Glinting shadows nested in the domed maze of the Paenivurh forests’ northern border on the late noon of the twenty-fourth of Mhorombar in the 1159th year of the First Age. The usually silent forest filled only with the echoes of twigs breaking, the howls of predators and the soft murmur of their prey whispering secrets to evade the former now rang with the metallic clanking of armor and the soft whispers of legionariir of the 9th Legion.
As they moved, their brass plates glinted and tremored tenderly while hugging their well-honed forms as they followed in the footsteps of Moirstyria clad in her gloomy white silvery plates of angular contours, segmented into many pieces and decorated with the grim motives of Obtryllia while under it she wore her usual dark garments of a silken which most resembled textile molten glass with a collar which circled around her pale neck while burrowing into itself like braids.
Behind him, her dear Ba’atz followed with his over protuberant eyes skimming the trees and lower flora while his long grayish black robes swung left then right while the finely carved and hewn ivory armor around the soft, matte garments rattled with each movement. Beside him Akemion followed with one hand kept on the handle of his sheathed blade while his own exotic eastern plates glimmered as the occasional light shone onto them while beneath, he wore an urchin grade eastern robe of many embroidered layers.
The small regiment of legionariir halted in their tracks the moment Moirstyria lifted her right hand covered in a gauntlet fashioned after a skeletal hand melded onto a silken glove. They immediately rushed into formation when one of their, a towering faun of whitish fur fell motionless into the masses of leaves shrouding the earth with his blood quickly forming a large puddle while the arrow which sent him into the embrace of the Solemn Shepherd pushed through his neck.
Moirstyria and her two closest remained in front, engulfed in a translucent blue bubble from which the arrows coming simply out from reality itself bounced off down to the ground which swiftly swallowed them. Not long after the very same arrows aimed at the joints of their armors, sent with great precision. Moirstyria touched the ground and mauve and light bluish energies swept out from her palm connecting to it leading to the fallen arrows aging, rotting into nothing.
Then as she looked up with glowing eyes, she noticed spheres of white hovering high on the trees. Moirstyria quickly pointed at them and as her orders reached the legionariir behind them, the few veneficiir and Ba’atz hurled spells at the hiding savages whose burning, frozen, shattered corpses fell unceremoniously down to the earth.
Silence settled into the forest once more as they waited vigilantly, then it was broken by a multitude of bellowing battle cries that even shook the earth beneath their feet as dozens upon dozens of savages popped out from the trees and the earth including their altered beasts who were fusion of animal and plant life.
“For the Empire!” Moirstyria screamed through the confident bellows of the savages while raising her blade high and in a short moment she unleashed a fog of finality upon the first wave of the quickly approaching enemy whose gangrenous corpses littered the leaf hidden path leading further into the once peaceful forest of Paenivurh.
**
Darkness slowly evaporated over the alabaster city of Nidumiath which stood out firmly amongst the vast flatland of greenery and warm colors just a few dozen kilometers away from the dense forest. Its octagonal walls stood proudly over the deep mote occasionally filled with the waste water pouring forth the cylindrical maws of the sewer system, though it never rose above its usual level thanks to dwarven engineering leading it down into the bowels of the continent.
From the eight corners of the wall itself, four-sided spires rose with strict contours and curves built from a shimmering white stone with the top containing a large cushioned bed fitted for the winged mounts of the eight Draennith Praetoriir assigned to the protection of the city and to occasionally fly out and eradicate threats which the legionariir could not handle themselves.
Further beyond the walls, the city itself was sliced into four vast districts. The side closest to the freezing north housed the residential district and the large market filled with goods brought down from the northern colonial cities, towns and small settlements.
The southern districts on the other hand housed the legionariir and their families while also dotted with a few bakeries and places to spend time including libraries and eateries while the one directly to east the Arkhaine District nestled where magusos, veneficiir conducted their experiments, housed their vast libraries of grimoires and tomes containing the various researches conducted on the local savages, the history of the forest and so on.
And in the center where Moirstyria and her renowned group arrived after long weeks of travelling, ascending the growing number of elevating steps while occasionally taking inquisitive glimpses at the peculiar stones with maghiath veins popping on their dusky white surface emanating a myriad colors constantly shifting with each blur while also singing an ethereal sonnet of soft reverberation.
