[center]______________ Oslo, Valeal ________________ [/center]

The midday sun hung over Oslo, it's rays cascading over the granite walls of the city. The royal banner, a golden dagger and wreath set against a red backdrop, fluttered violently as strong winds blew from the south. A column of men in ragged mismatched armor marched towards the city gates. They bore trophies of combat on their armor and flesh: scars and dents. At the head of the column was a cluster of men on horseback leading the others, their armor far more elaborate and costly but no less worn. One of their own carried a banner, A red rose against checkered white and black, and the banner whipped violently as the wind exhaled. The sea of common folk parted a path as the column of men approached the gates, and all eyes watched the men as they entered the city. Some of the commoners cheered or threw gifts, many others offered the men a welcoming smile. Some commoners simply minded their own, but as the column of armed men paraded through the filthy and narrow city streets they were watched by the city guard with cautious eyes. 

 Ahead of them houses were clustered together in a claustrophobic inducing manner as far as the eye could see. The homes looked like shambles and the streets reeked of grime. Close to the center of the city the Earth rose so that those living nearer the center could look over the impoverished masses, and the homes grew sturdier and more eloquent closer to the center. The inner walls rose high and were well manned, but they too looked ragged and worn from years without maintenance. The homes behind the inner wall were larger and more space was offered from one house to the next. In the distance yet another ring of walls rose high into the air, but far above them loomed a great keep of marble stone so white it glistened in the sun. 

 The column of men stopped and were addressed by one of the officers as the men on horseback rode on. They came to the final ring of walls which surrounded the mighty keep and dismounted at the gate. Their horses were ushered away and the men walked through the final gate with the banner of the Rose at their backs. At the inner courtyard colorful and vibrant flowers hugged the walkways and an aroma so exotic filled the nose you'd think you've wandered into a jungle. The hedges were cut into all manners of elaborate forms and in the center of it all was a fountain of turquoise water with marble stones encircling the walkway around it. The names of famous men of Valeal were engraved on these stones and the men barring the rose banner gave those names no mind as they stepped on them. 

The main path veered left to yet another courtyard, this one enclosed by high iron fencing. Behind this fencing men and women in plain clothing spoke to one another as they strolled under the sun. Distance clangs and shouted could be heard as steel clashed with steel, but the air didn't smell of blood. One of the men, the youngest of them all with blue eyes and curly brown hair sneered at the sight of it all. 
"Mages," he said with disdain. 

[center]_____________ The Circle of Magi, Oslo ________________[/center]

 "Another host of Paladins of the Order has come into the city," said a man in red robes with black embroidery of unfamiliar symbols. He sat with his elbows rested on a large wooden table with his fingers interlocked under his chin. His skin was pale in complexion and his hair a blondish silver. His skin was beset by wrinkles, and his brow furrowed as he looked at the women he spoke to with worried eyes, "They're up to something. I can feel it." 

The women he spoke to wore a similar garment, but a hood was drawn over her head and a metallic mask rested on her face exposing only her eyes and the disfigured skin around them. The man was the archmage of Gorgon, Kraith, and she was Lyana, the Archmage of Kain. The Dessert Phoenix as many other mages knew her, for even at a young age she was unmatched in pyromancy. Rumors tell that in her youth her own fire magic overwhelmed her and the ethereal flames burnt the skin beyond the repair of magic. She ought to have died, but she lived and thus the story of the Phoenix was born. 

"Outside it may be war," she began her voice smooth and her tone calm, "but the king will keep the peace within the city." 

"Can you be sure the king isn't picking sides? Rumors tell the Order is willing to pledge swords if the king boots us out, and with Ferros foaming at the mouth for open war there's no telling what deal he might strike. He knows we aren't pledging men after all." 

"The king's gone through enough scrutiny over the years for hosting our mages. I don't think he'll bend his knee a pretentious order destabilizing his country," she replied. Dark storm clouds loomed on the horizon and lumbered towards the city on the back of heavy winds. 

