Chapter One: Preparations and Greetings

Long ago, in the Dreamarian fields’ lavish colored plains of Ethrannel, lived a Dwarf, a horrific/disfigured man he was, some and even you would mistaken him for the offspring of a Dwarf and Goblin, his round long red nose, sticking out far from underneath the mauve hood he wore everyday, his gaunt sharp jawline and face, kept his look, like that of a Goblin. The only real Dwarven traits that distinguished him from the complete conclusion of this falliful accusation, was the tone of his skin and the large black beard he bore. In a sort of a pitiful pursuit to cover his grotesque face, he wore the hood, some believed throughout this time of in-conclusion, he was a Wizard, or some sort of mage, for the dark hood casted a shadow unlike any other, leaving his face, but a pit of nothingness even despite if he were look straight into your eyes. The sorrowful soul, which no one sought to learn of. the only time this man ever came out from the dark, mossy-stained pillars of his mansion, was to quickly buy his food and living expenses, then he’d disappear for months on end. Some, though few, wondered of this plighted soul, mostly the children, telling tall tales and fables of that he was a Necromancer, the suspicions of the townsfolk arose when they had seen time and time again this crestfallen cretin make his way every night to the cemetery, the children who dared to pursue the man, explained with tears in their eyes to their parents of the ungodly wails and cries which they’d heard coming from the mournful graves of those long past, eventually the denizens of Dreamaria confronted the Dwarf, only to hear a sad tale, never had they ever thought in which whom the household belonged to, it was the home of the Dreemers, the Dwarves who had founded this land, and previously, only four years ago, slain the dreadful Yanarusis, when they heard that he was responsible for the cries which echoed in the graveyard late at night, they understood. ‘Tis forlorn, weary, dampened soul, was none other than Bayren Dreemer.

Bayren sat in complete solitude within the darkened mansion, with nothing but the embers of the small flame burning lowly within the cobblestone fireplace, he sat in his dark rocking chair that evening ever so silently, rocking back-and-forth, his blue eyes intensely focused on his latest project: Spec’s 2000. Which was a silly name for them, Bayren had always wanted to be a engineer and giving his goggles that name gave them a little bit more uniqueness. Or atleast in his mind it did. He began stretching the thick leather to fit in the buckle, tightly, ‘round the two large circles which were his goggles, still he had no lens for the spectacles but that was soon to be no issue, for he was contemplating a journey off to the kingdom of Falarus, a known place for things for the benefactor of Engineering and such. Bayren eventually rose from his wooden “Throne” as he called it to grab some water for this inferno of a day, when he got up he wiped a shot of sweat off his forehead and stretched, his mind blankly demanding him to retrieve water from the well outside of his home, he made way towards his front door when a sudden rapping began on the strong wooden oaken structure, this was odd for Bayren, in fact extremely odd, Bayren never had received visitors during the fall, because no one cared for his work besides travelers who came during the summer and his family could never be bothered to come and ring either. He peered through the eyehole to see a hooded knight, the knight’s eyes glew with the same as the moon, and he uneasily twiddled his fingers around the hilt of his large mace he carried with, the human was average height, standing at...6’7? Bayren eyed him for only a moment longer then grabbed the door handle tightly and swung it open unready to speak with the now already confronted man. “Greetings, human. What is it you need this evening?” said Bayren now noticing this visitor was not of “The Ethrannelan territory” (The Dream is a region up the far Northern reaches of Jaelia consisting of rolling plains and beautiful mountains. It was nicknamed “The Dream” for its dreamlike atmosphere and because The Dream was temporary for all dwarves who lived in the region, all dwarves at the age of 20 would be extremely urged to move from this place, but that was almost always likely to happen anyways, for Dwarves are an adventurous race, they care not for lifelong homes and such till they’re too frail to walk atleast. Although rare, some dwarves actually enjoyed The Dream and begged it's council members an extended stay. But it was always (No special cases) either stay and pay for your land (A large sum I assure you) or Leave and live a life of adventure.) Bayren unlike the others had stuck within the Dream, Immediately the man's eyes darted to Bayren from the stretched green plains full of beautiful sidewalks and people “Greetings unto you aswell, Dwarf. I am Michael, Of the Talaeorin Order. I’ve come to this faraway land all the way from the borders of Gorreleran to seek the one they call: Goldbeard, or Falren. The Guardsmen at the gate entrance instructed that this was his homestead, am I wrong to believe so?” Bayren said nothing and stepped onto his porch, pointing towards the graveyard which sat not too far from Bayren’s house nearby the Chapel of Lafaeleos, a monolithic scrap of architecture left behind by the Elves long ago, the building runed and chiseled to perfection, the grand entrance of the silver/marble cathedral-like outstanding opened far and wide to express the generosity and safekeeping the order of Lafaeleos offered, the earth mother (Goddess) in which Falren, his brother, had disowned before he had died, for the religion forsakened killing in any fashion. Goldbeard, as faintly told...Was Bayren’s brother, who in which had died heroically killing the last dragon of Maxina: Yanarusis, a vile golden scaled female dragon which had stalked the many realms of Jaelia from ages long past. Yanarusis had terrorized Ethrannel (As all the other areas of Maxina) for ages, burning the mortals’ homesteads and devouring the people of it, then receding back to his den all the way in Farrenla (A far-away continent, almost forgotten land), so Goldbeard, grew impatient for a hero to arise and slay the foul beast who’d terrorized his people since he’d been born and so he leapt at it, launching himself from a catapult onto the grand golden scales of it’s back, his plain dwarven spear doused in Ogre blood, the only enchantment known to the mortals, besides magicka and the Arcane, to slay dragons. Goldbeard jabbed the spear firstly piercing through the neck of the Dragon, Its scale like armor popping off, hissing and revealing the weaker hot red skin of the dragon, and he jabbed again, deeper and more ferociously, red blood spurted from Yanarusis’ neck and the dragon roared, clenching the flames within her throat and turning back to the Dwarf atop her back, before Yanarusis died, she cleaved Goldbeard in twain with her massive claws. Goldbeard fell from the back of the dragon to the ground, and the dragon flew off, before then, to slowly fall down to her final resting place within the edges of the borders of The Dreamaran territory. Goldbeard was never his true name though (As already said), They called him this for when he stood on his back his beard shone with the sun just before he delivered his killing blow. His true name was: Falren Dreemer. Bayren, now returning from the reminiscent memory, looked upto the golden anticipated/focused eyes of Michael solemnly answering “He perished midst his fearless performance.” Michael bowed his head, his hood shadowing off his somewhat scarred face, for it was rude to not honor the dead within the Talaeorin faith, “I’ve heard wrong then. I was told he had survived the battle, though he suffered great wounds. I came to this land seeking his aid or perhaps wisdom after hearing of his valiant deeds for the people, alas, I’m sure I won’t be receiving that help anymore. Unless...you would care to join my party, Dwarf?” Bayren’s sorrowful gaze towards the gravestone of his brother suddenly vanished off his face at the mere mention of such a question, venturing was never Bayren’s ideal purpose of his mind, too uncomfortable and difficult were his thoughts. “...Me? You can’t be serious, right? I would only weigh you down Sir…?” the silver donned-Knight smiled, reiterating his name once again “Michael. Dwarf, I’m not sure you’ve noticed yet...But I’m in quite an odd situation in the spectrum of journeying off, I’ve no party for it and as you may know the roads of Jaelia are more treacherous than ever, with the war and what have you. Even if you’re not a skilled fighter, it’d be nice to have some company along my way.” Bayren, politely, asked intriguedly of him “Where are you off to? Tyrisius? Falarus? Adaleisi?” “All of them. I’m on a journey for the fame and praise like many others have. My brothers aswell.” “How come you didn’t just tag along with them? I’m sure you’d of provided well to their endeavors.” “It is forbidden to do so, the journey is to discover new allies and defeat new and old evils, aswell as help the poor and rich equally, for there is no better service for a holy man, correct?” Bayren leapt back into his thoughts, as much as Bayren despised journey’s in almost their entirety, it was practically as if God was giving him a second chance to prove his worth. For Bayren was a coward the day in which Yanarusis had came to rain fire down upon the great kingdom, Bayren had hid in-doors whilst his brother had charged forth fearlessly and slew the vile monster. Bayren looked onwards and past Michael to the cold mountain’s beyond the borders of the peaceful realm of Dreamaria, perhaps a journey would be for the best, it would provide exceptional assistance to conquer Bayren’s fears/weaknesses, aswell as perhaps allow him to claim himself a title as his brother had. Bayren stared awe-fully, somewhat becoming infatuated with the idea of becoming a legend or tale midst the people of Jaelia “...Come in.” Bayren said almost regretfully. Michael, lifted his sword from the lavishly colored grass, dirt staining the blade now, for it had sank somewhat, and then began his walk behind Bayren silently, following him and examining his mansion like home, it was dissimilar then the usual human-Gelran esque homes he’d seen back in Gorreleran, for it was built into the side of a humongous bluff, in fact the largest bluff in all of The Dream besides King Diminius’. It was a beautiful homestead, neatly decorated with all sorts of antiques and treasures from ages past,  trophies and souvenirs from all of the Dreemer bloodline from the enormous skull of Yanarusis in which as you know Falren had slain, to but simple accomplishments such as winning a cooking competition. The palace like home was also neatly dusted and perfected with shining and polished dark Falarin lumber. Bayren always kept his home clean, just in case his parents ever returned from their long supposed voyage. They’d been gone ever since Bayren was 10 and his brother was 12, they’d both set off in search of glory themselves, Bayren always assumed the worse with their outcome: captured, dead...But Falren was a bit more confident in his parents, assuming that perhaps they were successful and had just forgotten of home and time, for such is common for an adventurer. Michael