Medese un Torill

Medese and Torill

During the scarring of Ada the Myrrians felt the scarring too, but repented for all the blood lust they held.

The province south of Prisava was known as Stior and it was covered in a sea of trees that extended to the rocky shores of the south and to the western and eastern borders, stretching even into Prisava. Along the southern coast the border of the forest looked down upon the sea from high atop chiseled cliffs. There was, along the coast, a grassy outcrop of land that reached out over waves that rolled and crashed upon the gravel shores. This huge stretch of land slanted upwards and was supported with enormous pillars of adamant.

The city of Styor rested upon this rising land. It was a comely city of modest size with a peoples who delight was in ornate woodwork and masonry, who beloved the sea and yet had never taken ships of their own to the waves below. Seafarers they were not, but still they loved the crashing waves and the smell of salt. It was on the highest point where the earth stretched almost to the edges of the southern reef that this grand temple was built. It was a hexagonal tower that reached to the clouds. The ground level was a garden devoted to prayer and the climbing levels were nothing but balconies snaking upwards around the interior of the tower.

It was built of avalone and grey stone, decorated with arches and collumades of gilded roses and tiling of shining marble. Atop the tower there rose winged spikes rising from the eight points and there to sat a shrine of gold and alvantium with a statue of carved athireal.

Many would flock to Illomon to demure before Ada and as the centuries passed many chose to stay in Styor. Mighty buildings were made that branched off from the traditional style of most Myrrian cities. There were homes made of painted bricks and stone, rounded and with gold domed roofs. Towers with thin slit windows that held floral casting instead of glass and they rose high above those regal structures.

The more humble buildings had been painted with co lours of azure, sapphire, burgundy, and emerald. The people wore feathers from the gallant birds along the shores and robed themselves in dyed cloaks and dresses. They painted their bodies in flowers and flocks of seabirds and the city of Styor became known as Alav-uii-ataltsa; the painted city.

The breadth of purple flowers and billowing green grass that divided the forest from the steep grey walls of Styor had been dimpled with a single rocky hill. It was on this hill that a beautiful Pavilion would be built and there the greatest singers would gather to serenade the ocean. Styor held trade mainly with Ovaldum for though they admired the nimble and vibrant birds of their coastal realm, they too had love for the Vissir as their scales shone with such splendor that they adored only in second to athireal. So it was that the two cities of Orth'Valnur and Styor were declared a unified trade federation that would grow as the art style of Styor spread and many would come to admire the painted city as well as the city of ivory and marble, Orth'valnur.

Now at this time the tower and the temple grounds, built about it after the towers completion, were paralleled in grandeur only by the temple of the Immortals. The Immortals would oft travel to Illomon when leisure permitted it and of these Immortals was Carn, the Lara of Shiss. Carn was a tall woman with long white hair braided with intricate care. She had soft features and was named the Lady of Amoryr, the ocean that stretched before Styor, for she was severe in stature and yet her joy was great. Carn wore only her Immortal dress; A long draping tunic of white with black floral embroidery, knee high boots of black leather and white slacks that had been form fitted to her long legs. She also wore the blinding white cloak and carried always at her side a sword hilted and fullered with an alvantium alloy that shone like platinum. The fuller had been engraved with old Laran writing from the days of the veldt tribes and the hilts design was kept simplistically elegant, the pommel being decorated with a ring where a white stone once sat. The blade itself was athireal and weighed as much as wooden stick. It was no Immortals sword, but the sword of her ancestor, Athronas whose own story was of legends.

Carn often stayed at the home of her friend Miqirava and even after the scarring would spend many days teaching her in the ways of the Immortal sword form. Miqirava and Carn were sisters by bond and when Miqirava gave birth to her first son Medese, Carn declared him her nephew and Medese would come to see Carn as a second mother. He would be raised by the two and their love for him would only grow.

Miqirava had noticed early on in Medeses life that he held a higher admiration for the arts rather than the applied knowledge and studies that were both mandatory and logical. He would often sneak out at nights during his early years to paint the blank walls of alleys or palaces with pictures of lands fantastical even to the Myrrians. He learned many hymns and serenades and would sing for Miqirava often when they went about their personal affairs around the city. Many closer to their home knew Medese for his lovely voice and would often request that he sing for them at public events or ritual practices.

Miqirava was an overseer for the tower of communications herself and so came to marvel at his talents as an artist, not acclaiming to have passed that skill onto him herself. Carn came to love how he saw the world and the beauty he created with his words and hands and so pride and great love grew yearly in the hearts of Carn and Miqirava as Medese grew older. One night Carn had come for her usual visit after spending the day offering herself in assistance to the tending duties of the temple grounds, being given leave from the temple of the Immortals after successful dealing with financial disputes on a distant world. The three of them enjoyed an evening of feasting, singing, and dancing. As the night fell heavy Medese had grown tired and so had decided he would be off to bed and bade his mother and aunt a good night's sleep. The two had watched him leave and spoke only again when they were certain he was gone to sleep.

"I fear perhaps his skill would be wasted as an academy student," Miqirava confided with Carn, unawares that Medese was listening around the corner. They sat on large pillows sipping starlight out of delicate glass chalices with night cloaks draped lazily over their shoulders.

"Can he not study as a virtuoso at one of the more artistic campuses?" She asked, confused as to where her worry was coming from.

"He needs to be free Carn, he cannot be confined to a restricted setting for I fear it would dwindle his potential," She answered, Carn smiled and then let out a soft chuckle as she admired her friends love for her child.

"He must be an acolyte of the temple then, One of the Edihartr, a son." Carn spoke as if this answer was obvious.

