The Darkon Chronicles

War has broken out in the Empire, while Fintan was tasked with handling the rebellion of the colonies. Tired by his secondary role in the kingdom, and feeling threatened by the promise of his daughter's reign and the rumors spread by the people that one day Fintan de Marin would take hold of the Empire, King Camdules, husband and consort to Boudicca acted. Disguising his plot as nothing more than the idea of a revolution where the people hold greater power, almost twenty years ago he established Parliament. The Parliament was packed with supporters of Camdules who was secretly creating alliances with the defeated Rogricans and the war hungry D'Harans but worse yet, there was a shadow. A shadow cast by a 'light' that was taking hold in the east that had pierced the veil. The knights of the cross as they were known in the Southern Realms promised their swords, if Camdules would convince all of his followers to swear their love to their singular God who was 'Lord of Lord and King of Kings. The Alpha and Omega.' By the time Fintan returned, the vast army of Camdules had claimed the Arelian Empire and executed Boudicca.

The princesses and gryphons were not to be found, and the druids had locked themselves, and some of their followers in the Towers. In the towers, their needs were provided for, and the Old Ways preserved. Those who fell to Camdules, no one ever saw again. Fintan waged a war, as best he could against Camdules, but Arelia's reputation held fast; no invading army will ever conquer the Empire...

The sun glittered on the silver rose pin fastened on the kilt of the Count Erlise. His black jacket absorbed the warmth of the foreign sun. He had no idea where he was, only that it was a month’s sailing east by north east from Arelia’s nearest port in Graphavania. That colony alone was over three months journey from the kingdom.
The civil war had torn Arelia apart. Boudicca had lost the kingdom and her head through treachery of her husband and his Da’haran allies. Fintan had crushed the rebellion in the colonies, but at a price. The vast amount of the army and navy were in the colonies when Da’hara invaded. Backed by a faction loyal to Camdules, the Boar Soldiers, and Royal Guard stood a snowball’s chance in hell against them.
Fintan returned and, when he learned of the events, met Camdules on the field. However, he was quickly overcome by the king’s forces and the Royalist Army decimated. Fintan was cast in to exile, along with fifty of his men and a single ship to take him away. Anywhere, anywhere but an Arelian land. Less than a week out of port Orstol in Graphavania Da’haran ships were spotted on the horizon. There was no contact for almost three weeks of sailing, despite that the two parties were always in sight of the other. Then one day, out of nowhere, the Da’haran ships opened fire. The Arelian ship was destroyed. The waters were filled with splintered wood and dead bodies.
Fintan awoke on a beach, with nothing but the clothes on his back, his rapier, and two pistols who’s powder were filled with salt water. He was left to wander this land, whatever it was. Unknowing of what would befall him.
Walking along the road, Fintan had few concerns other than where could he rest and regain his energy. This concern soon took backseat however, when he saw familiar faces. Arelian soldiers, but alas they were ones loyal to Camdules. Three Parliamentarian Cavalrymen.
“Damnit…” He muttered, drawing his pistols. He only had two shots but that would level the field if they fired. He cocked both and began advancing, muttering a prayer to the Gods.
“There he is!” Shouted the middle one with a crest on his helmet, denoting that he was the commander of the group. “Bring me his head!” They speed at Rogue in a gallop. The highwayman never blinked or flinched. He raised the pistols and created the sound of a cracking thunder, blasting the two on either side of the commander off their horses. The crack of the pistols also caused the commander’s horse to spook, and rear back. Unable to keep his balance, the commander was thrown from the horse. It took him a moment to come to his senses, but when he finally did he saw Fintan with his rapier drawn and ready.
“Stand and face me traitor.” The Count growled, slowly advancing towards him. The two met only feet from each other and swung at the same time. Rogue pushed him back and lunged, but it was instantly parried away. The soldier took the opportunity to make a swing at Fintan’s unarmored leg, it proved painful for the Count. He felt the wound go deep and long across his leg. He stumbled and staggered, finally regaining his balance.
When he regained his balance he made another swing trying to hit the arm of the cavalryman, but his own left arm was hit in place. The cavalryman noticed his left hand was going to reach for his dagger, that Rogue was renowned for carrying on his back. Fintan became aggravated by the pain, and no longer had a clear head. He swung his blade wildly, missing by a mile. This proved a mortal mistake. The soldier quickly threw his arm out and Fintan felt his right lung collapse.
Fintan fell to the ground as the soldier pulled his blade from his chest. The soldier spat next to him muttering about what traitors deserve, then went off to find his horse.
“This is it then.” Fintan thought to himself as he wheezed for breath. “I am damned to die without a country and far from all those I love. Such is a fitting end for the Hand of Sorrow.” He remembered his promise. The one made long ago between him and Clerin. That he could die a final death after the Gurie line was no longer seated on the Arelian Throne.
Just as he began to close his eyes and accept his fate he saw long black hair block the sun, and a friendly looking face. It was a woman. “Twili…” He muttered “Keep safe, I’m sorry you must see me like this. Gods know you’ve seen it plenty of times.” He coughed.
“Now now, enough of that. Just be still.” She soothed.
“It’ll be no use, Twili. May Nature protect you…and let Usko know I always kindda liked him.” He wheezed before he closed his eyes