sunk back into Bayren’s Throne, the creaking of the large rocking chair pierced Bayren’s ears, Michael suddenly picked up the spectacles Bayren had been slaving upon “Who made these?” Bayren looked back a bit weary to answer it was him, for no one ever had asked such a question “They’re mine. I created them.” Michael put them back down onto the table “Fine handiwork, though I bet it’s not appreciated here, most Dwarves are interested in bulk strength, not of the mind or anything to do with engineering. Which is strange, I believe Dwarves are much like Tiations, though you all of course are much taller and stronger, I cannot pinpoint as to why the two of you haven’t made alliances yet.” “We are aligned. You don’t see us ever torching their settlements and buildings.” Michael tittered “That’s not what I meant, Dwarf. Don’t you ever wonder why the short races of Jaelia wouldn’t stick together, with all of their handicaps, but the four of you are the most split I’ve ever seen of all the races.” “We all behold different gods and morals, there is your reason as to why we are so “split”.” “Tiations behold no god, Twylen’s behold Luciferius and Lafaeleos as does yours and most Gelrans behold Lafaeleos alone.” Michael sighed “It seems you all are not so split in means of religions after all.” “Why do you speak to me of this? I’m not a damned Ambassador or Embassary” “It is good to get to know your traveling partner, is it not?” Bayren stroked his beard thoughtfully “Well, maybe the reason as to why we don’t get along is simply from the past. Gelrans have hated the Dwarves ever since Grand Dragon Tyrell slew half a million of them with his axe alone. And the Tiations and ours’ morals are so split it’s strange to see us council anything with them. And as for the Twylen’s, they’re too far off to even make contact with.” Michael placed his hands together and sat forth thoughtfully “Do you think that’d be a good deed? To align peace with the short races?” “Any peace would be a great deed. But humans don’t exactly seem to be the most competent to handle the means of such things. With half of your race killing the other half all about a god that only might be real.” Michael’s eyes darted to Bayren “I see you are not a religious man, strange, I took you for one.” “Is your mighty god going to smite me for thinking so? Or are you his hand and will you instead do it for him?” Michael laughed lowly “Talaeor is a loving god, no matter your hate for him. He cares not of your beliefs, he just simply wants you to live a good life.” “Talaeor sounds weak.” Michael looked up to Bayren disdainfully “Perhaps, but he is god and you are not. Talaeor only combats the battles he must, he never goes out provoking them, unless he must. Those repulsive Cymiran murderous dogs of Zaromaxina wished death upon us, so we simply battle them on because we must.” “So if a child were to wish death upon you. Would you so righteously slay him?” Michael sniggered “A child is not too fluent in the mind at such a young age, so no, I would not.” “Is that also the reason as to why you human’s battle the Elves? Did they wish death upon you too?” “No, and I cannot answer for the rest of my race as to why we wage war against the Elves. To me they’re simply another friend for this endless journey, as are the Dwarves and Tiations. But sadly, in regards to the Elves, my race has turned them away, despite our similarities.” “How do you think your god stands with that?” “Reluctantly, I’d wager. But that is also why the Talaeorin Order does not deal with those matters anymore and instead... the simple footmen of Tyrisius do.” “Your god is strange, he asks not for belief, not for praise...What is the point of being a god if you’re not going to receive any of that?” “Talaeor has ascended even past the traits of a god, he is neither mortal nor immortal. He is neither moral or immoral, atleast to his foes, he is something even we, his worshippers, will never understand. But there is one reason that I understand he is the real god, Luciferius may turn the blades of weapons to cinder for those who follow him and Lafaeleos may open waterfalls to reveal subtle secrets and open the grounds beneath her followers’ foes, But Talaeor answers us in our most dire of times, opening the earth to bury our foes, and turning our blades to cinder to keep his few believers alive.” “Then what would you say Talaeor is?” “The right and only just God. Lafaeleos answers favours for others with delights and Luciferius answers deeds for favours, even if those deeds are terrible.” Bayren sniggered from Michael’s talk “You say Talaeor answers people in their most dire of times, why not his follower’s death’s then?” Michael scoffed “Death is more of a relievement than a dire call for Talaeor to use his powers.” “Then what is a dire call?” “The sanctity of our lineage and history progressing onwards, if there ever is a time of doubt and need for us mortals, then I know who will answer the call.” Michael then pointed up to the heavens and grinned back to Bayren, he, quite impressionable after their little lingustical bout. “...Well, besides all of that, Sir Michael. Where does our first venture take us?” Michael took a scroll from his satchel and placed it upon the clear glass table which bore the goggles and ale Bayren had been drinking earlier “Our first venture will be off to Falarus, the kingdom of the Tiations, for what better place to start? But, I must state clearly, if anyone during our travels is in need of assistance, then we are obligated to assist...” Bayren nodded expectantly “Do you have any supplies for this journey? It will indeed be a long one if we last.” “Of course. But it’s not much, I wasn’t exactly given the supplies, I’ll say.” “Where’d you get them from then?” “From a dozen bandits near the end of the borders of Windelen.” Bayren rose a brow “You slew this dozen and took their loot?” “I stole it. I’m no hero, dwarf, I don’t just charge straight in. If you haven’t seen I’m not even too well equipped myself for this journey.” Michael pointed to his armor which was only leather, the only metal and sturdy pieces of armor that Michael beheld were his shoulder pads and his helmet which he held tucked underneath his armpit while he spoke... and his warhammer. “Why not use a shield and sword?” questioned Bayren “You’re only making it easier for your enemies to kill you.” Michael laughed “I’d worry about yourself Dwarf, what’re you going to wear? That? Suspenders and black commoners’ pants?” Bayren scoffed, then began a subtle shuffle away “Right.” he went down a long hallway brightly lit from the sun's shiny beams, gleaming through the fantastic spectacle the windows were, Michael as he strode behind Bayren ogled out into the green plains again, pausing and letting Bayren continue on without him. He was leading to his families trophy room, a marvelously crafted oaken ovalish door which bore many golden rooted patterns stood ahead of him, ceiling off the wonders within, Bayren opened it, and within the room there were many weapons and armor sets from days long past. Before Bayren’s parents had abandoned him and his brother they’d shown them the trophy room once, it was a room that their parents kept very secretive about during their youth, Bayren’s parents use to jokingly tell him and Falren that they’d stolen Yanarusis’ eggs and that it was the reason why the dreaded dragon attacked. But once Bayren learned of the truth of the room and the truth of why Yanarusis attacked, the world suddenly changed drastically for Bayren. Bayren’s parents shown them both the many items and trinkets that their grandfathers and grandmothers had procured during their life times and Bayren suddenly was put under the massive weight of grand expectation. He didn’t want to be the only Dreemer to’ve done nothing and so he tried to learn engineering, it was something unique no dwarf was known for, nonetheless his family. But Bayren’s creations were damn near terrible, the gadgets and technologies he created were completely useless and or simply copies of others’. The only thing the people of the Dream ever cared for were for his grenades and bombs. And Bayren felt he could never progress his skill because he was stuck within the Dream, eventually the year before Falren died, he and Falren were supposed to of journeyed off to Falarus, it would’ve helped Bayren with manuals and instructions and it would’ve also helped Falren in his search for glory and trinkets. Alas, Falren died as told, and Bayren stayed put within the Dream, too afraid to venture off himself. Bayren was torn from his thought by the sudden knock near the door, it was Michael again, who’d finally receded from his viewing of the Dream. Michael as he walked through and past the door, astonishingly stared at the many achievements with his mouth open dumbly “What is this room?” asked Michael, glancing ‘round the poorly lit-dull room, ‘tis was the only cubicle cell within Bayren’s home he’d seen somewhat tarnished, some of the items lopsided and dangling disordiently from the box containers all throughout the room “This, is where the legends of my forefathers came to rest.” said Bayren lowly as he picked at a red mage’s hat and staff “...Would you take me for a Wizard, Michael?” asked Bayren “Do you know any spells?” Bayren tittered, glancing upwards, his slight grin twinkling as he cheeringly scoffed “No.” “Then of course not. You should take up the weapon and armor you believe fits you the most, nonetheless, something you can use effectively.” Bayren turned around from the Knight, and wandered off, looking to the many sets and weapons... He finally, after searching for minutes, came upon an old stone dark green case, he blew the dust off of the old runed Dwarven helmet within the solitudeful box cabinet which stored it, then grabbed at the great axe that lay near sweeping the many cobwebs away with it. He then glanced downwards to the Golden-fine lettering below the glass of the case “Elronn Dreemer” it read “The only dwarf to’ve been killed by damned pixies...What a way to go.” Bayren said smiling, almost laughing at the thought of such a fate, multicolored flying pests pixies were, speaking in practical tongues and spewing magic every second from their lips...Foul creatures. Bayren placed the old chainmail-plate helmet atop his head and brought the rest of the dark green Dwarven runed armor set out and back into the living room, having Michael carry one half of the burden and scavengerly-like pick at the pieces Bayren had dropped. The two stood again within the awesome dimly lit room, where they then began the slow process of attaching each piece of armor to Bayren precisely yet carefully. As Michael sat staring at the dressing Dwarf boringly, he asked “Why do you wish to wear the armor of a man who died to pixies?” Bayren grinned “Because I believe with my luck, I’ll go out pissing myself when the pixies eat away at my flesh, not stone cold in the face like Elronn.” Michael grinned ear to ear, then returned to his normal-etched face “Do you know how to use an axe, Dwarf?” “What is there to know? Swing at em ‘till they’re dead, like what the Tyrisian military core say’s.” Michael again laughed “Very true...But a Greataxe will weigh you down heavily, nonetheless that armor. It’s no wonder your ancestor-this...Elronn died to such weak-pathetic but quick creatures. He must’ve been exhausted swinging and missing at