Another chapter is finished for you all to enjoy. Raksasha and Archimedes have traveled back to the southern deserts to find and exterminate the undead agents who seek to bring Barkur the Ravager back from the dead. Here is a little interesting fact for the curious; most of the names applied to the barbarians of Sanathir are actually ancient Norse and have semantic meanings attached to define the person. I hope you'll enjoy the suspenseful journey of Raksasha, and as always, do be a sweetheart and leave your thoughts in a comment. Thank you!

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Chapter 74 – Might and Magic

The primate and I traveled for days before we found land which was still touched by sunlight. Blight induced by darkness had infested around the heart of Zalsaroth and slowly advanced to incapacitate the vital organs. Many of their smaller dwellings had been burned to the ground by undead aggressors and the bodily remains of those who failed to escape were greatly incinerated by the flames. Since stealth has never been my forte, Archimedes and I have been compelled to assault and destroy unsuspecting squads of undead to which we were significantly outnumbered, relying heavily on the element of surprise. My strength and physical prowess was used to keep the enemies at bay while Archimedes stayed in the background to cast his spells without interruption. This strategy worked reasonably well and we emerged victorious from every battle but my role in combat had taken its toll on my body. The buff and sturdy physique of a well trained barbarian has sacrificed agility and flexibility for the sake of strength, which implies that my body must absorb and withstand the many attacks which I am unable to dodge or block with the wooden buckler. Bruises are scattered around my body and the most fresh cuts still bleed. The rivers we came across on our journey through Zalsaroth had almost dried out, another dreary consequence of the undead contamination, and what little water remained smelled vaguely putrid. I could barely push myself to drink from this water and it seemed downright dangerous to clean my wounds with it. This reasoned why I saw no other option than to leave the wounds be to heal naturally and hope that none of the cuts would contract an infection.

Archimedes turned out to be an odd and even slightly eerie companion as I had expected. He spoke even less than me and expressed no interest in basic consumption for survival. Not even once did I witness him eat or drink and we were together all the time. I did realize that he was practically no more among the living because of this curse he had been subjected to but I could not put aside the courteous habit of treating him as any common person. He either frowned at me or rolled his eyes every time I offered him to take share in our provisions. My persistence eventually compelled him to remind me once again that his organs no longer functioned and his metabolism had allegedly been idle for years. It was all somewhat comprehensive for me to fathom and empathize with but some of his undead traits were convenient to exploit for my advantage. Since he was never burdened by the need to sleep, he did not object to the responsibility of being the one to stand guard every night by default, which provided me with ample time to rest and recuperate from the long trek through the lands of Zalsaroth. The once majestic kingdom was literally crawling with undead atrocities so it was a sheer stroke of luck that we had not been ambushed at night. Archimedes had never provided me with any reason to withdraw my faith in him, yet he still made me feel somewhat uneasy since I could not condone his choice to wield arcane powers which he did not fully understand. This distrust towards magicians doubtlessly originated from my upbringing within the barbarian community but I did not want these deeply embedded prejudices to burn bridges and generate a foundation of contempt. I should know how it feels to be condemned for who and what you are.

We had just crossed the border and moved into the land of Sanathir where my eyes were once again united with the monotonous sight of sand. The entire atmosphere brightened as the sun had not yet abandoned the desert, undefiled by the dark emperor's forces of death. I was born and raised in this relentless environment, taught to both fear and respect the surrounding nature, but now the desert of Sanathir was no different than a vulnerable cub in need of motherly protection. We barbarians would find it overwhelmingly difficult to muster a proper defense against the undead forces since we are a greatly divided community. Some clans have learned to coexist while others occasionally clash in skirmishes over territory and resources which usually end with bloodshed. All the warriors out there who attempted to push the territorial frontier for the sake of their clan were rugged men with fiery attitudes, which entailed that they would rather see conflicts countered with sharp steel and arrows than a diplomatic tongue. The dreary truth is that we would never be able to assemble our entire community to march against the armies of Zervas, yet the clan of Wak'Nahtol was loyal to me and we shared an alliance with other clans who would join our cause without dispute. Our internal conflicts in the community basically rendered me unable to provide the Zalsarothians with what support they really needed in this war but I was positive that they also welcomed smaller magnitudes of collaboration. The clans which refused to be incorporated in our alliance with the knights of Zalsaroth and the tribesmen of Niévahna would eventually be forced to rise and protect these lands as the last stand if our united forces were destroyed.

