Bring us Back to Earth

[INDK]

(Closed to Storm Veritas and Taliel Escabre. All bunnies in thread were approved.)

“I don’t see what we’re doing here,” Damon said. He wasn’t a particular fan of the Red Forest, and it wasn’t only because of the stories he’d heard there about elves entering and then never returning. It was perhaps the most human area of Raiaera, so it should have put a non native like Damon at a bit of ease, but the boy would have readily traded the sinister red leaves of the forest for Eluriand’s skyscrapers.

“We’re finding out how my sister died…” Hazaar replied. “It would have been easier if you had ever told me what had happened at the Obsidian Spire. But you had never told anyone, and now we have to figure out how to help Alisse.”

Damon said nothing, but his face turned a bit red. “I’m sorry I didn’t succeed there…” he said. “I don’t know what happened either, or even how I failed, but I’ll make good now, I promise.”

Hazaar exhaled cautiously, like he knew what he was going to say wouldn’t make Damon happy. “I can’t forgive you,” he said. “I lost my sister, and I know you’re the only one who can help me.”

“I’ll do what I can…” Damon said. He was beginning to learn what a mixed legacy the Raiaeran general had left in his wake. Many of the stories were prominent knowledge, that Damon had rescued Raiaera from the undead, that Damon had won the first season of the Theatre of War and that Damon had been Raiaera’s only non native general. However, it seemed that there were things that the boy had never been able to do, one of which had been rescuing a lady who Damon had inadvertently trapped in a hell dimension. Her younger brother, the child prodigy Hazaar, had explained everything to him, and now Damon felt like he needed to save Alisse to redeem Damon’s legacy. He could accept that he wasn’t perfect in his past past, for the boy knew that he himself was not perfect now. However, he could redeem that life now.

Neither Damon or Hazaar said anythimg more as they continued deeper into the Red Forest. They were headed towards the Obsidian Spire, a place that had been banned for elves to go for quite some time. However, there was little Tel’Aglarim could do to prohibit people from coming there. They wouldn’t put any kind of security in the area, for there were few soldiers that would have been courageous to mark the boundary.

However, there was a far more important barrier to elves visiting the Obsidian Spire, the Red Forest itself. The tall black structure was in the middle of a deadly red forest, full of shape changing wolves and lecherous vines. It would be a difficult place, especially once it got dark. Damon was fairly quick moving, but he had to keep up with the younger child who had particularly little legs. It would be very unlikely that they could be in and out of the Red Forest by night fall. “At least it should be fairly safe,” Damon figured. “Hazaar can look into the future better than I can. He’d know if things were going get too severe.” Damon looked over towards the young Turlin mage and smiled.

“There is going to be a storm tonight too,” Hazaar mumbled.

[Storm Veritas]

From the second he landed on Raiaera, he knew that he would be out of place here.

It was not a civilized place, and his silver tongue would do him no good with the terrible things that rustled the leaves. The forest itself was horrible. He had landed his ship to the shore, but there was barely twenty feet of soft sand before he struck the forest itself. The red forest was ghastly, and far more alive than he cared to enjoy. The peripheral sounds were loud and plentiful, not the familiar bustle of the raccoon or squirrel but rather something altogether inhuman, otherworldly. He didn’t see them, but didn’t have to. They were fast, fast as hell, and big, probably hip-high or taller. The leaves were a terrible scarlet color, looking like a certain autumnal hue, but the color was pervasive, uniform, and seemingly permanent. Some scattered leaves covered the forest floor, suppressing the small outgrowths of green and verdant life. The color and feel of blood was overwhelming. The Red Forest was unmistakable.

And I don’t like it one f*cking bit. I knew I should have sent a hired hand. This is blue collar grunt work, and I should have known better.

Finding his way through this blasted forest would be challenge enough, but the ends may have justified the means. This was the outskirts of nowhere, and the man to introduce technology to these savage beings would likely be a very rich man. The elves and other ghastlies could fester and rot for all he cared, but they had lots of precious gems and gold.

Money growing up between their toes and they don’t even know what to do with it.

Fortunately for the natives, Storm Veritas had a very good idea. His manor was calm, as a swim and steam bath cleaned him up nicely after landing. In a crisply-pressed light grey herringbone suit, he felt the starched collar of his shirt begin to itch a bit. It was worth it; it always was. Just a walk through the woods, and the diplomat would be able to arrive and begin discussions. His small leather satchel, normally filled with deeds of death, today was packed with little goodies from the land that time actually remembered. A small packet of cement mix, a light bulb, a small packet of gunpowder wrapped taut in cloth, kept dry. Dime-a-dozen purchases in Radasanth, where the folks didn’t wear cowhides with arrowmarks and let small civilizations grow in their hair.

Wait until the wide eyed natives get a load of this. Those retards will think me for a magician. Perhaps it’s for the best; if intruders were taken well here, I can’t imagine that they wouldn’t have shown these morons the wonders of toilet paper.

It would take a strong hand and stronger will to tame the masses, he figured, but there was none better for the challenge than the fast talker with hands of fire. Truth be told, he preferred talking out of a situation to getting his hands dirty, but he was more than competent in the ways of combat. His ambition grew exponentially with each dollar sign that spun on the gambler’s reels in his hollow blue eyes.

And so, with hair slicked back far too delicately for such treacherous work, he resumed his simple stroll through the forest. The rummaging continued, the scary cackle-caws of the inhabitant terribles continued their symphonic song. He stepped ahead, undeterred. There was money to be had in these trees, and he’d be damned if they’d get in his way.

[INDK]

Damon and Hazaar had said very little to each other after Hazaar’s comment about the storm. While he was certain Hazaar wouldn’t have said that had there been no reason, Damon didn’t bother to ask why. He knew Hazaar well enough to know that the young Tura’s predictions would be reliable. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what it was that had caused them to set out on this day. They walked a bit farther silently, before Hazaar broke through the silence with another comment.

“I know what you are wondering because I have telepathy,” the young elf said, surprisingly matter off factly. “I know you are confused by what happened, you want to know why I would have brought you here if I knew there was a storm. Let me just tell you this; I looked at a set of tea leaves, and while there is no way to ever be sure when it involves multiple dimensions, I know at least three important powers have the potential to collide tonight.”

“Potential to collide?” Damon replied skeptically. He’d never known a Turlin mage to be that noncommittal with a prediction.

“Yes,” Hazaar replied succinctly. “I can not yet know why for certain, but for some reason my predictions with you are never completely accurate. They seem to always have some error. Perhaps its just me and my emotions stopping me from thinking clearly.”

Damon didn’t reply to that. He didn’t want to know what kind of emotions it was that Hazaar had about him. While they were supposedly friends and Damon had been the one who had brought the younger child to the schools of magic before he had died, now he wondered if he wasn’t in trouble for what he had failed to do to help Hazaar’s sister Alisse. Damon had no idea why he’d failed in the past, but he felt as if there was no excuse for it. Being the inheritor of the soul of Raiaera’s savior from the undead seemed a bit more hollow if the boy had failed to save the sister of a friend.

The two of them continued on a bit more, before they heard a rustle in the leaves to the south west of them. Immediately, both Damon and Hazaar fell silent, for they knew there were far too many dangerous creatures that could have been making a noise like that. While the sounds were somewhat indeterminate in terms of who were making them, Damon was certain of one thing, whatever it was that was making them was growing louder.

“Quickly, up into the trees,” Hazaar suggested telepathically.

Damon nodded to oblige. He knelt down to let Hazaar climb onto his back and then scampered up the nearest tree. Once up there, Damon scoured the leaves for any signs of blood vines and then waited. He glanced towards Hazaar, chuckling a bit at the idea of scampering up a tree with Turlin’s young prodigy on his back,

“Stay quiet for now,” Hazaar now demanded, once again speaking without the use of words. “It’s a stranger here, but let me tell you, I know this is one of our powers…”

[Storm Veritas]

After a long, terrible trudge through the forest, Storm had decided upon the conclusion that coming to Raiaera was a very bad idea. Whatever profit he had decided to make seemed very difficult to actualize. The road in from the sea was awful, and transporting large stocks of goods would be unreasonable. Besides this, he wasn’t much of a tracker, and had lost his heading some time ago. The make-shift compass he had made from a small clay bowl with water and a magnet-rubbed needle served him well as a drink to quench his thirst.

Perhaps the wild unknown should stay this way. Any people that can live out in this place either have no use for civilization’s wares or simply aren’t bright enough to put them to use. How about a goddamned road?

After painting a few leaves with his discarded water waste, he emerged from more brush to here a rustle ahead. Some whispers, voices he didn’t quite understand. Low in volume, high in pitch. Walking ahead, there was a boy. Very small, very frail looking. A long, drawn face and large, brilliant eyes. Slender and meek, Veritas approached with caution. While the boy could very well fear him, he had endured several run-ins with similar undersized monsters. The small ones were more dangerous, hard to hit, and had great access to strike at the most sensitive of spots. Taking slow steps with open and empty hands, he spoke in a low, cool voice.

“Easy, fella. I come in peace. My name is Storm, and I come to you from Corone.”

Simple, short words and no hostility in his voice. He didn’t know if the boy could understand him, communicate with him, or sense his own trepidation. He also noticed that if the boy was alone, he was very likely crazy, as there was clearly conversation here recently.

Underneath two thick and hardy gauntlets, the long fingers of the traveler were beginning to tingle with an electric buzz. Something didn’t feel right, and it was more than the terrible rose-colored forest this time.

[INDK]

Now that the man had spoken, Damon didn’t consider him nearly as much of a threat. Most Althanians that were looking for a fight would have approached the situation differently, telling him that if he were to have attacked then he would have regretted it. Damon took that as a positive sign, and he would have just as soon put all his weapons away, had he not noticed something particular about the tree he was in. It contained no blood vines, but until this moment, Damon hadn’t realized just how dead the tree was. It had no earwigs, no slugs, no birds nests had settled in among the leaves. Even in the red forest, that was a rarity.

Now, the tree began to shake, and Damon shuddered. He watched as Hazaar’s eyes opened wide, and the two of them didn’t even need to say anything to realize what had happened. “How could we have been so stupid,” Damon thought. “I should have realized this from the teeth along the bottom.” The tree was a group of Dur’Taigen, the shapeshifting wolves that were one of Raiaera’s greatest dangers.

“Storm… I don’t know you or anything at this moment, but if you’re smart now you’re going to climb a tree…” Damon said, his voice sounding surprisingly even as he prepared to leap off from the tree. He was trying to gauge proper areas with which to fall. With Hazaar on his back, Damon knew that his potential landings were compromised. The extra weight would be hard to balance, and it would be particularly difficult to roll around in the grass with the boy on his back.

However, Damon knew he was going to have to move soon, the tree was beginning to shake and soon enough, if they failed to move they would have ended up falling into the middle of a group of hungry wolves. Landing anywhere on the ground would be better, it gave Damon at least a fighting chance.

“You can’t really jump yourself can you?” Damon asked Hazaar.

The young Istien bard merely shook his head, eyes wide with fear. Damon looked on pityingly, and muttered a bit about how they still had a chance. They were near a clearing, but there was a tree fairly close. It was a bit shorter than the one they were on, and Damon couldn’t tell in advance if there were to be any blood vines there. It’s foliage was thick enough it would be particularly difficult to tell, but at the moment Damon had to accept that as an acceptable risk.

“Can you see into the future on this?” Damon asked the young professor.

“Not without tea leaves or something else…” Hazaar replied.

Damon took a deep breath. “Looks like we don’t have any other options…” he muttered. The boy leapt forwards, and his hands clutched onto one of the branches. Hazaar held on tightly to Damon’s waist, and then climbed up the slightly older boy’s body to situate himself on the branch. Damon soon joined him sitting there and he heaved a deep sigh.

“We will need some fire to protect us,” Hazaar said, looking around tentatively.

Damon was getting no visions of an incoming threat, so he took a deep exhale and relaxed a bit. He situated himself on a slightly different branch, one that was considerably wider and provided a more hospitable birth. With his nerves shot from what had happened, Damon thought that he could solve any other problems later. At the very least, he was safe for the moment. He only hoped that the Dur’Taigen would disperse soon enough for him to head on forwards. In the Red Forest, any minute wasted was a minute that might later end up being spent in the dark.

[Storm Veritas]

The opportunity to meet some of the ghastlies that roamed the forest presented themselves to Storm very quickly. A second boy, young and athletic and also with the same bright eyes as the smaller lad, leapt from a tree, commanding the visitor to climb a tree. With tired feet and hands from working his way through this god-forsaken forest, it was the last thing Storm wanted to do.

When he saw the tree begin crumbling into a pack of wolves, it suddenly sounded like a damned fine idea.

Ok, chilluns… lead the way!

The boys knew their way, and Veritas certainly had no desire to leap into another tree of wolves. When they bound up to the tree limbs, he followed suit. While elves are often fleeter of foot and more nimble than humans, Storm was very agile, deftly leaping and pulling himself up with a long, outstretched arm. In seconds, he was perched on a large distended limb, the pack of wolves snapping at him from the thick burgundy trunk.

Oh hell no! You don’t have anything for me down there, Fido. Eat it, shut your yap, and be gone.

He methodically removed his right gauntlet with a singular pull from his left hand, safely extending his arm out to shield the frightened children. The wolves were impressive, but the shape-shifting parlor tricks which nearly expelled his own intestinal tract were much more fearsome than their true form. Here, as a mass of wolves, they snapped with the ferocious snarl of little-more than large dogs.

“Settle down, pup. Tut. Settle…”

His extended hand did nothing, and one of the wolves leapt mightily, as if to grab him and pull him from his lofty limb. This wouldn’t do. With an extended right hand, he unleashed a single weak pulse of electricity, a lone white tendril which sizzle-cracked the snout of the dog. A sickening squeal, and the wolf jumped back in anguish. He was not injured, but the pain would linger, and Veritas held a glowing hand of potential pain for any other wolves that wished to follow suit.

None would. They dissolved relatively quickly, fading back to the wood and the brush to hide for the next unsuspecting victim. Trade routes through here were now officially out of the question.

Turning up his head, the two boys sat there still, looking on with focus and calm. Storm smiled to them, recognizing the larger of the two. Yes, it was him! His heart skipped a beat at the identification of the legendary Damon Kaosi – still a boy and fragile looking, yet the one who had sculpted Althanian lore. If there was one person on Raiaera that could be of use to him, he had damned near tripped over him.

Jackpot! Holy shit, it’s HIM! Stay calm. Deep breath.

