A short introduction to "Beyond the Worlds"

[Alfa]

For ~4 years now I am writing a fantasy novel, with the working title "Beyond the worlds". I want to give you a short introduction to it.

 

The plot is about a world, called "Borderworld", around the year 4000, where "magic" was invented through unexplained technology. Other worlds - including our earth - don't have this magic. This magic works based on emotion; there are eight so-called "principles": Love, Anger, Wish, Fear, Joy, Pain, Mind and Will. Each has it's own properties and functions, even an associated colour.

 

Abround 700 years before the main plot, another world tried to invade the Borderworld and was defeated in a very bloody war, called the "Invasion War", by an alliance, led by eight fighters, representors of the eight principles, called "The Guard". The Guard went after defeating the Invasors, and was never since called in.

 

Now, a new crisis for the Borderworld is rising - what it is, is not known yet, but some believe a second invasion war is coming - and a few people are pulled into it, if they want it or not.

 

Darizan, a man born in the Borderworld, but evacuated during the destruction of his hometown, now member of the most fearsome special unit of the Armed Forces of Terra.

The three Zuzaneel-brothers, three monks of the Borderworld, dealing with prophecies they don't understand.

Ark dóVan, a policeman in the murder-comission in Dó Arrag, a country in the Borderworld, wanting to avenge the unsolved death of his girlfriend.

Itrai, the Queen of Thieves, who had forged a temporary alliance wit dóVan, since both are hunting a guy called "the Fallen".

The mercenary Juhh and his company, including the young knight Hagsun, sent on a mission without explanation, what to do or why.

Osnira, a young woman working as a spy and murderer for a dubious organisation.

Noadix, a priest in the church of Lelen. She and two professional assassins were sent to settle war preparations with a rivalizing country in a bloody way.

And Na'Miruyi. A woman who awoken without memories, believed to be a daughter of a godess.

 

 

Unfortunately, I am writing in German. If somebody's interested, I can post them here or send them via PM; an english translation, even if possible, is unlikely to be made by me.

[The Honor Spren]

Storm it, that sounded interesting. But oh German. A cool language, that makes absolutely no sense to me.

[Alfa]

I translated the prologue into english and am waiting for opinions. I think my english is not exactly good, but it will suffice for the moment.

 

 

 

RROLOGUE

 

Fira, Guardian of Anger, went over the battlefield. The biggest he ever had seen in his lfe. Nearly a quarter of a million deaths. Only in this last, deciding battle. The war had demanded far, far more sacrifices. He stepped over a man in the blue-painted cuirass of a knightrider of Rhýn. A red-feathered bolt was planted in his neck.

The enemy was crashed, crashed entirely. But three of five dead bodies belonged to the alliance. Fira almost stumbled over the head of a dead woman from Sha'un. The head lied in an spot almost clear of bodies, blond hair smeared with blood and stared at the corpse of a grey dragon. The body laid more than five meters away.

Fira looked back. The Gate was destroyed, molten by Fira's fury. Its remainants still reached over fifty meters in the sky, but it stopped to spit out invadors. A tear fell from Fira's cheek. Hundred mages had helped him. Not one had survived. He had known each of them - Lera, always so ambitious, Viany, a close friend and almost a lover, Asall, probably the most clever man after Civenaye Fira ever met, Irgin, who never had smiled, but loyal till his last breath.

He found the body of Viany. The alchemist was dead, killed from a splinter of a detonation. A small mountain of corpses surrounded her - ripped, or burned or sunken in the soil and trampled down or smashed as with a hammer or, most shocking, without any wound, but deformed and bent and knotted to perverse caricatures of humans. Viany has never been a nice woman. Quite the opposite. One of them still lived. Fira stabbed him in hiss heart in an act of last mercy.

It had not been an invasor, but a Sisewiwean. Sisew had split over over and resistance to the invaders. Fira mourned over both sides. Most of the Sisewiweans were death, and Sisew was destroyed some weeks ago in a battle almost as bad as this one. Fira had not been there, but Pazi, Guardian of Fear, and Vakiê, Guardian of Joy, had been, and both did not want to talk about it.

He said a short prayer for Viany - if there was a god to listen it would not hurt. Fira highly doubted, that any god would listen after this...massacre. He screamed his anger out to the sky, and the lonely survivors he could see fled in panic.

