The Ark. A monument to everything the mages and illusionists had ever worked for, floatedhigh above the illusionary city of Targon. A bastion of light and wonders that took in the eyes as surely as the sun would light up the night. The city was vast, easily taking a full day of walking to traverse it's winding streets so littered with shops and alcoves for anything you would ever need. From this city the "Angels" descended and constantly recruited or killed those awoken by the spellfire, the angels were nothing more then golems created to do a task no mortal could and in half the time.

It was from this great city of light that summons were issued to the Eastern jungles and to the Plague Breakers far in the swamps. The leader gave a shrug and readied himself for a long travel. Far to the jungles the warchief known as the Juggernaut strapped his twin sabers on his belt and called for a caravan to the great city. All around the world able bodied fighters of strength and size and power had received a grim letter asking to return to Ark for a meeting with the high mage about a concern he himself could not understand. It was here we start our quest.

Welcome to the Ark.

(Start off nice and slow, arrive at the city or be somewhere inside already. Once all 6 have posted we will advance with plot little by little before leaping right into the main story.)

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"But when one of it's baby chicks is in trouble, Momma comes a run'nin' and a squawkin and a run'nin''." -General Treistar

Cain smiled softly, as he slid through the pulsing crowd. A beautiful city, one he was very glad to be a part of. He was a healer and Kane was his Guardian, the illusionist, the warder. They would need weapons though, to stop this fire-thingy, or whatever they were doing. Not that he really cared, he just wanted to help. He rubbed his scar and fluffed his hair, and walked to a vendor nearby, looking at the weapons. “Can I have that whip?” he asked softly, showing his missing tooth, “And that book please?”

He paid for a three foot bladed whip and a book on anatomy; he loved books like that, it helped him learn to heal. He placed them in his bag and put his white cloak in to, knowing that Kane wouldn’t question it. He closed his eyes and when they opened, instead of pale blue they were vibrant green.

Kane looked around the market place warily, knowing danger could be around every corner. He was going to help a mage, or the mage would kill him. Anything to survive. He turned and walked into a dark vendor, darkness was safety. “Whatcha got?” he asked coldly, his voice near a whisper.

“A hammer, blood it and it’s yours forever,” the old man with missing teeth croaked, “It’s heavy but when you blood it you won’t feel the weight.”

“…” Kane gave the old man some money, the stuff he had been saving and gently took the knife the old man gave him. He let three drops fall to the hammer and watched it glow eerily. He walked out, the hammer on his shoulder. As soon as he got out there a young woman saw him and pet his head. Immediately, he flinched and his eyes snapped to blue. Cain smiled, the hammer slightly heavier than it was for Kane, and said, “Have a good day Madame,” then ran towards the town centre to see if there was any other adventurers there yet.

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-Galinn-

The Ark, the shaman said that is where the omens declared the true journey would begin, everything before that was merely a test. And it was one the North-man passed, having to endure several climate changes as he travelled in itself was challenging but the time he spent on the road left him aggravated by the people who call themselves ‘civilized’.
Many looked down at him due to them simply referring him as ‘that lowly barbarian’ or even the ‘wild man’, very few would stay that way if they foolishly came into the range of his axe. An evil smirk played on the face of Galinn at the memory of one rather weakling who referred to himself as a noble, after Galinn was through with him, Galinn doubted the man would be nearly as full of himself not if they managed to replace certain bits of him.

But now he was at his destination and while the structures where far more sophisticated than what he was use to, the North-man wasn’t all that impressed about how much they relied on their ‘magic’, they did not accept their environment nor were hardened by the trials of old, no, they changed it, tamed it and weakened their bodies through their means of becoming ‘civilized’ and ‘advanced’.
He sneered, ““ Wonder how long they would last up North without their precious magics. But then one must wonder how long the North would remain untamed....” The thought of one of those robed mages trying to cast his spells in the blizzard entertained Galinn somewhat but he had other matters to attend to.

He looked around, everywhere he looked there were places to trade. Some offered clothing, some food and yet others traded strange items that the North-man had never seen. The real question what, who would trade the right information he needed. And much to his amusement he found that in most cases he was by far the biggest man in the crowd so far.
Several members of the public tried to avoid him, some of the woman went so far as to avert their eyes or even cover the eyes of their children due to his choice of clothing, Glainn snorted his anger was beginning to rise already. At random he entered one of the stores; a kind of food trade it appeared.

