Night had crept across Lomedor, and with it a chill had befallen the streets. Many were indoors, keeping warm near fires, and even the homeless found spaces to huddle in. Those desperate enough to be outdoors went about business swiftly, dodging the poorly lit alleys and going nowhere near the infamous Drital Queller pub, nor the region around it. Still, some would find themselves dead by morning, those lunatics driven by madness and sadists bound by blood stealing life as a greedy merchant lines his pouch with the gold coin of others. It was a brutal ceremony, one which the guard had tried to step up to stopping, yet still every now and then a woman took a fatal step or man tried to help the wrong person. So was life.

Hiding from this dark despair -- no, not hiding, yet still avoiding it, was a great crowd gathered in the bustling pub of Wilwarin. Every table was full, many holding enough patrons to force some behind chairs. The seats at the counter of the bar were all occupied, and some people had taken to sitting on the steps leading up into the inn portion of the Wilwarin, or else by the fire. Yes, the cold brought Wilwarin alive, and no matter what crevice one lurked within one could undoubtedly hear the loud discussions, words spilled that regarded everything from politics to music.

It was also here where Nathaniel Rystoff sat, glazed eyes taking in the place. The soft wood glowed a dull amber in the fire light, and everything seemed to slowly be rocking back and forth. It was reminiscent of his days at sea, though he felt no turning of his stomach; simply a pleasant dullness at the back of his mind. In his hand was an empty tankard, one of many he'd had in the last while. This one had not been finished off by him but rather a foolish accident; he'd thought he was holding it upside down and had hastily turned it over to ensure the contents didn't spill. Instead his lap and the bar area in front of him was splashed with what grog had been left, and now he felt a slight chill where his pants were wet. No one had noticed his folly; or if they had, they'd spoke naught of it, and so he was left to stare in silent confusion.

After that he had taken to singing a few tunes, first huskily under his breath, but it quickly grew in volume so that it matched the loud noise of others. It was awful, and he was far off key, but drunks have a funny way of missing those facts. "Dddddrink! And the devil! Had done tuh tha rest, yo ho h-huh?" As soon as the storm came it was over, and once again he was silent, touching his forefinger to the bar. It was glowing softly in the light, the liquid catching the fire and illuminating it beautifully. He rubbed the pad of his finger over it, then licked at it curiously. When his mind grasped that it was alcohol he shrugged, holding the tankard to the edge of the bar and using his hand to splosh the alcohol into the mug.

The process was difficult, given he didn't know which hand of three was his or which of the dancing cups was the ideal one to aim for. All of them blinked up at him and grinned, wooden structures bending away so that they could give such eager expressions. It was a disturbing sight, but it made him smile nonetheless. Sadly, their smiles slowly faded as they filled with the alcohol; desperately trying to keep the contents within this time. After fifteen minutes of sweeping his hand over polished wood only the blinking eyes remained to stare up at him, and he could only smile knowingly back at them, downing the new collection of alcohol. It led to a lot of hacking on his part, and when he finished it he set the mug down so that he could reach into his mouth and procure a long grey hair (or was that dust? It was quivering too much for him to see).

Nathaniel stared at it by the light of candles for a long moment, then frowned and wiped it on the counter. "I was there when they went ashore, lads," His voice faltered, wavering as he spoke but quickly growing in volume. "T'was by first light we made ground. Fifty strong men, fifteen of whom were to stay aboard the Nightingale. We'd sailed the whole month away, crossing the oceans to get to the other side of Ea. Damned long trek." He rocked in his seat, large shoulders slouching as he leaned over the counter. His voice had raised enough to catch the eyes of a few people seated nearby, but the more boisterous conversations bounced on, ignorant to his words.

Dark eyes scanning across the room, as if to find the very memory, he let his words die. A man sitting next to him peered at Nathaniel, and sharply the warrior turned and regarded him. His eyes roved over the man; husky, with a broad chest and thick arms, and dark brown hair long and tangled. He also held a beard, and the thick, coarse hairs were occasionally white in patches, giving him the wizened appearance of some elder bear, ready for the hibernational ceremonies. The leather cloak, worn down in some areas and patched with squares of a darker brown cloth, also spoke of a man who had traveled extensively. Yet his green eyes held curiosity, this man obviously intrigued by what the raving drunk he'd sat next to had to say.

Nathaniel fixed him a grin, eyes gleaming with pleasure. It was always far more fun to prattle about things when you had an audience. Leaning forward, he let the man get a whiff of his breath; enough to kill a mule really, but the man bared it with an awkward smile. "It was near the desert, y'see? Way up north. I remember..." He swayed on his chair, leaning back. "I remember that it was really sunny. And not a cloud or breath o' wind in sight." He slammed his weight forward, the chair gasping as the front legs slammed down on the planked floors. The other man didn't startle, and Nathaniel grinned. Eyes glazed and glistening, he launched into a retelling of just what had happened in that city, a place shy of the desert by a short trek and no longer lurking upon the map.

It was early morning, and all across the skies bright pinks and blues reigned, that glowing orange globe shouldering up beyond the horizon. It had left crimson streaks in the sky, as if some creature had clawed at the very heavens. The sun, impassive as always, simply continued its ascent without any sign of respite or fear. Far off, where the sky met the sun and nothing in between, the water had turned a green hue by the yellow warmth. Here, though, miles away, the water was still a dark blue. Quickly it was growing lighter though, and already the blue of the waves had lit to a softer hue than those of the dark eyes staring down upon the lapping waves.

In this early tide, the waves were slow and small, barely enough to rock the wooden vessel it upheld. But this lack of wind and movement also meant the ship traveled slowly, and already Nathaniel was weary of the adventure. He was dressed in simple brown trousers that tucked into mid-calf boots, the heels of which were larger to give him a more intimidating appearance. His belt had a pouch looped loosely into it, and with every pitch of the ship the jangling of coin could be heard within it. Tucked at his side was a sword; a two-handed one of militant caliber. On his chest a white shirt, unbuttoned to just above his stomach so that he wouldn't bake in the surprising heat, and a brown vest hung from his shoulders that completed the outfit. There was a coat he could wear; military issued, no less, but this simple outfit had seemed more practical at the time.

