In the Shadow of Oblivion (Closed)

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Some content is not suitable for younger readers and people who are easily offended. Sequel to Two Peas and a Pode.

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The humble door loomed before her, the unknown lurking behind it.

It was a door of common variety, scarred and grime-stained like most found in the inns and taverns across Corone. Erissa Caedron studied the familiar etchings; it was not the first time she had seen this particular door in her part-time home of Underwood. Her hand hovered near it, poised to knock. She had no doubt who was behind it, but in what state she would find her quarry remained to be seen. Her heart thrummed in double-time to the heart of her spell's aim; both pounded in her ears. The arcanist was surprised the finding spell had worked; she half-expected her fellow Ixian Knight's stubbornness to hinder it. However, as her voice lifted and she sang his song, the high elf had heard his heart's rhythm and followed it across Corone.

In her other hand was a cloth bag bearing several goods, among them a glass bottle filled with scotch, the finest that could be bought anywhere. The high elf had spared no expense for this visit, and the rich scent of Fallien cheese wafted from from the ordinary sack. And fruit – out of season – Erissa had managed to procure; the bulge of grapes was enough to make her surprised she had not been mugged along the journey from Radasanth, not that her mugger would have been successful. In truth, the cloth bag full of fineries, not to mention the smoked venison, was not even necessary, but a hope of placating one who could not be placated, a losing proposition but valiant none-the-less, or so Erissa surmised. She knocked on the door.

“Jensen? It is Erissa,” she said with the meekness of a small child.

“Go away.” His response was not unexpected, but he had softened, perhaps not in his rabid hatred of elves in general, but at least toward her. In their excursion into the Red Forest, he had slipped and called her 'friend.' But then, a disaster of the sorts she could not imagine befell him; his fiance had been murdered.

Erissa felt the guilt upon her shoulders as if she were bearing the world, his world, upon them. If only she had been stronger, better trained. Perhaps then the Knights would have made it back in time before Cassandra Remi had exacted her revenge upon Jensen Ambrose, the 'blessed' immortal. Naturally, what was the main concern of the Ixian Knights should have taken precedence over her personal struggles, but luckily the two were aligned. The Ixian stronghold itself had been breached. It was a stealthy attack, one very precisely aimed at Jensen. It was not unexpected; he had left his calling card scrawled upon the very gates where the Fifth of the Forgotten, Oblivion, would surely search for his prize and find it missing.

Erissa knocked again, this time more softly.

“I said go away.”

The voice she had relied on so completely during their time in the Red Forest, chasing after Pode, had been changed, saddened, embittered. The laugh that once set her on edge she longed to hear; he, unlike so many others who seemed so much fairer, had kept his promise to her, had not betrayed her.

“I brought scotch, better than what they serve here, and for that matter, free,” Erissa called through the heavy door. There was a hope-laden pause; the door swung open and she watched her fellow Knight pace back to the rickety bed and flop down. She gingerly followed him in and removed her cloak and satchel, setting them in a dusty corner.

“Remember what happened the last time I got drunk with an elf?” Jensen asked, referring to his brief stay in the New Aurient Prison. She nodded, remembering how she had taunted him while he was behind the bars. Feeling incredibly nervous around her former protector, she began to unpack her wares on the wobbly table.

“Glasses?” Erissa asked, voice cracking. She cleared her throat and prepared to slice the cheese and meat on its wrapping paper. His presence was heavier than that of the 'man of shadows' they hoped to oust; the high elf's hands shook as she wielded the kitchen knife. In an instant she felt the immortal's breath on the back of her neck, his hand on hers as he stilled her shaking.

“Why don't you make yourself useful and get the glasses from the cupboard over there,” he gestured with the knife, having disarmed Erissa without her realizing. She nodded hastily and retrieved the two glasses; of the only two in the cupboard, one was chipped and badly cracked. Sighing, the high elf set them on table before him. “So what the hell are you doing here?” he asked absently as he tossed some of the cheese in his mouth. She could hear the emptiness in his voice and she paused, the grape in her mouth sour.

“Well,” Erissa began, chewing and swallowing, “you do have the essence, do you not?” Jensen nodded once, to Erissa's great relief. “There was a breach in the guard at the Castle; they tore your rooms apart looking for it, as well as the armories. They took nothing. Jensen, Oblivion has received your message. He has come to us, as we had hoped. But how did you know when he would come?” He never paused as he sliced more of the cheese and meat, but his silence was foreboding. Jensen shrugged.

“I just needed to get away from that place. Too many memories.” The immortal's hand clenched the knife as it dropped to his side. “And which one of those bed wetters told you where I'd be?”

“The heart song, from my Songbook of Ages,” she began. “When we were in the forest you allowed me to learn yours, remember?”

“Fucking fairy magic. I shoulda guessed,” he grunted before tossing the knife on the table and pouring a generous shot of the scotch into the chipped glass; he drank it in one big gulp. With a moody sigh, Jensen refilled his own glass and, to her surprise, poured one for the elf. She accepted it gratefully; if there were ever a time she was in need of a drink, it was now. “Have a seat,” Jensen said, gesturing to one of two chairs in the room, a grungy, sweat-stained mess whose cushions were well past being fluffed again to any semblance of comfort. Erissa retrieved her cloak and tossed it over the chair. She sat, back straight and ankles crossed, resting on her skin-tight, maroon leathers, the other awkwardly holding the glass of alcohol. She grasped for a bit of meat, and nibbled on the venison uncomfortably.

“So how have you been?” Erissa asked, brushing a few stray locks of silver hair behind her pointed ear.

“How do you think I've been, leaf licker?” Jensen replied, lacking the strength for his normal venom. Erissa nervously took a rather large draught of her drink; her face twisted into a grimace as the alcohol hit her tongue and throat. She looked questioningly at the immortal, who sneered. “It's supposed to taste like that. A little different than your Raiaeran Red, huh?” he asked. Erissa cleared her throat, attempting to rid it of the burning. “Hair of the dog, elf. First one tingles, second one burns, but the third...” he trailed off and drank from his own glass. The elf's second drink saw her stomach spasm, threatening to purge itself of the snack she had just enjoyed.

But then Erissa heard something that brought her hope. Jensen chuckled softly. Granted it was directed at her, but it was still a laugh. As long as he is still laughing, he will be okay, she thought.

“And what about you, Fairy?” he asked, shaking the table near her as he set the scotch on it and took the other seat for himself. “Humped any bushes lately?” Jensen refilled his glass and leaned over to top off hers. She eyed him suspiciously, surprised he even cared how she was, before taking a third, large gulp of the scotch. The high elf's eyes watered immediately, her stomach went sour, and her throat burned as though she had swallowed a red-hot sword.

“What in the-” she wheezed. Her fellow Knight's chuckles increased to a full laugh as he pointed to a sink. The elf swallowed a few more times, refusing to give in to the urge to rid herself of the scotch, and she looked at him accusingly. “I thought the third was supposed to be better.”

“What?” Jensen asked, still giggling. “You didn't let me finish! The third's like swallowing hot coals just before getting punched in the gut.”

“You, Jensen Ambrose,” she managed between coughs, “are incorrigible. Pour me another; that was not so bad.” The man lifted his eyebrows at her and shrugged before obliging. Erissa began to feel the effects of the scotch, aside from the feeling she had just swallowed fuel. Her mind buzzed warmly, her limbs tingled, and she felt giddy. “Besides, you are my 'friend!' You said it yourself and I heard it. You cannot take that back now."

Jensen looked to his empty glass and sighed again. He grabbed the scotch and poured it; the soft glug-glug broke the silence. When his glass was filled, he returned the bottle to the table, letting the soft red fabric cradle it as he looked to the Elf who called him friend. With a salute more to himself than to her, he chugged the whole thing, feeling his chest rise in temperature before settling again. With a cough and a slap to his chest, he giggled, then poured more.

