Fight or Flight 2 – Shadow of the Spire

[Lexxum_Vordic]

Continued from here. (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=10237)


November 22nd
CP 1805
3:00 A.M.


Anebrilith. Survivors and refugees fleeing from Xem’Zund’s assault on Raiaera were on their way towards Scara Brae and the other lands of Corone. The Elven structures of the port city were manufactured in the same style as most of the great Elven cities.

Larger structures of import to the government of the Elves were built much more extravagantly than the rest of the strange buildings. Having an almost organic quality to their integral make up, the structures were tall and built with an almost arrogant flare to them. Columns held up the buildings from the center that touched the sky like spears. Round man-made constructs were built around the columns and almost resembled beating organs that thrived with archaic energies. Columns connected the structures to one another and were actually parts of the building themselves.

One could travel through the columns to access other levels of the buildings in order to travel to different parts of the city. There was as much to see below the surface of the city as there was above the surface. Thriving communities below the city of Anebrilith provided a black market that was virtually ignored by the Elves in power. The Tel’Quessir initially settled into the areas at and around Anebrilith many ages prior. It is within the city limits of Anebrilith that the Bladesinger’s Guild is located. Many other structures of import were located therein.

Refugees fleeing the wrath of Xem’Zund found their solace in the port district of the city. There; ships weaving their passage towards various other parts of Althanas, waited to claim their stake on the tumultuous seas.
Standing outside the structure that functioned effectively as a combination tavern and inn; a little girl named Anne Fallworth found herself she staring at the city with a cold expression in her gaze. She stood upon a balcony area. A cold wind came in from the North; from Salvar. Anne had a good geographical knowledge of Althanas for it was an important subject in her studies at the University at Valinatal.

Valinatal. The now ruined city was the city where she originated from along with an incoming wave of hundreds of refugees fleeing from the destruction of that once proud city. Anne had her arms folded across her chest. She was a typical Althanas girl of about ten years of age. She studied the archaic lore of the song magics of Turlin. Being one of the best students of her graduating class; Anne quickly obtained a strong grasp of the knowledge heralded by the Elves. A human; the humans of Raiaera were a sturdy lot.

They’d obtained a great deal of knowledge of the wilderness working alongside the Elves. Anne knew this because the university knew this. She accepted the knowledge taught in those ancient books as truth. A particularly perceptive child; Anne was brilliant by most account. She had a bright future as a Turlin song mage and a scholar of history ahead of her. But none of that mattered to her at the moment. In the past month since their arrival at Anebrilith; one singular thought occupied her mind to an almost dangerously obsessive compulsion. The idea of finding her caretaker and friend; Lexxum Vordic. Anne thought of her friend almost every moment of everyday; to the point where she drew him in her notes often. She was trying to retain the memories of the lizard folk warrior from Fallien.

She’d developed a unique bonding to the warrior. The reptile was a well known soldier of Valinatal and helped to attempt to defend the city from the attacks of the Necromancer Netha’Tu. As Anne came to understand the situation; a powerful Necromancer named Xem’Zund was the enemy of all of Althanas. Xem’Zund threatened the world with his forces of darkness; and should Raiaera fall to that bastard’s powers, the world would fall. Anne thought of her friend now. Her long, blond hair flowed with the breeze that touched her person as she stood on the balcony. Her only companion was the golden retriever by her side; Alk. The dog slept by her side and provided a sense of warmth. She slept in a robe set aside for pajamas as she looked up at the night sky. There was no moon in the sky anymore; only an age of darkness. She wondered what such an omen could mean.

Most likely scouting out the city; her companion Kryos, co-rented a two bedroom apartment in the inn complex. It wasn’t exactly an affordable price; but the duo managed to scrounge up money doing random tasks for that the city needed doing. Anne found her way into Anebrilith’s master library and acquired work from time to time there as a scholar. A whole month went by since the events that lead them across Raiaera. Anne was a different person now; a woman despite her age. She had long, waist length blond hair that curled in certain places and was worn loosely. Her eyes were a hazel color that shone with the knowledge she was rapidly obtaining; there was a hunger there. The girl stood approximately five feet tall and seemed to be built with an athletic physique.

Wearing a sad expression on her battle scarred face; Anne was a somber figure. Where once she was a beautiful and even stunning girl; half of her face and some of that side of her body was hideously scarred. The scarring was the result of a desperate attack from the mighty sword that Lexxum Vordic wielded. The weapon was a broadsword made of plynt and imbued with the powers of the Eternal Tap. Lexxum had revealed some control of the Tap energies within the sword during the battle with a Necromancer named Rashilan Penna’ak. She was apparently one of Xem’Zund’s powerful commanders. A Necromancer in the service of a stranger from Antioch named Morian. And it was thus that the past intertwined itself inexorably with the future. Anne touched the scar at that left side of her face closing her eyes after that movement. She looked at the various star constellations she knew.

“Lexxum…where are you? My love?” She sighed and stepped inside the single apartment.

[Kryos]

A dark form leaned against a large beam of wood in one of the numerous taverns scattered throughout Anebrilith. The figure, dark garments covering his lean form like a shroud of darkness, stood motionless. Weak flames cast shoddy light around the deserted room, reflecting off the man’s silver rings and the hilt of his sword. His ebon hair fell around his face. Behind this veil, silver eyes gleamed. They combed the room, moving from tables, to chairs, to the well-kept bar. A coin or two lay on the floor, forgotten by their former owners. The man didn’t take them, though. He just stood there, waiting. Time crawled by in the dim room, yet he lost no patience. He would stay there until his business was done.

The door eventually opened and in slouched a man. He wore bandages over his head and arm and he looked around the seemingly deserted room. He spotted the man leaning in the corner, walked forward, shut the door with a snap and approached.

“What is the meaning of this, calling me out here at this time of night?! You know I just got back from scouting!” the human said.

“Which is exactly why I wanted to see you,” Kryos replied. He moved off the wall and unfolded his arms, approaching the ranger. “So, have you heard any news concerning the Lindequalmë?”

“No, nothing new has been reported, save that the monsters and zombies still lurk in its depths.”

“Very well. That is all I needed to know,” he said, moving past him toward the door.

“Wait,” the man called. Kryos stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Why do you keep asking for information like this? It’s not like you’ll go out there, so why are you so interested?” The human narrowed his eyes, suspecting hidden motives.

“That,” Kryos said, “is something that you don’t need to concern yourself with. Good night.” With that, he turned and pushed open the elegant, oak door and stepped out into the cool, Raiaeran night.

[Lexxum_Vordic]

Anne couldn't make a move without Kryos around. Her age prevented her from acting at night, she was simply too vulnerable a target. Anebrelith came alive at night as the underworld took hold of the world. From her balcony position in the apartment that they'd rented days earlier, Anne surveyed the city around her. Patrons of the night world emerged from every corner of the shadows. Some having strange forms in the dark thanks to thick hides and unusual races that lived in Raiaera. Anne had long ago gotten used to the Salvarn natives. Her family wasn't actually from Raiaera. Instead, they were from Corone.

They'd immigrated to Anebrilith from Radasanth fearing the growing hostility of the government. Fearing a change to democracy. Anne's family was a family of nobles who could afford to give her a top education at a locale college sponsored by the Tel'Algrim. Anne studied hard. The mystical arts struck her fancy despite the hideous scar that adorned the side of her face. She touched that side of her skull now, reminded of the constant pain that the scar represented. Archaic flames from The Tap had touched her, and she'd somehow found the will to survive it. Anne had a strength about her.

She had shoulder length blond hair, stood at approximately four heads and half high, and weighed about ninety pounds. Her eyes were a piercing green tone that shifted slightly from their original colour. She had a sad expression on her face combined with a certain fierce determination. Thinking about her slaughtered family back in Valinatal, she'd heard stories that the capitol of Raiaera, Eluriand, fell to Xem'Zund's forces. Would the bastard never be stopped?

Anne liked the cold. It was part of her blood. Though she wasn't a native Raieran, she enjoyed the cold breezes at night. They had just the slightest hint of Salvar within their tendril like forms. Leaving the balcony doors open for the night air to caress her flesh, she found herself in the bedroom. She'd taken a rare break from her studies to remember her friend, Lexxum Vordic, a giant lizard man that she'd befriended during her adventure with Kryos and the rest of the bunch sometime earlier in her life.

Lexxum Vordic fell in battle during that adventure. Or had he? The body was never recovered. Anne always wondered why the body had vanished in such a way. Could it have been Xem'Zund's powerful Necromancy? Or was it some other mystery? A trait of the Blood Lizards that they knew nothing about? Anne couldn't answer the mysteries, so she focused on her magical studies. Returning back to her books, she took a long sip of hot cocoa. The texture of the drink was steaming and felt good in her mouth. She swallowed deeply and went back to work. A trip to the wilderness once more would depend on her ability to cast magic. A trip into The Spire would depend on her ability to harness the power of The Tap.

There was a knock on the door. Like Kryos, Anne had her own resources to depend on...

...Her caretaker still hadn't returned from his recent adventure. She was getting anxious for him to come back.

[Kryos]

The streets were lit only by starlight and the warm glow of fires filtering through windows. Few walked the streets and those who did hurried to their destination. The air was thick with danger and fear. So heavy was the atmosphere that Kryos could almost touch the ominous feeling. Raiaera no longer was a place of beauty. Now, it was the stomping grounds for Xem’Zund’s undead. The safe havens, those that were left, were scattered and growing weak. It was only a matter of time before Anebrilith was breached as well.

He passed through the streets quickly, senses alert for any threat that may present itself. Elves brushed by him, nodding to him in the faint light. Returning the gesture, he kept on his path. Anne would be worried by now. He’d been gone all day and he feared for the girl when he wasn’t by her side.

Rounding a street corner, he saw a crowd of people gathered around a doorway to a tavern. He approached a woman who stood among them.

“What has happened?” he asked.

“A group of refugees just arrived from the forest, wounded. The healers are working with them now.”

His gut tightened. “The Lindequalmë?”

She nodded. “They collapsed just inside the gate and each one seemed in shock. I don’t know how they passed the undead, but they managed it. They were all babbling about spirits and ghosts before a healer got to them. You know . . . ”

But Kryos didn’t hear. He pushed past the elf and squirmed his way through the others. A man complained when his sword hilt bumped his head, but he didn’t pause. Pushing into the main room, he saw the crowd gathered by the staircase. Two healers stood by the steps with a helpless expression on their faces.

“I’m sorry, but no one can see them yet. The healers are still working,” one said.

“But they might have information about the rest of the nation!” one determined man spoke. “We need to see what they know while we can!”

The crowd murmured in agreement. Kryos shook his head and pushed others out of the way to get closer. Peering past the sentries, he saw two more healers sitting outside of one of the rooms, pouring water down their throats. He couldn’t recognize them from this angle, but turned his attention back to the argument on the stairway. The leader seemed to be fighting for control as he was continuously denied access to the injured. He was human. Things could get out of hand fast if the ringleader was a mortal. He passed behind the man, brushing his hand, now alight with subtle white flames, over the man’s shoulders. The anger rushed out of him, replaced by a confused calm.

