[center][h3]Cyclone and Kho[/h3][/center]

[center][color=Gold][b]Ialu, Avarice Incarnate[/b][/color]
Level 4 Demigod, 25.5 Might

[b]Tyke, Prophet of Ialu[/b]
[/center]

[hider=Summary]
-Ialu's Zealots have moved into the mountain Crown, that old fort Zerabil and the Victors once had. Tyke is the Prophet of Ialu and Grandmaster of the zealots.
-The people in Brightwoods sent out messages asking for help from Ialu. Unfortunately, the Zealots have no idea where Ialu is. They also refused to commit troops to fight New garakai, at least for now.
-Ialu made the Well of Strength in a cave deep beneath the Mountain Crown, then told Tyke of it in a dream. The Zealots that bathe in the Well or drink from it become vastly more powerful and are called Immortals.
-To test the strength of the Immortals and ensure that the Zealots don't become weak and soft from such a long peace, Tyke invades the Carebian Peninsula hoping to gain a foothold in Orabahk.
-1500 soldiers (that's 3/4 of the Zealots) get on a fleet and land in the far south of the Carebian Peninsula, in rural lands far from any city states. The fleet sails back to Arguilla and will not return; the army of Zealots will either conquer this new land and sail back in the ships of their enemies, or die trying.
-Shortly after landing the Zealots conquered a clister of five small villages and garrisoned a few hundred men in each.
-Some of the fishermen go to Viros and tell the authorities. Commander Servius takes a fleet and 500 soldiers and discovers that none of the fishing villages have boats sailing back and forth.
-They scout Orna, the closest and largest village, and find it occupied by Zealots. The town's security is lazy and unorganized so some people have escaped, and Servius and his scouts manage to get in and out without a problem.
-Zealots start venturing further north and raiding merchants and caravans for supplies and wealth. They pull the garrisons out of the southern villages and encamp almost all their forces near Orna since they expect to be attacked from the north.
-Aegeus the fisherman is recruited by Servius as a spy and he has a long and hard journey that goes on for something like a week. Against all odds he makes it into the village of Istra and then back to Servius, and reports that the invaders have magic and have taken Istra as well.
-Knowing from Aegeus that Istra has only three Zealots remaining inside of it, Servius brings his fleet to attack the village.
-Two of the Zealots escape to warn the others, while one stays to fight. He kills several men (including Servius) before being slain himself.[/hider]
[hider=Ialu's Might Usage]
25 Might Points spent on creating the Well of Strength.
0.5 might remains.[/hider]

Tyke was Grandmaster of the Zealots, Prophet to Ialu, and ruler over all these lands. The Cimex bugs having overran nearly all of northern Arguilla, his demesne was the  only human civilization of any worth on this continent. To rule over every man within a thousand leagues inspired the sort of awe and power  that words could not describe, and yet he scorned luxury in favor of  living an austere life. He followed in his god's footsteps by ruling as the first man to charge on the battlefield and the last to surrender  himself to sloth. Though Ialu had not been seen in living memory, tales of the mighty warlord persisted and Tyke knew them all. He followed the  demigod's every teaching and example with a fervor that was contagious, and that was how he rose to the position of Prophet and Grandmaster.

In any case, though Tyke was now aging he remained as disciplined as he had ever been. He ruled from the Mountain's Crown, a fortress that peaked Arguilla's highest mountain and served as the headquarters of the Zealots, yet he was hardly solitary or distant from his people. Looking down upon the world below every morn kept him in touch with reality, and reflecting on his situation kept his mind sharp and his discipline unwavering. Before the first glimpse of sun he rose and walked to the battlements of his grand fortress to meditate.

Early in the morning 'twas when a caravan made the trying trek up the mountain paths to the Mountain's Crown. As high as it was, the bastion was not hidden by clouds. Those things were far below, and so it was with crystal clarity that Tyke's sharp eyes saw the caravan making the climb.

Domesticated pack alpacas carried loads of supplies, the burden doing nothing to hinder the surefooted animals as they almost effortlessly negotiated the craggy little paths. The ones driving the animals were hardy mountaineers that made a living of this and kept up, yet lagging behind all was some some sort of strange courier. It would seem that he had underestimated the mountain and now found himself with hardly a puff of air in his lungs as he could only keep climbing lest he be separated.

At midday the caravan arrived laden with cheese, fresh meats, fish, honeyed bread, and all sorts of other supplies from the rich valleys below. While the grateful soldiers took the shipment into their stores, the strange courier demanded to see Ialu. This drew a fair few laughs: from his manner of speaking and dress as well as his ignorance about how the demigod hadn't been seen in decades, it was clear that he was a foreigner. When he was eventually brought before the Prophet, the wisened Tyke recognized the man as native to the Brightwood of Orabahk. The journey would have taken him across half the world, which might explain his stubborn persistence and refusal to leave upon being scoffed at and told that Ialu was gone.

In fact, all of that only seemed to make the messenger more determined. With no shortage of spirit, he had a few choice words to say when he was finally given an opportunity to confront the Prophet, "Ialu was known to be an ally to our patron and lord, Sauranath! Our realm is invaded by the devil-spawn that hail from this land called 'New Garakai', a land that you seem familiar with for I saw their merchant ships in our harbor! If you truly worship Ialu, you would send men to aid us in our time of need for we are your ancient allies and the Garakains worship the Execrable Chaos that hated Ia-"

Tyke at last grew tired of the messenger and interrupted, "Do not presume to tell me what our Master would will, for I am his ordained Prophet. Our forces are mighty indeed and long to feel the thrill of battle that is sung in the songs of their grandfathers, and yet we march only under Ialu's orders."

The messenger's face turned a deep shade of red, though not from embarassment or cold. Frothing with anger, he spat out, "Preposterous! What is this place? Your men tell me that Ialu has not been seen in decades and that you are not hiding him somewhere, and yet you must have his direct orders to so much as answer your ally's call to arms? You are ruler of this land, and can do as you will! Do not lie and refuse us your hand under some pretext of needing divine orders!"

"You are right; I do rule and I can indeed do whatever would please myself or Mighty Ialu. Your crude mannerism makes me want to have you flung off this bluff and sent crashing down the stony slopes to your own doom, and yet I see that you only speak out of passion...the passion gives you strength and bravery that most men would lack. It is admirable and Ialu would be merciful and forgive such words spoken in your circumstance, and so I will too. Go back to Brightwood and tell them that we can neither send Ialu nor offer our swords, and speak not another wroth word to me or I shall make good on my threats."

With that menacing warning, Tyke turned and left for his afternoon prayer at the small shrine inside his room. His thoughts always strayed to the same place: where was his lord? Was he unworthy of the title Prophet? The demigod surely heard his prayers, surely was alive and not vanquished from this plane as some claimed, and yet his voice had never once rang out in the Prophet's head...was Tyke's faith in youth not so unshakable, he might have grown to question the demigod's very existence in these later years of his.

After spending the remainder of the day overseeing the training of a new wave of recruits to the Zealots, he spent a short while in the courtyard honing his own mastery of the Wi. Then, late in the night he returned to his chambers and wrote orders and memoirs and prayers until he at last surrendered to exhaustion and went to sleep. He usually worked himself into such fatigue that his nights were dreamless and utterly peaceful, but this slumber was not so.

In his sleep a strange presence filled Tyke's mind, and he felt elation: his heart sensed that this was Ialu, at last come to speak! He was disappointed, for no words rang out. His god's presence merely existed juxtaposed to his own, and the two examined one another for a few fleeting moments. Though he had expected to receive some sort of instructon, that never happened; instead, he simply awoke the next morning with some sort of new-found knowledge and purpose having been spawned in his mind. Led by a raw urging, he ventured down into the dark depths in the bowels of the fortress.

