Myth: The Beginning

[The Scribe of Ages]

Our story begins in the kingdom of Dalriada, largest of all kingdoms on the continent of Asga – itself the largest continent on the world of Midgard. Many years ago, farther back into time than anyone cares to remember, Dalriada was little more than a farming village, a hamlet on the grassy plains of Asga. The Men of Dalriada were an industrious peoples, so it was not long before their tiny community had grown into a flourishing nation. Yet, a kingdom cannot be a kingdom without a king. What Dalriada sought was a strong leader, a man of charisma who could guide the freemen into greater triumphs – it was in Eliar Mergovas that they found this man. As his first act of office, the King decreed that a new city should be built, a city that would stand forever as a testament to the Men of Midgard. This city, Bai-Ulgan, still stands today, barely changed and as mighty as it ever was. The same can not be said, however, for the proud dynasty of King Mergovas.

The throne of Bai-Ulgan sits empty. With the passing of King Porticio, the bloodline of Mergovas ends, no heir in sight. Those still loyal to the royal court have formed a council of sorts, so that the kingdom might be governed fairly until a new monarch is chosen. Nevertheless, there are those who refuse to be governed by this council of courtiers. Noble men and women with sufficient power and wealth have formed fiefdoms, independent towns and villages within the once united Dalriada. Rivalries are quick to form and soon unrest pervades all throughout the continent.

In the halls of the royal castle, the governing council struggles with the seemingly endless task of policing Dalriada. Now, more than ever, the eyes of the kingdom turn themselves inwards as nobles and courtiers alike speculate and debate on how the future of Dalriada should unfold. So fanatically focused on problems within their own walls, it is hardly surprising that the Men of Midgard should fail to notice what darkness is lurking beyond their borders, looming at the edges of the world...

[Blind Molly]

A maid shuffled her feet on the flagstones of the floor, a soft towel in her hands as she waited beyond the raised platform that held the Seer's bathtub. Torches lit with Fire magic cast weird shadows on the walls and floor, flames dancing as a cool evening breeze wafted in through the open windows.

Inside the tub was Blind Molly, Seer of Bai-Ulgan, handpicked by the late King Porticio as a child of four to serve the kingdom of Dalriada. Her eyesight had been lost to a childhood fever, but her insight was perhaps the keenest in the land. Immersed in the tub, the woman stared blindly up at the stone ceiling through the water.

Proficient in Water magic, Molly often spent her time in her 'seeing tub', as she called it. Only the most skilled Seers could touch the threads of time through the water, seeing how they wove into the future and to the past. To see the present was hardly easier, but it could be done. Blind Molly watched a Necian triremes at sea, crashing about on waves of a storm, its Glauca and human crew struggling to keep it afloat.

She blinked and surfaced for air, a frown creasing her face. The iminent shipwreck did not affect the threads she was following... or did it? Long fingers dashed the water from her eyes, and she rose from the cool water of the tub, the maid hurrying forward with the towel.

"I must speak with the Council immediately," she said, wringing the water from her blonde hair before wrapping her naked body with the towel. "There is much at stake here."

The maid stared at her, wide-eyed, as Molly stepped confidently off of the raised platform and made her way unerringly across the room. Then she bobbed a curtsey and scurried off, calling for a page before the door was closed.

Molly felt her feet encounter the soft carpets that covered the flagstones by her bed, and quickly dried her body with the towel. Opening up the Woodcrafted wardrobe, she felt her way towards a white shift and green overdress, pulling them on before the maid could come back to help her. The ties in the back of the dress were almost impossible for her to do herself, however, but she pulled them as tight as she could and pulled the ends into a knot which ended up lopsided.

She sighed in quiet frustration, willing the girl to come back through the doors. New maids were hard to break in.

Slipping her feet into soft slippers, Blind Molly moved across the floor once more, leaving the carpets behind. Her hands closed around the walking stick a Fian craftsman had made especially for her, a light and wonderful piece that did not tire her to use. She was walking out the door when the maid came back, almost bumping into her in her haste to return.

"Oh, miss!" A curtsey and then much fussing about as the maid quickly straightened out Molly's dress and set about fixing the ties in the back. "Didn't see y'there, I am so sorry!"

