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1. Raziel

Raziel

The shouts of his comrades became louder and louder when they realised that victory was held in their hands. Raziel had been part of many battles, but this one finished before the battle could turn too bloody, rather suddenly. To his left and right men stood and sat on their horses raising their weapon of choice high pointing at the sky which was shrouded in grey clouds. An angry face had formed time ago at the start and rain seemed to be the forecast for the time being. A sea of long swords, crossbows, and dirks with a few spears that waved in the rhythm of the war drum endlessly, beating against the hearts of the fleeing enemy. Sweat flew in droplets from his forehead with his father’s sword in his right hand; he signalled. The bands of the white ravens stormed into the fleeing enemy. The once so green earth was an accumulation of soft soil turned to mud by the horses, accompanied by lose limbs and blood. An all too well picture in his head. It was familiar to a haunting extent. “If they resist, show no mercy!” he commanded as his mare galloped to the fighting. Good armor is never light, but Raziel’s armor was. That normally meant death of the soldier but in his case it was forged from a unique metal. The Sarafan had given it to him in a present that he resented and was grateful at the same time. The armor could easily handle the hits of swords, yet even bolts of crossbow would pierce through the armor. It was armor that was forged by the Blacksmiths of Echem. These vampires were able to manipulate metals in forms that Man would never be capable to understand. Truly masters in their own respects. The battle took place north of Augendorf. A territory that was claimed by the king of the Bandits. Anyone ignorant enough to follow a mad man surely deserved no mercy on the battlefield. But yet Kain asked, no commanded that those who bend their knee to be shown mercy. Raziel would have never shown mercy to those that dared to challenge him in humiliating ways. Now of course, the Kingdome of Kain wanted the territory back. The answer, mercenaries. Easy to utilise and easy to cast into oblivion. Raziel was not so easily cast into any depths of hell. No matter who the king was. No matter how noble. No matter how powerful. He would pierce holes into his enemies in a way that all of the blood would find itself onto the ground below. Raziel would show his mercy. That he could promise. His sword moved from left to right as another soldier who was within the confinement of armor stormed his way. “Too easy”. The soldier swung his axe across his face and missed. The moment in which the arms were raised, Raziel moved at a speed so fast that eyes fixated upon him in amazement. He pierced through his armpit, swung his sword down and cut through the back of his horse. Raziel moved on, paying no heed to the enemy that would have fallen. “Black Haired one! I ‘ave a b’ne to pick with you! Ya killed ma Da’ and left me mother at me mercy” Raziel peeked to his left and saw a man on a dark mare with armor that was pitch black. A single emblem in the centre of the breast plate, the dark rose of the temple. The Warhammer in his left hand made his way to Raziel. In the midst of the fighting, Jon was beheading a long hairy prick that spat into his face, one last time. He surely would regret the act, as blood fell like a waterfall to the ground. He had no time to aid Jon in his fighting, if he was going to behead someone he should have joined the kingsguard of Kain. “The gift bestowed unto him?” He paid no more attention to the enemies face or the amazing black armor he wore. “So, what? In the sight of battle, we are all fatherless!” He shouted back in defiance. “For that I will have your--” Raziel answered by steel, swinging and piercing. Black armor deflecting splendidly. First left then right. From the top to the side. Both horses were becoming restless. They seemed not to like the dance of hammer and sword. They seemed to prefer the grass and the sea that once stood in this place. But there was none. Only the dance of Raziel and black armor. The hammer swinging from the sides, Raziel’s horse moving to the side preventing a fatal blow that surely would have killed him as he barely missed his head. “My horse is more defiant to die than I am.” He thanked the horse in thought. By now the fighting upon the battlefield had stopped and a circle of soldiers formed that watched the bloody dual to an end. Who will win? The answer was clear in Raziel’s head. “He is too slow. I think we have danced enough.” Raziel smiled as Dark armor raised his hammer above his head. The enemy wanted to thunder down upon his head in a rage that would lead to brains scattered upon the ground. Not a pretty way to go. At least honour was there. Or was it? Raziel continued to smile as the