"The sun sets on the SS"

--

Ianthe had walked the remaining miles into the expanding city on the slope leading to Alnus hill. She had originally had her traveling cloaks hood up, shielding her face, but found that doing that actually made her stand out more than not, so she put it down.

There were lots of men in green walking around, but more so, at least in the town, were nomadic peoples and Imperial citizens. Or ex-Imperial as the case could very well be. It wasn't like any town that Ianthe had ever been in though, it was too clean, smelled too good. There was no sewage, no readily visible garbage, and everyone looked remarkably clean, like they had all bathed that day and there were a lot of shops. All of which sold goods that had to have originated from their homeland.

Ianthe couldn't believe the laxity of the security though. Even a small city with only a few thousand people would have had guards search her and more than likely confiscated her sword that was currently secured to her waist beneath her traveling cloak.

The buildings were all brand new, made of wood, and looked as if they had been put together by professional carpenters with proper tools rather than simple villagers with no real idea of construction. The roofs were shingled with actual shingles and not thatched with straw or branches. One feature actually made Ianthe stare in wonder though.

She knew that the Soviets were rich beyond measure which explained why they had so much glass and of such high quality in addition to mirrors of such clarity that they could merely stick them anywhere they chose to. But these were mere villagers, how could they afford to put glass in their windows? To hire a glassblower and pay them to make this many windows would have cost a fortune and the quality of the glass spoke of a master glassblower who had done it.

Stiffening, but forcing herself to relax, Ianthe saw two of the dark haired green men walking down the street. Not necessarily towards her, but down the street she was on. After a moment she realized that she was staring and immediately averted her gaze.

Trying to look normal and blend in, Ianthe ducked into a store directly to her side, looking at various things without any real interest of buying them. There were lanterns overhead that gave light without flames. Luella had told her that those were lights that used electricity, similar to lightning to work, but it just sounded like more magic to Ianthe. They were similar to the ones on the wagons that the Soviets used, but different.

"Hi, can I help you with anything?" asked a cheerful voice. Ianthe turned and saw that it clerk who was talking to her. She was a nomad and clearly not human, but she was still running a store which was more shocking than anything Ianthe had seen today. Nonhumans worked in stores all the time, but in the back, out of sight and out of mind. Not acting as the shopkeeper.

"I am just browsing your wares thank you. I must ask though, where did you get all of these...goods?" asked Ianthe, picking up a writing instrument with switches that when pressed down put some kind of quill point down that was filled with ink. A pen Volkin had called them? Whatever it was it felt very cheaply made, not at all like the one that Volkin had used to take notes.

"Oh, well we get all of our wares from the SDF from the land of Japan and they employed me to run the store, can you believe that?"

"No actually," said Ianthe bluntly.

"I know right? I mean all I had to do was learn how to speak Japanese and now I'm learning how to write their language. Best part is, they pay me to learn it."

"They pay you to learn?" said Ianthe, half as a question, half as a statement of disbelief. It was common knowledge that you paid your mentor for their knowledge and experience to take the time to impart that onto you. For someone to pay you to learn how to work for them seemed almost inconceivable. Even the Skyraiders, when adopting orphans and training them how to fight were basically making an investment.

"Yeah, they call it a training wage. Two months ago I was sweeping floors and moving casks in some crummy tavern, and now I've got this job. Heh, the heaviest thing I've got to lift is boxes of plastic pens. The job is a breeze and there's no bandits here, the SDF and the yew ess em see patrol here all the time. Hey, you don't look entirely human, you part elvish or something?"

"And what if I am?" demanded Ianthe adversarial, hand going halfway to the hilt of her sword.

"Woah, hey hey, calm down. I didn't mean it like that," said the girl, throwing her hands up in a placating gesture nervously.

"Then what did you mean by it then? Speak plainly."

"Well the guys here, they aren't like the Imperial Soldiers," said the clerk, lowering her voice and leaning in almost like she was sharing some kind of secret. "In fact they love anything different. I mean elves, cockatrices, vixens, even warrior bunnies. If you've got some part of you that doesn't look human, they follow you around like lost puppies. There was one SDF guy, he saw a cat girl and I thought that he was going to go crazy and propose right there and then. You know," said the clerk appraising Ianthe. "You've got a good figure, you could make a lot of money being a barmaid at the local tavern."