"But that would make him a warrior as well, I fear his heart is too gentle for such violent things," She admitted.

"I will hold counsel with the temple mother and see if perhaps he could study as Songbird then," Carn responded amused at the fact that Miqirava was seeking her guidance for the future of her child, feeling pride for Medese.

"Do you think he could be a Songbird?" Miqirava inquired with a scent of amazement at the thought of it.

"I see him as my own child, Sister, if I should have any say in the matter of his future he would be the Hirtose of our mighty Empire," She answered with a booming laugh. Medese was ecstatic for he had always cherished the songs of the temple singers and the emotional deliverance of the choirs. He had always hoped to study the temple archives one day and now he might have the chance.

So it was that Carn had gone to the temple at dawn the following day and Medese followed closely behind in secret.

They found their way through the winding streets and alleys, clean and of smoothed brick. There at the temple Carn had met with the Sayahn, the temple mother, Kidimira. She greeted her with warm respect and discussed Medese's enrollment in the studies of a Songbird.

"And what makes him so qualified to serve under my tutelage?" Kidimira implored with a harsh sharpness, annoyed at the discussion for a reason Carn could not understand.

"Perhaps if you heard him sing you'd understand, Medese come here." Carn turned to the pillar that Medese had hidden himself behind and Medese had shamely stepped into view. The boy approached the two with a coy demeanor and bowed awkwardly before Kidimira to which she scoffed, displeased with his meek mannerisms.

"If you are to be a Songbird you must carry yourself with the graceful posture of one, Compose yourself!" Kidimira scolded him sharply, "Now sing for me," She commanded as Medese straightened his figure, terrified by the scowling woman with hundreds of braids adorned with blood red beads and a multitude of colored feathers.

Medese turned his gaze to Carn for reassurance and she offered him a comforting smile, gesturing for him to sing for the Sayahn, an encouraging smile plastered on her face.

Medese considered for a moment what he would sing. He knew that if he were to sing a serenade she would consider him in a lesser regard, anyone with a harp and steady tone could serenade the sea here.

He then decided what would be most appropriate and ran up to the nearest temple singer, requesting that they play their leather drum for him. The singer obliged and Kidimira was set off at this too, but Medese paid no mind to her and sung a song of despair, one not sung openly for many moons now;

'Ain-anudiret anhkir kirresti istenedi,

Ain-almuda ma'andira iskiramir tu'uini rividati ashui.

San soi!

Akushavir tuin tiur vamunda.

skildir muidi!

akuipey tuin duii ain astuna.

Pa'ahmat ittindui kirestupa,

Mirasua tuin un adahati.

Shi’era mhinye uiin duila,

Danadira Adau'an sepuai Ain-anudiret.'

Ain-anudiret was a memoriam sung to the eighth Hirtose of Alavosa, the empress who fell to the flames of a maddened Vissir.

It was a short verse sung to the beating of the heartdrum. Medese's soft voice that rang with the sorrow of the evening sun upon the rippling waves added a strange comfort to the tragic poem and all there were moved. The sheer beauty of his voice brought Kidimira to tears and so she was inspired. Kidimira agreed to teach him in the ways of a Songbird and those within the temple had come to love Medese as the years had flown by. None could compare to the passion within his voice and the beauty in his sway and step.

When Medese returned that morning to his home with Carn, he informed his mother that he was accepted as a temple Songbird, news that brought her to gleeful tears as she cried out in joy and held her son. Carn was proud of her nephew and so she fashioned him a cloak of the softest grey fabric, adorning it with pale grey-tipped feathers, small white scales, and lined the collar with a fringe of winter fox fur. At the age of fifteen he was too small to wear the cloak comfortably, but at the age of thirty two it fit him perfectly and he wore it with such pride.

Standing at a height of six feet Medese was considered short amidst his peers, but the adoration he earned was boundless and ne'er had anyone considered him beneath them for his short stature or the paleness in all his features. Many would travel to Illomon just to hear him sing out across the sea from the peppered shores below Styor, watching as he sang out, perched upon rising slate. He would often wander the temple grounds singing druidic chants and dancing along the marble tile in his bare feet. He sung cheery songs to the children who would follow him through the streets ad they reached out to feel his strange cloak. He had a head of curly gold hair and his skin was as pale as the foam that broke across the smooth grey stones of the shoreline, white as a winter morning. His eyes were of the sea and often, some would say, that the sea could barely shadow the beauty of them. He was thin in physique, but was proficient with the feather-headed spear. Kidimira oversaw most of his lessons as a Songbird, but the applied and general schooling that was a mandatory status of the Myrrian populous was taught to him by the eldest son of the temple, Angdira. They were not close, but Medese admired his intellect and came to esteem him highly for his pundit nature. He became closer to Kidimira over the years and found great mirth in their lessons, challenging one another to contests of song. He had never been able to write his own song though, for though he was a remarkably joyous youth, he had not known much hardship. So it was very rare that you would find Medese without a smile upon his face or a song that was of his own to design to part past his lips, but he was loved by all.

Kidmira had taught him all the recorded songs of the temple archives, taught him the sacred dances and all the dances of Myrrian history, and had guided him in the process of unlocking his full healing potential. Songbirds are said to be able to heal with the sound of their voices and this was the truth for Medese. Upon hearing Medese sing Kidimira knew he would become the greatest Songbird of his era and so she sought to refine his resolve and teach him discipline. He was young and gay, dancing and singing with no worry in the world and yet to his craft he had taken quite seriously.

Now the war against the Illustara had been waged at this time and all knew of the return of the Quajyn. Medese had taken the side of the Nayir, where his peers stood with the Sanahn, and he would voice that perhaps this war was not theirs to fight.