At the top they once more stopped in wonder at the structure of the palace built with asymmetrical proportions and articulations while hewn from the very stones, they just glimpsed at on their way up. The veins which emanated the ethereal glow now twisted, intertwined, branched to make out vague shapes of the good folk and even the Deossos while other lines simply just served as decorative frames at the trims and edges.
“Welcome Sister and your friends!” As they reached the next set of shorter stairs their eyes immediately focused onto the mesmerizing figure whose face was a fusion of male contours and female soft lineaments while his scales took artful shapes and delineations, his eyes wide and narrow with slim frame in which his slit mauve pupils gleamed like pearls pulled from the azure sea and glinting under the purest light of the Illius while on his body he wore the most profligate set of layered robes consisting of the royal shades of mauve, crimson and golden.
“It is good to see you again Brother Aerdonis!” Moirstyria said as she smiled affectionately while embracing the consulius of Nidumiath, her elderly brother of a different mother in a distant hug.
“The Solemn Shepherd truly smiled upon me for sending you hear. Come my servants prepared a worthy feast for you and your friends.” He said in his soothing, smooth voice while turning around pointing at his entourage consisting of many different folks, though all equally beautiful almost as him and dressed in lavish garments while adorned with jewels and brochures of the finest workmanship.
Moirstyria moved first out of her trance, then was followed by the rest as they headed into the peculiar palace where they regaled their tale of traveling and many other adventures including the battle against one of the cyclopean children of the Father of the Deep Ones in the Gutticur Strait near the border of the colored deserts of the south.
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“Come, come my friends. Do not just feast your eyes!” As soon as they stepped into the vast dining hall, most of the group except for Moirstyria and Akamion halted and fell into a trance upon witnessing the long table garnished with jeweled gilded plates and cups, a saliva inducing cavalcade of scents coming from the sizzling food, the warmed drinks and the carefully arranged deserts waiting for them.
Aerdonim raised his hand as he sat on the right end facing Moirstyria at the other end when he noticed her dark lips began to move. “We shall talk about the savages and my request after you filled your empty stomaches! Now feast to your heart contents.” A smile curved onto his lips as he watched each of the group eat with a manner mimicking Akamion’s after they realized they could not count on Moirstyria who devoured the food with an apparent lack of sophistication.
**
Moirstyria stared coldly into the vacant eyes of the legionariir, beasts and savage warriors laying all around her while their blood dripped to the leaves. Her heart raced as the thrill of snuffing one’s life out pumped her soul and body, dampening the sound of battle raging around her.
Time seemed to slow down even as she halted her own spells forcing her into a faster stream of time itself. She watched as Akamion’s blade severed sinew and marrow, watched with excitement as the bundles of intestines wriggled while the upper body of a haggard lievhe hit the ground and his niuvhen friend moved onto the next victim of his striking with his large wooden and stone hammer at an unassuming legionariar – a kindred of Ba’atz from the central waters of Elhyrissian – panting over the cadaver of a horned bear with a wide grin.
Then her attention turned towards Ba’atz – the famed black scaled Deep One whom she rescued from slavery many a decade ago – piercing a plant-folk savage whose floral flesh turned liquid as the water elemental spell penetrated through his carved oaken plate and in the next moment, where he stood only his empty armor and garments remained amidst the mud and wet leaves.
Three more of these savages fell to a single spell conjured by him, a bubble of raging water torn their figures into grotesque fleshy puppets as if they walked through a storm of razors while their bones shattered into a myriad or more pieces.
Slowly the number of the enemy dwindled, beckoning Moirstyria to emit a triumphant cry, raising her blade towards the blocked sky and the forest trembled under the heavy steps of the marching, proud warriors of the great Elhyrissian Empire drunken on certain victory.
**
“Where did he go?” Moirstyria’s gentle yet agitated, disembodied voice traversed the aethereal link between them.
“In the house to your left.” Ba’atz who hovered high in the sky conveyed and as Akamion caught up, the two entered the angular structure of pristine alabaster. Moirstyria stepped forth first into the seemingly vacant house evident from the long and empty hallway.
The gentle gale of the wind, the metallic steps and clanking of their adamantine armor pervaded through the whole building. Between each door way they halted and stared into each strangely empty room after realizing their prey was a master of subterfuge and umbral maghia.
