AbyssalRoadTrip
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Abyssal Road Trip - 207 - Catch on fire
🕑 Added 2022-06-16 18:08:43 +0000 UTCMinerva’s PoV - Nova Roma
The Temple’s side balcony had once provided a view of buildings sheathed in polished white stone that ran to the fortified harbour entrance. Yet it had been a sight that had hidden a decaying culture with the ratio of slaves to citizens at twenty to one. Even though she had to admit Remus wasn’t free from such behaviour, in the harsher northern kingdom, enslaved people were a minority.
The city and its people were paying for that decay, a reckoning in blood and destruction as the former slaves burned out the rot. Throughout the visible districts, many flame-blacked buildings were in various states of collapse. Something had collapsed a ring of buildings; whether this was to serve as a firebreak or because of fighting, she couldn’t tell in her current state.
While some might see only the reconstruction in terms of coin, Minerva hoped the view would remind those present of the price paid in lives—slaves and citizens alike. The city had years of repair work and recovery ahead even if they achieved peace today, and this being her third attempt, she wasn’t sure it would. The rebels’ present upper hand meant the conference’s failure would see five legions dead an instant after the words stopped. An attendant rang a chime and Minerva turned from the balcony’s railing to consider those gathered.
The senate’s representatives were the sixteen men sat on her left mostly dressed in armour—some sets better fitting than others—instead of the finery they’d once possessed. The senate leader, Flavius, was the sole exception in a white linen toga whose loose folds mirrored the skin around his neck, his body not having adjusted smoothly to rapid weight loss. Still, after two months with the supply of food to the city falling, he was far heavier than any of his fellows. His mass, however, paled when compared to the weight of hatred the senate’s guard directed at the rebel’s leader. Dressed in armour showing he’d been part of the Caesar’s guard, the reason for his anger was obvious.
It was a fruitless display of hatred given the amusement she could see in Marauder’s yellowed gaze. The Orc hadn’t worried about finery but wore his arena armour, leather and steel positioned to allow some defence while still displaying enough skin to allow the crowd to see blood. Fine scars painted a map across his massive muscles that pressed his veins tight against his skin.
Most of the rebels' council had come equipped correctly for the fighting they’d endured. They were a mix of species and gender, Orc, Human, Dwarf, Basteti and Rat-kin. Except the two noble women all possessed a strength of Faith, that made it clear each of them had at least one Priest Class. The heaviest armoured of them was a Dwarf—Marauder’s arena partner—and a Human who served as the rebel’s bodyguard. The Dwarf looked pretty normal in a set of dwarven plate armour, though it strangely lacked crests for clan and family and his beardless round chin jutting from the bottom of the helm added to that.
It was the rebels’ guard who was the true oddity. Clad head to toe in what seemed like liquid silver with a kite shield held easily at the ready, the power of the armour’s enchantments fairly screamed to her senses. If they sold it, they could have commanded enough coin to free every slave in Nova Roma; instead, it protected a mere guard, even though he seemed primarily there to protect two noble women.
Although the two women in dresses weren’t the only females present, they stood out the most. Clad in silver silk dresses that left their arms bare from the shoulders, but otherwise covered from their neck to toes. Shifting mist and light barely allowed Minerva to make out their mouths, as it veiled their faces and hair, and concealed all other features. While they didn’t have the strength of Faith about them, they possessed the magical air of wizards.
She’d seen them during previous attempts to restore peace and still hadn’t learnt why anyone wealthy had sided with the slaves, nor even where their true allegiance sat. It didn’t seem like they were using the free council to gain power in a new regime, but with so much hidden about them and their motivations, it was impossible to be sure.
Minerva stepped towards her couch to start proceedings when Marauder set the glass filled with Elven wine aside, untouched, and turned towards the main doors. An axe blinked into the Dwarf’s hand, and just as suddenly, both women focused on the door. Meanwhile, their guard and the others kept his attention on the rest of the room, dividing their focus with an eerie wordless coordination that spoke of mental magics.
The door opened with indecent haste, and Minerva realised they’d been listening to events outside the chamber. Whatever was going on must be dramatic from the Novice’s grey complexion. “Lady Minerva, guests at the Temple’s door seek to meet with you.”
“I’d make them wait, but given your concern, who are they?” asked Minerva.
Despite her words, none of the tension left the guests that had stirred, and their guard’s hand dropped to his sword’s hilt.
