I Return...

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Standing on the soft earth, Lorenor looked around. There were several Forsaken scouts ahead and the object he sought was well within sight. One of his most gifted seers, that is, Forsaken capable of interpreting the word of N'Jal as it revealed future events, revealed the next mission. Lorenor. There are artifacts and relics, built in my name scattered through the land of Corone. Specifically throughout the lands of Ruild. Find them, and take command of their secrets. That is your new task for you and your people. Lorenor heard the words of N'Jal all the time at that point. There were still some decrees and visions that made no sense to The Grand Primus, and that's when his seers came into play. After they had interpreted the last set of visions, the order was given. With him, Lorenor had a small group of his finest Forsaken warriors and magi. Ahead, the scouts had cleared out the wild lands of any roaming monsters that lurked therein. His target was close by, Lorenor could feel it. There was a cache of lost relics in a nearby, forgotten cave. That was the target. Lorenor worked diligently to prepare his group for the journey, and was ready to lead. His core group of bodyguards surrounded him, whilst the scouts also did their job. He had his best seer with him.

"It is near now." She said.

"How much farther?" Lorenor asked. He had always been a man of precise actions, one who never hesitated.

"The cavern in question should be a few yards away to our East." She responded. "The cache will be heavily guarded. Are you certain we should be doing this?" She asked.

"It is the will of our Matroness. We must obey her decree. Our task is to follow, not to question. Never to question. The Matron has a plan for us all." It was Lorenor the high priest speaking. He seldom put his role as high priest before his role as The Grand Primus. That was one of those moments. "Don't worry. All is for the will of The Dark Lady." Lorenor said and that comforted his companions. They were all listening to him at that point like a group of lost children seeking comfort. Lorenor smiled at them and then started to walk forward once more. He gave a hand signal, and the others followed. It was like a well-oiled machine. Each of the gathered Forsaken knew their role in the grander scheme of things. There was no hesitation and no fear. They were ready to die for their leader. Lorenor expanded his sensory array to it's maximum output, and closed his eyes as he walked. He was waiting to find the cache's prison.

The seer suddenly stopped moving. "There!" She called out. "Look."

Lorenor immediately turned towards the general directly that she pointed at, able to see with his eyes closed.

With his Auspex ability, he was able to feel the change more than he actually saw it. The ground shook for a few moments, and then, the locale wildlife was still. Not a single sound, except the beating undead hearts. Something had arisen from the ground, and Lorenor could sense the rocky outcropping where the cache was hidden. He looked right at it, no more than two yards ahead. A large cave mouth had manifested where it had not been previously. Lorenor smiled, he knew Ruild had secrets and was a wild land. A creature of chaos. They were deep in Ruild now, in a place where reality met with other realities. The cache was just one such pocket dimension.

"There is a guardian present." The Seer said.

Lorenor raised his hand for all to stop. "I will approach it."

"My liege?" One of the nearby soldiers asked, confused. "Shouldn't you send one of the scouts?"

"No. That is not the will of N'Jal. I must approach this creature myself, and handle negotiations if there are to be any. Just make sure my ass is well covered." Lorenor said with a smile, and a wink. He approached the solitary guardian.

A few moments later, Lorenor stood in front of the behemoth creature.

It was humanoid, and quite large, but Lorenor had encountered Kings and Dragons. He feared none.

"What is this meaning of this?" Came a heavy accented voice from deep within the chest of the man. It sat in a lotus position, as if meditating or pondering some deep philosophical problem. It had green, scaled flesh, and a chiseled face. Pin-point red eyes glowed with a ferocity. It had no hair, but it's ears were long and pointed. Almost like an Elf. Lorenor admired the chiseled muscles of the creature. "I smell that bitch, N'Jal on you." The creature said menacingly. It stood up to it's full height of nine feet tall. Mountain Troll. Lorenor thought. "You are not welcome here, Spider Magi."

"I'd rather not pick a fight with you." Lorenor began. "I have a squad of my most skilled with me. They would drop you faster than your primitive mind would think. What you are guarding does not belong to you." Lorenor smiled. He had come prepared, he also had a significant weapon in his possession that would allow him to quickly destroy the mountain Troll. "I am going to offer you one chance to live." Lorenor took a small step forward. The Troll immediately grabbed his weapon, an elegant great sword. Lorenor smiled the entire time, vicious shark-like teeth visible. "Let us pass, and you shall live. Resist and I shall make you a peon of N'Jal." Against your will. Lorenor thought. Lorenor removed a small bundle from his packs. It was the Rune he had prepared just for the task at hand.

"Little one." The arrogant Troll began. "I have no time for those who follow the word of the fallen Thayne. She has no place in this world. What you are after is not meant for mortal hands. Your chance at leaving has been voided!" The Troll said, and drew his weapon, moving into a seasoned combat stance.

Now Lorenor did not doubt the Troll's combat prowess.

In fact, he had counted on that.

"It's a shame you do not have a good eye for negotiating." Lorenor said, and he attacked. At that moment, the bundled up rune began to glow.



(OOC)
Lorenor Word Count=1,092

[Idieth]

Idièth

There comes a time in everyone's life when they sit back and think about what they've done, what they're going to do, and what it all means in the grand scheme of things. Some people do this multiple times. Others never come across such a useless and nonsensical thing in all their time. Lesser fairies tend to be of the latter persuasion, because the few that are clever enough to be prone to introspection never last long enough to actually get to the introspective part. Death is a huge distraction from that sort of thing, along with lunch, shiny objects, rain, alcohol, intricate games of aerial tag, extended baths, blooming flowers, tea, dancing, conversation, and extremely short-lived romances.

Strangely enough, Idièth has found herself in a peculiar position these last several days that has resulted in some of the happiest, most fruitful times in recent memory. That wasn't saying much, since she had a memory like a ten-inch diary shaped like a Mobius strip. Still, drunk with the harvest from misfortunes that she had been incessantly indirectly inflicting upon certain Forsaken, she was hovering well behind Lorenor, contemplating her navel. Whether or not fairies actually had navels was up to some debate since her dress was rather modest.

