a stupid idea

A world abandoned. Not by fate, but by hope. A world burned and slipping to Death's icy grips. A spire of twisted bone sat in the middle of a scorched field, once vibrant and lively now black and still, coated in ashes and dried blood and littered with bones and of battles fought long ago. A figure stood in the doorway, watching the landscape, searching for anyone who may yet live. Inside, a heart beat, and a chance for a new start lay within reach.

Far away, leaders met, knowing each other only by reputation and title, but not by name or face. The first was stoic, grim, and determined, arms imbued with the strength of steel and a heart set ablaze with the sight of victory. His mouth and nose were covered, bandaged, not for his health, but for others. He was a cursed monstrosity, his mouth changed into a hound's, with jagged mismatched teeth that caused hims to constantly drool spit, pus, and blood. It was bandaged, covered up mainly so none would have to look at it, though it was impossible to hide the shape. His curse would spread to the rest of his body, his eyes being the first to change now. Marcus, the Wolf of Arisen, leader of the 1st Battalion of the armies of Infrangibile, waited impatiently for the others to meet them with his interpreter.

While both were dressed semi-formally, fine shirts and pants that demonstrated their power and statue, the cursed leader forgo his commendations and decorations. The scars across his visible skin would be enough to show his skill. The interpreter, however, wore every decoration he was given, every mark and seal he had earned in combat, very medal and ribbon given from the corpse of fallen friends. The second in command was more jovial looking, more upbeat and positive than his commander, as he was the one most soldiers would meet and see. He was a handsome man, with his hair combed back and held in place with small pins, and a soft jawline that made him look less intimidating. Most of his awards would be distinctions in the world of politics, showing off his skills as a wordsmith and translator, but those familiar with the pins of Infrangibile would notice the bottom layer of his pins showed off his combat prowess, and made certain his reputation was known. Anderson, the Silver-tongued Swordsman of the south, happily waited and adjusted his uniform to better represent his homeland.

The second, a lithe looking man clad in leather armor with markings of some tribal land from neck to toe enters into the agreed upon area. He takes his place across from the bestial and jovial man and stands with his arms crossed facing the larger of the two, but seeing nothing but a black void. His eyes, once a brilliant shade of blue, now obscured by a piece of flowing white cloth placed underneath blonde hair draping over his head. A pair of Katars lay at his hips for quick access, the carvings of his people telling the tales of the numerous bodies it has had the pleasure of tasting blood from. The man known as Ish, The Blind Dancer, stands with a sense of purpose and poise that cannot be outmatched by another. This mixture has led to many a victory as the chieftain of the 1st Brigade of the armies of Ithai.

The man now standing to Ish's right has his eyes narrowed as if trying their hardest to see into the opposition's souls. An icy glare from green eyes packed with a seriousness of one who cannot count the amount of times he has been stabbed in his back, is the only form of communication this man has to offer. His leather armor, in contrast to his partner's, has no tribal markings and to his left side near the pit of the arm sits a lonely dagger hiding from the world in its sheathe. His arms cross and for a moment, markings can be seen on the backsides of both his left and right hands. His red hair shakes in motion with his head. A sign of refusal to believe what it is he is seeing. His eyes close and when they open, they find a new area to stare at as his gaze averts from the others. The man known as Adris, The Vermilion Thaumaturge, wears his power on his sleeve. A mad cackling in the minds to anyone who hears the name. A master of magics in his homeland, any who opposed would be seared to nothing but ash.

The two stand silently awaiting any others who may join.

Once it seemed like enough people might not show up. Marcus turned to his second in command and gestured a few signs. "Welcome, friends. I, Anderson the Silver-tongued Swordsman of the South, would like to welcome you. As would my commander, Marcus, the Wolf of Arisen. We are honored to meet your acquaintance. Please, make yourselves at home. I'm not sure we have many drinks here, but I'm sure we can find you something." He smiled, a warm welcoming smile that hid thoughts and desires very well. "Would you care to introduce yourselves, just so we know who has come."

Marcus did not speak, either through lack of capability or lack of want, but his curse-twisted eye burned with pain and raw ferocity. His good eye just showed pain, and the bandages he had upon his muzzle were already starting to dirty, likely from just a long period of use.

