Eight years. Eight years and it was finally over. Bloodied arms were finally lowered; the fires of hatred which burned in each man's soul were supposedly quenched. The damaged had been done, however: hundreds were left homeless due to the evacuation of the decimated kingdoms which once stood as the imperial empires of Invernia and Kelethera. But time marches on, and the human spirit has countless times withstood the tests of hardships. The damage had been done, and now the denizens of Merifalti must come together to pay the reparations for their rulers.

The divine plan once again unfurls itself...

Bernard's scabbard banged heavily against his armored suit, which shone brilliantly in the waning light of the afternoon sun. Packets of shadow enguled the land as smoke blanketed the tumulous lands of the Invernian kingdom. Servants could actively be seen repairing the rampart walls, which had all but crumbled from attack, all the while conversing and laughing heartily amongst themselves. Some distance away several villager's houses were alight in flames. Peasently, ragged folks of all ages and walks of life breathed life into the area as they carted containers to and fro, filled with water, ash, dust -- anything that could absolve the flames of combat. Both serfs and knights alike were resigned to the task of giving the deceased their final respects as the bodies of the fallen were escorted by any and all means to their resting. A plethora of emotions welled up within Bernard's emerald green eyes, which looked towards the horizon. It was not too long before sunset...one of Rangol's servants hastily made his way towards the knight, his crimson garbs rippling in his strides. Jared's fly-away blonde hair only accentuated his youth; however, his amber eyes gave the impression of age and experience. He had the ability to add challange to such a simple task as requesting Bernard present himself to the king. Once the message was deciphered, a simple nod and the crowning of his helm over his brunette locks sent Bernard on his way towards the castle gates.

This is madness, thought Laurana as she contemplated for the tenth time what she was going to do. This was perhaps the hardest decision she'd made in years. The repricussions of this moment could mean life and death... Aww what the hell. She put her bow, arrows and twin knives in the chest, locked it, and smiled for the first time in what seemed like ages. The war was over, no more worrying. At 16 years of age, Laurana had already had more than her fair share of worries. For the past year she'd been acting as a skirmisher, defending the refugee camps from either of the two armies that came close. She'd quickly learned over that time that an unarmed soldier was usually a dead one. but now it was finally over. With a contented sigh, she ran outside, in something other than leather armor for once, and laughed as if the weight of the world had just been taken off of her shoulders.

*Grady's short blade had fallen down swifty only to be brought to a halt by Ebil's own weapon. Delivering a swift kick to his mid section Grady was sent to the ground. Ebil threw himself back, distancing himself from the once proud warrior.

Don't do this man, we've got a history together.....

Grady sat up, breathing heavily and muttering under his breath. Ebil was a good man, and he had known him for probably all of his life, they grew up together in the poor region of the kingdom, until the war started. Those dark times. Grady sighed deeply as he reminensced of the times recently past, that final battle. Finally bringing himself to his feet, he again spoke to Ebil.

I need to know, did I really deserve to live?

Grady....

A loud creaking; the moaning of cast iron; the scraping of rust all filled the air as the humongous onyx gate before Bernard rose and suspended itself precariously by simple black chains. Chains of weak constitution strained under the gate's tremendous weight, and the snapping of a single link was all that was necessary to send the gateway hurtling to the ground and upon both Jared and Bernard. A cry of panic arose from the wenchworker, narrowly alerting the young commisionaire and the chivalrous knight. A crash; an upheaval of earth as the spines adorning the bottom of the gate forcibly plunged into the ground; Bernard grasped Jared's arm in hopes to rescue him from this impending peril, but as the gate leaned forward collapsing to the ground, Bernard's armor would not allow him to move quickly enough. A second crash; Jared cries in anguish as his leg is pinned underneath the massive weight and torn by the decorative yet rusted trimmings. In a flash Bernard's helm is removed as his distressed eyes began to tear. He bent down in a noble but futile attempt to free Jared's leg, but for one man alone the gate was much too heavy. The look of fear in the young child's face made the scene only more traumatic as bystanders came only to stare at the spectacle.

The month had ended.

Edraum slammed the end of his staff into the soil. After so many days and nights of traveling through the lands, he did not find anything satisfying. He found it ironic and dissapointing, his home was more desirable then the war-torn lands before him. His vision caught hardly more then a dozen people, all of them concentrating on rebuilding their battle-eroded homes. He sighed, wondering if he should simply venture the return to his home, though he didn't feel that would satisfy him in the end as well. His face became distraught, and with a sluggish stride foward, he continued his aimless journey.

