The Hero Dies in This One

[Raelyse]

There were many places all over Althanas that could take the breath away at first glance. These were rare, scattered in various different places all over the world. That was why they were so stunning, because they were so different, so unique and enigmatic that one could not help but simply just be surprised at how grand it was. The only exception to this rule perhaps was the view of the Alerar landscape from Erebus. The headquarters of the Grander's Order was hidden away in a mountain range that was low enough not to challenge the peaks but high enough to get a fantastic view of the surrounding area. Unfortunately, the luster was somehow lost on Raelyse, the leader of the Order and one of the few people that got to experience such beauty so frequently. The mountain breeze and the feeling of all of Alerar beneath him was something that he had felt everyday for a long time that it had become customary, it had become normal... it was no longer fantastic.

Raelyse always had one of his underlings open the twin doors linking his bedroom and the balcony in the morning before he woke up. The morning breeze was refreshing and a wonderful feeling to wake up to. The view was even better, allowing thoughts of conquering Althanas to slide into his mind as he surveyed Alerar.

So when he woke up to the stuffy heat of a confined space, the prince of Myrusia awoke with thoughts of rage running through his head. It was then that the prince's eyes instantly sent his mind reeling. Any thoughts of lethargy were swept away instantly. His sense of smell was the next to be triggered and Raelyse had to tilt his head away from the pungent scent that filled the air, even though that did little good in this confined area. He quickly moved out of his bed, grabbing his cane and stumbling towards the source of the smell. His eyes reeled at the sight from a closer view.

One of the maids of the Grander's Order lay dead on the floor. The twin doors were only slightly ajar and the body was lying just in front of it, indicating that the blow that had killed her had struck just one moment after she had tried to open the door. The carpeted floor had cushioned her fall, explaining why the dead body had not made a great sound when it landed. Nevertheless, the attack was stealthy and accurate. Few people could have mounted such an attack and fewer still from range. A single arrow remained upright, piercing through he maid's forehead. Raelyse instantly recognized the black feathers fletching the arrow, the trademark of the Kel'Arkan clan of drow. The very drow that were under the command of the Grander's Order.

Foolishly, the prince stood up and opened the twin doors all the way, allowing the breeze to finally blow upon his skin. In four seconds, his eyes widened in pain.

In the first second, he saw the ocean of black descending upon his fortress of Erebus. Hundreds of drow were marching forward, weapons at the ready. In the next second, he saw at the center of them, levitating three feet off the ground, their leader. Xullifain Kel'Arkan instantly smiled the moment his yellow eyes met Raelyse's blue ones.

In his last few seconds of consciousness, the prince saw the drow leader pull an arrow from its quiver and in one swift movement launch it with unerring accuracy from his long black bow. Raelyse had little time to react but he drifted slightly to the left. Still, the arrow struck him in the stomach, sending him reeling backwards, leaning heavily on his cane for support.

His eyes still met Xullifain's, even as the drow ordered his underlings to nock arrows to their bows and let them fly. The prince closed his eyes, anticipating the pain. He didn't want his last sight to be these vile drow blighting his beloved view.

He didn't want to think the last moment before he died.

(Closed)

[Raelyse]

The next thing Raelyse expected to feel was a hundred different arrowheads piercing through his skin. A sensation did swim over him, but it was not the one that he expected. It was warm, but soothing and gentle, not the rough, penetrating feeling he had expected. Then his senses activated and he returned to the world.

His body moving was the first thing he noticed. Someone was carrying him over their shoulder and moving, fast. The warm feeling from before was still with his body and it was getting stronger as time passed. A weary look to his left revealed the mage under his employ, Erik Colthor. He was alongside him, one eye half closed, and chanting softly. The person who was carrying him was easily identified as the lanky Clement Whitestorm, a half troll alchemist with tolerance thicker than arctic fur. Raelyse opened his mouth to speak but found that no words came out. Instead, the pain he had expected from before surfaced in a stabbing, sharp pain which stung him in the stomach.

“Damn fool!” he heard Colthor shout to Clement. “I can't heal him properly if he keeps trying to open that trapdoor and criticize me!”

“Quiet!” the ever calm Clement retorted sharply. “He still has ears... and a temper, if you forgot.”

“Not for much longer,” the mage replied, following this with a few quick, indecipherable words.

Almost instantly, Raelyse felt woozy, weak and tired. His mind felt like it had been awake for hours and his body drained of energy. Without a second thought, his eyes closed themselves and his mind turned to rest.

“What did you do to him?” Clement asked, worried.

“Nothing that won't save him,” Colthor answered. “And by extension and association, us.”

By now, the duo had slowed to a slow jog and after that, a comfortable walk. Raelyse's bedroom was far behind them now, almost on the other side of Erebus. A pair of enormous wooden doors greeted them here, the opening to the lavish ballroom belonging to the Grander's Order. Bloodstains on the handle and the ajar door hinted at what was beneath but Colthor did not hesitate and pushed them open, revealing the state the Grander’s Order was now in. Polished tiles were vilified with mud and dirt, fine carpets were soaked with blood and broken arrowheads and bloody shafts lied all over the floor like gaudy decorations.

Clement found a space where there was no mage or medic tending to a wounded and lay the unconscious Raelyse on top of a mat.

“He'd have a fit,” Clement turned to Colthor, remarking. “If he knew you reduced his ballroom to an infirmary and worse, treated him in it with the rest of our soldiers.”

“We don't have a choice,” the mage replied, crouching down and placing both of his hands over the wound. He closed his eyes and began to concentrate, summoning the chant needed to heal their leader.

“And once again,” Clement stood up, commenting softly to himself. “It’s because of him.”

He knew Colthor was too busy concentrating to hear him but had a feeling the clever mage had reached the same conclusion a long time ago.

[Raelyse]

With the aid of Colthor’s magic, Raelyse made a quicker than speedy recovery, waking up less than an hour at almost full strength. As soon as he sat up though, his revitalized senses assaulted him simultaneously. The first thing to hit him was the pungent smell of blood. The ballroom was housing at least twenty injured. Looking around, he saw a few faces but none of them seemed prominent enough, save one. A quick look into the corner revealed the angular face of the mage that had probably saved his life. Erik Colthor noticed instantly and turned his head to the prince, cocking it slightly to the side. He strode forward confidently. Besides Raelyse, he was the only one in the room both conscious and not healing.

“What are you doing?” the slightly woozy Raelyse asked, unable to manage any form of anger. At least, not yet. With every passing second though, he was recovering his strength and his mind. “Why are you not healing?”

Colthor smiled the cocky smile that Raelyse seemed to have patented in these parts. To goad the prince even further, he also seemed to reply with the same confidence that Raelyse exhibited. “I am the leader of the Silver Vega. My job is to oversee and intervene only when my talents are absolutely necessary, such as...”

Raelyse took the hint and glanced at his stomach, where only slight pain resided at the moment. It was a truly magnificent heal. He almost felt nothing from such a deadly and recent blow. Still, he did not have the humility required to thank him. “Well then, use that talent you have for overseeing and tell me what kind of situation we are in.”

The mage glanced down at the prince again, talking to him almost mockingly. “Do not worry. Kjloroman, Whitestorm and myself have assumed control in your condition. The Order is mounting a successful counterattack. They attacked while you were asleep but if I have my way, we will be attacking them before long.”

This situation was starting to get unbearable. His underling was looking down at him! Raelyse looked around for his cane or at least anything that he could use to prop himself up. He was a fine specimen of man, a good few inches taller than Colthor. Sitting beneath him like this was not good for his authority and he could tell that the mage was feeding off his present weakness. “You never answered my question,” the prince scowled.

“The Kel'Arkan have rebelled against us. It appears that the deal you struck with them was,” Colthor replied, which shocked Raelyse. He had thought it would have taken more prodding to get this information from him. “... unsatisfactory. Xullifain himself decided to sink an arrow into your stomach as a symbolized tearing of that contract.”

At this point, Raelyse realized that he had had enough. Concentrating, he used the magic that flowed within him to locate his cane, which sent out a constant beacon to the prince due to its enchanted nature. Once he found it, he used his telekinetic ability to send it flying into his grasp. His cane was just at the other side of the room, along with all of his equipment that he needed for battle. Ilrathion, the sword cane, flew across the room and into the prince's grasp. Within seconds, he was up on his feet, leaning heavily on it. More importantly though, even when he was slightly hunched over, he still glanced down at Colthor. The mage's demeanor visibly and quickly changed to one of submission.

“Enough of this. When I asked you our situation, I wanted to know what I did not already! Why are the drow attacking in the daytime? Why was I not informed of this before? Who was watching them in days past? This is too sudden! It must have been premeditated and I want to know why the great Erik Colthor did not know about it until my stomach was digesting a filthy dark elf arrowhead!”

The fuming prince had visibly shaken the mage and he took a few steps backwards before regaining his composure. Glancing around at the injured, he led his leader out of the ballroom, slowly telling him what they knew.

This didn't take very long for the Grander's Order knew the answer to none of their leader's questions.

[Raelyse]

As soon as the large ballroom doors were shut, Raelyse expected the stench of blood to cease but instead, it remained. Colthor brought him away from the room but he found that even though they were leaving the makeshift infirmary behind, the stench of death and ensuing war still masked the air. It was only then that the prince realized just how far this skirmish had come along.

“How many have we lost?” Raelyse asked, knowing for sure that Colthor had the answer to this question, at least.

If he had asked when they were still in the ballroom, Colthor would have given a flippant answer, perhaps even one that diverted the attention away. However, the prince was persistent and wanted to know the truth. The mage feared what Raelyse would do if he continued to play games. “At least fifty with up to sixty more injured.”

Even though this represented only a fraction of the forces available to the Grander's Order, Raelyse knew that at this early stage a loss of this size was significant. “And the Kel'Arkan? How many of them have fallen?”

Colthor shook his head slowly. “None.”

A mixture of confusion and rage flooded over the prince at this point as he contemplated how such a scenario could have unfolded. Luckily for him, the cunning Colthor helped him out. The mage pushed open the doors to reveal each of Raelyse's highest ranking officers sitting around a large mahogany table. “I’m sure you’re wondering how that’s possible. Well, ask them.”

Clement was there greeting the entrance of a revitalized Raelyse with a smile, though the prince took it at discount value. Clement smiled at everything. To his right was Kjloroman, the finest swordsman in their employ. He was nursing multiple injuries, helped much more by the two mages that stood by his side healing his wounds. On the other side were Miranda Soemamon, who led the Grander's Order Calvary division. Her long blonde hair was still impeccable, hinting that she had not even thought of stepping on the battlefield yet. The seat next to her's was usually filled by Xullifain Kel'Arkan, who would tell Raelyse and his lieutenants of what the drow were going to do in service to the Order. Now, even seeing his chair made the prince's face flush with red.

Before he could speak up though, Kjloroman rose from his seat, moving the matted black hair from his sweaty face.

“Grander, we face a dire threat,” the swordsman began, pushing the mages away to indicate he felt he was healed.

“That is obvious. What is not is why my forces have been so depleted and yet, the Kel'Arkan have not suffered a single casualty!” Raelyse said softly. He was keeping his temper in check and everyone in the room knew why. There was no time for anger fits and scolding.

“The drow used a technique we did not expect.,” Kjloroman said, flinching as he remembered. “They used fodder. When we charged forward, they released, seemingly from the earth itself, the entirety of the dwarves that we had used to excavate minerals from the mines. They came at us in some sort of blind bloodlust with pickaxes and wheelbarrows and the dr-"

“Why would the dwarves help the Kel'Arkan?” Raelyse asked, still standing up and looking down at all of his commanders.