Sun dazzled his eyes. His right arm fired up at a speed that was deemed to unnatural. Before the hammer reached the height of the sun, the arm was cut off and the hammer fell to the ground. “This is it!” Raziel wasted no time as the hammer fell to the ground with a “thump” the sword of Raziel found the jaw and pierced. “Soft like butter on a hot day.” His men roared in satisfaction as Raziel shook the blood and tongue off his sword and sheath it. “I hate when blood dries upon the blade. Need to clean it, soon.” The black mare galloped away in fear, the body falling (whatever was left of him) to the ground. Raziel took a deep breath and smelled heavy copper and iron. Originating from blood. Shit was there, too. He stared at the commotion “Eli, take the armor of this one and bring it to my tent. Bring the hammer and the arm! The celebration will follow tonight, I believe we deserve it, what do you say my man?!?” He shouted and raised his father sword as his comrades followed and roared like lions. For today they were not white ravens as they had proved that they belonged within the Kingdome. They earned their right by blood and honour. It took thirty-five squires and the sun to sink into a mellow place for camp to be made. The camp was set down at a green valley away from the fighting, the soldier’s enjoying the sweet wines of victory in the mean time. Raziel knew a messenger was awaiting him so he started to make his way to his tent near the southern end. He entered the tent and observed a figure robed in red and black that that was held together by a pin. That pin was the seal of Kain, patiently, the red robed one spoke: ” I, behalf of King Kain, come to seek the knowledge for the Land of Gier, the one who holds the key to the door that always stays shut and bearer of the true rose” “How nice that Kain couldn’t come himself. ” Raziel answered, well: “I, Raziel of Mescheren that bore the promise of old, bows to thee who holds the key and rose. I bring glad tidings for thee. Augendorf belongs to the kingdom of Kain, as it was promised to him”. Raziel stood within then compound of his tent.  A humble but yet elegant space with a bed that was lined with silk.  Two torches that were pulsating on both side from his shoulders, one to the left and one to the right.  The atmosphere was dense, a typical atmosphere that shrouded bitter sweet victory after a typical battle.  Raziel had grown accustomed to it, yet some of his younger comrades were yet to taste this ambient surrounding.  The red robed one stood there with yellow eyes that flinched ever so often.  “Great. This one has been drinking from the temple of the rose.  How long before I have to take his head off? ” “I am honoured to speak to thee.  If we could move to the payment?” Raziel concluded with a question.  In essence this is what it was all about.  The true meaning of being a mercenary.  “Son, always fight for the winning site.  So even when the bounty is bad, it’s good.” his father had schooled him on the morrow of the day when he became a man.  A man of the people that wielded his sword so well that it became an extension of himself.  A man that shared his mead and wine with the people that surrounded him.  The thoughts of the past raged within him, temporarily forgetting the stranger that stood before him.  The wind hauled like a lone wolf praying to the moon that shined the light upon the night sky.  The wind moved and jerked the tent consisting of leather that was reinforced to sustain the winds of the night as well as the brutal winds of winter.  Winter was bad.  It somehow always was.  It often was the harvest that saved them, but this year even the harvest was fruitless regardless of how much work that was placed into the farm.  It was as fertility had left the soil as some great God has willed it.  But what gods would want such a thing for the people.  The people of yatzi would tell you that the God of shera, the one who had been left to wield for himself would want such a thing.  He was a god of cruelty that fought with the Lord of noor for the world.  Lord of noor being the God of light and the Lord of shera being the God of darkness.  It was too simple, this view of the divine.  Lost in thought, Raziel hadn’t realised that two leather purses had fallen to the table, originating from the robed man. Clearing his throat, he spoke: “500 gold pieces and 500 silver pieces.  As it was promised.” His voice was that of an old man that had drunk too much liquor. It was cranky and rusty but was not unpleasant. This is wrong.  “This is not what was promised.  The contract stated 200 gold pieces and 250 silver pieces. ” Raziel retaliated.  Even though the coin was good.  He could only think of the amount of armor and arms that could be purchased, the repairs that could be done and the patching up of his soldiers.  Timur had been wounded badly and was in deer need of sorceress.  