Prelude

It was a dark night, the rain was falling and there was the odd and distant rumble of thunder. The ground was like soup and the leaves of the surrounding trees were covered in dripping water. Despite the pouring rain, the fortress was as always on guard. The rain and cold making for not so pleasurable moods. There was a sudden yell from a guard on one of the upper levels. Everyone immediately snapped into action, drawing their swords, getting their bows at the ready.

"What's the meaning of this?!" one of the commanding soldiers demanded to the guard who had yelled out.

"There," the guard said, pointing into the woods.

Squinting to see through the thick rain, the commander could see a dark figure, stumbling in the woods, finally collapsing in the mud.

"OPEN THE GATE!" the commander yelled out. The foot soldiers scurried about, pulling on the heavy chains, opening the thick wooden doors a little as two soldiers ran out to investigate. The commander watched with bated breath. The rain made it too difficult to see and lighting torches was near impossible. He could see the two dark figures of the soldiers as they went to the collapsed body. After what seemed like an eternity, they grabbed the mysterious figure's arms and slung them over their shoulders. Dragging the body through the mud, they re-entered the fortress, the thick doors closing behind them with a resonating thud. Rushing down the levels, the commander went to meet them.

The two soldiers let the body down, the ceiling overhead protecting them from the rain, though a few drips made it in through the cracks. The commander entered, his stride full and his shoulders square. The two guards looked up at him.

"He appears to be dead!" one of the soldiers spoke. The commander knelt down, inspecting the body. It looked to be a human man, a sword strapped to his side. His clothes were soaked and he appeared to not be wearing any armour. His hair was long, scraggly. Shaking his head, the commander looked up to one of the two soldiers.

"All right, drag him down to the caverns, throw him with the rest," the commander said. Turning his back to leave, the eyes to the mysterious person suddenly snapped open. Quickly and silently, he drew his sword, jumping up and driving it through the torsos of the two guards. Spinning around at the sound of the gurgling guards, the commander placed his hand on his sword and started to pull it out of his hilt, but it was two late. He looked down to find the mysterious person's sword piercing his body in the direct center of his chest, it having been thrown at him with great force. The commander watched as the figure walked over to him and slowly pulled it out. The blood went rushing down his chest and onto the floor. The commander collapsed as his knees gave way.

Lying on the ground, he could hear the yells of the other soldiers as the mysterious person gutted and slashed them all. His eyes finally closed as the fortress fell.


The air was fresh and the sun bright as dawn pierced the sky. Dorian looked up at the sky, birds were flying about minding their business. He had almost reached the small village after all of his walking. He was dressed in fairly loose clothing, a sack tied around a stick was slung over his shoulder. The air was fresh, it had apparently rained recently. Coming upon the village, Dorian looked around. Where were the people? Surely they still all weren't in bed.
Eying an inn, he headed for that, hoping to get some breakfast before continuing on his journey.

Rhannol stretched, then relaxed into his chair, arms and legs sticking out as if at all angles. The day was done and he could soon retire to bed.
However, he could not shake the notion of concern from his mind. There had been many goings on, some further afar, and now these dilemmas had come home to roost. He hadn't liked the way that troll was acting earlier. Someone might have to do something if such a thing persisted - what was that? Oh, a knock on the door. Strange at this time, but not unheard of. It could be Delyth, calling by on one of her strolls.

Some small rocks slipped off the side of the cliff as Arenthor dangled his legs of the side. He scanned the horizon looking for any signs of life. Mainly for life that may try to eat or kill him.

After squinting his eyes for a few seconds he could just make out the rough shape of a castle in the distance. He thought it must be at least a day and a halfs walk away. He decided to set off in the morning and so set up campt for the day of relaxation he well deserve.

Necrotic Energy swurled as Krevense, a Xenolich Specter, prepared to channel that energy for a new attack. His fingers and flagella-like tail, pale and translucent like purple mist, hung low like a drooping flower. Suddenly, those parts glowed and the fingers rose. He prepared a blast of ghostly energy, but, just before launch, the energy backfired, blasting him back. He phased through 3 walls before he stabilized his flight. He cursed his ineptness and prepared to retry. Suddenly, a sensation occured to him: something wasn't quite right.

