History/The Rejoining
From Aalynor's Nexus
The Rejoining
The mortals reveled below. He could hear each cry of joy, each drunken voice, each moan of pleasure as the mortals flung themselves at each other with wild abandon. Each one cut his soul, a reminder that he did not want. He stretched dead flesh over the sockets of his eyes, and reached out with his mind. The red and black flames, warm and cold, both surged throughout the Realm, and the horrible wailing of the False who burned within grew louder. Even with the additional noise, however, the joy from the mortal plane echoed... Memories of past joys flooded him. He dug his daemonic claws into his dead palms, hoping that the physical pain would drive away the other. Even as thought began to return in the crystalline clarity of physical pain, other sounds came to him... more merriment, this time of an Immortal origin, as the Gods and Immortals gathered together to partake of the Nectar of the Gods. Black fire began to blaze from his eyes as the pain and anguish took him, even as he pulled his gore-covered claws from his hands. He added his tormented scream to those of the False in his Realm, his single voice drowning out the punished. The numerous Daemons in the Realm threw themselves into their work, or portals to elsewhere, their fear obvious. Even the Thirteen Daemonspawn who were his Honor Guard showed fear, waiting for him to lash out. Instead, he screamed again, his divine energies crackling through him, blasting pieces of flesh from the corpse he wore.
The scent of flowers was the first thing that he noticed, the first thought he had as his near-infinite mind dwelled only in its pain. He was aware of another presence, and his mind leapt on that awareness, that rational thought, in an attempt to quell the rage. There, standing before him in her remembered armor stood Paelina, the first Daemonspawn, the Fallen Angel, Tilnar's first Mortal Avatar, now serving as one of his Thirteen Guards. Concern was etched upon her face, contrasting with the cruel and evil daemonic features the she wore. As Tilnar looked at Paelina, a shiver went through him as something cold and ethereal touched him. The touch brought with in a cold pain, and he knew its source at once. He turned to see Dilanis' Shade, having come from Tilnar's Paradise into the darkest heart of his Hell. Each touch soothed him, even as the ethereal hands cut through his dead flesh, and tore at his heart with every stroke. He sighed, the rage fading from him, and his powers once more trapped within his body.
He stood again, noting as he did Paelina's wounds even as her daemonic flesh worked to repair the damage. Understanding dawned on him, and he saw confirmation in her sad eyes. She had crossed the Wall of Realms, a Daemon breaking through the barrier between the Paradise of Twilight and the Hell of Night. He conjured a new set of gloves for his hands, and reached out to touch Paelina's shoulder. As he did, a microscopic part of his attention cataloged the damage of her body, even as another tried to grasp at how much worse it had been - how much lost flesh and energy had been regenerated. He looked into her eyes again, and smiled directing the tiniest fragment of his power out to erase the damage. The smile seemed to do more for her than the healing, however, bringing a smile to her face, one which did not contain the cruelty that all daemonic smiles had.
"I should never have allowed you to come with me," he thought at her, her denial and insistances in his mind before she even responded.
"I pledged all that I was to you, my Lord, and so I shall serve."
"It is but another Eternal that I have ruined, for where I should be rewarding my Chosen, instead I torment you." Seeing the expression form upon her face, he waved a hand, "No, do not answer. Your loyalty is boundless, child. I know what you endure for me, and of all the souls in this Realm, yours is the one that most concerns me. Let me end your suffering."
Even as Tilnar reached out, he felt those cold hands lock onto his arm. Flesh froze and fell away, revealing black fire and violet lightning surrounding the yellowed bone. He looked to his wife's Shade, the sadness in her eyes even as he heard Paelina's answer.
"Not until your suffering is at an end, my Lord."
His eyes were locked into the pale grey of the Shade, and he began to pull his attentions from elsewhere to focus on Dilanis' Shade. He studied her Soulpattern - she was Daer'lin, and so the pattern should appear as intricate and as detailed as Andaras' finest works of stained glass. Instead, however, the pattern was but a single color, and more confused than the magical weave itself. He brought the Shade's hand to his breast, feeling it freeze away the flesh over his heart, relishing the pain as an interruption from his despair.
