Mega Story II: The Unfreezing

[Dean_the_Young]

Child-of-a-Hundred entered the tent where not-Prey, their Consul, resided. Once, it had been the chieftain's tent, the largest and greatest in which the strongest had kept his treasure and his women and anything else he had claimed as his.

The last chieftain was long dead, his body food for the dogs. The new alpha, who insisted on being called Consul, might have made an example out of it, might have made it into a message of terror, but had only done it out of practicality. No sense in wasting anything, their new leader had made clear in the first gathering.

The tent was his, but not for hoarding or carnal pleasures. It's space had been made into a gathering area, where the Consul could discuss, could teach of the last Age, could lead. Sometimes he gave advice. Often he gave commands, leaving it to others to figure out how to do them. He taught... a peculiar breed of self-reliance, yet conformity.

"Sada," the Consul acknowledged as Child-of-a-Hundred made his entrance known. Sada. Hundred, in a forgotten tongue. He had given him a name, when others had merely called him Boy. Sada was unsure, but may have been grateful for it.

"Consul," Sada greeted as was proper in ceremonies of a civilization long since vanished. Early on, some had tried to call him Master. The correction had been swift and painful.

"Consul," he repeated, "wanderers may have found something of interest in your search, though how true it is I am not sure."

The Consul turned, his attention fully focused.

"Wilders to the South... they have large hollowed out logs, strapped together, which some how allows them to cross deadly-cold waters."

"Ships," the Consul confirmed, speaking a word not conceived of by this tribe in a hundred years. "Yes, they make it possible to cross the rivers and wide-open waters."

Sada committed the word to memory. It was one aspect that had greatly facilitated the Consul's assumption of power: he was from the last age, and had been old enough to carry much wisdom from it. Sada, when he had been eternally a child, had been a freak occurrence to the short-lived savages who were unbound by the Stasis.

"Word spread that they crossed waters, and came across the ruins of a great settlement with a remarkable tower. They sought to investigate, and in the middle of the city they found one from the last age."

"Consul... they claim he was either and angel or a demon. It does not translate well, as their tongue has no differentiation between the two."

The Consul narrowed his eyes in thought. Sometimes, when he thought like that, it was as to how to kill some foe. Other times, it was how to address the issue at hand.

"The South..." he muttered, and took out a well-word torn parchment from the last age. It was a map, helplessly outdated and from before the Stasis began and Auric's Ascension moved the continents. Any person to navigate by it would be helplessly lost: regions had sunk, island chains risen, entire continents re-arranged. A true map of the world was impossible at this time, though cloud-writings in the sky spoke of distant people and distant things.

The Consul looked at the map of the old age, and another map of his own creation. It was... haphazard. It was not a balanced, or systematic map, and had great areas of mystery. It was a map of the Consul's travels in his quest for the Head of Cassiel... and it clearly showed two continents.

Sada had long wanted to ask as to that, but had never found the bravery or the chance. This time, the Consul spoke before he could.

"Prepare an expedition," he said. "Some trustworthy warriors, whatever allies we can convince to help us find these barbarians in question. We may have a lead, and even if not we may have a goal along the way. But first we need to confirm, both this city and this angel."

There was a rough map, of this new age. Drawn from the travels and hear-say of the wild-people. Now, to the south, the Consul had drawn a vague continent, and an isle.

On that isle, the Consul wrote three words.

Remnants of Grigoria

 

[Zugvogel]

Legacy of the golden dragon - Kwythellar

Spoiler :

The golden dragon roared, purple flames bursting from its snakelike head, burning and trampling the white shapes surrounding the mighty beast. The frosty shapes broke whenever the golden talons hit them and melt from one touch of the flames. But whenever the dragon turned its head, the shapes reformed or new ones filled their place. They hadn't got the power to defeat the great dragon but neither could the majestic creature crush its foes. It was an eternal stalemate.
But far in the distance, there was another looming creature, a giant colder than death. Its focus was not on the golden dragons desperate struggle, nor on the equally hopeless battles fought on this level. This was fortunate. The observer sensed that it would mean the end of the dragon if the giant ever turned its attention on it.
And then, the endless waves ceased. The dragon had won – and collapsed from exhaustion. It was unclear whether it would ever rise again...

“Your highness” Lessuri Relassi said, slightly touching the young king on his left shoulder. “Your highness, is there something wrong?”
The handsome young man looked at him and for a moment, it seemed to Relassi that the Kings eyes shifted from brown to purple. Just a flicker, come and gone faster than a blink. It must have been a strange reflection of light, Relassi decided. Lamia eyes where sharper than human ones (especially when it came to details), but at times they were also more easily betrayed.
“No, no Master Relassi, nothing at all.” Lorda said, but he still seemed somewhat insecure where he was. “My mind was merely drifting. Please forgive me.” Relassi flinched, or at least he would have had he been human. Monarchs had no need to ask forgiveness for anything except the gravest of crimes. And Lorda was quite aware of that, he usually never excused himself. But then again, the King also usually made no mistakes such as letting his mind drift. There was something wrong for sure. But Relassi knew better than to ask. Besides, the king looked much better already.
“Pray repeat what you just said.”
“Of course, your highness. I was just explaining that the mage guild assures you of their capability to provide enough magical food to feed the population of Kwythellar for the time being, after all we have done so for almost all of the ice age. But I was instructed to most humbly asks you to set the commoners and peasants to farming and fishing, now that the ice is retreating. There are natural sources of a plant that seems identical to a plant called “rice”not far to the west.
Also, my colleagues instructed me to meekly propose that the time and resources saved by the mage guild could very well be invested in bringing back some of the secrets of old. To the benefit of city and people of course.”
Lorda smiled: “So the mages are finally tired of playing feeder for the commoners? “
Relassi could not help but smile himself. The King had a way of speaking one could not help but admire. Circumspect where it was needed, but also direct when it was necessary. And somehow he always found the right words. Admirable.
“Just so, your highness. They hunger to do what they call “real magic”. Apparently summoning edible (if not especially tasty) food out of thin air is not magic enough for them. I do not wish to lie to you, my lord: There is unrest among the adepts and mages. And if the pressure in the cauldron gets to high...”

