Two Peas and a Pode

[Enigmatic Immortal]

CLOSED


Jensen began his day once more like any other day in his life. It involved a loud yawn, a sharp smacking of lips, and a dry humored chuckle at the mess atop his head he called hair. He blinked a few times, getting the crust of the night's sleep out of his eyes, one digit lifting upwards to remove the offending particles. He glanced at the red haired mess of flesh next to him, rolled up in the whitest of silk. His eyes softened just a bit as he smiled to his soon to be wife, Stephanie Odara, and reached a hand out to rub her back gently.

There was a pleasurable moan as the body turned to face him, gentle blue eyes opening groggily as the woman awoke, a soft smile on her lips as she mouthed the words ‘good morning’ to her fiancé. Jensen leaned in and kissed her, nuzzling her nose as he whispered his day to day activities he had planned. Stephanie let out a giggle as she pushed him back playfully, kissing the tip of his nose as she shuffled to lean on one arm.

“All day, huh? Just that one activity? Something makes me think, Jensen Ambrose, that you’re incapable of doing the same thing all day without getting bored.”

“Depends on how spicy you make things.” To accentuate his point he lifted his eyebrows in challenge.

“I suppose Tobias does owe me a favor,” Stephanie teased thoughtfully, looking as Jensen’s eyes went wide with shock. Her fingers moved up swiftly and slapped him in a playful manner as she laughed loudly. “In your dreams, babe.” The immortal was about to retort when he felt the faintest of tingling in his mind. His right eye twitched when it happened, and Stephanie sighed deeply as she knew that slack-jawed expression her love put on every time he felt the tingling.

“Go away, Sei!” Jensen said to nobody in particular. His voice deepened to one of utter annoyance as he growled in irritation. Stephanie watched quietly, knowing not to interrupt Jensen when he was talking to the Mystic telepath Sei Orlouge, Lord of Ixian Castle and ruler of the Ixian Knights. It was an indescribable feeling to be summoned by the Drantak dragon, and even more surreal to discuss things with him mentally long distance. Sei knew that for whatever reason Jensen felt a certain feedback when discussing things when not in person, and so was polite enough to ensure he would only use it when it was deemed important enough.

In Jensen’s opinion that meant only if the man was dying, but Sei and Stephanie had agreed only when it was time for a mission would Sei summon Jensen in such a fashion. That also clarified one thing that made the red head’s heart fill with sorrow. Jensen was summoned, but she was not. That meant Sei wanted the immortal only. Sei was tearing up the family for a mission again. She mentally went through her cleansing thoughts to make sure her temper did not rise. She knew Sei would only ask for Jensen on missions of dire importance, which meant this mission would be highly dangerous, which meant that he was expecting fatalities, which meant logically Jensen would be the only pick, because he was immortal.

Nope, her temper still rose to the fore as she let out her own predatory growl. She was planning on taking Jensen out into the city to find her bridesmaids' dresses that would match the theme she was going for. Azza also was off duty from her training with Adolph so they could actually have a family lunch for once that did not need to end with everyone grabbing their sandwich, saying hello, hugging, and running in opposite directions again.

“No! Fuck that!” Jensen said loudly as he turned away from Stephanie. His hands began to move in small circles as the immortal’s blood boiled. “Nope, send Seth Dahlios…What do you mean Seth’s on vacation with his family in Fallien? Really? Fuck, um…Send Zerith? Oh, right, he’s in the Serentei….What about William Arcus? He loves burning down forests!” It was a long ‘conversation’ as Jensen complained and whined endlessly with Sei in his own head as he stood up and began to get dressed. His feet hit the cold cobblestone with a slap of annoyance, ripping the closet door open as he tossed his clothing out for the day, as well as a satchel that was always ready for long distance missions.

Stephanie rose from the bed as well, carefully opening drawers and grabbing the sack of golden coins for him to spend on the trip. She then began gathering all the small day to day things he may need as Jensen fought with a boot, still fuming with Sei.

“Cassandra Freaking Remi? Yeah, okay, I know, that just sounded dumb even to me. Look, it’s got creepy forest creatures, send Aislinn! Yes her! Sei, she can flash her titties or something and make the curse go away! Yeah, figured you’d not like that joke, go ahead and mind rape me again, you do it all the time any- OW! Yes, point proven Sei, you can be a dickwad whenever you feel like- OW! Okay! I’m fucking sorry! Jomil’s disease ridden vagina, I’m coming! Yeah…” Jensen looked to Stephanie and their eyes met. He could clearly see her reluctance to let him go as she placed his comb in the bathroom kit, zipping it up slowly.

“Yeah, Sei, I know you wouldn’t ask unless it’s important. I’ll be in your office in twenty minutes…Yeah, don’t mention it. Jensen out.” The immortal looked as Stephanie turned slowly, her arms wrapping around her shoulders as she held herself. One hand glided up to his head, scratching a spot he always scratched when he was nervous or confused. He looked down upon the familiar weight of his long trench coat, his thumb rubbing the stitched names of his long dead friends as if doing so would give him the words to say. He gulped, nodded once and looked up to her. “Steph-”

“You got a mission,” Stephanie whispered loudly. “I understand. It’s important to Sei, or he wouldn’t have asked for you. It’s ok."

“Steph,” Jensen said as he easily pulled the coat on in one fluid motion. He crossed the steps over to her, holding her shoulders in his hands and squeezing gently as he leaned over and kissed her cheek. She fell back into him, her face pushing against his chin. “I don’t want to go, but I have to.”

“Just promise me you’ll return,” Stephanie whispered. Jensen confirmed this by kissing her again as he held her tightly. Stephanie nodded as she turned into him, kissing him and cupping his face as she did her pre-mission ritual of trying to remember every tiny detail about him before he left. He usually got annoyed by these little delays, but grew to accept that Stephanie just worried endlessly that magically one day he would not come home. When she was done she pushed him away, pointing to across the hall. “Hurry! Say goodbye to your daughter before she runs out to Underwood!”

Jensen nodded as he looked to his things and decided he’d ask a servant to run and grab them when he was ready to leave. He went out the door, shutting it softly as he attempted to push his fiancé's tears out of his mind; he looked over to hear another door open. A little girl slowly shut the door, her body still clothed in her sleeping outfit, a towel in hand. She turned, smiling as the door shut. Jensen looked into her gorgeous maroon eyes and peeked at her contoured horns. He lifted his arms wide for a hug, and she gave him a coy look before her lips let out a depressed sigh running forwards, dropping her towel.

“Mission, huh?” Azza said softly as she slammed into him. Jensen leaned over and kissed the top of her head as he held her tightly. Azza, who was far more rational about these things, just nodded her head and immediately accepted the fate. Jensen gave her a wink as she turned to grab her towel, her wings fluttering gently as she bent to grab them. “When will you be home?” She asked innocently enough as she ran to catch up to her father.

“Who knows,” Jensen replied honestly.

The two entered into the main living room, which was a rather spacious lot. In this particular family wing, the rooms were separated into three halls, where each family lived. Jensen shared board with Kyla Orlouge and her child Akiv, as well as Zerith and Jasmine Dracosius and little baby Siela. They crossed the gap towards the door where Jensen opened it, booting his little girl in the buttocks to get her out as she giggled. Jensen smiled to her, wrapping his arms around her as they walked together in an awkward shuffle.

“Behave yourself and take care of your mother. Make sure Tobias doesn’t spend the night too often.” Azza, who they still kept in the dark about certain adult activities despite her coming of age, nodded with no clue as to what that meant, or entailed. Jensen smiled, kissed her again, and sent her on her way to the showers as he turned down the twirling path of stairs to the main courtyard.

With nothing else to think of, he thought about his new found mission of interest. The Red Forest, as his mind could recall, was cursed by somebody of Xem’Xund, the Lich King’s followers. The leaves were colored to be like the crimson blood of a dead foe. Also, there were all sorts of treasures and other blah blah blah useless things mortals seemed to attach to themselves. In short, Jensen knew nothing really about the dangers of the Red Forest.

He stopped for a moment and thought hard.

“Where the hell is this place, anyway?” Jensen mumbled as he reached the bottom floor, moving amongst the many serfs and warriors of the Ixian Knights. He stepped outside into the main courtyard and made way for the tower at the edge of the western keep, Sei’s personal office. The roadway was lined with trees and bushes that were all meticulously kept, and the pathway was clear of fallen leaves and other dirt so that the white stained bricks were shined in the morning sun. Jensen’s black and grey attire was an eyesore upon this pavement; he refused to wear any of the traditional cobalt blue and gold colors of the Ixian Knights.

He looked to the pathway to the tower and sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”

[Sagequeen]

The sweetness of spring filled Erissa's lungs as she lounged on the balcony of her teacher's Underwood mansion. The high elf breathed in the verdant perfume of Concordia, finding some solace in the brisk, golden-green scent. Her heart ever wandered to her collection of memories, which she played and replayed under the sun, behind eyelids lit red by the light of it. The time-tattered and faded scenes of her brother, now gone for almost a decade, always gave way to those as fresh on her mind as the dew that glistened on the supple green lawn a story below. The man Virlas, for whom she had left her home in the first place, was a constant presence in her mind, even in the midst of such fate-filled times.

The young arcanist's time with Troyas was ending, her tutoring drawing to a temporary end; she had learned all she could at this stage in her progress, yet lacked the experience of actually using the knowledge. This was about to change. Erissa had been recruited by a group whose exploits she had only heard about, the only gossip among her wealthy peers that ever caught her ear and held her interest. The Ixian Knights, she thought, shaking her head with amazement. Certainly, she was indebted to Sei Orlouge; Erissa's placement in the Public Face team brought with it the dangers her father, Ellear Caedron, posed should she show her face so publicly. Somehow, Sei had managed to not only smooth things over with him, but also allowed her father to save face with his political cronies after his very public manhunt for Erissa and her wrongfully-accused kidnapper, the man Virlas - the very same into whose phantom hazel eyes she now gazed.

“Erissa,” the ancient elf said, startling her. “You must realize this attachment you have to that man is not healthy. You have entangled him in the thoughts of your brother so thoroughly, I wonder if the man is truly what you think he is, and if you love him like you believe you do.” Erissa frowned at him.

“Troyas! Perhaps you can read my memories, but what do you know of my love?” Erissa asked angrily. At once she regretted raising her voice to her mentor. “Oh, Troyas, I-”

“No,” he held up a hand to silence her. “Here is your final lesson, for now at least.” He sighed heavily and slowly paced the balcony. “You are aware that my life's work,” he gestured at his home, his library, “is nearing completion. The wealth of the world's knowledge resides within these walls. The lifetimes of elves have I spent collecting this treasure for posterity. I have said as much before, but did you ever wonder how it was possible?”

“Well, I suppose,” she stuttered, “I had not thought about it. I never realized you meant it so literally.”

“I was almost ready to go, to pass from this life to whatever lies beyond,” he sighed. “My life's work complete, there was no reason to stay any longer.” His eyes focused on a certain distant epoch in the annals of his life, the doleful smile never faltering. “My first love... her name was Seria. Seria Harrow, a woman of such beauty, the first time I saw her I thought her to be an elf-maiden. I learned shortly after that the beauty I saw was a poor representation of the beauty she harbored in her spirit and mind. Surely, you can imagine the heartache an elf carries to know true love - when the object of it is human, so short-lived, ephemeral like the blossoms of spring.” Erissa nodded slowly, eyes downcast in thought.

“I found a way, Dear One. I was able to stop time for her, to stop the cruel pendulum that would relentlessly assault her until her death and rob me of her. Ahh, so many happy years we had. Years passed as days, and days as minutes. I could have spent an eternity in that bliss.” Troyas blinked back a rare tear.

“But what,” Erissa began, beside herself with his revelation. “Where is she?”

“She died.” He turned from her, leaning wearily on the balcony's railing, his heavy sigh matching the wind whispering through young, green leaves.

“I do not understand,” Erissa said softly, the gentle breeze tossing a silver-white tress across her troubled brow.

“When we master the ability we possess, our psychokinesis, it allows even for healing regeneration, as you know; but did you realize we can shield the body from the ravages of time itself: for what is aging but a disease? I froze time's effects on her, but human-kind was never intended to be long-lived. They are not equipped to deal with the grief and sorrows that inevitably accumulate. When we buried our only son, she never truly recovered. I could shield her body, but not her mind. Eventually, she asked me to let her age naturally and die. I did.

“I have lived lifetimes, and I was ready to follow her, for not even we elves are immune to the great sorrows of the world. But then, Dear One, you complicated my plans, by no fault of your own. I have not had another to whom I could pass my wisdom, no worthy student to bequeath my knowledge. I had all but given up hope, but there was never a question after you arrived at my door. It is an irony of sorts that you already possess my greatest gift, that I will not teach it to you but only reveal its existence already within you.” Troyas smiled kindly.

“I already possess the ability to never age, and to share that with others?” Erissa said slowly, wide-eyed. Troyas walked to her and took her slender hand; he looked sincerely into her eyes.

“You have not aged at all since you first drew upon your power in your parents' home. It is instinctive for you, like your healing, and will be a simple matter for you to use this ability on another. But Erissa, please remember: the sword can do quickly to you what time cannot. It is not physical immortality we possess, only a bastion against time. And more importantly, be very wary of sharing this gift; though many would have it, few can withstand it. Mortals have limits, and those limits must be respected. Otherwise, the one you intend to keep with you may find the sword to be a welcome alternative to a life that has become unbearable.” He placed a hand gently to the side of her face, his thumb resting against her temple, and shared with her his memory of shielding Saria. "Understand? That is all there is to it." Troyas left her and retreated to the familiarity of his library. Erissa paced the expansive balcony, attempting to gather her thoughts.

“Yes?” She answered, whirling to face an empty doorway. The young arcanist looked around in confusion; she was alone on the balcony. Troyas had not returned as she had expected, though the voice did not sound like his - nor did it seem to emanate from an outside source.

“This is Sei Orlouge. I would not contact you like this if it were not of the utmost importance. We are in need of your services.” Erissa at once understood; she had wondered at Zerith, a fellow Knight and the one who recruited her, in Radasanth when he communicated with Sei, until he explained to her the Ixian Knights' leader's telepathy. He spoke for a short time, preparing her for the mission she would soon receive.

“Where shall I arrange teleport?” Erissa gave an angst-laden sigh; her life would have to wait.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

The inside of Sei's office was filled with dozens of tiny trinkets, weapons, and murals of the Ixian Knights, as well as his deeds as the Hero of Radansath and Alerar. His thick Coronian wood desk was covered with dozens of reports, and the mute rested behind his padded chair with steepled fingers as he looked to the immortal who entered into his sanctum. Sitting next to the large desk was a longer, L shaped desk covered to the limit in reports and several official documents, requests, personal logs, as well as charts and spreadsheets of the Ixian Knights resources. Now that all five members of the Nine had been found, Anita took it upon herself to maintain the paperwork of the army and ensure it was running as smoothly as they proclaimed it to be.

Jensen gave his Lord a half hearted nod, looked over to Sei's daughter, Anita, smiled politely, and kicked the chair before the man's desk so it spun and faced the knight. He jumped and hit the chair at an angle, pushing back so it swiveled just enough to rotate the whole thing as his feet lifted upwards and landed upon Sei's desk, spilling papers everywhere. He plastered a mild grin as Sei gave him a nonplussed look and smiled.

"So, you rattle me out of my cave for what reason?" Jensen asked with a yawn. Anita shook her head with a soft smile, a usual occurrence; the two had an interesting relationship that had until only recently started to blossom into a friendship. "Vampires assaulting the coast? Seth Dahlios lost his last cookie and went apeshit? Taka find confidence within himself and learned to be a real human boy?"

Sei grunted, which was the mute's way of laughing as he pulled up two blue folders and tossed them into Jensen's hands. The immortal grabbed at them awkwardly, feet lowering to the floor; he began to look at the priority sheets and mission briefing. There was not much in the notes section, and he studied them with a sense of seriousness rarely seen within the rather crass Knight. Sei stood and began to pace around the room as he 'spoke' to the immortal, detailing the important elements, knowing Jensen would not need frivolous details.

"I find it awkward and disturbing that Xem'Zund had any followers at all, but that's not what's up for debate. We already know that of his black cabal there were numerous members that reached notoriety only to be eclipsed by the Dark Lord himself. The Red Forest of Rariera is an example of such an atrocity they have commited in the wake of the fallen one."

Sei stopped his pacing and turned his half to look to the immortal, and Jensen narrowed his eyes as he continued to flip through the pages; an idea began to form in his mind of what Sei had in store. Speaking to nobody in particular, Jensen voiced his concerns in a manner of crude, but accurate words. "There's nothing about this 'Fifth' one." Sei nodded his head and began to pace again.

"I do not fear anyone who openly displays their power. They can be monitored and gauged, but those who hide from the public are the bigger threat. These are the same lines as to why I exposed Cassandra to the public, that she was the Gisela Reaper. A threat seen is far less scarier than the danger nobody can detect. If the Ixian Knights are to stand against the darkness, we need to see what it is up to. So, I had sent members of the Information Gathering Team led by Kyla's Assistant working in conjunction with Talen's team of Investigators. Trust me when I tell you that those two have made leaps and bounds in the information you have in your hand compared to what we had before. " Jensen nodded in understanding. Sei, like always, had a very valid point, and there was little wiggle room to argue it.

"So... how do I find this person if you give me nothing to go on?" Jensen asked. Sei lowered his gaze to one of hurt feelings, no words needing to be passed to show he was disappointed the immortal even had to ask.

"Do not think I would pull you away from your family without some plan to ensure the mission is finished quickly. There is one member of the Ixian Knights who may be able to assist you in this, and was hand picked by Talen himself to aid you." Jensen nodded, knowing the mute was always prepared for such occasions. Still, hearing news that it was Talen who had the information tip did not settle well.

"Knowing the bed wetter he probably set me up with a banshee or some ghoul or some other unpleasant creature." The knight mumbled as he flipped through the papers looking over the information a second time.

To show that fate was cruel and had a good sense of comedic timing, the doors to Sei's room opened and a slender, lithe creature seemed to glide forwards into the room, her boots making little to sound on the carpeted floor. Her hair fell to the side as she glanced back and forth into the new surroundings. When her eyes met Jensen's a familiarity seemed to come over the both of them.

"I know you," Jensen muttered. "You're that fucking bush humper who helped save the day from a fire loving lunatic." Sei nodded his head.

"This is Erissa Caedron, one of our newest recruits, Jensen," Sei said shaking her hand and offering her a seat. Immediately the immortal kicked his feet up and used the other chair as a stool. Sei gave him a dark look, but Erissa merely smiled and mentioned she wished to stand anyway. Annoyed at his bodyguard's actions, but not surprised by them either, the Mystic continued. "I have asked Erissa to join us because she is knowledgeable of many great topics and can be of some use to you in your search."

"Oh boy...here we go..." Anita whispered to herself.

"A fucking ELF?" Jensen all but screeched. "My help is a freaking faggot fairy? I'm so going to kick that bed wetter right between the legs to remind him his balls still need to drop!" The mute let out a disappointed sigh as he looked to Jensen, which was matched by a disappointed glare from the immortal. The two stood off in a contest of wills, the tension in the air rising as they silently argued the obvious. Erissa, who now stood aloof to the side, watched with a keen interest. Eventually the immortal let out a wet rasping noise as he glanced to the elf, and offered her the seat in a huff of irritation.

"Good, now that everyone is happy, Ms. Caedron, can you please give us any information you know regarding Xem'Zund, his cult of followers specifically, and how we can possibly track down the Fifth unknown member?"

[Sagequeen]

Why did it have to be Jenson Ambrose?

Erissa watched the immortal's outburst with little surprise; she was acquainted with his extreme dislike for her kind several weeks earlier. Still, the rawness of it set her on edge. As Erissa took the offered chair and began to sit, she watched Jenson carefully, half expecting him to pull it out from under her.

“As you know,” the elf began, repeating carefully what she had learned from her instructor prior to taking his teleport to the Ixian Castle, “the most powerful of the Forgotten Ones, Aesphestos, is believed to be dead, as is his daughter 'Saint' Denebriel, fittingly ended within her own twisted church. Hated among the elves for the near destruction of their civilization, Xem'Zund was finally defeated by means of the very Tap from which he drew his considerable necromancing power. Podë, the witch who cursed the elves' beloved forest, has not been seen for a very long time, but there has never been any doubt, at least among my kind, that she remains in some form. Her bloody curse has not weakened within the eaves of Lindequalmë, the Red Forest.

“But the Fifth has become a mystery through the ages. There are few now who remember the name of the Fifth, including Troyas, my teacher, and with very good reason. Those who know it will not speak it - nor even write it - for the name itself is a spell of the Fifth's own design. It is an incantation that will devour the speaker's memories. As a result, the Fifth was, in ancient times, referred to as Oblivion.

“Little is known of Oblivion, for this conjurer worked in secrecy, under a cloak of confusion and misdirection. He manipulated others to achieve his goals, always remaining out of sight, out of mind. Many doubted his existence, and even more doubt it now, instead attributing the effects of his actions to the deceptions of Aesphestos and his allies. What better way to work unhindered than to allow that ignorance to proliferate? While the current inhabitants of Althanas are no doubt very capable of bringing turmoil and strife upon themselves, it should not be surprising to find the taint of Oblivion's handiwork influencing the events that mar our world. Finding him, however, may prove to be much more difficult.

“While it is generally known that the structure of the alliance among the Forgotten Ones was truly only based on whom among them was most powerful, lesser known is the fact that Aesphestos, their de facto leader, obtained their loyalties with the promise of even greater power than they wielded at the time.” Erissa picked up the satchel she had brought and removed a small, enchanted box from it. She passed it to Sei, who seemed disquieted by the feel of it; Jenson craned his neck to get a better look. “Each of the other four were gifted with a vial, within it a captured gouge, a rip in the veil that separates us from the reservoir of the Eternal Tap, and from those rips bleeds forth the ethereal element. The vial itself was enchanted by Aesphestos, corrupting the element and preventing the rips from closing as they would naturally do. We do not know how much control this gave Aesphestos over the others. But for him to remain so long in power without being overthrown by the other four, it must have been considerable. None of them would be separated from the vials either, because to do so would be to forsake the great power to which they had become addicted.”

Sei shook his head slowly before turning the velvet-lined box for Jenson to see; the immortal uttered several profanities in his shock and wonder. The crystal walls were embedded with red veins, pulsing with rhythm and life; the vapors contained within the vial glowed faintly with every beat.

“Please continue,” Sei requested. With a nod, Erissa closed the box and secured the latch.

“This vial belonged to Xem'Zund. After his defeat it was recovered by the high elves, and has been prevented from falling into the wrong hands by my kind ever since. Naturally, we did not disclose this information to keep the relic protected.”

“Would you get to the freaking point?” Jenson spat harshly. “Enough with the long-winded elf shit! How do we use this against that asshole Oblivion or whatever?”

“I welcome you to try,” Erissa said, a syrupy-sweet smile on her face. “That is, if you would like to fall under Aesphestos' sway. He may be dead, but his will is preserved in his enchantment. Our best hope to find Oblivion is to find the only other living member of the Forgotten Ones, Podë. She resides still in the Red Forest, and if we can end her as well, so be it. But the greater threat is the one whose actions are not apparent – Oblivion, the Memory Eater. We must find a way destroy the source of the Fifth's element, the vial he wears.”

[Enigmatic Immortal]

"Fascinating," Jensen mumbled towards the Elf. "Truly, this is some great grade-A bullshit. And what happens next in the story? Oblivion recreates an army of Darkness like everyone else on this blasted planet?" Jensen stretched his arms above his head as he kicked his feet back up on Sei's desk, closing his eyes. "Maybe a unicorn alliance with the faggot fairy elves will save the day. Rainbow fucking power!"

Jensen lifted two fingers up in the universal decleration for peace as his lips let out a soft rasp, leaning his head against the padded white chair rest. There was no humor this time as Sei approached behind the immortal, closed fist lifting upwards and dropping dead so it fell upon the knight's cranium. There was a soft thud as Jensen's feet retracted, body jerking as he sat upright in his chair. The mute moved to sit at his desk, arms crossed neatly in his lap as he contemplated his next course of action.

"Thank you Erissa, your assistance is greatly appreciated." Sei turned to look at Jensen, his face full of worry at the disturbing news. The immortal gave him a half-hearted shrug as he stood, relieving tension in his knuckles with each pop.

"Alright, I'm off to the Red Forest." Jensen patted his hips, pushing his coat aside as the numerous knives he carried upon his body at anytime shined off the morning light. He flashed a smile to Anita, a nod to Sei, and then stood tall in front of Erissa, lifting his right hand up, and flipping her off. Feeling all was square, the knight turned on his heel heading to grab his things when the elf spoke up.

"You cannot go alone!" Erissa stood upright quickly, her hand lifting to prevent Jensen from going any further. With a quick flick of his wrist he knocked her fingers aside giving the High Elf a dirty glare, eyes alit with fire.

"Hands off, bush humper!" His finger lifted, wagging in her face as he gave his warning. Irritated, but unfazed by his childish antics, the Elf swatted his finger aside and turned to the more rational person in the room. Jensen saw her chest rise, and knew immeadietly at this moment the woman was about to go into another long winded debate. So, instead of listening to her, the immortal did what he normally did when woman talked too much.

Hmmm, legs are little stalky, not too much meat there... Jensen thought as she began to lecture Sei about how foolish it was to send anyone alone into the Red Forest. Bust size is a little bigger than Steph's, but not nearly as big as Aislinne's. Dear god her breasts are big... She turned to Jensen, eyes widening as she snapped her head back to Sei and began to discuss her point about Jensen's inept abilities. Ouu, she has really pretty eyes! I like those. Ears suck, being all pointy and whatnot.

"Jensen, return to us for a moment please." Sei intruded upon Jensen's private thoughts, sending shivers down the knights spine that killed his mood. The immortal shook his head, looked to the room, and found Sei nodding to Erissa as she continued to rant. He noticed her hands were on her hips in a commanding manner as her voice tempo changed to one of frustration.

"This is not something that should be taken lightly!" Erissa finished her long winded discussion with a slight exhale.

"Yedda's tits! Was that one breath?" Jensen opened his mouth in shock as Anita, despite herself, let out an impish grin. "You talk way too much! Seriously!"

"And if you would pay attention," Erissa said calmly, though her growing annoyance was plain as day. "Instead of oogling my body like a pervert," she added with venom; her eyes cast to him for a fleeting moment before she looked back to Sei, "you would know why I speak with urgency."

"So Oblivate..."

"Oblivion!" Erissa corrected.

"Oblivious," Jensen continued with a sly grin. The Elf sighed as her hand reached upwards to her forhead. "Has the power to erase memories and control our actions. But the way I see it, the man's actions are two edged."

Sei grunted at this, looking at the immortal as he impassivly shrugged; his universal sign to elaborate. Jensen took the floor with the same bravado the elf did. At least he thought he was, but in reality all he did was gesture a lot with his arms, hitting Erissa until she stepped behind him.

"Obliterate," something behind the immortal slapped itself hard in the face. "Has powerful abilities, no doubt. Yet I see one flaw: Location." The room stood dumbfounded at his words, and his grin only went wider.

"What?" Anita at last blurted in hysterics. She looked to the knight and made a face as if he were a bug. "That's the stupidest thing I ever heard!"

"Jensen," Sei added mentally. "Could perhaps you expand upon that idea of yours?"

"I hardly think he could," Erissa mumbled. Jensen's foot kicked backwards like a mule, aiming for her shin. His attack was thwarted by a chair leg.

"I can and will, leaf licker," Jensen sassed. "Obligatory has the problem that he needs to be at the location of the person he wishes to manipulate. Also, his name, which is unknown to anyone, serves as a flaw as well. If I don't know the guy's name, can't exactly lose my mind, now can I?"

"So?" Anita interjected. "That doesn't solve the problem of finding him."

"Sure it does!" Jensen insisted making broad hand gestures like he was some teacher. Feeling it was necassary to do so, he began to pace around the room with one hand behind his back at all times. "Think about it! If I start to do something out of the ordinary, I'll know he is in the area. Then, from there, it's all academic. Now do you get it, fairy fucker? Or does your superior Elven brain have trouble understanding my genius?"

Erissa only remained silent as Jensen gave her a challenging look, eyes scanning his before she nodded her head in defeat. Jensen rose both hands up in triumph.

"Indeed, Jenson, you do have a point," Erissa admitted. "But your logic is not as sound as you think." With a small smile her eyes flashed with mischief, giving Jensen the creeps as he felt the power of Elven faggotry in motion. Really, all she was doing was looking at him, but he swore she was using magic.

"I have no flaws!" Jensen spat back to her.

"That's the biggest understatement I ever heard," Anita muttered shuffling some papers.

"Agreed," Sei added with a grunt of amusement.

"Yes you do, and let me now explain it to you," Erissa said stepping forwards with a coy smile. "How, Jenson Ambrose, do you propose to know when you are under his influence if he has meddled with your memory? How will you know if he is not using others to throw you off track? How do you know he won't see you coming and flee? How do you know where to even begin to start looking? Did you wonder where the Red Forest is? Do you have a plan?" The questions came one after the other in a rapid succesion, backpedaling the immortal as she moved in on him, pushing him back until he was up against Sei's trophy rack.

"Well, no," Jensen mumbled. "I don't have answers to all those, but I do know one thing!" Erissa rose a solitary eyebrow as if this was a shock, and she gave an amused smile. He lifted one hand up, placed his finger on her forehead, and pushed her back with a shove. "You are a faggot Elf."

"Clearly," Erissa sighed. Sei stood up again, shaking his head as he moved forwards towards Jensen.

"Like it or not, Jensen, she has several good points." Sei then gave an apologetic look to Ms. Caedron. "And as odd as this sounds, so does Mr. Ambrose, Erissa."

"HEY!" Jensen shouted defensivly. Sei spoke over the loudmouth immortal as he continued on.

"I think at this stage, I need to assign as few people as possible to avoid being seen by Oblivion. That being said, I cannot send just you, Jensen, because as Ms. Caedron pointed out, you would not notice any changes. Two people will suffice. That way both persons can observe the other. Considering that we need an expert on this subject, I can already think of your second."

"Tobias?" Jensen said with a strain, knowing already the true answer.

"He means me, you..." Erissa never finished her words as she took a deep breath and bowed to Sei in thanks. "Our first stop will be Master Troyas' estate. I think he will be invaluable in helping our cause. If anything, at least he can point us in the right direction." She looked over to the immortal and lifted her hand. "We are going to have to work together to get this mission accomplished, Jenson. Will you put aside your silly racial intolerance for the betterment of others?"

Jensen responded with a laugh of arrogance, moving so he brushed the Elf aside as he headed out the door. She sighed as she moved, watching his back as the immortal continued to laugh at the notion. He turned to her, saw she was being serious, and turned back to the door in another fit of hysterics.

Sei leaned over to her, as if whispering, and thought loudly. "I think that's a no."

[Sagequeen]

The high elf slipped a sideways glance at the immortal, who seemed to be enjoying himself in the posh carriage that plodded along the South Road toward Underwood. She scoffed at him, the displeasure written plainly on her face as she stared out the window. Worse than just a simple dislike for someone, Jenson somehow managed to ruffle the normally reserved Erissa to the point of rudeness, something with which she was not at all comfortable. It had been a long, vexatious day and night in the carriage with him; this day was promising much the same.

“Must you eat so annoyingly?” Erissa finally asked, exasperated. The only sounds she had heard for the past hour were the clopping of the horse's hooves, the gentle squeak of the carriage on the rough road, and the disgusting, wet sound of barbaric eating.

“Sorry we can't all be well mannered and proper like faggot elves, but tell you what. I'll add a little culture.” Jenson smacked even louder, a smirk on his face as he lifted his little pinky, sucking the marrow from a large bone.

“How is it an immortal could be so childish?”

“And why do High Elves have snotty prudish attitudes? I dunno either, so shut up and open a window. High elves stink like fresh shit to boot!” Jenson retorted. Erissa gave a heavy sigh and resumed staring moodily out the window. They had made it through the break in the Combe mountains without incident, and Erissa welcomed the familiar sight of trees. The carriage slipped beneath the eaves, promising only a few more hours cooped up with Jenson, for a little while, at least.

Erissa did her best the rest of the ride to hide her annoyance; it only seemed to make the immortal try harder. Without so much as a word between them, they arrived in the town and were ushered directly to Troyas' mansion, where he awaited them in the shade of the great columns that supported the front balcony.

“I would ask you to at least be polite, but I know you are incapable. Just remember: this elf was ancient before you were immortal,” Erissa warned. “At the very least, try your best not to insult him. We need his help.” Jenson found her warning humorous, and continued laughing as they finally left the carriage which had, in Erissa's opinion, felt much like a prison. She immediately went to her teacher and embraced him. Troyas' eyebrows shot upward as Erissa's latest memories assailed him, and he cast a mildly dour glance at Jenson.

“Welcome home, Erissa,” he murmured, smiling gently and touching her face. He turned to the other. “And welcome to my home, Jenson Ambrose.” Jenson seemed a little unsettled he was known without having been introduced. Erissa lowered her chin, and a look of mirth played across her refined features.

“...faggot fairy magic,” Jenson scowled under his breath as he glared at Erissa. “Don't use that shit on me.”

