Two Peas and a Pode

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen had stood vigil over the camp all night, deciding to let Erissa sleep as he scooped his body at the base of a tree, drawing his knees in. Osher had kept close to the woman, keeping her warm when the fire had died out. The immortal dozed off a few times in the night, sleeping for small spurts as he waited for the darkness to turn to a grey fog. When the illumination in the dank backdrop made it so he could see a bit into the Red Forest, he stood up and stretched, his back aching from the prone position he used. Osher’s head perked up, looking to Jensen and the immortal gave the dog a soft nod.

“Fairy,” Jensen muttered softly with a mischievous grin. “Time to get up.” His foot kicked Erissa’s boots, jarring them apart. She moaned, loudly in protest as her eyes softly fluttered open. He thumbed the forest behind him and she nodded, slowly getting up. Jensen turned to the dog and his lips parted even wider than before. “I think you need a bath, smelly bush humper.” Jensen teased.

“I admit, I could probably use one after that figh-“ Her words were cut short as Jensen let out a command to the dog.

“Osher, lick!” The dog turned to Erissa, panted once, and his sloppy velvety tongue went up the side of her face over her nose and between her eyes as his paws prodded her hips. The more she resisted the more the dog continued to nuzzle forwards, eyes full of love as his tongue kept licking her. Several red leaves filled the air like dancing birds as she kicked to be free from the doggy prison, twigs snapping as she shouted.

“Ack! No, bad dog!” Erissa whimpered as she tried to roll away. Jensen just laughed as he waited a few more licks, his payback for the other morning. With the immortal's shrill, whistle the dog barked in her ear once and jumped to Jensen, who bent to scratch the dog. The elf merely shook her bed, grumbling to herself as she stood, pulling her cloak on, first wiping her face and standing ready. The elf attempted to use the bit of leather from her armor to wipe herself, but it had failed miserably, causing her to whimper. Jensen stepped forwards, snatching a leaf from the air as it fell. He lifted it up to her face and pushed it onto her cheek, cleaning her up as she flinched away and took it from him, grumbling.

“We shouldn’t stay much longer in this area,” Jensen said, serious again. “No breakfast today, we’ll fast until about noon… whenever the hell that is,” he added as an aside comment, looking up towards the tree boughs that covered the warmth of the sun. Erissa made ready to protest, her stomach growling, but Jensen gave the woman a dead pan look to quiet any thoughts of fighting him on the subject. She nodded, gathering her things, and within moments the two left the camp and headed deeper into the fog. His stomach rumbled loudly, but he ignored it as he gave a sideways glance behind the campsite, looking into the trees for but a fleeting moment.

“You look rather tired, did you sleep well?” Erissa asked in a barely audible whisper, her hand lifting to his shoulder in apology. Jensen shrugged to her indifferently as he watched Osher sniff ahead a few feet, pushing her gesture aside gently.

“I’ve done worse overnights in the Knights of Apocalypse, so it's no big deal. They require a soldier to spend a mandatory seventy-two hour period of time at any time they deem fit as part of training. In addition to that training is physical exercises, training lessons in combat, and then mental problem solving. They throw it at you all at once sometimes, all to test your endurance and break your spirit.”

“That sounds a bit excessive,” Erissa admitted, shuddering as she thought of such a feat. “Did such things really improve a warrior?” Jensen listened once again to the forest, hearing nothing out of the ordinary. Before Erissa had a moment to notice, he decided to keep her mind elsewhere.

“As a matter of fact,” Jensen said, slightly distracted. Osher turned his head, eyes looking around as he panted, tail wagging. He looked to the dog before he shook his head and moved on without acknowledging the pause. “As a matter of fact, yes it did. To a degree. Some students burnt out and fried. Some others however really became true monsters. You see, when the flesh is weak and the spirit is all but spent is when the true potential is built within a man. I believe that fully in my heart. You cannot reach the next level if you do not know where your limits are."

“Still, to force yourself awake for that long must eventually exhaust the body. The mind alone will begin to suffer as well. All that strain is not healthy.” The two stopped at a dead end, eyes peering for a way around the sudden thick bushes that blocked them, briars and the like that would shred them if they tried to push through. Jensen poked Erissa in the shoulder and pointed to a tree branch they could climb.

“It’s not meant to be healthy. How should I explain this so your little elven brain can understand,” Jensen mused loudly as he lowered himself to let Erissa step in his hands. She gave him a dark look, but placed her boot in his hands and let him lift her. She flawlessly gripped the branch and used his shoulder for the briefest of seconds to make it up. She turned, her swift reflexes catching his bag he tossed to her immediately, almost knocking her off-balance; he whistled for Osher to come, grinning while she glared at him. The dog looked around for a moment then ran to him. “Take care of Osher, I can climb this easily.”

Erissa lowered her fellow traveler's bag and looked to Osher, her eyes focusing intently as she used her telekinetic abilities to make the dog float up towards the branch. He barked in protest, before settling on the bark and sitting, whimpering to be so high. Jensen reached the elevated part of the tree with ease, and they took a small break.

“I’ll hold Osher, you cross then float him down. Good thing we didn’t try to push through the brush,” Jensen pointed to the middle of the thicket. There were several thorns the size of daggers, and one plant that looked big enough to eat Osher in one bite.

"A soul blossom!" Erissa cried. "Unless I am wrong, they produce a venom that attacks not the body, but the soul itself, sucking it away from the person!" Jenson snickered.

"Then I don't have to worry," he said. Erissa sighed and was clearly shaken, but turned as she steeled her nerves and moved onwards on her knees and hands, crawling across for stability. “Hey!” Jensen called to her; Erissa stopped and looked behind to see Jensen smiling. “Don’t fall; I am enjoying the view too much.” He teased.

“…incorrigible…” She muttered under her breath as she finished the trek and landed, once again using her powers to bring Osher to her. Jensen followed behind the dog, keeping his hand on the pup’s head to keep it calm as it still shifted nervously. When the dog landed it barked twice, turned to Jensen, and wagged its tail to see him land next to the dog.

They continued in silence for a few minutes, Jensen once again stopping as he listened to all around him. This time Erissa joined him, but when she heard nothing she gave him a concerned look. The immortal popped his eye open and shook his head.

“Just being cautious, nothing to worry about. See Osher?” Jensen pointed to the dog’s tail. “He’s happy, so no danger.” Erissa recalled the imparted wisdom he gave her yesterday and the look of relief on her face made Jensen relax again as they walked onwards. “Hmm, so you know how you have to rip your muscles in order to let them grow?” The woman gave him a confused look, and Jensen just smiled as he waited for her brain to catch up. With a sudden look of understanding she nodded quickly.

“Yes, yes, I understand,” She said quickly. “And yes, I grasp that concept. But I still maintain to perform at those levels for three days straight is not helping anyone. There is ripping your muscles, and then there is tearing them.” Jensen shrugged.

“In the Knights of Apocalypse there isn’t much of a difference. You either grow, or you destroy yourself attempting to keep up. Not really a debatable topic, it’s just the way it is in that order.”

"The strong survive," Erissa mused. "Says something about you, I suppose."

Jensen stopped again, his grin lowering as he chuckled softly to himself. Erissa turned to him, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. She watched him, studying the way his eyes seemed to try and move to the back of his skull and look behind him. The way his fingers slowly flexed one at a time and popping did nothing to comfort her as she narrowed her gaze on him. She could see the hair on the back of his neck softly rise and she became confused again. Jensen still let out a small giggle, before looking back to Erissa.

“You…” She said softly, but she had no clue what to say. Jensen just shrugged pulling out one of his longer daggers, a steel weapon of masterwork quality that was nearly the length of Erissa’s forearm. He tossed it to her and grinned, turning around this time; his laughter bubbled forth, unable to be contained. There was a long moment of silence save the immortal’s mirth, but soon Osher began to growl.

She never needed to hear the answer. The fact he was laughing was a clear indication of the situation. Something in the Red Forest was coming after them. She had no clue how long he knew, but she had guessed he had known all along and was why he made them skip breakfast. She held the grip of the leather tightly; it creaked in her hand as she stood ready.

[Sagequeen]

The rustling in the trees around them became very clear; Osher stood at alert, the hair on his back standing on end. An eerie song drifted in the woods, one that she could almost understand, a song in the same vein as those she had learned in her thumbing through the Songbook of Ages. She knew at once the source of such a deep-rooted magic.

The song of the sword singers made the back of Erissa's neck prickle; it was a language familiar to her, ancient elven, but over years of isolation in Lindequalmë it had become a new thing in its own right, with inflection and pronunciation, and even words, that were very different than she had learned from her tutors. The Knights stood back to back, and Erissa wondered if Jenson's wild giggles were as haunting to the corrupted and feral elves as their song was to her. She understood enough to know it was a song of cursing, of death, and she felt her limbs grow heavy, her mind lethargic. A panic struck the high elf as she felt Jenson sway against her; he, too, was under the power of the song. His laughter began to fade.

Though Erissa knew she could only mitigate the effects of the three part harmony the sword singers unleashed against them, she raised her voice in a counter-melody, weaving within the voices to subtly change the sound of it, lessening the effects on the Knights. The three corrupted elves circled them, predatory and animal-like in their quick, hunched movements. Like their language, the elves had been isolated, and while they retained much of the beauty of the race, there was evidence of unchecked inbreeding and deformity. Doubtless, their lifespans were greatly shortened, whether by the curse of the forest or by meeting an appropriate end beneath its savage, red boughs.

One of the male elves twitched and ticked, pawing at his ragged leathers as he circled, eying Osher as a low, loud growl emanated from the dog. The other, obviously the leader by his more decorated armor, raised an arm commanding the other two, including a female, to end the song, understanding that its effectiveness was not optimal, and a new strategy would be needed. A wicked and twisted grin cracked open the leader's face, the whites of his eyes stained blood red, telling of the corruption that wracked his body; he lifted his twin blades and sliced through the air in a slow figure eight. He opened his mouth, filled with rows of filed, pointy teeth, and chanted a thick-tongued verse that caused his weapons to glow an eerie green. Back to back, Jenson and Erissa watched the others, now forming a triangle around the Knights, and the underlings mimicked their leader. With the conclusion of the verse, the three sword singers plunged their swords into the ground, sending a shock-wave inward on the companions.

Osher was the only one who kept his balance. Jenson and Erissa were toppled; the sword singers sprung in on them, swords raised for attack. Tested and tried in a lifetime of warfare, Jenson quickly rolled and avoided the swords that plunged into the ground where he lay a split second before. However, Erissa's inexperience showed in her indecision; this was no mere wolf she faced. The high elf gripped the dagger helplessly, never having trained with one. As the sword singer crashed down upon her, she only managed to deflect the blow of the swords slightly, and one sliced through her left arm, just missing the bone, all the way through into the ground. She screamed in agony; however, she was fortunate the blade was still white-hot from the magic recently released from it. The wound was cauterized and bleeding only slightly. Erissa heaved the female sword singer from her chest, and she felt the blade rip from her arm. The corrupted elves sprang back from the concerted attack, but not before the twitching one received a throwing knife to the chest. He fell to his knees, gurgling and sputtering crimson; Jenson had tipped the odds in the Knights' favor. The leader released a tortured, rage-filled scream, which only intensified Jenson's demented laughing.

“Filthy cousin fucking, bush humping, inbred, leaf licking, faggot fairies!” Jenson roared, a shrill fit of giggles overtaking him immediately. Erissa stumbled to her feet and summoned an energy shield, which she wielded on her wounded arm. The dagger she wielded in her right, and the high elf felt the magic-intensifying effect of it; the arcanist sliced through the air, unleashing a bolt of light at the sword singer. The red-eyed elf deftly dodged behind the wide trunk of a tree just before a huge chunk of the wood was ripped from it in an explosion of splinters and red-beard moss. Jenson sprang forward against the leader, matching his dual swords with dagger and punch knife.

Another scream arose in the forest; the female sword singer let loose a banshee cry as she charged Erissa in a flashing, spinning attack, enhanced by corrupt magic. The arcanist braced herself against her shield and deflected the onslaught, though at the conclusion of the attack the energy shield was completely depleted. Osher barked and attacked the sword singer from behind, biting her calves and causing her to take a knee, but the dog yelped in pain. He had not been struck by the sword singer; instead, he had stepped in the red ichor of the injured tree that pooled around its base. His back paw blackened and whithered, leaving Osher on three legs. In seconds, the sword singer was on her feet again.

Jenson was in the lust of battle which each ring of his weapons heightened; the leader of the corrupted elves' group was a skilled swordsman, and had managed to draw a seeping, red slash across the immortal's chest. Yet Jenson whirled and dodged, struck more quickly than a snake in his offensive foray, sending his opponent backpedaling, off-balance. The red-eyed elf's arms flailed to correct his balance, but as he did, he flung a bolt of corruption toward Jenson, narrowly missing him; the bolt followed its course, slamming into another tree near Erissa. As the tree began to fall, Jenson sprang to the flailing elf and finished him with a well-placed dagger behind the collarbone, and into the heart.

As the tree began to topple in a deep-throated, woody groan, the remaining sword singer was forced from her stance, to Erissa's immediate relief; her new shield was close to being expended. As her opponent dodged the tree, Erissa used the last of her shield to slam into the red-eyed elf; a rock found its way behind the sword singer's foot, tripping her. A miserable wail escaped her lips as she splashed into and felt the effects of the red pool. Flat on her back, the tree's spilled ichor blackened her skin and withered her away, and in a final raspy groan, she was devoured completely.

