Planting his forehead unceremoniously into a man's nose, Garran knocked the figher unconscious before casting him away like trash. His body was covered in a myriad of bruises, grazes, cuts, blood and alcohol, but he didn't particularly seem to mind as he picked another patron up and threw him through the brick wall. It had been a while since he was in a scrap like this. An honest, true to measure bar brawl, where man tested each other based on the strength of arm and hardness of muscle, rather than the quality of one's blade or magic. He was utterly at home amidst the chaos. Feeling a figure bump into his back, Garran whirled around, fist at the ready, but immediately let down his guard as he saw who it was, even as a plate cracked against his shoulder. "Well then, lass," Garran said as he planted his hands on his hips, a tankard whizzing past his head, spilling ale over his arm, "I d'nno wht t' do 'n a date...kinda a f'rst fer me." Rubbing the back of his head nervously, the pirate shrugged. "Well, th' city be new an' excitin'," he said, "th' doves ain't git no seaport h're so I've n'ver been round here. Shall we 'xplore?"

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Meanwhile, in Sassacus...
"As you requested, milord," a figure shrouded in red said, his knee bowed as his silvery white hair contrasted with his cloak, "the blood of a powerful warrior." His crimson gloved hand was placed over his heart in a show of fealty as a small scarlet vial floated in the air above his other hand. Moments of silence passed before there was a deep rumbling. Ancient braziers lit up, but they did not burn orange like any regular flame. They burned a deep, disturbing maroon. "Well done...Valiance..." said a melodious voice from seemingly everywhere around the kneeling figure. As the final braziers lit up, they revealed a raised, basalt dais, upon which stood a throne of alternating black basalt, white marble and a strange red mineral that alternately grew and shrunk, like an obscene, crystalline heart. As the room flooded with light, it revealed that the room was permeated with a red mist that pulsed towards and away from the throne in the center. All of a sudden, the mist seemed to gain animation, being sucked towards a point on front of the throne. Valiance felt a malevolent breeze bring his hair to the front of his body as he knelled impassively, his breath instinctively baited. He smiled inwardly. No matter, he thought, we are of the same blood anyway.

As the sanguine mist pooled into a single hurricane in front of the throne, it started to take on a humanoid shape, before sprouting a pair of large features on its back. Little by little, it grew more distinct, facial features and fabric gaining colour, bodily proportions taking solid shape and wings forming behind the figure in a magnificent display as they spread outwards, the blood red crystalline feathers reaching towards the ceiling. Chuckling, the new figure rested his cheek on his knuckles as he sat upon the throne, placing his ankle over the other leg. His white hair was tinted crimson by the flames and his eyes glowed a baleful ruby red. His body was half covered by a toga of brilliant carmine fabric, held up by a single golden brooch...and yet the fabric seemed...oddly organic. "As expected of my herald," he finally said, his voice reminiscent of an ominous chorus, "you always do as I expect." Slowly rising to his feet, the newly formed seraphim approached the kneeling Valiance. "But that is to be expected from someone crafted from my own flesh, is it not?" he asked as he closed distance. Valiance remained quiet, his face hidden beneath his wide brimmed hat as the single white feather swayed eerily in the windless throne room. 

"Stand, my herald, and present me with the item," he said, standing in front of Valiance, towering head and shoulders above him. "Yes, milord," the hearld replied, slowly rising from his knee, the vial still floating above his palm. Staring at the vial, Valiance took a deep breath and, with a single thought, started to shift the shape of the vial. The neck widened while the base grew narrower and longer. Streams of blood came from within the crimson gloved hand under it and added to the mass, forming a thin base. A few seconds later, the vial had transformed into a chalice, a viscour red fluid sloshing within as the hemomancer extended his arm. Smiling like a father looking at his son, the robed Seraphim took the chalice and placed it to his lips, sniffing the contents. "A low quality mongrel...but brimming with potential..." he commented, looking back at Valiance, "tell me, where did you find this specimen?"
"Eastern Wastes, near Dumont," Valiance replied, never once meeting his lord's eyes, "a young guardsman on duty." Silence reigned. Then, suddenly, the shattering sound of glass could be heard. His eyes flicking up, Valiance was just in time to see his lord's arm reach out and grab him by the throat. Coughing and spluttering as he was lifted off his feet, Valiance grasped at his lord's hand as his hat fell from his shoulders. A homonculus he may have been, but with his lord's handiwork, he was the equal of any mortal, and that meant he needed air. "You take me for a fool, Valiance?" the angered lord asked. "No...Lord *ack* Lord Aelthanion!" he managed to choke through as he tried to pry the hand away from his throat, at any cost to get his breath back. Closing his eyes, Valiance started to dissipate, melting away like wax above an open flame. He slithered through Aelthanion's hands and pooled on the ground below as a small red ball followed. Almost immediately, the liquid reformed around the ball once more taking on the shape of Valiance, who gasped for breath as he struggled to stay conscious. "To lead our kind to be the apex of this world's species requires more blood, better blood than some simple guardsman!" Aelthanion shouted, kicking Valiance onto his side, "I cannot lead my warriors to battle on such filth!"
"Milord, *cough* Seraphim no longer battle as *ack* as you did back then, they are frailer!" Valiance reasoned as he returned to his feet, unharmed apart from the blueness of his lips, "you will lead them to ruin!" The air seemed to heat up in the throne room. "Do you question my PROWESS!?" Aelthanion roared. Clenching his hand into a fist, the self proclained 'God of War' watched as Valiance writhed, even letting out a scream unintentionally as something was ripped from within his chest, leaving a sucking wound. A small red ball was drawn forth from his chest even as the wound immediately healed up. Gasping in pain as he watched Aelthanion grasp the ball in his hand, tighening his grip. His entire body screamed in pain as the ball was compressed. "Let me remind you who you are, herald," Aelthanion hissed, tightening his grip to emphasise his point, "you are my puppet, my minion, and you will not question me, understood?" Once more, he crushed the ball. Without any recourse, Valiance nodded hurriedly. Scoffing at the form on the ground, Aelthanion started to walk away. "Leave my presence...and do not come back until you have gathered something worthy..."

Slowly, Valiance crawled towards the red orb on the ground,e ventually managing to grasp it and press it back onto his chest, where it seemed to sink into his skin. As soon as it integrated with him once more, Valiance breathed more easily, gasping for air as he twitched in pain. It was thrue though. With his methods, Aelthanion would lead the Seraphim to extinction, and that was if he could rally them in the first place. The Odesseans would most likely succumb to their bloodlust, but he had doubts about the others, though they would eventually fall to his aura. As his breathing returned to normal, Valiance staggered to his feet and stumbed out of the throne room, which sealed shut behind him. Before he was that madman's puppet, he was a seraphim...and he would do what he could to prevent the rise to power. The beauty of being a homonculus was that he had autonomy and sentience. He wasnot bound to serve Aelthanion like his other puppets were, but was another being entirely, with his own willpower...but even so, Aelthanion still had ultimate control over him, even if he did not have access to his mind. Stumbling in the direction of his quarters, the hemomancer struggled to think. Who could he ask the advice of? There was only one answer he could think of. A certain rune mage with atrophied wings.