“I know, I know. You see, this is why I installed you as the mage's spokesmen, Relassi. You can see past the needs of your group and see the needs of the society as a whole. Sadly, that is a rare trait in Erebus.”
“You are to kind, your majesty.” Relassi said. What was there about the King that caused him almost to blush whenever he looked at him?
“Anyhow,”Lorda continued,” you can tell your charges that I agree that their potential would best be used on the pursuit of magic. The source you draw on to cast your spells, the Ether. You know how to do it, of course. But much of the basics, the theory, has been lost during the cold night. I want you to rediscover what was lost.”

“Moreover, I hope that soon we will indeed once again have the means to effectively farm the land. As you know, we already have installed smaller camps outside the city for farming, hunting and woodcutting. And master Themelos of the guild of architects assures me that the districts II and IX of the former harbour area have been repaired, albeit in a makeshift fashion. I think we will be able to start fishing once again soon...”

Relassi nodded and bowed (or at least he bend over as far as a creature without legs could) to the king.
“Very well, your highness. Might I then inquire on a personal matter?”
“You wish to ask me whether there are any news from the exploring party?”
“Precisely so, your highness. As you know, my nephew...”
“No, I haven't heard anything of them since the last pigeon arrived. Apparently they are still moving north along the coast. I confess I am slightly worried. The last report mentioned a series of newly founded but already abandoned villages. The captain of the scouts seemed unsure whether their founders had left peacefully or not. I confess that I am slightly worried...”

Legacy of the golden dragon - roughly 50 km/31miles north of Kwythellar

Spoiler :

Rotten. Damp, salty and rotten. Taryl thought as he moved through the low bushes that covered the dunes in front of the small fishing village. It smelled like the sea, but in a wrong way. A bit like in the old harbour district when the City Guard had started reclaiming control of the area when the glaciers had started to retreat. They had found all manner of things, corpses (human ones and others) and cupboards, all preserved by the ice and now rotting after that sheltering cloak vanished. It was not exactly an uncommon smell for the Ferret – huge cities like Kwythellar always stunk a little bit, especially if there were Centaurs around.
But this was no metropolis like Kwythellar and from the way the wooden houses looked, it also wasn't from before the age of ice. To crude. No, this was a new settlement...but it was one without settlers. The last out of a whole series of abandoned huts and villages they had found along the coast. There was no actual threat in it, but still Taryl felt that there was something bad going on – somehow.
“Send se signal, se village looks safe enough, no one left inside. Se party can advance to our position.” He said to his partner, another Ferret. “And ye others – make ready to move on. We're playing vanguard once more, lads.” He tried to sound sure of himself – he was a Leftenant after all, the Ferret form of Sergeant. He had to show his scouts – all of them Ferrets in Leather armour and equipped with short bows or crossbows like Taryl himself. They also all had a purple coat of arms with a golden dragon stitched on the right side. (Though of course it was no real cloth of gold, just a certain dye.) It were army uniforms from before the great cold and they had been patched and mended time and again. But they were better than nothing, just as the sturdy leather caps, the small wooden roundshield and the iron cutlasses. And since they had started finding them abandoned villages, their gear had improved further. Taryl himself had salvaged a good pair of boots (Probably had belonged to a human boy), a tent and a set of pans. He wondered what loot this settlement would bring to them. Which reminded him: Time to move on.

“Se village is just like se others, Captain. Of new origin, probably human judging the size of things. Fishers, most like. We found some of''em vessels like in Kwythellars harbour. Sem boats. Just smaller. We secured se parameter. Found a nice chainmail buried in one o'em huts, might be something for ye, Captain. Bit rusty, but still. And there's a strange structure in se middle o'se town. Looks a bit like a temple, all stony and so on. But there aint no statues inside, just a red crystal. One of se lads tried to get a closer look. Burnt his hand, he did. Irlais Relassi, se Lamia, says he feels an energy within the crystal, something magical. But he can't draw on it, he says. Can't really explain it any better, either.”
Taryl finished his report and he was glad about it. Not because he had a bad conscience. They were the City Guard, fair enough, but a bit of looting was no problem. Not as long as everyone got his share. Who needed the stuff here anyway? But when talking to the Captain, Centaur called Sarvaros, he always had to look so damn high up.
“Alright, Leftenant. We'll stay here for the night. Set up guards and get a fire going. We'll rest near that temple-thing you mentioned. Anything made of stone is a better shelter than wood. Dismissed.”

Taryl woke to the touch of a cold, faintly scaled hand. It belonged to the Lamia mage. “Leftenant, get up. I think I saw something...felt something outside. Something...wet.” Taryl's eyes narrowed and his muzzle twitched. “Ye're waking me because ye saw a shadow, Relassi? It's nothing for sure, just a rat or whatnot. Or one of them guards.” Them guards...he was part of the second watch and judging the way the moon stood, he was overdue. Why had the returning watchmen not woken him. His eyes scanned the inside of the temple, the faint light of the moon and the fiery glow of the crystal more than enough for his animal eyes to see everything. And to notice what was missing. 15 guardsmen, all of the first watch. They hadn't returned, why? “Or perhaps you are right, blood and ashes and ice.” With a kick, he woke the guardsmen next to him. “Wake se others, quickly. Tell sem that we're under attack. And find se captain. Tell him that Relassi sensed something and that the first watch is overdue. And tell him that I'm outside, taking a look.”

But he had no need to look far. He had just made his way from the temple-tower to the village when he first heard it. A soft, wet splish-splash. Like bare, wet feet. Immediately he ducked into the shadow of a house. And then he saw it. A human with white skin and damp, dark hair, kelp on his bare shoulders. And there were others now, pouring from the seaside of the village. All pale, all sparely dressed. Men, women and children. And a few of them...a few of them still wore clothes. Purple clothes, with a golden dragon stitched on them. Three centaurs and six ferrets among them. The missing guardsmen. He had to get out of here, back to the tower. From one second to the next, he dropped into a sprint. Once the tower was surrounded, there would be no chance to get inside. Of course, this also caused the attention of the pale people. One of them, the tang-clad one moved to oppose him. Still running, Taryl lifted his crossbow and fired away. It was no precise shot, but at such close a distance, it was hard to miss and the bolt hit the man squarely in the chest. The man flew backwards and Taryl jumped over his corpse...except it wasn't a corpse. The creature grabbed at him and even tried to get up immediately, as if it hadn't just received a lethal wound. Anyway, Taryl managed to break through and reach the tower, just to find that the Captain, Veteran of several gang-wars and riots, had already erected barricades around the outer compound of the tower.
“Sey are coming” Taryl yelled as he leaped over the fence, “and sey aren't human, whatever sey look like.” He addressed the Captain, now speaking much more quietly in order not to scare the men. “Sey are undead or something. I hit one flat in se chest with a bolt but se damn creature stood up right away. And sere are some of our lads among'em.”
“Drown” the Lamia mage, having overheard Taryl's words, said “The scrolls in Kwythellar tell of them. A breed of undead that dwell in the sea. Once they get you, they turn you into one of them. The lore says that they once were created by a savage cult, worshiping a mockery of Danalin.”
“We'll hold the lines against them, whatever they are. Living, dead or undead. We're the City Guard.” The Captain growled.
But there was no holding the lines against the Drowned. When they were shot, they stood up. When they were stabbed, they only grabbed in return. The only thing that really worked was severing all limbs and the head, but there were simply to many of the creatures. The city guard was on the brink of giving up and retreating to the temple interior, when they heard the war cries. They were screamed by dark voices in a guttural language. The guardsmen were more than surprised because before, the fight had been silent one. The drown didn't speak and the watchmen were to scarred to yell.
It was then that the Orks charged.

