Ka'thar Between Friends

[Deus di Eclave]

Continued from An Exile, A Tome, and An Oath (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=13338)
It seemed sound had left this forsaken wasteland. The wind rustled the dead branches of the trees and stirred the fallen leaves; the only sounds near the black tower. No wildlife came near the great obelisk, preferring the life of the forest to the death of The Spire. For Drizaghar Maena’triel, The Spire held a greater pull. Something he couldn’t explain.

He paced circles around the black tower, eyeing its smooth surface as he contemplated what wonders lay hidden within. More than that though, he wondered what the great tower meant. Why were there signs warning the general public to keep away? Why had the plants all around the place died? What was its purpose here in the Red Forest?

He and Fascath had been camping in the ring of death which emanated from the tower for two days. The drow had read his translator and his ancestor’s Tome until he tired of both. He needed more practical application. As the sun set behind him, Drizaghar cupped his hands together and summoned a ball of fire. He slowly pulled his hands apart, willing the flame to split as well. For a few instants, it stretched ever so slightly; the flames being pulled to the sides nearest his hands. But then it resumed its shape and fell into the space between his hands. This isn’t going to help me enter The Spire, he chastised himself. The dark elf needed a plan.

After being exiled from the Underdark, Drizaghar had emerged into the world of Althanas. His people had disavowed him because he practiced the dark art of necromancy. He had made his way across the region of Raiaera and found him in the elven capital of Eluriand. There he had met a dark elf from Alerar and the two had conversed about the city, the region, and the world. Drow never trusted one another, but Drizaghar had been grateful for the information the other had provided him. Soon after that, the student discovered his necromancer powers and had the city guards arrest him. He and Fascath had escaped, leaving the dark elf with a foul taste for the city.

Now he found himself in the middle of the Red Forest standing before a looming tower with no idea where to go from here. When he approached The Spire, a strange power prevented him from getting any closer. Baffled by how to overcome such an obstacle, he had begun reading through the Tome of Necromancy passed down through his family by his ancestor. “Ori'gato uns'aa wun! Let me in!” he yelled at the imposing tower.

Frustrated, he turned away and walked over to where his pack sat. Dropping down next to it, he pulled out the Tome of Necromancy and began flipping through its pages, looking for inspiration.

~~~

Fascath woke him hours later, the sun had set long ago and the night sky was thick with dark clouds. “Vel'bol? What?” he asked groggily.

<<Power surges from The Spire,>> the ethereal drow told his master. Drizaghar rose slowly to his feet, eyes narrowed and ears straining to hear anything out of the ordinary. The pair approached the tower, getting closer than they had before. A sense of foreboding fell on the dark elf as he reached out his hand. Fingers extended, he pressed them against the side of the black obelisk.

Silently, the wall melted away to reveal an ornate black gate blocking further passage. Just beyond the metal, Drizaghar could see a small courtyard and then a heavy door. Backing away from The Spire, he turned to his familiar. “A l'valsharess,” he whispered. “By Lolth herself, what fell magic is this?” Despite the sense of danger welling up inside him, the drow knew he had to investigate further. He had to find out what mysteries the tower contained.

[Deus di Eclave]

Caoi M’hin leaned back in his dark leather chair with his hands folded before him. He glared at the cutthroat sitting before him, his lipless sneer showing rows of sharpened fangs. “You displease me, Jamison,” he growled. The thug cowered in his seat, but dared not look away from his boss. “I trust you with one simple task,” he continued as he drummed his fingers on the mahogany desk. “One simple task; and you botch it!” The steady clicks of his gauntleted claws tapping the wood belied his inner rage. A soft whimper escaped the brute’s throat as the Basraelin stood and leaned across the desk. “How hard is it to kill a merchant!?” his voice seethed with anger, but he kept his demeanor.

A rap on the door interrupted Caoi’s interrogation of his own man. “What?” he snarled at whoever was on the other side of the door.

“Sir,” the voice of his second-in-command sounded through the heavy wood. “I have reports from Raiaera.”

Caoi walked around his desk and opened the door. “Come then,” he motioned to the dark elf standing patiently. “Tell me what you’ve heard.” He turned to the assassin shaking in the chair before him and motioned to the open door. “Get out of my sight.” The terrified man needed no second bidding and he darted past the drow on his way out. “What do you have for me, Raka’dra?” he inquired.

The well-dressed dark elf sat on the edge of the desk as he addressed his boss. “Well, two murders in Trenycë over gambling were never tied back to our men. The Bladesingers there arrested some other sap, fa'la zatoast. Then we also received reports of a caravan being accosted on its way to the capital. I’m having some people look into that, because it wasn’t us that did it. Other than that, only one big problem; our guy in Carnelost was arrested by the garrison there and executed about a week ago.” Caoi grimaced and motioned for the drow to continue. “Well, we don’t have anyone close to The Spire now, so I’ll have to pull some strings and bring over someone from Eluriand.”

Once he had finished his reports, the dark elf looked into the eyes of his boss. “Caoi, what do you want me to do?”

Caoi fell heavily into his chair and rested his head on a hand. “Don’t worry about moving any of our forces in Raiaera,” he told his second. “I’ll be making a personal visit. I have some other matters to attend to as well.” He smiled evilly and motioned for Raka’dra to leave him. The dark elf bowed low before turning and shutting the door behind him.

