World On Judgement.

~~Story goes here~~

OOC - Okay, my post goes first chronologically, so here goes...

----

IC:

The sun crested the hills in the distance, shining its golden rays on the grey-clad Soldiers gathered in the valley, standing neatly into four groups of 20, two deep and ten across. Before each group stood an enormous armored figure.

Without a word, one of the giants, more than seven feet in height, stepped forward. He wore a black hood and cape, with blood red plate armor on his chest and arms. A metal mask glinted under the hood. Raising his massive scythe above his head, he muttered eldritch words, and slammed the Scythe into the ground. The wind twisted, and the clouds in the skies turned. A light filled the sky, and green fire began to rain upon the city.

Pulling his scythe back up, the Judge Alistair pointed forward and his troops rushed towards the city. Slowly, he and the other Judges followed. The city of Na'bilth would be no more before this day was out.

With Alistair, also were the Judges Balfour, Jaryn and Kennis. Aiden would be joining them later in the day. Balfour, tall even by Judge standards stood nearly eight feet tall, in silver armor, wielding a massive pair of axes. His helm was simple, and rounded, to deflect blows. His cape was a deep blue.

Kennis, one of the of the two women Judges, wore armor of white-gold with yellow pressed in the edges, with a long white cape. Her helm came forward to point at the front. She had a crossbow slung at her belt, and a 2 handed sword at her back. She was the shortest of the Judges, standing four inches shy of seven feet.

Jaryn, wore simple steel grey armor, and carried a gigantic two handed hammer. He wore no cape, but he did wear a green tabard. He also wore no helmet, but did wear a simple grey headband. His long black hair was braided.

****

The sound of battle was thick, despite the fire that had rained from the sky, many of the city's defenders still lived. Alistair had trapped four in an alleyway. Two of the soliders had swords, one had an axe, and the last had a crossbow. Alistair leveled his scythe and walked forward, chanting. The swordsmen rushed him and the crossbowman loosed three bolts in rapid succession, striking Alistair's Chest plate, and lodging into it. one swordsman came from the right, and was sliced in twain by his scythe. The other came head on and swung forward, receiving the butt of the Scythe in the gut. Alistair grabbed him by the neck as another crossbow bolt sailed through the air, striking the hapless swordsman in the back. Green fire erupted from Alistair's hand burning through the swordsman's neck, and flinging into the Crossbow soldier. The man wielding the axe, stepped back, and dropped the axe.

"Please... I... I surrender." He pleaded as he dropped to his knees.

Alistair stopped just before the Axeman. "Then I will pass judgment. You are..." Alistair placed his scythe behind the man's head and pulled quickly, cleanly severing the neck from the shoulders. "...guilty of being a citizen in a town that does not accept our rulings."

----

OOC: Hope this all goes well. Should be fun.

Far back in the horizon a solitaire figure squinted against the rays of sun shining down through the few clouds that inhabited the midday sky. Glancing back over his shoulder the figure took notice that the last of the ‘knights’ or ‘justiciar’ had already went down the valley and through the pass. With this in mind, the figure knew it was time to make his own arrival.

The figure then begin his decent, with sun glistening off of his inpentrable black armor making him a sight to behold. Standing just an inch shy of seven feet tall, the figures size alone was enough to make anyone stare in awe. Black armor seemed to hug every inch of the man’s body, and while there wasn’t much contrast to the polished metal, what was striking about this man was the crimson cape that seemed to drag on for many feet behind him. While frayed at its edges, the cape alone seemed to be flawless blowing in the wind.

It didn’t take very long at all for the black armored figure to reach his destination, in which he could examine the situation.

Even though the figures full helm had him protected against a variety of offenses, the black helm done nothing to keep him from coughing as black ash seemed to fill the air. When the wind had settled, once again he examined what had become of the city of Na’bilth.

What had once been a city of explicit beauty, was now nothing but smoldering rubble. The figure just shook his head in disgust. But not because of the destruction of the city, for it had been his choice to destroy the city, -along with many others as well- but rather the fact that they had gone down with not much of a fight at all.

A menacing grin came to the lips of the figure that was well known as Aiden, Judge of the second circle.

For many years Na’bilth had been a thorn ever growing in the side of the Judges reign. While they did bow to the leadership of the Judges, however, it did nothing to mask their furtive behavior. Months prior, the Judges had recieved word that the headman of the city had been masking a secret army, one which had motives clearly written to the circle of ten. Soon after, the council of Judges had gotten together and came up with the solution. They would obliterate the city of Na’bilth. Not only would this secret army be destroyed, but none would be spared in this decision. The Judges were simply sending a message to all. Do not oppose.

Walking through the burning rubble Aiden made his way towards yet another Judge. It was Alistair, also of the second circle.

“Casualties?” Aiden asked, his voice low and quiet as always.
“Fourteen.” Replied the impervious other.
“Wounded?”
“All about.” Alistair made a sweeping gesture with his arm.

With that Aiden made his departure from the magic dealer. While Aiden was not as adept in the ways of magic as some of the other Judges, he physically made up with it with his weaponry, being perhaps better than Kendesher in single combat.

Walking around Aiden was fastidious with his perceptiveness as to how there was so much blood displayed in the burned down city. Bodies seemed to be laying everywhere, with trails of blood following. The enormous Jaryn was seen in the distance. The man was caked in blood from which he had likely tore entire limbs off of people that got in his way. Aiden chuckled.

Walking down a burned up alley Aiden saw two of the elite ‘justiciar’ laying on the ground writhing from some unknown injury. One was covered in blood from several crossbow quarrels in his chest and shoulder -he would not make it. The second seemed to be looking after the first, but then the second Aiden noticed, appeared to have a broken leg, for it was twisted beyond normal proportion. This, Aiden thought, would mean a slower journey home.