A deep breath followed, as he tried not to showcase his childish amusement. A grown man should not be so impressed by a boy, be the boy special or not. If the rumors were true, it was too late, and Damon would already know how absurdly giddy he had become. The “why” was a mystery to Veritas as well, so it remained unlikely such motivation would be clear to the clairevoyant. In an even tone, he addressed the lad.

“Thank you for the tip, my friend. Quite brave of you to help up your friend there, as well. Impressive.”

Was he buying it? Storm couldn’t tell for sure, and the boyish eyes that looked upon him were surprisingly stoic. When you grow up, you’ll play a mean game of cards, my boy. He continued along.

“I suppose I should introduce myself. Storm Veritas, and I suppose you could call me a businessman…

“I’m looking for the place known as ‘The Spire’. I think that our civilizations should share information, and I bring some great things to help your people. Can you help me?”

[INDK]

Damon could tell that Storm Veritas had made the mistaken assumption that he possessed the same memories and desires as his former self. The boy didn’t hold the mistake against the buisnessman, it wasn’t a particularly uncommon one for people to make. However, when it came to protecting his legacy, Damon’s ambitions often coincided with what he imagined his previous self to have believed. Because of that, Damon didn’t bother to correct Storm, other than to mention politely that he no longer had any ties to the Raiaeran government.

“I now work for myself, and that’s it, so while our civilizations should share, and I'm glad you're helping Raiaerans, I can't really make that decision,” Damon said politely. “Thanks for your help though. I know you know I used to be a General here, a long time ago, but that doesn’t really matter now. I still want to help Raiaera though, and Tura Hazaar here is a teacher in the schools of magic, both at Ost’Dagorlin and Turlin.”

Hazaar looked less than interested in answering any questions of the businessman and seemed to be considerably more interested in deferring any details to Damon. The young professor hesitated a few moments before speaking, and then only said that they were also on a mission to the Obsidian Spire and that Storm would be welcome to join them.

“Yes,” Damon agreed. “We’re going there as well. We have some unfinished business to take care of, a bit of a mystery even involving a woman that we both knew. We’re not certain as to what happened there, so we’re going to investigate. If you know anything about the Obsidian Spire, you know it’s a particularly dangerous place and not somewhere where you’d want to be alone. As a group, all of us would have a better chance of survival.”

With a light sardonic laugh, Damon looked down towards the shape shifting wolves as they ran away. They remained in a pack as they fled, and Damon knew that if they didn't move quickly, then it would be likely that the wolves would come back. A lightning spell might scare them away for a while, but it was rare that the Dur'Taigen would stay away for too long when they had three pieces of live prey. Additionally, the longer they stayed, the more likely they were to meet a wandering blood vine or one of the Red Forest’s other dangers. Orcs and bandits were still a threat out here, though their threat greatly diminished the deeper they delved into the Red Forest.

For a moment Damon hesitated. Storm seemed enamored enough that he would defer to Damon on most matters, so that made the black eyed boy the leader by default. It was a designation that Damon had little love for. He sighed. “We are going to need to get moving” he muttered. “I don’t want to have to fight them for real…”

Hazaar climbed back on Damon’s back and the two young boys moved down the tree. Damon took particular care to be cautious, despite the fact that the Dur’Taigen could be returning any second. While Damon was certain he could take the Dur’Taigens with the help of Storm, but it would be imprudent to risk injury this early in their journey. Any open wound served like a homing beacon for blood vines, and there was far too much distance to cover for them to survive an enduring assault of the plant. Even fire wouldn’t serve as enough of a deterrent if the blood was particularly appetizing.

“The Spire is due east of here,” Damon continued as he landed on the ground. “But Hazaar told me there is a orc stronghold due east of here. We were going to try to go around it, but with you as backup, the three of us could probably take any trouble we encounter. Do you want us to try and sneak past there?”

The boy hoped Storm would agree to the idea of moving through the orc village. The episode with the Dur’Taigens had wasted ten minutes that would be difficult to recover.

[Storm Veritas]

Apparently young Kaosi was in a much bigger hurry than the pair appeared to be in. He spoke with a confidence that betrayed his youthful appearance, a sort of knowledge that doesn’t make its way onto a man by accident. Cordially introducing himself to Hazaar, Storm smiled as he descended from the tree. Perhaps it was arrogance that made him think the wolves should fear him, but he also wasn’t the same lightweight that had taken root on the mainland Althanas from the shores of Scara Brae merely a few short years before. The boy was coming down, and looking east. To danger, the orc stronghold. Their “little stopover”.

Don’t you think battling through those goliaths will take longer, be more dangerous, and unnecessarily risk us more than walking around? How big is that place? And I’m sure referring to “the three of us” is merely being polite, because this Hazaar cat doesn’t look like he can lick a goddamned stamp.

Perhaps Damon knew what he was talking about . In Kaosi I trust, I suppose. Storm had never even seen an orc, nonetheless known of strongholds and such. He had read books as a child of walking mountains of flesh and fat and pain that were these things, and truth be told wanted no part of them.

At the same time, appearing the piece of dead weight to the child general was the last thing he wanted. Damon would be instrumental in any type of commerce, perhaps his very survival. He seemed to know precisely too much about this place, and living upon Raiaera would harden any child. Better the devil you know…

“Orc Stronghold? Not quite my type of speed, I’m afraid.” Candor was necessary to ensure that he wasn’t coming across as trepidatious, terrified, honest. “But you know this land better than I. If that is the only way, then so be it, but I’m not sure how the hell we get past those things without getting ourselves f*cking killed.”

The little one flinched at the swear, understanding the gravity of Storm’s words. Perhaps he would have to more carefully consider his diction, as this one appeared fragile. Veritas envisioned him to be quite difficult to oversee during this voyage.

Yet his trust remained steady.

“Excuse me, this place is rattling to a newcomer. A good plan today beats a great one three weeks from now. Let’s do it.”

He didn’t suppose that his meager apology would suffice, but so be it. He would likely have plenty of chances to build physical equity with the wunderkind en route to the Obsidian Spire.

And they walked east.

[INDK]

Damon was pleased that Storm Veritas agreed. He was a bit surprised by the tone of the man’s reply. “I hope he doesn’t think we would do anything as foolish as barging through,” Damon thought to himself. “That would just be too brute… even if we could it would be an entire waste of our talents.” The idea to go past the orc fortress had been one of expediency, and so Damon really wanted to avoid a fight.

Unsure of whether or not a bullheaded stranger would be asset or a liability, Damon continued through the Red Forest cautiously. The areas around orc encampments generally carried less of the conventional threats of the Red Forest, primarily because the orcs tended to be selective in their territory. However, there were likely orcish traps littered across the ground. While the orcs in the Red Forest were not necessarily as warlike as the ones in folklore, they would not hesitate from stealing from any travelers who were foolhardy enough to get this close to their encampment.

“Be careful…” Damon called out tentatively. “I don’t really know what else is going on here…” He mumbled a bit to himself. “Don’t try to set off any of their traps either… they might alert bells or something to a patrol. We want to move through here without being seen OR heard…”

Damon looked back at Hazaar, and he noticed the younger child’s nose wrinkle irritably. While unsure what caused the young professor to be displeased, Damon looked back towards him confusedly, as if slightly annoyed that he would be rebuked for making a comment that should have been common sense.

“Storm Veritas is not the battle hardened warrior you think he is,” Hazaar warned Damon telepathically. “He can fight, but he’s going to try to avoid conflict just like you…”

Damon blinked. He hated people who had advanced powers in divination, because it was impossible to argue with them. Taking a deep exhale, the reincarnated general didn’t say anything else until he could think of an appropriate reply. Telepathy was considerably more difficult for him, Damon didn’t know why, but there seemed to be some kind of mental block that stopped him from using it. It was only at those times when he put full intention into transmitting a thought could Hazaar understand what he was thinking. Regardless, telepathy should not have been the greatest of Damon’s concerns. There was an oncoming fork in the pathways. Dead center was the orc fortress, and if they were hoping to circumnavigate it, they would have to go either to the left or right.

“Which way?” Damon asked.

“Left,” Hazaar said.

Damon looked at the ground. There were considerably more footprints to the left, and also signs that someone had been dragged by the scruff of their neck. The tracks were fresh as well, suggesting that their makers weren’t too far away.

Damon frowned as he knelt down and looked at the footprints. “You sure?” he asked.

Hazaar nodded solemnly.

With a shrug, Damon got up and continued moving. “You’re the one who sees into the future…” he mumbled, loud enough so that Storm would understand why he was listening to the demands of a twelve year old.

[Storm Veritas]

So this little guy can see into the future? Gonna have to introduce this silly prick to the Radasanth lottery…

The orc stronghold was not an option, and Veritas swallowed hard and with great relief as they chose to step around it. From the distance, he could see only the tops of the fleshy meathunks that served as heads. It was not appetizing. Those beasts, those orcs were horrible, and avoiding them at all costs seemed wise. The path to the right was barely tread upon, and he was glad that they, three travelers, chose not to take it. Not the least bit sorry he could not travel both, he imagined.

The forest was loud ahead, sounds and terrible high pitched shrieks coming. Instinctively, the lithe diplomat lunged in front of the youths, extending his hand out and back to keep them at bay. The consideration that he was “protecting” perhaps the most powerful soul upon Althanas would one day later strike him as absurd.

“What’s that? Can you see what’s going on, too?”

The little one did not answer, but rather returned a quizzical stare. There was no chance that Storm had imagined it. He refused to accept that. The knowledge that they, too, should be quiet also invaded his mind. Crouching, he began to walk on his toes in a creep, his thighs quickly beginning to tingle and burn. Stealth was painful for him, and likely easy for the little light ones.

He was nearing the left-most perimeter of the keep now, the sounds growing closer but losing their strength. They were outside the post-driven walls here. The groans faded as he approached, one yell coming more shrill and horrible than before. He had heard enough. Stepping back, he left the path to march slowly in the woods. The low hung foliage was red and striking, and his dark clothes would likely disguise well within them. The boys seemed to disappear from sight in the cover, and a slow enough movement would ensure the brush wasn’t disturbed. Motion was the enemy.

“Stay close, stay low, stay quiet. If something comes, run back to the beach through the thick stuff. The big guys can’t follow you.” His whispers were actually good natured, although quite unnecessary. It was unlikely that he happened upon other visitors to this god-forsaken place, and less likely that natives would be unaware of the orc presence.

Ahead there was a clearing now. A table, a man. Several of the monstrous things. The ground was smeared with blood.

No.

The grisly orc was terrifying. A black, withered and hairless head fastened upon a mountain of muscle and taut ferocity. A face twisted in a snarl. The voice a combination of hiss and bark, their communication rough and crude. One grabbed the man by the hair, pulling him up and barking incomprehensibly. Resigned, the man mumbled something too low to be heard. His eyes were glazed and face downtrodden. The man was emotionally exhausted, and wore it on his face like a mask. Shirtless and covered with browned stains of dry blood, the man looked like the avatar of death himself.

Storm was fixated in disturbed curiosity as the orc through him back onto the table by the hair, a loud thwacking sound accompanying the impact. Quickly a third of them appeared, and the two orcs by the side of the table fastened the hands to two outlying ropes the traveler had not seen. Their leader withdrew a long blade, a dagger which wrapped around his meaty fist and protected his hand with an array of sickening metal studs.

With a stern stare, the orc pushing the blade through the soft flesh of the prisoner. The yell was subdued, yet horrible, the man clearly a shell of what he may once have been.

Holy shit, no!

He couldn’t step in and stop them all. He couldn’t run back and draw their attention. Looking at the two young boys aside him, Storm had made another terrible mistake.

[Taliel Escabre]

How the blazes did I end up in such a terrible mess…oh my, this is terrible! Taliel thought meekly. The taught grip of his binds made his wrists red as he struggled. Cries and war chants were the disturbing sounds that filled his ears. The blood-stained cloth practically made him gag, but he was at least still alive. Unfortunately, he knew that even that simple fact was in jeopardy. The spell scribe could only guess the fate of the other prisoner that the barbaric orcs had just taken. His mind wasn’t left to wonder long; he suddenly heard a muffled groan and the sickening slice of cold steel piercing soft flesh. His eyes tightly shut and he tried to wake up from whatever terrible nightmare he had strayed into. Slowly the scribe retraced the steps that lead him to this point.

* * *

It seemed that only mere hours ago he had been resting comfortably in a classroom in Istien. That had changed rather quickly, however, when he heard the stories of the ancient ruins hidden deep within. He had made the mistake of wandering into the dreaded forest unassisted- something he would have never done had he truly known the dangers of the perilous grounds. His reason for going in was a simple one, though considered a bit foolhardy by the tutors at the University.

The Durklan Ruins were rumored to hold great treasures and even greater secrets, and it was the draw of these secrets that had grasped the spell scribe’s attention. Magic beyond mortal comprehension, tales of great magicians, and perhaps even some of the lost art of true spell scribing would be hidden in these ruins. All this had given Taliel the courage to venture forth, realizing that such risk must sometimes be taken if one hoped to achieve greatness.

And oh what greatness he hoped to achieve. He had heard songs about the previous scholars who had discovered such monumental things. They were immortalized, granted such prestige that few kings and queens could match. Furthering his knowledge was Taliel’s true yearning, but if great power and royalty came with it, who was he to stop the natural course of destiny? Why should he not have power, knowledge, and fame?

Things went awry quickly, however. He had been too busy resting and eating to realize the oncoming threat of the orcs. They had moved quickly upon his meager camp, and before he was able to react he had been surrounded. It was amazing to him that he had not been killed on the spot. Instead, a strange beastly orc with a red armband and a skullcap stepped forth and began to bark orders at the others. Taliel was bound and gagged, then slung over the shoulders of one of the behemoths. For a while he struggled, trying desperately to break loose. This was a poor choice of actions, he soon found, as he was heaved to the ground and beaten. Grasping his arms, two of the orcs proceeded to drag him. The scribe could only guess where he was being taken, but wherever it was, it did not look to be somewhere he wanted to be. By the time they had arrived at the camp, his shoulders and back ached terribly from being drug the entire way there. That pain subsided, however, once he realized that he was now a prisoner of the creatures.

* * *

I am such an imbecile! he thought, wishing he had never stopped for a moment. His adventures with one known as Damon Kaosi had taught him to be much more alert of his surroundings. Within the pampered walls of Istien, however, the scribe had forgotten much, and now he was paying the price.

Orcs hustled and bustled around him, each seeming to be carrying either a weapon or a haunch of meat. The scribe’s stomach rumbled uneasily, and he found himself trying even more desperately to free himself.

