Chapter 1: Battle of Azrian

Origin's head snapped up at the sudden sound, she was not used to others being awake at this hour. She relaxed as she saw the man, Sachieal reclining while he watched a purple hearth.

"This is your doing?" she gestured to the flames, grabbing a bowl from the empty bar and ladling some of the warm water that was settled in the cauldron near the fire.

She wandered over to where Sachieal sat, and looked at him from her slightly superior height, if only because she was standing, "What has you up at this hour? And covered in snow?"

Her eyes flickered momentarily with distrust.

"Oh, yes. The flames are my creation. It's a magic that an old...companion taught me." Sachieal answered the girl, looking up at her. The exchange in height amused him to no end, and a smile flickered across his face.

That same smile faded as he regarded her question. "Well, if you must know, madame', I don't need sleep. It is for that reason that I am up at this hour." Sachieal looked back into the flames. "As for being covered in snow, I stepped out for a moment after the one girl, Calcifer went up to bed."

Sachieal motioned for her to sit in an adjacent chair. "Now miss, what has you up at this unholy hour?"

"Is it abnormal for one who is well-rested to wake?" she answered, setting into a seat and dipping a satchel of herbs into the bowl, leaning close to smell the wafting scent.

"You seem to follow girls, so often." she murmured eyeing him from across the dark table as she lifted the bowl to sip from.

"Only as abnormal as it is for a male to take interest in the finer species." Sachieal shot back, a calm, intent look on his face. They sat in silence, Sachieal watched the dark-purple flames dance in the hearth, as if looking for words to sprout from its shivering form.

Sachieal continued his thought. "Not nearly as unusual as it is to be so untrusting of those around you."

Origin shot him a glare, gripping the bowl tightly, "I have reason enough for it."
she said, taking a sip through her teeth.

Sachieal looked at the girl while a sly smile spread across his face. "So it would seem. Well," he stopped and carefully chose his words. "it wouldn't hurt to place a little more faith in those who will be alongside you in combat. They may come to save your life."

Origin raised her sleeve abruptly and showed him the stripes of slightly lightened skin, torn and ragged scars, come of which were still healing.

"I trust no one." she said tartly, lowering her sleeve and returning to her tea, "You may trust whoever you wish, so far my loyalty has only been repaid in lashes."

"Well then, that truly is unfortunate. May you never know the pain of Lucifer's whip." Sachieal shuddered at the thought of he old commander's punishments.

He looked intently at her as the fire roared stronger still. "Not even the man you were conversing with when I came in here?"

"He's spent several years trying to kill me," she muttered, "Would you? He has been kind enough, but I keep a blade turned to him in case he changes his mind."

Ivaylo blinked his eyes open, turning his sight to the uncurtained window and concluded that it was still well before daybreak. He rose from the mattress slowly, the wooden bedframe squeaking and squealing in protest to the shifting of his weight, but he paid no mind as he pulled himself up into a sitting position. To anyone else upon first glance, it might have looked like he'd been sleeping. Sleep, however, was among the last things he thought he'd be needing for the battle taking place in just a few hours. It clouded the mind with dreams and unrealistic visions, both of which were very inconvenient when one had to have their wits about themselves. Instead, the dark skinned fellow settled into a period of meditation the previous evening, 'awaking' to find both his body as well as his mind feeling well rested and aware the next morning.

Climbing up to a standing position, Ivaylo located his boots and stuffed his feet inside. After lacing them up quickly, he snagged his fur rimmed cloak in one arm, stepping out into the hall that made up the second story landing and closed the door behind him. Realizing the slight twinging feeling of hunger in his gut he slung the heavy piece of clothing across one shoulder and made his way downstairs to the tavern, thinking what he always thought before a battle that could very well be the last of his life; he may as well do it with a full stomach.

Sachieal was shocked by the revelation that Origin spoke. She seemed to be a girl who got the short-end of the stick. "Would I? No, of course not. If I saw my old master again I'd kill him where he stood for the things he did to me...." He chuckled lightly. "Excluding, of course, that he can't be killed."

Origin eyed him, a little bit more trust in her eyes, since he seemed to have shared a similar fate.

"Masters do always seem invincible, do they not? Mine said he could not be killed either." she laughed breathlessly, looking down into her bowl, a shadow covering her face for a moment, before she recovered and went back to gently sipping.

Sachieal felt the darkness shroud in upon the room for a moment as Origin revealed to him a new revelation. "True, they do seem that way." He regarded her with a warm smile, maybe he was getting somewhere with the girl. "Although, I happen to know for a fact that mine is invincible, unfortunately enough. I'd do such a service to this world and many others if I could kill him." Sachieal closed his eyes and sighed.

"So, are you prepared for combat, Miss?"

