Around Town

Scethan scoffed at the job postings on the town's main board; it was all either manual labor or, if possible, more boring alternatives. From the looks of things he'd missed one of the only decent jobs to roll through town by a scant margin, but he made note of the employer and considered paying them a call at some later point. He had been at work in one form or another for the last couple of days, either running odd jobs when he could find them or else checking out the town and the close portions of the jungle, and now he was ready to spend this day relaxing. Why then, he reflected to himself, am I hanging around the job board? Force of habit. Being close to it was only making him slightly nauseous as he realized that after this day off he'd actually have to come back here with a job in mind. He tried to put the thought out of his mind, and decided to tour some of the local shops to do so. He doubted he could find his bow's equal, but it could be amusing to see some of the local attempts at the craft.

Inside the shop was dark, which helped with some of the day's heat, though more than anything it merely transformed it from incessantly beating down into being inside an oven. The shopkeeper, who seemed oddly cool in the heat of his shop, gave him a broad grin as he watched the sweat roll down Scethan's face. "Made for cooler climes, were ya lad?" he asked with a gruff chortle. Scethan returned the smile and nodded assent, absent-mindedly fingering the leaf pin at his collar. After a moment of slightly awkward silence the shopkeeper offered, "Well for starters ye don't have to go 'round wearin' yer cloak everywhere. Just trappin' the heat, you are." Scethan nodded appreciatively and undid his cloak; back in the forest the cloaks were practically an extension of self, and so he felt oddly naked after packing it into his rucksack. He distracted himself making a study of various local hunting implements that lined the shop. The shopkeeper, who had been a skilled trapper in his day, recognized Scethan's appraising eye as one of a fellow hunter, and started talking to him about some of the island's practices, and a few of the ins and outs of the jungle.

You should make a post in the recruitment section. Just leave enrollment open and don't set a player cap and it should be fine. Otherwise I fully support this.

The Journey to the distant lights had taken a day by foot, but the Tomb King Zaket VII did not know of such trials as endurance; those were for mortals to challenge. Always at just a few strides behind his lead Ushabti watch his king carefully make his way across ravines and sand traps. Once they encountered a vile pig like creature with the horns of a goat that seemed to walk with its hands rather than its feet. This disturbed the Tomb King Zaket VII greatly.

"The warp still has its allies I see. I wonder of the old ones?" he spoke.

The beast was quickly dispatched by Ushabti, always loyal, in a quick manner; his king gathering fragments of the creature that remained. Just beyond this challenge lay the first of signs of Tameria. The Tomb King Zaket VII watched carefully from the dense jungle forest as peasants went about their daily chores tending to fields of fruit. As day turned into night, a young goat herder approached his position near the jungle wall and it was at this opportunity the Tomb King Zaket VII saw fit to make introductions. As the boy neared him the mighty King stepped from the brushes and presented himself, his mask glowing bright with energy.

"By Sigmar's sight! An Angel come to take me?" the herder's voice squeaked.

"Nay young boy, I am the Tomb King Zaket VII. I have come to this land to lead men as I have before. I wonder if you are such a man?"



To this the young boy looked cautiously around as if to confirm he was alone amongst the fields. Slowly he moved towards the Tomb King Zaket VII, taking small unsure steps.

“I believe I could be Tomb King. The other boys, they throw stones at me and tell me I’m a weakling. That Sigmar has no love for me” the young one explained.

“These boys” the Tomb King Zaket VII kneeled to the child’s height, “do they have a leader among them? One who is strong and committed to your oppression?”

The boy thought carefully before speaking, “Yes, Taylor the Swift, he is the strongest of the boys and berates me the most for my weakness.” Although unseen to all the Tomb King Zaket VII, for the first time since some races inception into this world, expressed a grin upon his face. Quietly he produced from his talon a small amount of black tar, the same used for the creation of Ushabti, and handed it to the boy. The substance seemed to gain a life of its own on contact and quickly formed a ring around the boys wrist; taking the form of symbols unknown to all but the Tomb King Zaket VII.

“Tomb King, what have you done?” the boy inquired, fiddling with the new marking upon his skin.
The Tomb King Zaket rose to this question, “I have marked you, marked you as one of my favored. I am new to this age as I have slept for a very long time. I will require new vassals in this world and you will be my first. Now stand so I may name you, what was your former?”

