at its words, it was the sign of an open and curious being to change their mind after evidence and experience satisfied their need for evidence. He had found in Rejys a great companion indeed.

[color=f26522][b]'Is...Is That [i]Thing[/i] Safe?'[/b][/color] the great metal being pointed towards the glowing, ethereal sword which lay on the ground between them. Zerabil approached it, its brightness dazzling him slightly. It was truly an alluring weapon. As he reached for it, Rejys backed away slightly, as if preparing itself for an unpleasant surprise. But when Zerabil picked the sword of light up, nothing happened. At least, not outwardly.

In his right hand, the ethereal grip of the sword fit perfectly, its warmth and radiance seemed to fill his hand completely, and even his wrist shone with the light of the weapon. However, the inner elation and and wonder Zerabil felt could not be any more different from the silent indifference of his appearance. The warmth and light of the sword seemed to reach into his very essence and light it up, it filled all the dark and empty spaces with its glory and with attachment to the goddess who had so enraptured his heart, and had yet to let it go, not more than an hour before. As the sword filled him, the white of his right eye slowly began to shine, and the pitch black pupil turned a rich gold. A blissful smile brightened his seemingly indifferent face as the sword of light, the Morning Blade, disappeared completely and found within his very self a scabbard.

Stunned by the multitude of experiences, Zerabil turned back towards the stream and knelt by it once more, closing his eyes in silent contemplation and breathing deeply in an attempt to get his emotions back under control. For one still newly-born, no amount of knowledge could make up for the discipline and focus experience would give him. For now though, he embraced with joy the waves of emotion surging in his breast, and he let them carry the helpless log of his thoughts wherever the waves wished.
Using the emotions as source of power, he reached out to the stream with his energies and scooped some water out. A small coconut-sized orb of water, jiggling and trembling precariously, floated before Zerabil. Summoning that knowledge which the Chaotic One had gifted Mankind, he froze the orb and brought it to his hands. It was cold, his hands warm, but the orb did not melt and its coolness did not lose any of its potency. He would ask Rejys to create a bracelet or amulet of some kind, and the ice of this most holy water from this most holy place would be the jewels within it. He threw the orb into the air and set it floating half a metre behind his head.

[color=9e0b0f][i]'Lets go,'[/i][/color] he said to his companion as he slipped his coat and leggings on and picked up the weapons his Father had provided for him. He doubted he would be using those much at all. 

[centre]***[/centre]

So it was that Zerabil set out into the world with the might of the Lord of the Forge on one side and the blessings of She of the Waters on the other. He knew that his purpose was not to simply be a Prophet and Son of the Celestial Above, no. He was a Prophet of the gods as a whole, whether the gods he so adored recognised him or not. It mattered not whether they acknowledged one so unworthy as he, for their blessings upon him were already more than he could ever comprehend. 

He journeyed long from village to village, preaching to the people and attempting to find loyal disciples. Mankind was no longer the utterly pure race of people whom the Celestial Above had blessed and gifted with gifts, for the Chaotic One had also gifted them with gifts of his own. Many were the villages which were less than welcoming - what village, after all, would want to worship a god beside the Celestial Above, or another beside the Earthly Below? And there were some who claimed to worship none but the Knowledgeable One, for they had heard of him through the Uri who worshipped none but he. Others still, though those were rare and far between, worshipped the Lord of the Forge, for they had seen his creations and chosen to follow him.

Zerabil was insistent, however, and wherever he went he brought with him knowledge and wisdom. He spoke eloquently about the Celestial Above and spoke at length of the Earthly Below, and he spoke with humbleness of that most Knowledgeable One, and about the Lord of the Forge he spoke with fire and energy. He did not stop there, however, for who was it who had blessed Man with Wi? She who had rained upon them strength after strength when they were weak and hunted by their foes from all directions, Our Mother of the Wi. And who was it, also, who had blessed them with the Seasons and made life possible, was not She of the Seasons worthy of worship and praise? Who was it who had created the oceans and the rivers and the lakes, and rained upon them sweet, life-giving water from the skies? She whose beauty and grace were unparalleled, and her might and wrath unmatched? She of the Waters whose kindness matched his wrath, and whose mercy overwhelmed his cruelty. And whose terrifying power had brought about dragon-kind? Was a being so mighty as the Great Reptile not one worthy of worship? And who was the one who plagued them nightly with their deepest fears and yearly with that Week of Terror, and had blessed them with the knowledge of Elemental Wi? Was not so glorious a being, even if he brought upon them untold misery and despair, worthy of being worshipped and glorified? Perhaps if they honoured him as it befits a divinity such as he, the Chaotic One would look with more kindness upon them. Indeed, ever since the annual weeks of darkness had began, they were more in need of the kindness of the Chaotic One than ever before. At the least winter did not return during that week of curses and blight. It seemed that She of the Seasons was far more benevolent towards Mankind than she had been in the past. Praises to her for that!

