MQ: Blood Red Blossoms 2 - The Reach of the Tower

[Skie and Avery]

-Closed to Kahlina(Rumplegrumblepuss), Lillian(Ataraxis), and Godhand-

Xem'Zund's contingent sat a mere quarter mile from the Obsidian Tower. While there were a mere hundred undead soldiers that came, there were three commanders to lead them, and three commanders to disagree about what to do about the warriors in the tower.

"Three heroes are nothing. We should pass by and continue towards the place our Lord expects us to be." An impatient woman's voice was the loudest of the three. She wasn't beautiful, but her presence commanded attention nonetheless. A squared face and jaw were well for the rest of her. Her shoulders were too wide, her chest too flat. Were it not for the long lashes and full lips, the delicate curve of her hips and the way she wore long, curled tresses in braids that were threaded through with jewels, she would have been nearly manly. She wore the dress of the Bladesinger's Guild and the right side of her face was scarred from the bottom of her chin to her spired ear, where the cartilage of the edge had been split. Red hues cast her pale skin with the setting sun falling across the red foliage above them. Her blue eyes were the color of glaciers, her aura just as cold. They kept moving towards the sunset, where the fiery orb would fall below the horizon within the hour. When she looked at the next speaker, it was clear that if looks could kill, he would be her first victim.

"The mahsster would want all to fall into hiss glory," the quiet voice said. There were hissing qualities about it, as if it were a serpent's tongue that spoke. He was a ragged thing, a jigsaw puzzle where none of the pieces quite fit right. He hunched over, his legs strong and stubby like a dwarf's, his arms long and spindly. The elbows were on the same level as his knees, and the hunched form didn't help much. He never walked, but seemed to crawl along, his eyes wide. He had no way of seeing straight forward. Instead his right blue eye was frozen in an upward direction, the brown left one swirling madly to make up for it. "Idril MÃ*riel, I will tell him tha you ssay 'passss by, they are nothing to tha mahsster.' And he will punissshoo for dissobeying."

The tension was enough to be cut with a knife, and Idril moved forward as if she would slap the wretched thing. Her hand was stopped short by a strong, gloved fist. She looked over, cold fire in her eyes at the third, though the rage was soon replaced by revulsion. It was uncertain just when Braeden Devondre had died, but he'd been something other than just a mere corpse when Xem'Zund had laid his will upon him. He carried a form now, of a tall man - nearly eight feet - with hands and feet that seemed to be large even on his enormous frame. He was built like a behemoth, and the charcoal gray skin that was more like moving ash than any real pigmentation only made him seem more frightening. His eyes were blank, mere whites as if they'd rolled up into his head and decided to stay there. His teeth were sharp as broken glass, stained brown. His breath was like the opening of a crypt too long sealed, and his words were firm.

"We wait here and when the sun sets, we will march. All will fall into the path of Xem'Zund. Be they three or three hundred, they will see the dawn as one of the horde." Neither of his comrades argued against it.

[RumpleGrumblePuss]

Glimmering like poisoned silk in the light, the black threads spilled from Lillian's hands to the floor as I watched. A myriad of thoughts and plans ran through my mind, among them was the thought to simply turn and run. Let the others survive if they could. Shoving the petty, selfish thoughts back into the depths of my mind I forced myself to look back out, to watch the Scourge approach.

How does one stop something that seems as powerful as a force of nature? Simple, you can’t. All you can do is prepare, ride it out and hope that your soul and body are still intact when it’s all done and over with.

The wind carried the over whelming stench of decaying flesh and corruption, my stomach clenched in upon itself and I was glad I had not eaten recently. Figures, the stuff of nightmares, began peeking through the red stained foliage as their march brought them closer. For a second I thought the Red Forest itself let me see what was coming, letting me view my death. If I survive this I am so going to find a way to either purify the forest or burn it down.