Galinn pushed his way through the busy shopper with some protest and cut infront of the line, “Tell me trader.” He began in a gruff, no nonsense voice, “I seek the place of mages, the omens have told that a great gathering is to take place soon and they have told me that I am needed.”

The trader seemed to shrink a little from, to all purposes, had been a giant walking through his door. Shaking visibly he swallowed his fear and reminded himself this was a place of sactuary, not violence and seemed to calm down enough to point to his far right. "T-Two blocks down that w-way, the Cou-council is holdi-ing some war meeting." Stammering for words against the large barbarian, after a few moments the shopkeeper seemed to swoon on his feet from the sheer magnitude of the man infront of him.

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"But when one of it's baby chicks is in trouble, Momma comes a run'nin' and a squawkin and a run'nin''." -General Treistar

-Galinn-

"My thanks trader." The gaint growled with a wicked grin, his handed moved fearfully to his axe it seemed for a moment before moving past to a pouch, "I'm uncertain to what these trinkets mean in your land, some weaklings thought they were important and were convinced I carried some with me." He fished out two coins one silver and one yellowish, both however were somewhat covered unequally in red, "So I relieved them of their trinkets. A trade is a trade in my land, you gave me what I sought, I think this may be what you seek."

Galinn placed the bloodied coins on the counter and moved his way through the crowd once more, "The trade here does not seem as fair as in the homeland, I see little value in these trinkets yet the foolish hurl themselves at my axe..." Galinn muttered to himself as he left to follow the trader's directions.

Cain heard speaking as he ran through the market, speaking of trinkets. Curious, he jogged over to the huge man and adjusted his glasses to look. “It’s called money, sir,” the tiny boy said looking nearly straight up, “It represents worth. The more money you have the more you are worth. It’s a strange society, but it gives everything a worth, so trades are less likely to be unequal.”

He smiled at the big man, “Do you know where the adventurer-thingy meeting place is?” He again rubbed his dark scar. The big man would see the white cloak and the hammer at his hip.

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-Galinn-

"Worth? HA, if this so called society wanted me to show them 'a worth' I'd have taken the ear of every warrior I've fought, a fighter after all only has one right ear, that would certainly have some value!" The barbarian laughed without looking directly at the boy in the beginning part of him hoped the boy would leave once his curiosity was filled but much to his annoyance it appeared the boy was set on following him for a while.

"I am not sure what you mean with, adventure-thingy, the gods sent me here from the north to aid this land. Perhaps they deemed these folk unfit for battle.... no matter." For the first time he looked at the boy to examen him. The lad was small and with little muscle but the scar on his head showed he was a survivor, his brutish eyes narrowed in speculation however he stilled his tongue until he was finished, it seemed the boy was armed yet it seemed ill fit for a boy with his kind of build.

"The so called 'war-meeting' is to take place 'two blocks' from here. I've little understanding of what the trader meant with that distance. Perhaps you may know, he pointed this direction." He said finally his marking seemed to harden his face further as he once again examed the boy, "One wonders why you ask though. It is not uncommon for the young to partake in war, we are however more use to sending out those who are more able bodied, so perhaps you are more than I can see."

Cain giggled at the big man, and pushed his glasses again. “I’m a healer! I’m learning to cure lots of stuff; I can help even if I’m not that strong,” he grinned, “It’s good tactics to have someone who can heal you while you are fighting.” He grabbed the man’s large hand as pulled gently to lead him, “And sometimes I can casts wards, though I’m better at illusions.” He was careful not to mention Cain, maybe later, if he could be trusted.

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-From deep within the crowds-

Through the marketplace strode a lean figure sporting a height of about 5 foot 6, a dark red cloak with blue outer stitching and a green swirl of wind danced along it's back walked calmly through the streets, a hood concealed his face for a large portion of the time, what he wore beneath was not visible in an unnatural darkness below the cloak that only the quickest eye could see through. Plated gauntlets with razor sharp knuckle edges and firm leather with fur bracers adorned his hands, plated thigh pads with a thick metal belt buckle that looked like a burning mouth, deadly fangs and all, made of gold and a crimson metal attached to a dark leather belt. A long piece of cloth typical of monks or priests hung around the front just below the buckle, with a longer one at the back ending in a V just at the midsection of his hips waving like flaps.

