Moki

Twilight sets slowly over the northern mountains.  The cloudy night was cool, but not frigid, summer was here.  The crimson glow of sunset ignited the low hanging clouds with a cascade of warm color.  Reds, oranges and yellows, blending to set the sky aflame.

October 27th

The dim light makes him squint. His head pounds, but thats the least of his worries.  He winces as the large, pale hyperborean drags him up the stairs, but he makes no noise. He won't give them that satisfaction.  This last bout of torture... it was bad. He cant remember much about it, except that they finally got him to scream.  He curses himself silently as his jailor throws him into his cell once more, locking and barring the door.  The darkness covers him like a blanket, caressing him like a lover.  The darkness is his friend.  The light means pain, the dark means rest.  He likes the dark....

NO!

A fist sized stone drops in the market area of Old Tarentia.  Wrapped around it, and tied off with a leather cord, is a note. It is written in neat Vanir runes, in a nearly archaic form.  This note reads:

"To whomever may find this, I ask a task...

                 The task I request, is that this note be delivered to Moki or Aryanna of Anx Ma'at, Kemena of Invicta, Wulfran of King's Guard, or Lluna of Keeper's of the Ways.  "

The second part of the note, is sealed, the bottom half folded up and sealed with melted wax. When opened, it reads:

Moki, Ary, Kem, Wulf, and Lluna...

The light in the tavern was dim compared the bright light of Tarantia’s early afternoon sunshine. The air was a little smokey from the fires and smelled of stale ale with some more unpleasant undertones. The Green Man wasn’t crowded at this time of day, but there was still a healthy group in for a midday meal and pint of ale or goblet of wine.

The red headed Cimmerian paused briefly at the door as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. He felt more than saw the mug come sailing at by his head and felt it graze his ear as it flew past.

“Yer aim’s off a bit today, Moki.”

“Faek ye, Old Man.”

The four figures stood on the concourse to the inner gate in Fort Invicta. The dark haired Cimmerian glowering at the his red haired kinsman and the blonde Aquilonian, while another Aquilonian, a finely garbed young woman,  stood watching with a mixture of hope and concern.

“You two will make peace!”

    By the time he had reached the fort, he was doing all he could to keep conscious. The loss of blood had made him tired and delirious. His weak and trembling hands clasped tight to the reigns so he wouldn’t fall. His tired body was slouched over the horse as it slowly trotted inside. The horse slowly passed Moki and Arafn as they had talked, catching their eyes as it did.

     He stood quietly in the midst of battle, a calming nature crossing his features, almost too calming for those to stand in the heart of a fight. He stood beside one who controlled lightning as her ally and weapon. He controlling fire as his own. The sounds were loud and resounded through the rolling plains of Aquilonia. Sword to metal, metal to flesh. The clanging and boom of shouts.  

     Amongst him stood those of King’s Guard and upon their charge was those who called themselves, “The order”. He had stumbled upon them on their way to the fields of Poitain. He was unsure why he stopped, or let alone bothered to help. He did not know the predicament or why they were choosing to fight. However, He knew what The Guard stood for and whom marched in their ranks.