The soft sound, much like silk sliding against silk, ceased. A moment later the thump of someone falling reached me. Turning, I half expected to find another traitor in our midst, another person being taken from our small group. Instead Lillian, sweet Lillian, whom had more than proved her worth this day knelt, blood pouring from her in a torrent. Worried that Cydonia had somehow injured the girl I knelt by her, ignoring the sticky, still warm blood that soaked into my pants. Lightly probing her body I checked for wounds that had gone unnoticed, broken bones or any other swelling that would indicate internal bleeding. Something that would account for the blood she had spilled on the ground. Finding nothing I sat back on my heels and looked down at the girl, more than a little puzzled.

“Pick her up and move her. Keep her away from the windows and keep an eye on her and let me or Godhand know if she wakes up.” First wiping the blood of my hands I grabbed the dark threads Lillian had produced. Of the three students that approached one stayed standing beside me.

“I can help.” He sounded nervous, skeptically I looked up at the young elf. He looked like a child no more than 16 or so. A brow rose of its own accord when he actually looked me in the eye despite the tremors that shook his body. Standing I nodded and turned for the stairs.

“Alright, come with me. We need to set up several webs between the entrance and the group to buy us some time.” At the first step I froze and looked back. The remaining students huddled together almost silently near where Lillian now lay. My gaze skipped to Godhand and I wondered if the man would be able to continue to fight given his condition. Of course he will. I doubt he’ll fight to save us, he’ll fight until he’s ripped to pieces to save his own skin.

“If you have any strategies now would be a good time to get them set up if you need the time.” Giving him a salute I headed down the stairs. Now that I was alone or rather as alone as I was going to get I felt the arctic chill of the magic embedded into the stone of the Spire. A spike of anger warmed me and I wished I had the knowledge to use the magic around me.

Light gleamed off of the obsidian walls and floor from the light spilling in. Yards away the trees and vines shifted in the wind as if they too wished to advance upon the Spire and take the lives with in. Nerves getting the better of me I began humming the soothing song once more. I projected my voice up and out so it rang up the stair well to the rest of the group. I hoped that it would give them a rest from their worries as I worked, stringing the sticky dark threads in a loose web across the door. Backing up I started another web a yard into the room. Backing up once more I gestured for the boy to back up to then frowned as he shook his head.

“I’m staying, I can help.”

“By doing what? Dying for no reason?” I snapped, annoyed with this child that seemed as if he had a death wish.

“I’ll cast a illusion over the door way when the Scourge arrive. It will hold for only a few minutes but I have to do it from here.” He looked determined, terrified and young. So very young. I looked away and tacked the first strand of the dark thread up.

“You’re going to die there.” I whispered, I almost asked for his name then decided against it. I can't mourn for thoes whom have no name.

“I know. Please, keep singing that song. It helps to chase my fears away.”

I looked away from those pleading eyes, nodded and began working on the webbing once more. The soothing song spilled from my lips once more but this time it did nothing to help me.

[Godhand]

What a Goddamn disaster. He had that guy, Kross, he had him. One bullet to the brainstem was all it would have taken and it would have been over. But dumb fucking luck, his gun jammed. It was the Red Forest. Maybe even Raiaera itself. It had just as much resentment for the elves as the necromancer did, it seemed. So now, with Skie getting flown off by the turncoat and surrounded by lethal flora and fauna, they had to also deal with a horde of incoming zombies. The only thing going for them in that God forsaken hellhole was the tower, and that wouldn't last long. The mercenary was good, damn good if he said so himself, but he couldn't handle that many undead. There had to be hundreds, maybe thousands. No way on his own, but with these kids slowing him down? No chance at all. That, plus his ribs. They'd gotten pretty banged up in the fight with the zombie broad. Any fighter will tell you that a rib is probably the worst place to get an injury. I mean you can fight on if one of your arms is broken, use the other arm, you know? But if someone manages to get to your ribs, they basically shut you down. Big chest pains and you couldn't breathe to save your life. A warrior's worst nightmare. Without your air, you were nothing.

Lillian, the kid, she'd done something. Godhand couldn't say what, but it had done the trick. I mean it still hurt like Hell, but he could breathe, and that was all he needed. Plus, I don't know...It was getting better. The librarian's magic worked even now, despite her unconscious state. Damn impressive, and she may have just saved them all.