“It is not me. Troyas reads memories, and he read mine. So sorry I forgot to mention that earlier.” Erissa fought back a laugh of her own, and a flicker of amusement touched Troyas' eyes. Jenson mumbled something else under his breath, unheeded by either of the elves, though the carriage driver snickered as he brushed the exhausted charcoal gelding. Troyas turned his attention to the man.

“I have prepared the stable with fresh hay and water for your horse; follow the path to the back of the house.” Troyas gestured to a small graveled pathway. “Once you have seen to him, the guest house has been stocked for you. Please, make yourself at home. I am sure you will find everything you need.”

“Well, thank'ee,” the driver said as he removed his burlap cap and wrung it between his hands.

“If you will join me inside,” Troyas said, the stately doors swinging open without a hand to guide them, “we can begin.” Erissa and Jenson followed him through the succession of rooms in his mansion that led to the wide, lofty library. Erissa heard the familiar slips and clacks that marked the approach of Osher, who skidded to a clumsy halt at her feet on the marble floor. His entire hind end wagged as the dog greeted her; Erissa laughed and gave him a generous, full-body scratch. The dog then bounded toward Jenson, apparently not put off by the immortal in the least. Erissa watched in utter surprise, feeling slightly betrayed.

“The relic, Erissa, I would feel more comfortable if it were back in its proper place,” Troyas insisted.

“Of course,” she said as she unslung her pack and removed the ornate box. Troyas whisked it away and disappeared for a few moments, leaving them alone.

“Azza would like you,” Jenson said as he took the mutt's head in his hands and gave him a playful shake, a rare smile touching his lips that lacked the normal smirk Erissa had endured since she met him. There was a far-away look in his eyes she could not quite discern, sorrowful almost.

“Azza? Is that your girlfriend?” Erissa pryed, knowing she probably should not have.

“It's my daughter, you bush humper,” Jenson said venomously, “and none of your fucking business.”

“You...” Erissa stuttered in shock, “you have a family?”

“At least there's someone here with some class,” Jenson said, ignoring her completely as Troyas re-entered the room.

He cannot be all bad. He has a family and at least some respect for Troyas, Erissa thought, looking from the immortal to her teacher.

“Too bad you're covered in fur and can't talk,” Jenson said, giving the dog a final scratch behind the ear. He stood and yawned loudly, stretching as he looked around the library. Erissa shook her head and turned her attention to her teacher.

“Troyas, we will be searching out Podë,” Erissa said worriedly, her voice echoing throughout the library. Not even the familiar smell of old books in the calming presence of her master could squelch her childhood fear. Troyas nodded slowly. His attention was focused on Jenson, who had wandered away from them, appreciating the antiquities with his hands.

“The bane of the elves, you will be fortunate to locate her,” he said finally. “But if you venture into Lindequalmë, there is much you must know-” Troyas was interrupted by a fantastic crash. Both elves' heads snapped toward the source; Jenson looked innocently at them.

“Oops?” He said. Troyas' jaw clenched.

“It is no problem,” the old arcanist said curtly; with a wave of his arm the pieces of the vase hovered around Jenson, and in a whimsical dance, arranged themselves back on the podium. The cracks merged and the vase was whole again. “I have had enough practice with Osher and his tail. No harm done.” Erissa glared at Jenson.

“Do you think you could control yourself,” she said, planting her hands firmly on her hips, “at least for a few minutes? You may not fear death, but not all of us share your fate. I need to know what we will be facing in the Red Forest; if I die, I do not come back. And I hardly think Sei would be pleased, even as new as I am to the Ixian Knights, if your troubling about cost my life.” Jenson huffed and rolled his eyes, flopping down in a high-backed chair and throwing his leg over the arm. He pulled a small whetstone from the long jacket he wore and proceeded to sharpen several of his blades as the two elves talked.

“How do you live with these leaf lickers?” He asked Osher, who had curled up at Jenson's feet. Jenson caught a word or two about avoiding the red pools, something about sentient beasts and plants, and one other thing that caught his ear. “Did you say the Knights of Apocalypse?”

“Yes. It is rumored the Forgotten Ones used their strongholds from time to time,” Troyas said, not surprised by Jenson's interest. “Well, I believe that is all the information I can offer. It is too late to set out for Raiaera this evening. You are welcome to stay here tonight.”

“Thank you, Troyas,” Erissa swallowed hard; there was much to worry about trekking into the Red Forest. She wanted badly for a bath and a much-needed rest. She gave Jenson a 'behave yourself' glare; Osher paced after her through the library as she retired to her quarters.

“Hm, you are remembering your family,” Troyas said to Jenson, his ancient, unlined eyes softening. “They are beautiful. Tell me, being an immortal, if you could, would you keep them with you forever?”

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen was rather off put by the question of Master Troyas, and so was wary of the Elf that gave him a fond look. His mouth was about to open when the venerable Time Lord lifted a restraining hand and spoke first, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“I cannot help but to be able to read people’s memories, and you are broadcasting yours very loudly,” Troyas smiled to Jensen, a warmth filled look, as he deftly lifted a chair from across the carpet rug and took a seat. Jensen rotated his body so the two sat across from one another, and he gazed a scornful eye into the Elf.

“Well aren’t you Mister Magnificent,” Jensen sassed as one leg kicked up to cross over his other knee. “Poking around and finding all my memories of the good times. How far back do you go, Troy?” The Elf smirked without restraint, knowing full well Jensen was baiting his ire to rise by giving him a nickname. Instead he spoke in a mischievous, knowing tone.

“I merely can see recent memories; deeper ones are a bit harder to look at, depending on how… buried a lonely soul shoved them down, never to be seen again.” Jensen gave him a dark look as his body shifted back in the chair, taking a relaxed posture as he let off a whimpering laugh of glee.

“Well played, Tree Fucker,” Jensen replied with a rolling clap. “So why do you ask this question then? Perhaps… dare I ask?” Jensen gave his own mischievous grin, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes as he looked into Troyas' eyes. “Did you lose something a little precious to time?” Troyas made no indication to fall for the bait, his lips pursing together in a manner that the immortal could not read, but he shook his head and let out a defeated smile, the same one Jensen usually did when he waltzed through his painful past.

“Yes, Mr. Ambrose, I have.” Jensen smiled as his lips smacked, looking towards a tiny trolley resting just a few inches away. If the immortal knew something about men who enjoyed books, it was that they always enjoyed a good, stiff drink like scotch or whiskey. Sure, these were categorized as smooth drinks, but Jensen shot them all the same. He stood up and approached it, lifting the tiny hood only to find assorted meats and cheeses. Annoyed there was no booze, he tossed the lid aside and grabbed a handful of meat; he broke off a hunk of Fallien spiced cheese. He turned back towards Troyas, who just watched as Jensen began to feast on his tiny bounty. He smacked his lips for the Elf just as he did for Erissa, grinning maliciously with each slurp and chomp.

Stopping himself quickly, he bowed in apology, a shallow nod, and lifted his pinky before continuing.

“You got to realize,” Jensen explained with his mouth full, each syllable spoken echoed by a smack or slurp. “that I don’t think immortality is all that it's cracked up to be. What the hell do you think?”

"I am long-lived, even for an elf. I suppose some would view it as a curse, but I have a luxury you do not: I can die, when I am ready to do so. Regardless, I think it is not immortality that is the curse; instead, the curse is the loneliness. But to remedy that, to have another to share the journey and the myriad mysteries of life, not just to experience, but to perfect the art of experiencing: is that not a blessing?" Troyas smiled as he moved towards the cart of food, lifting up the skirt that hid a small wine rack. He pulled out a bottle and two glasses, easily popping the cork as he gently let the goblets fill with a deep crimson liquid. Jensen’s eyes bounced up and down as the drink splashed around like waves in the ocean. When Troyas made to seal his vintage wine, Jensen coughed lightly. Sighing, the Elf lowered the wine and poured a tiny bit more into Jensen’s cup. Jensen coughed again, twice this time. Troyas shook his head pouring only a miniscule amount more before placing it back upon the rack and lowering the skirt.

He turned with the two goblets in his hand, and rotated them around in his palm. “Make sure you hold it like this. It will warm the drink to your body temperature and enhance the flavor.”

“Aren’t we prissy and full of class!” Jensen jeered as his fingers grabbed the base of the stem, lifting the drink to his lips and taking in the scent of the drink.

“Culture, from you?” The elf raised an eyebrow in mock surprise.

“Yeah, part of my training back in my days of the Knights of Apocalypse,” Jensen replied off handedly. “I was a Jester… er, Assassin. Part of that meant I had to know how to act in social circles to get closer to my mission target. Gee, isn’t sitting around learning about people fun?”

“I find peoples' histories fascinating. Events that take place can mold you into who you are today. It is truth.” Troyas raised the drink to lips and sipped very gently, closing his eyes to enjoy the taste. When he finished he looked back to see Jensen’s head extended back, draining it all in one go; he then tossed the glass behind him so it shattered against the wall. “Right, I will repair that later.” An exasperated sigh left his lips.

“Look idiot,” Jensen said seriously. Troyas glanced to him as he sipped more of his drink, noticing that though Jensen looked towards the venerable Elf, he did not look at him. His eyes were alight with a pain, pain of a thousand memories of his past dancing before him in a little play to remind him of all his sorrow, and his words began to grow with a bitter frost of grief. “Immortality is not meant for mortals. I have watched several of my closest friends die! Ok? You get that?”

"So have I, but to-“ Troyas attempted to speak, but Jensen’s mannerisms silenced him as he watched. Troyas knew his estate was rather cool in the evening, but even he felt like removing his evening jacket, so warm was it in the library. Yet one look to Jensen and he narrowed his eyes in concern. The immortal was shivering.

“I buried them, with my own hands. I bury all of them. I go to their funerals, or sometimes I just watch the life leave their eyes as they give up their last breath. What in the name of the Thayne do you think I would want to put that misery through my family? I would want to kill myself watching my little girl, my sweetest angel crying because her best friend died, and she couldn’t! My fiancé already tears up just because I have to go on missions! I would hate to see what she looks like when she’s lost her fifth friend!“ Now Jensen raised his eyes to meet Troyas. His pupils seemed frigid and full of mourning.

“God forbid they have someone die in their arms! Have you ever had anyone die in your own two hands, Troyas?” Each hysterical question put the man in an uncomfortable light, but thankfully Jensen never waited for an answer as he began to explain, hands moving out as he pantomimed that experience.

“Some cling to you, fearful of the beyond I cannot experience and warn them about! Some laugh, because they feel they can move on to a better life. Do you lie, Troyas, when people die? Do you tell them there is a heaven? If you are good and follow the Thayne’s wisdom, you get to sit in a puffy white cloud of amazing grace? Fuck’s sake, can you start a god damn fire!” Jensen’s shivering continued as his feet began to rotate back and forth, stamping them to keep warm as his arms moved furiously around his shoulders.

Troyas’ only response was a saddened shake of his head as he watched the Knight pull tighter to his coat. The silence in the room intensified, creating a tension so thick that the venerable Elf could almost see it. In moments however it was alleviated as the man began to calm down, his shivering slowing as he stood up, deciding it was a good time to just leave.

“Immortality is a crock of shit and anyone who pines for it are damn fools!” Jensen turned to Troyas, gave him a weak goodbye wave and headed for the stairs where he would find a room and just sleep. The Elf made no motion to stop him as he retreated, and the immortal was grateful for that as he hit the stairs two at a time. Each step he took, though, smoked out a darker memory, and he shook his head as he willed it away.

He found a room close to him, fingers quickly turning the knob, but it was locked. Annoyed, he moved on, trying to get the images of Chanelle, his first ever lover, freezing to death out of his mind. Another knob, but it was locked. Frustrated he hit the door with his closed fist, and angrily he turned across the hall and found another door. He ripped it open, thanking the Horsemen it was unlocked as he moved towards a couch. He cared not whose room it was. All he cared about was getting away from the memories as they continued to plague him. Tears filled his eyes as he recalled screaming for his friends to awaken, to get up and stop playing dead. They were never playing though. They never woke up that day.

Something lifted its head up in a confused manner in the darkness, and Jensen jolted as he was startled. He looked at what spooked him and heard heavy panting. Shaking his head in relief, Jensen lowered his hand and began to scratch the dog, Osher, as he maneuvered himself on the couch to let them both sleep. The mutt sniffed his chin a couple times, a slimy tongue licking him once as the dog’s head rested into his chest.

“Do me a favor, boy,” Jensen whispered in a child-like voice. “Don’t die on me in the morning.”

[Sagequeen]

Like so many points of comfort and gentle familiarity, candlelight warmed the rich, green-veined, white marble floors; innumerable captured flecks in the quartz counter-tops flickered in perfect unison with the collective light of the tallow-soaked wicks. Erissa, submerged to her dainty neck in rose-scented bubbles, gazed lazily at the collection of candles. The great claw-foot basin was filled to the brim, the warmth of the water draining away the stress of the elf's tense body. She pushed aside the thoughts of Virlas, the man she thought she loved, and Troyas, the kind teacher who had taken her in when she had nowhere else to go. And Jenson – the immortal practically seethed with hatred for her simply for existing. There was also her coming excursion into the Red Forest, the place that harbored the boogeymen of her childhood. She breathed deeply; her cleansing sigh sent several bubbles aloft from the cloud-like mounds, dancing languid waltzes as they moved in slow motion to their their shared fate upon the basin-room floor. With a gentle pop, it was over, the bubbles whose existence only served her pleasure.

Erissa guided a remaining bubble, the telekenetic touch of her mind honed and feather-light; it floated, suspended inches from her face. The young arcanist probed the very structure of it, sustaining and repairing it in the air against the entropy that was both its enemy and agent of release.

BANG!

Erissa jerked in the tub, sending water sloshing over the side. Pop went the little bubble. She heard stomping and mumbling from another room, unmistakably Jenson, though what had caused him to punch the the basin-room door escaped her.

“Great,” she mumbled as she pulled herself upright. “I should not have left them alone.” Resigned to playing the peace-keeper, she hoisted herself out of the bath and quickly dried before slipping into a sheer gossamer nightgown. So thin and fine was the material that her movement in it was as though a gentle breeze caressed her, causing the gown to embrace every sensuous part of her with serendipitous exactness. “Ugh,” Erissa sighed. Her heavier night-coat was in her bedroom, forgotten in the high elf's hasty retreat to the bath.

Erissa cracked the door, peeking into the darkness of the hallway; Jenson was nowhere in sight, nor was Troyas, so she slipped out and fleetly crossed the hall into her room. Erissa quickly grabbed from the bed and pulled on her heavier garment; she heard Osher's slow, heavy breathing in the darkness. Not wanting to wake him, she made her way silently out into the hallway and down the stairs. Troyas sat in his favorite chair, partially hidden by the wing of the high back, brooding over a glass of wine.

“Mind the glass, Dear One,” he said, and Erissa stepped back from the shattered stemware near the wall where the stairs opened into the majestic library. “Actually,” he said, “I will take care of it.” The glass levitated and reassembled before floating effortlessly into his hand. She was unable to see his face, but she heard a strained note in his voice that concerned her.

“Where is Jenson, and what happened?” Erissa asked. Troyas clenched his teeth; the immortal was, most likely purposefully, broadcasting loudly the memory a very recent experience for the old elf.

“He has retired for the night,” Troyas answered. “I prodded him, perhaps a little too far. I will say no more.” Erissa was surprised by his curtness from which he quickly relented. “Sit with me, will you? And please, take some food. You have not eaten for two days.” Erissa obliged, realizing at last that she was famished. They sat in silence as she ate from a tray of cured meats and fine Fallien cheeses. The mammoth clock chimed a low, quiet testament to the late hour.

“I must rest,” she finally said, rising and embracing him.

“Erissa?” He said.

“Yes?”

“You will want to take the guest bedroom.” Troyas gave her an apologetic look; Erissa's hand went to her mouth and she flushed with embarrassment. It was not just Osher she had heard breathing in her room. The young elf wondered how much Jenson had seen of her in the sheer gossamer gown – and how much of that memory he had shared with her teacher.

**************

The sun was just rising into sight above the tallest boughs of Concordia, the birds singing their extended songs of greeting to the world as night fully receded from it. Jenson was met with an angry and accusing glare; Erissa was unamused he was in her room, and moreso that he was spooning her dog on the couch. He raised an arm to defend his eyes from the assault of light Erissa had just unfurled by opening the curtains as widely as they would go.

“It is time to go,” the arcanist said coldly before turning on her heel to leave. Spying a stray throw pillow on the ground, she snapped it up and threw it with all her might at Jenson. She stormed out of the room without looking back.

“What?” He called after her.

Great, Erissa thought. Now I am acting just as childish as he does. She would not admit, not even to herself, that it felt good. She collected her stocked satchel from the foot of the stairs and went to Troyas, who was busily thumbing through several maps in the library.

“Lindequalmë, Raiaera proper, and I have included maps contemporary to the many ages Althanas has endured. Perhaps you may find something of use on the ancient ones that will not appear on those available now.” Troyas sighed, and shook his head. He turned slowly toward her, eyes downcast. “I would go in your stead. But my vow to protect the vial keeps me from it.” His eyes met hers, and Erissa's gaze dropped to the floor at his feet. “Come back to me, safely.” He rolled the maps and slipped them into leather tube which Erissa hung over her shoulder by the long strap. Footfalls echoed behind her as Jenson and Osher crossed the library.

“I will,” she said in his ear as she flung her arms around him. Erissa managed a meaningful look at her teacher, her friend, before turning to face Jenson.

“Nightfall tomorrow to get to Radasanth,” Jenson rolled his eyes. “Enough with the dramatic goodbyes.”

“Actually, we are going to New Aurient,” Erissa said with a wry smile. Jenson had a way of bringing a quick death to tender moments. “We can get any supplies we need there.”

“New what? Where's that?” Jenson asked morosely.

“How could you not know – never mind. I'm not even going to ask. New Aurient is the capital of Raiaera, north of the Red Forest,” Erissa said with a resigned sigh.

“Huh. Figures that shit-hole forest would be in fairyland,” Jenson sniped. “I guess you've already got a boat set up?” Erissa gave him a confused glance.

“No. We will teleport there. It is much quicker,” she said. Troyas raised his arms high in the air, and his voice echoed throughout the vaulted ceilings of the massive library. The air before him cracked, shining in and through itself with a brilliant light; the portal opened, light radiating outward from a prismatic center and crackling at the edges.

“Oh no. No. No freakin' way am I going through that thing. I'll just catch a boat, thank you very much. See you there.” Jenson turned to leave, but Erissa grabbed his arm. He slapped her hand away.

“What is the problem, Jenson? Afraid?” He glared at her pert expression, every curse his tongue could conjure jumbling together, so nothing came out but a look of petulant rage. The standoff between the arcanist and the immortal was tense; finally Erissa looked helplessly to Troyas, who, arms still in the air, shrugged. “Fine,” Erissa said. “We will get a boat.” The old elf winked at her.

“Enjoy New Aurient, Mr. Ambrose, and do send me a postcard,” Troyas flashed a toothy smile at the immortal just before Jenson began to levitate. Jenson fought it, kicking and screaming through the air, until he was finally ushered by Troyas into the portal. Osher barked wildly at the excitement, bounding around and threatening to topple every nearby and priceless piece of art.

“You know he will never forgive you for that,” Erissa said, giggling gleefully. Troyas grinned. “Or me, simply by association.”

“But what does it matter? He already hates us,” Troyas said, finally breaking into his characteristic laughter, musical and infectious. Erissa nodded, tears beginning to form in her eyes from the hearty laugh. She blotted her face with a kerchief, and gave Osher a good scratch.

“Stay,” Erissa said to the dog, and, like many times before, she stepped into and through the light of the portal.

“Go,” Troyas said to Osher; at his command the dog was a scrambling whirlwind on the marble floors, and he leaped through the portal.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen Ambrose was fearless. He did not shy away from anything. He had been ripped to shreds, mauled to death, fell to his death, beheaded, disemboweled, and watched his fingers try to hold all his inner organs in while bleeding from his face. He did not have irrational fears like spiders or things that scuttled. He did not spook easily, the only person who could being Cassandra Remi, but even the Gisela Reaper herself could not truly evoke a fear in the immortal. Jensen Ambrose was fearless.

So it was completely understandable that he screamed like a frightened little girl when he went through the portal. With no doubt the clear reason for this was to make Erissa more comfortable. In case she felt a thrill of terror, she would now not have to be alone. Yes, Jensen was merely doing the right thing Sei had asked him to do so many times. When the portal spat him upon the cobblestones he bounced with high speed onto his chin, scratching it raw as splotches of blood began to run rickshaw through his stubble. He let out a groan of pain, his shoulders shaking as he lifted himself up from his prone position.

He slammed downwards again into the stone floor, eyes flashing white as his body sagged under a heavy weight. There was a panting, followed by a nuzzling of something wet on the back of his neck, bringing the crystal clear voice of clarity to a situation that confused the hell out of the immortal.

"Osher, I told you to stay!" Erissa scolded the dog in a tone that could be described as whining. Her hand lifted to the side of her face in frustration, her narrow cheekbones drooping as she sighed. "But we have no time now to take you back, so I suppose you are stuck here." The dog, thinking he had done something wrong, merely shifted downwards on Jensen's spine. The Knight tried to get a word out, but his breath was knocked loose as his canine companion rested on his back. Erissa made a motion to remove the dog, but her hand hesitantly hovered in the air. Maybe a bit longer...

"There are a few places where I wish to stop, Mr. Ambrose." Erissa stepped forward and pointed to a building across the way with the symbol of a leather worker. "There is a tavern near the outskirts of the town, take Osher and go there. You can be with your own kind then..." She muttered angrily as she passed him a dark glance.

Jensen shrugged his shoulders as the two made way, the immortal whistling in a shrill manner right in Erissa's ear. Osher barked once in compliance as the padded feet made a soft noise on the whitish grey stone, the dog moving in tandem between the two with tail wagging vigorously. They crossed the street, passing by several bake carts, the bread smelling fresh and delicious. Jensen recalled the day he had first met his adopted daughter Azza, the little girl wishing to buy bread for her lunch. Thinking of her made his heart lurch a bit in a sulky manner. Finding no reason not to, the immortal broke away from Erissa, much to her chagrin, and pulled a few gold coins out to buy a few loaves of bread, and a satchel to hold them all. He tore half the bread and dropped it, Osher ravaging it as he made loud chomping noises; Jensen ripped the inner dough out and popped it in his mouth like a candy.

"Do not teach Osher to beg," Erissa mumbled, her face half expecting a piece of bread. All she got was Jensen's giggling mirth as he pushed past her, leaving just the crust in her hands of his hollowed out bread hunk. She sighed angrily as she held the bread in her hand to her side. CHOMP! And it was out of her hand and happily in Osher's mouth.

"Don't feed him from your hand then," Jensen teased back as he headed in the direction of the tavern. He could tell which one the High Elf had referred to, for unlike the towers and buildings around the town, this one stuck out like a sore thumb. Its roof was made of tethered hay, the wood walls seemed more slammed together than placed, but something about the crude nature in the sea of magnificence was appealing to the immortal.

"You got thirty minutes." Erissa only nodded her head in response, moving onwards. Osher looked to Jensen, following obediently with wagging tail as the knight approached the tavern door. Sitting on a rocking chair that squeaked with each to and fro was the ugliest woman the immortal ever had seen in his many lives. She smiled, missing several teeth, and offered him a drink as she kicked the door open for him.

Jensen declined her offer as he entered in, several patrons looking up. A couple wolves and hounds lifted their eyes up to Osher, teeth flaring as they growled. Osher's tail rose as he widened his stance, but one gentle scratch behind the ears reverted the dog to keep with Jensen. He sat at the bar, sitting on a stool that could possibly at one point in its fantastic life of a barstool had padding. He ordered up his drinks.

"You another fool on a mission to discover lost treasures?" The bartender spoke in a gruff manner, years of experience lined with bitter misery. Jensen looked to the man, seeing he had one eye patched and a scar that ran along his other cheek.

"You a fool who thought you'd succeed where others haven't?" Jensen replied as he spun to face him. The tender laughed at the comment, lifting up a glass, dusting it, and pouring a stiff drink for himself and the Knight.

"Yeah, I was a damn fool. Heard about a necklace of some yada yada heritage. All I heard was gold coins clinking against each other for days. All I got was a scar and a lost eyeball."

"If I find it I'll make sure to give it back," Jensen muttered. "I'm not heading into that hell pit on treasure hunts though. I have to do this for the Ixian Knights. Something about Pods or Poe's, or something... I dunno. Wasn't really paying too much attention." He drank the liquid with a sip, feeling warmth swirling around his chest.

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions," the tender said with a knowing distance, eye looking out in the direction of the Red Forest; he shuddered. "You going with you and that mutt?"

"Nah, waiting of a faggot fairy too." The man cocked an eyebrow. "What? I am. Fucking leaf licker is shopping." There was a moment of confusion before he pushed his head up and nodded in understanding.

"An Elf, got ya." Jensen just drained the last of his drink, dropping the coin on the table and standing up. He snapped his fingers and Osher stood up and followed him as the immortal headed outside the tavern. Like a good punctual Elf, Erissa was spotted down the road with a few supplies and a new outfit. He at least thought it was a new outfit, but the bags of supplies and maps that Troyas unloaded on them was making her look more like a mule.

He looked back at civilization one last time, before turning back to the direction of the Red Forest. He felt a shiver run down his spine and pondered the meaning of it, eyes narrowing in distrust.

Jensen Ambrose was fearless...

...So why did he feel so uncomfortable heading towards the Red Forest?

[Sagequeen]

Erissa watched the immortal as he walked, Osher following him obediently, toward the tavern she had suggested. With each step he took, the anxiety Jenson caused in her eased, relief like the loosening of a too-tight belt. Soon enough the young elf was entranced by the grandeur of New Aurient, her buildings soaring magnificently tall yet not imposing, and as if they had sprouted naturally from the ground. Certainly, anyone could build a large building, but the aesthetic of the elves was unmatched in the attention to detail and intricate decoration. Nowhere in Underwood could she walk down an alley and be given the impression that she was moving among trees and rolling hills. So in tune with nature, the elves would rather build around a tree than remove it, and the trees that grew in the city were treated as honored guests.

The humble leather shop, which, in truth, was larger than most of the buildings in Underwood, sat with open doors, and she flowed with the breeze into its midst. The smell of new leather mingled with the yeasty scent of fresh-baked bread, sweetened by the myriad spring blooms that dotted the city. Erissa inspected the goods in the shop; it was filled in its entirety with a selection ranging from saddles, rugs, furniture, footwear, luggage, large piles of tanned leather, and, of course, clothing. A brown-haired and wide-jawed elf strode to her.

“Is there anything in particular you desire?” He asked, a slight smile and a twinkle in his eye. “My name is Hammoneth. Please allow me to help you.”

“Yes, thank you Hammoneth. I need armor, the type fit for,” Erissa cleared her throat, “battle.” A giddy thrill went up her spine at the word; she was not yet comfortable with it. “Not the type that is for show only; I will be using mine.” Her fellow elf nodded and bowed; he took her hand from a respectable distance and guided her, weaving among the many tables and racks, to a section near the back of the leather shop.

“Here we are, and may I suggest our master leatherworker's latest creation.” Hammoneth removed what appeared to be an undergarment from a place of prominence on the largest rack.

“But, what? No, I need armor, please,” she said, gaping at the tiny bit of leather he held before her. He laughed in a delightful tenor.

“This is armor!”

“But, what if I am, well, there are no legs in it, and hardly enough to cover a vulnerable midsection,” Erissa stuttered, neglecting to mention the impossibly low cut top.

“Oh, that is the beauty of it; all the style, all the protection. You see, the leather is enchanted to give its wearer full body protection, at the same strength of the leather.” Hammoneth seemed very pleased with himself. “Will you try it on?”

“So someone honestly spent the time and resources to enchant for what could have been achieved with leather alone?” Erissa shook her head slowly. “It must have been a male. No maiden would be so crass.” The attendant blinked at her, the disapproval of her comment clear on his face for the beat of a heart.

“Not your style then?” He asked, slipping comfortably back into his sales persona. “Let me see.” He flitted around the rack, grabbing several garments. “Here, this is a selection of our very best, fit for a warrior like you! Allow me to guide you to the dressing rooms.” A few steps away, Erissa went alone into the smaller room; she hung the many garments on different hooks at took a hard look at them. Her master tailor's eye could not judge the leather, but she did know stitching. She went with the one that seemed the sturdiest, and the least revealing. She struggled to pull up the burgundy pants, but after much coaxing and knocking around, a backward glance in the mirror revealed that they fit like a glove – a very tight glove.

“Everything okay in there?” Hammoneth asked.

“Yes, fine. Thank you!” Erissa said curtly. She had worked up a sweat and was relieved the matching top was fastened by a zipper and buckles. The long sleeves did not restrict her; they flared slightly at the cuff and bore intricate tooling. A few tugs at the corners and sleeves, and Erissa stepped out of the dressing room. “I will purchase this one, mostly because I am unsure whether or not I could get the pants off again.” Hammoneth raised his eyebrows at her.

“You will want some boots, and a suitable jacket, I am sure. Right this way,” he said, motioning for her to follow. The leather was supple, conforming to her movements; she rather liked the feel of it. The attendant presented her with a new pair of boots.

“I suppose you will tell me that those four inch heels are enchanted, too,” Erissa said, annoyed. As quickly as he had presented them he pulled them away without a word. Erissa spied a pair that boasted a wide, sturdy heel and hard leather to just above mid-calf. The color matched, and the buckles were of the same make as her armor. She pointed, and Hammoneth quickly gathered both them and a wooden stool for her. The arcanist removed her flimsy boots; the new ones required a lot of effort to fasten all the straps, but they suited her. As he opened his mouth to guide her, the young elf held up a finger. “No jacket. This is it.” The attendant was visibly disappointed, but led her to the main counter.

“That will be 200 gold pieces,” he said. Erissa rummaged through her satchel and counted his pay by fives before bidding him farewell. She removed a thick black cloak from her pack and whirled it around her shoulders; the new Ixian Knight fastened the clasp at her neck and drew the hood over her head. Erissa slung her satchel and the leather tube filled with maps across her back; an intricately carved yew stave rested comfortably in her right hand. As she began her confident stride, the breeze caught the bottom of her cloak and it flared dramatically. At least I look the part, she thought as she made her way through New Aurient, toward the tavern on the city's south edge where Jenson and Osher awaited her.

Osher was first to greet her; whether it was five minutes or five days, without exception he acted as though it had been five years. He sniffed the leather and chuffed with approval before rolling in the mowed grass alongside the flagstone thoroughfare. The morning was giving way quickly against the sailing sun, and the arcanist was eager to begin the journey; however, she had reservations about their timing.

“I assume we will take a warm meal and a rest before we leave. You realize,” she said to Jenson, ignoring the fact he was oogling the high elf in her new outfit, “if we leave now, we will reach the Red Forest at nightfall. I do not think it is wise to enter the eaves of that forest at night; it is bad enough in the day. What do you suggest?” Jenson ran a hand through his wild, red-tipped black hair as he considered it.

“I thought you leaf lickers loved trees,” he began, masking his own apprehension, but the elf interrupted him.

“I have a name,” Erissa said angrily. “And if you continue to refuse to use it, I will come up with my own collection of nicknames for you.” Several passers-by looked in shock at the emotional elf berating a human. But they did not know Jenson Ambrose. Erissa sighed and shook her head, a look of disgust plastered on her face. “You have been nothing but hateful, childish, and downright mean since the first time we met. You do not even know me! You disrespected my teacher in his own home where you were treated as an honored guest, not to mention the fact you took my room, then showed him near-naked mental images of me! And now, we are about to knock on Podë's front door, and I am not even sure if I can trust you. This is circus of stupidity and madness and you are the ringleader.” Osher cringed nearby; he had never seen his master so off-put. She glared daggers at Jenson, challenging him to retort.

“Nicknames, huh?” The immortal snickered. “Somehow I think you'd fail craptasticly at that.” Erissa's jaw set, her eyes narrowed, and she leveled her gaze at him.

“Jenny.”

“Oh come on! You've got to try harder than that,” he said, eyes glittering.

“Freak of nature.”

“Now you're just stating the obvious!”

“Dog humper!” Erissa said, thoroughly frustrated at her inability to concoct a single decently venomous nickname.

“Taking a page from my book are we?” Jenson laughed at her, the sound of it bouncing from every tall building, amplifying the mockery with each echo.

“Sir Noodle,” she said quietly. “How's that for a page from your book? What, did you think I had not heard about that? I think the retelling of the 'noodle incident' is part of the Ixian Knight's initiation these days.”

“IT... WAS... THE... CAT!” Jenson yelled as he threw his hands in the air.

“Right. Next you will be blaming Sei. Stairs are stairs, Jenson, and noodles are noodles,” Erissa said triumphantly, certain she had scored a point against the immortal.

“And elves are stinking pieces of fairy turds I scrape off my boot heel with the longest stick I can find,” he sneered.

