Godspark

Blood is heated like a pot of stew, focus, razor-sharp in the present, warred with a heart hammering against his ribs like a caged beast. Sweat drips by the side of his face yet he stands his ground, a mask of defiance plastered over the tremors of a hyrax's courage. "Separate them," Lord Barabas says, words Kane hoped not to hear for he now has two options; stand aside and let them take Emilia, the first beacon in this alien world or the second option, fight, a gamble that could claim his life.

He doesn't know the details but he remembers what it was like to be alone and afraid. And that wasn't even in a situation as dire as this but here he stands, shaking in his wet clothes and yet something inside him forces him to stand his ground. Confident or foolish, he will find out.

Lord Barabas' guards pull their blades and charge but somehow they find the white haired boy faster than they are as he lands a kick to one of the guards' chest in his third step. Kane dodges their swordplay gracefully before kicking the other in the nuts and using his knee to break the guard's nose while still nursing his cracked eggs. Kane shouts as he feels a swift and sharp pain across his back, with a glance he sees the slaver with the whip and his men come to hold him. In one swift move he spins backward into the air and lands a kick to the head of one the slavers, knocking him out cold.

"Stop!" Lord Barabas commands, "You boy, what is your name?" the man asks with a smile and keen eyes, "Kane,". Lord Barabas flips a gold coin toward the slavers, "I will be taking this one as well. I believe there will be no objections, I'm I correct?", he says calmly but there is a deadly aura about his words, the slavers nod their heads in submission.

"Bring the new slaves to the camp," the man orders and walks forward while his guards urge them forward. Kane is reluctant but when he sees the glowing red light floating in the palm of the women he submits and complies; they can manage this, for now. 

The morning wind, a cruel caress, whips against their soaked forms. Heavy, menacing clouds gather across the sky, intent on smothering the land in perpetual gloom. "Slave," Lord Barabas' voice, a silken lash, cut through the air, "Are you truly a dark elf?". 

Emilia, her body rigid with a silent scream, but she walks, "Do not let my master ask again", one of the women says, her voice a low growl as she hisses. "Yes, I am" Emilia answers with voice like a thread thrown against the wind. "Have you ever been here before?", "Where is here?" Kane in his youthful brashness, a dangerous beacon, demands. A mistake he pays for almost immediately.

One of the women slams a glowing red light against Kane's belly, he feels his feet leave the floor and his liver shakes vigorously, his eyes almost roll to the back of his head as he falls on his knees and head to the ground. He coughs and spits, "Do not speak unless spoken to," she says. 

Kane spits for the last time but this time it is blood that leaves his mouth, he raises his head and looks at the woman, her gaze is fierce and it matches his own, "Do you want to say something slave?" "Come now Raven, enough of that. They still do not know how things are done in Pyrrhus. That is the name of where you are boy, Pyrrhus and that was Slavers Harbour where I just bought you" Lord Barabas says. 

The country looks dark with the clouds hanging over but no rain, the floors are hot and heat is harsh on one's skin. Almost everywhere their eyes meet slaves, this place truly is a terrible place. 

From the air to the people, they soon reach the camp. Armed men are all over the place and there are about twenty tents around the place with horses and big dogs. 

A contingent of women, their uniforms a stark contrast of crimson and ebony, stand watch. Though outnumbered by the male warriors, their presence commands respect. 

A pitiful sight unfolds nearby; a group of slaves, their bodies bound in chains, stand huddled together, their weary eyes reflecting the shared burden of their captivity. These, the newcomers realise with a chilling certainty, are their fate. 

Kane and Emilia share a glance before returning their eyes to the scene, "Have them join the other slaves, we will leave shortly for Grimstone," Lord Barabas says.

Time moves fast and their new masters prepare their men, they journey under the day's sun in carts and on horseback but the slaves walk, while new vitamins boil up their skin though Emilia's head is covered in a clothe to hide her appearance. 

They reach Grimstone, a sprawling settlement guarded by stout wooden gates and a garrison of hardened men, finally loom into view. The gates creak open at Barabas' approach, revealing a bustling compound where a lone figure, lost in contemplation of a finely wrought sword sits on a weathered stone. As Barabas approaches the man, the line of weary slaves fall into a straight line, their eyes fixed on the ground in silent submission.

Kane and Emilia look around, a motley crew inhabits the space; slaves tolling alongside free men, children chasing each other with makeshift wooden swords and women clad in crimson and black standing vigilant at various points. The scene is a vibrant tapestry of daily life, both mundane and potentially perilous.