Godhand recoiled when Kahlina saluted him. That was new. Then again, with Kross and their de facto leader Skie gone, it was only natural that they look to whoever made the strongest showing in the previous battle. And since Lillian was sleeping it off, that meant it fell to the mercenary. He ran a hand through his greying hair and drew in a ragged breath, considering their situation. The kids around the room were looking at him like he was some sort of messiah. The girls especially, looking at him with those big doe eyes. Save us, Godhand, save us! If it'd been three months ago and they were in Eluriand, these broads wouldn't have given him the sweat off their tits if he was dying of thirst. And, even though it was something of a weird segue, he had an idea. The mercenary walked hurriedly down the stairs to where Kahlina and the elf kid was. He had more guts than the rest of 'em, anyway. He clasped the boy on the shoulder as he passed; nothing needed to be said. Godhand walked up to the threads Kahlina had placed and with one swift movement pulled them all of. He ignored the girl's white-hot, incredulous glare when he placed the bundle of magical silk in her hands.

"Put these on the windows in the second floor. I'll handle this."

They were lucky. The double doors of the Obsidian Spire were the kind you had to push to open if you were outside. If they had been any other kind then his plan wouldn't have worked and they'd have been doomed. He pulled them open and walked out into the Red Forest, proud to have found a use for the plant life that had been so problematic before. The swordsman looked at the large tree he had climbed to Frog Splash Cydonia. It was an ancient looking oak, about thirty feet tall and five feet wide. It was perfect.

The titan placed his shoulder against the trunk and with one measured thrust, uprooted the enormous thing. It lurched forward sickeningly, but the fall itself was rather slow given that the base was so large. Godhand walked to the end and wrapped his arms around the top of it, effectively strangling off the section with most of the branches. Pleased with himself, Goddamn this was a good plan, he pushed the tremendous tree past the double doors, the last few branches getting snapped off at the entryway. Into the main hall as far as it could go before one end hit the wall. It fit perfectly, giving them just enough room to close the doors again. Once that was done, he pushed the rooted base against the doors, effectively barring them. No way in Hell they'd get through that.

[Skie and Avery]

With the door barred shut by the massive oak, something else was bid welcome into the Spire. The wind came in from the upper windows, whistling as it was born down the spiral stairs and through the rooms. From the top floors, rustles of canvas tarps were whipping. They were everywhere, making a symphony of shuffles. They covered several cases of siege bolts, heavy artillery bows, and piles of shields. From walls hung chains that danced in the breeze, clanking loudly against the obsidian walls. In rooms torches burned, as if they had burned for years and would never go out. In more ways than one, that was the truth. And in a room near the top, where an empty dias stood and spattered stains could barely be seen on the dark floor, a small case of the oldest Raiaeran wines was locked away.

In the Red Forest, General Devondre lifted a ram's horn to his lips. He blew, a low sorrowful sound bringing his troops to attention. "We march!" he shouted, "Ready thyselves! We cast upon the Black Tower in an hour's time!"

[Ataraxis]

There was something ominous in the bellow of the blowhorn, a tone better fit for a dark and dismal elegy than a call to the warpath. Those trapped in the spire were overwhelmed with a strange feeling, inconsistent, illogical, as if their would-be-killers had mourned their forthcoming deaths, as if the undead legion had sung a funeral hymn for those still living. ‘Not for long,’ the cynics thought grimly, hearing instead a crooning of celebration, rising from the dark and bloody lungs of Lindequalmë. The students would be a quick slaughter, and for each slain, a fresh corpse would fatten the ranks of the festering: why wouldn’t they rejoice?

Not all, however, were touched by this spreading plague of despair. The cry of the horn, the wails of the dead, the qualms of the students: nothing could reach the unfathomable depths in which Lillian had fallen. It seemed only moments before that she was hard at work, spinning webs as thick as ropes strung with steel wires for whatever defensive plan Kahlina had devised. Only moments, yet now she was adrift in a black sea, lightless, formless, soundless – timeless. With eyes closed or open, she could only see the same expanse of nothingness, to the point where she realized she could neither see her body, nor feel it. Unnerving.

