THE THREAT
Our story began when the world ended. Creatures from another plane, monsters we call the Vreech, came into our world. At first, we ignored the threat, for we thought ourselves above these risks. We had our floating cities and magic that allowed us so many advances, so why should we worry?

We were fools.

By the time the threat was realized, it was too late. We had ignored the warnings of the Harbingers, and for that we would suffer. Our defenders managed to temporarily ward off the threat, but our mystics didn’t take the claims of the Primal Fae. No one listened to the Dwarves’ visions. Our pride and our confidence in the world we made became our downfall. It ripened us for conquest.

It was then that we took measures to stop the Vreech, but it was already too late in many ways. The Dragons arose and made themselves known to us. Their ancient lore was unearthed, and pacts were made. It was decided that we would complete a ritual, one that, once completed, would banish the Vreech from our plane forever. The lore said a great risk must be taken, but with the assistance of dragons and our magical technology it could be done.

The RITUAL
A plan was made to push back the Vreech, to send them from our plane with a massive proscribe ritual. We altered the magic to allow for influence from various groups, and each race had to invest part of who they were - a piece of what made them them. We risked the ante in a desperate gamble, but we lost the bet. Each race gave up a part of themselves: The Dwarves their height, and their reliable foresight they used to find in their dreams. The Dark Elves surrendered the sky itself, and the sun now hurt them. The Wardens had made their oaths and since have become the defenders of the prime material plane. The stone of the land itself is now part of them. The Unions hive like mind has been shattered. The Celestial Corus has been thrown into disharmony and their harmony broken. The orcs long lives taken and cut so very short. The Dryads all fell into a deep slumber when the last dragon died. The jade pacts ancient alliances fell. All these changes and more.

Each race took a devastating blow in the backlash of the ritual, and in the aftermath there were whispered rumors that claimed someone had intentionally sabotaged the ritual. Many tried to defend the ritual, including the great Dragons themselves. Even they fell under the many variations of the Vreech monstrosities, their essence and magic fed upon ravenously.



THE MIGRATION
The Dwarves, as they now calling themselves, had a plan. Their High King had long ago seen what would happen, and they had built great Cairns within the Iron Mountains to hide traces of magic. The Selunari had their elaborate carriages, which they usually used for vacations, now loaded with supplies and goods, as well as the sick and injured. Many things were abandoned, and the magical technology that previously had been their boon became their bane. It only drew the Vreech to them, who fed on it and massacred any who stood in their way, so it was not worth the risk.

The creatures even ate the magic straight out of Earth and Celestial circles, and if it were not for the Order of the Silver Sword then few would have made it to Cairns. These warriors were the finest the Protectorate (the governing body of the civilized world) had to offer, each soldier an army unto themselves. It was this cadre who had been held in reserve during the battle, and they now split into companies to defend the travelers as they made their way into the Cairns. Some remained outside while the evacuees sealed themselves inside, hiding the cairn from spies and covering the tracks. It is believed none entered Cairns; they chose the fate of being the protectors of the Protectorate itself, even at their own expense.


THE COLLEGIUM
The Collegium is an organization constructed primarily by the Biata. In the beginning the Collegium was a massive source for common education throughout the Protectorate, and since The Fall the Collegium has ensured that each generation is educated and trained for an eventual return to the surface. While not a political faction the Collegium does have goals of its own, and not a member within the Cairn is untouched by them. The Collegium also runs the Orphanarium where orphans, or the discarded Null, have been raised and educated.

LEY LINES
These are lines of power that intersect and go through the mists of Fortannis. These conduits of power were said to be one of the major feeding sources for the Vreech, and reagents can normally be found near them. The “leystone ore” has been rumored to have been craftable, and the Cairns themselves have been rumored to have been built where these lines intersect deep below the earth. The most ancient of magics and machines are powered by them, and they may yet be useful.

THE CRYSTALS
Originally thought to have grown near areas where the Ley Lines came to the surface, crystals that can store magic within the lands of Ascension have been closely tied to the story of the people themselves. Cultivated and shaped over eons, the crystals functions varied based on color, size and shape. Some were used as power sources for magic, while others were directly imbued with powers. Unfortunately, the knowledge to cultivate and grow these magics has been lost since The Fall. Now the few that remain are safeguarded, and are only used in the most dire of need. They are avidly guarded, and are protected for the potential of what they can do.

NECROMANCY
The very thought of necromancy is abhorrent to the people in the Cairn and the lands of the Protectorate. Ot is referred to in whispers and talked about with disdain. Necromancy and any chaos infused magics are anathema. It is rumored that rather than risk the disgrace of restarting to it people have instead been resurrected and in whispers those that have talked about it know of someone who was out down by their own people for using it and not resurrected.
The Sombre Lance themselves seem to target those rumored of necromancy just in case. It is known where it is used it destroys the life in the area and damages the land that your people so badly want to reclaim. It is taught by no one anywhere. No one has ever seen it used (officially) it is a death penalty upon use.

THE CAIRN
The “Cairn” is a city-state built underground by the Dwarves. It is one of a few such constructs that were made centuries before The Fall by wary Dwarves, the seers who saw the end of all things coming and wanted to give the Protectorate a chance to outlast the threat and survive. It is built in multiple levels, much like wagon wheels, with districts within each wheel. The Cairn is truly a marvel of craftsmanship and planning, as it has stood strong for a millenia since The Fall. It is known that there had been a few Cairns each with special names and purposes but even our own's have been lost in time.

The lower levels were known to house affluent families, as well as Dwarven royalty. The Cairns themselves were built inside areas of heavy iron content in the hope that the wards and defenses, as well as old magics, would be hidden from the Vreech.


THE RESONANCE
This term refers to the ability to “feel” magic. It is said that when one resonates with an object their spirit can call out, and sometimes even connect, to it. Lore from ancient ritual scrolls, from the time before the Dragons' passing, talk of being able to link your spirit to the magic items of yore. Scholars believe that the Vreech themselves can call out with their screeches, which is how they hunt down sources of resonance and feed on them.

It is unsure if the Vreech can feed upon the energy of spirits.

RECENT EVENTS
Within the last few years the Collegium has become more protective of the resources at the upper levels in which you reside, and all communication and trade with the lower levels of the Cairn have stopped. Resources, such as ore and minerals from the ancient mines, have dwindled. More and more scout teams are being sent to the forbidden and abandoned tunnels to look for resources, and rumors of some kind of invasive species being seen in tunnels persist. Sometimes the rumors float back, and all they talk about is the horrific screams that echo through the seemingly-endless tunnels.

Rumors always circle, and the most recent ones have even claimed that plans have been recovered for the ancient wards, and that emergence back into the outside world is planned. The feeling lately is one of desperation and anxiousness, and everyone seems struggling in varying ways. The Night Markets have become even more important for keeping supplies in stock, and there is a heavy sense of unity even with all that has been happening. It is widely said by the Collegium that "Only together can we rise."

"In times long ago, when the protectorate was in it's bloom. In the time of legends That is where this story starts. " The aged Librahm raised a hand and knuckled the feathers that came from his brow. The children of the Collegia's newest class sat around the brazier which was sunk in the floor and leaned in. " Then the world was full of magic. Great cities hung in the skies with crystalline ships flying between and the massive crystals which stored power vibrating with the songs of the Chorus. The races were at peace. None challenged us. We were the masters of our realm. This my dear pupils is where we erred. We were so convinced we had no dangers within that we did not look..without.." The Librahm paused for dramatic effect and his fingers rolled the hematite ball between thumb and forefinger. " You see our might with magic had risen to such a point that that somewhere. In the darkness between the stars an ancient hunger awoke. Unmakers, destroyers… beasts of destruction... The Vreech.” He eased back as the children gasped and nodded the monsters of the surface and legend so much part of their lore now.

He brought a small cup to his lips and sampled the wine with just a hint of cocoa. Resources were ever scarce but he found that just a nip helped him tell a better tale and better educate.

" The Wardens in the stalwart armor heard the tales first but we were arrogant and did not raise arms.. The dark elves..only called such because the sun was ever at their back and most saw this corsairs of the skies while looking up..they thought themselves too skilled to be concerned. Even the Selunar elves in their great crystal Manufacturies did not believe the first tales. We were fools for it. I heard the first Harbinger Elf came a week before the horrors began. A woman warning us of creatures from another world. Beings that devoured magic and unmade life. The "Vreech” she called them. She claimed her own people chose to serve them in a bargain where they would not invade other worlds. She came to us to warn us because these Vreech had broke that bargain. We did not believe her. We did not listen when The Dryads began coming to the cities warning of the dragon clutches they guarded being attacked. We shrugged off the stories of the forest elves warnings that the realms of the primal Fae were attacked. We all stood idle when the dwarves with their great gift for seeing warned us again and again and began diverting resources to their great cities built in the iron lined mountains. " His eyes old and knowing waited a minute. He watched for the realization to spark in each eye as the children knew what was going to come next.

"Then came the time ..the first attack. On the windswept streets of the capital. The flying city above the clouds we heard the screams. These creatures the size of a mount with writhing tentacles lashing its foes swarmed over the docs.. and then they went for the power plants. The Manufacturies. The storehouses for the crystals that made our everyday life so easy. The items that powered our magic laden technology. They fed. It was not until that great shining symbol crashed into the city erected below it. Until the loss of life so great we could not even count it, we took the threat for what it was. The protectorate banded together and with them, came the dragons. Creatures of awe and legend and a plan was formed. A great ritual. A proscribe so powerful that it would push out any creature not of this plane. "

The Librahm swayed when he spoke his hands moving as he told the story. Words crisp on his tongue eyes widening at the right moments to convey the gravity of the follies and choices. He then stopped and sipped his wine before his tone became melancholy and he looked up through lidded eyes, memories channeled through the stone in his fingers.

" The ritual had a cost. It was not one of purely reagents. The catalysts were what made us unique. The things that made us who we are. Our Ante in this gamble was our essence."

" So the races gathered, A great magic dome was erected to keep out the Vreech during the ritual. Already these creatures had been devouring ancient artifacts, earth and celestial circles, even small weapons and items of power their call would cause to resonate. We stood there. En mass against them. The dryads side by side with the dragons who's clutches they had protected. The Orcs close behind ready to lend aid and apply healing. The Selunar Elves attending the crystals each of their families had created in hopes to aid its power. The Hoblings in clusters around each selunar based on the house of their employ. All the old races before the change were there.. None of the new. There were no humans. They we have found are due to crossbreeding between races and rare though no one admits normally to birthing one. No circle born or ogres as people have called them. This is even a time before the Wyldborn or kin. No before the fall the world was different. Those standing there had no idea what was to come."

