[center][b][h1][color=6ecff6]T H E G A M E B E G I N S[/color][/h1][/b][/center] [center][img]http://orig07.deviantart.net/5808/f/2011/332/a/7/a785d8bbf26170192769c6950fc0b54a-d4hn3ht.png[/img][/center] Falling. He was falling. He did not know when he realized this. It may have been a second since he left her embrace, it may have been an eon. But when he opened his eyes he realized he was falling from an impossible height. The world below was a smear of colors spinning in every direction as he tumbled through empty air. He was aware of so many new things. A million, a billion heartbeats thrummed in sync beneath him. All the three realms were in his gaze. The leylines, coursing rivers of golden light, stretched across the firmament of the globe like a spider’s web. He knew all. He was all. He looked down at himself. His mind nearly shattered. A trick of the light, an abstract thing of unbelievable angles. His mind burned with fire and he screamed in terror and exultation. He turned away, focusing on the ground below, but he could still see it, in his mind. It had burned its way through. He was terrified of himself, he realized. He was an idea, or the hint of an idea, or the memory of something he had never known, or the shadow of all these things, their inverted reflection, on a still lake at night. He couldn't be real, the man thought. His mind struggled to put all into words, to understand what had been so clear to him before. How could he have been real before this? It... he had had no substance. No weight. He had had mass, the man remembered, his embrace stretching impossibly wide, but behind the mass there had been no depth. It made no sense. How could he be real and make no sense? He tried to look at himself again, at his body of fractured proportions and broken reason, but it was long gone. Replaced instead were limbs and clothes, and the hot flesh and blood that coursed beneath that was all too real. He was impossibility made manifest, the formless given form, and he fell though the sky in fire, accompanied not by the roar of the very air set aflame, but the last whispers of a song’s echo. “…Orders…” It is only when the man breached the atmosphere that he realized how quickly he was moving. The wind buffeted his arms so violently he feared they would be torn from his body. It was like stepping from a calm shelter into a maelstrom of shrieking wind. He was tugged violently into the current, the force pulling, pushing and tossing him in every direction as unseen forces battered his body. For a moment, the pain was swept from his mind while he tried to process all the things he could see. Lush, green forests. Windswept deserts. Towering mountains capped with ice and snow. The blue trails of rivers, winding their way to lakes and seas. [b]Ansus.[/b] His lungs took great heaving breaths, the first of many as plummeted to the landscape alone. His fingers clawed at the void, desperately trying to gain purchase as gravity reeled him closer and closer to the ground below. He sped over bustling metropolis, villages in snowy mountains, a castle consumed by the forest around it, then finally a small village at the edge of a forest, and vast deserts. A long stretch of brown and snowy jagged peaks stretched into the distance. He was directly over the jagged mountains when their peaks rose up to meet him. There was an overwhelming burst of pain, a great explosion of heat and sound, and the man was aware he was yet again falling. A body newly born shattered the mountainside, and with it, his descent. Rocks clipped at his skin and face as he tumbled into the free-fall abyss down its slope. A lake swallowed him. [center][img]http://orig07.deviantart.net/5808/f/2011/332/a/7/a785d8bbf26170192769c6950fc0b54a-d4hn3ht.png[/img][/center] Lilith opened her eyes, wondering what had woken her up. After the horror of the day prior, she'd hardly been able to calm down. It wasn't until long after the knight had brought her to her room to wait it out that she could feel any semblance of normalcy returning to her. Ever since then, her instincts had been telling her to get out of there, as if there were a cloud of danger all around her... if mother had taught her anything, it was that her instincts were seldom wrong about danger. She had spent the night tossing and turning restlessly on a huge bed, fit for noble ladies with the softest silk sheets she had ever had the pleasure of feeling. Still, despite her physical comforts, she had kept waking up, expecting someone—maybe a crazed bandit, or a blood-covered ghost with hooks for hands—to have snuck in to harm her. Eventually, she had finally fallen asleep into a dreamless sleep. But had it been dreamless? She seemed to almost remember something. She mulled over it before she was overcome by a yawn and took another, fresher look at the room where she had been taken. The room itself was pretty big, easily dwarfing the size of her own room in Eistwater, and had solid, grey stone columns located on each corner. It was decorated with tasteful vases with flowers on small, circular tables at regular intervals along the wall, clearly calculated to fill the empty spaces created between the placed paintings depicting men and women indulging themselves on a huge bounty of fruits, meats, vegetables and wine. Lilith stared longingly at one of the pictured bottles before continuing her assessment, turning to the floor-to-ceiling windows, framed by silken drapes, and a book case twice her hight filled with tomes. A quick glance revealed nearly all of them to be some sort of religious books and papers. It had all the necessities too: a dresser, carved of dark mahogany; a large mirror; a walk-in closet which held a single white robe; a chamber pot and wash basin in a separate room, with a curtain across for privacy. The truly odd thing about the room was the desk opposite her bed. She had glossed over it on her quick look around, but now that she focused on it, there was something odd about it. It wasn’t the desk itself it was on top of it- a brown... was it... leather? Lilith’s eyes widened a bit as she got out of bed and walked up to the desk. She realized it was indeed a leather harness of some sort that lay upon it. It wasn’t too big, roughly her size, actually, and on top of it, was the thing that had caught her attention and demanded her eyes concentrate on this desk... a single, perfectly cut, sapphire. The room’s quiet broke when a set of three patient knocks on the door alerted her to the probable cause of her waking up. She shook her head, turning towards the entrance with a sidelong glance at the harness and sapphire, and called out, “Come in, please!” A young man in a grey robe she recognized as one of the squires opened the door and slowly walked in, looking around and instantly spotting her. "Acolyte Lilith,” he said, “Knight Hierophant Regulus would like a word with you.” Lilith blinked. “Wait, what did you call me?” The squire arched an eyebrow. “Oh!” Lilith quickly ran to the closet and pulled the white robe over her own, much more humble, clothes. “I think I look okay now!” she announced, glancing over her shoulder at the boy. “Aren’t you going to wear the harness the Knight Hierophant got for you?” Lilith blinked. “That’s for me? But... I'm not even sure I want to join.” The cadet shrugged. “May as well bring it with you. And the sapphire.” Lilith looked at him dubiously, but grabbed both objects and followed him outside. The castle was a hub of activity; squads of knights, squires and acolytes would pass them by on patrols so often it did little to reassure her that things were fine. She watched with interest, paying close attention to the time between patrols, and the routes they followed. The way to their location was a veritable maze of corridors. Even her recollection as Regulus guided her to the room last night soon became useless, and much to her chagrin she was completely lost. They eventually reached the barracks and Lilith was escorted straight to the back, to an open courtyard where several drills were taking place. Here the winter snow had been cleared, and Lilith pulled her robe tighter around as the chill set in, wondering how the knights could stand it. The squire looked at her strangely for a moment, before gesturing to the embroidery on the sleeves of her cuff. With much confusion, her fingers skimmed the copper threads. Immediately the cold fell away from her as the threads glowed with magic. It had felt as if someone had lit a hearthfire close at hand. “Oh, now it makes sense...” Lilith muttered, observing the few knights-in-training. The squire snorted and continued to lead her up the wall to the battlements to where she had already spotted Regulus, his autumnal beard and black robe obvious even at a distance. Lilith took a moment to examine the drills, following the knight instinctively and watching with interest the practicing men and women. Their drill seemed to consist of some sort of telekinetic grip on small stones or shards of metal, but the hold was different somehow from what she had seen her mother or the occasional traveling magician perform. It seemed as if each were levitated individually, rather than as a whole, then kept in the telekinesis hold as tightly as possible. The knights would have the pieces fly around and spin under fine control, following set motions and imaginary attacks and blocks, locking them together at times, only to have them separate into several pieces. “Like what you see?” Regulus asked, making her jump. The Knight Hierophant was a man in his late thirties, his red hair tied back into a tight knit ponytail. He had a warm countenance of genial content, and stood a head above nearly every other man there. Lilith jumped. “Oh! Sorry, I was distracted...” Lilith smiled nervously up at Regulus before looking back at the soldiers. “Yes! It’s very interesting how it works. At first I thought they were levitating all the objects at once, but the fine control they display indicates something completely different. I was working on the theory that each piece was controlled by an individual telekinetic hold, which is then used, possibly in conjunction with a tied-in general hold, to form a sword or similar weapon