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Description
Gossip filled the air inside the large dining hall.  Nobles from all over the Burning Dunes zone sat and spoke over fancy dishes and wine.  In the corner, in charge of supplying the entertainment sat a young man about seventeen.  His dirty tattered brown clothes and quick glances made him noticeably lower class.  If that wasn't enough, a numerical patch on his right sleeve just below the shoulder showed him for what he really was, a servant.

He picked at a guitar as he tried to avoid the glances thrown his way.  I don't see why I'm here.  Nefarion knows I hate nobles.  He sung softly to himself in the much noble-hated Dirtspeak, the language of the lowers.

A couple stood from the table and crossed the room.  Axle could almost smell  alcohol on the man.  He kept his gaze lowered, oh great, here it comes.

The woman wore a silken ball gown, what wasn't covered by the gown was concealed with jewelry and makeup.  Her long black hair was pulled back into a train of braids.  To most her smile was kind and sincere.  To Axle, it had the same effect as a shark smiling at a minnow.

The man hung back a bit, and wore the same grin.  His coat was stained with a hint of wine.  His hair was slicked back and covered in a nice hat. Unlike Axle's unruly hair that hung around his ears and stained red with magic.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Madame?" Axle asked the noblewoman in Sandskat, the upper language.  He didn't dare meet her eyes, afraid of a confrontation.

"She wants to know what you're playing," The man slurred.  Uh, oh.  Caught.  Axle glanced down at the weather beaten guitar, "I'm playing, Aviana Duarean."  They know that.  No point in lying, wouldn't have come up if they didn't.  He put down his guitar, Yep, I'm in for it now…

"Isn't that a lower song?"  The woman sniffed wrinkling her nose as she glared down at Axle.

He nodded, "Yes, it is.  Which is why I am only playing the guitar part to it."

"And singing it!  My husband heard you!  You were spouting filthy words in your disgusting language in the presence of nobility, you horrid little rat!"  She spat at him.  He tried not to show signs of his own disgust as spit sprayed his face.  Anger coursed through him.  Don't, keep cool.  Just calm down, I've been through this enough.

"Then I apologize for offending you."

The woman laughed mockingly.  Eventually, she had the entire room watching.  Axle eyes flicked among the seated, watching nobles uncomfortably.  Crap, oh well, I better make it good.

"You apologize!  Hah! You should have thought about  the consequences before you started playing that filthy mess.  I know what that song is about.  Freedom," she hissed, "And let me tell you now boy, you're not getting it!"

The husband laughed harder.  This time the entire room joined in starting with a few chuckles, then it evolved into a crescendo of mockery.  Axle's face went red as he lowered his gaze, afraid they would see the hate in his eyes.  Faking shame was his best option.

His guitar was wrenched from his grasp.  He heard the shatter of wood and the last twang as the strings snapped.  It was the last straw.

Before he knew what was happening, his fist had connected with the nobleman's face.  The entire crowd gasped in shock, and the man grinned at him from where he suddenly sat on the floor.  It was the type of grin that said, Bingo.

Axle blinked, the fury gone.  He looked down at his clenched fist, then to the nobleman.  Terror flooded him.  Oh no.  This is bad, this is really bad!

"You'll die for that you filthy rat!" The woman screamed as men pushed back their chairs, one frightened lady raced out of the door, her terrified screams of murder and assault echoing down the hall behind her.

"Stop."

The mob froze only a step away from Axle who had backed against a wall.  The entire rooms eyes followed the pale figure in black as he stepped into the room and assessed the situation as a forensics team asses a crime scene.  Calculatingly, and detached.

"Axle, what have you done now?" Prince Nefarion's cold voice asked his servant.  Axle looked down at his worn boots as he answered, "I struck a nobleman, sir."

"And tell me why you struck this nobleman-"

"I want him whipped!  And hung!" The woman snapped.  Nefarion raised a pale hand, "I will decide how to punish my servants."

"He broke my guitar, sir." Axle answered, ignoring the outburst.  Nefarion glanced up at the ceiling, "And you struck him?"

"Yessir, though I didn't mean to.  It just sorta happened," He said quickly.  As if that'll change anything.

