The Frank's Estate was a massive structure surrounded by high walls. Going up more than fifteen floors - the spire of the court wizards - and thousands of feet wide. It was filled with all luxuries one would dream off, and even more so, since the little backwater village--the politicians thought they had fooled the family with--had boomed with multiple mines of precious metals and its positioning as a stop for slavers from all over the Duchies.

But, it was known for one thing that was apparently vacant in the mountainous lands. It had a lush garden filled with singing birds and lively trees swaying to the strong currents of the wind. A massive field of green grass and ferns were strategically placed in perfect order - different from the arid lands and the brown long grass of the plains.

Sitting in the garden, trying to find some solace in the utter beauty of nature, was Harold. He was sitting on an ornate chair of elven wood colored green to match the nature surrounding him. “Please, can you repeat what you just said?” He asked Roland who was sitting in front of him with a weary smile. Today was getting worse and worse, not only did the little girl Azeal bought a few days ago destroy priceless family artifacts of the Franks, but she had somehow caused the Oel to stampede; injuring five soldiers seriously and three more house attendants. And now, Roland was telling him that everyone with a lick of intelligence - if they found out - would be charging at them for Azeal.

“Azeal has absolutely no connection with any Raug family or Clan. He is cut off from an entire family tree and is the only person in the Clan Neralum. He is unbound from any oaths or given word,” said Roland knowing full well that he was slowly easing Harold to not one, not two, but four more issues that had come up in the last few days since the talk. Harold would have a heart attack otherwise.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose and eyes shut, he sighed heavily. How was everything going wrong at the same time, that Harold did not know? “Though it makes his situation much worse, it should not change anything if he keeps wearing the helm. Thank the forgotten ones that the order had given me one so long ago,” said Harold, but stopped before he could continue. Roland had a mischievous smile and he did not like one bit of it.

Clearing his throat, Roland straightened his back, a smile adorning his face. “Azeal is carrying with him the ability to bestow the pure bloodline of the Seraphim to any he so chooses,” said Roland in a proper tone. As though he was introducing Azeal to a noble court. “What ar-” Harold was absolutely horrified. The entire world would be knocking on his doors if the information was leaked. Yet, Roland did not let him finish. “It does sound incredulous, Harold. But trust me, it gets much worse,” he said, mirth lining his voice.

“Worse? How? You are going to kill me with your words, Roland!” Harold began to shake his head, a resigned look on his face. “Oh, yes. My dear Harold, it gets so much worse. Not only what I had stated previously, but there have been multiple traps I had set for spies and thieves had been triggered. Yet, none caught anyone or anything. We are dealing with masters here, Harold,” said Roland as he nodded his head, cutting of Harold one more time.

“Spies! Wh-” Harold's eye twitched as he was cut off twice in a row. It had been a while since anyone spoken to him that way. And unless it was extremely important, he would have never allowed it.

“Harold, it will be easier for both of us if you would just let me finish. I, knowing already everything I had told you and will tell you, choose to teach him magic. Of course, this is without the expressed confirmation of The Academy,” Roland could not stop himself, he began laughing at how jaw dropped Harold looked and he had yet to tell him of the worst thing between them all.

“But, to top it all of, my friend, is a skill. Not just any skill, but a high tiered skill of the highest order. And it has yet to be fully unlocked,” said Roland, he knew it was coming and had been fully prepared to hear it all.

“CyclopseFu-” exclaimed Harold, but was cut off yet again.

“Father!” Admonished Lana who was sitting a bit farther away. Playing around with Nana as Sarah watched suspiciously from the side. “Watch your tongue! Little Nana will learn your bad habits. We can't have that, now can we, Little Nana,” said Lana as she had Nana on her lap patting her head, Nana shut her eyes cutely and smiled innocently. Grinning with an accomplished air, Lana plucked the brown brush made of coarse boar fur and wood out of the wild mane that was Nana’s hair; she had somehow convinced her to stay still for a brushing.