Bustling, birds, weapons clinking, laughter. Those are the sounds Fintan awoke to. He blinked several times to clear his eyes. Looking around he took notice that he was in a tent, in a large bed. It was apparently a pavilion tent given the fact it had chests along the walls, a small fire place in the center for warmth, and the bed itself. It was daylight out, by the looks of it, from the sun coming in through the tent flap. Thinking back to the fight he wondered why he was alive. Then he remembered the woman. He felt the side of his leg and arm softly, feeling no pain where the cuts had been. Slowly he took a deep breath. His lungs filled with air, even easier than before, it was almost as if the years of smoking had never occurred. Twili had healed him! Of course it was Twili, who else would care enough about him to bring him to a bedded tent and heal him to that degree.
Rogue jumped out of bed and glanced around for his clothing. They were folded neatly on the foot of his bed. Another sign that it had been Twili. She knew how fussy he was if his velvet was wrinkled. He got dressed quickly and re-braided his hair. Once he felt he was publically acceptable he stepped out in to the mid-morning sun.
“You’re awake!” called a female voice. Rogue looked around to find the cause of the voice and found a young woman in a green sarong and a brown corset walking towards him. She had shoulder long blonde hair and was barefoot.
“I am, thank you.” He replied bowing his head. “I shall introduce myself momentarily. But first things are first, gratitude must be given. Where is Twili?”
“Who?” The woman looked puzzled and tilted her head to the side.
“The lycan girl.”
“Werewolf? There are no werewolves in this camp, I can promise you that much!”
“Not a werewolf…a lycan. There’s a difference.” The woman looked at him with a glance that said ‘oh and what’s that’ “For starters a werewolf is controlled by the moon, and loses all senses when he is turned. A lycan can maintain complete sense of themselves and turn at will.”
“Well, there’s not one here either way.”
“Then where is the person who healed me?”
“Oh, that was the Bloody Axe Mage. She’s probably back at her camp…but she left him here.” She pointed to a tree where the Arelian soldier was chained next to the other two who lay dead and motionless on the ground.
Fintan reached behind him and pulled out his long gauge. The silver blade glittered in the sun, spelling the short future for the chained soldier. Kneeling down beside him Fintan placed the tip of the blade on his heart and rolled it slowly. The soldier began to shake.
“Why were you sent here to find me? Why was my ship attacked?” Fintan inquired. He reached up and pulled down a cloth gag.
The soldier smacked his lips, wetting his dry mouth. “Camdules realized not long after you left that you were more resourceful than most. He knows you have allies in the Dragon Kingdom, Westlands, Acmoria, and the Northlands. It would not take you long to rebuild yourself an army. He can not take that chance.”
“Why did you side with him?”
“In honesty, Your Grace,” The courtesy shocked Fintan. “Most of us only did so because of threats to our families.”
“You expect me to believe this, Captain?”
“No.”
“Then you’re smarter than I anticipated. What has become of the Gryphon Lords?”
“I don’t know.”
“The Princesses?”
“I don’t know, but they aren’t dead by our hands.”
“Mistress Gealech, or Lady Morgana?”
“The witch locked herself in the Black Tower of Stromwall along with the druids of the Old Ways. The Sorceress has not been seen since Merlin’s execution.”
“You executed Merlin?” Fintan said with a look of ‘bullshit’
“Supposedly.”
Fintan cut down the soldier’s shirt. He had tattooed markings on his chest of stars and moons. In particular, a large one over his hart encircled. The Pentacle. “You’re one of us…so you know Merlin’s powers.”
“I do.”
“Do you believe him or the Sorceress Morgana dead?”
“I do not.”
“Why did the druids lock themselves away?”
“Camdules is purging the land of the Old Ways. He says Christ is the way to eternal life, not the worship of nature and heathen Gods.”
“Who is he to say this? And who is this Christ person?”
“He is the Son of One Almighty God, sent to earth to die for the sins of man.”
“Sin? Wrong doings? We answer for that individually through life. Why would a single God send his son to die for us? Sounds as if he is too cruel to forgive outright.” He picked up a golden cross around the man’s neck with the tip of his blade. “What is this?”
“A symbol of what Christ died on, after his sorrowful passion.” Those words struck a nerve with Rogue. He leaned in close, his eyes glowing red.
“I doubt he knows true sorrow.” He hissed. “Do you worship this…cowardly cruel God?”
“Publicly for the safety of my family.”
“You deny the Gods of Avalon?”
“For the safety of my family.”
“You betray your own bloodlines?”
“Not without the dishonor to come with it. My name is tarnished now. I would renew it if but I could. I have betrayed my queen, my Gods, and in the short of things, myself. I do not deserve life.”
“Speak an oath of fealty to our people once again, and I will see to it your name is honored during the restoration. But I cannot allow a traitor to live.”
“I, Jonathan Winsted, swear here, at the hour of my death, love and service to Her Majesty Queen of Arelia Molly le Gurie, with the Count Erlise as my witness, and before the Old Gods, Greatest of whom be my Patron Cernuous Horned Lord of the Earth. I shall, until my death and throughout my next life live in service of them.”
Without warning the blade plunged in to the hilt. A click announced that the tri blade had been opened and was suddenly pulled out quickly, creating a longer gash in his chest than would have originally been there.
“May Clerin accept you in to his arms.” He began to search their persons to see what could be of use. He lifted a total of ten shots and powder, a breast plate, greaves, vambraces, pauldrons, a chainmail and sixty eight silver and fifty gold Gryphs. He set the armor to the side and loaded his pistols, receiving a strange look from the woman. He tucked them back in to his belt and turned back to her.
“I am Count Fintan de Marin of Stromwall. The Count Erlise, Lord Governor of Prechan, Baron of Fairyhaunt, Lord Marshal of the Queen’s Royal Guard, Captain of the Boar Soldiers and Lord Protector of the Arelian Empire.” He bowed. “I shall see to it you and yours are rewarded for sheltering me. He noticed over her shoulders that a pair of men were fighting to calm down the now dead soldier’s horse. All to no avail. They seemed to have no idea how to handle one of them.
“A pleasure, Your Grace, but do not try to claim your titles here. You will meet a strong resistance and hostility from the nobles here if you should. I am Talimoni, Druid of Ascendia.” She offered a smile. Fintan, hearing druid beat his fist to his heart and kneeled. Druids were priests in Arelia, powerful ones at that. Not even the Gryphon Council would dare to act against an order set in place by a druid.
“Your Ladyship, if I might be so bold as to ask one further question?”
“Of course..” She blushed at the courtesy that she had not been expecting.
“Where is this Bloody Axe camp?”
Before she could answer, someone shouted out from the gate. “Re’ lyia is on the move! They are attacking Tyrcath!” People all over the camp began to take up arms. Talimoni looked to Fintan and gestured towards the armor.
“Up to fighting assholes?”
“Always.” He grinned as he went and put on the armor. It would take time and money to have it properly refitted for him, but it would do for now. He checked his pistols, then nodded to signal he was ready. Talimoni smiled and followed the others out of camp, with Fintan right behind her.

There was already a substantial group of armed warriors outside the gate. It appeared that this land was under tribal rule rather than a united government. The gate itself was black oak with iron bands with a large bear claw on the center. The walls were simple wooden posts. It would hardly withstand a full Arelian assault. But this was not an Arelian assault and for what ever reason no siege weapons were brought.
“How exactly, does this group plan to storm this camp with no siege weapons?” Fintan asked in puzzlement. Talimoni pointed to a rather plump man in white robes reading off what he assumed to be a spell. Suddenly a fire blast flew from his hand. The blast fell just short of the gate however, and created a sound that brought the attention of the guards.
“Idiot…”Fintan muttered. He pushed his way to the front of the crowd, receiving looks of question for his actions. He was a nobody to them, but to himself, and the South Western world, he was a military genius. When he arrived in front of the shield wall, he noticed that a pair of archers had arrows trained on him. They assumed, by his lacy outfit, he was their leader and called out to him.
“Do you speak for this tribe?” It was a female voice.
“I speak for the Arelian Empire!” He replied, pulling his pistols. “I fight with this tribe.” Two shots rang out, ending the lives of the guards. Both had loosed their arrows, but one struck the ground from being fired late. The one who spoke had fired right as he had. The arrow found a gap in Rogue’s armor, between the chest piece and the pauldron, embedding itself in his left shoulder.
“Damnit…” He groaned breaking off the back half of the shaft while retreating behind the shield wall.
“You’re injured…again!” Talimoni shrieked as she started to remove the armor.
Fintan batted her away, “A flesh wound.” He grunted now pulling out the arrow. “Thank you for the concern, but not during a battle, move off.” He straightened himself up and drew his rapier.
“Clear a berth!” He shouted, out of direct arrow range. He had his rapier up in a saluting fashion. “Clear a bloody berth!” People began to move to the side creating a five foot aisle in front of the Arelian.
Dark clouds rolled in as Fintan spoke. For a moment the sun was as dark as night, casting shadows on the ground even where there was nothing to cast a shadow with. The forms it cast were near demonic.
“Cast by the sun
Dancing under the moon.
When the song is sung,
You will waltz at high noon.
You are sired by Light,
Though Dark are your ways,
You thrive in the night,
Till the end of your days.
Come as I bid,
To this glorious field
Do now as I bid,
Force now my foe’s yield
Souls of my fallen brothers,
Stand with me once more,
Come forth from the Land of the Mother,
And destroy the en’my’s door!
Lead now the charge,
Till in victory we stand,
Lead now the charge,
With the Dark God’s Hand!”
The last verse of the spell sounded demonic. When a small amount of light showed Fintan, he looked the part. It almost looked as if he were several feet taller, with long horns curling out of his forehead. His left arm looked as if it were a large viper. His face looked like a skull, filled with long fangs. Leathery batwings appeared on his back, and his feet were hunched like that of a wolf’s. Or at least, that’s what the tribe thought they saw.
Suddenly the ground spilt open a dozen yards away. From it came a rumbling as if there were a stampede coming forth. And there was indeed. From the depths came a great heard of boar. Black as night, and looking like they were made of smoke. Their hooves left a trial of fire. The trail led straight to the gate, where they crashed like water on rocks. They hit with such force that the entire wall shook as the gate cracked. The shadow boars continued to pour forth from the crack, smashing in to the gate. This continued for several minutes until there was a loud crash.
Smoke and dust filled the air. The boar had disappeared when Fintan lowered his rapier. He drew his gauge and charged, shouting a battle cry in Arelian. The crowd looked at him strangely for charging in to where he could not see. Finally, after several moments, the smoke cleared. Bodies littered the ground where the smoke had been, around five or six of them. Most of them only mortally wounded. Fintan was now in the center of the camp, fighting two men at once.
It seemed that each time he blocked one’s attack he instantly had to parry the other’s. When one man was parried too far for him to quickly recover, due to the size of the great sword, Fintan had an opening. He stepped to the side and caught the wrist of the second man with his gauge piercing through his wrist. Using it as if the man were a puppet he swung him around, making him take the great sword’s punishing blow downwards. He released his gauge, allowing the now dead man to fall to the ground before lunging, and catching the swordsman in the throat with the long rapier.
He pulled the blade out and turned to find his next target. The rest of the tribe he was with had charged in after the first man was killed. Within minutes the attack was over. Looting had begun. Fintan observed people raiding everything insight, after checking with tribal leaders to determine if it was aloud by their laws to take something. Fintan sheathed his sword and pulled his dagger out of the other man. His eyes were trained to take over a land first, then take valuables. In Arelia, a land or tribe was not defeated until their banner no longer flew. He stopped by a fire and picked up a burning stick carrying it over to the green and brown standard.
“In the Name of Arelia, and in Queen Molly le Gurie, and in the names of the Gods…I claim this land, and all touched by Tyrcathian blood to be a colony of the Arelian Empire!” He shouted placing the fiery torch under the banner.
Talimoni caught his hand. “It is not allowed to burn an enemy’s flag!” She chided him softly, knowing he did not know their laws.
“I am not an Ascendian. I am Arelian.” He pulled his hand away and lit the flag. Within seconds the pole was alight with a fiery blaze.
“You’ll learn love…ya can’t stop an Arelian from doin’ wha’ ‘e knows.” Came a female voice. Fintan looked over and saw a woman in a cage. She had auburn hair, and tanned skin. She was dressed as if she were a seafarer.
“Daniel?” He shouted tossing the torch aside and sheathing his dagger as he walked over. “What are you doing here…and in there?!”
“Out at the pub after Raine gave us shore leave.” The cage creaked as Fintan tried to figure out a way to get her out. “Couple blokes in tunics got the betah o’ me din’ they? Knock me right on the noggin.” She laughed softly. “Woke up a few days ago in this bleedin’ thing…Nice to see a friendly face.”
Fintan reloaded a pistol and motioned for them to stand aside. Daniel backed up far as she could and Talimoni did as well, still looking at Rogue strangely for the weapon. He cocked and leveled with the lock. A blast and bang sounded that the lock had been shot off. Danny stepped out and hugged Rogue tightly. After pulling away Fintan made an introduction.
“Miss Daniel Starling, this is Talimoni, Druid of Ascendia. Talimoni, Miss Daniel Starling, First Mate of the Black Cat.”
“Go on then old mugger, give us a shake. Don’ have the clap or noffin” Daniel said putting her hand out. Talimoni looked at her funny but assumed she was looking to shake hands, and did so.
“Pleasure, Miss Starling.”
“Call me Danny. Now, Roguey, ow’s about I pay ya back for gettin’ me out eh?”
“What did you have in mind?” Danny motioned for him to follow. She lead them to a tent that obvioiusly belonged to the tribal chieftan
“We can’t go in there…it’s against laws!”
“We ain’t Ascendian!” The rogue and sea rogue said together before going in to the tent. Talimoni stayed out, not wanting to break the laws she was trying to enforce. A few moments later she heard Rogue make an exclaiming remark about gold.
They came out a minute later holding a large chest that clinked with the contents inside. “Here, have some gold.” Fintan said sitting it down in front of Talimoni. She looked at both of them in shock. She then noticed that Danny was more dressed than she was. She had a sea coat on along with a baldric that held a cutlass and four pistols. She also had a feathery hat tilted slightly backwards on her head.
“Nows that I’s right and proper ‘gin don’ reckon niever of you know wheres a girl can wash up round here?”

