Fight or Flight 2 – Shadow of the Spire

[Lexxum_Vordic]

Chambers with their various contents blurred by him as he maneuvered through the Spire. He was making his way towards a set goal, a final destination. In his wake, the bodies and corpses of many monsters were left smoldering on the ground. Bubbling piles of organic substances boiled with super heat thanks to the device in Lexxum's possession.

Lexxum Vordic was fighting harder than he ever fought in his entire life against a horde of dungeon crawling enemies.

Black walls were twisted and created an almost abysmal void within Lexxum's peripheral vision. On the walls were various scenes and symbols depicted that showcase the history of the world. Lexxum had no time to waste as many individuals monsters and traps awaited him. They were attempting to interrupt his journey through the Spire. Blood stained the walls and floors of the structure as Lexxum cut a swath through the general forces marching against him. It was a simple matter of killing anything that moved. Lexxum was a trained killer. He was a proud warrior of his people even in this dismal state he found himself in. Lexxum mauled through yet another guardian of the Spire. They were an odd lot really. Standing at approximately five feet in height and composed out of bulky, metallic bodies. The creatures had a swiveling red jewel for a face that would automatically lock on Lexxum whenever he approached. Their bodies were made out of brass and easily bent to the lizard man's strength. Lexxum ripped through several more of the creatures and made his way towards a dead end.

The passageway was a particularly long one. Lexxum was guided by the image that was burned into his brain the moment he touched the object in his possession. Lexxum was given exact coordinates within the Spire's depths, and a map of where to go. He was also given instructions of what to do once he got there. Lexxum walked back up the long hallway and grabbed the bodies of the brass guardians that remained. Dragging them with a screeching metallic sound across the floor, the giant heaved them mightily and tossed them towards the nearby wall. There was a loud clattering of metal against the floor. Lexxum walked quickly and with surprising grace provided to him by his massive tail. He remembered the procedure as he was forced to memorize it before the presence of the Voice of Lord Mitra.

A rather crafty individual, Lexxum dug for the power cores of the brass guardians and took the exact amount he needed. The power cores functioned like a battery to the brass guardian. They were forged by unknown hands many ages prior. Lexxum used his might to rip through the brass pieces and armor plating. His muscles strained against the action, but he was able to gather the exact amount of power cores he needed. They were small gemstones that were as rubies. Approximately several inches in diameter each, they fit in the palm of Lexxum's hand. He gathered the exact amount that he needed for the operation. Time was running out. He only had his current form for the full length of an angel's breath. Whatever that meant according to the word of the Voice. Lexxum just had to trust that the Voice of Lord Mitra was correct in its judgment. The object in his possession would soon be running out of power. Placing the power cores in the proper indentations along the wall, they formed a pattern. A sound filled the air with each interlocking core.

There were approximately over ten power cores all together. Lexxum made sure to grab the correct amount. The exact amount was lost to the history books. Once he completed the pattern on the walls, they moved with a powerful sound that flowed through the air. Each of the cores had generated its own musical sound resembling the Songs of Turlin. Lexxum heard the beautiful music as the song was generated that un-binded the particular seal blocking that section of the Spire away from Lexxum's clutches. This is where the real challenge would begin. Lexxum drew his weapon as the new doors sliid open. A new bloc within the Spire opened up. Lexxum heard music in the air and made his way into the dark tunnel. It headed downward and had a new series of paintings and inscriptions on the walls. Lexxum looked around as he moved deeper into the Spire trying to take in all he could about Althanas' history. He hadn't seen anything about Fallien yet, but he knew that was coming soon enough. His eyes narrowed as he looked around the hallway, nothing had emerged from the darkness just yet.

He was waiting as he moved forward for something to happen.

Anything...

[Kryos]

“By the Gods,” Blake whispered. “What has happened here?”

Strewn across the great hall, corpses rotted in pools of dark liquid. Zombies and monsters of horrendous origins reeked of death and blood and decay. Limbs hewn from them littered the ground and organs spilled from the cavities of their owners. Scorch marks littered the walls and ceiling, a slight contrast with the streaks of red. A few of the piles of flesh were blackened by flame, encrusted by the cinder. The sight brought bile to the back of Kryos’ throat and he gagged in disgust. The stench of the evil place, so incredibly potent, could be tasted. His eyes watered, tears leaking down his face.

Anne sobbed into Alk’s fur, who was whimpering and attempting to cover his nose. Shalua walked forward and crouched by the girl, comforting her. Kryos turned to Blake.

“Obviously, there has been a battle recently. Several battles perhaps. Either way, let’s move on and out of this horrid place. Look for anything that could lead us to Lexxum.”

Blake nodded and turned to inspect the bodies. Kryos walked across the large room with his arm held over his nose. His eyes roamed the walls and ground and the high ceiling, all made from the same menacing stone. Nothing stood out for him to inspect and he turned, looking for anything. Anything that could help them get closer to finding their friend. A handle to a door came into view. Jogging over while weaving though the piles of bodies, he scrutinized the door. No blood stains covered the handle. Indeed, the door appeared that it hadn’t been used for some time. Lexxum wouldn’t be found within.

“Kryos! Over here!”

He turned and saw Blake next to another door similar to the one he stood by, waving him over. Walking past the carnage once again, he fell into stride next to Shalua as she escorted Alk and Anne to the human as well. He glanced at the human as he stopped and viewed the door. Nothing jumped out at him. Bloodstains smeared across the door and frame, even along the handle. But no indicator of the great bestial warrior.

“I don’t see anything, Blake. What is so important?,”

He grinned. “The bloodstains are in the shape of your man’s hands. See?”

It was true. He had missed it before. This had to be the way Lexxum had gone. He grabbed the handle and pushed the door open. It swung open smoothly, revealing what lay beyond. An unlit torch was held to the wall and a staircase wound down into darkness. Blake rummaged through his pack and removed his fire starting equipment. Within moments, the torch blazed. Kryos removed it from the wall and faced the waiting darkness. Filling his lungs with air, he took a step. Down, down, and even further he delved into the Spire and away from the horrors above.

[Kryos]

Darkness gave way to light, until the time of the light passed. Then, like the unescapable monster named death, the shadows invaded again.

Althanas, in its confused and chaotic state, seemed to have entered this pattern. The last stage. The final destruction of all light. This war, waged for reasons known only to the twisted and ancient mind of a forgotten sorcerer, came in the night, when the world slept, and whisked away the peace, the keystone to the great and noble civilization that the world had become. It took the lives of the soldiers who only fought to protect their loved ones, and then, in turn, stole the hearts of the living by turning their beloved dead against them.

The world had changed.

Lost were the times when the great races of the land lived in relative peace, all working towards a brighter future. True, conflict still existed, but from those trials great lessons were learned and the state of the world surged onward. Opposing factions and powers kept each other in check, always wary of wars and the cost and lives which were consumed by those blood-stained days. For rivers of blood would flow ever onward and the forgotten tombs of the battlefield welcomed innumerable souls into their eternal halls, lost for all time.

The Obsidian Spire was numbered among those ill-fated places, holding its share of misery and destruction since its creation. As Kryos rushed through vacant rooms and silent corridors, he beheld the spire’s legacy. One of great power and learning, and one of the blackest monstrosities.