“Lady Athena and Lady Nike,” said the Novice.
“Greeks to kill. This day gets better,” growled Marauder, rising in a burst of power. His calm evaporated with an eruption of molten Willpower burning in his yellow gaze; how had they ever believed him tamed?
Minerva motioned gracefully, trying for what she hoped was a calming gesture and not to come across as if ordering him to sit. “This is my Temple. I’d prefer to at least hear what they have to say.”
The younger lady among the mystery pair smiled, but it was the barest hint under the veils of magic that hid her features.
Marauder had still been moving despite Minerva’s request, but that slight smile had him halt, and he waved at the senators. “The only reason we’re here is to accept the senate’s surrender. So let them speak the words, and you can tend to your guests. Once the Greeks leave, we’ll be hunting them.”
Flavius shifted nervously as the others murmur. “We were here to discuss terms, not just accept your demands.”
It was the older woman who snorted with a vigour that would have done Marauder justice.
“The terms are: would you like your armies to be still alive, or should we collapse the spells poised above them? It’s your choice, but if you decide they’re to die, we won’t offer your families any surrender, no matter where they flee.”
The kite shield upon the guard’s arm blurred, and what had been a plain silver surface now sported Amdirlain’s symbol, and any hope for the day seemed dashed. The entire nation’s fate seemed sealed when both the ladies brought out Amdirlain’s emblem from beneath their robes. Unlike those broken chains among the freed, the younger woman’s symbol looked to be a single piece of wood whose grains held amber; shaped to show a candle and broken chains.
In past discussions, they’d seemed the two most reasonable parties on the slave’s council, but now they’d firmly declared their position. Those previous negotiations now seemed to be cast aside when their guard spoke up.
“My family doesn’t care about your guests. They can wait,” the man declared, unbothered by brushing Minerva’s request aside. “You’ve heard Amdirlain’s voice on this matter. Surrender now. All slaves in the Kingdom of Nova Roma are to be declared free and given four months of a servant’s wage to make a fresh start. In return, we will release your soldiers after they’ve divested themselves of their weapons and armour. We’ll also spare you and your families.”
She’d only ever heard the term ‘voice’ used to a refer to a representative by Dragons, and from the mouth of this guard it froze Minerva’s skin. Reduced without her Mantle’s power, she had no way to be sure it was just him, or if the two women were also dragons; even one might be far too much for her if they were old enough.
“You’re a monster to threaten women and children,” protested Flavius, and Minerva almost burst out laughing but held her tongue by the barest of margins.
Marauder turned to him and sneered, the expression showing his sharp Orc teeth off to full advantage. “What about all those who your kingdom enslaved over the centuries? We won’t torture our captives as the likes of you have, nor grind them down, stripping them of dignity and pride. What we will do is end slavery here. Surrender, give up the past, and accept the new laws we’ve declared, allowing none the right to enslave in either name or deed, or die.”
His brief speech was in well-articulated Latin, and Minerva wondered if this or his savage battle-rousing speeches were the biggest act.
A woman’s hand suddenly rested on the Novice’s shoulder and guided her aside to let two women who’d appeared behind her pass. Both of them looked travel-worn, but in apparel that still showed its quality, fine linen tunics and pants with Grecian armour made from Manticore hide atop them. Neither carried a shield, instead blades sat sheathed on either hip, ready to be quickly in hand.
“Can’t you even wait where you’re told?” growled the guard, the timbre of the words resonating within Minerva’s chest. While Marauder gave the outward appearance of being the savage brute, something about the man’s words promised he was the most dangerous between them. Given her suspicions, the only question that remained was what colour dragons were in the room.
“We’re not here to start trouble,” declared Nike removing her helm. Her brunette hair clung in sweat-soaked ringlets to her scalp, but her olive-toned skin shone with vitality.
“We’re here to surrender our mantles to Minerva to ensure she can forge a peace. Something is inciting mortals and gods alike to continue fighting for the illusion of gains, but all it will do is ensure the obliteration of the Human species.”
“Why should we trust a Greek God’s word?” Marauder asked, his gaze roaming over the women, assessing their postures and taking in their obvious and concealed weapons.
“Once I would have defended Mount Olympus from all outside threats, but after Zeus and the Moirai allowed the rot within, there is nothing left to defend. I, Nike, daughter of the Titan Pallas, surrender my Mantle to Minerva. Do you accept it?”
