Ashes make excellent fertilizer. From the ruins of the old, the new shall always sprout.

Unknown

As the first one ushered through the doors and down the length of the audience hall residing in the lower level of the northern tower, Sheala tried to put on her best Banar face.  Even if she wasn't particularly good at that specific, if not archaic, card game, she did know a thing or two about how to throw off an opponent and bluff her way through enough of the hands dealt to at least break even.  Usually.

Fingers steepled before him, Sheala locked eyes with the steely gaze of their host as he observed the six intruders brought before him with an unnerving and dispassionate calm.  The way he studied them, and her in particular, caused Sheala to shorten her strides in an unconscious attempt to delay the inevitable confrontation.  Something about the eerie emotionlessness of this man reminded her of a cat stalking its prey, identifying all that he could before a word was even uttered, and pondering how to strike a lethal blow.

A firm shove from the shaft of a guard's halberd forced Sheala to quicken her pace after a stumble. She cast the self-important man a gaze that could not be mistaken as meaning anything less than, 'You'll pay for that... later'.

"Welcome, Ambassador," were the simple words their host chose to greet them with before she'd even stopped.

The room was some five times as long as it was wide, strangely reminiscent of the layout of Daquer's headquarters back in Catersburg in that aspect. The desk behind which their host sat looked as though it might have symbolized the wall spanning the canyon between the towers due to its size.  Sheala presumed it would take a dozen men to lift to lift its antique design.

The man who had welcomed her did not rise as they entered, nor did any of the six fully armored soldiers, three on either side of the long room, move.  Dressed exactly in the same manner as the guards escorting them, these guards, five men and one woman from the looks of how their armor fit, stood at perfect attention.  Faces hidden behind polished helms, each guard held tight to a curving, polished halberd before them and much fancier than the one now being shoved into her back one final time to prompt a response after too long of a pause.

Recovering from the push, she stopped ten paces before him while her voice containing obvious hints of her annoyance at being here rather than any due respect she should have given. "Lagos Dunn, I presume?" Sheala replied.  

He raised an eyebrow.  "I have addressed you by your station's title," the man they'd come to see spoke evenly and with the utmost restraint.  "So I would request the same honor from you.  I am Steward of Mours Towers, Lagos Dunn."

Frustrated, and needing a moment to calm herself, Sheala focused on something that would allow her to distract and soothe her frayed nerves.  She found that thing looming in the shadows behind Lagos Dunn.  In just enough darkness to almost entirely conceal it from view, lingered what appeared to be a stone carved statue of a massive man, save for one feature that signified the rendition as something entirely different.  Instead of a man's head resting upon the carving's shoulders, in its place was the horned and determined visage of a bull.

It occupied its assigned place in silent reverence, hands resting on the shaft of an inverted battle axe made from polished steel.  Feeling so lifelike, the statuesque sentinel was unmoving and ever watchful, a rendition of something out of myth and legend; a creature Sheala had heard tales of once or twice. But before now she never had a visual to put with the oral description her mother used to weave of the mystical guardians for the old kingdoms; the otaurs.

Sighing, now composed and suitably distracted, Sheala drew in a deep breath, let it out, and bowed at the waste.  "Steward of Mours Towers, Lagos Dunn, I presume?"

With the correction made, their host's demeanor softened and broke into a warm smile.  "It is an honor to meet your acquaintance, both as a fellow Fimmirran, and as a formal ambassador sent on their behalf.  Tell me, what do I owe this pleasure, and what can I do for you?"

Sheala found it difficult to believe that the soldiers who intercepted them approaching the towers hadn't told him why they had come.  But she elected to play the game, anyway.  "Well, as you know, there's a war going on."

Sheala didn't pause much after the sentence, but it was enough to allow Lagos Dunn to seize the reigns of the conversation.  "Yes. Very much aware, thank you.  But, as you can see, it has not touched us.  Nor will it."

"We are here to request an alliance between you and—"

"There is no need for an alliance."  His response was matter-of-fact, given with no need to wait for Sheala's request to conclude.  "We are perfectly content to remain uninvolved beyond protecting our meager lands here.  The Empire has wisely chosen to leave us alone after many failed and painful past campaigns on their part to take these towers and breach our wall.  They have taken the prudent course and steered clear of further conflict for nearly a century."

"You can't stay holed up in here forever.  Surely you understand that?"