Molly stood ramrod straight, both hands on the stick in front of her, suffering through the maid's ministrations. "Do not worry about it... Fala. The Council is being gathered?"

"I sent a page, just as ye asked." Fala tsked, "You did nothing with your hair, miss. Let me fix it for you while we wait for the reply to come." She tugged gently on the Seer's sleeve, as one might with a child.

Angered, Molly pulled her arm away. "I will go now, whether they are willing to see me or not. I will not be refused again." The walking stick tapped on the stone floor as she made her way down the hall and to the stairs that led down to the main floor of the palace.

[Parsideon Denix]

What rotten weather! The Glaucan affinity mage certainly wasn't lessening the chop. Denix decided he must have peed off the wrong side of the boat to stir up the Sea Gods in such a fashion.

"Keep us steady!"

The Necian Captain's word was only law once his feet were on solid earth. On the sea, the law was in the hands of Plafeigas, a barrel-chested Glaucan sailmaster with dreadlocked braids draped across his shoulders.

"Keep the puke and bile off my deck, Denix."

The Men of Necia were sea hardy, but far short of even the queasiest Glaucan. Denix watched one soldier scrabble to the sides of the slippery wooden warship and spew his ration of porridge. Denix chastized him with a smirk, leveling his Commander's Rod in the man's direction

"Aitus, I don't ration your lot so that you may feed fish. Hold your share."

Aitus, for his part, grumbled and wiped the spittle from the short beard he'd grown at sea.

"We've been out two weeks without gaining a trireme's length on Fyrian's bastards. My balls are achin and my sword ain't seen a man's insides in a month."

This elicited a chuckle from Men and Glaucans alike. The sentiment was also shared equally. Fyrian's ship was just too fast. Without a favorable sea and a favorable wind, it looked like it was going to continue to be a long, frustrating chase.

"Aitus, I can promise you warm bellies to pierce sure enough, but no harlot outside of Verbannen to bed you."

A riot of laughter followed Denix's rare joke, and even Aitus seemed relieved to be at the butt of it. It helped to ease the brooding pessimism on this voyage.

"Plafeigas! Plafeigas! Typhoon is coming!"

Denix turned at the flash of a lightning bolt across the sky to see the Affinity Mage hugging the spar of the ship, his long white beard whipping in the wind and rain. Plafeigas left the helmsman's side and approached the mage, eyeing the old man with a grave expression.

"How far?"

Denix had sailed for many missions with the Mage, and his perceptions of the sea were infallible.

"A gull's flight to the west!"

But that was the direction the pirate ship was maneuvering. They couldn't break pursuit, they would lose them!

[The Scribe of Ages]

It was in the Round Chamber that the Blind Seer would find the Council of Bai-Ulgan. Since the passing of Porticio, none had dared to set foot in the castle's throne room, out of respect for the dead. Instead their meetings and busy were conducted in the circular chamber that had once served as a meeting place for the King and his Knights. The room was shaped like a dome and upon its construction a mural had been delicately inscribed upon the ceiling, giving the illusion that walls did not surround those within, but rather a vast expanse of forest and all manner of verdant land.

At the center of the room stood a huge circular table, upon which was drawn an ancient map of the world. This chart had become long since outdated, however, as new peoples and lands were discovered. In its place, the Council had unfurled a wide and minutely detailed scroll depicting the entire surface of Midgard – as they knew it. Small wooden pieces were positioned here and there, to represent the many noble lords of Dalriada.

“And what of Sigrún Hyrrokkin?” asked one of the assembled Council, a man with an enormous beard and a voice to match. He plucked one of the little wooden men from the map and waggled it accusingly at the others. “He claims lordship over the provinces south of the Megingjord, yet already Valruf and Tangsrinir feud over the rivers banks!”

The Council murmured in unanimous disapproval. In the days of the King, there had been no discrepancy over such matters. All land was the property of the kingdom itself, and the nobles considered themselves lucky to be given some degree of governorship over their individual fiefs.

“We have not yet settled the case of Jorundis and Jorundis,” another voice interrupted.

The bearded man scowled.