The sorceress are better than the sorcerer as the male counterpart were sly and unreliable.  In the attempts to heal your wounds, they often relied upon rather unorthodox method, sometimes questionable methods.  “My young Lord.  The contract has changed.  Now take thee bounty and spend it well.  Upon this day, know.  Many things will occur unto you, yee shall be a great warrior for the world to bear witness.  Many things will be offered, many things will be taken from thee.  But do not forget your flesh and soul shall be thy payment for all.” Raziel was struck in surprise.  The coin he would gladly put in his pocket, but he could only stand there in his silver armor.  The robed one moved towards the torch to the right of Raziel.  He was wearing no foot wear, barefoot with soles that appeared to be thick as leather.  The hand of the robed one moved to the fire, held within the torch. “What are you doing?  You going to bu- -” before the words were uttered, the robed one became fire.  Colour dancing around him in a fabulous fashion.  The hungry yellow flames eating eagerly the marooned robes.  The nose of the robed one melting away, and his lips that were becoming thinner and thinner separated for a haunting laugh.  Perhaps this is what he wanted.  What a queer sensation.  Maroon danced upon orange which in turned danced about the eternal yellow of the sun.  It was a dance of fire and flesh.  The smell was, that of human flesh yet, it was accompanied by the smell of sweetness.  Raziel did not understand, a commotion that paralysed the one witnessing the act and grazing the curiosity of the one standing guard outside. 

In a distance, a crow cried and another circled the body of a dead boy that eagerly awaited its meal.  To devour the eyes of the young lad that gave his life for the king of the bandits.  Poor boy, he had no fighting chance against Alexandra.  She was a skilled fighter, and an even better rider.  She stood outside Raziel’s tent when she smelled burned flesh and saw the tent illuminating. Dark memories of the past entering her thought from a door that she kept close at all costs.

Raziel still standing, attempting to move, heard metal strike upon metal.  Alexandra and Jon running into the entrance with their sword hands upon the sheath, ready for anything and everything.  “What in the name of Jaroh?” Now it was all three of them watching the conclusion of the dance.  One final act till only the ashes and some bones remained of the man that had stood before him.  The flames raved, reaching the top of the tent, before giving up.  Nothing left of the man that had a young complexion and skin as pale as milk, no ash was more precise.  Raziel, now escaping the magical charade that held unto him like a common thieves that ventured into the dungeons of the Hierbachs keep.  He turned his attention to the twins.  “I don’t understand what we three have witnessed.  Yet I have the feeling we cannot just tell anybody about this. ” the twins nodded, Jon later than Alexandra.  Might have been he wasn’t sure or was still digesting what was happening, but Raziel had more pressing matters to attend to.  “Raziel. I know you may not want to say much now.  But you need to tell us what happen.  We are part of this now.  Thanks to our curiosities.  So come in your own time. You just can’t go around and burn people that belong to his Kingdome.  You idiot! ” the latter was more statement then question but it was enough to get his mind back in place.  “It wasn’t like that.  He walked towards the flame of the torch.  Before I knew what was happening he was a blaze, nothing that I could have done without risking myself to be set a light, too.” Raziel explained while pointing towards the torch on the right.  Jon, did not like this.  It was written upon his face.  Jon never liked politics, though.  He liked the fighting, the blood baths, the sudden battle rage that dwelled inside of him that he suppressed everyday into a dark corner of his soul and mind.  Driving him a little more mad every day,  but Alexandra was always there to mend him.  No matter how bad it got,  no matter how mad he got,  no matter how unhuman he became.  Now that all 3 were standing there,  together and the wind continuing to howl,  perhaps not at the moon,  but at them today for what they had witnessed. “forget this for now.  We have gotten paid.  Let’s celebrate,  I reckon we deserve it. ” Raziel suggested smiling at both at them.  Alexandra was truly beatiful with her shortened blond hair and red lips that reminded a man of summer wine.  Her eyes were as warm as spring that knocked upon winters door and the colour of green of that on a summer hill.  The three of them left together, while a crow circled upon their heads, crying for the red robed one that had passed from This world and perhaps casted into oblivion.

