When it came to war, the presence of the advocates of the Masked was an accepted reality. After all, there was much for them to do on the battlefield.
Given time, wandering souls could find their own way to the afterlife. Usually. Still, any amount of time spent wandering risked putting those souls at risk. In the right eyes or, the wrong ones, a soul was a resource to be manipulated.
And few fields were as fertile for wandering souls as the field of war.
Soldiers and warriors both watched for the advocates. Perhaps the youngest and unblooded were unaware, but the old veterans? That superstitious lot knew after all. They knew of the sight afforded to the advocates by their Patron.
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Koren, Advocate of the Masked
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The dull roar of battle filled his ears. Clashes and clangs of metal ringing around him.
Koren raised his sword high, deflecting the spear away before bringing the blade back down. The edge of his sword bit into the maned neck of the Coyo warrior and Koren's opponent barked in pain upon receiving the edge of the blade. Flailing, the male Coyo fell back, exposing his leathery belly to the follow-up thrust of Koren's sword.
There was one last flail of taloned feet, but Koren had already stepped back. Lady Cherise cawed from overhead, flying about to gather the unmoored souls in her black wings.
Koren took a moment to lean on his sword as he found himself in a moment of calm. There were always those who felt like they could earn accolades by striking down an advocate such as himself. Not an easy feat when Death itself had him scheduled for later. Koren's eyes peered through the blank mask on his face.
At least for the moment, he could see no signs of danger. Koren still kept his head on a swivel. She may have scheduled his demise for later, but that schedule could be altered if he didn't take steps and pay attention. All advocates had a complicated relationship with their own end.
A squad of scaled warriors joined upon him from behind. Koren turned his head to see the squad of Drakoren, stopping to see to him.
"You didn't need us!" The leader said through sharp grinning teeth, her bright yellow scales gleaming. "You advocates fight well!"
Her male subordinates were not nearly so flashy as her, typical male colouring ranged from brown scales to dull black. All of them wore a simple breastplate, with an emphasis on shoulder guards and long gauntlets to match their natural forward-leaning posture. Shin and thigh guards protected the front of their reverse jointed legs, and their ever-moving whip tails had various bladed instruments lashed to the tips. A row of bladed spines ran down their backs, starting at a set of backswept horns on each of their long heads.
Koren was looking at an elite squad as well. The female captain and her soldiers bore signs of seed overuse. The Drakoren could breathe fire thanks to their elemental seeds, but all along the necks of these soldiers, Koren could see charred cracks starting to open up. It wasn't the first time he'd seen this damage, like burnt and exceptionally rough tree bark from the early stages of overuse. One soldier in the back of the group was noticeably worse, the cracks along his neck open and glowing, leaking orange light. Two cracks extended from the corners of his mouth, and even his throat glowed from within, giving him the appearance of having a twisted, unholy smile.
It would take him some time for the warrior to recover from this state. Such was the cost of magic. He could keep using his seed. Indeed in this overcharged state his effectiveness would only rise, but to do so was to literally burn his life away. A seed it was, but one had to be careful lest it sprout.
That so many Drakoren soldiers bore such signs was a dark testament to the length of this war.
"You came to aid me nonetheless, my thanks," Koren responded, giving her a nod of respect. He cast his eyes across the battlefield.
"What do you see?" The captain asked.
"The battle continues," Koren noted, "but for me, a moment of calm."
"Then I will leave you to enjoy it, there are more dogs to slay!" She raised her spear above her head and her soldiers hooted. They moved on to rejoin the battle.
Cherise landed on his shoulder, his beloved raven adjusting her wings. Koren raised a hand to scritch behind her head as he surveyed the battle. She warbled her appreciation.
A pitched battle was being waged on the plains before him, Drakoren fighting with spears, skill and gouts of flame. Coyo fighting with superior numbers and precision.
On the edges of the battle, Drakoren lizrider cavalry scythed through the edges of the Coyo ranks with sustained blasts of flame. The fire was less concentrated with them on the move but no less effective.
In the opposite flank, Coyo crossbowmen held the advantage. What they lacked for in magic, they made up for in precision and craftsmanship. Many Drakoren reeled back, felled by flurries of bolts.