“Jorundis and Jorundis!” he scoffed. The two Jorundis brothers had refused to accept the Council's decision and seemingly planned to spend the rest of their lives squabbling over who, of the two of them, would have the final foot of land between them. The mention of the case caused the general murmur in the chamber to grow into a roar.

It was into this furor that Blind Molly would enter.

[Calleh]

"I must speak with the one they call Blind Molly."

The guards at the east gate of the royal palace in Bai-Ulgan exchanged dubious glances, then looked back at the foreign visitor standing before them. He was swarthy and clothed in black and purple robes, not like the linen robes worn by men of the Necian League, but rugged, loose, and heavily layered against the Dariadan chill. The dust on his clothes and his sandaled feet spoke of long travel.

"And what is your business with the Seer, foreigner?" one of the guards asked brusquely.

"I bring news from the land of Ankaa on a matter of great importance. It is imperative that I see her." He spoke with the punctilious cadence of an educated foreigner, far more gracefully than many a native speaker.

But the guards were not impressed. "Ankaa? There is no such place. It's a myth."

The visitor smiled and bowed slightly. "Then I am a figment of your imagination, and there is no harm in letting me pass."

"No one enters the royal hall while the council's in session without an official summons," the other guard replied. "And no foreigner may enter while armed."

The robed man considered this. "I see. And how would I obtain an official summons?"

Both guards deadpanned. The foreigner looked from one to the other - both towered over him - and stepped back.

"If I write a message, can you see that Lady Molly receives it?"

One of the guards laughed. The other, who was slower, gave him a perplexed look.

"She's blind, you fool. She won't be able to read it."

"On the contrary," said the visitor. "She will be the only one able to read it."

He drew a scrap of dried calfskin from the inner fold of his robes and a long quill and miniature inkpot from his shoulder bag. After dipping the quill in the inkpot, he hastily scrawled something on the parchment. When he had finished, he laid his hand over the message and closed his eyes. A spark seemed to leap from his fingers and onto the ink, and the letters flamed for a moment before disappearing entirely.

The guards jumped and gripped their spears. "Heathen sorcery!" one of them snarled.

"A simple spell which may be undone by its opposite. Tell Blind Molly that I eagerly await her reply. If you do so, you will receive good fortune. If you do not, your hand will become leprous by nightfall."

The guard recoiled. "You... you're lying."

The foreigner smiled. "That is entirely possible. In any case, please deliver the message speedily."

With great reluctance, the guard plucked the parchment out of the stranger's hand and disappeared inside the palace.

[Blind Molly]

The seven lords that sat on the Council were bellowing at each other from across the large table when Molly tapped into the Round Room. They held the lands closest to the city of Bai-Ulgan, and had taken it upon themselves to rule Dalriada after the unfortunate hunting accident that had taken their king form them unexpectedly.

Molly knew them all by their voices, and placed them mentally in the room. Lord Bain, a reasonably jolly man with a huge beard, belly, and voice, was at the far side of the room from her, and the first to notice her entrance. He quieted at once, though it took several moments for the other lords to realize why. Lady Gromhild, the only woman represented, was short and fat, and used to wealth. And power. She was most likely plotting to expand her own lands while the other lords worked to bring the country back together under one rule. She sat to Bain's left.

Lords Sculd and Murd were both tall and well appointed, to Molly's right, one dark and pale, the other fairheaded and tanned by the sun. Sculd was silent, watching the others argue no doubt. Murd was slamming the little wooden lord pieces down onto the map. "The Jorundis brothers must settle this themselves!"

"They will not, and they will bring the Ovalldi estate into their dispute. If they both recieve backing from their neighbors (Lord and Lady Andvarri to the east?) then we may very well see a war break out." Lord Belda was most likely running his long thing fingers through his scraggly beard.

"There has not been a war between fiefs in ... countless years," said a voice that could only belong to the eldest on the council, Lord Raurn. "It is inconcievable!"

The Blind Seer slammed her walking stick against the stone floor, causing those with their backs to her to jump and look around. "Apologies for this interruption, Lords, and Lady, but I will not be put off any longer."

A sigh, from the far right of the table. Lord Dragur. "Seer, the land disputes take up much of our time. We do not have time to listen to your mystical hysterics."