In this ocean of shadows, even her mind seemed to whittle away, each flake carrying with it a fragment of her memory, a parcel of her thoughts. She was forgetting, for the first time in her life: forgetting Raiaera and her beautiful countryside, soaking in the golden hues of each sunrise and sunset; forgetting Istien University, in which she’d spent the last few months finding her voice as well as finding herself; forgetting the morning of the Necromancer’s attack, the ensuing escape into the Red Forest, the following fight against the blight that was Cydonia.

All she could remember was the fury, the storm of violence that had wrought her heart and wracked her body when she murdered the undead bitch. ‘And you’d do well to remember it, Lillian Sesthal.’

From the void came the voice, like a tempestuous wind through the winding tunnels of a cavern, like whimsical whispers and stentorian roars after the strike of midnight. What struck her most, however, was its familiarity. ‘Four years ago, we met. You helped me in Scara Brae, you… you gave me my powers. You’re the… the Welkin Body.’

‘The strain has spared more of your memory than I first expected,’ the voice continued, pensive. ‘Recovery may be possible, then.’ Somehow, it could feel her surprise at these words, feel her sudden rise of apprehension. ‘What did you expect would happen, going beyond your limits like that? That man let you drink his blood, but you forced the change. You forced your body to take in the full brunt of his strength, and now you’ve lost it.’

‘I don’t mourn the loss. I never asked mister Godhand so that I could keep his power, I just wanted to help him save everyone – and I did.’ Lillian fell silent, chewing her words as if in fear of putting them to her thoughts. ‘It made me feel angry, cheated by life. It made me… made me want revenge. I hated that feeling, and I’m glad to be rid of it.’

‘As I said, you’d do well to remember it.’ More likely than not, it could hear her confusion just as well, but made no effort to enlighten the girl. ‘Be wary of repeating this – you were blessed by luck today, but there is only so much left in this world.’ With that, it fell silent. Only seconds later did Lillian realize that it had vanished as suddenly as it did, all those years ago. Guilt clasped her chest, the librarian recalling how it had fallen into a deep slumber to recuperate; she had most likely awakened it before its time, weakening it even further. ‘Will it be four more years till we speak again?’

Before the black ocean was lit afire, before it was submerged by light, she thought she heard it answer.

The stone against her arms and legs was a cold gloss, sending shivers into her waking body. Lillian shuddered, slightly shifting to the side; the motion caused water to slick, and only then did she realize she’d been sat in a lukewarm puddle. The watery blur in her eyes filtered a dim light, but as they dried, she could see black shapes become clearer against similarly black walls. Then their voices came like a tempest, nattering at her ears, wracking her with a sour headache. “The students… if I’d known helping them would give me a chronic migraine…” Trying to stand up, she nudged herself to rest her weight on the left hand, only to slip and fumble. Eyes wide from the surprise, she looked down, and it dawned on her that she was sitting in a pool of her own blood.

“She’s awake!” a shrill voice rang from the packed mass of students, and the subsequent rise of gladness and alarm sent a fresher pang of pain to travel round and round her skull. “We’ve taken turns to heal you with the Lissilin songs we know,” said a young man with a voice full of hope. It was an accent she’d heard in Corone – Radasanth, most likely – in one of those areas usually frequented by nobility. Tea shop? Lounges? Burlesque cabarets? She couldn’t remember. “How are you feeling?”

“I... I’m feeling…” she began tentatively, too distracted by the noisy commotion that had somehow made her its center. “Groggy… and I have a headache, so if you could…” The boy nodded embarrassedly in that self-chiding way, then told everyone to move away and let her breathe. She did just that, and found a strong enough wind within her to heave herself halfway up. The boy quickly stepped up to take her hand, pulling the wobbly girl to a complete stand. “Thank you. Can… can anyone tell me what’s happened while I was out?”

At that, they all became mute, but the look in their eyes told more than Lillian wanted to know. She dragged her feet beneath her with an effort, aligning them step by step while wary of her poise and making headway to the stone-carved window. What she saw, peering through it, made her physically ill. They were hidden by the vermillion copse of the forest, but in bald patches she could see withered corpses, standing in place but far from still. She found dozens upon dozens, until she estimated from their position in the forest and the spacing between each undead about a hundred of the zombies. “I see.”

