MQ: To The Heart

[Moonlit Raven]

Outside the gates, listening to Leon give us what little information he had, I wondered at what suicide mission I had willingly joined. It surprised me a little that the sky did not reflect the dark actions going on in this country. I had expected a dreary day with clouds pregnant with cold rain just waiting to fall upon us. Perhaps a little fog thrown in, to add the fear of what could not be immediately seen. Instead, a beautiful sky stretch over head, dotted once in a while with clouds that looked like nothing more than fluffy cotton. Leave it to Fate and the weather to throw a person off their stride and play a joke on your. Then again what did I except? It’s not as if the weather could change from the few steps it took to leave the city.

The sound of the gates finally shutting behind us sounded like a death knell. I suppressed the shiver of apprehension that clawed its way up my spine. That settles it, there is no going back. I glanced at the rest of my group and wondered for a moment how we were to survive our mission. I found my self staring to the west of the city, the particular itching, skin crawling sensation I get around demonic things was the strongest from that direction. Glancing back at the rest of my group I set out, following the sensation. I wonder if they’ll notice that I left the group.

Too preoccupied with my thoughts to accurately judge the feelings I was following I rounded the sheered face of a large hill and found myself face to face with a small group. My nerves shrieked and jangled at the edge of my perception and I wished for a moment that I could turn it off. I jerked my body back into cover before I fully thought about moving. I discovered my falchion in hand. It took me a moment to go from panic to calm; I ignored the dark voice in the back of my head that sang at the thought of bloodshed.

For a heartbeat I stilled, holding my breath and listening over the sound of my heart for the group. From the sound I gauged that they were moving for the opposite side. I guess if your body is already dead you don’t really care about stealth that much. Releasing the breath slowly, I reached inwardly for the vampiric side of me that hovered just beneath the civilized surface of my mind. It came to me eagerly, altering my body as it always did yet puzzlingly it left me fully aware of myself; stopping short of taking over my mind as it normally did. Slitting my eyes against the bright light of day, I slowly edged over and glanced around the edge.

I was startled to see a human looking zombie standing there. I was ashamed of the startled noise that came from me. My blade just barely caught the edge of the zombie’s sword, blocking what most likely would have killed me. Baring my teeth at the zombie I slashed out with my other hand and took its eyes. With the pressure off my falchion I was free to kick at the hand wielding the blade. The other creatures of the group that I thought had gone ahead reappeared. Just great, walk right into an obvious trap. I think my time among the Moontae must have damaged my brain. Now would be a great time for some help. Backing away, I stared at the huge eye in the center of a zombie that always stayed at the back of the group. What in the nine levels has Xem’zund done to that creature?

[Iriah Caitrak]

He knew little to nothing. It was a sad realization to make but the cat creature named Leon did not know a whole lot about their situation either. He did however know the lay of the land, which was a lot more than she did. Raiaera was foreign to her. The last time she had been here had been for a very short amount of time and she’d seen little else than the port. That knowledge was surely not going to help them now. Could any of the knowledge and skills she had help them now?

As Leon talked, Elena walked away. It caught Ira’s eye as she thought it silly of the woman to simply wander from the group in the midst of discussing a possible course of action. She half listened to the cat-boy as her eyes followed the great Queen Elena until she slipped from the Calerian’s view. Something within the pit of her stomach rebelled at that moment too, and Ira, trusting her instincts turned away from Leon and Ki and moved towards Elena. The last thing this group of misfits needed was for one of them to get killed this early on, which Ira could see happening very easily if they continued to act like this. Were these people really the ones Gereint wanted her to team up with and fight alongside?

The sound of metal clashing against metal sang out through the air. A reverberating note that only meant one thing in the mind of the Calerian warrior. A battle. Every sense came to life, straining to detect the slightest of things as the corruption within her screamed for release. It wanted to fight. And she was tempted to give into it. But Ira was better than that at giving in to temptation.

