Through the Fire and the Flames

[Charles]

"I can't believe I'm going back."

"You know the deal. Find the mages, kill the mages, get paid."

"I know, but you're aware that every single person on your list, to the best of my knowledge, is currently employed by the necromancer?"

"Why do you think we are putting bounties on their heads? Assasinating mage generals is just as effective as defeating their armies in the short term. It gives us breathing space. It gives us time to call up the willing to fight, or to convince the Dark Elves and Dwarves that unless he is stopped, their land will be overrun, or cut off and starved."

"Alright. If I survive, you will be paying me every penny of that twenty thousand gold, per head."

"You have my word. You know how to reach me."

The shadowy elf evaporated into the clear night air, leaving behind no trace but the fading mist of his breath in the cool mountain air.

"A damn mage his own self, but if his gold's good, I'll not say no. If it's not, I'll derive some satisfaction from killing him later." The man speaking to himself was frankly massive. Dressed in black plate mail, he stood 5'9", though he seemed much smaller, being nearly as massive as he was tall, and most of that mass being muscle. The helmet went on, and he hefted the massive hammer at his side, stepping off as quietly as he could into the darkness, which was to say he didn't actively attempt to stomp his feet, which was the extent to which he could limit the noise of his armor.

He was already nearly back into Raiaera, the only problem would be getting past the undead that roamed the entire nation. He could kill a prodigous number, probably, but he couldn't kill them faster than they could swarm him, and when they started swarming, he would be in trouble. Can't collect your bounty if you don't even reach the target.

The man clanked his way down the mountain passes, almost reaching the bottom. He hadn't seen any sign of undead yet, but that didn't mean anything other than exactly what it said. Yet. With that thought in mind, he took the final step out of the mountains, into Raiera, and a land plagued by the dead.

[Deus di Eclave]

Drizaghar will be slightly overpowered in this quest, as per a discussion with Charles.
Also, all bunnying in this quest was pre-approved.
Patrol Torris had been commanded to walk the border of Raiaera and Alerar and turn away any intruders into the region. Lieutenant Drizaghar had been ordered by Xem'zûnd himself not to fail. As if that’s really my choice, the dark elf necromancer thought to himself. He shook his head at the great necromancer’s audacity and turned to survey his troops. His patrol was formed of three legions; Clades, Den Caedo, and Gelucius. Each legion was under the command of a captain and responsible for a certain part of Drizaghar’s plan.

Legion Clades, which consisted entirely of lyncanthropes, was his scouting team. They searched the mountains between Alerar and Raiaera, ready to alert the rest of the patrol should they stumble across any trespassers. They were followed by the Den Caedo, the all-human legion. Den Caedo was both the first line of offense and the first line of defense. The lyncanthropes in Clades would alert this legion before traveling back to Drizaghar. Then the warriors of Den Caedo would attack the trespassers, typically dispatching them far before their lieutenant ever arrived.

Drizaghar traveled with Legion Gelucius since he had to control them with his necromancy powers. The legion consisted of zombies, their pure numbers making them a formidable force. The dark elf lieutenant had a tendril of his power in each of them, keeping them obedient but not controlling them entirely. He wanted his undead warriors to be able to act without his direct guidance. Still, the way he commanded them meant he had to remain near them at all times. The stench was unbelievable.

The lieutenant walked slowly along beside his forces, thinking of how he had taken charge of such a force. After his exile from the Underdark, Drizaghar had traveled Raiaera in search of answers. Finding the elves to be detestable, he had stumbled across a patrol in the tunnels under the Red Forest. In the days to follow, he and a homunculus had followed the patrol and attacked its general; taking over the small army and marching on Eluriand. Now he served Xem'zûnd, at least for a time…

“Sir,” the lycanthrope captain saluted Drizaghar with a fist over his chest before beginning his report. “Some of my men believe they have spotted a lone human adventurer leaving the mountains. I told them not to attack; they are currently waiting for orders with Den Caedo.” The captain paused for a breath, reading his commander’s face before asking, “What would you have them do?”

The drow necromancer closed his eyes rather than answer his captain right away. Extending his sensory powers, he felt the intruder’s Ka’thar as a strong glow. “This man is not to be taken lightly,” the dark elf warned. Opening his eyes, he continued, “Tell the men to stand down until Legion Gelucius arrives. Remain hidden.” The lycanthrope captain sprinted off toward the mountains, leaving Drizaghar to contemplate his next move.

Turning to the zombie legion’s captain, he ordered, “Double time until we reach the rest of the patrol.” Gelucius moved as quickly as their decomposing bodies would let them; shambling forward at twice their normal speed. Drizaghar allowed the two hundred zombie warriors to pass; he needed a moment alone to weave a spell.

Closing his eyes in concentration, the necromancer drew on the power of his own soul. Using his Ka’thar Manipulation, he twisted a small portion of the raw energy and tore it from his body. Gritting his teeth as pain overtook him; he focused on finishing the spell. “Fascath,” he whispered, needing his familiar for the final incantation. The ethereal drow emerged from the antifirmament, ready to serve his master. Drizaghar forced the fraction of his soul into his familiar, chanting the words to seal the spell and end his torment. As Fascath disappeared from the firmament, the drow necromancer breathed a sigh of relief.

No matter what happened in the battle ahead, he had just confirmed that he would survive. Even if he was killed, his soul would seek out its other part hidden away in his familiar. When his Ka’thar was reunited, he would be brought back to life in Fascath’s form. Then all he had to do was create another familiar should he need to repeat the process. The spell had served him well in the past; it made sense to use it to secure his future.

[Charles]

There's something out there. I'm quite aware of that fact. You don't know what it is. They aren't undead. If I can even vaguely sense them like this, they are very much alive. I know...