those little bastards…” Bayren nodded agreeingly, grinning, imagining of the situation yet again “...I don’t expect to be cornered by pixies alone.” “Then you should, many say to always think of the worst to come before it happens. And you’d do best to believe them, for you never know, Bayren.” “What would you have me wear then? Robes? An even heavier armor set? This is the lightest of all of these sets and it’s still as heavy as boulders.” “I’m asking you to perhaps wield a sword, no offense Dwarf, but to me you don’t seem to be the most physically capable of wielding such a weapon.” “I can carry it. I’ve been able to hold an axe since I was 2, for a Dwarves’ strength never dwindles.” Michael settled back into Bayren’s chair once again, sighing and watching him put on each piece of armor and strap each leather strap. “What do you expect to encounter on our journey, Dwarf? Wolves? Giants? ...Demons?” Bayren paused as he stepped into the mossy-dark green greaves “Ogres, bandits, wolves...Pixies, hell we could stumble upon the battlegrounds between the Zaromaxinans and Tyrisians for all I know.” Michael lifted himself from his slouched position and returned back to the scroll he’d laid out earlier, it was a map of Maxina, pinpointing almost every kingdom and place of interest, there were red lines and dots ‘round the entire map obviously made by Michael “You’re right of the Ogres and Bandits, maybe even of the pixies and wolves...As I said earlier, the roads of Jaelia are no longer safe, Did you know I experienced most of my troubles just leaving the forests of Windelen? Bandit’s were at almost every corner, weaklings hiding behind the thickets and gatherings of trees… absolutely no control from the Tyrisian Military either.” Bayren nodded, unsurprised of Michael’s complaint “Of course there are no guards, they’re off fighting in that stupid war.” Bayren catching his words, then asked “Y’know, if you’re ‘part of the Order of Talaeor, why’re you out here? Adventuring with some highborn but lowly dwarf?” “It is a right of passage into the Order, I suggested my immediate entry but I was declined by the council as were my friends, for the Elder’s were more intent on keeping traditions alive then receiving three immediate worthy disciples who would’ve fought valiantly in the war.” “What of the Tyrisian drafting list? Were you able to dodge that bullet as well?” “For now...But I believe eventually there will come a time when I’m called for too, that is if they haven’t forgotten me.” “So you mentioned, friends...I supposed they are also off on this journey as well if they seek entry. May I ask who they are?” “Renaraine and Illen-Wild both of them I’ve known since I was a child, Renaraine being a Tiation from the Falarin forests and Illen-Wild being a Wood Elf from the forests of Pelarod.” “Pelarod?” “Yes, the spider infested forests consisting within the lands of Farrenla.” “Ah, how do your human friends take to your Elvish friend?” “Not well, Dwarf, for either of them. Renaraine has been beaten multiple times with whips and knives from what I’ve seen and-” “Whips and knives? Were the wounds deep?” “No, not all of them, and thank god for that.” (asceticism was a common practice beheld by the Tiations and short races of religion, they believe that torturing themselves will unlock their true potentials and allow them an entry to heaven. For they believe they’re unworthy for bearing such a weak mortal coil.) “And what of this, Illen-Wild?” “He’s been spat on and persecuted since we were in the academy together, as was Renaraine, but not as viciously.” “And you? Surely you’ve suffered for trusting them, ‘specially since your a human.” Michael sniggered, fidgeting, then pulling at his dark leather gloves, he then lifted his left hand to the eyes of Bayren, showning a baffling revelation unto Bayren, in which his middle and pinky finger had been chopped off cleanly. “My own parents bore me with this scar, pinky for Renaraine and middle for Illen.” Michael sept to grimace and waver at the thought, nonetheless he continued on “Besides that, those within the academy were a bit more rash in their tone of speech with me, but I never gave a damn.” “...What kind parent’s you had. Such a fitting punishment of their own son’s decisions, pinky for the Tiation, and Middle for the Elf, how poetic. Perhaps you could write a story about it?” Michael boringly looked off, through the large cathedral like window which lay ahead of the table, displaying elegantly the rolling plains of Dreamaria “Maybe...But not now.” “Where do you assume your two friends went? Do you think they’ll follow through with this quest?” “Well if one or both of them don’t, then they’ll be waiting at the Inn within Depradon all the way back in Windelen…’Less they’re dead. We agreed that would be the place we would all return to once our journey’s were finished.” “Why there? Why not anywhere else?” “Well, I’ll be very surprised if we don’t also meet them at Falarus and Heidia, but that’s only a chance to see them, for who knows if we’ll even be able to recognize each other after all of this is over. And the reason for our meeting in Depradon is because...Well, what better place than the place in which our trio met?” said Michael with a grin on his face “What a homecoming it’ll be, women, gold, accomplishment, everything you could imagine. I’d be shocked if we didn’t bed about every woman there that night.” Bayren chuckled “Do you suppose your travelling partners would be there?” Michael looked at Bayren questionably “I would think that all of them would’ve left, but sure, if they wanted to come along with then there’d be no issue, hell, the more the merrier. What, are you thinking on coming along?” “It depends if we’re still alive or not, but most likely, unless I have some sort of grand calling.” Bayren laughed disdainfully, yet lightly at the comical notion  “...I believe I’ll be there in that Inn with you and your friends.” Michael smiled “It’s a fun image to think of...I thought of it almost my entire walk here, the amount of stories that will be shared that night. It’ll be glorious, nonetheless the satisfaction of knowing I’d helped the peoples of Maxina.” Bayren smiled all the while Michael fantasized of it’s magnificence, but then his face turned grim, what if his friends were to of died? What if they were to all die? Then it wouldn’t be too much of a grand homecoming, first they must do their journey. Then perhaps that day will come. After Michael was done fantasizing of the night Bayren asked “Who do you suppose our travelling mates’ll be? What races?” Michael sat back thoughtfully “I’m not too sure about that question...I think maybe that one Tiation will join our journey, but that I’m unsure of, since Tiations are so kept away creatures and they’d rather sit work and die all within their oh-so glorious kingdom of Falarus then go off and make proud names for themselves. As for Elves, no, Ascended...no, maybe a Gelran would join our journey, hopefully one who can cook too, Twylen perhaps aswell...I do believe another human will join our journey as with a Dwarf.” “What about any Orcs, trolls or Ogres?” “I doubt that to the extreme, if we had an Ogre with us I doubt any short races’d like to stay around, as with me. And for Orcs...Maybe, not too sure on their standpoint with the other races.” “What of their personalities and backgrounds?” “Most likely men who’ve had it rough and seek another future than lying awake at night thinking of what could’ve been.” “Why do you think the Tiations would not join us if we had an Ogre ally?” “You were never told of the wars between them? The Ogres during the War Of 13 massacred the Tiations, completely demolishing Gelrus, their one and only capital remaining throughout all of Jaelia. That’s why they all cowered away to Falarus since Ogre’s are so terrified of the Arcane and since it runs so rampant throughout those forests...You see why they built their new capital there.” Bayren scratched his beard, he’d never heard of the kingdom of Gelrus or the hatred between the Tiations and Ogres, it was quite interesting to him since he beheld Tiations in such a high regard because of their masterful knowingness of Engineering. “What threat did the Tiations hold to the Ogres?” “None, if you may recall the Ogres once beheld Luciferius for a moment of hateful respite, they believed that they were the chosen ones and to prove that point they sought out elimination of all the races. Starting with the Tiations.” “But what’ve that Neusel person that I always hear so much about?” “N-e-u-s-e-l? Who is that?” “From what I’ve read he’s the most popular and flamboyant celebrity in Falarus and that his main assistant is an Ogre named: Evren.” “Well, for the most part Tiations hold a very high level of hatred for them. I bet the Queen isn’t too pleased in seeing that lumbering oaf walk around her kingdom as if he was a Tiation.” “Why would you say that?” “She served in the wars. And if I recall her friend, Sonam, died in the war to those brutes, devoured whole by their king...Ethrannel...” “Tiations have their women serve within their military?” “Yes, their society believes they are all equal. Did you know when a Tiation is born into a family of wealth, they are not given a cent of it? Instead the money is either given back to the government or to the success in which granted the predecessor the money.” “And you ask why the short races will never get along? What kind of stupid law is that?” “In my opinion, I don’t think it’s too stupid. It actually strives the successor to create something greater than the previous generation.” “And if they do not succeed in creating something great?” “That individual is shamed. Until he or she can create something great.” “And that standard is for all Tiations?” “Yes. There hasn’t been any highborn Tiations since Gelrus. The Highborn families of the Tiations were the...Bladis, Exia’s, Leagans and the Taran’s. In which it was their intellect and strange beauty that gave them dominance over the others, similar to the Elves.” “How would beauty give dominance over the other families?” “Imagine seeing a man or woman with a beautiful face and gorgeous hair and on top of all of that they were smart, dexterous and powerful. Then you’ll know why they were in power. But those Highborn families have all fallen short as of late, just before the Destruction of Gelrus they were all at each other's throats and when the Siege began some bloodlines were entirely purged seeing as how there was nowhere to run. The Bladis were all murdered during their sleep and the Taran’s were raided upon during the night by both the Leagan’s and Exia’s. The Leagan’s and Exia’s after all of that became good friends and then went on to create Falarus with the very few surviving commoner families.” “Exia...I feel as if I recognize that name…” “You should, it is after all the Queen of Falarus’ last name. She doesn’t take any blame or fault for the extermination of the other two families, but some would think otherwise.” “How do you tell the families apart from each other?” “The Leagan’s bore an odd shade of dark green hair, they came from the forests of Pelarod. The Exia’s had a light blonde hair color which is normal for humans and Elves but an extreme rarity for Tiations. The Bladis bore a hair color unseen in any of the races but Elves, Silver. And the Taran’s had a dark purplish hair color, which is still unexplainable