"Guards!" Nefarion growled, a cold anger in his eyes, "Take number Fifteen to the dungeons until I decide his punishment." Axle didn't resist as a group of guards marched in, bound his hands tight behind his back, and escorted him roughly from the room.

                                  ...........

A cheering crowd gathered in Belfast.  Two Jagan guards dragged a prone figure between them, streaking the golden streets red with blood.  The spectators cheered or turned away in a silent protest that was lost among the chaos.

Blood covered most of the boys face.  His strange golden eyes were half open and stared at the ground.  His vision came and went with a darkness that threatened his entire being.  His entire world had become noise, pain, and hatred.  The more the crowd cheered, the more it heated his wasted limbs.

A tomato collided painfully against his face smearing his blood matted blond hair with the sticky red juice.  The thrower laughed and pointed at the savage.  After his prolonged exposure to the dark, damp cells within the white palace on the hill, the sunlight hurt his eyes and hid the face of the tomato thrower.

The gates of the city, and the desert beyond drew nearer, and as they did the crowd crept closer, screaming louder.   And they call us savages.  A shadow swept over him as the Jagan cleared the gates with growls and threats.  He lifted his head just a fraction and saw the large carrion bird fly over.  Then, he gave the crowd a last look of hatred before the gates were shut behind him and he was left alone in the sand.

                                          .............

"Gwen!"

Gwen Sunfire watched the spectacle from her window.  Her mother's voice snapped at her from down stairs.  The boy had been thrown from the city, and the gates shut behind him.

"Gwen!"

"I'm coming mother!" She yelled back, pulling the curtains closed.  I wonder what he did. Public executions were not rare in Belfast, but for such a large crowd to attend, was.  Mostly, because Sylvan just had them drug through the street after torture, and thrown to the wildlife and sand to take care of.

Though she was noble, Gwen had never liked Sylvan.  In the other zones, the nobles went through anything to attain their status, and if they became rich enough, they moved to Belfast.  It was home to the largest population of noble families, a jewel of a city that attracted royalty and home to the final word in entertainment for the high class, The Pit.  A coliseum were the nobles could sign up any lower class citizen to compete against horrible odds for their amusement.

Gwen walked out of her room.  The manor she lived in was on the side of the crater that made up Belfast.  As a noble family, the Sunfire's had a spot with a perfect view of The Pit.

"Who was it?"  Gwen asked as she entered the spacious kitchen.  A servant clothed in rags stood at the stove stirring a boiling pot.  Near the servant, Lady Sunfire sat at the table sewing.  She had married into the family in her early twenties, and quickly taken control of what goes on inside of the home.  The servants were terrified of her awful tempers, and habit of signing them up for the evening's entertainment.

"How should I know?" She shrugged uncaringly as she threaded the needle through another piece of silk.  The Sunfire's were the largest designers of silk dresses and anything else that could be sewn, knitted, or made with careful hands and large amounts of needlework.

The door opened before Gwen could say anything else.  Lord Sunfire stepped inside, removing his hat to reveal a prematurely balding head.  His face was lit up in a large grin, "Did you see it?"

"Yes, who was it?" Gwen asked as she took a seat beside her mother.

"A dirty little savage from the north!  Fleet-footed as cats on a mountain, but this one wasn't fast enough on open ground to escape the Jagan!"  Lord Sunfire said as he hung his coat, "He was caught on the boundary with the Dragon Spine, a younger girl was with him too, the Jagan killed her immediately to show trespassing will not be tolerated!  Then they took him alive! Brought him to Sylvan about a week ago, and she's finally decided to dump the garbage."

"Good riddance to filth," Lady Sunfire agreed firmly, "This city has been cleaner since Sylvan took over."

Gwen looked down at her hands, They killed a little girl on the border? She frowned,  That can't be right, as long as they hadn't crossed it.  She looked over at the window, A northerner, here?

                                          ............

Deep within his manor, past the gloomy halls of mirrors and shadows, Prince Nefarion of the Burning Dunes stared down at a pile of dusty books.  Tomes of all sizes covered his desk in the silence of his library.  He sighed as he slammed shut the book in his unusually pale hands.  No answers there, only more questions.  His cobalt eyes roamed across the dark room and settled on the sunlight filtering in through a crack in his windows.    I have every piece I need, but the most important.

"You can't just walk in there!"

