<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 125%; line-height: 116%;">Upper Regions</span></span><br/><br/><br/>Rolyn walked on grass that stayed evergreen, never drying, never failing; his footfalls fell evenly as he approached the narrow woods, each tree that composed them gigantic, ancient, with each year contributing to their growth. They were thick enough that it took several strides to move past one, and tall enough that it took a keen eye to see anything aside from a vague greenness in the branches high above. He weaved through them, seeking something he knew lay somewhere near the center of the woods, his pale eyes darting to and fro as he moved, watchful for any signs of movement.<br/><br/>He had been at it for some time when one of his feet caught on a tree root that was sticking up over the ground; he stumbled, throwing out a hand and catching himself, the knuckles scraping against bark that was hard as stone. He shook his silver hair from his eyes and looked at them, watching a small trickle of blood began to form…<br/><br/><br/><span style="font-size: 110%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="font-style: italic">The blood was still trickling down from his knuckle, but he ignored it as he balled his hand into a fist once again and struck the stone wall once more, this time even harder, along with a shout of anger. When he pulled his hand back, readying for another blow, he saw a deep impression in the side of the Hall of the Circle, but he moved to strike it once more, his face a mask of snarling fury and his eyes narrowed with self-loathing. The only outlet for it all was physical damage, be it to the wall, or to himself- which one it was didn't matter to him. <br/><br/>His hand was an inch from colliding once more with the stone when another seized him by the elbow, stopping the forward progress instantly. Rolyn blinked and turned to his left to see Malinar regarding him calmly, though the God of Chaos had a fire in his eyes that was unmistakeable. <br/><br/>"Rolyn. You must not do this." <br/><br/>Rolyn snatched his arm out of the other Circle God's grip and stared at him, the rage still contorting his face. <span style="color: #00BFFF">"What? What is it I must not do, Malinar? Betray my people? Stain the ground of the Upper Regions with the blood of some of our greatest, our most noble? Tis too late, Malinar! It is done, and finished, and a shadow has been thrown over this place. And over me,"</span> he finished bitterly, a muscle in his face twitching as he experienced self-reproach and anger beyond anything he'd felt in his years. <br/><br/>"You must not blame yourself for this, Rolyn. This was not your failing. This falls on more than one person, and you know that. You cannot claim responsibility for all of-" <br/><br/><span style="color: #00BFFF">"I should have seen it coming!"</span> Rolyn interrupted, although his fist had finally unclenched and the anger was starting to fade from his features. <span style="color: #00BFFF">"I was chosen to lead, and to protect. I have failed."</span> <br/><br/>Malinar shook his head, a deep sadness now visible on his visage. "We all agreed with you. We all allowed it. None of us saw that Arixus would betray us all. We were all respons-"<br/><br/><span style="color: #00BFFF">"We nearly allowed him to join the Circle,"</span> Rolyn interrupted again, speaking more softly now.<span style="color: #00BFFF"> "What a disaster that could have been. Even worse than it was, anyway. We have lost…"</span><br/><br/>"I know, Rolyn," Malinar said, patting him on the shoulder. "Srathaam, Crucian, Galaia. Countless Demigods. All tremendous losses. It will take time to recover. But their sacrifices shall be remembered. They are Guardian Heroes of the Circle, their names shall be praised for all time." <br/><br/><span style="color: #00BFFF">"Heroes of the Circle," </span>Rolyn replied bitterly, staring down at nothing in particular. <span style="color: #00BFFF">"What Circle, I ask you?"</span> <br/><br/>"The Skyfool is right. Circle be damned, it is nothing but a ring of ignorance!" <br/><br/>Malinar turned, a scowl twisting his face at first as a fire bloomed once again in his eyes, but he paused once he recognized the speaker. His anger was replaced immediately by a look of profound sadness. Rolyn turned, and saw a Demigod standing there staring at the both of them with bloodshot eyes. The heavyset man was swaying slightly where he stood, his matted, shoulder-length grey hair a tangled mess. <br/><br/><span style="color: #00BFFF">"Seagan,"</span> Rolyn said softly, unable to hide the pity he felt. <span style="color: #00BFFF">"You have been drinking again. You must try to-"</span><br/><br/>"Shut your damn mouth!" the man shouted, nearly falling over with the force he put into the statement. Rolyn stopped, unable to argue with one who had lost so much. He exchanged a glance with Malinar, who nodded, and they turned and walked away, leaving the drunken mourner where he stood, staring balefully after them, his upper lip trembling with barely suppressed rage. </span> </span><br/><br/><br/>The blood stopped flowing, disappeared, and the scratch was gone as if it had never been. Rolyn grunted, then continued onward, this time taking extra care to look out for unexpected tree roots. It was some time before he finally reached his destination; a clearing containing a small wooden hut, as plain and unimpressive as any structure in the Upper Regions. Outside of it was a series of tree stumps and a small fire that was on the verge of dying out completely. Seated cross-legged on the ground in the smoke from the dying embers was a single man, evidently deep in meditation. A Demigod, to be precise. Rolyn approached him calmly, his face betraying nothing of what he was feeling. The man's eyes were closed, his breathing deep and measured. But after the Circle God had been staring at him for some time, he spoke without moving, his long grey hair moving slightly as a mild gust of wind passed through the clearing. His scraggly beard was also grey, with smatterings of white around his chin.