As always, the voices in their heads trailed off, each brother losing the tenuous connection between them as they talked so unknowingly. The encroaching force was large, and he was certain there would be forces allied with Xem'zund in the mix, as he crossed into Raiaera so close to the ruins of Valinatal. And where there were undead, there were necromancers, and where there were necromancers, there was money to be earned. Charles stopped in the center of the path he was on, and readied himself for the fight ahead. He checked his daggers to ensure they were loose in their sheaths, that his mace was hanging properly, and finally, that his massive warhammer was in hand, before setting off again. Every weapon at his disposal was ready at hand, his mind was primed to strike, and he was more than ready to crush bone with his hammer. There were two different feelings out there. He couldn't tell anything about them, he lacked the focus and control to filter everything out of his link, but he still had hints of other minds nearby.

Now he was just waiting for the attack, when the monstruous undead would show themselves, and their commanders would send their other forces against him. He admittedly had no real ability to get an accurate fix on the number of his enemies, but he thought it wasn't anything less than twenty, or more than fifty. It was a big enemy contingent if he was anywhere near accurate, but he had a few advantages that few fighters had, and he intended to exploit each and every one when the time came.

[Deus di Eclave]

“Head into the mountains from either side and then come down behind our intruder,” the dark elf lieutenant told his lycanthrope captain. The beast nodded and took off to spread the word to his troops. “Silas,” he called to the captain of Den Caedo, “Disperse half of your warriors among the undead; the other fifty should move in now.” The human nodded and likewise moved off. Drizaghar turned and surveyed the zombified warriors before him. Ah, putrid flesh, he thought in disgust.

Necromancy had always interested the drow, but he would never get used to the way the rotting corpses reanimated and mocked life with their movements. As opposed to many other necromancers, Drizaghar did not love the dead and wish to conquer the world with them. He merely utilized them as a tool to achieve his true ends; rid the world of the elves.

Still, in his current state, he had little choice but to listen to Xem'zûnd’s orders. Rebelling to follow his own desires would cause severe repercussions, destroying everything he had worked so hard to achieve. No, he would do as he was told… for now.

He called the zombie captain to him and told the creature to move Gelucius into position and attack the intruder on sight. The corpse slowly nodded its understanding and the legion marched across the field of battle. The dark elf fleeting wondered what skills the lone warrior possessed to have given off such a strong aura, but he pushed the thought from his mind.

Beginning a complex firewielding spell, Drizaghar could only wait for the human trespasser to show himself.

[Charles]

And there they are. I see them, shut up and let me do this. Man that's alot of them...

He had spotted the first ranks of Den Caedo cresting a hill, and he was well prepared to meet them. Hammer out, he waited slightly up the side of a second hill, in a thick stand of trees, making good use of elevation and cover to get as much of a chance against trhe oncoming horde as possible. He let his hammer drop for a moment, and used his free hand to pull his daggers out and throw them on the ground in front of him, and when the front ranks got close enough, he'd start putting them through enemy troops as fast as he could. That being done, he hefted his hammer once again, and waited.

Good idea. You might actually not die now. Tree cover, esoteric fire support, and a big hammer. Just no excuse to burn anything. There's always an excuse to burn something. I just haven't found it yet. There's a mage here. I'll burn something. Probably him. That's right, set fire to the guy that uses magic. Cause that goes over SOOO well. Never said it was popular. Just fun. For me at least. You're pathetic.

And then they were in range. A dagger licked out from the small pile at his feet, before reaching the oncoming line of human fighters. It was the opening blow in what would prove to be an unpleasant engagement for all involved, but it wasn't alone. Four more daggers flicked out in rapid succession towards the enemy line, trying to thin and slow their advance as much as possible before he had to actually fight them.

[Deus di Eclave]

Silas Koloblicin staggered as a throwing dagger slammed into his left bicep. Grunting as he ripped the knife from his flesh, he scanned the hillside before him with trained eyes. He cursed to himself as he saw their target, a warhammer gripped tightly in his hands and a sneer on his face. “Den Caedo,” he yelled back to his men, at least the fifty he had with him, “There’s our intruder!” The men bellowed their warcry, gripping their blades and charging up the hill. Silas grimaced as he realized what a tactical nightmare they were entering, but it was just one man… right?

~~

Den Caedo had disappeared over a hill as they stalked toward the trespasser attempting to enter Raiaera. Lieutenant Drizaghar had a few ideas where he could be headed, but that was inconsequential. His job was to stop the man through whatever means necessary. Like unleashing lycanthropes on him, the commander smiled, hoping his troops would make short work of the intruder.

He finished his constructed spell with a flourish of his hand and the whip of fire formed before him; its latent power was ready for use whenever he desired it. Hooking the whip to his belt, the drow necromancer began walking forward toward his zombie legion. He met the creatures just as they were about the crest the same hill Den Caedo had minutes earlier. Let’s see how my fighters are faring, he thought with a grin.

[Charles]

The dagger the first man had dropped leapt from the ground again, seeking the back of one of the charging soldiers. Charles had no intention of making this easy. The first man to reach his position would meet with a swing from the hammer. The second would meet with the back swing, and then it would be chaos. He pulled the daggers out of the encroaching troops one at a time, or picked them up from where they had been dropped, and flung them again into more of his opponents. He was quite hopelessly outnumbered, but he had a force multiplier in the form of his daggers. And if any of his enemies happened to have a small knife or two on them, he would have absolutely no qualms about snatching it off of their belt, and giving it to them point first.

"This is freaking nuts! Why the hell are there this many men working for the undead? And why are they HERE!?"

I'd say it's your own fault for being where they are, not the other way around. Shut up. I'm trying to concentrate. Do you have any idea how hard it is to throw things at people with your mind, while hitting others with a hammer? I've a fair suspicion.

The voice went quiet again, leaving him in peace as he struggled to slow down the oncoming enemy force with nothing but a few daggers and a hammer. Almost hopeless, but, that was the point of heroes wasn't it? To win hopeless battles, by force of arms or trick of mind.