to this day by scholars. The Exia’s still remain within Falarus but the Leagan’s ventured away from the Kingdom, off to the forests of Pelarod once again, in which they run a keep. The various families were also known for the animal’s they chose for their banners, Exia’s bore the Lion, Taran’s bore the Raven, Bladis bore the Wolf and the Leagan’s bore the Gryphon. ...You seem quite infatuated with the Tiations’ story, why is that, Dwarf?” Bayren was strapping on his last pauldron as Michael ended his sentence “You do not find the Tiations interesting? They’ve so far created weapons and ideas that some believe are too advanced for our age. Guns, cannons, Robots. Their minds are so small compared to ours but somehow they get more done.” “It is admirable, but when you put their situation in comparison to ours, the Tiations are still generations, eons, away from the power we all bask in. They are the second race in all of Jaelia to not comprehend magicka, their minds great for engineering and architecture, but not understanding how to manipulate even the simplest spells of the Arcane. It is the soul reason as to why Tiations haven’t won a war against any race but themselves.” “Could you imagine if those buggers could understand the Arcane?” Bayren laughed “I believe we’d all be dead by now if that was the case, Dwarf.” the both of them then laughed heartily together at the jest. As time passed whilst they jested and spoke to one another of their journey soon to come, so too did the sun as every day, and as the magnificent golden child faded from the world as every evening, Bayren and Michael still sat within the warm yet empty Mountain mansion of the Dreemers talking and planning. Bayren knelt down to the fireplace and sparked a flame, tossing his cigarette into the tight dusty chimney, that hadn’t been lit since the night his parents had left. Then sat back on the scarlet elongated couch he and his mother used to sit when she had read him stories of heroes now long past. Bayren looked to the fires thoughtfully and silently, the flame dancing within his iris as he stared so intently and focused, this would be the last night of comfort for him, after this it would either be the cold earthen floor beneath him in which he would sleep or the cold forest grass with only a small dim fire to ease his mind. Bayren glanced over to Michael to see he was already asleep, his hood finally unveiled to reveal his face, he looked as if he was in his thirties, he had a full beard which was blonde and his hair was messy, dangling beneath his eyes, shadowing them. Michael seemed as if he was some sort of king or Highborn, but he was not, he was just another commoner with high ambitions and lucky attributes for such an appearance. Michael was also quite impairably strong compared to the many other humans Bayren had seen throughout his life, but that was normal for the light-skinned humans of Windelen as it was for the more dark-skinned humans of the desert all the way down south of Maxina. Bayren looked back to the fires and as he stared he began to see his reflection within the flickering heat, his black beard and strange ugly face with his dark blue eyes, Bayren’s appearance was so strange compared to his ancestors, there was only one who ever looked somewhat similar to Bayren and that was his great-great-grandfather Lycelle Dreemer, he too had an ugly face and dark black hair, he was a mage who had studied within the great Elven kingdom of Kathranir, he’d braved many journeys and battles from what's been told to Bayren but he met his fate to the hands of his love, a Gelran woman named: Favitte who’d supposedly been so beautiful, Lycelle fell in love from his first sight of her. They had both met all the way back in the forests of Adaleiasi and had experienced many of their travels together because of their common goal. Eventually the two fell into a deep love, having children and during their child's’ combat lessons an accident occurred in which Favi, lost in the art of the blade, drove the sharp sword through Lycelle, the initial strike hadn’t killed Lycelle but the infection afterward did. A tragic tale indeed Bayren’d always thought, almost sept like some sort of dramatic play or something you’d hear in a fairy tale, in fact, when his mother had first told him of this tale, he had thought so. Bayren continued to stared emptily at the fires, flickering embers so malevolently and yet magnificently dancing, a final shiver of ecstasy and wonder as he glared in awe, he had felt this feeling before, long ago, the fateful day before his brother had died. Bayren gazed unknowingly and almost unconsciously into the fires, anxious of the madness of this journey which was to ensue, sweating bullets despite the cold atmosphere of his tundra-like home without the fireplace lit, blue with the coldness of winter. Ogling as if he was an owl at the blank room, ‘till his eyes finally could no longer bear to keep open.

Chapter two: ??? “Now... Let me tell you of a man, that even I was weary of when I’d first met hi-Bah! the bastard still scares the hell outta me, his real name was Panxo Vernard, but we’ll play along and call him by his false name Avery Velen, for the sake of the story. What’s that? You want to know why he bears a false name? We’ll get to that later. For now, listen, boy.”  (It had been four years since Avery had been locked away...A villain, a murderer...Those were the titles he now bore... again. Avery had never wanted the people he killed to die, it was never his intent, he went over the grim day every passing second of his imprisonment within his cubicle cell. He never set his explosives to blow, not the timer option and not manually either, and the explosives were well hidden away within his apartment, ‘ready whenever to propose to the Institute of Knowledge. Who would have activated them? Why would they had activated them? There was never anyone Avery had harsh feelings with, everyone sept to either like Velen or simply not care for him at all. Avery had gone to work that day as every other day, greeted and pecked at by his boss Miss’ Aroth, and pandered and jested with and by Camarc and Azelias. There was only one who Avery ever suspected of his imprisonment, and that was the damned Twylen who he had met just before he arrived to work, asking the most biggest coincidental questions, or... foreshadowing his true dark intent. It's been 4 years since the grim fallacy occurred, Avery to this day cannot even recall the last time he’d seen the outside world or heard a voice different than the Guardsman who came knocking every evening to deliver his food through a slot in a metal-hollow door. Avery began to relive the fond yet dreary memory as a reality as he sat alone in the depths of the dark corners of his cell,) (In parenthesis...Rewrite.) he’d taken his keys from home, he had his wallet and about 200 credits on him, he wore the same blackened-dark work outfit he was suppose to wear everyday, an outfit mostly fitted with pockets for tools, buttoned to the top, and folded were the suits only white paletted mandibles, his pants formal, and his boots heavy and steel-toed, though, those were not necessary in particular to the nature of his job. Avery’s skin tone, pale white, like that of a marble statue, but that was normal for Tiations, as was the common black straight hair he bore, ‘twas combed to the side, displaying a more royal look for his doggish appearance. He also wore large obsidian-black explosive-chem spectacles in which bore a large golden X in the midst of it’s rim. Before Avery exited his cave-like smoky home, he lit up a Falarin cigar, as every dull day... Humming the catchy tune of Falarin Fantasies, then exited his house into the always dimly lit streets of Falarus, a rush of the scent of burning fumes filled his lungs as he stammered outward, though the smell never sept to make the Tiations of the blackened kingdom even wince. Avery, holding the cigar he’d lit, twixt his index and middle, inhaled the fumes, a brief moment of respite and clarity filling his mind as the tobacco wetted his probably already blackened lungs, he then brushed the ashes, and disposed of it, crushing and capsizing the puny thing, squeezing the ashes of it into the tray near his doorfront. Whilst he had done so, a man of similar stature stood afar, examining Avery, he came forth, it was a Twylen from what Avery could make out, with thick silver, razor sharp fur and black dots ‘round his eyes like a rodent of the night, this Twylen immediately approached Avery as he closed his door “Good day, Mr. Velen.” the Raccoon eyed Twylen greeted smiling, his sharp grin almost deviously resting, staring unto Avery, Avery looked back to the Twylen quickly and unexpectedly, any race besides Humans and Dwarves were strange within the Kingdom of Falarus, especially Twylen’s since they were never ones to be interested with the Tiations’ technology, instead with the war and what have you, after Stalis had allowed them entry, they’d usually remain outside of the kingdoms’ walls, in the openings and towns surrounding the kingdom. “Greetings…?” replied Avery, unsure of what to even call the man “Oh, my name matters not, my friend. Tell me, have you lived within this great cave all your life?” Avery was oddly ogling the Twylen and question, his brow furrowed, grimacing questionably at the Twylen, what sort of greeting was that? He asked himself discontentedly “Well, if you mean I’ve never stepped out of the kingdom, then you’re wrong. What is it you want, Twylen? I mean no rudeness but I’ve got to get to work.” answered Avery, intent to leave the presence of this nuisance, for he was already truly running late to his job. “Oh, no, no...I know, believe me, you Tiations are always on tight schedules. I’ll make this quick, assuredly, friend. Let me get straight to the point, we’d-or I’d just like to say, my colleagues and I have taken some note of your work, it is quite admirable to create a product as pristine and elegant as yours, the Institute of Knowledge,  and Lord Everafe himself, surely you know him, have and has taken a very keen interest into the matter and are or is willing to spend a very large sum of Drakes for it...That is of course if you’re willing to sell...” Avery stared at the Twylen, he blinked, his mind sharp and his eyes like daggers, squinting, thinking carefully of what he was to say next, how in the hell did this Twylen know of his work? He asked himself, Avery the past couple of years had been experimenting with an explosive lethal tear gas, he’d been developing it ever since his years within the military and it’s development, although an arduous and frustrating one, it was quite successful for it’s purpose. (He knows) Avery nicknamed the lethal weapon: Forest 9 because of it’s dark green appearance aswell as what the toxin did to it’s victim after death, Forest 9 after killing an organic organism would then sprout roots and plants from the poor souls body, thus if it killed an army Avery thought an entire forest would sprout. “No, it’s not for sale. it still needs more rigorous testing and devising, besides, I wouldn’t transact with a man I’ve only just met. If Lord Everafe truly wants to see my project, tell him to come himself.” said he eying the Twylen, the dull faced twylen then nodded agreeingly, yet disappointingly in response “I see...I and some members of the Falarin Institute of Knowledge