“Robyin, Tomb King, they call me Robyin” The boy now felt himself compelled to kneel before his new master.

“Robyin? Such weak names are not for my vassals! From now you new name shall be Akhom, first vassal of the Tomb King Zaket VII. As your new king your first trail will be the test of this new rank.” To this the Tomb King Zaket VII placed his black talon upon the boys head and stated the following, “You will find this Taylor the Swift, and you challenge him to single combat. With my blessing you will defeat your enemy and stand upon his broken body and new man. Do you accept this task Akhom?”

Rising for the first time to his new King, Akhom stood. Passively the boy flexed his hands into fists perhaps for the first time and as he gazed upon his king he felt for the first time the embrace of a God. “My King, I will accomplish this task. Taylor the Swift will be defeated and the other children will look at me and know that I am a man!” A moment passed as the boy stood patiently for the Tomb King Zaket VII and to this the King did notice.

“You have further questions for me Akhom? I am you Lord, you may ask me anything.” The boy next careful chose his words, “My King, my new name, what does it mean in your language?” To this question the Tomb King Zaket VII felt for the second time that day a grin take upon his face, truly this boy was his favored.

“Eagle, my vassal, it means Eagle.”

Beads of sweat ran down Akhom’s forehead. It was now high noon on the Isle, a time when jungle creatures would take rest in the shade; not even the insects would fly at noon. Having returned from his life altering encounter with the Whispering King, Akhom loyally returned to his tiny hut village at the far East of town. There he caged his goats under the tall fruit trees safe from the heat and with heavy burden he secured their pen knowing what would come next. Within eat shot already he could hear the other boys approaching, the boastful sound of chanting nearing as a cold wind seeps into a room from every crack and corner. Mentally did Akhom steel himself for the barrage of insults already in earshot, his tiny fist instinctively flexing again and again as if strangling some unseen thing.

“Little bird, I say little bird, will you not fly away now to your whore mother?” it had begun, Taylor the Swift was upon him.

Taylor the Swift stood taller than the rest of the boys. Not entirely muscular in nature but more empowered by the excess thereof, a rarity for children on the island, he seemed well capable of combat. His face was covered in small scratches and bruises from constantly fighting with boys older and stronger. He back a complete mess of blisters upon blisters most of which were inflicted by his mother, a strict Sigmarite, as punishment for his wicked ways. Still despite these obvious signs of batter Taylor remained a proud creature. He walked at a quick pace, always with intention, and his posture was second to none. Many thought his name Swift came perhaps from his speed however few knew that Swift was only a measurement of his temper.

“I said is the little bird going to sing for us today? Perhaps cry and squeal about in some fashion becoming him?” the taunts continue. Quickly Akhom rushed to make a retort however its delivery was unvested. “I heard . . . . Your father . . . Sigmar . . . “ quickly he stuttered.

To this quick statement did Taylor the Swift comment, “What is this little bird? A song we are all unfamiliar with? Is it a quip you mean to make, perhaps a sort of self jest which in no bout we would all thus enjoy?” the crowd of boys was now on his side completely chanting in their under breathes “Swiftest”.

Akhom was greatly burdened, the boys had him surrounded now with Taylor the Swift in complete control. For what seemed like a full harvest the Akhom did stand his ground. At some point did he close his eyes for fear of mockery as Taylor the Swift made his presence known to Akhom’s face. In his own mind did Akhom retreat hoping that the conflict would resolve itself without incident; all memories of his promise to the Whispering King forgotten as the grip of fear took him over.

To his great surprise did the following words flow from his mouth,”A jest you would enjoy Taylor? Perhaps we should all then recount a certain boy’s father being smitten by Sigmar himself while maintaining a sermon which spoke the very opposite of his son? Need we all not forget that your mother barely grieved for him, her own faith damming the husband who brought her here on missionary; this godless place where children are beaten for no more than their words? Of this I assume you know well given your disfigurement, a quip if I ever did utter one.”

A great silence washed over the group of children, an ocean of doubt and rage boiling in such fervor that few adults could understand.