And then there was silence.

“Fuck!” Jenson yelled, causing both Erissa and Osher to jump. He rushed to Erissa's side, taking her arm in his hands gingerly, gauging the wound. The immortal searched the high elf's eyes questioningly.

“I know you are worried that I may slow you down or be a liability,” she said, strained, “but I will do my best to avoid that. It is too great a risk to heal and drain myself further; for now I have stopped the bleeding completely. However, Osher cannot walk easily.” Erissa gestured to the dog, whose right back paw was lifted from the ground and a withered black. Jenson kicked a pile of leaves and dirt as he yelled another expletive.

“You're a tailor for fuck's sakes!” Jenson glared at the high elf, infuriated. “Stand the fuck back and let the one who knows what the hell I'm doing take care of it!”

“There were three of them! You had to know at least one of them would move to attack me.” Erissa's hands were on her hips, eyes narrowed. “Alright. The next time a sword singer jumps on my chest, I will be sure to just lay there and wait for the cavalry. And I will not say a word when you make your wisecrack about me taking it lying down. At least that way, you will not have to look after me any more.” The immortal's teeth ground together, searching for what to say; his fiance was always able to look after herself.

“You're not supposed to get hurt,” he muttered, scratching the back of his head. The arcanist's eyes softened slightly, her voice almost a plaintive whisper as she replied.

“Jenson, did you think I came here with the expectation of walking out unscathed, or even alive? We are in the Red Forest. I am grateful to you that I still live at all,” Erissa said, placing her hands on his upper arms. “I, most of all, know how far in over my head I truly am.” He met her gaze, and his shoulders slumped.

“Then why did you-” Jenson began, but a nearby coughing and gurgling interrupted his words. His countenance changed at once, and Erissa cringed at the frightening darkness that clung to his features. She recoiled from the hard glint reflecting from his eyes.

“A survivor,” he growled in the deepness of his rumbling baritone, a wholly wicked grin stretching across the Knight's face.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

The fight was short but still took a toll on the group of Ixians. Erissa’s arm was deeply cut, Osher’s leg was all but ruined, and the Immortal’s anger was surfacing rapidly in flashes. He was personally infuriated that things so far were getting worse and worse, and he admonished himself for childishly thinking there could be a different result. But what made him all the angrier was his own deflating ego. He had actually thought he would be able to handle everything by himself, but so far Erissa had shown him the exact opposite. The bush humping woman was right, and her words about accepting death as an outcome of this adventure sobered him up as her protector.

A few coughs and spilt blood returned him to the present as he neared one of the downed sword singers. He could see the elf's eyes glaring to him, the primal fury within the red-tinged iris. He had just noticed the creature had a gentle silver hue to his eyes, but the corruption underlying that had destroyed all the once noble virtues that elf had.

The immortal lowered himself, eyes cast narrowly as he looked the sword singer evenly in the face. Blood continued to drip from the chapped lips of the corrupted elf, and his tongue dashed out to lick it back in. The man’s fingers moved to a lithe dagger, a thin twisted looking weapon that looked more suited to elegant surgical strikes than actual combat. Jensen let the elf go for the weapon, and in the blink of an eye the creature was up again, spitting blood out in a spray into Jensen’s face as he rose, screeching. The blood hit the immortal and burned his eyes; he let out a frustrated yelp, ducking down to one knee. Within mere steps the sword singer prepared to swipe the blade across Jensen’s throat in one easy swing.

Jensen flipped up from his kneeling position, his boot catching the crazed aggressor in the jaw with a flash kick. Both hit the ground at the same time, but the immortal’s speed and agility was greater even the elf’s as he nipped back to his feet in one fluid motion, stomping his foot on the man’s chest knocking his wind out. The elf hollered in protest, eyes wide as his limbs rose in concert and landed with a thud on the dirt.

“Jenson!” Erissa shrieked, Osher barking as he hobbled in front of his master protectively. Jensen gave her a dark grin, full of malicious intent. She returned his look with concern, but nodded, realizing he had the situation more than under control. She lowered herself to Osher and held the dog’s collar. Jensen looked back down, lifting his foot and stomping again. The elf’s eyes nearly rolled in the back of his head, the dagger falling to the ground away from his curled fingers. Jensen knelt down over his body, boot still on his sternum as he leaned very closely.

“Well, well, well leaf licker,” Jensen sassed with a tisking sound. “Looks like you got your bush humping friends all killed.” The elf spat in his garbled language and cried out in anger as Jensen just laughed. “I don’t speak inbred fairy, try again.” Now the elf’s mouth got louder, and more obnoxious as he narrowed his eyes like he were cursing. “Whoa, calling me the son of a whore? Isn’t that low brow insults you tree fucker?”

“You.. you understood him?” Erissa asked. Jensen and the corrupt elf looked at each other, eyes filled with mutual hate as Jensen spoke sideways to her. To her surprise his tone was elegant and precise and he spoke not in common, but in perfect high elven.

“<Oh, yes I can speak Elven. I do not like to; it sounds like I am passing gas out of my lips.>” Jensen punched the elf below him in the face, and giggled. “<Seriously, this language makes me want to purge my insides, and stick the waste in my ears in an attempt to block out the obnoxious need for overly flowery speech. Cannot a single thing you guys say in your misguided language be simple?>”

“I suppose not,” Erissa muttered under her breath. “Still, even I have trouble understanding that corrupted speech!”

“It’s tribal, that’s why,” Jensen muttered. “He’s mixing High Elven and Common in a loose manner; starting a word in elvish and ending the same word in tradespeak. It’s home brewed, that’s why you can barely understand it. You’re listening to two languages at once with no set designation of when something starts and ends.” Erissa gave Jensen a profound look of honest intent, impressed at his sudden show of intelligence.

“How do you-" Jensen anticipated her question and replied rapidly, more than a little annoyed.

“They required me in the Knight’s to stay up for seventy two hours, physically training while they shouted at me in draconian, elven, dwarven, and even infernal. If I couldn’t follow the order to the letter, I was fucked. This shit is a breeze compared to that. Now shut up for five minutes while I interrogate this guy!” Erissa took a step back, his growing anger making her uneasy as Osher whimpered.

The elf below him shouted again in his garbled language, and Jensen punched him again. He repeated the process three times before lifting up on his armor so they were face to face. The elf looked to him, groggily, and his eyes showed he was ready to listen for the time being.

“Okay you little cuss,” Jensen breathed darkly. “Spill it. Where the hell can I find Pea Pode?” The elf narrowed his eyes, but then suddenly nodded and lifted a hand up.

“You… wish… death…” He spoke slowly, as if choosing his options slowly and carefully. His hand gripped the immortal’s coat. “She… strong… very powerful…” Jensen narrowed his eyes before the Elf laughed. “Go! Go! Death waits at Opassa,” His tongue slipped into elven, and he began to laugh again. Jensen shook his head and punched him again. The Elf leaned back from the blow, still laughing, a little drunkenly from the physical abuse.

“Opassa? What the hell does that mean? Where the hell is that?” Jensen shouted. The elf weakly pointed down a long stretch of road, where the soupy fog was the heaviest. He could feel the dark magic emanating from there. Jensen turned back to the elf, and gave him a malicious grin. “Thanks, fairy faggot.” Jensen grabbed the man by his neck and lifted it limply in his hands.

“Jenson!” Erissa shouted as she realized what he was about to do. Before she could say anything more, he twisted the elf’s neck until he got a satisfying pop sound. Erissa lifted herself up in shock as Jensen stood, fingers trailing the dirt as he gripped the hilt of the dagger the sword singer no longer needed, twirling it in his fingers. When the immortal saw his companions face he gave her a confused look.

“What? Are you seriously mad I killed the guy who was trying to kill us?” Jensen laughed at her. Erissa took a moment before she stepped forwards and angrily pushed a finger in his direction.

“Killing in self defense and killing in cold blood is different! He was no threat to us anymore! That was needless violence, Jenson!” Erissa looked to him with irritation as he walked by her, grabbing his steel dagger from her and depositing the elven design in her fingers.

"You might cut yourself if you aren't careful,” Jensen mumbled as if nothing happened. She looked down to it, as if in debate whether she would throw it aside, but her rational side dictated she did need a weapon. Still, she glared to Jensen and chased after him.

“It was wrong. I think you did it just because of your personal distaste for elves,” she said to him in an overbearing manner, as if she was his mother. “You hold a very low opinion on life, Jenson Ambrose. It is possible we could have helped him, reached out to him! Perhaps if I healed him-” The words she spoke seemed almost hard for her to say, and Jensen stopped as he looked to her, grabbing her shoulder and turning her so she could look at him.

“I am not going to let a man live who tried to kill me. I am not going to let a creature of the Red Forest regroup and come after me again, I am not going to be a pussy pacifist and scold the evils of the world in an attempt to promote peace and love. We are in the Red fucking Forest, and not a thing in here would hesitate to kill us. Get that through your fucking head, leaf licker.” Jensen saw her resolve in her eyes, filled with desire to say something to prove him wrong, to show that he was just being violent for the sake of violence, but the immortal was right. Nothing in this pit of corruption would wait a second to end their lives.

“It’s just…barbaric, that’s all Jenson,” Erissa at last admitted in defeat. Jensen shook his head, and sighed, walking with her next to him again as they traveled. Jensen gave her a concerned look, and shook his head. “I guess I still have much to learn about the world, don’t I?” Erissa said more to herself than to her partner, but Jensen felt a small tinge of guilt for the elf. It was true that he was right, no matter what, but still, he felt wrong in how he did things.

“Look, Leaf licker,” Jensen said softly. “This forest corrupts people, and changes who they were. The key difference here is what’s in here,” He said tapping his chest. “Guts and heart. Leave me the fighting and the dirty work, that’s who I am. You stay the way you are, a useless tailor, and do not corrupt the morals you have. Otherwise this forest claims another soul.”

The two walked in silence towards the location of Opassa, before Erissa gave a sincere look. “Thank you, Jenson,” she whispered. The immortal gave her a crass look.

“You know, that’s bugging the shit out of me,” Jensen said with a sly smile. Erissa gave him a questioning glance. “My name is Jensen, JENSEN, hear the ‘E’? JenSEN, it’s there, I swear it. Fuck’s sake I can hear the ‘O’ inflection every time you utter my name. What If I called you Arissa? Huh? Would you like that, leaf licker? Arissa the leaf licking, bush humping Ixian Knight who can’t pronounce names!” Erissa giggled as she shook her head.

“Well perhaps, JenSON, your name is like a poison to my ears and I cannot bare to utter it!” She feigned being distraught. Jensen laughed as he turned to Osher.

“Well boy, what do you think? JenSEN or JenSON?” The dog barked a few times, hobbling after them with tail wagging. “Hmm, guess we’ll have to have some higher power decide it.” Jensen said as they walked on.

[Sagequeen]

Erissa rummaged through her satchel for the strip of cloth Jensen had given her for Osher, and worked quickly to bind the wound on her upper arm; her natural enhanced healing would have to suffice for the time being. The high elf did not look back to the scene of the battle.

Courage, her teacher had instructed her, what is courage, Erissa?

I suppose it is not being afraid of what one must do, she had replied.

No, Troyas had said to her, it is not. Courage is doing what one must in spite of fear. Doubtless Erissa was afraid. The arcanist distracted herself from the creeping fear, and Jensen was thankfully helping her in that task. Great comfort she took in his experience, and, at times, his outright nonchalance in battle; it was better, even if it felt wrong, to laugh after a battle than to cry.

“So truly, JenSEN,” the high elf over-enunciated with a mildly coy tone, “all the lives you have lived and you have never heard of Opassa?” The immortal shrugged as they walked side by side on the wide path that cut a very straight route through the trees; in fact, the shapely crape myrtles lining the path were in bloom, the petals almost purple and lustrous. Each flowering tree was perfectly aligned and the procession likely was, at one time, a wonder to behold, even moreso than it currently was. Above, the high elf caught sight of the sky for the first time in days; the vision of it forced a bittersweet sigh from her lips. Remains of flagstone occasionally clicked under heel, though mostly buried under the humus of the forest floor. Erissa strained to peer further into the crimson-tinged fog, which appeared to become less hazy ahead of them; it was clear they were approaching ruins of some sort.

“Well?” Jensen demanded impatiently, pulling his companion from her personal struggles. She gave him a hesitant and sidelong glance, eyebrow cocked.

“Well, I simply thought that in The Ambrose Handbook of Adventuring, Rule Number One would apply,” the high elf stopped in her tracks and folded her hands before her in a most formal manner, reciting. “If you bring attention to it, it will happen.” What could be mistaken as a smirk pulled at the corner of her mouth. Jensen narrowed his eyes at her before grinning.

“I did say that, didn't I?” He laughed as they started walking again, tossing his head back and enjoying the brief glimpse of sky himself. “But listen, Elf. If you are withholding information I might need to keep you alive, well that's your own damn problem.” Erissa simply nodded.

“Well, if Opassa is our destination, then it is the very road to perdition we now tread... that is, of course, if the gods themselves have souls,” she said ominously, with all seriousness. “I remember the first time I heard this story; my brother and I were both rather young, and our maid had been into the liquor cabinet. Our parents were at one of their many social functions, and the maid was rather annoyed at Tanus, my brother, and his antics. She had hoped to quiet him with a compelling tale.” Erissa smiled fondly, though with sadness, as she remembered him. “He was nothing like our father.”