"Forever is not a necessity." Their host countered her argument.  "Only until the world is consumed and then reborn.  A time that we believe is nigh.  Geiha will be purged of all but us, the most pure.  Darkness will swallow the world, and from this time of coming darkness a new dawn shall emerge.  Then we shall give rise to new nations upon the ashes of the old.  Great and powerful nations, ones that shall never succumb to the temptations and failings of our ancestors."

"Geez, conceited much?" Sheala huffed.

While Lagos Dunn appeared to not pay the backhanded comment any heed, his response contained just enough bite to signify that he was not amused by the remarks.  "We have spent a long time hewing out these rocks around us, burrowing deep within the world.  Prepared to wait out the destruction to come.  I believe even the dwarves of the mountains would be impressed by our efforts.  Our stores are plentiful and can last us decades if need be.  What you call conceit, child, we see as divine providence."

Sheala's first instinct was to take her own offense at being called a "child".  She certainly didn't miss the intent of the insult, levied to downplay her knowledge and ability in a blunt manner.  Not to mention her age.  Even though she was a woman, it was obvious that she was barely into her twenties. However, even as she desired to lash out at him for it and hurl another insult back in a continuation of tit for tat, there was a sense within her that calmed that inclination and steered her to a different path.

She decided to play all her cards in one hand. "You do know who I am? Don't you?"

Lagos Dunn leaned back in his chair, a calm reflection contained in his words.  "I know who you claim to be, Ambassador.  One of royal blood.  The daughter of the sister of the last king to sit upon the Fimmirran throne.  A Turon.  And I can see that you believe that grants you some authority over us here.  Perhaps even a title of Queen?  An amusing assumption, to be sure."

"My parents are dead."  Sheala took a forceful step forward, separating herself from the rest who had come with her.  "My uncle is dead.  That makes me next in line.  And I order you to—"

The bellicose laughter that interrupted from the man seated so smugly behind the desk made it impossible for her to finish those words.  He rose with the patience of the tide, a towering and impressive man above all others present. 

"I am Lagos Dunn," he reiterated with the force of a hurricane behind his words.  "Steward of Mours Towers. Twenty generations ago, my forefather, the prince of Fimmirra, Derun Dunn came here and took control of these towers to secure the peace between Acemours from Veramours when his sister, Alacia Dunn ascended to be Queen of Fimmirra.  She married a nobleman and took his name, breaking the Line of Dunn that had ruled Fimmirra since the First Days.  And she took his name; the name Turon.  And you come here?  Seeking to claim the right to lead these people when the royal blood of Fimmirran kings and queens still runs through my veins just as it does yours?"

"Listen here!"  The familiar dagger from up her sleeve was in Sheala's hand and being brandished.  Two steps forward was all she got before a pair of guards intercepted the ambassador and blocked her path with the crossed staves of their halberds.  Neither took any further action against her, standing once more at perfect attention and forming a wall of steel.  She surveyed the barricade now before her and then spoke.  "I came here to deliver a message.  And I've done so. If you want to die here, or act like you've got some sort of mandate from the heavens above, then that's all fine by me.  Just let us through the gates and we'll be on our way."

"See, I can't do that."  The steward delivered those words with a shake of his head.  "No one gets through the gate.  Ever."

"No one?"

Lagos Dunn folded his arms.  "I don't think I stuttered, did I?  No one.  It was the rule established by our ancestors, and I keep it."

Sheala challenged what she saw as a nonsensical tradition. "And why, pray tell, is that?"

He smirked. "Bad luck."

"Bad—" Sheala massaged her forehead upon hearing what she considered such a simplistic, irrational, and to her frivolous, reason.  "Are you serious?  Bad luck?  The world is on the verge of ending, and you're going to sit there, all smug, and tell me you can't let us through the gate because you're worried about bad luck?"

"If I may?" Sayra stepped forward.  She proceeded into a sweeping bow, a gesture that was accepted graciously by the man denying them with a smile even as Sheetah rattled off a low growl from her shoulder.  

"You may speak, First Daughter," the steward agreed to hear her. "My deepest respect for the elven people should be understood." His unconcern for the protests of the elven woman's pet was plain.

"Thank you, Steward Dunn," she said, raising back up.  "I understand the desire to maintain your traditions.  We elves have our own as well.  They are very deep and dear to us, and we recognize the need for them.  They can be soothing in times of distress.  Times such as now."