“I need some air,” Erissa said, looking down her nose at him. “We will wait until nightfall to set out for Lindequalmë. We should arrive as the sun rises. Just go back in your dirty little tavern, have a meal, and I will meet you there,” she pointed to the nearby gates in the wall the encircled the city, “at sunset. Osher, come!” The dog obeyed, somewhat to Erissa's relief, and followed her back into the heart of New Aurient.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

"Yeah, uh huh, sure, buh bye now!" Jensen waved his hand in a carefree manner, looking to the citadel of glory the elves erected to harmonize with the natural trees that grew. His first instinct was to set fire to everything, but even he found poor taste in that. It was not even original and he shook his head with a dark chuckle. He whistled loudly for Osher to return to him, thinking of taking the dog hunting with him in the forest, but Erissa merely glanced to the dog; with a whimper he continued on with his master. Annoyed, Jensen popped his collar, prepping his lungs as he let out a shrill, obnoxious whistle. Several of the elves nearby bent away in confusion, eyes narrowed in irritation as their sensitive ears took the highest pitch offensively. Osher barked, as did a chorus of other creatures, birds rising in the air in a flock. Erissa snapped her finger once, and Osher still did not obey Jensen.

"No matter what you think you can accomplish with your obstinance," Erissa mused loudly with a snobbish, self-satisfied smile, despite the ringing in her ears. "Osher is loyal to me first. You will just have to find your own fun, Sir Noodle." Jensen listened to her taunt, and made ready to reply with a curt verbal barrage, but something inside him clicked. A light bulb within the dank dungeons of his sinister mind flickered on, and cruel intentions seeped into his thought process. He bowed to Erissa like a demented Jester of the royal court, turning lucidly to the side with a laugh as he ran off, mischievous eyes flickering to her in a manner that made her suspicious immediately of him. Yet she made no motion to stop the immortal as he ran towards the tavern he had just stayed at, figuring that she was always uncomfortable with him. Osher looked to her with his head tilted, tongue hanging out with expectance. "I do not have food for you," she muttered to him with a smile. "And if I did, you do not beg. You must ask for it." She giggled to the dog that gave her a confused look, lifted his paw to her pant leg, and then went back to begging. "Very well, I will find you food. Come!"

She passed one last look to Jensen, making double sure it was okay to really leave the loudmouth alone, but the call of alone time was too sweet a temptation and she confidently strode away.

~*~*~

Several hours into the day, Jensen was thoroughly into his drinking. He had started with a few beers, hit a couple shots, inhaled several concoctions, and tried a few new mixes that only the gods knew what had made them. He roared with approval, his chest an inferno as he pounded another shot, eyes slightly opened and cheeks full of a red blush that could be seen for miles. He had just finished telling his story about how he had single handedly defeated a titanic Berevian Bear in the lost glades of Beravar when Sei was searching for the favor of the Thayne Jomil. He had an audience with him, all eager newbies with no spunk that he could detect, but eyes full of stars.

Then he saw his tab. That was the first sobering moment for him, but his mind still kept a sharp edge to his mischievous intentions, like a road that could not be closed no matter how much alcohol he tried to flood through. He grinned, looked to the toughest man in the bar, and bet him twenty gold coins that he could not knock Jensen out with a single punch. Ever the prideful muscle necked idiot, the man took the bet, paid the twenty coins that were quickly snatched by the barkeeper, and tossed his all into Jensen's face. The immortal laughed with hideous, tormented mirth as the punch connected with his jaw and rattled him, but in the spin he came back up, eyes wide and grin wider as the warrior let out a sly chuckle and nodded to the man. Another man took his spot, and let the Knight have a shot. Again the pain was intensely powerful, then quickly dulled as Jensen took the hit and stood back, tall and giddy as his bar tab was getting lower.

"Not a single one of you needle-dicks can knock me out!" Jensen taunted, laughing as he lifted up a bottle of ale and took a long drought, smacking his lips and tossing the glass behind him. It shattered into the wall, and the people laughed as nobody took him up on his goading attempt. "Come on, who wants to take bets and pay my tab off?"

A few people challenged the immortal in other ways, but each contest ended with Jensen's tab slowly being whittled away. He looked to the tender who shrugged, showed him the bill, and it was far more manageable. Still, he was having fun and if he did not have to pay, why bother?

"Come on you chumps, give me a real challenge," Jensen slurred, the hits starting to take their toll as his blood mixed with alcohol. A single woman stepped forward, nothing special as she wore all leather furs and a long blade across her back. She flicked her raven black hair out of her eye, and smiled a knowing smile. Her smooth, pale skin was marked with scars and her cheek had a long cut along it that marred her face in an irrepairable way. If not for such a wound, she'd be a pretty decent looker.

"Oh fuck, you look like hell!" Jensen coughed up a bit of bile as his fogged over mind distorted her 'charm' in a manner that made her look less appealing. "I thought booze was supposed to mask your ugliness!"

"I was cursed with my father's looks," she replied casually, eyes twinkling as Jensen gave her an approving nod. "But enough about me, piss for brains, I want to talk about you."

"I'm taken," Jensen mumbled. "She's way hotter than you, and could probably kick your ass. Did I mention she was way hotter than you?"

"Yes you did, twinkle toes. Now do you want some cash? I'm willing to pay your tab off right now if you do a little challenge for me." Jensen looked to her and cocked his head to the side, a motion that was very lucid and looked rigid as he leaned back in his stool. He collapsed, causing a scene, and laughter followed him as he chuckled. He crawled on all fours to his feet, slowly, using the woman to gain his bearings. He made no attempts to hide he was groping her.

"Nice legs," Jensen admitted.

"Thanks, you got pretty eyes," she sassed as she lifted Jensen up by his arms like a baby and dumped him back on his feet. "Now I've been watching you, and I noticed you got quite the... well let's just call it like it is. You hate Elves." Jensen let out a chorus of giggles as he nodded. "Turns out I am not a fan myself. Pointy eared fuckers and I have a score to settle, and I want to use you to do it. So, ready for your bet?"

Jensen did not respond to her, instead he laughed, a low baritone noise that rumbled from deep in his stomach with sick satisfaction. The woman smiled, a cruel mockery of one as only part of her lip moved from the scowl of her cut line. Jensen turned to the tender, tossed him a few gold coins and turned back to the woman, his eyes filled with venom as he spoke in a menacing manner.

"I'll do it for free if I get to fuck up the natural order of pointy prissy pricks!"

~*~*~

"Long shift today, Telic?" A slender hand moved out in greeting as an aged elf took it, his eyes light hearted as the setting sun reflected off his polished silver mail. Telic, a town guardsman of no young age, had seen it all and knew it all. He fought against undead, survived the worst of Xem'Xund's followers in expeditions to the Red Forest, and even fought in a few Gisela battles for the Avatar of Alerar, Sei Orlouge. His life was battle, but the simple, quiet life of the town had been a truly blessed haven for him. Only now and then would a rowdy drunk enter his domain, and with a sharp hit to the back of the head, they caused him no more trouble. He was just about to shift off for the night to his darling Lucile. His partner, Tyrion, was a youthful boy, who had much to learn about tempering his wild emotions, but he was still a strong man of character, which counted for a lot to the aging elf.

Just before he was about to wish his friend a good evening, he stopped and noticed a man dressed in black with a long cut coat. His face held nothing but malevolence and mischief, and he seemed to be looking right at him in challenge, like a two year old in a battle of wills. He had seen these types before, and knew immediately what was about to happen. He gripped Tyrion's hand and turned him to face their new foe, and spoke in a soft whisper.

"Do as I say, and do not let him get the better of you." Tyrion nodded, and the Elves moved forwards as one. The human shook his head in anticipation, booze reeking from the long distance. Telic lifted his hand in greeting, a soft smile on his weathered lips. "Good evening, sir."

The human lifted a finger up, a crude gesture that had no bearing to the venerable Elf, and grinned. "Can't see the sun's still out, you faggot bush humper?" The man taunted. Telic could feel the tension near Tyrion rise, but with a calming hand a soft sigh he stepped forwards, nodding to the human.

"Aye, that it is. But as the sun is starting to set, I think it would be safe to assume the moon will be upon us shortly."

"Know it all fairy fucker," he hiccupped with a grin. "You two gonna whack dicks tonight?" Telic looked to Tyrion who made a motion to attack the human, but again he placed a calm hand on the younger Elf's shoulder and smiled to the human.

"You clearly wish to get a rise out of us, but I must insist you will not. I have seen your kind before, Sir, and none of them ever can get the better of me. Please, do yourself a favor and desist, and I will let you go peaceably." Telic showed him a heartwarming smile, his eyes filled with no hesitation to show he would go to the next level if that was what the drunkard wanted.

"Fuck you," he replied in his crude language. "You think I can't get a rise out of you leaf lickers?" The man smiled as he sauntered over in a manner only a drunk could perform, looking at a town statue of a prominent hero from long ago. He approached the statue, nodded to himself, and then in one fluid motion removed his pants. "Public nudity," he muttered.

"Nothing but a fine and a slap on the wrist." Telic laughed.

"Defilement of government property," the human muttered louder, laughing as he released his wastes upon the statue.

"You do nothing to our proud ancestors, but make an ass of yourself," Telic replied again, calmly. Tyrion on the other hand seemed to be fuming as his hand went to his baton. Telic gave him a warning glance, and the youthful Elf sighed, lowering his hand.

"Oh?" The human turned now, his liquid trial following in a spray. The splash began to hit both Elves' shoes, and Tyrion flinched away as he made a disgusted face.

"My three year old has done worse to me, Sir," Telic laughed this time, stepping to the side as he walked forwards. "You are drunk, angry for some reason, and looking for a fight. I will not give you that." The human looked to him, eyes full of wonder, before he let out a sigh and pulled his pants back on. He nodded to Telic, then turned to Tyrion.

"What about you Kid, you want to let me go?" Tyrion looked to his master, who shook his head and the man gritted his teeth.

"I would rather throw you in prison than suffer the sight of you, but I will not be sucked into your game." The man nodded again. He looked to Telic, and smiled. In the blink of an eye Telic's vision went white as he retreated several steps, blood spilling out his nose as the human laughed in a high pitched whine. Telic looked to his shirt, now covered in his own blood, and narrowed his eyes in annoyance. Yet if he thought spilt blood would get a rise out of the older Elf he would be sadly disappointed. Looking up to see the human's reaction to his stoic defense, his eyes instead went wide when he watched Tyrion's eyes roll in the back of his head, jaw slammed shut as blood glinted in an arc from a ferocious uppercut. It sprayed over his face, and something within the stoic Elf snapped to be suddenly hit with the blood of a comrade.

Yelling in rage the Elf charged the human, hands lifting out a small baton to beat him with. He pulled the weapon out and prepared to raise it, but the human, who in the blink of an eye moved with such speed and agility that even the Elf's honed skills and grace felt paltry, took his foot and kicked him hard in the stomach. Telic's baton flew out of his hand as spittle escaped his lips, coughing in a fit as he doubled over. When he caught his breath, he felt the cold steel of his baton against the back of his skull and collapsed on the ground.

"Come on you self rightous bastards! I thought your pointy haired reflexes were superior to mere humans!" The baton came down in a brutal strike, hitting Tyrion who only managed to lift himself to his waist before crashing back down on the cobblestone. Telic looked to him, a hate filled look, as he reached for a whistle around his neck. "Go on, blow it like you do a cock and tell the world I got under your skin!" The human taunted, a sick grin of satisfaction on his face.

Telic looked to him, seeing the two year old for who he really was. A demented, tortured soul who sought the thrill of battle. He saw the human, and feeling shame in his limbs, he blew the whistle to call more soldiers to him. And even higher than the shrill call was the pitch of Jenson's laughter as he relished in the ensuing chaos.

[Sagequeen]

Jail was exactly what Erissa had expected. In her many visits to New Aurient, she had seen it from the outside, the stately, marble building; the high elf had never expected to see it from the inside. Erissa's ire was already at an all-time high; for hours she had waited at the city's southern gates, waiting for Jenson so they could journey by night and approach the Red Forest by morning. When Jenson did not meet her as planned, she searched the tavern; the winks and grins of the patrons alerted Erissa that there was something more going on than they were telling her. Eventually, Erissa rented a room at one of the city's bed and breakfasts. On a hunch early the next morning, Erissa decided to check the city's jail; her search proved wise.

“It took how many to bring him down?” Erissa asked incredulously. She stared at the neat stack of papers bearing Jenson's name: J. Ambrose, arrested for fifteen counts of assault to a guard, possession of illegal goods, defilement of a public pool, public nudity, and public drunkenness. Avoid close proximity to his cell; he is considered extremely dangerous. Articles removed from his person stored at F57, requiring multipass access due to the nature of the contents. The guard drummed his fingers on the tall, oak bar. The strong morning sun beamed in through the cathedral windows, providing very clear evidence of Jenson's brutality upon the his face. Erissa tried very hard not to stare.

“Fifteen.” The old elf Telic, his refined features distorted and battered, nose likely broken, shook his head. “He is an animal. You can imagine why we did not believe he was an Ixian Knight; we thought him a rambling, drunken mercenary. And you say you have been traveling with him for several days? I once thought I had seen everything, but never have I encountered one with such hate. How do you tolerate him?” Erissa sighed heavily.

“I must,” the arcanist said with a slow shake of her head. “We are assigned a mission of great importance, involving the Red Forest. May I heal your wounds?” She asked.

“That will not be necessary. My wife is skilled and will see to me when I arrive home. As for Mr. Ambrose, if you will pay his fines and promise to see him out of my city immediately, I will release him. If you do make it out of the forest alive, and I have my doubts you will, see to it he does not return.”

“It will be done,” Erissa promised. She placed a pouch of gold, a considerable chunk of what she had brought, on the desk. Telic retrieved Jenson's belongings and gave Erissa the box. He walked slowly, painfully, around the desk, and led her down a tall, white-walled hallway that opened into a massive gray room. Osher paced behind them, his eyes shifting and wary. Strong metal bars caged a number of criminals in little rooms, each very clean and stocked with a decent mattress, blankets, and restroom facilities. Erissa ignored the jeering but pulled her cloak together in the front. In the farthest cell there was a crumpled mass of pillows, blankets, and wild, red-tipped, black hair.

“We eventually moved him here, as far away as possible; we grew very tired of his insults and yelling. At one point, he was even singing. Not a bad voice, for a human, but how one mouth could be so foul, I have no idea,” Telic said, eyes wide and head shaking. Erissa massaged her temples, deeply embarrassed.

“Shhhhh,” she said to Osher, who had just realized Jenson was nearby, just a few cells away. Erissa approached the last cell, and the reek of alcohol was stifling. She crinkled her nose at the stench. I would leave you here to rot, Jenson, if not for Sei, she thought. As what could be more fitting than an elvish prison. She banged the bars with the butt of her staff, the noise echoing loudly and rousing the prisoners to shouts. Jenson cringed and pulled the blankets over his head. “Hey!” Erissa yelled.

“Piss off!” The immortal groaned.

“I just thought I should inform you that you have been sentenced to ten years. Not even the sway of the Ixian Knights can get you out of here. Enjoy your stay!” Erissa laughed loudly. Jenson's knees and elbows strained against the cloth and pillows flew through the air.

“WHAT THE F--” The immortal fell from the narrow bed onto the hard floor. “Ten what?” He groaned again, aching head in his hands. “Screw that. I'll break through the freakin' wall before I stay in fairy prison for – Ouch! Gods my head hurts – for ten years. What the hell did I do to deserve that?” Jenson dragged himself to his feet and stumbled to the bars to face Erissa. Blood crusted on his lips and in his nostrils, yet nothing but a slightly black eye hinted at the previous night's tale.

“Perhaps you should ask the fifteen guards you assaulted,” Erissa said coldly.

“Fifteen? Eh, not bad,” Jenson said. “But they can't keep me in here.” He cringed as Erissa pinged the bar nearest him with her staff.

“You look terrible. And I am lying. For Sei's sake I paid your fine, and the good elves of New Aurient are all too happy to see you out of their city, and even more so into the Red Forest.”

“Faggot fairy. Get me the hell out of here.”

“Telic is the one with the key, and I think you owe him an apology and a debt of gratitude for letting you off so easily.” Erissa crossed her arms and looked at Jenson like he was an insect. Jenson became absolutely rabid as he gripped the bars separating him from the elves. Erissa cocked her head and smiled. “You do want out, right?” Jenson's scabbed knuckles whitened as his grasp tightened.

“Sorry,” he said under his breath.

“What was that? I did not quite hear you. Did you hear him Telic?” Erissa asked the older elf innocently.

“I could not quite make it out,” he mused, enjoying the game.

“I'm sorry,” the immortal said, slightly louder.

“Hm,” Erissa said. “It sounded like an apology, but I am not certain. Would you be a dear, Jenson, and say it again so I may be clear?” Her eyes danced as Jenson squirmed, his irritation only compounded by the hangover that rocked his skull. “Tsk, tsk. What would your daughter – little Azza was it? – what would she think? Shameful.”

“I'm sorry!” Jenson roared. He immediately cringed and grabbed his head in pain. “You happy? Now why don't we all have a hug and cry about our pathetic lives while we toast marshmallows over a fire? Fuck's sakes. Let me the hell out of here, elf,” Jenson said as he released the bars. Telic looked to Erissa, who gave a quick nod; the head guard slid the ornate key into the lock, and it glided smoothly open. Jenson stalked from the cell, making a jerking move at Telic, who, despite having received a beating at the immortal's hands just hours before, did not flinch. Jenson, Erissa, and Osher left the old elf to his duties and made for the southern side of New Aurient.

“Well, now we have no choice but to leave for the Red Forest now and arrive at night, as you have worn our welcome here,” Erissa said angrily. "I wonder if they will even allow me back in the city." She cast a glance over her shoulder, admiring the tall, elegant buildings, and released a disappointed sigh. Osher whimpered at Jenson, sniffing the blood on his coat.

“It's not mine, boy. Don't worry,” he said. Erissa split away from Jenson on the thoroughfare to a small cart whose owner was serving breakfast.

“Two cups of coffee, please. I will have a venison pasty – make that two – four sausages and two flatbreads.” The pleasant elf prepared her food and placed it in a paper bag, and Erissa handed Jenson a steaming cup without a word. She tossed a sausage to Osher who gobbled it greedily. “Pasty?” Erissa asked, offering him the golden-brown, crusty pocket of meat. Jenson's face went pale at the smell of it. “Suit yourself.” She ate as they walked, breaching the gates of New Aurient's great wall, and into the forest the city wore like a living, sylvan ring. "You will be wanting these, I assume?" Erissa produced the box filled with Jenson's personal effects. Jenson glared at her through puffy eyes. "Your weapons," she said plainly, and he quickly patted his coat, noticing they were missing for the first time. He grumbled and snatched the box from her; a matter of seconds in a well-rehersed routine each blade was in its proper place. The box was discarded on the road.

The day was pleasant enough, the sun climbing steadily and the birds singing on the cool breeze. Jenson dragged his feet and shielded his eyes from the glare that pierced the canopy of green; several times he darted to the side of the gravel road and relieved his stomach of the acidic brew that gurgled up his throat. And he deserves it. Every single moment of it, Erissa thought. However, it was not long before her soft heart got the better of her; Erissa began to feel guilty she had let him suffer so long. Knowing he would never accept her help, her 'fairy magic,' she neither warned him nor asked his permission. The arcanist waved a slender arm over him.

“What the hell,” he asked sullenly.

“A bug,” Erissa replied quickly. Jenson just grunted; several moments later she noticed his pace quickening, his feet no longer dragging. The wounds on his knuckles had disappeared, and he no longer shielded his eyes or cringed at every sound. The young elf snickered as she heard his stomach growl with ferocity to rival a bear. A half-smile on her face, Erissa snagged the extra pasty from her satchel and tossed it at the immortal. He caught it without thinking, his reflexes back to normal, and Jenson began to devour it without a word of thanks. Not that I expected a thank you, she mused, a silent, jaded, laugh touching her features.

“Feeling better then?” Erissa asked, casting a sidelong glance at the man by her side. There had to be a reason Sei kept him around, that he had a family. There had to be a reason Osher liked him. And perhaps, she hoped, there is truth to the saying 'kill with kindness.'

[Enigmatic Immortal]

"Surprisingly, yes, I do," Jensen commented back as he watched Osher trot ahead, nose sniffing the ground as he tracked some unknown creature. Erissa passed him a mischievous smile, her eyes twinkling as the immortal ate his pastry, crumbs sticking to his unshaven face. She giggled, looking at the mess and carried on, humming to herself as they continued to head ever forwards. The Elf seemed to be at ease in the wilderness much like Jensen did, who widened his steps and marched forwards, hands behind his head as he gazed to the sky lazily.

As expected, neither one really spoke to the other save to mention they were taking a short rest break, but never pausing longer than five or so minutes. Occasionally the birds would chirp close by, and Jensen remembered the time he took his little girl to the Aviary at the zoo, his lips parting in a silly grin from the fond memories. Erissa passed him the slightest glance, before caring on further ahead, calling for Osher to join her. He watched as she played with the dog, thinking about his last few days and the mission ahead.

"Fairy Fucker," Jensen hollered to her, but she paid him no mind. Annoyed he spoke the words again, louder, and got no reply. Sighing he reared his head back to the sky and spoke in an exasperated manner, "Erissa!"

The Elf's ears twitched, and she passed him a look of shock as her lips made ready to quip. "My word, Sir Noodle, you used my name!" Though she teased him, it was clear in her tone she was rather impressed. Even Osher looked to him with eyes filled with affection, and little simplemindedness. Jensen shrugged as he moved onwards, catching up to her.

"Whatever," he mumbled ignoring her words as he stepped forwards, running a hand through the back of his hair and letting his lips pout out. "We're moving pretty quickly, I think we should rest up before making the final push. I can hear the river up ahead. From there it can't be much further." Erissa stretched her arms behind her back as she nodded to his idea, pulling her satchel over to the front and removing her canteen; she took a refreshing sip.

They headed through a break in the forest off the path, watching as Osher moved around the forest with glee, barking happily at the trees and forest life, and chasing a few squirrels. Jensen moved through the thicket of bushes and let out a calming breath when the river was spotted. He took his bag of tricks off his shoulder and tossed it towards the nearest tree, lifting his jacket up and over head, hanging it with reverence on a tree branch and thumbing the names stitched within it. He then turned to the river and walked forwards, his hands lifting to his shirt as he pulled it off.

"Excuse me?" Erissa scoffed, looking away as her cheeks blushed. Jensen gave her a confused look, his head turning to the dog. He looked back to her.

"What?"

"What are you doing?" Erissa said looking back to him, but making sure to keep eye contact.

"Well, I smell like booze, so I figured I should, I dunno, get rid of it?"

"Must you disrobe in front of a lady?" Jensen let out a laugh, doubling over.

"A lady? You're a fucking Leaf Licking Elf!" He watched the Elf's eyes glance to his chest and back up again. There were several scars and not an ounce of fat from his strict training regimens with the brutal trainers of Ixian Castle, and he was ever aware that his body was something that women found attractive. Knowing this, he gave a coy smile and lifted his back straight, one hand tugging on his pants while another ran along his body.

"You keep flitting your eyes like a butterfly. See something you like?" Erissa gave him a disgusted look, shaking her head as she looked back to the riverbank. "Well, tough, I'm taken, and I don't lower my standards for ugly bush humpers!" To prove his point, he stuck his tongue out, undid his pants and charged for the river, diving in head first with Osher in hot pursuit. He dove under the gentle tides, coming up where his hair slapped his back, eyes wide in astonishment, teeth chattering as he giggled, trembling hand grabbing the dog and pulling the canine to him.

"We do not have copious amounts of time, Jenson. So quickly bathe and we shall make plans and a camp." He tisked his tongue, shaking his head at her while he waded in the water. With a dive he popped back up, looking to her with a lazy smile as Osher paddled circles around him.

"You need to relax; stop being so tense." Jensen pulled his head back and let his body float on the cold tides. "Are you that afraid of a forest?" Erissa scoffed at his ease, sitting in the tall grass and letting her boots skid in the dirt. He could imagine her wiggling her toes, the thought of taking off her boots and putting her feet in the water nagging in the back of her mind.

"You need to take this more seriously," Erissa at last replied, unsure how to answer his comment. Jensen laughed at the Elf, and she made to reply, but Jensen lifted a hand to calm her.

"You can't be so wound up before a mission. Sure, you should be ready, but to be so tense? All it's gonna do is get you killed." The Elf remained quiet, as if in deep thought, and Jensen decided that if he was going to survive the next few hours with an uptight Elf, he would have to bend on his principles of pure hatred towards Elves. Besides, he owed her for bailing him out. A debt to an Elf would never do.

He swam towards her, slowly, and looked right at her. "If you put your hair down I won't tell," he teased. Erissa gave him a concerned look, her eyes drifting up towards the Red Forest with reservation. Jensen saw the hesitation in her look, and with a sigh he took his hand, pulled it all the way back, and slapped the water forwards.

It cascaded forwards and hit the woman in the chest plate. She let out a silent scream. Her teeth ground together as her anger became apparent. When she narrowed her gaze on him he merely laughed, lifting one hand out. "Come on, bush humper! Show me what you got!" Jensen turned in the water and swam out a little ways, Osher moving towards him and barking happily as his soggy tail wagged, making little waves. Erissa let out a sigh as she watched him play with her dog, and after a moment of reflection slowly pulled the boots off her feet as well as the stockings, placing her toes in the water, letting them dangle and releasing a relaxing breath, closing her eyes.

[Sagequeen]

Erissa sighed as the cold water soothed her feet, which were sore and aching from the new boots. 'Show me what you've got.' Pfft. Jenson, you troglodyte. Erissa loosed her leather top and shrugged out of it; a thin, white undershirt kept her from being completely revealed. The high elf lay her new leather jacket aside on a wide, flat, river rock so it would dry. The briskness of the water and the mild saline scent did for the arcanist what simple meditation could not; she felt refreshed and renewed, pulled from a worrying and nagging haze, always under the surface, into reality. Yes, she was going into the Red Forest. Yes, there was a chance she might die. Yes, she was doing the right thing. The depth of the cloud-laden blue sky was a solace to her as she leaned back on her elbows and gazed into it.

“They're bigger than I expected,” Jenson observed. Erissa jerked on the shore, her serenity shattered; she quickly sat up and crossed her arms. “That's it over there, isn't it? The Red Forest,” he continued, gazing at the red blur in the distance. “Guess I thought the trees would be smaller. Creeeepy shit,” he finished.

“Um, well, yes. The curse did not affect the size of the trees,” Erissa said hastily, hating the immortal intensely at that moment. She resented his knowing laugh that followed; she unrolled the leather pants and slipped her stockings and boots on once again. Erissa dusted the sand from her arms and backside.

“Aw, come on. You're waaaay too sensitive,” Jenson said from the water, seriously considering another soaking splash aimed at the elf.

“The sun will set in a few hours, and someone has to make camp. Since you are busy playing in the water, I suppose that someone is me. I will gather kindling and wood. We will have to do without a tent, but I did pack a dinner in New Aurient - sausages and flatbread.” Jenson still floated in the water, now with his eyes closed, anchoring himself to an ancient and broken bridge that spanned the river and met with the path. If he was listening, he did not acknowledge her, and a mirthful light played across the elf's eyes. She raised her right arm, summoning a large globe of water from the river. At her direction, the globe glided soundlessly through the air and hung ominously above the unwary man.

“Hey Jenson!” She called out to him. “Do me a favor and keep your eyes closed for a few moments.” His eyes snapped open, naturally, and he was met with a surging splash as the elf released the globe. She gave it a little extra velocity on the way down and dunked him completely. She sprinted away, Osher in tow, into the northern forest, before he broke the surface of the water again. I will pay for that. Still worth it.

“Mind the splinters while you're in there humping the trees, elf!” Erissa grinned at Jenson's anger. He certainly did have a bark; she wondered at his bite.

********************

A merry fire crackled cheerfully, trading with the sun the work of keeping the Knights warm and illuminated. Erissa slid the sausages on the end of a three-pronged stick and warmed them over the fire; they snapped and crackled as the casings crisped. The tantalizing juices dripped onto the logs and sizzled, filling the air with the scent of fatty goodness.

“Watch this,” she said with a smile. “I found eggs when I was gathering wood.” She handed the sausage stick to Jenson and stood. Two large, speckled eggs hovered in front of her; the shell of each cracked, releasing the slippery yolks and whites. Jenson watched as the eggs scrambled themselves, suspended above and kissed by the flames; in no time at all they were cooked. Erissa grabbed the flatbreads; the ochre eggs landed gently on the unleavened bread, followed by the sausages. The third sausage went to Osher, who devoured it in two bites. “Dinner is served,” she said, handing her companion the warm meal. “Fairy magic is not so bad, now is it?”

“What, no salt?” He asked. The elf rolled her blue-green eyes at him.

“I think you are salty enough, Jenson.” Erissa took an enormous bite and chewed slowly. “Besides,” she continued, mouth full, “the meat is plenty salty to season the eggs.” Jenson's eyebrows shot upward at the sight of her talking with her mouth full, and she wiped a dribble of juice from her chin. “What? I am letting my hair down.” Why should I care? It is not like my father is here to hover over me and correct my every action. So why should I?

“Whatever,” he said with a grin, and enjoyed his own meal, which, by the look of it, was not even half of what he would have eaten. His wrap was gone before Erissa was halfway into hers. Jenson stood with a sigh and slipped out of his long, black jacket; a look she could not discern weighed heavily on his features as he gently thumbed something stitched in it. After a moment, he folded the jacket and rested his head against it on a nice-sized tuft of sandy grass within the halo of the fire's warmth. “So, I'm gonna take a wild guess and say you're pretty new to this warrior gig.”

“Well, yes.” Erissa frowned. “I suppose it must be obvious. I have battled a demon, though. Actually, a drake skeleton possessed by a demon. I survived, so that counts for something, and sent him back to his own realm. My hireling at the time, a woman from Underwood, summoned him. Now she was a disturbed woman, crazy, and bent on revenge against me for... I still do not know what exactly, but her treachery was revealed over a man. You see, it all started a few years ago. I was a tailor to the wealthy-” Erissa began, but Jenson erupted into laughter.

“Oh, no. That's too much. A freakin' tailor? You made pretty dresses for society snobs? Aaaah hahahaha!” Jenson rolled on the ground, covering his face as he guffawed. “That's too good. But it figures, I guess,” he said between giggles. “And now I gotta keep you alive in the Red Forest? This is, without a doubt, grade A bullshit. When we get back, remind me to punch Zerith in the gut for recruiting you. Public Face must be hard-up these days.”

“Yes, so very funny,” Erissa said flatly, her pride wounded. “Goodnight, Jenson.”

“Don't worry, elf. You'll earn your keep on this one. I won't let you die; I promise. Knight's honor,” he said, wiping his eyes with one hand and holding the other, palm forward, in a mocking oath. “A tailor,” the immortal snickered again. Erissa turned on her side, away from him, and draped the cloak over her body as a makeshift blanket, and used the satchel as her pillow. Osher lay close beside her. After a few moments passed, not even the flowing river could drown out her companion's snoring.

**************************

A warm tongue awakened the high elf from her sleep, and for a groggy, confused moment, Erissa was scared to death it was Jenson. Blinking furiously she shoved the dog away; the immortal was still snoring. She gazed along the river to the east and the water seemed to empty into the sky. The sun had not yet peaked, from what she could tell, though the tale-tell pink and orange of the sky promised its soon arrival on the horizon. She pulled herself up, rotating her aching back as she attempted to loosen the tight muscles.

“Time to go,” she said softly. She nudged Jenson's boot, but he groaned.

“Too early... sun's not up. Thirty minutes,” he replied in a garble of half-awake words.

“We do not have time to waste,” she warned, kicking a spray of sand and pebbles on him.

“Grbfft, mmberly” he mumbled, and began snoring again. Erissa looked to the dog.

“Osher, get him!” The dog leaped from the weeds he was investigating, directly onto Jenson's chest; the immortal sputtered and kicked as the velvety warm tongue slipped across his mouth and forehead repeatedly. “Heel!” Erissa cried out, stifling a laugh, and Osher darted to her side.

“Dammit, elf. I'm up!” Jenson wobbled to his feet, angrily wiping dog spittle from his face. He stumbled to the river's edge, dropped to his knees, and immersed his head in the water. Erissa gathered her meager supplies and tossed her companions each a ration of dried meat.

“We will be eating lean. Make sure your canteen is filled; it would be unwise to drink from any source in the forest,” Erissa directed. “To the bridge.”

“Hate to tell you, but I don't think the bridge is gonna do us any good,” Jenson said sullenly. “You're either gonna have to get naked to cross or get your pretty new leather wet.” He raised his eyebrows obscenely. Erissa smirked.

“The bridge will do,” she said as she slung her courier's case and backpack over her heavy cloak.

“If you can jump that break in the bridge, I'll rethink my hatred of elves. Well, okay. Not really,” Jenson said as he followed her across the rickety wooden structure. He gasped in surprise as Erissa hit a full run without hesitation and soared well past the gap. Osher whined at the ragged edge, pacing in worry. Immediately, he began to levitate, and once over the water, the dog began dog-paddling for his life in mid-air. “Freak magic.” He sighed.

“You are welcome to get naked and swim across, or get your jacket soaked. You decide. Fairy magic or soaking wet in the forest.” Erissa crossed her arms and waited for his response; her arms dropped to her sides in her utter surprise. She quickly spun around and turned her back to Jenson.

“Float my clothes across, and if you drop my jacket, I'll fix your ears for you.” The immortal executed a perfect cannonball into the water. Erissa, stunned and blushing with crimson ferocity, shielded her eyes from the right side of the bridge where she heard him splashing, and promptly moved his clothing to the shore where he would emerge. She forced a quick glance to place the garments on the sand instead of the water and caught sight of his bare posterior.