In each room, their eyes lit up momentarily as they peeked beyond the natural world, into the land of the unseen where the shadows hid the traitor against their own will. To their surprise, the featureless walls seemed to bear strange marks, of a distant language spoken only by wicked beings – at least that was their conclusion.
As Moirstyria’s eyes wandered following the trail of letters and glyphs, she watched as Ba’atz hovered close to the tall building’s windows while ready to unleash his arkhaine knowledge in case the enemy decided, tried to escape once more.
Leaving the room, she felt cold tendril coil around her soul, digging deeper and deeper with each passing moment. This feeling proved equally pervasive, revolting and most importantly assuring that their prey drawn them onto the wall in case of discovery to buy time to escape.
Though she was also puzzled as to why he would lead them to here. Was he foolish enough to try his chance against the group? If so, he was both foolish and clever enough to guide her, Ba’atz and Akamion here first. Instinctively she smiled as these train of thought continued while she watched the latter survey around the central room of the homestead.
Then she span around, her blade unsheathed and thrusted forward while time slowed down and stared into the dying eyes of the aevhen man which seemed desperate and hopeful while holding his hands towards her, his lips trying to form words but only his iridescent blood came forth onto his throat and the floor. Was it a suicidal move knowing there was no escape? Was it just a foolish attempt followed by trying to curse them before passing into the hands of her Mistress and her worn Husband?
**
As they pushed further and further into the forest, cutting all who stopped to halt their march, the regiment led by Moirstyria was halted in a vast clearing where the tender light of the Illius shone unabated, caressing the stretching parcel of grass, the shrubbery bearing many vivid colors at the shadowy borders and the merry flowers dancing to the will of the wind.
Amidst these soothing scenery, they found themselves surrounded by savages, beasts and kin of the elements howling and growling in a chaotic union. Yet they remained dozens of steps from the brave legionariir of the Empire. Moirstyria’s eyes ran across the many crude faces searching for the leader knowing their head shall prove enough to dissuade these brutes from terrorizing the caravans and good folk traversing the forest.
And as if the Deossos heard her prayer, the row of barbarians and beasts broke their line letting their proud leader to walk holding his twin swords of strange alloy gleaming with a color she had never seen before, the blades themselves growing from strong oaken handles of unevenly strident contours.
A lievhen savage stood proudly at their lead, his face handsome and gifted with the majestic curves of stags, eyes of lupine sharpness and piercing menace, a figure as awe-inspiring as the greatest of ursine beasts stalking the lush forested lands of Vhalleryon clad in armor of bone and oak, his shadow cast onto Moirstyria and her two dearest. His arms slowly arose while his bearded visage reflected a beckoning smile aimed at her.
Not wasting the invite, Moirstyria uttered a battle cry and the battle resumed after the momentary cessation. The legionariir, Akamion and the savage band charged at each other in slow motion as the flow of time lessened by and to Moirstyria.
She appeared as a series of miraged specter hopping closer and closer to the proud lievhen leader. Her glinting blade of silver stroke down aiming to sever him in two from head to nether point, though the strike ended in failure as it found itself wedged between the strange metallic blades locked into a scissor formation above his pale oaken maned head.
Then she found herself on her knees, struggling for air after the strong impact of his foot planted into her plate clad abdomen. Her tears bombarded the ground and as she looked up Moirstyria saw the still figure with lowered blades calmly staring over her.
As she slowly arose to her feet, she watched the slow rush of Akamion charging with his katana clutched between his hand, aiming for the joint of the lievhe before them who still stood calmly, then in the next moment Akamion posture shifted to one of lost balance, blade slowly descending towards the legions of grass while a dent slowly grow into branching cracks across his single dark plate.
Led by a strange anger, Moirstyria charged believing in her own willed pace, hoping to end this battle by cleaving through his opponents body, but once more she missed and felt the oaken hilt’s harsh brunt against her nape shrouded by the dark storm of her flowing hair. Then as the sway of Oneiron beckoned her sweetly, she looked as her will waned on the stream of time and noticed the gloomy, delicate figure of her Mistress standing in the shadows of the forest while Ba’atz’s worried cry rang in her ears before she stood alone in the dark vista of Oneiron.