"I created this beauty so long ago, Paelina. Then, I used my powers to elevate her, making her as near my equal as could be. When she was elevated, when she was her own being, she created her own beauty, her own patterns, and I was powerless against her. She made my heart sing, she brought me more joy than I thought I could ever know. Then, with the power of one God within me, I felt as though I could do more than now, when I am so filled with power that it sometimes surges through me, killing the corpse I wear..."
Paelina listened as her Lord spoke, watching as the Shade's hand froze the bones of the ribcage, slowly working toward the heart. She wondered if Tilnar planned to allow the Shade to kill his shell, and him within it - to escape the pain. Tilnar seemed oblivious to the damage being done to the form, simply looking into Dilanis' eyes.
"I have learned so much since her death. So much since that day, long ago. I have seen all the other God-shades ressurected, "catching" the powers of other Gods as they are slain. Even now, I know that I could have saved her, had I known how, as I saved Malakai when he faced Arskol in combat. I could have re-created her, by using Malakai's Godsaura and energies at the time of his death at my hands to recreate her pattern...."
Paelina began to lean forward, seeing the ribs fall away and the hand cutting through the lungs. She could see, clearly, Tilnar's black and violet heart, crackling with the powers that maintained him. The Shade drew her hand away, even as Tilnar's bone fingers pulled it closer. The phantasmal hand gripped the heart, and it burst... The whole body crumbled away, even as black and violet energies snaked around Dilanis' form. Slowly, a corpse rose from the red stone below, and the powers flowed into it. Tilnar's eyes were still locked on Dilanis even as the corpse went through the wracking changes to accomodate his power.
"But I did not. There was no premeditation to his death, denying me the chance to gain from it. And now, I cannot even have her kill me to draw some of my power to her."
"She cannot kill you. She lacks a Godsaura. Besides, it is not even certain that you can be killed, or what would happen to the Realms if you were, as you are still half of the Lifeforce of the Realms."
Paelina turned to face the new voice, noting as she did that she was the only Daemon near her Lord, even the other twelve bodyguards having vanished as she watched Tilnar. Standing before her was one of the most beautiful beings that she had ever seen. In form, he was the quintessential Angel, the paragon of that beautiful, near-pefect race... One of the two templates from which the Angel's form was shaped. She cried at the beauty, and for the first time since her descent into a Daemon's skin, allowed herself to long for all that she had lost. She accepted the Light's infernal touch, burning her away, knowing well that Recorpilation - or worse, even Oblivion, was a worthy price to pay to stand by her Lord... and to watch the beauty before her.
Suddenly, the pain ended, and she felt the cold chill of black flames burning around her, taking away the Light's warmth. Her Lord had not forgotten her, and yet, part of her wished that he had. Even as she pulled her gaze away from the Luminescant Being before her, she heard Tilnar speaking.
"If I can, my Brother, it must be by an outside hand. I have learned that for all my power, I cannot end my tormented existance."
Suddenly, she understood. Her Lord had been attempting to commit suicide before her very eyes. The realization was terrifying to her. She wrapped her wings around her, expecting Aalynor's reaction to be as strong as her own, if not worse.
"I would not say that, Brother. For while you cannot end your own life, and that you have tried distrurbs me, what stops you from ending your torment?"
Tilnar laughed, a hollow sound as the vocal cords of this new body shifted to match his normal voice. "And which of your children would you have me slay, Brother? And do not think that I have not been tempted."
"You need not slay a God to restore life to another. Did you not ressurect Arskol?"
Tilnar laughed again, the sound ringing with madness. "Aye, and he was madder than I. He tried to 'liberate' the Shades from Paradise, claiming that they suffered. He had to be put out of his misery.. And ours."
Paelina remembered that, the second time that the Nether Realms had been invaded. She herself had slain several of Arskol's Astral Messengers, however the whole attack was merely a diversion as Arskol stole away the Shades of Erisar, Andaras and Dilanis.
Tilnar looked into his brother's eyes, "I could never do that to Dilanis, Brother. It would pain me more than this has." Paelina saw Tilnar's face, his weariness obvious.
