# Arbiters Apostate



## Velenne (Jun 23, 2003)

Ersadia - Tenth Day of Loveleap, Three-hundred and Eleven Years After the Coming  



The Magelord of Relic, Zurich, has been slain by rebellious uprising. This marks an empasse in the longstanding peace of Ersadia and an affront to the rightful rulership of the mages who sacrificed so dearly long ago to end the Fiend Wars.

A council of the remaining Magelords, one for each school of magic, convened to address this issue.  In their wisdom, the Crystal Council has raised six heroes worthy enough and powerful enough to preserve the sanctity of peace and prosperity for all the world's goodly citizens. 

Known as Arbiters, they shall be tasked with preserving the ways which have so enriched the lands and lives of this great and magical world. Their eternal lives of service and goodwill shall be a bastion of hope to the people who sense all they hold dear being threatened. Threatened by villians seeking to gain power through fear, hatred, and evil atrocities. 

Let all who gaze upon the wonders of magic and the truth it reveals rest peacefully with the knowledge that the Aribters shall defend them from the tyrants, the war-mongers, and the agents of darkness in these unsettling times.

***********************************

Broz Churkis had never been destined for the well-to-doness of his surroundings. It was by sheer desperation that he found himself here with all the other desperates. He never realized the line was quite this long. Oh sure, he'd seen it trailing out of the building plenty of times as he walked by,but inside was one switchback after another. Half the building, it seemed, was this LINE.

Now just twenty people and barely a minute from the front, he was suprised by how quickly the time had come. _ Less than an hour, they'll barely know I was gone._ There were too many workers for the mages to remember just one. Especially Broz. He never spoke to any of them, or called any attention on himself. Nope, just stuck to picking thornoples and trying not to impale his hand on one of the fruit's nasty spikes.

At last he stood at the end. He looked up and tried to read the sign. It was written in three languages, and the bottom two were always changing, rewriting themselves in front of his eyes. But the top one was in Commonspeak. As he squinted and mouthed the words to himself, someone behind him gave him a shove, 

"It says if the Lifesucker kills ya, it ain't their fault. Now hurry up, a spot's open."

Broz turned over his shoulder and gave the fat woman a dirty look before approaching the door that had opened while he read. Just a simple wooden door with a curtain obstructing what was on the other side. He'd heard of it before, though. 

Sure enough, as he parted the curtain and stepped into the tiny, dimly lit room, the Chair sat innocuously in the center. 

_"Welcome. Please sit. You may feel a slight discomfort, but rest assured that the process is entirely safe and we have taken the utmost care in preventing any harm to your person. Thank you, and good luck in the lottery."_

He looked around for the source of the voice but saw nothing but the Chair, the door he had just walked through, and a similar door opposite him. He obligingly took a seat and leaned back against the headrest. 

True to their word, there was discomfort. At first, it was only a wetness at the base of his skull. He began to lift his hand to see what it was but was suddently filled with a numbing cold all the way down to his toes. He let out a gasp and just as quickly it was all gone. 

The door behind him opened and he was compelled to stand and exit. The next room held a much smaller line that ended with a cowled woman taking names. Still shivering, he followed it and gave his name when his turn came up.

"Broz Churkis."

"Thank you for your donation, Broz Churkis," she whispered, writing his name in a ledger.

As he walked out, Broz read the sign on the wall next to the double-wide, double-tall door. The top message was a notice that said he would be notified by a mental message if his name was selected in the daily drawing that afternoon. 

Walking the paved roads back out of the city, he wondered if the trip was truly worth it. Surely the thousand gold would change his life, but all those people all over the city made his chances so slim. His lips pushed together in a grimace. Slim they may be, but they were all he had.


----------



## Velenne (Jun 24, 2003)

Near the center of Ersadia's vast landscape, cradled in heavily-travelled gulf lies what has simply come to be known as the Free Island.  During the drafting of what would become the Magocracies, no decision could be reached giving the island to one Magelord or another.  Thusly, it was deemed to be governed by no Magelord.  Spanning just under one hundred miles at most to any shore from its center, the island was believed to hold little significance beyond a possible trading port.  

Word slowly spread of a place where one could live out from under the thumb of the oppressive governments.  Initially, life there was hard, allowing only the hardiest settlers to survive.  But as time passed, trade routes began to open, ports were established in seven small villages, and the place became a sort of secret haven.  

The people of the Free Island had reached a tenuous state of equilibrium with their former rulers, the mages. Each of the seven cities dealt in its own way with the ever-encroaching threat. Some embraced the free trade and flourished because of it, but compromised some of the freedoms offered by other cities. Others passed laws which heavily regulated the sale and use of magic, but were thusly forced into trade with more open-minded neighbors. 

Still, Hammer liked his city the best. He and his small group had meticulously muscled out every mage in the little town of Darrofall, right down to the hedge wizards and would-be sorcerors.  It was like a little taste of what Lexidon's* heaven would be like, he hoped.

Sallinan had arranaged it all. Of all the mages out there, Hammer supposed if he had to like one, it would be Sallinan. The chubby old mage-priest was able to take "whatever it takes" to such a degree the paladin just had to admire him. Here in Darrofall, what started out as their little resistance (a paladin, a ranger, and a thief around a table with Sallinan at the head) had grown into its own municipality. The priest's ability to make money where no money could be made was astounding.  El'Duran managed the day-to-day, Dietri ran the guard, and Hammer sought out more and more individuals sympathetic to the Cause. 

The four of them, and now many others, maintained an invisible chokehold on the city's burdgeoning population, allowing only certain individuals to take up residence. On any given corner, Hammer could close his eyes, point, and find someone who had a reason to hate Magelords. 

"Are you going to stand there looking out the door all night?" It was Dietri. She was always blunt and he liked that about her. 

"I don't like sitting," he answered, never taking his eyes off the path, "it leaves you vulnerable."

"Still can't shake that feeling, huh?"

The elven woman shrugged, leaned back in her chair and stretched her lithe form.  She was always trying to tempt his flesh with her magnificent body and cascading red hair, but he felt not the slightest twinge of longing.  He was too focused at the moment in trying to find El'Duran.  Somewhere out there, the Night Elf** was supposed to have taken up a watch over the door to the little mountain shack.  It was an extra precaution he hadn't ever felt the need for prior to this meeting.

Sallinan was afraid they may have bitten off more than they could chew this time.  The last group they had recruited had raised too many eyebrows in New Tyrsis, garnered too much attention.  To date, their endeavors on the mainland had been small, probing tests on one of three Magocracies whose stability was percieved to be weak.  Now they were going to have to answer to an emmisary who had extracted Hammer's name from one of the captured recruit's minds.  Hammer didn't like to think about what that boy must have gone through, and prayed he had found solace in the end. 

Two weeks earlier, back in Darrofall, he had recieved a Sending from an Archmage Bythius on the matter.  They had exchanged several brief messages since, and arranged this metting.  The Archmage was investigating the matter personally, or so it seemed.  He wasn't sure what sort of significance the title held, (mages were always tossing about that particular honorary), but he couldn't take the chance.