“I’m not your friend.” The glass collided with the cup making a soft ching, and Jensen looked to Erissa to see her reaction. She sniffed her drink, wrinkled her nose, and sipped at it, doing her best to hide the disgust. Jensen shook his head before he sat upright, moving his glass aside. “Get it right, Elf. I don’t make friends. It was a slip of the tongue. Besides,” Jensen mumbled as he grabbed the drink, looking at his reflection in the amber liquid, “don’t you know my friends get killed…” He only whispered that last part, but before any comment could be thought, he drowned a painful memory in his alcohol, downing the whole thing going for more.

“Well you are my friend,” she muttered.

“I’m a terrible person,” Jensen insisted. Erissa merely shook her head and gave him a challenging look. She grabbed a piece of cheese, nibbled a small amount, and shifted herself forward, causing her leather to creak.

“That little angel does not think her father is so terrible,” she countered. “Nor does Zerith, Jasmine, Tobias, Sei-“ Jensen grabbed the bottle quickly, pouring the liquid right down his mouth in a waterfall. As she watched him chug she narrowed her eyes. “Do their opinions of you not count?” Jensen lowered the bottle and sighed. He looked back to Erissa, and this time the weight of the world came with them. Losing his soon to be wife, Stephanie, to Cassandra Remi’s knives had left a void in him he was not sure could be filled again.

“Then if so many people like me, why did Stephanie have to die?” he choked. Erissa’s eyes widened, her mouth gaping only slightly as she looked like she stepped into a room full of bears. The look on Jensen’s face, the haunted terror in his eyes as he waited patiently for an answer did nothing to calm her down. Jensen at last looked away, taking another swig of the scotch, his lips firmly pressed against the mouth of the bottle. He pulled the bottle out forcefully, wiping his chin; with a smack he spoke. “You are a good person, Erissa Leaf Licking Bush Humper,” Jensen said softly. “But you are also naïve. I don’t want any more friends. Cassandra Remi reminded me why I shouldn’t grow attached to things…” Before he could lift the bottle Erissa’s hand shot out, pulling it away. She filled her cup with the last few swallows. She hastily drank, then patted her chest as she began to whimper, looking sickly.

“Barf in the sink!” Jensen said loudly, giggling as he enjoyed the lucid feeling in his body now. He waited to hear the tale tell sounds of regurgitation, humming a tune as he looked on, but instead the faucet ran, and the water splashed over the elf’s face as she groaned. Jensen looked to his boots before sighing and standing again, slightly tipsy, and moved towards her. He patted her on the back as she rinsed her face, and the two went back to the seats. The elf looked to him as if she wanted to say much, but Jensen knew those words were hard to find. Instead, he would cut her a break and help her out of the mess of his memories.

“Obliviate got my calling card, huh?” Erissa looked to him, blinking multiple times. It took her a moment, but she finally nodded in understanding, crossing her legs as she relaxed again.

“Yes,” she said in a hurry. “He attacked this morning. Again, nothing valuable but…” She let the words linger as Jensen rubbed the back of his head.

“Won’t be long before he tries to attack someone I know. See what being my friend means?” Jensen joked, no warmth to it. “N’jal’s diseased tits, being my friend is like being a moving target.” He grunted in anger, before standing and stretching. “Either way, I guess it would be better if I moved away from the Ixian Castle until I find him.” He lifted his hand to his head, looking for the spot he liked to scratch. He sighed, letting his lips purse out.

“Excuse me,” Erissa interjected. “Move away? I am just as involved in this!” Jensen extended a hand to push her down as she tried to get up.

“No you aren’t. I’m the one who left a calling card, not you.”

“Jensen, I was with you on that trip. Many can bear witness to that.” The immortal thought it over as he looked to her eyes, and before he got lost in them he turned his head away. He did not like her logic, but it was sound. He would mail a letter to Sei in the morning and let his Lord know he would be continuing his mission away from Ixian Castle.

“It’ll be dangerous,” Jensen warned. To that answer Erissa merely laughed, a lighthearted chortle that made the immortal crack a sly smile.

“Yes, because traveling in the Red Forest was sooo much safer,” she teased, crossing her arms much like Jensen did on their adventure. “Besides, Mr. Ambrose, we must all remember Rule Number Two of adventuring.” She looked to him, a twinkle in her eye as Jensen let out a snort of laughter before nodding.

“You got me there, leaf licker. Okay, you’re on board. I got an idea for where we can find Omelet.”

“Omelet?” Erissa asked awkwardly. “Are you still hungry?”

“Obligatory,” Jensen corrected himself. Erissa shook her head, giggling.

“Oblivion.” She muttered an insult under her breath, then both their heads turned to the door. There was a soft knock upon the chipped wood, and the immortal lowered his eyes in confusion.

Erissa stumbled slightly as she approached the door, the scotch tenuously settling in her stomach, though the taste of it still lingered, much to her displeasure. She had miscalculated the effect it would have on her; the high elf was used to her preferred Raiaeran Red, a strong wine but weak compared to the scotch.

“Wait!” Jensen called softly, and the high elf's hand rested on the handle. She gazed at him questioningly and opened her mouth to speak, but the immortal put a finger to his lips. “Who did you tell I was here?” he asked in a hushed whisper. Erissa shrugged and shook her head; even when she set out from the castle, she had not known exactly where she would find Jensen. Another knock at the door, sharper and more urgent, caused an inkling of dread in the pit of her stomach. “Were you followed?”

“Of course not,” she whispered harshly. “I-” As the door smashed inward, Erissa was hurled back and onto the floor; the door, broken from its hinges, crashed down next to her. Woozy from the scotch, she struggled to her feet to face the assailants. Two hard-faced men in long, gray jackets stepped into the room, each with a single-shot pistol trained on one of the Knights. Jensen's hand snaked inside his own jacket, grasping for his throwing knife, but he was not quick enough; the taller of the two intruders squeezed the trigger of his firearm, just feet from the immortal's grinning and chuckling face.

A look of confusion overtook the taller man as he squeezed the trigger repeatedly; no satisfying boom followed. Jensen grasped the knife and let it fly; the weapon sliced into the intruder's eye socket. The man dropped his gun, screaming and pawing at his face, his blood spurting down the front of his gray jacket. Jensen was up from the table with quickness rivaling a mongoose, and several wet, well-placed strikes later, the screaming stopped. The man fell to his knees, then forward on his face, a crimson pool seeping from below him. A shot rang out from the smaller, wider man's gun, but the the immortal was already on the move again, and the bullet only nicked his ear. Jensen advanced, his haunting giggles unnerving the man. The intruder chucked the gun at him before grabbing the elf to use as a living shield while he fumbled for his short-sword.

Erissa twisted herself from his single-handed grasp, and as she spun, she removed her own dagger from its sheath. She lurched, off-balance, at the remaining intruder. He easily deflected her first strike, grabbing her wrist and wrenching it to the side. Her elvish blade clanged to the ground, and the ominous sound of ringing metal filled Erissa's ears as he began to draw his sword.

"Fucking move, elf!" Jensen cursed as she stepped into his line of sight to the intruder. However, as Erissa regained her balance, she pistoned her leg to the front. Her thick, heavy boot heel met with his soft and vulnerable parts; he released her arm, doubling over in pain. Erissa wobbled toward him and delivered a knee to his face, crushing his nose. Jensen's laughter never faded, and he shoved her aside. In the cruel whispers of steel and malice, the second man fell to the floor, his weapon never fully drawn.

“No!” Erissa cried as she hunched over the man, struggling to turn him over; she worked furiously to heal his wounds.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jensen hollered at her, his disbelief and anger a frightful mix. “They were trying to kill us!”

“Hush,” Erissa said urgently, working at the vague plan that had formed in her mind. “Please let me work!” She focused her energy, drawing the strength to knit her attacker's flesh together again.