Along the walls, the great history of the world was unraveled in a sequence that would be impossible to learn at the present time. The rise of man, mirrored with their inventions that came with industry. The elegance of the elves, and the gut-wrenching horrors of malice an hatred that consumed the lives of the evil creatures of the world. The gastly scene was made more haunting by the silence that threatened to steal the minds of the carefree. And though no more traces of the living, alive or dead, could be found, the companions never lowered their guard. Forms of twisted metal lay in heaps, thrown aside by some power, and Kryos could feel the hatred radiating from them, even when they were destroyed.

He paused, hand grasping the light-giving torch held before him, and ushered the others onward. Blake took the lead, short sword in his left hand and the blade’s twin resting at the ready at his waist. His mouth, set against a strong jaw and a hardened, rugged face, remained shut surprisingly, and his brown eyes, complimenting his cropped, brown hair, reflected the seriousness of their mission. Infiltrate, find Lexxum, and get the hell out. Moving quietly for a human, Blake did a good job at keeping to the shadows, making use of the dark clothing that Kryos had given them back in Anebrilith. As he passed, Kryos handed him the torch, and the light began to move, carefully, cautiously, down the cluttered hall.

Anne came next, also clothed in black, but her golden hair gleamed in the firelight. She looked up at Kryos for a moment, face blank, before continuing onward. Around her waist were four daggers, each capable of hand-to-hand combat, as well as throwing. But her real weapon lay within her mind, ready to be summoned at the first sign of danger. Anne had become quite talented in magic in the month that they had stayed in the port city. Alk followed the girl closely, his golden fur shifting in the faint light. The canine’s senses were alert to any movement, ears perked, nose up, eyes darting and cutting through the darkness. That dog amazed Kryos. Alk seemed to know exactly what was going on and the risks involved. Still, his loyalty to Anne made him a great asset, as the undead were often confused at the vicious leaps and bounds that Alk took when fighting.

Shalua strode up to Kryos last, her footsteps almost nonexistant with the added benefit of lether boots on top of her natural elegance and stealth. Her black hair fell to her shoulders in a way that reminded him of the feathers of an eagle. Her face, slim, but not excessively so, also held no expression, just cold thought and basic action. Meeting her dark gaze, Kryos fell into step next to her. The minutes passes as they walked in silence measured out by the small movements of her long and thin blade, edge and hilt a robust violet.

Finding no other way to transition into voicing his nagging thoughts, he leaned his head in closer to Shalua and whispered. “I want you to keep an eye on Anne, if anything happens.”

The deep, indigo eyes turned on Kryos and he felt the passage of a thousand years flow over him. Her eyes searched him, questioningly, but with the wisdom of an age. All the while, their footsteps never missed a beat, though the Dwiilar had to glance at the ground several times to avoid kicking a stray scrap of metal. After a moment of careful scrutiny, she nodded, understanding the double meaning behind his words.

A minute passed before a quite voice breathed into his ear. “You care about her, don’t you? I know you don’t show it, but that girl . . . she’s special to you.” She nodded to herself, reaffirming her statement in her mind. She glanced up at Kryos, eyes betraying her curiosity.

Kryos’ face went blank as he pondered her observation. Reflecting over the past few weeks, the adventures and horrors he had faced, he was surprised to see that he had become attached to the half-elf girl. Even after all his years alone, depending on no one, trusting only himself, he had not lost his ability to love. The past few months had changed him. Ever since he had decided to travel to Scara Brae, and in turn, Raiaera, the seeds of change had been planted and had grown. His eyes rose from the ground and looked ahead, alighting upon the back, shoulders and head of the girl in question. Yes, he had become attached. More than he ever intended to.

A small grin flashed across his face, and he lengthened his stride, leaving Shalua behind him. But he heard a quiet chuckle come from the elf; a sound filled with satisfaction. Kryos dismissed her probing from his mind and continued onward.

They moved on in silence, following the trail of broken parts and bent and torn muscle. Deeper and deeper into the spire they delved, hoping that their goal lay beyond the next bend, through the next door, only to suffer disappointment after disappointment. His patience began to wear thin, which in itself was out of character for him. The was no end to the labyrinth of the spire. No end to the mind-numbing silence.

He stopped; they all had. In front, Blake held the torch before him, an anchor to sanity, and just beyond him, three passages opened up, black maws tempting the group to enter. Around the floor, no busted scrap fortold the way to continue.

“Which way?” Blake muttered, voice amplified slightly even when subdued. He looked ahead, confident that Kryos would point him in the right direction. But the Dwiilar moved his gaze from one beckoning hall to the next, over and over and over again. He did not have the answer Blake sought.

[Kryos]

Admins/mods: Lexxum has given me full access and control to his character. He is ceasing with this thread, as he has too much on his hands right now. I have consulted him and the storyline has been agreed upon by both of us. Dialogue and the like is also my writing, but will be approved of by him. All in all, I’m switching this to a solo and taking command of the characters within. All bunnies have been approved by him. Confirmation can be given by him for those who wish one. Contact his Mutant Lorenor account, as Lexxum Vordic is one of his secondary accounts.

The dying flame of the torch cast flickering shadows along the black walls and onto the faces of the four companions. Well, five, including Alk. The golden retriever lay curled up on the onyx floor, back resting against Anne. She, in turn, sat cross-legged with several large, brown pieces of parchment on her lap. The maps that she had miraculously obtained before they left the elf port. Still, even after a half hour of searching, she could not find the branch in the corridor where they now rested. The Spire held many paths, many rooms and many treasures, each filled with unknown perils. The flapping of the parchment as it was lifted aside and off the others was the only sound in the loose circle of comrades. That, and the constant snapping, popping and breathing of the flames that danced on the torch. They waited, hoping that Anne would find the way on her maps. Hoping that the place where they rested even existed on the maps. The silence deepened.

**********

Lexxum strained every sense for the sound of movement. For the sound of anything. Yet nothing had happened upon entering the passageway which he had opened. The music had died, traveling downward and upward through the spire as it bounced along the walls. But nothing had confronted him yet. Unease swept through him, and he gripped Tap Reaver all the harder, feeling the arcane energies flow through the heavy weapon. He moved onward, glowing red eyes burning in the darkness.

Moving onward, he followed the passageway through rooms and new passages alike, not worrying about getting lost. No corridors branched off from the one he walked, no extra door bordered the rooms he entered. It was a one-way path to one of the secret levels of the Spire. An express lane to hell, no detours, no breaks. The black fortress hurried him onward, as if eager to see what he would do.

Sensing no danger, and still wary of an ambush, Lexxum picked up his pace. His time flowed ever closer to an end when he would vanish from the mortal realm once again. But not knowing when that would occur, speed was his highest priority. His legs pumped beneath him and his lung breathed in more air. His tail lifted slightly for balance, and soon he was covering ground twice as fast as before.

A flash of silver against the black. The splitting of scales and the clatter of steel against stone. The clanging as the assaulting blade fell to the ground, edge free of blood.

