The broken rise once more

[Allanon Creel]

Come... The teen woke grogily at the sound, yet found naught but the whispers of the wind upon quick glance, so laid back down. Come..hither... The boy straightened this time, alerted and drew his blade from beside his bed- he was still in training, yet was nearly done his tutelage with his father's guards, so was comfortable with the sword enough to be dangerous. "Who's there!?" he whispered, harshly to the air about his room, rising. Come...to...me... the voice seemed to be resonating in his head this time, just as his mind went blank for a moment, and when he was able to see once more, he was not in his room; he was at the mouth of a large cave, locked from the outside, as if holding something in. Caught off guard, the lad went to rub at his eyes, confused and alarmed, yet his hands passed through his head, and upon inspection he realized he was spectral, not actually in this place.
Come..to.. me.. To the boy the voice sounded something between asking and commanding, but this whole ordeal did prick his curiosity, and the boy found his voice. "What...What are you? What would I get in return? Why are you asking me? Wh-" The boy found he could not speak further, as if his thought process had been halted, yet strangely enough didn't seem to care for reasons beyond him. You may only ask one question.. I could grant you knowledge as to what I am...why you are here, or... I could bless you power beyond anything you could ever imagine... Born 6th son to a small lord, the ambitious boy knew immediately which question he would ask. "What powers could you bestow upon me? I am no mage, so magic would be useless." Magic.. is not the only form of power I could award you.. Come to me, and I'll give you armies thought never to exist anymore.. a kingdom the likes of none have dreamed of, even immortality.. The teen was filled with mixed emotions, he felt anxiety at the feeling he had committed a serious wrong, yet his ambitious glee overshadowed the former feeling. "I'll do whatever it takes, I'll do anything!" The boy said quickly. There is..But one last task to seal this pact.. You must speak aloud a binding on your own accord, and it is done.. Before the boy could ask what the words were, it was as if he'd known them all along. "And so I swear that on this moon, as blood of womb to earthen tomb, new life come to that which rest, to tear thy shackles be my test." The boy awoke drenched in sweat with a start, to the sound of his father's merchant guards banging on his door.Was it all just...A dream? The boy mused, idly rubbing at a chilling feeling on his arm. He looked down and yelped in horror at the sight; on his arm was an icy branding of a two-headed dragon, around the image, yet the rest of his arm looked perfectly healthy. He probed his arm to find a small puncture wound at a dragon's head, with a small bit of blood, and, investigating his room, found congealed bluish blood stained into his bed sheets where his arm had been. "WE'RE COMING IN!!!" Yelled a guard. "NONO, I'm uh, fine! I just, tripped getting out of bed! I was-ss... sleeping in too late, is all, PLEASE don't break in my door!" The boy quickly dressed and rushed outside to open the door, and, after an angered scolding by both the guard and his father, returned to his room to prepare his immediate flight. It took him a full hour to prepare, when he realized it was nearing mid-day and he'd have to wait for dark to go un-detected. In his time he changed his sheets, burning the affected ones, and traced the outline of the dragons, trying to come to terms with what he was involved in, feeling giddy at the prospect of all the promises. When nightfall finally arrived, he took his pack, slung it over a shoulder, tied a rope to his bed post he'd acquired from the yard inconspicuously, and scaled his wall to the ground. "Now, what nex-" His question was cut short as a path seared itself into his memory, and though he was aware he'd never been there, he now knew exactly how to get there from nearly any part of the world. At this, Fiaretha finally felt his first tinges of harsh doubt, which were quickly washed away to his relief by spontaneous, and seemingly randomly placed thoughts of his lordship within reach, as well as the land itself. With that, the naive lad set off as joyful as if he were visiting the market to return the same day; a silent smile upon his face. All of the surrounding area was quiet in fact- not a bird's singsong played, nor a cricket's tune; yet should Fiaretha had listened carefully, he could have discerned the spectral laughter riding the winds in his wake.

[Allanon Creel]

