StarDestroyer.Net BBS

Since the story idea I got while reading the fanfic here crashed and died in one of the worst possible ways, I figured I'd try to show what my previous work was, since I've mentioned it once or twice.

This story is actually Exalted fan fiction, though with many liberties taken. I hope you enjoy reading it.

Kale had what he would describe as a nearly idyllic childhood. Growing up in the forest southeast of Thorns, in a large cabin built by his father, he quickly came to love the forest every bit as much as his parents. He learned to move through the dense, lush forest as quickly as a wolf might, and as stealthily as a snake. His father mentioned with pride that he had the natural skills of a woodsman, and both his parents delighted in taking him with them on their journeys into the living, breathing forest to gather food.

His parents showed him the small plant for which he was named; a hardy plant that was good for many things, and doesn't cause harm to the place in which it grows. He was aptly named, for he learned very quickly to revere the delicate balance of the forest, taking only what was needed. His father taught him that when he kills an animal, to thank the spirit of the animal for its generosity in giving it's life for them. In return for that gift, his father and mother used every part of the animal possible, to ensure such a gift was never squandered.

He didn't really miss having other children around to play with when he was young, as the animals of the forest to him were his playmates. He remembered one fateful conversation he had with his father one day when they found that the alpha of a wolf pack was slain by a caribou he was attempting to bring down. The pack's mournful howls filled the night air, waking all of them up.

His father gently touched his wife, startled by the noise, and kissed her to reassure her. Making no noise, he looked at Kale, and then began getting dressed as quickly and quietly as possible. Kale got the message, and got dressed as fast as he could, making no noise. He followed his father out of the cabin, rolling his weight on his feet as he stepped so as to make as little noise as possible, as his father had taught him. The two of them moved to through the dense growth toward the howls, and saw the pack slowly pacing and howling around their fallen leader. His father gently touched Kale on his shoulder, and Kale understood: that pack had been good to them, often driving elk and other good game animals close to the cabin where they lived, enabling them to get at least one of their own very easily. Kale's parents had returned the favor by driving a herd of elk toward the wolf pack with wild yells and loud noise, enabling the pack to bring down a few animals for their own.

The two of them silently moved away from the scene, and back to the cabin, walking slowly. To Kale, the death wasn't a mystery, as it would have been to most children his age, but it still made tears run down his face. It felt as if he'd lost a friend, even if it was a friend that he knew only from afar. His father walked with his arm around his son, understanding his feeling. He felt the same way.

The next few years were good to them. Kale learned more about moving through the forest in which he lived, the plains to the North, and even going with his father to Thorns to trade elk skins for the few items that they could not make themselves, such as lanterns and knives. He didn't feel excluded or apart from the children of the town; indeed, he joined them in their games while his father bartered patiently for the items he and his family needed. Kale had learned quickly that the agility he used on a daily basis in the forest he called home enabled him to outpace most of the children, but neither he or they minded. When his father was done, he'd come find Kale, and they'd go home together.

Then the great sickness came. The Great Contagion, as it came to be known. Kale remembered it indelibly, for it happened one month before his 17th birthday. It swept silently and cruelly through the forest in which he lived, violating and slaying whatever it touched. It claimed many of the animals in the forest, and it claimed his mother as well. It marked her with open sores and a bloody cough, and it withered her swiftly. His father was heartbroken by tended his wife constantly; leaving Kale to collect the herbs and food they needed while he lovingly tended his wife. She lasted three weeks before the Contagion claimed her as well. He was in the cabin, watching as she gave a great, shuddering sigh, and then lay still, the pain of her passing frozen in her eyes.

His father spoke up, in his usual quiet voice. "Kale, please go get more Adranis root from beneath the Elm trees, and bring it back."

Kale knew why his father had asked him. The Elm trees were a good three miles away, and would get him out of the cabin while his father grieved the passing of the woman he loved. As he left the cabin, he could hear the great, shuddering cries from his father. His own vision was watery and blurred; he cried himself as he raced to get the roots his father had asked for.

He returned in the space of a candlemark with a good selection of the roots his father asked for. His father's eyes were red from grief, but he took the roots from his son gently, and began mixing the roots with several other herbs to form a sweet-smelling paste, which he began carefully rubbing into his dead wife's skin. Kale watched his father perform his task, tears still running down his face. Despite his grief, he looked askance at his father for doing this: the thick, viscous mixture being unfamiliar to him. Through his tears, his father explained what he was doing, and his father's words were burned into his mind for the rest of his days.

"This mixture, called the Tears for the Fallen, is placed on the body of the person you love who leaves you. The act of placing the Tears on their skin shows their spirit you care about them and love them, and will prevent them giving into grief after they pass on. The smell also alerts the animals that body is not for them to eat, but it something to be claimed only by the Earth itself."

He was finishing rubbing the mixture slowly onto his wife's now lifeless body as he was speaking. Kale could tell by the slow, gentle, and loving way his father did so that he truly did love his mother, very much. His father's tears fell onto her body as he worked, and he mixed his tears in with the mixture. Kale understood why the mixture got its name, now.

He helped his father move his mother's body outside, and helped his father construct the pyre on which she would be returned to the world. As they worked, his father intoned various blessings at each part.

He finished building the small wooden pyre.
"Wood from the World, I ask for your help in helping Alia to the place that brings her the most peace."

He slowly poured a bowl of water over her body.
"Water from the oceans and rivers, I ask for your help in carrying Alia where she would reach the most peace."

He gently blew the sweet-smelling ash from incense he'd burned in a bowl over her body.
"Wind from my body and the world, I ask for your help in gently pushing Alia where she would find the most peace."

He scattered iron filings over her body from another bowl.
"Iron from the Earth's body, I ask you to help Alia navigate to the place where she would find the most peace."

He used a flint and tinder to light the pyre, and stepped back, tears filling his eyes as he finished the final part of the ritual.
"Fire from the energies of the world, give her the energy to reach her peaceful resting place."

His prayer complete to the five elements, he stood by his son, watching through their tears as the pyre was consumed by fire.

He and his father both heard wolves howling out of sight, the same howl he'd heard earlier in his life when their alpha died. His father put an arm over Kale's shoulders. "They know too, and they mourn with us."

Kale broke down completely, sobbing. Yet through his grief at the Contagion which took his mother away, he was comforted in a small way that the wolves returned the sentiment that he and his father had given them when they mourned their alpha's passing. Everything moves in circles, he realized through his keening.

The next day, his father told him that his real lessons would begin today. His father's face was still red-eyed, his mouth a grim line.

His father taught him many things, and kept pushing at Kale to succeed. Kale was somewhat surprised by this: not by his father wishing him to learn what he knew, but the underlying urgency with which he taught Kale. He saw a few months later that his father was passing along all his knowledge as quickly as time would allow, and realized why: his father was preparing to join his wife.

Kale was filled with sorrow at this, but didn't mention this to his father. He suspected that his father already knew anyway.

Over the next seven years, his father told him of the time he'd spent as a soldier, and taught Kale the art of swordsmanship, including lessons with his favorite weapon: the huge two-handed sword he'd used most. His father explained his reasoning: "When using a sword and shield, you tend to get lost in move, and countermove of a fight. Knowing you have no shield and must rely on your own agility forces you to learn the ways of ending a fight as fast and decisively as possible."

Kale saw the wisdom in this, and learned all he could. His father taught him the basics of using all martial weapons, but he felt as his father did: the large and heavy two-handed sword was his favorite. He learned how to block and parry many strikes at once with it, when to parry, when to dodge, and when and how to counter effectively. The way he was taught was focused on taking his opponent's life as fast as possible, with efficiency of movement. Kale was a little scared of this knowledge, since it seemed a bit heartless, until his father explained his reasoning: "If someone wants to take your life, and cannot be dissuaded, the time for talking is over. This will hopefully be rare for you, but if you must fight for your life, you must learn how your opponent fights, and then use this knowledge against him as efficiently as possible. The longer the fight, the more chances your opponent has of taking your life, rather than you taking his."

Many of the movements were viciously efficient, especially one where you dodge an opponent's downward chop moving as little as possible, drop your sword on the handle of their weapon, and "ride" the sword up through the neck. He hoped he'd never have to do this, but he was thankful that he knew how.

He'd used the bow, being a good archer from the time he was little, but learned also how to use the bow and arrow as a weapon of war, learning to be accurate and swift, following in the philosophy of efficiency his father had taught him from his experience.

In the last two years, he saw his father growing thinner, and slower. His father was no old man, or rather shouldn't be. Kale knew from his intuition that his father was starting to give in to the grief of his wife passing, and would be joining her soon.

In the latter two years of seven, he learned the many uses of herbs he didn't learn about as a child. He learned about the history his father had learned of the world; the political intrigue that surrounded those in power, and through his father wanted no part of it, living as and where he did, he learned all he could about it. Kale learned about how those touched and blessed by the Unconquered Sun, the Solars ruled this world, and the story that the Children of Dragons, the Dragon-blooded, spread about their former rulers: how they were corrupt, hedonistic, cruel and decadent. His father suspected that there was treachery afoot here, but he'd never been close enough to those involved to know more.

On the same day seven years after his mother had finally fallen to the Great Contagion, his father died in his sleep. Kale cried at his side, but performed the same ceremony for his father that had been performed for his mother seven years ago.

After he had spoken the blessings, and as he was watching the pyre through watery eyes, he heard the wolves howling once again.

"You have been summoned to your Master's chambers. He asks that you come clad in the raiments of battle."

With this curt and succinct message, the incorporeal messenger turned and drifted away into one of the labyrinthine passages.

Standing gracefully after closing her book, Rosethorne cast off her black silken robe, briefly revealing her muscular and curved body, before clothing it once again in the padded bodysuit she wore under her armor. This was quickly followed soon by the obsidian-colored armor itself. Her armor had no ornaments, created by her request to have no weak points, no ornamentation, and no frills. To her, to have them would be useless and ultimately wasteful.

She tied her long-bladed tiger claw to her left hand, made of the black soulsteel as her armor was. Light didn't reflect from it any more than it did her armor; light itself seemed to be drawn and trapped within the featureless black metal. She tied her scabbard to her left side, into which a long, thick, and curved scimitar made of the same lightless soulsteel was sheathed. With milky white-skinned hands, she tied her hair, the color of jet, back into a utilitarian ponytail and tucked it into her armor in the back. Finally, she placed her helm on her head. It's form had been changed against her wishes made to the blacksmith to have two swept-back horns starting on the temples of her helmet, and curving back to cross behind the back of her head. She felt this was wasteful, and would allow an enemy's weapon purchase on her helmet, but her Lord had disagreed and over-ruled her, to show that her will was second to his own. This little gesture was a small reminder of this fact, but one she remembered each time she donned her armor, as her Lord had undoubtedly wished.

This process had taken less than three minutes, after which she moved into the mazelike corridors of her Lord's palace, walking with long-legged strides into her Lord's audience chamber. She moved with purposeful steps to the center of the room, five paces away from his throne, and then bent with a bowed head onto one knee, as he'd dictated she should, despite being one of his generals. It was a mark of respect for his rule though, so she did not mind submitting to this being of palpable power.

He smiled slightly behind his mask at his general's entrance. She never failed to impress him with her swiftness, as she had arrived ten seconds after his ghostly servant did, after informing her of his wishes. Of course, it would be unseemly to allow her knowledge of this, lest she become prideful.

"General, you take unnecessary time in getting here. Do you wish to test your Lord's patience?"

Her reply was made with a low, emotionless voice, as always. "Your servant apologizes for her error, and arrives ready to accede to her Lord's wishes."

She was always a puzzle to him. He had chosen her seemingly at random five years ago from one of the sickly peasants living within the Shadowlands near his palace. He had chosen her because she was tall and strong, and one that seemed capable of accepting the gift of the Abyss. The fact that she was beautiful was of no consequence to him; such things were purely ornamental. As his servants dragged her half-dead from the beating she had received into his chambers, the first thing he noticed was that she had passed this test. She did not make a sound, though there were a few tears on her face from the pain.

He ordered her to be tied down to the sacrificial table, one that all peasants had heard stories about - killing the living upon this table released all the latent spiritual energy within the dying and tortured person to be fed upon by the Lord of this realm, necessary for his sustenance.

She did not struggle, but instead moved on her own to lie down on the table. The fact that she was accepting of death passed his second unspoken test. He had his servants not skin her alive, as he normally would do, but instead simply slit her wrists and ankles, allowing the blood to pool below in the curved bowl below the table. Without making any outward signs, he coaxed the corrupted Abyssal Essence from its now-opened prison, and forced it into her with a gesture exactly one minute before she would have died. However, due to the corruption of the spirit's former Solar Essence, fusion between the living and the Essence had to be voluntary to occur.

Her eyes opened wide at the unnatural feeling of the Essence entering her body. Yes, this was the time.

"I offer you not death this night, but instead a chance to be trapped between the world of the living and the dead, gaining great power at my discretion, and spreading death to the living at my wishes. Do you accept such a gift?"

That she was able to use her voice with so little blood left in her body would have surprised him, if he hadn't heard so many screams from the dying on this table after they had no skin and no blood left at the moment they died. Her answer was, curiously enough, in the same flat and emotionless voice he now knew so well, and was not a pleading for her life, not begging for a swift death, but two simple words:

"I accept."

The Essence hungrily fused with her body, fusing with and tainting the living essence of spiritual energy within her body with the touch of Oblivion. The Essence itself was formerly a great Solar general during the first age, long-since driven mad by the pain and horror of it's decision to be freed from the Jade Prison, at the cost of it's own purity. The general's Essence had finally bowed to the inevitable after nine hundred years of being imprisoned, and had agreed to the price of freedom. The reality of that price, being corrupted by the taint of Oblivion's cold touch had driven the general mad, wishing now only to cause the death of everything living, in the most horrible and painful way imaginable.

With this, came the first surprise to the Lord, the Mask of Winters: none of the personality traits of this Essence came to the fore with this young woman. No rage; no madness; no lust for killing, even. If anything, it only seemed to strengthen her cold and emotionless demeanor.

When he had walked her into the tomb of his dead and decaying god, the source of his own power, with the purpose of tainting and finally destroying her former name to forge a new one for her new life, she showed no fear and no hesitation even then.

The dead god stirred in its sleep, and gave her a name and title: Rosethorne, Huntress Clad in the Raiments of Shadow. She rarely called herself by her new name, considering it a waste of time to speak it always. Instead, she quickly became known as the General Rosethorne.

Over the next five years, she had quickly learned the arts of war, being trained by the most warlike wraiths in his service. She learned the arts all good soldiers should know: swordsmanship, archery, how to treat her weapons and armor, and above all, how to fight, and fight well. After she had mastered the basics with a surprising amount of natural talent that turned rapidly into skill, he allowed her to choose another weapon besides the sword to fight with and be trained with in melee.

Her answer surprised him again, for she had scorned the axe, heavy mace, or flail many of his other prized fighters learned with maniacal glee. She had chosen the tiger claw, a martial arts weapon requiring precision and great agility.

So, he had the wraith of a prominent martial artist train her rigorously. As she now needed a scant four hours of sleep at a time, and could go without sleep for a week if necessary with no detriment to her wits or strength thanks to her new Exalted status, she trained for three years alone with this wraith, who pushed her far harder than he had ever taught his students, and she had responded by learning swiftly, accomplishing what would have taken a normal student ten years to learn in that three years.

However, the wraithly sensei was as puzzled as his Lord was: she never showed any emotion whatsoever. No distress, no complaints, no joy, no happiness, no laughter, no cry of pain. Nothing. He confided in his Lord what he suspected: that she did feel, and quite a bit went on behind her stone-like emotionless gaze, but he was never sure of this, as she gave no outward sign, however subtle, that he was correct. To all appearances, she lived only to follow orders swiftly and efficiently, and was intelligent enough to follow the spirit of even the most carelessly worded commands.

The next year saw him giving his new Abyssal a trial by fire, giving her command of a small regiment, and giving her the order to march on a town in the outer reaches of his realm to suppress a rebellion of the people that lived there.

She surprised him again. She and her regiment tore through the poorly trained militia with terrifying efficiency, but she did not slaughter half the town, as he himself would have done. Instead, she had her regiment assemble the entire town in the town's square, and forced them to stand in organized ranks, forming a square of the assembled villagers. She then had her archers slay specific people out of the assembled grid of villagers to form the symbol W out of their corpses, the signature letter of her Lord, the Mask of Winters.

The entire time, she had not spoken a word directly to the villagers, until her archers had finished cutting down the correct people to form the symbol with a salvo of their arrows. She then turned to the shaking villagers, and only said: "Remember your Lord, for he remembers you."

With that, she and her regiment departed as swiftly as they had come, returning to her Lord's castle. She reported to him with precise detail everything she had done in her oral report, standing at attention in front of his throne.

When he asked her why she had done what she did with the villagers, she replied, "It was the most efficient way to ensure they wouldn't rebel again."

He decided to test her once again a few months after that by taking her while she slept. She woke during this, but still made no sound, and showed no emotion as he took his pleasure with her. He left once he was done, and had one of his wraiths watch her and report all her movements after he left. She frustrated him again by simply bathing and going back to sleep.

After this, he came to the conclusion that her Exaltation had broken her, turning her into a servant that only followed his orders, and viewing him as akin to a god, which was something that pleased him. Something that nagged him less and less over time was the strength of will it must have taken to completely override the stronger Abyssal Essence's personality, since it was a very emotional, mad and bloodthirsty one, but she exhibited none of these traits.

His mind returned to the present. He had kept her a full minute in silence while he walked with his memories, but as a loyal servant, she had learned patience, and had not so much as twitched while he sat in thought.

"Rosethorne, take your regiment and do a long patrol of my realm in the Underworld, and scour the Shadowlands as well for any signs of trouble. When you are finished, return to me and report."

She did not look up from her supplicant position. She spoke again in the same flat voice. "And if I encounter resistance, Lord?"

"Bring to them the glory of Death."

She remained still, kneeling in her position in front of his throne. He dismissed her with his voice and a wave of his hand. "Leave now."

She stood gracefully and swiftly, and saluted by drawing one of the claws of her tiger claw over her right wrist, spilling a little of her blood onto the floor, then holding her tiger claw-clad hand over her right shoulder. "I hear, and obey."

She then turned on her heel, and strode from the room. As usual, there were no drops of blood following her exit, owing to the power of the Exalted power within her. The Mask of Winters smiled behind his mask, allowing himself to be impressed by his young Abyssal. Oh yes, Abyssal Essences were quite rare and valuable, but were also very forceful of personality, accentuating the same feelings and points of view of the humans they bonded with. His two other deathknights had to be reminded of their Lord's power when they got out of line, and he had heard of deathknights in thrall to other Deathlords getting drunk rather swiftly on the great power the Abyssal Essences gave them, which made him think more about his new General.

She never used her more preternatural abilities without good cause for doing so, and never tortured or took pleasure in killing the people that crossed her, though never hesitated in killing. She mentioned considering torture a waste of time and effort.

Yes, she was an enigma to him, but he had to admit...he'd never seen a more capable general. It appeared that the world of the living was perhaps finally within his reach, with her leading the armies. He smiled with satisfaction at the thought.
Rosethorne, his general, with a heart as frozen as the deepest snow, bringing her cold touch to the lands of the living. He could nearly taste it.

Kale awoke the next morning. He was thankful as he woke, as he drifted off to sleep the previous night, serenaded by the howls of mourning from the wolves. It comforted him through his tears that there were other beings out there that felt his measure of pain and loss. Perhaps it was his mother and father speaking through them, telling him that they still watched over him, and still loved him.

It made his eyes water anew as he thought about this, but it filled him with resolve as well. He was taking this as a sign that he should begin his own journey into the world, leaving the womb of the forest and cabin he'd called home these first twenty four years of his life, and venture into the world for experiences and memories to name as his own.

He took his time packing up the things he would need into a satchel that once belonged to his father: money from the top of the closet, meat he and his father had cured a month ago, his bedroll and blanket, a hammock, and a few other necessities. He carefully packed up the herbs from the cabin into small leather pouches. He may not need them, but their presence would be a small comfort to him as he ventured alone into the rest of the world.

He looked at his father's finely crafted longbow for a time before placing that with his satchel. He knew in the back of his mind that it didn't need tending, but he waxed the bowstring and oiled the wood anyway. The motions brought him some sense of peace as he worked, carefully and surely. Finally, he looked in the back of the closet, casting his gaze over his father's greatsword.

He looked at it as if seeing it for the first time, with memories of his father's grim-faced tutelage as he taught Kale the proper arts of using it, and the small smile that disturbed the grimness of his face when he had found out that Kale felt as drawn to the large blade, as he himself was.

The sword itself wasn't made with un-necessary ornamentation, engravings, or anything really decorative. A circular hilt divided the sword between the woven handle and the long, slowly curved single-edged blade itself. It had been made by a sword smith of great skill, who had been paid quite a large sum of money by his father to be made to serve but one single purpose: to serve it's wielder well in battle.

His father had made sure Kale harbored no illusions about the sword. "A weapon," he'd said, "is neither inherently good nor evil. How the wielder uses it decides that. It can be used by a just and fair person, bringing swift death to those who would terrorize and exploit the innocent for their own selfish gain. However, it can also be used by the wicked to kill those same innocent people in the name of greed and short-lived power."

Kale set his jaw with determination as he sat up from the bed, and began carefully cleaning the blade, and re-strapping the handle. He carefully wove strips from his mother's tough hemp working dress, and his father's equally tough breeches, made from the same material. His father's breeches had been dyed a dark, night blue by his mother, and her own dress was dyed a more sedate forest green. The two colors began to merge as he wove them carefully over the handle, forming a crosshatch pattern. He made sure each weaving was tight, so that the grip wouldn't become unsteady if he needed to draw the blade, just as his father had taught him.

When he was finished, he found the simple sheath his father used. It lay most of the blade bare, with a leather sheath for only the final half-foot of the blade, and the first foot as well. However, each had leather cord ties that would allow one to swiftly draw the big blade if necessary. He attached the blade to his back, placed the bow over his shoulder and neck, put on the quiver with twenty of his father's big hunting arrows, and finally grabbed his satchel. Yes, he'd be as ready as he'd ever be.

He took his time locking up the cabin. Since he probably wouldn't be back for a while, he'd rather not come back to a mother bear living in his cabin. He carefully locked up the windows as best he could, while making sure some air could enter and leave. He walked outside, and barred the door. Taking a deep breath, he turned his back on the place he had been born in, grown up in, and learned so much so far, and began walking with the long steps his father had taught him when he wanted to cover lots of ground quickly, without expending too much energy.

After an hour of walking, he felt that he was being followed. He tried to look around without being obvious about it, but couldn't see anything. However, he heard the stealthy signs: a twig snapping, a rock being moved slightly, a dry leaf being stepped on. Whatever, or whoever it was, it was being mostly stealthy, but wasn't being as stealthy as he would have been, which pointed to someone who was still learning the art of moving quietly.

He next heard the sound of a dry leaf being pushed into the ground about five paces behind him, and he whirled around. In response to his sudden movement, he saw a young wolf dart behind some rocks. He recognized the wolf: it was one of the cubs of the pack alpha he had seen recently. It was alone in following him, which made him curious. With seeming disinterest, he turned around and kept walking, while throwing one of the pieces of dried meat over his shoulder. He smiled as he heard it being quietly, though hungrily devoured by the young wolf.

This pace was kept up throughout the day, and when the sun was dipping behind the horizon at last, he decided to make camp for the night. He saw a tallish tree nearby, one with limbs that would support his weight if he were to sleep in its embrace. He pulled out the hammock from his satchel, and strung it between two of the branches. He stowed the rest of his gear in the crooks of the tree's limbs near him, within reach if needs be. He kept his bow and quiver nearest, as he'd need them the most if something upsetting happened.

He heard a rabbit's squeal as he was beginning to close his eyes, and smiled to himself. It seemed his wolf companion had found his dinner. He ate another piece of the dried meat, and drifted off to sleep.

The dreams he had were the most real, and yet the most unreal he'd ever had. He was laying in the same hammock, in the same place, but the surroundings, the rock mesa above him, and even the tree had taken on an otherworldly, ethereal quality. Everything around him was well lit, but not bright or hard on his eyes. It was as if everything around him emitted it's own glow. He saw the sleeping wolf, tucked into a crevasse in the rock mesa, where the day's heat was still trapped. The wolf was moving slightly and twitching its paws; it appeared to be dreaming. He was momentarily bothered by the fact that he still did not know the wolf's gender, but it quickly passed. He decided that he'd find out, if the wolf decided to stay with him. His mind drifted briefly to something his mother had told him as a child, that an animal would pick you to be it's companion, not necessarily the other way around. The animal would show you that it was making the first gesture or trust, and it was up to you to return it in kind. If you did so properly, you'd have another friend to stay by your side. It seemed that he had been picked, and by the cub of the pack alpha, at that. He smiled at this, and felt honored by it.

Even as everything around him, including the tree he was sleeping in, was glowing with a soft inner light, he saw a much brighter glow off to the east. It seemed to surround a woman, who had dark skin, long, opal-colored hair, and a bow over her shoulder. She looked to be young, perhaps his age, but her eyes told him that she was far, far older than that. He was momentarily shocked by the fact that he could pick out such details at the distance she appeared to be, but he soon lost himself in looking at her once again. He noticed a small, perfect golden circle inscribed on the center of her forehead, glowing just as brightly as the nimbus around her. She had seen him staring, as she was looking at him the whole time, with an amused smile on her face. She winked at him, and the soft yellow nimbus of light around her got brighter, and more intense still, until the soft golden glow was unbearable to look at.

He awoke, and found himself looking at the sun through the branches of this tree. The sun was just beginning the day, peeping over the eastern horizon. He lay back on his side, now awake, and found himself puzzled by what he had just dreamt. What surprised him more was that he remembered every detail of this dream, when he rarely, if at all, remembered any of his dreams.

He then passed it off as just a dream, even if it was a very strong one. He gathered his things, unstrung his hammock, and swung down from the tree, landing on all fours to greatly lessen the impact of falling. As he straightened, he was amused by the fact that he noticed two grey tips appear slowly over a rock near the mesa to his right, followed slowly by a pair of grey eyes, and a black nose. He smiled, and threw another piece of dried meat toward it, falling short by a few paces intentionally.

He then stretched, and began walking once again, chewing his breakfast as he walked once again. As he walked, he thought more about his dream, which was still as fresh and as clear as when he had dreamt it to begin with. He was disturbed from his thoughts by the sparkle of a spring, which he walked towards without hesitation.

After only a few minutes, he reached the spring, gushing cool, clear water from where it escaped the rock, and drank greedily. He filled his waterskin once he was finished, and looked at his reflection as he did so.

He smirked as he saw a passing resemblance to the spiky plant for which he was named, as his own brown hair spiked out at random angles from the top of his head, his hair ending at the nape of his neck. Dusk-brown eyes looked back at him.

He saw the same golden circle he saw on the forehead of the woman he had seen in his dream appear for a split second on his own forehead, before disappearing, and his reflection was instantly replaced by the woman's face. Her face mirrored his facial expressions of surprise, then wonder, then shock at the sight, though there was the same amused look on her face as she mirrored his expressions. He took a step back from the water, and sat heavily on the ground, lost in thought.

No, that couldn't have been an ordinary dream, if he was still seeing things from it while he was awake. Just to make very sure, he followed the old expression, and pinched himself on the arm. Yes, it hurt, and his surroundings hadn't changed any, apart from the wolf nonchalantly trotting up in plain sight, and drinking it's own fill. He chanced a look at the wolf's hindquarters, and knew the wolf's gender as male at last. Well, at least that answered that question. However, he had many more racing around in his head like playful puppies, refusing to stay still until they were answered.