The Legion survived by influencing people and then disappearing; by fading back, unnoticed, into the shadows, they could strike again. His agents in Raiaera needed to stop getting themselves caught. “Dumb bastards,” he muttered angrily as he stood and walked over to his bookshelf. His claws traced the spines of several books, but none was what he searched for. After locating a leather-bound book titled ‘The History of the Lindequalmë’, he returned to his chair and flipped through the pages.

He leaned back once again and stared at the page before him. The Fealotë. This was why he needed to go to Raiaera personally. He had a meeting with fate.

[Deus di Eclave]

Summoning up the courage to venture into the unknown, Drizaghar got a running start toward the blackened gate. Planting a foot on its surface, he launched himself into the air and vaulted over the top to land nimbly on the other side. Fascath stayed near their campsite to watch the supplies while his master delved deeper into The Spire. From the inside of the gate, the dark elf saw all manner of strange objects littering shelves on either side of the courtyard. Jars of all shapes and sizes took up the lower tiers and eventually gave way to small statues, ancient weapons, and dusty pieces of armor.

He made his way over to the shelves and gave the items a closer look. Greatswords, katanas, staves, polearms, shields, bracers, greaves, helms, daggers, bows; all manner of adventuring supplies lay coated in dust on the rickety old shelves. But the dark elf knew not to touch them; the sense of danger in the courtyard was nearly palpable. Who knew what manner of enchantments lay on the long unused blades? As he neared the heavy door on the opposite side of the courtyard from the gate, he felt a prickle on the back of his neck. Shivers ran down his spine as his hand reached for the door as if something was telling him to go no further.

When his slender fingers touched the cool wood, he heard a voice, “It’s too late.” The room spun as the drow felt his spirit fading quickly. His eyes rolled back into his head as he clutched his chest in agony. Colors whirled about in his vision and he screamed with the pain of it all. Voices sounded in his head, shouting unintelligible phrases and mocking his plight.

“Help!” he screamed, hoping that Fascath could hear him. Before him appeared a tall human dressed in long black robes and carrying many leather-bound tomes. The ghostly form extended a gnarled hand toward the suffering dark elf and the world slowly began to cease its wild gyrations.

In the corner of his eye, Drizaghar saw Fascath float through the gate and near his position. As his vision faded, he felt the warm glow of his familiar entering his body. The ethereal drow was lending his master lifeforce to battle whatever unseen forces tried to destroy him. Bolstered by the renewed energy, the dark elf rose from his knees to face the wavering form before him.

He threw his arm before him and summoned his necromancy powers as never before. Stretching the limits of his abilities, he sought to drain the phantom of its spirit. Black chords snaked from his chest and met spidery tendrils coming from the ghost. Swirls of darkness spun around the two forms, Drizaghar pulling at the two souls just as much as the unseen spirit tugged at them. Still, the drow felt his lifeforce fading and knew he had little hope of wining.

Summoning all of his power in one surge, the dark elf necromancer ripped his soul free of the undead’s grasp and fell to the ground panting. He knew he had little time before the thing renewed its attack and so he quickly sprang to his feet. Running across the courtyard, he vaulted himself over the gate once more and kept right on going. Barely even stopping to gather his supplies, the drow sprinted from The Spire and out into the Red Forest.

Stopping only when he finally found plantlife again, Drizaghar panted heavily as he collapsed under a tree. “Fascath,” he whispered, the energy gone from him. “What was that thing?” His familiar emerged from his master’s body, the additional lifeforce no longer needed.

<<Master,>> the ethereal companion stated. <<I saw nothing.>> The words rolled over Drizaghar as the toll of the battle finally came to him in full. He went to reply but fell unconscious before his lips could form the words.

[Deus di Eclave]

Finding a boat leaving the isle of Scara Brae had been troublesome as always. Caoi M’hin was a Basraelin, a human turned demon turned vampire, and as such he always drew a lot of attention. He wasn’t one to hide himself under a cloak or a scarf either, so people always recognized him. The mutated features, the wickedly sharp teeth, the monstrous shoulders; he was one they didn’t soon forget. So instead of taking a ride on the normal ferry to the mainland, Caoi found himself on a small fishing boat heading to Raiaera.

The fisherman was a friend of The Legion; close enough to do them favors but far enough away to stay out of trouble when there was some to be had. He had agreed to take Caoi across to Raiaera in exchange for twice the gold a ferry would have cost. The man knew how to run his business.

As they sailed across the murky waters, Caoi immersed himself in the chapter of the book that discussed the Fealotë or Soul Blossom. ‘Instead of poisoning the body, the carnivorous plant’s venom penetrates the very core of one's soul, eating it alive for nourishment. Then these souls are stored within a central fruit for six days after consumption. The soul can be recovered by slaying the plant and since it cannot move during this brief window, traveling in groups of two or more is advised. Once killed, any souls in the reservoir of the flower will be returned to their owners, unless the owner’s body has decomposed beyond recognition. These vagrant souls become will-o’-the-wisps.’

He shut the book and gazed out over the vast ocean. Caoi M’hin did not rush into situations without knowing as much as he could. Planning and skill served more useful than raw strength in many situations. He had no idea how many Soul Blossoms there were in the Red Forest, but he needed to find one in particular. The task seemed impossible and his spirits sank a bit.

“I’ll find you,” he whispered to the waves lapping the sides of the small boat, showing an unusual quiet compassion. “I promise.”