Around the time that Lorenor was having a complicated parley with too many words, Idièth had approximately worked out that a fairy, which is an incarnation of a more-or-less fundamental natural force, ought to be in a place higher than any deity or other such creature because, well, something. It didn't feel right that things which could fade in a millenium or two should hold a higher place in the whole respect business than something that endured until the universe ended. But age wasn't the only issue, was it?

A really massive grinding noise interrupted her thoughts just as effectively as a rustling of leaves in the wind would have. There was a big person made of rocks - well, apparently made of rocks. Actually, it didn't look like it was made of rocks at all, Idièth finally decided, but it might look better if it was. A thought at the back of her head nagged that she was supposed to be doing something. The man - the other man, Lorenah - had told her some kind of plan.

It had something to do with giving him bad luck. Or was it good luck? It didn't seem to make sense that he would want to ask for bad luck when there was a great big thing with a great big sword about to crush his head in, but people could be weird like that. Maybe it was for a challenge? On the other hand, it was Idièth's policy to charge bad luck first before giving good luck back. That only made finan- finen - finana-... sense; you always paid price for something before getting the something, that's right.

Her wings hummed as Idièth flew towards Lorenor, preparing to give him the worst luck she was capable of, which was rather potent. There was once a chef that had managed to... somehow, she forgets... get himself really bad luck. He caught on fire and then his restaurant burned down; he wasn't even cooking at the time, just smoking a cigarette. Cigarette, hang on, now she remembered something. She was supposed to give the big guy good luck. Really good luck, and he's prepaid already with all the minion people that he's got. And then she was supposed to, something.

Lorenor's headlong attack, rune in hand, was momentarily interrupted by a 13-inch fairy giving him a tiny big kiss. There was no avoiding Idièth if she was after you, the little bugger was fast as lightning and turned on a pin. And then she was gone, headed towards the troll with a big, confident smile on her face that was funny like the sort that swims fast towards drowning sailors. And has a fin on top.

"C'mere, big guy...." It was time to extort something. Good thing that the sword was so big; if she could fly through a hailstorm and come out unscathed, then her aerobatic ability would be plenty for this.

Lorenor, on the other hand, gave a moment's consideration to the wetness on his lips and the sudden surge of good feeling in the rest of him. It was like he knew that everything would go off perfectly and that he was unstoppable. But first, there was the matter of the sword coming at his head.

[Mistletien]

"There is no tyrant as merciless as pain."
~ Stephen King, Duma Key"Your Majesty."

From atop his black steed, the Demon King's silver eyes swiveled, falling from their previous position of staring at the moonlit, star-ridden night sky to land upon the kneeling form of one of his subordinates. Like all of his soldiers from the relatively punitive platoon of men he'd taken with him on this expedition to the land of Corone, this man had been raised, fed, and bred with calculated brutality; thick, white puckered scars shining like silver worms along the broad muscles of the warrior's arms in the torchlight, physical evidence of his skill and devotion to the armored goliath above him. Slowly, the Demon King let his gaze fall further, to the hip of the kneeling figure, where he saw with silent approval a string of human and nonhuman ears; trophies taken from foes that this man had personally felled. Indeed, he recognized this man, even in what fragile lighting that the torches, held off to the side by two other similar men, provided; it was one of the scouts he'd sent forward.

The scout's shaved head was bowed, eyes to the ground and fist pressed against the earth. The King's lips parted, and a low baritone emerged; rumbling barely beyond a mere murmur, but loud enough still to be heard above the soft burning of the torches at his back. "Arise, and report."

Now given permission, the scout did just that, clasping his hands behind his back and spreading his stance. As he lifted his head, a single ring could be seen protruding from the man's lip; a ring of silver. "My liege. We found traces of a small company of humanoids heading towards the east; deeper within the forests of Concordia." He spoke calmly as now, in the darkness beyond, several men approached the fire's light; all adorned similarly to the scout leader. "Also, we came across an Undead, who fled at our approach." A pause, and the scout's shaved head bowed slightly; his eyes falling from the Demon King's own strange pair. "...We captured it, but it slew two of our own."

The armored goliath atop his horse was silent for a couple moments as he raised a brow at this news; the dark shadows cast from the light obscuring his visage for the time being, leaving only those steely eyes to shine from beneath. Then; "...An unfortunate turn of events, but thee hast done well in bringing the offending creature."

The scout released breath he knew not that he held, the tenseness in his chest relaxing as he sank to a kneel once more; a silent sign of gratitude at the King's praise. In one smooth, practiced motion the large being atop his steed dismounted; the black steed rustling restlessly at its rider's touch before settling down as the King's armored form sank to the earth below, simultaneously dismissing the kneeling scout and shifting his long cloak out of his path with one flick of his gauntlet-borne hand. The man immediately obliged this silent order as he stood and shifted out of the way as, from the darkness beyond, the others brought forth a struggling form into the small pool of light.

It was a woman.

Or, at least, it had been. The creature hissed and snarled as it was forced to the ground, both its arms and legs bound. Frantically it continued to try and snap at its captor's hands with its teeth as they made it kneel, not even seeming to notice the massive form of the man standing before it as it shifted restlessly. Save for the curses it flung and the constant rustling of it trying to escape its bonds, the area was silent; as if the entire forest was holding one, collective breath in preparation for what was to come.

"Good evening."

The Undead looked up sharply in evident shock as the warlord spoke in what could only be called a pleasant tone; his rumbling baritone running over 'her' form in an almost familial manner. Glowing orbs of vibrant viridian shining from where a pair of eyes normally would be, the creature immediately stopped all of its movements as it stared up at the black-cloaked figure; evidently either ignorant to the fact that he'd been standing there all this time, or simply hypnotized by whatever its supernatural sight supplied.