Lexxum jumped back, settling into an attack stance. From the corner of his eye, he saw the wound he had been given by his assailant; a two inch long, half in deep slice cutting across his forearm. His mouth spread into a grin, dagger sharp teeth glinting in the dim light that emanated from the walls. The damaged scales pulled themselves back together, closing the wound that would have normally taken several weeks to close, and several months after that before the scar vanished. The pain in his arm dulled, became a pricking, and then vanished all together as the injury sealed. One of the many advantages to being a demigod. He couldn’t die, and he healed faster than any mortal. But that did not mean he couldn’t be inflicted with great pain, or disabled. His eyes bore into the shadows. The whirling of machinery announced the presence of his enemy, and the slaps of flesh against the cold stone floor.

Into the light, a metal form appeared, much like the ones he had met earlier. The extensions from the main unit, the arms and legs, you could say, were sharpened to an edge; blades for limbs. And a glowing red circle glared from what could be called the head. Lexxum opened his jaws and hissed, a growl growing from the back of his throat. Another figure emerged. The stench of rotting flesh rolled over Lexxum, and, even though filtered by his non-mortal body, still threatened to make him gag. The undead paused beside the metal fiend, then rushed the warrior. Lexxum raised his sword and charged, roaring in anger. He’d had enough of the peons of Lord Mitra’s adversaries. They slowed down the progress of his sacred duty. Flesh ripped and the unearthly howl of the ancient undead filled the tunned, until it was silenced. Lexxem didn’t paused, but continued onward, blocking the blows from the metallic foe aside and then plunging the Tap Reaver into the space between head and body. He summoned the energies of the Tap and released a small amount around the edge of his blade. Sparks flew and the glowing light that stared into Lexxum’s eyes flashed, flickered in death, and went out.

The entity crashed to the ground, and further ahead, more red lights appeared, and moans echoed. Forms took shape from the darkness, and he readied the Tap Reaver, magic flowing through the edge and runes glowing emerald. He readied himself for his charge, until . . .

Thud

The item that hung around his chest, the heavenly item given to him by the Voice of Lord Mitra, glowed with power. He was close. The relic, claimed by the cursed spire for hundreds of years, sung for the glowing orb. He steadied himself, then charged. He would leave none alive.

**********

Anne moaned in exasperation as she threw the maps to the ground.

“It is no good, Kryos! This junction isn’t on the maps!” She kicked the pieced of parchment in frustration and leaned against Alk. The dog twisted his head around and whimpered.

“Well, now what are we going to do,” Blake asked, wrapping his arms around his legs and setting his chin on his knees. “If we stay here, we’ll be found by whatever those things are. And they don’t look friendly.”

“Hush!” Shalua commanded. The group looked to her with confusion written plainly on their faces. She sat erect, head cocked to one side, listening.

“What is it?” whispered Anne.

Shalua held up her hand for silence. She sat motionless for an instant longer, than rose with an elegant grace. “A song,” she said.

Then, as if on cue, a mystical melody wafted past them, the sound coming from an unknown instrument. The somber tune, similar to a Song of Turlin, rose and fell in beat. Shalua bounded out of the ring of light towards the openings, listening harder. She lifted her hand toward the passage on the right.

“This way. The music comes from here.”

Blake rose to his feet, grabbing the torch. He approached the wall where another torch was mounted, unlit. “Finally,” he said, lighting the new torch and dropping the old one to the ground, where he stomped out the small flames. “Let’s get a move on.”

Anne looked up at Kryos and smiled. Eyes alight with newfound hope and courage. “Let’s go, Kryos. Let’s catch up to Lexxum.”

The Dwiilar looked down at the girl, then moved his gaze to the dog who always remained by her side, then onward to the human and elf by the passage. So they would continue on, deeper into the pit of nothingness and darkness. He was fine by that.

“Right.”

He unsheathed his blade, the weapon glowing with a shifting, entrancing white aura, and approached the entrance. He looked his companions over once more, then nodded.

“Let’s go.”

He turned and rushed into the darkness of the tower, guided only by the flames of a torch and his own blazing will to find his fallen comrade.

[Kryos]

A trail of blood, twisted metal and bone, and the burning flesh of the undead extended out from behind Lexxum. Dodging to the side, he swung his weapon and removed the arms of the zombie attacking him. Even without its limbs, the crazed and empty eyes stayed locked on his reptilian form and saliva and blood fell from the snapping mouth. Another swing to the chest resulted in the Tap Reaver becoming stuck halfway through the monster’s torso. The warrior yelled, a quick burst of vocal rage which bounced down the halls, mixing in with the screams and snarls of the undead, and he planted his foot against his foe and kicked the creature off his blade and to the ground. He followed through, stabbing the creatures throat and unleashing the powerful energies of the Tap. Howls of anguish rose with the raging flames that consumed the body.

Lexxum wrenched his weapon out from the dead body and stepped over the carnage, eyes flashing, searching for the next enemy. But it appeared like he had vanquished all the nearby foes. Increasing his stride, he hurried onward, always aware that his time neared the end. Against his chest, the radiant orb, now a warm orange and amber light, beat in a steady rhythm. The time for reunion fast approached.

Down this hallway. Open the door.

Another room, filled with tables and chairs and large murals on the walls. Lexxum passed by without touching anything, without seeing any of the great stories told here. The shear amount of knowledge to be learned in the Spire amazed him, but he knew that the price to learn it all was great, even to death.

Out the black door, and into the obsidian hallway.

The void of color, and even light, brought about a surreal feeling to the spire, which only added to its effect. The only landmarks within were the stories, but they were so vast in themselves that finding one again was a challenge by itself. Still, the section of the spire he had opened was impossible to get lost in. The only challenge was overcoming one’s own doubts.

Left bend in the corridor. Move along the narrow passage way.

Was that light at the end? A faint shade of dark gray against the black of the walls? Even as a demigod, where he could see through darkness, the difference of light was visible to him.

Pause at the turn. Look around the corner. Move.

The jewel around his neck beat harder, faster, and the light’s intensity increased. The smooth surface slid along his scales, and he could feel the temperature rising. This was it. Before him, torches blazed, lit with an undying fire, and at the end of the stone hall, a bright light. It grew larger as he approached, jogging now, tail weaving back and forth through the air. His eyes flashed as he entered the brighter light.

The room he had entered was circular, spanning a two hundred paces to the other side. The obsidian walls rose upward for at least five hundred paces, before curling in to form a dome. The structure of the walls varied from the previous rooms as well. Enormous portraits of lost kings and forgotten heroes were crafted, by an unknown means, into the walls. The eyes looked downward with mixed expressions; triumph and grief, anger and hatred, pride and humility. All around these vast monuments, the stone was inlaid with complex patterns, runes, and designs, while others had creatures straining from the walls, gargoyles acting to escape. Some held in their hands lit torches, while other fires burned from normal rackets on the walls. No furniture adorned the room. Indeed, the hall held nothing, save four-foot tall pedestal in the middle of the room, and from that stand, a fiery light beat in harmony with the orb around Lexxum’s neck. He took a step forward, into the ever silent room, and the pulse quickened. Another step, and another. He ran, anxious to obtain the goal of this mission. The reason for his return.

