Nighttime Dealing

[Darkhawk76]

Closed to these (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=1165)

The looming image of the Mountains of Twilight was living up to its name this evening. The last glistening rays of the setting sun could just be seen behind the mountains jagged peaks, blood streaking off blades into the darkening Raiearan sky. In the shadows of the mountains lay the forests of the elven nation, slowly dying off as the land became rough and harsh, turning into the mountains which hold off that bastion of technology, Alerar.

It is here, when the trees had just begun dying and stone was becoming the norm, that the ruins of an old temple stand. The eastern wall of the temple is the only fully standing portion of the structure, its side’s scoured clean and smooth by years of weather, running a length of fifty feet. The northern wall is still connected to it, though only twenty feet of it still stand, the rest having fallen over, remnants of siege stone still sitting where it broke. At the connection of the two walls, a small triangular platform still sits one story up, the last bit of the caved in ceiling, large enough for two men to move around comfortably.

And it was two beings that stood on this platform on this waning day, elven crossbowmen, weapons drawn and loaded. They were there to watch the ground below, where a group of three dwarves and two drow, and a group of five elves were talking in hushed tones.

They were all around the center altar of the temple, looking for all the world like some evil cabal holding a dark ritual to whatever long forgotten gods they prayed to. It was not to the gods though, that this group’s mind was turned to, but towards matters of their pockets and comforts.

The two drow were hidden behind long flowing cloaks, their hood pulled down to reveal the dark skin and white hair of their lineage. One was a male, his long hair pulled back and clasped behind his neck so it fell in one long stream down his back. The other was a female, her face delicately tattooed with tribal art, giving her a fierce visage. Her hair was cropped short, made to perfectly frame her sharp features.

The three dwarves were like any other dwarf. They wore chain mail, with black shirts and pants, axes and war hammers strapped to their backs. They stood with one the point of a triangle. This one was missing an eye and a good chunk of his head was covered with scar tissue rather than hair.

The elves were haughty as always, though these were much more apprehensive than most. Only the apparent leader seemed relatively unfazed, his body enclosed in a breastplate with a long sword at his side.

“How many men do you have on the lookout, Kevan?” said the male drow to his elven counterpart. His voice had a strain to it, making clear his view of his fellow company.

“I have enough, Jaxle. That whore beside you can see them plenty well if you ask her.”

Taking cue, the female pushed an arm out of her cloak. She stood haughtily for a moment, smiling coyly as many of the elves drank in her form hidden behind leather armor that accentuated and revealed more than it protected. The dwarves gave a few sighs and stared unabashedly at their associate as well. Only the other drow was unfazed by his companion.

She raised her hand up, stretching her body, warping her hand into a position of arcane power. A ball of light zoomed from her hand to float over the two elves, revealing their position to the drow and dwarves.

With that, the female allowed her cloak to fall back, her arm disappearing again within its folds. She smiled at the elf across from her. “Keep a civil tongue, Kevan, or I’ll have you calling me Mistress Xanda.”

“Notta a bad bargain in my book,” said the lead dwarf.

“Hush Torge, or I’ll follow through with my threat.”

The dwarf shut his mouth quickly, bringing his legs a bit more firmly together.

“I have three drow in the woods armed with bow,” said Jaxle. “Xanda has two mages, and Torge has… how many warriors?”

“Four,” said the dwarf with some pride. None of the elves or the two drow seemed impressed.

“You’re too worried Jaxle,” replied Kevan, motioning for the rest of the elves to disperse into the wood, “No one comes out this far.”

The ruins were silent as the group of elves dwindles only to Kevan. The dwarves behind Torge also dispersed, seeing that they might be more helpful out in the woods.

“I like to be safe.”

“Raiaeara is not Alerar, Jaxle. Did you bring the goods?”

“Yes, did you bring your end of the bargain?”

“Of course, let me see my goods first then you’ll see your own.”

“Elf, you’re in no position of control. We have enough men in the woods to tip this in our favor. Me and Torge can easily take you, and Xanda will make quick work of your two sitting duck up there. Now we’ll see it first.”

“Their hidden in the woods. I know you have your stuff here,” the elf motioned towards a small wagon drawn by a pair of tough mountain mules, “Let’s see it then I’ll go get my own.”

The craggy dwarf wouldn’t have it apparently, as he pulled his double headed axe off his back. One end was smooth and sharp, the other jagged and ready to rend and tear. “You’ll be going by our rules elf. We’ll see our stuff first.”

“I’ll not be threatened by you dwarf. Call back your watchdog Jaxle, or I’ll cut him down.”

“Please do so,” whispered Xanda, her arms moving underneath her cloak.

“I’ll show ye who’s a dog.” The dwarf made no move to advance, but grabbed more tightly onto his axe.

“Please dwarf, keep your mouth shut while I deal with your superiors.”

“Superiors my arse.” With that the dwarf began making his way around the altar, looking to get his axe good and dirty with elf blood.

Before he made it halfway around, with Kevan putting a hand to his longsword, a blinding flash lit up the ruins, taking the sight from everyone around.

As everyone gained back their sight, it seemed as if nothing had happened. The only difference was that Torge was no longer standing. He was lying spread eagle on the ground, his tough hair and beard black smoking and standing on edge. He was twitching in various places, though was apparently still breathing. Xanda drew her arm back into her sleeve, her burning eyes surveying her handiwork.

“Hush, Torge.”

Jaxle shook his head, knowing that this was going to be a long night of dealing.

[Striker]

Striker held the map up to the moonlight again. Then he turned it. Had he been following this damned thing upside-down the whole time? Or was it just a little sideways? Gritting his teeth with frustration, he leaned against a tree and reviewed the major landmarks. River. Road. That giant statue of three trolls. So far everything was coming together pretty well, but where were those damned ruins? After going to all the trouble of stealing a map off that dead-drunk dwarf last week, this was going to be a very disappointing end to a very long search. Walking as he reviewed the damn thing, Striker muttered a long string of curses as the light he needed to read came and went.

With a dull thud, Striker slapped face-first into a stone pillar. A very… blurry structure loomed before him, but over time, his eyes came back into focus. Ancient stone pillars, plagued on all sides with healthy moss communities scraped the starry night sky at the edge of the clearing. It was hard to tell where the living wooden construct ended, and the long-dead stone began. This place hadn’t seen life in some time. The stone floors had broken ages ago, as the forest made its slow inevitable conquest over the folly of man. Gargoyles peered down at Striker; their mouths still open from the days when rain would drain through them. Now they just looked hungry.

Fur standing on end with excitement, Striker leapt over a fallen pillar and began making his cautious way through the ruins. Best not to make a racket, nobody knows what could walk out of the forest and claim this place their home. Dragons, maybe, or a whole family of wolves. Demons and their unholy ilk, or a brewing army of the undead. Possibly even… an army of dwarves, elves and drow? Striker hugged a pillar with all the desperation of an old flame. Peering around the corner, he considered the scene. Near the altar, it looked like a negotiation was going on. Straining to see better without daring to get any closer, Striker shrank against the wet and mossy pillar and inched further and further for the sake of a better view. Who all was out there?

The flash lit up the whole ruins, and Striker’s pupils shrank to the size of pinpricks. He wanted to roar with agony, for the pain of it as well as a horrible realization. In one perfect moment, he saw the whole of the ruins, and it was terrifying. There was a whole army out there, patrolling the ruins! Lit up by brilliant white light, they looked like ghost soldiers, tracking along with bows and axes and swords, hired killers ready to put an end to anything they found. Soulless. Striker rubbed his eyes, sitting on cool stone against the pillar, his eyes tearing up a little from the agony of it.