Taryl lifted his head, looking over the barricade when the first screams were heard. Despite his surprise, his body acted like a machine. He lifted the crossbow, aimed and fired, hitting a drown in the head. The bolt exploded the creatures head like a rotten melon, but of course that didn't really hinder the creature. It was aimless now, but not harmless.
Then he saw the torches. A million torches, like a swarm of embers from a pyre, coming from the north like a wave of flames. And they hit the drown in the rear. In the darkness, Taryl could make out hulking shapes, tall as centaurs. They looked like giant humans except they were much, much more muscular and had bone-like spikes on them. Were they part of their armour? Taryl couldn't tell. What he could tell was that they were a welcome distraction.

“Orcs.”Relassi shouted. “We were saved out of the frying pan into the fire.”
“A fire would be a welcome change, but not today. City Guards, we are pulling out. Get your asses out of this hellhole! And Relassi, send two pigeons to Kwythellar. Tell them we're retreating and that there are enemys probably following us. Do it, man! The news have to reach the city, even if we do not!”

And once more, Taryl of Twelth was on the march.

 

[Diamondeye]

He never strayed too far from The Tower, and in return the tribesmen never ventured too close to it. Yet every once in a while, he grew tired of the same old surroundings and set out aimlessly in random directions. The tribesmen fled before him wherever he walked, and when he returned, small gifts and tributes of food or simple tools had been placed for him to take, near The Tower but never inside the circumference of the building. The continued isolation had given him a habit of talking to himself when thinking.

He was walking through what appeared to be a simple, deserted village. Its fur-and-bone huts and tents were scattered around a small fireplace, and everywhere laid tools, furs and foods, left in haste as the tribesmen had fled the place.

He paused his monologue as he noticed another sound. Someone was... wailing?

The sound was low and mumbling and came from one of the huts close by. Comillo kept his lips tight and entered the small and murky habitat.

The sound instantly grew louder. Lying on the ground was a woman, clearly badly injured and left behind by the others in their flight. Her low mumble of displeasure had turned into a full-fledged wail of panic as he entered. He gestured for her to keep quiet, hoping she understood what he said. "Schh, be silent."

It was to no avail. He tried again, in a commanding tone this time; "Silence!"

The sound stopped. The woman was still wailing, but somehow no sound left her lips. Her eyes widened even more as he came closer. "I am not going to hurt you. I am here to help. Help," he repeated the word, making its meaning clear. "Let me look at your wound."

The woman resigned as he bowed over her, shutting her lips tight and closing her eyes. Comillo looked at the wound. He noticed that he had no problems seeing clearly despite the murky atmosphere of the tent.

The wound looked grave; a bite from some sort of animal, perhaps, and yellow bile was flowing from some of the wounds. Comillo placed his hands on the two sides of the wound to press it together, but froze as he felt a tingling sensation in his fingertips. The wound slowly healed and the bile dissipated. They both looked in awestruck silence as the wound closed. Comillo looked up at the woman. "You can talk now," he said.

She kept silent. She stared at him in wonder before whispering, almost ununderstandably, in her gutteral tongue: "Thank you, pserav."

He left the village in haste, hoping that the woman would explain the tribesmen what had happened. That he was not a demon but an angel. Pserav meant both demon and angel in the simple language, yet he was certain that she had wanted to say angel. "She must have," he said to himself. And then, "what happens now?"

 

[cypher132]

Update

Orcs

With the thawing of the world, the Orcs of old have left their caves and dungeons and have begun constructing settlements. They have targeted several major tribes for raids and will enact these raids soon. The Grigori, Dural, Nortek, Elohim, Luchuirp, and Kuriotates should all be very careful in the coming days.

Splish-Splash

"Do you hear that? It's coming from the ocean. Look, what are those? They're so weird looking. I bet those are the fish we used to hear about when we were young Goblins. Tell Deremei! The fish have returned!"
Fish, clams, and other sea life has returned to the ocean, providing yet another option for feeding the growing tribes.

Dungeons

Old ruins and dungeons have defrosted, allowing the creatures from within access to the world above. While no creatures have yet emerged, several leaders are worried. The stories of skeletons and liches haunt the minds of the young and the threat of demons haunts the minds of the old.​

 

[TC01]

"Wandering the Wastes", part 2 of... however many more stories I write as Boryn.

Spoiler :

Wandering the Wastes​

Boryn left the ruined outpost from the Age of Rebirth and continued on to the next possible site of the fort. There hadn't been anything worthwile there, except some provisions and two daggers. Boryn wasn't a fighter, but he decided to keep the daggers.

The snowfall in this area of the wastes was intense. A blizzard was raging all around Boryn- despite Auric's death, there were still snowstorms in the mountains, but they weren't as powerful as they had been- and it was difficult to see where he was going. Boryn frowned, and raised his staff. I am a Priest of Winter after all, he thought.

Boryn chanted a spell of his own design. A spell that would drive blizzards away instead of attract them. It was pretty easy- the Priests of Winter knew the rituals to call a blizzard, and Boryn, who had always been skilled in magic, found the bits of the ritual that needed reversing and reversed them in the chant. His staff glowed, and the blizzard began to move as windspeed picked up. The blizzard was being moved into the dry lands south of the mountains and the tundra.

He immediately wished he hadn't when he spotted a polar bear. The creature had been unable to see him due to the storm, but now that it was gone the bear had an easy target.

