Necrosition: Brink of Extinction

[Godhand]

He visited his tailor soon after. He was a short fellow with a pockmarked face by the name of Luis. Godhand held still as the little man darted to and fro, taking his measurements. It was only a formality at that point; Godhand never gained or lost much weight and this was his regular tailor, but the man had his quirks and the swordsman didn't see a problem with playing along. The only thing that really bothered him was that the man was a little too thorough when measuring the inseam; secretly, Godhand suspected Luis of being a homosexual but he never bothered to voice his concern. He was a good tailor, after all. He could be forgiven for being a bit handsy.

"Alright, all done. Now, what are you looking for today, Godhand? Are you finally going to let me dress you up?"

"I'm afraid not, Luis. I'm just looking for a simple, pinstriped suit. Black or dark blue; maybe a tie. What do you think?"

"What I thought last time you asked me for it; it's a perfectly serviceable suit, but don't expect it to turn any heads. Now, if you let me dress you, I'd go with a white-"

"No. None of that."

"Alright, alright. Well, at least let me pick the tie. I think a dark red one might really bring out your eyes."

"Thank you, Luis. That's a beautiful thing to say."

The short tailor was a whirlwind of motion as he searched the shop for the different pieces of the suit. He was going to give Godhand one he'd already made, which exacerbated the uselessness of taking his measurements, but that was alright. When he finally came back with all the different pieces, the mercenary stepped into a room and changed. When he emerged, Luis clapped his hands and laughed. He took a moment to study how it fit, then spoke.

"God, I truly am the best, aren't I?"

Godhand looked at himself in the mirror. Tall and lean; sharp and clean. He looked good. The suit fit just right and the tie actually did bring out his eyes. Some might have called him ridiculous for dressing up to go into a war zone, but the swordsman knew the end was at hand and wanted to look good for it; a little reward for all his hard work. He tightened the tie and checked his cuff links.

"Listen, my old clothes are in the back room. Do you mind having them cleaned for when I return?”

Luis looked positively insulted.

"Sir, I am an artist, not a maid! The very fact that you'd-"

"I'll let you pick out my clothes next time."

The tailor's eyes gleamed.

"Hrmm...Very well. But only because I want to find out for sure if pink or white would be a good color for you. Normally, I'd say you're too pale to pull it off, but with those eyes..."

"You're too kind. I'll see you later, Luis."

[Painkiller]

How had Kurze gotten herself into such a strange situation? Here she was in Eluriand, fighting with a stranger she knew little about for a cause she knew even less about - but why? Because some sort of dream-abomination told her to? No - there was more to it than that. The elven psychic had managed to deduce that somewhere, sometime, this land had probably been her home. In a way, she felt compelled to defend it, even though she remembered nothing of her time in Raeiera. More than that, though, she hoped - no, she knew - that somewhere in this war-torn land, she'd find the key that unlocked her sealed memories.

After mere minutes of combat, Drusila had fallen. Her wounds hadn't looked severe to Kurze, who stood at the base of the parapet than a hundred yards from the brawl, but she had collapsed from what looked like blood loss! Now, the opulent general had his gaze locked on Kurze, and the mentalist did not know how she would survive the day, let alone the next five minutes.

Uninterested in wasting any time responding to Nialon, Kurze turned tail and ran, diving behind a collapsed section of wall and momentarily concealing herself from the general.

Nialon laughed, turning his back on the groaning Drusila and slowly making his way down a nearby staircase. There was nowhere for his pointy-eared prey to run; the cover she hid behind was isolated, and there was no way she could slip away without attracting his notice. The swordsman slid his rapier into it's sheath as he walked and slip[ed his wands free from his belt, his jewelry clanking loudly with every languid step he took.

"You can't hide from me, wretch," he threatened in a lilting, tenor voice, his glacially cool eyes locked on her hiding spot. Abruptly, he raised a wand and thrust it towards Kurze's makeshift cover, sending forth a quick beam of light towards the pile of rock. It careens into the collapsed wall, sending small pebbles flying.

