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<span>Spoiler: <span class="bbCodeSpoiler-button-title">Kassandr</span></span>
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</div></div><br/>There were some who called him “the sorcerer.” A vague title, lacking in creativity and weight, but despite the seemingly ambiguous and general designation, there was no one in all of Ederas who didn't know to whom the title referred. Whispers spread like pestilence across miles of rotting landscape among those who were left. Stories were told about the horrors the sorcerer could inflict upon all those who were brave and stupid enough to oppose him. Some of them were mere hyperbole, as was common during war, but most enough were true. He<i>did</i>have eyes as chilling ice, empty and haunting, with a stare that could send tremors running down one's spine and leave one feeling like all happiness had been drained straight from the veins, leaving nothing but a dried out husk. He<i>did </i>hunt down and consume the heart of every Empath he could find in a desperate, obsessive attempt to increase his terrifying power. He had to, he had told his underlings. It was the only way to destroy the last remaining armies that stubbornly stood against him. He'd be willing to compromise if they bent the knee. He'd be merciful to those who recognized his superior power. But to everyone who still held up a sword or bow in defiance, he promised nothing but decimation.<br/><br/>Behind the moniker, there was only Kassandr. The air outside of his spacious tent was cold and nipped at the skin of anyone who dared approach, not that many did. Two mountainous men stood guard at the billowy opening, sharpened swords in their sheaths and fingers like sausages wrapped around the hilts, ready to slice at anyone who could pose their mercurial master any danger. But it wasn't simply the size of the men that intimidated anyone who strolled past the sorcerer's tent. Ashen skin hung from the guards' bodies in festering ribbons, exposing maggot-ridden tissue and muscle fibers. In areas where the corpses' flesh had been completely devoured, blood-stained bone was left visible. A demonstration of Kassandr's skill, the corpses moved with swiftness and intent, not unlike the talented and weathered swordsmen they had been in life. The men still wore the tattered remains of their former uniforms. Rich cobalt cloth was now grimy and muddied, shining steel armor dull and dented in places where they had suffered attacks from their enemies. Kassandr couldn't recall which army they hailed from. It didn't matter. They all bled together after a while, and an enemy was an enemy regardless of which flag they waved proudly into battle.<br/><br/>In truth, the undead sentries were merely decorative. Kassandr's power had grown like a virulent weed inside of him with every heart he had digested. The average soldier posed him little threat now, even wizards of considerable strength were hardly more than pests. It was how he wanted it. Kassandr had spent years hunting down every source of power he could devour simply so he could be the strongest, the one capable of bringing destruction and ruin upon those who had betrayed him. Those who had stolen from him his only source of happiness. They had stolen<i>him</i>away from Kassandr, and for their transgressions the sorcerer intended on bringing devastation upon all of Ederas.<br/><br/>Footsteps could be heard outside of his tent, tentative leather boots squealing into the thick mud. Kassandr's bright, intense blue eyes darted to the opening, waiting. A willowy archer slipped inside, hardly disturbing the hanging canvas though his body was trembling. Remyn despised the collection of undead beasts that prowled around the camps, but he knew his master's ability to raise corpses was the sole reason victory was visible on the horizon. The few remaining armies were fighting valiantly, but for every fallen compatriot a new enemy was born. Numbers simply weren't on their side any longer. Remyn understood this, but that didn't stop goosebumps from erupting across his skin every time he was forced to come in close proximity to his master's creatures.<br/><br/>“What is it?” Kassandr asked quietly, his eyes falling from the familiar face to the crudely carved wooden table before him. Crinkled, yellowing papers were spread out, seemingly without any sense of care or organization. Kassandr ran his fingers along the various pages, scanning across the scrawled handwritten messages. Parts of numerous messages had stains, as if droplets of water had spilled and smudged the ink, obscuring certain words.<br/><br/>“We found one,” Remyn replied quickly, his voice harsh and wheezing, struggling to find the air to get the words off of his tongue. “A scout caught sight of him among one of the outposts.”<br/><br/>“Him?” Kassandr's head bobbed slowly in acknowledgment. He set down the paper he was holding, taking a long moment to collect the scattered pages into a pleasant, neat pile. Remyn shifted uncomfortably as Kassandr commenced with his inane task, licking his lips and wringing his gloved hands together in anticipation. Muddy eyes stared anxiously at the hard lines of Kassandr's clenched jaw, following the harsh outline up the gentle curtain of long dark blonde hair partially hiding the sorcerer's face.