That, and he didn't worry about offending the real owners whenever he fetched up on it. Yes, Nathaniel was poor on a ship. When he wasn't heaving over the vessel he was staggering from side to side, unable to keep his balance on the constantly moving ship. He'd have likely done well in the crow's nest, which didn't have such obvious movement, but the others aboard were not eager to be dodging the droppings of sea-faring birds and the vomit of one of their very own crew members. So, currently, he was sat on a crate that rested against the side of the ship, which was bound in place by thick cording and wore a wet net upon its back. His arms tightly held on to the rim of the ship as he stared down into the waters below, absolutely miserable. For a time now he'd wanted to go and get an apple from a barrel perched but a few mere steps away from this setting, but his stomach had eased in this gentle lull of weather and he didn't want to take any chances with offending fate and forcing up a storm so that he may be tossed about and be made even more the fool.

A few others had passed him; some in their large stuffy cloaks and hats, others dressed as he in as minimal clothing as possible. Currently he was but a lad of sixteen, and naturally he believed he had seen the whole world. Yet was ignorant to almost all of it, as common for a boy his age. There was no way to grant him the wisdom that knowing the world and seeing it was not the same, and that sight could not be granted through one's eyes alone.

"It was painful, d'ya see? Sitting on hard wooden crates? You got nails sticking out, splinters. Not to mention yer rear goes numb faster than a barrel of Gorgonzola goes bad!" He shifted in his seat, as if to prove one needed to escape such a fate. A man behind him chuckled, and Nathaniel swung around in his seat to regard another figure. His stomach protested the sharp movement, but he batted away the uncomfortableness to instead scrutinize the other. This new man was sharp, cleanly dressed, and well shaven. No doubt some form of noble, or else an imposter. He gave a wide grin. "Why hello there! Interested as well, eh?" Nathaniel regarded the brown haired man from before, smirking, then leaned back so he could address them both comfortably. His voice even dropped a few notches, as if to add an epic appeal. "Yes, t'was an uneventful voyage. But by day we made it to that accursed place."

A brutal jarring sent the young man falling from the wooden crate, and he landed on his hands and knees. Panic immediately hit his frame, the dull throbbing of his hands going unnoticed as he tried to imagine what had happened. Had a whale hit them?? What had they done to enrage the beast?? Would they have to fight it?? Worse, would he have to fight it?? Quickly he lunged up, filled with gusto and confidence. Well, the energy was more so for trying to find a suitable place he could dive behind and hide. Up on his feet in an instant, it seemed he might actually be able to make it somewhere safe. However a final rock form the ship sent him stumbling, and his body caught the mast at an odd angle, breath forced from his lungs. It wasn't a painful hit, and with adrenaline running through him he noticed little, but still it made him pause for fatal seconds as he tried to find his breath.

Mashed against the sturdy wooden frame, he wondered if perhaps he wasn't safer here, where he could hold on. He didn't move from the cold pole for some time, the mast appearing orange in the sunrise's light and his body draped in the shadow of its side. Nathaniel's hands rested against it in loose fists, his forehead resting against it as he whispered pants into its seams. "Land ho!" Someone cried, and he ignored the booming voice in preference to continuing his rest against the mast, chest expanding and contracting quickly. It'd been only a few minutes, but still he was getting over the panic that had risen over the thought of fighting a whale, which hit him like a brick once the power of adrenaline had eased. The acidic taste at the back of his throat had been all too real and far too disgusting for him to handle.

So, with the vessel having only spent moments ashore, the sixteen year old lunged across the deck and heaved over the side. The splashing waves washed away most of it, but the rocks still retained some of his supper lapped up the night previous. Growing queasy at the sight of it he stumbled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his once white sleeve and banishing the sight from his mind. Not watching where he was going (for who ever does when stumbling back?), he found himself pressed up against a larger man, and quickly he turned to face the far larger warrior. He was dressed in bear and wolf skins, and even a few he claimed were from dire cougars he himself had slain. The man appeared brutish and had terrible manners, but he worked efficiently and was willing to work with others.

The irony that Nathaniel would hate a man more a father than his own was lost, and even in retelling this commonality was not brought up.

"Come, Rystoff." The bulky man clapped Nathaniel on the shoulder, who had been a mere five foot six, and at least nine inches shorter than the man; more than a head. His gravelly voice was deep but not mean, and Nathaniel nodded unsurely up at him before turning away. A loose scowl was tossed at the ground, and he even contemplated spitting his disdain at the submissive wooden floor. But he wasn't sure more than spit wouldn't come out, and then yet another voice spoke decided to speak up.

"We're tuh go ashore now, lads. Keep yer wits about yeh, and see to's it that yer not lost as we march, eh?" This voice was different from that of the warrior man; Damien was what Nathaniel believed the name to be, though he'd never cared enough to double check. This man who spoke now though, he was dressed in proper armor and clothing, befitting a warrior of high stature. His nose was thin but long, and his eyes were small, giving him a vulture-like appearance. This, naturally, was heightened by the awful hat he wore; like a crescent moon with one point pointing across the front of his head and the other pointing behind him. It was black with a streak of white fur on the top, and looked not unlike a dead skunk had been plopped down upon his skull to rest.

Ridiculous clothing, really. Some nobles really had no taste, and it was them who would bring the respectful view of high blood down into a gutter, laughing.

His name was Sir Polperro; a surprising name, for it was of an exotic heritage and he was thoroughly plain. The Sir addressed his men with no more compassion or hatred then one might expect of a teacher, and he had no tolerance for playing about or dilly-dallying. Nathaniel had thankfully avoided any altercations with him, for he was sure the man would think nothing of claiming his life. The other sailors told tales of men thrown over board and left to try and swim ashore. Stiffly Polperro lifted his chin, and the men fell in line to follow. Already ordained had been who would remain, those poor fifteen doomed to an endless onslaught of boredom. Polperro feared that others might try to steal the watercraft, not appreciating the fact it took many men to man the thing and there was nowhere to hide for miles.

