And it starts... (Abraxius plot)

[Fangedwolf]

Time had passed, and with it the sharp pain of loss of his friend had been quenched back to a constant ache.  How could he set his mind away from such things when his own inadequacies as a fighter were shown by comparison to the demon's tactical excellence.  He just had never been a fighter.  A mage, a necromancer, a schemer, yes, but not a fighter.

He had however, thrown himself into training, taking that last gift of strength from his friend, that armour and trained with it, tested himself on greater and greater foes, trying to work out new tactics to make his archery more effective.  He had even tried doing melee, but soon found his skills were not best used as such and he swiftly had to resort back to his beloved bows.

They had also lost Kilrain, a man whom he had considered to be a steadfast and worthy fighter for their side.  Was he slipping so very much that he hadn't seen it, hadn't seen any of it?  The others decision to leave the Cult had come as a surprise to him, but now, standing reading the small notepad that had been left to him, intelligence that had come too late but was still useful, he realised he should not have been.  His lips turned into a slight snarl of contempt as he read the words, eyes skipping back over several of importance 'double cross' 'giving information to the other side' 'betrayed at Trinsic'.  No wonder Damira had known about Azzoloth back at the battle of Trinsic.  No wonder.

Dark eyes burned in the evening air, a glowing red showing his anger, lighting the apparently pale skin of his face with an unearthy hue.  Reaching into his pack, he took out a small green coloured orb and held it in the air, the green mingling with the light from his eyes.  So tempting just to crush it in his hand, to destroy the essence he had taken from Kilrain when he had left the Cult and condemn the man to an eternity of torment as his spirit was wrenched through the void to a place of suffering, lost forever. 

But no, that would be too easy.  It should be Lord Abraxius that dealt with the man, for it was ultimately him he had to answer to.  Did Kilrain really think he could get away with leaving like that when his actions had betrayed them?  It seemed he did.  Time would tell a different story.

And then the call of war had happened.

He had watched ES for weeks now, pouncing upon the baffled minds of the new to the land and attempting conversion to their cause.  Alliances had been talked of with other guilds and he had known it was coming.  Manamotto was acting in character it seemed, and much as he had done in the past, was trying to assimilate everyone under the heading of the Sosarian Empire. 

He had watched and he had waited, knowing such tactics would bring little luck to the man in terms of his new recruits.  The Cult was not so foolish, and chose to pick only those it felt were worthy of joining, worthy of the cause and had the strength or intelligence to back that up. Needless to say they had few make the grade, but he was pleased with those he had been.

The rain started, but he barely seemed to notice as he slipped the lightly glowing green orb back in his pack for safekeeping.  Yes, it was unsurprising that Manamotto had declared war now, since he felt he had the extreme advantage of numbers on his side.  How many though, he mused, would stay to fight or want to be a part of Manamotto's war?  A smile slipped over his lips.  How many of those peaceloving craftsmen would want to take arms and slaughter people in a battle they had not started?

Damira was right, the Sosarian Empire didn't want peace, they just wanted to win.  What use would winning be when the land would be torn assunder by both forces until nothing was left?  The fools.