"A barmaid?" said Ianthe, her voice low and venomous. She threw back her traveling cloak over her shoulder, revealing her articulated draconian knight armor and mythril longsword. She drew her blade with a sharp rasp and held it up for the girl to see.

"This is how I make my living and earn my keep. I am a draconian knight of the Skyraiders from Messalon. I did not train for war all of my life, merely to discard my pride and honor to serve drinks to impotent drunkards in search of cheap coin. I am a warrior and you would do well to remember that girl."

"O-okay, I-I didn't mean to offend you. Really, I didn't," stammered the cockatrice behind the counter.

"I did not think so. Now, I have some questions."

"S-sure, anything you want. Really."

"There is an apostle of Emroy here, that travels with the SDF as you call them. I would like to find her, do you know where I can find her?"

"Well, no. Not right now that is," said the cockatrice quickly. "I mean she comes and goes, either usually wandering around town or else further in the military camp. She's usually in town around this time. You aren't going to, um, use that sword on me. Are you?"

"What? No, why?" asked Ianthe, a frown creasing her face.

"Well you drew it, and pointed it at me."

"Oh, heh, I apologize for that. I just like to articulate and I don't really think when I get mad," said Ianthe sheepishly, sheathing her sword. Her father had given her more than one swat on the head for drawing her sword in anger, or to make a point. Someone would have thought that she would have learned from that by now.

"Okay. Well, is there anything you wish to buy?"

"No, I have to find the apostle of Emroy. I may speak to you again later," said Ianthe, waving as she left.

"Goodbye, have a great day," said the cockatrice smiling, but her legs, hidden below the counter quivering violently. As soon as Ianthe was gone, the cockatrice went to the back and told the SDF liaison what had happened and he immediately called the MP's to be on the lookout for a silver haired woman with a sword. Ianthe, ignorant of this, continued her search.

As it turned out, you could not use Silver to buy things in this town. Or at least not from establishments owned in part or wholly by the SDF. You could however, if you so chose go to an exchange merchant you would give you paper notes that the SDF used as currency, but Ianthe didn't trust it. Silver and gold had value, if not for the country the coin was minted in, then the simple fact that it was silver or gold had value. The weight of it was an assurance of wealth and security. She would not trade it so quickly for pieces of paper. So instead she used silver for one of its more useful purposes, loosening tongues.

Not for every fool though, just those who would legitimately know something of interest or value about the Apostle. Rory Mercury, the nigh millennium old demi-god and high priestess of Emroy. She had become the apostle at a very young age which gave her the appearance of a young girl, almost a child, but it was a sick ruse. The Priestess was very old and had killed more men then there was wheat stalks in a field. A cold blooded killer who delighted in death in pain, not merely a phantom of the battlefield, but a demon of it come to claim the souls of those slain upon it. In fact actively participating in the mayhem.

So even though she was actively pursuing the Apostle, a cold ball of dread had settled in her stomach. Icy tendril extending to every part of her being, dulling her senses and weakening her resolve. To challenge an apostle, especially one of Emroy was asking for death, if not outright pleading for it. She was looking for the apostle, but a part of her did not want to find Rory. She found out other things though, useful things.

There was an elf, and a young human girl who traveled with the Apostle and the SDF. She also learned that the commander, who most likely had met with Volkov with named Itami Youji. A junior officer much like Volkin tasked with a similar mission. If she could find any of them, then she could use them to perhaps gain entrance to the main military camp. As luck would have it though she didn't need to look very hard to find the Apostle.

"Rory Mercury! Turn and be recognized," commanded Ianthe to the Priestess of Emroy, walking with the blonde high elf she had heard about named Tuka. Her voice sounded commanding, but on the inside she felt as if she was made of water, weak and needing only a pinprick to fade away to nothing.

"Who, me?" asked Rory turning, a coy smile on her face. The picture of innocence if not for the utterly massive halberd that she was carrying as if it weighed no more than a feather. They were in an open square area in the middle of a cluster of shops whose vendors sold food.

"Yes priestess," said Ianthe advancing. "You traveled with a man three days ago. A foreigner and I have questions about him."

"Questions? That sounds boring. Come and ask me again later okay? I'm busy right now." Rory turned and began walking away, when with a whistling thunk a knife embedded itself in the wooden beam of the building directly next to her head, only a hands span from it.

"Do not turn you back on me Priestes-" Ianthe was cut off as the knife, in a movement too fast to follow was pulled from the building and thrown back at her. Ianthe felt the air from the blade as it passed and it took her a moment to realize that it had cut her cheek, a line of crimson dribbling down the side of her face and onto the ground.