“I would have believed you unceasing in striving for victory. Why this surrender?” asked Minerva, not taking her attention from the former Titan nor the Grecian Goddess.
“Zeus cast my advice aside well before this war started and earned his fate. My victory will be to ensure that whatever side wins won’t be celebrating a pyrrhic victory,” said Nike and looked at the Roma senators. “You should surrender quickly. Mars escorted us here but left to tell the generals to surrender to Amdirlain’s cadre; every other army he’s spoken to is already under their command. Once they agree, those here won’t need to use their Spell trap.”
“Amdirlain died before this even started,” Flavius declared pompously.
“Her people want to ensure no one forgets her name, and they won’t allow an insult to her stand,” warned Athena. “While they’d been arguing for years about what name to use, it would seem that is no longer the case. The Wizard’s cadre of Eyrarháls now acts in her name. They give simple choices: stop fighting other nations, or they’ll stop you. They’ve helped destroy a score of forces in the last week alone. Mars told us the cadre recognise the free council as the rightful rulers of Nova Roma given their greater numbers.”
The senators shifted nervously at the news, and Minerva acted. “I accept your Mantle, Nike. Will you serve me as well as you served Zeus against Typhon?”
“I pledge my arm and skill to your service while ever you work to keep humanity from destruction,” Nike declared. The light flickered in a golden sheen around her, and six wings sprouted from her back as she faded away.
“It seems I have a new Solar,” stated Minerva and looked at Athena, trying to hide her surprise at Nike’s transformation.
“I will give my Mantle to you, but I already promised another I’d serve them after I met with you,” replied Athena. Her voice had already regained its composure.
Minera’s eyebrows raised at the words. “Can I ask whose service you’ll be entering?”
“Hestia. I should have stood by her when she sought to calm Zeus’ ire,” replied Athena. “I don’t know if it would have made a difference, but so many that died might still be alive if I’d taken that chance.”
“I thought Hestia had stayed out of this?” asked Minerva, wondering what she had missed.
“She did. I met with a High Priestess on the journey here, and she communed with her for me,” admitted Athena. Without further delay, she offered her Mantle to Minerva and received a ready acceptance.
With the exchange of their oaths, Athena gasped and folded in two, golden blood pouring in streams from her ears and mouth, pooling on the floor at her feet. Minerva moved to her side, but Marauder beat her there.
“Speak your oath, Athena,” growled Marauder. His hands shone blue with radiant energy that washed across her skin. It fought a losing battle against her suddenly ashen complexion as the blood continued to flow and flesh peeled from her bones.
“I pledge my….” Athena pushed as blood pulsed from more opening wounds and twisted aside from Marauder’s touch. “No, it’s time to die. We should have never begged for a sanctuary; we’d had our time. Now it’s time to pay the price.”
Like a tension-twisted catapult, Athena came apart in a spray of flesh and blood that left all about her a gory mess. Before anyone can react, a rush of magic comes from the younger woman, and everything is clean again.
“I’m surprised you tried to help her, Marauder,” Minerva stated, catching a shift in the Orc’s expression. “Didn’t you want to kill her a few moments earlier?”
“Killing an enemy in an honourable battle is one thing; for someone to die after they’ve done something right is another,” declared Marauder. Putting a hand momentarily to the ground where Athena had been standing he rose and glared at Flavius. “It is a pity I know of all your family's vile deeds, Flavius; I don’t believe any of them have earned mercy. You have until the last of us leaves this chamber, and then we’ll eradicate you.”
The free council stood, and the words of surrender left Flavius’ mouth in a rush.
Lezekus’ PoV - Limbo - Monastery of Will’s Hand
Ignoring the others in the senior dining room, Gemiya sat next to Lezekus and placed a bowl before her. “Do you think they’ll ever tell us how someone kidnapped Amdirlain through the wards? You still haven’t told us how you knew they’d killed her.”
Lezekus opened her mouth to reply but closed it with a snap. Instead, she picked up the spoon and poked the stew as if it was an enemy she wanted to rip apart.
“Know they will not let you resume Psi studies until you are calmer,” observed Zenya. “Or do you want to risk Sarith’s fate?”
Closing her eyes, Lezekus raised a hand to rub at the medallion inside her robes, and her lips moved in silent prayer.
“Did you hear the latest news from Liranë?” Gemiya asked, trying to deflect Zenya’s focus for Lezekus.