Needless to say, his words were rarely accepted by the great majority of people, but there were many individuals who came to him and professed faith. Some of those remained in their home villages to continue the promulgation of the true faith, while others left their homes and followed the Prophet. There were villages he came upon whose link with the Celestial Above was yet pure and they saw the truth in his words as a community and would profess their faith. As the years passed, the young Prophet gained a great following of people who were with him wherever he went. All were young men and women ranging from their late teens to their late twenties - for Zerabil had made it a habit to advice those who were married or who were aged to remain in their villages and homes where they served the gods far better.

Zerabil taught those who followed him using the knowledge he had been granted by his Father. They domesticated horses and became skilled riders - Zerabil himself captured a family of polar bears in one of his lone journeys in the colder north, and bringing them back with him he had taken to taming them. The largest of them became the Prophet's steed.

Five years from the fateful day of his birth, Zerabil and his followers, who were perhaps one hundred and fifty at the time, came upon a village which was unlike all others. It was set upon a hill and a high wall surrounded it, and around the wall was a river which Zerabil could only say was man-made, there was no natural river like that! The bitter winter had frozen the river over, however, and snow covered the land.
'That is where the dragon slayers dwell,' Jrolfir told him when Zerabil asked about it. He was a youthful believer, not older than twenty three years, and had joined Zerabil not two years into his journeying, 'it is said that they are led by a demon who cannot be cut or burnt, and they worship a strange being. They call it the Mighty One.' Zerabil nodded slowly. Perhaps this 'Mighty One' they worshipped was simply one of the gods and they merely knew him by a different name.
[color=9e0b0f][i]'Tell the people to camp here for the day. Let them water the horses and eat and rest. I will go and I will see this town, perhaps therein are a people whose hearts lean towards faith.'[/i][/color] Jrolfir nodded his head in reverence before backing away and doing as the Prophet said.

Zerabil set off for the village upon his steed, Otso, leaving his people to rest and eat. As he approached the narrow path leading to the entrance of the village, Otso suddenly froze. Zerabil looked down at the bear, but nothing seemed to be wrong with him. He did feel energies swirling around the beast's legs however, as though somebody were attempting to root him in place, and Zerabil had the smallest feeling that the energies were swirling around him too. Perhaps the Wi would have been effective against weaker beings, but Zerabil had barely noticed. Nevertheless, he allowed himself to stay in his place and waited, having detected the source of the energy.
'Who goes?' a shout reached him as a head popped over the ramparts of the wall.
[color=9e0b0f][i]'A friend of those in whose hearts is love for the gods.'[/i][/color] came the Prophet's reply.
'There is only one god! All others wane before his might.' 
[color=9e0b0f][i]'Perhaps I would be able to convince you otherwise, if you would let me in and show me to your lord. Is this any way to greet one who calls you to guidance and light?'[/i][/color] at his words, another head appeared and there was some muttering before the gates were opened and the energies around Otso's feet dissipated. He rode on through and was taken to the village square, the guards giving Otso a few suspicious glances. They had probably never seen such a creature after all, it was much further north before polar bears could be spotted. 