His attack has the intended effect; his frightened pray is sent running. Strangely enough, she did not dart forth from behind the pile of rocks he'd spied her ducking behind; instead, she had sprinted out from behind a nearby tree stump. How she'd managed to slip from the stones to the tree was a mystery to Nialon, but he's more interested in slaughtering his prey than in admiring her sneaking ability.

"Rat!" The general called out as his booted feet led him to the base of the stairs. He was less than forty feet from the retreating psychic, now. "Worm!" As he called out his insults, he fired more beams of energy from his wands, yet they always seemed to miss her; one landed just behind her, and the other passed right over her shoulder. "You want to play, maggot? I'm game," he growled as he spied her destination; the unarmed blonde psychic was making a beeline for the nearby armory. In search of a weapon, perhaps, or possibly a place to barricade herself in? Despite the lengthy siege, this large shed had received relatively little damage, especially considering how close it was to the walls. Nialon increased his pace as the two figures drew nearer to the shed; now, he was just thirty feet from his quarry. Twenty. Ten.

A roar tumbled forth from his inhuman lips as he slipped into the fortified armory just a few feet behind the girl. Pulses of energy flew forth from his wands and rings and toward her unarmored back. "Die," he growled as the purple lights slam into the girl... and pass right through her, slamming into a rack of swords and rendering it's blades into little more than rust. Nialon stiffened as the illusionary image vanished before his eyes, and the sunlight streaming through the door behind him is extinguished as a loud SLAM echoed through the small, weapon-filled shed.

The real Kurze slid a metal bar into place in front of the reinforced steel door, effectively barricading the general inside. Hurriedly, the mentalist rushed away from the trapped 'predator' and toward her injured companion, intent on dragging Drusila somewhere safe before Nialon burst through the door.

[Mage Hunter]

It hurt to say the least, being left for dead by an abomination. Her pride was hurt, and worse, her body was throbbing in pain. Whatever these marks that dotted her skin were, they were quite painful. Each beat of her heart throbbing in time to the rhythm with the pulses of pain. Had she been a weaker person, she would have curled up into a ball and passed out. She was more than certain this was what had killed so many people, the mere pain of enduring such an onslaught.

Drusilia Liadon, for all her failings, was not that weak person. Reaching into her pack she pulled forth the null stone, but held off on setting it off. Already the sheath was at work draining the mystical energies of the marks upon her flesh. Soon they were gone, and nothing showed on the Hunter's skin of their passing, other than the cuts and scrapes from where the rapier pierced her otherwise flawless skin.

Rising up she saw the elf woman running to her, a look of abject terror on her face. A smirk crossed the Drow's face as the Elf rushed up the stairs, only to find the Drow already reaching the bottom floor. Ignoring any cries her companion could set out she reached behind her, and slowly drew the sheath that marks the deaths of every Necrosition member to date.

The door exploded as the man walked off, his jewelry sloughing off as the gold and silver slowly deteriorated. Jewelry now wrecked beyond use for anything but a memento was now littering the ground in a trail of metallic corpses that seemed to mirror Nialon's life. Each trinket was merely another victory on the road, some hard fought, others falling into his lap.

It was a path of victory paved in bodies.

Drusilia however held onto the stone and sheath, even as Nialon looked with utter shock upon her slender frame. The rapier pointed at her before his mouth shot off, "How in the nine hells did you survive that? Where are my marks? What did you do Drow!?"

"Magic is for the weak, I merely took a child's toy from it," Drusilia said cryptically. There was no need to converse with the soon to be departed. Now that she had a feel for Nialon's dirty tactics, she could function well under it, even if the man would score countless hits. He growled out striking forth with the rapier only to be parried, even before the sheath went out in a wide arc aiming for the man's jaw.

Ducking under the blow he brought a ringed hand forward and punched Drusilia into her gut before moving them back. It was only a timely flexing of the muscles that prevented her from being completely winded, as the arctic hide took the brunt of the blow. Bringing the scabbard down Nialon danced to the side before he leered, "Do not think me a foolish prey! I am the Dominion Rapier, the chosen duelist of Lord Crowley himself-"

"And when I am done with your cowardly ass, I shall visit him as well," Drusilia continued as she moved, trying desperately to ignore the burning in her lungs from the forced exertion. She was tired from loss of air, but refused to let such trivial things stop her. Even as she began a flurry of motion bringing the sword about to box Nialon into an area the sheath could hit. The Rapier lived up to his name and reputation forcing Drusilia into a much tighter fight than she was comfortable with.