“Giving her a cute nickname does make her any less of a rascal. A demon sent from hell,” said Sarah while narrowing her eyes even more than they had been. She was staring at Nana with burning eyes and a bit of mana leaking from her body. Letting her distaste of the little girl visible to all. Then again, how would one blame her after Nana had poured a bucket of cold water on her after sleeping past the twelfth-bell? Her excuse was a simple, “Mama said good girls wake up early. I don't want aunty Sarah to be a bad girl,” with her wide eyes, gap-toothed smile and pigtails, it had become impossible to punish her; no matter how much Sarah wanted it.

“Sarah, hold your tongue and speak no more! How could you accuse the most adorable thing in the world of such a thing! She is an angel sent from heaven, aren't you sweety,” said Lana as she continued to struggle in straightening the little girl's hair. While Nana simply nodded her head enthusiastically, “I am an angel Aunty Sarah,” her smile would have brightened the world had Sarah been less suspicious.

Zoning the bickering girls out, Harold brought his attention back to Roland. Too many things were going wrong at the same time, it did not bode well for an easy future - as he had imagined his life in Thols to be. “We will solve each problem, one by one. But first, let us deal with the more immediate issue,” said Harold as he looked away to a tree farther out in the garden. Under it sat Azeal, cloak and all, meditating as he had been told by Roland. Next to him, was his Oel Mount, the one that would not stay in the stables or the pastures after being separated from him for a few days. Sleeping soundly, she was there to protect Azeal from any interruption or assault, especially from the little devil. Always with an eye open, and muscles ready for battle.

“What skill does he have? And how bad is the price?” As he asked that, Harold remembered watching Azeal seemingly shiver in the heat as they were traveling a while ago. He hadn't prodded much then, and it came out to be a mistake. He shook his head at his own mistake. How much had he suffered before Roland just happened to find out? When it could have all ended if he had not relented.

“It's really bad, I am sure you have heard of the skill Blind Emotion?” Asked Roland, if anyone knew more than he did about skills it would be Harold. While he had heard it was a racial skill and a very limiting one, he was unsure of its origins, what race carried it, or what's its effects were. Harold's reaction made Roland’s thoughts even sounder. “Poor, fool. Taking all that suffering alone,” said Harold, barely over a whisper, yet loud enough for Roland to hear.

Looking Roland in the eyes, Harold took a deep breath. This couldn't have been happening. “Blind Emotion is a skill native to those with partial Seraphim blood. It gives them the ability to see emotions on the most intimate level. Diluted through time, the skills effects weakened but the core of it stayed strong. Because of this, the half seraphim locked themselves on the Isles of Night with the Night Elves; who can, to a small degree affect the how much emotion they can convey.” Harold turned away to stare at Azeal again. His thoughts in turmoil.

Damn it! How could I have allowed someone - under my care - to suffer so much?

Aloud, he continued to speak, his voice wavering a bit, “They lock themselves away because the emotions would drive them mad if they are exposed to it for a few days. And from within them comes out darkness and evil... I have yet to read of others more so. They become full-blooded Upir. And they terrorized the world of old.”

Harold was about to continue, but a red-faced Lemer rushed in; his face almost matching his red hair. Though he did not have anger on his face but fear and great worry. Quickly he came to the table Harold was seated in, everyone except the oblivious Azeal - even the ever watchful Buttercup - looked up to watch what would make him throw away with the etiquettes of a noble by barging into a family's gathering unannounced. Lemer was a stickler for the rules and manners a noble must conduct themselves with. Him throwing it all away means something horrific had to have happened. And today was a perfect day for the world to collapse it seemed to Harold.

Lemer tried speaking, but his words kept stumbling their way out into an incoherent mess. Throwing all forms of decorum out the window, he grabbed a drink that had been set for Harold on the table, and then gulped it all in one breath. Slamming the cup down, he ignored Roland’s questioning gaze or Harold's indignation. He pushed a rolled pack of parchment to Harold and stuttered out his words.

“G-General! General, Fort Chylium fell twenty-three days ago! And Titus was killed! A tide of Dark Orcs, numbers unlike ever before, have broken the defensive lines! Yet, they can't be found!”