[center][h3]Vetros' Descent[/h3]
Part Two

[img]https://i.imgur.com/vVKfCjO.png[/img]

[colour=f7941d][i]Level 7 Dormant-Goddess of Magic (Pacts)
[b]Might[/b]: 25
[b]Free Points[/b]: 9
[b]Concelmeant/Detection[/b]: 10[/i][/colour]

[color=0072bc][b]Vizier Ventus, Majordomo to Zephyrion, Most Supreme of All Djinn[/b]
Level 10 Hero
13 Khookies[/color]

[color=Tan][b]King Akthanos[/b]
Priest-King of the Firewind, Lord of Vetros, Sovereign of the Vetruvian Kingdom, Zephyrion's Prophet
Fifth Ruler of the Primurid Dynasty[/color]

[color=940099][b]Y'Qar[/b]
Scion of Vetros, Exile, Wanderer[/color]

[b]Shaqmar of the Sunlit Eyes[/b]
The [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i]
[/center]

Digging his knees into Layl's sides, stallion and rider leapt forth and flew across the grass, leaving Shaqmar's warriors far behind as they tried to keep up with their lord's impossible steed. Dashing through the makeshift gate, he came to a halt in the burning camp. The [url=http://www.gayot.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/songkul.jpg]roundtents[/url] had been overturned and were now burning. The people had been taken, and those who had not been taken were either dead or weeping and screaming. The [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i] stared numbly at the scene, his senses blind to those who had gathered around him, tears streaming from their faces and unheard words and screams. And there were hands reaching out for him as though his touch alone could waken them from the horror of it all. Layl, as though hearing his master's thoughts, leapt forward suddenly and made for the [i]Qa'id Adheem's[/i] Great Roundtent in the centre of the encampment. He dismounted before his burning home and, his skin blind to the fire's heat, walked in. His eyes did not see - could not see - anything that was not Layla. And Layla was not there. And he dropped to his knees there and roared his grief and fury to the burning heavens, and punched and clawed at the ground, and he had to be pulled out by Qaseer before he burned along with the roundtent.

'Where is she?' he groaned even as tears poured forth from his eyes and he wept with the weepers and cried with the criers and screamed with those who screamed. Qaseer and his other warriors stood shocked and disconcerted at the [i]Qa'id Adheem's[/i] paralysis and womanish behaviour. 
'You!' Qaseer shouted at one of the weeping women, grabbing her by the scruff of the neck, 'who was it? Who did this?' he demanded.

'The Ma'Erkoz,' she managed through her sobs, 'they...my girl. Masmuni!' she cried and beat at her head and tore at her white hair. A high-pitched cry suddenly rose up and a young woman appeared before Qaseer and screamed her soul out at the [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i].

[centre]'We are the daughters of the morning star,
Ask the smouldering deserts who we are!
At our formed necks we wear these ornaments,
Like moons wearing the hefty firmaments!
Where we tread emerge greenery and musk
And ours the six bright moons that rise at dusk!
Sally forth, and we sally towards you,
We favour brave hearts, so raise your hordes too!
Weep and flee, and we fly quickly from you
And the earth will curse and heavens damn you!
Our men went out to hunt the desert sheep,
Blind to the keen tigers waiting to leap!
Forgot the maned lions and their maned steeds
And went to collect worms and harvest weeds!
Weep, oh heavens, the fall of the nomad;
The women and children of the Azad!
So long as these avengers cry and weep
O furies, O shame, never fall asleep!'[/centre]

The furious cries of the womenfolk rose once more, and Shaqmar, even through his bitter tears and even in his deafened and blinded state, heard that same voice continue its screams, 'Where is the avenger from the line of Azad? Where is the avenger for the shed blood of Azad! Where is the saviour of the stolen Azad? Where is the smiter of our foe and the honourer of the friends of the Azad? Where are the men and where are the warriors of Azad? They left to hunt sheep, and sheep returned but not - oh, but not! - not the Azad!'

Placing a hand on his face, the maddened [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i] attempted to find some degree of sanity. And he dried the tears of his eyes - though there was no stopping his soul's feverish sobs -, and he brought a degree of calmness to his face - though there was no calming the forever cracked and broken face of his heart -, and he rose to his feet - though there was no rising for the feet of his mind after this fall.

'Qaseer,' came the voice of the [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i]. The man turned and looked at Shaqmar.
'Yes, my [i]Qa'id[/i],' he responded.
'Go,' and he looked into the distance as he spoke, 'and gather every living creature and every [i]Qa'id[/i] of every tribe, and command them to gather their spears and their bows, and their swords, and let them gather all their powers and all their strengths, and let every magicker and every shaman come, and let him bring with him every sliver of the Eternal Sky's fury. Gather them, and their people, and gather the staunchness of the earth and cutting blade of the wind, and gather the blaze of every flame and crushing might of the flowing rivers and streams. Bring yourself and bring them and let them bring themselves. The [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i] marches to war. The heads of the Ma'Erkoz will be my loot, their blood my life-giving water, their flesh and bones my straight road, their screams my victory song, their tears the coolness of my heart's seething fury,' as Shaqmar spoke, Qaseer's eyes slowly widened and any colour present in his face slowly seeped away. He gulped, bowed, and quickly mounted his mare and set-off.

With that, Shaqmar turned upon the woman who had screamed and dared question his bravery and manliness.
'Surayka,' he said, 'go and tell the dead to sleep easy, for the day has not come when Azad blood is spilled and goes unavenged. By the eternally living soul of my forefathers, by the sanctified soul of God, I shall kill of the Ma'Erkoz until I am sated, and I shall then kill of them until you are sated, and then I shall kill until the dead are sated. So go and weep, Surayka, and tell the dead to weep, for were the earth itself to bleed on their behalf, and were the heavens to wail for them, never shall I be sated!' and he turned away from her and gestured to the women to rise and for the men to walk with him, 'come! Burn your slain.'

'Shaqmar,' came Surayka's voice, 'do you not know who is among the dead?' he froze at her words and turned weakly towards her, his heart trembling at the ghost of the thought. He looked to Surayka, his eyes barely managing to hold back his tears.
'Who?' he at last managed. The woman looked away, her lips pursed and her eyes gathering water.
'Is it...' he took a few steps towards her and suddenly found himself shaking her violently by the shoulders, 'is it!?' Wailing, and thereby causing the other women to begin wailing  and slapping themselves and tearing at their hair once more, she pushed him from her and turned away.
'No, you madman! It is Arana. It is your mother!' Shaqmar stumbled from her and turned away, walking towards Layl while shaking his head and muttering in denial.
'No,' he was saying, 'you lie, Surayka. You lie!'

'It was Firasi, Shaqmar. He sought her and Layla and sang out as he searched and slaughtered all who crossed his path:
[centre]I dawned upon the naked tent of a cursèd foe
And brought my warriors and their horses in tow,
I entered thereupon and found lain there within
A powerless goddess who sowed my heart with sin,
I looked around to where her guardian should have been
And, finding none, took my spear and freely plunged it in![/centre]
And he killed your mother, and he took Layla.'

Shaqmar stood frozen by Layl, leaning heavily on his stallion. Slowly, he slid to the ground by Layl's front legs and placed his bearded face in his trembling hands. His mighty shoulders shook with rage and grief, and none could tell whether the sound he emitted was a groan or a scream or a sob, or something else altogether. At last, he raised his head from his palms and spoke.

[centre]'All things are fated towards termination
Except good deeds and the Lord of Creation,
And you see the people looking together
Resigned to it and without any power.
Tell the dead mother lain there who weeps her son
A severance has come 'twixt this world and men,
Here we sit weeping tears at your departure
And you wept naught but blood before the archer.
By the Eternal Sky! I shall weep mother
Long as the mountaintops doth pour forth water!
Oh Layla, abandoned by your guardian lord
There shall be no peace till skulls sate the parched sword
And till eyes, after long weeping, dry again
And blood water the pyres of the sinless slain!
The Azad have dawned, mourning of a long war
Like the camel burdened and with shoulders sore.
I shunned Ma'Erkoz that they may awaken
And I now waken, for I was mistaken!
And they burdened my back with this vilest act
The barrens are pierced and the mountains cracked!
They looted and slaughtered without a battle
They killed them falsely as though they were cattle!
Oh Ma'Erkoz, be warned! for we now swallow
A bitter drink - and we shan't wail and wallow!
Oh Azad, prepare for the day of battle
Take up the bow and spear, and your swords rattle!
Ma'Erkoz mocks us and assaults our turned backs
Wait on our thousand swords, they'll see [i]our[/i] attacks!
By the Rolling Sky, I shall for Layla kill
The number of the stars and sand and gravel,
By Him, I shall for Layla annihilate
All of them, or else Azad can to its fate!
Closen Layl's reins to me, for this war will now
With my entrance bear good fruit, I avow!
Closen Layl's reins to me, my words aren't sought nor
My silence, but my action - oh blood and gore!
Closen Layl's reins to me, for that woman's cries
Have awakened me: Firasi quickly dies!
Closen Layl's reins to me, for justice and war
For dignity and blood and Azad honour!
Closen Layl's reins to me, for this my long night
Has grown too long, a blood sun rises to fight!
Closen Layl's reins to me, my secret is bared
And my earthquake is unveiled, so be prepared...
Closen Layl's reins to me, I fear no affray
And my heart looks not for death but thirsts to slay!
Closen Layl's reins to me, for Arana who
Has unshackled me and with me let free you.
Closen Layl's reins to me, for he is a steed
Worth riding into the thick of this due deed.
Closen Layl's reins to me, the death of love
Has changed my state and killed that pure peaceful dove.
Closen it, and closen too my battledress 
And my battle shield and for Layl nothing less!
Closen them, and closen my ferocious men
Raise them, bring them, we ride once and not again![/centre]

And tears wet his beard, and none accused him for them and men and women alike lowered their gazes so as not to dishonour their [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i] by seeing him in his moment of weakness. When he had regained some of his composure, he commanded Surayka to lead him to his mother's body. And the dead were washed and pyres were built for them. And many good mares and stallions and camels were slaughtered and placed on the pyres with the bodies of the dead. And Shaqmar set them all ablaze. And the smoke rose up, and their souls rose up on it and on the spirits of their horses and camels, towards the Eternal Sky. And Shaqmar bid them farewell, and he pledged staunchly and sincerely that he would not allow a single warrior of the Ma'Erkoz to live, and that he would slaughter every single one of them who was taller than [url=http://mongoliatravel.guide/upload/2014/10/fbf7311a2723aac81c5ddbd22493df00.jpg]a cart wheel[/url], and he would scatter their allies and massacre them, and take their women and subjugate them, and kidnap their children and raise them to hate the memory of the Ma'Erkoz and all their allies.
'And 'tis an oath agreed, and 'tis a thing decreed.'

Over the years, Shaqmar had slowly conquered and allied his way to complete control over the northernmost regions of the Firewind and the southernmost grasslands of the Barrens of Rukbany. From the eastern banks of the Mahd all the way to where desert and grasslands gave way to hellish deadlands, the word of the [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i] Shaqmar was supreme. The Azad and all allied and subjugated tribes migrated where they wished and fed and watered their horses and camels and livestock where they pleased. They hunted in safety, and all pledged undying allegiance and loyalty to Shaqmar and the ruling Azad tribe. And they regularly paid tribute to the Azad, and gathered together at the Azad encampment for various events – sometimes for the great annual hunt, or for lesser events such as tribal tournaments. And it was common that marriages would be agreed and would take place during these great gatherings.

While the Vetruvians mistakenly thought that Shaqmar had already united the tribes of Rukbany and ruled over huge swathes of lands to the north and beyond, this was not the case. But it was an easy mistake to make, for he had seized all the Rukbanians lands that bordered Vetros, and it was often the case now that the raiders who penetrated Vetruvian territory were loyal to him. As it were, however, Shaqmar was merely the [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i] of one Rukbanian tribal confederation - that being the Azad Confederation.In the beginning, Shaqmar had managed to subjugate some of the smaller clans in the region before succeeding in striking up an alliance with the powerful Mu'aykala tribe and their chief, Urtagai. The powerful Huntalla tribe had in due time been defeated by their allied forces and been brought into the fold, and the Dhul'Dhanab had, after a few futile skirmishes, surrendered before the might of the Confederation. But internal struggles proved more fierce and difficult than those on the battlefield, and for a long time Shaqmar and Urtagai had struggled for the title of [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i]. Only the old man's death had prevented the outbreak of war, and even then his sons proved difficult to placate. Only their great number, and the many competing factions within the Mu'aykala tribe, ensured that their infighting prevented them from turning on Shaqmar. Instead they split into hostile factions and clans, and the intelligent Azad took the opportunity and had himself elected to the position of supreme power. 

It had not been long since that consolidation had taken place, and nothing more than a few light skirmishes had taken place against the Ma'Erkoz Confederation who occupied the northeastern region of Rukbany. The Tagham Tribes to the northwest had maintained friendly relations and restrained their raiders from striking at Azad herding grounds. Seeing this, Shaqmar had decided to foster good relations with their young [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i] Tiqodae. With this heinous Ma'Erkoz attack, he suddenly found that nothing brought friends together better than shedding blood together. If the Tagham were to be trusted, they would respond to his call and help him take revenge. If not, he would know them for what they truly were and respond accordingly in due time.