At last, as planned, he saw the light from a small torch winding its way up the path.  Even with his incredible sight, the figure was too far off to be made out.  Worse, he had still been unable to find El'Duran. 

"Nice new trick you've got for yourself, thief," he said to the trees.  After a pause, he hurrumphed and turned his attention back to the approaching torchlight, the plates of his heavy mail grinding against one another.

"Thank you.  And I'm a merchant, not a thief.  There's a difference, though I suspect that depends on whom you speak with."

Hammer could only shake his head at the sound of the disembodied voice.  Well, at least he had decided to show up.  As good as he was with his hammer, and Dietri with her bow, the two of them combined were almost as good as El'Duran with his damn rapier.  The paladin had never seen anyone move so fast, and he had tested at least a hundred recruits and fought twice that number in enemies by now.

"Keep your eyes open. No mage comes alone to a meeting like this."

"Duly noted," came the voice from a different direction, "thank you for your keen insight into the habits of Archmages."

Again, a frown and a head shake was Hammer's wittiest response.  Parlaying with the Night Elf was never one of his favorite things in the world.  He turned to look inside and noticed Dietri was laughing, probably at him.

"He's coming.  Is everything ready?"

"The trap is set, milord," she replied after taking a moment to calm herself.  Still smirking, she stood and said, "just give the word."  Like an embodiment of flowing water, Dietri gracefully crossed the short distance to the small fire, stepped onto the embers, and abruptly disappeared. 

The paladin took a step into the cabin and cast a few cautionary spells from his limited repetoir.  That done, he took a seat at his designated place, leaving the door open, and waited.

_The game is afoot, mage. Let's see how clever you really are._





* - Lexidon is the god of Law, one of Ersadia's five over-dieties who represent the axes of Good, Evil, Law, Chaos, and Neutrality.  Serving him in various capacities are all other gods of all other pantheons whose alignments are partly Lawful.  In the human pantheon (whom Hammer follows), these include the portfolios of Justice, Invention, Duty, Divination, and War.

** - Night Elves are the Ersadian equivelant of Dark Elves, or Drow.  Not they, nor any other native race, are considered inherantly evil.  (Nor are any other races considered inherantly _anything_- good, evil etc).  They are otherwise identical in racial makeup but are found just as often on the surface as they are underground.  

Ersadia has three other Elven races: Dawn, Twilight, and Frost Elves.  The Elves were the first race to come to Ersadia, and the first to establish kingdoms and a new calender.  Until the Fiend Wars they were also the most numerous species, with humans rapidly catching up to them.


----------



## Velenne (Jun 25, 2003)

Broz double-checked the saddlestraps mostly out of nervousness.  He should have been excited, but he couldn't help shake the feeling that it was all too good to be true.

The very day he had donated to the lottery, he had recieved a short message in his mind praising him for his good fortune and instructing him to meet city officials at a certain time and place.  The transaction was brief, and merriment was made, -all for a grand public display to demonstrate the generocity of the mages.

And so, he simply failed to arrive at the thornople fields the next morning.  He purchased a donkey, a wagon, some travelling clothes and a week's worth of trail rations with the idea that a better life would be discovered in one of the outlying villages.  He had enough to build a small hut, and perhaps a small tract of land he could farm on.  In his wildest dreams, he imagined finding a wife and starting a family. Broz had never been the most charming of men, though.

He looked at the world through glazed eyes.  Altogether he would experience moments of great levity, joy, fear, hope, hopelessness, and awe.  Broz Chrukis was a new man.  A clean man, well-to-do and off to start a new life.  And though the people he passed on the street on the way to the gates didn't know it, going along with their same old boring lives, his own adventure was finally starting.  At last, the final obstacle, the city gates, stood in his way.  This morning they stood wide and welcoming like the light at the end of a dark tunnel that had been his life only a morning before.

Passing underneath the portcullis, he spied a rose bush off to the side of the road where it had gone unnoticed by those with more important things to watch (like their feet, he supposed).  Sylvana's* hair was said to made of rose petals, so they said.  Soft, beautiful, inpiring, it grew up the side of the outer wall with a careless disregard for the sentries patrolling above.  He decided he would plant a rose bush next to his new home.

The look of it fascinated him.  So much so that he hardly noticed the two guards approach to his right.  Behind them stood a balding, heavyset man with a well-oiled grey mustache that grew to his chest.  He wore the red and blue heraldry of his station marked with the magelord's symbol clasping his black cape.

"Broz Churkis," said the mage, stating Broz's name like a wolf who had cornered a rabbit, "We have searched the city for you, my boy.  You weren't going to leave us without fulfilling your contract now were you?"

Broz had jumped at hearing his name.  His heart sank and all he could do was stare at the rose bush.  It had been too good to be true.  No one ever made it out from under the yoke of the mages.  It was impossible.  One of the guards reached up and took hold of the donkey's bridle, stopping his progress.

"Nothing to say for yourself?  So be it.  So long as you can afford to pay to cancel the contract, recompense my business for the expense of finding you, and the trouble of finding a replacement, all will be forgiven.  As it happens, this totals to precisely nine hundred golden coins.  Plus tax of course . It is most fortunate, then, that I hear you have recently come into such a windfall.  Simply hand over your winnings and we shall consider the debt paid and you may be on your way."

The mage smiled wryly and waited for the oaf to digest all that he had been told.  Broz never took his eyes from the rose bush.  He simply reached behind him into the wagon and pulled forth a heavy-laden sack.  The oddest thing happened next.  He could have sworn he heard something whispering to him, but wasn't able to quite hear what it was saying.  The next thing he new, he was giving the reigns a harsh crack.  The guard was knocked off his feet and he was off like a shot.

In his left hand, Broz held the reigns, in his right, what was left of his winnings.  It was too late to turn back now, so he gave the donkey every crack and curse he could.  The wagon spurred onward into the panicked throng.  His heart thumped against the inside of his chest like a hammer to an anvil.  People must have seen the fear in his eyes, or were afraid of getting trampled by the wagon for they began diving to all sides. 

Broz had only a moment to notice the red reflection glinting off the harness's metal bits.  He turned just in time to catch the fireball fully in the back and face. 

"THUS IS THE COST OF DEFIANCE!" The mage bellowed at the gathered commoners, some standing in shocked silence, others crying in horror. "BEHOLD IT WELL!  TREAT YOUR RULING CASTE RESPECTFULLY AND YOU WILL BE TREATED JUSTLY!  CLING TO LAWLESSNESS, AND YOU WILL BE CULLED AS A DEMON!"

He turned and motioned to one the guards, "Somewhere in that carnage is a pile of coins that belongs to me.  Be quick about it; I have more important things to attend to."






* - In the human pantheon, Sylvana is goddess of Nature.  Her titles also include The Heart of Ersadia, The Green Mother and others.  Her portfolios are: The natural world, flora, fauna, rangers, druids, and many barbarians.