He went on. What had begun, should be finished.

The corpses stacked higher and higher. At the start of the battle the invadors had tried to seize the Dome. Pazi had been defending it, and Naön, Guardian of Wishes, with him. They had been successfull - as the whole Guard - but only if you could count several million deaths as acceptable.

A single enemy laid on the doorstep of the Dome, his head inside of it, his body on the stair. The wound at his neck coud only stem from Gyrrn, Guardian of Pain. Fira recognized him as the nameless commander of the invaders. Fira would never learn his name... he stepped over the body.

"You have survived". Naön was standing at the entrance, leaning on her sword. Izell, Guardian of Love was standing beside her her, her slim blade on her shoulder. The others were standig and sitting behind them. Civenaye and Mirual were not there.

Fira looked in the eyes of the Guard. All of them were tired, terribly tired. They were looking as bad as Fira fealt. For a moment they were silent. Then Gyrrn said "Victory"

"A bitter victory", said Fira "But victory still. Have Mirual and Civenay survived?"

"We don't know", Vakie replied "They went in before the battle"

"Almost a week ago", said Gyrrn.

"We are alive...", said Mirual, Guardian of Will, The First of the Guard. She went through the dome and looked incredibly tired. Her white dress had blood on it. The ring on her finger shined, but it seemed for fira, that this light was a little bit fainter than usual.

"...but only by a hair. We have enough power to follow, still", Civenaye, Guardian of Mind, The Head of the Guard, finished. His clothing was ripped, his helm was even worse, some slivers of his destroyed shield were sticking in his flesh, and his sword was broken. The black metal had not got one scratch, and that made the neat breaking exactly in the middle even more shocking. He hold the blade in his hand and seemed to ignore the cuts.

As they reached the remaining guard, he threw the tip at the floor. The hilt followed.

Without a word Fira, Naön, Gyrrn, Izell, Pazi and Vakiê thrusted their blades in the floor in a perfect circle around the Broken Blade.

Then Mirual took her ring and threw it in the circle of blades. It came to rest exact between both parts of Civenaye's sword.

 

 

Fira ging langsam über das Schlachtfeld, das größte, das er jemals gesehen hatte. Fast eine Viertelmillion Tote. Allein in dieser letzten, entscheidenden Schlacht. Allein in ihr. Der Krieg hatte weit mehr Opfer verlangt. Er stieg über eine Leiche in der blauen Kleidung eines Ritters aus Rhýn. In der Kehle des Mannes stak ein rot gefiederter Pfeil.

Der Gegner war endgültig zerschmettert worden. Allerdings waren drei von fünf Toten aufseiten der Allianz gewesen. Beinahe stolperte Fira über den Kopf eines Sha´unen. Er lag da, fünf Meter vom Körper entfernt, und sah mit leeren Augen auf den Kadaver eines Grauen Drachen. Er sah sich um. Das Tor, durch das die Feinde geströmt waren, ragte immer noch hoch auf, aber es war von Firas Macht geschmolzen. Eine Träne lief ihm die Wange herab. Hundert Magier hatten ihm dabei geholfen. Nicht einer hatte die Schlacht überlebt. Er hatte jeden einzelnen gekannt – Lera, Viany, Asall, Irgin… Wie aufs Stichwort sah er den Körper von Viany. Die Alchemistin war tot, von einem Speer niedergestreckt. Um sie herum ein kleiner Berg von Leichen – manche zerrissen, andere verbrannt, wieder andere im Boden versunken und niedergemetzelt und, vielleicht am meisten schockierend, manche, deren Körper zwar keine Wunden zeigten, aber gebogen und durchlöchert waren. Ein einziger lebte noch; Fira schnitt ihm im letzten Akt der Gnade im Vorbeigehen die Kehle durch.

Es war keiner der Invasoren gewesen, sondern ein Sisewiwer. Das Volk von Sisew hatte sich in zwei Teile gespalten, aber der größere Teil war gegen die Allianz gewesen. Fira trauerte beiden Seiten nach. Es lebten keine Sisewiwer mehr, und Sisew war auch nicht mehr. Vor zehn Tagen in einer der letzten Schlachten vernichtet. Fira hatte es nicht mitangesehen, aber Vakiə und Paɀi hatten es ihm erzählt. Die Schlacht war fast genauso grauenerregend wie diese hier gewesen.