There was a continued silence from both the onlookers and the duo in the light, before it was broken by the warlord's slow, heavy footfalls as he came before the Undead; coming enough into the light now to reveal his scarred and sharp visage, a thin and cruel smile stretching along his aged flesh. The man's lion-like eyes stared downwards, untouched by that sinister grin. "Praytell, what dost thee name thyself?"

His question seemed to break the creature's trance-like state, and it immediately resumed its task of trying to escape its thick bonds. With venom, its lips drew backwards as it spoke. "Go fall into the Abyss!"

One of the men surrounding them grabbed the creature's hair and pulled its head back, bringing a single dagger to its throat as he growled in obvious rage. "How dare you speak that way! Do you know whom you speak to? This is--"

"Enough."

The scout glanced up in surprise as the warlord interrupted. "But, my liege--"

"I said, that is enough." There was a deadly finality to the man's normally calm tone as he flicked his wrist upwards in that same dismissing motion from before, and the scout understood immediately, his eyes widening in the torchlight before backing away, releasing the creature's hair. The Undead glared upwards with those glowing, toxic orbs, staring at the armored juggernaut before it...uncertain.

Once more did he let the silence grow before breaking it with his tongue. "Thee hast sent two of my men to the Void."

"They were weak," She snapped back, the creature's hair hanging limply in front of its face. "Fragile. All you mortals are the same, thinking you own the world..." She shook her head, laughing mockingly, weakly. "You know nothing. All I did was send them to their rightful place; kneeling, at the altar of the Dark Lady."

If possible, the conqueror's grin seemed to grow; curling upwards in obvious, silent amusement. "...Oh? How...interesting."

For some reason, the Undead shuddered at the tone he took at that last word; it was as if someone had scraped steel over steel in a slow, torturous movement, for no reason other than pure want, and as it stared upwards into the shining eyes of its captor it felt something new within the depths of its Forsaken existence:

Uncertainty.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

As all things happened along an indefinite course, but with the same inevitable outcome, Lorenor struck.

In one motion, fluid, well practiced, he undid the bundle covering of the object he held in his hand.

Simply stated it was a rune that he had prepared for this journey, one of many. As a spell-crafter, he could enchant objects with runes and place temporary spells on them. The rune was a crude, highly explosive and volatile symbol laced with electric energy. He held it in his hand, and it was clear that the Troll noticed the glowing symbol at the last moment as his swing became more desperate. Lorenor moved. He could have moved against it, but instead, he moved towards the blade, with the Troll's movement. He leaped upwards, after he received the kiss from the faefolk, energized, and then landed on the blade. His speed and reflexes on land allowed him to maneuver the way he maneuvered. It was almost beautiful. He kicked off the blade, and did a forward flip towards the body of the creature, who in a shock, attempted to lumber backwards. It was far too late. Lorenor placed the the symbol upon the hefty stomach of the creature, and activated the small trap. It glowed with a severe resonance, and Lorenor immediately rolled out of the way.

"Evasive maneuvers!" Lorenor yelled to his allies, including the young faefolk that he had acquired as a companion. Lorenor rolled quickly away from the explosion he knew would come, and it did.

Massive power burst out from the rune that resonated with such volatile energy that it exploded the guts of the large creature. It was a site to see. Electricity burst out from the lightning rune, ironically a bane of the undead, this time used against the Troll. When it burst out, it cut through flesh like a hot butter knife, and laid it's insides out for all to see. What happened next was simply divine elegance. The Troll's stomach exploded in a huge, violent event, Hot flesh, blood and gore spread outward in a way. It shot out in every direction and the poor Troll let out a massive, dying cry. It fell to the ground attempting to clutch at it's intestines. The gore traveled outward for several feet in every direction. It was art, it was beautiful. Lorenor smiled with pleasure, and shivered visibly as he sat crouched low against the ground. He had turned his upper body towards the direction of the violence. A few moments of struggling later, The Troll's struggles were silenced. Massive amounts of arcane electricity swelled through it's body paralyzing the creature, and killing it at the same time. Lorenor stood up, satisfied and prepared to assess the collateral damage of the explosion. He had prepared several similar volatile runes for the expedition just in case he needed something other than his shadow bolt. The creature died a few moments later, and he could feel his Forsaken approaching.

"Wait." Lorenor had called out to the darkness. They obeyed the command. "Are we missing someone?" Lorenor knew that every time that they ventured out on such expeditions, there would be casualties. He just had no idea that another force had involved itself in the equation. Lorenor had exceedingly good senses, and observed all his scouts, after they had returned from their observation of the environment, he realized that he was indeed missing someone. "Damn, it's too late to go after her. We are too close."

"My liege. It's Lady Tabatha that's missing. We should try to search for her." One of his soldiers said grimly. "What would be your command, my liege?"

Lorenor had always prided himself on being a fair, leader and good friend of his people. However, this mission was a little different.

"I cannot spare any of you to go on a separate rescue mission. If she's been captured by an outside interloper, she is on her own until we are done with this mission. The will of our Lady always comes before our needs."

His companion tried to protest for a moment. "My lord, she is a critical ally and would rescue either of us..."

Lorenor sighed. "Listen to me. This is a decree from N'Jal. We cannot go off mission. I am saying that she must wait for us a bit longer before any rescue attempt. She is a strong asset to our people, she will survive long enough for us to rescue her. In the meantime, we have to stay focused. This is the will of N'Jal at play, and we won't get another chance at these relics of the Thayne." Lorenor knew that his companion wanted to argue further. So he placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "You are a good friend and a loyal Forsaken. Don't worry I will make certain we don't abandon Lady Tabatha. She will be rescued. If she has fallen under some kind of malady, I will make certain that she is avenged." His companion seemed to like that and Lorenor went to make sure that the faerie he had acquired was safe as well. He called her name. "Lady Idieth, are you still here?" He called her name out to be certain that his newly acquired friend was safe.