'Those fucking elves!' Martin swore to himself as he narrowly escaped death for the fifth time that day, 'Enough of this. I can't take this garbage anymore!' And with that parting thought, he picked up his bow and his deerskin quiver filled with newly made arrows and started to trudge back onto the long road to civilization. Figuratively, of course, since there are really no roads deep in the forest.

"It's been a long time, huh?" He mused to himself, aloud. "Wonder what's happened to the world since I left. Shithole when I left, probably is still a shithole upon my return as well." He looked around, checking for those pointy-eared bastards before pulling his bow out to shoot at a particularly large rabbit. Dinner.

Three hours later, he had made it out of the forest before nightfall. He ran into a small group of highwaymen on the road, whom he had dispatched with ease and he divested the corpses of their clothes. It would not do him well to be seen wearing simple loincloth and nearly torn boots, after all. After another half hour's journey and a climb over a small rock face, he saw a large town and a castle in the distance.

'Home, sweet home.' He smiled to himself. Then it started raining.

"Fuck."

Krevense rose from his Necrohol, a hallway in an ancient ruin. He looked around. A castle stood about 2 days travel from there. Fortunetly, he thought, Xenolich Specters were not as susseptable to light as their regular ghost bedfellows. He floated toward the structure, sensing the feeling related to it.

*Whoa whoa whoa fellows, let's not jump through times of the day so quickly, remember this RP isn't on super speed*

Dorian pushed open the doors to the inn and looked around. It was quite deserted. Sitting down at the counter in the bar, Dorian waited...and waited.

"Hello?" he finally yelled out.

Martin busted open the door to the inn and marched up to the bar. Exhausted from his long day, he sat down on one of the stools next to some black-haired dude that was yelling for no reason. He rolled his eyes and called for the bartender.

"Can anyone get me some ale here? And some grub!" He sighed when there was no answer. Of course there wouldn't be anyone at the bar. It was early in the morning. Who drinks this early? He stood up to leave.

Still a day away, Krevense wandered on. As he approached, he spotted a small structure, called a 'Bar' by the Living. He figured he'd float in, hide, and hear out any recent activity in the land of the Living.

Glancing over at the quickly ill tempered person who just entered the Inn, Dorian decided to speak up as the other man began to leave.

"You're the first person I've seen in this rotten town all morning," looking him over and assessing him, Dorian tossed around a few thoughts in his head, "you must be an out of towner as well then," he finished saying.

Arenthor had been walking almost a day now his feet throbbing from the rough terrain. A break in the trees revealed an inn not anymore than an hours walk away. He headed towards looking for a hot meal and comftable bed, heck even some lady friends to keep him 'company'.

Now near the bar, Krevense looked around. He saw nothing out of the ordinary. Then, he seemed to melt into the woodwork as he phased into the structure.

Deciding to be civil, as it would not do him well to make enemies after just coming out from the middle of goddamn nowhere, he responded. "Actually, I originally lived here before moving out. I had just come here a few hours ago, very early in the morning. How about you? Where are you from, Ser?

Krevense observed, listened, and watched the interaction between the 2 living. Not much new, but he listened on, hoping not to be noticed. His kind isn't taken to well by the living.

Aren(ok thats the name i'm to lazy to type full one) staggered through the door of the tavern. The warmth of the fire made the place more irresistable. He sat on a stool at the bar. The two men next to him chatting away but not in a very friendly manner. He then asked the barkeep for a room, a hot meal and a pitcher of ale, discovering some extra gold in his bag he announced "FREE ALE FOR ALL HERE!!!!!! MY TREAT TO YOU ALL!!!"

Krevense watched the man stagger in and offer drinks to those who want them. He thought either he was insane, exhaused, or, even, intoxicated.

Toroak was sick of the drinks that were being offered at the Dwarven taverns. He needed something better! He decided to try the Humans' drinks first, and he would go from there. It was a long journey to the human town, but as soon as he entered he saw an inn. Not sure how the humans would react to a Dwarf, he carefully made his way to the inn and stepped inside...

