[center][u][color=black][h1]The Sixth Labour[/h1][/color][/u][/center] [hider=The Alchemist]The city of Arnheim was as busy as usual, the capital city of the country was a favoured trading location for merchants far and wide. The products being offered were as divers as the people offering them. Aside from the local merchants, there were a couple of people from a southern country across the sea, with a skin as dark as the night. They offered their valuables with a heavy accent. Creatures with faces and limbs just like humans, but completely covered in short, colourful feathers came from the far east of the continent. Their woodcraft skills were legendary even in these parts and selling or trading their items seemed to go smoothly. Stern looking humans with a greyish skin had travelled across the sea with their wares in the hopes of selling them. Money and goods transferred from owner to owner, but not always through righteous means. Thieves were always on the lookout for easy targets and therefore easy money. During market days, like this day, it was easy to ‘accidentally’ bump into someone and quickly take something from them while muttering an excuse if the target would turn around to see who had bumped into him. A tactic one man was in the middle of performing when he felt a hand on his shoulder. When he turned around he looked in the face of a female knight. Even though she wore a tunic in the colours of this country, the dark-blue eyes and light-blonde hair, which was cut at ear-length, gave away she or at least her family originated from a country up north. “Who are you?” the man asked. “Rachel Heartwood, one of the King’s Knights,” she answered curtly, with an accent that confirmed what her appearance indicated. “Return his purse,” she commanded as she narrowed her eyes. “What purse?” the man spat. “The one you just cut from his belt.” “I didn’t-” the man began to defend himself, but Rachel took his arm in a firm grip and followed the targeted man. Judging by the velvet clothes this man dressed in, he was one of wealth and therefore a desired target for thieves. When she caught up with him, she tapped on his shoulder and the man turned around. “Sir, are you missing your purse?” she asked him. The man in velvet clothes looked surprised at her before glancing down at his belt where two small pieces of leather strings with clean cuts were hanging idly down the belt. “M-my purse!” he said. “Where is-“ Rachel tapped on the clothes of the man she held until she heard the unmistakeable sound of coins hitting each other. She dug up a velvet purse with gold embroidery. The leather string tied around the top had two loose end with clean cuts and in the same colour as the strings on the belt. “That is my purse!” the man in velvet clothes exclaimed as he pointed at the other man. “Thief! You filthy-” “I’ll take care of it, sir,” Rachel promised before the man could begin his tirade and she handed the purse to him. As soon as the weight of the purse lifted from her hand, she turned around and swiftly pulled the arm of the thief up behind his back, grabbed his second arm too and walked away with him. The thief squirmed and tried to break free from her grip while uttering curses to her and her family, but she held him in a firm grip and walked with him to the sheriffs office. There he would remain in custody until someone had time to deal with him. When she emerged from the office again she looked around. It was a shame people turned to such schemes in order to make money. If there was one type of people she couldn’t stand, it were thieves. Low, dishonest people stealing from honest, hardworking people. At least this one was off the streets now and undoubtedly would get what he deserved. And with this out of the way, she could return to her initial investigation. The alchemist she was after had been spotted in this city, but she hadn’t been able to track him down. She only had a couple of days left to find him and free the two young women he held in captivity, she knew he was going to use them in some kind of ritual which would happen in the night of the blue moon. A gentle tune reached her ears and she turned her head to see where it was coming from. She noticed a man playing a lute and singing a song for a small group of people. A travelling bard, judging by the simple and somewhat worn-down clothes. For a moment she observed him as she listened to a song about a beautiful princess of the north who placed a bright star in the sky to guide her lover towards her. She walked forward and put some coins in the cup on the ground, she felt it was the least she could do. When she looked up her eyes met with the friendly light-brown eyes of the bard who nodded a thank you. She nodded back once and left the scene. She had respect for people trying to earn an honest coin through their skills and if she could she would spare some coins as appreciation for their talent and to help them get through the next day. “Rachel!” The familiar voice made Rachel stop and turn. She looked at the owner of the voice, a woman just a couple of years older than she was. The long, blonde hair fell gracefully over the shoulders and the skin was as pale as her own. For a moment she didn’t speak, but when she finally said something her voice had a cold undertone in it. “Kasandra,” she greeted the woman, “what brings you here?” “I want to help you!” Kasandra exclaimed cheerfully. “Like big sisters do.” Rachel’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, even if Kasandra was her big sister, she didn’t trust her. Not just because Kasandra didn’t mind to tell a lie or two, but she had chosen a career as thief. They walked on opposite sides of the law, but thus far Rachel was unable to bring her sister to justice, either due to lack of evidence or because of a well-performed escape trick by Kasandra. “I don’t need your help,” Rachel stated curtly and was about to turn around. “I know where the alchemist hides,” Kasandra stated. “And I know you’ve been looking for him to free those people he abducted for his experiments.” Rachel turned back to her sister. “Why would you help me with that?” “Because that’s what big sisters do, silly,” Kasandra said as she walked closer. “You’re running out of time and I want to help you. I can take you there and you can take down the alchemist, or free those people, or both!” She looked expectantly at Rachel, but didn’t get a reaction of any kind. The silence between them lingered for a few moments as Rachel contemplated the words. A part of her wasn’t ready to trust her, but it was true the new moon would be there in a few days and those people had to be freed by then. Could she trust her sister with this or was there a catch? There had to be a catch, she knew Kasandra wouldn’t do this out of the goodness of her heart. She could decline the help, she knew she could just turn around and leave, but could she really take the risk? There was of course the chance Kasandra was truthful for a change, maybe she really did want to help? “Fine,” Rachel said eventually. “Tell me where he is.” “I will show you and I will help you,” Kasandra promised as she smiled warmly at Rachel. “This way.” Together the Heartwood sisters walked down the street, but they did not speak to each other. Ever since Rachel joined the King’s Knights, she hadn’t talked much with Kasandra. While she had never approved of her sister’s career, it wasn’t until Kasandra had stolen jewellery from the princess they stood on opposing sides for the first time. Occasionally they had run into each other after that, but only when there was a crime involved which she investigated and Kasandra had committed. After leaving the busy main street, Kasandra lead Rachel towards the wealthy part of the city. The paved street was broad enough for two carriages and workers kept it clean throughout the day. Every house was an architectural masterpiece and lay behind a wall with a sturdy and often heavily decorated gate. Guards patrolled the streets day and night and several servants walked around, going from or to an assignment. While some nobles strolled over the street to catch up or gossip with neighbours, most kept to their own place unless they needed to be somewhere. In the middle of the street Kasandra stopped and pointed to a mansion behind an ornate iron gate. “That’s where he stays,” she told Rachel. “That’s the house of lady Trialca...” Rachel muttered. While she didn’t know the lady in person, she hadn’t heard much good about her. Still, none of the stories gave away the lady would be willing to participate in human sacrifice. Kasandra giggled as she grabbed her hair and tied the long strands together with a leather band. “Whatever the alchemist promised her in exchange for a hiding place, she’s not going to get it.” Her hands moved over her clothes to check if everything was she needed was present and turned to Rachel. “What do you think he promised her? Gold? Eternal youth? Probably the second, right?” Rachel looked at her sister for a moment, this moment had a familiarity to it she hadn’t felt in a while. Why Kasandra was able to talk to her as if nothing had happened between them was a mystery to her, but it was nice to talk like sisters for a moment. “I’d say the eternal youth,” Rachel agreed. “That is appealing to many young women and this family is already one of the wealthiest in the city.” She turned her attention back to the mansion. “I doubt the lady would let us meet with the alchemist,” she sighed. “I don’t know how...” “Easy, just say you want to talk to lady Trialca about her missing bracelet.” “How do you know,” Rachel began when she noticed the grin her sister gave. “You stole it,” she sighed. “Look at it from the bright side,” Kasandra replied cheerfully. “I’ve been inside before and I know where we have to be.” The idea seemed to work, after ringing the bell a servant came to the door. Upon explaining the reason for their visit, they were allowed access to the house. The servant brought them to a waiting room. The room was equipped with some of the finest furniture, to show the wealth of the family to the waiting guests. The servant promised he would get lady Trialca and left. A few moments later Kasandra opened the door to see if the servant was out of sight. She smirked when she saw the empty hallway. “This way,” she whispered as she beckoned Rachel to follow her. They silently walked over the thick red carpet covering the floor so they wouldn’t draw the attention from any of the servant or the noble family themselves. There were several statues and painting in the hallway, but Rachel hardly looked at them. All she wanted was to bring the alchemist to justice and free his captives. Kasandra opened a door which lead deeper in the mansion and pointed to another door which had a few symbols carved into it. “That is where we have to be,” she whispered. “That is the alchemists room.” Rachel nodded and walked over to the door. After she opened it and carefully peeked inside to see if it was safe, she walked inside she looked around. Aside from some expensive looking furniture and a door on the other side, she couldn’t see much out of the ordinary. As Rachel went towards the other door, Kasandra went to a mahogany cabinet and opened the drawers. That sound caught Rachel’s attention and she walked back, but Kasandra didn’t pay any attention to her. When she found a locked drawer she bend down and started picked it. “Let’s go,” Rachel whispered. “Hush,” Kasandra whispered back. It didn’t take her long to unlock the drawer and when she opened it her eyes lit up. She carefully took a smooth golden sphere from it. “There it is,” she whispered. “The alchemist’s stone. This is what I was after.” She smiled sweetly at Rachel. “I knew they would let you in, being a knight and all that. This place is not easy to break in to, you know.” “Put that sphere back,” Rachel whispered. “We came here to free those