[center][color=red]Sapharan, High City, capital of Lanostre[/color][/center][hr]


In the skies above Sapharan a lone ethermoth fluttered through the clouds, its emerald light fading as dawn cut through the mist like a sharpened blade. Some aberration within it was causing it to malfunction, thus it remained out past the night's end. With a loud spark its gossamer wings froze in place and it tumbled down to earth, landing at the feet of Galahad as he stood alongside Tatiana, waiting for the third of their company to arrive. It was still dark out when the two had met in Bridgetown, and there, in the wide gap between mountains, they could gaze upon the open sky and the world below them. Somewhere beyond the eastern clouds a nameless star appeared on the horizon, its pale radiance sweeping over the land, turning darkness into morning. The shadow of the titanic mountains began to retreat as the tide of sunlight set the world beneath them afire with gold. The sight of the sun rising upon the motherland, it had been missing from their lives for too long.


 As they waited, Bridgetown began to stir with life. T'saraen townsfolk milled about the packed-in streets, the strange disquiet in the High City missing here in the hustle and bustle of the conclave. Squadrons of children in thick parkas waddled to school, many of them carrying rolled-up pieces of parchment under their arms. A lone little girl wearing a parka that was way too big for her smiled a toothy grin and waved hello to Tatiana as she walked by. Men and women gathered in the halls of their homes, the roar of laughter and debate spilling out into the streets from within. By the time Astraea arrived the streets had become too crowded and noisy for them, and thus they decided to make their way to the High City to plan their next move. The transports heading to the shipyard were leaving soon and the trio needed to make haste if they wanted to begin the first leg of their return journey without further delays.

After they arrived at the High City, they found it different from how it was the day before. The streets were crowded with Varyan soldiers readying their weapons and equipment. Armored transports lined the streets, the red circle of Varya painted on them gleaming in the morning sun.

"Make way!" they heard a woman cry out. Immediately, the crowd of soldiers began to part, leaving the main street open.

A young woman wearing a black inquisitor's coat rode through the street on a black horse. There was someone strapped to the back of the stallion, bleeding all over the saddle. Galahad, Tatiana and Astraea could see that the wounded young man was also wearing a black coat. He was also an inquisitor, it appeared.

The rider dismounted the horse and immediately yelled for a medic. An older man wearing the red coat of an SA officer shuffled forward.

"Take him to the war hospital. Don't let him die," she ordered. 

"As you command, Mother Elisheva," the medic answered with a stiff salute.

The inquisitor was tall and slender, with wide powerful shoulders and short blonde hair. Her face was one of angles, with high cheekbones and a prominent aquiline nose. Her black coat fit around her lithe limbs and torso like a second skin. Twin swords sheathed in decorative black scabbards were strung across her back. Black steel gauntlets covered her arms from fingertip to shoulder, but she wore no other armour. 

After the medic had taken the wounded inquisitor away on a gurney, the woman known as Mother Elisheva turned her head sharply and stared at Galahad, Tatiana and Astraea. When they met her eyes, they found that they were mismatched. Her left eye was the winter blue of Varya, while the right eye was... red, like blood.

"You three. I need your help."

She made her way into one of the empty houses lining the main street. As they followed her inside, all three could smell it. The familiar scent of blood drying in the frigid winter air.

Elisheva walked into the abandoned living room of the squat house and casually sat down on an old couch at the center of the room, gingerly removing her swords and placing them down next to her. She cursed silently as she undid the upper fastenings of her coat and peeled apart the layers of enchanted cloth. Her chest was stained red.

"Apologies for interrupting your leave. I understand you three aren't here on official Church business, but aside from Father Killian, who you saw out there bleeding all over the street, we four are currently the only inquisitors in Lanost-- Vitsk! This stings."

She removed a small vial filled with a pale colorless liquid and began dousing the wound on her chest with it. The gantleaf potion immediately went to work disinfecting the wound.

"Late last night, something happened at the Black Glacier. Or rather, something happened [i]to[/i] the Black Glacier. The red veins... they turned [i]blue[/i]. Which, if I remember my history correctly, has never happened before," Elisheva said, grunting. "The Glacier garrison then reported that a new species of demon began to spawn from it. That Garrison is now dead. Couldn't fight them off, and couldn't escape in time. All of them young T'saraen volunteers...."

She breathed in then, as if to offer a moment of silence for the fallen.

"Rather than put the lives of these SA grunts at risk, Killian and I ventured out there by ourselves to handle it. We figured we could. Demons are no big deal for inquisitors, right? Well, we were wrong."

Elisheva gazed at her swords, then her mismatched alien-like eyes stared directly at Astraea.

"Well, what do you say? Two of us weren't enough. Perhaps four will be."