Chapter Three

A farm sits on the outskirts of Ny'thal, a country shadowed by blackness. In the abandoned grange are animals. A large gathering of chickens and cows but mostly these animals are sick or already dead. Upon the plantation rest several piles of animal bodies. The stacks of chickens look like they are corrupted. The veins have been pulled away from within the carcasses as if being heated to the point of meshing their insides, but not enough to boil and cook. Their eyes are black and match the same wavering dark cloud color that cast a shadow upon the hellscape of the floating land. Their bodies seem twisted and mutilated. Some of the innards of the polytree are not organs at all. Gravel and veins spill out from the foundation of the piles with blood providing the haunting mixture. Some of the chicks even had mushroom and spoiled bone fragments mixed in. The cows shared the same fate. Their eyes bleed a black liquid that smells like waste. The empty spaces of their stomachs are filled with dirt and crawling bugs. The insects found a home in the blood and bone of other creatures. Under the several piles of farm animals is grassland which they once feed on, but the grass is a bright teal and clean. There is a rune that connects all this carnage. The piles are strategically placed to resemble a Hydra. Three sacrifices for the three heads, two more mounds for the feet, and lastly, one heap in the middle that connects the dark squid ink.

              In the distance, a group of people hovels around one another. These humans wear the banner of the Hydra: dark cloaks made from animal furs, green and black plated armorers with the same hydra rune etched within the chest of the plate armor, and lastly, hoods that cover their faces. Approximately one meter away is a carriage. This carriage is being pulled by two black and healthy horses, though chain mail covers their facial structure. A peasant within the group of people that whispers among each other turns his head at the right time and notices the coming lord of the land. The man's hand waves in the air and his weak yet loud voice ushers through the bleak and vivid darkness. "Lord Zesh!" As if saying a curse word, the rest of the people look up and start to get in a formation. The group breaks off into two sides and then knells down for their leader but upon doing so, they show a man. This man is covered in a long purple-clothed blanket that hides every aspect of his frame. The tips of the cloth are damp with moister because of the location they are in. The sacrifice sits on the very edge of the floating world and just beyond the edge of the sky is a whirling vortex of rain, but the water never reaches the inner part of Ny'thal only the very edges of the floating kingdom. At last, the carriage comes to a halt and the wooden doors open.

              A tall human man climbs out of the still carriage. His eyes are darkening with the shade of scarlet and his hair is a dark blond color that seeps backward. Instead of a fur black cloak, he wears a red one as if the very feathers were plucked from a phoenix. Slowly, the man makes his way to the lamb that is covered but while he walks, his bare right hand lingers upon the heads of the many people that bow to his whim, and as he makes his way down the open space, the people he passes stand. The lord gets through a few people before his dark red hues spot a familiar face that is a welcoming sight. A stern and rustic voice manages to surface through his powerful throat. "Stand, polemarch." Lyodin, the man in question is older than the lord but gladly respects his lead and rises at the Zesh's attention. The soldier pulls out a hide-covered book and flips the pages. A submissive yet cunning voice latches on the throat of the soldier. "I reckon you want to know of the sacrifices lord Zesh?" Zesh gives a hesitant nod before he continues his way to the covered man. "Walk with me." The polemarch travels with the lord.

              "Seven farms and seven humans, this should be one of the biggest harvests yet my lord." The polemarch speaks while walking with his superior. His voice manages to stain some happiness within the complex of his tone, after all, they are almost done with this ugly business. Zesh stops midway to the last man that will be swallowed by the coming rains and looks back at the soldier that follows him so, eyes burning like fire that feeds from the bottoms of the ten hells. "This is not a victory polemarch, never presume that it is. Apart of our humanity is stripped away every time I see one of my own grips the deep." The polemarch looks down to the ground. His eyes cling to the dirt while the dishonor warps and wraps around his body like a hand crushing his throat and stifling oxygen. The polemarch's voice comes out even more pathic than the time before. "I'm sorry lord Zesh, I did not mean for…" Before the soldier could finish his half-backed apology, Zesh already made his way forward. The polemarch has a distasteful look on his face but soon enough he manages to follow him. It takes a few moments but finally both men stand before the man hidden within the blanket. Zesh lets out a small exhale while looking down upon the sacrifice.

              A teenage boy steps out of the carriage. The young man is no older than eighteen years of age and wears the same old fashion plate armor as lord Zesh. The phoenix cloak that wraps around his neck flows with the small draft that picks up with the wind. The teenager has scars with multiple burns that cover his face. No part of his body is without remembrance of his past, but the most notable are the trail of burns that forge a path that starts from the tip of the side of his neck going down to his body, seemly and endlessly. His pale red eyes linger upon the lord that walks in front of them and to the desired location. They had a job to do as a family and even though such a job is needed among these parts, he would someday carry out those orders, so those eyes stay on the red cloak like a son watching a father walk into darkness. The teenager's train of thought is broken by the last member of the trio, a small boy that matched the same dirty blond color hair as his older brother, and like his older brother, he wears the same plated outfit and cloaks fitted for a pre-young teen. The smaller boy grips the cloak of his older brother, the space between his fingers yanking on the cloth to obtain the attention that the younger generation always sought from the older one.

              "What is father doing?" The young boy's voice manages to seep through the air in a weak and young way but still, the older boy cracks a false smile. "Little Troy, this is the third rotation you have been a part of. Do you still not see what our father must do?" Troy's eyes wander over to the two men that approach the purple blanket. A cold and still breath reaps from Troy's throat, the sensation scaring his flesh like he had something stuck but there is nothing, only the innocents of a child grabbing his neck. "I still don’t understand…" Troy looks down to the ground and the grip on his brother's cloak becomes tighter than once before. In the split moment of time, the older brother kneels to Troy's level. The blood orbs of the older one gaze through the small dark lighter red younger one. "You closed your eyes each time, didn’t you?" In a slow-motion of shame, the little one nods his head. Big brother is quick to pull the younger boy to him so that he is behind while little Troy is in front of him with his back facing him. The teenager stands and then places a dominant right hand on the younger boy's shoulder, implying pressure. "Tell me, who are you?" Troy gives a gulp before he answers in a stuttering voice. " Troy Fray second son of lord Zesh of fire." The other hand of the older boy latches on his other shoulder of Troy. His voice comes out more mature and rustic. "Leon Fray the first-born son of Zesh of fire. These names mean something to the people that you see. No matter how much it hurts and no matter how much pain you feel, don’t close your eyes." Troy gulps and watches his father and the polemarch.

              A moment of quietness seeps through the crowd and falls upon the lord of fire and the polemarch. Once both men stopped in front of the blanket-covered man a strong right hand of the lord grips the cloth that separates his fingers from touching the skin of another human. In a slow manner, his fingers clench at the purple fabric. With a powerful swipe to the air, he pulls the blanket off the sacrifice. The beautiful, wilted fabric escapes beyond the veil of the floating kingdom and delves into the dark rainstorm. The old man is stripped naked. His withering body indicates that he only knew the story of starvation rather than being fulfilled. The male is so skinny that the outline of his bone can be seen through his skin. His hands are tied behind his back, not by rope but by a nail that has been impaled between both of his wrists, connecting them. The blood runs from the empty spaces of his fingertips and then through the blades of teal grass. The red liquid finds its end once it dribbles off the very edge of their world. Though what stands out are the etchings along the indents of his bone. Strips of black firmly covered his boney body. The man's eyes are coated with the same sludge ink, even his once beautiful green eyes are covered with this same dark etching. The polemarch looks down at the male, darting his gaze at his teeth, taking note that there is none. Zesh grips the man's throat, but it's in a gentle manner. The lord tilts the man's head up so that his scarlet orbs narrow at the other black-coated ones.

              "A volunteer?" This is not the first time Zesh had to do the unthinkable, but a kindle of flame erupts in his heart once he realized what this man is. The polemarch lets out a soft cough and covers his mouth before speaking. "The man was a street rat for most of his life, often resorted to murder and stealing to get by. Guild Shade was the one that brought him to us. Apparently, he wanted to be a sacrifice if it meant he would die." Zesh moves his hand from the side of the old man's chin to his neck. In a quick yet smooth fashion, he tilts the head to the side. "Was he not treated fairly?" The polemarch looks through his book and flips to the back end and reads from his personal notes before speaking. "No, he was not. Guild Shade has been going their turmoil in recent years. This man apparently killed the Khan's brother. He would have served five life sentences according to their justice system, though he was forced to eat shit in his cell and faced torture daily." Zesh releases the grip from the man. "How barbaric." The polemarch nods in an agreement. "He requests being blind in case…well…" Zesh's hand rises in front of his comrade, his backhand facing him. "That is enough." The outspoke man nods his head out of respect and goes back to stand with the others behind their lord.

              Zesh's right-hand takes its place along the forehead of the older man. A deep and unrelenting sigh escapes his lips. Afterward, his lungs take up the stale and heavy air everyone shares. Orange sparks emanate from Zesh's fingers as if his own energy and power is being drawn upon from within his own sanctum. The heat from the traveling sparks makes the old man's forehead like scorch-like flesh that has been in the sun for too long. The voice of the fire lord reaps from his throat, but the tone is low enough so that only he could share words with the man if he so desired. "You have lived a life of a common criminal, even so, I thank you." The words Zesh manages to say swindle within the thief's mind and once he has a moment to think, those dark eyes of his stare at the one who will end his life. The old man's voice comes out soft and submissive but also dry like he hasn’t had water in a long time. 

           "Compared to yours, my pain will be over in an instant." Horror wraps around Zesh's face but in the moment, he would do what he was meant to do. The sparks forge into flame and soon enough the red fire of magic consumes the criminal. The blaze burst from his fingertips. The fire doesn’t hurt himself but the old man would burn up. He tries to scream but his vocal cords are melted together so his scream comes out unnatural. Zesh uses his hand to grab the flaming head, forcing him to stand. With all his might, he pushes the sacrifice off the edge of the world. The burning lamb travels down to the depths.

              At the last moment when Troy sees the burning man fall from the edge, he flitches. In the moment of seeing nothing by darkness, the words from his brother manage to soar through his innocent mind. Those eyes of his burst open and lock on the scene before him with his unrelenting pendent stare. Leon's right-hand pats the shoulder of his little brother. "With every harvest that passes, it becomes easier." Troy has a tear in his eye. The droplet drips down on a blade of grass, once the water brinks the ground, the teal shade among the grass begins to morph and change. The once teal color shifts back to the original form as if the corruption that plagues this land is gone and the natural landmass remains. Leon grips the ground that is just beneath him, plucking some grass between his fingers. In doing so he grabs a healthy amount of dirt that would rest within his palm. The teenager's thumb rubs the course dirt within his hand before parts of the soil fall back down into the Earth. Leon clasp both of his hands together, palms rubbing along one another to clean them and ring out the loose ground that stuck to his gauntlet. He stands and places a right hand back along Troy's shoulders. Troy looks up with his innocent eyes and speaks in a soft tone. "Did it work?" Leon looks over to the small village that is a part of the kingdom, a cold dead tree twists and turns until it sheds its dark bark and turns into a lush brown trunk. The dead environment slowly shifts to being alive and living.

              Before the older brother could answer, his voice is stifled by his onlooking father approaching the two of them. Zesh comes to both of his sons. He hears the question asked by Troy, so he kneels to join him on his level. The lord's right-hand rushes along the side of his son's young face. Some of Troy's blond hair dances between the empty spaces of his father's fingers. Zesh gives a loving smile to his youngest son and nods his head slowly but surely. "Yes, my son." The father stands at the attention of his eldest, their eyes deeply locking in a moment only to break once Leon turns his back to him. The teenager's right hand lingers upon the handle of the carriage. Nerves race through his hand and for one split moment the foundation of his palm shakes. Leon lets out an exhale deep from his throat. The taste of the polluted air that once stained his throat seemed to disburse into nothing. The smell of fresh grass reaches through his senses. Fresh soil seemingly mixes in with the clean air as well. Leon looks up to the sky. Although still dark and black, the environment fells like an early spring. "It seems the harvest is much more potent than last. Why is that father?" Leon says in a stilted manner. Even though this is a joyous occasion, there is no smile upon Leon's face, unlike Troy. Zesh places a hand along the shoulder of Leon, tugging at it roughly then stops when he looks down at his youngest son. "We are very fortunate." Zesh manages to say. Leon scoffs then opens the door and hops in the carriage. Zesh and little Troy follow in suit.