Boryn prepared a slow spell, to slow the polar bear's approach, not really expecting it to work. Ice magic wouldn't work these days, due to the death of Auric. To his surprise, the bear began to slow as the spell took effect. Not as much as it would have in the Second Age of Ice, but it was slowing down.

He pulled out one of the scavenged daggers. Boryn was finding it difficult to keep the spell running and to throw the dagger, but it had to be done. He threw it, which immediately released the spell as he lost concentration. Fortunately for him, the bear was unable to move fast enough to dodge the blade and died.

Boryn headed over to retrieve the dagger when he spotted something that had been obscured by the snowstorm. A ruined wall, that looked like it had been made of ice. Could this be Badb's ancient fortress? He hurried forward to investigate.

 

[Kyzarc Fotjage]

The Ruins.

Spoiler :

Lawrence’s diary, End of Ice 57, Eleasias 8
The scouts had returned, and they brought terrible news. On their expedition past the Mash’al they found some ruins of the former Balseraph empire. The fools decided to explore them. After easily driving off the resident lizardman tribe, they went straight into the ruins. The account of what happened within is… strange to say the least. The few survivors that escaped with their lives ran for over a day without stopping, well past human endurance, before they reached Al Ayn, which was over thirty miles away and across a significant portion of the Mash’al. It was pure luck that I was visiting then. Before they died from the heat and exhaustion, their Lightbringer told me what happened. Most of it is almost certainly a hallucination; thirty foot tall clown-mimes-ninjas simply don’t exist. The last coherent thing she said before dying was of a horde of demons and a massive giant chasing them. Not sure what to do, I went to my temporary home. Instead of the tent that I was expecting, I found a large boulder. It was a little unsettling. Turning around I saw another tent turn into a boulder. Hm, either someone was throwing boulders like pebbles or that wasn’t actually incense last night. Suspicions were confirmed when I saw the giant. Not good. Bodyguards grabbed me and dragged me to the center of town. I could see the local militia and Lightbringers get ready to attack the giant head-on, but before they started dozens of demons charged out. It was a massacre. The Lightbringers retreated with the remnants of the militia and made their stand in front of the Shrine. Malik seemed rather snide at their attempts to kill the demons. When I asked for help he said that if I couldn’t kill some demons then I didn’t deserve to be Lugus’s prophet. I fell to my knees and prayed for help, it was about now that Malik must have seen something amusing because he wouldn’t stop laughing. Lugus granted me aid in a bit more direct fashion then he had up to now. I must have blacked out, but I remember the expression on Malik’s face. Heh

Adel’s diary, End of Ice 57, Eleasias 8
Scouting expedition returned today, almost all killed. Surviving Lightbringer was brought to Lawrence and they spoke for several hours in private. When he left, Lawrence seemed perturbed by what he was told. That’s when the demons attacked. They slaughtered the untrained warriors, forcing us to retreat to the Shrine. We fought for half an hour, losing over half our number, when Lawrence starting yelling at the air, calling it ‘Malik’, before dropping to his knees and praying. A pair of demons broke through at that point and went straight for him. One was dropped, but the other managed to reach the Prophet. Just when I was certain he was dead then and there, Lawrence’s arm blurred and caught the demon by its throat. He said something in a strange language and the demon turned to dust. Then all hell broke loose. He started to scream out broken syllables and partial sentences in that same language. Beams of light came from the sun, no him, no the sun, hi-the su-hi-su-hi… er… somewhere. Regardless of their source, the beams of light went out seeking the demons and when they found one, the demon would disappear. It was frightening, but exhilarating at the same time. Seeing the demons fall back, I leapt over the hasty barricade and charged while dozens of my fellow joined me. None of the demons made it out alive.
As we were cheering our victory, I heard a thud. When I turned I saw a huge foot where Badr was just standing. We had forgotten the giant. With a scream of anger I stabbed at it viciously with my staff, not the most well-thought idea I’ve ever had. Before the giant could turn its attention to me I saw an unbelievably bright beam of light connect the sun and Lawrence. Lawrence raised his staff to the sky and suddenly the entire area became dark, like it was late at night, and the only source of light was the staff which shone as the sun. He pointed it at the giant and… and… I could hear the skin sizzle, smell the burnt flesh. And with that it was all over. Lawrence fell into a deep sleep and still hasn’t woken. He looked like he hadn’t slept for a month.
Something I haven’t told my fellows was when Lawrence was driving off the demons I think I saw something. In the illumination provided by the beams, I saw a shape, well, more a suggestion that a shape was there. Light was disturbed as it went through. The shape though… it was like a demon. Not one of the lesser ones we fought today but a truly powerful one. It was standing where Lawrence had been yelling minutes earlier. It must have been a trick of the light.

Azeem’s diary, End of Ice 57, Eleasias 8
The Holy Mirror shone brightly today before turning dark. It recovered by nightfall. Need to investigate.

Fath’s diary, End of Ice 57, Eleasias 27
We have entered the ruins where the demons came from. The few that remained were exterminated quickly. Light illuminated their unholy halls and burned them. With the Prophet Lawrence leading us we destroyed the terrible devices left by the Blaseraphs. On the corpse of a traveler that must have sought shelter in these cursed ruins we found a shard of an ancient sword. Lawrence took it without a word. We offered what help we could to the poor prisoners the demons had taken, a new life for those who were still sane and the knife for those who weren’t. We found gold enough to rebuild Al Ayn, as well as begin construction of a sizable palisade there. An order has been given to all future scouting expeditions to leave any ruins alone.

what do chaos marauders look like? The Beastiary didn't give much of a description. I assumed a general demonic look

 

[Dean_the_Young]

They weren't Dragon Slayers. Those were a breed of man who had died long ago, in another age. But they were Citadel-trained. They had sweated in exertion in Caverns filled with burning sands, and they had practiced how to fight in Caverns of Perdition, where the ground was hard and unforgiving.

They were warriors who had passed through the Citadel of Trials, where Hell remained ever so slightly entwined with Erebus. Every person who struggled there, who fought their own fears and weaknesses, came to the surface with a new vitality.

These ones were a scouting party, an exploration party meant to gain a better understanding of the Isle where the Citadel lay. The traveled the width and length of the isle, mapping it all, looking from high points to gaze over the seas. To find any small group of persons, Grigori outcast or otherwise, and to send them to the Citadel for better living.