Laurana, on her well developed instincts and intuition, had gone to see the heralds of peace actually enter the kingsdom. Everything had been going well, until...
Likew a scene from a nightmare, the gate crashed down on top of the young messenger. Accident or not, blood would surely spill, and not just his. Hastily, she turned and ran for the village, cursing herself for thinking there could ever be peace.

(James if i interpreted it wrong just say so and i'll change it)

Edraum had traveled farther, finding many things adding to his distaste. It dissapointed him, to find the world he lived in was nothing particulary special. Even within the good-looking exterior of an area, there was always some kind of evil or corrupted group that allowed it's prosperity to fall.
After several more days, of nothing more or less of previous discoveries, he had found himself in a blur of restlessness. He ripped open his books, trying to find an answer. Anything he could find, he would accept. Yet, at some moment he had realized that continuing the process had only put him in his position.
One moment he had adored his books, prying them for their wisdom.


Yet, the next he was burning them.

*Grady had been standing alongside Ebil during the incident, too involved in his own situations to care about the rest of the world until the window he hid behind was shattered by the screams of the villagers as they watched the titantic gate which granted entryway into the town crush a young man before them...

Shit! What the hell was that? Ebil quickly sputtered, trailing off as he started to dart toward the commotion. Grady followed; his worn armor gleamed a dull light that reflected from the quickly darkening sky above him.

He remembered when the armor would blind others in the light....how proud a warrior he once was, and how the pride came to destroy him in the end...the memories in his head pulsed quickly and strong, making Grady hide under his pain, trying to step back from the light that shined against his armor....

The crushing....
the power....
the destruction...
the war....
the death......
...and the mockery....

placing the blades he had out against Ebil for his fatal request, he began to follow him, his footsteps stomped on the ground, weighted down with the deaths of thousands and the dust they kicked up was another soul smothered as it tried to escape.

----

Villagers all recoiled in fear as they saw the aftermath of the incident, a dead body....one of an ambassador...this was bad, this was really bad.

Looks like an accident....

Grady coldly snapped back You better hope so....

Grady had thought the war had ended, but instead it had only been hiding.

Bernard's helmet clattered to the now blood-soaked ground and became smattered like much of his armor. He did not care however, as every fiber of his being strained beyond capacity to free Jared. The weight only continued to press upon the frail, helpless body, and the bystanders that looked on with eccentric curiosity seemed repellent to aid in the struggle. Even the wenchworker stood by in apprehensive awe. Bernard's effort became evidently vain as the signs of pain and struggle dissapeared from Jared's face, only to be replace by a pale, inert appearance. The light faded from the child's eyes as bernard called out in agony for help.

"Please, someone, anyone -- don't simply stand there! For the love of Christ, help!! ...Please..."

Bernard's cries were stifled by the appearance of yet another messenger in the now destroyed entryway - much more on in years, even moreso than Bernard, wearing similar garbs to that of any aid of Rangol VIII. Neatly groomed gray hair accentuated the wrinkles of his forehead and thin jawbone, and complimented his gray eyes of a deeper intensity. Neither man knew each other, so it was no challange for him to deliver the cold, detached reminder to Bernard:

"Please make haste, Sir Bernard. You should not keep the King waiting for long. Now come."

Bernard could not help but look on in secretive disgust as the aid simply walked back into the entrance. He had no choice to comply though, and took several large strides over the fallen gate and entered the inner sanctum of the castle. His footprints sullied the carpet as the circle of on-looking vultures closed upon its prey.