[centre][hider=The Barrens of Rukbany][img]http://i.imgur.com/hUPqtnQ.jpg[/img][/hider][/centre]

While Shaqmar was aware that Rukbanian tribes existed even further to the north, tales reached him of ones that existed on the steppes - tribes of little white men as well as Rukbans. And tales reached him of places where the bodies of the dead were not burned, and so they rose and walked amongst the living. And tales reached him also of a blissful valley where winged humans dwelled. Of course, these great open grasslands had strange things of their own. There was the odd Azmundian Horror that found its way out of the desert or out of the horrific deadlands to the west. And wrathful djinnis often wreaked havoc on the plains. And then there was that horrific merchant race - 'Ogs' as they were called - who passed through the grasslands with their goods. The living dead sometimes made their way out of the deadlands to the east and all forms of terrible things. But the bewildering power of shamans and magickers and witchdoctors stood ever stalwart before the assaults of these fearsome sons of Y'Vahn. Indeed, ever since Shaqmar's rise the creatures from the deadlands had not been able to penetrate as deeply into the Barrens of Rukbany as they had in previous decades and centuries. It was further proof that the Eternal Sky stood at his back and protected him and his people.

When the many warbands of the Azad Confederation had gathered into one great war party at Shaqmar's camp, he waited until nightfall and then gathered everyone and called forth all the magickers and witchdoctors. And they came forth, shaking their heads and causing [url=https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/4d/70/f6/4d70f620692e0712c5d578bbade03eee.jpg]the hanging thread-like strips[/url] over their faces to jump from side to side, along with other strips elsewhere on their dress. And they beat at the ground with their feet and danced around a great fire, and beat their camel-skin [url=http://www.wearesalt.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Old-Shamans-Drum-min.jpg]drums[/url] all the while. As their drumming grew more frantic, they began to release strange grunts and growls, until suddenly they started singing - if it could be called [url=https://youtu.be/gA7NUqdxfIs]singing[/url]. The gathered people slowly began to beat at the ground with their feet also, and the shamans grew louder and more frantic, leaping around the fire and wildly bashing their drums above their heads with their little wooden beaters. Their leader was recognisably Alqama. 
Though by now ancient, he was the most vigorous of them, grunting and drumming madly as the spirits of Shaqmar's ancestors were called upon and summoned to give judgement and command. One by one they leapt over the huge fire, drumming as they did so, and landing with a roll before leaping back up, screeching, and continuing their spectral dance around the flame. Now this one bent backwards as he beat his drum, and now that one bent forward and beat frantically with his feet at the ground, causing a little cloud of dust to gather around him. And now that one spun on one foot, pausing momentarily and banging the drum loudly with every spin. As the ritual continued, Alqama took up a small clay jug with some kind of white substance in it and poured it around the flame as he circumambulated it and, once done, threw the jug with a sudden powerful dart into the flame. The fires hissed in anger and the sudden change in temperature, as well as the throw, caused the jug to burst. It was a tremendous display.
At last, when the hypnotising display had reached its climactic crescendo, the shamans all turned towards the fire, gave off simultaneous screeches, leapt into the air, and fell rolling on their backs and were deathly still for a long time. All sound immediately came to a stop, and the people watched with anticipation what would now occur.

[centre][hider=The Shaman is the Magicker is the Witchdoctor][img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/b8/da/b2/b8dab2cfbff1b4dc1d28d4a50c41725d.jpg[/img][img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/0e/99/8e/0e998e48dc97a40bd3c45167e9c96e69.jpg[/img][img]http://66.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lvsio8x9tJ1qzh02oo1_r1_1280.jpg[/img][/hider]

[url=https://youtu.be/UDXrdZ9gRds]The Azad Ride[/url][/centre]

Seated above all others on a raised wooden platform with torches to either side of him, Shaqmar now rose. The shamans rose with him and they appeared to be in a drunken trance for they stumbled hither and thither uncertainly, and their heads were drooped forward. Alqama finally stepped forward, to speak on their behalf. He gave off the same guttural sounds from before and beat on his drum slowly.

'Shaqmaaaaaaar,' came his growling voice, 'I am the spirit of your forefathers. I am Arana your mother. I am your father Buraq.  We are your forefathers Muharaq, Irqa and Azad and those before who loyally followed the Chosen of Heaven. We have been dishonoured and humiliated before the Eternal Sky - as we sat in God's court a red cloud of shame came and hung over our heads, and it hangs there still, and shall hang so long as your pledge to us goes undone. Go and chase the clouds of dishonour away, all those taller than a cart wheel you must slay!' Shaqmar descended the platform and fell on his hands and knees before his forefathers.
'By your honour, by your spilled blood, it shall be done. Protect me, honoured ancestors, strengthen my resolve and cleanse me of all mercy and weakness. You shall be avenged!'

'Shaqmaaaaaaar,' came the grating sound, 'I was killed in the sanctity of my roundtent, in the inviolability of your encampment. They have done a thing never before done in all of Rukbany. Who will avenge my spilled blood?'
'I!' was Shaqmar's reply.
'Who shall ensure the sanctity and inviolability of what the Eternal Sky has decreed sanctified and inviolable?'
'I!' 
'Who shall elevate the friends of the Eternal Sky and bring low its foe?'
'I!'
'Shaqmaaaaaaar,' came his raucous voice, 'backstabbing and death have descended upon your encampment, and my chosen spouse in life and after life has been cut down in the twilight of her years. They have created a precedent which they will, must, grow to regret. Who shall give them cause to regret?'
'I!'
'Shaqmaaaaaaar,' came his rough voice, 'go forth and know that the furious spirits of your forefathers are in your every strike and every roar, we fly with your every arrow and guide the plunging spears, and we are the shields in your shields and the sight in your eyes and the boiling pit of courage in your stomachs, and we are the whispers on the breeze and the heralds of victory,' and with that, Alqama fell on to his back and was once more still, and all the other shamans did likewise. The [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i] rose and returned to his place on the raised wooden dais, and a small clay bowl of fermented mare's milk, [url=https://www.wikiwand.com/en/Kumis]kymis[/url], was brought to him. He raised the bowl to eye-level in two outstretched hands and looked around at the faces exposed by the flittering light of torches and fires in the night.

'You have heard the words of our blessed forefathers, and you have heard also my vow to eradicate the Ma'Erkoz for their sins. And you well know that my word is my bond, and what Shaqmar speaks is done. Tonight we drink and feast the feast of war. And on the morrow we rest and prepare, and on the day after we ride out. And you have heard it said before, and I shall say it here once more: we ride out once and once alone, and we return only when our foes are slain and gone - or we never,' and with that, he brought the bowl to his lips and drank, and all others raised their own bowls and did likewise. And food was brought forth and cooked, and all ate and feasted, and poems were recited and drums were beaten and the shamans growled their forbidding growls and hummed their hums of war and chanted their chants.

Leaving them to their preparations, Shaqmar retired to his tent to rest. But he found that he was restless and eventually got back up and paced around the roundtent. His thoughts revolved, as they always did, around Layla. But he also thought of his murdered mother and his vendetta. Eventually he seated himself on the furs and commanded one of the guards to call Surayka and bring more kymis. When she came, she brought an empty bowl and a clay jug brimming with the beverage and, when he gestured for her to do so, sat down on her knees beside him and filled the bowl for him before handing it over. He took the bowl and emptied it in a single gulp before handing it back to her.

'Surayka,' he said as she refilled it, 'you...you were there when he did it, were you not?'
'Yes, my [i]Qa'id[/i],' she said as she handed him the refilled bowl.
'Did she say anything?' he once more emptied the bowl and handed it back to her for a refill. She looked at him anxiously and put the bowl aside. He had drunk a great amount during the feast already and was quite clearly tipsy. He did not need anymore. 
'No, she ignored him completely and walked away from him into her tent. Once his men overturned that, he went in and stabbed her. She was seated and did not so much as look at him. And when he delivered his heinous blow, she did not so much as moan. And when they departed to loot and kill elsewhere, I ran to her,' he picked up the bowl and handed it back to her with a trembling hand for a refill. She pursed her lips and poured him more, 'drink slowly, Shaqmar.'

But he did not seem to hear her, or if he did then he ignored her for he quickly gulped it down and extended it to her for more.
'What happened?' he asked. She put the jug to the side and, taking his hand into both of hers, took the bowl from him and likewise put it aside.
'She asked about you, my [i]Qa'id[/i],' he turned his head to her.
'What...what did she say?'
'She said, and she kept saying until life departed from her: Where is my Shaqmar? Why hasn't he come back yet?'
A small moan left the man and he turned away from her and buried his head in the furs and was still. She remained sat there; her eyes downcast and a silent tear rolling down her cheek. Outside, it began to rain and thunder roared and lightening flashed, and those who were feasting left everything and swiftly escaped into their tents. After a small while, Shaqmar rolled over and stared emptily above him and, wiping the tears from his eyes, listened to the sound of the rain.

'The Sky is angry,' he at last said, 'and rightly so.'
'It is weeping,' Surayka murmured.
'And rightly so,' said the [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i]. He gestured for Surayka to go rest on his bed - for it was forbidden to walk outside during the Sky's fury, 'go rest and I shall lay here until the sun rises and the Sky regains its calm.'
She bowed and did as he bid her, but did not fall asleep. Every now and again he would ask her something or make a remark, and she would respond. 
'Surayka,' he abruptly said after a long period of silence.
'Yes, my [i]Qa'id[/i]?'
'You are amongst the most famed beauties of Rukbany. Why did they not take you too?' she did not respond for a minute or so.
'Is that some kind of accusation, Shaqmar? Would you have liked for them to have taken me too?'
'W-what? No, I don't mean it in that way. Of course I wouldn't want them t-'
'Would you have pledged your pledges and declared your oaths had it been me and not Layla that was taken? Do you care at all, Shaqmar, for all the others who were taken? For your cousin, Yesla, or my sister Uta?'
'Surayka!' he hissed and sat up, 'what are you suggesting? That I do not care for my people? That I have no concern for anyone but Layla?'
'Not at all, Shaqmar,' she said quickly, 'I'm just in a bad way and spoke foolishly. Forget what I said...I'm sorry,' he looked over his shoulder at her. She was lying with her back to him and the cover drawn over her. Where Layla should have been.
'Surayka, you should get married before you get old and lose your beauty. Then you would have a man to protect you and wouldn't need to ask me questions like that. I will rescue Yesla and Uta and Layla and all our women and children. But even were I not here, Yesla has her brother, Qaseer, to avenge her. And your sister has her husband Muja. And yes, Layla has me,' and so saying, he lay back down and continued staring into the air and listening to heaven's rage. She made no response and eventually he stopped speaking altogether. His breathing grew long and deep. And he slept. Hearing this, she raised her head and looked wistfully behind her at him.

'For a great poet and eminent weaver of words and meanings such as you, Shaqmar, you seem blind to all my meanings and deaf to all my words,' and placing her head back on the [i]Qa'id's[/i] fur pillow, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Indeed, as Shaqmar well knew, there were words that were spoken though the tongue uttered naught, and eyes hid meanings for eyes with true sight.

The [i]Qa'id Adheem[/i] rose as the sun began to peer over the horizon. He glanced briefly at Sukayra and, noting that the fur blankets had slid off her in the nigh, walked towards her and covered her properly. Her face was at peace and she murmured inaudibly in her sleep as he covered her. How many nights had he sat up captivated by the beauty and tranquillity of Layla's sleeping face? How many sleepless nights had he spent worshipping before her sleeping form, and how many pining kisses had he rained upon her cheeks, only to have her - sometimes smiling and sometimes frowning - turn away and murmur for him to go to sleep. He may have been maddened with love, but not even a madman would so much as think of sleeping while the queen of beauty and peace lay beside him.

Suddenly nostalgic, he turned away and left the roundtent. The jugs which had held kymis the night before were many of them turned over, and the clay bowls sat in the soggy mud holding within them the clear tears of the Eternal Sky. Scooping some water from one of these bowls, Shaqmar washed his face and drank. When rainwater was unavailable and the Mahd was too far away to get water, the Rukbans relied on kymis for hydration - and there were many who preferred kymis even when water was available. Shaqmar was not of them. Many times had he reprimanded his men for drinking too much kymis and being drunk all the time. Kymis was good, a divine blessing, but drunkenness was no good unless one wished to drown out their grief and sorrows - and even then! 

Today was the day of preparation. His warriors would soon rise and sharpen their swords and spears and arrows, they would prepare their battledresses and ensure their horses were fit and ready. They would gather thereafter and sing together and recite war poetry before the wrestling would begin. Thereafter they would get on their horses and race around the encampment five times while firing their arrows at targets on the stockade. After the midday meal, they would rest for a while and then rise to duel one another. And as evening descended, they would once more sit around the fires and recite poetry and sing and dance, and all would retire early to their tents and spend the night with their wives and children. For on the morrow, they would go to war, and none knew who would return and who would be struck down in the heat of battle. For on the morrow, they would ride and cleanse the world of treachery and dishonour. For on the morrow they would cause a new river to erupt from the earth – a river of Ma’Erkoz blood and tears which would rival the glorious Mahd in the east. For on the morrow.

And it was so. Early on the morning of the third day Surayka took Layla’s place and dressed the [i]Qa’id Adheem[/i] in his battledress. And she braided his hair and brushed down his beard before placing upon his head one of his [url=https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/dd/39/fe/dd39fe87d983d9e957533352465c689e.jpg]wolf-skin headdresses[/url] which marked him out as the [i]Qa’id Adheem[/i], and which proclaimed to all that he was officially at war. Dipping two fingers into a bowl of kymis, she rubbed the liquid lightly on the headdress and on his beard. His sword belt was then wrapped around him and his bow’s sheath was attached with a small strap to the belt and held firm. The quiver, as was custom and as was most efficient, was positioned on his back so that the arrow feathers stuck out just above his right shoulder. It meant that when on horseback a new arrow could be pulled out immediately upon firing the last, in one continuous circular motion.