Okay, things aren’t bad yet. Just… walk away. Come back tomorrow, and hope they’ve all moved on. This isn’t your business, and there’s no way to fight off that many armed men. Using his halberd, Striker stood, and began to remove his back from the pillar, his safety blanket.

Just… be… cautious.

Wait. What was that noise?

[Telum]

The dwarf had told him that there were ruins of a temple located deep in the Mountains of Twilight. The dwarf had also been piss drunk and so Telum would have simply ignored his blather if it hadn't been for the on word that had caught his attention: Thayne. Telum knew of a library in Raiaera dedicated to Kahl'Jaren the Sage, but he also knew that devotion to the Thayne was as old as the world itself and that there was every possibility that a ruined temple, isolated in the middle of a mountain range, could easily have once been a center of Althane learning. So he had slapped the dwarf awake until he learned the rout to this temple. Of course the dwarf didn't have a map to spare.

That had been days ago. Days filled with constant hiking and internal debate of whether Telum should have trusted the intoxicated dwarf or whether he should have simply walked away. But he was so close now, already the trees were beginning to thin like the dwarf said they would before the temple ruins appeared.

“It’ll be just my luck that it’s a temple to V’dralla,” Telum grumbled as he picked his way over the rocky, broken ground. The strong, sudden gust of wind blew through the trees, causing branches to scratch against the exposed arms and legs of the large human. Telum raised his hands in a pantomime of submission. “Woah, sorry V’dralla. It truly would be my luck to find one of your temples.” The wind died away. Telum shook his head and continued on his way towards the setting sun.

The sun, that angry orb of fire in the sky, had hidden itself behind the mountains before Telum again stopped to get his bearings straight. He examined the forest around him; tall trees and thick underbrush broken by boulders and the first jagged thrusts of the Twilight Mountains’ shoulders. Night, however, was limiting Telum’s field of view and this proved to be a nigh limitless frustrater for him. He knew he was so close to finding the temple yet with the weak light provided by the moon he knew that he may walk within a hundred feet of the temple and not realize it.

Sighing, Telum placed his hands on his hips and raised his face to the stars, internal debate plainly laid out on his face for the heavens to see. Suddenly a white flash tore its way through the forest and, for a moment, Telum could clearly see the silhouette of an ancient stone wall.

The furry of Hromagh boiled up inside of Telum because if his destination truly was a temple of the Thayne then it was clearly being defiled by either heretics or infidels, or both.

As lightning through the air, Telum raced towards the temple, heedless of the treacherous terrain in his way. That the temple may not even belong to a Thayne did occur to him, but he figured there would be time to sort out the details after some heads had been broken.

[Darkhawk76]

The forest is not a place of solitude. It is not a haven of nature. It is not a bastion of peace. Take a walk in one during the night, when the woods are no longer masked by the light, when it has been allowed to become primal, real, its true face seen. Wolves howl mockingly at the moon, failing miserably in the duty the sun has left it. Animals run in fear of the slightest noise, knowing that nothing is there to protect them. If you are truly unfortunate, you’ll come across a half-eaten carcass, some creatures fool attempt at appeasing the night to let the day return.

Still, it is for all these reason that I am drawn to the forest, that I allow it to encompass me, to draw me further in. Men hide their motives, their secrets their sins. We all do. Nature does not. It is forced to during the day. It has to. The sun comes to mask the horrors, to ward off the “evil” that is the dark. The night though, the night is the time of truth. Don’t let the others full you. Dark is the absence of light, so light must be the mask that hides the truth that darkness is.

It was this train of thought that had me moving through the Raiearan wood during the dark of night. I was on my way towards Alerar, the home of the dark elves. I had no real reason for going there, save to see who it was the dark elves, the drow, were. The elves spoke of them as if they were horrid creatures, utterly taken with darkness and hate. I wanted to see this for myself. Where the elves had failed me, believing in the goodness of light and the inherent qualities of good that most possessed, maybe the dark elves would not.

My mind began the rationality again, the rationality that made little to no sense to anyone but me, and only when I was caught up if the fervor. I want to find those that accept their evil, that do not try to hide their own sins. Those who do not live a lie.

Then, after finding them, what do I do? This was where the rationale failed, where my own want of finding those that are truly evil made no sense. For it was evil that I wanted to wipe away.

Before I could reach the paradoxical conclusion I always come to, my thoughts were broken by a blinding flash tearing through the forest night. My eyes were little protected by the hood that hid them, and for a few moments I lost all vision. I halted in my tracks, waiting for my vision to clear.

The sky was clear of any storm. I knew it without looking. I didn’t travel at night with no moon. Even I wasn’t willing to face the true and utter dark of the forest under an unlit sky. The light was made unnaturally. Something like this meant trouble.

I had dealt with mages, of course, killed a few that caused me too much trouble. I didn’t like them. Didn’t like them at all.

With the utmost care, I began making my way towards the flash.

[Sparrow]

I'm sure you've been hit in the head before. Imagine you've been hit by a person twice your size, triple your weight and nine times stronger than you could ever be. Now, bear with me a bit longer. Just use your imagination now and think what it would be like if such a blow was seventeen times worse and then, you'd know what it would be like to be Erutan Nadilas.

"Urgh," he moaned, his eyes slowly finding the strength to open, revealing the brown pupils that dwelled beneath. The next test of his willpower was to endure the rancid smell that he now noticed was emanating from his mouth. "Damn," he cursed, though he was slowly starting to see the jest of the situation. His lips even managed to form a smile. "I thought by now, this would have smelt nice."

The pirate rolled from left to right, trying to find out where he was while the smell of stale vomit and the usual splitting headache used up most of his energy. "Damn," he said, this time though, he was on the verge of laughter. "No lady?"

Erutan cleverly observed that he was on a bed, and a rather unsteady one at that. He could feel the wooden planks supporting it either creaking or snapping. Now that he was picking out the weaknesses of whatever place he had awaken though, he noticed that even over the horrible smell that came from his own mouth, the stench of a place hardly washed flooded into his nostrils. The pirate laughed rather loudly to himself. He rolled towards the right of the bed, sitting up, realizing that he still wore the same torn clothes that he always wore. A quick inspection of both bedside tables revealed no note.

"Well sometimes, Naddy old buddy," he said jokingly to himself. "No laydee can mean no problems. And today, it's probably for the best, lad."

The pirate rose, shaking his head free of the customary headache he seemed to be waking up with everyday. He walked slowly towards the exit, where his pistol, sword and other bits of equipment lay against the wall near the door. His jug of rum stood neatly next to it. "Sure there's no laydee, mate? You wouldn't do this, you asshole."

Erutan allowed himself another smile before he picked up his things, secured them to himself, save the jug which he proceeded to unscrew and take a large swig out of. "At least half full, definitely no grubbing lass, old buddy."

After wiping the excess that had spilled over his facial hair, he hooked it onto his belt and turned the door knob. By now, he had noticed no rocking which could mean only one thing, he was no longer in the place he loved the most, the sea. It almost felt awkward to walk down the stairs that did not move to go down to the bar level, but the pirate comforted himself in the knowledge that last night he had hopefully struck some deal to get back there.

Unfortunately, no such luck.

"Yo, Naddy! Well done last night!" A booming deep voice came from below. When the pirate descended to the bottom, he noticed that it was the only person on the level. It also happened that he briefly remembered him, if only for his large egg shaped head and his job, the barkeeper.

"Oh yeah, thanks, mate," the pirate said nonchalantly, holding up his two hands to clap sarcastically as he made his way towards the exit. "All in a day's work and all that jazz. Hey, brother, listen... What's the deal again, I forgot." He figured that this man had let him stay the night in exchange for completing a mission of his the next day. Well either that or he'd already done the mission. Praying for the latter, Erutan nearly swore when the barkeeper spoke again.

