AC: Round 1 - Group 3

[Revenant]

This thread is reserved for member of Group 3. The thread will open at noon on August 18th (Pacific time) and will be closed after two weeks.

Good Luck!

Group 3
Letho Ravenheart - Letho
Neceran - Neceran Zeiler
Barnabas Tourneymant - Tourneymant
Elijah Belov - Christoph

[Neceran]

Bunnies approved, 'cause bunnies are cute enough to eat whole.

Neceran Zeiler knew it was hot enough to bake a person's brains, if he were to lay prostrate as she was on the barren ground long enough. However, she welcomed the heat. The Draconian rose, hefting herself up gracefully in spite of her enormous frame and large, spectacular wings. With forceful wing-beats, the sinew, membrane and muscle straining against the open air of this odd island, Neceran blew the dust from her body.

The ocean whispered behind her, the breeze coming from it laden with moisture. Any trace of water, however, was quickly devoured by the greedy sun, a thieving eye that glared down upon them. The sun would take her own moisture, blood and all, at the first opportunity, but Neceran would deny it the chance until her last breath. As she glanced toward it, the blistering rays filtered brown though the cloud of dust she had stirred, she noted an oddity. The sun seemed to have already moved an hour's time up the eastern horizon, yet she had not been awake more than just a few minutes.

"Strange," she mused. Squinting against the light, Neceran could detect its movement across the wide, monochrome sky. There was more to this riddle than surviving a desert. The baking wasteland was not the challenge; it was easy enough to survive for anyone with two shreds of common sense. What secrets the sun held, she could not say, but a sense of urgency compelled the Draconian to move forward, to keep the sun at her back. As she looked away from the ocean, Neceran could see a blur of something in the distance, some unmoving obstacle that was obscured by the undulating waves of pure heat rising from the terrain. Beyond even that, soaring among the clouds, a black spire.

She regarded her fellow adventurers with great interest as she tapped one of the giant claws of her feet impatiently against the ground. Neceran could kill them as they lay, her so-called teammates, against whom she would no doubt face off at some point. The Draconian thought sooner might be better than later, especially if she were to move as quickly as she wanted. She drew her unadorned, iron mace, hefting it in the ungentle grasp of her claws. The first would be simple, a skull-crushing blow to the head. The second would perhaps still be reeling as he rose from sleep, and the third... she would aim for the candlestick. Neceran had to admit to herself, however, that course of action disagreed with her honor.

“Bad form,” the Draconain said with a slow smile that parted the smooth, generous, pink skin of her lips, pulling the corners of her mouth back to where the middle of her cheeks should have been. Within the taut lines of her mouth, two rows of impeccably white and pointed teeth glistened in the swift-moving sun's light. In fact, despite the spectacle, Neceran loved to smile. Before she learned the significance of it, she had spilled rivers of blood from any who dared bare their teeth at the drakeling noble. It was only after she had been in the company of the lesser races for some time that she learned it was not a show of aggression, and rather, quite the opposite. From that point, the drakeling was quick to learn that even a smile could be a deadly weapon in her arsenal.

The coughing behind the Draconian caught her ear, and, with her best smile, Neceran glanced over her shoulder to see which of them was awakening.

[Letho]

The dream, even though it was little more than a heap of broken images, was lovely at first. A fast steed was bellow him, its hooves a rapid thunder as it galloped through the grassy plain that seemed to go on forever. Sun was at his back, blinding and unusually warm on a cloudless azure sky. Beside him, standing in her stirrups and hugging the chestnut's mare neck, Myrhianna matched him speed for speed, her mahogany hair wild, her smile magical. It might've been a reprisal of one of their rides, when they rode until either they or their horses tired, or it might've been just a construct of his own subconscious desire. Letho wasn't sure, couldn't be after all the years that have passed since he last saw her. Like with every person that came and went from his life, all that he was left with were old pictures, fading more and more each day until only a notion was left, a fragment of a memory no better than a piece of a jigsaw.

The dream went bad in a hurry, though. They usually did these days. There was too much darkness in Letho's past to be kept at bay within the world of dreams. The faster they rode, the hotter the sun seemed to get, until it started to dry up the world around them and set it on fire with its rays. It didn't take long until it claimed Myrhia as well, setting her clothes on fire and making her shriek in horror. He knew that scream; it had been haunting him for years now. It was a cry of a desperate soul coming from the deepest recesses of the Underworld. Luckily, soon enough he was burning as well and the world of fire and screams was blinked away...

...only to be replaced by a world not all that dissimilar. When Letho's eyes snapped open, they immediately snapped shut reflexively, defending his pupils against the sudden onslaught of light. The heat was still there though, his back still on fire as if some part of the dream broke through into the reality. It made the bulky man roll sideways and onto one knee in one swift move, the suddenness of the movement picking up a small cloud of sand and making him cough several times. His right hand was wrapped around something hard and heavy, and when his eyes cracked open a bit, he recognized the large woodcutter's axe. The axe was made completely out of metal, both head and shaft, and the last thing Letho remembered was using it to chop some firewood. But it didn't look like he would do any more wood chopping today. All around him, the desert stretched in three directions, an almost infinite sea of tan. Only two things stood out from this monotony.

The first was a hill with something on top, its shape unrecognizable due to the distance and the heat tendrils rising from the sea of sand dunes. And even though Letho's eyes couldn't put a shape to the structure atop that hill, he was fairly certain of its purpose. A couple of days ago he signed up for a tournament of adventurers and there was little doubt in his mind that this was supposed to be it. And that he was supposed to get to the top of that hill. Well, they were supposed to get there.

The second thing that stood out was a creature that looked like succubus to the Marshal, and he wasn't entirely certain whether to greet it or hack away at it with his axe. When he had signed up for the tournament, the rules stated he would be a part of the group. But whether this creature was a companion or something out of the local bestiary, preying on the incapacitated participants, he couldn't tell. He had seen creatures like this before, with their ominous-looking wings and scaly tails, even slew a couple that belonged to a cult that held an entire village under their vile spell. But this one seemed different. For one, she didn't have the sickeningly sweet aura of pure attraction radiating from her, and her eyes didn't look as if they wanted to devour him completely. Maybe just a leg or two.

Raising to full height - which still left him about a foot short to be on eye level with the winged woman - Letho brought the axe up single-handedly and pointed it towards the succubus. "Be you friend or foe, creature?" he asked, the baritone of his voice accompanied with a firm frown. He looked the less impressive of the two, what with being dressed in naught but a faded pair of denim pants that used to be blue, a threadbare shirt that used to be white and old leather boots that used to be brown. But his eyes were sharp, waiting for any sign of enmity to get the rest of his body in deadly motion.

[Tourneymant]

The last thing Barnabas remembered was packing the last of his food into his backpack. He had been kneeling in his vast tournament trophy room, next to the ribbon collection from Silverdine fifty years ago. He looked up at all the trophies that he had won in the last 900 years. From wall to wall, trinkets and treasures lined shelves and sat atop pedestals, each one proof of a victory in distant corners of the galaxy. Some were just simple trinkets, others were useful items that he never actually used. His most prized and recently acquired trophy sat right outside his house, A space ship ready to take him to Althanas where he planned on adding yet another trophy to the wondrous room.

He never boarded his ship. Instead a powerful force knocked him to the floor. Upon contact he felt a tug and was whisked away. he fought sleep the whole way to the island, but eventually his body finally gave. The island was freezing when he landed but the next morning all the frost was gone and no water was seen.

Barnabas Finally woke, clutching a gilded three armed candle holder. Where is my pack of food. I'm sure I was packing it when I was whisked away, he thought trying to get a grasp of what happened. Then he looked at the candle holder. It was gilded and heavy, almost like a club. At least I have this. Without that candle holder, he would most likely not be noticed since he was almost completely invisible. All anyone else could see of him was a blur on the land. He almost looked like heat rising from concrete.

Barnabas looked up and saw a giant reptile and a humanoid staring each other down.After a second of thought he knew they were his allies. If he didn't work quick they would tear each other apart. If that happened then what would happen to their team? He jumped up and ran over to them. "We are allies right now." he said holding up the candle stick. "We should not be fighting. Once we are done being allies then we can tear each other apart. If you guys choose not to cooperate I will have to put you both down."

[Neceran]

The drakeling's magenta eyes flashed, and the dragon's blood in her veins demanded the glorious hacking and slashing and spilling that would perfume the air with copper and bile, paint the sand in the rusty hues of death, and fill her ears with the the satisfying crunches and gurgles from one who dared to speak so flippantly of her demise. Neceran's smile lost its upturned edges, and a beastly growl rattled from from her scale-encrusted throat. As the fluid leaked from her bottom jaw to the sand below, little whisps of smoke danced from the already scorched sand.

"Neither friend nor foe, for now," Neceran growled to the graying warrior. There was something in his eye, a hard glint of experience and prowess, that she, if nothing else, had to respect.

Neceran turned to face the candle holder-wielding stranger, her footfalls heavy. "Little man," she hissed, "it is unwise to threaten your allies with death." Neceran's wings bristled behind her; her tail, as long as her body, was twitching tensely, at the ready for a quick strike.

On any other day, she would have taken the man's challenge, but Neceran needed only to recall the prize of this tournament to contain herself, brooding in the malicious patience of the beginnings of plans well-laid. The book - she coveted it. Not just any book, but one that could see her climb the ranks of the Draconians in Dheathain, and possibly even ascend as the second female in her race's history to lead them. To attack this man now could very well arouse the ire of the others, and bring a very quick end to that ambition. At any rate, Neceran had made her point. She released the snarl of her lips and wiped the fluid from them, but her eyes promised the man it was not yet over between them.

"Pointless," she cooed to him before turning her back on him completely. "If I kill you now, I'll only have to do it again once you're resurrected. You aren't worth the energy, at least not in this place." Her eyes darted to the older man who had remained silent - though still armed - during the brief confrontation. "I am Neceran Zeiler of Dheathain, Wing Caste and noble of the Draconians. It is the blood of ancient dragons that runs through my veins. What of our fourth? He still sleeps there in the dirt. Much longer, and he'll be cooked enough to carry and eat. And, as you may have noticed, days here are not the same. We must move forward."

[Christoph]

I am forever a child of dead lands.

Elijah's thoughts slowly took shape as he emerged from dreamless sleep, forming like clouds before a storm. The sky above was distressingly empty though, with no relief from the blinding sun or hot, caustic wind. First, his hand reached for his back, hoping in vain to feel the familiar hilt of his sword; he sighed with resignation when he found it missing. He climbed to his knees and dug his hands into the scalding sand, letting the burning sensation drive away his drowsy fog. The relentless desert heat felt at once foreign and familiar to the Salvic native and renowned sorcerer. He had grown up in a frozen wilderness, but in his mastery of pyromancy, he had taken the essence of heat and flame into himself. And besides, was his bleak, icy homeland so different from this scorched one?

He finally stood up, taking two steps to join his companions. A young man of average height and a lean, wiry frame, Eli felt tiny compared to the others. Letho, whom the sorcerer recognized from Radasanth, dwarfed him with his bulk. The woman, who the well-read traveler immediately identified as a Drakeling, towered over him and possessed wings that only added to her overall stature. Naturally, he noticed the invisible man last, a blur in the air that at first looked like waves of heat ripping about a candlestick. And I am forever in strange company. For his part, Elijah looked decidedly average in comparison, with brown hair of medium length and a simple grey cloak pulled tight against the searing wind. Even his chef coat, for which he was now known in a few countries, made him seem even more mundane. His uniqueness was more subtle – a fiery glint in his eyes and a certain confidence in his stride and posture that hinted at the power hidden beneath his unassuming exterior.