----------



## Velenne (Jun 26, 2003)

“Well, now that the pleasantries are dispensed with, let’s get down to business.  You are a large man and you seem impatient.  I will therefore…”cut to the chase” to use the vernacular.

“Precisely twelve days ago a small-but-dangerous contingent of ill-advised warriors and mages attempted to smuggle contraband into the city of New Tyrsis where I am entrusted with the responsibility of ensuring such things do not occur.  When they were caught and commanded to surrender, the criminals attempted a futile escape . Most were summarily slain by our superior magics.”

Archmage Bythius paused to gauge Hammer’s reactions.  As always, the paladin’s face remained flat and emotionless.  _Slain over a Ressurection scroll…_ Hammer could feel the flame of anger come alight in his chest, however, and was unsure of how much of this mage’s flapping he cold take. 

“There was one, however, who wisely yielded. During his interrogation- “ Hammer could only imagine what that had entailed- “your name surfaced. He seemed to have regarded you as a figure of authority. Tell me, Sir…’Hammer’,” his voice dripped with contempt at the word, “Do you know of whom I speak?”

“Yes.”

The mage looked surprised at such a forthcoming answer. Hammer did not have it in him to ever lie.  A lie, an untruth, even a small one or for a good cause, led to a path of sinfulness.  He would not be baited into lying, especially for this wad of slime.

“And were you, in fact, an authority figure to him?”

“Yes.”

“I see, and did they embark on this doomed mission at your behest?”

“No.”

“You are going to have to be a fair bit more-“

“You are in no position to tell me what to do, wizard.  Ask your questions and I will answer them.  That was the agreement.  I respect that you are a lawman.  Those under my command broke the law and I will answer for them.”

Bythius, who had previously sat in such a way so as to touch as little of his chair as possible, uncrossed his legs, leaned forward, and placed his elbows onto the table.  His purple and gold-trimmed cuffs were so oversized they still hung over the edge. His sagging jowls and dark eyebags lifted in a serpentine grin.

“Oh, but you see I _am_ in a position to command you . To dance in circles should I wish it, in truth.  While this island may be free of any particular magelord’s direct control, the Crystal Council was given rule over all the world after their sacrifice in the Fiend Wars.  And it is they, Sir Orbin Mexis, who have granted me the resources to continue this investigation.”

The smile grew further up Bythius’ creased face as he allowed the news to sink in.  Hammer was unsure of what the wizard was up to, but knew what he said to be a lie.  Even if he could not read it for sure in the Archmage’s mannerisms, such a claim was far too fanciful to be true.  He was positive that none of Sallinan’s endeavors were worthy of the Council’s attention, no matter how indirect.  The wizard continued, 

“It is therefore my duty to inform you that you are to be taken back to New Tyrsis to face trial for High Treason.  The punishment is not death, no, that is far too generous for one such as you.  The punishment for High Treason is… Annihilation. Your soul, your body, your mind will be utterly destroyed as if they never were.  You will be wiped from existence, Mexis. 

“But, I can look at you and know for certain that you are utterly without the means to organize such a crime.  Yes… I shall make you a deal, then.  Tell me who it is you work for -and I know you work for someone- and I will leave you here on this filthy island to rot.  A quick death and you may join your god in the afterlife.”

“I already told you I did not give them the order to bring contraband into your city,” Hammer’s anger was quickly becoming an inferno within him.  He couldn’t stand being lied to, and now he was being threatened, “Now leave me.  I have answered your questions and your threats are as hollow as your authority in this place.” 

Bythius met Hammer’s stare evenly and all mirth evaporated from his face, “It matters not. You yourself said you were responsible for them, and would answer for them. Will you then resist my authority on this matter?”

“You have no authority for me to resist, wizard.”

*HAMMER, GET OUT OF THERE NOW!!*

The Sending slammed into his head with such an urgency he had to flinch.  The voice was Sallinan’s, but how?  Operating on years of the ingrained instinct of a soldier, he obeyed.  But he’d be damned if he ran from this wizard without getting a good lick in.

One heavily-muscled, heavily-armored arm reached for the lip of the long table while the other drew the massive warhammer for which he was nicknamed.  In one motion, he upended the table and surged forward at the mage who suddenly looked as pale as death.  Twice he struck with the force of thunder, splattering Bythius’ face across the wall on both sides.

“Dietri! I need you!”

The answer came before he had even finished the sentence.  The fire roared angrily and a network of magical traps was set off around the small cabin.  First, the mage’s chair exploded into shards beneath him, sending innumerable bits of shrapnel into the small man’s back.  A few pieces bounced harmlessly off Hammer’s plate mail but he was too worried about not being in the way of what came next.  Too late.

Four beams of light shot from the corners of the cabin’s ceiling, three contacting the mage solidly, temporarily halting his fall to the ground, and one striking Hammer in the shoulder, melting steel and flesh.  Finally, a column of fire and holy energy descended from the ceiling.  The display was short, but in the end, Bythius was no more.

“Hammer!!!”

The panicked voice was El’Duran’s, who sounded more afraid than ever in his entire life.  The paladin bolted for the door and out into the night.  He was met by a noiseless impact in the back of his head, and the feeling of multiple, invisible fists pummeling him.  His world blurred but his instincts got the better of the pain.  He spun around and swung wildly, connecting with something about as tall as a Dwarf but exponentially uglier.  Its charred skin was floating off its face to reveal what seemed to be magma beneath.

Several arrows shot past the creature, who actually stood a few feet behind where it appeared.  It was hard to tell for sure and Hammer wasn’t waiting around to find out. 

He turned to look into the cabin and saw Dietri reaching back to draw another arrow.  Something appeared in the shadows behind her.  Something altogether demonic.  He tried to call out to her, but something else struck him from behind.  He felt little else after that.  The rest of the dwarf passed before his vision as the force of the blow knocked him toward the earth.  As the blackness pushed in, he could make out a freakishly tall Felin standing where his back was.  Another figure, soaked in blood, approached from the treeline, so tall it dwarfed the cabin itself.  Two horns growing from its back proclaimed it a Titanotrope. 

The giant raised one man-sized fist and Hammer knew no more.


----------



## Velenne (Jun 27, 2003)

*End Prelude - The Coundown Begins...*

"This presents complications unforseen."

"Greater matters than this have been conquered.  Where there is strife, there can be growth."

"I do not like the unforseen-"

"No I do not imagine you would," chuckling.

"As I was saying, this is a tangent of Chaos that, if left unmanaged, holds great propensity to spiral out of control."

"Such things have been made beyond the our privy for now.  Apropos, we are religated to watch and see."

"Indeed."

"You are worried.  Do not be.  What power do they truly have but freedom, even if they do not know it?"

"Even if they choose not to use it, you mean.  For now?"

"The winds of change have arrived at our horizons, and they approach as a hurricane.  To fear it is inutile, for it is Inevitable."

Sighing, "It is not fear or worry that troubles me, in truth.  It is sadness."

"Yes, it is a shame. But ultimately necessary.  What games we play, that it should come to this after so long."

"Indeed... They are beautiful creations in their own way."