The Librahm wet his lips with his tongue. The memories flooding out of the stone put him there. What happened next he had to do his best to tell as a lesson. Not a horror story. His gaze met yours as he almost whispered . The room silent enough to make it sound a basso rumble.

"All were represented. Those that could not fight were ushered into the cairns. The undercities the dwarves had readied. We saw them come. The horde. Not just the smaller creature but massive building size fleshy bugs. Huge being to rival the size of the dragons. They came and we fought , The ritual began and during it the protectorate worked together aiding and assisting. Refreshing ranks, healing the wounded. Moving out of the dome to shore up defenses. We almost had it.. then.. somehow The dome cracked. The dragons. So mighty fell. The swarm of these Vreech tearing chunks of flesh and gobbling down their magic essence. When the last dragon fell is when the the dryads collapsed. Without purpose, it is said they went to sleep. Their friends the orcs, who's lives seemed without end, took them in and covered them as the defenses crumbled.. and then the backlash happened. The ritual you see...was flawed. All that we put up for ante was lost. Each race was warped and changed and undone into something new. "

He swallowed his eyes reddened as the last memory of the person holding the stone at the time of recording was wallowed in darkness and pain. His gaze swept the children of the Cairn now assembled. Various races and ages.

" We know what happened next. We fled., Our ancestors brought us here. Even the Sylvanborn with all the lives they have lived and people they have been do not remember the time we had to seal ourselves away. When the time comes. When survival or exploration is needed. We will open the seals and try and reclaim our world. We think they are still out there. We don't know what to expect. "

His eyes moved to yours holding them and his voice seemed almost certain " In some time it will be to you to go out. to help us be closer to who we were. You will be one who leads to our Ascension."

- Childhood memory of Librahm Alhen Joaquis Librahm of the Fall.

The dream seems to never end. It replays as a steady constant. You see every moment spent watching over the clutches, as the magic warps itself into reality and flesh. Your people took stock of each living creature, whatever kind of thing it was- bird, plant, reptile, bug- always , deciding what would be kept or culled. If it had a place in this world, you would trust the orcs to protect the thing life while until it found its
niche. If any of those things creatures became corrupted or dangerous, your people would rise to protect the orcs in their fields and rid them of the threat. This was our situation endured for eons. The long- lived orcs were constant and steady companions, never faltering in their tasks and or duty.

When the call came out. When the need arose to defend all that we were, and all that we could be, came. Your people answered. Your hands reached into the dirt and brought forth
a shield of stone. Caressing the trees, you reached into them and were given a cudgel of the hardest ironwood. When you reached the place of destiny, you stood outside the great
circle. The protective shielding dome behind you, and along with others you prepared to defend the ritual. along with the other protectors. Here you stood with the best the realm had to offer. Dragons. The Dragons, pillars of creation and destruction, but stood as defenders of the land they wrought. The Dark Elves, with the sun at their back, prepared cannon and other implements across their fleet in the sky. You could hear The Celestial chorus with their songs echoed, empowering the great crystal batteries. Selunari stood in families within the dome behind you, communing with their great crystals to fuel the ritual. The wardens placed themselves just outside, guarding them, their armor and helmets seeming to almost meld with their skin. The Hoblings, were spaced further out with the initially non-combatants, were ready to assist should anything go wrong. The Librahms were spaced within each unit, each clutching a blood stone, and were spaced with each unit to record this victory for posterity. Secured behind rocky terrain and crouching behind layers of traps, the Harbingers were waiting. Their spells and cunning had been indispensable against their former masters. Standing tall and proud, the Giants stood in their gleaming armor, their beards braided but not quite able to and slightly muffling their mutterings about visions. They claimed this battle was necessary, but they would not join the front line as we, the coalition, wished, and the giants were the only people to have prepared a retreat. This unsettled you, something unseen in your mind through a subconscious voice whispering that they may be right. The Jade Pact, the elves of the forest, stood in a line around the dome. Their casters were preparing to unleash powers that were rumored to have received from the Fae. As always, the Orcs stood shoulder to shoulder with you. They were farmers and cultivators. However, you have seen them at both work and war, and they could turn almost anything into a weapon for the right cause. They had earned their place here.

You heard it before you saw it. That sound of space and time tearing, just as the ritual began behind you. The invaders did not approach as you had expected. Instead, they tore
through reality itself, rifting into the field before your assembled forces with a horrible sound that deadened part of your spirit: “ VREEEEEEEEEEEeeech!”.

The battle itself was a blur, with pain and blood and the sound of your cudgel coming down again, and again, and again on the waves of invaders. You remember standing there, the corpses of friends and foes surrounding you, your feet planted as if rooted, calling forth strength from the earth itself to push back and crush waves of foes. It was there that
you first felt the choking and weakening of the world as the first great dragon fell. These invaders, these Vreech, swarming over the unmoving body, devouring its flesh and very
essence in great gulping swallows. There was no glory here- just horror. With each life extinguished, little pieces of you were breaking- shattering. You allowed your shield to fall
away, and as it did the stone returned to the earth, but seemed brittle. You grimaced, asking the cudgel to extend to a great maul. You are the will of the earth, the rage of the world. You waded through the battle, striking down foes with anger and grief, finally coming to stand next to the Dragon of Life. The battle raged on as the ritual continued inside the circle. Your vine wrapped sinew, taut and corded, creaked as you pulled hefted the maul to bring pain to those who stood before you.

You remember bringing the maul back from a wave of execution, spinning it in your hand
as there was a moment of respite. However, Before you could catch your breath though, shade fell upon you. as you turned, eyes darted behind searching for the threat, only to wince at the unworldly crackling scream of the thing approaching the great dragon. Even after the eons of culling monstrosities, you had no words for this thing. Yet it rose, a being of nightmares and horror, a writhing terror that had no place in this world.
Quickly, it closed the distance to the dragon. In a flash, the abomination met the dragon in an onslaught. These mere seconds of battle seemed like hours. The monstrosity ripped and sheared the dragon relentlessly, but her injuries healed as soon as they appeared. When the dragon tore pieces from this creature, they fell crackling to the ground, and, to your shock, each piece member formed a monster of its own, attacking the dragon with equal ferocity before it even had sprouted anything claws or teeth to injure her with. It was one such creature that drew your attention. As the desiccated flesh hit the ground, shivered, and sprouted too many legs, some useless, some strong, it began to hurtle towards you. You raised your maul to meet it as a chorus of screams, a searing cacophony unlike anything you had ever heard, encompassed the field. The magic was wrong. The world shifted beneath you as you felt, deep in your spirit, the ritual had failed.

As your gaze swung wide, the Vreech swarmed like mountainous seething waves over the mountainous bodies of the great dragons- defenders, the life-bringers, your lords. Righteous fury numbed every other possible thought. Reaching as deeply into the earth as you could, bringing forth the power of the world that always had run through you…….. Nothing. The battle seemed to slow and stop in this moment. Your ears rang, your mouth went dry, there was no breath to be had, and your heart seemed to seize. The connection was severed. You…. were severed. The broken thing attacking you had now grown a maw and was falling upon you. Your maul met the thing with the same speed and force, but as the thing screamed and fell, your body trembled at the sudden cost. You could feel everything that you are, or were, bleeding from an invisible wound, sinking into the now foreign dirt beneath your feet. A great roar pierced your shock, nearly deafening you as the all-powerful dragon of life fell underneath the countless gnashing maws tearing at her. With dulling senses, your body acknowledged a scythe-like talon coming to end you. “Not this day.”, a familiar voice rumbled as the talon was deflected into the ground beside your heaving form. Turning slowly as if the very air resisted you, you watched as a bloodied orc drove the Vreech back, heaving it away from you and holding it to the ground. As it writhed and screamed, the Orc only needed one arm, strengthened from decades at the plow, to keep it steady as the pitchfork pierced the abominations skull and twisted with a sickening crack. The world dimmed and swayed as the Orc approached you. You fell to your knees, feeling as if all that remained of you was the flesh clinging to your bones. The world was now dark, the last things you remember were the feeling of rough hands lifting you and a low murmur in your ear: “It's alright, old friend. I’ve got you.”

The world you knew has ended, in every possible way. All that existed for you were the endlessly fragmented dreams. Of the slowed images,Sluggish dreams of the Dragons dying,. Again and again. Empty dreams of the powers of creation and the ways of protecting it, seeping out of you, leaving a hole. So many images of pain and regret rolling through your mind.

Until recently.

Your dreams have become more clear as of late. Hope welled wells within you and
presented presents as images of verdant forest and wildlands interspersed with. Dreams of ruins and old grudges. Familiar flashes of landscapes are slowly overtaken by fleshy
growth that resonated with undoing. You feel that who you were, what you are... is changing. As you sleep, your body has adjusted to this new world. The tethers and old oaths have fallen away, but your spirit itself has bonded to these lands and given oaths unsung. All you knew was that everything has changed. And soon it would be time. Soon you would be called again. Now was the time for the ancients to rise and be reborn. All at once your reverie ended. You sat up and began to cough. Your skin was slick with...dew? Around you, moss glowed with a sullen blue light. You were on a mound of earth at the corner of some well prepared room. Odd flowers and foliage were shaped around you, like well maintained bedding.

Before you was an Orc, a farmer, no doubt. In his shock, he reflexively squeezed a trigger on some sort of watering can contraption he had been apparently been using and a
cloud of water vapor poured forth around you. His bottom jaw worked for a moment before roaring… “SHE IS AWAKE!!” The sound was half horror and half reverence. This orc seemed familiar somehow, but you could not place it.

You pulled for the support and strength of the earth as you stood and found the source empty. This forces you to rely on your own tired and weakened muscles were all that was
left to rely on. Everything hurts. You could not hear the whispers of life around you and somehow, that hurt more. A familiar face coming down the hallway presented itself as an
orc in dark clothing, slightly soot covered. Why were we in these damn caves anyways… you hate cramped spaces. This orc has the bearing and structure of the one who saved
you. You grinned and stepped forward on unsteady legs, but as torches were brought in and unfamiliar arms steadied you, you realized that the face was not the same. Nor were any of the orcs that poured in with them. Relatives, perhaps?