"King Porticio listened to me, and -"

"And he is dead. So you'll forgive me if I ask you to come back another time, Blind Molly." Dismissed, just like that.

Molly turned her head from the direction of Lord Dragur, and faced Lord Bain. Her unseeing eyes stared down the large man, and he suddenly cleared his throat. "It will not hurt to hear her out, Dragur. Surely we all need a break from this tiresome work we have been doing all day."

Lord Skuld nodded, agreeing. "To refuse a Seer is unwise."

Another sigh from the far side of the table. "All right then, have it your way. What is it now, Molly? More trouble from beyond the sea? Or perhaps the crows will come take us all in our sleep tonight."

The other lords shifted in their seats, obviously quite uncomfortable at Dragur's bold words. Molly ignored them all, and spoke to the mural on the wall opposite her, though she could not see it. "I will say what I must, though whether you can hear it is up to you.

"There is trouble coming from the east and the west, from the north and the south. It centers in the Steelwood, in the Sacred Circle, and in the high mountains of Cos Briste where the Fian dance at Midsummer.

"The magic of these central points in Dalriada is waning. I do not know where it is going, except that it goes in all directions and in none." Her brow creased, as she searched for the words to explain what she had seen. "If this continues, our people will be severely weakened. Our battlemages and windwatchers will not be able to -"

"I have heard enough of this doublespeak," proclaimed Dragur, getting to his feet. "We cannot do anything about this... draining of magic that you warn us about with dire predictions and meaningless riddles."

Lady Gromhild nodded, "Indeed. The Council must care for the physical land. Without regaining control of the renegade lords and their fiefs, there will be nothing left of Dalriada to defend, if defense is needed." The Lady Gromhild was purported to be an Air mage of no small skill, and Molly was surprised to hear her speak with Dragur.

The Council of Bai-Ulgan murmured, and it was agreed that while Molly most likely knew what she was talking about, it would be best if she took care of the mystical while they cared after the physical. A serving man made sure she found the door.

Out in the hall, the Blind Seer slammed her stick to the stones once more, with such force that the wood creaked. Furious, she nearly bowled over a guard who was coming towards her.

"Your ladyship," he began, but she interrupted him.

"Nay, I am no lady with lands, only a peasant woman in the Palace."

He paused, and started again, obviously non-plussed and a little afraid of the Seer as she scowled at a point just beyond his shoulder. "A message for you, Miss Molly." He pressed the paper into her hand, and made quick his escape.

Molly made her way to the gardens, the only place on the palace grounds where the walls were only three meters high. She needed a place to think.

[Calder Aquasis]

There was always something refreshing about being underwater. The bustle of dry land was non-existant below the waves. No noise, no commotion. Everything seemed to go by in slow motion. Everything seemed to flow perfectly. And having gills was a perfect way to experience the sereninty of the big blue waters.

Calder looked ahead, spying the underbelly of the Necian warship chasing the pirates. He'd volunteered to jump his own ship, and try to infiltrate the enemie's vessel. Being first mate aboard the pirate ship, this was Calder's chance to shine once again. His daring escapades had earned him quite a reputation within Fyren's Fold, but not quite enough to promote him. Perhaps now was his time.

The Glaucan reached out ahead of him, before propelling himself forward with one stroke of the arm, almost as if he had grasped hold of the water itself. With a sly grin, he accelerated with fluid motion and natural grace, his rags-for-clothes rippling in the water. Typically, Calder had sold his last respectable outfit. He'd do almost anything for the right price.

The Necian vessel was getting near now. Calder began to slow his pace. He didn't want to overshoot his target. Drawing the 10-inch knife from the self-made sheath strapped to his left thight, he came to almost a complete stop, floating just below where the lower edge of the ship would pass over Calder's head.

Just a few seconds more...

The bow passed, and still Calder remained still. Plank after plank of wood went by, the Glaucan waiting for his chance.

Here it comes...

The ship had almost passed completely when Calder finally pushed upwards. The last section of the vessel slipped over, and Calder's hand burst out above the surface of the waves, his blade piercing the wood of the stern.