"Here you go," he said, reaching beneath the counter and handing the pirate a roll of dilapidated parchment. Using the few literary skills he had, he managed to cleverly deduce that it was a map.

"To the boat?" the pirate inquired, though he soon realized the absence of any large blue lines and instead, the excess of big green lines.

"Yeah, you pirates call it whatever you want. Listen, this is where that deal's going on, ay? The stuff there's good, I reckon that any one of the guys from last night would do well with just one of them, but shhh.... Don't tell anyone who gave you this," he replied, the large smile never moving, as if his bustling facial hair kept it in place.

"Right yeah... them dealing in ships?"

"Heck, I don't know. All I figure is... it's valuable."

Erutan paused for a moment.

"Is it boats?"

"Lad, I already told you. It's valuable. Just get it, sell it, whatever. Then get your damn boat."

The barkeeper proceeded to slap the shoulders of the considerably smaller framed pirate, which caused him to nearly fall to the ground in his staggered state.

"Right... Thanks, mate."

Erutan adjusted himself before making his way towards the exit of the bar, shoving the map into his belt along with everything else he owned. As he moved there, he felt the emptiness within one of his effects. Turning around, he flashed the barkeeper a charismatic smile from beneath his lesser, but still considerable facial hair.

"Hey brother... care to fill us up?" he asked, half serious and half jokingly, raising his hips to indicate the large jug of rum he had secured to his waist. "This journey looks long and a brother needs..." the pirate did not get a chance to finish, before the barkeeper reached beneath the counter again, this time to pick up an empty whiskey bottle. He cocked his arm back, as if readying to throw it. His smile, though physically and aesthetically the same, seemed to take on an entirely new meaning.

"Right... Exit, stage left."

[Darkhawk76]

“So, does that seem fine to you?”

The negotiating was going much longer than Jaxle had hoped. It was the first time that the Dark Elf had dealt with Kevan, not wanting to deal with his reputation of being a drow hater. His employer had demanded it though, and this was what Jaxle was known for. He would get what you demanded.

“Yes,” replied Kevan, “I’ll send one of my men back to retrieve the goods, you’ll hand over the wagon, and I don’t have to see you or your whore’s face again.”

Xanda seemed to make no move at the slight, though Jaxle knew differently. The female was bristling under her cloak. The only reason that Kevan wasn’t being utterly humiliated and ruined at the moment was because the deal was still going good. She would be hoping for something to go wrong, just so she could give Kevan a lesson in respect.

As Kevan signaled to his archers, who would send the signal to his men in the wood, Jaxle took the moment to make sure that his other partner wasn’t too hurt.

Coming over to the dwarf, he kicked him roughly in the side. The dwarf made a sound, and began getting up, groaning and moaning the whole time. “If that danged she-devil wasn’t such a powerful mage, me and me boys would put her in her place, on her back, with a dwarf between those pretty legs.”

Any sympathy that Jaxle may have feigned for the dwarf soon evaporated. He had been surprised that Xanda had not killed the horrid cretin after his first move on her. Still, it wasn’t uncommon for Xanda to wait until a job was done to punish those that had crossed her. Torge would get what was coming to him later.

“Jaxle.” In a few quick strides, the male was beside the female.

“Yes?”

“The woods don’t feel right.”

“What do you mean?”

“My mages are feeling things that are… different. Not elven or dwarven.”

“Like what?”

Jaxle never got the answer to his question, because just then, barreling out of the trees came one of the largest men he had ever seen. The man seemed to be built like a bull, and didn’t seem in the greatest of moods.

Without waiting, Jaxle drew his dagger, and charged the man. If the elves had anything to do with this, they would be the second on his list to die.

[Striker]

Striker gripped the ancient masonry as if his life depended on it. There was a terrible noise, and it was getting louder. Or even worse, it was getting closer. The beast swore he could feel the pillar shaking as the crashing noise completely undid the still of the night.

Out of the corner of his eye, Striker saw just the tiniest glint. While the sight alone was enough to make him twitch, further investigation would have revealed that this was, in fact, an elven steel arrowhead, perched merrily on the end of an arrow. The archer, seeing a participant in the evening’s festivities who was obviously not on the guest list, had been stalking his prey for a few minutes now, waiting for his shot. Rumbling be damned, he was going to take it.

The arrow deflected off the pillar with a loud clack, but not harmlessly. Thanks to Striker’s sudden wave of paranoia brought on by the still increasing rumble coming from somewhere in the forest, the twitch had allowed the arrow to miss the important parts of his head. His right ear, however, was not so lucky and the archer had shot off almost a third of it, starting from the tip. Gritting his teeth with the pain of it, Striker dove behind a pillar to seek cover from the elf.

Popping up, suddenly, with an arrow notched, Striker had hoped to plant an iron arrowhead into his adversary before his foe even realized he was there. The sight of a human running top-speed through the trees and ruins stunned him however. Fury has a way of making a man seem larger than he is, but when that fury comes from the heavens, well… that has the makings of a monster.

And where had… ah. His archer was distracted as well. The long set of ears was looking down his arrow, building up the nerve to shoot the running man. His silhouette cast perfectly against the moonlight, Striker did not waste time. The arrow sang through the trees, drawn strong but inexpertly loosed. Pulling back that extra notch paid off sometimes, as the archer was clearly knocked aback by the sudden impact of the arrow.

The grinning hunter had weakened his quarry. Time to finish it off. Slinging his bow back over his shoulder, Striker clutched his halberd and stayed low on his path to close the distance between himself and the wounded archer.

[Telum]

Heedless of the branches tearing at his clothing and flesh, Telum charged through the forest, ignoring what minor wounds the thorns and thistles did inflict upon him because they would disappear as quickly as they were made. Fluidly, his hands reached up to his back where his weapon, Malleus Verax, was secured and pulled it into his hands, the behemoth steel hammer fitting perfectly into his equally large grip. Telum burst from the forest and into the clearing that housed the temple. The pale moonlight shown bright enough to illuminate the bodies of six humanoids, three of which appeared to be a good deal shorter than the other three.

Telum’s long strides brought him closer and closer to the figures, his hammer held across his body, his hands itching for a chance to strike. On of the figures, a taller one, moved off from the main group and Telum noticed the faint moonlight glint off the polished metal of a blade.

With a roar to Hromagh the warrior charged forward towards the lone figure coming to intercept him.

The blood pounded through his temples, the world seemed to narrow, to focus on his opponent. He let the head of his hammer dip, his entire torso beginning to pivot. The sound of the forest grew faint, save for the sounds of his own feet connecting with the stone pavement of the ruins. Each footfall echoing, slap-slap, in his head. He brought his right arm over his head and his left hand slid down the haft of the hammer to join his right hand, gripping the hammer together. Every movement of his opponent became what Telum lived and breathed for; nothing else in the whole of the universe mattered except for what was directly in front of him. Telum’s left arm now rose to mirror the position of his right, Malleus Verax now directly above him and poised for a single deadly strike. Closer, closer, each step brought his enemy -- the enemy of his Thayne -- closer.

Two sharp cracks, the retort of crossbow fire, broke Telum’s concentration. He looked up from his opponent just in time to watch two crossbow bolts race toward him: one ripping through his flowing cloak and the other clanging noisily off his hammer. The elf crossbowmen stationed on the platform above the ruins cursed themselves for having underestimated the speed with which their human quarry could move.

That momentary distraction was all that Jaxle needed, however, as he drove his dagger into the ribs of Telum. Jaxle’s eyes grew wide in surprise as his dagger met more resistance than he expected from what should have been soft human flesh. Telum jerked back, tearing the dagger from Jaxle’s hands, and dropping his own hammer in surprise at the sharp pain that now lodged itself in his lower ribs. Malleus Verax clanged loudly as it cracked off the stone pavement, but even that loud noise was drowned out by the howl that escaped from the lips of Telum.