“You'll want to hear this,” Colthor said softly to the prince, before moving to take the seat next to Kjloroman, his confidence slowly growing.

“I think they are under the influence of the illithid that the Kel'Arkan captured a few weeks ago,” Kjloroman said softly but clearly. “There is no other explanation. Their eyes were emotionless and not a cry of rage came from their mouths. And while we, distracted began to fend them off, the Kel'Arkan let loose with their arrows and decimated our ranks. We had no choice but to retreat.”

There was a brief, almost awkward silence after the samurai finished what he had to say. Confused looks showed on all but one of the faces in the meeting room. Only Colthor smirked, breaking the silence with the answer to the question that everyone was asking.

“The Illithid has the drow under his control as well as the dwarves. The only question is, who let the tentacle out?”

[Valentine]

While the brains of the Grander's Order sorted out their next move, the strong arm was trying their best to ensure that the clan lasted long enough to make that move. Since the drow had released their legion of dwarves, the commanders had fallen back into the fortress that was Erebus while the soldiers held the fort down.

The headquarters of the Grander's Order was built very much into the mountains themselves so only one side was protected by a wall. Fifteen feet high with an enormous wooden gate, it was virtually impossible to penetrate without siege weapons. The Kel'Arkan possessed no siege weapons. Unfortunately, virtually impossible referred to the clumsy humans and orcs that the Grander's Order usually dealt with. The nimble drow read the war plan of the Order like a child's book and countered it as the gates to Erebus were shut and entrance denied. The dwarven fodder continued their march forward, moving for the impenetrable wooden gate that was now sealed tightly. The gate from which the forces of the Order had poured forth was soon the host to every single one of the dwarven bodies. The corpses stacked so highly that the door did not seem as if it could be opened.

Now that they had boxed their quarry in, the Kel'Arkan fanned out, scaling the mountains on all sides. They had removed one entrance but they had also denied the Grander's Order their escape. Now they would descend on Erebus in their own time and on their own terms. Until then, the members of the Grander's Order would cower in fear.

-----------

As soon as his arrow had sunk into Raelyse's stomach, Xullifain had delegated control of the Kel'Arkan army to his second in command, D'alinyon. He had then descended into the comfort of the darkness. His mind a blur, the drow leader traversed the treacherous terrain below the Alerar mountain range with unerring ease, moving for his one objective: his new master.

How sad it was to be Xullifain Kel'Arkan. His clan of drow warriors were never well known, but at least they had been masters of their own destinies. That was, until about ten years ago. Teagan Let'Naross, a wealthy baron of Alerar had dug deeper and deeper, searching for minerals, stumbling upon their ancestral home. He spared no small effort in enslaving Xullifain and his brethren in helping to mine the area or perform humiliating tasks like guarding his property. When a supposed hero in Raelyse of the Grander's Order had liberated them, he promised them a new home in exchange for what was essentially mercenary work. It seemed promising at first, but Raelyse was a strict land lord, demanding and worst of all, patronizing to the proud drow. So when it came to striking back at the Grander's Order, Xullifain's new master need only convince one drow: Xullifain himself. After that, the Kel'Arkan fell under the leash of their third master in recent times.

Ironically, this master had been the prisoner just a few short hours ago. A few weeks ago, the Kel'Arkan had come into contact with an illithid or mind flayer. It took considerable effort, but they managed to subdue the creature and keep it in a state where it could be weakened and under Raelyse's grand scheme, eventually used as a weapon. Then, it was released and it sank its mind controlling tentacles into Xullifain's skull and all of a sudden, the Kel'Arkan were puppets again.

The illithid called out to Xullifain once again, beckoning for him to return to his master. He had done so since the drow had shot that arrow into Raelyse and that act pleased the mind flayer. But Muran, what he had instructed the drow to call him, was insatiable, worse than Raelyse and the baron put together. He was never satisfied.

Because like the Kel'Arkan, Muran had a master.

And Kadarus Salidan was even more insatiable.

[Valentine]

He was a monster of a man, if that was truly what he was. Perhaps, he was a monster of a man, Xullifain Kel’Arkan had no idea. It didn’t make much sense to him, but then again nothing really made much sense. Higher thought processes were removed from his brain and he could only think basically as he completed Muran's mission. But when he saw the figure behind the mind flayer, the probable mastermind behind this entire plot, he could not help but tremble in fear and wonder.

Xullifain found his new master deep in the caverns, though this was no challenge as the illithid continuously called out to him. When Muran had gained control of Xullifain's mind, he had done so alone. Now that the mind flayer was about to give him his second set of instructions, the drow saw Him, standing just a few feet behind Muran. Normally, only drow and creatures of the dark could see in this lightless underground but this one had eyes that glowed a ominous yellow that even in his incapacitated state, frightened Xullifain.

“Report,” the illithid spoke inside his mind. The drow had no choice but to respond.

“When you give the order, we will crush the Grander’s Order. My men have surrounded Erebus on all sides and even though they will quickly learn of our strategy, it will be too late and every last man in there will die,” Xullifain said. There was no emotion in his voice, not even the slightest bit of pride that his brethren were winning against their former masters.

There was a brief pause at this as the illithid’s posture clearly shifted backwards, as it spoke to the figure behind it. Muran nodded his tentacled head slightly before turning back towards Xullifain.

“Tell your men to advance,” Muran telepathically communicated to Xullifain. “Now.

The drow did not give a second thought and sprinted back for the surface with greater speed than with which he came. When he was outside of earshot, the figure behind Muran stepped forward and the illithid moved aside, afraid. Despite his formidable psionic abilities, he had strangely not been able to enslave this one or even harm him slightly, in anyway.

“You will move for the surface too,” the yellow eyed figure said too. “I cannot risk Xullifain falling out of your range of control.”

The illithid visible shifted underneath this statement. “Master Kadarus,” he said, in an almost groveling manner. “I have not been to the surface in my entire life. If I do so, I risk permanent damage and even… death.”

Kadarus Salidan stepped forward, staring down the illithid in his beady eyes surrounded by his grotesque tentacles. When the mind flayer showed no signs of backing down over his opinion, he reached forward and grabbed the slimy tentacles in his right hand, pulling them down and squeezing tightly. His formidable strength caused Muran to scream in pain, terror and surprise. Instinctively, he fired a self defensive psionic wave, intended to incapacitate his attacker. There was no effect and Kadarus pulled tighter, causing the mind flayer to squeal in pain even louder. Deciding now that he had nothing to lose, Muran tried to enslave him once again by firing off a psionic wave. When nothing happened, the mind flayer braced himself for pain. Because now, he had angered his master. Without a second thought, Kadarus pulled down hard, pulling three tentacles apart from the mind flayer’s face. The illithid fell, bloody at his master’s feet.

Before he had a chance to speak, the tip of the blade of a katana pressed painfully at his skull, threatening to push through and cut into his brain.

“Now, if you don’t want me to pull every single one of your tentacles slowly from your face, you will move for the surface. I care not whether you live or die as long as Xullifain lives long enough to tell his troops what to do.”

Muran rose slowly, still nursing the bloody wound on his face, and marched on. With every step towards the surface, the illithid wished that he was still under the capture of the Kel’Arkan.

[Raelyse]

The black was everywhere.

The commanders of the Grander's Order looked out through one of Erebus' windows at the mountains that surrounded, covered in an almost continuous sheet of black. At first they had thought that perhaps Xullifain's mages had employed some sort of magic to heighten their abilities, but a closer look revealed that there was no magic, just sheer numbers. Every single one of the Kel’Arkan looked the same. Their black faces were painted with the same rage, the same steely determination. They stood there, their spears and swords held in their hands, every single one of them mobilized but not attacking.

“They’re waiting for the order,” Kjloroman remarked, his clothes and body still stained with blood despite the fact that it had been almost an hour since he had seen battle. “They will attack as one, when they are strongest.”

Raelyse had already dispatched Miranda and Clement, along with the elite Partisans, the best fighters in the Order, to the front of Erebus. He had to plan an escape route. Otherwise when Xullifain dispatched the majority of his forces down the mountains, Erebus would be pebbles and the Grander’s Order a memory. From what his advisors had told him, the majority of drow forces had shifted to the mountain ranges to attack as a whole while a few still fought in vain to bring down the mighty wall and box the Grander’s Order into the mountains.

“Colthor,” the leader said softly, his voice filled with urgency. “Take all of the Silver Vega and prepare a spell. We have to devastate their ranks while we still have the chance. It will take them a few minutes to reach us and in that time, we must make sure they suffer casualties.”

The human mage nodded, took a few steps away then added. “I think you should know, Raelyse, that Xullifain is employing a spell. Three in four of his soldiers are illusions. We still have a chance.”

Kjloroman wanted to wring the little man’s neck, before he stealthily snuck away, his lips letting out mischievous chuckles as he did so. The warrior was about to follow when the hand of his leader came across his muscular chest, stopping him. “You have more important matters to focus on,” Raelyse said, sternly. “Prepare the Devastators. To the last man. We will push them back into the darkness where they belong.”

The samurai nodded before walking away. It was only when he heard a voice behind him, that he stopped. He knew that Raelyse was fond of adding last minute statements, but he didn’t expect what his leader told him.

“Kjloroman, I will be joining my men on the frontlines. Let me show Xullifain myself what he gets when he disobeys the Grander.”

This was a side of his leader that he had not seen before. He was usually content to sit back in the planning areas, controlling his forces like pawns and sending his lieutenants to conquer while he stood, comfortable. But now, Raelyse appeared as if he was going to charge headlong into battle, into enemies formidable.

As soon as Kjloroman left, Raelyse retreated to his quarters. Ilrathion, his sword cane, was always at his side but he had left his other sword in his bedroom. It may have been away from him but the enchanted sword Lhustaril always called out to its owner, beckoning him to bathe it in blood.

This time, Raelyse had every intention of indulging it.

[Valentine]

He was a soldier.

D'alinyon Kel'Arkan wrote the definition on being a soldier. He followed orders from superiors, led subordinates to victory and fought with fervor and commitment that seemed more typical for an orc than a drow. But he didn’t just have that, he had excellent tactical acumen and mastery of his epic spear Vygenta. Essentially, he was a role model for all the warriors in the Kel'Arkan. Perhaps more importantly, he had the trust of Xullifain, was comfortably the drow leader's most trusted lieutenant and was perhaps the lone person who could give him heeded advice.

And yet, despite his respect for his leader, D'alinyon could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. Xullifain had hid his disdain for the Grander's Order and the men that made it up on the surface but when alone with his brothers, he frequently expressed how incompetent they were and raved non-stop about how he wished that the Kel'Arkan could be independent once again. So it came as no surprise when he mobilized all of his forces, to the last man, to march on Erebus and bring down its fortress. What was surprising was the time. It was mid-morning, meaning that the drow's natural stealth would be wasted, when they could attack at night undetected. Instead, Xullifain ordered a forward assault, using the dwarves as fodder. That puzzled D'alinyon too, how his leader had managed to coerce the dwarves to fight alongside them, particularly as fodder.

A possible reason was linked to something that D’alinyon would never forget. It may have been hours ago but now that his mind was given time to wander; he could not shake the sight of the dwarves' eyes when they had charged on Erebus. Emotionless, blank, opaque... their eyes had scared the steely warrior. And their mouths, silent, their tongues motionless as they charged to their deaths.