"Why do you show such compassion for wicked creature?" One of his peers had quipped as he was caught destroying holograms of war propaganda that was calling the Myrrians to lend aid to the defense of the Illustara. This had brought the attention of those around and Medese answered calmly, not a hint of anger and frustration in his voice:

"The Quajyn are the children of the Illiban, they are children of light. Did we not build this temple to repent for our malicious intents during the scarring? for them to endure the harshest of terrain, a land that so often bested them, that so often sought to kill them, I do not blame them for being so easily swayed to the chaos. They are our kin, our brethren, we cannot call ourselves peaceful disciples of Ada when we hate with such unjustified vigor," He answered solemnly and so this peer of his, Angdira, had fallen silent as he had considered his words. He would not be persuaded to avert his bigotry so easily, but a shame and embarrassment for such feelings had been planted there. The few years that followed were filled with protest, many had not wished to take part in a war against the Quajyn and so the words of the Songbird were used often. He preached peace to those who’d ask where his standing was on the war, yes, but his intent was never to become the face of the opposition to the campaigns of the empire. Their protests for peace were successful in the end and Medese was their inspiration, though he would often denounce his importance to the party of peace, not wanting to be dragged into imperial politics. The Hirtose, Mishivandr, applauded them for their success but warned them that if war was brought to Sebri'ati it would be a holy war and all those who would rebelled against the crown in such a time would be committing acts of treason and would be punished. Though the Myrrians had seen little of war, many held firm to their views that they would be spared from bloodshed, but war would come anyways and the tides of war would bloom forth a love most strange.

Medese would spend his time with Miqirava at his family home when temple duties did not hold him attentive. He grew closer to Kidimira and he would look forward to his visits with Carn when her free time brought her to Illomon. He was a renowned artist and took part even in the sculpting trade. Even to this day statues carved by Medese are revered and considered holy artifacts and would be highly sought after by the most prestigious of art collectors. He would still sing with the pavillion choir, or even down beneath the adamant pillars upon the shores of the sea. The love that those held for Medese had not faded as time passed, but rather strengthened as they saw he was become a gentle and kind Songbird of Illomon.

It was at this time that Vanna had grown closer to Dijynn, becoming his most trusted general. She used this hard earned trust to her advantage and offered up a royal guard to him, one she had been training herself in secret to act as a specialized task force for her own personal affairs. Vanna explained to him that she had been taking on her vampiric form and stealing children from their homes during the dead of night, this time leaving all others alive, a way of feeding a primal fear into those left behind, a fear they had not known since her demise so long ago. It was a task she had set too long before bringing Dijynn back into our realm and those children she had taken were already a few hundred years old. The were blooded already, each of her personalized soldiers had already tasted the glory of battle and were filled with blood lust. Of these stolen children there was Torill, the most skilled swordsmen of these soldiers that would become known as the Illikryst. They had been stolen from the country Kzvelta and were of the clan Illiban and so held the fair forms of the Illustara. Very little love there was between Vanna and her Illikryst for they were fair, fierce, and stoic; Loyal and devoted solely to her, and she loathed them for it. They had dark skin, almond eye, and many braids that fell to their waists. Though they were taken as children, many still knew of the traditional ways of the Illomon and practiced them with pride, an act that angered Vanna yet she never punish them for it. They covered themselves in the sacred black tattoos that denoted them as honorable combatants and they spoke even in the Illomonesse tongue. Vanna never grew to admire their unwavering devotion, their love they held for her, she never grew fond of them and saw them only as instruments of death.

As Dijynn had claimed victories across the stars, his gaze turned now to the Myrrians. He despised them for choosing to not defend those innocent being slaughtered by the Sanahn so long ago and so had wanted to show them the pain of war that had plagued his ancestors. So it was when Dijynn had chased away the Illustara to their far corners of the cosmos, He turned his sights on the capital of the Myrrian empire, but an ocean away.

He called his forces to Lav'namoor and assembled a mighty fleet of airships and they pledged themselves by bearing the purple flags with emblems of black dragons, the vigil of Dijynn. So it was that when Dijynn had sent forth his army, the gathering of ships blotted out the stars like a heavy storm cloud. Great dragons armored in black with heavy iron claws led the vanguard and their riders were a terrible sight to behold, dressed in mockery of the steeds they rode with great horned helms and jagged leather capes. Dijynns wyrm, which had been beaten into submission by Dijynn himself after finding the malnourished creature stalking about his personal garden, had been armored in silver and black, fashioned in semblance of the swans of Lav'namoor. Axyli came with them, but would take no part in this battle.

The barrage ships held up to a thousand soldiers and the small corvette of Vanna had held her Illikryst who were to prove their worth in the coming battle and only then would Dijynn truly accept them for though she had his respect and trust as a military leader, he distrusted her intentions and the magic she wielded. They traveled in secret over the ocean and held their position until the night had fallen, waiting for many hours over the rolling waves below. They soared eastwards over the sea between the two continents and passed over the cape of Val'shatal, when the first glow of early morning was cast along the horizon, swooping northeast to the coasts of Sebri'ati. As the sun had began to rise over the horizon they approached the pebbled shores of Shior and they appeared as a massive wave, the sea had reached up to them with tendrils of spraying mist.

Medese had been training that dawn in the temple with Kidimira, dancing in a large hall of marble with pillars and arches of glass and crystal, banners of red and white draping from the vaulted ceiling. The streets were empty and the city folk had yet to awake and tend to their daily bouts. The night had been short and only when a lone monk had traveled to the top of Illomon to offer up his morning prayer to Ada had the city been alerted to the approaching force. As carn and Miqirava awoke to the light of dawn shining in through the open entrance from the balcony, sirens filled the air and within seconds the city had been roused to action as the monks warning carried swiftly through the city.

