A Night in the Snow [OPEN]

[Avanthar Dra'Aran]

Spring Era XI

The tainted air and white snow remained the same as blue eyes regarded the empty streets of Frigid River. Many years had passed since he had last set foot into Frigid River, for it was here where he first dabbled into the art of fighting. She had been a female Master, yet oddly enough Dra’Aran remembered very little of her. True, it was of little importance now, yet there was a strange nagging within his mind, the urge to return to many of his past haunts as Darksoul. Perhaps it was an after effect of his resurrection, a part of him that wished to be a part of his old self… before he had delved deeper into the ways of Chaos.

Hugging his cloak closer, he felt the chill seep in. In the past he would have ignored it, his half cyraxian blood easily negating such a weakness. Yet now his human shell could feel it once more and it irritated the night. Perhaps it was a simple reminder that he was mortal, and that he was weak in a sense, but with his loss came a gain. Running through him now was immense power, incomprehensible for most. All around Avanthar perceived and sense things…

Running his gloved face against his face, he lifted his steel mask, latching it onto his dragon crown as he began to make his way to the local tavern. Placing his hood over his head and covering the glint of armor, he carried his massive blade with ease and practice. Having wrapped Nemesis up, the Dracolord wished to move through the town with little notice, seeking something worthy of his interest while occasionally plaguing the city with a death or two.

Death. His only reason in life now was to kill. Each death he exacted would gift him with more time… when it would end… who would know?

[Laroa Linalantava]

Night. Those moments between dusk and dawn had become the Esh’lahier’s time. An encounter with one Iseril Al’lende had left her scarred. An accident had left her eyes sensitive towards the light, akin to the eyes of a vysstichi. She was closer to her black skinned cousins than she had ever been before. The darkness was comforting, pleasant. Her sight was so much better when there was no sunlight. She had pulled the hood of her cloak back, enjoying the sensation of the cold against her pale skin, enjoying the absence of pain. Her eyes glowed with a faint red light in the darkness. The wind pushed numerous strands of white hair into her face, toyed with them. A bit of snow rested on her head and on her clothes.

She did not say anything as she moved through the sleeping city, simply enjoying the atmosphere, the silence. She needed those nightly walks, they helped her think, helped her clear her mind. A quartet of elves, Esh’lahier just like she and dressed in white in contrast to her black, followed her at a distance. They were her guards, sworn to her, given to her by her father. It was inappropriate, even dangerous for a woman of her station, a future queen to travel alone. They seemed to consider her helpless, and she let them believe that she was a woman who had to be protected.

They knew nothing of her past, nothing of what had brought her back to her home city and the royal family after so many patterns. They did not know that she had been a necromancer, that she had lived among vysstichi. They did not know of her daughter that had died, that she had been betrayed and robbed of her magic, that she had once prayed to Jorel. As far as they were concerned she was a woman who had just begun to consider magic – mysticism -, a faithful servant to Ethgan’tor and its gods. They thought she had needed some time away from Ethgan’tor to appreciate its beauty, to be ready for her heritage. They thought she was a saint that would never betray her race like her brother had done … an innocent woman who had never taken a single life …

The elven lady was unarmed save for a dagger at her side. A silver amulet, shaped like a snake, had been placed around her neck, an artifact taken from a cave that was filled with the remnants of an ancient race, the Lamia. She did not have any godlike powers at her disposal - not anymore – but she had a kingdom to rule now. It was not such a bad trade. Magic could be regained in time. Power never came without a price.

„Milady …“ The quiet whisper of one of her guards – a middleaged swordsman – could be heard. She waved a hand, silenced him effectively. She had already seen the hooded man with his massive blade, and unlike those behind her she was interested rather than suspicious. There was no reason to be worried just now. Death held no fear for her, not when she herself had killed so many in her past life. They way he held himself, the way he walked suggested that he knew how to handle himself in a fight, that he was strong, like she had once been.