His brothers were also similarly shaken but all knew their duty, all knew what they had to do. Xullifain was their leader by birthright and deed both; he deserved their trust no matter the situation. If only D'alinyon could confide in his subordinates or colleagues, if only he could speak to his brothers about what to do. But Xullifain had ordered the mages to create illusions of every drow soldier. They were so realistic that not even D'alinyon could tell them apart from the original. But they did not move, they did not stir and even the slightest disruption would dispel them. So the Kel'Arkan had to sit still, they had to stay in file, stay quiet and wait.

They did not have to do it for much longer. When you have nothing to look at but your future target, you tend to study it pretty meticulously. When the slightest thing changes, you notice it instantly. Erebus’ doors poured open and their forces seeped out like a rushing river.

Finally, the time had come. D’alinyon tightened his grip on the Talymer shaft of his spear, eyeing the Mythril tip. He could not wait to soak his weapon in the blood of the Grander’s Order, for at least then he would not need to dwell on his thoughts.

He liked being a soldier and liked doing what he was told.

[Raelyse]

The 25th Devastators division had fell in rank and file, every man who still had strength to raise sword, and were face-to-face with their enemy, the motionless Kel'Arkan drow. Some of the Devastators were still injured, nursing wounds that were left untended to on their limbs and faces or with aches in their joints that hurt them to stand up. But still, the warriors tried their best to keep still, tried their best to stay as soldiers in anticipation of the arrival of their leader, Raelyse. Few had seen the man in person, let alone in battle. The numbers eager for the final attack swam upwards when they heard that the Grander himself was going to engage the drow. But that was not the only reason, not even the main reason why for the first time, the 25th Devastators were so keen to march into battle, some with injuries.

The numbers had been roughly calculated and almost a hundred warriors were lost in the first attack by the Kel'Arkan, with at least seventy now lying dead in the ballroom, the make shift infirmary. Time constraints had robbed them of proper burial. Each and every one of the three hundred odd soldiers who stood staring down their enemy had lost a friend, whether to injury or to death. Revenge was on every single one of their minds and they could not wait for the order, for they would waste no effort in sprinting to lock swords with the cowardly black drow, when they had no dwarves to distract them. They would fight for their friends, the one that had fallen. All of the Grander's Order soldiers had wished for the day when Raelyse's promise of domination of Althanas would come to fruition, when each and every one of them would be, in a word, grand. Now, so many had been robbed of the future they had worked so hard for.

The Devastators did not have much time to lament their old friends because not a minute after they had all fell in, an exquisite figure emerged from Erebus. He walked with his posture straight, tinged with superiority and instantly gaining respect from every last man. Each of them snapped to attention, demonstrating their fervent impatience for the order that they all wanted.

Raelyse did not hide his admiration, walking with a smile of appreciation that the lower ranked individuals in his employ had not often seen. He usually only valued what his commanders did, but this time, he openly acknowledged each and every man that was here with an elusive smile the reward that all were glad to see. That was not the only thing they saw for the first time. To the surprise of many, Raelyse walked without his trademark cane. He still held it, but as a sword in his left hand just above the cross guard. His right hand was guest to Lhustaril, the fine rapier that so many men had heard rumors about. Brandishing his two swords in such a manner was the sight of a true warrior, a side of Raelyse that his subordinates had never seen. When he reached the center of the file, Raelyse took one brief look at the drow behind them, about four hundred feet away, before turning back to the Devastators.

“Look!” he shouted, thrusting Lhustaril emphatically in direction of the Kel’Arkan warriors, standing still, as silent as the grave. “Look at them, my brothers! Look at them, standing idly in our backyard!”

Erebus was constructed so that there was an area, about an acre in size between the rear entrance of the fortress and the mountains, of rather flat but rocky ground. Raelyse had never suspected that this would be the sight of a grand battle like this. The drow had scaled and descended the mountains rather quickly and were presently at the foot of the mountains, while the Grander’s Order stood at the other side, staring them down from just in front of their grand citadel.

“They hide in the darkness, they hide behind dwarves, and they strike at us before we are awake! Is this our enemy? Why have the Thayne rewarded our efforts with treacherous, cowardly rats rather than epic, mighty titans? The Grander’s Order deserves a finer enemy than this, surely!”

Kjloroman stood a few feet behind Raelyse, his eyes peeled on the mountain range, knowing that the absence of Xullifain was key. He wondered where the Kel’Arkan leader could be at such an important moment. Even Raelyse had descended to the frontlines.

“My brothers, let us fight with them on our terms. We will take this in our stride, we will be stronger for this! We will remember the Kel’Arkan as nothing more than port holes on our grand journey to greatness!”

The leader of the Grander’s Order turned to Kjloroman, who nodded to him briefly, signaling that they were ready to strike. Raelyse raised both of his sheathed blades into the air in a crossed fashion before forcing them down emphatically to his sides. The scabbards of his twin weapons flew off in the middle of this motion, revealing fine swords. Raelyse then thrust these weapons into the air, before opening his mouth to roar the loudest he had ever done.

“Devastate them! Send them back underneath the rocks from whence they came!"

[Valentine]

The strange group made their way through the dark passages underneath the Alerar mountain range at pace, driven on by the never tiring, singleminded Kadarus. He was relentless, not slowing even when the road sloped upwards or became too narrow to traverse without falling over. An illithid, a drow and an apparently human warrior moved in absolute darkness, with none of them with an agenda that was their own. These were the trio who were apparently behind the siege of Erebus, but who was the real mastermind?

The human controlled the illithid who controlled the drow so it appeared that Kadarus was the one. And to all who had seen him, that appeared to be the truth. But a being beyond the power of even him controlled the silver haired warrior, a being whose power dwarfed all involved, in fact all who lived. So grand was his power that he contented himself by interfering in the affairs of mortals, mainly Kadarus. He had been a drunk, a formidable warrior but one without direction. It was such a waste of such skill and talent that one of the Elder Thayne, Hromagh the Strong intervened. The god better transformed him into the Valentine Bleeder, his Emissary of Balance, who would weed out those who were unworthy of life. The people on Althanas were too many, so it was Kadarus' new mission to ensure that the world remained balanced.

To ensure his loyalty, the god stripped Kadarus of his will, focusing it within an enchanted item and sending it to the far reaches of the globe. Living his whole life as a directionless drunk was beneficial to him at this point. Because of that, the god had underestimated him and Kadarus began to fight remarkably hard for what he once had as soon as he lost it. He wanted his freedom and the one way he would retrieve it would be to find the enchanted item and restore his willpower. But Kadarus had no hints, no idea where it was until Hromagh grew tired with Kadarus' constant barracking for his freedom and released him from his service with one hint.

Raelyse.

That one word, that name constantly rang within his head. He didn't need to search for very long because Raelyse was carving a name for himself, particularly in Alerar where there were rumors that he was leader of a powerful group known as the Grander's Order. From then on, Kadarus followed the bread crumbs to Erebus. He preyed on the Kel'Arkan's disdain for their new superiors and utilized Xullifain's command, via Muran the illithid, to fight his way through Raelyse's many subordinates. His previous affiliation with Hromagh meant that any attempts to gain entrance into his mind were futile, but Xullifain had no such immunity. With the Kel'Arkan leader under his command and his troops dislike for the Grander's Order, it didn't take Kadarus long to mount an assault on Erebus.

Now, his freedom was in sight and soon, he could return to his old self.

The sun’s rays flew into the cave like darts, greeting the trio as they reached the surface. Only Kadarus behind him convinced Muran to emerge and continue to walk down the mountains and towards the Kel’Arkan forces. The illithid had never seen the surface and by the time they reached the foot of the mountain, was already starting to welt over. The drow soldiers looked relieved as soon as their leader arrived especially since the Grander’s Order appeared to be ready to strike, but his company troubled them. Kadarus was quick to waylay their fears.

“Xullifain, order your men to march,” he whispered, loud enough for only the drow leader to hear.

The Kel’Arkan leader nodded and moved to the centre of his file, much in the same manner as Raelyse had, and pointed his right index finger at the Grander’s Order forces. The dark elf soldiers needed no more compelling and just as their opponents were about to, the Kel’Arkan charged forward. The gesture to begin war had not come the way they had expected but they did not care… They had waited too long for it and would take it anyway it came.

The same too could be said for Kadarus. Now that he had found Raelyse, he would soon have what he wanted. Because of this, for the first time in months, Kadarus allowed himself to smile.

[Valentine]

As the two sides charged each other with all the fury of enraged bulls, Kadarus Salidan slipped off into the back. His blade, the deathly perfect Valentine hungered for blood, but it would not get the chance to devastate the ranks of the Grander's Order, yet. Its owner slipped off into the small area not tasting the sun's midday rays, where Muran was hiding, easily unnoticed thanks to the legion of drow soldiers charging forward. Their leader meanwhile, stood statuesque a few feet behind Kadarus, silent as the dead that would soon litter the area. This is the perfect time, the Valentine Bleeder mused silently to himself, to tie up the loose ends.

He approached the illithid first, for Xullifain would not move unless Muran ordered him to. The drow leader had shifted to the side and returned to his masters as soon as he had dispatched his troops, his mind devoid of free will, only living for his next order. Now that the Kel'Arkan were drunk with the prospect of a battle they would soon lose without their skilled leader at the helm, Kadarus needed no further distractions to get to Raelyse.

In other words, he no longer needed Muran or Xullifain to be alive.

“Hello, Muran,” Kadarus said as his formidable frame approached the grotesque creature. The mind flayer backed himself into the corner, knowing that death was soon coming. He closed his eyes, his tentacles sagging down by his side in resignation. Muran knew that begging was wasted on this Thayne-blessed abomination and any pleas would be in vain.

“Thank you for all your help,” Kadarus said in between his monstrously sadistic smile. Muran heard a dreadful sound ring through the air as the Valentine Bleeder unleashed his weapon horrendously slowly. The sound of its fine edge rubbing against the sheathe that withheld it sent shivers through the illithid’s slimy body. He braced himself, knowing now that his blood would be joining the thousands that had decorated Valentine’s murderous edge.

“What was it that you told me when we left your dank home? You could die? It seems that your grim prediction has come to fruition,” Kadarus’ cruel mouth taunted. He raised his katana into the air, its immaculate blade bathed in light. A moment passed before it came down across the mind flayer’s chest. Cold, titanium tasted warm flesh and Muran was dead before his body hit the ground. Valentine had sliced across multiple organs, instantly stopping the flow of life through his body. Wasting no time, Kadarus changed the grip of his weapon so that he held the sword with its tip facing downwards. Its sharp edge cut into the illithid’s back, ensuring that he would never move with life again.

“D’alinyon!”

That sharp cry of an unfamiliar voice instantly stole any glory or pride that the Valentine Bleeder might have derived from his latest kill. His head instinctively turned towards the sound and he was shocked by what he saw.

The mouth of Xullifain Kel’Arkan was flapping, producing sounds that suddenly sounded so strange when of his own accord. The drow leader was lucid now. Kadarus took one look at the fallen illithid who lay face down in the dirt. He would never see that Muran had died with a loosely-defined smile across his octopus-like features. As Kadarus stood over him, his blade ready to end his life, the mind flayer had released his hold on Xullifain. It had taken a few seconds for his brain to reboot and for him to regain full control of his mind. In those seconds, Muran had hoped that Xullifain would turn back against the Valentine Bleeder.

