Sands of the Nomad

[Falcon Darkflight]

When it became both his job and his undying obsession to determine what happened to him at the Lornius Corporation Challenge, he would remember how everything had gone just right until it went terribly wrong, turning his new-found optimism into horror and forever changing the course of his life. Commodore, survivor, partisan - Althanas's easy reference tags for him would always remain the same. But he knew himself well. There was the Canen Darkflight who had existed before the Haicheyanne had attacked Nocturnis, before the Ghost Hand Order and the Grander's Order existed, and the Canen Darkflight who arose from the ashes of the former. The two were very different men.

The morning had promised ideal Fallien conditions: calm winds, moderate temperatures rising throughout the day and a spread of clear blue sky that ran off to the eastern rim of the towering wind-carved dunes. Canen would never forget that beautiful sky as he peered through the small log and mortar window of his temporary safehouse on the desert's edge, the sort of scene that he would have frequently wished for and rarely got in his position as the late Grand Commodore in the dull mining region of Erebus.

He cast his mind back to the events that had led to the demise of his self esteem, on the fabled island of Lornius. In hindsight, from the moment he had trodden on the cobblestone streets of Lyridia Port, he should have been prepared. He thought he had been. The first two rounds had gone without a hitch from the beginning. There had been no false starts, none of the frustrating last minute snags that often caused deserved confidence to slip, and sometimes disappear entirely. Everything, everything, had seemed just right. The chemistry was in full flow, even when Prince Raelyse Salidan's presence and antics were calculated to draw a larger than normal media contingent. Canen had accepted his leader's value as a PR tool and had steered clear of it himself, sincerely believing the campaign of their team warranted the hype but not at the expense of his own concentration and focus. But it simply wasn't to be. After defeating the vamparic duo of Tarry Whealer and Nathanial in a down-to-the-wire match, and slipping by the demon and neko at the Pagoda with such ease, the team had been crushed underfoot by Sereniti winner Veritas and his counterpart Zephyriah at the foot of the Shingo mountains. It had been an upsetting end to an otherwise inspired performance.

The journey home on a lonely merchant's ship had been silent. Raelyse, despite his playful and sometimes controversial antics, had tried his best and Canen knew that he had let the side down. Through his feelings, the Commodore had resigned and departed Erebus two days later to allow him some time for personal reflection, leaving behind him even the stronghold of Fort Byrnia and allowing the 25th Division, his beloved remenant of the Ghost Hand Order, to remain in the care of the Grander.

However, such thoughts and memories had their proper time and place, and Canen's personal trials had been the furthest flung thing at the back of his mind as he sat silently in the safehouse, a tankard of almost translucent, lukewarm drinking water clenched loosely in his right hand. A small note that had been sealed with a somewhat mysterious black and red wax seal lay unfolded on a table made of lashed stumps, the sloping italic handwriting containing little informative content as possible. It was signed not with a name, but a crest. A symbol he had only seen in a dusty book of myths and rumours in the Radasanthian library.

Although the handwriting was difficult to read, Canen very clearly understood his position. A drow named Izvilvin was to meet him at the safehouse at the exact time the sun reached north over the dunes of Fallien. If the Nocturn was not at the safehouse at this time, it would be assumed he knew too much and would be hunted down and eventually killed. Probably horribly and painfully, too.

With his mind made up, and with no intention to prematurely end his life by giving up the opportunity to test himself and restore a little self esteem, Canen waited patiently, the water swilling around the base of the dull tankard as he took another sip.

[Izvilvin]

On ocassion, Izvivin's obligations to Step interfered in things he would consider more important. The need to escort a possible new Step member was the new objective, and even though the Drow was already working on a mission for the lucid organization, he could not ignore this new mission. It was urgent and would begin on this night, and since Izvilvin was Step's only agent in Fallien, it had to be him.

So he put his mission on hold to leave Jya's Keep, after the lovely woman graciously translated his own writing into a letter written in common, which he tucked into his belt.

***

At about mid-morning, when the Fallien sun was just beginning to warm the cool sands of the desert, Izvilvin spotted the safehouse in the distance. It was simply a shack at the edge of a small town that Izvilvin didn't know the name of, but it was unmistakable. The Drow kept a hand near his weaponry as he approached the small building and peered inside.

*"Vin'ult, rivvil. Usstan tlun Izvilvin."

That said, the compact Drow revealed the letter Jya had helped him write and tossed it to Canen. Izvilvin was too preoccupied with keeping a watchful eye on the area around him. For all he knew, the carrier pigeon sent to Jya's Keep was a ruse meant to lead him into a trap, even if it did bear Step's symbol.


Canen,

Our mission is to take an ancient scepter from a cave to the north. Stay aware and we should be fine. Unless you speak my language, these are the only words you will understand from me.

It was short and concise, like most of what Izvilvin did. He was not a detail man.

*Hail, human. I am Izvilvin.

[Falcon Darkflight]

Canen had been watching the Drow carefully as he spoke. Crossing his arms in his seat, picking up as he understood it a fragmented sentence hailing a 'human' in the complicated Drow words, the Nocturn's green eyes momentarily thinned of colour. Often he had been mistaken for a human due to his appearance, and perhaps it could even be said his influences were partly human in nature as well. However, he was a great patriot of his people no matter how few there were left in the world, and this patriotism remained a solid anchor to his roots beneath the surface.

Having carefully read now both of the notes addressed to him, Canen smiled a little. At last he unfolded his arms, lifted them off the desk and reclined in his rickety chair so slowly Izvilvin could hear every creak of its burnished wood as a separate and distinct sound.

"Just like the old days..." Canen said to himself as he rose to his feet, Izvilvin watching the surrounding area intently. "Except in the old days, I was handsomely compensated..."

Drawing upon his shaky knowledge of the Drow tongue, Canen would have to try as best he could to phrase his intentions to his counterpart, who seemed cautious about everything around him. His attention seemed mainly drawn to the outside world, the fringes of the desert and the immediate vicinity, and although he looked a little jumpy from observation it was clear the Drow was following a routine sense of caution. Being a member of this organisation probably required this more than anything, the Nocturn quickly determined.

Their insertion technique into the desert needed to be quick and effective, and Canen had determined that their means of delivery into the sloping dunes would be a relic of the Fallien people, the horse. Only a five minute walk from their current location they would find a merchant of the aforementioned transportation who would quite willingly sell them two healthy broad backs, a variation of stallion that adapts well to desert environments. Of course, as with most things, there was a catch.

"What?!" Canen exclaimed, his eyes wide in disbelief. "How much?!"

The merchant, a short scruffy tanned man, repeated himself.

"A thousand each."

Canen was lost for words. A thousand gold? He could get horses back in Corone for at most about five hundred gold pieces.

There was a momentary pause, and then there was a thump. The merchants eyes rolled into the back of his head, and with a heavy sigh of breath, he slumped onto the floor completely unconscious. The heavy butt of The Valiance quickly disappeared from view, and before long the two healthy broad backs that had been lashed to a ramshackle hut had been successfully commandeered by the two warriors.

The horses had flown from the safehouse at the fringes of the desert, a less than sprawling region with very little to shout about, to within a few dozen miles of their designated target quickly, their powerful legs and strange hooves standing up to the twisting sands and the searing heat easily. Izvilvin's directions consisted mainly of pointing and frustrated facial expressions as the language barrier remained firmly in place, but as the desert sloped away to the north the winds died down and Canen found it easier to understand his counterpart. Survival in the desert now hinged entirely on water and the ability to protect oneself if the situation got active quickly. Water canisters rigged to the saddles of the horses made it possible for the two to drink on the move, and a protective veil of cloth over their faces allowed them to keep their eyes open through the lashing winds that would frequent the dunes at any given moment.

Snatching a quick glance to his right, steadying the horse as it drew to a halt, Canen looked down to check his water canister, and signalled to Izvilvin to point him in the right direction.

[Izvilvin]

The Drow had opted not to don his veil for the journey, keeping it by his horse's side in the same manner that the water canisters were attached. His plan had initially consisted of a long walk through the open desert, a journey he could make with little difficulty now that he was used to the sands of Fallien, but Canen's idea was much quicker and more comfortable. Izvilvin had grinned in approval at the man's methods, especially since he had chosen not to kill the merchant, but instead wound him. The warrior would make a point of returning the horses once he and his counterpart were done.

He drank rarely, and only when absolutely necessary, wanting to save enough water for the journey back. On occasion he would point in specific directions. Thankfully, he knew enough of the desert by now to know certain landmarks, such as a half-buried tail of an airship, likely one of Alerar's early prototypes from a century or so past, and certain cacti that stood at specific heights and had certain tones.