He shook his head. He realized that he really didn't know where he was going at first, but upon looking at his surroundings, he was headed toward the city of Thorns. He shrugged. It was as good a place as any, he supposed. He glanced to his left, and saw the wolf sitting looking at him, in plain sight, with his head tilted slightly to his left, as if to say "What are you doing, just sitting there? Are you ill?"

Well, that helped him get moving, if nothing else did. He got up once more and began walking, with the wolf no longer slinking along behind him, but a few paces behind him and to the left, in plain sight. That was a good sign, he thought. He threw another piece of dried meat toward the wolf, and the smacking sounds he heard told him the wolf was enjoying the gift with relish. He smiled at this, though he realized his own store of food was growing short, and he'd have to resupply himself soon.

As if in answer, he saw a large hare nibbling on the grasses far off in the distance. He held up his hand at the wolf, willing it to understand that he was asking it to stay still. Without taking his eyes off the hare, he slowly, carefully, and quietly removed his gear, leaving him with nothing on but the bow, and an arrow nocked. Using the cover of the terrain, he slowly stalked the hare until he was within distance of a bowshot.

Soon enough, he was, and he carefully and slowly drew the arrow back, taking very careful aim, as well as a deep breath. If he missed, the hare would take off like the arrow that was about to leave his bow, and he probably wouldn't get another shot. He tracked the hare's movements carefully with the bow, and finally let go; exhaling the breath he was holding as he did so. He smiled; his aim was good, and had struck the hare in the head.

He quickly walked over to the hare, and said a prayer of thanks for the hare for giving him its life, that he might eat a few more days. He then skinned and gutted the hare, and began building a fire. He whistled toward the wolf, who came running. The wolf had already smelled the blood, and began nosing carefully toward the hare, until his nose was almost amongst the hare's innards. Kale moved the hare away from the curious and hungry wolf, laughing as he did so. He dropped the hare's innards close to the wolf's nose, who then sniffed, and finally gulped down the gift.

Kale began cutting the meat into strips, and swiftly making a wooden rack for the meat, began curing the meat as well as the fur. He decided to make a pouch from the fur, and began grinding the bones heavily into a powder after letting them dry out. He ground the bones very carefully until it was nothing more than a very fine powder. He raised the bowl of bone powder to the sky, thanking the hare silently one last time, then mixed some water and herbs from his pouches with the bone meal, and daubed it carefully over the meat to help it roast more evenly. He spent the rest of the day curing the meat, "testing" pieces now and then; just to be sure they were good to eat.

This had taken longer than he thought it would, so he tucked the now-cured meat into his pouch, and began looking for a place to spend the night. He decided that since predators were pretty scarce in this area, he'd bed down on the soft earth, next to his fire. He fed the fire a bit more dry wood from old trees in the area, and then prepared for the evening.

The wolf, for his part, felt full and sleepy now. He saw Kale getting ready for the evening. Well, he was being a bit indolent in not pushing on through the night, as he would have done, but he sighed all the same, and lay down, resting his head on his paws. Perhaps more interesting things would come with the day tomorrow.

Kale saw the wolf looking askance at him before laying down himself, and he smiled to himself. Yes, it seems that a friendship was blossoming, alright. He was thankful for the companionship, though he wondered when the wolf would show him a sign as to his name. Soon enough, he supposed.

He wrapped the blanket around himself, added a bit more wood to the fire, and began closing his eyes in preparation for sleep.

Rosethorne marched to the quarters of her second in command, Lieutenant Mire. She knocked once, and waited with well-hidden impatience for the wraith to open the door, which he did soon, as he knew whose knock that was.

She looked at him briefly as he stood at attention in his doorway. "Gather the regiment. We leave for a patrol in one candlemark."

He saluted her. "At once, General."

She then marched to the stables, subtly amused at the fact that incorporeal wraiths could wear corporeal soulsteel armor, but given the nature of the metal, she knew logically that it was no mystery; soulsteel was made, after all, from the weaker souls of the dead, being useless for anything else.

She reached the stables shortly, and opened the door to the chamber of her warstrider. The beast was made by those skilled in crafting the souls and bones of the dead, creating a rough approximation of a horse. However, this horse had no head, and its front cavity was made for a rider to stand within, giving a centaur-like appearance. It made an angry noise, which sounded like an otherworldly scream, but quieted down once it recognized her, and stood in place obediently. It seemed to be in a fairly docile mood; she'd had to beat it into submission a few times before. However, a spirited mount was no bad thing in battle, as long as it knew who its master was.

She jumped into the cavity at the front, and the bones moved with a grating noise around her, leaving her upper torso exposed. It moved obediently into the parade ground, where her troops were beginning to gather. Lieutenant Mire was an efficient officer, and for this she was glad. She'd had to execute a few blunderers in the past, until she had found one worthy of being her second in command.

They gathered quickly, and stood at attention in rank, making no noise. She looked at the gathered force. Killers, murderers, thugs, and thieves; some living, most not. They were a perfect army once she was through training them, as they had no ethics, no morals, and enjoyed their work immensely.

She called out to them in a loud voice, her helmet distorting her voice strangely, giving it an eerie reverse-echo. "The mighty Mask of Winters requires us to patrol his lands, and ensure that everyone properly knows their place."

She trotted her Warstrider to the front of the regiment, and spoke a single word to get them marching: "Move!"

Her Lord had blessed them with four other warstriders, ridden by her Lieutenant, and three others in rank below him. Having underlings on fast mounts helped decide the outcome of a battle, making sure that her orders were heard and followed quickly. Not that they'd faced anything that really necessitated a prolonged fight, but it never hurt to be cautious.

She marched at the front, flanked by the four other Warstriders in a vee formation, followed by the marching regiment. They patrolled the circumference of her Lord's lands before working their way to the interior, in a spiral movement. It would take a little longer, but the ground covered would be more thoroughly scoured for anything amiss.

They marched through the few townships in the land, and the citizens there did not dare look directly at the regiment, lest they be used as examples on proper behavior. She heard some murmuring from a few of her troops; they were obviously disappointed at the town's quiescence, and wished to have their fun. However, they kept their voices down and kept marching in formation, so she did not correct them for their breach of protocol. Yet.

She heard the murmuring cease once they left the town, and she was glad for their sake that she wouldn't have to execute some of her force for their error. After all, it was highly irritating to train new troops, and took un-necessary time; time that could be better spent doing her job.

They finished the wide circuit of the lands in a little under a week. She was pleased, but did not tell her troops this; they might become full of themselves. She began the spiral inward to check the interior towns, and began to find something curious: the further Western towns had surprisingly few people inhabiting them. She was suspicious of this, since the town Hashald was to the West, and was the one she and her regiment had suppressed an insurrection in only a few months ago. She and her regiment patrolled as usual, and finally came upon Hashald.

Neither she nor any member of her regiment could see anyone there. The houses were empty, with beds unmade. They found the fields of the town, which weren't overgrown, suggesting that this exodus had been recent. They also found four corpses lying in the fields in a heap. Her Lieutenant checked them, and told her that they'd been dead no more than a week, probably less. She signaled for everyone to make no noise, and led them through the town limits.

She heard yells and battle cries of "Remember your families!" from behind them, and turned in time to see the back row of her regiment cut down by peasants using swords and pikes.

"About face!" She yelled out, and the battle began in earnest. "Take the leaders alive!" Was her next order, which was good timing, as her regiment tended to enjoy battle a bit too much. She stood in her Warstrider, simply watching as the pitiful rebellion was quelled once again. Her instincts said this was too easy, and her instincts proved correct: battle cries erupted all around them. The mystery of the sparse populations in the outlying towns was abruptly answered, as hundreds of peasants; all armed, surrounded them, and began to charge at them.

She allowed herself the pleasure of taking part in this battle; normally her regiment was able to handle threats presented to them, but in this case, they were outnumbered. These peasants were fighting for revenge, which made them as dangerous as the troops in her regiment, though not as well trained. She leapt from her Warstrider, and began charging at the mass in front of her, and her adrenaline began pumping. The Essence within her body hummed with excitement; the Exalted being within her excited at the prospect of a massacre. Time seemed to slow down to her heightened senses, while her perception of the world around her stayed at the same speed.

There were three foolish peasants who outpaced their companions to meet her. The first swung his sword at her, which she caught between the blades of her tiger claw, and promptly sliced him through from shoulder to hip with her scimitar. She moved her scimitar up to parry a pike thrust at her from the second peasant, and pulled her left arm back to punch him in the face with her tiger claw, the blades punching through the back of his head. She used his corpse as a shield against the next peasant, who tried to cut her in half with a downward slash. She smiled inwardly, as she wouldn't have to dodge; her armor would have stopped the blow. However, she sidestepped and swung the corpse of his companion to absorb the impact, leaving her with half a corpse. Her right arm already raised, she beheaded him with a sharp slash from her scimitar.

She swung her left arm in an arc, causing the remainder of the corpse to fly at the peasants quickly reaching her. It flew low, the bloody mass tripping the two in front. She ran forward, and spun around to dodge the peasant's pitiful attempt at an attack, and beheaded him from behind, and followed through with the motion to slash the next peasant through the head with the long blades of her tiger claw. Continuing this spinning motion, she cut through the raised sword arm of the next peasant, the blade passing through his neck with an unbroken motion. She continued this macabre dance of death, peasants falling before her like wheat to a scythe. They never had a chance; her reactions were far too quick for any of them to come close to successfully landing a blow.

There was a peasant wearing a crudely made breastplate behind the others, shouting encouragements and battle cries. Rosethorne tore through their ranks quickly, and struck him in the backs of the knees with the unsharpened side of her scimitar, forcing him to fall to the ground in pain. She quickly finished off the remaining peasants, and dragged the man by the shirt collar toward her troops.

As she walked, she saw that her regiment had finished off most of the peasants. There were a few melees still going on, but for the most part the battle was over. She noticed with satisfaction that there were several captured peasants, in addition to the crying waste of life and flesh pleading for his life that she was dragging over the broken and rocky ground.

She threw the crying fool to her Lieutenant, who held him securely. She waited patiently for her regiment to finish the slaughter of the remaining peasants. This was done in short order, after which her troops gathered to her, surrounding the captured peasants in charge of this failed insurrection.

She grabbed the one she'd lamed, and hauled him upright, to speak with him face to face. She paused a moment before speaking, letting him tremble in fear.

Once again, her helm distorted her voice, causing her voice to echo in reverse: the echo happening before she spoke a word, rather than after. "Who's responsible for this?"

The peasant shook with fear, and tried a few times unsuccessfully to speak. She relaxed her grip on his neck slightly so he could speak, and he stammered, "N-n-n-Nanso." He pointed a trembling finger to the peasant on the far right, who was trying unsuccessfully to be inconspicuous. "N-n-Nanso s-started this!"

She hauled the trembling waste of life over in front of the man he'd named as the instigator. She looked him up and down before speaking. "Are you Nanso?"

He did not reply immediately, which made her impatient. "Speak, fool!"

He spoke quietly, looking at her with hate-filled eyes. "Yes, I started this, for what you did to my family!"

She nodded, and then abruptly turned to the soldier nearest to her. "Bring me a pig." He saluted, and ran off. She stood, looking at him in silence. He was brave enough to meet her gaze, while the peasant in the grip of her left arm tried pitifully to escape her grip.

In short order, a thin, poorly fed and weakly struggling pig was brought to her. She nodded at her soldier, who held the pig in place on the ground. She looked at the soldiers holding Nanso still, and motioned for them to haul him upright. They did so with alacrity. She handed the weakly struggling peasant in her grip to the nearest soldier, who held him securely.

She looked at Nanso for a moment, and with a blur of motion struck his groin, cutting off his scrotum with deft precision. He screamed in pain, but kept looking at her, precisely as she wished. She had the soldier move the pig in front of him, and unceremoniously dropped the bloody mass on the ground in front of the pig, which sniffed and ate it with relish.

The other prisoners moaned.

She motioned for her Lieutenant to come to her side, which he did with alacrity. "Have his wound cauterized, and bind the prisoners securely. We'll finish the patrol with them, and bring them back to the Lord for his pleasure."

He smiled evilly, and saluted. He barked orders for a fire to be built, which was used to heat Nanso's former sword enough so it would cauterize his wound cleanly.

She walked back to her Warstrider, and stood still, waiting for the prisoners to be bound and ready for travel. They were tied with a chain made of the same soulsteel as her armor and weapons were made of, guaranteeing that they would not escape their bonds, as the burnished and beaten souls within the metal would tighten excitedly if the prisoners tried to escape.

The circuit for her patrol was finished in a little under a week more, after which the prisoners were marched by her regiment swiftly to her Lord's demesne, and held on the parade ground while she marched up to his throne room to make her report.

She quickly reached his throne room, being intimately familiar with the twists and turns of the passages within his castle, and fell on one knee in front of him, head bowed. "We have returned, my Lord. An insurrection was instigated by the survivors of the reprimand we gave the town Hashald, who managed to gather townspeople from several nearby towns to begin another insurrection. They have been dealt with properly, and their leaders are here for your pleasure."

The Mask of Winters sighed happily. He had felt the death that befell the townspeople, which gave his dark being a little Essence, but having prisoners here to torture and kill by his own hand was exceedingly pleasurable. He would torture them until they gave all the details of their pointless and ineffective rebellion, and then feed on their dying Essence. "Bring them to my feeding chambers, General."

She stood, and sliced her right wrist in salute, allowing a few drops of blood to spill to the floor before the wound closed. "At once, Lord." She marched off to the parade ground, and told the majority of her troops, save for her officers, to take a bit of shore leave. She and her officers led the prisoners to their Lord's feeding chambers. While she did not give any physical indication, she emotionally shuddered whenever she saw the room where she had been tied, drained of blood, and given this spiritual parasite that now lived within her, whispering and pleading for her to kill for his pleasure. Besides being very uncomfortable at the time, having to listen to his insane prattling every once in a while was somewhat wearing.

She and her officers saluted their Lord before leaving the prisoners there, and closing the doors. They returned to their individual chambers. One by one, she felt the prisoners be tortured and eventually die. One of the gifts accorded to her as being Exalted of the Abyss was feeling the physical pain and death of others around her for quite a radius. Despite her training and new outlook on life, it still unsettled and excited her at the same time, though she suspected the excitement came from the Exalted Essence within her.

She took her time getting undressed, carefully polishing and cleaning her weapons and armor. Though it was a little thing, she allowed herself to enjoy the pleasure of sleeping in a bed. She drifted off to sleep, feeling the last of the failed insurrectionists die. It made her feel oddly at peace, now that there were no more feelings of pain and death around her, and allowed her to fall into rest.

For his part, the Mask of Winters was pleased once again with his General. She had brought him the leaders of the rebellion, which was an unexpected gift. However, it made him suspicious once again of her. He looked into his scrying vat, filled with the blood of the prisoners, and began his scry. He looked at his General, drifting off to sleep peacefully, unaware that she was being watched.

Yes, there it was. The Exalt Essence within her hadn't bonded completely to her. Something had kept it from doing so, though whether she was keeping it from doing so, or whether the Essence was deliberately holding back from fully bonding with her, he was unsure. In any case, this made him think a moment more on this, since this still did not explain why she exhibited none of the personality traits by the Essence within her. It meant she was very strong-willed, which he wasn't sure he liked in one of his minions. On the other hand, she hadn't done anything that indicated she might be thinking of resisting him or his rule, and he had had her watched very closely by wraiths very adept at making sure their presences remained unknown.

He would keep an eye on her for the next few decades, before and after his plans to capture the surface town Thorns were realized and completed. Work was already underway for his attack on the surface town. If he struck swiftly and strongly enough, it would generate enough despair to form a small Shadowland: a link between the Underworld and the Surface world to form, allowing him easy access to the surface world afterwards.

He smiled. Oh yes, things were proceeding nicely.

The dream came once again, and much faster this time.

Kale had lay down to sleep, and fallen completely within the arms of dreams...and then the unreal dream came once again; the kind where he wasn't sure if he was awake thinking he was dreaming, or dreaming, thinking he was awake.

He had gone to sleep lying on his side, using his satchel as a pillow. He opened his eyes, and there she was - sitting cross-legged, right in front of him. She wasn't glowing like the sun this time, but the glowing golden thin circle was still visible on her forehead. She was smiling softly at him. He wasn't all that surprised when she spoke.

"Hi, Kale. I'm Melia, and I've been waiting quite a while to speak with you. Is now a good time?"

He sat up, and looked her in the eyes. He realized that she was shorter than he had previously thought; even though both of them were sitting down, he was looking down to look her in the eyes, just as she was looking up to meet his gaze. Not quite sure how to answer this strange woman of his dreams, he finally answered "Yeah, I can talk to you now. Am I dreaming?"

She laughed, a sound not unlike the tinkling of silver-tongued bells. "Yes Kale, until we get to know one another better, the only time I can speak with you is in your dreams." She smiled with a hint of impishness at him.

He felt reassured by her presence, though that smile of hers made him a bit nervous as to what was on her mind. However, he nodded at her comment. "What's that mark on your forehead? Are you an Anathema?"

This time she laughed loudly, leaning her head back as she did so. She finished, but was still giggling a little. "Yes, that's what the close-minded Dragon-Blooded call us. They tend to lump all types of Exalt except for them into one evil category." She chuckled again. "They're scared of us, though they'll never admit it."

Kale leaned back slightly, concerned. He had heard stories from the merchants in Thorns about how the Dragon-Blooded soldiers had come through sometimes, hunting the Anathema. Their stories had painted them as demons in human flesh, wishing nothing but death and corruption on honest, hard-working people. However, Kale and his parents had always been a bit suspicious of this view, since the Dragon-Blooded soldiers who walked through were by far and large selfish, loud, and arrogant; it made them all wonder if it was some propaganda. However, his parents had always warned him about the Anathema; the stories the Dragon-Blooded spread about them might be lies, but then again, they might have some measure of truth to them as well.

And yet, here was one in the flesh...or at least, in his dreams. If she was capable of visiting with him in his dreams, she was capable of killing him in his dreams as well, but she had made no move to do so. In fact, she scooted herself a bit further back, as if to reassure him.

She smiled warmly at him. "I'm not here to hurt you, Kale. I've been watching you for about ten years now, and I decided that now was the time to speak with you about certain things."

He felt somewhat calmer about her now, though the thought that she'd been watching him for a decade was a little discomfiting. "About what?"

"Well, first off, you should know a few things. I am a Solar; a child of the Unconquered Sun." Her back straightened slightly, and she seemed slightly more regal. She was obviously proud of this. "The Dragon-Blooded were once our soldiers, our generals, our fighting people. We originally ruled this world with righteousness, justice, and love." She looked at her hand, her smile gone. "We still don't know precisely why the Dragon-Blooded revolted at the same time, and killed us all. Oh sure, for every one of us who fell, legions of them died; we sold our lives dearly."

She stood up. Relating this was obviously a little painful for her. She began walking, and motioned Kale to stand and walk with her, which he did. He was briefly amused at how short she was; the top of her head barely reached his chest. She continued. "In those days, we had become a bit drunk on our power, for the most part. Oh, I speak generally; there were those of us who didn't give in to decadence." She stood a little straighter. Kale guessed that she was one of the ones she mentioned, at least in her opinion.

"Did we deserve to have our power stolen, memories of us changed and painted as evil, and have our very beings imprisoned by those who had betrayed us?" She shook her head. "I still don't know. However, I do know that quite a few of us escaped back into this world, ready to bring back some measure of peace to the world. If we have to slay the ones who would oppress the innocent, then so be it."

She stopped, and looked up at him, until her gaze met his eyes. "I should clarify - The Dragon-Blooded, as you know, have Exalts in their family line. If two of them have children, that child has about a one in ten chance of Exalting and showing that the power of the elder Dragons run in their veins. It's also why they're the most numerous, and have always been so, even when I last lived."

Kale's eyebrow quirked at this. She didn't leave off, but explained her last comment to him without him having to ask. "The other Exalts, on the other hand, do not. The Children of the Unconquered Sun, as well as the Children of Luna, choose a successor after they die. Sometimes we just spring the power on the person, and other times," she paused, and looked at him with an impish grin, "we ask."

Kale looked at her, confused. "So, you just possess a person, and once they die, you go looking again for someone else?"

She shook her head gravely. "No, it's nothing like possession. I am and appear to you as who I was when I still lived. If you agree to have my power passed onto you, then after you die, you'll be the one to choose a successor; the raw Solar Essence gets passed on, but personalities generally do not."

She looked at the ground. "Of course, the Abyssals are a different story."

Kale looked a bit confused. "Abyssals? Who are they? The name itself doesn't sound all that encouraging."

She gave him a wan half-smile. "The Abyssals are a very recent kind of Exalt. You see, after the Great Uprising, we found that we couldn't roam free; we were dragged by a very strong kind of magic; one we could not fight, into a great Prison of Jade, located in the Underworld. There, all of us were trapped, apparently with the hope that we could be extinguished."

She began walking again, slowly. Kale kept pace with her, hoping she would continue. She did, after a slightly dramatic pause.

"The husks of the Malfeans, the gods we slew at the very beginning of the first age to make the world safe for people to inhabit, still lived - after a fashion. They were desiccated, decayed - but still living, if what you can call what they are living. They sent whispers to us, whispers preying on our anger at our betrayal. They made promises of power, if only we would fight for and celebrate the cold glory of death."

She frowned. "There were a few of us that were caught in their sweet whispers. They agreed, and were released. There were only eight of them at first. They became the Deathlords, beings who don't even remember what it is to be a Solar any longer. Indeed, they no longer are, by any stretch of the imagination. They are second only to the Malfeans in power, now."

"The Malfeans kept whispering after a time, but the rest of us wouldn't listen - at least, not at first. Five more gave in after a time, and became the younger Deathlords. One of them, the Mask of Winters, created and released the Great Contagion that slew nine out of every ten people, including your parents."

Kale gasped. He had never dreamed that the sickness was created. He wasn't quite sure he believed this woman, for she told him a rather outlandish tale, of dead gods, and different kinds of Anathema. He kept listening though.

She continued. "Eventually, the whispers changed. The whispers told us that because we had waited, we couldn't gain the power that had been granted the other 13, that we would be subservient to them, but we could still gain great power if we gave into the glory of the Abyss; of Oblivion. The rest of us refused."

She looked downcast. "Our refusal must have angered them, for the Deathlords, as they were now in entirety, grew impatient, and wanted servants worthy of them. Perhaps, in the backs of their minds, they were angry with us for not giving in, and wanted to corrupt and subvert us, as the Malfeans had done to them. They cracked open the Jade Prison, and a huge spectral monstrosity tried to grab us as we escaped to freedom. It managed to grab a quarter of those of us that were left, but the rest of us escaped, ready to give the Exaltation again."

She looked up at him, with a solemn expression on her face. "I've been waiting ever since that day for a proper successor; one that wouldn't get drunk on power, one that would use it wisely, and one that would be quite willing to fight back those that wish to cause harm to the innocents of this world." She paused, and looked a little...nervous, perhaps?

She looked back up at him. "I've been watching you for ten years now, Kale. I've watched you grow into a fine man; one I think would be able to wield this power I hold wisely. I offer this power to you now. What say you?"

Kale looked a little taken aback. "I...I'd need to think about it a little more."

To his surprise, she grinned brightly. "I was hoping you'd say that! You see, if you accepted immediately after I told you what I just did, I knew you wouldn't be the right one. If you said no though, I would have left you be." She grinned impishly at him again. "Those that think and plan ahead, before rushing into something; those are the types of people my Caste goes for, Kale."

Kale was more curious now. "Caste? I thought you said you were a Solar!"

She grinned sympathetically. "All Exalts are part of one Caste or another, depending on what kind of Exalt they are, and the Castes are more or less the same between all Exalts, though they have different names. It's not something you choose; it's just where you fit best. I'm a Night Caste Solar. We're the sneaky ones; the hunters, the trackers, the scouts, the messengers," she grinned widely at this point. "And the assassins."

Kale raised his eyebrows. "Wait, you're assassins? Who do you kill?"

She smiled warmly again. Evidently she had no shame whatsoever in killing people. "We go after those who the Solars normally go after; the exploiters of the innocent, the minions of Deathlords now; anyone who would seek to use the innocent for their personal gain, or kill them for their own pleasure. Sometimes, Kale," at this she smiled broadly. "An army would be wasteful, or would get the job done, if sloppily. That's where we come in. After all, sometimes its far more efficient to simply behead the serpent, rather than have to fight the serpent and it's entire brood at once."

Kale suspected immediately that she had done this more than once, and enjoyed her work unabashedly. She seemed to enjoy the killing itself just as much as the reasons for doing it. Her grin as he thought this seemed to confirm his suspicions.

He was feeling stunned by all this, and a little overwhelmed. He sat down heavily, feeling a little shocked. She sat down in front of him gracefully, with legs crossed, her head tilted slightly to the side as she looked at him with an anxious look. "Kale, are you alright? I haven't overwhelmed you, have I?"

He nodded, his eyes narrowed as he tried to digest all of this. "Yeah, I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed right now. I mean, this is a lot to think about, and I'm still not sure if I believe you."

She smiled, and reached a hand out to place on his shoulder. He couldn't feel any sensation of touch or weight from her hand, though he did feel the warmth of it. "I know. If it makes you feel any better, I felt very much the same way when Kalinda came for me, long ago. I was a scared young girl then, and it took me a while to really feel ready for the Gift. However, she was willing to give me the choice, as I've giving to you."

She smirked. "Most Solars don't, you know. They just give you this grand spectacle of the Unconquered Sun, and intone to their chosen about the glory of the Unconquered Sun, the honor it is to be chosen...and then force the person to Exalt, with no further explanation, training, or anything, just assuming that they'll deal with it, and feel okay with it. In nearly all cases, thankfully, the chosen are okay with it, but have to learn everything from scratch, without the benefit of the previous person's knowledge or experience. They might get brief glimpses of their previous incarnations if they meditate, but not until then."

He looked at her. "So, you can remember your past lives? Their memories, their experiences, and everything?"

She nodded, and squeezed his shoulder. He still didn't feel any pressure or sensation of touch from it, but it did feel a bit warmer, before she let go. "It would make sense that you'd only remember a previous incarnations' memories, but if you're connected enough, you can remember everything from the moment they Exalt until they die. You can't see any memories from before a person Exalts though; only the person in that lifetime will remember that."

Kale looked at her, feeling a little less shocked, but still digesting all this information. However, he was curious. "All this that you mentioned - is it true for only the Solars, or is it the same with the...others?"

She frowned. "I really don't know about the Lunars; they're notorious for not sharing information about themselves. As for the Abyssals..."

She sighed, and leaned back on her hands. "Because of how the Solar Essences were corrupted, they outright can't give someone the Exaltation without their permission. However, because of how the Deathlords are capable of hoarding, and even trading Abyssal Essences, how they get someone to Exalt is a mystery, really. I'm sorry Kale, but I really didn't want to stick around in the Underworld to find out, lest they capture me too."

Kale nodded. That was understandable. If the Solars were held as prisoners, and they had one chance and one chance only to escape, he wouldn't stick around and see what happened to his friends either. He'd feel bad for leaving some of his compatriots behind, sure, but he wouldn't want to stick around and experience what happened to them firsthand.

She looked up, and closed her eyes, her face still to the sky. She opened her eyes again, and looked at him. "Wow, we talked the night away. It'll be sunrise here in a few minutes." She smiled at him softly. "Go enjoy your day, and think about things while you're awake. I'll visit you again tonight, and we can talk more then."

"Alright," said Kale. "But do you promise you won't force anything on me until I say yes, definitely?"

She smiled at him again. "Of course, Kale. I won't force you into anything. You have my word as a Solar."

He smiled back at her. "Thank you, Melia."

She leaned closer to him, the distance between their faces barely half a hand's-length apart, and smiled broadly. "I'll be seeing you in your dreams, my handsome cabbage head!"

And with that, he awoke.

