And so the threads that weave our hero’s fates are slowly intertwining. As they reach the city of Cyre, little do they know of the path that lies ahead of them. Whether they choose to acknowledge it or not, the fate of Cyradon rests upon them and only them.
The borders are shifting, and a new threat swiftly emerges. The Iconian dynasty and its legionaries quickly seek diplomatic elucidations to avoid a full scale war, but a nation conflict is on the brink... and that is the least of Heoden’s worries…As well as a nation war, a primordial evil has ended its slumber.
A magnificent city teaming with life, Cyre is just the beginning of this perilous quest that will decide the fate of the world for ages to come…
// Alarei \\
The dark of night shaded Alarei’s advances towards Cyre’s city gates. The flickers of the guard’s torches pushed through the distance, finally revealing Alarei’s silhouette as he approached vigilantly. Looking at Alarei’s exotic clothing, the guard took him for a foreigner.
Guard: “State ye business foreigner!”
Alarei: “Regardless of my business, you choose to ask that question instead of who I am first. Where I come from, that’s considered impolite.”
The guard didn’t reply, but brought his torch closer to Alarei’s worn face. Alarei turned his visage away slightly.
Guard: “I won’t ask again. What business do you have in Cyre?”
Alarei: “The name you might be seeking is Alarei, that is my name and don’t you forget it. I am not here for trouble, I seek shelter for the night, and in the morning I seek workers for manual labour, for I am an archaeologist in search for exotic artefacts.”
The guard stroked his bearded chin and contemplated Alarei’s story for a moment, before nodding his head in agreement and allowing him to pass through. The guard stopped Alarei abruptly, grabbing his arm before he continued, and spoke to him.
Guard: “If you’re looking for a nice place to rest, try the Hangover Haven…you may also find your workers there. Grace their palms with silver and they’ll quickly join your expedition.”
Alarei nodded cheerfully and continued into Cyre, breathing in the regal freshness that the air had to offer him.
Alarei: “Home…” he thought to himself.
// Pure Elf \\
The fiery peaks of Nazgral stood a few feet away from the pure elf as he regained consciousness once more. Along with his new attire, which consisted of bits of torn rags stitched together, he found that he had also been outfitted with an augmented gauntlet, along with a suicide collar; which effects didn’t need explaining. He rose to his feet, stumbling; the effects of the drug which had been administered earlier still hadn’t worn off. He began taking in his surroundings to try and discern at least some kind of knowledge to where he was.
The pure elf was surrounded by scorched mountains, and what seemed to be a scarred battlefield behind him; a large charred desert plane which contained the corpses of the most ancient of men. The mouth of a mountain opened up before him, thousands of slaves, just like him were entering and leaving the mine in two lazy files, the ones who entered were wearing similar gauntlets to him, whilst the people leaving the mine were carrying sacks of some kind of special ore.
Joining the queue, the pure elf asked one of the fellow slaves ahead of him what was going on.
Pure Elf: “Excuse me” he said, touching the slaves shoulder. “What’s going on here?”
Slave: “You’ll find out soon enough...alien”
Puzzled, the pure elf did not press anymore into the matter and waited until he could find somebody that could tell him how and why he ended up here, but from the looks of things, the answer would not be good. Trying to escape would be pointless without knowing where he was, he would be lost in this desert for weeks without food and water, and would eventually die a pitiful soul, so judging from the options he had left to him, the pure elf took the obvious choice.
Finally reaching the insides of the darkened mines, the pure elf found himself amazed at what he had found. The mine spanned the length of what seemed to be further than the eye could see, and it did no justice to even comprehend the depth of the quarry. The walls were lined with a special blueish ore which seemed to sparkle and glisten when exposed to torch light, a very valuable ore if the pure elf had ever seen one.
Pure Elf: “There must be thousands working down here…” he spoke aloud, bedazzled by this discovery.
Following the queue further down, the Pure Elf was stopped by a voice that only referred to him as ‘alien’. Turning around, the pure elf found himself summoned by who appeared to be his captor, who was obviously protected by many of his personal guard.
Belmont: “How do you like your new surroundings alien? You had better get used to them, for you will be spending most of your time here...” He chuckled at his own deprecating humour to which his guards meekly joined.
The pure elf ground his teeth together in response, but chose not to let his anger get the best of him.
Pure Elf: “You’ll pay for what you’ve done to me Bastard!”
Belmont: “Hush filth, you work for me now. Now get to work and mine this mineral…” he revealed part of the blue ore from out under his jacket and presented it in front of himself, chucking it lightly in the air and catching it. “Make me rich slave, or suffer the consequences.”
The guards slowly moved towards the pure elf, forcing him to turn and join with the ever so slowly moving queue again, until he reached the place in which he would mine this mineral for his ‘beloved’ owner.