              The people in the row would stand. One of the men walks over to the carriage and shuts the door. The man gives a smile to the fire lord. "Go in service, my lord." Zesh looks out the window of the door and gives a smile along with a salute. "You as well." The guide on top of the caravan lashes at the dark-colored horses. A beastly yep follows suit and the guide yanks the leashes in return. The carriage begins to move and the coughing man that sits on top clears his throat, smelling the soothing air helps with the desolation of being sick. Troy leers out the window while the carriage moves. His eyes fill with wonder when he sees the land changing outside. The land regrows in a sense. Trees begin to spurt from the ground. The once plague land turns into a robust nature field of berry bushes, flowers, fruit trees, and other assortments but most of all the farmland has resorted back to its original plantations. Even the animals are alive and well. Thought Leon was not in a state of wonder like his little brother is. The male stays silent throughout the ride back to their kingdom. Zesh smiles and lifts Troy upon his knee so he can have a better view of the systematic change.

              The shifting hour of the day begins to flee away. Soon enough within the dark sky, a lunar beam of pale light breaks through the vail. The moonlight lands upon the kingdom of Ny'thal and its castle that rules the land. The stone fort is located out in the middle of a rigged plain of fresh grass. Roads connected to the castle outskirts that form the city part of Ny'thal. The streets are clear for the coming night and guards align with the rustic gateway entrance. The guards all wear that same armoring plate mail from some of the people that were apart of the human sacrifice, they hold the insignia of the Hydra. At the end of the Hydra guards and along the apex of the welcoming party is a tall woman. Queen Bel'Vonth. She has a slender figure that matches a perfect hourglass. The woman's fingers are long and skinny. The nails of those appendages are as scarlet as her husband's bloody irises. Her cheekbones are nearly indented within her own facial structure making her face seem to dominate and powerful. Those lush red lips of hers and soaking green orbs can make any man fall for her spell but her wavering tide of power is already used upon the fire lord. The queen's right side of her throat is coiled with green and moving scales. The patch of biological scales is a thick forest color and stretches across her neck fully on the right side and to one corner of those full lips. There are two other women, one on each side of the queen.

              The first girl is an older one. She matches the same age as Leon and has an attractive figure in her own right. Unlike her mother's dark red hair, her own hair is pure black like volcano brimstone mixed with ash. Bel'Vonth's right-hand grips the chin of her daughter, the dominating appendage rushes under the girl's chin. The daughter's green eyes lock with her mother's. The girl has the same green scales as her mother, however, the origination from the sea-like skin starts from the back of her neck and then twists and turns to each side of her throat as if the scale itself grabs her by the back of her. "Sindra… You look rather sad. It’s a good day, our divine has blessed us after all." The queen's voice is both soothing yet cutthroat and demonic. Sindra said nothing and only darts her jaded eyes among the clouds that try so desperately to cover the moon even though its shine still breaks through. Bel'Vonth release her daughter's chin only to join her in the star gazing. The oldest daughter manages to crack a small and loving smile. " I am a happy, mother." That smile shifts and changes to a foundation of concern that her mother lacks. "Though I fear my happiness comes at the cost of others." The queen crosses her arms under those large breasts of hers and lets out a soft laugh while looking ahead to the gated entryway. "Oh, my dear Sindra, those people mean nothing to us. You're maturing and going through a naïve phase. Soon you will understand."

              One of the tips of the spear guards looks over at the queen. Tension in his arms forces his muscles to flex and twitch from what she manages to say about her countrymen. The youngest daughter, Emma, walks out of her spot and stands in front of the fearful written guard. She wears a red cloth dress, the same as her mother and older sister. Her eyes are more seaweed green than the queen and Sindra. The young body she wields puts her around Troy's age, though she carries herself in a much more mature way. Hands behind her waist as she walks, the same queen look in her eye that her mother has mastered, and the domination that was passed down to her. The girl comes up to the guard's waist so in fashion, Emma uses her right hand to point down at the soldier. The guard narrows his eyes at the action. He bends the knee and now their eyes lock onto one another. The guardsmen speak in a soft tone. "Yes, milady?" The left hand of her courses to the left side of the man's cheek. The back of her knuckles scraps along with the metal helm while her fingertips glide along the man's skin. The guard looks at the little girl's face. She has a soft and flat-looking structure. Her green and in-motion scales start down from her left shoulder, covering her outer arm, and then thin out along the back of her hand and up on the back of her middle finger. She gives the guard a wicked and loving smile.

              The small hand of Emma is appeasing the rough guard's face. There are some scars on his face that indicate that this man is seasoned but still bows to the whims of the lord's daughter. The pad of her fingers gentle slide down across the man's cheek, then finally to the withering man's scared chin. Those appendages sink into his flesh and the back of her nails pet one side of his face like he is a broken pet seeking refuge under the mantle of an owner. Emma's mouth opens to speak her undying words and as she speaks, her split tongue lingers and shivers along the corner of her mouth which makes a slithering sound that reaps along with the coldness of the air. "Don’t be scared. You are my father's Hydralisk. If you show that fear, I will have to kill what you love." That soothing yet hand of death slings back to her side. The girl's small stature managed to turn around back to her family. Slowly, she lifts the hand that was graced by the man's unwashed skin. She uses her thumb to pluck off a spec of dirt till her hand was clean once again. "Isn't that right mother? To extract fear from our comrades one must slew their loved ones?" The youngling's stoic and bleak gaze meets the guard who still has their knees on the ground beneath him. "After all, there is nothing more powerful or scarier than a man with nothing left to lose." Emma sinks her sharp white teeth along the foundation of her lips as if she was savoring the deep emotion that her guardsman so desperately tries to hide.

              Bel'Vonth has a moment to herself and stares at her younger daughter. Soon after, she twists her head to face the oldest once again and that coy combined with a sinister tone voice manages to escape her demoness lips once more. "You, see? Your younger sister has already matured. She knows where the value of her life is and how to rule among her lesser. She will make a fine queen." The queen shifts her head back to the attention of her youngest. A quick nod soon comes next but then she waves her hand and beckons Emma to come back to her spot. That harsh and distinct voice rushes through the throat of the mother once more. "Come back here my sweet little girl. Your father would be in a foul mood if he found out you turned one of the Hydralisk families into chum." A pouty face washes over the lips of Emma. She folds her arms and marches over to the spot where she once left. "Daddy is always ruining my fun!" The queen manages to let out a heavy laugh before her stoic orbs gaze upon the gate. Her nose wiggles from the smell of clean grass and the beloved scent of nature's warm and intoxicating embrace. Sindra could also sense it in the air. The sweet musk of soil and plants emerging from the floating Ny'Thal. All three of the women grow excited.

              The stony gate first cracks open and then spreads wide. The carriage rides into the courtyard part of the space. The guide on top of the vehicle halts the horses which force the caravan to stop. Soon after, the door opens and the first one out is little Troy who gives his mother a bright and wonderful smile. The excitement is too much and like a boy that has fallen to the depths of darkness for their mother, he races to her. The queen shares the smile of wonder and love, though her affection is more restrained rather than the unconditional devotion that most mothers have. Suddenly, the queen's voice changes as if it went from a cold-hearted tyrant to a loving and beautiful mother. Her eyes lockdown with her son's and slowly she wraps her arms around his small shoulders. "Did you enjoy your outing with your father?" Troy's gleaming of eyes showed innocents rather than distaste or anything of the sort. He tilts his head up and gives another loving expression. "It was good! I learned a lot. You should have seen it when the trees and flowers burst from the ground! They were almost as green and beautiful as your eyes mother!" That smile of the queen's surfaces even more. Her right hand begins to pat the boy's head as if he was the queen's pet. Smoothly, she begins to stroke at his dark and blond hair. "You are such a sweet boy." She manages to say in that motherly tone of hers.

Leon is the next person to exit the carriage. Though, unlike his brother, he shares a distasteful look once his eyes gaze upon the queen of this dark land. Even if his face shows that disgust, he swallows his everlasting pride as a human and shelters what his mind wishes he could say. Leon's right-hand rest along with his short sword that is holster on his side. His metal palm coats the front of the hilt. He must tame his trigger finger which causes the metal pad of his covered appendage to rub along the side of the blade's handle. He could feel the urge to draw upon his sword and slay every one of the creatures that stand before him and that feeling gripped the foundation of his throat like a cat catching someone's tongue. The veins in his wrist manage to pulse with such valor that the smallest of the women could smell the tension of the blood flow, however, the imagery and knowledge of the conflux of blood only forces a bleak grin that reaps across her lips that extends ear to ear. Leon's eyes wavier down to his mother and slowly follow her movements when her frame stands at his attention. Once their eyes meet, the weaving of bloody thoughts distorts his developing mind. It would be so easy to kill all three of them. I pull out my sword and swing a blade of darkness across the throat of my mother. Once the metal contacts her scaly flesh, the youngest one surely would jump and attack. I can shove the metal part of my gauntlet through her white pearls, guarding her fangs against my body. After that, I should have enough time to twist my sword and…

              A powerful hand clasps down on Leon's shoulder; Zesh's hand. Just like that, with a single touch of his father that sweet fantasy of his breaks away like a mirror shattering into nothing more than dust in the wind. As that dream fades away into nothing, a small smile is forced upon his lips. Bel'Vonth notices the strain of the muscles within Leon's face and gives a small smirk to him then darts her eyes upon the red orbs of her husband. "I trust everything went well?" Once more, the queen looks upon the sky, the smell of nature filling her lungs and then exhaling out. Zesh gives a soft smile. "Of course. The air is pure, and the land thrives once more." Bel'Vonth gives a nod. Sindra smiles up at Leon. She places her hands along the hem of her red dress. The pads of her fingers twirl within the fabric as if trying to find a reason to speak the words she wanted to spill, however it would only take a few moments of clarity to speak in her shy and submissive voice. "I hope you are okay, brother!" The corner of the queen's eyes manages to look at her oldest daughter, the look of disappointment lingers upon her for the moment until she turns her head back to her husband with that fake persona, she manages to slip on with nothing more than a smile.

              Zesh's fingers begin to rub the shoulder of his oldest son and look over to Sindra. With his own lips, he manages to forge a smile for her, one would think that this one was on the brink of realism. "We did fine, no need to worry." Zesh manages to say. Slowly, the lord walks over to the youngest daughter Emma and kneels to her level. Zesh gives another warm smile to his kin and rests a hand along with the dark locks of his youngest daughter. Soon enough, the hand pets her which makes Emma's smile grow wider than once before. "Father, are you home for good?" The pitch and tone of her own voice matched that of a little girl unlike before when her demoness throat sounded like a tyrant with too much power. Zesh gives a nod of approval to his youngest and proudly speaks on behalf of his small nation. "Yes, for now. Hopefully, you didn’t cause too much trouble for your mother?" Emma gives a nod and laughs a little under her breath. "I was perfect!" She says. Zesh smiles and looks up to his queen. He shifts back to standing and still motion. The lord turns around and looks among his guard and stands straight. "Tonight, we feast!" The triumph voice of a proud leader rallies the Hydralisk and they cheer in unison.

