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=Lyonar= ==Aerial Rift: The Rift's Arrival== Gieves Sunsteel sucked at his teeth. 'They'll be here.' The Silverguard Captain scanned the twisting underground passageways and adjusted the rivets of his full-plated armor, the inky blackness of the tunnels weighing heavily on his Silverguard Knights. His vanguard descended deeper into the bowels of the Serpenti nesting groves. The light grew brighter, leaking into the passage from a narrow archway up ahead. The sloping tunnel opened into a cavern with dense clusters of glowing inkhorn and creep moss, revealing mangled corpses piled in heaps a stride tall, arranged in neat piles like meat in a butcher's shop. 'Shields up,' breathed Gieves, his soldiers forming into a phalanx of impenetrable burnished steel around him. A distant scraping, cracking, and rattling echoed along the cavernous chamber. Out of the burrows white shapes came, swarming over the ceilings like angry ants from a broken nest, boiling down the walls in a formless mass of twisted limbs, and snarling mouths and scraping claws. The pale horde tumbled down, an avalanche of gnashing fangs and clattering rock splinters. The subterranean chamber crawled with them — a slavering, clattering, hissing infestation. 'By Eyos,' someone whispered. Gieves gritted his teeth, and he curled his armored fingers around the cold grips of his tower shields, and he watched the Serpenti come. A dozen strides away now, the front runners, and coming on fast. 'Ready the Rift!' roared Gieves. All around him the shields creaked as they angled down, men holding their breath, jaws clenched, armor grim and dirty. Then the Sun Crystals chimed precisely in a semi-circle on the ground. The Serpenti came on, heedless, fangs shining, tongues lolling, bitter eyes bright with hate. The first portal appeared. Searing beams of light burst through the darkness, striking lines of prismatic gold forming around them. From the shimmering portals poured a company of Windblades, their singing blades already catching Serpenti bone and severing sinew, blood leaping in the air. The Radiant Legion had arrived. ==Argeon Highmayne: 1: Argeon Highmayne== Lord Caldein and his three sons rode through the rolling Lyrian hills, their azurite lions loping along at an easy pace. They were armed but not armored: it was the sport of the hunt and not the business of war that brought them out. The sun glittered off gilded leather and jeweled harnesses as they talked among themselves. ‘Argeon, we have no need for larger armies, we have more than enough force to deal with reavers and other riff-raff.’ The target of the words frowned and ran a hand through his burnt orange hair. ‘Yes, Darian, we do. But we don't have enough to hold our borders if the other nations attack. We know Aestaria cannot be trusted, and that Akram and Xenkai hold grudges against us. We cannot allow ourselves to become weak in comparison.’ The remaining young man, Tobias, shook his head. ‘Aestaria again! You do go on about them.’ ‘They betrayed us since the time of Consular Draug,’ Argeon said. ‘Honor demands that we remember that.’ ‘Of course,’ Tobias answered. ‘But there is remembering a harm, and then there is letting that memory lure you into poor decisions. Increasing the size of the army will strain our resources for no reason. Being a fool isn't honorable.’ ‘Besides, we have a way to pay back Aestaria, and ward off the Songhai and Vetruvians,’ Darian said. ‘The Arena! When our champions win the choicest orbs and leave the crumbs for the other nations, all of Mythron will know our strength.’ ‘It isn't enough,’ Argeon said. ‘We need to--’ ‘Peace, Argeon,’ Lord Caldein said. ‘You’re ruining a perfectly fine hunt.’ ‘Sorry, Father,’ Argeon said. ‘I only want Lyonar to have its place of glory.’ ‘I know. I will never regret adopting you as the Cub of the Highmayne. But this matter is settled. We do not need a standing army.’ Argeon bowed his head. ‘I understand. I will not speak of this with any of you again.’ He looked up and pointed to a clump of trees at the top of a low hill. ‘Shall we race?’ ‘Last one in mucks out the stalls!’ Darian yelled and gave his mount the signal to run. The others followed suit, and soon the four lions were bounding up the hill, their riders laughing and yelling encouragement. They reached the shade of the trees and Tobias turned around to see that Argeon was bringing up the rear. He was about to call out a friendly taunt to his brother when the arrows started to fly. [Next Chapter: Beam Shock] ==Beam Shock: 2: Argeon Highmayne== There were snarls of pain and surprise from men and lions alike. One arrow hit Darian in the left side; he struggled to master the shock as he drew his sword. ‘Hold together!’ Lord Caldein shouted. His palms pulsed with prismatic light, then electrifying beams erupted from his arms, piercing through the hearts of two assassins. Then his arms dropped as a sword ran through his chest. He gazed down at the bloody blade as it pulled back out of him. Then he pitched off of his lion. Tobias kneed his lion forward to join Darian. Together the brothers crashed into the bushes where the arrows had come from. Screams erupted from the assassins as they found themselves in battle. One of them tried to use his bow to block Tobias's swing; the Highmayne son cut through both bow and wielder. Then Tobias slid out of his saddle and sprawled on the ground, a dagger lodged in his throat. From the corner of his eye Darian saw Tobias fall, but battle discipline held as he kept his focus on the enemies before him. There were three of them, and they were trying to pin him with two on the right and one on the left. He guided his mount to the right, letting the lion deal with one man while he dealt with the other. His opponent was a skilled fighter, but not enough to overcome Darian's ferocious attack. The Highmayne split the man's skull with one overhand strike, and he spared a moment to note that his lion had disemboweled its target. As he turned toward the man on the left a blinding pain filled his head and he forgot all else. The assassin took the opening and stabbed Darian through the abdomen. ‘By Eyos, this was a bloodbath!’ the assassin said, glaring at Argeon. ‘I've lost everyone! You said the Cabal--’ The words were cut off with a scream as Argeon's sword slashed deep into his chest. The Highmayne Cub looked down on the dying man. ‘Honor demands that I avenge the deaths of my kin,’ he said calmly, and he slid his blade down to finish the matter. [Next Chapter: Sunstone Bracers] ==Holy Immolation== Songweaver Eurielle’s Trinity Mandates aimed to shackle our heavens-given right to use magic, our very way of life. It wasn’t long before we decided to start anew. There had always been whispers of untapped power in the bright, rugged lands to the Northeast one could espy from high atop the Jade Canopy. We named ourselves Lightchasers and Second Suns, and we ventured forth with hope. But Mithron — and the land we came to know as Celandine — gives up no treasure willingly. In the fifth week we camped by the base of a colossal mountain, and we became pre`y. The first night it was just horses and pack-beasts. The second day hence it was the rear-most caravan. The day after, growing bold with success, we laid eyes on our hunter — lions that moved with lightning speed. We began to climb the mountain — our only hope for a defensible position. It helped little. We climbed higher, our numbers ever dwindling, not one of us untouched by claw or tooth. A cave offered refuge, or at least a convenient tomb. The last of us entered, and hid. Yet the beasts had keen noses and found us that night. As the pack gathered and prepared to pounce, there was a glow upon the cavern’s ceiling, brightening to near blinding after hours in murk. It seemed to me a divine sign. They pounced, and I roared in prayer, commending our souls to the sign of the sun we would never see again, and then all was light, and a column of flame engulfed me, and I was glad. But I had not expected to open my eyes again, and my injuries healed, and the beasts were ash. The cave was illuminated by the light — not of a hundred suns — but of crystals, raw and brimming with power. I vowed then to honour the memory of our fallen by using the crystal’s power to build a mighty city and establish a pious order. The mountain became a home, and earned a name – ''Mount Sunstone.'' ==Lasting Judgement: Specter Of Certainty== This tribulation is a trial. The combatants stand on opposite ends of the field, the sun glaring down from on high, judging. The two champions step forward, clad in their armor of honor and density—though they stand alone, their powers are those of the people, their hopes the hopes of the masses. One will prevail. In the ring, the fighters strike