“You are incorrigible, Jenson. Truly, incredibly incorrigible,” Erissa shouted over her shoulder before she stole another glance. She pressed her lips together and hid a capricious giggle. Indeed, life outside her father's home, and that of her teacher, was very interesting.

“You gonna stand there all day? Let's go,” Jenson yelled as he pulled his jacket over his shirt. Erissa whipped around, shaking her head at him, and jogged to catch up to her companion as Osher sprinted ahead.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

The pair walked side by side into the Red Forest, their gait slow and steady. Neither one felt the need to rush into the crimson colored overhang. Even Osher who usually moved before them by several feet had stayed at their side. To call the tension in the air fear was an understatement. Jensen surely felt no fear about a stupid forest, cursed or not, and he was positive Erissa's confidence outweighed any doubts she had. Still, something tangible filtered through and lingered, and the immortal kept constant vigilance for anything that might strike.

"It is unbearable," Erissa at last spoke, her tone low as her head leaned in the direction of her companion. "I feel as if something is watching us, but I have no proof. Just a bad-" The immortal's hand covered the Elf's lips, and she irritably swatted his hand away as the two turned to face each other.

"Don't go spouting off your bad ju-ju about your feelings. Rule number one of adventuring is if you bring attention to it, it will happen." Erissa merely rolled her eyes as she continued on. Jensen hovered near her, silently lifting down and picking up a stick from the ground. With ease he let the stick softly caress her shoulders. As expected, she jumped and turned, glaring daggers as Osher looked to the stick and growled, before realizing what it was and panting instead.

"HA! Should have seen your face, fairy fucker!" Jensen doubled over in mirth, and Erissa began to speak to him, but instead sighed as she gave him an honest look. He stifled his giggles, seeing her intent as she placed one hand on her hip, the other holding the strap of her backpack. Jensen stood upright and crossed his arms over his chest, looking down on her with a bemused smile.

"I know it would be rather out of character for you," Erissa began softly. "But this place is already enough for me. I am already taut as a wire, and to add your crazy antics on top of this is just too much. Please, Jenson, a truce?" The immortal gave her a slight snort, lifting one hand up to her forehead and poking her flesh softly as he began to walk forward.

"If you are scared of the big bad forest then fine, I'll curb it so long as we're in here," Jensen spoke softly as he looked around the forest again. "To be fair, this place is a little creepy. I haven't seen the sun all morning and I highly doubt that it could be stormy weather." Erissa strode to catch up to him, her head tilted in thought.

"Yes, I noticed that too. No sunlight, not a patch seems to have broken through this fog. The mist alone seems to permeate throughout the whole forest regardless of the weather outside it. Curious, and wholly unsettling." Jensen observed the forest again, looking to the tree line and finding Erissa was right. The mist that moved between the leaves blocked any sunlight, and several shades of grey made it impossible to see through. They were only on the outskirts of the forest where they could still see a decent distance in front of them. Jensen surmised it could only get worse the deeper into the forest they went. When he looked back to his companion he did his best not to laugh in her face again.

The woman was fidgeting with a long leather tube, her fingers pulling with all her might the stopper that eventually was released with a ‘pop’ noise, followed by the sound of papers slowly rolling downwards. She looked to the corners of the maps, making sure to keep them in place before she found the one she was looking for. With a hesitant nod she pulled it out gently, placing the tube against her inner thigh as she unfurled the ancient paper. Jensen could see the ink through the other side, and he waited with an amused grin to see when she noticed that the map was upside down.

"You got a clue where to find this chick?" Jensen muttered. "Ya know, Pea Pod."

"No, and her name is...you know what, never mind," The elf sighed. "I have no idea of where she could be. The Red Forest is ancient and huge. She could be anywhere." There was a twinge of doubt in her tone, a nagging feeling of despair which Jensen could pick up on.

“Well, maybe if you had the map facing the right direction, things might not be so hard to figure out.” Jensen said approaching her and snatching the map out of her hands. She protested, her hand reaching out to grab it back as the paper crunched in the exchange. Her brow furrowed in worry as she pouted, trying to take the newly bent creases out.

“I am not a simpleton, Jenson! I had figured that out already.” Jensen wondered to himself if that was makeup that made her cheeks turn red. Still, with confidence she spoke again. “Besides, it does not change my previous comment, and I do not see you offering any expert advice.”

"I have an idea of where she may be," the immortal admitted as they watched Osher sniff the ground furiously, before barking and scrambling forwards, bits of dirt lifting in his wake as he chased a darting shadow. "HEY!" Jensen shouted after the dog. Erissa whistled to get his attention, but Osher continued to chase his prey.

“Osher!” Erissa called to her canine companion as the mutt barked and darted off the road. Jensen snarled as he dropped his bags, instructing the Elf to hold on to them while he gave chase. His long stries easily caught up to where he had last seen the dog, and he turned to find Osher growling in a low rumble.

“A squirrel? Well, I suppose the squirrel to you is like an elf to me,” Jensen mumbled as he scratched the back of his head, casually approaching the dog. Osher barked several times at the woodland critter in the tree, its eyes beady and black, but even Jensen could tell something about the creature was off. Its muzzle was all red and goopy, and the tail that bristled strait up was not in fear, but challenge. This tiny bastard was actually daring the dog to combat! Jensen let out a soft laugh as he looked to it again, and he whiffed the air.

The scent of elderberries, it was not.

Jensen found the source of the stench, and he was a bit dismayed to find another woodland creature, probably a raccoon by the looks, dead on the ground with its chest eaten out. The tiny ribs of the beast were cracked and the innards were dripping a trail that looked like it led to the tree. Now more than ever he could see why the squirrel was prepared to fight the dog. It was protecting its kill.

“Oh, that’s priceless,” Jensen muttered when he put two and two together, looking back to the ferocious, feral squirrel. Osher still barked, and Jensen heard Erissa call out his name, asking if everything was ok. Remembering he just promised her he would protect her from the now slightly creepier Red Forest, complete with homicidal critters, he called back to her, “He’s chasing a squirrel! Dogs will be dogs.”

“Oh thank goodness for that,” She replied as she made a grunt of exertion, probably from grabbing his bag. Jensen turned back to the canine and whistled shrilly, a high pitch noise that made Erissa cringe a bit as Osher barked again. The squirrel chattered, a squeak-like squawk, then it leapt forwards, blood covered fangs showing. Osher lifted his body up on his hind legs, barking again and growling as he batted the squirrel to the ground, but quickly yelped and whined as it shook its front paw, complete with the attached demented denizen of the trees. Jensen cursed as he lifted one hand into his jacket, pulling out a throwing glaive and letting it fly, severing the head from the squirrel with ease as Osher limped backwards a few paces. The immortal calmly approached the dog, taking the squirrel’s remains off his paw and scratching the dog behind the ear while he waited for Erissa to show. Jensen checked his paw, saw nothing serious, save a large bite mark, and concluded he would be fine. Last he checked, the squirrel did not seem to have rabies, and thus a little toughening it out would be in order.

However, that was a man’s opinion.

“OSHER!” Erissa screeched seeing the blood as she ran over to the dog, nearly shoulder tackling Jensen out of the way. “What happened to you? Oh you poor thing! Do not worry, I am here!” She kept speaking in hysterics every motherly cliché she could come up with as Jensen grumbled behind her, shaking his head as he turned to grab his thrown weapon. When he looked back he saw the girl’s hand waving over the dog’s paw, her eyes filled with concentration. When she was done she turned to Jensen. “I will require a bandage,” she demanded, holding her hand out.

“He’s not a child, bush humper,” Jensen chided. “He’s a dog. He’ll be fine. Come on, we wasted enough time already.”

“But Jenson, he is hurt!” She explained as if this should be obvious. Jensen shrugged. “You may enjoy the qualities of being such a… a…”

“Take your time,” Jensen teased. This only made her angrier as she stood up and wagged a finger at him. Before she could speak again he lifted one hand up to restrain her. “Look, the forest here isn’t exactly the safest of places, now is it? Instead of trying to figure out what insult you wish to call me, why don’t we just move our little asses right along. Osher got bit, he wasn’t murdered. We have limited supplies and as much as I like the dog, the priority for medical care is bi-pedals first. You need to get that in your head now or this will be a long journey.”

Erissa only replied with a stubborn stare. She placed both hands on her hips before shaking her head, turning and rummaging her hand into her satchel. Jensen watched her as she pulled out a rather decent quality shirt, and with a hesitant nod she turned and held her hand out.

“Give me your weapon,” she ordered. Jensen shook his head as he rolled the throwing glaive in his fingers, moving it back to his jacket where he deposited it.

“Where’s yours?” He then lifted his eyebrows with mischief. “I’ll whip mine out if you whip yours out first.” Erissa sighed, heavily as she gave him a pleading look, and Jensen shrugged as he reached into the jacket pulling out a throwing knife. He lifted it up in his hands, dangling it before her pointing to the handle.

“This is called a hilt, you always hold your weapon –“ Erissa snatched it out of his hands making him giggle as she muttered about his maturity level. “That silk won’t do shit for him. He’ll bleed right through it. You’ll need something sturdier. Wait a second.” Jensen turned his own bag and undid the string, opening the mouth and digging one hand in pulling out one of his shirts. He turned and tossed the cloth to her. “That should do for now. When we hit camp tonight we’ll cut him a new piece.”

“Thank you,” she whispered as she held the shirt and carefully cut a strip out for the dog. “That was rather kind of you,” She admitted.

“I’m not unsympathetic,” Jensen said lightly. “It’s just that one of us needs to take this a little more seriously.” Erissa bound the dogs paw, before her ears twitched, and her head softly turned to look him in the eyes. Her green blue eyes looked to him with expectance, and he found himself slightly getting lost in them before she spoke bringing him back.

“What did you say?” Erissa asked. Jensen shook his head to clear his mind.

“That you need to take this a little…more…serious…ly.” Even Jensen paused as he realized the words he was saying was the same thing the Elf had chided him for yesterday back at the river. Erissa giggled as she stood, her eyes hinting a softness at him as she smiled. Osher barked once wagging his tail to show he was ready to go again. Jensen just shook his head and walked forward as he moved with his companions back to the path.

“Very well, Jenson,” Erissa said kindly. “But remember, that sometimes you need to let your hair down.” She teased.

“Shove it, leaf licker,” Jensen snapped.

[Sagequeen]

Dead leaves, the color of old, dried blood, crunched underfoot, each footfall frighteningly loud in the unnatural quietness of the wood. As the trio marched forward and the hours passed, the corruption of the forest became more apparent; the bark of the trees was twisted and buckled in strange growths. The living leaves were disproportionate, subtly wrong in their veining, and the branches of the trees splayed like great fingers. Not a single clear beam of light penetrated the forest; instead, what little light was present was a bloody red and painted the travelers and the heavy mist in that deadly pallor.

“The trees... are they-” Erissa began. Jenson shushed her.

“Rule number one. Don't say it,” he said grimly. The serious glint in his eyes revealed a darkening mood; the immortal was tensely aware, his eyes darting back and forth, scanning the landscape for any threats. “Holy hell that stench is getting worse.” Erissa nodded at him; she placed a hand on Osher's head. The dog was not limping as badly now; Erissa's healing was taking swift effect.

“Listen,” the elf said, “I want to try something. I should have done this earlier, but I did not think you would let me. But now that we are here, it is even worse than I imagined. I would feel much better if you would allow me to use a little magic on you.” Jenson stopped short and cast her an unsavory look; she sighed and continued. “In my studies of the Songbook of Ages, I have learned that every heart beats in a slightly different rhythm, and knowing the rhythm of a person's heart can allow me to find them, anywhere in the world. But I must first learn the rhythm. May I? If we are separated, I want to be able to find you. And you will not feel a thing.” The immortal's displeasure was obvious, but he was not in a mood to argue with the arcanist.

“Fuck. Just get it over with, elf,” he spat. “But only because I promised to keep you alive.” Jenson ran a hand through his hair, agitated with Erissa. He was unable to see the blush on her cheeks for the red light of the umbrage.

“I, ahem, need to hear your heartbeat. Up close,” Erissa said as she wrung her hands. The man frowned at her for a moment, but the look was quickly replaced with a grin.

“You just can't get enough of me, can you?” Jenson asked, and yanked the front of his shirt up to his neck. “Can't say I blame you.” Jenson flexed his chest and abdomen, running his free hand across his rippling washboard and pectorals.

“That will not be necessary.” Erissa could not help but eye the scars she had seen earlier from a distance and wonder on their origins.

“You sure about that?” Jenson asked, hooking a thumb in the waistband of his pants, and enjoying the way the elf squirmed. “You seem pretty interested to me.”

“I am sure. Put your shirt down, Jenson.” Erissa was almost thankful for the red light of the forest. “I cannot believe you are even thinking like that here, of all places."

“You're no fun. Eh, like you said, I won't feel a thing,” Jenson said, as he dropped his shirt down and pulled back the left side of his heavy jacket. “Bet you're glad I bathed.” Erissa took a few meek steps toward the man, cleared her throat, and lay her head against his chest. The elf did not see him smirk as he entertained himself with what could only be some devious thought. Erissa listened closely to the steady thump.

I wondered if he even had a heart, she thought. I am impressed it is not racing; this accursed forest scares me half to death. Erissa began to hum softly, her velvety voice lilting with each heartbeat; after a few moments, she stepped back and looked up into his eyes.

“I know your heart song. I hope I can successfully use the finding spell if the need arises,” she said softly.

“Let's go, fairy,” Jenson said, butting his shoulder into hers as he walked past Erissa. “The sooner we're outta here, the better.” The elf wiped a bead of sweat from her brow; the air was stuffy, and the blood-sap trees were increasingly closer together, leaving her feeling like they were wandering deeper in a wooden-barred prison. She looked around nervously.

“That is... odd,” Erissa said, catching sight of something behind them. “I do not remember passing that tree, and I would remember it; look at the trunk! Those look like teeth!” The sapling was typical of those growing in the forest, aside from several pointed growths at its base, ringing it. Jenson cast a glance back and squinted warily; he shrugged at her and continued forward.

“It's just a tree,” Jenson whispered harshly. Osher looked back nervously, sniffing the air and cringing at the harsh squawk that pierced from overhead.

With every noise, every woody creek, Erissa's head whipped around to the perceived source. The very trees seemed to leer at her, those closest to the travelers content to let them pass only so they may be entrapped more easily within the depths of the black-heart, red leaf forest. The stories of her youth buzzed in her mind; the arcanist wondered which were true, or if they all were. Blood pools, vines, accursed soul blossoms, but there was something that she could not quite remember.

“But Jenson, why is that the only tree that looks like that? Does that not strike you as odd?” She insisted. “There was something Troyas said... what was it?”

“Don't hump the toothy trees?” Jenson said, still managing to be absolutely grating in the height of vigilance. “But hey, if we run into any trouble, you could probably talk it to death.”

“Funny,” Erissa said, thoroughly annoyed. She watched Osher closely; the dog whimpered and glanced back frequently.

“So do really think you can take out Podë if we do actually find her?” Erissa asked, and Jenson cringed fantastically.

“For fuck's sakes!” He cried. “Why the hell would you say that here, now? Fucking senseless leaf-licker. Go lick one of these leaves and maybe that will quiet that tongue of yours.”

“Yes, sorry, rule number one,” Erissa said, feeling very much senseless. It had been different, reacting for her survival in her battle with a demon, but aside from the foreboding and ominous tension of this forest, plodding toward danger in search of one of the Forgotten, was so much more to bear.

“Stay close, Erissa,” Jenson whispered as he unsheathed a dagger. The elf gripped her staff tightly; she heard the nearby rustling that had caused her companion to draw his weapon. The two stood poised, back to back, each struggling to peer through the crimson haze that had enveloped them and grew steadily thicker.

“Jenson, the tree,” Erissa said in horror. She stared at the same sapling, now planted near the footsteps they had left moments ago. The elf swore she saw it quiver once.

“Let's get the fuck out of here,” he said, grabbing her arm and pulled her forward. He frowned at the obvious fear in her eyes. “Don't get soft on me now, elf.” He dropped her arm, and as he brushed between the trees, Jenson screamed in pain as he hit the ground. A thick, thorny vine wrapped itself around his leg.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

“Ah come on!” Jensen complained as he felt his pants rip near his ankle. “I just bought the damn things!” The immortal cursed as the vine continued to spiral upwards his leg. Osher barked loudly at the vine, growling as he approached to save Jensen, but the knight shooed him away. “Erissa get Osher away from this thing!” The immortal called.

“Osher, come!” The dog whimpered in frustration, still letting out sharp barks as it twirled in circles, debating on whether or not it should behave or protect Jensen. The canine’s indecision however was enough to allow Jensen to focus back on his own task, which was now the vine that was half way up his leg and preparing to rip into his more private areas.

“Not on the first date!” Jensen screeched as his blood started to rumble. He let off a soft laugh, eyes watering as he could almost feel the adrenaline spike his blood. His stomach gurgled with something that could not be contained, and within mere seconds the immortal’s mouth became a faucet of laughter as he began to giggle about his predicament.

Erissa watched him and stood anxiously to the side, her staff clutched to her chest as she tried to figure out what to do. But much like Osher, she merely paced back and forth on her heels, unsure if by helping she would instead be a burden. She had attempted several times to use her magic to aid the immortal, but every time she felt she had a shot the vine whipped to reveal Jensen as her target and she growled in frustration, calling off the shot. Jensen’s insane laughter did not help keep her nerves calm either, watching as he struggled with the vine.

“One quip about me just lying still and taking it and I’ll fucking end you!” Jensen hollered, his words followed by a shriek of mirth as his hands dove to his pockets and pulled out one of his throwing knives. He stabbed the vine dead in the center, blood oozing out like a stuck pig, but still the carnivorous blood vine continued on. Jensen pulled his blade back, dragging it in the vine like a knife through butter, still laughing as he watched the tip of the vine raise upwards and violently twitch. It curled into a makeshift fist and belted the knight in the chin with a right hook making blood spit out his lips. Reacting quickly with his other hand he pulled out his punch dagger, and without any care he stabbed forwards with both weapons like a frenzied cook at a feast.

“What can I do?” Erissa at last asked, shouting as she jumped in and used her staff to bash aside another vine from giving Jensen another face pounding. There was only an exchange of grunts and giggles as Jensen fought for a moment, and at last he slammed the tip of his throwing knife into the ground impaling the tentacle that tried to grip his waist.

“My bag, leaf licker!” Jensen let out a high pitch squeal of pain and pleasure as another vine lashed outwards gripping his wrist that held his punch dagger. He struggled, trying to free himself with curses and pure determination. Erissa jumped forward, her staff hitting the vine that held Jensen’s wrist, and with a bit of might she actually broke the vine, though the sound of wood snapping filled the air as a few splinters rained down on the immortals chest, blood gushing on the ground from the vine. With his hand free Jensen rotated his body as he searched for his bag.

Erissa continued to fight as Osher barked, charging forwards while Jensen continued to chuckle like a demented clown, eyes flashing with wildness as he at last found his prize. He took his bloodied hand, lifting it up and pointing to the satchel.

“Grab my bag!” Jensen ordered the elf. Erissa hesitated a mere moment, before nodding and turning. The knight whooped as he felt his back sliding forwards, more vines lifting in the air in challenge as they slithered forward in a predatory manner. Osher jumped in at last with a howl, his claws digging into the vine as he snapped his jaws at the beast. One tendril wrapped itself into a fist and knocked itself into the dog’s snout. Osher yelped and Erissa immediately turned to see what had happened, causing Jensen to laugh before with a hateful dark groan he spoke. “MY BAG!”

Like a haze was lifted, Erissa went back to her task, at last finding it. She ran to it, picking it up and opening it. “What do you need?” She asked him as she looked, trying to anticipate his needs. Jensen stabbed his knife in the ground, trying to stop himself from being dragged to whatever perverted tentacle monster lair he was destined for. He felt a few barbs rip into his flesh, digging holes into his skin as he bled out. He ground his teeth in pain, still giggling as the battle lust gripped him fully, and he fought to speak through the pain of having his flesh literally minced like meat through a grinder.

“There is a long, -errgghh- arm length –fuck ouch- wrapped object, pull it out and mind the blade!” With grace only an elf could perform she did as instructed, carefully, but swiftly untying all the straps around the blade. When she finished she took a moment to look at the strange object in her hand. It was indeed only an arm length. A strange contraption that had a hilt with a trigger upon it, there was a loose wire that ran into a housing on the back of the blade, and the blade itself shone with a brilliance that showed its more magical nature. With ease she turned to the immortal and tossed it to him.

Jensen watched as it slid on the ground, Osher barking as he ran off. His fingers dug into the dirt as he fought against the vines, still unable to control his fit of hysterics. When he felt his fingers grip the blade he let out a savage laugh, tugging it towards him as he let out whine of pain through his bloodied, giggling lips. When he gripped the hilt he found three of the vines lifting, coming down like birds of prey as the barbed tips opened revealing the carnivorous teeth of the Blood Vine.

Jensen swung his blade before him, hitting the switch. With a mechanical ‘click’ the blade switched upwards, turning it into a scythe. Like wheat in a field the vines were beheaded, all three stumps falling to the floor as the vines retreated. Jensen waited for it, his lips curling in sinister mischief.

Something squealed from deep within the forest, a pain of agony that seemed to last forever. Jensen chuckled as his blade moved before him, hitting the switch and reverting the blade back into a sword as he hacked the beast away, freeing his mulched leg as he stabbed his weapon in the dirt, lurching his body up. Dead vines fell from his body as he continued to laugh in a low, wheezing manner. Watching as the Blood Vines slowly moved around the entire area, coming at him from every angle as they slithered through the trees and bushes to strike.

With a shriek of laughter he hit the switch, charging into battle. “Let’s keep it classy now!”

[Sagequeen]

Erissa watched in horror, and then in wonder as Jenson Ambrose fought. Each snaking, quaking, vine quivered under the relentlessness of his assault. He moved with incredible quickness, a flurry of flesh and blade that made a barrier, impenetrable, on all sides. Doubtless she would be sliced to pieces if she attempted to help him in combat, so she slipped her pack from her back and raised her arms; she concentrated on closing the worst of his wounds. A sharp growl from Osher alerted her of another danger, and his hair stood on end as he crouched. The elf grabbed the longer fragment of her shattered staff and wielded it like a club, peering into the murkiness and through the denseness of the forest.

“What...” She whispered breathlessly as she spied the sapling; it had come even closer to them, and she wondered with fear at the thing. The sharp-toothed sapling shook violently, and to her shock, it exploded into the form of a wolf. Snarling, the beast immediately sprang at her. Teeth the size of her pinky finger gnashed; its maw was enormous. Erissa quickly conjured a shield of white energy; the wolf smashed into her, knocking her to the ground. The shield's energy dissipated a bit with every assault, but it held. She clutched and curled beneath it, pinned to the ground; the beast bit and scratched, but could not break it. Osher launched himself at the wolf, freeing Erissa, and as the beast rolled from her, she unleashed a prismatic bolt of light at it, ripping a gaping hole in its side.

The corrupted beast was enraged and limped as he circled her; the parasitic flora and fauna grasped like fingers as the scent of blood wafted in the close air. Knowing the shapeshifting monstrosity could spring at any moment, the high elf stood poised, unwilling to take her focus off it for even enough time to conjure another shield or energy bolt.

“Jenson!” She cried out to him, daring not to look away as she protected her flank. She only heard the insane laughing; he was in the heat of his own battle, and his weapon sang shrilly as it grated against the thorns of the vines. “Osher, stay back,” Erissa said, not wanting to harm him accidentally; however, the beast had long forgotten the dog and singled out the one who had done it such harm.

Commit, she thought, commit to a direction, beast. Erissa slowly side-stepped, in tandem with the movements of the wolf as it peered at her, sizing up the demure elf. Were it any larger the wolf would have stood eye-to-eye with her. Moments like hours passed, and finally she saw her opponent's weight shift as it prepared to spring. Given the opening she awaited, as it hurled itself, Erissa swifty stepped aside through the crunching leaves and propelled the beast with the telekenetic force of her will - and the beast's own momentum - into a wall of trees. Instinct, at that point, took over; the high elf sprang forward the moment she released the energy. As she sailed through the air, the velocity and distance of her leap was enhanced, much as she had manipulated her enemy; Erissa Caedron, tailor to the rich, angled the splintered staff and drove it through the wolf's heart. The sickening crunch of bone and sinew fell dull in the murk of the forest; the beast was dead before it could even regain its footing.

Heaving, Erissa stumbled back several steps. She fell to her knees and breathed deeply, attempting to sooth her hummingbird heart and nausea. Her smooth hands were pierced and torn from the splinters of the wood, and a splash of corrupted blood was all but invisible against her dark red leather. She brushed a hand against her cheek and smeared a few tiny droplets. Several moments passed, and Osher sat patiently by her side, nuzzling her arm as the great red trees loomed over the gory scene. Regaining her awareness slowly, the arcanist noticed her companion's laughter had faded. Fearing the worst, she cast a glance over to the mounds of vines; the immortal was staring at her.

“Well, fuck me sideways,” he said between his gasps for air. He gave a weak laugh, shook his head in disbelief, and trudged forward gingerly; the adrenaline was fading from his system and the pain was rearing an ugly head. “Let's make camp.”

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen and Erissa had taken the rest of their day to find a suitable clearing to stay for the night, the two sticking close as Osher paced next to the elf. Though Jensen would not show it, his ribs hurt and his leg was in greater pain than he first thought. His adrenaline alone helped to ignore most of the wounds in the fight, but now that he had the time to let his blood cool down and his fire fade, his injuries became a new concern.

Still, to show weakness in front of Erissa was just not something he was going to do. For one reason, she was an elf. The fact she got away with the battle with only a few scrapes and probably some mental scarring was just another ironic nail in the coffin of his loathing for elves. However, the second reason was much more practical, and he refused to dwell on it for long.

With a soft sigh he turned back to look at her, seeing she was visibly shaken from her first battle in the Red Forest. It was rather bad odds that not only a blood vine, but one of the fabled wolf stalker shapeshifters also decided to jump in the fun. He knew she had looked to him as her moral support. He was the only one with any experience in this lifestyle of adventuring. If he showed her that even he, with all his bravado and skills, was in pain, then perhaps she would begin to doubt herself. That could lead to errors in the next battles to come or worse... she may want to talk about her feelings.

Heavily leaning on one leg, masking his aches with carefully controlled breathing, he turned back to the forest and looked at the path ahead of them. It was harder to see further ahead, the fog encroaching upon them like the grip of a malevolent spirit. Jensen listened for the sound of anything approaching, but it seemed for the time being that all was well. He spotted a break in the trees and pointed his bleeding hand towards the brush. Erissa approached next to him, looking down at his fingers, and tentatively lifted a hand to touch his.

“Let me take care of that,” she whispered softly. In response Jensen just let out a deep breath of annoyance, pushing forwards as he ripped his hand away from her.

“Keep your fairy magic to yourself, Elf. It’s nothing a little toughening out won’t cure.” Erissa made ready to retort, but instead just shook her head in disappointment. She followed behind Jensen as he whistled for Osher to join him, the dog jumping forwards ahead of them, sniffing the ground. They waited while he kept sniffing, before his big eyes looked to Jensen, tail wagging. Jensen let out a sigh of relief.

“What does that mean?” Erissa asked. Jensen moved through the bush, keeping mindful of the trees as he bent some branches out of the way, finding a small little campsite overrun with fallen crimson leaves, a few rotted out logs, and complete with eerie noises. Jensen shrugged, heading into the place and dropping his bag; he stretched his back out as Erissa followed timidly behind. Osher barked once, jumped into the clearing, and began sniffing the area again before wagging his tail to Jensen.

The immortal rubbed the back of his head, remembering Erissa had asked him a simple question and he ignored her. Grimacing in pain as he lowered himself to the floor, he replied to her. “It’s just a simple thing we Knights of the Apocalypse do. When we have hunting dogs, we send them in first. If there is any danger lurking nearby, they’ll growl or bark, or in the case of Osher, not pay attention to us but the direction of the scent of danger.”

“I see,” Erissa responded in understanding. “Since he looks to us with his tail wagging, no danger is nearby.” Jensen nodded as he let out a gasp, his ruined leg spiking with pain as he let it sit out and tried to elevate it on a rock. He gave a quick glance to the woman and groaned, seeing her concern clear as day. “Oh, Jenson, I wish you would just let me take care of your pain!” Erissa scolded him. Jensen let out a snort of laughter as he leaned back on the log. He placed both hands behind his head, smiling to himself as he closed his eyes.

“Listen,” he muttered to his companion. “The day I ask for a fairy fucking, bush humping, leaf licking elf's help is the day I sprout pointed ears and act like a stuck up snob because I feel superior to everyone.”

“So even though you are clearly in pain, you would choose to suffer it?” She asked, her tone straining. Jensen nodded. “Because… because you hate elves?” Erissa could not make sense of it as she angrily dropped her bag. “You are just being stubborn; I’m going to help you.” She said.

“I’ll kick you!” Jensen warned her.

“With what?” She challenged to him, a look of disbelief on her face. “You have a wounded leg! Will you kick me with your pride? Actually, that might do some damage, you insufferable... just let me help," she pleaded. Jensen just gave her a warning look, which she returned with a stubborn face herself. He had to give her credit for standing her ground, but Jensen was a man who had long ago mastered looking into someone’s eyes, breaking in past their walls, and seeing their soul for what it really was. And Erissa Caedron was no different to him than any other he had stared down. Her eyes told him she was terrified, her heart still beat rapidly even after the battle was over, and her concern was in her guardian to keep her safe.

“I’ll be fine, leaf licker,” Jensen grumbled ending the matter. He pulled his leg back, turning his head as his eyes flashed with white hot agony, the muscles in his leg twitching with each subtle movement. The Blood Vine had gotten in more than a few last licks, he concluded. He looked back to Erissa, grinned like a git, and then looked back to the forest in debate, his face in a scowl of contemplation.

On any other mission, he’d just kill himself and let his body heal itself. But he had two problems with that: For one, he could not leave Erissa alone in this place. His pride as her guardian, as well as his own personal morals disallowed that option. The other reason was far more practical, however, and the one he used as his reasoning; to kill him would require extreme circumstances thanks to his gift from the Storm Herald. The necromantic orb that infused the great Fallien warrior was now inside Jensen, infusing his immortality and granting him the ability to rise from any simple deaths. Slashing his throat, stabbing him, falling high distances… nothing kept him down for long, and only a very determined foe could put him down for any significant length of time.

While he contemplated his next action he felt Osher brush against his leg. Instinctively his hand went to the dog’s ear, scratching it gently. The dog stiffened to his touch at first, but he paid it no mind as he mumbled about how the dog’s fur got a lot softer, and let himself get lost in his thoughts. He had to do something about his mutilated leg. He could not fight like this, and he knew that. Maybe he could do a quick decapitation? Maybe he could find two rocks and squish himself? Nah, that’d be messy, he thought. He mulled the thoughts over and over, and when he got frustrated he closed his eyes, removing his hand from Osher’s head and leaning back with a deep sigh. He drew his wounded leg up, resting it on his other knee and bounced it as he continued to think.

He popped an eye open in sudden realization. Like a new leg had grown, he did not feel any pain or huge discomfort. It still was shredded, but it was functional now! He looked to see Erissa kneeling over the leg like a surgeon, her fingers maneuvering around his injuries as she focused her energy to heal him. He shook his head in disbelief, looking to see Osher nowhere even close to him as the dog rested and licked his bandaged paw. He had just scratched the Elf’s ear. He felt rather silly, but chose not to dwell on that, hoping she did not notice.

“I am almost finished, Jenson,” Erissa whispered. The immortal felt his blood boil to have her go over his head and heal his wounds after being told to take a hike. He growled to her, pulling his leg away, but she lifted one hand out and held his leg in place. “Please!” She shouted in mock anger, her voice belying her true feelings. He could see her fear; at least he thought he did. Yet as he peered a little closer, narrowing his eyes he saw her genuine concern for him. It was different and wholly unexpected, but her eyes could not hide that she wanted to make sure he was safe and able.

“Whatever,” Jensen huffed as he shut his eyes. “When you’re done waving your hands and doing your mumbo jumbo I’ll get some wood for a fire tonight. Keep Osher with you,” Jensen grabbed his travelling bag and pulled out the shirt Erissa had cut earlier in the day. With a tug and a bit of effort, he ripped another strip and released it from the shirt with his teeth. “Change his bandages for me.”

He could see her shoulders tense, but with a deep sigh she nodded in understanding and lowered her hands. “Very well, but please stay close. If something were to happen to you, I want to be able to arrive in time.”

“Oh?” Jensen teased. “How very touching. Told you leaf licker I got a girl at home. But it’s cute how much you care-“ The Elf lifted a hand to interrupt him from another long winded rant, giving a resigned grin. Jensen returned it as the two looked to the other in understanding. She lifted her arm to him, but as usual he just pushed her hand away and jumped to his feet, testing his newly healed leg. He would never tell her she did an amazing job.

"It is for Sei and his conscience; he sent me out here with you." Erissa said, her lips curling in a wide, though curiously tired, smile as she playfully slapped his arm. Osher barked as he stood, wagging his tail. The woman giggled looking to Osher and kneeling over so he came to her. “And of course for you, Osher! I would never want to have you in danger, my brave pup."