Nefarion's dark eyes flickered to the door at the sound of his servant's voice.  They narrowed, I'll have him flogged for disturbing me this time.  He's due for one.

"You can't go in there he's-"  A voice interrupted the boy's plea.  Nefarion sighed, "He may not be the only one flogged."

"Axle! Let them in!" Nefarion commanded loud enough for the servant outside to hear.  After a moment, the large, dark doors opened silently and Axle walked into the room.  A fresh spot of bruising was evident upon his face and he winced sorely, as he bowed to Nefarion and announced the visitor.

"Agnatha of the Swamp, sir."

A young woman walked inside veiled in a black cloak with beads and feathers.  A black cat padded along behind her, looking around the room with violet eyes and a bored flick of his tail.  She held a staff, which she tapped on the floor.

"And she says she's got something that'll…err.."  Axle trailed off uncertainly.  The witch nodded him on, "Brighten your day."

The servant took his place by the door and bowed his head.  Nefarion turned his attention to the witch.  "Agnatha, why are you here?  I thought you worked for Bogmire?"

The beads and jewelry jangled as the witch nodded, "That's why I'm here.  My condolences on the loss of your brother, Nefarion, he was a good lord."  Her amber eyes leveled with his, as if they were equals.  It bothered Nefarion. The witch turned to Axle, "You, get out."

Axle's head snapped up, his eyes darted toward Nefarion.  His master nodded, "Wait outside."  The boy frowned, but did as he was told.  The door closed quietly behind him.

"What do you want?"  Nefarion asked the witch.

"I saw it," She said with a grin of triumph.  No wonder she's acting high and mighty.  She's got the upper hand. Nefarion's face showed no emotion as he leaned forward.  "I don't know what you are talking about."

"The orb," She said crossing her arms, "It was pulled right out from under you by and old wizard and his apprentice."

She had Nefarion's full attention.  His fingers left marks in the wood as he hissed, "Where is it?"

"The desert border close to the Wastes, Solemn detected it." She said.  The cat, Solemn, flicked a tufted ear.  Nefarion sat back in his chair, The wizard isn't out of my zone, therefore he is under my jurisdiction.

"Axle!  Come here!"

Description
Gossip filled the air inside the large dining hall.  Nobles from all over the Burning Dunes zone sat and spoke over fancy dishes and wine.  In the corner, in charge of supplying the entertainment sat a young man about seventeen.  His dirty tattered brown clothes and quick glances made him noticeably lower class.  If that wasn't enough, a numerical patch on his right sleeve just below the shoulder showed him for what he really was, a servant.

He picked at a guitar as he tried to avoid the glances thrown his way.  I don't see why I'm here.  Nefarion knows I hate nobles.  He sung softly to himself in the much noble-hated Dirtspeak, the language of the lowers.

A couple stood from the table and crossed the room.  Axle could almost smell  alcohol on the man.  He kept his gaze lowered, oh great, here it comes.

The woman wore a silken ball gown, what wasn't covered by the gown was concealed with jewelry and makeup.  Her long black hair was pulled back into a train of braids.  To most her smile was kind and sincere.  To Axle, it had the same effect as a shark smiling at a minnow.

The man hung back a bit, and wore the same grin.  His coat was stained with a hint of wine.  His hair was slicked back and covered in a nice hat. Unlike Axle's unruly hair that hung around his ears and stained red with magic.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Madame?" Axle asked the noblewoman in Sandskat, the upper language.  He didn't dare meet her eyes, afraid of a confrontation.

"She wants to know what you're playing," The man slurred.  Uh, oh.  Caught.  Axle glanced down at the weather beaten guitar, "I'm playing, Aviana Duarean."  They know that.  No point in lying, wouldn't have come up if they didn't.  He put down his guitar, Yep, I'm in for it now…

"Isn't that a lower song?"  The woman sniffed wrinkling her nose as she glared down at Axle.

He nodded, "Yes, it is.  Which is why I am only playing the guitar part to it."

"And singing it!  My husband heard you!  You were spouting filthy words in your disgusting language in the presence of nobility, you horrid little rat!"  She spat at him.  He tried not to show signs of his own disgust as spit sprayed his face.  Anger coursed through him.  Don't, keep cool.  Just calm down, I've been through this enough.

"Then I apologize for offending you."