At last, Surayka brought him his [url= https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/11/c0/66/11c066e8f4813af4af3420f0b027fa70.jpg]spear[/url] and handed it to him. He looked every part the famed Shaqmar whose name was glorified by the very winds and grasses and rolling Rukbanian hills. His eyes held within them a dark severity and a barely restrained fury – or perhaps it was merely that madness she well knew existed in him. And though all people held within them a tinge of madness, Shaqmar’s madness was deeper and deeper still. It was not a madness of the mind, but a madness of the heart and soul.

‘Shaqmar,’ she murmured softly. He looked to her and smiled thinly, ‘please, whatever happens, be sure to return to us. We all need you. Very much.’ 
He cocked his head and gave her a level stare, ‘Surayka, I will only return if life awaits me here.’
She understood what he meant and she looked away from him, busying herself with tying the wolf’s feet together so that the headdress would remain steady.
‘You are the guarantor of life for many of us, Shaqmar,’ she whispered shyly.
‘The Eternal Sky guarantees life for whom it wills, not I, Surayka.’
‘And yet your life alone seems guaranteed by one other than God,’ she responded cuttingly, her tongue speaking before she could restrain it. He was taken somewhat aback by the sharpness in her voice – anger even.
‘The Eternal Sky guarantees physical life, but the life of the spirit is guaranteed by those we love,’ he at last said.
‘And so I say again, you obstinate man, you are a guarantor of life for us,’ and so saying, she turned away and left the roundtent, with Shaqmar staring earnestly after her. Sighing, he gripped the spear she had handed him and soon emerged from the roundtent also. 
Layl had been prepared for him, and so too had his other horse – a mare he had named Lula. For all his speed and power, Layl was a stallion and could not provide Shaqmar with milk. For what promised to be a long campaign, he would need to take Lula along with him too. Most of his riders were doing likewise either way, for the long journey would mean that one horse would tire too quickly after miles of constant galloping. And so they would jump from horse to horse in order to allow them to rest even as they continued without stopping. The women and children would be following at a slower pace behind. Mounting Layl and tying Lula’s reins to those of the stallion, the [i]Qa’id Adheem[/i] spurred his horse into a slow trot, surveying the warriors who were for the most part all ready and the roundtents which had been brought down by the women and the camels whose backs were already laden with their belongings. Shaqmar’s roundtent alone was not brought down. The great thing had been built on a massive cart pulled by some thirty yaks and would be coming along with them intact.

[centre][hider=The Qa’id Adheem’s Mobile Palace][img] https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/20/76/47/20764737f375fc61a912b0f90a2f95c7.jpg [/img][/hider][/centre]

What were the great palaces of Vetruvia before this? What was a home if one could not place it upon his shoulders when he so wished and depart with it? What was one’s home if it locked him away from the Eternal Sky and the great green hills and the flowing waters? This was the greatest of all palaces, for it was a home and not a prisoner of the earth it stood upon.
As he continued his inspection, he came upon Surayka as she brought down her roundtent in preparation for the journey ahead, and his thoughts turned once more to her last words to him. He was no fool and saw through all her hints and suggestions. And Shaqmar was a mere man, he denied not that her beauty drew him and her piercing eyes stoked the fires in his loins. But there was nothing more to it than that. It was lust. And it saddened him that he could not feel anything more for her – for all that he was belonged to Layla, and all that he could feel he felt for Layla, and the pinnacle of his desires was his desire for Layla, and the purest of them was that for Layla, and the most complete also and the most divine. All things shrank before that, even Surayka. And that was not due to any fault in the woman – on the contrary! But what was the beauty of all the moons in the skies, and all the stars, when the sun rose in the morning? All faded and disappeared, and only the sun could be seen. And it was not due to a deficiency in the beauty of those moons and stars, but such was the startling superiority of the sun. And such was the superiority of Layla before all that existed. 

She saw him looking at her and paused in her work. He approached and spoke.

[centre]‘Oh you unloved love, would you love unloved?
His heart is gloved, your heart is yet ungloved.
You seek after one consumed by madness -
All you sow and reap from him is sadness.
Look no more to one who cannot see you,
Break those shackles and so doing free you.
Your are the soaring eagle, so go fly
Or, if you clip those wings, you’ll quickly die.
Why is the hunter trapped when it should trap?
Go find your prey, and taunt him in your lap
And bring him close and warm him with your wing
And snare his soul and let him pray and sing
And let loose a regal triumphal cry
As you ascend with him into the sky!’[/centre]

She looked at him with wide eyes, and he – unable to hold her gaze – looked away sadly. She said nothing, and he quickly steered Layl and Lula away and continued his circuit around the massive encampment. And it could only be massive when all the tribes of the Azad Confederation had gathered in one place.There were some three thousand Azad warriors, five thousand warriors of the Mu'aykala tribe, four thousand of the Huntalla tribe, six thousand of the Dhul’Dhanab, and some two thousand from the other smaller clans and tribes – which alone came at fifteen tribes and clans, each with their own [i]Qa’id[/i]. If one were to count the women and children, the number would have been considerably more. In total, however, the united war party itself came at an earth-shaking, sky-splitting twenty thousand warriors. These were the riders of the Azad Confederation. They were the growl of thunder and strike of lightening against all who thought to raid Azad lands. They were the movers of mountains and shatterers of the earth. They were quick and certain death to heinous criminals such as the Ma’Erkoz.

Checking his saddlebags for sufficient food – salted meat for the most part - Shaqmar watched as the sun continued its ascent in the distance over yonder hills. He would have to one day reach the distant land where the sun rose and set every morning and night. Perhaps he would be able to speak with it when he did, and perhaps it would listen. And perhaps he would be able to command it, and perhaps it would obey. Alqama had told him that one who happened upon the sun as it was rising caught it at its weakest and could tame it. It would be good to tame the sun. If there were any Ma’Erkoz left upon the earth when he at last came to do so, his first command would be to completely destroy them. Such was the fate of criminals.

As he marched out with the war party that fateful morn – the women and children stirring and following slowly behind -, a large Dhul’Dhanabite man came up next to him, skilfully steering his mare with his legs alone and with an igilir in his hands. [url= https://youtu.be/p_5yt5IX38I?list=PLvsyUo3J6pFITq8a_JTvbvHMoJr6sDZLr]And he played it, and he recited the chant of war.[/url] It was good to have him so close, for his words fed the flames of Shaqmar’s steely fury, and they caused him to tighten his grip on the reins, and they caused death itself to manifest in his eyes and his every aspect. Soon, Shaqmar also began reciting with him, and others joined until the earth too seemed to chant and growl with them, and the slow thunder of their horses’ hooves seemed to be their roar. Once the chant was done, Shaqmar dug his knees into Layl’s sides and the powerful stallion leapt forward, dragging Lula along with him. Behind him the mighty host also stirred their horses. And the picturesque, rolling Rukbanian hills reverberated with their rumbling onset as they left the sluggishly moving encampment behind. And it was as though the gates of heaven had opened with a frightful boom, and its wrathful denizens had emerged to make right what had gone wrong, and to punish the sinful for their sins.

Indeed, as Shaqmar looked behind him at the great cloud of dust and dirt which his host kicked up, and how they emerged from it as though they were the vengeful spirits of his forefathers, he could not help but be affirmed in his belief that he was the punishment of the Eternal Sky – had the Ma’Erkoz not committed such crimes and sinned as they had, God would never have sent a punishment such as him against them. And those who did wrong would ultimately come to know what vicissitudes their undertakings will take and thereafter to what ultimate fate they would be turned. Had they thought they would be left alone despite all they did? If so, then they were asleep, and he was their terrible awakening! 
They crossed from Azad herding grounds into those of the Ma’Erkoz a week after having set out. Upon crossing, Shaqmar’s force split into four equal parties and each set off in a different direction. The first, under Shaqmar’s lead, continued north. The second and third forces, headed by the Dhul’Dhanab [i]Qa’id[/i] Siruga and the Huntalla [i]Qa’id[/i] Chenar, changed direction and headed west. Chenar would head north after some days of travel, and Siruga would do likewise once he reached the Venom-Forest’s edge. The final force, under the leadership of the foremost Mu’aykala [i]Qa’id[/i] Tadatunga headed eastward, and would turn north upon reaching the edge of the Tagham herding grounds. And if the Tagham Tribes proved faithful and to their overtures of friendship true, they would join with Tadatunga there and eventually meet with the other forces when Shaqmar sent his messenger to them.

[center][h3][b]≈≈≈≈≈[/b][/h3][/center]

The morning breeze carried the Mahd's sweet smell to the Vetros' High Temple, though it was laden with something else. Just as the overripe plum was sickeningly soft and sweet, the taste of death clung to the air and corrupted its purity. It reached the nose of the King upon his balcony, and he at once retreated back into the temple. Through the winding passages of the upper level that was his palace, he made his way downwards. Through the grand chambers and halls of worship he walked with haste, and on his way he encountered a band of soldiers that had been on their way to summon his attention. 

They tried to tell him of what had happened, but were ushered silent for Akthanos had already sensed it. Looking at the [url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3844242]horror[/url] that had been wrought in blood upon the street, he followed its path. Down other paths, those had had risen early looked on in horror too; there were trails of blood to be seen everywhere. All led to one great plaza, and where they came together was a sinister work indeed. He was not blind in his old age, though now he perhaps wished it upon himself. To gaze upon such evil was to bring ruin and curse upon one's self, or so the common folk believed. Akthanos knew that his power could ward off such things, but there was still the matter of protecting his people.

With shocked eyes, and then furious ones, he beheld the message that Heartworm had left behind. Its message was so simple and basic that it took no brilliance to discern; indeed, through the pure shock of the scene, the message forced itself into one's mind like the midday sun forced itself upon one's skin. With little effort, every detail of the intricate design burned itself into his memory. He would banish this evil from his city, but he would not so easily forget it. The King raised his staff a few humble inches from the ground, then brought it down. The earth itself seemed to crack under that force. Underfoot the ground shuddered and churned, and the sandy soil roiled until it had buried and obfuscated the bloodied painting that defiled Vetros. The cobbled roads were remade as they were, and then peace and tranquility had returned.

The morning sun rose, and with it the cityfolk. They gathered around and watched as they found their King kneeling in the streets, incanting a prayer at each one before walking to the next. So stoic and solemn was his expression that he projected an aura of silence, and so on that quiet morning they all observed wordlessly. 

At each street, Akthanos summoned the power of his god and cast a spell upon the people to ward them from the evil that had come in the dark. On and on this went until midday, when at last the Priest-King found himself before the Temple of the Bond. It was said by some that within there was a witch, and that within those halls were infidels that hid from Zephyrion's light. Was it right to bring salvation unto vermin? Was it just to spare from one great evil what might simply be an evil of a different face?

He looked upon that Temple for a while, the great crowd assembled behind him looking on as well. The condemning stares of a thousand men and women beat down upon the Temple's walls more harshly than the wind, the rain, and even the sun, and then Akthanos knelt. With a few words, he blessed the Temple and warded those inside from the night's evil.

He stood to his feet a few moments later, exhausted. He thought to reflect upon whether he had made a righteous decision, but the fatigue of his mind stymied such musing. Wearily, the old king returned to the High Temple and climbed the staircase to his palace above. He at last found himself at his bed, and there he collapsed.

[centre][h3]*[/h3][/centre]

Unlike the Priest-King, Yara had not needed to wait till the morning after to discover the horror of the night before. She had lain back in her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as she now did every night, her eyes clearly elsewhere, when she felt the strange presence. For her, the aura of the Priest-King's divine artefact had become a familiar sensation, one of the only pleasant ones that remained for her. But this sensation, which took the blankness out of her glazed eyes and filled her with intense and violent terror was not pleasant. She remained frozen in her place, pale and trembling, sweat lining her brow. [i]What if it could sense her?[/i]

She could feel it [i]slithering[/i] through the city. She could feel it working its tainted, unilateral magics. There was no finesse to it, and no harmony. She felt the forced penetrations and injections of energy as though it were her own skin which was torn and her own mind that was forced against its will to become something that it was not. There was a gift in it too. A unilateral gift that was not asked for, and a unilateral seizure which was not accepted. Thus were the ways of the gods! Where were the limits, one wondered. What was to prevent these gods from doing as they pleased with those vulnerable to their wills and whims and desires? There was nothing. There was no guarantee. Only against her did they have a guarantee, for her contract with all that existed was her bond. None were touched by her, none were harmed. All that she did, she did under the strictest and most strictly upheld contracts. And she had, in times aforetime, contracted with all that existed and would exist that she would, at the very least, do no harm unless it was under contract. Who of her siblings had done likewise? None had, and so watch the Universe go to ruin if you have eyes to see.

And she had slowly sat up and brought herself to her trembling feet. Pale and full of fear, her nightgown sticking to her body, she slowly made her way out of her room and walked barefoot through the temple's torch-lit halls. She thought she heard a sound from time to time, but it was not until she heard definitive footsteps that she froze and moved no more, listening intently. Yes, footsteps. Her mind went blank. Footsteps.

Wait.

Footsteps. Things that slithered did not step, right?
'Witch-Priestess? Is that you? Are you alright?' came a soft yet strong voice. She gulped and turned to find the scarred face of Gadar looking upon her. She nodded deliriously and stumbled towards him, putting a hand on his shoulder to stabilise herself.
[color=f7941d][i]'Please, take me to the Miracle Room,'[/i][/color] she whispered with a quivering voice. Nodding, he placed an arm hesitantly around her waist and helped her along. Silence hung between them like the heavens upon the back of the Solitary Mount, until Gadar eventually spoke.
'Mother...' he looked anxiously at her, 'I...I have been quite...well, worried about you recently. You have not been yourself at all. Has something happened?' 

