The Guardians' Blade
Chapter Twelve - Land of Omar

“Back and forth. Back and forth. I’m starting to get dizzy. Why can’t we make up our minds if we want to be in the mountains or down here in the south,” grumbled Alixa as she rode alongside Soryn. The mountains of Drakebare were distant now, and they had only recently crossed over the bridge of the Illinyial River.

“I thought you liked adventure.” Soryn chuckled softly as Alixa shot him a dirty look. “We ride to Omar, to speak to the king. I assure you, my friend, that we will be travelling around throughout the Golden Realms this time rather than just going north and south.”

“That’s good,” Alixa rubbed idly at her brow. “As I’d like to think we are actually doing something this time.”

“Oh very much so, in fact we are hoping to formulate the first alliance amongst these races.” Soryn smiled a little before glancing over to the young Guardian. “And it won’t be a very easy task.”

Alixa regarded him curiously at that statement, raising a slender eyebrow as she pushed some dark tendrils out of her eyes. “What do you mean? From the little I have learned, these races tend to get along far better than what we’ve seen happening in the north.”

Soryn shook his head slightly, as he shifted his grip on the reins. “No, not really. While the Golden Realms seems to be a pleasant place to be. And the Inn of the Brazon Pony seems open to all the various races, it’s not quite as friendly as one would hope. The Omarian’s are power hungry and want more land. The Silvarian’s are snobs and like to keep to themselves. The Killimanjarian’s are friendly but only to a point and then they can get as cold and snobbish as their cousins. The Dragons of Drakebare mainly keep to the mountains, but seem to have a sound knowledge of everything that happens south from them, but don’t mingle with the other races as I had thought. Then there is the Mar’quie, who prefer to bury themselves inside their mines rather than talk to anyone.”

Alixa frowned slightly as she listened to Soryn give a quick overview of all the races than said quietly. “Well I guess that Alliance may not be so easily forth coming than.”

Soryn chuckled softly. “Let’s hope they prove me wrong.”

The royal city of Castrinova was a beautiful sight to behold. It had white walls that seemed to glimmer softly in the afternoon sun and wide streets lined with the homes of the rich and important, built of white stone. A large bazaar showed of colorful canopies, where various merchants came to sell their goods. Wagons of various sizes came and went through the city gates, as the Guardians and their companions rode up to one entry point and were stopped by the Omarian Guards. “Who goes there?”

“Guardian Krammer of Shaylo,” was Krammer’s response, staring at the guard as he continued. “We are here to see the king.”

The Guard smirked as he looked over the motley bunch and pointed a gauntleted finger at Millianyia and Storm. “They are not welcome to enter. The rest of you can pass through.”

Soryn turned slightly in the saddle to look back at the two women who had been singled out. He frowned but decided not to argue for the moment. Kain felt color touching his cheeks as he spoke to the Guardian. “You Guardians go in, we will wait out here. We may hamper your efforts if we are not of the liking of the court.” His tone was full of disdain, and he glared at the guard before turning his horse to lead the way through the large outer town ringing the royal city that housed the peasants and common folk. Millianyia gave Soryn an apologetic smile before she moved to follow Kain along with Storm and the rest of the Ranger’s group. Soryn sighed, looking to Boar and Alixa before the three Guardians rode through the gates. He had not expected to see such particular racial discrimination here. They rode up one of the main streets towards the Palace atop a hill in the very center of the city.

“Arrogant, aren’t they?” muttered Boar as he glanced around. Once inside the city, it appeared to be a carefully created paradise for the rich and wealthy. All the people seen moving along the streets were dressed in colorful gowns, or richly detailed coats and matching pants.

“No more than you were when we first met,” was Soryn’s dry response, as they drew to a halt before another gate where more guards stood. Unlike those at the city gate, these men were dressed in regal finery. The party was wondering if these guards even knew how to use their swords – ceremonial blades hung at the hip.

A rather plump man who was barely able to fit into his uniform huffed up to the gate, his cheeks tinged red from the effort. “What yer want?” he bellowed at the Guardians.

“I wish to speak to the king.” Soryn responded, an amused look on his features.

“By whose order?” shouted the Fat Guard.

“Order of Shaylo!” At these words the fat guard blinked then fumbled with the keys on his belt and hastily opened the gates.