Sure enough, he found what he was looking for. The earth itself had warped and shifted under the influence of some divine power, and a narrow and hidden passageway existed where before there had only been a bleak wall of cold stone. The way was long and winding. Down and down it went for what seemed like an eternity, as if it went from the fortress at the top down to the very bottom of the mountain and then deeper. Were it not for the divine inspiration and great purpose that carried his every step, he might have long ago lost faith and turned back, but at last he arrived at the passage's end.

He was in a small antechamber with the very air itself stiflingly hard to breathe. It was as if the entire weight of the mountain above was bearing down upon this room and crushing any within, and that very well might have been the case. Or it could have just been the unmistakable presence of Ialu's energy, for the demigod's presence had been said to take its toll on nearby mortals.

While the winding passage had been black as night, this antechamber was dimly lit by some glow from a much larger cavity in the back of this cavern. Within that chamber was a great pool of water that shimmered, hissed, and writhed with energy. Sparing not a second thoughts, Tyke removed his clothing and stepped his feet into it.

The result was a horrific surprise as he skin flushed and his entire being was wracked with unimaginable agony. It was as if the fluid was consuming his flesh, bone, and very soul. Yet he could not step out. With all his willpower he stepped in further, up to his knees. Before he knew it, he was submerged to his hips. Then he slipped on a wet rock underfoot and his entire body fell into the tortuous pool.

Like a stone he rested on the bottom of the pool every increasingly hellish agony for one full day and night, the liquid somehow sustaining his life even as his body felt like it was being torn apart and rebuilt and he gasped for lack of air. After bellowing breathless screams and drowning with lungs full of the horrific stuff for what seemed like an eternity, his strength and willpower returned. The pain was still there, but he was able to clamber out of the pool and collapse on the stone floor. That gave him peace and spared him the pain's gradual worsening, yet it offered no cure for what had already been wrought.

Somehow he knew that the burning, aching, and blistering pain that lit up his every morsel of flesh would never fade. Barely able to think, he rested on the cold stone of the cave and simply suffered his fate. Eventually his endurance was rewarded to some degree...the pain was not numbed, but his reaction to it was. He was becoming...used to it.

When the time came that he was strong enough to stand, he made the trek back up the passageway and into the Mountain Crown far above. Merely coming down had been exhausting, but the return climbing back up was nothing to him now. Fatigue, hesitation, and weakness had all been burned out of his body with pain being the only thing left to fill in the empty void. In any case, questions were raised as to where he had vanished for a few days but they were dismissed soon enough. He told no others at first, so that he could test his abilities.

His strength, fortitude, speed, and magical ability had all been increased tenfold and within him he had a trace of the primal rage that had saturated the Well of Strength, as he had named the holy pool. In any case, that trace of wrath inside of him could be called at will and sent him into a wild rage so violent that even the air around him was wreathed in an aura of fire and anger.

After perhaps a week he revealed what had truly transpired and demonstrated his new-found abilities to some of the others. They were quick to ignore his warnings of the pain (He had struggled to even put into words the cost that they would pay for their powers if they bathed in that tortuous pool) and go down to the Well of Strength to empower themselves in kind.

In the end the Prophet supposed that this was befitting of a holy order. The pain that they endured would remind them of their place and show their Master that they were truly devoted, while the great power and discipline that they were granted would allow them to better carry out Ialu's will. A wave of zeal swept through the order's greatest and trickled all the way down to the lowliest recruits and even the citizenry, though none were ever told of the Well until it was their time to witness its powers. It was best kept secret, lest other deities or their followers grow jealous and try to extinguish its light. And who knew what other hateful foes waited beyond their mountain fortress? Who knew where the mountain winds blew...

As it were, the cold mountain winds blew across the Arguillian continent, carrying the bitter mountain air to forest and desert alike, and Cimexes perked up and shivered at the odd cold driving through their newly conquered forest and desert homes. It picked up the aroma of the forests and dry heat of the desert and continued on, crossing the ocean and carrying along with it the salt air as well.

On its journey, it passed the peninsula of the Carebians. A people who had emerged from the bowels of the desert and erupted outwards towards the open seas. Their origins were a mystery, though words composed by Arguis speak of Vowzrian intervention and creation. A tribal people, their new life by the sea and trade with one another as well as the Erstakhians led to a rapid peiod of urbanisation. Where once cities like Zafil and Caraxa had merely been tribal settlements, they were now sprawling city-states. While their tribalism had most certainly not disappeared - particularly in cities like the militaristic Nax - it had most certainly been hollowed out and tribal ties had lost their once over-riding significance.

Over the years, the Carebians had often warred among themselves, ever attempting to unite their shattered people under the hegemony of one city state or another. Alliances and confederations were formed and dissolved and reformed, but all they reaped was the blood of their people and all they gained were hatreds for one one another which were passed down the generations and recycled as new hatreds and new wars. Rightly could they call their land Carebian land, for its earth contained more of their spilt blood than did the living.

They built their civilisation, and though it was built upon the blood and bones of their own, rightly could they take pride in it, for they birthed many philosophers and thinkers, and many leaders and warriors, and they developed themselves even as they drove the spear and blade into the sides of their brethren. In Zafil, the most populous of the city states, there developed from their tribalistic council of elders a form of communal government system, known in the Carebian tongue as Vappyklovi (literally: rule of the commune, communal rule - vappykmi vlovi', democracy).
The landed elite - of all genders - gathered every ten years and elected a Getis (leader) from among themselves, who ran the city state for ten years. Taking after the Vappyklovic City State of Zarfil, both Caraxa and Sarkosh took on Vappyklovi, thus forming the Western League, more commonly known as the Vappyklovic League.

The militaristic Nax could not be more different. An absolute monarchy, it had a rather strict hierarchy, recognising only those who survived their grueling military training as citizens, or Naxiates. Other Naxans were either slaves, merchants or foreigners who were tolerated but treated with suspician at all times. Further to the north, Myanese was a fairly straight-forward monarchy with an ever-scheming aristocratic class. It often sided with the Naxans when war struck, fearing that otherwise the poisonous ideology of Vappyklovi would reach them.

The south of the peninsula did not have any city states as large as the north, but it had various smaller cities, villages and towns which were slowly, but surely, growing and taking after their northern counter-parts.

In the past months the greatest of Ialu's Zealots had all subjected themselves to their god's trial by bathing in the Well of Strength. Many succumbed to madness inflicted by the pain or were too frail and unworthy to survive, and those simply melted in the hissing waters. Yet most of the Zealots seemed to have the strength to endure, and when they emerged they did so with terrifying new powers just as the Prophet had. Though the pain was endless, so too was their discipline and resolve.

Where before there had been mere Zealots, now there were Immortal Warriors. The Holy Order was granted unfathomable powers and a great blessing with the gift of that well, and so they swore to guard it all costs. Its very existence was secret (even from the lesser ranked amongst the Order) and the path down to that chamber was hidden and trapped. A great change came about in those that were blessed, beyond their superhuman strength, enhanced magic, new-found discipline, and (though they did not yet realize it) the agelessness that had been bestowed upon them to preserve their youth and strength.

The most startling change was in their very mannerisms. All of the Zealots were fanatical to say the least, but for those that had plunged themselves into the well their loyalty was to a degree unimaginable for any being of free will.  Bathing in the Well of Strength once was a great and worthy sacrifice, but drinking from it afterwards was even more heroic of a feat.

With each new instance of exposure to the writhing waters the pain grew doubly, but the powers that accompanied the pain also grew. It became a matter of willpower and time: those who were able to master their bodies or simply endure long enough to grow used to the suffering would be able to renew their sacrifice by making it as unbearable as it had been the very first time. Each such renewal was another great victory. Within three months Tyke had drank from the Well of Strength six times. The best of the others had only drank again from it once, and even then it had killed those who were unprepared for it. The Prophet was truly exceptional.

