Pray I Don't Die.

[Cyrus the virus]

Luc’s tome, a massive thousand-page description of a single spell, was somewhat of a burden in battle. Before fully entering the town, Luc created a deep hole in the ground, placed the spellbook inside, and sealed it there. He noted its location carefully.

Beyond the planks of reinforced, heavy wood that comprised the town wall, signs of life had finally begun to show. Soldiers previously resting had awoken, workers had stopped loading up wagons with supplies, and what few civilians remained were being moved to the back of town, toward an emergency exit which would bring them underground for several miles – its exit was closer to Eluriand and behind a nearby hill. They had weapons and training on their side, but Luc had an arsenal of spells and the elements on his.

He whispered incantations to himself as he scanned the town, covering himself with a Stoneskin shield, improving his eyesight and blessing his speech; it didn’t hurt to be prepared. The town buildings were made of fine elven wood, each roof coated with a glasslike substance that protected from the elements. Such elegance reflected that typical elven pride – Luc was happy to imagine the wood burning.

“By the entrance!” he heard a call in the distance. He was standing in between two huge slabs of wood, remains of the destroyed doorway. With his new and improved eyesight, Luc watched as the elves rallied together near the center of the city, making a quick plan before they moved forward.

Luc focused on the ground below them. In a sudden explosion of raw power, a pointed spire erupted among them, casting bodies violently aside as it shot upward dozens of feet into the sky. Now, suddenly, the town had a central tower of earthen rock, a beacon to all who might approach.

He used the diversion to his advantage, drawing his sword once more and igniting it. He slashed left, then right, sending arcs of flame onto nearby buildings, using his magic to have the flames grow even more hungry and hot.

Finally they came, rounding corners and rushing the entrance from different angles. Luc wasn’t deep enough into the city, yet, for them to get behind him. They drew swords and bows, the ranged fighters stopping as the melee warriors rushed past; many of them were untrained for battle, but they all had the resolve. They would not ask questions, not in these times and not to a man who held a sword which was on fire.

Before they had a chance to strike, Luc spun his sword above his head, sending a ring of fire outward from his location. It grew wide and high, forcing the sword-wielders to shield their faces, forcing the archers to retreat temporarily. When the flames died down and they renewed their approach, many were shocked to see that Luc was no longer there.

He had used his Windwalk spell, transforming his solid body into wind and soaring to the opposite end of the town, where he materialized. There was nobody here, so he had time. Sheathing his sword once again, Luc manipulated the earth between himself and the city wall, erected a huge slab of stone and mud which he hardened and shaped. In seconds he had created a fifteen-foot tall golem, hardened its body into a steel-strength dirt and given it all the appropriate appendages of a humanoid. When he was satisfied, Luc muttered an incantation and the beast began to rumble and move. He had given it life.

“Destroy the city, golem,” Luc commanded. “Flatten the buildings, smash the walls, and kill any being which tries to stop you. Except for me, of course.”

It gave no indication that it understood, as it was unable to speak and Luc had neglected to give it a neck with which to nod its head. Luc had to be satisfied with its sudden response, as it violently slammed a long, stone arm into the nearest building.

He drew his sword yet again, ignited it, and began to set the rest of the town aflame.

[Griffin Rampant]

The leather traces creaked as the cart rattled down the path; the cart itself groaning with every stone and rut the wheels hit, bouncing almost like a boat over unruly waves. It was, however, better than walking, and they were going fast enough that Sophie could feel the breeze of their speed blowing her hair back from her face. She smiled, slightly, relaxing at the familiar sounds of well-trained horses moving in unison.

“So.” She turned from watching the sun flicker through the trees in streaks of greenish, grey-gold to see Eric prodding Camthalion in the back. “What is that thing, exactly?”

Camthalion had just about opened his mouth to speak when Laraiel interrupted him. “What, the maglor?” She spat the word out, as if it left a bad taste on her tongue. Eric cast a look at Sophie, who simply shrugged. She’d never studied Elvish, and that was not a word she’d ever heard before. Camthalion rolled his eyes, looking over his shoulder for a moment.

“Just means bone, really. She’s trying to confuse you.”

Sophie bit back a laugh at the look of utter indignation that flashed across Laraiel’s face as quick as a flash of summer lightning before it smoothed back to her typical, calm expression. Camthalion turned back to watch the path and continued, voice smug.

“His real name’s Oronar, and he’s…well. He’s Oronar. Started out as Tathar’s,” the elf flicked his fingers at the tawny stallion without removing them from the reins, “Little brother, but I wanted a matched pair so I went to a warlock who said she could grow ‘im up real quick, and…well.”