A gathering of power pulled him that way. As always, the great loss of life saddened Koren. He reached up and adjusted the mask on his face before moving on.
While the scaled Drakoren and furred Coyo were similar in stature and both emphasized a martial nature, the two races had never been friends in recorded memory.
As the children of the elemental god, Kusignis of Heartflame, almost all Drakoren were born with a seed of fire. Just about any Drakoren could breathe that fire, and many learned to do more. All Drakoren were scaled and coloured in variations of warm tones. And they revelled in combat.
The Coyo however, well, there were few races with less aptitude for magic. Few races were less likely than Coyo to be born with a seed of their own. They too had the forward-leaning posture and reverse jointed legs, but instead of scales and spines, they grew fur from their backs and their undersides were leathery. Males typically grew manes of fur. They would grow spiral goat horns as well and their short tails all bore variations of spikes but lacked the effectiveness of the longer Drakoren tails.
Lacking magic didn't make them a lesser power. It just made them prone to jealousy. The Coyo were a people that valued skill in all things and had maintained a strong empire as far back as memory could go. It forever rankled them that they were denied from participating in the world of magic.
In the end, their physical similarities only served to drive the Drakoren and Coyo apart. But even in cases where the Drakoren and Coyo didn't hate each other, they were still heated rivals.
Koren knew all too well what this conflict was about. This war was not a battle between respected opponents. It was a battle steeped in rage and perceived wrongs.
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The Drakoren nodded and stepped away, pulling the tent flap aside. Koren nodded back and entered.
"-and with a sustained flame and wind barrier, we can weather the storm of bolts!"
General Sdisk, a large male Drakoren with deep brown scales, mottled with speckles of purple, was speaking. Wearing little more than a black vest and a leather banded kilt, he still cut an imposing figure with his thick scales and the bladed ridge down his spine.
Cherise cawed softly and fluttered her tail as Koren took place near the entrance.
"We risk burning out our best cavalry! This campaign has pushed them to their limits!" Sdisk's counterpart, general Oshal argued back. A female with supple and brilliant yellow scales glared at Sdisk. Her shoulders bore the typical crackling of seed overuse, brown cracks spreading up her sinuous neck and across her arms and down her back. Her status was that of a mage and her more refined use of fire mana allowed her to avoid the glowing smile. It was firebreathing that encouraged the cracking of the neck and mouth, and she had better ways of spreading the flame.
There were more individuals in the tent standing over the scattered maps, minor nobles and their attendant servants. Rows of figurines were lined up on the table, showing the opposing forces as expected for today's battle. While there were others here, it was the two generals and one other who dominated.
"First advocate," a voice spoke up, acknowledging Koren with gravitas.
"Your highness," Koren replied, inclining his masked head.
The Prince of Ars, Raske Vylcan, was unmistakable. Only the Drakoren royal family bore such pristine white scales and bright red eyes. In size and posture, the Prince was smaller than general Sdisk, but he held himself with such confidence that he dominated the room. The Prince wore a simple vest and kilt as well, the only decorations were the elaborate caps on his horns, detailed with gems and engravings to show his status and prowess.
"As always, I send my gratitude with you First advocate," The Prince met the eyes of the mask Koren wore without flinching. When he looked away, it was not due to the empty eyes the mask would show anyone who looked upon it. "Would that this war had not been made necessary." The Prince spoke with regret.
Koren nodded, "your gratitude is received, and I agree."
The generals continued to argue their positions. Koren listened impassively. He was First advocate only because he was literally the first to arrive. The advocates of the Masked had little advice to offer in this conflict. Events here had to play themselves out or else only further tragedy lay ahead. It was rare indeed for advocates to interfere in such things. And if they did intervene, their patron would hold them to the highest possible standards.
In any case, it was only in matters of pure survival that advocates like him could freely offer advice without political backlash. Death was usually unconcerned by when an individual died, all would see the Mask in time. But when it came to the Death of thousands or more, there were more rules to consider. And Koren wasn't privy to many of his Patron's secrets.
Reflexively, Koren tapped into one of the higher senses of his mask and looked at the Prince with augmented sight. The Masked was also an impartial Judge. His god saw through to the motivations and worth of all those with a will of their own. A necessary ability for her to properly send departing souls to their deserved end. Prince Raske was a driven individual himself, on top of that his soldiers were well in tune with him, enough so to motivate a compelling vision of one of the cardinals.