He fell silent as his feet slowed to a stop. Before him, resting on the smooth surface of the podium, lay an ancient sword. The blade was the length of Lexxum’s arm fully extended, curving ever so gently, and the blade glowed orange with yellow characters running along the metal. The handle looked average enough save for the flaring of the converging designs at the bottom. Black was woven into the fiery colors at the hilt, and the warrior yearned to reach out and grasp it. The hilt was large, with strange engravings and patterns, and in the middle lay a hollow. A slot that matched the gem he wore perfectly. He pulled the cord from around his neck and the treasure, now vibrating with energy, hung before him. He pinched the clasp that held the jewel to the neckless, and the orb dropped into his left palm. Tossing the chain away, he inserted the gem into the hilt of the sword.

At first, nothing changed. The two artifacts still glowed with vibrant energy, but it was only after several seconds that he detected change. The stone started to spin, faster and faster in its groove. Several small clicks emanated from the sword and minuscule bars slide over the opening, trapping the stone within. More of the parts that constructed the hilt moved and shifted, taking a new shape, but remaining the same in design. A metallic point slid up the length of the blade two inches, and glowed molten red, and the stone hummed with the speed of its rotations.

Lexxum reached out his left hand and took the mighty sword from its place on the pedestal. The metal was warm to his touch, even to one such as him, a being from the other world. He shifted his grip on it, eyeing the blade closely, inspecting it for flaws. But as expected, it was perfect.

Having completed his task and obtaining the treasure for his Lord Mitra, he turned to leave, planning on killing as many monsters as he could until the time for his return. Until, the pedestal moved. It sank, slowly, into the floor until it vanished completely. Lexxum shifted his footing on the now uniform floor, eyes darting this way and that, suspecting a trap. But nothing else moved.

Calming his breathing, the saurian walked toward the way he had come.

Footsteps!

Several things were approaching–he couldn’t tell because there were too many–and there was no place for him to hide in wait in the open room. He had no choice but to fight. He gripped his two swords tightly and they both glowed with energy and power.

From out of the darkness came a brown haired woman. She stood at six feet and her eyes glowed green. Along her face were deep lines of anger and hatred. She wore black clothes; pants, boots, sleeveless shirt and gloves. On her chest, a brilliant green symbol was woven into the fabric. If not for the passionate emotions on her face, she would have been a very attractive woman. For humans, that is.

Behind her, a legion of the undead came stumbling into view, all male. The personal guards of Rashilan Penna’ak, no doubt. They all had the characteristic rotting flesh and tattered clothes, but also something that Lexxum had not seen. Swords and daggers were held in their hands and they snarled at him with hatred, as they shared the emotions of the necromancer before him.

“This time, you die, Lexxum Vordic,” Rashilan said, voice dripping with murder. She raised her hand and, green magic sparking and pulsing, shot a bolt of devastating magic toward him. He had seen this before. It had been the spell that had originally killed him. Acting out of instinct, he lifted his left hand, and consequently, the ancient sword, to shield himself. The ball of emerald energy struck the sword as the warrior tightened his grasped. The glowing red point erupted with flames and the fire raced along the edge of the blade. The resulting explosion pushed him back several feet, his feet trying to get traction on the stone floor, and the blast echoed throughout the grand hall. He shook his head to clear it, then looked down in amazement. The sword he held was now a foot longer, extended by fire. He grinned, looking up at the necromancer.

She scowled at him, then waved her hand. The twenty or so zombies behind her relaxed. Making complex patterns in the air, Rashilan conjured from emerald flames a plynt long sword. She stalked forward, always keeping an eye on her opponent, and he, in turn, also approached, mirroring her movements. He shifted his grip on his swords.

“Die!” he snarled, leaping forward, blades alight with magic and slicing through the air. The necromancer parried one blade and blocked the other. She spun her weapon, moving Lexxum’s away and jumped forward, thrusting. The ancient blade rushed up to meet the evil sword, and they danced.

Steel scraped against steel, fire brushed against the soul, and bodies whirled in an endless dance of survival. No words were spoken, only the rush of air as lungs sucked in oxygen. The necromancer was quick, blocking many of his attacks with one move, then countering immediately after. Even with two swords against one, the match was even. It was only a matter of time until one of them lost focus.

The fight wore on. Lexxum breathed deeply and his arms ached from the deadlocked match. Being a demigod helped, but he was new to this existence, unused to the new abilities. His soul wanted to act like a mortal, so his body behaved similarly. But the fury in his eyes never dimmed, nor did his thirst for the woman’s blood and his hunger for vengeance. He drove on, not missing a step to the deadly dance.

“Lexxum!”

His world shattered as he turned to the sound of his name. The sound of a girl’s voice. The one voice he would have known anywhere, from the great sands of The Wild to the deepest floors of the blue ocean.

Anne.

She stood next to the entrance, behind the zombies who were turning, just as he had, to face the newcomers. She stood taller than he remembered, and her eyes were lit up with the power of hope and joy. Next to her was Alk, who barked loudly, and snarled as the zombies caught his eye. They lurched forward, toward them. They raised their weapons.

No! he thought. Where’s Kryos? I have to . . .

Pain blossomed on his chest as he felt the necromancer’s sword slide through his ribs and heart. He looked back, shocked at his own carelessness. He looked into the woman’s blazing eyes. They laughed at him.

“This time, you aren’t coming back,” she hissed, twisting the sword. Lexxum roared with rage and pain, swinging the Tap Reaver. But she released her hold on her weapon and danced backward. Glowing light began to form on her fingers as she summoned that fateful spell. He needed to move fast. Dropping his sword and grasping the blade that extended from his body, he pulled the blade out of his chest, growling in pain as they slid across the damaged organs and bones. It came free easily and he sagged. But the injury had already begun to heal and the pain was dispersing. He wrenched back his arm and hurled the long sword at its owner. Blood spurted into the air as the blade nicked the sorceress’ right arm. She yelped in pain and the bolt discharged, blasting across the room and into the wall. She clutched her wound momentarily, then glared at him. Summoning another weapon, a sword about three feet long, she faced him again.

Lexxum took the moment’s pause in battle to look to Anne again. She was surrounded by zombies, but this time, the tall, dark form of Kryos stood by her, along with two others. They had engaged the undead. Turning his focus back to Rashilan Penna’ak, the one who had killed him, he roared, picked up the Tap Reaver from the ground, and charged.

[Kryos]

They were surrounded. About twenty-five undead ranged about them in a loose circle, each with daggers and blades of some kind or another in their green and gray hands. The zombies’ expressions, twisted and mutilated by necromancy, stared them down, tried to frighten them. No doubt this particular legion of zombies had seen battle. They shuffled closer, feet slapping against the cold, stone floor. Kryos could smell them as they came. The unearthly stench of rot and decay stung his nose. He forced back the impulse to gag and tightened his grip on his sword, waiting for the moment to strike. Next to him, Anne held a dagger in her hand and muttered softly under her breath; the beginnings, Kryos realized, of a spell. Blake held one of his swords in his right hand, mirrored by the torch in his left. He breath came irregularly, but he managed to keep his head. Shalua stood ready, rapier held by her side. She smirked, then rushed forward, starting the attack.