“You . . . I will cleave the head from your very stump for those words!” Quickly Taylor the Swift did move upon Akhom, who still stood in a defensive slouch. Taylor’s fist made direct contact with Akhom’s face, the sound of enamel being crushed under bone. Akhom’s name did him merit as he flew across the sand and grass, landing at the base of a small hill; an audible cracking noise heard from his arm. There he did lay for several moments his sensations returning only slowly. He could feel first the hot substance covering his face, no doubt blood from a broken noise. Taste was next, a cold dead snake slithering down his mouth or so his senses informed him. Finally pain, that sense few are familiar returned: his arm broken at several points.

“Look at the little bird all broken and bleeding. Your color is red no doubt, fitting this season I would say. What brave words you had about my stricken father and devout mother. Where is this courage now little bird?”

In the distance did a God stand ready, his loyal Ushabti no doubt ready to pounce on the slightest order from his master. The Tomb King Zaket VII had assisted the boys mind with his words and before that battled his fear as only a God can. But now the true test came, should his vassal stand on his own, the Tomb King Zaket VII would bless him. Should Akhom accept defeat, then a vassal he was not, and all was well.

Akhom rose. At first he leaned on his broken arm, quickly adjusting to his feet. There he spat the red substance blocking his air passage and so cleared his throat. And so raising his head did his black eyes meet Taylor’s in gaze and from this gaze did Akhom send a message well received.

“You must excuse me Talyor. I misspoke before about your mother. She is clearly a whore rather than Saint, as I believe you look nothing like your father. Perhaps she saw in the chaos men what conviction your father did lack, and rightly so was he smited for all to see”, a grin not totally unfamiliar did fall upon Akhom that moment. The spaces around him feel silent again as the boys took great effort in process sing what was uttered such. So in this time did the Tomb King Zaket VII grant his boon to his favored knowing well the battle was already over.

With great thunder did the strike connect at speed unknown to children during their play; a drawn out hiss leaving the mouth of the once youthful Taylor, air escaping entrapment within a vessel. And there stood Akhom, watching so carefully as the very life force of a breathing thing did seep out of it. To complete shock did the other boys escape from the present. They ran with great speed to their mothers never uttering a word of what they saw. For the children of this village now knew what lay near the goats, a boy no longer a boy but a man. A man standing over the corpse oh his enemy whose very throat was caved in as a loose keg might implode upon impact from a great fall. In his heart Akhom knew now what the favor of Gods felt like. His injuries no more, his conviction streaming through every vein of his body.

“Who are you boy? What matter of thing are you?” Did the Tomb King Zaket VII question his pupil.

“I am Akhom, vassal to the Whispering King, Tomb King Zaket VII, and I am no boy but now a man!”

And so did the Tomb King Zaket VII gain a trusted servant, and so did the boys of the town now know of the Whispering King who favors his servants above all. And quickly did the black marks spread amongst them, for to be in his favor guaranteed safety.

“Serve me well, and a great man you will become. For what are men without a King?”

((Going to RP with my new vampire because I'm bored and want to RP him now rather then wait. >>))

"What indeed, great king?" Mused aloud a sing-song voice from behind the Tomb King, an academic tone to the almost lyrical words that drifted through the air. If Zaket turned to look to where the voice emanated from, he would see a pale-skinned elf, though his race would be difficult to discern, robed in a heavy cloak of Sea Dragon scales and black cloth, a voluminous hood trimmed with shimmering silver about his long ears and snow white hair. A curious glint danced about his startlingly golden eyes that stared out from underneath his hood, his arms crossed underneath the folds of armor and cloth. Maelkur Aelorothi, of course, did not truly look like this. His true form was that of a somewhat shriveled version of his glamored body, the same golden eyes now hateful and sunken deep within the taut and dry skin of his face.

Some would see him for what he was-- those powerful in the winds of magic could certainly pierce said glamor with effort if they knew what to look for. Some would simply smell the magic about him. Such was the nature of things, though he had not expected to encounter as much strange and unnatural magic as he had so far here in the jungles of Lustria. He'd expected to find remnants of the Old Gods' magic through the Slaan of the Lizardmen, but there were rumors of... other magics as well. The last thing he'd expected was a liche from Khemri. A curious find, indeed.

"But then, what is a king without men to lead?" He jested with an inquisitive smirk, playing at the pride of the Khemri lord. He knew his history well enough and knew that the Kings, Princes, and even the priests had been prideful, even to their dead... and still in their eventual undeath. "Is he not then just a man himself?"