<br/><br/>“Y-yes, master. Scout said it was a male, young, but not a child. Late twenties, early thirties maybe. Difficult to know for certain.”<br/><br/>“Hm.”<br/><br/>“We should make a move on the camp soon if we're to find him, master. Sources report tents have been up for at least a fortnight. Chances are high they will be moving soon.”<br/><br/>“Yes, you are most likely correct, Remyn,” the sorcerer droned. Kassandr continued to stare at the stack of papers in front of him, leaving the archer unsure and wary.<br/><br/>“You... you do not sound pleased, master,” the young man braved, taking a few steps forward. “We have been searching for months... This is the first sign we've had of an Empath in--”<br/><br/>“I'm perfectly aware how long it has been, Remyn. A reminder from you is superfluous.” Kassandr stood, the deep black fabric of his cloak clinging to his tall form. Though he wasn't an excessively large man, not by any definition of the word, Kassandr seemed to tower over Remyn. The sorcerer approached, closing the distance between the two as he reached for Remyn, taking hold of the young man with a strong, pale hand.<br/><br/>“Do you recall the last time a scout claimed she had discovered an Empath hiding among our enemies' ranks?” he inquired, gently squeezing the hard curve between the archer's neck and shoulder. “Celeste, that was her name, wasn't it?”<br/><br/>Remyn nodded, swallowing down the hard lump that had formed in his throat. It was strenuous to do so, the lump feeling as if a large, jagged stone had been shoved into him.<br/><br/>“So you do remember what happened to her, then? Am I understanding that correctly, Remyn?”<br/><br/>“Yes, master. I remember with perfect clarity,” he whispered, his eyes jutting down to focus on his worn out boots. Reminding himself of Celeste wasn't difficult. Her head still sat on the splintered wooden pole at the center of camp, once-beautiful face twisted into an eternal mask of pain, reminding everyone with a still functioning brain that relaying misinformation to the sorcerer would not end favorably.<br/><br/>“This is good to hear, Remyn. I assume, then, when you come to me with information on an Empath, it is because you are positive, without a glimmer of doubt, that the information is good. I'm not wrong to assume that, am I?”<br/><br/>“No, master. I would never waste your time with unsubstantiated rumors and tall tales.”<br/><br/>“No, you wouldn't, Remyn.” Kassandr released the male, smiling softly, though there was no mirth behind those icy irises. Remyn rolled his shoulder as Kassandr turned away, working inconspicuously at the muscles Kassandr had been squeezing.<br/><br/>The sorcerer returned to his seat at the rough table, sighing. It had been so long since the last heart had been diced and stewed. The flavor was never good, no matter how the meat was cooked or what spices were added to distract from the tough texture, but the effects were well worth the sub-par meal. If there were truly another Empath out there, Kassandr needed him for himself. He needed his heart. He couldn't rest until every single elusive red-haired man, woman, boy or girl had been collected and utilized for his greater purpose.<br/><br/>“Fine. Get the coordinates from the scout, have a team sent out immediately. Wait until nightfall and infiltrate when most of the camp is at rest. I'd prefer this to be done quickly and quietly. Once I have him, slaughter the camp. Leave no one alive.<i>No one.</i>Do you understand?”<br/><br/>“Yes, master.”<br/><br/>“Leave me.” Kassandr waved a lazy hand in Remyn's direction, dismissing the archer and waiting until the shaking man had scrambled out of his tent. He listened carefully as the squelching sound returned, followed shortly by a groan of disgust, most likely directly at the standing corpses posted at the entrance.<br/><br/>“Soon,” the sorcerer whispered, fingers caressing the stiff pages. “I will take everything from them.”<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><b>x – x – x – x – x</b><br/>​</div>Kassandr Vintergaard sat on the floor of his single-room shack, tucked away in the ghettos of the queen's city. Steelwatch was a magnificent, gorgeous, breathtaking collection of marble towers and flourishing markets, protected by centuries old insurmountable walls that hugged Steelwatch's outer borders. Travelers were ushered to the gold districts, oftentimes floored by the impressive architecture and expansive shops and stalls peppering the cobbled roads. Of course, the merchants in the gold districts peddled fresh meats and foods, foreign spices, exotic silks and textiles. What stranger wouldn't be inspired by the queen's extravagance?