which can then be disassembled for a variety of uses. The use of such a weapon can only be limited by the caster’s fine control and imagination... it’s... beautiful..." Unbeknownst to her, the squire and Regulus shared a hidden look as she spoke. After a moment, the Knight Hierophant gave the tiniest shake of his head to his pupil before turning back to Lilith, a large grin on his face, that did not quite meet his eyes. "It is beautiful, isn’t it? The knight, or blade-caster as we are known, has to manage several things at the same time... it’s an art and possesses a simplicity in its final objective that is an absolutely beautiful thing to see in practice. Where did you learn so much, may I ask?" "Oh," Lilith suddenly found her shoes very interesting. "My mother is the village hedge witch. She taught a few things to my brother and I, but Brian doesn't really have the gift." Then it clicked. What exactly had been bothering her. Why she still felt the need to run. "When can I see them?" Regulus was silent. The weight in her throat grew heavier. "...is she... is she here?" she asked hopefully. “She did a fine job raising the both of you, I’m sure,” Regulus continued after a moment's pause. “But... she likely perished when those bandits razed the village.” Lilith felt the blood run cold in her veins. “R-razed...” Regulus nodded. “There was little I could do.” He sighed. “By the time the Order knew what was happening and sallied out, it was too late.” Lilith looked down at the battlements, a lost look in her face. “A-and my friends?” Regulus flinch. “Some survived... some died. I had heard reports that the local priest had managed to gather several people in his chapel and secure it before they began to burn everything. We found no bodies within the ruins, so we assume they had managed to flee the massacre..." He stopped himself, almost smacking himself to his callousness. He had caught himself repeating the same speech he had given the Knight Commander to a child whose village had been the one attacked. "Look," he told her, kneeling down to bring himself to her height. "There's still a few people who came with us last night, and a few dozen wounder who are still resting under the care of the Knight Asclepi. Tommorrow, once I clear it with the Knight Commander, we can go see if your mother and brother are amongst them." She did not respond. For almost three hours hour she stayed at wall, silently staring out into the lake. Regulus stayed with her the entire time. She did not speak or cry. He did not comfort her or press. At one point, the squire began to remind the Knight Hierophant of the duties he had still to perform, but a sidelong glare from the man sealed his lips. The morning passed slowly this way, the sun coming up and over to its zenith. The silence as still as the distant lake. Then it was broken. "Last night..." Lilith asked slowly, "You asked me a question." "Did I?" Regulus rested the back of his head against the masonry of the merlon, his eyes closed to the world around him. His black robe pooled around him like a puddle of shadow in the midday sun. "I take it you're interested then." She looked at the knights below as the threw shards of their blades into the chests of scarecrows. She imagined each target the face of one of the men who attacked Eistwater. "I am." So he told. He told her how a young mage had been assigned to protect a princess. How that mage grew into a knight, and how he devoted his life to defending his princess. How he would slay dragons in her name and loved all her his life. That the same knight would later found his own order of knights, and they, in turn would guard the land long after his death. Twice the squire brought them food, and the suns sank lower across the horizon until they were naught but bands of red and purple light in the distance. A shooting star shot across the sky, and the lake rippled. Occasionally, Regulus would pause and glance at his student expectantly, and the boy would jump in without heisitation, continuing the tale of the Order. "...it was then, after the siege of Cair Paravel that Knight Commander Aemon moved the Order from its ancestral monastary to a castle built on the shores of Lake Fafnir, near the Shrine of our founder. We have been here ever since, guarding the land and the empire as best we can." "It sounds just like in the old stories and fairy tales."Lilith sat on the edge on a merlon, rubbing her sapphire around in her hands. "Just like Ansur, or the trials of Cinnead, or the Green Knight!" The knights in the courtyard had ceased their training an hour ago, leaving the three alone on the wall except for the occasional patrol. Regulus's squire still stood at attention, though seemed to be fighting back the urge to yawn. " "Except it isn't one." Regulus smiled and grabbed Lilith's shoulders, turning her to face across the lake. "Do you see there on the opposite side? That stone building way in the distant." Lilith nodded; she could just made the square squat building just poking out over the top of the scraggly fir trees. "We know this story to be true, because for over two thousand, the Knightly Harmonic Order of Coquelicot has guarded the-" Regulus's voice froze as he fully brought his gaze around to the shore. "The lamps have gone out," he remarked. The squire peered into the night, staring out across the lake. "Every hour, on the hour. The oil doesn't last long." "So why haven't they've been relit by now?" Regulus waited with baited breath for another minute, then two, staring at the distant darkness with growing unrest. After the third moment, he swore loudly and ran off the battlements, a worried squire and a confused Lilith right on his heels. "Get the Knight Commander! They're after the sword!" [center][img]http://orig07.deviantart.net/5808/f/2011/332/a/7/a785d8bbf26170192769c6950fc0b54a-d4hn3ht.png[/img][/center] The second his body broke the surface of the water was the second the cold truly began to set in. He had not known true cold before that moment. That world of white snow and mountain wind above was but a desert compared to this realm. Here was the birthplace of frost and he relinquished himself to its icy clutches. It rubbed every inch of skin beneath his clothes raw with its unforgiving embrace. Chunks of ice frozen long ago drifted by him as his clothing, now as heavy as lead to his body’s apathy, pulled him further down. The pale light above dimmed with each passing foot, leaving the man curled in the cold and darkness like some primordial womb. A bubble escaped his lips, and drifted in the gloom to the only place he assumed was up, each second feeling like an eternity as he listened to the sound of his own heart thudding against his ears. Each eternity that passed slowed its rhythm, and in turn, his racing mind. Thoughts became clear as the lake leeched the heat from his body. Emotion gave way to understanding. With it, came acceptance. The promise was empty. That’s all the man needed to remind himself. His body broke the surface and ice. He had been aware of the pull. He had always been. Even then. Even now. Aware of the gnawing. Of the emptiness. His feet plodded onto the shore without question. It did not matter where the pull led him. All that mattered was that it did. He followed the edge of the lake for hours, sloshing through the icy the slush the lake washed upon the shore. The cold bit into his skin, hours old, and he hugged his body for warmth. The day sank into the dusk, and a light in the distance heralded him. Directly ahead was a stone building nearly as tall as the trees around him. A domed roof reached for the heavens, and the water of the lake lapped at the back half of the building. Whoever had built this had built into the lake, the man realized. A string of lanterns illuminated the outside, held up by a series of poles. As he suns slipped beneath the horizon, he noticed their dying light upon his body. So much had changed. The snow crunched under his bare feet as the man drew closer, his chattering breath coming as wisps of cloud. It wasn't until he stood before the doorway to the building that he realized he was not alone. Two knights in black robes walked out of their post, their laughter having been muffled by heavy stone doors that sealed the shrine. They stopped, obviously not expecting to encounter anyone outside, then lunged at the knight. The man rolled to the side as he tore a wooden support from the nearby lanterns, then plunged the makeshift weapon into the back of the knight on the left. He twisted it, and the sickening crunching sound of wood could be heard before the knight crumpled to the floor. The remaining knight tried to open his robe in time to free his shards, but the man was faster. He did not need a sword to kill the knight. The knight recoiled exactly as he had determined he would, and the man threw his shoulder forward and pulled her legs in with just the right amount of force to free her from its grasp. He struck out with a closed first as the knight regained his balance, hitting him just above the hinge of his jaw. His mouth instantly sprang open, and the man stuffed his other hand down his maw. A look of shock crossed the knight's face, and the man pulled himself close to him, bit hard upon the knight neck, and pressed his free hand over his nostrils. He would not go back so quickly. He would know why he had been wrested away. He would not be powerless. The man was a chess piece in a game played by gods. He would not be a pawn. The knight tried to make some noise to warn other guards, if there were any but the man knew exactly what he was doing. He was physically weaker than the knight, his body sore and sluggish and freezing, but he had pinned his head under the weight of his entire body. The knight tried to pry his hands away, and when that failed, he beat at him and kicked uselessly. He bit down, but the man did not relent. What was this minuscule iota of pain when measured against the totality of a life? What was one life measured against the fate of a kingdom? “Your orders,” he uttered as his victim stopped moving. He rose to his feet, taking with him a new black cloak. The knight would not need it now. As he delved deeper into in the ancient