Within seconds of waking up, his new comrades were already pointing weapons, warnings, and chastisements at one another. For once, Elijah hung back for the moment. It always begins with posturing. With the sun beating down on him and discomfort mounting, Elijah asked himself, as he often did in these poorly-conceived situations, why he got involved. Past answers typically centered on boredom or monetary gain -- he had amassed a fair amount of coin and fame in Corone by fighting in Citadel contests and war games. Now a fairly prominent figure in Corone's capital, he was expected to take part in such grand contests as the Adventurer's Crown. He never imagined throwing himself into such trials because of social obligation. Then again, he never could pass up a challenge. Pride, it seemed, was an old, old friend.

But what to do now? He didn't know where he was, how he had arrived there, or why he had been placed with these three odd companions. He felt no desire to take command of this group... yet. Still, they needed to define their goals and move forward quickly, before the desert climate ended their little quest early. He walked into the group, ignoring their posturing and letting his quiet calm infect the air.

He offered no introduction and simply said, “We shouldn't linger here.”

[Letho]

“Wyrmspawn,” Letho muttered. He would’ve spat in revolt as well had it not been for his common sense intervening, reminding him that he was in a place where every drop of liquid was worth its weight in gold. But it was an unnecessary gesture; his tone conveyed his dislike quite clearly. Dragonkin had been an anathema to the Marshal ever since they descended upon his home so many years ago, spewing their infernal fires and burning his father’s kingdom to the ground. On that fateful day, in what nowadays seemed like another life of another man, he had slain the Elder Wyrm on the field of battle. But the Dram barbarians and the treacherous Dragonkin were too great of a force. And thus fell Savion and Letho’s life was forcefully shoved in an entirely different direction. Numerous nights, as he lay in bed with sleep the farthest thing from his mind, the Marshal thought of how his life would’ve been had it not been for the treachery of the Wyrms. And his hate towards their kind kept simmering.

This Neceran thing, she probably wasn’t of the same kind that crushed the kingdom of Savion, probably had as much in common with them as dark elves had with the Fallieni. But some roots went too deep for even time to weed them out completely; some wounds went too deep to ever truly heal. So he would work with Neceran to achieve their objective, he would fight with her if necessary, but he would never trust her.

Letho hoped that the other two companions shared his distrust at least to some small degree, but there seemed to be no trace of it on their faces. Well, at least on the one face he could see properly. The young man – an oddly familiar young man, though Letho couldn’t pinpoint where from – merely proposed to get moving. The vague, barely corporeal apparition that waved his clearly visible candlestick and called itself Barnabas, offered an unnecessary reprimand. Letho found it very hard to take it serious from what, in the heat of the high noon, looked like a floating, talking candle-holder.

What he did take serious was the queer passage of time and the intense heat that the soaring sun bombarded them with. When the Marshal woke up, his shadow was long and slanted before him, and yet now, no more than fifteen minutes later, it was already growing shorter as the sun climbed towards its zenith. And while under normal circumstances, shorter exposure to the sun would decrease the general temperature, it seemed completely opposite in this strange place. Already the sands under his feet felt hotter than any desert had right to be, and there were still a couple of hours of sunlight left. The wind that blew from the sea of dunes before them was picking up as well, cutting them with tiny blades of sand instead of bringing some relief.

“In that we all agree. We must proceed with all haste,” Letho finally said, dropping his axe before untying the grey bandana that held his graying hair from falling into his eyes. Once he secured it over his nose and mouth, he proceeded to roll down the sleeves of his shirt. He wasn’t a desert person, not by a long shot, but he knew the basics well enough. Keep the water loss to a minimum, try to live long enough to find something to eat and drink, keep moving straight until you reach your goal or drop dead. In the end, it was all a matter of stamina: either it broke you or you broke through it.

“We should probably keep an eye out for shelter,” Letho said, his voice muffled by the fabric of the bandana. He picked up his axe, and even as he did the metal of the simple weapon seemed to shimmer and wobble until it became like mercury. He reshaped the Vorpal Blade into a seven-foot staff and gave the new weapon a couple of testing prods against the sand. “There is little chance of us reaching that place before sundown, and if it’s as cold after sundown as you claim,” Letho nodded towards the candlestick and the vague outline of a man behind it. “we will need a place where we can spend the night.”

“My name is Letho, by the way,” the Marshal said, taking the first step up the gentle slope of the dune. “Now, let us be away.”

[Tourneymant]

Barnabas Sensed Letho's distrust; as heavy and unyeilding as a boulder. That didn't matter right now. He was willing to cooperate for now, to achieve a common goal. He couldn't let down his guard. He had to watch both Letho and Necreran for any sign of misconduct, especially when it came to the blood thirsty winged lady. Her frightening stature and bloodthirsty eyes made him feel uneasy. She'd more then likely kill anyone who slowed them down. She'd defiantly be useful in a fight, as long as she didn't go into hibernation at night.

Everyone followed Letho toward the dunes, and Barnabas set off in that direction as well. Barnabas pulled considerably ahead of the rest before long; the dunes had different plans for the others, bogging them down as their feet sank into the sand. Weightlessness had its advantages. He never left a footprint or any other trace behind, as though he were a ghost. Over the years, many across the stars had taken to calling him the Tournament Specter because of it. None ever truly saw him, with only a random floating object as proof he existed. He quickly reached the top of the dune and waited for the others to catch up.

[Neceran]

It was a losing effort; Neceran knew this the moment the sun began beating down on her face and sinking toward the spire. They would not make it before nightfall. There had been talk of frigid cold at night, but the drakeling questioned the invisible man's reliability. He waited for them at the top of a low dune, his candle holder floating and just a shimmer of his outline in the light. Neceran glanced to the side, noticing the sweat beading on the brows of her two companions.

The contestants trudged up through the loose sand, each step forward revealing more of the terrain between them and the spire. Neceran's wry, one-sided smile revealed her teeth again.

"Well," she said huskily, "at least it's something other than sand." The rolling dunes of the desert gave way to the sand-blasted remains of a forest of stout, rocky towers. The sun rested just above the pinnacle of the spire, appearing to impale itself in its descent. Neceran fought a nagging feeling as the four passed among the rocks, most of them several yards taller than the drakling herself. With a frown, she stopped in her tracks.

"What is it?" the calm, young man in the old chef's jacket asked. Neceran shook her head as she studied the stone. She ran a scaled claw along the face of one of them, noting how the weaker bands of rock were carved away. However, on the other side, the rock was intact and complete, except for curious hairline fissures that webbed the length of them.

"Look," the drakeling said quietly, pointing at the stones. "The piles of sand, all gathered on one side. The faces of the rocks, eaten away. I think there is truth to what our invisible companion says, that the nights are frigidly cold..." Neceran reached down and grabbed a claw full of sand. She flapped her wings mightily as she released the grains, and the sand pelted the stone tower before her. "A violent wind, as the heavier, colder air blankets the desert behind us, rushing toward the hotter and lighter air where it's still warm. The extreme change in temperature... my guess is a sand storm that will eat your flesh where you stand. Shelter," she asserted. "We must find shelter."

For the first time, Neceran was worried. She had no fear of the heat, of long travels; those she had encountered before and prevailed. Her thought was of the miles of sand they had covered becoming ammunition in the grip of an unnatural storm. The drakeling could not be certain about the odd island, but as a member of the Wing Caste, the fliers of the Draconians, Neceran had been thoroughly educated in the dynamics of flight and air movement.

She could not yet fly herself, so there was no quick escape for her.

[Christoph]

Let me know if the bunnies are okay.

Elijah chuckled softly and gave a crooked smile. "I hope you're right, my scaly friend. Some harsh, freezing wind will remind me of home." He turned his gaze wistfully to the northern horizon, ignoring the sand-filled wind grating against his face. For a man who had spent years fleeing from war-torn Salvar, Belov still missed his ravaged homeland dearly. He longed for the clean mountain air and the smell of pines; he wanted to taste good ale and see the shimmering auroras again.

"If you want to survive long enough to return there," replied the Drakeling woman, snapping Eli back to the present, "then we need protection from the wind." The sorcerer sized up the Drakeling in the waning light. He had read enough about her race to know that few possessed wings; that combined with her well-trained poise and posture gave Eli the impression of nobility. Then again, so did he, and he was a mere innkeeper's son.

The wind gained strength, and Eli nodded. "A fair point. I may have a solution."

With no obvious haste, he removed his cloak and tossed it toward the floating candlestick. The air shifted subtly around him as he unbuttoned his chef coat, disturbed by the stirring of unseen energy. An intricate web of scars covered his lean arms and torso. They were unnaturally symmetrical and seemed to shift in light, writing like a living thing. All magic left a mark, all power came at a price – Elijah bore both upon his flesh.

“You have given us your name already, Neceran.” He knelt in the sand between three of the stone shards. “It is only fair that I share mine as well. I am Elijah Belov. In case that name means nothing to you, I will also advise that you step back.”

He placed his palms upon the ground, digging his fingers into the cooling sand. Ancient and bizarre words spewed from his lips, twisting about his tongue like normal speech turned inside-out. He tugged hard at the threads of magic within himself and let his consciousness sink into the sandy earth. He felt other magic lurking below, but it fled from his touch. What strange power created this place? he wondered. With no time to wonder, he let his power sing into the ground, forcing his will upon the sand itself. More strange words. More crackling, invisible energy. The sand began to... change.

As a wandering sorcerer without a school or patron, Elijah Belov learned much of his magic through experimentation and trial and error (trial and horror, as he called it). The spell he now wove was different, one of the few he learned solely from rote without truly understanding how it worked. All mundane materials contained more basic elements. This nameless spell broke down and rebuilt things like rock and sand, transmuting them into an exotic explosive substance. From mundane to exotic, stable to volatile. That was all he understood – all he needed to.

With one last glance around to make sure no Rangers, dragon-kin, or floating decorations remained too close, Belov stood. With a grin that could only be described as manic, he drew his will inward. The air rippled around him like heat from a forge and his scars glowed like hot iron. The silence lasted a breath, and then a massive pillar of fire and shattered earth erupted from beneath him. It shot into the sky like a blinding, hellish spear. The wind howled with rage and a huge cloud of dust billowed from the explosion's heart. The pillar shrank but intensified, swirling in a sphere around the sorcerer, white hot laced with tendrils of sickly green.

Half a minute passed before the flames finally subsided, revealing a scorched crater twenty feet wide and ten feet deep, surrounded by walls of smooth, blackened glass. A voice called from within, calm and cheerful as ever, though perhaps a tad weary. “Please bring my coat.”

[Letho]

“Well, that brings back memories,” Letho said as he stood at the edge of the glass-encrusted trench, testing the wall with the toe of his boot. The name of the plain-looking sorcerer brought the memory just within his grasp, but it was the column made of hellfire that really struck it home. Elijah Belov. Letho remembered the magician now. He had met him during the Cell tournament, where they wound up in the same arena, trying to tear each other apart for the pleasure of the masses. A stupid competition, the Marshal remember, and a stupid thing on his part to join it. But sometimes hubris overrode common sense and made men do the dumb things they regreted later.

“What does?” the fire mage asked, dabbing at the sweat and sand collected on his forehead. The floating candle-holder – a sight Letho couldn’t get used to no matter how many times he saw it – jumped down into the hole and handed over the floating coat back to Elijah.

“The whole fire conjuration and whatnot. We have met before, Belov,” Letho responded. “The Cell. You tried to burn me to a cinder.”

Down below, Elijah’s expression of mild amusement didn’t change. The young man dusted off his coat, cocked an eyebrow, paused for a moment as if trying to retrieve a memory like a tome from a dusty shelf and then added a smirk to his countenance. “Of course, how could I forget? As I recall, you spear was intent on rearranging my innards at the time.” The young man shrugged. “No hard feelings, I hope.”