The sheered face of a small hill loomed before her. The round features it possessed one side cutting off and turning into a sharp angle that the sounds were clearly coming from. She quickened her steps and rounded the corner only to nearly run straight into Elena. The small woman was holding her own against a group of what Ira knew well enough to be zombies. As Malagen taught her she assessed the situation within a second or two, her eyes surveying the area and everything around it and her mind taking it all in as fast as she could. There were five in total, four of which she beginning to surround Elena—and Ira now as well—plus one in the back that seemed less interested in fighting and more interested in watching. The large eye embedded in the centre of his chest didn’t help much either. A large, unblinking eye. It reminded her too much of the eyes of the dead as they stared at you, accusing you, pleading, crying, begging. It didn’t matter. She hated their eyes.

She reacted the way she was trained and honed to react. Where before her hands had been empty there now appeared her two Half Swallows as if they had always been there. Their long handles and the slightly curved blade at the end made them slightly unbalanced, but it gave her a greater reach than most swords. And they were her most experienced weapons.

As one of the zombies moved towards Elena’s exposed side, she interjected. Not surprising, the zombie didn’t appear to appreciate that. His long, curved blade and the rust and blood that covered it went singing through the air towards Elena’s left shoulder. Ira lashed out, the Half Swallow named Uriahd cut through the air and clashed against the blade of the zombie, sending it off course and harmlessly slicing through nothing but the wind. Before the zombie could recover she moved in quickly with her other nameless Half Swallow, slicing open it’s gut and watching as the filthy and rotting innards fell to the grass below. The smell was revolting. It was almost enough to make her retch, but she fought it back.

Ira recovered from the assault on her senses quickly. She needed to. The large gash had barely slowed down the zombie, reminding her once again that these were not living creatures and she should feel no guilt in putting them out of their misery.

The blade was already on the move towards her body. Coming in from a low slash towards her un-armoured stomach. She parried, she body stepping off to the side and the blade passing her by. With a quick motion, she arched her half swallow towards the creatures arm, severing it just above the elbow and sending it tumbling to the ground, still clutching the sword. At that time, one of the other zombies decided it would be a good idea to attack her from her back.

[Artifex Felicis]

A pair of darker eyes watched the zombies begins their strike, a pit of revulsion growing in his stomach at the lumbering beasts. Daxunyrr was one of the few beings that surved under the Necromancer with some degree over his mind. Even considering some of the changes his body had gone through surving his Master, old habits die hard and his subordinates were far from likable. In his true life, as he whimsically referred to it, a nigh xenophobic loathing for all undead permeated throughout his entire body. That changed when he joined the Necromancer's ranks however, even though it was under orders.

Sure and silent steps moved slowly, tracking the small battle with a grin. His small sacrifice was more then worth what it would give his homeland, especially since they had duped the Necromancer with their own magics. His orders were heard within his mind, but he had enough control to think on his own, changing the orders slightly when needed and sending his reports when he got the chance through his own small network. Even though Eluriand would fall, and Raiaera soon after, his homeland needed to be ready for when dead eyes set their sights across the mountains.

He nocked an arrow, still marvelling at his new body months after the Master had altered it. The drawstring, before Daxunyrr had become a double agent, was nigh impossible for him to pull. Its arrows, when fired, could fly for what seemed like eons. Before a dead necrosis and enhancement used to need both hands, with the archer's feet holding the bow up like some sort of small siege weapon. Now its draw felt like nothing to the hunter, and the arrows still destroyed all that was in their way. Daxunyrr had yet to find a being who could survive a single strike from one such arrow.

He sighted down the line of his arrow, the strange woman with the whirling blades in sight. He paused though, taking several steps as he moved to avoid the sentry being. The sentries scared the officer far more then any of the other undead. A system of beings created entirely to be the eyes of the Necromacer, recording the sight of their grotesque eye and relaying it instantaneously to the Necromancer. Everything that they saw, his knew, and that intelligence was used to its full advantage. Killing that being would result in a fate far worse the death, and Daxunyrr wouldn't jeprodize the Necromancer learning of the information he had written down. Destroying a soul did not seem far outside of Xem’zund enormous power.

