“The beliefs of the Skrandonese’s cultish order dictate that when one passes on from this mortal coil that they are henceforth put on trial by their Goddess, where in they must answer to the charges brought forth by the devil as to why they should remain forever with him in Ilsq. Disregarding the fact that beliefs such as this only serve to further prove the grossly misguided nature of their nation’s beliefs; they furthermore believe that if a person’s corpse were to have both its tongue and lower jaw removed shortly after death, then they would thusly be rendered completely incapable of giving testimony against the condemned one’s charges at all. They refer to this act of rendering a corpse irrevocably committed to the Eternal Blaze, regardless of one’s merits in life, as invoking the ritual of Phal’muenstaqk; which loosely translates to, ‘Guilt by Mistrial’.”

- Excerpt from the Encyclopedia Corsinthia

Chapter 25: “The Tools Needed”

“Why should I give any regards to the rulings handed down from that traitor of a woman – with but paper thin faith to her name - whom, too scared to push forward towards the glorification of the Goddess, accepted the ludicrous agreement of shame put forth by the leader of this sinful land. Surely, if at the time our emperor had still been amongst those drawing breath, then I know that he would never have let any supply shortages break him to cowardice; any shortcomings on our side would have mattered little when the opposition had similar bearing down on them, for we were the ones who acted upon the field in the name of the divine Goddess herself!”

The rejoinder from the cyan haired man – previously referred to as Lahkt - was screamed back with such forceful bile that it itself actually caused new ripples to form in the undulating blue-tinged wall that presently kept him separated from the Skrandonese priestess with which he was, at the moment, conversing most unpleasantly with.

Before Reoisce’aihr - who seemed to now be staring indignant daggers at the one who addressed her with such fury – could manage to get the words spinning mad gyrations within her head to flow forth from her gritted teeth, the emerald haired assassin comrade of Lahkt threw up an arm to hold him back.

“Comrade, Reoisce’lahkt, I think you are doing little more now than wasting precious energy by flapping your tongue here and there over those of nonexistent faith who’ve failed our formerly glorious motherland. Take in with your eyes a good look at the locks of the one standing next to the wayward priestess who shames the Goddess with her actions right now, how could someone using the Goddess’s blessing to protect the progeny of traitorous cowards understand anything at all about how we must return honor to the commander’s defiled soul?”

The way in which Naun’tkch stated the above seemed unnervingly calm and collected, more so when it was put in contrast against the declarations he had previously issued forth to Jysalef Soresh back in the run down city of Elpsiod. Immediately after the end of this unnaturally reserved speech put forth by the one with emerald hair, the walls of the translucent dome wavered for a moment as if struck suddenly with uncertainty. As the field lost its cohesiveness – if even only for but a fraction of a moment – the woman presently on a divinely ordained pilgrimage blurted out with dumbfounded incredulousness, “He’s the one that performed the ritual of Phal’muenstaqk on Draezooh’nyawc?!”

Meanwhile - back on the side of the humming blue barrier that was closest to the capital city of Dulsnik, and the library within where the Arcanum of Jasmodeus was kept – there sharply arose a second pained yelping from the ward of the vagrant swordsman the Skradonese assassins were here to kill in the hopes of returning honor to the soul of their fallen commander. The younger swordsman, Terus Kyreon, had no knowledge to call his own as to what the manner of a “Cage of Velf’sthram” was; after all, his mentor had never once taken him anywhere near the still present fighting along the borders betwixt Skrande and Corsinthia where such knowledge might be pertinent towards his trainings in the ways of survival through the blade. Yes, it was not untrue that Jysalef could have put forth a hand to stop his student – still eager to meter out justice against the Skradonese warriors over the events that transpired during their last encounter – from slamming a second time into the magical construct before them; however, at the moment he was far too wrapped up in the greater implications of the peculiar conversational exchange going on before him to have noticed his ward’s intended repeat in folly.

Well, at least not until it was already past the time in which anything could have been done to prevent it from transpiring.

Not paying the slightest bit of attention to the confused question put forth by the priestess over his previous speech, Naun’tkch began to rummage through his robes – as if to search for something – whilst he continued his speech to his comrade in a manner far too calm to properly be befitting the matter of the task before them, “Still, her gross misuse of the Goddess’s blessings to defend sin drenched defilers - and the progeny of traitors with no faith – alike is a matter that is solved with utmost of ease. What one - whose blade falls in the service of her great divinity - must never forget is this, anywhere they draw blood along the way was her will from the beginning so long as so as it ultimately leads to the collapse of those who shame her. Once this particular truth is finally realized, one immediately discovers that the Goddess always presents the tools needed for her glorification when those that sicken her are at long last tracked down.”

Then, with a sudden motion that was almost too quick for even the eye of a highly trained swordsman to catch it, the hand reaching about in the robes of the emerald haired assassin bolted outwards towards the body of his comrade with a twisting motion at the wrist. Immediately afterwards, Reoisce’lahkt stumbled backwards in shock – a sickly pallor overtaking his face that had not been there a second prior – as he gazed down towards the knife planted most deeply within his gut where crimson now flowed forth freely in the worst way possible. As the cyan haired man then proceeded to collapse heavily to the ground of the dirt road like a lifeless sack of produce – his eyes filled with incomprehensible levels of confusion and betrayal – the walls of the “Cage of Velf’sthram” shuddered wildly for a moment, all before the shimmering blue barrier collapsed entirely out of existence.

As the glowing walls rapidly disintegrated into nothingness, thus removing the boundaries that had previously kept the opposing factions present at bay, the priestess distressedly shrieked out in the Skrandonese tongue the word one used when referring to a brother of the familial sort. Her scream was then immediately afterwards followed up by an accompanying gasp from the frightened Latte, although this particular vocalization didn’t really take the form of any specific known word. Naun’tkch - not giving even a moment’s regard to either that which he had just done, or the deservedly distraught reactions put forth from the two Skrandonese women present - did not tarry even a single moment following the destruction of the barrier ere he drew his Skradonese blade, with its peculiar edge that was located on the inside of its curved form, and charged directly forward with a mightily feral way cry.