people.” “You did, I didn’t.” Kasandra winked as she stepped back. “Thanks for your help, sis, I couldn’t have done it without you, but you’re on your own. I don’t want to mess with the alchemist.” “I knew I couldn’t trust you,” Rachel hissed. “At least tell me where they are.” “I don’t know, okay?” Kasandra said in a hushed voice, “I only know the alchemist is here and that he brought his stone.” She turned around to leave, looking at the large piece of gold which was hers now. With the golden distraction in her hand, she noticed a tall vase too late and knocked it over. Almost immediately after it loudly shattered into small pieces the door on the other side opened and a tall man with short, black hair emerged. Rachel recognized him instantly, it was the alchemist. “My stone,” he grumbled, when he noticed it in Kasandra’s hand. “Hector, fetch.” A creature with the body of a mountain cat and two heads, one of a fox and one of a wolf, emerged from the room and growled ominously. “Run!” Kasandra said as she darted off. Rachel didn’t waste a moment and quickly followed her. The creature took off and followed the two intruders, but due to its speed and size it ran into the wall of the hallway and it shook its heads, before going after the two intruders again. The Heartwood sisters ran through the mansion with the creature closing in on them. Kasandra opened the door leading into the kitchen and Rachel closed it behind her. A loud thud of something heavy colliding with the door came mere seconds later, that was how close the creature had gotten. They ran through the kitchen where the startled kitchen staff didn’t know how to react, and left the house. The creature had opened the door by now and continued it’s pursuit through the kitchen and into the garden. When it caught up with Rachel, the fox head bit down in her arm and she screamed, but she took her knife with her free hand and lashed out, making a cut in the creature’s flesh. The fox-head whined and released her arm. Kasandra was half-way through the garden and went straight for the brick wall at the end. The creature sped up to catch her, as she was the one carrying the treasure of the master, and jumped up. The paws hit her back and she fell down, but before either head could bite, Kasandra smacked the heavy golden sphere against one head, which smacked into the other. The dazed creature shook both heads and Kasandra quickly got up again. Rachel took advantage of the moment too and followed her sister to the wall. After Kasandra agilely got on the wall she waited for Rachel. She helped her up and once her sister was sitting next to her, she winked once and jumped down. “Kasandra!” Rachel called after her. “Until next time!” Kasandra called back. Rachel came down from the wall too and looked at her arm. Behind her she heard two different barks, the creature obviously stood on the other side of the wall. She quickly walked away through the small streets and alleys until she reached the main street of Arnheim again. She held her injured arm and glared at anyone who looked a bit too long at her, this could have gone worse than it had, but she was disappointed with how it had gone and angry at herself for allowing this to fail so miserably. She reminded herself that at least she knew where the alchemist was, but it was a shallow comfort. She needed a new plan, especially with that freak creature at his side. Maybe one of her fellow knights could help her, none of them would betray her like her sister had. She scowled when she thought about that, once again Kasandra had proven she couldn’t be trusted and she got away with this theft too. The worst part of it was that Kasandra used her in her scheme this time and it got them in serious danger. One day she would make sure Kasandra would get what she deserved and proof that in the long run a life of crime doesn’t pay off. [/hider][hider=Black and White][h2]Black and White.[/h2] "There is no Emotion, there is Peace." Jedi Knight Alu Kabh muttered softly under his breath, trying to remain calm and banish the anger from his mind. This was much harder then the Jedi Knight would care to admit; The dark presence that walked beside him made his skin crawl and poisoned his mind with the violent thoughts that he was trying to banish. Lord Drakon of the Sith had long been a persistent and twisted thorn in the Order's side, the dark human having personally been the cause of several planets that [i]should[/i] have belonged to the Republic to be conquered by the Sith but that wasn't what made him such a danger to the Order and the Republic; Other Sith Lords could conquer planets, but Lord Drakon conquered and ruled them in such a way that the masses [i]wanted[/i] to be apart of the Sith Empire. Of the four planets that Drakon had command of, only two of them had been reclaimed by the Republic after two [i]very[/i] costly campaigns. The grassroots support and freedom fighters that the Republic often relied on to give them tactical information and insider knowledge of the corrupt Sith government just hadn't exist on these worlds; The population, both human and non human, were content with being apart of the Empire to the point that the Republic was now fighting a guerrilla war on both worlds against rebels who wanted to return to the Sith Empire. Alu Kabh couldn't understand back when he had first set foot on Herbi Two what sort of dark magic the Sith Lord had been employing to ensure such devote loyalty in his population; He had been forced to watch as good republican solders were cut down by blasters and makeshift bombs while friends he had known all his life in the Order were brutally murdered trying to defend themselves from mobs of citizens that shouted misguided lies about fighting for their freedom from the corrupt Republic. Even has he walked beside the captured Lord of the Sith, he still didn't understand how the bastard was able to do it. A part of Alu Kabh had been thrilled by the thought of finally being able to put the Sith Lord down for all the lives that he had destroyed, but the bastard had denied him even that small justice! A Sith Lord was supposed to be backed into a corner and go down fighting, only considering surrender after they had been bested; Lord Drakon had offered terms of surrender out of the blue, willing presenting himself to the Jedi in return for leaving the last two planets under his domain in the hands of the Sith Empire. Alu looked around as they arrived at their destination; A little used hanger bay. Alu Kabh might have been the only Jedi among the small group of escorts, but he knew that the men with him were capable and loyal enough to do what needed to be done. He couldn't afford to bring his apprentice along for this; She was too ideological to do what needed to be done... besides, he remembered how Drakon had been able to make her smile, blush and laugh when she had come down with him to question the Sith Lord that first time. She simply could not be counted on. Drakon took a moment to look around at the unused hanger bay before letting out a sigh. Turning around enough to meet Alu's gaze, Alu saw an understanding acceptance in the Sith Lords gaze as the man simply said "I take it that this is were you'll kill me then. I have to admit that I expected better from you." The blue lightsaber in Alu's hand sprang to life with a deadly hiss, its owner glaring at the man that he hated more then any other in the world. "Save your lies [i]Sith[/i]." He hissed with a venom that would have made a Darth proud "I don't know what foul sorcery you've used to poison those forced to live on your worlds, but once you're gone I can feel that the spell will break and everything will be as it should be." Drakon looked... somewhat confused by the allegation that had been thrown his way, but Alu would not fall for such a lie. Before the Sith Lord would have a chance to try and fill the air with more lies to cast doubt on his righteous cause, Alu drew his lightsaber back to - "MASTER! STOP!" Alu's hand froze as he and those solders with him turned towards the door that they had entered the hanger through. Standing there was a young Twi'lek woman that had just left her teens and had become an adult, blessed with beauty and a gift with the force. Her name was Sakka, and she was not alone. Around here, armed with a mix of blasters and vicroblades was a rag tag group of what could have only been imperial rebels. The jedi knight turned to glare at the Sith Lord, seething as he declared "How [i]dare[/i] you have your puppets take my apprentice hostage!" "I am [i]NOT[/i] a hostage Master." Sakka declared, drawing her lightsaber but leaving it unlit for the moment as she started to approach "I had a vision of what you were going to do and I called on the only people I knew I could trust to help me stop this insanity before it got out of hand." Sakka had tears in her eyes as a begging tone entered her voice "Please Master, you're about to strike down an unarmed, restrained man. Think about what you are doing." For a moment, Alu felt uncertainty. Doubt plagued him as he questioned himself and his course of action; The Order forbid the execution of prisoners, no matter what it was that they had done... Suddenly, he blinked as he resolve steeled itself once more. "This is no man, merely a monster that looks like one. Don't you see Sakka? He is controlling you like he is controlling them!" A finger was raised and pointed at the rebels that were aiming at the republic solders with him in a tense stand off "The sooner he dies, the sooner this dark spell will be over and everything will be set right!" Turning wildly, Alu rose his lightsaber up to make the killing blow while blasters from both both republic and rebel sides fired... only for a green lightsaber blade to exit his chest. Alu looked down at the lightsaber blade in confusion before turning to look at his student, tears in her eyes as she held the hilt of her lightsaber so tightly that her knuckles were white. "I'm so sorry..." were the last words that Alu ever heard before the darkness consumed him completely. ......................................................... The battle had been short lived. Without Alu to counter Sakka's abilities, the republican solders fell quickly to the loyalist assault. Lord Drakon was freed with much celebration by the loyalists, but the Sith Lord's attention was on the Jedi who had struck down her master to save his life. She was so pale that she looked almost lifeless as she stared at the corpse of her mentor. Taking a few steps to join her, he barely managed to hear her whisper aloud "Why? Why did he do this?" Clearly it was meant to be a rhetorical question, but Sakka appeared to listen when Drakon softly spoke "Your master fell into an insidious trap that many fall into without realizing. He has spent his whole life being taught that there was only black and white, good and evil; That the Jedi and the Republic were good and the Sith and the Empire evil. He believed this so greatly that the moment he encountered evidence to suggest otherwise he denied it to the point of disillusion. You might have wielded the blade, but it was your masters own narrow minded zealotry that brought about his end." ~Based on the Star Wars Franchise, once owned by Lucas Arts and now owned by Disney.