Yara was quiet for a while, not looking at him as they walked closer and closer towards the Miracle Room.
'Mother?' he asked after a while, at which she stopped suddenly, anger flashing in her eyes.
[color=f7941d][i]'What? I haven't been myself you say? Do you know me that you can say that I haven't been myself? What makes you think that this isn't how I always have been? Stop asking me useless questions and just get me to the room,'[/i][/color] with that she made to continue walking, but he remained standing where he was, his arm tightening around her waist. She blinked in confusion and looked towards him. There was an odd look in his eyes. She shook her head and looked again. In her delirious state she had, for the briefest moment, thought that his left eye was functioning. It had been a strange, piercing black.
[color=f7941d][i]'Gadar, can we get going please?'[/i][/color] she asked impatiently.
'Mother, you helped me when I was weak and vulnerable. You brought me back from what may have been the jaws of death. Please, let me help you now. Do not deny me this, for I am in your debt,' she could not deny that his wording took her off guard.
[color=f7941d][i]'N-no, don't say that. It wasn't like tha-'[/i][/color]
'I am indebted to you, Mother,' he repeated more forcefully. She groaned and looked away and tried to fall away from his grip. But he took her up in both arms and carried her to the Miracle Room and laid her upon the altar. And she did not look at him and asked him to depart and leave her be.

'I will wait outside. Call on me if you need anything,' he said, ignoring her command. She had forgotten, by this point, why she had sought to come to the Miracle Room in the first place. And so she lay back on the altar, as he had placed her, and closed her eyes. And in her sleep, she saw with horrifying clarity all that the slithering thing did. 

When Gadar gently shook her awake, it was to tell her that a great crowd had gathered outside the temple gates not long ago.
[color=f7941d][i]'What? Why?'[/i][/color] she asked.
'It appears the Priest-King led some kind of parade through the city. Something happened last night. Something bad.'
Yara nodded. Yes. She knew. And this strange glow which seemed to emanate from the temple walls and from the air and even from within her, this strange warmth, was testament to that. Something so bad that the Priest-King had felt it necessary to cast wards all over the city. It was nice. It was warm and comforting. Almost like...

She looked at Gadar thoughtfully for a few seconds.
[color=f7941d][i]'Will...um. Will you take me back to my room now?'[/i][/color] she asked sheepishly. Gadar looked visibly surprised but eventually smiled ever so slightly and bowed his scarred head in obedience.
'Your words are commands, Mother.'

[centre][h3]*[/h3][/centre]

There was the dull, unending pain that came from aching bones. He had grown used to it, accepted it; like a limb, it was a part of what he was. It was the sickening twisting within him that tortured Akthanos. He lied down upon his bedding and turned once more, just as he had done all day. Rest evaded him; how could he sleep when the [i]vile beast[/i] that had butched his people and desecrated his streets yet drew breath? Normally Akthanos was of a kind heart and calm temperament, but now he thirsted for retribution, and even something darker...vengeance.

He wanted [i]It[/i] to beg as it shriveled in the sun and burned.

Yet as wise men knew, the lazy wolf finds no lamb, and the resting warrior conquers no land.

He rose up. Pain was his body's protest to that decision, but he was determined to go to the Temple of the Bond once more. He had ruminated upon all that he knew and had heard of that Temple, the newest of the city, and suspicion had grown within him and eaten away at him like a tumor.

So he would go just there, to that strange place, but not as a King. No, he would go in the dead of night as a humble peasant, and in the darkness he would find the truth. The path clear to him now, his disciplined mind banished the pain that hindered him and his exhaustion gave way to a restlessness. He shed free from his kingly robes and about him swirled the sand and dust that had been in the air. Clothes or no, he was King and his word was Law; from those swirling sands a roughspun and pauper outfit wove itself around him. His magnificent bejewlled scepter of gold became a gnarled walking stick, and all its power drifted free like so many drops of rain falling from a cloud.

Through the starlit streets he walked, keeping to the blackest corners just as any other man of such circumstances would. To be seen at this hour would be to have one's self taken for a burglar or other villain of the night, and so it was best to do one's business unseen.

And the will of the Priest-King was indeed unseen. For none but Yara could see or feel the golden hue and the warm glow which bathed the city and all who dwelled therein. So strange was the feeling that she remained all day in her room, sat up in her bed and simply gazing at the glow, savouring the way the simmering heat of the midday air seemed to drift away. Aye! There was a certain kind of evil brought by too much sun. And from time to time she would call on Gadar and her eyes would savour him also, for he seemed to shine with an intensity unparalleled by all else in the temple. And he was only too happy to come back and go away at her beck and call, though he did nothing more than stand before her silently whenever she did call on him.

And as the day withered and the shadows grew ever longer, there came a change upon the glow and warmth. It was not entirely noticeable at first. Like the first cool breeze which returns after the long summer months are almost over, and the icy bite which takes one unawares as they walk by the Mahd on the first sundown of winter. And just as that first sundown brings with it a biting cool and darkness, so too did that glow, which had been so warm and bright at morn, descend into its own frozen darkness. And were it only so that it was indeed a frozen darkness! For frozen darknesses are not to be feared! 'tis not frozen which descends upon one's brow and collapses in on one's breast and forces its way through the orifices till one screeches in terror and horror. As though it were not trauma enough for such things to occur, it was doubly more so because the self-same kindness of a sunny morn now turned its vicious night and moonless cruelties upon her. What despair it is to have the hand which warmed and fed and protected one in better days turn on one and bring on dark dejection.

Blinded by the darkness and her own terror, she fled her room and ran fast as her little bare feet could carry her, the darkness hot on her delicate heels. And it was as though Fate itself had aligned with the darkness for there were none to save her nigh. And the stars in the night sky, having made their allegiance known, were snuffed and not one could be spied. Aye and even the blessed moons, as though knowing of the coming horror, had lifted up all their ornaments and made their spiritless escape from the heavens. None remained - in that hour of desperation, all were gone. Was that not always the case? Who was there for her in the end? Other than...

Even as she began to think it, her mind backed away from so much as uttering his name, lest the very thought become a screeching plea and he should descend from his ivory tower in the the unknown sky to gloat at her weakness yet again. And she flew through the gates of the temple, into the lighter darkness of the waiting streets. And behind her the great mass of chasing darkness reared its great head, as though it were a Leviathan of the deep, and she looked on with horror as it, rising even above the arch of the temple gate, came crashing down upon the helpless, faultless, friendless once-goddess.

And there came through that heavy darkness an ancient man, bent double. And his eyes were dark and endless, for even beneath the darkness of his cloak, their darkness shone with an ever greater darkness. [i]You,[/i] came her silent thought. [i]I did not-[/i]
His walking stick at last came to a stop on the sandstone path, and the darkness withered and withdrew all around them as though it had never been - though she could feel it clawing and tearing at some hidden barrier, waiting on its release. She stood there, a barefoot little woman, quite clearly drained of all life and energy, staring with near-empty eyes at he who stood before her. It was the longest time before she realised that it was not [i]him[/i]. He was not one for eagles.
No. It was the Priest-King.

The eagle resting upon his shoulder turned its head, beak facing sideways, so that one piercing eye gathered up Yara in its withering gaze. With all its power - and indeed, it had a good deal of power, for eagles are king over the skies - it sought to shine a light upon her heart and banish all secrecy. Akthanos, in his guise, reached up with a withered hand to calm the bird. Knowing not that his identity had been revealed, his mouth opened.  "Alms," he cried out to Yara, "you of that temple, would you bless an old man with alms?"

She looked at him for a few seconds, slightly wide-eyed, fingers trembling, heart leaping here and there in terror. And she did not truly hear what he said, but a certain part of her understood, and the sharpness of her tongue responded.
[color=f7941d][i]'What need have they for alms who are as eagles in our skies? The eagle doth not ask, the eagle can but screech - it has tasted command.'[/i][/color]

"Answers were the alms I sought, not gold," he replied with a look of genuine shock about him. But then his face hardened again. "...but as you say, the eagle may take what it will."

His hand reached up to pet the eagle, and he stroked its plumage softly. But then the raptor suddenly shrieked, and its feathers with incinerated and flesh disintegrated; the bird was no more. Where it had perched upon his shoulder was now an orb of brilliant, awesome magical power. Globules of the stuff fell down upon the beggar's walking stick, like so many drops of rain. The gnarled staff was became a rod of gold that glowed like the sun, encrusted by countless gems, with the likeness of that eagle for its head. Then, holding the King's Law, even in his ragged vestements Akthanos looked regal once more.

What subtlety and speech might not have gleaned could be found by force. Akthanos raised the King's Law high above his head, and though it cast a blinding light, it made the gnashing darkness that bayed at Yara ever more potent. The brightest of flames were those that cast the greatest of shadows, after all.

The quiet night's sky itself reverberated about that artifact's obscene power. The winds scattered the sand and sang a sacred hymn, and the humming in the air rattled the sandstone and mud brick about the city in such a way that they too joined in on the glorious chorus. And yet, for all that, the city slept on. As he thrust the full force of his light upon the Witch-Mother to illuminate her, he was sure to stifle his own power and show the utmost restraint, lest he destroy his own city or harm so much as an insect that was an innocent bystander.

Through the blinding light and slashing winds Akthanos' eyes peered. No evil or lie was so strong and no darkness so black as to withstand the torch of the King's Law; let the light be verdict, for beneath its might the wicked may only burn and the pious glow.

Yara's eyes closed ever so slightly as she bathed in the searing heat of the restrained power of the King's Law, her long black hair flying up and whipping around her head in the face of the bursting energy, and her white gown fluttered violently around her. Yet despite it all, she stood unflinching before it all. Indeed, to any bystander, and perhaps to the Priest-King himself, she would come across cool and composed, utterly unabashed. But what were exterior forms of creatures to their interiors? It was not coolness or composure, but the sight of death - at last! At last it had come - that brought about her stillness. It was not with bravery that she stood there facing the might of a god, it was fear that paralysed her. She had never known it about herself before, but she realised then - and what did it matter if she admitted it or denied it now? - that she was something of a coward. An ungrateful coward at that. Selfish too, now that she thought on it. Perhaps it should not have been so surprising, but she was rather surprised by the sudden illumination.

How quickly had she fled when she thought danger nigh - she had not even paused to think that maybe it was not only her who was threatened. She had only thought to run. And she had blamed the others in her heart for not being around - Chjekaya, whose heart was only full of love, pure love; Malikhet, whose only care was that her Witch-Priestess rise ever higher in the eyes of the people and become truly appreciated for all her beauty and wisdom and mercy, that loyal Malikhet; Gadar...she could not bring her heart to imagine having doubted him in her moment of unadulterated cowardice, to have doubted his warmth when all other warmths seemed to have failed. Aye, she had blamed even [i]him[/i], but in her heart she knew, also, that she had nothing she could blame him for. He had given her of himself unlike any other, and all she gave him was ungratefulness and hatred and anger. She looked down, fear seeping from her as she came to terms with these her final moments. And in her heart she hoped that, if the souls of all that lived, divine they be or otherwise, gathered somewhere after all of this, she would very much like to be united with all who loved her, and all whom she now realised, with the most sudden pang of pain, she also loved.

[color=f7941d][i]'Oh,'[/i][/color] she moaned inaudibly, [color=f7941d][i]'oh Belvast,'[/i][/color] for she had made a promise long ago, and now it seemed that she would not be able to keep it.

[i]She had abandoned him.[/i]

Suddenly angry, she lifted her head and stepped forward towards the blinding light. Her eyes watered and for the first time she felt the heat. It hurt.
[color=f7941d][i]'You will not...not today...'[/i][/color] she whispered inaudibly once again, raising a hand to protect her eyes from the intensity. Then she heard it, and she felt it writhing around her. It was almost as though the light, much like the darkness which even now threw itself like the ocean's waves upon the cliff-like barrier holding it at bay, had a life of its own. And now and again it touched her here and tapped her there, and whispered softly in her ears and lifted her hairs and inspected them. [i][color=gold]Is it good...[/color][/i] she thought she heard, [i][color=gold]is it bad?[/color][/i]
She looked around herself curiously, the burning sensation now waxing and waning with every heartbeat. [i][color=gold]Strange. Strange one...[/color][/i] she could now hear, [i][color=gold]not good...but not bad.[/color][/i]

And the light withdrew, and its whispering slivers disappeared. All that remained was the slightest burning sensation, and before her the Priest-King with the mighty sceptre in his hand. Despite the strange experience, she mustered a cool stare and looked at him silently, waiting on him to speak.

Stoic before, now there was a hint of grim resolution upon the king's face. He had seen something. In defiance of Yara's expectance, speak he did not and indeed could not, for he brought his scepter upon the ground and all was quiet. Dark. Still.

The slightest outline of his figure was obscured by darkness, and then swallowed. Oblivion.

The earth and shadows shifted in strange ways, and in that twilight realm, a portal opened and there was a ghostly sort of light; 'twas fitting for a scene that showed ghosts of the past. And Yara was alone to witness that scene anew!

It was a scene of profound tenebrosity, terrible in its scope, terrifying in its aspect, mortifying in its intimation. It was not a shade like that Leviathan which had struck down upon her from the heavens not moments before. Nay, this was a gloom wherein swam many such Leviathans. This was the roaring ocean of eternal twilight and obscurity which gave life to those horrors which even gods had learned to fear. Nay, which they knew in the screamings depths of their essences that they should fear and would do well to flee from.

And though the ocean was home to Leviathans, yet there was amongst them a being before whom even these venerable and mighty shades shrunk in dread-filled reverence. Consuming the darkness where it went, wallowing in the intensity of the depraved night which oozed from it and followed it wherever it went, there ripped through the floundering tides a beast whose proportions were so great as to be incomprehensible to beings and minds so small as those of Yara and Akthanos. Aye, even the Primordial Sun was reprehensibly deficient in size and horror when brought before this epitome of frightful breadth and fearsome form.