Behind and above, the Prince of Ars loomed a figure usually visible only to the Masked. Most would call it by one of its aspects, Fury, or in this case, Justice.
Furusticia of the Cardinals hung over Prince Raske. An armoured figure twice as large as any of the Drakoren in the room. Which should have been impossible, the tent didn’t have the space to allow such a thing.
As Prince Raske was Drakoren, so too was this avatar, but Justice wore no simple vest and kilt. It stood, adorned with gleaming platinum armour from head to foot. Such was the light shining forth that Koren felt he shouldn't even be able to look. Even the bladed ridges along the avatar's back were plated with metal, gleaming and razor-sharp. A shield hung off Justice's shoulder and a sword remained sheathed by his hip. His nose and mouth could be seen, a red-scaled snout held closed with grim purpose. Anything else was hidden, a featureless plate of metal covering the rest of his head.
And over his shoulders hung a set of scales, empty and waiting to be used. It was a harsh image in its own way.
Although not the harshest version Koren had witnessed. He had learned a valuable lesson. Koren knew the moment Justice revealed its eyes the possessing apparition could no longer be considered 'Just.'
Raske Vylcan, First Prince of Ars, focused on his map as his generals argued the finer points of strategy. Raske would listen to their wisdom and determinations to make his decision, tempered by those around him. He would make his best judgements for the sake of Justice. For the sake of his people and all those who suffered the ravages of war. For the sake of lives that should never have been lost. For the sake of those who could still be saved.
For the sake of ending this conflict and the one who forced countless lives to be put under the sword.
Raske Vylcan exemplified what it meant to be noble, and the proof hung over his shoulders, invisible to all but a select few.
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Koren, First advocate
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The two of them were surrounded by ravens. The birds made barely a sound, but for the occasional stepping of tiny feet on hard metal. Small little tip tap sounds, often matched by the soft fluttering of wings and tails.
Koren arrived at a quiet point of the battle. This place drew him. He and two others, all of them with blank eyeless masks. A mountain of a man with blackened armour under a great cloak and the gentlest voice Koren knew. A man named Tosp. Next, a white-skinned Earlkin woman with obsidian horns extending from behind her ears and around to her forehead like a vicious tiara. A woman named Pylinla. Her heavy garb and armour hid all but her pale neck framed by wisps of loose black hair. Both wore their masks, and like Koren, they kept their names to themselves here. If not for previous meetings, it was unlikely he would know those names until after this war.
Pylinla was a member of the advocates accompanying the side of the Drakoren of Ars. Tosp was accompanying the opponents, the Coyo people of the Luodan Ascendancy.
The battle had moved on from this place. Screams of voices in pain, matched by screams of metal on metal, sounded in the distance. But the three advocates stood over a warrior as he shook with grief and barely suppressed sobs.
A Coyo male, young and once proud, held the body of a female. Her colouring and fur obscured her gender. The mud and blood caked to her body had probably masked the subtle telltale scents of the truth. Until yesterday's rain. Coyo females were rarely allowed onto the battlefield by the traditionalist society they lived in. And never in a fighting capacity.
It was a Coyo spear that had run her through.
The flock of ravens watched in fluttering silence, hundreds of beady black eyes trained on the heedless male.
The Earlkin woman Pylinla stepped forward. She had precedence here. She had advanced far enough in age for her once snow-white hair to turn an ebony black. Enough that her horns exuded shadow like smoke. When her very skin started changing from pale alabaster to deep black, she would be in her twilight years, but she wasn't there quite yet. Pylinla could be anywhere from 350-450 years old at this point. It was rude of Koren to press further on her age, so he didn't.
As she stepped forward, a large black raven fluttered down, landing on her shoulder. Koren and Tosp stood behind her as she approached the grieving male. He looked up at her and whined, eyes flowing with tears.
"Why?" He sobbed, speaking in badly slurred common.
He couldn't see her, of course. The spirit clinging to his back, crying and sobbing just as hard.
"It comes for us all, in time," Pylinla replied, her voice sombre.
"My Patriarch… why does he fight? For what- what reason did I have to lose her!?"