Though not for lack of him reaching out, Tyke never did speak with Ialu in one of his dreams after that first time. That was what had driven him to drink six times to prove himself and his loyalty, but after enduring the pain a total of seven times it became clear to the Prophet that simply howling in pain was not enough. Of course it wasn't! What use was dedication if it yielded no results? He would need to think for himself and be proactive, glorifying Ialu on his own initiative without being ordered or even expecting reward.

To that end he decided to do what his forefather and the demigod himself could not: establish a foothold in Orabahk. He would not simply go out and colonize like the old Strong Tribe and their men had done, for that had ended in folly and they had all vanished, probably having died ignoble deaths out in the wilderness. No, he would not sow the seeds of labor and build a new civilization, he would reap the efforts of lesser men and conquer one that already existed. In doing so he would be able to prove the strength of the Zealots and the Immortals, and bloody this new generation of soldiers that longed for battle. They were green as grass since there hadn't been a good war in five decades, yet that only made them even more hungry for glory. They didn't want to be a generation forgotten like that of their fathers. It would be easy for the prestigious and elderly Tyke to convince the younger ones to go out and conquer.

And so it was. Within a few weeks, the preparations had been made. The Zealots already possessed an impressive navy; they did their fair share of trading, and they had always maintained that fleet to carry their people away to greener lands should the Cimex ever break their strength and drive mankind from Arguilla altogether. In any case, the fleet was more than big enough to carry an invasion force of some 1,500 Zealots. The other 500 remained in Arguilla to maintain order and guard the realm from the Cimex, though with any luck the bugs would never smell weakness in the first place. The rest of the world would most likely never even hear about the Zealots' sudden invasion until they had already conquered a great swathe of land and carved out a new realm.

Guided by hired navigators and maps drawn by their own merchants, the Zealots' great fleet sailed to the realm of the Carebians. Fortune favored them, for when the wind blew their cogs to coast they were hailed by a sandy beach and not some rocky fjord. Without hesitation, the entire army disembarked right there with all their supplies, and then the fleet returned to Arguilla never to return. The Zealots would carry word of their victory back on the ships of those that they conquered, and for supplies their army was not so numerous that it couldn't simply live off the land or loot what was required.

Their landing went rather unnoticed as they had landed in Carebia's southern peripheries, far from any major settlements. There was the odd fishing settlement dotted here or there with anything from one hundred to four hundred townspeople, but other than that the next major settlement was more than a thousand miles along the coast, the small city state of Piyack with just over fifteen hundred citizens. It was part of the growing Southern League which had come about not a decade earlier, under the leadership of the large city state of Viros, whose population had risen from a mere three thousand to nine thousand since the league's formation, nearly half of the south's entire population. Rather militaristic, it depended on the income from other Southern League states, while the entirety of the southern force was fortified in the coastal city.

As it were, a few fishermen had spotted the strange fleet landing and had quickly made for port, spreading the word that a strange force had landed - and they had not looked all that friendly. Worried by this, the town's chief sent their fastest ship up to Viros with the news. It would take a good two days before it got there, but with the news of the landing, they would be able to better prepare for it and approach these strangers.
The chief had considered sending some kind of diplomat to greet them, but he came to the conclusion that if the strangers had wished to communicate, they would have sent their own diplomatic entourage to Viros or other city states. They would certainly not have landed here where there were no major settlements. Indeed, the more he thought about it the more he worried about their intentions, and so decided to send a few riders to scout them out and work out their numbers.

Just as the Carebites sought to scout out the forces of their foes, Tyke had several of his best men do the same. He knew of the existence of great cities, but given the poor navigation abilites of his people and their equally poor maps, he was not so certain where these cities even were in relation to where the army had landed.

In any case, the Arguillans had long thought this 'Orabahk' to be some backwater wilderness frontier, but this notion was quickly dispelled when they heard tales of great cities with monuments built of gleaming white stone and tens of thousands of people. It would seem that it was the Arguillans who lived in some inhospitable frontier, a tiny pocket of civilization surrounded by a sea of Cimex and Uri. Learning the truth of their sorry state only made them lust for plunder and conquest even more; their wives and brothers might die, but their glory would be eternal were they to carve out a great kingdom in this rich new land, ripe for the picking!

Small squadrons of the Zealot's greatest warriors were dispatched to scout. The vast majority were scattered across the countryside, occupying a few fishing villages near their first landing. What  pitiful resistance the local militias could muster was squashed and  many of the villagers were forced out of their own homes if not outright killed.

There were only a few hundred soldiers that could be garrisoned in each village, but that was more than enough to suppress a sudden revolt and hold the area until it was time to move on. While dividing his forces surely left him more vulnerable, Tyke knew that it would be some time before any real threat could arise to challenge his sudden invasion force. In the mean time, if the locals did not realize just how many villages he had occupied, they would be grossly underestimating their enemy's numbers. 

News reached Viros eventually and a small contingent of soldiers was sent down, a fleet of some five hundred men. Much faster than any fishing ship, they had arrived after a few days of sailing, only for the fisherman who had come bearing the message to tell them that someting was very wrong. No fishing ships were going to and fro and the village had about it a most terrifying and ominous aura. He warned the captain, and the man seemed to have some wit, and so heeded the fisherman's warning.
'We will stay away from the village for now and send in a small force when night falls,' and with that, the small fleet anchored a good distance from the village, further up along the coast, and a good distance out to sea. When night finally set, the captain took a single ship and sailed down.
'If we are not back within the next three hours, know that the village has been occupied and sail back to Viros. Tell them to send a bigger force to deal with whatever threat there is,' and with that, he sailed down and anchored the ship some distance from the town before getting into the rowing boats with a good hundred men and making slowly and silent for the village.

The vessels slowly made for the small fishing village's docks, before docking the boats. Immediately, the men began disembarking and forming up further up, their spears at the ready, staring into the darkness. The captain came up behind them, spear in hand, and whispered for the men to move forward. It took a while as the order made its way around, but soon enought they were moving cautiously into the village, pausing every now and then to listen and see if they had been detected, or if there were indeed hostiles in the village.

Even in the black of night, the occasional gleam of moonlight revealed the wispy columns of smoke drifting up from every chimney. As the scouts drew closer, they would notice a great deal of people in makeshift tents outside or simply beneath blankets. Men, women, and children alike were huddling together for warmth in the cold dirt roads while their invaders slept cozily inside the fishers' huts. There was the occasional cluster of men keeping watch to ensure that they all didn't have their throats slit in the night, but by and large the watch was lazy. It was rather obvious that they didn't care so much if the locals ran off in the night. There was nowhere to run within the next dozen miles, and even if they did find refuge it would only be a matter of time before their new haven was conquered. The Zealots had great plans to take all of the fabled city-states and claim these foreigners' wealth in the name of their god.

Though the night was dark and the moon only offered little light, the captain saw enough to understand the situation. It was now a matter of deciding whether to take action or to withdraw. The watch did not seem all too alert and could probably be surprised, but he did not know how many hostiles there were or how powerful they were. Any mistake could prove fatal, and the lives of his men were his responsibility.
So too, were the lives of those villagers. Time was of the essence, and he knew that the longer he stood hesitating, the more likely it was that his forces and he would be detected. Biting his lip and cursing quietly, he signaled with his spear and the men began a very slow withdrawal, back to the dock and boats. It was a foolish commander who drove his men into the unknown, and Servius Manicus was anything but a foolish commander. Certainly, those back home feared him and purposefully kept him as a lowly captain, but he was not just another of their decadent, corpulent and glory-seeking commanders. To hell with glory if all it brought was decadence and more fat than should ever be seen on a self-respecting man.

