Saga of the Dragon: The Summoning

[Izvilvin]

((Solo. Forgive the lame title.))

Blackness reigned in the Great Nether, chaos abound at every twist of the eternal maze. Demons and spirits were ever conspiring to inflict as much pain upon another as possible, as it was simply the only way to pass time. No soul feared death, because death had already claimed them, placing them in this damned place of infinite torture and pain. No moment passed where a scream did not resonate; they had become the background noise to the Nether, a perfect representation of just what this realm was.

It is difficult to describe the Great Nether beyond saying that it is the home of the abandoned dead, for its form is constantly shifting and twisting to present these banished souls with new difficulties. The one and only constant, never-changing characteristic of the realm is the smog, always present regardless of what sinister appearance the Nether takes. The dead did not need to breathe, but the Gods had dictated that an eternity of labored breath was as good a punishment as physical torture. Never would the beings of this plane suck a gulp of clean air again.

The smog was the only definite characteristic, but the Great Nether also had a pair of indisputable truths. One was that there was no escape. Though they needed to breathe the smog, a soul in the Nether could not die. They would feel the pain of death, surely, but there would be no respite, no leaving of the dead body. A billion bodies lay against what could be considered this land’s ground, motionless but still feeling, forced to endure whatever pain had incapacitated them until the day the Nether ceased.

The second truth was that Glimmerfang ruled all, and was the absolute lord of the Great Nether. Needless to say, in a realm where every evil man who has died in Althanas’ history has gone to, this was quite an accomplishment. One did not dispute Glimmerfang’s rule, lest they bring an eternity of undeath upon themselves, where the lingering burn of the dragon’s breath was a constant torture.

Darting through walls of obsidian glass, a large green demon made his way through the confusion of the Nether like a seasoned professional. The maze changed every so often, and was hard to perceive by any of the five senses, but this one had spent a millennium banished in the realm, and somehow knew the turns. Pushing through the smog he came to the face of a blackened wall, much like the face of a cliff in mortal terms. Within the wall was the Blackened Fire, Glimmerfang, a single tooth of whom was almost the size of the demon who had come to stand before him.

Even dragons were not exempt from the laws of Althanas, and Glimmerfang had been banished to the Great Nether some centuries ago, he could not quite remember when. He had been a tyrant, a great evil on the mortal plane, where he hoarded not only gold and treasure, but slaves of all races who were made to fight each other for his enjoyment. The dragon had ravaged entire continents, burning the soil with his own breath of fire, which was fabled to rival the sun by its mere heat. Even now, humans on the mortal plane sung tales of his reign.

He had only been done in through interference from the Gods, who sealed him in his own cave of treasure, a cave of black dirt in Alerar not possible to reach by typical mortal means. The cave had been melted around him, sealing him within an impenetrable prison of adamantine, and using the greatest magic forged on Althanas, the Gods were able to eliminate his heart, sending him to the Great Nether. Here, he suffered the same way as he had in his last moments of life, with a great cube of adamantine holding all but his head within.

The demon observed Glimmerfang as he slept, the color of his scales distorted and made ugly by the fog. One did not stand before the great dragon tyrant without wobbling in fright, a fact this demon, as big as he was, was not exception to. He would have never come to this part of the Nether if he’d had a choice, but a human from the mortal plane had summoned him to deliver a message to the dragon. The demon picked at his curled horns and fought back tears, knowing that not delivering the message would condemn him to certain undeath, but the alternative of waking the dragon would not grant him any better a fate.

“L-Lord?” He asked in a low volume, trying to call attention to himself in the least irritating way possible.

Glimmerfang’s eyes opened immediately, revealing slit pupils each surrounded by a deep red iris, made muddy through the smog. The dragon’s head tilted as much as it could, considering his neck was bound within the adamantine prison, squaring his eyes at the green demon. The dragon spoke with neither his voice nor his mind, but merely waited for the fool to talk. The dragon’s breath was hot against the demon’s body, and fighting those tears back was harder because of it.

“A message for you,” he managed to spit out. The demon had a hard time continuing on, but forced the words to spill from his mouth. “The human wizard says there is only one step remaining, but the insolent fool will only go through with it if you swear to be his servant in the world above.”

Fortunately for the green demon, Glimmerfang did not seem angered at this sudden news. In fact, if the dragon’s face was at all readable, it would have indicated that he had anticipated such a thing. After all, why would a human wizard go through so much trouble to return the ancient dragon to Althanas, and not want anything in return? With the dragon’s power at his disposal, Sasarai could make the mortal lands his domain to rule over, and just as the human wizard had known, a dragon’s pledge was binding to their very soul. Evil as he was, Glimmerfang would not dare go against his own oath.

To live life in the servitude of a mortal was a thought that disgusted the great wyrm, yet he truly longed to once again spread his wings and soar in the blue sky of the mortal realm, feared far and wide on an even greater scale than in the Great Nether. Visions of grandeur filled the dragon’s powerful mind. He desired to ascend past the Gods, somehow, to spite them and their efforts to imprison him for eternity. His great power made such a thing plausible, and perhaps with the aid of the worldly wizard, the dragon could find a way to enhance his already immense strength.

The demon was shaking, awaiting some form of a response. Glimmerfang grew annoyed with him, and spat a great ball of flame from his mouth. The sound of the roaring fire drowned out the demon’s cry as it swallowed him, incinerating the creature into a blackened mass. Impossible as it was, the demon still lived on, trapped in this undying new form and forced to endure the pain, as death refused to grip him.

Glimmerfang’s decision could not be made so quickly.

[Izvilvin]

Jya’s Keep stood solid in the night, undisturbed and peaceful. The structure was an accurate representation of the strength of the Fallien people and the solidity of their leader, the Jya, a kind woman who led with wisdom granted by the Suravani. With the absence of the sun the desert was cooler, yet one could still feel the heat that Fallien was known for.

A breeze passed through the land, the rippling sound of dancing leaves filling the night as the wind beckoned them to move. It was peaceful. It was comfortable. According to Sasarai, it was soon to be his, though soon was a relative term.

The wizard brushed a row of straight blue hair from his eye, tucking it behind his ear as he resumed the tiresome process of drawing the summoning glyph on the floor. To one less experienced, the process would be arduous and painstakingly long, but Sasarai had drawn it a dozen times in just the past few days to commune with the demons of the Nether. He needed to move his bed against the door to achieve the right amount of space, for his room was a tiny thing hardly worthy of the helpful wizard he had been pretending to be.

It was amusing to him how easily he’d convinced Jya that he had Fallien’s best interest at heart, especially considering he was going to use it as a wastebasket when Althanas became his. Such irony! All it took was some scrying and the providing of some useful information for her to trust him, and his cloak shielded him from the prying ability she seemed to have to detect people’s thoughts and ambitions. It was a good thing the cloak worked so well; it had cost many platinum coins to make.

Things were falling into place for the ambitious wizard. Tales of Glimmerfang were difficult to find since the dragon’s banishment – accurate ones anyway, but years of searching high and low had brought him to one secret, sacred book stored deep in the Black Desert of Raiaera, in a temple forgotten by time and buried by the ebony sands. A lesser wizard could not have possibly obtained it. Said book was upon his mattress at that moment, open to the page that listed the incantation needed to summon specific demons. Really, the only thing a wizard needed to do such a thing was have access to this book, which listed step-by-step instructions as if whoever was reading it was a fool.

But even a fool was not guaranteed success, as Mazoo had proven just days earlier. He had taken the book and made an attempt to duplicate Sasarai’s summoning ability, which somebody within the Keep had somehow been made aware of. Thankfully it was merely a rumor, and few people believed it. Needless to say, the Keep’s small mage was not able to summon even an imp from the Great Nether.

Sasarai was going to be sure such an attempt could not be made again. Every time he left his own room, he placed a magical seal upon his door. There was no sense in taking chances anymore, not at this crucial stage in his plan.

The book had detailed to him the steps necessary to release a spirit from the Great Nether, and no passage of the book had suggested to him that any being was exempt from the arcane spell. The components needed were all gathered. The most recent of which was practically delivered by the drow, who had returned from Suravani’s Oasis with a pair of Phoenix feathers. Taking one was no hard task for Sasarai. The dark elf had shown himself to be quite useful in this manner. Izvilvin had come to Fallien to get information on Sasarai, and the wizard knew it. Refusing information, he could send the dumb little bastard to fetch the components he was too busy to get.