[/hider][hider=Of Monsters and Men]By [@Holmishire]. Melas awoke, soaked to the core, on a bed of hard rock. Aching all over his body, he touched a shaking hand to his right shoulder and drew it back coated in blood. Sitting up—and instantly regretting it as he let loose a cry of pain—Melas spared a moment to take in his surroundings. The rock on which he'd fallen was a matte black, part of an outcropping five yards wide. This slab of rock was one of many sticking out of a similarly formed cliff-face. Stretching and curving for miles to either side, the boy thought he could see a distant wall of rock opposite him, through a vast haze of fog. Looking to his left, he spied a massive waterfall, its roar beginning to sound in his ears as they adjusted to consciousness. Some ten yards up the raging water was another outcropping of rock, stained with blood. [I]I must have fallen from there,[/I] he pondered, pulling at his dripping clothes. Feeling something jabbing at his back, he reached around, his hand grasping a rough, conical item tied by a string around his neck. Lifting it carefully over his head with his left hand—and yet still wincing as the movement strained his bleeding shoulder—he placed it on his lap to get a good look at it. Set with a sturdy leather cap, it appeared to be a hollowed ram's horn. "The [I]cornucopia[/I]," he gasped. He remembered. [I]The flapping of wings, the rush of wind, the sting of sweat and blood.[/I] Chased by a trio of harpies, he and his brother had flown out of the massive pit in the earth on the back of a pegasus. Their precious cargo, powerful items stolen from a weakened Gaia, would prove crucial to their success in the war against the gods. The [I]harpe[/I], a sickle that castrated a titan and beheaded a gorgon. The stone tablet of [I]Ara[/I], cut from the same alter that had marked the gods' defiance to the Titans. And the [I]cornucopia[/I], which he now carried, containing an unlimited supply of ambrosia. Uncorking the horn, he poured its contents over his shoulder. Biting back a scream as the ambrosia healed his flesh, Melas nevertheless felt euphoria as it entered his bloodstream. Had he drank it directly, the liquid would surely have driven him mad—but though distant, his partially divine heritage prevented the shock from killing him outright. Rising with renewed vigour, Melas considered the direness of his situation. He and his brother had been under the protection of the two boreads, winged brothers of the North wind. He could only hope that after he had been thrown off by the harpies the other three had escaped the pit into the forests beyond. Judging by the fact that they had yet to retrieve him, they either assumed him dead, or the harpies were still at large, preventing them from returning by air. Knowing his brother, it was likely the latter. That, or they were all dead. Either way, he needed to find a way out of this pit. An immense cylindrical hole in the earth, Gaia rested in a deeper crevasse at the centre, reaching deep into the bowels of the earth. It was here that the entire war had started. Bearing a plague that stripped the gods of the their divine powers and immortality, Ouranos limped into his mother's arms—and from her it spread to the rest of the world. Ever greedy, humanity rose up to overthrow Mount Olympus's rule. In the first battle, however, they faced a brutal shock: though the gods could now be killed, they still bore the strength of a thousand men—each. With their very existence under threat, Zeus had but one one decree—the complete genocide of the human race. Melas began to carefully descend the cliff-face. Going down was demoralizing, but the pit was [I]at least[/I] a mile deep. There was no way he'd be able to climb the whole way up. Thankfully, he knew cave systems and stairs existed that would take him to the top—he just didn't know where to find any of them. [hr]Hours had passed since he'd awoken, and the only progress he'd made was in retrieving his sheathed sword, found at the base of the cliff. Now, all he could content himself with was walking the entire circular edge of the pit, scanning the black rock for an entrance—or at least some hint as to where he would find one. The pervasive fog kept him on edge. From time to time, he could hear the shrill shrieks of the harpies as they flew above, guarding their home from intruders—it seemed they had abandoned their search for his companions. Unsurprisingly, for the surrounding forests were even more vast than the pit itself. But what really kept his skin crawling was the unknown. He knew Gaia's pit was teeming with all sorts of vile creatures. He knew how to fight, but the monsters of old were far beyond his ability to kill, least of all with the short sword he wielded. Give him a spear, and maybe he'd stand a chance. A noise, to his right. Melas ducked low to the ground, his sword drawn as he scanned the fog for movement. He thought he'd heard a distinctly reptilian hiss. A slight figure strode out of the fog—humanoid and wrapped in a thick cloak. As it drew closer, he could make out a feminine figure beneath her robes. "Come no closer!" he shouted, voice hoarse. "I'm armed." She made no sign that she heard his threat, but drew slowly to a halt nevertheless. After a moment of silence, she pulled back her hood. What was revealed sent Melas reeling in fear: a soft, girlish face; yellow, scaley skin; and a dozen writhing snakes for hair. He closed his eyes in a panic, but it took him only a moment's realization to remember a detail he'd missed—a blindfold, pulled tight over her eyes. Looking again, he approached her with his blade pointed at her throat. "I know what you are, [I]gorgon[/I]. My great-grandfather slew one of your ilk—I can do the same." Still, she offered no reaction. Once the blade was but inches from her skin, she gently gripped his shaking hand and pushed it down. "I can taste your fear, human. You need not fear me. I shall do you no harm." Melas scowled, but restrained himself from making any threatening gestures. "Monsters are known to deceive their prey. Your wiles will do nothing for me." "I was not always such a creature. It was not long ago that I was a goddess—a few centuries to a mortal." She graced him with a despondent smile, touching the edge of her blindfold—Melas tensed, ready to strike should she attempt to remove it. Her smile, weak already, wavered. Still, she continued. "Perseus could not kill me, times have changed. Now, I am just as mortal as you." "Then why shouldn't I kill you now?" "Because I need you." Melas barked a brusque laugh. "Hardly a good defence." He raised his blade only for the gorgon to push it aside once more. "I know how to get out of this pit, but I need you to do it." Melas was visibly struggling with the idea, his grip on the sword less sure. A shriek of a harpy punctuated the silence, making him jump. "Please," the gorgon murmured. The boy's eyes set with determination. "Fine." He gestured towards the cliff-face, then realized the futility of such a motion. "Lead the way," he said instead. [hr]They had been walking for quite some time, the gorgon slowly treading the circumference of the pit much as Melas had, but using her left hand instead of her eyes. Unable to bear the silence any longer, the boy opened his mouth to speak— "My name is Euryale." Her voice was oddly soothing, but he was still startled by the interruption. "How did you do that?" "I could hear the change of your breath." Melas thought that over. "Is that how you found me?" "No." He thought he could hear a hint of self-satisfaction in her tone. "It is rare to find the stench of a human down here. You are fortunate I found you first." "That has yet to be seen. Keep looking." "I know where I'm going," she replied indignantly. He chose not to respond. After a couple more minutes, Euryale stopped, her hand resting in a straight groove in the cliff-face, difficult to distinguish amidst the natural edges of the black rock. Melas looked closely at the groove. "Well?" he asked. Euryale pointed up and a little to the right. "I need you to get me up there." Her aim was off, but Melas could easily make out a large outcropping some distance up. "How?" he almost whined. "By climbing. Do you have rope?" He grunted in assent. "Then pull me up when you get there." Sitting down on the dirt, she made herself comfortable for a long wait. "Good luck, human." "Melas," he grumbled. The barest hint of a smile edged her lips. "Good luck, Melas." [hr]The climb was difficult, but the ambrosia's long-lasting effects gave him the strength to persevere. He had only fallen once, his quick reflexes saving him from shattering below by catching hold of the rock further down. Drenched in chilling sweat, he pulled himself over the ledge and flopped onto his back, panting. Almost four times larger than the outcropping he'd fallen to by the waterfall, it receded into the cliffside out of sight. Once he'd gathered his breath, he rose to investigate. The recession stretched deep into the cliff, expanding into a dark cave. Reluctant, he returned to the edge, planted himself behind some rocks for footholds, and threw the rope over the edge. He had tied a small stone to the end so that is would click against the cliff as it fell, allowing the gorgon to find it easily without her eyes. After a few moments, the rope pulled taut. Heaving up the rope hand over hand, Melas found himself surprised at just how light she was. Once her hands gripped the ledge, he went to her, grabbed her wrists, and thrust her up to join him. "Thank you." "Don't mention it." He grimaced. "Please." Euryale approached the entrance, feeling the walls with her hands. The snakes on her head hissed as they reached out, tongues tasting the cold air emanating from inside. She reached a hand out behind her, not turning to face him. "Take my hand. I know the way." Melas quickly searched his gear. "My torches broke when I fell—how will I see?" "You won't. You'l just have to trust me." Scoffing, he turned back to face the pit. As if to punctuate his thoughts, he heard the shriek of the harpies in the distance. "Or, you could trust [I]them[/I]." He took her hand. [hr]Her hand was cold and delicate, encompassed by his own calloused mitt. In the absence of light, Melas was left nearly alone with his thoughts, his only connection to the external environment their echoing stpes and the tiny grip of Euryale's hand. Deprived of his sight, it took constant effort for him to remember that the creature leading him was a fallen goddess, a bloodthirsty monster cursed for her vanity—and [I]not[/I] a sweet young maiden, lost in the dangerous wilds as much as him. A girl who couldn't see. "Why the blindfold?" he asked, breaking the silence. "Couldn't you have made it up here without me with your eyes open?" Euryale did not answer for some time. When she did, she spoke barely above a whisper. "I never had the ability to petrify others with my gaze, if that's what you're asking. That was my sister." She paused, and when she continued, it was with a voice somehow even quieter. "But that didn't prevent your kin from cutting them out when they found me." Melas was left speechless. "So, no, I did not don the blindfold for your sake." [hr]A few hours of wandering through the cave systems, twisting and turning down innumerable ranches, Melas was decidedly lost. He was amazed that the gorgon knew such a complicated route by heart—and he considered the possibility that she [I]didn't[/I]. His only reassurance was the confidence of her stride. As they rounded another corner, still on their slow ascent, he caught sight of something—a feat in and of itself in this darkness. Asking her to stop for a moment, he knelt down to get a closer look. "What is it?" she asked, standing over him. In front of Melas was a lone piece of wood, light emanating from a substance on its surface. "Foxfire," he explained, a glowing fungus found on rotting wood." He began to collect some of it to help light the way, but Euryale tapped him on the shoulder. "Don't bother, there will be more." He wrapped up what little he had gathered then turned to take hold of her hand again. Euryale was looking ahead, he snakes lethargic and fearful, anxiety painted in broad strokes across her face. "We enter the mines." [hr]She had not lied. This section of the caves was dominated by tunnels carefully carved from the stone, discarded support beams showing up frequently, their rotting cores bursting open with the soothing lime flow of the foxfire. Euryale had