Stiffly turning away he began to march down a plank set for him, his boots sinking into the white sand as he stepped off. The other thirty-five men followed, and Nathaniel was no exception. He may not have been much of a warrior, but he made an even more atrocious sea man. Not that Nathaniel was aware of this. In fact, despite his earlier disdain of Damien and his strong hatred for traversing by sea, excitement coursed through Nathaniel's veins that only boyhood could illicit. They were off to investigate a little village, one that had supposedly been sending messages to Lomedor. Due to the distance the letters had arrived late, and though the exact wording was unknown they did claim to be under siege. If that was the case, the army could intervene on their behalf. Not only would it look good, but it would put the village into debt. A win on both sides, really.

The fear that they were too late, that the time between the letters arriving and the ship making land might have been too long, was entirely unnoticed by young Nathan. Others had perhaps noticed it and whispered by candlelight, but he was so busy retching he'd had no knowledge of what went on aboard the ship besides what few things others told him directly. When he had been with the company and eating he'd tried to keep to himself, not wanting to pick a fight with someone and have the entire crew chuck him over aboard. Imagine, lost at sea, constantly churning and rolling in the waves... An endless misery, until death's embrace arrived. Just the thought of such a fate made his stomach churn once more, and with a frown he hastened his step so that he could keep up with the others.

"How come I ain't never heard of this place before?" A man asked, elbowing between Nathaniel and the nobleman to try and lean across the bar. "Hey! Bartender! Fetch me another drink, yah?" The bartender had been busy cleaning out another mug with a kerchief, but with a sigh set it down and went about getting another drink for this newcomer. Dark haired as well, with spirited green eyes. Nathaniel stared up at him a moment, pursing his lips. He wasn't sure if he should be offended for the interruption, or simply amused by such a bright personality actually listening in to his conversation.

"I don't recall mentioning the name, Stranger," Nathaniel mumbled after some time. "But if you'd be so kind, I might explain why this place is not known by many." Then he cast his dark eyes the bartender, smiling widely. "Another one over here, too. I got the crown to cover it." The balding man paused, clearly considering it. Rystoff was clearly drunken thoroughly, and the pallor of his skin was entirely thanks to his tendency for alcohol. And yet, a few extra crown wouldn't hurt the inn. Besides, he rented a room just upstairs. The worst he might do was drink himself into a slumber, and someone could always haul him up there. "Alright, but drink it slowly. It's the last I'm giving you tonight." Nathaniel waved his tankard at him. "Many thanks! Now then, where was I..."

He looked between the three males, all of whom seemed to be regarding him. "Oh, right, right! The march! Long trek, it was. Long and hot. I almost wished I was back on the ship..."

The journey was horrible. The soft sand in the beginning gave way to uneven earth with short sprouts of grass, almost all of which was tanned a sickly shade of yellow because of the sun. There were no shrubbery to speak of, and certainly no trees. The sun, once a beautiful sight, had grown into an ugly thing to behold. It beat down upon them relentlessly, almost at the highest arc of the day, and the thirty-five strong men were now panting and groaning. Those who weren't vocal about their discomfort lugged their weight even more painfully across the land.

"The village t'is not far from here." Polperro spoke up, having long since removed his hat and cloak to give to some unfortunate lackey to carry for him. "We should be 'pon it any moment." But they weren't. Instead, grass gave way to dirt, and dirt gave way to rock. Then, eventually, the rocks gave way to sand. Not the tinniest shimmer of wind blew, and the bright blue sky was without a cloud. It seemed that in their eagerness to help others, they had forgotten that they, too, would need to ensure they were safe.


Oh. Oh wow.

The men ahead stopped just as Nathaniel did, so that they could all stare in reverence at the mighty sight before them. Huge pieces of wood with spiked ends formed a barricade far across, enclosing some form of village within no doubt. Set in the front were twin gates, once ornately designed stones of onyx. Depicting twin snakes, who, when the doors were sealed, appeared to be devouring one another. When the doors opened they were headless however.

Unfortunately, the twin snakes looked like partially devoured worms, their features entirely deteriorated from the harsh winds. The heavy stone gates they were set upon looked grey, with frequent chipping in the frames and a thoroughly washed out look. Sand storms and heat hadn't let them fare well, and in many crevices the bright yellow sand stood harsh against the twin monoliths. Despite this, the massive frame was still imposing, and the age had done nothing but testify to the strength it must hold to endure such injuries. Immediately he wondered how anyone within those walls could fall to harm.

"Come now, lads. Step lively." Polperro spoke harshly, as if they hadn't all been withering away in the heat. With purpose he strode towards the doors, and the men, with renewed strength, followed.

The men flinched when a loud thump next to Nathaniel sounded, leaning back and away from him. They'd been close enough to smell his reeking breath, and this new mug would only make it worse. "'Ere you are. Remember. Slow." Nathaniel waved at the bar tender, nearly falling off his seat in the process. "Yeah, yeah. Slow." Lifting the mug he took a sip, purposely in a suspended animation as if to taunt the bartender. Then he smacked his lips, setting it back down on the counter with a speed that denied his previous movements. His lips parted, breath ready to speak more on his story when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye.

A young couple was watching. They looked young and of decent fortune, so why would they care for his scraggly story? It was perplexing, the way they watched him as a child might. Eyes full of curiosity, ready to swallow whatever words he spat out. For a time he was silent, contemplating the power he held over the two; over the three others sat next to him, even. It was an empowering feeling, and yet terribly familiar at the same time. When he'd been younger and still of the city guard, quite a few patrons were interested in his stories. Either because the thought one of the city's protectors could be human, or simply because his gruff manner and visceral tales were more suited to the Drital Queller and the less drunk fools had never heard the like.

Whatever the case, for a time he'd had a number of people coming to see what he'd rant about next. No one went out of their way, and it wasn't a large enough following to be noticed entirely, yet still it filled him with pride whenever people would draw their chairs close to listen. Now the same sort of blanket glazed over the place, and with reluctance he drew his gaze away from the curious woman. Instead he looked hard at his mug, which gave a jovial wink. Nathaniel sighed, then took a long drink from it once again, the muttering of the bartender drifting into his hearing range.

He gave a grin akin to a shark's suddenly, all of his teeth revealed. "So there we were, in the desert, with nothing but the gate in front uh us. We were all feeling quite uh... uh, accomplished? ... 'Course," His voice took on a sinister quality, leaning forward in his seat. "...we had no idea what was lurking on the other side." He waited only long enough for the woman to move her seat farther from the table, along with her friend, so that they may be more within ear shot. Then, with a wink to the pair, he launched back into his tale.