Izvilvin could stand the heat, but was always on edge with the discomfort. It was a necessary inconvenience for the man who had made Fallien his home for this time, but one he would love to do without. He squinted as the wind pelted his eyes with sand, but the Drow was far too stubborn to wear the silly veil, which hindered his vision too much for him to deem it practical.

In time, perhaps a few hours after first obtaining the powerful creatures that now served as mounts, Izvilvin spotted a familiar mound of sand and the top of a great rock beyond it. The horses had to struggle to climb the sand, but once they had done so, Izvilvin and Canen had a clear view of the earth-toned rock before them.

It was, in the absolute simplest of terms, a massive rock. But when one looked closely, there was a dark entrance nearly buried in the sand. Nimbly, the lithe Drow dismounted his horse and directed it toward the rock, which grew more and more large as he approached. Looking carefully about, he spotted a cactus nearby. He tied his horse to it, giving the animal as much room as possible to avoid the dangerous plant. Using a sai, Izvilvin quickly removed as much of the needles as he could, then slit the cactus open so that the horses could drink; though they would have to take turns in order for it to be safe.

He then allowed Canen the necessary time to tie his mount to the same cactus, before waving him toward the cave. Izvilvin approached the face of the rock and lay flat, reaching under the small entranceway to get a grip. He then pulled, sliding into the small little hole which served as the way into the cave.

The Drow landed nimbly on his feet inside the cave, which dropped down somewhat. There was a little bit of light granted by the sun outside, and because of it he could see the wall of sand which blocked the full entrance. It seemed to be stuck in place like a wall, but Izvilvin could not comprehend why it did not collapse and begin to fill the cave, as gravity should naturally make it do. Perhaps it was some kind of magic, he could not be sure.

Looking into the cavern ahead, Izvilvin could see very little, though he knew his eyes would soon adjust as much as they could. He had, after all, lived in a cave for a great portion of his life, so the darkness was comfortable to him. How Canen would manage, he did not know, but hopefully he, too, was comfortable with the dark.

[Falcon Darkflight]

Clearing the small opening of the cave with a quick slide, Canen dropped his gear bag on a tether and descended into the dry, humid entrance of the cavern. He was aware of Izvilvin floating in ahead of him, and aware of the darkness of the innards of this strange compound. He pulled his veil off, trimmed more altitude, waited until he felt the bag land below him with a thump and landed gracefully on both feet, the balls of his soles lightly pressing against the firm sandstone of the floor. His eyes scoured the limited light there was available for his partner, and found Izvilvin only a couple of feet in front of him, observing the strange wall of sand behind them.

From the second he landed in the cave, an enigmatic chill coursed through the Nocturn's body. He was not afraid of darkness, nor did he fear anything that would lie beyond. Instead, it felt like someone, perhaps a spirit, had grasped a cold hand around his soul. It was not the kind of coolness one would have hoped for in the burning Fallien sun, but instead the icy cold feeling of a sort of inertia that would usually inspire a person to turn back and go no further.

"What the hell is this place..?" Canen whispered to himself, pressing against the wall of sand. It was as solid as the very sandstone foundations itself, and although grains fell loosely onto the floor, it seemed to be held in place by an mysterious force. Something working against the forces of gravity.

He hurried to recover his bag and collect the equipment inside it - food rations, small amounts of medicinal liquid in sealed glass containers and a couple of white wax candles lined the inside of the hide pouch. Placing his sand veil carefully into the bag whilst consuming the contents of one of his bread rations, Canen motioned for Izvilvin to come forward with him quietly. The dark tunnel seemed to stretch out for an age.

"So, you don't understand a word I say..." He muttered quietly, his head turning to a blank faced Izvilvin. "I know a little bit of broken Drow, nothing to have a carnival over though. Shmirv Fuklss?"

The last two words were what Canen understood to be "Is everything ok?", but his poor accent and the echo in the cavern might have been enough to smudge the words beyond understanding. Izvilvin still remained at Canen's right, silent and stealthy.

"What's that?"

The Nocturn, at the very thread end of the available light, motioned towards what seemed like an opening in the caverns easterly wall. It was small, only about five foot in height and a metre across, but seemed enough to shuffle through. Canen probed the jagged edges of the opening with the tip of his finger, running the pale digit over the firm stone with intrigue.

"It's not sandstone. It...seems to be...marble, perhaps?"

Canen knew as well as anybody who had read up on Fallien beforehand that marble was not a type of stone that frequented the deserts this far out. Most of the rock out this deep consisted of deeply packed sandstone, and unless this place had been intentionally built from a supply of marble from elsewhere, there was no way this was a natural reserve. Reading the same intruiged expression on Izvilvin's face was enough to believe his theory. Although the Drow did not understand his words, he too must have recognised the stone. Gesturing towards the stone entrance, he looked back at his partner and gave a small, polite bow.

"After you, Izvilvin."

[Izvilvin]

Sure enough, Izvilvin's eyes adjusted to the dark after a few moments. He couldn't see very well, really, but could see outlines of walls and the darker regions of gaps in the wall, so the vision served more as a rough guide than something to completely trust. He stepped with the grace that his kind naturally had, and his eyes were constantly moving about to observe what little of this cave he could distinguish from the darkness.

Canen spoke to him, and naturally Izvilvin didn't understand it. But two words in the jumbled mess of human language stood out to him. The tone and flow of the words were completely wrong, but the Drow could have sworn it was in his language. He laughed in response, a gentle, melodic sound. "Rilbol zhah ula. Usstan inbal natha dubo draeval xuil l'oloth," he responded, explaining that everything was fine and he was merely having trouble adjusting to the darkness.

The human, as Izvilvin believed him to be, was then somewhat fascinated by the stone. The Drow approached as well and rubbed the wall, it seemed smoother than the outside, as if the geology in the cave was formed differently. He had no real knowledge of stone, but this was something that was glaringly obvious to him, now that he'd touched the wall. Perhaps Canen was proving himself a suitable member of Step already.

Izvilvin enjoyed how the human was leading the way, at least in terms of determining what to do next. The Drow was, after all, here merely as support for the man, and Canen coming forth as a man of strong initiative was a good sign for both him and the organization.

He went through the crevice first as Canen beckoned, knowing that the man was smart enough to not risk stabbing him in the back. It wasn't a tight squeeze for the lithe man, who wasn't very tall to begin with. The journey through the cave wasn't long, and there was a light at the end of the tunnel that spurred him on. Eventually, Izvilvin emerged in a lit hallway, in what appeared to be a portion of a buried temple. The walls were white and slick, clean despite what was undoubtably decades of exclusion from the world above.

The light came from rows upon rows of orbs along the ceiling, which glowed with an enchanted white light that was very bright, yet didn't bother his eyes in the slightest. Izvilvin had little knowledge of magic, but knew these bulbs of illumination were conjured in some manner, and would likely last until they were magically removed.

Turning slightly, he saw that he was at the end of the hallway, and the only way to proceed was forward. In the far distance he could see a small door, which was undoubtably larger than it seemed.

"Vel'bol b'vecko brornen nindol takrin miren..." He mumbled, waiting for Canen to arrive and witness the spectacle.

[Falcon Darkflight]

A man who relied heavily on instinct, Canen proceeded through the small gap in the wall in a half crouch, his back pressing up against the back of the marble interior as the two travellers shuffled through. Izvilvin was nothing more than a shadow in front of him as the outdoor light disappeared, the only method of anticipating where each man was being touch and sound, until the rough edges of the Drow's form illuminated with a lining of silver light. The Nocturn did not have to refer to the guideposts of his experience to know that light this bright, this underground, was not a natural occurance, and his previous observations of the wall of sand blocking the entrance and the presence of marble were now turning rapidly into a burning curiosity.

As he reached the other side, the Drow filed out to the left of the corridor and Canen raised a hand to shield his eyes for a moment, protecting them from the sudden shift in conditions. Either side of him, roughly four metres apart, were glossed, snow white walls stretching down a marble floored hallway. Glowing spheres of what appeared to be magically enhanced light floated in a fixed position at regular intervals throughout the walled stretch and gave off a strange luminous resonance that was intriguing to watch, with other smaller orbs of light surrounding the magical particles like miniture fireflies. They seemed to dance in and out of the orb, collecting speed as they dived and clambered in the musty underground air. It was difficult to pull your eyes away from the curious waltz.

CRASH!

The impact of a heavy object slammed into the ground just behind Izvilvin, who had jumped out of the way just in time to see a huge black iron panel slide over the small entrance to this underground structure, sealing the only exit in and out of the temple tightly shut. A thin layer of dust kicked into the air with the rocking force of the impact, and Canen, startled, stumbled against the wall.

By the strength of Isa!! What in the name of...?

He didn't get a chance to finish his internal sentence as the point of a rusted iron scimitar slashed to the left of his face, scraping down the white wall with a shrill metallic sound that made the Nocturn cringe inside. Quickly rolling to his right, he unsheathed The Valiance on instinct and rose to his feet, brushing his long, matted black hair from his eyes to get a visual on his target.