Whether it was the thought alone, or pure jealousy that Aiden hadn’t got to taste blood, he wasn’t sure, but in a manner of seconds Aiden had pulled his black curved scimitar and put the miserable pair to rest.

Sheathing his newly decorated sword, Aiden began walking back from where he had come from.

Damond pulled up short, steering his twin sister, Dashania, into a crevice between two buildings. He listened intently to the sound of approaching footsteps, sliding in beside her. She gripped his hand tightly, panting quietly against his left shoulder. His right hand gripped the handle of one of his daggers, though it itched to draw the sword at his side.

"What's going on?" Dashania whispered, craning her neck to see. Folds of dirty hair matted her face, blending in with the dirt and mud that caked the rest of her.

"I don't know, Shay," Damond returned, watching as a group of city-folk ran past, one woman bearing an infant in her arms. "The world is dieing, I think."

Dashania bit back a sob, pressing the back of her left hand to her mouth, her fingers wrapped loosely around her own dagger. Damond bit his lip, peering back into the street.

"Come on," he whispered, tugging her behind him as he dashed back out into the open, aiming them for one of the larger shops in the district.

"Stop!"

Damond cast a terrified glance over his shoulder at the Justiciar that had called to them. Three of them charged down the street at them, readying crossbows to fire. Dashania gasped, breathing too hard to scream, and they both picked up their speed. A dart whizzed between them and lodged into the store's doorframe. They didn't slow as they vaulted overturned shelves and sidestepped bodies. At the back of the store, stairs led upward, and Damond aimed for them.

They heard the Justiciar charging after them and ran harder, their young bodies taxed. Damond found a door that had neither been broken nor was locked and pushed through it, closing it quickly as soon as Dashania had cleared it and collapsed onto the floor.

"You alright, Shay?" he knelt before her, examining her for wounds or marks.

"I'm... I'm fine," she panted, grasping her stomach. "Just need to... get my wind back... that's all."

Damond listend as the Justiciar thundered past, persuing their own shadows, before he moved quietly to the window.

"Shay..." he whispered. "Judges."

Dashania was immediately at his side, staring down into the street at the massive figures below.

"Why are they here?" she whispered, gripping his hand once more.

"I don't know," Damond murmured. "And I don't WANT to know, either. Come on, we've got to get out of the city."

Nodding, Dashania followed Damond out of the shop and back into the street, where they began their slow, sneaking trek out of Na'bilth.

As Aiden walked away from Alistair, three Justiciars approached. Each wore Alistairs mark upon their breastplates.

"Lord Alistair." The first began as all three dropped to their knees. "The city is nearly cleansed. Only a few survivors are thought to yet live."

Alistair's voice was deep and echoed from within his mask, as if from a cave. "I don not like... to be disappointed." The lead knight ducked his head down quickly. "I will search for the last living things, personally. You three, will accompany me."

The lead Justiciar nodded, and slowly stood up. Alistair swung his scythe overhead and into the ground, the blade sinking deep. Gripping the end of stock, Alistair began to chant again.

Purple energy began to pulse and swirl around the Judge, slowly infusing into the ground, turning it black and slowly spreading out from him.

vororer paer
eisori eil maesi
ialor eir jhori taeraer

shyl shia shyr eil thor
eil tal eil castaes
ialor sor toria por

O shor cyrn
bai vaeli, bai jhyli
olia val, olia maesoli

The black ground began to sift. The corpses of the city's people that lay nearby began to stir, and slowly arise, groaning in pain. The shambled forth, and Alistair spoke allowed. "So long as any born of this city live, none of you will know peace."

Cries of suffering arose from the throng, powerful magic forcing them forward to hunt those who yet lived. The Justiciars looked away from the shambling dead, as much in fear as disgust.

----

OOS: A bit of more magic from ol' Alistair. Magic words care of Jhonen's Aerenal Translator.

Given your character's propensity for languages, Ava, I'll send a translation your way, should you happen to be in hearing range. :p

Oh, these risen corpses, they are known as the Undying. They are physically, weaker and slower than most humans, but they retain their intelligence and personalities, and they still feel pain. They cannot be killed, but they can be made to stop moving very easily (removing limbs).

They make very poor troops, so they are usually only created as a form of punishment or as shock troops to soften enemy forces. Only a few dozen have been raised.

The city of Hawthorn was in a uproar. For days the destruction of Na’bilth had been a rumor, and when finally the scouts had returned from their expedition, all was made clear to the people of Hawthorn. And all was in an uproar.

“Order! I want order!” Screamed the headman of the city, Varu. “You can sit there and tell me what we need to do all day long, but it’s going to get us no where!” Varu had been the leader of his people for thirty years, and in his entire reign he had never saw such turmoil among his people. The headman ran his fingers through his thinning hair and could only imagine the terror that currently gripped his people.

“But what if the Judges know?” One man spoke up from the crowd.

“They have no way of knowing, Cid.” Varu said, flinching at the very sound of the word Judge.

The very minute that the scouts had returned from the ruins of Na’bilth the people of Hawthorn had demanded answers. Which led to roughly over a thousand people crowded outside of the headman’s gated two story house. It was all the home guard could even do to contain them.

“Just like they had no way of knowing about Na’bilth, right?” Cid argued.

“Cid,” Varu begin, “above all else we must act rationally and figure out what we must do. A large part of our army was lost in Na’bilth, but we are still alive and must reach some conclusion as to what it is we must do.”

“We fight the bastards!” Shouted someone from the crowd that Varu didn’t recognize. What a fool, Varu thought.

“To fight them would be welcoming death and you know it.” Varu said frowning.

“I had family in Na’bilth!” The same person screamed, a middle aged barrel chested man. “Hell, we all had family in Na’bilth!”

“And showing up at Belmont with our remaining army would be foolish. You know that. Half our fighters aren’t even ready.”

