Ovelia grasped the tome with care, the contents seeming familiar. She had received the book and found herself unable to comprehend an ounce of the words scribbled in it.

However, since the death of Stolzer and Eisener—two figures who shaped her life whether they knew of it or not—the ink took shape.

The title of the tome itself carried the name Alphonse Mortem. She shook her head in dismay.

Alphonse? I do not know an Alphonse. Stolzer kept trying to get me to accept that I had known an Alphonse... The Sanguine Overlord fidgeted within her bedchamber. Her work followed her often into her own quarters, for she was allowed little to no rest. Officers, viziers, ambassadors, had seen the state of her bedchamber at one point. The bed was tucked away near the corner, the curtains always drawn. She often slept at strange hours and allotted for darkness whenever possible. In the center of the room, much like her living area, a pair of couches faced a coffee table. In many ways, her chamber was similar to that of her living area, except for the enchantments which disguised her toiletries, wardrobes and other things as busts, weapons or other artifacts.

She poured over the contents of the book. The penmanship felt familiar, not quite like chicken scratch but something more refined. Despite the haste in which it was scripted, the tome was carefully documented with drawings of an object. This object seemed to be covered in ancient writing the likes of which she had only seen in the darker reaches of the Grand Library.

The door opening nearby took her from the book. She glanced to a nearby clock, which usually was used as decoration—as time in Sanctuary was convoluted and bled into other realms—but it relayed time passing by two hours. Ovelia brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Mother, why have you been shut in here all day?” Arden spoke to her, though it sounded leagues away. She approached her mother carefully, reaching out with her hand. The young girl neared her own height, garbed in similar clothes of a page.

“I've been studying, dear. I took to this book and I can't seem to tear myself away from it.” The Sanguine Overlord shook her head and turned to Arden. “We have a tournament today, don't we?”

“Aye, mother. I can't believe you forgot. We should get going, its starting soon!”

Ovelia rested the tome by her bedside table. Carefully she tied her hair back into the familiar bun she had been tying for as long as she could remember.

Arden, however, remained impatient. The girl paced while her mother readied herself. Pink hair danced along with her movements and she swayed to and fro, like a small child. She appeared to be fifteen, though she acted younger. Her spirit was that of a curious tiger, but more kin to a master of no refinement.

Scornfully, the girl turned to Ovelia. “Mother, we are going to be late.”

“I am the one leading the ceremony.” She addressed the stressing child with a curt remark. “We are on time even if I arrive tomorrow.”

She rolled her eyes.

They left the chamber shortly afterward. The living area passed them by like a dream and they were headed into the hallway. A scarlet carpet muffled their footprints. The dignified nature of Ovelia, the Sanguine Overlord, and the scampering of Arden, who was barely able to keep in step with her, juxtaposed one another. Though they were indeed in a hurry, their gait signified otherwise.

A plaza full of knights, their wards, mages, dignified nobles, dwarves, elves and their stock all stopped at once. They responded to her with a bow. She returned the gesture and Arden followed suit.

“Hail, Overlord.”

“Aye, Overlord. Word from the North has come.” An envelope was presented to her and she opened it mid-stride. In seconds she was surrounded, but Arden made sure to remain by her side.

“They wish to send an adviser to you. You are accepting no suitors, but the last adviser was--”

“Killed, yes. I am aware.” Her cold response shook the man and she halted suddenly, pouring over the contents of the letter. The envelope had been sealed with wax, the emblem of a proud lion imprinted in it. “Send for Rena and her squire, Gelehrter. Tell them I have a mission for them to fetch our new adviser.”

“But, my Overlord...I know of many other Justicar who are more qualified for this mission--” The man was silenced by a glare over her shoulder.

“They are nearby and convenient. Rena makes up for her inexperience with knowledge and research. Gelehrter was Stolzer's page and knows many of his tricks to gather intelligence. Though he eventually was taken from us, Stolzer was a proud and tireless teacher. I trust you will not question my judgment again.” Ovelia strode confidently into her domain of Sanctuary with Arden in tow. The Citadel behind them, a dark tower which rose high into the heavens and beyond, safeguarded them with its looming presence. She was accompanied with several other guards, who awaited her arrival. She headed down into the streets. The bustle of the city noted her approach and many greeted her with nods or other forms of greeting. Dwarves raised their paws and gave a small bow. Elves kissed their fingers and presented it to her with a bow. Ovelia took the time to greet the other races proudly in their own manner, taking notes of each passerby.