His boots made thumping as they fell heavily, the same type of armor as his gloves and again followed by fur bracings, the greaves ended at the fellows knee's just below the plate thigh pads, flexible silk breeches worn with age and use were worn under it all. His chest sported no more protection then a simple silk shirt with a long leather strap attaching a strong spiked shoulderpad that poked through the cloak attached to his belt. Stopping before the markets he noted a few things, a hill of a man and the stunned tradesman with blood-soaked coins for whatever the large man had purchased. A wry grin crossed his face.

"You there, the big man." He called from a few feet away, the crowd seemed to part a little. "What say you to a duel between warriors, I'd like to know your axes a little better if you wish to make your way to the 'adventure-thingy'." He called but not mockingly, more in excitement. At the sound of a potential scrap the crowds backed off and gave a wide berth for the them. The cloaked figure simply stood with poise despite being sorely undersized against what any bystander would assume was a mountain ogre.

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"But when one of it's baby chicks is in trouble, Momma comes a run'nin' and a squawkin and a run'nin''." -General Treistar

-Galinn-

A healer, interesting.
Came Galinn's thought as he listened to the boy's explanation but understood little of his other magics, "Yes it is wise to have one who can heal, yet only if the warrior is careless or unfortunatethe. After all only injured require healing, the dead simply require the burrial rites." He replied before a challenge was declared behind him.

The man was smaller than him, but that mattered little in the eyes of a warrior for only the foolhardy would determine their chances by looks alone. The challenger was armoured and prepared the signs of an able bodied fighter. "The North accepts all to be a warrior, as such I will agree to your duel. But let us make space as it would dishonor us both should we involve others in this duel." He motioned the little lad to move some ways back before spreading his arms in a slow manner to move the on-lookers, "It is custom not to kill in ones village, so know I have little intention of doing so here. But we must not hold back for that would lessen us."

Galinn receited the warriors oath carefully in his own tongue for a moment before drawing his axes in preparation, "I am Galinn, Clanman of the Fjord. I accept your challenge and await your rules the duel. You may begin when ready."

With a grin he removed his cloak, revealing a full-plate, a T serving as the visor, his grin was feral as he tossed the cloak to an attendant that came out of the crowd. He was lean but not without muscle as anyone could see from his body. The scars of many battles echoed louder that any story he could preach could. Taking up two sabers or a dark steel, the edge was sharpened to a point of near perfection with no blemishes, past or present. Light and durable they swung easily in his hand. "Anything goes in terms of attacking. Aim to wound but spare death, it would shame us both in the Ark to spill blood."

Crossing his sabres over his chest he recited a battle oath of his own, one sworn to the earth mother and the spirit of the flames to purge all in his path. "I am known as Orma Felkin of the eastern jungles. Prepare yourself for I would not insult your honor as a warrior by holding back." Crouching low he moved with frightening speed, despite the heavy armor he was on the warrior in a heartbeat, sabers slashing left and right, thrusting at his stomach and sweeping low. A dizzying haze of black as the blades came from their various angles hoping to simply bull the giant over.

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"But when one of it's baby chicks is in trouble, Momma comes a run'nin' and a squawkin and a run'nin''." -General Treistar

-Galinn-

"HAIL TO YOU THEN, ORMA FELKIN, MAY OUR BLADES REJOICE IN BATTLE!!" Galinn roared with eagerness as he met his foe in combat, grabbing his axe closer to the head he deflected the trust away from his body using his size to move faster than most would think.
As Galinn expected the smaller man was faster with his choice of weapon and he was first to draw blood, one of the rapid strikes struck his left arm but did not faze the North-man. As Galinn deflected another blow, Orma cut across his chest which caused him to smile.

"A worthy blow, your are faster than I expected but don't think I'll sway this easily." He laughed adding, "I doubt you will fall so easily as well!" He responded with a complex maneuver using short swings, jabs and sudden swipes of the handle.

-Orma-

Falling back on his heels crouched low to make it harder for the big man to hit, he managed to deflect a large quantity of the heavy slashes and stopped a jab outright by crossing both blades on the impact point. The force alone drove him back a good 2 feet but still the big man came on slashing and parrying and Orma couldn't hide his dissapointment as a blade bit down hard on his shoulder but failed to draw blood or even a scratch. Bringing his sabers up and across he smacked away both the big mans weapons and took a leap backwards, tilting his head.