She followed him slowly towards the tavern, still not saying anything, but merely watching, observing, waiting to be noticed. The four that were with her stayed half hidden, almost invisible in the snow …

[Avanthar Dra'Aran]

The silence of the night streets was disrupted, and no matter how efficient their elven movements may be, the very air they breathed brought warmth. Avanthar managed the briefest of glances, yet even that was enough to see their fleeting heart beats pulse like glowing red lanterns amidst the darkness. Still there was no need for a confrontation, Dra’Aran having expected his appearance to cause some mild interest. The battle urge had diminished greatly ever since his return, and for the moment he was content to withhold his hand.

Nemesis however pulsed, the undead lord trapped within seeking to influence the shadow knight whom now was simply too powerful to be tampered with. Slowly the streets were filled with distant sounds as Dra’Aran moved swiftly to his destination, that of the local tavern. The common sounds of commotion, the occasional oath, and fine sound of music mingled with his senses, awakening memories long dormant as he stepped through the brightly lit portal.

Hooded, his features hidden as he grasped onto his blade with gloved hands, the warrior felt the press of gazes from those within, the sounds of common conversation dimming at the unexpected arrival. Pulling back his hood revealing a youthful face, unusually blue eyes regarded them all before the knight smirked. Saying nothing more he moved to an empty table to one side, laying down Nemesis across it as he sat directly opposite the entrance, awaiting the ones that followed to make an appearance… there was a faint tug of recognition… as if someone he knew was near…

[Laroa Linalantava]

The elven lady followed him without hesitation. She had found little that appealed to her in this town so far. He - whoever he was – promised something that was at least slightly out of the ordinary, something dark. Ethgan’tor and all its petty conflicts had begun to bore her. All those prayers in the temple of Ioannes … there had to be more to it than that. Her guards sensed what it was that she had in mind and disapproved. This man was no proper company for a princess. It would not be good for her reputation if it was found out that she looked for the company of his kind. It was as if they could instinctively sense the darkness that surrounded him.

Laroa’s feet left small imprints in the snow as she made her way towards the tavern. A puzzled expression crossed her face. She had not thought him to be the kind of man that enjoyed getting drunk, that enjoyed the noise, the gossip, the company of other people, but then again, what did she know about him? There was nothing familiar about him. With a shrug she came closer, pushed the door open, let the music and the laughter overwhelm her for a moment. Her guards followed a bit later, to make it look as if they did not belong together, but were perfect strangers. She had ordered them to act like that, and they could do little but obey.

Crimson eyes scanned the crowd, looking for the stranger in black. A smile flickered across her face as she noticed him sitting at an othewise empty table. She approached him slowly, the expression on her face calm. „Do you mind?“ She arched an eyebrow as she took a seat opposite of him, staring into those blue eyes and wondering yet again who he was. The four guards had chosen a table a bit away from them and watched their mistress and the necromancer, trying not to be too obvious about it.

[Avanthar Dra'Aran]

By the time Laroa entered into the light of the tavern, set upon Avanthar’s tables were several steaming dishes, a bottle of chilled one at one side as he began pouring a glass of the crimson liquid with unusual ease. Roast chicken, grilled steak and other delicate dishes were readied, a feast indeed for many of the commoners sitting about, some openly gawking at the obvious wealth the young man flaunted. Perhaps later Avanthar would prove to be a target for muggers, yet those that tried would certainly find themselves with an unpleasant surprise.

Blue eyes met Avanthar’s crimson, the man’s face showing the slightest signs of recognition as he nodded, watching her seat herself before him at the table already laden with food. Silent for the moment as he absently placed one gloved hand upon the clothed Nemesis, a spark shone in his eyes as a familiar smirk grew upon his clearly shaven face. An air of ease and contained power shifted around the man.