He would withdraw and scout out the enemy for a while longer, and in the meanwhile he would send for reinforcements and deliver a blow certain to meet with success. That was the way of the intelligent commander, and more importantly, that was the way of the victorious. Now, it was just a matter of getting out of this huge predicament undetected...

Much to his surprise, they were soon back at the docks and the men got back into the boats and began rowing away. Servius wondered if perhaps he had over-estimated whatever enemy had taken over the village. Certainly any foe who was so lax could not be of any great danger...
Nevertheless, he knew that he had made the correct decision. He needed to be more certain of what he was facing, and that would take some time and careful scouting. Once he was back with his main fleet, he immediately sent one of the ships back, requesting another thousand men at the least. With that, he brought the fisherman to him and questioned him on the lay out of the village and the surrounding terrain. Being a fisherman, there was very little he could tell Servius, but he was able to tell him of the various other fishing settlements in the area. There were not that many, just another five with populations similar to that of the fisherman's own village.

'Do you think they would have met a fate similar to your own?' the captain asked, but the fisherman could not be sure. Servius nodded before getting on to the main reason he had called for the fisherman.
'I understand you are afraid, but I have a task for you,' the captain smiled kindly at the older man, who gulped and nodded, clearly afraid but willing neverthless.
'I would like you to sneak back into your village and join the mass of townspeople left out on the streets. Try to get what information you can from them, and keep a watch on the invaders. If you can somehow gain their trust, do so and gather what information about them that you can. Can you do that for me?' Servius looked at the fisherman, attempting to work out whether the man was up to the task or not.
'W-why can't one of your men do it?' he asked, at which Servius smiled.
'Believe me, I would not hesitate to send one of my men, or personally do it, if such was viable. But we require a man who knows the town and is familiar with it. A local, to be brief. No one can do this but you,' the fisherman clearly did not seem too happy about this, and the captain assured him that it was nothing he had to do if he did not wish to, though it would most certainly be helpful.
'I think...' the fisherman seemed lost in thought and unable to say much.
'Do you have a family, Aegeus?' the captain asked, to which the fisherman nodded, rater miserably.
'I'm guessing they're back there, eh?' once more Aegeus nodded.
'I can't make you any promises my friend, but I will do all in my power to unite you with them, sooner rather than later,' Servius smiled slightly, a small, sad smile. Aegeus nodded, though he was clearly gladdened by the words, they remained naught but words and could not bring his family to him.
'You may go,' Servius told him, before the captain turned to the makeshift map he had managed to draw of the village and the surrounding area from Aegeus' description.

[centre][img]http://i.imgur.com/XAjewtn.png[/img][/centre]

Meanwhile, Arguillan scouts and raiders prowled the countryside like beastly predators. Normally soldiers were the type of hunter whose prey walked on two legs, but in this case, their eyes were upon a caravan of hooves pack animals that trodded down the dusky path, the animals driven by wandering merchants with a few outriders on the lookout for bandits. Of course, Ialu's faithful were no mere bandits hiding in the hills. A few bodyguards would not stop them from feeding off the fat of this land.

Skumr was a stout and fierce soldier, disciplined and also trusted enough to have been told of the Well of Strength. He was closer than he thought to being promoted to Immortal, seeing as he had built something of a reputation and caught the eye of more men than he had realized. Perhaps that was why he had been chosen to lead this scouting party.

As the merchants that they had been tracking drew within sight of his platoon, so too did the raiders find themselves spotted by the caravan guards. With a loud cry, Skumr sent his horse galloping and his men did the same on their stolen steeds. About a half dozen mounted guards fanned out from alongside the caravan to meet them, a few others stayed with the merchants, while another two showed their true colors and fled the opposite way. While the skirmish looked even with the two opposing forces about the same size, there was no fight. Only slaughter.

The Zealots reached out towards the fast approaching riders with their Wi and began indiscriminately lashing out. Both the riders and their innocent horses found themselves mutilated from afar without warning by the powers of those that they had foolishly charged out to meet.

The merchants had already been fleeing, but their retreat only became more frantic and wild upon seeing what had happened to their protectors. Having no intention of putting up chase for a good hour, Skumr reached out with the ethereal fingers of his Wi and clutched a nearby stone. He brought it into the air and swung it in a great circle once, twice, and then finally sent it hurling on the third revolution. Though it had been intended more as a warning shot, the stone seemed to fly with a will of its own and veered dangerously close to one of the merchants. He spat, cursing his poor (or ironically, good) aim. He wanted a nice and easy surrender; perhaps the Zealots were weaker than their predecessors, for the order now frowned somewhat upon excessive violence. Better to rule the conquered through respect or simple fear as opposed to unimaginable cruelty.

In any case, there was little point in killing the merchants or the remaining guards. Leaving them alive would let them spread tales of terror and panic, weakening the enemy's resolve. So Skumr gestured for his men to circle at a safe distance and use their magic to sling a hail of stones just barely in front of the fleeing caravan. It didn't take long to send the message and break the peddlers' resolve. Most sane men would decide that surrendering and losing their goods was a better choice than some suicidal attempt at fighting back or fleeing, and these were no exception.

After relieving the caravan of the burden of all its fine goods (there was much food and drink that would be useful additions to the army's limited supplies, and the pack animals would be useful as well) Skumr left the travelers' terrified leader with a parting gift: a sack full of severed heads, fresh off the necks of a small band of soldiers they had spotted on the road earlier that morning. Then with a few sharp kicks, the merchants were sent scurrying back to the  nearest town to tell their tale. Terror and death out in the countryside  would be a fine way to herald the arrival of this land's new rulers.

With that Skumr's warband turned around and rode hard back for the villages where the rest of their countrymen were garrisoned, stolen supplies in tow. The other parties came back as well, and within a few days Tyke's scouts had managed to learn the layout of the surrounding lands as well as some information on the regional powers. There was also the somewhat alarming report that the enemy's response had been stronger and swifter than expected; already an army was mustering and preparing to make its way to one of the villages. While the Prophet had expected a bit more time and perhaps a diplomatic envoy before these foreigners sought to repay blood with blood, he supposed that waging a terror campaign in the countryside would have destroyed that hope of peace for them. So of course they sought to make a quick strike and end this incursion before it could begin to gain momentum.

Fortunately, this was just what Tyke wanted...while those guarding Aegeus' village - Orna - had purposefully allowed a few peasants to escape in the night. Those refugees would then go on to bring the attention of the local warlords, and so the Zealots would have the enemy come to them instead of the other way around.

Still, Tyke was fairly confident that these 'Carebites' didn't realize the extent of land that he had already taken, or if they did know that he held several villages, they at least wouldn't know just how large a force he had and how effective they were. So just like the Mighty Ialu had always done, the Prophet would be sure to exploit the feelings of doubt that clouded his enemy's mind: that misinformation, that uncertainty, the element of surprise. 

Tyke knew not whether the  incoming army would come by land or by sea, but he had a good inkling of where they would come attack first... Orna was the closest, and with any luck, it would also be the only one that they knew to have been taken. Still, he would have to be careful about his next move.

With the local militias already crushed and the threat of utter annihilation, he expected no uprisings from these peaceful little hamlets. Still, he would need to set up some form of governing body to oversee the settlements so that they wouldn't simply slip out of his grasp the moment that the army moved on. He withdrew most of his forces from all the villages save Orna, leaving a skeletal force of only a few men in each one. The men that he left behind were installed as chieftains as a reward for good service. They would also ensure that the locals were converted and that the order's will would remain enforced.

As the scattered companies moved to regroup, they also detached dozens of small parties to patrol the area. With most of the soldiers gone, some of the braver folk might try to flee. Those patrols would remain to ensure a quiet and orderly land...all this sneaking about and ambushing would be worthless if the peasants could roam freely and keep the enemy informed as to the Zealots' movements.