The beating of the sun seemed to pulse in the sky, waves of unending light circling about it. The men, standing as proud as they could, awaited their leader to approach the door and bid them entrance. With a stiff step and stern expression he attempted just that. Letting the golden grains crunch under foot, Polperro brought himself to stand only a few feet away from the giant gates. Then, in as loud and clear a voice as he might, he called out. "City of Kurien! I am Sir Polperro, and I am here with Lomedor's finest!" In the elated state, his voice failed to hold the accent that occasionally rolled his words. Nathaniel occupied his time with wondering how the giant gates failed to create any shadow, given how they were positioned against the sun. "We have received your letters and come to your aid! Open your gates and allow us entry!"

The words hung in the air, Polperro keeping his eyes high on the walls. Nathaniel slowly pulled himself from his curiosity, straightening his shoulders in the heat and watching for the doors to bid them entry. It seemed odd that the walls would remain intact if they were under siege, and that asking entrance would be wise if indeed enemies lurked on the other side. But questioning one's leader was begging to be sent back to the role of humble cabin boy, even if your father had paid a pretty sum to give you militant standing.

Still the words hung, like dead men from gnarled trees. The Sir visibly noticed this, as his gaze and head descended down from the high setting upon the brow of the place to the center of the piece. There was no response, not even the call of some buzzard laying claim to its find. Polperro shook his shoulders as if to shake off his disregard, then turned to regard his men. "The fortifications are mere wood. We can burn them down. Sedae, did you bring the flints?" A bronzed man nodded amidst the gathered line, stepping forth and bringing out a pouch. Within twin rocks sat. With little appreciation the Sir snatched the artifacts from him, striding through the sand once more with the intent to burn it down. It seemed a ridiculous idea, but the man wasn't given to amazing strategics. He refused to so much as bring a mage, who have merely willed the gates to part with their mind. And why? Because their paranoid leader despised mages.

A fool, truly. Which was perhaps why fate intervened, saving the city of Kurien from being burned to the ground by instead willing the gates to part. Indeed, just as the strides of Polperro drew close, the giant black tablets parted themselves to let the air within breath past. It was not a metaphorical wind either; the short locks of Polperro shifted faintly, his clothing rustling. Those closest to the structure in their line also felt the breeze touch them, tossing their hair and clothing playfully. Then Polperro fell into a fit of coughing, which was quickly echoed by those same men. The line hastily broke so that those who had not felt so kind a breeze may avoid whatever plagued them.

Nathaniel was lucky enough to get a whiff of it, though he'd been far enough back to avoid any true effects. The breeze, though kind, was as hot as the sand and hardly offered solace. The air was stale and reeked, and with its movement it had even cast a few insects at the men. How long had those doors been shut to keep so foul a belch in, and how bloody was the city therein to reek so horridly? Even the gibbets, left days unattended, never held so horrendous a stench. He moved to a side quickly, coughing and choking on the offending tendril in his throat until he'd spat up upon the very sands. Steam rose as the sun already sought to claim it for its endless sky, and within twitched a single black insect. It looked almost like an entirely black bumblebee, and wildly it sought to swing its hind quarters about as if to stab something with its enlargened stinger.

A heavy foot crunched down on it, sending it into oblivion. Nathaniel peered up at Damien, who stood shadowing over him. The younger didn't afford him a thanks, but his expression could not have been called anything short of grateful. The man patted his shoulder again, and slowly the sixteen year old turned to look at the others. Polperro was on the ground vomiting a bloody mixture of ale and insect, hordes of them washing out. Some of them were dead and didn't appear to have stingers, others were violently quivering as the one Nathaniel had seen do. His cheeks were swollen and red, hands grasping desperately at his throat as if to halt the torrent. Clearly he'd been hit the hardest, no doubt thanks to where he'd been stood.

The other men hit were in similar states, some of them coughing up the insects harmlessly and crushing them, no blood to be seen. Others were bleeding from the mouth. One desperate man had taken to cutting his own throat; not a single thing but blood could be seen escaping from the gash.

"There ain't much what'll shock ya into action like a bunch of yer own dyin', y'know? 'Course, I was stupid back then. Any wise man, he'd have run, see? All that death, all that chaos..." Nathaniel fell into a quiet muttering, picking up his mug and sipping from it slowly. He let the ale sit in his mouth some time, as if fearful he might swallow those insects. Then he carefully swallowed, adam's apple bobbing as it coursed down his throat.

His eyes roved over his companions, who'd fallen into silence during his brief pause. The couple looked slightly ill at the graphic retelling, and the two men on either side of him were silent in their contemplations. Glancing down to his mug, it gave an encouraging wink; enough to spur the drunk into a wide grin. "Come now, that ain't least o' the worst. You want t'hear the story or wot?" Still silence ruled, and even the bustling conversations at a few other tables seemed to have died down in their eagerness. He frowned, looking between the four who had expressed interest. Then, with a tired grunt, afforded a silent sigh to his mug.

"I'd like to know what happened..." Offered a young lad, of eighteen at most. Nathaniel stared up at him, closing one of his eyes to get a better look. "Would y'now?" A soft nod came from the mop-haired boy, whose plain clothes and calloused hands marked him as a mere labourer for this inn. Offering a quiet smile to the freckled boy, he gestured expansively. "Then take a seat, lad, and I'll gladly inform y'as what happened next."

It took a might time for the men to recollect themselves. Those who weren't retching were trying to stomp on the beasts others vomited, or were otherwise induced to their own simple vomiting at the sights. Three of those who inhaled the bugs killed themselves, and five who had swallowed them were left passed out. So it was, twenty minutes later, not a sound more touched the air. The panic died down, the men were left to fend for themselves, and those who had avoided the breeze looked amongst themselves unsurely.