The dying wish of an illithid came true as the drow leader turned to his trusted second in command, the only of his warriors that was not so blinded by blood lust to hear his leader’s cry. He was at least twenty feet away though and by the time he turned to respond, Xullifain had realized what a foolish mistake he had made. He remembered nothing since the morning, he knew not why he was suddenly on the surface. He just did what any logical sentient being would do in this situation and called for help from someone he trusted.

In a moment though, Kadarus was upon him, quicker than death. “I was about to get to you,” the Valentine Bleeder said, his blade still wet with the blood of an illithid. He readied his weapon almost in slow motion, intending to milk this moment for all the pleasure that he could derive.

“Who are you?” the groggy Xullifain asked, his mind still recovering from Muran’s effects, without even the coherence to muster the fear that the Valentine Bleeder wanted.

“Death,” Kadarus said, brandishing perfectly white, menacing, teeth. The tip of his blade flew forward with incredible pace, finding dark skin and digging itself in without difficulty. The titanium blade emerged on the other side of Xullifain, severing his spine on its way. The drow leader did not have the strength, nor the capability, to even groan in pain. Kadarus twisted his blade brutally, slashing into more of the drow’s organs. The Valentine Bleeder pulled his katana free and took a step away, barely avoiding corpse, falling to the ground with a thud.

And just like before, he did not have time to savor this kill. For ahead, D’alinyon Kel’Arkan stood, his eyes fired with hate that Kadarus could see even from this distance. He held his deadly spear at his side, its blade hungry. The Valentine Bleeder locked eyes with his new opponent, who was staring at him, unblinking in his rage. Kadarus did not return that expression though.

How could he when Valentine pulsed with excitement at yet another chance to devour flesh?

[Raelyse]

The sounds of war rang through the valley. Blades collided, cries of pain echoed as metal pierced flesh and a thousand bowstrings seemed to be singing in unison with every passing minute. Surrounded by mountains and a fortress, this battlefield could almost be described as bowl shaped. It seemed almost comical, as if the gods were children who had taken insects from different parts of the garden and throwing them into a makeshift arena and wanted to watch them tear each other apart. On closer inspection, that was not too far from the truth. The Kel'Arkan had been tricked into fighting a war they could not win without their leader or the advantage they would garner from fighting at night. The Grander's Order was simply defending what was theirs, but everything they stood for could simply be described as one man’s greed and conceit.

Raelyse stood a few feet in front of Erebus, watching as his soldiers charged forward, protecting him from harm. He had promised he would fight; he had lied so compellingly that every man fought with the idea in his head that the Grander himself would draw blades alongside him. It proved a powerful motivational tool and it appeared to be working. The Grander's Order appeared to be winning. Without their leader or even the second in command by their side, the Kel’Arkan were demoralized. Their skillful swordplay was aesthetically pleasing but the grit and determination that their human opponents showed was much more effective.

Moments after the Grander’s Order had charged forward, Erik Colthor and his subordinates, the mages of the Silver Vega, unleashed the spell they had prepared. The magic illuminated each and every one of the Kel'Arkan warriors, while dispelling all the illusions, leaving them with less than two hundred black figures, clearly tipping the scales of morale in favor of the Devastators. The dark elves glowed, so the archers of the Grander's Order had an easy job picking them off while also making it impossible for them to hide in the shadows that the mountains gave.

To make things better for Raelyse, news had reached him via Colthor’s telepathy that Clement and Miranda were fighting a winning war at the front entrance to Erebus. The drow were scattering and soon, they would join the rest to repel the Kel’Arkan for good. The Grander could not be more pleased. Within the hour, it seemed he could retreat to his quarters and rest. Tomorrow, when his eyes opened, it would be as if today had not happened at all with business resuming as normal.

Unfortunately for him though, his eyes decided that they would tell him something potentially upsetting today. They had been scanning the skirmish ever since it had started but suddenly, they had seen something, on the other side of the valley, a dash of silver hair. It was strange and it should not have occupied Raelyse’s mind for more than a second, but something in him tugged at the sight. It told him to explore that idea, get a better look at that brief glimpse of silver. The Myrusian took a step forward and instantly felt some magical energy form and swim around him. It wasn’t a pleasant or a painful experience, it was just strange, yet somehow familiar. His eyes focused and he looked forward, trying to get a better look at the head that bore the silver hair behind the mass melee going on.

Then, coincidentally or not, a drow fell. His ebony skin no longer blocking the way, Raelyse caught a full glimpse of the silver haired man. He held in his right hand a katana, which even from this distance, was clearly dripping with blood. His frame wasn’t particularly intimidating, he didn’t seem to be that tall but something about him sent chills through Raelyse’s body.

“Kjloroman!” Raelyse shouted, summoning his subordinate. At that time, he still could not see the samurai, so the Grander advanced, searching for him. He was about twenty feet away from the melee when he saw the furious fighter, felling drow as if they were rag dolls. Raelyse continued shouting at that point, until the samurai finally heard him and fell back to his leader’s side.

Already his face and twin blades were dirtied by blood and he was clearly disappointed that he had to leave the frontlines.

“I’m sorry to take you away from your… shower,” the Myrusian began, clearly disgusted that the man before him had barely a square inch on him that wasn’t covered in blood. “But, I have a more important job for you.”

Raelyse lifted his left hand, to indicate the silver haired katana wielder on the other side of the valley. “Bring him to me.”

Kjloroman looked over and rather pensively, nodded his head. In a flash, the samurai was sprinting through the brawl, clearing a path with his impressive sword skills. This would not be an easy task.

Neither though was what awaited Tuliran Kjloroman on the other side of the valley. There lay someone he never thought he would meet again. The samurai would much rather plow through an army of drow.

[Valentine]

A thousand cries of death had been sung in the ears of the Valentine Bleeder, a million pleas for life echoed like melodies in his head but none gave him more satisfaction than the sight of a worthy foe, a skilled opponent bested and on his knees for the last moment of his life before the deadly red edge of Valentine had its say. Enemies like D’alinyon Kel’Arkan, who had the eyes of a warrior who would give no satisfaction to his enemy when he was defeated, if he were to fall at all. The drow was proud, if nothing else and would not want his last moments on Althanas to be spent groveling. He held his deadly weapon Vygenta with all the comfort and ease that one usually afforded to their arms. Only, D’alinyon was more comfortable with his spear in his hands than without.

Kadarus knew that the drow that stood before him would pose a much greater threat than the groggy Xullifain. His muscles were taut within their very limits, as if they were threatening to burst through his obsidian skin at any moment. Every single part of his body was ready, recoiled like a spring ready to strike whenever the situation demanded it. Valentine, still dripping from hilt to tip with blood, was ever greedy, ever hungry and ever ready.

When the moment came, neither of their brains could work fast enough, their eyes too slow, to see the two bodies dash forward for the epic clash. The katana started with a deadly slice of unerring speed and accuracy but the spear rose, its shaft clashing with the blade, taking the momentum out of the blow. For good measure, D’alinyon swung with his weapon and thwapped Kadarus’ side painfully with the blunt end of his spear, before backing off. The world slowed down as the two warriors began to get the other’s bearings. Both the attack and defense had been lightning quick and lesser foes would have been felled at that point by either attack. D’alinyon’s counterattack with the wooden part of his spear had been far from deadly and had been more to demonstrate his self-perceived superiority than to actually damage the Valentine Bleeder. Kadarus, on the other hand, had no time in his mind for such foolish attacks. Every single one of his strikes went straight for the jugular, for he intended to end the battle with every swing of his sword.

But it was the drow who was on the attack almost immediately after, using a string of offensive maneuvers to put himself firmly in control. He twisted Vygenta in his wrist and thrust it forward, aiming straight for Kadarus’ chest. Predictably, the attack was dodged but D’alinyon relented, pulling his weapon back temporarily before shooting its sharp tip forward again, this time aiming for his enemy’s neck. He repeated the trick impossibly quickly, aiming for a different part each time, putting Valentine on defensive duties. Kadarus swung his weapon expertly though, each time deflecting the spear. His defense was in vain though as D’alinyon thrust it forward again before he had time to compose himself and launch a counterattack. Each time Vygenta was defended against resulted in the Valentine Bleeder having to shuffle his body backwards. There was only about ten feet between Kadarus and the foot of the mountains, which seemed to serve as some sort of wall that the drow was trying to push him into.

D’alinyon’s eyes were ablaze with rage, his body attacking in blind fury to seek vengeance for his fallen master and friend. Kadarus had not yet got the measure of his opponent yet and had to wonder whether this was all part of his routine, whether the berserker bloodlust was feigned or the drow was only appearing to do so in an attempt to lull his enemy. The Valentine Bleeder, as his sword continued to deflect the strikes from the never tiring D’alinyon, could not make up his mind and such decide how he would counterattack.

He didn’t have as much time as he had thought. As his right heel shifted backwards, it firmly hit against rock, signaling that moving backwards in defense would have to mean an increase in altitude. That wasn’t an option. Barely deflecting Vygenta at this point, Kadarus knew that fighting against gravity and D’alinyon both would be too much. Any sign of stagger or weakness would instantly be picked up by his opponent, who would waste no time in skewering him.

The drow’s lips parted at this point, revealing a row of shimmering white teeth disguised beneath a beastly smirk. His opponent was firmly on the defense and his spear was in the optimal position. The weapon was pulled back quickly and effortlessly then with speed unmatched, it was thrust forward. Kadarus managed to raise his katana to deflect the attack, but the speed of the attack sent him rattling backwards. D’alinyon saw his chance to end this once and for all and thrust Vygenta quickly forwards, aiming for his opponent’s neck.

He heard the sounds of metal piercing into soft delicate flesh, he heard the sound of a weapon falling to the ground, he heard so many things that spelt victory but his eyes, his trusted eyes told him otherwise. The drow blinked, unable to believe the sight that was before him. The red blade of Valentine stood clearly in his vision, its curved blade cutting straight through his body and emerging just in front of his eyes.

“Did you really think that you would win, drow?” Kadarus goaded, his lips inches away from drow ears. The Valentine Bleeder pulled his weapon from his defeated enemy’s body with ease. The cut was so clean, so perfect that as the blade left the body, no guts, no blood spilled out. Kadarus looked on with sadistic pleasure as the last bastions of strength that held D’alinyon together gave way, causing him to fall weak to his knees. The Valentine Bleeder saw desperate black hands reach for Vygenta in a weak plea. The spear was out of his reach but his hands no longer had the strength to wield it anyway.

“How?” The weak response was all the drow’s mouth could muster, his black lips already beginning to dry as his world began to grow increasingly dark.

“Ask Xullifain.”

D’alinyon closed his eyes and hung his head, ready for death. He heard Valentine hum as its master raised it emphatically above his head. He heard its deadly edge ring through the air as it cut downwards. He did not feel it cut into his neck, he did not feel, hear or see anything ever again.

Valentine was back at its master’s side, ready for its next victim before the drow’s head hit the ground.

[Valentine]

Tuliran Kjloroman emerged on the other side of the mass melee, fresh from the formidable task of trying to restrain the warrior within him, just in time to watch the last moments of the battle between Kadarus and D’alinyon. The seasoned warrior could only pull his eyes away when a rogue arrow whizzed past him, missing the back of his head by a few inches at most. As he searched for a safer place from which to observe the duel, he thought back, searching his nearing fifty year old memory for a time when he had seen warriors battle with such speed and technique. The fact that he found nothing was testament to the skill that was on show.