Fintan woke first the next morning and chuckled, though it had been years, and a very annoying wife that could not keep her legs closed, since he had indulged his wilder side he had not lost his touch. Talimoni was on his right and Danny on his left, both girls snuggled in tightly to him. Fintan could not fully remember the evening before, ale, rum, and whiskey flowed like a fountain. Next thing he knew he and the two girls were in Talimoni’s tent. To verify to see if he was right he chanced a glance under the blankets. He was right.
He let his mind wander, and it wandered to the country he was currently in. Minor tribal wars, no villainous kingdoms, magic still prominent. This land was what the Arelians called “Old Lands”, which meant that they were still in the Age of Mysticism. The fact that a land still existed in today’s world was astonishing to Fintan.
Talimoni roused in Rogue’s arms and smiled as she looked up. “Morning Rogue.” She whispered with a quick kiss on his cheek. She rolled out and began to get dressed. Fintan watched her for a brief moment with a smirk after she caught him.
“And I thought you were a gentleman.” She teased.
“That doesn’t mean I don’t look…that means I keep quiet about it.” He chuckled as he rolled out and pulling the belt around his kilt.
“Should we wake her?” She asked, fastening up her corset.
“No…let her sleep. She’s probably had a rough time with those blackguards.” He replied tying the lace cuffs before pulling up his boots. The two stepped out of the tent together and made their way to the fire pit where smoldering embers were waiting to be brought back to life.
Within a few hours, most of the camp was up, and about. Breakfast was being cooked on open fires, creating a melody of scents. Fintan took a slug of spiced wine from his mug with a contented sigh. The sigh was just a front however. His mind was heavy with the events that brought him here. He wanted terribly to retake the kingdom but he had no means to do so. He withdrew his pipe from his pouch and began to pack it with a local tobacco flavored with vanilla bean and cherries. Once it was lit he choked on it almost instantly; Daniele had walked out wearing nothing but her pantaloons.
“Daniele! Where are your clothes?!” Fintan asked shooting glares about for the stares she was being given.
“Oh…I’m so use to a female crew I forgot about that…not like you was complaining last night though Roguey” She winked before turning back to the tent. She walked back out wearing her shirt breeches and boots with her baldric over her chest. She took a seat next to Rogue as he puffed on his pipe and cleaned a pistol. She removed one of hers and began to do the same. Many in the camp were looking at the weapons strangely.
“What are those?” Talimoni finally asked out of curiosity.
“A very deadly weapon that makes all man equal.” He replied ramming a shot home with a smirk. “Provided they are skilled with it.”
“I saw that they were deadly yesterday, but how do they work?”
“Point, pull trigger, buggar dies.” The pirate chuckled
“Can you teach me how to use them?”
“We don’t have the powder and shot to waist on training. And I don’t know when I will ever get any more.” Fintan stated putting his pistols back in to his belt now that he was finished with them. His ears twitched as if a wolf when he heard a conversation behind him.
“Maybe if they had those they would have succeeded the first time.” Was all he caught clearly aside from something about ‘The Bloody Axe Mage’
“What was that?” He asked standing up and turning around to face the warrior.
The man rose a brow. “I said Tyrcath shot the Bloody Axe Mage, maybe if they…”
Fintan cut him off. “Where is their camp?” Talimoni pointed north east. Fintan rushed to the horse and swung up on to it. Daniele followed him, standing beside the horse with a hand out to be helped up. The two just stared at each other for a moment. Finally Erlise decided that it wasn’t worth the argument. With her now seated firmly behind him with arms around his waist he galloped off in the general north east direction.