Ish bows to the voice of Anderson. His lips part and a soft, almost feminine voice escapes. "It is with great honor to meet the two of you. Your exploits are not without notice and we are most humbled for you to invite us. First, I would like to introduce my second in command." With a snap of Ish's fingers, as soon as he returned to an upright position, Adris stands at attention. His sour face remaining. "Adris, The Vermilion Thaumaturge." He says bluntly in an annoyed and gruff tone, offering a slight bow to please his commander. Ish's lips purse together in hesitation before speaking. "I must apologize for my second in command's attitude. It is very rare for a meeting such as this and as such, I believe he is showing resistance for the protection of my life." Adris shifts his weight to his other foot, uncomfortably. "My name is Ish, The Blind Dancer of Ithai. We require no refreshments, thank you."

"Of course. Of course." Both soldiers of Infrangible bowed in respect, Anderson more so. "It's a pleasure to meet you." Marcus gestured sharply to Anderson. "Forgive my shift from the pleasantries, my commander is..." A few more hand signs. "Anxious to continue." None of the signs seemed anxious, more upset or annoyed. "The main reason we have called you here, as I'm sure you are aware but just to be clear, is that we have reason to believe the Newborn has been birthed. While I doubt your memory of the ancient stories, I wish to go over them just so we are all on the same page. When the world is about to crumble, and the light forever to vanish, a newborn god shall be born from the flesh of humanity, and given the power to save or raze. While we know the name of the location where we believe them to be born, we...don't actually know where it would be. In exchange for any information, we will gladly pay you any currency you wish. We are also prepared to grant you a wish from the Newborn, provided we arrive first before our enemies."

Ish nods as Anderson goes over the summation of the ancient texts and once he is finished, Ish replies in a delighted tone, "I've been awaiting this day. The rebirth of our lands, or that is how I wish for the circumstances to be." Adris, on the other hand sighs in disbelief. "But what if this is some trap laid by these two, sir? We're playing right into their hands. If this is believed to be truth, and the location sits in our lands they have free reign to." A snap of Ish's fingers and Adris stops his skeptic tirade and gives his own sigh. "Adris, I understand your apprehension fully, but we need to be open with each other if we wish to solve our issues. It is high time we join for a cause and this very well may be the time to do it. The aurora that shines over the land has become brighter. A sign from the gods to repent. I know you've seen this as you've been the one to report the findings." Adris reluctantly nods and as if seeing his compatriot perform the action, Ish nods right back before speaking once more to Anderson and Marcus. "Would you allow us the knowledge of the name of the location?"

"With your promise of guidance for our 680 warriors, the name is, as far as we've been able to translate, the Final Rib of Antira, Blessed body of the World." Anderson states, with Marcus' gaze an almost physical manifestation at this point, pointed at the two of them.

Both of the warriors of Ithai's mouths purse. "The spire of bone rested at the field of souls bound by battle. A location once bountiful in beauty now wrought with the evidence of a most cataclysmic event. This is where the heartbeat of a new world will begin." Ish says, reciting one of the ancient texts left to his care through the generations. "I know of such location. It is through the ages that we were told to never seek the whereabouts of the spire until the birth of a god." Ish nods to Adris who in turn nods back. "Using the knowledge of our past we will seek this spire. For the good of us all, this world will be changed."

Anderson smiled and clapped his hands together. "Excellent! Now, while I hate to sound like a pessimist, we must plan to clash with our enemies. Not to mention any bandits or other foes we may face on our travels. How many can you bring to arms? Best case and worst case, if you'd please."

"In our best form I can lead three hundred of our finest warriors and mages into battle. At our worst, one hundred and fifty. We haven't the largest military, but we pride ourselves on the power and skill of each individual to see us through our battles." Ish says with extreme satisfaction. Adris gives a small grin at his commander's doting words. "If there are any who stand opposed to us, they'll have a difficult go at having our heads. That will be certain." Adris says near menacingly. "I can speak with Geran and organize the troops, sir." Adris continues.

Anderson's smile faltered a little. "That is far fewer than what we were hoping, but if it is your best, then it is your best. Our scouting reports suggest this may be a battle of attrition, as opposed to strength." He added in quickly, after Marcus signed at him.

"The fewer the soldiers, the better, then. Much less need to worry about rations for a smaller army, wouldn't you say?" Ish says, allowing the words to dance on his tongue. Adris does nothing more than click his tongue at Marcus and Anderson. Biting back words dipped in venom for their insult despite if they meant it that way or not. "Regardless, we will be victorious in finding the spire and defending ourselves." Ish concludes.