A great anger filled the air.

Quickly the Tomb King Zaket VII did speak, “Favored Vassal Akhom, you will return to your home now. I will heal your wounds later. Let the pain be a reminder of your accomplishments.” And so did Akhom turn and run back to his home making sure to carry his broken arm with care.

Once a safe distance away the Whispering King turned his full attention to his visitor, “Upon my landing on this Isle did I detect the coarse stinging of a lesser magic. Beyond your veil I do see the truth of things youngling. Your path and mine are not the same, make no mistake of this.” To this did the Tomb King Zaket VII approach the strange visitor.

“The magic which animates you reeks of corruption and impurity; I doubt you can even sustain your forum without feeding on the living; an impurity which could be removed with proper equipment such are my ways” the offer seemed to hang in the air for a moment.

Suddenly, with movements strange and unnatural did Ushabti appear from the brush with cleaver in hand. From its eyeless face was a promise of great violence made. “In regards to your question youngling, I have seen no men so far in my journeys of this age. I have seen petty creatures that lust for worthless goals; corpses too which mimic the elegance of their ancestors and speak in such turn as to invite scorn where none is needed. The only thing close enough to a man so far witnessed was in the form of a boy who now awaits my blessing.” The Great King paused.

“Is this such an age that boys are greater then it’s men?”

"Is that not how it has always been with men?" Riposted the fallen elf-lord with a cheerful smirk and a brief chuckle, his demeanor remaining even and even still lined with a shade of mirth to his words. It was clear he was already enjoying this exchange of words as he let the harsh words of Zaket's tongue bounce off of him. Insults were the bane of the arrogant and prideful-- words that could hardly be used to describe the enigmatic vampire. He knew his limits and abilities better then most other vampires did but then they were only humans. He'd seen his own tormentor, whom had been a mighty vampire and wizard, fall in love with his own mythos and ultimately be destroyed for it. He would not repeat the mistake. At any rate, Zaket's words were certainly not lies. He was indeed cursed and malefic, those things were unavoidable. Inferior was a perception that Maelkur did nothing to discourage of course, underestimation was one of the most powerful weapons in the arsenal of the mindful.

He let the words hang on the air for a moment, saying nothing further though his eyes shifted slowly to the Ushabti that had emerged on scene. He'd never seen one up close before and while it interested him to study the abomination to find out what magicks made it tick, he could shelve his professional curiosity for the time being. He had no intention of starting a feud with the Tomb King, though he knew that the former lords of the lost long Khemri held a great vendetta against the Vampires and the dread necromancer Nagash. Maelkur, however, was possessed of no interest in the petty politics of past wrongs and fruitless vengeance. Rather then worry about the past, he chose to concern himself with the future and more specifically who would control it. The other Vampire Courts held too much in-fighting to be of any real power in the world for any period of time. Any hold they could accomplish would crumble under their crippling combination of lunacy, arrogance, and decadence.

"The boys define the future for the village, town, country, even the race. They say that in the children lay the future. And you know what they say about those who control the future..." He lightly whispered, another whispy grin about his face revealing vicious rowed fangs and teeth underneath the glamor which showed only the playful grin of a youthful elf-lord.

The Tomb King Zaket VII took careful time examining his guest. With the protection of Ushabti assured the Whispering King found a more relaxed state of mind. This youngling was clever to take on such appearance amongst the humans. The High Elves were often disdained by man even in his day as arrogant in their nature. Their presumption of tact in all things worldly was a particular annoyance to man in the Tomb kings. The Tomb King Zaket VII however lacked this natural disdain entirely as beneath his careful gaze.

A time of great thought was had.

“Know this youngling” the Old King spoke, “I have little interest in this jest we are sharing. I admire you as much as an interesting stone found along this isle’s beaches; I know both are likely to be around for a very long time.” The Tomb King Zaket VII began to walk away from the vampire, Ushabti in toe. “I have no interest in combat with you, nor do I find our races old grievances particularly interesting. Instead I will offer you this; do not return to this East Quarter as I have marked it as my own. I have a great many plans for the future as you have put them, for I do think they could be grand with the right sort of leadership.”