What were these fragmented images she kept seeing? Looking down at deeply tanned opal-haired short woman with eyes of jade, with a golden circle on the center of her forehead, who was smiling lovingly up at her. Rosethorne's arms, large, muscular and hairy reached out to embrace this exotic woman, and realized that in this dream, she was a man. She felt a surge of emotion; whoever's dreams or memories these were, he was deeply in love with this woman.

Memories of courting her, wooing her heart over several decades went fleeting by, almost too quickly to understand. Rosethorne realized with shock that these must be the sleeping memories of the Essence within her, before it had been taken by the Malfeans and twisted to become Abyssal. Almost as quickly, the memories began to twist, change, and mutate. In this dream, She/he was screaming to the dark, cloud-covered sky of the Underworld how he swore he'd kill her, his lost love. Such anger and rage...but why?

She forced herself out of these disturbing memory-dreams, and opened her eyes to look at the ceiling of her small, spartan room. She felt the Essence within her still stirring, and screaming softly into her mind. His voice was growing weaker and softer, slowly but surely, day by day, as she herself grew stronger and understood her own capabilities as an Abyssal. She sighed. Soon enough, in a few years, she supposed, his memories and feelings would be completely consumed, and he would finally fall silent. She couldn't wait for this day to happen, where she wouldn't have to put up with his insane ranting, and urging to slay all Solars she could find.

She heard a knock at her chamber door. "The Lord desires your company in his audience chamber. He asks that you come dressed casually." The messenger wraith pulled its head back behind the door, and slowly moved away.

She took a deep breath. Never had he asked her to dress "casually," so she assumed he was asking her to wear a dress, or something equally pointless. She decided to dress in the garments she felt most comfortable within - her armor.

She put on a clean underpadding, and put on most of the armor, leaving off the helmet and gauntlets. The only parts of her bare, pale skin exposed to the open air were her head, and her forearms. That would do nicely. She was tempted to strap on her tiger claw, but decided against it. She did, however, attach the belt with her sheathed scimitar in it, as befit a general.

She walked with her usual deceptively fast pace to her Deathlord's audience chamber. She arrived to see two figures she did not recognize there as well. She strode to the center of the chamber, as usual, and bowed on one knee. "I have come as you have requested, Lord."

Her Lord, the Mask of Winters bade her stand with a casual wave of his hand. "I wished you to meet your two new Deathknight siblings-in-arms." The two she did not recognize fully turned around to face her.

The Mask of Winters indicated the man to her left, who was dressed only in a pair of baggy breeches, with no shirt on, revealing what would be a broad and muscular body, if it weren't for his desiccated and withered left side. He had short, shock white hair, and seemed to be giggling to himself nearly incessantly. Rosethorne successfully hid her quickly growing irritation with this giggling fool. "General Rosethorne, Huntress Clad in the Raiments of Shadow, make the acquaintance of Laughing Doom of the Pure, hailing from the Caste of Dusk."

She nodded to him, and this seemed to make him giggle all the more, though he did manage a curt nod in return. She felt almost insulted that this giggling cretin hailed from the same Caste she did. She noticed with distaste that his eyes seemed riveted on her cleavage.

Before she could snap a reprimand to this laughing fool, her Lord indicated the figure to her right, a willowy woman of average height, who had several stitches on her head, rather than any hair. Her pale, violet eyes were open wide, as if constantly seeing something that terrified her. She was dressed in a moth-eaten, decayed cloak, with the hood lying on her back, unused. "Rosethorne, Huntress Clad in the Raiments of Shadow, make the acquaintance of Greta, Hurricane's Last Breath, hailing from the Caste of Daybreak."

She nodded to this woman, who seemed to look vacantly in her direction before jerkily bowing to her in return. Laughing Doom of the Pure rudely interrupted her musings of this strange pair with a tactless comment, giggling all the while. "Don't worry Rosethorne, you won't have to worry about taking care of your army much longer. I'll take care of it for you!" His giggles to himself increased, as if ecstatic of his arrogant comment.

She slowly turned her head toward him, a lock of her long ebon hair falling across her right eye. She spoke in her usual even-cadenced monotone, betraying none of the annoyance she felt at this upstart. "You are incapable of managing your own words, let alone an army."

He giggled a bit more loudly, and called out to the Mask of Winters, his new Deathlord. "Lord, I shall prove my greatness to you by deposing this maiden who plays at the art of war! Go back to primping and preening to catch men stupid enough to fall into your clutches!" He began walking toward her.

She didn't even bother moving. "I'm giving you one chance to step back. As your Lord and I both know, finding a proper host for an Abyssal Essence is an arduous task, and one I doubt he'd want to undertake again so soon."

He grimaced in rage, giggling as he did so. He pulled a long, rusty dagger from behind, and lunged at her. She simply tripped him, relieving him of the dagger as he fell, and slammed the dagger into his shoulder, twisting it deeply into the floor of the audience chamber. He squealed and giggled with agony. She turned to her Lord, who was watching with amusement. "Lord, what would you have me do with him?"

He motioned for her to let him up. She complied, but didn't pull out the dagger twisted into his shoulder. He stood up, favoring his wounded left shoulder, and groaned as he pulled the dagger out of his shoulder, giggling again only after he did so, though Rosethorne observed with private amusement that his giggling now sounded like the sobs of a small child.

She turned her attention to Hurricane's Last Breath, who was whispering in an unknown tongue to nobody in particular, it seemed. She kept it up, as if maintaining her side of the conversation. Rosethorne hoped she was speaking to a spirit.

The sounds of movement to her left made her focus her senses there, without turning her head to indicate she had heard. Evidently the giggling fool hadn't had enough, since it sounded as if he was about to run at her once more.

She spoke to him without bothering to look in the whelp's direction. "The first limb that comes within three feet of me will be removed."

As it happened, the first limb of his that came within three feet of her was his right leg. With well-practiced economy of motion, she drew her scimitar and chopped off his leg at the upper thigh in the same motion, causing him to sprawl to the floor, moaning in pain between chuckles.

She looked at the wraith, who was always in attendance by the door. "Go fetch the chirurgeon, but don't rush."

The wraith bowed to her, and looked at her Lord, who nodded his permission. The wraith moved silently from the room.

She bowed to her Lord, and saluted him as usual, by slicing open her right wrist. "My Lord, I thank you for the privilege of meeting my new comrades in arms."

She straightened, and prepared to go, but the Mask of Winters halted her with a look. She patiently stood waiting, with the immobility of a statue.

Soon enough, the chirurgeon and her assistant came, and dragged away the alternately giggling and moaning Laughing Doom of the Pure and his now-separate leg, who was followed closely by Hurricane's Last Breath.

Silence once again reigned in the grandly macabre audience chamber of the Mask of Winters. He spoke to his general at last, now that they were alone. "You dealt with him swiftly and mercilessly, as befits a general of my armies. Thanks to him now being an Abyssal, his leg will heal with no limp, though he would certainly not be as lucky if he had been a petty mortal."

Rosethorne continued staying still, unsure of this was a complement or a reprimand.

He continued again after a pause. "You have done what I would have done, were I so weak as to be an Abyssal, and serving a greater being as General of his armies. I want you and your regiment to train tirelessly, as I will need both more experienced in war in a short time. Learn your gifts well, for you will need them."

He paused again, as if considering. "In fact, there's something in my armory that would serve you well, but you must first prove your capability to me, both as strategist and as a true exemplar of the Dusk Caste. An old, weak-minded wraith named Bjorn Stangald has somehow gotten his weak, useless hands on an artifact of the First Age. You must find him, and bring this artifact to me. It matters not to me if he's still in existence, or claimed by Oblivion, but you must bring me this artifact."

She continued staying still, as if carved from marble, waiting for his word. At this, he seemed pleased.

After five minutes of waiting, and feeling uncomfortably as if he were studying her: indeed, staring through her, he finally gave the order.

"Go now."

She saluted him once more, her blood spilling onto the marble floor, saying, "I hear and obey, Lord." With that, she spun on her heel, and marched from the room.

She went back to her room first, to put on the remainder of her armor, and weapons. She then marched to her Lieutenant's room, and told him to gather the regiment once more, which he had done promptly; they were nearly finished gathering in formation by the time she had met them on the parade ground.

Though she privately had no idea where this wraith, Bjord Stangald was hiding, she knew how to find him. "March!" she ordered, and her regiment followed her off her Lord's parade grounds.

The Mask of Winters reflected upon his general for a moment. She showed no hesitation at putting that younger Abyssal in his place, but she still did so seemingly without emotion: hurting him in the way that was most likely to discourage further dissent from him. When he did so anyway, she still didn't kill him, which either showed wisdom or cowardice on her part, though the evidence mostly pointed towards wisdom; she was correct in saying that a good vessel for an Abyssal Essence was difficult to find, especially since Abyssal Essences were so rare, and highly prized by all Deathlords, most certainly including himself.

He felt an insistent tugging at the back of his mind. He knew what this meant. He pushed aside his throne, revealing a twisting, desiccated stairwell into the Labyrinth of the Malfeans. His patron, One Cloaked in Dust, wished to see him.

He moved smoothly through the mind-numbing twists and turns of the Labyrinth. Even so, it took him the better part of an hour to reach the mausoleum where One Cloaked in Dust slept the fitful sleep of the dead gods.

Immediately upon entering, he felt the forceful, painfully grating speech of his Malfean patron in the back of his mind. As always, its voice seemed to vary between screaming at a volume far stronger than a human voice, and a soft, menacing whisper that seemed to entice the listener into throwing one's self into the Abyss. "...sHE hAs NoT boNdED wITh hER eSSenCe, HEr ESSencE. SHe hEArs itS REMorSe, ITs reMORse."

He spoke to the sarcophagus that his patron slept the slumber of the Primordial dead gods within. "Great and powerful One, what does this mean for my plans?"

"...wATCH hEr, WAtcH heR."

He stood for a second, digesting the One's words. He finally bowed to the Malfean's sarcophagus. "I will watch her as diligently as I have in the past, and I will not stop."

"...sHE wiLL bE boON Or BAnE, oR bANe."

"Understood, great and All-Seeing one."

"...lEAvE mE To My drEaMS, mY DREamS."

The Mask of Winters bowed, and left the desiccated god's chamber. His patron did not need to know about his plans for Thorns; nobody needed to know that but him, his massed forces, and the unsuspecting denizens of Thorns, when it was too late for them to matter. As he moved through the constantly changing and moving Labyrinth, and found his staircase back to his audience chamber, he thought more about what One Cloaked in Dust had said amidst its paranoid ramblings. It obviously knew something through its perversion of Rosethorne's Abyssal Essence that he himself did not know. What did it mean by its reference to Rosethorne's Essence's "remorse?" This implied that his patron knew something about his general that he did not, and this annoyed him greatly. He would attempt to find an artifact or wraith capable of seeing past someone's mind and into one's soul, though he would have to bind such a thing carefully; something like this should not give attention where it would be unwise to do so.

Interesting developments, to be sure. His general had already left to find the hapless wraith that managed to find an artifact of the First Age. From his scrying, it appeared to be a simple looking glass, but seemed to seethe with power. This made him crave such a thing, as intact First Age artifacts were incredibly rare.

He had an expression on his face that on any other being would be considered a smile, beneath his ever-present Mask. If his general returned with the artifact within a month, he would reward her greatly. If she took less than two months, he would torture her with great pleasure, before teaching her a few gifts to help her realize his conquest of Thorns. If she took longer than that...well, he had a rather ambitious, if one-legged replacement for her.

Kale woke slowly, still not quite believing his dream. It had been so real, though.

His father had been a part of the Immaculate Order's legions, where the Dragon-Blooded officers constantly talked about the danger the Anathema posed to everyone, and how their most sacred duty was to slay them when found. His father never talked much about his days as a soldier, but the fact that he had taken his new wife and moved into the wilderness to be away from everything they stood for once his tour of duty was done spoke volumes.

And now...one of the dreaded Anathema had approached him, in his dreams. She was completely unrepentant about being an assassin, though what she had talked about made him think twice about his original perceptions and beliefs of the Anathema. He shook his head as he corrected himself. The Children of the Sun, she had called the Anathema she belonged to. Good and righteous people, she had said, but as prone to corruption as the rest of humanity. Given their overwhelming power, it was almost surprising that they hadn't succumbed to vice and corruption sooner than they did, from what she told him. Was she overestimating the time it took for them to become indolent?

He still didn't know. He did know that the fact that she watched him all the time made him a little self-conscious. Was she really offering her gift for the reasons she gave? Or was it because all the stories about the Anathema he heard were true, and she just thought of him as corruptible and easily controlled?

He packed up his things, and buried his campfire as he thought. The short answer was that he really didn't know.

He had begun getting ready to travel again, and even begin walking mechanically, without any thought given to it.

But what if all that she had told him was true? He had heard that the Scarlet Empress of the Immaculate Order has been missing for five years now, and the Realm was slowly beginning to fall into disarray. The Order was trying to maintain civility and order in the Realm, but the people of this land weren't satisfied. Unrest was beginning to spread throughout the land; certain kingdoms were beginning to withdraw from the Realm at large, while still paying lip service, so as to avoid the Immaculate Order getting suspicious.

But even when the Scarlet Empress was still around and ruling the Realm, the Immaculate Order constantly taught that the Dragon-Blooded were the superior ones, that ordinary people had to give them the respect that their birthright demanded. Now that the Scarlet Empress was missing, their arrogance was no longer put in check by the Empress herself, which meant that they were much more difficult than before. Since the Immaculate Order ruled however, striking any Dragon-Blooded, for any reason (including an innkeeper trying to beat back one who was trying to have his way with his daughter, Kale remembered) was a death sentence.

What if, even for only a short time as far as human civilization went, the Solar reign was far more just and good than the reign the Dragon-Blooded maintained?

A low growl to his left snapped him out of his thoughts. The wolf had seen or smelled something. He was looking straight ahead and slightly to the left, his ears laid back, and his fur slightly on end, with teeth bared. Kale looked, and saw what the wolf had seen: three men were driving a line of bedraggled and bruised people in a line ahead of them, the people's hands in chains.

Kale ducked behind a rock at the same time the wolf did. The very thought of what these men were provoked the same reaction in him that he had seen in the wolf. These were slavers, driving their "goods" toward Thorns. Some of the people in chains were little more than children.

One of the men called a stop, and spoke to his companions. Kale's sharp hearing picked up what the men were saying, even at a distance of thirty yards.

"Oy, let's take a break, lads. Ah wants to have a bit of fun with the womenfolk afore we travel on."

"Come on, let's just get moving. Remember what happened last time we tried selling "spoiled" property?"

"Ach, Ah'm not gon' hurt them much. Ah jes' likes to see 'em squeal a bit, is all!"

"Yes, that's the problem, ye big lout. They get bruised and broken and such, and are harder to sell just because ya can't keep your thing in your pants long enough to get to town and get to the brothel."

Kale's hand was straying to his bow. Slavery was a fact of life in some places, where parents sometimes sold their children into slavery to avoid having another mouth to feed. It made him feel physically ill, but he understood it intellectually, even if he didn't like it one bit.

Some towns even treated it like indentured servitude, where slaves were treated well, and could buy their freedom from a time. However, the slavers in those places always treated the slaves with respect. These men were not those kinds of people.

However, he was alone, and picking a fight against three hardened slavers wasn't especially smart. As much as he wanted to rush in and free them, he shouldn't when he was alone, with nobody to back him up. However, his hand was tightly holding his bow, ready to yank it off his shoulder and load an arrow in a heartbeat. He had to force himself to take a few deep breaths to cleanse himself of the anger he felt welling up within him.

"Ach, I'll just have one."

"No you won't. You're not touching them."

"Yer not tellin' me whut tae do. I'll gut ye if'n ye talks ta me like that agin', whelp!"

There was a pause, and he saw one of the men turn, and look in his direction. "Hey, ya sees that over there?"

Oh, bloody hell. He quickly looked around for another hiding place. There was a much larger rock a few yards to his right, but he'd be seen running to it. Well, he'd already been spotted. He shifted his crouch as quietly as possible, in preparation to run.

"Oy, you two lads go check it out. It might be another slave for the line, ye knaw!"

"Why do we gotta go look, while you stays here all comfy-like?"

"Because Ah'm gonna feed and water the slaves, ya idjit."

The two grumbled, but started walking in Kale's direction. They stopped and looked back to the third slaver. Kale saw his chance, and bolted from behind the rock without making a sound, the wolf right beside him. He darted behind the much larger rock, and found a ledge on the back of the rock that would serve as an excellent lookout. He quickly climbed up to it. Drat, the wolf would be stuck down on the ground! He turned around to see how he could help the wolf up, when he saw it make a huge leap upwards, and almost make it on the ledge. He smiled as he helped the wolf onto the ledge. He felt a little guilty for forgetting just how far and how high wolves could jump.

He turned his attention back to the two men, who were still trudging in his direction. They looked all around the rock he had been hidden behind just a few moments before, and look at each other, perplexed. "'Ey, let's have a look around. Don't want no spies followin' us and takin' our goods."

The other nodded his agreement, and they looked around. Kale ducked down, so that he was barely visible, with the wolf between him and the rock face. If they didn't look up when they were near the rock itself, they'd never see him.

They looked around as they walked, but Kale noticed they weren't looking up all that much. However, he realized with a sinking feeling that he was perched on the biggest rock in the immediate area. He tried to flatten himself a little more.

The two men wandered over near the rock, but thankfully weren't looking up. They looked at each other, and shrugged. "Musta been a badger or summat."

The other dully nodded his agreement, and the two men began walking back to their companion.

Oh, how cruel the Fates sometimes were. The wolf next to him let loose with what would have been a small fart, had he not been lying right next to the rock face. It echoed. Kale glared at the wolf, but he wore an innocent expression.

The two men stopped and turned around, and to Kale's disappointment, looked up. "'Ey! Whot're ye doin' up there?"

He sat up, abandoning any attempt at being stealthy at this point. "I was passing through, and didn't want to be of any bother to you."

One of them pulled a short sword from his belt. "Well, yer a bother. Come on down, or Ah'll stab yer dog."

Kale smirked. "You'd have to get up here first, and that'll be difficult."

One of the men smiled. It was not a pleasant, "how are you?" kind of smile. He pulled out a few throwing daggers. "Sure you don't want to reconsider?"

Kale tried not to look annoyed. By the time he pulled the bow from his shoulder and nocked it with an arrow, the man could have a knife in his chest. "How about you two gentlemen leave me in peace?"

The larger, and duller, of the two men laughed oafishly. "Oy, a feisty one, is he?"

His shorter companion promptly threw two of the daggers. One missed, and bounced off the rock a foot away from Kale's head. The wolf yipped in pain. Kale learned with growing anger where the other dagger had struck.

He leapt down from the rock, landing in a crouch, and untied the two ties for his greatsword's sheath in the same movement. As he stood up, he pulled the big blade from its sheath, laying it on his right shoulder, holding it with just his right hand. "Last chance. Leave us be."

The bigger man yelled, and ran at Kale. Kale sidestepped the man's thrust of the sword at the last second, and maneuvered to keep the big man between him, and the shorter man with the throwing knives. The man struck again, only to hit air once more. He snarled, and slashed at Kale, leaving him overextended. Kale suddenly raised his right shoulder, which moved his greatsword upward, into mid-air. He gripped it with his left hand, and brought it down straight through the man with brutal force. Without looking down at the man, Kale darted quickly in front of the shorter man with the throwing knives. He heard a wet thud from behind him, followed by a second one.

Kale looked at the shorter man. "You injured my wolf, and healer's supplies are expensive. You'd better give me all your jade to make up for it."

The man, still smiling, tried to stab Kale in the stomach. Kale sidestepped quickly, and beheaded the man.

Breathing slightly heavily both from the exertion, and the anger he felt, he relieved the two men of their possessions, keeping only their jade. "There, now we're even," he said at the men on the ground. Predictably, they didn't answer. He disdainfully wiped his blade clean on their clothes before placing it back into its sheath.

Kale carefully and quickly created a large sling that would hold the wolf from the clothes of the two men that were reasonably clean, and gently eased the wolf down from the ledge. The wolf looked up at him, and then lay down on the ground, unresisting. It knew Kale was trying to heal him.

Kale removed the throwing dagger from the wolf's shoulder, and shaved the wolf's shoulder as well as he could with the knife in his boot, and then anxiously cleaned the wound, just in case the slavers used poison. After being satisfied that the wound was clean, he wrapped it quickly in the former garments of the two slaver men, put the wolf in the sling he had made from their clothes, and put it around his neck. He stood, and began jogging away from the scene as quickly as he could.

After about half an hour of jogging, the reality that he had just taken two people's lives came crashing down on him, and he had to stop. He forced himself back into awareness briefly, while he looked at his surroundings, to make sure he could stay here for the rest of the day and through the night. There was a grove of trees nearby that looked, sounded, and smelled safe. He strained himself to haul both his weight, and the weight of the wolf up with him into the trees, and then made sure both of them were comfortable.

Then he held his knees, and shook, eyes open, the scene of what he'd just done playing through his head once more. Through the depressing thoughts beginning to run through his mind, he was reminded of what his father had said, right after he'd begun learning how to fight with a sword. "I will train you to not have to think of what you are doing. Unsheathing the blade, fighting with it, and returning it to its sheath must become instinct; something you don't think about."

He realized with a start that his father was right. Before he had consciously realized what he was doing, his sword was sitting on his shoulder, the weight of it comforting him slightly before he realized consciously what it was. He had fought in the way he was taught, briefly becoming one with his sword. That helped chase some of the depressing thoughts away, and he leaned out more comfortably on the tree limb, his back to the trunk.

He looked to his right, where the wolf was sleeping now in a makeshift hammock. He patted the wolf, and he made a small whining noise in his sleep, before curling up, catlike.

Kale soon followed the wolf into sleep.

It seemed that as soon as he drifted off to sleep, he was awake once more. He saw Melia sitting on the tree branch next to him, giving him a sympathetic smile, and gently touching his face. As before, her hand felt weightless, but he still felt the warmth of her palm. "Oh, Kale. I wish you hadn't had to kill them, but you took care of yourself, as you must."

He felt and saw her gently move her fingers through his hair. He didn't feel his hair move, but he did feel the warmth of her hand on his scalp. Aren't ghosts supposed to feel cold if they touch you?

She smiled a bit more warmly at him. "I wouldn't have picked you if you were a killer, Kale. You will if you must, but not until then."

He couldn't help but ask. "How come your hands feel warm? I thought ghosts' hands always felt cold."

She smirked. "It's because I'm not a ghost, Kale. I'm a pure Solar Exalt essence now. In some ways, I could be called a ghost, because I'm incorporeal and I'm not alive. But in all the other ways, I'm not. For one thing, it took a curse and foul play to get me stuck in the Underworld." She giggled at this.

He felt himself relaxing. She looked at the wolf, and an expression of sympathy crept over her face. She moved over by the wolf, and gently stroked his fur. He whined again slightly, but still stayed asleep.

Kale forced himself to be a gentleman and not look at her legs as she crouched, and focused his attention on what she was doing. He was mostly successful. She closed her eyes, and put both her hands over the wolf's wound. Her hands began glowing the same soft golden color he had seen on her when he first saw her, and then faded away. She turned back to him with a smile, and then moved gracefully back to the tree limb next to him.

"I know you have doubts, Kale. I don't blame you one bit for having them; were our positions reversed, I'd be suspicious too. However, all I can give you is my word. I've never broken my word to anyone, and I'm not going to start with you. Especially not with you." She resumed stroking his face. It still felt odd to him that he could feel the warmth of her hand, but not the physical contact of her touch, but he relaxed.

She smiled softly at him. "You're the one I picked to succeed me, and carry the responsibility of the Unconquered Sun through another lifetime. I owe you the truth, so you know what you're getting into."

He bit his lip. This was a question that had troubling him all day. "If I say yes, will I still get to see you?"

She chuckled, a little sadly. "No, but you'll hear my voice while you're awake, at least for a while. You won't see me anymore, since I'll no longer exist outside of you."

He looked concerned. "Wait, why only for a while?"

She resumed stroking his face. "Because after I'm satisfied that you've adapted to the Exaltation, and after you've learned enough about your new abilities and responsibilities, I'll finally be able to take my rest."

He blinked at that. He felt...stunned by this, just like the last time he had spoken with her, she who haunted his dreams. She pressed her lips to his forehead, kissing him softly. It still felt strange that he felt only the warmth of her lips, and not the feeling of them.

"You have much to think about. I'll leave you to dream now...no! Wake now, Kale. Wake! WAKE UP!" Her voice turned from tenderness to a shrill urgency in a heartbeat. He snapped awake out of his dream, only to see something he had hoped not to see for a very long time.

Rosethorne pushed her regiment forward through the last reaches of her Lord's lands, scouring them for the residence of this wraith named Bjorn Stangald. She had found half-leads and half-truths, but all were leading her inexorably toward her goal.

They had been marching for two weeks now, and had eliminated most of the wraiths residing in her Lord's realm as possibilities, leaving the rest of the Underworld to explore. She hoped to herself that this Bjorn didn't call home in another Deathlord's lands, for this would cause...complications.

She now rode, searching in the unclaimed lands, where the outcasts and unwanted ones resided. If one were to travel alone in these lands, it would be inviting danger and calamity to one's doorstep, since the ones who called this scorned and forsaken place home were reviled, even by the cruel and malicious other wraiths. They also tended to band together, though their suspicious natures rarely kept a large group together for long; usually only long enough to accomplish a goal.

She saw something that caught her eye. There was a cave, made of the greyish-black dust and ash that comprised the land of the Underworld. This in and of itself wasn't strange - it was that there were flowers, bright and alive, growing around the entrance. These flowers by rights could not and should not exist here, as the soil of the Underworld was not in any way pleasant for growing things of the World Above. Instinct told her to check here, and so she called a halt. Her soldiers stopped gratefully, the grueling pace she set taxing even the endurance of the wraiths in her service. She turned to her Lieutenant. "Make sure they're ready to leave at a moment's notice."

He saluted her, and bore the news to the regiment. They were predictably unhappy with the news, with some muted grumbling, but they held themselves ready at her order.

Going alone into an unknown place, especially here in the Badlands was usually not a very bright idea, were she anything else but what she was. Her kind were an enigma here in the Underworld: a living, breathing, eating mortal that had been touched and empowered by death and the Abyss itself, and as such, she was more than capable of holding her own.

She decided to be polite, as she wasn't sure whose residence this was, but she had to satisfy her curiosity. She knocked heavily on the steel post set outside the cave for this purpose, and waited. She did not wait long, before a cloaked, and cowled figure seemed to melt out of the cave, and outside.

Its voice was like oiled and torn silk over water. "Ah, right on time. The General seeks the Mirror for her Lord, and this seeking might be granted favorably, depending on the General's thoughts and answers to an old one's questions."

She hid her surprise well. Living as and how she did, it was unseemly to be taken by surprise. "If you are Bjorn Stangald, then I will answer your questions."

The figure shook, with noises that sounded like dusty laughter, and then stood upright, removing its cowl in the process. Unlike most wraiths who looked nothing resembling how they did in life, this one resembled a person in nearly all respects, apart from being a wraith. He had ebony skin, and long, thick braids of hair tied back at the nape of his neck. "Aye, I am he. Walk with me on the lookout above my home, that we might speak a while."

With that, he walked with the long-legged, ground-eating strides that befitted someone of his size up the side of his cave, and onto a flattened area on top of it, with benches made of some sort of stone.

He motioned for her to sit on the bench opposite him, and he sat at the same time she did, holding eye contact. He smiled broadly at her, an expression of amusement in his eyes. "So, General. I have answers for more questions than you think, and more questions than you know the answers to. We shall begin with the obvious one. Do you know why you are here, at this precise time?"