“Damn it, and I left all of my weapons down there in that witch’s ashes.” To make things bleaker, Godhand was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Kahlina. With each thought, things seemed to take a turn for the worst. The only thing that kept her from collapsing right there, right then, hoping that her second awakening would be from a bad dream, was the last thing she’d heard the Welkin Body say.

“Sooner than you think,” she murmured listlessly, the endless blue of her eyes riveted on something beyond the forest, beyond the horizon. Without a warning, she turned to face the students, voicing a polite query – all of them knew, however, that it was nothing short of an order. “Anyone have a sword I can borrow?”

[RumpleGrumblePuss]

My mouth opened and closed a few times in confused indignation as the dark threads I had been working with suddenly were forced into my grasp once more. Crap, I hate untangling knots. Once my brain finally caught up to speed and found itself with a lack of words, my mouth snapped shut. Clutching the tangled mass I watched Godhand, thinking him a fool for leaving the tower. As he tore the tree down and began to drag it towards the Spire I just shrugged. Leave it to the leviathan to jump to a unique way of helping. He's going to aggravate those wounds, I doubt they are healed properly yet.

“Right. Come on puppy. You may get to live for another day, then again who knows?” I had to turn away quickly to hide the sadistic grin that was beginning to form. Behind me, echoing up the stairs, rose the loud wooden crunch and scrape of the tree being lodged into place . For a moment I thought I heard the clatter of metal mixed in. I entertained the thought of placing a student or three in the dark threads I carried and hanging them out on the walls as a peace offering, but only for a second or two. Does the good of the many out weigh the good of the few or the one? I shook my head, Star Trek quotes would do no good nor would offering up a few students as sacrificial lambs. Xem’zund and his generals would undoubtedly prefer something, someone a lot tastier. Like Godhand for instance.

The noise of the groaning crunch subsided and I glanced back down the dark stairwell and wondered. He’s probably not even enough. Xem'zund and his generals seem like the greedy type. Why have the main course only when you can have the appetizer and desert too? Feeling a little like an emotional top, and resenting the fact that I most likely was considered and appetizer. I leaned against the gleaming black stone and let the coldness of it seep into my clothing and reach into my body. I blamed the stress of the day. After all, flitting from utter seriousness to vaguely homicidal to sarcastic was enough to knock anyone off their balance for a moment or three.

The fact that Lillian was awake let alone standing, was a bit of a miracle. I had to admit I was more than a little surprised to see her up and about. I wouldn’t have been surprised is she slept until all of us were freshly recruited undead and munching on her or what ever it was the undead did. Rampaging and pillaging I guess. Do the undead gnaw on the living or is that just a movie myth? I stayed on the landing and watched them for a moment until the brush of cloth against my hand startled me out of the vivid images of every zombie movie I had ever watched.

“Still here Puppy?”

“What now?” Shrugging at his question, I kept my gaze and dark, unflattering thoughts to myself. I seriously doubted that he wanted to chat about what the undead ate or how they went about their day. Touching the whips resting on my hips I glanced at the stairs that continued up.

“Well…what we do should do is try to survive. Talk to a few of the others, get them to look around. There’s a whole lot more to the Spire than just the little bit we’ve been invaded. Find weapons, or heavy things to throw, make traps what ever you can do to help. Come on Puppy, lets explore.”

[Godhand]

Godhand felt pretty good about himself right then, looking at that big, ridiculous barricade he'd made. He'd gotten a few dumbstruck glances by the students present, and really, that made him feel pretty good. Call him shallow or a hypocrite or whatever, but it felt good to be the hero, the showstopper, the one they couldn't do without. Usually he was put up against such a backdrop of freaks and madmen that his own powers seemed almost ordinary. I mean you had Johnny B. Badd over there, who'd just betrayed them, and he could turn into a monster. James could morph into a dragon, Seth Dahlios was basically a living cadaver...Like I said, just a lot of weird, wild stuff going on around him. He rarely got the chance to steal the show. Still, now that he had, he wished it had been in a different situation. Those animals were still circling around them, waiting for their chance.