Sarith, looking wrung-out and pale with fatigue, entered the dining room and headed for the serving section. Still, she walked with purpose, and her passing nearby attracted Lezekus’ attention from her prayers. “Know, Sarith, you look exhausted. Do you have time to sit?”
“Know the infirmaries are busy after the Slaadi’s swarms attacked last night; I need to get back,” responded Sarith and motioned to a meal box a server set at the end of their bench.
“Know I’ll help you with the meals then,” stated Lezekus, leaving her bowl in place and standing to move away.
“Don’t you need to finish that before classes today?” retorted Sarith and pointed to Lezekus’ bowl. “Know I understand you’ve been avoiding speaking to Elliyna; if you don’t feel comfortable speaking with her, there are others that can help.”
“What about you?”
“Know I don’t believe my help would best serve you,” replied Sarith.
Lezekus shook her head and started towards the serving bench. “Know I don’t want help, just someone to listen that won’t then gossip.”
“Know I’ll be able to do that ,” acknowledged Sarith and hurried after her.
“Good, but after you’ve gotten some sleep,” Lezekus said, stopping Sarith from claiming the box. “Know you can lead the way.”
Erwarth’s PoV - Ternòx
Ilya’s blades flow in ways that had been impossible on our arrival. Time spent among the singing crystal walls and sitting beneath the inner trees had helped wash her fears away. With that tension eased, her performance in the sparring sessions with my mother kept improving. Mother’s preference for a shield shows in the purely defensive applications of her second blade, using it to force openings but never exploiting them with her off-hand. Although Isa doesn’t take her eyes from Ilya, her distracted gaze makes it clear she’s focused on their music rather than watching the sparring.
“Mother, are you going to swap out to a dual-blade specialist shortly? I can see Ilya has spotted your bad habits.”
Her disengaging from Ilya’s attacks sends the young Celestial’s blades flying in opposite directions.
Raising her hands to surrender the point, Ilya tosses me a sour look. “I still need to improve enough to exploit what you call a bad habit.”
“You will get there in a century or twelve,” Laleither quips and motions for Ilya to retrieve her blades.
“How did the dragons even defeat you?”
“We got complacent and lazy—memories of past lives are beneficial, but they are also a trap. When one remembers having the heights of power, it brings confidence you could regain it whenever you wish,” Laleither explains, time having leeched the sadness from the topic. “Being reborn is tempting after millennia of drifting along—it restores freshness to life’s experiences, but it also tricks you until reality pulls the rug out from under your feet.”
“But didn’t you have reasons to improve again if you worked for the Titan?” Ilya enquires and illustrates the ignorance I’ve often heard from others. “Making all those worlds must have kept people improving.”
“We had ceased working for the Titan well before Orhêthurin executed the Anar King,” admits Laleither. “Orhêthurin was the only one that frequently travelled to other worlds or even far beyond the cities’ walls; as for the rest of us, our lives had become comfortable. There is a difference between proficiency in times of peace and what times of war require. The Anar and we no longer possessed the needed proficiency for battle; even if we had, we’d never fought on such a scale.”
“I remember all the Glinnel taking too long to unleash effective attacks on the dragons,” admits Isa. “I had only seen it from the side of needing protection, not from insufficient practice under pressure. The memory has been slowly growing for years now; it started as a dream before he sent me to Hell.”
Laleither winces and moves to lift a hand to hide her eyes in shame but clenches it into a fist. None had wanted to address Isa’s memory when she arrived, but something had changed. “Your memory was right, but it was only a snippet of the fall after we’d left. We saw what we thought was her death to the Leviathan’s acidic breath and never imagined she’d rise to fight on. Instead of waiting, we accepted Balnérith’s offer to assist us from what we saw as the Titan’s trap. Nothing had dared to come at us for billions of years, so the Leviathan's assault must have been the Titan’s doing, mustn’t it? Better to get free of it so we can pull others free, right? We were such fools.”
“Singing requires substantial endurance of body and mind. We’d played at keeping our skills sharp, but they’d gone to seed,” Roher injects, moving mother away from the subject of our shame. “Have you recovered enough to practice further, Isa?”
“Yes, please. I want to get the Song for the crystal right,” replies Isa, happy to let the discussion of the past slide for now.