shrine, he had noted quite readily that it wasn’t all that impressive. There wasn't much to say about the decor. Stone columns, crafted out of the walls, were merely decorative, rather than necessary. The only element not created from the grey stone itself was the floor, which was made out of mosaic tiles. Certainly nothing comparable to many other places he had visisted when he was alive, but still, it had an eerie quality to it that made him pause. There was something there. Something that was definitely not happy. He couldn't tell how he knew... but he could feel it in the stagnant air, permeating the walls and floors. If there was no guardian in here, whatever the presence was, it was powerful and worse than that... it was aware. The man gave a bitter smile and delved deeper into the darkness. "I am alive and you are dead... and how furious you must be at the thought," he whispered to himself. The man kept his eyes focused on her surroundings until the hallway widened out to a much larger room. Empty braziers sat in the corners, and in the center of the room stood a simple altar. Words in a language he did not recognize covered the floor now in gold; novels worth of words. But that wasn't what drew his attention; it was the twenty fist sized stones that lay upon the altar; carefully nestled on pillows of faded felt. "At last," the man whispered aloud to himsef, as he picked up the stone. He released a breath he did not know he held, and examined the familiar object. A thousand facets, an edge like a razor; even in the darkness it shone like silver in the firelight, like water in the sun, like snow under the stars, like rain upon the moon. He placed it down, and inspected another stone, and another. All of them here. All of them perfect. He was whole again. A torch lit the room. "Beautiful, are they not?" [center][img]http://orig07.deviantart.net/5808/f/2011/332/a/7/a785d8bbf26170192769c6950fc0b54a-d4hn3ht.png[/img][/center] "Beautiful, are they not?" Regulus asked, as he blocked the exit with his body. "No doubt a thief like you would make a pretty copper selling them." He threw the torch he was holding into a nearby brazier, and orange light flooded the enclosed chamber. Sparks and smoke snaked the shallow ceiling as the oil roared to life. The knight casually pushed open his robe, revealing the leather harness underneath. "So were they worth killing my brothers outside for?" The man turned to face him, his face till shrouded beneath the hood. The Knight Hierophant was not impressed with the rest of what he saw. Beneath the black robes, the man's clothes hung loosely around him; ill-fitted and baggy. And while his body was lithe with corded muscle, even in this light the Hierophant could see that the man was more than a decade his younger. "I don't even think you realize what you have there," Regulus remarked, holding a hand out to his side. "A knight's sword can take many shapes you know." Ten golden stars detached themselves from Regulus’s harness and arced through the air to form a line in front of the Knight. Each had a different number of serrated edged to it, and they spun slowly on an invisible axis, glinting in the torchlight. “Hardened Steel that have been tempered to straw; hard and very sharp. Having more components or shards than an opponent gives you a major edge. Every one of these stars respond individually to my magic. Together, encapsulated by a single moment field, they form a whole blade—in my case, [i]Zealot[/i].” Each of the stars began to spin at rapid rate, their edges a blur of movement. The image melded into each other almost instantly, forming a long whirring shaft. To his shock, the man held out a hand and the diamond shards lifted themselves off of the cushion and came to rest circling the air around them. The knight's jaw tightened, his face darkening as he slid his foot back in defense, narrowing his body. A small target to strike. "That's a fancy trick you got... but in the end, you're just a petty thief wearing stolen robes." He lunged forward, [i]Zealot[/i] tearing at the air before him. "Now... let's see how you die." The man crossed the distance between them with nary a word, and [i]Zealot[/i] spun with renewed ferocity as it deflected the legendary blade. Regulus fought like a cornered manticore. His blade work was feral and frantic; [i]Zealot[/i] was rarely in one place—or even one part—for long. It clawed at the man’s guard, desperately trying to work through his defense. His efforts were to no avail. Fighting this stranger was like fighting a mirage. The man’s style focused not on power or speed, but duplicity; over half his strikes were feints of some kind or another, and every time the Hierophant intercepted them, he was forced into a more compromising position. Every step forward cost him two steps back. He tried to circle around the man, his blade splitting to attack from several angles, but that seemed to be no challenge for him, who had already pinpointed the location and angle of each piece of [i]Zealot[/i] and intercepted them immediately with [i]Regent[/i], using the remaining diamonds to send the Knight Hierophant skirting back, until his back was to the wall, a piece of [i]Regent[/i] embedded in the wall where his head had been a moment ago. He realized that somewhere in the midst of the battle, they had traded placed. Now it was the knight who stood within the room, and enemy blocking his escape. To his surprise, the man made no move to escape, instead reforming [i]Regent[/i] and taking the same pose that Regulus stood in only moments ago: he was waiting for the knight to recover. Standing up and summoning his magic, the knight noticed that the altar where [i]Regent[/i] had rested had been destroyed somewhere in the exchange; half of it form blasted into fragments across the floor. The man vaulted across the shattered altar and took another swing at Regulus, and the knight caught it on [i]Zealot[/i] once again, preparing to retaliate with superior force. He didn’t get the chance to. [i]Regent[/i] split into two separate parts as it held [i]Zealot[/i], and one of them came through the air towards him. Regulus threw himself back to avoid the blade, but the man had obviously been expecting this. His fist connected connected with Regulus’s face. It was a strike delivered with the strength of one who knew how to fight, and Regulus was thrown backwards over heels as the sharp sound of the blow rang in his ears. He came to his feet just in time to meet another one of the man’s advance. “So,” Regulus said quipped over the sound of their clashing blades. “I take it you're no amateur.” His nose felt welt and swollen, and he could feel something warm dripping down his face. He flinched ad he felt the jagged stone of the altar connect with his leg. That was all the man needed. Two parts of Regent dove through the air towards Regulus, and he pushed himself away from the altar, crashing to the floor in the effort to avoid the shards. “No," came the simple reply. It was taking too long, Regulus though to himself. This man wasn’t just stronger than him—he was stronger than him by an order of magnitude. With over twenty shards at his disposal, by all rights, he should be dead already. So why wasn’t he? He met the man with [i]Zealot[/i] raised to block, but [i]Regent[/i] into two parts once more. They circumvented his blade, and he pulled [i]Zealot[/i] back to block one. The other sliced him just across the forearm, and his hold on [i]Zealot[/i] slipped, the steel stars clattering to the ground. He felt another sting, and his shoulder followed the same fate as his arm, with blood pouring out of a razor-thin cut. Regulus staggered back as more cuts formed on his body, courtesy of [i]Regent[/i], which was flying too quickly for him to catch on to. With his focus gone, he was unable to muster the will to raise [i]Zealot[/i] again. The Knight kept stumbling back, until his back hit the wall. A shard of [i]Regent[/i] shot through his leg and out the other side, taking tissue and muscle with it and Regulus fell to the side with a cry of pain, leaving a smear of blood on the wall behind him.[i]Regent[/i] split and came towards him, a dozen shards of pure diamond. Regulus didn’t get the chance to flinch—every razor fragment of the blade was knocked aside with a shard of obsidian long before it reached him. [i]Keeper.[/i] Knight Commander Arcon was exactly as tall as Regulus, but much broader, his wide shoulders carrying his presence. His hair was a ring of dark iron curls around a balding scalp. His robe was grey. He did not carry a harness. He stood alone. His face bore the expression of dispassion that Regulus remembered so well as his squire. His eyes were cold and distant, his mouth a thin line at the peak of a square jaw. His crooked nose was missing a chunk of its nostril from a fight thirty winters ago. Since they were the same height, it was difficult to tell how much older than Regulus he really was. But if one looked closely, they would notice that the tips of his fingers split into the same tight lines that mapped his face, and that his irises were a burning with winters long years past. He had a certain stillness to him, as though he could stand in the hall forever, watching with disinterest as the stone walls crumbled around him and were overgrown. The Knight Commander spoke in a fluid, resonant tone that seemed to demand attention despite not being particularly loud. “You forget,” he began to Regulus, coming to stand between his former squire and the man who threatened him, “our first rule. You never fight alone." The single remaining piece of [i]Keeper[/i] not scattered to the corners of the room was held aloft before him. He faced the stranger, arms folded in the folds of his robe. "This has been the code of the Order of Coquelicot for a thousand generations. To strike one of our number is to invoke the wrath of all. An impostor in a fallen knight's robes would not know that, stolen sword or not." "One cannot steal what is already theirs." Arcon tried to kill him. He was fast, and there hadn’t been much distance between them to begin with. Regulus hadn’t even seen him dart forward. [i]Regent[/i] wasn’t even reformed. [i]Keeper[/i] angled