Bravely Damien stepped forth, grasping the attention of those still gathered. "A plague was set upon here. There can be no doubt of such. Now it is a question of what we must do." One man shouted of returning to the ship, Wyken? A few others sprung up in agreement, but Damien rose his large hand to silence them. "These men, they are still alive," He drawled the last word, punctuating it clearly. Indeed the men were still alive, though some had grotesque swellings upon their faces or lips. The large warrior continued undaunted. "If we bring them back to the ship, they likely will not survive. There is no medic close enough, and no doctor amongst us." Well, there had been Ryker. But that poor wretch had saw fit to cutting his own throat, rather than endure the pain. A funny doctor indeed.

"Now these things; they were in there, yes. But they couldn't have opened the doors. Someone must be in there, surely? Who can help us?" Wyken was quick to barge in once more. "And what if they did this on purpose? What if they purposely set these things upon us?" Again a few men called out, the burning sun heating their feelings. Once again Damien stopped them, though this time it was by barking for silence. "These people were attacked, and we've no knowledge of where they may be. For all we know they are hiding within their homes from these pests. Now these creatures -- these bugs, they are no more powerful than ordinary ones. If you keep your mouths protected and your guard up, you should have no difficulty knocking them away."

"What if they swam us?" Commented Mikhail, a lad a mere winter older than Nathaniel. He stepped forth, voice constrained with fear but still touched with reason. Before Damien might respond Sedae stepped forth, one of the bugs held in between his fingers with its wings held tight. It was still thrashing, but the grasp kept his hand safely out of reach of the stinger. "As Sir Damien has said, they are no more than insects. If we all take flaming weapons, we should be able to beat them off even if they do try to swarm." With his other hand he carefully grasped the base of the stinger where it protruded, the creature giving a shill cry as it was first pulled from its body, then dislodged entirely. It quickly fell limp in his grasp, and he held the stinger up. "I'm not certain what poisons it may be laced with." A single droplet formed on the tip of it, glistening in the light. Then it splashed to the sand beneath it. "It most certainly has something though, t'be sure. These men would not swell up otherwise." He gestured to one of the dead men, who still had yet to attract any buzzards. "It is likely fatal."

Damien gave a nod towards the man, then looked to the others. "We need to find a healer. Who will stay here with these men, while we go inside the city?" The silence, once again, was deafening. Not a single man stepped forth. Though indeed few wished to traverse inside and risk encountering more of these bugs, fewer still wished to remain with these injured men. What if they got worst? What if Polperro died, and the one watching him was accused of murder? What of the sweltering heat, and the buzzards it would no doubt attract? Even with the doors open it was hard to see into the village, the shadows hiding whatever may await the travelers. Could it be worst than staying out here?

"I'll stay." Wyken spoke briskly, stepping forth. A few other men muttered their agreements, following behind him. Wyken was a man prone to a temper, but he had a strong sense of duty and fought hard to protect his own personal values. What seemed an ancient span of time ago, there had been a gambler aboard their decks. After swindling almost every ship member of everything, he had planned to make off with his goods. Though it was never explicitly stated, the general consensus was that Wyken and his men had taken care of the man.

Nathaniel was not fond of the man. A loud voice and booming personality was intimidating for one as young as him, and it didn't help his seasickness at all. Damien wasn't particularly good either, but the grotesque sight of dead bodies wasn't something he cared to wait around staring at. "I'll go into the village." His own voice sounded foreign in this quiet place, and the boldness he'd felt washed away. Damien turned to regard him, and he felt himself recoil. "I mean... I could probably get into small areas, and stuff." The sixteen year old wasn't exactly short, but he was far more lankier than the other warriors and thus more dextrous. Not that anyone could imagine such a graceful skill being compared to the clumsy boy, but it was truer for him than the others.

Damien seemed to stir over it, uncertain. Sweat visibly rolled down his cheek, the assembled pelts he wore no doubt stifling. Then he offered a brisk nod, which made the bear's head nod as well. "Very well, Rystoff. Men, you will either remain here with Wyken or accompany myself."

"Wait, wait." Began the clean man next to him, who had taken on an expression of perplexment. "If you were afraid to fight, why would you go inside? The heat couldn't have been that bad." Nathaniel shrugged, taking a short sip from his mug. "I was scared, t'be honest. Bunch of dead bodies, plus no idea if more of 'em insects was gonna show up at the gates. 'Sides, I figured I was safer with Dame then Wyk, y'know?" He took another thoughtful sip of his drink, seemingly uncertain for the moment. Then he nodded to himself. "Dame... as much as I hated 'im, he seemed sorta... safe, y'know? Stupid, but trustworthy. Wyken... He gave me the chills." The noble pursed his lips, before once again questioning the storyteller. "But, I thought he was good? Loyal?" Nath bobbed his head, a drunk nodding that left any illusions of him not being inebriated gone. "Didn't mean he wa'n't want for hurtin' others, whenever he thought they stepped out or somethin'."

The young lad, who had by now drawn up a seat, shifted his weight enough to grasp the older man's attention. "So, you chose to face a raided village instead of a guy who might hurt you?" Nathaniel grinned, his upper lip curling ferally. "The jaws uh the demon or the taloned hands, yeh? Least one I had someone to hide 'hind."

The men hadn't immediately chosen sides. Damien had been quick to rectify this however, ordering men around seamlessly. From what Nathaniel had seen aboard the choices were wise. though many faces he failed to recognize. Ultimately one third of the men had been left to care for the injured, the other acting as a task force that would enter the place. Sedae would accompany them, and Mikhail was staying with Wyken's group. With that decided, the pelted warrior led his force between the parted monoliths to assault whatever may lay beyond. Every man had already been gifted with a flaming torch, some holding it as if it were their weapon; others were able to hold it in their offhand, wielding their preferred weaponry in the other.

Nathaniel, as befitting a young man of his age, was stuck merely holding the flaming club. Both hands held the base of the weapon, his palms sweating and arms perpetually trembling. For a lad who had seen only the wooden dummies and trainers his father could hire, such things as these were beyond his imagination. Fear wracked him, the same empty horror that had befallen when he'd heard news of his mother's passing. It was as if a dull throb had settled in the world, beating upon the barriers of his world and forcing his mind to choose between expanding or shattering. The fact the sun had chosen to play with shadows today, and throw the city in darkness when it should have been brightly lit, was enough testament to how peculiar Arda could truly be.

