The Calling of the Champions

Sen, the champion of Verre, and Mahault, the champion of Enfer, had made concessions in the year 160 AC to meet on appointment to cross the rough fringes of Nirvana in order to survey the incoming wolves of the empire from a thin landbridge-- the only that connects the warring factions. On this murky, undying afternoon in Nirvana, they wait impatiently at the foot of the valley, calling strangers into their presence.

The fogs that roll across the grasses do little to conceal those creatures that are wandering in the farplanes. The fact is that on this day, the Sages will have no say in the fate of their flocks. For the sake of political egalitarianism, all of the new vagabonds are up for claims to both Verrian and Enferros choice. Beware of both champion representatives, however. They are no foreign ministers-- and they did not meet to make peace or patch up any hard feelings.

Disregarding eachother, Mahault smiles with a sneer, her gaunt, black face illuminated by seductive nuclear eyes. The perceptive pale-male named Sen gazes eruditely outwards, stark blue eyes hovering on the fore with a discreet yet vague e xpression. Be wary of who you approach first - and be tactful. Although Mahault calls to you with tempting offers of Enfer's seven deadly sins, Sen's regal face remarks of passion, empathy, intelligence beyond conviction, and... internal superiority.

From the jagged elevations to the snow crested pines reached the humbling hand of Verre. The virtuous spell was cast over the entire bleached landscape and encompassed all that lived in this far plane. Beauty was forever in season in these lands. And the people... Each of them was bestowed with righteous and keen minds; with an untold elegance and beauty. They paraded about the snow stilted figures in a humble eloquent parade. They were Verrians. And this, their country.

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