The camp looked as expected; a mercenary camp. Rogue hated mercenaries. Free agents, such as Raine Daccat were a different mater, they acted in the interests of a country that was promising them something no one else could. Typically amnesty from past deeds, but gold, anyone could give gold to a mercenary and change the outcome of a battle. There was no honor in being a sell sword.
From the slight hill Fintan arrived at, he could see clearly in to the camp. A man was shouting at a black haired girl with two others beside him. As he approached the man turned and left the camp, while the other figure went in to his tent, a wide brimmed hat hiding their face from Rogue.
“The punishment is twenty lashes.” The man stated picking up a flog. Fintan dismounted outside of the camp and cocked both pistols just to be safe. The pirate cocked all six of hers as well.
“But, the Captain said…” The man who was arguing was cut off by the other.
“The punishment…” He stressed. “Is twenty lashes.”
“The punishment will be nothing.” Fintan shouted walking in. He saw the tent flap open and someone peek out but failed to see who it was. “I am indebted to this woman and will see no harm come to her.” He drew a pistol ready to fight anyone who challenged him as Daniele went to cut the bindings.
“And who are you to order this?” The mercenary laughed.
“Fintan de Marin, the Count of Erlise, Governor of Prechan, Barron of Fairyhaunt Woods, Lord Marshal of the Queen’s Royal Guard, Commander of the Royalist Army, and Lord Protector of the Arelian Empire.” He introduced himself before cocking his pistol. “Now stand down or I’ll have your head.”
“Lots of fancy titles that mean nothing here. I’ve never even heard of those places!” He snickered. “And you’ll not be having anyone’s head.” Swords were suddenly drawn all around the camp. The pirate had her pistols ready in a matter of seconds. There was a fourth click however from the tent as another seafaring woman walked out holding two pistols of her own.
“Oh yes he will” She smirked. “I’ve known Roguey here long enough to know he doesn’t bluff, and if he wants you dead, you’re already are.”
“Captain Daccat.” Rogue saluted with a pistol.
“Count Erlise.” She returned the salute.
“Cap’n”
“Miss Starling.” Raine returned her firstmate’s salute as well. “Corporal, I highly suggest you release your mage before His Grace turns your head in to a life boat.”
“THE HELL HE WILL!” Shouted one of the mercenaries who charged at Rogue. Instantly, the Count’s blade was out and parried it, gripping the blade in the quillon of his own sword and disarming the mercenary with a simple twist and jerk of his blade. The man staggered and fell face first in to the dirt at the mage’s feet.
“Your Grace…” The woman spoke from where she was lashed to a post. “I don’t want trouble on my count. I’ll be fine.”
Fintan walked over and plunged the blade in front of the mercenary’s face making everyone jump thinking he was about to end their comrade’s life. He passed over the mercenary who, to Rogue’s surprise did not have fouled trousers. He leaned in to the mage.
“I owe you my life, ask anything of me and be it within my power” He smirked knowing just how far that extended. “It is yours.”
“Whiskey, just a drink of whiskey.” She smiled in return to the smirk. Fintan removed his flask from his pouch and opened it, offering it to her. She tilted her head back and took a long swig of it. Fintan placed his hand on her shoulder and whispered something that no one understood.
“Fintan…join me in the tent, you as well Miss Starling.” Fintan paused at Raine’s request, looking at her as if saying I’ll stay. Raine however returned the look of sternness, and not wanting to enter a possible duel with the woman who backed him Rogue caved.
The inside of the tent was very plain, though there was a black flag with a white skeletal cat on it, draped to be seen upon entrance. A simple bed was at the far side of the tent, a table in the middle with a few chairs, a barrel of what Fintan presumed to be rum and several chests. One chest in particular was made of oak wood with silver bands and a silver rose carved in to it with silver poured in to the carving.
“Raine…is that my…”
“Chest of your past? Yes it is. I lifted it and a few other containers of obviously your belongings.” Fintan looked at her curiously. “A few Arelian ships that weren’t flying Boudicca’s or your banners were sailing towards the Westlands. After all, who wouldn’t want to own the possessions of Fintan de Marin and Silver Rose.” The pirate smirked.
“Where are the others?”
“Back on the ship, it made berth in Revenaca . I’ll take you there later… By the Powers?” She turned her head towards the tent flap as she filled two mugs with rum. Someone outside was giving groans and moans of pleasure, rather loudly at that. Fintan grinned but said nothing, he knew damned well what it was.
“Rogue, what did you do?”
“She asked for a drink so she wouldn’t feel the pain. One must be careful what they ask of a magick user.” He grinned. Raine shook her head and offered him the mug and a pouch of Mage’s Light, a tobacco that created a multicolored smoke and took the flavor of the smokers favorite. It was probably the only thing that came out of Westland that Fintan would say was ‘magnificent’. The two lit up pipes, knocked mugs together and took long swigs.
“Here’s to raiders.” Rogue said placing the mug in the air before putting it back on the table. Raine tipped hers in reply and leaned back, putting her boots up on the table and crossing her ankles.
“Berth? You make berth here?”
“Yes, the pirates needed some place untouched by any of the kingdoms that want to see us hanged.” Raine grinned puffing out clouds of purple, red, yellow, and orange colored smoke. “We found this country about sixty years ago and decided to call this home. This land is known as Darkon. It’s run by different countries, but in comparison they are more like tribes. Neither Westland, Da’hara, Espangion, Fronc, Acmoria, or Arelia, until now,” she pointed at Rogue with her pipe, “has ever set foot here. We remain safe to rest and enlist a crew. I…am hoping that the Code is still held by you.” Her free hand tickled her pistol. The Code as she called it was a code of conduct amongst thieves, highwaymen, pirates, and other ‘no good scoundrels’. It called for respect for one another and that if one knew something of one that they would not make it public. For Fintan and Raine it meant that Raine knew the hiding place of Silver Rose and his identity. She would never tell anyone of it. Fintan now knew where the Black Cat made berth, and he would not tell anyone of it. Or so the Code dictated.
“It is, I’ll not tell a soul.” He winked. The Code was as good as a code of honor and loyalty to him. Something he would not break even on pain of death. “But…what are you doing here if your ship is berthed in…Revenica?”
“Because we have a contract with the Bloody Axe Guild.” She replied. The tent flap opened and Raine nodded allowing the person in. Fintan never looked back to see who it was just because Raine nodded.
“You actually have an agreement with this scum? You’re rather bold Raine. I could never form a contract with mercenaries. I don’t trust them, nor should they be trusted. One never knows what they will do just to make a few Gryphs. Don’t you fear them turning on you?”
“The Bloody Axe honors its contracts!” Shouted the voice of the mage behind Fintan who jumped out of his seat. “Once a contract is made it is permanently binding until it is fulfilled.”
“The contract we have with them, states that in the absence of a pirate force, or when they are needed they will aid the pirate forces in the camp. If another contract comes in to conflict with this one, the one conflicting is null in void.” Raine winked. “I learned from the best.”
“My apologize if I upset you or besmirched the honor of your guild…I have not had satisfactory results or experiences with mercenaries in the West.”
“You should not base all off of a few, Your Grace.”
“Fintan, please.” He stood and extended his hand to her. She took his hand as if to shake but became flustered when he brought it up and kissed the back of her hand softly.
“Lili” She said with a grin after the blush left. Raine smirked.
“This is the best mage in the Bloody Axe guild, Rogue.” She said letting out a puff of smoke before taking a swig of rum.
“I’m also the only mage, not to mention female, in the Guild.” She smirked taking a seat.
“Help yourself to the rum, Lili. I need to get this rogue properly dressed.” She drained her mug as did Rogue. She gave Lili a brief hug before the mage stood back up and offered one to Rogue.
“…Well if you insist.” Rogue smirked giving her a hug. As he pulled away Raine cracked up laughing as he placed a firm kiss on the mage’s lips. Without a single word he slipped out behind Raine, leaving Lili blushing furiously in shock.

The pirate base looked more like a small village. It had dirt streets with ramshackle buildings lining it. The air reeked of rum, beer, whiskey, animals, brine water and piss. Fintan clearly did not exactly like the combination but he did not show it. It would not have been appropriate given the way he looked.
Before they got to the village Fintan had changed his clothing in to the rich green velvet he had not worn in almost a hundred and fifty years. Brown doe skin boots with silver spurs rang out on the hard packed dirt road. The infamous silver rapier hung on his side, and silver pistols twinkled in the afternoon sun light. A leather hat, cocked on the side with green and silver ostrich plumes and a green mask of leather hid his face and the very existence of Fintan de Marin. With Silver Rose walking side by side with Captain Raine Daccat, the other pedestrians wondered what was going on. They had been seen together in Westland quite often, but that war was now over. Why were they together again? Whatever it was, no one in the village had the inclination to try and ask the two of deadliest duelists and pistoliers in the Western World.
Nobody stopped them from walking directly on to one of the piers where the Cat made berth. The two disappeared on to the ship, and out of sight of the townspeople.
“Well…” Raine said once in her cabin. “It seems that your reputation precedes you, Silver.” She laughed tossing her hat on to her desk.
“I think it’s more along the lines of the deadliest pirate in the Carmacains and the Highwayman of Helios walking along the street together for the first time in over a hundred years.”
“And yet we’ve not aged a day.” She laughed pointing to three large chests. “All they had were clothing and weapons. None of your books or manuscripts. I’ve got the feeling the worst has befallen those. Also, your old sword and axe weren’t in any of them. I think they may have already made it to the Westlands.”
“I can replace most of those…But I don’t think they would have destroyed them. Those are where I learned all of my tactics. Camdules isn’t that much of an idiot. The weapons are useless…relics of a forgotten time.” He began to redress in to his normal clothing. He held up a black suede doublet and trousers, and began to put them on.
“What were those marks on her face?” He asked fastening his trousers.
“What marks on whose face?”
“Those lines …on Lili’s face. They held a dark presence.”
Raine shrugged. “No idea. I can’t feel magic like that…or any for that matter.”
Fintan sat down, his doublet unfastened and his hair loose, his mind drifting. “…Something on your mind, Rogue?” The pirate asked. Fintan shook his head. Raine grabbed a bottle, and pulled the cork out with her teeth, offering the drink to Rogue who took it without really thinking and taking a swig. He instantly spat it out.
“That was brine water…” Raine giggled. “Something is on your mind…Wait…” She noticed the look in his eye. “By the powers! Your infatuated with the…and already too. That must be a new record. Don’t do anything that will sour relations between the mercs and the pirates, Rogue.”
“Do not do anything to sour relations between anyone here, Commander. They may prove valuable allies in the coming years.” A second female voice stated from behind the two. Drape in purple robes with golden trim the woman had the perfect aura of a powerful sorceress. Her raven hair framed her youthful face, a clever disguise against her true age of several hundred years. A golden staff with an amethyst jewel atop it was clutched in her hand.
“Lady Morgana.” The pair said together.
“Nor should you forget what happened the last time you fell in to lust with a woman and confused it for love. Marriage and then a heart breaking truth of her infidelity.”
“She’s got a point, Rogue.” Raine agreed.
“I know she does.” He said taking a bottle of rum and washing out the taste of brine. “And I have no intentions on souring relations or even starting something with Lili.”
“That is what you said about…” Morgana paused, looking about the bottles in the cabin. “Raine do you have any brandy?” Raine pointed to a dark blue bottle next to the rum. “Ah, thank you.” She took it and poured a glass. “About Miss NeoKnight as well. You remember how that went.”
Rogue shot her a glare, while Raine tried to hide a smirking grin. Morgana just took a sip of brandy with a very satisfied look.
“Are you only here to tell me relationship advice, or are you here for something of actual use?” Rogue sneered, hating that she was right.
“I am, actually, I come to offer council and with warnings.” Rogue motioned for her to continue. “Your ship was not sunk by chance. Camdules did not think, when he initially exiled you. He remembered how resourceful you are and sent those ships to ensure your resourcefulness could not be used.”
“Failed in that, didn’t he?” Raine chuckled. Morgana nodded before continuing.
“He will not stop until he has proof you are dead. Many will suffer and much will be lost before the true crown ascends to the throne. What is more, this will soon cease to be a war between men, and a much older force will come to play. The Dark Goddess will aid you in time.” Raine rose a brow at the mention of the Dark Goddess, but Fintan began to shake in utter fear.
“Who’s the Dark Goddess?” The pirate questioned.
“Dead…” Rogue muttered.
“But what is her name?”
“She’s one of the Old Gods, most are now dead, only a few still exist. She was the first to die. It was said she was so terrible that her name shall no longer be mentioned.”
“Gods can die?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“She is not as dead as the world believes, nor do you need to fear her.” Morgana encouraged. “Seek her aid, call unto her at the Dark Moon.”
“Why was she considered so terrible?” Raine chimed in. Fintan glanced at her.
“The truth faded in to legend and then in to myth. Nobody truly knows anymore.” He glanced back to Morgana to speak but saw she was no longer there.
“So…when is the next Dark Moon?”
“In a month, last night was the last night of a dark moon.”
“Gonna try and call to her?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“That chest has a small fortune in it, I knew it was yours the moment I opened it.” She said pointing to a smaller chest nestled between one with armor and weapons, and the one with his clothes in it. “You are welcome to our powder and shot stores, and naturally to the ship itself until you have a stable place on land.”
“Thank you.”