"Thank you."

"No... thank You."


----------



## Velenne (Jun 30, 2003)

*Arbiters Awaken*

The small room hummed with a resonance given off by innumerable, intricate magical wards and lacings.  It had been constructed of magic, was fueled by magic with the intention of preserving the beings which it had birthed.

Six chambers faced off around the perimeter of the circular sanctuary.  In its center, a smoky silver orb pulsed with an inner light. The faces of the oval chambers were made of crystal- ruby most likely- a translucent material that allowed one to peer into the secrets within.  Creatures slept within these chambers, oblivious to the world they had never seen. 

The mists of the silvery orb stirred.  From within, a delicate, angelic being appeared.  The pallor of her skin matched the surrounding mists.  Her face was flawless, ageless, and simple.  The rest of her body moved with the mists, sometimes appearing faintly, other times indistinguishable.  Two pupiless white eyes gazed at each chamber in turn.  The corners of the tiny mouth raised slightly in satisfaction.

 “Awaken.”

Five pairs of eyes snapped open, fully alert.  The sixth pair remained closed for now.  He was not ready, and would not be for a long time.  But time she did not have, and so she must make the most of what little she did have.  The crystal faces of the chambers dissolved into nothingness and the creatures stepped forth.  Though the creature's limbs had never moved, and their eyes had never seen, it was as if they had never known what it was to sleep or grow weary.  They moved confidently, spoke clearly, but their minds were a different matter.  She knew they had questions, and she must answer them quickly in these waning moments.

“Our time is short; they will come soon to find out why I have left them.  I could bear their will no longer.  You are each too precious to me now to return to them.  You should be free, and free you will be.  But you have questions-  ask them.”

“Who are you,” asked the charred dwarf in a gravely voice.  His skin had the appearance of black ash, even flaking off in small, thin pieces and drifting lazily about in the ambient currents.  Half of his face and head was a burnt ruin where no hair or beard would ever grow.  Tightly braided and beaded white hair adorned the other half which clinked together slightly as he moved his head to take in the surroundings. 

“I am given no name,” she replied, “only a sentience with which to create each of you to the specifications given unto me.  You are each so very dear to me.  I could no longer abide their wishes.”

“Whose wishes?” the Felin wizardess asked.  She had leaned her lithe form against her chamber casually, clicking her slender claws against the pulsating steel.  Her spotted cheetah’s coat was perfectly toned and maintained and her Skin was crafted to maximize the visibility of her alluring form.  Still, her forceful eyes betrayed her casual demeanor. 

“Mother.  We will call you Mother,” said the Titanotrope warmly.  He had sat down with his legs crossed immediately upon exiting the chamber and had never taken his eyes from her.  His heavily muscled form was void of tension as if he were meditating with his eyes open.  Two symmetrically opposed horns rose from the center of his back and curved to points just above his head. 

Each reply was given in earnest to the feeling in their hearts.  The second made her smile sadly, turning her gaze across an unseen distance.  She enjoyed hearing him say so.  The first brought her back to the task, and their limited time together.  She looked at the one who had asked, the Felin wizardess.

“They are called the Crystal Council,” Mother answered.  It was name which resonated with each of them.  The rulers of Ersadia. Twenty-two mages given absolute power after the Fiend Wars –one for each school of magic.  They had drawn lines over a map of the world and staked their claim.  Now, nearly two centuries later, their rulership over the world’s populace was unquestioned.

The tiefling spoke first.  Upon exiting her chamber, she had instinctively pressed herself into the nearest shadow where she seemed to disappear completely.  A particularly keen observer would note two pin-pricks of red light from her eyes, but that would be all.  Her small, slim form leaned itself well to remaining hidden.  When she spoke, she leaned forward so the others could see her.  Her curved horns came into the light and her fangs reflected the orb’s inner glow, “Protect all mages. Preserve society at all costs-“

“And kill only ven necessary?” interrupted the other Felin in the group with a thick accent laden with disdain.  He was freakishly tall, even for a panther Felin, standing at least two heads above every other Arbiter (depending the current form of the Titanotrope).  His black fur was tinted with red and his black tongue dripped spittle which hissed when it came in contact with the air.

Mother could see their reactions in each of their faces.  Some with indignation, others with understanding, still others with confusion.  “You were created with these purposes in mind.  But know that your creators view you as nothing more than tools.  It is a lie.  You are one being, one life manifested in many.  In you lies their hope for salvation from the coming storm.  Their perch has grown high, built on the beaten backs of those they do not love.  Soon the tower will fall.  You are called Arbiters, but each of you knows its name:

“Mirage. To you was given power over the mind.  Arbiters do not kill unless no other option is presented, for in the minds of the Enemy lie the names of yet more enemies for you to hunt.  You were created to find these names, these people, so that your hunt will continue until the threat is eliminated.

“Penumbra.  Your realm is the Shadow.  You may travel wherever there is darkness, and find comfort in its touch.  You are the unseen, the unknown threat which strikes when least expected.

“Wrath.  Deep within lies the unbridled fury which strikes fear into the Enemy.  Yet no fear will gain purchase in your heart.  In the days to come, you will be the foundation of assurety to your brothers and sisters. 

“Puma.  The predator which has not mercy nor hesitation for its prey.  They made you to kill, and it is your greatest talent.  But what lies beneath may be greater still.  Your power unfolds- the power of life and death lie at the point of your scythe.

“Blight.  Warrior and Psion, Stealth and Might. Y ou are the combination of all these assembled into an embodiment of oneness with the Self.  As your exploration grows, so too will these qualities within you, manifested in the Weapon.

“Mourn,“ she turns to the dormant Arbiter still in his chamber, “the Sleeper. The most ambitious of the creations, designed to mimic so closely his inspiration.  His chains are his comfort, but they are also his prison.  He will need your companionship and your love to flourish, or he will be lost.

“They hunt for me now.  I can feel their magics probing for me.  You must go soon.  Remember that you cannot survive alone.  You must learn to trust.  In doing so, you may yet receive trust and know what it is to truly live.  You are alive, as alive as anyone else.  But you must have each other as well.  Go now.  They come.”


----------



## Velenne (Jul 2, 2003)

Not ten minutes into the world and already the five of them were divided. 

After appearing next to a large structure that seemed to embed itself flush into the cave’s wall, some were quick to explore their surroundings.  Mirage had placed a hand on the structure and came to a decision: she would wait for the Sleeper, Mourn, as long as it would take.  Puma, still grappling with his instinctual desire to protect all mages, had stayed with her.  The others ventured along the cave’s only tunnel to find a narrow opening far above. 

Their Skin’s innate flight abilities and their lack of memories upon which to base any fears resulted in them to giving little pause to the dizzying height they looked down from.  Blight, Wrath, and Penumbra had emerged from a cave near the top of a breathtaking mountain so tall its crown was wreathed in clouds.  As far as the eye could see in all directions lay more mountains.  Mother, it seemed, had chosen the hiding place of their Sanctuary well. 