“Come in, come in,” he said, his countenance immediately changing. “Leave your horses here, eh? The stable boys will see to them.” He grinned, his black teeth indicating his liking for sugary sweets. The Guardians made their way through the small gate one by one, before dismounting and handing the reins to three sleepy-eyed stable boys. The boys hastened away leading the destriders, staring at the large horses in awe. Raja was tempted to nip at one of the lads, but after a narrowed look from Soryn decided to behave. When he saw the lush royal stables that he and his two companions were led into. He decided that pretending he was as dumb as a normal horse would suffice with the luxury he would get to enjoy here. “Now, this way,” puffed the fat guard. He headed for a set of stairs, which lead into the halls of the Palace. “You should have sent word yer were comin’. We’d have prepared a welcome feast for ya,” he said jovially as he waddled along. “I am Jordil, Captain of the king’s Palace Guards,” he announced, as if they would know his name. But the three Guardians walked on, not paying him much attention. This made him grunt slightly in annoyance at these outsiders.

“We thought it best to come unannounced,” responded Soryn. A smile of amusement was on his lips, and he had to slow his stride so as not to leave the fat man behind. The halls of the palace were decorated with tapestries of various battles that the current Royal house had been involved in. Knights fighting dragons; knights fighting Krysalith; knights fighting monsters of various sorts and shapes, the tapestries were endless depicting heroic might and greed. The materials were colorful and imaginative.

“One should always come announced, Guardian. We can be ready then for your arrival,” the fat man stated, as he puffed heavily. His cheeks were turning red from the effort of having to keep up with these three Guardians who all seemed to be in prime condition. “I will have your rooms prepared. I am sure you’ll be staying for a little while, yes?”

“Only for as long as we are welcome,” Soryn knew the Omarians were fickle, he had learned that from observing them back at the Inn. He studied two elaborately dressed guards who stood outside the doors to the throne room, barring their passage.

“Open the doors,” barked the fat Guard. “There are important visitors to see the king!” He pulled out a large handkerchief and mopped his brow, then waved it at the guards, who weren’t moving fast enough to heave the massive doors open. “Come on, come on, open the doors,” he grumbled.

Once they were open he lumbered forward, motioning for the three Guardians to follow him down the red carpet, to the throne where King Frederick II sat. The court of the king was filled with nobles all dressed in richly decorative clothing. The women wore magnificent gowns made of fine silk and satin. Their hair swept up and powdered grey with feathers and other jewels as decoration. On their faces they wore masks. Some seemed tattooed on, while others were painted on or were actual masks hiding the upper portion of their features. Their gowns swelled out from the waist like large bells around their legs. The men wore splendid coats of many different colors; their hair was also powdered but tied back with bows that matched their clothes. The men didn’t wear masks, but had ceremonial swords at their hips. Everyone in the court became silent when the fat guard escorted the three Guardians into the room. The entire court scrutinized the Guardians, from their style of dress to the way they wore their hair. And it was not long before soft whispering began behind raised hands or flicked out fans.

Alixa was more aware of it than the men. She could feel the gaze of the women glued to her, taking in the way her hair was braided, the uniform she wore, and to their particular horror, the fact that her face wasn’t decoratively covered in some way or another. Gritting her teeth she focused on the king. He was not what she had been expecting for a King, it almost made her sick when she got close enough to him. Soryn and Boar glanced around. Boar found this entire place amusing: the clothing was strange, and the bored looks from the nobles were laughable. But it was when he looked at the king that he had to wonder if this was all real or just a dream. He wanted to explode into laughter.

“Bow to the king,” stated the fat Guard. He himself bowed, and continued, “Your Majesty, I bring to you Guardians of the Black Watch direct from the High Council of Shaylo. They have important news.” Grunting with the exertion, he managed to get up and back onto his feet. The Guardians bowed from the waist with gloved fists pressed to their chests. As they finished bowing they took in the sight of the Thorne King, Boar all the while struggling not to laugh.

The king raised a brow at these guests. He was a large fat man, much like the Captain of his Palace Guards, as if he had spent all his life dining on rich foods. His clothing was gilded and heavily decorated with jewels. He was bald, but his head was covered by a large crown as if to hide this particular fact. On each of his chubby fingers was a glittering ring with large stones. He was at that moment stuffing his face with a chicken leg, dripping gravy down the front of his elaborate tunic. “Guardians? Guardians, you say?” He eyed the three ruefully, before taking a slurping sip from a large goblet of wine, held for him by a serving maiden. She was looking quite green around the gills and trying not to faint from witnessing his sloppy eating.

