Fourth Target: The Dweller in the Dark

[Godhand]

"No."

"Really? After I saved your life, you're going to say no? I should have let Warson kill you and then taken the sheath."

Godhand clenched his jaw and steadily advanced over to his wagon, the tart and tiny drow hot on his heels. She was trying to convince him to let her tag along. He'd been steadfastly refusing so far, though. As far as he could tell she didn't even like him, and so it made little sense that she'd want to travel with him. Well, it made a little sense. She'd pretty much just told him that she was after his enchanted sheath. Still, he felt he was well within his rights to deny someone who'd most likely stab him in the middle of the night and run off with every belonging of his that struck her fancy.

"You didn't save my life. You helped me out. Barely. And anyway, I saved you right back so as far as I'm concerned we're even. Why do you want to travel along with me anyway? You don't seem like the type to help a stranger out of the kindness of your heart. What's the matter? You got a thing for me or something?"

"I need more fame here before I can get what I need. So far, the only way I can see that happening is defeating those Liches, and giving them the eternal rest they fucking deserve. Since its quite clear they're after you, tagging along guarantees I get a crack at them."

Godhand paused, then turned to face her.

"So you DON'T have a thing for me?"

"Excuse me if the thought of fucking you makes me retch."

"Man, you got a foul mouth."

"You aren't exactly the cleanest either. I could name a few sailors who curse less than you," She replied simply as she leaned against the wagon, "So, are you going to force me to follow you, or are you going to let me hitch a ride?"

"Yeah, I know. I'm trying to work on that. I got this little jar I put a coin in every time I use the f word. I'm gonna have to dump a fucking fortune in it once I get back home. Oh, Goddamnit. I did it again." Godhand sighed, "Look, if you want to come along then I ain't gonna stop you."

The warrior hoisted himself up into the back of his wagon, then offered her his hand. Pulling her on board, he suddenly pointed an accusing finger at her.

"But don't you even fucking think of double-crossing me. I'm faster than you are and we both know it."

[Mage Hunter]

"If I was going to betray you, it would have been when Warsmith had you on your knees. I may dislike you, I may loathe the fact you have that sheath, but I'm not about to kill a man over it. I'll just wait till your bravado gets you killed and then reclaim it," the Huntress retorted as she sat down. Her bow, while still strung was left witting between her and the mercenary with a quiver. Her eyes were on the road before her as she shivered slightly feeling the necromantic magic she had managed to store react to the area about them.

The mercenary merely grunted as he snapped the reigns, the thoroughbreds moving forward at the command of their master. The Drow wasn't much for conversation however; she realized she had just signed up to be beside a man who she knew nothing about. The human while strong and fast was just as stubborn as her, and really he was right. The both of them were screwed in that situation. Neither of them could have made it out without the other.

Which concerned her, because if she couldn't stand up to one member, and he couldn't alone either, they were screwed. Perhaps she had finally bitten off more than she could chew, but the Drow was loathe to admit it. She wanted to go home, and the fact that she was blocked by an ornery old man with a penchant for violence meant that she was in for a long ride. The thought of having to please the man made her queasy, and if he began hitting on her, she was more than certain she would retch.

However, she had to endure if only for the sake of getting home again.


~*~

Silence had spread between them for a few days and as they continued down the road she looked up at the sky seeing how the sun had already begun to head for the twilight mountains. They had been traveling for most the day when she finally could not bear the quiet anymore. She would have gone insane waiting for something to happen, and with the rate the cart moved, she was looking at perhaps a few days before their next destination. Looking over at the human she sighed before she spoke, "So, why are you hunting them?"

The human scratched the back of his head and sighed. The trip had been peaceful so far. Quiet. They hadn't gotten attacked yet, at least, and it was one of those lazy misty mornings he liked so much. "It's my job."

"Sounds like the kind of job they don't expect to pay you for," Drusilia commented wryly as she stretched feeling a few joints in her spine pop from the strain of sitting up straight.

Godhand chuckled. "No, I guess not. But it beats punching a clock, nine to five, worrying about how you're going to afford to buy food to feed your kids who all drink a liter of milk a day...Ugh."

"You have kids?" She let a soft smirk light her face before she spoke, "I guess you could say I'm doing this to prove something, but then again, I doubt you care about me, especially after what happened in the town."

"No, I don't. Thank Christ." The man then let her continue. "Listen, don't get all morose on me. I hate that shit. This 'why me' generation makes me sick. Anyway, it's a long trip so you might as well start talking."

"Alright, where do you want to start? Other than my measurements of course," Another wry smile lit up her face.

"35-24-35."

She raised an eyebrow as she looked at the gunman before she said, "Wrong, but I don't know whether to be insulted or amused."

"Really? Damn. I'm usually spot on."

"So, what do I call you other than Human?"

"Godhand. Godhand Striker. What's your name?"

"Drusilia Liadon."

"That's way too overwrought. From now on I'm gonna call you Dru."

"If you wish, I refuse to call you God though."

"So, Dru...What are the odds of you and me getting together?"

[Godhand]

"No."

"Those aren't odds."

"Oh, you want gambling odds? Well, what's the longest bet you've ever seen? Double it, and you still haven't scratched those odds."

"Hell, I'll take that bet. Wouldn't be the first hundred to one that's paid off."

"Are you even listening to me? Or are you just looking in my shirt hoping you'll see skin you haven't seen yet?"

"Oh Hell, I'm just looking to kill some time. Anyway, just you wait. I grow on people."

"Yes, only yesterday I wanted you dead. Now I'm just generally cold to you. Perhaps next week we'll arrange the wedding and you'll meet my parents."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"I sincerely hope you're pulling my leg. Otherwise, please pull over..."

"Settle down. We're nearing the city. Shit..."

Anebrilith was under attack. Hordes of zombies were gathering at the gates and hammering at the walls, and it was all the besieged defenders could do to try and stave them off by firing arrows from the walls and kicking down whatever stray ladder was managed to get propped up. Godhand wasted no time, quickly drawing his blade and leaping from the wagon.

He'd come to Anebrilith to look for leads. The trail on the Necrosition had run cold; if that poisoner hadn't been looking for him then Godhand never would have found him. Given that the port town was the most heavily populated city in Raieara, it seemed inevitable that someone there would know something about the fiends. That is, if one of them themselves wasn't leading this attack. In any case, if this raid managed to succeed then all his leads would die and then come back to life as servants of Xem'Zund. He'd taken out half of the Necrosition and that was a start, but he knew there was no chance in Hell of him getting paid unless he vanquished the lot of them. He had to move quickly or else the entire Goddamn trip would be for nothing.

The warrior was a steely blur as he burst from the wagon and raced towards the marauding zombies, his Muramasa at his side. Before the first rank of the slow-witted undead could react, he'd already sliced them in half while running past them. The sound of metal blazingly slashing through bone and sinew reverberated through the battlefield as Godhand carried on, never ceasing or pausing as he cut a bloody swath through the Necromancer's ranks. There were a lot of them, but he knew that as long as he didn't stand still their addled brains wouldn't be able to register his presence long enough for them to swarm him. Still, he knew he couldn't do it forever. Eventually he was going to get tired, and then they'd stampede all over him like the ravenous swine they were. He knew he couldn't count on the elves to help him out either, beyond the occasional stray arrow taking one of the undead down. They were far too afraid to let themselves become vulnerable by sending out troops. His only hope was to shock and awe the raiders enough to scare them away.

[Mage Hunter]

"Never gets easier does it?" The huntress muttered as she lifted up her bow and shouldered her quiver. Immediately she was off firing arrows until her quiver was empty, each one picking off one of the zombies close enough to actually harm Godhand, and while he was making a valiant effort of swinging through the cluster of zombies. Still it wasn't enough to cleave through the army, more had to happen, and soon, or the city would be lost.

Immediately her eyes took on the familiar blue tinge as she casually brushed a stray strand of black hair from her face. Her eyes scanned the army as she began to prioritize targets. She would have to work fast or it would all be for nothing. Spotting the densest concentration of magical force she immediately dropped her bow and rushed into the fray. She couldn’t reach that group of robed sorcerers on her own, but she knew someone who could.

Her only good sword was drawn she went in cleaving as she sought to bash the undead out of her path. It took her awhile to actually reach the titan of a man, but as she fought to get back to back with him she found her work load lighten considerably. Making her way beside Godhand she grumbled before she spoke up, "I need your help, this isn't accomplishing anything but being annoying. We need to get over another fifty feet to the right..."

Godhand nodded slowly as she took a brief second to point. She could potentially break him free to start heading in that direction, but the option she would be left with wouldn't be good for the rest of the day. She had her stone charged with anti-magic so she could survive for a few moments alone, but then Godhand would be gone, and she'd be swarmed. The only hope however, was taking out that cluster of necromancers, before they overwhelmed this portion of the wall. Figuring it was something she would have to do, she took a brief moment to pull out a stone before she said, "When this goes off, run for that cluster fuck of robes and hit it for all you got."

Holding the stone tightly against the pommel of her sword she began to swing it about in an arc before she cut a brief amount of breathing room for herself. Immediately she focused her will towards the stone, which in turn poked the rather volatile mixture of energies. Immediately a wash of white light flew across the field around them, causing the zombies in the immediate area to fall tot he ground lifeless and useless to the cause. She quickly turned and pointed once more at the men before she hissed, "Make your break for it!"