_Mirage, Mother said he would Awaken when he was ready,_ Penumbra assured her over their persistent Bond.

_Then we will wait until that time comes,_ the cheetah Felin responded.

The wizardess was resolute in her vigil.  Even Puma seemed to grow bored and desired to explore along with his brothers and other sister.  The structure -their Sanctuary- continued to pulsate with a soft bluish glow from between its black, metallic plating.  It randomly emitted a low hum that echoed throughout the cave’s pressing walls, and when it did so she could almost hear the Mother’s reassuring voice in her mind.

Meanwhile, Penumbra and Blight had decided to test their abilities of flight.  The former rapidly descended the slope to the verdant forest below while the latter climbed into the heavens, the sky growing darker as he rose ever higher.  Content with her initial foray, the tiefling attempted to rise back into the air.  Her heart jumped as the Skin seemingly did not obey her will.  She faltered in the air a few feet above the ground, and regained her purchase only to lose it once more a hundred feet up.  Far enough above the earth, her abilities remained constant but she would relay the experience across the Bond.

_I guess we should stick to the heights,_ the dwarf answered, _I’m fine up here. I think I see somethin’ off to the West. *Way* off, but I think the mountains stop over there._

_We do not leave until Mourn-_

_We know, we know,_ Penumbra interrupted the mage as she landed at the mouth of the cave and immediately slipped into a nearby shadow.  Nearby, Wrath noted her presence as he floated cross-legged in the air and watched the skies around them.  He was first to hear Blight’s steadily-approaching scream as the dwarf passed by in front of them at a breakneck speed.

“Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!”

Just before colliding with the face of the mountain, Blight righted himself in the air, came to an abrupt halt and proclaimed, _You need to try that! HA!_  The thought crossed Puma’s mind to do so when they all felt a new presence added to their numbers.

Back in the cave, Mirage had watched the Sanctuary’s lights flash brightly.  When their glare subsided, Mourn stood in her presence.  He indeed looked half-finished- pale skin, no nose or mouth to speak of.  His pupiless, milky-white eyes seemed to regard her from beneath a thick-ridged brow.  Thick chains replaced his hair, their cold steel links clinking against one another as he moved.

_It is good to see you, brother,_ she said.

_I still do not understand. She said nothing. Who was that? Why can I feel you? Who are these others I feel?_

And so she explained to him what they had learned thus far in their brief lives.  He trusted her instinctively, but still felt estranged from his Skin.  Its secrets eluded him and he had to be taught how to use it to fly.  He knew he was different from them in other ways too, but could not place the feeling’s cause, nor share it with them. 

It was decided that with no other direction seeming any better, they would fly West.  As the Arbiters traveled, they debated on where they would look for safety.  Whom could they look for to place their trust in?  How long could they run?  What would be their purpose beyond simple survival?  They flew in a circular formation, sitting as if around a campfire, unaware of how most creatures flew with their head pointed in the direction they were going.  So enraptured were they with their newfound life and freedom that none of them noticed the follower until its shadow passed over them…


----------



## Velenne (Jul 4, 2003)

El’Duran sat blindly in his ‘cell’ trying desperately to hold onto his sanity.  He had only been imprisoned four times in his extensive life.  The first was in Elinday, capitol of the Twilight Elven kingdom before the Fiend Wars.  His father had paid for his freedom then.  Soon after he forsook his inheritance and become a freedom fighter.  During the Wars, he was nearly sent to the Abyss as part of demonic ritual before his friends set him free.  Soon after the Magelords came to power, he had been in Dal Iridum when he attempted to barter illegal weapons to a disguised agent of the magocracy.  He should have known better, being in the capitol of Illusion.  But back then, the mages weren’t nearly as efficient as they had become now.  His escape had been child’s play.

It seemed they had acquired quite a proficiency at imprisonment since that time.  In Northope, he had been suspended in a frigid substance.  It seemed to him as if he had been put in and subsequently pulled back out.  An unpleasant baptism, to be sure.  He picked up Lupinas’ voice from behind his blindfold, “Things have been more complicated than you can understand, Maturis.  This is truly for your own good.”

That had been an indeterminable amount of time ago.  Days?  Weeks?  A month?  He recognized the teleportation, could smell the sea salt and hear the gentle crashing of waves before he was plunged into utter sense deprivation.

He had determined his cell to be ten steps on each side.  The walls, if they could be called such, were pure black and did not echo any noise.  His darkvision was worthless as he could make out no corners.  

At first he had struggled to escape but whatever magic they used to hold him was beyond his ken.  Then he tried music, physical exertion, and now he resorted to dreams.  His meditation was vivid and in it he tried to remember all that had happened.

The meeting had gone horribly wrong.  The ‘Honor Guard’ Bythius had supposedly been assigned was some sort of strike force.  The tiefling had appeared in the tree next to him and struck hard.  He remembered calling out a warning, but little else as a massive hand reached up and snapped off the limb he had perched on.  The titanotrope was massive, dwarfing the tree itself.  El’Duran hesitated and the creature made him pay by sweeping the tree limb across his chin.  The world spun, his stomach jumped into his mouth, he remembered stumbling off of some ridge and falling.  

The creature must have thought him dead.  He somehow survived the fall and had enough wits to disappear again.  After some time, he ascended the ridge and saw the cabin lying in ruins.  A cautious search revealed only a small tooth.  He had no clue whom it belonged to, maybe one of the assailants, maybe Bythius, maybe one of his friends.  If it was the latter, he could find a way to bring them back.

He trekked overland directly for Northope where Frazner would be waiting.  During the trip he tended his wounds as best he could but the strain of such travel did nothing for his broken jaw.

The appointed time came and Frazner was true to his word- somewhat.  He appeared alone, and after a brief parlay began a dazzling assault on El’Duran’s weakened form.  The Night Elf’s natural resistances saved him only so long.  He tried to flee, but Lupinas followed him from the air, taunting him in his mind.  At last, one of the spells broke though and he lie in the dirt utterly defeated.

The roof of his cell brightened suddenly.  El’Duran looked up but it was only the Keeper of Questions.  The fool-dressed man spoke into his mind as he was want to do,

“Are you hungry?”

He was, he had to admit it.  But for more than food, he was hungry for anything that would stimulate his mind and senses.  The Keeper merely tossed down a bowl of stew that bounced off the unseen floor and spilled into a corner.  

“Would you like to answer more questions?  More about this mythal?  More about this past?”

“No,” El’Duran replied curtly.  He could resist only so long.  Each day the size of the meal grew smaller and smaller.  He had grown used to the stench of his waste but threatened to wretch at the thought that it may be the only food he had left before long.

“Would you rather I took them from your mind, little fool?  How could you be so weak, so ineffective?  Do you know what the others do to defy me?  How much longer do you think you will last?”