Only two things remained before the wizard could begin the summoning process, returning Glimmerfang the tyrant – Blackened Fire, many called him – to the mortal realm. One was obtaining a mythical rod in the very farthest reaches of the desert, the name of which he did not know, which had the power to melt adamantine. Such an item seemed unbelievably impossible to him, but the nature of a wizard was not to question the validity of such things. If he could bend dimensions and bring forth a dragon from the Nether, a rod of such power was not much more improbable. The rod was to free Glimmerfang from his strange cubical prison, for even with the moving of the creature’s spirit, if his body were sealed in such a way the transfer could not occur.

The second was what he was doing now. A circle of candles and spell components surrounded the completed glyph, completing the process of protecting himself. He put an enchantment over the room to make all sounds silent to those outside, another protective measure against someone discovering what he was doing. Taking the book into his nimble hands, Sasarai carefully read the spell from the pages, pronouncing the words perfectly though they were written in an ancient language.

A translucent white light rose along the edge of the circular glyph, enacting the barrier that would contain the demon and prevent it from fleeing him. A moment later the glyph itself became an oily black doorway to the Nether, from which a red demon, furry around his neck and waist and with large black wings folded upon his back, emerged. Unlike the summoning he had planned for Glimmerfang, this was merely a temporary portal through dimensions, something many powerful mages could accomplish.

“Ah,” said Sasarai, replacing the book upon his bed and smacking his lips. “You are not the messenger I sent to your dragon master. Did he not like my message?”

The demon, infused with an innate hatred for humans as much a part of him as his pointed horns, charged blindly at the wizard, but smacked into the barrier as if it were a steel wall. The beast snarled in response, knowing he had no choice but to do the wizard’s bidding, whatever it was, for the human had means of harming him.

“The Blackened Fire does not appreciate being awakened,” said the demon in his own language, the venom in his tone dripping as evidently as any liquid could. “Your messenger is granted eternal torment as a mound of ash, a fate I now face!”

“Such a death is too kind for a demon. Furthermore, this is no banter between us. You will relay what I have to say to the dragon and do nothing else. I can make your existence very unpleasant.”

The demon did not reply, stifling himself in spite of how furious he truly was.

“Good,” continued Sasarai, a smirk of supremacy coming over his youthful face. “Tell the dragon that I have taken nearly every measure necessary to remove him from the Nether. All I need now is the rod to melt his prison, and I can begin the ritual to return him to this plane. Before I do this, however, I need his pledge. I need his solemn promise, his oath, that he will bow to me and become my servant.”

The demon flinched as it envisioned Glimmerfang’s reaction to hearing such a demand. The dragon was volatile enough when he wasn’t being ridiculed by some insolent human wizard.

“It is a small price to pay to once again fly the blue skies of this realm, striking fear into all who gaze upon him.” Sasarai waved his hand, and the glyph melted into black substance once again, sucking the demon back into the Great Nether. The wizard thought he heard the creature scream something, but it was engulfed by the bubbling sound of the portal. No matter. Nothing the demon could have said would have changed anything.

Slowly he collected his candles and began to clean up the markings on the floor. Leaving the glyph there provided the slim chance of the demon returning of its own will, though Sasarai imagined the thing wasn’t smart, or suicidal, enough to do it. Still, having to rewrite the glyph was less of a hassle than entering his room to face a demon of the Nether.

He scooped up the ancient spell book and put it under his bed, which was now in its normal place against the wall. The hunt for the rod was something he couldn’t do alone. To his knowledge, knowledge obtained from the book, obtaining the rod required a life sacrifice to simply open the sealed door. The drow seemed a perfect patsy to bring along for the ride.

[Izvilvin]

The bottom of Sasarai’s cloak whisked against the marble floor of the Keep as he made his way down the hallway. The grey-eyed wizard was moving with purpose down the white corridor. Although he was a single step away from complete dominance over the human realm, he was composed enough to take the utmost care in his planning. He could not ignore his duties as Keep wizard if he wanted the people around him to believe he was working for Fallien, at least not if things were to continue going as smoothly as they were.

Attending to his duties meant that he had to meet with Mazoo for a little bit, at Jya’s request. The wizard dreaded meeting with the bouncy little fool, but saw no way to avoid the confrontation any longer. Mazoo had been Keep wizard before Sasarai had appeared, and was taking the loss of importance pretty hard. Jya wanted them to speak, though Sasarai knew it would mostly be Mazoo doing the talking. It’d be yelling, more likely, now that he thought of it.

The robed man rounded a sharp corner and followed the next hall, not pausing for even a moment to look out the large rectangular windows to his right. If he had, he would have observed Izvilvin on his morning stroll around the facility.

He eventually came to a large wooden door across from a tapestry. The wizard knocked, waited a second, and then entered to see Mazoo across his room and looking through his window. Sasarai stepped in and took a quick look about the small chamber, noting a few spellbooks and components strewn about the bed, as if Mazoo had previously been practicing before letting himself get distracted. On the floor was a lush red carpet about the size of the room’s door.

“What do you want?” Mazoo asked, his voice strained and weak.

Sasarai straightened and brought his arms across his chest. “I’m not allowed to come and see you? I only wanted to talk.”

“Ha,” said the mage, and nothing more.

“We haven’t been getting along, I know that,” said Sasarai, doing his best to play the nice guy part. “So I wanted to have breakfast with you. Being at odds the way we are doesn’t help the community of the Keep, and I’d like for us to work out our differences.”

Mazoo turned from the window, and Sasarai had to resist the temptation to wince. The mage was in bad shape, with sunken eyes and deep, dark rings above his cheeks. He was pale and long of face, and his shoulders were slumped. Typically, Mazoo had bright blue eyes, but today they were listless and without excitement. “I don’t want breakfast! Get out!”

Sasarai raised his hands in a defensive expression and stepped back toward the doorway. “Don’t hesitate to come to me if you change your mind,” he muttered, closing the door as he entered the hallway once more. Jya couldn’t expect him to put up with this kind of behavior, and if she did, he didn’t care.

The wizard sighed. “Only a little while longer,” he said to himself before wandering down the hallway again. He had some other business to attend to before he went to see the drow.

Mazoo, meanwhile, stepped into the middle of his room as soon as Sasarai left it. He lifted the carpet and threw it aside without a care, exposing the glyph he had drawn before Sasarai had so rudely interrupted him. The mage had been up for days in his attempt to recreate the circle he’d seen in Sasarai’s spellbook, using a magical ‘photograph’ that he’d taken to go by. Mazoo was sure this was what the wizard used to summon his demons. If only he’d had only a few moments longer to look at that damned book!

“Cursed wizard,” he mumbled, looking from the glyph he’d drawn to the photo, then back again. It seemed to be perfectly drawn, and yet there was no magical energy in it. Mazoo’s beady blue eyes danced along the image before him, looking for even the slightest mistake. He couldn’t find one.

Exasperated, the mage placed his magical photograph back between the pages of his red spellbook, closing the tome tightly. He placed it under his bed along with the others and stood, exhausted as he rubbed his eyes. It’d been precisely three days since he’d gotten any rest whatsoever, so consumed was he with this glyph. Perhaps a few hours of sleep was what he needed before he could see what was wrong with his drawing.

He fell atop his bed, not bothering to remove his blue robe and hat. Mazoo was asleep as his head hit the pillow.

[Izvilvin]

Izvilvin made his rounds about the perimeter of the Keep, not only because it was part of his job, but because he enjoyed the morning breeze. The early day was comfortable and cool, the lighter side of Fallien’s incredible heat.

Recently, the Drow had felt overcome with just how fortunate he was. Life in Fallien was hard in terms of work and constant travel in the desert, for Izvilvin had become one of the Jya’s most trusted and appreciated soldiers, often traveling to Suravani’s Oasis on goodwill missions following the city’s recent troubles with poison. The people were recovering well, and witnessing the steady climb back to normal life only made Izvilvin’s job easier.

The scent of fresh water from the river surrounding Irrakam made the mornings bearable, even enjoyable. The sun was a bit bright, reflecting off the water and into his eyes, but Izvilvin didn’t complain. He’d spent a hundred years living in a mine, eating vermin and drinking only when it was safe enough to leave his hollowed space in the wall. Complaining about the sun being too bright would have been ridiculous.

He was just rounding the corner of the Keep, to approach the front gate and make his way inside, when he spotted Laix in the distance, coming his way. The human was smaller than Izvilvin, dark for a non-drow and colored with bright red hair and eyes. When Izvilvin had first entered the Keep under cover of moonlight, Laix and his friend Palmer had seen the Drow as a threat. Since the warrior had been brought in as an official Fallien soldier, however, both humans had warmed up to him, and a strong bond existed between the three despite the difficulty in communication.