Throughout our excursion through the desert and across the steep sandy dunes, we came across a melancholic sight which is not an uncommon encounter in these parts of the continent – a patch of land which had been chosen to be a battlefield and ultimately ended as a graveyard. Around fifty good men had been slain in this area and their corpses were scattered within the proximity. The stench of death was absent so I estimated that they had probably been dead for a few weeks and their bones had already been picked clean by scavengers. This was the typical aftermath of a clash between two opposed clans and I could only imagine what reasoned the heinous violence this time. Archimedes seemed to feel uneasy and treaded carefully when we strolled into the area, our feet occasionally making contact with bones partially submerged by sand. One of the fallen warriors still held onto a round wooden shield much larger than my own, still intact and barely marked by combat. The prior owner was probably too young and inexperienced to make the shield serve its purpose. The fact that I had brought Harkan's Cleaver along on this journey, carried it this far and even used it in combat, entailed that my muscles had grown significantly stronger since I joined Wesley Lightweaver on his adventure. With this newfound strength, I came to the conclusion that it would no longer impair the efficiency of my cleaver if I equipped a larger and more sturdy shield to block the attacks of my enemies.

I discarded the old buckler with no regret and attempted to acquire the larger shield from the fallen warrior. Even in death, his possessive attachment to the shield made itself known as his arm was torn off and dangled from the handle behind it once I gave it a good tug. The bony fingers were locked on the wooden handle yet I effortlessly removed the disembodied arm and left it respectfully on the ground with its owner. Archimedes did not seem too pleased with the way I interacted with the dead but good equipment was hard to come by. Trees obviously were a scarce sight in the desert so our community was compelled to acquire wood through trade or travel really far to gather the resources necessary. Foreign travelers have always been intrigued by what minerals our workers derive from quarries within the vicinity and we have sought to exploit that opportunity to our advantage. They periodically travel through these vast deserts and stop by our separated settlements, knowingly aware that we are in short supply of wood and gladly would trade valuable minerals to obtain it. Some of the minerals mined from the quarries were directly transitioned to local blacksmiths which forged them into weapons of metal, yet barbarian workers had also occasionally discovered other rare minerals which were not solid enough to make good equipment for combat. In spite of how rare and gorgeous these minerals were, most clans were content with the decision to dispose of them but then we learned that these precious minerals were held in high regards by travelers from the outside. I have never figured out what they needed them for because they are practically useless, but the clans have agreed that they can have them all if only they restock our supply of wood. Archimedes noticed my swap of equipment and felt tempted to comment.

Archimedes: Magnificent. It suits you much better than the buckler.
Raksasha: Defense is pivotal for me if I am supposed to survive these close encounters with danger in the fray. This shield is somewhat heavier though. It might require some practice and adaptation for me to use it effeciently with the axe, but if I keep it strapped to my arm like this, it should still be possible for me to wield Harkan's Cleaver with both hands.
Archimedes: You have the wits to figure it out and the strength to pull it off, Raksasha, I have faith in that. Do you know any of these people?
Raksasha: Not personally. Most of the fallen warriors were from the notorious clan known as Bael'Thalas while the rest were probably from... Urghanak. Yes, these men were definitely from Urghanak.
Archimedes: You seem positive.
Raksasha: I recognize the heraldic emblems on their equipment. The warriors of Urghanak were probably ambushed, outnumbered and killed in a skirmish. Barbarians affiliated with Bael'Thalas will attack and murder any person who does not submit to the rule of Einar Drosselrok.
Archimedes: Einar? What a weird name. Who is this man?
Raksasha: His name means “he who fights alone”. He is the deranged and egotistical chieftain of Bael'Thalas, and since he commands the largest and most powerful army in our community, he has deemed himself entitled to claim the entire desert as his own. Everyone who gets in his way is either murdered or forced into exile.
Archimedes: Huh. Seems like you people have your own internal threats to wrestle with down here. I suppose we should avoid Einar's troops if they still lurk in these parts of the deserts.
Raksasha: Perhaps you ought to seize this opportunity to arm yourself with a blade. These men will not need their weapons anymore. Do keep in mind that we barbarians are highly resistant to the elements.
Archimedes: Hmm. Melee is not exactly my forte and I am not thrilled by this proposal, but if you insist.