Oh this is hopeless! Taliel, you fool! I never would have thought this is the way death would take me! Once again, the scribe moaned and continued to try and escape, the rope rubbing the skin beneath it raw.

[INDK]

Damon had looked on horrified and for a few seconds his mind had felt so numb that he was unable to do anything but listen to Storm’s commands. Hazaar clung to him nervously, as if believing that Damon had some special capacity to protect. However, Damon didn’t, or at the very least, if he did, he didn’t know about it. With his hands shaking and cold sweat pouring down his face, it had sounded like a veritable avalanche when the poor victim had yelled.

Hazaar whimpered. Pitifully. Growing up in Eluriand had ensured that the young professor was not nearly as naïve as one would expect for a boy his age, but to see a man so brutally sacrificed was a complete shock to Hazaar. Seemingly unable to control his wits, Hazaar began to scream hysterically, and before Damon was able to do anything to silence him, the orcs had already noticed them.

“Husssshhhh…” Damon hissed, clamping his hand over Hazaar’s mouth. “You have to be quiet here… we’ll be found!”

Damon let go of Hazaar’s mouth, and the younger boy looked on confusedly. “But Damon… it’s Taliel…”

Normally, Damon might have asked a question about who Taliel was, but the reincarnated general was much more concerned with staying alive at the present moment. “I don’t care…” he whispered back. “Even this voice is too loud, orcish hearing is not so far behind elves that they won’t hear us…”

However, Damon had spoken too late. Suddenly, a group of orcs had formed a perimeter around Damon and the rest of the group. Even if they had wanted to make their way through the brushes it wouldn’t be possible. With captives around, Damon knew that they had one and only one chance. Somehow, someway, they were going to have to fight their way through.

“Now stay close,” Damon told Hazaar as he got up. A bit fearful for what would happen otherwise, Damon nudged the younger boy behind his back to maintain some semblance of protection, and then drew his longsword to prepare.

Sweat began to beat heavily across Damon’s body. He had barely managed to get into the Red Forest without running into this kind of trouble. His appendages suddenly feeling numb from the pressure, Damon was fortunate that his mind seemed to be made of sterner stuff. The boy knew his abilities, and he was certain that if Storm could get out somehow and take care of the hostages, then they might be able to escape this situation with a rescue.

“Find your way out,” Damon said. “Target one of them and run… free the prisoners. Hazaar and I can hold the rest…”

[Storm Veritas]

The boy-general didn’t take long to assume the role as battle captain. Surrounded by a ring of orcs, the lad failed to panic, refusing to wane in the face of easily recognizable terror. The beasts were snarling, terrible looking things that had somehow outflanked Storm, Damon, and the timid boy. When Kaosi drew his sword, the time for negotiations and fleet feet were over.

Well, nearly over.

Storm took the lone opportunity to move. The fact that he had great control over the darker arts was no secret, but somehow the incredible speed he possessed had somehow slipped under the radar. It wouldn’t any longer. He took off headlong at the orc that separated him from the hostages, a large, terrible one that held a big axe and a nasty smirk, one large fang popping from his lower jaw before thin, evil lips. He ran straight at him, smiling as the massive orc began to settle and prepare his axe. The two others by his side gave a quick look, but merely laughed some demonic tone as Veritas went directly at the black-bodied walking awful. “Go ahead”, they seemed to say with body language. “Bring the pigeon to the cat.”

But I’m no sort of human like anything you know, handsome. Bring it down for me, handsome.

At a range of fifteen feet, he stopped dead, his great momentum halting with a thump, leaves by his feet rustling forward as he did so. The great orc tried to cease his swing, but failed, the massive axehead still looping lazily before the rapid stopped Storm Veritas. It was all the window the mage needed.

He leapt forward at the orc, pressing his right foot on the left knee of the hulking monstrosity. The left leg thrust forward, propelling Storm forward with great speed. His right hand seemed to send some mystical uppercut, as though it should be joined with some meditational mantra. The orc would never see the dagger in his hand, and barely feel it. The cut was too clean, too total.

Gotcha baby. Get you every time.

He didn’t need to look back at the falling orc to know the blood would paint his chest and belly. He didn’t need to watch him clasp vainly at a black-bile shade of crimson pour forth, and didn’t need to know that it was done. The orc was dead, and time was short. The prisoners needed saving, if Damon Kaosi was to be an ally.

He landed in a roll, impressing himself with dexterity. It wasn’t devoid of clumsiness like his attack, but the pain was at least minimal. A bump, a ding, something to remember the moment by, and he was up. Running. Sprinting. The elves may be able to stay with him, but the orcs most certainly could not. It wouldn’t stop them from trying after they realized what had happened. He didn’t create much time. With one hand ahead of him, an electric blast rocketed at the outer frame of the torture quarters - a haphazardly strewn killzone of wood and hay. The hay would soak blood, he supposed, but it would also burn like a bitch. The flames ignited fast, but not fast enough. They would keep coming.

He reached a boy quickly, one not totally unlike Kaosi. He was young and slight, but human. Badly beaten by the look of it, likely exhausted. He was bound by simple ropes, and Veritas sawed at one of them roughly. The young man flinched in reaction, but his wild eyes were more fixed on the oncoming orcs. Good. Frustrated, Storm could all but taste his fear as he released the binds, waiting for that one axe to the back that would end it all.

”If you want to live, you’d best stay the f*ck still or at least help me get you free!!!”

[Taliel Escabre]

Taliel watched in a sudden, gripping fear as there was a quick stir amongst the orcs. Something was happening. The stale smell of blood that had filled his nose was now met with some new, meek odor. It was familiar, yet extremely distant. Some sort of distant memory whose origin was not traceable protruded his nostrils, sending a chill up his spine. He shook his head ever so slightly, trying to recognize it. Nothing came to him, except the sight of a human, seemingly years ahead of him in age.

Eager to be noticed, Taliel shook his ropes violently and tried to shout for help. His gag was soaked with sweat and saliva, but little more than a distressed moan seeped from his lips. He did not know who this stranger was, but from the sight of him freeing one of the other captors, he knew that he came with no intent of harm.

“Mmmfff! Umph rmmmph emfee! Mmf!” he continued to groan, desperately tugging at his bindings. The scribe could feel the dried blood cracking under the rough, taut ropes, and his struggle seemed perilous. The smell that continued to infiltrate his nose, however, gave him some strange hope. It brought him the courage to continue trying, hoping that his ties were the next to be cut. It was clean, or, at least by the standards of an orc camp, it was clean.

"Ungmmmfff!" he forced, realizing quite abruptly how difficult it would be to free himself alone. He needed the help of the black-haired individual freeing those around him.

[INDK]

Damon now knew he would have to go to work. Immediately, the boy charged at the orcs who’s attention was about to be directed to Storm Veritas. Moving quickly with his sword, the boy managed to catch two of the orcs unaware, decapitating one and running his longsword straight through the heart of another.

“Move… never mind the other, there’s two for the price of one here!” the orcish leader shouted. He was a tall creature, rough and ugly like most orcs, but with sharp and well kept teeth. The rest of the orcs seemed loyal to their leader, and with good reason. The burly leader towered above the rest of his soldiers. They looked at each other, in confusion, and then all together, glanced towards a crystal that was hanging from a necklace on their leader’s neck. Damon had noticed it earlier. Any time he or Hazaar came any closer to it, the crystal would glow an even deeper blue.

All this made Damon a bit more uncertain. He knew he could hold off the orcs almost infinitely, play them to the point of disinterest with his sword if necessary. Now that they circled around him, Damon used his precognitive abilities to block any orc that took the initiative to come forward with an offensive effort. Often, they also bore the brunt of a counter attack as well.

“He knows when we’re coming,” the orc leader growled. Bloodshot eyes narrowed in on Damon’s, making it clear that a coordinated group attack was eminent.

Normally, this would have been what Damon wanted. The moment the orcs collapsed on him, Damon would have been able to use his laser tornado to destroy the entire group. However, if he were to try this now, Damon knew there would be no way that he could save Hazaar from the carnage.

“Do you know anyway out?” Damon asked the younger boy. He wished now that he’d sent the young bard with Storm, Damon was sure that the older man would have been able to protect the child.

Hazaar’s face turned white. “Not really…” the child replied. “I thought you…”

“My plan’s going to fail,” Damon replied acidly. “Perhaps you should have divined this too…” These were the moments Damon hated more than any other, where someone else’s life depended on him and he had no easy solution.

Now, Hazaar was frantic. “Well think of a new one!” the young professor panicked.

Damon bit his lip. The orcs charged. At that moment, Damon’s solution suddenly became clear. Without a word of explanation, Damon sang out a single note and grabbed Hazaar, making both boys noncorporeal for a few seconds. The orcs charged forwards and practically ran into each other as Damon and Hazaar slid out from the mess of angry orcs.

“They’ll still be coming,” Hazaar said.

“I know…” was Damon’s only reply. Since time was of the essence he offered no further explanation other than to push Hazaar away from him and return them both to a corporeal state. With that, he punched the ground and unleashed a laser tornado with himself in the center, and began to spin around like a whirling dervish until every last one of the orcs near him had suffered fatal burns.

Hazaar just looked on wide eyed, in too much of a state of shock to get up from the ground. Damon, covered with sweat as a result of his attack, could only look on with a sheepish grin.

“Let’s go help Storm,” the one time slayer said.

[Storm Veritas]

He had gotten more time, the predicament at hand affording him a chance to survive. Damon had gathered several, and had lashed out at a few, swooping and slicing his way to a triumphant, decisive victory in duels against at least three of the big uglies. Across the walk, Storm was frantic, slashing his way through rope and twine, spinning his hands through ties until the first one was free. As he felt the juvenile hands separate, he heard the incoming gurgle of orcen-awful and stepped back, ducking and pulling the second blade back in hand.

Oh God no…

The axe came down violently, and he was too late to stop it. Within the burlap sack, the first prisoner was completely obliterated, a hard iron head savagely splitting a crimson hole where there was once flesh and life. The splatter of scarlet life was everywhere upon them in the midst of the red forest, and down to the floor fell what was likely once a very young boy. Behind the colossal deathbringer, two more orcs laughed in deep cackles.

A crick of the head to the side, and Veritas was on the move again, his speed and savage behavior unprecedented. A whirling dervish of knives and fury, he had never acted with such ferocity. In the blink of an eye, he had riddled the legs and midsection of the orc with a flurry of fast swipes, his titanium daggers sifting through flesh like they were water-balloons. After a sea of ebony colored and thick, noxious bile began to pour from the dying titan, Storm somersaulted up, leaping and standing at the shoulders of the fast-falling orc. The body was collapsing beneath him, but he only needed a second to draw forth two blades and point at the two stunned fellow orcs. Emotionless gapes lingered on the brainless heads of the soon-to-be victims. Another grimace, and the finely dressed diplomat with a sheer coat of blood and fleshy bits offered merely one sentence.

“End of the line, motherf*ckers…”

With that, another quick hop, a nimble somersault that culminated with the twin blades returning to point at the orcs. Two blasts erupted from his respective hands, twisting streams of white and blue electric discharge scourging and burning the faces of the orcs. Storm landed upon the fleshy sack of death that was the first orc, but kept the pressure on, burning and torturing the beasts as they stood. Their hands rushed to demolished faces, a futile effort to control the pain.

The terrible yell from the two would scare birds from their nests three miles about, and the smell of burnt flesh soured the nostrils of anyone downwind for acres. He continued. The image of the fallen lad within the sack of burlap was fresh in his mind as he lavished agony upon them, making an example that all could see.

None that see you two will recognize you, but they’ll know what you did. A child – a f*cking BABY… and this is your answer? A laugh? Burn, you fat motherf*ckers…

…Burn.

Ten seconds would pass before the ceasefire, Storm falling to a knee and bringing a hand to his chest, exhausted. He slid from the felled flesh of the orc to the ground, where a pool of human and orc remains had collected in the carnage. Looking back over his shoulders, there were others, other people, perhaps children, that lay in the bags like sickening luggage. With now three orcs down, one slashed to ribbons and two burned beyond comprehension, he would have time. Time to save them. To make it right.

He struggled to open the first bag, his body now frail and badly weakened. He sawed at the rope as though it were wood, and smiled with disbelief when the thing inside was alive. A young girl, positively green, and elfin in appearance. Shaking, sick, and embarrassed, he pulled her from her tiny burlap conveyance. She needn’t apologize for the vomit on her blouse or the urine in the sack. She needn’t apologize for the tears.

“Don’t worry, ‘s OK sugar. We’ll take care of you. It’s alright.”

He didn’t worry about the change in his moral fiber, and didn’t think about the implications of all this do-goodery. The “villain” title he earned upon Corone was justified, but so were his actions at the time, in his own accordance. He was driven now, exhausted but unrelenting, and cut through three or four sacks with diligence and skill. He finally came upon one that was unlike the others, one not so weak looking, or sick, or frail.

[Taliel Escabre]

The blood around him had brought Taliel to a sickened state. As the treacherous axe had cleaved the soft skin that had once been the back of a young man’s head, he could do nothing but look on in extreme fear. He had never seen such an act of complete and utter violence. The orcs were more savage than he thought…homicides, intent on letting their rescuers know that they were not afraid to kill those they freed. It made the scribe wonder why they had even been taken prisoner in the first place. If they were just to be put on the chopping block, why had they not done it when they first stumbled upon him? By now, perhaps he wished they would have.

The gag tasted strongly of vomit now, as the disturbing scent of blood mixed with sweat was now what filled the air. The smell that had given him hope had somewhat diminished, and his stomach felt as though it were turning inside out. He was jarred to his senses, however, as he watched the man who had first rescued the boy attack. The speed and grace with which he attacked was spectacular. It was a display of dexterity that Taliel had no answer for. He looked like a human, only years ahead of the scribe himself. Such men are what legends are made out of, for Taliel had seen them before…a particular slayer crept into his mind.

His thoughts quickly reverted, however, back to the battle at hand. Every move that was made seemed to be with such elegance, and the blades danced through orc flesh as though it were thin linen. He could not help but sit and think about how much each of the brutes deserved what they were getting.

“Mmmph! Ungffffmmph!” he moaned, interpreting into some sort of cheer. There was little Taliel could do from his current position, and though he felt bad admitting it, there was little he would have been able to do even if he wasn’t bound. The scribe knew his abilities were much more suited for out-of-combat, even if the scrolls he created could be used as deadly weapons. It seemed, however, that his scrolls were not needed here. The sleek-haired stranger had a weapon all his own.