[Deus di Eclave]

Small enchanted daggers plagued the charging men of Den Caedo like an angered swarm of wasps. The blades sunk into flesh wherever they could find purchase, more often then not causing merely a wound. However, there were already some men down for good and the frontlines hadn’t even reached their target yet. This would be why he emits such a strong pulse, the dark elf lieutenant realized. He grimaced as Silas met the man, the great warhammer swinging down and batting the captain aside like a rag doll.

Drizaghar expected the hammer would wreak havoc on his troops, but wasn’t too worried about them dying. While he preferred working with the living, commanding the undead was far easier. Closing his eyes and cupping his hands to his mouth, he breathed the words to a spell and reached his mind out to the fallen warriors on the hillside.

His eyes snapped open as his hands thrust forward, casting the spell across the ground. The Den Caedo fallen picked themselves up from the ground, their flesh already showing the advanced signs of rapid decay. Soon they would look like the rest of Gelucius; rotten, putrid zombies. The necromancer grabbed his whip and sprinted down into the valley.

Working his way through the rearguard of Den Caedo, the drow pushed aside his own warriors to get to the intruder in the trees above. Every human in his patrol carried two knives in sheathes at their legs and now the psionic used that equipment to his own advantage. Blades flew about everywhere, men screaming and grunting as the daggers found openings in their armor. The steel plate armor that Den Caedo wore gave little opening for the enchanted weapons, but still they found flesh. A blade flew toward Drizaghar and the fire whip cracked forward, its spell activating as it thrashed through the air. As the fiery tip struck the dagger, the projectile fell to the ground in a small pile of ash that was quickly swept away. Smiling, the dark elf pressed on.

A howl went up from the hillside above the trespasser’s position and Drizaghar heard the lycanthropes crashing through the underbrush. Unlike the humans, Legion Clades wore only light leather armor and carried no weapons but their own teeth and claws. He won’t be able to use any of his tricks on them, Drizaghar thought. Patrol Torris was out in full force, the intruder would have a hard time slaying them all. As the lycanthrope legion closed in from behind and Den Caedo fought just ahead of the incoming zombies of Gelucius, the dark elf necromancer grinned wickedly.

Try to stop us all, psionic, he sneered.

[Charles]

He saw the drow mage finally, and felt the magic coming. "Hah. Got him. Not today mage." He reached out with his mind to the necromancer, seeking the point where he controlled his magic. He was going to be very disappointed. The first undead stumbled to its feet, shuddered for a moment, and fell back to the ground as he atempted to raise it. The magic, unable to complete itself, turned back on its weilder with terrifying force. Charles halfway wondered if necromancy contained an elemental property. It would be nteresting to see if his skin sprouted burns, or started rotting in place.

The oncoming lycanthropes would be a problem, but with the daggers still wreaking havoc among the soldiers, and him adding further weapons to the mix from the belts of downed enemies, it would be enough to keep them busy for a time, which was why he turned his back on the approaching soldiers, and met the first lycanthrope, leaping towards his face, with yet another prodigous swing of his hammer. The man had been a minor threat. The wolves bearing down on him were a major one. He kept the daggers flying through the air behind him, and began edging towards his left, to bring the entire enemy force to his front, and bring them in among the trees where his dvantageous position would be amplified.

"Are you FUCKING SHITTING ME!" The cursing was something one rarely heard from the soft spoken mage hunter, but this situation certainly called for it, as he was beset by what seemed to be hundreds of enemy troops, and at least one incredibly aggravating mage. He couldn't keep this up much longer, he could already feel his head pounding with the strain of his assault on the human attackers, and coupled with the strain of backlashing the mages spell, along with preparing to spring his trap, and readying to stop another spell in the same manner if need be, he could feel his nose getting ready to bleed like a stuck pig.

OOC: This was discussed previously with Deus. I have permission to describe the effects of my characters abilities on Driz, as long as I don't actually state any injuries on his character.

[Deus di Eclave]

Though the tendrils of necromantic power were many, Drizaghar felt each once as if it was the only cord of connection he had. So when one of the tendrils snapped and lashed back at him, he felt it intensely. The pain sent him to his knees where he gripped his hair with curled fingers and rode out the waves of agony. When they subsided, he mentally traced the broken cord and saw a reanimated Den Caedo warrior falling to the ground for a second time. Why? was the only thing the drow could think.

Drizaghar reached out and grabbed the nearest human he could find, dragging the man to him and unleashing the powers of necrosis stored in the ring on his middle finger. The spell surged through the man, sending him into convulsions as his soul’s very energy was stripped away. When the drow’s necrosis had run its course, he stood and dusted off his black leather armor. It had to be done, he thought, looking down at the lifeless husk of a man without remorse.

“Legion Celer!” he called out to the troops storming up the hill, “To me!” Immediately, twelve of the strongest guards in Den Caedo turned from their positions and made their way down the slope to their lieutenant. They weren’t a true legion, having been chosen specifically by the drow for a moment just like this. Forming a wall of muscle around him, the group made their way across the steep grade and into the forest. When they were under the cover of the trees, Drizaghar turned to them and spoke urgently.

“I need six of you to get me that hammer. The rest of you, force this man into the clearing just ahead. Go now!” The men ran up the hill, their blackened mythril armor allowing them to blend into the foliage with ease. The bastard killing his men right and left would never know what hit him. Drizaghar followed the members of Legion Celer up the hillside, letting them lead him to the intruder. The fire whip found his hand once again and its flaming tongue licked the ground as the necromancer walked toward what he imagined was going to be a difficult battle.

Readying several spells in his mind, he broke into the clearing as he had planned and waited for his enemy to arrive. Whoever you are, you will not live to see another sunrise. It will be a pleasure to welcome you into my army…

[Charles]

Charles swung desperately with his hammer, lashing the werewolves with blows that shattered bone, splintered skulls, crushed ribcages and ruptured internal organs. Behind him, the human forces had gotten too close. The first sword scraped across the back of his armor with an evil hiss, and he pirouetted with terrifying speed, bringing his hammer across at head height to pulp the mans head like an over ripe melon, before turning around again to fling off a werewolf that had gained a hold on his back, flinging him loose with a shake, and crushing another one, driving its head down into its chest, somehow without managing to rupture the skull.