After this a silence fell over the people as no one was quiet sure what to say. Varu could often hear people talking among themselves, but paid it little attention. After long moments of not knowing how to comfort his people the one thing that Varu did hear that caught his attention, was that many were talking about an evacuation to the northern isles.

~~~ ****~~~
Tristan McKinley was one of many standing with the mob that crowded the headman’s quarters, although his voice remained quiet. Taciturn by nature Tristan was never one to speak up on matters that he knew he could do nothing about.

The current situation however, was a trifling to Tristan. Tristan had been one of the scouts who had been to Na’bilth, and he could see things on a whole different scale as the protesting citizens of Hawthorn, and even Varu as well. The problem was simply overwhelming.

Tristan knew that the Judges had found information that would send them up further north, and Tristan also knew that when they did, that all of Hawthorn would be disintegrated. The secret army of Hawthorn was not strong enough and would not stand a chance against such power.

Tristan doubted that there was an army in the entire world strong enough to withstand the power that was the Judges.

Tristan’s attention was once again caught by the headman as he went into some elaborate story about how there was no way the Judges could possibly be onto them, for they paid their taxes in earnest. Tristan only rolled his eyes. Headman Varu could be so foolish at time, Tristan thought.

Walking away from the crowd Tristan was overwhelmed with the feeling that a great debacle would soon follow the footsteps of Na’bilth. He only prayed for the dead gods to hear him on one request. That was all he would need.


***~~~***
Aiden slowed his pace as he approached the great white marble stone which was the gates of Belmont. While he had made good time with his journey back from Na’bilth, he was still physically worn from the four days hard ride which he had taken part of.

On seeing two justiciar waiting by the gate he nodded and in an instant the gates swung open. Without a word between them Aiden passed through. This was the way of the Judges.

Once through the gate Aiden began walking with more haste. He had a meeting with Azmaveth, the only Judge of the first circle that existed. Azmaveth was who the other Judges considered their ‘leader’ even regardless of the fact that they treated each other with equal reciprocation. Azmaveth was simply a power beyond all reckoning, a power that no one dared to mess with, and such a simulacrum of sheer power should be fully respected in the highest. Aiden sure did.

Moments later Aiden had covered much ground in passing through the courtyard and then into the main foyer of the citadel. While Aiden was not aesthetic by nature, every time he passed through the high ceilings in the foyers of Belmont he always slowed his pace to admire the amount of effort that had been put into the construct. What looked like twisted vines made of white marble spiraled their ways up through the forty foot ceilings creating an arch effect. Where the marble met in the center of the massive ceilings, they wound back together and swept across the ceiling in opposite directions and then to the walls where they cascaded downwards and around the ruby pained windows. While the walls themselves were black as night, the touch in contrast was a unique sight.

Aiden chuckled as he thought about his own signature armor, and how he had fashioned them after the image in the foyer.

Aiden was then aware that someone was rounding the corner in front of him, and when the figure appeared Aiden offered a half bow to the Judge of the third circle, Nevin. With no words between the two, both continued onto there destinations.

As Aiden finally reached the ironbound door which led to Azmaveth he pondered on how the purging of the city Na’bilth was going. A smile came to his face.

Once through the door Aiden was welcomed with a totally different variety of color, in which all white marble ended, and black onyx begin.

“Aiden.” Sounded a voice from a character who had his back turned. “Your back soon.”

When Aiden got closer the Judge of the first circle turned to face him. Azmaveth wasn’t wearing his normal wardrobe which mostly consisted of wondrously white pearl -which made him stand out in this particular room- but was instead wearing a simple grey robe. Aiden thought that even without his famed white armor that the Judge looked even more the superior one. The Nefarious one. Black sleek hair was pulled back in a single braid that fell down the Judges shoulder, with wavering strands falling in front of his face as well. What was striking about the Judge of the first circle however, was his eyes, which in short could only be described as pure madness. Much like his armor, with no other color other than white. In all appearance, Azmaveth appeared blind. Scars seemed to dominate the Judges face with one notable scar that ran the entire length of his jawbone and down his neck. Aiden figured that the rest of his body was no better.

“I left the cleansing in the hands of Alistair, my lord.” Aiden said bowing politely.

“By cleansing do you mean having those repugnant un-living do it for him?” Came the desultory question.

“Likely,” Aiden said while pulling up a chair. “Or perhaps he will just melt the city and wish it well, as he seems to think that human skin is caustic, afterall.”

If Azmaveth looked amused by Aiden’s comment, nothing was shown.

“Am I to assume you’re here to accuse me of being intransigent once again? Or are you just stopping by to chat?” Sarcasm was clearly written in the Judge’s voice.

“My lord, you must know that I only want what is good for the kingdom and I am ever staunch to our cause, but what I am about to tell you is of grave importance. A thorn that has constantly been sticking in my side.”

“So it’s another religious issue.” Said the other sighing. “How many times have I told you to let such minor things go Aiden?” Aiden started to interrupt but was quieted with an upraised hand. “Listen to me Aiden. You have always been the stolid one, and I never would doubt your loyalty, but these issues you have presented to me lately have been a bit on the menial side.”

