[h3]MY HOMETOWN, THE WORLD OF FADED LIGHT[/h3]
[img]http://i.imgur.com/0N04o1w.jpg[/img]
[i]Faded light. 

A land of grey and soft sounds in the distance. Buildings, I saw buildings, old and decrepit. Buildings long since destroyed by the war. I saw faces too, the grinning old man by the well; the two boys playing sticks, dreaming of one day being squires; The young woman in the purple dress eager to be married off.

They were all dead.

 The smiling man waved to me. I remember him fondly; he once gave me a piece of bread. The dead walked here as I walked but they did not see or feel, for I was not dead. I was dreaming. 

It was the world of faded light. Ever since my earliest memories I went here when I slept.  They call this dreaming, but I am not sure if that is true. They once said I had the plague of the dreaming, but they were wrong. My mother told me when you dream you go to a world where anything can happen but you have no control. Here, all that happens is what has happened before. I know that I am dreaming, which my mother told me was impossible, but I know. 

I know this world cannot be real, because as I watch I see myself. A child, she is only now leaving a sewer drain. It is strange to look upon yourself, but still stranger to see so great a difference. She is filthy and tired. Her eyes are sunken. Her blonde hair is wild and her mind lost. She does not care for her appearance, and walks the street regardless. Looking upon this memory is a reminder of humility, to remember that my place in the world was not determined by blood or wealth, but because I was chosen by that which is far greater than myself. 

The younger me walked quietly through the street and into an empty courtyard until she was confronted by the two boys with sticks. They grinned and one pointed with his stick while laughing. I did not like them much.  The pointing boy spoke, but his voice was faint and distant. In this world all those of my memories speak like him. He whispered even as his mouth opened and closed as if shouting.  

Once I would have moved closer to hear him, but this memory has occurred enough where I no longer need to. The younger me, in spite, yelled back. I was much less patient in those days, before Servitor Velmnus taught me to be so. The boy recoiled in anger at my words, and he held the stick in a high guard, in poor imitation of a true knight. 

This memory was not the most important I have seen. No great battle was fought. No terrible enemy defeated, but it meant something to me, for it was the first time the voice came.

My younger self did not bother to move or grab the stick, instead holding out her arm, palm open as if to order him to stop.  Her face was now calm when mere moments ago she was shouting. The stick collided with her palm.  It did not bruise her hand. The stick did not even break. The boys stick passed through her hand, and fell in half, burned through by fire so bright it was white like pure light. 

The boys froze in disbelief. After nearly a minute of silence, they finally ran, terrified. They never spoke of this again to anyone, not even the clerisy. It would be years until the others knew who I truly was. But after they were gone, I watched myself collapse like a doll, almost dead... like the time with the witch hunters or, many years later, the Battle of the three armies. I entered the world of faded light, and so for the first time it came, the voice said:

“You have but seen little of what is to come, child. Sleep and I shall show you the way”. 

And so he did. For many years, I believed the voice to be Justinian himself.  In some way, I still hope this to be true. Even if from the temple within Sacrosanct he ignores the plight of my people, I hope desperately that he truly cares. The voice guided me, and showed me through the path that I am now. My powers grew and as it did my purpose came clear. As with the day I defeated the three men who wished to kill Servitor Velmnus. As with the day I stood defiant before an army of Ghuls. I was to be a saviour, and a protector. In the faded world as I lay fallen on the courtyard stones, the voice first guided me to be more than that girl who traveled through sewers and hit tree’s with sticks in anger.  I was to be benevolent, to bring back the fire in mankind’s heart like Justinian before me. I was to become hope, the voice told me.

And so I have become hope.[/i]
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[h3]VENHOSTEN GRASSLANDS, THE HOLY CRUSADER STATE OF IRONMARCH, SOMNUS IMPERIUM, NORTH AVARA[/h3] 
[img]http://i.imgur.com/wzxoeiY.png[/img]
It was midday, shining light shone through light clouds. The grass here was vibrant green, and the breeze still blew. A land not yet afflicted by the plague. A girl awakened. Her bright green eyes looked at her surroundings, seeing the time of day. “I must stop doing this” she sighed. She had fallen asleep again, resting on a hill whilst leaning against a tree. Much like she used to back in the days of the Peasants crusade.