Lorenor Word Count=901 Words

[Idieth]

The fairy was and wasn't, depending on how one looks at it. Everything had been going perfectly according to what she remembered to Lorenor's plans; first, she gave him a good-luck kiss just like she's supposed to, because he was going to need it to do... do whatever it was that he was going to do. And then there was this big thing with the sword, which didn't look nice and deserved the opposite. She closed on him with the speed of a very determined goshawk, clearing the arc of the sword swing at about the same time that Lorenor's feet touched the blade, and was very distractingly in the troll's face.

Its flat, scaly nose was just beginning to flare in the dual surprise at Lorenor and Idièth when the fairy bapped it very gently. Its luck turned sour and horrible in an instant. Then its belly exploded.

Idièth had heard Lorenor's yelled command and completely failed to parse it, because the words had too many syllables in them. She was still working through what "vasive" could possibly mean when a bit of shattered rib speared her in the hips and smashed her against the cave wall. There were stones falling and rolling down the sides, loosened by the explosion. One twice the size of her head fell on her head.

There was a gold-and-green smear, for a moment, and then the fairy exploded into glittering dust with a sad little pop.

Lorenor made his speech and then was poked in the ankle with a sharp silver needle. He looked down. Idièth looked up, a scowl on her newly-remade face. It didn't take long for a lesser fairy to recoalesce after death, but it seldom left them in a good mood.

"What was that for? It hurt!"

[Mistletien]

Meanwhile, the one called Lady Tabatha felt a ripple of illogical fear, as she stared up at the cruel and veritably impassive visage of the mortal before her.

She'd been careless, she would admit with ease; but still, she was one of Lord Lorenor's elite. She would have felt shame at how easily she'd been captured had she been not busy concentrating on escaping the impossibly tight bonds on her wrists and ankles. How? She'd asked herself silently, for these were mere mortals, temporary bags of flesh and nothing more in the grand scheme of the Dark Lady; so how did these savages manage to intervene as if they were as accustomed to the Dark as she?

And then there was this...thing. This man, governed and cloaked in steel and cloth, with eyes that shone like silver dollars beneath the hood of his brows. He frightened her, scared her to her very core, and she did not know why. It was not an aura of danger he exuded, or even his cold, calm authority; such traits were commonplace. Nay, it was as if he shouldn't have been there; her senses told her that the very space he occupied was empty, bereft of presence, and yet what her sight showed could not be denied. He was a contradiction, an abnormality; he was something wrong.

And he was a threat. She did not fear for her own life, but for that of her liege's; he would not know of the insidious danger that this man and his force represented. She must escape, and report back; it was only a matter of escaping these bonds.

"Creature." The thing-in-man's-flesh spoke once more, and she directed her eyes to his feline stare once more; noticing that he'd drawn closer once more. He now stood little more than five feet away from she. A plan began to formulate in the back of her mind; now matter how large he was, no mortal held the strength of one of the Forsaken. All she needed was a little time. "Once more, I ask of thee; what dost thee name thyself?"

Best to comply, for now; best to pretend herself harmless, compliant, willing. She ceased her struggling, and felt the bonds loosen slightly; a small victory, but not enough. She needed more. "Tabatha Utiel, of High Priest Lorenor's host." She kept her voice low, weak; trying to keep her frustrated hatred out of her tone. Acting wasn't one of her listed talents, but by the Dark Lady's grace she would try. She added a slight pant into her tongue for a slight dramatic touch, despite the fact she wasn't the very least out of breath; one of the dark benefits of her exalted status. And with it, she 'breathlessly' continued; "And...you, mortal?"

He laughed. It was low and rumbling, in a sort of manner that made her half-expect the air to simply shudder from the sheer power of the sound. It made her think of the quaking of the earth just before a volcano's eruption; and the black, sinister dread one felt deep in the depths of their stomach at its crumbling announcement. The man's left arm drew upwards, his armor gleaming like the carapace of some great insect in the moonlight, and as the cloak parted to give way for his limb she glimpsed the protrusion of a broadsword at the left side of his hip. "An odd question from the dead." He stated mostly to himself, alone in his mirth; she noticed grimly that her guardians were silent. That meant they were attentive. That was not good. She'd been counting on their arrogance, perhaps even celebratory mood at her sudden subservience, but they showed none of that; only the stiff ease of watchful readiness. Meanwhile the armored mortal before her continued to speak. "I be Solomon, Lord of all that I survey. Tell me, Tabatha of Utiel..." She stiffened as he used her name offhandedly, staring upwards as he leaned forward, his hand now on the hilt of his blade. "...Whom be this 'Lorenor' that thee serves?"

But he'd moved closed enough. She moved; digging her toes into the earth beneath, she pressed forward, using the strength in her legs to leap into the air at supernatural speed. She clasped her hands together in one tight fist and, without pause, dislocated both of her shoulders, swinging her arms over her head and relocating them in one smooth, practiced motion. Another boon of being just what she was. With her hands clasped like a hammer, she brought them vertically downwards in a crushing swing, aimed at the back of her unsuspecting prey's head; a blow that would surely, at the very least, snap his neck.

She cared not what would happen afterwards; with the head gone, this deadly snake would surely die on its own. The mortal pawns that this creature controlled were of no consequence; it was he that possessed the threat. Her Lord and liege would be safe. And as her flesh made contact with something hard, she closed her gaze, awaiting the inevitable darkness to swallow her and take her to her rightful place at the Dark Lady's side, filled with relief.

But it didn't come.

Slowly, she opened her ephemeral stare...straight into the collected gaze of Solomon. Her eye-sockets widened as she realized she was above the ground; borne aloft by the iron grip around her upraised wrists. A ring of steel surrounded her airborne form, each blade held poised, perfect, in the grip of a man nearly as large as the one holding her. Incredibly, the warlord was smiling; as if amused by some unforeseen fact. Despair began to flood her mind, as she once more attempted to struggle out of her bonds, but to no avail; without any support beneath her, she could not summon her inhuman strength to even smite down the arrogant abomination before her.