It was far to the North that the Maw lay, named for the wicked stone teeth that loomed around any traveler. The Maw was more than caverns: it was a nexus, a network of subterranean passages that went on forever. The Citadel of Trials... it had caverns. Large chambers, fit to place hundreds in, connected in ways to be useful as a place of use.

The Maw was the Deep Roads, according to the Savages. All Savages, Barbarians, had come to the Isle after risking life and soul in the Maw. Refugees as well. None had ever been able to map it.

The Citadel Assembly had tasked these warriors to do so; a underground passage such as this would be invaluable for movement... or to a potential invader.

To their dismay, the soldiers would not. Could not. For within the Maw, far too many things moved. Masses of barbarians, like none seen in decades.

The Citadel soldiers would make haste to return. The Grigori citadel remained a fortress of war, able withstand sieges not yet possible in this age. If necessary, the populace could be brought to shelter. The nascant port, protected by extending walls of stone, could shelter an evacuation. The Grigori would not fall.

But instead of waiting for the hoard, preemptive action might be taken. To seal the Maw. To force the fight in those narrow, confined spaces, where numbers matter for less and will and endurance matter more. For these are the talents bestowed by the Citadel of Trials, a training ground harsh enough to make the Maw look accommodating.

---

Grigori Prepare for Siege

Warnings of barbarian activity have lead the Griogori to ready their defenses of the Citadel. The Garrison remains to protect the city, and the far-coast fishing settlements to the west are being expanded even quicker in case abandonment becomes a necessity. This is a measured risk, however: the Grigori know not what resides on the isle to their west.

Such disaster should not come to be, however: the rest of the Grigori forces move to the North of the Island, where the massive cavern system known as the Maw is found. Much of the repopulation of the local islands during the periods of frozen seas is said to have been by peoples who traveled through the Maw. The Tracts of the Maw could lead to rapid and easy movement between continent and islands... if one ignores the hosts of barbarians, savages, wild animals, spiders, and doubtless many more dangers in the deep. There are likely enough dangers in the Maw to last a millennial.

Dangers appeal to the Grigori and their Adventurer spirit. But for now, the Maw is a military necessity: occupy the Mouth, block the throat, so that the foul bile of the lower systems can not spill over.

 

[thomas.berubeg]

"Come, Brothers! Come Sisters! Come All! The Weak are our prey, their lands are our for the taking! In the Name of the Fire and Her Lady, in the Name of Brigit the Bright, slain in the last age, we bring the end to the world. We Purge them and their lands, and bring them to a resplendent end. And from the Ash will spring our world, like the Pheonix, favorite of our lady Bhall!"

Call to war of Jonas Endain at braduk

OOC: cultural shifts: the orcs have commandeered The pheonyx as Bhall's pet. I know, cannonically, it aint, but cultures shift, and the orcs view the world as being reborn after a fiery conflageration, sot he pheonix is a good animal

 

[cypher132]

"Come, Brothers! Come Sisters! Come All! The Weak are our prey, their lands are our for the taking! In the Name of the Fire and Her Lady, in the Name of Brigit the Bright, slain in the last age, we bring the end to the world. We Purge them and their lands, and bring them to a resplendent end. And from the Ash will spring our world, like the Pheonix, favorite of our lady Bhall!"

Call to war of Jonas Endain at braduk

OOC: cultural shifts: the orcs have commandeered The pheonyx as Bhall's pet. I know, cannonically, it aint, but cultures shift, and the orcs view the world as being reborn after a fiery conflageration, sot he pheonix is a good animal

OOC: I think Jonas would be dead by now. Unless he's like..Jonas Endain the 2nd or 3rd. Probably would be the 3rd.

Deremei Diranth looked at his hands carefully. 134 years. That's how long they were trapped in the caves and he has been alive since before the 2nd Ice Age. None of the Nortek populace dared approach the subject with him, but many questioned his strangely lengthy lifespan. He continued to study his hands. They looked as strong as the day he crossed the ocean to do battle with demons. It had been a glorious battle and one that had been cut short due to the news of the Illian rituals. The Amurites were unable to reach Auric before he ascended. How and why the Ice Age ended, he did not know.
However, his primary concern was growing his tribe in hopes of reaching the levels of power that the Nortek held in years past. Forward scouts had reported the return of sea life, allowing for the farming of crabs and fish. Farms had been constructed, but food was still hard to come by in the area of the Nortek. With the Goblin tribe ever-growing, food became more and more important as time passed. To make matters worse, his scouts reported Orcs gathering together and storming towards the closest village they can find. He had sent several platoons of Goblin warriors to the farming village of Benniren, the Nortek's most important food-supplying settlement.
With new life comes new minds and several of the younger Goblins had challenged Deremei, but all had fallen or surrendered to his will. Most of the Goblins under Deremei's rule are happy with his leadership, so attempts at revolution are few and far between. Deremei had also sent out the call to the various Goblin tribes surrounding his capital of Oren, inviting any Goblins that wished to defect. However, he feels this may have prompted some..Unwanted action from some of the tribes as a few of the scouting parties had not checked in. Deremei placed his hands on the stone that made up the palisade of Oren and contemplated the future of his people.

 

[thomas.berubeg]

OOC: I think Jonas would be dead by now. Unless he's like..Jonas Endain the 2nd or 3rd. Probably would be the 3rd.

yah. I said in my first update that This Jonas Endain is a charismatic descendant of the Jonas of old... However, orcs live for the present and the future, not the past, so names don't have titles attached (2nd, 3rd)

 

[cypher132]

yah. I said in my first update that This Jonas Endain is a charismatic descendant of the Jonas of old... However, orcs live for the present and the future, not the past, so names don't have titles attached (2nd, 3rd)

Ah, sorry. My bad. Must've missed that part.

 

[Kyzarc Fotjage]

quick question: whats the difference between Real Life and the Mazera timeline? One day here is two days in-story? One day is one month?

 

[cypher132]

quick question: whats the difference between Real Life and the Mazera timeline? One day here is two days in-story? One day is one month?

One day = Two days
Sounds about right. If anyone would like to discuss this, just bring it up in the prethread which is now the discussion thread.
By the way, I deleted the whole vampire-Goblin thing. Didn't bring me as many ideas as I thought it would and I decided to end it early unlike my bad ideas from MSI. The mystery shall continue.
Also, if you're participating in this thread, make sure to come to the Erebus chatroom. You'll usually find me in there.

 

[cypher132]

Kaw had to pull out because of some D&D thing he's doing. So, the Hippus are now open.
Also, disregard any time-scales. There is no time-scale for the Mega Story.
Also also, a story.