“Hi,” said Izvilvin, the word floating on his melodic voice. It was one of the few words he could pronounce properly in the common tongue.

Laix grinned and returned the greeting, pointing to the sun as he went to Izvilvin’s side. That simple gesture had become their way of saying good day to one another.

“One day soon, we need to sit down so I can teach you some words,” said Laix.

The Drow, of course not understanding, merely nodded. Chances were he agreed with whatever it was the human was saying anyway.

The two friends walked in silence for some time, taking another two rounds about the Keep simply to enjoy the morning. Neither spoke, but several times they gestured toward something amusing or interesting, such as a pair of birds chasing one another or a guard waving in the distance. It was an altogether peaceful day thus far. Of course something had to ruin it.

“Laix!” called a voice in the distance, as Palmer appeared from the front gate. The two warriors turned to greet him, but the look on the human’s face showed he was worried. He too was dark, like Laix, but had brown hair and was considerably taller, with a broadsword strapped across his back.

Seeing the usually laid-back man with such an expression set them both aback. “Come quickly,” Palmer said, before turning to bolt back toward the gate.

[Izvilvin]

Izvilvin, Laix and Palmer arrived in the Jya’s room to witness a throng of people standing by the leader’s bed. The chamber was large enough to hold two dozen of them and still allow a fair amount of breathing room, with a floor of red carpet and walls of white marble. Through a window on the left wall, Izvilvin could see the river and the desert stretching eternally beyond it, not an object in sight within the sand.

The three rushed over to the bedside, and saw the Jya there, writhing in pain.

“What happened?” Laix demanded of those who had gathered, looking among them for some sign of knowledge. “Come on then, spit it out!”

A guard to his left opened his mouth, stuttered, and composed himself to speak. “I was in the hall outside, keeping watch as always, when she screamed. I entered to find her on the floor, clutching her stomach. I saw no wound, so I put her in her bed. She’s been in pain ever since.”

Laix looked back to her, watching the twisted wrinkles in her face. Her expression was something he had never witnessed before, something he couldn’t describe. “Where’s Sasarai, or Mazoo? One of them should be able to help.”

As if summoned by the very mention of their names, the two wizards entered one after another, with Mazoo leading the way, running in the awkward way he did while almost tripping over the large baggy pants he wore. The man was clearly exhausted, but had forced himself from his bed when a knocking soldier had nearly broken down his door. “Madam Jya!” he cried.

Sasarai looked concerned as well, but did not sully himself by running. Mazoo obviously wanted the first chance at healing her, an opportunity Sasarai would let him have.

The short, bubbly wizard made several attempts at communicating with the Jya, but she was seemingly unable to both deal with the pain and form a sentence with her words. Truly, it seemed as if she was unaware that there were people around her at all. Mazoo lifted his hands and conjured a healing light, which descended upon the woman and spread about her body, covering her like a sheet. It faded after a moment, but seemingly did nothing to numb the pain.

Sasarai pushed forth, putting his hands on the leader of Fallien’s stomach. He cast no spell, however, but merely felt the convulsions. “This seems familiar,” he said, his voice low but calm. “Like the Scorpion Venom Infection. How she could have caught that, I have no idea. The Jya has not left the Keep in days, is that right?”

Nearby guards shook their heads. Had she left, they would have known about it.

Sasarai sighed, but there were signs of confidence in him. Laix, Palmer and Izvilvin watched him closely as he closed his eyes and began to chant, a green light enveloping him as the words flowed effortlessly from his mouth. If the three warriors were ever to get a sense of just how powerful the blue-haired spellcaster was, this would be their gateway. The light left him, flowing along his arms and from his hands, into the Jya. Almost immediately, her writhing ceased, and the pain in her expression disappeared. She fell into what appeared to be a deep slumber.

“Has she been healed?” Palmer asked, his eyes never leaving the face of the Jya.

Sasarai shook his head. “I merely put her into a deep, coma-like sleep. I know of a cure for Scorpion Venom Infection, if this is indeed what she is suffering from, but I can’t quite get it alone.” He looked to the drow beside him, whose eyes were fixed on the Jya. Sasarai could see sadness in them. She had done much for the warrior, who had originally entered the Keep on a mission from Step. “Would you come with me to the north, Drow, where a root grows underground which can treat the illness?”

Izvilvin knew the wizard was talking to him, but responded only with a confused look. Without the Jya able to translate, he was unable to communicate with anyone else in the entire Keep. But then Sasarai surprised them all, waving his arms and casting a white dust between himself and Izvilvin.

“Can you understand me now?” He asked, and Izvilvin’s eyes grew wide. Sasarai’s words entered his mind not as jumbled sounds, but as perfectly understandable speech. It was as if he was speaking the drow language.

“Yes,” Izvilvin responded slowly. He could see that Sasarai could understand him. Looking to Laix and Palmer, he could see on their faces that they understood him as well. Despite the circumstances of the Jya’s injury, Izvilvin could not suppress a smile. “Your words are clear to me.”

“Good!” Sasarai replied. “Now, there is a root that grows far to the north, within an underground cave. When ground up, it can be used to heal the sickness that our Jya is suffering from. I want you to come with me, Drow, for the root is dense and too heavy for any one horse to carry.”

The warrior nodded quickly. “Let us leave immediately.”

“We’ll come as well,” said Palmer, looking to his red-headed friend as he made his declaration, who was nodding in agreement. “The desert is treacherous, even for a man with great magical talent and a warrior as skilled as Izvilvin. If nothing else, we can help carry this root.”

Mazoo seemed as if he was going to pipe up as well, but caught the words before they could leave him. For whatever reason, he’d decided at the last second that coming along was not a good idea. Perhaps he had other plans.

Sasarai ground his teeth together. He could not come up with a reasonable explanation to not allow Laix and Palmer to come along, no matter how detrimental the two warriors might end up being to his plans. Izvilvin, alone, would serve as the sacrifice he needed to obtain the adamantine-melting rod, and would pose little threat to Sasarai. His friends would make the wizard’s goal more difficult to achieve.

He nodded all the same, knowing that any attempt to sway their decision could easily question his noble intentions. “Then let us be off,” he said.

Perhaps simply killing the Jya would have been a better course to take.

[Izvilvin]

The sand was hard packed today, and Izvilvin could hear the light impact of each step their horses took. Sasarai’s translation spell had long since worn off, so the group of four had fallen into silence. But until it did, Laix, Palmer and Izvilvin had learned quite a bit about one another, and established a system of hand signals and whistles with which to communicate among themselves. The whole ordeal had been an unbearable experience for the wizard, who had to hide his impatience in order to keep on good terms with his companions.

Morning had turned to afternoon, and each of the four travelers could feel the desert sun grow gradually hotter. Izvilvin, with his dark skin and darker clothes, was assumed to be suffering the most, but despite the glossy sheet of sweat that coated him, he seemed rather pleasant and at ease. He’d been forged strong by his time in the desert.

The Drow blew a sharp whistle, drawing Laix and Palmer’s unified attention to their left, where a desert scorpion was burrowing out from the sand. The creature was larger than any of their horses, and its kind was known to attack unprovoked. Despite that, the scorpion seemed uninterested in the four travelers, and scuttled off in the opposite direction. Three sets of eyes drifted to Izvilvin, who laughed.

At least the whistle system worked.

Travel in the desert was something few people could endure without succumbing to boredom. The four sat astride their mounts, which clomped tirelessly along the sand, over drifts and through drops. Nobody spoke, and there was nothing interesting about taking in the repetitive environment around them.

Time passed, and sunset finally began. Knowing the dangers of the desert night, the group decided to camp among a cluster of large boulders, which provided a natural shield against the elements. When their tent was pitched, Laix, Palmer and Izvilvin left the area to sit atop a massive boulder, gazing at the orange-purple glow the sunset provided. In the far distance, they could see the River Attireyi running north to south, ensuring them that they were headed in the correct direction. The horizon cast a fire-like reflection against the water.

Palmer and Laix spoke rarely, and Izvilvin none, though he obsessively twirled one of his sai between his fingers. He was in deep thought, his lavender eyes staring blankly into the distance.

“It was nice to speak with him, short though our conversation was,” Palmer said, gazing lovingly into the half of the sun that remained. “I wonder if we could have had this connection with him, had the Jya not spoken up for him back when he’d first snuck into the Keep.”