A stall took her attention in the market. The wares were carefully selected by the looks of them, though they consisted entirely of gear. From weapons, to breastplates, to mail hauberks, all had a signature culture about them. The strangeness of their craft called to the innate curiosity deep inside her psyche. Ovelia felt the need immediately to speak to the owner of the stall.

She blinked in surprise to find Ana standing there, her emerald gaze meeting hers.

For a spell they stared at one another, Ana's benign nature radiating from her like the sun.

“Its...good to see you again, Ana. How have you been?” Ovelia questioned, perplexed at the condition of the shop she had fashioned together. Materials and other instruments were scattered about, though they all had seen immense use. From hammers, tongs, calipers, wrenches and other tools, she was unusually well equipped to repair almost anything.

“I am good. Work is good. How have you been, my Overlord?” Immediately afterward, Ana's eyes shot to one of the other guards glancing over her wares. “Sir, that is for sale. If you look, you must be interested.”

“E-er...yes. This piece is finely crafted.” He stammered over his words and attempted to avoid her.

“Your sword will break soon. Leave it here and I will repair it, take that with you as a loaner.” She offered, holding out her hand. The man before her blinked, but handed over his blade without question. He took the longsword in return and attached it to his belt.

“You're so much like Eisener.”

“Aye, I am. He was my only family. Is there a tournament or event today?” Ana exchanged with another customer while Ovelia waited patiently. The girl's beautiful dark hair had been loosely bound by two strips of red ribbon. Memory of the smiling girl took her for a moment before she was taken back to reality. “Who will be competing?”

“Some who wish to be knights...others who wish to be Justicar. It is a show of skill.” She removed a stack of coins from her pouch and pointed to two weapons in the back of the stall. One was another longsword and the other was a bastard sword, which Ana retrieved for her. She tied her longsword to her belt and handed the bastard sword to Arden, whom also was browsing.

“O-Oh...!”

“Yes, darling. Say thank you.”

“Uh...yes, yes. Thank you!” Arden fiddled with her weapon and hastily tied it to her belt.

“Will Arden be competing?” Ana focused now on the younger of the two. Her emerald gaze analyzed her intently, as if mesmerized by her appearance. Then, her eyes scattered about her body, now taking measurements.

“Er...yes, I will. Quit that, would you?”

“No.”

“If she is challenged. Gelehrter and Rena will be there also. I've sent for them to return from another task...I allowed them some leave after they finished their last mission and they've been last seen in the Northern reaches of the Market District.” Ovelia corrected her daughter then nodded to her guards and Ana's facade nearly shattered at hearing Gelehrter's name.

“He will be there?”

“He should be, or I will tan his hide.”

“Sorry. I am closed.” Ana spoke hastily to several more who approached her shop and she reached for a small device in the pocket of her apron. A barrier appeared around her stall. “I'm sorry, my Overlord. I must see him.”

“Hmm...I suppose more company wouldn't hurt us any. Come, let us be off. We have dawdled enough.” Ovelia commanded and with a wave, they set off. The bustle of the Market District was only matched by the incredible power of the Citadel: the symbol of strength and prosperity of Sanctuary. She headed to the east, a stadium had been erected there over the years to hold special events. The massive structure loomed over them, yet held a certain aura of comfort. The welcoming party cheered and roared as the procession carrying their Sanguine Overlord arrived. A crowd formed around them, knights from all over with their apprentices snapped to attention.

They neared the entrance, a gargantuan carved stone wall which bore the names of all who fell in service to Sanctuary. As the crowd moved through the threshold, they fell into solemn reverence. Ana turned to glance at two names which had been carved near the bottom: Eisener Wille and Stolzer Ritter. Tears tugged at her eyes, but she remained steadfast.

In the center of the coliseum, stages and the like had been set up. Horses, armor, weapons and other accouterments were gathered around tents. Combatants and other hopefuls--whether they were experienced or wishing for a chance at advancing their status—seemed to be on the razor's edge. They busied themselves with equipment upkeep as the crowd filled the seats.

Ovelia and Arden reached their terrace overlooking the arena. They both took to their seats.

Suddenly, a figure clad in the dark robes of the Justicar reached her with another following suit. They both nodded to her in recognition. Rena's solemn nature and Gelehrter's alert gaze were both a welcome sight.