Spoiler :

Gab was a young Goblin, living in Melyar with her parents. Her mother and father both worked at the docks, constructing fishing ships to pull in more food for the growing Nortek tribe. Gab regularly came along with her parents and played alongside the dock while her parents worked. "Stray not far." Gab looked up at her mother and nodded enthusiastically. She picked up a stick and began to pretend it was a Goblin, hunting through the woods. But there were no trees near the dock. There was a forest nearby, however! Gab stood and ran to the edge of the forest.
She sat on a stump and began playing with the stick again. "Me Nortek Goblin. Me find food for eating." Gab giggled, but stopped when she heard a curious sound coming from the forest. It was unfamiliar, but familiar. It sounded like many noises put together. Clicks, pops, and a light screeching, like the sound of the metal sheets at the coppermill. Curious, Gab stood and inched closer to the sounds. Maybe it was one of those "dear" she heard her parents talking about. Oh, it would be so fun to see one of those! She finally reached the source of the noise, a small hole in the ground. It must be hiding. She got down on her knees and slowly reached her hand inside the hole.
It was dark so she couldn't see, but she felt around carefully. She didn't want to hurt the little "dear." She just wanted to play with it. However, all she could feel was dirt. She reached further into the hole and felt a soft substance. She ran her hand over it and squeed, thinking it was what she was looking for. She reached her other hand into the hole and pulled the object out. It was a small, soft ball that she could hold in both hands, sort of like the wicker balls that she and the other young Goblins would play with. She sat on the ground and studied the strange object. It was pulsing slightly, as if there was something alive inside of it.
A small hole opened in the side of the object. Gab looked at the hole carefully, not sure what to make of it. She slid a finger into it to see what was inside and felt a small prick on her finger. She yelped and pulled her finger out, putting it in her mouth. From the hole came dozens of tiny spiders which crawled onto Gab, moving over her entire body. Dozens of tiny fangs punctured her skin, ejecting a corrosive poison. Her organs quickly turned to a malleable slime, which the spiders ingested. Leaving a dessicated corpse behind, the spiders settled down in webs above in the trees. One by one, they slowly began to grow.

 

[lemonjelly]

Ancient City, Ancient Metals

Spoiler :

Scouting parties from the Bannor, Kuriotate and Ngomele have ventured inside an ancient city from a previous age. Their footsteps echoing through the ornate streets, they admired the wealth this city possesses, everywhere, ribbons of copper decorate the many statues and still fountains. As the sun rose and sparkled across the river, the scouts looked out at the city from the many high towers dotted around. The whole city seemed to be molten, the suns rays reflecting off the coppery surface and lighting the streets below. But, later on in the day, when the sun started to sink, the city took on a more sinister feel. The golden glow had faded and it was replaced by an unnatural blue light that seemed to be radiating out of the metal itself. As they ventured closer into the city center, the glow got more and more pronounced, until they got to a massive palace complex. Here, blue crystals grew out of the copper decorations, jarring out at odd angles all over the building. Needless to say, whoever controls this city will become rich and their civilization will become powerful.

 

[Zugvogel]

Legacy of the golden dragon - Kwythellar - Prologue

Spoiler :

The city was bustling with life. Screams from a thousand throats filled the air. Harsh centauric voices mixed with hissing lamian and yelping ferretian ones. And of course, there also was the miriad of human noises. It was what one would expect of a huge city like Kwythellar. But it was not something usually expected so early after sun-up, a time even here generally reserved for roosters.
But in a city under attack, other rules applied. It had been five days since the pigeon carrying the desperate alarm call of the first northern scouting party. A giant army of strongmen with spiky hides, called orcs in earlier ages, was making its way down south. Like an arrow, they aimed straightly at the majestic city. There had been a report of battle, of undead and of fiery crystals. Others scouting parties had reported strange things aswell, for example one claimed to have found a city consisting entirely of valuable metals. It was common in a way.
Perhaps because of this his highness at first had not quite believed the severity of the news. After all, running men always counted their enemies double. And in the dark fourfold.
But since then, other northern parties and since the day before yesterday a wave of scarred refugees had confirmed the report. The orcs were coming. And the Kuriotate were using the little time left to them to muster an army. Or, since that term was probably a much to complimentary description, they were mustering an armed force. The (human and ferret) City Guard and the already returned scouts would be the core of that army, the backbone. There were perhaps two thousand of them, equipped with century old iron weapons and armours from before Auric's winter. That was the best the Kuriotate had because they had lost the secrets of working iron and bronze during the time there had been no imports of ore.
Then there were the many volunteers, mostly centaurs, that had been grouped in eight formations, each one roughly numbering twohundredandfifty of the horsemen. They had only little experience, but the centaurs always had been a warlike people and the fighting ways of their ancestors were breed into their bones. Were it had been possible, they too had received supplies from the K. arsenals, but most of them only carried second or third class equipment, bronze or copper weapons and wooden throwing spears.
And then there were the militias, most of them former city gangs that had been willing to offer their fighting power in exchange for a chance to defend their homes and a royal amnesty. Crime had been a solution during the stasis, but now many of the former desperados saw other options for the future. Provided there was a future. They offered another fourthousand men, badly equipped (most carried simple clubs, knifes and scythes) and even less disciplined. There hadn't been enough uniforms (not to mention anything else) in the arsenals to supply them with and not enough wool and dye to tailor new ones. Thus, most of the militia wore purple scarves, ribbons or headbands in order to identify themselves.
And then there were also those that had not volunteered to fight but had been forced. It was most uncommon because traditionally joining the military was a free choice among the Kuriotate. But desperate times demanded desperate measures and everyone, to quote Lorda himself, “ had to act to the benefit of society or else to be excluded of its shelter.”
Those were yet again sixthousand men. Fourthousand had been given bows and slings. They could not be trusted upon in open battle but from afar they might yet be of use. The others, the most desperate among the levied, would be used as a reserve. There had been nothing to arm them with and thus they would be send into the fray as a last resort. By the time they reached the frontlines, they would hopefully have had the possibility to pick up dropped weapons.
The Lamia were among them as well, mostly as mages supporting the troops. But some of the less gifted also marched within the ranks. A two-meters tall snake-men was a dangerous creature at any time.

And today, this army – 14-thousand men, virtually all of Kwythellars male population between 16 and 26 – was moving out to meet their foe. Many would not return.