The six warriors finally reached him, but they too would likely pay the price. The first man to get a hand on the hammer never would know what hit him as a black mailed gauntlet lashed out to smash his face, and the hand slipped off his weapon. The next two hands to get ahold of it were slightly luckier. He couldn't crush them fast enough, so he improvised. The first man was still blinded from the pain of having most of the bones in his face broken by the squat goliath that had sucker punched him. Charles grabbed him by his arms, and lifted, straight up. Then he flung the man straight out. The impact was thunderous, three large men crashing together makes alot of noise, and when a fourth man, in plate mail no less, follows after them, it becomes even louder, as bone and flesh shred and splinter under the impact of nearly 300 pounds of man and metal. He put his hand on the hammer to heft it again. The humans and lycanthropes had learned discretion, and had since backed away from the brawl. Fighting this man was a fast way to die, and even their numbers hadn't stopped him from killing ten in the last minute or so. That made nearly 40 of their total number killed in the whole fight, and the man didn't even show the strain he was feeling. Blood flowed thickly down his face as the stress of so much exertion wore on his body. His skull felt ready to split open, horrendous pain shooting behind his eyes threatening to break his concentration.

"Gimme back my god damn hammer!" He had had a hand on it, but another of those mysterious warriors had run up and tore it from his grasp at a dead run. He leapt up, following the man as he ran, ripping the mace from his belt to bash the mans skull in. The daggers behind him finally seemed to give up the fight, dropping to the ground as he gave up concentrating on them, letting that stress off of his abused body. He caught the first of the soldiers leading him away from the battle and into the mages trap with ease, slamming his mace into the mans hip. The bone shattered, and he fell to the ground, crippled. The rest would likely be less fortunate, taking blows to whatever part of their body first exposed itself. He slammed one in the base of the spine, sending him spinning, and straight into a tree. Only 7 more to go before he got his hammer back, and really wreaked his vengeance on the surviving soldiers.

[Deus di Eclave]

Five members of Legion Celer broke into the clearing at a dead run, one lugging the intruder’s warhammer before him. The drow necromancer smiled and whispered a summoning to his familiar. It was risked to have both halves of his soul in the same area, but as long as he didn’t die before Fascath disappeared again he would be fine. The brute carrying the hammer stopped before his lieutenant and handed over the bloody weapon. The dark elf’s arms could barely carry such a cumbersome and heavy object, but Drizaghar needed to be carrying it when the trespasser entered the clearing.

The five that had returned stood silently behind the drow, waiting for their comrades to usher the psionic into the clearing. The dark elf chuckled at their naiveté, the others weren’t coming back… he was sure of it. The hulking intruder had been more than a match for his finest soldiers, time to put his brawn to the test. As the target crashed into the clearing while practically riding the dead body of a Celer Warrior, Drizaghar smiled.

“Quite a massive amount of damage you’ve managed to dole out with this,” he sneered at the psionic. Fascath materialized visibly next to him, his hands taking the warhammer from his master’s grasp. “I’m afraid I can’t let you keep it.” With that, Fascath winked out of existence, vanishing back into the Antifirmament to guard both Drizaghar’s soul and the hammer. The necromancer focused on his opponent’s striking blue eyes, taking stock of the man’s soul for a few brief instants. Then, readying his whip, he asked, “Who are you?”

~~

Silas Koloblicin winced every time he took a breath, the large dent in his armor coupled with a massive bruise inhibiting his ability to breathe properly. Regardless, he remained in control of the forces of Den Caedo, directing them from a sedentary position. “The brute’s taken off into the woods,” he summarized for those who had been in the back of the column. “We’ve orders to stay put, according to Captain Azotocht of Clades. Gather the dead so Lieutenant Drizaghar will be able to reanimate them when he returns.”

The seventy or so human warriors dragged the bodies of their fallen comrades into an orderly line. They were used to this routine, Gelucius had started out as the smallest of the three legions. The zombies stood frighteningly still several paces down the mountainside, unnerving the human captain. Few of them had entered the fray before the intruder had taken off after his stolen hammer. Lucky bastards, Silas thought, gingerly touching his side.

The lieutenant’s familiar suddenly appeared before him, dropping the trespasser’s warhammer at the captain’s feet before piercing the man with his soulless black eyes. “Guard this,” the drow rasped, his voice harsh and cold. Silas nodded and the familiar winked out of existence as quickly as he had appeared.

Hoisting the warhammer, Silas nearly fell over as the strain made him double over while pain shot through his side. Wondering just how a man could swing such a weapon about so easily gave the captain chills. Who was this stranger?

[Charles]

"I am Charles Talbott. Magebane. You are a necromancer, and as such your life is forfeit. Are you willing to try your hand at me, or do you want me to kill your troops first?" He hefted his now gore splattered mace. The blood and organs dripping onto the ground made a nice statement about just what lengths he was willing to go to to get his preferred implement of destruction back.

"Do you have any idea just how dead you and all of your soldiers are? I mean, honestly? Have you seen the current death toll? I think, I may have lost count somewhere, but I think I've already killed more than 40 of your men. And I don't have anything worse than a headache, bruises, a nosebleed, and a few cuts on my legs. Do you really want to even think about trying this, especially since you already know what I can do to you?"

He stepped closer, slowly and carefully. He was moving as slowly as possible to try and catch his breath. He'd worn himself out struggling just to stay alive, and he couldn't let it show, so he made it look like a more deliberate and menacing advance than it really was. His muscles burned with the exertion he'd put them through over the last, what was it? Maybe ten, fifteen minutes at the most? The death toll was staggering, a short engagement, and more than forty men, dead by his hand or art.