“He’d be the only one I give two fucks about,” Jensen teased as he walked towards the forest. “Very well, but just remember there are no nightlights out here. So don’t go shitting your pants in the dark. You Elves smell like crap already.” Jensen lifted his hand in passing, heading into the forest.

Jensen assured himself the glance back was to make sure Osher was not following him. He chose to think of Stephanie and Azza as he left Erissa in the forest.

[Sagequeen]

Darkness was quickly falling on the Red Forest, and the eerie sounds of night caused Osher to huddle closely to Erissa as she stretched out on her satchel in the clearing. She was exhausted; aside from being on edge in the forest and the battle with the wolf, healing Jenson had taken most of her strength, and the final regenerative spell cast to finish the healing was taking its toll as the minutes ticked away. Only once before had she healed wounds so extensive, a child that Jenson had rescued from a burning building in Radasanth. Then, too, she had nearly drained herself, so Erissa had known the risk she took making herself so vulnerable in this forest.

“'I got a girl at home,'” Erissa mocked Jenson weakly as she scratched Osher's head. “I cannot imagine how she lives with him. Can you?” She asked the dog, who cocked his head to the side in the universal doggy gesture of confusion. She removed Osher's bandage, and the wound was, as she expected, fully healed. “Although, it is because I am an elf. I wonder what he is like when he is not seething with hate and rage. But you know, pup, do you not? He seems almost likable when he is playing with you.” Erissa sighed as she smiled and shook her head. Trusting Osher to keep watch, she lay her head back against her satchel and tried to see the stars through the crimson canopy above her, to no avail. “I wish I knew why,” Erissa mused as she closed her eyes and pondered how a man could live with such hatred, loathing elves with every fiber of his immortal being.

She was startled fiercely when a load of logs crashed to the ground at her feet; Jenson was looking down at her, shaking his head.

“How long have you been standing there?” Erissa asked nervously.

“Long enough to wonder if bush humpers really do have superior hearing,” Jenson smirked as he began to arrange the logs for a fire. Erissa hopped up quickly, pale and swaying. Her knees were unable to support the high elf, and she collapsed; however, she never hit the ground. Safely in her companion's arms, her vision swam with blotches of white, and there was even less color in her face than before. Jenson regarded her with a troubled expression.

“Oh, it is nothing,” she said weakly. “Just need a little time to recover my strength.” Jenson grunted and lay her gently against her pack once again; her cloak he shook out and covered the elf with it. The Knight glanced down at his leg; the last of the wounds were closing, disappearing to perfectly healed flesh. The only indication he had been injured was the shredded pants. He clenched his fists, knowing she had drained herself, much like in Radasanth.

“Look, leaf li-- Erissa,” Jenson hesitated when he looked at her; Erissa shivered as she rubbed her arms. He lit the tinder; within minutes, a fire was crackling, illuminating the small site and casting sinister shadows within the denser rings of trees. “I can't have you like this out here. You gotta-” The immortal stopped mid-sentence; Erissa had fallen alseep, the color slowly returning to her cheeks, or perhaps it was the glow of the fire reflecting from the red leaves. “...take care of yourself and stop worrying about me,” he finished with a sigh. He dropped to the ground near the fire and put his face in his hands; his right eye twitched several times, but no report from Sei came to him as he had expected.

“Beneath crimson eaves...” Erissa murmured in her sleep, a snatch of a song she must have learned in her childhood. Osher's head snapped up from the elf's lap, and he peered around the perimeter of the camp. After a few moments, he lay again at her side. “Come little children; come dance with me...” her song trailed off, and Jenson shivered at the tone of it, but the dog had other immediate concerns.

Osher whimpered in the silence and licked his lips; Jenson knew the dog must be hungry, because he himself was famished. He rummaged through his pack for the dried meat and hard bread; the immortal tossed several scraps to Osher who devoured them, and poured an amount of water from the canteen into the extra cup for the dog as well.

“You too, huh?” Jenson asked as he noticed Osher's wound was gone. “Fucking fairy. She should know better.” The Knight chewed sullenly on the meat and bread, casting worried glances at Erissa, who slept peacefully now; the song that had haunted her sleep was thankfully gone. His meal finished, Jenson relaxed against his pack, his hands resting behind his head, and thought of his family that awaited him at home, about how he had missed so much of his daughter growing up, about how his fiance, Stephanie, must be in a dire worry that he would not return, as she always did when he was on missions. He thought about the day he left the Ixian Castle.

“But why do you have to go? If you want to stay, then stay,” Erissa mumbled, before groaning and turning to her side in her sleep. Jenson's eyes narrowed, and dread wrestled in the pit of his stomach.

“You're one fucking creepy fairy when you sleep,” he said, a chill running down his spine. She mumbled again, and then Erissa's eyes popped open.

“Do you hear that?” She asked, disoriented and somewhat groggy.

“What?” Jenson asked, unnerved.

“That song,” she whispered, looking around into the forest. Osher was fully alert, his head on a swivel and floppy ears perked; a low growl reverberated from his chest, and he trotted the perimeter of the campsite, sniffing the air. The dog padded back to the Knights, still glancing around worriedly.

“I don't hear anything,” Jenson said, and would have passed it off as a dream if not for Osher's behavior.

“The laughing,” Erissa said, eyes widening. “Children laughing, and singing.” The elf scooted closer to her companion, tugging her satchel and cloak with her. “Jenson, what is it?”

“I said I don't hear anything!”

“A weapon, Jenson, I need a weapon,” she said urgently. “Something is out there!” She moved closer to him, shoulder to shoulder with the man, huddled against him.

“You can't even fight right now! You wasted all your strength-” he whispered harshly, but he did not finish. Jenson heard a faint rustling deeper in the forest. He leaped to his feet, and threw another log on the dwindling fire, sending a spray of sparks in the air. The immortal readied his weapons, knowing it would all be on him to defend the three. He glanced down at his leg, all his strength having returned to it, and gave a nod to Erissa.

After several minutes, not even Erissa could hear evidence of movement, and the tension of the three eased. Eventually, Jenson returned to her side. Without speaking, he offered her food, which she took thankfully. Indeed, the color was returning to her cheeks, and she was much more steady than before.

“Sleep,” Jenson commanded, “and I'll keep watch.”

"It is so dark, and I do not think-”

“Don't argue, elf,” he said sharply. "It's not the darkness you need to worry about, it's what's lurking in it. Sleep. I'll protect you from the monsters in the darkness..." Jenson muttered softly, and Erissa caught a name she had heard only in whispers, Cassandra Remi, the Gisela Reaper. Erissa did as he wanted, curling up under her cloak. After a while, she was sleeping fitfully. Jenson passed several long hours of the watch, his mind whirring. Again, his right eye twitched, and he swore he heard Sei's voice in the feedback; his thoughts were wrenched to his family.

“Kiss me again,” the elf mumbled in her sleep. “But why are you calling me Stephanie?”

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen had stood vigil over the camp all night, deciding to let Erissa sleep as he scooped his body at the base of a tree, drawing his knees in. Osher had kept close to the woman, keeping her warm when the fire had died out. The immortal dozed off a few times in the night, sleeping for small spurts as he waited for the darkness to turn to a grey fog. When the illumination in the dank backdrop made it so he could see a bit into the Red Forest, he stood up and stretched, his back aching from the prone position he used. Osher’s head perked up, looking to Jensen and the immortal gave the dog a soft nod.

“Fairy,” Jensen muttered softly with a mischievous grin. “Time to get up.” His foot kicked Erissa’s boots, jarring them apart. She moaned, loudly in protest as her eyes softly fluttered open. He thumbed the forest behind him and she nodded, slowly getting up. Jensen turned to the dog and his lips parted even wider than before. “I think you need a bath, smelly bush humper.” Jensen teased.

“I admit, I could probably use one after that figh-“ Her words were cut short as Jensen let out a command to the dog.

“Osher, lick!” The dog turned to Erissa, panted once, and his sloppy velvety tongue went up the side of her face over her nose and between her eyes as his paws prodded her hips. The more she resisted the more the dog continued to nuzzle forwards, eyes full of love as his tongue kept licking her. Several red leaves filled the air like dancing birds as she kicked to be free from the doggy prison, twigs snapping as she shouted.

“Ack! No, bad dog!” Erissa whimpered as she tried to roll away. Jensen just laughed as he waited a few more licks, his payback for the other morning. With the immortal's shrill, whistle the dog barked in her ear once and jumped to Jensen, who bent to scratch the dog. The elf merely shook her bed, grumbling to herself as she stood, pulling her cloak on, first wiping her face and standing ready. The elf attempted to use the bit of leather from her armor to wipe herself, but it had failed miserably, causing her to whimper. Jensen stepped forwards, snatching a leaf from the air as it fell. He lifted it up to her face and pushed it onto her cheek, cleaning her up as she flinched away and took it from him, grumbling.

“We shouldn’t stay much longer in this area,” Jensen said, serious again. “No breakfast today, we’ll fast until about noon… whenever the hell that is,” he added as an aside comment, looking up towards the tree boughs that covered the warmth of the sun. Erissa made ready to protest, her stomach growling, but Jensen gave the woman a dead pan look to quiet any thoughts of fighting him on the subject. She nodded, gathering her things, and within moments the two left the camp and headed deeper into the fog. His stomach rumbled loudly, but he ignored it as he gave a sideways glance behind the campsite, looking into the trees for but a fleeting moment.

“You look rather tired, did you sleep well?” Erissa asked in a barely audible whisper, her hand lifting to his shoulder in apology. Jensen shrugged to her indifferently as he watched Osher sniff ahead a few feet, pushing her gesture aside gently.

“I’ve done worse overnights in the Knights of Apocalypse, so it's no big deal. They require a soldier to spend a mandatory seventy-two hour period of time at any time they deem fit as part of training. In addition to that training is physical exercises, training lessons in combat, and then mental problem solving. They throw it at you all at once sometimes, all to test your endurance and break your spirit.”

“That sounds a bit excessive,” Erissa admitted, shuddering as she thought of such a feat. “Did such things really improve a warrior?” Jensen listened once again to the forest, hearing nothing out of the ordinary. Before Erissa had a moment to notice, he decided to keep her mind elsewhere.

“As a matter of fact,” Jensen said, slightly distracted. Osher turned his head, eyes looking around as he panted, tail wagging. He looked to the dog before he shook his head and moved on without acknowledging the pause. “As a matter of fact, yes it did. To a degree. Some students burnt out and fried. Some others however really became true monsters. You see, when the flesh is weak and the spirit is all but spent is when the true potential is built within a man. I believe that fully in my heart. You cannot reach the next level if you do not know where your limits are."

“Still, to force yourself awake for that long must eventually exhaust the body. The mind alone will begin to suffer as well. All that strain is not healthy.” The two stopped at a dead end, eyes peering for a way around the sudden thick bushes that blocked them, briars and the like that would shred them if they tried to push through. Jensen poked Erissa in the shoulder and pointed to a tree branch they could climb.

“It’s not meant to be healthy. How should I explain this so your little elven brain can understand,” Jensen mused loudly as he lowered himself to let Erissa step in his hands. She gave him a dark look, but placed her boot in his hands and let him lift her. She flawlessly gripped the branch and used his shoulder for the briefest of seconds to make it up. She turned, her swift reflexes catching his bag he tossed to her immediately, almost knocking her off-balance; he whistled for Osher to come, grinning while she glared at him. The dog looked around for a moment then ran to him. “Take care of Osher, I can climb this easily.”

Erissa lowered her fellow traveler's bag and looked to Osher, her eyes focusing intently as she used her telekinetic abilities to make the dog float up towards the branch. He barked in protest, before settling on the bark and sitting, whimpering to be so high. Jensen reached the elevated part of the tree with ease, and they took a small break.

“I’ll hold Osher, you cross then float him down. Good thing we didn’t try to push through the brush,” Jensen pointed to the middle of the thicket. There were several thorns the size of daggers, and one plant that looked big enough to eat Osher in one bite.

"A soul blossom!" Erissa cried. "Unless I am wrong, they produce a venom that attacks not the body, but the soul itself, sucking it away from the person!" Jenson snickered.

"Then I don't have to worry," he said. Erissa sighed and was clearly shaken, but turned as she steeled her nerves and moved onwards on her knees and hands, crawling across for stability. “Hey!” Jensen called to her; Erissa stopped and looked behind to see Jensen smiling. “Don’t fall; I am enjoying the view too much.” He teased.

“…incorrigible…” She muttered under her breath as she finished the trek and landed, once again using her powers to bring Osher to her. Jensen followed behind the dog, keeping his hand on the pup’s head to keep it calm as it still shifted nervously. When the dog landed it barked twice, turned to Jensen, and wagged its tail to see him land next to the dog.

They continued in silence for a few minutes, Jensen once again stopping as he listened to all around him. This time Erissa joined him, but when she heard nothing she gave him a concerned look. The immortal popped his eye open and shook his head.

“Just being cautious, nothing to worry about. See Osher?” Jensen pointed to the dog’s tail. “He’s happy, so no danger.” Erissa recalled the imparted wisdom he gave her yesterday and the look of relief on her face made Jensen relax again as they walked onwards. “Hmm, so you know how you have to rip your muscles in order to let them grow?” The woman gave him a confused look, and Jensen just smiled as he waited for her brain to catch up. With a sudden look of understanding she nodded quickly.

“Yes, yes, I understand,” She said quickly. “And yes, I grasp that concept. But I still maintain to perform at those levels for three days straight is not helping anyone. There is ripping your muscles, and then there is tearing them.” Jensen shrugged.

“In the Knights of Apocalypse there isn’t much of a difference. You either grow, or you destroy yourself attempting to keep up. Not really a debatable topic, it’s just the way it is in that order.”

"The strong survive," Erissa mused. "Says something about you, I suppose."

Jensen stopped again, his grin lowering as he chuckled softly to himself. Erissa turned to him, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. She watched him, studying the way his eyes seemed to try and move to the back of his skull and look behind him. The way his fingers slowly flexed one at a time and popping did nothing to comfort her as she narrowed her gaze on him. She could see the hair on the back of his neck softly rise and she became confused again. Jensen still let out a small giggle, before looking back to Erissa.

“You…” She said softly, but she had no clue what to say. Jensen just shrugged pulling out one of his longer daggers, a steel weapon of masterwork quality that was nearly the length of Erissa’s forearm. He tossed it to her and grinned, turning around this time; his laughter bubbled forth, unable to be contained. There was a long moment of silence save the immortal’s mirth, but soon Osher began to growl.

She never needed to hear the answer. The fact he was laughing was a clear indication of the situation. Something in the Red Forest was coming after them. She had no clue how long he knew, but she had guessed he had known all along and was why he made them skip breakfast. She held the grip of the leather tightly; it creaked in her hand as she stood ready.

[Sagequeen]

The rustling in the trees around them became very clear; Osher stood at alert, the hair on his back standing on end. An eerie song drifted in the woods, one that she could almost understand, a song in the same vein as those she had learned in her thumbing through the Songbook of Ages. She knew at once the source of such a deep-rooted magic.

The song of the sword singers made the back of Erissa's neck prickle; it was a language familiar to her, ancient elven, but over years of isolation in Lindequalmë it had become a new thing in its own right, with inflection and pronunciation, and even words, that were very different than she had learned from her tutors. The Knights stood back to back, and Erissa wondered if Jenson's wild giggles were as haunting to the corrupted and feral elves as their song was to her. She understood enough to know it was a song of cursing, of death, and she felt her limbs grow heavy, her mind lethargic. A panic struck the high elf as she felt Jenson sway against her; he, too, was under the power of the song. His laughter began to fade.

Though Erissa knew she could only mitigate the effects of the three part harmony the sword singers unleashed against them, she raised her voice in a counter-melody, weaving within the voices to subtly change the sound of it, lessening the effects on the Knights. The three corrupted elves circled them, predatory and animal-like in their quick, hunched movements. Like their language, the elves had been isolated, and while they retained much of the beauty of the race, there was evidence of unchecked inbreeding and deformity. Doubtless, their lifespans were greatly shortened, whether by the curse of the forest or by meeting an appropriate end beneath its savage, red boughs.

One of the male elves twitched and ticked, pawing at his ragged leathers as he circled, eying Osher as a low, loud growl emanated from the dog. The other, obviously the leader by his more decorated armor, raised an arm commanding the other two, including a female, to end the song, understanding that its effectiveness was not optimal, and a new strategy would be needed. A wicked and twisted grin cracked open the leader's face, the whites of his eyes stained blood red, telling of the corruption that wracked his body; he lifted his twin blades and sliced through the air in a slow figure eight. He opened his mouth, filled with rows of filed, pointy teeth, and chanted a thick-tongued verse that caused his weapons to glow an eerie green. Back to back, Jenson and Erissa watched the others, now forming a triangle around the Knights, and the underlings mimicked their leader. With the conclusion of the verse, the three sword singers plunged their swords into the ground, sending a shock-wave inward on the companions.

Osher was the only one who kept his balance. Jenson and Erissa were toppled; the sword singers sprung in on them, swords raised for attack. Tested and tried in a lifetime of warfare, Jenson quickly rolled and avoided the swords that plunged into the ground where he lay a split second before. However, Erissa's inexperience showed in her indecision; this was no mere wolf she faced. The high elf gripped the dagger helplessly, never having trained with one. As the sword singer crashed down upon her, she only managed to deflect the blow of the swords slightly, and one sliced through her left arm, just missing the bone, all the way through into the ground. She screamed in agony; however, she was fortunate the blade was still white-hot from the magic recently released from it. The wound was cauterized and bleeding only slightly. Erissa heaved the female sword singer from her chest, and she felt the blade rip from her arm. The corrupted elves sprang back from the concerted attack, but not before the twitching one received a throwing knife to the chest. He fell to his knees, gurgling and sputtering crimson; Jenson had tipped the odds in the Knights' favor. The leader released a tortured, rage-filled scream, which only intensified Jenson's demented laughing.

“Filthy cousin fucking, bush humping, inbred, leaf licking, faggot fairies!” Jenson roared, a shrill fit of giggles overtaking him immediately. Erissa stumbled to her feet and summoned an energy shield, which she wielded on her wounded arm. The dagger she wielded in her right, and the high elf felt the magic-intensifying effect of it; the arcanist sliced through the air, unleashing a bolt of light at the sword singer. The red-eyed elf deftly dodged behind the wide trunk of a tree just before a huge chunk of the wood was ripped from it in an explosion of splinters and red-beard moss. Jenson sprang forward against the leader, matching his dual swords with dagger and punch knife.

Another scream arose in the forest; the female sword singer let loose a banshee cry as she charged Erissa in a flashing, spinning attack, enhanced by corrupt magic. The arcanist braced herself against her shield and deflected the onslaught, though at the conclusion of the attack the energy shield was completely depleted. Osher barked and attacked the sword singer from behind, biting her calves and causing her to take a knee, but the dog yelped in pain. He had not been struck by the sword singer; instead, he had stepped in the red ichor of the injured tree that pooled around its base. His back paw blackened and whithered, leaving Osher on three legs. In seconds, the sword singer was on her feet again.

Jenson was in the lust of battle which each ring of his weapons heightened; the leader of the corrupted elves' group was a skilled swordsman, and had managed to draw a seeping, red slash across the immortal's chest. Yet Jenson whirled and dodged, struck more quickly than a snake in his offensive foray, sending his opponent backpedaling, off-balance. The red-eyed elf's arms flailed to correct his balance, but as he did, he flung a bolt of corruption toward Jenson, narrowly missing him; the bolt followed its course, slamming into another tree near Erissa. As the tree began to fall, Jenson sprang to the flailing elf and finished him with a well-placed dagger behind the collarbone, and into the heart.

As the tree began to topple in a deep-throated, woody groan, the remaining sword singer was forced from her stance, to Erissa's immediate relief; her new shield was close to being expended. As her opponent dodged the tree, Erissa used the last of her shield to slam into the red-eyed elf; a rock found its way behind the sword singer's foot, tripping her. A miserable wail escaped her lips as she splashed into and felt the effects of the red pool. Flat on her back, the tree's spilled ichor blackened her skin and withered her away, and in a final raspy groan, she was devoured completely.

And then there was silence.

“Fuck!” Jenson yelled, causing both Erissa and Osher to jump. He rushed to Erissa's side, taking her arm in his hands gingerly, gauging the wound. The immortal searched the high elf's eyes questioningly.

“I know you are worried that I may slow you down or be a liability,” she said, strained, “but I will do my best to avoid that. It is too great a risk to heal and drain myself further; for now I have stopped the bleeding completely. However, Osher cannot walk easily.” Erissa gestured to the dog, whose right back paw was lifted from the ground and a withered black. Jenson kicked a pile of leaves and dirt as he yelled another expletive.

“You're a tailor for fuck's sakes!” Jenson glared at the high elf, infuriated. “Stand the fuck back and let the one who knows what the hell I'm doing take care of it!”

“There were three of them! You had to know at least one of them would move to attack me.” Erissa's hands were on her hips, eyes narrowed. “Alright. The next time a sword singer jumps on my chest, I will be sure to just lay there and wait for the cavalry. And I will not say a word when you make your wisecrack about me taking it lying down. At least that way, you will not have to look after me any more.” The immortal's teeth ground together, searching for what to say; his fiance was always able to look after herself.

“You're not supposed to get hurt,” he muttered, scratching the back of his head. The arcanist's eyes softened slightly, her voice almost a plaintive whisper as she replied.

“Jenson, did you think I came here with the expectation of walking out unscathed, or even alive? We are in the Red Forest. I am grateful to you that I still live at all,” Erissa said, placing her hands on his upper arms. “I, most of all, know how far in over my head I truly am.” He met her gaze, and his shoulders slumped.

“Then why did you-” Jenson began, but a nearby coughing and gurgling interrupted his words. His countenance changed at once, and Erissa cringed at the frightening darkness that clung to his features. She recoiled from the hard glint reflecting from his eyes.

“A survivor,” he growled in the deepness of his rumbling baritone, a wholly wicked grin stretching across the Knight's face.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

The fight was short but still took a toll on the group of Ixians. Erissa’s arm was deeply cut, Osher’s leg was all but ruined, and the Immortal’s anger was surfacing rapidly in flashes. He was personally infuriated that things so far were getting worse and worse, and he admonished himself for childishly thinking there could be a different result. But what made him all the angrier was his own deflating ego. He had actually thought he would be able to handle everything by himself, but so far Erissa had shown him the exact opposite. The bush humping woman was right, and her words about accepting death as an outcome of this adventure sobered him up as her protector.

A few coughs and spilt blood returned him to the present as he neared one of the downed sword singers. He could see the elf's eyes glaring to him, the primal fury within the red-tinged iris. He had just noticed the creature had a gentle silver hue to his eyes, but the corruption underlying that had destroyed all the once noble virtues that elf had.

The immortal lowered himself, eyes cast narrowly as he looked the sword singer evenly in the face. Blood continued to drip from the chapped lips of the corrupted elf, and his tongue dashed out to lick it back in. The man’s fingers moved to a lithe dagger, a thin twisted looking weapon that looked more suited to elegant surgical strikes than actual combat. Jensen let the elf go for the weapon, and in the blink of an eye the creature was up again, spitting blood out in a spray into Jensen’s face as he rose, screeching. The blood hit the immortal and burned his eyes; he let out a frustrated yelp, ducking down to one knee. Within mere steps the sword singer prepared to swipe the blade across Jensen’s throat in one easy swing.

Jensen flipped up from his kneeling position, his boot catching the crazed aggressor in the jaw with a flash kick. Both hit the ground at the same time, but the immortal’s speed and agility was greater even the elf’s as he nipped back to his feet in one fluid motion, stomping his foot on the man’s chest knocking his wind out. The elf hollered in protest, eyes wide as his limbs rose in concert and landed with a thud on the dirt.

“Jenson!” Erissa shrieked, Osher barking as he hobbled in front of his master protectively. Jensen gave her a dark grin, full of malicious intent. She returned his look with concern, but nodded, realizing he had the situation more than under control. She lowered herself to Osher and held the dog’s collar. Jensen looked back down, lifting his foot and stomping again. The elf’s eyes nearly rolled in the back of his head, the dagger falling to the ground away from his curled fingers. Jensen knelt down over his body, boot still on his sternum as he leaned very closely.

“Well, well, well leaf licker,” Jensen sassed with a tisking sound. “Looks like you got your bush humping friends all killed.” The elf spat in his garbled language and cried out in anger as Jensen just laughed. “I don’t speak inbred fairy, try again.” Now the elf’s mouth got louder, and more obnoxious as he narrowed his eyes like he were cursing. “Whoa, calling me the son of a whore? Isn’t that low brow insults you tree fucker?”

“You.. you understood him?” Erissa asked. Jensen and the corrupt elf looked at each other, eyes filled with mutual hate as Jensen spoke sideways to her. To her surprise his tone was elegant and precise and he spoke not in common, but in perfect high elven.

“<Oh, yes I can speak Elven. I do not like to; it sounds like I am passing gas out of my lips.>” Jensen punched the elf below him in the face, and giggled. “<Seriously, this language makes me want to purge my insides, and stick the waste in my ears in an attempt to block out the obnoxious need for overly flowery speech. Cannot a single thing you guys say in your misguided language be simple?>”

“I suppose not,” Erissa muttered under her breath. “Still, even I have trouble understanding that corrupted speech!”

“It’s tribal, that’s why,” Jensen muttered. “He’s mixing High Elven and Common in a loose manner; starting a word in elvish and ending the same word in tradespeak. It’s home brewed, that’s why you can barely understand it. You’re listening to two languages at once with no set designation of when something starts and ends.” Erissa gave Jensen a profound look of honest intent, impressed at his sudden show of intelligence.

“How do you-" Jensen anticipated her question and replied rapidly, more than a little annoyed.

“They required me in the Knight’s to stay up for seventy two hours, physically training while they shouted at me in draconian, elven, dwarven, and even infernal. If I couldn’t follow the order to the letter, I was fucked. This shit is a breeze compared to that. Now shut up for five minutes while I interrogate this guy!” Erissa took a step back, his growing anger making her uneasy as Osher whimpered.

The elf below him shouted again in his garbled language, and Jensen punched him again. He repeated the process three times before lifting up on his armor so they were face to face. The elf looked to him, groggily, and his eyes showed he was ready to listen for the time being.

“Okay you little cuss,” Jensen breathed darkly. “Spill it. Where the hell can I find Pea Pode?” The elf narrowed his eyes, but then suddenly nodded and lifted a hand up.

“You… wish… death…” He spoke slowly, as if choosing his options slowly and carefully. His hand gripped the immortal’s coat. “She… strong… very powerful…” Jensen narrowed his eyes before the Elf laughed. “Go! Go! Death waits at Opassa,” His tongue slipped into elven, and he began to laugh again. Jensen shook his head and punched him again. The Elf leaned back from the blow, still laughing, a little drunkenly from the physical abuse.

“Opassa? What the hell does that mean? Where the hell is that?” Jensen shouted. The elf weakly pointed down a long stretch of road, where the soupy fog was the heaviest. He could feel the dark magic emanating from there. Jensen turned back to the elf, and gave him a malicious grin. “Thanks, fairy faggot.” Jensen grabbed the man by his neck and lifted it limply in his hands.

“Jenson!” Erissa shouted as she realized what he was about to do. Before she could say anything more, he twisted the elf’s neck until he got a satisfying pop sound. Erissa lifted herself up in shock as Jensen stood, fingers trailing the dirt as he gripped the hilt of the dagger the sword singer no longer needed, twirling it in his fingers. When the immortal saw his companions face he gave her a confused look.

“What? Are you seriously mad I killed the guy who was trying to kill us?” Jensen laughed at her. Erissa took a moment before she stepped forwards and angrily pushed a finger in his direction.

“Killing in self defense and killing in cold blood is different! He was no threat to us anymore! That was needless violence, Jenson!” Erissa looked to him with irritation as he walked by her, grabbing his steel dagger from her and depositing the elven design in her fingers.

"You might cut yourself if you aren't careful,” Jensen mumbled as if nothing happened. She looked down to it, as if in debate whether she would throw it aside, but her rational side dictated she did need a weapon. Still, she glared to Jensen and chased after him.

“It was wrong. I think you did it just because of your personal distaste for elves,” she said to him in an overbearing manner, as if she was his mother. “You hold a very low opinion on life, Jenson Ambrose. It is possible we could have helped him, reached out to him! Perhaps if I healed him-” The words she spoke seemed almost hard for her to say, and Jensen stopped as he looked to her, grabbing her shoulder and turning her so she could look at him.

“I am not going to let a man live who tried to kill me. I am not going to let a creature of the Red Forest regroup and come after me again, I am not going to be a pussy pacifist and scold the evils of the world in an attempt to promote peace and love. We are in the Red fucking Forest, and not a thing in here would hesitate to kill us. Get that through your fucking head, leaf licker.” Jensen saw her resolve in her eyes, filled with desire to say something to prove him wrong, to show that he was just being violent for the sake of violence, but the immortal was right. Nothing in this pit of corruption would wait a second to end their lives.

“It’s just…barbaric, that’s all Jenson,” Erissa at last admitted in defeat. Jensen shook his head, and sighed, walking with her next to him again as they traveled. Jensen gave her a concerned look, and shook his head. “I guess I still have much to learn about the world, don’t I?” Erissa said more to herself than to her partner, but Jensen felt a small tinge of guilt for the elf. It was true that he was right, no matter what, but still, he felt wrong in how he did things.

“Look, Leaf licker,” Jensen said softly. “This forest corrupts people, and changes who they were. The key difference here is what’s in here,” He said tapping his chest. “Guts and heart. Leave me the fighting and the dirty work, that’s who I am. You stay the way you are, a useless tailor, and do not corrupt the morals you have. Otherwise this forest claims another soul.”

The two walked in silence towards the location of Opassa, before Erissa gave a sincere look. “Thank you, Jenson,” she whispered. The immortal gave her a crass look.

“You know, that’s bugging the shit out of me,” Jensen said with a sly smile. Erissa gave him a questioning glance. “My name is Jensen, JENSEN, hear the ‘E’? JenSEN, it’s there, I swear it. Fuck’s sake I can hear the ‘O’ inflection every time you utter my name. What If I called you Arissa? Huh? Would you like that, leaf licker? Arissa the leaf licking, bush humping Ixian Knight who can’t pronounce names!” Erissa giggled as she shook her head.

“Well perhaps, JenSON, your name is like a poison to my ears and I cannot bare to utter it!” She feigned being distraught. Jensen laughed as he turned to Osher.

“Well boy, what do you think? JenSEN or JenSON?” The dog barked a few times, hobbling after them with tail wagging. “Hmm, guess we’ll have to have some higher power decide it.” Jensen said as they walked on.

[Sagequeen]

Erissa rummaged through her satchel for the strip of cloth Jensen had given her for Osher, and worked quickly to bind the wound on her upper arm; her natural enhanced healing would have to suffice for the time being. The high elf did not look back to the scene of the battle.

Courage, her teacher had instructed her, what is courage, Erissa?

I suppose it is not being afraid of what one must do, she had replied.

No, Troyas had said to her, it is not. Courage is doing what one must in spite of fear. Doubtless Erissa was afraid. The arcanist distracted herself from the creeping fear, and Jensen was thankfully helping her in that task. Great comfort she took in his experience, and, at times, his outright nonchalance in battle; it was better, even if it felt wrong, to laugh after a battle than to cry.

“So truly, JenSEN,” the high elf over-enunciated with a mildly coy tone, “all the lives you have lived and you have never heard of Opassa?” The immortal shrugged as they walked side by side on the wide path that cut a very straight route through the trees; in fact, the shapely crape myrtles lining the path were in bloom, the petals almost purple and lustrous. Each flowering tree was perfectly aligned and the procession likely was, at one time, a wonder to behold, even moreso than it currently was. Above, the high elf caught sight of the sky for the first time in days; the vision of it forced a bittersweet sigh from her lips. Remains of flagstone occasionally clicked under heel, though mostly buried under the humus of the forest floor. Erissa strained to peer further into the crimson-tinged fog, which appeared to become less hazy ahead of them; it was clear they were approaching ruins of some sort.

“Well?” Jensen demanded impatiently, pulling his companion from her personal struggles. She gave him a hesitant and sidelong glance, eyebrow cocked.

“Well, I simply thought that in The Ambrose Handbook of Adventuring, Rule Number One would apply,” the high elf stopped in her tracks and folded her hands before her in a most formal manner, reciting. “If you bring attention to it, it will happen.” What could be mistaken as a smirk pulled at the corner of her mouth. Jensen narrowed his eyes at her before grinning.

“I did say that, didn't I?” He laughed as they started walking again, tossing his head back and enjoying the brief glimpse of sky himself. “But listen, Elf. If you are withholding information I might need to keep you alive, well that's your own damn problem.” Erissa simply nodded.

“Well, if Opassa is our destination, then it is the very road to perdition we now tread... that is, of course, if the gods themselves have souls,” she said ominously, with all seriousness. “I remember the first time I heard this story; my brother and I were both rather young, and our maid had been into the liquor cabinet. Our parents were at one of their many social functions, and the maid was rather annoyed at Tanus, my brother, and his antics. She had hoped to quiet him with a compelling tale.” Erissa smiled fondly, though with sadness, as she remembered him. “He was nothing like our father.”