‘Mistress Laroa… it has been a while… you seem well… whilst our brethren suffered…’

A hint of anger could be sensed from his voice, though his true rage was kept well in check by the man’s will. Things had obviously changed greatly since they had first met, his resurrection as a new being was but one of them. Perhaps it was a chance for Lord Avanthar to learn the entire truth as his gaze narrowed momentarily before sipping upon his glass of wine. Dexterously using knife and fork, the man began to eat and drink, as if the conversation he began was but the most casual of conversations at dinner.

Regarding her once more, Laroa was very much the same woman he had known her to be. Gone though was the dread which permeated off her fair skin, that, and the crimson eyes of a Vysticchi. Little would she know of the inner sorrow he had felt for the loss of so many fellow brothers... yet that was a personal thing best left unsaid.

OOC: Assuming your face looks pretty much the same and I recognize you~ 

[Laroa Linalantava]

Almost immediately after she had taken a seat, the Esh’lahier extended a slender snow white hand and gestured for a waitress to come closer. He would not be the only one who would eat a delicious meal tonight. An order of wine – Nuryondi Red – and chicken with a number of vegetables and mushrooms – heavily spiced - was made. Her taste tended to differ from the one of most elves. She had spent the past patterns underground where people rarely ever cared whether they murdered an innocent creature or not, if that being they fed on had been alive at one point. Vysstichi were a violent and sensual race, and that fact tended to reflect in every aspect of their culture.

Her gaze was drawn to the human – who was but a fraction of her age - again. He nodded to her as if he recognized her. His mannerisms, his smirk, that sword, they seemed faintly familiar to her now where she had only seen a stranger before. And his power … she could practically feel the aura of death that surrounded him. He was as powerful as she had once been or even more so. But at the same time she knew, knew without a doubt that she had never met a human who had been her match. There had been dracons, there had been elves, liches and vampires, but never a mere short lived human.

„Yes, it has been a while, Lord Dra’Aran …“ she said calmly, as if she had no doubt about his identity. Her eyes betrayed little of her surprise – a woman of her station learned to control herself and hide her feelings. There was only a faint smile on her face. There had only been one man of his power that had not been part of her circle, only one in the last eras that had saught to attain the rank of Archmage. He had looked different back then, had belonged to a different race, but she knew how fast things could change. She had gone from a follower of Jorel, from a necromancer in one of the darkest parts of the Empire to the future queen of a city that valued purity …

The air of power, of darkness and dread that had surrounded her was gone, but apart from that she still was the same, the same cool, strong willed woman she had been. „It takes more than a single treacherous elf to destroy me …“ she said very softly so that their conversation would not be overheard. „I’ve found a new kingdom to rule, among my people. Did you know that my mother was a queen?. My brother has been cast out, and I’m the only heir that remains. I’ve been told that he was involved with this city in some way. He is a traitor …“ A brief shimmer of sadness flickered across her pale face as she said this, as she mentioned the woman who had given birth to her. She had returned to Ethgan’tor just in time to see her mother die. The older woman had made her the heir on her deathbed, unaware of what she had done while she had been away, that she was not the same, innocent young woman that had left.

„Our brethren …“ She should have seen the elf’s betrayal coming, should have been aware of that conspiracy against her. Was it a sign of weakness after all that she had been so blind, that she had been unable to defend her fellow necromancers? She should have killed those that were against her, and the one named Iseril with them … he had only brought her pain. He was her daughter’s murderer. „They have suffered, but you and I have survived, and what has been destroyed can be rebuilt. There will be new leaders, new mages to honor the memory of those that have fallen …“

She paused for a moment, pondering something, wondering how much she should reveal to him and deciding that she would give him the whole story, would reveal to him what had happened since he had left Vortex. There was but one thing she wanted to know first. „You have changed“, she remarked. „Both in power and appearance …“

[Avanthar Dra'Aran]

Age was of no importance, yet wisdom, knowledge and power was. Appearances were always deceiving. The fact that he wore the guise of a mortal man did little to hide his overwhelming might. Tasting a succulent piece of grilled steak as he chewed, Dra’Aran felt the pleasures of the living as his senses were tantalized, a growing warmth flowing down his stomach, easing the pains of travel. Once he was a hulking mass of muscle, one punch easily felling a man, yet now much of the power came from within, for with one piercing stare, Avanthar could wither a man’s very will.