[Godhand]

Godhand was busy swatting away the slavering maws of the undead when his drow partner finally managed to reach him. She had a rather useful ability; to see whatever person was using magic in the near vicinity. Normally it wouldn't amount to much, but given that practically everyone in Xem'Zund's army was either a zombie, general or lesser necromancer it came in pretty handy. She knew right away who was pulling the strings. Godhand dove forward and grabbed a zombie by the legs, quickly using him as a makeshift club to clear some room for himself. Now he had to watch out for her, too. He was tough enough that merely tensing up was enough to send a couple of undead reeling backwards, but if just one of the creatures managed to latch on to her throat then it was over. And as rough as she was, he wasn't sure how he'd feel about having that on his conscience.

The ligaments in the abomination's ankles finally gave away under the stress exerted and everything but his feet was sent spiraling into the ravenous undead horde. Just as the swordsman was about to grab another one, however, Drusilia pointed towards the direction of the necromancers. They were all huddled together; it was an old technique that allowed them to pool their magic and thereby increase the range and strength of their spells, but the tradeoff was that it left them extremely vulnerable to someone like Godhand. The mercenary smiled and charged towards their location, intent on slaying the miserable swine. He knew he had to be quick about it, too. The drow's anti-magic had cleared him a path but it had exhausted her and left her vulnerable to the fast approaching undead. He had to reach them before they reached her.

When he gaged his distance to be about right, he leapt off the ground and soared through their air towards the necromancers. His arms were stretched out to his sides and his head was pointed forward like a battering ram; he was a cannonball in a trenchcoat. He hit them at breakneck speeds, noticeably so since his arms practically decapitated the mages they made contact with. His head impacted with one of their chest's and the man practically burst apart at the seams thanks to the strength of the blow. Their bodies couldn't halt him, however, and when he made contact with the ground at the speed he was going the sky shook and the earth split. A huge plume of debris shot up into the air, and in the confusion the swordsman quickly got back to his feet and vivisected the remaining necromancers with a single swing of his deadly blade. They were all dead before the dust even cleared.

As soon as their puppetmasters were slain the remaining undead quickly seized up and fell to the ground, dying for the second and final time. Godhand breezily walked over to Drusilia and offered his hand, helping her up to her feet. Then, straightening out his coat and patting down his shirt to dissipate the more obvious wrinkles, he walked over to the port city's tightly sealed gates and knocked.

[Mage Hunter]

It was funny watching how an undead army operated. One second everything was fine, the next a surgical strike that hit one of the nerves, collapsed an entire flank. As the section of the city saw relief in the form of a sudden drop of the attack, its resources were deftly rerouted to the weakening portions elsewhere, and the resurgence of defense saw the General of the undead forces pull back, rather than commit troops into one of the worst meat grinders possible, one in which all the meat was from his own side.

Drusilia graciously accepted the hand from the mercenary before she too dusted herself off. Picking up her sword she quickly wiped it off on the uniforms of the dead, now a ragged parody of their former glory. Her eyes still carried that twinge of blue light as she observed the army leave, and began to walk towards the gates after the white haired man muttering, "If you were all dead, I might be happy for once..."

The knock on the gates was rather comical, until the booming that rang through the wall echoed the rather strong knock. The Huntress had come to expect such grandiose things out of the mercenary. Still it seemed to rattle a few guards who even then appeared on the parapets of the wall, aiming bows down on the two. Drusilia raised an eyebrow before she shouted up, "Really? You're going to threaten to kill us with those? If we were undead it wouldn't matter anyways, and if we were alive you'd only be adding more cannon fodder to Xem'zund's army."

"What are your names and what is your purpose here?" One of the guards shouted. Drusilia could tell he was perhaps the highest ranking among them, since he had a rather ornate armor. From what she could tell it glowed stronger than most, perhaps a contingency in the event of his eventual death. She sighed before rubbing the bridge of her nose irritably.

"Fucking elves and their distrust," She muttered, then rose her eyes up to meet him, "I am Drusilia Liadon, former member of the Mage Hunters of Ettermire under Queen Valsharess may she rest in peace! I do not speak for my compatriot, but I come for a restocking of basic supplies and perhaps rest for a night or two before moving along."

She then turned to Godhand before she said, “Well, your turn.”

[Godhand]

The warrior waited patiently, arms crossed behind his back, for the gate to open. Instead, they were greeted by the suspicious shout of an elven commander and the sound of several dozen bowstrings being pulled back. Godhand looked at his drow companion, then up at the guards, then at Drusilia again. Jesus, they'd just saved their ungrateful aryan asses and now they were looking down the business end of about a hundred crossbows. He let out a short breath before quickly leaping high into the air and landing easily on the parapets. The soldiers guarding the wall scrambled backwards and leveled their weapons at him, occasionally sending hesitant sidelong glances at their commanding officer to confirm wether or not they should attack. His blade was sheathed, after all. The man in charge identified himself by raising his hand to keep his men from shooting, sending a wary glare to the silver-haired before resuming his interrogation.

"That's very impressive, but it doesn't quite answer my question."

Godhand sucked in a chilly Raiearean breath shortly before buttoning up his trenchcoat. Afterwards he gave a quick sniff to clear his sinuses and smiled at the elf. He was wearing ridiculous suit of armor; it looked liked it had been lined with gold and beared a ridiculously overwrought mural on the chestplate. It looked like some sort of God giving the sun to a pointy-eared figure as he kneeled squarely on top of the back of a human, who himself was being held up by a pyramid of doubtlessly 'lesser' races. All in all, it was just a tacky depiction of where elves thought they stood in the world. The master race. It would have been much more imposing had Godhand not just finished fighting their battle for them.

"I'm here to find what's left of the Necrosition."

There was a quiet murmur among the ranks and the general spun backwards and hissed to shut them up. After that display, he turned back to their guest and limited himself to raising an eyebrow in suspicion. Godhand chuckled.

"Unclench your asses, fellas'. I already took out half of them."

Talk erupted among the soldiers, and even though the commander hissed again it was to no avail. Finally, he stomped his foot and yelled for silence. He measured up the mercenary before asking one final question.

"Are you him?"

"Apparently."

"...I thought you'd be taller."

The commander looked over to his second-in-command and nodded. The lieutenant pushed himself a path through the assembled crowd and yelled for them to open the gate. Cheers erupted from the crowd and this time the general didn't try to stop them. Godhand flipped off the parapet and landed in a crouch next the the mage hunter.

"Let's get the wagon."

[Mage Hunter]

It had taken them an hour to get the wagon and put it somewhere safe in the city. While they had walked through the situation looked far worse than normal. It seemed every able man and woman had been forced into armor and given some kind of weapon. Some had swords and shields, others had bows, but all were wearing a look that spoke volumes. They were as green as the Alerian grass. These people were conscripts fighting before they could leave on one of the highly overpriced boats.

The looks that followed her and Godhand as they marched through the streets were desperate. They saw two warriors, evident from the weaponry they carried in a nonchalant fashion. Surely these two would take the place of the conscripts and allow them a chance to say their prayers to the gods in the hopes they would end the threat once and for all. Of course, Drusilia didn't have the heart to actually tell them she didn't care. Or perhaps it was the fact that her incensed anger at the treatment they got for collapsing a flank had resulted in her nearly becoming a quiver for arrows.

They moved about the town as she deftly flicked a bit of hair from her eyes and looked at the old man, "I guess we sleep with the wagon, I wouldn't trust any of the inns, probably gouge our wallets and leaves us bone dry. That money might come in handy later..."

It was at that time the guards approached them and the leader, a woman in a more conservative armor. Her hair was a bright auburn that flowed down to her shoulders. It looked slightly mussed from the battle and she seemed to not particularly care about it as she steeled her courage. Her ice blue eyes looked upon the two travelers before she spoke, "I am Sergeant Arith of the guard; I was assigned as your personal liaison from the Elvin guard of Anebrilith. If you require anything just ask-"

"I require you to shut your mouth before you compound my headache," Drusilia snapped as she rubbed her temple. The encounter outside had left a rather foul taste in her mouth, and she still had not properly recovered from the fight against Darren Warson and Aegon Warsmith. The magic was almost overwhelming in the area, and the result was a minor migraine that made Drusilia begin to snap when she heard the falsely cheerful voice of the elf.

She gave the woman a rather dirty glare before she shouldered her pack slightly higher on her shoulder and continued to move through the crowd muttering about how she hated elves. Perhaps it was the emotional outburst from the Drow, and perhaps it was the rather hostile vibe she gave off, but people parted before her, not risking a strike from her barbed tongue. While she moved off the young Sergeant sighed before she looked at the weathered mercenary, "Is she always like this?"

[Godhand]

"Not at all. I think she likes you."

Godhand reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cigarette, waving away the sergeant's offer to light it.

"It's just a mental thing. I'm actually trying to cut back. So, what's going on in the city?"

The sergeant rubbed her eyes with her thumb and forefinger, releasing an exasperated sigh. She was a pretty little thing. Long red hair, mesmerizingly blue eyes and all the delicate, perfect features you'd expect from a high blooded elf. He was sure that must have annoyed the other races that had to deal with them when trading. Whoever heard of an ugly elf? Godhand had been in the country for barely a week and already he was sporting new lines on his face, meanwhile this broad had been weathering constant assaults for the better part of a year and all she had to show for it was slightly ruffled hair and a bit of red under her eyes.