The world of faded light was a safe haven for her.  It was a place to become calm, in harmony with herself and Justinian. Here, in Avara, it was hard to be an Apostle, to be the saviour of all mankind, as proclaimed by the servitors. She had not even yet reached her fifteenth day of birth and millions hailed her as a messiah, an instrument of Justinian’s will. She was but a girl, dwarfed by those who worshiped her, leading men twice, thrice and even four times her age into battle against forces of darkness and corruption.

Now, she could not hide within the world of faded light anymore. She had to confront the people and their reverence of her.  The open field of grass would be a scenic view, if it were not for the large war camp built around her sleeping location. It would be foolish to believe she could simply wander off without escort or purpose.  She stood up, and begun walking back down the hill back towards the camp.

She marched with the famed rebel leader, once high-servitor and now general, Daelus Omar. “The Conqueror” the peasants started calling him during the rebellion, and now, with the civil war over, he is one of the most powerful men in the Imperium. The man was something she knew she was not, a genius. A controller of men and armies, he led peasants against knights and came through victorious. He had already begun changing the Imperium, and with guilt she admitted she felt envy for his successes that did not rely on unexplained powers or Justinian’s might.

While thinking on Omar’s achievements she re-entered the camp, only briefly noticing that they had already begun packing up the camp to continue marching. The wall of wagons had been moved; reforming the convoy from what was once a circular fort. Most of the tents were being taken down, except one bright red one in the middle. There stood Omar’s tent, her destination. She would talk with Omar now to apologize, assuming she had held back the hosts march towards their mission. A simple mission it was at least, she would not be needed for smiting monsters thankfully. They were to survey the land and the damage done by the civil war, which only ended two years ago. Persistent nobles in the North West calling themselves the “Ten Barons” as well as Ghul marauders made it necessary for this host to be the size it is, at five thousand men strong.

Originally by her own request she went with the host. She wanted to know what her people were like far away from where she lived, if they lived the same lives as she once had. Omar had agreed on the condition that she made public appearances as a way to recover morale among the villagers and new peasant soldiers.  It was a fair agreement, but only Velmnus knew besides herself how uncomfortable she felt when so many came to her asking for salvation. 

Ever since that old man with the plague somehow overcame his madness simply to ask to be cured, the faithful scared her. The old man was killed before he could come too close, by a paladin no less, but it was enough. While she had known for some time that the world she lived in was a horrible one, from then on however she had difficulty believing that it really could be saved, by her or anyone.  The people came to her not only out of hope, as she wished, but out of fear. Out of desperation and because of their suffering. Justinian promised them salvation, a new world order built from the ashes of the wicked. Where was that world? Why has he done nothing? If he is so great, why does he make me suffer so? These are the questions the people asked her, answers she could not answer.

As the camp, once bustling with noise and action fell to near total silence, she knew that it would continue. No matter how dark the world became, no matter how difficult the questions were these people would uphold her as a messiah. The peasant-soldiers kneeled, the knights followed by bowing their heads. A man coughed. These men saw her as something she could never see in herself. Something Velmnus warned would happen if she continued on her path. These men had long lost their faith in Justinian’s benevolence. They held faith in his might, but not his justice.  They saw her as their new god, even their new Justinian as heretical as it may be. They pretended she was a servant of Justinian, or an avatar of sorts. But she and the servitors knew that deep down these men followed her, not the Patrimony. She only hoped that when the time came for the final battle, they through her would fight for Justinian once again.

“So you have awakened, dear Cecilia” spoke a soft voice. Very few called her by that name. Servitor Velmnus had arrived, appearing out of the central tent... no doubt alerted of her arrival by the sudden end of all activity and sound. The old man shuffled forwards in his once pure white robes, now dusty and torn. The apostle has had many mentors throughout her short time living, but Velmnus was the one of the most important. What others called a prophet, she saw as a father-figure.

“Master Velmnus, I am very sorry for my laxity. I should not have left before. I have...” her apology was cut off by Velmnus placing his hand on her shoulder.