"Galinn, your weapons cannot draw blood from me? I'm afraid I cannot hide my dissapointment!" He motioned to where the axe had struck him and simply gave a loud and over-drawn sigh. "You swore upon honor with me that you would not hold back." He called readying himself. "If you don't get serious I'll just have to beat it out of you!" He roared with an unearthly loudness to his voice before running back in, his speed was slower and his swings weren't as fast but each one felt like a boulder crashing down as he swiped in wide arcs.

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"But when one of it's baby chicks is in trouble, Momma comes a run'nin' and a squawkin and a run'nin''." -General Treistar

-Galinn-

Once more the North-man laughed, "My spirit is that of a wolf, I take it's traits Orma." He said deflecting the slower, heavier blows with the axe heads. Each blow cause his axes to ring and sent jolts of feedback into his hands, it had been such a long time since he felt this sensation, his battle-lust was beginning.

"The wolves up north are patient and relentless, but will dog their prey until it is dead or the pack has found an easier meal." The slower blows were still coming when Galinn saw a wide swing that he could take advantage of.
Blocking the first blow with his axe, he accepted the following blow as a trade before he pushed back to give him space for his own counter-blow. As he pushed, Galinn took a step forward and spun his body to give his right arm more momentem, his axe grip shifted to the shaft end and hoping to catch Orma on his back foot he attempted to land a blow across his chest, to mimic the worthy blow Galinn had received.
"BUT DON'T THINK I WOULD GO AGAINST MY WORD!" He responded in an equally loud voice.

-Orma-

As his blade scored home he noticed something very peculiar, his opponent did not fall. An unusual case in his many battles, infact he noticed he had left himself wide open for the heavy barbarian. Laughing madly he watched the axe chop down and finally draw blood from the relentless little fighters tough skin, taking advantage of the mans low arm he hooked his left saber and stomped down on the blade with his right foot, his right blade slashed out heavily to intercept any incoming from the mans other weapon. With a how of sheer glee he rammed himself head-first into the big mans chest with a strength that would frighten a mountain giant. Orma hoped to knock him back.

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"But when one of it's baby chicks is in trouble, Momma comes a run'nin' and a squawkin and a run'nin''." -General Treistar

-Galinn-

Surprised Galinn was forced back and what's more important he was forced to leave Talgwelisheer behind, "My, fast and strong, are you sure you're fully from the east? You've got the warrior spirit of a North-man!" He complemened Orma with a savage grin using his now free hand to feel the spot where he was head-butted, "Once we are done, we should have a drink! I would enjoy to hear your tales of battle and I am certain there are many but first."

He gripped his left axe with both hands now, the savage grin not once leaving the bearded face, "First to see which of us will buy the other his drink." Now that he was without his second axe he would have to change tactics and change the pace of the battle to win back the advantage.

-Orma-

"Rest assured Friend, drinks are on me for a fine display of battle." Hooking his foot under the blades heavy axe head, he kicked it outta the ground at the goliath of a man, not wanting to have such an unfair advantage. Already he could feel the eye's of the city keepers watching him and his new warrior arrival. Tossing his blades to the side he took up a straight stance, feet connected on the ground with both hands over his chest. "Brace yourself." He gave fair warning, for his next attack would end it. The test would be how badly this warrior was injured once it was over.

Wasting no more time he broke down to channeling and already flames licked at his feet and surged upwards quickly, coming to quickly swirl on his armored hands. In what felt like a blink of an eye the short fighter was midair infront of the hulk of a man, arm bent back and coated with flame. His punch was stronger then anything the barbarian would likely have ever experienced as it shot forward, the flames followed before simply detonating on impact. Moments before the attack went off a strange light filled the area around the dueling warriors, any spectator would see nothing more then a sphere suddenly erupting in violent crimson flames. Gone before faster than they appeared.

Orma stood sweating with blood freely running down his chest, the first scar he had received in close to 7 years of near constant war. He reveled in the glory of pain, waiting for the smoke to clear and see how the barbarian fared.

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"But when one of it's baby chicks is in trouble, Momma comes a run'nin' and a squawkin and a run'nin''." -General Treistar

Cain backed away, quickly imparting knowledge of the encounter into Kane. He snapped Kane out and the younger mind breathed quickly at the open-spaces, Put up wards for the people, the tiny voice in his head said, as always it was what people called ‘the voice of reason’. A blue ward surrounded the two warriors, creating an arena to keep the people safe. Then his fear of open-spaces overwhelmed him and he unconsciously snapped back to Cain.