Er strich Viany eine Haarsträhne aus der Stirn. Sie waren gute Freunde gewesen, zeitweise hatte Fira geglaubt, sie zu lieben. Der Krieg hatte ihm diese Chance verwehrt. „Vergib mir“, flüsterte er „Vergib mir“. Er sah hoch und stieß einen Schrei aus, der über das Schlachtfeld hallte. Die überlebenden – wie wenige es waren! – schraken zurück. Keiner war ihm nahe gekommen, jetzt strömten die versprengten Figuren weg von ihm. Weg von diesem Fleischwolf von Kriegsende. Er sprach ein Kurzes gebet – möge es ein Gott hören wenn es einen gab und ging weiter. Es galt das Angefangene zu Ende zu bringen.

Die Leichen häuften sich immer höher – zu Beginn der Schlacht hatte der Feind versucht den Dom anzugreifen. Vakiə hatte ihn verteidigt, und Naön mit ihr. Sie waren erfolgreich gewesen – wie die gesamte Garde –  aber nur, wenn man davon ausging, dass einige Millionen Leben ein akzeptabler Preis waren.

Ein einzelner Feind lag an der Schwelle des Doms, neben ihm ein riesiges graues Schwert. Einzig sein Kopf befand sich im Gebäude, der Körper jedoch davor. An der Wunde am Hals konnte Fira erkennen, dass Gyrrn ihn getötet hatte. Einen Augenblick später bemerkte er zudem, dass der Feind der gegnerische Feldherr gewesen war, dessen Namen keiner der Garde jemals erfahren hatte. Und jemals erfahren würde.

Er trat über den gefallenen hinweg.

„Du lebst also auch noch“, sagte Naön.  Die Frau stand direkt hinter dem Eingang, auf ihr Schwert gestützt. Izell stand neben ihr, ihre Waffe auf der Schulter. Die anderen standen im Halbkreis dahinter; Mirual und Civenaye fehlten noch.

Fira sah alle fünf an. Eine Weile herrschte Stille. Dann sagte Gyrrn langsam: „Sieg“

Fira nickte: „Ein teurer Sieg. Aber nichtdestotrotz ein Sieg. Haben Mirual und Civenaye überlebt?“

„Wir wissen es nicht“, antwortete Vakiə „Vor der Schlacht sind Sie hineingegangen…“

„Das war aber schon zwei Tage her…“, sagte Gyrrn.

„Wir leben noch…“, sagte Mirual, die den Mittelgang des Doms herunterging. Sie sah sehr erschöpft aus, und an ihrem Kleid klebte Blut. Der Ring an ihrem Finger strahlte wie immer, aber es kam Fira vor, als wäre sein Licht schwächer als sonst.

„…gerade noch so. Aber wir haben genug Kraft um uns davongehen zu lassen.“ – Civenaye, der hinter ihr herging, war für Fira der eigentliche Schock. Seine Kleidung war an vielen Stellen zerrissen, sein Helm war verbeult, vom Schild war nichts als einige Splitter zu sehen – die in seinem Arm staken – und sein Schwert war zerbrochen. Das schwarze Metall hatte keinen Kratzer davon getragen; umso erschreckender war der glatte Bruch, der die Klinge halbierte. Die Spitze der Klinge hielt er in der Hand, ohne auf die kleinen Schnitte von ihr zu achten.

Als die beiden bei der übrigen Garde ankamen, schleuderte er die Spitze auf den Boden, zog den Rest der Waffe und warf ihn dazu. Dann nickte er der Garde zu.

Die Garde rammte ihre Schwerter um das Zerbrochene Schwert herum in den Boden. Die Geste hatte etwas Endgültiges.

Dann zog Mirual ihren Ring vom Finger und warf ihn in die Mitte des Schwertkreises. Er blieb genau zwischen beiden Teilen von Civenayes Schwert liegen.

Edited November 20, 2015 by Alfa

[Sir Jerric]

A powerful choice for scenery, but this has more gore than I prefer. I see many clear parallels to a local favorite Prelude.