in feints and forays, stepping carefully onto enemy ground, spear against sword. They focus on each other, circling. An ankle twists on a misstep—the other is already leaping forward, sword outstretched. The sun pierces two banks of cloud to sit heavy on the swordsman’s shoulders as he descends, eyes wide, seeking the opponent in the glare. Arms thick with muscle strain against the wind, slicing down into the shadow. The wind stops, the light fades, all momentum freezes. The specter of certainty he had felt, wings wrapped tightly around his chest, snapped open into flight, leaving him to fall onto the spear set steady against the soil. ==Martyrdom: The Fourth Knight== 'Make way for Lord Highmayne! Make way!' screamed the lieutenant. With arms outstretched, he pushed through the crowd, bellowing at all who blocked his way. Soldiers snapped to the side of the path toward the domed tent. Their eyes averted from the covered form, their nostrils flared against the scent of cooked flesh. The lieutenant fumbled with the tent clasp, then pulled the flap open, standing to the side in a crisp salute, hand barely trembling. Four Silverguard Knights shone beneath the burden on their shoulders. They set the stretcher down gently on the bed, helmets pushing against the cloth roof as they each backed into a corner, vainly hoping for a healer. None could come. For their bodies littered the arena crater, where Argeon, unyielding and untouchable, stood unbent against the Spiral Technique’s pillar of fire. Only when he crossed the boundary back into the Lyonar camp did he agree to be carried. Now, he raised a blackened hand from the bed, reaching to one corner. 'Alyn,' he whispered, 'I need you.' The Knight emerged from his corner, drew his sword from its scabbard, and set the hilt softly in his General’s hand. Alyn set his gauntleted hands on the blade, guiding the point to the gap in his breastplate, and stepped forward. As the Knight fell, the General rose to his feet—whole and hale and haunted. He strode from the tent. Only three Knights followed. ==Sun Sister Sterope: Sterope== As soon as Kelaino had been born, another casket started to sway and swing and shake: Maia put her loving hand to the cocoon and from it emerged another woman, her skin as dark as bark. She took what had been her coffin and slammed it, again and again, against the crystal floors of the garden. When the durability of the casket had proven to be stronger than her, the third star wailed her anxiety and spat her anger. Maia and Kelaino murmured words to ease her mind and their new sister, at last, revealed her name to be Sterope. Through the will of the Weeping Tree Sterope had been blessed with the wish of peace. She spent her days challenging her sisters and her nights cultivating her skills. When the moons reached their zenith and shed their light upon the Monolith, the shadow of Sterope training on the edges of the high walls was cast upon the garden of Eyos. Soon she was empty of energy. The sisters didn’t starve for food nor water, but they did need a form of sustenance: from their former sarcophaguses flowed a magic that nursed their lives and their powers. Eager for her freedom, Sterope left the Monolith with her casket. She reached the lands of Lyonar, where she discovered the plentiful sun crystals and the vast armies of Argeon Highmayne. Her casket feasted upon the crystals. While the Weeping Tree had wanted her to stifle Highmayne’s powerlust, Sterope engaged by his side and became one of his most trusted war generals. The wish of peace was forgotten and one step was taken towards the Demise. The nu is what you seek, Forget Latin, write all in Greek. Original Crypto-Puzzle Below (Solved 6/28/16): Aoyvbno aol dpss vm aol Dllwpun Ayll Zalyvwl ohk illu islzzlk dpao aol dpzo vm wlhjl. Zol zwlua oly khfz johsslunpun oly zpzalyz huk oly upnoaz jbsapchapun oly zrpssz. Dolu aol tvvuz ylhjolk aolpy glupao huk zolk aolpy spnoa bwvu aol Tvuvspao, aol zohkvd vm Zalyvwl ayhpupun vu aol lknlz vm aol opno dhssz dhz jhza bwvu aol nhyklu vm Lfvz. Zvvu zol dhz ltwaf vm lulynf. Aol zpzalyz kpku'a zahycl mvy mvvk uvy dhaly, iba aolf kpk ullk h mvyt vm zbzaluhujl: myvt aolpy mvytly zhyjvwohnbzlz msvdlk h thnpj aoha ubyzlk aolpy spclz huk aolpy wvdlyz. lhnly mvy oly myllkvt, Zalyvwl slma aol Tvuvspao dpao oly jhzrla. Zol ylhjolk aol shukz vm Sfvuhy, dolyl zol kpzjvclylk aol wsluapmbs zbu jyfzahsz huk aol chza