The Tomb King Zaket VII turned his mask to the vampire, “Should I find one of your own making in this Quarter I will make short work of it. Of the rest of Town I care little for. And should our paths meet on a common goal . . .” the Old King looked down,”I would not be opposed to joining forces.”

The Tomb King Zaket VII disappeared in the distance, leaving his guest to his own makings.

Out of the site did Ushabti utter a deep growl, “Rest easy Ushabti, you have no life to be robbed of, this I have made sure.”

"I've no intention of interfering with your plans for this town, good king." Stated Maelkur in response to Zaket's warning, again taking the threat in stride with a wide smile splitting his face as he showed a small part of his razor-sharp teeth. "For what you no doubt plan for this place in the word, you will eventually need my power. And it is at your disposal, should you want it great king... for a price of course."

And with that, Maelkur watched the Tomb King disappear with a playful wave in farewell. Turning from where Zaket had stood, the elven vampire took a single step before his body turned black in unison and melted away into darkness and shadow, bats flying up and into the air from where his body disintegrated only to disappear into the sky themselves. He had no intention of swearing complete fealty to the Tomb King but he was fully willing to offer some of his services to avoid making an enemy of Zaket. He had no wish to make enemies in this portion of the world-- he had enough of those in the Old World and now Ulthuan thanks to his undeath. What better way to gain power then to let Zaket take the heat from any enemies that they made together?

The streets of East Quarter were not always as they appeared to be. While many roads had only recently been paved in any official manner there still were many winding dirt paths to travel. East Quarter was the forgotten section of Tameria. Not to state that crime was higher, for that one might travel to an area of town simply known as “The Red District”. There one could find all sorts of crime and pleasures; rumor had it there were even Dark Elf mistresses brought in for very specific sorts of work. Of this Akohm knew well enough from the boys who resided there, often they would have to clean the messes left from clients nightly. Still too there was High Quarter, where many of the lesser and lower Nobles found residence; it’s most notable feature being the additional walls it had from the other quarters. No East Quarter was for the poor and the forgotten. The farmers who refused crime, the missionaries and their message of God, even the forgotten were welcomed there. It was in this place that Akhom found a home in his youth and it would be this place that his Lord the Tomb King Zaket VII would establish his power and protect the weak from the strong by making them simply better.



The rain was heavy on this night, Akhom only covered in a thin brown hood. He traveled quickly down narrow paths his rope sandals making large splashing sounds in the mud. He carried no lantern for fear of being noticed on his task. He moved in the way a wolf seeks it hunt quickly and without doubt. He only stopped to rest every hour of his search for the Chaos Man he was tasked with meeting. When asked where he might be found his King only had the following to say, “He is a follower of the Changer of Ways; no doubt the man follows where his feet guide him. To search for him would be pointless, you must run about the city without a goal letting the same powers guide you to his location. Only then will you find him.” His King was wiser than many.

Akhom had now been at the run for several hours, his feet hurting from the mixture of sand and water lining the streets. He had encountered several questionable characters so far, even a few Chaos Men with no luck of seeking the one known as Seros. Of the man Akhom knew little. There had been rumors that he was well liked for a Chaos Man, even more so there were an equal number of rumors that he never did what was expected for a reason. Such a man was dangerous in Akhom’s mind as he found himself becoming more protective of his King. He had been against this meeting from the start. His thought was quickly interrupted as he found his footing slip while turning a corner back into East Quarter. Akhom slip hitting a wall, quickly rolling with the wall he did find his feet come out from beneath him all together; a staircase leading down to a lower walkway. Akhom feel down towards the bottom of the staircase, tumbling down carefully to not injure himself. To this effect his cloak proved a great asset as it took softened much of the impact.

As he landed at the bottom of the stairs did he find time to compose himself, brushing carefully off the mud he accumulated. From above a gauntleted hand reached out to assist him in standing. Akhom took the hand and found himself staring now at thick black armor, made of an obsidian that seemed to reflect and twist the images of lighting from above. A cool headed voice spoke to him.

“Why look what we have here, a King’s servant lost in his way.” To this comment did Akhom notice that the man had not assisted him in standing but was instead now staring intently at his wrist marking.

“Are you the one known as Seros?” Akhom composed himself quickly, uttering the sentence with a slight malice.

“Do the dying still dream?” the man replied smiling. To this Akhom was puzzled, however he sensed quickly the man had confirmed his suspicions.