The dragons had reached the city first and unleashed a torrent of seering blue flames that whistled like an angry wind. The garrison had little time to prepare, the soldiers were in shock and fumbled with their armor and weaponry, shaken with nerves as no soldier in the city had seen battle before. The only aerial defense were the archer towers scattered about the city, but the arrows were simply splinters to the thick hide of the dragons and their Quajyn armor. As the sun rose fully over the horizon it cast a blinding light against the metal ships and across the surface of the glistening blue sea. The city of Styor was blanketed in flames as the dragons swooped down like crows to a carcass, breathing fire upon the fleeing denizen who swarmed out into the streets, escaping to the towers whose stairwells led to the great pillars below, spiraling to the beaches. They hid themselves in the secret ocean caves beneath the cities shelf. Although many had made their way to the shivering maze of slate and black stone, dank with ocean water and lit only by blue lanterns filled with pebbles of glass. Many more had burned alive in the streets as hellfire rained from above, gusts from the dragon wings sweeping the flames to and fro.

When the fire had poured down upon the painted city Carn had sent Miqirava off to the nearest tower, wrapped in a spare cloak she had brought that would defend against the flames as it was fashioned from the feathers of the vissir of Ovaldum. She had followed a group through alleys and streets to the rising white tower crowned with lightly armored archers who fired athireal tipped arrows into the smoke filled air, blindly and with quivering hope. As those who survived made the descent to the caves below, Miqirava had slipped away from the gathered, giving the cloak to a shivering child. She picked up a feathered spear from the tower armory and had made her way to the temple to find Medese, wanting not to leave her only child behind. The white tower had already been encased in it's protective barrier, powered by the focus of the temple monks. So it was Miqirava had fled into the ruins of the city, knowing now her child would be safe, fighting alongside the soldiers of the city as the clearest ways to the archer towers were blocked now by ruin and fire.

The towers could barely defend from the dragons and so seeing that Styor was devastated Dijynn had sent forth his soldiers and they filled the streets. They were armoured in white, grey, and rich furs, noble in appearance and some would even paint them in ways of splendor when such travesties would become lore. They carried black weapons and their fiery brutality had met the clash of the alvantium and athireal blades of the Styorians who fought with grace and dancing steps. War had found Sebri'ati and it was by Dijynns design that it would be a fatal blow. He had disrupted all communications between Styor and Alavosa and once Illomon was taken he knew that the morale of the Myrrian empire would fall and so to would their strength and he would strike with his full might and the downfall of the Myrrians would be swift and with little bloodshed, much to his distaste.

Within the temple, however, the Sisters had prepared themselves for battle and the Brothers had been set to meditative chambers where their focus would be on keeping up the wall of shimmering light around the temple. The sisters wore armour of scales with capes and cloaks dyed in the colours of the sea; ocean foam, cerulean waves, and the grey shores. They wielded thin blades of athireal that could slice through alvantium like damp wood. They carried also, long feather-tipped spears and bows adorned with silver wings. The Styorians fought bravely, but the army outside the temple was quickly overpowered by the sheer wrath of the Savvage and there heavy weaponry. The fires from above had been shielded by mages, but the Styorians were quickly overcome until only a few cells scattered throughout the city remained, taking their last stands as they charged or ambushed squadrons of invaders. Dijynn was glad to see smoke frothing over the city and over the cliff sides to the waters below, revelling in the destruction he had wrought. Kidimara would not allow her city to fall, however, and called upon the sea for aid when she found that her peoples and defenses were quickly overpowered.

The Sayahn had climbed the towers steps and as she came to the peak of Illomon walking slowly to the edge that faced the sea and stared out at the gathered fleet. Smoke climbed high into the sky and dragons circled in the sky above, screams and crackling filled the air and as Kidimira took in the ruin she was filled with grievous enmity that called her to cry out in pure anguish. She extended her arm and with all her might had called out to the sea and the sea had answered. The ships that lingered closer to the waves, filled with soldiers and decorated commanders, were pulled to the roaring waters below them by serpents of yellow and green with sailing fins and deep black eyes. They broke over the surface and crushed the ships in their jaws and where the soldiers thrashed about in the choppy waves, mermaids and other creatures had set themselves upon them, devouring them alive. The ships had turned their fire upon the serpents but such a large portion of his air force had been destroyed in a matter of minutes and Dijynn had been forced to bring his ships higher. When Kidimira had seen they were high enough she conjured a voluminous storm over the horizon, a storm of purple lightning that tore the heavens apart and rumbling thunder that cried out in deep wails. The clouds were black as soot and the rain fell in heavy sheets.

Dijynn knew he had no choice but to forward his advance or risk being torn apart by the storm. He had set to razing the great towers and palaces to the ground and then sent his ships to land on the outer districts of the city where he would force any remaining Storyians inward. The storm had swept closer and closer and Dijynn had set out the remainder of his infantry. By this time four hours had passed and as the foot soldiers marched through the streets, they were met with little to no opposition. With his remaining air force pulled back to a less desirable position and his soldiers wandering about with no one to satisfy their battlelust, he knew this was a perfect time to take the tower. He sent out Vanna and her Illikryst to destroy the barrier and he called his soldiers to meet at a rendezvous point near the city gates.

Miqirava held the northwestern districts with only a small group of soldiers, cutting down her foes with such swiftness many feared they had been set upon by the Immortal Carn herself. Kidimira knew that they would destroy the barrier and so with the army drawn from their favorably position, she had now descended into the temple and prepared the temple militants for battle. She would defend Illomon at all cost and when at last the walls would shatter, Dijynn would know the true wrath of the Myrrians.