             

              The grand hall of the lord's castle of darkness reaches the length and width of what one would expect from a kingdom. Two hundred acers of pure stone and brick make up the castle walls. The throne room consists of the main foundation and lower floor of the kingdom and sufficed as the court and the wondering place where the fire lord would hold celebrations like tonight. At the apex of the giant space is a long wooden table that stretches among the helm of the room and looks over the large number of other tables and chairs that the giant space room is filled with. Behind that table are the chairs where the ruling family sits at. In the middle are Zesh and Bel'Vonth. On the queen's side are the two daughters. First, it is Sindra, the oldest has a place right next to her mother, and then Emma sits on the right side of her sister. Zesh sits right next to his beloved and along his side are the boys of the family. Leon, the oldest taps a finger along with the table. His eyes beam over to his own right side and lingers a little on his little brother. The innocent nature of his brother Troy seemed boundless. Just knowing that forges a small and loving smile along Leon's face. The rest of the tables are filled with the countrymen of the town that are sitting and talking among each other about the harvest. Some whispered about the grass claiming the land and about the forests coming back to life. Though there are also whispers of the guilds, most notable, guild Shade, and why they wanted to help the fire lord and his people with a sacrifice. Even if it was obvious the guilds need the harvest, the dark kingdom's people were always suspicious of outsiders.

              The woman in the castle all has the same yet different spots of scales that are presented by the loyal family that watches over everyone. Oddly enough the absence of no human women in the dark castle is not a problem for the others. Instead, their society welcomed it as if welcoming a plague that insist upon the creation of humankind. After a few moments of everyone gathering and sitting down at their seats the food is served. The help wears brown robes and white clothes. They carry out wooden plates and trays of freshly made fruit. Roasted boar, steak, fruits, bread, and of course wine. The loyal family is the first that would get served, each of them having a plate to themselves with their own goblets upon the side of their plates. The masonry of the castle, Robin is a nineteen-year-old boy that helps maintain the castle and within his free time, helps serves the family and does the work that his father left for him; maintaining the servants and organizing gatherings. Robin comes up to the side of Emma and begins to pour a heavy blood-red wine into her cup. The lush thick color indicates its tasteful age, and its sweet fumes manage to rest between the nose of everyone at the table. Robin works his way down till he gets to Leon. Slowly, the servant pours the wine within Leon's goblet. Leon's right-hand grips the stem of the glass to hold the foundation. The prince's head tilts up, and he gives a loving smile to Robin. "Thank you," Leon says. Robin returns the smile and nods respectfully before speaking in his submissive and smooth voice. "You're welcome." Quickly, Leon hides his smile by drinking out of his goblet before his father or mother could notice, though his little brother sees everything.

              Zesh stands up once the masonry takes his leave to the end of one of the tables. The loyal family outfits consist of a long black sleeve shirt with the hydra insignia on the chest. They wear brown pants and a red sash. The women wore red dresses with a black ribbon wrapping around their waist. The fabric they have is smooth like silk but slick and light making it plausible to move whereas traditional dress prohibited movement with the addition of a corset. Zesh's hand rises in the air and with his other hand, he holds the lord's goblet. Sparks begin to dance between his fingers then from the tip of his appendages, orange igniting fingers break his skin and dash along the ceiling of the room. The small blaze lights red candles that stand on the edge of a chandelier and catch the attention of everyone in the room. Zesh swaps the cup from one hand to the other as he lowers his arm.

              A swift rumble of the fire lord's throat soars through his powerful throat before the speech of a leader fills the empty air of silence and grips undivided attention. "Welcome to the first of many fests of the harvest season!" The crowd is in a loving and glorious uproar of cheers and chants. The noise forces Zesh's free hand to halt the cheers by sticking his palm forward as if directing his audience to remain quiet. "Today we have witnessed the biggest harvest season that we have seen in decades. My hope is that this harvest season we will unite the surrounding guilds as one of us." Zesh takes a deep breath before his scarlet gaze lingers upon the masonry table. He gives a warm smile to Robin and then his eyes wander to one of the villager's tables. An older couple sits there, wearing nothing but old ceremonial-style robes. Zesh nudges his cup in their direction like cheering their glasses together. The fire lord's voice becomes more rustic and thicker than the mud he traveled upon once before. "Though we must never forget from whom we come from. It is our origination that we will build a better tomorrow. It is my hope the outsiders see this." Finally, his ever-wandering eye darts its way to his oldest son, Leon who he holds so much pride in even though his own self-preservation would never show that soft side of himself.

              Once more, Zesh clears his throat and once that gutter sound renders across his vocal cords, Leon looks up at him and gives a silent nod that is quick yet hesitant. The fire lord's eyes linger back on his kingdom's audience. He lets out a deep breath and then his powerful voice would fill the empty air once more. "As the older generation knows, the Fray bloodline houses the last remaining fire mages. Ever since the uplift of Ny'thal, our bloodline has always provided a mage to journey to the Circle." Whispers begin to fill the room from the younger audience whereas the older people that sit remain calm and collected even the older couple that he sized up earlier remained valiant. Zesh's voice rises in tone and pitch to conquer the whispers that claw inside of his thoughts. "This is considered an honor and a privilege." The whispers begin to fade away into nothing. Leon takes a sip from his glass while he looks over at Robin and then at his dad. "And it is my honor to induct one of my own into the Circle and the Abyssal Knights. Leon Fray, son of Zesh Fray will be traveling to the Circle!" Zesh says in an excited tone. Everyone claps in an excited manner and cheers, everyone but Robin. Leon stands and gives a smile to everyone before bowing out of respect. The teen's maw manages to open and once his dense, yet shy voice manages to escape his frail throat, the people fall into silence once more. "Thank you, everyone. I hope I can make the Fray name proud…" Leon looks at Robin. "Most of all, I hope I can make you all proud."

              Leon takes his set back to one side of the table. Bel'Vonth looks down on the male side of the long-distance that separates her from the first-born son. She has a displeasing look in her eye. Her tongue even goes as far as rushing the inner swab of her cheek, a sign of her agitation. Zesh gives a smile to his loyal comrades and town folk. "Let's eat!" Just like that, without a shout of the gospel to a higher power and without any remorse, the people begin to enjoy the food from the harvest. Zesh takes his seat next to his beloved queen. He places his lips to the rim of his goblet and pours the thick dark red wine down his throat. He closes his eyes to enjoy the taste seeping down his already wet tongue and soaking his throat with the sensation of the liquor. The queen narrows her eyes at the lord while she also brings the rim of the glass to her lips, taking a sip of the wine and then pressing the foundation of the glass back on the table. A harsh whisper escapes her lungs, one that would rush through the mind of the fire lord. "You never told me about the Circle taking one of my children." Zesh places his goblet down and closes his eyes as if gathering his thoughts. "Three Wardens will be here tomorrow to take my son away to the Circle… and they are not your children. Don’t pretend as you care."

              The night grows in its age, and like everything that matures with time, things begin to calm down for the night. People that were invited started to leave the dark castle and the help begin to clean up the mess that is left behind. The loyal family had split up on their own, besides little Troy who stayed close to his father but as for the rest, the bloodline greeted and spoke to their guest as the night dwindled down and the fellow countrymen left. Though Leon is different. He finds himself along with the stables of the castle. There are many horses among the stables that are hitched in their own hovels but the one that has Leon's attention is an all-gray horse that has a scar along her side. The indented mark among her flesh is a sword that was once sliced and used upon her body. Right outside the horse's hovel, Leon sits on the ground, his back upright with one of the dividers that separate the horses. A right-hand stray through the loose hay that he finds on the surface. "Liliana, what would you do if you left your family to monsters and saved yourself?" The horse replies with a nickering sigh. The male gives a small laugh as if he knew what the beast is saying to him. "Aye, and I would be leaving you to, you know." Liliana shows his displeasure with a neigh. "Yeah, yeah. Of course, I will be coming back and visiting." Another nicker is pushed through the horse's throat though this one is more content. A footstep echoes through the stables which catch the attention of Leon.

              The stable master, Syles enters his own domain. The man is much older than Leon, nearly thirty years older than the young eighteen-year-old. The old man straightens his rustic-looking black cloak and the clothes that consist of a green shirt and brown highwaters before he approaches Leon. The leather bootstraps are loose enough to hear the bouncing along with the tongue of the shoe. "Ah, I knew I would find you down here boy." The seasoned voice of the approaching man reeked of his age and knowledge that is written on his bones. Syles make his way into Liliana's hovel and leave the door open just in case Leon wanted to join him. The man grabs a brush that hangs in the corner of the room by a metal hook. Once he has the item in hand, he begins to render the bristles along the spine of the horse. The beast is thankful. Leon lets out a small huff before his voice manages to reach the air that the three both shared. "This has always been the place to go to. No people, no mouthpiece to tell me what to do. Just me, my thoughts, and the animals that have more wisdom than guilds and kingdoms." Syles let out a laugh, though when he feels the gunk from his throat surface, he lets out a tired and yet agonizing cough. "People aren’t what they used to be. There was a time before all this hell were people loved each other. Now…well… it's history now." The old man responds in a somber but slow tone.

              Leon stands but he still has his back facing the horse and the old man. Those red hues manage to slightly shift in the direction of the other two as if looking behind him. "What should I do Syles? The circle and becoming an Abyssal knight are titles that bestow honor but a part of me is screaming, and that part of me is calling myself a coward for leaving my father with those monsters." Syles shake his head in defiance. He pulls out one of the old wooden chairs that sit in one of the corners of the space. He sits in it and begins to brush the side of Liliana's stomach. The old man takes a moment to think but once that soldiery breath of air passes, his strong and rustic voice seeps within the air once more. "Have I ever told you the story about this horse?" Now Syles has the attention of the young warrior. Leon fully turns to face the old man and nods. "My father told me she was a farm horse, a pet that has been in our family before the Vail." Syles look over at Leon, then wanders his eyes up and down his figure. Finally, he speaks again. "This is no pet. Liliana was a war horse during the Vail, your father's war horse." Leon folds his arms across his chest and narrows his eyes to the horse, taking her age into account before speaking. "If that is true, she is looking good for forty years old." The teenager darts his eyes at Syles as if he was lying to his face. 

              Syles manage to clear his throat before speaking once more. "Your father was a general at the time before he preferred the lord title." The old man starts to brush the other side of the horse while resting his free hand along the beast's bicep. "One of the first battles of the Uprising, your father charge on this horse. He ignited the swords of all his comrades and lead them to hell and back." Soon enough, the old man places the brush down, resting it right by one of the legs of his wooden chair. The same hand manages to linger its soothing touch along the scar of the horse. In his slow manner, he begins to feel the inner aftermath of the sword-inflected wound, but upon the rim of the scar are burn marks or rather remnants. The very tip of his nail manages to glide along and over the horse marking until his hand finally retreats to his lap. "Guild Shade hated the idea of aligning with monsters so instead, they declared war among the kingdom of fire. Your father rode this horse into battle but within the heat of war, she was shot down." The old Syles stands and begins to pet the long snout of Lilianna. The beast is content with the attention. "Your father loved this horse so much that he used magic to cauterize the wound shut." Syles let his hand fall to his side while his eyes narrow at Leon who listens. "Beast and man share a bond and, at that moment, Zesh the all-seeing fire treated a mere horse as a comrade in arms and upon her new life, she charged into battle with the lord of fire by her side."