shall return once it’s finished... we’ll be sure to keep in contact with you ‘till you see it fit to offer. and you’d do best to tell us first Velen, for we do not appreciate being duped and delayed. But, one last question, before I go, Velen, to appease your chaotic and destructive mind, supposedly.” Avery felt insulted of the Twylen’s wording, nonetheless the Twylen continued on, as if it was a compliment “What would you rather desire of the two, nothingness or death, friend?” Avery thought of the question for a brief moment, then answered truthfully to it “Death of course...Atleast there is some sort of satisfaction of knowing it’s all over.” “Is that why you created your product? To give the people the satisfaction of knowing it’s all over?” Avery eyed the Twylen confusingly and wearily yet again, the Twylen then burst out laughing and placed his hand onto Avery’s shoulder “An old joke from Adaleiasia to farewell our bright but dangerous friends. You know, you answered the same as he did when he was asked the same question.” “And who might “he” be?” asked Avery “Mr.Aroth, of course! Long ago during the ages of the war of thirteen we came to (ENTRY MISSING) seeking his help and we bestowed that question upon him too. He not only answered with death but refused our plead.” “What is the inquiry even suppose to mean?” “Well, the question has many philosophical insights, my friend, I’m sure you’ll figure one, as did he.” once the twylen finished his miniscule monologue, the world serpent’s (Lafaeleos) bell rung, chiming throughout all of Falarus, the bell signified the day’s checkpoints, Dawn, Day, Evening, Night. But the bell not only signified the day’s checkpoints in Avery’s mind, it also signified if he was late or not to work. Avery as soon as he heard the bell quickly excused himself of the Twylen’s presence, spilling words from his mouth everso eloquently“...E-Excuse me!” as he quickly sprinted past him leaving without a goodbye. This had been the third time this week he’d been late, Miss’ Aroth had been generous the last three days, but Avery was almost assured she would not be happy the third time. Avery leapt over every obstacle that stood in his way, trying to get there as fast as he could, hoping Miss Aroth would notice the sweat dripping to perhaps disregard his blatant truancy. Avery quickly ran down the almost hollowed kingdoms’ streets, spotting his landmarks one by one, Morning Meal, Daily Delights, Fabulous Flowers, Kade’s Cookery, Falarin Fantasies...All a bunch of different companies owned by the most successful woman in all of Falarus: Miss Aroth. Avery always despised her rudeness, nonetheless her god-awful creativity for names, but she was quite intelligent, to go from being absolutely no one to becoming one of the largest and most successful people in all of Jaelia does require a high level of intellect and aptitude. Avery finally could see the neon green lit sign of Arothian Industries, it was an old, ruined, tall, building, being built all the way back during the aftermath of the First World War, it’s sign had always been dormant and gloomy after it’s first owner, Winsul Aroth had abandoned Falarus, he’d left in a very untimely and disorganized fashion, leaving nothing besides the empty factory, his black hat, a single robot, a note and his daughter: Kymplin. The small letter Winsul had written was attached to the robot, the note read in bold black ink: FALARUS IS A PRISON. yet Nobody, not even Queen Exia could decipher what he wanted the note to mean, it just sept like meaningless nonsense to the lot of people. Why would he also leave his only child in Falarus? This perceived prison by him (In his words). There were many people who attempted to decipher what the greatest engineer/entrepreneur alive note could mean, even the Elves were a bit curious of it’s meaning, some thought that maybe the Ogres of Ethrannel would brave the Forests of Falar and deliver the Tiations their doom thus trapping them in Falarus, but Queen Exia disregarded this “conspiracy” many people bore and somewhat paradoxically believed, nonetheless, the people still kept their little insights of the quote, mostly ending with the enslavement or destruction of the Tiations by the other races. Avery always thought he wrote it because he knew something not even the Tiations could guess would happen, he kept it simple, but mostly he kept it this way because it was too mundane and droll, without enough evidence for any sort of idea plausibly already thought of. Anyways, he finally had arrived at the Industries half-shaped oval golden entrance, he looked up to the camera in which rigorously scanned him, then the door silently opened, parting the two fabulously decorated golden thick doors, Avery entered as quietly as he could to not disturb the many other workers, he lightly stepped slowly into the inferno known as the first level, straight away from the entrance, masked by smoke was the core, a large pulsating magic and engineering creation by the Elves that powered the entire facility. it was also the level in which Saralaine, the wild-eyed master medic and the many labcoats decided to stay, cooling the core and maintaining the machinery of the industry. Avery had a strange relationship with the prominent deranged woman Saralaine was, she was always somewhat kind to him since the both of them worked so closely together, but at the same time Sara remains so far away from the fourth and third levels. Every time Avery would see her was when he was severely injured from testing, which was quite often for his job, but recently he hadn’t been testing anything. Fond memories of her’d usually be lying on his back groaning on the medical stretcher and the only face he’d be able to see would be her’s, with her blonde and blue-eyed face along with her usual bob cut hairstyle as she spoke quickly and disdainfully to the medical staff, ordering them to bring her, her medical supplies. Speaking of her, as Avery made his way to the next level, Sara sped by pushing along a cart with medical supplies, she eyed Avery up and down at first, then looked down specifically to his identification tag he’d just attached at the entrance and before he could greet her he heard the loud consistent beeping of the tag, it displaying: “LATE” upon it in crimson red lettering. “You’re late, Velen.” she sighed, then she took off down the corridor, obviously in a rush, as she always was. Avery sighed disdainfully of himself, turning off the identification tags maddening, obnoxious beeping, then making his way up the stairs slowly pondering if he was even worthy of this stupid job, gripping onto the support rails fiercely and coughing heavily from the first floors, the volcano like amount of smoke hampering his breath. Avery’s role within the industry was one of the utmost important, not only was he Aroth’s vice, but also sometimes a target dummy, any aspiring weapons and gadget creators (Entrepreneurs) would test their creations on Avery, it’s quite a demeaning and shallow role, but Avery was practically forced to do it, because of the amount of rent and credits he’s responsible in paying. Avery reached the second floor which was responsible for the industries upkeep of financial business and everything dealing with signing papers, he never really got to know anyone in this level, but it was the most peaceful of them all from what he’d seen, the many tired yet not worn people, in fine forest green suits, the fabric of such outfits were beheld by Avery at a high regard, finer than silk he thought, nonetheless the jobs of these poor souls were to stare longingly at their console screens, hunched over, usually with mugs of warm Adaleiasian finery at their fingertips, the only thing keeping them awake was this, a sweet yet somewhat bitter taste it gave, but they swigged the drink not for it’s taste, but instead for the adrenaline rush like feeling it imposed. Avery then reached the third level, Aroth’s level. Avery walked down the long dark, golden trophy embroidered hallway slowly, almost menacingly did Aroth’s accomplishments gaze down upon him, looking to his left he saw the yellow thickets of trophies, Avery turned away, now looking to his right, he examined the Evaluation rooms he was so familiar with, they were heavily plated rooms that were designed to absorb explosions and provide ample view space of the action occurring inside, thus leaving it blank, ironed to the teeth, allowing a surplus of experiments to commence within, Avery now finally reaching the end of the hallway now, he gripped the golden-ball door handle of Kymplin’s door, then swung it open quickly, arrogantly and clearly unreadily. The scent of Falarin tobacco upon the entry of the room filled Avery’s lungs, Aroth sat boringly at her desk, a small picker between her lips, hunched over with a quill in her hand, her face almost completely masked by her hat and specs aswell as her large black coat and as she dipped her quill into the dark black ink beside her, she glanced to Avery, a flash of her white teeth shone from beneath the hat as she spoke “I see you’re late once again, Avery.” he stared at her silently, the sound of her quill strokes against the parchment was the only sound he could hear, his eyes steadied, then focused on her as she lifted her soft face to meet him, her iris dazzling a Crimson red, as it was, her lips and face posh and elegant as was her father's...Sharp and pristine were her features, yet still so fierce for a woman. He then solemnly answered “My apologies, Aroth, I was hal-” “Do not attempt to blame your latency on others, Avery. You know, if you were any other person on this vast world I would have fired you by now. I’ll skip the bullshit speech since you’ve heard it now four days in a row and get straight to the point, Don’t...Be...Late...Again. Or else you will be fired. My final warning to you... Now, besides all of that dribble, let’s get straight to your first task, because today, as always...Is a busy day…! I’m going to need you to deliver these papers to the companies: Falarin Fantasies, Kades-... Ah...You know where they are and which ones.” Avery responded deeply, his voice showning a blatant regard to the disdainful request of Aroth “...I’m never one to question your decisions, Aroth, but...Why don’t you just send the robot to do this?” Lympkin was the bot in which Kymplin’s father had left behind, the bot is spoken to be a creation of Engineering and magicka because of it’s sentience, but some don’t believe either of the two claims. The robot is only a little bit shorter than Kymplin and was actually her Guardian during her days of youth. Kymplin pulled the slick headed scraped and rusted red robot from underneath her desk and onto the table, grunting as she swung the heavy scrap, once settled, she flicked his head with her finger, his head jolting, then dangling near his right shoulder, dead. “Ashamedly for you, he’s as dead as a doornail at the moment. But! It’ll give you something to do while I sit here wondering why I ever even created this godforsaken business.” Kymplin handed Avery the eleven papers stacked and clipped together then returned her focus back to her paperwork, Avery began walking out the door when Kymplin suddenly hollered to him “Oh! And while you’re at Fantasies, ask Neusel if he’s seen her sister, or if you see her to tell her to come here. Tell her I recognize she has nothing better to do than