He nodded, agreeing with her words.  "I have heard a fate similar to that which befell Fimmirra has also befallen your homelands as well?  This is how we know the world is on the verge of its forseen end.  The three pillars have fallen. Hitithe, Fimmirra, and the Elven Kingdoms all lie in ruins."

Sheala decided the steward's claim provided as good a time as any to interrupt with an observation.  "How do you know all these things if you never leave this place?"

"Child—"

"Stop calling me that," Sheala said in a low grunt that mirrored that of the small blue dragon still with Sayra.

The tone she took caused the steward to pause, but not recant.  "Child, I never once said that we do not leave this place.  You would learn that it is wise to listen more and speak less.  We have agents and spies across the known lands.  We are not so stupid to not see value in knowing what others are up to. We also have a set of Scrying Stones, ones which have had their magics slightly altered.  They allow us to eavesdrop on the conversations of others using such as a means for sending information.  Lord Hedric can't sneeze without us knowing.  For example, we know that, as we stand here, the Imperial Army is preparing to fortify Mours Canyon to the east with a battalion of archers, and planning to attack us.  Because they are seeking someone."  He then pointed at Sheala.  "You."

"Great."  Sheala realized that their path east must have been too obvious.  But also maybe that she could use this information to her advantage.  "Look, let us go on our way.  If the Empire want's us, then it's best for you if we're not here. So, open the gate and we'll be on our way.  Obviously worse luck would befall you than if you refuse to allow us through."

"An impressive attempt to get me to concede to your wishes, but no."  Coinciding with a snap from his fingers, the form with the bull's head came to life, stepping forward like an avalanche from the shadows. It hefted the powerful battle axe up into its hands.

"Wha — what?  That — that thing's alive?" Sheala's statement came as startled gasps from her other companions joined in as the  behemoth advanced. It was clear now that its features were not truly of stone, although they were as chiseled as such.

"Korg," Steward Dunn addressed the beast.  "Please escort our guests to the dungeon.  If the Empire wants them, we will send word that they can come to collect them.  Doing so should secure our truce with them."

"You coward." Sheala stood there, frozen with defiance, not fear, as the lumbering creature with a brass ring in its nose rounded the Steward's table and stalked up to her.

"Look, if you want to do this the hard way, otaurs, like Korg here, have a nasty habit of tearing arms out of their sockets when doing things by force.  I'd hate to see him hurt you."

Sheala backed up away from the guards, discarding her dagger in favor of her sword.  That prompted the guards to drop into a ready stance, halberds brandished before them. "I'm not averse to doing things the hard way," she roared.  "Let's see how tough this thing really is."

"Your funeral then. Korg, show no mercy. Kill her.  Guards! Secure the others as our prisoners so we can deliver these rebels to the Empire."

When Korg stepped to within striking distance, Sheala swung her weapon first.  The otaur's arm swiped in an arc, the furred hide of his forearm deflecting the blow as easily as if it were made of the same material as the blade.  Hefting its normally two-handed weapon easily overhead in its other hand, the otaur stood before Sheala and ready to respond in kind.

Yet, despite being attacked, Korg made no further aggressive moves in return.  If anything, its muscles seemed to relax as the creature's massive chest heaved with every breath and sniffed the air.  The otaur then turned toward Lagos Dunn and uttered a guttural growl.

"What do you mean you can't?" Lagos Dunn fumed back at his minion.

Sheala, in the midst of preparing a second strike, held back, recognizing Korg's hesitation as important.

Again, a similar growl from Korg in response to the steward.

While Sheala stood there, flinching and trying to decide what to with her would-be opponent's procrastination, Sayra spoke up again.  "If I remember my otaur folklore correctly, I would suspect he's sensing something that gives him reservations about carrying out your orders.  Sheala, would you be so kind as to show the medallion you have in your possession?  I suspect that is what is causing our friend here to pause."

Sheala fumbled for the chain holding the silver disk down the front of her armor and managed to pull it free upon the request.  The silvery pendant hung there, suspended by her fingers.  The moment it was plainly visible, Korg took a knee before her, laying down his weapon with a clatter on the stones of the floor.

"Korg!" Lagos Dunn stood up and pounded his fist on the table.  "You are sworn to serve the Dunn family line!"

"A family line that Sheala is also part of," Sayra stated the obvious reason for the otaur's reluctance and reverence.  "I suspect that you have a similar medallion? Steward of these towers?"