The bright waves of electricity reflected vibrantly in Taliel’s eyes, the bright white tendrils slashing and ripping away at the faces of each orc, desperately trying to find skin to latch onto. The savages howled in pain, clawing at their face but only finding their hands to be burned as well. Each bolt was like a vine, creeping onto and attaching itself to anything that was near it. It was quite a light display, and something the scribe had never seen before in all his travels.

No longer struggling, he watched as the two crumpled to the ground in massive heaps, singed faces digging deep into the dirt. The scribe’s stomach was still slightly weak, but he knew that now he might at least be rescued. He sat and tried his best to wait as the man freed the other captives, awaiting his own freedom and praying that it came swiftly. His face returned to it's somewhat normal tanned color, and his heart slowed it's breakneck pace.

Soon, he thought, soon I'll be out of this wretched place...

Snapped out of his thought process, he looked up to see that he was next to be rescued. He tried to appear grateful and less downtrodden, but it was difficult when the tattered ropes were slowly brushing away his skin. The face was determined, though tired, and Taliel did his best to turn himself around to assist with his own freeing.

[INDK]

The danger was over for the time being. The orcs still alive had run away, most likely to barricade themselves up in their fortress. Hazaar looked up at Damon with obvious admiration. The young bard had met all of the members of the High Bard Council, so incredible power was nothing particularly unique for the young elf. None the less, it was clear that Hazaar had been impressed. Perhaps it was because Damon had so much power at such a young age, and such a single minded willingness to use it for good. Regardless, it was two good minutes before Hazaar could manage a response.

“Uhh… you, wow… let’s go help Taliel…” Hazaar finally said.

Damon frowned. The reincarnated general was a bit suspicious. “Who’s Taliel…” he asked. Damon figured that it was one of the newly liberated prisoners, however he wanted to know how Hazaar would know of one of their names. While the bard had particularly good divination skills, Damon doubted they really were so advanced as to know the names of random strangers they would be meeting in the forest.

Hazaar replied with a slight bit of sorrow in his voice. “That person there,” the boy said as he pointed over to a mousy mage tied up to a tree.

Normally, Damon might have laughed at the simplicity of the answer, but he wasn’t particularly in the mood. He had just exerted a lot of energy in the battle against the orcs, and it was particularly difficult to recover in a forest full of dangers. Of what little energy Damon had left, he had no intention of wasting any of it on jokes. “How do you know him?” Damon asked, extending out the words as if to warn that he had a limited amount of patience.

With a coy smile, Hazaar responded. “Remember the tea leaves?”

Damon’s eyebrows raised unamusedly. “Yes.”

“I told you about a meeting of three powers…”

“Taliel’s the third?”

“In a sense…”

Damon sighed at this. “You know,” he began. “I could really use a straightforward answer from you.”

Hazaar was particularly tart on the reply, as if he was hurt by Damon’s comment. “And I could use a straightforward answer from tea leaves once in a while too…”

Getting frustrated was a particularly frivolous use of his willpower, but Damon almost felt as if he couldn’t avoid it. He took a long sigh. “Well what do you know…”

“He rescued me with your help a long time ago,” Hazaar explained. “It’s because of him that I made it to the schools of magic…”
Damon nodded interestedly, though the former general was a bit nervous about meeting someone from his past. Every link to his past seemed to come with the burden of increased expectations. “Well then… where do we go from here?”

“I take the rest of the prisoners to Carnelost…” Hazaar replied.

Hazaar’s reply caused Damon’s eyes to bug out in shock. “You?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Hazaar answered calmly. “The tea leaves only called for there to be three powers…”

Damon sighed.

“You should get moving,” Hazaar suggested firmly. “The orcs might come back with reinforcements.”

[Storm Veritas]

It wasn’t long before he had released them all, rapidly untying them, freeing them from their binds. It was terrible, sobering, and brought a stern, sad face to the generally manipulative and dangerous scoundrel. Children, bagged and tagged, each more fragile and helpless than the next. His sadism had limits, and this was very far past the point of tolerance for the traveler.

Damon arrived soon with the little one, and they chatted up the boy that Veritas had identified as special. There was something about him, the little one said, that made him powerful. A quick kinship was immediately forming between Damon and the new boy, who Storm thought he heard the former General Kaosi refer to as “Taliel”. The whole thing was largely unsettling.

How can you all talk? How can you chit chat and discuss a plan right now, so soon removed from the slaughter? Little kids, or f*cking animals...?

His thoughts weren’t voiced, and although Damon could hear it if he wanted, it was more likely that the general chose not to. The attention was now lavished on the prisoner, and on plans. Hazaar was to take the prisoners back to “Carnelost”, wherever that may be. While Storm wished to intervene, he chose not to. The boys knew the woods far greater than he did, and had to know the dangers of traveling through them. Even the hard-hearted warrior doesn’t forget the face of the enemy.

His daggers sheathed, he ran his hands over his face, wiping sweat, tears, blood and bile away. Fragments of the stuff caught in his normally sleek hair, now a bit messed and dirty looking. His suit was trashed, and he wouldn’t represent himself well on the Spire, should he ever get there. It was the least of his concerns.

Somehow I don’t think that money is the order of the day for this particular adventure. Raiaera is unsettled on purpose.

He looked down at all of them, and knelt to speak to Hazaar first.

“Take them, then, and bring them to safety. Move quick, move quiet, and don’t look back. Good luck, my little friend.”

With a smile, he gave his wishes to the boy. The children were largely unharmed, just emotionally devastated. This could be a class of serial killers, sadists, or philanthropists. Such young trauma sent people down multiple paths. As for Storm, Damon, and the newly acquired Taliel, there was only one direction. They were to press on, and not be left behind. They would continue. They would reach the spire.

“Let’s go, then.” Simple.

[Taliel Escabre]

Finally free, Taliel stood and rubbed his wrists. Had his throat not been dry as sandpaper, he would have been rigorously thanking his rescuer. He was quite grateful, even if he could do little more than stand there in confusion at the whole ordeal. Who was this man, and why had he stormed the orc camp? Was he really so skilled as to defeat, or at least frighten off, an entire camp? It was then that he noticed the others that stood behind him. The scribe's jaw dropped open and his heart began pounding with joy.

There stood Hazaar, the young boy whom he and a trusted companion had helped reach Eluriand and the schools. Hope flooded into his heart as he was prepared to rush over. His eyes shot around first, in hopes of seeing the one who had helped him progress far from the cowardly scribe who had first set out. Damon Kaosi was no where in sight...or at least, he did not appear to be. Taliel's eyes then fell upon the boy that the child prodigy had been talking to. Appearing somewhat older than Hazaar, yet still young, he had a strange familiarity to him.

The two had approached, but stopped to converse prior to reaching Taliel. It seemed they were discussing something with this third stranger, as if trying to decide or formulate a plan. Standing completely still, the spell scribe continued to be fixated on the unknown boy. There was just something about him that the scribe could not put his finger on. It took him a few moments before he could pry his eyes off the trio.

Looking around at the weathered children and other prisoners, Taliel realized just how much better he had faired. The front of his robe was not stained with vomit or urine, blood or tears. All the ragged faces looked distressed and scared, huddling close together as if they were still frightened that they had not escaped the danger. This was true, Taliel thought. The poor prisoners probably had little idea of the true dangers of the Red Forest, though many were sure to learn them if they tried to escape by themselves. Few could traverse the Forest alone, even fewer who knew the secret paths and safe areas. Only those who had spent much time training within the University had such skills. Bladesingers were notorious for such knowledge.

Bladesinger! The realization hit him like a brick wall and caused him to whip his head in a quick rotation at the boy.

"Damon!?" he managed to choke, practically stumbling forward in an attempt to approach the boy. "What the...? What happened! Is it really you? I....er....I......" He was not quite sure what in that moment made him so sure that this was the companion he had not seen in quite some time, but there was just something. His throat still ached from deprivation of water, but now he was too confused and astounded to care anymore.

[INDK]

Damon didn’t know exactly how to reply to this Taliel. He had wished that Hazaar had stayed back. It would have provided the reincarnated general with a bit more reference about the past. However, now he was just going to have to somehow make by and hope that Taliel would forgive him for any memories that he should have had but didn’t.

Unsure how to respond to such an ebullient question from such a weary man, Damon first grabbed Taliel by the shoulders to steady him before he said anything else. “I am Damon...” he began. “Well sort of. Not exactly the Damon you knew, but Damon still.” With that explanation, Damon offered little more. He hoped his vagueness would make clear that he didn’t particularly want to answer anything more about who he was, why he looked so different from the other Damon, or anything else such as that.

Now, they were going to need to move. Hazaar was already marshalling the rest of the rescued out of the forest, and there was no guarantee that the orcs wouldn’t be back. Also the smell of spilled blood was likely wafting up into the trees, attracting blood vines that would have normally stayed away from an orc encampment for fear of fire. They were going to have to move quickly, but Damon knew that it was impossible. Taliel was too weak, it was apparent from a simple glance. His eyes were almost yellow with dehydration and every step seemed to be so belabored and weary.

At that moment, Damon wished that he’d thought to bring some water or something. Normally, it was prudent for all travelers coming to the Red Forest to bring supplies along with them. However, Damon and Hazaar had wanted to move quickly and didn’t want to be weighed down by anything extra. Now, Damon was regretting that decision.

“Good job Hazaar, bet you should have found something in the tea leaves about that…” Damon thought sarcastically. “Now we’re going to have to move on with this guy half dead… and Storm Veritas still mostly a stranger. What are we going to do for water, kill a blood vine for it?”

Damon shook his head. “I don’t suppose you have anything to drink do you?” he asked Storm. Damon really wasn’t sure why he asked the question. He didn’t see a water bottle on Storm, and it was unlikely that the warrior would keep one hidden somewhere the way a clever fighter might hide a surreptitious dagger.

Not waiting for an answer, Damon began to move. “We’re going to have to keep moving,” he said, speaking both to Taliel and Storm. “Keep an ear out for water, in addition to listening for the sounds of anything moving. There has to be a stream or a lake somewhere in here. If we’re lucky, we’ll find it. Either way, we can’t stay here. Taliel, you have to come with us… we’ll get you water as soon as we can.”

And with that Damon continued, deeper into the heart of the Red Forest. It was a dangerous place, the home of lethal creatures that Damon had seen before, but didn’t remember.

[Storm Veritas]

They turned to him when they needed him, which was fine by Storm. Role of protector, provider, and all of that ballyhoo could serve him well. Besides, water was a fair enough request. His canteen was running low at last check, but only a few sips would be necessary to tide the boy for a few minutes.

A quick flip of his shoulder, and the satchel was released, opened, and he rifled through the small burlap sack. The small sack held several wares for sale at the Spire, something which, given the current stage, seemed outright preposterous. Right on top of it all lay the small flask, black with metal trim, perfect. He grabbed it, but his eyes widened and brow furrowed as he lifted the thing.

The flask was wet, as were several of the trinkets inside. The liner of the bag had changed colors, darkening with relative uniformity. The flask had either broken or simply leaked. He tried to stay composed as he slowly and deliberately pulled the satchel back over his shoulder, careful to avoid the war-wounds and soreness. He tried not to be angry as he looked down at the boy, weary and exhausted.

He tried to stay composed, and he failed.

“MOTHERF*CKER!!!!” A single expletive was joined by Storm firing the flask into the woods, a hollow clank sound at the end of the violent journey. He didn’t care about being heard anymore. If fate was to take him, let it come and get it.

Son of a bitch! You can’t be serious! How can all this happen? Why? What the f*ck!?

The boys were a bit wide eyed, perhaps not new to vulgarity but possibly alarmed at the explosive temper. Their faces shook him, and the venom in his heart needed diffusion. He turned, walking away, hands clenched in iron globes, body steaming. This adrenaline would wear away soon, and he would suffer.

Relax. They need you, but you need them. Not very well gonna walk off this island alive. Not with all the wolf-trees and giant orcs and all the other crazy shit laying out there. You may be STRONG, but you’re not invincible.

Deep breaths. It took many to compose himself. He had done right, been fair and just, and the fates had rewarded him with an empty flask and isolation in what would have to be considered the worst place in the world. Red. It was still red everywhere, the scarlet trees and crimson-leaved forest floors, the blood on his clothes and the sunlight which filtered through the canopy above. There was no escape here, not alone. He needed them.

Ok. You’re supposed to be the adult here. Pull your shit together.

He returned to the boys after a moment or two, confused gazes waiting for him. He was not totally stoic, but remained somewhat cold as he spoke in a smooth, controlled pace.

“I’m sorry there. We can’t wait if we don’t have water. I can carry the boy, if he can’t walk.”

It sounded fair enough. An apology would have to be sufficient; he wouldn’t grovel. Dignity was still a more pertinent concern than logic.

“But we can’t stay here. We have to move out, have to get to safety. And we have to go now.”

[INDK]

(All bunnies with Taliel have been approved)

Damon knew that Storm was right. Whether or not they had water, they were going to have to move. The only reason they had to linger was gone, Hazaar and the rest of the escapees had already vanished from their sight. From there, Damon knew he was going to have to trust the young Turlin professor to get the rest of the group back. He had a different, more pressing task; rescuing Alisse. With that Damon let out a bit of a sigh. All these distractions had almost made him forget what his real goal had been all along. Merely getting in and out of the Obsidian Spire would not be enough.

However, the most pressing need was still to leave the clearing. With that, Damon grabbed the now unconscious Taliel and draped the scribe over his back. Taliel was quite heavy, and though Damon was considerably more muscular than an impression of his physique would normally suggest, it would still be a bit of a burden. Still, it was Damon’s burden to carry, and he had no intention of asking Storm.

“It’s enough that I’ve dragged this guy along with me this far,” Damon thought. “I’d just as soon ask him to leave except for the fact that Hazaar said he has to come…” The reincarnated general was going to listen dogmatically to what Hazaar had told him, especially because he missed having the certainty of being told what to do. In the LCC, he had always had Ashiakin at his side, teaching and guiding and offering instructions. Damon had thought that to be pressure back then, but now the boy realized just how entirely naïve he had been back then. This real world outside of the tournaments was so much more complicated. The enemies weren’t clearly defined and the tasks weren’t nearly as simple.

Perhaps most importantly, Damon had been looked on now as a leader. First by Hazaar, and now he felt by both Storm and Taliel as well. An undeserved reputation always preceded him, and it was something that Damon felt as if he never would be able to erase. Eventually, the reincarnation hoped that with time and other efforts, he might eventually be able to live up to some of the expectations that had been foisted upon him.

