Chapter 2

Annesha's crew hadn't wasted their time the moment they made land as they disembarked their ship hauling personal treasures and goods they had stowed away upon their backs as they pondered through the city streets, with Echon guiding them.

With a heavy relieved sigh, Argo had muttered, "Hmm, Carthol doesn't seem much different, even after all these years."

"Heh, you mean aside from the fact most of it was sunken?" another chirped in.

"Or that giant ass wall?" a third had asked.

"Hey, hey," he shamelessly retorted. "Can't help it's the upper district I'm used to."

"Me? I'm just finally happy to be home," Taginal said without prompt or introduction.

"Yeah, no one asked," Garld huffed. "Besides, there's a few who don't got a soul waiting for them."

"Vrueth find you!" Finnald spat, jolting the wooden crate in his arms just to fire off his jab.

Keeping pace with the group as he turned, Garld held a grin on his face as he said, "I wasn't even talking about you."

"I could smell my name on your breath,"

Before he could snap back at their gest, Veldol perked in with, "I should really send a letter to my family once I get settled in. Nah, in fact, I should visit."

"While you're still wifeless?" Kallion snickered.

"Jackass, we're all wifeless," Veldol was quick to remind.

"Yeah," Garld shamelessly agreed, as did they all shamelessly accept it as fact. "But, Veldol, didn't you always used to mention your sisters? How many was it? Six? Eight?"

"Yeah!" a second chimed in. "Give us a hand brother!"

"Ha, more like a lass!"

They all laughed.

"Not a chance in this life or the next. If you all even so much as look at my sisters you're ass will be the Dregsen's new figurehead."

A swell of 'boos' rose up among their ranks as the other chuckled to themselves.

"As if any of you had a legacy worth leading ha," Finnald laughed. "Me, I don't need anyone or anything but crate of Errenal wine…"

"Heh, and here I just thought you liked to look at it," one perked in.

"Wait, Finnald is actually going to drink it?" a third chidded before a minor swell of laughter sounded from the crew.

"We'll all be merry soon enough," Rollan assured. "Soon as Echon can find us his mother's tavern."

"Yeah, hurry up already, I'm parched!"

"You even know where you're going lad!"

"Aye! Would you relax!" Echon barked. "Of course I do, I haven't second guessed myself yet. Not to mention, it's just down this alley anyways."

The alley way in particular was rather narrow indeed. It didn't peel from any main road one might reasonably build an establishment, but was rather in an unsuspecting corner of the city without a sign to give way to its existence. Not to mention, it was rather cramped for the thirty or so odd men that began filing in two at a time. It was a bit filthy with trash strewn in the corners of the walk way leaving many to question Echon's integrity.

"What sort of tavern would be hold up in this waste?" a fellow mate mumbled.

"Perhaps Echon's mind is rife with sea salt."

Of course he didn't appreciate this level of doubt and disrespect, especially from his crew mates. "Think of it like this," he began with a heavy sigh. "It's out of the way and rather discrete meaning there's more drinks and service to go around. My family always prided itself on being known through word of mouth, not to mention we're popular among the veterans and servicemen of Carthol."

"As if that's saying much," one laughed.

"Name one man in Carthol that isn't either of those two!"

Rolland could see Echon getting worked up. While Echon by no means often became hot headed easily, it seemed with the pride of his family's business and name on the line, he might just blow up at the crew.

Averting this, Rolland rested a hand over Echon's shoulder before giving him a reassuring squeeze. "Don't let them eat at you, it's all in jest."

With a sigh, Echon nodded. "Aye, they're just eager to get wasted. I just can never tell if they're more tolerable sober or drunk."

"Let's find out tonight then, aye?" Rolland offered with a grin, pumping his arm out to the side and raising his fist to the sky in solute.

"Aye, let's," he answered, matching his gesture before turning to the solitary door in the alleyway and knocking thrice loudly. As they waited, he turned to the crew as Rolland stood at his side and said, "as a brother before the mast, you're each entitled to a free drink. However! -you all still need to provide us with a fair reason to stay in business, so show my mother some courtesy and express it in a fair fare, aye?"