She removed her helmet, and sat a bit more comfortably on the bench, to give her a bit of time to think. "The most obvious answer would be that I was asked by my Deathlord to retrieve an artifact of the First Age from you, with no specification on whether you were to be still roaming, or claimed by Oblivion after I've done so."

He chuckled. "Yes, that would be the most obvious answer. But you were looking all around for me, and where I call home. It took you a paltry two weeks to find me. Do you know why this is?"

She took a breath, calming the growing irritation she felt. "I looked here because of the flowers you have growing in front of your cave."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at her. "And why would such a simple thing captivate your attention so?"

Her expression stayed with her carefully schooled calm. "Flowers like you have growing in front of your cave should not be found in the Underworld, as they are a product of the World Above only."

He smiled, and leaned back, resting his arms on the back of the bench. "Yes, that is true. Living things normally have no place here in the Underworld. The Underworld itself presses down upon the living, suffocating them, robbing them of the spark of life, forcing them to join the quiet peace of death. However, there are various ways, not very well known of course, to cultivate and nurture life, even in this place where the dead are trapped by their own selfish desires."

She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Yes, you're obviously proud of your accomplishment, but you haven't said how you've done it."

He smiled at her, and got to his feet, walking around behind the bench to lean on it with his hands. "I am very old, General. I died and was first trapped here during the First Age, and only the fact that legends are still passed of how I died among my family still gives me strength to move on. They remember me, and speak well of me. I have left most of the torment of being trapped here behind, and I'm preparing to leave this place, and be at peace at last."

He walked to the left side of this small plateau, and clasped his hands behind his back, looking out at the dusty plains below, his broad back to her. "There are two ways of living in this place, General. One is to be infused by the purest essence of this place: Oblivion itself. Life sputters and slowly dies down as a candle flame might, but never completely goes out, kept fitfully alive by the hungry essence of death." He turned, and looked at her directly.

The implication was not lost on her. "So you're calling the Abyssal Exalts a fitful flame of life?"

He smiled, and turned to face her. "Precisely. The tiny spark of life within all of the Exalted of Oblivion will never be truly extinguished, but in time, it becomes a grotesque parody of life itself."

He walked with measured strides to the right side of the flat space above his home, his back to her once again, looking at the ashen plains below. "There is another way, General, the way that those flowers you saw and drew you to me are kept alive. This is to feed it with the things that it would need normally, making substitutions where you must. This is an oversimplification, but it gets the point across."

He turned, and sat down once again on the bench, leaning back, facing her once again. "But what happens when life is supplemented with Oblivion? Is it possible, do you think, to regain the roaring flame of life and Essence it has lost?"

She did not like where this was leading. "To my knowledge, no. It is impossible."

He smiled at her, the way a teacher might smile at a student who is grasping for the answer, but not finding it. "No, General, it is possible. Change must begin from within, embracing the light once again. A hard look at what is within you; all of you must be done. One must face all that one finds there, and let go of where Oblivion embraces you."

She took another breath, calming her once again. "You speak in riddles, wraith. What has this got to do with the mirror?"

He laughed, a deep, rich sound that echoed strongly through the plains. "I can see that you are not yet ready. No matter, the seed has been planted. In time it shall grow."

He chuckled again, and looked at her with kind amusement. "The one who seeks the mirror will not be able to unlock its true potential, as he cannot see all of what the mirror reveals. It shows all of what is reflected within it, and all the layers that normally obscure such a thing."

He got up, and indicated she do the same. She did so, carrying her helmet in the crook of her right arm. "You will have the mirror, General." He reached into his robes, and gave to her a small, flat mirror. It certainly didn't look powerful, it looked like an old mirror treated with abuse, and covered with the dust of misuse.

His voice cautioned her before she looked into it. "Do not look into it unless you are fully prepared to view what it shows you. You are not yet ready to understand what it will show you."

Her voice carried the barest hint of irritation that she was unable to completely mask. "And what would you know of what I am ready to see?"

He smiled at her. "I know many things, but I know of the one who would take my mirror as well. Take your leave now, General, and return your prize to its new owner."

She tucked the mirror underneath her breastplate, nodded her thanks to him curtly, and strode down to her warstrider, thinking about what he said. She gave the barest hint of a shrug, thinking that he was completely insane, but at least he had taken a shine to her and given her the mirror before she had to rend his being.

She gave the order to move out, and they marched straight back to her Lord's castle, trying to give no more thought to the insane wraith, and mostly succeeding. However, little things began to bother her, such has his comparison of what he called "a grotesque parody of life," and "true life." What did it mean?

She arrived faster than she thought back to the castle, and dismissed her regiment, who promptly went to the tavern. She forced her warstrider into the stable, having to convince it to go back in with a well-timed kick. It was being stubborn and skittish, for some reason.

She strode up the passages to arrive in her Lord's audience chamber, and bowed with one knee at the center. "Lord, I have returned with the mirror you seek."

The Mask of Winters hid his irritation. Why did she have to return so swiftly, and why didn't she just rebel, to give him a chance to discipline her? Despite exemplifying everything he had ever wanted in a General, now that he had a General like this, he was deeply suspicious. She was barely gone three weeks.

"How did you find him so swiftly, General?"

She stood, facing him as she gave her report. "My regiment and I scoured all your lands first to find him, and then searched the Badlands, as it would be preferable to find him there than in another Deathlord's domain; were that the case, it would have complicated matters. He was found in the Badlands, alone, in a cave. He questioned me about inane things, and appeared to be satisfied with my answers well enough to hand me the mirror."

She took out the mirror, strode to the front of his throne, and offered it to him on one knee. He snatched it out of her outstretched hands, and looked into it, seeing only his reflection, with the hint of the Malfean touch within him. This made him smile, and he turned the mirror to look at her, as she walked back to the center of the room, facing him, and standing perfectly still. He saw the outer shell of the human being she was, with the Abyssal Essence within her, lying within her, diseased and corrupted. He put the mirror away. Had he kept looking, he would have seen a tiny spot on the Abyssal Essence within her shining a brilliant golden color, before it was covered up again.

"Very good, General. I made a promise to myself that I would reward you if you performed this task well. I will allow you to select new weapons from within my armory, or research anything you like within my personal library for a period of one week."

She bowed her thanks to her Lord, and spoke her request. "My Lord, I wish something else." Her words surprised him, but he allowed her to continue. "I wish to learn more ways of focusing my Essence to different goals. I wish to learn new skills, and to sharpen the ones I know now, to better serve you by leading your army."

He pursed his lips behind his mask. The Huntress kept surprising him, over and over again. So far, it had always been in beneficial ways, but he couldn't help but wonder when she would spring a malicious surprise on him.

Finally, after keeping her waiting for ten minutes as he thought, he spoke. "Very well. Tell me what you wish to learn, and I will have you taught. But I must ask you, Rosethorne, Huntress Clad in the Raiments of Shadow, why you would prefer this, rather than new weapons?"

"My Lord, I am satisfied with the armaments given me. They have served me well, have not rusted, lost their edge, or been broken in any way."

It seemed that not only was she a constant unpleasant string of surprises, she was also unambitious. He narrowed his eyes at her. "Very well. Dismissed."

She saluted him once more, bowed to him, and then strode from the room. He noticed with a smile that she never hesitated in spilling her blood for him. In fact, as she always stood in the same place, the tile she always sliced her wrist over was slowly getting stained red. He whispered to himself. "Oh yes, Rosethorne. Keep spilling your lifeblood for me, and pleasing me, and you shall keep your army, and your life."

He chuckled, which turned into a cackling laughter. "But, my little perfect weapon, should you ever fail me, your fall from grace will be a long and rocky one. Keep raising my expectations of you, and the further you have to fall."

Kale regained his senses to feel a knife at his throat. "There ye are, ye murderin' lout! Thought ye could off two o' my mates and get away with it, did ye?"

He felt his left leg seized in a strong grip. He tried to kick his way free, but the motion only assisted his attacker. He felt himself yanked out of his hammock, and fall down quite a ways to the ground. His thought as he was falling was cursing the fact that he had chosen to sleep so high up in the tree.

He struck the ground hard, and it knocked the breath out of him with a loud gasp. He felt a tree root leap up and strike him hard in the small of the back as he hit the ground, with a muffled crunching noise.

Horrible breath met his nostrils as someone spoke loudly close to his head. "Oy, yer gonna pay, ye whelp!"

He realized that he couldn't move his legs. His eyes were wide open now, seeing only vague shapes in the darkness, one of which stabbed him in the side, and yanked the knife free in a mostly smooth motion. He felt that this was not a sharp and well-kept knife; this was a long, rusty, and dull knife. It hurt just as much going in as it did sawing its way back out.

He heard a snarling from the tree above him, followed immediately by a heavy thudding noise, and a loud curse to his left. "Lads, get this mangy mutt offa me!"

He heard several muffled thudding noises, each punctuated by a sharp whining noise. "That's right mutt, that'll teach ye to bite me!"

Another voice off to his left, the one who had greeted him with the knife, spoke up. "Oy, lads, gimme the lantern, so we can finish this lout off properly!"

Several sharp flashes blinded him, as someone used flint and steel to light a lantern, which sputtered fitfully into life.

Kale knew he could speak, but what could he say? He couldn't get up on his own two feet now; everything below his hips felt removed and numb. Everything above his hips felt like a boiling mass of agony. It was all he could do to clench his teeth together and not scream out in pain. He determined that he wouldn't though, if only to deny these smelly killers the satisfaction.

The lantern was brought to a low-hanging branch stub above him, the branch broken off a few seasons before by a storm, Kale noticed inanely.

The next hour went by alternately quickly and excruciatingly slowly. They had stabbed him everywhere he could feel the wounds, and several places that he couldn't. He had been beaten by heavy oaken clubs. He could barely feel anything anymore. The last thing he felt before he slipped into the sweet arms of unconsciousness was a soft breeze on his skin, over and above the pain he could barely feel anymore.

She greeted him almost immediately. "Oh, Kale! I wish I could have done something, but I couldn't and now you're...oh, by the Sun, stay with me! Come on, you stubborn mule, don't let go yet!"

He saw her above him, leaning and laying partially on top of him. If he weren't still connected to his broken body, he would certainly have enjoyed this moment. Her eyes were filled with tears, and both of her hands were on his face, forcing him to look at her. He still didn't feel her touch, but the warmth of her hands still forced his head to look her directly in the eyes.

"Kale, please, don't let go. Oh, I didn't want it to be like this...Just say yes, Kale, please! Oh, I wished for so much more time, to tell you so much more and teach you so much more about us, about me, about the Exalted, oh Kale, don't let go!"

She was almost babbling in her fear and determination. Why would she appear to be this way as he was dying? Would she still be doing this if he was only a useful pawn for her evil, cruel and heartless Anethema self?

No, the back of his mind answered. She'd have left. She probably wouldn't even have said a word now, except "Well, better luck next time!" Instead, she was with him in the dreams of unconsciousness, pleading with him to stay in the land of the living, to hold onto his body, to hold onto life. But it was getting so dark around him; it was feeling slowly more and more distant...

"Oh Kale, I know you wanted to wait, but there's no time anymore! Oh, I wanted to take so much more time with this, but there's no time now! Just say yes, Kale! Please, let me save you! There are too many wounds for me to heal you now, where I am now. If you say yes, I'll force your Exaltation, and your body will heal itself, whole again. You'll even be able to walk again, just please say yes! Oh, dear Kale, don't let go, don't leave me now..."

In this dream, even though his grip on his body was slowly fading, he made his decision. She was right, and he agreed with her - he would have loved to string this along as long as he could, to find out as much as he could about her, about who the Exalts really were, to make his decision on his own time.

But his own time was nearly up.

In the dream, he made his decision, along with a deep breath. "Okay, Melia. I accept."

She smiled so brightly through her tears, and lay on top of him, and kissed him hard on the forehead. "Thank you, Kale. This is going to feel...very strange at first."

That wasn't comforting. Then she seemed to slowly melt into a very fine golden dust, which melted into him, into his skin, into his body. His skin felt hot from where the dust had touched his skin, and the heat began spreading swiftly throughout his body. He felt it concentrate on his wounds, and on his spine. They felt hotter than ever, and to his shock, the wounds were closing. What would have taken weeks to heal completely, had he lived, was taking seconds now. He felt his lower back pop into place. His legs hurt...but he could feel them now. They swiftly stopped hurting, and the hot feeling began spreading evenly throughout his body, feeling like it was touching every pore of his skin, every particle of hair, every callous, every scar. It began growing hotter, and hotter still. It didn't hurt, which is what surprised him, but it felt very hot, as if he were laying too close to a fire, but all over his body.

He awoke.

He lay where he was, sprawled in a heap just like before. He didn't move his head, but he saw that the bloody patches on his clothes hid completely healed wounds now. The heat began growing stronger, and feeling like it was collecting in his heart, while still heating his body.

He began hearing a dull, faint roar. It grew swiftly louder, and louder, and his body felt suddenly like it had exploded, though he still felt whole. He saw the same golden nimbus of light around him as he saw around Melia when he had first seen her, but this was brighter, though slightly darker in color; more deeply golden than hers had been.

This had not escaped the almost-murderers' notice, as they were bent over, digging through his pack. "Wot the 'ell..." Their eyes grew wide as they looked at him. "Anathema! He's one o' the bloody Anathema!"

They bravely pulled their weapons again, and prepared to rush at him, but to their surprise, his body began floating above the ground, his body tilting so that his legs were pointing at the ground once again, and his head raised to the sky. The glow grew brighter, and flashed suddenly...and was gone. Kale landed on his feet.

Kale felt...he struggled to find the words. It felt like pure energy was running through his veins, thrumming with power, with a furious drumbeat. It felt like there was a soft, exultant melody coming from his body that was just out of the range of hearing. Then, he realized that he was still not alone here. His eyes snapped open, looking directly at those who would have slain him.

With wild yells to encourage themselves and to attempt to frighten him, they rushed at him.

Time seemed to slow down, to Kale's eyes. He moved his hand, and it was moving at nearly normal speed, though the thugs were running at him in slow motion. He was not slow in taking this to heart.

He ran at the first thug, and grabbed his arm that held a rusty short sword. Yanking the thug's arm backwards, he kicked the thug from behind in the back of the head, and held onto the short sword, looking at the others.

They seemed to move so pathetically slow, that he dodged their attacks easily, not bothering to strike back. He was just enjoying this feeling so much. A few minutes ago, he was ready to die, but now...now he felt more alive than he ever had.

He saw his greatsword lying by the tree. Ducking into a graceful roll to dodge one of the thugs' attacks, he finished near the sword, picking it up.

It felt lighter than it had before, more graceful. With one hand, he raised the blade and pointed it at the thug who had first pulled him out of the tree. He began to run directly at the thug, his legs pumping furiously. He reached the thug in no time, almost. He drew the blade back, grabbed the lower hilt with his left hand, and swung as hard as he could upwards. He was surprised that the blade moved so swiftly through the thug. He brought the blade around in an unbroken motion straight down through the other murderer.

Nothing but silence greeted his ears now, with no more movement around him. The wild thrumming of energy started to slow down, at the same time as the adrenaline in his body began to stop flowing.

He saw the wolf. He dropped the blade and raced to the wolf's unmoving side. He wasn't breathing; the blood had dried all along his body in a coagulated mass. Tears filled his eyes as he gently touched the wolf. "I'm so sorry I couldn't save you. Please forgive me, wherever you run now."

He spent the next solemn hour digging a proper grave for the wolf, saying goodbye to this companion who had only been with him a short time, but had hurt him so much by his loss.

He dug a pit for the slavers and kicked them in after taking his things back along with all their jade, giving them no ceremony.

After he had finished filling in the graves, he collapsed on the ground, in complete shock. Not only had he slain two more people, but he had lost two friends in the span of an hour.

I haven't left you yet, Kale. He heard Melia's voice, and looked around wildly for her. He heard her tinkling laugh. No, silly. I'm within you now. I'll be with you once you're ready to be on your own, and then...then I'll sleep.

"You saved me, Melia. You saved my life, but you didn't save the wolf's life."

Her voice sounded hesitant, and a little guilty. I'm...sorry, Kale. I wasn't thinking about the wolf at the time. All I could think about was that someone I had at first marked as a good successor, and had grown over time to be someone I really liked hanging around was dying...I'm sorry for that, but I was much more preoccupied with you than the wolf.

He smiled a little. "I understand. Do I always have to talk to you like this?"

He heard her tinkling laughter again. No, of course not, silly! People will think your mind has gone. You can think back, as long as you focus on my face as you do so, and I'll hear you.

He looked serious again, as he concentrated on her face. There, can you hear me?

He could almost see her grin. Yes, dear Kale, I can hear you. Speak what's on your mind; I know there's something!

He looked serious once again. Okay, good. Now, what the hell am I?

He briefly saw her smile sympathetically in his mind's eye. You are an Exalt of Sol, a Child of the Unconquered Sun. Your caste is Night, which suits you, I think. Your abilities, and the way the energy is flowing within you seems to gravitate towards doing what you've always done - be silent, be watchful, and be swift.

He began pacing as he thought. Alright, so I'm of the Caste of Night, even though I'm a Solar Exalt. Right, that makes complete sense. He couldn't help but be a little sarcastic.

He heard her chuckle. I know, it seems a little silly, but it makes sense once you know of the others. The Dawn Caste are the generals and all-around best combatants. The Zenith Caste are our spiritual back, giving us founts of strength and the spirit to carry on when all others have dropped back, exhausted. The Twilight Caste are the learned ones, the ones who seek the most hidden of knowledges; they also craft the very best stuff. There's us, and we get the job done with stealth, guile, and wits. Well, and sometimes a sword or bowshot in the dark. And there's the Eclipse Caste, who are the beaurocrats and negotiators with pretty much everything.

He frowned a bit more. I hope you're not expecting me to be an assassin, like you, Melia.

He felt her smile. No, Kale. Your path is your own. I was a city girl in my lifetime, and I lived and learned what I was best suited to. You're much more at home in the wild, so I think that will be your path.

He couldn't help but feel more frustrated. I know you just saved my life, Melia, and I'm grateful - don't think I'm not. But I just killed more people today. Is that what being Exalted means? A taker of life, because one has more power?

Her touch on his mind was comforting, soft, and delicate. No, the Essence awake within you now is neither good nor evil; well, it leans toward good, just because of what you are. But it's what you make of it, Kale. It's how you use it that determines whether it's good or evil.

He remembered what his father had taught him about using the sword: how the sword was neither good nor evil, that the intent of the wielder decided that. He found the same thing was true here. That power in the form of either a sword, or being Exalted was either good or evil, depending on how it was used. He felt a bit better.

Her voice softly broke into his thoughts. I know your mind's in turmoil right now, and I'm sorry again that we didn't have more time to talk this over before you Exalted. But there are those who can feel a new Exalt being born, as it were. You have much to learn about your new abilities, and not much time to do it.

He nodded, realizing that despite being woken up, and nearly killed, and losing his wolf companion, he didn't feel all that tired. Alright. Let's begin, Melia. Teach me what I need to know.

He felt her smile brightly. Somehow, he felt that despite what a very strange night he'd had, things would be okay.

For the past month, Rosethorne had pushed herself, and been pushed by ghostly instructors even further. The first two weeks weren't too tiring, as she was learning about how to inspire people; whether she inspired fear or respect made little difference, as long as she could inspire it within the troops she led. After all, if your troops are more intimidated by their general than by the opposing force, then they'll fight that much better.

The next two weeks were spread amongst more combat training, and learning the art of medicine - a highly useful combination, she felt. Half the training she underwent was learning the specific skills in question, and the other half was a bit more difficult and alien - learning how to properly channel her Essence through the skills she used. She had learned not too long after she became a Child of the Abyss that the Essence within her strengthened the intent of what she tried to accomplish with an almost gleeful feeling.

As she was waking up the evening of her Lord's announcement of...well, of what she wasn't sure, she reflected on this, and what she had learned about this strange energy that lived within her, sustained her, and protected her. It seemed to reflect the spiritual half of the universe in a way; whenever she performed an action with a specific and immediate result in mind, such as beheading someone, the Essence within her was able to make the strike more swift, more sure, and more precise. It seemed that her intuition was her conduit to using this strange wellspring of energy.

One thing she'd never quite get used to, no matter how often it happened, was the cold, frozen, deathly feeling she got whenever she used it. She'd barely even admitted this to herself, let alone others, but the reason she avoided using this energy to supplant her own considerable skill was because it felt as if someone was walking over her grave whenever she did so. Even though doing so could cause reproducible effects by doing a specific action the proper way and with the proper intent, it still felt as if someone were walking over her grave when the energy within her surged and awoke.

She sighed. She knew she had an hour until she and all the other Abyssal retainers for her Lord would be gathered in his throne room for his announcement. She had always wisely kept her feelings to herself about the other four, but she despised three of them, and secretly wanted to be personally responsible for their untimely demises, preferably at the same time. The fourth never talked much, and kept to himself, mostly. She certainly wouldn't call him a friend, but she considered not wanting to have his head mounted and stuffed on her wall immediately to be better than what she wished for the other three. He didn't talk to her, and she didn't talk to him - a very equitable arrangement, she felt.

Unfortunately, since this was a formal occasion, it would be frowned upon for her to come in armed and clad in her armor for this. Well, it would be frowned upon by that stupid yapping serving-wench who somehow became an emissary for the Abyss. Why her Lord had chosen her to contain the essence of the Moonshadow, she'd never know. What she did know was that she was loud, irritating, and overzealous enough - well, about anything she was feeling zealous about at the time - that Rosethorne's hand always semi-consciously strayed to the ornate bone handle of her scimitar whenever she had to be subjected to that stupid woman's mindless prattling. She privately suspected that the only reason her Lord granted some of her suggestions was because she wouldn't be silent about them until he either granted her request to shut her up, or had her dragged into his quarters to torture some respect into her. Rosethorne didn't think torture was all that useful, as well as being blatantly inefficient if you're just going to kill the subject anyway, but when it came to the beaurocratic cretin, she couldn't help but reconsider briefly.

Coming clad in a dress, with her hair tied up, and wearing "proper attire" was more than a little abhorrent for her. She had polished her armor that evening already, and besides - it was an outfit proper for a general. It showed that her job in her Lord's hierarchy was to lead armies against her Lord's enemies, and to cut a bloody swath through them. She admitted, she was quite good at her job.

She decided to give one concession, and that was her helmet. She'd come in with her hair down and loose, which was as feminine as she felt comfortable with. After all her job wasn't to look alluring and pretty for guests; that was the hussy's job.

She felt a pang of regret as she saw her twin-clawed khatar lying on her table. It looked so forlorn and alone without it's companion, her scimitar. It had served as both her shield and weapon for a few years now, and was as familiar to her as her own hands. However, she couldn't justify bringing it to the assembly; her blade would have to be enough.

She sighed again, and began marching with long, measured strides to the audience chamber. She thought at first that she was the first of the Deathknights to arrive, until she saw Noro leaning unobtrusively against a pillar near the rear of the room. He nodded to her slightly as she entered, and she returned the gesture. She walked to the center of the room, and stood as still as a statue. In the dim light of the room, her hair and her armor made her seem to blend in perfectly into the gloom, making her hand and face, the only parts of her body uncovered, seem at first to be hovering apparitions. Her blue eyes only seemed to accentuate this effect.

The next to arrive was the crazy one; the new Daybreak she had been introduced to only a short time ago. She seemed aware of her surroundings, which was good. She apparently had forgotten that a bloody white apron was tied around her waist, which was amusing. She carried a leather bag with her, the contents of which clacked together curiously as she walked. In fact, she walked to the left middle of the room, and began pulling out human thighbones out, and using some strange magic, forcing them to stick together, until she had made a chair of them. She pulled out a human skin, and using the same technique she had for the bones, fastened it as both chair backing and seat padding. Once finished, she inspected her work carefully, and then sat down, satisfied. Apparently, she'd been studying her craft.

Five minutes passed slowly, as everyone silently waited for the remaining two to arrive. It surprised nobody except Rosethorne that they entered together, with the slutty beaurocrat talking loudly and obnoxiously. Apparently, Rosethorne had missed a few happenings here, but she didn't feel all that upset about it.

"Oh, and do you know what he had the gall to do to me? He was staring at my chest the entire time, as if it were more important than what I was saying!"

The irony that her companion, the idiot who had so stupidly attempted to attack Rosethorne when they first met, was also staring at the hussy's chest as she spoke made it difficult to keep a straight face.

"Yeah," he agreed brilliantly.

"He even said that if we'd consider a trade agreement with them, that part of the deal had to be a night with me. For the good of our good Lord's kingdom, I agreed, but I left right afterwards, citing other business that needed attending. Of course, the other business was his rival kingdom from the North, who...oh look, everyone's here early!"

The voice of their Lord, the Mask of Winters, made them all fall silent. Including the brainless prattling wench, which was no small bit of magic, Rosethorne thought.

"No, Kaesta, you and Laughing Doom are both five minutes late to this meeting. The fact that you were talking and laughing on your way here made it clear to me that you did not have a valid and pressing reason for your tardiness, which makes me...very displeased."

The wench was actually paying more attention to her hair than to her Lord when he spoke, which surprised Rosethorne with the sheer thoughtless audacity of it. "Oh, the poor dear got himself tangled up in his new humanskin pants, which he had just finished dying a proper black color, and he was having such trouble getting them off that I just had to help him. Oh, and then..."

She was interrupted by her Lord speaking to her in a tone that would have frozen oceans. "In other words, no armies were attacking you, no rogue wraiths stole all your possessions, and you are unharmed. If I am to understand you correctly Kaesta, you kept me waiting five minutes because Laughing Doom was having difficulty with the simple act of putting on his pants, which is something every child learns to do by the age of four. You and he will wait after the assembly is over, and I would...speak with the two of you alone."

The others in the meantime had gathered to stand shoulder to shoulder in the standard fashion. Greta, Rosethorne noticed, left behind her chair.

He took a deep breath. Rosethorne knew that since her Lord was nothing even resembling human or Exalt anymore, he didn't need to breathe to stay alive. However, it seemed that taking a deep breath gave him a measure of calmness, for he continued. "Step forward, state your name and Caste."

Rosethorne stepped forward after a second of seeing nobody else do so. "My Lord, I am Rosethorne, Huntress Clad in the Raiment of Shadow. I am of the Dusk Caste. My blade is yours to command."

She saluted him in the formal fashion, which included the standard cutting of her wrist to let the blood flow freely, but she drew in a small amount of ambient Essence and used it to make her caste mark become prominent on her forehead. Hers was a black ring with twelve evenly distributed spokes all around it, the energy she channeled into it made it open and bleed a little. She bowed, and stepped back into line.

She saw Noro step forward immediately after her, and speak with a voice sounding like a low wind through a dead forest. "My Lord, I am Noro Velos, The Bloody Hand, and I hail from the Caste of Day. I am yours to command." He also saluted in the standard fashion, his caste mark showing nothing but a black ring on his forehead, before bowing and returning to line. He wore very loose-fitting leather pants and leather moccasins, with a long cloak covering his shirt. He had short shock-white hair that stood straight up, unlike the rather haphazard spikes Laughing Doom put in his.

A lilting, distracted voice spoke next. "My Lord and conduit for the beautiful power of the Malfeans, I am Greta, Hurricane's Last Breath, of the Daybreak Caste. My tools, my knowledge, and my victims are yours to command." She saluted like the others, her caste mark appearing as a black ring with the upper half black as well, but seemed momentarily fascinated and delighted with the blood coming out of her arm that she forgot to bow to her Lord and step back into line for a few moments. She licked the blood happily off her arm once she had done so. She evidently hadn't noticed a few droplets spill onto her white sleeveless shirt and surgeon's white pants, but considering the amount of blood still drying on her apron, Rosethorne didn't think it mattered much. Greta seemed to cling to sanity like a drowning woman might cling to someone who had murdered her entire family in front of her eyes.