Every week, their monitoring had been temporarily halted by a trek up to the mountain range that lay north of the forests that lay between both kingdoms...
The war had ended. That's when it had begun, the grand scheme... And now, over the last two months, they had finally gotten everything prepared... Routine was to stay in the shadows. Week after week, until an opportunity arose.
Today, there was something to report.
On Invernia's side of the range, the weary footsteps of Nathan he had easily spotted with his scopes, but he did nothing as his brother walked to the pre-supposed cliff, stoutly, stubbornly continuing on, despite the harsh winds that blew here...
From the opposite mountain peak, Thomas stood, his gangly form kneeled down, invisible to anyone from Kelethera, wrapped in his immense, perfectly white trench coat, intersprinkled bits of brown and green just barely visible where the paint met the creases less effectively than he'd hoped... But since it only helped enhance the effect, he did nothing, naturally. His white fedora pulled over his hair, also white, completed the ensemble. His unnaturally blue right eye scanned his brother's trek, while his left struggled to do the same, despite a harsh cataract as a result of a chemical mishap, his thin face watching emotionlessly.
The range was split here. A natural canyon formed deep where a glacier had passed, eons ago, making an almost serrendipitous boundary between the once warring kingdoms. A single rope bridge, barely used, and worn from the elements, was all that crossed the frozen expanse.
Here was where they met, each week, under the guise of blizzard, to speak.
Nathan finally reached the peak, and, retreating into a hollow on the side of the cliff, lit his lamp.
Thomas pulled his out, and lit it as well, keeping the flame of the candle well inside his coat lining, and of the sphere itself, covering the lamp's front lightly with its flat, leather covering. The lamps were really nothing more but half-spheres of mirrors, reflective surfaces inward, with a place for a candle inside. The mirrors redoubled the light many times over, and allowed them to speak without crossing the perilous canyon needlessly, in the form of a well-versed code.
Thomas flashed his signals first, in a rapid series of blinking lights.
"HELLO BROTHER"
After a moment, the lamp on the other side of the mountain began blinking back.
"SOMETHING HAS HAPPENED"
This was new. Thomas raised an eyebrow, and quickly flickered his response.
"SOMETHING NEW TO REPORT"

"RANGOL HAS SENT AN EMISSARY"

"TO MICHEL ?"

"YES SHALL WE MOVE OUT ?"

"YOU KNOW THE ANSWER"

"I'LL MEET YOU AT THE BASE OF YOUR SIDE"

Nathan walked carefully along the creaking wood and frayed rope of the ancient walkway. He was very careful, as it seemed the bridge would give out under the weight of the inventor's muscular bulk and heavy plate armor. He wished that his brother had been the one to have to cross the bridge, surely Thomas' wiry frame and light trenchcoat would barely disturb the delicate structure. He shrugged it off when he reached the other side and breathed a heavy sigh of relief, his breath turning to steam and slowly rose towards the brightening sky.

Nathan came opon Thomas's camoflaged tent that overlooked the castle of Kelethera, as the first signs of dawn appeared over the tall pines of the northern forest. Inside of the tent Thomas sat in front of a small fire, his wiry hands polishing his rifle, making it shine dimly in the gloom. Because of their distant observance of the two kingdoms it had been a long time since either brother had seen the other. Although no great brotherly love was ever shown between the two, Nathan was glad to see the gangely technologist and placed a large hand firmly on his brother's shoulder, he spoke in a rather amiable tone, his deep voice filled the tent with the sound of his mirth. "Thomas, glad to see you still alive."

Thomas glanced up from his rifle with a look of cheer in his good eye, and responded with a simple "And you as well, brother." The two often acted more like buisness assiciates than family, and although having spent a great deal of time apart Thomas turned his attention back to polishing the delicate brass and iron mechanisms of his rifle. "What did you have in mind?"

Nathan had already taken the heaver parts of his armor off and began to wipe the melting snow off of the crimson-trimmed black armor so there would be no rust. Nathan sat infront of the fire and staired at it, fire always seemed to have a mesmerizing effect on him. The smoke rose to the center of the tent where it reached a filter so no smoke could be seen leaving the tent. "The perfect scapegoat for an assasination left Invernia not long ago, at a knight's pace he should already be within the city. A personal knight of Rangol, he has seen many campaigns and likely many friends die from the war. He will be but a sword's distance from Michel himself to deliver a message, the perfect oportunity for a weary fighter to take his revenge, don't you think?"

Thomas took his attention off the cleaning of his rifle finally and his good e ye glimmered. "Indeed, the perfect opertunity, shall we toss the coin?" Nathan frowned. He knew that, being closet to the king, it would make the most sence for him to simply take care of the problem. However Nathan was not about to act against a tradition that went back before they even began to speak. "As easy as it would be for me to simply do the task, I don't wish to tarnish Father's memory." Nathan pulled out a simple and well worn silver coin, simple currency in their homeland. Whenever a trivial dispute arose between the two in their younger days their father would flip the old coin and there would not be another word spoken, the arguement would be settled. He did not need to ask what side his brother would choose, from the first time the coin had been flipped the side with the bear on it had been Nathan's, the side with the Cobra had been Thomas'. The coin turned in the air a number of times before resting on the back of Nathan's gauntlet, the eyes of a cobra stairing up to meet his. "Damn it, father, I could have used this one. We should prepare quickly, the knight will not be there long. No more than three hours of rest."