              Leon's looks of disbelief surface. His face looks over at the scar then back to the old man that tells him the heroic tale of a man that is long forgotten. "What I would have given to see my father like that, however, that does not explain how this beast is alive." Syles let out a small huff followed by a laugh under his breath and then his shoulders would simply shrug in a snarky and sarcastic way. His voice changed from a worn and torn father figure to a doubtful merchant in a matter of a few seconds. "Well, it is a story young Leon. Some say when he led the fire through her flesh that he transferred a part of his life force within her bones, others say she lives because she refuses to leave her master's side. There are many stories to this horse, but what is factual is that she exists." The teenager gives a look at the horse and lets out a huff. He walks over to a pale bucket that hooks over the door that separates the hovel from the rest of the barn. Within the metal container are fresh carrots, Leon grabs one of these newly plucked vegetables. With his right hand, he begins to pet Lillianna, stroking her beautiful white mane before offering the carrot. "You know she has already been fed." The old rustic voice of Syles surfaces. Leon grins and then gives the horse her carrot, feeding it to her properly. "I know," Leon says in that same snarky and odd tone that the old man just used versus him. "It’s a celebration after all." Syles give a nod of agreement and acknowledgment of Leon's meaning. "Aye, so it is." The streets and the front of the castle begin to flood with the guest from the fest, and slowly but surely, they make their way to the front gates to go back to the villages that relate to the castle. Leon looks back at some of the people leaving to go home. He to leaves the barn but he looks back at Syles before he reaches the barn door and gives a smirk with a nod.

              The kingdom of fire is a fancy name for an age that was once upon a time ago but now they are called the kingdom of darkness simply because of the black sky that hovers over the floating continent. The front door of the castle is made of wood with steel encasing along the rim of the door frame. Studs and bolts reach around the wood and within the barb lock like most castles have. Within the center of the door is the symbol of an old and forgotten family that has tarnished bloodline and a dead nation. Leon's hand rest along with the fire insignia; a phoenix with half of its face darkens by ash. The young man tries to dust off the black suet however, nothing happens when he presses his palm's flesh along the bird's face. Leon pulls his hand back and gazes at the foundation of his hand. The hand is clean. Leon opens the door, and the smell of home reaps across his face, perhaps for the last time.

              The castle's floor is huge. Pews and tables are now empty. The wooden foundations of the tables are still and stifled from the oak that was used to craft them. Chairs that are lined up on the ends of the crafted surfaces are made from red oak, a sign of importance more than anything else. Then there is the loyal family lodge that looks down upon all the others. The surface itself is made from granite and the chairs are forged the same way as the others, one of impotence. Leon's eyes look upon the family heirloom and dart eyes to one of the empty seats, his place by his father and little brother. His eyes narrow to the rim of the wood and look upon the carved initials; his own. The male's eyes look down for one moment and his eyes linger upon one of the ground floor's entryways. The first level of the stone forged cast has four outlets from the main hall. There is one hall wall that leads to the sanctum of knowledge and information. Another path leads to the garden of virtue and nature. That is where the plantation of the castle is located along with a beautiful flower bed that has a brick and stone pathway one could simply walk along. The third location is a room where the kingdom's loyal servants do business for the bloodline. Leon lurks his gaze upon that door. A distant memory floods through his mind back when he was Troy's age but when he begins to remember, he hears something from the gates to the courtyard where the garden is.

              Bel'Vonth's white and sharp heels click along the stone pathway. The color seemly matches well with the flowers that grow within the beds. On her right side is her trusted daughter whom she has molded thus far into someone that could take over for her. Emma walks as if she is more proper than her mother. Hands are behind her back and her scaly fingers latching with one another. Their shoulders and back are straight and proper, unlike Troy who walks on the other side of his mother. The boy holds Bel'Vonth's hand and the other hand wraps tightly on the hem of her dress as if he was protecting the fabric from hitting the ground even though the dress is not long enough to drag. Emma's voice manages to speak in a clear and protective manner. "Where are you taking us, mother?" A phrase that she does not often ask, though she was curious. "A new flower bed bloomed with the new harvest my sweet. White roses, the first of Ny'thal." The mother's voice comes out still and harsh even though there is no ill attention behind her words. That is when Troy speaks in his more childlike voice that held innocents and virtue rather than devotion. "Are the roses pretty?" The queen lingers her loving gaze at the small boy and just like that her tone of voice changes from to a loving and caring mother. "I would hope so! We shall find out together my baby boy." Soon enough the three approach the flower bed.

              The patch of soil in the big flower garden has fresh blooming white roses. The dirt itself seems to be infused with magic. Leftovers of the mana used to make nature steam upward and into the nose of Troy which makes his nostrils wiggle. The dark iris within the eyes of the queen herself shivers with excitement from seeing the colors along the peddles and so does Emma. Once the daughter gets a gleaming look at the roses her own orbs dart their way to Troy. She gives him a smile and tilts her head in an innocent and loving way. "They are pretty, aren’t they?" The youngest Fray looks at the roses in wonder and shock. The hand that grips his mother soon releases its grip and with that same hand, he tries to pluck one of the flowers. Bel'Vonth stops him by gripping his wrist and looking at him. She clacks her lips and speaks in a scolding but still loving tone. "Now, now sweet boy. You can't be too hasty. Every rose has its thrones. You have to be careful like you are with me and your sister. Let me." The woman's hand tears away from Troy's own. Emma gives a smile and looks over to one of the many garden benches they had throughout the massive plantation. She goes to one and finds herself a seat.      

Slowly, the mother kneels in front of the bed of flowers as if she is on her knees in the presence of God, or rather her God. Her strong dominant right hand manages to render along the stem of the white rose. The very tips of her fingers and the foundation of her skin rest along with two of the thorns on the flower she envelopes within her grip.  Bel'Vonth's small finger links are quick to glid along the sharp serrated edges of the rose-like gliding the pads of one's finger across a sharp and war forged blade. Troy watched every movement that his mother made for her motions and the way she plucked the flower had its own elegance. Next came the woman's free hand but unlike the other hand that praised the rose's blades, the base of her other hand softly rests right under one of the peddles. For a still moment, she gazes at the bloom and gives a wicked yet wondrous smile. Both hands rest along with the soil that implants the flower. The back of her hand drapes in the dirt like she was dipping her hands in a sink full of water. In a slow and careful fashion, those once perfectly white hands of hers start to lift from the dirt. The tips of her fingers find the pointy blades of the flower which lay directly under the plant's defenses. With some force, the mother of four manages to pluck the rose from its home. The little boy looks up to his mother as he knees stand. A smile of love and amazement surfaces along his lips. "Wow, you did it, mom!"

              Bel'Vonth's serpent hues gaze at the innocents of Troy like a mother would when feeling so much love for her child even though the monster within her bones detested the very thought of loving a child like that. "I will be back my dear." With that, the queen of fire made her leave out of the courtyard and back into the castle floor. Emma places her feet along the stony ground and smiles at Troy. Slowly she makes her way to him. Hands were placed behind her back, only this time her fingers were crossed instead of being latched together in a formal way. The youngest daughter takes a few steps before her footwork turned into skips rather than walking. She stands beside Troy who noticed her but said nothing at all. Emma's eyes linger upon her younger brother for a moment before her monstrous gaze looks upon what the boy is focused on, the spot where the flower once lived. The youngest daughter grins and manages to speak in an innocent and childlike voice. "Don’t worry, it will grow back!" Another eerie still of silence braces the space between the two children. Emma looks at her younger brother, annoyed. "Say something!" She demands rather than asking. Another dull and stale reprieve manages to seep by but then Troy places those innocent eyes of his in the view of his sister a low tone grips the foundation of his throat and squeezes the words out of his maw. "You know my father doesn’t want us to talk without mother, Emma…"

              Emma sees the way her brother acted and a face of overwhelming sadness creeps along her face, however, she sees something else in the dark tunnel of loneliness that both walk along with each other. She quickly wraps her small frail arms along the backside of her brother. Even though she is the older one she seemed smaller in the moment. Her voice comes out like a seductress tone combined with an acid. "That is the problem with you and your side of the family, always trying to separate us." Slowly, her hands start to rub along the small chest of Troy. The tips of her fingers darted with the boy's fabric, feeling his boney collar bone and then his sternum. "Haven't you ever wondered what it would be like to just do whatever you wanted?" Emma's breath reaps from her lips, frost propelling out. The sensation of this magic gracing Troy's skin forces his eyes to turn the same coloration as Emma's. The green mutation of Troy's eyes overcomes the scarlet orbs that is his birthright. The small boy speaks as if he is in a trance of some kind. "…Yes…Yes…" His words are slow to grip at his throat unlike before. Troy is hesitant but he manages to relax within the arms of his older sister. "Good boy…" Emma pets him like he owns him.

              Bel'Vonth makes her way into the castle grounds floor. She emerges from the courtyard and walks by some of the oak tables and chairs, but something catches her eye. From the very corner of her orbs, she sees him, Leon who forces her to stop in her tracks. She speaks in a kind and loving tone while turning her attention to the oldest of the children. "Ah Leon, here I thought you would have already left for bed." Bel'Vonth turns her body to face him. Leon looks upon her and notices the rose in her hand and its color of it. A grin reaps along the man's face and slowly he made his way to one of the middle oak tables and sits on the surface. One of his brown leather shoes is placed on the out edge of where he sits, just above him while the other foot dangles off the edge. A hand rest along with the bent knee and grips the fabric of his highwaters. A sarcastic yet sadistic tone lurks from his throat. "Come on mom. It's just us, show me the real you, the monster under your meat tog." The queen is livid. The hand that holds the rose meant for Troy is crushed between her fingers. The thrones slice at her beautiful fair skin. A stream of dark ivory blood splashes on the cracked stone surface. There is nothing behind Leon's eyes other than hatred. "Cat caught your tongue?" Slowly, the skin on her right-hand peels backward revealing some of that 'skin' Leon mentioned. Reptilian skin rips through the human skin. Her nails become black and the yellow veins quake in motion. "You know, your father never said anything about you dying on the way there."

              Zesh walks just above the second floor and looks over the stone railing. He sees what is going on and for a moment, a scent of pride for his son falls upon the weight on his shoulders. "It's late my dear, come to bed." Almost as if a knee-jerk reaction, the scaly hand is covered with that fair skin of hers once more. That same appendage reaps through her red hair, pulling some of the lengths back as if acting embarrassed that she was up so late. "I will be with you in a moment. Your son was sharing his last words before he leaves to slumber." Zesh cracks a smile before turning his back on them and then walking to the entrance of his master bedroom. The mother listens to her husband's slow and pending footsteps and finally, her ears perk up from the opening and shutting of the massive door. Bel'Vonth turns her back to her son and shakes her shoulders. She makes way to the last area of the surface floor of the castle, the kitchen area where food is prepared. The woman manages to stop at the doorway and then turns her head back to face Leon while he just watched, though her head turns three-hundred and sixty degrees. She speaks in the same pitch-perfect tone as Leon, though he mimics his voice so perfectly it's like a mirror image of his own tone and pitch. "You better go tuck in your brother. You know Emma is nocturnal." All the playing around and power that the teenage boy once had is gone. The sound of his heart falling between the empty space of time and regret fills his mind. Instinctively, Leon gets up and runs to the gardens.

              Leon rushes through the massive gardens of the kingdom. Often pushing aside some of the hedges and bush walls that make up the pathway. His heart beats fast and loud enough to ring through his head and chest like a raging beast is trying to claw its way out of his chest though this is out of rage not out of love for one another. Once his blue eyes linger upon what is happening, an overwhelming sensation of darkness sarcomas his very being. Emma turns her head around along with Troy. The little boy stands there with his shirt open. The youngest girl has a grin along her face, and she speaks in a loving and caring tone. "Look Troy your brother has come to visit us!" Troy looks at Emma and then lingers his dense gaze upon his older brother, however, he sees nothing. "I don’t see him." Troy manages to say in his frail tone. Leon gulps and lurks his eyes to Emma. A voice of dominance and destruction reaps from his throat. He places one of his hands in front and opens his palms. "Only once. Let him go."