“Oh, none at all. After all, I won.” It was Letho’s turn to smirk, but the only result was a minor twitch at the corner of his mouth before he turned away from the pit. “I will have a look around. We still have about a quarter of an hour of daylight to burn. Might be there is some firewood in those ruins.”

Letho doubted it. By the look of the stone remnants that jutted out of the sand like bones of a dead man’s hand, they had been there for a good while and any wood used within would most likely be petrified and useless as a fuel. But it didn’t hurt to check. They would need fire tonight. Nights in the desert were bad enough under normal circumstances, when the temperature plummeted and the cold crept upon the world that only hours before burned under the relentless sun. Nights in a queer place such as this could turn out to be devastating and none of them looked well-equipped to handle it.

“I will join you,” the drake thing said in firm tone that meant she intended to do so whether Letho had an argument or not. Too annoyed by the sand chaffing him raw as it got into all the places it shouldn’t and too tired from the short trek under the blazing sun without a drop of water, the bulky man merely nodded and led the way.

The broken towers weren’t far, but with the wind picking up and the temperature dropping with each inch the sun descended, it still made for an unpleasant walk. Letho had to hold one of his forearms before his face to keep the sand out of his eyes, and Neceran had to fold her wings as far as they went behind her back so as not to hinder her movement. The first two towers yielded no results, just heaps of stone barely recognizable as something that once rose towards the heavens. But the third one seemed to collapse along the crack that went diagonally from crown to foot, leaving some twenty feet of it upright like a broken spear. Letho made a quick circle around it, then stopped on the side shielded from the wind. The sun kept losing the battle with the rest of the sky, drawn downwards at clearly visible pace now.

“There seems to be a beam buried in the rubble!” He had to raise his voice now, for the wind was whistling around the tower, wailing like a demented soul.

“I saw it.” Neceran responded. “But there is scarcely time to dig it out!”

She was right, Letho realized. Minutes separated them from twilight and whatever cold horrors the night brought. They had to either leave the firewood where it was or risk digging even as night fell around them. But then another option came to the bulky man. “We will saw off what we can. Come on!”

He led the way back around the tower and up over the rubble made of cracked, uneven stone and threatened them with sprained ankles with every step. But soon enough they stood next to the wooden beam, or rather the solid three feet that stuck out of the stones. Bringing up his staff, Letho willed it to liquefy again, then imagined a two-man saw in his head. Immediately the enchanted metal mimicked the image in his hand and a large saw formed where a simple staff used to be, the metal wobbly, the teeth large and sharp. Letho set it down on the beam, waited for Neceran to take her place on the opposite side, then began to saw. The wood was healthy, but the saw was made of a noble metal almost impossible to dull. It made short work out of the beam. Soon the wood cracked and snapped, then rolled down the slope of rubble.

“We need to hurry. The night will soon be upon us!” Neceran insisted. Letho couldn’t argue with that. Already the wind that bombarded them with hot sand was turning cold enough to chill every drop of sweat on their bodies. The sun was no more than a piece of an orange peel on a blood-red sky.

“Agreed. Take the saw. Think of a dagger or something,” the ex-ranger said as he made his way down the slope of cracked stones. He heaved up the heavy beam, set it up on his shoulders, and started to make his way back to their makeshift camp. His feet were heavy, digging deep into the sand, his eyes stinging from the sand. It was only when they were halfway back to the others that he realized he handed Neceran over the only weapon he currently had, and that the dragon woman was currently at his undefended back. He spared a glance backwards, half-expecting seeing toothy, beastly grin even as she got ready to stab at his kidneys, but instead only found a rather impatient frown of a scaly woman holding a sword.

“Maybe she will stab me later," he allowed a cynical thought.

By the time they made their way back, the sky was purple in the west and dark blue in the east, and stars completely unlike any that Letho ever saw were starting to show up. A moon, orange and half-full and larger than it had any right to be, also made an appearance, rising like some faded copy of the sister sun. The wind had grown relentless, blowing sand over the edge of the ditch in thick sheets.

Coming to the edge of the pit, Letho tossed the beam down and finally got himself away from the wind. “Now, all we are missing is some wild creature to roast,” he said with a smirk that looked a bit jaded.

[Tourneymant]

Letho and Neceran had left maybe fifteen minutes ago, but the sun was already gone, a paler moon taking its post. Barnabas rested on his back, pressed against the crater's wall to stay out of the wind. With only his candlestick to weigh him down, a strong gust would send him sailing in an instant. Then he would never be able to finish their quest. He looked up as his two allies returned, to his surprise, carrying actually burnable wood. Barnabas jumped up forgetting about the wind. A sudden gust sent him flying into the beam. He grabbed onto it tightly and helped get it into the crater.

Suddenly he noticed a Steel Shifter in Neceran's hand. He had seen such steel during a tournament six years ago. In fact, he had one sitting in his bag at home. "May I see that weapon, Neceran? I would like to cut the wood myself ... to keep me occupied." Barnabas never liked waiting during a quest so he always tried to find a way to occupy himself, even if it was just cutting wood.

Neceran looked for the source of the voice before eyeing the candle holder on the ground

"If you don't know where I am just put it down next to the candle holder and I will pick it up," he said. "Don't worry, I'll be careful with it. I'll return it to it's owner after I'm finished."

Neceran looked at the candle holder on the ground then at the wood. She finally nodded then placed the mystical metal knife on the ground. Barnabas picked it up and looked at it. The knife wasn't suitable for him to cut the wood. I wish I had a saw instead of a knife. Suddenly the knife turned into a single handled saw. Barnabas smiled though no one else noticed. Oh, right. Shape shifting metal, I already knew that.

He quickly got to work and started to saw through the wood cutting it into twelve identical blocks. Piling eleven in the center, he pointed the saw at the pile then at the sorcerer, Elijah. He took the last block and and changed the saw to a chisel. He worked the twelve block with his new tool, meticulously chipping bits off the wood. The wood slowly took shape, with stubby legs, a rounded snout, and a long tail. He added more details: scales, claws. Several quiet minutes passed as he worked, and finally he looked down at his finished product: a fierce lizard with four short legs, three-toed feet, long, a ridge on its back, and long, sharp teeth. He smiled with satisfaction, a secret smile that nobody else could see -- he was invisible, after all. He put it in his pocket making the item disappear as well.

"What was that you were just carving?" Elijah asked pulling Barnabas from the statue.

" It's called a Salamander." Barnabas said, "They crawl around and breathe fire. I saw one maybe thirty years ago, in a tournament not unlike this one. It was on planet covered in deserts." He paused and pointed the chisel skyward. "Far away from here, in the stars by your standards, my allies and I returned from treasure hunting to find a Salamander hiding in our tent. One of my allies decided that it would make a great pet so he went over to it and picked it up. Well, it wasn't to happy about being lifted off the ground like a puppy so it opened it's mouth and a breath of fire over the poor fool. The rest of us started laughing hysterically causing the salamander to notice us too. We got out of camp with a few burns and blisters but the old fool went back to try it again. We never saw him again. Now here is the best part of all, We found out that that little guy was just a baby. The next day we saw a whole bunch of them wandering around. Let me tell you, I'm glad we didn't mess with any of those ones."

Elijah looked at Barnabas with an unreadable expression on his face. "That's quite a tale," he said, "I think I've read about these creatures somewhere. Do you think we would find any here?"

"I have no idea, but to tell you the truth I hope not. Now get some sleep. You need it for tomorrow."

Then Eli grinned, "At least an invisible man has nothing to fear from hideous burn scars."

Barnabas chuckled, "Your right!"

"Hopefully you found what you were looking for on that... distant world."

"I did my friend ... You know what, I don't even know what we are supposed to do here."

"Nor do I, actually."

"Hey Neceran, do you happen to know what our objective is?"

[Neceran]

“Objective?” the drakeling blurted at the general direction of the voice. “It's simple, little man. Win.”

“Well, yes. But for this round. What are we doing here?” he asked. Neceran raised an eyebrow and tossed her burgundy hair.

“Get to the castle,” she said simply. “I didn't read everything. I figured that the spire there was the best vantage point from which we could locate it. So far, however, I haven't seen a single thing otherwise that would point to a castle in this place.” Neceran's eyes narrowed. “Don't tell me. None of you read it either.”

She was met with a slap of silence, and diverted eyes.

“I saw something about a castle,” Letho said finally.

“Then to the castle it is,” Elijah said, running his hand across the worried creases in his brow. “Neceran is right. The spire will be the next step.”

As the temperature continued to drop, Neceran coiled into the lee of the crater Elijah had blasted, the rim of it providing enough overhang that the group would be protected from the onslaught of sand that would break the threshold from annoying to deadly within minutes. She lay on her side, propping her head up with her clawed hand, her scaled shins pulled upward and protecting the more vulnerable flesh of her thighs. The others were making some semblance of small talk, and the drakeling watched them through the fire.

“You have not said your name, ally,” she said during a lull in the conversation, her attention directed at the candlestick.

“Barnabas,” the invisible man replied, raising his voice over the wind.

“Barnabas, Letho, and Elijah,” the Draconian mused, an enigmatic smile on her lips. She cocked her head and looked at Elijah curiously. “I've heard of the cold of Salvar, though we do not venture there often. They say it would freeze a dragon's wings right off his back.”

“That,” he responded levelly, “would depend on the dragon.” The drakeling cracked a sly smile, lips only slightly bristling.

“We'll find out, now won't we?” Neceran asked dryly. The young man nodded sagely.

Neceran flapped her free wing gently, fanning the dying flame. With a glance at her companions, the drakeling seized another log from the pile with her tail and spat upon it. Unaffected by the sweltering embers, she deftly nestled the log among the others, and the wood blazed immediately where she had moistened it. Neceran poked and prodded the embers with the slender tip of her tail. Confident the others were occupied, she untied a small purse from her leather belt.

The Draconian's eyes sparkled as she peeked at the contents, spreading the leather cinch just wide enough for the meager light of the fire and the moon to shatter and refract within. Her tail slithered languidly and she fondled the scintillating bits of gold and dancing gems with a smooth, polished claw. With a snort of annoyance, she fished out a ring and pulled the ragged remains of a finger from within the circle, then tossed the decaying flesh into the fire. Satisfied, she placed signet back into the purse, tightened the cinch and replaced it on her belt. The little store of valuables was for Neceran's hoard, her dragon's Prestige, and how she would love to add Letho's shiny treasure to her collection. But more immediately, she was interested in the one called Elijah.

He had summoned fire.

Among her kind, there were varying purities of blood. The majority of the population was diluted by poor, thoughtless breeding with lessers, even pure humans, leaving the race adulterated almost beyond recognition. Those possessed but a few scales to show for the vaunted, ancient union between dragon and man. Some bore scales and claws, testifying to a less deteriorated bloodline. And others, among whom Neceran was considered a peer, bore either wings allowing flight, or the glands that facilitated fire breathing, either considered the purest since the demise of the Blood Caste.

Perhaps she was taken less seriously because of the very human qualities of her face and parts of her flesh, but she had not only wings, but also the coveted gland of the Flame Caste, underdeveloped though it might be. All Neceran needed was a spark, a tendril of flame to ignite the liquid that she could expel forcefully, creating a terrible, adherent pyre. Perhaps Elijah, who had called her friend so readily, would just as readily share his secrets of fire.

As the screeching, frigid wind and sand violated the desolate terrain, the others gave up on conversation completely. While the group was protected from the most immediate danger, they were vexed by the powdery, creeping dust that pooled in a vortex, swirling within the crater. The grit filled their mouths, keenly reminding the adventurers they had been without water for some time. As the sandstorm raged over them, the glassy shelter collected more of the fine dust, constantly agitated by the stray breezes that found their way over the lip. As she coughed and choked, Neceran felt as though she would suffocate, yet she had no cloth to cover her mouth or nose, only leather.