Basil sat in a small house he had built himself. the front was a small office because he was a mercenary and people would need to hire one every so often and the back was where he lived. his house didnt seem like much...really only a bed and a small kitchenet area where he prepared all his foods.....but he rarely used it for food. he used it more for repairing his weapons. the rest of his house was filled with bookshelves with books on the dark art of magic and prophecies in the magic world and such. he had mastered the elemental magic, now he was working on more. the reaso? he needed to be prepared for his fights with the people who remained after his dismissal from the academy in which he trained to be a swordsman.

"i will get even......and when i do...i will be a force to be reckoned with for i will be known as THE best swordsman in the world." he started as he began to read up on necromancy. "and when i am known.....i will also be the most feared mercanary ever" he said as he shut the book and went outside with his weapons to go catch himself some food.

"Ah, Sir Bernard! One of my most celebrated knights! You are a perfect choice for the task at hand."

King Rangol VIII had a very charismatic, to say the least, personality. A powerful voice with a build to match, his slightly rounded figure accentuated itself with each massive breath he took. His full, black facial hair followed the contours of his proud face and complimented his black locks, that flowed in wild curls from under his bejewled crown. Before his presence, both Bernard and the emissary were on their knees; while Bernard was eventually permitted to look upon Rangol, the mesender kept his head lowered to the floor. If not for the eventual blinks or inhalations the guards against each wall and near the chamber entrance were forced to allot themselves, they could have been considered nothing more than statues. Bernard finally found the courage to speak...

"My lordship, if I may be so bold.."

"Yes, yes, I shall continue. The kingdoms of this great nation have been plunged into an unstable balance as of late, with the end of that horrid war. We must unite again, and I wish for Invernia to correct the wrongs of the past and offer an alms to the kingdom of Kelethera and King Michel."

With a clap of Rangol's hands, a servant next to his Lord's throne stepped forward and dropped to one knee, holding forth on outstretched palms a parchment covered in formal script.

"This parchment was created with King Michel's disgression, and will permit you to enter the kingdom of Kelethera. You are not to stay, however, for Michel must be escorted here so that we may begin negotiations. Thus, I have chosen you for this task. Take any of my men and any provisions you will need for your trip and leave as soon as possible; preferably before the sunset."

Another clap of Rangol's hands; the servant returned to her former position next to the King, and Bernard and the emissary both stood and bowed briefly.

"I shall take my leave soon, for there is not much aid that I can ask of you or your men. With conditions permitting, King Michel shall arrive before a thrid sunset. Once again I thank you, my liege."

Excellent. Then we shall soon have peace...

Goddamnit! We're idiots! We just let that kid die!
Grady slammed his fist into the ground before him, ignoring the pain that shot up his arm as it pulled back in resistance. It was a childish display, he knew, acting in a tantrum, and even deep within his heart he knew that there was no way to save the kid. But just....just sitting in the crowd, there could've been something that they could've done. Like that other man, the messager with him....they just pushed him along on his mission.

It reminded him of the war, "The Final March" they called it in the books, as the forces of Ivernia, which he had led had into a new territory, they were trying to 1up the Kelethera army by capturing it and garrisoning it immediatly. The defeat was humiliating, for Ivernia's forces had outnumbered the other army by about 4 times as many men, in fact, it wasn't even know if this army was related to Kelethera at all....

the other army was merciless, forcing them to all march in a straight line as they picked them off with their new technologies...Grady could only watch as his troops were all shot down and killed, forced to continue onward unless he wished to suffer the same fate. Of course, he should've done SOMETHING, they would shoot him anyway...he just marched onward, only looking back for about three or four people, as he saw their young faces distort surprised as their lives faded away. Finally, it was his turn to be shot....and they let him live.....they let him live, and everyone else died.


There was nothing we could do, Grady...the kid was good as dead, even if he got out, internal injuries would've done him in.

Ebil was right, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

You're right....I have to get out of this place...too much to face these people every day, I want to see the peace declared....

We can follow that messager back to Kelethera then....

Then we shall do that...