“I told you, Erissa,” Jensen growled, “I told you how it was when we were in the Red Forest. I won't let a man live who just tried to kill me. You're wasting your time. As soon as you patch him up, I'll have the damn fine pleasure of slitting his throat again!”

“Then do it! For the love of...” Erissa sighed, finally looking at the immortal. “I want to keep him alive long enough to read his memories! Then you can stick him like a pincushion with every blade you keep hidden in your jacket. Now please, shut your mouth so I can work!” Realization dawned on Jensen. He smirked, still tipsy, and flopped down on the blood-sprayed chair.

Trying to heal the deep, fatal gash in the man's throat was a losing battle, though the arcanist was able to stem the tide for several minutes as she prodded his memory.

“I- I see him following me here; he was waiting at the castle, after the attempted theft, and I was stupid enough to lead him straight to you. He knew of you, knew you had something of value. His orders were to gather information, and he did; he knows of your family, your daughter, your friends. He knows of me, but only by name, and that I am very involved in his employer's source of trouble. This man was not aware that the thing of value you carried was corrupted ambrosia essence from Pode's forest, nor did he know his employer personally, but he was sent from Akashima.” She sighed as the man gurgled; the steady rise and fall of his chest ceased. “We can only assume his employer's identity, but I do not have any doubts.” She swayed as she rose to her feet. “That scotch is terrible,” she said, a look of distaste distorting her features, and a very unlady-like burp threatened to loose itself from her throat. “Never again.”

“You said he knows about my daughter, did he know where she is?” Jensen asked, an urgency in his tone and an enormous lump in his throat.

“No,” Erissa said, and Jensen slumped in relief. “But I am sure she is safe in the castle. Everyone is on high alert there after the breach.”

“She's not in the castle,” Jensen muttered.

Jensen grabbed the last of his belongings from the floor, dusting off his crimson colored dagger of the newly spilt blood. Though he wished it to be clean, ever since he plunged it deep into the heart of the reflection of his first love, the blade never lost its crimson tint. He had killed the tree that bore the fruit of Ambrosia, or so the corrupted elves of the Red Forest in Rariera said, and freed whatever tortured soul the Red Witch had trapped in there.

With a flick, the memory was wiped away clear, replaced with a concerned glance to Erissa. She had casually begun to wrap herself in her cloak after doing her best to clean the inn's floor from the mess left by the bodies. Jensen had already talked to the owner of the inn and paid him for the days the room would be closed off. Beyond that, the Ixian Knights would send a team to clean up the place. Sei would easily pick up the tab; the man was rich enough as it was.

Still, he noticed that the once fragile, naïve elf that traveled with him in the forest had grown. No longer did she shy away from conflict and blood, but accepted of the brutal truth of her life now that she was involved with Oblivion. Yet if she was scared this time, she did a far better job of masking it. In a way he was proud of her, but in more ways was deeply disturbed. She was a tailor, he had recalled her saying. Now she was killing people.

“You suck with a knife,” Jensen blurted when her green-blue eyes matched his. There was a pause before Jensen let out a light chuckle, scooping down and picking up the wicked dagger that Erissa had tried, and failed, to use in the fight. “You hold it like you have no clue what you are doing.”

“Could it be that perhaps,” Erissa mused with a knowing smile, “that I do not? Unlike you, Jensen Ambrose, I am fully capable of admitting my flaws. I have had very few lessons since we returned from the forest. Technique and theory can be read, but I am afraid that is all Troyas’ library could offer me. Although, the single practice I was able to get in with Adolph came in very handy, despite the brutality of his methods.”

“You say something?” Jensen mumbled rubbing his hair up as he sighed, pouting his lips. Erissa casually walked to him, slapping him playfully on the arm. He looked down to the floor and stooped to lift the gun from where it fell in the scuffle. He sighed, looking at the make and model. The elf gave him a coy look, one he returned to her as he gestured to the door, pocketing the single shot weapon.

“You look upset,” she said thoughtfully. Jensen shrugged.

“Been dying to find a decent gun for a weapon I wish to have made. This one is a single shot. I need a six cylinder rotating mechanism. Still, never know when you need a single shot. I’ll take it as payment from Oblivion.” He looked back to Erissa who rose a single eyebrow.

“Boys with toys,” she mocked him with a teasing grin. Now Jensen pretended to swat her as she giggled. “I read all about these weapons,” Erissa said studiously. “Simple to stop them, if you understand the complex mechanics in the whole weapon. Using my telekenesis, I was able to hold the hammer in place, preventing it from striking the powder igniter.”

“Ah, that’s why it didn’t fire,” Jensen mumbled, nodding in understanding. The two walked along the blue carpet leading out of the inn, standing shoulder to shoulder. Jensen thought about all that was going on; he felt a pang of guilt for leaving the castle so soon after the death of Stephanie, but if Oblivion knew who he was, who his friends and family were…

The immortal shook away the thought with a twitch. Better to just not think of that dark road. He had already sent word to Sei that he would resume his mission, and the Mystic would contact him via his telepathy when the time came to answer the Knight. He had sent another letter to Tobias Greenleaf, the klepto of the Ixian Knights and personal friend of Jensen, to borrow his room while he was gone and take care of his little girl, Azza.

He ignored the creaking wood as the combined weight of the two Ixians bent the aging steps, looking forwards as he began to chew on his lip. He wondered if he was leaving enough protection for Azza, and debated on if he should take her along. Yet a reminder of the Blood Root that tore into his flesh was a fast track answer to that asinine idea. Maybe if she spent the time with Adolph? No, the warrior priest was too busy to watch his girl. In the end Jensen just had to trust that Sei would protect his daughter. It was a thought that didn’t settle well with the immortal, but what choice did he have?

“You said Azza was not at the castle,” Erissa softly entered into Jensen’s little world, and with a shake of his head he rejoined her in the present. He turned to see the elf was looking at him with a gentle smile, her eyes sparkling as the two headed towards the door. Jensen looked into those green-blue eyes, trying to discern the actual color, and lost track of his thoughts. Erissa giggled and touched her skin softly. “Is there something on my face?” Jensen peered to her closer, leaning in, before lifting a finger and promptly pushing between her eyes.

“Yeah, you got elf all over you,” the immortal joked. Erissa sighed half-heartedly while the Knight grinned. He pushed the double doors of the inn open with great bravado. The streets of Underwood opened before them, the vendors and street traffic moving in tandem like a shifting play. The duo walked into the mainstream and Jensen led her towards the edge of Underwood near the forest where the old water hole was located.

“No, Azza isn’t in the castle. Did you think I’d go get drunk three towns away from my daughter after her mother was killed?” Erissa did not respond, and Jensen moved them past a carriage holding several wares marked for Radansath. “She’s playing with the children at Mother Holly’s orphanage, just before dark she was going to come back to the inn where we’d sleep and return home the next morning.”

“Ah ha,” Erissa said like she was a detective. He flinched and quickly pulled the Elf away from an incoming carriage. She gave him a strange look; the beasts were easily two feet away from her. The two looked to each other before Jensen moved on, leaving Erissa standing alone, confused. “Thank you?” she mumbled.

They remained silent as they stepped away from Underwood proper, closing in on the outskirts of the small town. Jensen could hear the kids laughing, and even with all the pain he had been through in his life, a genuine smile crept on his face. Erissa gave him a sideways glance, smiling herself as she stepped off to the side.

In the immortal’s eyes he watched as the silver haired beauty chased the children, playing tag as her maroon eyes beamed with youthful energy. Despite training hard, harder than some of the Ixian soldiers even, she still kept her innocence intact in his eyes. No matter what she would do in her life, Jensen was proud of his little girl, and she would always be that same, cheerful girl he loved.

Her eyes caught hold of him, and she turned, running full steam at him. Jensen planted one foot to brace himself, feeling her body shove into his and drifting him backwards in the dirt as the two laughed. Jensen tickled her, teasing her as the two fought and struggled before an abrupt cough broke the moment. An elder woman stepped forwards, smiling to them as the wrinkles on her face showed her years of experience. Azza looked up to Jensen, smiling, before it began to falter.