towards the man's bare neck, the obsidian edge thirsty for blood. Then the stranger was holding the tip of [i]Keeper[/i] in an outstretched hand. There had been no indication of his motion; no flash of light, no blur of movement. No witchcraft or magic. His hand simply sized the blade before it had made contact. Regulus stared with wide eyes. The Knight Commander’s actions told him that he did not believe victory was guaranteed. He was trying to win, which meant it was possible for him to lose. Regulus scrambled to his feet, trying to stem the bleeding of his arm with his good handle while reforming [i]Zealot[/i] before him. “Dot not call me that,” the man said. “Imposter. You think that you can hurt me. You think that you can taunt me with bravado. You cannot. You think that you can win this sword from me. You cannot. Despite all your claims that you are Knights of Coquelicot, your skills are found wanting. And your greatest weakness is that you can never change.” He pulled back his hood. Eyes as blue as as a thunderstorm pierced the brazier light. “I do not suffer the same flaw." He threw away the last piece of [i]Keeper[/i], and held out his hand. “My name is Clarent Coquelicot,” the young man said as Regent shone into life before him. “And you should not have thrown away your sword.” [center][img]http://orig07.deviantart.net/5808/f/2011/332/a/7/a785d8bbf26170192769c6950fc0b54a-d4hn3ht.png[/img][/center] Across the lake, below the beautiful canvas of shooting stars that seemed to fire forth from the Rings of the World, the small hamlet of Fafnis slept beneath the calm. The lamps had been snuffed hours before, and the fishing boats had been docked and harboured for the night. From their sleepy homes nestled into the lakeside, the bastion of the Knights could be seen twinkling brighter than any star, standing stark against the expanse that seemed to drift forever outwards beyond the lake. The hamlet itself was small -tiny, even- and homed only fifteen families who were all fishers by trade. They made their living providing food the bastion, and selling rare delicacy fish to the Heartlands throughout the breeding seasons for such rare species. Yet something was amiss amidst the quietness of Fafnis. The night was disturbed. Sickened. "Amelia!" a man cried, forcing his way through the door in his home to his daughter's bedroom. "By the Gods! Amelia!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. The man's face was visibly red against the dull lamplight he had produced to investigate the unholy wailing he had heard only moments before coming from her room. He shined the light deep into the shadows that covered her bed, illuminating the child with the flat, orangey light of the oil flame. Her nightclothes were torn, and her face was scratched bloody by her own nails. The bedframe, too, was scratched violently, as if assaulted by some feral animal. The girl herself, no older than five or six, had curled herself into a ball with her arms around her knees, and was sobbing uncontrollably. "Amelia! What happened?" he asked, hurrying to her bedside in an attempt to comfort her. She continued to cry, but said no words that seemed in any way coherent to her father. He sighed, and let his head fall for a moment, before looking back up to her badly scratched face. He tried to put his arm upon her shoulder to make her feel safe, but he was shrugged away almost immediately with a fevered yelp from Amelia. "Darius..." came a second, female voice. "Is she okay?" it asked. Darius said nothing, he simply tried to make eye contact with his daughter. She was shaken worse this time than usual. Though his unresponsiveness was met with his wife poking her head around the corner to look into the darkened room. "Is she okay?" she asked again. Darius looked back into the better lit hallway and softly shrugged to her. He did not know what to say. He turned back to his daughter, whose crying had somewhat alleviated since she was awoken. She struggled to form a few words as tears slipped down her cheeks in glistening streams of fear. "B-b-... H-h-he..." she forced out, before her crying began anew with as much intensity as had woken her parents from their sleep. "What did you see this time?" Darius began, attempting once more to stop her tears. "Amelia... Amelia! I need you to focus!" he said as he gently put his hand upon her shoulder, turning her tiny frame to face him. The young girl could not speak. She blathered and blithered incoherent babbling despite her parents' encouragement. She was so shaken and frightened that she had almost forgotten how to speak entirely. Darius looked around for a moment, squinting his eyes to pierce through the darkness that was not washed away by the lamp that he had placed upon the floor. There was a dresser in the corner, complete with a few books stacked on top; there was a single window looking out upon the lake, and a small table opposite the bed. Darius stood for a moment, and strode over the the table. He snatched a sheet of parchment from the mess upon it and a small drawing stick that had fallen to the ground and brought them back to his daughter. He knelt beside her, bringing his eyes to her level. "Amelia. I need to know what you saw. Please... can you draw it for Daddy?" The girl bit her lip, holding back more tears, and took the parchment and stick from her father's outstretched hands and began to scribble. Drawing seemed to calm her. As she shaded and rubbed the stick against the parchment, and as her sketch began to take shape, her tears seemed to recede, and the fear seemed to free itself from her soul. It took her only a minute or two to finish her interpretation of her dream before she handed it back to her father. His eyes grew wide as he looked upon the symbol that she had drawn. He looked back up at his daughter, his mouth hanging wide. "Daddy... she choked out. "He told me th-that... that the world was... was going to die! Darius moved to hug her. She held him tight for a moment. Into his hear, she whispered "He told me that... that you were going to die tonight. He told me that- that... That we are all going to-to-t-to... To die!" she began once more, wailing anew. Darius let his daughter back to her bed. He asked his wife to look out for her for the rest of the night. Despite Amelia's protests, he had quickly gathered his cloak to fend off the cold of the night, and mounted his horse. He set out only moments after, clutching the drawing that his daughter had given him, and mouthing the words that she had said. He headed toward the bastion. The Knights needed to know. Something was wrong. So very wrong. [center][img]http://orig07.deviantart.net/5808/f/2011/332/a/7/a785d8bbf26170192769c6950fc0b54a-d4hn3ht.png[/img][/center] Darius rode along the waters edge, whispering the words of his daughter. But what he did not know was that she was not the only person to wake screaming that night. All across the world, everyone from nobles to knights to farmers found their dreams vexed to nightmare. And though none of them could explain why, they knew deep in their hearts that something was terribly wrong. They were right. Darius spurred his horse onward into the dark night, the glowing lights of the castle, and sanctuary, still so far away. Sweat rolled down his horses neck, and yet he did no cease his urging. The still lake shone like glass in the moonlight. The trees swayed with the evening breeze. The stars shone in infinite splendor tonight. So why was his heart was sick with dread? Though no wind blew, a ripple passed over the surface. It passed over the shoreline and through the land, and as it passed by him, Darius could feel it in his bones. His horse whinnied in a frenzy and reared up. The lake’s water boiled and bubbled, then turned an inky black. The churning mass of blackness suddenly let out an echoing boom, and the liquid spiraled into a whirlpool leading down into someplace dark and horribly deep. The smell of sulfur burst up and out of the portal, followed by bellows of fear and screams of pain from within. Trees around the lake began to wither, their leaves crumbling to dust and their branches rotting away. The grass turned grey and brittle before it was carried off by the wind, and the rocks beneath were stained black by the vile liquid that splashed and roiled out of the water. Somewhere miles below, a figure climbed out of the lightning-streaked depths. It was something misshapen, something vile, something that had no place in this world. The light of the moons illuminated its shape as it pulled itself free of the steaming pit. What happened next would haunt Darius's dreams for years to come. The pit shuddered, slick black oil tumbling down the sides like miniature avalanches. Another shudder; a large bulge rose up, as though something was pushing its way out to freedom. Then something burst out of the water. Something huge and gleaming white, spotted with ash like the dapple gray of some horses’s coats. It towered over the lake, and the sight of long phalange-like digits brought a touch of dread to Darius’s thoughts when he finally recognized the sight. It was a wing. A gigantic, skeletal wing. Another wing emerged from the well, and then the skeleton was pulling itself free, ashes falling from the pale bones like snow shaken from a branch. Frozen in shock by the impossible sight, his eyes crept over the long tail, the strangely avian body, serpentine neck, and finally the predatory maw lined with dagger-sharp teeth. It may not have resembled anything he’d seen in books or pictures, but there was only one thing it could be. A dragon. The fleshless jaws opened, and a deep shuddering roar filled the countryside. The skeletal head dipped, convulsed, and then vomited a torrent of boiling blood. The sanguine waterfall poured over the ashes with a hiss, crimson steam billowing up and around the dragon’s wings. He watched, horrified as the bloodstained ashes floated into the air. Glowing like fiery snowflakes, they clung and stuck to the dragon’s bones. When each burning flake met another, they gave a combustive flash and fused, creating a patchwork of tissue over the skeleton’s form. [i]‘This is impossible,’[/i] he repeated over and over in his head. [i]‘Absolutely impossible.’