Godhand felt someone staring at him, and turned to see a group of young schoolgirls. Or the closest thing elf land had to them. Call him a freak, but the warrior had a thing for schoolgirls. I don't know, maybe it was because he'd never really gotten an education. On the other hand, it was probably just the plaid skirts. Being on the interior of the Obsidian Spire had relaxed the girls considerable. Something about being inside an armory made you feel safe, I guess. Now they were casting appreciative glances at him. It was good to be the showstopper. He approached them with a swagger and a small smile, but just as he did a small, bookish type of girl with glasses and at the back of the group blurted it out.

"We're sixteen!"

"Heyo!"

Godhand turned on his heel and walked back over to Lillian, ignoring the hissing going on behind him as the girls turned on their bookworm friend. The swordsman beamed at the resuscitated librarian, assuming a boxing position and playfully swiping at her. He grabbed her by the ears and shook her head a bit, before chuckling and leaning in for an embrace. When he finally released her, he pinched her cheeks. Godhand didn't know why, but he was really starting to grow fond of the girl. Maybe it was just that he had a thing for the shy ones, but she was starting to grow on him.

"How's my little slugger doing!? I'm glad to see you woke up!"

[Ataraxis]

Bunnies approved, Godhand wrote his dialogue and actions.

The students nattered amongst each other, groping their hips and backsides in case they’d strapped a weapon on this morning without noticing. The few that had were quick to move up the crowd, extending daggers and some sort of rapier to the girl, their young and hopeful faces lit with pride. With an appraising eye, Lillian had quickly guessed that the only things those knives would ever cut open were letters, while she noted that the highly-ornate rapier was blunt-tipped and dull-edged – a mere foil. “Goodness, I…” she began, stopping as she felt the rising hope of several dig under her skin. “Thank you, but I’ll just take one from the armory… these look so costly, I’m afraid I’d nick them.” The boys paused, then nodded, stowing their toys away. ‘Rich kids… but at least they meant well.’

It was then that a boulder-sized fist swept across her vision; she’d expected a head-lopping impact, but the knuckles simply rested lightly against her cheek. There was a sharp tug at her ear that rattled the insides of her head, and then a pair of arms wrapping about her frame, an image akin to hulking bear arms around a wee sapling. A whiff of the woodland animal’s neck, and she knew it was Godhand. That smell of his had ignited the strangest of feelings in the girl, only a few hours ago, a kind of devilry that drove her wild – or at least, as wild as an introverted librarian could get. Ever since he’d allowed her to drink his blood and thus borrow his power, however, that feeling had vanished, replaced only by one of familiarity and a certain amount of giddiness she couldn’t quite explain.

The kind weight on her bones was removed soon enough, but Godhand had not wasted the opportunity to pinch her cheeks, giving them a pink blush once more. Lillian rubbed her face to shoo away the pain, shooting the titan a look of woe that shifted to mischief. “Just so you know, I’m also sixteen.”

Godhand began to snap his fingers and tap his heels, a big grin plastered all over his face. “She's only sixteen, but she'll show me love like I've never seen! Only sixteen!”

“Oh god. Well… in any case.” Lillian looked aside, hiding her momentous smile as she coughed into a cupped hand. “The fact that half my blood is on the floor and the other half on my dress notwithstanding… I’m fine.” She couldn’t help but lie today, it seemed. It was a miracle she was still standing, as if some strange remnant of the mercenary’s vigor still traveled through her veins, feeding her muscles with time and delay.

A thought crossed her mind, the boldness of the idea turning her expression into a blank slate. “Mister Godhand, you used a sword before, at Carnelost – against the undead. Can I borrow it?”