“Come with me Chaos Man, the Whispering King whishes to speak with you. Perhaps he might entertain your question.” To this Seros released the Akhom’s arm and began to follow.

“I like you.” Was Seros last comment on the journey to the Amber Lake.

“Why, look what we have here, a King’s servant lost in his way.” Seros inspected the symbols on the boy's wrist. They still meant nothing to him, but looking upon them gave him a faint sense of unease - he could feel the eye of the Changer watching. "Are you the one known as Seros?" His message had been received, it seemed. Seros did not particularly appreciate the boy's tone, but no matter. That could be corrected later. "Do the dying still dream?" he replied, without fully knowing why he spoke thus. Words came to him from time to time, and Seros had long ago learned to simply speak them and permit the Architect's will to guide him. "Come with me Chaos Man, the Whispering King wishes to speak with you. Perhaps he might entertain your question."

Seros followed the boy to the Tomb King's lair, wherever that may turn out to be. The journey took some time, and Seros found himself curious about his small companion. "Tell me, boy. How did you, and so many other children, come to serve this... Whispering King?" The boy frowned, as if unsure if he should part with this information. Reluctantly, he spoke. "The other children, they tormented me for my weakness, said that Sigmar cared nothing for me. The King made me strong, let me defeat Taylor the Swift." The boy spoke the last sentence proudly, as if he thought even Seros might have heard of Taylor and be impressed by his victory. Bored, Seros gazed off into the distance, and humored the child. "Taylor the Swift, you say? And how did you defeat such a worthy foe?" Seros' voice was faintly mocking, which the boy missed entirely. "I taunted him, as he so often taunted me - his father was struck down by Sigmar himself, you know! - and then I crushed his throat."

Seros' eyes instantly snapped down to the boy, searching for any sign of deceit. Finding none, he spoke: "His father was struck down by Sigmar, you say?" The boy nodded eagerly. "Slain with a bolt of fire from the heavens as he preached Sigmar's word!" Seros looked away for a moment, muttering something inaudible under his breath, and then returned his gaze to the young killer. "And he said that Sigmar cared nothing for you, did he? It seems that he was wrong, this Taylor." The boy raised an eyebrow curiously as Seros continued. "For is it not by the hand of... Sigmar... that you have come to be here, as you now are? Without that pillar of divine flame, would events have turned out as they did? Would you have found your King, slain your nemesis?" The boy fell silent, pondering Seros' words. Moments passed quietly, as the pair continued their journey. Finally, just before their arrival at Amber Lake, the boy spoke again. "Before, Chaos Man, when you turned away. What did you say?" Seros smiled, the words echoing in his head still. "We are shaped by fate, just as we shape it."

((I saw that Ferret and so did Jesus.))

Jesus missed the first one, apparently - that's the second time I stole that quote.

To Akhom’s great joy did the pair finally reach the Amber Lake. The storm that once ravaged the trees and town had passed now leaving behind a heavy and humid air. In the distance all matters of reptiles and insects could be heard emerging from their hiding places once more. Amber Lake remained oddly still to this effect with few ripples or waves affecting its water.

“My patience is not as sturdy as my intellect young boy”, Seros had become agitated at the distance away from town traveled. Had this been a trap he knew for sure he was in the weaker position. Only the week previous had Seros encountered some sailors that had attacked him; forcing his hand far quicker than he would have liked.

“It is not for me to summon my King, he comes on his own” Akhom spoke with a renewed certainty, mildly annoyed by the Chaos Man’s words.

From the center of the lake a few bubbles began to reach the surface and pop about frantically. The trail of air traveling closer to shore until finally from the water’s surface did a crown emerge. The sun was low in the sky casting it light just so off the water as to reflect this bronze metal in a halo of light. So too did rise the Whispering King’s mask in course, it emotionless gaze staring blankly towards where the two stood. Without so much as a motion did the rest of the Whispering King’s form appear from the water until all the remained was water and Lord, the two separated. From the brush behind the two did the final player appear as Ushabti took footing near the Seros with heavy blade ready.

“I’ll say this, you make an entrance.” Seros seemed to clear his throat, attempting to break the silence that had taken rule.