This is crazy, no way!

Outrageous as it seemed at first blush, what was happening had all the earmarks of a curse. That would account for the sudden materilisation of a seven foot tall skeleton, plated with random chunks of rust covered iron armour, who had taken a small chunk of the aforementioned wall out upon retracting his weapon from the stone. The undead knight turned on his heel quickly, and attempted to catch the Drow Izvilvin on the backswing, lolling wildly at his prey. All Canen could do was utter a warning to his partner as he attempted to pin the skeleton between himself and Izvilvin for a pincer attack. The questions would come later.

"Faer! Morte Faer!" Canen cried to his partner in his broken Drow tongue, warning Izvilvin that there was a possibility of it being a sort of undead magic. An obvious statement at best.

[Izvilvin]

The skeleton seemed to come right out of the ground, but not in the method Izvilvin would have thought an undead creature would take. It did not crawl out pull itself from the earth, but simply materialized as if by some powerful magic. The Drow did not have time to utter a word of warning to his human ally, but thankfully one was not needed. The skeleton's backswing came quick, but Izvilvin leapt over the blade. The blunt end of the rusty scimitar clanged loudly against the marble wall.

Canen moved around to trap the massive skeleton between them, a tactic that would give them some semblance of an advantage, even if Izvilvin's short, sharp weapons would be useless against the summoned monster.

The sword came back in for a wide strike. The skeleton had size and pure unnatural strength on its side, but was clearly no talented fighter. Izvilvin ducked the sword slash as it came at him, and then came in close, pulling a sai from his belt in a reverse grip and driving the handle as hard as he could into the monster's ribs, trying to dislodge something. Two ribs cracked, barely, and a further attack was impossible.

Bony, strong fingers gripped the back of the Drow's linen shirt, pulling him backward and through the air, landing hard on his back just before the far wall that served as the end of the hallway. The skeleton turned to deal with Canen as Izvilvin fought with this new pain.

Weapon still in hand, Izvilvin looked at the iron sai carefully, before deciding to replace it on his belt. They would do little that his fists weren't capable of, against such a foe. Pulling himself up, the Drow scoured the skeleton's back with his lavender eyes, trying to choose the best method of attack against the large creature before rejoining the fight.

[Falcon Darkflight]

If Canen had learned anything about swordsmanship over the years, it was that mastering the art form was all about balancing pressure, both internal and external.

When you ran into trouble at close quarters, the immediate focus was to thrust and swing widly at your prey, or predator, to force them out of range. This would inadvertantly tire your limbs into submission, putting enormous physical pressure on yourself and leaving you open to attack, and was a proven fatal error for sword wielders. The trick was to adapt your instincts to the point where the first thoughts, the primary gut reactions would tell your body to flow with the tide of battle instead of leaping in head first. Don't rush, strike with a careful eye and keep a strong defensive stance at all times. After this, time would take its toll and the enemy was bound to make mistakes.

This hellish, seven foot tall skeleton looked to Canen an unblemished example of a clumsy, fumbling brute, whose sheer swinging power was more to fear than its finesse. Izvilvin's attack might as well have bounced straight off the ribcage, his iron Sai's proving too ineffective despite his best attacking efforts, but Canen hoped to do better with The Valiance.

The undead warrior took a clumsy horizontal swing at the Nocturn with a slow, inaccurate right side attack, and growled deeply as Canen brought the edge of his sword up quickly to parry away the swing in the direction of the flow of the momentum. The power of the attack sent the skeleton stumbling forward, staggering slightly as his bony feet struggled to grip the smooth floor in the wake of his blunder, and Canen followed through instantly with a neat, accurate cut to the bare breastbone of the knight. The Nocturn winced in pain as the recoil shuddered up the hilt of the sword and into his arm, the skeleton reeling into the wall with the force of the strike, and withdrew a little to buy himself some time to shake the numbness from his limb.

It's like striking stone. That frame of his has to be magically enhanced somehow...the way he materialised, the way his body seems to be forged from something tougher than bone. I can't fight him as I am. I'm going to have to...

He yelped in suprise as a stern backhand punch from the skeleton caught him squarely on the cheekbone, the dense sound of cracking bone echoing throughout the corridor in a sickening concerto. Canen piled to the floor, clutching his bleeding face and wincing in agony as another bout of numbness set in, his vision blurring into a watercolour as he scrambled to recover his vertical base.

For the love of...

Another heavy swing arced in to his left, this time the rusty iron scimitar following dangerously in hand. To his amazement, Canen looked down just in time to see The Valiance lying at his feet, and quickly darted to his left in a low roll with no time to collect it. The scimitar clattered against the scoured wall again and fell to the floor, the skeleton's grip on his weapon forcibly released.

Now he had a problem. This mindless brute was stood between him and his weapon. Nay, his soul.

He shot a glance back at Izvilvin, who had slowly got to his feet and looked a little dazed from the sudden attack, and motioned for him to pincer the skeleton's left. This way, Canen could sweep in from the right with a magical attack, blast the skeleton into bony shards and pick his blade up from the cold floor. He hated being detached from his sword. It was like being isolated from a vital limb.

[Izvilvin]

The Drow was coming fast, closing in on the melee as Canen rolled to the side. The man tried to indicate to him that a pincer was in their best interest, but Izvilvin was already set on his own attack. He'd never exactly fought with someone else on his side before, so working together against a common foe, especially with a non-drow on his side, Izvilvin didn't know what to do. At least another dark elf might share the same method of battle, since they were always trained in groups growing up in Alerar.

His attack was effective enough in the end anyway. The skeleton, lumbering and imposing in its size, turned to gaze at the running Drow. Reaching forward, its bony fingers closed upon the empty air as Izvilvin slid under it, using the slick floor to glide all the way through its legs. A black hand closed upon the ankle of the skeleton as Izvilvin frantically pulled himself up. Using all his mettle, the Drow pulled up on the leg, tipping the skeleton off balance so that it fell against the hard floor.

Of course, the skeleton was hardly hurt by the great effort, but now it was down. At least its size did not make it so formidable now -- Izvilvin knew it wouldn't last.

The Drow leapt on top of the magical creature, drawing a sai and stabbing it as forcefully as he could into the thing's skull. The iron sai seemed worthless against the bone, scraping off without making so much as a scratch. Izvilvin quickly turned the weapon in his hand, driving the bottom of the handle down into the back of the skull, once again doing nothing.

His eyes flashed toward Canen, disarmed but not looking helpless in any way. Izvilvin realized he could not do any good here. He leapt from the creature's back and rolled away to its left, just out of reach of the thrashing monster's long fingers.

[Falcon Darkflight]

Canen was impressed by the nimble Izvilvin's speed as he swept in and floored the bony brute, once again bravely attempting a melee assault on the giant, albeit to no avail. The toppled skeleton began snarling on the floor like a caged dog, flailing its huge, heavy limbs in all directions and making sickening cracking sounds as the bone struck the cold stone of the floor over and over.

The drow retreated and Canen moved in, pouncing like a disgruntled mountain lion on his foes back and locking the skeleton's huge arm behind its spinal column. The harrowing snarls soon became screams, short, angry and agonised. Canen could no longer hear the low humming of the Dark Matter orb he had been charging in his palm over the irritating cries of this undead monstrosity, and with his foe subdued, finally slammed the black sphere forwards violently into the back of the skeleton's cranium. The force of the resulting implosion reeled Canen onto his back five feet away, slamming his back into the wall as the warriors were showered in a splintery storm of bone and stone and as the dust settled, the Nocturn stumbled back to his feet.

He nodded at Izvilvin.

The skeleton's skull was no more, spread over the corridor like a broken china plate in horrible fragments. The once lashing torso and limbs of the beast had finally ceased, and Canen was caught by suprise as the boney corpse seemed to dissolve into the floor right in front of his eyes.

Now he had time to ponder the situation.

Canen finished removing the last of the bony fragments from the hilt of The Valiance and sheathed it slowly as he approached the sealed exit of the temple. A smooth, six foot tall block of marble had slid from the top of the roof down over the exit, too heavy to move by hand it appeared. In the centre of the block there seemed to be some sort of hole: perhaps a lock, or just a natural cavity? No. It was bored out so smoothly there was no way it could have been natural. There were inscriptions in a language Canen didn't understand, much like calligraphy, smothering the hole and its surroundings, inscribed in beautiful gold italics that looked as if they hadn't worn past their first day.

Clearly, someone doesn't want us to leave this temple alive. Shame I just made other plans...

He finished probing the lock and turned, knocking his elbow on a fiery looking latern to his right. Startled, he leapt back, but did not seem to feel any pain. The blue flames licked up from the floor and blasted a jet of cold air.