Everyone heard Kaesta stage-whisper to the man beside her. "Go on darling, it's your turn next." Rosethorne felt her left hand begin to stray to the handle of her scimitar, and she had to consciously force herself not to.

He stepped forward, wearing nothing but the afore-mentioned leather pants, flexing as he yelled out in a voice far louder than necessary. "Lord, Sir! I am Laughing Doom of the Pure, and I'm from the powerful Dusk Caste! I'll kill anyone you tell me to!"

His caste mark flared as well, being the same as Rosethorne's, who felt slightly angry and ashamed of having to share this caste with this fool. He hesitated slightly before applying his curved dagger to his wrist, bowed unsteadily, and stepped back into line.

Rosethorne next heard the voice that grated on every nerve of her body. "Lord, I'm Kaesta, Pactkeeper to Malfeas, and a Moonshadow."

Her reddish robes flowed about her as she stood there. She wore nothing underneath them, a simple chain holding the sides of her robe together. She made her caste mark, a black ring around a black circle, appear. With an air of ill-concealed boredom, cut her wrist in subservience to her Lord as well before stepping back into line.

The Mask of Winters stood, his silver and grey cloak billowing around him as he did so. He paused for a moment, looking at each of them intently in turn. "My children, soon the town Thorns in the world above will be within my grasp. Preparations for this undertaking are nearly complete. Already the once-mighty Juggernaut has bowed its will to me, and its decaying and mobile corpse shall be my staging ground for the assault. To this end, I have tasks for each of you.

Kaesta, you will go to the town ahead of me and prepare the people there for my arrival. Fill them with despair, and a longing for death, which is something you're quite skilled at doing."

Yes, Rosethorne thought. All she has to do is talk to them, and half of them will cut their own ears off to stop listening to her out of sheer desperation.

"Greta, prepare my war machines from the corpses you've lovingly collected and crafted over the past few months. Use all the creativity and skill you have to make them as efficient and deadly as possible."

He turned to the far right, where Noro stood. "Noro, go to Thorns ahead of Kaesta, and subtly reduce their chances of winning. Don't assassinate anyone this time; we need to lull them into complacency first."

Noro nodded once.

Their Lord turned to Laughing Doom of the Pure. "While the rest of us do what we must, you have command of the forces remaining to defend my fortress. Do not fail me."

Rosethorne saw to her dismay that Laughing Doom looked entirely too pleased at this.

He at last turned to her. "Rosethorne, General of my armies. You shall lead the assault on Thorns and the outlying areas. Once I give you the orders to do so, cause enough death so that a new Shadowland will appear. Do your job adequately, and this Shadowland will permanently connect Thorns and my kingdom."

She felt pleased. She didn't show this, however, and nodded once instead. She couldn't help but notice that Laughing Doom was barely concealing his own jealousy and rage at this. It was a good thing for him that he stayed silent, however.

"You each know what you must do, I will send for you each in turn to discuss deeper planning in due time. Until then, hone your own abilities, as you are representatives of my kingdom, and how well or how poorly you perform your assigned tasks reflects upon me, as your Lord."

He paused again, looking around at each of them in turn from behind his deceptively simple-looking mask. "You may go."

Rosethorne turned on her heel, and began striding for the door, when she felt someone have the nerve to actually grab her arm. It was Kaesta, unsurprisingly. No other would be so foolish.

"I can't believe you wore your dirty old armor to this! Don't you have any sense of decency or style?"

Rosethorne looked pointedly at the large expanse of female flesh Kaesta had uncovered on her own body, before looking down at her eyes once again. "I'd wear your skin with your clothes over it, Kaesta, but you're not tall enough."

Rosethorne heard Kaesta's outraged gasp of indignation as she strode from the room. As she walked back to her room, she couldn't help but smile. A real war, hmm? So, her Lord wished to make his mark in the world above, now, and he wanted her to lead the army. She had been preparing for such a task her entire existence as an Exalt; she was more than ready. Of course, she would train between patrols just as hard as she had in the past month to ensure that she was completely ready.

Over time, she understood more and more why she was so well suited for the Dusk Caste. There was a subtle beauty and art to be found amongst the dying on a battlefield, and a beautiful art to causing them as well. It made her feel alive like nothing else. This she admitted was ironic, considering the nature of the Oblivion-touched Essence ebbing and flowing within her body.

That she had to occasionally put up with dealing with others like her was a small price to pay for being able to lead an army against the foes her Lord pointed her toward. She had to admit though; sometimes she imagined Kaesta's vacant-expression on the people she put to rest, which had the reaction of causing her to strike much harder than she needed to.

So, it appeared she was useful for something after all, if only for inspiration.

Kale stood alone on a dusty rock mesa at sunrise. The formerly dark land was shimmering with the sun's heat chasing away the chill of the night before it. He stood exactly ten miles from where he became an Exalt. His sword was in his hands, and he was going through the motions of the Edge Greets The Dawn kata.

Waist-level slash, spin, slash diagonally and down, follow through to a circular parry, come back up with a diagonal upward strike. The motions always made him feel at peace, especially now when he was strong and quick enough to keep a good rhythm going with the heavy sword. He performed each step as smoothly flowing into the next, never slowing or stopping.

It had been six months ago today that Melia passed on the Solar Exaltation to him. True to her word, she had stayed with him, and fought off the lethargy that came with giving the power to another, long enough to help teach him what he needed to know. They had run into differences of opinion and of skill several times over the past few months, as she had primarily lived and operated in a city, whereas he was far more used to the wild areas. Even as their different experiences led to different forms of expertise, they still definitely shared some common ground.

The concept with the name of "essence" describing the burning energy within his body was still a little strange, especially because there was the Solar Essence that gave him his newfound abilities, and the essence as pure spiritual energy, but he was slowly becoming more comfortable with it. Melia's words echoed in his mind as his body automatically kept the motions of the kata going, to help his mind focus.

"Everyone has a small amount of Essence within them. Exalts like you and I can draw upon the inherent Essence of the world around you; the stronger your connection to the aspects of the world and yourself, the more you have within you, and the more you can draw from the world without."

"However, this extra Essence comes with a price - your body and Exalt nature cannot process the un-aspected Essence around you as well as it can what you already have within you, so your anima will flare when you use external Essence."

He remembered asking after a brief pause. "...Anima?"

"Think of it as your aura; the patterns of subtle energy that surround every living thing, and reflect what the connection between body and soul is at that particular time. Since your body cannot process the un-aspected essence around you as well, waste energy is channeled through your anima. The more you use, the brighter it glows, and as you can imagine, it's hard to sneak around when you're glowing like an exploding lantern."

He remembered raising a skeptical eyebrow at this. "You mean it'll be bright enough to read by at night, if I use external essence?"

"Oh yes. Use enough, and you can be seen for miles."

That certainly made him think. Thankfully, she taught him a few tricks that came easily to his caste, such as suppressing the anima flare that came from using external essence, though ironically enough, it meant using more. Of course, the fun use of this same ability could make the world around him help him stay hidden; shadows got a little darker around him, the sounds he made became muffled, and other little other useful things. It wouldn't necessarily help him hide if he got caught, but it would help him not get caught in the first place.

Then came the next revelation - how that essence could be used. He had already felt it surge within him and help him when he tried to do something. It came naturally, though this was an unfocused thing. If he were to focus on doing a task at hand, whether it was as simple as swinging a sword, or as involved as evading detection, there were tricks he could use with his essence to help him.

Melia had taught him quite a few accepted tricks that she had learned from other Solars when she was alive; rote ways of using essence to help accomplish a particular task. Kale quickly grew to understand why the Solars were feared so; if it weren't for the innate desire of their Exalt Essence to do good for others, the devastation they could cause was staggering.

"Yes, so imagine what would happen if even a small group of experienced Abyssals were turned loose on this world," Melia had commented. That certainly took him aback; the thought was sobering. He remembered asking in a very offhand way, to hide his concern, how likely this was.

"It's a matter of time now. And not very much at that. This is another reason I chose you when I did. I still regret not having the time to let you get used to this gradually, but given the urgency I feel, perhaps it was for the best."

The underlying sense of urgency had been felt as she taught him how to channel and use his essence, and the essence of the world around him. Her urgency was catching, and he learned and practiced as much as possible. Only having to sleep a few hours at a time helped quite a bit, as well.

Even so, he vowed not to take the life of another living thing unless he had to for reasons of survival. The very fact that he knew he was roughly twice as strong as he once was underlined the fact that he had to exercise twice as much responsibility now.

However, this didn't mean he didn't take pleasure in using his newfound abilities. Being able to run through the deep forest now and still not make a single sound was still a little difficult, but still quite possible now. He had stalked and snuck up on a deer, and lightly touched her before she knew he was there. He smiled as the deer raced off, alarmed. Taking pleasure in the little things in life was quite gratifying every once in a while.

Melia didn't know all that much about how essence could assist with swordplay, so he was more or less experimenting and learning by accident. Despite this, he had come up with a few tricks on his own already. Nothing that was overwhelmingly useful, but having extra options was always a good thing, he felt.

He finished the kata, and stabbed the sword into the ground in front of him, leaning on it slightly, as he surveyed the world around him, slowly throwing off the sleep of nighttime.

One thing he had learned early on was something rather dangerous - if he spent any essence at all, whether internal or external, the new mark on his forehead would appear, and worse yet, glow. It was a dead giveaway that not only was he an Anathema, he was a Solar, and the current order of this world didn't like Solars at all. He had heard Melia deriding the Dragon-Blooded a few times, but she admitted that though they were the weakest of all Exalts, they were still Exalts, with all the benefits to go with it. What's more is that they were far, far more numerous than all other types combined. She gave him approximate numbers for each, and they were appalling: about two hundred fifty Solar Essences were still around, roughly fifty Abyssal Essences, and around ten thousand Dragon-Blooded.

This quickly brought home the point that if he were in a fight with a Dragon-Blooded alone, he would win, in all likelihood. However, if that same Dragon-Blooded were with his or her usual crew, the odds changed drastically. This fact alone was extra impetus to practice being stealthy even more, and learn to use his bow and sword in case skulking wasn't an option. It seemed to work out well so far.

But he couldn't help but think of longer-term things, now. The world had been run for the past couple centuries by the Immaculate Order, which was run by the Dragon-Blooded. The Solar Essences had only recently been freed to roam the world once again. But what now? The age of the Solars had seen many wondrous things; chariots that flew, weapons with their own minds, living metal armor, and other truly amazing things that had been lost. Would the Solars press to rule the world once again, by plunging it into a world-spanning battleground to wrest power away from the Dragon-Blooded, or would they be more content to watch from the sidelines for a while?

Melia's voice broke softly into his thoughts. "The natural inclination for the Solars is to rule, by virtue of many things. Some will be content to be righting wrongs across the land, but others will quickly want to have their own kingdoms to rule. There seem to be many signs pointing to war and strife hitting soon, from many different angles."

That certainly wasn't encouraging. "Signs? Like what kind of signs, specifically?"

Her voice seemed a little distant; a little strained. "The contagion loosed upon this world twice now, and..."

He interrupted her. "What do you mean, twice?"

"Once, it killed nine out of ten people across the world. This, coupled with attacks by the Fair Folk nearly decimated all of human civilization. This was long ago, right after the Solars were imprisoned. The second was local to where you live, Kale. The disease only spread to within fifty miles of the town of Thorns."

"...You mean the thing that killed both my parents stayed contained to only that area? How did it only stay there?"

"It just stopped exactly fifty miles away. What's worse is that since so many people died, quite a few of them were probably trapped in the Underworld as wraiths, being unable to deal emotionally with their deaths. Those wraiths most likely swelled the ranks of whatever loosed that disease."

"You mean to tell me that some...thing created that disease?" He was shocked, and becoming a little angry.

"Yes, Kale. The Deathlords have carved kingdoms for themselves in the Underworld, with nearly all of it claimed. The first time, they worked together to loose a contagion strong enough to affect the entire surface world; their aim was to kill all life at once. Thankfully, they only almost succeeded. The second time was far more localized, but followed the same basic patterns."

Kale recalled the battle strategy his father had taught him, a year before his death. What he had said about pitched battles and wanting to weaken the opposing force before attacking was the best way seemed to echo back to him now. Someone had planned this; this was not a random thing. This was a deliberate first attack, cunningly disguised.

"So, what you're saying to me Melia is that Thorns is going to be attacked soon, and that attack will be fortified by the souls who once lived there."

"Yes. Its only a matter of time."

Kale shivered slightly. "Knowing you, you probably already have a suggestion as to what I should be doing when this happens. Would you mind sharing?"

Her tinkling laugh, so familiar now, echoed in his mind. "Well, I'm certainly not expecting you to take them on by yourself. However, you will need to know how to strike and disappear very well."

He set his jaw determinedly. "Alright, I learned some of the disappear part, and some of the striking part. Teach me more of the not-getting-hit part. If I get caught, I don't want to be defenseless."

"Alright, then. Let's start with something simple. You see that grove of cherry trees, over there?"

He looked, and used essence to refocus his eyes much further away. He saw the grove, if it could be called that, about a mile distant. It looked like it once was what Melia described, but time had made it overgrown and wild. "Aye, I see it."

"As you know, the cherry trees are shedding their flowers now. Your first task is to run through the grove..."

"Alright, that sounds simple enough."

"...and not let a single cherry blossom leaf touch you."

He took a deep breath, and sheathed his sword on his back. He closed his eyes, and let some of his essence diffuse into his body, making his steps lighter, and much faster. He raced toward the grove.

The grey, featureless dusty plains seemed to extend as far as her eyes could see, with few small buildings and the one castle at her back to disturb the silent dead order of the place.

A corpse lay at her feet, recently relieved of the capacity of the spark of life. He had been "volunteered" to practice with his general in single melee combat. Though the small loss of troops this exercise cost her was painful, it was also necessary to weed out the bad troops, ones that could fail during a war and bring their army down with them due to their ineptness or failure.

Her Lieutenant had gained his present rank by surviving her furious onslaught for more than an hour. This was impressive enough to get him promoted, though he stayed the rank he now held based on personal merit.

"Send the next volunteer," she intoned flatly. She didn't say the words that loudly, but they echoed to the rest of her troops, gathered some distance behind her. She didn't see her soldiers handing out straws; nor did she see the unlucky soldier curse as he got the short straw. She didn't see this, but knew this happened every single time.

He approached her and stopped ten feet away. The clanking of his armor enabled Rosethorne to learn his armament by the way it sounded as he walked: plate armor, a shield, and a one-handed weapon. Perfect. The ones without shields never lasted very long.

"Are you ready?" She asked him with a flat voice, with the implication that giving an answer of "Yes" to this question was the only answer that wouldn't assure him death.

She heard him bring his armored feet together and press his weapon against his breastplate in a salute before saying "Yes, General. When you are ready."

He was one of the new ones. He was a career soldier in the Immaculate Order before falling in an ill-executed campaign against the Barbarians to the North. Since he didn't have the awakened Dragon's Blood in his veins, he always worked twice as hard to distinguish himself from the other soldiers to his Dragon-Touched superiors. He lived on as a wraith now, fighting and following orders just as he always had, which was a good thing - he might last more than the paltry ten minutes the fool at her feet had lasted.

"Begin," she said flatly, and spun around, scimitar and khatar at the ready on each gauntleted hand. Ah, he used a standard long sword, standard issue to the foot soldiers of the Immaculate Order. Old habits die hard, she supposed. At first, she did nothing, allowing him to start the fighting. However, he seemed to be doing the same. Perhaps he was unnerved that the tiny scales on her armor each had a tiny face, each one a soul pounded into the steel that comprised her armor and weapons. Each face moaned in a high-pitched, barely audible sound. All of them together created a discordant dirge to those not used to it, as Rosethorne was.

Well, if he seemed to be acting the gentleman not attacking first, then she would have the honor of doing so. She lunged and slashed at his hip with her scimitar in the time of an eye blink, whipping the scimitar back the other direction just as quickly before punching out at his head with her khatar. He managed to parry or dodge all of her attacks so far. Impressive, she thought. She moved faster, attacking in a pattern with seemingly random pauses and stutters amidst a soulsteel typhoon of slashes, kicks, and stabs of her khatar.

He had been forced to go on the defensive nearly immediately, not having the time to make an attack of his own. He had managed to get hit only by a few of her attacks, but he had paid the price heavily when he did. His weapon arm now hung useless at his side, drained of the ghostly essence that kept him in this state of unlife. He was desperately parrying her attacks as fast as he could with his shield and some quick footwork. He had managed to fend her off for a full half-hour when she called a stop. He stood straight and saluted her somewhat stiffly and painfully.

"Adequate. Go see the chiurgeon."

He saluted her gratefully, and hobbled off. Hmm, this one would make a good sparring partner. She would remember him tomorrow, if he was healed enough to give her a challenge again.

A loud, belligerent voice grated on her nerves. "Oh, what's this? King of the Mountain, eh? Can anyone play?"

It was Laughing Doom of the Pure, whom she had the misfortune of sharing a Caste, let alone her Abyssal nature with.

"Actually it's people who need a sparring partner to hone their skill in combat. Are you volunteering?" Her voice seemed to alternate between floating and crawling as it made its way over to him. He made a noise that was somewhere between a snarl and a giggle, and began walking toward her spot, further out on the parade ground.

"It's not everyday I get the chance to kill a general!"

Arrogant fool. This was precisely the reason he was always beaten so easily - he always underestimated his opponents, and always overestimated his own skill. Well, that, and he was a complete blithering idiot.

He didn't even wait to say "Ready" before he attacked, but she expected him to attempt being clever and doing something like this. She turned, and saw that he was using a long-hafted pike this time, rather than the dagger of before. Right before he struck her, she raised her left arm and caught the pike haft between the blades of her khatar and savagely twisted down and to the side, causing he and his pike to go flying over her head. Amazingly, he still held onto the pike. Well, at least he had done one thing right so far.

He regained his feet, chuckling insanely as he tried dancing around her, looking for a window of opportunity. She stood statue-still, letting him do so, waiting for him to grow overconfident and attack. Soon enough, he stabbed at her with his pike. She responded by slashing down on the pike, ducking down and slashing upwards at the pike with her khatar. The two opposing forces caused him to fly unintentionally over her head once again. He had not managed to keep hold of his pike this time.

"Thank you for demonstrating why nobody views a pike as a serious and viable melee weapon." She stood facing him, as he was getting to his feet, snarling at her.

He stomped over to her line of soldiers, and savagely took a sword and shield from one unlucky soldier. He then stomped toward her once again. "Cocky shadowy serving-wench, always thinking you're better than everyone else. I'm sick of it and I'm going to make you change your attitude!"

She said nothing at first, but as he slashed at her with the short sword hoping to catch her by surprise, a deft movement of her khatar entangled the sword between its blades. She pulled on the weapon, bringing she and Laughing Doom nearly face to face.

"I don't think I'm better than everyone else here. I know I'm better than you can ever hope and aspire to be in your wildest childish fantasies of fighting and conquering." Her pale blue eyes burned into his grey eyes through the visor in her helmet. Snarling and giggling at the same time, he tried to yank his sword free of her hold on it, but failed. She looked at him straining to pull it free for a few moments before moving. She lashed out with a speed that would make an angry and striking snake look decrepit and old, neatly carving the flesh off his head from the hairline back, scalping him.

He growled, and managed to finally twist his sword free. He tried to rush at her and bull into her with his shield in front of him, acting as a crude battering ram. She flipped sideways over him, and swung her scimitar dull-edge first at his legs, tripping him heavily. He tried to get up, but her boot was suddenly on the back of his neck, forcing him back down.

"This is your one warning for today, Doom. Angering me will force our Lord to find the Essence within you a more suitable host." With that, she moved her boot off the back of his neck, allowing him to rise.

"I won't listen to your stupid threats, Huntress," he growled at her.

"A threat is one or more sentences spoken to attempt to intimidate someone. What I told you was simple cause and effect. I named the actions of yours as a cause that will bring about the effect I mentioned," she said evenly.

"If you kill me, a Deathlord's wrath will be upon your head!" She could smell a little bit of fear on him now.

"Perhaps. I might be punished for slaying an incompetent Deathknight in the employ of our Lord, but I'll also be suitably rewarded if your next incarnation proves to be better than the hollow shell of a warrior that stands before me now."

He was still baring his teeth in anger toward her, but she could tell that he was actually considering what she said. It was amazing the lengths to which one must go to get someone thinking, sometimes.

He swallowed, and stomped toward the side entrance to the castle, flinging the sword and shield in the general direction he had taken them from. He yelled at her over his shoulder, "Fine, I'm done for today. I'm going to visit someone who knows how to properly treat a proper warrior!"

She couldn't help but smile slightly as she called after him in an even cadenced-monotone, "Yes, Kaesta will certainly receive your presence with closed eyes and opened legs."

He didn't appear to have heard her, but she knew he did. Being snobbish and pretending not to hear something was something approaching stupidity, she thought.

After watching their general soundly defeat another Deathknight, she knew she had their full and undivided attention. She noticed with some amusement that a few of them were handing jade pieces to others in the regiment, having lost their bets.

She drew upon the surging essence within her, manifesting her words as nearly tangible things, impacting and impressing even the most properly cynical members of her regiment. She had been practicing doing this, since as a commander of a large group of soldiers, she needed to properly inspire them in more ways than simply being more frightened of their general's wrath than of the opposing force.

"Soon, we will attack the town of Thorns, in the world above. This city will become a haven for the dead, an extension of our Lord's will into the world of the Sun, that his will be exercised both here and there in equal measure. We have the honor of cleansing those who would stand in the way of this inevitable spread of death, and giving to each of them the blessing and gift death offers them. We will annihilate their pitiful excuses for armies, and you here will be the core of a larger force to watch and cause this to happen."

She paused for three seconds, letting tension build slightly. There was an art to public speaking, she'd discovered. Abruptly, she yelled out to them, "For the glory of the Mask!"

They each yelled out the same to her as one, not one of them failing to yell at the top of their lungs in an answering cry. It seemed fitting that the messenger arrived for her with a note, stamped with the personal seal of the Mask.

She took it, and the messenger raced back into the castle. She tore it open, and read the short contents. If it were possible for her to grow pale with her complexion, she would have been at risk of doing so.

The Yozi's were massing a force on her Lord's northern border, and her task was to route them.

She reflected briefly on what she knew of them. When her Lord and other Deathlords had stolen or tempted some of the imprisoned Solar essences from their prison long ago, some were taken by the Yozi as payment for helping to crack the prison.

As much as she and all other Abyssals, including Laughing Doom, she thought with distaste, were avatars of Death and were reviled by the ignorant people of the surface, avatars of Death really weren't so bad. Death was far more enduring than life, and usually much more peaceful, not containing anywhere near the random upsets that life had. On the other hand, the Yozi's were, for lack of a better description, bringers of taint, corruption, and pain for its own sake.

All she or her Lord, through her, sought to accomplish was to bring the peace, stillness, and silence of death to all she could. The Yozi's wanted to corrupt, decay, and torture everyone, living or dead.

She set her jaw grimly. If they would be so cocky as to attack her Lord's lands, then they would be blessed with eternal stillness and silence for their arrogance.

She called out to her troops, using the same aura of confidence, leadership, and fear as she had just done a few minutes ago, its effects still active. "Suit up, and be ready to move out in fifteen minutes. We have an army to crush."

She walked to the stable, flanked by her Lieutenant and his four underlings. She opened the stable doors, and hopped into her warstrider, the bones of its body closing around her, holding her steady. She trotted out, followed shortly by her subordinates, in time to see her entire regiment suited up and ready to leave.

She yelled out at them once more. "We hunt the Yozi, who dare to encroach upon our Lord's lands. We will bring to them the wrath of the Mask for daring to taint this place with their foully corruptive presence, and send them back to the hells that spawned them!"

Most, but not all of her troops cheered wildly. She knew that the ones who hadn't cheered had faced the Yozi before. Even if they didn't have much enthusiasm for doing so again, they'd at least have the experience of fighting them under their belts.

She smiled as she trotted out, followed by the thundering marching footsteps of her regiment. This would be a perfect test of both her abilities and her soldiers' mettle.

He was running at full speed through the very uneven ground of the grove, the essence within him pushing him slightly in the direction he should run to avoid being touched. Adrenaline flooded through his body, as he imagined that the tiny pink leaves were enemy swords, falling on all sides of him. The essence within him rose to match his adrenaline, and he was moving faster, and faster still. Finally, he stopped outside the grove, breathing lightly.

"Very good, but...there's one on your head."

He brushed it off, and smirked. "Okay, so now what?"

He heard a pause, and from a flash of insight at the Essence within him, knew she was deciding something. "When I was still alive, I had quite a few hideouts, as I'm sure you can guess. I'd lay a wager that none of them have passed the test of time. None of them...except one. It was my own small personal palace, I suppose. It wasn't very big, but it was beautiful there. Jade tiled floors, marble walls...it was cold in there sometimes, but always very pretty. I kept some of my most fun stuff in there. I had it guarded by things that don't live in this world. If they're still there, then so might some of my old stuff."

Kale had a feeling he knew where she was going with this, but prodded her to finish anyway. "And...?"

He heard her chuckle. "If you're willing, I think it would be a good idea to try traveling there and seeing if it's still there. And, I can help train you on the way there, just in case you get bored."

He could have sworn he saw a picture of her winking. He nodded, though. It did sound like a good idea, if only to travel. "Alright. Where to?"

She pointed him in the right direction: south, and a little east. As he walked, she was teaching him how to try certain things. "You know, at some point or another, you're going to have to know how to see what normally cannot be seen."

He would have given her a quizzical look, if she still existed outside of him. "Like what, for instance?"

"Like ghosts."

He was taken aback. "Wait, why would I need to see a ghost?"

"You'd be surprised how much mischief a ghost can cause."

"Well, alright. How do I see a ghost, then?"

"Learning how is actually just a small part of the art I learned. The whole point of the art is to be completely centered, in balance, and in harmony with everything around you. Once you've learned how to do that, you can learn to hone that into being more ghostly yourself. Learning how to think and move as a ghost helps you to see them as well. Interested?"

"Well, sure! What kind of art is it?" He paused. "It doesn't have anything to do with...demons, or anything, does it?"

He heard her chuckle again. "No, nothing at all to do with demons. Nothing except for learning how to shape and use the essence within you more effectively."

He shrugged. "Alright, what should I do first?"

"Wait until we stop for the night, and I'll give you an exercise to do then. I'll give you one to do after you wake up as well. Okay?"

"Alright. What about between now and then?"

Kale could almost feel her considering again. The cute and bubbly demeanor she had was simply a mask for a truly devious mind, he had learned. "Okay. See that clearing in the trees, over there to your left?"

He nodded. "Okay. See that smaller rock to the left, and the larger one to the left of that? I want you to flip sideways, jumping from the smaller rock over the larger one."

Kale narrowed his eyes. "You want me to what?"

He could just feel her grin. He sighed, and ran at the smaller rock, reasoning that velocity would help him clear the larger one. Well, it couldn't hurt anyway.

He hoped.

Kale jumped at the smaller one, and landed briefly in a crouch on the rock, before launching himself sideways, toward and over the larger one. He forced himself to slowly spin sideways as he jumped. He couldn't help but feel a savage joy as he saw the larger rock about a foot below his face, in mid-flip. He was briefly pleased with himself to no end to know that he was now able to jump that far, when he noticed that the ground was now very very close, and he hadn't rotated enough to land on his feet. He tried to force himself to spin a bit more, just a little more, but it wasn't enough.

He landed with a sickening thud on his chest, the wind knocked out of him on impact. He gasped like a strangled fish for a few moments, when his breathing slowly became regular again.

"It looks like you need practice. Shall we again?"

"It's all this crap I'm carrying. Wait a minute, let me take it off."