At that moment Jaxle made a mistake that would undoubtedly be among the last mistakes he would ever make: attempting to retrieve his dagger and finish off the wounded human, the drow closed the short distance between himself and Telum. In that same instance, Telum’s hammer-like fist closed the distance between him and Jaxle’s face. The resulting noise was comparable to the sound of the Malleus Verax hitting the ground, except this time the howling had ceased flowing from Telum’s lips and instead a grim smile spread across them as he stepped over the dazed body of the drow and retrieved his hammer, intending fully to finish off the remaining figures in the ruins before coming back to have more fun with the downed drow. The fact that each drawn breath sent a jagged spike of pain racing throug his chest did little to slow Telum down, although he realized that he either had to win this battle quickly or it would soon end poorly. Draconus be with him.

[Darkhawk76]

I was lucky when I came to what was probably the first group of many sentries. She was a young drow, one of those dark elves that were said to live on the other side of these jagged mountains. She had a bow drawn with an arrow knocked at the ready, her eyes combing the forests. Beside her was another drow, a male. He was up against a tree, a blade at his hip within easy reach.

They were watching for something, protecting something. What was it? I had been lucky when I came up on them, quickly darting behind a tree before the female had caught me in her eye. I was curious, very curious. What were they hiding? Why would drow, whom the elves said were cruel and malicious, be out in the woods for anything other than some dark dealing?

I plastered myself against a tree, allowing my hood to cloak my eyes and hide my face. I forgot the world around me. I allowed it to fall away, piece by piece. The leaves fell away. The trees fell away. The earth fell away. My clothes fell away. Then I fell away.

The process took only a moment, though my mind told me otherwise. Allowing your mind to come free from your body is a strange experience. You do not lose perception of the world, still able to feel and see what is going around you, but on top of that is something else. You see other things. You see other minds, thoughts, feelings. You look into another person.

I gazed into the female first. Her mind was on the here and now. She was being diligent, looking, searching. She seemed spooked. Her mind did not show me what she was looking for. She may not have known. She was just looking.

I let my mind eye slide from her to the male. His mind was somewhat distant. He was waiting. His mind repeated what he had to do. Strike when he comes out, strike when he comes out. I stayed in his mind. What was he looking for? What was he waiting to strike?

The answer came swiftly. A bolt to my ribs explained it all. I was back in my own mind and body, clutching a small crossbow bolt in my side. It seemed that luck before was only my own foolish belief. The luck was real now. The bolt had hit a rib, and hadn’t entered where it could do real damage.

I had no time deal with it now though. One image had entered my mind as I left the male drow. Strike him now.

My stiletto flew into my hand as I spun around the tree. The man was quiet, silent, and fast. He didn’t expect me to know. He didn’t expect the man to behind the tree to strike at his throat.

He impaled himself, the blade flying into his throat and down into his chest. His body collapsed on me, limp and falling in shock. I stumbled back from the weight, the movement saving me from another bolt that took the dying man in the side.

I yanked my blade free, and began running, putting trees between the unknown crossbowman and the female bowman. It seems that whether I wanted to or not, I was now involved in whatever was occurring in shadows of The Mountains of Twilight.

[Sparrow]

The absence of the ground shaking was something that Erutan probably hated the most about the land. Having lived on sea more than he did on land, or at least having more fun on sea than on land, he simply hated walking without the familiar rocking that the ocean granted him. Worse still, this forest stank to high heavens, even over the stench that was emanating from his mouth. Racking his brain, he could still not deduce where he was. He remembered getting off the S.S. Destiny but little else. The town had looked distinctly average compared to most he had been on, making him thinking that he was in Corone, but he had never heard of that continent having such a vast forest barring Concordia. And Concordia didn't have this stink, for sure.

Eventually, Erutan dismissed those thoughts, preferring to think about women he would like to make love to, or rum he would like to drink. He succumbed to his desire and in the middle of this large forest, he suddenly stopped and pulled the large rum jug from his waist, popped off the cover and took a large swig. Its taste was like heaven in his mouth, possibly the best thing to enter it in his mind. After a few seconds, he decided to save the rest for later when he found whatever treasure was deep in here. As he secured it back to his waist, the pirate suddenly heard a sound that was all too familiar.

Twang!

That sound echoed but it didn't need to for Erutan had heard it a dozen times. It was the sound of a bolt or arrow striking a tree or a piece of wood or whatever and reverberating. "Perfect," he remarked to himself. "Come all the bloody way here and someone already bloody got here. I thought that bloody ass said only he had the bloody thing. Bloody, bloody hell."

He could not deduce exactly where the projectile had landed, though he could tell that it was somewhere to his right. "Oh, fuck that. Sod that. Swear word that. I am so not going to die here. On land."

Erutan walked off into the distance, beginning to fume about the fact that he had lost out to treasure and the fact that the ground wasn't rocking like a ship in the ocean. He walked for what seemed like forever, taking joy in snapping every single branch in his path. It probably wasn't wise, but at this point pretending to be smart was the last thing on this pirate's mind.

The sounds of a something large crashing through the forest did little to change his mood. And the flames that seemed to appear in his footprints in the ground did even less than that.

[Striker]

Leaping through the forest like an animal, Striker wasted no time in closing the space between him and his prey. The archer turned at the last moment to loose another arrow at her leaping foe, but it did little to keep the spear tip from driving through the flimsy leather armor.

Something in Striker's peripheral vision caught his eye. A bird? Wait, no, feathers. Like the end of an arrow maybe?

Oh.

Striker briefly tried to snap the shaft of the arrow off, but the tender flesh in his right shoulder disagreed, violently. Still, he'd have a hard time getting to his bow around the giant newfound protrusion.

A rustle in the bushes brought him to more immediate concerns. Someone thought they were being sneaky, right around a dilapidated corner of ruin. Well, one good turn deserves another. Ripping his halberd from the recently deceased, Striker eased up to the opposite end of the corner.

He could hear breathing. The short, anticipatory breaths of someone building up the nerve. Better to strike while his foe was still a coward. Striker swung his halberd in a wide arc, bringing it home just past the edge of the corner, where his opponent's head should have been.

Should have been. Unfortunatly, Striker had cast his blow rather a foot and a half high to strike a dwarf down. His opponent, however, wasted no time. The dwarven warrior swung the axe blade across Striker's chest before the beast's kick could put some distance between the two. Forcing the blade of the halberd out of the wall, he brought down the hook end to undo his recumbant foe.

No luck. The axe blade was already up, and deftly parried the blow. While the cat man recovered his balance, the dwarf was already up and charging. It was all Striker could do to hurl himself out of the way of the attack, leaving his opponent trying to slow down the momentum and swing back around to face his opponent. Striker faced no such problem. Hurling himself with all of his might, he threw himself at the dwarf. The tackle brought them both down, weapons swinging uselessly past each other while Striker brought his forehead down repeatedly on the dwarfs face.

His face a bloody mess, the cat man staggered to his feet, driving the spear into his groaning and semi-conscience foe to finish the fight. Leaning against his weapon like a cane, Striker hurled himself against the mossy stone corner to wait for his head to stop spinning.

[Telum]

Telum knew that his best bet would be to make his way under the platform where the elven crossbowmen stood and to make a stand there, the platform protecting him with the potentially deadly bolts of the crossbows. He made his way towards the altar which the remaining five figures still stood around. He was close enough by now to tell that he faced three dwarves and what appeared to be another two elves. One of the elves, a female, began to weave her hands in the air as if beginning to cast a spell, but the hand of the other elf, the one wearing a breastplate, stayed her. One of the dwarves barked orders and the two others moved forward to intercept Telum.