What magicks are these? Canen pondered, slowly dipping his finger into the core of the flames. He pulled his finger out and noticed a gentle sheet of glistening frost on the tip of his index digit. Looking over at Izvilvin, who seemed to be wondering what insanity juice Canen had been drinking to dip his finger in the flames, he spoke the drow words for 'cold' so that the drow warrior could understand him.

Canen quickly considered his options. There were only two visible doors in the corridor, and one appeared to be barred off by some sort of strange red solid that couldn't be chipped away at, so he walked over and clasped his hand around the rusted stone handle of the other, pushing it open with a loud creak.

[Izvilvin]

Izvilvin threw his arms up in front of his face as Canen's strange orb cause the skeleton's skull to cave inward, pulled inside of itself by some strange force, before finally shattering and sending shards all over. It was fortunate that none of the bone injured either of them, though there was nothing lucky about their victory. The pair had taken down the skeleton with pure skill, each of them using a different method and adapting to the new foe quickly, as a warrior so often needed to do to survive.

The creature melted into nothingness, reverting back to wherever it had come from. The thing was likely a test, Izvilvin figured, a simple guard to protect the scepter that lay onward. He didn't think, for even a moment, that it would be the only hardship he and his new ally would be facing.

He followed Canen into the next room, and laid eyes upon a great statue of a dragon in the center of a large chamber. The statue was bigger than even Jya's Keep, and the chamber itself was adorned with all types of gems and jewels, though as Izvilvin soon discovered, the shiny baubles were set into the wall as solidly as any brick. The room was lit like the hallway was, with strange orbs of magical light, and thanks to the light Izvilvin could see two particular gems at the top of the statue, serving as eyes for the dragon. They were unlike the others in that they were clear, yet as he squinted, Izvilvin thought he could see small flames moving in the center of the clear jewels.

It was unusual, to be sure, but there was no other door in the room that Izvilvin could see, and the way the gems glittered made him sure they were special in some manner.

He asked Canen if he should climb up and take the gems, or see if they could be manipulated in some way, but before he could finish his sentence the sound of cracking stone made him turn to look upon the wall. There was something strange about this room, something foreign that he could not pinpoint just yet, and yet it was as obvious as the lights.

Silently, the Drow waited, expecting the worst.

[Falcon Darkflight]

Canen looked around the new room slowly, his eyes adjusting to the light without much trouble.

He surveyed the gem encrusted stone walls with keen eyes and allowed a small measure of wonder to lap him like the sea at the sandy shores of an island. Each of the strange coloured jewels seemed to glimmer against the illuminating aura of the magical floating orbs, each giving a seperate, unique sparkle that leapt out and touched the very soul of a person. In the dim light that these strange entities provided, it was a very different picture from the dull corridors of marble and sandstone that the two travellers had navigated only moments before. This vault of strange treasures appeared somewhat peaceful, enveloping, perhaps even soothing to behold in such a strange place, Canen noted. Even the large statue of the dragon, located in the centre of the room nearside to another door, seemed to have an intrigue about it that he just couldn't place.

However, the rustic tranquility was broken by the cringing sounds of stone grinding from within the walls, a creaking that brought a wince to Canen's usually expressionless face. The gemstones, one by one, fell out of their small sockets onto the floor, clinking rythmically as their edges made contact with the black floor. They collected together in two large, almost organised piles and resonated with an almost auric radiation signifying the chain reactions of magical power in their cores. Canen glanced quickly at Izvilvin.

"This is new..." He said, ignorant of the fact Izvilvin wouldn't be able to understand him anyway. "What is the meaning of all of this?"

His words were drowned out as the gemstones began to fuse together, emitting a blinding green light that forced Canen to reel back against the wall, raising an arm to protect his senstive eyes from being damaged. The drow did the same.

When the horrible mixture of blinding light and stomach turning sound finally ceased to be, before them stood two crystalline figures. One of them, the one stood directly in front of Canen, was stone still like an emerald manaquin. It was humanoid in shape and seemed to mimic Canen's own appearance, with long crystal bangs of "hair" that fell down its smooth glass face, its static, translucent face locked in a frown. In its right hand, clutched within the solid palm of the strange apparition, was a marine blue crystal sword that seemed to represent The Valiance.

The other was almost the same in texture, colour and material, but closely resembled the drow Izvilvin. It remained in a crouched position, two Sai's tucked underneath the jewel palms of this strange manifestation and readied itself to pounce on its living counterpart. The same dark frown that was on display from the first crystal dummy appeared again on the second, and the strange magicks that had called them together set in motion, swirling like a mist inside of the crystal bodies in a sight which might have otherwise been somewhat attractive to observe, had the circumstances been different.

"To conquer others, first thou must conquer thyself..." Canen muttered, repeating the old Khaian catchphrase that seemed most appropriate at the time to himself. "Well, damn. Never thought I'd actually have to put that damn cliche into practice..."

The crystal form of Canen suddenly sprinted forward, catching the living original completely off guard and smashed the butt of his crystal sword into the bridge of Canen's nose, smashing the bone into tiny shards with the momentum of the attack. The Nocturn's vision blurred beyond that of a ruined watercolour, the pain coursing from the source of the broken bone into his head in a tremor of cold pain, and a vapour trail of black blood erupted from the nose in a sickening cloud of poisonous lifestream as he collapsed against the wall and fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. Izvilvin's strange clone instead did something very peculiar: melting into the floor, the gemstone drow of various shifting colours travelled in a stream of liquid crystal along the cracks and crevices of the floor and resurfaced close to Izvilin, rearing its arms back to throw the two Sai's straight at the drow's unprotected head.

Canen, bleeding profusely from the broken nose he recieved, tried to shake off the horrible white noise of his dizziness and could only yell in warning to the drow as the two Sai's flew quickly from the right.

"Izvilvin, Faer!"

[Izvilvin]

He couldn't believe the strange trap that had been laid out before them. Some magic beyond Izvilvin's understanding had made the surrounding gems fall from their places in the walls, gather, and melt together into a pair of strange figures eerily similar to the two adventurers. The Drow could hardly believe his eyes. He'd never seen any kind of magic that could do such a thing, never heard of it even.

The two figures moved at the same time, Canen's clone striking at the original with surprising quickness. Izvilvin's own, meanwhile, melted into nothingness, stirring up confusion in the Drow. Despite a century of life, two decades of which had been spent in training and study, he could not bring himself to terms with what was happening. It was all so strange.

Canen called to him suddenly, drawing the Drow's attention to his right, where the gem form of himself had materialized. The two sai were already in flight, but the remarkably fast warrior was able to just dodge them, tilting his head to the side and sidestepping awkwardly.

The jewel Drow came at him quickly, drawing another two sai from within his very being, as if an unlimited supply existed. The real warrior was surprised at the speed. Was he that fast himself?

No time to wonder, Izvilvin threw his sai up to fend off a pair of quick slashes. The enemy's weapons came in again, quick as a flash, and Izvilvin could only catch one this time. The other slashed in and deep him deep in the ribs, causing him to cry out and jump back. The gem humanoid, however, pressed on, just as he would have done.

The sai were difficult to see against the rest of the clone, because there was no difference in color between the two. The weapons were as multicolored as the thing's torso. Because of this, parrying was much more difficult than it needed to be. Two slashes came in high, and Izvilvin ducked down to go under them, slashing once himself at the stomach of his clone. His sai went right through, tearing a dozen gems out of the entire cluster on the clone's side to spill over the floor. Unharmed, the clone turned and kept right on coming.

Izvilvin parried once, then was too slow to block another. He was punished with a shallow cut on his forearm, but a growl and a rise in intensity helped him to dull the pain. He came back furiously, throwing six slashes in quick succession, but these was parried with ease by the clone.

Izvilvin threw yet another strike, but the gem Izvilvin melted before him and traveled behind with great speed, materializing just enough to slash at the back of the Drow's thigh. Izvilvin was just lucky enough to avoid it, lifting his leg just enough and making distance by hopping forward, then turning to face the gem beast again.

It seemed they were an even match, but the gem form had two advantages. Izvilvin had a hard time telling the difference between its arm and its weapons, and the gem form could 'melt' into the ground to confuse him. Izvilvin had two wounds already. Things weren't going very well.

[Falcon Darkflight]

Canen wasn't sure how the hell he was going to deal with what he saw in front of him.

His gemstone counterpart moved quickly across the concrete floor, closing the distance between itself and the living Canen in what seemed like no time at all. The ringing sound of crystal striking stone rang out with a heavy ambience across the room and gave the Nocturn a fair indication of the weight of its limbs. It was going to be at least double his weight due to its jewel composition, and when it was going to hit him, it would hit him very, very hard.

