[b][Somewhere][/b]

Azoth trudged through a dense, sunlit forest, along a winding, beaten path. Every step was laborious, and though his face was shaded by a hood sweat ran down his face. He panted, feeling feverish, almost unaware of his surroundings. The past few days had been a hell unlike any he had ever imagined. He fled the destroyed guildhall northward, fleeing into the rural lands surrounding it. Pasture had turned to wilderness, and so he had become hopelessly lost in the intervening days. He had not eaten, as he had no ready way to catch food, and his sleep was utterly without rest, as the Masters of the Void tormented him endlessly in his dreams. Even during his waking hours his mind was not his own, as Stormsorrow needled him constantly, her presence like a blade in his brain. He assumed he was only alive because he had taken to drinking from streams he had come across, but a burning in his gut made him think that the water had been unclean.

His armor, thankfully, did not weigh him down. The first day he had traveled while wearing the Scales of Tiamat in all of its regalia, oblivious to the presence that it gave him. Bandits had accosted him in the night, Stormsorrow waking him to the threat, thinking that he was a noble lord lost in their territory. After that, Azoth made the effort of hiding his armor away in his private dimensional storage, and conjured himself some simple robes to disguise himself.

While those efforts had been somewhat tedious, and managing to stay alive thus far had been greatly unpleasant, killing the bandits... it was so very easy. Ending their lives had been as effortless as extinguishing a match, and as he tore them asunder with the arcane power that coursed vigorously through him, Stormsorrow pleaded to taste their blood. He had meant to deny her, without his realizing he found that he had plunged the cursed runeblade into the heart of the bandit leader, who stared back at him in wide-eyed terror. He hated to admit it, but those brief moments. when he was a god of destruction among mere mortals, had been the most alive he had felt in his entire memory.

Since then, though, he had not seen another living soul. He had caught sight of a hare once, and sought to kill it for food, but not knowing his own strength he utterly obliterated it past edible form. It seemed that even animals kept their distance from him after that. He would have laughed if he wasn't so exhausted; despite being so gloriously alive for those few moments, it seemed like his life was about to end.

As Azoth continued to walk onward to his unknown destination (most likely his grave), the trees nearby rustled with activity. If he even noticed it in his exhausted state, he didn't bother to acknowledge it. This was the only indication given before the ambush was sprung. Dropping from the branches and rising from the brush were a dozen archers and other such warriors, with their weapons all trained on him. Azoth looked up, trying to discern their identities despite his hazy vision. As far as he could tell, they were some manner of forest tribe. Simple clothes, hand-made weapons, dark skin.

"Interloper!" A female voice called out at him, "We have followed you for some hours now. Your aura is black as night, and we do not take kindly to trespassers in our territory. Identify yourself or die!"

Azoth rubbed his eyes blearily, and lifted his head to get a better look at whoever was speaking to him. He pulled his hood down from his face, an action that was met with some audible noises of surprise and confusion from those gathered. He squinted at the figure directly in front of him, a bow-armed woman, and was able to make out the amber color of her eyes, her golden hair, her dusk-colored skin, and her fey features. Elves. Dark Elves. Judging by the number, this forest was home to an entire colony of them. Azoth laughed, an action that drew the ire of the elves gathered around him, who trained their weapons on him once more.

"[color=9e0b0f]Blood of my blood,[/color]" he began, slurring his words as he ranted deliriously, "[color=9e0b0f]My forgotten kin, who have fallen so far from their inheritance of the Immortal Empire. I am of course none but the forsaken Witch-King, who is to return the Children of Naggaroth to their rightful places as kings and queens. Rejoice, Druchii, the Phoenix is reborn![/color]"

And with that, Azoth collapsed, falling unconscious directly onto his face.