given no explanation as to what about the mines made her so apprehensive, and every time her had tried to pry the information from her, she had abruptly shushed him, listening intently as she walked. No longer needing to walk hand-in-hand with the gorgon, Melas distracted himself with his sword, swinging it through the air in complicated series of arcs and jabs, taking down imaginary foes. Despite his skill, 'twould be a foolish sight to behold, were there anyone present to see it. The two came upon a large chamber, teeming with foxfire. Scattered across the room were discarded carts, tools, and even a few long-dried bones—though no fully intact skeletons. Picking up what he assumed to be a bull's thigh-bone, he tossed it towards Euryale. She caught it deftly without breaking stride, setting it on the floor silently. "We'll make camp here. Set up a fire, and I shall take first watch." "Aye, whatever you say." Dropping his gear by one of the carts, he set about gathering the least rotten wood he could locate for burning. As he explored the chamber, he found signs of violence. Carts knocked over, wooden beams broken in two, and most unnerving of all large claw marks on the rocky floor. With a quickly collected load, he returned to the site where he'd left Euryale. While he was away, she had gone through his things, setting up his sleeping roll and tossing him a chunk of bread. Stuffing it into his mouth, he dropped the wood in the centre of the makeshift camp before fiddling with his fire-starting tools. "What happened to the miners working here?" Her response was hesitant, but at least better than the nothing he'd received all day. "They were chased out, by hounds of basalt. Those who remained, died." She thought for a moment. "Those who fled, likely also died." Melas felt a chill run down his spine. "And you didn't feel the need to [I]tell[/I] me about these hounds?" "No." Her voice was low, almost sad. "I did not wish to worry you. Besides," she looked him in the eye, "most have already been slain." "Humans don't just kill things, you know," he grumbled. "Things kill us too." "I know." She smiled at him, despondently. "But we are dwindling. Humans will always make more of themselves." Not if Zeus has his way. They mean to kill us [I]all[/I], just like the Giants. Just like the Titans. Only [I]we[/I] won't come back." He spat on the rock. "All we did was balance the playing field. The plague was our chance at freedom." Euryale looked away. "I am sorry, I did not mean to offend you. But you must know that every war has consequences. Many innocents have suffered for your arrogance." Melas opened his mouth to retort, but she silenced him with a raised finger. "I know, you wish only to protect your kin. Now sleep, I will watch over you." The gorgon began to hum, and soon her voice seeped into his sore bones, lulling him to sleep. She guided him gently to his sleeping roll and tucked him in. As his eyes shut, all he could hear was the crackling of the fire an the humming of her voice. [hr]Silence. As he rose groggily from where he'd slept, he heard nothing but silence. Where the fire before had crackled humbly, giving off sweet warmth, now there lay only cold ashes. He looked around the camp for Euryale, but she was nowhere to be seen. What he did find, however, was a trail of golden blood. Drawing his sword, he followed the trail at a slow, deliberate pace, careful not to make a sound. It lead him through and out of the main chamber, down a winding tunnel with only sparse sproutings of foxfire to light the way. Here, the damage he'd seen earlier, continued: the walls criss-crossed with deep gouges, the shattered wooden beams. As the tunnel levelled off, Melas heard movement ahead—the sound of stone scraping against stone, and loud, infrequent barks. His heart racing, he slipped into another illuminated chamber. Smaller and more roughly-hewn than the last one, it was covered in pieces of shattered rock, and the scattered remains of numerous skeletons, many fully intact. Fox-fire coated the walls—in contrast to the relative darkness he'd grown used to, it felt light daylight, albeit lime-coloured. In the centre of the chamber lay an immense hound, nearly two men tall and plenty thick. It's body was covered in a scaly rock-like shell, leaving only its belly exposed. For now, it slept, scraping the ground with its claws in troubled sleep, whining and barking on occasion. And across from it lay Euryale. Unwilling to leave her behind, he slowly edged his way around the beast until he was kneeling at her side. Her frail body was bloody and battered, a thick gash stretching across her stomach. Her throat was torn open, oozing golden blood, and both her legs seemed crushed. Still, placing a hand over her chest, he could feel her heart beating. Had she not once been a goddess, she'd surely be dead. As things stood, she was not far off. Unslinging the [I]cornucopia[/I] from his back, he tilted up her chin and poured some of its potent contents down her gullet. Shortly, she began to gurgle and choke, her flesh reforming around her throat. Next, he poured some onto the gash on her stomach, sealing it. As she started to regain consciousness, he hiked up her skirt and—generously applying the liquid to his hands, rubbed ambrosia into her legs. Her eyes fluttering open, she looked at him. "The hound..." she mumbled, gesturing in its direction. "Be quiet, everything's gonna be fine." He could feel the bones in her legs begin to reset under his touch. Euryale stiffened, suddenly alert, and gripped his shoulder. "I'm going to scream," she stated, matter-of-factly. "Don't be an idiot—" "When I scream, you need to slit its throat." "What?" "Cover your ears." He looked over at the hound. No longer was it lying on the ground. No longer was it whining in its sleep. No longer was it moving. It stood still, staring straight at them with unblinking eyes. "[I]Cover your ears.[/I]" "Wha—?" Tearing his hands off her legs, she slapped them firmly on either side of his head. And screamed. The sound tore into his being, the vibrations in his bones almost tearing him apart. Never before had he felt pain so excruciating. Never before had he been so incapacitated. She screamed for a good twenty second, then out of breath, stopped. The ensuing relief left Melas feeling hollow, powerless. His ears still rang—still bled, too. Opening his eyes, the world fuzzy around him, he saw the stone hound keeled over in pain, scratching at its ears with its claws. Looking to his side, he saw his sword lying on the ground where he'd dropped it. He saw himself pick it up, but felt not his grip. He watched as he lurched towards the hound, not aware of his own wight. He brought his sword up, and ended it with a single downwards swipe. The last he could make out before succumbing to the black was Euryale, leaning over him with the [I]cornucopia[/I] in hand, rocking him onto his side so she could get a better look at his ears. [hr]He awoke, again, in their makeshift campsite, feeling none the worse for wear. Rolling onto his side, he saw the roaring fire, tenderly tended by Euryale. She held out a slab of cooked meat, and he snatched it from her hand, ravenous. Just as he was about to take a bite, he reconsidered, and looked up at her. "Is this..." "Yes." "Are you [I]serious[/I]?" "... Yes." He pondered that for a moment. "How do you know its safe to eat?" In response, she licked her lips and pointed to a small pile of bone, freshly charred and picked clean. That being all the evidence he needed, he dug in. Once he had torn all the meat, he wiped a hand across his mouth to speak. "So, you..." She raised a hand, silencing him. "My youngest sister had her eyes. I have my voice." She smiled at him. "Thankfully, my gift need not be lethal." The two sat in silence, enjoying one another's company. After the moment had drawn out long enough, she spoke. "When we leave this place—" "No." Melas's face was suddenly grim—though inside, his emotions were in conflict. "I'm sorry Euryale. I am human, and you are not. Once I leave this cave... I will go my way. And you... you will yours." Tears streamed down her cheeks, staining her blindfold, and yet she made not a sound. It was not long before they set out again, leaving the fire to burn out on its own. [hr]Once they had left the mines behind, there was very little to traverse before reaching the surface. After only a few more hours of walking, Melas saw the faint glow of light. Instead of rushing out with joy, Melas lagged behind, allowing Euryale to take the lead again. He dared not admit it even to himself, but the coward in him hoped she would already be gone by the time he left the cave, should he walk slow enough. What laid in wait, however, was a fate far more sinister. Standing stiff at the entrance, Euryale faced not empty air, but two men. The surviving boread, and Melas's own brother. He looked to his brother, saw the insatiable hate in his eyes, a hate he reserved only for the gods. He looked to the gorgon, tears sparkling in the starlight, slumped in quiet acceptance of defeat. He knew could only choose one. So Melas took his sword and plunged it through her gut, watching the blade burst out the other side. She leaned into him, her golden blood staining his clothes, her head falling to his shoulder. With pain coursing through her body, she wailed. This wail, though it pierced his heart, was neither the paralyzing cry she'd used to defeat the hound, nor was it the enchanting song she'd used to hum him to sleep. This wail was naught but raw emotion, carrying over the dimly lit forest in testimony to a dying grief—and echoing into the pit below. When it ceased, she slumped to her knees, looking up to him. [I]All gods are monsters.[/I] He tore his blade free from her gut. He could not see behind her blindfold—and even if he could, he knew she had no eyes. But in that moment, he gaze bore into him. [I]All monsters must die.[/I] The gaze that bore into him as he raised the sword high above his head for a final swing was not one of rage, nor of sadness. [I]She is a god. She is a monster. She [/I]must[I] die.[/I] The gaze he felt was filled with forgiveness. Just as he prepared himself to take her head, his lifelong companions rushing to his supposed aid, a shriek pierced the air. The shriek of a harpy. Summoned by her wail, they swept towards the four figures, ready to kill. The fastest struck Melas square in the side, sending him sprawling towards his brother, his blade lost. Blood would soon be spilled. [hr]It was not long before Euryale heard the screams and cries of battle, the three heroes of men facing off against the three winged sisters. Her mind and body racked with pain, Euryale's only thoughts were of survival. Gripping her bleeding stomach with her left arm, she pulled herself back towards the caves, leaving a golden trail behind her. Talons pierced her shoulder, and she groaned in pain as they tightened to grip her bone. Flipping her onto her back, the harpy grinned down at her. Euryale, too weak to scream, could only wince at the voice that breathed down upon her. Aello gently laid a talon on the gorgon's face and ever-so-slowly dragged it down her cheek, turning the claw into a blade of gold. "Poor little gorgon," she teased. "Trying to to escape her duty to the [I]earth-mother[/I]." She twisted her shoulder between her talons, the bone straining under the tremendous strength of the harpy. "Trying to escape her duty to the [I]gods[/I]." With an extra flick, the bones shattered, and Euryale moaned in agony. "The humans would never have taken you in." Her talons cut deep into her chest, reaching for her heart as he devilish grin reached from ear to ear. "[I]You—[/I]" Aello was interrupted by a spearhead sprouting from her throat. She flopped her wings, confused, and then tumbled off the dying gorgon. Melas limped away from the mingled corpses of his companions and the other two harpies. Bleeding from all over his body and breathing out of a single unpunctured lung, he could only manage three steps towards the gorgon before falling on his face, dead. Tumbling from his grasp came the [I]cornucopia[/I], rolling down the slope towards the caves' entrance, only to stop at Euryale's outstretched hand. Unfastening the cork, she brought the horn to her lips, and drank.