[Kasimir]

Hey Alfa, would you mind posting the prologue auf Deutsch as well? Just for comparison and a better idea of what you're trying to achieve? Thanks either way; this looks interesting!

[Alfa]

Actually, this is the most "gorefull" chapter in the whole book. Not that I have any problems with killing masses of people, but usually there aren't many casualties per chapter.

 

The German version can be findin a spoiler beneath the English version. The english version is a little bit different for some changes in the plot.

Edited November 20, 2015 by Alfa

[Sir Jerric]

Just so we understand each other, I rate gore not on quanity of casualties, but on the style of the description.

 

When you talk about stacks and mountains of corpses, there is no gore involved.

 

When you stumble over a head streaked with blood, having eyes that stare without seeing, that has fallen some distance from its body, that is gore.

 

This english translation is too simple at present to elevate the gore rating to my higher tiers. Those require careful word selection and poetic apititude. If such has been achieved in the German source, I cannot read it to comment.

Edited November 21, 2015 by Sir Jerric

[Alfa]

There was no special intetntion for gore. It was only how I saw the poor guy in this pyrrhic victory. Especially in English I can't play much with words, but also in German I more follow the plot than the language. When I'll find time for the first chapter you'll realize that there won't be any gore.

Edited November 21, 2015 by Alfa

[Alfa]

I finally managed to translate the first chapter. Much less gore, much more talking. I highly doubt if I will ever translate more, but we'll see:

 

Chapter 1

Spoiler

 

Themselves they will call dishonored, for dishonored they will be, und honor will be in it; and when they get their honor back, they shall get glory, and all shall pay them honor.

R65/23

GóFielda, Celado: Prophecies of Twilight, Tome 7; Archive of Twilight; around 290 AP.

# Likely a part of The Cycle of the Dishonored.

Where were the goddamned gloves? Kad Roogi Zuzaneel turned around a few times and watched every surface in his room. After he realized, that they were not in his sight-angle, he looked under the bed, the table and finally found them below the bookshelf. He could not remember to put them there. Probably they developed an own life and play hide and seek every morning, he thought. That would explain why I found them in the trash can the other week.
Slowly he put on the pitch-black left and the dark-grey right glove. Gloves told much about people - while the right one was black in most cases, the left one varied: citizens wore black, soldiers red, aristocrats purple. The clerics wore grey ones. The blue hemline with a silver thread in it pointed him out as a Kad; the four sinew lines in white that formed an intricate weaving around a black point as a member of the abbey of the Bright Scriveners.

The Bright Scriveners had given the oath to collect all knowledge of this particular world. That was even more work than it seemed. Roogi looked to his working table, and read the titles of the books. Alchemical Studies by Master Def-Annesh. Very interesting discoveries, that screamed to be collected, cataloged and archived. The Two Circles, the School of Magic down at Sapphire Bay was getting more and more Prestige lately, their newest discovery...

Roogi interrupted himself and put the Studies aside. Books with titles like Criticism of Alchemy: Alchemical Milestones and newspapers with Headlines like Def-Annesh: Greatest Alchemist alive? , Two Circle Discoveries: Master Def-Annesh presents the color-changing skin, or Def-Annesh. Is the Chameleon-gene her last discovery or just a Milestone on the way to even greater things? followed.

Def-Annesh may be important; but at the moment Roogi's mind was focused on the small black book before him. Righteousness of Being. The writer was no one less than the Prophet himself. There were not more than twenty copies worldwide: the Prophet had never published this book and after his death some Important People agreed to print very few copies and lock away most of them. One of those copies - luckily and for a heretical price - found its way in the Bright Archives. Everything written found. The limited edition because the Important People had not want that anybody would try to use the prophecies.

Roogi was almost sure he and his brothers did exactly that.

Briefly he looked in the small mirror: Black shirt, grey trousers, a simple cloak in white and blue. A pin in the form of the infinity-symbol hold the cloak together, a small cross was embroiled in the shirt. The blond hair was trimmed short, the face relatively flat and with a smile that some people described as "fatherly" below deep-blue eyes. Combined with over two meters height and an athletic built he draw eyes even if some exotic life forms were around. Putting the book in his pocket he left the room and went down the corridor. Pointed-arch windows casted the corridor in bright morning light. He enjoyed the view of Mashun, and especially how the sun played on the four hundred and fourteen towers of the Silver Cathedral that pierced the sky half a kilometer away.

