23rd of October, 497th of NDE. Arghorion, Former Capital of Arghyria.

  “…Damnit…”Younneari awoke with a strong headache assailing her. Though the realization of her situation being more dire quickly registered as she tried to get up from the floor. With small and vain movements, she came to the realization her wrists were forced behind, and with at least seven or more strips of her own silver sealing tape, secured. Simirly, as her sun golden eyes slowly opened and vision returned bit by bit, she noticed the refined glinting of the film yer wounded across her abdomen and even her small but shapely bosom. Further down, though she saw it not, she felt the sticky tape coiling around her thighs, and ankles, the view blocked by a familiar form in the same rich colors as she – rich bronze, azure and golden.

  Slowly she lifted her head from the silken embrace of her azure colrs with gilded trims of a metallic finish and came face to face with her fellow Abrialier – the common soldiers of the Azure Peach Sect – the dark dracorith Theclein whose cedar and sour cherry mixed perfume hit her nose at the same time Younneari’s vision fully returned. Her comrade abruptly stopped wrapping the sealing tape around her waist and jerked up her head, meeting her gaze ced by confusion.

  Theclein’s dark scales glittered with a dim violet glow even in the damp space, though her menacingly handsome visage stared at her listlessly, her small almond framed crimson eyes stared at her vacantly. Like Younneari, the sol elven Abrialier, she still wore her combined uniform consisting of the slightly modified Paletot style jacket fashioned in the shape of a crinoline dress’s top part with the inverness cape draping over her firm shoulders, the azure blunt and chin high colrs’ gilded trims scraping against her dim mauve scale growths pairing nicely with her complexion.

  “Thecrmnn!” As the Sol Elves’ bow-shaped lips – covered in a lustrous burgundy red lipstick – hoped to utter her comrade’s name, Theclein’s cold, soft palms cmped over them, the thumb and index finger pressing her nostrils in a calm, murderous intent. Fear mingled with a queer excitement as the perfume slithered into her nostrils, her heart began to dramatically increase its pace with each passing moment, with each shallower breath, and with each inch her lids took downwards. But instead of the darkness, she found herself coughing when Theclein suddenly released her grip and reached into her waist pouch pocket.

  From it she retrieved a vial of familiar liquid, something the dark dracorith often used against noisy captives – though none should have been found in the ruined capital of Arghyria as Younneari though to herself. “Wai…” Though before she could resist and find out what spell ruled her friends’ mind, the sickly-sweet perfume entered her nostrils and even her mouth, burning each mildly while pushing her mind to the utter bckness of consciousness and once more she found herself in the soft embrace of her decorated colrs.

  **

  “So this is Daemerios’s so called Dreadfort.” Laugrim, their fellow dwarven Abrialier stated with a jesting tone as she slowly bent her back to look up at the seven-floor structure nested between simir establishments used by former statesman – though cking in three floors and in an even worse state. “What a lovely building.” She added as she jerked back after the rain poured down onto her fair and smooth face adorned by a small, rounded nose, bulbous before she took the Oath of the Peach and swallowed the Elixir of the sect like a keg of beer.

  Before it stood the four Abliariers of the Azure Peaches wearing their military styled, kitschy clothing of an arcane leather and satin weaves in the sects’ colors of rich bronze, azure, golden and the rose red cravat binding their dress shirt’s colrs with multiple elegant folds. The Paletot-Styled coats themselves were created from Allianid Leather – an alchemical and arcane composite of Top-Grain Gryphon Hide, Kraken Ink, Minerals native to Franchoin’s eastern mountains and powdered chrome, resulting in a smooth finish with little blemished created by movement, a leathery-chrome sheen, a leathery fluidness and the capability to withstand medium grade spells, mana bullets and strikes from mythrium arms.

  Look wise, it had a wide, stand-up style colr; wide and sloping shoulder without padding and strapped for Younneari; the front single breasted and at the bosom, a deeper brown embroidery of arcane triangles often used in summoning rituals – though in this case, these were more decorative, housing only minor enchantments to keep the wearers warm or cold depending on the climate, and to amplify their stamina and strength – with a concealed zipper line betwixt disappearing in the sash belt around the waist of the coat’s they shortened to waist-length – embroidered with a blend of gilded chrome and silken patterns; and the sleeves inserted with little ease into the armholes; and on the back the symbol of their sect is embroidered in golden, the divine Peach of Myelia in a urel frame.