The shot never went off as something slammed into the former drow's side, slashing and nearly reaching the spine with whirling claws. The long bow fired, catching Daxunyrr and cutting his arm. His free hand struggled to pull his knife, barely away that this strange attacker had removed most of his insides reaping and tearing. An eye blink later and he lost all motion in his thrashing legs, the flashing blades of the striker severed the spinal cord. An elbow broke his lower jaw a second later, though the undead felt nothing. His blade struck, ringing off as if it hit metal, and the last image that the great hunter Daxunyrr saw was Leon's grinning face before his claws stabbed into his head and ended the pseudo-life of an undead.

((Gonna need to talk to next poster soon, so yep. Toss an IM my way soon.))

[Moonlit Raven]

A flash of relief shot through me when my back side was saved by the timely arrival of the others. I bared my teeth in a feral smile at the blind creature that clumsily waved its hands though the air, seeking its sword or me. The putrid liquid that slid down the gray skin smelled of old death and rotting flesh. More than enough too normally turn my stomach. Grabbing on to one of those flailing arms I jerked the zombie off balance, onto the clean edge of my blade.

The sensation of my falchion cutting through flesh and jumping on contact with hard bone and cartilage was the same sweet sensation. Hopping aside, I let my momentum carry me in a circle, for an instance my gaze stuck on the grotesque creature bearing an eye in its torso. Ignoring the viscous black fluids that stained the ground near my feet from the beheaded zombie I stared at the distorted creation.

"Your master will fail and fall." I hissed as I leapt at the creature, burying my sword in the eye, hearing it pop with a dull sound. Yanking, I pulled my sword out, braking the ribs and ripping the side of the zombie's body. A hand grazed my cheek hard enough to leave the skin numb for a moment. Cursing under my breath I stepped into the creature's space, too close for its weapon to strike me with the edge. The ease of toppling it surprised me in a vague way, I had honestly expected more of a fight. These are dead people, it's not like they still have all of their marbles.

Stomping on the sword arm, I hacked at the other offending arm, severing it. Sparing a moment I glanced at the severed arm, half expecting it to move of its accord or rather as Xem 'zund willed. Looking back down at the struggling zombie, I pushed my sword though its soft, rotting body experimentally; shoving my blade deep into the heart.

Now that the excitement had pretty much died down, my companions taking care of the other abominations I could feel my emotions returning in some small way. The first thing was horror at the situation I found myself in at the desecration and slavery of the dead. You're supposed to rest after you die. I wonder if the souls that once inhabited these bodies still reside in them." Kicking the arm I stood on, braking the arm severely enough that the creature was unable to raise the weapon it gripped I began to prod it with my falchion.

After I was sure I had ruptured every internal organ and the creature still moved. Turning, I looked back at the one that I had beheaded, making sure it still lay on the now soiled ground. Frowning, I hacked through the waist, severing the spine. I was gratified to see the legs stop moving and nodding slightly I beheaded it. We need to find a creature capable of intelligent speech. Thought how to acquire information will be a problem, the dead don't feel pain.

Glancing at my companions I nodded to Ira indicating that I would be a little ways off. Brow furrowed in thought as I tried to solve this new puzzle I walked far enough away that I could easily clean the foul smelling fluid off of my blade and boots on the grasses.

[Iriah Caitrak]

She never knew about the close call and the arrow that would have ended her life. Her new companion taking care of the undead before the arrow could sing towards her. Instead she continued to fight, her half swallow coming back around to finish the zombie off by removing his head from his shoulders. No great release happened afterwards. No soul that escaped the body and travelled to a world possibly much more forgiving than this, for there were no souls within the body of a zombie. They passed on long before the body could be turned into this rotting heap of fighting flesh and no matter how much they tried to get back into it, they never could.

As his body fell to the ground, the Calerian stood straight, relaxing the tensed muscles in her and looked out towards Elena who was just finishing off one of the strangest creatures she had ever seen. A zombie with an eye in the centre of his chest. Even the Fallen had yet to produce such a being and she was glad of that. What the purpose of it she wasn’t entirely sure, but she could hazard a guess. Eyes were only good for one thing after all. She nodded back towards the woman as she wandered off, inwardly wondering if it was such a good idea to do just that. After all, her wandering away had gotten them into this mess in the first place and needless battles were pointless battles. They needed to conserve their energy not run around potentially getting into serious trouble.