<br/><br/>"I seldom get visitors, Skyhand. And when I do, they are young warriors, Demigods, seeking out the wisdom of an old, failed campaigner. There is nothing I can offer a God of your standing."<br/><br/>Seagan Kahz was indeed old; the Elder Goddess of Dreams was one of the oldest Goddesses outside of the Circle, and Kahz was the eldest of any Demigod that yet lived. He did indeed get visitors from time to time seeking his counsel, though his mood would often determine how forthcoming he was with his advice.<br/><br/><span style="color: #00BFFF">"There is actually much you can offer me. Galaia-"</span><br/><br/>"Do not speak her name," he growled, his dark brown eyes now open as he glared over the fire. "<span style="font-style: italic">Never</span>speak her name."<br/><br/>Rolyn lowered his head in acceptance of the term. An Elder God or Goddess that lost their Demigod would experience a moment of incredible loss and pain, but they could recover, in time, depending on the emotional attachment that existed between them. But when it happened the other way around- a Demigod that outlived its Uplifter would experience a vast emptiness that was beyond sadness or grief. Many killed themselves, unable to face living any longer. And the bond between Galaia and Seagan was quite possibly the strongest Rolyn had ever seen, something he hadn't seen rivaled until perhaps Akryanus and her own Demigods (though the Star Goddess's love for her charges still fell short). Many believed the Demigod had loved Galaia in more ways than only as a subject and a follower.<br/><br/>Seagan, knowing he'd have been stopped in the Upper Regions, had killed himself on Soluunar, and had only been narrowly deterred from leaving again in order to make it permanent. In time they had convinced him to remain, to guide the younger Demigods as they learned how to harness their new power.<br/><br/><span style="color: #00BFFF">"She was well-versed in matters of balance. Particularly in matters of balance regarding Soluunar, and our place in it. She was one of few outside the Circle whose counsel was weighed alongside our own. Her words were respected by all of us, and I know that she shared much with you." <br/></span><br/>The eyes narrowed for a moment, then closed again.<br/><br/>"Go away, Skyhand."<br/><br/>After a moment Rolyn nodded slowly and turned around, walking back in the direction from which he had come.<br/><br/>_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_<br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 125%; line-height: 116%;">Soluunar</span></span><br/><br/><br/>Barth watched as the newcomers fell in with them, some of them saluting, some bowing in the direction of the Lord Knights; one in particular caught his eye, as his salute was robotic and seemed to be a well practiced thing, almost to the point of being an automatic response. His movements in the dark grey armor were precise and calculated- he was no Lord Knight, but he was clearly a dangerous looking man. Barth grunted thoughtfully as yet another group of knights drew closer, led by one that was exceptionally tall, easily one of the tallest men he'd ever seen. He wasn't very heavyset, but he also wasn't too thin either. He had a solid frame, and there was an aura of authority about him that the others lacked. When he reached them, Barth felt momentary shock upon seeing him bow to him, and then his shock turned to utter disbelief when the stranger proceeded to also bow to the Maidens. Krinwulf's eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly- a moment later when the man announced himself, Barth needed a moment to compose himself.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"Shalerin. I… I believe I met your father,"</span>he said, staring at the Lord Knight with great uncertainty. From his tone upon saying the word 'father', there was no mistaking how he felt about the Lebi Lord who had so eagerly tossed insults towards the King of Linden.<span style="color: #FFFF00">"Which makes you… all the more surprising. I say well met, Lord Knight Farie Shalerin." </span><br/><br/>After blinking uncertainly at Ausan (Verana looked just as shocked as he was), Barth turned to Resuran, purposely avoiding the bald, red bearded Lord Knight standing next to him. It seemed that Borim Garth did not properly represent the rest of his kinsmen, which was something of a relief. Even if many of them followed his thinking, it was good to see that some stood against the tide.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"Lord Resuran, does it seem that all have come?" </span><br/><br/>The long-mustached man nodded, his eyes roving over the gathering, tallying silently as they moved. "Yes, Prince Krinwulf. I believe we may proceed. Now, the first matter to-"<br/><br/>From the outskirts of the camp they suddenly heard the sounds of a horse, galloping hard- they all looked around at the source of the commotion, watching as a small dust cloud rose up from beneath a solitary rider. Several of the Knights present instinctively reached for their weapons, but at a sharp word from one of the others they stopped, as it was clear that this was no enemy.