[/hider][hider=Larry the Postman][b][u]Terminal's Note:[/u][/b] This entry won the [b][color=coral]Hallowed Pneuma[/color][/b] challenge accolade for being a winning entry of exceptional quality. Awarded by [@Terminal]. Larry was a postman. He drove a pygmy white truck full of letters and packages and bills, mostly bills, with its steering column on the wrong side so that he could reach the mailboxes and skeleton black wheels that never went flat. Larry wore a blue jumpsuit the color of oily ocean water and glasses with square black rims and thick lenses and a silly hat with a short brim that he had to wear and boots with orthopedic soles. His jumpsuit had his name sewn into it with rose thread which had faded from rain and hail and wind and snow into a currant shade. He was fifty two years old and all alone except for his daughter who came to visit sometimes. He hadn’t shaven his beard or cleaned his nails or put on his nicer clothes to make her feel better about moving away. Larry delivered all the letters and packages and bills to Box Street and east and north of Main, which was a hundred and forty three houses. In the morning he sorted all the letters and bills into piles and put all the packages into a clear plastic tub like a milk crate and wheeled everything out to his truck and sorted it all again in a particular order. The first section of his route was Box Street, which ran north for a quarter mile then ambled westward at an angle and terminated in a cul-de-sac. The houses here were old colonials with ivied walls and honeysuckle and lillyflower and dogwood in Cedar mulch, richly shuttered bay windows and miles and miles and miles of picket fence lining fescue yards and hedge bushes and driveways and herringboned footpaths. The houses here all had doors with mail slots that he would slide the envelopes through and great brass handles and doorbells that he would knock or chime for packages. After Box Street he turned left on Main and then left again onto Washington and delivered again to all the odd numbers on the right and the even numbers on the left. Once a week or more he carried new books from Amazon to the Taylors in 357 and if the books were heavy that meant the Taylors were happy, and if they were light then Mrs. Taylor was afflicted. Washington was shorter than Box and ended in a corner with Tulip Avenue, but the way he sorted everything meant that Tulip came last on the route. He turned around at the corner and delivered all the even-numbered letters and bills and packages. When Larry made this turn he spied a sunning cane corso. Larry had an ear for barks since he had always kept a dog or two of his own. This dog’s bark belonged on 330 Summerset Avenue, though he had never seen the dog itself except in great auburn shadows clawing at the textured glass panes of a door. He did not know its first name, but its last name was Rodriguez and it was never our when he made his deliveries. It looked at his truck and snarled and made a low grunting sound, more visible than auditory from the great muscles in its neck deliberating a threat. But the Rodriguez dog settled excitedly on its side and merely watched, infringing as it was already on the pheromonal territory of the Taylor shepherd. Larry finished his even packages and turned up Broad, which crossed Elling Avenue and then Tolbert Avenue and then Summerset and then Tulip last. At Tulip again he saw the Rodriguez dog, closer now. Its back was finely tigerstriped in black and coffee shorthair. Triangular black ears willowed behind furrowed topaz slits and an ashy black muzzle with cheeks that sagged and drooped even though the corners were taut. It rose from its place and sauntered towards the truck in stopping paces that seemed measured and powerful. Larry’s truck’s engine rumbled back in a pitiful growl and he stomped on the pedal a little harder than usual and wheeled back around to the south to deliver all the even-numbered parcels on Broad Street. As he reached Main again he saw the Rodriguez dog in his mirror padding after him and watching, and he tapped his radio and told Susanne to call the dog catcher. East of Broad Street was Mulberry Drive. All of the houses from Mulberry to the east were new built in brick and vinyl with white concrete driveways and tin street lanterns anodized in black and brass hues along fresh sidewalks and pristine curbs. Here lived sapling trees with posts and wires to hold them upright against the gales and a handful of older transplants which had been brought down from the hills out north when the builders finished. The development changed hands twice before it was sold back to the town, accounting for some variation in the homes’ design, but all the mailboxes were shaped the same and painted in matte earth tones, with odd numbers emblazoned on the right hand and even on the left. Larry moved swiftly from one box to the next, but he did not smile until he reached 402 coming south. He had a package for 402 Mulberry. He stopped his truck and fished the package out of his plastic bin and gathered all the letters atop the parcel. When he stepped out the engine fell silent and he could hear cars on Main Street and joggers crossing down Summerset and music from somewhere off to the east faintly on the gentle breeze and a soft clack-clack-clack of claws on the hard sidewalk. The Rodriguez dog eyed him from the north and stopped when he looked that way and pawed the ground. Larry carried a pocketful of milkbone treats and a canister of pepper spray. He fingered the treats first but his hand touched each in its place before he walked up the driveway and rang the bell. ‘Martha?’ he said when the door opened. ‘Yes, that’s me.’ She was in her forties. ‘You must be the Bible salesman.’ ‘I’m sorry?’ he said. ‘Bibles,’ she said again. ‘In the package, it’s Bibles.’ She took it and looked over her shoulder. ‘Quiet, Bernard! Bernard!’ Bernard was a terrier and he was not quiet. He was yapping from safety behind his mother and arching his back. ‘Don’t worry about him, he’s a good dog. Do I need to sign?’ Larry nodded to both and handed over an electronic pad with a plastic pen with a bulbous tip and she scrawled on it. ‘Bernard!’ she cried suddenly, and the terrier shot out past her leg serpentine and lithe and out the door. ‘God damn it,’ she muttered, then, ‘oh god.’ Bernard went past Larry as his hand grasped the can of mace, but the crème and chocolate terrier was not interested in him. The Rodriguez dog had stalked down the sidewalk behind him and was coming up the driveway at a trot when Bernard got in his way. The cane corso was bigger by forty or fifty pounds but reeled back from this snapping demon terrier as if dumbstruck the way soldiers cower from a frail commander. Bernard pursued the great beast and barked a dozen times in half a second and shot pillars of foaming slobber from the fangs in his tiny mouth and tried to tangle with it, but the larger animal only grunted and fled, its cropped pit tail flattening while Martha shouted ‘Bernard! Bernard!’ over the wild noise. The two creatures vanished up the road and around a corner. ‘I’ll get him,’ said Larry. ‘I don’t mind.’ She gave him a leash and told him what to say and to be careful and that Bernard would come back on his own if that big one didn’t rip him apart first and Larry said it would be no trouble, he liked dogs, even big ones. He left the truck and the package of bibles and the other packages and letters and bills and followed after Bernard. He made it up the road and there wasn’t any sign of either dog, so he went through an alley on the north end of Tulip that led to a dirt access road for utilities trucks. There he found Bernard trying to lick awkwardly at a softly oozing cut on his face where the cane corso had bit or scratched at him. The Rodriguez dog was off to the other side but it straightened up when it saw Larry and it started to come his way. This time Larry found the can of mace straightaway and he pulled it up and aimed it and let out a cloud of stinging poison that set the poor thing howling and wincing and scampering back to safety. ‘It’s all right boy, it’s okay, I got you.’ Larry snapped the metal link around Bernard’s collar and tried to tug him back to the road but Bernard wouldn’t come, so he knelt down and tried to pick him up and carry him instead. Bernard snapped out and dug his teeth deep into the fleshy part of his hand and they both recoiled. ‘Son of a bitch!’ Larry cried. He put the bit hand in his mouth and winced. ‘Come on,’ he said and gave the leash a yank. The terrier dug his feet in but Larry pulled him out and dragged him to the road and then he started walking along with him. The big dog had seen them both bleed and if it was as wild as he thought then they had to get away fast. The Rodriguez dog prowled behind them both. Bernard tried to keep Larry between himself and the bigger animal, and Larry just turned around and fired a burst of mace in the air and frightened the cane corso off. He had to do it again and again as they were escorted out of the cane corso’s new territory, ever wary of the striped monster with its dangerous eyes, red now from the spray. When they crossed Summerset the Rodriguez dog left off and glowered back towards its home. Then Larry and Bernard met Martha on the sidewalk and took the leash and looked at both their wounds with a face full of terror. ‘Let me look at that,’ she said to Larry. ‘I got a first aid kit inside.’ ‘It’s nothing,’ Larry told her. ‘That animal should be put down,’ Martha said. Larry looked at her, and at Bernard, and up the road where the Rodriguez dog had gone, then back at Bernard. The terrier still watched him with wary hazel orbs and Martha held him and tried to wipe away the blood from his snout. ‘Yeah,’ Larry said, turning away. ‘Yeah, that cane corso got us both good. It’s alright, I called animal control already.’ ‘They gonna put him down? He bit you, right? They put dogs down for biting.’ Larry looked deep into Bernard’s eyes and shrugged. ‘Well I’ll shoot ‘im if he comes around here again, see if I don’t. You sure you’re fine?’ Larry smiled. ‘Fine, just fine,’ he said. ‘Go on.’ He sprayed his wound with bactine and wiped it with gauze from the bite kit in his truck, and taped a square of gauze. The red soaked through in little spots as if Bernard had bitten just there on the bandage and left little dimples with his teeth. Larry finished his round on Summerset as he always did, and when he reached 330 he found John Rodriguez waiting for him on the porch. He had a baseball bat in his hand and a shirt with no sleeves and dirty jeans and he scowled in a way that looked very dangerous. ‘Hey,’ he called to Larry. ‘You spray my dog?’ Larry didn’t say anything, and just stuffed the letters and bills, mostly bills, into the mailbox. ‘Hey, I’m talking to you!’ said John, raising his bat a few inches. ‘You spray my dog?’ Larry nodded. ‘I sprayed a cane corso,’ he said. ‘It was loose.’ ‘Listen fucker, don’t you ever lay a hand on my dog again,’ said John. ‘Keep her inside,’ said Larry. ‘What did you say to me, bitch?’ John was stepping forwards now holding the bat like a war axe. ‘I said keep her inside,’ Larry repeated, showing John his bit hand. John stopped and stared at the blood. ‘Animal control is already looking. Keep her inside where she’s safe and they won’t find her.’ John’s face went through patterns of realization and fear and anger and understanding and gratitude and back to anger. ‘They better not,’ he said, pointing with his wooden bat. ‘She’s a good dog.’ Larry stepped on the gas. ‘Aren’t they all,’ he muttered. He still had Tulip Avenue.[/hider][hider=Shadows of a Kind][b][u]Terminal's Note:[/u][/b] This entry won the [b][color=coral]Hallowed Pneuma[/color][/b] challenge accolade for being a winning entry of exceptional quality. Awarded by [@RyuHll]. By [@Cruallassar]. | | [i]Which is worse, the devil that wants to corrupt the souls of the righteous...or the devil that wants to destroy them?[/i] | | [img]http://i.imgur.com/F0UFoRL.png[/img] In the human province of Desonier, dark deeds were afoot. Entire towns had gone missing, travelers riding in to find them deserted. Rumors spread of necromancy and dark magic, against which the local lord stood powerless to act. Fear pervaded the citizenry, who wondered which town was next. And in the lord's castle at the town of Dol-Tiras, dark things of entirely another variant were occurring in response. Specifically in the office of Lord Vicari Delnier, who was looking out a window, absorbed in thought. Abruptly, he turned his head slightly, seeming to listen intently for a moment. Then, in a single quick motion, the long rapier at his side slid out of its sheath as he spun, pointing the weapon towards the center of the room...which quite suddenly became not empty. Shadows swirled around in the center of the room, slowly manifesting themselves into the form of a man, a sword of his own held ready, but down and off to the side. As the shadows faded into the ambient light of the room, the stark contrast...and similarity...between the two men was quite apparent for a moment. The lord, wearing a white-and-purple garb with gold embroidery, a calf-length white cape hung about his shoulders with purple runes sewn into the cloth, fine leather boots and a pauldron of the same material adorning his left shoulder. The blade in his hand was obviously of the finest make and held perfectly parallel to the floor. He stood perfectly erect, in a manner befitting the lord of the castle, careful poise in every inch of his stance. The other figure, black cloth and worn black leather covering his form from foot to fingertip, a black hood covering his head, black cloak thrown around his neck to drape over his left shoulder down to his waist, and carrying a thin blade of well-made elvish craftsmanship, though with signs of use marked the metal with equal prominence. Other weapons hung about his person, including a dark bow and a twin to the sword in his hand. Metal plates served as protection for his lower arms and legs, with leather-covered shoulder plates visible under the cloak around his shoulders. His stance was low and still, like a crouched jungle cat preparing to pounce upon his prey. The two men looked at each other for a moment, assessing their intentions and the likelihood that one of them would be trying to kill the other within the next few seconds. The lord broke the silence first. “Well...the grim ranger paying a visit to my office. What an unexpected pleasure. Tell me, what dire tidings bring my least favorite person in the mortal world to me at this hour?” The dark figure straightens somewhat from his combat stance, slightly reassured that the man opposite him would rather talk than fight at this time. “Dire tidings which the lord of this province should already be fully aware. Your people are disappearing, you have no idea where. You cannot respond. I can help you with this.” Delnier abruptly twirled his sword in his fingers before sliding it into the scabbard at his side with a click. A bemused expression lights his features, shrewd blue eyes seemingly seeing the dark figure in a new light. “Am I to understand that the great Crual-lassa' Ras Le'Valeron, Rangermaster and solo operative extraordinaire, grand high lord of quietly killing all the things...that can't fight back...is requesting my help in dealing with a perceived threat? As the nobleman speaks, he waves a hand sarcastically towards the ranger, who narrows his eyes in irritation. “Unless the demon doesn't find the loss of his towns somewhat irksome, and an act to be punished swiftly, then I am proposing a joint venture with an objective of mutual interest. I find the disappearance of townsfolk to be troubling. You should find it truly threatening. Of course, if I am incorrect in that assumption, then I can go elsewhere. Perhaps not all demons find theft of their subjects to be as great a problem as others.” The nobleman's eyes seems to acquire a violet glint as he waved in a vaguely placating gesture, a motion that was entirely wasted on Cruallassar as he sheathed his own blade. “For an elf so attracted to trouble, perhaps next time I desire your presence I should just publicly slaughter a few townsfolk. Alright, yes, I find these recent developments quite disturbing. I don't appreciate having two towns stolen from me; however, I fail to see why I require your aid, ranger of doom. Unless you have some asset to bring with you beyond your overrated abilities, I am as capable of dealing with this problem without you as I am with you.” The hooded figure allows himself a short, satisfied smirk. “You require my aid because I possess the location of the enemy you seek. I observed an abduction. You have now had three towns stolen...but they have lost their secrecy. Or rather, he has. The rumors among the townsfolk are quite close to the truth. We face a single man, a mage of considerable ability. He employed shadow magic to capture the essences of the townsfolk. I would guess he is also capable of necromancy, or summoning, there were signs of such in the art he employed. He took great care in ensuring unharmed capture of each citizen of the town, with minimum impact. He didn't touch the graveyard either, it isn't another upstart necromancer trying to build himself an army. When he left, I tracked him to a cavern in the Hadrasian Foothills.” Delnier sat down at his desk and listened intently as Cruallassar delivered his report, then snapped his fingers triumphantly as the ranger finished. “Then I will take a force of men to the Hadrasian Foothills and...” “And be massacred. I detected several magical traps. No force you could muster has the ability to penetrate them, you would be the last man standing. You would stand a high chance of falling as well as you continue further in. You need me if you have any intention of dealing with this guy. Just as I need you for the same.” Delnier put his fingers together in front of him as he considered that. The Ranger waited stoically for his response. “Then you really expect us to work together on this...endeavor?” “I expect a temporary promise that we will work together, without trying to kill each other, until the completion of this mission, yes.” “And the mutual assurance that we will each hold to our end of this promise?” “Our trust in our own ability to counter any attempt at betrayal made by the other.” The nobleman nodded in consideration, before rising again from his desk. “And when shall we leave?” “At your earliest convenience.” “Then we depart immediately. For the duration of this task, until our return...well, let us only say that we have struck ourselves a bargain.” | | [i]Which is best...to sacrifice one's beliefs in the name of upholding them, or to abandon them for the sake of maintaining them?[/i] | | The clatter of horse's hooves sounded on the packed dirt of the road into the small town...village really...of Deralshire. That was, in fact, the only sound that broke the silence of the small town...village really...of Deralshire, aside from that of the birds, and a few other livestock that deigned to give voice to the area. The two riders of the horses...one a black figure on a black horse, small and obviously bred for speed, and the other in purple and white on a prancing white stallion...rode side-by-side down the center road cutting through the center of the small village. Lord Delnier...turned his head towards the ranger beside him. “Why did you insist we slow our progress while traveling through this place?” The ranger, Cruallassar, didn't bother to change his stoic straight-ahead gaze as he replied. “Your people were taken from this place. Abducted, against both their will, and that of their lord. I thought that you, as their lord, would wish to see your loss for yourself. After all, the place of the lord is to provide for and direct the people, as the place of the head is to provide for and direct the body. A wound to the people is a wound to the body, and to ignore a wound is to fail to realize its significance, allowing the body to overextend itself and fail.” The nobleman huffed and looked back to the road in front of him. “I appreciate the lesson in lordship, but I do not require the aid of the abyssal ranger in instructing me on how to rule my province. My economic adviser has well informed me of the significance of this wound, and my energies are now best spent on closing and avenging it, rather than nursing the injury. Let us be gone from this place, and quickly.” The two riders sped their horses to a quick canter. The silence seemed to follow them as they left the village behind them, moving towards the looming Hadrasian Foothills. Mid-afternoon saw the two and their horses atop a small ledge, overlooking a large crevasse nearly thirty meters deep, with a small cave set in the side of one of the two rough cliffs that formed the edges of the ravine. Delnier dismounted and walked to the edge, gazing down at the dark hole as Cruallassar dismounted behind him, the horse standing calmly as the cloaked elf strode to stand beside the nobleman. “That is the place where our rat has made its nest?” “It is.” The lord began to take a step off the ledge, but the ranger reached out and blocked his passage with an arm. “Wait. Try to step down there unguarded and you will fry. I told you, there are magical traps all around this place.” Delnier swatted the arm away irritably. “Do not presume to know for what I am and am not prepared, untouchable ranger.” The white-clad man crouched low, then jumped high into the air above the ravine, drawing his sword with a ring like a chime, or a glass scraped with the tip of a knife. As he came down past the lip of the ledge upon which Cruallassar stood, a sort of ripple...like water when disturbed...seemed to pass through the air from the point through which he passed. In an instant, orange energy gathered from all around the edge of the ravine, collating into two bright bolts that converged on the nobleman. In a gesture almost too quick to follow, Delnier brandished his sword in flight, the needle-like blade glowing brightly purple-white as he suddenly made two quick slashes through the air toward both orange attacks, arcs of light flying from his blade to intercept the two blasts of energy midflight and dissipating them in the air. Yet the danger was not past...as he neared the ground, a network of orange lines flared into existence, a ripple of energy traveling to gather at the point where he would land. Again, purple-white light flared, blasting outward as he landed, dispelling the hostile magic harmlessly, the ground scorching and cratering under him as Delnier and the energies he wielded impacted it. He straightened from his crouched landing position slowly, twirling his blade in his fingers before swishing it off to the side. He started to turn to look back up at Cruallassar, before observing shadows coalescing off to the side near the cavern entrance, solidifying into the shape of the ranger stepping towards him. “Must you announce our presence to the entire magic-wielding world before we enter?” “Must you bother me with such trivialities? With any level of competence, our enemy doubtless observed our intrusion a mile off. Let's not waste time evading what must be destroyed in any case.” The nobleman began to step towards the cave entrance when suddenly the ranger drew one of