“Well, I suppose we could wait until they feel up to it. A few hours wouldn’t hurt.” He turned to the others. “Come on, let’s take a seat. We can wait.” The crowd faltered, unsure of what to do. The leader walked to one of the tables, flipped a chair around and seated himself. He turned to the tavern master. “Got any drink while we wait?” The gentleman, elfin, approached to take the order and the others moved to get a seat. Kryos smiled and leaned against the railing of the stairway, arms crossed. He would wait as well.

“Kryos? Is that you?”

Or maybe not. He glanced over his shoulder. A healer, dressed in an elegant night robe, descended the stairs, her hand lightly resting on the rail, blond hair falling to her shoulder blades. Ellers, his companion from their own journey in the Red Forest. Her usual bright face seemed worn with the late hour and the labor she had done.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I was heading back to the apartment when the crowd caught my attention. I was interested in seeing if the survivors had any news about . . . him.”

“Ah. Well, Allaria is just finishing up. Why don’t you come up with me and see if we can find out anything?”

He nodded and approached the sentry-healers. They stepped aside and he followed Ellers up the fine wooden steps. The landing was dimmer than the common room below, but that wasn’t an issue for Kryos. His now silver eyes let him see just fine in darkness.

The door to the largest room in the inn opened without a sound. Inside, the survivors, three of them in all, lay across beds. Two of them seemed to be just sleeping, though all of them were covered with bandages. Along the floor, bloody strips of cloth had been discarded and two healers gathered around the third man. Another elf was cleaning the room up from the mess.

Kryos took a step toward the elves, then paused. Their hands were not on the man. Indeed, they were doing nothing but gazing at the body. Looking over one of the elf’s shoulders, he saw that the man, a human, had few wounds. But his face was contorted in pain and a purplish-black bruise wrapped around his neck. His frame shook.

“What is wrong with him?” he asked.

The healer turned. “What you see here is the result of the Fealotë. This is the final stage before his soul is completely destroyed. There is nothing we can do to save him.”

He stepped back in shock. He had heard of what the Soul Blossom was capable of, but had never seen it in person. The silver in his eyes erupted until they stained the entire eye. The world swam before his vision, colors smearing together, until they solidified once again. He was in the Fluenta. Gazing past the soul of the elf before him, he beheld the man. But where a glowing figure should have been, there was simply nothing. The man’s soul had been stolen. Sighing, he closed his eyes and let the glowing mercury recede.

“I see. He is lost then?”

“Yes, Kryos. However, there are the two behind you that still live. They still carry information,” a voice said.

Allaria. Her long, brown hair fell down her back, tied to keep out of her way. She stood in front of him, wearing a robe like Ellers. She smiled.

“Although, I did manage to ascertain some things before they went under,” she said, tilting her head. “They claimed that beside the normal contingent of fiends in the Forest, they beheld the strangest of appearances.”

“What was it?”

"A specter of sorts. I suppose it was more like a ghost, maybe. But they did say that it was tall, taller than a human. With claws for hands, a long tail, and a gaze that burned with the fires of hell.” She shook her head. “Remind you of someone, eh?”

Kryos didn’t move for several seconds. It was him. The great warrior from the desert continent that had perished one month previously. The one that he and Anne had been searching for clues for. A grin broke his face.

“A ghost, huh? Did the informant say where this appearance happened?”

Allaria’s smile fell. “The Obsidian Spire,” she said. “Are you going to . . .”

He nodded. “Anne will be distraught if we don’t go. It’s all she thinks about now.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”

“I know. Just . . . be careful.”

He nodded and turned. He moved out into the hallway, down the stairs to the warm lobby where the others talked as they waited. He walked past them and out the door, back into the dark night. He was leaving. No, he was returning. He was going back to find Lexxum Vordic.

[Lexxum_Vordic]

Answering the door before her, Anne smiled when she saw the familiar figure before her. It was Andrew. He was an Elfin lad that the duo had befriended a few weeks prior. Standing tall and elegant, the man was approximately six heads tall with long, green hair. His skintone was slightly tanned, his eyes were colored a deep blue, and he had the fair features of an elf that were so common to that race of people. Wearing vlince clothing, the lad had the broad shoulders of a swimmer, and an equally broad chest. He was built more for agility and speed versus raw strength. An intellect lurked in his eyes. Andrew was a skilled informant. He gathered and collected information for the right price. This time, Andrew was secretly gathering info for the girl only called Anne. These days, she was calling herself Anne Vordic.

"Do you have it?" Anne asked, going straight to business.

"You know if you get caught with that, we have to follow our usuals procedures. I can't afford to get identified. Things are hectic as it is, and there are folks who say that Raiaera is destined to fall. Endtimes are coming as the enemy gathers his strength. And you want to go back to the places where you just came from? Seems to me like you're trying to bite fate twice in the foot."

Hearing his words, Anne shot him a dangerous glare. Andrew took a step back when he saw that. "Did I upset you?" He asked with quivering lips. "I apologize my lady." Anne shook her head. "Don't attempt to cut the hand that feeds you." Anne said. "Forget it. As long as you have it, that's all that matters. My companion is busy seeking out further intelligence on the matter we are discussing." Andrew shook his head in the negative. "I don't agree with you because it's a dangerous place, but you're paying me well. I have it for you. I want to stress again, it's an unexplored region. There's Gods know what in there. Rumors say Xem'Zund left all kinds of bad things there."

"You don't worry about that. We have our own resources available to us. I am just glad that you were able to get it."

"The object is an artifact in itself, but the information is not complete. The floors that are known from historical texts are on there. But there are many floors that have never been explored. I'm not certain what you expect to find in there, but the place is dangerous." Andrew was shaking his head again, beautiful locks flowing with the movement.

"We got it under control. Here is your payment." Anne removed a bundled pouch from her possessions and gave it over to the lad. "It's all there. You can count it if you like." The girl said, a look of determination on her face. "So its true what I've heard about the Spire then?"

Andrew grabbed the pouch and put it in his packs. "Which part?"

"It's a living construct of arcane energy. Legends state its a living organism."

"Oh those rumors. Well it's difficult to say. Nobody knows who built the damned thing. But I digress, I've been here long enough. I gathered all the information I could for you on the Spire, I suggest you read up. The known maps are there too. But like I said, they are incomplete. You will have to finish the rest of the information for us. There is a great profit in exploring that place too."

"You don't have to remind me of that." Anne said. "You may go now. I don't want to keep you from the rest of your night's business." Andrew nodded and took a deep bow. Turning on his heels, the youth vanished into the night. She turned to close the door, locking it behind Andrew and quickly moved towards a nearby dining table. Her dog looked curiously up at her as she undid the bundle. Anne turned to look back at the dog. "Don't worry. We'll find him again soon."

[Kryos]

Kryos’ mind whirled with plans for the journey. They would stay to the forest, just on the fringe though, to avoid the worst of the dangers. It would take them about a week to get to the decimated site of Carnelost. Once there, the road to the Spire awaited them. He grinned in the darkness and approached the apartment complex where he and Anne resided.

Pulling out his key, he unlocked the front gate, iron bars woven into the darkness of the night. Stepping through and locking it behind him, he made his way up the stone path leading up to the main door. Taking an immediate left just inside the portal, he climbed the stairs to the third floor and walked down the simple hallway to his room, footsteps silent. Pausing outside his room, he glanced down either side of the hall and saw no one. Unlocking the door, he entered the living room of his apartment.

The shades were drawn over the windows, casting the room in shadow. Navigating through the furniture pieces with ease, he paused just outside his room. A soft light came from the dining room. “Anne?” he called. A soft bark came from around the corner and Alk padded into view, tail waging, eyes lit up with excitement. Kryos reached his hand down to scratch him behind the ears and the canine closed its eyes in relish. Walking around him, hand still stroking the fur, he entered the dining room and saw that the glow came from a light on the table, with Anne standing over it studying several objects. She looked up when he approached, deep green eyes piercing.

“Hey, what are you doing up so early?” he asked. But before she could answer, the news he received came racing back to him. “Oh, never mind. I’ve got some news. Some refugees just arrived, claiming they beheld a specter near the Obsidian Spire.” He grinned. “It’s our friend.”

[Lexxum_Vordic]

With a far away look in her eyes, she heard Kryos enter the room and smelled the scents coming from the city. Still too young to act completely on her own, she had other resources at her disposal. Obtaining all the innocence of a child, she used her charm upon adults to quickly get her way. Having obtained some gold in her recent adventure in the Red Forest, Anne worked quickly to establish herself as an Althanian.

School started this year for her and she would be ready. The Academy at Anebrelith was in full swing, eagerly accepting the next generation of warriors and magi to fend off Xem'Zund's forces. Anne smiled when she saw Kryos and stiffled a yawn. She wasn't sleeping well these days with all of the studying that she was doing. "I'm studying some maps I came across. They are the current known layouts for the Obsidian Tower. A few scouting parties came up with these." She moved over towards Kryos and handed him the maps so he could investigate them.

"I found out that the spire is rumored to be a living creature. Some sort of creature of chaos. I know a little bit about magic but not a lot. How can a building be alive?" She asked in wonder. "Lexxum was probably lost in his current state, I think he's heading towards the Spire for whatever reason. It seems to have strong necromantic forces that could be useful to a ghost."

She was a child who spoke like an academic expert. Lexxum would be proud of her. She'd grown up in a short period of time. Unable to contain it this time, she yawned a bit. Sleep evaded her for many days now, ever since the nightmares started. Rubbing her eyes casually, the little girl sat on the nearby couch. "The Red Forest is dangerous. Do you think that Lexxum can survive all by himself?"

Taking a drink of some nearby hot chocolate, she attempted to fight the effects of her fatigue.

She looked out the window, in the general direction of the Red Forest. "We should hire some mercenaries to assist us with the Spire. I think that the dangers we will face there will be too much for us on our own. Even with your skill." She said to Kryos. A soft smile was on her face for she had developed a great respect for the warrior. "We know where he is now. We just gotta get lucky enough to find him before he vanishes into the Spire forever."

"What else did you discover?" She asked Kryos.

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

Chaos. Swirling all about his presence, the desert dimension shined vibrantly with an eternal light. It was a place where the halls of his ancestors lurked forever latticed with eternity. He ran across the desert, chasing the ghosts of his forefathers. Specters called out from the darkness. Many voices swirled in the wind as the spiritual form of Lexxum Vordic.

Displaced from his former vessel, the confused specter traveled across the physical manifestation of The Wild. An alternate dimension of Althanas that lurked alongside many of the endless alternate dimensions in that universe. Lexxum finally traveled across the desert and made it to an oasis. Someone was waiting for him. Another blood lizard. This one was a woman from what the berserker could see. She beaconed to him. Lexxum saw the hand motion and traveled towards her.

Shifting sands surrounded the pair in every direction for many unknown miles. Heat waves altered the distance and made it appear as though he was staring at an inferno. Dunes shifted and reformed every few seconds as the hot winds moved across the desert. Sand swirled in the breeze.

Examining the oasis, Lexxum noticed several healthy palm trees with desert fruit growing upon them. In many areas of the land around him, the sands became the famous Fallien glass.