“Doubtful,” Laix replied, finally tearing his eyes away from the beautiful scene before him. He looked at Palmer, the man’s square shaped head crowned with stubby black curls. “We would still be wary of him and his intentions. It seems stupid now that we know him like we do. He’s far too innocent for that kind of deception, the way I see it.”

“That’s not to say we shouldn’t be wary of others, though.”

Laix nodded in response, as his friend turned his head to look back at him. “You thought this whole event was pretty elaborate too, didn’t you? I never considered you to be so perceptive, Palmer.”

“I know!” The warrior replied, a short laugh following quickly after. “I must admit, I’m rather proud of myself for that. Sasarai’s always been a lot more passive than he was back at the Keep. It’s not like him to hop up and run off to find an antidote to a poison. It’s even less like him to ask for someone’s help.”

“I wonder why he wanted Izvilvin to go with him,” Laix wondered aloud, at the precise moment Izvilvin snapped out of his thoughts and turned about, looking at the red-eyed, red-haired warrior, smiling.

The Drow put his sai back on his belt where it belonged, and set his hand to moving, giving a wave and a few other signals. With that, he slid off the face of the boulder, landing gracefully in the sand below, and returned to the middle of the cluster.

“Another long day tomorrow,” Palmer said. “He’s got the right idea. I’m heading off to sleep.”

“Keep an eye on Sasarai tomorrow. And the days afterward, for that matter,” Laix replied. “He’s tricky.”

Palmer nodded.

[Izvilvin]

Laix shifted in the saddle, moving the short sword by his side so that the hilt no longer poked his hip. It was the early morning on the third day of their journey. The previous day had been uneventful and long, much like the current one was shaping up to be. Today Izvilvin was leading the pack, setting the fastest pace since they left the Keep. Sasarai took up the rear, with the two warriors in the middle, side by side.

Rarely did anybody travel so far from Fallien’s civilization, unless it was a convoy from the Spice Lands coming south to Irrakam. Farmers usually went up north with supplies, working for a full season before traveling back to deliver their goods, so it was no surprise that the sand here was packed harder, for there were no heavy creatures to break it up on a daily basis.

The Drow was tired, having not slept for more than three hours on either of the two nights he’d spent in the sand. He’d been going to sleep before the others but waking up when they themselves went to bed, keeping watch for the remainder of the night. Something about spending the night in the desert with nobody on watch made him unbearably nervous.

“We approach the entrance. Keep your eyes sharp,” Sasarai declared. Izvilvin looked back to see Laix looking at him, pointing at his crimson eyes and then presenting his hand to the horizon. Palmer chuckled at this, and the Drow smiled.

They went forward for a few more minutes before Laix blew a sharp whistle. The company stopped and observed the crimson-eyed warrior as he pointed toward the edge of the river, to their right. Izvilvin led the way in that direction, and dismounted when he reached a particular looking ring in the ground. How Laix could have noticed it from such a distance, he didn’t know.

The others dismounted as well, crowding about the ring. Palmer, with a quick glance at Laix, bent and gripped it, then pulled with all his might. The sand rumbled and stirred. He let go, exhaled deeply, and slipped the greatsword from his back. Another try at the ring, using both powerful arms, revealed a trap door below a foot of sand. The grains showered all but Sasarai, who was far back enough to avoid the spray, as the wooden square was thrown back against the sand.

“Remarkable,” Laix said. “It must be even more ancient than the desert itself.”

“How could you possibly know about this place, Sasarai?” Palmer asked, still catching his breath as he shouldered his sword.

“I read and I study. These are things a wizard does. What kind of servant would I be to the Jya if I did not fulfill my duties? Anyone with knowledge of venoms knows where to find the cures.” With that, Sasarai lifted the hood of his cloak to reveal his head and walked past the others, to the sand-covered staircase that had been revealed. He took a thick branch from within the lining of his cloak, and ignited the top using a ball of fire before he began his descent.

They did not descend for as long as they’d expected. The stairs ended and the group found themselves in a misty, dark cave, with only the light of Sasarai’s torch to help them get their bearings. The fire looked like a specter because of the swirling air around it.

“The root should be deeper within,” Sasarai declared, almost betraying his excitement with the waver in his voice.

The group made their way through the beginnings of the cave, feet tapping sharply against the slick ground. A faint green, the walls were, and appearing to drip with condensation. Izvilvin mused that this cave was completely unlike the dry, dark one he’d lived in during his stay in Kachuck.

Eventually, the narrow pathway became larger and cooler, the walls losing their color as the mist thinned. Izvilvin put two and two together and figured they’d made their way below the River Attireyi. He could almost hear the water rushing above them, and vividly imagined the ceiling collapsing and the waters rushing in to sweep them away.

They finally reached a point in the cave where the path became narrow again, and the walls even slicker and shinier. They were forced into a tight squeeze as the four travelers needed to move in single-file through the darkness. Izvilvin ran his hand along the wall, looked into his palm, and tapped the shoulder of Palmer who was directly in front of him. His hand was dry.

“That’s strange,” said Palmer, following Izvilvin’s example to run his fingers along the wall. “I thought that was water.”

Laix and Sasarai didn’t respond, so Palmer shrugged toward Izvilvin and they resumed their movement. The pathway widened for the last time, and became lighter as the group came to a small arch in the stone. Sasarai led the way into a great chamber and stepped a side to allow the others to enter. He extinguished the torch, for there was more than enough light.

“Remarkable,” commented Laix. The others seemed to share the thought.

[Izvilvin]

Before the group, a chamber of grey vines and roots presented itself. Like strands of stringy old hair, rows of plantlife stretched down from the high ceiling. The walls were impossible to see through them, regardless of how the travelers bent and twisted to try and catch a glimpse of what else lay ahead. It was a veritable wall. Izvilvin could have sworn it was a manmade construction designed to impede their progress, like one of the many traps he and Canen Darkflight had dealt with on their first adventure, but when he touched them he saw that they were real.

The walls were magically enchanted, and they knew this simply because no other explanation was possible. They glowed with a powerful grey light, which somehow lit everything in the room. Izvilvin could not imagine the amount of power that was dormant here.

“Let me guess,” Palmer said, a cynical smirk on his rugged jaw. “The root we need isn’t one of these. We have to get past this thing somehow.”

“It seems that way,” replied the wizard, sounding genuine with his words for the first time since they’d left the Keep. This was one aspect of the journey he hadn’t counted on. How could anyone have predicted such an obstacle? “I imagine it’s beyond all of this.”

“It’s amazing how this root we need inconveniently grows just beyond a wall. It feels almost intentional,” Laix remarked. None of the others replied.

“So we hack through,” declared Palmer, who decisively drew the sword from his back. Nobody argued with his intentions as he made his way to the vines, the roots, and the plants which impeded them.

He brought his sword up and slashed downward, cutting through the rhizome easily, as if it were cloth. They fell to reveal more, but Palmer could now take a step forward. He progressed like this, slashing and stepping, and the others followed. Eventually the roots gave way to reveal a great chamber free of the strange vines. Palmer chuckled and slid his sword back into its sheath. “Guess it wasn’t as tough as we thought.”

It was a basic square room, but large enough to hold an army. The walls, the floor, the ceiling were all covered in the same wet-looking material, though now it was rather obvious that it was not any liquid at all, but some form of metal. It was black with some clarity, almost silvery, truly impossible to describe in luster and hardness as the party stepped onto it. There was not a single blemish on the floor. It looked as if the room had been built an hour earlier by Radasanth’s finest craftsmen. Despite having evidence that the cave was older than the desert itself, none of them could convince themselves that this was an old temple.

In the center of the room was a large cube, with a plate in front of it that was distinctly white. Izvilvin could see a star design on it, with a small spot of red in the center. But there was no root.

“I see no root,” said Laix, worry in his voice.

“That’s because there is none,” said Sasarai, who moved quickly behind the oblivious Izvilvin and beyond the other two.

Laix sprung forward, screaming his Drow’s friend’s name. Izvilvin spun in reaction, and his senses exploded with fire.

[Izvilvin]

Laix and Palmer didn’t get far. As determined as they were to help their friend, whose body had been thrown back by a fireball from Sasarai, the wizard had been quick enough to enact a barrier between himself and them. The two warriors pounded passionately against the invisible wall, but it was like steel.

Sasarai moved to Izvilvin’s body, which lay motionless on the smooth metal floor. Instead of stopping to inspect the man, whose hair was frizzled and his face twisted in pain, the wizard passed him to examine the white plate which lay before the cube. From up close, the design clearly showed a star not with a bit of fire within it, but a drop of crimson blood. The book had been accurate; a blood sacrifice was needed to reveal the rod.