"Impressive." The lips moved in tandem with the word spoken, as the warlord complimented her with cool familiarity; as if the very fact that she had just attempted to slay him meant nothing. "Thou art a warrior indeed, Lady Tabatha of Utiel. How would thee like to serve me, in place of the lives you took? Your prowess would make a fine addition to mine forces."

"Burn in the Abyss..." She whispered now, not in falsities but in true defeat; her words the last means of defiance she had left. "I would rather die."

He nodded solemnly, still smiling that grim grin; as if he'd expected nothing less. "So it shall be." He replied, before she felt something like fire pierce her belly; and as she looked down, she saw the shining blade of his unsheathed broadsword sticking out of her gut. Silver... She thought in growing realization and horror, before her consciousness finally fled her slowly disintegrating body...the remnants fading away onto the night's cool breeze as small bits of ember and ash.

Meanwhile, the Demon King had re-sheathed his broad blade, his smile fading away with the death of his captive. The man's cruel eyes fell upon his men as they stood silent, waiting his command; and he gave it thusly. "Come," He barked with authority, as he strode to his black steed and mounted it swiftly. "We move."

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Seeing the fae rebuild her body always amazed the mutant.

Very few things surprised someone like he, but that was one of them. She was not undead, but capable of repairing her broken body almost at will. Lorenor respected such talents. For a moment, he could have sworn he heard a cry of one of his people in the back of his mind. He turned to look in the distance, studying the stars for a moment as if waiting for some lion to come from the wild. Lorenor frowned. He was definitely concerned for the well-being of Lady Tabatha. The scream of pain came from the unique connection that The Forsaken held with N'Jal. Lorenor clenched his fists tightly and touched his hand to his temple. The faefolk asked a question, but he let it linger for the briefest of moment. A concern had touched his dark heart. Am I doing the right thing in not searching for Tabatha? Lorenor thought to himself as he momentarily questioned his own leadership capacity. One of his cohorts, a warrior, walked over to him.

"Are you well, my liege?" He asked.

"I sense that we have lost a dear ally." Lorenor said and whispered a silent spell of passage for Lady Tabatha. He, as a priest, was responsible for all of his Forsaken and would not needlessly waste lives. Living or otherwise. "We will have to figure out what has become of her when the time comes. But for now, focus on the mission." Lorenor walked over to the faerie. "Do you think you can continue?" He asked. "We are going into a very dangerous place, this troll was just a warm-up I don't want you dying all the time, stay close to me okay?" Lorenor said. Deciding that the hour was upon them now, Lorenor readied his weapon once more.

"Time to proceed." Lorenor said. "There may or may not be others aware of this place, we must move quickly. An artifact will got to every man and woman who enters the cave with me. This I promise. The cache will remain intact once we are done. I have no interest in the workings of the other Thayne." Lorenor began to walk forward assuming that his companions would all follow. They would. As he entered, several of his scouts proceeded forward into the simple granite cave structure. Some fungi and other growth were visible, and Lorenor was familiar with some of the more common samples. The rocks could probably be mined for ore, but the mutant was on a very strict schedule and would not risk his men for side missions. The passage took a sharp turn downward, it formed a natural stairs, and the mutant attempted to measure with his senses. One of his scouts returned.

"It goes for a few yards East." The scout reported. "I have my men lurking ahead, so far the passages on this section of the cache are quiet."

"Good. Make sure your men patrol ahead in pairs, do-not risk any solitary missions. You are all far too valuable to loose." Lorenor said. Though he was their leader, he sincerely cared for those who were subordinates as if they were his children. Lorenor was walking at a collected pace, assuming that they were all gathered near him. His soldiers, priest and magi were. The scouts moved further ahead and the mutant kept his auspex at it's peak to ensure nobody could sneak attack.

The mutant's sword was pointed downward at a forty-five degree angle and gave off an eerie, black aura. Each of his warriors had their own weapons drawn, and his Magi were chanting spells. They were all looking about, none were nervous. They were all equally prepared to die for Lorenor.

The mutant gripped his weapon tightly.

This is too quiet. I don't like this at all.

He could not help but feel the threat all around him as he considered what manner of trap they were all walking into. Lorenor felt the fear of his companions, but they hid it well, they were trained experts. He kept another of the earthbound symbols in his hand at all times. This symbol however, was a fire rune. He knew many symbols and could place them on various objects to draw out their effects. It was part of his spell-craft ability. Lorenor was one of many secrets.

Traveling to the East at that point, he could feel the closest of the scouts. Then suddenly, one of the scouts moved to a complete stop. Lorenor no longer felt a unforce from his companion. Is the hour upon us? Lorenor thought and raised his hand in a fist. As he motioned his hand in an elegant command, he remained quiet and his warriors spread out. The magi kept close. Lorenor walked very quickly towards the position of the scout.

They all knew the score.

Our prize is what is important, no heroics. Lorenor reminded himself. "We seem to have lost another of our members, proceed with caution." Lorenor said out loud as they moved towards the scout's last known position. Lorenor saw a side chamber and felt the scout's dying essence from there. "You two. And you. Come with me. The faerie too. The rest of you are on guard duty until we figure out what happened here." Lorenor said. And without hesitation, the individuals he had pointed to followed him. Lorenor put on a grim expression.

The moment that they entered the chamber, the rank rotting smell of undeath filled the air. Lorenor frowned when he saw the scout disemboweled, and a particularly serious gash across it's chest. Lorenor needed a few moments only to figure out what had happened. The gash was ethereal in nature, and glowed with a mystical energy. We are dealing with a serious problem here. "It's a soul-cut." Lorenor growled as he investigated the scout's body. The body would not burn up, it would be locked in place because undead souls were a particular matter of controversy. Lorenor investigated the body a little more, and said a final prayer for the fallen. Then, he looked around the room. A strange altar was visible, behind it, a statue.