Carn had fought bravely and alone, moving from cover to shadow and in such a flurry would slice through all her foes and so it almost seemed that she was a ghast, pulling her victims into the shadows and driving her crystal blade silently through their hearts.

The streets had grown desolate and Vanna was sent out with her Illikryst as Dijynn mustered his forces to him. Carn, Miqirava and all the surviving soldiers had gathered before the temple in defense.

Standing pale against the black clouds striking the sea with lightning, Illomon had stood with such a humbling grace that even Vanna was filled with such fraught silence. At her side were her Illikryst, all twenty of them, cold and deadly; armored in feathers, furs, and gold. They looked awesome standing next to Vanna with her black tattered robes and clawed hands, her fangs digging into her scabbed lips and her yellow ringed eyes darting about with anticipation as she scanned the barrier for weak points. The Styorians hid themselves behind piles of rubble and fallen statues, waiting in ambush. When Vanna had taken a deep sigh and prepared to unleash her might, the Myrrians charged forward with a cry for blood.

The Illikrsyt had met the Styorians with a fighting style that had never been seen before. There heavy weaponry cast fatal blows and they spun about with heavy arches and light steps, using the momentum to swing and s***h. Of these fighters there was Adonu and he fought with a rod, beating down soldiers with a maniacal laughter. He met the eyes of Miqirava and charged her as he let out a throaty cry, holding his staff high above his head.

As the wood, reinforced with black alvantium, of Adonu's stave struck Miqirava's spear it rang with a shrill shriek that vibrated through the stone around them. The black metal clashing with athireal created a doleful song with every parry and s***h. Vanna had turned her attention quickly, as her Illikryst had held back the charge, to the wall of light and she summoned forth all her strength and cast a stream of pure energy upon the barrier and it cracked where the white beam met the iridescent shield. It's cracks spread wider and wider with every ringing clatter, ever gasping stab and guttural thrust. The wall began to falter and Carn had pushed back those she defended against, cutting ten of them down with a single graceful spin. She ran forward through the clear gap of the battle to where Vanna stood pouring forth her magic to dispel the temples only defense. Carn raised her blade over her head and before she could bring it down against her, Torill had lunged forward and Athrona's had met the black blade of Torill; reinforced with vissir hair and tempered with dragon blood, a greatsword that was the greatest ever crafted by the Illiban, and it shattered as it met the athireal blade of the Immortal and the sheer force of the two blades colliding had bested Torill and he lay clutching his arm as the reverberation had shattered every bone in his arm and up through his torso. She then thrust her sword forward and sliced through the air where Vanna just stood. She had turned herself to dust and fluttered away with the rising wind, fleeing the battle as she had sent a final surge of power through the beam and shattered the barrier. Carn looked on in terror and when she turned to call upon Miqirava she had found that the army of Dijynn had begun their march up the great street to the temple. They poured out from the avenues and side streets, marching with drumming footsteps that rang with the sound of metal scales and ring-laced armour.

While the battle raged on outside Medese had remained within the temple, standing before the tree planted at the ground level garden, surrounded by a pool of clear water littered with petals and water lilies. There at the gardens centre, before the pink petalled tree that rose like an ancient oak, Medese sung a sacred song; A wordless song that had resonated through the halls as a shivering echo. This song had lended his strength to those monks trapped in their prayers of defense. His strength was so absolute that he carried it himself by the nearing end of the battle as the prayers of the monks faltered and so too did their aiding strength, and he alone stood to hold the barricade when Vanna had shattered it, which sent a shock of pain through his whole body and he collapsed with a cry of agony.

Carn straightened her poise, tightened the grip on her white-roped hilt, and stood like a galiant queen and those who beheld her grew fearful as her blade shone like the moon against the blue sky above the looming black clouds, her cloak billowing in the storms wind and her hair fell messily about. Dijynn stood in his elegant armour of white, his fur cape and starburst crown. He carried a great crescent staff and smiled fiendishly as he strode towards the small band of surviving soldiers. Victory was nearly his he thought, but then the church bells rang and the doors of the temple swung open and the Sisters had charged forward with screams and war chants, blades held high and shields shimmering with unblemished complexions. They cut down the remaining Illikryst as they passed, a blur of ocean hues, and fell swiftly into the gathered army of Dijynn who were frozen in fear and shock, the beauty of their raiment was a sight terrible in its artistry. As the temple militant had rushed the Savvage, Carn had joined them and her sword clashed with Dijynns slender staff. Their quarrel was swift and ended in a few rapid blows for Carn had been sent back by the thrusting of Dijynns staff. As she steadied her stance, settling her footing in the dust and ash, Dijynn had sent her flying with but a flick of his fingers and she had collided with a standing white tower burying her as she fell with the structure, crushed by avalone and magic-sewn brick.