The orc with a glowing crystalline staff drew back her cowl and smiled in a mixture of pity and awe. “Old friend. We are glad you have awoken. We have much to discuss. Our
parents, theirs, and many yet before them have told us of you. We have kept our word and duty. We have defended, cared for, and fed you. You have awoken...just in time.”

Ahoztar Iragartze Peridotian was luxuriating in a steaming hot bath when the alarm came. It took him a moment to place it, an unfamiliar, utterly irritating noise that disrupted both his thoughts and the peacefulness of his soak. He had almost called to his help to go shut up that noise before he finally placed it. His family had worked with the Wardens to install a city-wide alerting system in case the city was attacked, and it would be bad form for him not to know the sound, despite having only heard it in testing. Crisis averted, so it seemed. Well, one anyway.

He had to admit, he hadn’t been entirely certain that the Harbinger Elves had been telling the truth when they showed up, telling tall tales of invading monsters. Still, when the Wardens had proposed upgrading the defenses of the Protectorate, there was little reason not to embrace their enthusiasm - and the lucrative contract. In the worst case scenario, it was an unobtrusive addition to the city that saw little service, and the ongoing maintenance would be another reliable revenue stream.

Now that it had actually been activated, it wouldn’t hurt for him to put in an appearance, to make a show of inspecting the system post-use to declare that, once again, the Iragartze Peridotians had crafted yet another brilliant success. With a sigh, he reluctantly stood and left the bath. He would allow himself some real decadence later as a way of making up for the inconvenience now.

As he toweled off, he could hear another sound add to the two-tone of the alarm - a high-pitched humming that cycled up, released, and then started anew. This, at least, he had heard before, but still was not used to - the automated defenses, spell batteries warming up and firing. There was a certain excitement to it, despite the annoyance of the noises - Zephyrcrest was under attack! Why, the Protectorate hadn’t been actually invaded in centuries! The Wardens were certainly battle-trained, but nothing had actually reached their borders in so long that this was almost unthinkable. It was certainly a novelty, and made him glad that he’d chosen to spend the month in a place as remote as Zephyrcrest.

Ahoztar couldn’t wait to discuss this with friends later. A few drinks after dinner, recount the day… yes. Perhaps this interruption wouldn’t be so bad after all. Already, he was starting to design some changes, modifications that would need to be added to the systems.

He strode into his bedchamber, where his manservant had laid out clothing for him. He called to Corbo to help him get dressed, and the Hobling wordlessly took up the task.

“Corbo, take a note,” Ahoztar said, standing there while Corbo dressed him. “We’ll need to add some noise dampeners to the spell batteries. Possibly that alarm, though perhaps we just install them on the estate instead...we can tune them to reduce annoyance sounds if they’re more localized. Yes, a much better idea. Have the groom bring around….” he paused, looking over the clothing, “...the sapphire crystal stallion, I need to cut a good figure. I’ll be headed towards the upper rings, to tour the defenses. I’ll want the spyglass, of course. Add a bottle of merlot and a chalice to the saddlebags, I expect I’ll be taking a drink in Leafwalker Park.” Lekerika Itxaropena Zirconates and her husband would likely be there, and he couldn’t pass up a chance to gloat in front of them. He stroked his chin. “Have the kitchens prepare to receive visitors for dinner and cocktails, have the chef prepare lamb. I’m expecting… at least a dozen, though we should prepare extra. If this goes as well as I expect, we can bill this as a private dinner, and plan a more elaborate celebration tomorrow.”

He grinned at Corbo as the Hobling buttoned up a vest, pleased with a new thought. “Yes! Something tomorrow, with the Warden commander as the guest of honor.” This was beginning to turn out in his advantage. He could already see new plans coming to mind… if this battle proved eventful enough, perhaps even a new line of security golems….

His train of thought was interrupted by a knock at the chamber door. The slight chiming sound, matched with the weight of it, marked the presence of one of his own golems. Curious. He motioned to Corbo, who hurried to answer the door.

“Master Ahoztar,” the golem said, making a tilting forward motion that approximated a bow. Dear departed Iragartze’s designs may have made their dynasty filthy rich, but neither she nor her descendants had quite managed to grant their creations the fluidity needed for a proper bow. Ahoztar himself had tinkered with it from time to time, as something to occupy himself during fits of boredom, but had never given it the time to pursue it with a passion. Yet another project he’d need to shelve now, as far more important things than a minor increase in dexterity lay ahead of him…perhaps a mobile spell-battery….

He snapped his attention back to the present. The golem had delivered a report, and he’d not even heard it. “Say again?”

“Enemy forces are attacking the city,’ the golem repeated.

“Yes, yes, of course, I already knew that.” He waved the golem away. All that effort wasted reporting a situation he’d already been aware of? Perhaps he’d task one of his underlings to tinker with the tactical acumen of the golems. If the Wardens were going to war, they could likely use golems with upgraded abilities….

“Master Ahoztar?” Corbo cut in. Ahoztar watched as the Hobling turned towards him, a far-away look on his face. He recognized it, the same sort of expression most of them had when conversing with other members of their Union. That communication was almost more vital to him than their prodigious skills as workers. “I’m getting reports from all over the city.” He shook his head, frowning. “It’s bad. Really bad.”

Ahoztar scowled at him. Bad?! What an absurd comment! Clearly, these Hoblings had never experienced a battle before, and were just overreacting. He’d need to speak with the Warden commander - what was her name again? Janai? Yanai? - about having more Hoblings travel with her units so that the Union was more prepared to deal with combat situations.

He was in the middle of mentally composing a letter to her when he was nearly tossed into a wall as the whole city lurched. Catching his balance, he glared around the room, searching for the cause. What?!

The city shook again, this time followed up by a tremor that left the crystal golem making an unpleasant chiming sound in its wake. Ahoztar gaped at it, trying to grasp what was happening. If the city was vibrating at the same resonance as the crystals that made up their golems….

The city rocked a third time, and the whole world tilted to the side. The golem fell over, sliding down the hallway on its back as it struggled to right itself. Corbo clung to the bed, and Ahoztar slammed into the wall next to the door. Panic set in, wiping his mind entirely empty for a moment. He fought to get his breathing under control. This… this was unthinkable. Utterly impossible!

He… he needed to get out of here! He scrambled his way out of the room, staggering at the awkward angle. He had a skyship - ‘a boat, really, minor, barely enough room for ten people, I should really commission a larger one….’ his brain supplied, attempting to find purchase on any thought aside from abject terror - that could get him out of here if he could only get to it.

The next few minutes were an awkward blur, and as he clambered into his ship, he wondered how he’d gotten covered in bruises and blood. It didn’t quite make sense to him, but at this point, almost nothing did.

He went through the sequence, aligning the crystals to start the arcane engine, bringing the gyroscope up to speed, opening the vents and closing the baffles. Just about ready….

Zephyrcrest rocked one more time, and his stomach lurched. The city was starting to fall. He reached out, fingers wrapping around the levers to bring the engine to full power, and as he did, he realized that, in his haste, he’d forgotten to disengage the docking clamps. As the gyroscope attempted to right the ship, there was a horrible shrieking of protesting wood. His footing gave way, and he was falling with the tumbling city.

Ahoztar was dimly aware of someone screaming, and he desperately wished that they’d stop. It took him far too long to realize it was himself.

“Helm!” Kaylessa Summerwind shouted, trying to be heard over the battle. “Climb hard, full!” Methelidan’s acknowledgment was lost in the groaning of the PAS Victorious as the airship pulled into a steep ascent. Despite her battle-harness being clipped to the ship, Kaylessa still grabbed one of the handholds to steady herself. The rear ballistae fired, and the two Vreechspawn in their wake were both hit with the bolts.

A chirping at her neck signaled an incoming message. “Kay, hold steady, you’ve got one on your keel.” Castien’s voice sounded calm, despite her knowing her fellow captain was in as dire straits as she was. She passed along another quick order, and as soon as the ship started to level, an impact travelled through the hull. The ship rocked, and then corrected. “Got ‘em!” came the follow-up.

Kaylessa tapped the necklace. “Thanks Cas. My compliments to your gunnery.” She motioned to Methelidan, and the Victorious fell into formation with the Prime Harmony again.

The battle below was, put simply, a rout. The ritual to hold off the Vreech had failed, and the last-ditch defense was falling. The Dragon that had been their last hope had been swarmed and overwhelmed, and the Vrech that weren’t gorging on the remains had gone into a frenzy.

The Wardens were doing what they could to slow the attack, to delay the inevitable, but at this point it was simply a question of how many would make the retreat to safety, and how many would fall in the process.

The Skyfleet ships had been doing their best to keep the skies clear, and rain down destruction on the Vreech, but their numbers were far too few. The hard-learned lessons from the Battle of Volawell had been taken to heart, but came after the destruction of most of the armada. Only seven ships had seen the dawn, and of those, only the Victorious and Prime Harmony were still in the air. The other five had taken many Vreech with them, courtesy of their retrofitted ballistae, but the swarm seemed endless.

She watched grimly as the starboard ballista crew jettisoned an empty ammo case. She sent a runner to her quartermaster, and soon got the expected return - they were out.

Kaylessa activated her necklace again. “Castien… we’re empty. Couple of bolts left, but we’re scraping the barrel.”

“We used our last one clearing your hull.” His voice was touched with grim humor.

She shook her head. Of course he had, the fool. “Cas….” She paused for a moment, before she committed herself. She knew her crew well enough to know how they would react to her order. “Cas, I’m going to have the crew jump. Take a skeleton across the line, drop the baffles, and draw them off. You escort the survivors away.”

The response came back immediately. “Negative, Victorious, not going to happen. We’ll mirror you, flank starboard while you take port. Draw off more that way.”

Kaylessa cut off a curse. She knew Fireheart too well; there would be no changing his mind, and the people below didn’t have the time to waste. “Roger that, Harmony. Open skies.”

Kaylessa issued orders; as expected, none accepted the order to abandon ship. The preparations happened quickly, barely a minute later, they were diving for the deck at flank speed. As they crossed over the front line, the few marines they had onboard made a combat jump, crashing down onto the battlefield with righteous fury. They opened a small gap, giving the Warden’s a moment’s respite. She had no time to relish the sight, though.