[Deus di Eclave]

The song of a morning dove greeted Drizaghar as he slowly came out of his slumber. At first he was groggy, but after the memory of his battle with the spirit, he snapped awake. “Fascath!” he called through the still morning air. The ethereal drow materialized next to him seconds later and he turned to address him. “What happened to me?”

<<I know not,>> came the reply. <<You entered The Spire, called me, and then left. I saw nothing.>>

Drizaghar frowned, but decided it was best to leave the place for a time. Gazing at the life around him, he marveled at each little detail. The way moss grew at the base of each tree, how rocks seemed to be arranged in certain patterns, or the playful chase that the woodland creatures delighted in. The vibrant nature of the forest breathed life back into him; something he desperately needed after trespassing in The Spire.

As he began walking northeast through the forest, he struck up conversation with his familiar. “I saw shelves of weapons and armor,” he described. Then he voice dropped to a reverent whisper, “Even ze'zhuanth killianen, Fascath.” He continued, “Then I felt a tug at my soul and a human ghost came down from the tower to stand before me. He began draining my spirit; I fought back but to no avail.” He shook his head as he remembered the feeling of helplessness. “I barely escaped with my sanity,” he said solemnly. “I’ll never step foot in that tower again… neitar 'sohna.”

The forest began thickening; the trees became closer together, the underbrush became wilder, and the light filtered down through the leaves less and less. The bird songs quieted until all the dark elf could hear was his own voice. He pushed on for a few minutes in silence, focused on blazing a trail through the thorny plants. Finally he broke into a small clearing and sat on a log to catch his breath.

<<Danger lurks nearby,>> Fascath warned him. Rising to his feet, Drizaghar warily loaded his crowssbow and waited for a sound of the danger approaching. Cautiously, he crept toward a tree covered in low hanging vines and pushed them aside to see what lay beyond. Nothing.

As he turned to check the other side of the clearing, he felt a prick on his arm. Glancing down, he saw that he had caught a thorn in his skin. The small wound left a trickle of blood and Drizaghar grabbed the vine to yank it out. When his hand closed around the thick vine, he felt more thorns latch onto his palm. The vine was attacking him. He pulled against its suckers, trying desperately to free his hand, but the thorns dug in deeper. Vines snaked down from the tree, attaching themselves on his neck, shoulders, and legs in increasingly large numbers. Soon he would be covered in the thick tendrils; encased in a living tomb as the suckers drained his life’s blood. He had to act.

Summoning the power of the ring, he unleashed necrosis on the vines nearest to his hands. Nothing visibly happened and so he resorted to other methods. A fireball sprang to life in his palm, burning the vine attached there.

The thorns released their hold on his skin and began writhing in pain; fire was their bane. With this knowledge aiding him, Drizaghar unleashed fireball after fireball into the vine’s base. Tendrils whipped about in the air, trying desperately to avoid the flames, but it was no use. In a fury, the dark elf launched enough fire to burn down the entire tree that the vine was in. As the remnants of the plant withered and turned to ash, the drow finally calmed down.

Shaken by his encounter and more than a little bloody, Drizaghar stumbled back into the clearing. Who knew what else waited for him deeper in the woods? Without any idea where he was headed, the necromancer stuck to his relatively northeast path. Tense in anticipation for other threats, the innocence of the woods was lost to him.

[Deus di Eclave]

The massive frame of the Basraelin stood silhouetted atop one of the Dwarf Hills in the east of Raiaiera. A gentle breeze from the ocean blew his short cape out in front of him and tousled his hair. His blackened steel chestplate seemed to absorb what little light came from the horizon and consume it. The veins of liquid fire coursing across the corrupt material lent an eerie edge to his image and his wicked smile of pointed teeth only served to accentuate that. He carried The Avenger in his right hand, its blunt edge resting on his broad shoulder. The black diamond sword glowed from within, illuminated by the countless souls trapped inside. The dragon skull set as its pommel stone stared out over the Black Desert as if it could tell the path its master was about to walk. Caoi M’hin was ready.

Breathing deeply, he leaned his head to the side until he heard the faint pop of the vertebrae realigning. Then he sprinted down the hill and into the black sands of the Tel Moranfauglir, all the while breathing easily. Time passed quickly for the demon hybrid and in no time at all he stood at the border of the Black Desert and the Red Forest.

The trees whispered his name, calling for him to hunt within the embrace of their foliage. He could deny them the pleasure, but what would that accomplish? If the forest wanted him there he would have a much easier time finding what he wanted. He’d use the forest to find her.

[Deus di Eclave]

“One of the most nefarious creatures known to the living world, the spawn of N'jal were once a race of wood elves,” Drizaghar read from the Tome of Necromancy. “However, they soon went through dark rites to become one of her Order, which involved mutating their lower-halves into the thorax and legs of a giant spider.” Looking up from the book, the dark elf tried to picture such a creature. The priestesses of Lolth would have loved the half-breeds. The thought brought a cynical smirk to his face and he continued reading, “One attribute of their undead nature denies them of both a shadow and a reflection. Interesting.” His ancestor had an entire page dedicated to these N'jalian Spidermagi, but the drow couldn’t understand why. The tome wasn’t a bestiary.

Reading farther down the page, he found a section that might explain, “If they touch a shadow, they can melt into it. They also have the ability to travel between shadows in this manner.” Scribbled in the margin was one word, Shadow-walking.