Miqirava had witnessed this and in a fit of rage had overpowered Adonu, slicing his stomach open and sending him stumbling away from the heat of the battle, clutching his gut as he tried to hold his innards in place. The temple Militant had made quick work of the Savvage and seeing this Dijynn had called his wyrm to him and fled the battlefield, commanding his ships and soldiers to do the same. The storm had forced the dragons back as the could not contend with the great winds and icy rain that Kidimira had called upon, though some had been caught below the clouds and wrestled in the rain and salt water with the serpents of the reef. Medese had stood there in the open doorway, ignoring the pain that seized him, and as Torill had fell unconscious he had caught a fleeting sight of him and in his heart stirred a shame he had never felt before as he watched Medese look out in sorrow at the ruins of his city. Medese knew now true pain and he was broken by it

The following day communications had been brought back up and the Hirtose had sent a fleet to bring those of Styor to her city for refuge and the tears of those that remained had washed the blood of the fallen from the white stone streets. Light grey smoke clung to the city and only Illomon stood sturdy amidst the ruins. As the temple magi had gone about repairing the most scarred parts of the city, Medese had remained within the temple halls alongside the Brothers and healers. He tended to the wounds of all those far too injured to travel and the days that followed had been hard for all those within Illomon as they were faced with the destruction that sat right outside the doors and the trauma of the soldiers who would awake screaming and crying, gasping in terror and choking on fear. Kidimira had grown cold as the days passed on and she had blamed herself for all the death as the temple monks were not able to shield the whole city and so it was her choice to protect only the temple, a choice that would haunt her for the rest of her days. As the magi and builders rebuilt the city she had overseen it's new implementation of aerial defense.

In secret she had begun to prepare for a second assault from Dijynn and the rescue of Torill by Vanna. Vanna had fled to the ruins of Ultummo to heal from her exertion and also to prepare a new army of her own for she knew that if Dijynn should fail in another campaign against the Myrrians his subjects and soldiers would begin to lose faith in his promise of conquest and this she could turn that to her advantage, only if he was not victorious. Dijynn was forced to retreat to Lav'namoor and called a large portion of his legion back to Valore to prepare for another assault against the empire. His Quajyn generals had grown doubtful as they saw that defeat had thrown him into a frenzy that would bring shame to even a child; He screamed, cried, and stormed about in anger. Wanton destruction followed his path through the great keep, and burst of magic and fire could be seen in bright flashes through his obscured windows.

Adonu had fled the city and made his way to the sea of trees where with his skills of sorcery he had mended his wounds and had become a spellcaster. He turned beasts feral and rabid, he poisoned streams, cast sicknesses through the woods and grew petty. Becoming a base creature no greater than a worm. Vanna would not rescue either of them and thought them both dead for that matter. Her Illikyrst failed her and now she had no time to train new agents, at least not the way she had before. She overestimated their skills and now she would go about to shape a new army and her methods of assimilation would be cruel. Kidimira had not known the cruelity of Vanna and suspected perhaps she would return for her soldier and so she had locked him away in a spare chamber with only a cot and a barred window that overlooked the sea.

Medese had sung for the injured and healed many wounds where he could and yet struggled with others, not just for the severity but also for the pain it brought to him, both mentally and emotionally. He brought joy to the peoples heart and whenever they saw him walking the halls they knew a momentary solace. Of all those he was set to heal, it was Torill that had drawn his interest. The days turned to weeks and many of those that were injured had gone to Alavosa while the city was still being mended and it was during this time that Torill had been granted free roam of the temple, as long as he had a guard set to him at all times. It’s hard to say why such a decision was made, but it was clear that Torill had submitted to his imprisonment and with the probing of his mind they found he had no plans or intentions of escape. They could read many things from his mind, yet so much was kept secret as well for he knew and had seen many things that he would wish to keep buried in the deep recesses of his mind.

He was silent in his captivity, never speaking, never eating, just staring out over the ocean's horizon. It was only when Medese would come to his chamber to heal his bruised skin, shattered bones, and torn flesh, that he would ever show any expression. He only ever winced at the pain in his presence, would only look away from his window view when Medese pressed his hands to his bronze skin and hummed songs of healing. As Torill sat there on his cot, he would close his eyes and allow Medese's voice to carry him along the cool breeze that swept over the afternoon waves. He embraced the soft and warm touch of his hands, the way he almost rested his forehead against Torill's neck while bowed in prayer. Medese's warm breath against his shoulder was enchanting and Torill would await his return everyday for it was in his presence that Torill would be free of the memories of his life, a life of blood, a life of killing, a life of pain. What could he do but sit in solitary reflection? He had never truly realized how alone he was in the universe until he felt Medese's tender hand against his own skin and there was grown a repentance in his heart.

The two had never spoken a word to each other, never truly acknowledging the other. It was only one day when Medese had finished his song of healing and went to leave that Torill had turned to him, his gaze kept to the floor, and spoke:

"Forgive me, Songbird," he muttered in a heavy voice filled with regret and sorrow. Their eyes met for but a split second before Torill turned to gaze out the large barred window once more. Medese lingered for a second, not knowing what to say and so said nothing, but those words too would linger with him and so would the sight of Torill’s eye which gleamed with all the splendor of the woods in the spring; lush green and heavy browns all dancing with the golden sunlight.

Medese had grown wary of Kidimira, seeing that she was becoming consumed by an angered shame. She no longer sung or danced with him, taking delights in nothing but training the Sisters and setting defense to the city.

Medese spent his time with the injured who had grown ill or whose wounds would simply not heal. Often, when he had finished his duties, he would sneak off to his secret chamber where he would sing freely from mending and pain, just him and his voice.

Angdira had finished his duties alongside Medese one day and had watched as he slipped away in secret. Curiosity and worry had brought him to follow behind, Striding through the marble halls and down polished steps, past great pillars and statues. Down in the depths of the temple there was a single chamber rarely used, save only for the Songbirds for it was only their voices that could find it and it called only to them. It was a room with slanted walls of carven stone, a ceiling of obsidian and rock with a floor of unhewn slate, rough and cold to the touch. The chamber was opened to the salted air of the coast and yet the temple above had been muted to the beautiful acoustics it provided for the voices of those sacred singers it was attuned too. He stood in a square of stone framed with a pool of water and as Torill too was allowed to roam the halls freely, he had found Angdira stalking Medese. Turning down an empty hallway Torill had knocked the guard who followed him unconscious and hid him behind a pillar, chasing after Angdira, suspicious of his lurkings. They followed Medese and when he came to his chamber the two had snuck inside and hid behind a squared pillar of grey stone, glaring down the other yet not wanting to interrupt Medese as he cleared his throat and began to hum a tune sweet like the spring in the highlands of Prisava.