Smiling as he was recognized, Laroa had changed little, very much the strong willed and intelligent Headmistress that he had first known her. There was wisdom behind her eyes as she sat with grace, regal, and there was little doubt within Avanthar’s mind that the woman sitting before her was the original and not the copy. Anger resurfaced from his memories, though it was but a pale shadow of what the demon knight could once muster.

The respectable air of power which once permeated off her regal form was no longer, quite obvious indeed that Laroa herself had paid a price for her mistakes. In truth it was Jharalyn whom he hated, knowing the vile silrosian elf to have been at the head of all troubles. Listening to her as wary eyes turned to those about him, there was a moment of caution as he sipped at his red wine, soaking in its flavor.

‘It would appear… that you have been given a second chance in life… much have I…’

‘They have suffered… but the Collegium is a shadow of its former self… I have hope to rebuild it… yet I fear it shall be a time before those that had gathered will return again.’

Seeking an answer to the mystery as to her downfall, Avanthar had found himself in different pieces of the tale, aiding when necessary, yet ultimately he was clueless as to the true story. That would hopefully come in time. For now he was content to speak of why he now resided in another form. An understanding was met between the two, for both held a past which was better forgotten and kept secret.

‘The call made by Rincewin… was his plan… for the Prophet, jealous in his desire to become the one and only servant, sought to assassinate me with Vae Victus. A battle ensued, yet one that ultimately led to my demise… I would have been taken by him… had not I summoned my first master, Lord Kaith… and from there I was taken to Aeternia to face Jorel… from there I sought to seek retribution yet was given little chance…’

‘… I was angry at him… and with death came a clarity which I could not possibly describe… it was then that I sought another fate… another path… and even with the flames of Aeternia biting into my soul I did not waver… the pain could not rid away the rage I felt as I defied him time and time again…’

‘… It was Jalat whom saved me… and for the moment I am his agent in this world whilst I seek vengeance against Rincewin… and Jorel…’

An odd flicker of pain and nightmarish images could be seen in his sky blue eyes, as if he relived each passing moment in Aeternia within his mind once more. The overpowering magnitude of power Jorel had was staggering, yet there were others of his match within the halls… others that sought to tackle Chaos’ plans. For now he worked for Death, his time upon Telath would be used to right past wrongs in ways he saw fit.

[Laroa Linalantava]

„Not a second chance …“ she corrected. „I simply made use of my birthright. There was no god involved in my rescue. I had to do everything myself. I had to drag myself all the way to Ethgan’tor …“ Neither Jorel nor Haya had ever done a thing for her – even though she had honored them with her necromancy and prayed to them daily, even made sacrifices in their name. Maybe it was a sign, a sign that she too had to turn to different gods, had to look for a deity that was willing to listen, that would not let a despicable lightborn elf betray their archmage and take everything she had away … but who? Ioannes, the three faced god, the three faced fool who was worshipped by so many of her kind did not appeal to her in the least. She had never been one to follow Aetheria and its lies … ironic that she would rule a city where they were so strong …

„The lightborn elf, the Elementalist was not the only one who turned against me,“ she said. „He would not have succeeded without another man. There was a half elf, a hedgewizard of House Al’lende who came to me, lied to me, told me that he wanted to become a pure necromancer and make his home in Vortex. He asked for a soulstone, and somebody provided me with one … my enemies saw an opportunity to build a trap, manipulated the ritual so that I lost my power and not the half elf. They paid for it though. House Dhor’csar has fallen into miscredit, and the Al’lende and his vysstichi wife have not been seen in a while. I can only assume that he died …“ And if it turned out that he was not dead, she would hunt him down and see that he finally made his way to Jalat. Her power was gone, but she was not helpless. She still had means and ways to kill a mean. One did not need arcana to hunt down a murderer … besides, somebody or something would eventually provide her with a way back to her former greatness.