Thus Damon began moving, trying not to grunt under the weight of Taliel. He tried to show no signs of strain, and figured he was doing a good enough job of it. In the past, he must have managed to keep his suffering from people, so he had it within him to do the same now. “I suppose I must have been very tired all the time,” Damon mused. “If my soul is the same, I must have always been running around from here to there on these kinds of missions, and I probably told no one to complain about it, except maybe Hazaar, Alisse or Sevviel.”

Damon began to wonder about what it would be like if they did end up meeting Alisse. The primary goal of their mission was to search for clues, not necessarily bring her back with them, but Damon couldn’t help but to hope a bit more ambitiously. However, at the moment, he couldn’t invest himself too much in hopes. There were too many dangers in the Red Forest.


“Listen around for water,” Damon told Storm. “Be careful though, I’m sure other kinds of creatures are going to be out there somewhere, any kind of waterhole here is probably going to bring out more of the shapeshifting wolves…”

The boy grunted after he spoke. Carrying Taliel was harder than he'd thought.

[Storm Veritas]

Damon lifted the boy with the ease and power of a young man whom possessed some uncanny ability. This was, of course, no secret to Storm, who knew full well that Kaosi was the key – a stud horse to ride all the way to victory. The boy had almost limitless potential, and would undoubtedly still had more power to unlock from within his already vast storehouse of ability.

When asked to keep an eye out for water, the leery traveler didn’t wish to stray far from what seemed a beaten path. The journey had been long and awful, and it seemed logical that the things in the periphery, the beasts in the brush were not worth the risk to investigate a gurgle, bubble, or crackling noise. Best to leave well enough alone.

The scarlet nature of the forest became drab after a few more moments of walking. The air became somewhat fresher tasting, and he could live with it. His soreness, fatigue, and general malaise were beginning to grip at him. The children that ran the other way were likely not as fortunate, he figured, as there likely weren’t two paths for a few hundred yards without some instigant horrible.

Red, red, red. Terrible color, everywhere. How big is this forest? Should I be headed further IN, or just cut my losses and head out? It isn’t like I could very well open up a business with the Obsidian Spire, it’s a little tough to get a god-damned horse and carriage through here…

The sound of a bubble plop caught his ear once more, this one very close to his foot. Looking over to the right, a wrinkle of what could have been clear liquid running in a cavity in the ground. It was traveling quickly through a thin hole, one six inches from the bark of a vine-laden tree.

Running water! Something that might actually not be riddled with disease and death! Isn’t it just raining f*ckin’ roses!

He stooped to look, the inspection holding true. He reached a long left arm into the hole in the ground, expecting the water source which had apparently run dry. What he received instead was a thick, cold hand gripping his wrist. A tentacle, of sorts. He pulled back reflexively, feeling the unseen tentacle strain, but not give. It was strong.

“Shit shit shit shit shit! Damon, get the F*CK over here! What is this?!”

He was wrestling himself back from the illusory water source, and didn’t notice the creeping vine snake itself across his left ankle. It was smooth, and strong, and only when he felt the leafy thing bite into his leg did he recognize that familiar tentacle pull. Horrifying, he instantly feared being torn in two. His hands exploded in electric heat instinctively, forcing the first of the vines to release its icy clasp on his wrist.

With the second vine wrapped taut around his leg, a leach-like thing suckling life from him, Storm sat up to zap away the nasty thing.

He was not prepared.

Up, high into the trees Veritas was lifted, flung effortlessly by the fast raising vine. He shot upward in a dizzying ascent, reaching 60 feet before he stopped just as sudden. Now suspended, dangling, he looked to his left and right. Reddened, overdried sacks of what was once elven flesh hung like dried butcher meat in other vines. He wasn’t the first victim of the trap, and he wouldn’t be the last.

Glaring down at the terrible, death-defying height he would have to endure were he to cut himself free, Storm briefly considered the lesser of two evils. A fighter to his grave, he reached to his hip for a knife that had recently fallen from his satchel, as they are wont to do when extended upside-down.

“HEY! Big man! Up here! Little help?”

Damon could leave him, cut him down, or get creative. Storm’s last option was simply to burn away the vine which held him, but the fall that would come after was nothing he wished to address. Besides, as he had learned in the Cell, the fires his flames licked to the world often grew a mind of their own, and it was best to avoid more of them.

[INDK]

Damon took a few seconds to reply, and his immediate relief at finding the water was quickly eliminated by the blood vine and Storm’s cry for help. Having Taliel hanging off his back cut into Damon’s reaction time, and the normally agile boy had barely managed to grab his machete by the time that Storm was lifted up way out from his reach. Damon cringed. It would have been easy enough had he time to start some kind of fire, scare away the blood vine after it had merely wrapped its tendril around Storm’s ankle, but now Damon knew he was going to have to get creative.

Still, Damon fidgeted with his machete, contemplating just tossing the weapon up into the air to cut Storm down. “That’d be the same as leaving him here,” Damon quickly calculated. “There’d be no way that he’d survive.” Even if Storm had somehow gotten lucky and merely broken a bone, that would leave the man as good as dead out here in the Red Forest. Damon was already trying to carry one unconscious person with him, and could scarcely afford another invalid. Furtively, the reincarnated general started to look around, trying to find something or anything that might help him.

Roughly, Damon set Taliel down onto the grass in a hurry. He was a bit reluctant, knowing that he left the unconscious scribe victim to an attack from another blood vine, but at the moment he had little choice. There would be no way that he could rescue Storm with that much weight on his back. Already, it had taken a bit of a toll on him. Damon’s back was a bit sore, and it felt a bit stiffer than usual. He didn’t care to think about it, but in the back of his mind, Damon knew that his natural speed and agility had been compromised already.

As Damon looked around, the more and more he thought the task seemed impossible. There was nothing around him that seemed welcoming, merely blood red leaves, lecherous blood vines and the threat of something new being very real. They were still not far from the orc settlements, but Damon knew that they had moved far enough away, that other dangers like the Dur’Taigen had also become just as likely.

“What am I supposed to do?” the one time general thought in a passing fancy of hopelessness. The task just seemed too overwhelming, but even then, Damon had never considered giving up. It wouldn’t be in his nature, especially since his former self would have never considered the possibility. Generals never left a man behind, so now Damon knew that he couldn’t either. In his frustration, Damon clenched his fist around his machete so tightly that it made an imprint in his hand. His face was just as tight, riveted in one position as if it had been etched out of stone. Drops of sweat now embedded themselves in little crevices all around his face. Damon was going to have to make a move, and he was going to have to work fast.

Somehow, he was going to have to get higher than Storm. Damon knew that, because if he wasn’t able to let the man down, he was going to have to find a way to pull him up. There was only one option, a large oak that seemed to have grown for generations. It was particularly strong, tall and easily able to support the weight of two men, but also festering with blood vines. Still, it was the only option Damon had.

“Move quick,” he decided, knowing that he could ill afford to come up with much more of a plan. He grabbed the machete in his teeth and began to climb. His superior reflexes and premonition allowed him to know when a blood vine would grab for him in advance, and Damon planned his climb accordingly. He moved erratically once he’d gotten to the branches, often moving down only to climb back up to a position of strength.

Damon wanted to call out to Storm, but he couldn’t with the machete in his mouth. Still, the boy’s plan was growing more and more vivid as he moved up the tree. It was far from perfect when he reached a bough that had offending blood vine draped around, but Damon had to act. Secretly, he wished for some kind of fire. His premonitions had already warned him he had only forty five seconds to act, and so he was going to need to work quickly.

With that, Damon spit his machete back into his hands and called out to Storm. “Grab anything!” he shouted, and sliced down at the vine. For a moment, the vine convulsed, spraying a sick mixture of blood and plant fluid out at Damon before he could drop his machete and grab onto the vine.

Damon grunted. Storm was even heavier than he expected. Now the boy lay down on his stomach, trying his best to get a firm enough grip on the vines. The plant was wet and slippery, and unless Storm could find some kind of branch to hold onto, Damon would have to let him go. His hands ached already, and other vines were already heading towards him.

“HURRY!” Damon shouted. Storm was going to have to move if either of them were to survive.

[Storm Veritas]

He wasn’t suspended in the air for long before Kaosi was scrambling, and the amazing youth was at him, above him more quickly than he could believe. With a thick thorn hard pressed through his ankle, Storm was limited in mobility, the spike giving him a slowed, nearly paralyzing feeling. Below it, beneath it, the hapless warrior was also beginning to feel lightheaded, as though this was nothing but a lucid dream.

Hang on, don’t wilt. Fight through this. Force through this.

He grimaced as he heard in the distance the commands of the little general, the forceful decision to “hang on”, although this brought with it some fear. Storm fought hard to shake himself free, not from the physical constraint of the bloodvine, but rather the hapless, somewhat lackadaisical malaise that the toxins from the plant were pumping into him. Were he to submit to indifference, it would all be over.

Find something, reach something, grab something…

His eyes frantically danced across the treetop, a desperate search for something, anything. The thin branches of the upper canopy was nothing sturdy, although it was all there would be for him today. It was flimsy, but it felt good within his grasp, and his hand snapped taut around it, clenching for dear life. His eyes again shot to Damon, the boy that had bought him the precious few seconds. The “thank you” wouldn’t be necessary, or appropriate. He felt the grip of the brave lad release, and Storm gave a quick, final slash at the vine with his free hand. The thing broke through its core like a snake, spattering blood and squealing.

As the vine was cut, Storm fell, his rigid grasp on the small branches firm. The branches bent tight like a well strung yew bow, but then the tender snap sent him reeling. The release of the branch also disoriented him, sending him plummeting below.

F*CK! Damage control, land soft.

He turned his body to expose his back to whatever would meet him first. Due to the odd trajectory of his fall, it was fortunately lower brush and not that awful Raiaeran earth that would touch him first. The crackle of other branches as he hit them thundered, and as they gave he fell further still. After impact on the lower scarlet-clad limbs, he hit the ground.

With a mighty thump he hit the ground, the wind knocked from his body and the dust billowing away from him like a tiny wind storm. His body felt broken, but he was alive, and wouldn’t be so lucky if not for Damon. Exasperated, he looked up to the treeline and the brave little elf that had saved his life. Nervously, he wiggled his toes and fingers – the response was immediate. He couldn’t sit up right away, as he would later find out that he had cracked four ribs and nearly broken his back, but he was alive.

And the show can go on. Thank you god…

[INDK]

Storm may have gotten to the ground easily, but such was not the case for Damon. The blood vines now all headed for him, if for the fact that this was the closest they got to finding him immobile. Damon knew he was going to have to move quickly. There were just too many vines around him to cut through all of them. He didn’t have any fire, so that would be useless. For a moment, he thought to call out to Storm, but thought that it wouldn’t be worth it. Even if somehow Storm did hear him, the flames would likely engulf himself as well. However, Damon needed to work fast. Vines were moving quicikly, from every angle. The boy sliced at the first one, nipping it off at the tip as the vine retreated back like an injured animal. The next few suffered the same fate, but they were beginning to get too thick, coming in large enough droves that it would have been impossible for even someone of Damon’s reflexes to fight them all.

He was going to have to get down, and there was pratically no way to climb down. Below him was nothing more than the vines surging upward. Damon was going to have to find one that was hanging down. He’d have to be smart, but he was going to have to be lucky as well. Soon enough, the boy found a vine hanging down before him. It was going for Taliel, and now draped itself along the ground. With its blood seeking tendrils that far from Damon, it provided the boy with the perfect opportunity to slide down its body, only to slice off the tip near the end. Thus, the boy worked quickly, severing himself from the vine less than five feet from the ground.

Still, Damon landed with an awkward thud. He had been so busy fending off the other vines that he had failed to take care of his own landing. The boy cringed. His back was sore, and that was an injury he could ill afford.

“RUN!” he shouted at Storm. Something was going to have to be done about Taliel. Damon didn’t think he could carry the scribe without hurting himself much more. His back had been sore before, and now Damon was sure it was bruised as well. It would be enough of a struggle for Damon to outrun the vines on his own, they were going to have to find some source of flame or water if they were going to survive. Damon had heard stories about the blood vines before, and knew they could be relentless. “GET TALIEL!” he also barked out.

He hoped Storm would be better at carrying the scribe than he. Damon couldn’t be sure, but at the very least, Storm was physically bigger. Damon might have had enhanced strength, but even then, the scribe was bigger than he. Given what they’d been through, it would be the least to ask.

Still, Damon knew he’d have to keep the vines at bay. With that, he punched the ground and began to spin again, spewing out another tornado of lasers and organic debris. “I’ll catch up with you!” Damon shouted out through his self created maelstrom. “Move now… look for water or fire!”

Damon truly hoped Storm heard. The situation could ill afford a pair of heroes.

[Storm Veritas]

No way I let you die out here, my friend. Not like this. Not now.

The selfless Kaosi asked Storm to run, but there was another solution. Perhaps, he thought, he could do both, grabbing the injured child Taliel and destroying the threat to Damon at the same time. Fire was one of the little tricks he had up his sleeve, and thinking quickly, he moved with speed and determination. His body screamed as he staggered himself straight, and stood apart from Damon, behind the boy who had the bloodvines reaching for him.

A hand reached for his satchel, and he drew forth a second bag from it. Tiny, leather, and still tied and full. The black powder bag was a small “gift” from a certain Radasanth merchant, one who sold cannons. Veritas had once considered the five-finger discount an investment for the merchant. Today, it could be life saving. He threw the bag with his left hand, a soft underhand toss at the core of the vines.

“Get down, Damon! GET THE F*CK DOWN!”

Reaching over the boy, the right hand steadied, a single index finger pointing towards the bag. A small, powdery blue tendril of electricity snaked from his hand, and as soon as it fired, he was pulling back at the brave young elf who had so recently saved him.

The explosion was substantial, yet not devastating. A squeal behind him, and a splattering of more terrible, thick red through the forest about them. The smell of burning flesh and smoke once again began to traipse into his lungs, but he wanted nothing to do with it. He had to move, there would be no time to sit, stew, and assess damage.

With one step, he was turned, Taliel lying nearly motionless on the ground. Two and three, he swooped, reaching low and grabbing the boy. The lad was actually heavier than he looked, and Storm had to snap his hips to toss the child over his left shoulder. Within five seconds, he was ushering Damon along as he ran, looking only forward.

“Let’s go. Still don’t see any water, but it isn’t back there. Come on!”