“All is well Cecilia. Omar is in no hurry to leave; in fact I believe his talks with the Drathan Arcanist Physical will prolong our stay here for an hour at the very least” Velmnus assured her, leading her towards the main tent. Cecilia did not know what a Drathan Arcanist Physical was, but she knew the man was an engineer of some sorts.

“So, then does the Drathan talk much?” Cecilia inquired. She knew little of the Union or the Drathan people, only that they were sorcerers and slavers. Why one would come here and cut all ties with his nation and deity, Yuwan, was beyond her.

“He has much to talk about it seems. Some of it I do not even understand, in fact I do not think even the Union may actually understand, or they would have not allowed him to defect as he has!” Velmnus jested.

Cecilia smiled reluctantly, she was nervous to meet the man who came from such a worrying nation. She had at least heard that the Drathan was a genius of machines and new inventions. The man had supposedly abandoned magic and left the Union to aid them, which was admiring if worrisome, but what he brought with him was... spectacular. 

The two entered the tent and found the interior littered with scrolls and parchment. A makeshift table stood in the middle, also littered with scrolls and parchment. There was red everywhere.  Omar wore a bright red hat on his head, a red cape around his neck... he even wrote in a strange red book with a quill, his face scrawled up in contemplation. Dosazes daz Vosazastivis, the Drathan engineer stood next to him shaking his head slowly, pointing at a parchment next to the book with one hand while stroking his great tangled beard with the other.

“No no, the device could not be stored there, the weight would be too—“ Vosazastivis looked up and blinked, seeing the new arrivals. His face was grim, so pale he looked dead and hands that appeared skeletal. His pupils were fiery yellow, disturbed and in sharp, angular eyes. He honestly frightened Cecilia.   

“Salutations to you apostle of Justinian and Master Servitor, it is a most pleasant day to finally have met you” he greeted. At least he seemed polite, Cecilia was glad for that at least.  

“Greetings, Apostle Victorianna. I am currently very busy. Do not fret however, for I will be done within the hour. Vosazastivis, we will continue this discussion on the road north. Velmnus, I require to speak with you immediately” Omar ordered in a strict but quiet voice, not even bothering to take his eyes off his strange red book.

Velmnus and Vosazastivis looked at each other, and quietly nodded. “Cecilia, would you please go with Mr Vosazastivis and help him pack his tools? I must speak with the General” Velmnus stated. The engineer looked at the parchment again and shrugged before walking out of the tent. Cecilia figured Velmnus and Omar wished to discuss something not meant for either of their ears... perhaps they speak of something clerical in nature? Whatever it was, it was not for her to know. She followed the Drathan engineer to his tools.

Vosazastivis' tent was already taken down; however looking around Cecilia saw his many contraptions. Small machines, cogs and boxes filled with tools made of metal. Strange objects of uncertain purpose. The largest of them all was already connected to a cart... Some kind of strange cannon, instead of a barrel it held a strange box of wood, a box with many holes in it.  

“Is it not ingenious? It fires arrows launched by gunpowder like its own volley of bowmen! The Hokksulgug have crafted a formidable device, yet this weapon has only now been brought here by me! For shame, the east is backwards compared to the lands of the west, a sad truth”. The Drathan muttered while ordering what looked like a page, a young boy, to move the boxes onto the cart.

“So why did you leave the west then mister Vosazastivis?” Cecilia asked, confused why such a man, so unlikely to join Justinian's cause would leave his homeland if he held such thoughts of her people.

“There is opportunity in a land that is backwards.  It is an opportunity to change things to how I wish them to be, rather than how they already are. The west is advanced yes, but they do not care for change”. The old engineer was only half talking to Cecilia as he continued looking over the Hokksulgug weapon. “I didn’t like being ignored. I have been ignored too long by the other mages. The world is reaching its final years and we must change if we are to survive. I have come here to bring my mind and my machines to fight the plague and have had enough of the Union's over reliance on blood and magic tricks”. He continued, elaborating.

“My people, they will remember you services to this land. To come here to fight the Plague is not an easy thing to do. Most would rather flee”. Cecilia spoke, somewhat surprised by the man’s answer. She knew that Justinian's and Yuwanist's on occasion had worked together, but someone like this... truly it was the end of days.