“You gonna tell me your life story, Fairy? Cause I really don't care,” Jensen jabbed, shoving her good shoulder somewhat playfully and knocking her off-balance. “Get with it.”

“Fine!” Erissa said, peeved, and she attempted to shove him in return. She may as well have shoved a stone pillar, and he snickered at her as she blushed and grabbed at her wound, having aggravated it. The high elf curtly straightened and smoothed her jacket before continuing. A gentle breeze blew the crimson-stained petals of the crape myrtles across the path before them. “In the days before time was measured by mortals, the gods had not yet become apathetic about the world they created. They walked the land and meddled often in the affairs of its inhabitants; in fact, the old gods took to themselves mortal wives. It was not because they found them more desirable than the goddesses, but simply because they wished for the children they sired to be heralds and champions instead of possible successors. You see, the children were mortal, and much weaker than the gods, yet were far stronger than any pure-blood mortal. The goddesses did not take part; they would not sully themselves with a mortal child in womb.

“It was considered by the Pantheon an abomination when a demi-goddess was born, much for the same reason, but mostly because if a god were to bed a demi-goddess, such a creature would be born that was too close to godhood than any mortal could be allowed. So the demi-goddesses were whisked away quickly after birth, and,” Erissa looked warily at the forest around her, “they were imprisoned in trees within the heart of a great labyrinth by the name of Opassa.” Erissa glanced at her companion, who seemed to be far more interested in Osher. “I suppose you have heard of ambrosia,” she asked, curious if he truly were listening.

“Food of the gods, yeah.” The immortal ruffled the dog's fur as they walked side by side.

“Well, it came from those trees. You see, the divine blood, golden ichor, flowed through the trees and infused the fruit they produced. Naturally, Opassa was closely guarded when this oversight was realized, for if consumed by mortals, they could achieve immortality. And of course, the gods and goddesses fed upon the golden blood-fruit of their own imprisoned daughters as a delicacy, brought to them daily by the demi-gods.” Erissa shuddered. “The demi-gods were kept unaware of the true nature of the trees, that their sisters were imprisoned within them. However, as sure as the sun, the lives of the Pantheon are wracked endlessly by deception and deceit, so after a time, the truth found its way to the gilded ears of one of the greatest champions of the Pantheon, a demi-god by the name of Orseus.” Jensen yawned loudly and kicked a piece of broken flagstone, smashing into one of the many trees that lined the path. Erissa gave him a startled look.

“You don't actually believe that shit, do you?” He asked, a sneer etched on his face.

“Well, no. It is all myth and legend, you know,” Erissa said quickly. “But to continue, the demi-god Orseus received the information anonymously, and he was furious to know his sisters were imprisoned, the mystery of why there were only male children born solved. The next time he was sent to Opassa to gather fruit, he made a vow to his sisters to free them. So once he delivered the fruit, Orseus watched closely the gods as they feasted; only one among them did not feast upon the flesh of the fruit, a goddess, and the only one he could assume had sent him the message. So Orseus appealed to the goddess, and it was indeed she who revealed the information. She told him the secret to free the demi-goddesses, that each must consume through her roots the fruit of her own labor. Orseus awaited his next duty to Opassa, and when he went, he took the fruit and buried it at the roots of each tree he could find within the labyrinth as his brothers went about their normal tasks of gathering.

“Within a fortnight, the other demi-gods noticed a change in the trees and dutifully reported the occurrence to the Pantheon. Naturally, the gods were wary; while they were loathe to do any damage to their ambrosia-bearing trees, they would not see the daughters imprisoned within released upon the world. So, they went to assess Opassa for themselves, and it became a slaughter, and would have been complete if not for the pride of the gods. Orseus had rallied his brothers, the demi-gods, and inspired them to self-sacrifice for their sisters; the gods had created enough of them that the legions of demi-gods were able to resist long enough for almost all of the imprisoned daughters to be completely freed. And as they were awakened, the last of their fruits fell to the ground, shield-maidens born and reborn into suffering and strife. Thus was the divine race of Valkyrie awakened into the world.

“The Valkyrie would not flee from Opassa, the place of their imprisonment; rather they assisted their brothers in battle, guarded their enslaved sisters as they awaited freedom, and supplied all the remaining with ambrosia, coveted by the gods, that when mixed with existing divine blood provided an incredible boost to ability. The legions became ageless and strong. Orseus lead the defense and long held against the siege of Opassa. During this time, he met a maiden in the heat of battle, a Valkyrie, and fell in love with her. She was named Inorah by her sisters upon her release from the tree, and she was fierce as she was beautiful. The two fought valiantly, shoulder to shoulder, among their peers. In one particularly devastating battle, Inorah fell at Orseus' side, and he could not prevent it.” Erissa sighed heavily and noticed the stiffened posture of her companion. “He retreated then, both for himself and for his elite legion; the losses were so great.

“There comes a time when even the hearts of demi-gods falter against gods, when their vigilance fails. One of the goddesses, a goddess of enchantment, breached the lines; her enchantment was such that when her enemies looked upon her, they saw one that was lost to them, dear to them, and the heart would betray its owner in causing stupor and hesitation. The goddess made her way to the tent of Orseus, and to him she appeared as his beloved Inorah. She convinced him that she had eaten of a final, reserved slice of the ambrosia as she breathed her dying breath, and Orseus, in his grief and love, believed her.

“He bedded her, and the goddess of the Pantheon allowed it in spite of her loyalties, having been so long without affection of the sort. In time, she did her part in convincing Orseus that the siege was hopeless, that he was the cause of all the deaths, and if he had simply allowed things to stay as they were, all his brothers and sisters would all still be alive. And the demi-god's resolve faltered.

“In the end, most of the demi-gods and their sisters fell in a poorly executed retreat; however, a handful escaped within the labyrinth of Opassa; not even the gods could navigate the shifting walls. Those who escaped were, supposedly, the legends of old, those of great renown who seemed so far above their mortal peers.

“As for the goddess of enchantment, she was with Orseus' child, and the wrath of the Pantheon was upon her. However, with their supply of ambrosia destroyed, they were curious. They forced her to give birth to the mortal child, something no other goddess would endure, and when it was born, they spirited it away. Since then, the gods have indeed enjoyed an uninterrupted supply of ambrosia, though a mortal has yet to lay eyes on its source. And that is the story of Opassa.”

Jensen whistled, the beginning, highest pitch offensive to Erissa's sensitive ears, and trailing down to a woody flute-like timbre.

"I have no friggen clue how you manage to talk that much without getting the least bit lightheaded. Do you even breathe between sentences or is that part of your fairy magic too?" Jensen asked, laughing and shaking his head.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

The immortal looked out over the outskirts of supposed ‘Opassa,’ and his first impressions were rather dark. There was what looked to be a stone wall, now overgrown with moss, and missing several sections to make it more a step than an obstruction. Along the path were several bushes, and he could feel the Elf get closer to him as they neared the city limits. Erissa had pointed out the plant on the side of the road and Jensen peered closer. A small mouth opened in one of the blooms, tiny tendrils poking out. Jensen made to touch one when Erissa sighed, heavily, and pulled him away.

“Soul Blossoms? Remember anything about me explaining what they do?” Jensen shrugged.

“Not really, I was busy staring at your ass… by the way I have to tell you, it’s a decent one, but Stephanie’s is way…” Erissa merely rolled her eyes muttering about his maturity as she led Osher into the ruins of Opassa. Jensen was a solitary step behind her, his eyes scanning the area as he looked at the fallen structures of what could very well have been a marvel of structural engineering. The fact that even in this wasted state it still had some majesty spoke to his creative mind; for one of the lesser known things about Jensen was he was a tinker of sorts. Science and technology greatly interested him, but living the life of an immortal warrior gave him less time to pursue his hobby than most would think.

Looking up at the sky and sighing, Jensen tugged on Erissa’s jacket, slowing the elf down as she turned to give him a cautious look. Ever wary to keep her calm, he gave her a half hearted pout, rubbing his belly. “Do your voodoo and make me some grub,” Jensen whined. The two pulled off the main path into an alcove made from a tree that fell through a small portion of the wall.

“Are manners really that far from your reach? Do you teach your daughter to behave like this?” Erissa asked. She huffed as her backpack moved down to the ground and pulled out some food. “Honestly, it terrifies me to think you procreated…”

“Well then put that thought to rest,” Jensen mumbled in a mocking way, attempting to match Erissa’s pitch. She gave him a confused look. “We adopted her, Stephanie and I. We were on a mission from Lady creepo Mc-Bloodsucker Cassandra Remi, told us to use an orphan for the day to get into a zoo. Some special exhibit was going on and to get in you needed a kid. Some idiots working for the enemy of the Ixian Knight’s prophecy was supposedly hidden there. She was right, mind you, but I’d never say it to her face.”

“I have heard…stories, of Lady Remi’s terror,” Erissa said, her body shivering. “I must admit, if even a fraction of them were true, I would prefer to spend a night in this forest than have anything to do with her.”

“Oh she and I have gone around the Mulberry bush more than once. I hate that creepy bitch, always have, and always will.” Jensen said harshly. “She’s a bitch and whatever the fuck Sei thought she could add to this army is a mystery he and his stone tablets only know. Though the last I had heard she was dismissed from the army.”

Erissa handed him a piece of bread and water, along with a bit of cured meat. She sighed, sipping from her canteen and looking at Osher. Jensen observed her eyes, seeing the concern for the mutt and he too felt a twinge of concern for their hairy companion. He looked to his meat, sighed, and tossed it to the dog. “Don’t give him any more meat; he can have my share, ration the rest.”

“How long should we stay here?” Erissa asked innocently, looking at Osher’s blackened paw. Jensen observed around the area for a moment, and looked back at the two in his care. He could see Osher’s tail drooped, and his panting was getting heavier, not to mention the wound on Erissa’s arm still chaffed his pride as her guardian. He could see she was still a little shaken from the last battle, and even he felt a yawn coming on. He shook his head, fighting it away as he turned away from her.

“Let’s rest up for an hour or two, and then head a little deeper into the ruins to make a more suitable camp for the day. I’ll scout ahead; make sure everything is all right for our next leg of the journey.” Jensen turned back to her and walked up as she gave him a worried expression, but he merely lifted the elegant dagger up to her hands and placed the pommel in it. “Hold the pointy end this way, and stab at anything that isn’t Osher or me. I’m not going to go out of earshot of you, and you got Osher, who knows how to bark, right boy?”

On cue, the dog let out a joyful round of speech, and Jensen ruffled the canine’s ears. Erissa giggled at the show, before putting on a brave smile as she nodded, scooting deeper into the shadows and drawing her legs in. “I will wait here then. Should you be gone for more than two hours, I will use your heart to guide me to you.” She smiled to him, nodding once as she made herself comfortable.

“Dawwww,” Jensen feigned his compassion as he pinched the elf’s cheek, much to her chagrin. “Aren’t you sooo fucking in love with me! You’ll follow my heart? Where did you dig that up from, a children’s fairy tale?” Erissa rolled her eyes, kicking him away playfully as Jensen laughed, walking out into the ruins.

Most of the larger buildings had remained intact, but several portions of the walls and ceilings had been blown apart by roots that grew out of them like a cancer. Several smaller side houses and storage units were completely overrun by the forest’s corruption, now occupied by the predators of Podë’s madness. He passed through a building, the ground shifted up from a deep tree root that lifted through the flooring, breaking the cobblestone floor and rotten wood, tiny flowers dotting along the base. A spider web the size of a small child was in the corner, a spider easily the size of Jensen’s head casually looking to the immortal as it spun a captured bird between its disgusting digits, pincer-like mandibles moving together in pleasure for its meal.

He kept his switchblade sword at the ready, looking around at the scenery as he passed through into the open street. Indeed this was an ancient civilization; from the pictures on the walls it looked to be pre-demon wars by thousands of years easily. He headed down a slope deeper into what he assumed to be the merchant district, finding several hollowed out trees as well as built lodges and stores. He could almost envision the life of the land, the hustle and bustle of the trade and shouting of merchants. Yet when he blinked all those good, peaceful signs were long gone. The corruption of Xem'Zund’s minions had done their work as several plants covered the land, making it look more like a dead land after a major battle.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard something crunching dried, dead leaves underfoot. But in the manner it moved it sounded more like something slithering around. He readied his blade, moving into the central square near the fountain. Like all things in the Red Forest, the water, too, was colored crimson. The surface had small waves forming around it, and Jensen grew concerned as he did a quick three-sixty spin to check his surroundings. Nothing he could spot seemed to be coming. He looked back to the water, lowering his gaze to peer through the murky depths. Something was…

With a loud splash a red vine lashed out, hitting Jensen square in the chest and knocking him upwards into the air. He spun in a corkscrew, looking to find his feet as he neared the ground, but his fall was short lived as another vine tentacle broke through the fountain’s side, shattering the clay and letting the water flood out as it latched to his foot and swung him through a building. His body impacted against the rotten wood with a thud and a resounding crash of a cymbal, body tumbling as he landed in a heap on a pile of dead leaves. He shook his head and stood to one knee; the ceiling crashed and another vine came at him. This time he jumped to the side, doing a ground roll as he pulled up to his feet. He watched the vine snake itself up and come at him like a lunging spear. He bent backwards at his waist, letting the plant ram through the wall; it destroyed the last strands of integrity the shack had, the walls and remaining ceiling tumbling. A large hunk of wood and moist, dead leaves fell upon his body, knocking his wind out as he collapsed on the ground. He felt the vines from the fountain snap at the wood, knocking it away, as the one that brought the whole house down came back, batting away the log on top of him.