“You mean this?” Godhand pulled his coat back to reveal the sheathed Muramasa. It was a glorious thing; perfect in everyway. Just looking at it made you think of math. Geometry. All the same, it was a little big for her. And again, this was a thing of beauty. You weren't supposed to swing it around like a bat. “Actually, I think I have something that might suit you better.” It was a good thing Godhand had been carrying it. Normally it was the sort of thing he left at home, but a fancy thing like that seemed like just the sort of thing to take to elf land. He reached over to his right hip, unstrapping it and presenting it to Lillian. It was a beautiful masterwork Delyn rapier, with silver inlays on the hilt and guard and just...Mouah! It was magnifique. He handed it to her gingerly, almost reverently.

The girl unwittingly fell into his game, shakily accepting the present with both hands held out, palm upward and with a slight, awkward bow. She felt its light weight set on her arms, barely pulling them down; felt the coolness of its blade spread over her skin like water from a shard of melting ice. She stepped back, clearing enough space in front of her to twirl the thing: she was surprised to hear the clean ring of metal and swooshing air. “This is perfect, thank you. I’ll return it to you without a scuff.” With that, she spun the blade once more, resting its tapered tip against the inner noose of her rope belt, sheathing it thus.

“Everyone should be armed as well,” she suddenly announced, turning toward the mass of students, nervous boys, giggling girls, somber men and gloomy women alike. “Take up shields, ready bows, grip your swords, I don’t care, just do, please. Those who need to, take station at the windows and be ready to let loose a rain of arrows – or of whatever you’ve learned in the school of Ost’Dagorlin.”

[Ignition]

There were all kinds of people in the world that weren’t very trustworthy. Cheats, liars, clergymen were among the worst, but if there was one group of people Tom doubted more than any other, it was people who trusted him. He didn’t know what he had ever done in his life to make someone look up to him, the most honorable things he’d ever done were the ones that had almost got him killed. As he read the note, delivered to him by carrier pigeon despite his lack of permanent address, he had extreme misgivings.

“This person wants me in Raiaera?” he wondered, bemused. “The hell? No one in their right mind goes to Raiaera now… not that I would really go there any time, damn self righteous singing elves… it’s not my problem if they get what someone says they got coming to them.” Tom knew the situation with Xem’zund was far more complicated than that, but he didn’t care. The note was signed with a name that Tom didn’t know. It vaguely resembled one of the Raiaeran noble houses, but the Istraloth native had no idea how they would have heard of him, let alone have the faith to call on him specifically to aid them in their time of need.

“If they could have bought a single damn arrow with the money they used to send me this letter, it would have been better spent…” Tom declared, crumbling up the letter and throwing it at the pigeon as it flew away. The letter settled benignly in a puddle of water left over from a rain storm a few nights ago.

For a moment, the former convict wondered what it would have taken to get him to agree to come to Raiaera. He abandoned the task almost immediately. Imagination was often a dangerous liability in prison, and Tom had not grown accustomed to using his again. Instead he snorted and continued on his way, figuring he’d get a drink at Brady’s Pub before settling for another night of stowing away in a farmer’s barn.

Suddenly, Tom felt as though he was being followed. He turned behind him, his good right hand reaching for the handle of his crossbow before turning to see an elven priest. Tom relaxed, he doubted she was much of a threat. Then, Tom realized she was Raiaeran, and probably wanted to drag him into her war. He reconsidered using the crossbow.

“You shouldn’t have disregarded my letter,” she said. “Raiaera needs you.”

“I don’t need Raiaera,” Tom replied coldly.

The elf smiled. “You need work and money though, and Raiaera can provide both?”

Tom’s scowl grew harder. “Yes but I also want to live,” he said. “Why do you want me for this anyways? I have nothing to do with your country, nothing to do with your people, I couldn’t tell General Findelfin from a Forgotten One until I saw them in the Radasanthian Reader…”

As if regretting the level she had to go to persuade a stranger, the elf shook her head in disbelief. “A man named Enabrim wants you,” she said. “He said you were the only honorable man he could trust to get supplies in and out to people who need them.”

Tom didn’t know what to say to that. He was speechless. There were few names that had power over him, and his former teacher was one on that select list. He didn’t know how Enabrim could have found him, or what he would have been doing outside of Istraloth, but he didn’t care. That was a name that he couldn’t refuse, at least easily. He remained silent, hoping that the elf might give him something to help him make a decision.