Fintan left most of his possessions on the Black Cat taking only what he absolutely needed. Necessaries being a few shirts and pantaloons, a pouch of shot and powder, and of course a flask of whiskey. He rode back towards the Ascendia camp the next morning. It was peaceful, and that was something he was grateful for. It had been decades since he had ridden in peace, with no fear of anything. He was almost considering roaming the land, with no allegiances given to any but himself. Of course he still had to uphold his oath as the Hand of Sorrow, but that was easily done on his own.
Ridding the world of a threat to human kind? Was it really worth it? Eternal life in exchange for service to humanity. Never truly having his own honor, nor holding true love in exchange for the sake of others he did not know? Was it really worth it? He didn’t think so, and he desperately wanted to revoke his oath. He had not even received word from Clerin in almost twenty years.
His mind was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he did not realize he was being watched. Six pairs of dark yellow and red eyes watched him through the forest trees. They watched his every move, he was something they had never seen before, and just by looking at him though him to be of no threat what so ever. He carried such a dainty and thin blade, and wore absolutely no armor, that they could see. He would be easy prey. And they, they outnumbered him greatly. A quick dash against him and he would be dead.
They were a dark lot, something Fintan had never encountered before. Green skin that looked like leather, and armor that looked sturdy enough to take a punishing blow from even a battle axe. Even if it was rusty. Their eyes were full of malice, yellow and red slits like a cats. Fangs that were yellowed and rotting. They were not Trow, nor any race that existed in the South Western World. They carried dark looking blades that were well kept, most had bone handles. Whatever they were, they were a killing race.
Fintan did not heed the urges he felt from the shadows, warning him of something dark lurking within them. He paid no attention to his own soldier senses that said he was in danger. All because his mind had shifted to thinking of ‘what if?’ What if he was no longer the Hand of Clerin. What if Lili was developing feelings towards him? What if he could break from his oath and pursue a relationship with her? What if it could develop in to something he had longed for; a family of his own? He did not have time to think further on the mater. Some kind of blood curling screech spooked his horse and caused him to be thrown from the saddle.
He looked up dazed from the flat of his back. The sky was a bright blue, and the clouds were a fluffy white. One looked like a dragon for a brief moment. He smiled, thinking back to Leisren and the times he had flown him in to battle on behalf of the Gryph-Draco alliance. Just then he heard the screech again and looked over to see the creatures charging him from the tree line. One sent a spear his way, which he barely managed to roll away from before hoping to his feet with his sword already drawn.
The creatures formed a circle around him, wondering which of them should strike first. Finally the one directly behind him charged him. Fintan heard the screech and spun about, whirling his blade like a whirlwind. He knocked the curved serrated blade aside and resumed his fighting stance. He knew he had to level the field, not knowing the fighting style of these beings. As one came in from his four, he drew and cocked a pistol, firing it. The creature being slightly shorter than him caught the bullet in the throat, and gurgled out black blood before dying. The remaining squawked in surprise and backed away slightly as he drew his second and modified his stance.
Fintan was distracted by a large shadow that became cast on the ground, along with a rush of wind from above. As he looked over his head, trying to locate the cause of it, he missed two of the creatures running up from behind and jumping on his back, dragging him to the ground. He squirmed and struggled against them, but their grip was like iron, and unforgiving. As one ran towards him he managed to adjust his aim to fire, putting the creature on the ground in pain as the bullet tore through his leg, and shattered bone. Suddenly, in his right hand he felt pressure and then felt it give. He never heard the sound of mettle, but he heard the sound of an angelic chorus. He looked to his right and saw his rapier broken on the ground. He was now practically defenseless and in his current state, it was more literal than practical.
Right as he was about to have to accept his fate he heard a deafening, mighty roar from the sky and felt the warmth of a fire he had not felt for fifty years. A silver reptilian tail landed next to his head, crushing the head of the creature on his right side and sending the other two running away in to the forest, no longer liking the unfair fight…in Rogue’s advantage. The other was still under the weight of the soldier who gripped the broken blade and plunged it in to the neck of his would be assassin.
“Are you alright, Rogue?” The voice of Leisren spoke in to Rogue’s mind.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see you, Leisren.” He replied aloud as he went to his feet and went to hug the dragon, who extended his head downwards to nuzzle his rider. “You came at the perfect time.”
“I do my best. Let us not linger here very long, there may be more of these damned things.”
“Just a moment…” Fintan picked up one of the swords that had been dropped by the creatures and walked over to the one who was squawking in pain of his shattered leg and kneeled down. “Say hello to Clerin for me, and inform him my oath is revoked as of this moment.” With that, he brought the sword down on the creature’s head, severing it with one blow, although it was a rather rough and sloppy job. He picked up the head, along with his pistol and broken rapier.. Stepping over to the dragon he mounted behind his neck and held on.
“Ready when you are, my old friend.” He stated giving the dragon a pat on the neck. With a great leap and batting of wings the majestic beast rose in to the sky and made way towards the Ascendian camp.