stand around on guard duty next to that loud forge, so send her here.” Avery squinted in confusion, Neusel had a sister? He felt as if he should’ve known this, but he didn’t. Avery never minded his thought, shaking his head, and continued to make his way out of the industry now slowly yet steadily. Avery closed the door behind him, kicking it closed with the heel of his boot, and continued through the hallway, then down the stairway again...And again, ‘till he was back in the core’s level, where he saw past and through the heavy layer of smoke to Camarc and Azelias, their watchful/preyful eyes sheathed by Sesorian tempered glass and the fog of smoke, but Avery could still tell they glanced to him like two vultures. they both stood next to the entrance attaching their guest identification tags, clearly making small talk with the workers as they did so everyday. Avery spoke to these two very frequently, especially when he was out of work, they were his only two friends, both Guardsmen of Falarus, he’d known them since the Military, Camarc was always the more talkative type, whilst Azelias was more kept to himself, well atleast when he was not with Camarc, which Avery had learned from such a droll encounter one evening. Avery always considered the idea of becoming a Guardsmen, as he was a rifleman within the military, but Guardsmen made less money than compared to what he was already doing now. Besides, Avery never really was too good of a fighter, thus, he was a marksman. Camarc and Azelias were both wearing the old S.W.A.T. uniform from during the creation of Falarus, it was a dark outfit in which bore a gas mask and two large eye sockets that could be fitted with a lense of the creators choosing, mostly sword-hardened glass for safety purposes, procured from the deserts of Sesoria off in Farrenla, the rest of the gear was outfitted with metal and a large label on the front hauberk, reading out: S.W.A.T., the both of them had the standard issue p2296 which was outfitted on every Falarin Guardsman, a short yet medium ranged pistol that shoots fairly quickly, black barreled and brown hilted it is, usually bearing the tags of the owner embroidered/laced onto the grip. Some within Falarus still believed that blunderbusses were more advanced, but the rate of fire in comparison completely sinks a blunderbusses challenge to the p2296. Each guardsman within Falarus also carries a stun baton on their left hip, it, being a newly tested device that incapacitates it’s foes with a single swing if aimed and swung correctly, on the outer edges of the stun stick is similar to that of a Kathraniran Beatstick (Strong clubs infused with Magicka used to beat and torture the prisoners of Kathranir), for it pulsates a perfectly magnificent stunning voltage of electricity to detain Tiations to even the magnificent and tall Elves of Zoida. Avery knew this simply, yet harshly, because previously, two months prior he had been the test subject of said/explained tech...Avery winced and squeezed his hand into a tight fist at the cringing spark of pain in which struck him during the performance/demonstration, as he began his tread towards the inevitable bainful duo he’d faced each day from sunup ‘till dusk, their faces grinning and lighting up as he approached. “Avery! There’s the man of every hour!” greeted Camarc, his deep voice cutting through Avery’s hateful gaze, gracefully, Camarc began to take off his mask, revealing his scarred/tattered face and black beard, grinning everso deviantly, “So, how’s your day goin’? Dull as always? Or for once grand?-Well, actually, a good day for you’d be staying in that cooled office of her’s all day, what are you doing down here in this sweatshop?” he said wiping at his forehead exhaustingly “I was just leaving.” retorted Avery, Camarc and Azelias’ eyes wavered, then faltered, glancing to the ground, faces of remorse showing, though more sweat than sadness Avery noticed “Oh...She gave you the boot I see. Whatever Avery there’s many other shrimps in the sea... Speaking of jobs of course, not-never her...” grinned Camarc, sliding his helmet underneath his pits “Aroth didn’t fire me you imbecile. I have to take these papers to her several businesses.” their faces lit up in sarcasm and laughter, than returned and retained their former whimsical appearances “Hmm... What’re them papers about?” asked Camarc, pointing to the parchment in Avery’s grasp “Upping the wages and work-hours, why do you care?” “Well, we’ve come to work here aswell.” answered Camarc “What?!” asked Avery bewilderedly, anxious of the two blunderheads invading his workplace “Well...Not working here in the sake of WORKING for the company, but instead working specifically for Kymplin. She said every bossman’s suppose to have their henchmen, and I guess we’re supposed to be her’s.” “The hand allowed this?” Camarc nodded “Why wouldn’t she?” Avery shook his head, grimacing “Why would Kymplin ever require the assistance of the both of you? It’s not like she’s threatened to be killed every damn day.” “...She hasn’t told you anything? Odd, I thought you and her were...Close.” Azelias tittered of the light comment, while Avery sept to retain his foothold and seriousness of the retortion “Told me of what?” he asked inquisitively, Camarc sighed “...She actually didn’t tell you...Well, Kymplin’s received a plethora of death/violent threats in the past month. What, you thought the many other kingdoms of the world wouldn’t eventually figure out what we-or should I say she does and tests here?” Avery laughed “Kymplin simply signs papers and tells the kids to do good in school. And besides most of our tech is perfectly harmless. Why would anyone on this god-forsaken earth want to kill her?! ‘Not like she’s the one makin’ the damned rubbish...” Azelias sucked the air between his teeth, he spoke under his breath, but Avery could just barely still make sense of his mumbling “Of course...She’d never be the one making any of that, she’s an absolute angel!” Camarc returned “Supposedly, the bastards who threaten her have already infiltrated Falarus via the old tram system, y’know that dusty dilapidated-half level in the upper reaches of Falarus? which has lights flickering on and off and looks like a damned scrapyard?” Avery threw his hand out, and quickly nodded once, clearly somewhat annoyingly and rash “Me and Azelias believe that is how they infiltrated their way into Falarus, y’know, since that part of the subway opens up to the mountains rear half after the trolls tried busting their way through. The reasoning of course as to why these idiots are after her is because of what she’s been conducting in the upper regions of her indu-” Camarc’s explaining was suddenly stopped by the touch of a gloved light grasp on his shoulder, Camarc turned around frightened by the sudden firm feeling, quickly drawing his baton, to see it was only Kymplin “Don’t you think you’re sharing a bit too much information for a bodyguard, Camarc?” Camarc dumbstruck couldn’t even utter any words “Well...Atleast you’ve somewhat shortened what I was going to explain to Avery anyways. You two head up to my office and get yourselves settled...I’ve got some talking to do...” Camarc replaced his stunstick silently into it’s holster and Azelias and him both bowed to her. In a low, almost deaf note, he whispered “Cya Avery…” then quickly disappeared up the staircase and smoke. Avery, now returning to the plain face of Kymplin, asked “Shouldn’t you be up in your office with them, if what they said was true?” Kymplin scoffed “Those letters were simply threats, not bullets or swords, so who cares? And besides, shouldn’t you be delivering the papers I ordered you to give out? ...Come, Avery.” she said unlocking the grand doors of Arothian Industries, quickly stabbing dagger-like with her fingers at the copper buttons of the control panel, then strutting everso hypnoticly onto the dark streets of Falarus. Avery stopped, “What of your paperwork?” Kymplin smiled “I got done with all of that last night. Besides you don’t want to spend some quality time with your boss?” asked Kymplin sarcastically, yet enthusiastically, Avery sighed then began his steady pace beside her. “A very “observant” image you painted me as during your brief conversation with those two, a woman who simply signs papers and tells the children to do good in school…” she laughed “Avery, we’ve worked together for...How long has it been now? 4 years? And after all of these long years, you still refer to me as Ms’. And speak to me as though you’d rather jab a shiv through my throat, than converse another second...While on the other hand. Those two, Camarc and Azelias, within only a matter of a day began to refer to me by my first name and spoke as if we’d spoken before, why is that? Honestly I anticipated them to be a lot more similar to you. Not two loud-mouthed buffoons.” Kymplin paused for a moment, smiling, reminiscing of Camarc and Azelias “Fine people to be friends with though...” Avery ogled ahead confusingly “... Do you wish for me to refer unto you by your first name, or...?” questioned Avery “Consider it, besides, we are friends, right?” Avery paused for a moment, although Avery never liked to admit it, he always felt somewhat of a connection with Kymplin, they both had their similarities. They’d both known of each other's existence since they were children, Avery never spoke to her and neither did she unto him, but after Avery had failed the final test of the academy during his last year, Kymplin was the only person who didn’t completely laugh and insult him and instead she offered him a relievement for his sore eyes, a job in her industry, although a somewhat demeaning and insulting one, it was the only one Avery had been offered, with very good pay aswell. The both of them are aswell very keen and interested in the art of Engineering, and probably their strangest similarity was that they both knew almost nothing of their family. Camarc and Azelias always teased Avery of “Growing fond” of her during his first years within the industry, and Avery had been to an extent, but he’d always come to the conclusion that she’d never want him, for why would she? Avery wasn’t successful and he for sure as hell was not good-looking appearance-wise, what, with the amount of scars he beheld from the military, especially when compared to her. So he never bothered and eventually after all those years of hurling himself through many psychological hoops to bear a feeling of discern and disinterest for her, he did. He felt nothing for her, and instead considered her something more like a friend or sister. For, Time for Avery, beheld no mercy for loves wonder and affection. “Right, friends, Kymplin.” “Well, besides all of that rubbish, Avery. I conjecture you’ve heard atleast a little about the noiseless whispers going on about the kingdom. Y’know, the ones in which involve my head on a pike.” “Right, Camarc was eager to tell me of it before you had interrupted.” “I’ve pertained to retrieve information on these imbeciles, but all I’ve been able to uncover is a small symbol of some sort of flora that I, Kymplin Aroth, do not even recognize.” Kymplin handed Avery a note which bore inscriptions he could barely read, it had awful spelling, but nonetheless it was still legible, it read out: “Ms. Aroth, Kymplin, your establishment: Arothian Industries, has been reviewed very carefully and thoroughly and we’ve