Lorenor Word Count=1,071

[Idieth]

Idièth rotated her left wings, they had a faint crick to them, but that worked out in short order. The thing about recoalescing from the fundamental force of nature after being squished into dust, other than the moment of unreasonable pain and the disorientation of not existing for a while, is that quite often things didn't come back together exactly the same. Oh, certainly, she looked the same, down to every fiber of her dress, but it was weird, like stepping out of a well-worn boot into another boot of the same manufacture but hasn't been worn in. A buzzing hum whispered around the cavern walls when she took back into flight and coming to a hover just behind and above Lorenor's head.

She pouted, "I was all ready to poke the big guy in the noggin' and then BOOM! It hurt, you know! You should tell me about these things." Lorenor did tell her about the plan to blow up big things. Several times in a row, in fact. This didn't mean a thing to Idièth, whose memory was like a thing that allows fluids through while retaining solids of appreciable size, especially after being blown into dust. "And what was that, anyway? It was all GARRR! and then you were all BOING and then it was all BOOOOM! I want one! What's that?"

The statue gave an unpleasant sort of tingling behind the teeth for certain magical beings and a fairy was about as magical as they come without being worshiped by a cult somewhere. She didn't recognize it because she had not devoted the mental resources necessary to match up the statue with the other statues that she's seen. Besides, it wasn't moving and wasn't shiny, so there was clearly no reason to bother with it unless something more interesting happened. Still, the tingling was a bit annoying and-

"Ooo! Hey!"

The fairy buzzed off while Lorenor looked down at the body. She had seen a little glint in the corner which, after a short kick to the overburden, turned out to be a sizable flake of mica. It was so big that she could see her face in it, though she could probably see her face in a well-polished fingernail, too. Her tiny hands grasped the flake and pulled. When that didn't work she tried rocking it back and forth. The inch-wide piece of mineral stubbornly refused to budge.

Out came Idièth's silver needle, which she shoved under the flake and started to pry. She grunted with the effort, overheard something, then grunted out "What's a soul-cut?" with the tone of someone asking a question with complete sincerity and then promptly forgetting about what question that had been asked. It became apparent that she hadn't even noticed the corpse of the scout, because shiny.

PING

The flake came loose and Idièth fell backwards on her back. A protruding rock the size of a pebble neatly concussed her. The needle flew into the air, glinted for a moment, and then plunged down into the center of its owner's skirt with a small ting! The unconscious fairy didn't notice that she had been pinned to the floor like a butterfly specimen, though, because, well, she was unconscious.

[Mistletien]

Now, this was a surprise.

The Demon King brought his steed to a halt and lifted a single ironclad fist, bringing the rest of his company to a stop as well. His scouts had done well; before him lay the tracks of many, leading forth into what appeared to be a massive, upraised cavern. His nostrils flared as he inhaled the scent of it, tasted it with his senses, and recoiled in mild disgust; the presence of the divine hung upon this entrance with unyielding certainty. A mortal home, perchance, for one of the Thayne or their ilk? Or maybe one of the Thaynes' many hidden beacons of power, concealed within this darkened hole?

He could not say for certain, but in either case this was a fortuitous find, and one he did not intend on discarding so easily.

"M'lord." His scout's voice carried from the darkness off to the side, alerting his senses, and the Emperor directed his stare towards him. The man was crouched near a large form in the shadows, and the Demon King reached outwards for one of the burning torches as he pranced his steed in that direction.

"My..." He spoke to himself quietly, as the light illuminated the darkened shape upon the earth. "...This evening is full of surprises."

A troll's corpse lay upon the earth, its insides scattered several feet outwards upon the shadowed forest. Now that he was closer, Solomon could practically feel the hot stench arising from the body; this kill had been very fresh, no more than minutes old. To the fallen beast's side lay a massive, double-edged blade; far too large to simply label a sword, it seemed little more than a humongous hunk of iron with an edge. A titan-slayer, fit to be wielded by titans as well. Without a word the armored conqueror gestured towards it with one hand, curling his talon-like finger inward, and the scout blinked at the silent command; uncertain.

"...The sword?"

"Yes." Came the lord's reply. "Bring it hither."

To the man's credit, he tried; of course, denying the Emperor's order was tantamount to a death sentence, depending on the conqueror's whim. But his efforts were futile, and the most he managed was lifting the hilt, haft, and first two feet of the great cleaver off of the ground before dragging it a few feet and dropping it to the earth, panting in obvious strain. The Demon King only watched in silent amusement as two of his personal bodyguards, elite warriors whose hips were lined with the ears of their conquests, stepped forth to assist, and with this extra manpower they eventually managed to bring it to their lord.

He dismounted as they stabbed it into the earth, letting its towering height match up to his own. Indeed, the weapon was huge; no normal man, obviously, would be able to wield it. It stood, even with a good foot embedded into the sodden forestry, nearly as high as he; and he was no small man. From edge-to-edge, it looked about a foot-and-a-half in pure width; a shield-like quality to the broad front of this weapon.

It was a blade fit for a king.

In the torchlight, the old conqueror smiled that sinister grin; toothless and tight-lipped, but in obvious, knowing pleasure. Finally unlocking his gaze from the mighty weapon, he let it fall upon the corpse below, evaluating both the creature that had obviously once wielded this earth-shaking weapon...and the wound that had led to its downfall. Which could only raise one concern, not only in his own partitioned mind but in those of his company, watching silently from the sidelines:

What manner of being could have done such explosive damage?

Before he could think more upon it, a scream came from the entrance of the darkened cavern, hanging ominously above and before the small horde of men. Immediately there was the sound of steel being drawn; his warriors, his guardians reacting instinctively at the distressing sound. The scream hung in the air painfully, humming as a torturous warning to the Demon King and his men; telling a sightless tale of the impending danger and horrors that lay within. Then, as suddenly as it had come, it cut off, leaving only the echo to ring through the trees and causing the passive sounds of the moonlit forest to silence in shock.