„Few can hope to succeed against an Archmage …“ she told him. „I have utter faith that the Collegium will not fall again, that the same mistakes will not be made twice … it took them months to come up with a plan to remove me, to lay a trap. There are means to assure that nobody will enter the school unseen, enchantments that can be put in place, guards. I was careless. My home city itself uses powerful wards to make sure that nobody who is not supposed to enter makes his way into the city, that the vysstichi who are our enemies stay outside, that any fights will take place in the countryside and not within Ethgan’tor …“ She took a sip from her glass and put it down again, was lost in thought for a moment. There was a hint of sadness. „And yet … yet it seems that this is not enough. The forest itself seems to get tired of the hidden city in its middle …“ Promises had been made, promises that were too easily broken …

Rincewin, the Prophet … she had never met him, had never had any contact with him. Betrayal and backstabbing were the methods of a fool, of a man who was too afraid to confront those that he sought to defeat. Jealousy … jealousy was always bad, jealousy and pride could be a man’s downfall. What kind of god was Jorel that he cared so little about those that had served him during their life? He was the Lord of Chaos … but chaos such as this was a sign of weakness …

„Jalat’s chosen …“ she concluded and looked at him with a new sense of understanding. Few people were deemed worthy to be brought back. Avanthar’s tale was impressive. „I and those that follow me will stand at your side. The Esh’lahier have little interest in either Jorel or Haya, the patron of the vysstichi race …“

It was then that the waitress returned with a number of steaming, deliciously smelling dishes, and the pale elf momentarily stopped the conversation to turn to her food. The cold outside and the walk through the city had made her hungry. The eyes of her four guards still followed them. They were wondering what was being discussed at the table, wondering how it could be that their mistress knew such a man and yet not daring to come closer to spy on Jalat’s agent and their princess …

[Avanthar Dra'Aran]

If only Avanthar could use his birthright? What birthright did a family of dracons have, forced to hide and move from city to city, fending for their very lives against the mobs of the world. Tensing his grip as he clenched a steel knife, bottled anger of his past life stirred. He was a dracon in a human’s body, and in a way he despised it. Yet no matter what Dra’Aran was now, what his mortal shell proved to be, he had grown up as a dracon and forever would be. Those that sought to hunt his brethren would face the demon’s wrath… the world was an ugly place that was in dire need of cleansing.

Cutting a piece of roast chicken and dunking it in a special sauce, he chewed upon its tender flesh as a rich aroma wafted to his senses, taking the appearance of a casual dinner than a tale of dark treachery. It was interesting, to say the least, yet treachery and backstabbing was low on his priorities. Though he belonged to the forces of darkness, Dra’Aran was forever a knight of honor and would contest against his foes head on. The taste of victory was far sweeter if one had won by his own strength and skill. It was why he loathed Rincewin so… and how he saw his demise to be so dishonorable...

‘A cunning half elf… I remember meeting one within the Dolwoods… his arrogance… the gleam in his eyes spoke of a sinister cunning that was little to my liking… perhaps it is the same one…’

Nodding, it was true that the Collegium now would be doubly wary, for the survivors had faced certain death if not for Avanthar’s intervention. The lapse of security would never come to pass, the memories under the second Matron’s rule was still so fresh in their mind. Sipping at his red wine he knew what Laroa said was true, though one could also say the academy was at its weakest… and if past enemies were to act now…

Smirking mischievously as in his youth, Laroa and he were alike in many ways. To find that he still had allies upon the mortal world pleased him much. Many deserved his killing blow, yet others were intelligent and loyal enough to aid his cause. The full support by the Esh’lahier would prove useful.

‘Then I will ensure that you have a stable control over your kin then…’

The rest was left unsaid, for the might and power of an Archmage was not to be trifled with. Avanthar had full faith he could do it, unless he faced a second Archmage, and even if that was the case the shadow knight would not back down. He yearned to kill, the enjoy its sadistic pleasures as life fled from his enemies. Absently slicing a piece of chicken once more, he savored its taste and remained silent, pleasantly enjoying an evening meal.