Lord Barabas and the man have a talk and laugh, they approach the slaves and Barabas immediately brings them over to the man; "Brother, these two are my greatest prize today, especially the girl. Remove the clothe," Barabas commands and Emilia obeys. The man's eyebrows shoot up in disbelief, his eyes widen at her sight, "Is this…" he stammers, "…a dark elf?", a predatory gleam enters his gaze, "I must have a taste of her," "Of course, but first, let me savour the spoils of my coin," Barabas says and the two men erupt in laughter.

Kane's blood boils at such words, "This one has a spark. With a little training and discipline he could become a real contender in The Pits, fetch us some gambling and ale money" "I like the way you think Barabas," "It is all for the family Memnuh," Barabas says.

Memnuh stands at 6'3ft, just a little under his brother. He carries a braided ponytail for hair and full beards mixed with colours of grey in them under his chin.

His body type is not very different from Barabas' but he is clearly older. There is a sort of savagery in his eyes, like a wild beast belly filled with its kill and relaxing amongst passing preys. Are these to be Kane's new masters? What will happen to them?

MEANWHILE

In another part of this new world, events of dread happen elsewhere in another kingdom in the continent of Ignis. Black smoke fill the air while screams and cries bounce off the walls of the slain. Wood burn to cinders and ash, while some fight on but are soon put down. Inside of what many would consider a holy temple death reigns supreme, its grim reapers claiming the souls of those who have fallen to the invaders' blades.

The proud white walls of the temple now bear the shameful mark of innocent blood. Soldiers traverse the sanctuary, their boots crushing the fallen. The holy ones, their white robes now crimson with blood lie scattered, some with eyes fixed on the heavens and others eternally closed. Death, the grim reaper, reaps a cruel harvest, ignoring their pleas for mercy. Many of them had envisioned a different fate, but destiny has a different plan. 

The floors are of reflective marbles, smooth and sparkling until these men came, pillars stand tall and white curtains are placed around the temple with gold laced designs. And on the altar which is dressed with white and gold garment lays a dead old man. Beneath the altar a woman shivers while tears pour down her cheeks.

Duke Clarion walks over to her, he observes her briefly then turns to the altar, searching for whatever until he finds a piece of paper, a paper with scents of lavender and a silky touch, "What is this girl?", his voice is light but cruel. The girl still shakes in fear until he points his blade at her, "Tell me now," he orders.

"It is a message from the gods, from the goddess, Shiroi". She says while sweat drips down her face. The duke, stroking his luxuriant white moustache unfurls the parchment. Cryptic symbols dance across the surface, a language foreign to him.

"Read it", he commands.

"Only the High Priestess can read the divine tongue," she says, "Where is this High Priestess?", the lady points toward a woman sprawled on the cold floor, blood blossomed across her back and one hand severed at the wrist. 

"I will be damned, the bitch is dead".

A swirling vortex rips open the air, spewing forth a figure shrouded in darkness. As the chaos subsides, a woman appears. Her face is obscured by a chilling ninja mask, her eyes, deep and obsidian, burns with an eerie intensity. 

Long, silken hair, the colour of moonlight, cascades down her back, contrasting starkly with her skim, an unnatural shade of ethereal pink.

"Malice", the duke's voice says in a low tremor. 

The figure inclines her head, a chilling grace in her movement, "My lord," she acknowledged, "To what do I owe the pleasure?" "Anarchy sent me…" Malice replies, her voice devoid of emotion, "…to secure our investment" "Do not worry, we have silenced the temple" the duke says.

Malice walks around observing the corpses of the priests and priestesses that now lay on the floor like dirt, "And the people of Merdona," "Do not worry, we aren't like your outfit. We are a government woman, we have real power" "Believe me lord Clarion, you have not yet seen real power" she says. She reaches the altar and sees the young priestess as she cries and shakes at the corner, "Well, what do we have here?".

The pink skin stands tall, looking down at the duke who observes the paper in his hand some more before putting it in his pocket. He turns to find Malice's dark eyes staring intensely at him, "She is to be my reward," he says with a leering grin that splits his face, a grotesque spectacle that would curdle the blood of lesser men. He licks his lips as his eyes show an intense lust in them, Malice just scoffs and turns away, "Do as you may, Anarchy will be pleased with your success," she walks away and disappears into a black vortex.