“All the way from Shaylo?” He tossed the chicken bone onto a nearby plate and held his hands out on either side for the maidens to wipe clean with towels. “Whatcha want?” he finally demanded, fixing Soryn with a glare. He shifted his gaze to Alixa and grinned a little. “Perhaps yer brought me a pretty lass to add to my court, eh?”

Soryn cleared his throat as he and the other Guardians bowed stiffly once again. He then stepped forward and began to speak. “I am Sir Krammer from the Guardian city of Shaylo. I have been sent here to make a request of you, my King.” He glanced over towards Alixa who looked like she was going to vomit. “Ah – no, sire; Guardian Lightweaver is one of our number. She has various important duties to dispatch, and accompanying me was one of them.” He returned his gaze to the king, ignoring his pig-like behavior. Drawing a scroll out of a pouch at his hip, he held it up before turning to the fat guard and handing it to him. “For your eyes only, my king,” he stated.

The fat guard smiled at being given the scroll. He promptly eased his way up the steps and held the scroll out to the king. Now that his hands were wiped clean the king reached to snatch it from the guard, breaking the seal and read the letter with feral eagerness. Perhaps he was hoping the Guardians were going to offer an exquisite gift. The smile slowly left his face and his cheeks and forehead turned a slight tinge of purple before he roared out, “This is preposterous!” He flung the scroll back at Soryn. “You are asking me, the king of Omar, to send my troops north, to fight a madman? Oh, I know the rumors about this Wolf King very well. He’s insane and power-hungry; you’ve already lost one of your fortresses to him.” He began to push himself up out of his throne, which was not an easy feat for him to accomplish. “I am not a fool! The Guardians have been eyeing off my throne for years! This trick will not work.” He snarled and pointed a stubby bejeweled finger at Soryn, Boar and Alixa. “Get out of my sight!”

Soryn blinked, and stooped to pick up the scroll off the floor where it had landed near his booted toe, tucking it back into its pouch. He made a low sweeping bow to the enraged, fat, blabbering King. “As you wish, my King.” He didn’t bother to defend himself, but turned and strode back the way he had come, with Boar and Alixa flanking him on either side. Their exit was swift; though they left the Palace unescorted, they were stared at by various guards. Reaching the stairs outside, they found the three stable boys hurrying towards them, leading the three pampered Destriders in their wake.

“What did you do?” Demanded Raja as Soryn snatched the rains and climbed up into the saddle.

“I bothered a King.” Soryn refused to go into detail, he had been disappointed by the King’s response, and held little hope for the Omarian’s ever joining the alliance in the future. He led the way cantering through the streets, sending men and women scattering like butterflies in their wake. As they reached the gates, guards quickly hauled them open and the three Guardians rode out and proceeded through the town that surrounded the royal city, searching for the Rangers.

“What was he going on about?” Boar was completely surprised at what had just taken place. “We get welcomed with open arms, and as soon as he reads that letter from Mycol he throws a temper tantrum as if we were threatening to take his lollipop away.”

Alixa had to cover her mouth a moment to hide a laugh that threatened to escape at Boar’s words.

“I believe he was insulted by the fact the Guardians asked for his help. In his mind we are meant to serve his whims, not him assist us should we have any problems,” Soryn drawled dryly. He continued to scour the area with his sharp eyes for any signs of their other companions. “But that is the Omarians for you: a strange mob, with even stranger ideals.”

Alixa pointed at a run-down tavern nearby. “Try there?” she suggested.

Soryn nodded and the three dismounted, tethering their horses securely. They stepped into semi-darkness inside the worn-out common room. Even in this state it still seemed to be heavily in use.

“There.” Alixa pointed to where she could see Lady Dovelin’s fine white robe outlined in the gloom by a hearth with a small fire burning in the grate. The Guardians quickly approached the lady.

Dovelin lifted her head to smile at the three, and spoke softly. “I will assume that the audience with the king did not last for very long?”

“You guess correctly,” grumbled Soryn as he took a seat opposite her and looked around. He did not see any sign of the others.