A quick look behind confirmed to him that Laix and Palmer were still detained, so a slight smile crossed his face. His cold, grey eyes washed over them, and Izvilvin’s body was lifted from the ground by a magical force. He was carried on top of the plate, where he lay groaning. Sasarai quickly moved over to him, creating a white dagger from the very space around him, and held it high. “O great staff, I give you the blood of this Drow to satisfy your thirst!”

He stabbed downward, and Izvilvin rolled. The dagger slammed hard into the stone, shattering back into nothingness as Sasarai threw up his head to watch the warrior land on his feet and draw two sai.

Izvilvin’s natural resistance to hostile magic had saved him from greater damage. His face would have been mangled and torn away had Sasarai’s fireball been at full effect. As it was, his face was singed and he saw spots of light, his hair was burned in some placed and his eyebrows were scorched, but he was very much alive.

“Damned creature,” sneered Sasarai, who was letting out all kinds of pent up emotion that he’d been forced to hold back while he lived in Jya’s Keep. “You and your friends are dead, do you understand? No, of course you don’t.”

The release of his anger satisfied the wizard. It granted him energy and excitement. He threw forth a hand, from which a glob of green liquid shot forth, throwing Sasarai’s cloak backward as a harsh wind pulled at him. Izvilvin leapt aside as the spray gushed past, slamming directly into the cube in the center of the room. Hissing violently, the acidic fluid dripped down the side of the substance, completely failing in harming it. There was not even a semblance of damage to the box.

The Drow rolled to a crouching position, from which he leapt as a reaching bolt of lightning roared under him. Sasarai, unfazed by his inability to hit the nimble little warrior, threw his other hand out to send an arching blanket of shadows up and over Izvilvin, who couldn’t hope to avoid it. It collapsed upon him like a net, then magically drew tighter and tighter, hugging his entire body like a second skin. He thrashed violently, struggling to take a breath of air, but the material was unwavering.

Meanwhile, Palmer slashed relentlessly at the roots, sparing no energy as he made headway. He assumed Sasarai had only enacted a barrier in the space they’d made, and hadn’t bothered to extend it across the entire room. Laix, staying in that space to gaze through the invisible wall, urged him to hurry.

The final roots fell, and Palmer roared for his friend to follow. He took two careful steps forward, passing where the barrier would have been, and then broke into the fastest run the huge man had ever attempted. Laix, much quicker and more nimble than he, was behind him, then by his side, in an instant. They could see Izvilvin’s cocoon on the floor beyond Sasarai, who was slowly beginning to turn and gaze their way.

“We knew you were a traitor!” cried the man with the greatsword, feet stomping powerfully against the floor as he picked up speed.

The wizard threw forth his hand yet again, sending some invisible force that plucked Palmer from his feet, reversed his momentum, and sent him flying backward to land hard against the ground. Laix dodged quickly to the side, closing the gap between himself and Sasarai. He drew his blade, an explosive burst of cold air rushing from its sheath, and in one fluid manner he swiped at the wizard, ‘Icicle’ trailing a freezing mist behind it.

The target dodged nimbly to the side as the enchanted short sword rushed past, blowing cool wind across him, but Laix didn’t stop to fight. He rushed onward, sweeping down to cut a clean gash into the black substance that held Izvilvin, who at once pulled himself out of the darkness to gasp for air. The precise cut of Icicle had just missed him.

Sasarai was chanting, moving his hands in a complicated series of twists and turns. Izvilvin rushed forward to try and disrupt him despite a warning cry from Laix, who understood magic a great deal more than his Drow friend. Sure enough, when the warrior was almost within striking distance, Sasarai’s hands shot forth, sending what appeared to be a million tiny blades of wind, rushing forward in a continuing tempest. He was too close to dodge, so Izvilvin did the only thing possible and threw his arms in front of his face. The blades would hit him and vanish, rather than slice right through him, thanks to the slight magical resistance that he had, but they still cut him and caused quite a bit of pain.

Mercifully, the spell soon ended, leaving Izvilvin with torn clothes and several open wounds. He lowered his hands to see Sasarai casting yet again, this time with a pinch of some kind of hair in between his fingers. Laix met up with the Drow as he began to rush forward, and the two got to Sasarai just in time to strike before he used the spell.

Icicle came in high, a pair of sai from below, but neither of them hit the wizard. Rather, they passed right through him as if he was a ghost, and both fighters had to quickly adjust so that they did not hit each other. A laugh from behind them brought their collective attention to the true Sasarai, who was standing atop the metal cube. He held a pinch of hair as well, though it appeared he had not cast the corresponding spell with it yet.

He chanted quickly as the two rushed at him, and the hair disappeared from his fingers. From where it had been, reaching hair strands grabbed at them. Izvilvin slid along the slick floor to avoid it, and Laix slashed at them with his sword, managing to keep them at bay with his swift, expert strikes.

The Drow pumped a hand and threw one of his sai. Sasarai, not expecting it, could not hope to dodge it this time. The heavy weapon struck him in the shoulder as he braced himself, causing him to let loose a furious yell. Though he seemed not to be in much pain, he grimaced as he pulled the weapon out and threw it to the floor, before taking to the air in effortless flight.

Palmer walked to Laix and Izvilvin, his blade held at the ready. “We should’ve taken his head while he slept in the damn desert!”

Laix nodded, and Izvilvin merely kept his eyes locked on the wizard, who showed no signs of wanting to flee despite soaring into the air.

“You should’ve done a lot of things, you bull-headed dimwit!” mocked Sasarai, who held a hand over his arm. The wound below began to glow a soft green, and when he took his hand away, it was healed.

“The Jya isn’t sick at all, is she?” Laix said. “If she was, that would be quite an impressive coincidence. What did you do to her?”

“It’s a simple spell of agony, twit. It likely expired just a moment after we left. It’s amazing how easily I dragged you fools along with me to this place, all for your precious Jya. Do the stupid always follow people so blindly?”

Laix clicked his tongue.

“And now you’ll help me open that box,” Sasarai continued, his grey eyes indicating the cube which sat in the room. “By dying, your lives will contribute to my rise to glory. Feel lucky, fools, feel very lucky.”

[Izvilvin]

Sasarai sent down a rain of ice pellets, effortlessly casting the spell with a few waves of his hands. The three men were hit a few times before they each managed to escape the area of effect, but the scramble caused them to split up. The wizard took advantage, sending a bolt of lightning cascading downward to jolt Palmer, who shook with electricity as his armor was conducted. Impossibly, he remained standing after the blow, though his hair was smoking and his body was rigid. His teeth were clenched like a vice.

Izvilvin threw two more sai at the wizard, but the target was adequately prepared to deal with them this time around, creating a barrier before himself with a simple wave of his hand. The Drow caught both sai as they fell back down to him, deftly maneuvering them back into the appropriate position.

He looked to Laix, his eyes weary but passionate, wondering how they could strike at the flying Sasarai. The swordsman’s powerful red eyes returned the look, but did not offer a solution.

“Palmer!” he called. “Are you alright?”

The man in question moved slowly back to his allies, taking uneasy steps as blood slowly dripped from his mouth. He was obviously in bad shape, but there was no time for any of them to worry about it.

Sasarai swooped low, a pair of marbles in each hand. When he got close enough, the wizard threw them and they exploded into colorful sparks. Palmer and Laix grabbed at their eyes, but Izvilvin had braced himself for whatever was coming, and could still see. Sasarai spun around and came back, a long blade of fire spawning in his hand. He dove down toward Palmer’s back, who was oblivious to the danger.

Izvilvin blew a sharp whistle just as the wizard came close, the whistle which he knew signified ‘left’ in the communication system the three friends had come up with. In response, Palmer readied his blade and spun, swinging his powerful sword. The Drow watched in horror as the greatsword hit nothing but air, and Sasarai struck from the opposite side, driving the blade of flames right into Palmer’s flank. Another quick strike from the wizard took the warrior in the neck, cutting his throat and bringing him down.

The Drow was crestfallen. He’d given Palmer the wrong signal. He’d whistled right instead of left, a note higher on the scale. The warrior choked out a whimper as he watched Palmer crumple to the ground, dropping his heavy blade and seeming to struggle with himself. Finally he fell onto his face, a pool of blood spreading below.