With ease it slithered around his waist, tugging him free and gripping his ribs. Angrily he fumbled for his knives, and at last grabbing the steel blade gifted to him by Seth Dahlios he managed to lodge it into the vine. Its grip weakened considerably, but still it held him as it carried his body back into the main square, where dozens of the vines snaked their way forwards. Jensen was carried high into the air, over the fountain where the ground quaked, dirt erupting in the air as several more vines joined the fray. Jensen watched as the earth fell and could see the ugly maw of a beast that easily was the size of the village itself. It was the Root of the Blood Vines.

“Fuck me, I’m seriously plant food? Fuck this is why I’m a carnivore!” Jensen felt a giggle coming as he cut himself free, at last snapping the last tendons of plant muscle away, and falling. He felt his jacket lift up into the air and he cried in glee, feeling the wind enter his lungs. His blood began to move freely as his stomach churned, and soon his scream turned into laughter as he landed on the ground. He looked around to see the sun blocked by dozens of vines as they cascaded as one wave to slam him down. Running backwards with a fit of laughter the immortal watched until the wave came to crashing crescendo.

“I am a leaf on the wind!” Jensen hollered pushing his arms before him and letting wind build up. The air around him became a mini tornado, creating a gust of force powerful enough to push him backwards away from the vines as he slid on the gravely road. “Watch how I soar!” Jensen whispered as he charged forwards, jumping onto the blood vine and moving with ease as the tentacles began to come after him. Several impaled themselves and blasted others apart in their mad rush to capture him, but Jensen dodged, ducked, dipped and dived his way around each one, his agility seemingly unstoppable as he laughed like a maddened clown. He slid down the base of a vine, arm reaching out and using it like a pole to sharply turn and avoid two vines as they tangled around a third; he lowered himself into the sea as he scrambled on the ground, flipping and rolling like a professional circus freak, insane hollowing of mirth never fading. The earth shook more as the vine called upon all of its might, and the forest itself seemed to awaken as the vines came.

“Don’t get your panties…” Jensen chuckled as he twisted over a tentacle coming for him, watching it entwine with another and creating a knot through a third. “In a twist!” Giggling came over him as he lowered his hand, running it across the ground. “Come on, come on, run-run!” Jensen taunted the beast. He felt his fingers touch the overturned dirt and soil, and at last he felt something metal in his hand. With a shriek of laughter and giggles he activated the switchblade, the weapon going into a scythe mode as he spun like a whirling top, hacking away several vines.

The Blood Root screamed in pain as the tentacles all retreated, coiling around each other making a thicker and wider appendage. With a chuckle Jensen switched the blade into a sword and looked to the fountain. “Well hello there, teddy bear! Why don’t ya come on out and play!” Jensen charged forwards, and the vines moved in concert as they made a rhythmic pounding on the ground, trying to beat him back.

“Fight, fight, as much as you can,” Jensen sang, his blade cutting the vines as he moved. The Blood Root screeched with each cut, a loud cry that caused several creatures in the forest to flee. Jensen’s eyes went wide as the vines created a wall around the mouth of the beast, and he cursed and wheezed out a whining cry of mirth as they moved as one in a solid wall. He switched the weapon to scythe mode and brought forth all his remaining focus on the wind. Again the tornado-like wind pushed at him, a gust of wind coming up that he aimed at the base of the vines. There was a small gap the formed in the vine wall, and Jensen roared with laughter as he ran at it.

When the two forces met, Jensen’s blade came up in a fierce gouging cut, his whole body spinning as the blade swung back and harvested more, The vine hit him and bled all over him, his body being beaten as the vines began to encircle him. He continued to use the wind to push the vines away; he screamed in rage and laughter, his scythe harvesting with each cut. He willed the beast away but even his skills with the art of wind were not able to resist the earth. Soon the vines managed to grip him, and as he brought his blade up it was gripped, the Blood Root bringing him closer to its maw. One tentacle ripped at his jacket, tearing it as his flesh was cut open, the blood of his own body mixing with the Blood Root. He screamed in pain, cursed the gods, and giggled as the Blood Root opened up to consume him. With a knowing giggle and a cocky grin, he thumbed the switch on his blade, cutting the vine in half as it reverted back into a sword. His freed hand cut another vine away as he switched back into scythe mode. With a frenzy of cuts he freed himself, and landed just before the Blood Root’s maw.

“You see this blade? It’s a Zodiac Weapon you bitch!” Jensen cut the maw and ripped the lower lip off in one swipe. “One graze is enough to make the pain last for hours. A cut will intensify that pain, and adrenaline cannot mask it! So when I rip off your fucking limbs!” Jensen turned and cut a vine in two, laughing as he twirled back to the root, hacking off another petal of its maw. “Well… you tell me,” Jensen smiled as he jumped up and switched the blade back into sword mode, dive bombing with a dark, vicious laughter. He impaled the blade into the mouth of Blood Root, digging it in deep as it thrashed around in agony, unable to coordinate the vines as they thrashed around, smashing apart everything. The earth quaked as its root lashed outwards, trying to move away, but Jensen kept digging the blade deeper and deeper. “Hard to think I went a whole a fight with you, and I never made one gardening joke. Well, time to prune out the weeds!” Jensen fell into a fit of giggles as he switched the blade into a scythe, and yanked the blade out. Plant guts flew out in a shower that covered the immortal as the vines twitched before standing still, withering as the plant let out a few more cries of pain, and then going silent.

“And that’s why I am Jensen MOTHER FUCKING Ambrose!” The immortal cried, letting his blade rest on his shoulder. He took a few breaths of air, then turned to see Erissa and Osher with concerned looks. Before he could say anything two elves moved from behind Erissa, a leash in their hand as he noticed for the first time that Osher was muzzled and Erissa’s hands were tied together. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the corrupted sword singers, when he felt a lithe dagger gently graze his neck.

“Nice to meet you, Jensen Mother Fucking Ambrose,” An Elf said dryly in his ear. The immortal's eyes narrowed, looking to see the four elves behind him, and when he looked back to Erissa he sighed, seeing the knife pointed at her back. With a shrug he tossed his weapon on the ground.

"I fucking hate this forest."

[Sagequeen]

The sword singers pawed through the Ixian Knights' belongings, greedily eying the bread and meat; however, these seemed far more civilized than the small group Jensen and Erissa had decimated earlier. If not for the red-tinged eyes and odd crimson-veined discoloration on the fingernails, necks, and around the edges of their faces, they could pass as elves, and spoke both tradespeak and high elven fluently. Clearly, these sword singers were rather high ranked among the scattered tribe within Lindequalmë, and after a quiet discussion out of earshot, they began leading their captives further into the ruins of the city. Jensen looked harshly at Osher, who was pitiful and dejected in his muzzle.

“What happened to barking in case of danger?” The immortal muttered, frowning. Osher whimpered and tucked his tail between his legs.

“Well, it is not like you would have heard it anyway; the sounds coming from that... thing, were horrific!” Erissa shuddered, glancing at Jensen's torn jacket and the blood that oozed from beneath it. A slight movement of her bound hands began the process of healing and staunched the flow of blood; a cracked rib was mended below Jensen's bruised flesh. It was all she could manage while still keeping a sufficient reserve of strength. The immortal gave her a knowing glare, and she shrugged. “You are the one whose strength matters most right now.”

“Silence!” The sword singer shoved her wounded shoulder, causing her to stumble forward as she cried out in pain. Jensen growled angrily, promising revenge in the glare he gave the corrupted elf over his shoulder. The other sword singer simply laughed as he twirled Jensen's surrendered weapon, testing the heft and balance of it. “Nice blade,” the corrupted elf observed, words thick-tongued yet very clear. “It will make a fine gift for the captain.”

“Yeah, we'll see about that, you fucking imbred, bush humping fairy,” Jensen spat at the elf, who sprang forward, butting the back of the immortal's head with the hilt of his own weapon. The elf escorting Erissa dug the dagger deeper into her back, drawing a bead of blood, a dare in his eyes for Jensen to retaliate. Erissa's protector gave a defeated sigh and drooped his shoulders, rubbing the back of his head in frustration.

It was not the mythical Opassa they traversed; instead, it was, for some reason, the name bestowed upon the ancient city by the natives. Perhaps the crumbling walls did resemble the labyrinth of story. It was only a matter of wild guessing to determine the age of the ruins, but even in the time-weathered stone Erissa saw evidence of elven design. The entire city was overgrown with the wild, poisonous flora and fauna of the Red Forest, yet the flagstone that had been laid generations ago prevented the bulk of it from overtaking the city completely.

The party trudged forward and had as of yet hardly breached the outside of the ruins; the city was built upon a raised area in the forest, the apex as the center from which all expanded, and even half of it was as sprawling as New Aurient. Few of the cursed trees set root at the higher altitudes; whether they could not or would not would remain a mystery to the Ixian Knights. When the leading corrupted elves approached a town square in what would seem to be fortified as a military district, they hung a sharp right on a wide thoroughfare, and then another; Jensen and Erissa were led down a series of stairs to an underground bunker, lined with cut stone, whose passages were long, narrow and winding. While Erissa was rather lost, Jensen knew the passages were leading to the heart of the city, a difficult to assault, easy to become lost, bunker within the enormous, gently sloping hill that supported the city. It was easily an hour before the network of labyrinth-like passages opened into functional rooms.

Erissa caught snatches of elven and common speech as they passed through the populated rooms, just as Jensen had said earlier; while it was difficult to understand, the shorter phrases she could work out on her own. It was enough for her to know this was no village in hiding; this was a war-camp under siege, one that had long endured through great adversity, the obviousness of it apparent even to a novice such as the young arcanist. Doubtless Jensen had already surmised as much and would have done so even without understanding the language spoken. She passed a quick glance to him, which he did not return; Osher looked up at her with frightened, questioning eyes. Erissa chanced a quick word and reassuring scratch behind his ear; their escorts did not interfere, feeling secure within their own stronghold.

Eventually, the party made their way to the more grand areas of the bunker, those fit for generals and commanders; lofty ceilings soared, decorated with what was the source of the echo of pride Jensen and Erissa witnessed in their subterranean voyage, and even with what they had encountered earlier in the forest with the small group that had fallen like cut reeds before them. Upon their arrival at what would seem to be the final corridor, the escorts peeled away, gesturing for the Knights to move forward into the room; they complied and stood before a congregation of ancient elves whose red aura permeated the room.

A single guard bearing the Zodiac weapon stepped forward, eyes diverted to the ground, and presented it to a painted elf who stood to the side of the wide table upon a dais of stone. He recoiled at its touch.

“<This blade,>” he whispered in high elven speech, “<is destined for great things. It is a thing meant only momentarily for our benefit, and to take it means death.>” The imposing elf at the center of the table studied his high priest carefully.

“Shall you wield it?” A counselor leaned in closely to their leader. “Perhaps with this you can defeat the-” he began.

“Silence!” The leader commanded, and the room came to full attention.

“Return the blade,” the imposing elf commanded, and without hesitation, the guard did as instructed. “Return all the intruders' belongings. Remove their bindings,” he continued, his voice booming throughout the room. Several exchanged confused glances, yet Jensen's and Erissa's bindings were cut, their satchels and weapons returned to them. The guard angrily eyed the young arcanist's new dagger but said nothing. Osher leaped happily as his muzzle was removed. Erissa almost felt the slicing of the guards' blades through her flesh as she imagined Jensen whirling out of control, and with no regard to her, as he unbound the fury that was no doubt building to a peak. He had every weapon in his arsenal at his disposal. She had healed the worst of his wounds; he was fully functional, not to mention his immortality, and he was among a gathering of wholly corrupted elves. And certainly, he would arise from the ashes of whatever inferno ensued, like a phoenix of legend. She, on the other hand, would rot with his enemies.

I do not think I have a chance, she thought, looking at Osher. Perhaps he may save you. Yet, as the minutes ticked away and the whispered discussion of the corrupted elves continued, Jensen stayed his hand. Erissa's gaze strayed to him, and she finally understood. The immortal's jaw was set like well-tempered steel, his fingers clenched around his weapon. His quick glance to her and Osher reassured her that Jensen would not allow them, under any circumstance he could affect, to be hurt. Maybe he hates me; rather, I know he does, but he still makes a distinction between... and she wondered. Erissa did not know for sure, but she felt truly safe, for the first time, in his presence, regardless of the fact they were surrounded by legions of corrupted beings amid the Red Forest.

A silence filled the room, the only sounds breathing, shuffling feet, and the whisper of leather armor. The tension of the council spread forth into the room, and it was palpable. The imposing leader studied the intruders of his forest carefully. He reached before him where a bowl filled with dried fruit rested innocently; he plucked one of the fruits and breathed deeply the sickly-sweet, rotting scent of it as one might enjoy the scent of a fine wine.

“My name is Firwen,” he began, “and I remember this forest before it was cursed by our goddess, Pode.” Erissa stiffened and Jensen remained entirely unreadable. “Yes, we believed her to be a goddess, ushering in a paradise for her faithful. However, as you see, we were very wrong to help her. Now, we ask for your help in our quest to correct that horrible mistake, to take back and restore Belegwain i Beleg.” The high elf noted Firwen's use of the forest's original name, harking back to the days when it truly was 'the Greatest of the Great.'