Two priests awaited him at the other end of the corridor; they bowed shortly to greet him. An old - and absolutely useless - tradition required the Kad always to be accompanied by two priests. For that reason the Kad's building had two extra priest bedrooms. He greeted back and invited them to follow.

He opened the exit door and - as always - stopped for a moment. The rope bridge to the Abbey slowly whipped back and forth in the wind. Roogi admired the white marble building out of white stone that floated some two hundred meters above ground level. And also one hundred and forty four meters away from Roogi's current position. He knew that very well - he had crossed the bridge almost every day in the last ten years. He still had nightmares of falling down: the bridge was constructed of good polymer ropes and metal steps with good footing, but that were the only good features of it. The bad ones were legion: it swung in the wind; the railing was for unknown reasons only on Roogis left side... during storms nobody trusted to enter the bridge. During winter the bridge froze, and made the crossing even more dangerous. The idea - so Roogi had been told - was there to grant a Kad's devotion. It granted mostly a Kad with a good stomach.

They started to cross the bridge. In the beginning it was relatively easy - in the middle not so much. The bridge shook like a wet dog and started for a pirouette two or three times. The worst part was the wind - it came from the right. One of the priests cursed. Roogi would have reprimanded him on most other occasions - but here, on the bridge, was room for a bit of vulgarity. So Roogi decided to say only:

"Brother Forobi, I would appreciate, if you would use a less...rude expression"

"Is damned okay?", asked Forobi

"Even goddamned is okay“

"This...goddamned bridge will kill us all someday, I swear"

"I agree", said the other priest. Roogi snorted and moved on. There had been monks who had refused priesthood, arguing, that they did not want to cross the bridge on any occasion. Both hands on the railing he slowly and steadily fought for every single step and was exhausted at the moment he reached the Abbey. The Kad’s house looked like a small white point from here.

“Good travel, Brother?” asked a joyful voice. Noogi, Roogi’s older brother and Abbot of the Monastery stood at the entrance.

“Have you ever crossed that… goddamned bridge… during a wind that strong?”

“Four years ago, if I recall correctly”

“Then don’t ask, but ‘travel’ to the center and back. You’ll see how my ‘travel’ was”

“I stop asking”

“Amen”

The brothers looked like reflections of each other; only Toogi’s clothes – including gloves – were green where Roogi’s were blue; and Noogi’s eyes had the color of oak-leaves in early summer.

“Are the guests already here?” asked Roogi.

“Arrived at the Amethyst Chapel less than five minutes ago”

“And Toogi?”

“Already there. Are you sure, that we are right?”

“I am. Well, not really. To be honest, no, I am not. But… it’s important. And you are absolutely sure, that he’s ‘of Storm and Sun’?”

“Our contacts down in Four Hills have sent us the documents. He is – or, better to say, was – a Rider of Storm and Sun, and after the fiasco at the Forts… well, there were not many of them left. He can be the last, but… We know that Deym’ahh died a month ago, but what if there were others than Deym’ahh and our friend Juhh? Our man in Four Hills says, that there were almost twenty missed Riders; hell, Juhh himself was considered missed for over five years”

“So…we are not sure if we understand the prophecy correctly, we do not know if he is the Last of Storm and Sun, we do not know way too much…what can possibly go wrong?”

“We can lose a lot of money… and, well, not much more”

‘Not much more’ meant – in the context of the Prophecy – the whole Borderworld, if not ‘more’. Noogi was a master of understatement. The brothers started to walk down the corridors of the abbey, and Noogi was followed by two Priors, just like Roogi was by the Priests. Some monks crossed their way, and greeted shortly. Most were occupied in research and information-exchange tasks. They reached the lowest floor of the Abbey, and entered the bridge between it and the Cathedral. Luckily, it was much more stable, and protected by fabric-walls. The wind here was less nasty.