Quickly did Akhom come to his Lord’s side and lean up to his mask. Akhom composed himself, “The Tomb King Zaket VII, the Whispering King, The Great King, The Old King, The Herald of the Sun, wishes to inform his guest that he is most welcome for returning to him one of his many artifacts. And so asks now, by what intention have you sought him?” To this Akhom looked to The Tomb King Zaket VII for approval of which he found none, on the mask of his king facing Seros consistently; there were some magics at work here, this Akhom could feel.

Quite a dramatic entrance, this would-be King. Fitting for a being that styled itself royalty, Seros supposed. His kingdom had been dead for centuries, but such feelings of superiority did not fade. "I'll say this, you make an entrance," Seros muttered. The boy moved to stand beside his King, and uttered a lengthy introduction. He tuned out as the child recited a string of titles, ending with "...by what intention have you sought him?" Seros cleared his throat. He knew how this worked.

"I come before you, noble King, with an offer, made out of my generosity and the goodwill of the Changer of the Ways. He, and I, wish for there to be an understanding between us, now and in the days to come. The Empire of Nehekhara is long dead, and yet it lives on in this place, in your imperial might. On behalf of the Architect of Fate, who rules over all things and all places, I hereby cede sovereignty over the Amber Lake and the Eastern Quarter of Tameria to you, Whispering King, and to the Kingdom of Khemri."

Seros deftly produced a single golden coin, marked with a crescent moon. "In addition, there is an... opportunity I think you may be interested in. The man who gave me this coin is involved in something, something I intend to either destroy or profit from. You strike me as an individual with similar aims, great King, and I would be honored were you and the loyal forces of Khemri to aid me in this endeavor."

To these words did the Tomb King Zaket VII find pleasure. Before him stood a scion for the very Lord of Change, a god of near endless power; and yet he still made way for the Old King. It would be easier to work with the Chaos Man than expected. Obviously the man already had his betrayal lined up accordingly for the Whispering King, but this too did the Tomb King Zaket VII see as well. His mask showed the creatures true form to him as the mask does for all. Beyond the dark armor, the sharp chin and nose did the Whispering King see the very tendrils of Chaos foil and warp the space around Seros’s body. Did he know that he was such favored by the Changer? Perhaps not, but to the Old King this was proof enough of his worth in the greater plan.

The Whispering King turned and spoke to Akhom, the silent communication uncaught to Seros. Akohm composed himself again and spoke, “The Tomb King Zaket VII accepts your arrangement on land. He wishes to inform upon that he acknowledges you as a creature of principal and so will treat you as an equal should your paths meet the same goal” Akhom now waited.

The Tomb King Zaket VII reached into his cloak and so produced a coin of exact quality as the one Seros held. He looked at it carefully, and then tossed it to his right a good distance. It landed squarely in the hands a of a fifth guest, a creature in the guise of a High Elf, grinning happily as he waited.

Akhom spoke again, “Of the coin the Tomb King Zaket VII knows well, for he has allies of his own as well. And to this the Tomb King Zaket VII shall join you in this adventure. May I introduce the Vampire Maelkur Aelorothi.”

To this Akhom looked to Maelkur, waiting to see if the vampire had his own to speak.

Stepping forward out of the darkness that formerly concealed his thin frame and glancing lightly at the Tomb King, Maelkur deftly caught his coin with a snapping motion and secreted it away once more within his apparel. He once again wore the guise of the glorious elf mage that he had first met Zaket in, though he expected the Chaos Mage that stood before him to be able to pierce it as simply as Zaket did for it was no secret that any Chaos worshipers who did not belong to Khorne and were of any consequence were likely to possess powerful magic in some way or another. Still he veiled himself for those whom were not powerful in magic had no hope of ever seeing past the fake face that he presented the world with. Giving Seros a deep and extravagant bow, the vampire disappeared for a moment as his body blurred and appeared behind off to the Tzneetch mage's right.

"The plot thickens!" He gasped, his voice ecstatic with excitement through a wide grin as his golden eyes danced with a canny amusement. "I have heard of you, Chaos Mage. They say that you conjure the powers of the warp at a whim and your ire sinks ships that pass through the docks without permission. Such is the superstition anyway..."