 

Kain

“All rise!” the trumpets singing their sweet music into the ears of the court.  The hall in which they stood was magnificent.  It was 250 feet high and double in length.  A huge corridor that never had an issue with holding 2000 people at once in a room.  On each side of the walls,  there were a mirage of windows that were drowned in the holy colours of the house Edel.  One of the ancient and most powerful house in the realm that tracked their descendants from the great Sarafaran.  Many believed house Edel had many secrets that allowed them to topple other regimes when fighting began.  Some secrets were not so easily hidden, such as animals that were sacrificed to appease their gods of old.  They followed an older tradition of blood, that ran within their veins and drank the wine of the serk.  A delicious wine,  that once tasted could never be put down.  It made them stronger in fight,  and eased the pain of the battle  and those who were unfortunate enough to be removed from battle, leaving them depraved from the wine of serk,  often begun to shake irreversible.  The shakes,  were from the devil’s that were consumed through the wine.   It did not help that the colour of the wine was blood red. Perhaps it was blood from an ancient beast that may be kept somewhere in the dungeon underneath this great castle that was leached every day in order to dampen its strength.  The question was for how long will it dwell inside this prison before raging out of here and killing everything.  The beast would not care to what blood line the people it devoured belonged to, in his eyes we were just meat not nobles and peasants.  As the trumpets were raised and lowered, the King’s guard of Kain marched into the hall.  Accompanied by the white ravens.  A great honour of a mercenary group to be in the present of such a holy place.  The room echoed the past of the vampire construction, with each stroke of their design their elegance moved from left to right.  Flowers that were measled at the top that became small flowers and moved to roses small and big on the top of their heads.  A dome in which the holy words of the vampire lord was written.  Mankind had already forgotten the language that now were just beautiful lines that once held great meaning.  Kain sat eagerly into his throne, sank into it.  A hand upon his throne that was 5 feet high that had stairs to the top of the seat.  The stairs were marble, the throne was hard iron,  bronze and an another metal that was rarely found within this world.  It is said, the throne consists of common metal to represent the common people, the other half of the throne is not from earthly plane but fell from the heavens above that represented the nobles and the different houses.  The black stone had fallen from the heaven in a desolate place, without harming anyone it was said.  Therefore the people of the different houses, before the reign of Kain and before his father’s father sat the throne shall consists of this metal.  It must have been a divine message.  Kain could not care for what the throne consisted.  The place was heavily lit, fire on each side of throne, it was nightfall and natural light had long faded.  It was the day of the vampires now, but Kain doubted he had to use his vampire hunters tonight.  Today,  Kain wore simple breeches as he was riding his horse hunting for game.  The top was a simple shirt that had a robe to fasten it around his chest.  Simple.  Only his pin of the rose shined with a golden glaze that differentiated him from the rest.  The room continue after the throne for a good 200 feet that connected the throne room to the whisper chambers.  The chamber was were war plans were made,  marriage pacts broken or mended and assassination cunningly planned.  Kain only hoped that he had been present for every meeting that occurred within.  He did not want to be on the losing side,  but he doubted that he would let this happen.  For he trusted no one here,  as no one here was his friend.  The trumpet roared again as the soldiers representing different mercenaries group entered. Not all of the members had the honour of being in the presence of Kain, only the one that seemed politically fruitful. 755 Soldiers marched in, the metal clanged on metal, the stamping of their boots became a rhythm that perhaps a brigade of singers could add their sweet voices, yet none was heard. The soldiers became to a halt as they approached the throne that shimmered in its oil and black. 