  Beneath it, they wore thick, luxurious arcane satin known as Eminid Satin which has a smooth, lustrous finish and a heavy weight accentuated by the stiffness of the dress shirt. A material they also use for the full inner lining of their coats, the rose red cravats binding the chin high blunt contoured colrs of the dress shirt accentuated further by the golden trims which extend to the concealing panel over the gilded buttons.

  “Well, we shall better start. Dusk approaches.” Armelee the franchoin newbie said as her franchoin styled beret they all wore shielded her long, burgundy red hair bundled into a half ponytail with two strands gracefully cascading down, framing her foxy visage adorned by rouge pink pearls in an almond frame.

  “Agreed.” Theclein said in her deep, husky voice as she heaved her Dutertre Type-IV Stave rifle with a hexagonal barrel and shaft graven with holy runes and fitted into a rich brown oaken frame and grip from which the trigger protruded steeply. “I volunteer to scour the outer perimeter.” Then she added whilst Younneari gred at the building.

  The sol elf with a dim, umber brown lob cut hair with swoopy yers was lost in thoughts as old memories flood back, her pretty elven face of a fair brass tone drenched by the rain. Just a few centuries before, she marched in these very streets with her former comrades in the Franchoin Legion, their march faltered in the very square they stood now – the Voginius Square named after the Fourth Emperor of the Arghyrian Empire who led the expedition of Eoran himself.

  The sound of stave rifles going off without pause; the roar of thunder as their tank shot a condensed beam of holy energy at a rotten colossus of welted together corpses and the pungent, malodorous stench which burned her nose found its way once more into her. She shivered before hearing her name being uttered by her fellows. “Sorry, was just lost in memories.”

  “So, what is the pn? Do we want to spend the night in the former Dreadfort or shall we quickly clean the pce out?” Laugrim asked, her hands as always in the former capital, on the oaken grip of her Dutertre Type-VII Wand Pistol. Younneari folded her arms and caressed her cheeks, looking pensive before she spoke up. “Clean the lower floors up quickly, then we call for teleportation.”

  She looked at each of them pondering further. “Laugrim, accompany Armelee and clean out the second and third floor. Theclein, once you search around the perimeters and finish smoking.” She stopped with a genial smirk. “Check the ground and first floor. I’ll start with the basement.” With that the four saluted to each other and hurried towards the obsidian structure gring down at them sinisterly.

  **

  “Crnmhmr hrmrhm!” As Younneari stirred once more, her headache intensified cumutively to the soft crinkling and harsh ripping and squeaking of sealing tape. The very same one which stretched across her pretty face, from which her pretty bow-shaped lips bulged out as she tried to quieten the source of the sound. “Nrmn nh.” As the memories flowed back into her mind like a wild tide, her eyes sprung open and immediately turned to her right.

  There she watched Theclein wrapping the small, muscur yet also delicate form of Laugrim, keeping her jet-bck high tail from getting stuck under the yers of gleaming silver sealing tape. Beside her, Armelee rested, her taped cheeks raising as she took shallow breaths, her head slinked onto the broader shoulders of the dwarf. With one st wide peel, Theclein bit off the wide strip and quickly smoothened it over Laugrim’s lips and cheeks, and watched as the tape tightened onto her unblemished skin.

  “Good morning!” Then her attention focused away from her captured comrades, to the soft sound of footsteps on the hardwood floor. Before her stood a half-elven woman, looking no older than thirty with chiseled cheeks; lush, obsidian bck hair cut in a short box style with the bangs swept towards the right revealing the wide, smooth and pale forehead. Her menacing, small eyes of a graceful contour and violet pupils was surrounded by a dark shadow accentuating the wickedness of the true culprit behind their capture.