Their leader, the demon Jrolfir had told him about, was out hunting. In his place, a mean-eyed man clad in dragon-scale armour and wielding a spear whose tip appeared to be a dragon tooth, and a sword at his side, met him.
'What do you want, preacher man?' he asked roughly, and behind him the people of the village, warriors and others, gathered and stared at the strange man before them, and some gawped at the huge bear the guards had allowed in.
His hair was the purest white, tied in a rough ponytail and with strands here or there. His right eye glowed completely white, its pupil golden, while the other was pitch black, and three scars ripped across the right side of his face - Zerabil had gained them during his fight with Otso and thought that he would honour the great bear by leaving them there. He was dressed in a great fur coat, and beneath that was a green cotton shirt reinforced with leather. He wore thick trousers and fur and leather boots, his hands were gloved and in his right hand was a long wooden spear with a metal tip. His neck and the lower part of his face were covered with a red scarf, and had they been able to see beneath that, they would have seen an amulet of metal and ice. His [url=http://images3.alphacoders.com/245/245535.jpg]appearance[/url] was certainly not normal for these people. But then again, when you travelled all over Arguilla and met with all kinds of people and had knowledge such as Zerabil, it was no surprise that he would look and dress differently. He had yet to come across a people who dressed in dragon scale armour however - it just went to show that Mankind would never stop surprising him.

[color=9e0b0f][i]'I do not want anything from you,'[/i][/color] he said with a loud, powerful voice, his breath coming out in a vapor and convoluting over itself before dissipating into the cold mid-afternoon air, [color=9e0b0f][i]'I merely come as a guide to those who will be guided.'[/i][/color] the people looked at each other, many of their faces suspicious. Some looked fearful and kept looking towards the town's gates, as if expecting somebody to walk in any moment...perhaps they feared their overlord. No good could come of that, none at all.
[color=9e0b0f][i]'I come knocking at your door with light and truth, to abstain from your glorification of the Mighty One and to give the gods their right. The Mighty One is to be honoured, and the Celestial Above is to be glorified - did it not create us and all living beings? - and the Earthly Below is to be thanked - for does it not gift us with life, and to it we return? - and She of the Waters is to be praised - for does she not bless us with rivers and lakes, and does she not rain upon us from the heavens water pure and sweet? - and Our Mother of the Wi is to be extolled - for did she not bless us and strengthen us when we were meagre and weak and at the mercy of our foes? - and the Lord of the Forge is to be venerated...'[/i][/color] and so Zerabil preached to the people, and so they listened. As he spoke, there were among them those who grew angry and shouted at him, calling him a heretic and a fool. Others walked away while others still stood and listened, albeit with fear and reluctance in their eyes, and there were some - and Zerabil saw them - who thought he spoke sense and in their hearts they believed.

But as he rode out of the village later that afternoon, there were none who followed him and none who objected to the few rocks which hit his back. He paid them no heed and returned to his people, and his were a people who loved him and he them, and who followed him and revered all the gods. He gave the village of the dragon slayers another look, wondering to himself why he felt the presence of the Chaotic One here - his people were in the north, not here. He had the strangest feeling that while this had been his first encounter with this village, it would not be his last. 
The Prophet and his people, Vowzra's Victors, camped there that night, and at dawn the following day they set off once more, ever onward.

[centre]***[/centre]

Orabil towered above the pilgrims, and Zerabil looked upon the hallowed tree, allowing awe to fill him. It had been ten years since his creation, and he had brought his followers to their true home. They had travelled long, coming upon villages of plant people where they had preached, and many had followed them. They had then circled back around and passed through all the villages they had been to before, bringing all the believers who had remained behind with them as they journeyed to Orabil. His initial group of youth, Vowzra's Victors, had grown to three hundred. Along with those whom they had initially left behind, there were now almost a thousand believers. They had all come home, to Orabil, the Living Tree, the Tree of Light.

They made camp in the shade of the great tree and every now and again a group would leave the camp and go up to the trunk of the great tree to touch it. When Zerabil went, he was accompanied by one hundred of his most loyal believers, those chosen from the ranks of Vowzra's Victors. These were his Hallowed Hundred, he had blessed every one of them and they were loyal and steadfast in faith unto death. Zerabil had been a kind leader to them, but he had been an almost cruel drillmaster when it came to the training and learning they did.