"It's...It's not looking good. We're the last truly free city in Raieaera, and thus Xem'Zund's focusing his attack on us. The evacuation is going about as well as we could hope, but there just aren't enough ships. Refugees are pouring in from all corners of the country faster than we can ship them out. Add on top of that that most of the new refugees are crippled or hapless aristocrats, and we don't even have enough people to guard the city. We were dangerously close to being breached before you rendered your assistance. Thank you, by the way."

"Don't worry about it. I had to get into the city anyway."

The elf smirked. The mercenary smirked right back. Maybe she had been moved by his immense selflessness and was about to profess her undying loved for him.

"I've heard stories about you, you know."

"Oh?"

"Indeed. They say you might even be a match for Derris Warson."

"Oh, he's dead."

"Wh-...What?"

"Yeah, he caught up with me about one town ago. He and the Necrosition's poisoner. They had to go."

Her lower lip trembled, and then all of a sudden she fell to her knees and clasped the swordsman's hands with her own, refusing to meet his gaze and pressing her forehead to the top of his hands. Her underlings quickly followed suit and fell to one knee in deference to Godhand, though not without sending some unsure glances towards each other. They were beginning to cause a scene, and Godhand wasn't quite sure what to think. Maybe she was going to confess her love?

"I...I never truly believed the stories until now. Please, sir knight! You must remain here and help us fight off the horde!"

"Knight? What? Listen, miss..."

"Call me Verryna."

"Verryna. I'm only here looking for leads; I'm not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. Your country took out a contract on the Necrosition and now I'm taking care of it. I have a list."

The elf raised her head, her smoldering blue eyes gazing intently into the swordsman's own. Jesus, she was intense.

"I know for a fact that Warson wasn't on your list!"

"He got in the way. He had to go."

The sergeant seemed like she was about to make a rebuttal, but her mouth didn't produce the words. Instead, she clenched her jaw intently and got back to her feet.

"If this is your wish, fine. But before you make a decision, please...Let me show you this city."

Godhand sighed, hesitating for a moment before finally nodding.

[Mage Hunter]

She eventually found herself in the market area of this accursed town. It was obvious that it had mostly been converted into some kind of supply outpost. People moved about quickly, and where before stalls might have held foodstuffs or wares that had no militaristic use, in their wake of leaving, was replaced by arms and armor. Shaking her head to try and clear it of the headache that assaulted her poor mind she moved through the area, until she finally saw what she was looking for.

There was a stall that held leather armor, which she quickly moved up to. The fighting outside and the fact she had been forced to leave the leather armor back in the last town had cemented her need for such things. Moving up to the small stand she sighed, before moving slowly through it. The shop keeper seemed to raise an eyebrow as she moved deliberately. When the man attempted to talk to her she gave him a harsh stare, silencing any protest or attempt to make a sale.

Moving through the wares slowly yet deliberately she once more pulled upon her ability to see the winds of magic about her. More than a few leather armors had an enchantment, and she was more than certain it was merely some kind of status charm. Clucking her tongue in distaste she was about to leave before she looked upon one last set of armor. The first thing that made it desirable was that it was actually made for a woman. While a necessity she had seen other such armors, and had dismissed them just as quickly.

What truly made it desirable was it was naturally dark leather, which allowed for her to move about in low light conditions better than most. Straps crossed over a few areas of the armor which allowed it to remain tight against the skin, and in turn allow her arms and legs to move fluidly. It would only cover her chest and back, which meant her legs and arms were still in danger, but it was preferable to getting gutted by a hungry ghoul.

Looking at the shop keep she lifted the chest plate from its resting place before she asked bluntly, "How much?"

"That? Six hundred gold and not a copper less," The keep said his tone spartan and clipped.

"I'm sorry I thought I heard you say six hundred for a piece of leather not even enchanted with some charm meant to fool someone into thinking its worth the price," The Huntress snapped as she dropped it down on the counter before the man. He raised an eyebrow as she met the gaze coolly before he sat in the chair.

"So you know a little magic, okay. Six hundred was for the ability for a commander to tell the status of his troops, but that one obviously isn't enchanted as such. How about three hundred?"

"For dark leather? It better be made of something other than cowhide," She replied sternly.

"Drive a hard bargain there Miss. Let me tell you, that's actually not cow hide, it’s more of an Arctic beast hide. We tanned it, so it’s lost the hair, but the dying and chemical processes made it darker. It’s great for scouting, but I can't let it go for less than two hundred."

Drusilia gritted her teeth as she sighed looking down upon the plates. She figured it would be at least worth a good amount less, after all she was from a land who got Salvarian goods cheap, but this was a war zone, and he had to make a living somehow. In the end she fished out her coin purse before she said rather venomously, "I swear, if this turns out to be lest than Artic Beast hide, I will hunt you down and take every gold coin you screwed me out of from your hide."

The merchant gave her a lazy smile before he said, "Pleasure doing business with you ma'am."

[Godhand]

Godhand walked through the city with the small contingent of soldiers leading the way. The city had truly been ravished by Xem'Zund; if anything, the elven sergeant had been sugarcoating the situation. People were ready to kill each other just to get the other's ration of rotten fish and haphazardly washed herbs. Every so often the woman would pause to point out a particularly horrible scene, like a soot-faced child tugging at his mother's dead hand or a soldier tossing another body unto a soon-to-be-burned pile to avoid the city becoming overrun with plague. Just when Godhand believed he'd seen the absolute worst, a new horror greeted him. It was enough to make him grit his teeth.

Then again, it was nothing he hadn't seen before. Perhaps he hadn't witnessed this sort of devastation on such a large scale, but war is war. The elves had stayed too neutral too long and this was what they'd received for their hubris. The once glorious Raiaerian city of Anebrilith had been reduced to little less than a ramshackle port, with people from all four corners of the country scrambling to get out. They knew which was the tide was turning. While the elves had been singing their songs, the Necromancer had been solidifying his grip on Raiaera. While they'd been sculpting their statues, the scourge had spread as far as Alerar. While they had been studying the architecture of the ancient buildings, Xem'Zund had summoned the Necrosition. The elves had refused to see the danger until it had set upon them, and by then it was too late.

Godhand knew that he'd gone about as long as he could without a cigarette. He pulled a lighter out from his pocket and flicked the top open, easily catching a spark and lighting it. He took the first deep, long drag. The best of them all. Verryna watched him intently, studying his face for any sort of a reaction. The swordsman didn't have anything to say. He was just tired. Tired of this. Tired of having to cut himself a path everywhere he went. He hadn't rested in what felt like a thousand years, and it seemed like the smell of blood would never go away no matter how much he tried. And now this girl was looking at him to be their hero. Hell, he had probably murdered more 'heroes' than any other type of person. Where was Letho? He'd know what to do in a situation like this. He'd don his golden armor and lead these people to the promised land, vanquishing Xem'Zund forever. Godhand didn't have golden armor; just a tattered old trenchcoat. Finally releasing the breath of smoke he'd been holding all this time, he turned to Verryna and raised a weary brow.

"Well? What do you want me to do about this?"

She looked at him like he was crazy.

"I want you to fight!"

[Mage Hunter]

Lightheadedness had begun to creep up on Drusilia as she shook her head slowly. She had known taking on Mana like she had against Warson could make her physically ill, but this was stretching it. She just couldn't deal with this. It was like someone was battering her skull with a hammer, and then decided after the pounding wasn't enough, to inflate her skull with a balloon so it could float away. She had already donned the armor she had bought from the merchant and while it had reassured her she wouldn't be hurt so badly, she couldn't help but feel the sickness progressing.

That scared her most.

This was beyond the nausea and vomiting she had encountered. Her instructors had told her interaction with the winds of magic would of course produce these effects. They had called it Mana Burn, but really it was always suggested to be a trivial problem. Rest and trancing should have solved any waxing of the illness. While she had tranced, she hadn't gotten better, which told her one of two things.

Either the spell was affecting her...

...or it was still killing her.

She had taken on a rather large amount of Mana. There was no telling what the effect with the winds of magic could do to a Huntress like her. For all she knew, the Mana had pooled and greatly changed the nature of the enchantments, and was slowly working on reproducing its affects on her. The only thing keeping them in check, was the fact she was absent from the winds, and they were trying to reconnect her into the stream of Mana. She had maybe another day or two before the ritual was undone, if this was the problem.

At that point, it was like a time bomb, it'd go off and either permanently enchant her, gifting her with its blasphemous power, or kill her outright as it had tried long ago. Neither prospect was desirable, so she needed a way to dump the Mana before it corrupted her entirely. Moving through the crowd the noises jumbled in her head. She was starting to tunnel vision as she moved about slowly. Someone seemed to catch on something wasn't right before a strong hand held her up by the arm.

"You know, I can't keep saving you," The voice was soft, persistent, and full of arrogance. It hearkened back to vague memories in Concordia Forest, a voice that had sifted through her dreams, when she had passed out from blood loss. She was about to mumble and objection before she felt something cold press against her hip. The pain intensified for a second before she felt the heated breath of the person holding her up speak, "Be damn glad I had my charge, It'll keep the Mana from eating you alive, but you have to purge it."

The hand let her go as she struggled to remain upright. The figure had roughly pushed past her as she felt and saw the familiar flash of a null stone. Immediately her vision cleared as she looked about in a daze. When she finally regained full faculties she turned about to see the figure had gone. The people who had been watching her seemed to huddle and whisper.