Still she pushed forward trying hard to get a solid blow with the scabbard. Each attempt saw him nick and cut away at her, until she could no longer afford such small things. Still Nialon was frustrated as he could not land a hit often enough to take advantage of the scabbard. Each time a mark was made, it was gone within a few seconds. Only a flurry of blows would allow him to capitalize on marks before they would fade and disappear.

It was a frustrating conundrum, he was technically winning, but the fight was dragging on much longer than he liked. Even as blood dripped off the Drow and flung into the air with each counter and riposte, Nialon had to admit the woman's determination was perhaps her only saving grace. Had anyone else been fighting him, he was certain that they would have died from giving up.

"I admit you have some skill, but you are far from the perfection I hold," Nialon pressed, before he shoved the woman back. Before she could even react he activate his pulsars once more, shattering even more trinkets as over a dozen beams of light sought to reduce the Drow into a pile of decaying matter. It wasn't until their flash subsided that he growled in rage, seeing not a single pulsar had left their jewelry, yet they had devoured it all the same.

Drusilia let off a wry grin before she rushed Nialon. The man stabbed forth with his Rapier, sure that the woman was going to dodge to the right as she had executing the maneuver before. She took one step forward, then another, and yet a third. Each step seemed determined and unwavering. Her eyes held a light within them that spoke of victory; still Nialon could not understand it.

What victory could she possibly hope to obtain by attacking head on?

He brought the Rapier forward in an attempt to impale her heart upon it. Preparing for the inevitable destruction of perhaps his trickiest dance partner, he let a cold smile cross his face before his eyes widened. It was not a sword that rose to attack him;

It was the sheath.

Before he could react, the sheath had struck his wrist, and he felt the magicks that animated his body jerked out. The arm immediately went limp under the sudden draining of magic. Even as she slowly felt his arm come to life again he knew it was far too late. Drusilia with a flick of her wrist brought the sheath about in an upward swing that caught the Dominion Rapier in the gut.

"By the power invested in me by the Aberration Hunters of Ettermire I have condemned you to death for your blatant disregard of natural order. There can be no salvation for the witch, the mutant, or the heretic, and it is with this fact that I condemn you. May the gods have mercy upon your soul," The words hung in the air as slowly Nialon felt the life flow out of his body and into the scabbard. A silent scream parted his lips as a green energy dried and caked his flesh, before it began to crumble into dust. The scabbard glowed with the green aura, before it pulsed once, twice, and then was still.

"That will teach you to underestimate a Drow," Drusilia managed before she stumbled forth a step. Falling to a knee she gasped deeply for breath, before she passed out, the adrenaline no longer able to keep up with her blood loss.

[Godhand]

Godhand headed for the final stop on his list, a butcher shop in the Radasanth slums. He walked in and right away he was nearly knocked on his ass by the smell of blood and raw meat that permeated every corner of the place. He pulled a handkerchief out of his coat pocket and held it up to his nose, surveying the modest shop. He'd been there before, right before leaving for Raiaera. The whole front room was dull and grey; metallic. There was something off about the place. Godhand knew what it was, obviously, but it must have been unsettling to everybody else. There was a brick wall and no window between the front and the back; who knew what the butcher was doing in there? Still, the price was right and that meant it was one of the more popular places in the slums.

A heavyset man emerged from the back. He carried a big knife and the front of his apron was sprayed with blood. Some of it was fresh. Some of it wasn't. Godhand was ready to patiently wait his turn at the back of the line, but the butcher spotted him and grunted. He pointed his finger at him, then jabbed his thumb at the door in the back room and with that, despite many complains from his customers, walked back in. The mercenary followed him and made sure to close the door behind him.