There he came, the moth-eaten shadow of a dragon who had died long before the gods were even a thought. And there he came, his antique body, though falling apart, still holding strong. Aye, there he came, Discord incarnate, he who forgot how to die.

'Hail,' came his rumblings, 'you who fled from us in our moment of Desperation.'
[color=f7941d][i]'Hail,'[/i][/color] came her response, [color=f7941d][i]'you who severed this cord that long united us.'[/i][/color]
'It was not I that severed. 'tis you that fled.'
[color=f7941d][i]'Nay, blame me not, Algamex, for disunity and separation and toil are the fruits you sow, not I.'[/i][/color]
'Aye, you speak a little truth. You separate not, you merely rise in terror and find somewhere to fly.'
[color=f7941d][i]'That...that's not-'[/i][/color]
'You most loveless in creation, you brimming with the blackest blackness that these oceans could e'er conjure. Do you fear the Leviathans of the deeps and the dragons of my haughty heights? There are no dragons and no Leviathans before your primal gloom!'
[color=f7941d][i]'No! That's no-'[/i][/color]
'You have sat dormant, sinking in the sands of despondency and inertia. And mayhaps that is for the best of all. For the release of your inky blackness unto the world is something even I would not wish.'
[color=f7941d][i]'Stop...'[/i][/color]
'You see, there are different kinds of evils and villanies that exist and have potential to exist. There are diabolical forms, there are sinister and vicious forms, there are cunning ones, and there are foolish cantankerous ones. There are ones which have eaten of wickendess and drank of malignity, and ones so depraved that they cannot see their own evil (aye, and this is the most common form! Why, this very type may well believe sincerely that it does good!) And there are many types which were I to list them all we would be here for a very long time indeed - not that time is of much relevance to us.'
[color=f7941d][i]'What are you getting at?'[/i][/color] she hissed, [color=f7941d][i]'spit it out.'[/i][/color]
'What I am getting at is that of all these forms, there are none as unto you. Belruarc, you flighty coward; you slinking worm; you insectoid of desperation: you are the worst of them all, the most stagnant cesspool of moral filth - not that morality matters to any form, of course. What distinguishes you is that you tap into a level of repulsiveness which even the most decadent and depraved of villains find inherently execrable. To make it easier for your now-human mind to grasp; of all the evils that the animal kingdom has in store for humanity, there are none which are abhorred quite like the slug. Its form, its excretions; all that it is disgusts and repels - even other animals. That is your comparison, Belruarc.'
Frowning angrily, Yara tried to look away from the beast, but there was no escaping his imposing form. And so she spoke instead.
[color=f7941d][i]'You are a petty little thing, Algamex. What have you to gain through these empty words?'[/i][/color]
'I've naught to gain, I come only with revelations. A warner to those who would heed my warning...'
And with these words, the ocean gave way and a penetrating void engulfed everything. And only Yara remained. 
Every now and again, a familiar form would flit by - there an oaken countenance, there a little black tail, there a fluttering dress and feminine form, and here rolls a shell and there stands a mighty tree, and behind it a deathly visage looks on into the depths of her being. She walked in the void of familiar forms, and every now and again paused and looked more carefully at this or that, and a sudden memory would burn bright in her mind for the longest second before fading back into her subconscious.

At last, she came upon a thing hovering in the void above her. A winged creature, unashamedly naked and slim, of turquoise complexion and with five infinitely black eyes and hair of onyx.
[color=f7941d][i]'You are me,'[/i][/color] Yara said in awe.
[color=f7941d][i]'And who are you?'[/i][/color] asked Belruarc coldly.
[color=f7941d][i]'Mother Yara, the Witch-Priestess,'[/i][/color] came her response - rehearsed and perfect, as though they had practised it somewhere till each knew their lines and movements as well as they knew the feel of a non-existent sun upon their skin.
[color=f7941d][i]'And I am Belruarc, Ink Incarnate. Why, I am GOD,'[/i][/color] and suddenly, the gaze of the goddess turned away from Yara and pierced the void so that she looked direct into the eyes of Akthanos.

[centre][h3][color=f7941d][i]'Turn to me when your Gods fail you.'[/i][/color][/h3][/centre]

Like a great tidal surge crashing upon stony fjords, that revelation battered at Akthanos' mind as he witnessed it. The water pounded upon the wall that was his faith, yes, but then it clung to that stony surface and climbed upwards, welling ever higher until it seemed as if his whole world would be enveloped beneath the dark waves of that ocean.

And then there was the brightness of his scepter, and the King was grounded in reality once more. Never could his zeal wane, not with that nurturing glow before him.

He lifted it from the ground once more and released his grip upon reality and the witch before him, then brandished it into the air once more. He leveled the staff cautiously towards Yara, and the eagle that crowned the scepter stared forward without a hint of fear.

Finally he spoke, "I see now where your power comes from and that the tales be true; I have seen what you are, and yet know that in this place my power holds say over even you. Faithfully I have been shepherd to these people, the flock of Zephyrion, and it be my sacred charge to ward them from wolves. What, fallen one, do you do amongst our kind, if not prey upon men as a wolf upon lambs?"

Yara scowled and wrapped her gown around herself more tightly, staring defiantly at the raised sceptre.
[color=f7941d][i]'I am not a "fallen one", Chosen of Zephyrion. Dishonour me not with such labels. And dishonour me not with such low assumptions on what it is that I do here and my reasons. What is it that you do here? What is it that anybody does here? Have I no right to live and prosper just as you live and prosper? Just as the most lowly of creations may? What am I that you would deny me what is open to all?'[/i][/color] she took a deep breath and looked towards the temple gate, [color=f7941d][i]'I am not come to overpower you or seize from you your authority. Had that been my will, there is naught that could have withstood me. So stir not a cool and gently burning flame which warms all around it, lest furious infernos erupt from where you never thought they would.'[/i][/color]

"The goddess that leaves glorious Zephyrion's side is the fruit that rots in the shade of its tree. The one in Vetros that builds a temple to any other than the one Master is a thief of my people's faith, an apostate that stands anathema to heaven's mandate, and a scourge upon the world. 

Your words smell of honey yet taste of bitter poison; you claim no harm unto me, yet I awake in the morning to a scent of death clinging to the air, to butchered men left to rot in the street, to vile icons and symbols drawn upon the ground in blood. I too hear tale of your witchcraft withering a youthful boy to dust; by what right dare a creature so vile draw breath?"

[color=f7941d][i]'I have done no such thing. Walk ye into the temple this instant and inspect it. Ask all who are in it who their Master is. I have not come here a goddess, Priest-King, I have come here a priestess. I have come with knowledge and a desire to benefit you. I have enforced the law written in your books, and upheld the traditions, and expanded on your sciences. And I have, where I could, cured the sickly. And I have educated the young. And all as a Priestess of the Master, none other. Are these the acts of one who wishes harm unto any? Are these the acts of one who butchers innocents in the night? And which is more, it was not I who butchered those of whom you speak. You know well who it was,'[/i][/color] she cocked her head and shrugged slightly, [color=f7941d][i]'and as for those who come to me, I take nothing other than what they give, and give nothing but what is asked. I have had those who have come to me seeking youth, and if they had the means to gain it, I have granted it them. And this young man was brought to me by a woman from whom he stole three years. In his arrogance, he declared that he would give all the time he had in recompense if it were possible. And I made it so. And all the time he had, in accordance with the meaning in his words, was taken. I have not oppressed or sinned. I have upheld your religion and the religion of the one you worship. And I have done so with absolute sincerity, and it is not Yara who tells a lie.'[/i][/color]

"You say that I know. Yes, it is no doubt the work [i]It[/i]; all fear Y'Vahn, the Enemy of Infants, and yet that beast can take many shapes.

It is not Yara that breathes or speaks or stands before me; I have Seen you for what you truly be, and so is the facade of your very being now not an act of telling a lie?" came the retort, albeit with less fervor than before. He knew not whether she be an agent of Y'Vahn or an innocent as she spoke, and he lacked the heart to do the obvious right and purge her all the same. He would have to look for signs amongst the stars and divine the truth first; only the guilty could die. The Priest-King's hardened gaze wavered, and then it at last broke from Yara.

[color=f7941d][i]'I assure you, I may be many things, but Y'Vahn I am not. Unlike my...unlike Y'Vahn or even the Master and the "lesser" gods, I can do no harm to the unwilling. In many ways, I am a merchant. I buy and sell and contract with people as they wish; no more and no less. And, as you can see, I have settled here and now call this place home, and I do all I can to beautify my abode and elevate the lives of those around me. I am not come here with a sword to savage or a lance to gore, but only with the pen to teach and write down your lore.'[/i][/color]

A merchant that sold harm to the willing? Some worry was alleviated by her brevity, yet his wariness was far from gone. To the side he turned, and then he paced to and fro as if in great turmoil and thought over the whole ordeal. In hushed murmur he breathed to himself, "Beware, O beware Akthanos, of the evil eye and the false wind!"

[color=f7941d][i]'Do not go, Priest-King. I would have you come in to the temple with me. It is not seemly for the greatest of all priests to have ignored us for so long. It would dishonour us to have had you so close to our gates only for you to once more turn away. Please,'[/i][/color] and she gestured with a hand towards the great arched entrance, and the large courtyard beyond it, and the great iconic steps leading into the temple proper.

"...beware!" came one last utterance, and Akthanos wet his finger to touch it to the ground. The dry soil clung to his flesh, and with that muddied finger he drew upon his own forehead the likeness of a third eye. That symbol was a sacral one; it warded from the evil eye and brought safety and foresight.

"Be ignored no longer, then. I give chance to prove your claims," came his words more audibly, yet quiet still. Smiling, she bowed ever so slightly in respect and led the way.
The great arched gate passed overhead, and even in the darkness of night the great beauty of the temple's gardens was breathtaking. Nature had a certain grandeur about it, and night and day both brought out its glory in their own unique ways. Indeed, there was nothing quite like lying beneath the branches of a tree as darkness set in and watching with wonderment the silhouette of the branches against the night sky. There was a life to them that one could only appreciate and truly see in darkness alone.

They mounted the steps and passed the sandstone pillars beyond which was a great chamber, largely empty save the great statue of the Master against the far wall. There were various doors leading from this chamber into various winding halls leading further inside the temple - some towards the famed left wing where patients were kept, others towards the sleeping quarters of the priestesses, and others towards Yara's own bedroom, the library, and the Miracle Room. If one wished to enter the school building, one had to return down the steps and walk around through the courtyard towards it. And of course, other than the chamber itself, where any could come and worship, there were separate prayer rooms for men and women deeper within the temple's walls - and who knew what else? 

The edge of night did naught but hone the King's suspicion and paranoia; where Yara found peace and sanctity, the shadows brought only fear unto Akthanos. It had not been so long ago that he had found himself alone in the dark...

Within the temple, though, there existed lights: the library and an unorthodox strange ritual room kindled curiosity, but he was far from at ease. Upon the Miracle Room's slab there might have been heinous witchcraft commited, and scratched unto the library's scrolls might have been all manner of vile heresy. Looks could deceive.

As though seeing into the man's doubt-filled mind, Yara picked out a few of the books on the shelves and laid them out before Akthanos.
[color=f7941d][i]'This one here is my own. It discusses medicine, expands on pre-existing knowledge on the human anatomy, and diagnoses some common diseases which have thus far been attributed by the superstitious to supernatural causes,'[/i][/color] she opened up the tome and bid the Priest-King look.

[color=f7941d][i]'This is another of my own, largely on Vetruvian culture and traditions in the first half, and discusses the divine laws in detail in the latter half. I could not find any texts which brought together the body of religious law in one place as an easy reference for priests and priestesses settling cases, and so I wrote this - relying on the most authentic and authoritative sources only - for easing the job,'[/i][/color] she opened up this tome and laid it upon the first for the Priest-King's inspection, [color=f7941d][i]'I am certain that as first amongst priests you have often faced this issue of authorities being strewn in differing tomes and scrolls written by different people. Perhaps this book in particular would be of interest to you,'[/i][/color] she then described the others - a poetry compilation she had bought from an old man in her early days in Vetros and whose compiler was unknown, a small treatise on the history of the holy family beginning with Prophet Primus himself and ending in the first half of Priest-King Marutkaman II's reign.
[color=f7941d][i]'I am considering writing an additional tome to this one which would bring it up to date,'[/i][/color] Yara commented as she put the volume aside and showed the last of them, a scroll concerning early Vetruvian construction methods, most likely a manual at some point.
[color=f7941d][i]'Highly outdated, but there are some aspects of it that surprised me,'[/i][/color] Yara remarked.

[i]Construction methods. The words of the lawgivers. Poetry.[/i] These were what 'Yara' (he still thought of her by that name, even after the vision that revealed Belruarc) concerned herself with? The child within yearned to demand from her knowledge of the outside that only she could know, knowledge that men had never before even imagined to attain or realize, not these...memories. These libraries only depicted ghosts of the past.

But was the future not a tapestry of the past? The priest in him knew that some fruit were best left untouched.

Weakness returned to his body, and he once again felt weary as he had been earlier in the day. It was the kind of weariness that denied its own respite and left one unable to rest. Was it maybe death's grasping fingers?

Such musing cames to an end alongside his strength. With a gasp, he stumbled as he walked alongside Yara. His decrepit body crashed onto the hard stone floor and likely broke bones, and the King's Law rolled free from his clutches.

[i]No...[/i] [b]No![/b] He could never allow Zephyrion's power to fall into the hands of another; it was heavenly decree that only a Primurid's hand touch that staff. Like an infant, he crawled across the floor in desperation and found the staff where it had rolled. His touch found the staff and its power was released. Into a golden mist the staff transformed, and from that mist was borne a mighty raptor. 

"To my son..." he croaked in a hoarse voice, and then he was still.