She felt thoroughly embarrassed. Further because apparently this figure had saved her again. As she leaned against the wall she shook her head, the final vestiges of the light headed feeling leaving her. Moving through the city she realized she truly had no clue as to what she was doing. While Drusilia wanted to chase down the figure, and demand answers, she highly doubted it could be so simple. This person had obviously followed her, keeping tabs upon her as she moved, and if he was truly that good, she wouldn't catch up to him anytime soon.

That left her only one option. Moving through the crowds she began to look for Godhand, perhaps he had come across something. For now she was more confused by the figures words than anything. How could she purge it? She had only recently come to grips with collecting such energies; she had no clue on how to manipulate it to her advantage. A soft sigh left her lips before she finally caught sight of the warrior. He had lit up one of his cigarettes and the Elf she had left him with was looking at him as if he had grown a second head.

Moving towards the man she shouldered her pack as she looked at the mercenary, trying to hide the discomfort and weakness from her voice as she spoke, "Find anything yet?"

[Godhand]

Godhand raised a brow. Just what was she thinking?

"Sergeant Verryna, I am but a man. Are you seriously suggesting I go out there and defeat Xem'Zund's army?"

Her eyes grew desperate.

"You're not just a man! You killed Warson! There's got to be something you can do!"

"It is easier to overcome one bull than a thousand fire ants. Yes, certainly. I could go out there and cut my way through the Necromancer's ranks. Chances are I'd probably collapse an entire flank. And then what? Let's be very, very generous and also assume there's no archers out there. I could probably take out between one and two thousand of his footsoldiers. Let's briefly ignore the fact that after the first hundred went down the rest would go made with fear and rage and grind me up in a matter of seconds."

The sergeant was beaming as her guard looked at each other uncertainly. Godhand tilted his head and made apparent his puzzlement at the female commander's look of joy.

"Yes? And then what? One flank collapsed. Sure, that sounds impressive. Until you consider that the Scourge has, and keep in mind this is not exaggeration but rather an extremely conservative estimate, 1.5 million soldiers waiting in reserve. And, like I said, that's under the extremely optimistic assumption that only thirty percent of the country's population has been turned. In all likelihood, it's probably three million. Three million, madam. Can you even begin to grasp the size of such a number? Three million zombies. I could stay here and kill a thousand of the abominations every day for the next five years, no breaks no vacations and still have barely gotten half of them. Now, Verryna: tell me again how much good you think I'll do?"

The pretty young elf seemed to deflate before him, and the fire drained from her eyes. She was quite ready to give up, though.

"But-!"

Just then, Drusilia showed up. There was something off about her, but Godhand was too harried to say anything. He acted quickly.

"No, but listen to this: sergeant Verryna says that all drow are godless, worthless heathens that were spared from being driven off the edge of this continent only by the infinite grace of the high elves. How do you feel about that?"

Godhand ducked out before he could get caught in the wake of the ensuing shitstorm. Drusilia unleashed what he assumed could only be a truly vile string of curses in her native language, drawing the attention of passerby. The mercenary lowered his head and escaped while the sergeant desperately tried to explain herself to the enraged huntress.

It was an ugly thing to do. He knew that. But he also knew that he'd never get any leads on the Necrosition with the elven commander hanging off his shoulder and giving hard glares at anybody that might have information in an effort to stall Godhand and keep him in town for another day. He needed some room to operate.

[Mage Hunter]

Perhaps it was the fact that she had just started recovering from the Mana Burn. Perhaps it was because she was frustrated at having to be stuck in a city of the very people she had grown up learning how to kill. Perhaps it was the fact she was just an angry person, or even the fact that she could almost believe what Godhand had said. She didn't know, what she did know however, was that before her was a good vent for the rage and anger of her situation. With such a tempting target, how could she resist?

She didn't.

As the Sergeant tried to turn and look at Godhand, searching for the reason for her betrayal she found a hand had forcibly turned her head, locking her eyes into those of the cold hearted huntress. A finger was left in her face as she began a tirade, that was a low growl, however, with each syllable it rose in tone and pitch, until it was a screeching choir of anger and hubris, "Dos waele, kl'eril ssindossa d' biu darthirii! Dos talinth dos inbal jalbol phor uns'aa? Dos ph' naubol drill l' dalhar d' ssindossan luthk wund ky'ostal lu' jivvust glenn. Usstan orn plynn nindel killian lu' jihard ol ji feir phor dosst t'zarreth, nindel vel'drav F'sarn areion xuil dos, dos orn ssrig'luin ulu inbal l' m'thain drewst ol!"

One of the elves moved to restrain her from the sergeant only to find his hand fiercely swatted away. As he pulled it back she continued, finally finding her voice in common. So angry had she been she had forgotten to even speak in anything but her native tongue, "If you think for one second I'm saving your ass because I like it you have another thing coming. I'm here because people like you couldn't keep your abominations in the gods be damned box and one got free! So take your little holier than though attitude, take your pity me stories and shove them. So help you, if I hear about you pretending to be the innocent bystander in this war one more time I'm going to strangle you with your intestines and wash my blades in your blood."

Silence reigned as Drusilia heaved her chest rising and falling madly with the concerted effort. Words had been spoken and they were out there garish and ugly. A person with a conscience one that actually cared about the Elves’ plight might have felt guilty about what spilled out. However, the Mage Hunter was not, magic had been the source of this entire problem, and the problems she was experiencing. Magic was the root of the evil that had destroyed this world once before, starting with the War of the Tap. No, she was through playing nice.

The sergeants blue eyes searched elves face even as they looked at each other. For a brief moment, Drusilia saw a glimpse of anger, one that threatened to have the clenched fist at her side strike out at the Drow. Finally the elf spoke her voice subdued, almost like a dog with its tail between its legs, "Congratulations, you've pointed out the obvious. Is there anything else you want to do to demoralize our people?"

Drusilia looked around, people were staring at the two of them, and the guards that were accompanying her were at the edge of drawing steel. It was still tense, and her next words would either end with her in the jail, or her able to go find where Godhand had run off to, during the tirade. As she looked at the elf she reached into the pouch at her waist and pushed the coin firmly into the elf's hand, "Here's a gold, go buy yourself a ticket to leave. I'd hate for such a talented liar to die in a shit hole like this."

She never felt the sap that knocked her out.

[Godhand]

Things didn't go quite as smoothly as Godhand would have hoped. After he slipped away during the confusion, he tried grilling some of the local riffraff for information but given that everyone looked so grimy it was genuinely difficult to tell a soot-covered refugee apart from a confidence man. Apart from that, nobody knew what was going on outside the city. Like an open wound, Anebrilith had festered during the months of Xem'Zund's siege and now was positively infested with every kind of rat, crook or swine you could name. There were pirates at the docks, slave traders at the entrances and hungry refugees clogging everything in between. You couldn't take two steps outside any building without someone panhandling at best and mugging you at worst. They didn't even care that it was broad daylight. Just a real rough scene wherever you went, and people weren't too keen on discussing the hordes of murderous zombies banging at the gates with a stranger. They had enough problems inside the protective walls of the city.

Finally, Godhand found one of the contacts he had in the Anebrilith. Most of them had moved on to greener pastures by then, but not Willie the Wimp. Willie was so stubborn that it didn't matter to him how badly a city was doing, he'd stick around until he was sure he'd made back his initial investment in it. When he found the mercenary at his door, he'd walked forward without a moment's hesitation, clasped both his cheeks and kissed him on the lips. Then he patted Godhand's face a few times and backed off. After inviting him in, the warrior took Willie's customer's seat while he sat opposite him on the other end of his stained wood business desk. Finally, the man reached down for an ornate bottle containing a dusky brown liquid and poured the mercenary a shot.

"The real live Godhand, sharing a drink with me! You've gotten real famous, hoss. What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here, Willie? Don't you know there's a war on?"

"Ugh. It's these fucking elves, man. Things were peaceful when I came here originally. Anebrilith got a lot of human tourists, and you know how these elves are. They think they're so superior, so any sort of crime goes down and right away they bust all the tourists because hey, none of their own would commit such a heinous act, right? Hell of a lot of work for a bondsman. The tourist's girl comes to me, she says help me get my man out. Then you cut a deal with the head of the docks, and he lets you know whenever anyone tries to skip out on you without paying. The whole fucking business practically ran itself. Now there's this war on. My friend in the docks is dead, and even if he wasn't, nobody's going to jail anyway. Christ, you could slit somebody's throat in broad daylight and the guards would just wave you off. They've got their own problems."

"Sounds rough."

"It is, but I just can't leave the city yet. I need to make back what I put in."

"Of course."

"Now, back to the real business: what are YOU doing here?"

"Well, you ever hear of the Necrosition?"

"No."

"Right, well basically it breaks down like this: there's this group of Necromancer high generals, and they handle the minutiae of the war. I mean Xem'Zund leads the big charges but these guys deal with putting down resistance groups, sabotaging supply lines, minor expansion into Salvar...That sort of thing."

"Alright, I follow you."

"Well, that's basically it. I got hired to kill those guys."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Draw the war out? Somebody's got to be making money off this thing."

"Huh. Well, I don't know anything about them but if you stick around then you're bound to run into them sooner or later. With the possible exception of Eluriand, there's no city being attacked as hard and as often as Anebrilith is right now. Sooner or later, one of those bigwigs is bound to lead the charge."

"Yeah, I'm starting to see that."

Willie sucked down his shot and opened one of the drawers in his desk, fishing out a small white rock and a razor blade and going to work. He soon reduced it to a fine powder, pulled out a royal Corone mark and began to snort it.