"You poor fool." It was Aalynor's turn to laugh, this time. "All this time you thought that your method was wrong, and that is why you did not recreate Dilanis? I thought you were merely preparing yourself for it, and instead you were trying to end your own life? Can you not see the truth?"
Tilnar's aura surged, violet bolts crackling around him even as the blackflame burst from his eyes. There was a dangerous edge to his voice as he spoke. "Do not mock me, Brother."
Aalynor sighed, and stood, passive before his brother, locking him in a stare. Paelina stood nervously as time passed, what appeared to be eons. Then, suddenly, Tilnar released the power he would have used to strike down his brother. As the flames and bolts faded, Tilnar fell to his knees, crying. Aalynor spoke again, his voice a gentle rebuke. "There is why you failed, my Brother. It is the Light, it is Goodness that creates. The Evil in you can only destroy, or create things which will destroy."
Again Tilnar's flames built up, his rage cutting through his sadness. "Then you have had the power to restore her all this time?" he demanded.
Again, Aalynor merely stood there, looking at his Brother. "Of course not." he answered gently. "I did not know how, nor did you. If one of your Daemonspawn had not spoken with one of my Astral Messengers, I would still not know. But the Evil in you is the cause of your failure, and the reason that you cannot see it. And besides, the souls of the dead are your portfolio - your power over them is greater than mine."
Paelina began to panic, hoping that her conversation with one of Aalynor's servants would have gone unmentionned. However, she thought as she calmed herself, she knew the risks of what she had done when she did it. Better to die in an attempt to save her Lord, or to suffer for all time in the attempt, then to allow him to continue suffering.
Tilnar looked up, and Paelina feared that his eyes saught her, but instead, he looked to Aalynor. His voice was strong, and he said simply "Show me." With that, Paelina's world went white. Aalynor's radiance was brighter than that of all the stars combined. Tilnar's shield held, for she had not been obliterated, though her head ached from the Light. It was over in an instant, though it was long before her eyes adjusted.
Tilnar stood before Aalynor, glowing, not with dark fires, but with a beautiful light, flickering as it danced with every color of the prism... The Light of Twilight. She looked to him, awestruck, for the look on his face, for the first time in centuries, was one of faith, and of peace. Aalynor seemed exhausted, his own glow dimming as he infused as much of the Light as he could into his Brother. Tilnar, too, was lost in concentration, and Paelina wondered if this sight was like that of Creation, the Brothers combining their powers to forge the Realms. She could see with her Daemonsight, the magics Tilnar wove, each one a gentle thread as he poured the Lifeforce - the Light into Dilanis, trying to reignite her own spark of life... Paelina tasted blood, and realized that her fangs had sunk deep into her lower lip, and she watched anxiously. Slowly, the grey and blue Shade began to find color - so slowly that Paelina didn't believe it was truly happening, dismissing it as her own imagination.
She closed her eyes to confirm that it was, in fact, happening, and as she did, she heard the beautiful harmony... Two voices, one Tenor, the other Bass, singing as one... The Bass faltered from time to time, but even as it did, the Tenor's seemed to correct for it. The song was imperfection made perfect. She wept at its beauty, her tears growing warmer and more frequent as the Bass voice voice seemed to find itself, its hesitation faded, and it shifted to a Baritone, and the mistakes ceased. The Tenor voice stopped singing then, and a Soprano joined the Baritone. The knowledge of what had happened shook through Paelina and she was overcome by her emotions. She had done it. She had succeeded. When she felt the powers reshaping her, she accepted it as her due punishment, not caring what happened to her now that her Lord's suffering had ended. The Baritone voice slowly faded away, its exhaustion clear.
The shifting ended, and she felt the warmth of the Light against her flesh. There was no burning pain, no sensation of the flesh being pulled from her. She unfurled her wings from around her, to bathe in the glow of Light, as she did long before, and felt the feathers of her wings tickle the flesh they touched. Slowly, she opened her eyes, no longer seeing with the Daemonsight, instead, an Angel's vision graced her. Before her stood Aalynor and Dilanis, both smiling warmly at her.