At its worst, the adventurers could only see the orange light of the fire and the vague outlines of their companions, except, of course, for Barnabas, who was, truly, invisible. Only the occasional glint of his candlestick could be seen to reassure the others he had not blown away, as he feared he might. Finally, and Neceran thanked the Twin Gods in choking gasps, the wind relented, and the roiling cauldron of dust finally settled. So, too, had settled a bone-aching chill, and Neceran tossed another log on the fire.

“You'd better save some of that wood. It's got to last all night,” Letho asserted.

“You tell a dragon how to tend a fire?” Neceran asked distractedly, stoking the flames. “The days are short; the nights are short. There will be plenty, and extra won't matter if you're corpses.”

“And being warmer for a few hours won't matter if we freeze before dawn,” he said with an edge to his voice. However, Neceran was in no mood to argue.

“Let her be,” Barnabas interjected. “If she doesn't stay warm, she might go into hibernation, being cold-blooded and all.” The Draconian looked at the candlestick, cursing the fact she could not see the man's face. She could not tell if he was serious or not, yet so far, he seemed the serious type.

“I'm very much as warm-blooded as you are, little man, and I don't blow away. Is that what people think of drakelings, that we are so weak that we cannot stand the cold?” Neceran rose to kneeling, hunched over to allow for her wings.

“Well, I don't know what others think, but...” he replied quickly. She stood to her full height and scaled part of the glassy crater, surveying the land around it.

“It seems odd to me,” she began. “Barnabas mentioned frost and ice, yet I see none. There isn't enough water anywhere to create it, either; the sky is clear as a dragon's eye. And feel,” she said laying her hand on the smoothness of the crater, “the ground is too warm to allow it. It makes no sense at all.”

“Not much on this island does,” Letho called back.

“Something...” Neceran said. “There is something else. Has to be.” The drakeling twisted her upper body to look back at the three men at the fire when a very familiar sound pierced the night sky. She immediately ducked and slid on her side down the embankment.

“What is it?” Elijah whispered harshly, more intense than she had ever seen him.

“My ancestors, at least one of them, come for a visit,” Neceran said bitterly. “We must get out of this crater! We are in his territory, and we have changed it. He will know immediately, and kill us on the spot.” Letho grimaced, understanding.

“It's an ice dragon. I'm sure of it,” the Ranger said. “He brings the frost.”

[Christoph]

“Gods damn this place!” Belov growled, his composure slipping a bit. “I would have preferred Salamanders!” He rubbed the bridge of his nose in intense thought, and holding up his other hand to halt his comrades. “There's no use in running. You'll all be picked off like sheep out in the open.”

Roaring relentlessly, the great ice dragon circled overhead, leaving frosty trails in its wake. It could see their camp, now. Without thinking, Elijah scrambled out of the crater and looked up; the thing was huge, bigger than anything he had ever seen – more massive even than the manticores of Salvar. Covered in pale blue scales and wicked black spikes, it seemed more a force of nature than a beast. The gusts from its beating wings felt like northern blizzards, its roar the sound of a stormy sea. Its very being filled Eli with existential dread, overwhelming him with its sheer scale and impossible permanence. He had never felt so small.

“Stop gawking, boy!” Letho's voice from within the crater, stern like a strict father, shattered the sorcerer's fear. They need me because I'm the sorcerer; I'm the only one here who can fight this beast in these conditions. I have clearly made poor choices in life.

The dragon bellowed and dove right toward him, but he held his ground. Once more, arcane power swirled around him, into him. Heat ripped up from the earth and surged into his hands until his scars burned red. They flared with pain, but he ignored it. A blast of frost and jagged ice erupted from the beast's mouth as it descended. Elijah raised his arms and a great fiery maw sprang from his fingertips, orange, red, and hungry. The flames writhed outward like a mass of snakes, consuming the icy breath in a cloud of steam.

He grinned wildly, momentarily lost in the familiar rush of power. He barely ducked in time as the dragon swooped right over his head. Intense sandy wind scoured the sorcerer's skin, forcing him to pull his cloak over his face just to breathe. Belov picked a direction and ran, putting some distance between him and the crater. The flying beast allowed little time, swooping down like a hawk. Eli was no hare, however. As the beast came down, cutting a frozen swath across the sand, he leapt aside. He rolled nimbly, adding another cloud of dust to the growing storm of steam, smoke and sand.

Elijah scrambled to his feet as the dragon circled back for another attack. More ancient words spilled from his lips as he wove tight the threads of magic. Flame oozed from his very pores, coating his hands in a fiery aura. With a flick of his arms, spears of fire streaked through the air, exploding against the dragon's body. It roared in pain but did not slow. In fact, Belov's attacks only seemed to make it angry. It surged overhead once more, a shadow in the dust and smog. Eli ducked, but the beast did not target him. Instead, it flew overhead and landed on the crater's opposite side.

With a growl, Eli sprinted back toward the crater. His fingers quickly traced runes in the air with streaks of smoke as he ran. At his command, wind itself wrapped around him. His feet felt lighter and his movements swifter. He reached the crater's edge in an instant and jumped. With wind beneath his feet, he sailed through the air towards the dragon, fire in his hands. Then, with Eli midair, the dragon stood on its hind legs and beat its powerful wings. A mighty blast of air struck the jumping sorcerer like a wall, sending him flying into the crater wall. He smashed into the glass and fell in an unmoving heap.

The dragon roared in triumph and stomped to the crater's glassy rim, shaking the earth. It looked down and opened its massive jaws, revealing rows of jagged teeth. Elijah tried to stand, but his strength failed him. He drowned in a sea of pain, barely conscious. Letho stepped in front of him and the others, clearly ready to take the sorcerer's place. Suddenly, a deafening crack echoed through the desert. The ground beneath them shifted, and suddenly the entire base of the crater caved in. Eli's world turned dark.

* * * * *

He woke up to a scaly arm wrapped around his waist, lifting him to his feet. Blinking in the dusty darkness, he glanced to his right, making out Necaran's distinct face. She yanked him up roughly, forcing a tormented groan from Eli's lips. Hot pain surged through his chest and back – he recognized the feeling of cracked ribs.

“Up,” she said. “We need you on your feet.” She muttered something under her breath and looked away – whether it was admiration or contempt toward his previous display of bravado, he could not tell. Probably contempt.

Unwilling to appear weak, the battered sorcerer complied. “I've had worse.” That didn't say much, given his violent history. He glanced around, seeing only darkness. “Where are we?”

Letho spoke up from behind him. “We fell into a cavern, but there is no telling where it leads.”

“Let us get some light, then,” Eli replied. He raised his palm wearily, and a small flame sparked in his hand. Soft light spread across the cavern, which formed a corridor about fifteen feet wide. Suddenly, several pairs of yellow eyes appeared in the gloom. Growls echoed. Fire spewed from scaly snouts. They had been discovered again.

Barnabas's voice came from Belov's left shoulder. “Those would be Salamanders.”

“Of course,” Eli groaned. Why do I tempt fate?

Necaran removed her arm, letting him stagger into the cave wall. “I blame you for this.” Was that humor hidden deep within her voice? Would he live long enough to find out?

[Letho]

"None of that now!" Letho said curtly. The Vorpal Blade already shimmered and lost shape in his hands, but remained malleable as the ex-ranger examined their surroundings. Though there was naught but inky blackness around them moments ago, the fire salamanders provided colored the underground passage into a thousand shades of orange. The fire wyrms themselves were the most vibrant source of light, though, the infernal flames their bodies contained bursting out of their eyes, their mouth, out of every crease in their scaled skin, making it look as if they were ready to explode. Each was as large as a war steed and twice as long, their legs stunted, their tails swishing and scraping against the charcoaled ground with bony spikes.

"Yes, there's plenty of time to point fingers later. If we survive," Barnabas added, and for once Letho didn't find the invisible man comical. There was great gravity to his tone; the man knew well enough what kind of a threat the salamanders posed.

"Indeed," Letho concurred, his eyes shifting upwards to the hole they made with their crashing entrance. He saw nothing, no light, no ice dragon, and nothing to indicate how long the fall was and how long the climb would be. With the flames around them growing in intensity, the darkness above was absolute. It could've be ten feet. It could've be a thousand. Either way, it didn't matter. "There is no time to climb back out and there's a solid rock wall at our back. We have to push through them. I will take point..."

"I believe I can withstand their fires better, ranger," Neceran interrupted, her wings stretching and flapping as if she was testing them in these narrow confinements. Despite her impressive frame, she looked small compared to the beasts that slowly crept forwards, turning their surroundings into burning hell with every step. And even though Letho was still a far cry from liking the dragon-woman, he was a step closer to respecting her for there was no fear in her voice. "My kind was borne out of fire. I can resist them far longer than any of you."

"Perhaps you can. But when they get close to you, they shall tear you limb for limb," Letho said, knowing she was right. While he might've been almost completely impervious to magic, he knew the anatomy of the fire-lizards well enough to know that their fiery breaths had nothing to with magic. Instead their bodies expelled a combination of liquids that reacted against each other, creating the flames and rendering his anti-magic aura useless.

The Vorpal Blade started to shift again as he spoke, settling down into a shape of a spiked warhammer. He stood next to the winged woman, facing fiery oblivion. "We will both lead. You fend off the flames and I shall carve us a path. The passage forks ahead. We will draw them away to the left one, you two take the other one."

"I can still fight," Eljah insisted.

"We both can," Barnabas added, his candle-holder looking particularly defiant.

"And we can all die. At least one of us needs to get to the end of this ordeal, that much I did read before I enlisted in this damnable competition." His frown, as he spoke these words to the two, was strict but not unkind or condescending. He wasn't speaking to them as if they were children, but his peers, companions even. "No arguments now. They are upon us. Forward!"

Brandishing her mace, Neceran spread her wings like sails of a ship and before she made even a couple of steps forwards, the first blast hit her. The membranes of the wings fluttered and her skin steamed, but her step never faltered as she charged straight at the salamanders. Again the fire breath came at her, then two more, the combined force making her stagger a little. Still she pushed forward, the crimson scales covering her hands and shoulders now glowing as if they were about to melt. By the time the third salvo came at her, most of the fire lizards were screeching and growling and pouring fire in her direction. Dragonkin or not, there was no way she could hold it for much longer. Luckily, by then the salamanders were coming in melee range. It was time for Letho to do some grunt work.

Charging in front of Neceran, the ex-ranger seemed on course to take a blast full in his face, but he leapt at the very last moment, the stream of fire jetting below him. He landed on the beast's back, bringing his hammer down in a savage downwards motion amplified by his flight. The blunt head of the warhammer shattered both scale and bone, making the beast beneath him collapse. Still, even in such a broken condition it tried to turn its head around to give Letho one last fiery farewell, but then Letho was spinning around, burying the spiked end of the hammer in the salamander's neck.

Immediately the attention was shifted towards the new threat. The fire-breathing monsters turned from the resistant dragon woman to the bulky ranger, and a jet of flame scudded towards him. Letho rolled down from his kill and ducked, using the scaly body as a shield from the flames. Not a second of reprieve was allowed, though. Another came charging, climbing over his dead kin and trying to bite Letho's head off. The ranger brought his hammer up to parry, burying the shaft of his hammer in the salamander's mouth. The beast snapped at the metal, its teeth grinding and snapping, and then decided it was less of a hassle just burn the human to an cinder. But Letho saw the flame rushing from the nostrils and pushed the thing's head aside. A moment too late, though. He could feel the flame tongues licking against his shoulder, could smell the sickening scent of burnt flesh.