Cain blinked when the fight ended. “What happened?” he said, sliding slightly painfully through ‘his’ ward. “Do either of you two need healing? ‘Cause I can do it.” He coughed at the smoke, and rubbed his scar.

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-Galinn-

For a moment there was not a single sound from where Galinn once stood. a pillar of smoke covered the ground and as it dissipated the shape of the giant began to form. A large gash had been opened and was then burnt by the magic, effectivly cauterizing the dreadful wound.

Most of the North-man's vest had been destroyed by the rapid fire leaving him barechested, revealing older scars, yet a dull grey glow shone through the smoke now. Galinn had been forced to use Talfenrirvaul as a way to enhance his stamina so that he could endure the injury without succumbing to his berserker nature.
His breathing was ragged and understandably pressed as he tried to cope with the pain, he tightened his grip on the axes to turn his focus back to the duel and not to his injuries.

"I'm still standing Orma" He grinned as he noticed that part of his lower beard was smoldering, his blue eyes still eager for battle but he knew he had lost the duel, Orma had proved to be superior in combat due to his grasp of his magic, something Galinn still needed to master himself.
"But I think I'll take you up on that offer friend. I admit defeat a fair duel and test of strength. It's good to know I have still much to learn." The savage grin never left Galinn's face as he placed his axes back in their holders and moved to shake Orma's hand.
"Well fought, I hope you found our fight as honorable as I view it. You gave me much to think about and revealed where I am flawed. A better outcome I do not know in a friendly duel."

Tennan Lamelin

Tennan watched the two fight, drawing closer. A pair of blue green eyes, the only bare skin showing on her body, watched the fight, clearly showing her displeasure. She spoke out against the destruction her resonant voice muffled by her scarf, What the hell do think you two were doing? Tennan said, her hood up and a few bonde braids trailing out of it, You could have destroyed this sharding village. If you have to fight go to a clearing or something. Don't deprive people of their homes for your own enjoyment. Her bag was filled with wares from various stalls. Morons
She walked away after patting Cain on the head. See you at the meeting, Ivory Funnel. She glared at the two men and walked off, her body stiff as if holding anger. Just because I lost my home doesn't mean anyone else should. Stationaries do not have the kind of strength needed.

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You... you really don't get it... do you? I... I love him... I'd die with him. Or for him. That's what you do... how you feel when you love someone. - Impulse

-Orma-

With a bow to the giant he walked closer to inspect the wound, if left unnatended for long it would cause the giant of a man great pain in the simplest of things. But what interested him more was the rune... The giant activated it and though clearly beaten, did not fall. Weakened and Injured but otherwise still ready for a scuffle. But he was still holding back, Orma knew it. "You fight well, better then most can say against me." With a chuckle he ignored the newcomer entirely, he had power here and was not capable of destruction even if he tried. The keeper made sure of that.

Looking over to the one who had been chatting with Galinn moments ago he remembered him informing Galinn of the ways of a cleric. A healer was a valuable asset. Pointing his way he motioned for the boy to come forward and waited till he complied, making him all but ignore the scolding women. "Please young one, inspect his wounds and do what you can to tend them. I fear without the rune on his chest he will collapse shortly." Satisfied with his answer he retrieved his cloak and sheathed his sabers before shooting the one who had tried to scold him a look that gave no uncertainty. He did not enjoy her tone. "The meeting hall is 3 blocks from here at the palace, you can't miss it. Galinn, there will be plenty of drink later all on me. Simply tell any vendor to put your tab on Orma 'The juggernaut' Felkin." With a smile he simply dawned his cloak and walked away, nothing more then a regular visitor once more.

All around the crowd peoples faces went pale, some in horror other in shock at the big man. He had fought a man of no small legend.

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"But when one of it's baby chicks is in trouble, Momma comes a run'nin' and a squawkin and a run'nin''." -General Treistar

{ Elias Ashwood - Need some fresh ingredients... }

Elias was inspecting the vendor of the Alchemist's guild, carefully looking at each of the ingredients he was after, ensuring they had not been tampered with and that they were fresh. After refilling all of the pouches and vials designated to basic ingredients he set off to the trade district, hoping to find a more advanced vendor, the materials he had purchased harshly limited his options by means of recipes.