A gentle touch on her shoulder caused her to spin around. Her mind barely had time to absorb the sight before her as she was pulled into an embrace. Tilnar set her down with a smile, and she saw that her eyes had not decieved her. Tilnar stood before her, no longer wrapped in the dead flesh of others, but in his own body. Paelina wept again, the joy of the sight was not lost to her. Tilnar spoke, his voice musical for the first time in centuries, as enchanting as an Incubus.
"You, Paelina are the most loyal of all beings in these Realms. I cannot think of any way to reward you for what you have done, for the love that you have shown me. No reward would be enough."
His features, now angelic, still bore a daemonic tinge, yet to her mind it only served to make the strength more apparent, his compassion to stand out. He was the Angel of Death, beautiful, compassionate, yet made harsh by a reality that refused to understand his compassion.
"Simply seeing you happy, my Lord, is reward enough."
Tilnar laughed, and again, for the first time in centuries, the sound carried in it joy.
"Then you shall see that reward in great measures, Faithul One, and more." as he spoke, Tilnar looked to Aalynor, their thoughts carried in their eyes, and Aalynor gave a brief nod. Tilnar smiled warmly, and a warmth cut through Paelina, starting at Tilnar's hand, and with it came a wave of pleasure that was far stronger than any she had ever experienced, as mortal or Immortal... It was even greater than that of feeding as a Succubus. She felt as though she would collapse, yet even as the pleasure overwhelmed her, did she find a newfound strength within her.
Deep within the Pits of the False, Kyorl laughed. This was his Realm, now. And every scream of pain and terror that one of the Daemons drew from the Tortured would feed him. Tilnar was careful as he released his grip on the powers of Evil, preventing any God from simply seizing the power as it was "loosed". However, he was not any God. When he realized that he could not seize the powers, he instead reached out and began to feed on them, as if they were negative emotions themselves. And so, again, the powers of the Gods were warped, and in so doing, these new powers began to warp Kyorl.
His laughter grew louder, as if he was joining the merriment. Paelina stood back for she knew the source at once... He had once been her lover, but he had taken the evil, the darkness to heart. He was once trusted as the Regent of the Hells, to rule above the Daemons in Tilnar's absence - his former authority was as great as her own. Now it was far greater.
"Thank you both, O Creators." Kyorl said with a sneer and mocking tone. "I've never fed so well." His laughter faded as he disappeared.
Paelina looked to the Gods before her, and they both sighed, lowering their heads. "He is daemonic. He feeds on evils, and so grows stronger all the time." she said, her tone one of concern.
"Aye." Tilnar said, "He is, and he will. But he is the price of Free Will. With Free Will came Evil, and it cannot be destroyed so long as beings other than we can choose their own paths..."
"What we can do," Aalynor suggested, "is have our churches ensure that, at least amongst the Allied Races, there is little for him to feed on."
Tilnar sounded grave, "Kyorl will find the power twist his mind, and turn him from what he was into something truly frightening. Whereas he fed on and enjyed evil, now, he will need it, demand it, cause it... He is Evil now, its embodiment. He is Eternal, and on a level now with Aalynor or I, not like yourself or the other Daer'lin."
Paelina realized that he was looking at her when he said that, and for the first time, she felt the Godsaura, and her new powers. Tilnar's eyes smiled, though his expression was still most serious, and he continued. "Yet, taking the Godspower from me bound him more closely with the other Gods. He will find new limits, new twists, that I tied into those powers as I released them."
"You knew he was there?" Dilanis asked, looking surprised.
"I would have been when I was in that state." Tilnar answered, no trace of a smile remaining.
That night, the various powers unleashed, and their influence on the Mortal Plane was obvious. Kyorl's banner was removed from Nexus, as he lashed out at those followers who were merely greedy. His truly faithful followed him to his true "children": The races of the Goblin Hordes. His Golden Cathedral lay in flames, unknown by who's hand, though it is believed it was the act of his departing followers, taking Kyorl's glory with them as they left.
In Tilnar's Vein, there was death amongst the Drow as civil war shook them. Many swore allegiance to Kyorl, while others clung to their faith in Tilnar, going so far as to quote their catechisms which spoke of their eventual return to the Light. Both sides warred, Clerical Powers surging, until Kyorl's sect seized control of Sifnalk, driving Tilnar's faithful, the "Grey" Elves, deeper into the Vein.