The flames of the men danced as they passed under the arc above, crossing into the dark threshold. Faint shapes could be seen, though only because they were less black then the empty space in between. Damien took a step forward, motioning the men to follow. Nathaniel did so on wobbling legs, eyes peering about for any sign of the insects. Instead, the silence of death befell them.

For long moments they stood there, not daring to breath or move. Only the flames dance, oblivious to danger. Then, a boom; like a thousand Calaring mammoths stampeding at once. Every man turned sharply at the noise, watching in muted horror as the doors began to close. One man -- Rohn, was it? Dashed forward, crying out and casting his torch aside as he lunged to stop them. Two others followed desperately, hoping to somehow grab hold and keep them open. Rohn arrived in time just as the edges began to kiss, shoving his fingers into what remained of the space.

Crunch.

The shrill scream evoked from him diluted the painful sound of bone and flesh being crushed. The power of it alone drew him though, pulling him along as they sealed and once more stood flat and motionless; permitting none entry or exit. With the departure of escape, so too did the sun seem to disappear. Though they could still look up at the bright blue sky, there was no visual capabilities whatsoever. Everything was a black nothingness, permeated by the sobbing of Rohn as he tried to free his fingers. Nathaniel quivered, hands tightening on his torch that much more. He idly swung it around in an arc, though all it afforded was a ball of orange amidst the expanses of night.

Red and orange orbs bobbed in the darkness, men attempting to race over. Nathaniel felt his feet pulling him backwards, trying to move away from the noise. Suddenly, a blare went up, like the screeching of nails upon stone. Twin booms followed suit, and then silence once more descended. All of the flickering orbs seemed still in their setting.

Then, the sun came out. Slowly it seemed to edge past the giant monolith doors, spill light on the sides of the city. The doors threw shadows upon themselves, their dark setting impossible to see through from where the young man stood. Then he turned, slowly looking to see the other men. They wore the same white shock. All were staring at the doors, uncertain as to what had happened and what might occur next. Despite himself, Nathaniel edged closer to the 'leader' of their group. He glanced momentarily to the sixteen year old, then addressed the crowd. "We have to keep moving. There must be a healer here... somewhere."

"What about Rohn?" Asked another, and Damien paused in thought. Then, "Leave him. There is nothing we can do for him... not if he is stuck." There was a far worse fate they all suspected, but none were eager to confirm it.

"Was he dead?" "How'd you get out?" "Why didn't anyone on the other side try to help?" Immediately he was assaulted by questions, though the smile he wore didn't seem forged of any irritation. "All in good time, all in good time. We sure thought he was dead, which was alright for then. We were too shocked to think of much else, though. All we could do was follow our leader, even if he was leading us into the pits of Nightmares."

The journey once more fell silent, and after an hour's worth of searching there was little to account for. Those strange insects didn't reveal themselves again, nor did they find themselves in blackness. A still, hot air sat in the enclosed village, but that was it. There were no villagers to be found; just home after home, dusty road after dusty road. It was beginning to look hopeless, and the weary feet of Nathaniel had began to beg the warrior for respite from the journey.

Suddenly, a man came stumbling towards Damien. "Lord! We found it! We found the Healer's home! He's there; inside!" Damien looked confused, narrowing his eyes. "Are you sure you saw him? This heat has been known to play tricks on people..." The man wildly shook his head. "No! He's there, I tell you. The other men who were with me are already within; he's offered food and drink for all!" Damien looked unsure, but gave a slow nod. "And did you tell him of the men?" "No, I thought it best you did, Lord." Damien nodded, looking to the men who were still following him. Some looked dazed, and still others looked suspicious. The unofficial leader seemed to make a decision, then nodded to himself. "Alright, let's go."

On again they marched, though thankfully it was a quick one. Sure enough the other warrior had been right; within moments the stone walls of a building was before them. Not like the ones in Lomedor; no, this was square and almost hut-like, and no doubt had a hatch leading underground to escape the heat. Perhaps it was even how he'd avoided those fluttering dangers. A single round hole carved in the center and near the top served a window, and below it a simple carved archway with a curtain for a door. The man who led them moved in first, quickly followed by Damien. The other men filed in as well, and Nathaniel was certain to be as far behind as he could manage.

"Welcome to my chamber! Do step in, and stay a while!" The voice wasn't one Nathaniel would soon forget.

"Was he a monster?" The lad sitting nearby asked eagerly, who had since the previous pause turned his chair around to straddle it backwards.

"I wouldn't say monster, lad," The grin pulling at his lips threatened to let slip saliva. "But he certainly wasn't pretty. Shriveled, and bent; like one of 'em preserved bodies the necromasters keep. I remember, he had an extra finger, right here," Nathaniel gestured just below his pinky on his hand, touching the knuckle there. "And no eyes." The young boy once more tilted his head, curiosity flushing his face. "Like, he was blind?" The drunk chuckled lowly. "No, like no eyes."

Hollow orifices had stared at them as they entered, and a wide grin was smeared upon them all. There were more than a few teeth missing from the old man's jaw, and his extra pinky seemed to weave like a worm testing the air. The man looked like a starved dog with the head of a frog, and the jewelry he wore wasn't making his appearance any more 'ordinary'. Steel barbs through his ears and lower jaw, and even a few through his eyebrows that forced the bristly pair to bulge mockingly.

The room itself was beyond queer, managing to be both exotic and reminiscent at the same time. It was as if he'd spied the place some time ago, perhaps upon the curling tendrils of dream or the surreal state in between wakefulness and slumber. Simple carvings and drawings in chalk touched the walls, and a curtain was set far back that likely led to a dining area. The ground was matted in carpets, some of a simple design and others made of warg. Two small wooden stools held vases upon them, the vases black with intricate orange paintings upon them.

Damien cleared his throat, as if to gain the attention of all who had entered. Once all eyes were upon his frame (which seemed at home with all these tribal items), he began to speak. "Sir, we thank you for your kindness. We're here because we received word this city was under attack. In the process... some of our men were injured."

"Injured, you say?" The old voice crooned. "In what way?" The man's voice could not be called unkind, though it held a throaty rasp.