Once he had rallied the greater part of his force, they quickly marched out by night so as to avoid being seen. By the time dawn's first rays came over the rolling bluffs just outside Orna, the hillsides were teeming with soldiers. They made their camps a fair ways from the village, out of sight from the settlement, yet at the same time close enough to be there within a blink. That greater portion of the army would lurk in waiting, while the garrison that was stationed in Orna had remained there and would go on as normal. Watchmen would ensure that any of the locals that strayed too close to the hills wouldn't come back; if all went according to plan, neither the villagers nor the incoming army would ever realize that there were more than a thousand men within just a few miles. Well, at least they wouldn't know until it was too late.

Several small bands were sent out to find the enemy army and track its progress. Perhaps there would be a better place to prepare an ambush than at the gates of Orna...in any case, those roving scouts would also screen the encampment from enemy spies. Tyke had perhaps two and a half hundred men in Orna, that many more scouting the surroundings or patrolling the lands he had taken, and then a full thousand encamped in the hills. He also saw about finally organizing a watch in Orna to prevent further escape attempts; the enemy would find their stream of information in the form of refugees to be quite suddenly cut off. Fairly confident in his position, all he could do now would be to wait. Until he had reports coming in from those that he had sent to find and track the enemy army or he found himself sallying out to defend the village from a sea attack, there was nothing to do but wait. He hated the waiting...

Aegeus had gone to the captain a few days later and told him of his decision. Servius had been somewhat surprised that Aegeus was even considering it, but the fisherman would not tell him the reasoning behind the decision to do as Servius asked. He had immediately set sail in a small fishing boat, taking a fishing rod and net along with him. Arriving at Orna, he had begun docking when a movement further up caught his attention. When he looked, he found a woman crawling towards him on the ground, muttering something to herself. He ran towards her and helped her to her feet, recognising her as Mariae, one of the chief's daughters. 
'Please,' she begged, tears welling up in her eyes, 'get me out of here,' Aegeus had never thought to see such a strong woman cry, and all he could so was get her in the boat and begin rowing away. At first he thought to take her back to the captain, but after mulling it over in his mind, he decided to go to the next town instead. There were probably no invaders there and she would be safe for a while.

Even as he sailed away, he could see some of the villagers who had managed to escape making for the forest. He would have liked to help, but the small boat could only carry so many people. He continued onwards, throwing his net once he came to good fishing waters and spending the best part of the day bringing the net in and throwing it out again. He spoke to Mariae a bit, asking her about his wife and children. She assured him they were fine, as far as she could remember, but she was not in a state to tell him much more than that and he let her sleep. Towards late afternoon, he began rowing again, heading for the neighbouring village of Istr. 
Istr was smaller than Orna. In fact, Orna had been the largest village in the area - which was probably the reason it had been targetted first. While Orna's population had been at a good four hundred (who knew what it was at now), Istr's population was no more than one hundred, along with Caryth and Klem, while Raenr which was the farthest away had a population of two hundred or so.

Coming into Istr's dock, he noted that it was slightly more alive that Orna. Indeed, Orna's dock had been deserted, patrols did not even pass it by - probably the reason behind Mariae ability to escape in that direction. The security there was indeed very lax...he would have to note that and tell Servius when he returned.
'Fish! Fish! Fresh fish! Finest fresh fish! Finest fish! Freshest fish!' he waved a single fish around as he shouted, calling all to come and survey his wares. He was quite an attraction and people rushed towards him.
'Thank goodness! We thought we'd starve if someone didn't come soon!' one of them said, which Aegeus thought odd.
'Why? Where are your fishing boats, eh?' he asked. The man shook his head sadly before speaking.
'I have no idea where they came from. Just attacked from out of the blue an' destroyed our fleets. Most of them left suddenly though, dunno where to, and they left three to guard the town,' Aegeus' eyes widened at this. So Orna had not been the only village attacked...
'How many were they, those ones who attacked you?' Aegeus asked, 'what did they look like? Were they Carebian?'

The man shook his head in the negative.
'No, definitely no Carebs, didn't speak like us. Couldn't understand a word they said, but they shouted a lot. Had weird armour too, nothing I've ever seen. There were more of them than us, that's for sure, 'undreds came,' Aegeus gave the man a few fish once he had heard enough. It seemed that they had been rather kind to the Istrians, allowing them to continue living in their own homes, but cracking down on their ability to leave the village by land or sea. The fact that these invaders spoke a foreign tongue also meant that spying on them and learning their intentions became doubly difficult. This meant that they had not only attacked Orna, but Istr also. He had to report back to Servius immediately, for he did not believe he could get much more by remaining in Istr or going to Orna.

'Fish! Fresh Fish! Come one and all. Free fresh fish for all!' Aegeus' voice would ring out clear in the late afternoon air, attracting the attention of most of the hungry villagers.

The arrival of a fisherman drew attention from more than just a few hungry villagers, though. Three men had been left by Tyke to manage this village, and so they strutted through the streets by day casting a menacing glance towards any that showed so much as a hint of disrespect. The language barrier was formidable, but through gestures and what few words they had caught onto the Zealots managed to communicate with the locals.

Still, there was one language that was known to every man and every beast beneath the sky: blood. Already two rabble rousers had been executed, butchered in the streets by the new rulers of the town. Expecting little more than a third troublemaker, a brute by the name of Gorm heard shouting and a commotion and made his way to the docks. What few people didn't see him and hurriedly step out of his way were forcefully knocked aside. At last Gorm made his way through the crowd, and he stood before Aegeus. What was this fish peddler up to? Gorm didn't recognize this one's face, and he hadn't allowed any fishing boats to sail out earlier in the day!

Angrily, the armored warior advanced closer to Aegeus. His armor was menacing as was his helmet, the thing concealing his face and leaving whatever cruel visage he had to one's imagination. Rattling at his side was a scabbard, within which was a blade wrought by the smiths of Brightwood.

Gulping, Aegeus let go of the fish he was holding and raised his hands in a clear sign of surrender.
'J-just giving the people some fish,' he stuttered, before stepping out of the boat and bowing before the great warrior in respect, 'they are very hungry m-my lord, they live on the fish of the sea. It is our way,' he looked up before gesturing towards the boat and the fish within it, very much as a worshipper would present his god with a great sacrifice or offering. He wondered whether he would understand. Unlike in Orna, it seemed that the invaders had something more orderly going on here. Surely they intended to rule, and surely he would understand that the ruled required to live, and to live they required food.

Without another word, Gorm walked up to the suspicious fishmonger and began rummaging through the heaps of fish. Seemingly satisfied that there weren't piles of weapons or something of the like hidden there, he decided to let this one live. His new workers had to be fed, after all. He outstretched a hand and suddenly the fish were alive again, wriggling wildly. At least, that's what it looked like in the moment before they began to hover in the air, lifted out of the boat by Wi, and then float over to the ground and plop down still once more. Aegeus' eyes visibly widened at the display. He had heard of people in far off lands who were capable of great feats, just like this, of lands where huge reptiles flew and the dead walked the earth. He had never thought to see it with his own eyes however, and no small amount of terror was apparant on him.

With all the fish safely out of the boat, Gorm now looked to the villagers. They were confused and putting a fair deal of distance between themselves and the fish now. Frustrated at their stupidity, he gestured towards the heaps of fish, and quickly the villagers got the point and began to take some for themselves. Then he looked towards the boat. This would not do; the other boats had been burned. Until this country was firmly within the grasp of Ialu's faithful, there could be no travelers or sailors going about. Reaching out with his Wi, he lifted the entire little fishing boat out of the water, flipped it upside down, and threw it out into the sea. A few quick blasts of telekinetic energy poked holes in the hull, rendering it useless.

Having understood hardly more than a word or two when Aegeus had earlier tried to speak to him, Gorm knew that attemtping to communicate was probably futile. Still, he tried. In a thick accent, he spoke in the Carebs' tongue, "No...no...no going in..."