Kryos focused once again, and dodged as the monster closed in. He lifted his muandrian upward, parrying the follow-up attack, then struck, his clothes pulling against his limbs and hair shifting with the passage of air. His eyes burned ruby as the glowing white blade impacted the zombie’s chest and a bright flash blinded him momentarily as the thing screamed in agony. He wrenched forward, pulling his blade down and across, and he completely cut open the chest of his foe. Fire erupted from the wound and the creature fell backward to the ground, eyes rolled up. The body thrashed and bucked even though it had been killed, blood and organs leaking from the opening even as the fire chewed on the innards. Vapor rose from the corpse and with it, an ungodly smell. All this happened in a moment’s time, and he turned to face the next doomed foe.

The others were holding their own as well. Blake had used the torch on one of the first zombies that had gotten to him. The fiend had lit up almost instantly and roared wildly as it thrashed on the ground. Blake now engaged another with his dual swords.

Anne and Alk had separated a zombie from the hoard and struck it when the beast focused on the other. The canine jumped and bit, ripping off pieces of flesh and throwing them away, while Anne, blade glowing blue with an unknown enchantment, struck quickly and viciously.

The elf seemed to disappear with the speed of her moves; dodge, attack, retreat, spin, slash another enemy’s back, dodge. Her rapier glowed as blood bathed its length. She dispatched her victim with ease, but didn’t take any chances. She had seen the effects that a single bite from an accursed dead could do.

Another zombie fell in a screaming mass as Kryos pulled his blade from its neck. Blood, as dark and black as the chambers around them, ran along the glowing white metal. Secretly, the Dwiilar was pleased. The enchantment placed upon the weapon was more powerful than expected, as it killed the minions of the undead with ease. Spinning to his left, black clothes and hair rustling, he swung toward the next target. Steel met steel as the zombie blocked. Red eyes flashing darkly, his leg came up and kicked the creature square in the chest. He felt the dead bone break inward, caving in around his foot. Yet the being pushed on despite the pain, eyes filled with dead fury. Kryos shoved against him, but could gain no ground. He focused, calling upon the magics of his kind, and glowing white flames erupted on his left hand. The undead lunged, throwing its body toward him, head and snapping jaws lurching closer. Kryos brought up his left hand from the hilt of his sword, a race against time. The jaws, saliva and putrid breath rolling of the jagged, uneven and broken teeth filled his vision and he leaned back, fighting to throw off the creature.

It bucked wildly and pushed away. Kryos had managed to get his left hand, now burning with a charity spell, on the thing’s throat. It pushed back and out of his grasped. It swung with its weapon, hatred filling the deprived soul. It opened its mouth and howled, the sound like the despair-filled chorus of the damned. It broke off suddenly, as the swordsman thrust his holy blade into the thing’s mouth. Steel sprouted from the base of the zombie’s skull, and it collapsed as blessed power destroyed its being. He pulled his muandrian from the body. His muscles began to ache. Still, he could push on.

The creatures began to fall, but their master would not let them retreat. In the spare seconds that he had when he switched his attention from one enemy to the next, or when his gaze swept past the room, he saw the two great opponents continue their dual. The shimmering, surreal form of the mighty saurian and the nimble, dancer’s figure of the necromancer. They exchanged strikes, blow for blow, yell for roar. Kryos couldn’t see how that battle would end. He struck down another foe and he bumped against Blake. His face was splattered with blood, and he breathed heavily, sweat dripping down his face. The Dwiilar nodded to him, and pushed on. A flash of green light caught his attention before he dropped to the ground. A shrieking ball of jade magic soared through the place his head had just occupied a moment ago. It crashed into an undead that was behind him and it went up in emerald flames. Rolling to the side and up onto his hunches, his eyes flashed crimson through the lengths of ebon hair falling about his face. He froze.

Where was Anne?

Seven undead remained. Three were being engaged by Blake and Shalua, and the other four were organizing themselves for their next rush. His eyes darted about, searching for the little girl whom he had protected. He heard Alk’s bark from a little way around the room, behind the monsters. Standing, his sword dragged across the midnight floor. He took a step, only to falter. His eyes pulsed, shifted as his pupils shrunk and grew; trying to focus as the vanishing sun above stole his power. Kryos vision blurred, and the sharp, mesmerizing, robust shade of scarlet in his eyes weakened, grew dim, as if diluted by water. A zombie rose into view, arms swinging, steel flashing in its attack. Kryos parried and dove past it. He couldn’t afford to fall. Not now. His vision was weakened, true, but he could still fight. He had to ignore the pain in his arms, the weariness of his legs. He rushed forward, raising his weapon and bringing it down across the mutilated back of the creature that engaged Shalua. Pure fire blossomed and it crumpled. He pushed onward, leaving the rest to the other two.

Ahead, he could make out a body lying in a pool of black liquid. The undead Anne must have killed. He rushed past, arms hanging at his sides, resting. Another explosion echoed throughout the chamber as Rashilan’s magic collided with stone.

Alk barked again, drawing his attention back to the situation at hand. He could see the golden retriever backing away from an undead, who lazily advanced. This one seemed different from the others. But where was Anne?! He couldn’t waste time asking questions. He ran at the zombie, sword raised, eyes narrowed, trying to see clearer. The creature paused and looked over its shoulder. White metal flashed, and the zombie’s head rose into the air, completely severed from its body. Its expression remained frozen for a moment before twisting into a silent scream. The body crumpled, neck alight with bright flames.

“Anne,” he called.

She was leaning against the wall, supporting herself. Face clearly displaying the pain she felt, her right hand clenched her left arm and blood flowed from between her fingers. As Kryos rushed forward, she looked up, eyes still bright despite the pain. Seeing Lexxum again had revived her spirits. She smiled, weakly.

“It’s ok. His dagger just scraped me.” Her bright smile reassured him and he breathed deeply. He looked into her eyes, slowing in his approach. Glancing around his shoulder, he watched the last two undead fall. Blake had a wound on his right hand, and Shalua appeared unhurt. They both smiled to each other. The companions had survived the undead legion. Looking back to Anne, he grinned. Her deep blue eyes glowed up at him, radiating the joy in finding her hero again. The silence of the room preserved the moment in his mind.

Kryos relaxed, and Anne disappeared.

Crying out in surprise, he felt fear tear across his heart. His eyes, now gray and transitioning to a lustrous silver, searched the room for her.

“Blake! Shalua!”

They turned their heads in confusion. Fear flooded their faces as they realized what had happened. In his dread, the obsidian walls seemed to close around Kryos. He caught sight of Lexxum, standing upright and searching as well, though he breathed heavily. From the arm of the great warrior’s arm protruded a green blade. The hilt had been broken off. Without looking, the Blood Lizard pulled the enchanted weapon from his flesh and let it drop to the ground. A growl reverberated from his chest, and he glared at the portraits that lined the room who seemed to mock him, accusation in their eyes. Blaming them both, Kryos and Lexxum, for the girl’s loss.

Where could she have gone?!

High, mocking laughter echoed throughout the grand room, running through the companions’ ears like thorns, building and building into a crescendo of malice. A green flash and Rashilan Penna’ak appeared in the middle of the room, right arm wrapped around Anne’s neck and a silver dagger pressed against the scarred skin just below her jaw. Anne’s face was filled with fear and her eyes darted from Kryos to Lexxum. The necromancer tightened her grip and pressed the dagger harder against her skin. Anne cried out and, as the laughter slowly died away, Lexxum’s roar of fury and hatred replaced it, echoing ten times as forcefully and with a thousand promises of death woven into the cry.