Fiaretha knew he had to space himself from his beloved city of Axony, for his father's men and aids were all about, so he did not rest during his flight, continuing a fairly quick pace that he was aware he was being aided to maintain, though that thought was somewhere at the back of his concentration. He moved along, southward, his goal the south eastern fringes of the Deep Woods, all the while aware of the quiet that had taken over his surroundings, despite his guide's halted laughter. Beware..Fiaretha decided that the clearing he was in would make a good enough place to make camp for the night as any, though he cursed himself now for not having noticed the silence earlier as now it was pitch black, so he would have a hard time making anything out should whatever it was advanced. Enemies...Eastern advance..Foolish ruffians. Fiaretha made a fire, and sat with the fire between himself and his attackers, blade drawn and lain across his lap, squinting. Your first gift.. to aid in your first.. Encounter. To Fiaretha's eyes, the entire night lit up as if it were day, with a slight blue tint to it, and his fire looked like a brilliant teal, which he quickly snuffed, as he understood the reason for the timing of his first empowerment. He could see now his stalkers hesitate, unable to see their target and confused as to why he'd put out his fire, yet sure enough they resumed their creeping.Kill..Them all.. He walked towards the bandits, and when they hesitated in surprise at how close he'd gotten before they'd seen him, he struck forwards, spitting a man upon the blade, his gasp cut short as Fiaretha drew back the blade to parry a wildly swung axe. His own speed surprised himself, as he rolled and slashed the shins of a man with a flail, gaining his feet while decapitating the kneeling, hamstrung man. The last man, the axe wielder, stood little chance against the feinted strike to the neck, which was followed with a clean cut to the thigh, leaving the man on the ground feebly attempting to stop the sliced artery from bleeding further. Fiaretha gulped down air, with his hands on his knees, still shocked he was somehow able to move so fast,- no doubt another gift... he thought, when he realized the mark on his forearm was so bright it bathed an area about two horse-lengths in radius around him in an icy blue light. "What does--" You may.. have an explanation.. soon enough.. An entity approaches.. I am.. unable to fathom its.. Intent.. "That's not a good sign...Well, maybe if you gave me some more power, I could sweep this stranger aside in one go..?" Fiaretha joked quietly to his guide- he was met with a silence only broken by the crunching of gravel underfoot of the figure now within proper sight should he not have been able to see the fur-lined cloaked figure slowing its approach with his talent.

[Zage Wavemourn]

Zage stepped off the boat and handed the boat's captain a small silver piece. Ratel-Torax was worse then he had heard about. It was a small swampy village that smelt of muck and dead things, and from all the rumors of necromancy Zage had heard about it wouldn't surprise him if there really were undead wandering about. He wasn't quite sure he knew where to start, the urge to study necromancy further enthralled him but he was not sure why. Walking across the creeky boards, Zage couldn't help but notice the few people about. He noticed up ahead what appeared to be a tavern, he decided that it wouldn't hurt to check it out.
With a quick knock Zage entered the tavern, and it seemed as though everyone stopped to check out this new visitor. An older woman standing behind what appeared to be a bar. Perhaps..the barkeep? Was the one who broke the silence.

Oh my.. oohhh myyy.. What is a plump young man like you doing in these parts? She said, laughing through a mouth of rotted teeth.

From his time at the tower Zage could feel the allure of dark magic resonating from her; he knew immediately what she was. He took a quick glance around the tavern and closed off his mind, hand tightening in his gauntlet. Within moments , he noticed a few more regular.. looking patrons - fisherman he assumed, sitting in variouos booths across the tavern, but he also noticed two things that really got his attention. The first of these things, was an enourmous looking.. tiger creature sitting in the back of the tavern, partially hidden in the shadows. Surprisingly, the second thing Zage noticed was a much more disturbing... From underneath the tavern floor Zage could sense numerous presences both underneath and outside the tavern, moving slowly and purposefully towards them.

"What I am doing here is not of your concern, witch." Zage said, with a fierce look on his face.

The necromancer let out a wicked, cackling laugh. "You are in MY tavern boy, in a place filled with mysteries you could not comprehend. You dare insult ME?!" The witch was fuming now, very nearly frothing at the mouth. She lifted her hand and began to mutter something under her breath.

Zage noticed the creature in the back shift slightly and noticed nearly all of the other patrons begin to get up and leave. Zage wondered how best to handle this situation. He thought quickly, and willed a bottle to smash down onto the head of necromancer from the shelf above. It smashed down onto her head with a loud crash as she crumpled to the ground. Zage turned to leave the tavern as he knew he had overstayed his welcome.

As he began to step from the tavern an ancient and booming voice filled the room.

Fooooolish huuuman.!

The voice resonated both through his head and the tavern. And Zage turned to see the necromancer standing once more behind the counter, black ichor dripping from the lacerations in her skull.

You will pay for that with your life, and eternal servitude."

Zage felt the crushing weight of the necromancers will, and it brought him easily too his knees. He had greatly underestimated his foe and knew he would pay for his mistake.

[Zage Wavemourn]

Nemarond sat at the back of the tavern, out of the eyes of most of the patrons. He watched this new visitor enter, with intrigued interest. Nemarond could feel the magic deep within the boy, but knew he was no threat. He watched on with curious eyes as the new visitor spoke the necromancer behind the bar. Could he not sense her power? Nemarond wondered to himself. His instincts urged him to protect this child from the witch, but he he did not wish to intervene just yet. He would see how the boy handled the situation.