The whole place was as cold and stinking as a meat locker, and that was probably because it doubled as that. Naked bodies hung on hooks there; all of them seemed to have died of unnatural causes. There were slit throats, broken necks and more than a couple of bullet wounds. Godhand assumed the man pried out whatever lead was left in them before carving them up and serving them as undefined steak or just grinding them up and advertising as beef. This is why he didn't display the different cuts of meat outside; he needed time and privacy to cut them up into something that couldn't be discerned as human.

The man was a well known fixer for the Radasanthian mob. They brought in the bodies and he made them disappear, free of charge. He kept himself afloat by selling off any salvageable meat and certain other odd jobs that came his way. Godhand had brought one his way.

The man wiped his hands on his apron, opened a locker and gingerly pulled out a briefcase. He turned to the mercenary and undid the clasps, unlocking it for him. Godhand opened it. Everything appeared to be in order.

"Is it the kind I asked for? You know where it's going."

"Don't worry about it. It'll work fine."

"It better."

The butcher gave Godhand a dangerous look. The swordsman took a step back and held his hands up in deference.

"Oh Hell, you're a professional. I'm sure you know what you're doing."

The man snorted and closed the briefcase, locking it and handing it to Godhand.

"How much do I owe you?"

"Forget about it. Giacomazzi picked up the tab for this one."

"Well, it's been a pleasure doing business with you, sir."

"Yeah, right. Get lost. I got customers."

"Of course."

The mercenary walked out of the back room and straight out of the shop, handkerchief to his nose the entire time. When he got out, he turned left and walked into an alley. Once he was sure no one was watching him, he placed a hand against a wall to steady himself and tried to keep from vomiting.

He was mostly successful.

[Mage Hunter]

They had traveled for gods knew how long. At first they had stayed in the parapets of the once grand city, allowing Drusilia enough time to recover, so that she could ride. Once that had been accomplished, they had ridden off towards the port town of Anebrilith. It was the plan after all, and Drusilia was looking forward to seeing the crazy mercenary once more.

Perhaps that was a sign of the profound change this war had upon her.

No longer was she the Drow with a chip on her shoulder, she was now a veteran of battle. She had seen the enemy countless times, and been irrevocably changed for it. No longer could she hold onto the naive viewpoints that had cursed her when she had stepped into this land, with the childish dreams of killing a Blade Singer with the accolades she had striven to achieve.

It was all one elaborate lie.

The Mage Hunters were designed to allow Alerar to invade Raiarae. With the advent of Xem'zund's awakening, they saw no need of such frivolous projects. Valsharess' death compounded things as she became to sole proponent of the Mage Hunters. When she died, her successor had disbanded the group. Even if Drusilia became a hero to the people of Alerar, she would be seen as an oddity and possibly remained an outcast.

She wasn't even sure she wanted to go back anymore.

The Seige of Anebrilith had slowed to a crawl in the weeks after the death of the Dweller in the Dark, Killian Grimstone. His death had marked a decided victory for the besieged Elves. Without the undead dwarf’s tactical prowess, there was simply no one would could orchestrate such a grandiose scheme as to take Anebrilith down. Especially since the number of Necrosition members was down to one, could they sacrifice another member to take over the Seige? Was it truly so important?

Apparently, the answer was no. Now when they fled the capital it was becoming clear that the giant machine that was Xen'zund's army wasn't invincible, you merely had to ignore the casing, and go straight for the guts. When the common foot soldier was merely a zombie that was designed to overwhelm skilled warriors en mass, you had to target the officers. The necromancers, the wights, the ghouls, you had to attack these and hit fast. By destroying these links it took time to find replacements for them, and every second of time, was bringing another child to adulthood, to visit the grim horrors of War.

While the siege was still on, Drusilia knew she had to get inside the city. Mind tricks were useful in keeping the intelligent undead from noticing them, and she supposed she had to thank Kurze for those distractions. However, it was in getting past the grunts she drew a blank. Perhaps she could null stone and trample down the bodies if she was atop a warhorse, but this was a mere stable horse. There was no way she could convince it to charge down the undead.

Sitting at the edge of the forest she looked back over her shoulder at the Elf, before she sighed and said softly, "Got any ideas?"