Aiden just sat. He wasn’t quiet sure what to say, for to him the issue’s that he had presented his lord were of the greatest importance. The Gods should not be aloud any breath at all, and Azmaveth even knew this.

As if reading Aiden’s mind, the Judge of the first circle said, “Let the God’s come. Let them try and take what I took from them!” Azmaveth’s words made Aiden’s skin crawl, for if there was anything Aiden hated, it was the Gods and everything they stood for. And here Azmaveth was daring them back!

“Aiden. Is it that you fear death? Is that the look I see on your face?” The Judges tone was calm and quiet. Leaning forwards he said, “We Judges do not fear death, nor trial and adversity. You know this.”

“Can I be excused?” Said the disgusted Aiden, not even waiting for a response he got up and started walking towards his exodus.

“Aiden.” Said the always nerving voice of Azmaveth. “Do what you must to set your mind at ease, take whom you feel is required. But hear me when I say this Aiden, Judge of the second order. One day, the Gods will come back. There is no stopping it, and while you seek to, your only delaying it. I will be ready.”

Aiden continued walking. He had a new destination. He would have a two weeks ride or so, and then he would be arriving in Hawthorn, and then calamitous events would take place.

Dashania sputtered, dragging Damond to a stop.

"Listen," she hissed. "Do you hear him?"

Pulling free of her brother, she crept to the corner of a building a peaked around.

"Damond... it's a judge!" she breathed, feeling Damond slip up beside her. "A judge, HERE, in Na'bilth!"

"Mother was right," Damond bit out. "The leaders were stupid."

Dashania cast him a sharp look, moving her attention back to the Judge as he began to speak.

"Wait..." she whispered. "He's calling... I can almost... oh no... he's raising them!"

Damond opened his mouth to question her, but never got the chance. They saw everything. Tugging persistently on Dashania's arm, he got her moving again and broke them into a run.

The joy of magic danced in Alistair's body as the last of the dead rose before him. Exulting in its power, Alistair was deaf and blind to the world.

"... Alistair! Lord Alistair!" His Justiciar Lieutenant shouted.

Purple sparks crackled through Alistair's armor, still ingnorant to the world, he continued his out pouring of power.

"My Lord! The other Judges report they are ready to leave the city."

Alistair drooped, coming around out of his fixation. And pulled himself upright, the purple sparks falling away, slowly. He reached for his Scythe and pulled it from the blackened ground.

His voice echoed from deep within, "Very well, let us return to Belmont. The Undying will take care of any survivors. Lord Azmaveth likely will receive a report from that Theophobe, Aiden."

Alistair turned and began to walk away, then stopped, "You three." he pointed to his Justiciar assistants, "You are to remain and direct the Undying in their search."

----

OOS: I know a little disjointed from my last post, sorry about that. I just wanted to establish Alistair's addiction to magic.

Plyg's eyes glinted in the early morning sun as he finally caught a glimpse of a puff of smoke over the horizon. He had finished rigging the tracks sometime early in the morning, but the men were growing bored and restless in their stations.

He heard the signal whistle from one of the scouts. The locomotive had turned the bend.

Plyg put his dented helmet on and secured the visor before lowering himself deeper into his hole. His hand tightened around his ax's handle.

The earth around him trembled as the machine barreled its way into the gully. He could imagine its shining magic engine pouring its steams into the air, unknowingly sealing its doom.

Plyg didn't see the flash of light, but the concussion of the blast tore branches and leaves concealing his hiding hole clean away. Some yelling could be heard as magicians and technicians scrambled to see what had happened.

I told you it would work that unwelcomed voice whispered in his ear.

The yelling turned to screams and panic as the other men must have began to open fire. Plyg raised his head enough to see the smoking ruin of the engine a mere 50 yards from his hole, and the long wrecked train behind it crumpled like that annoying instrument they favored in the south.

Plyg waited until the guards positioned themselves against the bandits who were attacking from the rear before he climbed from his hold and charged.

Between the screams of men and the groaning of ruined magic machines, no one heard Plyg and the handful of other charging men until their weapons were biting into the exposed backs and necks of the guards.

Plyg grinned and gave himself in to his rage, flying from one guard to the next with his blooded ax. One engineer cowered against the side of the first cargo car, paralyzed by the sudden onslaught. Plyg left him in favor of slaughtering the few remaining guards.

He laughed as the head of the last guard fell to the ground. No Justiciars were on this train, meaning the exercise was to short to satisfy his needs. He turned his attention to the other panting bandits still standing and nodded. There was a chorus of whistles as the bowman came down from the surrounds woods and a few carts were uncovered nearer the tracks.

"So, what news will you be carrying today?" Plyg grinned as he approached the sobbing engineer.

"No no, nothing sir." The young man stammered.

Don't kill him the voice reminded Plyg, whose axe cut through the metal inches above the engineers head.

"Ha! Don't lie to me boy. What news will you carry? A landslide, a faulty engine. I know what will happen if you leave here. Within two days they will dispatch some guard of Justiciars with a party of workman to fix and clear the track. You will have to come with them to show them where it was, and then I'll have to kill you for telling them about our little party." Plyg grinned devilshly as he took his helmet off. "Or you can join us and save your hide for a few more years."

The young man gulped and nodded, his eyes glancing around nervously.

"Good, now open the cars for my men. We need to get out of here well before sundown."