"For the moment, yes," she said quietly, finishing her bowl, then opening the satchet and beginning to eat the little scalded herbs and dried berries within, slowly, dissecting the already shredded contents into bits and pieces.

The first signs of twilight shone through the window, and the lapse of time shocked Sachieal. He opened his own bag and pulled out a large, black tome. He turned it open and recited "Permissum ut of digredior senior servo nos ex vulnero in spiritus illae oriens."

"Here comes the dawn, Miss."

Origin reached into her satchel and pulled out a thin strip of white cloth, positioning it over her eyes.

"So it is," she murmured, delicately closing her satchel ,ad picking at her bowstring, "So it is."

[[guess we have to wait on Mota for the battle *goes back to doodling*]]

calcifer slowly awoke and yawned.she opend her eyes to find that she was in her room,she must have wondered up after sitting down stares for so long.
she got out of bed and got ready for the day.once she was finished she grabed her bottle and walked out the door and down to the lounge area.

As the earth masters predicted; the storm had ceased by dawn, and the Yeidin soldiers were relieved to find the snow was not deep and news has it that the battlefield was even better than the town. Untouched breastplate, helm, gauntlets and greaves lay in a neat pile at Odei’s feet as finished strapping on the blue, embroidered Sagan sash about his waist, the men around him within the barracks were still adjusting their armor amidst calm, quiet murmurs, all of them readying for the battle. He said he might have given it a try this time, to protect his body from further injury by finally accepting the armor, but he took one look at it and changed his mind; the Sagan tribe were taught to fight without the protection of bulky metal suits, they praised an agile, smart and skilled warrior rather than one who would try to cheat death by hiding behind a sheet of metal.

And it did not fail them; the Sagans had become avid warriors, and as simple as they were they were like cockroaches; impossible to exterminate, much to the disappointment of Eslin’s high society who had spent much effort and gold trying to rid their country of the pirates.

Odei very much believed in these traditions; if this was his final battle, then so be it… clad in the Azrian uniform, the Sagan sash and nothing more than his old, blue-hilted claymore strapped at his side, Odei was ready… and did his best to bury any sense of apprehension; he did not doubt his combatant skills, yet something had been changing over the past few months concerning his other ‘skills’, his control of the dark magic wavering, the spells and rites he had used countless times before did not give the same, expected results and strangest of all; the unfamiliar ways of dark magic that flowed from him, the words… ones he had never learnt before. Odei could not explain it, and wondered if it was linked to Cylan… or the Dark War.

Either way, he hoped his magic would not fail him as it did last time.

He left the barracks, zigzagging through the commotion as Azrian’s soldiers began their way towards the battle field and in no time was at the inn. He opened the door to find the rest of his troops ready and waiting. “We’re moving.” He said, and with that turned to lead the way to the battle field.

The old man shone through the now-open door. The entirety of the throng inside the inn went silent. The morning sun shining behind his weathered form was truly impressive, even if he was an old veteran.

Sachieal outstretched his hands and cracked his knuckles. It had been a long while since he had made his voyage up to the surface, and just as long since he had fought on a field of combat. For not the first time, Sachieal was excited at the thought of direct combat. The thought of blood spilling across the battlefield at his hand was almost too much to handle.

He calmed himself. This was not the time, nor the place to let his inner demon out. He'd have to watch his temper out there, if he were to slip up, then keeping the others alive would be a great deal more difficult. Sachieal breathed in deeply and looked around. The others were all present, somewhere in the party. Origin stood poised, her bow at the ready. Calcifer stood with the others who would be helping the wounded. Sachieal reached into his bag and found the tiny watermade dragon. He smiled lightly and stroked it's tiny head before shutting his bag.

The soldiers began to make their way out to the field, filing out in squads through the door. Sachieal hoped to make his way to the front lines, this was a time to prove himself to the others.

Sachieal made his way out into the morning light."God, deliver them from our wrath."

[Origin stands with her bow on her shoulder she uses it only when alone or far spaced]

Origin slipped her fingers gently into her tip cones, removing the poison fileld caps delicately, and drawing her hands from her pockets. She didn't think much of squads and quads and all of the strange organization moves the army made when they fought. She believed in gettign a better view.

Goodness knew that the dark army wasn't going to play nice, they were filing out in broad daylight. The northern way of fighting was strange. So strange.

finding a well on the edge of the town she climbed atop it, then lightly jumped to the town wall, getting a better view of the organizing ranks. She noticed Odei, in his sash again. Pride would be his undoing, she mused, strolling along the wall face.

She tapped her nails gently along her skirt, waiting on the first shot to be fired. Then she would descend into the melee, the way she preferred it. Besides, up on the wall, the footsoldiers did not bother her nearly as much.