“No, do-Ugh! Don’t do that! That’s disgusting!”

“What?”

“Don’t stick the mark up your nose! You know that money is the thing that most changes hands?"

“And?”

"And recent studies have shown that three out of five people don't wash their hands after going to the bathroom."

"...And?"

"What do you mean, 'and'? It's like you're sucking up someone's shit particles!"

"No, it's like I'm sucking up cocaine through a mark with someone's shit particles on it."

"What's the difference?"

"There's obviously a difference, Godhand. Anyway, everybody shits."

"Jesus. One of these days you’re going to get a papercut on the inside of your nose and end up dying of tetanus or some shit. That’s what happened to Johnny Romano.”

Willie began to hack and cough after snorting the final line.

“Johnny Romano was poisoned!”

“Here we fucking go.”

“No, shut up! You’re part of the problem! Johnny was messing around with the king’s wife, and the king found out about it. And so he went to the scarlet squad-“

“Scarlet Brigade.”

“Shut up! So he went to the scarlet squad and said, “listen, I want this guy dead but I don’t want it coming back to me.” And so they say yes, your majesty, of course your majesty, and some guy in a hood shows up at Johnny’s place and two days later he’s dead.”

“Every fucking time with this shit…”

“You’re part of the problem, man! Those guys count on people like you! You just- You-…Ungh, hold on.”

Willie leaned down and held his sinuses. Godhand didn’t really like hanging around him when he got high; right away he started talking about conspiracies and if you didn’t go along with it you suddenly became Part Of The Problem. Godhand hated being Part Of The Problem, so that's usually when he left. Godhand stood up and picked up his hat from the nearby rack before walking over to the door.

“I’ll see you later, Willie.”

"Wait, wait!"

He shut the door behind him. Now he needed to get his partner out of the local jail.

[Godhand]

It was a real Goddamn hassle to find the dungeons. Nobody had gotten thrown in there in months, and with the scarcity of space in the city, it'd all gotten turned into refugee housing. Now the whole thing was barely recognizable. The refugees had draped the walls with quilts, divided up the cells with drapes to designate each of their 'rooms', and the stench of a dozen different meals being cooked at once filled the air. They didn't have any gas to cook with or water to boil, but most elves were at least handy enough with magic that they could create those things themselves out of practically nothing at all. Didn't do anything for the smell, though. Jesus, what the Hell were they cooking?

Still, you could hear a murmur of discontent as apparently a small family had been thrown out of their 'house' to accommodate a new prisoner. They hadn't even given them time to pick up their various belongings before tossing in the drow and locking the door. Some refugees were so chagrined at this that they joked that perhaps they ought to commit some crime so that they may also acquire a cell all for themselves.

The fact that a prisoner had finally been taken in meant that a guard was forced to once again take up their post near the cell, and Godhand could tell he didn't like being there anymore than he did. It was the smell, probably. The blonde-haired elf was wrinkling his brow and hiding his nose with his hand casually, so as not to offend his destitute countrymen. Damn decent of him. Godhand didn't have to do that; he was big, mean and human. People expected him to wear his disdain for their meager life on his sleeve, as they'd once worn their disdain for his entire race on theirs. But the mercenary's face didn't change. He still had his poker face; there was no reason to rile these people up anymore than they already had been by his drow friend. He made his way through the curious crowd and spoke to the soldier guarding Drusilia.

"Alright, fella'. I don't got a lot of time so let's just cut to the chase: what's it going to take to get that broad out of there?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to speak to Sergeant Verryna. It was on her orders that this woman was locked up."

"Look, you can't possibly be getting paid enough to stand around here. How's five hundred marks sound?"

"It sounds marvelous sir, but again, you'll have to speak with Sergeant Verryna. I am-"

Of all the guards in Anebrilith, Godhand had to get the honest one. Jesus. Well, there were other ways. At least this wouldn't cost him anything. The swordsman suddenly fell to his knees, clasped the soldiers hands and pretended to weep into them, wailing loudly.

"Oh thank you, thank you! I thought I'd never be able to leave!"

That was all it took. The vaguest hint that that guard had some way of leaving the cursed port town was all it took to set the refugees into motion, suddenly rushing the guard with desperate pleas for help. It was like he'd been swallowed up by some big, stinking beast composed of the destitute. Godhand felt badly for them. They were animals in Hell, just trying to survive.

But so was he.

Godhand made his way to the cell in the confusion, discreetly bent the bars enough for the drow to slip through them and held out his hand.

[Mage Hunter]

The world was pain, at least that’s the way she felt. As soon as the Huntress had started awakening, she felt that her head had been smashed a few times with a mallet. Slowly rising up she heard the grumbles of people about her. Some spoke of her, and the filth she represented. Other’s spoke of her situation and how they envied it. Her eyes opened, and immediately shut at the bright display of light, even though the room was lit only by torches.

She had seen bars.

She should never have put it past the Sergeant to not lock her up for her rather crass comments and sassy attitude to the woman. Still, it had felt good to actually yell at the woman and voice her opinion. Not exactly something she would have repeated, but the experience was exhilarating all the same. Shaking the cobwebs from her head she felt the pain in the back of her head, and carefully moved her hand through her hair to the scalp, checking for injury.

Feeling only the beginning of a bruise the huntress muttered softly looking at the bars, “For little ole’ me? You shouldn’t have guys…”

Immediately she heard a sharp rap against the bars as the guard barked, “Shut up! Prisoners don’t talk!”

Soon the guard had gotten caught up in a conversation, and she could swear the voice on the other end was familiar. It wasn’t until she finally ventured another attempt at keeping her eyes opened, that the huntress’s eyes widened. She had figured Godhand would have probably let her rot. Yet here he was begging borrowing and stealing to get her out of the cell. When all that failed, he pulled a rather dirty card, and mentioned escape.

If there is one thing you don’t do to the desperate, it’s to mention hope.

Immediately the cretins that filled the prison were upon the soldier, trying desperately to leave this hell. Godhand had already bent the bars when Drusilia took his hand and was pulled through. It didn’t take long to hit the streets, and since the guard had not bothered to remove her gear, it was still mostly in place, perhaps an odd arrow or two missing from her quiver from when it had dipped too low.

Shaking her head once more she looked about in the broad daylight before she muttered, “I’d say thank you, but I think that’ll wait for when we’re done in this hell hole. Is there anything going on I should be aware of, or does your altruism stretch to guilt for releasing me on that bitch of an elf?”

Her acidic tongue lashed out even before she felt the oncoming wave of sickness. Immediately she leaned against the wall and placed her hand in front of her mouth, feeling a weakness she loathed. To be so fragile was not how she envisioned this job. She had taken on the experimental corps to be the best she could be for her Queen. To think it would be causing her such trouble, in the lands she had been trained to fight in, was a concern for the woman.

Ignoring the question she had to be receiving she shook her head again, before she looked at Godhand, “Lets get moving, we need to find the next member and soon, before we get caught in another Elven shit storm.”

[Godhand]

Godhand hadn't really been paying much attention to his drow companion. As soon as they'd left the catacombs, he felt it. He couldn't really say what it was, but the air was different. Heavier, and with the smell of...Something. It was like a very, very light scent of embalming fluid or vinegar, he couldn't say which. He didn't have much time to consider it, however, being as how the huntress had nearly collapsed once they'd gotten clear of the cells. She held herself up against a wall and looked to be trying to get her head straight. He moved forward to try and help her, but that's when he realized what was happening. His hand shot to his blade before the first elf could shout out his warning from the parapets.

"XEM'ZUND'S ARMY!"

And then it was like a match had been dropped into a powder keg. The whole city erupted into action, and it was like the cells but on a much grander scale. It occurred to Godhand that the greatest enemy to the city's safety might not be the Necrosition, but instead the very refugees the city sought to protect. Nearly every single soldier that was patrolling the city was bum-rushed by a mass of unwashed cretins, demanding to know what he was going to do or where the designated shelter was. This left the tragically undermanned parapets to fire a paltry stream of arrows into the zombie ranks, which no doubt seemed to them a massive, invincible horde.

But Godhand knew that where there was a army, there was a general, and unsheathed his weapon and blew past the frenzied refugees in one fluid motion. The mercenary was a black blur as he raced to the main gate, clearing it with a single mighty leap and landing crouched on the other side. It was then he saw what had made the elves panic so. The battle-necromancers before had been nothing but an advance scouting party, sent there to gauge the city's defenses. This...This was an army. The warrior unconsciously gripped his sheath. He knew that a force of this size could only be led by one of Xem'Zund's most trusted and capable commanders. The mercenary supposed he had gotten lucky, in a way. Willie the Wimp was right; the Necrosition had come to him.

Now was no time to be intimidated. If he could just manage to find whoever was leading the army and eliminate him, he could cut off this dragon's head and shorten his list in one fell swoop. He knew that once their commander was gone, the entire army would revert to a mass of purposeless undead and easy pickings for the elven archers, if they could just manage to find enough arrows. On their own the abominations were basically useless, slow and utterly incapable of reason, much less sieging a fortified port. The warrior grit his teeth, steadied his resolve and barreled into the shambling horde at full speed and with his shoulders low.

[Mage Hunter]

"Spoke too soon..." Drusilia muttered, watching Godhand run off into the fray. People were acting in the worst possible way for the situation, rather than getting out of the way and letting the soldiers do their job, they clung to them like flies upon shit. Shaking her head, she moved through the streets ignoring the pounding headache to reach the parapets where the archers were.