And so they waited outside of the mightly gates of Ivernia, which lay deep in a mountainous area, in fact it'd probably be a quarter of a kilometer before the landscape got very difficult to navigate. However the land was not unkempt, and a long river that ran through the kingdom had served to the people a symbol of unity. Grady and Ebil sat at the coast of the river, Ebil had been at the river often, as was Grady, being poor children they had to bathe in it as well as use it as their primary supply of water...there were worse things in the world, Grady figured. His confidant still had the look of a poor man, a deep salmon colored bandana atop his dark skinned head and cracked face, clothing that was baggy and tattered. He looked to be about 32, when he truth he was 27, a few years younger than Grady.

What do you think we'll even find in Kelethera?

We need to be looking for something in order to find it....

Grady had felt a wind in the air, and he knew that he wasn't alone, deep upon on the mountain tops, someone was watching the kingdom...

Bernard was used to travel. He did not need many provisions, nor did he desire them. At his left side, as per always, hung his broadsword; an engraved cross shrouded with rose-like vines and thorns adorned the hilt. The tightening of leather strands fastened a small satchel to his right. The contents of the satchel: a bladder of water, two pieces of flint, several small skewers, a skinning knife, various other untensils... provisions that would ensure that he may eat tonight. The pack also safely held the parchment that would allow him entrance to Kelethera. The red sky this evening fortold arduous travel come morning, but there was no choice in the matter. Bernard wondered whatever had happened to Jared since he had left for the king's chamber, but he dare not look as he sprinted past the front gates of the kingdom, alone.

The river's waters darkened with the sky, as the setting sun retreated behind the foliage of the dense forests all around Bernard. A path worn into the earth by the feet of countless day laborers, tradesmen, and villagers would guide him for the time being, for the river could not be followed for the whole of the journey. Not far beyond the woodlands the landscape turned very mountainous, which would prove a much more difficult path to take, especially in pitch darkness; the new moon had just risen, and the stars were the only visible source of light. Just then, there was a sudden faltering in Bernard's footsteps; he hungered and was quite exhausted, but time did not allow him to pause. A quick swig from his bladder would satisfy him for the time being.

The highlands provided a great place to rest for the remainder of the night, and upon further inspection of the area an unattended trap was found, which snared an adult Hare. It must have been unattended for several hours now, for the prey no longer struggled; it laid on its side, slowly breathing, no longer seeing any purpose in existance. A crackling fire provided sufficient light for preparing the meal and skewering the meat. Once prepared and seasoned (several wild herbs grew in the nearby areas), it was set down to cook. The flames flickered and danced in the breeze, but it did not take long for Bernard to realize that his fire was not the only light visible; it was nearing dawn. He quickly finished the meal he prepared for himself, which proved to be less filling than he had hoped. Another swig from his ration bladder and he found himself laying on his side, half-asleep. He could allow himself some rest for now. The dying fire was the last thing his eyes beheld before his slumber; the blaring trumpets of the Keletheran guard announced the dawn to all of the kingdom, yet could not stir the knight.