Legacy of the golden dragon - battlefield three kilometers north of Kwythellar

Spoiler :

The dragon had collapsed into a deep slumber. But around its barely moving body, new grass grew. And there were snakes. Not huge, ugly, poisonous snakes. Just snakes, adders and grass snakes and many more. Some big, most small but none aggressive. It was as if the snakes themselves were children of the grand golden lizzard. Single snakes strayed from the place, to the north and east. Some died, some moved on and some returned . There was a pack of dogs in the far north, the observer now saw. And another flock of hyenas much closer. But they were no problem, not at all, for they were far, far away. Nonetheless, the observer felt a tension rising. At first he did not realise why, but then he saw it. The sea was bubbling but much more eminent was a huge mass of embers coming from the north, intend on devouring the helpless dragon. And the snakes saw the thread as well. A host of winding bodies moved to oppose the small insects. It was a battle, but who would win the observer could not tell...

“Your highness.” Relassi said, leaning forward. He realised there was no use in trying to...wake his monarch. Lorda had shown several such bouts of dreaming of late. Perhaps it was the stress, but then again the legends never told of the monarch ever being inattentive. But who could tell what was going on in the mind of a centuries-old being? Lorda would speak as soon as he was ready. Others, however, were not as patient.
“Your royal majesty” a booming voice next to Relassi said. It belonged to the newly promoted General Harelios , a Centaur that formerly had captained the City Guard and now was the Kuriotates highest ranking military. Not because of any special skills of his, Relassi noted, but merely because there hadn't been anyone more suited. The City Guard was the new army – it even was called by some this way of late – and thus its leader was a general.
“Yes, General. I hear you.” The king suddenly spoke. “I hear you quite well. Don't mind my lack of attention. I was merely inspecting the battleground.” It was almost impossible to hear the subtle lie in the Kings voice. Almost.
“Yes, your royal majesty.” The Centaut persisted.”That is what I was just talking about.” We'll send our Centaurs in wedges against the Orcs. They'll cut a path in which the footmen can delve. We'll beat them with one big, glorious offense.”
“I appreciate your eagerness to face our foe and the trust you place upon our troops, General. However...reports confirm that the foe actually has mustered a force equally large to ours. It seems as if several tribes and clans have united under one banner to raze our city. Now...we have an enemy host the same size as ours but much, much more experienced. And hungry for plunder. We, on the other hand, have a very mixed force. I do not doubt your Centaurs could crack the enemy ranks. But I doubt the ability of our footmen to make use of these cracks. The foot would be repelled and your wedges would be isolated and slain, one after the other. No, the orcs have the better army but we have one decisive advantage: Our men, even the most afraid of them, are fighting to defend their home. If we give them a place to make their stand then they will indeed hold the line, no matter how desperate they are.” He looked on the battleground once more. “I want you to place your City Guard in the center, between those two hills. This is where the fighting will be fiercest. Either they hold the line or the day is lost. The militias will claim the hills. There they have the advantage of ground. Hopefully it will be enough to make up for their lack of training. The forced-bowmen shall form two lines behind the militia so they have some shelter. The forlorn hope (as the unarmed contingents of levys had been dubbed) can take position between those two. Let them aim at the center, they'll have to support the Guardsmen if the pressure gets to high. Your centaurs shall indeed form wedges in four groups behind each hill. I want them to flank our enemy on my sign. Only then, understood General?”
“Of course, your royal majesty.” The Centaur said, obviously still trying to sort out Lorda's battle plan that was obviously superior to his own.
“Now, Relassi, what has the mage guild to offer in the upcoming battle.” It was a rethoric question, Relassi thought. Lorda already knew the answer, as unpleasant as it was.
“I am afraid that the only term appropriate would be little, your highness. The tomes tell us of ages in which the mages could wield fire and lightning like a sword but alas, we have lost the secrets of that age. And we have not yet made breakthroughs researching the Ether like you requested. My brothers have asked me to most humbly beg your forgiveness, your highness, but all we can offer is what is already yours: The supply of the fighting men is secure as long as there are Lamia with you.”
“Well, then at least my men will die well-fed.” the general mumbled under his breath but of course loud enough for anyone to hear. Damn that fourlegged fool, Relassi thought. The king, however, had already turned away, once more looking at the field of battle. Relassi could not tell whether he was actually seeing it or not.


The orcs came two hours after midday. Their host was indeed huge, a glintering mass of spiky bodies and green, brown and dirt-colloured skins. From what Relassi could tell from his watchpoint on top of the left hill, the scouts had either been wrong or the orcs had gathered even more men during their march. There seemed little organization in general, but it was obvious that each band – differing in sizes from a few dozens to several hundred – was following a banner. And all banners were following one flag that stood twice as tall as all others. It showed the sigil of a flaming axe.
The horde stopped double a bowshot off to the north. There seemed to be a bit of confusion. Probably this was the first time the orcs were opposed by an actual army. One consisting of humans and not of their own kind, anyway.

“It appears that someone has united all clans of the north against us.” The King said, frowning. “It is an odd banner their leader displays. In the last age, the burning axe was the totem of an orcish king called Orthus. A dreaded sign it was. But that man was reported to have died long, long ago. Either this is plain chance or their leader is very daring. Or we are in deeper trouble than we can possibly imagine...”