The realization finally dawned on him; Drizaghar knew what the great necromancer had seen in these creatures. Their ability to move between shadows would be a great power if it could be harnessed. Flipping through the rest of the Tome, the dark elf tried to find other references to Shadow-walking. If someone had successfully perfected the technique, he would just follow in their footsteps. Though if no one had been successful yet, he could very well become the first Shadow-walker!

In his frantic search, the drow couldn’t find any other references to the ability of the spidermagi and so he closed the book. Still thinking of the opportunity before him, the necromancer stood and packed his things to continue on his journey. With thoughts of shadow-walking on his mind, Drizaghar set out once again.

[Deus di Eclave]

The world faded away as the brutish man focused on using his powers. His blackened soul, his Ka’thar, called out as part of the spell he wove. It called to another’s Ka’thar specifically; this method of tracking would allow him to figure out just how far away his target was. It took several minutes for a response to come back to him. It washed over him like a crisp spring waterfall and bathed him in its golden light before fading away. It was her; there was no doubt in his mind. Rising from where he sat on the ground, the Basraelin turned to face the direction where the call had come. The trip thus far had given Caoi little chance to utilize his skills, but the forest promised danger ahead. Grinning at the thought of rending woodland creatures with The Avenger, he strode into its dark embrace.

[Deus di Eclave]

Drizaghar approached the ferocious looking plant cautiously. After being attacked by seemingly harmless vines, he was right to take such precautions. The huge flower in the center of the plant pulsated with a faint light. The dark elf summoned a ball of fire; hand cocked at the ready in case the creature should attack. But even as he got closer, the thing remained almost motionless. Its tentacles waved slightly as if in an unseen breeze; all in all, the thing seemed lifeless.

“Fascath,” Drizaghar whispered to his familiar who remained unseen. “Any idea what it is?” The ethereal drow materialized beside his master before responding.

<<A soul blossom,>> he responded. <<When we were coming down from Eluriand, I heard the caravan we met talking about them. From what I heard, they trap your soul instead of killing you.>> Fascath floated closer to the creature and pointed to the glowing flower. <<This one must already have a soul for nourishment, that’s why it’s not attacking.>>

The dark elf necromancer nodded at the description and launched his fireball at the thing’s center. Flames erupted as it struck the flower, but the blossom did not react in the slightest. Grinning, Drizaghar brandished his staff and swung for the fruit growing against the plant’s stem. Mucous-like substance exploded from the broken fruit as the wooden staff broke through its skin. Alternating between throwing fire and swinging the staff, the drow soon destroyed the soul blossom.

As he broke the last fruit, the glow from the flower began growing in intensity. He stopped swinging and watched as a luminescent ball rose from the blossom’s remains and into the air. “Vel'bol zhah ol? What is it?” he questioned.

<<A soul,>> came Fascath’s response. The drow drifted into the air until his chest was level with the pulsating light. Reaching out an insubstantial hand, he tentatively touched the glowing ball. With a rush of wind, the thing was absorbed into the drow familiar and Fascath began emitting a low light. <<I can store it so long as I remain in the Firmament,>> he explained. <<Let us continue on.>>

Drizaghar wondered what good could come from keeping another’s soul, but the pair continued their northeast path as the sun began its descent to the horizon.

[Deus di Eclave]

The huge broadsword carved through the air and slashed through the bark of a nearby tree. However, the ‘tree’ began shimmering and soon disappeared altogether. Caoi reversed the massive sword’s trajectory and sunk the point deep into the moss beneath his feet. Striding forward and reaching for the twin adamantite axes at his belt, he faced the shapeshifting wolf now snarling before him. The foolish creature had thought to lure the brute in close by impersonating a tree to relax under, but Caoi knew the land better than that. This wasn’t his first visit to the Red Forest of Raiaera.

As the wolf lunged for its target’s throat, the Basraelin easily sidestepped and backhanded the beast as it flew by. Whirling about at an incredible speed, he let one of the axes go before his enemy had even hit the ground. The wolf howled in pain as the crimson stained blade bit deeply into its flank. It turned to face the brute once again, saliva dripping greedily from its maw as it slowly closed in.

Not one to prolong the inevitable, Caoi M’hin lunged for the creature and swung the axe down with all of his prodigious strength. The blade sliced cleanly through the wolf’s neck and buried itself deep in the earth below. Blood pumped from the fatal blow, mingling with the wolf’s saliva and staining the moss below. The beast’s face was still locked in its glare of hatred and the vampire demon chuckled sadistically as he kicked it away. Pulling The Fugitives free from their resting places, he didn’t bother to clean the blades before placing them back at his belt. The adamantine axes would absorb the blood; becoming even more stained than they already were. He pulled his black crystal broadsword free and continued his trek through the woods.

A soul blossom appeared in his path and Caoi ventured closer to see if the thing already had a soul in its clutches or if it was still hungry. Its tentacles lashed out viciously, trying to entangle the huge man, but he remained just out of range. Dropping to the ground, Caoi performed the came Ka’thar-calling spell that he had before, this time focusing it on the plant before him. After many minutes, no response came to him. Odd, he thought as he tried again, widening the spell to encompass the whole Red Forest.

After only seconds, the call came back to him. Her sweet Ka’thar tingled his senses and for a minute the demonic brute was human again. Then came a second call, providing him with more information. She hung on the balance between worlds, neither present in the Firmament nor moved on to the Antifirmament yet.