As the sun beat down upon the Traeu River, radiating light off of the water, Meara Khoury shaded her eyes and glanced upstream, gauging the distance from her current location to the upcoming bend in the waterway. Adjusting her grip on the rudder, she altered her course slightly to port in order to swing wide of the upcoming right bank. Sighing, Meara examines her pot-bellied sails, caught full force by a lucky wind; she should be able to make the eastern bend in the river before encountering difficulties with her travels.

Settling back into her seat, under the hot sun, on the back of a strong breeze, Meara was momentarily content. This was a change in fortunes for her, allowing a break from the monotony of fighting upstream without a consistent wind, with only her oars to assist her. The mountains to the northwest, obscured by a dense haze, mark her progress. According to her map, she is nearing her destination. Na’bilth should soon appear off the river to the west. Na’bilth, my first point of investigation, close enough to Belmont to be informative, far enough away to be safe for beginning my search for the murderers. Go over the plan: rent a room, restock supplies, and speak with the city’s leadership and people.

“This is really, just really, the best plan you’ve ever had, self. You have got to come up with something better than that.”

Still, it was all she had, and having been on the move since the assassinations of her family two months ago, it was better than nothing. I need to get off the water at the very least, I’ll get no answers by hiding out here… especially now that I'm talking to myself.


*******OOS********
Okay team, I know this is short and kinda bad, but I just wanted to get into it before things got too far along. Hopefully my life will settle down in the next week, and I'll be able to post longer, well written, more frequent entries!

- Betsy

The twins stumbled out of the city, collapsing exhaustedly into a drainage channel. Dashania curled onto her side, coughing as she fought for breath. Damond lay on his back, staring at the sky overhead, his heart pounding in his ears.

"All... all those... people," Dashania gasped out, moaning between breaths. "They'll... be that... way forever. Because... we're alive."

Damond raised his head to look at his sister. Her hair had fallen loose across her face, obscuring it from view. He could tell that she was crying again, no matter that she tried to do it quietly.

"Shay," he said softly, crawling to her side. "Shay, we can't stay here. We've gotta move. Come on."

With a little effort, he was able to get her back on her feet.

"The river," he said, pointing down the drainage. "If we can get there, maybe we can find passage to..."

"To where, Damond?" Dashania asked, her head hanging wearily. "Where can we go? Where will we be safe?"

He chose not to answer, being uncertain himself. Instead, he focused on placing their steps, of finding their way down the drainage and to the bank of the river. His only goal was to get them help, and fast. They needed food and shelter, a place where they could regain their strength. Then, and only then, could they figure out what to do.

For himself, Damond resolved himself to fight back.

Several days after the train robbery:

"This is suicide." The grey heard man complained to Plyg's back. Even you can't overcome this."

Plyg glared at the old man for a moment. "Your men have gotten their training, the people got supplies, what do you care if I choose to throw what little life I have away."

"You could be more, you could help lead us against them." He pleaded again.

Plyg shrugged. "Those farmers I taught how to hold a sword and raid a village so they don't look like idiots when the Judges hang them?" Plyg laughed. I''m no leader. I'm a killer bent on revenge. I'm no one you want to lead your courageous rebellion.

"What about the boy, you spared him. His skills and knowledge will benefit us greatly, but it was your wisdom that..."

"It wasn't my decision." Plyg growled. "Now get on your horse and get out of here. I can feel them coming."

He didn't turn to see the man leave, but he heard his horse beat away on the path. Plyg turned his attention down to the tracks below. The wrecked train lay twisted on the ground like a crush snake, one he intended to crush some. Plyg had set more charges in the train itself, and some more up the tracks and along the far ridge. All in anticpation for this party.

Shouldn't be doing this that voice whispered in his ear.

"If you don't have any advice, don't say anything at all." Plyg retorted, then shook his head at the absurdity of talking to himself. "Just let the explosions take their sight and ears, my axe will do the rest. "

Until you die like a man. A failed man, but like a man. It replied with more rancor than usual. There is a better way.

Slightly apprehesive, Plyg asked. "What?"

He felt a strange smile that seemed to belong to someone else creep onto his face. His right arm went numb, and his eyes went wide as he watched his hand pull its fingers along the edge of his ax. A cold smoulder fire followed it, black tongues flickered burgundy and then white.

The hairs on the back of Plyg's neck stood up.

Why do you want to kill these people?[i] It asked.

Plyg swallowed hard. "To give the men more time to scatter, to prepare for what is coming." The words dragged out of his mouth. "To punish those men for what they have done to others." He pointed down to where a party of armed men were coming down the track on a small trolley.

[i]Do you judge them? Judgement is a dangerous thing, but if your heart is n the right place, I suppose I can allow this. [i]

"This is ridiculous." Plyg snorted under his breath. The fire burned brightly along his ax blade now, and he could feel his anger rising up within him. "I'm no mage."

[i]Maybe I am something more. The voice intoned.

The first of the party disappeared behind the crushed engine. Plyg's left hand tightened onto the trigger for the chain of explosions. The end of the party stepped off of their trolley and under where the last explosives were set.

He closed his eyes and covered his ears as best he could, but the shock of the blast still left him unnerved for a moment.

It was a short moment, before he charged towards the disarrayed Justiciars, his ax cleaving the first ones as if they were wax statues. Only a few survived the cascade of debris from the explosions, and the blood of the rest painted Plyg red.