concluded that your industry interacts with our people very...Poorly we’re sad to say. Let this note serve as your final warning, if you are to not close your business after the immediate arrival and reading of this letter, you will be dealt with accordingly. Not by peace.” the end of the letter bore the symbol of the black lotus, Avery never recognized any associations in which bore the flower as their symbol, but there was an unsettling fondness he felt from the symbol, almost mystical, if it perhaps did not bear it he’d probably of dismissed the note, thinking it was some stupid joke. “Tis a black lotus, Kymplin. I’ve no insight of any organizations in which bear the flower as their symbol. But I would not take that note lightly, nonetheless if it was barely legible. Have you brought this to light with the council yet? Or Wentul?” Kymplin spoke in almost a manner of a whisper “No, only you, Camarc and Azelias know of it.” “I’d not delay your meeting then, who knows who it could be.” said Avery coldly, Kymplin tittered lightly, re-reading the note quickly, her eyes pacing the notes few sentences “I’d like to say it was just the youth by the spelling...But…” Kymplin grabbed a dozen more notes from underneath her coat and shook them in her hand “These also have been sent through the past few weeks, “elegantly” inscribed as this one and wrapped in a crimson red lining. None bearing the same amount of weight as that one though, but the rest still explain the same toned down thing as the one I handed you, minus the “Not by peace.” part...You are the only person who's been able to recognize that flower, where is it from?” “Hornaiu, where most of the orc’s are from.” Kymplin squinted her eyebrows questioningly “Why would Orc’s want to kill me? Our race hasn’t ever dabbled devilishly with their kind, nonetheless, I.” “Well, if you remember correctly, Orc’s, Ogres and humans derived from the swamps. So it could be anyone of those races aswell.” Kymplin remained silent for a brief-half minute then spoke anxiously, some would say wearily, unto him, something Avery had never before bore the pleasure of hearing, Kymplin remaining serious for once. “...Avery, I’ve been putting this off to the side but...I, Forgot to mention one last thing...Your name was inscribed on the note previous to this one. Same lettering and all, but your name. I don’t know why they’d seek to harm you-” Avery interrupted her “Kymplin. before you ceased Camarc’s spoiling, he briefly told me that you were developing something in the upper reaches of the industries. What is it you’re creating?” asked Avery anxiously “...Well, for the past years since the military, I’ve been developing the Terminator. A bot in which is much like my father’s previous: Loso Antuctors bot. Y’know the famed destroyers who held off the Ogres during our escape from Jefariaus? But more advanced and might I add better entirely. I started after what I had beheld on the frontlines during the battle of Raylar point...Surely you’ve been there. No Tiation should ever be pitted against an Ogre, unless they’re as mighty as Sonam.” Avery now understood why he and Kymplin were being threatened, it wasn’t out of spite or any sick want from some lowborn cretin, but a manner of defense for a nation in which was anonymous to them. There are two main enemies of Falarus, the Twylen’s of Adaleiasia (A very large strand of their government still hates the Tiations of Falarus, but of course, this does not convict the entire race of spite) and the Ogres of Ethrannel, of the two Avery attempted to decipher which of them would be the most cunning and devious to somehow infiltrate Falarus. The Ogres of Ethrannel bore a very threatening and evil attitude towards the Tiations, during the War Of 13 they attempted to completely purge the Tiatious race since at the time Tiations bore no allies close and barely any defensive strategies or war-like super weapons, so their old kingdom fell and so too did it’s many citizens, almost all of them massacred by the Grand Wizard of the Mikrodyfili: Lord Ethrannel, and his disciples. Ever since then, no Ogre’s besides Evren Athelos were allowed onto the Kingdoms ground and that brutes as harmless as a fly, so Avery always thought. Evren always spoke with a high level of hatred for his own race, despising his King and even going so far to killing his own kind on the battlefield, would he betray Falarus? nonetheless Stalis and Neusel? Evren sept to care for those two as if they were his own kin despite both of them being powerful people who could for the most part fend for themselves or atleast buy the right bodyguards to defend themselves. People always have had their light suspicions of Evren, but from conversation with him, Avery determined that he was much like a Tiation, he was an artsy man, who drew with the elegance of a Renaissance man and cared for art with a very high standard despite his brute figure. Avery couldn’t bring himself to believe that Evren could be an enemy, after all he had done to prove himself worthy for the Kingdom’s entrance, there was no way he’d turn his back so suddenly, even with Avery’s mind attempting to demonize the man, he could not, Evren could not be the enemy. But there were other ways for the Ogres to learn of information ongoing in Falarus, some Tiations, though very few in number, sided with the Ogres, providing them with information of the kingdom’s progression, one of the most infamous of the tattlers was the man who ratted out Sonam and Stalis’ caravan during the retreat to Falarus because of a promise of gold and wealth, his name was: Peravus Neranis, he was apart of Sonam’s Elite guard, and was one of the most trusted people of the Guardsmen, he even held a position at Sonam’s side. No one knows whatever happened to him, but Stalis reckons Peravus died, killed out of rage by Lord Ethrannel after the battle that insinuated after the betrayal, one “half-man” killing an entire army of skilled and well-equipped Ogres. There was also the possibility of the Ogre’s conducting some sort of Arcanium farsight spell, or stealth magic...But Avery had never heard of an intelligent, studied disciple of the Arcane-Ogre, nonetheless an Assassin-Ogre. Twylen’s on the other hand, they’re intelligent enough to do both, in fact they’ve already somewhat infiltrated Falarus, Avery never really thought the Twylen’s would conspire against them, but it would make sense. The Twylens’ home: Adaleiasia, was being destroyed by Fentelius Tiros, the Grand Dragon of the Ogralidoprarce, a large group of Tiations and Dwarves whom despise the other races, and behold Luciferius’ idea of: the last (In short, a religious belief of the death god Luciferius, to massacre/commit genocide against the other races and becoming the chosen race, one of the sole reasons as to why the War of 13 happened). Fentelius before his crusades, had always been known to be a racist son of a bitch, but none believed he’d ride out and commit genocide against the Twylen’s and Gelrans of Adaleiasia, and no one thought also that there’d be an army at his back to uphold his ideas and logic. Queen Exia, after descrying the unjust destruction which Fentelius had wrought upon Adaleiasia, took it upon herself to defend the Twylen’s and Gelrans whose homes were pillaged and allowed them a safe haven and escort into Falarus until their land is retaken, a decision that did-and still to this day does not stand well with the Tiations of Falarus. For during the War Of 13, (Discluding Gelrans) the Twylen’s had supported the Ogres of Ethrannel and supplied them with ammunition of arrows and spears aswell as armor, causing of course for the majority of Tiations during the time to bear spite and hate towards them, that spite carrying on even to this day. Stalis, despite the Twylens’ blatant offensive action against them during the war, did not behold their entire race to the government’s support, as so many others did, (Fentelius and his elites) Stalis had always been for the Adaleiasian and Ethrannelan races to become united, the Dwarves took part in the Alliance and the Gelrans had almost come to an agreement, but even Lord Gorreleran (King of the Gelrans) is hesitant to align with the Twylen Emperor Volos, simply because of the natural dishonorable attitude of the Twylen’s. But just because the kingdom was at war with these two factions did not sanction the many other races and factions off from accusation, hell it could be the damned Humans, or Elves, those two have many little secret guilds and cults hiding around in the world for the worship of Luciferius and all things evil, more than any other race. “You think they come after me because of my creation, don’t you?” asked Kymplin, Avery looked to her, his face grim “Yes...And I believe they come for me for the same reason.” Kymplin tried to maintain a straight face but she couldn’t for longer than a few seconds after hearing Avery’s word, she bursted out laughing, howling as if she was a wolf during the night “Avery...I’m sorry, but the only thing I remember you ever creating was some ass-brained robot during Elementary.” Kymplin said flicking her tears of laughter from her eyes. Avery reluctantly grinned at her joke, tittering lowly, but then returning to his moody attitude with haste as if he enjoyed it. “ Anyways...There is no doubt in my mind that the Twylen’s orchestrated those messages.” Kymplin turned her eyes back to him from the floor trying to maintain a serious face as she spouted nonsense “...Are you racist, Avery? Just cause they’re a different race in our kingdom, you’re going to assume they did it? What an absolute bigot you are, I should call the Falarin guard right now!” said Kymplin sarcastically, smiling at Avery expecting him to laugh, but he instead only eyed her disdainfully, not even biting to show a little of amusement of her joke “...Right, I should probably remain a bit more serious in this situation…” Kymplin cleared her throat then stood up right “Soo...Twylen’s, huh?” Again Avery returned “...I am certain it is the Twylens. perceive it, if it were the Ogres they’d to be conducting some sort of farsight spell, which I think even you know, sounds ridiculous, Ogre Magi’s are difficult and rare to happen upon, Though that does not completely rule their race out of the picture, it almost certainly does, for I don’t think Ethrannel would have the patience and mental capacity to bear with only staring at an orb and listening to a Mage speak of our looming destruction, and i’m unclear that the vast majority of Ogres can even spell, nonetheless read.” Avery said, shaking the message laughing lowly of the comment, then quickly clearing his throat and continuing “While Twylen’s on the other hand have a clear way into our capital, it’d be easy for them to disguise themselves as beggars or civilians whose homes/home had just been destroyed by Fentelius and seek refuge within Falarus, thus enabling their elaborate plan of “infiltration”.” Kymplin stared thoughtfully to the ground, if it weren’t for her legs moving, Avery would’ve thought her frozen, they’d both been encroaching upon the bright headlines of Falarin Fantasies as she listened to Avery, fixed to his voice like an owl to a mouse during the hunt. “But why would the Twylen’s despise us? We’re not the ones killing them.” said Kymplin disorientated of the Twylen’s’ perhaps perceived loathing of Falarus, Avery said nothing, holding his chin