The bridge ended in one of the one hundred and fourteen towers. There they walked down a seemingly infinite staircase, passed a labyrinth of corridors, rooms, stairs, halls and even on bridge across the main cathedral room, and climbed an even longer staircase up to the Amethyst-Chapel in the end. The Cathedral was built out of a special kind of marble, somewhere between white, grey and silver; but the chapels in each of the towers were built out of colored glass, or, respectively, out of gems, like amethyst or onyx. Roogi had no idea how much it was worth, but he guessed that it was more than ‘very much’, even if in the last millennium gemstones had undergone a big devaluation; Mineralomancers and Terra-Tec laboratories both made gems relatively easy. Still, the effect of walls covered in amethyst was breathtaking. The hugest amethyst crowned the coffin of a Hiolo the Dancing Lightning, a hero from the Vorg Island.

Toogi stood before the entrance to the chapel. He was the eldest of the three Zuzaneel-brothers and wore red, where the others wore blue and green. The only distinctions were his brown eyes and a nasty scar on his neck, where an assassin had tried to cut his throat. The unlucky woman had been thrown out of a window in the thirteenth story – Toogi was an Inqè: his obligation was to protect the cathedral and everything and everybody associated with it.

Technically, the Kad, the Abbot and the Inqè were equals, but in some of the districts of the Zuoni-Church one of those positions was more prestigious than the others. Not in Maschun, and especially not if three siblings hold the functions. Two dangerous-looking Temple-watchmen stood behind Toogi.

One Kad, one Abbot and one Inqè – or their female counterparts (Kee, Abbess and Inqî) – were elected to rule over the church, and that Trio had more power than Queen Toono and the whole Royal House of Zuona.

“Wait outside”, Toogi said to the Watchmen. They obeyed, and the Priests and Priors followed.

“Can you read the Prophecy again?” asked Toogi.

Roogi nodded and opened Righteousness of Being. The Prophet had made a lot of prophecies, and whoever had printed that book had been clever enough to write one prophecy per page. Roogi skimmed over the pages:

War is unavoidable. – That was the most famous and most useless Prophecy in History. Somebody had written “Future-Rubbish” in big green letters across the text.

When the Silver Dragon dies, her land will be broken. – The comment was: Prophecy fulfilled. Dó Vendar was parted after the death of the last Prince-Queen, who was called “The silver dragon of Gan diê Zan”.

Pain’s first sign will be his knife in the heart of the bad thief, and Wish will pay him, and the world will tremble. – The comment: Status unknown, probably unfulfilled. Another comment: Relation to the Guard? Capitalization indicates that. A third comment, written by Roogi’s predecessor: No indices of fulfillment.

When the Dishonoreds’ commander will refuse to attack, the Empire will fall. – Comment, written by Roogi himself: Empire (Dayu’ula) is intact; probably unfulfilled. No idea who the “Dishonoreds” might be. The Empires of Lizanuêv, Ard’ica and several other have fallen, but also no relation to any kind of “dishonored”.

The he find the page “Here: When Ferrej will be separated, the last of Storm and of Sun shall come to the Great Gate, molten by the Bringer of Fire, for only then the Borderworld will have its chance”

“The Great Gate – We agree that it is the one from the Invasion War? And Fira is this…Bringer of Fire?”

“It’s our best guess. The name Fira indicates some relation to ‘Fire’ and who knows how names change over time?”

“Well. Let us assume this is correct”, Noogi said “Ferrej was separated last week, and more literally than I ever thought. I thought about a kind of political separation, not a goddamn… world-bridge. The girls in Geloschun are panicking about it, and the Mages don’t have an idea why it happened. They say they’ll get a bridge during the next days, at least to evacuate the Isworld”

“Exactly. To summarize it: We have the parts with Ferrej, the Gate, the Bringer of Fire and the last of Storm and Sun, and we are guessing three of four. Does anyone feel that this is slightly mad?”

“It needs to be done”, said Toogi.

“It needs to be done”, echoed the other two.

Toogi turned around and entered the chapel.

Four people waited inside, each of them very distinctive. They stared at the three twins, irritated to see the same face in three exemplars, but with different eyes. A former abbot had an alchemist color the eyes, for he was unable to distinct the brothers. None of them were Zuoni, none wore gloves.

The first was a man, not young, short and short of being corpulent. His brown hear with a lot of silver in it was bound to a short braid, which was smeared with resin to make it stand out. He wore a black leather jacket with metal on it and red trousers with yellow stripes. The broad face indicated he was from Jaj’jaj’jan. That was the man from the prophecy. Roogi felt awe.