A sound sent him rolling to the ground. An archer had remained back in the trolley, firing an arrow wide of Plyg.

He pulled himself up and roared, the fire on the axe blade burst high into the sky. The archer froze, an arrow dropping from his trembling hand as Plyg bounded towards him. Plyg watched him retrieve it and knock it, The string bent back.

Burn The voice called through Plyg's mouth. The bowstring snapped with a spark and wisp of smoke, while the rest of the bow turned to ash. The man stared helplessly at Plyg while the ax crashed down.

Plyg shrugged the headless body off of the trolley. He went to cache he had prepared in case he survived, and then climbed aboard. Satisfied no one else had hidden anywhere, he pressed the controls hard and directed it away from the again smoking wreckage.

An hour later he left the trolley next to a grove of trees. The river spread out before him, and he needed to bathe. Collecting his few belongings, he went down to the shore to bathe.

Wasn't that better than dying. The voice asked after he had redressed and drained his last bottle of ale.

"Yeah, but now what." Plyg muttered. Hearing no response he let his thoughts wander.

Then he saw the boat sailing upstream. Smiling, he stood up on a large rock and hailed it as loudly as he could, waving his arms like a lunatic.

The heat of the late afternoon sun had dissipated, lulling Meara into a relaxed daze as she drew ever nearer to her destination. Suddenly, an unexpected sound burst through her daydreams, wresting her back to the present and to the sudden appearance of a man, waving frantically at her and shouting. Narrowing her eyes and rising slowly to her feet, Meara peers at the man from the center of the river in an attempt to figure out who he is and what he could possibly want with her.

Deciding quickly, Meara makes a few select adjustments to her sails, tacking closer to the shore where the man balances, rather precariously, upon a large protruding rock. As her small craft comes closer, she checks her daggers to ensure they are loose and within easy reach, should this man prove unexpectedly dangerous. Setting a bolt into place in her crossbow, she holds the weapon casually in her hand, relaxed at her side. Having made these preparations, Meara guides the craft parallel with the shore, yet still far enough out of reach that the man could not easily gain her ship. Easing the sail, she slows; now close enough to make the man out and for him to get a clear glance at her.

“Yes?” Meara casually raises her crossbow into position, one eyebrow following the crossbow in an expression of questioning disinterest. He looks like a warrior, seems to be stocked in the weapons department. I’m really glad we just threatened him with our little crossbow. Great choice, self.

“Hey, what did you want me to do, swim to shore and hug him because he’s the first person I’ve seen in two months?” Talking to yourself again? Brilliant. Seems to have ruined your tough girl ruse though.

Rolling her eyes, Meara lowers the crossbow, glancing at the man who was now looking at her in confusion and amusement, a hint of his previous smile still lingering on his face. Taking up the sails again, Meara brings the sailboat gently in towards the river bank below him before dropping anchor.

Tossing her long dark hair back over her shoulder, she climbs out of her boat and approaches the stranger.

Plyg eyed the loaded crossbow with mixed feelings. On the one hand, he was worried about the weapon's range, accuracy, and the damage it would cause his nearly unarmored chest. On the other, he was sort of excited about trying to make it burst into flames like the last one.

Neither of those trains of thought proved to be necessary, as the woman lowered her weapon and brought the boat closer. Plyg relaxed and stepped away from his visible weapons, while the woman anchored her boat and approached him on land.

There was a moment of awkward silence. Plyg let himself take in her face and features.

"Why were you hailing me?" She asked at length.

"My name's Plyg. I've been in these parts to long and am looking to get away. I can pay for passage north, and am able bodied enough to help you sail." Plyg answered. His palms itched, but not with his usual battle lust. He was simply nervous about getting passage north.

Yes, north towards the judges. The annoying voice chimed in.

"Why am I going towards them?" He muttered to himself without thinking.

For six days since the rally at Hawthorn Tristan McKinley had made his way far east and slightly to the north. The terrain was thick with tree’s of all different varieties stretching up endlessly into the heavens, and often times Tristan had to be extra cautious as to which way was east and which way was south. All sense of time could easily be forgotten in the forests of Emoten, because no matter where the sun was in the sky, it all looked the same from where Tristan made his way further in.

While it would normally take him anywhere’s from eight to ten days, this time however Tristan had made it in six. His reason for visiting these desolate forests was just too urgent to stand idly about taking precious time away that he didn’t have.

Tristan looked heavenwards and grinned to himself. He was getting close, of this he was sure. For the past day or so Tristan had felt a presence, a constant nagging on Tristan’s senses that something was keeping a watchful eye on him. However Tristan’s mind wasn’t totally at ease, afterall he was around a hundred and fifty miles deep within dangerous territories.

Tristan then looked down to his horse. The mare’s nostrils were flaring and Tristan couldn’t help but feel ashamed for riding the horse so hard. The horse was tired and had developed a limp sometime ago and when Tristan had examined it he knew that this horse would likely never be sound again.

Tristan just told himself that it was a worthy sacrifice, if this horse didn’t make it on him.

Pushing such thoughts out of his head, Tristan McKinley eased his horse further into the dreadful woods of Emoten.
~~~~~*****~~~~~~
Not too far off from where a ranger traveled for a way to save his people, an army gathered.