He carefully rummaged through the dried remains of the fallen warriors and eventually discovered a short sword which induced a vague sense of interest. It was light enough for even a scrawny man like Archimedes to hold in one hand, a blade designed to deliver swift but weak attacks. We barbarians commonly discern such inferior weapons to be suitable only for cubs and rookies who have not yet grown strong enough to wield a proper weapon, but I suppose Archimedes fits the discription of the latter. I actually did not think he would even consider this proposition since he is so obsessed about the art of magic and witchery. He did not have a way to sheathe the sword so he had no other choice than to carry it around in his free hand. Once we had claimed what few items were worthwhile and handy, we left the sombre battlefield to continue on our own endeavor in the desert. A modest sense of decency usually made me refrain from secrecy, yet I sensed it would avert complications if I was only selectively truthful to my companion. I had deliberately neglected to inform Archimedes that I had never visited the Tomb of Barkur before and only had vague knowledge of its whereabouts. They say the abandoned edifice is haunted or even cursed but I never believed in those superstitions. Those rumors were probably just exerted upon our community to discourage foolhardy adventurers from seeking out the tomb to disrupt the peace of the fallen warlord's grave. The entrance was allegedly sealed but it would be nothing but a minor obstacle for a tenacious intruder. It would not be able to keep the malicious intent of Zervas' agents at bay.

Another few hours went by and my leg muscles throbbed with pain from the strenous walk through the desert. It was the satisfactory sort of agony which confirmed that my body was pushed to the edge and challenged by healthy exertion. Undesired thirst emerged subtly like a viper slithering through the scrubs on its hunt for prey, yet even if my companion had no need for hydration, I wanted to conserve our meager supply of water wisely. We eventually came across a rare sight and it instantly caused a moment of distraction for me. A fierce battle had erupted between two respectable predators of the desert, albeit relatively small, namely a Deathstalker scorpion and a venomous tarantula. The arachnid had already reared up into its threat posture to intimidate its aggressive rival, though the quivering raised tail of the scorpion implied that it had no intention to back down without a fight. This decisive clash of life and death was executed and concluded over the course of mere seconds. The tarantula lunged swiftly at its opponent to inject venom through a bite, yet the scorpion anticipated the attack and dodged it with sheer evasion, then trapped a hairy spider leg in one of its pinchers with a snap. In spite of the menacing size of this pincher, it was not particularly strong and inflicted little damage to its adversary. As one would expect from a scorpion, its true weapon was located elsewhere and the pincher kept the arachnid temporarily stuck. It was a risky gamble with life to keep the tarantula this close as it could have seized the opportunity to counter with a bite, but it instinctually panicked and attempted to twist the leg out of the pincher to retreat – fatal mistake. The scorpion exploited the state of vulnerability to penetrate the tarantula's abdomen with the stinger from above, injecting lethal venom into its defenseless rival.

This was not a battle of strength but of quickness and wits. The tarantula hissed weakly as its body sunk into a state of contraction while the venom gradually corroded it from within. Archimedes frowned and followed me questioningly with his eyes as I diverted from our trail for a brief moment to approach this tiny victor of the inconspicuous battle. The scorpion was wary of my presence and seemed ready to defend itself against the next enemy hungry for blood. I kneeled slowly down and carefully picked the scorpion up, capturing it inside my large fist with the obvious risk of being stung. It would hurt but I reckoned that the venom would be significantly less potent immediately after the last attack. The scorpion shuffled inside my fist but did not use its stinger. I then raised my fist from the sand and opened my hand to see the bold little survivor presented on my palm. It did not seem pleased with the higher altitude, but somehow, it must have sensed that I did not pose a threat in spite of my intimidating size. After my fateful encounter with the eternally incredible Dol'Krathos, my perception of the world has not been the same and a specific phase spoken by the deity was etched into my mind.

“Physical prowess surges through the bodies of every living organism in the wilderness which instinctually strives to survive the hazards of the food chain and contributes to the proliferation of its species. The course of nature ensures that the strong shall prevail whilst the weak will fall to nourish the victors of survival. A warrior is much more than an armed combatant who seeks glory in battle; every survivor has proven themselves to be adept fighters and the wilderness, which you are all part of, is the true “battlefield” which beckons for my supervision.”