The crystal clone swung the emerald green extension of its arm serving as the sword through the air with precision and a great deal of momentum, narrowly missing Canen's head by inches as the living mass of flesh and bone stumbled from his position on the floor to the only form of low guard he could manage. Pieces of fractured rock spewed from the wound the crystal blade had struck in the stone floor, and small fissures appeared in the radius of the impact as the crystal manaquin retracted its blade and attempted to strike Canen again, this time far more ferociously than before.

A muffled grunt slipped out of Canen's mouth as he struggled to meet the attack with a defense. The sheer weight of the crystal bearing down upon his blade was causing his arms to ache, and as he watched the gemstone edge begin to slip down towards the hilt he could feel his wrists tilt to the side under the pressure.

This was not good. His counterpart was applying the same close combat theory he had studied under his tutor Artremeas, confirming to Canen he was indeed fighting a version of himself. Worst of all, his adversary was stronger, heavier and able to apply enormous amounts of pressure into an attack.

"What the fuck are you..?" Canen seethed through clenched teeth as he felt his arms numb under the opposing momentum. Suddenly, his grip slipped away and the crystal sword bit sharply into his right arm, inflicting a notch of jet black wounded flesh into the bicep. Although he knew he was injured, although not badly, Canen could hardly feel the searing pain over the tingling numbness that gripped his limb. He used this moment to again roll to the side, evading another heavy strike that smacked into the corner of the adjacent walls.

Izvilvin seemed to be having trouble handling his clone as well, and appeared to be bleeding from two seperate places. It was in this momentary instant of observation that Canen had an idea.

He knew Izvilvin's speed was almost unmatched, but he lacked the physical presence Canen had. Likewise, Canen knew that his one weakness was his lower level of aglility. Whilst these copies seemed to inherit slightly greater variations of their characters, their weaknesses would surely remain the same. If the two warriors switched their opponents, each could use their own strengths to counter the weaknesses of the glass clones, and overcome their problem with strategy rather than brute force.

"Izvilvin! Ryyn' Istoth!" He yelled towards his counterpart, instructing him to switch in the best drowspeak he could muster within.

[Izvilvin]

It was as if the skeleton was merely a tool, used by some device to study the fighters and prepare this second, more dangerous test. Whether that was the case or not, Izvilvin couldn't begin to fathom the power that had constructed this trap, dangerous as it was.

Two clangs and the Drow's hands felt numb. Blocking the gem sai hurt his hands more than a broadsword, and the strikes were coming fast. Two more and he was stepping backward. As the gem clone came in to strike once from each side, arms closing in quickly, Izvilvin shifted his weight and pushed forward, past the attack, to drive both his weapons toward the facade's chest. It was a strike that could not miss, and would surely do crippling damage, yet somehow the clone twisted itself away from the weapons and landed to the side.

Izvilvin couldn't believe its agility, and yet he had no time to concern himself over it. Already, the two gem sai were coming at him from above, as the weapons came at him while he was still in mid-attack. The Drow struggled to twist away to the side, but only managed to do so at the cost of two shallow cuts on his ribs.

He landed flat-footed, and the gem form was at him again to take advantage, cutting left, right, and then center. Izvilvin parried them all, stepping back all the way. The gem form was relentless and skilled, just like him, and Canen didn't appear to be doing any better. A thought occurred to him, a fleeting, distant idea that seemed their only hope, but before he could put it into words, Canen did it for him.

Not bothering to acknowledge it with words, Izvilvin turned from his mirror form and bolted toward Canen and his. Trusting the human to deal with his own gem clone, which was following him closely, Izvilvin went straight at gem Canen. The great broadsword came at him with force, enough to cleave him into two pieces if it hit. It was faster than anyone could have expected it to wield such a large blade, and yet it was slow to the Drow.

He ducked, letting the blade sweep over him, tussling his hair as it blew on by, and came in close. He drove a sai through its side, spilling gems on the ground behind it as the iron weapon tore a piece of it away. In an instant he was behind it, slashing twice more into its back to send all colors of gems scattering. Gem Canen turned, slapping at the quick elf with his hand, then following with the blade in a single arm. Izvilvin ducked, then leapt up and over the high slash of the sword, evading the attack with his flexibility.

As he landed, Izvilvin threw a flurry of attacks. High, low, left and right he slashed, each strike tearing a score of gems from the slower opponent. Thinner and thinner it became, and more desperate were the attacks. It slashed, missed again, and sent a foot forward to strike, but Izvilvin was too quick both times, sliding around to deliver attacks to the clone's gut and leg.

Finally, when it grew too thin to support its own weight, the gems began to fall off on their own. The clone struck on, but soon fell forward with the weight of the blade, splashing into a thousand tiny jewels that scattered the ground. Breathing heavy, Izvilvin knelt and scooped some of them into his hand, tucking the colorful little baubles into his pocket.

[Falcon Darkflight]

It pleased Canen enormously when Izvilvin, with his superior agility and remarkable strength, defeated his relentless gem counterpart. It told him his fourth and final militant asset had proved effective: they had managed to drive a wedge between the two crystal soldiers, forcing them to fall on the back foot and lose out to their contrasting weaknesses. This decisive victory would prove to be a motivating force for the bleeding Khaian warrior, determined not to be stopped this early on.

His hands felt the numbing cold of the Valiance's hilt recoil, albeit softly, against the crystalline sai of the gem Izvilvin as the Nocturn sprinted forward in an aggresive run, covering the little distance between them in no time at all. Although the drow clone was an agile and quick opponent, Canen was better trained in the arts of close quarter fighting, something he had been trained to do as a vital part of his upbringing. Two sai strikes attempted to lick the broadsword's dull edge with almost enough force to chip at the fine cutting edge, but Canen parried them in a verticle arc with a powerful and precise swing, turning quickly to deliver a counterstroke on the return stroke. The gem clone's arms flailed in response to the skillful parry and shattered into rainbow shards as the powerful sword looped up through the right limb, arching round the back of the gemstone figurine's neck and crashed down through the left arm with a momentous force, sending a shower of shimmering particles scattering over the black marble floor.

As the gem clone tried feebly to twist away to the side in response to the critical attack, to attempt some sort of escape, Canen thrust the tip of his weapon straight into the smooth glasslike torso of his enemy, pinning the strange manifestation to the wall.

Izvilvin's clone was trapped.

The hilt of the broadsword prevented it from sliding off, whilst the tip of the blade rooted firmly into the rock behind it was completely unable to budge.

"Well, well, well..." Canen mocked in a disgusted yet almost arrogantly toned voice, wiping the smears of his blood from beneath his nose as the clone struggled against the wall. "It seems you're not quite as difficult to handle when your playmate has been oblirated into glass dust..." He thumbed over to Izvilvin, who had just recovered his stamina from the scuffle with Canen's easily dispatched clone.

"Turn...away..."

A fleeting voice echoed softly from the crystal humanoid pinned to the wall. Canen's eyes reverted to his enemy once more.

"Oh? So the brainless, artificial fool has a voice? I don't think you are in any position to be advising me of my actions. Tell me what you know of this place...or be destroyed. Your choice."

"Turn...away...death follows...the Nomad"

Canen's eyes momentarily flashed with light. The Nomad? He had no idea what this strange entity was trying to tell him, but he felt safe to assume that this 'Nomad' was the one behind these ridiculous tests of strength...or guardians of the sceptre he had come for. He was not prepared to allow anyone to get in his way. To falter now would be to give up the things he wanted the most...

"Death follows the Nomad, does it? When you see your master..." Canen paused, raising an open palm towards the armless crystal figurine, the familiar black material of the Dark Matter orb swirling and contorting in his hand with a strange, almost stomach turning pulse, "...give him our regards...and tell him Canen comes for him..."

He thrust his open palm forwards, letting the orb slam away from his palm with a violent recoil that blustered his hair as it did, and watched as the armless imitiation of Izvilvin fractured into a multicoloured cloud of rainbow grit. The cloud of sharp particles descended upon the black floor and simply vanished without trace as the magical properties of the material absorbed into the floor like water into a sponge.

Breathing heavily, and wiping the remainder of the black blood from his face, Canen reached down onto the floor and collected his loose weapon. As he did, two red rubies toppled from out of the dragon's eye sockets and clattered noisly onto the stone, each burning brightly with a glowing scarlet hue.

"Arthh fhhar siisn Jy'll?" He asked Izvilvin in a vague drow accent, asking if he had the slightest idea as to what these mystical gems were to be used for...

[Izvilvin]

It was with a calm, almost eerie sense of composure that Izvilvin watched Canen deal with his clone, lavender eyes looking listlessly at the scene as it unfolded. With his hands, the Drow rubbed his wounds, trying to work the muscle back into some realm of comfort so that he could perform to his highest potential. Even on the journey back to Jya's Keep, Izvilvin was not comfortable with traveling injured.