Lagos Dunn pulled out his own necklace, displaying it.  It didn't possess quite the same shine and was worn around the edges from its superior age.  But it was still easily recognizable as what it was.

"Wait, he's got a key too?"  Sheala stepped towards the bowing otaur, once more perfectly still.  She flicked its horn with her finger, drawing no reaction.

"Key?" the steward asked.  "What are you talking about?  This is the Dunn family crest!  The sign of the true kings and queens of Fimmirra."

Sayra now also advanced, the guards allowing her to pass unimpeded to stand beside Sheala.  "This is one of a set of keys," the silver-haired elf explained.  "Created at the fall of the Hitithe Empire.  They unlock the Shrine at the Mount of Carnak."  The way Lagos Dunn looked at his own medallion made Sayra clarify things a bit more.  "No, not yours.  Yours is but an ordinary piece of metal, Steward of the Towers. I'm sorry to say.  Important as a symbol of your heritage, but nothing beyond that."

Returning to his seat, Lagos Dunn played with his own medallion and chain.  "The Mount of Carnak?  If what you say is true, then the end times are certainly upon us."

Sayra smiled. "You have adopted a typical misreading of a prophecy originally written by elvish hands.  The prophecy does not anywhere mention these dire 'end times' you speak of.  What it does say is that once the three pillars of the old nations have fallen, a new era shall begin.  That time as being good or bad is never specified, for it entirely depends on how we act in these days now upon us and how history unfolds."

 Reane now stepped forward, adding her own voice after taking an uncustomary backseat to this conversation.  "The end times only happen if Lord Hedric and Lady Noranda find the shrine first."

Lagos Dunn eyed the blond woman with a look that signified he was like a king who had lost control of his own court. "And who is this that now speaks?"

"I am Reane Matir, descendant of the Seers of Denang, Steward."  She bowed.  "And I can tell you, that if you hinder our progress, and prevent our mission, I have foreseen that you and your people will not survive what is about to happen in the coming days."

Lagos Dunn fell silent, pondering the information he'd been given.  "A Seer of Denang, you say?  You ask me to believe a lot, considering the Seers of Denang are supposed to be no more. The last one of their order dead for quite some time according to history."

"I know of no others besides myself, Steward," Reane said.  "You are free, however, to disregard my council if you like."

"I would be foolish to disrespect the words of a seer," he admitted.  "However, I would need some proof that—"

"When you were younger, your father scolded you for sneaking into the barracks and watching the female soldiers—"

"That's enough."  Lagos Dunn's blush and hurried words cut her off.  "I am appeased as to you being who you say you are."

"Are you sure?"  Reane taunted him.  "I can go into further detail if you like? Particularly with regards to Kaula?"

The steward scowled at the woman and her light mocking him. "Just to be clear, you are telling me that if I do not allow you to pass and render assistance to you, the Mours Towers will fall and my people will die?"

"If you need it stated bluntly, yes."

"Then you will have my assistance."  Lagos Dunn rose once more and without trepidation.  "For I am sworn to protect my people at all costs.  And for your stay here, you shall be my guests.  Although, I suggest we do not delay in getting you on your way.  The Imperial forces already blockading the pass ahead are only certain to grow in numbers."

Sheala rejoined the discussions.  "Well, looks like we're stuck then."

"We have another way."  Lagos Dunn grinned.  "Do not think we do not have other methods to circumvent this Imperial blockade. We come and go freely through a series of tunnels buried in the cliff sides.  A few of them lead to the east and emerge beyond the Sagon Wall by some distance. We'll get you past them, don't you worry."

Sheala's first inclination was to simply thank him, but she knew, instinctually, there was going to be more required of her to secure the deal.  "Why do I think there's a little, yet to be spoken catch to this? What do you want?"

"What do I want?"  Lagos Dunn beamed. "An excellent question.  What I want is, once this war is over and Lord Hedric is defeated, to return my people to Fimmirra and reclaim my birthright.  Without any potential usurpers cropping up.  No daughters of the dead king's sister, or her progeny laying claim to those lands."

"You want me to let you just have Fimmirra?"

"Yes."

Reane sought to insert herself into the negotiations before they went too far with a novice negotiator at the helm.  "I think we should—"

"Deal!" Sheala accepted eagerly, smiling first at Lagos Dunn, then to Reane, and ending the discussion once and for all.