Anger welled up inside the Basraelin, turning his moment of nostalgia into a painful memory. He threw The Avenger in a fit of rage, its incredibly sharp blade slicing halfway through a giant tree trunk before stopping. He did not know how such a thing could have happened! She was supposed to be here; the blossom should have kept her alive for six days! He screamed from the bowels of his spirit, sending birds soaring off into the air to escape his primal fury. The roar of his displeasure echoed through the forest, alerting creatures for miles in every direction not to go near him.

Drawing The Fugitives, Caoi attacked the soul blossom; not bothering to take protection when it attempted to draw out his soul. Before the plant could complete its parasitic assault, Caoi had completely annihilated any trace of it. Thick tendrils of mucous hung from the surrounding trees and coated the armor of the Basraelin. His chest heaved and his teeth gritted in a blind fury as he continued hacking the blossom to pieces. Only when his twin axes began churning up dirt and moss did the brute finally stop and take a step back.

Falling to his knees, the cunning leader of The Legion broke down into a rare fit of despair. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” his voice boomed over the sounds of the forest, disrupting the atmosphere once more. She was leaving this world; he had been too late.

[Deus di Eclave]

It was just after dusk when the two drow encountered the border between the forest and the desert. As they left the cool shade of the trees, the temperature steadily climbed. Over the black sands of the wasteland, the heat was intense but bearable. Nothing like the last time Drizaghar had been here.

Since the nighttime would provide relief from the searing heat of the sun, the dark elf decided to explore the barren expanse. An incredibly tall eklan tree stood on the edge of the forest and the necromancer was sure he would be able to use it to find his way back. Setting a course for a small clump of rocks not too far away, he made his way through the hot sand.

As he walked, shadowy figured darted about in the edges of his vision. However, each time he turned his head, they were nowhere to be seen. He felt his body tense as he continued onward, readying for the worse. When he got to the pile of rocks, he sat down and scanned the horizon in each direction. Nothing sinister lurked where he could see, but that didn’t mean much. He rested to catch his breath, walking across sand was more taxing than he had thought. The glint of something white caught his eye and he shifted a few of the rocks curiously. Bleached bones shone up at him, their white surfaces reflecting the moonlight. Reaching down, the drow lifted two femurs from their resting place and swung them experimentally.

The idea of desecrating someone’s remains didn’t bother the dark elf; this traveler no longer needed his bones so why couldn’t someone else put them to good use? He placed the femurs between his pack and his back, securing them next to his serpent staff. Digging into the sand slightly, he unearthed the shoulder blades as well, shoving them in the pack before tying the top shut again. The skull would be cumbersome to carry, so Drizaghar left it where it was. A femur carved into a staff and ornamented with gems would provide quite the focus for his skills. Bone and necromancy just went together.

When he looked up, the dark elf clearly saw spidery silhouettes darting away from where he sat. Rising from the rock, he tightened his pack and sprinted across the black sands. No sense in sticking around for those creatures to attack him. Once he was safely back to the edge of the woods, he pulled off his pack and set up camp for the night.

As he prepared himself for sleep, the spidery shadows from the desert popped into his head. Spidermages, he realized as the connection solidified. “Fascath,” he called quietly. When his familiar appeared he continued, “I think I saw N’jalian Spidermages in the Black Desert.” He described what he had seen, using the Tome for reference.

<<It could be,>> the ethereal drow replied. <<But how could you harness their abilities?>> The two thought on this for a time, but neither could arrive at a solid plan. <<Perhaps in the morning we can formulate a plan.>> The necromancer agreed and soon fell in an uneasy sleep, his dreams plagued by spiders.

[Deus di Eclave]

Dawn broke over the Red Forest, the sun shining off the glistening strands of blood that coated the trees. Caoi M’hin the Bask Daemon turned vampire stood in the center of a small clearing, the bodies of countless wolves strewn about him. In his rage, he had gone hunting for their den and had slaughtered them all. Their entrails lay in a steaming pile, the smell of death heavy in the air. Breathing deeply to calm himself, Caoi returned The Fugitives to their place at his belt.

The massacre had served to take the edge off his nerves and he felt ready to move onto Carnelost to do what he had told his second-in-command he would take care of. Still, the loss weighed heavily on his blackened heart, eating away at what little humanity he still clung to. He didn’t bother using his Ka’thar to call out to her; she was gone.

Grabbing the severed leg of a shapeshifting wolf, he chewed on the raw meat as he made his way out of the forest. He had other matters to attend to; The Legion depended on it.

[Deus di Eclave]

The tall liviol rywan trees towered overhead as the dark elf necromancer made his way deeper into the Red Forest. Their wide trunks rose straight out of the ground, trees that grew with single-minded purpose. The underbrush was less dense here than in other places and not many shorter trees grew in the shadow of the towering titans. The sunlight filtered down through the leaves, but little made it the whole way to the ground. It was probably near noon, but Drizaghar had no way of telling. The forest had become like a cave.

Not knowing how he could capture a Spidermage and try to harness its power, the necromancer had returned to the forest for ideas. He occasionally flipped through the Tome, but found nothing else on the matter. Just as he was thinking of returning to Eluriand to find books on the creatures, something caught his attention.