Laix rushed ahead, sliding to his knees to inspect Palmer. He didn’t stay by the man’s side for long before he stood, nostrils flaring and eyes on fire. The man who’d been his best friend for ten years was dead.

“Excellent,” commented Sasarai, who was a bit shaken from how close the greatsword had come to hitting him. “You’ll be joining him soon, little Laix, so don’t be too sad. In the afterlife you may do your little patrols together as much as you like!”

Laix didn’t respond, but rather ran at the floating wizard, Icicle trailing mist behind him. A mighty roar came from the small warrior, who ran on pure adrenaline and passion. Sasarai sent a fireball at him, but it was easily dodged. Laix closed the gap quickly, but the wizard merely floated upward to avoid him.

However, Laix threw the sword, which cut through the air like an arrow. It took Sasarai in the gut, tearing right through him as if he were a hanging bed sheet.

Izvilvin’s eyes brightened as Sasarai clutched at his stomach, floating down in a strange zigzag pattern as he struggled not to fall hard onto the floor. Laix ran at him, unarmed but furious, perfectly willing to tear the wizard’s face apart with his bare hands. Blood soaking his hands, Sasarai still managed to summon up the strength to muster a spell. From his extended digits shot forth a large replica of his own hand, which formed a fist that smacked flatly against Laix, sending him flying backward with amazing force.

Sasarai, despite his wound, laughed aloud and rose to wobble on his feet. A familiar green aura surrounded his stomach and his wound mended itself before Izvilvin’s lavender eyes. The spell even went so far as to repair his clothing. “Enough games,” he demanded, summoning the power within him to lift Palmer’s dead body from the floor. “It has been fun, but I tire of this.”

He spoke with a powerful confidence, but when Izvilvin heard it, he could detect weakness in Sasarai’s voice, a lack of the vigor that had been present before. He couldn’t heal himself forever, the Drow realized, and that gave him some measure of hope.

“You’ll pay for killing Palmer,” Laix declared coldly as he pulled himself up, the lifeless body of his friend coming to a rest atop the white plate next to him. Despite there being plenty of blood, however, the cube showed no sign of moving, let alone opening.

“It appears my sacrifice is not enough. Good news, Laix, you’ll be seeing your friend very soon. I should thank you for insisting on coming along with your Drow friend. Without your assistance, his death would not have been enough.” The man pushed blue hair from his face and reached into a pocket to reveal a small watch. “You can hop around and dodge all you like, but when I want someone dead, they die.”

Izvilvin burst forward, pumping through the pain he felt from his many cuts. Sasarai, meanwhile, suddenly crushed the watch and threw the contents forward. It appeared that he’d simply broken the device and then shot it, but Laix knew otherwise. Screaming for the Drow to move, he ran sidelong into him, knocking the warrior off balance and out of his way. A wave of force hit Laix hard, gripping his throat and forcing the breath from his body. He began to lose substance, his body decaying and withering before Izvilvin’s very eyes.

[Izvilvin]

Blood seeped from each pore Laix had, covering him in streams of his own crimson oil. He struggled to stay up, but only a second passed before he fell lifeless to the ground, drained of his blood and withered like a dried apple. Izvilvin struggled not to be sick, fought against passing out from his own pain, and battled with the urge to just give in to the inevitable. They had lost.

A bolt of force struck him square in the chest, sucking the air from the Drow’s lungs as forcefully as a hammer hitting a nail. He flew back and landed hard on the slick ground, gasping for air.

Sasarai didn’t bother to mock the black warrior, knowing that no matter how clever his words, their sting could not affect Izvilvin unless he wasted time with another translation spell. He was too excited to gloat any longer, anyway, for the final stages of his plan were falling into place. A hopeful glimmer in his eye, the wizard dragged Laix’ motionless body over to where Palmer lay, and with a grunt he placed the red-haired warrior over his friend. Stepping back, Sasarai’s face took on a huge grin as the plate below the fallen warriors projected a faint red light.

A loud click resonated through the chamber, and the top of the cube was lifted from the square rim. Sasarai moved to it and slid the top off, letting it fall to the floor with a loud clang. He reached inside slowly, letting his hands firmly grasp the staff which lay within, waiting for his touch.

“Finally,” he said, lifting the item from the box. It was a staff as long as a short sword, straight as an arrow and built from adamantine. The shaft was adorned with a million tiny gems, from which a single one was impossible to pinpoint among the others. Together they created a blinking effect along the entire length. At the top of the staff was a single gem larger than the rest, black as onyx and in the shape of a pyramid.

Sasarai was shaking, his grey eyes wide open as they danced along the features of the weapon. It was something he didn’t consider beautiful in a physical sense, but there was a power flowing through it and into him, a power he could only describe as frightening.

A power he needed to test.

Pointing the weapon at the cube, which Sasarai had long ago realized was adamantine, he enacted the power of the staff. It took a split second to reduce the indestructible metal into liquid. It melted as easily as ice in an inferno. Sasarai didn’t even try to hold back the delighted laughter that burst forth from him, as a glimmer of insanity covered his eyes.

“Yes!” he cried. “Yes! Yes! No longer must I suffer as a servant of that painfully empathetic woman! This world belongs to me now!”

He turned to look at the fallen Izvilvin, whose chest rose and fell quickly as he struggled to keep breathing. “Do you hear me, Drow? Your homeland, both Fallien and Alerar, are mine! Thank you for your help, elf.”

The wizard felt no need to remain there any longer. It was only a matter of hours until he had the power of Glimmerfang under his control, and that was something he knew no army could hope to stand against. With the staff in his grasp, not even the Gods’ attempt to seal the dragon away would keep him from being summoned.

He moved toward the roots which led out of the adamantine room, fully willing to teleport rather all the way to the mountain where he would have the solitude he needed. From here, however, he could make sure the Drow could not escape and alert the Jya of what happened. It would also give him a good way to use his new favorite item.

“Well, little warrior, it’s been fun,” said the wizard, looking back upon Izvilvin. “But now you die.”

Sasarai waved his staff upward, activating its power so that the ceiling began to distort and bend. He chuckled to himself and waved a hand, a purple light enveloping his entire body and carrying him far away.

Izvilvin’s eyes were tired and squinted, gazing upward at the adamantine above. A drop of it landed near his head, and when he turned to look at it, he saw that it was already solid again. He tried to rise, but could not, and fell onto his back with a deep exhale. He’d pushed himself too far this time, rushing headlong into a foolish battle of magic that he didn’t understand. It had cost him his two dearest friends. A hundred twenty-seven was young for a Drow to die, and he wasn’t even sure if he was an adult yet.

He was hurt as much on the outside as he was in his heart, but all the same, when a massive glob of liquid adamantine fell down at him, he rolled desperately to the side. Izvilvin was not ready to simply give up and die, even if he didn’t feel as if he could make it out of the room before it smothered him. He had to fight.

Desperately crawling, he tried to make his way over to Laix and Palmer. Through messy white hair he gazed at them atop the plate, motionless. As they grew closer, he became less and less hopeful for either of their survival. To solidify their loss, a great portion of the roof fell on them before he could close the distance, washing over the two corpses before hardening back into impenetrable metal.

Exasperated and feeling hopeless, Izvilvin was soon nearing an emotional point where he’d be content to simply lay there and accept his death.

But at that very moment, a voice called to him from the cut-out door in the roots. The Drow turned his head to see Mazoo, bright red parachute pants and all, running through the rain of adamantine. The wizard slid to his side and did his best to get under the warrior, helping Izvilvin up using as much physical power as his small body could muster.

“I knew that bastard was up to something,” said he, knowing Izvilvin couldn’t understand him. “The Jya recovered an hour after you all left, so I followed the trail, knowing her sickness had been put in her by magic. That bastard!”

Mazoo tried to bring Izvilvin back toward the roots and out of the room, but the Drow resisted. He was trying to get the wizard to bring him to his dead allies. The warrior knew this was not a suitable place for them to be buried, considering all the work they’d done for this land. An underground cave should never be the tomb for good men. Mazoo followed his eyes to see the two dead men, and a grave look came to his face. He shook his head.

“Are you crazy?” asked the wizard as Izvilvin struggled. “We can’t do anything for them now. I need you back to explain everything that’s happened!”

Realizing that even if they could get to the men, they could not carry them, Izvilvin instead eyed Laix and Palmer’s blades, each of which were on the ground not too far away. The Drow pointed at them, standing his ground firmly despite all of Mazoo’s efforts to pull him along. The wizard, anxious to leave the dangerous area, released the warrior and ran across the room, scooping up Laix’ short sword and dragging Palmer’s substantially larger weapon behind him.