Pylinla looked over her shoulder at Tosp, at Koren. They both nodded in understanding. She looked back to the young male. "This is a question you can answer yourself, with your own eyes."
"...What?"
She reached out and touched his forehead and touched the spirit body of the ghost clutching him from behind. As Pylinla reached, the raven on her shoulder cawed and raised his wings. His form expanded, flowing outwards like smoke. As the Earlkin woman touched the head of the grieving male, so too did the overlapping hand of a dark ghost touch the Coyo's mind.
Koren remembered that touch. That blinding flash. The sudden knowing. The conversation with The Masked that was no conversation at all. But after comprehension arrived, you weren't the same person anymore.
You just… knew.
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And so did he. The Coyo dropped the corpse from nerveless fingers. He turned, finally seeing the spirit that couldn't bear to leave him. He reached, and his hand passed through. She reached and her hand alighted upon his snout. No words were shared. Not out loud.
Three advocates watched, silent ravens perched on their shoulders. They all understood. It was a silent conversation again. More than just words, it was a sharing of emotions, memories and of decisions made before they were even consciously understood. But those decisions were understood.
The Coyo male stood. The white, ghostly form of his once mate stood next to him. They held hands with a firm grip, her hand strong, as if it was no longer incorporeal. He then spoke with a voice both strong and clear.
"We accept."
Suddenly her form shrunk, pulled towards his hand. In an instant, he held a mask. Void of emotion, although holding the form of a Coyo face. A raven flapped into the air, one of the many that had silently watched. A small raven, almost certainly a young female. The Coyo lifted the mask above him for the raven to pass through. As its form went through the mask, its wings trailed wisps of white smoke. She flew a tight circle and returned to land on his shoulder.
"I am Crawsic," the Coyo warrior explained, then raised his hand to awkwardly but gently stroke the back of his beloved's new form, "and this is Boos."
That was it, a new advocate was made. Crawsic was a new man now. Not that it was immediately apparent outside of his new mask.
Koren stepped to the front. "Welcome Crawsic and Boos," Koren sent a thought to lady Cherish on his shoulder. "For the time being, while this war lasts, we remain nameless. Death is ever-present here, and no one wishes for it to become personal, so shall you go nameless until this conflict ends."
"I understand," Crawsic replied, "what happens next?"
Multiple ravens took off, flying to other parts of the battlefield.
"We have called the advocates of the Coyo forces," Koren explained and waved to Tosp, "they will be here soon to help him escort you."
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It wasn't long until Koren saw Crawsic again. The newest advocate on the battlefield wore his mask properly but was recognized by his scent in short order.
Crawsic was not accepted back to his side. He, and the rest of the advocates, were expelled from the Coyo ranks.
Koren only heard about the events in the second hand, but he was far from surprised. Judging by how the advocates were acting when Koren saw them, he had a pretty good idea of what they had come to see in the leader of the Luodan Ascendancy.
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Koren had only ever seen him from a distance before. Never from anything resembling up close.
Yevkit the Red was a Coyo warrior of impressive stature and build. The Coyo form borrowed elements, both canine and lizard in nature. Indeed, a common slur for a Coyo was 'drakmutt,' which was not tolerated. The Drakoren didn't like the comparison much either.
But this warlord of the Coyo was a lupine beast that towered over his subordinates and his enemies alike.
Hulking, corded muscles, bright orange fur striped with slashes of brown and a thick mane around his neck all helped him stand out.
And he chewed through Drakoren soldiers with apparent ease.
Yevkit smashed forward, leading with the charge with an armoured shoulder. His spear-bearing hand smacked away the spear of an opposing Drakoren. That same Drakoren suffered a crushing impact from the shoulder, only to be tossed several meters away.
Another lunged forward, only to have her spear caught in a single empowered hand. Yevkit dragged her forward and the surprised Drakoren failed to release her weapon. Yevkit ran her through with ease.
Koren watched from nearby. He and a troupe of advocates held a pocket of momentary peace in this sea of battle. A pocket of peace hard-won against near rabid soldiers under Yevkit's control. The fight would be rejoined in moments.
"It is worse now," the new advocate said gravely. “My people have lost themselves.”