Picking some of the fruit from one of the closest of the trees, Lexxum ate the juicy substance. Clean water trickled from its own entropy in the waterhole before him. Some animals were about drinking the water and eating the fruit, they kept their distance from the two predators. Staring at his reflection for a moment, Lexxum noticed the large physique of the warrior who stared back. Standing at approximately eight feet in height, and weighing at approximately eight hundred pounds, the berserker was a nightmare of a warrior. His eyes glowed with a radiant hunger, a lust for battle. Scales were of a crimson red in nature almost a testament to the blood that he'd spilled in his day. Lexxum was a proud warrior. He was standing upright at the moment wearing the very same armor that he'd wore at the time of his death. Only in his spiritual form, there was no hole puncturing the chestplate. Lexxum felt the power of Tap Reaver burning in this place with a raw sort of energy that he'd never felt before. Sheathed in the scabbard at his back, the warrior was always prepared for battle.

It was in the nature of Blood Lizards to always be prepared. Staring at the girl before him, he wondered what tribe she came from. She also wore the crimson scales of his forefathers, but her stripes weren't like the stripes of his own tribe...she clearly belonged to a different group of Blood Lizards. Her symbols were wild and exotic, her armor was advanced to a point where it was like an exo-skeleton surrounding her flesh. Each scale was also hyper developed. Her body was accentuated by her feminine curves, her tail was long and slender edged with a complex series of spikes on either side of the tendril. The claws and talons on her hands and feet seemed hyper sharp and perfectly capable of piercing Lexxum's own scales. She had glowing orange eyes that were filled with a certain wisdom. Many intricate jewels adorned her person, bones and other jewel crafted trophies from her many battles. She wore a simple skirt made of animal hide and a bra made of whatever was the same beast that she'd killed to obtain her clothing. Lexum could only guess, there were many beasts in The Wild.

"Welcome, Lexxum Vordic, son of Vexxum Vordic." Came the invitation from her voice. Lexxum nodded to her, bowing deeply to the superior warrior. She had a strength about her that Lexxum could only ever hope to achieve sometime in his whelp-like existence. "I am honored to be amongst your presence stranger." Acknowledging the superior nature of the warrioress before him, Lexxum bowed deeply before her. "There is no need for such formalities Lexxum. You are amongst equals here. This place is the halls of your ancestors, but you are currently unable to pass into the Great Hall."

"What great sin have I committed to deny me Immortality?" A sincere look of worry crossed Lexxum's scaly face, this drew a chuckle from the Elder. "My dear boy, you've committed no such sin to warrant such a fate. You are here because you've performed a great act of sacrifice to save your companions. Even now they search for you. The Word of Lord Mitra is strong within you. Through his Voice, all things are possible. Consider me his Voice young one. The Voice of Lord Mitra."

"The Voice of Lord Mitra? To what do I owe such an honor?"

"When you joined the warriors of Valinatal, you were acting against the forces of a hated enemy, Xem'Zund." She paused, as if saying the name was like eating a set of sharp blades. "When you sacrificed yourself to save Kryos and Anne, you earned great favor with Lord Mitra. So much so that he asked me to place an important task upon your person. He asked me to assist you in becoming the Herald of Lord Mitra."

"What would that mean?"

"It means..."

***

Earlier--

A group of refugees traveled through the Red Forest. They were passing close by to the forbidden location of the Obsidian Spire. Something stirred in the shrubbery that was located nearby. The leader of the group of refugees saw a shadowy form lurking within the forest. Was it a monster? He took some of his men and broke off from the main group in order to investigate, what they saw astonished them. Their tall tales would inspire a generation.

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

Back in the mortal realm, the Herald of Lord Mitra felt the decree of the Word of Mitra in his heart. Looking upon the Obsidian Spire, the warrior was prepared to face his destiny. Lexxum waved his hand and a burst of energy resonated forward from the object in his possession. He needed another object buried deep within the Spire to understand his role in the scheme of things. Having acquired his first mission from the Voice of Lord Mitra, the Herald of Lord Mitra entered the Spire. And a race against time began.

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

Nearby.

A familiar girl, Rashilan Penna’ak, stared at a ghost she thought she'd never see again. Staring at the Obsidian Spire she turned towards her warriors. In a moment, she released a blast of necromantic energy from her hand that burned some of her warriors to dust. She stared at the rest of her gathered forces. "Failure is not tolerated." She began. "Lord Morian has given me ample enough power to give you lot the permanent death. It is a fate that you do not want for yourselves." She said, malevolence in her voice. "Our enemy stirs between realms. Somehow, he survived even my power." She said casually. "We must move quickly. Move out!" And so, Rash gathered her best soldiers and entered the Spire after Lexxum.

[Kryos]

“Not much,” he replied. “All the survivors were unconscious, so I only got the information second hand from Allaria, though I would never doubt of its truthfulness. Lexxem is back, at the spire.”

Approaching the table, his gaze swept over the maps that Anne had obtained. They were old and worn with age, the ink that stretched over the parchment faded here and there, while nonexistent in other places. But still, it was fairly impressive. The structure did mimic that of Velicë Arta, but the tower was just so large. The lines that dictated the walls withing the building were many, holding many secrets within. Kryos pulled another map forward, searching the map for anything that could be useful. What that would be, he still didn’t know.

“Impressive, Anne. Good work,” he said, finger tracing the walls of the fifth floor. There was a large gap of nothing in the middle of that level. “I wonder . . . ” he said. Pausing in thought, he shook his head. He yawned again, this time stretching his hands above his head. “So, we now have a plan. Now we just need to begin.” Glancing out the window, the darkness swallowed up any life that could be seen from their apartment. “We still have four or five hours till sunup, so we should catch up on some sleep. I mean it this time Anne,” he affirmed after seeing her expression. “After that, we’ll pack and then you can get some last minute supplies while I hire a few others who would be willing to come with us, though I doubt we’ll get that many.”

Bringing his right hand up in front of him, the fingers clenched into a fist. “We’ll find Lexxum and we’ll bring him back.” His fingers uncurled while midnight black flames rippled up his forearm to encompass his hand. The flames flickered, gradually dimming until they extinguished themselves, faded from this realm. Turning his head to Anne, he smiled and turned away from the table. He pondered the recent events in the forest and the adventure they would soon face, until he lowered himself to his bed. His thoughts dimmed as the Bane spell just recently had and his mind slipped into oblivion.

[Lexxum_Vordic]

Quickly now.

The Herald of Lord Mitra detected the strangers that lurked within the forest and one of them had a slightly familiar resonance. He couldn't quite place the resonance at hand, so he let it go for the time being. Monsters emerged from the dark as they prepared to face the Herald. In this current state, Lexxum's strength was amplified exponentially thanks to the object in his possession. The Herald treasured the temporary blessing as he hacked down monster after endless monster within the horde.

Within his possession was an object of rare power. His current state was that of a Demi-God. Though the agreement was a temporary one. Lexxum would have to honor that contract and obligation. The lives of many were at stake and the future of Raiaera rested on the warrior's ability to take full advantage of the phantom state he currently lurked within. Hacking down another monster was a simple matter of swinging Tap Reaver in its unhinged state. Even as astral matter, that is, matter that wasn't necessarily on the physical plane, the weapon was still capable of inflicting pain. The energies of the eternal tap were absolute.

Lexxum's sword glowed with energy and many glyphs were shining through the darkness in this enhanced state. The weapon had a fiery aura about it that crackled with energy. Emitting an eerie light, the weapon kept the monsters of the tower at bay.

Even without Xem'Zund currently present, the tower was a dangerous place.

The object in his possession was very well hidden indeed. The Herald had to protect to it with his very existence if need be, and ensure that it did not fall into the wrong hands. Such an object would be dangerous in the hands of Xem'Zund.

Lexxum moved quickly from floor to floor. His objective was in one of the many bottom layers of the structure. The tower moved deep into the ground as it moved high to the sky to pierce the heavens. Lexxum traveled across the many staircases when he found them, vanquishing what foes he came across. There were many treasures in the tower, he passed them all up. He was only interested in one treasure...

One great reward.

Revenge.

Revenge against Xem'Zund.

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

Anne nodded to what Kryos was saying. The plan sounded like it might actually work! She felt very sleepy and went to go play with the dog for a moment, rubbing his flank. Alk would make a good companion. He barked quickly with pleasure and licked the girl's hand. Anne nodded. "We'll find him soon Alk." Then she went to her bed, turned the lights out and quickly closed her eyes. She was sleeping almost immediately.

[Kryos]

~ / | \ ~

The midmorning sun filtered through the scarlet leaves of the Red Forest, casting feathered patterns on the ground and across the crouched forms of Kryos and the others in his group. They hid along the edge of the giant clearing that held the Obsidian Spire. It rose like a leviathan breaching the surface of the sea, its black walls menacing. It had taken them six days to reach the Spire. He could only hope they could catch up with Lexxum since they had found no trace of him around the perimeter.

“So we just walk right into the front doors, right?” Blake asked. Blake had been willing to join them since his family had died by the hands of the undead and had wanted revenge. He’d been eager the whole trip.

“Only if you want to die,” replied Shalua. Being the only full-blooded, adult elf who had chosen to come with them, Shalua Tilarose had been a great asset. It was because of her quick thinking and action that they all hadn’t perished two days ago in a zombie ambush. Still, they had their losses. Their numbers had decreased by three since they left the port city.

“We’ll go in through one of the more hidden doors. The one there, in the shadow of the spire,” Kryos said, pointing toward the entrance he spoke of. He glanced over at Anne who was crouched by Alk. That canine had proven his worth and loyalty to the girl many times and Kryos was grateful for him. He caught Anne’s eye and nodded once. “Let’s move out.”

He rose to a half-crouch and, one hand rising up to grip the hilt of his sword, hurried across the clearing to the base of the tower. Once he reached the cursed tower wall, he grabbed the handle and heaved on the portal. The giant door inched open. When there was enough room for everyone to pass through, he ushered them in. Glancing around the clearing one last time for enemies, he slipped inside as well and pulled the door closed. It shut with a loud boom, echoing through what Kryos hoped, was empty halls and silent rooms.

[Lexxum_Vordic]

Chambers with their various contents blurred by him as he maneuvered through the Spire. He was making his way towards a set goal, a final destination. In his wake, the bodies and corpses of many monsters were left smoldering on the ground. Bubbling piles of organic substances boiled with super heat thanks to the device in Lexxum's possession.

Lexxum Vordic was fighting harder than he ever fought in his entire life against a horde of dungeon crawling enemies.

Black walls were twisted and created an almost abysmal void within Lexxum's peripheral vision. On the walls were various scenes and symbols depicted that showcase the history of the world. Lexxum had no time to waste as many individuals monsters and traps awaited him. They were attempting to interrupt his journey through the Spire. Blood stained the walls and floors of the structure as Lexxum cut a swath through the general forces marching against him. It was a simple matter of killing anything that moved. Lexxum was a trained killer. He was a proud warrior of his people even in this dismal state he found himself in. Lexxum mauled through yet another guardian of the Spire. They were an odd lot really. Standing at approximately five feet in height and composed out of bulky, metallic bodies. The creatures had a swiveling red jewel for a face that would automatically lock on Lexxum whenever he approached. Their bodies were made out of brass and easily bent to the lizard man's strength. Lexxum ripped through several more of the creatures and made his way towards a dead end.