Meditation had been honed into an art, if their focus could be sculpted it would have been a masterpiece of stone. Their Wi had been stretched and tested in skirmish after skirmish with Dyuns and Cimex alike, but most of all it was against the Terrors of the night. Zerabil had taught them not to fear the darkness, but to prepare for it and conquer it. 
[color=9e0b0f][i]'There is no Night Terror. The Terror in the Night is merely the manifestation of that which we must overcome. It is doubt, and fear, and despair. Every night is fought within. Conquer the night that lies inside you, and the Terror disappears like the illusion it is.'[/i][/color]
Rejys had forged for each of Vowzra's Victors a weapon. Zerabil's was the spear, and Jrolfir carried a mace. Rejys himself, who was foremost of the Hallowed Hundred, remained true to his sword and shield. Some had requested armour similar to that of the mighty metal being, and those walked around like colossals and were unstoppable against the Terrors. Zerabil had not taken so much to the armour Rejys so readily forged when the resources were available - his own body and Wi was armour enough, and he told his followers that on many occasions. Nevertheless, he did not fail to thank the Lord of the Forge for his blessings and mercy upon them all, and the believers could not be more grateful. Zerabil doubted that Rejys was too thrilled about some of the requests he had been getting - only a week ago an elderly woman had come demanding a large pot. 
[color=f26522][b]'Can You Not Request It Of One Of My Disciples?'[/b][/color] the metal being had asked.
'Don't you get cheeky with me you little ruffian! Put some armour on them and they think they rule the world! Whose going to feed you tonight, eh?' she had snapped at him, swinging a staff at the armoured head.
[color=f26522][b]'I Do Not Even-'[/b][/color]
'None of that cheek, you hear! Now get on with it,' and with that she had left the odd pieces of scrap metal with him and wondered off, muttering something about all the floods she hoped He of the Waters would wreak upon such ungrateful subjects.

Zerabil chuckled at the memory and glanced at Rejys as they trekked towards Orabil. Ever the gentleman, he had hammered out a fine pot for her.
'I s'pose it's good enough,' she had muttered, before giving off a terrifyingly witch-like laugh and running off gleefully with it. If Rejys had a face, he would probably have been gawping in disbelief at such cheek just about then.

When Zerabil reached the tree and touched it, he was filled with wonderment and given further purpose. Not even for him did the tree open its eyes or its mouth, but its wisdom reached him and he set about creating a permanent settlement for the believers by the great tree, and over time it grew into a fine town. Zerabil set out a dual system of governance; on one side a Diktat was elected to rule for six years, and on the other Zerabil acted as an advisor. The Diktat had his own Council, generally made up of those believed to be pious and those whom the Diktat selects. In the vicinity of Orabil, all was peace and no defenses were needed, and when night came, the Terrors could harm nobody within the radius - though that could not be said for those beyond. And when the annual Week of Terror came about, a contingent of fifty Victors who remained permanently in the settlement would surround the village and protect the settlement while the influence of Orabil was down. There was little any Terror could do against these experienced and disciplined warriors and Wi-users, even less so when they were united in defense of [url=http://pre00.deviantart.net/f764/th/pre/f/2015/127/f/6/far_far_away_by_damiankrzywonos-d8sgsjr.png]Orabson.[/url] 

Vowzra's Victors also set about building temples to each of the gods around Orabil, using stone and metal and designing each temple as befits the god's character. Using Wi and Zerabil's expert direction, the settlement and the temples were built within two years, and the leadership of the settlement was charged with taking care of the temples and looking after all who came in pilgrimage, whether they were animals or more intelligent beings.

With that complete, Zerabil set out once more with his Victors - less fifty - and took them beyond the safety of Orabil's influence and to the mountains in the south. There they set about building a fortified mountain monastery. The monastery had a smithy which Rejys designed personally, as well as a meditation garden. There was a large storehouse, a library and training grounds. The library, while filled with tomes largely penned by Zerabil so as to make his knowledge more accessible, was also a place where treasures, artifacts and relics were kept. Many of the items gathered over the years, such as Cimexian weapons, Dyun skulls and pieces of their skeletons amongst others were stored there, and future items would also find their way there.
The monastery itself was surrounded by high walls of metal and stone, guarded day and night. The natural mountainous landscape provided additional defense - any attempting an assault would find themselves facing an uphill battle, frigid conditions and thin air. Various traps and pitfalls layered the approach to the monastery and as a final safety precaution, Zerabil had two underground escape routes dug. Piercing the stone of the mountain was an arduous task at best, but with time and effort and the disciplined dedication of Vowzra's Victors, his will was done. It was the fifteenth year after his creation when Zerabil finally stood upon the iron and stone ramparts of the fortified mountain monastery, the base of the order, the [url=http://img11.deviantart.net/a95a/i/2012/131/5/4/mountain_castle_by_luayne-d4zdgey.jpg]Mountain's Crown.[/url]

