The Sea of Chaos - Planetary Subdivision 1 - Continent: Midas
Location: In-Transit between the Great Swampland and the Wood Elf principality of Althia
Time: The fifth of the Solar Year. One year after the disappearance of the Eden Gate.
The Hundred Years' King | Varden | Armageddon
If Balwen could still see, he would have nothing much to observe. The long dusty road stretched before him was covered with nothing but occasional tumble weeds that lightened the dreary beige of the prairie. The wind blew hard across this flat land between the Capital city of Candor and the forests of Althia, and that wind carried the song of the land.
The soft rustle what sparse trees stood tall in the heavy air, to the cresting waves of the tall grass. Even down to the soft calls of wild dogs in the middle distance. The sounds of the world kept Balwen aware that he was alive. That and the constant clinks and rattles of his old and faded golden armor, the sunburst of Candor faded to white over the hundred years that he had worn the armor. He tightened his left and and heaved the Dreamslayer greatsword to his shoulders to ease his burden.
King Balwen was a hundred and twenty eight years old, and having traveled alone for the past fifty or so years after losing his vision, he has been accustomed to seeing things with his ears. A king with a duty to his people, an anomaly in a world of absolute bastards, where even the richest nobles are no different from cutthroats and pickpockets. Balwen has spent the twilight of his life journeying around his country, and to those of his enemies, helping each wayward son or distressed daughter he came across.
Yet even for all his good deeds, and his iconic armor, sword, and travelling partner, no one ever seemed to recognize who he was. All they would say about him was that he was an old man travelling the world, helping everyone he met. In other words, a wandering hero, the only true knight of the age. But of course, the reason for his actions was simple. He was indeed not part of this particular age of expansion, war and mistrust. Balwen Faerie Goldhollow was raised as a knight in the age of chivalry, when the Central Human Kingdoms were still what they were called, a coalition of human kingdoms, instead of the tyrannical power that called itself the Kingdom of Candor. He was given the name of King only because he had outlived his brothers and sisters, and even their children. And even so he only fathered his heir after three attempts because of pressure from the other noble houses. Now it was without a doubt the Knight sworn to celibacy had a grandchild dancing around somewhere in a marble palace on the White-Gold Hill.
Balwen looked up and smiled, his lips thin and wrinkled with age, and his hair white and balding. A pair of leathery wings beat down beside him and landed on his shoulder. His Black Dragon, and his vessel of contractual immortality, Varden the Small had returned from his hunt in the golden fields. Then the Old King was confused, his partner gave a long and distressed call into the sky. A deep and high warble that warned of malicious creatures.
Then too soon he realized why. The smell of sulfur and ash filled the afternoon winds, and the black iron horseshoes rung against the plain dirt road. Balwen stepped backward and drew his Greatsword, keeping it pointed at the Chaos Rider with his last good arm as his right arm lay useless to his side.
"Speak! Who does ride against the Wandering Knight! I have done no ill toward any man nor woman of human, elf, nor beast, call thy intents before I take Dreamslayer to thee," Balwen backed up from Armageddon and dropped into a low stance. With a broken arm it would be near impossible to fend off a Chaos Rider, but it seemed to just be a steed, for the rider did not announce his presence immediately when appearing from the shadows. Perhaps he had a little chance against a mere horse.
Armageddon stepped forward and neighed. King Balwen relaxed and placed Dreamslayer back upon his shoulders,
"You wish only to know about a girl? The daughter of one of my slaves?"
Armageddon nodded, but how the blind Knight could figure that out was indeed a mystery.
"A Prybatian with red hair and green eyes... yes, I think I know what you seek to understand. Come, I will talk if you walk with me. I'm on my way to Althia anyhow. I'm sure I can find records of the Fracture Tree in the Wood Elves' grand library. They owe me greatly for my services."
---
Avatar Adventure
Location: The Rising Dawn
Time: Night
BlackHarte | Armageddon | Nessaj
"A brother and two sisters," BlackHarte repeated, his hands were clasped in front of his face and his eyes were focused on nothing but the great book open before him. It was a massive history of what little people knew about the Prybatians, but it did have a compiled tree of the surviving royal family after they were either killed or captured in the first sacking of Prybat,
"Did you get anything that goes into deeper detail about her sisters? Her brother we know killed himself in front of the young master."
Armageddon shook his head.
"Troublesome indeed," he closed the book and got up to make himself another cup of coffee,
"we're a little father than where we started, but we are still not anywhere near figuring out the root of Young Master's obsession."
---
Avatar Adventure
Location: The Corrupted Forest
Time: Night
Kyre | Puce | Kurumu
Kyre darkened. Or rather her shadow darkened as the null-magic field became much more active than it had been recently. It was suddenly jarring to see what Kyre had been seeing, her hallucinations, suddenly come into reality. The trees turned black, and the leaves turned brilliant green. The storm winds became little more that a summer breeze and the dark clouds parted. Where Kyre stood, the blue moonlight followed.
"No! You must make amends with your sister, no matter how much distaste you have for her!" The young Anti-Mage's voice seemed different. Deeper, more mature. He posture was better too, and her eyes, her eyes were fiery and brilliant. It was almost impossible to tell that they were such a tranquil shade of green.
"Half or not, you two share the same blood, you are kin," Kyre growled angrily,
"you will realize that violence between siblings hurts beyond what you can comprehend."
Then Kyre collapsed into Kurumu's arms again, weak like a child,
"You don't know how much it hurts me to see."
---
The (Un)Real World
Location: Redwood City
Time: January 13th
??? | ???
"Maybe you projected a little too much... don't you think?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," the boy titled his straw hat backwards and smiled.