Feeling a tickle on her senses, the Calerian turned to look behind her. The scene she saw was ghastly at best and rather disturbing at it’s worst. The creature known as Leon that she couldn’t quite classify as man or animal had ripped right into one of the zombies, tearing it’s body apart and making a rather big mess of the thing. That wasn’t the worst part though. That was the fact that only a foot or two away from his now destroyed body was the soul that had once inhabited it, pain and anguish written upon darkened skin that she could see the trees through. It was an all to familiar sight for her, but Ira had been rather certain that zombies did not have their souls still trapped within their bodies. Had he not been the revived dead or something else entirely?

Her swirling silver eyes remained on him for a while wondering exactly what she should do. He did not appear to be moving on to the after life and even then she wondered if that would be such a good thing for him. He was most likely destined to go to Abyss, a place many Calerians thought was a never-ending experience of pain and suffering due to all the evils conducted in their life. It was just a theory though as none had ever seen it and those who had were not coming back to tell about it. Eventually, the Drow realized she was not looking through him but at him.

“You can see me?” His voice was a little grating to her ears, gravely almost.

She nodded, “Yes, I can.” Ira was used to talking with the dead and cared little for the stares it evoked from others. It was just a natural thing to her. Whether the others would even notice was another thing entirely.

It brought a small amount of relief to his features, a slight smile that tugged at his lips and made his eyes crinkle at the edges. Looking at him reminded her of Izvilvin only because they were of the same race, for Izvilvin would never be what this man was. A coward fighting for a side that most likely promised him nothing more than power and certainly delivered in the form of a misshapen body.

“There are documents inside the jacket upon my body, you must retrieve them and then flee from this place as fast as you can!”

Sceptical as to the use of documents from a man who had been on the opposing force’s side, Ira did it anyway. There was little to no harm in taking a look. Walking over to where his body had fallen, the Calerian dropped her blades and knelt down in the grass. She ignored the wounds upon him as best she could. Touching as little of the dingy material as possible, she moved it aside and sure enough, in the right jacket pocket were stained pieces of paper written in a language she could not understand for the only thing she could read was Fallien. With no use for them, she turned to Leon, still standing next to the corpse and probably a little confused at this point in time.

“Here, I cannot understand them.” She handed the pieces of parchment over to him, and then she turned back to the spirit of the Drow. “Why bother helping us now after trying to kill us?”

He merely shrugged at first, “I was never completely on the side of the Necromancer. He promised me something I wanted, something that no one else could give me. More power and he delivered.”

She thought so. It always came down to such simple reasoning, simple yet stupid. The power he talked about had changed him and turned him from something he was into something he wasn’t, mutating his body and his soul in the process. Much like the corruption within her wanted to change her in ways she wouldn’t let it. Power needed to be control and carefully harnessed and never abused for it could destroy a person. Especially the power she housed within her own soul.

[Reiko]

My feet had stopped, for a part of me thought 'why?' Why am i following Leon? I mean I considered him a friend and a lover, well ex-lover. We had both moved on and yet I was angry. Why was I angry? It was stupid as I had other lovers too. Maybe it was timing that mad my ire burn.

Still whatever ate at my soul had mad my legs stop the familiar motion of one foot in front of the other. I stood still with my tails twitching for a moment then soon they started to buckle and then I decided to sit down before they gave out. What was wrong with me?

Sure Leon sleeping with some unknown woman the night before such an important mission. It seemed stupid but many of the Corone Bard songs mentioned pleasures of mating with some girl with a soft heart and skin and locks of gold. So why had it ate at me?

Jealousy... That was it. Jealousy!

Tears rolled down my face as I realized the fact that I allowed pettiness to rock my heart and I hated myself for it. How stupid I was! My hand clenched a bit of grass and pulled out by the roots and threw it away. My friends didn't see the spectacle of my childishness and I was glad. No one was there and things were quiet. Know, I wasn't paying attention to the faint sounds in the short distance away. I was a warrior, better than this!