“You gonna tell me your life story, Fairy? Cause I really don't care,” Jensen jabbed, shoving her good shoulder somewhat playfully and knocking her off-balance. “Get with it.”

“Fine!” Erissa said, peeved, and she attempted to shove him in return. She may as well have shoved a stone pillar, and he snickered at her as she blushed and grabbed at her wound, having aggravated it. The high elf curtly straightened and smoothed her jacket before continuing. A gentle breeze blew the crimson-stained petals of the crape myrtles across the path before them. “In the days before time was measured by mortals, the gods had not yet become apathetic about the world they created. They walked the land and meddled often in the affairs of its inhabitants; in fact, the old gods took to themselves mortal wives. It was not because they found them more desirable than the goddesses, but simply because they wished for the children they sired to be heralds and champions instead of possible successors. You see, the children were mortal, and much weaker than the gods, yet were far stronger than any pure-blood mortal. The goddesses did not take part; they would not sully themselves with a mortal child in womb.

“It was considered by the Pantheon an abomination when a demi-goddess was born, much for the same reason, but mostly because if a god were to bed a demi-goddess, such a creature would be born that was too close to godhood than any mortal could be allowed. So the demi-goddesses were whisked away quickly after birth, and,” Erissa looked warily at the forest around her, “they were imprisoned in trees within the heart of a great labyrinth by the name of Opassa.” Erissa glanced at her companion, who seemed to be far more interested in Osher. “I suppose you have heard of ambrosia,” she asked, curious if he truly were listening.

“Food of the gods, yeah.” The immortal ruffled the dog's fur as they walked side by side.

“Well, it came from those trees. You see, the divine blood, golden ichor, flowed through the trees and infused the fruit they produced. Naturally, Opassa was closely guarded when this oversight was realized, for if consumed by mortals, they could achieve immortality. And of course, the gods and goddesses fed upon the golden blood-fruit of their own imprisoned daughters as a delicacy, brought to them daily by the demi-gods.” Erissa shuddered. “The demi-gods were kept unaware of the true nature of the trees, that their sisters were imprisoned within them. However, as sure as the sun, the lives of the Pantheon are wracked endlessly by deception and deceit, so after a time, the truth found its way to the gilded ears of one of the greatest champions of the Pantheon, a demi-god by the name of Orseus.” Jensen yawned loudly and kicked a piece of broken flagstone, smashing into one of the many trees that lined the path. Erissa gave him a startled look.

“You don't actually believe that shit, do you?” He asked, a sneer etched on his face.

“Well, no. It is all myth and legend, you know,” Erissa said quickly. “But to continue, the demi-god Orseus received the information anonymously, and he was furious to know his sisters were imprisoned, the mystery of why there were only male children born solved. The next time he was sent to Opassa to gather fruit, he made a vow to his sisters to free them. So once he delivered the fruit, Orseus watched closely the gods as they feasted; only one among them did not feast upon the flesh of the fruit, a goddess, and the only one he could assume had sent him the message. So Orseus appealed to the goddess, and it was indeed she who revealed the information. She told him the secret to free the demi-goddesses, that each must consume through her roots the fruit of her own labor. Orseus awaited his next duty to Opassa, and when he went, he took the fruit and buried it at the roots of each tree he could find within the labyrinth as his brothers went about their normal tasks of gathering.

“Within a fortnight, the other demi-gods noticed a change in the trees and dutifully reported the occurrence to the Pantheon. Naturally, the gods were wary; while they were loathe to do any damage to their ambrosia-bearing trees, they would not see the daughters imprisoned within released upon the world. So, they went to assess Opassa for themselves, and it became a slaughter, and would have been complete if not for the pride of the gods. Orseus had rallied his brothers, the demi-gods, and inspired them to self-sacrifice for their sisters; the gods had created enough of them that the legions of demi-gods were able to resist long enough for almost all of the imprisoned daughters to be completely freed. And as they were awakened, the last of their fruits fell to the ground, shield-maidens born and reborn into suffering and strife. Thus was the divine race of Valkyrie awakened into the world.

“The Valkyrie would not flee from Opassa, the place of their imprisonment; rather they assisted their brothers in battle, guarded their enslaved sisters as they awaited freedom, and supplied all the remaining with ambrosia, coveted by the gods, that when mixed with existing divine blood provided an incredible boost to ability. The legions became ageless and strong. Orseus lead the defense and long held against the siege of Opassa. During this time, he met a maiden in the heat of battle, a Valkyrie, and fell in love with her. She was named Inorah by her sisters upon her release from the tree, and she was fierce as she was beautiful. The two fought valiantly, shoulder to shoulder, among their peers. In one particularly devastating battle, Inorah fell at Orseus' side, and he could not prevent it.” Erissa sighed heavily and noticed the stiffened posture of her companion. “He retreated then, both for himself and for his elite legion; the losses were so great.

“There comes a time when even the hearts of demi-gods falter against gods, when their vigilance fails. One of the goddesses, a goddess of enchantment, breached the lines; her enchantment was such that when her enemies looked upon her, they saw one that was lost to them, dear to them, and the heart would betray its owner in causing stupor and hesitation. The goddess made her way to the tent of Orseus, and to him she appeared as his beloved Inorah. She convinced him that she had eaten of a final, reserved slice of the ambrosia as she breathed her dying breath, and Orseus, in his grief and love, believed her.

“He bedded her, and the goddess of the Pantheon allowed it in spite of her loyalties, having been so long without affection of the sort. In time, she did her part in convincing Orseus that the siege was hopeless, that he was the cause of all the deaths, and if he had simply allowed things to stay as they were, all his brothers and sisters would all still be alive. And the demi-god's resolve faltered.

“In the end, most of the demi-gods and their sisters fell in a poorly executed retreat; however, a handful escaped within the labyrinth of Opassa; not even the gods could navigate the shifting walls. Those who escaped were, supposedly, the legends of old, those of great renown who seemed so far above their mortal peers.

“As for the goddess of enchantment, she was with Orseus' child, and the wrath of the Pantheon was upon her. However, with their supply of ambrosia destroyed, they were curious. They forced her to give birth to the mortal child, something no other goddess would endure, and when it was born, they spirited it away. Since then, the gods have indeed enjoyed an uninterrupted supply of ambrosia, though a mortal has yet to lay eyes on its source. And that is the story of Opassa.”

Jensen whistled, the beginning, highest pitch offensive to Erissa's sensitive ears, and trailing down to a woody flute-like timbre.

"I have no friggen clue how you manage to talk that much without getting the least bit lightheaded. Do you even breathe between sentences or is that part of your fairy magic too?" Jensen asked, laughing and shaking his head.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

The immortal looked out over the outskirts of supposed ‘Opassa,’ and his first impressions were rather dark. There was what looked to be a stone wall, now overgrown with moss, and missing several sections to make it more a step than an obstruction. Along the path were several bushes, and he could feel the Elf get closer to him as they neared the city limits. Erissa had pointed out the plant on the side of the road and Jensen peered closer. A small mouth opened in one of the blooms, tiny tendrils poking out. Jensen made to touch one when Erissa sighed, heavily, and pulled him away.

“Soul Blossoms? Remember anything about me explaining what they do?” Jensen shrugged.

“Not really, I was busy staring at your ass… by the way I have to tell you, it’s a decent one, but Stephanie’s is way…” Erissa merely rolled her eyes muttering about his maturity as she led Osher into the ruins of Opassa. Jensen was a solitary step behind her, his eyes scanning the area as he looked at the fallen structures of what could very well have been a marvel of structural engineering. The fact that even in this wasted state it still had some majesty spoke to his creative mind; for one of the lesser known things about Jensen was he was a tinker of sorts. Science and technology greatly interested him, but living the life of an immortal warrior gave him less time to pursue his hobby than most would think.

Looking up at the sky and sighing, Jensen tugged on Erissa’s jacket, slowing the elf down as she turned to give him a cautious look. Ever wary to keep her calm, he gave her a half hearted pout, rubbing his belly. “Do your voodoo and make me some grub,” Jensen whined. The two pulled off the main path into an alcove made from a tree that fell through a small portion of the wall.

“Are manners really that far from your reach? Do you teach your daughter to behave like this?” Erissa asked. She huffed as her backpack moved down to the ground and pulled out some food. “Honestly, it terrifies me to think you procreated…”

“Well then put that thought to rest,” Jensen mumbled in a mocking way, attempting to match Erissa’s pitch. She gave him a confused look. “We adopted her, Stephanie and I. We were on a mission from Lady creepo Mc-Bloodsucker Cassandra Remi, told us to use an orphan for the day to get into a zoo. Some special exhibit was going on and to get in you needed a kid. Some idiots working for the enemy of the Ixian Knight’s prophecy was supposedly hidden there. She was right, mind you, but I’d never say it to her face.”

“I have heard…stories, of Lady Remi’s terror,” Erissa said, her body shivering. “I must admit, if even a fraction of them were true, I would prefer to spend a night in this forest than have anything to do with her.”

“Oh she and I have gone around the Mulberry bush more than once. I hate that creepy bitch, always have, and always will.” Jensen said harshly. “She’s a bitch and whatever the fuck Sei thought she could add to this army is a mystery he and his stone tablets only know. Though the last I had heard she was dismissed from the army.”

Erissa handed him a piece of bread and water, along with a bit of cured meat. She sighed, sipping from her canteen and looking at Osher. Jensen observed her eyes, seeing the concern for the mutt and he too felt a twinge of concern for their hairy companion. He looked to his meat, sighed, and tossed it to the dog. “Don’t give him any more meat; he can have my share, ration the rest.”

“How long should we stay here?” Erissa asked innocently, looking at Osher’s blackened paw. Jensen observed around the area for a moment, and looked back at the two in his care. He could see Osher’s tail drooped, and his panting was getting heavier, not to mention the wound on Erissa’s arm still chaffed his pride as her guardian. He could see she was still a little shaken from the last battle, and even he felt a yawn coming on. He shook his head, fighting it away as he turned away from her.

“Let’s rest up for an hour or two, and then head a little deeper into the ruins to make a more suitable camp for the day. I’ll scout ahead; make sure everything is all right for our next leg of the journey.” Jensen turned back to her and walked up as she gave him a worried expression, but he merely lifted the elegant dagger up to her hands and placed the pommel in it. “Hold the pointy end this way, and stab at anything that isn’t Osher or me. I’m not going to go out of earshot of you, and you got Osher, who knows how to bark, right boy?”

On cue, the dog let out a joyful round of speech, and Jensen ruffled the canine’s ears. Erissa giggled at the show, before putting on a brave smile as she nodded, scooting deeper into the shadows and drawing her legs in. “I will wait here then. Should you be gone for more than two hours, I will use your heart to guide me to you.” She smiled to him, nodding once as she made herself comfortable.

“Dawwww,” Jensen feigned his compassion as he pinched the elf’s cheek, much to her chagrin. “Aren’t you sooo fucking in love with me! You’ll follow my heart? Where did you dig that up from, a children’s fairy tale?” Erissa rolled her eyes, kicking him away playfully as Jensen laughed, walking out into the ruins.

Most of the larger buildings had remained intact, but several portions of the walls and ceilings had been blown apart by roots that grew out of them like a cancer. Several smaller side houses and storage units were completely overrun by the forest’s corruption, now occupied by the predators of Podë’s madness. He passed through a building, the ground shifted up from a deep tree root that lifted through the flooring, breaking the cobblestone floor and rotten wood, tiny flowers dotting along the base. A spider web the size of a small child was in the corner, a spider easily the size of Jensen’s head casually looking to the immortal as it spun a captured bird between its disgusting digits, pincer-like mandibles moving together in pleasure for its meal.

He kept his switchblade sword at the ready, looking around at the scenery as he passed through into the open street. Indeed this was an ancient civilization; from the pictures on the walls it looked to be pre-demon wars by thousands of years easily. He headed down a slope deeper into what he assumed to be the merchant district, finding several hollowed out trees as well as built lodges and stores. He could almost envision the life of the land, the hustle and bustle of the trade and shouting of merchants. Yet when he blinked all those good, peaceful signs were long gone. The corruption of Xem'Zund’s minions had done their work as several plants covered the land, making it look more like a dead land after a major battle.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard something crunching dried, dead leaves underfoot. But in the manner it moved it sounded more like something slithering around. He readied his blade, moving into the central square near the fountain. Like all things in the Red Forest, the water, too, was colored crimson. The surface had small waves forming around it, and Jensen grew concerned as he did a quick three-sixty spin to check his surroundings. Nothing he could spot seemed to be coming. He looked back to the water, lowering his gaze to peer through the murky depths. Something was…

With a loud splash a red vine lashed out, hitting Jensen square in the chest and knocking him upwards into the air. He spun in a corkscrew, looking to find his feet as he neared the ground, but his fall was short lived as another vine tentacle broke through the fountain’s side, shattering the clay and letting the water flood out as it latched to his foot and swung him through a building. His body impacted against the rotten wood with a thud and a resounding crash of a cymbal, body tumbling as he landed in a heap on a pile of dead leaves. He shook his head and stood to one knee; the ceiling crashed and another vine came at him. This time he jumped to the side, doing a ground roll as he pulled up to his feet. He watched the vine snake itself up and come at him like a lunging spear. He bent backwards at his waist, letting the plant ram through the wall; it destroyed the last strands of integrity the shack had, the walls and remaining ceiling tumbling. A large hunk of wood and moist, dead leaves fell upon his body, knocking his wind out as he collapsed on the ground. He felt the vines from the fountain snap at the wood, knocking it away, as the one that brought the whole house down came back, batting away the log on top of him.

With ease it slithered around his waist, tugging him free and gripping his ribs. Angrily he fumbled for his knives, and at last grabbing the steel blade gifted to him by Seth Dahlios he managed to lodge it into the vine. Its grip weakened considerably, but still it held him as it carried his body back into the main square, where dozens of the vines snaked their way forwards. Jensen was carried high into the air, over the fountain where the ground quaked, dirt erupting in the air as several more vines joined the fray. Jensen watched as the earth fell and could see the ugly maw of a beast that easily was the size of the village itself. It was the Root of the Blood Vines.

“Fuck me, I’m seriously plant food? Fuck this is why I’m a carnivore!” Jensen felt a giggle coming as he cut himself free, at last snapping the last tendons of plant muscle away, and falling. He felt his jacket lift up into the air and he cried in glee, feeling the wind enter his lungs. His blood began to move freely as his stomach churned, and soon his scream turned into laughter as he landed on the ground. He looked around to see the sun blocked by dozens of vines as they cascaded as one wave to slam him down. Running backwards with a fit of laughter the immortal watched until the wave came to crashing crescendo.

“I am a leaf on the wind!” Jensen hollered pushing his arms before him and letting wind build up. The air around him became a mini tornado, creating a gust of force powerful enough to push him backwards away from the vines as he slid on the gravely road. “Watch how I soar!” Jensen whispered as he charged forwards, jumping onto the blood vine and moving with ease as the tentacles began to come after him. Several impaled themselves and blasted others apart in their mad rush to capture him, but Jensen dodged, ducked, dipped and dived his way around each one, his agility seemingly unstoppable as he laughed like a maddened clown. He slid down the base of a vine, arm reaching out and using it like a pole to sharply turn and avoid two vines as they tangled around a third; he lowered himself into the sea as he scrambled on the ground, flipping and rolling like a professional circus freak, insane hollowing of mirth never fading. The earth shook more as the vine called upon all of its might, and the forest itself seemed to awaken as the vines came.

“Don’t get your panties…” Jensen chuckled as he twisted over a tentacle coming for him, watching it entwine with another and creating a knot through a third. “In a twist!” Giggling came over him as he lowered his hand, running it across the ground. “Come on, come on, run-run!” Jensen taunted the beast. He felt his fingers touch the overturned dirt and soil, and at last he felt something metal in his hand. With a shriek of laughter and giggles he activated the switchblade, the weapon going into a scythe mode as he spun like a whirling top, hacking away several vines.

The Blood Root screamed in pain as the tentacles all retreated, coiling around each other making a thicker and wider appendage. With a chuckle Jensen switched the blade into a sword and looked to the fountain. “Well hello there, teddy bear! Why don’t ya come on out and play!” Jensen charged forwards, and the vines moved in concert as they made a rhythmic pounding on the ground, trying to beat him back.

“Fight, fight, as much as you can,” Jensen sang, his blade cutting the vines as he moved. The Blood Root screeched with each cut, a loud cry that caused several creatures in the forest to flee. Jensen’s eyes went wide as the vines created a wall around the mouth of the beast, and he cursed and wheezed out a whining cry of mirth as they moved as one in a solid wall. He switched the weapon to scythe mode and brought forth all his remaining focus on the wind. Again the tornado-like wind pushed at him, a gust of wind coming up that he aimed at the base of the vines. There was a small gap the formed in the vine wall, and Jensen roared with laughter as he ran at it.

When the two forces met, Jensen’s blade came up in a fierce gouging cut, his whole body spinning as the blade swung back and harvested more, The vine hit him and bled all over him, his body being beaten as the vines began to encircle him. He continued to use the wind to push the vines away; he screamed in rage and laughter, his scythe harvesting with each cut. He willed the beast away but even his skills with the art of wind were not able to resist the earth. Soon the vines managed to grip him, and as he brought his blade up it was gripped, the Blood Root bringing him closer to its maw. One tentacle ripped at his jacket, tearing it as his flesh was cut open, the blood of his own body mixing with the Blood Root. He screamed in pain, cursed the gods, and giggled as the Blood Root opened up to consume him. With a knowing giggle and a cocky grin, he thumbed the switch on his blade, cutting the vine in half as it reverted back into a sword. His freed hand cut another vine away as he switched back into scythe mode. With a frenzy of cuts he freed himself, and landed just before the Blood Root’s maw.

“You see this blade? It’s a Zodiac Weapon you bitch!” Jensen cut the maw and ripped the lower lip off in one swipe. “One graze is enough to make the pain last for hours. A cut will intensify that pain, and adrenaline cannot mask it! So when I rip off your fucking limbs!” Jensen turned and cut a vine in two, laughing as he twirled back to the root, hacking off another petal of its maw. “Well… you tell me,” Jensen smiled as he jumped up and switched the blade back into sword mode, dive bombing with a dark, vicious laughter. He impaled the blade into the mouth of Blood Root, digging it in deep as it thrashed around in agony, unable to coordinate the vines as they thrashed around, smashing apart everything. The earth quaked as its root lashed outwards, trying to move away, but Jensen kept digging the blade deeper and deeper. “Hard to think I went a whole a fight with you, and I never made one gardening joke. Well, time to prune out the weeds!” Jensen fell into a fit of giggles as he switched the blade into a scythe, and yanked the blade out. Plant guts flew out in a shower that covered the immortal as the vines twitched before standing still, withering as the plant let out a few more cries of pain, and then going silent.

“And that’s why I am Jensen MOTHER FUCKING Ambrose!” The immortal cried, letting his blade rest on his shoulder. He took a few breaths of air, then turned to see Erissa and Osher with concerned looks. Before he could say anything two elves moved from behind Erissa, a leash in their hand as he noticed for the first time that Osher was muzzled and Erissa’s hands were tied together. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the corrupted sword singers, when he felt a lithe dagger gently graze his neck.

“Nice to meet you, Jensen Mother Fucking Ambrose,” An Elf said dryly in his ear. The immortal's eyes narrowed, looking to see the four elves behind him, and when he looked back to Erissa he sighed, seeing the knife pointed at her back. With a shrug he tossed his weapon on the ground.

"I fucking hate this forest."

[Sagequeen]

The sword singers pawed through the Ixian Knights' belongings, greedily eying the bread and meat; however, these seemed far more civilized than the small group Jensen and Erissa had decimated earlier. If not for the red-tinged eyes and odd crimson-veined discoloration on the fingernails, necks, and around the edges of their faces, they could pass as elves, and spoke both tradespeak and high elven fluently. Clearly, these sword singers were rather high ranked among the scattered tribe within Lindequalmë, and after a quiet discussion out of earshot, they began leading their captives further into the ruins of the city. Jensen looked harshly at Osher, who was pitiful and dejected in his muzzle.

“What happened to barking in case of danger?” The immortal muttered, frowning. Osher whimpered and tucked his tail between his legs.

“Well, it is not like you would have heard it anyway; the sounds coming from that... thing, were horrific!” Erissa shuddered, glancing at Jensen's torn jacket and the blood that oozed from beneath it. A slight movement of her bound hands began the process of healing and staunched the flow of blood; a cracked rib was mended below Jensen's bruised flesh. It was all she could manage while still keeping a sufficient reserve of strength. The immortal gave her a knowing glare, and she shrugged. “You are the one whose strength matters most right now.”

“Silence!” The sword singer shoved her wounded shoulder, causing her to stumble forward as she cried out in pain. Jensen growled angrily, promising revenge in the glare he gave the corrupted elf over his shoulder. The other sword singer simply laughed as he twirled Jensen's surrendered weapon, testing the heft and balance of it. “Nice blade,” the corrupted elf observed, words thick-tongued yet very clear. “It will make a fine gift for the captain.”

“Yeah, we'll see about that, you fucking imbred, bush humping fairy,” Jensen spat at the elf, who sprang forward, butting the back of the immortal's head with the hilt of his own weapon. The elf escorting Erissa dug the dagger deeper into her back, drawing a bead of blood, a dare in his eyes for Jensen to retaliate. Erissa's protector gave a defeated sigh and drooped his shoulders, rubbing the back of his head in frustration.

It was not the mythical Opassa they traversed; instead, it was, for some reason, the name bestowed upon the ancient city by the natives. Perhaps the crumbling walls did resemble the labyrinth of story. It was only a matter of wild guessing to determine the age of the ruins, but even in the time-weathered stone Erissa saw evidence of elven design. The entire city was overgrown with the wild, poisonous flora and fauna of the Red Forest, yet the flagstone that had been laid generations ago prevented the bulk of it from overtaking the city completely.

The party trudged forward and had as of yet hardly breached the outside of the ruins; the city was built upon a raised area in the forest, the apex as the center from which all expanded, and even half of it was as sprawling as New Aurient. Few of the cursed trees set root at the higher altitudes; whether they could not or would not would remain a mystery to the Ixian Knights. When the leading corrupted elves approached a town square in what would seem to be fortified as a military district, they hung a sharp right on a wide thoroughfare, and then another; Jensen and Erissa were led down a series of stairs to an underground bunker, lined with cut stone, whose passages were long, narrow and winding. While Erissa was rather lost, Jensen knew the passages were leading to the heart of the city, a difficult to assault, easy to become lost, bunker within the enormous, gently sloping hill that supported the city. It was easily an hour before the network of labyrinth-like passages opened into functional rooms.

Erissa caught snatches of elven and common speech as they passed through the populated rooms, just as Jensen had said earlier; while it was difficult to understand, the shorter phrases she could work out on her own. It was enough for her to know this was no village in hiding; this was a war-camp under siege, one that had long endured through great adversity, the obviousness of it apparent even to a novice such as the young arcanist. Doubtless Jensen had already surmised as much and would have done so even without understanding the language spoken. She passed a quick glance to him, which he did not return; Osher looked up at her with frightened, questioning eyes. Erissa chanced a quick word and reassuring scratch behind his ear; their escorts did not interfere, feeling secure within their own stronghold.

Eventually, the party made their way to the more grand areas of the bunker, those fit for generals and commanders; lofty ceilings soared, decorated with what was the source of the echo of pride Jensen and Erissa witnessed in their subterranean voyage, and even with what they had encountered earlier in the forest with the small group that had fallen like cut reeds before them. Upon their arrival at what would seem to be the final corridor, the escorts peeled away, gesturing for the Knights to move forward into the room; they complied and stood before a congregation of ancient elves whose red aura permeated the room.

A single guard bearing the Zodiac weapon stepped forward, eyes diverted to the ground, and presented it to a painted elf who stood to the side of the wide table upon a dais of stone. He recoiled at its touch.

“<This blade,>” he whispered in high elven speech, “<is destined for great things. It is a thing meant only momentarily for our benefit, and to take it means death.>” The imposing elf at the center of the table studied his high priest carefully.

“Shall you wield it?” A counselor leaned in closely to their leader. “Perhaps with this you can defeat the-” he began.

“Silence!” The leader commanded, and the room came to full attention.

“Return the blade,” the imposing elf commanded, and without hesitation, the guard did as instructed. “Return all the intruders' belongings. Remove their bindings,” he continued, his voice booming throughout the room. Several exchanged confused glances, yet Jensen's and Erissa's bindings were cut, their satchels and weapons returned to them. The guard angrily eyed the young arcanist's new dagger but said nothing. Osher leaped happily as his muzzle was removed. Erissa almost felt the slicing of the guards' blades through her flesh as she imagined Jensen whirling out of control, and with no regard to her, as he unbound the fury that was no doubt building to a peak. He had every weapon in his arsenal at his disposal. She had healed the worst of his wounds; he was fully functional, not to mention his immortality, and he was among a gathering of wholly corrupted elves. And certainly, he would arise from the ashes of whatever inferno ensued, like a phoenix of legend. She, on the other hand, would rot with his enemies.

I do not think I have a chance, she thought, looking at Osher. Perhaps he may save you. Yet, as the minutes ticked away and the whispered discussion of the corrupted elves continued, Jensen stayed his hand. Erissa's gaze strayed to him, and she finally understood. The immortal's jaw was set like well-tempered steel, his fingers clenched around his weapon. His quick glance to her and Osher reassured her that Jensen would not allow them, under any circumstance he could affect, to be hurt. Maybe he hates me; rather, I know he does, but he still makes a distinction between... and she wondered. Erissa did not know for sure, but she felt truly safe, for the first time, in his presence, regardless of the fact they were surrounded by legions of corrupted beings amid the Red Forest.

A silence filled the room, the only sounds breathing, shuffling feet, and the whisper of leather armor. The tension of the council spread forth into the room, and it was palpable. The imposing leader studied the intruders of his forest carefully. He reached before him where a bowl filled with dried fruit rested innocently; he plucked one of the fruits and breathed deeply the sickly-sweet, rotting scent of it as one might enjoy the scent of a fine wine.

“My name is Firwen,” he began, “and I remember this forest before it was cursed by our goddess, Pode.” Erissa stiffened and Jensen remained entirely unreadable. “Yes, we believed her to be a goddess, ushering in a paradise for her faithful. However, as you see, we were very wrong to help her. Now, we ask for your help in our quest to correct that horrible mistake, to take back and restore Belegwain i Beleg.” The high elf noted Firwen's use of the forest's original name, harking back to the days when it truly was 'the Greatest of the Great.'

“Why do you need us? And why should we help you?” Jensen asked warily, wondering what more there was to the story.

“You help or you die,” the elf said with narrowed, red-tinged eyes. “That is the simple part to understand.” Jensen laughed softly at the threat and opened his mouth to speak, but as Erissa's hand found its way to his elbow, he simply sighed. “As for why we need you, it will be easier to show you. Rest now; tend your wounds. You will have to use your own means to do so; our remedies are made from the plants of the forest, and would be poisonous and possibly lethal to you.” Firwen motioned for the guards to escort them from the room; Osher stayed close between Jensen and Erissa. Again they ventured into the labyrinth cut into the heart of the mountain, and they walked in silence. The Knights were guided to a room that boasted a table with chairs, a hay-stuffed mattress, and a fireplace, an engineering wonder as it was somehow vented in the open air far above the underground fortress.

“You... stay. Here, rest. Eat own food,” the guard instructed in his best rendering of the common tongue. Jensen and Erissa complied, Osher in tow, and tossed their satchels in the corner. Erissa went immediately to Osher and began work on his hind leg; in several moments the flesh was returned to its normal color, although it would be quite some time before the hair would grow back. The dog tested it gingerly and found that it would bear his weight again.

“Your turn,” she said, facing Jensen. As he began to protest, the demure high elf cut in quickly. “And do not argue. I will not tolerate your pig-headedness right now. Take off your jacket and shirt, and kindly withhold the comments about how much I want you, because that is only slightly less ridiculous than your unfounded hatred of me.” Her hands were planted firmly on her hips, booted toe tapping, jaw set and eyes glinting. He made a rasp at her before removing his jacket, then took his customary pause that caused Erissa to wonder as he thumbed the stitching inside. A few curse words slipped from his lips as he saw the new tear in the leather, a parting gift from the Blood Root. He sighed and set it aside.

“It's not so bad,” Jensen said as he stripped off his shirt and looked at the wound on his side. Erissa began to work, her skill beginning to improve considerably; the flesh was mended and again became whole. Sweat dripped from her brow.

“And now for me,” she said, tired but not yet spent. Her natural enhanced healing had caused the cleanly cut wound to close already, and within a few moments, her shoulder was perfectly intact. The arcanist flopped down on the mattress, exhausted but whole. “Jensen, please, get me some food and water, and we can call it even.”

“What, you think I owe you, fairy fucker?” He asked, smirking at her as she lay with an arm over her eyes. A few moments later a cloth filled with a small amount of bread and dried meat landed squarely on Erissa's face. She laughed softly as she sat up, and savored the meager rations as she studied closely the cloth tapestries that hung on the walls. At the center of the ancient, finely-woven work was a great tree, shining and bearing beautiful fruit.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

“Well, looks like we’re dug in for the night. We should relax and just enjoy the fact we have a bed to sleep on.” Jensen said taking a bite of his meat and looking to Osher, who nibbled on his own meager portion. The immortal’s stomach growled loudly, and he felt the squeezing as his muscles fought for the little nourishment he provided. To ease his hunger he took the water flask and drank a bit, refreshing himself in the coolness. The Elf ate quietly as she looked to the tapestry, getting lost in the elegant artwork upon the walls. With a pat on his legs to clean his hands, the immortal got ready for bed, feeling the aches of his battle with the Blood Root take an earnest toll on his body as he felt his muscles twinge.

Erissa’s eyes went wide and she rolled to her side as Jensen jumped in the bed; he kicked his boots off and relaxed his hands behind his head. She gave him a confused and mildly irritated look as Jensen shrugged.

“What, you know you want to sleep with me so badly,” Jensen teased.

“I am beginning to think it is the other way around. You are the one who keeps bringing it up,” Erissa said, an eyebrow raised. Before she could speak again he tilted his head into his chest, yawned loudly, and shut his eyes. “Yep. That's it. Because I am the fairy fucker now, right? Please... what I got waiting at home for me is more than enough. Besides, anything is better than you giving me a long winded rant. You can go for hours you know?”

“You are as always, incorrigible,” the elf smirked as she teased him, but smiled none the less. Erissa looked up at the candles that lit the room, and with a sigh she prepared to use her telekinetic powers. Yet before she could Jensen put a hand on her chest, pushing her back. He rose up to a seated position, focused his energy, and with a bit of a yelp he shoved his hands forwards.

The room suddenly exploded with wind, a gentle, but powerful, breeze that blew out all but a few candles furthest away from the bed. He let out a shuddering breath and collapsed onto his back. He turned, and in the candlelight he could easily make out Erissa’s eyes. He looked to them, getting a bit lost before he shook his head.

“Well, it seems you have multiple uses,” Erissa laughed, stifling a yawn; she was still recovering from healing all three of them. “No doubt another trick you learned from your training in the Knights of Apocalypse. But I must say, your training in the Labyrinth of Pestilence will be particularly helpful if things take a turn for the worst.” She leaned back and got comfortable, softly closing her eyes. However, the immortal continued to stare at her as a nagging thought struck his mind.

“The Labyrinth of Pestilence?” Jensen asked with a small hint of curiosity; he did not recall mentioning it to her.

“Yes, where you trained to navigate confusing hallways like this place. You mentioned it to me when they brought us in. That is why I did not bother you, to let you study the terrain.”

The immortal looked to her, thinking back to the start of the journey when he talked to Troyas; he smiled lightly. Jensen shrugged again, his usual response when he did not know what to say and pushed the Elf away. The woman gave him a playful slap and he laughed. The two gave each other one last look, before Erissa nestled herself onto her side, facing Jensen. She shivered a bit, even under her heavy cloak; the belly of the mountain was cold. “Do not think that just because we share a bed that you can-“

“Shut up bush humper,” Jensen yawned as he lifted himself up again, turning a bit as he shifted his jacket off. The Elf watched as he thumbed the names inside, his eyes growing a bit softer, before he wrapped the jacket into a ball and tossed it at the woman’s face. She flinched, looking down to it. “Get some sleep. This may be our only chance to rest easy.” Erissa looked to him and nodded, taking his jacket and gently placing it over her elegant frame, feeling warmth from it that she never would have expected. Her eyes grew heavier and Jensen felt the lack of sleep at long last catch up to him; in moments the two fell into a peaceful slumber.

~*~*~*~

The next morning the immortal awoke with a start; several corrupted elves barged in the room and moved forwards silently, swords in hand. Jensen tried to lift himself, but he found two obstacles that prevented this from happening. One was Osher, whose head was resting on one side of his body, and the other was Erissa, who had, in the middle of the cold night, managed to maneuver herself so one arm draped across his chest; she nuzzled snugly into the crook of his arm. Annoyed that he had become a human pillow and was rudely awoken, he made ready to speak when the captain from the congregation of the previous day entered.

“<Wake them,>” The Captain muttered in his crude language. Jensen shoved Osher aside and the dog awoke, growling to see so many surrounding them, and his hair on his back began to rise. Erissa blinked repeatedly and noticed the room was filled; she quickly drew herself up next to the immortal as the trio looked to the man in charge. He gave a dark look to Jensen before he spoke in perfect common.