<br/><br/>The beast was covered in sweat and there was a frenzy in its eyes that Barth knew only too well- the horse had seen bloodshed, and recently. His eyes whipped upward to see a man, one of his own, perched on top. He was slumped over in the saddle, and a great deal of blood appeared to have dried onto the armor protecting his right leg. After a moment Barth saw the broken spear shaft sticking out of his side.<br/><br/>"Pri-prince," he mumbled weakly as he reached him- the horse stopped and he immediately fell off of it, as if the animal's forward progress had been the only thing keeping him on top. Barth grabbed him before he could hit the ground. He had only to feel the blood running freely over his hands to know that the man was already lost. He stared into his eyes and he recognized him.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"Kelmin. What has happened?" </span><br/><br/>The man stared up at him, licking lips that were parched; he exhaled weakly and Barth could smell blood on his breath.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"Kelmin!" </span><br/><br/>"Tu…utar. Scouts… missed them. Mo…more than we th-thought. The wom…women…childre…en," he choked out, before finally his eyes shut and his movements ceased entirely.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"Rune's hand guide you. Eyes forward, forget the torment. You shall live on," </span>Barth said as he gently put down the man's corpse. He stood up, feeling countless eyes on him. There was a moment of waiting silence that couldn't have lasted longer than a second, yet it felt more like an eternity. And then, it was over.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"My horse! Now!" </span>he screamed, checking for the longsword's hilt over his right shoulder even though he already knew it was there, his feet already moving him swiftly to the camp's edge. Around him there was a frenzy of activity, akin to an ant's nest that had been disturbed. His helm was still in the tent, but there was no time for that. The first line of citizens, composed of their women, children and elderly, was under attack. The Tutar had eluded his scouts, had seen the easy prey and jumped on the opportunity.<br/><br/>The Lebis hadn't had enough time to reinforce their numbers- the timing would be the undoing of them all. He reached the perimeter just as the dirty, ashen colored stallion he had never named reached him, he leapt on top, hearing the others behind him but uncaring as to whether or not he would ride alone. He heard them, though. They rode on either side of him, and behind him, silent save for the sounds of their horses. Although Barth Krinwulf did not look around, focused as he was on the road ahead, he still knew.<br/><br/>The Prince did not ride alone.<br/><br/><br/>_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_<br/><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 125%; line-height: 116%;">-ENVIRONMENTAL POST-</span></span></div><br/><br/><br/><span style="font-size: 112%; line-height: 116%;">The line of Linden citizens had reached the final leg of its slow, arduous journey, passing into old farmlands, almost leaving behind the dense forests that followed along south of them bordering their journey and hiding them from the ashen lands south, where, if one travelled far enough, the darkness and the terror that was the Ravine could be found. The trees did not shield them, however. Rather, the trees hid their attackers from the eyes of the Linden soldiers, who were spread too thin, weakened by the Lebidan King's insistence that a suitably sized contingent be brought to the Lebi camp, as well as by the fact that Linden's forces had been split into four groups. The citizens' guard would be reinforced by a considerable strength of men that was following behind, also moving from Linden's countryside, more slowly owing to their task of carrying many supplies that would be needed in the coming days. Linden's households had been stripped of all things potentially useful, and such items were too valuable to have unguarded.<br/><br/>Yet another strength of Linden soldiers followed behind that one, bringing with them the last remnant of their people, those from the northernmost reaches of the now defunct nation. Barth had argued that the citizens needed more protection, but his father had overruled him. Their being shorthanded would only be a temporary thing, they could last until the reinforcements arrived, the older Krinwulf had reasoned, so long as the scouts remained vigilant and that they minded their perimeter on all sides. This, they had been specifically instructed to do by their Prince before he departed for the Lebi camp that would soon become the Allied camp, circumstances permitting. <br/><br/>It was a long journey, and the scouts grew complacent as they drew closer to their destination. Too complacent, as they were unaware of the small Tutari horde that had gathered in the shadows of the southward trees, watching, waiting for an opening. The captain of the guard, a man named Fendanak, had not seen the point of continually sending the patrols southward, believing it wiser to simply bolster the guards on the group's perimeter, directly going against the orders he'd been given. <br/><br/>And then, as the sun reached a high point in the sky and the large camp was stirring, readying themselves for the day's march, now so close to the camp, the Tutar seized their opportunity. They came in one big wedge, aggressively pressing forward, heedless of their flanks in their desperation to cut