Krevense saw a new Living enter the 'Bar': a Dwarf. It was unusual for one to be in human-populated areas. He decided to observe the reaction.

"BARKEEP!!!" "Get a pint of ale for our short friend, come dwarf you must have travelled far" "what be your name?"

"Toroak. And yes a pint of ale would be most pleasing. Thank you for paying for it for me."

Toroak took the ale and sat down at an empty table, as if he came to this inn every day.

Rhannol was enjoying his gardening. The poppies were finally flourishing and he would soon be able to harvest them.

Krevense continued to watch the Living in the 'bar', but, suddenly, his hand knocked something over, which landed with a thud. Startled, hw jolted forward, out of hiding. "Uh oh."

Martin narrowed his eyes at the short fellow that had just come in a few seconds prior.

'A dwarf. He thought. 'Why did this imp travel this far? Nevertheless, I'll leave him alone unless he talks to me.'

"Unless you all haven't noticed already," he drawled. "There is no bartender this early in the morning. I and my nameless acquaintance here (DW) have already ascertained that fact."

Krevense looked confused as to how no one looked at him immediately. He made enough racket.

Dorian raised an eyebrow at both the comment of the stranger and the sudden arrivals of several foreign people.

"It would seem there is nobody around this early," Dorian said, glancing at each of the people, studying them. "I must say that I do find it a bit... unnatural."

Dorian had just finished his sentence, when there was a fairly loud crash and the door to the Inn opened. A man staggered in, crashing into tables before finally collapsing on the floor. His body was covered in blood and he seemed badly injured. His attention diverted, Dorian quickly bound over to the injured stranger and knelt down next to him, surveying his wounds. Looking over his shoulder to the irritable stranger he had just been talking to, Dorian motioned to a bucket that was behind the counter.

"Get some water, now!" Dorian commanded.

Krevense's emotions immediately took over. He saw the man collapse on the ground and drifted over to help. It wasn't until he was near the man that he realized that he was now visible to every individual in the room. "Shoot, no sense hiding now," he groaned.

Dorian looked up as a chill suddenly ran down his spine. Taken aback by the appearance of a ghost-like apparition, Dorian hovered his body over the injured stranger's to protect him. Noticing a sword in the injured person's hilt, Dorian edge his hand closer to it, just in case.

Krevense raised his hands defensively. "Stay! STAY! I mean you no harm!!!"

Martin scoffed. "Yes, because an apparition that spies on people in a tavern certainly means no harm. Unfortunately, I suppose that means that we cannot injure you anyway, given your state of existence." He looked slightly put off at that realization. It was a shame that there were no mages around, for they could certainly harm or at the very least contain the spirit if said spirit were malevolent. But that was not the issue here.

"Might we know who or what you are?" He inquired.

I am Krevense of the 7th Pass. I am of the Xenolich Specters.

Martin raised one eyebrow. "Uh huh. Right. So umm, perhaps we should do something about the body in our midst, yes?"

Dorian glared back at Martin, frustration in his eyes.

"Yes, now get me the damned water!" Dorian snapped, irritated by the arrival of the specter and its distraction from the more pressing matter at hand. Looking back down at the wounded person, he noticed several stab wounds from a large sword.

Krevense edged closer and analyzed the stab wounds. "Ewwww, those stab wounds sure look painful."

Aren grabbed the bucket of water and put it down beside the body with a clean rag he found. "he's beat up pretty bad i don't think he'll make nightfall"

Krevense thought about using his necrotic energy to heal the wounds, but he had trouble controlling them, he may kill the person if he did get them to work, and using those powers would just freak the Living in the room out. He was plainly and obviously troubled.

Martin looked at the group of people that surrounded the body and sighed. Clearly no one thought to simply disinfect the wounds and bandage the man up yet.

"Well, I am no healer but I can sterilize and disinfect the stab wounds and wrap him up. I have some bandages in my pack." He offered. He then set about draining the blood and cleaning up the external wounds, as well as washing off the dried blood with the water.