“They should be arriving soon,” she said, answering his unspoken question. “Serraria wanted to go exploring, so Storm and Grong took her for a walk. She had so many questions, I think Storm may have lost her voice by the time she gets back,” she smiled. “And Kain said he was going to pay a visit to some family, as did Tarn and Ryu. They promised to be back within an hour. It’s nearly that now.”

Boar and Alixa slid into the booth next to Krammer, making him shift over. He raised a hand, signaling to a skinny girl wearing a dress that seemed a size too big, and ordered ales for the three of them. He looked over towards Soryn, a slight frown on his face. “Why is it that the rich enjoy such luxuries, and yet the rest of the people beyond those splendid white walls seem to be very poor?”

Soryn shook his head slightly at the Shadow Warrior. “That is the way of men: you are either rich or poor. If you’re a merchant then you are lucky to be in-between. But in their culture, it’s either way. And the rich are not willing to help the poor; they try to ignore that they exist, building for themselves large homes, having many servants wait on them hand and foot. Their ego causes them to forget what it was like when they were starving or without clothing. They only remember if circumstances bring them around to be poor again.” He sighed a little, watching as the skinny girl came back and put three ales on the table, waiting for a tip of some sort. He drew out of his pouch a couple of gold coins and put them in her little bony hand with a smile and watched the girl stumble away blissfully with her prize.

“It’s a merry-go-round I definitely do not want a ride on,” grumbled Boar, idly rubbing his chin, feeling the soft stubble of a beard. He looked towards Dovelin. “Do the Peacekeepers try to do something about this?”

“We try.” Dovelin frowned as she lightly curled long slender fingers around a goblet. “But the food we bring is confiscated and taken to the royal citadel; the animals we offer are taken away as well. What aid we try to give, this government steals away, happy to let their people starve, rather than be content with food and clothing.” She shook her head. “It is not always like this, some kings are true tyrants, and yet other kings will be kind and thoughtful and very much loved by the people. We do what we can when we are able.”

Boar screwed his eyes shut for a long moment then muttered softly, “And the Wolf King does not help issues either.” He sighed, opening his eyes and looking around at those sitting at the table with him. “So, where to next?” he asked curiously.

“We ride to the Kilimanjari Forest, to try to speak with the king of the Wood Krysalith.” Soryn smiled crookedly as he leaned back in his seat. “Storm has connections there, she may be able to get us in with very little trouble.”

“I am starting to think that you deliberately asked the Rangers to come with us. There is one from just about each of the races we need to pay a visit to.” Boar shot Soryn a look. “And if we’re lucky may have connections.”

Soryn chuckled. “We just were in luck that much was the case, Boar.” He took a swig from his mug of ale before carefully setting it back down on the table.

The door to the tavern swung open with a groan and Serarria bounced in, looking around with wide blue eyes. Spotting Soryn and the others at the table by the hearth she ran over. “How did it go? Did you get to talk to the king? Was he tall and handsome? Did he say yes, that he’d help?”

“Whoa,” Soryn held up a hand and placed a finger over the girl’s lips to silence her. “It did not go according to plan. Yes, we got to talk to the king; no, he’s not tall and handsome, and he got angry and threw us out of the palace.” He lowered his hand and smiled at the girl who frowned at those words.

“Then what good was it to go and pay him a visit? I have looked all around this city. The inner circle is for the rich and the outer circle with small shabby houses is for the poor people. I do not understand – why would a King treat his own people in this manner?” She crossed her arms over her chest, looking quite irritated.

“That is the men of Omar for you. They have a history of greed being substituted for caring for their people. Some Kings have been good and some Kings have been bad. This is a bad king,” was Soryn’s gentle explanation.

“Then take him off the throne and put someone better on it,” she snapped in a huff, wrinkling her little nose in annoyance. “He does not deserve to be King.”

“I’m afraid we cannot do that, my dear.” Soryn looked over to Storm, who appeared to be weary. He rose to his feet, resting a gloved hand firmly on Serarria’s shoulder. “We leave that up to the people, and hope that his son will be a better King than he is.” He motioned then for Storm to take his place and settled into a seat next to Dovelin.