“Hard to port!” she shouted. “Ripplecast on their line!” The casters who remained on the ship opened up with Magic Storms, rapid-fire casting along the Vreech line. “Drop the baffles!” The Victorious’ engineer, Revalor Dreamfire, disabled the wards that had been installed after Volawell, enchantments to cloak and disperse their magical signature. As the spells faded, the other magics layered into the Victorious’ hull drew the Vreech’s attention like a newly unveiled sun. Between that, and the burst of spells cast at them, the refugees were forgotten, insignificant next to the alluring meal that screamed through the sky above them.

Behind them, the Prime Harmony did the same, cutting along the line in the opposite direction, carving a clear path for the refugees, who quickly took the opportunity to fall back. Hopefully, they’d be able to get far enough away that the Vreech wouldn’t follow. At the very least, she could give them a chance. Their fate was now their own.

She trusted Methelidan to handle navigating, keeping an eye on the Vreech tailing them. They were going to need to angle back, keep them close enough to not lose interest. “Helm, starboard, 135.” She keyed up her communicator again, coordinating with Castien.

She didn’t need to hear Revalor’s report, when it came; the keening of the ship let her know that they were taxing the systems, pushing the engines to get every last bit of speed. They wouldn’t need much more. Just… a few minutes. The Victorious was a good ship, and she’d carry them as far as she could.

She could just make out the Prime Harmony as they approached, bringing a swarm of Vreech behind them as impressive as her own. “That’s a hell of a party they’re bringing, Cap,” Methelidan said. “I’m not sure we packed enough wine for this many guests.” Kaylessa smirked at him, but didn’t say anything - she didn’t have the heart.

The aft relay gave way, throwing sparks and scattering shards of crystal; the dorsal matrix was emitting some sort of acrid, greenish smoke. As they drew near to the Prime Harmony, Kaylessa could feel a tremor start to pass through the deck of the ship. The Victorious was dying.

Kaylessa stroked the railing for a moment, wordlessly passing along her thanks, and that of the entire crew, to the ship. The Victorious had carried them safely for years, been the centerpiece for many tales, both of bravery and of the more mundane. She’d been their home, and every board and bolt was infused with the crew’s love.

Kaylessa keyed her communicator one last time. “Open skies, Cas.”

“Gentle winds, Kay.”

Skyfleet wasn’t just about how one lived; it was also about how one died.

The two airships passed by each other, almost close enough to touch. Sailors on both ships sketched out quick salutes before they were gone, angling to crash into the oncoming hordes that the other had brought along with them. The impacts rocked the ship as the swarms stopped their headlong chase to attack the prizes that had seemingly delivered themselves to the slaughter.

Then their engines overloaded, detonating into twin explosions, the shock waves obliterating the Vreech swarms. In the distance, the few Skyfleet Marines who remained bowed their heads after hearing the distant booms, then rallied the survivors for the retreat.

‘No no no no no no NO!’ Sorinaril Flashfire bit back a wave of panic as he rushed to cast his spell before the few filaments of magic left in the leyline dissipated. ‘One half the etheric constant squared…factor for this world’s arcane frequency….”

He sketched a quick series of sigils in the air, infusing the faintly glowing amber symbols with the tattered scraps of energy he’d be able to gather. The spell wavered and sputtered, and he poured his will into it, struggling to keep it functioning. Mists started to coalesce in the archway, pulsing and twisting.

‘Too unstable…it would tear me to pieces….’ His fingers flicked through the motions, drawing Hale’s Rectifier at the vertices. He didn’t have much to work with, but he, like the other Harbingers, had been taught to work with dribbles and drabs of energy, casting spells with the slimmest glimmers of magic. The pulsing subsided, but the spell still faded like mist in the sunlight.

He groaned, breathing heavily through his nose. He did not have time for this. Not now. After breaching the defenses and killing the last of the Dragons, the Vreech had bled out the ley-lines, leaving all of Protectorate’s infrastructure lacking power. Options disappeared with each heartbeat. If he didn’t figure something out quickly, he was going to be stuck.

He pulled a bottle from his pack, pulling the cork and drinking deeply in a single, fluid motion. The end of this world might be upon him, but that was no reason he needed to be sober. He started to recork the bottle as the liquor burned its way down his throat and filled him with fire, then paused. Perhaps… perhaps a second drink was in order, given the state of things. It might make this next part easier.

He picked up the spent crystals from the table as he swallowed the second gulp, putting them and the bottle into his bag. He could reactivate the portal if he could get them charged. He could even pull off the spell without the portal if he got access to enough energy, though that was unlikely without a harmonic convergence or a thaumaturgical resonator, neither of which was the sort of thing that he was likely to just stumble across.

His mind raced as he gathered up things to flee. ‘Imbued chalk…. Labyrinth stone…. Vial of congealed astrum….’ The energy in the ley-lines flowed in predictable patterns, moving like tides of water. If he followed them quickly enough, he might be able to get ahead of the ebb, gather sufficient energy to charge the crystals so he could get out of there.

The alternative was not something he wanted to contemplate.

He drew a deep breath. Keep to the Plan. That would be his salvation in all of this. His people had prepared for this, the greatest minds strategizing and plotting for countless years. Well…. Not this, specifically - he was pretty much screwed, on the personal level - but on the grand scheme of things, things were going exactly according to Plan.

Unfortunately for him, that meant there was a strong chance he was going to die, consumed by creatures who would barely even spare a passing awareness of his existence. Such was the burden of the Harbingers. All that stood between him and a very painful end was his skill at magic and his inherent brilliance.

Which was why he’d wanted that second drink.

He left the workshop at a sprint, straining to follow the path of the now-depleted ley-line. If he followed the holloway that ran along this line, he’d have some level of concealment from the Vreech - perhaps even enough to hide the signature of the items he was carrying.

The rocky ground of the road gave way to earth, and slowly that gave way to the sloping banks of the sunken lane. He settled into a slow jog, observing the ley-line as he moved along. Empty, a tapped out vein, with only a faint residue of the energy it recently held. His crystal would scrape those last morsels, but unless he got lucky, it was going to take forever, which was far longer than he had. He could see the ley-line constricting, shrinking in size to accommodate the lack of energy. Given long enough, it would shrivel, just as countless others had done on countless worlds, ground to dust in the Vreechs’ wake.

He would be ground to dust in their wake at this rate.

* * * * *

An hour of jogging later, and the most that he could say that he’d gained was an hour’s distance from the portal. The crystals were still mostly empty. The ley-line hadn’t constricted quite as much as it had farther away - he was getting closer - but the energy levels were still abysmal.

Sori paused to drink some water from a stream that had skirted close to the holloway. He splashed some on his face and tried to come up with new options. This wasn’t working. Wasn’t going to work. At this rate, he’d end up following the drained ley-line to a Vreech nest itself - at which point he’d either be eaten by the Vreech, or be stuck with the Stalwarts. Truth be told, he’d rather be eaten than be forced to serve the Vreech, scraping together tidbits from the depleted ley-lines to make meals for them.

He frowned, considering. Maybe… maybe that was exactly what he was going to do. A plan started to form in his head. Bold. Audacious. And probably requiring a lot less sobriety by the time he was through with it.

* * * * *

Pretending to be a Stalwart was both easier and more difficult than Sori had expected. He spent a few utterly terrifying moments as the guards looked him over - at least, that’s what he assumed they were doing, he couldn’t really read facial expressions of Vreechspawn. Hopefully, they were just as bad at reading Elven body language. They chittered to each other, looming over him - and then let him pass. He supposed he smelt enough of desperation to be one of the wretches, though who else would willingly walk up to a nest by themselves?

Trying not to sag in relief, he approached the nest itself. He had no clue where he was going, and needed his wits about him. Well, truth be told, he needed something to calm his nerves, but wandering drunkenly would pretty much give him away immediately. Stalwarts hadn’t exactly cultivated a reputation as connoisseurs of fine liquor. He tried to focus - magic first, booze later. He was going to need it after surviving this.

Built over the intersection of two ley-lines, the fledgeling nest would absorb the energy of the nexus, and store it as food for the Vreech. Unless, of course, it was used for other things. He could charge his crystals here, and, depending on how much he could take, he might not even need to get back to the portal. The mists would be closed by this point - there was no getting out of the trap by now - but at least he’d be able to escape to that little bunker that the locals had concocted. He’d be able to ride out his time in relative safety

He strode past a few drones who were building the nest out - they likely wouldn’t bother him as long as he didn’t interrupt their task - and tried not to show how much his skin crawled. He’d normally adopt an imperious approach, but that would give him away as well. So…’downtrodden but occupied with an important task’ would be his guise for today. Eyes down, purposeful steps, following the traces of magic towards the center depot that would serve as a larder….

He paused, a stray sigil catching his eye. That was...unexpected - at least, he assumed it was. It was an unfamiliar design, low-powered, hidden at a point where a corner of wall met a floor. He worked his way deeper into the nest, finding several more - all barely-there, obscured, combining to form a singular spell. It was familiar in a manner he couldn’t quite put his finger on….

“What are you doing here?” hissed a quiet, dangerous voice. He spun, trying not to stammer… and froze when he saw the speaker. The figure was covered in dark chitin, like a Vreechspawn would be...but the body shape was all wrong, more akin to an Elf. Sorinaril stared in horror. Had the Vreech developed a hybrid? He started to stammer, unsure of how to respond.

The creature in front of him reached up, grabbing it’s own head, and lifting… revealing a Harbinger’s face, partially obscured by a black bandana. He tucked the helmet-like Vreechspawn head he’d been wearing under his arm. This time, Sori actually did sag against the wall in relief.

“What are you doing here?” the Harbinger repeated, his low voice drawing out each word, anger gleaming in his eyes.

“I’m looking for the central depot,” Sori responded, hoping his voice wasn’t as shaky as he felt.

The other man’s eyes narrowed. “Depot is...off-limits for now. It’s not safe.”

Sori’s eyes widened. He realized what the spell was. “Curran’s Detonation… that’s what that is. You’re blowing the depot!”

The man drew a dark blade. “I can’t have you spoiling this, Stalwart!” he hissed, stabbing at Sori.

“Wait wait wait!” Sori begged, diving back from the man. “I’m not a Stalwart!” He held up his hands, shaking his head. “I’m just here to steal from the depot.”