  On her delicate form, an arcane leather coat cascaded down with a regal stiffness, rge spread colrs stretching over her shoulders, their sharp tips resting on the steep precipice of her bosom; the asymmetrical zipper concealed by a strap panel; studded belt over the hemline with each stud sculpted into the shape of skulls of varied races including elves, dwarves and even horned stygians; a quilted waist accentuating her slenderness and full silken lining of a snow white shade pairing well with the dress shirt which unbuttoned colrs circled around her neck and brushed her tapering jawline. Between them a sinister amulet hung, resembling a withered fetus which small arms reached out and dug into her flesh and bone.

  It took her not much to sense the cold, suffocating energies of death lingering around the slender, delicate form of the necromancer. “I guess you already figured it out, but your friend there... well, she did not betray you if that makes you feel better.” She said with a faint, wicked smirk as she lifted Younneari’s head up, her cold fingers caressing her chin. Then retracted them and reached into her waist pocket, pulling out a white charcoal whilst straightening her posture.

  “Now this shall take a while, so let’s recount the tale of the four doomed dames.” Nea Groen said as she walked over to the center of the celr and began to draw circles on the floor.

  **

  A loud bang echoed through the dark alley as smoke risen from the cigarette wedged between Thecin’s lips. Before her id the dead thing which had crawled up behind her – or at least tried. The withered, rotten flesh began to burn, permeating the alley and overpowering the scented smell of her cigarette. “I’ll never get used to it.” She murmured whilst her rain poured down from her cloak onto the dim cobblestone emanating a nauseating miasma.

  The statuesque dark dracorith leaned against the wall of the Dreadfort, once home to Daemerios and his wicked ilk who performed possibly a thousand rituals, contracting the dread lords of the distant outer realms. It was here where the nucleus of the Harrowing formed and swallowed billions of souls and bound them to the ascended and former Regent-President of Arghyria.

  Her ptinum silver bun pressed against the wet wall, the two thick strands framing her handsome visage cascaded down, brushing against her cheek as she stared at the gloomy sky, then between the colrs, she felt a searing sting of a fly and with a swift strike, she fttened the vile bloodsucker before it could escape and strike again. Though at once, she felt dizzy and the cigarette between her plushie lips fell out and she stumbled into the embrace of Nea Groen, the wicked necromancer of the north aiming to cement the dread her name shall bring.

  Her dark lips felt sickly sweet, tantalizing and as their tongues intertwined, she gave in to the venom flowing into her body. Amidst a series of passionate moans, her soul parted from her body, though instead of finding herself before the gates of her divine matron’s Garden, she found her soul bound to her own carcass. She could do nothing, but sellout her own comrades, and obey the commands of the smirking necromancer walking behind her in the empty halls once bustling with life, then with horrors.

  **

  “So this is where the Harrowing began.” Younneari murmured, her soft voice echoing through the gloom lit by his magelights’ warm glow of white and wine red. Her stave rifle in hand, its hexagonal barrel emanating a dawn golden haze created from the mana bullet which ended the accursed existence of the ghoul before her feet. Beyond it, a gargantuan sb stood in all its obsidian glory, drinking in the glow of her magelight.

  Beyond the gargantuan door id the pce of ritual where Daemerios sacrificed the top echelons of his cabinet, the sultan of the fallen Shaion, the Legate of the Radiant Daughters and the First Legion. She offered a prayer to each, though she knew from the reports, their souls completely eroded, broken down to their prima materia to reconstruct Daemerios’s being as he ascended into a Demilich. Though her orders were simply to clear out the Dreadfort as the scouts of the Second Legion noticed a rge group amassing, the curiosity got the better of her and she searched around for the button to release the door.

  After a long search she found it hidden behind withering furniture, and with a simple pressure of her palm, the door moaned open, releasing a wicked, foul wind; the pungent air which amassed through the centuries escaped at once, breezing through the sol elf whose swoopy strands rustled. “Just a quick peek. Maybe a photo.” She slowly stepped in, her trousers crinkling and squealing as she approached feeling a bit hesitant.

  Though in the end, her fear parted as the chamber was quite empty except for a few furniture and gss caskets holding strange baubles, memorabilia Daemerios inherited from his grandfather – each emanating an ominous presence which creeped her a little, but nothing life threatening. Though one piece did draw her attention, an amulet of a bckish silver metal with the chains connecting to a withered and curled up fetus resting on a silken padding behind a thick gss.