His breath was short, but his determination steadfast. He couldn’t stop, and his emotions slurred the line of sanity. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and he ran with incredible speed, far past the reach of the stretched, severed, and ravaged bloodvines. Each step drove, his soreness and pain dulling and distancing as he ran. Whatever this was, wherever they were headed, it would be a voyage to the spire. They would reach it, they would get the boy the water, they would save the child.

Somewhere, in the deep recesses of the sprinting mage’s mind, the concept of profit and entrepreneurialism echoed quietly. The soft, thumping whir of greed and ambition was all but dead. Today, running desperately and shuffling forth, Storm thought only of doing the right thing. It felt almost disingenuous to play the role of hero. It felt too out of character, the classic villain helping the helpless.

It felt damned good.

[INDK]

Damon followed Storm. He was taking all his energy just to maintain his tornado, and at the sound of Storm’s warning, the boy was too happy to oblige. Light headed, sweaty and tired, Damon began to run, following Storm and staggering as his lungs felt ready to burst from overuse. He had never imagined that this was going to be so difficult, just getting to the Red Forest. Still, he was beyond the point where he could do anything but surge forward. Nonetheless he was tired and weary, and Damon knew that they couldn’t run forever. All the dangers of the Red Forest would eventually catch up with them.

“We… need… to… listen… for… water…” Damon managed, each word the most he could manage between gasps for air. Suddenly, things began to seem a lot clearer. The boy knew where he was, and how to get to the Obsidian Spire. “There… is… a river… anda… tunnel. We’ll take… the tunnel.”

He knew Storm would question how he could know something like that, but flatly, Damon didn’t care. In a moment like that, survival was more important than explaining how it was that they’d survive. Damon assumed he was receiving a memory from his previous self, and that seemed to be the most likely explanation. Often times memories came back to him as instincts, and it wasn’t unlikely that this one would be any different. The old General Kaosi had probably known this area well, at least from the stories that Hazar had told him.

Thus, Damon was willing to trust his instincts, and when they told him to veer left, he obeyed them, tugging quickly on Storm’s shoulder so that the older man knew the direction to go. “This had better be something good,” Damon figured. He didn’t know if they could survive another attack if needed. He had already extinguished a good amount of his energy, and Damon likewise doubted that Storm really possessed a whole bunch more of that explosive powder that had come in handy back with the vines. It had been enough for one escape, but there were predators in the Red Forest that were much cleverer than the plants.

Soon, though it couldn’t have been soon enough for the tired boy, Damon stumbled upon both a river and a small tunnel. He didn’t know where the tunnel had come from, but for some reason, he knew that the tunnel represented something from the past. “Let’s drink,” Damon said. “I think we’re safe here. I have an intuition that the tunnel there is going to lead us to the spire, so lets take it.”

Offering no more of an explanation, Damon kneeled down before the lake of running water and began to drink greedily. The hot air all around him seemed to evaporate under the welcome relief. For a few brief moments as the cool fresh water slid down his throat, Damon felt completely secure. The dangers and importance of his task melted away for a moment and the boy felt completely free.

[Storm Veritas]

He followed Damon on a combination of blind faith and desperation. With Taliel beginning to weigh heavily in his arms, there was little option left for argument. They had neither time nor safety. As Kaosi sprinted forward, Storm couldn’t help but marvel at the little elf’s speed. Although Veritas was a burner by human standards, the elves seemed to float, their feet barely touching earth before they drove another thin, powerful stride. Of course, having the dying lad in his arms didn’t make the voyage any easier.

When they arrived at a rapid turn and descent into a cave-like structure, relief washed over Storm in an awesome wave. Into the smallish tunnel did Kaosi disappear, with a river tumbling gently down the western wall of the large hole. It looked as though the water had bored a large hole through the Raiaerian earth, and Storm wondered briefly if the chasm still ever filled to capacity. Should that happen with them inside, they would be trapped and killed.

Don’t think of it now, think of the boy. Save the boy.

The tunnel seemed relatively deep, and only a few small pockholes in the roof combined with well ushered light from their backside leant them the light needed to move forward. The walls looked to be a dull sienna-colored clay, and the scarlet light that filtered in through the ceiling trickled over their faces in a morbid shower. Damon did not hesitate to drink, however, and appeared fine. Running his fingers through it, Veritas was stunned by how cool and appealing the water was, despite the blood-red complexion offered by the dim ambiance. He scooped a small sip of it in his hand, and sipped the tiny taste between his lips. It wasn’t precisely pure, but it was wet, and seemed to be innocent.

Laying the boy Taliel gently down, he retrieved a small flask from his satchel. It was normally used for whiskey, but that would do him little good now. A quick sip, a bit poured over a few wounds, and Storm lowered the vial into the water. The quick, popping bubbles ceased when the vial was full, and the mage gently dropped some down the throat of the spectacled lad. A cough erupted immediately, and a wide, dimpled grin spilled over the face of the normally cynical mage.

“Easy boy… don’t take too much too soon!”

It was good to see Taliel drink, and within a few vials worth he was sitting up, propping himself up with a wide eyed and woozy glare. He was clearly confused and yet strong looking, and it made the veteran mage almost giddy with delight.

“Where… where are? Who the hell are you!?” The boy’s effrontery brought forth a large laugh from the tall wizard, who felt altogether fatherly for a change. How had this all happened?

“Easy boy. You’d better ask your friend Damon. He brought you here. We’re going to the Spire, and without him you’d probably still be bloodvine meat.”

It lacked the tact that he would normally display, but it was true enough. Damon had saved the boy, and Storm knew that he too had played a bizarre, heroic role. Where this river could take him brought hope and fear. He was optimistic aside the legendary little general, but kept a keen eye on the water for the surge of a fin, flipper or bared set of teeth.

[INDK]

Before he entered the tunnel, Damon looked at Storm and Taliel. He felt a great deal of gratitude to have got this far, especially now that he felt as if everything would rectify itself soon enough. IT was a foregone conclusion now to the reincarnated general that the tunnel was a passageway to the spire. Absolutely everything about it seemed artificial, as if it had been made by him or his allies in the past.

“It’s not even really all that hidden…” Damon marveled. It was close to the river, and there were no real efforts to hide the wooden door underneath brush or any other sort of forestry. There, in the middle of all the blood red trees, the carved wooden door lay on the ground. In truth, Damon didn’t even know if it led to a tunnel at all. He just felt it did.

“Whenever you’re ready, follow me,” he told Storm. Damon wanted to investigate the tunnel all by himself, just because he felt it was his responsibility. These intuitions as much as they were a blessing, were also a curse. The fact that they came to him and him alone meant that he was responsible for carrying them out. Most people wouldn’t even believe him when he had these feelings, and the boy even doubted that Storm was going to follow him. Up to this point, it had been desperation, but self preservation instincts usually dictated a different action when the command was to dive deep into a dark hole.

However, once Damon opened up the door, he realized it would be a lot easier to convince Storm to come with him. “It’s light down here…” he said, though he was thinking aloud as much as he was talking to Storm. There was a ladder down a few feet to get to the actual tunnel, and the whole thing seemed illuminated by torches. They would have had to be enchanted to be burning that long.

Now, Damon knew he had to descend. Even if this path didn’t lead to the Obsidian Spire, he had been directed on the path for an important reason. He just didn’t know what it was yet. “This is why I need Hazaar,” he thought, in a moment of sarcasm. “I could use someone to tell me what’s in the future…”

The fact was, Damon was a bit frightened. He unsheathed his machete the moment his feet hit the floor, and he moved curiously through the tunnel. The torches were different than any others Damon had seen before, they were made of small pieces of glass and were connected to each other by long strands of wiring. It looked like technology, which was odd, given that technology didn’t have a particularly strong track record in Raiaera. These lights, save for one or two that flickered inconsistently, all burned brightly.

“We’ve got a number of mysteries here now,” Damon muttered. He wondered what it was he had done in the Red Forest before this- other than losing Alisse.

[Storm Veritas]

Damon moved forward with an inquisitive eye, descending further down and away from them. Let the boy wander. It will come back. Storm had put some things together, and part of it was that either Damon repressed memories of what had created him or had simply didn’t remember. It didn’t matter; what was important was that the boy was here, helping, saving. Doing his hero thing.

Hero thing… Sort of rubs off, doesn’t it?

Taliel was coming to, his eyes sharpening, focus glaring a bit. He didn’t say anything, and instead chose to simply soak in his surroundings. The tall mage figured the newly awakened lad may know this place, and would bring news gently.

“You were bitten by a blood-vine-thing. Not really sure what it was. Damon and I grabbed you, took you here. Damon knew to get you water, he knew where to take you. You’re a lucky young man to have a friend like that. When you’re ready, we’ll go down to meet with him.”

Taliel smiled, those intelligent eyes and bright teeth shining back with promise and hope. It was a good thing to have him here, alive and doing better by the second. What had gone on thus far was so taxing, so utterly exhausting. To be alive was in itself a good thing.

Storm finally let the boy alone, and tended to his own need. He heartily scooped at the river, and within seconds had drunk several handfuls of the water. He greedily wiped an arm across his face, clearing blood and mud and water. Snapping his head back, he cleaned his face and neck and hands. His wounds still stung and needed attention, and he tended them quickly with water and cloth from his satchel.

“Oh… ok, Storm, are you ok? Can we go, you think now?” Taliel was timid, a bit frightened by the oft oafish Veritas, but his gentile demeanor was endearing.

They descended a ladder to follow General Kaosi, and quickly Storm witnessed light and glass and metal and electricity. The small cavern had a bunker mentality, but the technology on display had a distinctively Radasanthian feel. The young prodigy ahead was wandering about, with a cocked head that looked juvenile yet learned, an inquisitive posturing. He knew something.

“What have we here, General? See anything that rings a bell?” He hoped the comment to the military background could spark something. His curiosity had also been piqued.

Storm Veritas wasn’t the first Concordian to make it this deep. If there was a human peer in this world, the opportunity to meet him may not be far off.

[INDK]

Damon bristled a bit at the idea of being called a general. He no longer had any ties to the Raiaeran government, and with all the other aspects of his past he had to fix, the boy didn’t want any other added responsibilities. However, Damon thought it better not to correct Storm, but instead just continued walking as he figured out the best way to answer the question.

“This is kind of complicated to explain,” Damon began. His tone was apologetic, as if he expected Storm to dismiss his explanation as nothing more than raving lunacy. “But I died before… well I didn’t die, but someone that was me did. At least I guess. To be honest, sometimes I don’t know if I am Damon Kaosi or I’ve just been possessed by him. Thing is though, I get these impulses, visions and things like that, that answer questions based on what the General knew every now and then. They help me when I need it. I also guess I have his instincts. The first time I picked up a sword, I knew how to use it. The first time someone asked me a name, I replied Damon Kaosi.” Damon took a big exhale after he said all that. “And honestly, I still don’t understand exactly how all of it works. Sorry if that kind of an answer wasn’t what you were wanting, but to me it’s the truth I have.”

Damon doubted that he had offered Storm a satisfactory answer. However, it was the best answer that he had. Wincing with desire, the boy crossed his fingers in hope he might remember something else about the tunnel they were going through. It would have bene of considerable help, because as they moved deeper through it, things began to grow odder. No longer was the underground tunnel exactly perfect. There were signs that battle had taken chunks out of the purely symmetrical design of the tunnel. More surprising to Damon were the pieces of lumber and rusted military equipment lying around the sides of the tunnel. Save for rust or wear, these items were pilled neatly and just abandoned, as if their owners had just decided that the tunnel was no longer worth their time.

There had to be a story behind it, and Damon didn’t know how comfortable he felt about preceding without knowing it. While he wanted to trust his instincts, the boy was even beginning to wonder how much of a leap of faith it was for him. Damon had already drawn his machete, but now the reincarnated general’s hand tensed on its handle, as if he knew he was going to have to use the weapon soon. He was breathing heavy, and he knew he shouldn’t be. His nervousness was undoubtedly having some effect on Storm. However, before Damon could have said anything, he reached another ladder with a trap door that lead up.

“Well,” Damon said, taking a deep sigh before continuing, as if to give him one last chance to change his mind. “Let’s see where this leads.” Not wanting to put his machete back in its sheath, Damon held it between his teeth as he climbed the ladder, and then opened the trap door nervously. He exhaled in relief when he saw where he was. Surrounded by nothing other than pure dark rock, Damon knew he had arrived at the base of the Obsidian Spire.

Whatever was to happen from beyond here was known only to his Hazaar and perhaps his instincts, but Damon was still relieved. There were mysteries abound, but ones that could only be solved by climbing the spiral staircase up into the higher floors of the tower. Most of all though, Damon was going to find Alisse.

[Storm Veritas]

The words of the little hero came as little surprise to Storm. It seemed that the boy was the last to know in the matter. Stories passed quickly about Althanas, tales of lore and legend alike. Damon Kaosi was the most famous of them all, an elven general who had gained powers more immense than any before him or since. It was of no surprise to the mage that the diminutive lad’s claims seemed wild to him; they certainly seemed grandiose when Veritas first heard the whispers in some random Radasanth pub.

This was clearly a long way from the Silver Pub, however, and Damon was a long way from rumor. With a weakened Taliel struggling to climb the ladder, Storm found himself philanthropically offering his services. Taliel’s little fingers clasped around his neck, and he lifted the boy with ease. The ladder was long, and his body hurt to the bone, but he was in much better shape than the child.

“Easy son. Watch your head. Rides’ over.”

He felt Taliel nearly crumble as they reached the surface through the ladder. The sheen of black was unmistakable, and the spiraling staircase reminded him of that horrible place in Nyd. Nyd was the place where he had turned first, going from selfish anti-hero to outright evil. The loss of Selena was so far behind him now, and yet flashbacks like this stung to his core.

It’s over. These young men need you. You need them. Press on and man up.

He crouched to rest again after elevating himself. Another deep breath. He was getting tired quickly, it seemed, and the way his body cried this came as no surprise. Several deep cuts, bruises, and maybe even a few cracked ribs. His body heaved and struggled to get oxygen, but some stupid swell of pride forced him to appear strong. He had to seem like he had it together, even if his body cried otherwise. He had to keep on.

Taliel then looked up, the brave young man getting stronger, standing now. His eyes held a sort of somber look, devoid of the tear-clouds but unmistakably low. With his hands on his hips, he looked up to Kaosi, seeking some sort of guidance.

“I… I don’t know what to say.” His voice quivered, a combination of weakness and fear. “I owe everything to you two, but I can’t go on. I… I’m too beaten, too tired. Too weak. I need to rest. I can’t let you two carry me anymore. I can’t become a burden.”