"What are you doing here!?" The words came from a rather irate looking sergeant Verryna who was currently watching over the works of the small band of archers. Her hair was disheveled, probably from running, and she had definitely not slept since Drusilia had insulted the elf. The Drow merely brushed past her, looking forth from the parapets, even while her eyes took on a bluish tint.

"Get back from there, you aren't supposed-"

"Zu'tour l' vith phor" Drusilia barked, scanning forth over the sea of undead. Immediately she let a smile grace her lips before she pointed, "Fire ahead of him there!"

Sergeant Verynna frowned rushing forward asking the obvious question, "Before who?"

"Godhand Striker, he's carving his way in..." The huntress replied simply. The archers immediately nocked arrows, and fired into the fray shooting forth in an effort to thin the mass of undead flesh before the mercenary. The Drow shook her head before she hissed, "Need's more firepower...that's not going to be enough if he's going for the general..."

Sergeant Verynna moved beside the huntress looking as the white haired mercenary cleaved through the ranks of undead before she hissed, "No, its not. I'm going to run to the other towers and have them concentrate fire. Maybe if we focus our efforts we can help him make it through the hordes."

Drusilia shook her head before she spoke, "I'd have to go, I'm the only one that can spot him easily."

"Why is that?"

"Because while you can see him now, I can find him by looking where there isn't magic. His sheath drains magic from the area, and he has to be reaching a full capacity on it soon. I'll be able to tell them where to look for him by following the path where the magic isn't," Drusilia replied firmly.

Sergeant Verynna nodded, "Go, I'll have one of my faster elves run with you, to make sure someone doesn't perform an act of vigilante justi-"

She stopped, seeing the Drow had already run off down the parapets to the next tower.

[Godhand]

It was quite a sight to see. Normally, charging such a huge number of enemies wouldn't be as visually impressive since they had the sense to move out of the way. Not Xem'Zund's army. They just shambled forward; sightless, fearless, lifeless. Godhand rushed right into the thick of it immediately, bursting through the first line of them through sheer power. The second and third waves were much closer together, so much so that they appeared to be one seething mass of putrified flesh. The mercenary didn't hesitate. He charged again, arms tense and outstretched as he drove through the zombie lines. His arms were rigid as steel and mowing down undead after undead with every haphazard swing of his fists.

Bodies were flung ludicrous distances as Godhand powered through the zombie horde like a rampaging elephant. Every time the mercenary felt a moan next to his ear or felt a hand grasp at his back, he flung his body into that direction to quash any coordination of attack. Zombies were slow; they couldn't process information as quick as the living could. If you didn't let them scare you and managed to react quickly to their actions, you could allay further attacks and keep them confused and helpless.

The swordsman made a misstep and before he knew it he was pinned beneath a group of undead soldiers. Good god, it stunk in there. It stunk worse than the catacombs. And he could feel more and more of the creatures shambling on top of him even as the ones nearest to him attempted to find still living flesh with their virulent maws. And it was there, under that mountain of putrid flesh, with every single one of his sensibilities offended that Godhand snapped.

It must have seemed almost comical from the outside. That huge pile of zombie flesh beginning to shake, then the bodies composing it suddenly flying in every direction as if hurled by some invisible force. And there, at ground zero, was the man himself. The scent of rot clung to him like a desperate whore. And he was not unhurt. After charging the lines of an army, how couldn't he be? Rusted blades hung off his back, buried just under the skin. His blood was pouring out unto his black jacket, making it glisten with every shift of his body. It was almost beautiful. He looked like a bull, unsteady and covered with blood, with the matador's many pins hanging from his flesh.

But he felt like a bull, too. And it was as that raging bull surveyed the battlefield and spied that miserable dwarf that he charged. The voices in his head were deafening.

Gore, Gore, GORE

[Mage Hunter]

"I feel somewhat useless," Drusilia mused. Her hair had once again been brushed out of the way once Godhand had moved beyond the effective range of the arrows. She couldn't afford to do anything else, for even now the symptoms of Mana Burn had come up once more. The queasiness of her stomach was near crippling, as she sat on a chair, unable to do much beyond point out targets.

Still, in focusing the fire of the few archers that Sergeant Verynna had allowed her, the tide of the battle was slowly shifting, from overwhelming to a manageable force. While the undead hammered upon the gates, the amount of magic in the air was near caustic to the Huntress, and forced a relapse of illness. She sipped at water, hoping to keep it down, but already a bucket sat nearby where she had purged the contents of her stomach.

Her bow lay against the wall beside her, forcing her to rest against it, and use it as a crude leaning stick. Her master would have thoroughly kicked her ass if he had seen her now. Closing her eyes she felt the nausea once more, rolling upon her in waves before she leaned over the bucket and retched, nothing coming out anymore. Her stomach muscles burned with the exertion, while nothing left her mouth.

The other guards merely looked on and fired on what they had agreed were most likely necromancers. The figures wore robes and seemed to be more animated than the zombies surrounding them, and so they had been killed, for if they weren't the necromancers of the army, surely they were the commanding officers. Drusilia had no time to confirm the targets, as she had watched these sessions of nausea come in faster waves.

Still she clutched her stone and forced her will into it desperately. It briefly glowed, before dying down once more, not charged yet. She needed to wait just a bit longer, and it would discharge and allow her the freedom to act, even if for a moment. Mumbling softly to herself she whispered in drow, “Xund, lu' ori'gato uns'aa g'jahall udossta muan...”

[Godhand]

The pillar of stone that stood where it seemed the dwarf was only moments ago exploded as Godhand hurled himself through it. The mercenary swept his arms in front of him, violently attempting to scatter the plume of dust that sprung up when he shattered the decoy. He narrowed his eyes in an attempt to lessen the sting he was feeling in them without compromising his sight. He noticed a silhouette shift to the left of him and immediately lurched forward and drilled it with a huge right hand. The body was fired into the ground as if launched by a cannon, and Godhand stood over the small crater he'd made with his sheath at the ready to drain the magic sustaining one of the last members of the Necrosition.

But as the dust cleared, he saw that it was merely one of the Necromancers supporting the siege force. He whirled around instantly once he heard a dwarf's harsh laugh, just in time to see a spire of jagged rock shoot up from the ground beneath him in what was doubtless an attempt to pierce his heart.

But the spire froze just inches away from it's intended target. There was an unsure pause, and Godhand thought he heard the geomancer mutter something. He could see him clearly now; the dust had cleared. He was a strange mutt, sharing traits of both the dwarf and the drow. His dark skin turned an angry red at the palms of his hands, only a few shades lighter than his beard. He shook off the surprise of his failed attack and steadied himself, drawing both of his fists close to his shoulders. Suddenly, two walls of stone sprang up on either side of Godhand. The dwarf instantly clapped his hands together in front of him and both of them were sent rushing towards each other, with the mercenary in the middle.

But again they froze just short of crushing the swordsman. Godhand looked at both of them, smirked and decimated one of the structures with a casual punch. The Dweller in the Dark took a step back, seeming unsure of himself. Godhand sensed weakness and immediately charged, but the dwarf hopped backwards and clasped his fingers together. Immediately the ground under the mercenary turned into a muddy pit. Suddenly it was Godhand that was forced to attempt to maintain his balance. Grimstone pumped both fists into the air and a column of stone arose before him. He took a moment to give the swordsman a dirty look, then began punching the column before him. With each blow, a section of it fired forward like a cannonball and burst apart once it struck the mercenary. It knocked the wind out of him, but his sheath was helpless to stop the inertia of objects, magical or no, as it had done with the walls and the spire.

Two more chunks of rock struck him and Godhand was sure he'd cracked a rib. He punched the following stones right out of the air, but he knew he wouldn't be able to keep that up forever. Furthermore, he needed to destroy the geomancer before the Necromancers could regroup and set their zombies upon him. In that muddy pit he'd be easy pickings for even the most wretched of the creatures.

[Mage Hunter]

The Huntress looked morbidly at the stone in her hands. She had been holding it for a few minutes now and desperately was forcing her will upon the stone. Her instructors had said she could have used it twice before sleeping, and yet here she could see it was having troubles. Her head ached, pounding from the focused effort in trying to activate the stone over an over.

"You look like you folks could use help..." The voice caused the Drow's head to snap up a snarl on her lips. Before her was a cloaked figure who she recognized from the one in the Bazaar earlier. Moving to stand a hand went to the hilt of her sword, even as Sergeant Verynna moved to engage the hooded figure. A hand moved and rested firmly on the sergeant's shoulders before he spoke once more, "Are you really going to waste time locking me up during a siege? I didn't know you folks were doing that well..."

"This is a restricted Area, leave now or-" The sergeant was cut off, before with a casual sweep of his hand he hit the Sergeant right at the base of her neck. She collapsed to the floor and twitched softly, even as the man stepped forward towards the Drow. Sword drawn she staggered from the fatigue she felt in her muscles, even as Mana Burn sapped what little strength she did have.

"Rath harl xor Usstan orn elgg dos!" Drusilia spat, moving between the cloaked man, and the Archers.