As the bottle came crashing down onto her head, Nemarond knew immediately what a mistake the boy had made. He tensed, ready to spring at a moments notice. The necromancer stood suddenly, speakin as she channeled her will like a piercing arrow, straight into the boy's mind. The child dropped to his knees, every muscle tense and near bulging from his skin. He would not last long under her crushing will.

The smell of blood clouded Nemarond's thoughts as his primal rage welled up inside of him. Logic leaving him, and instincts taking over, he lept forward from the back of the tavern with a furious roar. Throwing his arms forward his blades went through the necromancer easily, with a sick slurping sound. Blood and ichor sprayed across the bar as the necromancer's head lolled to the ground and the body collapsed.

Walking to where the body lay, he grabbed at the arms, and ripped them from the torso with ease and a disturbing crunching sound. He ripped his clawed hands into the chest and opened it up, black heart still beating. With a gushing torrent of black blood Nemarond ripped the heart from the chest and crushed it in his hand, flinging it to the side.

He stood up, and saw the boy lying on the floor unconcious, curled into a ball. Nemarond knew it was their time to leave, a necromancer had many friends on this island and the two of them would not safe. Picking up the boy in one of his arms, he walked through the door and headed towards the nearest boat. They would sail quickly to the northen coast of the Berenar desert and he would try and find help for the child, who seemed to be comatose.

[Allanon Creel]

The figure slowed, then halted altogether, standing a dozen paces off. A voice projected from the stranger though his mouth hadenn't moved, Child, a time will come in the near future when you will be presented two paths- one, with he who commands you at present, which would lead to thousands of deaths, and one that could redeem your failing in following this monster, making of you an unsung hero among the common people, but praised by those who look on from places unseen. Chose wisely. The man then continued walking, and it was only then that he realized the light surrounding the figure was not light cast from his scar, but of the man's own- it was a prophet. The realization was not his but his guide's, and the spirit's hatred filled him, filling his body with a fiery rage causing him to raise his blade high and bring it down on the oblivious holy man, though when blade met flesh it was as if he'd struck paper, his sword going from shoulder to leg with no blood, but causing a blinding light to errupt from the corpse, emitting a heat and light as if he'd struck at the sun, causing him to temporarily lose his sight, and tumble to the ground, with the furious hiss of his guide in his head. So...They send Martyrs now, do they...? Adorable.. After a time Fiaretha was back on the road, moving at a fairly fast pace, when he had to ask, "Why can't you just give me the strength to run for as long as you can make me? I'd get there in a day if I could just sprint the whole way as fast as I could." Gifts.. must be earned or distributed..In order to equalize odds.. As well as the fact.. You are unready for all of such gifts you ask..Child.. Fiaretha ran on for another while, until his legs felt as though made from straw, and wearily made camp outside Headriver. He made a small fire, finished the bread he had and slept with his sword half-drawn and ready, to a calm yet cold northern night. He dreamed that he was squaring off a foe, yet the figure moved around his first strike to clamp a hand to his hand and the other to his mouth, as he thrashed to release the grip on him. He awoke to two figures looking down upon him, one a man clad in the red and gold of the Atramentous Skivs, the other, leaning against a bulky rock, a man who had a dual sided long knife, looking to be some high prestige noble, by the way he carried himself. The hooded figure raised Fiaretha's arm to show his partner the marking and the noble knelt on one knee, head bent. "My Lords, we followed our routines as requested and bided our time in wait for the return. The Purges did little but we had to make a show of it to dissuade any further investigations, so rest assured your journey shall be swift from this point further. Bastion is saddled, equipped with your refreshed supplies and eager to be ridden once more." After saying his fill, the assassin went to a knee, as well. The boulder the noble appeared to have been leaning against moved then, not a rock at all but a towering midnight black stallion, with the same Mortulian marking he had on his arm on its neckline. Stunned, overwhelmed yet exhilarated by the prospect of a mount rather than walking, he got aboard the warhorse, who seemed to know instinctively where to go, and rode without a a hand to the reins. Fiaretha noted the feeling of joy that was not his, and had to comment. "You care more about a horse than me? Really?" The voice that seemed to speak seemed more lively, in both sense, with a tinge of amusement in it.This Horse has seen more battles, magic and death than you've left your home, gone to the market or ogled another merchant or lord's daughter. He's taken more blades on my behalf than any single man I've known.

[Zage Wavemourn]

It seemed to Nemarond as though the desert went on forever. He was used to humid, musty swamps, not this dry, barren landscape. Zage had yet to wake up and he was at a loss for what to do. Many unfamiliar smells filled his nostrils as he walked through the desert, carrying Zage over his shoulder. He could see the buzzards flying around in the air above did not unsettle him, he knew he had plenty of stamina to continue, but it was not himself that he worried about.