              "Oh, my sweet older brother, there is no need for such threats." Emma's voice is angelic like a child's but still held that sinister backdrop of her tone and pitch. The darker blood-red eyes Troy manages to resurface as if eating away the thick green coloration of the mutation that replaced his natural irises. The youngest daughter's arms fall to her side in a swift and intentional motion, thus releasing her younger brother from her grasp. Troy looks at Leon first and then directs his attention to his sister with a rather confused look. Leon's hand that he used to threaten his sister lowers and he beckons his brother over to his side of the garden. "Come here, Troy." The older brother says in a stern and demanding tone rather than his normal one. Troy takes a few steps forward before he stops once he hears Emma's tone. "Why go to him? He is leaving, you know. What family leaves one another? Your place is by our side, not some boy who runs away from his reasonability." Emma's arms fold while she darts her still orbs upon Leon's own unyielding rage ones. A train of thoughts races within the small boy's head. Memories of a human family that seemed like they came from a bygone age plague his head. Troy pulls his right hand to his face and stares at it. A laceration scar runs across the base of his palm all the way to the tip of his middle finger. The pad on his thumb rubs at his scar while his thoughts raced.

              Leon's own vision seeks the refuge of his brother's eyes but instead, they linger upon the idle hand that seems to be distracting Troy. The older brother lets out a small huff under his lips. In that motion, Leon forces his rage and hate to subside for the sake of Troy. Leon makes his way to Troy who stopped in his tracks. The teen steps in front of the youngling and kneels so both can see through the windows of each other's souls even though Troy could only see his hand, Leon sought his brother's gaze. In a swift action, Leon offered a hand clasp along the centerfold of his brothers. A tight squeeze of flesh and blood meshing with one another soon follows. The motion and the sensation itself bring Troy's young gaze to Leon. The young one gulps while lingering and dancing his look within his brothers. The boy shudders when he speaks, but still, Troy's voice never loses that innocence that he has. "I am sorry big brother." He speaks under his breath as if being ashamed of what had happened to him. The teenager shakes his head out of diffidence rather than being upset or sad. "It's okay." He mentions. After that, Troy's head looks down upon the stone surface until his brother's hand reaps across his chin to force his ever-wandering vision upon the oldest brother once more. Emma darts her eyes at what is happening and bites her lip hard enough to taste the black blood seeping from her flesh and coating her white teeth dark.

              "No matter where you go, how old you are, or what you do with this life, I will always be there for you. To protect you and to be your brother. Even when I'm gone hope will always live on." Troy takes those words from his brother to heart and once he catches the meanings afterward he has a warm smile on his face. Leon returns the favor of a smile upon his brother, even though it is fake, Troy could not tell though Emma could. Leon knees bend and with some of his unrelenting might, he stands at the attention of Emma and his brother. With his left hand, he renders his fingers within the little one's dark blond hair. He lets each strain of hair fall between the emptiness of his fingers as if enjoying the small moments that he would no longer have. Finally, Leon's hand falls to his side and he nudges his head over to the courtyard entrance where the entry to the surface level of the castle is. "Will you do me a favor?" Troy looks up and nods with excitement. "A mission!?" Leon gives a genuine smile before nodding. "Yes, go find Robin and have him meet me in my chambers." Troy gives a salute of honor by rendering his dominant hand across his forehead. "Aye, Aye!" With that, the innocent kid is off to fulfill that mission which leaves Emma and Leon alone.

              Emma folds her arms and smiles at Leon as if she is victorious rather than in a loss for words. That dark tone of hers flows out of her small mouth. "You know you can't protect him forever. One day he will be mine." The girl closes her eyes and tilts her head back in a smug and cocky way. She follows up her victory speech with more eerie and dark words that ring through the oldest brother's mind. "The moment you step on that ship and embark on the rest of your life, we will have him, or rather I will have him and the only thing you can do is hope he remembers you." Emma's head tilts back into the view of Leon and her eyes open. A smile still gleams over her lips as if she had a big victory. Leon is silent. His scarlet hues look at the stony ground as if he is experiencing that same distraction that his little brother had just before him, however, his obstacles and demons are much different from the innocent youngling that he has a bond. Leon's hand extends forward but not like last time. Instead, those red irises lock on his gloved hand. Leon thinks for a moment and then darts his gaze at his younger sister. A look of hate, a look of sorrow, and a look of the vengeful surges through those orbs of his. The youngest sister doesn’t notice that look at first from her lack of empathy towards humanity. The understanding of human emotion is not her strong suit, so she laughs. "Now what?" She manages to say.

              Leon closes the space between the two and he is quick to do so. Emma doesn’t do anything and lets him do as he pleases. Once the taller male comes within a distance of her, she looks up and gives a smile. "What's wrong? Mad I'm not interested in you?" That cocky and ignorance is still at the full front of her voice. The gloved left hand of Leon slowly peels away at the right-hand glove. In a slow manner, he grips one side of her face with his bare hand. Leon's fingertips are painted black. Each roof of his nails is connected to the rune that is placed along the back of his palm, and orange phoenix that has been burnt into his skin and shielded by the black paint. Though the under of his hand is also destroyed and tarnished. The pads of his fingers are burnt away, and the skin of his front palm is like looking at scorched earth.  "Mm, that is what I like…" It is then that Emma notices something is off. Her serpent instincts manage to kick in, she is in danger. Those orbs of her take another look at his and for a moment she could feel the same thing that Leon feels. Hate, rage, and wrath. Green fire begins to ignite from his fingertips. The mana infused with his bloodline forces the brightness and the heat. As the fire comes out, particles of his flesh from the base of his hand begin to flow upward with the blaze itself. The magic mixed with his own burning fire to powerful for his body to withstand but he can pinpoint the ignition to minimize the damage to himself.

              Emma screams in pain. The green flame danced around her face like a stage upon a tempest, melting some of her skin and revealing her true appearance of herself. The mask slowly peels away like foam lifting in the air from extreme heat. On one side of her face is the human side and the other is her true self, a green-scaled front with white and green mutated eyes that look like a cross rather than a human pupil. The black blood that seeps out of the wounds that are being created boils and bubbles which causes her screams to ring out even louder than before. Leon takes his time to look at the pain he is causing and like a true vengeful man, he relishes in what he is doing. The oldest son gives a smile to Emma's pain-induced face then with all his might, his other gloved hand grips the human side of her face, and he shoves her down to the ground. Emma falls in the bed of white roses. Both of her hands touch her burnt face. In doing so her hands become covered in dark blood. She darts her hybrid eyes to her older brother and spits out some of her blood across his feet. "Father won't stand for this, nor will mother!" Emma says. Leon puts back on his gloves and then turns his back on her, a snarky tone soon rushes through the air. "You will heal, cunt." Leon leaves Emma in the dirt and walks out of the Garden.

              Leon walks onto the surface level of the castle once more. His eyes wander to the kitchen where his brother is talking to Vin, one of the kingdom's heads chefs. The teenager makes his way within the kitchen doorway and smiles while listening in on what is going on. "Now son, that is not how to hold a knife!" Troy stands on a step stole which allows him to reach the wooden countertops, one of the many places in the large kitchen where food is prepared. Vin rests his hands with Troy's and in doing so works with his fingers to hold the chef knife properly. Next, he pulls one of the many washed potatoes that he has on the side of the wooden countertop. "Their try that lad." Troy manages to cut some of the vegetables, though his cut is large and unrefined, he needs a lot of work. "Well, that is better than my first time, almost lost my damn fingers." Troy lets out a laugh which in return gives Leon a small smile before he spoke and interrupted. "Troy, what did the masonry say?" Troy is hellbent focused on another cut which he does but he still answers his brother. "Robin has some more work to do, but he said he would talk to you tonight, what would you have to talk about anyway?" The boy questions while cutting once again. "Nothing important you nosey little bugger." Vin smiles and looks at Leon, "Hopefully it's about food inventory, eh?" Leon looks at him up and down. "You eat any more food Vin; your body will cave in on itself." Vin fixes and straightens his dirty shirt after Leon spoke like that.

              The teenager laughs and then walks into the kitchen. "Easy Vin, a joke is a joke, no?" Vin laughs and uses both hands to press along his over-weighted stomach. "What can I say, mate, I love to eat." Leon shares in his laugh then dart his gaze at Troy. "Come on, it's time for bed, and besides, Vin has work today with the Circle coming tomorrow night." Troy huffs out of defiance but he always listened to his brother. The little one puts the knife down and hops off the step stole. He walks over to his brother and looks up at him and smiles. "Okay!" He manages to say before their hands connect and both walk out of the kitchen. Leon waves his hand back at Vin and gives a smile that he hides from him. "Nice knowing you," Leon says. Vin looks down on the kitchen counter, he speaks under his breath, "Aye, be seeing you to lad." The pair of brothers walk the helm of the main floor. On the surface, there are two sets of staircases that go to two different sections of the castle. One set of stairs is on the right side, just near the loyal family's table. The other set is on the opposite end, also right by the family table. Both walk to the male side of the table and up the hard stone staircase. It would take a few moments before both are at the helm of the stairs. The hallway is beautiful. There is a long carpet that coats the stone floor. The pathway is covered with a dark red carpet that has the insignia of a phoenix in the middle. The symbol is etched with black threads and the outline of the rug is stringed with thin gold. Along the walls of the alley are portraits of the family and two rows of torches that light the way.

              The pair walk along the carpet and approach the first door on the left side of the hallway. Leon opens the door and within the room's contents are a few things. First, there is a bed that is fit for a much younger boy than Leon. There is an old and small red oak bookcase that has a few books on them. One of the books is called The Secret of Mana and another book is called Firestorm. Both educational books about magic and its properties, though Firestorm is one old-world book that is catered to the fire mages. Troy races into his room and slides in his bed. The small boy stretches under his covers and looks over at his brother. "Story?!" the youngling says in an excited manner. Leon shakes his head and walks into the room. Both of his arms shrug outward a little. "You know, you have heard every story that I have said little one." Troy yawns and shakes his head. "What about the one about the old world?" Leon gives a smile; he plops down by the end of the bed. His right hand pull the blanket up so that Troy is full covered. "That is a story for you and father," Leon says.

              Troy's face is filled with a pout but after a few moments pass, he nods and understands. Quickly, he retreats down into the covers. Leon gives a smile and pats the blanket where his little brother's head is under the covers. "Get some rest." He says before standing up and exiting the room. A right-hand rush upon the door handle of the entryway of the room and with some of his might he shuts the door behind him. A surrounding sound echoes through the hallway. Leon lets out a small huff but soon his white teeth start to plunder under his lower lip. The teenager walks down the beautiful lite hallway and as he walks down and gets over more to his destination, he stops and puts out some of the torches. It took a few more minutes until he reaches the master bedroom. On the right-hand wall of the large phoenix insignia door is another room, his room. The young man puts out the last remaining torch. The hallway grows as dark as the evening sky. For a moment, he stands within the shielded blackness that is the aurora of the space he is in as if planning something, planning to talk to someone. His right hand is placed upon the door handle of his room and with a stern font of muscle behind his action, he opens the door. Slowly, he steps into his very own sanctum and then closes the door behind him.

              Leon's room is what a basic living space would look like. A firm bed with a feather mattress. A red blanket that covers most of the surface. There is a bookshelf tucked in one of the corners in the space that has countless stories to tell and magical manuals of the old world that once was. There is a small chandelier that overlooks the room. The white candles reflect a shimmering light across the darkened wall. The lack of wax dripping from the candle tells Leon that the candles were lit only a few moments ago. While the young man looks up at the source of reflecting light, a small smile manages to forge across his lips. Slowly, he walks over to his bed and sits along the right-side edge. A small huff soon escapes his lips and under his breath, he mutters to himself. "What a fucking day." Both of his hands grip the hem of the fabric shirt that he wears and slowly he peels away the cloth and throws the shirt on the stony ground. The man's body has so many scars that it's hard to tell his skin complexion from what a story could be told. Across his chest is a sword slash that runs through his shoulder down to his waist. There is another mark across his throat from a failed assassination attempt from a garrot wire. The last mark on his body that is of relevance is the scar that is across his chest. A mark that is common among people that have had a heart transplant through the remnant of the wound is more indented within his flesh than the others. Next, he takes off the gloves. One hand is fine while the other one has some blood from the use of his bloodline.