The clattering of gems caused Izvilvin to turn, observing the two fallen jewels that were previously serving as eyes for the dragon statue. Though they were surrounded by colorful jewels, these two seemed brighter than all, seeming of a substance he could not describe. They were indeed clear, each with a small ember within that provided a soothing glow.

He replied to Canen's question with another question, asking how he was supposed to answer it. After all, it wasn't as if he knew anything about this underground temple that his human counterpart didn't. The Drow scooped up one of the gems in his right hand, letting his fingers dance around the surface and feel for any kind of imperfection. Predictably, there were none, but that didn't help them along any.

A quick inspection of the room revealed nothing, though this was the first chance the elf had to check well. The gems on the walls, however, were so frequent and so difficult to pick out individually, given the reflection provided by the magical orbs above, that Izvilvin suspected the door was hidden somewhere in the jewel-laden surroundings. "Lor l' reiben veir," he said, relaying this.

Looking to the gem in his hand, Izvilvin also imagined it fit into a vacant hole in the wall. Finding it, however, would be a chore. This, too, he relayed, letting Canen know just what he was thinking in order to keep them on the same page.

[Falcon Darkflight]

Canen stood next to the drow, watching as Izvilvin attempted to replace the twin rubies into what he suspected were their key slots in the walls. The room itself consisted of many large stone panels, each one riddled with various pits and dents where the gemstones had once settled before they had come alive. Now this room, once entrancing and alive with splashes of colour and glowing hues, was dark and dull again.

The theory was good enough. What better way to guard a secret door than seal away two needles, and lock the keyhole in a haystack? As his eyes coldly surveyed the thousands of oddly shaped stone dents, Canen started to realise how effective this guarding technique was. It would take a matter of hours at the rate they were moving to make any significant progress towards finding a way forward. But, deep down in the Khaian's gut, where his instincts boiled away like the hot water product of a geiser, he had a theory of his own, and started to view things from the perspective of someone who would want to lead them astray.

If I were going to guard a temple of this stature, I would do things differently. Make the intruders believe the gems are related to the room. Create a red herring. The mind who created this place would know that anybody trying to follow this theory would be delayed for hours, surely? There are thousands of slots here.

As he allowed his vision to slip out of focused while he concentrated on thinking, he noticed two strange objects underneath the shining scarlet of the stones. They seemed to be embedded in the stone like a fossil.

Beautiful.

Motioning to Izvilvin to hand him one of the stones, Canen took the gem from the drows right hand and brought it level with his eye. Through the glass like texture he could see clearly the distorted image of a metallic object, encased in the jewel quite firmly. It was a silver key. As his hand wrapped more firmly around the stone, the Khaian suddenly leapt back and muttered in pain, dropping the stone to the floor. The scold marks on his palm glowed red as he brought it up to the dim light created by the white, shining orbs of light.

I think we have a winner. He thought, noticing the contrasts between the physics of hot and cold in this strange temple. The blue flames seemed to lick ice sheets across the palms of those who touched them, yet the red crystal had a hot aura that scolded those who touched it.

Canen left the room for a moment in search of a blue flamed torch, similar to the one he had touched earlier. There was a few moments silence before he hastily returned, a wooden coned, blue flamed latern grasped in his right hand. With both gems now lying on the cold black stone of the now empty room, the Khaian took one last look at the drow before tossing the torch.

There was a loud, raspy hiss as the marine inferno whooshed into the air as if a powerful catalyst had reacted with it, and the solid scarlet hue underneath it started to fade away into nothingness. After five or so minutes of waiting for the flames to die, all that was left of the ocean blue inferno was two, shiny silver keys, lay motionless on the dull stone.

[Izvilvin]

The events that preceeded the keys' appearance were all lost to Izvilvin. He, unlike Canen, did not harness the perception necessary to decipher this strange riddle, but when the keys were revealed, he gradually caught on. He did not understand the blue fire and its effect on the crystals, but what really mattered was the result.

Izvilvin plucked both keys from the floor, tossing them up and down as his fingers got used to the heat around them. When he felt comfortable with them, the Drow inspected the strange, tiny items. They seemed to be made of a material similar to silver, yet they were not quite soft enough. Mythril, perhaps.

He looked up, his eyes floating casually around the room as he inspected. A key did not need to open a door, after all, which was fortunate because Izvilvin did not detect any. He did, however, notice the slightest of creases in the back of the dragon statue, which was now behind them. Approaching, he saw that these were in fact keyholes. Convenient.

Using both keys, Izvilvin turned the inner workings of whatever was within the statue, bringing two ancient-sounding clicks to his ears. The room rumbled and shook, dust and pebbles crumbling from the cieling of the temple cavern. Izvilvin felt a surge of adrenaline as the statue cracked and moved, the neck lowering to present the head of the dragon to the front of the room. The smell of dirt filled his senses, and soon the rumbling was over.

The Drow, bidding his human counterpart to come along, circled the massive structure and observed the neck and head, which had lowered to the floor. The dragon's stone maw presented an opening, which presumably led into some other section of the underground temple.

The warrior's lavender eyes flashed. This adventure was growing more and more exciting. With a swift look in Canen's direction, Izvilvin entered the dragon's mouth.

[Falcon Darkflight]

As they swept along the underground river, the skeletal warriors, the Tsherra Knights, peered through the waves of heat rising from the sandstone below their feet. The ripples distorted the hidden reservoir underground in what torchlight was available to them, the lava flow just underneath the surface literally cooking the smooth rock surface to unbearable temperatures. Had they been of flesh, the Tsherra would have watched in horror as the heat melted the skin off of their bones. It was their fortune, or perhaps misfortune, they weren't.

"He who is Sovereign of the Day of Judgement calls to us." The call echoed clearly in tradespeak from the front of the pack of knights as they paced over the burning sandstone, running adjacent to the river that ran from the lake. A yellow-red burst of flame from the lava below tore through a section of rock two metres to the left of the pack but the Tsherra pressed forward without so much as a startled leap. Fear had left their dry bodies long ago, and they deserved no emotion.

"The Great One, Saroth'sah, calls upon us to cast those that would endanger his rule into the fiery pits." The tradespeak sound off continued. The Tsherra Knights moved through the dark and expansive underground cavern at a snails pace, destined for the source of the intrusion. It had been a thousand years since their last duty was carried out to their master and commander Saroth'sah, the fallen raider of Fallien. The people of the desert had given the bandit the title of "The Nomad", for fear of incurring a curse at the mention of his name. True enough, those who had seen the evil thief and spoke his name had more often than not been found dead under mysterious circumstances, although it was no mystery as to who had carried out the deed.

Saroth'sah had been notorious for two traits: the plundering of hundreds of desert settlements, and the cold blooded murder of vast quantities of men, women and children. After committing his dark purposes, the bandit and his ex-military band of thieves would return to their hidden retreat in the far thrown reaches of the desert where the sandstorms were thick and blinding, on the backs of specially bred desert horses, making it almost impossible to be followed by their pursuers. But whilst they were often successful in escaping the settlement dwellers, or failing that destroying them before heading back into the disused temple, they could not deny the gods their wrath. Saroth'sah and his band were to be condemned to an eternity of imprisonment in the desert temple which they had so often used to dwell, unable to live, unable to escape and unable to die.

The underground lake was not in fact an ordinary lake. This was evident by the fact no steam rose from the surface of the water, which was quite an abnormality considering the level of heat and pressure underneath the cavern bedrock. It remained still and cool, unwavering. The essence of the gods that had passed judgement on Saroth'sah was contained in the crystal blue waters and flowed through the atmosphere of the temple, binding the Nomad and his fallen soldiers to the forgotten hideout forever. This strange magic also served to defend the temple from potential destroyers of the gods seal, and had employed the gemstone clones of warriors as a defense mechinism. Whilst no-one wanted Saroth'sah to get out, no-one was supposed to get in, either.

A crimson glow radiated from the empty eye sockets of the Nomad as he watched the events unfold through a liquid pool of crystal in his throne room, further north of where Canen and Izvilvin were about to embark to the lower levels. Saroth'sah's body, shrouded completely in torn red cloth and armoured with a Mythril breastplate, stood motionless, clutching the Cane of Sera tighter and tighter with every passing moment.

"Infectious, infidel scum. They dare to enter my abode, seeking to remove the treasure of Fallien from my grasp. They shall fall at my knees, succumb to the power of the Tsherra Knights. Go, my servants. Crush them, do not let them proceed any further."

[Izvilvin]

Izvilvin hadn't noticed any trap door earlier, yet as they entered the dragon's throat, he realized that they were not traveling into the creature's bulk and into a belly of treasure. A staircase had appeared, barely lit by the light allowed into the mouth of the statue. He could only see for the first dozen steps, then had to descend slowly, to make sure he did not tumble down.

