Heleion Archives

6th of April, 789th of ASC. City of Regincor, Nicaea Province, Northern Arghyria.

            Nicaea, the smallest northern imperial province that was a vast plain dotted with hills and large forest brimming in green all throughout the year. And home to the 4th Legion of the Empire that kept the region’s piece and was known for the conquest of the northern tribes that lived beyond the border. Their home, the city of alabaster city of Regincor that currently was a battleground between them and the druidic coven of the province that rebelled against the Empire.

Five years ago the Empress Atilia decided to strengthen the defenses of the Empire. For this reason the forests acting as the natural border in the north were commissioned to be rooted out and, in their place, a massive city with imposing walls were planned to be built. The druids of the Emerald-Heart Coven seeing their beloved forest granted by the Nurturing Father upon them violated, lashed out by sinking the workers equipment beneath the earth.

It did not take long for things to escalate as according to some sources, the assigned legionaries struck down a few of the druids who stalked near the construction site. According to the Imperial propaganda, it was the druids who sunk workers and legionaries alike beneath the earth, damning them to a long and arduous fate of suffocating in complete cold darkness.

What they initially thought to be a simple military exercise turned into a full on rebellion as many druids across the country joined the coven in taking up nature’s arms. Many towns disappeared across the province, swallowed by the earth with in some cases with their small populace. Martial cities and fortresses laid in ruins, slowly reclaimed by nature.

And Regincor stood in its alabaster glory ruined. Walls stood imposing with roots of trees and vines creeping up, watchtowers crumbled by their smothering embrace. The buildings that dot the second largest city all across in the same binding embrace of vines, with strange flora growing inside them spawning elementals or granting vessels to the spirits of nature. The former palace no longer standing, or even existing beyond rubble as an enormous tree sprouted in its place, a reminder to the inevitable triumph of nature.

Amongst the nature infested ruined streets, four maidens in glistening raven black silken cloaks crossed through the streets and headed to the last bastion of the 4th Legion. “Quite the sight.” Ilmania, a dark elven namudrim of dracorith kin noted to herself as she crouched on the flat roof of a building nearest to the crimson temple of Rheassor, God of War and Glory to the imperials.

An imposing, windowless architectural marvel that stood between both banks of the Aurum River. Crimson marble walls that glistened even under the shadows of the tree, golden arches at the top of hundred stairs of twisted design with statues of armored figures in the shadows in eternal vigil. Her mauve eyes under her large hood of raven black hue ran through the surrounding walls marshalled by bored and tired legionaries forcing their gaze on the opposite side of the banks, riddled with the corpses of their brothers and sisters amongst the enemies.

“Come Ilmania. Let’s enter.” The soothing, melodic voice of her leader echoed within her mind and Ilmania’s hunched form disappeared in a burst of shadows.

**

The bored expressions of the legionaries lightened up as the four maidens of the Sisterhood of the Black Rose pulled down their hoods in front of the gates. All three possessed unparalleled elven beauty, even the single naurdian whom somewhat stood out from their little group.

“I guess it was too hasty of us. Dirzsha remind me next time.” Shalaug Winterfyre, the snaelven leader of the group and a drennai of the Sisterhood – a sorceress-knight – said with a sigh. Her snow white face was adorned with gracious and perfectly aligned elven features that included the mauve eyes she shared with the other three. Her long hair flowed naturally with perfect straightness as it was parted over to the left side. It molded with the cloak thanks to sharing the same hue and luster.

“Maybe this will help?” Jofrid a fellow drennai said as her hands encased in thick leather gloves exposing her glossy nails and fingers grabbed the corpse of a nature spirit’s vessel resembling a carnivorous plant with bright petals and sharp teeth that could easily chew through the hardest of common metals.

With a swift and elegant movement, the raven haired half-elven appearing beauty hurled the cadaver over the walls. Not long after they heard it crashing onto the ground, screams followed. Her single braided tail dangled and caressed the silken back of the cloak that remained creaseless after weeks of traversing while her snow silvery diadem remained still on her head as she looked awkwardly at the others.