              The male looks at his injured hand and for a moment, his eyes lock on the wound. Scarlet orbs stare intently at the split-open ends of his fingernails. That green and hot flame sparks along his skin which cauterizes his wound. Since the flame is so small and pin potion in a specific location, Leon easily destroyed the flame by breathing in the blaze till it was no more. Leon shakes his hand in place from the pain of the newly formed marks on his hand. There is a bathroom within his living space and the door to this room cracks before swinging open. Robin steps out. Robin wears nothing but the high waters that most of the servants wore in the kingdom. The man folds his arms and leans a shoulder along with the entry of the doorway. A soft, but demanding voice lingers along the silent air. "Already heard of what you did to yer sister… You know your father will have ya head for that one." The sudden voice forces Leon to stand at attention. First, he leaps over the bed to close the empty space between the two of them. Once the man is in reach of Robin, both of his hands crawl within Robin's hair. The empty spaces between Leon's fingers filled with the boy's dark brown locks. Iron blood orbs dart to Robin's beautiful oceanic eyes and for a short moment, he is lost in the deep-sea voyage of what the other had to offer him. Like an instinctive reaction, the shorter male Robin wraps his arms around Leon's waist.

Leon's eyes never leave Robin's orbs as if the very color and accent of the swirling pools of rainwater mixed with the crystal blues of the ocean was something that the young man can gaze into for hours on end. "Your eyes are beautiful tonight." A huff musters under Robin's throat in an annoyed fashion. The shorter male's fingers drip down to Leon's waist. Robin's appendages manage to twist and turn with the fabric of the high waters Leon wears. "Flattery won't get you out of this conversation you know." Robin grins at the sound of his lover's voice and for a moment he thinks to himself upon the acts he could do with him. The very thought forces his white teeth to bite down on his lower lip and slowly grind within his thin frail flesh. "Sorry baby boy…" Leon speaks in a soft tone but soon enough his lover's hand glides upward upon his chest. Slowly, Robin's fingertip moves across the scared and tarnished body of Leon. The tip of his sharp nail dances within the indented chest as if worshipping the canvas of his lover's adamant and his fingertip is the brush. "I just worry… I know you are leaving soon. I don’t want your father to have to deal with your mother's scorn." Leon's orbs dart down to the ground. For a moment he focuses on the cracks of the stone floor. The reflection of a plate left on one of the villager's tables catches his eyes and deflects back into his lover's eyes.

              The right hand Robin glides upward from the scared tapestries of his lover's chest to the foundation of his chin. In a rough and demanding motion, Robin turns his head so that their eyes meet once again. Through Leon's reflection, Robin could see a version of himself that forges a smile across his lips. "She is a monster, my lord." The lord in the room lurks those eyes intently upon the pools of emanating blue and crystal. Both of his hands slide down on each side of Robin's neck. With pure brute and dominant force, he grabs the man and slams his back along a stone wall. The force of the sudden action is mild, to say the least, he did not want to hurt him, but Leon did want something from him and it's clear the madness within his blazing red eyes slowly takes hold of his soul. The lord's heart beats like rabid dogs are clawing at its cage just waiting to be released upon the world. For a moment Leon looks down as if he could feel the rattling ribcage that houses such a beast but then his look returns to his lover and within those haunting red orbs is pure desire, lust, and futility. No more biting his lips and wishing upon a midnight star, he has waited long enough. Without warning upon his actions Leon attacks him like a cobra sinking its teeth into cattle.

              Leon's lips meet Robin's for the first time in a long time. The kiss itself is soft and gentle like the comfort and warmth of running into the arms of an angel overcomes the feeling of darkness and loneliness. The long, beautiful, and impactful kiss is soon broken away but not before those grinding teeth of Leon's find their way within the flesh of his lover's bottom lip, only slightly nibbling before letting well enough alone. Robin gazes at those lips that just took ahold of his very own and like an instinctive nature, he goes for another. His lips slammed down on Leon's with such force that the lord's body stumbles back a few steps. Both of their gazes lock as if a sensation of shock and surprise rushes across their faces like a splash of water. The lovers attack each other like a wild beast about to mate for the first time. The hot mixture of their saliva coat and mix almost as well as unrefined steel in the shape of a sword being dumped in the water. Leon's right hand is powerful and lingers from the forest-like brown hair to Robin's small and frail neck.  The space between the lord's fingers fills with the flesh of his lover. His palm applies force to the foundation of his lover's neck. The hand squeezes tighter which earns Leon a moan from Robin's throat. Once the lord hears the shifting sound of pleasure leave his lover's maw, he rests a small kiss along an open space across Robin's neck. Those daring and steaming kisses begin to become even hotter. His teeth start to bite across his neck, leaving a trail across the thin throat. The placed hand turns Robin's throat over so that he has more room for his welcoming assault.

              Both of Robin's hands grip his lord's back while those indecent and lewd moans escape from his narrow throat. Those sharp nails of his reap along Leon's back, forcefully digging within the skin. The pressure is so hot and harsh that streaks of red begin to emerge from his shoulder blades. Within the marks left within Leon's scared and tarnish back is his own blood. The underneath of Robin's nails fills with his lover's blood and stains the clear color of his nails. Those breath-taking moans begin to fill the air around them as if occupying the small amount of empty space between the two of them. Leon's teeth pluck from his lover's neck and once more those eyes of his begin to star gaze back within the pools of purity and beautiful orbs. Robin's neck shimmers with the lunar moonlight that paves through the open window. The small little pretty bruises circle within the neck begins to form from the attack that Robin loved so much. Leon gives a smile to him and his soft yet dominant tone manages to seep from his thirsty throat. "Mine?" Is the question that he had to say for him as if asking for consent through his own words. Robin thinks for a moment and then pushes those lips of his to Leon. The sudden affection becomes so intense and so amplified that Robin steals his breath away in a selfish and greedy manner. The shorter male breaks the kiss and rests his forehead along with Leon's own. The skin among flesh sends a cooling wave of pleasure in otherwise hot and filling moments. Robin grins before he nods his head. That submissive voice of the brown hair masonry grinds within the mind of Leon. "Yours my lord." So sweet and so loving, Leon could not control himself.

              With all the power that he musters within his young muscles, he picks up Robin by grabbing both of his lover's bubble rear. Both of his hands grabbing that supple flesh force a loving moan from Robin's frail and loving breath. With all the power within the arms of Leon, he carries the smaller boy over to the bed and plops him down like he weighed nothing. Leon climbs on top of Robin as if he is rampaging through a new mountain range. Both of his legs land on each side of his submissive partner. The muscle in his legs squeezes nice and tight as if he is trapping the boy under him so that there is no escape from what is going to happen next. Slowly, Leon darts those kisses along the front of his lover's throat. The powerful male takes his time savoring the other's skin and letting the very tip of his teeth glide down that perfect frail body of his. Robin places his hands along with the blanket that is beneath him. The back of his head slams into the feather pillow that is among the helm of the bed. The grip on the blanket becomes tight as he squeezes the fabric between the empty spaces of his fingers. Robin's soft and loving moans become more frequent with every kiss that Leon makes on his skin and every nibble that the older boy finds himself forging along the path of his lust and desire. Those scarlet orbs of his envelopes with the desire to please the person that is close to him. Those lips finally make it to Robin's thin hips. Leon kisses the boney sensation of his flesh making sure that his partner felt the warm sensation of lips coating flesh and slowly turning into suckles and love bites.

              Robin feels the simulation upon all parts of his body. The very surface of his flesh feels like fire is being placed upon his skin such over stimuli earn Leon some more cute and loving moans of pleasure. The brown hair male beings to become hard. That stiff and small prick that is being concealed by the wood color high waters becomes tight and his small manhood sticks between the threads. Leon smiles once he sees such a reaction to his assault. Both thumbs rest under the hem of Robin's bottoms for a moment. Those red orbs become gridlock with his partners and his lips quiver into a sinister smile. Those pants come off robin's waist and legs. A moment of relief manages to escape the submissive voice once that small appendage of his is free from the fabricated prison. "My lord…" The masonry speaks under his breath while his eyes are locked on with his partners. Leon smiles from that low pitch and tone his lover manages to muster after showing himself the flustered man he is.

              Finally, that watery mouth of Leon hovers just about that small manhood of Robin. A warm and hot breath seeps from the cracks between the lord's teeth and waivers out. The smooth blow makes that head of Robin's length quiver from the unrelenting teasing. The brown hair boy whines from the pleasure but more so from the foreplay. Those ocean-like eyes dart up at the ceiling of the castle but then sharply narrow down to his lover. A face of desire and pleading wraps around his features. Leon basks in that look of pleasure that forges along his partner's face. A grin reaps along Leon's face while he watches the pleading look. A long and wet pink and red tongue slips from the lord's mouth and in a slow-motion wrap on the head of the erect and smooth prick. The steaming and wet appendage begin to stroke in circle motions. The flatness of Leon's tongue rests along the under shaft while his throat digs deeper until the entire member is in the deepest part of Leon's throat. Saliva spills from his mouth which steams from the corner of his maw. One of the lord's hands is placed on Robin's chest. The edge of his nails digs into his partner's skin for a moment until his fingers wrap around the throat of his beloved. The very sounds of his wet mouth coiling around the young mason's rod fill the air along with the sweet succulent moans piercing through the room.

              Robin's voice could not withstand the amount of pleasure forging through the confines of his body. The firm hand taking control of his breathing apparatus force those fingers that are plunged within the fabric of the blanket to only grip much tighter than before. His knees buck a little which forces his waist to thrust upward but the amount of pressure from Leon's hand makes him wiggle and whimper in place instead. "Please!" Robin's voice lingers across the room and produces a heat that is uncontrollable to stifle any longer and so that heated voice manages to linger out of the lord's room and travels down the other hallways. One finally moans of blissful pleasures forges across the man's throat even louder than the one before. The small prick of his begins to unload that thick backed-up fountain of his mortal essence. Leon's mouth is filled with his lover's white and warm youth but as soon as the fluid hits those perfect white teeth that mighty throat swallows every drop like its Leon's own life nectar that he has come to love over the years. The taste of his lover only brings that smile of his to an even wider look of satisfaction and pride. The lord swallows the last drop of Robin's natural fluid and as he does, the young man's eyes linger upon Leon's Adam's apple, and seeing the motion of the swallow forces his own throat to gulp with suspense and anticipation.

              Leon is done playing with his food. Both of his hands move side by side on the other's high waters and with purpose remove them fully taking a few moments to himself to strip off his own clothes that remain among his scared body. The lord's own meaty rod stood at the attention of his beloved and only for him. The muscle throbs and pulses with vigor and lust. Leon looks down at his lover but it's not with the divinity unity between two bonded souls. Leon's unrelenting look is the same look that a snake has when its eyes meet the frail gaze of a wondering mouse that is confused about where they are. The desire that aches within the human body is an emotion that most people are taught to ignore on the fundamental principle that we as humans should not indulge in the heresy that is sex before marriage or even male on male fornication, however for Leon, son of the fire lord, this is just another cog within his mental state that needs to be sedated. Both of Leon's hands slam down on the bed along both sides of the brown hair man. His fingers get tangled within the feathered red blanket much like his lover's small appendages but not quit as tight. The blond's boney waist shifts between Robin's legs. The masonry locks his legs behind that canvas back of his lover which forces him to be pulled ever so closer. The sensation of being trapped is something that Leon detested but with him, it's more than welcome.