There were no seats that Grong could fit into with his tail, and he grunted slightly as he sat down on the floor near the hearth. Pulling out a pipe from his belt he began to play softly, attracting Serarria’s attention. She moved away from the Guardians and plopped down in a cross-legged position opposite Grong to listen to him play. “Would you like to learn?” he asked gruffly after a moment, and held the pipe out to the girl. She nodded, carefully taking the instrument. Placing her fingers over the air holes as she had seen him do, she started to blow through the mouthpiece. Then, closing her eyes, she began tentatively to play a tune from her homeland. It was very haunting, and silenced the entire crowd in the common room as they listened to the strange and unworldly tune. When she was finished, Serraria blushed, realizing how much attention she had drawn to herself. She gave the pipe back to the Mar’quie, who flashed a toothy grin at her. “You play very well, little girl,” he rumbled out. “I will have to make you one, so that we can play together.”

Serraria smiled brightly. “I would like that very much, Grong.”

The door to the tavern opened once more and Kain entered, followed by Tarn and Ryu. Kain made his way over to the table of companions, grabbing a spare chair so he could sit down. He looked at Soryn and said quietly, “The rumor is spreading that the Guardians were kicked out of the palace by the king.”

Soryn nodded his head. “He didn’t like the idea of the Guardians asking him for a little bit of help.” He smirked as he raised his mug of ale. “I had reason to believe that this would be the reaction from such a son of earth as he is.”

Kain chuckled quietly. “Sources tell me that he will not be king for long.” He rose then to his feet. “Now I think we should go, before the king decides to try and arrest you for some kind of trumped-up charge.”

“Would he really do that?” demanded Serraria, getting to her feet.

“Yes, dear girl, he would.” Kain nodded.

The group took their leave of the tavern, paying the owner handsomely and making his day in the process. Ensuring that the man wouldn’t assist the King’s men if the King did indeed try to cause them some form of trouble. Once mounted up on their horses, they headed for the nearest road out of the royal city, before moving west towards the Kilimanjari forest. “I would suggest we rest at the Eagle’s Claw Inn, in the little town of Belmon. It’s on the western edge of Omar, close to the forest,” Kain said, glancing over at Krammer to see if he agreed to the suggestion.

Krammer nodded. “Excellent idea, my friend. I am sure we could all do with a decent night’s sleep.” With a nod Kain took the lead and urged his horse into a light canter, leaving the capital city behind them. They followed a dusty road with farm land on either side westward until they could see the great old trees of Killimanjari in the distance.

Rakkath had slipped away well before the group reached the capital city. With hood drawn up he had kept along the road that moved towards the lake and Killimanjari forest. As he knew of the Men of Omar’s distrust of the Krysalith and even worse, Dark Krysalith were often put to death as it was thought they were spies from the frozen wastes of the north. Thus it had been best that he slip away for a little while. He found a quaint little village to explore, and in a tiny Tavern he ran into Malificent as if she knew he’d come in there. They didn’t throw insults or try to kill each other as they had in previous meetings. Instead they got a drink each and quietly took a seat in a booth, and for a long period simply stared at each other in silence while drinking their ale. It was only after some of the more boisterous patrons had left that Rakkath finally addressed the woman. “Time to give my first report?”

A little smirk touched Malificent’s lips as she swirled the liquid around slowly in her mug. “Yes.” She hissed out softly from beneath the hood.

“They plan on allying all the races of the Golden Realms against the Wolf King and march against him.”

Those words wiped the smirk of Malificent’s face, she leaned forward staring at him with dark eyes. “You like.”

Rakkath shook his head as he leaned back in his seat and stared out the window in almost a bored manner. “No. I speak the truth. We will be visiting all of the different kings and rulers of each of the races. Soryn has a letter written by the Council to give to them. And then we return to the Keep.”

Malificent frowned distinctly, she was a bit un-nerved by this news. It seemed the Guardians weren’t relying solely on themselves this time. “And what of the girl?”

“She is innocent and naive, and knows little of the races in this realm. She speaks strangely and acts strangely. Right now, at this moment I don’t understand why she is so important to the Wolf King. But I will continue to study her as he requested. He said there were sign’s to look out for, so far I haven’t seen one as yet.”

Malificent wrapped fingers around the mug, this was going to slow her plans down if Dargoth was wanting to look for signs in regards to this child. She would need to speed things up a bit. She glanced at the Dark Krysalith and inclined her head slightly. “I will tell our Lord what you have told me.” She rose to her feet, and dropped a coin on the table for the wench passing by before she took her leave.