The Emperor only continued to smile as his feline eyes stared into the dark, hungry.

"You three." He pointed three fingers at his bodyguards closest to him and his scout, and they immediately snapped to attention; their blades, lined with sawlike edges, at the ready still. "Come with me. All the rest of you, stay here and guard the entrance." He brought his inhuman stare to the rest of his mobile army, meeting their attentive gazes with his own. "Do not let anything or anyone enter...or leave, unless they are with I. Dost thee understand?"

A collective voice, immediate in its single response. "Yes, my liege."

He nodded grimly, his sinister smirk still upon his aged and worn visage, before he spun on heel and, without pause, unsheathed the massive titan-mauler from the earth with both hands. It resisted just the slightest bit, before giving and bringing its tip into the air; the display of strength from the conqueror putting his pure, physical power on par with that of the fallen troll. The metal hummed and hung there, before his gigantic form, for a moment before he spun it between his dual grasp and let it fall upon his shoulders; the sheer impact of the weight upon his immobile form causing his heels to dig into the earth.

Using one hand to balance its weight upon his form, he silently marched towards the entrance, and the trio at his back followed suit, torches and blades at the ready. The scream may have dissipated, but the danger had not; and with the taking of the fallen beast's weapon, their leader had made the statement of their situation clear.

There would be blood.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Once Lorenor had analyzed all he could he turned towards where the faerie had lurked a moment ago. "Do not touch anything until the proper time...damn it!" Lorenor cursed as he saw that the faerie had knocked herself out with her own rotten luck. Standing up he turned towards one of his priests. "See to it that he receives proper final rites. I will attend to our companion, and make haste. I fear we are not alone." The priest bowed towards Lorenor and proceeded to perform the last rites quickly and efficiently. The Mages that were with him were also investigating the area around them but their interest was the statue. Strangely enough they had immediately reached a conclusion. They were conversing amongst themselves when Lorenor found Idieth nearby knocked out. "I swear, you'd lose your own head if it weren't attached to you, huh Idieth?" Lorenor said to himself and knelt down to the faerie. He attempted to pick her up.

As that event was occurring, the mages examined the statue before them. There was an altar before it that had freshly been used to cast some sort of a ritual that they had no knowledge of. They were debating things of a scholarly nature when Lorenor rejoined them. Presumably with the faerie resting in one of his travel packs, the pack was completely open of course for her to fly out once she awoke. Lorenor had gathered her small prize of ore and the single needle-like dagger she wielded as well. Lorenor always took care of his allies. Now, came the scholarly aspect of his leadership position. As a High Priest, Lorenor had to know some of the inner workings of the other Thayne, though he hated them.

The statue was an eerie representation of a larger figure surrounded by a group of smaller figures.

Lorenor immediately knew what the larger figure was. The All-Thayne. Lorenor understood where he was at that present moment, and the most immediate thought came to mind. I shouldn't be here. He had found a rare cache, probably since before the dawn of recorded time. This was when the Thaynehood was still young and they had worked together to store various artifacts around the land of Althanas. Lorenor growled when he saw The All-Thayne.

"Father." Lorenor cursed. "So nice to see you again."

The mages looked up from their scholarly studies as Lorenor spoke, and the two priests had gathered as well. They had all gathered once Lorenor had spoken.

"Mi'lord, 'tis the All-Thayne." One of the mages said. "This place is not good for us..." The mage also added.

Lorenor nodded. "I must say something my brothers, my sisters. Please gather 'round." Lorenor commanded, and they obeyed. He turned towards his companions, and he spoke to them. "I must say, that it has been an honour to serve you all as Grand Primus. I have walked us all into trap snared by The All-Thayne. There is very little chance we will all walk out of here alive. I don't even know if the relics we seek are even here." Lorenor said, his mood gradually becoming more and more sour. N'Jal remained quiet, and the mutant had not liked that since the whole ordeal began. He looked at the his followers and nodded. "I would ask all of you to be on guard and at the ready. We will figure out what has made our brother perish. That is top priority. Recovering the relics is our mission here if they are discovered, but survival is more important. Let us figure out what is hunting us." Lorenor commanded. The others would obey.

"As the dark lady wills." One of his warriors saluted and spoke for the gathered followers.

"Good." Then, a laughter filled the chamber. Lorenor's sensory array suddenly came alive. "Defensive positions!" Lorenor commanded, and they all moved. Immediately, the mutant was surrounded by his followers. Lorenor kept his weapon at the ready, and had already begun to prepare a basic shadow-bolt that he could wield at will. His eyes narrowed. He searched for the source of the laughter, and looked at The All-Thayne's statue with disapproval. The laughter was a maddening shriek, and soon, the owner of the laughter revealed itself. It was a sort of shade, and it peered out from behind the statue of The All-Thayne.

"My. My. My. So many Spider-Magi. Come to keep me company I presume? Or after treasures that don't belong to you?" The shade said, and revealed it's full form. It popped into being from behind the form of the statue. It was a humanoid that floated easily off the ground. It had long taloned hands, and appeared to be quite tall. Long, flowing hair swelled from the top of it's head, and it had glowing blue eyes. "Master told me that this day would come." The entity said. It was elegantly dressed with the attire of a lord. It did not appear to be armed, but Lorenor knew looks were deceiving.

Lorenor waved a hand towards his people.

They allowed the mutant to pass and he walked towards the shade, sword at the ready.

Lorenor felt the temperature rise slightly as he came in contact with the shade's aura. "What master do you serve?" Lorenor asked directly, his eyes locked on the handsome thing.