However, Gelehrter was halted by Ana's emerald gaze. Her intense stare softened into that of a lover, the doting gentleness within her aura shone for an instant before she turned away. A blush caressed her cheeks and she attempted to sink into her chair.

“Ana, it is unexpected to see you here.” Gelehrter spoke after a spell, oblivious. He took a few steps beyond the terrace and peered over his shoulder. “Root for me, will you?”

“A-Aye...I will be rooting for you.” Ana fumbled over her words and murmured under her breath. Ovelia rolled her eyes and stood upright.

The Sanguine Overlord murmured a quick spell to amplify her voice before she spoke. “Good citizens of Sanctuary. I bring to you the Grand Tournament: whether you are hopeful or wishing to test your mettle against the most powerful of warriors, all are welcome! Before we begin, I would like to address the late fall of a great master smith, Eisener Wille. He was a man of integrity, intelligence and skill. Those who knew of him were blessed and those who wielded his craft were guarded whether it was sword, shield or armor. I dedicate this tournament to him and his late friend, Stolzer Ritter. All lower your heads in solemnity as I lead us in prayer.”

In response, the crowd fell silent and lowered their heads.

“'O, Lord, bless this conflict. Ensure no harm comes to those who uphold your holy word. May the victor grant wisdom to the living.” Ovelia's prayer was echoed in solemn chorus. Her words spoke to the people of Sanctuary deep in their hearts. “Combatants, steel your hearts!”

Suddenly they cheered. Festivities resumed and she took her seat, glancing to Rena. The Justicar waited patiently for her turn to address her superior and leaned over her shoulder to whisper.

“I am sorry it took us so long to get here. I had gotten lost in the library.”

“You were granted leave. What is the status of yourself and Gelehrter?”

“We are ready to be briefed when you are able. For now, I will assume guard here and await further orders, if you will it.”

“I will it.” Ovelia clapped and waved her away. Several knights and squires readied for the first round. They adorned simple fashioned armor and drew their weapons. In the arena they seemed to be like small toys wielding weapons made of wood.

Gelehrter turned to the stand and caught Ana's eye. He smiled and pulled his visor over his visage. A bell tolled overhead and he merely waited.

Several others met in combat. Their weapons were blunt, but still carried the weight of death. He deftly blocked an attack aiming for his shield arm. The squire's eyes shone bright as the heat of the fray took hold and he slammed the pommel of his weapon into his opponent's chest. They staggered back onto one knee, pulling up their visor to vomit.

“Gelehrter is the winner of his round! His opponent is unable to battle!” An announcer called, waving a white flag. He reached and shook his adversary's hand.

“Christ, you fight like a seasoned madman.” He commented.

Ana watched him in awe. The feeble page she had known stood now as a stranger.

“Now, Gelehrter versus Sir Hector! Begin!”

The stage had been set. He removed his helmet and tossed it aside. The knight before him answered in similar fashion, donning an agile stance. He wielded a hand-and-a-half sword and carefully weighed it in his hands. Gelehrter however waited with his longsword.

The knight before him lunged with a loose grip, raising the weapon to his ear to attempt to skewer him. He took a step the side, his armor's weight taking its toll already. Full platemail was their uniform on the arena and wearing it caused them immense effort to even walk.

Yet, it was Gelehrter who had the advantage. His weapon was lighter and though his left side barely protected, he had his speed. The knight attempted to swipe in a crescent and was parried deftly. With a twist of his wrist, his weapon spun out of his hand. The squire then slammed his shoulder into his opponent to knock him off his feet.

“Point to Gelehrter!”

He retrieved the weapon for his opponent and held it out for him. Hector nodded and mouthed a thanks before resuming his stance.

“Shame you are here, young one. I would swear you were a knight already.” He commented between attacks. They keenly parried and feinted for a spell. The sound of steel against steel carried across the arena, their weapons shouting sparks.

Gelehrter answered by knocking his adversary's bastard sword aside once again.

“Damn.” Hector cursed and snatched his weapon from Gelehrter's grasp. He lunged and was met with a fist to the stomach, the platemail denting inward.

He gasped for air as it was knocked free of his chest. However, Gelehrter waited for his adversary to stand upright and collect himself. Desperately he swept the floor with his bastard sword, resorting to the superior reach of his weapon.