(Vasquiri and Olorafien)
Olorafien was nearly drooling with anticipation, his heavily sharpened blades resting in his hands naturally, extentions of his body. He was dressed lightly, even in the cold, anticipating the heat that the exertion of battle would create. He shivered, a crazed smile on his face as the adrenaline rushed through his body. It was all he could do to control himself, to keep from getting his first taste of warm, fresh blood in what seemed to be forever.

He shifted on his feet, bumping into his brother every few moments, and looking at him with nervous, shifty eyes.

Vasquiri smiled at his twin, his blades were still sheathed, and he leaned with arms folded on the back wall. They had to wait on their commander's signal to begin, but there was no guarantee that Olorafien would stay put as soon as the fist drop of blood was drawn. He was far too hungry.

Vasquiri assesed his brother. It wouldn't be long now before Olorafien was completely consumed by darkness. That was dangerous, especially at a time like this, when they could not return to the underdark, where Olorafien could be adequately controlled, the darkness that was overtaking him subdued.

With so many battles, so much killing, it was only a matter of time before he lost his brother to the taint. He sighed and turned to regard the strange, open sky.

Calcifer stood on her tiptoes trying to find her new friends to wish them well before going into battle. She sighed and gave up after much of the people had left. She looked around at the small amount left there and felt nervous very, very nervous.

Froth foamed from the horse’s mouth as it rode fast, Vasilios guiding it along the straight line of the Yeidin Army, now standing alert and ready. He signalled to the Umbrovian captains, in a few minutes, they would charge. As he and a lieutenant had already exchanged words with the Umbrovian leaders at the centre of Merrow fields.. Inspecting the long ranks of his army, Vas frowned; not all the men and women had followed the demands that they ALL wear the Azerian colours, the vast variety of different races and nations that have joined into one, failed to wear the colours of one army – many of them clearly Umbrovian, their dark attire very much like black stains on a multi-coloured canvas. The Umbrovians were irritatingly proud that way; they never follow the rules.

Chances now that the other, non-dark beings will get confused about who is on their side and who’s not the moment the two sides clash into battle, were high, and it would be up to the allied Umbrovians to stay out of the way of the confused. He swung the horse around for one last look at the black line some few miles away on the other side of the field, looking much like the waves of an angry black sea. As if it was not bad enough that they were outnumbered, the Umbrovian front lines were made up of some of the worst, vicious species of the Dark…’this will be an ugly battle’ he thought.

Two captains of the allied Umbrovians rode up to where Vasilios now waited. “We’re ready, sir.” One of them said, eyes fixed on the enemy. “Good.” Vasilios replied, drawing his sword, and the signal was given.

The front ranks parted as dark warlocks and beings took some steps further from the front line, after a few feet, they stopped and concentrated. A black mist began to rise from any small shadow on the field and join that of the darkness also rising from the opposite side, and it grew until it would seem that while the whole of Azrian was basking in daylight, it was night on the Merrow fields.

A final signal, and the battle was on, all the other men of the Yeidin army charged forth on either foot or horseback as their Umbrovians allies simply took one step into the shadows, and vanished…

Ivaylo had risen from his seat and followed the rest of the soldiers as they filed their way out the door of the tavern. Once outside he blinked against the daylight; although now expecting it whenever he left indoors, the fogless sky and sight of the sun still caught him off guard now and then. It was such a difference from the dark underground caverns and the snowy mountaintops - he sometimes wondered if he'd ever be totally used to it, no matter how many years he spent in this lower elevation.

Looking around him as they went he saw some of the others looked ill, others all too enthusiastic, excited to show their valor in battle. No one spoke much, one or two voices calling out good luck to their companions, because who knew when they’d see each other again. Battles were an ugly affair; some thought it was better to not get involved, as was the topic of the dispute back home that’d resulted in the tips of his ears being cut. They’d stopped walking and were in formation; some distance away, up past the front lines were the captains, and moments later, the signal was given.

The darkness that grew from the shadows, although unnerving by how quickly it spread, was not an unfamiliar sight. At the second signal the sea of faces charged forward, driven like madmen by the urge to come out the winner. He gripped the tonfa swords tightly and ran forward himself, feeling the ground passing underneath his feet and the air rushing past his unnaturally rounded ears as his legs carried him across the field and into the fray.

Sachieal felt unnerved, there was something he really didn't like about that darkness overtaking the battlefield. It was not as if he wasn't accustomed to the darkness, by no means, but nevertheless, he was reluctant to enter the dark mist.

Sachieal focused his will. Spears of ice accumulated on his arms, forming makeshift blades that he would use if any of the Umbrovian warriors got close enough to cause him harm. The ice was solid, sturdy, not even the flames of hell could melt them.

It was with this reassurance that Sachieal made his way into the darkness.

Calcifer paced around. she wasn’t sure if she was ready for this but wanted to help in any way she could. She took the bottle off her back and started to play with it until something else caught her interest for now. soon this place would probably be filled with the wounded and she would have to help. she still was overcome but nervousness.