"Well, that's done at the very least. But I will need some whiskey or something to disinfect. Anyone?"

Dorian glanced up at Martin, a bit perturbed.

"We're in a bar," Dorian said dryly.

He narrowed his eyes at Dorian.

"Then go get it! I'm not leaving lest he start bleeding again! What, you think I was asking if there was whiskey?" He sighed. "Please. Just go get it for me."

"Well you seemed so unconcerned before when I asked for water," Dorian retorted, heading for the counter and grabbing a few bottles of whiskey.

Martin decided not to respond, instead electing to pour the alcoholic goodness onto the unconscious man. Some of those penetration wounds were really wide and deep, as if the man were stabbed and then the blade turned. Oh well, time to close him up and patch him up.

"Needs stitches. Hmph. Hope this goes well, haven't had to sew anything for nearly 2 years now." He frowned. This would take some concentration. After disinfecting a needle in his pack and getting some thread, he began to sew. Forty minutes later, he was satisfied with his work and began wrapping the man's upper chest and stomach. He turned to face Dorian.

"He's lucky that whoever got him didn't hit any vitals. I think he should be okay. Let's move him to a bed." Taking a swig of the unused whiskey, he stood up to move the now-treated patient.

Krevense asked, "Any chance he'll survive?", hoping the answer was going to be 'yes.'

He gingerly put the man down before responding.

"I think so. Infection, the main cause of concern here, had not set in yet. I cleaned him up just in case, but I think he'll recover. He just needs to rest and let his body do its thing." He smiled slightly. "Time does indeed heal all wounds, in this case."

Krevense made very obvious signs of relief. "That's good."

"So what do you think happened, obviously he was attacked but i never seen a soul when i walked here." Aren nervously opened the tavern door just the slightest amount to try and get a look outside. Apart from the low lying fog and the lack of any sound everything seemed to be normal. "Someone ask him what happened, i don't want to be taken unaware now, not after" Aren paused suddenly "Just find out what happened please."

Toroak looked up from his drink just enough to see the injured man and offer a response:

"It's probably those damn centaurs. If you say so much as a joke to them they all come and tear your body apart."

Toroak then went back to his drink, not caring how people reacted to him.

Martin nodded in understanding. It made sense.

"Yes, the damn half-breed horsemen. Hell, they would kill a man just for trespassing, no questions asked. I would know, having come into contact with these undesirable creatures before, myself." He paused to think before continuing. "Some use weapons called glaives, which if you oversimplify, can simply be called swords on a spears. It would certainly explain how some of the man's wounds are so deep and wide." He looked to see how many other people were around. Nobody new.

"Still, I think it be prudent that we wait until he wakes before doing anything."

"Those 'Glaves' sound to me like some variant of the halberd, a similar weapon with an axe on the end instead," Krevense commented.

"Let me look at the wounds," commented Toroak. "I can determine the exact weapon that was used. I am a master at smithing all weapons, and knowing what wounds they make. I am well known amongst the Dwarven race."

The effects of alcohol on Toroak seemed to be gone completely, this was normal when there was a combat situation and Toroak was near. It was as if his body knew the bad affects and worked to minimize them while Toroak could use his skill, in this case, his skill with weapons.

Martin then realized something. He decided to express his thought to the rest of the motley group assembled in the inn.

"You know, it doesn't matter what weapon it is now. I just remembered: centaurs almost never leave the forest, even to chase trespassers. It can't have been a centaur that attacked this man, because the closest forest is 4 leagues away. I highly doubt the man could have come that far with the wounds that he has suffered." He gestured to the large, now-sewn gashes and stab wounds before continuing. "Not only did he have these crippling wounds, but he was also bleeding heavily even when he stumbled in. He would have bled out within an hour of his injuries."

"Something far worse than a centaur is at work here. Perhaps a jealous husband avenging his wife's virtue? An assassin simply doing his work in the early morn when no one can save him?" Then he noticed something on the back of the man's neck.

"Wait, I recognize that mark. That's... the heraldic mark of the House of Van Winkle."

"Humans... always going after other humans... what a shame. No possible way for you to unite if all you care about is killing your brother..."