“We just need you to supervise transports,” the elf continued. “Once the supplies get to Treynce, they’re someone else’s responsibility. The danger to you is minimal. We just need someone we can trust, not a strapping warrior.”

Now, Tom didn’t know what to say. He genuinely wanted to refuse, but he didn’t have a choice. “No danger?” he asked.

The elf nodded.

“Fine,” he agreed, certain he would regret his decision.

-x-

It took less than one trip for Tom to regret his decision. The ship never reached Treynce, within hours of their destination, the ship had begun to take on water and Tom was the only one who had managed to swim to shore successfully. A few people more quick witted than him had found life boats, but Tom was the only one who had the determination to swim over an hour to reach the shore of Raiaera. Once he’d stumbled onto the land, he promptly fell asleep.

After what seemed to be an entire day’s rest, Tom woke to find himself on the shores of the Red Forest. The sand extended only another fifty feet, after which the fronds of blood red trees extended out to him. Though his first instinct was to ignore the forest, Tom realized that the beach was likely the only place more conspicuous in a time of war.

With his clothes dried stiff onto his body, Tom trudged into the forest. He saw nothing, but there were unnerving sounds all around him. Unrequited mating calls of wolves, the slow rustling in the trees of thick, meaty vines, and the waxy blood red leaves all seemed to be telling Tom to leave but he continued deeper into the forest.

Soon, Tom heard the cries of the undead. He couldn’t place them with any certainty, all he knew was that they were behind him. Shaking his head in disbelief, he began to run. He moved in the direction of a tall black building, unsure of anything about it other than that he hoped it would be able to find a place to hide in it. As he grew closer, he could tell the bottom had already been barricaded. He wasn’t sure whether to panic or be relieved. It meant there were others, but that he might not have a way in.

Panic had not yet set in when he noticed a window still open and a branch that lead up to it. Tom knew that it wouldn’t be easy, and that his lungs were already about to explode, but it would be his only chance at salvation. Tom climbed, the lack of a thumb never more conspicuous, but still made it from up the tree and into the window. It took a last breath grasp for desperation once he was out on the limb. It was narrow and creaked with his weight and if he had any other options, Tom would have taken them gratefully.
Still, by luck and stamina, Tom had survived. Panting for breath as he fell into the Spire, the sweat soaked ex-convict felt his pulse racing as he leaned back against the cool Obsidian and thanked gods he didn’t even believe in for his good fortune. When he looked back out the window, he could only stare in shock that the branch had managed to support him. Knowing that he’d have to close this pathway before the undead took it, he pulled the branch to him and sliced it off as far as he could reach.

Summoning his last bits of strength and will, Tom pushed a book case over to barricade the door. It wasn’t a particularly sturdy barricade, but it was the best he could do, considering his fatigue. Between cutting the branch and the effort he put in, he was willing to accept it was good enough. “Don’t even know if those damned creatures can climb,” he thought contentedly.

[Skie and Avery]

As Tom escaped into the clutch of stone and strength, there were eyes upon him. Braedan's scouts had been watching him for some time, staying hidden as they could. However, when they had returned word to him that yet another had joined the small force defending the Tower, their master was apathetic. After all, everyone knew that they would fall soon.

When the army had at last come to a pause outside of the ancient stronghold, Braedan stepped forward. He watched the empty windows for some time, his eyes sliding across shadowed nooks and openings. Finally, he drew in a breath, and forced his voice loud and echoing through the empty forest.

"Come forward and give yourselves to the mercy of Xem'Zund and you shall see battle another day! Glory and Power are gifts the necromancer gives freely! Raiaera has fallen - will you follow her or rise above into the next morrow!?"

Stepping back, all the army strained to hear if there would be an answer from those they knew to be blockaded in the tower. Idril pursed her lips, glancing sideways to the other generals. She knew the answer, but still she had to ask, "Shall the archers fire if they show their faces?"

Subtly, Braedan nodded. Under the whisper of the wind, the creak of pulled bowstrings was no more audible than the creak of the cursed branches in Pode's forest.