Intentionally he allowed himself to sound as if he believed the local superstitions of the dock-goers and the gangs. He had indeed heard of this Chaos Mage before, Thron and his minions were the first to bring the rumors of the powerful forces moving about the city and fearing the presence of yet another vampire in this portion of the the world, competition he did not want, he had investigated a small amount. Enough to know what it was that ruled the docks now. Seros had not been overly cautious about concealing who and what he was as Maelkur and Zaket had. Immediately he wish Zaket had kept the secret of his vampire lineage to himself and not revealed such a secret to prospective betrayers, but it was what it was for eventually Seros would have reasoned it on his own. Now they knew that he was just as accursed as they by the populace, but they knew not where the hands of Maelkur moved nor the pieces that he called his own. Such could not be the said of the Whispering King or the Dockmaster.

"Naturally I bid you welcome and salutations to our... association."

Yet again, Seros was thankful that his extensive readings in Altdorf's most forbidden libraries proved an acceptable substitute for actual experience. How else would he be able to identify the creature before him as a Necrach vampire, most knowledgeable and potent of the bloodlines? Indeed, some of the most useful tomes he had perused had been written by Necrachs. It would not be wise to underestimate the arcane knowledge that one could accumulate when the pressures of a natural lifespan were relieved by the "curse" of undeath.

"Greetings, friend. These are strange times indeed, to see the spawn of cursed Nagash alongside one of the blessed sons of Khemri." In truth Seros cared little, but the subtle reactions he saw from both undead when he spoke these words were enough to tell him that this alliance was far from unshakable. He filed this knowledge away, and continued. "Stranger still, you are not the vampire I recall accepting one of these coins. How did it change hands so rapidly, I wonder? Are you that one's master, or perhaps his killer? Either way, you are right to be intrigued. There is potential here, and I welcome your assistance. I suspect there is both danger and reward enough to satisfy all of us, should we pursue this venture." The Necrach was a potential threat. He would have a much finer eye for the magical than the Tomb King, perhaps better than Seros' own. But just as the magnitude of his threat increased, so too did his value as a potential ally. Hopefully nothing would come up that made their interests mutually exclusive. Seros did not look forward to a contest with either of these beings.

The three stood their ground at each other, the air around them heavy with sorcery as the winds of magic flew between them. Among the island there were many who dabbled in the realm of the forbidden, even more who thought themselves veterans of the ways, but rarely had such power been concentrated in one place at one time. The unease lasted for a short while as the three sized each other up. The Tomb King Zaket VII perhaps for the first time in millennia had a doubt. Should the Vampire betray them, would the Chaos Man take his side in aid? Reversely if the Changer should present himself could he find an ally with the Vampire? The alliance was only as weak as its weakest member, and as of now it seemed to the Old King that this fact was very uncertain.

Akhom looked to his Lord for a moment and listened. The underlying whispers came from the Tomb King Zaket VII so that only he could hear; at which end the Great King produced a single red jewel from his robe and presented it to his favored vassal. Akhom seemed to nod at this and with great haste he bowed and left back to East Quarter as quickly as his feet would carry him. Ushabti crossed over to his Lord and stood ready. The Tomb King Zaket VII spoke directly now.

“Both of you are beings whom would serve yourselves well. We have a common goal, this Black Mage and his taunts can continue no further. From his mind we will pluck his secrets, and from his body . . . might we pluck a bit more.” To this proclamation did the Tomb King Zaket VII begin to pull at his right talon, unraveling thick strips of leather and metal until finally the talon detached itself from its unknown anchor. The Old King held the talon in front of him and let fall a chain of black metal until no distance lie between talon and ground; the fingers now forming a crown atop this staff. “We are to journey to this location and meet this Mage, let us do so in such as fashion.”

The Tomb King Zaket VII took first turn in beginning the journey to the agreed location, trusting his back to the other two; Ushabti of course near toe.

“And quite the exit he makes does he not?” Maelkur insisted, the words coming from his sing-song voice, “one more like him and I doubt we would ever find ourselves going anywhere in good time.” The Vampire began to walk now in quick pace.

In the absence of his new allies, Seros found time to relate, “Someone is getting killed at the end of this.”

Seros reflected that whatever else he may be, the vampire was likely a much more worthwhile conversationalist than his underlings. That problem, at least, was solved. As he began following his new-found allies, he reflected as well that at some point, he ought to invest in a horse. Perhaps a chariot. Walking everywhere was unsuitable for one such as he. The King would agree, no doubt.