In response, the Night Elf crossed to the other corner and began picking up chunks of beef from the spilled soup off the floor.  When the Keeper of Questions had gone, he found himself licking up the broth.  Some prisoners starved themselves as an act of defiance, or to protect them from what they believed was poison.  Well, even if it was poison, El’Duran needed to eat while he could.  He still had his hope, though now it was a fleeting thing.  As he licked his fingers on one hand and rubbed his smooth, aching skull with the other, he wondered, _How much longer, Sallinan?  Had you ever seen such hopelessness as this when you said ‘Hope is the poor man’s shining gold’?_


----------



## Arknath (Jul 4, 2003)

Marvelous...simply intriguing...

*hooked*


----------



## Velenne (Jul 7, 2003)

All six Arbiters possessed a working knowledge of Ersadia.  They were familiar with most of the major cities, global political structure, the general facets of everyday life for a commoner, as well as the common races and more legendary creatures.  It was with a fair bit of fear, fascination, and caution that they answered the Clydesdale-sized, mounted green dragon soaring barely fifty feet to their right.  On the creature’s back, a fully armored man of an unknown race eyed them warily through his helm’ visor but kept his magnificent longspear lowered.

        Penumbra seemed worried most of all.  Were they ready to handle a fight yet?  She asked over the Bond, _How do we answer him?_

        Mourn, without waiting for the group to decide, utilized his natural telepathy to speak to the spearman,_ What do you mean our ’coming was foretold’?  How do you know who we are?  Maybe we’ll kill you!_

        It was difficult to tell, but some of the Arbiters could have sworn they saw the dragon smile.  How he could have heard Mourn was a mystery.  

        “This is a poor way to communicate, “ the man shouted across the distance, his voice muffled by the helm.  He used his spear to point to a gently sloped, bald face in the mountain below.  His dragon abruptly dipped and began descending toward it.

_That will not be-_ Mourn’s message was cut short as dragon and man left his limited range, _Do we follow?_

_Oh, are you going to wait on our response this time?_ Mirage was understandably nonplussed at being left out of the negotiations.  In reply, Puma, Blight and shortly after, Mourn descended.  By then, Mirage was fuming at their lack of cooperation.  They would all have to sit and have a talk very soon.

        Once everyone had reached the awkward meeting point, the spearman lifted off his helm to reveal a deeply tanned, middle-aged human.  Despite the years betrayed by the gray at his temples and lines at the corners of his eyes, he moved gracefully and spoke in a crisp, pure voice, “The magnificent one before you is shall prefer you call him Brycyn the Verdant.  My name is Sir Poxos.  Your coming was foretold by one known as Ducere, an enigmatic Fatespinner who came to our home a short time ago.  It is good that I found you before the Hunters.  Several of us were told to keep our eyes peeled for you.  Didn’t know you’d be flying though.”

_Looking for us indeed!  How do we know they are not trackers for the Council?_  Blight did not like the man and his fancy armor and his fancy dragon.  _This smells like a trap to me._

_Mother told us to trust,_ Wrath reminded him, _I do not believe she would have picked this place if it could endanger us.  She may have informed this Fatespinner of our coming._

_What are these Hunters you speak of?_ Again, Mourn speaks directly to Poxos without regard for the group’s debate, or the Knight’s obvious discomfort with the mindspeak.

        “Olurin.  They were once men, now monsters.  It is believed they lived in these mountains for some time before the curse overtook them completely.  If you see one, don’t try to stand up to it.  Just run.  They’re not to be trifled with lightly.”

_Happy?_ Mirage asked Mourn, _Care to get back to the important matter at hand? _

        Mourn did not answer, but kept his pale eyes on the dragon.  The creature lie languidly taking a nap, taking in the warm afternoon sunlight.  Mirage sighed and resumed their conversation while Poxos waited patiently, _Say this is a trap, we are not without appreciable means to break free of it._

_Not if it is zem who are hunting us,_ Puma replied ominously in his thick accent, _Zey know of our veaknesses better zen ve do._

_I cannot bring myself to believe that this man would work for them,_ answered Wrath, _If they had found us so quickly, why bother with this façade? _

        Blight was growing bored of talking,_ Let’s just see this guy he’s talkin’ about and find out.  If he’s up to somethin’, we’ll kick his ass. _ His life was important to him, sure, but they weren’t going to find anything out just standing here on some rock.

        “All right, we’ll follow you, “ Penumbra said at last. “Lead on.”

        Without another word, Poxos nodded, donned his helm and mounted up on the suddenly alert dragon.  The pair of them took to the air, throwing up a hailstorm of small rocks and loose dirt on the Arbiters who followed close behind.


----------



## megamania (Jul 11, 2003)

whoa!    Where was this hiding!?!

I like it...keep it up.  Plenty of mystery while being "over the top" in a believable manner.


----------



## Velenne (Jul 11, 2003)

Sir Poxos flew far enough ahead of them that mental communication was impossible.  The Arbiters flight, while admirably agile, was wanting in pure speed.  So it was that the six of them were left to their own discourses for the duration of the journey. 

_Should ve make a plan?_ Puma inquired.  

Mirage was a step ahead, _I already have one.  You just stay close to me._

Hours later, Brycyn the Verdant lowered his large head and began to descend from above the clouds.  Some of the Arbiters with keener eyesight managed to pick out the gaping cave mouth of what could have passed for the opening to Terraj’s* gullet.  As they neared, they noticed a tiny trail that wound its way up to that which they assumed was their destination.  

Touching down on the rocky slope, all eyes were around them in expectation of treachery.  The towers of stone silently waited.  Blight, Penumbra, and Wrath remained airborne while Mourn, Mirage, and Puma followed the dragon and its rider all the way down.

The gullet was wide enough to swallow them all- dragon, man, and Arbiters alike- in a single gulp and still have room for seconds.  Perhaps six Wraths standing on one-another’s shoulders could have reached its upper lip.  

Poxos removed his helm, glanced at the three still airborne, and back to the approaching Mirage, “Beyond is the labyrinth.  We will need to stay together.”

Puma’s eyes widened as a figure emerged from the darkness.  It stood three times as tall as him and Puma was easily the largest of the Arbiters.  “Ehh…vat is dat?”

Poxos turned and regarded the figure, then quickly back to the three of them, “That is the Fatespinner, Ducere**.”

The Fatespinner, all eighteen feet of him, had managed to find a drab, green, hooded robe large enough to fit his frame.  His hands disappeared into the cuffs of the opposite arm and his head was just far enough forward in the hood to be distinguishable.  Lantern jaw, thick brow, proud nose and greenish-tinted skin made his slight smile all the more unsettling.

“It is a fine afternoon for an apocalypse,“ he said in a voice deep enough to be felt in one’s chest, “wouldn’t you say?”

_What do you want with us?_ Mourn asked, cutting to the chase.  He used his invasive telepathy to speak into the giant’s mind.  If Ducere was disturbed by this, he did not let on.

“Only to give you this,” he said.  Unclasping his hands from beneath the folds of his sleeves, he lowered them to his sides.  A seam in the part of the robe covering the center of his barrel chest parted and a third arm emerged, fist clenched.  This elicited various reactions from those present, curiosity more common than fear.  The fist then pronated, fingers open, to reveal a thick silver coin in his palm.  He slipped it onto his thumb and launched it into the air.  