My heart jump started and sent my legs to jump up and I ran. I couldn't let the evil take Elana, Ira and Leon. I ran through the grass and sparce trees, quiet in the still day in hopes the evil will pass them by: The ultimate cowards.

And I was a coward! I had hesitated and Hesitated because I was jealous and selfish: A horrid warrior, mother and friend. I ran through the light forest to be greeted by the smell of death... and life. My friends had won the day.

Without me, pathetic me. And I called my self a samurai.

"I'm sorry." I barely whispered with my tails drooping and my ears folded back with shame. "I'm a coward." I said a bit louder then repeated as a whisper. They must hate me.

[The Scourge]

Flying to the hilltop like a wounded comet, shedding magical streamers and vapors as he fled, Xem'zûnd hurtled to earth, landing with a gentle thud. And he looked downwards on those that had followed, and he smiled. At least one of them he knew; the Necromancer knew the face of every soul that had ever stepped inside the Obsidian Spire, his enchantments made sure of that.

Taking a step down the hill, out of sight of the battle, he waved his hands and cried aloud. "Hello there! Hello! Leon Timyon, I need your help!"

The spell of Aesphestos still held.

* * * * *

"It is quite the enchantment, is it not?"

The one who was once Cantor Zundalon, whose face now seemed for all the world to be that of Abbot Xem, knelt before the brown-garbed magician. The man, long in face and with a shrewd gleam in eyes framed by locks of raven hair, placed his hand on the shoulder of the kneeling one.

"Yes, Zundalon...you have passed the test, you allowed the sword to penetrate your body, and in that moment you found the might of immortality. What did it feel like as Abbot Xem slew the one who had betrayed him?"

Zundalon could scarcely look up into the face of his master, the great Lord Aesphestos who had given him such a gift, but he tried, and said, "Great Lord, I could feel all that the Abbot once was enter me, his bones becoming my bones, his face my face. And when I rose, unwounded, I felt nothing but glory as I beheld his fearful face, his countenance of arrogance marred by the shock of seeing his own soul looking out of my eyes and into his. With hands that looked like his I raised his sword and slew him; I watched through his eyes as he sank to the floor, dead. Great Lord, it felt better than anything, to taste this immortality so sweet."

"Good, good," said the mage in brown. "The enchantment upon you is powerful. From this day forward, you can only die by the power of weaponry; and when you die, you shall take the form of that which kills you, over and over again until eternity. And everyone who kills you shall become part of you; and they will not know it, but their power will flow into you even as you perish. Nurture it, and your enemies will become yours; every death will be a new source of strength. And you will always bear the face of the one who last cut you down."

Aesphestos laughed, a deep laugh that boomed for a second and was then silent. "Now, Cantor Zundalon, take a new name. Your features are those of the Abbot you once served, Xem, and you are the better half of what you once were, Zundalon. So you are now...Xem'zûnd, Lord of the Greatwood, Rightful Ruler of the Durklan Lands and the Throne of N'jal. The Grand Library shall be rebuilt by you, your enemies dispersed, and you shall have vengeance."

And so rose Xem'zûnd, the Durklan. The elves had wrested his mother's scream from her chest, and they would pay dearly for that scream.

* * * * *

All magical vapors had vanished in a heartbeat by the time Leon and the others could turn to watch the man now striding towards the hilltop. He swung back his hair and laughed, and said, "Yes, Leon, legends do still walk! I heard this land was in need of some help, and I owed it some distant debt."

Leon would be able to see the features; the jut of jaw, the sparkling blue eyes, the empty scabbard that hung at his waist; a violin case even hung off his back, completing the look. Portraits of the man still hung from mantels in Raiaera; young elves still listened in rapt attention to the tale of the man who had ascended the tower, the great Obsidian Spire, at the height of Raiaera's need, cut down the Necromancer, and delivered the land from darkness. And with any luck, the enchantment would hold best when the little furball realized how uncannily he looked like...like her.

None would know what evil lurked behind that noble visage until it was too late, for the eyes that now looked upon those gathered there were the eyes of Devon dan Sabriel, the Starslayer.