They planned as they trekked, making sure to make good time, knowing the knight would waste no time on a mission of such diplomatic importance. Every step they made, they discussed positions, as they were well experienced in the geography of the Keletarian capital, having made several presentations there. Finally, they came up with a roughwork plan that would allow them to handle most any extra surprises the king might've received that would jeopardize their rendezvous with him. (which, as Thomas' was quick to report, hadn't been much. Peace had made them lax.) It was their bread-and-butter manuver.
While his brother Nathan would be busy scoping the proper entrance for their undoubtedly complex preformance, Thomas would set up his position on the nearest mountain-side to the castle, preferably where no-one would notice him. Thomas would signal over three check-points in the city, allowing Nathan, who, by then would stop by those check-points FOR the signally, would relay his method of getting into the Castle. From there, they'd figure the king would parlay with the knight in the most grandeur of settings; I.E. a banquet in his honor, to seal the pact of pacifism.
So here he sat, calmly in the steepened slopes of the mountain side, several hundred paces from a guard tower, his coat draped out about him, hugging the ground tightly. His hands were drawn in under it, keeping his two pistols hidden. He'd counted, so far, five guards. If he wanted a clean preformance, he'd have to dispose of them. Calmly, he placed two massive, cylindrical casings over the barrels of his pistols, to effectively muffle the shots.
He strolled, slowly, pacing precisely up to the tower, gathering snow on his coat and hat, a rolling snowbank from afar.
He waltzed up, and knocked politely on the wooden door, twice, two quick raps.
The guard opened the door, and was treated to a fine shot through the head, piercing his armor at point-blank. The sound of armor-piercing was the only true noise, besides the poof that the muffler provided. One.
He walked in, turning and firing two shots at guards who rushed in from the other of the two rooms that made up the tower base to help their companion. They dropped, wounded, and he fired again to finish them off. Two and Three...
He had a single bullet left in his pistols, so he pulled out a series of what looked like floormats, but let out a small clank when he tossed them to the second room's entrance, and, as the fourth walked through, they snapped shut, revealing a myriad of spikes hidden just under the stretched surface, that cut into his leg, and made him drop.
Without flinching, Thomas tossed a small, brittle-glassed vial of a special noxious liquid, and the guard collapsed, screaming, before silencing, permanently. Four.
The fifth guard let out a shout, as he was the one currently on watch, and dropped down the ladder in the second room, sword drawn. He saw Thomas standing over the fourth guard, removing the trap, and charged him, only to be downed when he was nearing melee range with the last bullet. Five.
He blew the smoke from the barrel of the pistol that had just fired, and, after but five minutes, had stacked the bodies, neatly removed of their armor and other valuables, in the corner of the second room, and had ascended the ladder when he'd gathered up the trap, and securely bolted the door shut with a series of barrels and supply lockers.
He knelt down as he entered the top floor, under the sides of the parapets, so as not to be seen from any of the other towers, distanced as they were, and carefully assembled himself. He reached into his napsack, and pulled out the High-accuracy Crossbow, and prepared the special arrows Nathan had insisted he use. He was fine using his best rifle, which was modified to load shells quickly, allowing him fast, long-range death. But no, the arrows were a failsafe that he wouldn't ignore. That didn't mean he couldn't use the rifle with some scope attachments on the witnesses... He almost grinned, enjoying his chance to test the accuracy of long-range gunnery. He clicked on several scopes onto the Crossbow and Rifle, and placed a pair of special goggles on his head to keep his accuracy at distance constant. He lifted them, for the moment, and pulled out his signal mirror.
Time to check mission status.

Nathan Kelgar looked almost like a lost kodiak bear roaming the streets of the Kelethera. He moved with a heavy brown cloak drawn over himself and all of his wares. Nathan often overpacked for a job, not having the luxury that his brother had of simply being able to run if things went wrong he made sure he had plenty of nessisary tools. The people who glanced his way gave no pause, he blended in rather well as a merchant lugging merchandise to a nearby shop. When he stopped at the first two checkpoints he made the messages brief, simply informing his brother of his progress. The third checkpoint was close to their objective, Kelethera castle. He neared the impressive building, seeming to be constructed with both defence and beauty in mind. The spires and battlements reached up into the sky with perfect archatectual symetry. Although they caused a weakness in the defences beautifly crafted stain-glass windows were positioned so that they could let in the most light and give attackers as little of an advantage from the large openingas possible. He stood for a moment admiring the ornate windows and perfectly cut stone, almost feeling some regreat that he would have to destroy parts of such expert archatecture and masonry.

Near the third Checkpoint Nathan searched for a place where he could unload his gear and set up a base of operations before Brenard arrived. He found a general store that seemed to give the perfect view of the castle entrence. He pulled the hood back and walked towards the man behind the counter, looking to be in his late thirties. Nathan placed his right hand, with long scars from burns running along his fingers and the back of his hand, on the counter and deposited a few pieces of gold, looking up to the man behind the desk and simply asking. "Will this be enough for you to pack up and leave this place for the night? Your wares will be undisturbed, you can take them with you, I just need this place for one night." The man behind the counter seemed surprised as first and then with a hand knocked the gold from the counter, sending it scattering along the floor. "Get out of here and find an inn, you nut! If you think I'll-" The man never got the chance to finish the sentence, Nathan's axe cut through the man's neck before he could even scream. Before the axe was in full swing the Kelgar brother had pressed a switch that caused the axe to be covered in flame, a mist of flamable oils of Nathan's own invention was sprayed out and flint struck together to produce a spark that was fed by the oil. The cut from the decapitation was instantly cauterised and not a drop of blood fell. Nathan pressed the switch again and the oil spray stopped and he set up the lamp in the store's rear window, kicking the corpse and head to the side. He sent his brother the message detailing the plan for when Brenard would arrive.