[centre]***[/centre]

[centre][i]Year 30[/i][/centre]

The sword of light descended upon the critter's head, bringing its miserable existence to an end. In the darkness of the cave, little could be seen except the luminescence of the blade and the one glowing eye of the one who held it, with a golden pupil in the middle.
'Was that the last of them, Battle Brother?' a voice came from behind him.
[color=9e0b0f][i]'No, Battle Brother Jrolfir, I can sense the last of them deeper within. Leave them to me. You gather the others and collect whatever is worthy of being stored in the library. They shall serve as a reminder of the existence of this pitiful race of Xenos. Future Brothers will no doubt delight in the tale of their ignominious demise.'[/i][/color] Battle Brother Jrolfir bowed deeply and left the cage, his armour clanging as he went. It was now the norm for Battle Brothers of the Hallowed Hundred to garb themselves in full armour, and Zerabil had taken to donning the odd breastplate and shoulder guard.

He stepped further into the cave where the last of the Xeno filth dwelled. In these last fifteen years, they had battled Xenos of the Cimex and Dyun types endlessly, but it had been the Dyun who faced the full glare of their fury. Today, their fury would find closure and the first of the Xeno scourges would be annihiliated. Tale had reached them of the extermination of the Dyun Champion not days ago, news which gladdened the heart of every believer and defender of Man. Some had asked him if he felt any loss at not having destroyed the Xeno himself, but to feel such would have been folly.
[color=9e0b0f][i]'It matters not who exterminates the Xeno scourge. What is important is that they are exterminated. The wellbeing of Man over-rides all desire for glory.'[/i][/color]
'Why do they hate us so, Battle Brother?' a newly initiated Brother asked. It was in fact Huyin, the five hundred and first, and the latest, initiate into the Order.
[color=9e0b0f][i]'Life, Brother, is so much easier when you have someone to blame.'[/i][/color] Zerabil had replied cryptically, turning away and leaving the young initiate blinking in confusion. He would process it, Zerabil knew, and he would understand. He was of Vowzra's Victors after all.

Zerabil descended and found himself entering a wide and high chamber of sorts, which also proved to be where the cave came to an end. He turned his head slowly towards the group of Xenos cowering by the far wall. There were five of them, two adults, two children, and one only recently born. As Zerabil approached, one of the adults clicked at him but did not move. If he did not know any better, he would have thought it was telling him to please leave them alone. The other adult was holding the newborn. 
[color=9e0b0f][i]'Give me that,'[/i][/color] he said coldly, pointing his Morning Blade at it. There was silence for a while. Zerabil knew they had understood, [color=9e0b0f][i]'and that one too,'[/i][/color] he pointed at one of the children. The clicking of the two adults grew more frantic and at last they seemed to reach a decision. They chose death. 

The adults turned upon their children. Realising what was going on, Zerabil struck with speed. Before the one holding the newborn could do anything, he was upon it, severing its head from its shoulder and clawing the newborn from its hands. He had watched the extermination of many of these newborns, it did not bother him so much that she would choose to kill it, but he had other ideas.
The other adult had finished off one of the children and had turned on the other - the one Zerabil had asked for. It worked out rather conveniently after all, he thought as he froze the remaining adult from head to toes before giving him a mighty kick. He split into a good few chunks. The Morning Blade quickly dissipated, sheathing itself into him and Zerabil turned upon the remaining child and picked it up. These were the survivors, the only ones remaining of these Xenos. Perhaps he would be able to find better use for them.

Emerging from the cave entrance, he watched his Battle Brothers as they scoured the area for anything valuable enough to be worth adding to the library's collection. It was most important when one went about their duties as a Victor, that they not allow emotions to blur their vision and mind. One had to come with focus and vision sharper than the very swords they tore their foes down with. When one allowed feelings like hatred and anger through, then they were no longer carrying out their duties; they were simply wreaking mindless death and destruction. At the same time, however, it was important that one's heart not become hardened and that they not lose compassion and mercy. Even in the heat of battle, Vowzra's Victors had to remember that where mercy was an option, then it was a good option. The ten Battle Brothers who had come with him, now finished scouring the bodies, approached him, Battle Brothers Jrolfir and Rejys at their head, and Juras coming up behind the rest. 