The reappearance of the Mistress of Love and the emergeance of the Mistress of Faithfulness and Duty in the realms was noted quickly by the mortals, with whispered prayers to Dilanis to have someone fall in love with them, or to bless a love, while Paelina's banner was quickly taken up by the Nexus Guard, and Army.
Things seemed eerily calm in the wake of all that had been happening, and even the Order of the Holy Light sought to reconcile with the Cathedral of Death. However, on the second day of these talks, the Order attacked the Ivory Tower, forcing many young magi and apprentices onto flaming pyres on which to be purified. Battle raged, as the Order attacked, gaining ground even as the Churches of Twilight and Dawn hit the Order's flanks, coming to the aid of the magi. The tide of battle turned quickly when Thelia appeared, raw mana crackling around her in her outrage, as she threw Soulfire at the invaders. Those watching could see Thelia growing weaker with each blast, as she held back nothing of herself to strike at the Whiterobes. She raged, teleporting from point to point in the tower, obliterating all of the foes that she could in each place. Finally, as she was firing from an upper balcony onto the Whiterobes below, she stiffened, and fell, a dagger driven deeply into her back. Behind her, stepping from the shadows, was a violet-robed figure, another such dagger in his violet hand.
"Like them, mistress?" he sneered, bringing the second dagger downward, "I made them myself, research based on the legends of Iron disrupting the souls of the Faerie." The second dagger he drove into her neck, severing the spine beneath the skull. "I've wanted to do that for a while." he said with a laugh.
>From below, a Knight Templar shouted, "Hold, traitor!"
"Traitor? Your laws mean nothing to me." he laughed, and chanted softly, raising his hand at the Templar. Dragonsfire burst from the paladin's flesh, as the Inferno consumed him from within. Turning back to his helpless victim, he drew a third dagger, continuing as if nothing had interrupted. "Granted, you are no Faerie, but the concept is the same." He began to drive the dagger into Thelia's skull when a bolt of lightning came, even as his arm was pierced by a gore-covered blade of ice. Scorpio stood below, chanting for a second lightningbolt while Astaroth wondered at the source of the Iceblade. Chanting quickly, he waved his good hand, covering the balcony with an unnatural mist, obscuring the sight of his attackers. Drawing an Alchemical Creme from his belt, he applied it to his wounds, even as he saw the outline of an all-too familiar Half-Giant in his mists.
Wicked held the massive axe in his hands, deciding that imprisoning Astaroth would do no good, and that Justice could only be served by his death. He blinked repeatedly as the mistcloud stung his eyes. He began swinging the massive pole blindly, knowing that Thelia was down, hoping to connect with Astaroth, or at least make enough wind to be rid of the mist. Wicked's muscles strained as he took a Full-Giant's grip on the axe, holding only the end of the grip while swinging the blade right to left. He began another swing, and saw movement - the outline of a figure to his right, raising his hand to point at him. He cursed, as he tried to reverse the swing of his axe even as Astaroth finished his spell, and the Dragonfire burnt him from within. Wicked was thankful for the resistance spell that protected him, even as he smelled cooking flesh from himself. He stopped the swing even as he heard Astaroth begin to chant again. Focusing past the pain, Wicked leapt toward the mage, bringing his axe down with all of his strength, swinging it like one who was splitting wood. The axe hit a barrier, knocking it slightly off target, but the magical shell could not stop the Half-Giant's swing. The axe fell, cleaving through the mage's shoulder, the scream of pain and lost arm stopping his spell-casting. Wicked was readying another swing when he felt a blade bite into his back. He turned quickly, catching only the glimpse of a male figure in black leathers. He turned back in time to see Astaroth break a small vial at his feet, and vanish.