"Not your lady." The shade said. "I serve not the All-Thayne either." It laughed again. When Lorenor got close, it maneuvered with elegance and grace. Floating in a flip-like fashion further into the chamber. "I serve someone you are quite intimately familiar with, Lorenor." The shade somehow knew his name. "My Master placed me here aeons before you were conceived by the dark lady. Hahahahahah. Should I tell you? Or should I make you figure it out?" There was clear malice behind those words. "Master chose you as his pupil." He laughed, in a maniac sort of way. "That makes me very, very angry. And you won't like me when I'm angry, I promise you that!" The creature then snapped it's knuckle. "By the way thanks for the meal, your companion was very tasty." The laughter.

"You bastard!" Lorenor yelled, and rushed towards the shade at best speed. It moved upwards quickly, away from the mutant. Lorenor turned quickly on his heels.

"And you lot, what are you clowns waiting for, your leader to give you orders?" He moved his hands like a puppeteer might move strings and laughed. "You're all puppets, tools aren't you? So pathetic. I cannot believe my Master chose you lot over me when I am the superior!"

"Attack at will!" Lorenor yelled. His eyes locked on the form of the shade.

"Yes, yes. Attack at will, follow the strings cast by your so called leader who waltzed right in here knowing it was a trap! Hahahahah. How pathetic." Upon closer inspection, Lorenor realized the shade was a clown-like lord. None of it made any sense.

"Just tell us, whom do you serve, so I can slice that damned grin off your ugly face!" Lorenor cursed and ran towards the clown-shade once more.



1,235

[Idieth]

It is said that fairies do not dream, that when they sleep their mind travels home to the world of their birth. It is a world of beautiful skies, colorful forests, lush meadows, clear lakes, bold mountains, and deep oceans all filled with beautiful, immortal fairies who are ever dancing, singing, and laughing. All the trees and bushes bore exotic and delightful fruits and meat was within anyone's reach if they should want it.

Whoever did all the saying was obviously drunk and wanted to impress someone. There are a lot of fairies in Tenger Jerhal who are not laughing all the time and the ones who do are usually the crazy ones who've gone more wrong than usual in the head. Case in point: the fairy currently stuffed into Lorenor's backpack was sleeping on account of a mild concussion and only giggling quietly to herself. Idièth was remembering the sort of fun times not mentioned in envious human accounts. In those incidents, swarms of fairies, some dancing and laughing, filled the colorful forests and lush meadows chucking sharp things at each other in extremely violent games of tag. Meat was within anyone's reach because the animal life of the forest tends to be constantly getting hit by stray shots, intentional shots, trick shots, or simply dying of a heart attack when a couple of fairies flew up, slasher grins on their faces.

Tenger Jerhal was a wonderful place to be - if you were immortal.

Lorenor shouted very loudly and Idièth woke up with a pounding headache. He was shouting something about attacking at will and her will at that moment was to plunge a needle into the spine of whomever was shouting at a hung-over fairy. Then her often-tormented brain worked a little further and remembered that she wasn't hung over because she hadn't been recently drunk - a pity - and more that she was supposed to be helping the loud person. She also noted that the pocket she found herself in smelled like soap for some inexplicable reason.

Lorenor shouted again and this time the words actually managed to filter through Idièth's muddy head as something other than an nondescript noise. That didn't help, because he was demanding something about serving and the need to know about something about serving so that he can slice faces. That didn't make sense, thought Idièth, you don't need a reason to slice faces, just a sharp thing. She reached down, felt around in the pocket, and found her silver needle. One sharp thing, found.

The fairy pushed herself out of the violently swaying pouch, sniffed the back of her carrier's neck, and went forward for another peck for good luck.

[Mistletien]

The advance of the party of four led inwards, guided by the ever present footfalls of their mountainous leader. Despite the dim light and suddenly cramped movement space, the old conqueror seemed completely at peace here in the realm of his enemies; steely eyes shining cold from within the darkness obscuring his visage. In stoic silence they marched, the smooth surface of the carved-out granite glistening with evening dew; an endless, almost maddeningly identical surface that stretched out before and behind them, littered only with bits of growing moss to serve as landmarks here in the confined dark.

Ah yes, he could feel it; he could feel it tug along at his ephemeral self as he walked through, passing into the endless dark. His men were ignorant to the passing, and he said nothing as it came; it was well enough that he knew. They no longer walked on the plane of Althanas; nay, they had been transported, a subtly powerful rift marking the transfer from one existence to the other. It was so soft, so unremarkable in its coming, that had the Cthonian had not been looking for such change he might have missed it himself. Idly, the Demon King chuckled darkly to himself at that thought.

"My liege?" The scout he had brought along said in hushed tones, as if afraid that raising his voice might cause the low ceiling of the onward tunnel to collapse upon them. "...is something wrong?"

"Nay." Their King replied, the dry hint of laughter still fresh upon his tongue. He did not pause in his advance as he spoke, still bearing the prize of his newfound titan-mauler upon his shoulders. "There be naught. Come."

The men exchanged glances in the dim light, but said nothing and did so.

It wasn't long before they found the steep drop leading into a set of stairs...down, down, further into the hungry dark. For the first time, their leader stopped in his tracks, shocking them into stopping as well; bringing their blades before them on instinct. But there was nothing there to threaten them, and after a moment the scout once more spoke up, confusion tainting his tongue. "...My liege--"

Before he could finish his question, the warlord's armored limb snapped upwards, clenching his digits into a firm fist as he raised it into the air; a signal for silence. Respectfully did the man follow suit, stepping backwards in an unconscious movement to show his obedience, and the Demon King was silent and unmoving for a time; a upraised gargoyle of steel and flesh. In the hushed void that came in that wake, his senses extended outwards, and he listened; waiting for the hint of strange sound that had alerted him to a stop in the first place.

There it was again. This time, it was more recognizable, and he could now hear that it came from the stairway beneath their feet. It was words, vocal cords being stretched and used in the unending void below. Indeed, we are not alone, the conqueror mused. Would it be presumptuous to assume that it would be this "Lorenor" and his host that the phageling spoke of? Laughing silently at this in his mentally broken manner, he turned his gaze back unto the trio at his rear, smiling in his predatory way.

"We descend."