[Godhand]

Godhand tried to center himself, straighten himself out. God, he was in such an ugly business. Some people got used to it. Amateur sadists; they didn't give it a second thought. He'd mostly gotten used to it himself but once in a while he still saw something that knocked him on his ass. He didn't think it made him less of a man if some degenerate human monster selling wiseguys as ground beef upset him. Nevertheless, the man did good work and he knew it. He could count on the package functioning as advertised. He put his handkerchief back in his coat pocket and turned to meet up with his contact at the docks, but instead met with a savage blow to the head from a big wooden sap.

He fell to his knees with a groan and immediately his hand went to the back of his head. The blood seeped between his fingers from a cut there. His brain felt like it was decompressing. He turned to see what animal had done it just in time to block another shot with his forearm. He was seeing stars from the pain and the thug wound up for another hit, but he still had enough presence of mind to speak up.

"Wait, wait! Just take the money!"

The man's death-grip on his bat slackened and right away he dove for Godhand, his hands rifling through his pockets and finding a fat wad of bills. Meanwhile the mercenary just tried to keep himself conscious, but between the blood seeping from his head and the unbelievable pain in his arm it was pretty rough. The mugger stuffed the money into his pants and made a beeline for the briefcase, and that was what managed to snap Godhand out of his daze.

"Hold it! That one...", he tried to stop his head from spinning. "That stays with me."

The thug smirked, the evil bastard, and picked up his bat again. The mercenary winced and held his hands in front of his face.

"Please, sir! Please don't hurt me! Don't hurt me!"

His hands grasped at the robber's waist and just as he was winding up to split Godhand's skull open, the swordsman's hand shot out and grabbed a nice fat piece of broken class from the floor and stabbed it into his attacker's belly, digging around with it like he was looking for his soul. The man doubled over and Godhand narrowly avoided the stream of vomit that volcanoed out of his mouth and nose. He seized up and all it took was a little push from the mercenary to send him tumbling to his side. Godhand crawled over to his briefcase and hoisted himself up to his feet, pulling out the handkerchief and holding it to the back of his head. His suit was ruined. He turned to kick the worthless punk but by then he was already dead. The mercenary leaned down and fished his money out of the man's pocket.

He wiped himself off and walked away.

[Mage Hunter]

An arrow sailed through the air, hitting deep into the wood of the post. The Elvin guards looked upon the oddly quivering pierce of equipment before they noticed a note was attached firmly to it. Pulling the piece of parchment from the shaft of the arrow yielded a single name, "Sergeant Verryna."

The one time Sergeant soon promoted to Lieutenant following the defeat of Killian Grimstone immediately was at the parapets overlooking the field of battle. The flank that the note had indicated was in fact as weak as told of in the note, and the scout had been rather thorough in describing what they had seen. Even now she could pick out the figures the note had told of being the necromancer's holding up the flank.

Suspicion reared its ugly head as the Lieutenant watched for the signal. Soon another arrow sailed into the air, flame upon it as it sunk deeply into one of the marked necromancers with an accuracy she had not seen since the death of the Dweller in the Dark. Eye's widening she called down the parapets, "Ready a rope! We have incoming reinforcements!"

The elves about her looked incredulous as she issued the order once more, going as far as to shove an elf towards the archery towers. Soon they returned with a rope which she immediately tied, placing a loop in it large enough to accommodate a boot. Soon there was a resurgence as more undead pounded against the walls. She cursed, before new orders flew out, "Fire upon the undead at the base of the wall, clear me a path from the edge!"

"Ma'am, at the zombies?"

"Did I stutter? Just do it! We need to clear a path quickly or we won't get our reinforcement," Verryna. Just where had that crazy bitch of a Drow run off to?

As the archers fired off into the zombie hordes slowly yet surely they had managed to peel the undead from battering at the walls, hoping to push them down and rush into the city's weakened inner workings. Soon Verryna saw it, the horse running down the path, even as she saw two figures atop the horse. She figured the girl was crazy for what she had asked for, but she'd give the woman one chance. It was the least she owed the Harpy.

A small smile crept across her face at the nickname she had given the Drow who had cursed her out both in the language of Ettermire and common. It fit the woman to a T, and she found amusement in such a branding. Still now was not the time for mockery that could wait until they had both managed to get on this side of the wall.