Not knowing the word for 'boat' or 'sailing', he simply pointed towards the wreckage.

Aegeus looked after the wreckage, very clearly crestfallen. He forced a smile and nodded in understanding.
'Y-yes. It's alright,' he picked up his fishing rod, which had been levitated from the boat along with the fish, 'this'll do, and I guess I can just...walk,' he bowed once more in respect to the huge warrior before beginning to walk off, Mariae following him. He would have to find a place for her to stay and then work out how to get back to the fleet. He looked behind himself, wondering if the huge warrior would attempt to stop him or want anything more from him. He wondered how they would feed the people here, this was no agricultural land and the sea was the greatest source of food.

Gorm had followed Aegeus for a time, but then eventually retired for rest. The three Zealots that had stayed in Istr  took turns going around the village so that there was almost always one  of them present. They still didn't quite trust these strange people,  and were admittedly more than a little bit leery at having to try to keeping them in line with so few resources. Besides themselves, they only had a few opportunistic snitches and lapdogs amongst the population that had gladly thrown themselves into service of their conquerors in hopes of moving up the ladder.

It was not too difficult to find a kind old couple with whom Mariae was willing to stay, and with that, he whistled a little tune to himself and began making for the open road.
'Hey!' came a whispered shout, 'where do you think you're waltzing off to eh?' Aegeus turned around to find an old woman marching towards him, supported by a cane.
'Well, was just about to leave. Boat's been sunk, so I've no option but to walk...' Aegeus said simply.
'WALK?!' she half roared, 'what kind of idiot are you, eh? You think they'll let you just walk out, hmm?' Aegeus blinked a few times and thought this through. The old woman had a point, why would the villagers all remain in this hell-hole if they could just leave? He should have realised that.
'Anyone who tries to leave gets it,' she whispered, 'and no one has ever left,' with that dark warning, she walked off, leaving Aegeus in his little predicament.

Scratching his head, the fisherman-turned-spy decided that it was about time he started acting more like a spy and less like a fisherman. Throwing his fishing rod away he marched off down the road, before he thought better of it and came back for the rod. He could do many things in life, but his fishing rod was really quite important. A spy could still be a fisherman, right? Yes, yes he could. Clever him.

Sticking to the walls and hugging the darkness, Aegeus slowly crept through the streets. He had to stop every now and then when a villager walked by - Aegeus thought a few gave him a weird look, but that was probably just his imagination. Once he had arrived at the final huts before the small wooden walls and gates, he got to the ground and looked around. For a good hour he lay there, silent as could be, until the huge figure of Gorm - or perhaps another of his companions, Aegeus really couldn't tell - walked by.

He waited until the warrior had walked away and disappeared before crawling forward on all fours towards the closed gate. Once there, he stood up against the gate and froze, allowing himself to review the situation. He could not hear any guards - their armour gave off an unmistakable racket - and he thought it would be safe to escape. With utmost care he lifted the bar and laid the wooden plank on the ground. He stayed close to the ground and looked around once more, wondering if he had been seen yet. Even if he had, there was no going back now. He pushed the gate and it slid open slightly, and he slid out through the crack, closing it behind him.

'Now, what to do, what to do,' he muttered to himself. His basic instinct told him to run. It did not matter where, just run. And he almost did. But then he told himself to put the fisherman in him to sleep and let the spy think. A normal man would just run, would he not? That would be expected. He looked left and right and smiled to himself. How clever was he? Too clever.
'You're too clever Aegeus,' he sniggered to himself before hugging the wall and walking alongside it. Yes, he would stick to the wall and once he got to the water, he would stay in the water. His swimming ability, like many Carebians, but most of all fisherman like himself, was one of his fortes. He would make use of it. Just as he had not been spotted when he sailed up and down in his boat, no one would expect a man to be swimming or walking along the shore. Was he not clever? Yes, yes he was! Smiling to himself, he continued his escape.

For the rest of the night, Aegeus swam in the shallows. The tide came and went with him, but his years of experience carried him through. When he grew tired, he crawled back onto the shore and lay there for a while, watching. Always watching. It was important to be alert, important to be conscious of everything. Just like a fish. If a fish wanted to avoid the fisherman, it had to see what other fish could not. There was more to the worm hanging in the water than a stroke of good luck, the fish which survives saw the trap. There was much to be learnt from a fish which saw.

When dusk arrived, he slipped into a cave further up from the sandy beach, in the cliff which was slowly beginning to form, and would keep going for miles yet. He spent the day there, sleeping away his tiredness and ignoring his hunger. He awoke in the late afternoon and was starving. There were plenty of crabs along the beach, however, and a few of those would sate him. The great thing was that he did not need to cook it, and thus no fire or smoke would attract attention. Raw crab could be surprisingly good. When night dawned, he continued his journey.

It took another night of swimming before the cliffs beyond the sand gave way to forest, and Orna appeared on the horizon. As dawn arrived, Aegeus slipped into the safety of the forest. No, it was not safe. That was the foolish fish thinking, that was the fisherman. Who knew what creatures and hostiles stalked the forest even now. He made for the nearest tree and listened very carefully. Birds chirruped and the forest was awakening to greet a new day. Staying low, he peeked from behind the tree and deeper into the woods. It was very important that he saw what other fish could not. Only like that would he survive.

With his eyes peeled, he moved from tree to tree, listening and looking and ever searching for a place which was definitely safe to remain. He eventually came to a thick bit of undergrowth which was rather difficult to manouevre and buried himself into it. Fighting a fair bit to get deep in, he eventually settled down and allowed himself to rest.
When he awoke, he was surprised that no one had found him. He listened for a while, wondering if there was anybody out beyond the undergrowth, but heard nothing. Eventually he got to his feet and looked about himself in the quickly dimming light and made his way back out of the forest, as carefully as he entered it. It was more difficult to see in the slowly settling darkness, but that also meant that he could hide more easily. As night fell, he crawled back to the shore and into the welcoming arms of the sea. The last he thought before he got back into the drill of the past few nights was just how clever he was. So very clever.

[centre][b][u]***[/u][/b][/centre]

Aegeus ripped into the salted meats and chugged down the water offered him. He had not realised just how hungry he had been these past few days. The captain had been surprisingly sensitive to the fisherman's state. Rather than questioning him immediately on what he had discovered, he had ordered the men to take him below and feed him until he was full. Servius left him for the night and returned to his cabin to rest and think. The fools in Viros were being slow in sending reinforcements. His messenger had returned with a letter a few days back, stating that they would take some time to process his request for additional troops. The messenger also brought back the news that the invaders had begun raiding traders and caravans in the region, causing the authorities in Viros to dub them as a mere bandit threat. Servius did not think them to be mere bandits. The state of the fisherman alone proved that.

Aegeus was in the cabin first thing in the morning, before the sun had fully risen, and narrated to Servius his entire ordeal.
'At first I thought that they'd conquered both Orna and Istr, but the more I thought on it - and I thought long on my journey back - the more I realised that I was mistaken. I don't have any proof, but I think...I think they've taken all the villages along the coast, from Orna to Raenr. Certainly a huge amount of troops in Orna, compared with Istr. Mariae said a few hundred at the least. Istr had only three,' Servius surveyed the man before him. Compared to the fisherman he had sent out only a week back, this was a very changed man.