The passageway was a particularly long one. Lexxum was guided by the image that was burned into his brain the moment he touched the object in his possession. Lexxum was given exact coordinates within the Spire's depths, and a map of where to go. He was also given instructions of what to do once he got there. Lexxum walked back up the long hallway and grabbed the bodies of the brass guardians that remained. Dragging them with a screeching metallic sound across the floor, the giant heaved them mightily and tossed them towards the nearby wall. There was a loud clattering of metal against the floor. Lexxum walked quickly and with surprising grace provided to him by his massive tail. He remembered the procedure as he was forced to memorize it before the presence of the Voice of Lord Mitra.

A rather crafty individual, Lexxum dug for the power cores of the brass guardians and took the exact amount he needed. The power cores functioned like a battery to the brass guardian. They were forged by unknown hands many ages prior. Lexxum used his might to rip through the brass pieces and armor plating. His muscles strained against the action, but he was able to gather the exact amount of power cores he needed. They were small gemstones that were as rubies. Approximately several inches in diameter each, they fit in the palm of Lexxum's hand. He gathered the exact amount that he needed for the operation. Time was running out. He only had his current form for the full length of an angel's breath. Whatever that meant according to the word of the Voice. Lexxum just had to trust that the Voice of Lord Mitra was correct in its judgment. The object in his possession would soon be running out of power. Placing the power cores in the proper indentations along the wall, they formed a pattern. A sound filled the air with each interlocking core.

There were approximately over ten power cores all together. Lexxum made sure to grab the correct amount. The exact amount was lost to the history books. Once he completed the pattern on the walls, they moved with a powerful sound that flowed through the air. Each of the cores had generated its own musical sound resembling the Songs of Turlin. Lexxum heard the beautiful music as the song was generated that un-binded the particular seal blocking that section of the Spire away from Lexxum's clutches. This is where the real challenge would begin. Lexxum drew his weapon as the new doors sliid open. A new bloc within the Spire opened up. Lexxum heard music in the air and made his way into the dark tunnel. It headed downward and had a new series of paintings and inscriptions on the walls. Lexxum looked around as he moved deeper into the Spire trying to take in all he could about Althanas' history. He hadn't seen anything about Fallien yet, but he knew that was coming soon enough. His eyes narrowed as he looked around the hallway, nothing had emerged from the darkness just yet.

He was waiting as he moved forward for something to happen.

Anything...

[Kryos]

“By the Gods,” Blake whispered. “What has happened here?”

Strewn across the great hall, corpses rotted in pools of dark liquid. Zombies and monsters of horrendous origins reeked of death and blood and decay. Limbs hewn from them littered the ground and organs spilled from the cavities of their owners. Scorch marks littered the walls and ceiling, a slight contrast with the streaks of red. A few of the piles of flesh were blackened by flame, encrusted by the cinder. The sight brought bile to the back of Kryos’ throat and he gagged in disgust. The stench of the evil place, so incredibly potent, could be tasted. His eyes watered, tears leaking down his face.

Anne sobbed into Alk’s fur, who was whimpering and attempting to cover his nose. Shalua walked forward and crouched by the girl, comforting her. Kryos turned to Blake.

“Obviously, there has been a battle recently. Several battles perhaps. Either way, let’s move on and out of this horrid place. Look for anything that could lead us to Lexxum.”

Blake nodded and turned to inspect the bodies. Kryos walked across the large room with his arm held over his nose. His eyes roamed the walls and ground and the high ceiling, all made from the same menacing stone. Nothing stood out for him to inspect and he turned, looking for anything. Anything that could help them get closer to finding their friend. A handle to a door came into view. Jogging over while weaving though the piles of bodies, he scrutinized the door. No blood stains covered the handle. Indeed, the door appeared that it hadn’t been used for some time. Lexxum wouldn’t be found within.

“Kryos! Over here!”

He turned and saw Blake next to another door similar to the one he stood by, waving him over. Walking past the carnage once again, he fell into stride next to Shalua as she escorted Alk and Anne to the human as well. He glanced at the human as he stopped and viewed the door. Nothing jumped out at him. Bloodstains smeared across the door and frame, even along the handle. But no indicator of the great bestial warrior.

“I don’t see anything, Blake. What is so important?,”

He grinned. “The bloodstains are in the shape of your man’s hands. See?”

It was true. He had missed it before. This had to be the way Lexxum had gone. He grabbed the handle and pushed the door open. It swung open smoothly, revealing what lay beyond. An unlit torch was held to the wall and a staircase wound down into darkness. Blake rummaged through his pack and removed his fire starting equipment. Within moments, the torch blazed. Kryos removed it from the wall and faced the waiting darkness. Filling his lungs with air, he took a step. Down, down, and even further he delved into the Spire and away from the horrors above.

[Kryos]

Darkness gave way to light, until the time of the light passed. Then, like the unescapable monster named death, the shadows invaded again.

Althanas, in its confused and chaotic state, seemed to have entered this pattern. The last stage. The final destruction of all light. This war, waged for reasons known only to the twisted and ancient mind of a forgotten sorcerer, came in the night, when the world slept, and whisked away the peace, the keystone to the great and noble civilization that the world had become. It took the lives of the soldiers who only fought to protect their loved ones, and then, in turn, stole the hearts of the living by turning their beloved dead against them.

The world had changed.

Lost were the times when the great races of the land lived in relative peace, all working towards a brighter future. True, conflict still existed, but from those trials great lessons were learned and the state of the world surged onward. Opposing factions and powers kept each other in check, always wary of wars and the cost and lives which were consumed by those blood-stained days. For rivers of blood would flow ever onward and the forgotten tombs of the battlefield welcomed innumerable souls into their eternal halls, lost for all time.

The Obsidian Spire was numbered among those ill-fated places, holding its share of misery and destruction since its creation. As Kryos rushed through vacant rooms and silent corridors, he beheld the spire’s legacy. One of great power and learning, and one of the blackest monstrosities.

Along the walls, the great history of the world was unraveled in a sequence that would be impossible to learn at the present time. The rise of man, mirrored with their inventions that came with industry. The elegance of the elves, and the gut-wrenching horrors of malice an hatred that consumed the lives of the evil creatures of the world. The gastly scene was made more haunting by the silence that threatened to steal the minds of the carefree. And though no more traces of the living, alive or dead, could be found, the companions never lowered their guard. Forms of twisted metal lay in heaps, thrown aside by some power, and Kryos could feel the hatred radiating from them, even when they were destroyed.

He paused, hand grasping the light-giving torch held before him, and ushered the others onward. Blake took the lead, short sword in his left hand and the blade’s twin resting at the ready at his waist. His mouth, set against a strong jaw and a hardened, rugged face, remained shut surprisingly, and his brown eyes, complimenting his cropped, brown hair, reflected the seriousness of their mission. Infiltrate, find Lexxum, and get the hell out. Moving quietly for a human, Blake did a good job at keeping to the shadows, making use of the dark clothing that Kryos had given them back in Anebrilith. As he passed, Kryos handed him the torch, and the light began to move, carefully, cautiously, down the cluttered hall.

Anne came next, also clothed in black, but her golden hair gleamed in the firelight. She looked up at Kryos for a moment, face blank, before continuing onward. Around her waist were four daggers, each capable of hand-to-hand combat, as well as throwing. But her real weapon lay within her mind, ready to be summoned at the first sign of danger. Anne had become quite talented in magic in the month that they had stayed in the port city. Alk followed the girl closely, his golden fur shifting in the faint light. The canine’s senses were alert to any movement, ears perked, nose up, eyes darting and cutting through the darkness. That dog amazed Kryos. Alk seemed to know exactly what was going on and the risks involved. Still, his loyalty to Anne made him a great asset, as the undead were often confused at the vicious leaps and bounds that Alk took when fighting.

Shalua strode up to Kryos last, her footsteps almost nonexistant with the added benefit of lether boots on top of her natural elegance and stealth. Her black hair fell to her shoulders in a way that reminded him of the feathers of an eagle. Her face, slim, but not excessively so, also held no expression, just cold thought and basic action. Meeting her dark gaze, Kryos fell into step next to her. The minutes passes as they walked in silence measured out by the small movements of her long and thin blade, edge and hilt a robust violet.

Finding no other way to transition into voicing his nagging thoughts, he leaned his head in closer to Shalua and whispered. “I want you to keep an eye on Anne, if anything happens.”

The deep, indigo eyes turned on Kryos and he felt the passage of a thousand years flow over him. Her eyes searched him, questioningly, but with the wisdom of an age. All the while, their footsteps never missed a beat, though the Dwiilar had to glance at the ground several times to avoid kicking a stray scrap of metal. After a moment of careful scrutiny, she nodded, understanding the double meaning behind his words.

A minute passed before a quite voice breathed into his ear. “You care about her, don’t you? I know you don’t show it, but that girl . . . she’s special to you.” She nodded to herself, reaffirming her statement in her mind. She glanced up at Kryos, eyes betraying her curiosity.

Kryos’ face went blank as he pondered her observation. Reflecting over the past few weeks, the adventures and horrors he had faced, he was surprised to see that he had become attached to the half-elf girl. Even after all his years alone, depending on no one, trusting only himself, he had not lost his ability to love. The past few months had changed him. Ever since he had decided to travel to Scara Brae, and in turn, Raiaera, the seeds of change had been planted and had grown. His eyes rose from the ground and looked ahead, alighting upon the back, shoulders and head of the girl in question. Yes, he had become attached. More than he ever intended to.

A small grin flashed across his face, and he lengthened his stride, leaving Shalua behind him. But he heard a quiet chuckle come from the elf; a sound filled with satisfaction. Kryos dismissed her probing from his mind and continued onward.

They moved on in silence, following the trail of broken parts and bent and torn muscle. Deeper and deeper into the spire they delved, hoping that their goal lay beyond the next bend, through the next door, only to suffer disappointment after disappointment. His patience began to wear thin, which in itself was out of character for him. The was no end to the labyrinth of the spire. No end to the mind-numbing silence.

He stopped; they all had. In front, Blake held the torch before him, an anchor to sanity, and just beyond him, three passages opened up, black maws tempting the group to enter. Around the floor, no busted scrap fortold the way to continue.

“Which way?” Blake muttered, voice amplified slightly even when subdued. He looked ahead, confident that Kryos would point him in the right direction. But the Dwiilar moved his gaze from one beckoning hall to the next, over and over and over again. He did not have the answer Blake sought.

[Kryos]

Admins/mods: Lexxum has given me full access and control to his character. He is ceasing with this thread, as he has too much on his hands right now. I have consulted him and the storyline has been agreed upon by both of us. Dialogue and the like is also my writing, but will be approved of by him. All in all, I’m switching this to a solo and taking command of the characters within. All bunnies have been approved by him. Confirmation can be given by him for those who wish one. Contact his Mutant Lorenor account, as Lexxum Vordic is one of his secondary accounts.
The dying flame of the torch cast flickering shadows along the black walls and onto the faces of the four companions. Well, five, including Alk. The golden retriever lay curled up on the onyx floor, back resting against Anne. She, in turn, sat cross-legged with several large, brown pieces of parchment on her lap. The maps that she had miraculously obtained before they left the elf port. Still, even after a half hour of searching, she could not find the branch in the corridor where they now rested. The Spire held many paths, many rooms and many treasures, each filled with unknown perils. The flapping of the parchment as it was lifted aside and off the others was the only sound in the loose circle of comrades. That, and the constant snapping, popping and breathing of the flames that danced on the torch. They waited, hoping that Anne would find the way on her maps. Hoping that the place where they rested even existed on the maps. The silence deepened.