[Laroa Linalantava]

„I think it was the one … Iseril Al’lende … he pretended to be a vysstichi, married the daughter of a Matron who was rumoured to take orcs into her bed. He murdered my child. In my experience I found his entire family to be traitors …“ The pale woman’s hatred for the red haired half elven man who had come into her school and pretended to be attracted to her, to honestly care about her was obvious. „Neither elves of the lightborn kind nor the vysstichi that reside in Har’oloth are to be trusted …“ The Esh’lahier had the best of both worlds. They were dark elves, but they lived under the suns of Telath. They had the gift of Haya and Meephos, but they did not follow their carnal urges like the vysstichi. Their holy city was testament of their greatness. None of those that had joined the Empire had ever accomplished anything like that.

The loss of her only child, her heir who would have become queen after her still weighed heavily upon the Esh’lahier’s heart. She had been everything she had hoped for, a girl of great potential, a future Archmage, a queen that would rule her people with an iron hand … and yet it had only taken a single treacherous man, a single cut with a knife to end everything. She had lost mother, husband and child … and nobody seemed to understand the way she felt, nobody understood what kind of life she had led, that she grieved in a different way, a way that did not involve tears. Her father, the only one that remained of the royal family was a weakling.

She pushed those thoughts about the past, about her head family aside and took the glass of wine, lifted it to her lips and took a single sip. Utter calm and peace claimed her face again. She would find a way to honor those that had fallen, would make sure that neither death had been in vain, that neither her family nor the necromancers that stood at her side would remain unavenged. Maybe she would even find a way to show her people where true enlightment lay, that such a thing could neither be found with Ioannes nor with Haya.

„They would follow me with less hesitation if I could remove a certain threat to Ethgan’tor, if I could find a way to restore the city to its former greatness. Ethgan’tor is suffering … the signs are not obvious yet, but they are there. I’ve made a first step towards saving Ethgan’tor by establishing trade routes with other cities, but it needs more. The Forest of Light is attacking us, sending beasts towards us. Surely an Archmage has means and ways to take care of such a problem?“ She arched an eyebrow. „I cannot tolerate it that my people suffer …“

[Avanthar Dra'Aran]

There was a momentary pause as the knight of shadow considered her words, an image forming within his mind of his days before death. He could piece an image of the man and his companion, remembered quite vividly the cold stares of the half elf against Azumi. Yes, Dra’Aran could firmly picture his face… he had wished him dead. It was patience and the desire to see a plan put in action which had stemmed his murderous desire… but Dra’Aran too was sure of one thing. If he ever laid eyes upon this… Iseril… then his life would be forfeit, to be blown away as if he was nothing.

Tightening his grip as the mood darkened, the daughter of the Matron had been a likable child, bearing many of the same resemblances as Avanthar’s own. It was saddening in a sense to see such a talent die under treacherous hands… yet there was nothing he could do now. Blue eyes regarded Laroa for a moment, the shadow knight sensing the tension within her as tragic memories flashed through his mind. Yes, the knight could understand many of the things which now went through her mind like wildfire.

‘Mere beasts are nothing… but I have promised you my aid in this matter… even if I am forced to contest against archons and other such beings… I will not turn away. I am a knight of my word…’

Drinking from his glass as the taste of red wine lingered, the Dracolord was indeed up for some killing. Ridding this potential threat for Laroa meant he would gain a future ally whom would grow in power, it was a way for Dra’Aran to once more begin to strengthen his empire and continue his ways as a Jalatian. The words of Death were not forgotten… he needed to kill to sustain him in this world.