"Aye!" they all cheered.

It was then, the door cracked open as a single eye peered out to gaze at both Echon and Rolland as they stood within view. As they both seemed to notice, it burst open as a woman sprang forward before nearly tackling Echon all together with arms wrapped tightly around his neck. It was clear that it was his mother, and she cried tears of great joy at just seeing his face as he embraced her tightly lifting her from the ground briefly.

"Oh, my boy, my sweet boy," she whispered, her voice wavering and emotional, choking back sobs with each syllable that left her lips.

"Hey, hey," he softly spoke as he held her tight. "Common. You always said a woman of Carthol scant sheds a tear, especially in the face of good company."

"Eh, today I eat my words my dear," she said as her grip finally loosed and she allowed herself to be placed down and stand on her own. It was then she turned to see the crew all crammed into the alley carrying an assortment of barrels, heavy leather bags, packs, crates and other commodities. "Oh, I see this is the crew you mentioned in your letters."

"Aye, the very one I sailed with for all these years."

Outstretching her arm, she held up a hand to Rolland and said, "ah, you must be the captain." He looked him over with a tilt of her head and said, "fair and noble build, neither the prettiest, but far from the ugly most baneful my son has seen."

It was clear she was reciting whatever letter Echon referenced Rolland in, and he tilted his head to her, before casting a quick gaze back to him with a curt, "thanks. But, please, call me Rolland."

"And I suppose the rest of you are here for drinks?" she asked, turning to the group, a weary smile on her face.

Having only known her for a few moments, Rolland had seen her earnest smile of happiness when she embraced her son. This one she gave the crew however, it seemed rather… forced, or simply incensear. Did she not like the company or the crew? Perhaps, Rolland was simply looking into it too far, but his intuition was rarely false when it came to things such as this.

As the crew all cheered, she turned to her son and said, "Echon… a moment please…"

She gestured to him to follow her into the tavern as she blocked the majority of the inside from Rolland's view. Echon, gave his mother an obedient nod before casting an apologetic gaze to the captain and crew for delaying the merriness another minute longer. As he stepped into the building, the door slid shut leaving Rolland and the crew within the alley.

"What do you think that's about?" one crew member ask.

"Perhaps they're out of stock?" another offered.

"Nah, Echon always said they always kept enough for a whole winter."

"Could've been bragging."

"I wouldn't put it past him. I mean, this place is already rather… underwhelming. The way he spoke of it, you would've thought it was the grandest hall you'd ever seen in all the lands."

A swell of ayes and nods waved through the men in time for Rolland to step in.

"Let's cease the murmuring now and have a bit of respect, aye? Another minute sober ain't going to be the end of you all especially after Echon went through the trouble of offering to servicing us on such short notice."

"Aye captain," the rang with newly placed dignity and respect.

It was then Rolland heard a bit of a scuffle, or more so clumsiness emanate from behind to the other end of the alleyway. He turned to see it was a fellow carrying a really long wooden rod, struggling to angle the obscenely broad thing into the alley as he turned to see the crew before beaming with releaf.

"Captain!" he called. "I nearly thought I lost you all!"

"Heh, late as usual, are you boy?" The men all seemed to chuckle as he was finally able to angle it properly standing it up long ways as before couching it like a spear pointed at the crew.

"Argo," Rolland muttered with a heavy sigh, grabbing the pattle end and pulling it in along with Argo. "Why did you bring the oar?"

Finally reunited with the crew, Argo answered, "I thought it'd be a nice memento, you know?"

"Memento?" Rolland question. "The Dregsen isn't going anywhere and Annesha never mentioned decommissioning it."

"But we ain't sailing too soon either," Argo reminded. "Besides, what if you must call all hands to oars? We can't do that without an oar, aye?"

Having mentioned it, Rolland couldn't help but let a smile crack over his lips, before balling his hand and roughly rubbing at Argo's head. "Ah, ya sentimental buffoon," he teased. "We ain't even on the water!"