"You shouldn't play with sharp toys, you might get hurt." Rory was smiling, but it wasn't a kind smile, but one of cruel intent. The lipstick on her lips, as if by magic had changed from cherry red to a deep purple. Ianthe, very much afraid, but finding death preferable to dishonor pressed on undeterred.

"There was a man. His name was Feliks Volkin, a senior lieutenant in the Red Army. What have you done with him?" Ianthe advanced on the priestess as she spoke until only a few paces separated her from the apostle.

"Done? Why would I do anything with a man I hardly know? Do you think so little of me to act so crudely? And in such a tone. What do you intend to do if you don't like what you hear? I wonder, but you are so afraid," the smile only seemed to deepen after that.

"I will not ask again priestess what have you done to him?"

"What is he to you?"

"He is my lord, and I am his sword and shield. I serve him and I will be told where he is and what has become of him."

"And who would you be, exactly?"

"I am Ianthe, daughter of Acamus and you will answer my question."

"Oh, a Messalonian huh? Took me a moment to place the accent. You people are always getting so caught up in your honor and blood debts it really does get so irritating." Smiling cruelly, Rory leaned in close to the mercenary. "I killed him." Laughing, before Rory could say anything else, a roar of pure primal rage filled the square and she had to bring her halberd in place to block a blow from a longsword that had filled the mercenary's hand so quickly it was almost as if it had been put there by magic.

"I killed him."

Those words had melted the icy ball of dread and terror in Ianthe's stomach and boiled what remained into a frothing cauldron of molten steel, fiery and uncontrollable. Moving on instinct, she had drawn her own blade and attempted to behead the Apostle of Emroy. Her Mythril blade singing through the air as it was put to deadly purpose. Five inches. That was how much farther her blade had to go before it met the Apostle's flesh, but a twirl of the Priestesses wrist had seen her giant halberd moved into place to block the blow, and a flick to send Ianthe back stumbling with a clash of steel. Despite this though, the priestess never stopped smiling.

Ianthe adopted an Ox guard and charged the Apostle, moving with the grace and skill of a master swordsman, she unleashed a flurry of blows in but a heartbeat, yet each was blocked with almost contemptuous ease by Rory. Her weapon didn't sing through the air as it moved, sounded more like a warhammer swung too quickly. The great weight of her weapon roughly pushing the air out of the way rather than cutting through it.

It was a change in demeanor, not even a physical cue, but more of the look in the Apostle's eyes that warned Ianthe that she was about to go on the offensive. A mere manipulation of the wrist and the great halberd was raised high overhead, far too quickly for something of that weight.

Ianthe leaped back, abandoning her attack a split second before the halberd fell like the rush of an avalanche and when it hit, dirt and pieces of the hard packed road flew up, almost like someone had used magic to make the earth erupt, the sound like thunder. Ianthe shielded herself from the debris, wincing as smaller pieces rebounded off of her face and a few larger pieces off of her armor. Ianthe blinked quickly to clear her eyes of the dust and could only stare in shock, seeing the halberd being withdrawn from a crater larger enough for several full grown men to lay down in trailing dirt.

"Good, I'm surprised you were able to dodge. Tell you what, we can stop now if you want to. I'll even let you leave. How about it?" The Apostle asked the question as if this was a game to her, the large halberd resting on her shoulder.

"I can not leave, nor do I wish to. I must see you dead or die in the attempt, there is no alternative for me. So come at me whore of Emroy," said Ianthe, adopting a fools guard, lowering her center of gravity, mythril blade trailing behind her and widening her stance. She moved through the stances as if they were as natural to her as breathing, her blade merely an extension of her own arms.

"Ah, well at least you'll make a pretty corpse then." The hard packed dirt turned to dust under her feet as Rory moved, bringing her halberd around like a farmer scything his field, intending on cleaving Ianthe in half.

Ianthe was not wholly prepared for the speed of the Apostle, though she had been expecting it. More of a force of nature then facing a halberder.

Wait for the perfect moment, Ianthe mentally coached herself as time seemed to slow, revealing everything in minute detail to her. The near murderous look of glee on the Apostle's face, the halberd picking up speed in its arc, even the way the frills rippled on the formal dress resembling a maids attire. Now.