Flinging the rope out, she muttered a soft prayer to the Goddess of Luck and while a fickle mistress...

...she could think of no one better.

~*~

Drusilia clutched the null stone tightly within her clenched fist. She was hoping on more clearance form the undead, but this would have to do as her horse streaked along the walls of the city. Hoping that the undead would not press the attack at that moment she saw it, a rope flying through the air, and moved to adjust.

"Kurze, hang on tight, grab a buckle if you have to," She muttered, and felt the elf take the command seriously. Soon they were within feet of the dangling rope, and Drusilia was standing in the saddle, with the young elfling holding onto her for dear life.

Unhitching one foot from the saddle she slipped it in the loop before they went swinging on the lifeline, flailing about. Hitting the wall Drusilia almost felt Kurze let go before she hissed, "Shu shu shu shu shu!"

Really war brought out the filthiest mouth in her.

Grabbing the girl by her wrist they hung precariously above the zombies, swinging as a pendulum, at moments within the reach of the zombies, and at other times above their reach. Calling out for them to get raised she felt a jerk at the bottom of her boot in the loop before they slowly were brought higher and higher. Even as she spied necromancer's hurtling spells about them.

She was damn lucky Godhand had given her the sheath, without it, she'd have been toast.

Upon reaching the parapets she grunted and slowly pulled the elf higher, before a few of the normal members of the Raiaeran army grasped the girl and pulled her over the top. Even as Drusilia looked down she saw the horse had been mobbed by zombies, and even now they were feasting upon it. Shaking her head she sighed, "If it wasn't for that horse, I'd have never spent that week in Eluriand."

Being the next one pulled up over the wall she collapsed onto the stone ground, only to look up into the eyes of a rather confused Verryna. A smile lit up the Drow's face before she spoke, "I don't suppose Godhand has made it to port yet?"

"Mr. Striker is coming here again?"

"I'll take that as a no..."

[Godhand]

People knew to stay out of his way as he was making his way to the Radasanth docks. A scowl seemed terminally etched unto his face, but most people wouldn't be smiling either if their left arm was swelling like a balloon filled with blood. That punk had got him good. Oh well. He was dead and Godhand was crippled. Seemed about even. What really annoyed him though was the suit; I mean he'd just bought it. Now it's elbows, knees and sleeves were covered with either blood and bile or, and this was about as good as it got, general alleyway gunk.

Finally, he reached the docks. The mercenary knew there was only one ship there who's captain would ever sail to Raiaera under the current conditions. He was really dreading having to talk to the man; most people knew him colloquially as 'The Worst Human Being I've Ever Met'. Julian for short. Godhand spotted the man picking his nose on the prow of his ship and knew it was best to keep things curt.

"I want you to take me and a couple of my friends up to Raiaera."

"And I want my girlfriend to have an abortion. We don't always get what we want."

"I'll pay."

"No shit you'll pay, dumbass. Did you really think I was going to take you there out of the kindness of my heart?"

"I'll pay well."

"How well? My kids need to eat."

"I thought you were getting an abortion?"

"Just cuz I'm getting rid of one doesn't mean I don't have others. Anyway, fuck you. I'm on vacation."

He pulled a dull green booger with blood flecked on it and popped it into his mouth. It was almost big enough to chew.

"There's plenty of desperate elves. More than a couple of them would probably be willing to part with priceless family heirlooms in exchange for passage out of there."

"Oh, are they the ones paying for your trip? Buzz off, dickhead. Cash up front."

"Five thousand to take us there, five thousand to take us back."

"Seven thousand five hundred."

"I'd rather swim."

"Cheap fuck. Fine, get whatever shit you need together. We leave at noon."

--------------------------------------------

There'd been a bit of trouble at first. Radasanth was cracking down on it's blooming drug trade and they suspected Godhand of guarding a load of ill-gotten gold on it's way to Dheathain in what they assumed was payment for the massive shipment of the continent's delectable jungle powders they'd seized at the docks only a few weeks prior. He still remembered a brief exchange with one of the custom officials.

"What is the purpose of this trip, sir? What is it you do for a living?"