through the paltry guard. The Linden soldiers, caught at unawares, suffered heavy losses as the Tutar attempted to drive through their numbers; they gathered together, holding the line somewhat, but not without suffering casualties. A lone rider, seeing that they wouldn't last, seeing that the citizens were in grave peril, rode off to bring back aid, a spear skewering him as he fled. It was a mortal wound, but he rode on, fighting to hold onto his life so that he could warn the others. Kelmin did not allow death to take away what could have been his people's last hope. <br/><br/><br/>The citizen's guard was on its last legs when Barth Krinwulf arrived, the others close behind him. Helmless, his face was a mask of fury as he looked upon the scene. He and those with him had favored speed over numbers, for taking too long would have rendered their attempt pointless. The Tutar were being held back for the moment, thanks to the desperate skill of the soldiers there, but that would soon be changing. The corpses of men, women and children littered the ground- more would be joining them if the Tutar couldn't be stopped. There were perhaps eighty of the demons remaining, though their size and strength meant this would be akin to a host of nearly two hundred men. The Lindens were nearing the brink- fewer than one hundred remained on their feet, many were wounded, unable to continue fighting, and even more lay dead. And all of those still standing were at the end of their strength. <br/><br/>The people they defended were clustered in a massive group, many of them cowering in the face of their darkest fears coming to fruition, some of them watching in silence as their defenders were pushed back. The Linden fighters had formed a wavering semi circle in front of them, a makeshift shield around their charges, but it would not hold for much longer. Some wielded longswords with which they would block as well as attack, but the majority of those still standing were well versed in sword and shield. Many of them were too exhausted to even use their shields offensively anymore- they were beyond bashing, merely using the strength they had left to parry blow after blow in the face of their relentless foes, each block more taxing than the last. <br/><br/>Krinwulf had only a handful of supporters in the haste of their charge, but it would have to be enough. There was no other choice. It was time to see the ability of the Lebi Knights firsthand- his people's survival depended on it. </span><br/><br/><br/>_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_<br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 125%; line-height: 116%;">Soluunar</span></span><br/><br/><br/>With a shout, Barth Krinwulf urged his stallion forward, his longsword held forward in one hand as he charged, drawing the attention of the Tutari attackers. To the left were gathered the citizens of Linden, to the right were the relentless Tutar, and sandwiched between them was what remained of the protectors. The protectors that were visibly at the very end of heir strength. If not for Kelmin's determination, they would have all been slaughtered, that much was certain.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"Tutar," </span>he shouted as he drew closer, his face a mask of fury, his eyes wide and staring, his teeth bared, the frenzy of battle upon him,<span style="color: #FFFF00">"we bring you your end!" </span><br/><br/>The men still standing saw him, saw the others, and hope was rekindled in their eyes even as the Tutar became aware of those just now entering the fray. Crude, black weapons turned to face the newcomers, offering a slight respite for the remaining defenders. The Tutar were savages, but they were not animals. They knew the people approaching now were not ordinary soldiers. Fangs were bared, growling, guttural sounds emerged from the horned host and spears were readied.<br/><br/>As Barth closed the distance, he allowed his body to go limp, and he rolled off of the saddle to the right, even as he yanked the reins to the left. He rolled off of the horse even as it turned abruptly in the other direction, beginning a circuit that would take it away from the action; spears whistled overhead, missing both him and the animal as he rolled to his feet, now in the midst of the enemy, both feet planted firmly on the ground and his blade in front of him. He hated fighting on horseback, and his reluctance to do so unless in the greatest need was the main reason his unnamed steed had survived as long as it had.<br/><br/>The frenzy was still upon him- he ducked a slashing scimitar that meant to part the top of his head from the rest of him, and struck out a heavy boot, shattering a leg, driving his own blade straight up, so that it emerged from the top of the attacker's head. He withdrew it smoothly and flowed easily to his right, engaging the next foe, still not blinking, his teeth still bared as the dance of the battle took hold of him.<br/><br/>Around him he could hear steel crashing against steel, could hear the sounds of fighting in every direction. The shouts of men and women, the snarls of their bestial foes, it all cascaded around him in a blurred whirlwind of motion and sound. He knew the others had engaged as well, though he only had eyes for the enemy. He cut a head off and was sprayed by Tutari blood even as he sidestepped a spear that embedded itself into a tree somewhere behind him.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFFF00">"We bring you your end!"</span>he screamed again, his face covered in blood that wasn't his. He was Linden. He was death itself.