Damien cast a glance about to his comrades, as if to draw upon their strength and ask them with his eyes if the man had truly forgone commenting on the siege. Obviously it had to have been a mistake, or else why would the man not have made note of it? Nathaniel could offer no heated comments or strength; he was affixed solely on the old man. A sort of repulsed horror had taken to clambering its way up his spine, just from looking at the decrepit old thing.

"Our men. They were... they were attacked. By bugs."

"Bugs, eh?" The old man gave a stiff chuckle, and Nathaniel imagined he heard bones snapping from those brittle shoulders swaying. "Well, these parts are quite hot. Little food, too. We get many bugs, heheh." Damien frowned, pressing on valiantly, amidst the slurp and suckle of lips on bowls. "No, these were unlike any I have ever seen. Bizarre, cursed creatures. They were fat, like some pregnant weasel. With blades at one end and a head on the other. They flew into the men's mouths, and when they emerged... they had their blades no longer." The man rubbed his chin with the odd hand, his extra finger continuing to move. "That is indeed, very odd. Perhaps the creature you are thinking of is a bee?"

"It was not a bee. It was entirely black, and hard; like some form of demented stink bug." The old man paused in his meal, smacking his gums together. Then he looked up to Damien, a weary frown on his features. "I apologize, for I have heard naught of these things." He stroked the inside of the bowl with his thumbs, resting it on his lap. "Perhaps, you will join me in food, yes? And then, we discuss this more?" Frowning, Damien shook his head. "We can't eat here. Our men are gravely sick, we have to get them help as fast as we can."

The old man's expression suddenly turned dark. "You will not stay, and eat with me?" Damien's eyebrows knit together in confusion, and Nathaniel found his back suddenly pressed against a wall, ready to be the first to flee. "I can't. Our men are wounded, and we must find them help." The old man gave a shudder, and Damien recoiled away. Slowly a chuckle writhed past the lips of the other, which steadily rose in volume ."Your men? Your men are as violated as the city!" Damien backed up.

"Leave me! You are not welcome! Out! Out you dead! I'll see you soon enough. Let the dogs have your entrails!" He again fell into laughter, though if he spoke again it was lost on the ears of Nathaniel; he was already outside and running off.

"You ran?" The lad asked incredulously, if not with the slightest edge of contempt. Not at Nathaniel, but at the action itself. The drunk missed this, and instead glared at him. "You would have had me stay? And do what? Hit him with my stick?" The boy frowned, casting his gaze at the wooden floor. The night had already grown that much later, and most of the patrons had left by now. Even the couple from before were gone, perhaps frightened off by the grisly tale of the creatures.

Nathaniel took a quiet drink from his mug. "What of Damien? The others? Were they alright?" The bearded man beside him asked, voice surprisingly soothing. The drunk stared at him quietly for a moment, before seeming to accept such a calm voice. "I didn't right know. Not right away, 'least. I ran outta there like an Ehtele'mele bunny on a fizzy beverage." The noble nearby scoffed. "And I suppose you found your way out then, and all those men failed?" Nathaniel gave him a gruesome grin, the very same the healer had offered the others. "Oh, but that ain't the half of it..."

Nathaniel lunged past the curtain, the silken texture somehow coarse against his suddenly aware skin. It was as if a wick had been lit; everything was alive and aware. He felt every drop of perspiration on his brow, knew that his palms were clammy and trembling. His legs were screaming for him to continue moving, and his heart pounded in his mind as if it were a war drum. Thum. Thum. Thum. Thum. He could have kept step, though his feet refused to slow by so much. Already they had pried him far from the healer's home, so that he was ahead of the men spilling out. He had fully embraced the idea of scaling the wooden walls, just to escape this place and go back to the ship.

"Nathan, wait!" The sudden voice made him pause, and as if a spell had been cast he felt everything fall into a slower motion. He turned, looking back over his shoulder at the sight of the fast approaching Damien. Silence rung in his ears, a sort of indescribable noise like the whizzing of static electricity. Then he felt his body collide against something firm but soft, and the recoil of his momentum sent him crashing backwards and onto the dusty earth.

Slowly he looked to what he'd crashed into, and the towering frame made his heart stop. A twisted man stood there, trembling and shaking in the light. His jaw was entirely gone, and the left side of him held two arms. Tendrils kept his arms bound tightly to his body, and his head continued to twitch, as if trying to look left but afraid to. Then he swayed backwards, like a cobra or snake about to bite into its kill. The entire body began to come forward again, the slow movement dull in Nathaniel's eyes and yet thoroughly inescapable. His chest expanded, his lungs ready to pop from the amount of air suckled in.

Then something wet touched his cheek, and he blinked. In that single instance, everything once again began moving, and sound roared in on all sides. He still didn't rise, caught in a stupor; instead he touched his cheek, pulling his finger back to reveal blood. When he looked to where the beast had been, Damien stood with his back to him. On the ground was the twisted man, his face no doubt caved in by the warrior's heavy hammer. He moved his feet slowly, feeling shyly returning to his body as he tried to stand.

More of them.

Some of them were twisted in other ways, such as two legs sewn upon their back or no lower torso. Others looked like mere skeletons, with wet sinew and gristly holding them together and skin-ridden hands clinging to mock weaponry. Damien's voice was unfaltering, and it gave the boy confidence; even if the words were anything but that. "They must be the villagers." The sound of trampling feet behind them sounded, and Nathaniel turned to look upon the gathering of some of the men from inside. They looked battle ready, even if a number of them where missing. "What...?" The youngest began, but Damien shook his head. "I'll explain later. You ready for them, boys?" The group gave a shout of battle cries. "Then let's get 'em."

It was amazing, how under two hours ago Damien had been nothing but a mere addition. Now he was leading the men, and somehow they'd latched on to a quality of the warrior. Sure his clothing was exotic, and he was given to being loud. But they'd turned to him in this time, and apparently they were willing to die for him. Except one so-called warrior. Who had already made his way to the back of the men, and keenly tried to spot another route. When his mother had died barely any attended the ceremony. He dreaded suffering the same; dying in obscurity. As the hoot of charge went up, Nathaniel ducked behind a house to try and navigate away.