“Why do you need us? And why should we help you?” Jensen asked warily, wondering what more there was to the story.

“You help or you die,” the elf said with narrowed, red-tinged eyes. “That is the simple part to understand.” Jensen laughed softly at the threat and opened his mouth to speak, but as Erissa's hand found its way to his elbow, he simply sighed. “As for why we need you, it will be easier to show you. Rest now; tend your wounds. You will have to use your own means to do so; our remedies are made from the plants of the forest, and would be poisonous and possibly lethal to you.” Firwen motioned for the guards to escort them from the room; Osher stayed close between Jensen and Erissa. Again they ventured into the labyrinth cut into the heart of the mountain, and they walked in silence. The Knights were guided to a room that boasted a table with chairs, a hay-stuffed mattress, and a fireplace, an engineering wonder as it was somehow vented in the open air far above the underground fortress.

“You... stay. Here, rest. Eat own food,” the guard instructed in his best rendering of the common tongue. Jensen and Erissa complied, Osher in tow, and tossed their satchels in the corner. Erissa went immediately to Osher and began work on his hind leg; in several moments the flesh was returned to its normal color, although it would be quite some time before the hair would grow back. The dog tested it gingerly and found that it would bear his weight again.

“Your turn,” she said, facing Jensen. As he began to protest, the demure high elf cut in quickly. “And do not argue. I will not tolerate your pig-headedness right now. Take off your jacket and shirt, and kindly withhold the comments about how much I want you, because that is only slightly less ridiculous than your unfounded hatred of me.” Her hands were planted firmly on her hips, booted toe tapping, jaw set and eyes glinting. He made a rasp at her before removing his jacket, then took his customary pause that caused Erissa to wonder as he thumbed the stitching inside. A few curse words slipped from his lips as he saw the new tear in the leather, a parting gift from the Blood Root. He sighed and set it aside.

“It's not so bad,” Jensen said as he stripped off his shirt and looked at the wound on his side. Erissa began to work, her skill beginning to improve considerably; the flesh was mended and again became whole. Sweat dripped from her brow.

“And now for me,” she said, tired but not yet spent. Her natural enhanced healing had caused the cleanly cut wound to close already, and within a few moments, her shoulder was perfectly intact. The arcanist flopped down on the mattress, exhausted but whole. “Jensen, please, get me some food and water, and we can call it even.”

“What, you think I owe you, fairy fucker?” He asked, smirking at her as she lay with an arm over her eyes. A few moments later a cloth filled with a small amount of bread and dried meat landed squarely on Erissa's face. She laughed softly as she sat up, and savored the meager rations as she studied closely the cloth tapestries that hung on the walls. At the center of the ancient, finely-woven work was a great tree, shining and bearing beautiful fruit.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

“Well, looks like we’re dug in for the night. We should relax and just enjoy the fact we have a bed to sleep on.” Jensen said taking a bite of his meat and looking to Osher, who nibbled on his own meager portion. The immortal’s stomach growled loudly, and he felt the squeezing as his muscles fought for the little nourishment he provided. To ease his hunger he took the water flask and drank a bit, refreshing himself in the coolness. The Elf ate quietly as she looked to the tapestry, getting lost in the elegant artwork upon the walls. With a pat on his legs to clean his hands, the immortal got ready for bed, feeling the aches of his battle with the Blood Root take an earnest toll on his body as he felt his muscles twinge.

Erissa’s eyes went wide and she rolled to her side as Jensen jumped in the bed; he kicked his boots off and relaxed his hands behind his head. She gave him a confused and mildly irritated look as Jensen shrugged.

“What, you know you want to sleep with me so badly,” Jensen teased.

“I am beginning to think it is the other way around. You are the one who keeps bringing it up,” Erissa said, an eyebrow raised. Before she could speak again he tilted his head into his chest, yawned loudly, and shut his eyes. “Yep. That's it. Because I am the fairy fucker now, right? Please... what I got waiting at home for me is more than enough. Besides, anything is better than you giving me a long winded rant. You can go for hours you know?”

“You are as always, incorrigible,” the elf smirked as she teased him, but smiled none the less. Erissa looked up at the candles that lit the room, and with a sigh she prepared to use her telekinetic powers. Yet before she could Jensen put a hand on her chest, pushing her back. He rose up to a seated position, focused his energy, and with a bit of a yelp he shoved his hands forwards.

The room suddenly exploded with wind, a gentle, but powerful, breeze that blew out all but a few candles furthest away from the bed. He let out a shuddering breath and collapsed onto his back. He turned, and in the candlelight he could easily make out Erissa’s eyes. He looked to them, getting a bit lost before he shook his head.

“Well, it seems you have multiple uses,” Erissa laughed, stifling a yawn; she was still recovering from healing all three of them. “No doubt another trick you learned from your training in the Knights of Apocalypse. But I must say, your training in the Labyrinth of Pestilence will be particularly helpful if things take a turn for the worst.” She leaned back and got comfortable, softly closing her eyes. However, the immortal continued to stare at her as a nagging thought struck his mind.

“The Labyrinth of Pestilence?” Jensen asked with a small hint of curiosity; he did not recall mentioning it to her.

“Yes, where you trained to navigate confusing hallways like this place. You mentioned it to me when they brought us in. That is why I did not bother you, to let you study the terrain.”

The immortal looked to her, thinking back to the start of the journey when he talked to Troyas; he smiled lightly. Jensen shrugged again, his usual response when he did not know what to say and pushed the Elf away. The woman gave him a playful slap and he laughed. The two gave each other one last look, before Erissa nestled herself onto her side, facing Jensen. She shivered a bit, even under her heavy cloak; the belly of the mountain was cold. “Do not think that just because we share a bed that you can-“

“Shut up bush humper,” Jensen yawned as he lifted himself up again, turning a bit as he shifted his jacket off. The Elf watched as he thumbed the names inside, his eyes growing a bit softer, before he wrapped the jacket into a ball and tossed it at the woman’s face. She flinched, looking down to it. “Get some sleep. This may be our only chance to rest easy.” Erissa looked to him and nodded, taking his jacket and gently placing it over her elegant frame, feeling warmth from it that she never would have expected. Her eyes grew heavier and Jensen felt the lack of sleep at long last catch up to him; in moments the two fell into a peaceful slumber.

~*~*~*~

The next morning the immortal awoke with a start; several corrupted elves barged in the room and moved forwards silently, swords in hand. Jensen tried to lift himself, but he found two obstacles that prevented this from happening. One was Osher, whose head was resting on one side of his body, and the other was Erissa, who had, in the middle of the cold night, managed to maneuver herself so one arm draped across his chest; she nuzzled snugly into the crook of his arm. Annoyed that he had become a human pillow and was rudely awoken, he made ready to speak when the captain from the congregation of the previous day entered.

“<Wake them,>” The Captain muttered in his crude language. Jensen shoved Osher aside and the dog awoke, growling to see so many surrounding them, and his hair on his back began to rise. Erissa blinked repeatedly and noticed the room was filled; she quickly drew herself up next to the immortal as the trio looked to the man in charge. He gave a dark look to Jensen before he spoke in perfect common.

“Come! We must make haste. Battle must be joined!” He motioned to Jensen, and Erissa quickly rolled away from him, his jacket dropping in the process. With ease Jensen grabbed it, standing as he twirled it on in one fluid motion. He put his boots on, grabbed and placed his zodiac weapon, and looked to the Captain. He gestured for them to move, and the immortal growled to him. There was a high tension in the air, but Erissa stepped forwards, looking to her protector. Her words were never spoken, but he could hear the silent plea for him to cooperate. The knight stepped onwards and walked down the hall where a second entourage of Sword Singers was gathered; in all, he counted enough sword singers to make a large battle group. It seemed the Captain was not lying when he said battle would be joined.

They traveled the halls in silence as their boots shuffled in the tunnels; Jensen could feel the heartbeats of everyone around him, the tension thick. They turned a few corridors, and Erissa’s ears twitched; she seemed both relieved and concerned. She looked to him and nodded, and Jensen looked back to the warriors around him. They all seemed tense, and many cleared their throats. Some began to hum in a low rhythm. The fact a grating screech erupted in the air did nothing to calm anyone's nerves, but Jensen instead let out a low rumbling chuckle.

“We have been warring with the gatherers for a while now,” The Captain explained. “The Goddess’ curse does not affect their flesh. The corruption of the forest is unable to break them.” Jensen gave him a sideways glance. “Many of my bravest men have died in battle by these sentinals of the dark land. We will strike at the Gate’s of Opassa. There we will make our move.”

“Heh, you sure your men aren’t dying because you’re weak leaf licking bush humpers?” Jensen spat. The Captain of the force merely shook his head, smiling in a challenging manner as he looked in a sideways glance back to the immortal.

“By all means, if you think we are weak leaf lickers,” He spat. “Then go and witness the Gates of Opassa yourself.” Jensen gave him a cruel smile, before he narrowed his eyes and headed forwards up the ramp into the cave mouth. There was a darkness of early morning fog, but whether it was truly fog or just the corruption of the Red Forest, Jensen did not know, nor really care. He looked through the morning fog and managed to make out the terrain with a quick glance.

There was a clearing, a small circular area that looked like it was drenched in the blood of many, at the base of the hill he stood upon. Dead leaves, vines, and other manner of forest and elven life were all littered as harsh reminders of the guardians to the gate. The immortal noticed that the walls themselves were assailed, it seemed, by the forest, the thick corrupting moss and poisonous and deadly plants blooming in an attempt to corrode them. What good it did was minimal in Jensen’s eyes, and he was confused to see there was a very visible and clear line where the corruption seemed to be at bay. There was a large opening, probably where a great gate once stood, that was sunken into the walls with a portrait-like overhang that depicted many trees bearing fruit, picked by hands of figures resembling men. The trees looked like nymphs of legend, and the immortal narrowed his eyes. He began to understand why the war was being raged. Under the tunnels where the light, and more importantly, the winds of magic were less prevalent, was the elven host. In the clearing was the corruption of the Red Forest’s cruel mistress. This meant a third, unknown enemy lurked within those walls; someone who did not tolerate the corruption of the Forest, or the antics of the elves.

He waited as the other Sword Singers stepped forwards cautiously, a battle song on their lips that they sang in tune in a low key. Jensen looked back to his charge, and he shook his head. “Keep Osher with you, and stay back.” Erissa at first made ready to protest, but before she could, a screech erupted from their left and a sword singer was obliterated in an instant. Jensen’s eyes went wide to find stone statues easily ten or so feet tall; the aggressor among them pulled the impaled elf towards his granite fist. The guardian removed the lithe Sword Singer with ease, like one would remove a sausage from a stick. It had no facial feature but two golden sunken pits for eyes that glowed with eldritch power that was far more arcane than anything Jensen had witnessed before.

The Sword Signers began to move now in a flurry of motion as several stone warriors began to crawl out from the forest. A screech erupted from the plant life, a large tentacle lifting up and wrapping around one of the guardians, preventing it from marching forward. Several Sword Singers chanted in a high pitch and between them a stream of crimson energy dancing between each sword as they moved like pack hunters. When the string of light moved to the stone warrior, it was like a knife through warm butter, easily sliding through and felling the giant. Before they could celebrate, another stone warrior lifted his palm up, rocky fingers splayed open as the glow in its eyes narrowed. Several rocks of varying sizes from pebbles to fist size lifted from the dirt, then shot forwards like a rapid fire bolt thrower; several of the elves were hit in a volley that saw three of their number dead in mere moments. As they retreated, the Sword Singers were flanked by one of the vines, a member of their number plucked like a candy at the bottom of the bag; his screams were quickly silenced within the forest. Several of the Red Forest’s shape-shifting wolves rushed forwards, their teeth gnashing as the elves turned gracefully, weapons rising in glittering arcs and taking lives with each verse of their song.

“Heh, this looks like fun!” Jensen chuckled as he moved forwards, his body moving in a lucid, flowing fashion. Two sword singers joined him, their corrupted song sparking energy along their blades as they set to net one of the stone guardians that was attacking the forest vines. When he saw them coming he took a long spear, made of obsidian and drenched in the gore of fallen foes, easily swinging it in a horizontal arc. Jensen rotated his body to bend under the passing blade, whopping in joy as he corkscrewed to throw a knife at the giant’s eyes. The small blade rattled within the giant’s socket, but what Jensen had suspected became real as the guardian paid the intrusion no mind. The two elves flanking him had both been cut in twain easily as the spear came back, the giant pulling back and bringing a large circular granite shield forwards as he kept the enigmatic knight at bay.

“Jensen!” Erissa cried in alarm, and the immortal turned to see another soldier of stone come at him from the side, a greatsword in hand, in a pincer attack - an actual battle tactic. These were not mere automatons, which gave a thrill of terror to Jensen’s spine; he laughed merrily, his body moving in a flow not unlike a unique dance step. He never stopped moving; even when stationary, his feet kept moving back and forth as he remained limber, sizing his foes up. The spear-wielding guardian moved with his shield covering most of his body; the great sword-holding foe continued his attempt to keep Jensen in his sights.

Jensen thought of how he would take down these behemoths, eyes darting back and forth until they settled on Erissa, who looked to him with concern. He grinned to her and moved his body, a waltz-like step that kept him always in motion as even his hands fluidly glided side to side. He pirouetted by the rocks, some boulders masking him as the stone sentinels moved to keep their eyes locked him. One kicked an overturned tree out of the way and towards Jensen, boxing his progress so he had to make a retreat. The dervish of a man executed a roll in order to avoid being pressed against the rocks, but in doing so he moved into the clearing, in which he had little room to hide.