Later on, Relassi would not be able to tell precisely how long the battle lasted. To him, it seemed an eternal nightmare but the reasonable, logical part of his mind told him that the actual fighting was done within an hour. From a tacticians point of view, the fight began as the orcs advanced, marching straightly at the Kuriotate position. It was not as if the horde charged without reason like simple beasts. On the contrary. But their leader must have recognized that the situation did not leave him many choices than to attack. Just as Lorda had analysed, the Kuriotate where in the superior tactical position, holding the high ground and effectively blocking the orcs's way to their main target, the city. They were a hindrance and the only way to erase that hindrance was by attacking it.
But the Kuriotate made them pay dearly for their boldness, that much was certain. As soon as the bulk of the enemy began marching, feretian skirmishers armed with crossbows (items taken from the arsenals and thus ancient) strayed from the City Guards tight formation and began a loose but harassing fire, picking of enemies one after the other. They couldn't cause much damage like this, not against the massed army. But it was annoying – and it was but the first step. By the time the orcs had advanced a hundred paces, the skirmishers fell back, returning to the ranks. Now the real shelling began. The Guards began firing, one rank after the other. Aiming, shooting then kneeling and reloading.
Meanwhile the levy archers had readied their bows and slings and began a barrage of their own. The first rank was able to actual see their targets and aim, the others had to shoot at a great angle over their friends heads. No one had had the time to train them in ranked fire.
Nonetheless, the carnage caused by the concentrated fire was immense. The orcs, only weakly protected by their small wooden shields and unable to produce a proper counterfire, fell by the dozen. But still the horde pressed on, climbing over the corpses of their own.
And eventually, the concentrated fire had to be stopped as the enemy host split into three spearheads and each of the three Kuriotate lines had to focus on the enemies in front of them. Then the Orcs reached the Kuriotate lines. One last time, the Children of the golden Dragon could press their advantage and unleash a hail of throwing spears. Then the real fight began.
The sound of the two hosts clashing was the loudest, most dreadful noise Relassi had ever heard in his life. A sound of spears biting into flesh and of axes crushing bones. A sound of war cries turning into animalic screams and eventually into wails of pain. Then the fighters became strangely silent – or perhaps Relassi became temporarily deaf. No matter what, it was a grim fight. One party fought with the savagery of generations old hatred, the other with desperation to protect their homes. And in the end, it were the Kuriotates who were being pushed back. Slowly but steadily, they were loosing ground. The shieldwall connecting the City Guard and the Militias grew thinner and thinner as the Kuriotate lost more and more men. More men than they could kill orcs and more men than they could possibly replace.
In the end, it was Lorda who spoke the dreaded words: “Sound the retreat.” He said it in a monothone, calm voice. There was no fear in him, only the rational observation that mettle would only mean the death of more men.
Then he turned around, his purple cloak waving in the wind. “I said: Sound the retreat, General. Now. We can not win here. We must retreat to Kwythelar lest we loose to many men to defend it. Go with the Centaurs over the flanks to take the pressure from the men. As soon as the main body is out of reach, disengage. I want neither heroes nor martyrs, I want living men to defend my city. Have you understood this, General?”

And thus the battle of the bloodied hills was lost, the Kuriotate beaten and the Orcs victorious. Not because of any ill luck or bad tactics but because the enemy was stronger. Nothing more, nothing less. However, the final fight was yet to come...

 

[cypher132]

Ashen Veil Temple of Berodu

Scouts from the Khazad, Illian, and Balseraphs have reported a grand temple, devoted to the ancient religion of the Ashen Veil. The outside is decorated in ornate gems, stained to the color of ebony. Inside, rows and rows of benches lead up to a grand altar, stained with blood and radiating with a dark aura. Standing over the altar is a large statue of the Infernal demon Zaleed, a demon known to watch the lands of Erebus. To either side of the likeness of Zaleed are two stone Balors, holding two unused torches high. The tribe that secures this temple could receive other-worldly help, but it may cost them.​

 

[Kyzarc Fotjage]

Headache

Spoiler :

Lawrence’s Journal, End of Ice 59, Ches 7
Almost a year since the giant incident. Still tired. Sleep twelve hours a day. Doctors haven’t found a cure. Lugus hasn’t responded to my prayers since then. Malik still hasn’t shown his face. Must visit Mirror again soon, maybe Lugus will cure me. Met some of our southern neighbors, the so-called ‘Chislev’. They worship Cernunos. Priests are slowly making progress. They warned us of another tribe, the ‘Doviello’, even further to the southeast. Formed a small group of religious soldiers from ranks of the Lightbringers. Today’s their opening ceremony; the Radiant Guard has been officially formed. Many changes; can’t seem to think clearly, something wrong with head.

Lawrence’s Journal, End of Ice 60, Ches 27
The Guard has finished the cleansing of the last ancient ruin in our territory. Many losses. Little gain. However, we’re now safe from internal attack. Fath led them. Skeleton’s inhabited it, but they were easily killed by the Light. The wraiths weren’t so simple. Visited Mirror, the taint got stronger. Was merely dormant, not gone. Malik returned; he showed me how to cure the tiredness. Budding navy discovered others, people from before AoI mk2. Suspicious. Sent a much more organized scouting expedition to the area south of the Chislev. Hopefully they’ll avoid Doviello. No time for a war. Fort has been built on the Demon ruins. Radiant Guard based there. Defence of nation is almost entirely in their hands now, last militia disbanded two months back. New cult being formed, based around Lugus , called Empyrean. Must look into this. Threat to power? Easier way to spread word of Lugus? Don’t know. Head still hurts.

 

[Dean_the_Young]

Grigori Increasingly Take To Seas in Face of the Horde

As the dangers of the Maw become increasingly apparent, the Citadel Council, the governing body of the Grigori from the Citadel of Trials, is moving for a partial evacuation of the Grigori people from the isle. The Grigori population, which has bloomed with access to the fruits of the seas, has since grown too large to take shelter within the Citadel walls. With the effective land-connection through the depths of the Maw, relocation to safer, non-linked, more defensible islands is the best alternative.

Though the Citadel garrison hopes to hold the line at the Maw, an army of workers has been harvesting the local forests for lumber and materials. Fortifications at the Maw have been a part of this, true, but the nucleus of a notable navy as well has begun to form. Grigori galleys have begun convoys, both taking men to the Maw for the increasingly large skirmishes and regular trips to the Western island, ferrying surplus population and workers to set up the next Grigori outpost. The old fishing village on the far cost is now the port of call to what will be the next Grigori city.

Grigori ships are spreading their patrols, and circumvention around north of the Maw is expected sooner rather than later. Exploration to the east will follow.


One curious thing of note, however, has been whispered around the more thoughtfully inclined: the decision to resettle on a relatively unknown island rather than further south is rather risky, even given the threat of the Maw to the North, yet the Citadel Council decided soon after a savage galley came to port under an old Grigori banner of parley. Savages with any working of water craft are rare, let alone those who come in peace and not to raid.

 

[Diamondeye]

Comillo narrowed his eyes and stared out across the water.

Faithless, the savages had called the men sitting in the boats. He pondered on it for another moment. The Grigori? They were close to the Tower, then... What pre-ice geography memories he had left reminded him that it had been located in the old Grigoria. That fitted.

Still, he could not be sure. He turned around to the savages around him, the few members of the tribe he had brought to obey him. "Get me one of them. Alive," he said. He would need to be throughout in his questioning of the Faithless. Even if they were Grigori, an age had passed and Cassiel was dead. Those who had once been friends could be enemies now. He needed to be sure.

Cassiel was dead... Were there any others left?