The bird fluttered through the hallways and away, just as Akthanos began to fade away.

It all happened very swiftly, and Yara did not notice that Akthanos had collapsed until the sound of his sceptre hitting the floor rang out through the hallway. Turning around in time to watch the great golden bird disappear, she rushed towards the fallen King.
[color=f7941d][i]'By the Mast- uh, my goodness. I thought you seemed...'[/i][/color] she put a hand on his deathyl cool forehead, and felt on his neck for a pulse. Though weak, it was still there. It would be a catastrophe if, on his first visit to the Temple, the Priest-King were to die. And not only that, under such suspicious circumstances - no one knew he was here, no other priestess had seen him. They would think the worst of her, no doubt.

Sitting him up against the wall, she looked around in a panic. He was old and weak, that was true, but she could not lift him.
[color=f7941d][i]'Gadar?'[/i][/color] she asked uncertainly. There was silence for the shortest minute, and his calm footsteps could soon be heard as he walked down the hall, and his form appeared as he turned a corner and stopped before her.
'Mother?' he asked. She let out a small sigh of relief, though in her mind she thought it most strange that he had indeed heard her.
[color=f7941d][i]'T-the Priest-King,'[/i][/color] she stuttered, [color=f7941d][i]'get him to the Miracle Room. Quickly.'[/i][/color]

She did not pause to think it odd that he did not think it odd that the Priest-King was here. He simply nodded, bent down, and gently picked up the most powerful man on Galbar. Old, frail, weak, muttering something about his son every now and then, or demanding she release him. Gadar laid him on the Miracle Room's altar, and Yara rushed into the room beyond in search of something. She emerged with the tiniest phial, and grabbed the larger phial of time from the shelf as she approached. Gadar stepped aside and watched as she poured a small amount - some three years' worth - into the tiny phial. Putting the larger one aside, she once more felt for the Priest-King's pulse. Faltering, but stubbornly there.

Without further hesitation, she poured the content of the little phial on to his forehead, and she watched it gather slowly on the eye of mud and disappear into the old man.
'You...you gave him that freely,' Gadar suddenly said. Yara looked at him in surprise.
[color=f7941d][i]'I...how?...No. Well,'[/i][/color] she bit her lip and looked away, [color=f7941d][i]'you wouldn't understand.'[/i][/color]
'Of course.'

They both watched Akthanos in silence, waiting on the years to take effect and for health to return.

The Priest-King rest deathly still, though his muscles tensed; he might have tossed and turned, were it not for this seeming paralysis. Within his dream, there were many eyes. Eyes stared at him all directions, and no matter where he turned, they were always there to torment him.

Most were faceless, floating orbs in the dark; however, one had a body, and a hulking one at that. Akthanos could tell that it was a colossal being even though its form was shrouded in darkness, and its eyes flitted about menacingly in the Akthanos' direction as if searching for what it knew was hiding there somewhere. It searched, and yet Akthanos stood in plain sight.

In that dreamworld, the Priest-King moved his fingers to his forehead, and felt something caked upon it. He scratched at it until it came off, but only then when it was too late did he realize the gravity of that mistake. Like a fool, he had removed the third eye that he had painted upon the crown of his head with mud. In an instant, the great monster locked its eyes upon Akthanos, having finally found its quarry. With delight it conjured some sort of dark magic in one hand, and then with the other it raised up a strange stone...

With a start, Akthanos returned to the world of the living. Choking for breath, he saw the eyes of Yara and Gadar upon him and cowered backwards, reaching for the King's Law to burn out their eyes, yet he found nothing. The King's Law was gone!

Yara leaned back and let out a breath of relief.
[color=f7941d][i]'You had me worried there. Are you ok? How are you feeling? I think your right arm is fractured slightly, but that should return to normal in the next few minutes. Just don't move too much for now,'[/i][/color] she bowed her head slightly before thanking Gadar for his help and letting him leave.

"Where...what have you done with my scepter? I saw...a monster coming...the kingdom needs my protection," came out his voice, weakly.
[color=f7941d][i]'Don't worry about that for now. The kingdom is not going to fly away, it will still be here in the morning. For now, you must rest. I insist,'[/i][/color] Yara placed a hand on his forehead and noted with contentment that his deathly cold had waned and there was more of the living warmth in him, [color=f7941d][i]'as for the sceptre, I saw it fly away in a golden mist.'[/i][/color]

"Its eyes...it saw me!" Akthanos insisted, and he brought a hand up to feel his head. There, surely enough, the eye painted above his brow had worn off in his sleep. At once he felt unsafe.

He regained his calm a few moments later. "If what you say be true, I must find where my staff has flown. Without it, Vetros is doomed."

He then looked unto Yara with a newfound and icy suspicion that held tenfold the venom that had been upon his face when first he met her. Had [i]she[/i] stolen the King's Law?

But then he realized that he no doubt owed his life to this priestess, and so reluctantly trusted that she said truth. His expression was stoic once more and he meditated a few minutes, then began to rise to his feet. Yara quickly came around and helped him rise, and held on to him as he began to walk. He was yet weak, even if he did not realise it.
[color=f7941d][i]'Let me call on Gadar, he can help you back to the palace,'[/i][/color] she said, looking to him for approval.

"Yes. Thank you, Bel-Yara. Yara," he managed to say.
[color=f7941d][i]'Yes,'[/i][/color] she said gratefully, [color=f7941d][i]'Mother Yara.' [/i][/color]
As they left the room, she called once more on Gadar, who came swiftly, and she bid him help the Priest-King get back to his palace, [color=f7941d][i]'be careful, for he is yet weak. But he is stubborn and will not stay put for the night,'[/i][/color] Gadar nodded wordlessly and took the Priest-King by the arm, another arm going around his back and helping him stay up. And with that, they continued walking, Yara remaining by them till they reached the temple gate, and there she stood and watched as they disappeared into the darkness of the night.

[center][h3][b]≈≈≈≈≈[/b][/h3][/center]

A pair of dried feet walked, caked in the desert's equally dry sand. They were cracked and gnarly from countless years of walking barefoot, and yet the walker had no regrets. In this early day, the thin coating of sand upon the cobbled road was cool, much like the dew upon grass in lands greener than the Firewind. So through that sand-covered road, he trudged forward with his crisp feet, one step after another. As he walked, he did so with a staff in hand. His stick was nearly as weathered as his feet, but it still served its purpose as faithfully as ever. Onwards, another step to the horizon!

[i]Rap.[/i]

He took another step, and brought the staff down hard on the ground again.

[i]Rap.[/i] 

On the third step, he struck the ground more sharply.

[i][b]Tap![/b][/i]

He continued on through the lonely streets of Vetros in that early hour. [i]Rap. Rap. [b]Tap![/b][/i]

The motion of bringing down that staff was just as natural to him as was walking or breathing; he did it without thinking, and he did it perfectly. Rhythmically. 

[i]Rap. Rap. [b]Tap![/b][/i]

...

[i]Rap. Rap. [b]Tap![/b][/i]

...

[i]Rap. Rap. [b]Tap![/b][/i]

As that sound echoed through the empty streets, it woke the people sleeping in their hovels and cottages and mansions; bleary eyed, their faces looked out from windows and balconies. 'twas a sound they all recognized: that of a herald demanding the attention of the townfolk, or that of a storyteller keeping beat for his epic poem. In either case, this man walked in solemn silence with nary a tale nor a piece of news!

Once enough eyes were upon him, he finally proclaimed, "I walk! I walk! Join me!"

Many did indeed rush out of their abodes to join him and form a procession, but just as many were not intrigued by curiosity or too irritated to do such a thing in the morning. They returned to what sleep they had time for, cursing that fellow as they lay back in their bedding.

[i]Rap. Rap. [b]Tap![/b][/i]

"I walk! I walk! Join me!"

[i]Rap. Rap. [b]Tap![/b][/i]

...

The procession marched on with purpose, though precisely [i]what[/i] purpose that be evaded most of them. Finally one young boy ran to the head of the march, right beside the man with the staff that had roused them all. That man's eyes darted down to the boy, but he continued his walk and his proclamations. Nervously the boy asked, "Good man, to where do we walk?"

[i]Rap. Rap. [b]Tap![/b][/i]

The man kept perfect beat with his staff, but now ceased calling out for others to join him. Instead he only looked oddly at the boy in silence, as if contemplating an answer.  He finally answered to the beat of his stick, "Yonder we go, to false shrine, den of evil, seat of heresy. There we stand, in Primus' shadow, blessed by Zephyrion!"

The boy's eyes widened, and he darted back into the crowd behind to tell them of what the man had said. It then became clear where he was intending to go: to the Temple of the Bond, where that Priestess Yara had long stirred rumor or heresy and evil and witchcraft. Blessed though King Akthanos be, he had failed thus far to alleviate the peoples' fears over that place yet also failed to deal with them in person. It certainly hadn't helped that a rumor was afloat; one man claimed to have seen a giant of a man emerge from that Temple to carry the unconscious Priest-King back to his palace! It was time that the people take the matter into their own hands, and so it seemed that this traveller was prepared to do just that. Though his face was not unknown to some in the city, he dweled in the hinterlands and mostly walked from riverside village to village. It had been a long journey to come to Vetros, and he would tell that to any who doubted the gravity of what he did!

Though his pace was slow and measured and the walk seemed to last an eternity, it eventually neared its end. The procession came to the entrance to that courtyard garden before the temple. The wanderer halted for a moment, and that pause rippled all the way to the back of the crowd. He looked at the gate and the garden inside, spat upon the dusty ground at the side of the road, and then strode on in. The hundreds of people at his back followed, many spitting to the side in perfect imitation of their demagogue.

Quick steps echoed through the halls of the Temple as one priestess rushed towards the library. She did all she could to walk as quickly as she could without running. It was not right for a priestess to run. 
'Mother,' she whispered as she walked swiftly down the library towards the seated Witch-Priestess. She had, for some time now, taken to occupying herself with reading and rereading books and writing prolifically on all things.
'Yes, sister,' Yara responded sharply, not raising her head as she continued scratching away with her duck-feather quill.
'A large procession of people have marched through the temple gate,' the priestess said anxiously.
'Sister, the Temple is open to all. They may march in and out as they please,' Yara said, halting her work and looking up at Malikhet with a raised eyebrow and small smile.
'Yes Mother, but they seem...well. They don't seem all too...how should I put it...[i]friendly[/i],' the Witch-Priestess sat up completely in her seat and surveyed Malikhet for a few seconds before nodding slowly.

'Very well, Sister. Bring me the Temple Staff and gather your Sisters,' Yara commanded. Malikhet bowed and, turning on her heel, made her swift way out of the Temple Library. Yara looked down at what she had been writing - it was on the superstitious and irrational nature of humankind. She slowly rose and walked thoughtfully out of the library, her brows furrowed and her shoulders hunched and her hands behind her back. Sister Malikhet was waiting in the Temple Chamber, which led towards the majestic Temple Stairs and large courtyard and gardens beyond. 
'Mother, your staff,' Malikhet said, getting on one knee and raising the wooden staff up towards the Witch-Priestess. Yara examined it for a few moments before taking it with her right hand and resting its butt on the stone ground.

It had come to her some weeks ago. Gadar had been seen walking into the Temple with a large block of wood and had disappeared into his room for a good week. When he emerged, he had the Temple Staff in his hands. Its most eye-gripping feature was the beautifully carved head, a very fine and detailed carving of a [url=http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FJmlbQpxkiI/UbfjM8DQcsI/AAAAAAAAAZQ/AQp97HhIMb8/s1600/DMAcrocknotandstand.jpg]Mahd Crocodile's head emerging from a knot[/url]. To one who examined it more closely, the more subtle carvings all along the length of the staff became apparant - words of wisdom, scenes from nature, patterns. Here it read, 'Be sure of this, O young ambition, all mortal greatness is but disease.' And there it said, 'Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.' And there, 'The colour of the mountains is the Master's body; the sound of running water is his great speech.'

'Mother, it is mandatory upon every temple to have a Temple Staff. It is the sign of a temple's legitimacy, and a sign also of the authority of the one who carries it. A merchant came and had with him something most rare - a piece of wood he found buried in the desert sands, ancient and crossed by all forms of divine beings over the ages. I was seized by a will not my own, and an inspiration not of me, and I carved from it a staff for you, Mother,' he had bowed and raised the staff towards her with trembling hands.
[color=f7941d][i]'Gadar,'[/i][/color] she had murmured, [color=f7941d][i]'I did not know you had this skill,'[/i][/color] she placed a hand upon the staff, and a little shiver ran through her and she quickly withdrew her hand.
'I do not, mother. It was not of me,' had been his response. And she had taken the staff from him and knew that it had indeed been carved of a blessed and aged wood. She looked at Gadar, and the way he looked upon the stick reminded her of a similar look she had seen long ago in the eyes of a Treemind who looked with unconditional adoration at his Ik'Grarg'Ki.
[color=f7941d][i]'We thank you, Gadar. We shall treasure it immeasurably,'[/i][/color] and now she led her priestesses out between the pillars of the Temple, and she stood at their upon the the Temple Stairs, Temple Staff in hand, and she looked defiantly down upon the gathered mass and the Rapraptapper at their head.

It washed over her at once and drowned her: in that courtyard was a sea of silence; only the faintest sounds of wheezing and the cry of a mewling babe was audible from the crowd. There was no speech.

[i]Rap. Rap. [b]Tap![/b][/i]

That sound was the only one that rang loud and true. Like the concussive waves of a true sea, it surged from that ocean of silent anticipating and struck the Witch-Priestess and all those assembled by her. It was a challenge. And so too was the condemnation in the ragged wanderer's eyes; indeed, the condemnation in the aces of all those others assembled in that great crowd!
But violent though their silence and glares were, the priestesses stood as straight and defiant as their Witch-Priestess. Her cold eyes moved ever so slowly until they clashed with those of the Rapraptapper. She raised her Temple Staff and, coolly, brought its butt down upon the stone floor. 