**********

Lexxum strained every sense for the sound of movement. For the sound of anything. Yet nothing had happened upon entering the passageway which he had opened. The music had died, traveling downward and upward through the spire as it bounced along the walls. But nothing had confronted him yet. Unease swept through him, and he gripped Tap Reaver all the harder, feeling the arcane energies flow through the heavy weapon. He moved onward, glowing red eyes burning in the darkness.

Moving onward, he followed the passageway through rooms and new passages alike, not worrying about getting lost. No corridors branched off from the one he walked, no extra door bordered the rooms he entered. It was a one-way path to one of the secret levels of the Spire. An express lane to hell, no detours, no breaks. The black fortress hurried him onward, as if eager to see what he would do.

Sensing no danger, and still wary of an ambush, Lexxum picked up his pace. His time flowed ever closer to an end when he would vanish from the mortal realm once again. But not knowing when that would occur, speed was his highest priority. His legs pumped beneath him and his lung breathed in more air. His tail lifted slightly for balance, and soon he was covering ground twice as fast as before.

A flash of silver against the black. The splitting of scales and the clatter of steel against stone. The clanging as the assaulting blade fell to the ground, edge free of blood.

Lexxum jumped back, settling into an attack stance. From the corner of his eye, he saw the wound he had been given by his assailant; a two inch long, half in deep slice cutting across his forearm. His mouth spread into a grin, dagger sharp teeth glinting in the dim light that emanated from the walls. The damaged scales pulled themselves back together, closing the wound that would have normally taken several weeks to close, and several months after that before the scar vanished. The pain in his arm dulled, became a pricking, and then vanished all together as the injury sealed. One of the many advantages to being a demigod. He couldn’t die, and he healed faster than any mortal. But that did not mean he couldn’t be inflicted with great pain, or disabled. His eyes bore into the shadows. The whirling of machinery announced the presence of his enemy, and the slaps of flesh against the cold stone floor.

Into the light, a metal form appeared, much like the ones he had met earlier. The extensions from the main unit, the arms and legs, you could say, were sharpened to an edge; blades for limbs. And a glowing red circle glared from what could be called the head. Lexxum opened his jaws and hissed, a growl growing from the back of his throat. Another figure emerged. The stench of rotting flesh rolled over Lexxum, and, even though filtered by his non-mortal body, still threatened to make him gag. The undead paused beside the metal fiend, then rushed the warrior. Lexxum raised his sword and charged, roaring in anger. He’d had enough of the peons of Lord Mitra’s adversaries. They slowed down the progress of his sacred duty. Flesh ripped and the unearthly howl of the ancient undead filled the tunned, until it was silenced. Lexxem didn’t paused, but continued onward, blocking the blows from the metallic foe aside and then plunging the Tap Reaver into the space between head and body. He summoned the energies of the Tap and released a small amount around the edge of his blade. Sparks flew and the glowing light that stared into Lexxum’s eyes flashed, flickered in death, and went out.

The entity crashed to the ground, and further ahead, more red lights appeared, and moans echoed. Forms took shape from the darkness, and he readied the Tap Reaver, magic flowing through the edge and runes glowing emerald. He readied himself for his charge, until . . .

Thud

The item that hung around his chest, the heavenly item given to him by the Voice of Lord Mitra, glowed with power. He was close. The relic, claimed by the cursed spire for hundreds of years, sung for the glowing orb. He steadied himself, then charged. He would leave none alive.

**********

Anne moaned in exasperation as she threw the maps to the ground.

“It is no good, Kryos! This junction isn’t on the maps!” She kicked the pieced of parchment in frustration and leaned against Alk. The dog twisted his head around and whimpered.

“Well, now what are we going to do,” Blake asked, wrapping his arms around his legs and setting his chin on his knees. “If we stay here, we’ll be found by whatever those things are. And they don’t look friendly.”

“Hush!” Shalua commanded. The group looked to her with confusion written plainly on their faces. She sat erect, head cocked to one side, listening.

“What is it?” whispered Anne.

Shalua held up her hand for silence. She sat motionless for an instant longer, than rose with an elegant grace. “A song,” she said.

Then, as if on cue, a mystical melody wafted past them, the sound coming from an unknown instrument. The somber tune, similar to a Song of Turlin, rose and fell in beat. Shalua bounded out of the ring of light towards the openings, listening harder. She lifted her hand toward the passage on the right.

“This way. The music comes from here.”

Blake rose to his feet, grabbing the torch. He approached the wall where another torch was mounted, unlit. “Finally,” he said, lighting the new torch and dropping the old one to the ground, where he stomped out the small flames. “Let’s get a move on.”

Anne looked up at Kryos and smiled. Eyes alight with newfound hope and courage. “Let’s go, Kryos. Let’s catch up to Lexxum.”

The Dwiilar looked down at the girl, then moved his gaze to the dog who always remained by her side, then onward to the human and elf by the passage. So they would continue on, deeper into the pit of nothingness and darkness. He was fine by that.

“Right.”

He unsheathed his blade, the weapon glowing with a shifting, entrancing white aura, and approached the entrance. He looked his companions over once more, then nodded.

“Let’s go.”

He turned and rushed into the darkness of the tower, guided only by the flames of a torch and his own blazing will to find his fallen comrade.

[Kryos]

A trail of blood, twisted metal and bone, and the burning flesh of the undead extended out from behind Lexxum. Dodging to the side, he swung his weapon and removed the arms of the zombie attacking him. Even without its limbs, the crazed and empty eyes stayed locked on his reptilian form and saliva and blood fell from the snapping mouth. Another swing to the chest resulted in the Tap Reaver becoming stuck halfway through the monster’s torso. The warrior yelled, a quick burst of vocal rage which bounced down the halls, mixing in with the screams and snarls of the undead, and he planted his foot against his foe and kicked the creature off his blade and to the ground. He followed through, stabbing the creatures throat and unleashing the powerful energies of the Tap. Howls of anguish rose with the raging flames that consumed the body.

Lexxum wrenched his weapon out from the dead body and stepped over the carnage, eyes flashing, searching for the next enemy. But it appeared like he had vanquished all the nearby foes. Increasing his stride, he hurried onward, always aware that his time neared the end. Against his chest, the radiant orb, now a warm orange and amber light, beat in a steady rhythm. The time for reunion fast approached.

Down this hallway. Open the door.

Another room, filled with tables and chairs and large murals on the walls. Lexxum passed by without touching anything, without seeing any of the great stories told here. The shear amount of knowledge to be learned in the Spire amazed him, but he knew that the price to learn it all was great, even to death.

Out the black door, and into the obsidian hallway.

The void of color, and even light, brought about a surreal feeling to the spire, which only added to its effect. The only landmarks within were the stories, but they were so vast in themselves that finding one again was a challenge by itself. Still, the section of the spire he had opened was impossible to get lost in. The only challenge was overcoming one’s own doubts.

Left bend in the corridor. Move along the narrow passage way.

Was that light at the end? A faint shade of dark gray against the black of the walls? Even as a demigod, where he could see through darkness, the difference of light was visible to him.

Pause at the turn. Look around the corner. Move.

The jewel around his neck beat harder, faster, and the light’s intensity increased. The smooth surface slid along his scales, and he could feel the temperature rising. This was it. Before him, torches blazed, lit with an undying fire, and at the end of the stone hall, a bright light. It grew larger as he approached, jogging now, tail weaving back and forth through the air. His eyes flashed as he entered the brighter light.

The room he had entered was circular, spanning a two hundred paces to the other side. The obsidian walls rose upward for at least five hundred paces, before curling in to form a dome. The structure of the walls varied from the previous rooms as well. Enormous portraits of lost kings and forgotten heroes were crafted, by an unknown means, into the walls. The eyes looked downward with mixed expressions; triumph and grief, anger and hatred, pride and humility. All around these vast monuments, the stone was inlaid with complex patterns, runes, and designs, while others had creatures straining from the walls, gargoyles acting to escape. Some held in their hands lit torches, while other fires burned from normal rackets on the walls. No furniture adorned the room. Indeed, the hall held nothing, save four-foot tall pedestal in the middle of the room, and from that stand, a fiery light beat in harmony with the orb around Lexxum’s neck. He took a step forward, into the ever silent room, and the pulse quickened. Another step, and another. He ran, anxious to obtain the goal of this mission. The reason for his return.

He fell silent as his feet slowed to a stop. Before him, resting on the smooth surface of the podium, lay an ancient sword. The blade was the length of Lexxum’s arm fully extended, curving ever so gently, and the blade glowed orange with yellow characters running along the metal. The handle looked average enough save for the flaring of the converging designs at the bottom. Black was woven into the fiery colors at the hilt, and the warrior yearned to reach out and grasp it. The hilt was large, with strange engravings and patterns, and in the middle lay a hollow. A slot that matched the gem he wore perfectly. He pulled the cord from around his neck and the treasure, now vibrating with energy, hung before him. He pinched the clasp that held the jewel to the neckless, and the orb dropped into his left palm. Tossing the chain away, he inserted the gem into the hilt of the sword.

At first, nothing changed. The two artifacts still glowed with vibrant energy, but it was only after several seconds that he detected change. The stone started to spin, faster and faster in its groove. Several small clicks emanated from the sword and minuscule bars slide over the opening, trapping the stone within. More of the parts that constructed the hilt moved and shifted, taking a new shape, but remaining the same in design. A metallic point slid up the length of the blade two inches, and glowed molten red, and the stone hummed with the speed of its rotations.

Lexxum reached out his left hand and took the mighty sword from its place on the pedestal. The metal was warm to his touch, even to one such as him, a being from the other world. He shifted his grip on it, eyeing the blade closely, inspecting it for flaws. But as expected, it was perfect.

Having completed his task and obtaining the treasure for his Lord Mitra, he turned to leave, planning on killing as many monsters as he could until the time for his return. Until, the pedestal moved. It sank, slowly, into the floor until it vanished completely. Lexxum shifted his footing on the now uniform floor, eyes darting this way and that, suspecting a trap. But nothing else moved.

Calming his breathing, the saurian walked toward the way he had come.

Footsteps!

Several things were approaching–he couldn’t tell because there were too many–and there was no place for him to hide in wait in the open room. He had no choice but to fight. He gripped his two swords tightly and they both glowed with energy and power.

From out of the darkness came a brown haired woman. She stood at six feet and her eyes glowed green. Along her face were deep lines of anger and hatred. She wore black clothes; pants, boots, sleeveless shirt and gloves. On her chest, a brilliant green symbol was woven into the fabric. If not for the passionate emotions on her face, she would have been a very attractive woman. For humans, that is.