The other man stopped, wary, and stared at him. “What?! Are you insane?”

“Probably,” Sori said dryly. “This was the only way I could get the power to open a portal out of here.”

The man studied him for a moment. “We need more people like you.” He sheathed his knife and put his helmet back on. “Don’t take more than 45 thaums, or the explosion won’t take the whole nest. You’ve got two minutes to be beyond the blast radius. Good luck.” He turned and stalked off, and Sori sprang into action.

As he carefully filled up his crystals, he wondered about the man. He’d heard rumors… Harbingers who had turned their back on the Plan. Who’d taken up with that madman Tarrencrest and started their own guerilla war. Clearly, this was one of them...right?

Sori slipped the crystals back into his bag and tried to aim for somewhere between ‘nonchalant’ and ‘running for his life’. He’d made it outside, barely. As the explosion threw him into the bushes surrounding the nest, he realized he should have run a little faster at the end.

He sat there for a moment, head ringing, body aching, hoping that nothing was broken too badly. Brambles had torn up his face, and a spreading wetness was covering his back. For a moment, he’d wondered if he was bleeding out, until he detected the smell of the alcohol. Sorinaril groaned softly and gingerly pushed himself to his feet.

The nest had been torn open by the blast, and parts of Vreechspawn bodies had been scattered over the area. Farther off, he could see the armored Harbinger surveying the wreckage, before he turned and walked away.

With little else for options, Sori staggered away, dripping blood.

Raza of House Heartglade stared at the devastation before her, feeling the anger bubbling up inside like the churning waters of a kettle. Sedhidessiss the Braveheart, Dragon of the grove, was gone; slain, torn asunder, and consumed. Her clutch had been destroyed, the chaotic swirl of life-force that made up her nest devoured, the ground itself churned and rent.

It was a gaping wound, a bleeding tear - upon the world, and upon the heart of Raza and her kin. Few of the Kutari who’d lived here had survived - most had been slain in the battle, standing side-by-side with the Winnowers and the Dragons. The Vreech had been implacable, an endless tide encroaching and gorging on magic, leaving a wake of destruction behind them.

Three days. For three days, she had come to this site, still bearing the wounds of that battle, on a daily pilgrimage to mourn. Three days, and this was the first time she’d felt something other than a deep, mind-numbingly profound loss. Her people had been, as a matter of course, even-keeled in attitude - long lives in tune with the rhythms of nature left them more prone to a stoic acceptance of the bad and a joyous appreciation of the good - but those days were behind them now. The distant ritual that had been designed to defeat the Vreech had failed - they’d received word shortly after the disastrous battle that had followed it earlier this morning - but it had exacted its toll nonetheless. The Orcs’ longevity had been sacrificed to fuel the magic, and with it had gone their calm dispositions. Now, rage sang in her veins, an unfamiliar but surprisingly comforting feeling. It was as if everything had been distilled and compressed, a lifetime’s worth of feelings packed into a tenth of the time, and these emotions, despite their overwhelming strength, made her feel more alive than she’d ever been in the decades prior.

So she stood on the hill overlooking the town of Andarin, a walking stormcloud stewing in her own hatred. She knew little of war or weapons, but as she stared at the torn-up ground, she swore she would make the Vreech pay for what they had done.

A distant horn broke her seething reverie. She tilted her head, counting the blasts. One long, three short, one long, then a pause before it was repeated. A summons, a general town emergency. Whatever it was, it was trouble that the people of Andarin didn’t deserve. Not now, not this soon. Raza broke into a run, hoping things weren’t too dire, and praying the exertion would burn off some of her anxious energy.

* * * * *

The town square was abuzz with activity when she got back. There was no immediate danger, but people moved in and out of buildings, gathering items and putting them into packs or on wagons. Fifth Scout Yuspa, the local Warden, was saddling his horse, tossing saddlebags over the stallion’s flanks. Raza trotted over to him, breathing hard.

“Yuspa!” she called as the man gingerly swung into the saddle. His bandages had been changed, but even given priority for healing magics, he still moved like some of his wounds still lingered. Too few healers had survived the battle, and there were too many wounded. Even for Wardens, healing was rationed. “What’s going on?”

“We just got orders from on high. Full evacuation, the whole Protectorate. We head to Littlefield to meet up with the others. Pack lightly, we travel for speed. We need to hurry if we’re to make it.”

“NO!” The shout cut through the bustle of the square, and it wasn’t until everyone turned to stare at her that Raza realized she had been the one that shouted. Yuspa gaped at her as her heartbeat pounded in her ears. The adrenaline rush pushed her forward, and she let it carry her along.

“I am not leaving!” she continued, pitching her voice to carry to the crowd. “Andarin is our home! House Heartglade has lived here for countless generations! The rest of you can flee like rats, but I will not be a coward! I will stay! I will fight!” She didn’t know where the words were coming from, but they felt so right.

Around her, others murmured their assent. A few continued their efforts, but several - mostly Kutari - set down their burdens, started to cluster around Raza. She even spotted Xurug, one of the elders of House Heartglade, looking at her thoughtfully and nodding.

Yuspa glowered at her for a moment, then gave an obviously frustrated shrug. “You know what? You do that, Raza.” He shook his head, looking out at the crowd slowly gathering. “Have fun playing brave. We’ll see how well that works out for you. I don’t have time for this. I need to get to the outlying farms to let them know about the evacuation. Any of you come to your senses, I’ll see you in Littlefield.” He pulled on the reins savagely, turning his horse hard, and the two cantered off towards the rolling hills outside of Andarin.

Yuspa was barely out of earshot when the questions started coming. Raza had expected them, and had taken the few brief moments between her exchange with Yuspa and the inevitable requests to consider the issue herself. Multiple questions, all asked at once, but they all amounted to the same thing: what do we do now?

She took a deep breath. She wasn’t usually prone to rash behavior, but these were desperate times. In for a copper, in for a platinum. “We stay. We reclaim this land as ours, not as the domain of the Vreech! They may come back. Destroy buildings. Eat circles. But building and magic is not what Andarin is. Is not who we are! We will rebuild, and we will be all the better for it!”

“What of Dracaena?” a voice called out. The Dryad champion had fought the Vreech like a man possessed, but he fell, wounded, just after Sedhidessiss had died. Raza had helped drag him back to the healers, and while they’d treated his wounds, he’d not yet woken from the death-like slumber. They could not leave him uncared for, not after the long years of cooperation between their races.

“We will find a safe place to hide Dracaena while he sleeps,” Raza declared, a safe spot in the hills already coming to mind. “As the Winnowers have fought to protect us, we must now take up arms to protect them! House Heartglade goes to war!” A ragged cheer arose, and Raza marveled at the heady surge of emotions that washed over her. Perhaps...perhaps the ritual’s cost wasn’t so bad after all….

Ellre looked over the caravan, fighting down despair. As the most experienced Warden, it fell upon her to organize the refugees, to lead them to safety. Once again, she had failed. Her scout, Zeno, stood before her, stony faced after delivering the bad news: the others had abandoned the rally point at least a day ago, if not longer. So many losses….

They lacked mounts, were running thin on their food and water, were utterly out of medical supplies, and most of them were injured in one form or another. She knew the orders; the Cairn would be sealed at sunset the next day, sealing out the Vreech… as well as any others who had not made it to safety in time.

There was no way they would be able to make it in time. Even a forced march through the rapidly-approaching night would not get them to the gates in time.

Recriminations echoed in her heart; this disaster was the Wardens’ fault. When the Harbingers had first arrived at the Protectorate, the Wardens had not heeded their warnings. The Wardens had arrogantly assumed that they would be able to handle the threat.

The loss of the floating city of Zephyrcrest had alarmed them, but had not cured them of their hubris. That had taken the destruction of Liashi and Gelriar, and the loss of Citadel Volawell and the bulk of the Skyfleet armada. Even then, it hadn’t stopped them from performing a ritual to banish the Vreech, as if magic - even something as complex as the Celestial Chorus’ most daring work - would solve the issue. How many lives had been lost due to their arrogance? How many times would failures like this haunt the Wardens? Haunt her?

The months that had followed were a study in catastrophe. Ellre had gone from one failure to the next, one slaughter to the next. She’d survived - barely - through more battles in the last two years than she had seen in the three decades prior. Those she’d served with, fought with, lead into combat - all dead. She’d been unable to keep any of them alive, and now these refugees’ lives were in her hands. They were all going to die….

She shook her head. She was Ellre Ashwolf, Fourth Blade of the… she paused. She was all that was left of the Vengeful Hunters, making her the First Blade… if it mattered any more. If any of it, if anything, mattered any more.

“How do we make this right, Zeno?” she asked him quietly. It was technically a breach of protocol; First Blades didn’t ask tactical advice from a scout, let alone from another company. Ellre didn’t care. Protocol, at this point, no longer mattered. He was a Warden, and, as with her, had been effectively promoted by virtue of simple survival.

“We’ve got a day to travel,” he grunted, looking towards the mountains in the distance, “and about two days’ worth of distance, at this pace.” He sighed, not looking towards her. “If we leave everything behind that’s slowing us down, push all night, a few might make it there in time.” Not a suggestion, she could tell, just a simple statement of the odds. “Assuming we don’t run into any trouble, and are willing to leave most of these people behind.”

Ellre nodded her head. “Might save a few, but would doom most, which means it’s not an option. We need food, water, and shelter. Someplace to rest.”

Zeno grunted again, frowning. “Good luck there. Cities destroyed, farms burned… there’s no place safe, unless we hide in the trees with the few Jade Pact that refused to leave….”

Ellre shook her head. “These people aren’t Wardens. They’d no more survive in the wild like that than they could handle the forced march to reach the Cairn in time. We need something different, something that doesn’t involve using magic and putting a beacon on us.”

This time, Zeno snorted, looking over the caravan. “Most of these people aren’t used to that sort of discipline. Their whole lives involved magic, what they cast or what the Selunari made.”

“Then they need to change,” Ellre replied, looking out into the gathering gloom. “We all need to change.” She took a deep breath. “Set the watch, have the civilians make camp. I’ll have an answer by morning.” Zeno saluted, then went to gather the perilously few Wardens they had left. She watched him go, then went to look for the Skyfleet lieutenant that had fallen in with the group. He didn’t speak a lot, but watched much. Ellre hoped that he would have some information she could use.