[Kryos]

“Lower your weapons!” the necromancer hissed. Her voice echoed around the deathly silent room. Yet the companions did not move, did nothing to heed the order. “Now!” she cried, bringing the dagger down and cutting into Anne’s arm. The girl yelped in pain, tears starting to leak down her face as pain and fear took a hold of her senses. Kryos gritted his teeth, anger at the front of his mind, and lowered his sword to the cold, black floor. He heard resounding clatters from behind him as Blake and Shalua followed his lead. Lexxum followed the command as well, but never looked away from the woman who had caused so much pain. He loathed releasing the artifact he had been charged to obtain, but Anne’s life was more important than a sword. His scales darkened for a second in his rage, before returning to normal.

“What do you want?” Kryos said, voice powerful but emotionless.

The evil woman glared at him. “I want to kill you, but the cost may be my life. So, first, I’ll take that sword that dear Lexxum found, and then I’ll leave with little Anne.” She motioned for Lexxum to kick the mysterious weapon over to her. He growled, eyes narrowing. Kryos had always heard the expression, “If looks could kill,” but he had never believed it until now. The terrible face of the warrior was imprinted into his mind forever. The face of death.

“Now, now, Lexxum. Don’t make me hurt her even further.” She again placed the dagger’s fine edge against Anne’s throat. Lexxum snarled again, but placed his foot on the ancient weapon. The sword scraped against the stone all the way over, grating against Kryos’ ears. It stopped at the woman’s feet. She smirked and looked at the two warriors again. Anne, too, looked at the Dwiilar and the Blood Lizard again, but this time not with fear. Determination blazed in her eyes and her hands went to her waist. Just then, Kryos’ eyes flashed silver as the Transient State passed and his powers returned, along with his vision. Rashilan bent to take the sword.

In a flurry of movement, Kryos crouched and took up his blade, rising into a run as he charged. Lexxum, too, bounded forward, not bothering with his own weapon, having plenty at his disposal. The necromancer jerked up, murder in her eyes as she prepared to plunge her dagger into Anne’s throat. But shock and pain filled her eyes just as she lifted her weapon. Anne yelled and pulled away into freedom, running full tilt toward Shalua and Blake. She left one of her daggers behind, however. The hilt rose from Rashilan’s thigh, and she screamed in pain. Eyes darted about in panic, trying to find an escape, but the words of her salvation froze in her throat as Kryos plunged his glowing muandrian through her side. Her breath caught and gurgled, and her skin burned slightly as the holy magic embedded in the sword bit at her flesh, blood flowing rapidly from the wound. His blade turned scarlet.

Lexxum came upon her then. His right hand slid around her waist and his left grabbed the back of her head, as if he were embracing her. She stared into his eyes and beheld death. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came forth. Lexxum pulled her head back and, opening his mouth as far as he could, razor sharp teeth gleaming, came down with all the force he had and bit into her neck, a growl playing at the back of his throat. Blood erupted from the gaps in Lexxum’s teeth and jaws. The bones in her neck snapped and cracked with the awesome power and raw force of his attack. Flesh ripped from its place and tendons, ligaments, and muscle were severed. Blood splattered over Kryos’ arms and he backed away, leaving his sword in the woman’s chest. Dark red fluid, rivaling the shade of the lizard’s scales and eyes, flowed down his neck and down Rashilan’s body, over her breasts and down her stomach, soaking into her clothes. Lexxum jerked his head, wrenching the body, and the bones in her neck crunched horribly. At last, the rumbling still reverberating in his chest, he released his mangled victim and let the corpse of Rashilan Penna’ak fall to the ground. Blood pooled beneath and Kryos approached. He reclaimed his sword and wiped the blade on the pants of the dead necromancer before returning it to his sheath.

Lexxum bent and picked up the artifact, shining the colors of the desert. He also retrieved the Tap Reaver, placing that in his sheath. Weapons reclaimed, he turned and faced Kryos, who watched him with critical eyes. Lexxum walked directly up to him, stopping when they were within touching distance.

“Thank you, Kryos,” the Blood Lizard started. “For watching over Anne.”

The swordsman nodded in reply, carefully scrutinizing his friend. His scales appeared to be the same color, but there was something different about the saurian. Almost as if he wasn’t all there. His scales flickered, and Kryos knew. Looking back into the warrior’s eyes, he smiled, face softening.

“You can’t stay here, can you?”

“No,” Lexxum replied. “I have been called to another place, to serve another being, when such times arise. Soon, I must return.” He placed his free hand on the Dwiilar’s shoulder. The scales felt warm against his skin and smelled of an oasis. “I came to get this artifact, the Breath of the Desert, although I only know its name from the ancient Lizard Folk runes, and nothing more. It was mere chance that we crossed paths again.”

Kryos shook his head slightly from side to side. “It was more than chance, my friend.” He extended his hand to Lexxum, who in turn moved his hand from Kryos’ shoulder to accept the gesture. They grasped each other tightly stared into each other’s eyes. “I guess this is farewell, then,” Kryos said.

Lexxum nodded. “Be strong, Kryos. Learn and survive like my people have learned how to do.” He smiled, teeth gleaming in the light and stained red with blood. “I will miss your sword by my side.”

“So will I.”

They released their handshake and turned toward the rest of the group. During their conversation, the others had approached, and Anne, arm bandaged by Shalua, looked at Lexxum with sad eyes.

“Don’t go, Lexxum,” she whispered. “Please.”

“Anne,” the warrior said, crouching down to her level. She ran at him, arms out, and he caught her, wrapping her in his great embrace. Tears slid down her face again; these ones came not from pain or fear, but with the all-consuming sadness that swallowed her heart like the deep abyss.

“Please,” she whispered, face pressed against his neck. “I don’t want you to leave me again.”

He held her for what seemed like a long time. Just held the beautiful girl that he had saved in Valinatal and had journeyed with across the plains of Raiaera until they had met Kryos in the Red Forest. The girl whom he had scarred horribly while trying to protect her. He felt those scars as she pressed against him and the great guilt at what he had done to the little girl that he loved. The girl that he died for.

In time, the sobs that shook Anne’s frame slowed and she looked into his eyes. He ran his fingers through her hair and brushed the tears from her cheeks.

“Anne,” he said. “I cannot stay with you. I am no longer part of this world.” He turned her face toward him when she looked away. “But you must go on,” he continued. “You can still live this great life to the fullest. You have a future here, in Althanas.”

She closed her eyes, looking away and took several deep breaths, calming herself. At last, she nodded. “Ok.”

Lexxum looked up suddenly, then back to Anne. “I love you, Anne. Never forget that, even if we never meet again.” He stroked her cheek. “Take care of yourself.”

“I love you, too,” she whispered, to quiet for anyone but Lexxum to hear. She looked at him as he stood, not daring to miss what could be the last moments that she would see him, her savior. The warrior turned to the one’s he didn’t know, Blake and Shalua.

“Thank you for protecting Anne,” he said. “I am in your debt for doing that which I could not do in your stead.” The two nodded, slightly started by Lexxum’s whole appearance and the circumstances of their meeting. Shalua kept her cool, silently accepting his thanks.