“Or I could have just sneaked through and notify our guy.” Ilmania spoke up next in her husky voice as she massaged her light bluish temples in embarrassment.

The four of them raised their hands in the air, and with the exception of Jofrid they all exhaled slowly as the legionaries were brought out from their stupor by the blood curdling screams. “Welcome. He is waiting inside.” As a tall orc clad in tainted golden armor of segmented pieces, the rest of the legionaries atop the barricades lowered their weapons at the raise of his curled fist.

“See it worked.” Jofrid said to her Sisters as they entered the encampment around the temple.

**

“Welcome dear Sisters of the Black Rose! I am Marius, the High Exarch of the Temple of Rheassor.” An old man with an affable expression on his genial face adorned with lush beard already white as snow greeted them. High Exarch Marius wore a rich dress embroidered in crimson, decorated with golden ornaments sculpted to resemble swords and shields often associated with the God of War in these parts of the world.

“Nice décor.” Jofrid’s complimented the defensive fortifications built in the main hall while the others bowed gracefully to the High Exarch.

“Come follow me. The prisoner is on the level below, prepared and ready.” Ignoring Jofrid, Marius spoke with his velvety words echoing softly. The group left behind the orc praetor as the stone gates – raised and formed from the marble floor itself – opened up. Jofrid inspected everything from the corner of her eye after Dirzscha, their dark elven Vholavhin – sorceress – poked her in the sides.

Her field of sight expanded gradually and her attention focused on the imposing statues erected in honor of Rheassor made of gleaming gold with a tingent of crimson.

Rheassor was widely worshipped in the Empire’s central regions and vassal nations. He was the patron God of legionaries, warriors of all kinds and even adventurers offered prayers to him to present them with great challenges as they set out for their quests.

Most statues matched in how he appeared in the ancient times to heroes and in battles against the fiendish hordes of the Stygian Realms. A tall muscular figure in revealing armor that exposed his scar ridden chest. Scars that said to glow with a divine light that filled the warriors with strength beyond their limits, boosted their morale and most importantly weakened the invaders from the wicked realms.

On each statue, he held different weapons, the ones closest to the entrance he held his spear to the ground with the sharp end pointed towards the sky. At the center, he drawn his short sword and pointed it towards the east and west while the ones closest to where they headed, he was barehanded ready to throw his lot in with whatever unseen enemy he faced.

The group silently continued on between the statues and finally reached the long stairs heading beneath the temple where further statues dedicated to the protectors of the city stood proudly on both sides. At the bottom they took many twists and turns in the almost maze like corridors that served as armories and training grounds to the devoted of Rheassor.

Jofrid counted in her head the number of silent guards as they passed between them until they reached the eleventh and twelfth where Marius took a slow and sharp turn towards the right oaken door with a single barred window. He placed his frail, wrinkled hand on the door and after a few seconds passed by, the edges of the door lit up in a golden glow as it slowly opened up.

Inside their attention focused on the slender naurdian descended woman dressed in a sleeveless robe of silken that seemed to have a texture as if someone took a flat piece of oaken slab and transmuted it into a textile material that kept its strong texture while gifting it the luster and litheness of silken itself. Even the oaken hue added to its oaken appearance while this illusion broke the further down the eye went. Down at the skirt part with a round hem, the appearance and hue was more akin to leaves while still having the traits of silken.

The fair maiden sat silently in the single chair left in the dim room. Or to be more precise, she was bound to it. Thick enchanted ropes of faded oaken hue looped around her chest while another ran across her shoulders and tightened the previous in two knots. Similarly at the back, her forearms pressed against each other, and one coil had been used to keep them locked while the chest binding tightened against her oaken tattoo covered upper arms. Her long chestnut hued hair pressed against her soft, fair pink skin as a silken cloth circled around her lower face with a tight knot at the back of her nape. Her graceful, almond shaped eyes in the same bind.

The group entered one by one and Marius walked behind the bound and gagged prisoner of theirs. He gently placed her wrinkled hands onto her shoulders as he introduced said prisoner. “Sisters, this is Cassandra, Head Wyress of the Emerald-Heart Coven and the one we wish you to escort to the North until we mop up the rest of her coven.”