[h2][b][center]The Moving[/center][/b][/h2]

Vague rumblings were murmured, echoed, and whispered along the makeshift streets of the Moving, Resistance Camp. An offensive against the Kyut city entrenched Apotheoses army was set to take place any day now. Inside their cave, lit by the dull magic of one or two flame bearers, plans were altered and altered, Warlord’s gathered and passed information on the city and the surrounding forest, relaying the best routes to take to avoid major detection and the enemy forces camped within. From said cave, they could see the outskirts of the forest. There was a palpable excitement in the air, the first major offensive since the Port Jinn skirmish two or three years ago was about to be underway. 

Yet, that excitement did not come without a healthy dose of fear. Bastion was renowned for his military presence and tactics, and many often wondered why they had not yet been attacked outright. Was there something on the Apotheoses front that was preventing them from bringing down the full force of their sitting forces down against them. They had to know that they were there, watching and preparing. Countermeasures were the popular reason for the lack of attack, letting the Moving draw themselves into the trap before wiping them all out in one fell swoop. 

[b][color=DarkKhaki]“Tsk.”[/color][/b] The Tengu sucked his teeth in, as he stared down the business end of a now empty tankard of some surface elf wine, promised to be just as strong as dwarves ale, which in of itself was a terrible stereotype. Dwarves made something called Wishkey, or Wiskey, and it was the best thing he had ever tasted, next to the human’s drink called ‘scotch’. As he sat the large cup down, filled probably too much with the harsh drink, he glanced around at the worryingly silent figures situated around him. The Old Man had sent him these people, supposedly excellent at tracking down the sent members of the Resistance. 

[b][color=DarkKhaki]”Well, what do you have?”[/color][/b] The Tengu asked, peering across the table. 

[b][color=Plum]”As it so happens, two streets over there is a former flesh worker, as they are wont to be called who has been sent up to assist in this mission. Such traits gained by that most noble of professions could come in handy once they enter the city.”[/color][/b] The first said, letting the tell-tale sign of his love of escorts enter his words. 

[b][color=Plum]”OF course you’d say that, Melui, you’d have had to pick the escort anyway. Pay her any special visits?”[/color][/b] Werr didn’t wait for the man to respond, but instead turned to the Tengu, [b][color=Plum]”The minotaur is currently making a hat. He’s a big fella, should be real good in a jam. Best hope there isn’t any magic flinging around, ‘cause he don’t seem to have no real way to keep it from himself.”[/color][/b]

The Tengu turned to the last one, strangely quiet. [b][color=Plum]”The third to have arrived, or whatever order in which he did, is currently outside the cave. In about a minute, my magic will initiate and the guard will take him to this tent,”[/color][/b] the man slid a piece of paper across the table, a small crudely drawn map. It marked a unremarkable tent off to the right of the Camp, just outside the area for the courtesans and other dredges who often followed armies. 

The Tengu balled it up and slid it in his chest pocket, thanking each man in turn before heading out. [b][color=DarkKhaki]”Go retrieve them.“[/color][/b] As the flap to their meager bar rose, he was accosted by the  various smells and sounds of the Camp. Everything was in motion, tents being pulled and set, training for skirmishes occurring. 

As he marched through the Camp, people moving to part ways for him, he realized that this would be the first in many offensives against the Apotheoses in over two years. Sure, he had been on a murderous rampage that had ended the lives of many, but they were among the lowest on the totem pole, none were any game changers, any leaders, or anyone of any notable rank. 

He passed through the market and went into the outskirts of the Camp, where an even more decidedly vagabondish collective of people jabbered away, trying to hawk their wares anywhere, and anyway they could. Some sold ‘magical’ items, others sold the very bodies their mothers and fathers had made them. It was a wicked truth of war, like death and betrayal, that those who could would forever feed off the men and women who fought for their freedom. After several twists and turns, he found the rundown tent, molded on the outside, yet strangely guarded by soldiers meant to blend in. 

A passerby, similar to those he had left in the minutes prior, seemingly floated by, so effortless his moves. [b][color=Plum]”A caravan has just arrived, via teleportation runes set up by Lord Gallafrent. Another for the mission is supposedly on it.[/color][/b] 

The man left as quickly as he’d come, blending into the crowd with an effortless ease that would be the envy of many spies and assassins. The Tengu said not a word, instead, turning towards the tent and entering it. His eyes were directed towards a small cavern carved into the back wall, and there is where he entered secondly. It featured a small room, with a connecting tunnel out towards the forest. The Old Man was right, everything was falling into place. Unfortunately, he could not join the mission for his features would attract too much attention. Here he waited for the arrival of those he would entrust with his best friends safety. New members of the Resistance, chosen for their lack of notoriety, their lack of a known presence to the Apotheoses. Any minute those meant for the mission would be approached, in some method he did not know what, and brought to him. 

[h2][center][b]Bastion and Kyut[/b][/center][/h2]

The gruff Minotaur hoisted his would be opponent clear over his head, and launched him like a dart across the grassed floored Jungle, before beating his own chest with thunderous blows. A howl of victory escaped his lips  as his opponent attempted to stand, a unimagined feat itself, and then crumbled back to the ground .He wasn’t dead, nor was he to be put to death. The new Apotheoses leader simply needed an outlet for his building rage. Somewhere out there, outside the realm of his forest but within the considerable reach of his army, was said to be a a coming storm. The Resistance, whom could not decide on a more suitable name, were coming to him - coming to remove him from power. 

His station, being the middle of Allaria, was of the utmost importance - it lead to all  the other domains of the Apotheoses holds. If he fell here, if he failed Falden, Eclaava, then the Resistance would have a sizable foothold and while surrounded, could conceivably reach any other point in a much shorter timeframe. No, he could not fail. His tactics were top notch, that was why he was chosen to lead this area - to be one of them, to reach her level. Bastion would stop them at all costs, and his intel was coming in as steadily as he needed it to. Something was coming, a precursor for what was to come later. Did it have something to do with the Warlord within his holding cells, or was it just a strange coincidence that this was taking place at the same time. 

[h2][center]Heaven[/center][/h2]

[b][color=Orange]( Michael, Michael, Michael, shall you ever break your somber state? It has been over two years now, and still you do not speak to us. You barely acknowledge our existence. Is there something you know that us, your equals, do not? )[/color][/b]

Michael’s cold blue eyes, once as bright as a sky, not as dull as dirty pottery turned towards the dwarves God, and then back towards the table. This was the most he could move when spoken to, those sad eyes forever locked in their ways. 

[b][color=Goldenrod]< Slowly, I fear, the Human God is losing his mind. Even as something considered as lowly as a Butterfly, I can see that. Whatever ails him is not something we can fix by speaking to him. This is a storm that we must wait out.>[/color][/b]

[b][color=Orange]( Wise beyond your years, you are, young God. But still, we must try. Though equal, he leads us when times are tough. Whatever hurts him, equally hurts us. There is no metal in the world I cannot bend, no strike more truer than that with my hammer upon the anvil, but even I cannot foresee what I must build to fix this. )[/color][/b]

Michael still had not moved, even when the many feet of Lloth sauntered into the room. She sat on the far end of the table and contemplated the evidence she had gathered. Still, not enough to overthrow Anomanderis and Ouroboros. She could not bring this to the others, especially not the unstable Michael. Her dark black eyes stared towards the man, what would he do with such information. To kill the Messenger…