“They will likely remember me after what I have in stored for this land. And for what Omar has decided on. It seems Omar is trying to convince Velmnus for you to publicly support my endeavors, claim my devices are from neither Yuwan or my own mind, which is of course nonsense. Only I developed these tools” Vosazastivis absently remarked. It stung somewhat for Cecilia, for the man to so easily trivialize the voice and Justinian, but she knew such an individual, to actually have switched sides so greatly much have had a change of hearts somewhere, if not in faith, perhaps in mind.

“Omar has been trying to make me do many things to gain support from the people. He is well intentioned, I know, but...” Cecilia drifted off, not wanting to speak further of her complaint.

“It is forced. Ah yes, I know the feeling, truly. The Unions great mages and scholars were much the same with I. Go there, do that, be quiet for you know not what you speak. Perhaps then, I will be able to do something of it, Omar’s plans that is” Vosazastivis suggested, turning and finally looking at Cecilia directly.

“There are many devices in my workshop at Blackstone, among the black powder makers and gunsmiths; I have machines like no other. Well, perhaps some more similar to existing designs than others” he glanced at the strange Hokksulgug weapon. “Once I am finished with this survey, I humbly invite the Apostle to my workshop to inspect the magnificent crafts in work there.  I will have the workers make great cheer and fanfare of your doings there, and we will have no need of Omar’s engineered public displays” He spoke with certainty and with a hint of rebelliousness, as if he had done actions such as this many times over. Despite his daunting appearance and history, Cecilia found she could actually talk to this man. He was strange yes, but he gave her no great questions concerning the meaning or reasoning behind Justinian’s actions in the world. 

Suddenly, before Cecilia could respond to the engineer, the page appeared again to collect more boxes. “Vosazastivis is building a dragon I tell ya! A dragon! I seen it, messiah lady, tis incredible!” The child acclaimed wildly.

“A dragon!?” Cecilia shouted. Despite her position, powers and reputation, she was not much older than the boy. She knew that dragons had gone extinct long ago, but the thought of them coming back was exciting, even if the improbability of Vosazastivis, a mage who had supposedly forsaken the arcane arts of the Union, being able to bring them back had to be ignored to even consider the idea.    
“It is no more a dragon than I. This boy is speaking nonsense, I am working with adapting, interestingly, another Hokksulgug device, combined with a Karkarthan weapon which breathes fire—“

“Exactly, a dragon!” The boy shouted before laughing, causing Vosazastivis to sigh and rub the bridge of his nose. Cecilia wondered why the boy had not reacted to her presence like others his age. He must be from Vosazastivis workshop she thought, where foreigners are allowed to work. She decided then and there she would rather go to this workshop than whatever Omar had planned.

“I would like to see this ‘dragon’ and anything else at your workshop mister Vosazastivis. I think it is about time I finally see Blackstone and the work done there” Cecilia stated. She wasn’t just saying it to avoid large crowds, she honestly believed this technology could help defend Somnus. A man who had such great designs of machines and engineering that he abandoned his magical powers to continue in its refinement must have something of use. 

She also liked dragons.

“Well then, we best hurry with this survey then. We’ve waffled on and Omar has probably finished explaining what he wants of you to Velmnus. People are waiting for things to happen, uh?” Vosazastivis remarked while placing the last machine on the cart. 

“Off to the north then, where all the damn Ghuls are”. Vosazastivis mumbled, and within the next thirty minutes they were off, unaware of the crusade being called against them, unaware of the activity of the Ghuls to the north, unaware of storm approaching.
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[h3]EVERYREN, SICARIUS PRETENDER STATE, SOMNUS IMPERIUM, NORTH AVARA[/h3]
[img]http://i.imgur.com/9M1p7Cv.jpg[/img]
 ”These are not the herbs we are looking for” Remas stated blankly. He had been searching through the alchemical supplies shop for twenty minutes now and most of it appeared to be junk. Who honestly sells Grobwood these days? 

“Idiot, we’ve been here for like an hour now! Just grab it all and we can move on” spat Saathen “Spitfire”, their resident Jahun-ka expert on whacking things with sufficiently large pieces of metal. 