Within moments, Scorpio was standing beside Wicked, his Elven stride unable to match the Half-Giant's. He cast a Dustgust spell to remove Astaroth's mists, and knelt before his Guildmaster. She had not moved, her mouth open, a small trail of blood from her nose, and both dagger wounds. Despite the knife in her heart, she lived still, although the spark of life within her was frail, and fading. Wicked began a prayer to Tilnar, shaping healing energies, even as Scorpio began to remove the knives from her back. As his hand touched the dagger, he felt the strange materials screaming across his soul. Ignoring it, he closed his hand on the dagger, and as he did, white and blue energy arced around the blade and up his arm, as tendrils of magic attempted to unweave his soulpattern. The energy blasted again, throwing him back, and leaving him stunned. He watched in horror as Wicked's hand closed around the dagger, and wondered what had happened when he removed both knives with no effect - and no blood. He could see the orange-red glow of a sunset around Wicked as he touched Thelia, and the energy flowed down his arms, only to stop when it reached her. Wicked began to repeat his chant while keeping his hands on Thelia, the glow around his hands growing brighter and brighter, Wicked's voice sounding more and more strained. Finally, a dull red glow began to cover Thelia's body, slowly knitting her wounds. Then, suddenly, Wicked's voice broke, and the aura around him, and the pale one around Thelia was gone. Wicked looked up, and Scorpio said only one word: "Lucis."
Aalynor's Prophet took Thelia into a Communion Chamber, and with faith magics unsurpassed by any mortal, save, perhaps, an Avatar, he attempted to undo the damage that Astaroth had done. Wicked started to hand over the daggers to help Lucis with his work, when Scorpio asked to see one. As soon as the metal touched his flesh, Scorpio fell to his knees, feeling as though someone was reaching deep inside him, and trying to turn him inside out. Watching the reaction, Lucis took the dagger from Scorpio. Again, it seemed that only Scorpio and Thelia were effected by these knives. Lucis ordered them out of the chambers, sealing himself in his Communion Chamber, and prayed over Thelia all night.
When the Dawn came, Thelia awoke, and wished sincerely that she had not. She felt old, and worse, she was old, the daggers having disrupted all of the magics that had for so long kept her young. Lucis saw her stirring, and smiled at her, himself showing his age for the first time she had ever seen.
"You look like hell, Prophet of the Light." she said with a raspy voice that she hated at once.
"You're no better, Arch-Wizardress. Worse, when one considers that you're an Elf."
"What happened to me?"
"Astaroth. He seems to have found a substance that disrupts Light-Elves. Perhaps Light-Elf mages, I'm not sure yet. It's like wrought iron to the Faerie or silver to the lycanthropic."
"Wonderful. I should be happy to be alive, I suppose." she said with a sigh. "Well, come now, Old Man. I'd like to leave this magical shielding and get back to work."
The look on Lucis' face as she said those words told her everything in an instant. Astaroth was driving the daggers into the points of power on her body. The last was to disrupt her soul, and fortunately, that one did not happen. The one before that, her spirit and lifeforce, which had done much damage before it was removed. The first one, however, was intented to kill her magic. And it had been in the longest.
"This room is not shielded," he said, his voice the merest whisper.
Thelia felt her heart burst as Lucis confirmed her fear. She reached out to the world, desperately trying to find the magic of the world, of her robes, her ring, her staff, anything.... But the magic was not answering. She began to cry, tears rolling down her cheeks, as the one thing that she had sacrificed so much of her life for, the one thing that had made her special, made her powerful, unique, was taken from her. She cried, and Lucis stood there quietly watching her. She did not know how long she sat there, but finally, the tears ended. She dried her eyes, and stood, silently thanking Lucis for not intervening.
"We must hold a Council, Lucis. Now. While I still sit at the head of my guild."
He simply nodded.
The Order of the Holy Light fled the city before the Assembled Guilds reached them. Obviously, there was a leak on the Council, and it was quite obvious to all of those on the Council who that might have been. As they left, they burned the House of Holy Light behind them, as had the Kyorlites. They made one last appeal for members and help from the town, citing that the "Evil Rulers of this town wished to cast out the Order before they were able to see the true evil amongst them." A surprisingly large number of adolescents joined their ranks as they left. Over 10% of the standing Nexus Guard went with the Order as well.