'You have done well, Aegeus. I will send you back up to Viros and I will tell them to honour you and give you a good home. You have served we-' 
'Wait, what? That's all? You're sending me away?' the man was wide-eyed and clearly hostile to the idea of going back to Viros, 'y-you can't!' Servius looked at him in surprise.
'Why, what do you mean?' he asked.
'I...I'm a spy now, no? I mean, I'm a fisherman too, but I'm a spy as well. I'm very good, I promise! Keep me here, I don't want to go to Viros,' at these words, Servius could not help but smile. He had certainly grown, and he would grow far more in the coming weeks and months.
'Very well. Agent Aegeus, you are relieved of all duties for the time being and can go enjoy some free time,' at that, the fisherman-turned-spy smiled and nodded feverishly and thanked the captain before leaving. Perhaps he would come in rather useful after all.
'Oh, and captain, I forgot to say. But they destroyed my boat,' Servius looked up at Aegeus.
'No, you told me about that,' Servius assured him.
'No captain, they destroyed it with magick. They are magick-users,' Servius was visibly shocked. That he had not expected at all. With that, Aegeus left and Servius let that critical piece of information sink in.

Aegeus had confirmed Servius' suspicians all along, though he had never anticipated magick. He was now certain that the entire southern coast had been compromised. These invaders were certainly not 'mere bandits' as the authorities up in Viros thought them to be. Servius had faced bandits before, and they certainly did not conquer towns - that was far too expensive and required more manpower than mere bandits could muster. And mere bandits did not use magick. The Virosians were underestimating the threat, and had left him waiting on them for the past week. At the least they continued to send supplies down, though Servius would not have been surprised if they suddenly 'forgot' about that.

Turning back to the matter at hand, he began planning. It was clear that the invaders still had troops in Orna. Aegeus had guessed that there were a few hundred, and he had seen for himself how lax they were. Beyond that was the largely unprotected Istr and the other villages further down the coast. He would sail his forces down and land in Istr. From there he would send scouts to the other villages, and particularly Orna - there had to be a reason it was so heavily garrisoned compared to the others. With the plan clear in his mind, he could not help but wonder if Aegeus' information remained true. It had been true a week back, but would it be true now? A good commander did not take foolish risks. But war was all risk. Risk and luck. 
He sent for his commanders and told them to prepare to sail at dusk, emphasising that stealth was of the essence. No fires, and sound was to be kept to a minimum.
 
Putting some more distance between them and the shore, they sailed down under the cover of darkness, sails reefed to ensure that what little light the moon shone down upon them did not reveal them. There distance from the shore was such that even if the moon did reveal them, one would not think them more than a few far off merchants or sea creatures.

Meanwhile, Tyke had been growing restless. He had received no word on enemy troop movements, yet this hardly boded well...he suspected some form of sneakery. Unless they cared about these lands so little that they decided to not even put up a fight? He began to second guess the wisdom of concentrating so much manpower in the north, when there was an untold expanse of land in the west. Perhaps they would take a long route so as to avoid detection and then emerge from the wilderness?

With each day the situation in the villages within his grasp grew more secure and the new chieftains' reign more solid. True, travel and trade were currently restricted, but these small hamlets had been mostly self sufficient anyways. The peasants weren't being treated to cruelty of too much excess, so they seemed willing enough to accept the change in leadership. At least for now. No doubt they would prefer the stability and legitimacy of their former government if given an option, but for all they knew, this marauding force of invaders had already conquered another twenty villages in the time since they had marched on.

So with rebellion seeming incredibly unlikely and hardly any escape attempts happening now, the patrols within the local region were a waste of time and manpower. Tyke sent them further inland to the west, to scout out and chart those areas. Having men in that area would secure his last remaining blind side, or so Tyke thought. The Prophet was still unaware of Servius' 500 men aboard a fleet anchored some ways off the coast.

While all of this happened, the parties that pushed north into enemy territory were beginning to grow emboldened by their continued success and the pathetic lack of resistance. They were gradually straying further and further north. The merchants had mostly caught wind of the danger in the south and so now the caravans were drying up, which meant that the warbands were forced to go further and further north in search of supplies and wealth to loot and bring back.

It was a moonless night when Servius' men struck at Istr. The operation began with the landing one one hundred men, led personally by Servius. The men fanned about and slowly began advancing into the village as others disembarked. The gate would have to be captured to ensure that no one escaped, and any armed hostiles would have to be neutralised immediately. With a good twenty men, Servius led the vanguard and made quickly for the gate. Two other forces of fifty each mounted the walls and kept their eyes peeled for any external threats, while the rest of the force split into parties of twenty or so and fanned out within the small village. The priority was to ensure no one escaped.

Gorm stood vigil by the gate, just as he had done every night since discovering that the bar had mysteriously been left out of place when the morning came. It was a sure sign that somebody had escaped; Gorm had been quick to cover it up and had said nothing to the patrols that occasionally came to check up for fear of looking a fool, yet he would make sure that something like this did not happen again.

As he leaned with his back against the wall, he had a clear path of sight down the road that ran through the village, all the way to the docks. Tired as he was, his sight failed to pierce through the veil of darkness and observe the men rowing their landing boats right up the docks and entering the hamlet. But aging as he might be, he still wasn't blind enough to miss the massed formation of men as they charged down the street right for his gate.

At first he thought it to be a mob of angered citizens trying to fight their way out or simply revolt and kill all the three Zealots in the dead of night, but then in the faint starlight he saw the gleam of metal blades. These were no fishermen.

For a moment he was transfixed at utterly bewildered by how there were soldiers inside the village walls. He blinked once, then twice, and finally realizing that this was no dream, snapped to his senses. He darted to the side, into a narrow alley between a house and the wall, and then was nothing but another shadow in the night.

A minute later and he was suddenly at the house that he and the other two Zealots had claimed for their own. He silently entered through a back door and roused the other two. They frantically began to equip their armor, all the while barring the door and arguing amongst themselves in whispers. There were at least a dozen men out there that Gorm had seen, probably plenty more. The other villages needed to be warned, for sure, but at the same time they couldn't simply abandon this one without a fight. They would lose all of the respect and fear that they wielded over the villagers, and that was the only thing that allowed them to keep this place under control.

Servius stopped at the gate and looked to his left and right, expecting to find one of those three Aegeus had mentioned, if not even more. He looked up at the walls to find that the men had circled it and were now standing on guard. Some were looking over the wall and others were looking back into the village for any hint of hostiles.
'Man this gate and don't let a single soul in or out,' he commanded the twenty men he had come with before running to the nearest home and banging on the door.
'In the name of the Council, open up the door!' he roared. He had to shout it a few more times before a young man opened it. He had clearly not been asleep, his red face suggested that he had in fact been in the midst of...other activities.
'What in the world-?' he did not manage to finish his sentence for Servius pulled him out and looked him right in the eye.
'We have come for you citizen. The invaders have been ousted and you are saved. Tell me which of our homes they have stolen,' the villager was quite clearly terrified, both of Servius and the prospect of telling him where the Zealots were.

'N-no, they'll kill me,' he stuttered. Servius let him go and the man fell to his knees.
'Citizen, look here,' Servius' voice was far more gentle, and it had a rather sensitive authority to it, as though he understood very well what the man was experiencing. The young man looked up into Servius smiling face.
'I won't be letting them do anything to you while I yet draw breath,' gulping, the man blinked a few times and shook the fear from his head, 'now, show me the way.'

Having wasted enough time persuading the man, Servius followed him as he led him down some roads. The captain gathered a few parties around him, and by the time they arrived at the house in question he had amassed a good twenty men who promptly circled the house. Four men stood before the door, their long spears towards the closed door. Usually their spears were far longer, but seeing as this was not an open battle, Servius had ordered them to use the shorter spears. He wondered if asking them to surrender, given the language barrier, would do much good. He would have liked to take them alive, but something told him that would be too difficult.
'Come out!' he demanded, 'no weapons, no armour!' with that, he waited a few seconds for a response. If there was no response, he would have to act.