Warriors truly do come in all shapes and sizes. An interesting aspect of this revelation was that Dol'Krathos indirectly insinuated that our community was affiliated with a doctrine remarkably similar to what is practiced by the tribesmen of Niévahna. Our cultural ideologies differed significantly and we did not concur with what aspects of life were worthy of reverence, yet our communities were still spiritually intertwined by the mutual attunement to nature, exerted in correlation with our own individual perception of the world. Even though I already had grown fond of our tribal comrades from Niévahna, the words of the sacred chieftain of war echoed in my mind and generated a sense of cohesion which connected to the tribal community as a whole. They live in harmony with nature while we relish every opportunity we get to challenge it. We earn our position in the food chain as we survive the harsh climate and feed on the flesh of slain wildlife, always ready to raise our weapons against people who seek to leech on the advantages of our conquered territory or even claim it for themselves. Although our community was significantly divided, we barbarians still had one thing in common – we all concurred to the philosophy that there was no greater sensation than to clash with a worthy adversary in combat, so close and personal that you can smell him perspire from induced fear. One could say we are addicted to the thrill and risk of close combat since it is downright intoxicating to emerge victorious from a dramatic battle which could have gone both ways. This arose as one of the few incidents where our mindset was more comparable with the knights of Zalsaroth as they also seemed inclined to prefer melee. I just thought they would enjoy the experience more if they scrapped those armors and left themselves more exposed to danger.

The scorpion jittered in my palm as an abominably unholy phenomena suddenly emerged and made an ominous appearance behind the sandy dunes in the distance. This experience was downright surreal and could only be associated with the practice of black magic. What I initially thought was a comprehensive cloud of smoke turned out to be a thick manifestation of animated darkness, which rose from a concealed location and expanded at a quick pace to devour the blue sky above. Our uncoordinated search for the Tomb of Barkur had evidently only led us within the vicinity of the target but this conspicuous phenomena thoroughly marked our destination. The ritual had begun. Zervas' agents had a great advantage with their inevitable head start yet I deemed it a remarkable accomplishment to conclude that we had successfully caught up with them before it was too late. They found Barkur before us, but as long as the ritual was incomplete, there was time to interfere and ultimately thwart their wicked plot. We only had one chance to avert this threat so we would have to make it count. I decided to kneel down once again and release the victorious scorpion, letting him scurry away to seek shelter in his hidden burrow. Archimedes had also noticed the sinister rise of darkness from behind the dunes. It would not surprise me if every barbarian settlement within this vicinity had noticed it as well and that could complicate things if we dawdled for too long. Archimedes stepped up next to me and raised the left hand, placing it over his eyes to block out the last rays of persistent sunlight, then peered towards the direction from which the putrid manifestation of artificial darkness came.

Archimedes: That does not look natural.
Raksasha: It is not.
Archimedes: I surmise this is what we are looking for. Are you ready to do this and prepared for the worst case scenario?
Raksasha: Yes, let us go. May Dol'Krathos guide my blows.

We picked up the pace and sprinted towards the steep dunes of sand, ready to approach the tomb and assess the extend of danger and we did not slow down before the ground sloped into a sandy dune. I held the axe vertically and leaned onto the long shaft for support as we ascended to the top of the dune, and once we slowly arrived at its peak, my eyes were met by a sight which I had only beheld in the depths of my darkest nightmares. It was the dreaded Tomb of Barkur, a greatly isolated pyramid, and the thick darkness emitted from the unholy ritual oozed out of every crevice in the ancient edifice. The return of Barkur was imminent and I was ready to risk my pelt to prevent it. Archimedes and I looked briefly at each other, nodded once to express an unspoken concurrence, then descended from the other side of the sandy dune to approach the pyramid. A sensation of heat generated underneath my skin, commonly associated with alertness and the anticipation of danger. Just like any other barbarian from our community, I had never possessed arcane intuition to assess the surroundings and relied solely on my innate instincts. This atrocious exhibition of black magic was allegedly conducted by a small group, yet since Archimedes and I were alone about this endeavor, we would undoubtedly still be outnumbered and have our hands full. If only we had had time to find and organize an actual troop...