*******

“I’ve never worked with Skyfleet Intelligence before,” Ellre said.

“We’re a bit different from the rest of Skyfleet,” Thalenil replied, lounging against a stump the previous group had left near the fire pit. “A bit less obvious in our activities, perhaps. Most of the time, our official actions are directly with the Captains’ Council.”

Ellre nodded. As Fourth Blade, she would never have interacted with the Skyfleet leadership. Perhaps the First Blade had….

The survivor’s guilt threatened to swallow her up again. She closed her eyes and tried to fend it off.

“I wish I could help you more, Warden,” the Dark Elf continued. “I can provide you with information on Vreech tactics and capabilities, locations of battles, even the names of the Skyfleet vessels covering the retreat. Safe places, I’m unfortunately lacking. From the information I’ve had access to, the security of the Cairn comes from its isolation. Once they close the doors tomorrow, they collapse the tunnels behind them.” He shrugged “Most of the Skyfleet defenses are based heavily on magic, which ended up attracting the Vreech more than anything.”

“Another instance of best intentions getting people hurt. This is what happens when people rely on us….” Ellre whispered, pained.

“Warden?” Thalenil interrupted, leaning forward, frowning at her. He searched her face for a moment. “What is it you’re searching for? Personal survival? Safety for those you lead? Vengeance? Absolution?” His face was suddenly intense in the firelight, eyes burning bright against the indigo of his skin. “You need to consider what is your highest priority, and what you’re willing to sacrifice to get it.”

Ellre stopped, frowning. “I need to get these people to safety,” she said, indignant. “Or as close to it as we can find. And I’m willing to sacrifice everything to make that happen.”

Thalenil nodded, giving a satisfied smile, and returned to his lounging position. “Then we do that.”

Ellre snorted at his seemingly-flippant response. “You don’t understand. You don’t know how many people have died under my command, as a result of my-”

“No!” he said abruptly, leaning forward again. “You said everything. That includes indulging in the vice of self-pity. Take responsibility for any failure you feel you need to, but if you want these people to survive, you must sacrifice your ego and lead them with a clear head.”

She glared at him, but said nothing. His words infuriated her, but he had a point; fighting without a clear head was dangerous. It wasn’t what she’d wanted to hear, but perhaps it would be enough to help her salvage her mission. She paused as a new idea struck her. Salvage…. Perhaps... perhaps he had given her what she was looking for after all….

With a distracted nod, she stood and moved off into the night, leaving the lieutenant behind.

*******

The morning sky was still red with the dawn when Ellre had Zeno gather up the refugees. Most of them had been still sleeping, but she needed to talk to them immediately. She could see the mix of confusion and apprehension on their faces; the ones who weren’t still trying to wake up had noticed the newly sprouted rocky outcroppings on her face, marking a new major Oath. The freshly-blackened blade she held as she impatiently stalked back and forth, marking her as Ruined, only contributed to their concern. They eyed the sword in her hand with more than a bit of apprehension, uncertain as to why their lead Warden was suddenly wielding an outcast’s weapon.

“I am Ellre Ashwolf, First Blade of the Mourning Shadows.” She ignored the surprised expressions from the other Wardens. One didn’t simply declare a new Warden company - not like this. There were customs to observe, rites to perform… traditions that dated back millenia. She had set all that aside. It wasn’t the first, and it wouldn’t be the last.

She kept going, trying to build momentum to keep going. She was going to need as much of it as she could get, if she was going to see this through. She pointed to the Wardens around her, as she declared the new ranks. “Zeno Blightwing, First Scout; Corym Basilisk, Second Blade; Venali Hydra, Second Scout; Anfalen Howlbear, First Spear.” Next, she gestured to Thalenil. In for a copper, in for a platinum. “Skyfleet Captain Thalenil Eaglesong of the Artano Ascendent.” Protocol be damned. Propriety be damned. Those were things she would happily sacrifice. Thalenil should’ve expected this, after what he’d said, and she took perverse pleasure from his raised eyebrows.

“We have tried to get you to the safety of the Cairn in time. I have failed you.” She pushed away the darkness inside her, focusing on her next words and the rising sun. No time for herself, not now. “We will not make it there before the doors seal. Which means we need a different goal.” She looked out over their faces as those words sank in. She had mere seconds before they were lost to despair and terror.

“We are instead striking out east, away from the mountains, and away from the Vreech. This is no longer a rescue operation, but a relocation. There is farmland along the Desevian river where we can resupply and rest. As long as we don’t use magic, we shouldn’t draw the Vreech’s attention; they’ll be too busy testing the Cairn’s defenses. We’ll try to find survivors, and do what we can to scavenge along the way. The city of Spheris fell along the Desevian, in an area where the ley-lines are sparse. If we cannot find a safe place to build a refuge along the way, we’ll salvage what we can from Spheris and use that to defend ourselves.”

She held up her necklace, Oath-Ring dangling beneath her fist. The Dragon-wrought metal that had changed the Warden’s fates drew everyone’s attention. “I am Ruined, but I have sworn an Oath. I will see you to safety, or die my final death in the attempt.” She put every last ounce of confidence and determination into her voice. “We eat on the move, but we do not leave anyone behind. Gather your belongings; we make for the river. For the Protectorate!” The rest of the newly-formed Mourning Shadows took up the cry, while the civilians under their care remained scared and quiet.

The cacophony of overlapping voices shook the world like an earthquake. Eyes opened wide, startled.

‘I… I live?’

Confusion. He remembered dying. Remembered dying countless times. How?

Wait - no. He? Was that right? She?

The voices rose again, a tidal wave proclaiming countless identities. There was no way to tease apart individual threads.

They, then, until this could be figured out. Could...could this be figured out? The susurrus made it hard to concentrate, hard to think. They clawed their way out of the swirl of voices for a moment.

They looked around. A stone building, or what remained of it. Pavers on the floor, partially ripped up. Walls tumbled down, debris everywhere. Recent, it seemed. Was this how they had died? In whatever attack had destroyed this place?

Most assuredly not; the voices were in unison on this. That was new. Or was it? They winced at the headache. Elsewhere, then. So… why were they here?

They saw something on the floor, and reached out to brush away debris, then stopped. The hand was distinctly unfamiliar, with an almost amber colored skin. The thing on the floor ignored for a moment, they paused to examine themselves. Strong, muscled limbs; tusks; that amber skin; a nakedness that spoke of recent resurrection…

‘What am I?’ they wondered. For once, no response from the voices. That seemed to be even more worrying than the previous swarm of answers..

They added that to the list of other mysteries, looking back to the floor. A section of inlaid tile made an arc in the floor that wasn’t destroyed; one of the voices supplied that it must have been a permanent circle of some kind. Earth, likely, given their apparent resurrection. But...the circle was clearly broken, lacking power. And with no one there to use it even if it had been functional… how were they here? What had brought them back?

‘WE DID,’ came the resounding reply, a union of the voices again, despite it making absolutely no sense. Confusion washed over them, as a few of the other voices argued and debated the impossible. Their head throbbed.

‘ENOUGH!’ they roared, cutting through the din, and the other voices fell into stunned silence. ‘My head! My rules! Too loud!’ The voices, when they returned, were quieter, more sedate.

That settled - for now - they started to search the ruins. Clothing, water, food, weapons… even clues as to what had happened or where they were would be helpful.

A torn pair of pants, belted with a strip ripped from a tapestry, had to suffice as clothing, and a broken table leg would need to serve as a weapon. Food would apparently need to wait. As for answers… none from the ruins, but a picture started to emerge from within. The voices started to report, occasionally overlapping, but frequently not, as if each understood this needed to be marked. Voice after voice after voice recalled the same - the horror of being torn apart, their spirits shredded and cast aside, victims of the same foe: the Vreech. That name was supplied by the first, and all agreed, though not all knew the name. Some lacked the intelligence to put more to the name than a shapeless fear; others could describe the creatures with almost tactical precision.

None, however, could illuminate their situation - why they were all together, how they’d reformed a body, what they were now… even what to call themselves.

They walked amongst the ruins, subconsciously following an outward spiral pattern. A few more things were found in the wreckage: piles of clothes that spoke of dissipated bodies, which provided some upgrades to clothing and, eventually, weaponry and armor. Caresses of...something across their skin, like the whisper of breezes that moved no branch or leaf. Even a bottle of wine, miraculously intact besides a smashed cabinet.

Finally, a scent in the still air: decay. They followed it, finding the first of the permanently dead. Analyzing the decomposition, they guessed it had been several days, perhaps a week. They didn’t question the knowledge; the voice was certain enough, and there was no way to test or verify. The state the body was in left little in terms of clues as to what had happened; the Vreech was a likely explanation.

The search continued. Several more bodies were eventually found, all in as bad a shape. A backpack and a few more items were gathered along the way, giving them a chance at survival, though still no information as to where they were, or where to go. At least, for now, the riddle of identity seemed to have quieted, with the more pertinent mystery taking precedence.

Whatever had happened was fairly recent, but no one had come back here to salvage, to bury the dead, to carry on with life. So, either the survivors had fled...or all who had lived here had perished, to resurrect farther away.

After a few more hours of fruitless searching, they picked a road leading out of the ruins. Eventually, there would be something along this route, either another ruin, or a settlement that had survived. Either would be acceptable. As they got farther from the town, they noticed the phantom breezes seemed to stop. Something particular about that town, perhaps?

They pondered that mystery until a clattering rock alerted them that they were not alone. Goblins. A large enough group was dangerous to a lone traveler, a voice noted, and they quickly counted over a dozen, causing another voice to hiss in a display of territorial anger. Blade and club rested easily in their hands, and they were filled with a surety that they - and this body - could handle themselves in a fight. These cretins would regret this.

They rushed the Goblins, hoping a rush would scatter them, but these appeared to be bold, despite one of their number dropping almost immediately. The Goblins darted in and out, harrying their larger prey, nipping and darting out.

They killing another two Goblins before they lost their footing on a loose stone. They recovered, but the Goblins swarmed around them, and they lashed out at the smaller creatures, laying into them with a furious desperation. Existence had just started for them! It would not end as quickly. IT WOULD NOT!

The words bubbled up from deep inside, almost instinctual, as their hands flared brightly with magical energy. “With necromancy I create a Chaos Storm!” The chaotic energy surged out, hammering the surrounding Goblins into the ground.