"I rough up the narcs that ask too many questions."

That'd gotten that one to back off, but for every one that could be bullied there was another one that had to be bought. Godhand calculated that he'd ended up paying about the same amount in bribes that he had for the passage itself. Finally, they were underway.

Then they were attacked by pirates.

God knows why; it wasn't like Julian's dinky boat was some sort of fat merchant galleon. It later occurred to Godhand that it'd probably been retaliation for some horrible deed their captain had committed in the past; possibly stealing from them or ratting them out to the local port authorities for a reward at some point.

In any case, they managed to get away from that one okay.

And then, finally, they reached Anebrilith's port. The blood on Godhand's suit had hardened and yellowed in the fierce ocean sun, giving the extremities of his suit a dull rust color. The handkerchief in his front shirt pocket remained a dark red. He must have looked like the devil.

It was thus quite a surprise when he received a veritable hero's welcome as soon as the ship was docked. They damn near threw a parade. Apparently during his absence from the elves' homeland, tales of his victories had grown in the telling until now the more gullible of the elves thought him some kind of lesser God descended from heaven to deliver them from Xem'Zund. He didn't know how they'd recognized him in the first place, since most of the stories he'd heard depicted him as golden-haired, blue-eyed elf in white armor that carried a golden harp.

In any case, he was swarmed as soon as he got off the ship. All sorts of ragged-looking elves asked him to bless them or touch their baby. It was all his comrades could manage to slip away before the maelstrom began; they'd agreed to meet him in front of Willie the wimp's place in case they got separated. None of them really liked the limelight.

[Mage Hunter]

"When I find out who started this, they are getting thrown over the wall," The words held a bitter tone to them as the owner pushed through the crowds. A few commands were barked out in Elvin forcing some of the people towards the back to spread out, and allow her to part the sea of bodies. However, the closer to the scene she got, the less likely the crowd was to disperse, for they were closer to their hero.

It was all Drusilia could do not to laugh at Lieutenant Verryna trying to get them to the front.

In the time since she had climbed the wall with a lot of luck and little skill, Drusilia had taken to staying in the barracks. The girl Kurze had disappeared into the crowds, and Drusilia was actually glad to have some alone time. It allowed her to begin the process of putting herself back together after fighting Nialon. It had been a harrowing experience; one that she was more than certain would follow her for awhile.

Had it not been for that sheath, she would have died.

It took the edge off her self righteous anger. It shattered that Drow pride she had held onto as a child clings to their stuffed animal. Still when she looked around the town, she could see others going through the exact same difficulty. It wasn't that they were afraid; it was that they were trying to cope with the destruction of their impenetrable home. Their pride had been shattered just as succinctly.

Yet with the whispers of Godhand's return, it had resurfaced. Slowly at first, but with the inevitability of a storm on the horizon it grew. Finally it battered at the bastions of fear that Xem'zund had carefully constructed, relentlessly beating away as the walls began to crack. It finally shattered them with the arrival of their hero. That one man held so much hope boggled her mind, especially when she herself had traveled with the foul mouthed mercenary.

No longer dressed as the warrior she was in her linen shirt and leather pants. She had given her armor over to the tradesmen for repair, and Verryna had made sure her weapons were serviced and repaired, including the longsword that held the deep gash from where Godhand had struck the flat of the blade. Then, after Drusilia and Kurze had been taken care of had she demanded to know the Drow's reason for returning. Drusilia's confirmation to the rumors Nialon Sunscar had perished swept through the place, yet it wasn't her name that was mentioned, it was Godhand Striker's. Not that Drusilia minded much, it was his sheath that made it possible.

So when they finally broke through, Drusilia made a blatant effort of removing the empty sheath before she tossed it to Godhand, "Gave it to me with four, have it back with a fifth."

Godhand leaned to the side and caught the sheath with a surprising amount of fanfare from the barely contained crowd. He weighed it in his hand, and she figured he was trying to gauge whether or not it was a replica. But she knew he wasn't smart enough to tell whether or not it was a fake; if it was a replica, then it was close enough that he wouldn't be able to tell until he sunk it into Xem'Zund's final high general. He'd just have to trust her. "Good work. Did he give you any trouble?"

