Men who play games of war and soldiers born from circumstance... MAIN PROFILES ALBUMS STORIES EXTRAS LINKS Scroll 02 : 02 Sweltering heat hits all who descend to the bottom of the fortress, the forges running non-stop as armies return in need of repairs. Most simply pass through, depositing an item to be fixed or taking a moment to request a new one. Well-muscled creatures spend their days hammering on red hot metal to meet the demands, many not having seen sunlight in so long that they’ve forgotten what it looks like. At the head of it all is Gran’hein, an ogre of a creature who is very old and extremely cranky… to those who don’t know him, that is. Bal’thial weaves his way through, ignoring the looks of the dirty creatures that man the fires on his path to seek the only one capable of fixing the mask. A magical item of this caliber is rare and precise and it’s been a miracle that his guard have been able to repair it at all thus far as Kso’ppghiel is getting better at breaking it each time. Caramel colored eyes look up from his worktable and Gran’hein gives the Queen’s personal Captain a wide grin. Putting his tools down, he grabs a dirty cloth hanging from one of his broken and capped horns to wipe away the grime on his fingers before sitting down to welcome Bal’thial into his workshop. Fractured metal clanks together loudly as the pieces of the mask are tossed onto the table in front of the Forgemaster and a rich, highly amused laugh leaves the man’s lips from the sight. “Third time this week. That new Harbinger of hers is definitely helping to keep my skills up.” “He is good for keeping us all on our toes.” The tall Captain chuckles as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I will need it repaired quickly and more sturdily than the last if you will. She has him under another spell but it will wear off soon enough and she wants him back in her chambers, mask intact and in place before he wakes…” Gran’hein grunts as he gathers the pieces into calloused, dirty fingers. “I can’t just create this kind of magic outta nothing, she should know that. The level of enchantment she wants on this thing is going to weaken the metal eventually anyway. She might be better off just gagging him or cutting out his tongue.” He snorts. “She seems really determined with this one, however. How’s he fairing?” “As well as he can be for being a caged dog.” Bal’thial smirks with a shaking of his head that sends the adornments on his horns chiming. “Today he made it as far as the second wing before she caught him.” Uncrossing his arms, clawed fingers slide up to push absently at white strands, a sigh leaving his lips soon after. “No matter what he does to escape, she only seems to delight in strengthening her hold of him tighter and between you and I, this is the first time since I have come under her service that I have seen such emotion directed at a chosen. She cared nothing for the others that came before, this one however… I do not understand it” A knowing smile crosses Gran’hein’s lips at the white haired man’s slightly puzzled look. “There is possibly a very good reason for that. Sav’real has come to visit me recently and has said how hard of a time he’s having not to tell you the whole truth of the matter. He’s a smart little guy though to keep it to himself. She’d probably kill him if he told you, then you for knowing.” Soft chimes resonate out as he begins removing the hanging enchantments on the mask one by one, setting them down on the wooden table at his front before grabbing a few of his tools. The large man stands and walks over to his personal forge, tossing the larger pieces of metal into the coals and watching while the fire that touches it burns green from the magic infused within. “She’s not going to go easy on this one. Comparatively, that is.” “What are her reasons though?” Bal’thial wonders evenly. “Why specifically him? She treated Tir’snin with contempt, a fair measure of cruelty yes, but only after he had become useless and tamed and none of it quite at this level so I am finding myself hard pressed to know the reasons.” Mismatched eyes shift over to meet Gran’hein’s caramel colored gaze, the slightest of sly smiles forming on his lips soon after. “As dangerous as it is to gain the knowledge Mastersmith, I am finding myself rather…intrigued.” Just as he’s been intrigued by Kso’ppghiel himself since day one for reasons he can no sooner place than those of his Queen’s. “I do not wish to risk Sav’real, yourself or I in this, yet I cannot seem to quell this curiosity in the least.” Especially after the knowledge he’d gained of the Harbinger he now believes his Mistress to have actually loved. “I am not worried for myself.” Gran’hein laughs as he pulls a set of long pliers out to grip onto one section of the glowing green metal, placing it on his anvil before returning to fetch the other piece. “But you must be careful where this curiosity leads you. Much to her relief, there are not many of us left around who remember or are still alive.” Loud clangs begin ringing out across the stone walls as he starts pounding the metal back together. “As far as I am aware this one earned notice on his own, but it’s what she found out about him afterwards that’s really what you are interested in.” Green sparks fly out as he hammers, stopping every now and again to push it back into the coals in order to reheat the metal. “Sav’real mentioned that he told you to look for information regarding the last Harbinger she allowed to lead her