"You very much do not want to press this issue. I can, for example, kill your men long before they reach me. Like this." He took a risk, trying something he'd thought of before, but had never risked. Using the same power he'd employed to carve the human warriors of his force to ribbons, he reached into the chest of one of the necromancers bodyguards, and instead of pushing, or throwing, he SQUEEZED. The amount of power needed to throw a weight twenty yards would likely be more than enough. At least it would hurt like a bitch and make the man collapse. If he was right, the mans heart would burst in his chest, and he would drop like a stone.

[Deus di Eclave]

The drow necromancer watched casually as one of his guards’ faces tightened in pain. The man let out a strangled cry and dropped forward onto one knee. Pushing on the ground with his fingertips, the Celer Warrior arched his back in pain and screamed. The sound tore through the trees and echoed on the mountainside, amplifying the man’s agony. Calmly, Drizaghar walked over and rested a hand on the soldier’s back. Instantly the power of necrosis swept over the tormented man, turning his body into a decayed husk. The dark elf felt increased power flood his veins, urging him to strike Charles down where he stood. But he dismissed the notion, instead turning to the remaining four guards.

“You may go,” he announced to them. Eagerly, the four warriors turned about and raced down the hillside, leaving their lieutenant alone with the self-proclaimed ‘Magebane’. The fiery whip crackling at his side was the only audible sound as Drizaghar slowly turned back to the hunter stalking toward him. “Is this the part where I tremble in fear, psionic?” he whispered. “You’ll need more than muscle and flying daggers to best me.”

Reaching into his mental warehouse of stored spells, the necromancer selected what he needed at the moment. And what he needed was a show of force. Closing his eyes as Charles Talbott came ever closer, the drow reached out around him with his mind. He latched onto everything that had died in the immediate area within the past year or so and dredged it to the surface with a great surge of power. Tendrils of necromancy snaked from him into each of the new undead warriors, connecting them to him. He opened his eyes and chuckled softly, watching as trees, wolves, bears, large lizards, travelers, and even his own Celer Warrior emerged from the surrounding woods to close in their target.

“Do you know who I am?” Drizaghar said softly, his voice seething with hatred. “I am more than just a dumb pawn of Xem'zûnd; I am Drizaghar, the necromancer who will one day rival The Forgotten Ones. Remember the name well, Magebane.” As he finished his sentence, the dark elf cracked his flaming whip, launching the fiery weapon’s tip through the air straight for Charles’ chest.

~~

Azotocht Li waited patiently just outside of the clearing where his lieutenant battled the Magebane. Stripped of his formidable hammer, the hulking man presented less of a threat. Though, the lycanthrope captain added, He’s still dangerous. He watched as the two exchanged words, each trying to intimidate the other into submission. Quickly growing restless, he hungered for blood to be spilled. And even though some part of him hoped it wasn’t Drizaghar’s, any blood would fill his hunger.

“When do we attack?” came the nearly imperceptible whisper from the Clades Warrior next to him. Lacking any real orders from their lieutenant since the start of the battle, Captain Azotocht had told his legion to follow the Celer bodyguards. The hulking soldiers had led them back to their leader where they had waited.

Although he too fervently desired to whet his claws with the blood of the intruder who had slaughtered so many of their number, the lycanthrope captain knew it was not his place. “If the Lieutenant falls, we move in,” he told his soldier. The word was passed around, each one of them making sure to remain unheard.

The Captain of Legion Clades shifted anxiously as he focused once again on the scene before him. Finish him Drizaghar, his lips curled into a snarl as he envisioned it. The trespasser deserved no less.

[Charles]

"No. You don't tremble in fear. You shake in agony." He reached out with his mind again. It was easier this time, he'd already touched that line of power once before. He snapped the connection with brutal force, sending the dead stumbling back to peace, and sending the power blasting back down on the would be necromancer. "You're no Forgotten One. You're just a boy."

He had gotten as much of a breath as he was going to, and he took his chance while he had it, darting forward, mace high, aiming for the Drow's head while he was incapacitated by the pain of the backlash. Blood flowed freely down his face, cuts had opened up on his cheeks, and his nose was still dripping steadily. He was over exerting himself in the extreme, this had been the first real test of his limits in a very long time, and he didn't like what he was learning. Backlashing another spell on his opponent was out of the question, but he had another trick up his sleeve. He'd seen the other lines of power in the necromancers mind, and the spell they all tied in to. He took one last risk, exerting the last of his mental strength to snap the tie that bound the undead to his command. The entire undead portion of his force was now feral, and much less dangerous. To him at least. To the remaining humans it was an immediate and deadly threat as the undead fell out of his control, and onto his troops.

[Deus di Eclave]

This time the pain was unbearable. Drizaghar dropped to his side and pulled his knees toward his chest as his body spasmed uncontrollably. He felt as if his mind were bleeding; clearly Charles had been the source of the pain earlier and Drizaghar had foolishly dismissed it. As he lost control of his body, the dark elf necromancer returned into the corners of his mind and took stock of what was happening.

The fire whip had veered slightly off-course as a result of the mind-lashing Drizaghar had received, but it had still managed to wrap about Charles’ left wrist and leave a decent burn. However, the powers keeping it in existence had been severed when it left the dark elf’s hand. Pushing it from his mind, he focused on the next problem.

He saw the loose ends of the tendrils of necromantic power and cursed as he realized what they meant. Gelucius was on their own, free to attack whomever they pleased. He hoped that Silas was coherent enough to keep Den Caedo safe. The thought moved on quickly, for shocking waves of pain still rolled over him. How to make it stop! his mind raced for an answer, lighting upon the only option he had.

As Charles the Magebane closed in with his mace leading, Drizaghar willed himself to lunge forward. The necromancer grabbed his opponent’s ankle, pulling himself in close and unleashing his necrosis. So long as he could absorb even the tiniest portion of the trespasser’s lifeforce, he would be able to end the torment wracking his body.