Whilst this had taken place, the dispute had been settled. At least two of them would have to flee; one would head north to bring the Prohpet news of this so that he could come with support, while the other would have to warn the other villages to the south. Granted, there was little that could be done by two or three men to stop an army even if they had a warning, but it was better than nothing. Gorm's two companions had managed to slip out the back door just before the house was circled. One managed to make it to the north wall and scale it without problems, while the other was seen a few minutes later and cut down a good two or three men before managing to make it out and begin fleeing. No doubt the sounds of the rather brief battle would have been heard even on the other side of this tiny village.

Gorm had remained inside the house. He did not like the idea of dying ignobly in some wretched hamlet, but then again, perhaps he would not die. Unlike the other two, he was one of the Immortal. Perhaps he had the strength within him to cleave a path through the streets and fight his way out, or perhaps he would meet with a swift end and be released from the agony that had wracked his every fiber since drinking from the Well of Strength.

While Servius and his men circled the house, he quickly and haphazardly erected a barricade of furniture and the like in front of the back door. Then he turned to the front door, the thing still barred. It would not be easy for them to force their way in (assuming they still thought that there was somebody inside the house, what with the sounds of fighting from elsewhere in the village) and once they did, they would have to walk through that entryway one by one and face the brute that was Gorm. It would be like slaughtering goats.

But then again, was not such a way cowardly? While Servius shouted from outside, Gorm was silent. He began to meditate and summon his Wi, contemplating whether to knock down that entire wall in a great blast of force and then charge out like some sort of wild demon.

There was no response. Servius frowned and wondered whether the three had escaped. It was a monument to their power that they managed to escape a village with five hundred soldiers running through it, with one hundred at the walls. It was more evidence that these were not mere bandits, but trained men. It was rather terrifying - was this the power magick gave people, or were these people special? He considered, for a few seconds, simply burning the house down. The thatch roof would quickly catch fire and burn down and they would quickly learn whether they had all escaped or whether some still remained. No, it was of no consequence. The mission had failed.

'Order the men to evacuate the citizens of this settlement, abort the mission,' Servius commanded one of the men. The man ran off, shouting for the people to prepare for evacuation. Servius would have liked for the mission to have been completed discreetly, and for a base to have been set up here, but that was not possible. He would simply have to press on.
As the evacuation of the village took place, he remained with a good eighteen men around the house. Five of them, Servius the sixth, had their shields up and their spears towards the main door while the others were in a similar stance surrounding the house. Wherever an attack should come from, if one was coming, they would be prepared.

Words that Gorm could not understand were barked out from outside. He listened in an attempt to discern what what meant, piecing together the tone of the one speaking and what few words he could understand, but it was futile. He was almost sure that they were going to come knocking down the door any moment now. A dozen thoughts flashed through his mind in an instant: knock down the wall and charge out, climb up to the rafters and push through the thatch ceiling, perhaps even pretend to surrender...

Bah, Gorm was many things, but at least he wasn't a coward. The very air itself right outside the house began to hum and reverberate with energy for a brief moment, and then there was an unstoppable force that tore through the house's front wall, washed over those right in front of it, recoiled off the house opposite the street, and finally ended with its dying breath something like the sound of thunder.

From out of the wreckage of the crumbling house, Gorm ran out bellowing like a madman with a sword and shield in hand.

The six men before the door were blown apart. Shields cracked and spears splintered, and their very armour exploded from the blow. A rain of blood and flesh settled on the shocked faces of the others, who had been left rather unscathed since the greatest force of the magickal strike had been forward rather than to the sides. Their shields deflected the debris, though some buried itself into the metal. It was not so much the debris that shocked the men into inaction, but the sight of their commander being torn apart before their very eyes, along with five other comrades. Never had they seen something so horrific and powerful.

The remaining twelve, shocked as they were, were spurred into action by the roar of one of them as he stepped forth, spearing towards the monster that had emerged from the ruins. Hearing him, the years of training kicked in and the others roared their fury - and fear - and stepped forth, spearing at the strange man, if man he was, and bringing their shields up to create an effective shield circle which would prevent him from moving, and also prevent any spear tips hitting the wrong target. They did not have magick, that was sure, but that was not going to stop them from fighting and dying with honour.

Momentum carried Gorm forward. Before the dust had settled, he was already in the street charging the nearest enemy. For whatever reason, all fear vanished in him. The hole left behind from its absense was filled with something more fiery and more potent. Rage. It seeped out of his very pores and into his blade, and the sword glowed like a dying coal. The blade itself thirsted for blood.

For all the skill and training that he possessed, he fought like a wild animal. He put every bit of muscle that he had had behind absolutely every swing of his sword, as if the thing was a butcher's cleaver. A few spears met with his shield and has their thrusts effortlessly stymied, but then all of a sudden Gorm found himself enclosed within a circle of spears.

There was nothing else for it but to break through. He used his Wi to put an inordinate amount of pressure on two of the men, enough to crush their heads like grapes, and then tried to escape through that gap in the circle while he still had a chance.

Yet again the strange man displayed his magick and two of their comrades fell to the ground, blood erupting from their helmets. Even as he tried to escape, the two to either side of the fallen stepped in to block his way and the circle of shields tightened around him. The spearmen raised their spear arms and began stabbing downward over their shields, while consistently tightening the circle and stabbing down.

One spear managed to find the back of Gorm's knee and pierce the weak point in his armor, inflicting a crippling wound. A brazen look in his eye, he fell to the ground but not before using magic to bring that one down with him. A quick thrust from the Zealot's glowing blade effortlessly pierced that soldier's armor. What followed next was a blood curdling and agonizing howl; that unholy weapon that Gorm radiated so much hatred that one could [i]feel[/i] it in the air. To have it eat into your flesh and infest you with that sort of energy would be unimaginable.

Sensing proverbial blood in the water, the other spearmen advanced on their downed enemy. As the tips came to end him he hid his torso beneath his shield and then began to scythe at the ankles of those that came too close. It was futile; they simply backed up and began to jab at his arms, legs, face...there were too many of them to keep track of and he couldn't deflect, parry, or wriggle away from every blow. His armor of bone and scales began to crack as it repeatedly took stabs, and in some of the weak points the spears pierced their way through. A dozen tortuous wounds were inflicted upon them, but he hardly felt such things anymore.

Before the final spear thrust came to end him, he desperately summoned every last ounce of magic that he had and did nothing. He simply released it, and it manifested itself in its simplest form: telekinetic force. The magic transformed into energy and then burst outward. Without warning the Zealot's entire body was consumed in a suicidal explosion; it was a shame that he would never know if such a thing would inflict his vengeance upon those that ushered him into death.

As it were, those who had done so would live to know whether his vengeance was inflicted or not. Indeed, they would live to know that they had avenged many a comrade, and a most noble commander. The force of the blow landed upon their shields and sent them flying before his suicidal explosion. Unlike his earlier blow, this one was pure telekinesis and did not, of its own will, tear its victims to shreds. The force sent them into houses and some landed on the thatch roofs, only to fall through. Other than broken bones and cuts, the majority survived, though one of them was unfortunate enough to be propelled head first into the wall of a house, and his neck snapped almost immediately.

After a while, those who were better off got up and helped their more seriously injured comrades.
'T-that was quite something. A tale for t-the grandchildren,' one of them managed. The light-hearted comment brought no smiles however. As the village was evacuated of its citizens, the dead were also carried away. The six who had been blown apart were unrecognisable, and their body parts had to be wrapped up together. It was rather tragic, for they had lost a commander who had served with for years and had taught them the meaning of good leadership. There was none in Viros like him, and they all knew that Carebia was the worst for it, particularly with this monumental threat.

Once the settlement was evacuated of all its citizens, Istr was burnt to the ground and the fleet set sail for Viros. Captain Servius' mission had ended in failure, and with that mission his life, too, had come to an end. What little chance Viros had at nipping the Zealot plant in the bud had fizzled and ended in failure, and all of Carebia would soon pay the price...