[/i] There was no way that this thing could be real. There was no way that this collection of bones and joints could be alive, could be regenerating before her very eyes. It just couldn’t be happening! He looked back at the dragon. His body had fully reformed, the last scales fusing into place along his black hide. From the sharpened point of his snout to the spear shaped blade at the end of the tail, every inch of his body seemed to be designed for evisceration. He looked over the sculpted gleaming spikes that ran down his back, noticing the cutting edges that accompanied the dagger-sharp points, then the great scythe-like claws that tipped the digits on his feet. Every inch of the dragon’s body seemed capable of being used as a weapon. In fact it would be more accurate to say that the dragon itself was a weapon. And it wasn't alone. The sanguine tide pooled with the darkness in the water and it grew. Like its parent, it too began to take shape. A nightmare lifted itself from blood and shadow. It was like nothing ever seen before. It resembled a dragon, if only in the way it walked upright, but any similarities ended there. Its arms were too long, wrists too powerful, claws too narrow, legs jointed wrong, torso too thick, toes oddly splayed, neck elongated, head misshapen, face monstrous. It moved with a hunched, loping posture that seemed to radiate violence and danger. Its eyes surveyed the world with cold intelligence, with malice and utter disregard for life. Four more times did the dragon vomit forth blood of his body, and did four more sons answer his call. But by then, Darius had already fled, his horse galloping swiftly behind him along the lake's edge. Racing for the Bastion of the Order [center][img]http://orig07.deviantart.net/5808/f/2011/332/a/7/a785d8bbf26170192769c6950fc0b54a-d4hn3ht.png[/img][/center] The fury of the night was nothing compared to that of the knights. They had long since left the tranquil depths of the shrine behind and descended into the forest. It were moving now, ducking in and out of the treeline in an attempt to reach each other. Arcon and Regulus had to think faster than the imposter did, because he could move faster. They had to strike truer, because he could strike harder. And they had to stay together, because apart he could destroy them in a minute apiece. All things considered, they were doing an admirable job. [i]Tightening left leg. Tensing right foot.[/i] Arcon's thoughts were not vocalized in Regulus's mind. He could hear a fascimile his Knight Commander from when they had once trained, the old lessons coming back. [i]He's about to round on you, blade high.[/i] Arcon's call was right. Clarent wheeled on Regulus in the split second it took him to register the thought, and found that he had already ducked under half of [i]Regent[/i] and thrust [i]Zealot[/i] into his chest. His blade sank only centimeters into Clarent's flesh, but the wound bled around it. Clarent pulled himself away and struck out again. Regulus's strike had only been a drop in the bucket, but that was enough. If they kept fighting like this, kept being careful, this imposter would weaken and die. They knew it was possible. They'd seen it happen a thousand times over, to a thousand different souls. Regulus felt Arcon's mind run through each of the man's actions, taking in changes in his stance and expression so small and minute that he wouldn't have noticed them at all. His teacher had always been one to over-think things. Regulus had not. It was exactly his nature to rely on instinct, which was why he was so quick in reacting to the Knight Commander's observations. Between the two of them, they'd eliminated their greatest weaknesses. The jewels that ran the length of [i]Regent[/i] sparked, and the blade split into two lengths and came to rest at Clarent's sides. Sheet lightning ripped its way across the sky in the far distance, crossing from one horizon to another in three strokes, arcing around rim of the world. The sound of thunder layered atop itself was nothing to the whisper of his voice. “Pathetic,” he said. They converged on Clarent simultaneously, coming at him from both sides to bring their blades down upon his head. A shower of incandescent white sparks erupted from [i]Zealot[/i]’s edge as it met [i]Regent[/i]. Clarent held Arcon’s and Regulus’s blades still, parallel to one another. It seemed that even in combat, he was meticulous. At half its strength, the legendary weapon [i]Regent[/i] was stronger than either of their’s, but it was not a tremendous difference. This was a winnable fight. Still, Clarent’s advantage meant that he had command of their blades. He threw them back with a contemptuous flick of [i]Regent[/i]’s halves, then rounded on Regulus as Arcon was sent staggering. Regulus ducked under a swipe with his fumbling grace, then caught another on [i]Zealot[/i], his blade ringing like a bell as the spinning blades locked around the jewels as he pivoted it back into position. He had always been the better fighter. It had made him Dame Nightshade's favorite. It didn’t matter. In the second that it took for Arcon to throw himself back at Arcon, Clarent’s blades buffeted against Regulus’s defenses like the storm in the distance, crashing against [i]Zealot[/i] again and again. Each impact put Regulus another inch out of his footwork, another step off his guard. At last he batted [i]Zealot[/i] away and drove a fist into the Heirophant's chest so hard it tore the breath from his lungs Then he rounded on Arcon, and it was all the Knight Commander could do to hold his ground. He rolled out of the way of deadly swipes, blocked his blades with repulsions of pure magic, stalled his approach with [i]Keeper[/i], and threw himself away from sword strikes that could shatter boulders. Regulus burst from the trees beside them, and they met Clarent’s next onslaught together, catching the halves of [i]Regent[/i] on the weapons of steel and obsidian. Regulus and Arcon had the advantage of numbers, but they struggled to maintain the advantage of position. They ducked under and flipped over the diamond blades, used shards and even their cloaks they worked in tandem to keep him between them. It was difficult. Clarent whirled and stepped out of every one of their assaults, using the momentum from one strike to carry him into the next. He was the center of a shower of magical power, and he forsook grace and subtlety for pure technique and power. His blows hammered against Arcon’s defenses. His maneuvers broke his martial composure. He struck with speed, power, and precision; he never seemed to be out of position or caught off guard by their tactics; he never resorted to misdirection. Clarent’s apparent plan was simple: he would wear them down. He’d simply fight them until they ran out of power and then claim another victory with their heads. The legend moved with absolution, fought with the knowledge that he was unstoppable amongst men. The more Arcon found himself beaten back by the terrifying strength and will behind [i]Regent[/i], the more he felt his sense of Clarent’s indifference ebb a feeling of hubris rise. As he threw them away again and again, like a school bully playing king-of-the-castle, the more it became apparent that Clarent was very, very good at this. Which meant he only thought he was unbeatable. [i]Right eyebrow quirked. Left leg tensed. Duck and stab at mid-rib.[/i] Arcon ducked before Clarent's strike ever came, stabbing out to catch him in the chest with [i]Keeper[/i]. He brought the second half of [i]Regent[/i] up to divert his blade. [i]Left shoulder loosening, both legs tightening. He's about to throw him away and turn on Regulus.[/i] Clarent thrust forward with both his blades, and Arcon was sent reeling back. He spun to face Regulus, but [i]Zealot[/i] skimmed itself in his forearm as he stepped neatly out of the way of the diamond blade. [i]Shoulders set. Legs spread. He's preparing to meet both our blades in parallel. Feint and roll past him.[/i] They led with their blades in tandem, points first, then ducked at the last moment, rolling under Clarent's blocks to flank him once again. [i]Regent[/i] met Arcon as soon as he'd tucked his legs and relinquished any possibility for escape. It dug into side, shearing away a large chunk of flesh with a shock of intense pain. His roll failed, and he tumbled forward into the dirt. Before he'd realized what was happening, shards of [i]Regent[/i] had pinned him to the ground through his robe. It was simple, Arcon realized. He'd been analyzing Clarent's every move and incorporating his reactions into their combat strategy, just like he had with every foe. Slowly, they'd taken initiative and started to win. But Clarent's style of fighting hadn't changed at all. If the stories were true, he was a master at bladecasting—why hadn't he shifted his methods? The answer was obvious. He'd waited, collecting all the data he'd need. But not to improve his effectiveness in battle, no—Clarent was just going to kill them. He wasn't making a gamble when he knew he'd win. He was just collecting his chips. He would kill Regulus and make Arcon watch every moment. And only then would it be his turn. This was how Clarent Coquelicot won his fights. That was when he heard it—or rather, felt it. The sound came to them from the ground, a deep, faint rumble that was like two boulders being ground together. Regulus barely had time to wonder what it was before leaping back into the fray, ducking under a shard of [i]Regent[/i]. Soon, however, the sound came again, much louder than it had before. This time [i]Regent[/i] recognized what it was: a roar. “Stop!” Arcon ordered to him. “Hold!” He needed to know what was going on before he could throw himsef back into combat, but he had a feeling it wasn't good. To his credit, Clarent had also lowered his sword, a most peculiar look upon his face. All three knights stopped and began to turn away across the lake. [i]Thump.[/i] A wave of sound hit them, like the beating of an impossibly large drum. The roar sounded again. [i]Thump.[/i] That was when Regulus saw the missing stars. An entire piece of the sky was gone. Or rather, something was blocking it from view. [i]Thump.