It was then the door slid open before Echon's head emerged calling, "Captain… a quick word, yeah?"

However, the crew seemed to be growing impatient, and one asked, "what's the hold up Echon?"

Yet, Echon didn't answer as he swiftly took hold of Rolland's arm pulling him into the tavern and sliding the door shut behind him. It was only then that Rolland could begin to piece together the nature of Echon's blight.

"Ever since that day when the titan of the sea attacked," Echon's mother began explaining with a weary voice. "Our service men stopped coming, the regulars disappeared and my place has been driven to ruin."

Looking throughout the place, Rolland concluded, "I doubt the disappearance of your patrons was the only symptom."

The place was an absolute waste. The boards were torn up and rotten, the tables chipped and stained, the floors creaked horribly and Rolland couldn't help but notice it clung to his footwear like a rotten sticky mess. Portions of floor were missing, swaths of walls were torn down and bashed in, chairs boke, chandeliers shattered with food, wine and glass strewn about every inch of the place.

"It must've been a riot," Echon muttered.

"Aye," she nodded. "Something like that. And the lord of our establishment has been sending gangs to collect Echon. I can't stave them off, they'll rip me out of here and I'll be on the streets. I have nothing to pay them with, nothing to provide. We're ruined."

She seemed to be on the verge of tears yet again, yet Echon was quick to console her. "No, it's not all bad. I've returned, and I can pay off whatever they demand."

"Even still," she conjected. "We have no business, no reputation. Not to mention the cost to repair this whole mess."

"This won't do," Rolland muttered as he turned his back and reached for the door.

"Captain?" Echon questioned. "I-I'm sorry to see you disappointed but… I…"

Rolland simply shook his head. "What are you apologising for? Are we not brothers before the mast?" It was then Rolland pulled the door open before booming with a loud commanding voice, "Crew! Align!"

Though they were a foolish geering bunch that revelled laughs and trickery, when commanded, they were quick to fall silent, dropping anything and all unimportant tasks before standing in a neat line against the wall of the alley with shoulder to shoulder, bodies firm and faces stoic. As he matched down the line, Rolland spoke clearly and firmly so that no word spoke would be missed.

"For a little over a decade we've been brothers before the mast, have we not?"

"Nay, Captain!" they answered.

"We've been through it all. Fought many battles and sailed through many seas, and though those dire waters and treacherous storms, if one was taken by the swells, did we turn our back and cower in retreat?"

"Nay, Captain!" they again answered.

"Nay indeed. We'll be there to dredge them up from those dark abyssal waters, never to be abandoned nor forgotten. Without might combined, those waters cannot take us, and the world can not beat us. Men! All hands on oar!" At his word, Argo was quick and eager to begin handing the oar down the line as men gathered on either side to grip the shaft one after another until all hands were on oar, even the captain's. "Now, we do have one wading through treacherous waters as we speak. Echon's sweet mother's tavern is in ruin, but we have the means, the power and will to dredge it back up. Men, let's make this the best place to drink this humble corner of the capital, aye?"

"Aye!"

And so, they all got to restoring the interior, not only to, but even surpassing its former glory. As the crew labored away, Annesha was quick to appoint herself at the helm of the high court of the capital. Differing from the High Council that handled and had the final say on broad political and economic concerns, the court dealt with the more menial and oftentimes petty manners of the common folk, nobles and aristocrats of the land. It was an outdoor amphitheater carved from the mountain overlooking the capital from the southeastern corner of the city. Upon the stage sat throne-like seating enough for thirty judges, but most days there were only perhaps five present. Of course the were many rows of stands facing the stage encouraging people to watch and engage with each trial as those below argued and pleaded their case.