We would have to make do with what we had and hope that the combined powers of Archimedes and I was enough to thwart this ritual, regardless of the cost. I was ready to put everything at stake to make it happen. The triangular structure now towered over our bodies and we were close enough for me to put my hand on the gigantic blocks it consisted of. These bizarre edifices were ancient and had been built by a forgotten civilization which preceded my own. It remained a perplexing mystery to this date how this ancient civilization managed to build these structures, since the blocks were too large and heavy for even a strapping barbarian to budge, so the wonder was eventually concluded with superstitious theories and now we use them leisurely as if they were our own. This particular pyramid was chosen to be the tomb of Barkur the Ravager, a prison from which his wicked soul would never be able to escape, yet similar structures had been claimed and used for much different purposes. We had seemingly approached the building from the wrong side because the entrance was not here; just a plain wall with a sandy texture. Whoever came to the structure first would have found the gate sealed, since no one has been bold enough to enter the cursed tomb since the earthly remains of Barkur were placed there, not even the covetous bandits who roam through the sandy deserts in packs to plunder everything for valuables. Barkur was a villain, a maniac – a monster. Why would our community have any reason to complement his grave with valuables for the afterlife?The sole purpose with the burial was to express our esteem for his excellence in combat, though his talents were never devoted to the cause of good, then let his malicious deeds slowly fade into oblivion over time. There was nothing in there to attract or entice the greed of thieves.

In retrospect, if our community had foreseen that anyone would ever have sought to bring Barkur back from the dead, we should just have left his rotten carcass alone to slowly be digested in the belly of the desert. Archimedes and I had begun to move around the structure along the wall in search of the entrance, yet even though we anticipated great danger inside the tomb, we felt prematurely uneasy as if something hostile also lurked somewhere outside. My immediate suspicion was that our enemies had left a few units behind to stand guard close to the entrance. I picked up a vague scent through the nostrils. We were definitely not alone yet this distinctive smell could only be associated with live and sentient lifeforms. Suddenly a robust warrior rose dangerously close to us, previously submerged in the sand to hide, then charged at the scrawny lemur with a large Zweihänder equipped for battle. The barbaric warrior instinctually perceived the smaller target as an easy prey and Archimedes barely reacted in time to defend himself. He attempted to parry the much larger blade with his own short sword and the steel clashed, yet since Archimedes was an indisputable inept warrior, the stronger barbarian easily shoved him back and had him trip over his own feet. I swiftly grabbed the collar of the fallen magician to yank him out of harms way before he was flattened by the blunt sledgehammer of a second barbarian who had emerged from his hide in the sand. This guy used the skull of a deceased bovine as a helmet. The scrawny lemur got back up onto his feet in a hurry and pressed his back against mine while the two barbarians approached us slowly from different directions.

Archimedes: Let me guess; warriors from Bael'Thalas?
Raksasha: No, their heraldic emblems are different. They are also too few in numbers to constitute a troop for assault.
Archimedes: Should we kill them?
Raksasha: Just give me a second, I am trying to...

Such annoying imbeciles! They circled menacingly around us and searched for a gap in our defense to exploit and the guy who attacked Archimedes before finally found the courage to direct his violence towards me. He was evidently a young and inexperienced rookie, a dull whelp yearning to have his name glorified in the heat of battle, endowed with toned muscles which he had not yet learned to harness as a reputable warrior. The untamed eagerness led to an impairing lack of patience and eventually turned audible as he initiated the rushed attack with a loud shout, which instantly terminated the beneficial element of surprise and rendered me alert of the assault. My arm quivered from the impact as the shield absorbed the blow from the large two-handed sword, and once he stumbled close enough for me to reach, the height of my stature enabled me to pound the top of his head once with my elbow. I did not want blood to be spilled before I had identified which clan these guys came from. The blow left him greatly disoriented and I immediately pushed him against the wall of the pyramid with my arm pressed hard into his throat. His companion with the heavy sledgehammer attempted to aid his friend in peril but was paralyzed by a sense of awe when Archimedes blocked his way. Fire appeared from his fist clutched onto the hilt of the short sword and rose to engulf the metallic blade. Hand the wizard a sword, a symbolic instrument of war, and he will turn it into a flashy fire poker.