The camp was in chaos as the dragon swept over. People were clamoring for weapons and shields, mages and the druid started chanting spells of protection over themselves and others. The second pass of Leisren made everyone duck for cover as he roared and barrel rolled over them. Fintan dropped from the saddle and landed with one knee on the ground. Leisren flew away in the direction of an open meadow.
“ROGUE?!” Talimoni called as she stood back up seeing Fintan gripping a sword and severed head.
“My horse was spooked by some creatures and ran off.” Fintan threw the sword and head towards the chief of the tribe. “What are these things?”
“Orcs.” Talimoni answered for him. “How many were there?”
“Six.”
“That doesn’t explain that damned fire drake!” Someone shouted. “What were you doing riding it?”
“The Dragon has a name, Leisren. I was riding him because I’m his rider. The two of us are bound by blood and fire in the soul and mind.”
“You’re insane!” The chief exclaimed “But…a dragon on our side, we could destroy Tyrcath.”
“Leisren and I ride for Liani alone.” Fintan stated darkly at the idea of him and his dragon being used to destroy a country he knew nothing about.
“If you are an Ascendian…”
“I AM ARELIAN!” Fintan bellowed, the camp fires flaring up in the anger of the rider. Everyone took a step back. “And you will do well to remember that. My loyalties lie to the Empire alone.”
“From what you have said Fintan…the Empire is gone.” Talimoni said softly. Fintan shot her a glare of complete anger. His eyes meeting with hers for only a moment before she took another step back, feeling the distain in his eyes piercing her soul like a dagger to the heart.
“We were just offering you a new home amongst us.” She extended a triangular red surcoat that would be hung from a belt. It bore the Chaotic Star with a serpent encircling it and eating its own tail embroidered in gold.
Fintan took it, only to be polite, and stuffed it in to his belt. “As honored as I am, I can not split my loyalties.”
“No one is asking you to. But…you are a soldier, and a skilled one from the way Daniel spoke of you and judging by the battle against Tyrcath, you know your way around a battle field. We can use you, and would love to have you with us.”
“I will stand with you, but I am not one of you. My blood is Orange and Red, Green and Gold, White and Blue, Blue and Green, Black and Gold, Gold and White. But above all, it is Blue and White.” He revealed the ring on his left hand, a blue gem set in a silver casing with a silver gryphon laid above it.
“That may be a dangerous thing to wear. There are men, offering a reward for anyone who can bring them the head of anyone wearing a ring like that.” The chieftain stated warningly.
“I would not remove this any sooner than I would remove my own sigil”
“We are just saying, be careful Rogue.” Talimoni whispered. “None of us want to see you harmed.”
“Let’s put this topic away for a while. Supper is ready.” The chieftain stated gesturing to his fire where Talimoni happily sat down. Fintan stood for just a brief moment before taking a seat next to her. It was a delicious aroma of spices cooked in to steak, potatoes, and bean sprouts. Of course, ale was poured all around.
“What are these Orc creatures? Why did they attack?”
“Almost every year, without fail.” Talimoni explained. “They invade the land. Trying to gain control over the people.”
“Well there went the villainous kingdoms.” Fintan muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Do they not have Orcs in Arelia?” Talimoni inquired.
“No…there is the threat of Trow, but that is low these days. Ever since we regained the land we have not seen them in over three hundred years…at least not in Arelia. During my time in the Westlands I saw a few tribes of them, along with trolls. But they were never of any threat.”
“I’ve never heard of Trow.” Talimoni stated, expecting Fintan to explain them further. The soldier just shrugged.
“Where’s a silversmith? My sword was broken and I need to repair it.” Fintan gestured to the sword at his feet that was shattered.
“Silver? You mean swordsmith.”
“No, Talimoni…Silversmith. My sword was made of Erlisian Silver. It’s harder than typical silver but just as elegant.” He offered her the sword. Upon her touching it she could feel the light weight that only silver had.
“You would have to have it done by a cleric, and I don’t know where any of them are. You can use one of our swords for now if you would rather.”
“It’s a matter of pride…my people use only the swords that are ours. They are bound to the soldier who carries it. We know the sword, the sword knows us….” He chuckled and recited the duelist’s creed. “This is my sword, there are many like it, but this one is mine. Without me, my sword is useless. Without my sword, I am useless. I shall hone my skills as the blade. I shall sharpen my wit as the tip. I shall use it in defense of the weak and the down trodden. I am an Arelian Soldier.”
“Well, as you say you are useless without your sword and your sword is shattered.” Talimoni chuckled. Fintan hated it, but she was right. With out his sword and only his pistols he would not last very long.
“Fintan, my old friend. Do you think I would have come with nothing? That in knowing your predicament I would not come with aid, prepared for anything? We are bound in the mind and the soul. I have your old sword and armor. If you will use them again” Fintan heard Leisren’s voice in his mind.
“I would have to train with them again…it’s been so long.” He said aloud, looking down at the ground.
“That’s no problem. We can help you…we consider you a countryman.” Talimoni smiled.
“We have all the time you need.” .”
“You will have any help we can provide you.” The chieftain stated offering his hand to Fintan. Fintan stood and embraced his forearm.
“INCOMING!” Shoutted one of the watchmen. “There’s a group of armed men coming this way Numbering maybe two hundred. I don’t recognize the banner.”
“What is it?” Fintan called.
“Purple, with what I guess to be a raven.” Fintan thought on the colors for a moment. After racking his brain on every sovereign banner he’s ever seen he did not know this one.
“What do they carry?”
“Some kind of short staffed long head pike, clothed in black and white….with funny hats.” Black and white, funny hats he had said. The colors of the banner were unknown, but the weapons sounded like one might describe a musket if they did not know it. Only two countries had a musketeer force, and Acmoria held only the colors of red white and blue, and were in blue uniforms.
“The leader….” Fintan asked for a final amount of intelligence.
“Long black hair…elaborate robes.” That told Fintan what he needed. They would have been armed by Arelia. Da’Hara.
“SEAL THE GATES! TO ARMS, ALL OF YOU!” Fintan shouted tossing his hat to the side and stripping out of his doublet to show his breastplate with the Erlisian Cross. Everyone in the camp obeyed the order. After what they saw at Tyrcath’s camp they were very inclined to listen to his advice. A roar in the distance said Leisren was on his way.

The dragon swooped in low and barrel rolled just above their heads. When he did the wooden handle of a sword showed on the saddle. Fintan reached up and drew it as the dragon twisted and flipped back up soaring in to the skies to work alone and provide cover. Upon touching Fintan’s hand runes in Dragonic glowed red with flame, spelling out the word Eronic Tyriac “Traitor’s Bane”. Fintan stabbed the Dragonic Cleaver in to the ground. He rushed and loaded the two pistols before walking up to the chieftain who was directing traffic and handed him one.
“Pull back on this.” He gestured to the hammer. “Point, and pulls this trigger. Once fired, pour a fourth in to the pan, fill the barrel with the rest, ram the ball home. Pull back again and fire.” He explained briefly showing the chieftain how to work the pistol and pointing to the appropriate points. He nodded and accepted the pistol and five shots.
“It takes time, hide in cover and save them until you need them.”
The chieftain nodded and started directing men to different points of cover to shoot their arrows in to the ranks. Fintan stayed on the ground with the warriors who would take the brunt of the melee. Arrows were drawn back, trained for direct shots. This told Rogue that they were within fifty yards. He nodded to their commander who swung his sword, sending a storm of arrows in to the army in front of them. Suddenly, everyone froze in fear. Fintan could tell why.
Someone in the group had control of magic, and powerful magic at that. Suddenly, the arrows flew back over the wall. They landed in a small group together in the center of the camp far from anyone. Fintan cocked his pistol and made his way up to the wooden battlements as he heard people yelling about a dark witch. Half way up the stairs he noticed something about the arrows. They landed in the shape of an elaborate M. He knew that M.
“OPEN THE GATES! Let Morgana in ! Clear a path for the Raven Sorceress!” He was a little shocked, having no clue that she had an army of any sort. With hesitance, but obedience they opened the gates.
The small army walked in, and much to Fintan’s amazement he recognized them. They were soldiers from New Daron. But what were they doing so far away from the colony. Then, just before he could greet Morgana two women ran to him and in to his arms.
“Charlotte, Angel…what are you two doing here. What’s happened?” Charlotte was too busy sobbing to answer, but Angel was managing to keep herself intact.
“They invaded Mi’lord. They could not be stopped, droves and droves. I’ve never seen so much carnage.”
“The Parliamentarians?”
“The Trow, led by Da’Harans.”
“Fintan…” Morgana stated from her horse. Her amethyst robes fluttering in the wind as her staff was lowered to the ground for her to gain stability as she slid off her side saddle. He noticed something different about the sorceress today. Her hair had an unusual shine, and her body had almost a shimmer with each movement.
“Morgana…what’s going on?”
“They know where you are, and have made great strides to ensure that you cannot regain a foothold in any of the Arelian lands.”
“What council can you offer?”
“The same I told you not long ago.” Fintan cringed at the idea. He did not even know that the Dark Goddess was still alive, they myths made it very clear she was not. “If but a single person calls to her, she will answer.”
“You should call her Rogue.” Came an all too familiar voice of a female. From the ranks a small pack of wolves emerged. An all-black wolf wagged her tail as the two sets of eyes met. The wolf suddenly changed, a human form except that of the ears and tail which were a trademark of Twili. She had a golden tiara on her head, which confirmed Fintan’s long held suspicion that she was the Wolf Queen of the West. The two embraced each other tightly.
“I can’t Twili…it’s completely forbidden to even utter then name Morigana. Saying it three times could have devastating effects.”
“Wait…what was the name?” Twili asked, confused.
“Morigana.”
“That sounds kind of close to Morgana…”
“I was named after her.” The witch smiled.
“There is a sever difference between Morgana and Morigana.” Fintan froze as Twili smiled along with the witch. Thrice he said it. He turned to look at Morgana, but she was different. Her hair now whipped around without a wind. Her staff a long spear. She had a slight glow about her.
“I have watched over you, and you are in my favor, my dear patroned. I will not allow a defeat. Find your courage, and fight. Swim though the ocean of your darkest fears, and I will protect you. You shall have my magic to aid you. Neither shall I abandon you as did I your ancestor. Their God of Light will fall to the Old Gods, and you shall have revenge for the Crowned Princess, who has arrived now at the Cross Roads.” With that, the Goddess vanished. Fintan stood in shock. She was the Morigana the entire time. He had forgotten the story of how a sorceress became so powerful and beloved by the Gods that she earned a place amongst them.
It took only a moment for Fintan to realize what he must do. Three lands were still friendly towards the Arelians. It was to those he must look to for aid. It was to them he must place his hopes. He now had only two hundred, battered, defeated and starving men. Arelian soldiers could pull through it, though. They always did.
“Charlotte…go to Captain Raine Daccat with my letter, go to Acmoria and become my ambassador to them. Gain us their aid.”
“Of course mi’lord.”
“Angel, you and Twili go north, to the Vindicta. Seek out Hargthor the Great and tell him Rogue is in need of his help once more.”
“What can we do?” Talimoni asked.
“I can not endanger any of you.” He replied as the women took their leave.
“Then we will endanger ourselves. Just tell us what you need.”
“Point me in the direction, to start, of a thieves guild, assassins guild, and any amount of generally unscrupulous cads.”