Several voices cried out in horror, but were quickly silenced - no, devoured! - by the other voices. This....this felt right. They exulted in the swell of power as Goblins fell - or fled screaming. Control over the forces of life and death was theirs!

In that moment, they realized who they were, the name settling around their shoulders like a mantle. Deathspeaker Gra’Rok smiled, surrounded by corpses.

“Well,” Tisharelle said in a small, sad voice, “that’s the last of them.” She stared at the spot where the distant figures of the rest of the Jade Pact had finally moved out of sight. It had taken the last caravan hours to move out of sight from their vantage point, and she’d insisted on watching until they’d all left.

Vorenath, sitting on the rocks near her, didn’t glance over at either her, or the disappeared Elves, instead tracking the movement of a hawk in the sky. “That’s our signal to move on as well.” He made no move to leave, however, seemingly aware of her reluctance to go.

“It’s quieter without them here,” she said, looking around. Evergrove was one of the largest Jade Pact encampments, a forest sanctuary built into the deep forest. It had been home to several dozen permanent residents, and had a welcoming waystation for countless more as they moved through the woods. Now, it was empty save for those two, and the quiet buzz of the settlement’s existence had faded away. Even the animals in the area seemed to be subdued, aware of the import of the day, even if they didn’t understand why.

Evergrove had been hurriedly stripped clean of most of the essentials. Some things, by necessity, needed to stay; things too heavy or bulky to move quickly during an evacuation, or things that wouldn’t be needed on the journey to the Cairn, or in the long years thereafter. Tisharelle, Vorenath, and the others who had stayed behind would find a use for those things. Their last orders had been to stay, and even though everything had changed since then, they intended to hold true.

The hawk moved out of sight, heading to hunt somewhere else, and Vorenath finally looked over at Tisharelle. For some reason he couldn’t quite put a finger on, she tested his commitment to Yzien’s teachings about not having expectations. In many ways, she was - or, at least, seemed - still very much Tisharelle of Thaleron. She had been part of the Mouse’s Tribe for many years before she was marked by Yzien, and those habits were deeply ingrained. Everything about her just… screamed ‘unassuming’, quiet, disinclined to rock the boat….

Many had expected her, the last chosen for the Crow Tribe, to leave with the others, and Vorenath wouldn’t have blamed her for it; survival was one of Thaleron’s core teachings, and a good one at that. But Yzien themselves had picked her, marking her to share the destiny of the Crows: to wander amongst the other tribes, disrupting the status quo for the better, gathering useful tidbits and helping bring change the same way the autumn wind tore dead leaves from the trees to make way for the eventual growth of spring. As both forces of nature and collectors of ‘shiny things’, those of Yzien - too few and too scattered to truly be an independent Tribe the way the others did - were effectively tasked with errantry within the Jade Pact, taking up lost causes and other odd tasks.

Now that Yzien had fallen fighting the Vreech - Vorenath felt the loss stab him in the chest - those of the Crow’s calling clung to Yzien’s last command: no matter what the outcome of their last, brilliant attempt, they were to stay and uphold the Jade Pact. The original Pact, not the one renegotiated after Yzien’s death, the Pact that carried the other Tribes away in the evacuation. And so, the Crow Tribe was staying. And, despite the expectations of others, Tisharelle had stayed, with zero hesitation.

In the years to come, Yzien’s final decisions - both in choosing Tisharelle and in that desperate fight against the Vreech - would be put to the test. Somehow, though, Vorenath suspected that both would be proven to have been the correct choices, despite Yzien’s death. The fallen Primal had been far too clever, in Vorenath’s experience, for anything they did to be as straightforward as it seemed on the surface. So, despite how Tisharelle might seem, he would listen to the teachings, put aside his expectations, and view things as they truly were.

Vorenath rose, and offered her a hand up. “Let’s get as much out of the infirmary as possible. If the Vreech catch scent of it, they’re going to tear the whole place apart trying to eat that circle. No reason to let them spoil the more mundane supplies.” She accepted his hand, and in a half-hour, they were on their way out of Evergrove, carrying heavy packs to cache elsewhere.

* * * * *

“Well,” Tisharelle said in a small, sad voice, “that’s the last of them.” She knelt by Vorenath’s body as the last of their attackers drew their final, gasping breaths. He was beyond the reach of her meager healing; she had never been able to bring the stronger Earth magics to bear, and there had been too many attackers to get to him faster. Soon, he would join the restless dead - his body dissipating, his spirit congregating near the remains of the long-lost Earth circle.

She’d been able to feel those remnants if she got too deep into the ruins, their energies swirling like eddies in a slow stream, brushing against her skin like wind-strewn cobwebs. They were drawn by the echo of resurrection magic, but the ability to bring them back had been lost since the Vreech had devoured circles all across the Protectorate, including that of the Evergrove.

Lost to all except their attackers, it seemed. Something about these yellow-skinned things was...off. They were drawn to death in a way nothing else was, moving in and out of it as fluid as a frog moving in and out of water. Perhaps that was why they’d taken over the ruins of Evergrove, seemingly reveling in the whispers of the dead that always made her skin crawl. She had no idea where they had come from, but they had been getting more and more numerous over the years, until conflict with them was seemingly inevitable.

Still...there was precious little time to waste speculating about these death-obsessed creatures and what they wanted. She has a rite to perform. Not on them, of course - the one time she’d tried, years ago, the migraine had knocked her senseless for days. But, Vorenath… what he held was still needed.

She cleaned off her knife, trying not to feel the squeamishness that plagued her every time she did this, even all these years later. A little voice in her head reminded her to focus - Thaleron’s second teaching - and she did, centering in her mind Yzien’s third teaching: accept what’s offered. She’d never get used to this...but she was one of the few who’d been able to master it, and the necessity outweighed the cost by far.

‘Don’t think, just do it’. She took a deep breath to steel herself, trying not to think about what she was about to do, then moved.. Knife point dropping, then rising. Get the eyes free…. slice the optic nerves…. ’bite, don’t chew!’

A white film covered her eyes as the rite seized her. The shadows of the past rose up around her, filling her vision with countless scenes of Vorenath’s life. She tumbled among them, lost for a moment, until she was surrounded by them, spinning off in all directions. She brushed several aside, searching. This was ancient magic, Fae magic, a remnant of the gifts Yzien had given their Tribe… but its power had limits. She quickly moved past the last few decades together, years of him as mentor and lover and parent…. side-stepped lessons he learned as young Vorenath of Ederna…. She dove deeper, past the great and trivial things he’d experienced to find what she’d needed, a secret buried as deep as his bones. The bitter, saline taste of aqueous humor flooded her mouth, overwhelmed the rest of her senses, and Tisharelle of Yzien knew.

With this - with this, the Crow Tribe would survive. Clever, clever Yzien….

Time had not been kind to Farhaven. Traffic on the Golon Road had long ago waned over the course of multiple centuries; after the Torreruna marble quarries had played out, and the Saryonne mines dried up, the surrounding towns had dwindled in size, a slow decay that resulted in the caravans becoming fewer and farther between. The wealth that had once been the hallmark of Farhaven had slowly faded over the long years, until it had become little more than a vestige of a memory, a long-forgotten footnote in the town’s history.

By the time the Vreech attacked the Protectorate, Farhaven was a dust-covered relic, a skeleton of a town long since dead, little more than a collection of farms eking out an existence with an inherited name and a lost remnant of heritage.

The tiny size of the town, and the utter poverty, had made the transition easy for them. When news came of the Vreech invasion, there was some concern, but with it came a simple, practical realization - Farhaven was far too remote, far too unimportant, to to draw the attention of something as world-shattering as the Vreech. With a collective shrug towards a world far larger than their day-to-day life, the residents of Farhaven simply… chose not to participate. The crystalline repeater that had brought their periodic news updater - and had warned them, eventually, that the Vreech devoured magic - was the first sacrifice to be made, and it was barely felt. It sailed downriver on a small raft purpose-built to cleanse the town of anything magical. An ancient axe, long-since gone mundane, joined the crystal, along with a few potions that the town’s midwife had kept for the direst of emergencies.

None of these losses were truly felt by the town - in mere weeks, those items were simply forgotten, unused detritus that had finally been purged, and good riddance to them. Magic was the purview of rich folk, and there were none of them living in, or anywhere near, Farhaven’s borders. Life continued as it had before, without even a nod towards the world outside. Farhaven would continue, as it always had, clinging to life out of sheer stubbornness, silently agreeing to forget the Protectorate that had long since forgotten them.

* * * * *

Commander Issarel hated the Repudiator towns, with a passion. At first glance, they seemed little different from any of the other minor towns that had survived the Fall; fortified as best they could, rabidly suspicious of outsiders...hard people living hard lives. That Issarel couldn’t blame them for - those were simply good survival skills. Any of the Hidden States would do the same, after all.

His Argent Shield symbol was enough to allow him to approach the gates without being shot; some good manners and an offer of useful skills had actually yielded something approaching civility. The jobs in these sorts of places were generally the same: disrupt raiders, dispatch some monster… the usual. With Lieutenant Lathai at his side, they’d been able to handle more than he could alone, and they’d actually built a reputation that extended above and beyond that of the Order. That had helped with the negotiation, as it usually did.

It was the aftermath that always bothered him. Lathai knew enough to be on her guard inside the town more than when they were hunting. Strength of arms only. Speed, stealth, tactics, training…those were all okay. Even alchemy, though that was tough to access without a proper laboratory. But never, ever, a hint of anything that could even be interpreted as magic.

He’d heard the stories, how quickly places like this Farhaven would turn on you. One moment, you’re eating the food they’d prepared as a reward, regaling them with a tale of the beast that you’d fought - a beast that they’d begged you to fight, to save them from - and the next, they were picking up your drugged body, ready to hang you for the crime of suspected magic use.

Even membership in the Order of the Argent Shield wasn’t enough to spare someone of suspicions. If anything, it seemed to make them more suspicious. They were a superstitious, nearly xenophobic bunch, to be avoided if possible.

Still...they had a job to do. They needed supplies, and food, and Farhaven was doing well enough to be able to provide them with what they needed. The Fall had been kind to Farhaven: far enough from any ley-lines, Vreech had never attacked here, and its isolated location and fortified walls had dissuaded raiding bands. Their local militia was even talented enough to be able to handle minor issues like kobolds or goblins or the occasional random bandits, which meant that the only things to draw the Order to these lands were serious threats. In this particular case, a howlbear.