It was Juras who commented on the Xeno children.
'Are those the last of the Xenos, Battle Brother Zerabil? Shall we honour them with a swift death or let them feel the long and tortuous wrath of Man for all their kind have done?' Zerabil looked at the two ugly things in his hands.
[color=9e0b0f][i]'No, Battle Brother Juras, I have other plans for these two.'[/i][/color] he said simply. Juras frowned at this.
'I hope, Battle Brother, that you do not plan to show them mercy. It is our duty to-'
[color=9e0b0f][i]'I know what out duty is, Battle Brother,'[/i][/color] Zerabil gave him a reassuring look, [color=9e0b0f][i]'but whoever is not merciful to others will not be treated mercifully.'[/i][/color] Zerabil's meaning was clear. Whether he planned to show compassion to these creatures or not was his pregorative, not anyone else's. 
'Then let there be no mercy for the merciless, Battle Brother. These Xenos brought Mankind to the brink of extinction, their merciless ways never came to an end, even to this day. Let there be no mercy.' Juras' face was crunched up in anger.
[color=9e0b0f][i]'Your emotions get the better of you Battle Brother. That is not the way of the Hallowed Hundred. Clear your mind and trust in your Battle Brother.'[/i][/color] realising that he was not in his right mind, Juras bowed deeply and excused himself to go reestablish his calm. 
[color=9e0b0f][i]'Have you gathered all things of value?'[/i][/color] Zerabil asked the others, who responded in the affirmative. 
[color=9e0b0f][i]'Then come, let us be gone. Time is a sword, if you do not severe it, it will severe you.'[/i][/color] And so, once Juras had returned, the ten Battle Brothers of the Hallowed Hundred prepared their steeds and set off for the Mountain's Crown.

Before they had reached the base, a rider came to meet them, telling them that an emissary had arrived at Orabson with a letter for the Prophet. Leaving the two Xenos with his Battle Brothers, who continued on to the Crown, Zerabil rode the aging Otso harder than he had in a long time. The bear may have been old, but by the gods he still had fight in him!
[color=9e0b0f][i]'Time is a sword, my friend,'[/i][/color] he muttered as he thought of the signs of his own aging. Already his face was beginning to crease and he looked everyday the fifty year old he was not. So it must be.

Arriving in Orabson, Zerabil was barely given time to rest before the Diktat and his Council were upon him. A man had come, he managed to work out. The rest was them talking and shouting over each other. In the end, he asked for the letter and they watched in apprehensive silence as he read. Upon completing it, he nodded slowly.
[color=9e0b0f][i]'I see...'[/i][/color] he had received news from his scouts that the Cimex were acting strangely recently. Vowzra's Victors made it a rule not to infringe upon the territory of the Xenos, it was only those who strayed into the realms of Man who were dealt with. It would seem that this would have to come to an end. The full fury of Vowzra's Victors would have to now be mustered against the Cimex, and it was certainly not going to be a task as simple as destroying the primitive Dyuns. It mattered not, they would quell the CimeXenos.
[color=9e0b0f][i]'Write back to the Sanguine Communion, and write also to the Uri and the kings of our realm. We must meet and plan for this threat. Invite them all here, to Orabson.'[/i][/color] the Diktat and his Councillors scattered and Zerabil gave a long sigh.

Things were only now truly beginning. 

[hider=Might and Khookies]
1 Khookie consumed to construct town: Orabson
1 Khookie consumed to construct fortified mountain monastery: Mountain's Crown
6 Khookies consumed to create Order: Vowzra's Victors
2 Might used to create Elite branch of Vowzra's Victors: The Hallowed Hundred
5 Khookies consumed to teach Order: Weapon Specialisation
5 Khookies consumed to teach Order: Wi Specialisation  
2 Khookie consumed to teach Order idea/way of life: Stoicism
6 Might used to level up Vowzra from Level 4 to Level 5

2 Khookies Remaining (Zerabil)
2 Might 2 Free Points Remaining (Vowzra)

30 Year Time-Skip: Hero Level Increase by 20 -> Level 23 Hero
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