Other guards had begun to enter the small clearing Verryna had managed to create as the peasants began to redouble their efforts of reaching Godhand. While the new guards continued to hold back the people Drusilia gave a small shrug, "Nothing I couldn't handle. He's actually rather bad at fighting if you ask me, a one trick pony. Just happens to be one hell of a trick...."

"Well, then we're down to one. Listen, let's..." The crowd was getting louder and more unmanageable by the second. "Follow me."

Drusilia nodded as they made their way through the streets. Slowly they cut through alleyways, and avoided large crowds with deft maneuvering. While Drusilia had spent most of her time here being locked up for mouthing off to Verryna, she had never gotten to know the layout of the city as intimately as Godhand apparently had. Within moments they had reached a run down house in the poorer district of the city.

Godhand didn't even flinch as he walked forward and pushed the door open. Turning to her he smirked, "These are my friends. They're going to come along with us as a personal favor to me, so make sure not to give them any shit. You don't want what they got."

Drusilia looked upon them before she raised an eyebrow, recognizing more than a few of them before she spoke back, "Are we assassinating someone or going to war?"

[Godhand]

"You're being narrow minded. It could easily be both."

Godhand reached into his jacket and pulled out a small silver tin. Opening it, he delicately withdrew a cigarette and put it to his lips. He put the tin back in his pocket and pulled out a match, vainly struggling to light it against the worn sandpaper on the side of the box. Finally giving up, he walked over to one of his friends and quickly swiped the match against the rough stubble on his cheek. The match sparked to life and the swordsman finally managed to light his cigarette. He sucked on it like it was the only thing keeping him alive and then blew out a terrific stream of smoke.

"Boys, meet the drow. Drow, these are the boys."

The mercenary casually straightened his tie, then adjusted his cuffs.

"Right, now that all the introductions are done...Willie, did you manage to find us some transportation?"

"Just a big cart and some horses."

"Well I'm desperate. I'll take them."

"They're out the back."

Godhand pushed a wad of bills into Willie's hand.

"Nah, I can't-"

"Just take it. It's money."

The swordsman and his allies shuffled out of the house and without much ado climbed into the back of the wagon. It was bigger than the last one he'd had, this one had to be drawn by four horses instead of two, but space was still much tighter given that he had to make room for all his allies. Even though they tried to keep a low profile, it didn't end up helping much. Theirs was still the only carriage moving out of a city all the other elves were struggling to get into, so it was with a surprising amount of impromptu fanfare that they managed to leave the city through the main gates.

Once they'd managed to get far enough from the city that the sound of their celebration diminished to dull roar, Godhand clambered into the back of the cart and popped open the latches on the suitcase he'd carried all the way from that god forsaken butcher's shop in Radasanth. He carefully opened it up, making sure that none of his comrades could get a peek at what was inside. He wanted it to be a surprise. Meanwhile, he pulled out a rolled up parchment that he'd kept inside the case alongside it's main cargo. He closed the latches, unfurled the parchment and spread it out evenly on top of the suitcase. He pointed at rough sketch of a boat and cursive words written much too close together to be made out.

"This is Anebrilith."

Then he swept his hand his hand about a third of the parchment to the northeast, to a big red X within what appeared to be a hut.

"That's supposed to be a fortress. God, I hate whoever made this map. Anyway, that's where we're going. I know it looks like a pain in the ass but it's actually not as far as it looks. We should get there in about four days, if we really hustle. And believe me, we're going to hustle. I don't want to be here a second longer than I have to. There's a town about midway where we can switch the horses and maybe eat. Now I've had some bad experiences with the food in this place so if you can help it, avoid anything perishable. The last thing I need is for one of you to come down with food poisoning when we get to where we're going."

Godhand rolled up the map and put it into one of his jacket pockets. It stuck out awkwardly, but he didn't want to have to open and close the suitcase every time he needed to verify their path. As he climbed back unto the head of the wagon, he remembered that he'd brought something along to make the trip a little less dreary. He fished out a deck of cards from his pocket and tossed them to one of his boys.

"Enjoy."