An axe wielder to his left and the one to his right carried a war hammer. Telum continued forward, needing to close the distance between him and the crossbowmen on the platform overlooking the ruins. The dwarves moved through the one wall of the ruins that was still mostly intact and took up defensive stances. It all worked out the way Telum wanted to. He was more than happy to fight the dwarves beneath the wall. The angle that it created from him to the crossbowmen meant that any shots taken at him would be extremely awkward and have the same likeliness of hitting his opponents as hitting him.

In the pale moonlight Telum couldn’t make out the features of his foes, but he knew that the only details that were important to him were those involving the heavy iron weapons gripped firmly in their hands and the fact that the dwarves were effectively the same height as him due to their elevated position on the stone floor of the temple. He inched forward, eyes darting back and forth between the two dwarves that were crouched and ready to spring into action. The Malleus Verax was held across his body, his hands evenly spaced along the hammer’s metal haft, the head of the hammer roughly level with his left shoulder. He feigned an attack, to test the reactions of the dwarves and then, as if one, the two sprang into action.

The one with the axe charged down the steps leading up to the wall of the temple, swinging his axe in an arc in an attempt to cleave Telum in two. Telum blocked the swing of the axe with the haft of his hammer, but the movement of his arms and the shock of the impact of the two weapons caused tendrils of pain to race out of from where the dagger still lay buried in his ribs. The axe wielding dwarf recovered from his swing and backed up in time for his hammer wielding brother to attack. His grip loosened by pain, it was all Telum could do to block the blow from the second dwarf, this time the impact caused the heavy Malleus Verax to fall from his grip. Telum retreated a pace and jerked the dagger from his side, causing a fresh flow of crimson to stain his tunic. The wound from the dagger was shallow, thanks to Draconus’s gift, and it would soon close over, thanks to Telum’s demonic blood.

That is assuming he wasn’t slain in short order by the two dwarves who were readying for a second attack, and poor Telum minus a war hammer.

[Sparrow]

By now the sounds of battle were louder, which either meant that it was growing more furious or as Erutan predicted, closer. As he walked around the edge of the forest, he began to notice just how small it was really. And for some reason, the sound didn't seem to get softer, even when he walked in all sorts of directions which led him to one conclusion, there was a battle in the centre and this forest was quite circular. Pirates do have logic after all. Erutan might not have been Captain or Commodore or any of those big ranks, but he still knew at least a thing or two about navigation and how to tell distance and direction from sounds. He never thought it would have been useful on the disgusting muddy land that he was on now, but evidently it had.

Sighing to himself, the pirate stopped in his tracks and pulled the jug of rum from his belt once again. It was only a little bit more than a quarter full, which usually meant a trip to the stash to top up. Unfortunately, there was no such oasis in the middle of this disgusting jungle. Erutan stood still for a moment, shifting weight from the balls of his feet to his heels then back again, then back again... Unable to decide on whether to drink or not, the pirate did what he thought was best.

"Firkin' sod it... What the hell am I supposed to be? I'm not a fucking elf, I'm a pirate. I'm not supposed to think. I'm supposed to pillage, plunder, rape and generally be a right prick... AND NOT FUCKING THINK!" the pirate screamed into the forest, jumping up and down in frustration.

It was only then that he noticed that he had actually unscrewed the rum jug and was now spilling milliliters of his favorite liquid on the muddy ground where it sank into the dirt, never to touch his tongue.

"NOOOO! THERE IS NO THAYNE!" he screamed again, falling to his knees and looking up at the expansive forest canopy. He looked down at the jug of rum in his hand. "What the bloody hell am I even doing here? I'm a pirate for god's sake! I'm supposed to be at sea." His eyes focused on the alcohol in his hand. Erutan was growing more and more frustrated with each passing second at a variety of things. It was becoming increasingly apparent to him that there was no boat in this forest and in truth that was the only treasure that was truly worth looking for. So anything else would hardly be worth it. "Not to mention I'm about six feet away from singing "It's Raining Arrows, Hallelujah it's raining arrows..."

He sighed again, this time louder. He raised his jug of rum to his eye level, admiring the container of possibly the greatest invention of man. "Oh, sod it." He lifted it up and poured the majority of it into his mouth, his face twisting with delight as he did so.

"You know," a foreign voice came from behind. Erutan didn't hear it at first, deafened by the sound of alcohol against his tongue. "Rum is bad for your health."

The last statement was clearly audible, though probably not entirely logical in the pirate's mind. "And who are you, then?" He asked sarcastically. He raised his right hand and used his forearm to wipe the spilled liquid from his lips. This situation was familiar to him, there was someone directly behind his kneeled form, with a weapon inches from his neck.

"That's not important," came the reply, which the pirate now recognized as coming from a male source.

"Well, That's not Important from Fallien I presume, Do you honestly think you can put me in a position like this? Mate, I'm a pirate if you haven't guessed. I've been near the guillotine a dozen times, been trialed to be hanged about twenty times and mate..."

During that time, the pirate used his fast fingers and knowledge of sleight of hand to consolidate the rum on his hands into his cupped right hand. He then dipped it into the ground, picking up some of the wet mud on the ground below to go along with it. With a confident smirk, he threw it backwards, perfectly from where the voice had come from. His assailant was stunned, for Erutan's crafty hands had concealed any form of attack on his part from view. All he could do was bring his hands to his face, his fingers digging at his eyes in an attempt to dislodge the mixture that had been trapped within.

The sound of his wooden weapon, probably a long staff, landing on the muddy ground was his cue and the pirate jumped to his feet and drew his rapier from his waist in one swift movement. He angled the weapon so that the blade was inches away from his throat, reversing the situation from before.

He managed to take a good view of his assailant, who was clad in black, but inches of blonde hair escaped from being restrained behind his head to reveal themselves. He was young, probably a few years junior of the pirate. At the ground, Erutan recognized the weapon as a magical channeling device, one that would amplify the power of spells. Good thing he disarmed his opponent then.

"I told you... I'm a pirate mate. There ain't no way you ain't going to outwit me. Or is it... there ain't no way you not going to outwit me... Oh fuck it, Goldilocks, there ain't no way you getting out of this at least..."

[Striker]

"There is no Thayne!" the forest bellowed at Striker as he dislodged himself from the wall. That was news to him, but he'd leave that business up to overly ambitious philosophers. For now, he had to keep moving. He had to find these villains before they found him. And even more importantly, he had to get this dwarf off of his tail.

"I thought I killed you..." He muttered, jabbing the speartip at the dwarf-shaped blob of gore. Once freed, Striker took in the situation.

He hadn't moved far. He was still on the edge of the ruins. However, a great deal had happened in a rather short period of time. The sounds of battle raged in all directions, and there was no way to tell who was fighting who. The safest assumption was that he was not on anyone's side - this was him on his lonesome. Striker fiddled with the arrow again without much luck and strode off into the woods. Just a walk in the park.

It wasn't long before Striker found himself clutching cover once again. Backed up against a tree, he had stumbled upon an argument, of all things, in the middle of the anarchy. Striker couldn't make out what they were saying, but the two stormed off in different directions. The one heading in Striker's direction was so angry, he threw his whole weight into the destruction of a young tree.

After a sound like the world coming to an end, Striker felt a breeze at his back. He turned around slowly. His cover had been reduced to a stump, and there was this short lump of scar tissue, missing an eye. Striker looked at the stump again. He looked long and hard. His instincts told him to jump, and he said how high. Leaping backwards, he dodged a whistling axe blade, tufts of fur exploding into the air. The blast of wind that came with the strike made it absolutely clear how strong this bastard was.

Striker had found himself neck deep in shit.