“Yup,” was all the immortal said.

“But so soon?” Azza whined. Jensen nodded. She nodded back, an automatic reaction as he ran a hand through her hair, taking care not to touch her horns. “I’ll miss you!” Jensen leaned forwards and picked up his now heavy, little girl. Holding her tight he whispered his instructions to her.

“I’ll miss you too, stay the night with Holly, and Tobias will take care of you. And here…” Jensen lowered his girl and took the pendant off around his neck, gently placing it in her hand. “Hold this for me. It’s my promise to come home.” Azza nodded, holding her father tighter. Jensen looked up to Holly, ready to explain the plan before she lifted up a hand to stop him. It was, after all, not uncommon for her to care for the girl when Jensen was away. Jensen silently thanked her, holding his girl tighter, before he let go and pulled away. “Clean underwear, everyday, and training with Adolph in the morning and Tobias at night. Grandpa will take you to dinner on the weekend, and Aislinn will take you to dinner on Wednesday. Brush your teeth or-" Azza placed a finger on his lips, smiling sweetly.

“I get it father. You love me, and I’ll be safe.” Jensen looked to her, smiled with a chuckle and hugged her one last time. Holly held her hand out, and Azza took it as they said their goodbyes. The immortal watched his little girl go, his heart wrenching to leave the last attachment to Stephanie he had alone in a world with Cassandra Remi, but with a tear filled eye he turned, his jacket whipping the memory behind him as he looked to the mountains and nodded.

“Let’s go!”

“First,” Erissa suggested, as they quickly left the orphanage, “we should pay a visit to Troyas.”

“What?” he asked, rolling his eyes at her. “If you think for one second I'm going to let that stuffy bush humper teleport me...”

“No, Jensen,” Erissa replied, stifling a laugh at the immortal's irrational phobia of teleporting. “But I do not fancy the idea of being pursued on foot. We will have use of Troyas' horses, at least while we are in Corone. From that man's memory, I know they were the only ones sent after us - for now. Oblivion severely miscalculated if he thought they would prove to be successful, but you can be certain others will come. The point is to draw them away from those they would hurt to get to the essence. Once we have the horses, we need to be seen leaving Underwood, and in an attention grabbing manner, so those who may come later will have the information they want.”

The two walked quickly through Underwood again, staying on the main roads, and Erissa took in the familiar sights. She had come to love the union of races found in the city, and their impromptu architecture that somehow, though very different, seemed to belong side by side.

"Down that road, in the... 'less cared for' part of town, was where I defeated the demon drake," she said proudly to Jensen, pointing in front of his chest down a nondescript road. "The hole where it emerged is still there, and they never bothered to replace the flagstone in the square. Perhaps I can tell you the story some time," Erissa asked, eyes sparkling. The immortal snorted.

"Sure, just after I tell you about how I killed that Berevarian bear," he said snidely. The elf clucked her tongue at him.

"It is not a contest," she muttered.

"Damn sure isn't," he retorted. "No contest whatsoever."

Jerk. Arrogant. Mean. Thoughtless. Callous. What was it General Bracken had said? Jackass? Erissa thought, a disarming grin pulling the at the sides of her mouth. That was it. Jackass. If he were not so good at it, it would almost be cute.

The style of building displayed an increasingly elvish influence as they neared the oldest part of town, where Troyas' estate rested near the edge of Concordia. The Knights weaved through cart-rutted side roads, leaving behind the nightlife bustle of traffic. As twilight fell across the land, Erissa and Jensen were greeted by her mentor and fellow elf, Troyas, who seemed very small compared to the soaring columns that supported the balcony of his mansion. He nodded as his student recalled the recent events, reading her memories in the silent exchange.

“Mr. Ambrose,” Troyas said respectfully, the breeze ruffling his silken pantsuit and long, golden hair.

“Troy,” Jensen said, smirking at the old elf's kindness.

“You will find everything in order at the stables, Erissa. As for me, your coming here has left me with no choice but to leave my home for the time being. The vial of the Forgotten I protect would be too terrible a power for Oblivion to acquire, in addition to his own,” Troyas spoke as they crunched along the gravel path around his stately mansion, Concordia's boughs in the distance blackening as the sliver of moon peaked over them.

"We already defeated his agents, Troyas. We have bought some time," Erissa asserted.

"No, Dear One," her teacher said gently. "Those would not be the only men he sent."

“I led him right to you,” Erissa said hollowly, a dainty hand attempting to rub away the worried creases in her forehead. “To both of you.” Troyas gave a quick nod as they entered the clean, wooden stables. Erissa sighed, breathing in the familiar scent of fresh hay and horseflesh. Her favorite, Lucious, eagerly neighed in greeting, pawing the ground; two horses had already been saddled and stocked. “So Oblivion did not miscalculate when he sent those men; he sent them to die, expecting to flush us out-”

“And to see where we'd run, and who we'd run to,” Jensen finished. “Azza-”

“I will personally escort her to the castle, by way of portal,” Troyas said. Jensen gave a surprisingly grateful nod. “The two of you must make haste. Oblivion is crafty, and not prone to relying on a single course of action. It is safe to assume we are being watched now. Do not wait for daylight; the next assassins he sends may not be so insubstantial.”

“I am sorry, Troyas, to bring this upon you,” Erissa said sadly as she unlatched the waist high gate and led Lucious from his stall. A musical laugh reverberated in the high, wooden rafters of the stable, and Erissa looked at her teacher curiously.

“Sorry, Dear One?” he asked. “Not at all. It is invigorating! I was beginning to feel as old and dusty as the books in my library. And it is a chance to address some unfinished business,” he said with an uncharacteristic wink. The old elf walked to his student and touched the side of her face gently, his thumb resting on her temple. He closed his eyes, concentrating. Erissa's eyes went wide, and she nodded in understanding.

“Fairy magic,” Jensen muttered as he led the second horse from the stable. He leaped atop the dark stallion and stood in the saddle, leather creaking as he tested the stirrups' length. In a moment, Erissa was atop her own horse, and Jensen chuckled at her in his distinctive, rumbling baritone. “Side saddle?”

“Well, I am a lady,” she shrugged. <“Forward, Lucious.”> The high elf spoke softly in her native tongue, and the mighty, white steed sprang forward in a vibrant uncoiling of sinew and muscle. He pranced and sidestepped at her every command, beast and rider moving as one. Jensen rasped at her display, and planted his heels in his own horse's sides.

“Go,” he said, and clucked his tongue. The horse stood firm and chuffed as though he were offended. “He-yah! Move, forward, go!” Troyas smiled at him.

“In Elvish,” he said, arms crossed across his chest. “And his name is Magnus.”

“Come on, Troy, don't you have one that understands Common? Speaking your language is like chewing on roses, with the thorns,” Jensen spat. Troyas simply smiled, shaking his head stoically. <“In that case,”> the man sarcastically said in the elven tongue, <“I am most honored to rub my posterior upon so fine an elvish steed.”>

“Remember,” Troyas said, ignoring Jensen's insult, “watch each other closely. Oblivion can not only read your memories, but also manipulate them. He may control your actions to an extent, although I do not know how powerful he is now.” His eyes implored the immortal. “Mr. Ambrose, I am once again leaving her in your care. Bring her back safely,” he said. A flash of white-hot pain when through the man's heart, and he visibly cringed.

“Maybe she'd be safer with you,” he mumbled as he watched Erissa lean back and double-check the supplies in her backpack and saddlebags. Troyas nodded.

“Perhaps she would. But if it came down to a choice between her life and protecting the vial, for the sakes of all who live in Althanas, I would choose the vial,” he said sadly.

Satisfied with Lucious' performance, Erissa guided her horse back to the others. She reached down and scratched and horse's neck.