At the vanguard of the people stood an enormous figure, fully clad in his night polished armor. While he was instructing his people, he did not need a dais to stand on, for his image was attention catching enough.

Aiden of the second circle stood before two hundred justiciar and no Judges but himself. While it would have been as easy to ask a Judge or two to accompany him on this mission Aiden had refused. Aiden wanted unshared glory, and by sacking a city of right at fifteen hundred people with just himself and two hundred justiciar, he would receive such.

“Tomorrow, we ride!” Aiden shouted, getting cheers from all two hundred before him. Aiden was standing slightly back from his knights, helm in hand. “In ten days from now, story’s will be spawned from the events that will transpire around us. We will forever be known as bold and courageous for this undertaking. Not one shall survive, and always we shall be called supreme!”

Many justiciar shouted their approvals, making Aiden’s grin go even more wider.

Yes, Aiden thought, the other Judges will think me mad for this, but savior when I return.
~~~~~~~~*****~~~~~~~
Later that night Tristan had been forced to put his mare down.

While he had fought with emotions of his home town being destroyed all day, he had oft times over ridden the horse and not neglected to lead it any. Tristan was soft natured towards animals, and hated to see this happened, but hadn’t hesitated whatsoever to run the mare through with his sword. It was simply best for the horse, because likely it would have suffered for days and days before it starved to death, or had it been lucky, overtaken by larger prey.

Suddenly Tristan’s thoughts were interrupted as he caught a glimpse of something to his left. It had been the same shape he had saw earlier, only this time he got more details.

It appeared feline, yet was much more than that. When Tristan squinted his eyes he could see that it was indeed a cat, and of a bronze color. With light blue glowing embers for eyes the cat was a sight to behold as it actually had a skeletal frame, being far from the typical feline friend. It appeared robotic, and while it had already disappeared into the tree’s, Tristan knew that if one was standing beside it, that one could see the gears and hinges that operated it’s movements.

Tristan knew this, because he knew of the feline clockwork, Amzural.

“A little late for a nature stroll, eh, Tristan?" Came a soft quiet voice from behind the ranger. Tristan knew exactly who had spoken, for he would never forget the character that was Marius Waltzen.

Just shy a year back -before the approaching winter- Tristan had been on a hunting expedition and had taken a bad fall due to ice and snow. While he had been rendered unconscious, he would likely have frozen to death had it not been for Amzural -Marius’s cat- that had found him, and led Marius to him. While Tristan had spent over two weeks healing with the strange man, he had learned a great deal of information. While this was only the two’s third meeting together, they still regarded each other with equal respect and friendship.

When Tristan turned and regarded Marius, he was also not surprised to see Vander’s, -Marius’s clockwork bird- perched on a tree limb just over the artificer’s head. Looking up, then back to Marius Tristan said. “Marius, you and your friends never seize to amaze me in the slightest.”

Chuckling, Marius said, "You should meet Taer, but I haven't wound him up today. So, what brings you around?"

“You haven’t heard?” Tristan said incredulously.

Hearing the change of tone in Tristan's voice, Marius became more serious, "Heard what?"

“The Judges." Tristan said, gazing heavenwards once more. "Just twelve days ago they marched into Na’bilth destoying all. While i have reason to believe your old friend led the attack, i have even more reason to believe that they now march for Hawthorn"

Marius's face paled in the dim light, as he called Amzural to his side. "Hawthorne is far too close, I'm going to have to relocate again..."

“Tell me about it.” Tristan said, letting his words trail off. There was a silence, and after long moments Tristan broke it saying, “"But what of the city, is there anything you can do to aide me in their protection?"

"I... but... to stand up against the Judges would mean you'd need more than just an army..." Marius stopped, and sat on a stump nearby, motioning to Tristan to join him. When Tristan sat down Marius went on, "I think I know a way to help, but it will be very dangerous."

"Anything offered would be regarded Marius,” Tristan said, then grinned, "just like the last time we met, right?"

“Ah! So how is your leg these days Tristan? Better I hope?”

"Much better, thanks to you and your friends. Doesn't bother me at all now." Tristan said. “What am I to do Marius?”

"Some way into the Emoten Forest South from here, is a supply base used by the Justiciars." Looking to Amzural, "After some scouting, I saw a number of Clockwork Golems were kept there."

Tristan couldn’t help but grin at the redheaded oddity. “What exactly are you getting at Marius?”

"If I can be given a few hours alone with those Golems, I can redirect their energies, and make them do... anything I want them to."

“Could it be enough?” Asked an overly excited ranger.

"If nothing else, we are sure to give the Judges a suprise." Marius smiled, "If we live that long."

"And i assume when you say 'we' that you have apparently lost your mind, and have for some reason beyond me, decided to aide me in this?" Tristan said, drawing a grin from the other.

"No offense, old fiend, but you wouldn't know a wrench from a hammer." Marius laughed, "No, if Golems are involved, you'll need me there."

Laughing Tristan said, “And your willing to see this through?”

Serious once again, Marius said quietly, “I am.”

“Well, I don’t mean to act so hastily, but time is not on our side. When can we start?”

Picking up Amzural and winding him down Marius tucked him into his backpack, "Whenever you're ready."

OOC~~~Me and charles actually colaberated on this one, just so ya know, that's probably why there is good dialect in it=P ~~~

OOS: Ok all, continue to group up and JD and I will eventually meet up with you.

If it comes down to it, I would be willing to creat another character to join the main group, heh.

-----

IS:

One month ago:

Deep in the Emoten Forest a mossy cabin stood alone in a small clearing. In the early morning fog fog a warm flickering light shown from within. Marius sat at a table with a set of tools and what looked to be a metal fox, carved entirely with runes. Marius fixated a final plate to the fox's back and then inserted a key into its back.

The eyes flickered and began to glow a light blue. A deep rumbling voice asserted, "Master, I am awake."

Amzural, the mechanical cat lazed on a chair near the window and turned its head. It chirped with a light voice, "You're so uptight."

Marius smiled, "Good morning Taer, are you ready for more lessons?"

The mechanical fox shifted and stood upright. "I would be honored, Master Marius."

Marius shook his head, "You don't need to call me Master."

Taer turned his head to the side and flicked his tail. "Yes, I must. Unlike Amzural," He nodded his head to the cat, "I actually have respect for my creator."

"pffft, I respect him plenty, I just don't act like I have a rod up my non-existant nethers."

Marius put his hand up, "Alright you two, thats enough." He pulled a large leather-bound book from his pack and placed it on the table. Taer settled back and sat upright on the table, opening the book.

----

Marius closed the book, "And I think that does it for today." The sun had risen and the fog had lifted outside.

Taer nodded, "Thank you Master, these techniques should prove useful." Marius took the book and placed it back into his pack.

Amzural stretched out and rose from his perch, and walked over towards Marius. Marius looked to him, "You know, Amzural you could learn this stuff too."