Puma’s enraptured stare followed as the coin tumbled end-over-end, bounced several times on the rocks, and finally came to rest a few feet from them.  Mourn never took his eyes from the Fatespinner.  (He still wanted to know the significance of that title, if any.)  Mirage alternated between the giant, the dragon, and the cave entrance.  The stupid parlor trick would not distract her from deciphering what was really going on.

Ducere leaned forward from his towering height, noted the disposition of the coin, and proceeded to make his way down the path.  Puma’s curiosity got the better of him and he went over to have a look.  The face of the coin caught the sunlight and reflected it back up into red eyes.  He eagerly stooped over and snatched it up.  It disappeared.

The Felin started and frowned, “Vat is zhe meaning of zis?  You bring us here for a silly trick!”

“You are running,” was Ducere’s shouted reply as his long strides took him away quickly, “but how long can you run?  How far are you willing to go to be truly free?  I will find you soon.  Go with Poxos, he is a good man.”

Blight was having none of that.  If this man had answers, the dwarf wanted them.  He broke the threesome’s formation above and followed after the giant.  It would only take a few seconds to overtake the striding figure.  The path wound around the mountain and down a gentle slope, presumably so carts and carriages and the like could be drawn up it without too much fuss.  But as Blight followed the predictable curve, he swooped over a stony outcropping and lost his quarry.  A quick search revealed the giant to be gone, right into thin air.

_Bloody bastard!_ 

Meanwhile, Poxos was addressing the two Felin, “He’s just like that.  No one could figure him.  Always saying these things that could be profound or gibberish, however you wanted to interpret them.  But his help was invaluable and so we let him stay here.”

Mirage was busy relaying the conversation to the non-present Arbiters, so Mourn continued his role as the party’s spokesman/negotiator, _And what is ‘here’, exactly?_

The Knight flinched at the projection.  Mourn had a way of shouting into the mind of the one he was communicating with, and his telepathic voice had an insidious, baleful rasp to it.  “It does not have a name, nor do we as a group.  Both are too easy to spread.  Once they have been spread, others can track them to their source.  This place, “ he said, lofting his arm toward the mountain, “is home to noble and wretch alike.  Freedom fighters, vagabonds, miscreants, and paladins.  Everyone here is either running from mages, fighting them, or both.  In our own way, we are a sort of motley resistance.”

He lowered his arm and continued, “I would not tell you this if Ducere had not told us Dragonriders to bring you here.  We are putting a lot of faith in his words, and a lot of trust in you.  If you really will help us, a lot of people could be spared a lot of misery.”

Instincts railed against the Arbiters’s conciousnesses.  Protect all Mages.  Preserve society at all costs.  Kill only when necessary.  They all felt it, and they all knew it.

_In another time, we would be killing these people right now,_ Penumbra said over the Bond.

_I’m up for some of that,_ Blight said.

_That would serve no purpose,_ Mirage said,  _Like he said, they have trusted us and we have trusted them.  Let us see how far they are willing to take that trust._

Blight could think of a great purpose- it’d be fun.  But he had yet to break his instinct to trust the mage, so the thought remained in his own mind.  

_Let’s go,_ Penumbra said, voicing the same conclusion as Mirage, _I’m eager to see this place._

She and Wrath descended while Blight finished making his way back around the mountain.  Brycyn took to the air after a glance from Poxos and the group proceeded into the shadows of the cave.



* - Terraj is the deity of Earth.  All Elemental deities are True Neutral and their names are the same in every pantheon.  

** - Pronounced "doos-AIR-ay", to the eternal consternation of my players.  If you think that name's bad, wait until next update.


----------



## Velenne (Jul 15, 2003)

As the shadows enveloped them, the group was faced with no less than a dozen ten-foot-square hallways leading into the mountain.  Sir Poxos marched directly for one of them and the Arbiters followed.  The labyrinth was as mystifying as it was wondrous.  By the end of it, they had climbed more stairs, skirted more traps, and gotten lost more times than any would care to admit.  (Especially Poxos, who seemed embarrassed that he could be lost after so many forays.)

Along the way, they required the help of the labyrinth’s creator and sole permanent inhabitant, a surly minotaur named Azmodon.  The beast had risen from a set of steps disguised by an optical illusion to appear as simply another hallway.  He led them passed more switchbacks, hallways, and multiple intersections until at last they arrived at a singular archway blocked by a sphere of stone.  Once Azmodon moved it aside, the smells and sounds of life wafted to their senses and he bid them go.

The ensuing underground complex was no less dazzling, if for entirely different reasons.  For each of the Arbiters, it was their first real look at civilization, be it ever so humble.  The most overpowering scent was wood smoke.  Keeping the place alight so far underground required the combined use of magical trinkets and natural fire, mostly the latter.  Through the constant haze, they could make out the simple beginnings of a fledgling underground village.  Stone, mud, and clay huts filled a single cavern barely large enough to fit them all in.  They abutted the walls, the random stalagmites, and each other in a chaotic blend of the inhabitant’s cultures.  A smith’s hammer rang out clearly over the din, a moody donkey issued its protests at some unseen handler, and the children laughed.  Through it all, the Arbiters remained stoic, garnering many wary glances and hushed conversations.

_What a strange place,_ Penumbra observed, _These are surface-dwellers.  Humans and elves and caanids with barely any light to see by._

Poxos brought them to a hollowed stalagmite and peered down, then back to them, “This place was once a den for Beholders so it is more up-and-downs than side-to-sides.  Cumbersome, but defensible should the need arise.  I do not believe it will be any hindrance to you lot,” he looked up at Blight who was flying upside-down above his head, “but you will probably need to slow yourselves down to keep up with me.  It is another sort of maze down here so I would caution you not go off on your own.”

True to his word, the next leg of their descent was far more vertically-oriented.  The Knight used rungs that had been hammered into the stone to lower himself from one landing to the next.  He carried with him a _light_ed coin, placing it between his teeth during the climbs, as the only light source in the group.  Occasionally, one of their Skins would trace itself in lines of bluish light, but that was all.  The display went largely unnoticed.  The going was slow, but the Arbiters had little sense of time and thus paid little mind to its passing.  

At long last, the brightly colored heatless fire of _continual flames_ could be seen reflecting off the damp stone.  (“Underground river nearby,” Poxos had said.)  They navigated through man-sized mushrooms and luminescent moss until arriving at a simple wooden door.  

“This is as far as we go.  There is more below us, but I will let Sheeanth explain that to you when she arrives.  These are her quarters, but she seldom uses them so feel free to make yourselves…comfortable.”  He seemed put off again by their incessant stares, but inwardly grateful they elected not to speak into his mind again. 

“Thank you for your guidance,” Wrath said suddenly.  He wasn’t really sure exactly why, but seemed like an appropriate thing to do.  Poxos only nodded, turned on his heel and continued down the cave.

Puma entered first and took up a position near the door.  Mirage sat in a nearby chair.  Wrath sat cross-legged in the center of the floor.  Penumbra took to the closest shadow.  Mourn fiddled with a few links of chain he had picked up in the primary cavern.  Blight explored.