“Well, I . . . uh . . .” Blake stammered, before Shalua elbowed him sharply before he could make a fool of himself. “You welcome,” he finished, settling with what was easy and natural.

Lexxum nodded and turned, walking several paces away. Kryos, face warmed with emotion for once, moved next to Anne and laid a hand on her shoulder. He felt a change in the air. It was warming, and a light grew brighter and brighter from the place where their friend stood. A rushing of wind could be heard, and he felt the air move ever so slightly around the room, rippling along the pools of blood that spotted the floor. In a rush of wind and light, Lexxum Vordic, the great warrior of the Blood Lizard tribes of Fallien, First Class Soldier of Valinatal, and their dearest friend, turned to look upon them one last time. Peace lay across his face, and his eyes were soft with emotion.

“Be well, my beloved friends.”

The light grew brighter and brighter, until the intensity of it threatened to blind them. A great rushing of wind roared in the room, rushing around with great force, picking up droplets of blood and flinging them to the walls of the great chamber, onto the stone creatures and ancient paintings. A great clap resounded and the wind died, the light having vanished in that burst of sound.

Lexxum had gone.

[Kryos]

The room fell silent as the last wisps of air dispersed and the rippling blood on the stained and cursed floor settled. To them, the moment was too precious to stain. Especially to Anne. She stared at the spot where Lexxum had vanished from, as if her thoughts alone could bring him back, if only for a few minutes more. But such things do not last.

Overhead, in the great dome, the stone of the spire shifted, slid this way and that and, as a single cattail would move ever so slightly in a summer’s breeze, the stone around the origin also began to move in an accelerating chain reaction. The moving walls opened, only to be filled with more obsidian, rushing out and covering the paintings and torches. One by one, around the room, fires were snuffed out by the descending wave of stone. It had reached a fourth of the way to the ground.

“Uhh, Kryos. Maybe we should get out of here,” Blake said, feet shuffling over the cool stone as he moved closer to the way they had come. “I don’t think it’ll stop anytime soon.”

Kryos looked around. He was right! The stone was sealing the chamber shut. He turned, eyes wide and moving Anne in front of him.

“Go! Go!” he yelled. Blake didn’t need to hear that twice, as he was already running toward the archway that lead, eventually, to freedom. Anne, in a haze but quickly regaining her focus, took off after him, Alk running by her side. Kryos would have followed, if not for Shalua. She stood rooted to the spot, eyes wide, watching the tide of shifting stone descend along the walls. “Shalua!” he urged, grabbing her arm.

“What, by Turlin, is this?” she said, voice stunned and subdued.

“Come on, Shalua!”

Her feet moved at Kryos’ urging. One step. Two more. Then a full out run as she came to and raced out of danger’s way. Kryos let her go and chased after her. He entered the corridor at a sprint, chasing after the torch Blake had miraculously thought to grab. Shalua was ahead of him and receeding, being much faster than him. Soon she had caught up to Anne and Blake. Chased after them. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes widening at what he saw. The enchanted stone was covering the entrance to the chamber where the slain bodies lay. Where they would rest forever. But the wave of rock kept coming, even as the way sealed shut.

“The Spire . . .” he breathed, an epitome hitting him hard. This was more than just an enchantment on the room, which could be explained by a curse or spell by a powerful sorcerer. After all, Xem'zûnd did create the Obsidian Spire, it wasn’t as if he couldn’t set traps within. But this was as if the Spire itself wished to see their destruction, as if it were a sentient creature with a will of its own.

“Kryos, come on!” Shalua yelled from up ahead. She stood on the boundary to one of the rooms they had passed through. The others had just entered. He came up breathing hard, pausing to catch his breath and speak.

“Shalua. What if . . . the Spire is a . . . living creature?” he gasped. “What if it didn’t . . . want us . . . to leave?”

“What?” she said, completely thrown by his proposition.

“Think about it. What if . . . the Spire was controlling . . . those stone to chase us?” He glanced behind his shoulder. The walls shifted with movement, the leading edge getting ever closer.

“Keep moving,” Shalua commanded, pushing him through the door. She followed him in, then slammed the door behind them and slid the bolt home. The Dwiilar raced onward, slower than before with exhaustion, but still making progress on the fleeing group ahead of him. The elf, on the other hand, stopped at the other end of the room, waiting. She heard the stone shifting on the other side of the far door. This was it. The noise grew ever louder, until it shook the outer door. The wood and iron held, but the walls around it began shifting, not even bothering with the flimsy obstacle. Shalua turned and ran, face written over with dread. It seemed as if Kryos had been correct. This was more than just a spell. The Spire was somehow, unexplainably, alive. And it did not want them to leave, for some reason known only to itself. With the rate they were going, and in the tiring state they were in, they probably wouldn’t escape alive.

Still, they ran. They had no choice but to try. Through passages and portals lined with the destruction of machines and the undead alike. They outran the flood of sorcery, but it was ever present behind them, a deep, carnivorous rumble that threatened to rob them of hope and courage.

They had to stop in one room. Too tired to continue on without a short break. Everyone breathed deeply, except for Shalua. Her kind was stronger than the rest of them, though Anne and Kryos weren’t doing too badly. Blake suffered the worst; gasping for air like a fish out of water. Reaching into the small fold in his clothing, Kryos realized he had no choice. He withdrew the only thing he had brought with him into the Obsidian Spire; his pack and other possessions he left outside in the cover of foliage. A small, simple vial of dark green liquid appeared in the palm of his hand. He removed the cap, the crystal tapping against his ring. He lifted the vial to his lips and drank half a swallow, before giving it to Blake. As the fluid slid down his throat and into his stomach, already being absorbed into his system, he felt his energy return.

“Drink this, Blake. It is a stamina potion of my kind.”

The human took the offered concoction and took a sip, testing it. Finding it sweet and tangy, he lifted it higher, about to drink deeply of the liquid energy.

“Save some for the others!” Kryos said, voice loud and commanding. Blake almost choked in surprise, looking up at him sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he said. Properly reprimanded, he also took a little of the drink, perhaps a little more than Kryos had, before passing it to Anne. She remained silent as she drank, caught up in her thoughts. Before passing it to Shalua, she poured a little pool into her hand and offered it to Alk. The canine was also nearing the end of his limit. The normally shiny, golden fur was slick with sweat and his tongue hung from his jaws. But he licked up the fluid in short work, before moving to Anne’s face. She laughed, despite the situation, at Alk and the unbearably pleasurable tickling sensation on her face. She laughed and backed away.

“Stop it, Alk,” she said, pushing him. “We don’t have time to mess around.”

Shalua handed the container back to Kryos, who replaced it in his pocket. The full moon was two weeks away. Two weeks before he could replenish his stock. He looked around the group again, now revitalized, and glanced down the passage behind them, the noise of churning stone slowly growing.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

The companions turned and, with new energy, rushed away from the barren room filled with hallow promises.

***************

The night was cloudless; the stars of the heavens shone down over Raiaera with all the brightness they could manage. And yet, it could not dispel the clouds of gloom that hung over the once great nation of the elves. The land burned and the dead rose to trample the living, and all the while, Xem'zûnd laughed in triumph. For he had, indeed, won the first many battles. Now it was only a matter to see if those battles were the deciding ones, or if the day of reckoning was yet to come.