[i]Thud.[/i]

She stepped out and descended the stairs after her thudding staff, and she stood before the the Rapraptapper and looked up at him frostily. If he had come here thinking that fear came with him, if he thought it was a weapon in his arsenal, then how wrong was he. The priestesses behind her stood in their pure white uniforms, a constant reminder of their position and the purity and sanctity of this place, their cold faces a reminder that the wrath of the Master was upon all who came a-warring in the holy places.

His voice at last boomed out; aye, boomed, for his was one of an orator, "Do you know who I am? Why I have come here?"
'Yes,' came her blunt response, 'no great intuition is needed, for your likes are the flourishing rodents of the earth. You grow, like smoke, on the fires of division and discord. You have come to gore peace, and that tongue is your sword.'

A murmur rippled through the crowd and some now turned to the man at their head with a new wariness in their eyes, but before their minds could stray he proclaimed, "The day that a [i]witch[/i] may name a godly man vermin and with such poison sway the hearts of the people will be the day that Vetros is set aflame."

More ripples went through the crowd as he declared a high priestess to be a witch (to her face no less, beneath the open sky and Zephyrion's sight!) and yet they did not last so long, for he did something to silence them once more.

He let go of his gnarled stick, a twisted and hideous twig before Yara's magnificent staff, and the wooden thing clattered to the ground. With both his free hands free, he gripped the folds of his robes and pulled, and the clothes became undone and fell to his waistline. There, upon his bare and exposed back and upon his chest were the scars of war. He spun for all to witness those marks of his honor, and then he fixed his robe and reclaimed his staff from the ground. Only after that did he speak once more, "These scars bear witness to my love for the Master; I have bled in battle against the vile Horse People, fighting for the Master's eternal glory and for these sacred lands. These poor feet of mine, cracked and beaten, attest to how I have walked to the ends of the desert spreading the Master's word; I am but a man from the faroff village of Talal, and yet I have come all this way for you!

Aye, for you! Word of your evil and deceit spreads far, near as far as your foul deeds, and so serious are the crimes I lay unto you that I have walked seven days and eights nights to face you, where others were afraid.

Again, I name thee deceiver! Heretic! [b]Witch![/b]"

He had yet to even lay out evidence for his claim, yet many among the people had already thought such things about Yara, though perhaps with less zeal. It only took his vocalization to tap into that raw anger, and so explosive was the spittle and anger that flew forth from the calm just moments ago that it was as if a spark had been cast into a tar pit.

'I have named you vermin, and Priest-Kings before me have named your ilk vermin, and scholars and priests,' she declared, raising her staff, 'for we well know the seeds your ilk sow, and the vile fruit which you leave in your trail. Hardened hearts, blackened, which have lost the pleasure of the Master and the pleasure of all those whom He loves,' she looked at those who followed the stranger.
'For we, chosen of the Master, come and elevate the people and create peace wherever we find them, and we dwell with them, and we aid them. But you only come like a passing storm, uprooting all that is built and destroying all that is raised up by the Master. Who are you to accuse me? Where are your works? Where are the people you have, with the aid of the Master, cured of all ills. Where are those you have judged between with justice? Are you so much as a lowly priest? Do you belong to a temple? Does the blood of the Prophet run in your veins? Who are you, snake-tongued, nameless devil, to accuse Mother Yara?
You come displaying your scars, but the scars that true lovers of the Master bear are not those of the body - they are the scars of building society according to his Laws. They are the scars of building the future' and here she turned and gestured to her priestesses and the Temple.
'They are the scars born by the mother, by the father, by the farmer. It is easy to die for the Master. Far more difficult is it to live for him!' and she turned again and her cold eyes appraised the Rapraptapper, 'are you, oh broken outcast, one who lives for the Master? Where are your children? Where is the wheat you grow? Where are the young you teach?' and her staff came down with a powerful and final thud.

The scowl that he bore upon his face only deepened, though he weathered her words with calm. His father and his father's father had been storytellers and heralds; on that profession stretched, back six generations. He knew how to leverage such vile words against the ones that spoke them!

"No." [i]Rap.[/i]

"No!" [i]Rap.[/i]

"[b]No!"[/b] [i][b]Tap![/b][/i]

The first step was a solid rejection of their slander; and so he denied it with the rigidness of a wall in his tone and unbroken confidence in his poise. The next step was to dismantle exactly what false charges they had levied unto him, and crucify them for each falsifiable word!

So he turned his back upon Yara, a grave insult to one that was a High Priestess (though he thought her to be no such thing, and that was not lost upon the onlookers) but a direct appeal to the crowd. To them, not her, he spoke, "Hear, hear how she does nothing to shake off what charge I would levy unto her, but only seeks to direct your scorching and rightful anger from her unto me. She rejects the countless labors and sacrifices I have made in the Master's name. Rise, rise up those of ye who are veterans of past wars, whose uncles and brothers and sons and fathers fought the heretics; she would demean and belittle you all. '[i]To die for the Master is easy. Nothing.[/i]' Perhaps it be she who should die!

In a way, she is no worse than the Horse People. She threatens those of you who hear the truth in my voice with a fate of blackened hearts and the loss of our Master's favor! Fear, o that fear that she wields! I have seen that fear before; it is a weapon that the Horse People use. Aye, fear is the first of many foes, and so we must ignore her hideous lies and threats, and judge [i]her[/i]. It is not we who stand to be put upon trial today!"

The final step was to deliver a blow back to the one who bore false words. A blow so hard that they would reel, and could barely return to their feet!

He turned back to Yara. He threw the full burden of proof onto her with a few simple words, "What say ye to that, witch?!"

'I say it is time to let the Master himself judge between us. It was a mistake to allow you to speak before we set the parametres. Here, let us raise our staffs to the heavens and call the curse of the Master upon whosoever of us is the liar: cursed by him to travel eternally on this wide earth, never able to stop long enough to cause discord wherever we land. Come, raise your staff and let it begin.'

The demagogue took that response from her as his own triumph, declaring, "See now? No word nor witness nor evidence has she to offer. It would seem that she truly be all those vile things, through and through!"

What moments ago would have driven the crowd into a roaring fervor against Yara now only created murmuring; he saw then the craftiness of the Priestess' ploy. She had cornered him here, for the will of that mob was his only power, and that mob no doubt willed he play her game. If he failed to do as much and win they would take him for a charlatan, and if he won then they would only arrive back where they had begun: with her defending herself against overwhelming evidence of her own wickedness. It was a genius move on Yara's part, for in challenging him she had nothing to lose but everything to gain.

He had no choice. Though his heart skipped a beat, his words did not, "But! She now invokes the Master's judgement, and who am I to question Him? I shall raise my staff as is our tradition, and then we shall receive divine answer!"

He turned back to Yara, and advanced towards her. "I accept these terms," he forced himself to say with a calmness that betrayed none of his anxiety. When at last he stood at an arm's length from her, he raised his weathered walking stick, and there the people beheld it: an ugly and beaten piece of wood. It lacked all the power and regality and awe that Yara's radiated, and yet for all that it only seemed closer to the earth. In that stick, there was no smoke and mirrors. In its own plain and unquestionable way, it attested to the wanderer's claims of having walked all four corners of the Holy Land in the Master's name. And where the staffs met there flashed the unseeable divine power of the sleeping goddess. And the pact was sealed.

'We play the Master's Game, and upon the loser falls the curse,' she said.

"So be it! Where shall the battle be fought?"

She stepped back and moved off the stone path. With the butt of her staff, she drew a large square into the earth. There, within the bounds she had marked, was to a faroff eye nothing more than a patch of grass in the courtyard garden. Closer inspection revealed the mundane details: some fallen twigs, a loose stone or two, and tiny bare patches of soil between the tufts of grass. That was the battleground, the manner of 'board' used in the sacred game of Minidi, and each miniscule detail was important. The grass represented dense woodlands, the bare soil empty planes, the smallest contours of the ground representing great rolling hills and valleys. It was a game of opposing generals. Under each player's control was an imaginary djinni lord and his great retinue, the objective being to assert total domination by having your djinni lord devour the other. But of course, such a triumph is easier said than done! Djinni lords are of course not so easy to subdue and to devour one required surrounding and beating it utterly through tactical maneuvering to separate it from its own forces and surround it with your own

As Yara had chosen the battleground, her opponent had the initiative to choose what position he would occupy at the start and what manner of djinni lord he would command. After thoroughly examining every contour of the patch of ground, he devised a strategy. The patch of ground that Yara had selected was unusual in that it sloped gradually inwards to create a small bump in the center.  That high ground would be a strong position, albeit one that would leave one exposed to all sides. But that was a trade that he could accept! Intending to take advantage of that terrain, he began, "For my position be steadfast and adamant as the mountains, I choose Earth. As in for my position, I shall occupy the crest of that hill, and in doing so I loom over you from that raised land just as I do from a moral high ground," he finally said.

Wasting no time, he gathered some loose pebbles to represent his djinni lord and retinue. He then began to array them upon the raised bump that was right in the middle of the battleground, placing them in a circle at even intervals apart. In the center of that circle and upon the center of the hill's crest, he rested one larger stone that represented his djinni lord.

'So be it. I shall be air,' and even as she spoke, Gadar stepped forth and haned her a number of tiny feathers, which she scattered carefully around the hill where the Rapraptapper had chosen to concentrate his pieces. Behind them, she planted a large feather to represent her djinni lord of air. With their pieces ready, she looked to her opponent and gestured for him to begin.

He sized up the position of the pieces that represented her pieces. He had intentionally allowed himself to be surrounded in exchange for the advantage of higher ground, and it took no brilliant strategist to forsee that his opponent would seek to poke at his defenses and outmaneuver him. Air had been a fine choice for that strategy, but at the end of the day, how did she expect a few gusts of wind to whittle down the hillock that was his bastion?

As if in anticipation of a full-blown frontal attack, he pulled one of his pieces from the side opposite Yara's lord and brought them to reinforce the side directly in front. His own djinni lord remained in the center of the small rise, encircled by his retinue, but with that one noticeable gap in the backside from where he had pulled a piece. The brazen move of her sending her lord and those nearest straight at the hill would be folly; he had the advantage of higher ground and was already reinforcing that point. She would have to do something more subtle than slam the brunt of her might straight into his defenses.

Scanning the square coolly, she moved the feather standing directly before her Lord forward, some way up the side of the hill. She thus left an opening for her Lord to move, but also an opening in her own defence for the Rapraptapper to exploit if he so wished. She gestured for him to make his next move.

He looked at the piece that she had sent to approach, sized it up, and scoffed lightly. He repeatedly his prior move, taking another piece from the side farthest from her lord and moving it to reinforce the side closer. Noting that one of his sides was now getting steadily weaker, Yara moved one of the pieces on the other side of the hill towards her opponent's weakening front. 

And now the man suppressed that smile that yearned to creep onto his face and that glean that hungered to fill his eyes, for she was playing right into his hands. He only needed to continue to occupy her attention with that diversion that was the rear side of the hill; his backline hardly mattered. He debated upon the merit of moving to stop her advance on the other side of the hill, but ultimately decided against such indecisiveness. He moved yet another piece from the far side of the hill to that closest to Yara. Perhaps his strategy would become apparent to Yara's eyes now, but if not then her defeat would only be all the more crushing.

Yara raised an eyebrow and looked up at the Rapraptapper quietly. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she took one of the pieces close to her lord and moved it to the other side of the hill, right by the piece she had moved the previous turn. For the first time, she used the special ability of the player who chose air and moved a second piece next to them, creating a three-piece advance against her opponent's weaker side.

Though he had by now removed two of his own pieces from that back line, he had been sure not to remove two that had been directly next to one another. There were weaknesses there to be sure, but there was no gaping hole large enough for those troublesome three elementals of Yara to slip through without a fight. They would have to confront what defenses he still had in place on that side, and while they might ultimately win through superior numbers, it would not be so quick as she might think. A djinn of earth was hard to budge, especially when defending from atop such a solid foundation as a hill.

In any case, it was now time for him to bring his strategy to bear. Where he had tried to act as if he had repositioned his own pieces towards her lord defensively, as if to prepare for an attack from her, in reality he had been amassing them for a downhill charge. Whilst she might have thought herself at an advantage by having his hill surrounded, in reality she had only spread out her retinue in such a way that he could simply bring all his pieces to bear upon her lord's side of the board, leaving it nowhere to run. She would of course have the option of wreaking havioc upon the side of his hill that had been weakened, but he was willing to hedge his bets upon defeating her lord before she could defeat his.

Just as the djinn of air were nimble and could make us of extra movements as Yara had just done, the djinn of earth and water were exceptional in their prowess when moving downhill. That bonus would only make the Raptaptapper's strategy of a devastating charge even more effective. After four turns of mere maneuvering by the two players, he attacked first by moving one of his frontal pieces downhill in the direction of Yara's lord, and in that same turn he attacked and struck down that piece in front that she had advanced on the first turn.  It was satisfying to imagine a landslide at his command!

Yara lifted the crushed feather and the pebble from the game and placed in their place a slightly larger pebble, to represent the absorption of the air djinni by the earth one. She then considered the game once more and made her move. Her lord moved towards the newly strengthened earth piece, pinning it down. A smaller piece was then moved beside the lord, striking down the strengthened earth djinni and absorbing it. Both were then removed, and Gadar handed Yara a larger feather, which was placed where the reckless earth piece had previously been. With her moves done, she gestured for the Rapraptapper to proceed with his turn.