"No, you'll need to know how to do some acrobatics like this when your life is in danger, and you most certainly won't have time to take off all your gear before you do so. Come on, get up and try again."

He sighed, and walked about ten paces away from the smaller rock. "Slavedriver." He thought quietly.

He felt a bright grin from her. "Oh, I'm only your slavedriver, cabbage-head. Come on, go!"

Kale ran at the smaller rock, landed in a crouch on it, and launched himself once again over the larger rock. They were both sandstone, he thought. Funny how he didn't notice that before, what with falling on his face, and all.

He was in midair, and he saw the larger rock directly below his face as he was now upside-down in midair. This time, he didn't get distracted, and smoothly followed through with the flip, and landed on his feet, slightly unsteadily. The weight of the sword and his bow and other gear was lighter to him now, but they were just enough to pull him backwards, landing on his back.

He ended up performing the same leap three times more before Melia was satisfied. "Good! Now, I want you to run toward where we were traveling before, but I want you to roll your weight on your feet like you were walking sneaky-like. I want to see if you can be silent when you run, too."

"Melia, it's not possible to run and still be silent. The impact of each step is much stronger because of the speed, and you just can't be as quiet."

He could feel her grin. "Of course it's possible, you have me with you. Now run!"

He shook his head, but ran, rolling his weight like he normally would if he were walking stealthily at a walking pace. At first, he winced every time a dry leaf crackled under his running feet, or a dry twig snapped. As he kept running however, he noticed that it was happening less and less. He kept going, running as fast as he could, and noticed that he could barely hear his own footsteps anymore. He marvelled at this, and kept going for a full half hour before he first started feeling tired, and drained.

"Okay, first off, good job. However, you've used pretty much all of your own essence to accomplish that. Congratulations on picking it up so quickly by the way, but stop for now."

"Why? I can draw from the essence of everything around me, right?"

"...Well, yes, but to make sure you don't start glowing like a bright lantern, you'd need to burn twice as much just to suppress it. We'll put it off for now."

He was feeling a little stubborn. He hadn't had the experience of drawing essence from outside of him, and wanted to. He kept going, and he consciously imagined pulling a little bit of energy from the trees, the grass, and everything else around him to keep going. He was immediately rewarded with feeling the same light, airy, ghostly feeling as he ran as before, but now he noticed that though it was getting dark, everything around him was still light.

"Good, you've learned how to draw. Now ground the energy and stop what you're doing, or cloak it. And hurry, someone might notice you."

He frowned, but imagined someone throwing a cloak over the glow to dampen it, and was rewarded with the glow immediately fading. He gloated. This was fun!

"Anatheeeeemaaaaaa!" He heard a loud, angry, and fearful voice shouting the word from off in the distance.

"Nice going. You see why I told you to wait?"

"Yeah, yeah..." He grumbled, as he looked wildly for a good place to hide.

The exhaustion she was feeling was manifesting as a red haze around the corners of her vision. She was walking home, the remnants of her troops in tow.

Her faithful and spirited warstrider was little more than a memory, now. It had been cleaved from beneath her as she led the second charge into the ranks of the Yozi's followers. She walked now, feeling more weary than she ever had in her life.

She just concentrated on step after step. She had fought harder than any twenty of her soldiers. She had to, it was her responsibility: to be an example and inspiration to her troops, to help them fight on against the followers and children of the Yozi. The worst were the ten Infernals that led and directed the rest. She remembered charging and cutting them down as they made their true presences known. But oh, how they had fought back.

How do you truly defeat a being that's been tortured enough to take pain as a source of power, manifesting it as a hybrid of ecstasy and rage? She'd met a few Abyssals who had been able to do the same thing, but certainly not to this degree. It seemed the Yozi took great pleasure in torturing and breaking their few Exalt Essences to the point where great torment was an everyday occurrence for them.

She intellectually understood the reasons for torture to be used. Though she considered it a waste of time, it was also an effective way of extracting information, or correcting undesirable behavior. But to this degree, to experience very little in life except pain...a little of her old self surfaced, the little girl who once had been shocked and horrified by seeing people she knew slain of horrific ways, before she became desensitized enough to it to take it for granted.

But she remembered the last Infernal most clearly. Like the others, he appeared deceptively to be human, until his true self manifested in the form of blood-red flames, the myriad pattern of scars beginning to glow the same sickly reddish color. He laughed, and groaned in pleasure as she cut viciously into him, his counterattacks being just as vicious, and completely unhindered by the pain he was in. Indeed, it made his attacks take the strength of trip hammers, her scimitar and twin-bladed khatar's soulsteel metal screaming in torment as they were forced to the limit of their durability.

Her men were walking just as slowly behind her. About a third of her original force remained. Oh, they had won; they had beaten back and slaughtered the huge horde of laughing, gibbering things, some of them once human. The horde itself was too large to engage on an even playing field, so she had her soldiers surround the horde, and attempt driving the horde back into one of the places in the Underworld where Oblivion took a solid form, devouring anything and everything that came in contact with it. She and her regiment had to force the horde back fifteen miles to reach the River Obliviate.

The things the Infernals led were alive, after a fashion. Strange beings, some resembling the humans they were once, long ago. Others never were even remotely human; some with long tails that tripped and broke the backs of her soldiers, some with a long, sharp bony spike where their hands should be, and even a few tiny hopping things that tried to attach themselves to faces, chewing and clawing.

Her helmet was falling repeatedly into her vision, and she hadn't noticed as she trudged on, step after step, being half lost in thought just to keep going. She took it off, and looked at it as she walked, and was momentarily shocked: it had been shorn from the top left through the bottom right of it, clean through. How had she survived? She took off the other half of the helmet, and carried them both as she walked.

How much further? It didn't matter. She would keep going until she reached her Lord's demesne. She looked over her shoulder, and saw that her men were just as weary as she. None of them were talking, or joking around quietly, as they usually did when they thought she was out of earshot. She looked ahead, and could finally see the castle on the edge of the horizon. She raised a mailed right fist, and called a halt. She heard all of her soldiers stopping gratefully; the battle and the long walk taking its toll on even the wraiths.

She automatically rapped out orders for rotating watch shifts, and her soldiers just as automatically followed them. She was glad she had spent all the time training with them, for they had become a highly efficient fighting force. She had only slain twenty of them over the past few years for gross incompetence or negligence, and she had never been light with them, either.

She sat down cross-legged, and began to meditate. She had learned long ago that meditation cleansed the body and mind even more efficiently than sleep would, and replenished her body and soul's store of essence, as well. It also had the side benefit of being still close to consciousness, so she would be awake and aware in half a moment, should the need arise.

The dreams and half-memories surfaced again. Some insane rants about how all the Solars should be found and slain, for reasons never given. She had felt the hate and rage from the Essence within her as it ranted on to nobody in particular. Like an eye opening and beholding scenery different than the inside of an eyelid, the dreams changed abruptly. This must be a memory of the Essence within her again. She was standing on a ledge, overlooking a huge plain, filled with soldiers, shoulder to shoulder. She, as a he again in this memory, was shouting to make her/himself heard to all of them in a language she didn't know; it seemed to have the desired effect, because the soldiers began cheering wildly once she was finished.

The scene changed once again to just inky, tangible darkness, with the insane ranting again. It was saying something about the Sun, something she couldn't quite make out.

"General! General, we need you!"

Her eyes snapped open, and stood in a ready stance in one fluid motion. She looked toward where the shouting was. Her soldiers had done well to yell out for her instead of trying to find her; in this place, her hair and armor blended so perfectly in with the ever-present shadows as to make her nearly invisible. There, she saw them.

Her eyes narrowed into slits of blue ice. An Infernal, her aura blazing with a sickly burgundy flame, leading ten others. She began to run forward, and nearly faltered at the sharp pain in her leg. Another cut, having cleaved through her thigh-plate. She ignored it, and ran with long strides toward the group rapidly approaching the remnants of her regiment. Tired as she was, her soldiers were far wearier than she, and none could hope to take on the Infernal and win. She, however, could, despite being wounded as she was.

She drew her scimitar as she ran and refastened her khatar with a satisfying clicking noise, as it slid home into the slot on her left gauntlet specifically designed for the purpose. The Infernal stopped at seeing Rosethorne suddenly appear twenty feet away from them, seemingly stepping out from the shadows themselves.

"I remember you, dead one. You slew my family, and our minions. Your screams will echo in this place for years to come." Her anima blazed a little brighter, the flames surrounding her the color of blood. Were it not for the reddish blood-colored flames dancing around her body and her glowing blood-colored eyes, she would have passed for human. The maniacal grin on her face only hinted at the madness that boiled behind her face.

"Yes, they're dead. Come closer, and join them." Rosethorne began focusing her essence once again, her Caste Mark appearing on her forehead like a brand, and blood began to flow from it. Her own anima crept and melted into view, made of tangible shadows, and ghostly bluish fire the color of her eyes. She felt the rotes she had learned to use her essence for beginning to take effect. Time began to slow down.

The Infernal screamed, and began running at her, the lackeys behind her following closely. Rosethorne settled into a ready stance, holding still as they, to her perception, ran slowly toward her. When the Infernal was a scant five feet away, she exploded into motion, slashing with her scimitar, aiming for the Infernal's unprotected neck. The Infernal parried the savage attack, just as Rosethorne thought she would. She spun around, carrying through with the motion of the slash, to be face to face with her followers. With fluid economy of motion, she slew them in rapid succession; timing her attacks to be capable of parrying or dodging the enraged Infernal's attacks as well.

In seconds, the Infernal's followers were dead, leaving her alone with the Infernal, just as she wished. She had learned from fighting this Infernal's brethren, and was wise to their tricks now. The saw-like sword the Infernal carried whistled through the air, aimed at Rosethorne's legs. She ducked into a crouch swiftly, and launched herself into the air, over the sword slash, over the Infernal, and behind her. She spun as she landed, using the momentum to aim a khatar strike directly into the back of the Infernal's skull.

The Infernal ducked, just as Rosethorne knew she would, and her scimitar was already whistling through the air, aimed at her neck. A hollow thud echoed softly across the plains, and the strange blood-like flames died out behind her.

She looked in the direction of her soldiers. "Keep a lookout for more," she said flatly, and strode back to where she was sitting once before.

As she walked, her strides shortened, and the sharp pain in her thigh came throbbingly to life once again, all the rotes she used wearing off. She wiped the blood that her Caste mark had wept into her eyes, and collapsed on the ground. She tried to clear her mind to meditate once more, but the pain made it difficult to concentrate. She unstrapped the thigh plate painfully, and saw that the wound one of the Infernals had inflicted on her hadn't healed at all, and was still oozing blood, and a little black ichor. She touched her head, where she knew the slash that had split her helmet had landed, and saw that the same black ichor came away from the wound on her head as well.

She made a decision. They needed to get back to the castle as soon as possible. She stood, and yelled out at her troops, "Rest time is over. Move out!"

She heard some muted groans from her troops. All of them were wounded to some degree. She looked at them starting to march, and lead the group of them once again.

Once again, it was back to taking the journey one painful stride at a time, but never slowing. She listened closely to the sounds of the footsteps her regiment was making, and they were keeping pace with her.

How long had she been marching now? She didn't know. Her limbs were growing heavier, her armor beginning to feel far too heavy to carry. Her leg was growing numb, from the ichor festering within it, she supposed wearily. She chanced a look up, and saw that the castle was only a few miles away now. She took several deep breaths, and kept going, pulling on her deepest reserves of stamina. Her men were faltering some, but keeping pace. Good, they'd probably seen the castle looming nearer as she had.

She didn't know how much time had passed until they reached the castle parade grounds. Her voice was hoarse and strained as she ordered them all to go to the chiurgeon's theater. The chiurgeons her Lord employed were quite good, mainly because they were her Lord's torturers as well as healers.

She herself forced herself up the long stairs, and through the long, twisting passages to her Lord's audience chamber. She tried not to collapse onto the floor, and landed a little heavily on her knee instead. "Lord, we have returned. We took heavy losses, but all traces of the Yozi force, including the Infernals who led the strike, are now claimed by Oblivion."

His voice echoed with...something she couldn't identify. "Were there any losses?"

"Yes, Lord. I lost two thirds of my regiment against them, and the rest are wounded." She couldn't help but notice the black ichor slowly oozing out of her exposed thigh, and inching slowly toward the floor.

"You did not fight well enough, and evidently you didn't train them well enough."

That statement hung in the air with a subtly malicious pregnant pause.

"What would you have me do, Lord?"

He waited in silence, seemingly considering. He sat in silence, making her wait, as seconds turned into minutes. The ichor began to flow slowly, creeping slowly like an intelligent sickness down the curve of her leg, and toward the floor. She watched it in horrified fascination, as it flowed so slowly, ever so slowly, and began to drip to the floor. She heard a hissing noise as it hit the cold floor, but she couldn't see what was causing the hissing noise, but guessed that it might be eating into the floor.

"Are you soiling yourself, my general?" His voice sounded...amused.

"No, Lord. I received a head wound and a leg wound, filled with a black substance that seems to prevent healing, and some of it has now touched your floor." Her voice was hoarse with the marching and exertion she had put herself through, but still with her signature cadence and monotone.

"Oh, I see." He signaled to his guards. "Then perhaps the chiurgeons should take a look at you, and clean both the failure and the poison from your body."

Her jaw tightened. She willed her anger away. She and her regiment had won, after all, why was he doing this? The guards dragged her to her feet, and began to pull her away. She shoved them strongly away, and began walking with head held high toward the chiurgeon's theater. The least she could do was face her fate like the general she was.

Without even thinking about it, Kale had found a largish rock close to some trees nearby, and had used it to launch himself into the dense canopy above. The branch he landed on moved some with the light impact of his feet upon it, but not as much as it normally would have. This registered in his mind after the fact, as the branch swayed slightly.

He looked and listened all around him, and soon saw a pack of red jade armored soldiers running toward the grove he was now sitting within. He held his breath, and used his essence to mask his own presence. For it to work, he'd have to not move, but he was fine with that limitation; if he had to move, that would mean he'd been discovered, which would make the charm a moot point anyway.

They stopped, and looked all around them. He held his breath as they looked up into the trees closely. He looked out where the branch was most visible, and was a little heartened by how it wasn't moving anymore. Good, one less clue to give his presence away.

"I know I saw an anima flare somewhere around here." The soldier that spoke was peering intently in every direction. His eyes met Kale's, whose heart stopped for a moment, but let out a silent breath of relief upon seeing the soldier's eyes move on to another area.

"What color was it?" Another soldier, looking around. He didn't seem to have the practiced eye of the first who spoke; he was more looking around at random, as if attempting to give the appearance of searching thoroughly.

"What bloody matters about the damnable colors of its anima? It wasn't the anima of an Immaculate, and that's reason enough!" The first soldier was alternating between looking around, and glaring at the second soldier.

Another soldier spoke up. Her voice was steady and calm, and had the ring in her voice of one who expected and was used to being obeyed. "Did any of you get a good look at the Anathema's mark?"

Kale looked more closely at her. She was unique among her companions in that she wore no armor. However, she did wear a light bluish jade helmet, and carried a matching shield on her right wrist. A long, double-pronged spear moved lightly in her left. A Speardancer; his father had told him a few tales of their savagely beautiful style of fighting, and how they all looked down upon the use of armor, beyond a shield and sometimes a helmet. No normal human had a prayer of being capable of their style; it was reserved for those with the Blood of the Dragons in their veins.

The first solider spoke up, while still searching. "No, Commander. All I saw was the brief flare of a non-Immaculate anima, which disappeared right after I noticed it."

Their Commander looked around once more, before rapping out orders. "Alright. If here is the last place we saw it, then we make camp here."

The small group of soldiers, Kale counted about 15 of them, began setting up camp with practiced military efficiency. Kale waited until he was sure none of them were looking directly at him or for him, and released the charm that had kept him imperceptible. He drew his essence around him like a dark cloak, suffocating his presence from other's notice.

He quietly, slowly, and carefully climbed down. He closed his eyes and took a few deep silent breaths to help him concentrate. From what he could tell after only being used to having essence within him for less than a year, he could practice the trick Melia had taught him, to keep his running footsteps silent for about a mile, which should be out of earshot for the soldiers.

He didn't try it right away, not completely trusting the rote's capabilities; he had only used it once, after all. He crept from tree to tree cautiously, until he could barely see the campfires and tents that the soldiers had setup camp with. Once he was on the edge of the grove, he chanced it, essence channeling into his legs and lungs, helping him race quickly and silently away from them.

He kept running for about a mile, until he began feeling very weary. He stopped the charm, and then cautiously looked around, to ensure that he wasn't being followed.

"That was a close one. You did an excellent job at dodging the Hunt."

Great.

"Okay, what is the 'hunt?'" He asked cautiously. He had a guess that it had to do with the Dragon-Blood led group of soldiers that appeared to be quite intent on making sure he stopped breathing. Painfully, if possible.

"The Wyld Hunt was originally created and instituted during the First Age as a strike team, whose purpose was to chase down the Fair Folk or undead who overstepped their welcome. Now, they just hunt any Exalts that aren't Dragon-Blooded, and sometimes go after those that they're supposed to go after."

Kale shook his head. He was still having a little difficulty as thinking of himself as being anything more than what he had always known, with some added benefits at times. To think of himself as a "Solar," that was a stretch. To associate that by necessity with the vile-sounding name "Anathema," well, that was still a tough pill to swallow.

"Come on, Kale," she prodded, but not unkindly. "We still have quite a bit of ground to cover."

He nodded. He was used to running all night and into the day, now. Feeling this surging energy running through his body apparently counted this as one of the side benefits.

He took off at an easy jog, but one that was desceptively swift. "How much further do we have to go?"

"About thirty miles from here."

About six more hours of jogging, then. He kept his senses perked up, studying his surroundings ceaselessly as he jogged quietly across the open plains. After a few hours, he started seeing the grassy, lush plains giving way slowly to the desert lands. As he ran, he thought more about what had happened over the past few months that had changed his life so drastically. He hit upon the disquieting notion that Melia had been urging him to get to this temple rather emphatically, in her own understated way. But why?

He repeated his question in the more open parts of his mind, where Melia had promised to limit her attentions.

He heard only silence, but knew that she was struggling for words. When she answered, she sounded weary. "I've nearly finished bonding my Essence to yours, Kale. Once I'm done, it'll be time for me to take the rest I was denied for over a thousand years. It's an effort to stay aware, to make sure that you know what you must know to survive, and get what you need to receive for the same reasons."

This made him think, as he kept up his effortless lope. "So, once I find your temple and loot it, you're going to leave me?"

He heard a tired chuckle. "No, I'll stay around a little while longer, just to make sure you're okay. But at that point, it'll become more and more of an effort to speak with you, so I'll just save it for a final goodbye, right before I take my rest."

He sighed, deeply. He was trying to not get depressed over the fact that every living being he cared about had died, and if what Melia had told him about his new lifespan, this pattern wouldn't be coming to an end anytime soon.

He forced his mind to other things, such as rolling his weight on his feet as Melia had taught him to be truly silent, even when running. It seemed that the essence within him was an uncontrolled force, that rose to assist him in pretty much anything he did; but relying upon it would be a mistake. He had to learn the mundane and boring ways of doing things before he could use his essence well. It made sense to him, so he wasn't complaining. After all, one shouldn't expect a hammer to knock nails into wood by itself.

Melia's softer, slightly older, and much more weary voice interrupted his thoughts. "We're here, Kale. Look around, and see if you can find the entrance."

It took him the better part of an hour just to see where he was supposed to be looking. But he found a worn pillar here, a sharply domed structure that certainly wasn't naturally made, and other clues.

With Melia's memories of how things were supposed to be, and him scouting around the sandy place, he finally found the entrance, half-covered by rubble. He pulled all the rubble away, and was at first unimpressed.

He carefully blew away the dust clinging to the old jade and marble, and a cunning and extremely intricate design took shape. There were many symbols and ornamentations, but no visible handles or anything.

"Look closely, Kale. See the five circles in the center?"

He looked for a moment, and saw the design, at the very center of the door. Each circle had a particular symbol within it. He nodded. "Yeah, I see it."

"Okay, now for the combination. Don't let this get around, otherwise my reputation as the sneakiest of the sneaky ones will go straight into the chamberpot." He felt her grin, and rolled his eyes. "Touch them in any order, but leave the one on the upper right for last."

Dubiously, he did so. As he touched the last circle, the door seemed to fold in on itself, glow with a soft golden light, and retract upwards. The way it moved was fluid, like water, not at all like the stone it had been carved from. He was fascinated for a moment, and then looked at the inky darkness within.

He took a deep breath, and cautiously went inside.

"i stILl CAnnoT wHIspeR TO hER, tO HEr. dO YoU kNOW WHy THiS iS, thIs IS?"

The Mask of Winters had once again been called to an audience with his patron. It amused him, in a bleak sort of way, that his patron was curious and angry about the same thing he himself was.

"You mentioned that the Essence within her still hasn't bonded to her completely. Is this still the case?"

A low roar filled the chamber, making the walls of the mausoleum deep within the Labyrinth shudder and crack, with reddish-black ichor bleeding slowly from the cracks. "I CAnnoT SEe inTo hER mINd, hEr esSenCE blOCks my VIeW, mY vIEW!"

Ah, so that was it - this also explained why the mirror she had procured for him never showed anything other than the slowly swirling beautiful energy of Death within her. But why hadn't she bonded to her Abyssal Essence yet? This process was nearly always instantaneous, at least, from what he'd seen of the other Abyssals in his employ. He hadn't ever heard of a Deathknight not bonding to the Essence within them for more than a day.

When he saw this newly Oblivion-touched Essence and acquired it greedily, he hadn't felt or saw anything amiss at the time, though he'd never tried to Exalt anyone with it before his General.

"Do you know why she hasn't bonded to the Essence within her?"

His patron either chose not to answer, or hadn't heard him. "THouGh ShE liES iN tOrmENT, hEr mINd stAYS CLeaR, STayS cLEar!"

He smiled behind his mask. Evidently he had taught her some things all too well; the chiurgeons had told him that each they came in to the operating theater, the wounds they inflicted on her the previous time had healed completely, with no scarring. She never made a sound or changed facial exprssions as they attempted to purify her of failure and toxin with pain. This last came as a mild surprise to even him, as he knew his chiurgeons, including his newest one, Greta, were exceptionally competent at their jobs.

They'd told him the poisonous ichor found in her head wound and her right thigh wound was magically enhanced; not only did it devour flesh and turn the flesh devoured into more of itself, it was nearly as painful as the worst tortures his chiurgeons were capable of. They had saved some of it for further study, of course.

One Cloaked in Dust spoke again, a bit more calmly now. "thE eSsenCe wiThiN heR refUseS to taKe itS resT, to tAke itS reSt."

"How intriguing. But why, noble embodiment of Oblivion?"

"thiS wIll proVe tO be bOon or banE vEry SooN, Very sOon."

The Mask of Winters hid his impatience with well-practiced ease.

"leave mE, leaVe Me to drEam."

He bowed deeply, and left his patron's chambers. He'd never outright ignore or ridicule his Malfean patron, that would be foolish. He'd heard how another Deathlord, The First and Forsaken Lion had done so, and how very quickly his attitude changed once his patron had transported him to its chambers, and kept him there for a year and a day. The Mask of Winters had also heard that ever since then, the First and Forsaken Lion could no longer remove his armor, as it had been riveted to his body.

No, he'd simply placate his frequently exasperating patron as he always did, and then go right back to what he was doing before, as usual. This game had been played for hundreds of years now. He might be one of the youngest Deathlords here in the Underworld, but he was far from being the most foolish.

When he entered his audience chamber, his senses alerted him to two people attempting to have a conversation in low voices, to avoid being overheard. The fact that it was Kaesta and Laughing Doom of the Pure made him smile. Their talks were always interesting.

He first heard Laughing Doom's voice. "Yeah, she's with the ki-ur...ki-ur..."

"Chiurgeons, dear."

"Right. Yeah, well our Lord slapped her down to there. I haven't heard what he did with the rest of her regiment, but it's ripe for the taking now. Alls I got to do is just kill her while she's still weak, right?"

The Mask of Winter's scrying cauldron was quickly put to use, allowing him to see Kaesta mock-lovingly stroke the fool's face before she spoke. "Exactly, dear. She's no good to anyone here. She doesn't play by the rules. She doesn't even try to get along with the proper people here, and she makes it a point to pick on you!"

His face quickly looked indignant. "Yeah, that's right! She always picks on me, and I don't know why!"

She smiled. "Exactly. Now you'll get to have your revenge, Doomie! Won't that be wonderful? You get to ride out to glory on the battlefield for the glories of our Lord, and I'll be here to welcome you when you get home. Doesn't that sound just wonderful?"

The Mask of Winters allowed himself a low chuckle. He moved over to the Essence traps in his personal quarters, and primed one. He had a feeling that it would be trapping an Abyssal Essence here very soon.

He sighed after he did so. Finding a good host for an Essence was always a bit difficult. It was made slightly less difficult because either way, it would be a Dusk Caste Essence that would be trapped here. All you really needed to do with them was find a strong host, preferably one that liked killing, though that was optional, really.

Rosethorne was tied into a fiendish contraption, made of soulsteel and bone. Her wounds had been cleaned of the ichor a few weeks ago, and now the chiurgeons were just torturing her, waiting to hear her confession of how she'd made a mistake. But she'd made none, as far as she was concerned. She and her regiment had slain every last member of the Yozi force. Yes, she'd lost a good two thirds of her regiment in the process, but she'd won.

She'd endured the chiurgeons' best efforts at giving her unimaginable agony. She'd felt distant from her own body ever since they'd brought her in here, her mind elsewhere, her body's echoing feelings of torment feeling distant.

Now, they'd left, and she was alone with her thoughts once again. She could feel her essence channeling through her wounds, greatly accellerating the healing of her tired body. She was alone in the comforting darkness now, alone with her thoughts.

Why had her Lord done this to her? She'd fought her best, fighting beyond exhaustion, beyond what she thought she could do. How had she been rewarded? She'd been greeted as a failure for losing so many soldiers against a force five times as large as the one she commanded, and one with ten times as many Exalts. Even when they managed to infect her with that vile ichor, she'd ignored it and fought on, as she must. If she had faltered but once, so would her men, and so would any chance she had of walking away after such a battle.

To be trapped here, restrained, confined, she felt her anger growing with each passing day. Was this what her Lord wished? To have his General nursing her rage, that he could turn her loose on his enemies? It certainly made sense; she was going to have to spill the blood of many people before she would feel her anger grow any less.

A voice cut into her thoughts. She realized with annoyance that it was the same voice within her that ranted so often, and one she'd looking forward to hearing silenced with expectation that mere words would not describe.

"I'm hiding your feelings from them, you know."

Her eyes narrowed. "Who is this 'them' of which you speak, burning ulcer upon my soul?"

She heard his voice giggle, a little insanely. "That fool of a Deathlord and the Malfean he bows to, of course! I've felt them try to see within your mind and soul, and I blocked them each time!"

She rolled her eyes and took a deep breath. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because if they knew about the anger that burned within you, you would be slain, and I would be passed onto another vessel."

Her jaw tightened as much as it could, with the soulsteel collar around her neck. He was right, and that was what made her more angry. She took another deep breath to keep her anger at bay, at least for the present. "Why haven't you grown silent yet? And why are you helping me like this? Why now, of all times?"

He giggled again, evidently proud of himself. "Because I've grown to like you, Rosethorne. You catch on to your abilities fast, and that's why I still haven't gone to sleep yet."

She closed her eyes and shook her head as much as she could, within her restraints. "You left something out. Explain why you still haunt me with your inane ramblings."

His voice sounded surprisingly sane. "You still need me awake, for now. I remember things you do not, for now. If I were to finally rest, you might get glimpses of my memories, but it would not be enough, not for what you will need to do soon."