Fortunately it was not a long climb, and there was light at the bottom. He stepped out of the staircase and observed, both with his eyes and his ears, a river that flowed steadily down a tunnel. He stepped onto a metal grate that led forward, surrounded by the waters. It was like an underground bridge that stretched as far as his eyes could see. Looking down, he could actually see the reflection of the water through the spaces in the walkway.

The aforementioned light was provided by rows upon rows of lit torches, strangely still burning after what Izvilvin thought must have been a century of solitude. They hung from mounts against the grimey walls, and the Drow thought that if they grew desperate, he could leap across the waters, grab a torch, and then jump back from the tiny ledge which lined the tunnel. Thankfully, he was pretty sure the torches would lead them the rest of the way.

It was similar to the sewer arena he'd used on his first visit to the Citadel, he realized.

The two walked in silence for a short time, Izvilvin doing a rather remarkable job of ignoring his wounds, when they came to the end of the sewer system. The tunnel gave way to a drop in height, where the water cascaded down to a massive cavern. Izvilvin looked down from their perch above the room. The water ran down the center as usual, but the walkway did not continue. Rather, there was plenty of space to walk. The sewerlike appearance became more like a temple again.

He struck Canen with the back of his hand, then pointed at a door at the far end of the room. The river ran under it. It was strange to see a door with no ground below it, but Izvilvin knew nothing about the society that had created this place.

Moving to the edge of the drop, Izvilvin gripped the top rung of a metal ladder grafted into the wall, and descended to the chamber's bottom.

[Falcon Darkflight]

Canen and Izvilvin had been in this strange underground temple for over an hour now. For most of that time, they'd traversed deadly traps, displayed their combat prowess against a series of odd looking and surreal enemies and had somehow advanced as far as this strange sub-level lake. But the excitement didn't stop there, it seemed.

As he reacted to Izvilvin's motioning hand with a startled jump, the eyes of Darkflight ventured down the cascade of marine blue water to the large basin below. A crystal glow illuminated the depths of large pool, which bottlenecked as it twisted on towards the door with no ground below it, becoming barely as narrow as the doorframe itself. Another scan around the room revealed no more pathways, and the only way down to the ground from this fifty foot drop was an iron rung ladder nailed to the wall. Canen followed Izvilvin down slowly, noting that the ladder, which should technically have been rusted due to the amounts of moisture in the air here, was as good as new, as if it had been manufactured yesterday.

Strange... Canen thought, his hands and feet almost slipping on the iron bars as he descended with caution. No rust, no dirt...and this place is one of the most moist places I have been. There seems to be some sort of strange essence here-

His thoughts were cut off almost instantly by a violent jolt which conducted through the iron of the ladder and re-coiled painfully up his arms and into his shoulders. Canen gasped for air as he felt his fingers slip from the ladder, then his feet, and then shouted helplessly as he tumbled off of the ladder, much to Izvilvin's dismay. There was a loud, raspy thud as Canen's sturdy back slammed into the crystal clear surface of the underground lake, followed by a foamy eruption of water that showered over the head of the cave troll that was busy slamming its fists into the wall Izvilvin was still perched upon.

The troll roared in anger at the water, flailing its massive arms from left to right to try and dry itself off before turning its attention back to a marooned Izvilvin. It's wrists still bore the heavy iron shackles of a past imprisonment, its chains clawing massive potholes into the wall as its rage became more ferocious.

[Izvilvin]

Izvilvin could only hold on to the rungs of the ladder, as tightly as possible, as Canen flew down past him, shaken loose by the impact of the troll's fists against the wall. His lavender eyes followed the human's flight as he hit the water, then observed the troll he'd failed to notice earlier. Laying eyes upon the creature brought rage out in the Drow, who was growing more and more tired of the constant traps and pitfalls that the temple was presenting them with. This had been intended as a simple retrieval of a staff, an adventure to initiate a new member of Step, not an impossible mission.

In his heart, he wondered if he'd been told the truth about the goal of this mission.

All the same, there was a threat present that he needed to help Canen deal with. The troll looked massive from his spot halfway up the ladder, and Izvilvin could see that the creature was no longer distracted by Canen's movement in the water. A pair of punches to the wall shook him, but Izvilvin's iron grip would not release the rung.

When the time was right, Izvilvin leapt from the high point, soaring downward with a flash of white hair trailing his head. He whipped two sai from his belt and landed hard on the troll's shoulders, only then realizing just how sturdy the creature was, as it did not even flinch as he landed. Quickly he thrashed, stabbing and slashing downward against the tiny head of the monster.

It sweeped upward with a paw, brushing Izvilvin in the side with just enough force to send him toppling off its shoulder and to the ground. He rolled with the impact, avoiding a quick stomp and climbing to his feet. The troll approached immediately, dragging the chains that dangled from its long limbs, but was met with the two sai as they were thrown, one after another, into its chest.

These simple wounds could not slow the beast, however, though it did stop for a moment. The great paws of the creature pulled both sai, tiny in its hands, from its flesh, tossing them to the floor and roaring.

He cried out for Canen, beckoning the human to get out of the water and do his best to lend help, but Izvilvin figured that he'd take a moment to do so with his heavy equipment. The nimble elf cursed as the troll advanced on him, swinging its fists and slinging deadly chains with each follow through. The Drow dodged, but could not move in time to avoid the troll's hand as it reached in once again, grabbing the comparatively tiny elf in its hot hand.

Izvilvin cried out and squirmed, trying to slip free, but the troll's powerful fingers held him easily. The troll bellowed and squeezed, choking a cry from the Drow.

[Falcon Darkflight]

Everything was a watercolour blur. The sensation of the impact on the waters surface seemed to twist and distort the nerves in the Khaian’s already injured body, confusing Canen’s brain into believing he might already be dead. Had it not been for the shock of the numbing cold of the underground channel, that almost glacial lake encompassing his bleeding body, he might have stayed underwater and held true to that delusion.

His eyes opened slowly, the pressure of the cavern’s river stirring him back into a distorted consciousness, as the looming, blurred images of the troll shifted from place to place through the medium of the water, its massive iron shackles little more than black ink strokes through the little light that was available. After a few moments of hesitation, it slowly dawned on the Khaian’s brain he was underwater, unable to breathe, weighed down by the sheer weight of his clothing and equipment. A frantic struggle began as he flailed his arms by his side, attempting to strip himself of his heavier gear. Firstly, and to his utter contempt, his sword plunged to the bottom of the lake, resting on a jagged set of rocks a couple of metres below the surface. Secondly, with no time to think about the consequences of him losing his weapon, Canen tore at his upper body clothing like a crazed animal, literally shearing the material from his body to reveal his scarred torso. It was only then he could feel gravity defy, the pockets of air escaping from the bottom of the lake floor rising with him to the surface.

The light became brighter and brighter with every passing second, hope of survival burning like the brightest flame until Canen’s black painted lips felt the cool air of the cavern atmosphere kiss him, his lungs almost embraced with the gift of air, appreciating it as if it were the finest luxury. Then, as he pulled himself from the crystal blue lake with all of his strength, another emotion started to dominate him. Firstly it was the relief of survival. Then, like a caterpillar undergoing some sort of ghostly metamorphis, it faded and became a momentary appreciation of the gift of life, before exploding into its final and most volatile form. The form of rage.

Canen, like his Drow counterpart, had decided this was the final straw. The beast, clearly still in good health despite Izvilvin’s apparent attempts to destroy the monster, was approaching its antagonist with violent intentions, a flurry of chain lashings scarred into the wall on which the Drow had been backed into and massive fist-sized chunks missing from the floor and surrounding terrain. Indeed, if it had not been for Izvilvin’s agility, the Drow might have been killed. Canen slowly got to his aching feet, adrenaline now the only plausible fuel for his determination, and sprinted towards the mighty legs of the troll, who still had his back turned to the Khaian.

I will make you pay the ultimate price!

Mid-sprint, the shirtless Canen clapped his hands together and pulled them apart, producing a sizable web of Black Widow substance, much like a net the gladiators would use in the Citadel. He slid feet first underneath a recoiling chain and grabbed on to the left ankle shackle, a spray of dust kicking up from the Achilles of the massive fleshy pillar as it strode forward, and the Khaian quickly set to work. Slamming a part of the net onto the left tendon, Canen lept onto the right foot in a brave leap of faith between strides and tightly strung the second part of the net into the Achilles tendon of the right foot, pinning the paralysing magic onto the skin with a broken fragment of iron from the shackle ring.

“Izvilvin, get to work!! This one’s going to fall down real quick!” He yelled towards his counterpart, almost drowned out completely by the roaring of the beast, forgetting momentarily that he was speaking in a language not understood by the Drow.