Instantly, the Glaucan was being towed along behind the ship. With a hard pull, he latched his free hand onto a ledge of wood, then another as he hoisted himself out of the water. Climbing up a few feet, he found a solid foothold before retaking the blade and retuning it to its sheath. That was the easy bit. Now the infiltration begun.

[Cailean MacGabhann]

“Dash and blast it!”

To Cailean MacGabhann, such exclamations from Agviðr Wordsplane were no surprise. Through many decades, Wordsplane had acquired the skills of a master carpenter – but along the way had also acquired the trembling hands and poor eyesight of an old-man. With each passing year, the lenses in his round glasses grew larger, his eyes now owl-like behind the wire frames. He blinked – once, twice – and held up the saw in his hand. The blade had broken.

“You know, it was never like this back in old Gudroor's day. A fret saw in those days would last you six months at the minimum, but look at them now – can't even make it from one month to the next,” the old man grumbled, waggling the now useless saw about in the air.

Cailean, who had been busied with the plane, stood up and came to his foreman's side. Wordsplane handed the tool over for inspection, and his apprentice turned the saw over in his hands carefully. Truth be told, it had been somewhat useless even before it had become damaged. Though Agviðr had relied on such tools for his livelihood, with Cailean around they lost some of their importance. The boy had Fian blood in him, that much was obvious, and had inherited their gift for woodcraft. He could plane timber with the palms of his hands, and warp lumber into any shape he saw fit. In spite of this, Wordsplane had taught him the old ways. There was something to be said for a job well done without the use of magic, he thought.

“Shall I fetch another, my lord?”

Agviðr Wordsplane was not a lord by any means and though his feathers were visibly ruffled by the title, Cailean could not shake the act of courtesy. The old man sighed. It would have been easy to ask the boy the do the job himself, but Wordsplane took pride in his work. The people of the city spoke highly of him and his pride would not permit him the luxury of allowing another to finish something he had started.

“That was the last, I'm afraid. You'll have see about buying one from Brandr.”

Wiping his brow with the back of a dusty forearm, Agviðr rummaged about in the pocket of his apron and produced a handful of coins. Cailean nodded and tucked the pieces away into his tunic as he glanced to the workshop window. Outside, the wind tugged incessantly, like a troublesome child, at the branches of trees. The young apprentice stepped into the cold and mud of the trade quarter.

“Three to the crown! Three to the crown!”

“Get them while they're fresh! Fresh as they come!”

“Special, today only!”

The market was as busy as ever. Bai-Ulgan's trade quarter housed workshops and stalls that sold almost anything, provided you had a purse fat enough. Though many of the upper-class shopkeepers were based around the stone plaza, those who offered a more simple trade congregated on the old green. Wordsplane's workshop was at the south-eastern edge of the green, whilst Brandr's forge was in the west. Between Cailean and the smith lay what had once been a lush green pasture, but was now a quagmire. All of the boots and hooves that had passed to and fro over the land had churned it up into such a mess that it was impossible to go anywhere without gaining a thick coating of mud on your boots.

Cailean navigated his way through puddles and potholes with more success than most – wincing at the sight of a young girl, a farmers daughter by the looks of it, slipping right into a wallow of mud, dragged along by a pig on the end of a length of tether. He thought of helping her up, when a voice arrested his attention.

“Young Master MacGabhann!”

It was Brandr. Just the man he was looking for. Though Brandr couldn't have been quite Wordsplane's age yet, time had treated him with a great deal more compassion than it had the old carpenter. His broad shoulders had retained much of their strength, and there was only a wisp of gray in his wild mane of hair. He clapped Cailean on the shoulders, with one huge hand, and almost sent the boy sprawling to the ground.

“How are ye, lad? I hope old Wordsplane isn't working ye too hard.”

“No, no, my lord. I was just on my way to your workshop, on an errand.”

“Is that so!” the smith bellowed, guiding Cailean onward. “Well, then. Let's see what I can do for you...”

[Parsideon Denix]

Denix squinted his eyes against the dimming light. Dusk was becoming obfuscated by the approaching Typhoon, and in the midst of the whipping rain, it made spying their quarry a difficult endeavor.

"Let me lend some light to your path, Plafeigas."