9 rows formed, the leader of each and at the front facing Kain. The trumpets roared for a final time with the announcement following in short burst: “Kain the gallant stands before thee. The one who bears the true rose, the protector of man, who yields the one true sword. Kain Edel stands before as the true bearer of the throne.” As the announcement concluded (Kain had grown tiresome of his title, after hearing it too many times) the soldiers in their armor of metal bend their knee and bowed. As some great power was commanding them, there was no power but that of words that had passed down generation. “Rise my true man. There is no need for these formalities. Take your helms into your left arms and let me witness your faces.” Kain commanded and waved his right hand that rested upon the arm of the throne. He had no interest in talking to a bunch of morons in metal. He wanted to see their faces, their likeness, their scars, their love and their hate. Perhaps he would find someone who not entirely seemed to be willing to his cause. Now that be an event that everyone in this court would remember. The first man he saw was Otto the mute. A shaved man that coloured his lips blue. A tradition that was followed by the people who lived within the forest of old. Oily brown hair that was more a patch then hair itself, bushy eyes brows that not quite formed a unibrow. Underneath them, were the eyes that restlessly moved within the white balls, the grey dots moving left to right observing the room, the question was for what exactly? His banner was a simple elder tree, that was anchored with its ancient roots in soil that was coloured red. A rope hanging from one of the great branches. Otto the mute, was not really mute. He had grown accustomed to take sacred silent vows before joining the battle. It first seemed as a disadvantage but in true scenarios it was the smart thing to do. When there is less talk about what could happen, thinking allowed the right strategies to be placed. That only could be achieved by talking less and thinking a lot more. The next two facing kain were brothers. Mickel and Johan Engst. Both had their own mercenary group that they commanded. Yet they never fought apart from each other. Both independent that were joined together by blood. Johan was the elder by 1 name year. The contrast between the two was overwhelming. Johan had half a nose were Mickel had a slight round one. Both had chubby cheeks and hair so grey they could pass for old peasant within alley ways of Gier. Eyes that were haze, invited the smiles of strangers with thin lips and a beard that they each coloured differently. Mickel had a maroon beard whereas Johan had a blonde beard. Who was stronger? None of them knew for sure, their strength could only be tested when one turned against the other in a savage attempt to dominate. But that hadn’t happen yet and Kain was hopeful. Both had suffered losses, Johan half a nose and Mickel his tongue. In the battle that took place on the Land of the borrowed dead, he was pierced by a long spear through his lower jaw, by a cowardly attempt of the enemies when he strived for one last kill before he passed on. The tongue was not all lost, the sorcerer managed to scavange some of it. Of course that price was paid with Mickel own horse, more precisely his horses tongue and the blood of his brother. Mickel spoke with a lisp and left most of the speaking to Johan. Would anyone take him serious? Perhaps his sword and skill would answer, but he had no wish to rattle against his men. Next was Daniel the necromancer, shoulder to shoulder with Mickel and Robert Arms. He was at the motion of taking his skull shaped helmet off his head and holding it with both his hands, protecting his crotch. Eye socket that acted as the holes for the eyes, pointy teeths that may have belonged to a beast from a dawn before man walked the soil underneath their feet. His group consisted of the living and dead. Often he would only need his living man, as Daniel was a great strategist, only when the battle seemed hopeless he would raise the dead (his men and the men of his enemies alike) to fight for him. They were sloppy beings that cared more to be fed then to take an active role in battle. Ever since the day he had lost his first battle against Kain he swore his soul and flesh to him. Now,  he had been capturing territories on his behalf. That was the moment when the rumours started. A mere men could not be victorious against a necromancer, clearly the blood of the vampires dwelled inside of him. “Soon when he captures everything, watch when he brings back his true brethren and our children scream in agony, wondering where the bliss of the eternal sun has wandered. It is that moment when we realise in what deep shit we are in.” This was often the case within the tavern, where the dark, bitter mead was drunk in quantities that blinded some and killed others. Such thing was absurd. All the people really knew was that Kain managed to bend the knee of a necromancer, if he was a true an ally. Only time could tell. His eyes cold as the wind of winters that sang their songs of the longing warmth of summer. A glistering blue, filled with magic from the depths of darkness. It was said, that Daniel was as old as the first tree that was planted within the gardens of qurban in front of the mountain over a century ago. That tree was now a strong oak tree that has witnessed many blood sheds.  