A strange smell assaulted the drow’s nostrils and he recoiled in disgust. Like rotting meat mixed with blood, the stench came to him from the left. Curious as to what could cause such a foul odor, the necromancer ventured through the trees to find out. As he came into the clearing, he noticed that the leaves on the trees were stained red with blood. Wolf bodies littered the ground nearby and small flies buzzed about their remains. Hunched over one such wolf was a scavenging creature, its back to the drow.

The stench was unbearable and Drizaghar walked quickly away. Whatever had slaughtered all of those wolves was probably still in the forest somewhere. That thought gave the dark elf a chill as he spied a trail of blood leading away from the scene.

Following the trail as quietly as he could, the drow ended up facing the entrance to a cave. Chill air blew from the opening, sounding for all the world like a great slumbering beast snoring. As that thought sunk in, the dark elf realized that the wolf slaughter might very well be sleeping in the cave. Summoning a fireball to his hand, Drizaghar crept into the mouth of the cave and peered deeper in.

[Deus di Eclave]

When stealth was required for a mission, The Legion did not send their boss to take care of business. However, when an issue required decisive action and a man who could make things happen; Caoi was their choice. The Basraelin strode up to the gatehouse at Carnelost and snarled at the soldier stationed within. “Here on business,” he growled as the man nodded and frantically opened the gate.

The village of Carnelost was basically a glorified garrison; the soldiers made up about half of the population and the rest of the people there thrived off the guards. Blacksmiths did business, taverns popped up out of nowhere, and information flew across the small village like wildfire. The Legion’s contact in the town had been in direct communication with several prominent soldiers, but someone had caught onto his game. All Caoi needed to do was find out who had outed the man and make them pay.

On a normal day, the road from the small town that led toward the capital would be bustling with activity. It was the early afternoon, yet not a single traveler was in sight. Something was amiss and Caoi M’hin intended to find out what. He had a feeling that there was something bigger involved in Raiaera; something much bigger.

[Deus di Eclave]

Drizaghar crept into the dank tunnel, cold musty air blowing from deeper within and tousling his hair. The light from his fireball flickered across stalactite and stalagmites, casting horrid shadows on the rock walls. He had been walking for a good while now and the tunnel just kept going deeper and deeper. If the wolf slayer was down here, he’d have to fight it or die. There would be no escaping.

Finally, the tunnel widened and the ceiling rose drastically. Tossing the fireball up into the air in a close arch, the dark elf watched in wonder as the light illuminated the ceiling above. It was nearly fifty feet until the sculptured roof of the massive cavern. Upon impact, the fire sputtered and died, plunging the area into intense blackness before he could summon another.

Striding into the cavern, he saw that the walls were lined with thousands upon thousands of books. Millennia of knowledge were here in this chamber. Whirling around slowly to take it all in, he felt a soft click below him. Looking down, he saw that he was standing on some kind of rune on the floor. As he quickly stepped off it, he heard a rumbling coming from the tunnel he had just exited. With a roar, rocks began crashing down, tumbling into the mouth of the tunnel; blocking it completely.

The rune began glowing and the drow necromancer scrambled to get away from it. Though after a few moments, nothing had emerged from the green glow and Drizaghar allowed himself to relax a bit. Keeping one eye on the mystical rune, he began scanning the shelves around him for an interesting book.

Most of the spines held titles he could not understand; the words written in some long forgot language, he was sure. Dust billowed from the ancient texts as he ran his finger along their edges. Who knew how long it had been since another had set foot in this place? He moved across the chamber to begin reading some more of the titles when a sparkle caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.

Fascath, who had been floating silently along behind his master for some time now, began glowing. <<The quortek!>> he screamed. <<It burns!>> The soul the familiar held inside himself began expanding, slowly unraveling the ethereal drow’s form in the Firmament. Spikes of whitehot light shot from the sparkling ball and struck books from their places on the shelves. Three books hit the cavern’s floor before the light turned in on itself and began spiraling around Fascath.

“What can I do!?” Drizaghar yelled to his familiar. He never got an answer because as quickly as it had begun, the fantastic display stopped. Fascath was in his physical form, holding himself up with all fours as his chest heaved.

<<The books,>> he gasped. The dark elf nodded and ran to collect the three books that had fallen. Reading the covers as he sprinted back to Fascath’s side, he could only make out what one of them said; ‘Ka’thar Systems and Manipulation’ written in Common on the cover.

Flipping open the leather-bound book, he saw that the yellowed pages held illustrations of graphic scenes. Women with their backs arched in pain and a bright ball of light emerged from their chests. Men with hideous grins plastered on their faces as their fingertips danced with green lightning. Whispery forms of children marched against monsters, the claws passing through them harmlessly as the ghosts drew ever closer.

“What is this?” Drizaghar said in a mix of disgust and curiosity.

<<This book,>> the weary familiar stated. <<Is about how to wield a person’s soul as a weapon.>>

[Deus di Eclave]

Caoi M’hin, leader of The Legion, walked into the The Pulse and scanned the seedy tavern. Like any stereotypical back-alley dive, the lighting was low and the patrons were shady. A group of dwarves sat hunched over some ale in the back corner and three dark elves shot the Basraelin a glance before turning back to their own business. Other than those few, the rest of the customers were human.

He walked confidently up to the counter and got the bartender’s attention with a clawed finger. “I need an informant,” he told the man. “Where can I find one?” Gulping loudly, the timid man motioned to the dark elves huddled near the fire. Thanking the man with a gold coin before turning away, he sized up the drow carefully.