Making a few feints with his blade, Striker made a few surface cuts before finding the distance he needed to do what was in his best interest. Run. With the enraged dwarf batting his tail with an axe blade, Striker vaulted over toppled pillars and dodged past trees which, from the sound of it, did little to stop the dwarves axe. Cowardice welled in Striker's throat, and he gave a hearty yell of terror while dodging in and out of shadows, waiting for a chance to turn the tide or simply hide.

[Darkhawk76]

I was quiet as I moved, trying my best to keep myself hidden in trees and shadows. I am by no means the stealthiest of men around, but that night was one where certain skills just had to be used. I simply kept moving, making quick turns behind trees, pausing every few moments to catch my breath and listen. I heard nothing.

I kept going for some time, then came to a stop, my back against a tree. In my running and darting I had lost sense of what little direction I had to begin with. It mattered little. All I had to do was head towards the large mountains, a landmark that was nigh impossible to miss. The problem was that I now didn’t know where I was in relation to my point of origin. For all I knew, turning around the next tree could put me in line with the same female archer I had just gotten away from.

I listened carefully, straining my ears to pick up the least bit of noise. I heard battle going on. Clashing of metal, thundering, shouts. The noise was small, and seemed to be coming from different sources. There was some sort of fighting going on, though it sounded as though it was a small skirmish, maybe even a duel or two.

The faint noises were overcome by a louder shout of blasphemy against the Thayne. This one was relatively close. I headed toward the noise. This turn in my demeanor, from one of running and hiding to one of seeking, was a strange on truly. I’m not quite sure why I chose the route. Maybe after the run I was curious again, and the after effects of adrenaline do strange things to a man. Either way I tried my best to silently make it towards whoever had elicited the shout.

I made my way as silently as I could. I heard speaking as I came nearer. Whoever the man was not aware that assassins may be hiding in the woods.

I came upon a man kneeling on the ground, a large jug held to his lips. He was a man who seemed to be just that. A man. His hair was unkempt, his face unshaved, and his clothes somewhat in tatters. There was nothing remarkable about him. I was more interested in the man behind him, raising a stave to his neck.

I did not know whether to call out of not. The standing man was covered in black, though his blond hair, a color too perfect for any man, gave him away as an elf. Taking a closer look, it came to my attention that the elf may not be dressed in black, but actually be black. I had already come across at least two dark elves, a third could easily be around. I wouldn’t be able to tell until I got nearer

I decided to let the event run its course, wishing to give myself a better chance to attack the elf. If it was in league with those I had encountered earlier it could give me information on what was occurring in these woods.

I had expected the man to be dealt with quickly, not exactly being of an amazing appearance. I was quickly proved wrong however, as he distracted the elf and proceeded to blind him with mud.

As the man came up, proclaiming himself a pirate, I made a move to advance, my stiletto sill in my hand. Sadly any sort of stealth I hoped for, was quickly snapped. Much like the loud sound of the stick my foot landed on.

[Telum]

His enemies wasted no time in closing in on what they assumed was easy prey. There Telum was, bleeding from a wound to his ribs, holding only a dagger, and facing two determined dwarves who both held heavy weapons. One of them chuckled and Telum imagined he could see grim smiles on their faces in the pale moonlight. Telum feigned despair and clutched his left hand to his wounded ribs as he backed away, pretending to stumble. The dwarf with the axe jumped at the bait, thinking that this was the perfect opportunity to slay the unarmed human. Unfortunately for the dwarf the human was entirely armed. His entire body was a weapon.

As the dwarf rushed forward, Telum tossed the dagger he was holding at the second dwarf holding the hammer, not expecting to cause any serious harm, but mostly as a distraction. Then, with a quickness that surprised the axe wielding dwarf, Telum stepped forward and grabbed the haft of the swinging axe mid arc with his left hand and, while simultaneously lifting the dwarf off of the ground via the axe, he punched his enemy in the face. The dwarf slipped from his weapon and fell heavily on the ground, holding a very broken nose. Telum brought his booted foot up and down, connecting with his heel to the dwarf‘s face; once, twice, three times. Crunch, crunch, crunch. That dwarf would never again rise, save for the cold embrace of undeath.

Telum turned his attentions to the second dwarf who stood a few paces away, holding a new cut on his cheek and watching the fate of his brother dwarf in cold horror. The dwarf’s hands dropped to his hammer, blood staining his beard and fingers. His knuckles turned white as his grip tightened. He brought his hammer above his head and with a roar he charged directly towards Telum.

“Fool,” the human said under his breath.

As the dwarf charged forward, Telum crouched and gripped his recently deceased enemy’s axe tightly. He came forward to meet the charge and swung the axe across his body as the dwarf’s hammer swung towards his chest. The heads of the two weapons collided in the air, the haft held by Telum shattered in his hand and the dwarf’s hammer flew wide. While the momentum of the hammer pulled the dwarf to the side, momentarily bringing him off balance, Telum kept his tempo and stepped towards the dwarf with his left foot and, using that foot as a base, spun himself around to deliver a kick square into the dwarf’s temple. A sickly crack followed by a dull thud were the best signs that his blow had been successful as Telum took a moment to reorient himself in the dark of the night. He took a second to glance at the prone body of the dwarf before he moved to retrieve his Malleus Verax from where he had previously dropped it on the ground.

It lay at the base of the steps leading up to the temple and Telum moved quickly to retrieve his weapon as he could see the silhouettes of the two elven crossbowmen and he assumed they were preparing to lose a second volley at him. The expected volley never came and as Telum stooped to pick up his hammer the question was tearing at the back of his mind. The answer came suddenly in the form of a two sharp pains, one in the back of his right knee and the other in his left shoulder. A roar of pain flew from his lips and it was answered by a cruel yet painful laugh.

Jaxle, the drow who Telum had earlier fought, leaned over his shoulder and whispered into Telum’s ear, “Now it is time for you to die, human.” The words dripped out of his mouth, just as his blood dripped from his broken face onto Telum’s shoulder. Jaxle pulled his dagger out of Telum’s leg and drove it into his right shoulder and then removed his other dagger and began to bring it to Telum’s throat.

Fatigue washed over Telum. Pain coursed through him and a strange sense of closure came to him. As he watched the dagger move towards him he contemplated attempting to fight back but he thought against it because that would require more effort than he was currently willing to give. He was tired and he knew that soon he would be able to sleep.

“There is no Thayne!” The words echoed through the forest and pulled Telum out of his strange trance… and into a rage that could only be fueled by Hromagh.

Unable to coherently express the anger he felt at hearing his Thayne blasphemed, all Telum could manage to bring himself vocally communicate was an animal growl that escaped from his mouth along with a few drops of saliva. Telum dove forward to escape the blade that was moving towards his neck. Jaxle was pulled along with the dive, momentarily, until the dagger stuck in Telum’s back was ripped free. The drow picked himself off the ground and gripped both of his daggers in battle readiness., prepared to face the human in a more even fight, but he was not prepared for the monster that stood before him.

Blood dripping from multiple wounds and smeared across most of his exposed skin, Telum seemed to glow in the moonlight. His barrel chest heaved up and down as a barely controlled berserker rage overtook him. The name of the Thayne had been insulted and, at this moment, Jaxle was only a single drow that stood between him and the one who insulted his deity. The only sounds he could hear was the thumping of the blood in his temple and the only thing he could feel was his hands tightening their grip on the cold steel of the Malleus Verax. Poor drow.

[Sparrow]

The blonde haired one looked back at Erutan and he stared back at him, both of them not daring to back down. The pirate's cheerful demeanor had slowly transformed into one that was much more serious and even his unkempt hair, on both his head and his face, made him almost intimidating. His hand was strangely steady, barely even moving despite the fact that he was holding his sword to the one that had threatened him. He tried to keep his eyes off the staff on the ground, but found that he was cautious about it, trying to make sure that his enemy did not touch it, as the pirate would probably be on the end of a nasty spell if that happened.