“Please Saathen of No House, let me do my work. We will get to the buying of Karkath steel very, very soon” Remas responded, irritated. Where was the Tendrilweed? Lockgrim? Gauntgargast? These people who call themselves alchemists, herbalists, doctors.... ignoramus. Horrible, horrible ignoramus’ they were indeed.

“Right! We’re done here. I cannot take this affront to medical and alchemical knowledge any longer!” Remas shouted, followed by a small group cheer from outside the shop.

“Finally, had you taken any longer, Takataren herself would have fucking returned!” Saathen continued to yell. She did this a lot. Ever since they were formed as a “party”, she was constantly insulting his dignity and honour as a Plague doctor, alchemist and Servitor-healer of the venerable order of the Knights Carrion Song. 

Also, it was hard to breath in this beak mask. Lockgrim was a very dense spice to use as a purifier of element Remos thought. 

Exiting the horrible building that called itself a alchemical supply shop, Remas Justinus and Saathen of No House were met by their small band of ‘fellow soldiers of Justinian’. It was an extremely diverse bunch in Remos’ opinion, in some circles even heretical. Why it was deemed appropriate to bring them all along together was beyond him.

The merry band of fellows was, as mentally listed by Remos;

[i]-Saathen “Spitfire”of No House, the aforementioned Jahun-ka paladin of whacking things and spitting. Now she was off to the Karkarthian steel merchants, in the wrong direction;[/i]

[i]-Bosk Gauldulus, the big guy with his perfectly untrimmed and shaggy beard leaning on the stone wall, who in Remas’ opinion was a heavyset dimwit of a crusader and nothing more;[/i]

[i]-Urian Phebosius, standing in the street uncomfortably and hyper-vigilant, who still wouldn’t shut up about surviving the fall and the horrors, don’t even get him started when he is drunk, the man tried to commit suicide once;[/i]

[i]-Odev Trenorix, the kid squatting near the door playing around with his sword. A wannabe paladin of Krax who actually changed his name to be more Charlinite, here for no other reason than the Krax paladins convincing those who ordered this mission to bring the tag along to gain 'experience'; [/i]

[i]-Aurelius Carpathus Wyverncourt, the almost feminine looking man starring off into the sky, day dreaming probably, also the Grandmaster of the Knights Iron Sepulchrave’s Justinian-damned little brother and here as ‘supervision’.  Remos hated nepotism, though at least this one wasn’t a total idiot like Odev and Bosk;[/i]

[i]-“Mananimos of the Mountain” a Justinian-damned Dryadicist sage, smiling and waving at passersby city goers as if they couldn’t tell he was an obvious heathen. Apparently the probably immortal man was here to find extremely rare alchemical ingredients to try making a potion for keeping plague afflicted asleep. [/i]

And a bunch of other nameless meat shield’s the council decided to bring along.

Today, tomorrow, the next month would all be trying times for Remos Justinus. He knew that only he had the sanity in this group to make sure the correct objects were acquired, the correct people talked to and nobody died who wasn't supposed to. 

“Perhaps we could talk to the store owners? They may have a private store for more higher grade ingredients” The sage man suggested, with his squinted eyes, wide smile and white beard. 

“Let’s move you fool’s, we have Karkathian steel to plunder!” Spitfire yelled impatiently, only now turning around and going in the right direction.

[i]O’lord Justinian, why have ye forsaken thou mind and soul?[/i]
  
 
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[hider=summary]
[b]SUMMARY:[/b]
[i]-An insight into the mind and thoughts of a 14-year old peasant girl turned messiah

-Introduction to a number of interesting personalities 

-A host of soldiers (About 5000 men) under the command of Daelus Omar march across the northern regions of Ironmarch to inspect damage and make notes on repairs. They bring the Union defector and engineer Vosazastivis to take his own notes and thoughts on improvements, as well as the girl messiah herself.

-“Vosazastivis invites the messiah to his workshop in Blackstone, building dragons apparently”

-A small group of interesting individuals attempt and fail to buy some herbs in the city of Everyren. Karkathan steel is the next big buying object on their list, and boy will they be in for a surprise. [/i]
[/hider]