Amzural shook his head, "I'll leave the boring magic stuff to you two." He spotted a mouse then and dashed after it. The mouse made it into a hole and Amzural crashed into the wall beofre he could stop, leaving a noticeable dent on the frontal portiol of his head. "Besides, scouting is so much more fun."

Marius beckoned him over and began to work out the dent.

(Apologies if its boring-ish, I wanted to introduce the characters' personalities)

-----

Present

The Journey South was mostly uneventful, though the terrain slowly became more rocky. Amzural watching the way behind Marius as he and Tristan hiked uphill. The sun was nearing the mid-sky, as noon approached, Marius wiped his brow.

"We are nearing the fort now, be on you guard." He stopped and knelt down, letting Amzural out of his pack. "Keep an eye out here. If any more Justiciars show up our here, come find us."

Amzural chirped, "Sure thing." And darted off into the trees.

Marius then removed Taer, who was still inanimate, from his pack and sat him on the ground. He proceeded to wind the clockwork fox. "Tristan, this is Taer."

Taer's eyes set aglow. "I am awake." He rumbled, Who is this, Master?"

"This is Tristan. We are about to assault a small base of Justiciars. I need you to provide what support you can."

Taer nodded. "I understand." He looked at Tristan. "You, Tristan are you good in a fight? You better support my Master, or I'll freeze your face off."

Marius chuckled. "Nevermind him, he's not terribly friendly to newcomers."

Marius gestured to the top of the hill, and ducked down while rising to the top. Below a fort stood, made of stone, with large iron plate set along the edges to reinforce it. Two Justiciars stood at the gates.

"The Judges don't expect this base to be found out, so it isn't heavily guarded. Don't underestimate the guards though, if they get a chance they'll activate the Golems to help defend the place."

-----

OOS: Sorry it took me so long, JD. :/

Next post, lets get the battle underway.

OOC:: The shifting timeline and my lack of being able to post has put me at a disadvantage. As much as I'd love to continue on with my twins, I don't think that's going to be possible with the rate the storyline is going. I think it best that I bow out, seeing as my characters hadn't grouped up with anyone.

Sorry all.

OOS: Ava... If the timeline was becoming that much of an issue, I wish you would have told me...

Perhaps... another time, then.

OOS: Oooh, bummer! I was looking forward to running into your characters soon! Alas....

Best wishes!

OOC:Hey, sorry if I contributed to the confusion, but come back and play!

Tristan paused to examine the situation before them. Two justiciar stood guarding the entry into the golem factory that Marius had told him about. While two single soldiers weren’t a problem for the two of them to handle -or five counting marius’s creations- but what Tristan was worried about was what might be behind that door leading into the factory.

“We must take them out silently, and at the same time so that they do not alert any others.” Tristan said, stating what was obvious.

“Not a problem.” Marius whispered while grinning.

In less than a second Tristan had an arrow knocked and aimed. Looking over at the artificer Tristan could see that the others facial expression was one of full concentration. Looking back to the justiciar he had tagged in his mind, Tristan relied on his senses to tell him when to let fly.

While one justiciar fell dead with an arrow buried deep in his neck, the other found a more painful death as jagged pieces of ice seemed to appear from all around him, only to end up decorating his body.

After the two justiciar lay dead on the ground Tristan thought it wise to hide the bodies as best as time would allow. Once the ranger and the artificer were done, they walked to the entry way and stepped through.

“Wait a second!” Marius said when they were through. Laying down his bag Marius pulled out one of his clockworks, Vanders, and when the bird came to life the artificer whispered something alien to it. When Marius finally stopped his enchantment and looked satisfied, he opened the door and the bird flew out. “Vanders and I will keep watch so that we don’t get flanked.”

“But your coming with me, right?” A confused Tristan asked.

“Of course I am!” Marius said excitingly. Marius then pushed past Tristan taking the lead and motioned for Tristan to follow.

While they silently made their ways through the twists and turns of the golem factory, Tristan couldn’t help but notice that the factory itself was burrowed far into the ground. And as there were many intersections along the way, if Marius was confused about which way to go, he didn’t show it.

“You’ve been here before, I assume?” Tristan asked the artificer.

“A couple times actually.” Marius chuckled.

“How much further?”

“Not much further at all.” Said the other “We should be quiet now.”

When silence came, Tristan could hear the sounds coming from not to far’s off. It was just up ahead around a corner. Tristan motioned for Marius to lag behind a bit, and then Tristan took the lead and made his way towards the corner. When he was in place, he fell into silence and measured the sounds of the footsteps coming their way. It was one solitary figure, and the person was walking at a fast pace. Easy, Tristan thought grinning.

Pushing himself back against the dimly lighted hall Tristan waited for the justiciar to make the bend. When he did the ranger was ever fluent in slashing out the soldiers throat. Being overly careful Tristan reached out and grabbed the man before he could fall. Keeping the soldiers armor from clanging against the metal floor was a precaution that Tristan thought necessary.

Laying the dead man down gently Tristan looked back to motion for Marius to come on, but was surprised to see that the artificer was already making his way down the hall the justiciar had came from.

“There could be others.” Tristan warned.

“But my friend, we’re here!” Said a once again excited Marius. When Tristan rounded the turn he paused at the surreal site before him.

OOC~~~***~~~Sorry it took so long for me to post, been super duper busy!***~~~***

OOS: Posting to let you know, I ain't dead, and I haven't forgotten about the RP. I was waiting to give the others a chance to post, but as of right now, I don't see the harm in posting, so...

Here we go.

IS:

Marius was smiling broadly, as Taer trotted alongside, and Tristan kept a wary eye.

Before them lay a large chamber, impossibly large it seemed. Within were men in White robes who walked quickly between massive black-iron figures. The figures looked to be carved in the visage of skeletal knights full of twelve feet tall with cogs jutting at odd intervals. Marius looked to Tristan.

"This is what we came for." There were at least a hundred of the silent things standing there in that room. "Quickly, before the Adepts have a chance to call their Overseer. lets get rid of them."

Tristan nodded and dashed quickly into the room, as Marius chanted. Tristan reached his target first and cut him down easily, with little effort. Adepts were not warriors.

Marius continued chanting and let fly a spear of ice, which winded its way to its intended victim. The rest of the Adepts, seeing what had befallen their comrades, began to run towards the exit.

Taer then sent an ice shard of his own into one of the fleeing Adepts. "Worthless, he grumbled."

Marius shook his head and turned to chastise him when a booming voice echoed across the room. "What do you think you're doing? You invite your death by trespassing here."

It was the Overseer of the fort.. One of the few men that the Judges allowed the use of real magic. He scowled as he looked on his dead servants, he wore a white robe as the adepts, though it was gilded along the seams. Raising his arms, he spoke a word of power and was suddenly encased in glowing red armor. In his hand a black sword appeared.

Marius looked to Tristan, as the last of the Adepts filtered from the room. Tristan looked as if he was smiling, and Marius began to frown.

One of him, three of us. Marius thought to himself. One of him, three of us.

The Overseer began walking forward. A sneer on his face.