The stalemate lasted for a few more seconds before Erutan noticed something strange. Even though most of his face was cloaked, the pirate still managed to sneak a glance at his lips, which were revealed to the light. And despite the fact that the tip of a rapier was mere inches away from them, they were smirking. Erutan smirked back at them, stealing the elf's attention while he planned something.

"Going crazy, mate?" the pirate laughed to the man before him. "Maybe it'd be better if I just killed ya right now, I do hate to see a man suffer."

Just as he would have thrust the weapon forward though, something stopped him. He did not what it was, but suddenly his knees buckled and he fell to the ground in a split second. It had happened so fast that his nerves did not even have time to react and tell the pirate what had happened. Now, he knew.

The entire bottom half of his body was warm, it was hot... no it was on fire. Literally. The entirety of his pants had erupted into flames and the pirate was literally burning alive. Using his instincts, he began to roll around quickly from left to right in an attempt to cool himself off and put out the fire. Erutan continued to grunt and moan in pain but it was to no avail, it was not making it any easier on his body.

The only thing that he could hear over his own voice was that of the elf, his lips now twisted into a smirk and opening and closing quickly to emit a loud cackle that echoed throughout the forest. He leaned down to pick up his staff and pointed it at the head of the rolling pirate.

"I may be," he replied flatly. "But at least I'm not going dead."

The fire in his pants may have been weakening but already, the pirate could sense magical energy forming at the head of the staff that was now no more than a foot away from his forehead. It would all be over now if he let the attack hit him... Luckily, his master plan was well into motion. At least, he hoped it was a master plan that actually worked instead of the usual ones that failed.

Then suddenly, a crack. A branch snapped underfoot. The mage's head quickly turned to the right, his posture changing so that the staff was now pointing at the direction of the sound and the creator of it, a silhouette hid in the shadows.

[Striker]

Fear had earned Striker some distance from the world-crashing monstrosity of a dwarf that followed him, but he was still being followed. He’d been running around in circles, trying to find something the dwarf couldn’t break through. It has been something of a failure. If he kept this up, there wouldn’t be any forest left to break his stride!

There was that dead elf again. Striker had passed him a few times, which is what really worried him about his flight path, but this time he noticed the elves bow, which stuck up from his mangled grip. Plucking it as he ran, Striker gave it a quick look. Elven craftsmanship. Still good. String was solid. Oops! Tree. He dodged, and kept running, stumbling on a clearing of his own devising.

Well, if this is where it has to happen…

Striker reached for an arrow, and ripped the beautifully crafted elven arrow right from his shoulder, pulling back on the string as far as he could. The dwarf was coming at him in a straight line, some ten meters from him. He loosed the arrow, and watch it sink into the dwarves chest with a satisfying thud. He pulled another one. It sank again, his target getting bigger, fast. Pulling back a third arrow, he flinched and shot it into the woods as he dropped the bow to pick up his halberd and brace himself for the charge.

[Darkhawk76]

I have little reason to love mages. I have little reason to love magic in general. It was the utter fear of it that led to my parent’s death. It was that same fear that forced me to hurt these same people. I didn’t hate magic, really. I just have no love for it.

Mages, well, I may hold some hate for them. Their power is not their own. It is something that they steal. I feel that any person who has to go out of his way to learn how to shift and shape the threads of the universe to be somewhat weak in their own right. Power like my own are normal, we are natural. My mind can see into others because nature chose me to be like that.

Either way, this hate, I may even admit some fear, of mages explains my actions when the staff came to face me. I dove straight into the small clearing at an angle, hoping to clear any type of magic that the mage had ready for me.

At this point, I may have agreed with whoever had blasphemed against the Thayne. Apparently the god’s weren’t around to help me, because as I dove the magic hit me anyway. It was a strong blast of magic, striking and pushing me into the nearest tree. My spine bent, threatening to wrap itself around the trunk of the tall sentinel, and I felt a rib break, pain searing through my chest.

I fell to the ground, soil and undergrowth entering my mouth as it opened in a groan.

I got up to my hands and knees quickly, forgetting about my stiletto now lying on the ground, and flicked out my dagger into my right hand.

“I have no quarrel with you,” I coughed out painfully. My breathing was hurting my broken rib.

“And I have none with you, but I’ll still have to deal with you and the ‘pirate,’ here.”

I let my mind go again, hoping he would deal with the ‘pirate’ first. We would see how brave this creature was when he was reminded of his own pain and sadness.

I heard the man make some comment, though I was focused elsewhere. I was in his mind, already, he was planning to kill the pirate first. I wished the man luck, I began burrowing, looking deeper into his mind, trying to find something. If the pirate was lucky, I would enter his mind fully in time. If not, well, at least I would live.

[Telum]

Despite the rage coursing through his very being, Telum knew that he was simply outmatched. He was bleeding and tired, and he faced an experienced opponent who was faster and fresher. Going against almost everything he stood for, Telum decided to use a different tactic. Telum began to circle his opponent, trying to get Jaxle between him and the crossbowmen who still remained atop the ruins of the temple.

“Why are you here, defiling this temple of the Thayne with your presence?” Telum shouted as he circled the drow like a feral predator circling its prey.

The drow laughed, and little specks of blood flew from his mouth, “Oh you think this is a temple of the Thayne, do you?” Telum simply nodded and continued to slowly circle. “The Thayne… isn’t that a religion that worships bastards and sexual deviants?”

Telum felt his pulse again quicken as he listened to the words fly from the mouth of the drow. “Why are you here?” he demanded.

“Oh, does my presence offend you, human? Does it sully your damned Thayne?” the drow laughed mockingly, and then he spit. “The Thayne aren’t even real!” he barked, “What makes you think they even care whether you find a long lost temple of theirs or not? Don’t you think that if they did exist they would have made sure that their holdings were well preserved? Bah! I’ve heard the legends of your Thayne, and they’re no more godlike than that repulsive lump of dead dwarf at your feet!”

Telum had heard enough. Lifting the Malleus Verax over his head he gave a battle shout and hurled the hammer with all of the might left in his body. The massive hammer flew end over end in a cumbersome flight towards the drow. Jaxle was nearly taken completely by surprise at this new development and barely managed to dodge the airborne weapon. Unfortunately for the drow, he was clipped on the left shoulder by the weapon and was knocked to the ground, and his weapons fell from his hands. Such is the size of the Malleus Verax that even a slight blow can cause harm. The hammer was followed by Telum who almost instantly pounced upon the fallen drow to fight upon more equal terms of unarmed combat.

Telum kicked the drow in the ribs, momentarily lifting him into the air. His shouts of “get up, you bastard, get up!” could probably be heard throughout the nearby forest.

[Sparrow]

Having been raised on the seas in the ways of the scoundrel, Erutan was more than capable of seeing that in this brief one second distraction, there was more than enough time for him to get out of this sticky situation. He had almost put out the fire on his pants and even though his entire leg from the thigh down seemed to be subject to third degree burns, the pain was at least alleviating for the moment. His eyes saw that his assailant had now turned his attention ever so brief at the sudden newcomer. The pirate instantly took his chance. His already dirty hand scrounged around the area nearby, searching for his weapon.

Horror filled his face, taking the place of the blood which slowly drained from it. However, his swift mind instantly clenched tightly, grabbing as much dirt as it could within his grasps. It was a dirty trick but as seen from the layer of god knows what covering his entire body, Erutan was not adverse to playing nasty. He instantly swung with all of his might, throwing the mud in the direction of the blond hair. Instantly, he watched as the mage took a few step backwards, his free hand rising to his face to sweep it away. It was all the time Erutan needed.