"P'luin suxxizz dos xuil Mana Flamgra, nindol zhah lu'oh dos telanth vendui? Ol kluthak Valsharess kat ulu kyorl plez ulu detholar yutrin vel'drav il detholus lu'oh ulu kyuvr ilta silinrai. Nau selg'tarn, dos gumash naut kl'ae nindel lu' jivviim uns'aa ka dos ssinssrinil ulu. Dos ph' bauth ulu quorin dosstan wun Mana, lu' vel'drav nindel sha'nalten, jal nindel Mana, orn flamgra dosst wu'suulen lu' shar'tleg dos wund natha zombie. Usstan guu'lac l' loktriamen ghil orn ssinssrin ulu zexen'uma bauth xuil dos, ha'ishe tluin elghinyrr 'udtila naut ol?" The man said firmly. He then slapped the girl on the wrist, and immediately Drusillia lost control of her weapon, it clattering to the floor.

"Don't you ever disgrace our language with your tongue again...human."

"Good, I hate speaking your language but if that's the only way I'm going to get you to admit you're over your head here, far be it from me to say otherwise," The man replied. The other guards had drawn swords and were prepared to defend the wall from the strange human that had made its way upon the parapets. The newcomer then reached forward and plucked the stone from the girl. Looking it over he snorted softly before it glowed brightly and discharged the anti-magic stored within. Immediately Drusilia felt better and looked at the man her eyes narrowing.

"What did you do to fix it?" A gesture from the Drow who had been helping them at least made them stand around. They seemed unsure if they should attack or just go back to firing desperately.

"Me? I did nothing, I just proved my point. You don't even have enough willpower left to activate your stone. How do you expect to fight the zombies out there like this? You need to let that Mana go now!"

The hooded man tossed the stone to the newly recovered Drow, who caught it with a deft snatch. She then growled lowly, "How do I do that?"

An eyebrow shot off the newcomer's face before he spoke, "So you acted like a Magical Lightening Rod, without any way to dispel the Mana? You're screwed girl, it takes at least a day, and Baruk already discharged his stone at the gate to give the guards a chance."

She immediately pointed out at the approaching army before she said, "One of my companions is out there fighting even now with trouble. They have mages rushing from the front lines after him. I need to protect him, how do I do that?"

"You can't do shit, sit down and eat your humble pie sweetie. If you want Godhand Striker to get his Liche, you're going to have to trust me," The man pulled an arrow from one of the stands near the wall twirling it artistically in his fingers. Drusilia seemed at a loss as she opened her more and tried to say something before she closed it again. She literally had no idea how to respond to someone who seemed not the least bit cowed by her anger.

She found her voice when he reached for her bow, pulling it back she snapped, "Leave my bow alone, if you need one so badly get one of the guards..."

"I can't, standard Elf a procedure is to enchant the bows with a range spell, so they can possibly hit farther than normal. Yours doesn't have any magic on it, so I can safely fire it without losing my lunch, and a damn good one at that," He then ripped the bow from her hand and nocked the arrow searching the battle field.

"What are you-"

"For my next trick, I require absolute quiet from the audience!" The man replied, before he narrowed his eyes. The arrow in the bow began to glow a brilliant white, so suffused with the antithesis of magic it had become. Immediately the arrow fired, sending a shock wave of the force through the field of battle. Where the arrow passed over, zombies feel and necromancers found their spells weakened. Soon the arrow sunk into the ground, near the crater Godhand had sunk himself in.

"What was that?" Drusilia said, a sense of respect coming into her voice.

"That won't last long, but it'll give him a chance. It might stop one or two spells tops before it can't anymore..." He replied. A smile spread across his face. He tossed the bow at the Drow before he said firmly, "You don't go anywhere, I'm going to yank Baruk's ass up here so he can try to rip the Mana out of you. If you run, I will hunt your ass down and I will tie you down. Though, given the tough girl attitude you're pushing, you might enjoy that too much."

The Drow couldn't even argue before the man was off, rushing down the stairs to the city below.

[Godhand]

There seemed to be a limit to how much stone the geomancer could draw up from a particular point in the ground, as the flurry of projectiles pelting the mercenary steadily waned. This allowed Godhand to get his bearings even as the attacks suddenly stopped altogether, much to the consternation of his diminutive assailant. The mercenary smiled and dug his heels into the muddy ground before leaping a couple of dozen feet into the air and stretching his body out, aiming to frog-splash the dwarf. But Killian regained his composure faster than the swordsman could fall, and quickly threw a roundhouse punch into the air. Responding to his movements, a huge column of stone arched out from the ground and into the mobster's flight path. Godhand had held out both arms and legs to maximize the point of impact with the geomancer, and this compounded the injuries he sustained as he flew through the stone arch abdomen first.

The impact knocked the wind out of him and he didn't even have the presence of mind to roll as he hit the ground. The mercenary sucked in air and held his limbs close to his center, trying to deaden the pain of the blow. All the while the Necrosition's dwarf approached him, finally breaking into a run as Godhand got to his knees and nailing the wounded swordsman with a full-body clothesline. Normally he wouldn't have thought the stocky fighter capable of doing him any harm without using his magic. But the earlier hit combined with the fact that the geomancer threw his entire body into the attack actually managed to knock the mercenary back down. Godhand began to crawl away from ground zero of his freefall, but seeing the killer weakened served to entice the dwarf to attack further, now that he found himself in the rare position of physical superiority over his opponent. Short-man syndrome at it's most vicious.

Godhand vaguely noticed that his sheath had come loose sometime after he fell through the stone arch, but he simply couldn't afford to go looking for it at the moment. Grimstone was firing blow after blow into Godhand's head, usually nailing him in the temple or jaw. The attacks weren't really painful; they only truly served to disorient him, but the dwarf didn't seem to realize Godhand was vulnerable to magic without his sheath and was relying on what strength his fists had instead of burying the mercenary under a mountain of rubble.

Finally, the mobster had had enough. He clenched his fist in the ground as Killian reared back, then suddenly threw a fistful of dirt into his opponent's eyes. The dwarf fell backwards, blinded, and Godhand took a small amount of pleasure knowing that he'd incapacitated the geomancer with his favored element. As Grimstone futilely tried to claw the dirt out of his eyes, Godhand got to his feet and measured the dwarf up. He licked his lips and dug in his heels as the dwarf crawled away, waiting for just the right time before he rushing forward and destroying Killian with a punt to the head.

The kick nearly decapitated the dwarf and completely obliterated his face. He gave a loud moan and Godhand watched him trying to hold his nose and jaw and eyeballs up, the wretched bastard refusing to believe that they'd all been shredded to pieces. Godhand knew he was doomed when he realized the pathetic sight didn't bother him. It bothered him that it didn't bother him. Now that Killian was basically neutralized, he was free to find his sheath at his leisure. He found it near ground zero, and calmly walked back over to Grimstone. The geomancer must have felt the vibrations in the earth, because even without eyes he began to whimper and throw up shoddy walls between himself and the mercenary. Godhand knocked them down like they were made of clay. Finally, he cornered the dwarf against the walls of Anebrilith and before he could manage to groan out some plea for his life from his decimated jaw, Godhand plunged the sheath into his chest.

It was just like the other times. The enchanted scabbard greedily consumed all the magic power sustaining the geomancer's soul, until all that was left hunched against the wall was a useless husk. The swordsman pulled the sheath out with a crisp snap and took a look around, surveying the now leaderless zombies around him. They ended up like he'd expected.

Sightless, aimless, mindless.

The siege was over.

[Mage Hunter]

Drusilia sat in the chair for gods knew how long as the waves of magic assaulting the city ruined her temporary bout of good health. Immediately she was back to clutching her head, as her world felt like it was about to explode, taking her brains and skull with it. She was in trouble she knew that much, but how much was another story.

"Here she is."

The huntress felt her head snap up at the sound of the mysterious human's voice. A groan left her lips as he saw a human and a dwarf rushing towards her. The man put a bracing hand on her shoulder, to keep her from getting up as the dwarf moved forward. Her eyes while unfocused hadn't lost their discipline, as she fought to see the dwarf clearly through the fog. She may have been sick, but she still retained some semblance of a warrior’s pride.

"I knew those idiots in Ettermire couldn't train their hunters properly. Soon as they caught Mardin I knew this was gonna happen. They would train people in something they dinnae understand, and get their hunters killed for fun when thay didn't know how ta fix their problems," The dwarf muttered as a cold hand pressed against her forehead. A low whistle left his beard before he muttered, "The lass doesn't have much time before she anchors to tha mana flow in the area."

"Best case scenario?" The human asked.

"Zombie, though with the amount of necromantic energy in her we'd be lucky if tha's tha least she becomes. We might be looking at the next Warson if we aren't careful..."

"Can you do it?"

The dwarf let out a chuckle before he spoke, "Lad, I've been doing this since it began, I doubt you'd fathom how fast I could pluck the mana from her. She'll be fine, but first a trade..."

Drusilia's head swam as these men were talking about things she had no idea of. First this Mardin fellow being the beginning of the Mage Hunter project, which had produced Drusilia. Second was the fact that they had done so without fully understanding what they were doing. It was hard to imagine her queen using such experimental techniques on her soldiers. Not the Queen Valsharess that she knew. As she pondered all this she felt a harsh slap across her face and hissed, "Ele xunus dos xun nindel?"

"Listen lass I have nae time, nor patience. I need yer promise when you're done chasing liches tha you're gonna to head fer Corone, and I'm not taking no fer an answer. If you say no, I'll just hack you open with me axe and toss you over the rampart, save us all the trouble of watching ya die."