Her eyes narrowed, and her jaw tightened again. She prevented herself from grinding her teeth in anger with great effort. "And just when will I find out about my glorious destiny, hmm?"

His voice sounded much more distant. "Soon."

She growled out the words of her question, "When is 'soon,' you insane twit?," but got no answer. She clenched her fists in frustration, ignoring the needles tearing her skin as she did so.

She lay awake, lost in her thoughts for several hours. Her anger had receded somewhat for now, but not entirely. She was still staring at the ceiling of the cavernous theater when the chiurgeons came in, accompanied by guards. She forced her expression to not change with great effort as she saw that the foremost of the guards was Laughing Doom. He eyed her nude form lewdly and giggled, which she ignored. For now.

Greta seemed to aimlessly drift into the room, and drift just as aimlessly to Rosethorne's side. "Our Lord has seen fit to release you. You will be brought to his glorious presence."

The guards and chiurgeons released her from the restraints and the contraption itself. Once the contraption's lever to release her was pulled, she was dumped unceremoniously to the floor, in a heap. One guard came to her left side, and Laughing Doom sauntered to her right side, as they roughly pulled her to her feet. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that Laughing Doom had pulled his dagger from his belt.

She twisted to the side as he tried to subtly drive the dagger deep into her back, and shoved him backwards. She rose unsteadily to her feet, her eyes locked on his. She was feeling weak and slow from the month she had spent strapped motionless in that vile contraption, but she was still more than ready for him.

He roared with anger at his flimsy ruse was seen through, and grabbed a sword from one of the guards. She quickly did the same, as they began circling each other. The guards and chiurgeons wisely got out of their way.

He snarled at her. "Your time is over. Its now time for me to lead our Lord's armies into glorious battle!"

Her expression didn't change. "Since you're dreaming, I'll help you sleep eternally, so you can have that dream as long as you wish."

He lunged at her, which she dodged clumsily, narrowly avoiding being cut by the sharp blade. He slashed at her repeatedly, and she managed to parry or dodge all his strikes. However, the more she moved on her feet, the more she felt her strength returning. She smiled to herself as she began to feel the strength returning to her body slowly. He lunged at her again, and she spun around the strike and through his guard to elbow him in the face. He stumbled back, blood streaming from his nose. She pressed the attack, slashing at his neck, which he managed to parry just in time. She stepped back, and studied him. He'd learned a little about fighting, it seemed.

He shook his head, and bared his teeth in an angry grimace at her. She looked back at him cooly, with no expression on her face. He rushed at her once more, which she ducked, With the same motion, she swung her sword savagely at his leg, cleaving right through. He collapsed to the floor, screaming and laughing at the same time. Perhaps he knew that this was the end. No matter. She stabbed him through the chest, pulled out the sword, and beheaded him, his head falling to the floor with a meaty, hollow thud. The expression of surprise and agony was frozen on his features.

She contemptuously wiped the blade thoroughly on his shirt, and handed it back to the guard with a nod. The surprised guard could do little other than accept the blade, and nod in return. Holding her body straight and her head held high, she walked toward her Lord's audience chamber. She heard the guards following her as she walked, which was fine.

The Mask of Winters was awaiting the return of his General to his throne room. What he expected to see was for her limp form to be carried in and dumped before his throne. However, he wasn't entirely surprised when she walked in nude, a little more stiffly than she had in the past, and dropped to one knee on the same tile of the floor where she normally did. Nervous guards followed her in.

He broke the silence first. "I see that you are still capable of moving on your own after your cleansing session. The next time you fail me, I will ensure that you will be held longer."

She said nothing for a few moments, and continued looking at the ground. She noticed now that the tile she kneeled upon had been replaced. Evidently the ichor was indeed corrosive.

"Your servant awaits her orders, Lord."

He said nothing, and just studied her for a few minutes. It annoyed him slightly that she had no scars from her recent experience.

"Where is Laughing Doom of the Pure?" He already knew the answer, as he saw that his Essence trap was now holding a pure Abyssal Essence, and she had already answered his question by virtue of the fact that she was the one who walked in, and not Laughing Doom.

"I slew him. He attempted to take my life as I was being picked up from the restraints, which I would not allow."

Again, he said nothing for a few minutes. The dead have all the time in the world, after all.

"Go to your quarters, and return here armed. Be swift."

She stood, and bowed to him. She realized that she had no sharp object on her to salute him with, and so used her fingernails instead, before marching out. As she walked out with long strides, The Mask of Winters realized idly just how long her hair was on her. It didn't look overlong on her though, as her height offset the length of her hair nicely.

She returned in ten minutes, fully armored, carrying her helm in the crook of her left arm. He rose, and gestured for her to follow him, which she did. They walked through more twisting passageways, before ending up on a balcony overlooking the parade ground.

She hid her surprise as she beheld the sight below her.

Kale's eyes adjusted preternaturally fast in the gloom, as he slowly and carefully stepped inside. He nearly jumped at the sound of the door unfolding to close behind him, but he was thankful for it.

He stepped carefully, looking at the small palace in the dark. The first room he entered was a large antechamber, probably used for greeting guests.

"What few there were that knew of this place, yes." Melia's voice made him smile; she was watching him, and letting him explore on his own.

He found a doorway on the other side of the large room, and cautiously walked toward it. Walking alone, in a large marble room is a great place to gauge just how quietly one can walk. He was pleased that he heard more noise from his own breathing than of his boots treading softly across the marble and jade floor.

He walked through the doorway cautiously, which opened into a smaller room with a much higher ceiling. He quickly saw the reason for this, as there was...a huge suit of armor on the other side of the room. He looked in shock and awe at the spectacle. The armor had to be made for a tall giant or something, since it was about twenty-five feet tall. A large, wide sword was resting between its feet. As Kale circled around it, he saw that the blade was large enough to look almost ridiculous, even for a suit of armor as large as that. And yet, the handle only seemed large enough for one of the armor's huge mailed hands.

"That's my guardian, Kale. This was created for me by a truly talented member of the Twilight Caste, who worked unceasingly for a year and four months at his forge, crafting it."

He admitted to being impressed. "So, it just sits here in this chamber?"

He heard a sleepy chuckling. "Yes, it now just sits here and protects this place from everyone who isn't me."

Kale nodded. "Oh, okay." He paused. "Wait, what?"

Right after he spoke those words, the place on the armor where eyes would be lighted up in a ghostly bluish-green color. The gigantic armor moved its right arm, grabbed the handle of the equally gigantic sword, and hefted it aloft. Its gaze seemed fixed upon him, and with booming strides, it walked purposefully toward him, the absurdly large sword held at the ready.

Oh, this was so far beyond not good. "Hey, Melia? A little help, maybe?"

He leapt out of the way as the sword crashed with a sickening, echoing boom where he stood barely a second before. He ran and ducked around so that he was behind it, hoping to confuse it by staying facing its back.

The ruse quickly failed, as it whirled around, to fix him with its bluish-green glare. It lifted the sword once again, and brought it down once again with a blow that sunk the blade two feet into the ground, making the entire chamber shudder. Kale had dodged out of the way with the speed borne of pure desperation and fear.

"Melia!" He barely had time to shout out her name as he was forced to dive to the side once again, rolling into a crouch.

"To make it stop, show it your birthright."

He shook his head. This woman was outright insane; there was no escaping it. He dove nimbly out of the way once more, and unsheathed his father's greatsword, and held it aloft. "Halt!" he yelled out at it with what he hoped was an authoritative tone.

He was very quickly thankful at all the jumping exercises Melia had him practice, as a quick backflip into the air was necessary to escape the diagonal downward slash that nearly got him.

He faced it again, holding the blade with the point toward the stomping suit of armor. "I command you, hold!"

His command fell on deaf ears again, as he quickly had to dodge another devastating slash. "This isn't working!" Then he realized what Melia meant: he had a new birthright now, one of the Sun. He drew some of the ambient essence from the old and dusty place around him. His instinct now was to use it instantly as an invisible cloak that made detecting his presence in any fashion much more difficult, but in this case, he simply let the energy flow freely from him. His Caste Mark glowed as a shining golden circle on his forehead, while his anima flared into view with surging colors of gold, red, and blue.

He faced it once more. "In the name of the Unconquered Sun, I command you to hold!"

To his utter surprise and relief, it did so, and faced toward him. What surprised him further was that this huge, living suit of armor spoke in an echoing, booming baritone. "GREETINGS, CHILD OF THE SUN. I SHALL NOT HARM YOU FURTHER, BUT I CANNOT ALLOW ENTRANCE TO ANYONE BUT THE ONE I SERVE."

Kale shook his head quickly to chase away his utter surprise. "The one you serve is dead now, though. She passed her power onto me."

It merely looked impassive at him. "I REQUIRE PROOF."

He thought to Melia urgently. "Melia, a little help here would be nice!"

"The proof it wants was destroyed along with me, centuries ago."

Kale rolled his eyes. Oh, this was going to be lovely. "So, do I just run through the doorway and hope it doesn't cut me in half?"

He heard her sleepy chuckling once more. "No, I have a duplicate, but it's stashed in the chamber it guards." She paused. "It wants to see my signet ring."

He shook his head. This wasn't any easier. He addressed the metal behemoth again. "The proof you require, in the form of Melia's signet ring, is in the chamber you guard."

It seemed to stand a little straighter, and with the creaking of metal and the loud booms of its footsteps, it moved next to the doorway. "YOU MAY PASS. SHOW ME THE RING WITHIN SIXTY SECONDS OF ENTERING, AND I SHALL RECOGNIZE YOU AS MY NEW CHARGE."

He nodded, and walked swiftly into the room. A memory prickled in the back of his mind, and he seemed to remember placing it here long ago. He walked over to the back wall as if in a dream, and lightly touched the spot on the huge map on the back wall that corresponded exactly to the location of this small palace. A small drawer opened in the wall face, revealing the ring and a scroll.

He shook his head as if to clear it, grabbed both ring and scroll, and walked back out to the huge armored guardian. He held the ring aloft toward it. The guardian's eyes came to life once more, and gazed intently at the ring. It seemed to relax slightly, and stood straight again. "SPEAK YOUR NAME, CHILD OF THE SUN."

He looked up into its armored face. "My name is Kale, of the Night Caste."

It nodded to him with the creaking of metal. "GREETINGS, KALE. AS YOU ARE MELIA'S CHOSEN SUCCESSOR, I NOW NAME YOU AS MY CHARGE."

With that, its eyes dimmed, and went out, looking once again like an oversize armored statue. Kale exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and walked back into the chamber beyond. No memories came at him this time, but he suspected that since he remembered one of Melia's memories, she was nearly bonded to him. He paused in his purposeful walk as he realized the implication of this. She was nearly gone, and soon, he would be alone once more. He took a deep, slightly shuddering breath.

He walked once more into the room, looking at all the things Melia had cherished, long ago. Predictably, he found a beautifully ornate bow; it was her favorite weapon, after all. He found two golden, strange daggers. Another of her memories hit him briefly, helping him to remember them as sai, used as short swords and to trap an enemy's weapon, and always used in pairs.

He found a bracer made of the same strange, gold-like material, trimmed with blue jade. It had the design of a phoenix within a golden circle; evidently Melia's calling card, as the same design was on her signet ring. It signaled rebirth, and the ring signified the Night Caste. How utterly fitting, he thought.

He placed the bracer on his left forearm, and it seemed to grow to accommodate his larger arm. It seemed...it seemed to be waiting for something. He shrugged. "Bracer, I ask you to protect me as best you can, and I give you the gift of essence." He closed his eyes and channeled a little of his own essence through his arm and into the bracer, which glowed, and grew further to seamlessly encase his forearm. Strangely enough, his forearm didn't feel hot, which meant his arm could still breathe. Amazing.

He walked around the room further, and saw some trinkets, and a few gems. One of them had glowed out of the corner of his eye when he had channeled essence into the bracer. He picked it up, and was suddenly drawn strongly into a memory.

His entire body grew stiff as he fell back onto the floor, the sword digging into his back quickly becoming a fading memory as the memory took over. A buzzing sound grew out of nowhere, and grew steadily louder as his vision faded. Breathing was so difficult now, as it felt as if a giant hand was slowly squeezing his chest tighter and tighter. Darkness took him.

He seemed to be much lower to the ground, before he remembered: these were Melia's memories, and she was quite a bit shorter than he. She was running to this palace in the dead of night, her feet carrying her over the ground with impossible swiftness. He heard the nighttime sounds of the animals of the desert, but didn't even hear the crunch of sand under her racing feet. She looked behind her, and saw the angry reddish blotch in the sky some distance behind her that signalled her hometown was burning to the ground, the fire lit by the Dragon-Blooded in their rebellion.

She cursed both the Dragon-Blooded for their bloody rebellion, and equally cursed her brethren for growing so complacent and distant from their own duties. She saw a small scouting patrol of the Dragon-Blooded, looking resplendent and righteous in their jade armor. They had seen her, to her surprise, and were running swiftly to cut across her path. This might be the end of the age she knew, but she wasn't going to go quietly.

She ran directly at them with an appalling speed, and using the virtue of her smaller size, darted between them. She swiftly drove one of her daggers into the back of one's neck, and used the other to swiftly dispatch the one next to her. He darted back out of immediate reach of a weapon, and eyed them. Five left.

She assumed a strange stance, and the shadows around her seemed to caress her, flowing across her until she was nothing but a shadow made manifest, blending perfectly into the night-time shadows. She raced toward the angry and slightly scared Dragon-Blooded again. She felt compelled togive them some credit: they hadn't yelled or done anything dumb at seeing their compatriots struck down in her fury.

She ducked and flowed around them, swiftly killing them, one by one. The shadows flowed away from her body, revealing herself once more. She also felt a sharp pain in her side. One of the bastards had managed to cut her. No matter. She had no time now. She extended her senses around her, looking for more that might stumble across her or her secret place in the sands.

Finding and sensing none, she resumed her swift stride, bringing her quickly to her temple. The door opened at her quick combination, and she quickly darted inside. She ran to a panel right beside the door, on the interior of her palace. She quickly pressed a few symbols on the engraving, and heard a shuddering outside. She smiled with satisfaction, and darted to the interior room.

Her guardian came to life and stepped aside for her with a nod, which she returned. She made sure that her other signet ring was in hand, and moved to the secret drawer in the map of the back wall. She put it in, but hesitated as her finger was over the release button that would hide the drawer seamlessly into the wall once again. She decided to quickly write out her story for the next person who carried her memories. She only hoped that her successor would have a better fate than the one that awaited her.

Writing with impossible speed, she smiled smugly as she placed the scroll with the signet ring. She blessed all those times she had hung out with the Eclipse Caste types, who ended up teaching her a few things. She only hoped a fate less terrible awaited them as what surely awaited her, and the rest of her Caste.

She placed her bracer in the chamber, and hid the Hearthstone that had once sat within it amongst a basket of rubies. To eyes not trained to see the flows of essence, it would look simply like another ruby.

She took off most of her possessions, as she wouldn't need them soon. She was going straight for the Immaculate Palace, the heart of the new Dragon-Blooded regime, and she would repay in blood a thousandfold the fate that befell her brethren in treachery. She now only wore simple traveler's clothes, and carried no visible weapons, just as she wished. She could form weapons out of her own essence if necessary, which meant she could travel very light indeed.

She ran out in front of her guardian, that her close friend Mechle had created for her as a wedding present. It seemed so long ago that she became a married woman, playfully making the man who sought (and had already won) her heart woo her over the course of decades with gentle walks in the woods, talks that lasted days on end, and little gifts that weren't meaningless knick-knacks, but things that showed how he felt for her.

She remembered waiting with a hidden smile for him to ask her to be his wife, and how she had playfully made him sweat for a few seconds before leaping into his arms with kisses and her answer of yes, forever.

Now her beloved was dead, slain by the Dragon-Blooded he once led. Oh, he had sold his life dearly, having been attacked when they thought he was unarmored and defenseless. But he knew the same tricks as she, at how to form weapons and his armor out of his own essence, and he made them pay a thousandfold his death.

Now, she was alone once more. Her old skills had returned to her swiftly after two centuries of disuse, and she would use them to visit her grief and wrath upon the Dragon-Blooded who had taken him away from her.

She shook her head to clear it. She needed a clear head now. "Guardian, I go now to my death. Treat the next one who enters as an intruder. If they're my successor, they'll know that my signet ring is in the chamber you guard."

It nodded to her, its gold and blue jade construction reflecting any ambient light beautifully upon the walls. "IT SHALL BE DONE."

She nodded to the hulking armored guardian, and walked to the panel on the interior by the door once more, pressing a few symbols. She heard a shuddering outside, which she smiled grimly at. She opened the door, and keyed the same symbols in reverse before darting swiftly out the door. She ran for a short distance before turning around, seeing her palace sink into the sands smoothly and without trace. She nodded to herself, and took off running directly at the heart of the new Dragon-Blooded regime.

Perhaps her brethren had grown fat and lazy on their power. Perhaps the things the Dragon-Blooded said about her brethren trafficking with demons and worse were true. Perhaps they were even right for this bloody coup. Even if this was the case, she wasn't an outsider looking on the situation, she had her beloved taken from her, all the people she called friend bleeding with the wide-eyed expression of surprise at their deaths in the streets from the place she had run from, narrowly escaping with her life.

Fading glimpses of her assassinating high-ranking members of the Immaculate Order over the course of two hundred years went swiftly by, culminating with her eventual capture and death. The last memory he had was of her, as a golden ghost, standing above her body and preparing to flit away like a midnight breeze, but was being pulled inescapably under the ground, into the inky blackness, and being drawn into a great jade prison. She screamed as she struggled in vain against the inexorable force, the great jade bars swiftly moving closer.

Kale sat up with a gasp. He wiped his sweaty hands on his pants absentmindedly. With trembling hands, reached for the scroll that he had found in that secret niche within the map.

He read to himself, her fading memory of that language helping him read through this hastily written scroll. She was born almost eight hundred years before that fateful night he had just relived, and she was Chosen at the age of twenty, the child of a poor trader and a seamstress. Her parents had no high hopes for their daughter, who dared to climb everywhere she wasn't supposed to, and explore places she shouldn't go. When the Sun chose her with a soft blaze of light, her life abruptly changed. Another Night Caste had found her in dreams, and passed along her power to Melia, explaining the necessary things before taking her rest.

She helped her parents out until their deaths, mostly quelling the mad thrumming in her veins that demanded to be taken advantage of. She grieved their deaths, and looked after her extended family from a distance, but gave in fully to her new life as the Chosen of the Sun, reveling in the myriad glories and wonders of the age.

Melia had dated the letter roughly a thousand years before now. His hands shook slightly as he read it over again, before leaning back against the wall, eyes unfocused as he stared at the far wall, trying to comprehend and digest all of this. She had been trapped, formless, bodiless, and hopeless in that prison for a thousand years, with only the other forlorn and bodiless Essences around her, some slowly souring with the energies of the Abyss flowing through the prison.

She had lived through all of this, and had passed the Exalt Essence onto him, as her successor. It seemed in the document that Melia had assumed her successor would be female, which he smirked at.

He looked downcast now. She had promised that she'd say goodbye before she left. Even if every single person he'd ever loved or cared about died, he'd feel a little better if at least one of them said goodbye to him first. It made dealing with their loss a bit easier.

Her voice sounded barely half-awake. "I'm...not gone yet Kale, but will be soon. Don't worry, I'll say goodbye."

He gave a half-smile. He stood once again, took off his gear, and stared at it, on the ground. Something told him that all other Exalts in the world carried something stronger than the simple (though well-crafted) steel of his father's big blade. He'd leave it here, as a reminder for himself, and as a tribute to his father.

He had spied a long, thin sword lying sheathed on a stand in the corner. He moved over to it and unsheathed it, marveling at its craftsmanship. This sword looked as if it had been crafted by the same master craftsman who created Melia's guardian, as it didn't show their age at all. It seemed to beg to be unsheathed, which he did. To his surprise, it was overly heavy, though still perfectly balanced. Remembering the trick he had used on the bracer, he tried it on the sword as well. "Sword, I ask for your blessing and help when I need it. I give you now this gift of essence."

The sword glowed briefly, and then began changing drastically. The blade changed from a brilliant gold to a subdued blue jade color. The blade itself lengthened and thickened; until it was the length of his father's sword, though still half the width. It was also much, much lighter now. He dropped it on a whim, and the crash of it hitting the floor told him that it was only light when in his hands, which suited him just fine. He tried sheathing it, before realizing that the blade was now much larger than the sheath. To his surprise, the point of the blade, which was nearest the opening of the sheath, slimmed down and shortened, allowing him to sheath it completely. Just to ensure that he wasn't hallucinating, he drew it again, and it lengthened and thickened again as he drew it, shortening as he sheathed it once more. Amazing, he thought. Absolutely amazing.

He tied the blade's sheath to the space on his back previously occupied by his father's blade. He attuned the bow as well, which darkened to the same jade-like color as the blade did after he did so. Amazing, though very strange.

Kale smiled as his eyes passed by the basket of rubies, and picked up the one he knew now was certainly no ruby. It glowed as his hands touched it. He remembered that Melia had it within a socket on the bracer he now wore, and he placed the strange glowing gem in the socket. It immediately glowed so brilliantly it almost blinded him, and faded just as quickly into an ordinary, unassuming-looking red gem within his bracer. He covered it with his heavy overcoat sleeve.

He couldn't resist thinking about the strange sword and bow; how they at first appeared to be made of gold, and had changed into the jade that the Dragon-Blooded normally carried.

As he had hoped, Melia answered. Her voice was thick and very tired; he knew how much of an effort this was becoming for her. "The five magical materials, Kale. One for each kind of Exalt in existence. Orichalcum, which responds best to Solars. Moonsilver, for the Lunars. Soulsteel, for the Abyssals. Starmetal, for the Sidereals. And Jade, for the Dragon-Blooded. If soldiers saw you carrying orichalcum weapons, they'd know you were a Solar instantly."

He nodded. That made sense; there was no point in advertising his existence, after all.

He packed up all his gear, leaving his father's bow and sword lying reverently on the table in the center of the room. He took one last look at this room that held in material things all Melia's memories, before turning his back and walking out. He walked right up to the guardian, and asked, "Hey, that panel by the door I remember Melia playing with - what does it do, exactly?"

The eyes flared to life behind the huge helmet, and the head turned to look down at him. "IT HIDES THIS DEMENSE FROM PRYING EYES."

"Was it active when I walked in?"

"NO."

Well, alright then. "Thank you, Guardian. Please guard this place until I return." He remembered Melia's words to this same armored giant, long ago. Yes, he should do the same thing. "Let no one in but me. If I die, the signet ring will be in the passageway you guard."

It nodded at him. "UNDERSTOOD."

"Farewell, Guardian." He walked to the panel, and nearly started pressing the symbols before opening the door. He didn't know what would happen if he pressed the symbols before opening the door, but since the Guardian said that this palace sunk beneath the sands, he probably wouldn't be able to leave easily. He opened the door, and then hurriedly pressed the symbols before darting outside, just as Melia had done long ago. He ran outside for a distance before turning around to see the very top of the palace sink beneath the desert sands.

He was ready, now. Melia had taught him well the basic tricks he needed to learn before walking the world alone, and given him the gift of her knowledge, memory, and a few of her possessions.

He began the long walk back to the forest he was raised within, and to Thorns.

Rosethorne hid her surprise well, as she saw the thousands of soldiers massed in perfect formation on the parade ground. War machines were evenly dispersed amongst the ranks of various kinds, designed for specific purposes. It appeared Greta had been a very busy woman.

Most of the soldiers were animated and slightly intelligent skeletons, each clad in steel armor, and carrying a sheathed standard-issue infantry blade. Their armamaments hadn't been made of soulsteel, as the metal only reacted properly to Deathknights, or their Deathlord superiors. A few others were wraiths given newly made human corpses to inhabit and animate, with the rest being fanatically loyal living, breathing humans. Rosethorne hid a smile as she saw that all of her former regiment were amongst the huge force.

The war machines were mostly bone caterpillars, which were created by taking over one hundred humans, cutting each of them in half above the hips, and joining head to torso of the next. As the humans died, their consciousnesses were trapped within the mass, giving it a semblance of life, and a thirst for revenge, directed at anyone their recognized superiors designated.

What she saw behind the masses of troops almost took her breath away. The Juggernaut, one of the last remaining truly fantastic creatures of the surface world and well-nigh unkillable, had been brought to heel by her Lord. Its flesh had been desiccated, and its skin clung tightly to the bones within. It was lying on its stomach, and would use its truly awe-inspiringly large arms to propel itself along the ground.

Her Lord's voice caught her attention. "Your forces are ready, General. Are you ready to take Thorns for my glory?"

She still was angry at how he had treated her over the Yozi skirmish, however this would be an effective way of channeling her anger constructively. She nodded, and saluted him. "No life will mar the perfect glory of death within Thorns after I am finished, Lord."

He returned the nod, and returned his attention to the troops massed below. "I will use the Juggernaut's still moving corpse as my mobile base of operations. I will follow you with my own assembled force, and clean up anything you leave behind. For your sake, don't leave much."

She nodded once, her ice-blue eyes coolly surveying her army.

"This is now your force, since you have proven capable of such a task. Address them, rally them, and prepare them to march. Do not fail me." With that, he glided back inside.

She stepped forward, holding the railing of the balcony with soulsteel-mailed hands. She raised her head high, and gathered her essence to channel her voice, and the emotions she wished those gathered below to feel, underflowing the current of her speech. She spoke with artificial emotion to assist the rote, her voice carrying loud and clear to the entire mass of soldiers.

"We will go forth and take the surface town of Thorns for the glory of our Lord, to show that nor even the surface is safe from his blessing of death and unlife! It is our job to clear the way for our Lord, and we will not fail!"

Nearly invisible trails of essence coursed from her being, and washed over the assembled troops, holding their full attention. Every one of the massed soldiers raised their weapons in salute, yelling savagely. She then stepped away from the balcony, turned on her heel, and marched through the castle to the parade ground below, donning her helmet and tiger-claw khatar as she did so. She walked to the stables, and found a fresh warstrider waiting for her, also armored in soulsteel. She did not have the time to indulge herself in the pleasure of breaking the creature, made of bone, soulsteel, and necromancy as ancient as the Malfeans themselves.

It rose on its hind legs, a hollow otherworldly scream echoing from its chest cavity. She glared at it, the essence within her channeling her intention to cow it utterly. It landed on its front legs, holding still, and she leapt into the cavity, the bones of the cavity creaking around her waist to hold her securely.

She rode out to meet her army face to face. She trotted her warstrider in front of her troops in silence, studying them. There were no new troops; these were all beings, alive and otherwise, well familiar with death and how to deal it. She trotted to the west side of the gathered army, putting herself between the army and the slowly opening shadowland that connected her Lord's domain to the world above. She turned slightly, and faced them, her ice-blue eyes glowing visibly behind her helm.

She unsheathed and raised her scimitar to the inky sky above. "For the glory of the Mask, and the death he commands!"

The huge gathered army raised their voices in unison in reply. "For the glory of the Mask!"

She dropped her scimitar, and turned to face the shadowland opening slowly off in the distance in front of her. She began to trot her warstrider in a slow pace, and she swiftly heard the well-trained marching steps of thousands trailing behind her.

The essence flared in her veins, thrumming and coursing with power, to equal the adrenaline that began to flow as well, as it always did for her on the eve of a battle. Some distance behind her, she heard a rumbling boom that signaled one of the huge arms of the Juggernaut beginning to turn.

She marched her troops for the hour it took to reach the newly-formed shadowland, on the edge of her Lord's domain. She raised her scimitar once more to the sky, and yelled "CHARGE!" at her gathered troops, before breaking into a gallop at the yawning, swirling inky darkness and grey, intermingled with undecipherable things. The shadowland seemed to cling to her like a forsaken lover as she raced through, but its tendrils dragged reluctantly away from her as she raced to the light growing quickly larger, and burst through.