When the Corteggio caravan passed along word of a howlbear in the woods near Farhaven, Issarel had groaned. It was exactly the sort of issue that the Order existed to take care of...but it was also exactly the sort of issue that would cause trouble. Too strong and dangerous to allow to roam wild; too strong and dangerous for the militia to be able to deal with. Penetrating its thick hide took strong, precise blows, and teamwork that spoke of training at a level rarely seen in simple militias… or powerful magic. And since the militia was unlikely to admit that the Order fielded better, stronger warriors, they would simply assume magic. As the Repudiators always did. Arguing with them would be as pointless as debating with the town’s palisade.

He’d been able to negotiate a relatively fair trade with them - mostly trade goods, as he didn’t trust the food they’d offer, though a “pick your own” approach on some of the outer farms afterwards would supplement what they’d been able to hunt. It was more of a formality than anything; they would have hunted the howlbear anyway, but getting something out of it other than a thrashing was a definite perk.

Which is how they were out here now, following the game trails, looking for a creature that almost certainly massed more than Issarel and Lathai both. It was days like this that made him wish that the Order hadn’t had to leave the Tower all those many years ago. It would have made this whole event so much easier….

* * * * *

In the end, it had taken two days of hunting to find the howlbear’s trail, and an additional day to track it back to its lair. The attack had gone better than he’d hoped, only resulting in a broken crossbow, a vambrace that desperately needed replacement, and a few cracked ribs on his part. Resting for a day gave them plenty of time to smoke the howlbear meat, enough that they’d be able to eat the greasy stuff until they got sick of it. Which, as Lathai pointed out, would come long before they actually ran out of it. The laugh she earned for that made him ache.

Lugging the beast’s head back to Farhaven was unpleasant - the day was hot enough that it stank, even with some crushed mint smeared across their upper lips - but it earned them some begrudging respect from the militia. It made the second round of negotiations a little easier, substituting a vambrace and a crossbow for a bolt of wool - easy enough that Issarel started getting a bit suspicious.

He gave a signal to Lathai, and she started scanning the area. A moment later, she drew an arrow and nocked it in one smooth motion, bringing the point to bear on one of the rooftops near the wall.

“Have your sniper stand down!” she snarled at the militia captain, looking down the arrow at the crossbow-wielding man half-obscured by a chimney. “I’m a good enough shot to have taken down a howlbear, I’m certain that I won’t have any problems skewering him.

After a tense moment while nobody moved, Issarel looked around non-plussed. “Well?” he prompted the militia, who begrudingly made a motion. A moment later, the archer put down the crossbow and moved out of sight.

Issarel beamed at them, a wide, friendly smile that got nowhere near his eyes. “See? We’ll just take our payment and head out now, if you don’t mind.” He dropped his hand to his sword hilt. The militia captain glowered at him, but gave a quick order, and in a few minutes, Issarel and Lathai were safely out of arrow range.

“Not bad for a few days’ work, Commander,” she said to him, giving him a lopsided grin. He snorted, trying not to laugh, feeling his ribs ache again.

If a person murders another that person shall be Banished.

If a person assaults another they will receive the same treatment they inflicted on the person charging them and spend one (1) month in jail.

If a person is a thief they will be put to death one (1) time.

All persons shall adhere to curfew. Curfew is 9:00 PM (21:00). Persons outside after Curfew must provide their work token. If they do not, they will be jailed for five (5) days.
~With the exception of Night Market Day, which is Saturday (the 6th day of the week)

If a person slanders another they shall be marked on their face with a hot iron in the shape of the letter S.

If a person commits fraud they will have to pay a fine of ten (10) times the value of the item and will also have to return payment to victim.

If it is proven that a worker does not complete their job, they will be jailed for a length of time appointed by a judge.

If property if not not maintained, the owner will be moved to community housing. The owner will also pay for repairs and pay a fine of two (2) times the amount for repairs.

If a person bears false witness in a trial they will be jailed for a length of time appointed by a judge. If the trial reaches a capital punishment, that person will be Banished.

If personal housing, business, or community areas are not kept sanitary the owner will pay for cleaning as well as a two (2) times the fee fine.

If a child is neglected, law enforcement will remove child from the home. A trial will be held and a judge will determine the punishment up to Banishment.

Each couple will only be allowed to have two (2) children, by adoption or coupling.
~Any persons found with more than two (2) children will be given the following punishment,
~One (1) parent will be Banished.
~If a couple has more than one (1) child over the limit all children will be removed and both parents will be Banished.
~Any children over the maximum of two (2) will be placed for adoption or will be entered into community housing until they come of age.

If a person dismisses the orders of a law enforcement officer, they will be fined 10 gold and jailed for 5 days.

All Persons have the option of a trial by peers instead of receiving the base punishment. However, the punishments delivered from the trial are not guaranteed to be less than default punishment. Punishments delivered by a trial are chosen by the Judge presiding over the trail based off the jury's vote.

Paragon: An individual who represents the finest aspects of each of the races within the Protectorate: in other worlds they would be deemed a Knight. The Paragon has no political power or military, save what others are willing to give them. They simply are those who represent others the best. This is a role of servitude, and a Paragon only appears or is sought at the time of greatest need. Many Paragons have risen for a small time before helping search for another, and there has not been a Paragon since the Deep Troll Wars nearly 3,000 years ago. The time to seek a Paragon were almost always brought about by a foretelling by the Dwarves.

The Order of the Silver Sword:
A military force composed of the very best. From Ex-Paragons to the finest combatants each one is an army unto themselves. They are the force that protected the caravans as they evacuated to Cairns and sealed themselves outside to protect and defend Cairns for as long as they were able.

The Collegium:
The Collegium is a non-political educational body which sees to the needs of the citizens of the Cairn. It is responsible for education, training and prosperity, and while the Collegium may have their own agendas they have been the driving force for both survival and peace within the Cairn.

The Protectorate:
The political body before The Fall in which all races and their nations joined as one. This was founded in harmony and peace for the betterment of all.

The Sombra Lance:
A rumored clandestine force within the Cairn society that metes out justice outside the laws and controls of the land. They are beholden only to themselves.

The Rot:
Few official cases of this have been found. The Rot seems to be an invasive mold that grows over living matter, and can even animate it - sometimes even while the thing it inhabits attempts to fight back against the creep that burrows into its skin. Thought by some to be propaganda and justification for killing the Dryads, whom the Orcs harbor and protect, or as an excuse to cease rationing on planted foodstuffs, the “Rot” keeps popping up in tales from scouting parties.


The Races:

The Marad’ Unn: The name in Ascension for the Dwarves. Formerly able to tell the future with their dreams, since The Fall they have lost height and their prophetic ability. Nevertheless, the Dwarves tend to hide things they think of great import in their bears and are always well prepared.

The Harbingers: Elves from another plane who warned the Protectorate of the Vreech. They are marked by faintly glowing lines of Ley Line power running through their skin.

The Null: The name for Ascension's humans. They appear to be the byproduct of breeding between races in a world with little magic.

The Librahm: The Ascension name for Biata. These people have been integral in retaining the history of the old world so that everyone can reclaim the new one. They are said to have had wings before The Fall, and are the protectors of memories.

The Winnowers: The Ascension Dryads, who used to decide what life was to be kept or culled when it spawned at a Dragon clutch. They worked closely with the Orcs, whom they would then give the new entity to for it to be cultivated and reared. When the last Dragon died during The Fall the Dryads all fell asleep. They are only now just waking, and no one knows why.

The Incarnate: Created by the Elder Fae, the Incarnate are Ascension's Sylvanborn Elves. They are a timeless race who can change their gender, outward appearance and outlook when they resurrect. (Is the fact that they were created by the elder fae common knowledge?)

The Sonorant: Ascension's Stone Elves. They were called Golden Elves before The Fall, and their harmony and songs charged the crystals and powered various arcane machinery. Since The Fall they have lost part of who they were, and are now resigned in their path to be those without harmony. They rarely show a desire to strive to again attain it, and the Sonorant are now viewed as mediators and judges in much of the Cairn.

The Circle-Born: The Ascension High Ogres are not a normal race. They are the remnants of spirits, who were torn apart when the Vreech destroyed the Realm of the Dead and every Earth circle. Recently the Arcane Life Engines, which the Selunari created just before The Fall, turned on by their own volition, as if the Earth itself was trying to bring back the shattered spirits into the world. This birthed the first golden skinned child, the first Circle-Born. These Ogres are their own person, but they can glimpse the dead - including who they had been previously.

The Wardens: The Alliance Oathsworn are former members of the Protectorate military. They have sworn to make right the duties they had forsaken before The Fall, and all have a role in the eternal war. They are creatures of the primal plane, and as such have a hatred for the Vreech unlike any other. This carries over to a dislike and distrust of all extra planar creatures.

The Union: The Ascension version of Hoblings, who gained their sense of individuality after The Fall. They retain a racial memory and many talents, though things are difficult to process at times.

Selunari: The Ascension Selunari are very affluent. They formerly were master craftsmen and inventors when it came to arcane implements, and their great family dynasties were the cultivators and creators of many of the magic crystals. All that knowledge and skill was lost in The Fall, so now they strive to reclaim what was lost as well as to try and keep the people of the Cairn together as one.

The Jade Pact and the Wylderkin: Technically two different groups, but they function together. The Jade Pact Elves are Ascension Forest Elves, who have ancient pacts with the deep forest and honor the Primal Fae. It was these ancient deals that allowed the Primal Fae to make a deal to invest their power into the Jade Pact, which helped to defeat the Vreech - though things didn't go as planned. After The Fall a few generations passed, and Wylderkin children began being born to those with Jade Pact ancestry. Details for this and their connections are within the race packets.

The Star-Touched: Ascension Dark Elves. The Star-Touched are swashbucklers and heroes. They were sky pirates when the sky ships flew, and were known as commandos and protectors. The Star-Touched held a special place in the lands of the Protectorate, and for the ritual they sacrificed the sun and sky they loved. The ritual denied their bodies from even being in sunlight, and they feel pain if they are exposed to it. Even so it is said that no one gets the best of them, and their skin adapts the color, and sometimes aspects, of the sky at the time they were born. They still adopt more of the aeronautical war of their ancestors, and you cannot take the sky from them.