She felt perhaps this was the best deal she had heard all day. With a sigh and a nod she assented. Immediately the Dwarf grabbed her by the front of her armor and forced her hunched over. Another hand held firmly to neck before the sound of stone upon metal was heard. The drow tried to struggle only to stop when she felt the human male's hands force her back down, he was practically balancing atop her with his efforts to pin her down.

Soon she felt a prick against her shoulder, before it became a rush of pain. She inhaled sharply before she relaxed, forcing her body not to tense up and increase the pain. Immediately she heard the dwarf's appreciative tone, "That's right lass, relax, let it dissolve and work through ya..."

When she looked at her shoulder she saw the handle of a dagger sticking out from it. While she could feel the pain of its blade in her shoulder she also felt a soothing relief as the materials on it went to work. Finally able to sit up she noticed her right arm was a bit sluggish in reacting. Looking at the dwarf she frowned.

"Magebane, it’s a special material made from the forces of anti-magic. Mages are born, not made, though there are a few exceptions. They have mana flowing through their bloodstream and they harness this mana to produce their spells. ‘at's why it seems ta tire them out when they cast their stupid fireballs or try to charm a lass with a quick suggestion spell. Or perhaps even some stupidity that I can’t even begin to fathom. If that blade dissolves completely in the bloodstream, it removes all traces of mana from the victim. Essentially removing them from the winds of magic..."

"Or in my case..." Drusilia began looking at the dwarf she vaguely remembered was called Baruk.

"Removing the mana you stored up. I wouldn't recommend draining mana till you learn what to do with it once you have it. Though I've seen the hunters that Ettermire put out do some pretty stupid things before. At least you're more of a mid level stupid," The human replied a soft chuckle on his lips.

"Somehow I remain unflattered," Drusilia retorted.

"Well Lass, its yer own damn fault. Yer the one who pulled all that mana with no way to release it or destroy it..."

Drusilia chuckled as she shook her head before she said firmly, "I have a feeling I'm going to be hearing how stupid I am for some time to come..."

"Depends on how quick you catch up to the rest of the class. Just keep that in there, when the hilt drops out, you should be good to go, have one of these ninnies bandage you up and you'll be good to go for the next Liche, though I wouldn't let Godhand know what happened, say you got hit or something..."

"Knowing that man, he won't ask questions. I think he wants to be rid of me. Though I have one question, can I have one of those blades?”

“Lass that blade is fer fully trained hunters, not a toy for a child like you.”

Spoils;

Drusilia is no longer sick from the magic she absorbed from Warson. Also she loses 200 gold and gains the Arctic Hide leather armor she is currently wearing, made for a woman.

[Godhand]

Godhand took his time going back into the city proper. He was wounded, but felt strong. Maybe it was all the stares he felt drilling into him from the ramparts, but he was starting to feel really good about himself and his situation. Occasionally a zombie with a little more sense than the rest tried to lunge at the mercenary, but he always countered with a kick or a punch that sent them flying off into the writhing mass of undead like a pinball. He didn't know what it was, but killing Grimstone had really improved his mood. A weight was off his shoulders as though he'd completed his mission, although he knew he still had two more of the Necromancer's generals to go before he could make a dead run back to Corone and into the nearest hotel to wash the stink of death off his body. Tall order, though. He could practically feel the stench crawling under his skin, like bits of undead flesh beneath his fingernails. It was starting to drive him nuts.

But not right now. Right now he felt tall. The large gates to town opened slowly for him, almost reverently, so much so that he almost expected to see a full parade in his honor waiting for him at the other side.

No parade, but sergeant Verryna was waiting for him. There was love, true love in her eyes. And admiration. He didn't think anyone had ever looked at him like that. It nearly knocked him on his ass, getting in from such a hard fight. The commander ran forward and hugged him, and he knew what a gesture that was coming from someone that had to avoid even the shadow of feminity because of her position. He would have enjoyed it more if his ribs hadn't been busted, though. He tensed up and tried not to show her how much pain he was actually in. It might shatter her illusion of the invincible hero emerging unscathed and victorious from the fog of war. But, as he had already realized, he was not Devon the Starslayer. He screamed when he got burned.

But by God did that woman ever smell good. It was with a small sense of personal loss when she finally retreated from him and looked him in the eyes again. He knew right then that he couldn't do what she was asking of him. He couldn't abandon his life and his mission to sit here fighting off zombies with her, whatever it meant.

"As you feed us, won't you lead us."

"What?"

Godhand shook his head.

"Nothing. I'm sorry, sergeant. But I have to go now."

Godhand hefted himself into the back of his cart with as much poise and grace as he could, under the circumstances. The mage hunter was along shortly, and the mercenary was curt.

"Get us the hell out of here."

Spoils: Godhand's sheath has absorbed the soul of Killian Grimstone.

[Lord Anglekos]

Fourth Target: The Dweller in the Dark
I enjoyed reading this thread, despite not reading the others in your series. Guess you could say I read it with virgin eyes. Well, I'll make this a light-commented judgment, as you said it was up to me. If you got any questions or want a further explanation as to why I said or graded something so, you can reach me via PM or AIM at blackdecadence19. Now, onto the judging. I'm going to assume that all bunnying was approved and discussed beforehand.

STORY (20/30)

Continuity: 7
You both gave me a general idea as to why you were there throughout the thread, but no real mention of where you were going and where you were from. Still, it fit and flowed nicely, and I felt rather as if I'd opened up a book to a random chapter and started reading from there. It wasn't annoying, and I felt no real need to go back and reread your profiles or back threads to understand what was happening, so despite the lack of real explanations I gave you a pretty high score.

Setting: 6.5
While I was given a time and place as to where this was happening, I didn't get a very good image or sense in my head as to how your characters were involved within it. Yes, you both described it and interacted well with it at times, but at others I felt as if you were walking along a painted canvas, trying not to rip it. Scenes such as Godhand breaking through the lines of the undead, only to be piled upon by heaps of them and then exploding out from under were fun to read because of the imagery I was given, and Godhand's fight with the Dweller was also fun to read moreso from the geomancer's interaction with the ground and Godhand's using the earth itself as a weapon. Mage Hunter, most of your writing was rather how the setting affected your character, rather how your character affected the setting. While not a bad way, per se', to write, it was weird having to switch from that style to Godhand's each time.

Pacing: 6.5
I don't have much to say on this; the pacing was pretty much fine in the beginning, with them coming into and exploring the city, and even unto the battle with the army attacking. A little rushed at times, but otherwise fine. At the very end, however, it just cut off with no real direction, no further explanations as to where your next intent was or who you were going after next; a cliffhanger ending in a sense, which I really hate.

CHARACTER: (23.5/30)

Dialogue: 8.5
There's not much to say here either. I loved reading it, although there were a couple points where I felt that it wasn't exactly appropriate to the characters speaking it. For example, I felt the Sergeant would've been rougher, sharper, despite Godhand's prowess. But otherwise it was completely fine, and spots like where Godhand and Drusilla were bantering pushed the story along and made it engaging to read. An extra half point for the Dwarf's speaking at the end, Mage Hunter; you wrote it so anyone could obviously tell that he had an accent, but not so it wasn't able to be read.

Action: 8
The action was fast and it was hard. Neither over-explained the fight scenes, which was nice, but provided enough detail to give me a clear image in my head as to what was happening. While it wasn't perfect, mind you, it was impressive. I was bothered, though, by Godhand's apparent transition from rampaging bull in post 20--as he "snapped", and "GORE, GORE, GORE"-- back to his normal self in post 22. I was left wondering what happened in between, really, but the fight with the dwarf soon distracted me from that, so I suppose it's not that big of a deal. Out of battle, your actions fit right with your characters, there was no real problem there. I liked the mental framework behind them as well.

Persona: 7
Most of the time I got a clear idea as to your character's personas, but sometimes it seemed there was alot of meshing going on. There were distinct moments, for example, where I got a clear shot of your character's persona through his/her interactions with others, and at other times they seemed to be almost exactly the same. Be careful there that you don't make your characters too similar. But the times where the personas stood out, they stood out clear and easy to recognize.

WRITING STYLE: (19.5/30)

Mechanics: 7
There were a couple points where your sentances ran on too long or you mispelled something (made instead of mad, for example on Godhand's case). Also, Mage Hunter, you tend to use commas where you should semicolons or periods, especially in dialogue. This gives the appearance that the character is speaking on and on without any real pause or breath. But nothing that a good thorough read-over can cure.

Technique: 8
Your writing was mostly solid and easy to read; eloquence where needed, and nothing that left me scratching my head and saying "Hunh?". It's obvious you're both comfortable in your styles, so I have nothing else to say here. It wasn't perfect, but it was solid and well done.

Clarity: 4.5
The biggest dip in this score was the issues I stated in Continuity. When you introduced characters like the mysterious man in the Bazaar or past issues as the sickness from the Mana Burn, most readers would be left confused as to just what the hell what was going on. Having more explanations would've helped, although you cleared some things up near the end with the Dwarven master and conversation with the Sergeant. Godhand, I never really understood though how your character knew that Drusilla was in the prison. I read through, but there was no mention of it to his character that I knew of. Did he figure it out on his own, or just assume so, or...? In any case, that hurt your score.

WILD CARD: 7

Final Score: 70/100. Good job.

Godhand gets 6800 EXP and 600 GP.
Mage Hunter gets 1800 EXP and 100 GP (300 minus the 200 deducted, as requested).
All spoils granted.

[Taskmienster]

Exp and Gp added!

Godhand is now level 10!
Mage Hunter is now level 2!

CONGRATS!