A great tree that branched into thick arms that beared leaves of different colours in autumn and green bright leaves within the summer. More than 4 man were required to encircle the tree. It stood 200 feet high, its bark had cracks running from the top to bottom and green moss running around in webs of green in various forms and shapes. It was naturally beautiful. There it stood within the fountains of qurban along with its neighbouring brothers that beard witness to the eldest and wisest among their kind. The great of the wise. Kain had never as much paid heed to the tree, if it was for him he would rip it from its root and cast it into fire to warm his bed chambers. But the damn thing had thicker roots that would take weeks with the saw and damage a sword, the effort to remove it was just too high. He also feared that perhaps some of his men would be hesitant to burn it. Folk believe can sometimes be a nuisance, but that strove him even harder to remove this tree. He would not let his men be challenged by a tree, Gods be damnd. That age of the tree did not reflect upon the face of Daniel, he had a young complexion with muscle on every inch of his body. Necromancers are often remembered as weak creatures that run around in hooded robed and use cunning actions to prevail in their existence. That was the opposite of Daniel the necromancer, at large he did not look different from any of the other men, only his white hair that was corrupted from all the dark magic he performed stood as a sign. His skin was that of a dark olive. Slightly brown yet light with a nose so thin that it appeared it did not even belong in his face. The lips seemed ordinary with pink flesh and a shaved jaw line that followed behind. An overall handsome face with ears that appeared ordinary. The chandelier hang from the ceiling above that held little crystals that reflected the light of the pulsating torches. That light was reflected upon the silver armor that bore no banner, but a skull on the right chest plate. Simple and powerful, as the man himself. Daniel nodded his head and Kain nodded back, in approval. “Whatever that meant.” Next in line were not so well known leader of groups that perhaps did not perform to the liking of Kain. These individual had no helmet in the first place, apart from the last leader who stood in armor that reflected the light splendidly. John the brutal, Ezekiel the defiant, Robert Arms all stood in their boiled leather outfit. They had not taken the time to be placed into armor yet as Robert was holding his steel in hand. He always had that problem, never knew when to put the sword down and sheath it. Kain had grown accustomed to him, a broad man that trained day and night that had the appearance of a bear with muscles that stood tall like mountains on his shoulders, thigs, arms and legs. A round face, which resembled that of a wild boar, Kain thought in amusement “Perhaps he even grunts like one”. His face was ordinary, with brown eyes and a bushy beard and a bald head that only contained reminiscent of hair. The woollen top was already exhausted on the thickness of his muscle, 6 foot 5 in height he commanded a strong army and was the strongest within his Kingdome. Kain was glad he had his power, for now. Mercenaries go and leave when they like, that was the issue with them. They had no honour that bound them. Perhaps one of the younger one seek glory than battle. Next to Robert, a much taller person should have stood. But there was a younger person with lanky legs and arms that appeared too weak to even hold a sword itself. Kain was curious “Now, what do we have here?”, Kain pointed his finger with the arm that rested to the individual:” I was expecting Sebasting the worthy. Who are you? What are you doing in his place?” Kain asked the boy who shacked as sweat poured from his brow. “He is rather nervous. I wonder what happen. The fighting could have not been that bad.” Every feature of the boy, screamed weakness. His arms, skinny, His eyes seemed to not even dare to gaze upon Kain or the throne. His hand shook nervously and his legs trembled in fear. Green eyes were piercing through empty space with neatly folded eyes brows that were covered by long black hair. His colour was a healthily tanned, but as Kain spoke the colour drained from his face. “Your grace, I am peter of Baylight. Lord Commander, Sebasting the Worthy had been wounded. Sorcerers have been at his bedsides for nights and days and still resides within the blessed river where another 500 men have drawn camp.” A brief pause that allowed him speak. Kain could tell that his mouth was dry and was struggling to speak. “If he fought in the battle, why is he nervous? He is afraid of something else entirely…..” The boy contained that stood in boiled leather too big for his build. “I bring glad tiding and tidings of despair. The blessed