"Mate, mage or not... sanity or not... You gotta protect the one thing all men protect..."

Instantly, the pirate's leg muscles flexed and he kicked upwards. He watched in sadistic glee as his foot, namely his metatarsals contacted with the elf's groin. What the pirate found particularly amusing was the sight of his face as the disgust at the mud slowly turned to utter, incredulous agony. In a few moments, the tables were turned as the mage slowly fell to the ground and the pirate acrobatically jumped to his feet, spying his rapier and grabbing it as he stood up. He winced slightly at the pain in his feet, but he withstood it.

For a while.

"Bloody hell, that hurts... Well," he chuckled. "Not half as much as what I just did to you. But mate, you have to understand. These are the finest pants that some elven bigwig wore. And I borrowed them off him. Now, if he wasn't already dead, how am I going to return them in this condition? You have to have some empathy for your fellow man."

It was then that the foolish pirate realized his mistake. There was someone else in the woods, the one that had briefly stolen the mage's attention.

And he was still out there. He thought about killing the mage, afraid that he might make another move once his testicles returned to their rightful area but he was no master strategist.

He was just a pirate.

[Lighthawk76]

Pay no attention to this.

[Darkhawk76]

I delved slowly. Speed was needed, but if the man caught on, speed wouldn’t help. His mind was sharp and quick. His thoughts were already on crafting a spell, ready to reach out and make the magic happen. He was dangerous, and I needed to make him not dangerous.

I saw the pirate faintly, a strange mixture of my own senses and that of the elf’s. He was moving, or running, or cringing, my mind didn’t really comprehend it. All was focused on entering the elf’s mind, or finding that which could help me.

Everything suddenly exploded, sight and sound and smell disappearing in favor of the raw sense of pain. I felt it in an odd way, sensing and partaking in the feeling without actually experiencing it.

Still, I took advantage of the situation, diving into his mind quickly and roughly, knowing that he would be too worried about his problems down low rather than those occurring in his mind.

I passed through quickly, seeing the elf’s mind. Pictures of his allies swept past, many painted with hatred, others with loyalty, some with lust. I took a quick turn reading the reason for him being here. They were mercenaries, part of an outfit that trafficked illegal goods between Raiaera and Alerar. I took the information for myself and left.

I had no need to incapacitate the elf. The other man had apparently done enough.

As I left the others mind, returning fully to my own, I felt the presence of the man who called himself a pirate. His mind pulsed outwards with inebriation, his only goal for the moment being self-preservation.

Another mind was felt though. It was malicious and playful, ready to strike.

As soon as I was back in my own brain I screamed a warning to the man. “There’s another!”

I prayed for him to get away in time. The mind I felt was ready to attack.

Sadly, I failed to realize who the attack was truly intended for. I felt the whip encircle my neck and pull me down roughly, my head slamming hard against the ground.

Through my dazed eyes I saw a strong, ebony arm lift and encircle my head, nestling it between two, warm pillows.

“Hands up, or I snap his neck.” Malicious, playful, and female.

[Telum]

His daggers had dropped from his hands after the initial strike from the Malleus Verax, and now Jaxle was scurrying on his hands and knees to avoid another wildly swinging kick from Telum. Jaxle narrowly avoided the strike, but could still feel the breeze of the passing foot, while the momentum from the kick swung Telum around so that he momentarily had his back towards the grounded drow. A soft glint of light caught Jaxle’s eye as he struggled with what to do next, and he realized that his daggers lay directly between himself and the human warrior who was now turning around. Jaxle shot forward.

Telum, egger to resume combat also rushed forward, unaware that he was taking part in an action sequence that he had witnessed in countless plays. Undoubtedly he would have laughed. Jaxled did a diving roll and grabbed his daggers as Telum continued to rush forward. The drow righted himself just as Telum brought his rock hard knee forward to meet the Jaxle’s face. Lashing out more due to instinct than any real combat sense, the drow managed to lodge one dagger into Telum’s upper right thigh as his knee cap crunched into Jaxle’s face like a hammer falling onto a nail.

Both warriors collapsed too the ground. The drow was barely conscious while Telum’s leg folded under him when his momentum required him to put his weight onto his leg that had been stabbed.

The trouble for Jaxle was that Telum enjoyed a good ground fight anyways.

[Sparrow]

It seemed as though events were folding out just like how Erutan wanted it, in his favor.

A warning rang in his ears, just moments after he had attacked and gotten rid of that annoying elven mage. Instinctively, he felt his fingers tighten around the grip of his rapier, the weapon's blade vibrating slightly. He didn't know what happened but the pirate soon knew, something behind him quickly catching his attention. A female voice, and quite a sexy and sultry one at that. The pirate blessed his premonition of danger, quickly making a turn in the direction of the threat, pointing his sword at whoever the owner of the voice was.

It turned out that the owner was just as attractive as the voice was. She held someone the pirate had never seen at the neck, in the position to kill him at any moment. Erutan had been in this kind of situation before and was completely unfazed by the situation that was playing itself out in front of him. He slowly lifted his head into the light, revealing his features. His facial hair parted to the side as his smile only widened.

"Sorry, darling... but obviously you weren't around before."

The pirate lifted his free hand into the air, extending his index finger and pointed it at himself. Letting out a soft chuckle, he turned his body posture away from the woman.

"Pirate. Scallywag. Asshole, really."

And at that, he turned and bolted off.

[Lighthawk76]

If I do this again, dock from my score.

[Darkhawk76]

My head cleared slowly. Though not too slowly. As soon as I felt the arm encircling my neck, poised to twist the life out of me, I knew not to move. My eyes focused to see the man standing up. He entered the light, apparently trying to look heroic. I was afraid he would do something stupid. People have a tendency to. I just needed him to fling another handful of mud.

I started thinking about what I could do once the female dark elf was occupied with the man. I probably would only have a few seconds, and I had to use them to get away.

Sadly, the man had other ideas in mind. I didn’t hear what he said, but I saw him bolt.

I made a mental note to make sure he regretted this later.

“Huh,” said the dark elf behind me, a strange sound coming from such a sultry voice, “I thought you humans watched out for each othUHH!”

I slammed my head back into her chest as she spoke, her grip loosening just enough for me to slip out onto the ground.

Allow me to take this moment to explain a few things. When people think of a battle between two warriors they imagine two soldiers hacking away at each other for hours on end with longs swords or axes. Sometimes they imagine a pair of knife wielders, ducking dodging and cutting for hours on end.

In truth, only the first occurs. Two knife wielders do not have the stamina for a long battle. Strikes are quick, normally numbering below ten. Some time in there, you can gauge whether it is healthier to kill your opponent or run.

Following the above rules, the dark elf woman and I entered combat.

My dagger flicked out of my wrist, coming across at her throat, now above me. She rolled back, and heard her draw a weapon, a small one.

I rolled to the side, pulling my legs in and coming up in a crouch. The female had a pointed stiletto in her hand, one created for killing stabs. Her whip lay forgotten on the ground.

She came at me quickly, not giving me time to attack. I stood quickly, dodging a sweeping stab that would have gone right through my stomach. She kept her momentum, turning to come in for another stab at my neck. I twisted opposite her turn, putting my back to a tree. Her billowing cloak masked her from my view for a second, but I moved as soon as I saw her coming out from behind it.

Two darts imbedded themselves in the tree trunk. A third missed me.

She smiled, drawing a dagger much like my own. “You’re lucky.” Not to be outdone, I flicked my own stiletto out. We were matched weapon for weapon.

If you have been keeping count, there have been fours strikes, three made by her. A few more from her and it would be healthier for me to run.