The Council then stripped Garpenlov of his position on the council. Based on the public pressure since the robbery of the jewlery store to punish the Thieves' Guild, and then accented with the attitude of the Master of Thieves, and finally, his warning to the Order of Holy Light. As the Council does not have the right to interfere with internal guild matters, they took the action in the only way that they could. They removed the Official Sanction of the Nexus Thieves' Guild, making it simply another Clan or Organization, no more, no less. The Council apologized to the other thieves, stating that they simply could no longer afford to have one who actively sought to undermine their position and any sort of Order that was sought in Nexus, sitting on the Council. The Council stated, however, that should a responsible organization form, it would have the ability to apply for Official Status, for there are no plans to drive away the thieves, some of whom are considered heroes by the common people.
Auric stood over the table, cursing how uncomfortable a humanoid form was, and smiled. His blond hair was unruly, and he stood more rigid and noble than any score of paladins could ever dream of being.
"Assembled Councilmembers, I am pleased to inform you that we have taken your request to our people, and their answer is yes."
"Yes?" Fenwick asked, looking at the humanoid-dragon, his voice almost incredulous.
Argenaa's eyes sparkled with mischief at Fenwick's incredulous stare, and she began to wonder if she hadn't been in this humanoid form too long, for she seemed to be growing soft on the warrior-general. She, too, leaned over the table, an act that all the Dragons seemed to mimic, likely due to their normally long necks, Fenwick thought. Fenwick followed up that thought with others about Argenaa's neck in her humanoid form. He shook his mind to clear the adolescent thoughts from his mind.
"Aye, Master Fenwick." she said, her musical voice dancing playfully throughout the room. "Not only may you use part of our island home to train your troops, we have already completed restoring the city that was once there, before the War of the Races."
Fenwick, for the first time in weeks, felt some hope returning, and looked at Argenaa as though she were Pandora incarnate, sent to return to hope to Nexus. She was certainly beautiful enough to be a Goddess, he thought. His army was being driven back from all sides, with the followers of Kyorl supplying the Goblins with more intelligence, better organizations, better insights into the workings of Nexus, and worst of all - clerical magicks. Then, add to that the defection of nearly 10% of his troops to the blasted Whiterobes - mostly veterans at that. He was left with an army that was outmatched and outnumbered, and now, the loss of a great deal of experience was just making things worse. But now, with the permission and protection of the Metallics, there would be a training area, away from Goblin attacks, away from hostile Dragonflights, where troops and adventurers could learn to fight. And, should the battles continue the way they had, then there was at least one place to fall back to, or one last source of warriors to avenge them. A place who's magical defenses were even greater than those of the Nexus.
"But know this," Auric interjeted, cutting off Fenwick's thoughts, "Falcion is ours. Your trainees, your people, must respect that this is where we live, and raise our families. Parts of the Island are off-limits, they are our private homes."
"However," Argenaa spoke in a more gentle tone, "you are always welcome to come where you are invited to." Fenwick thought that she looked at him as she said that, but dismissed it at once. "And, of course, the Island's defenses are yours to share. First, as Goblins generally loathe water, their hordes do not venture across the Sea often. Second, the island itself is surrounded in a magical mist which confuses those who are not welcome to the island. Third, the island itself moves every full moon, shifting positions as to avoid detection. And last, Mistress Thelia -" She nodded to Thelia, who looked very tired, and yet, very alert as well, " - has taught Auric and I to cast your town barrier spell. In fact, she has modified the spell slightly, based on magical explanations of the mist that we provided. This barrier spell will take hold in the mists, and be anchored in a single, central focus. It is, in some ways, stronger than the one around the city, and far better than we could have done."
Thelia bowed her head at the obvious compliment, wondering, not for the first time, if the Dragons were not patronizing her. Since her initial awakening, Lucis had spent more time with her, trying to heal her. She could touch the magic again, although she was nowhere near her normal strength, and wondered if she would ever be again. She looked up, and saw that the respect on the Dragon's faces was real, which deepened her sense of honor. She nodded to Argenaa, who turned back to the Council.
"Then, if there is nothing else--", she began.
Robyn asked, "But what of the Thieves?"
"There will be a Guild in Falcion." Auric replied, "The Coppers are somewhat fond of thieves, and have offered to house them. In fact, they insist."
"Then, so be it." said Fenwick with a smile.
And the story continues...