“Ready?” the high elf asked her companions, eager to go.

“Almost. There is one other thing, Erissa. This came for you by mail. It is from your father,” Troyas said, an eyebrow arched knowingly as he handed it to her. Jensen was taken aback by the immediate change in Erissa's demeanor; she practically seethed when her fingers touched the fine, cream colored paper of the envelope. She stuffed it down into her pack without reading it. As the two urged their mounts to a trot, Troyas stepped through a portal of his own making.

“What was that about?” Jensen asked curiously as they headed back into the heart of Underwood.

“What?” Erissa asked, seeking to avoid his question. His intense gaze burned holes in her and she quickly realizing he was not willing to drop the subject yet. “Nothing!”

“Uh-huh. Sure looked like nothing.” The immortal watched as she tersely urged her horse on, leaving the man to view her back. Jensen rode for several minutes at her flank through the widening roads, grinning to himself to see the elf so off-put. “You shoulda brought Osher,” he called out to her. Erissa looked over her shoulder at him, frowning.

“I did not even bring a change of clothes,” she said sourly. “One does not simply wake up in the morning and say 'I think I shall pack all my belongings and drag along my dog, just in case I end up trotting across the continent with an arrogant immortal, pursued by one of the Forgotten.” Jensen let loose a peal of laughter.

“Well, maybe 'one' should remember she's an Ixian Knight now, and for something like that to not happen would mean the world just ended and 'one' missed it,” the immortal said, grinning at Erissa. He elicited a patronizing smile from her as he urged his horse forward, abreast with her on the busy road. “Seriously? You're worried about a change of clothes when we've got Mr. Crazy-ass Memory Eater on our tails?” The high elf held struggled to remain angry, holding back her laughter at his antics. He stood in the stirrups, arms outstretched, voice carrying like a carney in the crowd. “Watch as the fearless Ixian Knight packs her satchel with extra clothing: spite, spite I say, in the very face of danger! See her sensible heels and how they match her sequined handbag! She's so well dressed she'll stun the bad guys into submission!” Erissa blushed fiercely as a collection of nearby heads were wrenched in their direction, yet her laughter burst forth, the letter from her father and the dour mood all but forgotten. “Women!” Jensen threw his head back and laughed. She regretted not having something to throw at him.

Erissa's gaze lingered on her companion. She sighed, glad for his laughter; the young elf had expected a cesspool of anger and insults. She was pleasantly surprised otherwise; and more importantly, the death of his fiance had not destroyed the man. He cracked his knuckles sharply, then grunted as he rubbed his rear. Erissa's eyes quickly went to the road and her blush deepened, realizing she had been staring at him.

“Gonna be a long ride,” he said, eying her as she nodded in quick agreement. “Guess it's time to make our grand exit. Any ideas?” he asked.

“Actually, yes,” Erissa said, much to his surprise. He cocked an eyebrow.

“Let's hear it, fairy.”

“Well,” Erissa said, a sparkle of mirth in her eye, “fights always attract attention. We could have a fight and appear to go our separate ways, hopefully throwing any others who might be following us off our trail. But Jensen, it will not work if we do not do it correctly... not just a yelling match, but an actual brawl. You know, break some things.”

Jensen’s eyebrow lifted in silent wonder of Erissa’s proposal. He was confused as ever, wondering if the woman just asked what he thought she did. Tailor, elf, and goodie-two-shoe Erissa Caedron? Brawl and break stuff? Jensen had but one response to such a ridiculous offer, and he made it clear as he goaded his horse towards her, an intrigued grin across his face. When they reached Underwood’s main roads the two broke off a bit in the horses' slow gait. The elf looked to him and shrugged in a mischievous manner.

“Do you even know what I can do? I did kill that Blood Root back in the Red Forest,” he said. Erissa giggled as she strode her horse closer to his, a bemused smile on her face. She lifted a hand up and softly dusted his comment away as if it was an annoying fragrance.

“I would consider it a task equal in status to the Noodle Incident,” she joked, “which of course was truly your fault.” Jensen’s eyes narrowed at her comment, the leather reigns creaking in his gripping fingers as he growled lowly. He spoke in a calm and controlled manner, hoping the Elf knew that this was not the topic he wanted to actually use to do their play fight.

“It. Was. The. Cat.”

“The valiant and heroic Jensen Ambrose, nearly destroyed our Lord Orlouge with noodles. What would little Azza think?”

“She’d think you should mind your fall,” Jensen seethed, a little giggle escaping. Erissa looked to him, thoroughly confused as she tilted her head. In the blink of an eye he darted like a snake, grabbing her ankle and tugging her off the horse so she fell. Her butt hit the dirt first, and she let out a yelp of surprise. Jensen laughed at her; her silver hair had fallen over her face, making the scene far more comical. She let out an irritated breath, blowing the strands away and revealing an angry face.

“Jensen,” Erissa whispered, “that actually hurt.” The elf’s hand rubbed her posterior with tenderness; she let out a growl of annoyance as he laughed harder for her pain. He even had the indecency to point to her as he chuckled, turning his horse to face her. With a clap, he whooped in laughter, and Erissa felt he had enough fun at her expense.

“<Rise, Magnus,>” her words flowed gracefully and Jensen's horse whinnied and rose, bucking the immortal off; he collapsed onto his back with a thud and a grunt of pain. “<Good boy!>” The elf pulled her self up, and patted the muzzle of the elven steed. Jensen looked back to her with a soft grin, rubbing the back of his head. With a quick nip up he stood again, dusting himself off as he approached Erissa, who was attempting to remount her horse.

“<Forward, Lucious!>” Jensen ordered of the woman’s mount. It trotted forwards and away, and Erissa’s eyes went wide with surprise as she almost fell again. She grumbled, turning back to Jensen. “What, don’t like that you suck at this game?” Jensen cackled. “Remember I can speak your fruity fairy language with no qualms.”

“Oh, then I suppose a new tactic is in order, perhaps one you would enjoy,” her tone salted with sass as she crossed her hands just under her ample breasts. Jensen gave her a coy look, and when he wasn’t ready she brought forth her telekinetic powers, knocking the immortal over onto his rear. He let out a yelp of surprise, falling on the ground and rubbing his bottom. Erissa called Lucious back with a soft command. When she turned around she found Jensen's eyes boring holes in her. “Oh this was such a silly idea,” the young elf sighed.

“Ya, no shit,” Jensen replied hotly. “You suck at play fighting.”

“Yes, I figured that, Jensen,” she mouthed back to him. “There is no point in rubbing it in,” she mumbled, warily getting ready to mount her steed. Yet Jensen still talked, hands gesturing in time with his speech.

“No, you really suck at this. First you can’t hold a dagger properly, then you offer this ludicrous idea about us fighting, then you knock me flat on my ass and declare it’s over. Not to mention you bring up facts about my life you know nothing about.” As he prepared to open his mouth again, the elf turned, a pained expression on her face and filled with the fury of the moment.

"Why not say what you really mean, Jensen," the high elf asked in a hurt tone, "that no matter what I do, you will always despise me. I know much more than you think."

“If you know so much,” Jensen said gesturing broadly to her from the ground, his arms open to allow her to him like a hug. “Then please, pick the shit out of my brains like a vulture, fairy! Why bother telling you like it is when you can just go into my mind like fucking Sei and grab the answers yourself!”

“I would never intrude like that!” Erissa said hotly, a shocked look on her face as she lifted a hand to her chest. Jensen looked to her and shook his head, recalling a memory of the two back in the Red Forest, sitting near the camp fire after their first engagement. Jensen was watching her that night, and she had mumbled things in her sleep she should not know. Erissa looked to him as he stood back up with a swift motion. He turned to Magnus and whistled for him to come. “Jensen, please!” Erissa said with a strain. “This whole thing-“

“Was maybe just what we needed,” Jensen blurted. The two stared at each other for a long moment, and with a snarl Jensen mounted Magnus and mumbled just softly enough for the elf to hear. “Besides you’ve been getting too fresh with me lately.” Erissa shook her head angrily as she mounted her horse.