“I may need you after all, tailor!” Jensen called. “Help me knock some sense into them!” Erissa gave him a confused stare as Jensen dodged a strike from the spear, rolling and coming up in a flip before rolling onto his back again, finally nipping up as the sword tried to cleave him. Both statues moved opposite the other, their weapons now moving in harmony as they tried to strike the agile immortal. He kept them going, looking for a free opening where he could exact his plan, but he was sorely peeved, finding no satisfactory opportunity. He now knew why the sword singers had been hard pressed to accomplish anything.

A loud war-cry filled the air as the Captain ran forwards, several of his men with him, all on the same tune of the battle hymn. The sword-holding bastard guardian took his blade and did a backhanded swing, felling several of the graceful Sword Singers, leaving Jensen just the spearman. Annoyed to have lost his control on the stone warrior, he decided to let his erstwhile allies die for him. He still had little clue if what he was doing was actually going to end them up in more trouble when all was said and done with his captors. Still, he had something to address, and that was the foe before him. He took great pains to look at his surroundings, and with an idea forming, he looked back to Erissa, who always was on the outset of the fighting, keeping away just as he instructed.

Another cry filled the air as rocks flew in rapid succession into the Captain’s unit, breaking the harmony of their song as several of their number became gruesome casualties. The statue that was engaged with them retreated, and Jensen had his moment. With a shriek of laughter he jumped on the spear tip, crouching like a cat, as the guardian narrowed its focus on him. “ERISSA, NOW!”

In tandem with all the events, Erissa lifted her arms and steadied herself; she pushed her hands as far out as they went. The High Elf narrowed her eyes upon the greatsword-wielding statue, and Jensen nodded as the warrior he fought with pulled the spear back in a jerk. Jensen flipped off it like the ledge of a cliff, landing in a crouch as he opened his hands wide and brought them up along with a gale of wind that pushed upwards in a mighty tornado. Dirt, pebbles, and most importantly, the spear all drifted upwards…

…just in time for Erissa to finalize her kinetic energy. She shoved her target forcefully backwards, and with a scream, the statue’s golden eyes died out as the spear impaled it through his chest. Jensen laughed with mighty force as the statue holding the spear was dragged down by the weight of his fallen comrade.

“<NOW!>” The Captain of the corrupted singers shrieked, and as one the five remaining soldiers danced forwards, the energy ribbon passing along their blades as they advanced. Even with the shield they easily outmaneuvered the stone warrior, cutting him to size as the energy pulsed from the words of their song. As the harmony hit a crescendo the energy spiked upwards and rippled until the energy within the beast collided, exploding outwards in a shower of rocks and dust.

Jensen and the remaining singers all moved in tandem, each in a step of the other as they continued forwards through the shroud of destruction. They all leaped upon the boulders, sliding down them with ease in the dust cloud, as they vaulted over the forest’s dead plant life. Several rocks flew into their numbers, but with the fog of war they were well hidden enough to avoid taking grieving wounds. With a sinister chuckle, Jensen moved out of the cloud of dirt, hands covering his face as he landed in a slide. The construct ponderously retreated as they advanced, but before it had a moment to bring up a battle plan the Red Forest came alive once more as the tentacles of the blood vines lashed upwards like whips, wrapping around the stone warrior’s arms and legs. Another Blood Root shrieked nearby as it tugged at the statue, bringing it towards its ugly maw, and without the support of the guardian's stone allies, it had little chance.

“Come,” The Captain shouted, “while the forest does not look to us for its next meal!” The elves all retreated as one, leaping upon the boulders again as they dashed for the Gate of Opassa. Jensen giggled with delight at the carnage, his heart pumping furiously as the combat high made him laugh hysterically as he turned slowly away, running with the others. He looked to see Erissa slide down a hill with Osher as he rushed to keep up with her, a small guard of three elves covering her.

They all could feel the pulse of the Red Forest beat as it came alive, and whatever was hiding in the so-called land of Opassa seemed to awaken as well. Whatever was happening behind the scenes of the battle, Jensen could feel the winds of change blowing upon his cheek, and he relished in the uncertainty of the chaos as they moved deeper inwards.

[Sagequeen]

“<Light the torches,>” muttered Firwen, Captain of the elves, and a cache of sturdy liviol was revealed; the Knights' eyes went wide at the sight of the precious wood. The clubs were wrapped at the ends with cloth soaked in a black substance that neither Jensen nor Erissa could identify; as an elf passed them to his comrades, at his word, each sparked and caught with a dancing purple flame. Seeing the captives' questioning eyes, the Captain smirked harshly.

“This is not the first time we have advanced through the Gates,” he said, and shoved two torches at his captives. “That battle is child's play compared to what awaits us in the gardens, and the routes there are overgrown with ruilserk, the blood vine. It fears the fire.”

“What awaits us?” Erissa questioned him suspiciously, kneeling near her companions. “It seems very obvious your sword singers are capable warriors.”

“An evil we helped create and cannot destroy. I will say no more; you will see for yourself soon enough,” he said sharply, before turning to his subordinates. “<Stay close, torches outward, move swiftly. The gardens are north of us on the slope of the city, and we will take the outer path.>” Firwen led the company of elves; first among them to brave the vine-choked path. Jensen muttered angrily at the Captain’s unwillingness to divulge more information, but the thrill of battle was apparent in his eyes and in the tension and deadly grace of his movements; the immortal nodded to Erissa and flashed his trademark smirk, colored on its edges with a frightening madness that set her aback. She lost sight of him as he blazed ahead; the high elf was jostled among her corrupted namesakes as they began their advance, and shoved to the center of the group for her own safety.

As the path they jogged narrowed, Erissa cringed as she heard a terrible hiss; the elephantine blood vines shuddered and quaked, writhing with the desire to feed on the intruders, yet kept at bay by the shield of torch fire. The legion of corrupted elves squeezed together to accommodate the thinning path, until they were but three abreast, none daring to edge too closely to the menacing red vegetation on either side. The group raced through the overgrown parts of the garden beyond the Gates of Opassa, following a long and winding footpath that was, at one time, a wonder to experience in careful, walking meditation. The time-worn sculptures bore none of the intricate beauty of detail they once did, and now served only as crumbled markers, testifying to the passage of time as the travelers blew past them in rapid succession.

The high elf looked ahead for her fellow Ixian, but could see no evidence of him. Her ears, however, soon caught a familiar chuckle that brayed boorishly over the near-silent advance of an entire company of wood-wise elves. Two tall ruins soared above the scrub and small, stunted trees; they were the remains of a great arch, another gateway that shone in a sun that only existed outside the shade of the Red Forest. The company of corrupt elves filed to the immediate left behind one of the arch supports; a wide, paved circle lay before them. At it center was a great fountain, rife with the corruption that all around it was kept at bay by a mysterious opposing magic, and at each of the cardinal directions was placed a statue reminiscent of the stone monstrosities that lay defeated at the mouth of the first gate. Erissa tensed for an assault, but Jensen's chuckle was not made in battle-lust.

“If I didn't know better, I'd say there was a demi-goddess in that tree,” Jensen said, having shoved between several elves to get to Erissa. She blinked at him with confusion; she had been unable to see beyond her tall and broad captors. The immortal registered the questioning look on the high elf's face; he grabbed her arm and pulled her ungently through the sword singers, until she finally could see the great red tree that grew from the fountain. “But that's all bullshit, right? Probably just another one of Pea Pod's fucking asshole creations, hell-bent on killing us.”

“Oh!” Erissa cried out when she finally saw the great crimson tree. It was easily as tall as any they had encountered in the forest, but the base of it was exceedingly thick, untwisting like a worn rope and bleeding red, mist-laden light. A great bulge on its side begged to give birth to some great evil, the translucent bark crystalline and rune etched. But it was not the tree itself that caused Erissa to blurt out the single-syllable reaction; it was the fruit that hung from the branches. Her jaw hung agape as she looked at her companion; Jensen nodded, for even he could smell the sickly-sweet, rotting smell, the very same scent that had pervaded the room in which they first met the Captain of the corrupted elves. The knights looked upon the source of the odd, dried fruit they had seen the day before.

“What is this?” Jensen demanded of the Firwen, his brow furrowed and hand resting on the hilt of his zodiac weapon. The Captain sighed sadly.

“This was to be the Tree of Life, the centerpiece of our ancient society and an answer to the condition of mortality. Instead, it is the tree of living death, one of the many sources of corruption in the forest,” he said, red-tinged eyes both coveting and hating the tree in the center of the wide, flat area surrounding it. A cry pierced the air from the midst of the elves; one of their number leaped forward, swords clanging to the ground and arms outstretched. None made a move to stop him as his feet slapped against the paved ground, closing the distance between himself and the tree. “And so another is claimed.” The Captain shook his head sadly, and Erissa watched as the elf was smashed to the ground by two of the four stone guardians who suddenly sprang to life on his approach. The guardians took the pieces of the corpse and tossed them into the putrid water at the tree's base.

“You could not destroy it if you wanted to, even if you could defeat the guardians,” Erissa said slowly.

“This is correct, though not for the reasons you assume. There are those among us who would destroy the tree, those with the strength of will over the corruption that infects us; however, our weapons and magic are useless against it,” the Captain said. The young arcanist looked at the tree thoughtfully, gaging both Firwen's response and her own surprise at herself; she was becoming quickly calloused to the horrors of the forest. The elf's tragic death was simply a matter of fact, and while she felt regret, a fair amount of Erissa's heart was steeled to the emotion attached to it.

“Aaah. And so the leaf licker finally spits out the truth,” Jensen said venomously. “Or is it? See, I think you want the fruit. And since you fairy fuckers can't control yourself around it, or can't defeat those stone assholes, you'll use us to get it, then kill us.”

“Soooo smart, aren't you? If I wanted you dead, human, you would be,” Firwen said, hatred bleeding forth. Jensen laughed with humorless abandon.

“Don't be so sure, bush humper,” he seethed, a strange mixture of mirth and rage. The fact that the Captain did not include Erissa's life in the threat did not escape the immortal's notice. “And another thing: you or any of your fucked-up friends lay a finger on her or the dog, I will make every last one of you faggot fairies in this shit-hole forest pay.”

Erissa almost felt flattered... almost.

Firwen's eyes darted again to Erissa, then to his company of defiled elves and hung his head.

“I would almost welcome it,” the Captain said finally, “but we must at least attempt to right this wrong. No, human, we do not want the fruit; we want it destroyed, so that we may begin to lessen the control Pode's curse claims over us. Surely you can understand; you do not seem like a man who will readily allow others to control him.” The sound of grating rock interrupted Firwen's speech; Jensen's weapons were drawn and at the ready in less time it took for Erissa to register the source of the sound. As her head jerked around, she witnessed a fruit fall into the waiting hand of one of the guardians; a compartment in the chest of the stone behemoth opened, and the fruit was promptly placed inside with the many others resting there.

“They collect the fruit,” she said softly, “but why?” And what would happen if they did not? She wondered to herself. “Does the Red Witch take the fruit for herself?”

“In the beginning, she did. We collected it for her and were allowed some for ourselves. However, when the other came, we quickly learned Pode was not the goddess she claimed to be. He obliterated her and fettered her fate to that of her forest; she cannot leave it,” Firwen began.

“Who is this other,” Jensen asked, a spark of thought behind his eyes.

“We do not know his name; it was never spoken,” the Captain replied flatly. “But his power is great, a master of shadow and deception.” Jensen and Erissa looked at each other quickly before speaking.

“Where is he,” they said in unison. Firwen was taken aback by the sudden interest, and eyed the Knights suspiciously.

“Look,” Jensen said, “Pode is your problem-”

“We will help,” Erissa cut in quickly. Jensen frowned at her, but she continued. “In return, give us the fruit.” The immortal's eyes lit up with understanding, and the Captian's with outright anger.

“Unless, of course, you want the wrath of Pode's master on you. If we kill the tree and take the fruit, we're the ones he'll come after. You can say you tried to stop us,” Jensen said.

“The point of this is to destroy the fruit, so no others will fall to Pode's curse!” Firwen whispered harshly.

“The fruit will be destroyed. There is no way the leader of our order would allow it to exist, except to draw out the one for whom we are searching. He is a greater evil to the world than Pode,” Erissa said soothingly.

“And if you can't destroy the tree,” Jensen sneered. “what makes you think you can destroy the fruit?”

“Or keep yourselves from consuming it once it is in your hands again?” Erissa chimed in, a genuine look of concern on her face. Several moments of uncomfortable silence passed, the elves passing glances and shifting nervously.

“If you succeed, and I do mean if, you will take all the fruit from here, drawing the ire of this so-called master away from us. You," he said, pointing at Jensen, "you must give your word that you will destroy the fruit, no matter the outcome." He glared darkly at the immortal.

"Yeah, okay, leaf licker."

"And do not think you are strong enough to eat it, either," the Captain said, leveling his gaze. "You may be strong-willed and powerful, but you are not above Pode's curse."

"Uh-huh," Jensen said. "Bet it tastes like shit anyways, which explains why you stinking fairies ate it in the first place." Erissa rolled her eyes at him, and he shrugged and grinned. “So those guardians... why aren't they attacking us? We're in plain sight.”