Often the high court dealt with accusations of criminality, land dispute, tarnished goods or simply requests for a loan from the treasury of Carthol and other numerous things in need of fair and considerable judgment. Though it was a duty to be honored, Annesha couldn't help but feel her time was sorely misplaced. How could she divert her mind to the more mundane rulings when the threat of an imminent invasion was ever present. When the mouth of Xanthian, Carthol's only means to the waters and territories beyond Xanthian was occupied by Narrovinnia. When there were no grand ports to build and construct new ships. When they lacked a standing army or force to defend the land should the time come.

Such bureaucratic nonsense, though she knew Demion to be wise and no doubt would act in her best interest and surpass expectations. In the meantime, all she had to do was play along and bide her time until she was anointed Lordess, Fifth Mortemy of Carthol. She only hoped and prayed Dalvion would arrive sooner. Though with the Mouth of Xanthian beneath the control of Narrovinna, sailing through would pose a challenge. However, now that she considered it, when she sailed through the mouth weeks ago, she wasn't impeded though by then Narrovinnia would've certainly established themselves. Perhaps they had a cunning agenda in the works, one that allowed her to enter with little issue. She could only guess as to why and hoped Narrovinnia would cause Dalvion no trouble the same they did her.

In the meantime, the Grand Court demanded her attention, and as yet another ruling was passed, the next to be ushered in to stand before the judges, and the princess of Carthol herself, Annesha could easily affirm the girl to be Native of Roe. Not only was it the blond hair upon her head, but the length at which she kept it, far shorter than those of Centeral Carthol hardly coming to even reach her shoulders. Though her eyes were emerald, a not entirely uncommon hue among even those of Agrenal, the armor she bore was the most telling.

It wasn't the metal it was forged from, or the etching and engravings that led Annesha to such a conclusion, but the pair of stone arms, reinforced with steel linings and joints, folded to her back, elbows pointed to the small of her lower back, fists curled where her spine met her neck.

"State your name," Annesha commanded in much the same way she did throughout the day, rather curious of what may have brought her to the courts today.

For as young as she looked she sure spoke with a bold tone as she declared, "I am Verreene and I'm here to request permission to slay my aunt in mutual combat."

A strange silence fell over the court as even the birds abruptly halted their song at how outlandish this request was. Lesser lords looked from one to another, spectators silently murmured, but Verreene seemed deathly serious, both in demeanor and tone. Yet, while all seemed shocked, Annesha had to obscure a blooming smile behind a pair of interlaced fingers as she poised forward with intrigue.

"Kill your aunt?" she repeated, leaving Verreene to nod. "I suppose... you have a fairly good reason as to why."

"My aunt, Chillian Danne, killed my brother and stole his estate." Again, deathly serious in demeanor and tone. However just before Annesha could follow up asking for more clarification or evidence, Verreene continued, her voice seeming to soften as she did so. "I am the daughter of Calagon Danne. A lesser chief of Roe."

Those of Roe ordered themselves by a hierarchy of Chiefs and Lesser chiefs, much like the Overlord and lesser lords of Carthol. The Grand Chief held the most authority over the province and was second to the Overlord of Carthinnian Empire. A lesser chief, if Annesha's memory served to be accurate, often referred to one who presided over a village or town. A lower chief presided over several, an upper held dominion over a region which then led into the Grand Chief.

"It was months ago when my father heard the echoes of Myndre bidding him to war once more in Lord Mortemy's name," Verreene continued. "He was a powerful man, an honest one too, war was his mistress and he'd never shirk the call to battle. However, neither was he arrogant. He knew death was always a possibility and in the event he did pass, his estate and wealth was promised to my brother and I. My brother would first rule as lesser chief in my father's death, yet if he too happened to die, I was to become chieftess once I came of age."

The manner in which she spoke would've come off as unusual. She spoke with hardly a hint of emotion, as if the reality of the death and loss of her father and brother simply hadn't penetrated her mind. Carthinnians have always believed that passing beneath the blade of a worthy foe in the glorious theater of battle was something of a high honor. To the citizens of Carthol, it meant that soldiers died protecting the land of their forefathers so that their children may prosper, their spouses and every citizen of Carthol as well.