“Despite what you and your ego may think, the world has no desire to frolic around you and the pit of misery you regurgitate on others!” She snapped the reigns and moved onwards as Jensen gave her a nasty look, the horses moving in a faster pace as he caught up to the elf. There was an uncomfortable silence between the two as Jensen looked to her, seeing the hurt in her eyes as she trotted along.

“Ouu, I’m Erissa Caedron. I can read minds; bow and worship my mighty telepathic powers,” Jensen muttered darkly. “That’s what you fucking sound like. All high and mighty, but without me you’d be dead. Shit without you…” Jensen felt the words in his chest boil upwards, but he caught himself as the bloody memory of the room where his dead fiancé resided flashed through his mind. He bit hard on his tongue, the pain shooting through and carving the images away. He shook his head, looking back to Erissa with a glare. She glanced at him, a tear staining her silken face as she looked to him. Without even asking he assumed that even though she didn’t hear his words, she read his thoughts. His memory couldn’t belay his feelings of anger.

“So is that what you feel? That had I not been with you she may live?” she choked, her own personal guilt bitter on her tongue. Jensen looked to her, a grimace of frustration marring lips that usually carried a smile and a light-hearted grin. Jensen shook his head as he looked away from her and moved his horse onwards.

“No,” Jensen muttered. “Of course not. No matter what, Cassandra was the one who killed her, and despite anything I could have done, I wasn’t there for her. I failed Stephanie, and I can’t even blame a leaf licker like you for it.” He slashed the reigns across the horse and he began to pick up speed.

“Jensen!” Erissa called after him.

“Try not to fucking get killed on your way to Gisela,” Jensen shouted back to her as he kicked Magnus onwards, the horse trotting quickly down a less traveled path. He spurred beast of burden onwards, the steed’s head bobbing up and down as Jensen whipped it faster and faster. A merry-go-round of emotions played within his mind as he thought about the year he'd had.

“Who the fuck does she think she is?” Jensen spat to the horse. In response he merely jumped an overturned log and kept moving forwards. “To be fair, who the fuck do I think I am?” He carried himself at the high speed, feeling the wind flair into his nostrils, whistling in his ears as his hair beat back, spurring his mount faster and faster. He let his breeze blow his troubled mind back to a serene calmness.

When he hit a riverbank he followed it up all the way for miles, letting the sun touch his skin and allowing his mind wander in the speed of the horse. His only thought was to keep slashing the reigns and kicking the steed faster and faster. Magnus had no indications that he was troubled by the high pace and Jensen lowered himself to a tighter position, his head near the horse.

“<As fast as the wind will take you, Magnus,>” Jensen whispered near the horse’s ear. The beast twitched twice, and with a whinny of approval the he put on a real spurt of speed. Magnus sprinted, his hooves clobbering the ground and kicking the dirt up behind him like the blazing trail of a pioneer. The foliage began to lose definition; the air seemed to buzz as the immortal took hold of the reigns tightly in one hand, and let his other fly haplessly in the wind. His jacket whipped him as it fluttered, the leather snapping and creaking as he focused his all into the gallop.

When they hit the top speed Jensen felt his eyes burn, the billowing wind stinging his eyes, yet he felt the elation of the moment die as quickly as it came. He looked ahead, seeing the red strands of hair that were so familiar to him. He reached a hand out to grab hold of them, determination in his face as he ground his teeth. Yet when he felt he was close enough, he lifted his hand out too far and he collapsed off the mount, the red hair brushing his fingers long enough for him to regret not fully grasping them. He smacked into a rock and spun in a tight roll into the air. He flailed around uselessly, his mind unable to focus enough to conjure the wind around his form like he had been trained. All he could master was the realization he had failed just like he failed his love, and he accepted whatever cruel fate awaited him. He slammed into a tree, body rolling up the thick branch before he fell down hard on a another rock, his right shoulder erupting in white hot agony.

Magnus slowed himself down as he steadied his gait to a walk, before turning back. The horse stopped mere feet away, bowing down low and pushing his nose against the immortal’s face. Jensen patted him weakly as he stood, feeling the ache of his broken arm. He had trouble standing; every muscle was now feeling like it was on fire, and he gasped in pain when he extended his feet. At least they weren’t broken.

“Here I am, telling Erissa to not get herself killed, and I’m a quarter of the way done myself.” The horse gave a stamp of its hoof, head shaking as it lowered again to toss the reigns to the side.

“Oh, <thanks,>” Jensen muttered. Magnus stepped forwards as Jensen grabbed the leather, the horse’s head coming under his shoulder in a supporting way. The immortal swayed with a groan and looked to the forest around him. He shook his head. “<Guess no matter how fast you go, you will never catch a fleeting dream.>” Magnus merely bayed and stamped his feet. Jensen caught the hint that he wanted to move on, and groggily he climbed aboard in a half-assed manner, just diving over so his stomach rested across the saddle. “<Let us make way, and mind the bumps.>”

With a gentle trot the beast moved onwards as Jensen sighed to himself, his broken arm raging with pain and the only thing keeping him even remotely calm was his discipline in fighting, as well as the experience of it happening so many times in his many lives.

“Magnus,” Jensen said loudly with a defeated tone.

The horse whinnied lightly. “<Tell Erissa or Lucious what happened, and I shall murder you.>” Magnus snorted once in response as Jensen felt the pain softly take over.

Faces in the crowd gaped; cupped hands hid curious whispers all around the high elf as she sat, stunned, on her horse. She stared down the north road and watched his figure disappear, her jaw hanging open. After a few moments, Erissa shook her head and became very aware of the stares that rested upon her, the weight of which was oppressive. Self-conscious, she quickly adjusted herself on Lucious' back; at her command, the white horse picked through the bustling night-crowd down through the southern road.

Well, the plan was terrible, but it worked... too well, she thought. Erissa sighed heavily, gazing blankly at the homely buildings around her. Jensen had struck upon her single greatest fear, that she had slowed him down in the Forest, delaying his return. She did not need to read his thoughts to fill in the blank with her own. And yet, he had relieved her of that guilt; her partner was not one to say frivolous things to spare her feelings.

The horse carried her to the outskirts of Underwood, and they passed into the quiet boughs of Concordia, away from prying eyes. The arcanist moved forward cautiously; not even the starlight in the inky black night filtered through the branches, and Erissa was hard-pressed to see where she was going.

“<Halt,>” she commanded Lucious; her ears had caught a slight rustle above the normal whisper of the wind through the leaves. As quickly as she could, heart pounding, the arcanist conjured a bolt of prismatic energy at her fingertips, and cast it in the direction from which she had heard the noise. The bolt moved slowly, illuminating the disused road and trunks of trees in flashes as it sailed through them.

Nothing, she thought. “<Quickly, Lucious, follow it,>” Erissa said softly, and the great horse lurched ahead, following the light. With a thought, the high elf caused the energy to turn sharply to the north, deeper into the forest and off the path. “<As fast as you can, safely,>” she commanded the horse, and at her word he increased his speed, hooves striking so silently he passed like a ghost through the trees.

As the horse and rider dodged and weaved through the forest, always making their way northwest to meet with the northern road, Erissa troubled about the unexpected fight she had had with Jensen. She constructed an veritable litany of reasons why she would never willfully pry into his mind, his memories, and the moral wrongs of doing so.

“Why do I even care?” the high elf blurted out to the stoic trees, though she already knew the answer. The life of an immortal could be very lonely; she knew as much from the words of her teacher and of the man she accompanied. She had never told Jensen, but she would never age; in her own way, the young elf was also immortal. In an entropy-cursed world, filled to bursting with sadness and pain, it would be nice to have a companion with whom she could laugh at it all. That is, of course, if she could manage to not be killed, by malice or accident, and Jensen had proven adept at preventing both circumstances.