Looking off into the distance he noticed what appeared to be a fortress. Deciding to chance his luck at finding someone who could help Zage awaken he set off in that direction. He could not understand why he felt the need to protect this young human so fiercely. He knew he should just set him in the desert and leave him to die, but he could not, something inside him needed to do it. He growled out loud at the feelings going on his head as they raged against his instincts. Shaking his head with a rough growl to clear his thoughts, Nemarond turned towards the city and set off in a light jog.

Terrifying thoughts haunted Zage's dreams, he had no concept of time, no idea for how long he has been asleep. For a while, Zage still felt the crushing weight of the necromancers will resonating through his head. Voices echoed through his mind, whispers of death and unspeakable horrors. He knew he needed to wake up, but he was lost, trapped in a dark place inside of his mind. Burned by the powers of the necromancer. He could not remember what stopped that searing pain inside of his head, what made her.. it, stop. He needed to wake up.. wake.. up..

[Allanon Creel]

Fiaretha followed a fairly regular schedule upon mounting Bastion; watching the scenery that barely changed to his right, being the Deep Woods, yet to his left it went from the seemingly endless emerald hills and grassland in the distance of the Norse-Fend, to the mountainous and uninviting tundra of Circyin to his current view, the beginnings of a desert on the horizon in front of him. As the days would begin to end, the charger would take a rest and Fiaretha would gratefully simply lay on the ground massaging the kinks out of his soar limbs, before sleeping without a fire. In his dreams, he'd be repeatedly taken to the gate, spoken to by his guide-who continued to grow in power it seemed as he grew closer to his destination and be confounded by the prophecies and riddled messages. Upon waking he'd have gained the memories of warriors passed, all of whom fallen to blades of historic legends, sweating as if he himself were at risk of the same end, yet for some reason he felt reassured that would not be his fate. He'd strap on his gear and as the last grips of sleep left him it seemed to him he gained something from each dream, something he could not tell. "Am I.. Am I even close yet?" He whined, some time into the desert. "I recall going to the south-eastern regions of the forest being the objective, not going so far as to entering this horrid place.."

There is another..Not so tainted by my affiliated magics to know..Yet not so green that he cannot perform the requirements, should..You be unable to succeed.. The voice replied, seemingly distant and distracted. "You don't think I can do what you need me to? Goodness, could that be because you haven't told me how to do what I need to?" Fiaretha replied sarcastically, his anger unchecked as the heat was sapping his strength and the area he was in's plane features were driving him mad. This time, however, not a sound was or sign was offered in reply, but a pain like that of a blunt weapon beating upon him found its way across his body, doubling him over and bringing tears to his eyes as well as blood from his nose. After the incident, he was a lot more sparing with his protests, riding in silence until he made it over a dune and saw two figures, one carrying the other walking purposefully from the east. From the anticipation he felt from his guide, he knew the pair he was seeing were what he needed before he could return to his original track. He rode towards the now wary stranger and dismounted to end up craning his neck slightly to look at the foreign.. Tiger-man?

"Hello...friend? I a-" He felt as if he were being drawn within himself, slumping in the saddle, then blinking twice and being back in the place within his dreams, the forest but this time with the sleeping form of the second stranger upon the ground at his feet. Wake up... Wake up... the voice resonated out from behind the gates. Rise to a new cause..

[Allanon Creel]

The presence which spoke from behind the gate quested out towards the unconscious Zage, retreating slowly before approaching with a hiss of exasperation. It probed the workings of necromancy chaining the man's mind briefly and snapped them with a distaste of an artist discarding the workings of an amateur. It noted the wails of the witch as her bindings for re-birth were undone and she was cast out, eradicating her being with distaste, finding nothing of use in the memories of the woman and returned its attention to the now waking man once more. As Zage stirred at last from his trance the voice of the one imprisoned filled the air, unbroken yet slow, I have need of you, Zage of Ponferrada, as it is your destiny as much as it is the boy you see before you; Fiaretha's to right a terrible wrong. The pieces are in play and all that is required is for the two of you to aid each other in surviving the perilous journey to liberate me.

There was a silence for a short time, as if the voice were considering what to reveal of the journey while birds chirped and flew in the trees around the two, a rabbit sat and rested a few feet from Fiaretha,oblivious to the scene developing before them that was not physically taking place there at the same time. Fiaretha found it vaguely eerie that he should be able to come so close to the hare without it so much as looking in his direction as he waited for the guide to speak once more yet though he'd been awaiting the voice it still startled him slightly when it finally spoke once more, There is something in all of this for you young Wavemourne, as you seek knowledge in all forms of magi I can offer you inimitable mastery of the Arcane arts.

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