hytplz vm Hynlvu Opnothful. Oly jhzrla mlhzalk bwvu aol jyfzahsz. Dopsl aol Dllwpun Ayll ohk dhualk oly av zapmsl Opnothful'z wvdlysbza, Zalyvwl lunhnlk if opz zpkl huk iljhtl vul vm opz tvza aybzalk dhy nlulyhsz. Aol dpzo vm wlhjl dhz mvynvaalu huk vul zalw dhz ahrlu avdhykz aol Kltpzl. Aol ub pz doha fvb zllr, Mvynla Shapu, dypal hss pu Nyllr. ==Sundrop Elixir: Revealing Light== The first taste of Sundrop always burns: crackling like butter on a hot pan as it boils on your teeth, curling taste buds like charred paper as it slides down the tongue, subliming like smoke from the flame as it churns in your throat. But it never reaches the stomach. Our enemies thought to learn from us, to steal the blood of the sun. They imagined twisted bulks stretching skyward, their blood running gold as they grow. They thought to capture our strength for their own. They do not understand the elixir. It does not make one stronger, nor does it heal wounds. It boils in the blood. It seeks the shadows, the wounds within that cannot be seen. Where there is darkness, it reveals light. The elixir cannot make you greater. It can only make you more of what you are. ==Sunriser== “Tell me the one about ma again.” Darian smiled sweetly at his daughter, while his gut lurched with vertigo. “Very well my love. I imagine soon you’ll be able to recite it to me!” The girl snuggled up close, grunted as if to say ‘I could recite it now — if I wanted to’ and closed her eyes. “A long time ago, all life began with a stellar seed, crashing into our planet. The old land died, and gave birth to the new — seven continents, including what became our home, Celandine was born. After a long night, the sun rose and burned brighter than ever, searing through the ash and revealing the new creatures there. Many years later, our ancestors the Lightchasers boldly carved out a new home atop the highest peak in Celandine, to the east. It was also a time of danger, so they created a glorious set of swords called Sunrisers, and so too were named the women — and only women — who were able to wield them. The pairing of sword and wielder strove to maintain a balance. When one of our clan was healed in battle, the Sunrisers were imbued with a glorious light that tormented the minions of darkness.” The girl joined in for the next line, a soft echo. “Your mother was one such Sunriser.” And fell quiet again as her father continued. “She shone the brightest of all defending against the Chaos Elemental invasion. Though their foul smog threatened to cover the sun, she burned through, slaying hundreds, even surrounded and outnumbered.”.. ‘Yet as the sun always rises, so too must it sometimes set.’ ==Sunstone Bracers: 3: Argeon Highmayne== Lord Highmayne and his two eldest sons were dead, and the city of Windcliffe was deep in mourning. Ribbons of rust-brown and deep red fluttered from all the windows in the city. Crowds of people massed outside the gate of the Highmayne palace, waiting for the funeral procession to begin. Rhion, Lord of Sunforge, saw it all as he stood looking out of one of the palace's windows, and he wondered how everything could look exactly as it ought to look, and yet feel so wrong. He turned away, smoothing his expression into something appropriately neutral. ‘A sad day for the Lyonar Kingdoms,’ he said. Argeon nodded. He was sitting at the other end of the study, dressed in mourning brown. ‘It is still difficult for me to believe. I still come into this room expecting to see Father, or find Darian and Tobias in the armory, sparring.’ ‘I also find it difficult to believe. Those three were cut down, and you, I am told, were without a single wound.’ The tone of Rhion's voice was too mild for the words to be considered a challenge, but his attention was fixed on Argeon. ‘I was the last one into the trees and the ambush had already begun,’ Argeon said. ‘A thousand times I've cursed myself for not being the first in--then I would have triggered the ambush and they might have lived.’ ‘It's a rare day when you lose a race.’ Argeon laughed sharply. ‘You mean it’s rare for Smoke to lose a race. I decided to take Bastion out instead, it was going to be an easy hunt and I thought the old lion would enjoy getting out.’ ‘Unfortunate that your kindness was so ill-timed,’ Rhion said. The tone was still mild, though a shade more pointed. ‘And unfortunate that you killed all the assassins.’ ‘Would you leave your kin unavenged?’ ‘Of course not. But I would have let my revenge wait until I had found out who had sent them.’ ‘It doesn't matter,’ Argeon said. ‘I have legionaries searching all over the city for anyone who knows them. Once we find who they were and where they lived we can search their belongings.’ Now Lord Rhion frowned. ‘How will that help? They are unlikely to have a written contract hidden under their pillow.’ ‘No, but they should have money. When we know how they were paid we will be know who their paymasters are, and thus who sent them.’ Argeon grimaced. ‘I have no doubt we will find an old enemy behind this outrage.’ ‘Perhaps,’ Rhion said. ‘Perhaps.’ [Next Chapter: War Surge] ==Grandmaster Z'ir== It was the biggest Azurite Lion Z’ir had ever seen. Its skin had lost the lustre that gave the race their name, was instead dull and leathery, with a dense network of wrinkles and scars. The noonday sun escaped a cloud and caught brilliantly on the pairs of blades strewn throughout the canyon walls, a quilt of silver slivers. Zir had found what remained of his Windblade adepts. That left Z’ir with only his personal retinue of Lysian Brawlers. Them, and the beast, snarling on its haunches. The Lion roared its challenge, and the Lysians charged, an elegant blur despite their size. Z’ir approached with more caution, his long Glaive held high in a defensive posture. There was another basso rumble, followed by a human cry as one of the Lysians staggered back, his shoulders and tendons lacerated, fists hanging limply at his sides. The second redoubled his efforts but succeeded only in leaving himself open to a low lunge from the beast that hamstrung him and sent him toppling, bellowing in agony, to the dust. The lion’s gaze turned to Z’ir, who was now mere armspans away. A glint of hunt-thrill had reignited the beast’s azure eyes. Z’ir stood his ground and feinted, but the lion’s blood was up and he simply pounced, with grace and impatience, to topple Z’ir completely. Claws scythed at his armour as Z’ir held slavering jaws from his face with both hands and all his strength. He had to act. Relaxing his arms a little, the lion pressed in, sensing the killing bite, but Z’ir twisted and rammed the points of his helmet up into the Lion’s jaw. It connected with a bone-jarring crunch, and the beast reared its head. Z’ir rolled the creature’s weight off him and scrambled to his feet. The glaive was close, but closer still was the recovered lion. Fearing another incapacitating pounce, Z’ir roared with his own primal rage — in memory of his Adepts, his friends — and charged. The lion stood its ground and launched itself forward at the last second. Z’ir anticipated, weight on the balls of his feet, and spun, grabbing for the airborne lion and catching hold of its abundant mane. Using the opposite momentum to compensate for the beast’s incredible weight, Z’ir spun and slammed the beast face-first into the rock. Stunned, the beast lay still long enough for Z’ir to snatch up his glaive and aim a savage thrust at the creature’s defenceless flank. Metal parted fur, sinew, ancient leathery skin. He pulled back for a final strike as the bloodied lion rolled over onto its back, paws in the air, and let out a low, tragic keening sound. Z’ir checked himself. He’d been called fearless before, audacious and heroic — possessed even — but never merciful. Something in those pale blue eyes checked him though, and some instinct of symbolism bade him flip his weapon and touch the pommel of the long grip into the beast’s forehead. Those wise eyes looked up, muscles went taut, but body and paws remained low. Z’ir knelt, ripped off a length of cloth from a nearby fallen Adept, and fashioned a makeshift bandage around a furry flank. Then he took that immense main in hand and encouraged the lion back to his feet. The eyes looked up, fierce but no longer defiant. Z’ir growled, and began the long hike back through the pass, the limping, lumbering lion closely at his side with a thick swathe of its maine clasped in the gauntlet of a man. ==Sunstone Templar== The Ballad of Agenor’s Pass … Lo, Consular Draug did fiercely press, And the Opaline Gates once proud, did fall. To Agenor’s Pass whither Lyonar’s best, Where General Trajan fought proud and tall! But The Vermillion Army was a vile flood, The glory of Sun Forge was surely lost! Until The Templars, resplendent stood, With valour borne of sun and frost. While