The sun was going down in Darkon when Fintan made his way in to the Wench’s Dagger, a tavern in the pirate encampment. It was a weather worn building, like most surrounding it. The paint on the sign was peeling away, and the gloss had long faded. As Fintan approached it, a pair of very large men threw a much smaller man out in to the mud and pig droppings in the road. Fintan rose a brow, waiting just a moment to see if the man would move. When he finally twitched Rogue presumed he was fine, just was unable to hold his whiskey, or rather rum.
Fintan himself looked different, and yet very much the same. He had not dressed in this manner in almost a hundred years. There was no velvet or lace. Rather he wore his hair now in two braids again. Woolen cloak wrapped around him. Gloves stayed in perfectly taunt due to the bracers that were tightened around the cuffs. Knee high boots lacked their spurs. A long broadsword rested on his side, it’s quillons going in two different directions, one towards the blade on the back of it, another forming a hand guard. There was also a ring in the form of a dragon’s head that allowed Fintan to grip over the guard with one finger and still have it protected. A pair of baldrics crossed his chest, with a brace of pistols on them. Another belt had several pouches hung about his waist, these held untold objects that were obviously for killing. In his boot a dagger protruded and showed it’s pommel. He wore black leggings that were tucked in to the boots, and a tan shirt under a fitted chainmail that had a tunic of black over it, bearing no insignia of who he was.
He withdrew a pipe the moment he entered the tavern and took a candle off the table to light it. No one paid him much attention, and that’s how he liked it for now. He made his way to the bar and ordered a drink of grog, not wanting to attract any attention yet. Someone else however, had other plans.
“Count Fintan de Marin Erlise…” Called a rough sea worn voice from across the room. Everyone became silent and looked over. “Almost didn’t recognize you without your little comforts. Nothing escapes ol’ Blackheart though.”
The man who called him had long black hair that was matted and caked, with a beard to match. He had a typical tricorner hat propped back on his brow. A weather worn brown sea coat over his unfastened waistcoat and black shirt that was just as worn. His skin was darkly tanned from all the time at sea, and worn from the salt wind. The cutlass on his side looked almost as long as a short broadsword, and had a full guard that wrapped around the hand.
“Times have called for less than extravagant means, Jim.” He said without turning around.
“That’s Captain Blackheart to you, de Marin.” The pirate spat, crossing the floor.
“My apologies, Captain.”
“Now what brings a land loving, royal fop like yeself out amongst the pirates.” He hissed in to Fintan’s ear.
“Sixty percent of whatever spoils are taken from the Parliamentarian Arelian ships, in exchange for their sinking.” He said calmly.
“Ya think any of us would sail for ye? After all of those you hanged?”
“I only hanged those who fought against Arelia. I left all others untouched and offered sanctuary in Arelia.”
“Well ye ain’t in Arelia now, de Marin. And ye ain’t got yer army at ye back.”
“I don’t…”
“RIGHT! Listen up!” Called a man who had just entered the tavern. “I’ve got two warrants here.” He held up two pieces of paper. “One allows me to hang every one of you cads, the other offers pardons to everyone, if anyone has knowledge of the whereabouts of Fintan de Marin.” Fintan caught a look at the man and noted him as a Parliamentarian soldier. He slowly backed away from the bar, and threw back his cloak.
“You need ask no one of my whereabouts, Sargent.” Everyone cleared a path so that the soldiers could clearly see Fintan.
“Well now…Looks like it’s my lucky day.” The musketeers brought their muskets to their shoulders, aiming at the entire crowd. “You are all under arrest in the name of King Camdules of Arelia.
“You see, here is the problem Sergeant.” Fintan drew two pistols. “You’re outnumbered.” None of the pirates moved, believing if maybe they did not, the Arelians might not hang them.
Sergeant laughed and looked around. “Looks like you’re numbers aren’t too willing, de Marin.”
“It’s Your Grace, to traitors.” Fintan lifted both pistols. “Look behind you.” The sergeant glanced behind him and froze. A shield wall, with arrows and spears ready was behind him, a black and red standard above them.
“Under the Reign of Boudicca, were any of you ever threatened?” Fintan shouted. “Nay, but under Camdules command did you not face swift executions? Fight with me, and we shall drive this scum back under the earth! Every seafarer shall receive pardon for their past acts against the Empire if they take up arms now against her enemies!”
The first pistol drawn was a dark cherry wood with a blackened metal. “The Dead Lover will sail!” Blackheart shouted. Shouts of “Aye’s” Were called all around as other pirates joined in. The musketeers started to back down but the sergeant remained strong in his convictions. He drew his pistol and fired at Fintan.
An all-out fire fight ensued thereafter. For five minutes, it was chaos. Smoke and sulfur filled the air. When it cleared and the fighting ceased, the Parliamentarians lay dead on the ground. Around thirty pirates lay dead as well, ten more were wounded. Amongst the wounded, was Fintan. He lay on the ground, clutching his arm from the bullet that pierced it.
“GET THE SURGEON!” Blackheart shouted as he put pressure on Fintan’s arm. Fintan was starting to lose too much blood, his face turning a pale white. He could barely make out the form of the three people who now surrounded him.
“The bullet shattered his bone Cap’n…I’ll have to remove his arm, or gangrene will set in.”
“Keep this man alive, he’s offered us pardons and a chance to make a decent fortune. He’s no good to anyone dead.” Blackheart demanded.
“Is there no way he could be healed by magic?” It was Lili’s voice.
“It would take a powerful mage to do that…these bullets are from Arelia. They have special charms placed on them by the witch Geleacha to prevent common mages from healing the wound completely.” The doctor replied.
“Mr. Johnson I don’t care what you must do to save the Count’s life, just do it.” Blackheart spat.
“He’ll be in pain…bring me whiskey to help numb his senses.”
“Just do it…I’ll ease his pain.” Lili stated as she started to sing softly.
“No…” Fintan stated. “Just…remove the bullet…”
“Hush now cario.” Lili stated softly “Soon will I see them the mist covered mountains of home. Ho rah soon will I see them oh, see them oh see them the mist covered mountains of home.” The common song had magic laced in, putting Fintan to a deep sleep. The last thing Fintan remembered was the word he was called. He knew enough Grealian to know it meant ‘love’.

Fintan awoke in a bed the next day, a pirate sitting in a chair across from the bed. He sat up in the bed slowly.
“Sailor…which…”
“Dead Lover, Sir. Cap’n Blackheart ordered his bed be made available to ye Sir. Set watch on ye for ye injury.”
“How bad….Sweet Bridgid…” He had felt his left arm and answered his own question. All that was left of it was a small stub from his shoulder.
“That mage lassie been lookin’ in on ye now and then through the night.”
“I must get back to the Ascendian camp…” He said getting up. He picked up his trousers and started to pull them up, but had some trouble buckling them.
“Ere Sir, let me ‘elp…”
“No, I’ve got it.” He pressed one side against the wall and fumbled with the buckle for a few moments before finally managing it. Getting fully dressed took around twenty minutes longer than usual. He ran his hand through his hair and frowned. It was practically impossible for him to braid it.
“Sir…”
“What’s your name Sailor?”
“Bill Starling.”
“Mr. Starling, are you skilled in braiding?”
“Aye Sir. I often braided me sister’s hair as a lad.”
“If you would…not mind…”
“Aye, Sir.” The pirate stepped over and separated Fintan’s hair, weaving the three different strands on the right side. Fintan frowned as he thought of this. By Arelian standards, he was now a retired veteran, unable to fight or hold a musket. To him, this was a disgrace. Finally he felt a pat on his shoulder . He felt the braids and nodded. Fintan stepped out of the cabin and in to the morning sun.