By the time Kjloroman had left the mass brawl between the Kel’Arkan and Grander’s Order at a safe distance behind him, the drow was beheaded and the victor had turned his attention to the other side of the makeshift battlefield. His eyes bore straight through the fracas to the other side, squarely on the silver-haired leader of the Grander’s Order, who was slowly advancing forwards.

Then, Kjloroman noticed it. The resemblance between the two of them was striking at this close distance. Both had the same odd, yet elegant shimmering silver hair, albeit in different styles. Raelyse’s was more refined, styled to the individual strand while Kadarus was easily scruffier, a ruffian whose hair was the last thing on his mind. But the tone and shade of the color was exactly the same. Then, he noticed their features. They had the same nose, the same lips, their eyes were the same shape and color and their height was nearly the same as well. It was their faces that really struck Kjloroman though, for they looked very similar. Not to the extent of being twins, but perhaps brothers.

“Well, if this isn’t a lovely surprise,” Kadarus said loudly, snapping the veteran swordsman from his thought trail. The familiar voice was one that Kjloroman had heard so many times earlier in his life. To hear it again was almost heart wrenching. “My old friend works for my new enemy.”

“It has been some time, Kade,” Kjloroman responded, his mind swimming with so many memories that it did not notice that the Valentine Bleeder had advanced to within five feet of him. “I see that as well as discarding your honor, you’ve added teleportation to your bag of tricks.”

Kadarus’ lips twisted into a smirk at this statement. It was true, he had used teleportation to defeat D’alinyon, but only after tricking the drow as to how strong he was. By letting him thinking that he was weak and on the defense, the Valentine Bleeder had lured his latest prey into his trap. It was dishonorable yes, but his katana and his master did not care. As long as they were happy, Kadarus could live with himself.

“I don’t go by that name anymore. I am Kadarus the Bleeder now,” he responded, noticing the irony in his voice as soon as the words left his mouth. How he yearned to be Kade Lien again, yet he derived such pleasure from the power of being the Valentine Bleeder. Did he really want the freedom at all?

“Good, because I never want to be associated with whoever you have turned yourself into,” Kjloroman answered. He had found Kade as a young child when his village had been ransacked, his friends and family murdered and had raised him, taught him the honorable way of the samurai. To see what he had become brought tears to his eyes. As he reached for his belt and unsheathed his katana with his right hand, he could still see the image of the young boy Kade, with all his innocence and purity still with him. He would fight to bring that boy back.

“You don’t have to, old man. Not for much longer anyway,” Kadarus said, his lips parting to reveal his white teeth, shining with bloodlust better suited to wolves than men. His right foot shifted backwards and he raised his katana into the air, slipping into the fighting stance that Kjloroman had taught him all those years ago.

The price for his freedom had risen again, with yet another atrocity added to his endless list of sins.

[Valentine]

The distance between the two samurai had been closed in a heartbeat. Twin katanas then met with a loud crash, both blades connecting with each other at incredible speed. A quick step forward and a turn of his body and Kadarus’ weapon was swinging straight for the neck of his former mentor. Kjloroman was equal to the attack though and twisted his sword in mid air to meet the attacking one, deflecting it, albeit without difficulty, and allowing the veteran swordsman to move away and rest.

“Your muscles have atrophied, your bones have gotten weak and your sword is growing rusted and blunt. You are a slow, pathetic man,” Kadarus taunted, his lips twisted in a vicious sneer. Valentine was almost completely soaked in blood, which covered and flowed off the blade like a morbid river, splashing the red liquid wherever the weapon was swung. “Soon, the blood that decorates my blade will belong to you.”

The older human continued to back off his former pupil, turning his blade over and over again in his hand. Kadarus had grown much stronger and faster in their time apart. Kjloroman had followed his progress sporadically since the little Kade had left his side and had heard rumors of Hromagh’s newest servant, his Emissary of Balance. He had dismissed them, until this moment, when Kadarus’ yellow eyes bore into him.

“Why do you delay, old man?” the Valentine Bleeder goaded, taking an emphatically slow step towards his old master, his weapon ready. He was toying with him, Kjloroman knew, though he knew not why. If Kadarus fought with attacks of the caliber that had fell the drow before, the experienced samurai would not stand a chance. There must be a reason why he delayed and continued to play mind games. Maybe the innocent boy was not so distant a memory.

“I delay because I cannot believe the animal that you have become,” Kjloroman spoke loudly taking a step forward and stamping his foot on the ground. “All you are missing is fangs, then you would have truly forsaken Kade. And do not lie to me, for I know he still dwells in the belly of the beast.”

Kadarus visibly angered at that statement and opened his mouth to unleash a loud cry of fury, more akin to a lion’s roar than anything produced by a human. He raised his katana before slashing at Kjloroman’s chest with it. The powerful attack was strong, but comparatively slow and easily avoided by the veteran samurai with a dodge backwards. The edge of Valentine did not relent though and went in for the cut again, with the same speed and strength to which it had previously came. Kjloroman dodged again and Kadarus struck again, the pattern continuing and repeating. The veteran samurai was dodging the attacks, but noticed how monotonous Kadarus’ attacks were. Each was almost a mirror reflection of the one before it. When the Valentine Bleeder suddenly changed his pattern and struck with a different attack, one that relied more on speed than force, Kjloroman did not have enough time to dodge. The bloody tip of Valentine grazed the experienced warrior’s stomach, cutting instantly through the cloth of a tunic and drawing blood.

“I am Kadarus the Bleeder now!” the Valentine Bleeder bellowed loudly, before flipping the blade in his grasp and slashing across his former master’s torso. Any chance of avoiding this attack proved to be futile, for the cut that had nicked Kjloroman’s stomach had startled him enough to slow the aged samurai enough for Kadarus to launch his killing blow. Valentine cut across the veteran’s chest with all the ease of a warm knife through butter, collecting its fair share of residue blood on the way. The murderous weapon then resigned itself to its master’s side, as its latest victim stumbled, his hands grabbing at his profusely bleeding chest. The old man fell to his knees, glancing up at the silver haired murderer that was standing, apparently unfatigued, in front of him.

“Where is Kade Lien?” was all that Tuliran Kjloroman could muster before his bleeding became lethal and he fell to the ground, dead. His last thoughts were of the young silver haired boy, the one that he had loved as a son, the one to whom his mind had been emptied. The same boy that had, though the corruptions of the outside world and forces unknown, grown up to become the villain that would slay him.

“I don’t know,” Kadarus said solemnly. He turned his back, suddenly uncomfortable at the sight of his fallen mentor.

Metal could not weep, but somehow, the sound of droplets of blood dripping off Valentine sounded like crying.

[Raelyse]

Salient to the point of intrusive, prominent to the point of blinding, flamboyant to the point of ostentatious, Raelyse walked through the disheveled mass battle royal, his influence seemingly tidying up and organizing as he swept through with all the care of a ghost. Unlike Kjloroman before him, he did not have to fight his way through; he did not have to dodge errant arrows and blades as he moved. The Myrusian walked in a straight line but the violence seemed to cease as he walked by, the high moraled Grander’s Order moving the battle away from their leader, parting the conflicts so that he had a clear path to walk right by them towards his target. Raelyse walked with his cane in his right hand, though he held it as a sword and not as an aid to help him walk. Secured to his belt was his other weapon, the fine blade Lhustaril, which poked boastfully from beneath his coat. The Myrusian did not acknowledge any of his men as he walked them by, not even when they cleared a path for him to walk straight through.

The war was already won for the Grander’s Order, with only the more courageous of the drow standing to fight their last fight while the cowards among them chose to scale the mountains rather than taste cold, sharp steel. Some of the men were already looking around for guidance, unsure what to do now that they had no more enemies to confront. The only possible answer for them lay with Raelyse, and he was advancing past them with unwavering confidence, paying his underlings no heed.

His eyes were more concerned with the figure with the bloody katana and the silver hair, the formidable warrior who could now count Xullifan and D’alinyon Kel’Arkan as well as Tuliran Kjloroman among his victims. By now, Raelyse had already put a significant amount of distance between him and the crowd behind him and was authoritatively standing about ten feet from Kjloroman’s murderer. The Myrusian’s blue eyes met the yellow ones of the man that stood opposite him with a steely look. Both faces had the same air about them, the neutral expression with a pinch of anger tinged in their lips.

Raelyse, impulsive and headstrong, was the first to act, grabbing the sheath of his sword cane and pulling it off, recklessly throwing it some ten feet into the air behind him. Ilrathion’s magnificent blade had been unveiled, its shimmering beauty bathing the dome like battlefield with dazzling magical light. Even Kadarus had to avert his eyes to prevent being blinded by it. Temporarily off guard, the Valentine Bleeder nearly paid for his momentary weakness when Raelyse immediately went on the attack. The Myrusian dashed forward, his weapon’s deadly edge on the attack.

Kadarus was saved by his superior reflexes and senses, which alerted him just in time for him to bring up his katana, which he used to block the initial as well as the subsequent flurry of attacks that Raelyse was throwing his way. The two warriors then enacted an impressive rally of swordplay, each and every one of Raelyse’s rapid blows parried by the blood covered blade, Valentine. The Myrusian’s bravado and never ending attack combined with the blinding light emitted from Ilrathion to ensure that Kadarus was constantly on the defense, unable to take advantage of his monstrous strength. In fact, if the attacking blade had been more clinical, the Valentine Bleeder would have been dead within the first few strokes. But, that was not what Raelyse wanted. He did not want Kadarus dead. He wanted to know who Kadarus was.

After a high slice, quickly followed by a low strike were both blocked by Kadarus, the Myrusian swung hard with his blade, slamming it with all of his strength against the defensive Valentine. This latest blow sent the Valentine Bleeder reeling backwards in recovery, but even more distance was put between them when Raelyse took a few steps backwards.

“Who are you?” the Myrusian asked, his voice still evergreen and strong, not even coming close to giving the reward of a pant to his enemy, even after his exhausting attack. “Why did you turn the Kel’Arkan against me?”

“I came for you,” Kadarus said, the first hints of a smirk forming on his lips. Raelyse had reveled in his confidence for so long that he had given the samurai the time he needed by engaging in this foolish interrogation. Even before the first word had left his mouth, the Valentine Bleeder was in motion, his thighs jolting with energy as they sprung him forward. He could hear where Raelyse was and by the time the last word was spoken, he was upon the Myrusian thanks to his uncanny speed.

The bloody katana struck again, this time reunited with Kadarus’ gargantuan strength. Ilrathion rose instantly to block the attack, but it appeared to be much less effective on the defense. Valentine smashed into the long sword with such force that it knocked it out of Raelyse’s hand, sending it scuttling across the rocky floor, out of the Myrusian’s reach. There was not even enough time for shock; Kadarus acted quickly, sending his free hand shooting upwards, his fingers wrapping like a vice around Raelyse’s neck.

The legions of the Grander’s Order soldiers that had turned their attention to their leader’s exploits were shocked to see their skilled leader bested, and had to blink once to make sure their eyes were not playing tricks. In that time, the silver haired duo vanished. One moment they were there and the next, they weren’t. Eyes were rubbed and even a few soldiers ventured up to the area where a second ago, the two were standing. Any efforts were in vain though, because of one simple reason.

They had gone.