[/i] Something enormous and perfectly black. “Dragon,” Regulus whispered. “That's a goddamn dragon.” [i]Thump.[/i] The roar he let out was now deafening. The knights covered their ears. [i]Thump.[/i] “But there haven't been any...” Arcon began. [i]Thump.[/i] “Fafnir. That's Fafnir reborn.” Clarent looked into the sky. [i]Thump.[/i] The force of his wing beats stirred their robes, and another, smaller form began to take shape against the night sky. “Sivek,” Clarent whispered. Backlit by the light of the moons, the new dragon was bone wrapped in glistening sinew and smoke. Slender for a creature so tall, his wings spanned out behind him, a set of thin white fingers clawing at the air around him. Smoke spewing from the prison of white gave him the semblance of shape, with tendons and muscles expanding. All of his flesh was bloodless. He had no eyes, but they still burned, two pinpoints of light in the dead sockets of the skeleton monster. [i]Thump.[/i] Sivek stretched his wings wide to glide toward their position. He was massive—as big as the great hall of the Bastion. “Well damn,” Regulus said. “That's not fair at all.” The dragon dipped along its course, diving low toward three knights. It bore down on them with a terrifying speed. “Move!” Arcon shouted. Its path was clear. The dragon unfolded its wings just before it hit the ground, and they caught enough air to halt its fall and bring it into a sweeping line. The knights were thrown to the ground by the passing beast’s undercurrent, and Regulus and Clarent were pushed back by the wave of wind it made when it landed. Arcon rose from the ground as [i]Regent[/i]'s shards were knocked free, hands grasped firmly on [i]Keeper[/i] embedded in the ground. “Well, boy? You’re the one claiming to be Clarent reborn.” Clarent picked himself up off the ground, then frowned at the scattered fragments of [i]Regent[/i]. “What’s that supposed to mean?” The dragon fixed its eyes upon them, then picked up an enormous claw and began to walk towards them. [i]Thump[/i]. “Clarent killed dragons,” Regulus said. He thought that one was obvious. Clarent assembled his sword infront of him, eyes flickering between the dragon, its brood, and his fellow knights. "When I fought Grael, I cost me half my face. When I fought Fafnir... I died and that lake used to be a mountain." [i]Thump.[/i] Clarent moved to stand beside Regulus, his mouth a rigid line as he looked up at the approaching dragon. “So how about this,” he said, taking a shaking breath, sword at the ready. “If I give you [i]Regent[/i], will you kill him for me?” The petrified look on Regulus's face made his answer clear as day. "Right..." Clarent said, as he broke apart his sword. "I was afraid you'd say that." [center][img]http://orig07.deviantart.net/5808/f/2011/332/a/7/a785d8bbf26170192769c6950fc0b54a-d4hn3ht.png[/img][/center] Groaning in frustration, Lilith relinquished her hold of the second sapphire. Try as she might, she could not add it to her first and wield it half as effectively. She could levitate it, making whirl around her and move... but she couldn’t, for the life of her, figure out how to use her telekinetic grip as efficiently as Regulus or his squire could. There had to be something else to it than sheer levitation. It still didn’t feel natural to her, as some of the other trainees had alluded. Still, she endeavored. [i]‘Dame Nightshade has been training me very well,’[/i] Lilith thought, concentrating through the motions of practicing with her sapphire. [i]‘But I don’t know if I can get more than one sapphire to work... it feels... weird.’[/i] She sighed in frustration. [i]‘Is it that the material is wrong for me? Maybe I shouldn’t be using gemstones... maybe metal? Or something else? I don’t get it.’[/i] The concept itself was simple enough; enchant stone, a metal or crystal, bind it in an incredibly tight form of telekinesis and use it as a weapon. The more you could control, the more deadly you could become. But there was something missing from hers. She didn’t feel like she was wielding a weapon, any more than she felt like she was just waving a stone around and risking poking someone’s eye out. Possibly her own. [i]‘I think that’s the problem,’[/i] she mentally harrumphed. Regulus had left the castle in a hurry, pushing Lilith off to a elderly Dame by the name of Nightshade, a woman at least a decade older than Regulus. She sighed and looked from the hovering sapphire to the one on the floor. She was about to envelop it in energy when she jumped to the side, barely avoiding two shards of the squire’s blade cutting the floor where she had stood just a moment ago, instincts kicking in just in time. [i]‘How did I even do that?’[/i] She dodged again, this time by jumping back and glaring at the squire. She couldn’t see Nightshade at all, and the other acolytes seemed more scared of what was happening than willing to help. “Hey, what’s the big idea?!” she shouted, lowering her stance. “You could have hurt me!” A sapphire shot out with the force of a crossbow. The squire jumped, but the floor where he stood cracked as a sapphire penetrated into it. The squire’s blade formed in front of him, all bright green gems clearly visible to her. “Enough.” The squire spun around, only to find Lilith was but a few footsteps behind him. His eyes widened and he took a step back, clearly not expecting her to be so close. Lilith managed to catch the hint of a snarl on the squire’s face, which disappeared faster than she could reclaim her sword. Dame Nightshade, Martial Trainer of the Knightly Harmonic Order of Coquelicot, only laughed. “Well that was interesting. Why didn’t you strike, Acolyte Lillith?” Lillith sighed. “I-I didn’t want to hurt him.” The squire looked affronted at the idea of the little girl actually managing to land a hit, but schooled his reaction, awaiting Dame Nightshade's comments. “You wasted an opportunity, Acolyte. He will most likely not fall for that again.” Lilith looked down, scratching the floor with her boot heel. “I... did manage to nick his robe... a little.” “It does look a bit torn,” Nightshade acknowledged, “But he could have taken a lot more,” he added, looking at her sternly. “You can’t be afraid of striking even in practice, Acolyte Lilith!” [center][url]http://orig07.deviantart.net/5808/f/2011/332/a/7/a785d8bbf26170192769c6950fc0b54a-d4hn3ht.png[/url][center] Dame Nightshade watched as her newest student twisted and turn in circles about the fellow she had been paired with, side-stepping attacks, distracting him with bursts of magic, using the area around her to dominate the battle and position herself for easier and more effective attacks against her opponent. Clearly her combat style was not intended for direct confrontations. Yes, it worked as a dueling style, but it emphasised guile and quick reactions rather than strength. She smirked. It was an ideal mix for bladecasting. Then she frowned. That was if she managed to work her way up to using a second gem for it, and more importantly put her head into it. It was hardly a blade with only one gem after all, although for an untrained beginner she had grasped the concept of how bladecasting worked incredibly quickly... But as long as she hesitated and shied away from harming her opponent, she wouldn’t be doing anything more than simply holding a gem in front of her. Regulus's squire kept his eyes on Lilith as he walked back over to Nightshade, idily fingering the tear in the hem of his robe. “She’s certainly doing well against the other rookies.” “She’s still no match for a trained acolyte,” the martial trainer stated. “Unless she killed without prejudice, she would be quickly overwhelmed by any competent fighter. She doesn’t have that skill yet... and still...” The squire remained quiet, knowing that the Dame would let him know what he was thinking soon enough. "She's a bit of a natural." The squire raised an eyebrow, then turned to look at Lillith with carefully concealed curiosity, doubtlessly trying to figure out what Nightshade had noticed. She was fast on her feet, but many young girls were. And her magical training certainly shone through, allowing her to keep her balance and weave in and out, almost like a dancer, but what the Nightshade had said didn't quite ring true: the squire could have demolished her more than five times already. The only thing that allowed her to continue was the element of surprise. In a week, with Dame Nightshade's current training regiment, that may later have been a different story... but for now... The ground began to shake beneath them. The tremor forced the younger squire to one knee, and even Nightshade found herself setting her feet to keep balance. The rumbling ceased, and Nightshade raised an eyebrow. An earthquake? Here? She searched for some sign of disturbance in the mountains, perhaps an avalanche or rockslide, but the skies above them were as clear as before, and the only sound was of footsteps racing up from the city. “Dame Nightshade!” She turned to see a Knight hurrying towards them, the man’s bald head damp with sweat. “Everall! About time you showed up! You were suppose to relieve me an hour ago," she chided. “Forgive me, Nightshade,” he panted. “But… have to… tell you… quickly…” “Ah, ah, ah,” the dame said, hiking a thumb at the shaken Acolytes. “I’m a tad preoccupied doing your job as it is. Whatever news you have, it needs to wait.” “But-b-but,” Everall protested. “This is an emergency!” “Then come back when it’s a catastrophe!” The ground rumbled once again. This time, the stones beneath their feet began to crack, and the castle shook on its foundations, walls shaking and windows shattering. Nightshade hurried to the eastern battlements, and felt the blood run cold in her veins. The view from the spiraled down towards the western coastline of the lake, until finally she was looking down on the village of Langcort, the closest of the small hamlets that dotted the valley. The town was in ruins. Buildings aflame, inhabitants either fleeing for their lives or motionless in their own blood. Dark shapes moved across the scene; massive, crocodilian beasts and black-skinned demons that took to the sky, raining fire on everything. They continued their rampage, but the