Each was outfitted in black robes with silver runic symbols detailing the cuffs and hood. One of their faces was obscured, but Caoi got a good look at the other two. Scars crisscrossed their faces in a web of designs and their mouths were twisted into menacing grins. The two he could see clearly worn light chainmail under their robes and had many daggers thrust through their belts. As the Basraelin walked closer, their attention shifted to his monstrous form.

“Evening,” he growled in mock pleasantry. “We need to talk.” The dark elves followed him across the room to a vacant table and the four of them began talking. “All you need to know is that I had a man here and now he’s dead,” the vampire demon explained. “What I need from you is how many executions have taken place recently and what’s going on in Raiaera.”

One of the dark elves held out his hands, dark palms facing up. He simply answered, “Xem'zûnd has returned.” All three drow smiled wickedly at Caoi and their hands darted to their belts. But the Basraelin was quicker.

The Neglected appeared in his right hand as his left rose to point at the drow nearest him. Gripping the strands tied to the dark elf’s soul, Caoi twisted his hand and pulled back viciously. The lines of power feeding the drow’s Ka’thar were cut off, paralyzing his would-be attacker for a few hours. The mythril gunblade swung through the air, slicing into the next drow’s arm. People around the table began realizing that a fight was underway and soon the whole tavern was in an uproar. Mugs shattered over drunkards’ heads, stool broke across patrons’ backs; yet Caoi remained focused on the dark elves now wielding daggers.

One of them lunged across the table at him and he blocked the attack with The Neglected’s side. Sliding the mythril blade across the dark elf’s chainmail, he pulled the trigger when it passed just over his heart. The second drow crumpled to the ground even as the last one let a dagger fly toward the beast.

Caoi allowed the poorly thrown dagger to strike him, thrusting The Neglected’s point into the wooden floor as it did. The drow’s dagger sunk into the Basraelin’s arm, but the brute hardly felt it. As the dark elf worked his fingers quickly to form a spell, Caoi pulled The Fugitives from their place at his belt. The crimson adamantite blades hungered for blood and their master was glad to feed them. The twin axes slashed forward, each one cutting deep into the drow’s side before stopping. The mage’s eyes opened wide in pain and he screamed as his life slowly bled away.

By now the brawl in The Pulse had spilled out onto the streets and Caoi knew it was only a matter of time before the guards arrived. As he made his way toward the back of the establishment, he rolled the new information over in his mind. The Forgotten One had returned to Raiaera… it was time for The Legion to pick sides.

Grinning evilly as he cut down a busboy in his way, the bestial demon saw an opportunity. The Legion would infiltrate Xem'zûnd’s ranks as best they could and then turn on him. His men were experts at deceit; they would easily be able to build rapport with the high necromancer’s forces. At least the living ones. As evening began to descend on the small town of Carnelost, Caoi M’hin knew it was time to get back to his base and have a meeting with the others. It was time.

[Deus di Eclave]

As the drow necromancer flipped through the book on Ka’thar, he found similarities between it and the Tome that his ancestor had passed down to him. Both spoke of harnessing the power within you to affect changes in the world around you. Apparently, you had to use your own Ka’thar to wield the souls of others.

Suddenly struck by an idea, Drizaghar called out to his familiar, “Fascath, can you give me the soul we found earlier?” The other drow nodded and extended his arms. The pulsating ball of light slowly drifted away from his chest and floated in the air between them.

“Jous uns'aa vel'uss dos zhahen,” he chanted in a low voice. Tendrils of his own Ka’thar snaked their way out of him to mix with the glowing ball before him. The light intensified, flashing once as it reached its zenith. When his vision cleared, Drizaghar saw the pale outline of a human woman standing before him.

Even as a mere projection of her spirit she was beautiful. Her graceful features were caressed by her long, wavy brown hair. She was dressed in white robes that blew in an unseen breeze. A long pole was clutched in her hand, as if she was using it to remain anchored to the Firmament.

“Who are you?” the drow asked in amazement.

“My name is Lille d’ain Eisen,” her voice sounded not like words, but music. She continued, “Where am I?”

“I cannot say,” came the necromancer’s reply. He moved closer to her, captivated by the power of Ka’thar Manipulation yet wary at the same time. “I called your Ka’thar,” he told her. “When I called, you came.”

Her head dropped in sorrow and she became more ghostlike. “It is as I feared then,” she began to cry. “I am dead.”

The image faded away slowly, but the encounter had intrigued the dark elf. As the woman returned to the glowing form of a ball of light, he flipped through the pages of the book, hungry for more information.

<<Master,>> Fascath warned Drizaghar. <<The power of the undead pervades this place. It comes from that way.>> The ethereal drow pointed to another tunnel, motioning the way toward an army of undead.

Not knowing what lay ahead, but wanting desperately to find out, Drizaghar began packing up as quickly as he could. “Fascath,” he called. “Take the soul again. She is your charge.” As the ball of light disappeared once more, the dark elf realized he had too much in his pack. Dropping the two shoulder blades he had taken earlier, he stuffed the book in beside his Tome and tightened the strings along the top.

Shouldering his pack once again, he and his familiar started down the tunnel toward the place where zombies and fallen warriors rose again for some fell purpose. The necromancer couldn’t be happier.