Izvilvin took the greatsword in his free hand to carry as Mazoo slid under his arm, pulling the compliant man along as liquid adamantine dripped down all about them. The room rumbled and groaned under the strain of the sand above the ceiling, as small holes were allowing torrents of sand to rain down. They reached the roots just in time to avoid the splatter of the final shower of adamantine, and the abundance of sand that followed.

Mazoo pulled on him hard, and Izvilvin did his best to keep up, turning his head to watch the sand pour into the room behind them. It washed down around them, as loud as anything they’d ever heard, reaching for their legs. The narrow passage that led out of the room was only large enough to allow them if they went in single file, the wizard realized. When they came to it, he pushed Izvilvin inside as forcefully as his scrawny arms would allow, then followed, hoping beyond hope that the Drow would not lose his balance and fall.

He did fall, but thankfully it was when they’d reached the wider area of the tunnel. Mazoo turned and watched as the sand blocked the doorway, spilling grains all about them. The room was completely sealed, leaving Laix and Palmer entombed within.

The roaring thunder of falling sand had stopped so suddenly, the gravity of the silence was incredibly. It gave them both the opportunity to consider what had just happened.

Izvilvin fought back tears, his gaze locked on the wall of sand. It would have been easy to blame himself for what happened, but he didn’t. The deaths of Laix and Palmer were nobody’s fault but Sasarai’s, and his purpose in killing them was unknown to the warrior. It all seemed so pointless. He knew he’d been manipulated.

Behind him, a busy Mazoo was hard at work casting a spell. Holding his palms out before him, an oval blue portal spawned, shedding a powerful light throughout the dark chamber, and causing Izvilvin to turn to see what had happened. The wizard was standing beside it, looking expectantly at the Drow. “Come on, we need to get back and get you healed.”

Izvilvin could only look at him blankly, before finally pulling himself up to make his way through the magical doorway. These next few days would be more difficult than he could imagine, for Laix and Palmer wouldn’t be there to guide him back to health. They would not be with him on his morning route. They would not be around to have lunch with, or simply spend some time in battle practice. They were gone.

[Izvilvin]

A day later…


Izvilvin’s eyes were downcast as he stood, remorseful, before the Jya. His wounds were still great and his energy was low, but he refused to stay in bed for any longer than the single day he had. Before the Drow lay Laix’ ice blade and Palmer’s greatsword, lying crossed on the floor for some purpose of remembrance.

“Where is the wizard now?” asked the Jya, continuing the dialogue that had begun only moments ago. She’d wanted to wait until Izvilvin was healed up to have this talk, but the warrior refused to put it off. She could feel the pain inside him.

“He took the staff and left,” said he, in his native tongue. Among himself, the Jya, Mazoo and the gathering of a dozen female warriors and priestesses, only he and the great leader of Fallien knew what he was saying. “He was laughing and ranting, but for what reason I know not.”

The Jya let out a sigh. She’d had her suspicions concerning the wizard, but hadn’t thought he’d ever go so far as to inflict her with magical poison and kill two of her must trusted soldiers. Laix and Palmer’s deaths were a great loss, but it was ill-advised for her to show any tremendous hurt toward it, at least for now. “Look up,” she said, and Izvilvin did so, his eyes moist but strong. “Until we have some kind of idea of where he went, there’s nothing we can do to bring his crimes to justice. Their weapons and possessions are yours, though, so any idea you have as to how to honor them would be considered.”

He nodded, not finding any solace in the Jya’s willingness to honor her deceased guards, and knelt down to take both weapons. Izvilvin looked at them and remembered how skillfully they’d been wielded by his closest friends. The idea that he’d never again spar against their rightful owners hurt.

Izvilvin turned and quickly exited the room, pressing his eyelids closed as hard as he could. As much as he felt alone, the Drow knew he’d have to fight past the pain and carry on. Sasarai’s plan, whatever it was, had to be something diabolic. The wizard had pretended, for months, to be a loyal servant of the Jya, until finally following through with his betrayal… And all for a single staff. Izvilvin couldn’t begin to pretend to know what made it all worth it.

A slow walk brought the warrior out to the perimeter of the Keep. The grassy land between the Keep itself and the surrounding fence was all too familiar to him. This was where he spent his mornings, a two-trip inspection of the immediate area in the cool early wind. There was never anything to see, no monsters or infiltrating assassins, but the route had proved many times to be the best part of his day. Now, without Laix to come along with him, Izvilvin wasn’t sure what the routine would become.

At the back of the Keep there was a small hill. Upon climbing it, he had a view of the river that he often enjoyed. The water sparkled and swayed in the wind as he carefully placed Laix’ blade against the ground, then took Palmer’s greatsword into both hands. A powerful grunt aided him in driving the sword into the ground. He pushed down against it to press it deep into the firm soil, then he stepped back to examine it. The sun reflected off the blade, making it shine a bright yellow. He would visit the makeshift grave every morning, he knew, and would remember the days he’d spent with his friends.

Izvilvin reached down and took Laix’ sword into his hand, noticing for the first time how balanced and light it was. The man had called it ‘Icicle,’ the Drow recalled, but he didn’t understand the connection between the name and the enchantment of the sword. He swung it a few times, watching as the blade left trails of mist behind it. With a sigh he placed it on his belt, wondering if using the sword was something that would honor Laix, or belittle his death.

Gasping, he quickly pulled it out. The blade was unbelievably cold, and without a scabbard the sword had stung his leg badly. Until he could get a sheath for the weapon, he’d be carrying it in his hand.

[Izvilvin]

The winds in the mountain ranges between Raiaera and Alerar were powerful, making Sasarai’s slow, deliberate work all the more frustrating for him. The wizard had been working tirelessly since the moment he left Izvilvin to die in the liquid adamantine, using a sharp rock to carve into the ground what could only be described as a monstrous glyph. It took him an hour to make one in his room back at the Keep, but this project was something far greater than anything he’d aspired to in his entire life.

A gust hit him, almost knocking him aside, but the wizard quickly adjusted and held his ground, cursing aloud as his rock almost went askew, which would have ruined the effort he’d made this far. The tip was covered in an everlasting red paint Sasarai had cast onto it, and the circular design was almost complete. It took all of his tremendous patience to keep from rushing the job. But if the glyph wasn’t perfect, the summoning could go tremendously wrong. The fear of such a thing happening kept him from letting his excitement get the best of him.

The exact location of the wizard was unmapped, but it was among the highest mountain ranges in the land. The tips of a dozen mountains surrounded him, but this spot was a flat, grassy plain, completely unlike the rest of the territory for miles. The glyph took up the entire clearing, and working among the wind was exhausting, but at least here Sasarai could guarantee himself the solitude he needed.

Finally, after an entire day’s work, he was finished. Soaring upward, Sasarai looked down upon the massive red glyph, inspecting it meticulously to be certain that there was not a single thing wrong with it. When he was satisfied, the mage descended next to the edge of the circle, revealed the ancient book from within his cloak, and turned to the appropriate page. Though exhausted, a smirk of impending triumph was on his face.

He began a chant, phrasing the foreign words easily, letting them roll off his tongue fluidly despite how tired he was. This was a familiar thing to him, for Sasarai had summoned a hundred demons in his lifetime. However, this chant was longer, and several words were different. Hoping he’d gotten it right, the wizard finished, and watched in awe as the glyph took on a green color, and a cylindrical wall shot up around the edge. He hadn’t set up candles, for it was impossible, but knew the dragon would be unable to harm him until he was released from his prison.

The ground within the cylinder gave way to an abyss of blackness. Sasarai could see inside, could see the Great Nether itself, where thousands of creatures had gathered to watch as their sky opened up to reveal the blue, cloudy air that so few of them remembered. The sound of falling earth was deafening, and the mountains themselves rumbled with the sheer power of the summoning. Glimmerfang’s form rose up from this massive, gaping hole, and the ground was restored, leaving the golden dragon’s head and a gigantic cube of adamantine that sealed his body.

His color was truly golden, for the fog of the Nether did not affect him here. The dragon’s eyes slowly opened to take in the wizard, the mountains behind him, and the bright sun. Rather than display his pleasure at being back on this material plane, Glimmerfang chose to level his eyes at Sasarai, who stood in complete amazement of the sheer size of the creature.

Still, the human did not falter. “Greetings, dragon,” he said, struggling to keep his voice level and calm so that he spoke with command. “Is the air as fresh as you remember it?”