Denix approached the bow of the ship, carefully negotiating his way across the pitching deck. A Necian archer stood vigil at the prow, his weapon stowed. The Captain tapped his soldier on the shoulder of his Segmentata armor, and gestured with a hand sweep directly foreships, in the direction of the Pirates.

"Mark our prize!"

The archer dutifully drew back, angling his arrowhead such that it would sail high overhead, but had little chance of actually striking the ship.

Denix nodded, as smoke curled from his nostrils. Cupping a hand, the fire affinity Necian Captain gently breathed onto the arrowhead, causing the tip to catch alight with a bright corona of fire.

He stepped back, and dropped his extended hand.

"Loose!"

A streak of bright light shot from the trireme, piercing the advancing darkness, and briefly revealing the Pirates precise distance and bearing before the arrow was snuffed out by the buffetting wind and rain.

Satisfied, Denix stepped back from the prow.

"Good shooting, soldier."

Plafeigas had caught what he needed with a keen sailor's eye.

"Helmsman, adjust two degrees port!"

Denix returned to his Glaucan comrade's side, brushing the damnable wetness off his face.

"Even the Fold isn't suicidal. They'll get as close to that storm as they can without going into it."

Plafeigas nodded, his long dreadlocks whipping about behind him.

"We can flank them, and use the Typhoon's own cross winds to pick up speed. They will be between a rock and a hard place."

Of course, nobody was talking about the Tigraphant in the room, which was that for all of their crafty guile, the water affinity mage was unable to stay the ocean's hand. They should be cutting ocean in record time, but there was some foul magic afoot beneath these waves.

[Calleh]

Reacting to Molly's touch, the words on the parchment began to kindle once again. Water and fire - opposite elements, impossible to mix - and yet Molly's Second Sight was precisely the key needed to unlock the message the parchment contained. The words flashed across her sightless eyes.

Calleh, a scholar of Ankaarizad,

To Molly, prophetess of Dalriada,

I know of the catastrophe you have foreseen, for it is already striking my homeland. I seek your counsel and your help. We must turn back the tide before it is too late for all of us.

I await you in the square beyond the East Gate. God's peace be upon you.

[Blind Molly]

Molly fumed at how easily Dragur had handled her in front of the Council, and then remembered the paper in her hand. As she ran her hand over it, a fire spell activated and she nearly dropped it before realizing that it posed no danger.

The contents of the letter emptied into her mind, and she frowned. An Ankaarizad scholar, in Bai-Ulgan? The letter crumpled in her hand, and she rubbed her temples. The square beyond the East Gate wasn't too far, but she had no one to walk with her - the maid, Fala, was useless, and probably a spy of one of the Council.

Not that Blind Molly needed anyone to walk with her, but it never hurt. She sighed, sitting back on the bench in the gardens and inhaling the honeysuckle from the bushes around her. After a moment she got to her feet, straightened out her dress as best she could, and tapped her walking stick on the graveled garden path. Perhaps this scholar would have some insight from beyond the sand sea that would help shed light on Dalriada's situation.

The East Gate was not far from the gardens, and Molly did not miss a turn as she made her way towards it. Growing up without sight in the palace had caused her to memorize its layout at a very early age. The two guards at the Gate did not stop her, only told her the time when she asked. Being out after dark did not bother her in the least, but it was improper for a woman to go about unaccompanied after the sun set.

There was plenty of time before sundown, however, and Molly tapped her way into the cobblestoned square. The stones were uneven and bumpy, which always made walking an adventure. The walking stick sounded hollow as it hit the stones, and she frowned. She must have cracked it in the center when the Council had upset her.

The Blind Seer walked towards a bench that looked towards the East Gate of the palace, and took a deep breath. The city smelled decidedly worse than the garden had.

[Calleh]

Calleh had wondered how she would look, and whether he'd be able to pick her out of the crowd that thronged this way and that through the city square. There was certainly no way for him to hide. Everyone who passed gawked at his strange clothing and the light, narrow swords he wore, far smaller than the broadswords favored by the warriors of this land.

But when he glimpsed her through a momentary break in the traffic, he had no doubt. She was tall and elegant, with startling flax-blonde hair, and, despite her disability, there was something undeniably fluid in her bearing.