~~

The zombies of Gelucius began moving and Silas jumped to his feet as quickly as the prodigious bruise on his side would allow. “Alexander!” he called to the legion captain. When there was no answer, he tried again, “Alexander!” When the zombies near the back of the column lunged forward to tear of strips of flesh from their companions in front of them, the Den Caedo captain knew something had gone terribly wrong.

“Den Caedo!” he called behind him, “Operate under the assumption that Lieutenant Drizaghar has fallen in battle. The undead are to be treated as the enemy. Fall in!” Soldiers began running down the mountain to take formation beside their leader, unnerved by the news he had given them.

As the zombies closed in, Captain Silas Koloblicin gripped the stolen warhammer firmly in both his hands. Let’s see this thing in action again, he thought. Screaming a warcry, the injured leader of the human legion tore down the hill and began laying into the undead forces. The rest of his men weren’t far behind, their swords slicing through the rotten flesh and decomposed organs with ease.

“For Drizaghar!” came a cry from amongst his men and they soon all picked it up. Presented with a common enemy, the zombies stopped cannibalizing one another and turned on the humans. Several men fell beneath the unified attack of the undead before anyone could save them. “Form up!” Silas yelled, realizing they would need an actual strategy.

Cursing the undead, his mind raced for a plan. But it was hard for him to think when he realized his lieutenant was no longer alive. What was to become of Patrol Torris?

[Charles]

The pain was intense. The burn was almost nothing, especially compared to the pain that the ring was causing. He did the only thing he could think of. His mailed boot lashed out to strike the necromancer in the ribs, kicking like he didn't have any other hope. And he was probably right. The ring was slowly sapping him, even as he was battering the mage gripping his leg into a blody pulp with repeated blows. "Fucking Die dammit! You're dead! Get with the program!" He lifted his leg up, and brought it crashing down onto the mages arm, sure to snap the bone and get him free of the parasitic grasp. It was a desparate move. He could tell that he was dying, that whatever attack this mage had summoned was killing him, and he knew his only hope was to kill the mage first. The boot lashed out more, pummeling the slender drow's face with desperate strength. It was at that point in their battle, where only one would survive the next exchange of blows, and it simply depended on who hit the hardest and the longest. Charles hoped he would be the one that hit the hardest.

[Deus di Eclave]

Through the ring of necrosis, the dark elf had finally leeched enough power to push the mindlashing aside and focus once again on the battle before him. Kick after kick rained down on his bony frame, but the pain was nothing compared to what he had just been through. Crawling away and scrambling to his feet, the drow necromancer readied his final spell. Even with the borrowed lifeforce, Drizaghar felt himself slipping. No matter, he could end it now.

Focusing on the construct ready in his mind, the dark elf’s left hand rapidly decayed up to his elbow. The putrid strips of flesh sagged from the rotten muscle and bleached bone. Simultaneously, flames erupted from the fingertips of his right hand, racing up his arm to likewise stop at his elbow. Raising the arms above his head, the necromancer chanted the activating words to the spell and clapped his hands together. Instantly a pike formed in his hands, marbled in black and red with a wickedly sharp point.

Summoning the remains shreds of his strength, Drizaghar hurled the mystic weapon forward toward his adversary. Stumbling as he cast the spell, the drow’s aim was off. Cursing under his breath as he crumpled to the ground, he was unable to see where his pike hit. His last breath escaped from his lungs even as the summoned weapon launched through the air. The thin point melted a hole through Charles’ armor, piercing his left tricep just above the elbow.

The dangerous mixture of necromancy and fire played their role perfectly, the powers of death in the pike drawing every last ounce of strength from the brute’s left arm while the powers of fire sutured the wound. Unfortunately for Charles Magebane, this would be no ordinary scar. The effects would plague him physically for several days before subsiding, but the black mark would never fade.

It was Lieutenant Drizaghar’s final act to halt the progress of a single warrior into the region of Raiaera. As the lycanthrope troops slowly stalked in for the easy kill, the dark elf’s body slowly decomposed into the ground. Only after every last trace of him had vanished did Captain Azotocht let out a ferocious howl. Legion Clades hungered for blood; their retribution for their fallen leader paid in crimson.

[Charles]

"Well that hurt...a lot..." Such a simple statement to sum up the incredible agony that had moments previous torn through his arm and rendered it mostly useless. The pain was intense, but far away, as if somehow disconnected from his body.

"Do you really want to do this? I'm still armed, you're still squishy, and at the moment, I'm still INCREDIBLY FUCKING PISSED OFF! GODDAMMIT!" He was running on not much more than adrenaline at this point, but adrenaline did strangwe things to the human body. He was surging with manic strength, and as the first werewolf jumped anyway, he batted it down like a toy with his mace. He was fairly well frothing at the mouth at the moment, and if anyone could have seen him in his armor he would have been shaking almost uncontrollably with shock and stress. Blood caked his mouth and chin, though at least his nose had stopped flowing. He could taste it in his mouth, harsh and metallic, it tasted like mortality, the bane of all life. The mace continued to swing in a blur, smashing skulls and bones as he struggled through the lycanthrope pack, back towards the human members of the troop. He could probably convince them to join him. Odds were good they were just men, not fervent supporters of Xem'zund.

[Deus di Eclave]

The lycanthropes piled on the maniacal warrior, trying to drag him to the ground. However, as the mace ripped through warrior after warrior, Azotocht began having second thoughts. The werewolves typically acted first and asked questions later, but that was why the later Lieutenant Drizaghar had chosen Azotocht for his position. He thought more than the average beast and, as a result, made a decent strategist. Seeing a bloodrage fill the intruder before him, he called to his troops, “Back! Fall back!”

The members of Legion Clades, while confused, still obeyed. Their numbers had been almost cut in half since the start of the encounter and Captain Azotocht wasn’t about to lose any more in a needless fit of revenge. As he loped away from the bloody clearing, the lycanthrope warrior vowed that he would have his vengeance on the mage killer.