Koren looked at the young Coyo, Crawsic. "Yes," he agreed.
Just as the first Prince held a manifestation above him, so did Yevkit.
Not Justice this time. No, he held the opposite side of the coin. Of the Cardinal of Justice and Fury known as Furusticia, Yevkit was possessed by the sin of Rage. Even worse, the apparition had become so strong as to draw strength from the rest of Yevkit's forces, empowering him to greater heights.
It hung above him, a figure in rent, scorched armour. This version was a Coyo, reflecting the being who had invited this possession. But Fury only vaguely resembled that form. His mane burned with a near-white flame. Rather than fur, his body was wreathed in fire, gusts of smoke and ash seeped from the jagged, toothy maw of his enraged face. The plate of steel across his face was cracked. Seething eyes glared upon all who stood before Yevkit, and the warrior empowered by the sin's blessing destroyed all before that gaze. Replacing the scaled that hung upon the back of his pristine alter-ego, this version of Furusticia carried a single cruel hanging cage above his shoulders, wailing souls reaching for freedom through spiked bars.
Then Yevkit's eyes alighted upon his true opponent.
Raske Vylcan, Prince of Ars, strode forward in gleaming steel, a shining force mowing through the ravening horde of the Coyo warriors. He was surrounded by elites in armour once pristine but now scarred in the rigours of combat. Each one of their throats glowed with orange light, their flesh rent with cracks. Even the Prince himself showed the initial black ribbons of fireseed overuse.
Above him floated the armoured representation of Justice, still in shining armour, helmet blank and carrying the scales across his shoulders.
Rather than great gouts of flame, the Drakoren warriors had restricted themselves to spitting small balls of fire. An attempt to regulate, but those little balls burned so much hotter in the overcharged state of the warriors. Every blast was accompanied by a hidden spasm of burning pain. Only discipline hid the truth, Koren was under no illusions on the matter.
The Drakoren now fought on pride, training and grit. They had tapped out their casters throughout this long battle. Only strength of arms remained.
But then, the Coyo were not fighting at their true strength either.
The moment of respite for the Masked ended as a squad of Coyo approached. Koren raised his sword. Flanking Koren, Crawsic with spear and shield in hand on his right, Tosp with his heavy armour and Poleaxe on the left. Just behind them, a Dwarven advocate with steel strung bow in hand. Surrounding them, a detachment of Drakoren spearmen.
The Coyo ranks smashed into them with feral eyes and bared fangs, snarling their rage at Yevkit's enemies. Spittle splattered against Koren's face as he caught and deflected the spear of his opponent. The head of the first Coyo to close snapped backwards, a thick wooden bolt driving through his face and sending him tumbling away.
Koren raised his left arm, runes traced along his gauntlets lighting up, mana passing through wooden chime tree scales that made up the bracers of his gauntlets. He had no elemental seed, but that didn't prevent him from using mana. He just had much less of it than a seed blessed. Mana unaspected, converted to elemental wind as it sifted through the chime wood. Some chanted quietly as they constructed their spells. Koren wasn’t a quite man when it came to magic.
"Wind gather, howl and harden. Wind shrink, sharpen and spin. Those before me and beyond, STRIKE!
A torrent of air gathered before Koren as he chanted, mentally visualizing and building his spell on the spot.
The concepts raced through his mind. Form in his hand, mana becomes wind, trace the range, sharpen the blades and… fire. It all came together with skill and practice. With his word of command, that wind blasted out, catching all caught in the cone in a savage shredding whirlwind.
That bought them a moment of space. Space Koren needed as he slumped with momentary exhaustion. Tosp was unharmed, but his polearm now dripped with blood. Crawsic had to place a foot on a once comrade before him to draw his spear out from the corpse. Tears of grief streamed from his eyes.
Koren knew of the Coyo. They hadn't maintained their place in the world through luck. Anything but. Instead, the Luodan Ascendancy had maintained its place with determination. Supported by patriotism and the loyalty of its people, for its people.
These howling near-rabid opponents were a perversion, and Koren's heart went out to Crawsic.
And so Koren prayed.
Prayed to a god that rarely intervened in games of thrones and religions.
"Is there nothing we can do?" Koren asked of his Patron in the depths of his heart. A heart brimming with grief at the lives lost, both enemy and ally.