He danced like the waves of a winter storm, crashing and rising with fierce grace, every step looked as if he was taking off on white foam wings, his long robe of cerulean and sky swirled about like a flickering flame of the purest blues. Angdira and Torill remained silent, peering out from their hiding spot and watching, enraptured by the beauty of his dance and druidic song.

"Amuin un momundi avirty shiin ma'unyirv,

mausi ye tui maanu menyityi irvadui, manduequya, mandye un dasdalde.

ma'anye atui mat, ya'atu shiin ta'yayote laun,

Alava-tuidye, sha'atu yhahass kiryodi.

Naha'antui ausi sasalte, Brigolde maqusi un altuimai,

Ma'antui, un tatoi sha."

Torill was ensnared by the song, enchanted by the godly melody in his voice. He came from his hiding spot and stepped slowly down the path that reached above the water, approaching Medese with awe and a growing love that bloomed seemingly from nothing, nothing but a warm breath against his scarred back and fleeting glance.

Medese knew he was there all along and so sung in lamentation of the sailing of the Eldhami'unya to their southern realm of towering trees and pillaring rocks standing like needles in a pin cushion. It was a song that was sung to children on stormy summer nights when the lightning, thunder, and rain shook the towers and palaces of the painted city, a prayer to the spirit of the ocean: Shamote, the deep one who lives in a kingdom of coral and shells whose skin is of purple and blue lights. Medese sung him a lullaby that is both somber and uplifting and it lured Torill in and he came to Medese and stood but centimetres away, gazing with adoration into Medese's eyes as he turned to face him. Torill began to feel drowsy as Medese continued his song and when it had come to its end with a a lyric filled with soft resolution;

Tatoi indyirto y'uin karasuldi amandu un irvtavui-uideym.

With the conclusion of the song Torill fell and Medese caught him in his arms and held him there and Medese kissed him. Just as Torill fell into slumber, Angdira had stepped out from his place of hiding and for a few long moments had just stood there in disgust. He was appalled by such an act, but yet as he looked upon Medese kneeling over the resting body of Torill, draped in his arms with garments of grey and black, he could no suffer such negative thoughts towards the healer he considered a close friend.

"You love the Savvage?" Angdira noted as he approached Medese who did not look up at him, just took in the sharp features of Torills face.

"I feel compassion for him, sadness at the thought of the horror he must of endured at the behest of that Vampiress," Medese answered, turning his gaze up to Angdira. Angdira turned and looked at the door of the chamber, he thought for a moment of what the others would think of what he had just witnessed and then turned back to Medese, choosing to care not for the judgement of others.

"You have always had a caring heart and I will not bring myself to think or feel anything but pride and love for you. If you love him Medese, then so too shall I." Angdira spoke with a calmness and then leant down next to Medese to pick up Torill and together they carried him to his cell, standing defense for him against the rage of Kidimira.

The guard that was set to Torill had awoken and rushed to inform Kidimira that he had escaped and as she yelled in anger her voice rang through the marble halls and the casual murmurs had fallen silent.

"I should kill the creature!" She screamed as she stood in his cell, looking down at Torill as he stared out the window, silent and still.

"You will do no such thing!" Medese yelled in defiance, defending Torill, an act that had flushed Torill with shame.

"I am your superior Medese and I will not be commanded by a mere child! This temple is under my guard, I am the Sayahn and my word is the word of Ada, who are you to defy Ada? who are you defy me?!" her voice grew and she stood over Medese, who wore his cape crafted by the hands of Carn (who had gone to Alavosa with Miqirava) and he had grown fearful as she glowered down at him with flaming hatred in her eyes, yet he did not yield to her.

"If you kill him, Mother Kidmira, then you will truly be a stranger in my eyes," Medese declared and strided out of the room, ducking beneath her reaching grasp with tears streaming down his face. He felt sick as he pictured her cutting him down, but he was not sick at the thought of the act, but what it symbolized. This feeling in Medese's heart was a strange one, one he could not name, yet one that was so familiar. He would not call it love, and yet not simply pity or compassion either. He ran through the halls and found himself out on a tower balcony, the cold and salty air filled his nostrils, his hair caught like golden silk in the breeze. Torill was all he could think about and even though Kidimira had been filled with contrition, she still wished Torill dead. She brought a blade to his neck and tapped it against his skin, marking it, then brought it up and wanted to bring it down. She did not and so Torill lived, only because of Medeses grace.

"If any harm should come to my Songbird I will show you no Mercy," Kidimira said with a shaky voice and then stormed off to contemplate in the silence of her chamber. Angdira remained and so sat beside Torill, letting out a deep sigh as the Illiban sat as still as stone, acknowledging nothing. Out on the windy balcony Medese leaned against the carved railing and stared out to the heavens, he did not know what he was watching for, but he thought that perhaps if he should but wait the answer to whatever question he was asking would come to him, but in truth, he knew not what he was or should be asking. What was this feeling he felt? why so suddenly? Torill was nothing but a stranger and murderer to him, so why feel this way?

"What is your name? your true name?" Angdira asked and Torill was taken aback, he searched his mind and a name came to him, a name from a memory he didn't know he had.