Charles Talbott would never feel safe in the woods again, he would make sure of that.

~~

Captain Silas Koloblicin of Den Caedo stood in the midst of a battlefield covered in the limbs of the undead. Decaying fingers still grasped clumsily at the air; merely severing them from their hosts hadn’t been enough to halt their animation. His chest heaved with the exertion and every breath shot pain through his side. Damn hammer, he swore, setting the thing on his shoulder as he turned toward his men.

Since the battle had ended, the members of Den Caedo had been uncharacteristically silent. Some tended wounds and injuries, but the captain suspected that most were thinking of their fallen leader. Drizaghar had rallied them to his cause; without him they had nowhere to go but back into their homes near the edge of the Red Forest.

“You fought well today, men,” he told them, patting a few on the shoulder as he shared in their grief. “The Lieutenant would have been proud.” His gaze dropped to the ground and he kicked idly at a severed leg. “You can all go home now,” he stated simply.

As the men began to move off in small groups, Silas stared off into the woods where he had last seen the drow necromancer. It was an honor serving with you…

[Charles]

As soon as the wolves started to run off, Charles seemed to deflate. His arm fell limply to his side, and he had to struggle to put his mace back on its belt loop. Finally, after three feeble tries, it was secure, and he began the laborious process of removing his helmet and tramping out of the woods.

I must look like hell. Yeah ya do. Oh shut up, I wan't asking you.

He could barely walk, though his slow travel let some measure of strength creep back into his limbs as he exited the thick tree cover he had used to such ruthless advantage. When he cleared the woods, he met a horrifying sight. The undead were destroyed, the humans were scattering, and their commander, he had to be their commander, had his hammer. He concentrated for a moment, and nearly collapsed as he picked his daggers up and returned them to their sheaths. He staggered more into the open, and he must have been a terrifying sight, His entire mouth area, from his nose to his chin, and spreading out along his cheeks, was caked in dried blood, like he'd been devouring his enemies rather than crushing their bodies. The only thing that gave him away was the renewed trickle of blood running down his face, as the exertion of his attempt brought on yet another nosebleed. He tried to talk, but at first all that came out was a croak. He reached to his side, and miraculously undamaged throughout the entire madness, grabbed up his water skin, and took a deep drink, before clearing his throat and continuing.

"I think you have my hammer. His deep bass voice was still weak, but it didn't matter. "I can see neither of us is in any condition to kill the other, so perhaps a truce is in order. I have no quarrel with you, only your former employer, so if you'll return my hammer, I'll consider things resolved, and be about my business in peace. You can even travel with me, as far as you care to, if you take up my offer. Though you may want to replace that armor. I didn't even hit you that hard..." He could see the dent in the mans defenses where his hammer had struck, and knocked more than just the fght out of him.

[Deus di Eclave]

The intruder staggered out of the forest and caught Silas just as he had been about to start the long and arduous trek back to his hometown near Carnelost. The brute offered a truce and the former Captain readily agreed, handing over the great warhammer enthusiastically. Travel with this man? he wondered why the trespasser who had killed his leader would offer such a thing. The thought was laughable.

He started once more down the hillside, but stopped after a few steps. The man was strong, had some clear purpose in mind, and had just pulled off one of the greatest coups of all time. Silas Koloblicin pivoted on his booted heel and addressed the bloody brute boldly, “You know what? I’ll join you.” It was time for a new chapter in the warrior’s life.

~~

Drizaghar Maena’triel shuddered to life in the Antifirmament and was summarily expelled into the land of the living. Mortals had no place in the realm of shadows and mystery, not unless they went through the proper channels. I’ll save that for another time, the necromancer thought as he stumbled on the ground that rushed up to meet him. His black leather boots sent small puffs of dirt out as they hit the path and the dark elf surveyed his surroundings. “Alerar,” he guessed by the trees and other signs around him.

The nature of the spell that had brought him back to life dictated that he would be rebirthed wherever Fascath had been when the dark elf’s soul had found him. Since the familiar had been in the Antifirmament, Drizaghar had been dumped wherever the ether had willed it. Luckily, it appeared as though he wasn’t far from where he had died.

He almost started up the hill before him when he thought better of it. Xem'zûnd would hear news of his death and would never think to search out the drow necromancer. He would simply be replaced with someone more competent. Perhaps Charles killing him had been his saving grace…

The former lieutenant grinned wickedly and turned his path north, toward the mountain pass that waited only a few days away. If he could sneak back into Raiaera, he would literally be a ghost. No one knew he was alive. Turning his grin into a full-out smile, the dark elf felt his spirits lift at the prospect.

Though if their paths crossed, he had some business with Charles Magebane.

Spoils:
A simple braided leather whip, twelve feet in length.
Maybe some extra spending gold.

Note:
I was not sure if this post fell under the rule where Drizaghar was only allowed in one thread at a time (since it is tied into the FQ). So, if it does, could you please just award him the usual EXP and not the enhanced EXP. I ask this because he is already in a serious of threads in the FQ with Homun Culus. Thank you!

[Charles]

"Good, so, what do you know about mage hunting?" The conversation would last a very long time. Silas had unwittingly gotten himself not only a new companion, but a new line of work, hunting and killing evil mages. Charles walked the battle site carefully, collecting anything that might have been of use. Daggers went onto his belt, as he was constantly losing them in situations very similar to this one, and anything else useful, such as Gold, went into a pack on Silas' back. "We'll meet my companion within the next few days, when we do, you won't have to carry quite so much, but until then, I'm afraid we have to face two realities. I'm stuck in most of this armor, and I can only carry so much on a pack over this crap. Anything we don't absolutely need, we're abandoning and burning." Charles and Silas spent a few more hours collecting the bits of the undead, and Silas' own soldiers, piling the undead unceremoniously in a heap, and laying the soldiers neatly in rows. They heaped pine branches on their bodies, and finally, just before they left, they set them ablaze with flint and steel. The two men, Silas in replacement armor, carrying food for the two of them in a pack, and Charles in his battered plate, sack slung over his shoulder carrying all the nonessentials. Silas had whatever Gold they had grabbed from the corpses, a measure of Charles' trust in the man, and an indicator of exactly what their new partnership implied. They had both checked the death site of the fallen mage, but there was no evidence to be had of his death, and Charles was disappointed. He was no general, but he would have been worth something to his employers.