              That meaty and pulsing rod of Leon's hovers just above the brown hair boy's puckered hole. Slowly, the head of that muscle appendage begins to prod at the delightful orifice that even makes Leon whimper and slightly moan in a selfish delight of pleasure. Each hand rest on either side of the mason's head. Fingers begin to shift and twirl within the wooden color of the other's hair. The finger pads press into Robin's skull in a loving and soft manner but son enough he applies the pressure he needed to pin the back of his lover's head to the feathered pillow with purpose and authority. Those lips finally meet once more under the containment that both men bestowed upon one another. The heat from their combined breaths fills the room with that unrelenting warmth and love. Leon's sharp and thriving teeth dig down into the boy's bottom lip like savoring the flavor of his favorite meal between the spaces of his thirsting desire. At the same time, the head of Leon's pulsing and twitch member begins to plunge into his lovers' depths. The inner walls of that open hole squeeze tight around that thick and thrusting prick of his lovers. The back of Robin's heels begins to dig within the spin of Leon which earns him a moan of pleasure from the lord's mighty throat. Once the blond man feels that uncontrollable pain and pleasure surface within his body, his own thrust and movement becomes violent and ruthless.

              Pain and pleasure mix with one another. The sound of both of their bodies slamming into one another makes the bed wave in motion. The wooden headboard that makes up the helm of the bed bangs on the wall forming a loud thrashing noise. Leon pulls out of his beloved but not before rendering those lips across Robin's chest like he is making what belongs to him. Leon is quick to act as if he is moving with purpose rather than calmly laying waste to what he sees. Both of his hands grip Robin's waist and with all the might he could muster within a hot, heated moment, he turns the brown hair boy around so that Robin's face slams down in the pillows while that bubbly rear of his shakes in the air. Robin's head turns so that he's tired messy gaze looks up at his lover. Strains of his brown hair fall within his blue vision. The top of his teeth sinks down in his bottom lip while that rear shakes in place as if teasing the more dominant male. "Come on my lord, is that all you got?" Robin says in a whinny yet pleading tone that rings through Leon's own premortal mind. Leon's smile turns into a sinister one. That powerful right hand of Leon slams down on the mason's bubbly rear which forces his beautiful flesh to jiggle with motion and causes a heated whimper of both pain and pleasure to seep through Robin's frail throat. Robin arches his back as if asking for more. He wanted to feel that vengeful wrath that his lover is capable off and needed to feel that pain boiling un his skin with such passion and yet ruthlessness even more. The masonry would get his way through the sheer desire of the blond man. Robin looks into the blood-red eyes of his significant other and pleaded and begged, not only with his longing look but also with his soft and innocent voice. "Please my lord."

              A powerful right hand begins to stream down Robin's small and boney back. The presence of Leon's clear nails begins to dig within the boy's skin forging those love marks to emerge. The blond licks his lips like a man of gluttony would when facing a feast for warriors. Both of those hands claw at Robin's skin just like when his lover painted his own back with those beautiful streaks of red among the flesh. Once Leon's hands get to his lover's waist, he slams that hard throbbing cock back into the welcoming and eager hole of his beloved. A right-hand pin's down Robin's head to the pillows while the other takes hold of those frail and thin hips. With all the might Leon must muster, he thrust as hard as he could so that he can feel the depths of his beautiful beloved. With every powerful slam, Robin's moans become louder, his free hand grabs the headboard to stifle the shaking and to gain some dominance but Leon's hand forces Robin's head back down to the bed while he has his way with him. Their night is filled with their lovemaking in celebration of his last night with Robin, the commoner boy. 

              The darkest night has come and gone but within the kingdom of fire is the dark cloud that hovers over the entire floating land. Even though on the surface of what people and monster's called home, there is the unteaming darkness while the morning dew spouts to life. There is no sun to be cast upon the bustling villages and castle for it is blocked out by the vail shadow that covers the sanctums of Ny'thal. Upon one of the very edges of Ny'thal is a port. The small village is called Port Bel, named after the lord's one and only beloved. The small village is more like a compressed and organized encampment. There are a great number of small shacks that work as makeshift homes for the poor commoners that live on the port. One old broken-down bar has awakened for business. Separate from that is a couple of stall markets that offer limited amounts of food and fresh water. Beyond the broken-down tavern and shacks are houses made from stone, steel, and wood. There are only a few houses compared to the number of shacks that are within the village. These houses mostly belonged to guild Shade, the proprietors that run Port Bel. The village is poor. There are lots of beggars upon the sides of the wooden shacks they called home. Homeless children often line up along the tavern to request free bread that is ripped apart for each child to share. The people within the village are a mix of human males, low-born elves, and the gorgauly. The gorgauly are born within the land that they hail. From trees to gravel and plains, they were the voice seekers of the lands.

              Around thirty or forty children line up at the tavern. Throughout the single-file line, there are no female humans to be found, however female low-born elves and gorgauly are present. A woman comes out of the front door of the establishment. Her skin barely reflects with the dark sky but still manages to fill the foul stench of uncaring hands with the aroma of all-seeing good. The green complexion is a welcoming sight to behold for the children. The lady's robust figure is showered by red high-water pants that are dirty like she has been cleaning an attic. A worn and torn wool sash covers her small but wide hips. The rugged, long white sleeve shirt that she wears would have been see-through if it were not for the old black cloth short sleeve shirt that she had on underneath but still, her breast is noticeable to the naked eye. Around her neck is a small token of religion. A necklace made from veins that one could find from plucking a well-kept garden and a charm in the shape of a twisting whirlpool and made from the lightest color bark as if hand-carved by a knife or spear tip. The woman's hair is a dark green the same color that moss becomes once wet. Within the girl's hand is a rather large loaf of bread. Seemly, the loaf is fresher. Once she picks the cooked yest apart, steam emanates and fills the lungs of the hungry.

              "One at a time now ya? No pushing or shoving, everyone will get a taste!" The first human boy comes up and looks upward at the cheerful owner of the tavern. His face has dirt across his cheeks and lips. The boy's dark hair has become black from lack of bathing. The little one holds out his hands and gives a weak smile. The lady places a small piece of bread in his hands. "Thank you, Vetra!" The boy gobbles every bit of the bread before leaving the line. The next child that walks up to the woman is a low-born elf. The low-born have fair skin but this elf's complexion is blemished all around his arms, back, and legs like someone was practicing their carving skills. Those crystal yellow eyes of Vetra notice the signs of abuse and torment then shake her head out of disappointment and despair. The elf offers his hands. A painful whine manages to leave the boy's throat, but he does his best to try to hide it as he opens his palms for the bread. Two large lacerations are present on his palms. Once was stitched while the other is dried over with blood. The tall woman places a bread end, one of the bigger parts upon the scarred hand. The elf's face lights up like it's his date of birth and without hesitation, he devours the food and peers his gaze upon the tavern owner in a grateful manner. "Thank you, Vetra." With that, he is off to his shack.

              The next kid that walks up to Vetra is also a gorgauly. Her hair matches the same color as the woman those hands out the bread, wet moss. The child's skin has a lighter green complexion. Unlike the other children that are dirty and scared, her skin is pitch-perfect as if untouched by the harsh hands of reality. She wears a small dress that has remnants of dirt along the hem and edges of the faded dress she wears. A bright smile forges along Vetra's lips once she sees her own kind among the children. The woman kneels before the child-like praising divinity under the scope of a mortal. Vetra looks up and slowly rips off a piece of the bread and offers it to the girl. Another child-like smile embraces the vision of the woman which in return turns her own lips into a loving smile. Quickly, the girl snatches the bread but then nods as a thank you before she places the treat in her mouth. Vetra notices a small scratch along the cheek of the girl. Once the corner of Vetra's eyes catches that mark upon the child's cheek, the cut strings back together and closes. The free hand the grown-up has lingered within the kid's mossy hair, petting her before standing back upon her feet. "Thank you, Vetra!" The kid speaks in an innocent voice and leaves. Those yellow eyes of hers become overshadowed by the main mast. Vetra lingers her gaze on the coming ship.

              The frater vessels have their own stormbellows, one on the lower decks and one on the upper deck. There is an engine within the fourth deck of the ship that makes up the foundation. Along the side of the shipping boat are wood panels that open and close, letting the steam from the engine flow from the vessel. The panels open and close in a periodical time frame, every few minutes. The frater pulls into one of the ports of the small village. One of the ports works races on the cracking wooden dock to assist with the docking. The worker wears a black shirt that covers his torso area. Around his waist is a brown sash that has a fold-out cloth in front of the waist. The cloth has the symbol etched within the fabric. The symbol is a black handprint. The man rushes to the sideline of the dock. Along the wood of the dock are multiple steel plates and within the middle of the plates are rosmalt crystals. Once the worker flips the switch on each plate, a string of pink energy flows and connects with each one. The man does the same on the other side of the dock. The dock now emanates with a pulsing pink energy field that manipulates the gravity around the dock. Once the bow is close enough, the field of energy pulls the ship to port as the vessel begins to power down. The worker waits a moment for the ship to be in place. He begins to toss a brown rope around star bored. The boat has metal loops along the edges which makes it easy for the man to tie the vehicle down to the dock. The ship fully powers down and the gangway slams upon the wooden dock.

              The first entity that steps out on the bridge that connects the ship with the doc is an orc. The creature's skin is browner than green but both pigmentations are mixed. He has pure white hair that is slicked back from the rain. The male has two propelled outward tusk that is small but is still outward of his mouth. The muscle body of the orc is covered in silverite armor. The plate mail that covers his chest has an etching within a circle that connects four pillars together. The orc also has a long purple cape that drapes just short of the surface of the boat. The orcs nose wiggles at the scent of dirt and foulness that is in the air. Those dark eyes of his linger upon the worker that tied down the ship. He notices the symbol of Shade along with the cloth of his waist. A foul look overcomes his face once he sees that insignia. Those eyes wonder through the small port village and eyes some of the commoners within and the tavern that is nearly done handing out the bread. There is still a distasteful look with the corners of his lips. A rustic and deep voice forces its way through the creature's windpipe as he embraces the oncoming travels set before him. "Shame. This town had so much promise and now all I see is the rift raft controlling the people." The orc says.

Another entity emerges from the lower decks. She wears the same style of armor and with the same symbol upon the chest. This woman is a dwarf. Dwarfs are humanoid creatures that have made the mountain ranges their home of choice. The small creature has a rough wood color bag on her back that contains supplies such as food, cooking ware, and other quality of life assortments. The dwarf's hair is the same snow color as the orcish superior. She wears the same type of old-world rustic armor that the orc has on. On her, the right side is two daggers that are holstered with a brown and outlined white sash. On the other side of her, the left, is another encased weapon, though this one is the butt of an old and rustic pistole. There is gunpowder residue along the rim of the compartment. Within her hand is a large, sided battle-ax. The ax has small metal indents and plates around the staff part of the weapon. The comrade uses the blunt end as a walking stick to propel herself forward and stand next to her orc leader. Those pure crystal green eyes lurk upon the town of the people. Once her eyes fall upon the poor that hovel within the shacks she spits on the deck of the boat as if disrespecting who owns this land. The dwarf places the ax in the opposite hand and sticks it in the boat, offering it to her commander. "Aye, you forgot your weapon commander."

              The orc turns and narrows his eyes down at the battle-ax. A right-hand grips the staff of the old-world weapon firmly. Once the metal gauntlet's finger links attach to the wood, the metal that runs along the spots of the stave party ignites to life. The pink current of power doesn’t snap into existence until the orc moves the wooden staff to his back while rotating the head of the ax downward. The small plates on the ax fully ignite with that pink rosmalt current, snapping the monstrous tool of choice upon his back like a magnet attaching to metal. Once there is a physical contract, the metal powers down upon the removal of the orcs hand. Freely, the ax sticks to his back as a sheath would with a sword. The greenish-brown creature's eyes dart up from the village and upon the night sky. He takes a inhale of the new land that is just beyond the plank that connects to the dock. To the orc, this place is like a distant enemy that should never be fought. One that he has danced with through the vibrations and power of mortal combat. Violence, death, chaos, and bloodshed… it all present in the kingdom of darkness and the grounds of the forgotten. "Commander Scar?" The dwarf's feminine and Scottish voice rings through the back of his mind like a distant memory he refuses to acknowledge for the moment. The commander's eyes look over at his comrade.