To the god Teuse, gatekeeper of the afterlife, it meant they died serving a purpose in the world. A great thing, for Teuse loathed the slothful, the uninspired, the unmotivated and the idle. To those that died honorably in the eyes of Teuse, meant they earned everlasting life forever living on in the celestial realms of the gods. To those pitiful souls without ambition or drive however, they wonder a separate plain.

With that said, death was still death. Loss of a loved one, a person one may have known for years and cherished with all their love and heart still weighed heavy on the hearts and minds of Carthinnians. Even the ruggish battle loving citizens of Roe were not above such sentiments. 'Eerie,' was the only word to come to Annesha's mind. Strange, the girl of Roe, Verreene Danne was.

Verreene continued.

"Following the news of my father's demise, my brother was due to become chief in his stead, yet one morning, he left and never again appeared. He went missing without a trace, without a word. Days passed, weeks and none nor I had seen him. I worried, I prayed… and no answer was given to ease my mind. Since I am too young to lead, my father's sister, Chillian Danne, became chieftess in his stead, but that was when I found out what had truly happened.

"I never trusted my aunt, and my father whispered words of scheming and deceit to her name. I broke into her manner while she was away, and searched through her belongings. My Princess," she addressed as her hands seemed to shift beneath that pelt of hers. Then, with an outstretched arm she declared, "Here I have the letter sent from the assassin she conspired with. There is no body to be found," she stated as an assistant took it from her hands to deliver it to Annesha. "They... made sure to dispose of it."

Taking the letter, she unfolded the fine parchment before reading:

Emptor

The task has been handled and your trinket secured.

With its delivery and this letter, the rest is legend, soon to be

forgotten.

That was all there was to read. It wasn't incriminating proof by any means, at least not at face value, but such was what professional killers strived for; anonymity and deniability. However, if anything could be extrapolated from the note, Annesha knew that 'Emptor' was a phrase that held roots within the continent of Colyghava. If Verreene were after retribution she'd best begin at Burma, a coastal nation harboring one of many Carthinnian territories across the world. Burma was among the southernmost shores of Colynghava, just west of Loriken by boat or upon foot. Emptor: 'Let the Buyer Beware,' a threat if one client happened to get a little too bold or clareless in their devious ploy and a warning as murder often aroused uneeded attention to a client's own affairs. Why such an assassin from the continent of Colynghava would venture or have dealings in Carthol was beyond Annesha.

There was simply one unavoidable issue. "I'm sorry Verreene, but this doesn't prove this was the doing of your Aunt. No name was stated, and I only have your word."

"Invite her!" she hastily interjected. It was a break in stone-like demeanor, but as soon as the crack had formed, it again rehardened as she composed herself. "Invite her here," she calmly repeated. "She's not the sharpest of the clutch. You tell her she's found out and she'll admit to the crime herself and I'll be there to throw down the pelt."

Throw down the pelt, a common expression to those of Roe. To throw down the pelt means to bear arms and fight till one concedes or death claims them. Those of Roe weren't opposed to infighting, even lesser Lord of Carthol were known to be granted sanction to battle amongst their contending neighbors. To throw down the pelt was an offer one could never refuse as it was never a gesture to be taken lightly. They say when two formidable warriors of Roe fight, even the earth trembles beneath their might.

The proposition Verreene offered was fair, if misdirection and deceit could've been considered such. There was just one concern pressing Annesha's mind. "Verreene," she said. "You don't have to fight her." She was young, maybe in her early teens. No way could she stand to defend herself and fight. "If she admits guilt, the court will insure she'll see her due punishment."

Verreene simply shook her head and answered, "I hail from Roe. I'm the daughter of Calagon Danne, the sister of Galagon Danne. She set him to be killed, she stole my estate and she commands my home. This is personal, this is pride, my wrath will be just and if I die, I die."

Looking from one lord to the next, there didn't seem to be much objection to the proposition at hand. With an eager nod, Annesha said, "I'll invite her to come, and if she admits guilt you take it to the Estoc Arena and have it out there. If she's still alive by the time you're done she'll then be arrested."