armies. Knowing how resourceful you are…” He grins as he begins pounding again. “I am going to assume you have found this information already.” Bal’thial nods with a soft smirk. “I have. Mithghiiel was his name and one I have come to learn has been forbidden for reasons I am suspecting to run deeper than our Mistress would ever have liked. If what I have gathered of him is true, then the lengths our Queen has gone to bury him is not surprising… given her nature. But the knowledge I gained left many things unanswered, and I am beginning to exhaust any trustworthy resources.” And not one of those sources has answered the feeling he’s had of a link broken between that Harbinger and the newest one. “Mithghiiel became a good friend.” Gran’hein smiles warmly without looking up from his task. “I personally made him his sword, put everything I had into it. He was a good man as well. Io’fayl had grown far too attached over the years to the ruthless warrior he was on the field, the one that fought in her name bringing fear to all opposing armies. A true Harbinger of death, that’s what he was. He fought because he enjoyed it and while he knew nothing was sacred in war… he had his lines.” Glancing over, he gives Bal’thial a knowing expression. “Especially after finding out that she’d planned to take that war where it had no place.” Steam hisses as the crudely shaped metal is dunked into a barrel of water. “Io’fayl started wiping out suppliers to her opposing territories when he was in place, those suppliers being farming communities. Innocents. Tactically it was a smart move on her part: kill the supplies, debilitate the armies. This was her master plan and one she kept secret until she revealed it to Mithghiiel while on the spot. She led his army out there personally but once he found out why, he refused. Said he wouldn’t hurt them. He loved his position, but not her. She ordered him executed after that but couldn’t even do it herself because she was so upset.” Gran’hein throws the cooled metal back on his worktable and sits down, pulling out some mallets and carving tools. “His men were loyal, very loyal. She doesn’t know, but the higher ups in his army falsified his execution, hung someone else in his uniform. None knew the wiser, including her. I only know because I was part of the three that planned it, I was his army’s traveling weaponsmith. The other two are dead, but they never breathed a word while living. I don’t know what happened to him afterwards, I can only assume he left. There have been no reports of any other matching his skill out there since.” Bal’thial remains silent for a few moments, his thoughts once again streaming over the newest wealth of information he’s found and lost to it while it sinks in. “Strange then is it not?” the tall Captain finally begins in a thoughtful sort of tone. “That someone who valued the way of the sword so highly would just… fade out of existence. I have never known men of war to simply allow the fight to be taken from them no matter the circumstance, or be able to fully quell that strong of an aspect to their entire beings so that no trace of it can be found…” to have this Mithghiiel simply disappear, even when faced with execution seems odd. “That I couldn’t tell you. I do know he had a wife and children eventually, taught his son how to fight as well as farm. It’s a little sad I found this out after he died, I would have liked to see him again.” The Weaponsmith smiles as he pounds away, infusing spells into the metal with each strike until it slowly retakes the intricate shape it originally held. “Talk to Sav’real, he knows better than I about what happened to his family.” Gran’hein reattaches the chains and smaller enchantments then hands the mask back to Bal’thial. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again before the week is out.” He grins. “This, I do not doubt.” The white haired Captain returns the smile as he shifts the repaired mask in his hand, spending a moment to admire Gran’hein’s near flawless repairs before he nods and turns away. “I will speak with Sav’real later, as you have suggested and as always Mastersmith, it was a pleasure.” With the metal enchantments clinking in his grasp, Bal’thial weaves his way back through the sweltering forges to find his path towards the fortress levels above. The Captain swings the doors of his room open and steps in, moving casually towards his bed to find the unconscious Harbinger exactly where he’d left him. Seating himself at the edge of the silk covered matress, claw tipped fingers slide beneath the blonde’s neck in order to hoist him upright. Kso’ppghiel slumps against him as he shifts the other man close to his lap, pushing strands of white blonde away from his face. Sliding the mask into place, he spends a few moments securing the metal behind pointed ears before trailing his hands over to slip carefully beneath muscular arms. “It is time to get you back where our Mistress wants you…” He says quietly as he lifts the other man up while shifting leathery wings into position before he swings him across a broad shoulder. Slipping free of his bed, Bal’thial takes a moment to distribute his charge’s weight before he turns to move back towards the room entrance. “Be grateful for the hour’s time of peace I was able to give you…”

Ish'talla is a co-created story written by Nezumi and Syrinxfox and is (C)2009 to us both. All related characters, images and artwork may not be used, copied or taken in any way without written permission.