“Come! We must make haste. Battle must be joined!” He motioned to Jensen, and Erissa quickly rolled away from him, his jacket dropping in the process. With ease Jensen grabbed it, standing as he twirled it on in one fluid motion. He put his boots on, grabbed and placed his zodiac weapon, and looked to the Captain. He gestured for them to move, and the immortal growled to him. There was a high tension in the air, but Erissa stepped forwards, looking to her protector. Her words were never spoken, but he could hear the silent plea for him to cooperate. The knight stepped onwards and walked down the hall where a second entourage of Sword Singers was gathered; in all, he counted enough sword singers to make a large battle group. It seemed the Captain was not lying when he said battle would be joined.

They traveled the halls in silence as their boots shuffled in the tunnels; Jensen could feel the heartbeats of everyone around him, the tension thick. They turned a few corridors, and Erissa’s ears twitched; she seemed both relieved and concerned. She looked to him and nodded, and Jensen looked back to the warriors around him. They all seemed tense, and many cleared their throats. Some began to hum in a low rhythm. The fact a grating screech erupted in the air did nothing to calm anyone's nerves, but Jensen instead let out a low rumbling chuckle.

“We have been warring with the gatherers for a while now,” The Captain explained. “The Goddess’ curse does not affect their flesh. The corruption of the forest is unable to break them.” Jensen gave him a sideways glance. “Many of my bravest men have died in battle by these sentinals of the dark land. We will strike at the Gate’s of Opassa. There we will make our move.”

“Heh, you sure your men aren’t dying because you’re weak leaf licking bush humpers?” Jensen spat. The Captain of the force merely shook his head, smiling in a challenging manner as he looked in a sideways glance back to the immortal.

“By all means, if you think we are weak leaf lickers,” He spat. “Then go and witness the Gates of Opassa yourself.” Jensen gave him a cruel smile, before he narrowed his eyes and headed forwards up the ramp into the cave mouth. There was a darkness of early morning fog, but whether it was truly fog or just the corruption of the Red Forest, Jensen did not know, nor really care. He looked through the morning fog and managed to make out the terrain with a quick glance.

There was a clearing, a small circular area that looked like it was drenched in the blood of many, at the base of the hill he stood upon. Dead leaves, vines, and other manner of forest and elven life were all littered as harsh reminders of the guardians to the gate. The immortal noticed that the walls themselves were assailed, it seemed, by the forest, the thick corrupting moss and poisonous and deadly plants blooming in an attempt to corrode them. What good it did was minimal in Jensen’s eyes, and he was confused to see there was a very visible and clear line where the corruption seemed to be at bay. There was a large opening, probably where a great gate once stood, that was sunken into the walls with a portrait-like overhang that depicted many trees bearing fruit, picked by hands of figures resembling men. The trees looked like nymphs of legend, and the immortal narrowed his eyes. He began to understand why the war was being raged. Under the tunnels where the light, and more importantly, the winds of magic were less prevalent, was the elven host. In the clearing was the corruption of the Red Forest’s cruel mistress. This meant a third, unknown enemy lurked within those walls; someone who did not tolerate the corruption of the Forest, or the antics of the elves.

He waited as the other Sword Singers stepped forwards cautiously, a battle song on their lips that they sang in tune in a low key. Jensen looked back to his charge, and he shook his head. “Keep Osher with you, and stay back.” Erissa at first made ready to protest, but before she could, a screech erupted from their left and a sword singer was obliterated in an instant. Jensen’s eyes went wide to find stone statues easily ten or so feet tall; the aggressor among them pulled the impaled elf towards his granite fist. The guardian removed the lithe Sword Singer with ease, like one would remove a sausage from a stick. It had no facial feature but two golden sunken pits for eyes that glowed with eldritch power that was far more arcane than anything Jensen had witnessed before.

The Sword Signers began to move now in a flurry of motion as several stone warriors began to crawl out from the forest. A screech erupted from the plant life, a large tentacle lifting up and wrapping around one of the guardians, preventing it from marching forward. Several Sword Singers chanted in a high pitch and between them a stream of crimson energy dancing between each sword as they moved like pack hunters. When the string of light moved to the stone warrior, it was like a knife through warm butter, easily sliding through and felling the giant. Before they could celebrate, another stone warrior lifted his palm up, rocky fingers splayed open as the glow in its eyes narrowed. Several rocks of varying sizes from pebbles to fist size lifted from the dirt, then shot forwards like a rapid fire bolt thrower; several of the elves were hit in a volley that saw three of their number dead in mere moments. As they retreated, the Sword Singers were flanked by one of the vines, a member of their number plucked like a candy at the bottom of the bag; his screams were quickly silenced within the forest. Several of the Red Forest’s shape-shifting wolves rushed forwards, their teeth gnashing as the elves turned gracefully, weapons rising in glittering arcs and taking lives with each verse of their song.

“Heh, this looks like fun!” Jensen chuckled as he moved forwards, his body moving in a lucid, flowing fashion. Two sword singers joined him, their corrupted song sparking energy along their blades as they set to net one of the stone guardians that was attacking the forest vines. When he saw them coming he took a long spear, made of obsidian and drenched in the gore of fallen foes, easily swinging it in a horizontal arc. Jensen rotated his body to bend under the passing blade, whopping in joy as he corkscrewed to throw a knife at the giant’s eyes. The small blade rattled within the giant’s socket, but what Jensen had suspected became real as the guardian paid the intrusion no mind. The two elves flanking him had both been cut in twain easily as the spear came back, the giant pulling back and bringing a large circular granite shield forwards as he kept the enigmatic knight at bay.

“Jensen!” Erissa cried in alarm, and the immortal turned to see another soldier of stone come at him from the side, a greatsword in hand, in a pincer attack - an actual battle tactic. These were not mere automatons, which gave a thrill of terror to Jensen’s spine; he laughed merrily, his body moving in a flow not unlike a unique dance step. He never stopped moving; even when stationary, his feet kept moving back and forth as he remained limber, sizing his foes up. The spear-wielding guardian moved with his shield covering most of his body; the great sword-holding foe continued his attempt to keep Jensen in his sights.

Jensen thought of how he would take down these behemoths, eyes darting back and forth until they settled on Erissa, who looked to him with concern. He grinned to her and moved his body, a waltz-like step that kept him always in motion as even his hands fluidly glided side to side. He pirouetted by the rocks, some boulders masking him as the stone sentinels moved to keep their eyes locked him. One kicked an overturned tree out of the way and towards Jensen, boxing his progress so he had to make a retreat. The dervish of a man executed a roll in order to avoid being pressed against the rocks, but in doing so he moved into the clearing, in which he had little room to hide.

“I may need you after all, tailor!” Jensen called. “Help me knock some sense into them!” Erissa gave him a confused stare as Jensen dodged a strike from the spear, rolling and coming up in a flip before rolling onto his back again, finally nipping up as the sword tried to cleave him. Both statues moved opposite the other, their weapons now moving in harmony as they tried to strike the agile immortal. He kept them going, looking for a free opening where he could exact his plan, but he was sorely peeved, finding no satisfactory opportunity. He now knew why the sword singers had been hard pressed to accomplish anything.

A loud war-cry filled the air as the Captain ran forwards, several of his men with him, all on the same tune of the battle hymn. The sword-holding bastard guardian took his blade and did a backhanded swing, felling several of the graceful Sword Singers, leaving Jensen just the spearman. Annoyed to have lost his control on the stone warrior, he decided to let his erstwhile allies die for him. He still had little clue if what he was doing was actually going to end them up in more trouble when all was said and done with his captors. Still, he had something to address, and that was the foe before him. He took great pains to look at his surroundings, and with an idea forming, he looked back to Erissa, who always was on the outset of the fighting, keeping away just as he instructed.

Another cry filled the air as rocks flew in rapid succession into the Captain’s unit, breaking the harmony of their song as several of their number became gruesome casualties. The statue that was engaged with them retreated, and Jensen had his moment. With a shriek of laughter he jumped on the spear tip, crouching like a cat, as the guardian narrowed its focus on him. “ERISSA, NOW!”

In tandem with all the events, Erissa lifted her arms and steadied herself; she pushed her hands as far out as they went. The High Elf narrowed her eyes upon the greatsword-wielding statue, and Jensen nodded as the warrior he fought with pulled the spear back in a jerk. Jensen flipped off it like the ledge of a cliff, landing in a crouch as he opened his hands wide and brought them up along with a gale of wind that pushed upwards in a mighty tornado. Dirt, pebbles, and most importantly, the spear all drifted upwards…

…just in time for Erissa to finalize her kinetic energy. She shoved her target forcefully backwards, and with a scream, the statue’s golden eyes died out as the spear impaled it through his chest. Jensen laughed with mighty force as the statue holding the spear was dragged down by the weight of his fallen comrade.

“<NOW!>” The Captain of the corrupted singers shrieked, and as one the five remaining soldiers danced forwards, the energy ribbon passing along their blades as they advanced. Even with the shield they easily outmaneuvered the stone warrior, cutting him to size as the energy pulsed from the words of their song. As the harmony hit a crescendo the energy spiked upwards and rippled until the energy within the beast collided, exploding outwards in a shower of rocks and dust.

Jensen and the remaining singers all moved in tandem, each in a step of the other as they continued forwards through the shroud of destruction. They all leaped upon the boulders, sliding down them with ease in the dust cloud, as they vaulted over the forest’s dead plant life. Several rocks flew into their numbers, but with the fog of war they were well hidden enough to avoid taking grieving wounds. With a sinister chuckle, Jensen moved out of the cloud of dirt, hands covering his face as he landed in a slide. The construct ponderously retreated as they advanced, but before it had a moment to bring up a battle plan the Red Forest came alive once more as the tentacles of the blood vines lashed upwards like whips, wrapping around the stone warrior’s arms and legs. Another Blood Root shrieked nearby as it tugged at the statue, bringing it towards its ugly maw, and without the support of the guardian's stone allies, it had little chance.

“Come,” The Captain shouted, “while the forest does not look to us for its next meal!” The elves all retreated as one, leaping upon the boulders again as they dashed for the Gate of Opassa. Jensen giggled with delight at the carnage, his heart pumping furiously as the combat high made him laugh hysterically as he turned slowly away, running with the others. He looked to see Erissa slide down a hill with Osher as he rushed to keep up with her, a small guard of three elves covering her.

They all could feel the pulse of the Red Forest beat as it came alive, and whatever was hiding in the so-called land of Opassa seemed to awaken as well. Whatever was happening behind the scenes of the battle, Jensen could feel the winds of change blowing upon his cheek, and he relished in the uncertainty of the chaos as they moved deeper inwards.

[Sagequeen]

“<Light the torches,>” muttered Firwen, Captain of the elves, and a cache of sturdy liviol was revealed; the Knights' eyes went wide at the sight of the precious wood. The clubs were wrapped at the ends with cloth soaked in a black substance that neither Jensen nor Erissa could identify; as an elf passed them to his comrades, at his word, each sparked and caught with a dancing purple flame. Seeing the captives' questioning eyes, the Captain smirked harshly.

“This is not the first time we have advanced through the Gates,” he said, and shoved two torches at his captives. “That battle is child's play compared to what awaits us in the gardens, and the routes there are overgrown with ruilserk, the blood vine. It fears the fire.”

“What awaits us?” Erissa questioned him suspiciously, kneeling near her companions. “It seems very obvious your sword singers are capable warriors.”

“An evil we helped create and cannot destroy. I will say no more; you will see for yourself soon enough,” he said sharply, before turning to his subordinates. “<Stay close, torches outward, move swiftly. The gardens are north of us on the slope of the city, and we will take the outer path.>” Firwen led the company of elves; first among them to brave the vine-choked path. Jensen muttered angrily at the Captain’s unwillingness to divulge more information, but the thrill of battle was apparent in his eyes and in the tension and deadly grace of his movements; the immortal nodded to Erissa and flashed his trademark smirk, colored on its edges with a frightening madness that set her aback. She lost sight of him as he blazed ahead; the high elf was jostled among her corrupted namesakes as they began their advance, and shoved to the center of the group for her own safety.

As the path they jogged narrowed, Erissa cringed as she heard a terrible hiss; the elephantine blood vines shuddered and quaked, writhing with the desire to feed on the intruders, yet kept at bay by the shield of torch fire. The legion of corrupted elves squeezed together to accommodate the thinning path, until they were but three abreast, none daring to edge too closely to the menacing red vegetation on either side. The group raced through the overgrown parts of the garden beyond the Gates of Opassa, following a long and winding footpath that was, at one time, a wonder to experience in careful, walking meditation. The time-worn sculptures bore none of the intricate beauty of detail they once did, and now served only as crumbled markers, testifying to the passage of time as the travelers blew past them in rapid succession.

The high elf looked ahead for her fellow Ixian, but could see no evidence of him. Her ears, however, soon caught a familiar chuckle that brayed boorishly over the near-silent advance of an entire company of wood-wise elves. Two tall ruins soared above the scrub and small, stunted trees; they were the remains of a great arch, another gateway that shone in a sun that only existed outside the shade of the Red Forest. The company of corrupt elves filed to the immediate left behind one of the arch supports; a wide, paved circle lay before them. At it center was a great fountain, rife with the corruption that all around it was kept at bay by a mysterious opposing magic, and at each of the cardinal directions was placed a statue reminiscent of the stone monstrosities that lay defeated at the mouth of the first gate. Erissa tensed for an assault, but Jensen's chuckle was not made in battle-lust.

“If I didn't know better, I'd say there was a demi-goddess in that tree,” Jensen said, having shoved between several elves to get to Erissa. She blinked at him with confusion; she had been unable to see beyond her tall and broad captors. The immortal registered the questioning look on the high elf's face; he grabbed her arm and pulled her ungently through the sword singers, until she finally could see the great red tree that grew from the fountain. “But that's all bullshit, right? Probably just another one of Pea Pod's fucking asshole creations, hell-bent on killing us.”

“Oh!” Erissa cried out when she finally saw the great crimson tree. It was easily as tall as any they had encountered in the forest, but the base of it was exceedingly thick, untwisting like a worn rope and bleeding red, mist-laden light. A great bulge on its side begged to give birth to some great evil, the translucent bark crystalline and rune etched. But it was not the tree itself that caused Erissa to blurt out the single-syllable reaction; it was the fruit that hung from the branches. Her jaw hung agape as she looked at her companion; Jensen nodded, for even he could smell the sickly-sweet, rotting smell, the very same scent that had pervaded the room in which they first met the Captain of the corrupted elves. The knights looked upon the source of the odd, dried fruit they had seen the day before.

“What is this?” Jensen demanded of the Firwen, his brow furrowed and hand resting on the hilt of his zodiac weapon. The Captain sighed sadly.

“This was to be the Tree of Life, the centerpiece of our ancient society and an answer to the condition of mortality. Instead, it is the tree of living death, one of the many sources of corruption in the forest,” he said, red-tinged eyes both coveting and hating the tree in the center of the wide, flat area surrounding it. A cry pierced the air from the midst of the elves; one of their number leaped forward, swords clanging to the ground and arms outstretched. None made a move to stop him as his feet slapped against the paved ground, closing the distance between himself and the tree. “And so another is claimed.” The Captain shook his head sadly, and Erissa watched as the elf was smashed to the ground by two of the four stone guardians who suddenly sprang to life on his approach. The guardians took the pieces of the corpse and tossed them into the putrid water at the tree's base.

“You could not destroy it if you wanted to, even if you could defeat the guardians,” Erissa said slowly.

“This is correct, though not for the reasons you assume. There are those among us who would destroy the tree, those with the strength of will over the corruption that infects us; however, our weapons and magic are useless against it,” the Captain said. The young arcanist looked at the tree thoughtfully, gaging both Firwen's response and her own surprise at herself; she was becoming quickly calloused to the horrors of the forest. The elf's tragic death was simply a matter of fact, and while she felt regret, a fair amount of Erissa's heart was steeled to the emotion attached to it.

“Aaah. And so the leaf licker finally spits out the truth,” Jensen said venomously. “Or is it? See, I think you want the fruit. And since you fairy fuckers can't control yourself around it, or can't defeat those stone assholes, you'll use us to get it, then kill us.”

“Soooo smart, aren't you? If I wanted you dead, human, you would be,” Firwen said, hatred bleeding forth. Jensen laughed with humorless abandon.

“Don't be so sure, bush humper,” he seethed, a strange mixture of mirth and rage. The fact that the Captain did not include Erissa's life in the threat did not escape the immortal's notice. “And another thing: you or any of your fucked-up friends lay a finger on her or the dog, I will make every last one of you faggot fairies in this shit-hole forest pay.”

Erissa almost felt flattered... almost.

Firwen's eyes darted again to Erissa, then to his company of defiled elves and hung his head.

“I would almost welcome it,” the Captain said finally, “but we must at least attempt to right this wrong. No, human, we do not want the fruit; we want it destroyed, so that we may begin to lessen the control Pode's curse claims over us. Surely you can understand; you do not seem like a man who will readily allow others to control him.” The sound of grating rock interrupted Firwen's speech; Jensen's weapons were drawn and at the ready in less time it took for Erissa to register the source of the sound. As her head jerked around, she witnessed a fruit fall into the waiting hand of one of the guardians; a compartment in the chest of the stone behemoth opened, and the fruit was promptly placed inside with the many others resting there.

“They collect the fruit,” she said softly, “but why?” And what would happen if they did not? She wondered to herself. “Does the Red Witch take the fruit for herself?”

“In the beginning, she did. We collected it for her and were allowed some for ourselves. However, when the other came, we quickly learned Pode was not the goddess she claimed to be. He obliterated her and fettered her fate to that of her forest; she cannot leave it,” Firwen began.

“Who is this other,” Jensen asked, a spark of thought behind his eyes.

“We do not know his name; it was never spoken,” the Captain replied flatly. “But his power is great, a master of shadow and deception.” Jensen and Erissa looked at each other quickly before speaking.

“Where is he,” they said in unison. Firwen was taken aback by the sudden interest, and eyed the Knights suspiciously.

“Look,” Jensen said, “Pode is your problem-”

“We will help,” Erissa cut in quickly. Jensen frowned at her, but she continued. “In return, give us the fruit.” The immortal's eyes lit up with understanding, and the Captian's with outright anger.

“Unless, of course, you want the wrath of Pode's master on you. If we kill the tree and take the fruit, we're the ones he'll come after. You can say you tried to stop us,” Jensen said.

“The point of this is to destroy the fruit, so no others will fall to Pode's curse!” Firwen whispered harshly.

“The fruit will be destroyed. There is no way the leader of our order would allow it to exist, except to draw out the one for whom we are searching. He is a greater evil to the world than Pode,” Erissa said soothingly.

“And if you can't destroy the tree,” Jensen sneered. “what makes you think you can destroy the fruit?”

“Or keep yourselves from consuming it once it is in your hands again?” Erissa chimed in, a genuine look of concern on her face. Several moments of uncomfortable silence passed, the elves passing glances and shifting nervously.

“If you succeed, and I do mean if, you will take all the fruit from here, drawing the ire of this so-called master away from us. You," he said, pointing at Jensen, "you must give your word that you will destroy the fruit, no matter the outcome." He glared darkly at the immortal.

"Yeah, okay, leaf licker."

"And do not think you are strong enough to eat it, either," the Captain said, leveling his gaze. "You may be strong-willed and powerful, but you are not above Pode's curse."

"Uh-huh," Jensen said. "Bet it tastes like shit anyways, which explains why you stinking fairies ate it in the first place." Erissa rolled her eyes at him, and he shrugged and grinned. “So those guardians... why aren't they attacking us? We're in plain sight.”

“They do not leave the tree. The first and last time we attempted to destroy it, we were unable draw them away, but we quickly learned it did not matter. Aside from our futile efforts to attack the tree, we were forced to retreat because of the accursed song. Many of our number were lost that day to the voice of Pode, and many will also be lost today. Perhaps it will not have the same effect on you; you are not infected by the curse.”

“Could you not counter it?” Erissa asked, laying a hand on Osher's head to calm him. The dog shivered and his hackles were raised.

“No,” Firwen replied. “No matter how we tried, we only sang in harmony with it, our words matching those of the song, strengthening the magic of it against ourselves. And there is one other thing.”

“Of course there is,” Jensen huffed angrily. “There always is.” Firwen gave him a brooding look.

“If any of our number turn on us when the song begins, do not hesitate to kill them,” the Captain said. “For they will not hesitate to kill you.” Jensen grinned devilishly.

“With pleasure,” the immortal growled, staring into the eyes of those around him; many dropped their gazes, and Jensen took careful note, for strength of will would be a deciding factor in the battle that would rage inside the corrupt elves. “So it's a head-on battle then, rush and overwhelm.” Firwen nodded. “Then what are we waiting for?” With a whoop and a chuckle, the immortal sprang forward through the ranks of the elves, charging the steadfast stone collectors. The elves looked to each other, surprised, before they followed the charge with their own harmonious collection of battle cries, swords drawn and wielded with great skill. Erissa jogged forward, Osher in tow, and stayed to the fringes of the battleground.

The great stone giants sprang to life, amazingly agile guardians who worked in perfect concert with one another; it seemed to her they shared a collective consciousness. Erissa strained to see among the mayhem, and she finally caught sight of Jensen, leaping high above the fray, propelled by a dexterous jump from the shoulder of one of the guardians. The guardian nearest her took a mighty swing with its mace through the ranks of elves; she cringed at their screams as they flew through the air, but she at least had the presence of mind to slow the fall of those closest to her. They were on their feet in an instant and rejoined the battle.

Jensen's fevered laughs came to a crescendo, and with a tumultuous grating of stone, one of the guardians fell to its knee, then crashed down to the ground. A victorious cry arose from several of the surrounding elves, but it was quickly silenced. The tree within the fountain began to pulse and glow, a rhythmic, visual display, and words manifested into being, a confused dialog, at the same time malevolent and inviting, and voicing a desperate warning to them. However, a song quickly usurped the audience.



Come little children,
Come dance for me
Dance little children,
beneath crimson eaves.
You lead I'll follow,
We'll whirl through the trees
Dance for me childen
Beneath blood red leaves.

Come little children,
Come play with me
Frolic dear children
Beneath crimson eaves,
You hide and I will seek
Among the trees
Play with me children
Beneath blood red leaves.

Come little children,
Come run with me
Flee from me children
Beneath crimson eaves,
You scream and I will laugh,
As we fly through the trees
Flee from me children
Beneath blood red leaves.

Come little children
Come die for me
Bleed for me children
Beneath crimson leaves
You breathe your last breath
Like a sigh in the trees,
Die for me children
Beneath blood red leaves.

Song of Corruption (http://www.looperman.com/tracks/detail/120952)

At least a quarter of the elves were driven to a frenzy and began to turn on their kin whose magic or blades came near the tree. As the song continued, more and more elves fell to its power, turning the tide of the battle in the guardians' favor. Erissa rushed toward the fountain, into the space left by the first felled guardian; she raised her voice in song to counter the effects of the song-magic emanating from the pulsing runes and fecund growth of the tree. Her song fell flat, however, when she saw what was veiled in the translucent crystal covering the growth.

“Tanus,” she whispered, arms falling to her sides as the memories of her childhood with her brother flashed before her eyes. It was her brother's face into which she stared, imprisoned within the bulge of the tree.

“Erissa,” he called, “beloved sister, please, leave this place! You will die or become corrupt yourself. Run away!” She stood, frozen in her shock; her brother was dead now for many years.

“Tanus... how is this; how can this be?” The young elf asked weakly as she began to drag her feet forward, oblivious to the fray that enveloped her.

“Erissa!” Her brother demanded. “Get away from here! Do not come closer!” The anger in his face caused Erissa to pause; it was an expression she could not remember ever seeing on his face.

“But, Tanus, I want to help you!” Erissa cried, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. A maddened elf sprang toward her, swords raised high and ready for a strike; he was cast down in a full body tackle. Whether it was Jensen or one of the elves still in control of his wits Erissa never saw; she saw nothing aside from the face of her dead brother.

Tanus...

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen’s laughter fell against the corrupted song of the elves like a trumpet blaring out of tune, his eyes filled with a battle lust as his Zodiac weapon harvested lives with each swing. What few sane elves remained of Firwen’s forces had rallied to him, trying their best to keep a hymn on their lips. When he noticed one of the lost elves rushing at Erissa, Jensen was grateful to see Osher’s form lift and tackle the elf, jaws clamping upon the twisted throat of the one who dared assault his master.

Jensen took stock of their numbers as Firwen's elves gathered. They had but a handful left, and more than double their number resided on the other side. Jensen felt the wind brush against his hair and nodded with a chuckle, ducking as a chunk of stonework flew through the air, landing in the midst of them. The immortal reminded himself that a few guardians still walked with them and were just as eager to spill blood as the other two parties.

Before he could form a plan, Jensen heard the tainted, twisted song pick up on the lips of the enemy, red energy rippling between blades to create a net that ran through each sword. Firwen let out a soft mutter of words, and Jensen chuckled as he let his weapon rest on his shoulders.

“Ya know that was cool when it was not being used against me…” Jensen giggled as he let the blade switch between scythe and sword, feeling the earth tremble as a guardian pounded nearby. Firwen gave a frustrated sigh, but with a serious look to the immortal he nodded, reluctantly.

“Our power comes from the songs of battle. Currently, the Red Witch’s song is prevailing. This presents a new challenge for sure. Well human, are you ready to die now?” Firwen asked. Jensen bent over and laughed harder, eyes filling with tears. At last the elf lost his composure as he grabbed Jensen by his collar and shouted to him. “All you can do is laugh now, fool? Laugh and wait for death?” Jensen wheezed with giggles before he shoved Firwen away, turning towards the lost Elves and charging.

“Fucking leaf lickers!” Jensen whooped. “Maybe I should explain!” And with renewed breath in his lungs the immortal screamed with hysterics, his blade turning back into a scythe as launched himself at the foe. “I could laugh ‘til I die!” Jensen’s maddened laughing reached a fevered pitch as he reached the first of the lost elves.

With a mighty two-handed swing he cleaved the head of the first one off, and using the wind as his ally Jensen pushed a gale around himself, keeping him spinning as he became a tiny dervish of spite and malice, the immortal's laughter echoing throughout the courtyard; the haunting song lost its edge for but a fraction of a moment. The elves moved on him, letting their energy pulse, and Jensen felt the humming of magic; his hair rose on end at the back of his skull. He flipped in a corkscrew, blade lashing out as he harvested yet another life, the scythe scraping the elf's throat open so a river of red flowed freely. When he landed he let his feet slide, ducking under the next arc of energy, and then coming up to his full height; Jensen took a throwing glaive and let it fly. One of the elves went down as the triangle-shaped weapon dug deep into the warrior’s eye. He twirled with laughter, eyes alight with the passion of destruction as he rolled backwards, the wind pushing him, The elves tried to pincer him between two energy ribbons like a pair of scissors; the energy collided and exploded, dirt and mud splashing as the popping sound broke the song once more.

Firwen charged forwards with his men, all of them screaming with hatred as they attacked their kin, and the melee became a tornado of activity as weapons clashed, steel ringing in the air; explosions from the red energy ribbons thundered like the booming of a drum to this symphony of carnage. The guardians made sure their presence was known as they marched in, their granite maces taking down a few scores of the elves from both sides. Jensen lured one towards a patch of the lost, letting the guardian be cut to size by the energy ribbons. When the guardian fell, Jensen and Firwen moved in tandem, quickly silencing the lost elves' swords with their own cold steel. The combat was furious and bloody, but eventually the guardians were obliterated, falling to pieces as the energy exploded inside them. The rocks shot out from the epicenter of the blast like tiny missiles, killing several of the elves. Even Jensen felt his arm go numb as a piece hit home and threw him for a loop as he fell.

When the dust settled all that remained was Jensen, Firwen, and three of his elves. Of the fruit the guardians had collected, there were but remains, several of them destroyed in the battle or outright annihilated in the explosion. The immortal stood, using his Zodiac weapon as a crutch, grinning as he coughed up giggles. The Captain shook his head in disbelief as he looked to the knight, and lifted his sword up as he headed towards the tree. The three elves looked to their leader, and with a nod they turned towards Jensen, marching at him. Narrowing his eyes, the Knight looked to see where Osher and Erissa were. He found the dog, limping badly, towards Erissa, barking menacingly at Firwen. Jensen looked to the woman, seeing a lost look in her eyes; he looked to Firwen, and saw him pull out a small, elegant dagger from its sheath in his leather armor.

With a burst of wind Jensen launched himself forwards, lifting his weapon as he put it back in sword mode; he fought through the deadened nerves in his arm to even wield it. The three elves picked up their pace to intercept him, their own weapons lifting for the impact. Jensen pulled out the last of his throwing glaives, the two weapons flying from his fingertips like an extension of his will; the steel hit one in the face and the other in the shoulder. Jensen let his sword push the third elf aside, rolling deftly to the side as he tripped the wounded elf in the knee with his blade. The elf screamed in pain and collapsed; his companion charged forwards with sharp, quick thrusts. Jensen had to roll to keep away, the enemy giving him no chance to stand as he chased after the Knight. When Jensen felt his back hit a slag of rock he bit his tongue and cursed in anger, a chuckle escaping his lips. He lifted his weapon; the elf shoved his blade hard in a horizontal swing to knock it away. With a grin Jensen moved to his feet, kneeling, and flipped upwards in a flash kick, catching the elf in the stomach. They both collapsed on the ground and the immortal quickly snaked his way to to the final elf's arm, grabbing it and wrapping his feet around the Sword Singer’s neck. With a twist he broke the elf's neck, released him, and kicked to his feet.

“Don’t you fucking touch her you leaf licking, bush humping, cousin fucking elf!” Jensen tossed his last throwing weapon, a dagger, and it landed in the man’s knee, impaling the Captain’s body and popping his kneecap. He fell with a grunt of pain and Jensen was upon him in a moment. The two scrapped as Firwen was a more accomplished fighter than Jensen thought, feeling his jaw numb as he was hit with a brutal palm strike. Dazed, the immortal fell back, and the accursed elf dug his dagger into Jensen’s already bruised arm. A cry of agony escaped Jensen’s lips.

“She has been lost!” Firwen shouted. “Her mind is no longer her own. We must kill her and destroy the tree!” The Captain took his dagger and began to half walk, half hobble towards Erissa. Jensen kicked his boot into the pommel of the dagger that stuck out of Firwen's leg. It tore through more muscles and tendons, and Firwen let out a painful wail so mighty it deafened the immortal for a moment. Tears rolled down his face as Jensen laughed, inching his way closer; he grabbed the elf’s waist. “You…shit!” Firwen was at a loss for words as Jensen continued laughing, crawling slowly ever forwards. His face was caked in blood and dirt, and his eyes flashed with a gripping madness. “Stay away from me!” Jensen lifted his punch dagger up and laughed, bringing it up so the sun left a shine on it. “Stop, stop, no!”

And with a flash of red the elf said no more. Jensen giggled as he rolled to his side, softly standing, before he looked to Erissa. He noticed the her lips were trembling, and her eyes were glued to the crystal like growth on the tree. Jensen lifted his punch dagger to the ready, letting his wounded arm hang limply. His boots crunched the dead leaves underneath him, kicking the gravel remains of the guardians away as he carefully peered at the tree.

With a clang, the weapon in his hand fell to the ground. His jaw dropped and he felt the names of his dead friends, lovingly stitched into his jacket, burn the flesh on his back; his eyes watered as he shook his head.

“No…”

“Jensen?” A timid, soft voice spoke as if it had not in years. The immortal felt weak-kneed as he stumbled forwards. “No! Turn around and flee! Leave this place!” There was a reflection in the crystal, a familiar specter that Jensen knew all too well. He looked to the hair, so long, black as a raven, and flowing with the breeze. Her sun kissed skin, her prominent facial features. No, there was no way it could be anyone else.

“Chanelle?” Jensen whispered. The burning on his back intensified as he stepped closer. Memories flooded in his head and he felt his heart beat rapidly just to see her face once again. Bloodied fingers lifted up to reach for her, to touch her face once more, and his eyes grew heavy.

“Yes, Jensen, it’s me!” She seemed both thrilled in her words, but also reluctant. Jensen looked to her, blinking his eyes and clearing them as he looked to the first woman he ever loved. The first woman who ever cared for him. She was the first friend he ever had. And then that cold night…

Jensen began to shiver again as he looked to her. The names on his back continued to burn and his face contorted in confusion.

“You died! I saw it with my own eyes! You were…” and though it had been so many years, Jensen still could not find the strength to say to her face the way she died.

“Jensen, you must leave me; leave this place! Go and run!” Her tone became a bit angrier as she spoke, and Jensen narrowed his eyes. He looked back to Erissa, and he began to read her lips, understanding little of what was being spoken, but the emotion he saw was clear. She was having the same mental anguish and heartache he was. Jensen turned back to the tree, feeling the name of his first love on his back where he stitched it. “Go, NOW!” She ordered.

“I’m sorry, Chanelle,” Jensen whispered. He moved forwards, and the woman began to screech now, shaking back and forth. He pulled the steel dagger out, gripping the hilt and feeling the pommel dig into his skin. Jensen looked to it before he ran forward.

“If you ever loved me, you won’t do this!” Chanelle shrieked in panic.

“It’s because I love you I have to do this,” Jensen whispered painfully as he looked one last time at the reflection of the desert native.