"I'll take it," she declared.

"Yes, but you'll need shelter to stay until the day she arrives." Gesturing Northeast of the court, she said, "a room in my castle should suffice. No doubt you're tired, the many miles from Roe to here couldn't have been kind."

"I'll take the bed," she announced. "And I'll train each hour of every day until the moment she's slain."

With that said, a vote was held and the proposition to lure Chillian Danne and gain a confession was passed. Verreene didn't stay long as she saw herself off from the Grand Court. Annesha made sure to assign the young girl an assistant, but given her proud demeanor, Annesha doubted Verreene was the type to keep to them.

A message was sent out later that day by falcon to Chillian, Yurria doing well to insure it's expedient and express delivery. By her estimations, Annesha should expect to see Chillian's arrival in the span of a couple weeks at most. While that short event of Verreene's plight would remain on the Princess's mind, other matters required Annesha's attention.

During the same day Verreene had given her account, an engineer requested Annesha lend him her time, intent on presenting a project in the works that Old Lord Mortemy himself had commissioned. She was told to meet him in the workshop beneath the castle and so after the day had come to a close and her daily duties were met, Annesha wandered the halls before coming to the flight of stairs that lead her to the cellars below.

The engineer had introduced himself as Ronnach inviting her into the castle's underwork. He was an old man having served his two decades and one year in battle bearing marks, burns and scars such battlefield experience often brings.

"Ah, my princess," he said as he let in. "I thought you'd be accompanied with a guard at the very least."

"You had something you wanted to show me," she stated, not wanting to waste time.

At a glance, his shop seemed rather sophisticated with tools and rather advanced looking equipment the purpose of which Annesha knew little of. It was well organized, hardly a scrap of debris or waste strewn about.

With a nod, he turned to lead as he muttered, "right, right. I can imagine the duties of a princess to be rather hectic."

Following him through the shop she mentioned, "you said my father had commissioned you for a project. Can I hear more detail on the subject."

"Yes," he nodded as he came before a tall standing object covered by a thin quilt. "In fact, here it is. They call it a Titanic."

Tearing the quilt away, Annesha looked to see a construct that eerily seemed as though it were the upper portion of a metal skeleton. It was large, a little more than twice the size of a normal human. Its head was featureless, its shoulders seemed broad with a single lanky arm and a palm with five protruding appendages no doubt meant to be fingers.

Ronnach explained. "A few months ago, your father had some dealings with the Guild of Ike, he was seeking a bit of technology and those traders are never short on new and inventive schematics. We ended up with this," he said as he directed her attention to a glass table with a backlight illuminating the thin yet finely printed pages that seemed to depict each and every component of the titanic in clear detail. No doubt when stacked, the pages would come together to completely outline the titanic.

"Is this some sort of… machinery?" Annesha asked. "Some sort of armor?"

"In the simplest terms," he began. "...it's a vessel. You've no doubt knowledgable of spiritual interfacing, yes."

"Where your soul mends with an object acting as an extension of your body," she confidently stated, her mind immediately recalling the stone armaments upon Verreene's back. They operated in much the same way, acting as an extension of the spirit allowing them to be controlled to an incredibly sophisticated and delicate degree. "The warriors of Roe perfected the art with their terrestrial arms and armor. Some old wounded soldiers even adopted prosthetics in much the same manner across the world. Such a practice isn't easy and requires immense dedication and meditation."

"Yes, but while the Roe wear their arms to enhance their combat effectiveness, this machinery requires just a soul. In other words, the warrior must be deceased, their soul removed from their body and adopted into this, as if possessed."

Annesha had to chuckle as she lightly shook her head. "You can't transfer consciousness. It's why our soul even takes refuge within our bodies at all. Without a brain we might as well be any old rock for all our soul is concerned." Looking from the Titanic to the highly detailed and outline schematics, she looked to Ronnach with a curious, almost ridiculing gaze and asked, "how much did my father pay the Guild of Ike for this?"