Lili was with the Captain on the quarterdeck, where Fintan made his way. Lili smiled as he approached, the captain tipped his hat with a grin before resuming his charts with who Fintan presumed to be the navigator.
“Thank you, Captain.”
“Pleasure, Count.” He said, scanning over the Southern Sea. “Mr. Davis, we can make port here, in Tyrion before we sail on to the Westlands. Without a doubt we will meet a few of those navy boys.”
“Aye, Sir, but there is a reef here, and if I remember right, Arelian ships can’t sail in to shallow waters. The Lover will have no problem clearing the reef.”
“Aye, but if we become loaded down with cannon…”
Fintan looked to Lili, pushing back the right side of his cloak. “Lili…I…may need some help returning to the camp, my things are all there and I need to plan.”
“You should take time to rest.”
“I can’t…I have a war to wage.”
“Then wage your war, but let your commanders handle it for a while.”
“I have no commanders…only those who have command of a few ships.”
“And the Bloody Axe.”
“And mercenaries, that’s not an army with enough experienced commanders who know our enemy.”
“You plan to invade already?”
“I must invade at the first possible chance.”
“I advise against that, Count…They are on a heightened sense of alert right now due to you still being alive…and after what has come…” Blackheart stated marking ports on his charts.
“Come…what’s come?”
“You won’t like it…” He gestured to a box next to him. Carefully he walked over and unlatched it, looking inside before he jumped back. He felt Lili’s hand on his shoulder.
“He’s…gone too far…” He forced himself to force back his tears. He was unable to move, his fist clenching tighter and tighter as he thought of her last moments. It could have been any Royalist and he would have been angered, but the fact of who it was sent him in to a rage. He now wondered about the safety of Gealech, of Keeva, of the Gryphon Lords. If Camdules could send him the head of Molly le Gurie, how much more difficult could it be to kill them? Blackheart closed the box and latched it back.
“Fintan…” Lili said softly.
“I’LL HANG EVERY LAST ONE OF THOSE BLACKGUARDS!” He shouted in rage. “Captain I am appointing you Commodore of the pirate fleet. Let me know when all are ready to sail.” He said nothing more before storming off the ship.

Fintan did not stop walking for miles. It was late afternoon by the time he did stop, and in the middle of the forest without a trail. He honestly had no idea where he was, but right now he didn’t care. He dropped to his knees and let go. He let go of all his emotions, of his pain, his anger, his fear, his sorrow. He had never wept so hard in his life as he did right now. Camdules had killed more than his queen and princess, he had killed his stepmother and stepsister, both of whom were as good as blood to him.
He ignored the hand he felt on his shoulder, deciding that if it were an enemy then there was no point to fight now. But instead of cold steel he felt a warm embrace as Lili pulled him in. He lost all his cares, allowing himself to be the weak one for once, burying his face in her chest and sobbing as she held on to him. The rush of wind went unnoticed by the two, as did the warmth of the fire that came from his breath. Leisren had felt the pain of his rider and made haste to find him. Upon reaching the two he laid beside them, curling his head and tail around the two in a protective manner, allowing Fintan his mourning without disturbance. After all…who is really stupid enough to attack a fully grown Western Silverton dragon?
The weeping lasted for hours. Night had fallen long ago, with Lili still clutching the sobbing Fintan. Though he no longer wept, all of his energy had been expended and he had long fallen in to a troubled sleep. The two used Leisren’s leg as a pillow as they slept, his breath keeping them warm from the night’s chill. The dragon did not sleep however, he didn’t need to. Their protection and safety was more important to him than rest. He remained awake, head up and alert with his tail encircling them. The entire time, communicating with the Queen Beyond the Sea.
“Molly has lost her life.”
“Sweet Fire…”
“Fintan has taken it hard, My Queen. I have never seen him weep as this before.”
“As close as he was to her, and Boudicca, I am not surprised. What of Keeva, and the Gryphons?”
“We are not aware of their status, My Queen. But I believe them to be safe, or he would know about it by now.”
“How is Fintan’s mental state?”
“He has lost all care, and has gained a blood thirst I have not seen in the humans before. I would venture as far to say as it rivals that of the Wyverns.”
“Keep him safe.”
“One thing further, his state will not allow him to fight. In a skirmish, a musket claimed his left arm, shattering the bone. They had to remove it.”
“This can not be helping maters.”
“Indeed not, Your Majesty.”
“Keep watch and keep him safe. See what you can do about helping him feel at home…I may know of a way to help this particular problem.”
“As you command, My Queen.”

The sounds of dawn awoke Fintan, who rubbed his eyes and looked around. He was hoping the last two days was nothing but a bad dream. When he felt his left arm, or lack thereof, he knew it was not a dream and that if he did not have his arm, he did not have a princess. Lili was still asleep, but Leisren was still wide awake. Fintan could not move himself to wake her, and slowly stood up, using Leisren as a crutch to help him up.
He walked around to where the saddle bags were and started to rummage through them. There he found it, his riding suit. A crimson and gold color that was specially enchanted to prevent Dragon Fire from burning him in to ash. It was knee high boots, made of leather, golden spurs and golden greaves. Crimson trousers and a crimson shirt. The cloak matched the shirt and trousers, and had a facemask that shielded the nose and below from flames. A golden dragon hide breast plate and pauldrons fitted over his shirt, providing near perfect protection, along with bracers to protect his forearms.
With them in hand, he went around Leisren and started to dress. Undressing was easy, but putting everything else back on, proved difficult. He was struggling with the trousers, which had to be buttoned on both sides. The right side was simple enough, but he was unable to properly grasp the ones on the left. Right as he was about to give up the idea, and just put his belt on over it instead he felt a pair of hands on his waist start to fasten them for him.
“Don’t even tell me not to.” Lili whispered as she fastened the buttons, then picked up his shirt. Fintan opened his mouth to protest but a look from Lili silenced him. She stooped down once his boots were on and began to fasten the spurs. Once they were a proper tightness she helped him in to his shirt, forcing herself not to stare at the many scars his chest bore. How could anyone live through so many wounds? The animal marks were the worst, but the one that caught her attention was the bite mark on his neck. They were so small, they looked as if he had been bitten by some kind very large snake rather than massive animal. She wanted to ask, but knew it would be impolite.
“The…cloak latches under the pauldrons.” He stated, noticing she was trying to figure out where the cloak attached to itself. She found the two hooks on his breastplate, and fixed them together. Once it was properly situated she put on the pauldrons, having to take special care to affix it on his left shoulder. She pulled the mask down over his face and let it sit below his chin, rather than pulling it up over his face, as a final touch.
“You look very handsome…was this your armor for your country?”
“No, I rode for Queen Liani, the Dragon Queen during a war in the Westlands. That’s where we met.” He nodded to Leisren. “Thank you for helping me.”
She smiled in response as their eyes made contact. She was nearly as tall as he was. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”
For once, Fintan thought twice about his actions. Raine and Morgana’s words returning to his mind. What happened last time. It proved to no avail, as she already had arms around his neck before he could move. He put his arm around her waist and deepened the kiss. Slowly, Lili’s hand slid up to where the armor buckled and began to unfasten it, but before she could the howl of a wolf nearby stopped her.
On a grassy incline, just above them a white wolf stared down at them. Her eyes were like ice even from the distance she was at. Her head was lowered and the ice eyes were trained on Fintan. Leisren raised his head and lowed before lowering his head again as the wolf bolted towards the two. Lili began muttering a spell under her breath but before she could finish it the wolf pounced at Fintan with what Lili could have sworn were the words “You’re alive!”
“Easy, Cronthis…” Fintan laughed as the wolf licked his face with great affection. The wolf’s tail was wagging so hard it would come off if it were not bolted to her.
“Only if you promise to follow me without hesitation.” She chirped, overjoyed to see her companion still alive.
“Rogue…is that wolf…talking?” Lili asked, her eyes the size of diner plates.
“Direwolf.” Cronthis corrected her. Fintan nodded as the direwolf backed off of him. “If you’ll come, then keep up!” She howled taking off the direction she came from. Fintan sprang up, and tailed after her. Lili watched them disappear over the hill and through the trees with a smile, heading back to her own camp.
“Cronthis, where are we going?” Fintan shouted.
“To Fairyhaunt!” Fintan froze at her answer. That’s when it dawned on him. There was a reason he was able to find Fairyhaunt when no one else had. He was tied to it, and it to him. He always had been. That’s why in Fairyhaunt Woods he was always safe. Fairyhaunt was where ever it was needed as a place of refuge for those who could see in to the misty darkness and magic that thrived within it.