Rakkath watched her go, and nodded to the wench holding up his mug for a re-fill. He has sensed that Malificent wasn’t too happy with his report. It made him wonder if she had an agenda of her own she was working towards. He would have to watch her closely. After about an hour he rose and took his leave also. Swinging up into the saddle, he headed in a south westerly direction, hoping that his timing was correct and that he’d meet the companions on their way to Killimanjari. As he didn’t think they would be in the Omarian Palace for very long, he’d heard reports of how fat and vein the current King was, and how there was a huge gap between the wealthy and the poor. His land was suffering as was his people and the King wasn’t doing a thing about it. It was ripe for the plucking or perhaps for an assassination to enter in a new king’s reign.

Belmon was indeed a small town: more like a village. The inn stood on the edge of the town, facing the ancient forest of Kilimanjari. It was a two-story building, though not as large as the Brazen Pony Inn, and not as busy. But it was a safe haven for passing travelers to stay the night. Serraria yawned as she got down from her horse, patting its neck then tethering it to a post. She looked around, taking in the area. It was very different to the inn by the large lake. Different sounds could be heard here, the soft whistle and calls of birds and animals from the ancient forest. She turned, nearly walking into Rakkath who had decided not to come with them to the Royal City for his own reasons. Serraria thought it was because the Dark Krysalith where not welcome just as Millianyia and Storm had been openly discriminated against. She smiled up him. “Are you coming inside this time?” she asked curiously.

“Yes, this is a nicer place to be than before,” he explained, offering his arm to her. He winked handsomely, making Serraria blush and giggle. She placed her hand on his offered arm and let him lead her into the Inn beneath the distrustful gaze of Kain. The common room was warm, with a bright fire burning in a large hearth. A bar was by the far wall and behind that stairs led up to the rooms above. An elderly man stood behind the bar, wiping down the bench and watching the new customers come in through the front door. It seemed to be a peaceful haven where one could come to think, unlike the Brazen Pony Inn which had been full of people and noise. Serraria sat down at a booth and grinned as Rakkath joined her. She clasped hands together as she looked at him and asked. “Where did you go while we were in the big city?”

“I wandered along the edge of the land. The people in the outer villages are easy to talk to, and are not as discriminatory towards those of the other races.”

“That is good.” She nodded her head as she listened to him. “I am glad to hear that. I would not want to judge Omar as being a race of stupid people.”

Rakkath let out a low harsh laugh as if amused at the young girl’s words. “Leave the judging to the Guardians.” He smirked as he watched Soryn go over to stand before the hearth, and light his pipe. Rakkath turned his gaze back to Serraria. “And the bickering to the Omarians.”

“You speak as if you do not like them,” she said.

“Truly, I do not. The Omarians have not been kind to my kin, whether they live in Kilimanjari, Silvaria or elsewhere. They call the Krysalith ‘forest demons’ as they do not understand us, or our culture.” Rakkath shrugged a shoulder slightly as he motioned at the old man to bring a drink. “It is the way of things in this particular realm.” He glanced at the girl who was listening intently to everything he had to say. “There are few you can really trust,” he finished.

“If you don’t like them so much, why are you in this company?”

Rakkath chuckled, and smoothed a gloved hand over the surface of the table. He flicked grey eyes up at her. “Because I hope that there are people out there that can change the way some of these races think.” He watched as a mug of ale was sat down before him and nodded at the old man before looking back to Serraria.

Serraria was silent for a long moment then smiled at him. “What do you think of the Guardian plans to unite the races?”

“Well, they seem to be doing a pretty good job so far,” was his sarcastic response. “I didn’t think the Omarians would do such a thing with that king on their throne. Their greed has too much of a stranglehold over them. The other races: well, they might be able to see what the Guardians have seen. But we won’t know until each has been spoken to.”

A shadow fell over their table and a voice interrupted their conversation. “You think so little of the Omarian race, eh?” Kain leaned on the table as he looked pointedly at Rakkath for a long moment. “Maybe you should take a closer look at their current living conditions. The fact that a majority of my people are living in poverty with little or no food to eat, while a small minority living it up in the cities. That’s where the rich have gathered to squander what riches and resources Omar had.” He looked over at Serraria then. “To learn about a race, speak to someone of that race, girl.” He abruptly straightened up, shooting Rakkath a glare again. “Perhaps you should ask him a few questions about the Dark Krysalith.” With a smirk he turned on a booted heel and stalked off to the stairs.

