text: "So let's hear it," you say, resting on one of the floor mats. Man it feels good to take a load off. There's been a good deal of walking over the past few days; a lot of exertion ever since arriving to the New World and getting rained upon, likely from the very Blackbirds that you share a camp with now.
  
  "Hear what?" E'ffy asks, innocently.
  
  "The plan," you snap back, a little annoyed. Instantly, Ongg's face curls into a frown. It looks like a small mutt trying to be menacing to a war hound. "How we are going to remove the S'umbra from their clutch over the tribes, how we are going to free your people to live by their own chieftain."
  
  "It is simple," E'ffy starts, "we issue a challenge by the ways of Harri'katan."
  
  "Which is..." Redding prods with his question.
  
  "They do not know, priestess," Onng whispers. E'ffy ignores the man.
  
  "Harri'katan, once the prized jewel of our people," E'ffy says. "Imagine a city the size of a nation, built from the very earth itself. These are our ancestors. They drove the outsiders west many centuries ago. (Redding nods his agreement). But they have fallen from favor. Our people, the Harri'ar are lost. It is the S'umbra leading them astray. Without the false priests, they will revisit the laws of tradition."
  
  "With respect," you say. "That does not explain it at all. And you mean to call the laws of an ancient city? Isn't the point to allow the tribes to rule themselves no longer under the thumb of the S'umbra?"
  
  "Each tribe has a choice. We are stronger united by the Raven."
  
  You're becoming a little frustrated at this point, with good reason. E'ffy seems to be taking you round and round with her logic. "Then what the hell are we doing? Exchanging one leader for another? If it is freedom that your people want, then they should take it themselves, not surrender themselves to the yoke of servitude."
  
  "You would do best to soften your tone in a holy place such as this," E'ffy hisses. Her face turns from a sunny sky into approaching storm clouds.
  
  "E'ffy," Redding speaks in a calm tone. "Tell us about the challenge."
  
  The storm clouds hold a moment, but linger. An overcast priestess answers Redding. "A challenge issued, the challenger must run the trial. If they survive, then they must face the ruler's champion."
  
  "See? That wasn't so hard." You intentionally shift your tone after your initial words, hard as it may be in your current state. "What entails the trial?"
  
  "The gauntlet of the gods," E'ffy says. "The challenger must prove they are worthy among the divine before they can face the champion in combat. Otherwise the greatest warrior would always rule.. and only hold it for as long as their strength allowed it. The ruler must be strong, but also chosen. They must win over the people before being considered."
  
  "But what exactly is it?"
  
  "A sacred tunnel in these caves. It is no accident that the war camp has taken place here. My father had some influence in the matter." This brings a smile to E'ffy's lips. The weather changes quickly in her presence.
  
  "And what lies within the tunnel?" you ask.
  
  "I do not know," she answers. "The trial hasn't been run in many years."
  
  "Well... when was the last time it was won?" Redding inputs.
  
  "Generations."
  
  (You know the simpler plan would be to stroll into the S'umbra's hut and allow me to...talk with them.)
  And what would that solve? Those loyal would take their place.
  (A show of strength. That you are above their laws.)
  Somehow I don't think that would help the Blackbirds any.
  (It'd help you...and the priestess. You have, what do they say, bigger fish to fry?)
  
  "Hello?" E'ffy says.
  
  "Don't mind the kid," REdding jumps in. "he tends to do that when the artifact whispers to him."
  
  "Amir'sshan..." E'ffy utters, in awe. "What does he say?"
  
  (I'm flattered, but you don't need to ask for my permission.)
  
  "He says that we could end the S'umbra without the challenge. With the artifact--err, Amir'sshan--we have all the firepower we need to remove the S'umbra from their place of rule. I ended the undead defender with a single bullet. I could do the same for these priests of yours."
  
  "Amir'sshan, brutally straightforward as always."
  
  She speaks as if she knows you.
  (They all do. I'm somewhat of a legend myself.)
  Enough of a legend to justify executing a sect of native priests?
  (Not all legends are heroes, hero.)
  