With a growl of his own, Letho twisted his body and pivoted away from the flames, letting go of the hammer in order to get a better grip on the beast. One of his huge arms circled around the long scaly neck now, the beast trashing and swishing its tail wildly and still spewing flames. Jerking the head this way and that, Letho directed the flames towards the rest of salamander's kin. It would do little damage, he knew, but it would serve as a fitting distraction. Once the rest seemed irked enough to breathe down their own kin with their fires, Letho tightened the grip around the wyrm's neck. Bones and scales crunched. The fires dies. The beast fell dead. Letho retrieved his hammer from its mouth. And then the hell itself was rushing at him.

"Watch out!" Neceran shouted, her winged form sliding into view just in time to meet the combined force of every salamander in the passage. Even behind the protection of her wings, Letho could feel the heat. It made his entire body burn and ache, as if he stood too close to the blacksmith's furnace. The force of the flames brought her down to one knee, but still she held on, her pointy teeth gritting against each other. By the time the fire wyrms were done, not much of her was left that wasn't blackened by the fire.

"That's enough. We got their attention! Come on!" Letho shouted, helping Neceran to her feet. She seemed a bit dazed for the first couple of steps, but soon enough they were jogging down the left passage, the fire and roaring of the salamanders at their back. Before them, darkness was thick, broken only sporadically by the orange of the flames that kept getting closer with each roar. The passage widened before them a bit, and just as they thought they would be able to get away from the lizards, they hit a smooth stone wall. And there seemed to be no way out of the small cave than back the way they came. And already the first pair of blazing orbs was appearing around the corner, those infernal eyes set on the trespassers.

"No way out. Damn it all!" Letho shouted, hitting the wall with his fist. The wall, clearly of human making, was unimpressed by his might.

"I... I cannot take much more," Neceran said, sounding weary now. Around them, the salamanders were lining up for the final showdown, like a firing squad readying for an execution. Letho though there were still half a dozen of them, all seriously peeved. Letho's eyes darted this way and that, asserting the situation, calculating, discarding, looking for a way out. There was only one, but not for him. He smirked with what looked part lunacy and part pride and part some sick satisfaction.

"Those wings of yours, can you use them to fly?" he asked the woman.

"No, such gifts haven't been bestowed upon me yet," Neceran responded, her tone a bit cross.

"Well, I hope you learn fast."

And before she even realized what his words meant, and pair of strong hands seized her by the clothing on her back and she was flung in an arc over the line of salamander's. And even as he did so, Letho charged straight at the fire wyrms, white light exploding around him with a deafening sonic boom. And as he met with those blazing eyes and jagged teeth, Letho was a changed man, moving faster and striking harder than any man had a right to. "Flee now!" he shouted at her, his blank white eyes sparing her not a glance. "Flee and join the others!" his voice could barely be heard over the growls and roars and the sound of hammer hitting scale and bone and flesh.

"I will hold them off."

[Tourneymant]

*Editing*

Elijah hesitated after Letho and Neceran ran down their passage. "Get moving," Barnabas yelled, pushing Elijah into the other tunnel. The hall was long and dark. There were rocks everywhere making their sprint down the hall all the more difficult. After many trips and falls they had to stop and take a rest. After Barnabas could breath he turned towards Elijah. "You know, I'm starting to think you are all idiots."

"What makes you say that?" his ally asked. Barnabas could feel the man's eyes on him -- a strange sensation for an invisible man

"First you go and try to kill a dragon by yourself. Then, Letho and Neceran go to fight those salamanders. Those were both extremely stupid ideas."

The sorcerer laughed. "You don't understand human valor much, do you? We may sacrifice our lives, but only when it accomplishes something."

"Is that what you were doing up above? Sacrificing yourself for some greater good?"

Elijah shrugged, "No, alas. I just thought I could beat it."

Idiot. Barnabas turned to continue down the gloomy hall, only to immediately reach a dead end. Their path was blocked by a slab of smooth stone. He pushed against the impeding wall, but it wouldn't budge. He felt some indents on the wall. He traced the indents but couldn't tell if it was writing or if it was just apart of the stone. he turned towards Elijah. "Can you light my candles? I need to check this out."

A murmur came from Elijah and the candles were lit. In the candlelight, one might have mistaken Elijah for a zombie. He was leaning against the wall extremely weak. His head was slumped and he looked ragged. Barnabas was concerned but didn't have the time to dwell on it. If those Salamanders came this way they would both be in trouble. He leaned close, examining the wall in leaving no detail unexplored.

The slab of rock looked like it was made of granite. It had many pictographs of the sun, moon, stars, sand, and snow. Surrounding the picture were dragon wings. Underneath the pictures were ruins of which Barnabas couldn't understand. He looked back at Elijah, who was still leaning against the wall like the living dead. Barnabas hated to do this to him but he had no choice. "Elijah, Do you think you can read these ruins?"

Elijah approached and ran his fingers along the carved stone. "Fascinating. These are dwarven runes mixed with some form of pictography. The images seem to talk about the desert and the trials we overcame. The runes are odd dialect, but I think I can make sense of the writing. Roughly, it translates into...Elijah approached and ran his fingers along the carved stone. "Fascinating. These are dwarven runes mixed with some form of pictography. The images seem to talk about the desert and the trials we overcame. The runes are odd dialect, but I think I can make sense of the writing. It says something about a great cold taking the sky and chasing away the sun. That rune there is Dwarven for "vitae", the potent blood of ancients. And I recognize these as the symbols for 'shatter', 'access', and 'worthy.'" He cursed softly and slumped against the wall. "Damn them. We weren't supposed to get this far yet. We need dragon's blood to break the seal."

[Neceran]

Neceran was still recovering from the intensity of the salamanders' flames, and chagrined by her treatment at the hands of Letho. With surprising strength, the Ranger had lifted her with no more effort than a child would a paper airplane, and tossed her – tossed her – with the same regard. After a brief glide over the writhing, fiery beasts, the drakeling had tumbled in an undignified crash-landing. Why he had bothered to attempt to save her, after the clearly distrustful looks he gave her, she could not figure.

“The fool,” she hissed. “He's got a death wish. Let him have it then!” she spat, her voice echoing in the wide, stone passage as she jogged through it toward the faint light ahead. Neceran looked curiously as she passed a pile of sand, and the top arch of a blocked, narrow window through which the desert had spilled. She drew near the candlelight and her fellow adventurers, and noticed several other piles at regular intervals.

Neceran stopped short as she reached her companions. Elijah was looking at her with great curiosity, his thoughtful eyes sizing her up, and she felt oddly uncomfortable. Barnabas stood still, as far as the drakeling could tell; his form was but a distortion in the air, shimmering slightly in the light of the candle he held.

“What?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Just how pure is your blood?” Elijah asked. Neceran's spine straightened, shrugging off the exhausted stoop.

“Look, human. I have withstood the fire of salamanders,” the Draconian said haughtily, brushing the black soot from her arms. “My blood is among the purest that exists!” Elijah nodded.

“Good,” he said. “That is good.” Neceran tensed her mighty wings, extending them as far as the passage would allow. With several deliberate beats, the ash and dust danced in the displacement of air, and Barnabas was lifted from his feet. The hall went dark as the candle was extinguished.

<“Piss on my Prestige,”> the Draconian cursed in her native tongue. A flicker from Elijah's hand quickly found the candles' wicks again, yet the golden light only gave the illusion of warmth. Neceran's body was beginning to relax again, the heat of the battle and the salamanders' fire leaving her. Whatever underground structure they had fallen into was as bone-freezingly cold as she had ever felt, perhaps cold enough to freeze the wings right off her back.

Neceran noticed the plaque behind Elijah.

"What does it say?" she asked. "I recognize the rune for ancient blood, but the rest, I can't understand."

"The castle was our objective, and we've found it," Elijah began, "but too soon. We were to bring blood of the ancient dragon." Neceran growled as she took her mace in hand and crouched, tail in the air and ready. The intent of the men before her was clear; she was a much easier opponent than the ice dragon.

“You want my blood?” she hissed. “Do you think I will just roll over and bleed for you, human?”

[Christoph]

“Wait, what?” Elijah blinked, his confused eyes locked on his Drakeling ally. He glanced back at the stone plaque covered in cryptic writing. Neceran readied her mace, and suddenly everything made sense. He raised his hands in surrender and laughed in spite of himself. “No, no! I don't imagine we need all of your blood.” He paused, uncertain. “Do we?” The softness in Belov's voice seemed to take the fire from Neceran's belly. She lowered her mace slightly, the mix of sadness and pity on her face making her look even more human.

“Whoever made this challenge expected us to kill that dragon,” she replied, more quietly now.. “Pure though my blood may be, do you think a mere drop would serve as substitute for the real thing?” She lifted her mace once more and Elijah felt a tightness in his chest.

The invisible man shifted beside him. “It's our only way through.”

“I'm sorry.” Eli lowered his gaze, feeling impossibly weary at that moment. They had come this far together; how could he sacrifice her now?

“Don't be sorry,” the Drakeling snapped, some of her spirit returning to her. “Just make it a good death, and perhaps we will meet again.” She grinned, baring her razor-sharp teeth. Without another word, she lunged at him, mace swinging for his head. He ducked just in time and swept with his leg, taking out Neceran's knee and knocking her over. She rolled to the side, lashing out with her tail. Eli jumped back to avoid it, and the Drakeling sized the chance to regain her feet. She swung her mace again. This time, Belov stepped forward, catching her weapon arm in his hand and driving his elbow into her jaw. Neceran staggered.

The fight moved quickly from there. Eli pressed his advantage. Power flowed through his hands as he delivered a flurry of open-pawned strikes. Each hit ignited her flesh like sparks on parchment, charring even her resistant flesh. She stumbled against the wall, her mace slipping from her fingers. Elijah caught it mid-air turned it against its former owner. Two strikes to the chest and two to the head, and the mighty Drakeling crumpled, falling face first into the stone seal.

He let Neceran's body slump to the dusty floor, leaving a thick smear of viscous blood on the twice-cursed plaque that barred their way. At first, nothing happened. The tightness in his chest returned. He clenched his fists. Had it all been for nothing? Then, a crack echoed through the cave as the giant plaque split apart down a jagged seam and shattered. A gust of even colder air rushed from the opening. Another expanse of darkness awaited them beyond the broken threshold. He motioned for Barnabas, his last companion, to follow. He ventured further into the darkness without looking back. He knew he could not bear to look upon Necaran's broken body.

Once through the opening, the tunnel turned from a rough, natural cavern to a wide and neatly carved hallway. Someone had built this passageway. Frost coated the walls, glistening like crystal in the candlelight. Eli's breath froze as it left his lips. He pulled his cloak tight against the cold and shivered – even his Salvic blood only went so far.

Elijah lost track of how long they walked. Neither of them spoke of what had happened, or about anything at all. Academically, he knew that she would be revived at the end of this forsaken challenge. Still, it felt like a betrayal.

The frozen hall continued endlessly, river into the void, with only their flickering candles providing an isle of sanity. Their footsteps echoed in the dead silence, creating a chorus of phantom sounds. Despite its obvious man-made appearance, the corridor's design was sparse and bare, with no though to aesthetics. I suppose it makes sense; it's too dark to appreciate any decorative touches, anyway. Only the finely-crafted arcs in the ceiling possessed any semblance of artistry.

An hour went by. They extinguished two of the three candles to save wax. The pain from his injured ribs returned, a constant dull throbbing like a fire burning in his chest. The cold, good for at least one thing, helped to numb the pain. As well as his fingers and toes. He wondered how Barnabas was holding up, but he couldn't gauge the condition of a shimmer in the air.

Finally, the hall ended and they entered a huge open cavern. The candlelight, barely a speck in the vast well of darkness, only hindered their vision. Elijah put it out with a wave of his hand. As his eyes adjusted faint outlines of massive pillars appeared in the gloom. The ceiling loomed at least fifty feet above. On the chamber's far side, a good two-hundred feet away, a single shaft of light shined down from a crack in the ceiling. It fell upon a large platform atop a stone tower and illuminated a length of stairs lined with more pillars. Realization dawned. We've been looking for a 'castle', and it has been underground this whole time.