The woman laughed mockingly.  Eventually, she had the entire room watching.  Axle eyes flicked among the seated, watching nobles uncomfortably.  Crap, oh well, I better make it good.

"You apologize!  Hah! You should have thought about  the consequences before you started playing that filthy mess.  I know what that song is about.  Freedom," she hissed, "And let me tell you now boy, you're not getting it!"

The husband laughed harder.  This time the entire room joined in starting with a few chuckles, then it evolved into a crescendo of mockery.  Axle's face went red as he lowered his gaze, afraid they would see the hate in his eyes.  Faking shame was his best option.

His guitar was wrenched from his grasp.  He heard the shatter of wood and the last twang as the strings snapped.  It was the last straw.

Before he knew what was happening, his fist had connected with the nobleman's face.  The entire crowd gasped in shock, and the man grinned at him from where he suddenly sat on the floor.  It was the type of grin that said, Bingo.

Axle blinked, the fury gone.  He looked down at his clenched fist, then to the nobleman.  Terror flooded him.  Oh no.  This is bad, this is really bad!

"You'll die for that you filthy rat!" The woman screamed as men pushed back their chairs, one frightened lady raced out of the door, her terrified screams of murder and assault echoing down the hall behind her.

"Stop."

The mob froze only a step away from Axle who had backed against a wall.  The entire rooms eyes followed the pale figure in black as he stepped into the room and assessed the situation as a forensics team asses a crime scene.  Calculatingly, and detached.

"Axle, what have you done now?" Prince Nefarion's cold voice asked his servant.  Axle looked down at his worn boots as he answered, "I struck a nobleman, sir."

"And tell me why you struck this nobleman-"

"I want him whipped!  And hung!" The woman snapped.  Nefarion raised a pale hand, "I will decide how to punish my servants."

"He broke my guitar, sir." Axle answered, ignoring the outburst.  Nefarion glanced up at the ceiling, "And you struck him?"

"Yessir, though I didn't mean to.  It just sorta happened," He said quickly.  As if that'll change anything.

"Guards!" Nefarion growled, a cold anger in his eyes, "Take number Fifteen to the dungeons until I decide his punishment." Axle didn't resist as a group of guards marched in, bound his hands tight behind his back, and escorted him roughly from the room.

                                  ...........

A cheering crowd gathered in Belfast.  Two Jagan guards dragged a prone figure between them, streaking the golden streets red with blood.  The spectators cheered or turned away in a silent protest that was lost among the chaos.

Blood covered most of the boys face.  His strange golden eyes were half open and stared at the ground.  His vision came and went with a darkness that threatened his entire being.  His entire world had become noise, pain, and hatred.  The more the crowd cheered, the more it heated his wasted limbs.

A tomato collided painfully against his face smearing his blood matted blond hair with the sticky red juice.  The thrower laughed and pointed at the savage.  After his prolonged exposure to the dark, damp cells within the white palace on the hill, the sunlight hurt his eyes and hid the face of the tomato thrower.

The gates of the city, and the desert beyond drew nearer, and as they did the crowd crept closer, screaming louder.   And they call us savages.  A shadow swept over him as the Jagan cleared the gates with growls and threats.  He lifted his head just a fraction and saw the large carrion bird fly over.  Then, he gave the crowd a last look of hatred before the gates were shut behind him and he was left alone in the sand.

                                          .............

"Gwen!"

Gwen Sunfire watched the spectacle from her window.  Her mother's voice snapped at her from down stairs.  The boy had been thrown from the city, and the gates shut behind him.

"Gwen!"

"I'm coming mother!" She yelled back, pulling the curtains closed.  I wonder what he did. Public executions were not rare in Belfast, but for such a large crowd to attend, was.  Mostly, because Sylvan just had them drug through the street after torture, and thrown to the wildlife and sand to take care of.

Though she was noble, Gwen had never liked Sylvan.  In the other zones, the nobles went through anything to attain their status, and if they became rich enough, they moved to Belfast.  It was home to the largest population of noble families, a jewel of a city that attracted royalty and home to the final word in entertainment for the high class, The Pit.  A coliseum were the nobles could sign up any lower class citizen to compete against horrible odds for their amusement.