  "The way I see it, is that we have two options presented in front of us," Redding says, taking on a familiar tone that you're used to hearing as he addresses the company. "Take the difficult path leading into a treacherous tunnel, unknown danger hiding in the shadows. Or we can do what we soldiers do best: draw blood and keep drawing until it no longer flows."
  
  (I know what I vote for.)
  Good thing you don't get one.
  
  "Those in favor of the trial?" Redding asks. E'ffy raises a hand in her decision. Onng, seeing his priestess' gesture, quickly raises his own palm. "And those for the direct approach?" Redding raises his hand while speaking. He waits for you to raise yours.
  
  "Amir'sshan counts as two," E'ffy says. "Even if it goes against my own belief. I would not choose against Amir'sshan in anything other than this," she affirms. "In this, I am set. The Raven guide us."
  
  "What'll it be, tiebreaker?" Redding says, his hand still raised. "The trial or the soldier's approach?"
  
  > The soldier's approach
  "I only know of one way," you answer. "Cutting with the sword and firing with the sidearm. It's clear that the S'umbra must be removed by physical means. Lucky for us, that's what we're best at doing."
  
  "That'sa good kid!" Redding exclaims.
  
  Before you can expound more, a loud knock rings through the temple, a dull thud echoing two times. Instantly, the doors to the inner sanctum swing open, which is not how you would expect someone to enter into a religious place....unless....unless the newcomer isn't concerned about disrupting the holy place because they hold themselves to a different religion. E'ffy did say there weren't many supporters for her sect of worship.
  
  A lone man enters, leaving his Blackbird escorts behind. The warriors stand guard just outside, which means either they're more concerned with keeping people out than protecting their master. Which also means the man isn't worried about the danger that stands before him now, the four of you. He's dressed in purple robes, dark and tattered at the edges. His face remains hidden in a deep hood. The man removes it though, revealing Terr'ok, high priest of the S'umbra, acting chieftain of chieftains, enemy of E'ffy.
  
  "E'ffy, my girl," he purrs, a voice that would soothe coming from someone else's--anyone--else's mouth. He's not old for a priest, perhaps nearing forty, giving him ample years to hone his craft while still maintaining the vigor of youth, a dangerous foe indeed, likely in the prime of his lifetime, where both body and mind are still sharp. The man leans on a wooden staff, awaiting E'ffy's reply. The very tip of the staff boasts a small carving of a raven.
  
  "Terr'ok," E'ffy confirms his identity. Tare-ock. "Have you come here seeking salvation?"
  
  "I'm afraid, my dear, that has already been secured. Yours, however..." Terr'ok trails off. As he starts speaking again, a cry escapes your lips. It's not of your own doing. Its compulsion is that of grabbing a smouldering coal and the instinct to drop it immediately.
  
  THe same compulsion brings you forward, artifact appearing in your hand as a blade. Black smoke. Thunderclouds. If the man is surprised by your actions, he doesn't show it. Your companions seem more surprised by the sudden move, minus Redding, who joins your attack. A man of action, that Redding. Terr'ok remains in place with both hands on the wooden staff, you and Redding bearing down on him with weapons drawn. At the last possible moment, the high priest bursts into motion. The staff in his hands whirls as if a leaf in the wind; his footsteps carry him a perfect two steps backward. Not just a man of the cloth it would seem. Perhaps that's the Blackbird way.
  
  Terr'ok's steps take him just out of reach from yours and Redding's blades, both swinging through empty air in the place where the man stood a second earlier. The voice thunders in your head, and like watching events play out in a dreamstate, you're merely a spectator as the words of Amir'sshan pour through your own mouth.
  
  "The mad-god holds true to his name," Terr'ok fires back, his hands returning to resting on the staff, a symbol of his strength originating from his deity.
  
  The artifact seems to shut you out. You cannot move or talk of your own accord, trapped beneath your body's new driver, the reins now firmly held by a being, possibly immortal--possibly mad. Perhaps both. By now the Blackbird escort rushes into the temple, drawn by the commotion. They're protected by leather armor, each carrying an axe in either hand. You've grown used to looking up at the warriors; they stand a full head taller than the average Alteran, after all. The two newcomers are a different breed, however. They stand two--maybe two and a half--feet taller. Black paint covers their faces, the whites of their eyes and snarling teeth giving them a phantom-like demeanor.
  