[Laroa Linalantava]

The princess of Ethgan’tor looked at Avanthar for a moment, red eyes met blue ones. She could feel some form of understanding between them. The people of Ethgan’tor were largely ignorant to what kind of thoughts passed through her mind, they did not have a clue as to what moved her, but he knew. The shadow knight, the former Jorelite was one of the last links to her necromantic past. He had seen her daughter, knew that she had hoped to make the child into a great necromancer, that she had wanted to give the school to her … and Ethgan’tor on top of it. For a moment she was tempted to ask him if it was possible to bring a soul across the Umblat again, but no, his mission was to kill, to gather souls for his master and not steal them from him. She acknowledged that, accepted that.

There would be a new heir one brightening, a daughter that would not die before she could fullfill her purpose … but she would not be the child of the elven fool that provided her with entertainment now. The one who was worthy of becoming a queen’s companion, of sharing more than a few pleasant hours with her had yet to be found. There weren’t many who could match the Esh’lahieran necromancer who had been her husband, and most who had come close to that had turned out to be traitors … had turned against her, been jealous of her power …

„They are more than mere beasts, Lord Dra’Aran,“ she said, not arguing with him, but merely stating a fact. „There was another race, the Celestrel, that lived in the Forest of Light before we made it our home, and they all died. You may very well find something that challenges your power. There aren’t many that keep their word, that don’t break their promises …“ She could already see the beginnings of a powerful alliance. Sometimes the Esh’lahier were so afraid to destroy things, to do something that could be called evil … She knew that he would have no such worries. He would succeed where they failed. „I’m glad that you have agreed to help me …“

„My companions …“ she said and gestured towards the four elves at the other table. „They fight at my side and will come with me when I return to the Forest of Light …“ The oldest of the elves, the swordsman, nodded curtly and then turned away again. In the end the four warriors would be loyal to their mistress, whatever she chose to do, even if they disapproved.

[Avanthar Dra'Aran]

Possessing a passive mask, Dra’Aran reminded himself quickly not to let arrogance and power get to his head. Too much had been sacrificed thus far, and certainly Avanthar would not lose it all for one moment of brashness. In truth the black knight had matured over the past eras, no longer the wild beast, but a calculating man whom would use his new found presence. Leaning back against his chair as he let the jovial mood of the tavern seep into his senses, he smirked. He had a divine mission upon this world… and that was to right the balance between the powers in Aeternia.

Maintaining a stoic expression, the Forest of Light would prove than be more than a simple challenge. His adventures within the regions in his youth had spoke of such a place in respective tones. Now, more than ever, Dra’Aran realized his own mortality, the powerful shell of a Half-Cyraxian stripped away from him. More than ever he felt his own body was weaker, far weaker than even his dracon form… odd…

‘I understand… things are never that simple… but an interesting challenge may prove to rid myself of some boredom…’

Nodding simply as a gesture, Avanthar agreed to help her simply because she was a woman of some respect and not because she was some princess of the elves. Caring little of politics, he knew his role in the world was different than all others. Instead of cities and states to contend with, he was fighting against forces that had no clear territory, that moved and acted throughout the world. He smiled at the old swordsman, the four were simple guards for Laroa…

‘I too have personal guards here… yet they choose to remain unseen ofcourse… if need be I may call for more allies… if… there is such a need’

Finishing his glass of wine as he felt warmth grow within his stomach, he began cutting of another piece of steak and consuming it, his appetite had always been large. Thoroughly enjoying to enjoy the pleasures of a fine meal, it was clear that they would head off straight after the meal, no matter the time. The faster they reached the Forest, the quicker they would deal with the threat imposed upon them.

[Laroa Linalantava]

For the Esh’lahier there was no divine mission, not anymore. She had made it her goal to turn the world to Jorel and Haya in her past life, but both gods had ignored her when she had lost her power, and thus she had dedicated her existence to more worldly purposes now, but that did not mean that she would not fight with those that favoured one of the immortal beings, that she would not turn to another god in the future if the opportunity arose. Her aim for now was to make Ethgan’tor great, to gather allies for her people and regain some of the knowledge she had lost, but in the future, when that had been accomplished, she would look for other things once more, for something that was more spiritual in nature. She was not power hungry, she knew that too much arrogance would be her downfall, but neither did she want to be stagnating.