She immediately had to blink a few times to adjust her eyes to the unnatural brightness around her, and it took a moment for her to gain her bearings. Oh, she would kill a few more mortals here, just for making her suffer this abominable light. She heard the first company of her army marching through the surface side of the shadowland. She turned, and beheld the town of Thorns for the first time, as she raced toward it.

She didn't see more than two archers per wall around the town, which meant that they were by no means expecting this attack. One guard on either side of the main door confirmed this. She smiled to herself while leaning forward on her warstrider, forcing it to run even faster, its feet making the ground shudder.

* * *

Johen and Auric stood at each side of the gate, as usual. Two more days, and then they would get to go out for a good night
of drinking, smoking, and random debauchery. The day had gone by slowly, as usual, the hot summer day beginning to cool.

Auric lifted his helmet to scratch the top of his head. He sighed, as he wiped his forehead with the hankerchief he kept in his pocket. "Ya know, Johen, sometimes this makes you wish something would happen."

His friend looked at him, giving him an odd look through his whiskery face. "Like what? Why are you so anxious to have 'something happen' all of a sudden?"

Auric shrugged as he pulled his pipe out of his pouch, and began packing it again, making sure its contents weren't pressed down too tightly. "I dunno, I'm just saying this job is boring sometimes."

Johen narrowed his eyes at his friend, glaring briefly at Auric's pipe. Auric had been smoking out of that foul thing every two hours, unfailingly, for the last five months. At first, it was a novelty, the smell being something he didn't mind all that much. But now, the sheer unfailing repetition with which his friend smoked that damnable pipe was getting on his nerves. "Good, I like boring. It means we get paid pretty well for standing here and not doing a damn thing, and that's something I can live with. And must you keep smoking that pipe all the damn time?"

Auric looked surprised, and turned to look at his friend. "Why didn't ya say somethin'?"

That took some of the wind out from Johen's sails. "Ach, I dunno." He paused, seeing something in the distance. He squinted at it, barely making out what it was through the hot, shimmering summer evening breezes. He reached out without taking his eyes off the spectacle in the distance to tap his friend on the shoulder, but accidently knocked the pipe out of his friend's hand.

"Hey, if you wanted me to not light up, you coulda jus' said somethin'! 'S not like ya had to be rude about it, or anything!"

Johen still had not averted his eyes from the thing in the distance that he could now barely make out as a figure, in all black, riding what looked like...an off-white horse. "Hey Auric, you see that?"

"What?" His friend crouched and looking at the ground, trying to recover his pipe.

"Auric, look up, and tell me what you see." The figure, he could see now, was riding that horse like something possessed. It was galloping directly toward them.

"Just a damn minute, I'm almost done." Auric decided to make his friend wait for a few moments. Johen just knocking it out of his hands had really pissed him off. Right after he said something about it too, which made it worse.

"Auric, I'm serious, look up." Johen began to feel the faint vibrations of that figure's horse's feet pounding into the ground at a full gallop. It appeared to have no intention of slowing down.

"Fine, fine." Auric fit his pipe into his mouth, and lit it, inhaling the pungent and pleasant smoke. He looked up in the middle of his next puff, and stopped. "What the hell...?"

Johen decided to hail the rider. "Hey, you! Stop and identify yourself! Where do you think you're off to in such a damn hurry?"

The figure made no move to slow down. The vibrations of the figure's horse running flat out toward them began to feel more pronounced now.

Johen's hand began to inch toward his sword and he spoke to his friend before addressing the dark figure again. "You and your big mouth, Auric." He turned his face slightly back to the rider, who he could see was wearing featureless black armor, armor that didn't reflect the setting sun like it was supposed to. "You! Halt, and identify yourself!"

Both of them could hear the sounds of the black-armored figure's horse galloping swiftly toward them now. Auric's eyes, being better than Johen's, grew wide as he realized that the horse had no head, and he couldn't see the rider's legs. His voice rung out in what would have been an authorative tone, were it not for the slight faltering in his voice from the fear he suddenly felt grip him. "We order you to halt and identify yourself! We're not going to tell you again!"

They both saw the figure's right arm reach to its left side, and withdraw a curved blade made of the same featureless black material. Both of them groped for their swords, their hands clumsy in their haste. Auric was the first to have his ready. He looked toward the figure again, the hoofbeats against the ground making the ground shake, and the noise growing to a crescendo. He saw the figure holding its arms wide, as if for peace, but its right hand held the long, curved blade, and its right had a claw of some sort attached to it.

Both felt a slash of pain through their necks, hearing the dark rider crashing through the town gate before everything went dark.

* * *

She saw so many commoners; it was difficult to find a place to start. She heard raised voices of alarm to her left, and decided that would be a perfect starting point, and slew every man, woman, and child in her way with swift strikes of khatar and scimitar. Quickly, the normal noonday buzz of the town was replaced by screams and shouts of alarm as she began cutting down everyone in her way.

Soon, she saw a company of soldiers racing through the marketplace toward her, and she smiled behind her helmet. She charged towards them, as they readied their long pikes to stop her charge. The pikes' wooden handles snapped as they hit the bone and soulsteel of her warstrider, and she was swiftly among them, acting as a starving tiger would among rabbits, in an enclosed room.

Just as she finished off this pitifully trained group of guards, the screams grew louder as her army gained the town gates. For the first time since she had reached the surface, she spoke to her troops, uncaring if the screaming townspeople of guards overheard her. It would make their fear even more tangible. "Let none escape this place alive!"

She knew that two regiments had encircled the town, allowing none to leave. The rest were slaying everyone within with terrifying efficiency.

Leaving the common areas to her troops, she galloped her warstrider up the circular stone stairs that led to the upper levels, where the rich and ruling class lived. She had her warstrider rear up on its hind legs as she reached the first door, and kick the door off its hinges, revealing a very startled and fat merchant in the middle of having his way with a harem girl.

Men are all alike, and women who allow them their ways deserved to die as well. She cleaved through them, and left for the next room. This merchant saw her enter, and had a saber ready. Her scimitar cleaved through both saber and man in a heartbeat. She continued down this corridor, continuing her grim task, until she reached the door at the end, leading up to more stairs, the doorway too small to allow her warstrider through. She dismounted, and began racing like a shadow up the stairs.

She threw her shoulder at the thick wooden door, which gave way to her savage inhuman strength, revealing a man surrounded by armed and ready guards. She smiled again; she was hoping for a proper fight, and she hadn't been subtle or silent at all about slaying the people in the rooms below.

"You, halt! We'll give you riches, anything if you leave us and my town in peace!" The guards trembled slightly, though with foolish and reckless adrenaline or fear, she wasn't quite sure, though she certainly smelled fear on the fat man dressed in cumbersome silks.

She walked in with long strides, just out of range of the guards' sword reach. "There's only one thing that you have that I want." The guards and the man seemed surprised to hear her voice, but then, the men always did. She dove amongst the guards, slaying them rapidly, their sword thrusts parried and dodged without breaking her stride or rhythm in the least. In seconds, she stood alone in the room with the man, whose fear was now palatable.

"Do you know what I want from you?" She asked, in a low, menacing monotone.

"W-what do you want?" asked the fat fool.

"Your head!" As she neatly took it.

She trotted downstairs, mounting her warstrider downstairs, and began galloping down the circular stone stairs once more to see how her troops had fared.

She smiled as she saw the spectral wisps of the shadowland had begun spreading into town, attracted by the many sudden and violent deaths within. Surprisingly, the main force of soldiers from this town had managed to cut down quite a few of their soldiers, in a heroic, if foolish, last stand. She closed her eyes, and listened. All she heard was the blessed, beautiful sound of silence, along with the irregular stomping of her soldiers.

Even her soldiers gasped with shock as the terrifying large bulk of the Juggernaut broke free of the caressing tendrils of the shadowland, now large enough to admit it. The Mask of Winters stood on the back of the huge head, with reigns tied to the huge decaying being's nose, mouth, and eyelids, with the ends of the reigns firmly in his outstretched hands. It lurched forward tremendously as it pulled its unimaginable weight after its outstretched arm, and continued in this way to the town walls.

The Mask of Winters levitated from the top of the Juggernaut's head, and onto the wall, and from there to stand near Rosethorne, who respectfully dismounted, removed her helmet, and saluted her Lord.

He closed his eyes, and began slowly turning in place, before facing her once more, with eyes open. "You have performed as you hoped you would, my General. I am pleased for your sake, as there are no people left alive here."

She nodded respectfully, and said nothing.

"The many wraiths you have created today, by the pain and uncertainty of their deaths will supplant my kingdom well. Many more soulsteel weapons, and some useful minions have begun their servitude to me this day."

She nodded once more to him, words being redundant.

"Take a force of one thousand troops, and scour the lands around this place. Bring the sweet release of death to all you encounter."

She saluted him once more. "It will be done, Lord." With that, she hopped back into her warstrider and donned her helmet once more. She gathered this strike force to her, and left the town gates.

Some instinct told him he should move quickly, so Kale kept up a jogging pace ever since he left Melia's Demesne. He didn't notice at first, but the landscape was moving by faster than normal. At first, he attributed it to one of the nuances of having essence, but he knew he wasn't channeling any. He also noticed that the gem he had placed in his new bracer was scintillating softly. On a whim, he took the gem out, and started jogging again, and was covering half as much ground as before.

Well, this was interesting. He placed the gem back in, and sped back up. Seeing just how quickly the landscape was whipping by, he knew that if anyone saw him, they'd know immediately he was moving preternaturally fast. He grinned. Well, if they saw him, they'd have to catch him, wouldn't they?

However, just to be on the safe side, he concentrated for a moment. He seemed to melt into his surroundings, and he took off again. He smiled again as he ran, an indecipherable blur moving quickly through the desert, and into the grasslands.

Just a few more hours. He didn't know where the sense of urgency he felt was coming from, but since his intuition had saved his life already a few times, he decided not to question it overmuch. In fact, as an added precaution, he channeled his essence through his anima, which responded by muting the little sound he was making, and blurring his form even more. This would make him more tired, but the ground he could cover undetected was well worth it, he decided.

He decided to bank left to head to Thorns first before going into the forest he called home. He didn't know why, but he did feel that it was a necessary thing. He slowed to a stop on the edge of the canyon west of Thorns, and his jaw dropped in shock. He squinted to get a better view, and the essence within him responded to his unspoken request, clarifying his vision clearly to see into the distance.

What were these things? Some looked like skeletons. Walking around. In armor, carrying swords.

He blinked. This was certainly unexpected. "Hey Melia, if you're still in any shape to talk...what the hell happened here?"

She didn't respond with words. Images of a dark, shadowy, desolate place filled his mind's eye, of ghosts, dead things, and pale-skinned people that...he was having trouble figuring out what the images and feelings meant. Like him, but...filled with death? That didn't make much sense.

He blinked again. "Wait a minute...are those pale-skinned people...Abyssals?"

He felt a warm feeling in return, which he took as a yes. "And those Abyssals...made these skeleton-things?"

Another warm feeling, and another series of images...of the pale-skinned ones crafting...things, made of bone, and parts of still-living people. High above, on a balcony, he saw a thin, tall man, wearing a mask of cold black metal that covered his eyes and nose, but left his mouth revealed. He was dressed in funeral clothes, looking down on all this below him...and smiling. His upper lip curled slightly, to help cover the shiver he felt when he saw that man. "That's just wrong. They actually do that?"

Another warm feeling of assent. The enormity of what Melia had told him made him lose his balance, and collapse cross-legged onto the ground. He looked around the town's perimeter, and saw an inky, shadowy substance caressing the walls of the town, and flowing like blood for a mile outside the town's limits.

"Is that...black thing how they got into Thorns?"

Another warm feeling, with a word afterward: Shadowland. He saw in his mind's eye how the Shadowlands on the world he knew connected to the dark, shadowy place of the dead she had shown him before.

A flash of light off to the east caught his attention. He squinted again, and his vision clarified what he was seeing off in the far distance. A large army, comprised of people wearing red jade armor, marching in unison. The huge force seemed to be over a thousand strong, from what he could make out at this distance. He felt a feeling of anger and hatred coming from Melia, and quickly figured out who they were.

He squinted a little more, and details became clearer. The two companies at the front had no armor, carrying just long spears with wicked-looking points, and shields on their opposite arms. Their arms were bare, though they were wearing loose-fitting clothing. He counted over two hundred of the Speardancers alone. Two hundred more were riding horses around the perimeter of the force, the rest were wearing blander, metal armor. So, it appeared that the Immaculate Order had sent a force comprised of at least half Dragon-Blooded soldiers. He got the impression from Melia that this was rare, especially in recent times.

Kale did some quick thinking. "So, that guy connected the land of the dead to this world with that Shadowland over there, and took over the town. He must've known that would've attracted the Immaculate Order's attention. Are they holding hostages?"

He felt a cold feeling from her, and got the half-image, half-feeling that there was no life left, of any kind, in Thorns. He swallowed.

"Is that tall man I saw in funeral robes the Mask of Winters you told me about?"

A warm feeling again.

"Did he have all the people in Thorns slain because he's a sadistic bastard, or because he had a purpose?"

He saw images of the people dying, their minds, their very souls unable to cope with such a violent end as they had received. Unable to move on back into the cycle of life and rebirth, they appeared in the Underworld as ghosts, which were quickly rounded up and inspected by the pale-skinned ones. Some were taken away as servants, but most received a thumbs-down verdict from those doing the inspecting, and were dragged away to giant furnaces and forges, where...he closed his eyes to block out the images. The images skipped past the wraiths being forced into a vat of molten steel, hundreds of them forced magically to stay within the molten vat, screaming and pleading for their captors to change their minds. He saw metalsmiths forging the black, shadowy steel into implements of war, which screamed in pain and torment with every blow of the smith's hammer.

He couldn't help shuddering. His mind quickly made the connection, though. "What happens if an Exalt, like, say, a Dragon-Blooded one dies and becomes a wraith?"

He saw images of the wraiths either being kept in servitude for a specific task, or...making even stronger tools of war.

His jaw dropped slightly. "He took Thorns to fuel his little war effort, turning the dead into weapons to help further his campaign...and leading the Dragon-Blooded who come even now into a trap, to hopefully get a stronger army and begin spreading throughout this world?"

Another warm feeling.

"Do the Dragon-Blooded soldiers marching on Thorns know about this?"

Nothing. He guessed she didn't know.

The enormity of this collapsed around him, as he gazed off into the distance, staring at nothing. "The plague that killed my parents was a recruitment drive for Winters' war effort, wasn't it?"

A short pause, and another warm feeling.

He couldn't help the tear that slid slowly down his cheek, but the sadness was quickly replaced by anger. His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched and unclenched.

The glint of sunlight reflecting from red jade armor grew brighter as the soldiers grew nearer, catching his attention once more. He saw that the majority of them were still heading toward Thorns, but a smaller force detached and began making a wide circuit around the town, and toward the canyon below him. It looked like an expeditionary force, out to check the perimeter. Ten Speardancers and about forty Dragon-Blooded infantry led the force, supported by a few hundred soldiers wearing ordinary steel armor. Mortal soldiers, he guessed.

It was then that he saw them. On the far mouth of the canyon, on the opposite side of where the Dragon-Blooded regiment was approaching, stood a huge force of armed skeletons, with some humans and what appeared to be zombies for good measure. Behind them all, he saw the figure. A figure in all black armor, riding a pale horse. He squinted, and discovered that where the horse's head should be, the figure was instead. The "horse" was...made of bone and black metal. He saw a bluish glow behind the eye slits of the figure's helmet.

He clenched his jaw and unclenched it again. "The smaller Dragon-Blooded force is walking right into a trap."

Another warm feeling, as Melia agreed.

As the last of the smaller force entered the canyon, he saw that another large force of skeletons and zombie-like things were closing off the mouth of the canyon in silence.

He made a decision. As much as Melia absolutely despised the Dragon-Blooded, they were a lesser evil than that Mask of Winters bastard taking over the entire world he knew, one patch of land at a time. He stood, and concentrated once more, fading from view as he pulled his new bow off his shoulder, and nocked an arrow. He inhaled, holding his breath as he concentrated. Right before he released, the arrow glowed slightly, and he felt the rote Melia had taught him begin to take effect. With preternatural speed, his arm pulled an arrow from his quiver, nocked it, and fired within the span of a second, the arrow striking a skeleton at the base of the neck. He repeated the movements rapidly as the back line of the undead force began to collapse from his arrows.

Some of the Dragon-Blooded heard, and word was quickly spread to the rest of the forces. Half the force still faced the dead army with the dark rider in its pale horse; the other half protected their backs against the dead attacking from behind. They began to skirmish with the dead army behind them, the mortal soldiers finding to their cost that the dead ones lost no strength or ferocity from cuts, lost limbs, or injuries.

Kale's bow was by no means idle. He sent arrow after arrow, each homing unerringly upon the weak spot in a given undead soldier's armor. The back ranks of the skeletal army began to thin rapidly.

He suddenly heard voices near him, with pounding feet nearing his location. "The arrows came from over here!"

"Are you sure the arrows were sent to attack our force, Commander? None of them seemed aimed at them."

"Don't question me, fool. The snipers' bows probably don't have the range to hit our force, so their arrows are falling short."

"Volley after volley, Commander?"

"Well, let's find the snipers and ask them!"

Kale had heard enough, though he grinned slightly at how they thought he was many snipers. He channeled his essence into his anima again, further muting any sound he might mistakenly make, and hiding him from view further. He raced silently toward the mouth of the canyon, putting his bow back over his shoulder, and drawing his sword, which grew in his hand as he drew it. He rested the blade on his right shoulder, held in his right hand, with the edge pointing away from his neck. Better safe than sorry, after all, he thought.

He faded rapidly into view again as he struck the first swift blow at the neck of the undead soldier nearest him, furthest to the rear of the force. He didn't stop swinging rapidly, the gem making each strike twice as fast. They tried to strike back, but it seemed as if they were moving through molasses, with each strike easily avoidable. He parried the few strikes he couldn't dodge with his bracer or sword, and continued striking in an unbroken pattern.

"That's an Anathema!" he heard from one of the soldiers. "The Anathema are leading this dead to kill us!"

Roars of anger spurred the Immaculate soldiers into further action, striking down more and more of the undead soldiers. The Dragon-Blooded ones flared their animas into existence, adding colors of green and earthy brown, light blue with swirling ice crystals, reddish-orange flames, and swirling water to the malaise of battle below.

Bloody hell, that meant his damnable Mark was visible again. He shouted back, "And why the hell would I want to help the dead, you idiots?"

That quieted their voices as they saw he was striking at the dead, not at them. That didn't last for long however, as another of their soldiers yelled out, "It's a trap! They have Anathema behind us and in front of us!"

Wow, you're quick, thought Kale. "Yes, and that's why I'm helping take care of the ones behind you!"

"He lies!"

Now the last of the would-be ambushing small army of the dead had been cut down, with the half of the force still looking at him, and preparing to charge at him. Kale yelled at them as he began running to the mouthy of the canyon, where he could race along the side of the canyon. "Turn around and help your friends!"

Right after he spoke his warning, the dark figure had raised a black sword, and yelled "Charge!" in a somewhat effeminate voice. The much larger undead army began quickly closing the distance between them and the somewhat reduced numbers of the smaller Immaculate force. Kale quickly counted the numbers of each force as he ran, and saw that the Immaculate army was still outnumbered five to one. Since the some of the Immaculate force were Dragon-Blooded Exalts after all, this looked to be a very even battle still. However, that dark figure had stayed behind, and that made Kale a little nervous.

The Dark figure swept a half circle with its sword, and pointed at Kale, who had forgotten to cloak himself again. He saw arrows from the back ranks of the dead surrounding the figure begin to fly at him, which he barely dodged in time.

"Kale..."

Nice timing, Melia, he thought. "Yeah Melia? I'm a little busy trying not to get turned into a pincushion at the moment!"

"That dark figure...I recognize it."

"Great, old friend of yours? What, you want me to drop by and offer tea and cookies?"

"That figure has the Essence of my husband within her."

That almost broke his stride as he ran, not able to dodge an arrow in time to feel it bite into his side. Hoping his new rapid healing ability still worked, he painfully yanked it free of his side with a grunt of pain. "I know this is painful for you Melia, but I'm not going to let that Winters guy start turning all the lands I know into an undead amusement park."

"All I ask...is that if she falls in battle, save her life. Don't let her die."

Kale dove into some nearby bushes, so he could cloak himself and become hidden once more, and hopefully heal the arrow wound before he would be forced into the conflict again. Then Melia's words hit him. "...What?"

Rosethorne smiled behind her helmet. She could hear the telltale sounds of the bone caterpillars arriving. She truly hated not being involved in the slaughter of the Immaculate fools who dared try to take back this backwater town, but the bone caterpillars had this irritating tendency to attack anything alive, which included Abyssals.

She heard the screams of anguish and surprise as the one bone caterpillar reared up on each side of the canyon, smelling for blood. They did a sinuous, snake-like dance before racing down the sides, straight at the Immaculate force. She began to hear the screams as the bone caterpillars hungrily began devouring her foes one at a time, in a vain attempt to clothe their bony limbs with flesh once again.

She raised her sword, and signaled for her skeleton archers to fire another volley at the fool to had dared foil her ambush. What disturbed her slightly is that she could have sworn she saw the glint of gold from that meddler's forehead. She hadn't seen the telltale sign of the golden Solar anima that accompanied the normal Solar Caste Mark, so he probably wasn't one. He was probably dead now, as she had seen him dive into a bush like a coward, but it was best to be sure by sending a few volleys of arrows at the bushes where he hid.

She raised an eyebrow as some of the Dragon-Blooded began attacking the bone caterpillars viciously. She smiled. Due to how they were constructed, as long as one link was connected to another, a bone caterpillar would continue moving and devouring. She frowned slightly as the Dragon-Blooded, with their weak animas flaring, figured this out and struck down segment after segment. Both were half-gone now, and rapidly growing smaller. She decided that her waiting was over, and charged her warstrider toward the Immaculate force.

For this kind of fighting, being mounted would prove to be as much a liability as an asset, and so she leapt high from her warstrider once it was close enough, and dove into the Immaculate force, striking down two as she landed.

The Dragon-Blooded were tougher than the ones she normally slew, but not by too much. Two rapid strikes dispatched them. This slowed her down, but with each arrogant Dragon-Blooded that fell, their morale dropped just a little bit more as she tore through them like a hungry and bloody tornado.

She noticed idly that night was beginning to fall, which made her smile. The thrice-accursed sunlight would finally dim, and her enemies would know truly that these were their last hours of life. She fought more and more fluidly as the light dimmed, being more and more comfortable in the descending darkness.

She was beginning to taste their fear now, even from the normally haughty Dragon-Blooded. She decided to terrify them further, just as the sun dipped below the horizon. She channeled her essence through her anima.

Her Caste Mark burned and bled into existence behind her helmet, as shadows gathered around her to alternately hide her and make her appear much larger. Ghostly ice-blue sheets of light began streaming around her, mingling with the nearly tangible shadows. She could now taste the Immaculate army's fear was threefold, and she dove to attack once more, their fear making her strike all the harder and more hungrily.

One thing she despised about the surface world was that she couldn't regain her essence as she normally would, in the cool, comforting gloom of the Underworld. So, she had learned to take it by force, in the form of wounds on any being with Exalted essence within them, which included the Dragon-Blooded.

With each blow struck, she felt stronger, as she drew essence from their wounds and into her body. She began using her more terrifying killing arts, becoming a blur of soulsteel on the darkened canyon floor.

The formerly large expeditionary force of the Immaculate fools had dwindled into a small group of terrified soldiers, knowing that they were fighting for their very lives, and as some suspected correctly, their very souls as well.

Her eyes narrowed as she faced the far canyon mouth, as she saw that Immaculate reinforcements had arrived. She'd lost only a quarter of her force in the last battle that even now was concluding with gurgling screams. The undead don't tire thankfully, so she was not unduly worried about how long her troops had been fighting. However, though the group approaching was half the size of the one she and her army had slaughtered, this one appeared to be comprised entirely of Dragon-Blooded troops.

She smiled behind her helmet now. This meant she could drain the essence from their bodies and keep using it nearly to slay them in a beautifully predatory cycle. How utterly fitting, she thought, as she charged at them.

She saw one of the Immaculates in the front of the army raise her hands, and point an outstretched palm at her. Obsidian butterflies of various sizes began flying from her palm toward Rosethorne. She was surprised to see the first of them actually make a small dent in her armor, and began parrying furiously. She was struck a few times when she failed to parry a razor-winged obsidian butterfly, but was unhurt. Unhurt, but very angry. She charged at them once more, and slew the sorceress with the first strike, and continued on through the ranks. Trails of essence, glowing visibly in the darkness, flowed visibly into her from the ones she wounded and slew. These troops appeared to be stronger and more experienced than the ones she fought before, and now that they had gotten over their initial shock, were fighting back with unbridled ferocity.

They attempted to surround her with their useless Speardancers, but she evaded this rather obvious ploy. Her troops had now caught up with her, and began attacking the Immaculate force. Now that she had slain the sorceress they had, and the troops they had in front, she would allow her force to crush them.

She leapt backwards, flipping gracefully through the air to land behind the last of her troops, and extinguished her anima, rendering her nearly invisible in the darkness. She began to channel her fully-replenished essence to make her troops fight faster, harder, and be able to resist damage a bit more than their undead frames already could. She smiled in satisfaction as her troops began hitting the Immaculate fools in waves, cutting them down slowly, but surely.

She heard one of the Dragon-Blooded shout something in a language she didn't recognize, and the ones in front darted back a couple yards. Her undead army began charging forward to close the gap. She saw with alarm that a second sorcerer had cast that same accursed spell, filling the night canyon air with razor-winged obsidian butterflies once again, which began shredding her troops. They fought gamely on, but the butterflies kept coming, taking off limbs, heads, and tearing through armor with appalling ease. She signaled her archers to fire in volleys, cursing herself for getting carried away in the battle and forgetting about them.

She ran back into the fray, and noticed that half of her force had been cut down by those damnable butterflies, and she was even more angry at herself for not staying in the fray, as she should have done. She began fighting like a bloody typhoon unleashed on the Immaculate troops, striking with celerity and fury.

She didn't see the giant mace that hit her, but she certainly felt it as she soared backwards. She tried to land on her feet, but hit the canyon wall too quickly, and slid to the canyon floor below.

She drifted in and out of consciousness, seeing her troops beaten back into unmoving corpses once more. She heard shouts from the Dragon-Blooded. "Find that dark-armored one who slew so many of us! That one will pay with blood!"

She felt arms pick her up and fold her over someone's shoulder, and then steps that jarred her stomach as her captor ran. She managed to tilt her head to the side, and saw that whoever it was, this person wasn't wearing armor, and she was being carried away from the Dragon-Blooded.

Darkness claimed her, and she knew no more.

This is all for Part 1. I'll post parts 2 and 3 upon request.

That was quite enjoyable, although not knowing enough about the Exalted series I can't say how well you got the setting, although from what I've gleaned from the Internet it doesn't look that bad. So please, keep posting as much as you have, I'm intrigued.

Academia Nut wrote:That was quite enjoyable, although not knowing enough about the Exalted series I can't say how well you got the setting, although from what I've gleaned from the Internet it doesn't look that bad. So please, keep posting as much as you have, I'm intrigued.

Thank you! I tried to keep the un-necessary terminology out of this fic, but throwing a few in were necessary to keep the feeling of the setting. I tried to have the weird universe-specific terms gleanable through context, though I didn't always succeed.

I'll start reposting Part 2 here in an hour or three - work has to calm down a bit before I start any large scale HTML to BBcode conversions.

My thanks to DesertFly, who discovered more than a few typos that managed to survive until now.