In the Lindequalmë, excepting a few lost souls or undead, silence ruled. No animals lived in the crimson depths, for monstrosities awaited even the bravest adventures. Whoever dared enter would leave with, if not their life, than something precious to them, behind in the realm of the stained trees.

Like a great and mighty sword planted into stone, the Obsidian Spire rose above the Red Forest, the black walls and windows, facets and towers a silhouette against any backdrop. Here it had stood for centuries, and here it would most likely remain for centuries to come. If that is what it planned, of course.

A set of doors on the side of the Spire opened with crash, breaking the perfect silence of the night. Four figures stumbled out into the cool, fresh air of the Raiaera, breathing deeply and drenched in sweat. An animal also came with them. They stumbled across the clearing into the cover of the bushes. For even the safety of the forest wasn’t much safety at all.

They collapsed under a large, darkened tree, conveniently surrounded by bushes. Kryos removed his sword, placing it across his lap, and leaned against the tree trunk, breathing deeply. The others, too, drank the air, exhausted from their flight out of the accursed Spire. They didn’t speak for several minutes, only reflected on what had happened.

Soon, however, Blake broke the silence.

“What now, Kryos? Are we going back to Anebrilith? To Scara Brae?” he asked, rolling his head to the side to look at him. “Personally, I’m tired of running through dark hallways, fearing for my life.”

“Yeah, we’ll go back. We got what we came for, after all.” He closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of cool air playing with his skin and hair. Something about it was so beautiful, so amazing. It was the smell, he decided. There was no trace of death in this little sanctuary, this haven from the fears of the world. Even though the Obsidian Spire lay not a hundred yards away, this place held something he had been deprived of for the last while. Safety. As he breathed the sweet, sweet air, he felt his muscles stop shaking and relax, stretching out.

“Kryos?” Opening his eyes, he saw Anne come up and lean against him. She looked at him questioningly. He waited for her to continue. “I want to go to Scara Brae. I feel that I can learn a lot there, and it is away from this war.” She bit her lip, hesitant. “Will you come with me?”

He stroked her cheek in comfort, amazed at how comfortable he had become in acting around the girl. He hoped she would understand. “No.” He sighed when her face fell, and continued on to explain. “This country, it needs any help it can get. All the death and sadness must stop, one way or another. I must see how it ends, and help in anyway that I can. But don’t worry,” he said. “You can find Lucas and James. They’ll be more than willing to look after and help you.”

“Promise you’ll come and see me? Promise you’ll come when it’s over?” she asked, eyes alight with seriousness.

“Yeah, I promise.”

She nodded. “Good.” With that, she kicked her feet out and arched her back, shifting to a more horizontal and comfortable position. She rolled against Kryos and closed her eyes, snuggling in closer. Alk looked up from his position on the ground near their feet, checking on her, before lowering his head again.

Time moved on in silence, measured only by the movement of the stars. The pace of his breath slowed and he thought about their journey into the Spire. He dismissed the horrors and deaths, but instead lingered on the reunion of his comrade.

Lexxum Vordid, he thought. You truly were more than just a passing moment in reality. You became more than just an existence in the grand history of things. While you were alive, you became a legend. A mighty soldier, who came back, even if only for a small time, from death.

Kryos smiled, invisible in the dim light and under the shadow of the Spire. Soon, the sun would rise, and they would begin the journey back to Anebrilith. But until that time, he would sleep, and he would enjoy every second of it.

Fin.

Spoils:

Kryos: None.

Lexxum: The Breath of the Desert. However, this is for Lord Mitra, his deity, as he was sent by the Voice of Lord Mitra to obtain it for unknown reasons.

[Taskmienster]

Fight of Flight 2 – Shadow of the Spire

I’m going to make this one rather quick, if you don’t mind. If you want categories expounded upon by all means PM or IM me and I’ll help you out with those. What I did comment on was the things that stuck out the most, so that you can work on those. I noticed, and have noted in a couple places, that your writing style seemed to change when you came back and continued writing it at post 13. It was a bit inconsistent but not bad, if it had started that way it probably would have scored higher. I’d suggest taking my notes at face value, and not meant to demean or degrade in any way. Just working on threads to help with the backlog. If you didn’t get a comment on anything in particular, you probably did well on it and I had nothing really to note.

This is also going to be JUST for Kryos, since Lexxum (as he told me) isn’t going to be used anymore.

STORY (14/30)

~ Continuity ~ 3

~Try and express your background through the story, progressing more and more by post or putting it in the first post so that the reader knows WHO Kryos is, Where he came from, and why he’s going where he is? Things like that help a lot for the reader’s clarity, for future persona, dialogue, and action since it all has a means of adding to those sections.

~ Setting ~ 5

~Your setting wasn’t bad, you explained where you were consistently post to post. However, you didn’t give me much of a ‘feel’ for it till you got inside the tower. Try not to push it off to the side, or just mention it as a side thing. Setting is just as important as all other areas, because it helps set up how your character feels about the surroundings (persona), give you something to think and talk about (dialogue), as well as gives you a good excuse how to blend in advanced techniques in a way that doesn’t make them stick out or feel out of place (Technique, obviously). I would have suggested a little bit more detail for the Red Forest, since it’s a very dangerous and intriguing thing… kinda pushed the pacing a little too fast to skip over the passage to the Tower imo.

~ Pacing ~ 6

~Post 13 came out of nowhere, a deep historical endeavor at the beginning of the thread. It was good, however didn’t fit the flow of the story to that point. I believe that could have been due to the huge gap between the 12th post and the 13th. It threw me off quite a bit though.



CHARACTER (19/30)

~ Dialogue ~ 7

~The dialogue was believable, and pretty well done. It just didn’t ‘feel’ very deep. I’d suggest trying to use expressive synonyms for ‘said’ to try and make the threads a little bit more indepth. It will also help with the persona. A lot of dialogue helps build the character’s personalities, and in my opinion is one of t he simplest way’s to do so.

~ Action~ 6

~ Persona ~ 6

~Not a whole lot of ‘feel’, instead more ‘show’. I commented in the continuity and dialogue regarding that. Keep up the expressive and advanced techniques so that you can show your personality throughout the thread. You did well with this category, like most of them, after the 13th post, but before then it was a little off.



WRITING STYLE (21/30)

~ Technique ~ 6

~I didn’t catch a lot of techniques, which is what spices up the writing. Of course, your writing style isn’t bad, but it’s somewhat bland at times. Like you’re trying to just write out thoughts, put them to words, instead of writing an aesthetically pleasing story… from post 13 on it seemed that you tried to make the style of writing more verbose and more interesting, but it didn’t pick up enough to ‘pull me to the edge of my seat’, so to speak.

~ Mechanics ~ 8

~Just a few errors here and there, nothing major just spelling mistakes.

~ Clarity ~ 7


WILD CARD!!! 5

TOTAL

(59/100)


GAINS/REWARDS!

Kryos gains 1250 exp (doubled for the FQ); 400 gp

Lexxum gains 1750 exp (doubled for FQ); 200 gp

[Taskmienster]

Exp and GP added.

Kryos levels up!