his own blades and, in a single smooth motion, thrust it into the stone next to the opening, the blade glowing a shadowy red. Another lattice of orange lines flared and faded across the entrance, inches from Delnier's face. “I merely advise caution, oh omnipotent demon.” The black-clad figure walked forward into the cave ahead of the aristocrat, who deferred the point position to his ally, both their swords ready for use. Several hundred meters further into the cave, a short time later, the clash of weapons rang throughout a much larger underground cavern. Purple-white light flashed forth and clashed with the orange glow of molten magic-infused magma, which flowed in a ring around a central pillar that jutted up in the middle of the place, with stone bridges crossing the gap at several points, seemingly lain from connection to connection at random. And on a jutting platform, heading towards one of the thin bridges, the nobleman and the ranger fought an assortment of shadowy summons wielding various assortments of steel blades and stone claws and teeth. Delnier in front, sent arcs of light from his blade slicing through the shadowy forms as they came. Cruallassar stayed back, his swords put away in favor of his dark bow, sending darts of red energy into bright orange defensive spells that destroyed them mid-flight, or vaporizing shadowy elementals. Each combatant was the center of his own maelstrom of offensive power, and the opposition seemed quite weak and rapidly fading in comparison. As the last elemental burst into wisps of shadow, the two started moving across the bridge in single file...the bridge itself barely two meters across. About half-way across, the two suddenly saw orange light flaring on the central platform, building up and illuminating the figure of a man behind it. Cruallassar reacted first. “Look out!” The warning was largely unnecessary, as a blinding bolt of orange magic blasted forth, impacting on the bridge in front of them with an explosive flash. A large piece of the bridge vanished into dust, the rest of the bridge beginning to crumble from the lack of support. Delnier wasted no time in acting; as the ground he stood on broke and fell, he crouched low, purple energy gathering under his boots. Then he exploded into motion. He leaped, farther than any human could normally jump, from his piece of debris to another, his eyes already tracking the next falling rock. Pushing off of the first, he hit the side of the second, then swung himself around and jumped to a third. Moving from rock to falling rock, he used the debris as stepping stones, finally landing on the stable central platform. Cruallassar's route was only slightly different. Before his part of bridge fell from under him, he ran forward and jumped off the crumbling edge of the broken bridge. As he fell, he suddenly seemed to...twist, as if his form was suddenly turned inside out and substituted for a shadowy wraith. The shadowy wraith...not unlike the elementals they had fought earlier...swooped up and transformed again into the figure of the ranger, which dropped neatly onto another descending stone. Even as the Delnier ascended the falling debris, so did Cruallassar, dissolving into a stream of shadows and flying from rock to rock until he re-materialized next to the nobleman. He dropped into a crouch, breathing heavily, as Delnier brandished his sword and sprinted towards the figure at the center of the stone platform. Up close, the figure was revealed to be little more than a man...middle-aged...in a gray robe, standing in front of a stone pedestal with an object on it that shone with the glint of metal. The white-clad swordsman paid it no attention. The robed mage's hands suddenly crackled with orange energy, as he raised them to unleash another blast at Delnier, but the rapier flashed violet and another thin arc of light was flung at the robed man. The blast of magic detonated mere feet in front of him, flinging him back over the pedestal and dropping him heavily on his back. Delnier vaulted over the pedestal and landed in front of the mage, who scrabbled frantically to try and regain his feet. He found some unexpected assistance as the swordsman reached out, grabbing the man by the throat and lifting him up off the ground...and off his feet...with inhuman strength. Purple energy seemed to glow around Delnier's hand, forming the outline of what seemed to be claws from some sort of beast, encircling the hapless mage's neck entirely. “You, who have broken the laws of this land, now face the sentence of the lord you have opposed. Your punishment is death.” The man kicked and struggled uselessly, straining to breathe through the lord's iron grip. “Wait.” Delnier paused, his grip, easing momentarily as he turned to look at the ranger who had said the word. Cruallassar had recovered from his momentary fatigue, and now stood by the pedestal, looking down at the item upon it. It was a small amulet on a thin silver chain, with a black gem in the center. The gem seemed to glow with an inner darkness...as if you could have the opposite of a light. Shadows just seemed to seep from the thing...yet, the ranger seemed to sense something more about it. As if the shadows were merely the result of the gem, and not its essence...fueled by whatever else was imbued in it. The elf abruptly looked up and looked to the mage. “What did you do with the citizens of the towns you abducted? And what is this?” The nobleman relaxed his grip for the man to speak, though he still held him up a good foot above the ground. The mage rasped out an answer, his throat protesting from its mistreatment. “You behold the answer to the first question in front of you. That amulet contains the minds and souls...the very essences...of every person you seek. They are all there...not harmed, only removed, combined into a new body, the medallion you now see. Their power...what little magical energy they can harness, all of it is combined, infused with shadow magics to create a source of power to defeat the enemies of the world. Demons, necromancers, corrupt mages, none of them can withstand the power of so many people united and arrayed against them. That is their purpose. They take great mental focus to wield...the sheer number of minds of its own...no man can remain unaffected by that. But a great man, one willing to make that sacrifice, one able to direct these hearts and minds against the right enemies, a man such as I, couULGH...” Delnier tightened his grip abruptly on the man's throat, choking off his words before relaxing it again, allowing the mage to cough and regain his breath and voice. “Say your piece in such a way that I am willing to listen.” Cruallassar let him regain his ability to speak, then asked another question. “You say the villagers are still alive in here, but with this medallion as their collective body?” “Ye..aheurgh...yes! They can see and feel all that occurs around them, but they don't possess the knowledge to wield their own combined power, it is available for the taking for anyone who does possess the skill.” The nobleman's eyes hardened as he looked towards the ranger. “We must destroy it. That kind of power is dangerous, and is certain to attract enemies who would use it for their own aims. I am not foolish enough to believe I could hold onto it long enough myself to offset the damage it could wreak against me.” Cruallassar's own words in reply were quick and angry. “You could certainly not hold onto it that long, but to destroy it! You may be perfectly willing to sanction the destruction of three villages worth of your subjects, merely to deprive your enemies of them, but I will not hear of it. What this man has done is terrible, but he did not kill them. Mass murder is not something I intend to condone.” As he finished speaking, a rumble came from the cavern's ceiling, causing the two men to turn their gaze skyward. It was the mage's voice that was next heard. “Their fate will be their own! That medallion's power will protect it from the destruction of this place, but you who presume to disrupt my plans will die, buried beneath the earth. I did not prepare this place without its destruction assured should it be necessary!” The platform shook under their feet, a large chunk of the ceiling suddenly breaking loose above the pedestal with the amulet. Cruallassar didn't hesitate, he grabbed the powerful item and dove out of the way, as the pedestal smashed to dust beneath the falling rock. Even as he acted, the instant he touched the medallion, he felt the presences of the populace of the three villages pressing upon his consciousness. Hundreds of them, each of their thoughts clamoring to be heard. Their power was...erratic, undirected, like a race horse raring to be off and used, but with its reins fixed in place and the horse unable to move. The essences of the villagers pressed on Cruallassar, sampling his own presence, threatening to overwhelm his senses with theirs. He fought back, forcefully trying to wrest his mind from them...letting some of their thoughts and emotions settle neatly into their parallels in himself, letting their overarching focus augment his own, sacrificing those parts of his mind to their collective consciousness in exchange for the dominance of his will. He saw the truth in the words the mage had spoken...how every individual, from the village blacksmith of Deralshire to the visiting salesman's son from Challiston was present, their minds augmented by each other, their thoughts and individuality equally voiced within the gem in the center of the amulet. And he saw their greater goal, that which they most desired their powers put to accomplishing. Vengeance. Vengeance against the man who had taken them from their homes against their will and imprisoned them here. A goal which suddenly slipped away, replaced by a void in purpose...pleasure at a goal accomplished, and yet dissatisfaction at its manner. The ranger rose again to his feet, the amulet clutched in one gloved hand. Looking towards Delnier, he saw the mage still clutched in his fist...but his neck, visible through the purple energies that encircled it, was thinner, crushed in the nobleman's grip, with his head hanging limply to one side. Rocks still broke free from the ceiling and fell into the molten sea under the platform all around, but Delnier's gaze was fixed, focused solely on Cruallassar, to the exclusion of all else. The ranger picked up his bow from where he had dropped it before, slinging it onto his back as he turned toward the way they had came. He spoke, but his voice was different...pitched lower, strained. “Come. We should leave this place before we are buried.” He started walking toward one of the bridges that seemed to head toward an exit, hearing a thump from behind him as Delnier dropped the body he held. Suddenly, he heard a ring, like a chime, or a glass scraped by the tip of a knife. There was a unified sense of warning, of urgent danger from the medallion. He turned his head slightly, to behold out of the corner of his eye, the needle-like point of Delnier's rapier arrowing towards the back of his neck. | | [i]What is the value of a man? Is it priceless? Can it be measured in the price of other men? If it were, then is the life of a cruel king who kills men by the hundreds, yet leads his armies to victory, worth more or less than that of the poor farmer, who's sole existence is that of growing his meager wares and selling them at the nearby village market? Yet those wares may help feed an assassin, who kills the king in the night, and bestows freedom from tyranny upon a great, yet oppressed, people. Now who's is the more valuable life? Or perhaps, life is truly without measure of value, every life being incapable of being compared to any other. In that case, is there anything to keep us from taking as much life as we wish, save other men, because life has no measure by which we may value it?