“I told you not to trust a drow,” Laraiel huffed, almost under her breath. Camthalion chuckled ruefully, turning in his seat again to raise his thin shoulders in an awkward shrug.

“She may have a point, she may not have a point, I only know that if she does I didn’t listen to it.”

Sophie eyed the strange creature again, not entirely sure if she liked it more or less now that she knew it had been (Or possibly is still…) a normal looking horse at one point. Bonejack seemed to know he was being talked about; he was practically prancing: playing a dignitary’s horse on parade, maneless head tossing back and everything. His hooves were tossing tiny sparks where they hit the worn earth, and his shadow seemed deeper than could be entirely natural.

“-he actually,” Camthalion was saying when she dragged her attention away from the glittering specks, “doesn’t eat anymore. He drinks, though: milk, whisky and chicken blood mixed…”

“Ugh.” Sophie wrinkled her nose without thinking. “That’s…”

“Disgusting, I know.” Laraiel seemed, against all odds, to be sulking, though Sophie couldn’t tell just by looking at her. It was something around the edges of her words. “But I’ve told him, time and time again, and he-”

“Will just carry on ignoring you.” Camthalion said, rather proudly, brushing imaginary dust off his trouser legs. Laraiel gave him the look again, and Sophie slowly began to feel some of the tension of the last weeks ease away. Maybe it wasn’t that all elves were staunch, dignified killjoys, maybe she’d just met the wrong…

“Be quiet and look.” Ali'el spoke for the first time in what felt like forever, and –like that- Camthalion and Laraiel went stiff, tense – like wolves scenting the wind, or great hunting cats: something far more dignified, yet somehow far more wild, than Sophie felt she could ever manage. The Bladesinger waved towards the horizon, just barely visible ahead of them. “What do you see?”

“Smoke.” Camthalion was the first to break the silence, the easy, relaxed tone gone from his voice. “Not a lot, but it’s there…” His hands tightened on the reins until the scar-lined knuckles went white. “And of course it’s in the direction we need to go…”

Sophie exchanged another look with Eric before she followed the driver’s gaze, squinting. She stayed that way for a long moment before she leaned over to whisper to him, though she didn’t doubt that the elves still heard.

“Do you actually see anything?”

"No." Eric admitted, after staring in the direction that the elves were looking so keenly. Sophie rather thought that there was a hill there, a long slope, that was hiding whatever was burning, whatever was causing the smoke that the elves apparently saw. "But that doesn't mean anything, really..."

"No, you're right," Sophie agreed, shifting in a jangling chime of mail, "just that they're elves, so of course they can...hang on." She frowned, wrinkling her nose again. "Alright, well, I can't see it, but I sure can smell it."

Eric sniffed the air and nodded, silently, hand resting on his sword-hilt. Camthalion let the horses veer off the beaten path, hooves thudding more than clacking as the terrain beneath them transitioned from stones to grass. He also gave them the reins, and Sophie slowly realized that the pair had been pacing themselves. The gradually thinning trees were blurs out of the corners of her wind-watering eyes.

Soon even the humans could see the smoke rising above the hilltop - and almost sooner still the smoke itself was stinging her eyes just as bad as the wind had. It stank, acrid and strong and tainted with the sickening smell of charred flesh.

"So much for us going unnoticed," Sophie grumbled, just to have something to say. Eric gave her a slight grin that held more confidence than he had shown when they were with the lady general.

"Things will be more interesting, though. Look at it that way."

She didn't have a chance to reply before Bonejack let out a shrill, ear-piercing whistle that his brother echoed. They had reached the crest of the hill. The village spread out below them, a sprawling, rambling collection of once-elegant buildings. The surrounding walls were visibly breached, the gates shattered from their hinges, reduced to matchsticks and kindling. She could just see all three elves' eyes narrowing to dangerous slits before the idea struck her.

"Um. Cam...?"

Camthalion shushed her, silently, one hand raised over his shoulder as he slapped the reins. The horses, if anything, sped up. The cart went careening down the hill, bumping and banging, though the sounds were lost in the commotion from within the city. Sophie was almost convinced the cart was going to dump them all out on their ears, but the driver had more skill than she had given him credit for. The cart remained upright as the ground evened out, and it skidded to a stop right outside the gates.

They had barely begun to slow before the Bladesingers were on their feet and moving. As one entity, they vaulted gracefully off the cart, not missing a step when they hit the ground running. Camthalion drew the cart to a full stop before he stood, leaning over his seat to retrieve a longbow from the floor. He winked at the humans, some of the humor back in his grin.

"Time to earn your keep."