Gwen walked out of her room.  The manor she lived in was on the side of the crater that made up Belfast.  As a noble family, the Sunfire's had a spot with a perfect view of The Pit.

"Who was it?"  Gwen asked as she entered the spacious kitchen.  A servant clothed in rags stood at the stove stirring a boiling pot.  Near the servant, Lady Sunfire sat at the table sewing.  She had married into the family in her early twenties, and quickly taken control of what goes on inside of the home.  The servants were terrified of her awful tempers, and habit of signing them up for the evening's entertainment.

"How should I know?" She shrugged uncaringly as she threaded the needle through another piece of silk.  The Sunfire's were the largest designers of silk dresses and anything else that could be sewn, knitted, or made with careful hands and large amounts of needlework.

The door opened before Gwen could say anything else.  Lord Sunfire stepped inside, removing his hat to reveal a prematurely balding head.  His face was lit up in a large grin, "Did you see it?"

"Yes, who was it?" Gwen asked as she took a seat beside her mother.

"A dirty little savage from the north!  Fleet-footed as cats on a mountain, but this one wasn't fast enough on open ground to escape the Jagan!"  Lord Sunfire said as he hung his coat, "He was caught on the boundary with the Dragon Spine, a younger girl was with him too, the Jagan killed her immediately to show trespassing will not be tolerated!  Then they took him alive! Brought him to Sylvan about a week ago, and she's finally decided to dump the garbage."

"Good riddance to filth," Lady Sunfire agreed firmly, "This city has been cleaner since Sylvan took over."

Gwen looked down at her hands, They killed a little girl on the border? She frowned,  That can't be right, as long as they hadn't crossed it.  She looked over at the window, A northerner, here?

                                          ............

Deep within his manor, past the gloomy halls of mirrors and shadows, Prince Nefarion of the Burning Dunes stared down at a pile of dusty books.  Tomes of all sizes covered his desk in the silence of his library.  He sighed as he slammed shut the book in his unusually pale hands.  No answers there, only more questions.  His cobalt eyes roamed across the dark room and settled on the sunlight filtering in through a crack in his windows.    I have every piece I need, but the most important.

"You can't just walk in there!"

Nefarion's dark eyes flickered to the door at the sound of his servant's voice.  They narrowed, I'll have him flogged for disturbing me this time.  He's due for one.

"You can't go in there he's-"  A voice interrupted the boy's plea.  Nefarion sighed, "He may not be the only one flogged."

"Axle! Let them in!" Nefarion commanded loud enough for the servant outside to hear.  After a moment, the large, dark doors opened silently and Axle walked into the room.  A fresh spot of bruising was evident upon his face and he winced sorely, as he bowed to Nefarion and announced the visitor.

"Agnatha of the Swamp, sir."

A young woman walked inside veiled in a black cloak with beads and feathers.  A black cat padded along behind her, looking around the room with violet eyes and a bored flick of his tail.  She held a staff, which she tapped on the floor.

"And she says she's got something that'll…err.."  Axle trailed off uncertainly.  The witch nodded him on, "Brighten your day."

The servant took his place by the door and bowed his head.  Nefarion turned his attention to the witch.  "Agnatha, why are you here?  I thought you worked for Bogmire?"

The beads and jewelry jangled as the witch nodded, "That's why I'm here.  My condolences on the loss of your brother, Nefarion, he was a good lord."  Her amber eyes leveled with his, as if they were equals.  It bothered Nefarion. The witch turned to Axle, "You, get out."

Axle's head snapped up, his eyes darted toward Nefarion.  His master nodded, "Wait outside."  The boy frowned, but did as he was told.  The door closed quietly behind him.

"What do you want?"  Nefarion asked the witch.

"I saw it," She said with a grin of triumph.  No wonder she's acting high and mighty.  She's got the upper hand. Nefarion's face showed no emotion as he leaned forward.  "I don't know what you are talking about."

"The orb," She said crossing her arms, "It was pulled right out from under you by and old wizard and his apprentice."

She had Nefarion's full attention.  His fingers left marks in the wood as he hissed, "Where is it?"

"The desert border close to the Wastes, Solemn detected it." She said.  The cat, Solemn, flicked a tufted ear.  Nefarion sat back in his chair, The wizard isn't out of my zone, therefore he is under my jurisdiction.

"Axle!  Come here!"