               "Thank you, Ivory. The last time I was here, this village was under the fire lord's control. I sought not to bear arms in my brother's homeland… that does not seem to be the case anymore." Scar's voice is rustic and old fashion, though there is a hint of sadness that latches within his throat once he bestows his final words. Ivory wiggles her nose as a gust of wind passes their sails. A foul look breaches her senses and her eyes narrow on the final human child that gets the last piece of bread from the Vetra. "Has it always smelled like death at this port?" The dwarf asks while her dominant hand grips her sash. Her fingers were just under the encased daggers. The orc looks to his side as if looking at another person, though there is no one there. Scar goes to cover his mouth by folding his fingers into a fist and covering his lips. A cough emanates from his maw. The commander's head looks back at the village. He sees one of the guild's guards shaking down a low-born elf woman. The guild member slaps the woman hard and forces her to the ground. The orc twitches and blinks at the sight of it. A thick and calm voice vibrates through his mighty throat. "No, this port belongs to one of the guilds. If my brotheren saw what has happened to this port, he would surly cleanse it." The dwarf scoffs before speaking. "Thinking it's about time we give this fire lord a proper wake-up, eh? Too much monster cunt makes the mind weak." The commander shakes his head at the vulgar statement.

              From what seems like out of nothing, another creature steps forth from the foul air of that stains the mind. Particles of purple and pink energy dazzle within the space on the deck. Pulled from nothingness is a low-born adult elf. Invisibility is one of the few perks that informants are taught at the Circle. This elf is bald with tattoos that spiral across his throat and the back of his head. The design of the ink is a stair passageway that bends and twists into a maze that has no end. The tall slender elf has piercings that are indented within the bottom of his lip, two studs that straighten his lips, and a metal bar that stabs through his long sharp ears. The male's purple lips feel the cold draft that rushes along his flesh. The bag upon his back moves with the harsh wind. Unlike his comrades, he has no weapons but he still as a modified version of the old-world armor. There are points in his metal encasement that have runes carved in the metal, most notable at the joints of the med-evil suit. On the palm of the gauntlets are a rune but also the insignia that is placed on all their armors; a circle with three pillars. The bald elf takes his metal-encased hand behind him and searches through one of the openings of his brown bag. Slowly, he pulls out a green apple and then brings the fruit to his lips. Sharp white teeth bite into the treatment with a loud crunch. Some chunks of the nourishment fall between his split tongue but still, he manages to chew and swallow.

              "I'll be an honest commander; I agree with the short stack. This place is a shit hole. I heard stories about the glories of the battle of the fire mages and how their power is unmatched…" The elf takes another bite of the apple and swallows. "But how does a powerful fire reduce their people to cinders?" Scar narrows that gaze of his to the side where the long slender elf awaits direction. The commander's foul look tells the whole story of what he feels for elves and the like, however, he remains silent and thinks before his rustic voice speaks out in a demanding and yet harsh way. "During the war of Primus, I fought alongside the bloodline that holds Ny'Thal together. The fire mages alongside a mountain of orc flesh and bone laid waste to the desolated low-born. Do your job Romare, for the place we seek, and its inhabitants still know what the low-born did to them as if it happened yesterday." Romare takes one last bite of the apple before he tosses it off the ship. The fruit free falls in what seems like a never-ending drop. The elf folds his arms and thinks for a moment. "Well, best not waste any time." The runes on his metal suit begin to ignite with that mauve and pink colors. Slowly, his body begins to disburse into nothingness like glass melting. As quickly as he came, he is gone. The dwarf shakes her head and speaks in an unruly manner. "That guy is a prick. Why can't we ever get decent informants?" The orc lets out a small chuckle before answering. "Supposing it isn't in the cards… Shall we?" Ivory steps in front of her commander first and descends to the doc as does Scar soon after.

              The pair walk down the dock. Their eyes shift to the people that are rummaging through the ground and abandoning shacks in search of food. Some of the poor children gaze upon the two since they are of a different race than them while others, such as guild Shade's guards, look at them with concern and distaste. While the two walked, they spoke among themselves. "Aye, have these commoners never seen a dwarf before?" Ivory says in a bleak way. The orc shakes his head. "This is a country that has been shrouded in darkness. To my knowledge, only the Circle and the Abyssal elders know of its existence. According to the other leaderships and Skarforge, the fire lands died in the flood with the other mages and their lands." Ivory shakes her head. "When I was a lass, I heard the war stories of the never-ending fire. Never would I think that such a bright flame would be covered in black." Scar lets out a huff from his lungs. She is right. Ny'thal is not what it used to be. "The bloodline has become weak, and they have forgotten what makes them truly strong." They both walk to the tavern.

Scar slings his hand along with the wooden door handle that is upon the entryway of the establishment. In a quick and mild manner, he opens the door and allows Ivory to step in before him. The tavern has hardly anyone in it, just a few commoners choking down what little swish they could before becoming disgusted at the taste. Scar looks over at the bar and sees that it's being attended by Vetra. Like an old friend, Vetra waves her hand in the air and beckons him over with Ivory. Scar gives a nod of approval, and both make their way to the bar stool. Both sit upon the wooden stools and even though Ivory has some problems adjusting to her height, she manages just fine. Vetra pulls out a purple-looking jug and pours the contents into a drinking glass. Scar's eyes never leave the flowing liquid. He has grown rather excited about the drink Vetra refuses to forget. The green woman slides the glass down to Scar who quickly latches his fingers around the glass and takes a swig. "Ah, It's been too long since I have had good berry juice." Vetra laughs a little and gazes upon Ivory. "What can I get you, sweetheart?" The sweet jesters earn Vetra a hearty laugh. "Shit, I guess I'll have what he is having." Vetra serves Ivory the same drink and then turns her attention to the orc. Her eyes filled with wonder and hope like seeing a friend that has been lost and forgotten.

              "Here for the harvest then?" The green woman speaks in a loving and cooling tone. Scar gives a nod before taking another drink of the juice and then speaking. "It's about that time." Scar softly says. Vetra's shoulders shrug. "The whole port has been talking about it. How Leon, the parodical son is being turned to the Circle." A scoff laps from the dwarfs' lips but her smart mouth is soon shut by drinking the juice that is offered. The commander gives another nod. "Aye. Leon will be in good hands; better than the ones he is in now. I reckon that there aren’t to many people that like the idea." Vetra plops down on a stool that is on the other side of the bar, her own personal seat. She places a hand along her cheek to keep it up. "That is an understatement," Vetra says while her eyes wander around the bar. Scar's own narrow eyes look upon the people within the bar. Even though the tables are nearly empty, he is sure that someone may be listening in on their conversation. "Can I ask you something, dear old friend?" The bar maiden looks up at him with shock and temptation. Eyes seemingly upon him like he took her uninvited attention. "A friend, eh?" she scoffs. "Go ahead then."  Scar holds his tongue at that scoff for now. He shakes his head and then asks. "What happened to the fire kingdom? They control the port last time I was here. It was thriving." He says and then takes a drink from the glass.

              Ivory shakes her head and looks at Vetra. "One of those peacekeepers for Shade pushed down a low-born woman. I did not think the land of fire had that carnage within their culture." Vetra stands and grabs a white cloth from the back of the bar. She begins to clean some of the glasses. "The fire kingdom and all four guilds were at war a generation ago. To retain peace, Zesh had to offer lands. Port Bel happened to be one of the lands in the aftermath." Scar finishes up the juice and places the glass on the wooden bar. He lets out a soft exhale. "I see." Vetra gives a nod before speaking once more. "The port is run by one of the seven of Shade, a goblin named Tyr. He runs the port through fear as you already have seen." The green woman looks over to Ivory as if acknowledge what she saw outside. "Hopefully, things change." Scar looks over at Vetra with hopefulness but is answered with the bar maiden's head shaking. "Leon was supposed to unite the guilds and change the tide with the monsters. Without him… I don’t know. The youngest doesn’t have the heart for it." Scar tilts his head at Vetra's words with a look of confusion. "I thought Lord Zesh only had one son." Once more, Vetra shakes her head in protest. "Before he signed the pact, he had another boy, Troy." This revelation has the orc's leg shaking and his mind wondering.

              Soon enough, that leg of the commander that is bouncing up and down soon stops. The orc's sabatons cling to wooden bar stools. Ivory lingers her narrow view upon her orcish comrade and takes note of how he is acting, although she says nothing and ignores the reaction. "Yeah. Born under an eclipse. Some of the locals think that kid is blessed." The commander lets out a small laugh and peers over at one of the patrons. The man he looked at is one of guild Shade's guards. The guard appears to be off duty sort of speaking and enjoying his drink. The orc lingers his gaze back at Vetra. "Another glass hun?" Vetra says in a rather friendly and loving tone. The orc shakes his head, but he places a hand on the bar. The pointer finger taps its metal encasing upon the bar as if the commander is trying to hold back a question. The dwarf puts down her empty and looks over at Vetra and her superior. "No this is fine. Say, you would not have a few revers in town Vetra?" The green woman smiles and nudges her head in the direction of one of the grimy-looking windows behind her. "Outback. Three of them. Handpicked by Zesh. That reminds me aren’t there supposed to be three of you?" The woman asks while she looks over the orc's shoulder, only to see nothing but the bar's innards. The commander lets out a small scoff before he spills his white lie upon the stale air in which the three breathe. "He is around. Most likely trying to find a girl he can take home to ma." Ivory shares in the laughter with Scar about their comrade.

              The orc stands on his feet and looks over at the dwarf. Ivory lurks her gaze upon the commander and then narrows at the empty glass as if trying to avoid the task at hand, but she musters the courage to ask what is on her mind. "What are revers?" Scar gives a look of confusion back at the dwarf but after a moment of pondering the question a short fuse smile cracks. "I suppose the dwarfs from Skarforge would not know them. You are used to the oxen I reckon?" Ivory nods in an agreement and turns the stool around so that her whole body is facing her commander. She looks up at him with some confusion before speaking in that small tone of hers. "Yes. Don’t tell me…" The orc realizes the fear within the dwarf's eyes and gives a cunning smile. "Yes. They are horses sent by the fire lord. Trained for speed instead of war." The dwarf has a foul look on her face. She looks down but then gets up from the stool, plopping down on the floorboards of the tavern. "Fuck. I hate horses." The small creature spoke under her breath in a heavy manner. Scar reaches into the small pouch that is located on his lower back that is tied to the back of his hip. He reaches in and pulls out two gold coins and then slams them on the bar table. "One for the drinks, one for the kids, eh?" Scar says while looking at Vetra. The green woman gives a loving smile of warmth and takes the coins. "Come swing by on your way back, I got something for you." Scar stands up and nods in an agreement. The pair make their way out and head to the stables.

              The stables only have the three horses that Zesh has bestowed upon the traveling knights of the circle. On one of the hovel's pillars is Romare. The low-born pulls his hood off and lingers his dark gaze upon the entryway of the establishment as if waiting for his two partners. Ivory is the first one to enter followed by Scar. The orc opens the gate to one of the compartments that hold the first horse. Their horses are armored, however, the metal that coats their manes is thin. The orc's hands rush along with the phoenix insignia that falls upon the white horse's body. A pointer finger tracing along its amber wings that has been scorched with the metal. "What have you found out?" The low-born scoffs a little and then his cocky voice ushers through the barn. "Not much. Just that these people still follow the fire lord, though ever since Shade's control, they have been suffering. Nothing you can't already see." The informant opens the door to his horse and hops on. Ivory has some trouble getting on her horse but soon enough she finds her footing and gets on. The three head out and begin their travels to the fire kingdom.