nations cowered, Lyonar fought, And though defeated, the time was bought, For the secrets of hope to escape to the shore, The Lions, fierce, will roar once more! Draug’s foul magic defiled the Steppes, And his minions he grew to monstrous size, But Sunstone Templars sneered at the hex, And wielded their sceptres to neutralise! Enchanted knights didst Draug advance, That blinded Lyonar and stuck them fast, But the Templars banished their fearful trance, And cried “no shadows shall our high sun cast!” While nations cowered, Lyonar fought, And though defeated, the time was bought, For the secrets of hope to escape to the shore, The Lions, fierce will roar once more! The Templar Order rose anew, As sure as dawn, those pious few, Will banish the shadows e’er they fall, And stand firm like Trajan, proud and tall. While nations cowered, Lyonar fought, And though defeated, the time was bought, For the secrets of hope to escape to the shore, The Lions fierce will roar once more! With the sun the Lyonar will rise once more! ==True Strike: Striking Truth== Each wooden sword is a white lie whispered in your ear. Every circle drawn in the sand of the practice yard is another kind fiction written for the young and naïve to grow into the old and scarred. The fighting forms are simple enough at first: a step here, a swing there, all the while the weight of your weapon slipping slightly in your sweaty palm. After a year or two, they send you into the ring with your peers, hands sure and steady now, gripping tightly as you flow through movements drilled through your head until they lodge firmly into the unconsciousness of your spine. After four or five years of instruction, live steel is born from dead wood. The stakes are higher. Minor wounds are more common when weaker tempers bend and break. Your forms are fluid and unlimited. Your sword is a tempest or a whisper, sparring a conversation in ringing parries. A decade goes on. Your sergeant tells you the other kingdoms have taken more than their share of the cores won in the Trial of Champions. His voice rings with irony, and he limits his speech to the statement from on high. In battle, you see a comrade, caked in dirt and struggling to rise against his dented armor. Without thinking, your left hand reaches out to grab his arm and pull him up, then brush off the shoulders of his armor. By the time the coat of arms is visible, his sword is already on the downswing. The armor is not enough. A step forward, you’re inside his reach. Your weapon is already spinning up to meet his throat. Your bodies fall together in a pile of metal and meat. There is no beauty in the battle, you think, only truth. ==War Surge: 4: Argeon Highmayne== On other days the coliseum was used for displays of sport or artistic performances, and the crowd buzzed with talk and laughter. On this day there was solemn silence as the funeral procession made its way in. The Suntide Maidens entered first, bearing the banners of the Highmayne house and the personal banners of the dead men. Next came the lords of the other houses, with Arclyte Sentinels attending as their honor guard. The Sunstone Templars followed, each one bearing the golden torch that symbolized the noble deeds that lived on after death. The biers of the dead came next, carried by Silverguard Knights. Last of all rode Argeon, Lord Highmayne. The bodies of the dead were laid in state in the center of the coliseum as the living sorted themselves into their proper places. Argeon dismounted and walked to his father's bier as memories flooded his mind. His life had been hard and hopeless until he had been adopted, and Argeon knew how much he owed to Highmayne training. Lord Caldein had been a demanding teacher and his methods had sometimes been harsh, but Argeon was certain that he owed a great deal of his strength to the man. ‘I'm sorry, Father,’ he whispered to the corpse. ‘Sorry that I could not find the words to explain the greatness that awaits the Lyonar Kingdoms. Sorry I could not make you see. Sorry that it came to this.’ He opened his mouth to speak again, but no words came. Instead he went to his knees, weeping. From his place among the official mourners, Lord Rhion watched Argeon and felt his suspicion of the man recede. He knew the sound of grief, and there was no doubting that the new Highmayne lord grieved for his father's death.
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