With her swords recovered, Ilya readies herself and they spar again, but Isa returns to her practice. I listen to the developing duet and crystals spun from True Song form for the first time since the fall. Merely long strands at first, but they spin together to form a conductor’s baton with starlight shining a guiding path from within.
* * *
The pair come into the study with too much amusement to not have something planned. Still, I pretend to remain focused on a grimoire Ebusuku shared until Isa makes her move.
She plants herself on the table’s edge and gives me a smile that’s too bright when I look up from the grimoire. “I thought you came here to see about getting in trouble?”
“I have some plans to annoy the Sisterhood, but Ebusuku asked me to spend time with my family first. Though I have already sent a message to ensure a project we had underway won’t vanish.”
“What kind of project?”
“The construction of siege engines that should be effective against a Sisterhood stronghold is in progress,” I offer, knowing she’ll hear the truth in my words’ Song. “I wanted to send her word from within the Abyss in case the builder could tell the difference in the Spell’s energy..”
“The fifty-odd of you were going to besiege a stronghold?” Isa asks incredulously.
My laughter has Ilya looking our way, but Isa lets me laugh until I’m ready to explain. “No, not us. We know the Sisterhood’s principal enemies. They’re not trustworthy, but we were sure we could provoke them into attacking with the right tools and information. The engines are still under construction, though our builder was surprised to hear from me.”
“Why is that?”
“She found patches of ground in the construction yard glowing with Celestial energy,” I admit and enjoy Isa’s wide-eyed expression.
“Bet she thought something had obliterated you. How long does Celestial energy last in the Abyss?”
“It depends on the strength of the energy involved; often, it will decay rapidly,” I explain and grow suspicious at the smile she gains. “Why?”
“When we got here, you spoke to Roher about the Sisterhood wards,” Isa comments, and her smile widens. “What would happen if a Demon teleported into an area affected by Celestial energies?”
“It would be unpleasant and potentially quite painful. Lesser Succubi would sustain injuries just from being close to the energy; stronger ones could endure it since we’re in the Abyss.”
“Hold up on whatever you plan to do, please?” asks Isa excitedly. “I’ve got an idea, but I’ll need more practice and consulting with Roher to see if it’s possible. It’ll use a concept from my world.”
Her gleeful tone has Ilya voice my question first. “What concept is that?”
“Signal boosters, repeater stations, and a few other things. I don’t know the technical details, but they don’t matter. Let me talk to Roher,” Isa says and skips towards the door. “This could be so much fun!”
* * *
It takes a few weeks of work and more quiet conversations between Isa and Roher than I’d ever expected to see. I’d caught them from time to time singing crystals into existence but not spotted whatever the strangely short-lived duets they sing repeatedly has wrought.
“What are you two planning to do?” asks Laleither, looking between Isa and Roher, pointedly ignoring the dozen Glinnel observers far too close to the boundary to offer comfort.
“Playing scattershot with crystal,” Isa glibly answered, almost dancing in place with excitement. “It should give us a way to push the signal through the narrow passages and access more trapped souls. If I can get a passage into a big enough space, we can set up a repeater station. Enough of those, plus a smidge of luck, and we’ll link up to the settlement in this direction.”
“But we can’t afford to waste-” Laleither stops and eyes a bag of miniature batons Isa brings forth with a flourish. “Wouldn’t it be better to place them in an organised fashion rather than whatever random placement you’re planning?”
Isa laughed and waved a scolding fighter at Laleither. “If you were placing them, that might work fine. But since there are plenty of Lómë Glinnel and only one of me, I want to try my way first. Tell you what, I’ll make you a bet.”
“What sort of bet?” asks Laleither, already forgetting to be wary when Isa makes such offers.
“If it doesn’t work, I’ll work on repairing all the stress-cracked walls and pillars before we take another shot at this your way,” Isa states.
“It’s exactly those elements that I’m worried about putting under additional stress.”
“That’s why we’re doing this next part first,” Isa says and lifts her voice in overlapping songs that cause the air to shiver. When Roher and his Chorus, who’d been there merely to observe, join in, Laleither’s eyes narrow.
A flat wall of True Song crystal forms at the lip of the cavern’s bowl, perfectly lining up with the passage I’m scrying. The presence strengthens the boundary’s effects, and further down the tunnel, I can see stone momentarily boil as souls just out of reach erupt from the ground.
“And if you win the bet?” asks Laleither in a tone admitting her expectation of loss.