“They do not leave the tree. The first and last time we attempted to destroy it, we were unable draw them away, but we quickly learned it did not matter. Aside from our futile efforts to attack the tree, we were forced to retreat because of the accursed song. Many of our number were lost that day to the voice of Pode, and many will also be lost today. Perhaps it will not have the same effect on you; you are not infected by the curse.”

“Could you not counter it?” Erissa asked, laying a hand on Osher's head to calm him. The dog shivered and his hackles were raised.

“No,” Firwen replied. “No matter how we tried, we only sang in harmony with it, our words matching those of the song, strengthening the magic of it against ourselves. And there is one other thing.”

“Of course there is,” Jensen huffed angrily. “There always is.” Firwen gave him a brooding look.

“If any of our number turn on us when the song begins, do not hesitate to kill them,” the Captain said. “For they will not hesitate to kill you.” Jensen grinned devilishly.

“With pleasure,” the immortal growled, staring into the eyes of those around him; many dropped their gazes, and Jensen took careful note, for strength of will would be a deciding factor in the battle that would rage inside the corrupt elves. “So it's a head-on battle then, rush and overwhelm.” Firwen nodded. “Then what are we waiting for?” With a whoop and a chuckle, the immortal sprang forward through the ranks of the elves, charging the steadfast stone collectors. The elves looked to each other, surprised, before they followed the charge with their own harmonious collection of battle cries, swords drawn and wielded with great skill. Erissa jogged forward, Osher in tow, and stayed to the fringes of the battleground.

The great stone giants sprang to life, amazingly agile guardians who worked in perfect concert with one another; it seemed to her they shared a collective consciousness. Erissa strained to see among the mayhem, and she finally caught sight of Jensen, leaping high above the fray, propelled by a dexterous jump from the shoulder of one of the guardians. The guardian nearest her took a mighty swing with its mace through the ranks of elves; she cringed at their screams as they flew through the air, but she at least had the presence of mind to slow the fall of those closest to her. They were on their feet in an instant and rejoined the battle.

Jensen's fevered laughs came to a crescendo, and with a tumultuous grating of stone, one of the guardians fell to its knee, then crashed down to the ground. A victorious cry arose from several of the surrounding elves, but it was quickly silenced. The tree within the fountain began to pulse and glow, a rhythmic, visual display, and words manifested into being, a confused dialog, at the same time malevolent and inviting, and voicing a desperate warning to them. However, a song quickly usurped the audience.

Come little children,
Come dance for me
Dance little children,
beneath crimson eaves.
You lead I'll follow,
We'll whirl through the trees
Dance for me childen
Beneath blood red leaves.

Come little children,
Come play with me
Frolic dear children
Beneath crimson eaves,
You hide and I will seek
Among the trees
Play with me children
Beneath blood red leaves.

Come little children,
Come run with me
Flee from me children
Beneath crimson eaves,
You scream and I will laugh,
As we fly through the trees
Flee from me children
Beneath blood red leaves.

Come little children
Come die for me
Bleed for me children
Beneath crimson leaves
You breathe your last breath
Like a sigh in the trees,
Die for me children
Beneath blood red leaves.

Song of Corruption

At least a quarter of the elves were driven to a frenzy and began to turn on their kin whose magic or blades came near the tree. As the song continued, more and more elves fell to its power, turning the tide of the battle in the guardians' favor. Erissa rushed toward the fountain, into the space left by the first felled guardian; she raised her voice in song to counter the effects of the song-magic emanating from the pulsing runes and fecund growth of the tree. Her song fell flat, however, when she saw what was veiled in the translucent crystal covering the growth.

“Tanus,” she whispered, arms falling to her sides as the memories of her childhood with her brother flashed before her eyes. It was her brother's face into which she stared, imprisoned within the bulge of the tree.

“Erissa,” he called, “beloved sister, please, leave this place! You will die or become corrupt yourself. Run away!” She stood, frozen in her shock; her brother was dead now for many years.

“Tanus... how is this; how can this be?” The young elf asked weakly as she began to drag her feet forward, oblivious to the fray that enveloped her.

“Erissa!” Her brother demanded. “Get away from here! Do not come closer!” The anger in his face caused Erissa to pause; it was an expression she could not remember ever seeing on his face.

“But, Tanus, I want to help you!” Erissa cried, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. A maddened elf sprang toward her, swords raised high and ready for a strike; he was cast down in a full body tackle. Whether it was Jensen or one of the elves still in control of his wits Erissa never saw; she saw nothing aside from the face of her dead brother.

Tanus...

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen’s laughter fell against the corrupted song of the elves like a trumpet blaring out of tune, his eyes filled with a battle lust as his Zodiac weapon harvested lives with each swing. What few sane elves remained of Firwen’s forces had rallied to him, trying their best to keep a hymn on their lips. When he noticed one of the lost elves rushing at Erissa, Jensen was grateful to see Osher’s form lift and tackle the elf, jaws clamping upon the twisted throat of the one who dared assault his master.

Jensen took stock of their numbers as Firwen's elves gathered. They had but a handful left, and more than double their number resided on the other side. Jensen felt the wind brush against his hair and nodded with a chuckle, ducking as a chunk of stonework flew through the air, landing in the midst of them. The immortal reminded himself that a few guardians still walked with them and were just as eager to spill blood as the other two parties.

Before he could form a plan, Jensen heard the tainted, twisted song pick up on the lips of the enemy, red energy rippling between blades to create a net that ran through each sword. Firwen let out a soft mutter of words, and Jensen chuckled as he let his weapon rest on his shoulders.

“Ya know that was cool when it was not being used against me…” Jensen giggled as he let the blade switch between scythe and sword, feeling the earth tremble as a guardian pounded nearby. Firwen gave a frustrated sigh, but with a serious look to the immortal he nodded, reluctantly.

“Our power comes from the songs of battle. Currently, the Red Witch’s song is prevailing. This presents a new challenge for sure. Well human, are you ready to die now?” Firwen asked. Jensen bent over and laughed harder, eyes filling with tears. At last the elf lost his composure as he grabbed Jensen by his collar and shouted to him. “All you can do is laugh now, fool? Laugh and wait for death?” Jensen wheezed with giggles before he shoved Firwen away, turning towards the lost Elves and charging.

“Fucking leaf lickers!” Jensen whooped. “Maybe I should explain!” And with renewed breath in his lungs the immortal screamed with hysterics, his blade turning back into a scythe as launched himself at the foe. “I could laugh ‘til I die!” Jensen’s maddened laughing reached a fevered pitch as he reached the first of the lost elves.

With a mighty two-handed swing he cleaved the head of the first one off, and using the wind as his ally Jensen pushed a gale around himself, keeping him spinning as he became a tiny dervish of spite and malice, the immortal's laughter echoing throughout the courtyard; the haunting song lost its edge for but a fraction of a moment. The elves moved on him, letting their energy pulse, and Jensen felt the humming of magic; his hair rose on end at the back of his skull. He flipped in a corkscrew, blade lashing out as he harvested yet another life, the scythe scraping the elf's throat open so a river of red flowed freely. When he landed he let his feet slide, ducking under the next arc of energy, and then coming up to his full height; Jensen took a throwing glaive and let it fly. One of the elves went down as the triangle-shaped weapon dug deep into the warrior’s eye. He twirled with laughter, eyes alight with the passion of destruction as he rolled backwards, the wind pushing him, The elves tried to pincer him between two energy ribbons like a pair of scissors; the energy collided and exploded, dirt and mud splashing as the popping sound broke the song once more.

Firwen charged forwards with his men, all of them screaming with hatred as they attacked their kin, and the melee became a tornado of activity as weapons clashed, steel ringing in the air; explosions from the red energy ribbons thundered like the booming of a drum to this symphony of carnage. The guardians made sure their presence was known as they marched in, their granite maces taking down a few scores of the elves from both sides. Jensen lured one towards a patch of the lost, letting the guardian be cut to size by the energy ribbons. When the guardian fell, Jensen and Firwen moved in tandem, quickly silencing the lost elves' swords with their own cold steel. The combat was furious and bloody, but eventually the guardians were obliterated, falling to pieces as the energy exploded inside them. The rocks shot out from the epicenter of the blast like tiny missiles, killing several of the elves. Even Jensen felt his arm go numb as a piece hit home and threw him for a loop as he fell.

When the dust settled all that remained was Jensen, Firwen, and three of his elves. Of the fruit the guardians had collected, there were but remains, several of them destroyed in the battle or outright annihilated in the explosion. The immortal stood, using his Zodiac weapon as a crutch, grinning as he coughed up giggles. The Captain shook his head in disbelief as he looked to the knight, and lifted his sword up as he headed towards the tree. The three elves looked to their leader, and with a nod they turned towards Jensen, marching at him. Narrowing his eyes, the Knight looked to see where Osher and Erissa were. He found the dog, limping badly, towards Erissa, barking menacingly at Firwen. Jensen looked to the woman, seeing a lost look in her eyes; he looked to Firwen, and saw him pull out a small, elegant dagger from its sheath in his leather armor.

With a burst of wind Jensen launched himself forwards, lifting his weapon as he put it back in sword mode; he fought through the deadened nerves in his arm to even wield it. The three elves picked up their pace to intercept him, their own weapons lifting for the impact. Jensen pulled out the last of his throwing glaives, the two weapons flying from his fingertips like an extension of his will; the steel hit one in the face and the other in the shoulder. Jensen let his sword push the third elf aside, rolling deftly to the side as he tripped the wounded elf in the knee with his blade. The elf screamed in pain and collapsed; his companion charged forwards with sharp, quick thrusts. Jensen had to roll to keep away, the enemy giving him no chance to stand as he chased after the Knight. When Jensen felt his back hit a slag of rock he bit his tongue and cursed in anger, a chuckle escaping his lips. He lifted his weapon; the elf shoved his blade hard in a horizontal swing to knock it away. With a grin Jensen moved to his feet, kneeling, and flipped upwards in a flash kick, catching the elf in the stomach. They both collapsed on the ground and the immortal quickly snaked his way to to the final elf's arm, grabbing it and wrapping his feet around the Sword Singer’s neck. With a twist he broke the elf's neck, released him, and kicked to his feet.

“Don’t you fucking touch her you leaf licking, bush humping, cousin fucking elf!” Jensen tossed his last throwing weapon, a dagger, and it landed in the man’s knee, impaling the Captain’s body and popping his kneecap. He fell with a grunt of pain and Jensen was upon him in a moment. The two scrapped as Firwen was a more accomplished fighter than Jensen thought, feeling his jaw numb as he was hit with a brutal palm strike. Dazed, the immortal fell back, and the accursed elf dug his dagger into Jensen’s already bruised arm. A cry of agony escaped Jensen’s lips.

“She has been lost!” Firwen shouted. “Her mind is no longer her own. We must kill her and destroy the tree!” The Captain took his dagger and began to half walk, half hobble towards Erissa. Jensen kicked his boot into the pommel of the dagger that stuck out of Firwen's leg. It tore through more muscles and tendons, and Firwen let out a painful wail so mighty it deafened the immortal for a moment. Tears rolled down his face as Jensen laughed, inching his way closer; he grabbed the elf’s waist. “You…shit!” Firwen was at a loss for words as Jensen continued laughing, crawling slowly ever forwards. His face was caked in blood and dirt, and his eyes flashed with a gripping madness. “Stay away from me!” Jensen lifted his punch dagger up and laughed, bringing it up so the sun left a shine on it. “Stop, stop, no!”

And with a flash of red the elf said no more. Jensen giggled as he rolled to his side, softly standing, before he looked to Erissa. He noticed the her lips were trembling, and her eyes were glued to the crystal like growth on the tree. Jensen lifted his punch dagger to the ready, letting his wounded arm hang limply. His boots crunched the dead leaves underneath him, kicking the gravel remains of the guardians away as he carefully peered at the tree.

With a clang, the weapon in his hand fell to the ground. His jaw dropped and he felt the names of his dead friends, lovingly stitched into his jacket, burn the flesh on his back; his eyes watered as he shook his head.

“No…”

“Jensen?” A timid, soft voice spoke as if it had not in years. The immortal felt weak-kneed as he stumbled forwards. “No! Turn around and flee! Leave this place!” There was a reflection in the crystal, a familiar specter that Jensen knew all too well. He looked to the hair, so long, black as a raven, and flowing with the breeze. Her sun kissed skin, her prominent facial features. No, there was no way it could be anyone else.

“Chanelle?” Jensen whispered. The burning on his back intensified as he stepped closer. Memories flooded in his head and he felt his heart beat rapidly just to see her face once again. Bloodied fingers lifted up to reach for her, to touch her face once more, and his eyes grew heavy.

“Yes, Jensen, it’s me!” She seemed both thrilled in her words, but also reluctant. Jensen looked to her, blinking his eyes and clearing them as he looked to the first woman he ever loved. The first woman who ever cared for him. She was the first friend he ever had. And then that cold night…

Jensen began to shiver again as he looked to her. The names on his back continued to burn and his face contorted in confusion.

“You died! I saw it with my own eyes! You were…” and though it had been so many years, Jensen still could not find the strength to say to her face the way she died.

“Jensen, you must leave me; leave this place! Go and run!” Her tone became a bit angrier as she spoke, and Jensen narrowed his eyes. He looked back to Erissa, and he began to read her lips, understanding little of what was being spoken, but the emotion he saw was clear. She was having the same mental anguish and heartache he was. Jensen turned back to the tree, feeling the name of his first love on his back where he stitched it. “Go, NOW!” She ordered.