Barbarian: Oh! You do not look like one of those undead creeps...
Raksasha: How kind of you to notice. Now speak! Why have you followed us to this location?
Barbarian: I have no idea what you are talking about. We were here first! You are the one who followed us.
Archimedes: Hurry up and finish him off. Another one approaches.
Raksasha: From where?
??? : I will be damned if it is not the exquisite bloom of womanhood who ventured out to see the world and relish her newfound freedom. Well met, Sasha, and welcome home to the scorching desert.

My heart twitched by a sense of recognition and disbelief. The raspy voice was impossible to forget and I only knew one man who insistently addressed me as “Sasha” regardless of my countless protests. I have trained and exercised intensely most of my life as an adult to tone up my muscles and distance myself from the stereotypical assumption of how a woman is supposed to be within the barbarian community. Within the frames of my subconsciousness, I may even have desired to reject all traces of womanhood from my body and mind, since it brought me nothing but shame when I witnessed what pitiful state women had been reduced to through decades of repression. Nonetheless, even if his persistence occasionally left me irritable enough to snap at him, he was always there to restrain my attempts to abolish every speck of womanhood with masculinity and remind me that there are aspects of femininity to hold dear as well – very atypical for a barbarian but Jarle had always been a man who could only be defined as one of a kind. I slowly pulled my arm back from the throat of the young barbarian so that he could subtly sneak away and unite with his concerned companion with the sledgehammer. Then I turned to let my eyes rejoice at the sight of Jarle, an elderly barbarian whose muscular body had not deteriorated by age, long ivory hair tied in a high pony tail. He had to be somewhere in the early sixties and the scars embedded in his body proved that he had not grown this old due to an aversion for combat. Many of the younger barbarians admired his long beard since any sign of age and experience induced a sense of respect. Archimedes was struck by confusion.

Archimedes: Am I to assume you know this elderly man?
Raksasha: Certainly. It has been a while, Jarle. What brings you here?
Jarle: Probably the same as yourself. Igor, Yaegar and I are just scouts today so what you see is what you get.
Yaegar: I am a one-man army!
Igor: You were quickly incapacitated... and by a woman.
Yaegar: That does not count. She is huge! You did not even attack.
Igor: I was going to but then you got in my way.
Jarle: Save it for later, runts. We noticed the ominous mass of darkness from afar and came to inspect what evil it harbored. What about yourself, Sasha? I sense unwavering determination in your soul.
Raksasha: We do not have the time to explain how we acquired this information but someone seeks to bring Barkur back from the dead. The ritual has already been initiated and it must be stopped!
Jarle: Barkur the Ravager? Is this queer structure really the fabled tomb of Barkur? Not quite as fancy and stylish as I imagined it. If what you say is true, however, then I am at your service. I understand the urgency.
Raksasha: You want us to join forces, Jarle?
Yaegar: Awesome! This boring excursion is finally getting interesting. Let us follow the big woman and shatter bones together!
Jarle: Nice try, runt. I will go with Sasha. You and Igor stay here.
Yaegar: You cannot be serious.
Jarle: Before you whine and pout, hear me out. If any of the creeps attempt to escape, we will need you to stand guard and finish them off.
Yaegar: As if you ever leave anything standing, old man...
Archimedes: How do we get into this thing?
Jarle: We should come across an entrance if we follow the wall around it.
Raksasha: Alright then. Archimedes and Jarle – come with me. Once we have found a way in, Igor and Yaegar will stand guard by the entrance.

One experienced veteran, two rookie whelps and a cursed wizard – this hardly constituted an army, let alone a squad, yet we ought to appreciate any support we were able to muster. At least we had become a slightly greater force to be reckoned with in comparison to when Archimedes and I were supposed to vanguish these fiends on our own. We joined the daring barbarians and followed the wall around the structure until we came across something that resembled an entrance. Once we scrambled over the dunes on the other side of the pyramid, our eyes were met by sheer grandeur fit to complement the art of ancient architecture as the entrance was preluded by two solid pillars, lightly eroded by the inhospitable touch of the desert. The pillars had been partially engraved into the edifice for artistic purposes and the sealed gate itself was located in between – or at least it used to be. The agents of Zervas obviously did not have the authorization or means to unlock the gate, but once we sought to enter the tomb ourselves, we discovered that the thick and stony gate had been thoroughly demolished and reduced to a pile of rubble. I expected this dark ritual would be conducted by liches or necromancers, yet this thick door had not been destroyed by the impact of magic. What other vile atrocities had those agents brought into our domain?