[/i] | | Delnier's rapier flew straight and true...and yet, it failed to find its mark. With the speed only an elf aided by the magic inherent in their kind can attain, and the forewarning of keen training and the amulet grasped in his left hand, Cruallassar spun and blocked the blade with the steel vambrace on his arm. The ranger's sword swished out of its scabbard with a hiss of leather and runic metal, slicing through the air to block a quick follow-up strike, before both men jumped apart to reassess their situations. The ranger took the reprieve to slip the amulet's chain over his head, leaving his left hand free to draw his second sword. “We promised to work together until our mission was accomplished.” “And so we did...but the enemy lies dead behind me, and besides, I'm not very keen on the idea of ridding myself of one enemy only to strengthen another. But look at it this way...we do have such an excellent stage for this sort of act...it would be a shame to waste it.” The ranger stood silently for a moment, the conflicting entities within the medallion coming together with one new overarching purpose...the death of this man that threatened their existence. At that moment, their aims merged perfectly with that of their new lord, and they accepted him as the one to wield their power in this battle. Power and master aligned perfectly as Cruallassar assumed his combat stance...the two men mirroring the positions they had taken when they had come together for this venture before. White and purple, a rapier held perfectly in line with the quaking ground. Black as night, two elvish blades held forward and back, ready to attack and defend from either side. In unison, the two enemies charged each other, each prepared to destroy the other. Cruallassar spun both blades at Delnier, who abruptly vaulted high in the air, his own blade slashing down at the ranger's head. A quick change in one of the elvish blade's vector, and the rapier was effectively parried. The nobleman jumped back upon landing to evade a falling stone, upon which Cruallassar shifted into ethereal shadows and passed directly through the stone, though the action was suddenly less silent then it had been before. A sound like a thousand people crying out through a thick veil from the bottom of a deep chasm seemed to echo in the mind of the Ranger and his opponent as he reformed upon exiting the stone to parry the immediate magically-charged strike Delnier aimed at him. A quick counter attack with both blades keeping up a steady stream of thrusts and slashes forced the duelist back and onto the defensive, but upon the slightest opening, the rapier thrust forward as Delnier lunged, pointing the sword at the ranger's eye. Cruallassar twitched his body to the side at the last second, allowing the blade to pass through harmlessly, but the nobleman's left hand had drawn a long dagger from behind his back, and now cut at the ranger from the other side. A booted foot came up to kick the dagger up and out of Delnier's grasp, but the rapier was deftly flipped over to his left hand, while the right snatched the dagger out of the air to put the two on even terms once more. Cruallassar was unwilling to allow his enemy any modigm of control over the field, and suddenly twisted into the shadows once again, his magical form fueled by the power drawn from the amulet. As the shadows lanced up high into the air, Delnier quickly twirled his sword in the direction of the ethereal ranger, sending arcs of energy up after him. Cruallassar ascended as high as the ceiling of the cavern would allow, reforming into physicality with his bow at the ready, his fingers drawing back shining red darts of energy to fire at his enemy. He twisted his body upside down, adjusting his path back and forth to evade the purple-white slashes coming up at him and allowing them to fly past, cutting thin canyons into the cavern roof and sending showers of gravel out over the combatants. Elvish fingers let magical arrows fly, speeding down upon the nobleman, who danced nimbly aside from each shot, allowing them to expend themselves in scorching black holes into the ground beside him. Purple energy gathered at his feet, and Delnier launched himself up at Cruallassar, flying up like an arrow himself. The ranger reversed his orientation in midair, his bow-hand glowing white for a moment, when his downward fall was suddenly arrested by the bow halting its descent in midair, seemingly frozen in place. The ranger used his momentum to flip up on top of the bow, his feet balancing themselves atop the slender stick as his swords swished out of their sheaths. The nobleman's rapier swung up and clashed against the elvish blade with a purple flash, forcing Cruallassar to take a step back to the bladed edge of the bow. Delnier reached out with his left hand and caught the bow as he flew past, his momentum redirected as he swung over, under the bottom of the bow, and back up. He twisted in the air, a foot kicking out at the ranger before he gained a balance on the time-locked weapon. The elf began to fall, but caught the edge of the bow in his own fingers and flung himself out to the side. One of his swords suddenly glowed with a white light as it too stopped in midair, allowing Cruallassar to regain his balance atop it. The two weapons, both parallel but arranged at an angle to each other, supported the two combatants far above the crumbling ground below. Delnier flung arcs of light from his blade at Cruallassar, who reached out a hand to throw what appeared to be solid shadows gathered from thin air into the nobleman's magical attack, breaking each arc's cohesion and shattering it before it reached the ranger. In turn, Cruallassar's hand dipped to the back of his belt, then came out and hurled a pair of ggsmall knives at point blank range towards the lord, who deflected each with his rapier and dagger. The two exchanged more blows, before another large piece of the ceiling broke off from the whole and fell towards the two and their thin platforms. Immediately, Delnier made another leap, traversing the gap between them and one of the bridges that led to another tunnel to the surface. The Ranger stepped one foot over to the bow, shifting his weight precariously to the impossibly stiff bowstring before hooking the other boot under the frozen sword, white light flaring across its surface as the ranger flipped it up into his hand. With that, he fell off the bow, touching it in midair to release it from the time-lock spell, then twisting himself and the weapon back into the shadows. The shadowy wraith that was Cruallassar streamed across the room, re-materializing in front of Delnier, with the bow replaced upon his back. The two continued to fight along the bridge, making their way towards the exit. Delnier would attack and defend in turn with precise, pre-meditated and carefully constructed maneuvers, and Cruallassar would attack and evade with unorthadox movements and attack sequences. The nobleman would make an attack that the passive onlooker would think would surely connect, but Cruallassar's outline would blur with shadow, and he would suddenly be attacking from another direction that put him out of harm's way. His own attack would fly true, but a ripple of purple-white light would deflect it, or the rapier would change direction in an instant to parry it. Both masters of their art, the battle moving across the field but neither forcing the other back, both remaining mobile, giving ground willingly in exchange for different ground, better suited to their next attack. Neither could control the flow of battle, and yet both managed to keep the other guessing as to their moves, with only the mastery of their actions and their superb reflexes managing to keep them unmarked. As they neared the end of the bridge, Cruallassar flipped himself backwards onto the outcropping before entering the tunnel and slapped a closed fist...still holding a sword...down onto the stone of the bridge. A crack rang out as a shockwave blasted through the bridge, shattering the stone. As it dropped out from under Delnier, he leaped up again, vaulting above Cruallassar to land behind him...but it was a forced action, one for which the ranger was ready. The quick follow-up slash from the noble impacted a defending blade...one which bore the white sheen of the elf's time-lock spell. It expended its momentum uselessly on an unyielding blade, before Cruallassar's armored forearm slammed into the back of the tip. The thin rapier's blade-the magic in its attack expended and the spells keeping it intact neglected due to the nature of its enemy-snapped in two as a stick breaks over a man's knee. A follow-up spinning strike with the other elvish blade knocked the hastily raised dagger aside, before the nobleman was backed up against the stone wall of the cavern, one of the ranger's blades at his throat. The intent and rage from the medallion charged forth and the ranger's blade seemed to surge forward of its own volition...but Delnier twitched to the side, allowing the blade to embed itself in the rock next to him. Cruallassar was suddenly blasted back by a flash of violet energy, as the nobleman made another jump up to another, higher platform. Turning around as the ranger flipped up to his feet, he called out, “Nicely done, ranger, nicely done. You came close there for a second. But I'm afraid that this act must come to a close...while I can survive being buried alive, I'm afraid I would suffer more damage than it would be worth. Therefore, until we clash blades another day, I will bid you farewell...Shadow Ranger.” Delnier cast the broken hilt of his rapier down onto Cruallassar's platform, then turned and ran out into another tunnel. Rocks had started falling with greater frequency now, and the magma below was churning angrily. Suddenly, nearly the whole ceiling seemed to shatter and fall, a single huge blanket of stone descending upon the ranger. And as the stone begins to crash down, burying the whole cavern under rubble and debris, shadows coalesce around him. | | [i]Perhaps these questions need no answers...nay, they require the very nature of not having answers. Perhaps one must simply do what they can, when they can do it...and if an outcome is unacceptable, then they must change their actions to fit the best possible. Life is an overly complicated thing...no man has the freedom to act according to the right impossible answers to life's questions. They can only live...according to their code, their duty, and their ability. Some forge their own codes, accepting only the duties they choose...others have these things forced upon them, and yet accept them as their place in life. No man's lot in life is perfect...yet it is those imperfections that give it a place in the universe. And so it goes on...with the perfect forever striven for, the imperfect forever attained, and questions always asked that help it on its way...yet never any answers.[/i] | | Cruallassar, Rangermaster of Shadows, stood at the edge of a forest, looking up at the high towers of Dol-Tiras. The metal of the amulet was cold against his neck, where it now lay under his shirt. The enemy he had faced still lived...he could discern the white-and-purple figure standing at his office window. But now was not the time to deal with him. For they both were shadows of a kind...the one, wearing his darkness on the outside, forging a bubble within which he became one with the shadows around him...the other, keeping it buried within his soul, letting only a veneer of light be shown to the world that desired such things as its rulers. And as the shadows swirled around the ranger, carrying him off on other personal quests, the lord of this part of the land continued to gaze at the spot from where he vanished, knowing that his enemy still walked the world...and that one day, only one of them would survive their encounter.[/hider]