river has been captured and is now part of the Kingdom of Kain. The other part of the message is perhaps left to a more private setting. The sorceress and sorcerers are hopeful that Sebasting may survive, the coming nights will his trial of life and death”. Kain nodded. “Peter of Baylight. Once this event has passed, reside within the chambers of whispers. I want to hear all. Do not leave anything out. Now go and refresh yourself, I can smell your stink from the throne.” At the very last of the row. Stood Raziel of Mescheren. His group of white ravens had made excellent progress in their stature. The messenger that was send to him, had not returned either. That was queer and mistrust was residing in Kain for this man. His Hair was charcoal black, a pointy nose with black eyes that was common with the people of Mescheren yet a rarity within Nasgarth. His Hair was wavy and pointed downwards to his eyes, yet it never touched it. It bathed within the light as his was illuminated showing the pale skin that bore some red scars of previous battle. Clean shaved with a tight jaw line, he looked different yet could fit into any category of man. He, did not stood out apart from his black eyes. “Raziel of Mescheren. I have not received word from Mirkan. I had send him to you but he never returned. Perhaps you know where he wandered off?” Kain asked. “Your grace, that is matter I would like to discuss in private. It was, lets say very suprising what occurred.” Raziel answered in coolness while staring at Kain directly. “More bad news. I had my share of it already. First the horrific marriage pacts and now two strange man want to talk in the chambers of whispers.” “So be it.” He waved his hand “What is the word of the battle?”                         “Your grace I bring glad tidings. Augendorf now belongs to thee” Raziel finished. “The high speech of Mescheren. How I hate that form of speech. If it wasn’t for the ruins that lied there now upon the destruction set that caused the fire to rain from the heavens. Drowning the men into destruction I would have gladly killed all of them myself. Why did father allow them to enter this Land?  I had to destroy the bridge. I care not if they believed it would make some old God angry. I have made many Gods angry, including my own father.” Raziel nodded in acceptance.           “Raziel of Mescheren, you have proven to be a worthy ally. Go and take Peter of Baylight along into the Chambers of whispers. I will gather my council and then we shall discuss. I hope that’s the only thing I will have to do. “Now for the man who have brought victory to my house. The tables have been set. Cider and Wine with strong old mead is awaiting your presence. The dining Halls are to the very left of the chambers. Singers will arrive soon and the food will be served heartily. Eat my men and rejoice for the Victory you have brought me. I will bless you with my presence as soon as these formalities have ended.” Kain stood as he finished his parting words and the trumpets roared for an unnecessary time. As he walked towards the chamber Uma approached Kain. He wanted to say something but Kain interrupted his start: “The one with the trumpets. Take of the small finger from his left hand. If he screams, cut off his tongue and brew it in a stew, it be his supper.” With a smile Uma answered “Your grace you believe that is wise. The trumpets had been part of this house for many generation. Even Joroh rejoiced with their sound when he sang this world into existence. Some of these houses believe it’s a sacred honour, to blow the trumpets for the King and Gods.” Uma questioned with his deceiving smile and fat belly that made it awkward for him to walk. It had been years when he once wore breeches. Now he dresses himself in Silk of different colours. Around his body leaving his right nipple exposed. “An ugly tradition within the house of Kamli” Kain knew he had spoken reason. It would have been mistake. Today Uma was dressed in the holy colours of Yellow and maroon. The maroon over his shoulder and the yellow popping in all over his lower body. It was loose, very loose. It seemed that Uma had been losing weight but Kain had no interest in what this veil creature did in its free time. “ I suppose fucking a whore is much quicker If one dresses himself in simple lines of clothes” Kain stared into brown eyes that were placed in his fat face that was shaved apart from a thin black moustache. “Fine. Give five dragon coins to each of the trumpeters and sent them to the blessed river. Help them entertain Sebasting the worthy. Otto the mute will be escorting the party. A mare from each from our stable. Otto the mute shall be given thirty and none dragon coins. After the feast of course” Kain smiled as he finished his command. Uma bowed and whispered:” It will be done as you say. I be at the chambers of whispers, your grace. ”

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