Serraria stared after Kain for a long moment then looked towards Rakkath with curious sapphire eyes. “He does not like you very much. Is that an example of how the Omarians act towards your kin?”

Rakkath threw his head back and laughed, before clearing his throat and looking at her once more. He was about to speak when another voice interrupted, “Not exactly, little one.”

Boar had slowly come up to the table. Having heard Kain’s angry words, he had guessed at what the topic was. He grabbed a nearby chair, spun it around and sat on it, resting forearms on the back of the chair. He fixed the two of them with his silvery grey wolfish eyes and smiled, showing off his sharp teeth.

Serraria blinked, looking first at Rakkath who had abruptly fallen silent. Even his smile was gone. Then she looked at the Shadow Warrior who was now a Guardian and tilted her head slightly in that odd manner of hers. “I do not understand,” she finally said.

Boar nodded and smiled, again before speaking. “The Dark Krysalith race is known to have come from two areas in this world. There are the Enclaves that live on the Dark Isles far to the south of this continent. And there are the enclaves that are in the far northern wastes. For a long time those particular enclaves swore service to the Dark Warlords, until there was a split, and after a horrible accident one faction went to the Guardians, while the rest remained true to the Dark Warlords.” His eyes never left Rakkath as he spoke. “The Dark Krysalith prefer the night to the day, and live underground as it is too cold to live on the surface in the icy wastes of the north.” He leaned forward as he said softly, “Which leads me to wonder just what you were doing out there when we came across you? I know Kain has been suspicious of you, and so am I.”

Rakkath smiled at Boar and took a slow sip from the goblet in his hand. “If a Shadow Warrior can turn from his evil ways, cannot a Dark Krysalith decide to do the same?”

Serraria looked from one to the other. “There is no evil in him.” She looked at Boar. “Just like there is no evil in you.”

Boar smiled and straightened up, gripping the back of the chair with gloved hands as he looked at Serraria. “You have a lot to learn still, my fine little friend. Evil can come to us in many disguises.” He rose to his feet. “I will be around.” He bowed slightly to them both before he wandered over to a booth by the window and settled into it, staring out the window at the ancient forest they were to enter the next morning.

Serraria stood, smiling as she spoke to Rakkath. “If I knew you were of evil intent I would have killed you the moment we met. But I feel that you are lost and trying to find your way. And I do not consider that as a disguise of evil.” She smiled again and then headed for the stairs herself to retire for the evening.

Soryn turned around slowly, watching Serraria depart, his gaze falling upon Rakkath who was looking a little surprised. “She’s a strange one,” he said, cutting through the silence with his commanding voice.

“Indeed.” Lady Dovelin made her way over from the bar, glancing over at Rakkath where he sat thinking. She smiled towards Soryn as she took a seat near Boar, motioning for the Guardian by the hearth to join them.

“Any clue to where she came from?” asked Soryn as he sat down with them, puffing on his long pipe.

“I believe she comes from over the mountains, more than likely from the west, as there are various races of men to be found over there.” Dovelin took up her goblet of spiced wine and smiled at the two Guardians.

“Is that where you come from, Lady Dovelin?” asked Boar curiously, fixing her with a steady gaze.

“I come from the south, from an island far away and that would be my second guess, if she did not hail from one of those nations to the west.” She sipped at the warm liquid before lowering the goblet onto the table. “I do know from my observations that she is very different and definitely not from any of the races within the Golden Realms.”

Boar nodded before rubbing the back of his neck. He yawned a little. “Well now, I should go and sleep. I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be a long and interesting day.”

Dovelin let out a soft little laugh and shifted so he could get up. “I believe you are right, my friend.” She touched his shoulder as he stood. “Sleep well.”

Boar set off for his room. It was not long before he was stretched out sound asleep.

Soryn looked over at Dovelin once Rakkath also took his leave of the common room. He spoke quietly in a low voice. “Keep working on her, it is in important that we find out where she comes from.”

Dovelin nodded her head slowly as she sipped at her spiced wine. “Just as it’s important to try and bring these races together.” The Peacekeeper knew that they were most likely trying for something almost impossible. These races had a history, they had natural dislikes for each other, bad blood, feuds etc that kept them from getting along well. It was an interesting quest to say the least. One race had already turned them down rather violently, she had to wonder how the Killimanjarian’s and the Silvarian’s would say now. Finishing her wine, she soon retired for the night herself.

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