He didn't expect an answer, but he got one. It arrived in his mind, and the mind of every advocate present.
*** "It is only for Justice to remain blind." ***
Koren's heart flipped as Her words reverberated all the way down to his soul. Crawsic looked at him with confusion, the fur on his neck matted with tears that streamed out from under his mask. Tosp stumbled and had to smack the butt of his weapon into the ground for balance. The Dwarf behind him shouted out in surprise, "W’at is dat now?"
Every advocate Koren could see was confused, but he knew what to do.
"Cherise," Koren called out with his mind, "I need you."
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Raske Vylcan, Prince of Ars
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His throat was burned.
The great spear wielded by Yevkit struck Raske's angled shield. He could feel it gouge another deep scratch through the metal, pulling at his arm. He had to brace himself to hold his ground and maintain his block. The spike on his long tail put a slight cut on Yevkit's cheek, only causing the beast to smile and lick the wound as it began trickling blood.
This was not the first time he had faced off against his opposite among the Coyo. One way or another, however, it would likely be his last. Raske gritted his jagged teeth against the force of Yevkit's arms as the powerful warrior struck again. The Coyo leader had only become stronger from one engagement to the next. In their first battle, Raske had diverted Yevkit's strikes with relative ease. Now they shook him to his bones and left his arms numb.
Raske Vylcan, another in a long line of Vylcans as far back as the founding of the kingdom of Ars, considered the ending of that line. But only for a moment.
The Drakoren prince leapt backwards to earn himself space and a reprieve.
Yevkit let him.
While Raske’s throat burned.
The Coyo warrior smiled with a mouth full of jagged teeth, his eyes wild but full of confidence. "It seems we have changed positions, Prince," Yevkit taunted with dark amusement. Drakoren and Coyo alike had retreated from the pair of them, allowing the two leaders an arena in which to fight.
Raske and his opponent circled slowly, eyeing each other up. Raske held his spear and shield at the ready. Yevkit raised his arms and spun around, shouting at his soldiers to rile them up. Jeering at Raske's soldiers to show his contempt. He paid no attention to the advocates.
The advocates. Raske blinked. He was pretty sure every single one of the advocates had joined the circle, coming to watch this fight. Was this normal?
"You have fought… ’well' Raske," Yevkit taunted further, "But now we are coming to the end."
Raske bared serrated teeth, letting wisps of smoke escape from the sides of his cracked maw.
It only reminded him of his burning throat.
"The only end today will be yours, Yevkit," Raske responded with a confidence he did not feel. He found himself struggling to keep his attention on Yevkit as the flapping of wings intensified, more black-winged birds than he'd ever seen starting to fill the skies. His Drakoren shrunk away. Yevkit and his Coyo seemed not to notice.
"I Think Not!" Yevkit shouted, speckles of foam at the sides of his mouth. His soldiers shouted as well, adding volume to the pronouncement. "When the sun sets, the proud Prince of Ars will be No More! You people will undefended, their armies crushed, the way open for me and mine!" Yevkit's snout wrinkled as he bared his teeth in rage, his eyes wide and wilder.
"I will have my Just rewards!"
Again Raske was distracted by an advocate. A new one, but one he recognized. Raske had to jerk his head back as Yevkit closed. The massive Coyo struck Raske's shield true, piercing through the metal. The Prince released the shield and spit a gout of flame into Yevkit's face.
It burned, but Yevkit stepped away with ease. One of his eyebrows smouldered, but he was otherwise undamaged. A pendant hanging from his neck glittered with sparkles of wind and moisture. The beast was not so foolish as to fight without preparation after all.
A voice halted the battle.
"Great Leader Yevkit. You speak of Just Rewards."
It was the figure Raske had recognized. The new Coyo advocate. He spoke, and his voice thundered.
"All shall see just what here is Just. As we see, so shall all see what is Right," the young male's voice boomed, carrying a weight and strength Raske hadn't heard the single time Raske had heard him speak. "And what is Not."
The shouting Coyo warriors had fallen to silence, the battlefield momentarily, and eerily still. All had noticed the ominous cloud of ravens filling the air above them. The advocates stepped forward into the empty circle as one.