With a deep, fortifying breath, he struck out across the crowded square and met her at a stone bench. She turned toward the sound of his footsteps but did not meet his eyes. He bowed anyway.

"Salaam, Lady Molly. I am Calleh Ben-Sudr Al-Fard, Third Ring of the Arcane College of Ankaarizad. I came to learn of the disposition of the etherium in these realms. My inquiries have led me to you."

[Calder Aquasis]

Now that Calder was exposed to the elements, the winds and rains battered him relentlessly. The rain, he didn't mind so much. But the wind he hated. It blew the moisture from Calder's skin, stealing his body heat, much as it did to anyone, Glaucan or otherwise. He shivered continuously. Perhaps he shouldn't have sold his last set of decent clothes.

Shaking such thoughts from his head, the Glaucan began to climb, the rapier on his right hip stinging at his leg repeatedly in the wind. It was now that he realised just how big the vessel was, and just how far he had to climb, and in the wet too. Calder nearly slipped several times, clinging on by his fingertips whilst flailing around in an attempt to find a foothold again.

Eventually, he came to a window, presumably into someones quarters aboard.

"Well, I hope no-one's home..."

Hauling himself just above the window, and letting his legs dangle by it, Calder drew out his knife again, gripping the blade and hammering at the glass with the hilt. The glass smashed upon the second impact, and the Glaucan quickly swung himself inside.

He flipped the knife over instantly, gripping the hilt in case anyone inside tried to attack. There was no-one inside.

"All hands on deck, I suppose..."

Sheathing the blade, Calder began to sneak around, looking for anything of value before starting his main task.

[Parsideon Denix]

It was working. By positioning the Trireme further south than the Pirates, it was calling Fyrian's bluff. The pirates either had to push dead ahead into the storm, or skirt its tumultuous edge, causing a course diversion that would cause the distance they'd gained to be dwindled. All Plafeigas awaited was the precise time to order his oarsmen to begin their work. The oars, in concert with the sails angled to catch the storm's cross winds, would allow the Trireme to ply the seas much faster than normally. Glaucan Oarsmen split the waves like a Man would wave his hands in the air.

The signalman at the prow ignited a lantern, tinting it with a cyllinder of red glass, a message to the other Triremes in pursuit. They were on point, and the rest of the flotilla was following their lead.

Plafeigas watched all of this, and turned back to the Water mage, still with unease on his expression. The mage spread his arms wide, palms downward toward the waves.

"Denetion does not rest! He will not listen to my plea!"

Then it was true. The Sea itself had rebelled against their command. But why? Plafeigas pressed the old man.

"Why has the Sea God forsaken us?"

Denix caught wind of the conversation from his station on the deck, and he returned to the spar.

"Denetion forsakes Fyrian as well. We will share in his displeasure."

Plafeigas turned, annoyed, to his comrade, his gills ruffling behind his jawline.

"A Captain of the Army pays umbrage to Denetion?"

Defensive, Denix spread his arms wide for emphasis.

"We are all here in his realm, are we not?"

*crash*

Denix's head whipped about at the sound. It had come from the cabins, seated atop the stern of the warship. On a pitching vessel, it could be a flask hitting the floor. Then again, it could also be a breaking window. The Captain was of the more paranoid type.

"Arm!"

Aitus, Melio, and Lampolo rose immediately from the deck, tearing their short swords from their scabbards as they accompanied their Captain to the stern of the ship.

[Calder Aquasis]

Footsteps...forceful footsteps, coming Calder's way. Cursing under his breath, the Glaucan's mind raced. He couldn't be discovered. He had a price on his head in Necia, and surely execution would be the only outcome from capture.

Stuffing a few coins in his pockets, Calder pulled out one of the heavier desks from the corner, heaving it over towards the only door into the room. Pushing the desk up against the door, he retreated to the window. He had to get out and up on deck. With any luck, the helmsman would be someone of high rank.

Calder pulled himself out, and made his way upwards. It was harder now. The weather was getting worse, but Calder climbed defiantly.