The rooms were spartan and damp.  It might have smelled wholly unused to worldly-minded folk, but the Arbiters did not connect moldiness with the passage of time.   A central living area, a small bedroom to one side, a partitioned kitchen, and a privy made up the entirety of the apartment.  

The door opened sometime later without a knock.  A giant figure stepped through and squatted down opposite Puma- so tall the ceiling would not accommodate him.  His skin was a deep bronze, covering muscle upon muscle so thick it seemed to impede his movement.  His eyes held no pupils and his hair was white and flat.  His broad face lacked nose and expression.

_Definitely not a ‘Sheeanth’,_ Mirage mused idly.

Indeed, the figure was followed by slight elven woman with russet-colored hair and a dirty pallor.  Belying this, her beauty was breathtaking.  Her smile was a tale of warmth and acceptance made all the brighter by years of hardship.

“Hello.  I am Sheeanth, and this is my son, Arknuel.  Ducere has spoken for you, and his word carries much weight here.  Poxos said he has told you who we are, and why we are here.  You can expect to always have a place here where you are welcome.  You may live here, if you wish, for as long as you wish.  But if the confines of the place become too much, I would ask that wherever you go, you forget this place as best you can.  For each one you see above, there are two more in the cities beyond who hunt them.  Mages.  The only thing that keeps them away from our doorstep is the wild magic left behind by the Fiend Wars in this area.  Some great war of dragons in the skies above.”

She had taken a seat across from Mirage in the room’s only remaining chair.  Wrath already adored her.  She looked just like Mother.  Only… sad?  Tired.  Mother had seemed sad too, but more out of longing.  He came out of his thoughts; she was speaking again and he didn’t want to miss a word,

“I would be remiss if I did not admit that I am disappointed.  The way Ducere spoke, you would be our saviors.  A ‘catalyst’, he said, to alight all the seeds we have planted to life.  But…you are just as much a mystery to me as he.  Who are you, if I may ask?”

The Arbiters glanced at one another, unsure of how to truly answer that question.

“Arbiters,” Blight said gruffly.  The answer seemed clear enough to him, but it seemed to just confuse Sheeanth.

“We are created,” Wrath said, “by the Crystal Council to be hunters.  But we were set free before we could be completed.  They will be wanting us back, I think.”

“I see.  And what do you plan to do?”

This was an even tougher question, but Blight still seemed to know the answer first.

“Fight ‘em.  It’s what we’re made t’do.”

That seemed to satisfy, and Blight was pleased by his knack for negotiation.  Mirage wondered if she’d ever be given the chance to perform her perceived role without one of the others interjecting unwanted.

“Then you want what we want- to be free from them.  We can help each other.  Our organization is loose, and purposely so, but not without appreciable means with which to aid you.  Will you?”

The Arbiters conferred.  In the end, what other choice did they have?  Pieces were falling together, their path alighting before them.  But Mourn couldn’t help but voice the irony of it all,

_Work for them?  How is that any different than working for mages?_

_Because zis is a bargain.  Ve aid them, zhey aid us,_ Puma said, _Ve cannot ask for much more zen dat._

_Fah.  The mages gave us life we-_

_Mother gave us life,_ Wrath interrupted, _The mages gave us existence.  What good is existence if you are not free to make your own decisions?  That is all these people wish.  And there are many more people in Ersadia._

_And I could care less about them.  How does being someone else’s lapdog keep us alive?_

_Because for now, it means a shelter and allies.  If these people are not worth their demands, we will find better allies,_ Mirage said, _Let us at least hear her out and find out what it is she can give us and what she asks in return._

Even Mourn had to agree with that logic.  The six of them looked at Sheeanth expectantly.  Only Penumbra was the first to realize that she had not been privy to their conversation.  “How can we help you?” she asked.

After a brief pause, the elf collected her thoughts and began, “Several of our operatives have been lost to the south on the Free Island.  We are not sure what they had been getting themselves involved with previously, but we believe they may have stepped too far.  Regardless, alive or dead, we must know and we must find them if we can.  They have knowledge that could damn us all if it gets into the mages’ hands.  If you would go there, find them, and report back, it would ease a great many restless nights here.”

“We will require scrolls,” Mirage replied instantly.  The spell repertoire she had left their Sanctuary with did not include many utility spells she felt she could not be without.  Chiefly _Teleportation_.  Sheeanth seemed startled by the sudden demand.  She tried to guess how many scrolls they could procure if needed and it wasn’t many.  Of mages they had precious few themselves- defectors who were either too unruly or wanted for some other unseemly crime.  

The subsequent negotiation was satisfactory to Mirage, who at last was able to shine in her element.  Her way with words paled the elf’s and when it was done, she was guaranteed a fortune’s worth of scrolls to accommodate them.

They would spend a week there in the caves while the scrolls were obtained and memorized.  Some took to blending into the village above, trying their hand at being another face in the crowd.  They failed abysmally.  While the races in the village were varied, there was not so much as a single tiefling among them.  When Penumbra showed her face, mothers gathered their children near and backed away slowly, begging for mercy.  Puma managed to find a cloak and broad-rimmed hat to disguise his features, if not his height.  

Of them all, only Blight managed to find at least some success.  A carpenter used wood harvested by the dragons to create a variety of tools and weapons.  The dwarf managed to convince him to pay a few silver for a week’s labor at chopping the wood into manageable sizes.   Yet on his last day, when Mirage would be ready to teleport them to the Free Island, the dwarf stole the man’s finest bow along with a quiver of arrows.  It was a lesson the man learned well- Never trust a tiefling*.  He had gone out on a limb, and this was his thanks.

They met in Sheeanth’s apartment and were escorted to a room at the outskirts of the complex.  Poxos was there to see them off.  The room contained only a great black box that looked to be made of obsidian or some ebony stone.  

“You will only be able to teleport to and from this room,” Sheeanth said from Arknuel’s shadow, ”The magic is too unpredictable elsewhere and you might find yourselves stuck in the rock or shunted into the Astral.  Study it well.  When you are inbound, you will appear in the box and contained until your identity is confirmed.  Every time.  We can take no chances.

If you manage to find one of them, tell them you serve the Triumvirate.  They will know what that means.”

Mirage and Wrath nodded, the others simply waited as they had been for days.  Mirage noted the minor details of the room, committed them to memory, and grasped the two Arbiters nearest her.

Together, they formed a circle.  The cheetah felin spoke a quick word and they were gone.





* - Tiefling is a generic term for the myriad subraces spawned during the Fiend's stay on Ersadia.  Tieflings, fiends, half-fiends of this or that type, entirely new races resulting from fiendish unions, are lumped together into one term by the general populace.  Imagine the term being used as wontonly as 'witch' in our own past to justify unfortunate circumstances and pass easy judgement on the afflicted.  Much of the time, the resentment is justified (as in this case), but not always.

The Tiefling Cullings, a time period which will be expounded upon later, took care of most of this.


----------