with his hand, staring at the dark concrete floor beneath him for almost a minute “Kymplin, have you presented your creation to the institute? And is it currently being used in any fashion you know of?” Kymplin blankly stared off for a moment, thinking back “Well...Yes. Not the current unit i’m developing at the moment, but an older type, yes.” “That is why. Do you know what it’s supposedly being used for?” “Of course, they're off on the borders of Falarus, assisting the poor souls whom defend us from Ethrannel and his forces.” Avery was quiet for a few more moments, then spoke again “Perhaps the Twylen’s have not completely severed their bonds with Ethrannel…In the paper, it told Lord-Commander Fabluzo and his forces were able to take back Keep Cocilios, the commander of that keep being old Lord-Commander Baelon, you are familiar, correct?” Kymplin, insulted of Avery’s assurance, crudely glared him, scoffing “Of course I’m familiar, do you take me for an idiot? Lord Baelon, once hand of Volos, repeller of the Mikrodyfili and Ogralidoprarce. Quite a man…!” Kymplin sighed “It’s a shame he’ll probably be executed by that moron Fabluzo.” said Kymplin boringly “Did you know, I use to be apart of his squadron? Don’t know how he became lord-commander though...Maybe they just start handing out ranks and rewards when people's’ souls are so worn out to fully expend them…Also, I always thought it was clear that the Twylen’s had never broken their bonds, wasn’t there supposedly some sort of ring found deep in Falarus a couple years ago? Halling off women and children back to Ethrannel?” “I recall...But it was small and controlled by a human, not a Twylen, though he had many working for him.” Avery and Kymplin had finally reached the first organization, Falarin Fantasies, Kymplin and Avery paused at the large theatre-like entrance “Do you think perhaps they’re trying to do the same with me, drag me all the way to Ethrannel?” Kymplin asked anxiously, her eyes vivid “That could be a possibility. As I’ve told already Kymplin and I shall reiterate once again, you’d best tell the council, Tyranei, Wentul, Exia, Fendin, Alasos…Before this situation does get out of hand.” Kymplin nodded agreeingly “Right, I’ll leave you to your business, Avery. Oh! But before I go, one last thing, tell Neusel...That he looks like shit, for me, your ol’ pal!” Kymplin said her face lighting up enthusiastically, for it was never Kymplin’s endeavor to remain dull for so long, she laughed, then hurried along quickly to the keep of the council, vanishing from Avery’s sight behind a dark building with a final raise of her hand whilst her face was turned away from Avery in a sense of solidarity and farewell. Avery now stood alone next to the hollow large entrance to the theatre of Falarin Fantasies, the Usher in which handed the tickets outside wasn’t anyone of Avery’s knowing, a normal man in Avery’s eyes, with hazel eyes and straight black hair, clearly young, with a clean-cut face, although stubble already beginning to sprout. Avery simply explained to the Usher his orders and once settled, then strolled inside, glancing to the many posters of plays in which were soon to occur, Avery was never an artsy man, in fact he always thought of art as somewhat fruitless, pointless, what was the thrill in painting an image? or reciting a play all for that one big day? It was a question he could never answer. He enjoyed to watch and hear the stories and look to the paintings, but to create it was a thought Avery couldn’t care enough to aspire nor conspire towards. Avery could faintly hear the feigned cries and dialogues of the many actors within the next door, S2, pitiful was a word that so echoingly ran through his mind whilst he strolled the red carpet, hearing their voices, his hands tucked into his pants’ pockets. Avery opened the heavy, large door then walked ever-so silently towards the stage ahead, one of the stage lights aimed right at him, but he couldn’t care less for the nuisance, surely enough Neusel was ahead, donned in a dark outfit, his brown hair somewhat gleaming from the back lights, performing he was, strolling, ‘cross the stage left and right, “two and fro!” bellowed the director, Avery watched in spite, Neusel was quite a known figure throughout Falarus for his flawless performance and robust personality, but as was told before, Avery did not care for this, plays, stories, all to his mind, were thought to serve as simple, yet deep-preyful dangerous distractions for the mind of a man of thought. Life was to live, live fighting, this petty survival within this dull darkened kingdom was not right, not holy, in Avery’s mind, nonetheless he was to endure it, for even if he could manage to venture off, he would surely wind up dead, right? For Tiations and any other short raced man or woman within the realm of Jaelia, no matter ilk, honor, or creed, they were mostly seen as ill-vile creatures, as if the Mikrodyfili did not display that attitude enough, natural, normal people you’d suspect to not care for the height of a man’ll kill you in your sleep simply because you breathe. But this explanation deserves more time, perhaps somewhere else in this tale... back to the story at hand. “A man approaches, Father Falalaephon!” (Piteous Paldrous weakling…! whispered a voice so deeply ingrained within Avery’s mind, spite born from such arrogant, prevalent conversations and years of cruel days of labor. “Artists” so...Pathetic…) shouted the actress, breaking immersion of her role, displaying a light humorous tone, her face lifting and her light green eyes softening, , beseeching a featherless/lightless mood upon the cast, intently focused on Avery, pointing to him, greeting the already encroaching interruption he served as “Ah! Yes, I see my dear, little rose...A man with no dreams, a man with no hope in the world for happiness, I too see him…!” the man who spoke secondly to the woman dressed up in a black mourning dress was Neusel dressed aswell in a mourning outfit, darkened by a black rose and brightened only by a white linen shirt.  He (Neusel), clearly mocked Avery for his sudden interruptance, for this wasn’t the first time Avery’d conversed unto him. Neusel elegantly, obviously not wanting to tarnish the fine costume, strolled down the steps from the theatre stage and came to Avery, who stood expressionless, for what was he to feel of this confrontation? “A fine day to see you, Avery, what is it you require, today? ...Don’t tell me Kymplin needs me to see her, I couldn’t bear to walk through that heat-stroke of a first level.” Avery handed Neusel the parchment in which he carried, rolled in his left-hand. Neusel unrolled the paper, untying the loose string which kept the scroll together, and then read through it quickly and silently to himself “Oh, wondrous!” said he so gayly, “More hours for even more pay, all for the pleasure and delight of me? Truly gods gift unto me.” Avery eyed Neusel strangely, he couldn’t properly decipher whether Neusel jested or was pleasurably being honest. “That is all I’ve to deliver, Neusel, good day.” finished Avery, but as he turned to walk, Neusel grabbed at his shoulder, Neusel cleared his throat then readjusted his footing, if Neusel had been a woman, Avery would’ve thought he was proposing, but he did not kneel, and instead Neusel’s eyes for once sept to darken, an expression only a concerned man would make out could be described upon Neusel’s face, as he spoke in whispers unto Avery “...Before you go, Avery...Look, I get that you and I do not converse, but I’ve a question to ask unto thy, seeing as how you’re a figure in which is also prominently befriended of her... Has Kymplin perhaps mentioned unto you anything of her...Situation?” Avery stood estranged, Kymplin didn’t say she ever told Neusel anything,  Neusel gawked ever so longingly, awaiting a reply from Avery, Avery somewhat scoldingly turned back to Neusel, his eyebrows sunken and grimacing “...Yes, Whilst I’d been walking here we’d been conversing of...That.” Neusel sighed “Oh thank god...I wouldn’t want to ever spoil her secrets, that girl is very mysterious! Where did she go? Surely to the council if she’d walked with you, correct?” “I told her to do so, so one may only hope.” “...That girl is getting herself into a handful...I wish I could help, but there is no way! ...Right?” Avery scoffed “You could get her better bodyguards, I doubt Camarc and Azelias’ll prove any worth for the case of assassins.” “...Maybe, but I haven’t seen Aidi in quite a while, I don’t even know where the hell she went.” “...Wentul? The Hand?” “Yes, her, my sister, she’s been gone, usually she tells me where she wanders off to, but not this time.” “Before we’d walked, Kymplin had pleaded for me to find...This Aidi woman, she’d said, she’s usually near the iron factory.” “The Iron factory? You mean that bustling business within Dire court, in the second level of the kingdom?” Avery shrugged “That's what I was essentially beholden to believe.” “Why on earth would she go there…?” asked Neusel to himself squintingly, looking off to the theatre gates, attempting to perceive why she would’ve left so silently. He returned, yet longingly and depressingly, his voice somewhat grim “Here, Avery, I’ll take care of your little errand and you can go find her. For I don’t exactly believe she’ll be on the best terms with my appearance into her world, that girl is also so strange, much more than Kymplin I’ll have you know, only one I’ve seen within this blasted kingdom who seems to hate my guts. and she’s my sister!” said he, Avery handed Neusel the papers rushingly, practically shoving the stacks of parchment into his palms “Rather do that any day than this, Second level, you said?” Neusel nodded “To Kymp’s other businesses these papers will go?” Avery, already shuffling out the doors, bellowed back “Yes!” quick, he was to rid himself of this sour poultry den, one foot ahead of the other he repeated to himself, bursting from the theatre’s door, to have the soundly somewhat tranquil noise of the Falarin streets fill his ears and to once again fill his lungs with the lament-droll taste of the caverns disparity,  Avery, during his tread barely sept to neither desire to fantasize or think, the encounter and overbearing sense of faulty delicacy emanating from that prancy dult-Neusel had eviscerated his mind, leaving it like a deficient hog’s brain, imprecise and enigmatic. As he marched through the empty streets of Falarus, Avery bore but anger and hate for the prossy actor, cursing his name, the imbecilicus cow! That...Unworthy of life whelpous rat! These thoughts continued whilst he strolled. Avery’d always been a man of envy and spite for those more fortunate then he, ever since his days of youth he’d displayed this sinful attitude, the ones who elegantly and galiantly strode throughout the kingdom in royal-red Adaleiasian silken clothing, never gave the douseful feeling like-so to Avery, their posh angular majesty clearly out matching Avery’s rough leather patched vests he’d worn throughout the years made him scoff and mumble madly unto himself, thus this reality, early, to even now, tears and kicks at Avery’s fragile sense of decency and gratitude. one such encounter, many years ago during the construction of the Cavern Kingdom, Avery remembered shrieking toward an old man whom simply had greeted him after he’d witnessed such a sorrowful-maddening encounter.