“Stop Jensen, you love me! I love you! Don’t do this!” But her words fell on deaf ears. Jensen closed the gap and lowered the weapon on her heart, taking it and dragging it down as he felt his tears flow, but roaring with anger as he ripped it out. Instead of blood flowing, however, there was only the sound of glass shattering; Jensen turned away from the reflection of his first ever love. Her speech ended and Jensen felt his mind tingle as the tree shook violently.

[Sagequeen]

The distraught high elf opened her mouth to scream, but no voice was carried upon the wheezing breath forced from her throat. She saw the blade Jensen wielded, and she dragged her feet forward as he pointed it at Tanus' chest; before she could stumble to the immortal, he plunged the dagger forward, into the living, beating heart of her dead brother.

As the crystal shattered, so too did the illusion; Erissa fell to her knees, released from her stupor. The tree seized repeatedly, tossing fruit and red leaves in the air; the bloated, corpse-like vintage exploded upon the dead and dying elves. As the tree finally became still, she watched in wonder as golden energy lanced upward into the sky; it gathered there a moment, then flashed downward, striking the high elf like a bolt of lightening. Erissa lay flat on her back for a few moments, against the cool flagstone, and Osher limped around her worriedly. Jensen dragged himself to her side, stumbling and trembling; he dropped to his knees and took her head in his bloody hands, ignoring all the pain. The elf stared with unseeing eyes at a point far beyond the hovering face of her companion.

“No... no, no, no, NO!” Jensen yelled, his voice echoing in its misery. “FUCK!” The immortal rocked back; he covered his face with his hands. “Not again!” Osher limped to him and licked his cheek and ear; the dog's ears perked as he gazed at his master, the kind-hearted elf-maiden whom he had defended tooth and claw against the onslaught of corrupt beings. The dog sniffed Erissa's hands, and began barking wildly as a gentle light illuminated her body. The immortal peeked between his fingers; his arms dropped slowly to his sides as he watched her body levitate before him, her leather clothing ruffling into a long, willowy robe; her hair became silken and golden as the sun. Undulating ripples of light wafted from just behind each shoulder, giving the impression of wings. The high elf opened her eyes, now as piercing blue as the sky on a clear, summer day.

“Jensen Ambrose,” she said, “I thank you. You have set me free.”

“Erissa?” The man asked weakly, dumbfounded.

“No,” the golden figure replied sweetly, her voice a heavenly symphony of bells and strings, “but she is still here.”

“Who are you?”

“I do not remember. I do not even know if I existed before I was a part of the tree.”

“So you say. You stink of foul magic. Why the hell did you attack my frien-er, the elf, Erissa?” Jensen demanded, not allowing her to finish.

“I, like the forest, fell to the corruption of the Red Witch. I remember when the accursed spell was cast, after she ripped me by my roots from my home and planted me here in this forest. Please, accept my apology, Jensen Ambrose. I was not in control of myself,” the spirit said sadly. “But please, listen to my words. There was a man who spoke with me often, and at one time I counted him a friend and ally against the Red Witch, who only used my fruit to fuel the corruption of the forest. She had mused often to me of how she would spread it across Althanas with my help. However, I learned quickly that the man was no better than the Red Witch was. His words were very fair, but his actions were not. He wanted my fruit for himself.”

“Who is he?” Jensen demanded, remembering the words of Firwen. Erissa's face smiled at Jensen again, and with a slight gesture of her arm, all the pieces of fruit were gathered from the scene of battle and from the dead tree.

“I do not know his name, but you have guessed correctly; this fruit is precious to him. He spoke of a great power he would gain from it, once he had enough. I heard him argue with the Red Witch about this, and a battle between them followed. From that time, the Red Witch only whispered to me, never visiting me again in her physical form, and I never sensed her presence beyond the boundaries of the forest, which itself no longer increased. The man set the stone guardians around me, collecting my fruit for his subversive purposes.” Jensen's eyes went wide as the lode of fruit spun in the air, the essence drained from each until perfectly dry hulls fell to the ground with tiny thuds and taps upon the bodies and flagstones. The amorphous essence pressed in on itself, crystallizing as it shrank, until finally it was nothing more than a smooth, glittering sphere the size of a man's fist.

Jensen's hand went to his weapon as he heard the grating of stone, but he quickly realized it was the golden figure causing it; the enchanted compartment from one of the ruined guardians hung in the air, and with some effort from the spirit, it was reshaped; the two halves of it enveloped the crimson sphere and sealed completely. She spoke again as the sphere came to rest gently in Jensen's waiting hands.

“That which the he desires is contained safely within the stone. The man of shadows must be stopped,” she said, a look of urgency on the face Jensen had come to know so well on his journey with Erissa.

“Well, we gotta make it out of this forest alive first,” Jensen muttered as he scratched the back of his head.

“Worry not. The stone guardians who collected the fruit also brought it to the man of shadows, and did so without passing through the forest. The secret lies within the labyrinth beneath the city. It is vast, but among the winding passages is one that leads out, to the north of the forest.

“Jensen Ambrose, you have done well to protect this child,” she said gesturing to Erissa's body. “If I may ask yet another favor, please, continue to do so.” The spirit gently lowered Erissa's body into the outstretched arms of the immortal, who had quickly set aside the stone sphere; Jensen cradled her body to the ground. “Farewell,” she said, looking up gratefully at him, “until we meet again. Although those will be very different circumstances, I think.” Erissa's eyes closed slowly, and the golden hue faded from her body and hair. The robes were again replaced with the maroon leathers, and the light pulsed no more from her shoulders.

“Erissa?” Jensen asked slowly, and the elf moaned as she opened her eyes.

“Oh, Jensen,” she said softly, “I am sorry.”

“For what?” He asked, looking at her incredulously.

“For making it so difficult to keep your promise. The tree – it was just like the myth. I saw my brother; he has been dead now for years, and I... I...”

“Be quiet, Fairy. Osher and I had it covered. But for the love of whoever's up there, don't break Rule Number One again.” Jensen said. He gave her an odd look. “Do you remember what just happened?” Erissa nodded as she gestured to the stone sphere containing the essence of the corrupt fruit. “All of it?” He asked again, and she smiled.

“So I am your friend now?” She asked with a slight laugh, and Jensen groaned.

“You didn't have to go and say it, leaf licker,” he said, reluctantly helping her to her feet. “And if you tell anyone I said that, I swear I'll...” The immortal did not finish his empty threat as Erissa poured a small amount of water from her canteen onto her cloak; she wiped away the blood and grime from his face. Jensen pushed her away, somewhat playfully, but mostly annoyed. The elf grinned at him as she touched his shoulder; he felt the pain begin to relent as she worked her healing magic on him. “Don't tire yourself out too much,” he said in his gruff baritone. “We still have to get out of here. I've got to get us through the tunnels below the city.”

“I already know the way,” Erissa said. Jensen turned to face her, the confused look on his face obvious. “The valkyrie – at least I believe she was a valkyrie – showed me the way out; the entrance is right over there.” Erissa pointed behind him to a break in the red vegetation ringing the paved fountain area. “The guardians traveled through here to deliver the fruit-” Her voice trailed off as Jensen's right eye twitched; he cried out in pain as he fell to the ground, grabbing his head.

“Sei! Ow! For fuck's sakes back the fuck off! You're gonna give me brain damage!” The immortal yelled in pain as the Ixian Knights' leader contacted him telepathically. “What? I can't – trouble at the castle? Ow! Dammit Sei!” Erissa looked worriedly at Jensen; the immortal shook his head, rubbing his temples.

"Look – something big went down at the castle and he wants us to report back now. Says Azza is okay, but then things got fuzzy. Come on, let's go." Jensen stumbled to his feet, the worry already carved onto his face.

“Wait!” Erissa said. “How is this mystery 'man of shadows' going to know we have his fruit essence?” Jensen grunted angrily as he looked around at the carnage. He hurdled the bodies and jogged back to the gate where they entered, grabbing one of the now-dead torches; with the burned end he scrawled 'Jensen Ambrose was here' upon the ancient stone. Erissa smirked at her fellow Knight, calling out to him as he jogged back. “Graffiti? How classy.” He grabbed the stone sphere and stowed it in his pack as Erissa tended to the worst of the wounds Osher had sustained defending her; the companions made their way across the clearing to the passage out of the Red Forest, picking their way through the gore of bodies, granite, and blood.

“I guess you elves owe me one now,” Jensen said as they descended the well-kept stairs leading into the ground.

“What do you mean?” Erissa asked innocently.

“Well, I did just break the curse on your fairy forest,” he said, and Erissa shook her head sadly.

“No, that was just one of many sources of corruption,” the arcanist said, and gave him a smile. “But if you would like to break them all, we could stay here for a while.”

“Fuck that!” Jensen spat. “I've had enough of this place.” The passage they entered was tall and wide, free from any trace of the Red Forest above; the guardians had been unhindered in their deliveries. They walked in silence, Erissa leading the way through the forks and intersections of the tunnels. She bit her bottom lip, wondering if she should tell Jensen of the ability fully awakened within her by the valkyrie, the one which allowed her to lead them so confidently. She tested the skill, focusing on Jensen; he was remembering his fiance, Stephanie. Erissa blushed fiercely and quickly turned her attention elsewhere; she had gotten quite the visual of things better left private between the two of them. Fortunately for her, the skill still took a bit of effort still, unlike her teacher Troyas, who was constantly receiving memories regardless of whether or not he wanted them.

Maybe I should... no, she thought. Better I keep it to myself, at least for now. She tried to stifle a giggle, but it echoed through the brick-lined passage. Jensen looked at her strangely.

“You know, they say people who laugh at nothing are crazy, right?” He raised an eyebrow at her as she blushed again. As night began to fall on the rest of the world, the Knights continued to make their way through the underground labyrinth; it was midnight when they finally stopped to rest. There was no campfire, little food, and the last of the travelers' water trickled down thirsty gullets. Their sleep was fitful and short; Jensen, Erissa, and Osher pressed on relentlessly and finally emerged the following nightfall, at the edge of Lindequalmë, the Red Forest.

“To the river,” Jensen said, his throat dry and stinging; Erissa nodded to him. She could smell the scent of fresh, clean water clearly, and as they neared it, she stripped down to her underclothes and dived in, much to Jensen's surprise. Shrugging, he did the same.

“Ah, I do not think I will ever get the stench of that forest off of me,” she said, teeth chattering as she scrubbed herself as best she could, glancing at the red trees that appeared black in the night-cloaked horizon. “We should rest on the other side,” she called to Jensen.

“Do the floating clothes thing,” he called back before he dived under the water and began swimming across the wide river. He emerged on the bank and waited as Erissa delivered their clothing; Jensen quickly dressed and began gathering wood from the nearby, and blessedly green, forest. Erissa followed soon after, drying herself by the crackling fire; it was built upon the remains of the very same one she had built days ago. Jensen sat nearby, and Erissa could see the troubled look on his face, accentuated by the light of the fire; the elf had seen that expression often since he received Sei's message.

“What is it, Jensen?” She asked. “What are you thinking?” He did not answer, instead removing his jacket and thumbing the names stitched inside, one more than the others.

“Let's get some sleep,” he said, and folded the jacket, using it as a pillow. Curious, Erissa peeked into the immortal's memories; she saw the dead and frozen form of a beautiful young girl. A tear slipped silently down the elf's cheek as she experienced the agony the man felt as he looked at his dead friends, the guilt he felt, and questioning why only he survived. Erissa closed her eyes and looked away from him, feeling guilty she intruded on his most personal memories. Yet, she began to understand Jensen Ambrose.

**********************************

As Erissa caught sight of New Aurient in the afternoon light, her pace quickened, relieved to see civilization again. Even Jensen had an extra spring in his step in spite of the fact it was the elvish capitol. As they neared the gates, the arcanist stopped.

“I gave my word,” she said, eyebrows raised. “You cannot come into the city; you will have to wait here while I secure us quick passage to Radasanth.”

“What?” Jensen near-yelled. “You gotta be kidding me, leaf licker.” Erissa set her hands on her hips, firm in her resolve. She had made a promise; a contest of wills between them was soon to began. It was, however, never realized; a familiar voice called out to them. Troyas waved from the gates and walked swiftly to Jensen and Erissa.

“Master Sei asked me to meet you here,” he said, embracing his student. Worry weighed heavily on his features as he looked at Jensen. “Mr. Ambrose, it is imperative we teleport to the Ixian Castle immediately. Please, do not argue.”

“Oh, come on... I would rather swim to Corone than take your friggen' portal.” Jensen whined.

“Jensen,” Troyas said, “please. Forgive my earlier disrespect; please, take the portal. From one immortal to another, I implore you.”

“Fine,” Jensen said, his mood completely changed as he eyed the unusually emotional ancient elf; there was something in the stoic arcanist's expression that gave him pause, even great dread. As Troyas nodded with relief, he opened a portal before them; they all stepped through and found themselves in Sei's office, where several of the Ixian Knights awaited them.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

When Jensen saw the congregation of people in the office of his lord, Sei Orlouge, his mind began to race with thoughts of what exactly could be happening. The enemy that Sei had created the Ixian Knights to fight was the first logical choice, but one snap look out into the courtyard dispelled that notion. If they did attack the castle, some evidence would have been evident. Damage to the castle, or at least some tell tale signs that those that gathered fought. Instead he looked to who was in the room.

There was Ta’Gaz, chief trainer of the Ixian Knights. He seemed worried but no worse for the wear. His father and his girlfriend Lilith, the Oracles of Wind and Water respectively, were both here, and for the first time since he found his father Jensen noticed the man looked at his son with genuine concern. Zerith was in the room, decked out in full armor, a look of exhaustion weighing on him as if he hadn’t slept for days. His eyes never met the immortals,' but he seemed keen on making sure he was always near Jensen. Adolph was also in the room, and he refused to look at anything but the immortal. That left Sei, and the man waited patiently, his own eyes dropping with the look of one who did not sleep for days.

“Jensen, there has been an attack,” Sei started solemnly in the way he thought to Jensen. The immortal looked out to the room one last time. Someone was missing. Someone who should had been here. He felt his heart race for no explained reason, and the hair on the back of his neck rose as he searched a bit more frantically. Erissa at first gave him a confused look, her eyes narrowing; she began to understand what her fellow Knight was realizing. Troyas merely looked out the window. Who was missing? “Jensen…” Sei thought softly.

“Where’s Steph?” Jensen croaked in a voice that made the room freeze. He spoke like a lost child who did not know where his blanket was. Erissa’s eyes widened as she looked to Jensen’s face, seeing for the first time a look of true concern and a lack of will power to see the next trial with a laugh and a grin. His strength seemed to be fading quickly and she looked to Troyas. The venerable elf kept his gaze away, but he nodded to his student. She gently prodded his thoughts and her hand rose to her mouth in horror, eyes watering as she looked back at Jensen.

“Jensen, Stephanie had been kidnapped while you were gone…” Ta’Gaz said forcefully, but softly as he stepped forwards. He looked to his trainer and gave him the most confused look.

“Who?” Jensen snarled. “Who kidnapped her, where is she? Why isn’t anyone looking for her!?!” Jensen turned to Adolph, her best friend and brother-like figure. He lifted his arms to calm the immortal down and Jensen took a step back. “No! Tell me! Tell me where the fuck my fiancé is!” Jensen screamed.

“Jensen,” Zerith at last spoke, his own voice small but full of the care a brother had for a wounded sibling. “It was Cassandra Remi…she took her two days after you left. We tried to tell you earlier, but the Red Forest’s corruption was blocking Sei’s telepathy.” Jensen’s face flushed red with rage, turning red as an apple, before a haunting feeling of dread tickled down his spine. The color in his face went white, and his hands flexed from the tight balls they made. He stumbled a step backwards, before he tripped, collapsing to a knee towards the front door. “Jensen!” Zerith called moving to grab him, but Jensen pushed his hand aside as he sprinted for the door.

“Stop him!” Sei commanded. Jensen found Erissa and Troyas blocking the door and he lifted his hands upwards to blow through them.

“Move it leaf lickers!” Jensen snarled, and he was past them before they had a chance to know he shoved them aside. He was out Sei’s door jumping three steps at a time down the white stairs, collapsing in a roll as he tripped back up to his feet; his boots collided with the cobblestone. The immortal sprinted like the boogeyman was chasing him, jumping a hedge and rolling on the grass to keep his momentum as he chewed through the grass kicking dirt up in his wake. His blood ran in a circuit as his heart pounded, haunting images of Cassandra Remi filling his mind as he pushed his body, willing it to go faster and faster.

“I…have…to…save…her,” Jensen wheezed in a panic, body colliding with a guard near the tombs, causing both to stumble. Jensen was back on his feet in the blink of an eye, stumbling down the hallway that led to Sei’s underground tomb. An image of Cassandra flashing that alluring, damning smile to him plagued him, taunted him and he cried tears of rage; he pumped his arms faster and faster. He could hear the woman’s laughter in his ears as he neared her sanctum in which she once dwelt so long ago. Her words came to the fore in his mind, scaring him as he felt sick to his stomach.

I will make sure you suffer, Immortal.

Jensen screamed, for he had no idea what else to do as the names on his back warmed his body, the coldness of the caves unnatural as a creepy haze came over him. He moved into the Midnight Monster’s area, passing the statue of a guardian angel that held the plaque of Cassandra’s grave, the fake grave placed by Sei to ease the minds of the people that the Gisela Reaper was dead. When he moved down her twisted halls he saw glowing green paint on the wall. It read messages that shook Jensen to his core, his feet failing him as he fell on the ground, mind in a daze.

You’re almost there, Immortal, just a bit further.

I told you, I told you I will make you pay for all you have done to me.

Immortality is a curse, is it not, BLESSED Immortal?

She will scream so beautifully for me, won’t she?

Jensen crawled through the maze of taunts and jibes, his mouth throwing up whatever meager food he had left in his stomach. He moved towards the room where Cassandra made her victims sing to her, sing her damnable song. He felt a rush of wind come over him, gibbering voices whispering that he was late, too late to stop this. Reality had to sink in, but Jensen refused. He stood up, woozily, and carried himself further.

At that moment the group Jensen had abandoned made their way down the cave, Sei looking to Jensen as the immortal hesitated before looking into the room, gazing at the words written over the doorframe. Adolph and Zerith kept running towards Jensen, but they slowed to a walk. Erissa pushed her way forwards, her face covered in tears as she looked to her guardian. Jensen finally looked inside the room, the words scrawled above seared into his memory.

This is my pay back Jensen Ambrose. Know that even an Immortal can die to my knives. You did this, you begged me to teach you. I hope you have learned your lesson, as well as the rest of the Ixian Knights.

He peeked inside, eyes full of child-like curiosity before he fell down to his knees, eyes flowing with tears; he collapsed onto his side, fingers fumbling over each other as he looked at the blood he saw in the room. One last final message played for Jensen, and that was Cassandra’s trademark: her palpable, all encompassing wave of dread that filled whatever air she once breathed. It pushed upon Jensen, and he could hear the whispers of his lover’s screams in the breeze.

“Oh god…no!” Jensen whined. “No!” He slammed his fist in the dirt, kicking around like a baby as he cried over and over again the loss of his love. The room looked at the bawling Jensen, eyes cast down; Sei turned gently towards his castle. Jensen looked to those who approached him, tears brimmed his eyes as little channels flowed down his face. “Where is she? Where is her body? Please tell me she is safe!” Even though he wished it, he knew well before an answer was given what the truth was.

There was silence as Jensen looked to everyone’s face, before Zerith at last answered.

“We tried, we tried to find her Jensen, but she struck when everyone wasn’t looking. We…Dammit all, Jensen I tried! We were just too late…she tricked us, each one of us…we were just too late…” Zerith said, his own voice cracking and failing him. Jensen at last looked to Sei, and the mute gave him a sorry look, before sadly shaking his head. The Mystic turned away to leave Jensen in his grief, easily hearing Jensen bellow behind him as he prepared his speech to the castle.

“This is a message from your leader, Sei Orlouge, Sei thought to everyone in the castle. “I apologize for leaving many of you out in the dark for the sudden call to high alarm. However one of our members was captured by Cassandra Remi and killed. Please take a moment of silence to mourn a loss dear to us.”

Sei turned to see Zerith and Adolph both holding the immortal as Jensen had literally lost the ability to even stand, his eyes glued to the room. They whispered words of support and sorrow, each man damning all they knew that they were not fast enough. He only took some of it in though. Most of the words were lost upon him in his anguish. The only real sentence that he could make out was that Stephanie’s body was in the Medical Ward, closely guarded by Aislinn Orlouge.

Jensen cried more, a haunting realization the woman he was going to marry was gone forever. She would no longer smile for him in the morning. She would no longer inspect him before he left for another mission. How stupid he thought that was then; now all he wanted was for her to do it to him over and over. He felt a void build inside his heart as he let out another fit of moaning. Soft pitter patter echoed in the cave and Jensen turned to see Tobias holding Azza by the hand, hesitantly leading her into the cave. Azza’s face was a wreck as well, and when she saw her father she ripped her hand free and ran towards Jensen. The immortal collapsed to his knees, receiving her charge as he held her tight, and the room gave the Ambrose family their moment of peace. Both said no words as they held each other, crying into the other’s shoulder. For the moment, they knew of nothing else to soften the pain of losing her. Sei looked back to them, and then began to walk out finishing his address to the castle.

“Please, remember the great loss of Stephanie Ambrose…”

[Sagequeen]

Erissa's Spoils:

Leather armor, purchased for 200 gold.

Corrupted Mythril Elven dagger, more ornamental than useful though it might hurt a bit if stuck in the right spot, taken as spoils from defeated foe. The blade was crafted by Sword Singers of the Red Forest, and so slightly amplifies her own song magic. (She broke her yew staff.)

Skills:

Heartsong, learned from the Songbook she carries. She uses the rhythm of a person's heart to find them anywhere in the world. The catch is, she has to first learn that rhythm by hearing the heartbeat up close and in person. The finding spell requires her to use her song magic and a good deal of concentration.

Energy shield, as she has more or less learned to control her energy to a degree she can project a medium sized shield that can withstand 4-5 strong blows.

Jensen's Spoils:

As a result of plunging his dagger into the heart of the corrputed tree, the dagger is now poisoned permanently, causing twice as much pain as a normal wound.

[Duffy]

Two Peas in a Pode Judgement
Ft. Sagequeen and Enigmatic Immortal

A copy of the brief notes made during the judgement can be obtained, on request, via PM. There are a few post indicators and explanations of how the comments and scores below came about, and some more food for thought – though, after post 20 or so, the same things kept occurring so the note taking process came to a natural conclusion.

If either of you have any questions following receipt of this, please don’t hesitate to get in touch either with myself, or with another member of staff if you have any concerns. Without further ado ladies and gentlemen, the rubric:

Story: (8/10) the progress of your characters was excellent, and served to augment the rising action throughout the thread. From the montage of battles, the quick witted exchange and the advance of your party through the Red Forest to their memory riddled struggle, it was something that compelled me to read on. If there is one thing you could do to improve on your score, it would be to balance the scene changes and not rush some of the parts you may have thought to be minor. The bar brawl, for example, was shorter than the fallout, and the tree root attack felt like it was just thrown in for good measure. A story is a tapestry, and one thread out of place can diminish the fantastic quality of the rest of the chapters. Climax has to be the most difficult part of a thread, and your score reflects the throat lump received with that simple, memorable line, “Please, remember the great loss of Stephanie Ambrose…” Well done both.

Continuity: (6/10) Continuity focuses on how well a character fit into the Althanas canon, or how the Althanas canon relates to the character. Your score here reflects a solid effort to outline the basic history of the Corpse War, with a solid scene outlining the generals of Xem’Zund at the start of the quest, noticeably Erissa’s exposition in posts 4 and 5. Once you established this, however, the Red Forest falls by the wayside in favour of the story, and the bonds of continuity fade a little. Though continuity you draw on may be character heavy a lot of the time, but it is supported with clarification. Though you may have done adequate research, one small canon error that prevented this from being scored more than a 6 was the finale to Dawnbringers (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?20244-MQ-Dawnbringers&highlight=Dawnbringers), where Xem’Zund is sealed in a soul quartz tomb. How did the high elves recover the vial in this instance? A little more clarification and tethering to past events would have really boosted continuity.

Setting: (7/10) all the senses were utilised, and the characters interacted with the setting, and in the case of the Red Forest’s many enemies, the setting took the reins and interacted with your characters plenty of times too! Jensen’s view of the world is very character centric, and if there’s something Enigmatic Immortal can do to lift this score, its focus on the objects around him in his dialogue, less ‘Elf Fucker,’ more ‘kickass trees’. Erissa is quite the reverse; Sagequeen draws heavily on the setting, the concrete, reality of her surroundings. She is an astute character, perhaps her observations could describe setting in her dialogue, instead of relying so heavily on the narrative?

Creativity: (8/10) your score reflects not only a fantastic story told well, but also, the fact that you turned character reflection on its head, had your own creative work (Sagequeen, your poem is very well written, and worthy of praise entirely of its own) present and had convention twisted on its head (your dog companion, the drunk scenes, the horror and fear reversal, really strikes me as a well thought out and artistic effort. Well done yet again.

Character: (9/10) I am not going to pretend that I have much to offer in the way of criticism here, you both portray your characters above and beyond the playing of a mere role. Your personalities shine through the dialogue, action and morals of Jensen and Erissa. I have said this before to you Jensen, just be careful about your cross over between Jensen and real world, there’s a few colloquialisms that dampen the mood of an Althanas bastard, and perhaps, just perhaps, you could not use faggot and fucker so indiscriminately. We get that Jensen cusses, but it’s becoming a cliché that really destroys the softer, more emotive qualities and sense of love and brotherhood I’ve come to start to see from the jackass. Sagequeen’s development and soft thawing to her new found companion ensured that you both utterly deserve a strong 9 for character.

Interaction: (10/10) I am sure this come as no surprise to either the writers or readers. Erissa and Jensen and their NPC heavy environment lives, breaths and screams it’s realness to the world. I have absolutely no doubt that everything they say and do every fluctuation, ever sigh, every flinch is something utterly natural. Of all the aspects of the rubric, this is your forte, and there is quite literally nothing I have to offer here.

Strategy: (7/10) fast paced, slow paced, comedy of errors and foreshadowing throughout gives you a solid score here. The erratic pace and brevity of your action sequence, of the happening and the lack of time markers prevented a higher score. Be careful when applying strategical elements in writing, repetition of these can lead to a lessening of their effect. Dropping Cassandra in the start made the delivery of your ending much better, but the use of her mid thread made me think...hmmmm.

Mechanics: (7/10) though you are both mechanically excellent writers, there are several small mistakes you both make, but make often. Comma use is a difficult thing to master; I am eternally getting long sentences cited as a dampener on mechanics. There are several cumbersome run on sentences, namely clauses mixed with descriptors and ambling dialogue that caused me to repeat myself several times just to clarify, little corner of the eye moments where I had to double check what you meant. You also misspell Jensen as Jenson, capitalise after ! and ? in dialogue when the proceeding word should be lower case. One or two missed speech marks and eaves used instead of leaves. Really, it’s a very solid effort, just pick up on these minor detractors and think about saying sentences aloud and see if you can simplify the strain on the reader. It’s less that these are mistakes, more so cosmetic blemishes.

Clarity: (7/10) as mentioned in mechanics, the sentence structure was a little difficult, to say the least. Brevity is wit; as someone famous once said, and in the case of combining description with ideas, it is better to separate and shorter or hammer blow the reader than to cause them to have to repeat themselves. As far as plot, effort was clearly put in keeping it understandable and no double checking was needed. The foreshadowing with Cassandra and the utilisation of NPC’s needed no double takes as the Ixian Knights are not left so vague as to be a weight on the story.

Wildcard: (10/10) Excellent does not even cover how much I enjoyed this thread. From the start, to the finish, I literally devoured it. Though some of the comments above may seem harsh, I have really tried to reflect a fair application of the rubric to help you both continue to develop in character relationship and your out of character abilities as writers. The Mr and Mrs Smith relationship between Erissa and Jensen, the endearing warmth from elf to man and the spit from man to elf, it’s just fantastically thrilling to read. Though scene transition and clunky sentences dampened that, this has been an excellent journey.

Total Score: (79/100)


Spoils:

Sagequeen is awarded 2250 xp and 100 gold (including incited bonus from the vignette contest, and deduction for her armour).

Enigmatic Immortal is awarded 2500 xp and 300 gold.

All spoils requested are awarded, though abilities, as per usual, will require potential adjustment upon your next level through the ROG.





Two Peas and a Pode, featuring Sagequeen and Enigmatic Immortal
Full Judgement, Full Rubric

Post 1
Somewhat awkward comma use in the opening paragraphs, though virtually flawless in form mechanically. There’s a slight over familiarity that expresses the writer’s assumption that people reading are going to be familiar with the vast canon established around the name of the Ixian Knights, around the name therefore of Jensen Ambrose. It seems like it’s also a little too rushed, in the sense that Jensen wouldn’t, given his love for Stephanie, rush quite so quickly to Sei’s side. Elision is kept to speech, Americanisms kept consistent, solid start.

Post 2
Use of Dear One technically genius, endears Troyas to Erissa and he reader to the man’s temperament after the elf’s out of turn remark. If anything is asking for improvement here, it is once again the flow of sentences. It’s not that the listing of clauses and descriptions is grammatically incorrect, but it does take a strain on the reader. Mechanically, it is exceptional, showing a quality and focussed editing process. Opening sentence below is extended beyond comfort. A more simplified structure would drive the poignancy home better. There is a missed speech mark also, and when Sei contacts Erissa, a similar awkwardness with run on sentences.

“When we master the ability we possess, our psychokinesis, it allows even for healing regeneration, as you know; but did you realize we can shield the body from the ravages of time itself: for what is aging but a disease? I froze time's effects on her, but human-kind was never intended to be long-lived. They are not equipped to deal with the grief and sorrows that inevitably accumulate. When we buried our only son, she never truly recovered. I could shield her body, but not her mind. Eventually, she asked me to let her age naturally and die. I did.

Post 3
Apply a slight Wildcard deduction for use of excessive cursing even for Jensen. Faggot really isn’t an appropriate word, earth colloquialism. There is an excess of words here and there, ‘fifth unknown member’ could easily work as ‘fifth member’, ‘Jensen all but screeched’ to ‘Jensen screech’ etc. Whilst up until now the thread is very trite, brevity suits Jensen’s speech and his descriptors more so than Erissa. Few mechanical errors can be detected to the point that it’s hard to find any at all that are actual errors.

Post 4
Does Erissa mean eaves or leaves when describing the Red Forest? Award continuity points here for drawing on the history of the Featured Quest, as well as the Almanac entry for Raiaera. Long sentence structure might suit her explanatory tone but again, straining clarity. One slight continuity error, though easily fixed I expect, is that Xem’Zund was sealed in a vast tomb of quartz at the end of Dawnbringers. How would the High Elves, if the necromancer was wearing the vial about his person have recovered it?

Post 5
Capitalisation of Elven and repetition of the words used to describe Erissa detract from an excellent build-up of the love hate, Mr and Mrs Smith relationship the pair have. There is excellent interaction between brawler and beauty here. You misspell Jensen’s name towards the end of the post. The post ends with a grammatically clumsy closing line. ‘Sei leaned over to Jensen, as if he were whispering. “I think that’s a no.”

Post 6
A time transition indicator might be appropriate here, as suddenly we’re outside in a carriage. It can be jarring for the reader.

Post 7
Endearing character development and personal growth from Jensen hear, as well as Erissa’s build-up of Troyas’ personality in the preceding post really sets this thread aside as a premier example of soul. Whilst structurally it could be improved, I dare say few people on Althanas would forget an encounter with Erissa or Jensen, just like I won’t after reading their adventures. There is minor ing/ed tense transition which is only just legible as present.

Post 8
My English teacher used to tell to never start a sentence with And. I don’t know why, the silly old goat. The opening line is cumbersome, and the scene transition is sudden. Again a misspelling of Jensen, though ironically, Jenson is how I actually say it aloud.

Post 9
The foreshadowing with Cassandra is very good here. Error found in ‘waiting of’ instead of ‘waiting on’ in the middle of the post.

Post 10

The humble leather shop, which, in truth, was larger than most of the buildings in Underwood, sat with open doors, and she flowed with the breeze into its midst.

Another long running sentence dampens the elegance with which Erissa enters the shop.

“Is there anything in particular you desire?” He asked,

The He should be a lower case h.
Epic dialogue and exchange between the pair in the concluding lines. Erissa is evolving to be able to hold her own beneath the usually heavy handed Jensen.

Post 11
Small case after dialogue? or ! needs to be checked. You misspelt righteous.

Post 12
Again, ? and ! capital error. The comedy value of this scene is placed nicely between rock and hard place, kudos. Another Jenson here too.

Post 14
Erissa’s retorts gain epic kudos; add points to interaction for this post in particular; the egg and salt exchange.

Combat sequences come fast and quick, a little like a montage. I would expect to see greater focus both on the tree root attack and Erissa’s heart song development to achieve a near perfect score in setting and pacing.

The same cosmetic mechanical errors noted above re-occur through to post 20.

Post 20
No need to clarify Gisela Reaper once it’s been mentioned earlier in the thread; doubt anyone will forget who Cassandra Remi is after that.

[Letho]

EXP/GP added.