  So much so, she failed to notice the lifelike carcass slipping up behind her. With and forceful thrust of the stock against her head, Younneari passed out and almost shattered the gss with her pretty face.

  **

  “And I am finished. Thought it would take a bit longer.” Nea shrugged her shoulders as she finished the st circle. With a snap of her fingers Theclein’s corpse moved and dragged Laugrim to the one nearest to the door. Laugrim’s muffled groan echoed through the chamber as she awakened slowly. Her head jerked left and right, then up and down and looked confusedly at her comrade, groaning inquisitively before she was pced in the center of the circle, on her taped together knees.

  “Don’t worry. It won’t hurt.” Nea said from behind the podium with a rge grimoire opened on top. Her eyes skimmed through the pages, then a low, sinister murmur emanated from her still, slightly open lips whilst her hand drawn circles and triangles in the air. At once from her fingers a sinister violet haze emanated and the amulet pulled it outs small, bony hands from her neck and bone. The withered fetus nguidly hovered into the air and emanated an ear-piercing scream as its jaw opened wide.

  A muffled whimper came from Laugrim and Younneari – whilst simirly dark violet veins appeared on Laugrim, starting from the bottom hidden behind her sleek uniform. The veins reached up and ended just at the wide strip sealing her lips and cheeks and from her eyes, from behind the tape a slithering tendril danced out and around until the agape mouth of the amulet bit onto it and swallowed it out in a moment’s notice.

  Then darkness veiled the chamber and Younneari only heard the thud of Laugrim’s lifeless, bound form hitting the floor. With the same abruptness, light returned from the few lit mps and she looked in horror at the pale corpse of her comrade.

  “Pmmnphm, mmnfm nph nnn mmm phhnmm nnph phnmh nhnnph phhnph...” Nea shushed Younneari trying to reason with her out of her instinct. She snapped her fingers again and Thecin’s corpse walked towards the restrained and silenced sol elf. “It will be over in a second.” Nea assured her just as Thecin heaved her over her shoulder in one go, then walked over to the circle further to the door and dropped her onto her knees.

  Her breath became erratic, shallow at intervals, the tape over her lips crinkled and creased as she tried to force open her mouth. Though she wanted to get onto her feet and hop out from the circle at least, to be cut down as she knew that would be a better fate than being eaten by that horrid amulet. But she could not budge at all. Not just because of the clingy bindings around her limbs and upper body, but an unseen force held her down whilst Nea began her murmur.

  An abrupt tide of pain washed over her, yet she could not scream or cry. It felt as if a thousand hooks tched onto her skin and started pulling it with great force, peeling away it from the skin. An unseen hand grasped her swoopy yered lob and pulled her head into an upright position where she faced the ceiling while the hooks pulled and pulled relentlessly. Then as the etheric particles of her soul began to flow out in a dim violet river, the pain lessened yet the dread remained as she neared towards the bottomless pit that awaited within the belly of the dweller in the amulet.

  Author's Note:

  And another one. Introducing the fourth Myelian Sect of the central nations, of Franchoin.

  To be honest, there was a point where I thought of them just be the covert intelligence operatives as I pn to merge the four into one organization and be them as a sort of branch. Though I am still unsure about this idea. What I do know is that I want their style to be a bit simir to the Bck Roses, a using the elvish Avant-Garde... Aelvrant-Garde style and design for their uniforms, with their own take on it a bit.

  On a minor note, I regret not giving cravats to the Bck Roses... maybe for the far-future chapters set in the Age of Void Exploration. I honestly kind of forgot about the existence of cravats until I began to search around Pinterest for uniform ideas for the Azure Peaches.

  Anyhow, this story got a bit grim by the end, and I was honestly unsure whether to show the ritual of their souls being devoured by whatever is the Dweller or just leave it at an implication. In the end, I'm a bit mixed on the result, but there shall be a few more Nea Groen stories, so I'll fine tune it when the chance comes.

  Now one more story remains, one honestly a bit less horrory, more a pulp noir as its based on a Robert E. Howard story I read a few months ago. It will feature a bit of GID and a bit of DID.

  Till then take care and thank you for reading this and the story.

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