As he was walking down the street, he spotted a man in plate armor wearing a cloak near him in the trade district. It couldn't possibly be... He picked up the pace slightly, catching up to the man and tapping him on his broad arm. "Excuse me, you must be Orma Felkin, correct?" He said, looking at the man with his tired, bright eyes.

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-Orma-

Turning to regard the newcomer he expected one of the eastern jungles who had watched his fight but was surprised to find an alchemist of the plague breaker society. Giving a nod he motioned for the man to continue but suddenly held his hand up to silence him, rubbing his chin in contemplation for a moment before smiling behind his helmet. "Elias Ashwood I presume? Here to pick up your special plants I assume. We were not meant to meet until much later in the afternoon." He said cheerfully, reaching into his cloak he pulled out a thin but well secured iron box of black steel and handed it to the alchemist. "I will accept no payment, consider it a gift of faith. Inside you will find 3 of every assortment of deadly and rare plants that grow within my jungles. Be wary, the ones listed in a crimson red of my buckle are ones to avoid without assistance." He raised the black container to the man, his thumb held down a golden key.

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"But when one of it's baby chicks is in trouble, Momma comes a run'nin' and a squawkin and a run'nin''." -General Treistar

Cain leaned into the woman’s touch and said, “I put up a ward, besides, they’re really good, they didn’t hit anything but each other.”

He then stepped forward when Orma indicated him. “ ’Kay,” the boy chirped and the red-haired boy smiled as he put his cold hands on Galinn’s chest, “Sorry, my hands are always cold.” Galinn would be able to feel the skin stitching back together and the pain ebbing away, a bit slow but much faster than if had been done naturally. It would sting a bit. “I’m not great yet, but I’m learning more every day.”

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-BY THE POWERS OF THIS SKULL-
(Don't sue)

The day had progressed slowly, crawlingly even, for the citizens of the Ark. The only excitement for some was the Jungle king Orma and the titan Galinn having their duel. Rumors and stories of the fight spread all through the city like wildfire. Close to 15 minutes after the fight had gone, everyone in the city had come to know Galinn as a warrior of no small skill and no less honor then a very titan he portrayed to the rather diminutive dwellers of the great floating city. Orma had invited him to a large and extremely pricey bar known for a homemade brew that could drop a giant in 1 good swig, they didn't lie about the claim. Nobody dared touch it save for Orma and now Galinn, the two's drunken ramblings were tales of old legends and stories of their upbringing.

The alchemist quarter had a surprise visit from Argith, leader of the Plague breakers, looking for a specific student who had received a package from Orma earlier. The two had met relatively early into the night and worked together in painful silence to create a potion of catastrophic power. An interesting visit to say the least from a man hailed as 'the shadow' to all who did not know him.
When he left, his first words were for the alchemist to hide the potion until he needed it. No sooner, no later, and all but dissapeared. A small talisman lay on the doormat with a ruby-studded skull imprinted onto the front. Argiths personal Plague-breaker medallion.

The morning came earlier to all who had been up to the latest of hours and noted they had appointments, as one they filtered out of respective area's and right into work. Opening shop, dusting the steps and checking the wardings of the area. A cleanup crew was hard at work cleaning up the bar Orma and Galinn had been to earlier in the day, cleaning up the riot of a barfight that started with a drunken patron throwing a bottle Orma's way. Orma and Galinn tab was likely more then the innkeeper would see within 3 months, all payed in full and upfront.

Deep inside the Ark, the 6 chosen patrons (You know who you are) were assembling in the Arks central meeting hall. A large oak and glass table spread long in the elaborate white and gold painted hall with it's 20 foot tall ceiling and brilliant stain-glass paintings depicting the 3 rules of Magic. Argith the Plague bringer. Orma the Juggernaut of the Jungles, and finally, Eustillian 'the trickster' of the Ark.

All 3 sat at the table near the end, Argith typically pouring over tomes and scrolls feverishly, Orma was slouched and near-death in his hangover but seemed to be mumbling something about a rematch. In the middle chair at the far end was Eustillian, plain robed and seeming to have no face below the hood, the colors of his cloak changed from time to time subtly in hue and depth, displays of dragons fighting warriors and other such epics displayed. But to any not watching him constantly, it would seem they had been their the whole time.

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"But when one of it's baby chicks is in trouble, Momma comes a run'nin' and a squawkin and a run'nin''." -General Treistar