Behind her, a legion of the undead came stumbling into view, all male. The personal guards of Rashilan Penna’ak, no doubt. They all had the characteristic rotting flesh and tattered clothes, but also something that Lexxum had not seen. Swords and daggers were held in their hands and they snarled at him with hatred, as they shared the emotions of the necromancer before him.

“This time, you die, Lexxum Vordic,” Rashilan said, voice dripping with murder. She raised her hand and, green magic sparking and pulsing, shot a bolt of devastating magic toward him. He had seen this before. It had been the spell that had originally killed him. Acting out of instinct, he lifted his left hand, and consequently, the ancient sword, to shield himself. The ball of emerald energy struck the sword as the warrior tightened his grasped. The glowing red point erupted with flames and the fire raced along the edge of the blade. The resulting explosion pushed him back several feet, his feet trying to get traction on the stone floor, and the blast echoed throughout the grand hall. He shook his head to clear it, then looked down in amazement. The sword he held was now a foot longer, extended by fire. He grinned, looking up at the necromancer.

She scowled at him, then waved her hand. The twenty or so zombies behind her relaxed. Making complex patterns in the air, Rashilan conjured from emerald flames a plynt long sword. She stalked forward, always keeping an eye on her opponent, and he, in turn, also approached, mirroring her movements. He shifted his grip on his swords.

“Die!” he snarled, leaping forward, blades alight with magic and slicing through the air. The necromancer parried one blade and blocked the other. She spun her weapon, moving Lexxum’s away and jumped forward, thrusting. The ancient blade rushed up to meet the evil sword, and they danced.

Steel scraped against steel, fire brushed against the soul, and bodies whirled in an endless dance of survival. No words were spoken, only the rush of air as lungs sucked in oxygen. The necromancer was quick, blocking many of his attacks with one move, then countering immediately after. Even with two swords against one, the match was even. It was only a matter of time until one of them lost focus.

The fight wore on. Lexxum breathed deeply and his arms ached from the deadlocked match. Being a demigod helped, but he was new to this existence, unused to the new abilities. His soul wanted to act like a mortal, so his body behaved similarly. But the fury in his eyes never dimmed, nor did his thirst for the woman’s blood and his hunger for vengeance. He drove on, not missing a step to the deadly dance.

“Lexxum!”

His world shattered as he turned to the sound of his name. The sound of a girl’s voice. The one voice he would have known anywhere, from the great sands of The Wild to the deepest floors of the blue ocean.

Anne.

She stood next to the entrance, behind the zombies who were turning, just as he had, to face the newcomers. She stood taller than he remembered, and her eyes were lit up with the power of hope and joy. Next to her was Alk, who barked loudly, and snarled as the zombies caught his eye. They lurched forward, toward them. They raised their weapons.

No! he thought. Where’s Kryos? I have to . . .

Pain blossomed on his chest as he felt the necromancer’s sword slide through his ribs and heart. He looked back, shocked at his own carelessness. He looked into the woman’s blazing eyes. They laughed at him.

“This time, you aren’t coming back,” she hissed, twisting the sword. Lexxum roared with rage and pain, swinging the Tap Reaver. But she released her hold on her weapon and danced backward. Glowing light began to form on her fingers as she summoned that fateful spell. He needed to move fast. Dropping his sword and grasping the blade that extended from his body, he pulled the blade out of his chest, growling in pain as they slid across the damaged organs and bones. It came free easily and he sagged. But the injury had already begun to heal and the pain was dispersing. He wrenched back his arm and hurled the long sword at its owner. Blood spurted into the air as the blade nicked the sorceress’ right arm. She yelped in pain and the bolt discharged, blasting across the room and into the wall. She clutched her wound momentarily, then glared at him. Summoning another weapon, a sword about three feet long, she faced him again.

Lexxum took the moment’s pause in battle to look to Anne again. She was surrounded by zombies, but this time, the tall, dark form of Kryos stood by her, along with two others. They had engaged the undead. Turning his focus back to Rashilan Penna’ak, the one who had killed him, he roared, picked up the Tap Reaver from the ground, and charged.

[Kryos]

They were surrounded. About twenty-five undead ranged about them in a loose circle, each with daggers and blades of some kind or another in their green and gray hands. The zombies’ expressions, twisted and mutilated by necromancy, stared them down, tried to frighten them. No doubt this particular legion of zombies had seen battle. They shuffled closer, feet slapping against the cold, stone floor. Kryos could smell them as they came. The unearthly stench of rot and decay stung his nose. He forced back the impulse to gag and tightened his grip on his sword, waiting for the moment to strike. Next to him, Anne held a dagger in her hand and muttered softly under her breath; the beginnings, Kryos realized, of a spell. Blake held one of his swords in his right hand, mirrored by the torch in his left. He breath came irregularly, but he managed to keep his head. Shalua stood ready, rapier held by her side. She smirked, then rushed forward, starting the attack.

Kryos focused once again, and dodged as the monster closed in. He lifted his muandrian upward, parrying the follow-up attack, then struck, his clothes pulling against his limbs and hair shifting with the passage of air. His eyes burned ruby as the glowing white blade impacted the zombie’s chest and a bright flash blinded him momentarily as the thing screamed in agony. He wrenched forward, pulling his blade down and across, and he completely cut open the chest of his foe. Fire erupted from the wound and the creature fell backward to the ground, eyes rolled up. The body thrashed and bucked even though it had been killed, blood and organs leaking from the opening even as the fire chewed on the innards. Vapor rose from the corpse and with it, an ungodly smell. All this happened in a moment’s time, and he turned to face the next doomed foe.

The others were holding their own as well. Blake had used the torch on one of the first zombies that had gotten to him. The fiend had lit up almost instantly and roared wildly as it thrashed on the ground. Blake now engaged another with his dual swords.

Anne and Alk had separated a zombie from the hoard and struck it when the beast focused on the other. The canine jumped and bit, ripping off pieces of flesh and throwing them away, while Anne, blade glowing blue with an unknown enchantment, struck quickly and viciously.

The elf seemed to disappear with the speed of her moves; dodge, attack, retreat, spin, slash another enemy’s back, dodge. Her rapier glowed as blood bathed its length. She dispatched her victim with ease, but didn’t take any chances. She had seen the effects that a single bite from an accursed dead could do.

Another zombie fell in a screaming mass as Kryos pulled his blade from its neck. Blood, as dark and black as the chambers around them, ran along the glowing white metal. Secretly, the Dwiilar was pleased. The enchantment placed upon the weapon was more powerful than expected, as it killed the minions of the undead with ease. Spinning to his left, black clothes and hair rustling, he swung toward the next target. Steel met steel as the zombie blocked. Red eyes flashing darkly, his leg came up and kicked the creature square in the chest. He felt the dead bone break inward, caving in around his foot. Yet the being pushed on despite the pain, eyes filled with dead fury. Kryos shoved against him, but could gain no ground. He focused, calling upon the magics of his kind, and glowing white flames erupted on his left hand. The undead lunged, throwing its body toward him, head and snapping jaws lurching closer. Kryos brought up his left hand from the hilt of his sword, a race against time. The jaws, saliva and putrid breath rolling of the jagged, uneven and broken teeth filled his vision and he leaned back, fighting to throw off the creature.

It bucked wildly and pushed away. Kryos had managed to get his left hand, now burning with a charity spell, on the thing’s throat. It pushed back and out of his grasped. It swung with its weapon, hatred filling the deprived soul. It opened its mouth and howled, the sound like the despair-filled chorus of the damned. It broke off suddenly, as the swordsman thrust his holy blade into the thing’s mouth. Steel sprouted from the base of the zombie’s skull, and it collapsed as blessed power destroyed its being. He pulled his muandrian from the body. His muscles began to ache. Still, he could push on.

The creatures began to fall, but their master would not let them retreat. In the spare seconds that he had when he switched his attention from one enemy to the next, or when his gaze swept past the room, he saw the two great opponents continue their dual. The shimmering, surreal form of the mighty saurian and the nimble, dancer’s figure of the necromancer. They exchanged strikes, blow for blow, yell for roar. Kryos couldn’t see how that battle would end. He struck down another foe and he bumped against Blake. His face was splattered with blood, and he breathed heavily, sweat dripping down his face. The Dwiilar nodded to him, and pushed on. A flash of green light caught his attention before he dropped to the ground. A shrieking ball of jade magic soared through the place his head had just occupied a moment ago. It crashed into an undead that was behind him and it went up in emerald flames. Rolling to the side and up onto his hunches, his eyes flashed crimson through the lengths of ebon hair falling about his face. He froze.

Where was Anne?

Seven undead remained. Three were being engaged by Blake and Shalua, and the other four were organizing themselves for their next rush. His eyes darted about, searching for the little girl whom he had protected. He heard Alk’s bark from a little way around the room, behind the monsters. Standing, his sword dragged across the midnight floor. He took a step, only to falter. His eyes pulsed, shifted as his pupils shrunk and grew; trying to focus as the vanishing sun above stole his power. Kryos vision blurred, and the sharp, mesmerizing, robust shade of scarlet in his eyes weakened, grew dim, as if diluted by water. A zombie rose into view, arms swinging, steel flashing in its attack. Kryos parried and dove past it. He couldn’t afford to fall. Not now. His vision was weakened, true, but he could still fight. He had to ignore the pain in his arms, the weariness of his legs. He rushed forward, raising his weapon and bringing it down across the mutilated back of the creature that engaged Shalua. Pure fire blossomed and it crumpled. He pushed onward, leaving the rest to the other two.

Ahead, he could make out a body lying in a pool of black liquid. The undead Anne must have killed. He rushed past, arms hanging at his sides, resting. Another explosion echoed throughout the chamber as Rashilan’s magic collided with stone.

Alk barked again, drawing his attention back to the situation at hand. He could see the golden retriever backing away from an undead, who lazily advanced. This one seemed different from the others. But where was Anne?! He couldn’t waste time asking questions. He ran at the zombie, sword raised, eyes narrowed, trying to see clearer. The creature paused and looked over its shoulder. White metal flashed, and the zombie’s head rose into the air, completely severed from its body. Its expression remained frozen for a moment before twisting into a silent scream. The body crumpled, neck alight with bright flames.

“Anne,” he called.

She was leaning against the wall, supporting herself. Face clearly displaying the pain she felt, her right hand clenched her left arm and blood flowed from between her fingers. As Kryos rushed forward, she looked up, eyes still bright despite the pain. Seeing Lexxum again had revived her spirits. She smiled, weakly.

“It’s ok. His dagger just scraped me.” Her bright smile reassured him and he breathed deeply. He looked into her eyes, slowing in his approach. Glancing around his shoulder, he watched the last two undead fall. Blake had a wound on his right hand, and Shalua appeared unhurt. They both smiled to each other. The companions had survived the undead legion. Looking back to Anne, he grinned. Her deep blue eyes glowed up at him, radiating the joy in finding her hero again. The silence of the room preserved the moment in his mind.

Kryos relaxed, and Anne disappeared.

Crying out in surprise, he felt fear tear across his heart. His eyes, now gray and transitioning to a lustrous silver, searched the room for her.

“Blake! Shalua!”