Hesitant, he answered, "you'd be... disappointed if I told you."

With a sigh, she turned away before saying, "then I think we're done."

"But wait, my princess," he protested. "I have gotten results." This was enough to make Annesha pause and listen, but only momentarily out of respect. "Within the schematics was also instructions to make what was called a Matrix. Its intention was to mimic the foundation of a brain so that a soul could interface and take root. Constructing it, I've gained results. Unlike a true brain like yours or mine, it is stated that the matrix cannot learn from the present or form new memories. It can only act on the experience of the soul's former life, performing basic tasks and reacting to familiar scenarios. It can act in the heat of battle and make judgments, but it can't learn or develop new tactics."

He opened the dome of the Titanic to reveal an array of metal rods and nodes. They came together to form an odd yet deliberate geometric shape vaguely forming the likeness of a brain.

"You'd need a soul to get any results, a human soul… Where did you source them?"

While souls could be captured within a crystal should the one to die be willing, the soul itself provided little practical benefit with regards to magic. Memories could be extracted, the same as experience and particular techniques, however when it came to soul mending and crafting, the beasts of Lynthre and the dragon lineage of Xanthian provided far more variety and utility. Souls offered little benefit in enhancing one's light magic ability, the same with dark and even in manipulating the Euths.

To capture one's own soul adhered to no Carthinnian tradition. Most desired to be escorted by Vrueth to the gates of Teuse to be judged upon before entering into the eternal afterlife. To be denied that, to simply be captured and contained within a rock seemed rather cruel to Annesha. Who'd ever submit to an afterlife of dull imprisonment? Even the worst of men deserved better, even if they end up destined for oblivion regardless.

"I only have one, it was all that was needed," he answered as he reached into his robe and grabbed at something tucked away within his pockets. "He was a former combatant of the Estoc Arena and entrusted their spirit to me, granting it once they passed."

Extending his palm, he presented the princess with a finely cut, transparent crystal like stone that glowed with a gentle white radiance of a fair soul. She took it in her hands and couldn't help but sense a strong familiar warmth. It was comparable to that of a loving brother, strong in bond and insurmountably devoted. Annesha couldn't help but feel reciprocated, as though she were reuniting with a long lost loved one.

It was this feeling that prompted her to ask, cradling the stone within her palm, careful not to mistreat or jolt it, "whose soul is this, Ronnach?"

"The former Champion, Seddissen Cyntrail."

Annesha became suddenly silent, her face holding little expression for Ronnach to properly discern as a lengthy silence quickly proceeded. An awkwardness was quick to take hold, but as Ronnach's mind became wracked with anxiety, he quickly remembered something rather important.

"Oh, my Princess," he chirped, reaching into his folds yet again, sifting through numerous pockets as he searched for the item of interest. "The Arena director had given me a letter, said it was from Seddissen himself. He had wanted to hand it to you himself, however he became occupied, I think handling a beast. Instead, he asked me to give it to you in his sudden absence. Ah," he mused once he finally located it, quickly withdrawing the broad piece of parchment, folded three times and presenting it to Annesha. "Here it is."

Tentative at first, Annesha soon took hold of it with the soul stone still in hand before opening it and beginning to read.

To the Prince and Princess of Carthol

No doubt by the time you see this I'll have long since passed. I may have felled many foes upon the arena grounds and conquered many a villainous opponents, however it seems the cosmic will of the gods is what'll spell the end of me. Though, whether this be the end for my mortal flesh and blood, I may stand to fight yet again. Though I may not know for certain, I wanted to leave you my final regards before Vrueth stands to look upon me.

It was the Reign of the Mad Tyrant within the land of Loriken when the last of my kin were slaughtered at the cliff's edge before the waters of the Pilligan Ocean. With great fortune it was the Carthinnian navy that claimed me before the waves swallowed me whole.

In my prior life I was a scholar. A cozy life raised as a man of intellect, dedicated to the study of science and all things tangible. Unfortunately, Carthol had no use for one such as I, unproven, unnamed, unable to even speak the same tongue.