"What foolishness is this?!" Yevkit thundered," The Masked has no right to interfere!"
"Perhaps," the young Coyo spoke again," But is within her right to Judge those on the cusp."
"The Cusp?" Yevkit's mouth hung open as the words sunk in. At that moment, the ravens descended, trails of white smoke following in their wake. Raske could hear the advocates chanting in time, could see the mana dissipating from their forms as they cast a magic he did not know.
The smoke swirled about, surrounding Drakoren and Coyo alike, sparing no one. Trained warriors shouted in alarm, Coyo hands flailed at the smoke. Drakoren blew fire, attempting to clear the strange enchantment away. Raske waved at the smoke surrounding him, but it did not react to the passing of his hand or shield. It rose, covered his head… and opened his eyes.
Silence descended. Raske could see it, and so could everyone else. For this moment, everyone he looked upon wore a pristine white mask of smoke. It was as if he was surrounded by an army of advocates for The Masked, sightless eyes seeing all. He knew himself to be wearing a mask as well, and he found himself struck with disbelief.
Above Yevkit, a searing figure gibbered and roared. The form of a Coyo, it wore thick and twisted armour, covered in overlapping jagged plates that dug into the flesh of the figure as much as it protected. The mad creature howled with feral eyes that glowed with rage and hatred. Eyes peeking out through a solid metal helmet, rent apart to allow those wrath filled orbs to see. Its body throbbed and writhed, covered in corded and twisted muscle, none of it looking to be attached quite right. It twitched in pain, impatient for violence and butchery. Or at least it should have been. The figure had slowed to a standstill, transfixed under the gaze of the surrounding armies.
Rage. Raske was looking at pure, unhinged rage. Yet strangely, he did not fear. Instead, his attention was drawn away. He turned his head to look at the strange glow from behind him.
"Oh," Raske sighed unconsciously.
With pristine armour, divine grace and calm demeanour, another armoured figure floated above him. Holding a masterfully crafted spear in one hand and a massive shield in the other, it watched. A pair of scales hung across its back as it viewed the field, face hidden by a mirrored metal plate.
Upon the scales stood two figures. On one side, Raske. On the other, Yevkit. As all watched, the scales tipped, and the image of Raske was lifted into the air as the weight of Yevkit's sins tipped the scale.
"No," Yevkit breathed.
Raske turned his head, burning throat forgotten.
"NO," Yevkit shouted, hefting his great spear, holding it in both hands as he approached.
"Yes," Raske replied simply. He felt… amazing. Yevkit had fought, bolstered by the rage he had allowed to drive his thoughts. Now Raske enjoyed that same power. The Prince accepted the gift for what it was and faced the brute warrior with clear eyes.
"NO!" Yevkit shouted one last time, closing with spear levelled.
Raske held his spear in both hands, dropping the point as Yevkit charged. Time seemed to slow as he caught the point of Yevkit's weapon and deflected it upwards. Yevkit, suddenly weak, could not prevent the deflection. His eyes wide, he faltered, attempting to twist away from Raske's approaching spear.
To no avail.
Raske's spear found Yevkit's throat and struck true. It ran clear through leathery skin and dense muscle, smashing vertebrae and nerve as it exited.
Yevkit gurgled and fell, sliding down the spear. He could only look at Raske with stunned eyes, his paralyzed body dropping to the ground.
That avatar of rage that once hung above the Coyo commander had disappeared, banished by the breaking of Yevkit's spell over his warriors. The moment the honourable Coyo knew their leader fought with only rage in his heart, they had awoken from the haze of shared fury.
Now, As Yevkit died, so too did Justice vanish from sight, the sentence passed.
Raske spoke once more, his voice hoarse with pain and fatigue.
"It is over."
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It was a quiet night around this campfire. Not that Koren minded.
The returning army had stopped and set up for the night. Sounds of activity and cheer surrounded them as the victorious Drakoren revelled in the end of the war and thoughts of returning home.
The advocates sat in comfortable silence.
The Dwarf, named Nakker, had unstrung his steelbow and was inspecting the twisted cable for kinks or flaws. He held it taut between two sets of hands as he peered closely at the metal. It was a mark of the prodigious strength of the dwarves that they could string a metal bow with cable and actually draw it. Steelbows seldom saw use by the other races and Dwarves carefully guarded the secrets of forging flexing steel.