They turned their heads in confusion. Fear flooded their faces as they realized what had happened. In his dread, the obsidian walls seemed to close around Kryos. He caught sight of Lexxum, standing upright and searching as well, though he breathed heavily. From the arm of the great warrior’s arm protruded a green blade. The hilt had been broken off. Without looking, the Blood Lizard pulled the enchanted weapon from his flesh and let it drop to the ground. A growl reverberated from his chest, and he glared at the portraits that lined the room who seemed to mock him, accusation in their eyes. Blaming them both, Kryos and Lexxum, for the girl’s loss.

Where could she have gone?!

High, mocking laughter echoed throughout the grand room, running through the companions’ ears like thorns, building and building into a crescendo of malice. A green flash and Rashilan Penna’ak appeared in the middle of the room, right arm wrapped around Anne’s neck and a silver dagger pressed against the scarred skin just below her jaw. Anne’s face was filled with fear and her eyes darted from Kryos to Lexxum. The necromancer tightened her grip and pressed the dagger harder against her skin. Anne cried out and, as the laughter slowly died away, Lexxum’s roar of fury and hatred replaced it, echoing ten times as forcefully and with a thousand promises of death woven into the cry.

[Kryos]

“Lower your weapons!” the necromancer hissed. Her voice echoed around the deathly silent room. Yet the companions did not move, did nothing to heed the order. “Now!” she cried, bringing the dagger down and cutting into Anne’s arm. The girl yelped in pain, tears starting to leak down her face as pain and fear took a hold of her senses. Kryos gritted his teeth, anger at the front of his mind, and lowered his sword to the cold, black floor. He heard resounding clatters from behind him as Blake and Shalua followed his lead. Lexxum followed the command as well, but never looked away from the woman who had caused so much pain. He loathed releasing the artifact he had been charged to obtain, but Anne’s life was more important than a sword. His scales darkened for a second in his rage, before returning to normal.

“What do you want?” Kryos said, voice powerful but emotionless.

The evil woman glared at him. “I want to kill you, but the cost may be my life. So, first, I’ll take that sword that dear Lexxum found, and then I’ll leave with little Anne.” She motioned for Lexxum to kick the mysterious weapon over to her. He growled, eyes narrowing. Kryos had always heard the expression, “If looks could kill,” but he had never believed it until now. The terrible face of the warrior was imprinted into his mind forever. The face of death.

“Now, now, Lexxum. Don’t make me hurt her even further.” She again placed the dagger’s fine edge against Anne’s throat. Lexxum snarled again, but placed his foot on the ancient weapon. The sword scraped against the stone all the way over, grating against Kryos’ ears. It stopped at the woman’s feet. She smirked and looked at the two warriors again. Anne, too, looked at the Dwiilar and the Blood Lizard again, but this time not with fear. Determination blazed in her eyes and her hands went to her waist. Just then, Kryos’ eyes flashed silver as the Transient State passed and his powers returned, along with his vision. Rashilan bent to take the sword.

In a flurry of movement, Kryos crouched and took up his blade, rising into a run as he charged. Lexxum, too, bounded forward, not bothering with his own weapon, having plenty at his disposal. The necromancer jerked up, murder in her eyes as she prepared to plunge her dagger into Anne’s throat. But shock and pain filled her eyes just as she lifted her weapon. Anne yelled and pulled away into freedom, running full tilt toward Shalua and Blake. She left one of her daggers behind, however. The hilt rose from Rashilan’s thigh, and she screamed in pain. Eyes darted about in panic, trying to find an escape, but the words of her salvation froze in her throat as Kryos plunged his glowing muandrian through her side. Her breath caught and gurgled, and her skin burned slightly as the holy magic embedded in the sword bit at her flesh, blood flowing rapidly from the wound. His blade turned scarlet.

Lexxum came upon her then. His right hand slid around her waist and his left grabbed the back of her head, as if he were embracing her. She stared into his eyes and beheld death. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came forth. Lexxum pulled her head back and, opening his mouth as far as he could, razor sharp teeth gleaming, came down with all the force he had and bit into her neck, a growl playing at the back of his throat. Blood erupted from the gaps in Lexxum’s teeth and jaws. The bones in her neck snapped and cracked with the awesome power and raw force of his attack. Flesh ripped from its place and tendons, ligaments, and muscle were severed. Blood splattered over Kryos’ arms and he backed away, leaving his sword in the woman’s chest. Dark red fluid, rivaling the shade of the lizard’s scales and eyes, flowed down his neck and down Rashilan’s body, over her breasts and down her stomach, soaking into her clothes. Lexxum jerked his head, wrenching the body, and the bones in her neck crunched horribly. At last, the rumbling still reverberating in his chest, he released his mangled victim and let the corpse of Rashilan Penna’ak fall to the ground. Blood pooled beneath and Kryos approached. He reclaimed his sword and wiped the blade on the pants of the dead necromancer before returning it to his sheath.

Lexxum bent and picked up the artifact, shining the colors of the desert. He also retrieved the Tap Reaver, placing that in his sheath. Weapons reclaimed, he turned and faced Kryos, who watched him with critical eyes. Lexxum walked directly up to him, stopping when they were within touching distance.

“Thank you, Kryos,” the Blood Lizard started. “For watching over Anne.”

The swordsman nodded in reply, carefully scrutinizing his friend. His scales appeared to be the same color, but there was something different about the saurian. Almost as if he wasn’t all there. His scales flickered, and Kryos knew. Looking back into the warrior’s eyes, he smiled, face softening.

“You can’t stay here, can you?”

“No,” Lexxum replied. “I have been called to another place, to serve another being, when such times arise. Soon, I must return.” He placed his free hand on the Dwiilar’s shoulder. The scales felt warm against his skin and smelled of an oasis. “I came to get this artifact, the Breath of the Desert, although I only know its name from the ancient Lizard Folk runes, and nothing more. It was mere chance that we crossed paths again.”

Kryos shook his head slightly from side to side. “It was more than chance, my friend.” He extended his hand to Lexxum, who in turn moved his hand from Kryos’ shoulder to accept the gesture. They grasped each other tightly stared into each other’s eyes. “I guess this is farewell, then,” Kryos said.

Lexxum nodded. “Be strong, Kryos. Learn and survive like my people have learned how to do.” He smiled, teeth gleaming in the light and stained red with blood. “I will miss your sword by my side.”

“So will I.”

They released their handshake and turned toward the rest of the group. During their conversation, the others had approached, and Anne, arm bandaged by Shalua, looked at Lexxum with sad eyes.

“Don’t go, Lexxum,” she whispered. “Please.”

“Anne,” the warrior said, crouching down to her level. She ran at him, arms out, and he caught her, wrapping her in his great embrace. Tears slid down her face again; these ones came not from pain or fear, but with the all-consuming sadness that swallowed her heart like the deep abyss.

“Please,” she whispered, face pressed against his neck. “I don’t want you to leave me again.”

He held her for what seemed like a long time. Just held the beautiful girl that he had saved in Valinatal and had journeyed with across the plains of Raiaera until they had met Kryos in the Red Forest. The girl whom he had scarred horribly while trying to protect her. He felt those scars as she pressed against him and the great guilt at what he had done to the little girl that he loved. The girl that he died for.

In time, the sobs that shook Anne’s frame slowed and she looked into his eyes. He ran his fingers through her hair and brushed the tears from her cheeks.

“Anne,” he said. “I cannot stay with you. I am no longer part of this world.” He turned her face toward him when she looked away. “But you must go on,” he continued. “You can still live this great life to the fullest. You have a future here, in Althanas.”

She closed her eyes, looking away and took several deep breaths, calming herself. At last, she nodded. “Ok.”

Lexxum looked up suddenly, then back to Anne. “I love you, Anne. Never forget that, even if we never meet again.” He stroked her cheek. “Take care of yourself.”

“I love you, too,” she whispered, to quiet for anyone but Lexxum to hear. She looked at him as he stood, not daring to miss what could be the last moments that she would see him, her savior. The warrior turned to the one’s he didn’t know, Blake and Shalua.

“Thank you for protecting Anne,” he said. “I am in your debt for doing that which I could not do in your stead.” The two nodded, slightly started by Lexxum’s whole appearance and the circumstances of their meeting. Shalua kept her cool, silently accepting his thanks.

“Well, I . . . uh . . .” Blake stammered, before Shalua elbowed him sharply before he could make a fool of himself. “You welcome,” he finished, settling with what was easy and natural.

Lexxum nodded and turned, walking several paces away. Kryos, face warmed with emotion for once, moved next to Anne and laid a hand on her shoulder. He felt a change in the air. It was warming, and a light grew brighter and brighter from the place where their friend stood. A rushing of wind could be heard, and he felt the air move ever so slightly around the room, rippling along the pools of blood that spotted the floor. In a rush of wind and light, Lexxum Vordic, the great warrior of the Blood Lizard tribes of Fallien, First Class Soldier of Valinatal, and their dearest friend, turned to look upon them one last time. Peace lay across his face, and his eyes were soft with emotion.

“Be well, my beloved friends.”

The light grew brighter and brighter, until the intensity of it threatened to blind them. A great rushing of wind roared in the room, rushing around with great force, picking up droplets of blood and flinging them to the walls of the great chamber, onto the stone creatures and ancient paintings. A great clap resounded and the wind died, the light having vanished in that burst of sound.

Lexxum had gone.

[Kryos]

The room fell silent as the last wisps of air dispersed and the rippling blood on the stained and cursed floor settled. To them, the moment was too precious to stain. Especially to Anne. She stared at the spot where Lexxum had vanished from, as if her thoughts alone could bring him back, if only for a few minutes more. But such things do not last.

Overhead, in the great dome, the stone of the spire shifted, slid this way and that and, as a single cattail would move ever so slightly in a summer’s breeze, the stone around the origin also began to move in an accelerating chain reaction. The moving walls opened, only to be filled with more obsidian, rushing out and covering the paintings and torches. One by one, around the room, fires were snuffed out by the descending wave of stone. It had reached a fourth of the way to the ground.

“Uhh, Kryos. Maybe we should get out of here,” Blake said, feet shuffling over the cool stone as he moved closer to the way they had come. “I don’t think it’ll stop anytime soon.”

Kryos looked around. He was right! The stone was sealing the chamber shut. He turned, eyes wide and moving Anne in front of him.

“Go! Go!” he yelled. Blake didn’t need to hear that twice, as he was already running toward the archway that lead, eventually, to freedom. Anne, in a haze but quickly regaining her focus, took off after him, Alk running by her side. Kryos would have followed, if not for Shalua. She stood rooted to the spot, eyes wide, watching the tide of shifting stone descend along the walls. “Shalua!” he urged, grabbing her arm.

“What, by Turlin, is this?” she said, voice stunned and subdued.

“Come on, Shalua!”

Her feet moved at Kryos’ urging. One step. Two more. Then a full out run as she came to and raced out of danger’s way. Kryos let her go and chased after her. He entered the corridor at a sprint, chasing after the torch Blake had miraculously thought to grab. Shalua was ahead of him and receeding, being much faster than him. Soon she had caught up to Anne and Blake. Chased after them. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes widening at what he saw. The enchanted stone was covering the entrance to the chamber where the slain bodies lay. Where they would rest forever. But the wave of rock kept coming, even as the way sealed shut.