"Not the bravest thing, I'll be the first to admit." The man commented, infinitely braver than he had been at such a young age. "I'm a Second-born though, d'y'see? My father wouldn't mourn me, m' brothers hardly knew me. Only those men would; and I knew they were all gonna die anyways!" He slammed the mug on the counter viciously, and the lad nearby jumped. "I wanted t'make a name for m'self. Do something important. Save some village or something, I dunno. Don't matter much now, but back as a kid..."

The noble sighed. "So I was right. You fled, and left them to their death." Nathaniel spared the man a glance, shifting in his seat to better regard him. The man gave Nathaniel no attention, merely enjoying his drink. A strong pat on the back nearly sent him toppling however, the drunk giving him a hearty shake and a grin. "Like I said, sour fly, there b'more to it. 'Course, if you're bored, leave by all means." The man frowned, finishing his drink. "I most certainly would. Yet you keep promising more and more, and I'm eager to hear just what this 'more' is." Nathaniel winked.

City street gave way to city street, and the same old dirty hovels seemed endless. Even in the full out run, it seemed like these roads stretched on forever. A few times he'd thought he'd seen the outline of lurking creatures between buildings, or even some leaping from the tops of the homes to the next to give chase. Either they'd chosen to fall out of visual range after a time, or he'd outrun them. He was praying it was the latter, as he'd already abandoned his torch in his haste and doubted a blade would do anything against the violent dead. Rather, the undead.

There. In the distance! Two black specks, rapidly growing in size the closer he drew. The monoliths! He'd claw and beat at it until he was blue if need be; he'd find some way to pry them open! Perhaps he could drive his blade in it, and use it to climb over it. It was a huge feat, but even if he could get just a little high up he might be able to find a weaker spot in its architecture; somewhere to beat and force to crumble. They'd looked half broken from the outside, so why not on the inside as well?

"Nathaniel?" He jumped at his voice so easily used, turning quickly to regard Sedae.

"You know, I've never heard of any of these things." The noble commented once again, and the drunk gave a non-committed shrug. "Like I said. Not everyone has heard of everythin'. That's why there's books n' stuffs."

The lad had forgotten about the other, caught up in the hustle and bustle of everything else. Now the bronze man was a pleasure to behold, and Nathaniel had to fight the urge to cling to him. "The healer! He was fake! He set monsters on everyone!" The other nodded wisely. "I know, young one. I know." The sixteen year old continued on uninhibited, oblivious to the hows or whys of the world. "Everyone is dead! Or is going to be! There trying to fight undead things! But they can't! You can't die twice!" Sedae merely smiled, letting him rave on.

Slowly he realized he was in the grey shadow of the monolith, but that somehow seemed inferior to what lurked beyond it. Sedae, upon noticing his lack of fear, gestured up. "I know what has happened here. These walls; they were not supposed to be here. It is a gate... a sort of portal. But not to the right place." He gestured to the sun. "See how it shines, from over there? It was not there when we came in, though. That is entirely out of its orbit. Unless the walls have been moved." Nathaniel scratched at his head, confused. "Moved? How?"

Sedae smiled once more, again in that sagely manner. "We're in a different place completely. It looks the same, but it isn't. If we were to open the doors... I suspect we'd see something far different on the other side. You see Rohn up there?" He looked up, and Nathaniel followed his line of sight. Another face he'd forgotten!

The man was writhing near the top, his arm having been sucked within. It looked as if it was still pulling at him, and he moaned softly. "That is why the door is sealed. He has trapped himself in the rift, and forced himself to be in two places at once. You cannot end up in three different places from one portal alone, do you see?"

Nathaniel was still frowning. "Wait, you're talking magic? But... magic doesn't make sense! Can't we just, pull him out of there?" Sedae smiled. "If we pull him out, we open the rift he's been keeping sealed." Nathaniel looked between him and Rohn. "How else can we get out?" Sedae frowned. "That's just it. There is no other way." Before a word could escape, Sedae had suddenly clenched his fist and jerked it forward. Rohn let out an inhuman cry, forcibly pried from between the doors. Before Sedae could set him down the gates suddenly flooded open. There upon the other side was pure darkness. Or what appeared to be. Quickly it began to flood in, and Nathaniel realized what it was; spiders. Blissful darkness set in, his body falling into shock.

Nathaniel looked to the gathered others, and smiled slowly. "If y'can avoid taking a bath in spiders, I certainly recommend it. Not a fun 'sperience at all. 'Course, they weren't any normal spiders, so your results may vary." Nathaniel finished the last drop of his drink, smiling pleasantly afterwards. "It could've been worse, I guess. Like leeches. Eugh." The young lad behind him spoke, though his voice was laced with the desire to sleep. "What happened when you woke up?"

A wide grin was given to him, and a nod of approval. "Still awake, eh? Well, I s'pose y'already know I didn't wake up dead. I wasn't covered in spiders, neither..."

His eyes flew wide open as he sat up, body drenched in sweat. There was no bright blue sky above, though; merely a velvet blue sky encrusted with glittering stars. The ground he was on was hard, and felt undoubtedly like wood. But how? Where was the sand; the city?? Where were the spiders and the undead? Nathaniel lunged up quickly, only to get caught in a roll of the ship and stumble to the side. He found no sand on the other side though, nor rocks. Instead the dark blue waves greeted his eyes, a missed sight. And there, near the side of the ship; it was Sedae! With a drunken swagger the other moved towards Sedae, muttering under his breath. He was back!

"One heck of a day, huh?" Nathaniel set his forearms on the siderail, staring out across the endless expanses as well. Sedae looked down upon Nathaniel, judging him silently. Then he looked back out across the ocean. "Yes. It has been." The lad was undaunted by the cold indifference. "Guess we won, huh?" Another tight nod. "I suppose we did." Nathaniel smiled at him, then looked out at the waves. "Well, I guess I should get going. But uh, Sedae? ...Thanks." The other wore an impassive look that turned to puzzlement, the young lad moving off to the crew's quarters and disappearing from sight entirely. What did defeating a whale have to do with helping him?

Looking down, he eyed the letter in his hands. Contemplating giving it to the Captain, in the name of the city of Kurien. Then he frowned, casting it out to the open arms of the sea.

"Not one believed me, a'course. But, there it is, take it or leave it. That’s my devil’s due for the night.” He offered a tired smile, guzzling down the last remnants of his drink. “Who’s next?”