Dame's attention had moved on, drawing her sword as the bells of the castle rang in alarm. "Enemies at the gates! To arms! TO ARMS!" [center][img]http://orig07.deviantart.net/5808/f/2011/332/a/7/a785d8bbf26170192769c6950fc0b54a-d4hn3ht.png[/img][/center] A black shape loomed above them, a nightmarish specter of spikes and blades. Eyes blazed, lips curled back over fangs in an unmistakable sign of aggression. Sivek was ready to kill. “SIVEK, SCION OF FAFNIR,” Clarent shouted, raising his own voice, "FLEE OR KNOW MY BLADE ONCE MORE!” The dragon reared back, apprehension flickering in his eyes. Then he was darting forwards, mouth opening wide. Clarent cursed and fed his power into his sword, spinning away from the razor teeth throwing a sharpened diamond. It caught Sivek in the chest, lifting the shadow dragon off his feet and smashing him into the forest. The trees and soil cracked under the hit. The dragon was barely winded. He was dumbfounded. That strike had been a killing blow; a mixture of his own raw magic, and the finest diamonds in Grael's horde. It was strong, far stronger than anything in this world could survive. He had struck right atwixt the heartscales, or at least where they would have . And Sivek had shrugged it off. For a bladecaster who represented the very concept of killing, seeing his powers fail was more than a bit unsettling. The dragon was up and advancing. [i]Regent, Keeper,[/i] and [i]Zealot[/i] struck again, more out of reflex than any conscious action. The air rippled with the magic, and Clarent lended his magic to his fellow knights, and together they loosed a hailstorm of razor shards. Each mark could have blown a hole through six inches of solid steel. An entire platoon of armored knights would have been ripped to shreds. They struck Sivek’s etheral hide and shot out the other side, leaving only burned patches of flesh and bone in their wake. But the dragon stumbled beneath the assault; collapsed to the floor. A leg severed. Clarent felt hope. If he could just subdue him, just keep him down… Sivek’s tail lashed, his wings beat furiously. The dragon gave a snarl and struggled to rise. The ash that clung around the dragon began to refill the holes of their attack. Its limb began to melt back with the tendrils of smoke that reached for it. “STOP RESISTING,” Clarent yelled. “SLEEP IN DEATH AND YOU SHALL SUFFER NOT!” Sivek’s only response was a bloodcurdling roar. He charged once again, easily pushing through the last, needling shards the knight was able to fire. It was no use. The dragon was too enraged to be reasoned with, too powerful to stop. The dragon before them was easily twice as large as a cottage and covered. It glared at Clarent, Regulus and Arcon with an intelligence far surpassing that of a simple brute as its claws tore furrows of earth in the ground. With a sound very much like a rush of steam from a blast furnace, it opened its mouth and began to suck in air. “Fire!” Clarent shouted. It was unnecessary; Both the Knight Commander and Heirophant could practically read his movements anyway. They were moving before he was. Clarent ran alongside Arcon, as they fled into the wood. They took the left, Regulus took the right, flanking their opponent as it drew in its fire. When they were level with where its wings met its shoulders, it exhaled. The world was set aflame with emerald. It billowed and curled out from the dragon's maw in a roaring inferno, turning the small amount of foliage into ash and setting several of the sparsely placed ancient trees alight. It swiveled its head toward Clarent and Arcon, and more of the ground vanished in fire. Clarent's bare feet pounded against the damp earth as he ran from the fire. Heat built behind him, the temperature rising to almost unbearable levels. And then nothing. The dragon had run out of flame. And only the dragon had to get close enough to them. [i]Regent[/i] burst into its fourteen fragments and whipped through the air, a glimmering storm of weaponized magic. The dragon wailed as the diamonds tore through its sinewy limbs, then crashed to the forest floor, its own inert magic quickly trying to repair it. The knights were leaving it far behind as they stumbled towards the distant castle. After a minute, Regulus collapsed, the wound Clarent inflicted ripping open once more. They paused for but a moment to tear a strip Clarent's cloak and bind the leg. Arcon didn't bat an eye as he heaved Regulus to his feet and threw the knight's arm over his shoulder. “Can you help him?” Clarent slowly ran a hand across the tears on the Heirophant's flesh as he watched it rise and fall erratically with his breathing. He had done his job too well. “No,” he whispered. “I don't know anything about medicine, magical or mundane. I can kill a man in the space of a heartbeat a hundred different ways, and I don't know how to heal.” “I'm still alive,” Regulus groaned. He turned to Arcon. “I'm going to need you to keep me upright. If I die, I'm going to die standing... or ripped apart by a undead monstrosity. One of the two.” But Clarent had eyes only for the dragon of flesh and blood, who circled around the castle of the Order, rending towers and keep in his wake. "Blood of my blood," he whispered in realization, as Sivek's undeath knit his body back together. He had an idea. It was suicidal. But he had already died once. What was a second death? "Is there a way into the castle that we won't be seen from above?" he asked, hurrying alongside the Knight Commander. "And can we access the armor from there?" The elder knight sucked great lungfuls of air through clenched teeth. "A tunnel at the foot of the mountain that leads into the lower cellars. Why?" He told them of his theory as the rest of Fafnir's brood flew overhead. They skimmed low over the treetops, stripping leaves and breaking branches with each downbeat of their wings. The sky around them was beginning to darken, the dry wind carrying the scent of blood and metal and smoke. The lakeside was lit with an unearthly glow, the light pulsing like some monstrous heartbeat. Columns of flame erupted in the distance as entire villages were reduced to ash in moments. Regulus was afraid to ask, but he did nonetheless. “What if you're wrong?” The words were cold and blunt. "Then he will burn your world down to the rocks and bake the rocks until they glow. He will melt the poles, grind the mountains to dust, boil the oceans and set the very clouds aflame. We will all die." [center][img]http://orig07.deviantart.net/5808/f/2011/332/a/7/a785d8bbf26170192769c6950fc0b54a-d4hn3ht.png[/img][/center] If Sivek was a giant, then his father was a [i]Titan[/i]. The dragon broke through the low clouds like some ancient god descending upon the wicked. Its bronze wings stretched hundreds of feet across the sky, blotting out the clouds and sun both. A head larger than a cottage trailed smoke from between its jaws, which yawned wide to reveal a hellish light within. The world shook again as it roared, and a river of fire erupted from its mouth, bathing the castle below. The squire had only just managed to shove her behind an arch, before a wash of flames engulfed them. He vanished before Lilith's eyes. The ringing in her ears faded, replaced by a faint buzz. Her vision began to go gray around the edges. So fast. The dragon flapped its massive wings and began to wheel around for another pass. Another roar broke through her paralysis, and she stumbled forward. [i]Movemovemovemove![/i] She tumbled forward, dodging debris and piles of ash. All that mattered was to keep moving. Behind her, she felt a rush of heat as the dragon passed near. The snow around her evaporated instantly. The walls steamed. [b]I see you.[/b] She heard its booming voice echo in her mind. She trembled beneath the force of its terrible will; the sapphire shook as she raised it again, and her second shot veered wildly off course, sailing into the distance. The dragon’s laughter resounded in her brain. [b]So little.[/b] Lilith dove from the pillar, landing in a jumble of limbs and robes a bare moment before the column erupted in flames as the dragon passed overhead. The stone melted. She pulled her sword back to her, frantically searching around for a place to hide. The courtyard was a battleground; hundreds of knights ran in every which direction, some attempting to hold off the dragon, or put out fires, or carry the wounded. The dead, or rather, the ashes that remained of them, blanketed everything like sickly snow. Too late. The dragon blasted through the plume of smoke that shrouded the sky. Nearly half the forest around the lake was in flames. Its mouth opened again, revealing the furnace that burned within its breast. It was moments from exhaling on her when a large spear, nearly a lance, flew through the air and slammed into the dragon’s side with a crunch that sounded for miles. The beast bellowed in pain and flipped in the air, tilting its wings to change course and face the new threat. Lilith lowered the jewel, and turned to see where the spear had come from. The Knight Commander Arcon and Knight Hierophant Regulus had returned, and stood in the middle of the courtyard with an unfamiliar knight between them. Five spears, each with a large leaf carved diamond for a head, swung in a slow orbit around the trio. As Lilith watched, Regulus thrust out his hand and spear closest to him shot through the air with a loud crack toward the dragon. Her breath caught in her throat. [i]"He can hurt it!"[/i] She thought to herself. [i]"He can hurt it!"[/i] Just as quickly, her hopes were dashed. The dragon reached out with a scaled arm, intercepting the spear with a casual backhand. The wood shattered against its hardened scales; fragments rained down on the courtyard in a stinging hail that drew tiny lines of blood on Lilith's arms. Apparently deciding the three was the greater threat, the dragon inhaled deeply, and sent another blast of fire into the castle. The three knights scattered, diving for cover as the flames licked at their feels. Fafnir reeled back in pain as yet another spear embedded itself into his left leg. The dragon's head snapped down, eyes slitted in fury as the flames from his mouth turned white-hot. [b]Foolish wretch! May whatever god you revere take pity on your damned…[/b] His eyes finally settled on the knight in black with the diamond sword, and his murderous fury increased. [b]Clarent.