Raazik watched furiously as the elf approached the hilt. His rage boiled with the heat of a burning blade as he watched Arweinydd place a hand upon his property, muttering to the tree in a comforting tone as though it was a small child. Arweinydd's methods were weak, and it brought the Mahjarrat every displeasure to see him touch it. Surprisingly, his mood was not lifted when he discovered that the elven ruler of these lands and supposed master of these forests was, too, unable to shift the staff. Raazik would usually have leapt at the opportunity to humiliate the elf before his old flame, and yet, he only grew more angry with the prolonging of his retrieval of the weapon. "Enough of this deception and delay!" he roared. "If the tree will not release my staff, then I shall burn it where it stands and pluck my weapon from its ashes!" Rushing forward, his body collided with Arweinydd's, toppling the elf but not breaking his grip from the staff.

As his own fingers clutched the hilt of the staff once more, an explosion of arcane energy burst forth. It manifested as a brilliant white light, corrupted and brown by flashes of black lightning. The energy surged outwards and up the shaft of the staff, which softly slid from the grasp of the tree, causing both lords to fall to the ground. When the light cleared, Raazik spotted the staff; lying on the earth between himself and Arweinydd. He did not spare a second, reaching towards the weapon and calling its name; a strange, unrepeatable sound, and the staff slid along the ground and into his waiting hand. Quickly, he rose to his feet and pointed the staff in Arweinydd's direction. 

"You," he snarled, the air fizzling with energy as the weapon was reunited with his master. "You have tried my patience for the last time, elf. Only a fool would try to outwit Lord Raazik." As he spoke, he seemed to become more solid somehow, as though his existence on this plane was becoming more confirmed, more definite. He seemed to be becoming more real, despite never having been ghost-like in the first place. "I do not know what trickery you harnessed here, but I shall return" he warned, pausing threateningly. "And when I do, I shall not only incinerate this tree, but burn the whole of Tirannwn to the ground!"

Arweinydd leapt up, readying his bow, and Rhoswen scurried to her master's side. "You have been warned, elves!" the Mahjarrat lord warned, before bursting into an inferno of purple flame. When he had vanished, the surrounding area was charred, black and dead. None of the flora close to where he had vanished had survived… Save for the elder tree, which remain tall, strong and free of not even the faintest of scorch marks. The air tasted of vomit. 

"Rhoswen, we must make haste," he said to his aide. He did not receive a reply. "Rhoswen?" he asked, looking around in a state of confusion that soon shifted into one of horror and anger. Rhoswen was gone.

[center]***[/center]

Daeyal lay in bed. He had found himself a sleeping chamber and attempted to get some rest, yet it seemed as though the weight of Gielinor rested on his shoulders. A million thoughts flew around his head: what did his future entail? How would he be rewarded for his servitude to Zaros? How long would it be until the Faceless One succeeded in bringing the Empty Lord back to this plane? How many of his brethren would fall in the process? His mind was fuzzy with anticipation. Unable to sleep, he rose from the bed and approached one of the windows. He was relatively high up in the ancient, gothic fortress, which now stood tall over the wilderness and was most likely visible for miles around, despite being absent from the skyline for the past few millennia. The Faceless One's power both impressed and bewildered him: with little effort at all, the Mahjarrat had summoned this previously ruined fortress from the very earth in which its rubble was buried, and now it stood proudly and triumphantly as though it had never been destroyed. Daeyal hoped that he would bear witness to more of the ancient power that Raazik wielded, but prayed that he would not be on the receiving end.

"Daeyal!" the familiar voice of the Faceless One rang through the tower, amplified by magical means and making it all the more fearsome as it echoed and ricocheted through the narrow corridors. Daeyal called out in response and hurried towards the stairwell, heading towards the entrance hall. "Daeyal! Do not try my patience!" Raazik boomed viciously. Eventually, the servant reached his master and found he was not alone. A fair lady, her elven heritage betrayed by her pointed ears. She did not look or sound pleased to be in the company of the Mahjarrat.

"Release me at once!" she demanded, foolishly challenging Lord Raazik. The wry witticisms that he had earlier demonstrated had all but dissipated and his facade remained as cold as the steal mask that concealed his features. He ignored Rhoswen entirely, waving a dismissive hand in her direction as chains appeared from thin air and bound the elven maiden tightly. 

"Escort our guest to the dungeon," he spoke coldly. "Take her to the deepest level. Ensure she is adequately detained." he dictated. Sensing Daeyal's intended query, he interjected. "I do not care how. Just ensure it is done." he said, before striding off down a hallway. Daeyal obeyed.