Hector grasped his sword with two hands: one resting on the handle and the other loosely grasping the dull edge. He reached forward like a spear and caught the squire with a pommel strike to his right shoulder, keenly deflecting an incoming blow.

Gelehrter dodged a swipe from Hector and caught a slap against his left shoulder, recoiling against the force of the strike. Without another moment, he spun on his heels. He caught the blade in his hand and gripped it firmly. His gauntlet protected him from the assault on his palm as Hector struggled to free it from his grasp. The knight attempted to assail Gelehrter with a fist, but quickly pulled toward his chest. A shoulder caught him in the chest and he released instinctively.

They breathed heavily for a few moments before Hector raised his bastard sword overhead. His swing arced downward and Gelehrter sprung to the side, aiding his opponent's strike. The sword was forced into the ground and he quickly cut across his body, resting the blade of his longsword onto Hector's neck.

Sir Hector merely released his weapon and raised his hands in surrender.

The crowd roared in approval as they shook hands.

“Well fought. I am sorry if I came to anger...it is not everyday when a squire bests you in swordplay.” Hector nodded to him as he addressed his opponent. “I hope one day you make a fine Justicar.”

“...Y-You know?” Gelehrter was halted by a raised hand.

“Those who fight like that are trained by Justicar, who are hoping you will join them. It is a loveless life, that one. Be careful and don't throw your life away.”

The day passed on. Many fell to misfortune and those who triumphed remained. They gathered before Ovelia, who moved now to address them. A figure clad in dark armor, their helmet only revealing their malevolent crimson gaze, took a few steps forward. They were much shorter than the others in the lineup. Their spear pointed to the terrace where Ovelia now faced her head on. Though it were merely moments, the Sanguine Overlord raised an eyebrow.

Her hands lowered as a high pitched voice penetrated the confines of the helm.

“I am of the Delacroix! I challenge Arden Mortem for right of succession, for she is not of full Mortem blood!” Murmurs cascaded about as the figure's defiance radiated from them. “My name is Eloise and I will be heard!”

From the shadows, other Justicar moved about. Their dark robed figures could barely be seen in the twilight, preparing for an assault. Rena's hand rested onto her longsword, her keen eyes focused onto the figure in black armor.

Ovelia's brow furrowed. If I give in to this cretin, it will seem as if Mortem are weak. However, it is a chance to show our prowess. Arden is trained by myself in various weaponry, but she did not receive any formal sparring matches versus a spear.

“Mother, I will face her. Let me go!” The youth begged as she stood upright. “It is a challenge. You gave your word.”

There was only silence for an instant. Though it was in the blink of an eye, Eloise took notice.

“Very well. Separate for the challenge. There will be no points, if one party is unable to compete then it is the match.” Ovelia's order was met with action. Arden sprung from her place to the ring. The ground consumed traces of blood, sweat, leather and other bits of armor. Though it was trampled on by many others, it was suitable. Torch sconces were lit and other forms of light were prepared, as night was quickly approaching.

Arden drew her bastard sword and gripped it deftly in both hands. She faced her opponent, Eloise, with little to no armor. Her clothes, which consisted of a tunic with a tabard emblazoned with Sanctuary's star, leather boots, cloth pants and a belt for her weapon.

Eloise was clad in full platemail. They faced her and held their spear forward, the haft weighed by the scarlet tip.

That spear is not of normal material. Ana stood upright and took a few steps to stand next to Ovelia. Its...

In the next instant they both rushed forward. Arden's approached was halted by a quick thrust, the spearhead missing her chest by an inch. She hastily turned it aside with her sword and took a few steps back. A rush of air took her by surprise as the spear with swung wide. Instinctively she ducked and stepped by a few more thrusts.

The same material as what I saw so many years ago. Stolzer said it was enchanted with...

Arden grunted as her cheek suffered the edge of the spear and she felt her body grow weary. Her feet adhered to the ground, the sword's tip falling to the sand.

“Lifesap!” Ana called out. The two combatants stopped, Justicar reacting immediately. They apprehended Eloise, a deft cut separating the spear from the shaft.

“Everyone, please evacuate calmly. Return to your homes!” One of the Justicar shouted over the din of panic. Rena had reached Arden and lifted her onto her shoulders, leaping out of sight. Ovelia shook her head and palmed her forehead, turning away from the scene.