The second one was a woman, maybe forty or slightly younger. She wore a grey dress, with ceramic-plates on it to protect vital zones. Her hands were alchemically optimized, likely to handle a longbow; her eyes were altered as well, likely to focus things over great distances. It seemed that they were altered to the point she had troubles to see what was nearby, because she wore thick-glass spectacles. She had two full, pitch-black braids, and three vertical scars between her eyebrows said, that she was from one of the city-states on the peninsula Ka. Sunrisevalley, if Roogi remembered correctly.

The third one was younger and much bigger (seven feet at least), also from Ka – the triangular scar stood for Wrathcliff. His whole dark-skinned body was changed by such amounts of Alchemy that Roogi was unable to guess how he had looked before the transformations. He wore plate-armor, lacquered in deep blue; the cuirass was black and bore a symbol of a sunrise. That seemed odd – a man from Wrathcliff with a symbol of Sunrisevalley? Not that the cities were particular enemies, but still it seemed improper. His face seemed much more intelligent – cunning, even – than Roogi would assume from such a… tower.

The fourth was… Roogi had never seen one of the cat-people from Dargan Mun. The woman wore a black shirt and black leggings, and her hair was also short and black, and it covered the whole body. The body was poised to a point Roogi thought impossible to reach, the eyes in the panther-like face were yellow like amber, the pupils black like the night. The nails were long and sharp – more claws than nails. A long tail finished the pantheresque picture. Roogi had never seen something that had been wilder or more beautiful.

After some moments of silence the Jaj’jaj’jani spoke first: “Nobody told me there were three of you”

Roogi smiled “Well, we are three, Dú Juhh.  Easier to remember one face”

The man smiled back “What is true, is true. May I present half of my army’s council? Daaz, commander of the archers. Saniz, commander of heavy infantry. Fchervierallr, first shadow-fighter.”

The three mentioned nodded.

Juhh spoke again: “You summoned us”

Noogi nodded “We need an army”

“That’s usually the reason you send for mercenaries”, said Daaz dry. Her voice was higher than Roogi had thought.

“But you’ll need to pay a good sum”, said Saniz “Lelen and the Godcities are in the process of going at war, and…”

“We will pay good money”, said Toogi “Listen carefully. We need you at the Architector’s Dome as soon as possible. Do you know where it is?”

“Ozup-Mountains, straight line through Kass” said Juhh again “I know where it is. But what do you want to gain there? I have some adventurers in the army who’ve been there. The thing is deserted for decades and plundered very thoroughly”

“The Diocese Maschun is interested in this Region”, said Noogi “We want to position an army there, as a first step” To be more exact, we want to position you there, Roogi thought.

“How long?”

“We’ll see”, said Roogi. We have no idea.

“Is it something about the…recent…frosty relationships between Zuona and Aegidis?”

Frosty is an understatement, thought Roogi. One more fool like this foreign minister and we can bury the alliance, and then we can bury our dreams of conquering Vorg. But that’s a distraction at the moment.

“We can neither confirm nor deny it” It isn’t anything with Aegidis, but if you think so, it will be easier. Maybe.

“To summarize: We go to the mountains for an indefinite time for reasons unknown?”

“More or less so. We’ll send a mage with you, who’ll make a reality-shift that will bind the two places together. You’ll get supplies and everything. On our costs, of course”

“We’ll have our own mages, but I understand.”

“Something about it seems…wrong”, said Fchervierallr with a voice that sounded very catlike “I know it”

“Yes, but we’ll probably take it, if…”

Noogi took out a paper and gave it to the Jaj’jaj’jani. Juhh looked at it. Opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Closed again. Than he stuttered: “Forty thousand Saada? Forty-flaming-thousand-goddamned-Saada?”

“Yes, as a sign of trust. Once you’ll get to the Dome, twenty thousand each month. Is this agreeable?”

“That seems…acceptable”

Fchervierallr snorted, but it sounded pleased, and both Kani nodded with big, slightly greedy, smiles.

“And, of course, once finished, you’ll get one hundred thousand as a reward. Even more, if you will have done your job well”

Juhh lost the control over his jaw again, and Roogi sent a prayer to god that they had been right about the prophecy.