“Technically…” Storm interrupted, his voice rich with sarcasm, “…you’ve been a burden since we had to go troll hunting. Hell, you’ve been half dead damned near this whole trip. You’re looking better now, boy, and I’ll be damned if we come this far and leave you behind when you can actually turn up useful!”

He smiled, dimples flashing and teeth bright. He liked the lad, and was proud of the heroic efforts that both he and Damon had undertaken. His eyes lowered, however, when he saw an apologetic face glare back from Taliel.

“Storm, I didn’t know you, and you have saved me. I can’t thank you enough…”

The ‘buts’ are always a bitch.

“…But I’m sorry. I need to hear it from Damon. I know you care for me, and have looked after me. But I’ve known him, and trust that he’ll be honest, not just kind.

“You’re too kind for me to see that answer as honest.”

The irony of the boy’s statement nearly knocked Storm back into the tunnel below, but he bit his lip and turned a patient eye to the showstopper Damon Kaosi.

[INDK]

Damon bit his lip. He never liked it when his ill-fitting legacy put him in situations that he felt he couldn’t control. Being asked to make this decision about Taliel was exactly one of those calls. Damon knew that no matter what he decided, someone would be unhappy. He stayed silent for a few moments, mulling over the considerations, before realizing that above all else, he just wanted to get to the top of the spire. Damon couldn’t explain why, but he was beginning to find his past to be more and more vivid. Things that were only instincts before were turning into memories with blurry pictures. Damon could now remember being in the Obsidian Spire before. “Twice!” he recalled. The first time, Damon had come with a crimson dark elf named Zephyriah and a vampire drow who had wanted him dead. Alisse had been there as well.

“Skie!” the boy mumbled. He wasn’t sure how that name had pursed up through his lips, but now the name and a rather shapely woman were floating through his mind, as if it were a free memory that couldn’t be attached to anything. Damon couldn’t remember its purpose, or its meaning, whether this Skie was a human, image or phantom, but it didn’t matter at all. She was connected to this place somehow, as was he.

With this sudden rush of memories, it was getting clear what they had to do. There must have been some magic in the Obsidian Spire that controlled memories, or perhaps the fact that the fates of this monstrous black tower and Damon Kaosi had been linked for so long that the building itself couldn’t bear to see Damon at anything else but his finest if they were prepared to fight another round. Damon heaved a big sigh, looked at Taliel first and then at Storm.

“Let him rest here for the time being,” Damon decided. “He needs his rest, and as far as the Red Forest goes he’s probably safe. You and me will check this place out, climb up the staircase and see what we find. If its safe up there, we bring Taliel and then we’ll begin hunting for the solution to my mystery.” He gulped, hoping his answer would be found as acceptable by Storm. Knowing that it may not, the boy added on a promise to soften the blow. He didn’t remember exactly what Storm Veritas had joined up with him for, but remembered it was a motive far from altruism. “And yeah… I’ll make sure Raiaera hears about your valor and your help so you can get your trade route or whatever…”

With that, Damon began to climb the spiral staircase, heading straight for the top. The Obsidian Spire was a tall building with many floors, but instincts told Damon that he had to climb higher. However, it was more than instincts now, Damon could remember that the climaxes of both his previous adventures at the Obsidian spire had ended up with him climbing up the tower.

The boy gulped reflexively, saying nothing as his entire body shook with nervous anticipation. Everything about Damon was full of mixed emotions, his eyes open wide to see the future, but they were recoiling at some of the memories that were popping back into the boy’s head. He could remember the Citadel, where he had brutally sliced up an opponent so ferociously that the Ai’bron monks had been unable to do anything to heal him. Damon remembered knowing Ashiakin in the past, and just how wicked the Prince of Panic had been, and now he couldn’t believe he had helped the ice demon back into fame with the LCC.

With all these memories returning, Damon felt almost a complete and utter sensory overload. So many things he had loved and hated were returning to him, yet in a way that left so many blanks and untold stories. He still didn’t understand what had brought Alisse to the Obsidian Spire.

Eventually, Damon reached the top, only to find one of the relics from his past waiting there. Rapier drawn, a dark elven vampire now stood behind a giant black orb that hovered in the center of the wicked room. The vampire laughed. The windows were all open, demonstrating that somehow, this vile creature had found a way to be impervious to sunlight. Wicked winds that had no source from beyond swirled around the room, seving as a harbinger for the evil magic that was about to take place.

“Welcome,” the vampire said. He nodded cordially to both Damon and Storm. “I assume at least one of you remembers me.”

“Raspien,” Damon said knowledgably.

Raspien nodded. “With a surprise!” he said wickedly. The blade of his rapier began to spin wickedly. It glowed with a sick green and yellow tint.

Damon’s eyes dropped. A sudden memory popped into his head, and he knew the significance of the weapon. Overcome both by the significance of the memory and the awe of the sword before him, Damon remained silent.

[Storm Veritas]

He wasn’t sure why Damon had such doubt in his voice. Storm felt that he had empowered the lad to make decisions very frequently; he was surprised at the lack of confidence the youth displayed. The mention of a trade route stunned him, as Veritas had long chalked up the mission as a dead one. Here, he found himself following the tides, merely trying to survive in this crazy, foreign world. He followed Damon, the lad taking bold steps around the stairs.

There were many stairs, and Storm had never been fond of heights. Sticking to the base middle of the spire, he climbed with very short, very steep steps. The steps were shorter and more inclined towards the middle, and it felt like climbing a tedious, twisting mountain. By the time he had reached a resting plateau, his thighs burned and his wounds flared in agony. His frequent smoking burned in his lungs, and he was coughing considerably.

Damn… I’m getting f*cking old…

He raised his eyes quickly to the center piece, a large, looming elf that he recognized instantly. The voice that Kaosi mouthed sent a chill through him. Raspien. In his early days, Storm had battled the tall demon on the streets of Radasanth. Raspien was wildly more powerful than him, and tossed him to the curb like rotten fruit. It was all over some stolen trinkets, he remembered, a wildly overzealous constable all too eager to dole out corporal, sometimes capital punishment.

He looks bigger now, but he doesn’t know me. Doesn’t know what I’ve become.

Storm’s swell of confidence subsided rapidly as the demonic blue-skinned beast quickly dispatched General Kaosi. His glowing blade was a sort of diseased color, shimmering with all the radiance of a puddle of vomit. Stay away from that. Mental notes were helpful.

“Easy, slick, you still look just as big and slow as ever. I’m afraid…” he had to stop to cough. The hack completely broke his confident swagger, tipping his hand of vulnerability. “… afraid I’ve got some, ahem,…” another cough. Intimidation was a bitch during an emphysemic attack for a twenty-something.

“Screw it. Let’s go.”

His blades had found their way to his palms as he began to strafe, slowly rotating about the platform in a counterclockwise dance routine. Raspien followed turn, tall and lumbering with a stoic and malignantly composed face. They circled the orb, some terrible black thing that irradiated a very dark energy. Storm would have to strike first.

Stay at range. Don’t get close.

He stepped hard to his left, quickly closing the gap. Touching his blades together, he felt his hands sizzle as the dark elf charged. A mighty blast ushered forth, and the elf came through it as though it were but a splash of water. The daggers began to fly.

Raspien was fast, his rapier wicked, and it spun with incredible speed. Storm was defensive as the brutal blows came down in rapid succession. Overhand right. Slicing left-hand. Spinning thrust, reverse strike. The clang of metal on metal came in a tightly wrapped symphony. It was instinctive, and would be graceful, perhaps gorgeous were it less deadly. They moved through the top room with frantic steps. Three times Storm was backed into the rail, taking a quick glimpse from his periphery to view the long, long, long way down. Each time his stomach turned, and his face lowered.

“Not as fast as me, big fella.” He smiled at the elf, but couldn’t act honestly. He was terrified. Raspien was on the advance and he knew it, and could strike with his great height from such a range that Storm was helpless to counter. On two occasions Veritas could skillfully attack the hands or wrists of the big elf with a vicious slash, but his skin and fingers were incredibly hard and tough, and the blood drawn over them didn’t slow or soften his grip on the heavy, abominable sick-green blade.

“Fast enough, little boy.” Raspien was hissing, his voice low and awful. Whatever growth he had entertained as Storm became more powerful was phenomenal. It was cat and mouse now, and he was through playing.

With a final double-move, Raspien struck high and low, slicing a thin quiver across the belly of the outmatched Veritas. Storm stepped back, slamming his lower back into the rail, sliding to the floor and terrified to relinquish his own grip on the daggers. The burning was horrible, yet he never looked away from Raspien, who seemed to torment him from a few feet away. The burn at his stomach… it was too much.

The vision became cloudy, even as he attempted to keep composed. It wasn’t a simple wound. There was something else, something awful in the sword. Confused and scared, he continued to slip, listening to the distant sound, the echoing laughter of the mighty Raspien. Quickly, the darkness seized him.

[INDK]

As the fight began, Damon was unable to help. Raspien and Storm may have been engaged with each other, but the glowing sword had decided to take Damon on itself. “I’ve held your memories for a while,” the malevolent spirit that lay within the weapon declared. “It was my revenge, for everything you’d done. And interestingly, you were more obedient to me while I’ve had them. It seems you don’t like taking orders, but with selective memories I could lead you to the Obsidian Spire like a mouse running after cheese.”

The battle between Storm and Raspien continued, and the sword kept speaking to Damon. No one but the boy could understand what the sword told him, and his face was turning white as his body was drenched with sweat. To debilitate the boy, the sword was giving Damon back all his memories at once, and they were becoming too much for the young amnesiac to bear.

“You could have had all this power, everything you offered, I would have given you if you had only taken it,” the spirit within the sword declared. “Now you’re going to die, memories restored, so you know exactly what you’ve lost.”

Damon blinked, choking back tears. He knew the spirit in the sword. He had found the weapon in the Obsidian Spire the first time he had ever arrived in the place. It had been a journey he had forgotten about until now, the journey where he had first met Alisse. In a desperate plea for shelter, he had stayed within its Obsidian confines in order to avoid attacks from the shape shifting wolves. It had called itself the Malebolge then, and it had offered Damon unlimited power, as long as that power was to go towards selfish ends.

The boy had refused then, but now he was filled with regrets. So many memories from a life of regrets filled his soul. Suddenly, Damon’s heart was filled with the knowledge of the good left undone, the times he’d tried and failed, and all the people he’d met along the way who had never had a chance. People who he had never remembered but a moment ago, he now pined for. Gild Sorrain, Skie dan Sabriel, Torin Reahkari. These names, these people were all part of a past that he had once had, and had been taken from him wickedly by a cruel untimely death.

More than the people he missed, Damon was beginning to remember all the life lessons he had learned. About how being a hero was not just painful, but about how lonely it was. That good didn’t always win, and that there were nights that the slayer had went to bed bitter, because he couldn’t believe that the world should be so cruel. He remembered his good intentions gone astray, the meek that would never inherit the earth, the decimated culture from which he'd emerged and how bitter its survivors had become. Lastly, Damon remembered the last look Alisse gave him before she slipped into a dimension from which Damon would never be able to see her again.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” he screamed ferociously. Damon had fallen to his knees, and every muscle in his body was taught. Veins bulged angrily from his neck and forearms. “WHY! WHY WHY!”

With all the composure of a raving lunatic, Damon screamed again. Tears formed in his eyes, and his voice suddenly went soft as he spoke to no one in particular. “Why have you forsaken me?” he asked meekly.

Over a hundred miles away in Eluriand, the walls of Velice Arta convulsed like a child on fire.

[Storm Veritas]

He awoke to a sinister laugh, the same horrible cackle, that gurgling sound that he had been felled by. He was scared, confused, unsure of what was going on, and he felt a certain tremble in his fingers. They were numbing up, not the normal tender buzz of electric hate. Whatever this was, wherever he was, this was different. This was bad.

The lights came on quickly in blinding force, the same globes of white that surrounded the ring of the upper spire. He looked down quickly at himself, and found his body stripped to the waist. His biceps and hands were bound in thick leather straps, veins pulsing down the length of his sinuous arms. Around his hands, a large block of wood had been molded, rendering his electrical prowess all but useless.

How the… what the f*ck?! Did they know I was coming.

“Easy… Veritas…” the voice of Raspien boomed behind him, out of sight. “Your stress will only tire your body, and sour the sacrifice. It will be fast, you fool.”

His head was strapped taut as well, but he moved it against the best wishes of the restraint. To his right, the large, demonic black orb was humming softly. To his left, General Kaosi was strapped just as tightly, his eyes sleepy and filled with wake-dreams. His murmurs were inconsequential, incomprehensible. He didn’t fight against the platform he lay upon, and looked resigned to fate.

“Dmmm! Wkkkp!” It was only after trying to speak did he realize he had been gagged. The cloth had been set well, and was actually not uncomfortable, just ultimately effective. It was after his fruitless effort to speak that the spire went an eerie sort of quiet. The rattles and hums and whispers of swirling winds disappeared into the shadows. The lights seemed to coalesce. The platform began to raise them up as a cranking sound thundered into place, and Storm felt his unshod feet turn forth towards the ground. They were being prepared for something, and at that moment he felt he may well kill to know what it was.

[INDK]

Everything was now in place for Raspien. His long time rival was now strapped down in a position from which he was unable to act, and as an added bonus, he had bested the champion of the Serenti as well. The vampire cackled, and looked at his sword gladly. If it wasn’t for his flair for the dramatic, Raspien and the Malebolge could have ended the adventure right then and there. For everything else they may have accomplished getting to through the Red Forest, it was all to end right there on the top floor of the most dangerous building in Raiaera.

However, with his victory assured, Raspien wanted to wait for the perfect moment. Vampires were a particularly patient species, and Raspien could already taste victory on the tip of his lips. The vampire merely watched Damon squirm as a chest materialized out of thin air, and he took a quick look at Storm’s eyes as a huge black orb began to rise up to the top of the ceiling.

“Get ready for the sacrifice,” Raspien hissed. “And to think I was worried Damon wouldn’t provide enough power…”

Though the vampire was laughing at his own jokes, the Malebolge was less than pleased. “Finish him now,” the sword commanded. “Damon has eluded you before…”

Raspien was too confident to listen. “He can’t now… he can barely move. For all the pain he’s cause me, I want him to regain his memories first, then kill him, he has to know what he put me through,” the vampire replied.

The Malebolge didn’t accept that answer. “Don’t underestimate him again!” it warned.