"Silas, you are aware that we'll likely both die doing this, right?"

"Yes I am. But, I nearly died today. I don't see much difference except perhaps doing the right thing when I die this time."

"Good. Let's go. We have work to do."

Three days later they met Traveler on the road, such as it was, and lightened their burdens significantly. By months end they would be outside Anebrilith, and then the real job started, but until then, they simply concentrated on staying alive to make it through the fights ahead alive and intact. Charles regained use of his arm, and with Silas in support, he figured he had a better than average chance of beating whatever life had in store for him later on.


7 additional steel daggers, as insurance against probable loss on the road.
Some spending Gold
Silas is an NPC ally of Charles from henceforth.

[Breaker]

Through the Fire and the Flames
Quest Judgement

Since you guys didn't request a battle judgement, I'm making it a standard quest, which probably benefits both of you anyways. Deus, you're right in that you're only allowed to be in one FQ at a time, you you'll receive regular EXP while Charles will still receive the bonus.

STORY

Continuity ~ 4/10. Neither of you did a particularly good job of describing how or why your characters arrived at their location. Their reasons for being there were mostly implied and extremely generic, giving this story a fairly boring premise. All in all, you both need to work on fitting a quest into the broader sheath of your storyline and justifying your character's presence.

Setting ~ 3/10. Deus did a little better here, with at least describing what the setting looked like and sending his troops through the woods and all that. But Charles, you really didn't pay any attention to your character's surroundings. You need to provide your reader with a vivid mental image of the setting, using all five senses. Also, the location should have some effect on your character's actions and decisions. Setting is a very important category, and I suggest you take a look at the work of some of Althanas' more experienced writers to get a feel for how alive the background can be.

Pacing ~ 4/10. The beginning of this quest was really rough. I was mildly confused about both of your premises, and it took me awhile to figure out where the voice in Charles' head was coming from. Even after reading your profile, it didn't make much sense to me. Also, Deus, you need to be careful about not re-telling the same events twice or three times through the eyes of different characters. This ties into persona too, but mostly, if you've described something once, try to move on.

CHARACTER

Dialogue ~ 2/10. The dialogue was generic and cliche at the best of times, and completely ridiculous at worst. Charles, no one yells out monologues like that in the middle of battle, especially not in such an Earthly manner. All of the dialogue felt flat and lacked anything interesting. In fact, you could have taken almost all the dialogue out and the thread wouldn't have read much differently. Again, glancing over a few threads written by more experienced RPers might give you a few hints as to writing better dialogue. For now, work on making it realistic and relevant.

Action ~ 4/10. I boosted this a point because some of the action descriptions were good, but it barely made any sense. Charles, you played your character way too powerfully. First of all, and I'm going to talk to Cyrus about a profile clarification, your telikinesis ability seems to imply that you can move 1 small object at a time, which is I think why it got approved. However, you were turning dozens of weapons into automatic meat grinders, which is way beyond the ability range of a level 0. Also, you just seemed to keep getting tired, but keep fighting anyways, no matter what. Deus, your actions weren't that much more realistic. I find it hard to believe that with so many soldiers at his disposal, a necromancer couldn't find a way to kill his enemy.

Persona ~ 3/10. I got almost nothing from either of you. Your characters didn't seem to have any drive other than "I kill mages" and "I kill intruders." The NPCs all suffered from the same one-dimensional problem. I hate to say it guys, but I'm being generous in giving you a three here. I mean, we had a human, a drow, zombies, werewolves, and without the names or pronouns I wouldn't have been able to tell the difference between them. Long story short, you both need to focus on making your characters more like real people and less like single minded wrecking machines.

WRITING STYLE

Technique ~ 5/10. Charles, you actually had some interesting metaphor work, but your short somewhat irrelevant posts hampered that a bit. I bumped this from a four to a five for the little bit of foreshadowing that was present.

Mechanics ~ 6/10. Not too many huge errors, but often enough I saw things (silly mistakes and typos) that a quick proofread or proper spellcheck could cure. I give this advice a lot, but my favourite proofreading technique is to read the post out loud, and it works, so I suggest trying that.

Clarity ~ 5/10. This is normally a gimme category, but I got lost a few times, especially near the beginning, and the ending seemed reall unnatural, what with Silas and Charles skipping off into the sunset. Also, don't cut posts short at the cost of good writing.

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~ 3/10. The FQ storyline provides some interesting outlets, but I feel like you guys kind of squandered a good oppurtunity. Also, Deus, avoid doing two simultaneous FQ threads in the future.

TOTAL ~ 39/100. I hope this score doesn't dissuade either of you. You've both shown potential, it's really just a matter of working hard to harvest your talent and turn it into solid skill.

EXP and GP Rewards

Deus di Eclave receives 400 EXP and 200 GP
Charles receives 750 EXP and 200 GP

Other Rewards

Charles receives 2 additional steel daggers and Silas as an NPC, but keep in mind he can only be used in battle if you have your opponent's permission.

Drizaghar receives a braided leather whip, twelve feet in length.

Final Commentary: Charles, I'm going to make an effort to keep up with your threads, and if I see you powergaming your character in a situation where your opponent doesn't have an army at his disposal, I will alert the RoG staff. Since this was your first thread and you were battling an army, I didn't actually deduct any points this time.

[Cyrus the virus]

EXP added!