“I’m sorry, Chanelle,” Jensen whispered. He moved forwards, and the woman began to screech now, shaking back and forth. He pulled the steel dagger out, gripping the hilt and feeling the pommel dig into his skin. Jensen looked to it before he ran forward.

“If you ever loved me, you won’t do this!” Chanelle shrieked in panic.

“It’s because I love you I have to do this,” Jensen whispered painfully as he looked one last time at the reflection of the desert native.

“Stop Jensen, you love me! I love you! Don’t do this!” But her words fell on deaf ears. Jensen closed the gap and lowered the weapon on her heart, taking it and dragging it down as he felt his tears flow, but roaring with anger as he ripped it out. Instead of blood flowing, however, there was only the sound of glass shattering; Jensen turned away from the reflection of his first ever love. Her speech ended and Jensen felt his mind tingle as the tree shook violently.

[Sagequeen]

The distraught high elf opened her mouth to scream, but no voice was carried upon the wheezing breath forced from her throat. She saw the blade Jensen wielded, and she dragged her feet forward as he pointed it at Tanus' chest; before she could stumble to the immortal, he plunged the dagger forward, into the living, beating heart of her dead brother.

As the crystal shattered, so too did the illusion; Erissa fell to her knees, released from her stupor. The tree seized repeatedly, tossing fruit and red leaves in the air; the bloated, corpse-like vintage exploded upon the dead and dying elves. As the tree finally became still, she watched in wonder as golden energy lanced upward into the sky; it gathered there a moment, then flashed downward, striking the high elf like a bolt of lightening. Erissa lay flat on her back for a few moments, against the cool flagstone, and Osher limped around her worriedly. Jensen dragged himself to her side, stumbling and trembling; he dropped to his knees and took her head in his bloody hands, ignoring all the pain. The elf stared with unseeing eyes at a point far beyond the hovering face of her companion.

“No... no, no, no, NO!” Jensen yelled, his voice echoing in its misery. “FUCK!” The immortal rocked back; he covered his face with his hands. “Not again!” Osher limped to him and licked his cheek and ear; the dog's ears perked as he gazed at his master, the kind-hearted elf-maiden whom he had defended tooth and claw against the onslaught of corrupt beings. The dog sniffed Erissa's hands, and began barking wildly as a gentle light illuminated her body. The immortal peeked between his fingers; his arms dropped slowly to his sides as he watched her body levitate before him, her leather clothing ruffling into a long, willowy robe; her hair became silken and golden as the sun. Undulating ripples of light wafted from just behind each shoulder, giving the impression of wings. The high elf opened her eyes, now as piercing blue as the sky on a clear, summer day.

“Jensen Ambrose,” she said, “I thank you. You have set me free.”

“Erissa?” The man asked weakly, dumbfounded.

“No,” the golden figure replied sweetly, her voice a heavenly symphony of bells and strings, “but she is still here.”

“Who are you?”

“I do not remember. I do not even know if I existed before I was a part of the tree.”

“So you say. You stink of foul magic. Why the hell did you attack my frien-er, the elf, Erissa?” Jensen demanded, not allowing her to finish.

“I, like the forest, fell to the corruption of the Red Witch. I remember when the accursed spell was cast, after she ripped me by my roots from my home and planted me here in this forest. Please, accept my apology, Jensen Ambrose. I was not in control of myself,” the spirit said sadly. “But please, listen to my words. There was a man who spoke with me often, and at one time I counted him a friend and ally against the Red Witch, who only used my fruit to fuel the corruption of the forest. She had mused often to me of how she would spread it across Althanas with my help. However, I learned quickly that the man was no better than the Red Witch was. His words were very fair, but his actions were not. He wanted my fruit for himself.”

“Who is he?” Jensen demanded, remembering the words of Firwen. Erissa's face smiled at Jensen again, and with a slight gesture of her arm, all the pieces of fruit were gathered from the scene of battle and from the dead tree.

“I do not know his name, but you have guessed correctly; this fruit is precious to him. He spoke of a great power he would gain from it, once he had enough. I heard him argue with the Red Witch about this, and a battle between them followed. From that time, the Red Witch only whispered to me, never visiting me again in her physical form, and I never sensed her presence beyond the boundaries of the forest, which itself no longer increased. The man set the stone guardians around me, collecting my fruit for his subversive purposes.” Jensen's eyes went wide as the lode of fruit spun in the air, the essence drained from each until perfectly dry hulls fell to the ground with tiny thuds and taps upon the bodies and flagstones. The amorphous essence pressed in on itself, crystallizing as it shrank, until finally it was nothing more than a smooth, glittering sphere the size of a man's fist.

Jensen's hand went to his weapon as he heard the grating of stone, but he quickly realized it was the golden figure causing it; the enchanted compartment from one of the ruined guardians hung in the air, and with some effort from the spirit, it was reshaped; the two halves of it enveloped the crimson sphere and sealed completely. She spoke again as the sphere came to rest gently in Jensen's waiting hands.

“That which the he desires is contained safely within the stone. The man of shadows must be stopped,” she said, a look of urgency on the face Jensen had come to know so well on his journey with Erissa.

“Well, we gotta make it out of this forest alive first,” Jensen muttered as he scratched the back of his head.

“Worry not. The stone guardians who collected the fruit also brought it to the man of shadows, and did so without passing through the forest. The secret lies within the labyrinth beneath the city. It is vast, but among the winding passages is one that leads out, to the north of the forest.

“Jensen Ambrose, you have done well to protect this child,” she said gesturing to Erissa's body. “If I may ask yet another favor, please, continue to do so.” The spirit gently lowered Erissa's body into the outstretched arms of the immortal, who had quickly set aside the stone sphere; Jensen cradled her body to the ground. “Farewell,” she said, looking up gratefully at him, “until we meet again. Although those will be very different circumstances, I think.” Erissa's eyes closed slowly, and the golden hue faded from her body and hair. The robes were again replaced with the maroon leathers, and the light pulsed no more from her shoulders.

“Erissa?” Jensen asked slowly, and the elf moaned as she opened her eyes.

“Oh, Jensen,” she said softly, “I am sorry.”

“For what?” He asked, looking at her incredulously.

“For making it so difficult to keep your promise. The tree – it was just like the myth. I saw my brother; he has been dead now for years, and I... I...”

“Be quiet, Fairy. Osher and I had it covered. But for the love of whoever's up there, don't break Rule Number One again.” Jensen said. He gave her an odd look. “Do you remember what just happened?” Erissa nodded as she gestured to the stone sphere containing the essence of the corrupt fruit. “All of it?” He asked again, and she smiled.

“So I am your friend now?” She asked with a slight laugh, and Jensen groaned.

“You didn't have to go and say it, leaf licker,” he said, reluctantly helping her to her feet. “And if you tell anyone I said that, I swear I'll...” The immortal did not finish his empty threat as Erissa poured a small amount of water from her canteen onto her cloak; she wiped away the blood and grime from his face. Jensen pushed her away, somewhat playfully, but mostly annoyed. The elf grinned at him as she touched his shoulder; he felt the pain begin to relent as she worked her healing magic on him. “Don't tire yourself out too much,” he said in his gruff baritone. “We still have to get out of here. I've got to get us through the tunnels below the city.”

“I already know the way,” Erissa said. Jensen turned to face her, the confused look on his face obvious. “The valkyrie – at least I believe she was a valkyrie – showed me the way out; the entrance is right over there.” Erissa pointed behind him to a break in the red vegetation ringing the paved fountain area. “The guardians traveled through here to deliver the fruit-” Her voice trailed off as Jensen's right eye twitched; he cried out in pain as he fell to the ground, grabbing his head.

“Sei! Ow! For fuck's sakes back the fuck off! You're gonna give me brain damage!” The immortal yelled in pain as the Ixian Knights' leader contacted him telepathically. “What? I can't – trouble at the castle? Ow! Dammit Sei!” Erissa looked worriedly at Jensen; the immortal shook his head, rubbing his temples.

"Look – something big went down at the castle and he wants us to report back now. Says Azza is okay, but then things got fuzzy. Come on, let's go." Jensen stumbled to his feet, the worry already carved onto his face.

“Wait!” Erissa said. “How is this mystery 'man of shadows' going to know we have his fruit essence?” Jensen grunted angrily as he looked around at the carnage. He hurdled the bodies and jogged back to the gate where they entered, grabbing one of the now-dead torches; with the burned end he scrawled 'Jensen Ambrose was here' upon the ancient stone. Erissa smirked at her fellow Knight, calling out to him as he jogged back. “Graffiti? How classy.” He grabbed the stone sphere and stowed it in his pack as Erissa tended to the worst of the wounds Osher had sustained defending her; the companions made their way across the clearing to the passage out of the Red Forest, picking their way through the gore of bodies, granite, and blood.

“I guess you elves owe me one now,” Jensen said as they descended the well-kept stairs leading into the ground.

“What do you mean?” Erissa asked innocently.

“Well, I did just break the curse on your fairy forest,” he said, and Erissa shook her head sadly.

“No, that was just one of many sources of corruption,” the arcanist said, and gave him a smile. “But if you would like to break them all, we could stay here for a while.”

“Fuck that!” Jensen spat. “I've had enough of this place.” The passage they entered was tall and wide, free from any trace of the Red Forest above; the guardians had been unhindered in their deliveries. They walked in silence, Erissa leading the way through the forks and intersections of the tunnels. She bit her bottom lip, wondering if she should tell Jensen of the ability fully awakened within her by the valkyrie, the one which allowed her to lead them so confidently. She tested the skill, focusing on Jensen; he was remembering his fiance, Stephanie. Erissa blushed fiercely and quickly turned her attention elsewhere; she had gotten quite the visual of things better left private between the two of them. Fortunately for her, the skill still took a bit of effort still, unlike her teacher Troyas, who was constantly receiving memories regardless of whether or not he wanted them.

Maybe I should... no, she thought. Better I keep it to myself, at least for now. She tried to stifle a giggle, but it echoed through the brick-lined passage. Jensen looked at her strangely.

“You know, they say people who laugh at nothing are crazy, right?” He raised an eyebrow at her as she blushed again. As night began to fall on the rest of the world, the Knights continued to make their way through the underground labyrinth; it was midnight when they finally stopped to rest. There was no campfire, little food, and the last of the travelers' water trickled down thirsty gullets. Their sleep was fitful and short; Jensen, Erissa, and Osher pressed on relentlessly and finally emerged the following nightfall, at the edge of Lindequalmë, the Red Forest.

“To the river,” Jensen said, his throat dry and stinging; Erissa nodded to him. She could smell the scent of fresh, clean water clearly, and as they neared it, she stripped down to her underclothes and dived in, much to Jensen's surprise. Shrugging, he did the same.

“Ah, I do not think I will ever get the stench of that forest off of me,” she said, teeth chattering as she scrubbed herself as best she could, glancing at the red trees that appeared black in the night-cloaked horizon. “We should rest on the other side,” she called to Jensen.

“Do the floating clothes thing,” he called back before he dived under the water and began swimming across the wide river. He emerged on the bank and waited as Erissa delivered their clothing; Jensen quickly dressed and began gathering wood from the nearby, and blessedly green, forest. Erissa followed soon after, drying herself by the crackling fire; it was built upon the remains of the very same one she had built days ago. Jensen sat nearby, and Erissa could see the troubled look on his face, accentuated by the light of the fire; the elf had seen that expression often since he received Sei's message.

“What is it, Jensen?” She asked. “What are you thinking?” He did not answer, instead removing his jacket and thumbing the names stitched inside, one more than the others.

“Let's get some sleep,” he said, and folded the jacket, using it as a pillow. Curious, Erissa peeked into the immortal's memories; she saw the dead and frozen form of a beautiful young girl. A tear slipped silently down the elf's cheek as she experienced the agony the man felt as he looked at his dead friends, the guilt he felt, and questioning why only he survived. Erissa closed her eyes and looked away from him, feeling guilty she intruded on his most personal memories. Yet, she began to understand Jensen Ambrose.

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

As Erissa caught sight of New Aurient in the afternoon light, her pace quickened, relieved to see civilization again. Even Jensen had an extra spring in his step in spite of the fact it was the elvish capitol. As they neared the gates, the arcanist stopped.

“I gave my word,” she said, eyebrows raised. “You cannot come into the city; you will have to wait here while I secure us quick passage to Radasanth.”

“What?” Jensen near-yelled. “You gotta be kidding me, leaf licker.” Erissa set her hands on her hips, firm in her resolve. She had made a promise; a contest of wills between them was soon to began. It was, however, never realized; a familiar voice called out to them. Troyas waved from the gates and walked swiftly to Jensen and Erissa.

“Master Sei asked me to meet you here,” he said, embracing his student. Worry weighed heavily on his features as he looked at Jensen. “Mr. Ambrose, it is imperative we teleport to the Ixian Castle immediately. Please, do not argue.”

“Oh, come on... I would rather swim to Corone than take your friggen' portal.” Jensen whined.

“Jensen,” Troyas said, “please. Forgive my earlier disrespect; please, take the portal. From one immortal to another, I implore you.”

“Fine,” Jensen said, his mood completely changed as he eyed the unusually emotional ancient elf; there was something in the stoic arcanist's expression that gave him pause, even great dread. As Troyas nodded with relief, he opened a portal before them; they all stepped through and found themselves in Sei's office, where several of the Ixian Knights awaited them.