[Valentine]

Teleporting is a surreal experience as any who have experienced it will testament. It’s not natural, it has no biological explanation… it’s just magic. With so many different types of races and magi crawling over Althanas at any one time, it’s only statistically realistic that there are many different ways to move from one place to another without the hassle of moving feet. However, few methods could possibly have been gifted from the Thayne themselves. Hromagh the Strong saw it fit to break the trend and award that talent upon his latest emissary, the Valentine Bleeder and it has been used to good effect multiple times. D’alinyon would have been defeated much less quickly without teleporting, but the Valentine Bleeder was about to use that skill in a much more important scenario. With the scores of the Grander’s Order advancing upon him to help their leader, Kadarus would quickly have found himself surrounded and even with his skills, would find it difficult to defeat the sheer numbers. And so, with a quick grab of Raelyse, the one thing he had came for, and an invoking of the Thayne’s gift, Kadarus manipulated space and escaped, his precious treasure in hand.

His destination was one that he had found previously, when searching for the elusive hidden fortress of Erebus. The distance between the start point and end point was not actually that far, at least vertically. The problem was that Kadarus’ teleporting only allowed him to move a finite distance, a distance which really wasn’t that far in practice. But that problem was easily overcome by the Valentine Bleeder by performing rapid, short distance teleports that were so close to each other that he barely materialized until he had reached his destination. That place was just at the peak of the mountains, covered by just enough sun so that the minions of the Grander’s Order could not see.

Here, it became obvious that the peak of the mountains really wasn’t the peak at all. Now that his view had changed, the Valentine Bleeder could clearly see that multiple ranges around him dwarfed the one he was presently in. That didn’t occupy his mind for very long though; Kadarus had not been the man who admired views and natural beauty for a long time. What he did study with intrigue was the new area he was in. The ground here was uneven, covered in pebbles and rocks of varying sizes resulting in an almost slippery surface. Around Kadarus, the wind howled fiercely, challenging his balance. It also showed him how different this area was to the one he had been in last. Without the protection of the mountains, he was suddenly vulnerable to the elements. To juxtapose this area even more with the one below, there was the constant threat of slipping off and falling down this great height.

That was just about the last thing on his mind though, for Kadarus was strongly in control of his own destiny. Unlike the man whose throat he held tightly in his hands, the Valentine Bleeder would not choose to be in any other position except the one he was in now. After a quick glance around the area, he lifted Raelyse off the ground with ease before throwing him to one of the relatively flat areas around him. His right hand tightened around his katana, which now hovered in front of his body, defending.

That act was more for show than function though, for Raelyse was in no position to be aggressive. The Myrusian’s lungs gasped for air and his head throbbed with dizziness thanks to the teleporting, an ordeal he had never experienced before. It was taxing on his mind, which could not comprehend just what had happened. His vision was double and his brain was confused, but somehow Raelyse knew exactly what was happening to him. He could see the outline of Kadarus standing over him, his katana still bloody. He could see those chilling yellow eyes staring him down and when he saw the pale lips of the Valentine Bleeder move, Raelyse realized that he could hear.

“Now, I hope you’ll give me what you want,” that dreadful voice echoed in his ears. “And then I’ll give you what you want.”

A foot stepped forward and that imposing torso suddenly grew bigger in his blurry vision.

“Or more accurately, I won’t give you what I’m sure you don’t want.”

[Raelyse]

There was no tunnel and bright light, there was no flashback of his life, there was no repentance for his hefty list of sins and evils. And yet despite that, Raelyse could not shake the feeling that either way, he was going to die this day. The blood of his former allies, the drow and Kjloroman, still sullied the air with that foul stench. The dripping blood as it rolled off the katana only seemed to tarnish the grandiose view, one that otherwise would have humbled the one that Raelyse had seen every morning. The final blot was the pale creature that stood before the Myrusian, the one who had started this whole ordeal and in a few moments, become the one who would to end it.

Even with a blurred and indistinct view of the world, it was obvious that Kadarus held his weapon comparatively casually, though it still lingered about him like a guard dog, ready to snap back at any attacks. Raelyse was in no form to attack though, for his treasured Ilrathion had been left at the bottom, not that he was not of fit mind to wield it anyway. His vision was compromised and his head ached, though both were quickly recovering. Recognizing this, the Myrusian decided to prolong his condition theatrically. He did not stand a ghost of a chance against Kadarus with just his blade, but if he could concentrate enough to use his magic, then perhaps he could present the Valentine Bleeder with a harder challenge for their second duel.

“What… is it that you want?” Raelyse began, his voice stuttering with weakness, a rare occurrence that almost sounded vile in his mouth. “I have money, I have influence, I have power; I have everything that a man could ever want.”

His vision, slowly healing, told him of the image before him; Kadarus nearly laughing out loud, his features twisting to form what could be a smile. Raelyse was sure that was not something his eyes would have seen if they were working at optimum efficiency. It was just an image that the Myrusian could not imagine.

“Do you know who I am?” the Valentine Bleeder said, with pride that was more typical to Raelyse than to him. “Look closely, study my face and then tell me you do not know who I am.”

Kadarus had long ago begun to deduce the relationship between himself and Raelyse. A number of theories had sprouted in his head, all revolving around the startling similarity of their facial features. He knew that the Thayne were involved and he knew that it had something to do with a magical item that he once possessed, but that was all that he knew.

“Do you find me handsome, Raelyse?” Kadarus began again, his voice mocking. “Do you find my hair color to be of beauty?”

By now, Raelyse’s vision had healed enough to become surreal, not optimal by any means but at least he no longer saw double or strange colors. The Myrusian was able to see clearly now and for the first time, was given the time to glance into the face of the Valentine Bleeder and really study it. It was like glancing into some form of perverted mirror. Their features were the same but Kadarus’ skin was paler, with the occasional scar as grisly decoration. Then, there were those abhominal yellow eyes that juxtaposed so strongly with the beautiful blue orbs of Raelyse’s eyes.

“Y-Y-You’re…?” the Myrusian stuttered.

The Valentine Bleeder puttered for a moment, a sense of uneasiness and discomfort creeping into the confidence that he had exhibited before. He almost turned his back on Raelyse, but regained his composure and stood, straight, his chest up and shoulders back. As he spoke though, it was strange because the tone was different to the way he had spoke before and the authority which was rampant in his voice was gone now.

“... I’m you.”

[Valentine]

A familiar sight formed itself under very unfamiliar circumstances; Raelyse’s smirk was shaping itself in light of Kadarus’ almost ludicrous statement. Coupled with the unease the Valentine Bleeder tasted meant that for a brief moment, it appeared that Raelyse had the upper hand from body language alone. It was a situation that Kadarus instantly saw and one that he corrected even faster.

As quick as death, his mighty hand came across, turning in motion to force the stinging edge of Valentine onto Raelyse’s neck. The katana instantly pierced flesh and drew blood, though not enough to be lethal, but more than enough to steal attention and put Kadarus firmly back into a domineering position. He sneered, signifying his superiority in an almost primal manner.

“You dare to mock me?” he goaded, his nostrils flaring like an enraged bull. “Do you even know who I am?”

There was a brief silence, almost awkward, before Kadarus hesitated.

“Oh I’m sorry,” he said, though his angry features could never be described as apologetic, even by a blind man. “We never had the pleasure of meeting. My name is Kadarus Salidan, but I’m sure you know me by another name; Kade Lien maybe?”

The Valentine Bleeder studied Raelyse with intrigue at this point, scanning his face for any sort of reaction. There was not much of anything until the name ‘Kade Lien’ left lips and entered his ears. Eyebrows visibly perked up at this point as familiarity crept into his face. Under duress, Raelyse could not lie and with one look, had just given Kadarus what he had been looking for.

“No need for you to say anything,” he said, his face a model of ferocious determination. “I already know who you are and what you want. But as you can see, you are in no position to ask for anything, so I think it’ll be best for both of us if you just gave me what I want.”

Kadarus did not have to look for any signs of positive acknowledgement from Raelyse, for he knew him well enough to know that he would do anything to squirm his way out of this situation. Once he had given Kadarus what he wanted, then Raelyse could squirm thorough the rest of his life and the Valentine Bleeder could care less.

“I want the Crest of Myrusia.”

Both of them stared into each other’s eyes at this point, waiting for the other to flinch. Kadarus was looking for the signs of familiarity to creep into a face under torture, where he would not have the strength to resist. But Raelyse showed nothing. He was not that good a liar… or was he? Kadarus was too confident in his own research to pick holes in it until this point, but now that the finishing line was in sight, it seemed that he was going to trip five feet away from the finishing line.

Kadarus pulled his blade away and stormed a few steps away, raising his katana a few feet into the air before bringing it down across a stalagmite, cutting the rock into pieces as if it were raw meat. He was enraged at this point. If the Crest of Myrusia, what he needed to regain his humanity and freedom, was not with Raelyse, then where was it? Why did Hromagh tease him like this?

Furious, he span on the balls of his feet, his angry eyes burning with the fury of a ravaging flame.

“THEN WHERE IS IT?”

[Raelyse]

The cliché goes that life is made up of crossroads and each time we make a decision about which way to go, it affects our life in ways we can never see. At this point in his life, Raelyse was faced with such a decision, only the results of what he would choose would come to fruition much earlier. He saw a brief chance for himself, when the fanatically fervent Kadarus turned around briefly, to relieve his anger. If Raelyse lied there, he surely had only minutes to live. If however, he fought against the pain that was crawling through every bone and muscle in his body, he had a chance. A minute one, but one nonetheless.

Every niggling thought in the back of his head told him he did not have the strength to scrap, that maybe he should beg Kadarus for mercy in the form of a quick slit of the throat. He just had nothing left, there was nothing within him.

That’s the new Raelyse speaking, the Myrusian thought to himself with disdain. It was at this moment that he had as closest to an epiphany as he had ever had in his life. He had grown comfortable with the Grander’s Order in Alerar. Living in the lap of luxury had drained his ambition and drive. The Raelyse who had just left Myrusia, searching for success would never want to ‘beg for mercy.’ He was foolhardy and naïve, but at least he had the mental strength to never give up.

As those thoughts ran through his head, of the man that he had become, of the man that the boy would be ashamed to become, Raelyse realized that he had to fight. Even if he fell, he would do so in the same manner that he had done everything else in his life, with pride. His hands, weak and feeble, pushed with all the strength in their reserves, having just enough within them to lift Raelyse from his fetal position. His legs, quivering with frailty, were worked to their limits to let him just enough so that he could stand up, albeit unsteadily. The Myrusian fought on, his lungs gasping for air. His whole body was hurting and aching, but somehow he mustered enough energy to unsheathe his blade, Lhustaril.

His hand wobbled, unable to hold the rapier steady. Kadarus was still facing away from him, unaware that Raelyse had risen. This is my one chance chance, this is my only chance, the thoughts continuously rang in his head, repeated over and over again. The Myrusian concentrated, focusing all of his energy into this one charge, this last charge.

The next few seconds were a blur to all. As the first few steps of Raelyse’s feet took him forward, Kadarus turned around and roared loudly, his voice echoing through the valleys and mountain ranges all around them. A split second later, Lhustaril cut through the air, its handle firmly in Raelyse’s hand, aimed straight for Kadarus’ arm. The sword cut into the flesh of his right bicep without any difficulty, drawing blood and causing the Valentine Bleeder to scream in pain so loudly all of Alerar must have heard it.

Valentine clattered to the ground emphatically and Kadarus fell backwards to his knee, clutching his profusely bleeding bicep, his face twisted in pain. Raelyse stood over him, his eyes wide as Lhustaril, its magical effects triggered by contact with Kadarus’ blood, began to drink hungrily from the Valentine Bleeder and fill the Myrusian with stolen strength.