  They may tower above you, but they'll fall just like the others. Amir'sshan changes shape within your palm. The black blade becomes the six-shooter, by far your preferred weapon and the artifact sure as hell knows it. Since you first felt the standard issue Alteran flintlock in your palm, you've felt comfortable with weapons powered by gunpowder, which is not something all soldiers of Alteran are drawn towards. Redding, for example, rarely fires a side piece, preferring the steady swing of a fixed blade. Just as the lich fell, just as countless others, you see your targets. The six-shooter raises. And you fire.
  
  Two shots ring in the temple, a loud blast like a ship crashing onto the shore. One moment your targets stand in front of you. The next, your targets still stand in front of you. As if coins dropped into a collection pot, two lead bullets drop onto the temple floor, highlighting the sudden silence that followed your shots. The Blackbird warriors remain in front of you, unscatched. Smiling. Mocking.
  
  "Amir'sshan...the Veil," E'ffy whispers.
  
  That's when you notice it, a transparent shield hanging like a cloud layer around Terr'ok and the warriors.
  
  Terr'ok offers a smirk. "You've been out of the mortal realm for too long. There are new powers, real powers that are beyond your shape shifting tricks."
  
  White hot anger sparks within you. It comes from the artifact's bond, yet you feel it as if it were your own. It's the feeling of learning a family member was set upon by highwaymen, a righteous passion by association. The six-shooter won't help you here. You'll have to defeat the man by traditional means. Another cry escapes your lips. You charge with the black blade in hand, Redding by your side to accompany your strikes. The two of you have fought side-by-side many times. Even in your brief time spent in the New World it's paid off, Redding countering after your defense, complimenting your movements with your own. Only, your movements aren't your own; the artifact steers the ship, and Redding is unfamiliar with such an ally.
  
  You stumble over each other's steps, your now long, sweeping strikes with the blade--fueled by emotion--taking the place where precise, disciplined training once resided. The spirit of Amir'sshan drives you forward; the style itself would normally be effective. Truly, it would if you stood as tall as the Blackbirds, if the hand guiding the sword possessed the same ancestral body type. You've always been strong for an Alteran. You've always been quicker than most. The Blackbirds are different, however, physical specimens born to battle hand-to-hand, forged by the constant danger of the New World and uncivilization.
  
  An axe catches Redding in nearly the same area that he suffered not days ago. You wonder if he's completely healed or not, even if E'ffy's healing magic closed up the wound. His body may not have the same strength as before, the byproduct of knocking on death's door and finding no one home to answer. The man, the former corporal collapses to the floor after a stumble forward, both hands clutching his side, his sword falling from grasp. Suddenly the anger becomes your own, spurred on by the sight of watching, perhaps, your oldest friend fall to the natives.
  
  You charge, willing the longsword to extend into a two-handed greatsword. If the artifact is going to affect the way you battle, then damn if you won't have a say in what form it decides to take. Besides, the heavy two-handed weapon is better for the large swings of Amir'sshan.
  
  (This body is weak. It cannot hold my power.)
  Then go somewhere else and leave me alone!
  
  In the middle of the battle, you catch a brief glimpse of E'ffy. She and Onng have moved to the back of the temple, unwilling to take part in the fight.
  
  She abandons us.
  (She doesn't agree.)
  This is who we choose to fight for?
  (Ahhh so we're a 'we' now.)
  Yes, as in WE would be better off if you controlled yourself.
  (Focus, hero. They--)
  
  The voice is cut off. The same can be said for your right arm. One of the Blackbird's axes found an opening in your defence, the axe blade cleanly severing your limb from the elbow down. Battle shock takes over. You feel nothing. It's as if the sight of your severed arm at your feet isn't registering in your mind. Oddly enough, all you can think of is the way a fish flops on the ground after it's caught from the water, and you swear you see your arm twitch. The greatsword, only supported with one arm, seems to double in weight. Not that you have any faith in the outcome, the six-shooter appears in your left palm. If this is the end, you're going to go down firing. The Blackbirds close in. Terr'ok smirks. E'ffy watches. You fire six shots. Their axes tear your body apart.