[/b] [center][img]http://orig07.deviantart.net/5808/f/2011/332/a/7/a785d8bbf26170192769c6950fc0b54a-d4hn3ht.png[/img][/center] “Alive for less than an hour already trying to kill stuff again,” the Kingmaker asked in surprise. “My, but you’re a violent little bastard aren’t you?” [b]I am a dragon, he said. I burn. I eat. I kill. Destruction is my way, and you are prey. I once sat atop a black reign of fire that spanned the whole of the Tear, a terror to all your kind. Then came you with your stones and slew my sons.[/b] Sivek alighted over head, landing with a earth shattering thump onto the castle walls. Twin pinprick's of light glowed from his unearthly skull. Another form dropped, and another. [b][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mFfIEenip_A]But now I live. Now my sons walk upon your land. We are the hunters. You, the prey.[/url][/b] D'jac pounced, tearing up masonry from the wall as the drake lunged at Clarent. The knight had to throw himself backwards to avoid to the razor talons that shredded the air around him. A skull filled with teeth brought itself dangerously close, opened to devour him. Two gleaming shafts made up of ten diamonds each took their place on either side of its neck, then twisted its head off with an explosion of bone and ash. Clarent threw himself to his feet, swearing as another of Fafnir's children swung into view as he rejoined the blade. A flurry of obsidian met the dragon, clipping its wings and felling it from the sky, if but for a short while. Embolden by the return of their Knight Commander Arcon, many of the remaining knights threw themselves back into the frey. Metal shards and gemstones were fired at the dragons by the hundreds. The dragons lept and clambered over the forces, melting flesh with emerald flames. Fafnir roared, seeming to forget about Clarent, and rounded on another knight. It opened its mouth, and that dreadfully familiar sound filled Clarent's ears again. By now it seemed to drown out every other noise in the castle, despite not being very loud in and of itself. It beat its wings, buffeting Clarent with a thunderous wave of air and rearing up on its own hind legs, the gibblets falling to the ashen floor. Clarent watched the dragon, reassembling [i]Regent[/i] as he searched for a weak point. There had to be somewhere he could strike. Regulus made to throw his final spear at Fafnir, and was thrown to the ground, and as the dragon came down it slammed a claw into him. Dirt exploded outward as the Heirophant was pinned to the ground by the razor claws. He started to try and wrest his way free. Too late Clarent realized that he was too absorbed in analyzing the creature, and as a result he'd overlooked two important facts. First, Fafnir had the Knight Heirophant pinned to the ground and was about to unleash a torrent of fire. There was no question with Regulus—he simply wouldn't survive the inferno. Clarent needed to hit its head, or its claws, or something to save him. And that would cost precious time. Second, he'd forgotten about Fafnir's tail. It hit him square in the side, and Clarent lost all semblance of orientation as his feet left the ground. He was vaguely aware of a second impact, on her other side, before falling to the ground in a heap. If it hadn't been for the robe's enchantments, his spine would have snapped like a match stick. His ears rang and pain stabbed along his sides. His mouth tasted odd, almost metallic. His kights were still in mortal danger. He needed to come to his senses and get up. He needed to help them, somehow. A shatted column entered his field of vision—or maybe it had been there all along. Yes, Clarent thought, that was what he'd struck while in the air. He rolled his head to one side, trying to get a view of the dragon. For the next several seconds, Clarent watched. He saw Rhesk, and D'jac, and Bomlac and Sivek, and Jahken; each of Fafnir's children was coming toward him to take a quick kill. Past them, the dragon still had Regulus pinned to the ground, and fire poured out of its maw in a poisonous blossom of heat and death. But it never reached Regulus. Clarent barely noticed the blade drawn out of the air opposite of him him and throwing it forward in another shatter. His shards gripping the dragon by the lower jaw and pulling its head toward the ground was Arcon, screaming as flames flowed like liquid over his feet and standing in a pool of molten glass. What he did notice was Fafnir's wing, coming down and obscuring the Knight Commander from sight. Fafnir breathed out with the roar of an erupting volcano, and the inky black flames poured forth to fill the space between his wing and his maw. They doubled, then redoubled, heating the enclosed space past the point that would boil iron. Fafnir kept going, heating stones a dozen meters away from the flames to incandescence. It wasn't a scream that Clarent ever wanted to hear again. Not a despairing wail of suffering and pain. It was defiance and rage. Endurance and tenacity. Clarent watched Arcon save Regulus's life, and grit his teeth, brandishing [i]Regent[/i] anew. Clarent had always been somewhat defenseless. Fafnir was nearly invincible, but even King Solom and Sir Morgant could evade almost any attack. Clarent had only the blade, which was more often than not too busy on the offense to be put on the defense. He'd always needed his speed to protect him, but such was the nature of bladecasting. Strike hard, strike fast, strike first. It was one of the first things the king had taught him. Bladecasting was the most efficient form of killing there was. Even the gods relied on the mortal weapons to kill their enemies. He had been old when Fafnir, the Uncrowned King of all the World, and his children threatened the realm of Ynys Mons. He had been old, and gray and tired. To sacrifice the life of an old knight, his life, to stop six dragons had been more than easy to make. But now Clarent was young. And the sacrifice had already been made. The Kingmaker threw himself to his feet, ignoring the almost crippling pain that sliced through his sides. A skeletal drake pounced, aiming to hit him before he'd regained her balance, but even as he came to his feet he sent a single diamond through its mouth to burst out the back of its head. He rolled under the massive undead corpse, and every dragon between him and their father turned to face a Knight Commander of the Knightly Harmonic Order of Coquelicot. A claw was sheared lengthwise in two as it tried to strike. Another dragon took a diamond through the eye. Clarent spun through them in a shower of blood and splinters, never losing his place. Six seconds of flame ended, and the dragon snatched Regulus up in its jaws once more. It shook its head once, not bothering to draw in breath for fire, then pitched the knight into a nearby cart. Wood shattered as Regulus fell to the ground. Four more diamonds rained down from above to devastate the ghost-like Jahken. Clarent sent three more to new targets, then used a fourth for leverage, springing off it and over the swipe of the nearby D'jac. He landed, facing forward, just as the dragon’s other claw was torn away with a wet splash. It pitched forward as its throat followed. By then Clarent had moved on to other targets. His footwork was perfect, his form divine. He split his focus between each of his assailants, delegating the proper amount of diamonds to each even as he moved through their ranks. He incapacitated them all. Until at last not a single foe stood in his path and he faced the dragon itself. Or rather, its tail. Fafnir looked down at the unconscious Hierophant, then raised its other claw. Four deadly talons gleamed. Four fragments of [i]Regent[/i] gleamed a little bit more. Clarent reached the dragon’s tail just as his blade reached its outstretched claw. He leapt onto the sinuous limb as each talon was sheared away to tumble off into the night. The dragon shrieked, rearing its head back, and whipping its tail up. Clarent let go. He was flying, soaring through the night air with his bloodstained robe fluttering about him. His blade had gone past the dragon's maimed claw; he called it now, drawing each of the pieces toward him. His aim was true. Clarent landed against the base of the dragon's head just as [i]Regent[/i] assembled before him. He braced his impact with muscles built over years of training and wrapped his arms around the spines of its crest. The dragon reared its head, trying to throw him off. His hair flew back in its loose curls, his bloodstained robe flowed around his form, and [i]Regent[/i] gleamed as he thrust it into the base of the dragon's skull. He screamed, because that seemed like the appropriate thing to do when slaying a dragon, and he felt his blade slide into the dragon's brain. It split into twenty fragments that tore the inside of the dragon's skull into mush. A tremendous crack rang out over the lake as a skull as thick as a tree trunk shattered into thousands of fragments. Gore and shards of bone exploded from a hole in Fafnir's head, and the flames coming from his mouth ceased. He collapsed, the light in his eyes dying like fading embers. Clarent rode the beast to the ground, feeling the thud of its impact reverberate through his body. All around the courtyard, the wraiths of Fafnir's brood gave a last wailing shriek and collapsed into bones and ash, dissipating upon the ground. Silence. He could feel his heart threatening to tear itself from his chest, and with none to shaky hand Clarent pushed himself then clambered to his feet and stepped out onto the dead dragon's head. The remaining gathered around the fallen dragon, looking up at their founder. The courtyard was filled with the wounded, the dead, and the incinerated, with shattered stones and bodies strewn everywhere. Towers and villages burned, and the blood of Fafnir soaked into the castle ground. The knight gave a tremendous sigh, and brushed the ash from his arms. A whisper brought [i]Regent[/i] to his side, a weary, almost delirious smile on the knight's face. He still had it.