“W-Ww- What are you doing?” Kadarus stammered, his voice without the steadiness now that his titanic might was being sapped. It was a tiring feeling; one that instantly ensured his confidence ebbed away with his stamina.

“First of all, I have no idea what this Crest of Myrusia is,” Raelyse replied, his voice domineering now, and his smirk returning as all of his wounds were healing, his vitality refilling like a water bottle in a stream.

“And secondly, I’m showing you why you never make demands or requests, you simply adhere to mine… And I’m asking you to give me what I want.”

[Valentine]

Quivering in fear, devoid of energy and drive, was not something that Kadarus was very used to. He was an assertive, dominant man who got what he wanted through intimidation and brute strength. This time, though... his usual pattern had backfired to spectacular effect. Always a man of emotions, this time Kadarus had let them dominate his thoughts to the point where his back was turned for a moment and in that vital time, he had not only been pushed all the way from his position dominance to the one he was in now - sniveling on the ground like a bum begging for alms. Raelyse had outwitted him, his sharp mind adding unexpected resilience to its list of traits. Maybe when push came to shove, the prissy noble wasn't as fragile or weak minded as once thought.

Kadarus' yellow eyes, once driving fear into his enemies like a shovel into soft dirt, were the fearful ones now, glancing upwards at the one who stood glowering above him like a cruel master. Lhustaril siphoned his energy to the point of fatigue, its magical effect cruelly binding him to the ground like shackles weighing on him like a thousand anchors. He shuffled his movements, stuttering with his hands, trying in vain to gather enough strength to push himself up, to at least lift himself from this humiliating position, to at least salvage some semblance of pride. How quickly the tables had turned... and all because he had gotten too confident! At the start of the day, Kadarus would have easily stood on top of the mountain and screamed at the top of his lungs to proclaim that Raelyse's pride was his weakness for all of Alerar to hear, but now...

“And I want you gone,” Raelyse said, his voice reeking of condescension. His deadly blade hovered about, almost aimlessly, for a moment before the Myrusian beckoned it to move in for the kill. A quick turn of his wrist and a thrust forward pressed the tip of the blade firmly against Kadarus' throat. “At first, I wanted to keep you alive, long enough perhaps for me to figure out who you are or what you wanted. Only for a moment though, for that was for how long you held my interest. And you did not really expect to live longer than my interest, did you?”

Raelyse laughed at this point, throwing his silver hair backwards in some cruel taunt, unknowingly easing the pressure, if only temporarily on the sharp edge that poked dangerously on Kadarus' Adam's Apple. It was at this moment that the Valentine Bleeder felt renewed vigor enter his body, all from one sight, one sight that told him that despite his situation, despite the position that he was in, he could still end this day with what he had wanted at the beginning.

As Raelyse relaxed for a moment, Kadarus' yellow eyes caught sight of the Myrusian's rings, silver metal wrapped around each of his ring fingers, each bearing an inscription. He could not hope to read it, for it was so small, but the font was recognizable, curled in cursive that instantly stole his eyes. Those little bands of metal were the key to his freedom, the first step on the staircase that led to becoming the man he once was, to turn back to Kade Lien.

Without thought or inhibition, the Valentine Bleeder's left hand moved with all the strength that was still contained with it. Fingers wrapped around the blade of Lhustaril and squeezed hard around it, with such a vice grip that the sharp edge cut into his skin, drawing boundless blood from his palm. Kadarus cared little for the pain though, how could he when freedom was just around the corner? His arms pulled then, with all of their strength, tapping into reserves of strength he never thought he would ever need. Now that he called upon it though, they did not disappoint, giving him might enough to pull the rapier from Raelyse's hand and fling it away.

Kadarus' hands shot forward instantly, each of them grabbing onto Raelyse's palms. He moved with surprising speed that the Myrusian did not even have time to acknowledge this movement before the Valentine Bleeder's palms slid downwards like a pair of eels, plucking both of the rings from Raelyse's fingers.

“No,” Kadarus said, his eyes looking upwards. His body still vibrated for lack of strength and constitution, but his voice was filled with renewed purpose now that he could firmly see the end. “No. I am the one who gets what he wants. I am the hero who gets who he deserves.”

Maybe Raelyse was the fool blinded by pride after all.

[Raelyse]

The situation had been turned on its head once again, with one side getting the advantage over the other from a perilous position. It was hardly surprising though, Raelyse and Kadarus were both relentless in getting what they wanted and each possessed their own type of titanic might. Their relative evenness in terms of battle prowess meant that the only way either of them could truly defeat the other would be by being mentally stronger, by truly showing dogged determination to best the other. Unfortunately, neither of them was a true fighter, an underdog who battled against the odds for victory. Both were used to going into duels as favorites and ending them at a canter.

Raelyse glanced down at the man in front of him, who stared right back at him with a ginger look on his face despite the fact that despite everything he had done, was still at a disadvantage. He saw Kadarus reach down for his katana, even giving him enough time for his slender fingers to slide around its handle. That was aibout as generous as the Myrusian was going to be, for a moment later, he thrust his right hand forward, at the same time summoned the magic that swam through his body in the form of telekinesis, and used it on Kadarus. Unexpecting, the Valentine Bleeder flew back almost ten feet in the air, one of his hands holding onto the rings that he strangely took so much pleasure in and the other to his precious katana. He landed inches away from falling off the edge and into a deep ravine by digging his boots in and stopping the momentum.

There was no chance of him stopping Raelyse's forward march though. The Myrusian strode forward purposefully, his eyes glued to Kadarus as though there was nothing else. Fingers visibly tinged with the power of his magic. Lightning sparks jumped off the fingers of his hands, power reined in but mobilized, ready for release at any time.

“I hope you realize that I do not need any weapons to end you,” Raelyse began, his voice mocking, though there was an element of seriousness in it that indicated he was in a mood to play no longer. “Give me my rings.”

“Do you even know what these rings are?” Kadarus asked, his voice condescending, as if he was the one standing over the one lying on the ground. He transferred both rings to his left hand, clenched tightly in a fist while his bloody right hand held his katana. “They're more than a little tool that helps you to walk, my friend.”

“What do you know about them? You pretend to be this master, this all knowing sage, but you know nothing!” Raelyse shouted, both of his hands raised, palms open, demonstrating the power that he was channeling through them. He felt the magic, restrained just beneath his skin, ready to erupt but he kept it in until he could not hold it in any longer. He wanted Kadarus to feel his full strength, to feel what it was like to be hit by a rushing river after it had been withheld by the dam.

“I know that despite the fact that you no longer have the rings, you appear to be walking fine,” Kadarus said rather smugly. Beneath that facade though, he was bracing himself for the pain that was surely about to come. His eyes turned to his right and glanced downwards at the sharp drop, hundreds of feet between here and the next flat surface. “You have me to thank for that.”

“I HAVE YOU TO THANK FOR NOTHING!” Raelyse shouted, using all the air in his lungs. The first echo in the valley did not sound before twin bolts of lightning spewed forward from his palms like lava from a volcano. They flew forward at impossible speed, hitting Kadarus' chest square, sending waves of pain coursing through his body. The Valentine Bleeder screamed in agony as his body went numb for a fraction of a moment, before that calm was abruptly ended by the storm of agony coursing through every nerve. He rolled around, convulsing as the electricity found its way, torturing every part of his body.

Though his face did not shift from its steely neutrality, Raelyse derived at least a significant amount of pleasure at watching Kadarus writhe in agony. He intended to keep this up for at least a few minutes, until vocal chords gave out, then he would use Lhustaril to drain every ounce of life from him at the speed of grains of sand dropping from an hourglass. Kadarus would know no reprieve from his torment.

Unfortunately for Raelyse, things did not go all according to his plan. The Myrusian did not anticipate anything wrong when Kadarus rolled slightly to his right, thinking it was a convulsion but was genuinely surprised when the Valentine Bleeder continued his roll and slid clean off the edge of the cliff, falling down and into the ravine of the Alerar mountains.

Raelyse's mouth gaped open, his eyes wide in shock. He moved towards the cliff, looking over the edge just in time to see Kadarus' body smash against various rocks like a rag doll before his fall ended, a minuscule figure from this height, at the bottom.

The Valentine Bleeder was dead, but on no one's terms but his own.

[Valentine]

It was a decision that he needed to take, it was one that he needed to ensure his survival, but Kadarus could not help but regret rolling off a cliff a few hundred feet from the ground. His bones were strong; they had to be to withstand the titanic force from his muscles, but even they did not have the durability to withstand the force they were subjected to. The Valentine Bleeder fell for about five seconds, hitting nothing but air, thinking for a foolish moment that he would only have to endure one painful crush. Then, his body smashed against the rock surface, instantly breaking bones. His mouth opened to scream in pain, but blood swam up to fill it, throwing nothing from his lips but his own fluid.

Kadarus did not have to endure the pain for long though; for the latest pummel the rock inflicted against him snapped his spine like a twig, instantly stealing all feeling from him. With the last of his strength, he slid the twin rings that he had stolen from Raelyse into a pocket, not even knowing which one or even if he had managed to slide them in at all, for a moment later his body crashed against the cliff once more and consciousness was lost to him.

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

The excruciating torture that Kadarus' body had to undergo had left it crumpled and contorted, limbs in places where they should not be and seemingly a thousand wounds decorating his body, at the bottom of the deep ravine. The final fall, the one where he at last landed, was the most damaging one of all; it easily shattered any bones that had not been broken before. Blood leaked from the seemingly limitless holes in his body, a literal pool of blood forming just below the misshapen man.

Somewhere in that distorted figure though, a pair of eyes twitched. Then, after considerable effort, they opened, giving an already groggy brain a fuzzy picture of the world. Kadarus blinked a few times, for a moment not believing the sight before him. His arm, or maybe his leg, had been thrust into his line of vision. Normally this would have been the most bizarre thing in anyone's sight, but not so this time for Kadarus. For standing in front of him was a glowing figure, humanoid in shape and muscular in stature. No features could be made out, the Valentine Bleeder could see nothing but an outline.

“Hello, my champion,” the voice said, though it wasn't so much as in his ears as it was in his head. At this time, it was obvious, from the words as well as the way they were communicated to him, that it was Hromagh the Strong who had engaged him.

“Do not try to speak,” the beast-god of the Thayne continued, his tone almost comical in its mocking. “You lost your tongue some one hundred feet above, but do not worry... it will be replaced.”

Those words echoed in his head for a moment, before a warm feeling replaced the nothingness that he had felt for so long. At first, Kadarus thought it was healing, that perhaps Hromagh wanted to heal him. Then, he realized that the beast-god would do no such thing, that the only thing that was being restored to him was his nervous system. A thousand cries in agony rang all at once and the pain nearly caused him to lose consciousness. Instead, he released a gargle of blood and saliva from his mouth, the closest thing to a scream of pain. That triggered the beast gods' amusement, sending waves of sadistic laughter ringing through his head.

“I will restore you to your former glory... despite your fervent defiance. I still need you to restore balance to Althanas,” Hromagh said, speaking of the vile task he had assigned to Kadarus. His perverted sense of balance resulted in the Valentine Bleeder killing everyone that was deemed redundant; and there were few who passed this cruel judgment. “But do not worry, I will release you from my service soon enough.”