[Izvilvin]

Gasping for breath, Izvilvin fought off his body's desire to shut down. The beast's might was otherwordly, and he was but a lithe Drow, albeit a determined one. He struck at the thing's face with his head, smashing his skull repeatedly and drawing blood from his own flesh, but not relenting. The troll seemed immune to the pain.

The thing growled suddenly and his grip loosened just a bit. Turning to examine whatever it was that had gripped it, the troll ignored Izvilvin for just a moment. Finding he had room to move his hands, the Drow was able to draw a sai and stab it under the thumbnail of the thing, bringing a screech.

Released, Izvilvin hit the ground and rolled immediately, as the troll fell forward onto its face. Coughing and nursing his aching body, the Drow pushed past the pain and leapt onto the thing's back, slashing relentlessly with the brutal iron sai he carried. Heaps of flesh fell from the troll's neck and shoulders as Izvilvin dug deep, pulling and twisting with each desperate strike.

Screaming a battle cry that helped his adreneline along, Izvilvin stabbed forth with both weapons, each finding a home in the troll's neck on either side. The creature writhed and growled, in deep pain and fighting what was to come. Izvilvin pulled on the handles of his weapons, even going so far as to put his food on the troll's head for leverage. With a disgusting, sickening sound, the pressure was relieved as the sai tore the monster's throat from its neck.

An unremorseful elf slid from the creature's back and wiped his weapons on the short material it used to hide its backside, before sliding them slowly back into his belt. He retrieved the others and did the same with them, moving sluggishly as his body calmed and remembered the pain he was in.

"Udos shlu'ta naut vaen whol mzilt felah," he said, speaking his fear that they could not last for much longer.

All the same, he slowly made his way to the underwater blockade that led forward. He relaxed himself and took a deep breath, looked to Canen, fell under the reach the next area.

[Izvilvin]

The Drow slowly let his head rise from the water, the liquid pressing his white hair to his head and forcing it to fall straight down to his shoulders. The canal ended a few meters ahead, where the water met a drain and plummeted noisily downward, covering the sound of his movement through the stream.

At the end he was able to hold on to the drain's ledge and pull himself up, just enough so that the top of his head peeked over the lime-slicked floor. Ahead were a pair of skeletal warriors, significantly smaller than the one Canen and Izvilvin had taken down earlier. The Drow slowly let his head rise from the water, the liquid pressing his white hair to his head and forcing it to fall straight down to his shoulders. The canal ended a few meters ahead, where the water met a drain and plummeted noisily downward, covering the sound of his movement through the stream.

At the end he was able to hold on to the drain's ledge and pull himself up, just enough so that the top of his head peeked over the lime-slicked floor. Ahead were a pair of skeletal warriors, significantly smaller than the one Canen and Izvilvin had taken down earlier. Between them was another, with eyes with darker depths than the most hollow crevice. It wore a red robe, tattered and torn, with half a dozen rings on its bony fingers.

Izvilvin snuck up on them, mindless of Canen's progress, and burst into action, weaving past the reaching hands and weapons of the animated corpses to snatch the staff from their leader. It cried out in a choking, chalky voice, and a dozen other skeletons burst right from the walls where they'd been buried after their mortal lives.

He dove under the water and swam with all his might, again not paying the slightest of attention to Canen, who he assumed to be nearby and taking care of himself.

With the agility that only an elf could carry, Izvilvin bounded up the iron ladder, taking four rungs with each powerful, focused lift of a leg. He reached the top level running, bursting out of the fallen dragon statue's mouth and out past the skeleton corpse. He could hear the slap of skeletal feet behind him, and tried to pick up his pace.

The heat of the sun greeted the Drow harshly, as he slid through the small opening that led outside again. He mounted his horse with a nimble jump, and he was off into the distance.

He looked behind. Canen was nowhere to be seen. It seemed that in the end, despite all that had happened, he was not quite Step material.

[Storm Veritas]

Sorry for the delay. I thought that this was a good quest written by two very talented writers, but tragically it was cut short by the disappearance of Falcon. Too bad, hopefully he comes back soon. This quest featured an awesome effort by both of you. Falcon, this was some of your best storytelling, although your editing needs work. Izvivlin, this is simply terrific work. Nearly mistake-free, very seamless. Super clean and wonderful to read.

Per usual, my critique is EXTREMELY critical. I feel that you can’t improve weaknesses if they aren’t pointed out. This was clearly an above-average effort by both of you, but probably not the best cumulative effort you two could have crafted. From what I see with proper editing and a little better planning you two could definitely crank out Judge’s Choice caliber material, you now need only focus a bit more and make it happen.

Continuity - 5 /10

Continuity deals with how well this story hashes out with respect to your character’s overall story. There shouldn’t be some crazy change in character without explanation, and abuse of liquid time could be punished here. Also, it is important to remember that the readers will most likely not have read your entire character’s history, so some rudimentary background is helpful.

Here you guys suffer the most heavily. The loss of Falcon / Canen obviously crushes continuity, because it forces the story to be wrapped up so abruptly and so out of tempo. There was a very good effort for Canen to tell interesting backstory about his character, but I didn’t really understand why either of you were doing this. I didn’t really buy Izvivlin’s tour guide status, or why precisely Canen had undertaken the mission.


Setting - 9/10

Setting can be simple or complex, but it describes your surroundings and the way that you interact with your environment throughout the thread. Setting takes into account sensory description and the impact of the stage you play upon with respect to the plot.

You were both simply outstanding here. Everything from color to temperature to visuals were very accurately depicted, and there was a very solid frame of interaction between characters and the environment. I was very happy with this.

Pacing - 6/10

Pacing is flow. A feeling of rush is not good for short segments of plot progression, and a feeling of prolonged post-stretching is very dangerous for action sequences.

Pacing was pretty solid. I felt some of the action was a little drawn compared to the actual journey, but I suppose that is inevitable. The ending was also very rushed, although that is understandable.

Character

Dialogue - 8/10

Dialogue needs to consider all elements of verbal communication. Not only must the interaction be smooth and easy to follow, but there is a huge opportunity for creativity here to show your character’s action. Similarly, the amount of speech chosen and the nature of it as it corresponds to your character are important.

The language barrier you two overcame scores tons of bonus points here. The dialogue seemed very dry, with some inconsistent tones from Canen, but that was a pretty good use of the highs and lows that you would be experiencing emotionally. A job very well done.

Action - 6/10

How your characters act and react to the circumstances of the thread dictate your action score. Logic and character consistency are critical here.

Actions were mostly logical, and some were outstanding. I was very pleased with the “red herring” keylock within the temple, and the creative fighting and teamwork displayed by these two. Sadly, the nonchalance exhibited by Izvivlin at the death/disappearance of Canen seemed uncharacteristic of the normally caring drow.

Personality - 4/10

This it your character’s signature on the thread. If your character conveys his or her personality effectively, then you’re much better set to provide a great story.

Not as consistent as it could be, as I explained above. Canen seems almost bipolar when he gets angry, perhaps a little too one way or the other. Perhaps that is the way of the hero, but a little more control could be useful here. Similarly, the ending reaction by Izvivlin stunned me.

Writing Style

Mechanics - 5/10

Mechanics deals with basic grammar, wordflow and the clarity of writing. Awkward ramblings or improper conjugations can kill you here.

As far as I could tell, Izvivlin was flawless. Obviously well edited. Unfortunately, his strength was Falcon’s weakness, as there were countless typos, misspellings, and word misuses. Upon entering the cave, for example, he described the atmosphere as “a dry humid”. Humidity is a measure of moisture in the air, so this makes no sense. Similarly there were some conjugation and agreement errors.

It isn’t an uncommon or unfixable error. I see it ALL the time. To be fair, I’m harder on those I know are good writers, and I frankly expect the best from both of you. Perhaps that is why this score is as low as it is considering only one of your offered lackluster editing.

Technique - 5/10

Technique is what we call "The Use of Literary Machines" in the story-telling format. Alliteration, Fore-shadow, Simile, Metaphor and the likes are what add spice and flavor to stories and keep the readers wanting more.

There wasn’t a lot here that I saw. Some obvious use of symbology with the light sources, the keys, the fire/ice, etc. Also saw some nice asides and monologues by Falcon. Wasn’t anything done poorly here, but I wasn’t blown away, either.

Clarity - 5/10

Clarity is the score allotted to the ease of reading for a given story. If you can’t follow what you’re reading, you’re not very prone to enjoy it.

I was quite confused at the start, and vexed at the end. Several pieces had to be re-read, including the initial assault by the skeletons, which seemed to come from nowhere.

Wild Card

Wild Card - 6/10

A very fun read, very cleverly crafted, and written by two very good writers. While I pointed out the shortcomings, I should emphasize that I LOVE to read stories written by both of you, and hope to see you continue to write more and more.

Total Score - 54

Izvivlin receives 1700 EXP and 250 gold
Falcon Darkflight receives 1250 EXP and 150 gold