[Lord Anglekos]

Eric's first thought, before he could harden his mind against it, was; It's just like home. And he was right. As his eyes flickered over the burning gates and the flames consuming the town beyond those walls, he swore he could see the ghosts of his own dead town amongst them. A bakery set on flames, carrying the smells of dead flesh and baked bread in a paradoxical twist past the noses of those approaching. A melted smithy, and the skeletons almost crumbled to ashes. The dying, twisting forms of those still alive running around with screams piercing what was left of their vocal cords, blackened skin crackling sickeningly open and emitting blood and puss all over their armor.

For a moment he could not move, the sense of deja vu was so overwhelming. Then he shook his head, and all those ghosts returned to their graves; he wasn't back at his town, he was in Althanas and he had a job to do. He'd just forgotten what war was like, it seemed, as it'd been so long. But he was back, and he was ready. He steeled himself and, without another moment's notice, drew his own sword from it's sheath and jumped off the cart, landing in a slight crouch beside the horses. Reaching over and grabbing the rest of his weapons, he saw Sophie doing the same with a slight frown on her face. A pang of empathy went through him at the sight; he didn't know how old she was, but he didn't feel women should have to be involved in the horrors of war. Of course, that was the chauvanistic pig in him speaking, and he suppressed it quickly by reminding himself of the fact that he'd met several women much better than he at the art of war. One of them had just lept off the cart before him, as a matter of fact.

He slung his own long bow over his shoulder before attaching his quiver to his hip, beside his sheath. His twin daggers were still hidden beneath the folds of his cloak at his back, and for some reason felt very comforting in their constant prescence there. He'd never really used them, but just the fact that they were always there, out of sight, made him feel more confident. Turning to their driver and noticing the long bow he himself held, he asked, "Are you coming with us?"

"Nah, got to take care of Bonejack and Tathar here." He patted the horses and they whinnied in appreciation at being noted. "Can't have them being turned into undead now, can we?"

"Nope." Eric looked over at Sophie as she too got out of the caravan. "Ready?" He asked her, short and to the point.

"As I'll ever be." Striding quickly over to Eric he saw her take up a buckler of hard oak in one hand and draw her own sword, a simple blade like his own. It had a crimson pommel in the hilt, but other than that he couldn't see anything special about it. He liked that. She addressed Camthalion with her next words, and her saw concern flit across her face. "Will you be alright?"

"Ah, I'll be fine." He patted his long bow, and for the first time Eric noticed a slight discoloration to it, as if it had be woven from a tree not of this world. It shone with the dark polish of ebony but at the same time the swordsman could've sworn it glimmered yellow and blue when he wasn't truly looking at it. "Blackeye and I have seen our own share of wars, and have survived each one. You just worry about your own lives and come back in one piece, y'hear?"

"Aye, we do." Eric answered, still eyeing the bow thoughtfully as he hurried to the gates. Sophie trotted with him, her armor jangling noisily in his ear.

As they stepped into the town he looked around. The destruction was far worse than he'd first thought; entire sections of it looked as if they'd had entire holes blasted in them. What kind of beings or creatures would come and do this? He gripped his sword with two hands, ready to fight any undead that advanced his way, but to his surprise he saw none. None at all. And on that note, he saw neither of the Bladesingers that had escorted them here. "Where are they?" He murmured to his human companion, noting her own weapons at the ready. "Where are Ali'el and Lara?"

"I don't know." She looked around, mild confusion clouding her face. "I saw them come in here."

"So did I."

"Maybe they--"

Before she could continue onwards, however, she shrieked and jumped backwards, almost into Eric himself. He jumped forward, ready to attack. "What is it?" He demanded, before he looked down and saw the source. An elf soldier, seemingly torn in half, had reached out and brushed her ankle with his remaing hand. Eric raised his sword, ready to end it, when suddenly he heard something that made him stop; it spoke.

"B-beware..." The soldier croaked, and both Sophie and Eric blinked as they glanced at one another. He was still alive! They crouched before the dying soldier, coming closer to him in order to hear his words.

"What? Beware what?" Eric demanded hurriedly.

The elf lifted one hand and pointed down the street, deeper into the town where the conflagration of flames was the thickest and highest. "...monster..."

"What did this to you? Was it the undead?"

He shook his head from side to side and croaked out one final word, so low that Eric almost had to press his ear to the dying elf's lips to hear, before the film of death covered his eyes and he felt to the streets. "What'd he say?" Sophie asked as he stood up with a frown.

"He said 'wizard'."

Before either of them could even move, the house burning behind them exploded and amongst the shattered pieces of wood stepped out a being of rock and earth. It made a grumbling sound from within, and the earth shook beneath it.