And so the dance began! With the now-empowered air djinni and its lord having advanced in front of their own line to take vengeance upon the attacking earth djinn, they were left overextended and exposed. The issue now was just how he would deal with that piece! One of the pieces that he had brought from the back as a reinforcement was directly behind one that had been part of his original circle. He set that piece forward, rolling over its ally to combine the two into a stronger djinn. The next turn, he would use that empowered piece to challenge Yara's.

Gadar looked at the scene before him and frowned slighly. He opened the giant tome entitled [i]The Secret Ways of the Master's Game[/i] and flicked through it until he came to the relevant page.
'Ah, yes, I thought something seemed odd,' he muttered, 'when an earth piece begins its roll down a hill, it cannot stop until it reaches the bottom, and all pieces in its way are batted out of the way or absorbed,' and with that he closed the book and pointed at the Rapraptappers two-piece, 'that must continue its roll.'

"So be it," accepted the man, and with the tip of his staff he flicked the pebble towards and over that piece beside Yara's lord, driving it all the way to the edge of the square that was the battleground. Gadar looked at the two more or less even pieces and opened the tome once more. Flicking through it he eventually came to a page discussing the clash of equally powerful pieces which were not one-pieces. One began a game with thirty 'one-pieces', and as they absorbed others and grew, they became two-pieces, three-pieces, four-pieces and so on. The more they absorbed, they stronger they became. When two powerful pieces clashed, they game mechanic for their clash differed from that for simple one-pieces.
'Right,' Gadar said as he placed the tome down and picked up a little pebble and placing his hands behind his back for a few moments. Then, he brought out his clenched hands, 'there is a pebble in one of my hands. If you,' and here he nodded towards the Rapraptapper, 'guess correctly where the pebble is, your piece will absorb the opposing piece. If you guess incorrectly, your attack will fail and your piece will be absorbed,' and Gadar's clenched hands hung before the Rapraptapper.

Intuition led the man to point to Gadar's right hand. Gadar opened his palm to unveil the pebble there. Yara took out her large feather and the pebble, placing in their place a small stone to represent the Rapraptapper's five-piece. Hardly had she done that before she took her djinni lord and moved it towards the newly-formed five-piece, consuming it. On the other side, she used her second move to move yet another of her pieces next to the three one-pieces.


That done, the Rapraptapper turned back to examine his position in the game. The five-piece that he had just lost was a large blow, and in taking it with her lord she had also maneuvered it further back. It was now behind the protection of a few one pieces, but of course that was no real "protection". His stone pieces could simply roll down the hill and through her lines, pinning down her lord. Yet if he did so, he would only be sending more pieces to feed her lord, one by one. So, after some consideration, he made a bold and incredibly aggressive move. He took his own lord atop the hill and moved it downhill until it came to rest directly next to Yara's lord, its path taking a one piece along the way. The two were both pinned down, and now it would most likely be a scramble to see who could get their smaller pieces in position to surround the other's lord. A move such as this would normally have been folly against air,  seeing as they could move two pieces in one turn, but with each passing turn he would be able to roll another piece of his down the hill, crushing one of hers along the way.

After a few moments of thinking, Yara moved the pieces that had been to either side of her newly-consumed piece, each of them consuming a fellow one-piece. With two two-pieces on the board, she looked back at the Rapraptapper and gestured for him to make his move.

He was still willing to hedge his bets on winning through overwhelming force. He rolled one of his one pieces at an angle such that it struck and combined with another of his one pieces before going down the hill. Then, the two piece consumed one of Yara's new two pieces before ending as a four piece at the bottom of the hill, next to their two lords. Pursing her lips, Yara moved one of her one-pieces and had it consumed by the remaining two-piece, then she took the newly-formed three-piece and moved it towards another one-piece, thus creating a four-piece. She gestured for him to make his move once more.

Cleverly, by combining those pieces she had prevented him from simply rolling down more of his own to eat them and wind up at the bottom stronger for it. However, in taking the time to do that she continued to leave her lord perilously alone. With a casual flick, he send one of his stones rolling down the hill to arrive next to the much larger two stones that already stood next to her lord. On the other side of the board, Yara moved her closely-alligned pieces into two two-pieces.

It was too late for him to switch tactics at this point, not as if he felt any need to. He sent another one-piece rolling down towards the feather that was her lord and the manny pebbles that were beginning to surround it. Moving one of her newly-formed two-pieces, she caused it to consumed the other two-piece before continuing on in the same move in an arc until it came to the four-piece, which was likewise consumed. With an eight-piece now on the board, she made to go for her second move.

'Wait,' Gadar suddenly said, 'I think that already counts as two moves,' Yara looked up and raised an eyebrow.
'How so? The earth-piece before consumed one of its own and one of mine in one single movement,' Yara said.
'Yes, but I believe...' he flicked through the tome, 'that's due to the advantage the downward roll gives it.'
'If that is the case, then can I not have my four-piece ascend the hill and pass through this gap, before consuming this lone earth-piece and continuing on to unite with the waiting four piece down the hill?' Gadar paused and looked slightly confused.
'I'm...not entirely sure,' he looked to the Rapraptapper uncertainly. Of course, he would dispute the validity of such a move as it would provide his opponent with a frightening nine-piece, 'give me a few moments while I look through the rules.'
Yara sat and looked at the board as Gadar flicked through the rules.

After a few minutes, Gadar rose and laid out the rules.
'While the gap is large enough for your four-piece to ascend the hill and consume the lone one-piece on the other side, the rules do not mention a downhill advantage for any players other than earth and water. Your piece will have to stop there. If you decide to go with your arcing manoeuvre, the continuance after the first consumption towards the four-piece and its subsequent consumption will count as the second move,' most of the onlookers looked positively baffled, but Yara sighed and nodded in understanding. Rather than uniting her two two-pieces, she moved one of them in an arc around the hill instead, uniting it with the four-piece on the other side. She then took the newly-formed six-piece and move it beside her djinni lord and that of the Rapraptapper. It was his move now.

The Rapraptapper now bent down, slightly at first, and squinted at the tiny bump in the ground that represented the mighty hill. He took a very long time now, whereas in other turns he had hardly seemed to think before acting. Finally, he moved. He sent one of his two-pieces atop the hill in such a roll that it picked up one of his other one pieces, then continued down as two until it came to strike her six piece. "So now," he began, "the final battle happens. Because my two piece initiated it, I carry the advantage of stone's downward roll. It is my lord, my four piece, my one piece, and that two piece against your six piece and your own lord, though it be known that the strength of stone be greater than that of feathers."

'The downward roll of earth expires after a certain distance, does it not?' Yara asked, 'I am more than certain that the distance travelled by that piece is more than enough for there to be no such advantage,' she looked to Gadar for the correct judgement on the matter, and he nodded.
'Just as a rolling stone eventually loses the speed and power given it be a downward roll, so too does an earth-piece. Were the target closer to the hill than it is, the advantage would have carried. Thus, it is the power of the initiating two-piece, your djinni lord, your one-piece and the four-piece, against the enhanced djinni lord of wind - for it consumed a five-piece - and the six-piece. That is to say, a djinni lord of air and an eleven-piece, and a djinni lord of earth and a seven-piece. Earth has a natural strength advantage and wind has a natural weakness so-'

"A hillslide slope does not flatten to conform with the climber's notion of distance, so to claim no rolling advantage is absurd. Look at where her pieces lie," he exclaimed almost incredulously, pointing to their position at the bottom of the hill.

'The pieces are at the very edge of the board,' Yara said coldly, 'the crest of the hill is as far from there as can be.'

"If you find such distance to be a factor, where it obviously should not be, then why did you allow me to use such advantage unchallenged thus far?"

'The advantage was quite clearly being used on those pieces much closer to the crest of the hill than the current pieces,' Yara pointed out, 'these pieces are now at the edge of the board, as compared with the ones against whom the advantage worked, who were considerably closer to the centre.'

"Because I am sure that the Master shall favor his faithful, I shall concede that the roll was indeed longer and the stones might have lost much of their speed, but down the hill they nonetheless went in this turn. The advantage may be perhaps lessened, but not wholly denied." Yara frowned and looked to Gadar for a judgement on the matter. He looked between the two and pointed to the rulebook.
'It says nothing of a lessened form of the advantage. We can only apply it in full or disapply it completely. The general rule is that the advantage applies for the same amount of distance on flat ground is it took to create by descending the hill. Thus, is we measure the distane from the crest of the hill to the bottom, we can work out the area surrounding the hill wherein the advantage applies absolutely,' and so saying, Gadar bent down and measured the distance from top of the bump to its bottom with his thumb and forefinger. It transpired that the earth-piece had in fact moved beyond the advantage radius, and Gadar said as much. He then moved away and brought forth fourteen sticks. Seven were short and seven long.
'The natural advantage of earth applies, the downhill roll does not apply. The natural weakness of wind applies. It can be said that the forces are more or less equal. We will have to draw sticks. There will be seven long sticks and seven short sticks. Whoever pulls more long sticks than short sticks will have won the exchange,' and so saying, he gripped the bundle in such a way that one could not tell which stick was short and which was long, and he extended it towards the Rapraptapper.
'You have initiated the attack, you must draw first.'

He drew, and then she drew, and it soon became apparent that he was to lose, for she had drawn three long in a row and needed only one more. But then, she drew a short, and he a long, and she another short. The odds remained against his favor, but there was still a hope. He drew once more and found a short, and so with four short sticks there was no longer a way for him to win. And the long and tense affair was sealed. Yara stepped away from the board and returned towards the steps, and there she turned and looked at the Rapraptapper.
'You did not heed my warning, and now you are lost,' and with that she ascended the steps and disappeared into the temple. After a short pause, the priestesses likewise turned away and entered the temple. Gadar remained alongside the defeated man, and the people who looked quite clearly crestfallen. More than a few were giving Gadar wary looks, as though they suspected him and that book of his of some treachery. His scarred face fended for him however, for none would doubt the integrity of what appeared to be a mighty veteran.
But then again, was not the Rapraptapper himself a veteran? And had he not lost? Did that not then mean that he had not had the favour of the Master all along?

'You feeling alright?' Gadar asked the man softly. He had expected the curse to fall on him immediately, but it seemed that its effects had not taken hold...

"The goodly Master, god of change, has protected me from any ill change thus far," he began, "though I worry that she might try to work some ill magic upon me now. But what say you? Has she worked her craft to bewitch you?" Gadar laughed at this.
'I have seen her work her magic many times, but she never worked her magics on me. Only nurtured me back to health when I stood before the gates of death. Though of course, there are some magics which every man or woman can cast, and if it is to those that you refer, then I am undeniably bewitched,' and with that, he bowed slightly to the Rapraptapper, 'I wish you safe journeying, and pray that if anything has descended upon you it, is not a curse but a hidden blessing.'
So saying, Gadar turned and bid the people leave, for there was nothing more to be seen here today. The innocence of the Witch-Priestess had been proven, and her detractors had been left with the wind blown out of their sails. One could not say that 'knowledge' had triumphed, but it had been protected even if at the terms of the ignorant.

When the Raptaptapper finally turned, he met the disappointed eyes of those that had not yet dispersed. He looked down to the ground, at his weathered feet; their journey was not done yet. With his faithful walking stick, he began another pilgrimmage. The long and dusky road would be his daily meditation.

[hider=Summary]
**Events involving Ventus take place just before Zephyrion's banishment, and long after the Ventus events concerning Vestec's Horde of Chaos and the stuff surrounding the Stand collab. The rest of the post is more ambiguous about its place in the timeline, but precedes the Realta invasion.

[center]~~~~SECTION ONE~~~~[/center]

The story of Shaqmar continues right where it left off from the last post. Entering his burning camp, he finds his mother slain and Layla kidnapped. He wages a war of vengeance against the Ma'Erkoz.

[center]~~~~SECTION TWO~~~~[/center]

In the wake of [url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3844242]Heartworm's doings in Vetros,[/url] Akthanos and the people are deeply disturbed. After using his powers to cleanse the streets of Heartworm's pictures and ward the city from evil, he finds himself outside the Temple of the Bond. Rumors of Yara's witchcraft and heresy are widespread by now, and so he hesitates outside the Temple (a large crowd at his back) for some time before finally deciding to bless it with his power as he did all other places in the city. He returns to his palace and tries to sleep. He's exhausted yet unable to rest, and as his mind wanders, he eventually becomes suspicious of Yara and her Temple of the Bond.

At night he disguises himself and returns to the Temple, where he chances upon Yara outside. She sees through his guise and yet he is able to see through hers as well, and after levelling his accusations and being rebuffed, he eventually agrees to enter the Temple to witness first hand what has happened within.

All goes well, until the ancient Priest-King's strength fails him and he collapses. With what seems like his last words, he wills the King's Law to find its way to his son.

Yara, realizing how disastrous it would be if the king died within her temple, saves Akthanos using the phial of time that she had stowed away. Akthanos has a nightmare of countless eyes and a great monster trying to find him, and then wakes up. Gadar brings Akthanos back to the palace.

[center]~~~~SECTION THREE~~~~[/center]

An outspoken man that serves as a courier, herald, and wandering storyteller arrives in Vetros. With a mob at his back, he denounces Yara and her cult, only to be confronted by her. A heated argument and then a sacred contest ensues on the condition that upon the loser will fall a curse: they will be condemned to eternally roam the earth, never able to stay in any one place too long.
They play a strange strategic board game (without a board, just a square drawn in the sand). Gadar acts as rulekeeper. The game ends with tied forces facing off against each other in the final showdown, and they draw sticks to decide whose side overpowers the other. Yara emerged victorious and she walks back into her temple.
Gadar expresses his sympathies and is asked by the man if she has cast her magic on him. Gadar assures him that she has cast no unnatural maigc on him at all. And so the strange man turns away and begins his eternal journey.
[/hider]