“Oh, we just get to do this at each suitable passageway out of this cavern before doing repair work,” Isa says. “I want to make an express corridor to the three caves nearby. There is one between us and the cavern with the biggest remnants of the city, right?”
“Very well, Isa.”
With a smile that has Laleither shaking her head, Isa sings again, and the chorus shows the planning when they sing flawlessly with her. The music soars until the power pulses in the air, making my hair almost stand on end and, from the heights of a crescendo, it flares out. The passageway erupts in a swirling maelstrom that races forward, twisters branching off through the connecting tunnels in the region I’d kept under observation. Erupting Sisterhood wards have their Mana lashing out, only to be drawn into the Song and transformed, adding their power to its own.
The stone glowed with the wild heavenly Arborea energy, and within the consecrated path, stone blisters burst open. Each opening reveals a charred body of one type of Nox or another, but freed souls race towards us.
Wards continue to rupture in a cascade of energy that doesn’t go unnoticed. The Fourteen Glinnels sing with multi-toned voices that lift through the registers as the first team of six appears into a waiting pulse of Song. Isa signals as one of their combined songs unleash Dimensional Lock and I move in.
The chamber is just big enough for my approach, and the human-sized succubi find themselves dwarfed by my assumed Hound Archon form, their faces barely level with my ribcage. I recognise their leader just before I turn her into pulp; then, there is nothing remotely recognisable among her crushed flesh and black ichor. The Celestial energy swirling around my fists sets even her armour aflame.
Her team starts a fighting retreat with their teleports failing, lashing out with spells and thrown blades; but they’re dimensionally locked, not me. I catch their thoughts, not understanding how a mere Archon has such strength as they seek to rally instead of fleeing.
The standard spells don’t even get through my aura, and their flesh ruptures under power they’d never have expected to face here. But I give them enough time to get off a Message while I play some more—to see if reinforcement will arrive. Five squads appear in response to their cry for help, and I speak a word whose inflections echo the essence of Ebusuku’s Domain. I can feel her approval within the power that comes forth, but the will to support it here is all mine.
The heavenly energy in the word rolls through minds steeped in filth and torment, blasting their senses away as it purifies its way inwards. Among them, the strongest merely go blind, stunned by the anathema power clawing at their faces, while the weakest explode into flames and crumple rapidly to dust.
Planar Attunement repeatedly cast between blows sees only the three strongest team leaders permanently destroyed—but the others die so quick it seems I should have used something less potent to incapacitate. The rush of experience boosts my new species through the initial levels and, surrounded by Isa’s music, I suddenly catch the edge of True Song again. Though the Song of the Abyss is loud around me, that is enough to make me weep, despite the soaring musical energy of creation stained by its corruption.
Teleport puts me back near Laleither before transforming into my Elven form.
“To encounter six teams in total isn’t a standard response. I wasn’t expecting them to have more than a single backup team. I don’t know what’s going on, but something must have Balnérith focused on Ternòx.”
“The expansion of our sanctuaries isn’t enough?” asks Laleither as dozens of crystal batons ride the power down the passageway, unexpectedly jamming deep into the stone at its entrance.
“The location of the city’s remnants would limit that expansion. She knows enough to understand you shouldn’t get any more sung crystal,” I remark and continue in a rush. “I can hear True Song again—I’ve gained Resonance.”
Mother clasps my hand, and I see the tears shining in her eyes before she blinks them away and gives a happy nod.
“You’d better hurry and level whatever classes you’ve got so you can take a variation of Glinnel,” Roher says when their work on Isa’s Song ends. “I look forward to training you as well.”
“Father, I have taken no classes since I became a Solar.”
“I remember unlocking Glinnel by humming a short couplet in Hell. It had me spitting blood,” offers Isa.
“You’re lucky not to have…” starts Roher, and stopping glances along the corridor where I can hear the echoes of the cavern’s song rushing flawlessly through it before he lamely finishes. “gotten yourself killed.”
Comments
Glenn Wright
You can be sure she'd be more than a little unhappy
Robin Richards
So True Song Crystal requires both Lome and Anar singers? If Balnérith realises that the Lome are creating new crystal what is her likely response to the return of at least one Anar?
Glenn Wright
Thanks - that what I get for applying edits in the early hours of the morning for me, just before I post. (You'd think I'd learn not to do that)
Håvard
- Still, after two months with the supply of food supply
Eyes wide
Thanks for the chapter