Lucious chortled softly as he caught sight of the wide, northern road linking Underwood and Radasanth, bringing Erissa back from her wheel-spinning. The orb of energy sputtered and dissipated before them as they entered the break in the trees. She searched the road for her fellow Knight; their plan was to meet and travel to Akashima together, the place in the gunman's memory, but Erissa began to wonder if Jensen actually meant what he said. His parting words of Gisela were a misdirection, she knew as much, but she did not believe he would leave her to the road alone. The high elf chewed on her fingernail for a moment, then with resolve, guided her horse northward, away from Underwood and toward the Combe mountains.

“<He did not even wait for us, Lucious. Such a gentleman->” she began, but the horse interrupted her with a whinny. Erissa paused, studying the strange sight before her; the small bit of light from the moon was hardly sufficient, but she thought she saw a riderless horse, a dark horse just like... “Magnus!” she cried, and the horse's head whipped around. “<Come!>” As he trotted toward her, it became very clear he was bearing something slumped across his back. Erissa whipped her leg behind her and dismounted; she ran to Jensen and attempted to lift him by his shoulders.

“Ouch!” he yelled. “Not the shoulder – ow – be careful,” he groaned.

“Jensen, what happened to you?”

“There were five, no six, six of them. Ambushed me,” he said as she slid off the opposite side of the horse. When his feet hit the road, his legs were unable to support his weight and he fell to the ground. Erissa shoved Magnus aside and dropped to her knees beside the man.

“Where are they now? Are any alive?” she asked.

“No, I got them all, but it was close,” he said.

“They must have been Oblivion's agents. That monster,” Erissa muttered. “Jensen, I can heal you, but I will not make it very far afterward. You know how it exhausts me, so I can only get you on your feet again. Where does it hurt the worst?” Jensen pointed to his broken arm, and Erissa nodded, working her skill on it, mending flesh and bone, easing aching muscles. “The rest will have to wait,” she said, running a hand along his cheek. “But you should be able to ride.” The speech she had prepared for him vanished from her mind; she could find no words to say. A tear began to form, blurring her vision. Erissa stepped back, stealthily wiping the moisture away. She turned to Magnus. “<Are you injured?>” she asked, stroking his velvety nose and searching the horse's memories of his part in the attack.

A very interesting scene played in her mind.

“There were six, you say?” she asked in a strange voice.

“Coulda been more,” Jensen groaned as he rose to his feet. “It was dark.”

“Hm,” Erissa grunted, both her jaw and her resolve set. “Perhaps we should go back to the bodies to look for information.”

“No, I already checked. There was nothing.”

“Are you sure?” Erissa asked, turning to face the man. She raised an eyebrow. “It would seem to me that you were in no condition to thoroughly check the bodies, what with your broken arm.”

“Oh, uh,” he stuttered. “It wasn't as bad as it looked. My training has, uh, conditioned me to pain.” He reached to the back of his head and scratched, grimacing as he hit a tender spot.

“I am sure it has,” Erissa said, still deciding whether or not she should be angry, and at the same time, fighting back a smile. “But still, I would like to look over the bodies. Just to be safe.”

“I told you! I already did. There wasn't anything! Dammit, elf!” he spat.

“Hmmmm,” Erissa said, arms crossed, one hand to her chin, fingers tapping. “I stay out of your memories, Jensen, despite what you might think. But perhaps I should check Magnus' in case he saw something you did not.” Jensen narrowed his eyes at her.

“Don't you dare take advantage of him like that,” Jensen said quickly. “He's got feelings, too, you know.”

“Oh for the love of,” Erissa began, her palm going to her forehead. “Would you just admit you fell off the horse?” His eyes widened, and his mouth worked like a fish's as he attempted to speak. He kicked at the dirt, then groaned at the pain it caused. Finally, defeated, he slumped his shoulders.

“I fell off the horse.”

“Was that so hard?” Erissa asked mockingly, but she quickly checked herself, still wary from the confrontation in Underwood.

“Yes!” Jensen growled. “In fact it was.” He looked angrily at Erissa. “I thought you said you'd stay out of my mind,” he muttered, then mounted the beast.

“I did. I was simply checking Magnus for injuries that might prevent him from carrying you.” The man glowered at his steed.

“<I told you not to tell,>” he grunted, pulling the horse's head around by the reins.

“Jensen, I apologize for earlier,” Erissa said, climbing onto her own horse. “It was a bad idea and I went about it all wrong. But at the very least, it worked.”

“Yeah, whatever. It's okay,” the immortal muttered. Erissa smiled at him as the horses carried them forward, waiting expectantly. He glanced over at her. “What?” he asked. Erissa squinted at him, head cocked to the side and top lip slightly curled.

“Well, this is the part where you say 'Erissa, I'm sorry, too,'” the high elf said with her best Jensen impression. She laughed lightheartedly. “Hah! It does not even sound right when I say it, much less to imagine it coming out of your mouth. It is okay, Jensen; I forgive you.”

“You – forgive...” the immortal rasped at her and shrugged. He looked over at her again, a half-smile creeping across his face. “You're not giving up on this friend thing, are you.” It was more an admission than a question.

“No,” the elf chirped.

“Why?” he asked her, genuinely curious, and she could see the confusion on his face even in the darkness. Her eyes softened as she smiled at him.

“You may think you are a terrible person, Jensen Ambrose, but you are wrong. I see in you the very same thing the others who care about you see. It is what is in here,” she said, leaning all the way over to tap his chest with her index finger. “What I see when I look at you is what differentiates a normal man from a great man. You do what needs to be done, no matter how difficult it might be.

“And truly! How amazing is it that you are immortal? You traverse the ages like a giant treading mountains.” Erissa paused, wanting to say more but unable to find the words. “Your friendship would mean more to me than you realize,” she finally said. The smirk had slowly faded from his face, and Jensen looked at the elf briefly, wonder-struck.

“Huh. Maybe... you know,” Jensen began, regaining his composure, “I could just lop off those points on your ears, and douse you with some perfume.” Erissa rolled her eyes at him and laughed again.

“Oh, Jensen,” she sighed. “You are hopeless.”

“So what does that make you for trying?” he asked, laughing.

As the two horses clopped along the road, Jensen observed the night air with a sort of reverence and calm. As if something inside was ticking away slowly, he looked back to the elf and sighed to himself. A prominent memory of a time Stephanie had once traversed the night with him gave him a pained expression that he hid in the veil of shadows the night cast over them. With a grimace, he decided to let his warrior’s soul take over for a bit to distract him. He recalled the events that took place recently, giving a cold and detached 'fact or fiction' approach to every piece like it was the missing jigsaw to the puzzle of Oblivion.

He had sent idiots to test them, a polite cough to warn them he was onto them. He broke into the Ixian Castle and ransacked the immortal’s room. This showed that he had a severe pool of resources to call upon, not to mention nobody knew who the hell this guy was even supposed to be. With the connections that Jensen hypothesized Oblivion had, the immortal came to the conclusion the man was fully secure to watch and wait. There was a good chance that at the two major ports on Corone a set up would be ready and waiting. Gisela, or Akashima. The plan was to throw off the trail, taking the long way over the Combe mountains to Akashima while looking like they headed for Gisela, but even that would be a fruitless endeavor if Oblivion was as good as they say.

However, Akashima had to be their next point. There was no alternative. He had heard the great libraries there housed potent, powerful knowledge of all things around the world. It could take a long time searching, but it was the best chance they had, despite how much he hated the idea of waiting for the answer to be found. In fact, he almost felt like a sitting duck, but his mind was already made up. This was their last chance to get a lead on Oblivion, and use that with his plan of attack.