The beast blew steam from his nostrils in response, the force of which almost sent Sasarai stumbling to the ground. He did not answer, unwilling to waste words on pleasantries.

The wizard produced the staff from his cloak, holding it horizontally and turning it, letting Glimmerfang see the way the light danced off each individual gem. “This is the item that can free you, but as you know, there is a stipulation. Swear your oath to me, dragon, and you will be free to roam Althanas once more, burning all that you wish with the supernova flames that live within you.”

Sasarai was no longer nervous, but anxious, as he pulled the staff back in to hold it against his chest. He couldn’t believe his dreams were becoming a reality, even though the key to his rule was sitting right before him, unable to move anything but its head.

“You have my word,” the dragon communicated, speaking in its own ancient language. Even its whisper was powerful, loud enough to make the wizard wince in response. “Use your magic to free me, and your word will be the word of a God.”

“I do not want your word,” Sasarai responded venomously, growing impatient. He’d forgotten just how tired he was. “I want your oath. The oath dragons once swore to their betters, in times long forgotten.”

Glimmerfang growled low, making the very air quake. The human struggled to maintain his composure. A moment passed where the dragon merely contemplated, and Sasarai could feel the sweat on his brow. If he wanted too, Glimmerfang could roast him right there, though that would mean the dragon would still remain trapped in his cube, and the staff would be destroyed as well.

“Very well, human, I grant you the oath of the Blackened Fire, to serve as your retainer for all your days, however long they may be.”

Satisfied, the wizard nodded and pointed the staff forward. The tiny onyx pyramid at its summit glowed faintly, and the unbreakable substance around Glimmerfang’s body began to melt. The dragon’s breathing became fast as he realized the plan was working. After only a moment, his wings were revealed, the rest of his body following quickly. Its neck stretched out toward the sky, its wings reached outward, and Glimmerfang roared as loud as he could, the very sound chilling Sasarai to the bone as he blocked his ears.

The dragon flapped its great wings and was in the sky quickly, soaring effortlessly as if he’d never been sealed away at all. The mighty golden beast was larger than any creature Sasarai had ever seen, by a wide margin. Its shadow covered the entire clearing until it eventually came down again, the wind of its landing knocking Sasarai off his feet.

From a prone position, Sasarai looked upon the creature, whose actual appearance surpassed any expectation he had. Glimmerfang projected an aura of power similar to what a God might carry, the wizard thought.

The dragon’s eyes, as golden as its scales, looked thoughtfully at the wizard. There was a silence between them for a single, heart-wrenching moment, until finally the dragon spoke.

“Where do we go first, master?” it said, a disgusted spin placed upon the last word.

Sasarai stood and laughed. And laughed, and laughed.

((Spoils: Icicle, a Damascus sword enchanted with ice (and a scabbard, plz). The enchantment is capable of putting a very thin coat of ice over things it touches, but only on the spot where it is touched. The blade leaves a thin mist in the air when it is used, which can obscure vision but otherwise does not do anything. Icicle can’t be melted by fire (dar dar dar).

Palmer’s Greatsword. Izvilvin will never use or sell this weapon, but he is allowed to give it away to someone free of charge.))

[Witchblade]

Story

Continuity: - 8 This looks like it’s going in the direction of some kind of major storyline for Izvilvin, perhaps not epic but something that is definitely going to affect him. I already know that the deaths of Laix and Palmer are affecting his emotional and physical state as a character and are going to continue to do so further on through other quests. It’s very easy to see where this series—if you’re going to make it into a series—is going to go. Glimmerfang’s been released now, evil sorcerer has command over him and someone has to do something about it, clearly that’s going to be Izvilvin.

The storyline developed throughout the quest was very well executed and definitely done in a way that is different from your past quests. The emotional trauma that’s going to come from this should be interesting and I look forward to reading the next instalment.

Setting: - 7 Setting is still something you need to work on a little more. It was there in the quest and it was well described, however it needs to be more than just there. Interact with your setting more. The whole ceiling melting on Izvilvin was very interesting, I don’t think that’s been done before and it was certainly a good use of the surroundings considering the storyline and all. You’re still getting a good score here because you didn’t necessarily do anything wrong; it’s just that I think you could have interacted with your surroundings more.

Pacing: - 8 This isn’t a very tense story but it’s something that definitely kept me reading, even when my eyes started to get a little sore from the damn computer screen. The portrayal of the different characters is what kept me here the most. Each one was interesting and different in their own special way. They are the things that kept this story going and kept the pacing of it good. It was short, but if it were any longer it would have felt dragged out, so you kept it at just the right length. The battle between Sasarai was a great example of this. It flowed like an actual battle where real mistakes happened and where characters grew tired rather quickly instead of fighting for what seems like hours without breaking a sweat. Not to mention it was just written fantastically, I loved that battle scenes.

Character

Dialogue: - 7 The dialogue in this story was great. And I know you may be sitting there going ‘what dialogue?’ but you had a lot of internal thoughts from characters, especially Izvilvin and that counts as dialogue too. Plus, the part where Sasarai casts that spell and Izvilvin can understand people and finally talk with his friends was neat, though I was extremely disappointed you didn’t put any of that speech into the quest. I know it might have seemed unimportant to you, but it goes a long way towards the characters and getting to know them. I think it would have been interesting to actually see what they would have talked about.

Actual speech from Izvilvin was typical and nothing special, Sasarai had a changing personality from the passive mage to the extremely pissed off evil sorcerer. Laix and Palmer were just stock characters, I think they’re speech stood out so much in this quest only because Izvilvin rarely talks himself. Their personalities never really came out that much in their speech either, which is why you have a lot of ‘Laix said’ and ‘Palmer said’, which gets annoying to the reader after a while. It didn’t particularly here only because there wasn’t a lot of speech throughout the quest, however watch out for things like that.

Action: - 8 Good action, both in the fight scene—which you already know I loved—and just the general things the characters did. The actions that Izvilvin took after the fight scene were very emotional responses that fit in beautifully. He just lost his two best friends and couldn’t even kill the man that took their lives, so yeah, he’d be pretty depressed and he might be thinking of giving up but the fact that he didn’t and kept struggling through, I definitely thought that was within his character.

Sasarai is a very cunning man and the plan he thinks of to get the aid of Izvilvin and his friends is a smart one. Of course, we as the readers know there’s something up right away but the characters don’t and the actions Sasarai takes throughout this quest paint a very clear picture of him. Perhaps it is the way you wrote it, mostly through his eyes instead, but you get a better feel for the man behind this all, which is not something that many people do. The bad guys are usually backdrop, just the reason this is going on, but you go more in depth into it and I liked that.

Persona: - 7 All of the emotions are depicted very well throughout the quest. I’ve already mentioned the actions and emotions that Izvilvin undergoes after he loses his two friends and can’t stop Sasarai, very characteristic of him. Laix and Palmer were good characters as well, however if they were more developed throughout this quest, if somehow you could have made it longer to invest more emotion in the reader for them, their deaths would have been more emotional for the reader. As it was, I felt Izvilvin’s pain and sorrow clearly but there was no emotional response from me because I had nothing invested in the characters of Laix and Palmer. They were only there to further the story and further Izvilvin’s emotional development.

Writing Style

Mechanics: - 8 I can’t really add anything special in here. You clearly have a grasp of the English language and you know how to use it. There were a few times when a word was spelled incorrectly, or something seemed out of place. However, they did very little to disrupt the read of the story, which is probably why I’d have to read the whole thing over again just to remember where they are.

Technique: - 6 There was some foreshadowing used in the story, mostly in regards to the cave being made out of Adamantine. The readers already knew what was going on and what was most likely going to happen within the first post, so there was nothing hidden from them. I didn’t note any writing techniques hiding within the thread and truly it was fine without them.

Clarity: - 8 Everything in the quest was put together well. There was no me sitting in my little chair scratching my head. The sentences flowed together and from one paragraph to the next never really leaving the reader in the dark. Sure, the first post was a little weird in the beginning with the whole description of the Nether going on, I honestly didn’t know what was going to happen with that, but it quickly sorted itself out.

Wild Card: - 7 An overall good solo quest with some good storyline.

Total: 74

Rewards:

Izvilvin receives 1800 experience!

Izvilvin also receives Icicle, the Damascus sword with the requested enchantments and a hard, thick leather scabbard to keep the cold away from his body. Palmer’s Great Sword—which is made from Prevalida—is also within Izvilvin’s possession.

[Cyrus the virus]

EXP added, thanks Meggie.