However, Raspien could not be persuaded. Everything had played into a perfect trap. Damon had selectively been fed with more and more information about his past so that he would come to Raiaera, attend the schools of magic, and eventually come here to rescue Alisse. The sword had intentionally neglected feeding the boy with information that promised that the task would be little more than a fool’s errand. Now, Raspien was so confident, he couldn’t even imagine his defeat. Victory on that day was so much of a guarantee, the vampire could already see Eluriand once again wrapped underneath the shroud of the undead.

Like a politician with an acceptance speech Raspien addressed Storm, Damon and a crowd he imagined was watching this moment and admiring it for its fineness. “You’ve caused me enough trouble for a long while now Damon. You killed my mentor, destroyed my plans in Eluriand before, even crippled the city for the undead. But you will not win. You’ve tried too long, too hard to beat me, but you always failed. We danced around from place to place from taverns in Alerar to the Red Forest and back, but now all of that… it doesn’t matter. I’m going to win. It ends tonight… and the heroes die. Everything you’ve built, everything you’ve just come to remember, none of it will matter in a matter of seconds.”

Though none of Raspien’s words sunk into him, Damon continued to squirm with a blank look on his face throughout Raspien’s revelry. The boy was handicapped both by the overwhelming number of thoughts but also by the sadness of them. Damon Kaosi had experienced enough sacrifice and heartbreak for multiple lifetimes, and having it all come back to him at once was forcing his body into stasis as if his hands and legs were unsure if they wanted to continue in a world so brutal and cruel.

Still, the one time general still managed to twitch his fingers. The fact was, Damon Kaosi was beginning to remember that he was made of sterner stuff. He was not a warrior, but a champion. Now, he remembered. He remembered the Brotherhood, and the way he had stood up to Ghauntyrr’stra, only to save her later in the night. He remembered killing vampires and becoming the Champion of Ahriman. Above all else, he remembered having Skie with him as the undead grip on Raiaera fell. It reminded him that no matter how evil, nothing could last forever.

Raspien saw this change in behavior and laughed gleefully. He grabbed the Malebolge like a dagger, and now prepared for the final blow. The sword hovered above Damon, its sickly yellow and green light was now the only thing that seemed to remain immune from the darkness that was dissipating out from Raspien’s orb.

“Everything ends for you,” the vampire reiterated. “For me though… its just the beginning…”

Damon, though conscious, could barely manage a word in his defense.

[Storm Veritas]

It can’t be. Not like this. Not now.

The whole thing had come out of the blue. Raspien luring them here, bringing them, strapping them up. The beast apparently had quite a storied history with Damon, clearly more detailed and horrible than the one the wiry mage could account for. He appeared to be calling something, some awful incantation that Storm didn’t pretend to understand. What stemmed from the orb, however, was nothing anyone could comprehend.

A massive growth of obsidian, a sentient, shaped system. Some creature, something summoned came from that terrible orb. Raspien held the crazed look in his eye as he held onto the sword with clenched teeth, speaking back and forth to the system, whispering and snapping. He was a child with it, but would be satiated with the sacrifices of the two Althanian champions.

It was at this time that before them grew a thing of miracles. A light, both white and golden ushered up under the chin and face of the blue-skinned elf, his scowl replaced with bewilderment. The golden light climbed the walls, riding high and isolating the darkness. It was warm and honey-scented, as though ambrosia sent from the gods below them. A thin hissing sound from the darkness, as the elf drew his eyes above him. The dark shape was enveloped in white, now a large orb wrapping thin tendrils around it. Like a spider, the golden glow devoured the shadowy thing, and left in it’s wake nothing more than a small, roughly human form of the purest white.

Stunned, both Storm and Damon lay within their bounds. Veritas pulled hard, feeling a pop in both his shoulder and the strap at his wrist. Though still bound in wood, his arm was both wounded and free. Similarly transfixed, the blue elf looked at the golden visage, the ivory intrusion with awe.

Damon!

It was boyish, and stood defiant opposed to the almost orcish elf. Raspien swung the terrible sword at the figure, and watched in horror as the mighty weapon cleaved cleanly through, not deflecting the glorious energy in the slightest. Walking forward, the juvenile angel simply extended a hand upon Raspien, laying what appeared to be a flat palm upon the chest of the elf.

That would be all it took. Golden white energy surged through Raspien’s frame as the elf shook mightily. The scant white figure disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, fading as though through its own hand and into the core of the evil, malignant elf. The giant rocked backward, and as the color of white purity ran from his face, so too with it ran his life force. As the gold left him, fading into eternity, Raspien fell lifeless to the floor.

No f*cking way…

He scrambled to free his ties, terrified that the assassination of his captor was too good to be true. As he witnessed the fall of Raspien, a bizarre thought filled his head. A single anecdotal phrase. He knew not why it came to him at first, or where it came from.

”I can’t let you two carry me anymore. I can’t become a burden.”

Grimacing, he clenched at his stomach and gritted his teeth, struggling to undo the last of the tethers as he lowered himself to the floor. Damon was doing the same, freeing himself, allowing himself to move on. He couldn’t look at the prodigal legend, because he couldn’t make sense of what had just happened. He knew he would have to leave the General now. There was nothing out ahead for him, and miracles don’t come twice.

But was it a miracle? What was that? Taliel?

His eyes raised once more to Damon. The curious elf general wouldn’t know more, he suspected, but couldn’t possibly know less.

“Damon…” a furrowed brow foretold his confusion as he began. “That… was that… could that have been the boy?”

[INDK]

Before doing or saying anything, Damon exhaled. He soaked in the sudden feeling of relief, basked in all the gaps in his memory that had now been filled. New memories were mixing in with the old, and the retired general found his strength returning to him as he undid the tethers that had bound him to his position. Throughout it, Damon moved slowly, as if he was in a dream or otherwise half alive, nervous that everything around him could fall into nothingness if he wasn’t careful. However, the boy couldn’t keep his feelings of unbridled joy down for too long.

“We’ve won,” Damon said solemnly. “It must have been Taliel.” He looked down at the dead vampire, whose body now was beginning to disintegrate into nothing more than dust, and then glanced back towards Storm. “If you would like, I suppose with my renewed memories my name will be worth a lot back in Velice Arta. I could put in whatever kind of a good word you needed…”

The fact was, now that this battle was completed, Damon didn’t know what he was going to do with himself. Ever since he had first arrived in Corone, his entire life had been dictated to him by a series of events, challenges that the boy was forced to face one after another with little reprise between them. From quest to quest, adventure to adventure, Damon had juggled the titles of Brotherhood Aegis, Tel’Aglarim General and vampire slayer with a breakneck pace. It had been a long time since he had got the chance to actually think about what he wanted to do.

The problem was, he didn’t know the answer. His first instincts were to find something about Alisse, but now that his memories were restored, he knew how truly difficult a task that would be. She had been sucked into a dimension away from him, one of an infinite number of possibilities. Even if Damon had somehow managed to create a rift between dimensions, there was no guarantee that he would be able to find her. By now, for all he knew she was either dead or happy where she was. Without some kind of a clue, it would have been pointless to chase after her. That was why he had given up the chase before.

With a heavy heart, Damon realized he was going to have to admit that to Hazaar. The young mage had particularly looked up to Damon, and it would break the retired general’s heart to admit that saving Alisse would be something far beyond his control. With that, Damon shook his head, thought about a cigarette for a moment, and then remembered that he had quit the nasty habit.

“Probably should have continued,” he thought to himself with another melancholy sigh. Now completely lost in his own thoughts, Damon made it over to one of the windows and looked out over Raiaera. He could see the majesty of the Red Forest, and was surprised with how beautiful and tranquil the woods looked from so high up above. The view from the Spire reached out even to the edges of the wheat fields surrounding Anebrilith. Damon managed a smile. It had felt like such a long time since he had seen Raiaera the way he saw Raiaera now; as a friend, as a mother, and as a child. He had protected her, she had nurtured him. Now, Damon knew that he was going to have to stay and continue to pay her back, if only because her love for him had been unrequited for so long.

As a tear rolled down Damon’s cheek, the walls of Velice Arta no longer shook. In both the Obsidian Spire and Velice Arta, every light within the palaces shone brightly, as even candles lit themselves in celebration. The clouds in the sky above Eluriand parted, and the sun came out accompanied by the caress of light rain. It was as if Eluriand wanted to welcome back Damon with the same tears he had shed when he had liberated the city. A benign calm floated through the city, somehow reminding all of the country that though Damon Kaosi had not been born amongst them, he was indeed Raiaera’s loving son.

There were still more adventures waiting beyond the horizon.

As a spoils request, I would like to ask for the return of all of Damon's abilities, in addition to the sword Raspien had. It is a adamantine gladius, but as it is, Damon can not use it.

[Storm Veritas]

As the Obsidian Spire became illuminated, Storm was transfixed with the beauty of the place. It had a general energy of its own, pulsing and humming and singing along. Arms seemed to stretch from the core of the spire out above to alcoves here and there, stitched with routes to different traders and merchant shops. It was brightly lit and bustling, people starting to come to as though the vampire had cast them all outside of both this space and time. They were alive, well, and happy here. He had found the goldmine, nearly impossible to reach, tragically impossible to trade with.

The lights came on, but Storm still struggled to find himself. He coughed hard, covering his hand with a bucolic mixture of blood and bile. The vampire had taken him down, berated him, and nearly killed him. Although brushes with death were disturbingly common upon Althanas, one never gets precisely used to it. Moreover, Storm had felt as though he had turned a corner, as though he had developed as a person.

And reality remained, scratching at him, gnawing at him to return. The spectacled boy was long gone, and the whereabouts of Taliel was still in the air. His partner in the odyssey looked the none the worse for wear, his intelligent eyes peering with love over the crimson countryside. This lad was fearless, carrying the same swagger and confidence that Veritas had heard about so many times. He certainly didn’t need an old fool to protect him in the majestic spire. The words of Damon Kaosi fell against him limply, as the premise of creating a trade route through this terrible place was out of the question.

Besides, there’s already been some humans here, and people have come through doing their own thing as is. There can’t be a safe route to trade, not with the forest like that. It hasn’t worked before because it can’t work. Best to leave this place alone.

A half smile worked its way across his face as he politely declined the offer of the regional hero. He couldn’t press his luck here any more, as tempting the fates had already taken him to the brink of his own extinction. Somehow, he had escaped unscathed, convinced that it had been the somehow divine intervention of his newly encountered friend Taliel. How the boy had intervened, or what he had done was a mystery, but both Storm and the little general seemed to agree in principle that the boy was there, the presence was felt.

“I’m sorry Damon, I can’t create a route here. Our worlds are very different.” The words stung, and Storm knew them to be true. Young Kaosi was brave, honest, and while brutally strong, he was also quite kind. They were traits that he had exposed in the aged mage, things that Veritas enjoyed glimpsing at. They all also began to rush back into the shadows of his persona as self-preservation took over. While Damon was unassuming and given to a higher fate, Storm was restricted to his own scheming, relentlessly seeking a way to scratch himself some semblance of a mark upon the world.

“I have to leave. I have to go home to Radasanth, and set a few things straight. Make a few things right. Stop running. I thought Raiaera would be an escape, but this place is simply too damned tough for me.” He smiled again, extending a hand, mouthing the words “thank you” as Damon took it and shook it.

“Thank you for taking me here, and forcing my hand. I’m a better man fighting beside you, because you do whatever feels right. Keep that up, Damon. You’ll make a fine king some day.”

The boy didn’t answer. Although he was famous, he was unassuming, and Storm figured the lad had felt the implication was either impossible or simply too ambitious for him to even entertain. His eyes and his smile, however, seemed to show a certain shared gratitude.

Upon leaving the youth, the journey home would be long and slow and boring, Storm figured. He could sell his few “show” trinkets, buy a ticket out of town. Go back to Radasanth and face down what he had done in times past. Damon Kaosi had become a legend by being a man despite the arguments that age and fate would make against it. It was time for the powerful mage to go home and try to become half the man that the young lad had shown him he could be.

[Atzar]

STORY

Continuity: 7 – Hmm… at first, I was going to give this a lower score. Damon and Storm both had understandable motives for being there, but Hazaar’s existence was fuzzy to me. After I went back and read the first few posts again, however, I pieced together all of the information. It’s all there; it just takes a little more research than I would have liked to do.

Setting: 8.5 - This, for the most part, was simply amazing. I got an excellent picture of your surroundings while you were in the woods. Things got a little hazy (compared to the bar you set for yourself earlier in the quest, mind you) in the tower and around the Orc ‘stronghold,’ but it was still a stellar job nonetheless.

Pacing: 7 – The climax in the tower seemed to go by a little fast from my perspective. The difficulty in traversing the forest, however, was very realistically done – it was refreshing, in a way, to read a quest that didn’t spend 5 posts on the intro and conclusion and 30 on the main confrontation. This was well-coordinated between the two (well… three) of you. I particularly liked the way you two carried on seamlessly when Taliel went MIA.

CHARACTER

Dialogue: 6.5 - Storm’s definitely got his own way of speaking, but Hazaar and Damon’s speech seemed to lack a little bit of personality to me.

Action: 8 – Superb, but I would have loved to know what, exactly, saved their hides from Raspien at the end. Was it Taliel? Did some lost power awaken in Damon? Will it be revealed in a later story? If so, a hint that this was the case would have been nice.

Persona: 8 - Storm’s character development here was astounding, but Damon’s personality took a little while to kick in. Once it did, though, it stole the show. The bit about Damon’s memories as a General returning was priceless.

WRITING STYLE

Mechanics: 9 – Minor mistakes here and there, but excellent writing otherwise. What more can I say?

Technique: 8 – Literary devices were used well when the opportunity was present, but not overused. There’s not really too much to say about this category… good, but nothing life-changing.

Clarity: 7.5 – Storm, you had the occasional sentence or paragraph that I had to work through in my head a few times before I actually understood what you were saying. That was basically it here, though.



Wild Card: 8 - This was fun to read. I’m looking forward to seeing Storm play the occasional good guy role, now. I’d say something unnecessarily dramatic about Damon’s retrieval of his powers, but nothing’s really coming to mind… sorry 


Final Score: 77.5 ((Bleh, I keep giving too many scores in this range… you guys need to start sucking every once in awhile so I don’t get branded as the easy judge ;) ))

INDK gains 6320 exp, along with his powers back... he also gets Raspien's adamantine blade, along with the restriction that he can't use it.
Storm Veritas gains 5205 exp and 500 GP after selling his trinkets upon his return to Radasanth.
Taliel Escabre gains 1240 exp.

[Cyrus the virus]

EXP added! INDK and Storm level up!