<br/><br/>The young wizard didn't live in any of the gold districts, however. Kassandr's tiny home sat nestled in line of crumbling wooden houses where the streets were nothing more than perpetual strips of mud, hardening into dry, uneven clay when the sun beat down and transforming into stinking sludge when the rains came. Brothels lined the roads, housing working girls of all kinds, though while others of Kassandr's economic class spent the few coin they managed to scrounge up on indulging in pleasures of the flesh, Kassandr could never find the motivation to the do the same.<br/><br/>Instead, the young man sat with his nose buried in his most recent discovery, an old magic tome containing archaic spells and incantations. Since stumbling upon the book in the collection of a traveling salesmen and offering up every last bit of gold he had left in his pockets, Kassandr had focused on nothing else. He had read the book cover to cover at least five times, attempting to absorb every bit of information he could, though the effort was straining. Many of the pages were damaged and smelled of musk and age, and the spells were written in an old, dying language Kassandr only partially understood.<br/><br/>He furrowed his brow as he spread out his legs, book nestled carefully between them as to keep the loosening spine from completely falling apart. He had been studying one particular spell for weeks, going over and over the foreign words and siphoning himself of power with little success.<br/><br/>“I cannot do this,” he mumbled to himself, disheartened, disappointed. His body felt weak from the countless hours of effort, pooling all his magical prowess into the tips of his fingers and loosing it, but nothing ever came of it. No inexplicable explosions, no bursts of supernatural power, no swirling promises of color. Kassandr had been certain he had felt the presence of a temporal portal right there in his own home, and this mysterious tome had promised to help him unlock it... but nothing.<br/><br/>“I have been overconfident. Foolish,” he spat, slamming the book shut angrily and shoving it off to the side of his dirt-encrusted floor. “Wizards twice my age have attempted and failed at lesser feats. Why did I think I could successfully complete a spell meant for many with skills far surpassing my own?”<br/><br/>Twenty-seven was young for a wizard, especially one such as Kassandr whose magic had not manifested itself until he was well into his twenties. A very late start, surely, but not impossible to overcome. With no formal education and no one to mentor him, Kassandr had learned solely from voracious reading and hours upon hours of grueling practice, working himself until his body felt sapped of all life. He had acquired the tome in an effort to prove himself, but he was beginning to finally realize all that trial and error had been in vain, and he hung his head, ashamed.<br/><br/>The young man lifted his head once more when he felt a sudden chill befall the room. A hole had torn open in the middle of his home, a twirling mess of mesmerizing color and light. His jaw dropped, his eyes grew wide and curious as he carefully stood, approaching the tear in reality with an understandable wariness. “What? But I don't understand...” he whispered, reaching forward with delicate fingers to caress the strange mass of color, shivering.<br/><br/>He felt nothing when his hand seemed to disappear within its pulsing essence. The portal did not seem threatening in any way, nor did it appear to disrupt the environment immediately surrounding it. It simply looked strange, perhaps a bit foreboding. Kassandr had worked for weeks in an obsessive attempt to reveal the portal, and now that it was before him, he had no idea what to do.<br/><br/>He considered stepping forward, taking a leap of faith and hoping that whatever awaited him on the other side was friendly, at the very least. And if it wasn't? Kassandr wasn't confident enough in his magical abilities to fend off whatever beast or enemy might wish him harm.<br/><br/>But how could he just<i>stay here</i>?<br/><br/>There was nothing for him in the queen's ghetto. Hardly any food, no luxuries, no friends. Kassandr led a life of relative solitude, hiding away behind the pages of any dusty book he could find, reluctant to grow attached to any person or thing. It never ended well for him. Beyond that portal, something magnificent could be waiting for him, something to give his life purpose and meaning. Something that could change everything.<br/><br/>He couldn't just ignore that. He'd be a fool to do so.<br/><br/>Kassandr took a deep breath, readying himself for whatever surprises that may be living on the opposite side. He stepped forward slowly, his heart pounding inside of his chest, blood pumping through his ears and leaving his head ringing. A cautious hand reached forward, leading the way, ready to disappear when a a face appeared at the center of the portal, causing Kassandr to leap back and call out in shock.<br/><br/>“Who are you?” he snapped, stumbling back and away from the mysterious face, the smooth skin,<i>the bright red hair.</i><br/><br/>“You... you are an Empath?” he said, his voice tentative, but excited. He had only met a handful or so before in all his life, and now one had just come casually strolling through a mysterious portal into his home.<br/><br/>“Where do you come from, stranger? What is your name?”