“The Spire . . .” he breathed, an epitome hitting him hard. This was more than just an enchantment on the room, which could be explained by a curse or spell by a powerful sorcerer. After all, Xem'zûnd did create the Obsidian Spire, it wasn’t as if he couldn’t set traps within. But this was as if the Spire itself wished to see their destruction, as if it were a sentient creature with a will of its own.

“Kryos, come on!” Shalua yelled from up ahead. She stood on the boundary to one of the rooms they had passed through. The others had just entered. He came up breathing hard, pausing to catch his breath and speak.

“Shalua. What if . . . the Spire is a . . . living creature?” he gasped. “What if it didn’t . . . want us . . . to leave?”

“What?” she said, completely thrown by his proposition.

“Think about it. What if . . . the Spire was controlling . . . those stone to chase us?” He glanced behind his shoulder. The walls shifted with movement, the leading edge getting ever closer.

“Keep moving,” Shalua commanded, pushing him through the door. She followed him in, then slammed the door behind them and slid the bolt home. The Dwiilar raced onward, slower than before with exhaustion, but still making progress on the fleeing group ahead of him. The elf, on the other hand, stopped at the other end of the room, waiting. She heard the stone shifting on the other side of the far door. This was it. The noise grew ever louder, until it shook the outer door. The wood and iron held, but the walls around it began shifting, not even bothering with the flimsy obstacle. Shalua turned and ran, face written over with dread. It seemed as if Kryos had been correct. This was more than just a spell. The Spire was somehow, unexplainably, alive. And it did not want them to leave, for some reason known only to itself. With the rate they were going, and in the tiring state they were in, they probably wouldn’t escape alive.

Still, they ran. They had no choice but to try. Through passages and portals lined with the destruction of machines and the undead alike. They outran the flood of sorcery, but it was ever present behind them, a deep, carnivorous rumble that threatened to rob them of hope and courage.

They had to stop in one room. Too tired to continue on without a short break. Everyone breathed deeply, except for Shalua. Her kind was stronger than the rest of them, though Anne and Kryos weren’t doing too badly. Blake suffered the worst; gasping for air like a fish out of water. Reaching into the small fold in his clothing, Kryos realized he had no choice. He withdrew the only thing he had brought with him into the Obsidian Spire; his pack and other possessions he left outside in the cover of foliage. A small, simple vial of dark green liquid appeared in the palm of his hand. He removed the cap, the crystal tapping against his ring. He lifted the vial to his lips and drank half a swallow, before giving it to Blake. As the fluid slid down his throat and into his stomach, already being absorbed into his system, he felt his energy return.

“Drink this, Blake. It is a stamina potion of my kind.”

The human took the offered concoction and took a sip, testing it. Finding it sweet and tangy, he lifted it higher, about to drink deeply of the liquid energy.

“Save some for the others!” Kryos said, voice loud and commanding. Blake almost choked in surprise, looking up at him sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he said. Properly reprimanded, he also took a little of the drink, perhaps a little more than Kryos had, before passing it to Anne. She remained silent as she drank, caught up in her thoughts. Before passing it to Shalua, she poured a little pool into her hand and offered it to Alk. The canine was also nearing the end of his limit. The normally shiny, golden fur was slick with sweat and his tongue hung from his jaws. But he licked up the fluid in short work, before moving to Anne’s face. She laughed, despite the situation, at Alk and the unbearably pleasurable tickling sensation on her face. She laughed and backed away.

“Stop it, Alk,” she said, pushing him. “We don’t have time to mess around.”

Shalua handed the container back to Kryos, who replaced it in his pocket. The full moon was two weeks away. Two weeks before he could replenish his stock. He looked around the group again, now revitalized, and glanced down the passage behind them, the noise of churning stone slowly growing.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

The companions turned and, with new energy, rushed away from the barren room filled with hallow promises.

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

The night was cloudless; the stars of the heavens shone down over Raiaera with all the brightness they could manage. And yet, it could not dispel the clouds of gloom that hung over the once great nation of the elves. The land burned and the dead rose to trample the living, and all the while, Xem'zûnd laughed in triumph. For he had, indeed, won the first many battles. Now it was only a matter to see if those battles were the deciding ones, or if the day of reckoning was yet to come.

In the Lindequalmë, excepting a few lost souls or undead, silence ruled. No animals lived in the crimson depths, for monstrosities awaited even the bravest adventures. Whoever dared enter would leave with, if not their life, than something precious to them, behind in the realm of the stained trees.

Like a great and mighty sword planted into stone, the Obsidian Spire rose above the Red Forest, the black walls and windows, facets and towers a silhouette against any backdrop. Here it had stood for centuries, and here it would most likely remain for centuries to come. If that is what it planned, of course.

A set of doors on the side of the Spire opened with crash, breaking the perfect silence of the night. Four figures stumbled out into the cool, fresh air of the Raiaera, breathing deeply and drenched in sweat. An animal also came with them. They stumbled across the clearing into the cover of the bushes. For even the safety of the forest wasn’t much safety at all.

They collapsed under a large, darkened tree, conveniently surrounded by bushes. Kryos removed his sword, placing it across his lap, and leaned against the tree trunk, breathing deeply. The others, too, drank the air, exhausted from their flight out of the accursed Spire. They didn’t speak for several minutes, only reflected on what had happened.

Soon, however, Blake broke the silence.

“What now, Kryos? Are we going back to Anebrilith? To Scara Brae?” he asked, rolling his head to the side to look at him. “Personally, I’m tired of running through dark hallways, fearing for my life.”

“Yeah, we’ll go back. We got what we came for, after all.” He closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of cool air playing with his skin and hair. Something about it was so beautiful, so amazing. It was the smell, he decided. There was no trace of death in this little sanctuary, this haven from the fears of the world. Even though the Obsidian Spire lay not a hundred yards away, this place held something he had been deprived of for the last while. Safety. As he breathed the sweet, sweet air, he felt his muscles stop shaking and relax, stretching out.

“Kryos?” Opening his eyes, he saw Anne come up and lean against him. She looked at him questioningly. He waited for her to continue. “I want to go to Scara Brae. I feel that I can learn a lot there, and it is away from this war.” She bit her lip, hesitant. “Will you come with me?”

He stroked her cheek in comfort, amazed at how comfortable he had become in acting around the girl. He hoped she would understand. “No.” He sighed when her face fell, and continued on to explain. “This country, it needs any help it can get. All the death and sadness must stop, one way or another. I must see how it ends, and help in anyway that I can. But don’t worry,” he said. “You can find Lucas and James. They’ll be more than willing to look after and help you.”

“Promise you’ll come and see me? Promise you’ll come when it’s over?” she asked, eyes alight with seriousness.

“Yeah, I promise.”

She nodded. “Good.” With that, she kicked her feet out and arched her back, shifting to a more horizontal and comfortable position. She rolled against Kryos and closed her eyes, snuggling in closer. Alk looked up from his position on the ground near their feet, checking on her, before lowering his head again.

Time moved on in silence, measured only by the movement of the stars. The pace of his breath slowed and he thought about their journey into the Spire. He dismissed the horrors and deaths, but instead lingered on the reunion of his comrade.

Lexxum Vordid, he thought. You truly were more than just a passing moment in reality. You became more than just an existence in the grand history of things. While you were alive, you became a legend. A mighty soldier, who came back, even if only for a small time, from death.

Kryos smiled, invisible in the dim light and under the shadow of the Spire. Soon, the sun would rise, and they would begin the journey back to Anebrilith. But until that time, he would sleep, and he would enjoy every second of it.

Fin.

Spoils:

Kryos: None.

Lexxum: The Breath of the Desert. However, this is for Lord Mitra, his deity, as he was sent by the Voice of Lord Mitra to obtain it for unknown reasons.

[Taskmienster]

Fight of Flight 2 – Shadow of the Spire


I’m going to make this one rather quick, if you don’t mind. If you want categories expounded upon by all means PM or IM me and I’ll help you out with those. What I did comment on was the things that stuck out the most, so that you can work on those. I noticed, and have noted in a couple places, that your writing style seemed to change when you came back and continued writing it at post 13. It was a bit inconsistent but not bad, if it had started that way it probably would have scored higher. I’d suggest taking my notes at face value, and not meant to demean or degrade in any way. Just working on threads to help with the backlog. If you didn’t get a comment on anything in particular, you probably did well on it and I had nothing really to note.

This is also going to be JUST for Kryos, since Lexxum (as he told me) isn’t going to be used anymore.


STORY (14/30)

~ Continuity ~ 3

~Try and express your background through the story, progressing more and more by post or putting it in the first post so that the reader knows WHO Kryos is, Where he came from, and why he’s going where he is? Things like that help a lot for the reader’s clarity, for future persona, dialogue, and action since it all has a means of adding to those sections.

~ Setting ~ 5

~Your setting wasn’t bad, you explained where you were consistently post to post. However, you didn’t give me much of a ‘feel’ for it till you got inside the tower. Try not to push it off to the side, or just mention it as a side thing. Setting is just as important as all other areas, because it helps set up how your character feels about the surroundings (persona), give you something to think and talk about (dialogue), as well as gives you a good excuse how to blend in advanced techniques in a way that doesn’t make them stick out or feel out of place (Technique, obviously). I would have suggested a little bit more detail for the Red Forest, since it’s a very dangerous and intriguing thing… kinda pushed the pacing a little too fast to skip over the passage to the Tower imo.

~ Pacing ~ 6

~Post 13 came out of nowhere, a deep historical endeavor at the beginning of the thread. It was good, however didn’t fit the flow of the story to that point. I believe that could have been due to the huge gap between the 12th post and the 13th. It threw me off quite a bit though.



CHARACTER (19/30)

~ Dialogue ~ 7

~The dialogue was believable, and pretty well done. It just didn’t ‘feel’ very deep. I’d suggest trying to use expressive synonyms for ‘said’ to try and make the threads a little bit more indepth. It will also help with the persona. A lot of dialogue helps build the character’s personalities, and in my opinion is one of t he simplest way’s to do so.

~ Action~ 6

~ Persona ~ 6

~Not a whole lot of ‘feel’, instead more ‘show’. I commented in the continuity and dialogue regarding that. Keep up the expressive and advanced techniques so that you can show your personality throughout the thread. You did well with this category, like most of them, after the 13th post, but before then it was a little off.



WRITING STYLE (21/30)

~ Technique ~ 6

~I didn’t catch a lot of techniques, which is what spices up the writing. Of course, your writing style isn’t bad, but it’s somewhat bland at times. Like you’re trying to just write out thoughts, put them to words, instead of writing an aesthetically pleasing story… from post 13 on it seemed that you tried to make the style of writing more verbose and more interesting, but it didn’t pick up enough to ‘pull me to the edge of my seat’, so to speak.

~ Mechanics ~ 8

~Just a few errors here and there, nothing major just spelling mistakes.

~ Clarity ~ 7


WILD CARD!!! 5



TOTAL

(59/100)


GAINS/REWARDS!

Kryos gains 1250 exp (doubled for the FQ); 400 gp

Lexxum gains 1750 exp (doubled for FQ); 200 gp

[Taskmienster]

Exp and GP added.

Kryos levels up!