Those words were lucid despite the pain that was pervasive throughout his entire body, for it was the simple phrase that he wanted to hear for so long. His body was gradually healing, fractures in his bones repairing themselves as if a seamstress was sewing them back up together. This affected his strangely placed limbs, shifting them back to where they should be. This process was far from pleasant though, with Kadarus having to endure every passing moment with the utmost strength, for the pain was intolerable. The only thing that kept him alive, the only thing keeping him from fainting once again was the promise that Hromagh had given him, that his freedom would soon be in his grasp.

Considerable time passed, with the glowing figure before him doing nothing but staring back at him, as the bones, cuts and wounds slowly fixed themselves, a gift from the beast god that surely would have to be repaid. The price would surely be high; because Kadarus rose, not one hour after he had fell, rejuvenated and able to stand on his own two feet with stability and fortitude. He opened his mouth to talk and found that he could speak, for everything in his mouth was just the way it had been before the fall. His body, too was perfectly healed, not a single knick or cut on his body remained.

Kadarus was reborn.

“Why did you heal me?” the man asked. His voice was weak and his mind was still drowsy from the ordeal, but he was driven on by the single thought in his mind. His freedom was only just around the corner.

“Did you not fall,” the beast god responded, “because you thought that I would be there to catch you? Did you not take the fragments of your Crest of Myrusia because you thought I would give you the next step to your freedom? Should I not be the one that asks questions?”

Kadarus shifted uneasily, remembering what had happened before the fall. He reached into his right pants pocket, relieved to find his fingers against cold metal. He pulled them out, holding them in his open palm and stared at them. He had recognized them as soon as he had seen them on Raelyse's hand, for they sent out a magical energy that was so familiar to him Only when Hromagh mentioned the Crest of Myrusia did he realize why.

“Yes,” Hromagh said, cutting off any thought processes that Kadarus might have been running through his head and answering any questions that he might have been asking. “Raelyse's rings are crafted from one of Kade Lien's items, the Crest of Myrusia. I applaud you, for finding Raelyse and I applaud you even louder for linking his rings to you, but my full amusement must go for your tumble down the mountain. Never have I had a emissary so trusting in my ability to save him.”

Normally, Kadarus would not dare question the beast god, but this was different, this was the thing he had wanted for so long. “If what you said before is true, then you won't have me as an emissary for much longer.”

Laughter rang in his head once more, but this time it was cut short by the beast god's own speech, fierce in tone but not to the point of menace. “Yes, I will give you your freedom back, for I am growing tired of your constant barracking for it. You have served me well and I will replace you with more singleminded souls to serve my cause. Finding Raelyse was only the beginning and now that you have done that, you have proved that you deserve to see the end. All I ask, my champion, is that you fulfill one final task.”

Kadarus' heart stopped beating for a moment, as he waited for Hromagh to tell him what he needed to do. At this point, he would do anything. His heart wept a thousand times at all the atrocities he had committed so far that he had been desensitized. He would do anything.

Something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, causing him to turn his head to see it in full view. His katana, as unscathed as he was, was levitating just a few feet away from him. It drifted towards him and Kadarus opened his palm to welcome it back into his grasp.

“Use your weapon,” the beast god began, “and balance Althanas one last time. Bring me one thousand souls, Kadarus... and your freedom will be yours.”

[Spoils: I ask only that you round up or down my EXP so that when it's added to my current amount, it's a whole number. Damn Zouk.]

[Raelyse]

It was not Raelyse's nature to sit down and think for long periods of time, but this time, he did so. It was not something he did out of choice; it was a necessity given what had happened. After his encounter and apparent defeat of Kadarus, the Myrusian had been rescued and returned to the warm haven of Erebus where he, along with the rest of the Grander's Order, rested and recuperated. Even after his wounds were healed and his mind back to normalcy, Raelyse could not shake the thoughts of the Valentine Bleeder from his mind. The moment Kadarus' hands wrapped around his wrists, the moment their skin made contact, a strange feeling had pulsed through his body. It was not like anything that he had felt before. It was a warm static with a strange sense of deja vu tinged within it. Worst still, what Kadarus had told him had come true... the enchantment that had hindered his right leg was gone now and he could walk easily for the first time in his life. And when had that happened? As soon as Kadarus had touched him, he felt it leave his body, akin to a giant weight that had crushed his chest for his whole life being lifted off.

So many question pervaded his thoughts and his mind could come up so little answers. He remained in Erebus though, with the thoughts and memories of his encounter with Kadarus never far from the forefront of his mind. It did not take him long to reach a conclusion or more accurately, to rekindle a thought that had been in his mind before. It was simple really, almost obvious. If he wanted to get the answers that he wanted so much, he would have to return to Myrusia. The answers were there. They would know who this Kadarus was, they would know what was so special about Raelyse's rings that the Valentine Bleeder would hold such an interest for them and perhaps most importantly, they could tell him why with a touch, Kadarus had removed the enchantment that had haunted him his entire life. The enchantment that the Myrusians had imbued on their princes, the same one that supposedly only the king could remove.

Another thought that was ever present in his head concerned the Grander's Order and his position as leader. When he had encountered Kadarus, he had thought of this new self, this successful Raelyse who had carved his empire, this Raelyse who had grown content. This comfort zone, this entire fortress which was literally commissioned on his whim contained hundreds of his supporters who would move at his beck and call. This was his ambition when he left Myrusia... only he never thought that he would be happy with it once he had attained it. He had always prided himself on never being satisfied, on always wanting more but after his brush with Kadarus and nearly death, he realized that he had been drank from the teat of success and grown fat with complacency. Raelyse needed his drive back, his ambition which had characterized him for so long had faded and now, he realized how desperate he was to get it back. Only one solution existed – he had to leave the Grander's Order.

The same meeting room where the commanders of the Grander's Order had met minutes into the attack of the Kel'Arkan drow was now home to a meeting of a different sort. Except for Kjloroman, who had fallen in the battle, all the leaders of the clan were present. Clement Whitestorm, Miranda Soemamon and Erik Colthor all sat in their respective seats, eager to know why they had been summoned. The former two still wore the scars of their battles, but Colthor the mage had stayed back, his handsome face safe from harm.

“I don't have a charming introduction because I don't believe I need one in this case,” Raelyse began, his face solemn, a look that none of the three had seen very often. “I've decided, after the events that have transpired, that it would be best I relinquished the title of Grander.”

Before any of them could speak up in objection, or in Colthor's case, voice celebration, the Myrusian continued. Initially, he did not feel as if he needed to give them details explaining his decision, despite the fact that these people were the closest thing that Raelyse had to friends. But he told them anyway, for a compulsion to do so tugged at him and he did not have the strength to fight one of his gut feelings amidst this difficult decision. “The Grander's Order has grown stale and I am leaving. Althanas is my pearl and I feel that no goal we can achieve here is lucrative enough a prize for me to warrant shackling myself to a stagnant organization.”

None of them said anything, their minds still trying to process what was going on. “This is not a hiatus, this is not a break,” Raelyse said, as his feet slowly dragged his body to the door, which he pushed open, before speaking to them with his back turned, in an effort to keep the tears that were welling up in his eyes from their sight. “I am leaving, I may never return, I do not know where this new path will take me. All I know is that I am not the man to bring the Grander's Order forward anymore. Fight amongst yourselves to determine who the new Grander will be, I care not.”

At this, Raelyse moved off and slammed the door shut behind him. His possessions were already loaded into a carriage downstairs in anticipation of his decision. The Myrusian had never walked faster in his life then at this time, for he simply did not want to think, he did not want his mind to stay on the hardest decision of his life. But as the first wheels of the carriage turned, bringing him away from Erebus, his head could not help but flood with thoughts of what he had done.

The Grander's Order was his brainchild, he had built it from scratch, he had put every ounce of himself into it and it was tormenting him so now that he had chosen to give it up. Would his choice be vindicated? When Raelyse had left Myrusia, he had been excited, he could hardly contain himself at the opportunities for success that were out there. But this time, doubts invaded his thoughts. Could he be more successful somewhere else or would he stagnate wherever he chose to settle? Worst of all, would he fail to reach the relative heights that he had achieved here? Not one foot did the carriage move without the Myrusian thinking of telling the driver to turn around and bring him back to Erebus, but he resisted.

For so long, his only care had been himself. He was making a perfectly logical decision – leave the Grander's Order so that he could have the answers he desperately needed to burning questions that were now constantly haunting his mind. But it was just so difficult for him to make that decision. That was why he had so many doubts; he should have cast the Grander's Order aside when he realized they were holding him back, when they were no longer of use to him. But he had clung on to it and was still clinging to it even now, because it was a piece of him... and how Raelyse adored himself. To toss a part of himself did not seem right. It was a difficult thing for him to do, but the Myrusian chose to continue with this hard choice.

Choosing ambition over comfort was not something he had done easily, but now that he had, Raelyse realized that nothing would stand in his way. He would become the man he dreamed of becoming.

[Spoils: Raelyse loses the enchantment that hampers his right leg.]

[Logan]

Raelyse/Valentine


STORY

Continuity (8/10/8/10) ~ It made sense for this particular interaction to occur and the time it occurred. There was no overall deviation for either’s story. Everything stayed consistent. As such, kudos, and an 8 for the both of yous.

Setting (7/10/7/10) ~ To me the setting and the use of it felt drab at times, however, at other times it felt right on point. Had there been something more eye-catching than the ballroom(and yes, there was more, but that was the most eye-catching to me) you might’ve both scored higher here.

Pacing (8/10/8/10) ~ The story on the whole flowed evenly and well. In the beginning, due to the nature of the introductory posts, it felt awkward, but once that was sorted out everything kinda just meshed together nicely. The intro hurt you the two points, both of you, here.

CHARACTER

Dialogue (8.5/10/8.5/10) ~ Good use of body language and spoken language. It all fit well and seemed to really enhance the overall appeal of the thread. You both get 8.5’s for it.


Action (7/10/7/10) ~ Ok, to be honest, the battle felt empty. When I re-read it I took out the dialogue and it was bland. Very much so. With that said, it was well-written, and a couple of times I started to get into it, but then the next line or two would throw me back out of it. Maybe it was forced? Not sure what to really say other than that.


Persona (9/10/9/10) ~ Excellent use of your character’s and their personalities. Their actions fit with who they are and how they should act or react as the case may be. There was a little room for improvement, but as you can tell, not much.

WRITING STYLE


Mechanics ((8/10/8/10)) ~ Very proper use of the English language, and one which never threw me off while reading the thread. Minor mistakes, but nothing too critical. Well done.


Technique ((7.5/10/7.5/10)) ~ There were some points where I could tell you were really into it and things just flowed, and then there was a point early on where it felt like you were flourishing your writing up just to flourish it. Sometimes it’s best to let simple happen. You’d be surprised what simple can do for your writing. Even the best authors use simple writing to compliment the hearty thicker stuff.

Clarity ((8/10/8/10)) ~ I was never really thrown for a loop and I never truly felt totally lost. A couple of times I did have to scratch my head and go wait, did I miss something. Other than, though, it flowed nicely and all complimented one another well.


Wild Card (6/10/6/10) ~ Overall it was a decent read and I did enjoy it. As such, I felt 6’s were appropriate here. I just wanted more spark…and more hawtness!


Total Scores:
Raelyse’s Total: 77
Valentine’s Total: 77

Raelyse gains 5050 Exp and 150 Gold.
Valentine gains 4750 Exp and 150 Gold.

[Cyrus the virus]

EXP added. You both level up and are ugly.