"Cleansing the country as the Paladins call it," the Kraith replied as he stood to his feet and joined Lyana at the window. "They're gaining a lot of support too. Unfortunately we aren't a popular team to be on thanks to Malfear."

Lyana's body tensed and she spoke with venom in her voice, "Two decades of war, the destruction of the tower and the persecution of mages because of a single man."

"Because of a monster," Kraith corrected. 

[center]_______________ Ferronian Outpost __________________[/center] 

 Water streamed from the wooden Palisades as the rain fell relentlessly. In the distance lightning crackled and thunder roared across the grey skies. Heavy spruce trees sagged in the rain and a blanket of dense mist loomed at their trunks. Figures broke loose from the mist, a small group of armored men on horseback with lances in hand and bows on their backs. They approached a gap in the palisade where another cluster of lightly armored men cleared the muddy path of wooden barricades. Their horses slogged in the mud as they entered a makeshift outpost and they muttered a curse as the rain chilled them to the bone. High over the outpost flew the banner of an Orange tiger painted against dark green cloth: the flag of Ferros. 

 Houses made of wood hugged each others wall's and sprawled throughout the outpost, but many of the houses were decrypted, charred and covered in moss. What once could of passed as a modest sized village was now little more than a ghost town, with only small handfuls of men walking back and forth across the bare muddy grounds. Saws and wooden logs were scattered about as carpenters had been hard at work repairing the homes, but the heavy rains meant no work was to be done today. The band of soldiers which had returned from their patrol entered one of the larger buildings. Counting themselves fortunate that the roof did not leak, they were greeted by a warm hearth and a line of cooks serving a meal to hungry soldiers. They grabbed their food and took a seat with the other men.

"Anything interesting?" one of the men asked the newcomers.

"Rain, mud and lightning," one of the patrol replied, presumably a captain judging by armor. He removed his leather gloves and blew his breath into hands as he rubbed them together. "I thought my damn fingers would fall off."

"Yesterday I passed three farmsteads," one of the others began, "two of them were little more than empty space and a pile rotten wood. We're protecting ghosts; no one lives here anymore."

"The lowlands are still ours," the captain replied, "We just need to reclaim them." 

In the years of war against Malfear the lowlands were raided for all they were worth. What was once home to prime farmland had become little more than vast stretches of empty forest. In the aftermath of the war bandits, nomads and feral mages had moved in, claiming the lowlands as their own. Ferronian patrols had made headway in clearing these unwelcome guests out but occasional skirmishes were still occurring. However, despite the Queen's efforts to repopulate the lowlands the Ferronians would not budge, for the war against Malfear and the destruction of the Lowlands had left a deep scar in the memories of the survivors. 

 Outside a small train of wagons approached the outpost and the sounds of iron shackles rattled with each bump. In total there were five wagons, each pulling a large cage covered with a linen tarp. One of the wagons had apparently lost its cover, and the slaves shook violently from the freezing rain which pooled at there feet. In each of the cages slaves were chained together at the ankle and sat so close to one another there was little room for breathing. Some of the slaves were clothe less and their bare skin bore the scars of abuse and beatings. 

 The wagons entered the outpost and came to a stop. The captain of the patrol wiped his lips as he left the mess hall. He spoke a few words to the men leading the wagons and then proceeded to examine the contents of the cages with disgust. The captain turned once more to the men leading the wagons and bellowed, "We pay you for able bodies; Healthy bodies. Half of these slaves are broken."

"Broken in," the slaver corrected. 

"But useless none-the-less. I'll pay half for four wagons. You can keep the fifth wagon for yourself," the fifth wagon being the one which had lost it's linen cover leaving the slaves exposed to the elements the entire journey. 

"I'd fetch a better price in Valaria! I risked my life herding these slaves through your lands!"

"I appreciate that, and I imagine you would," the captain stated, "but half of these slaves will be dead of pneumonia by sunrise tomorrow. All of them might be dead by the time you reach Valaria." 

The captain tossed the slaver a meager pouch of coins as he proceeded to instruct his men to unbar the cages and unload the slaves.