Tosp held a tiny needle in his giant hands, carefully patching a well-worn shirt, squinting in the dim light. In full armour, Tosp had appeared to be a remarkably large man. With that armour shed and wearing nothing but pants, he had revealed himself as a half Giant, half Kruxt. His Giant heritage showed in the heavy pelt of fur running down his head and body but for the bare patch of his face and torso. His Kruxt half showed in plates of carapace that covered his bare belly and chest and peeked through the fur on his hips, shoulders and arms.
Pylinla had returned from a bath, the black fur of her lower half fluffed up after the towelling she'd needed to dry out. Now she polished her hooves with wax to give them a mirror shine. With her head down the smokey shadow seeping from her horns obscured her face. Pylinla wore very little, only a pair of puffy and very short pantaloons and an equally 'adequate' short shirt. That shirt only just covered her breasts, but left the white skin of her slim belly exposed. Koren wasn't the only one unable to look her way as her hoof waxing required she lean over to expose a wonderful cleavage. Koren supposed she'd lived long enough to no longer care. Or she knew exactly what she was doing and enjoyed the resulting embarrassment.
Fortunately, she was among friends here. Not to mention the filial loyalty of advocates was difficult to question.
And as for Crawsic, the young Coyo sat with his bowl of chow, gazing blankly into the fire. He had cleaned up earlier, his fur was now free of dust, grime and blood. Boos sat on his shoulder, gently grooming his sparse mane.
"Well, spit it out," Koren said with a smile.
"What?" Crawsic asked, looking at Koren with confusion.
"You have questions, just let us have it."
"Oh," the young Coyo answered, his brown fur lit up with flickering orange from the fire, "I thought advocates weren't supposed to interfere."
"Eh, t 'at ain't really true," Nakker answered simply, eye squinting at the loop at the end of the cable bowstring, "We just can't do w'atever we feel like doin'. If we make a 'abit of it, Kings an' Popes are gonna start 'untin us."
"Uhhh…"
"Oh yes, I love you too," Pylinla cooed gently as her partner landed on her lap, settling in to enjoy the warmth of her fur. She then looked to Crawsic to join the conversation. "It is simple enough to assume wrong, young one," She said to the young Coyo, "but truly, Death itself is not unkind, and just because The Masked is without feature, doesn't mean that she is without emotion."
Oh," Crawsic said yet again, his face giving away his confusion.
"Indeed," Koren followed up, "I suspect more than anything, she abhors unnecessary loss of life."
"But she's…"
"Death?" Pylinla asked, "You know the truth of that matter."
Just as Justice and Wrath existed as a single entity with more than just those two faces, so too did Death have another face hidden under Her mask.
One could not have Death without Life, after all.
This is why advocates such as Koren were only to gather those who had died. Why a death due to circumstance could be prevented and even scheduled deaths could be delayed. Advocates did not kill without good reason. Their task was to gather the departed and shepherd them to their final resting place. When those souls departed was not a fact locked in stone. Still, the advocates primarily served the darker side of their Patron. Her other half was already well served by many.
With so much going through his head, Crawsic couldn't control the flickering of emotions on his face. But he still had one more question. "Justice and Fury are supposed to be the same being. The Cardinal of Wrath. How could he be in two places?"
"Not just two," Tosp rumbled as he pulled the thread tight, slowly stitching a patch onto his shirt with a dexterity that seemed impossible for his thick, hairy fingers. "Fury and Justice. Found in all. That is why his Fury spread. Shared with ease. Just as the other Cardinals, reside in all, including our Patron."
Crawsic closed his mouth, seemingly satisfied with that answer.
Cherise warbled in Koren's ear and pecked him lightly on the cheek. He laughed and raised his hand for her to step on. With almost regal care, she regarded his hand and gracefully took the perch. Koren held her to his forehead and brought up his other hand to gently scritch her neck. She warbled again, this time with appreciation.
Even now he was surprised at having been answered in the heat of battle, but then, Pylinla had said it well. "Death itself is not unkind." Koren realized he already held those words close to his heart.
He could only hope that he could continue to live up to them.
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End
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