He looked to the floating candlestick and finally broke the silence. “It's the final stretch, my friend.” Smiling again, he ran up the steps into the light. He didn't expect to find a frozen pool at the top, but there it was, a mere twenty feet across, surrounded by smooth stones, and gleaming in the light like a sheet of glass. He knelt beside it and sighed. In his weary state, his first reaction was despair and anger. All his efforts for this? He shook his head. No, there must be more to it than this. He focused on the frozen pool, letting his consciousness sink into the ice. He felt the presence of magic immediately, so potent that it threatened to overwhelm his senses. He fell backwards, drawing his awareness inward again. Now that is interesting.

Elijah turned at the sound of footsteps. “This is it, Barnabas. This is our goal.”

“This... frozen pond?”

“It goes without saying that this is no normal pond. There is powerful magic hidden beneath its surface.”

“How do we get at it?” Barnabas asked.

Elijah grinned, summoning an aura of flame around his hands. “It should be easier than getting a dragon's blood.” He placed his burning palms against the ice and began melting through it. Suddenly, thunder rumbled through the entire cavern. No, not thunder, but a roar. Belov cursed as a massive winged form crawled nimbly down one of the larger pillars. It roared again, its voice an icy dagger in Elijah's gut. Its soulless blue eyes locked right on him. Frozen mist oozed from its scaly nostrils.

Nothing was ever easy.

[Letho]

His world was made of fire and toothy snarls and the smell of burning things. All around, blazing eyes bore down on him, angry, vicious, and giant maws snapped and growled, ominous, deadly. Amidst this theater of fiery horrors, Letho Ravenheart seemed minute and insignificant, a lonely pulse of white light trying to hold off a tide of scales and tails and ripping claws. They were vicious predators, these salamanders, their bodies built like almost perfect machines of destruction. A single misstep was enough to get him in the path of a flesh-tearing claw or a deadly jet of flame. But Letho held his ground.

The blood of ancient men coursed through his veins, and from this ancestry the ranger drew his power. It vibrated through his body, this uncanny might, making his muscles bulge until they started to tear at the seams of his clothes. It also brought razor-like sharpness to his reflexes, turning him into a predator himself. It turned the battle into a true clash of titans, where every blow resonated throughout the cave, sounding as if it shook the very foundations of the earth.

Letho had had the vaguest of plans when he rushed the fire wyrms, a simple tactic of divide and conquer where he would single out one or two and focus his attacks on them until they were dead. But once he was actually within the reach of all those claws and jagged teeth, all traces of a plan fell apart. There were no rules to follow in such a situation, no rhyme or reason to the erratic attacks of the monsters. Some held back and tried to douse him in flames, and some charged in with speed one wouldn't expect from creatures with such stunted legs. Letho pivoted and spun and ducked, moving with the finesse and fluidity the big monsters seemed to lack. He didn't think about making it, didn't think about holding the creatures busy long enough for others to get away, didn't really think much of anything save the next parry, next evasion, next fraction of a second.

The first kill was the easiest. The boldest of the fire-breathing wyrms came lunging at him, head snapping at the end of an elongated neck. But Letho rolled to the side and even as he raised his warhammer, the weapon changed, turning into a large greatsword. The Vorpal Blade didn't sever the head cleanly, but it got deep enough to break the vertebrae and bring the creature down. But before the salamander even hit the ground, Letho had to move again, rolling away from a burst of flame that seemed to set his entire world on fire. He smelled his flesh burning again, felt the pain of the heat on his legs, pushed it aside. No time for being hurt. Already two more snouts expelled flame, making him jump backwards. A fraction of a second later, a claw came swiping from behind. Letho ducked, turned, swung, his greatsword biting into the salamander's foreleg. He pressed the attack, his sword an orange metallic blur reflecting the sizzling fires that were all around him. When its scaly back hit the wall, the beast rose on its hind legs, then tried to come down and crush the puny human. Letho never moved an inch. The greatsword turned into a lance just in time to impale the falling beast.

There was no time to rest, no time to catch his breath, barely time enough to yank his spear out of the dead lizard. Already the flames were upon him again and already he was on the move. Running up the back of his recent kill, Letho fled from the flames as fast as he could, his feet taking two steps up the vertical stone wall before they pushed against it, sending the ranger flying in the opposite direction. His downward thrust with the lance was so powerful that it went straight through the head of one of the wyrms and pinned it to its own back. The beast rolled on the ground, twitched a couple of times, and then never moved again.

Its kin did, though, and with even more urgency. A spiked tail came swishing at Letho, making him jump over it... and straight into the path of an incoming claw. Pain exploded across his back as he was flung aside like a rag doll, rolling uncontrollably through dust and fire. By the time he stopped, there was a familiar sight above him: a pair of fiery eyes and mouth larger than they were supposed to be. Letho's hands shot out immediately, grabbing the thing by the snout and the lower jaw. With a growl of his own and an effort that seemed to put every muscle of his body in motion, he pulled the two hands apart until he could hear the satisfying crunch as he tore away the thing's lower jaw. The limp body fell at his side, smoke smoldering out of the nostrils.

Two more were left, and they both seemed intent on making him work out even more of a sweat. They didn't breathe fire in unison; instead the first one fired a jet that seemed to follow Letho even as he made a run down the length of the room and towards where his weapon was half-buried in a salamander. But even as one jet finished, the other followed, the fire following the sprint of the bulky ranger in an arc that went around the room. Their planned seemed rather simple, just breathing fire in a clockwise direction until there was nowhere else to run for their quarry. But with his muscles pulsing with the power of his remarkable blood, Letho was too fast, too small a target. He flew past the slain salamander and pulled the lance out with ease, then immediately sent it flying like a javelin at one of the beasts. He scored a glancing blow, the tip of his lance tearing a gash at the flank of the wyrm. But it was enough to make the creature stop breathing the deadly flames, and it gave him just enough time to go on an offensive again.

Bare handed, burned and bleeding, Letho charged straight at the beast, tackling it at the neck and twisting his grip until he brought it down. The salamander swiped at him with one of his claws, tearing another gash in the ranger's flank and breaking ribs as if they were matchsticks. But despite the pain and heat, Letho held on, rolled with the salamander in on the charcoaled ground, and then finished the beast with another hug of death that nearly tore the head and neck clean off.

Breathing heavily now, body wracked with pain and pulsating like a huge open wound, Letho struggled to his feet, spitting out dark gunk made of blood and dust and ash. The white aura around him was wavering, like a dying flame of a candle in the wind. Just one more, he tried to say to himself. Just one more left. The beast looked at him with those expressionless fiery eyes, looked and hesitated and stood its ground, minute jets of flames flaring out of its nostrils.

"Come on!" Letho tried to provoke the creature. He stood with his back to the passage through which they came in, but he had no intention of running. Instead he beckoned the beast again. "Come on, what are you waiting for?!"

A moment later Letho got an answer to his question. Out of the darkness of the passage, moving with such stealth that one would never expect from a creature so big and clumsy looking, came the largest salamander yet. All the ranger ever caught was the briefest of glimpses of a set of eyes and a gaping maw filled with too many teeth before both were upon him. And then the only light left in the cavers were the dying flames of the salamander's fire.

[Tourneymant]

Barnabas couldn't believe his eyes. First they find a frozen magic pond, and then a dragon who just wouldn't give up appears just before they finish their quest. Even as he shook from the aggravation and terror boiling up from his gut, he couldn't help but fear for Elijah. Not only had he faced the dragon already and failed, he was stupid enough to try fighting it again. Barnabas could at least buy some time. He knew he was no match for the dragon, but he had to keep it away from Zombie Elijah.

The dragon climbed down that pillar with more skill then a monkey. As soon as the dragon reached the ground, Barnabas charged, Candle holder raised high above his head. The beast just stared at the floating decoration until it was whacked in the nose. It jumped back in surprise knocking over the pillar it had just climbed down. After seeing the reaction of dragon, Barnabas had an idea, he waved the candle holder around to get the dragon's attention. Once he was sure he had it he threw the candle holder to the side. As he thought, the dragon's eyes followed it. With the creature distracted, he quickly climb onto it's back.

Barnabas climbed up on the dragons neck, his weightlessness preventing him from getting cut or noticed. The dragon's body froze the air around it and took the air from his lungs. Barnabas knew that he would freeze if he stayed on the beast too long. The dragon was crouched, ready to pounce on the "Magical Decoration". Noticing this, Barnabas grabbed onto the dragon just as it leaped and crushed it's prey. The dragon sniffed the Candle holder, clearly unsatisfied. The dragon was playing with his holder and he wasn't happy. Okay, time to get this beast into the air. He climbed onto the head of the dragon, grabbing onto the horns above it's eyes. After making sure he had a tight grip, he kicked the dragon in the eyes.

The Dragon roared and jumped into the air. It flew around the expansive cavern, slamming into the pillars as it tried to fling off it's passenger. Two pillars fell to the dragon's rage, shaking the entire cavern, after which the dragon finally descended. It shook it's head violently. Suddenly, Barnabas's grip failed him and he was sent flying into a pile of rubble. The noise attracted the dragons attention. With a look of glee, it shot a breath of ice towards Barnabas. Unable to move due to some rocks crushing his arms, Barnabas was encased in ice. For the first time he was visible, his face in a state of horror, which none had seen on an invisible man.

*Barnabas is dead, I'm done posting.*

[Christoph]

It was all folly, thought Elijah, climbing to his feet. How did we ever expect to cheat our way through this challenge? There was no escape from the winged terror. But yet, to fail now would rob all meaning from Neceran's sacrifice. To give up would be an insult. He would fight, not matter how hopeless it seemed. Suddenly, a floating candle holder launched an all-out assault on the dragon's lowered head. So you understand human valor after all. Eli grinned, seizing his chance.

The invisible man's brief distraction bought Eli precious moments to complete his arcane machinations. Even in his wearied state, the sorcerer still possessed considerable reserves of power; he would need every last drop to survive this final trial. With focused resolve and chanted words, the sorcerer took hold of the threads of reality and tied them to his will. With a series of simple, yet potent charms, he pulled the currents of magic into his body, changing and expanding his physical capacities well beyond normal limits.

Titan's Strength, Wind's Stride, Stone's Skin... All simple, utilitarian spells learned from books, but only one with the unbreakable will and immense raw power of Elijah Belov could tie them together in such potent ways. His muscles tightened as supernatural strength surged through them and his movements became dazzlingly swift. Finally, an unnatural sheen enveloped his skin as it became as strong as steel. When at last the inevitable happened and Barnabas met his end as an icy statue, Elijah Belov had transformed himself into a superhuman warrior. He threw off his coat and cloak, revealing his blazing scars. This time, he was ready.

The dragon bellowed over the frozen Barnabas and immediately returned its attention to Elijah. It came crashing through the ruined pillars, spewing a jet of icy wind from its jaws. The sorcerer lifted his arm, and with it rose a wall of flame from the ground, blocking the deadly breath with a steaming hiss. More fire erupted from Belov's palms, lighting up the cavern like the dawn and smashing like sledges against the dragon's scaly hide. It snarled angrily and writhed under the fiery onslaught's might, crashing into another pillar, shaking the entire cavern and sending more debris raining down atop the beast.

Before Eli could even dare hope, the creature lunged forward with feline grace, darting up the stairs toward the sorcerer in an instant. Before Elijah could react, the beast was upon him, lashing out with vicious claws. The blow struck him squarely in the chest with a metallic shriek. His hardened skin withstood the attack, but its force sent him sailing across the cavern like a child's toy. A rush of pain blurred his mind. Distant memories returned as he flew through the air. As it often did in such moments, time slowed to a near halt.