I didn't last long in the fields, neither the quarries, shipyard or all things manual and dumb labor. I thought I deserved better, I was a scholar yet I was looked down upon by those I thought beneath me and thrown out into the streets without a coin to my name before long, starved soon after.

The one place that needs no words yet fed me where the pits. How I stumbled upon them I couldn't remember, but desperate for food, I figured I could drill a Carthinnian for all the nonsense I went through. Turns out you Carthinnians are a mighty beast indeed. I hadn't known the weakest valley bred boy stood to be trained by the elders of war at a young age. Because of this, no doubt the weakest would have stood to even the greatest general of Loriken.

The pain was real. The cuts to my face, deep. The teeth I lost, permanent. What little pride I had left, greatly eviscerated.

However, the word of a Carthinnian is often honored, I was fed even as a hopeless, starved, and destitute loser.

Seddissen, in the tongue of Loriken. The day I bore the name was the day I accepted my worth and place within Carthol.

A spar before the fight, a warm body to beat upon before the main event, I certainly lived up to my name.

Then, two little miscreants happened upon me as I wallowed in my own pity. A young boy, and a particular girl horned by the Carthinnian god of war, an Omen in my land, a blessing in Carthol. A mischievous, plotting and devious grin never seeming to leave her little, goblin face, the boy her ever ready accomplice. She tossed a coin my way and before I knew it, I had a monetary debt I couldn't repay. As misfortune would have it, I was to become their belligerent.

Yet, a belligerent of the very Prince and Princess of the Overlord of Carthol couldn't stand to be incompitent within the pits. Thus their master, Dogun, trained me. A harsh yet fair man, dulling out pain I never knew, breaking things I hadn't even considered could angle so oddly.

Dogun had promised me strength and ability beyond my initial comprehension. He said I could warp, chip and crack. Like a blade, such could be mended. However, I could never break, I could never give in and should I remain, the Estoc Arena would be my domain.

I hadn't seen the pit for years, spent as much time mending as I did warping, chipping and cracking all over, yet never neglected. I was fed, I was healed and I was counseled. I learned the tongue of Carthol, the art of Carthinnian war, the wisdom of combat in physical, spiritual and magical.

I began as a coward who ran from his land, retreated while his saviors fought, too scared to face the scourge of the Tyrant of Loriken. A far greater debt then of that to the Prince and Princess of Carthol. Both to be paid in bloody knuckles and broken bones the day I was unleashed upon the arena floors.

A hopeless, starved, and destitute loser now tempered, reforeged and ready for war. Seddissen Cyntrail for short.

My rise was swift there after, I learned the art of spectacle and sportsmanship. I swayed the crowds, earned their hearts and imprinted my name upon their minds. The day I earned my place in the Estoc Arena was the day I fought in the name of Prince Dalvion and Princess Annesha, my helm bearing the same likeness of the God of War in honor of the little goblin who conned me into her belligerent.

The path to Champion would be long, and though you were known as the Royal Menaces of the Castle, the Fiends of the Capital Bane to the Desired Mundane, you were always my Little Champion at heart.

The girl who went behind the Overlords back simply to sponsor a belligerent on a whim. The one to share the council of their own master to build me up and forge me anew. The first to vehemently cheer above all other voices upon the day I stood as Seddissen Cyntrail, Belligerent of the Princess of Carthol.

I had hoped to fight for you again upon the day of your return, to put on a show worthy of the Lordess to be. Perhaps I may, only in a different form. Should the fates be cruel heed only my last wish.

Be the Champion of Carthol and raise the Empire up as the savior it was to me. The one that rid Loriken of the Mad Tyrant and brought peace to a land I thought would never again be. The same savior who found me, and raised me into the Icon I've become.

Sincerely, a hopeless, starved, and destitute loser now tempered, reforeged and ready for war. Seddissen Cyntrail, Champion of the Estoc Arena, and ever Indebted, Honored and Loyal Belligerent of the Princess.