Major Spoils:
The woman's soul
The book entitled 'Ka'thar Systems and Manipulation'
A human femur
Minor Spoils:
A second human femur

[Witchblade]

Story

Continuity: - 4.5 I didn’t read the quest that came before this one, but within the first few posts it was outlined rather clear to me, as the reader, exactly what had happened, which I appreciated. It shouldn’t matter whether or not someone has read any of the previous work; it should always be mentioned and reflected upon. That being said, I have no great understanding of why Driz was at The Spire in The Red Forest. All I did know was that he wanted to get into it and when he did, some weird kind of thing attacked him that was never truly explained. Also, the whole thing with Caoi is interesting, but for the most part his posts did almost nothing for the storyline at its current stage. I was interested in the fact that he was looking for the soul that Driz now had, but nothing seemed to happen with that. Also, this could have been concluded in far fewer posts, more on that in Pacing. There is clearly something bigger going on with this storyline, but sadly the way you wrote this quest just leaves it too open to the reader.

Setting: - 5 The setting was all right, it wasn’t anything special in my mind but it was most certainly there and you did try. I just wish some things had been described in more detail than they were, particularly the Soul Blossom plants. They interested me greatly, but I couldn’t get a proper image of them in my head, especially how big they were. And when your character is hacking away at something and the reader can’t see it, it’s a bit annoying. Also, don’t be afraid to interact with the setting. When Driz touches something, tell the reader how it feels. When he breathes, let them know what the air smells like and when he walks, mention things crunching and breaking under his feet.

Pacing: - 3 The pacing of the thread was really, really slow. There were times when it picked up and I felt some tension and got rather excited—like when he went into The Spire—but they quickly faded away. Your action and tense scenes need some work. Also, I think if you cut through all the unnecessary stuff in this quest, it would have been twice as short. Half of Caoi’s posts were pointless and fewer than four paragraphs and added nothing to the storyline. I realize you were trying to go back and forth here, but if someone has nothing to add to the story, don’t write that post. It’s useless filler and only takes away from the general flow of things. Yes, more posts = more experience, yay! But it also lowers your score if they’re pointless. Try to plan some things out, and then you’ll get rid of a lot of the filler.

Character

Dialogue: - 4.5 Okay, first of all. I realize you want to separate the dialogue from your familiar and your character, but honestly the reader should be able to know who’s saying what without you surrounding text with << >>. It’s annoying and it just looks bad. If you really want to differentiate it because Fascath is dead or whatever he is, put it in Italics or Bold it. Okay, now as for the actual dialogue itself. Having Caoi shouting out in the middle of a forest NOOOO! It’s just really, really cliché. Try to stay away from things like that and replace them with something along the lines of ‘He screamed at the silent sky, pouring all his anguish and pain into the cry.’ Or something like that, possibly better than what I just wrote in four seconds. Also, no one just walks into a tavern, goes up to a random barkeep and tells them they need informants. That’s silly and just telling someone you’re up to no good. Also, Fascath comes across very flat in his dialogue as well as his persona; you should try actually making him a more dynamic character instead of just something that shows up when called.

Action: - 3 Some of things that Driz did just had me sitting here questioning his rationally thinking mind. He goes into a cavern by himself, with a fireball as his own light knowing that there is a trail of blood leading into the cavern. And by the way, what exactly made that trial of blood because he didn’t find any kind of monster in the cavern, though there was some kind of mention of an army of Zum’Xund’s that would have ripped him limb from limb for fun and then turned him into a zombie. Also, when he wandered in and out of the Red Forest like that, it just seemed strange and a waste of time to me. There was no point to it; he could have found the bones inside the forest if you really wanted him to have them. Not to mention, who doesn’t go back for their supplies and face a known enemy but will go into a cavern to face an unknown enemy?

Persona: - 4.5 Caoi and Driz are both strong characters that didn’t get the chance to truly shine in this quest sadly. I could see their personality trying to come through and making it in some instances, and then you would have Driz run off and do something silly that just had me shaking my head. I just think the actions taken throughout the quest didn’t give the characters the chance to truly come out of their shells and show the reader what they’re made of. Also, Fascath could be a really interesting Familiar if you would just use him right and give him some kind of personality! He’s just kind of floating there doing nothing at the moment and I want more from him.

Writing Style

Mechanics: - 7.5 There were very few mistakes in your writing. However, you had this bad habit of not making your posts flow from one to another. You would go from Driz to Caoi and then back to Driz only for something completely random that had nothing to do with the last scene to be happening. It’s not only confusing but it’s jarring and throws off the transition from post to post. Try to watch out for that, end your scene appropriately and try not to start the next one up in the middle of something without properly introducing your characters to it.

Technique: - 6 I did notice you using a few techniques here and there throughout your writing and they did try to enhance it.

Clarity: - 7 It was clear and to the point. There was only one instance where I was confused and that was in the Spire when Driz was being attacked by the soul. Not until he verbally explained to Fascath what happened to him did I really understand it. Make sure to clearly describe things to the reader.

Wild Card: - 4 It was a slow quest that could have been cut in half with all the filler that was floating around in it.

Total: 49

Rewards:

Driz receives 531 experience and 50 GP!

He also receives the requests spoils.

And I’ve got a ninja that can ‘shadow walk’ if you want to learn such a skill. ;)

[Witchblade]

EXP and GP added!