In his mind, he was in Salvar once more. He stood in knee-deep snow as a boy, facing the only man he ever considered a teacher. They both held wooden swords. Biting cold barely dulled the pain from dozens of bruises. “Why are we still doing this?” Elijah had asked, wearily lowering his weapon. “I'm not learning any new skills. All I'm learning is how to get beat up and freeze to death!” His teacher's sword cracked across the young Belov's jaw, sending the boy toppling into the snow. “Never lower your guard!” the older man, a veteran of the Orc Wars, then scolded. “If you wanted to learn how to duel like a fancy noble, you shouldn't have been born an innkeeper's son.” As if he chose his own birth, Eli had thought. “In battle, it won't matter how many techniques you know or how strong you are. Unless your will is unshakeable, your enemies will wear you down. Exhaustion and despair will overwhelm you until you forget everything you know, forget who you are and what you are capable of. If you cannot endure, you will always fail. Now, my student, I told you to raise. Your. Guard.”

Belov's eyes shot open as he plummeted to the floor. Words of power tumbled from his lips and a gust of wind surged up from beneath him. It swirled around his body, wrapping him like a cloak and easing his fall and setting gently upon the ground. He looked back and found a wall – another close call. I don't forget what I'm capable of. The dragon wasted no time, jumping down from the platform and crashing onto the ground. It charged for him again. They locked eyes once again, and for once Elijah did not feel like prey. Eli grabbed a hunk of debris as big as he was, straining even his supernaturally enhanced might. As the beast lunged in fro the kill, Belov smashed the rock across its face with all his strength. The force of the blow staggered even the massive ice dragon. Scales cracked and teeth shattered.

He spoke more arcane phrases, not releasing the chunk of debris. His magic surged through the stone; the same spell that had helped turn a patch of desert into a crater hours before now transformed plain granite into a massive of burning brimstone. As the dragon recovered, Elijah smashed his makeshift meteor across its face again. This time, it exploded in a shower of white-hot embers, which clung to the dragon's head and neck. The beast howled like a wraith, flailing wildly with its claws and spiked tail. Elijah dodged and weaved, his superhuman speed saving him from his foe's wild attacks. Belov dove to the side as the dragon crashed blindly into the wall.

Belov climbed to his feet and focused the last of his strength. The dragon's roars were ear-splitting, but Eli added a cry of his own. Raw power erupted from his fingertips in a blast of heat and shattered earth. The dragon howled and crawled forward while spewing its icy breath, but the sorcerer did not relent. Searing wind and steam scalded his face, but he endured. He drew upon his deep wells of power and pushed harder than he ever had before. The ground cracked beneath his feet and wind screeched angrily within the cavern. His fiery assault became an inferno, an endless explosion that tore into the dragon's nigh-impervious body. He felt his strength failing, but still the dragon roared. Would he fall short yet again?

[Letho]

At first, the dragon was merely annoyed by the intrusion of the four into his territory. He had ruled these lands for centuries now, knew every rock, every nook and cranny, had everything exactly the way he wanted it. Even the salamanders were there by his grace alone, the ice wyrm allowing them to dwell underground in close proximity just so he could keep a close watch over them at all times. So when these four started the meddle into his affairs, the dragon had every intention to crush them like the gnats they were. But unexpectedly, these intruders were sturdier than the beast had anticipated. The mage in particular irked the ice dragon. Even if the human's flame could never be enough to destroy him, being lashed by flames and struck by stone was by no means a pleasurable way to spend the afternoon. His annoyance evolved into pure anger, an emotion the beast hadn't felt for decades, and it awoke the slumbering threads of power deep within his ice cold core. It was only matter of time now, only matter of seconds before he would overwhelm the human's flame and turn him into a statue just like his invisible companion.

The dragon's thoughts were divided between eating the wizard or just leaving him as a monument to his own foolishness, when he heard a rumbling sound. Between the blazing fires of the mage and the dragon's own icy roar, it was something that few creatures could ever notice, but he was an old wyrm and had long ago learned to pay heed to every vibration spreading through his dominion. At first it sounded like a crash of small rocks, pebbles scattered over stone and trampled underfoot. Then there was the sound of footsteps, the frantic pitter-patter of something rushing up the passage through which the human and his annoying invisible friend came. But the dragon wasn't terribly concerned. He knew there had been two others, and even if he was rather certain that the half-blood mutant was dead (for he could smell the blood akin to his own in the air permeating from the passage), he anticipated there would be one other. One of his eyes was zeroed on the passage even as he kept pushing down on the human, breathing him down to his knees, the frost getting closer every second. He expected the bulky swordsman to come rushing out. Instead, something else came rushing out of the passage.

At first it was just an orange glint at the far end of the passage, but then a jet of flame came bursting out of the darkness, wild and uncontrolled. It crashed against the dragon's flank, then proceeded to douse his entire side afire. At the far end of the dastardly flame, the alpha salamander shrieked and roared, as if struggling to keep the burst pointed in one direction. But it wasn't the fire-lizard that was controlling the direction. Once his huge eyes narrowed and his focus went fully to the new threat, the dragon could see the swordsman riding on the back of the salamander.

Letho Ravenheart was such a right mess that he was barely recognizable. Half his face and most of his hair was burned off, the skin sloughing off to reveal muscle and tendon and giving him an eternal madman's smile. His shirt was turned to tatters, what was left of it no longer white but dark red with coagulating blood and soot. One of his arms seemed broken and soaked in blood, hanging limply at his side almost as if it wasn't a part of him. His other, however, held on to the Vorpal Blade, now in a shape of a large metal ring. The metallic circle was jammed in between the salamander's teeth, Letho using the other end as makeshift reins to direct the bucking beast. The fire wyrm seemed to resist the rider constantly, but Letho's grip was firm, unyielding, and the beast had no other choice but to obey or get its skull split in half.

Slamming his heels into the side of the salamander, Letho forced the beast forward as the ice dragon turned his head. But even as its icy breath changed directions and met the flames of the its fiery kin in a steamy hiss, Eljah launched another salvo. Back on his feet and without the dragon's attack pressing down on him like an ice storm, the pyromancer's flames grew in power, surging from his hands in a flood. The dragon immediately retaliated, swinging its heavy tail around and forcing the mage to cease his attack even as he ducked over the swipe. The motion didn't break his focus from the salamander and the rider, but its icy breath ceased for just a moment, enough for Letho to close the distance between the two monsters.

Pushing against the scaly neck of the salamander with his knee, Letho made it exhale flames again, but this time the large dragon shied away from it, evading it in order to meet the similar threat from the other side. But there was no room to escape. Crushed between two jets of fiery destruction, its ice cold scales were starting to melt, the flesh beneath sizzling. For the first time in maybe a thousand years, the ancient ice wyrm felt fear, and it made the beast lunge forward with reckless abandon. It bore down on Letho and his mount, aiming to crush the two with all its massive weight. The two claws came crashing down, but only the salamander was left to take the brunt of the dragon's force. Its rider leapt straight up at the last moment, his powerful muscles propelling the ranger some twenty feet straight up, and as the dragon squashed the salamander alpha, Letho landed on the dragon's head.

Grabbing a firm hold on one of dragon's horns and pulling the scaly head as far as it went, Letho shouted down to Elijah: "FINISH IT! DO IT NOW!"

With its head trashing this way and that, and with its claws trying to swat the annoying flea that dared to climb it, the ice dragon never really noticed the fire mage gathering the remnants of his power and positioning himself in front of the roaring beast. Only when the beam of concentrated heat struck its exposed underside did it realize that this encounter just might be the end of it, but by then it was too late. The flames ate away at the scales, melting them like acid, and then proceeded to blow a hole at least a foot wide through the frost dragon's chest. Its legs gave way, its claws trying to cover the mortal wound. But by then Letho's grip tightened around the horn and for the briefest of moments the adrenaline filled his muscles with all their power. It enabled him to tear the horn clean off, and then drive it deep into the skull of the dragon. With a final frosty exhale that turned the air to icy mist, the ancient dragon was no more.

Letho tried to make a graceful descent from the beast's back, but he had left most of his strength and blood back amidst the salamanders and his knees gave way even as he touched the ground. "Well, that was a bit of fun," he managed to say even as Elijah helped him up, the young man not in a much better shape than the ranger himself. Letho was too tired for pride, his body too achy; he accepted the help gladly. Once he was back on his feet, he looked around, but there was only the fire mage and a pair of dead oversized lizards.

"Where are the other two?"

[Christoph]

“Dead,” Eli replied, lowering his head. The pain he had ignored in his battle returned to him with a vengeance, scorching every nerve and smothering his thoughts. He struggled through it and forced words from his lips. “They... they sacrificed themselves so we could reach our goal.”

“And have we finally done it?” Letho's expression was unreadable, any emotion buried beneath exhaustion. It seems he was human after all – they both were.

“I think so.” Elijah pointed to the stone platform atop the spire in the center of the huge, ruined chamber. “Up there is a pool, once frozen but now hopefully thawed. I believe it to be our final step.” He felted tempted to take a bath in it; he was caked in dust, dirt, and his own blood.

“A... pool. Of water?”

The sorcerer shrugged approached the dragon's smoldering corpse. “Go see for yourself, unless you'd like to stay and watch me work down here.” With the last of his enhanced strength, he rammed his hands into the dragon's charred, softened underbelly and ripped open its flesh. Blood and fluids spilled from the tear.

“You're not planning to eat the dragon's heart, are you?” asked the ranger. “I didn't expect your tastes to be so gruesome.”

“No, of course I won't eat its heart.” Belov laughed. “That would most certainly kill me. However, this damned thing caused me so much trouble that I think it owes me.” He reached his arms into its exposed stomach cavity, his fingers quickly growing numb from the unnatural cold. “It's a common misconception that a dragon's heart contains its power. In truth, you want to eat its liver.”

“I'll... go take a look at that pool, then.”

Elijah didn't watch Letho leave, instead focusing intently on exploring the dragon's insides. He needed to do this before he stopped to reconsider his sudden impulse. Then again, in his early adventuring days, he would speak in jest about his desire to consume a dragon's power; he never expected the opportunity. Well, here's my chance. His hands finally closed around their target, and with a final pull he tore free the dragon's liver. It was cold and red, with strange blue veins running through it. Only as large as his head, the organ seemed small; he didn't complain about that. He felt like raw meat left in the snow, though he could feel the power within it. Let's get this over with before I come to my senses. Fighting down a wave of nausea, he lifted the dragon liver to his mouth and took his first bite.

* * * * *

Nearly twenty minutes later, Elijah joined Letho by the pool at the top of the stairs, his entire body slick with blood and bile. His stomach felt like he had swallowed a dozen frozen rats (he repressed the memory that gave him this comparison), and he had only managed to eat half of the liver. Still, through the vile nausea, he could feel new power coursing through his body. The ranger didn't seem to notice and instead looked down at the pool with curiosity and confusion.

“What is it?” asked Letho. “There must be something special about it, some... magic involved.”

Elijah nodded. “Most assuredly. I've actually encountered this sort of magic before, but never so powerful and... old.” The sorcerer stared at the water's shimmering surface; his gently shifting reflection stared back. Opening his mind to the enchantments hidden in the pool, he could taste the magic it held – bitter yet wholesome, like a medicinal herb. “This is a Divining Pool. It you look into it long and hard enough, you should receive a vision.”

“Of the future?” Letho asked.

“A possible future, yes. I usually stay away from divination because of its... unreliability.” Eli shook his head. “It'll show what can be, not what will be. And if I've got the feel of this spell right, we might not like what we see.”

“What do you mean?”