Ianthe leaped into the air, rolling and drawing her knees up in tight to her chest as the halberd passed underneath. Ianthe hit the ground firmly on her feet, sword ready to bring up, but already the halberd was coming down in a diagonal arc towards her. Committing fully, Ianthe rushed ahead, the halberd missing her by no more than a hairsbreadth as it passed overhead, crashing into the ground with an explosion of dirt and dust, but now she was within the Apostle's guard.

The mythril blade whistled as it was brought up, glimmering in the noonday sun, slowing only slightly as it bit into flesh, goring the apostle from hip to shoulder, loosing a spray of blood, surprise on the Apostle's face. Yet Rory brought her halberd up again a split moment later like she had not just been mortally wounded.

Ianthe managed to deflect to blow, but it hit with the force of a galloping horse and nearly spun Ianthe around, numbing the fingers of her sword hand, the mythril blade ringing as if in pain from the glancing blow. The halberd now held entirely upright like a monument to war and death, ready to descend. With a snarl, Ianthe barged into the Priestess, her companion dagger in her hand. It was a quick, but poor thrust, yet one that found the Apostle's throat and kept going until it lodged into the spine at the back. A strangled gasp escaping Rory's throat as blood welled around the blade lodged in it.

With a howl of mindless rage, Ianthe brought her longsword down and lodged it to the hilt just above the collarbone of the Priestess, the end of the blade exiting out of her lower back, bathed in red.

"For Volkin, the man you murdered now avenged and for my honor now regained," snarled Ianthe pushing the blade in deeper. The flesh squelching as the mythril was forced in deeper. She was vaguely aware of the blonde elf who had been with the priestess screaming. Ianthe felt the priestess go limp, the light drain from her eyes and begin to fall slack in her grip. The halberd loosening from her grip, then stop. Half slumped over, sword pinning her body to the ground and a dagger in her neck, the priestess stopped as if suspended by invisible wires. Then, Rory's head came back up like a sick marionette, a smile on her face.

"Very good, but not quite good enough."

Ianthe stared in horror for a moment, eyes going wide, but it was long enough. Rory hooked her fingers under the lip of her cuirass, then lifted her up and threw her armor and all. A full grown woman of the Messalonian Skyraider draconian knights, with enough force for her to hit and go through a wooden wall in a shower of splinters and broken wood. She tumbled, her body numb from the force of the impact and only alive because of her steel protection.

Ianthe's vision switched rapidly from the hole in the wall, the roof, and the floor as she tumbled end over end. When she finally came to a stop, she wanted to lay still for all of eternity, but instead pushed herself up on trembling arms, legs quivering and seeing double in her vision. By the time she was back on her feet, she was vaguely aware of Rory coming through the hole in the wall towards her, pulling out the mythril sword with a sucking of flesh, before tossing it idly to the side with a dull clatter.

The rest of the patrons in what was revealed to be a tavern were looking on in shock, but Ianthe brought her fists up into a fighting stance, steel armored gauntlets held in a classic boxing stance.

"You ruined my ceremonial clothing," huffed Rory, pulling at the bloody slash marks on her dress, the flesh underneath as unmarred as that of an infants.

Ianthe was a large woman, standing at six feet tall with long limbs and she had been taught how to fight from when she was just a child. As such, she could hit very hard and wearing her steel gauntlets, she could hit as hard as she was able to without fear of injuring her hands. Not that she was concerned about hurting herself at this point.

Advancing quickly, she put all of her power and training into a classic pugilistic punch, throwing her whole body behind the blow, rocketing her steel covered fist forwards like a cavalry charge. Only for it to be caught and stopped dead by an amused Rory.

"You know, I wasn't expecting you to be that good," said Rory with a laugh. "You would have killed me if I was mortal. Fortunately, I'm not."

Pulling hard on Ianthe's arm, Rory swung the woman around, lifting her off of the floor and threw her through another wall of the tavern in another splinter of wood, watching the mercenary tumble end over end, before coming to a stop. She laid still, but was still breathing, blood flowing down her forehead from a cut. Her armor was dented and her muscles were quivering from trauma and exertion.

Rory kicked her over so that she was laying on her back, Ianthe's eyes unfocused, not truly seeing Rory. Rory brought up her halberd, sharp point hovering over Ianthe's throat.

Whistles blasts filed the area as SDF soldiers in green with MP armbands rushed into the square. Rory put the halberd down.

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A/N: Hello. Goobye.