Poking his head over the top, he spied the cloest sailor by the wheel and Calder hauled himself over as silently as he could. He reckoned whoever had come to investigate the crash would have found the empty room by now, and would be making their way back up to warn the rest of the crew. Calder's bare feet carried him swiftly across the deck, and his left hand drew out his knife. With fluid motion, he wrapped his right arm around the forehead of the helmsman, and held the knife to his neck.

"Change course or I'll spill your bloody throat!" he bellowed into the sailors ear.

[Blind Molly]

Third ring of the Arcane College of Ankaarizad... Molly had heard rumors of such a learning facility deep inside Ankaa, but had never imagined that they would be confirmed. She sat on the bench, still facing towards him, and held her stick in front of her with one end on the stones. "You are fire-gifted."

There was a pause as she still seemed to look at his ear, and Calleh hesitated as well, unsure if it was a question or not. Molly nodded, finally, and patted the bench beside her. "Sit with me please, honored scholar, so we may talk."

As he moved closer, his foot splashed a small puddle of dirty water, and her eyes met his immediately. The moment passed, and he sat down, a respectful distance separating them. Molly turned towards him. "You say you have noticed a change in the etherium in Ankaa? This is distressing news indeed, if it be true."

[Calleh]

The moment of clarity was startling, unnerving - rarely had he felt such a penetrating gaze, and never so suddenly. He felt almost as if he had been laid naked before her.

He quickly regathered his wits. "Last spring, when the waters of the sacred River Eridan rose from the mountain snowmelt, our alchemists detected an evil taint in the water. Many of our people grew sick before we discovered a way to purify it. But the taint remains. And it is growing.

"It is from the Eridan that the ether flows throughout our land. Our sorcerers, starting with the oldest and greatest, are losing their ability to call upon their magic. Our Rajjah has sent an expedition to the headwaters of the Eridan in the Arrakis Mountains, but they had not yet returned when I left for these lands."

[Blind Molly]

She mulled over his words, spoken softly with his exotic Ankaarizad accent. If the eldest and greatest were losing their ability to call upon the magic of the five elements, then surely the same would soon be true in Dalriada, if it was not beginning already.

The Fian were among the eldest in the land, so surely they would know more than she could hope to discover. She was getting to her feet before she realized she had said nothing in reply to the scholar. Straightening her skirts, she said, "The problem is more serious than even I forsaw." Molly looked in Calleh's direction, sensing the air shifting as the man stood as well.

"Come with me, friend, I have something you should see." She beckoned for him to follow, and then started back towards the palace, her walking stick seeking out dangers in the cobblestones ahead of her.

[Parsideon Denix]

"Where will you go?"

Denix and his soldiers scrabbled to the top of the deck, confronting Calder and the helmsman. Shortly behind came Plafeigas, with another trio of soldiers. They all formed a semicircle, giving distance to the Pirate, while Denix stepped from the pack.

"If you kill this man, you will be put to the sword. If you divert our course, you will still meet the sword. They don't pay your deeds with gold in the afterlife, Pirate."

The whole group held an uncomfortable silence for a few moments, until a heavy series of waves ran across broadsides, pitching the deck a bit and forcing everyone to find their sure footing.

"Hold fast to your course!"

Plafeigas ordered his helmsman above the din of the waves. He gripped a trident in his hands with a tight grasp.

For effect, Captain Denix drew his own weapon, the famous Necian Gladius, from it's richly-ornate scabbard on his waist. With the blade held in front of him, he drew a breath, and breathed a stream of fire upon it. Dancing yellow flames hung to the gladius's steel, bathing it in a fiery sheen.

[Calleh]

Calleh was astounded how quickly she glided over the uneven stones, and he even stumbled himself as he hastened to match pace with her. Now they were doubly a spectacle, a blind woman leading a foreigner, but more often than not the street traffic parted for them. Either the townspeople recognized Blind Molly as a member of the court or there was enough authority in her gait to make them yield.

They soon returned to the palace gate. The guards stood aside for Molly and, seeing Calleh, stood even further aside for him. Feeling a twinge of guilt, he bowed his head to them as he passed.

The interior of the palace was, to Calleh's chagrin, no warmer than the air outside, and the absence of sunlight made it feel colder. A lifetime in the tropics had left him poorly prepared for even a mild spring day in Dalriada.