“It's hard to explain to a non-practitioner. The magic in this pool has a bitter 'taste' to it, a dark edge. “ He shook his head wearily and sighed. “I fear it will only show bad futures.”

“Are you sure you want to use it, then?”

“Of course! Otherwise, all this was for nothing. Besides, even dark visions can be useful. It's easier to avoid disaster if you see it coming.”

“I see. Fair enough, I suppose. Still, why don't you go first? Magic and I have never gotten along well.”

Elijah snorted. “And yet, I would wager that many of your post prized possesses were created by sorcerers such as myself. But as you wish; I will... test the waters.” Letho groaned and Elijah grinned. My worst joke yet, he thought with twisted pride. He looked into the water and waited. He emptied his mind and let his gaze sink deeper into its shimmering surface. Slowly, images took shape. He felt his consciousness descend into the mysterious waters.

“What?” Letho's voice floated at the edge of his consciousness, echoing through a psychic void.

What do you see?

The sun, shining bright in a clear blue sky, gleamed golden river upon a great marble platform. Elijah stood upon it, sword held high before a massive cheering crowd. They hurled flowers and chanted his name. Trumpets blasted glorious fanfares. I am victorious, he realized. The Adventurer's Crown is mine! The triumphant scene suddenly evaporated into a storm of disjointed images: shaking hands with rich and powerful men; ships sailing across the Eastern Seas; the achingly familiar, rugged shores of Salvar. Home. A victory in the Adventurer's Crown would bring him home!

The vision changed, then. Dark clouds hung over the sky like a choking net. Armies trampled fields and battles raged. He saw himself, but he looked different. His eyes were black pits, his arms covered in gore and flame. Cities burned and blood flowed in the streets. Screens filled the air in a foul, dissonant chorus as fire rained from the sky. What am I doing? Horror gripped him like a strong hand upon his throat. He could only watch as this dark reflection of himself carved through all in his path, enemy soldiers and women and children alike, leaving only dismembered and charred remains in his wake.

Finally, that terrible scene faded. The horrific cacophony went quiet, replaced by a lonely wind. The fires were gone, and now only a vast, barren expanse remained, scorched and empty. This was the future that awaited him. What?

“What do you see?” The ranger's voice pulled Eli back to consciousness. He felt strong hands under his arms, holding him up. He opened his eyes, his face inches from the water. Had he almost fallen in? Letho set him safely against one of the smooth rocks. “Gods, boy. You're as pale as death. What did it show you?”

“I... it...” His words failed him. He closed his eyes and let the blessed blackness take him, somehow knowing that when he woke up, he would no longer be in that cursed cave.


Final post from me.

Random spoil request: by eating the liver of an ice dragon like a total baller, Elijah Belov gains some of its power. Two times over the duration of the AC (should I advance), Elijah would gain mastery over ice magic of equal power to his fire. Each use lasts five minutes.

[Letho]

And then he was alone.

All around him, the traces of the battle were slowly disappearing as the flames died down and everything got swallowed by darkness. Only the pool remained illuminated, a beam of unnatural white light descending from above, giving it an air of significance. Dark magic, Elijah had said, but could there really be any other kind in this place? If something was buried deep under the earth and protected by a bunch of horrors, chances were it wasn't going to grant you riches or eternal life. The mage only further confirmed it with the stricken look on his face and the way he had collapsed once he gazed into the waters of the pool. Something sinister awaited on the other side of that surface, and now it was Letho's turn to summon it.

Letho slouched back towards the pool, the blood loss and the fatigue making him look more like a drunkard with every second. He wasn't terribly eager to gaze into the pool. As far as Letho was concerned, all magic was wrong, the way it broke the rules and took command over something that should never be controlled unnaturally. Sure, there had been instances where it was used for good, but for every such an occurrence there were ten where it was abused and made to subjugate, to threaten, to destroy. As far as Letho Ravenheart was concerned, the world of Althanas would've been a much better place if there was no magic to meddle with.

Yet he couldn't deny that the pool piqued his curiosity. Even if there was some horror waiting for him in those clear waters, he had come too far and experienced too much pain to just leave it behind and wait to be whisked away again. On top of that, Elijah had claimed that the pool itself was the reason why they were placed on this dastardly island. While Letho wasn't quite sure that was the case, he couldn't deny that there was a chance that the mage was right. After all, they weren't exactly given precise instructions as far as this competition went. And if this was the final step towards victory, then Letho wasn't one to shy away from it.

Dropping to his knees as he reached the edge of the pool, the weary ranger slowly edged his face forward until he could see his haggard reflection. Only then he realized how much of a toll the battle with the salamanders had taken on him. He hoped the tournament officials had some good healers at hand. Otherwise he'd be walking away with quite a makeover.

But even as Letho focused on the scorched part of the face and the possibility of the damage being permanent, the reflection started to shimmer and change. His face stretched in the pool until it melted away, trying to make way to something else. Letho waited, his one arm barely supporting his weight as he expected the vision that struck Elijah so profoundly. But the vision never came. Letho could feel the magic trying to course towards him, through him, but every bit of it got devoured even as it reached out towards him, swallowed by the void. And soon enough the pool was drained, the tendrils of magic no longer lashing out, the waters as plain as if they were rainwater. Letho smirked - a facial movement that send flaring pain all over his already aching and burning face - and fell onto his back.

"Of course," he muttered, fighting to keep his eyes open and suppress a chuckle that would surely send another jolt of pain through his achy body. Of course his magic immunity would kick in now, when some revelation awaited him. It had a tendency to work on all things that it shouldn't, like making Letho unable to travel by teleportation or wield enchanted weapons. Yet it couldn't protect him against the salamanders. The fire beasts might've been borne out of magic, but their fire was pure chemistry, just two different volatile liquids secreted by some glands deep in their gullets, their mixture resulting in an inferno. But what it could do was rob him of the vision from the pool.

"Better this way," Letho thought as he started to lose the battle with jadedness and his eyelids came down, beckoning restful sleep. Maybe it was better not to know the future, however grand or horrible it would turn out to be. Would he really want to know beforehand the manner of his death, or the day his loved one dies, and await the day knowing he could nothing to stop it? Would he really want to live knowing his own fate? Was it even a life worth living if he was robbed of the unpredictability of it? Letho wasn't sure. He had entered the competition with every intention of claiming that grand prize that would blow away all doubts from his future. But if it was a future filled with horrors did he really want to live every day expecting those horrors? And if it was a future filled with joy, would he really want to be robbed of the unexpectedness?

Letho tried to make some sense of these questions, bind the predicaments in a train of thought, but such contemplation was for the fully awaken mind, and his was all but gone now. His body shut down and left this battle to be fought another day.

[Revenant]

Round 1 closed for judgement.

Good luck!

[Revenant]

Plot: (22)

Storytelling (7) – This story wasn’t really a bad one, and I liked the thought you four put into this. I especially appreciate the fact you gave yourselves a challenge that was controversial in a group dynamic in dealing with the sacrifice of a comrade. Considering that your partner was DQ’d, but writing her out in a meaningful way, really helped keep awkwardness from steeping into the story. Well done. However, there was a few issues I had with you Tourny, and that’s your character’s blunt way in solving the challenges. While everyone else, despite their years of experience had trouble solving these problems, you seemed to barrel through it with little to no difficulty. Also, your sudden death at the end was off putting instead of helpful to the story. I suggest when you work in a large group like this, you work out something of that magnitude together to make sure all deaths are clearly seen with the proper light and respect.

Setting (7) – This could have been higher, but Tourny you brought the score down with several small posts that had barely any to no setting. You must remember to always set the scene for the reader, using all five senses if need be to create the picture I will have in my head. If I have to go back and fill it in, it takes me away from the story which hurts because I don’t want to walk away to fill in gaps. Sprinkle setting like salt. Little bit goes a long way.

Pacing (8) – You guys kept the pace going, without any need to back track and that helps a lot. You guys did great with keeping everything in order and neat. I honestly can only say more writing and exp can help the newer members, and keeping at it for the veterans.

Character: (21)

Communication (7) – None of the text between Christoph, Letho, and Naceran felt forced, awkward or rushed and within the lines of what I’d expect from the characters. You three made sure the bunnying was necessary, helped the story, and did nothing more with other’s creations. Well done. However, Tournymant, your character made a few of the other’s speech seem off and not natural. However, in a group setting like this it’s important that the others let you know when you do something off or wrong. So they are also in this bag. However, don’t be discouraged, it wasn’t horrible stuff and only a tad bit off, so nothing huge was taken off from you guys.

Action (8) – No shortage of action here, you all did well to keep the energy high, and even when you weren’t fighting you were hitting me with some tough, heavy topics like sacrificing a colleague. Brilliant work, and what hurt you from scoring higher is that again, as I said in Story, Tournymant you rushed through some of the aspects that help build the tension and disrupt the flow. Let it ride, pal!

Persona (6) – For Naceran, Letho, and Christoph, you guys gave me great character. Histories, trials of the past, reasons to give why you acted the way you did! It was a solid example of why you guys are great writers, and what every person should strive to achieve. Excellent, excellent work. However, Tounrymant, unfortunately you had none of these elements. I have no clue what an invisible man is, why he enters all these torunymants, and no clear reason why he even showed up. You went through a gambit of emotions, from aggressive, to peacemaker, to old wizened man, to martyr. You were inconsistent and it made for hard reading. You have great potential, but what you need to do is find the unique aspects of your character, and jealously guard them, making them yours to keep.

Prose: (19)

Mechanics (7) – The few errors I found were common mistakes in rushing out a post for a timed tournament like missing words, incomplete thoughts, or a misplaced word or misspelling. Nothing fancy, nothing new. I am proud of the new player Tournymant though for keeping his errors low, as this is an area most new players tend to scoff at and miss. Well done. That said, proof read kids. It’s your friend.

Clarity (7) – The biggest issues I had was when I had to leave the world to fill in the gaps with setting, errors, or moments where I wondered if what a character said seemed appropriate. While few and far between, the loss of points came in word choice. I think the word Elijah was said fifty times in five paragraphs, Tournymant. You need to find other descriptors to break up the monotony of repetition. Seeing, “Elijah is a wizard, huh?” I muttered looking to Elijah. “Elijah can you cast a fire on my candle? Cool, thank you Elijah, you’re not so bad. Oh, Elijah, I just remembered, I have a dinner engagement tonight, could you perhaps do a show for me, Elijah? You will? Thanks Elijah, you’re the best,” I said to my friend, Elijah, the sorcerer. That’s an eyesore to a reader. A good rule of thumb is not to use someone’s name, or the same descriptor more than twice in the same paragraph, and NEVER back to back in a sentence. If you have trouble thinking of something, go ahead and ask for help. We’re here to help!

Technique (5) – This was rough. Because on one hand, I got three writers who were bringing a great range of techniques, word choice, style and flair that just made this awesome, but at the same time, I have also read rather choppy writing that just ruins the flavor and taste of the thread. I’m not putting any blame on anyone, but Tournymant you had a great opportunity to write with three of the strongest writer’s on the site. I had noticed you were gung ho with your posts, and you erased a few which shows you took some advice from your comrades, but I would have thought you would also take their lead in writing. Instead however, you seemed to stick to a more rigid, direct style of writing, and while this isn’t necessarily a bad thing, it was in this case. You can’t enjoy a drink if something in the middle of it spoils the taste. My advice is to go back and read this thread, beginning to end, as just a reader and not a writer. See what the others did, and then see how you did and what you can pick up and improve. As I said earlier, you have great potential, and I’m eager to see what you can do with your growth!

Wildcard: (6)

Total: 68

Neceran receives 480 exp and 50 gp.
Letho receives 1071 exp and 70 gp.
Tourneymant receives 320 exp and 50 gp.
Christoph receives 727 exp and 60 gp.

[Silence Sei]

EXP-GP added.