„You are bored?“ She asked, and her eyes shimmered with a hint of amusement. If she had his power, she would never be bored. She had not been bored when she had been an Archmage. There had always been something to do, fights to fight, students to teach, there had been fools who had come into her school without asking, fools who had wanted to challenge her and needed a lesson. She had only known boredom very recently, in Ethgan’tor, when she had been confined to the royal palace and forced to discuss political matters with her advisors. It had been necessary, but her father’s friends had been so shallow, so clueless as to what really mattered, so clueless as far as the truth about the world around them was concerned.

„There might be a need for you to call your guards later, but for now they are not needed …“ While the old swordsman had turned away again, the rest of her companions bowed to their mistress and the one they perceived as a mere human, albeit a human who seemed stronger and surer of himself than most. „Ethgan’tor and the forest are far enough away that there will be no danger here. They are not interested in this city …“ At a sign from her the four Esh’lahier returned to their table, without saying a single word, to sit and watch their mistress once more until she had need of them and summoned them. Her fingers went to the strange silver amulet with the blue diamond in ist middle.

„I have an invisible guard as well …“ Her other guard, her protector was a gigantic white tiger who had come to her after Iseril had betrayed her in the caverns between Vortex and Arakmat, not supernatural, but powerful nevertheless. The half elf had betrayed her and taken her child away for something as simple as wanting to uncover the secrets of the snake people, for seeking to talk to the one she had seen. „Have you ever heard of the Lamia, Lord Dra’Aran? Have you met any of them? They gave me a gift …“ She would return to the caves once more after Ethgan’tor’s problems had been solved to see if there was more where the jewels she had worn had come from, if it was possible to uncover the mysteries of the ancient race, but for now there was an enemy to fight.

The food was quickly finished, and a human waitress came, bowed hastily and took the plates away. There had been something about the man that made her skin crawl, and she was eager to get away again. Laroa’s guards were about to finish their meal as well. The time to leave was drawing nearer.

[Avanthar Dra'Aran]

Shrugging at the mention of boredom, perhaps it was tiredness that the knight felt. Though he had once been one of the long lived, he was still a youth in the measure of his race, a young dracon whom thirsted for power and would go whatever path to get it. Now, ever since his return from death, Avanthar had matured and aged, more conscious of what went around him and finding his past self laughable. A long life awaited the shadow knight as he continued to transverse the empire seeking to act as he saw fit… perhaps Dra’Aran should settle down… if there was something worthy. The Collegium perhaps… or Dar Havark…

Finishing off his meal as he felt the need to rest, the demon knight disregarded the urge as the talk turned to other, more interesting things. Thinking upon the matter of the Forest of Light, Dra’Aran had heard of fae settlements… a minor hindrance most likely, yet something the necromancer would need to be wary of. At the talk of the Lamia he showed a mild expression of curiosity, in a sense they were distant cousins.

‘The Lamia… yes… once… and I liked him little… though he proved to be a fearsome ally for my wife… yet I did not trust him… there was something… I believe they think differently than us… one must certainly be cautious…’

Placing enough crowns to pay for both meals and a generous enough tip, though Dra’Aran found it nothing special, though many would deem him to simply be flaunting his wealth. Certainly wealth could get an individual to places, yet often as not it fell upon an individual’s own personal strength, skill and cunning to achieve great things. Lifting himself up from the chair as he tightened his cloak and pulled the hood over his head, Avanthar gripped his wrapped blade with one powerful hand as he readied his pack and belongings, awaiting for Laroa to follow suit before they moved out once more to the embrace of a cold night.

Traveling by night and in the cold was not the first for such a seasoned knight, yet even the Dracolord was forced to tighten his cloak. No longer the hulking dracon/cyraxian that he once was, the touch of winter continued to seep into his mortal coil… yet for the moment he endured its bitter touch as he awaited Laroa to lead them…