"Tashall..." He muttered and a single tear trickled down his cheek as he tried to remember the face of the woman who use to cradle him to sleep, he knew now only a ghost and so remained in silence until Angdira left the room and locked it behind him, Leaving him to his inner desperation.

Styor was restored and stood with glory and might once more and as the people returned to Styor the city was somber for some time. The only pleasure were the singers who walked the streets in blessed cloaks stained with pigment that was used by the painters who mottled and limned the walls and side-streets, shaping murals of the most splendid hues and scenes. Within months of the first Styorians return a semblance of the joy felt before the ruin had been regained. The Garrison was refortified with twice the soldiers and stronger weapons. Great docks were built for the airships and so a fleet had mustered at the towerings bays of Styor.

Miqirava at this time had descended into the Well of Souls and was Knighted by Ada to become an Immortal, not of Illdaste's command, but of Mishandivr and all the Hirtose's to come after her. She bore armour of white, blue, and silver. Her spear was feathered and adorned with pale gems of the gulf. Her cloak was the twilight that settled over the line of the sea's breathe. She returned to Illomon alongside Carn and their reunion with Medese was jovial as he embraced both of them with all the love in his heart and cried in tears of joy as he held them both.

In battling Dijynn Carn was inflicted with the venom of his magic and Miqirava stayed at her side as she recovered in Aavosa. Miqirava recounted often the events of the siege to any who would listen. News of the attack had spread through the empire and it only strengthened the loyalty of the Hirtose's subjects, much to Dijynns dismay. The army grew and so too did the navy as many loyalist were brought to join the garrison at Styor and the Myrrian militia and it grew exponentially. A great uproar was felt through the political body of the cosmos as Mishandivr had refused to attack Lav'namoor. People called for blood, demanding that Dijynn be condemned to death for his crimes. Many assaults were led against the Savvage, but no violence came to Lav'namoor. Citizens rallied in opposition against the choice to remain neutral, demanding an end to the Quajyn regime. Kidimira was amused by all this as these same people stood with Medese to demand peace, A stance he stood beside even after the slaughter. He did not see himself as worthy to pass judgement, who was he to decide the fate of so many lives? In his eyes the Quajyn were guilty only by the poison that Dijynn fed to them.

Torill remained a prisoner still, but had softened in his stoic poise and with the blessing of Medese he was given free roam of the temple. He would often walk alongside Medese as he traveled about the city and at times would even walk through the city without Medese, though usually with a Sister at his side. He was never bothered by the Styorians as they chose to pay him no heed nor project their lose onto him in anger, respecting the Songbird they had always adored.

Winter came to Sebri'ati and a love blossomed between the two. When Carn and Miqirava had begun to visit more frequently, Miqirava finding an apartment within the city, Medese was more cheerful again. He smiled more, wandered aimlessly less, and would even sing to himself once more as he made his daily bouts.

His duties became habitual and at times even a chore. He never grew to despise his work, but with the raids that now frequented along the western shores of Sebri'ati, to the animal attacks that would wound hunters and sages during their roaming of the sea of trees, work had kept his hands and voice very busy.

"You work yourself to the bone my sweet child, perhaps a day off would do you some good," Miqirava suggested as they sat upon pillows drinking from delicate glass chalices.

"The war has kept me from sleep and I find that Torill's company has helped eased the burden of nightmares," Medese answered mindlessly, his smile came without his notice. A coy leer between Carn and Miqirava had made him vividly aware of how sweetly he had spoken of Torill and he had flushed in embarrassment.

"Take a day off Medese, sing for leisure and not for duty for once. The war has come and passed and it has been months since Dijynns assault, there is no use dwindling on such negative feelings," Carn advised in favor of Miqiravas suggestion.

"Everyone has come to move on so quickly, why can I not do the same?" Medese fell sober and peered out the glass wall of the apartment, glancing down at the park that Miqiravas dwelling overlooked. He saw a group of friends enjoying an evening picnic under the glow of the vanilla sky.

"People hide their pain, it has never been the Myrrian way to linger long on pointless matters. People feel the pain, even though they don't show it," Miqirava reassured him.

Medese had followed her advice and awoke early the next morning to return to the temple, walking the darkened streets before dawn, his gaze kept to the southern horizon. Whenever the navy blue sky became clear as he passed by the towering city structures his breath caught in his throat and his heart pounded with anxiety. Great watchtowers were set along the coastal realms, even of Val'shatal. Spies had even been sent to lav'namoor so that Sebri'ati would never be caught by surprise again. He ascended the steps to the temple and threw open the doors, crossing the threshold and through the anteroom to the great cathedral where he found Kidimira standing before a statue of Ada. Ada had taken the form of a Sahnan woman, her hair flowing to her knees and decorated with lazy plaiting, a small starburst circlet sat atop her head and she cradled a great staff in her arms. She was dressed in a loose robe and gorgeous wings spread from between her shoulder blades. She was of marble, decorated with diamond and pearls.

"I shall take a day of rest," Medese stated as he came beside Kidimira and bent forward to kiss Ada's bare feet.

Kidimira turned to him, her face wrinkled and heavy from scowling, her great mane of braids decorated with an assortment of metal ring; "Do as you must," she answered coldly.

Medese bowed humbly before the statuette of Ada, nodding in respect to Kidimira, and then strode off to find Torill.

He had lain awake long into the night and pondered what he would do in his free time. He had used his work to help bury his depression, he often found himself thinking back to the day of the cities destruction, the sound of war that roared beyond the temple walls. How many had perished because the monks, him included, could not bring the barrier up quick enough. Who was to blame for all the death, but the disciples of Illomon? Long he thought and considered what he should do and yet all the trails of his thought had led him to Torill and what him and his new found companion could waste their day doing.