Jensen had a plan in his mind since the minute he calmed his nerves after the first battle back in Underwood. He decided that now, in the darkness, was the best opportunity to explain his plan to Erissa. He slowed his horse enough for Lucious to catch up, trotting next to the elf. She gave her attention to him, her sparkling eyes latching onto his with the softest of smiles. Before too much time had passed, the immortal blurted words to break the uncomfortable feeling he had looking at her.

“Plan!” he stuttered like a dolt. Erissa tilted her head in confusion, and even both horses lifted their heads with a soft whine. “The plan of plans!” Jensen struck his finger out so it rested just under the elf’s nose. She giggled, holding her head back, and Jensen removed his offending digit.

“Okay,” Erissa said politely. “Care to share?”

“No, I want you to read my mind,” Jensen said earnestly. “Just poke in there, grab what you need. No time for pleasantries.” Jensen closed his eyes and prepared for the…whatever the hell it would feel like when she invaded his mind. There was the sound of skin slapping forehead as Erissa groaned in slight irritation. Jensen popped an eye open. “What? It’s a great plan!” he chided defensively. Erissa shook her head as she spoke in a strict manner.

“I am sure it is and I have no reason to deny that, especially since I do not know what it is! Jensen, I already told you, several times, that I don’t read minds, I read memories!” Jensen gave her a quizzical look. With the heaviest of sighs she elaborated. “I read your past, not your thoughts.” Jensen still blinked several times.

“Memories!” Erissa tried to explain with strain.

“What does my breasts have to do with this?” Jensen jiggled his chest area. Erissa gaped at him.

“For the love of… Memories, not mammories! Things that already happened! Not… whatever you are thinking!” Erissa blushed in the dark.

“So…you have to read my thoughts through my chest, like your Heartsong?” Jensen smirked as he grinned, but Magnus bayed loudly, lifting Jensen up as his steed whinnied. “<Whoa boy! Calm down! What is it?>” Jensen looked through the forest for signs of danger, but Erissa merely looked to the horse and nodded once.

“<Thank you, Magnus,>” the elf said kindly, then looked to Jensen with a smirk. “He had a memory of you acting like a childish simpleton. He would like you to move on to the point. Now what is this plan of plans?” Jensen looked down to his mount, patting it twice on the neck, and looked back to the Elf with a more serious, grim look.

“I’m from an old order of Knights. Very old. Like, before the demon wars of Althanas were all the rage. It’s known as the Knights of Apocalypse. We’re a shadow organization trained since birth to kill those who are evil, and those who are good. We believed in balancing the world into a grey neutral state. Only then could judgment be passed, and the Apocalypse could begin.”

“I remember you telling me of them. Go on,” Erissa said sweetly as she hung onto his words. Jensen rubbed the back of his head.

“Well you see, we had five strongholds: The Palace of War, the Fortress of Famine, the Labyrinth of Pestilence and Death’s Cradle. Each one was located in a remote region of Althanas to monitor and carry out the will of the council. The Palace is in Fallien, the Labyrinth is in Raieria, the Fortress is in Scara Brae, and the Cradle is in Salvar.” Erissa nodded to herself as she processed the information.

“Yes, a wide network indeed. It covers most of the continents, I would assume. But what do you intend to do with these landmarks, Jensen?” The immortal gave her a sheepish grin.

“You are thinking narrowly here. We have a wide network of locations, processing and dispatching knights all over Althanas. Could you imagine the logistical nightmare, even if each fortress carried their own?” Erissa pondered it for a moment before she caught the birth of an idea.

“You said five locations, but you have yet to tell me the fifth,” she mused tapping a contemplative finger to her chin. “I’m going to assume this fifth location is in charge of just that, the management of personnel and resources.”

“The Bastion of the Apocalypse,” Jensen masked his tone with mystery. “A fortress all its own, the largest by far of the five, and the home of the thousands of serfs and scribes who tend to the whims of the Horsemen. Yes, the Bastion was where all the orders were assigned; the resting place of the council. I could get technical if you would like,” Jensen mumbled as an afterthought. “You have four scribes each dedicated to the lead of one of the other castles, then four warriors dedicated to scrying and divinations of the horsemen’s will, and at last the four Avatars, er,” Jensen winced at that word. “Champions of the Horsemen. Twelve bodies who sit and discuss who is to be killed, and who is best suited for the job. The final say in everything is the Aspect of the Apocalypse; the Herald of the End Times, Lord Ragnarok. A solitary individual who bares the full fury of the end times and technically knows the song that would end the world. Used in good health, mind you. All of them are dead now anyways.”

Erissa’s ears perked at that last comment.

“All of them?” she asked. Jensen shrugged.

“Well, if we are being specific, no. Obviously when the End Bringer came people like Adolph, Stephanie and I were assigned missions. There are stragglers; remnants of the order still alive. But our ways are now defunct and dead. Messy, long story. Tell you about it later,” Jensen insisted, raising a hand to stop further inquiry.

As they neared the mountain pass Jensen looked to Magnus and Lucious and spoke loudly. “<Can you both ride in the night and all day tomorrow?>” There was a stubborn whinny from both as they picked up speed, taking up the challenge with enthusiasm. “Good, I want to gain as much distance as we can. We’ll be riding all night and day tomorrow, pausing only for a lunch and then moving on. Sorry, by the way, but we need to be cautious.” Jensen gave her an apologetic look as the elf shook her head.

“I was thinking the same thing. Besides, with you at my side I’m sure no danger will be able to sneak up on us!” She smiled to him warmly, a look he didn’t return to her; he felt a jab of pain in his chest. The bloody images began to surface, but with a shake of his head, he spoke in a calm manner the last and most important reason why he began this story.

“The tale has a point,” Jensen continued. “You see, there is a chamber in the Bastion of the Apocalypse that the Council used to determine where a target was located. Never failed. It’s known as the Chamber of Fate."

“And using that, we can find Oblivion! Jensen, that is a good plan!”

“Hate to burst your bubble, but it’s all we got. We have no clue how many aliases he’s hiding behind. I have all my life to search for him, but you? Well, you are a smelly leaf licker…” he teased with a chuckle. “Don’t worry though,” Jensen whispered loudly to her as his chuckles died to determination. “I won’t fail you. I’ll… keep you safe, bush humper.”

There was a silence between them before Jensen looked to her, feigning a smile that he wasn’t sure was meant to ease her nerves, or his own.

The night crept on like an addled snake, and the Ixian Knights trudged onward to the Combe mountains to the north. Just as dawn lit the world around them, Erissa's eyes began to close against her will. The high elf bounced in her saddle a few times, trying to rouse herself. Jensen chuckled at her.

“You wouldn't have lasted a week back in my day, in the Knights of Apocalypse,” he said, smirking haughtily at her.

“What was that, old man?” Erissa asked. “Back in your day?”

“You really just called me 'old man?'” Jensen asked with a bemused frown.

“Yes. And speaking of old men, <how are the two of you?>” she asked the horses. They had not slowed their pace throughout the night, yet they both snorted eagerly, and she turned back to Jensen. “Not bad, considering they are, oh, I think, about five hundred years old now.” The man's eyes widened, and Erissa nodded to reaffirm her statement. “Troyas has trained them from the time they were foals. As you can tell, they are smarter than the average horse, thanks to a little fairy magic, but it is Troyas who keeps them from aging.” Erissa bit her lower lip, considering whether or not she should continue. Jensen was silent for a few moments, and he finally scratched Magnus' neck.

“<And how do you feel about that?>” he asked the horse, who neighed happily. “You know, you forgot that letter from your father.” Erissa's lighthearted expression was murdered by a scowl.

“I did not forget it; I just have not found a fire yet in which I can throw it!”

“You mean you're not even going to read it?” Jensen asked, incredulous.

“Why should I bother? Most likely, he is demanding I come home, and not because he worries for me. Instead, he wants to use my standing with the Ixian Knights to further his own pursuits.” Erissa dropped the reins and crossed her arms in a huff. “No, actually, I am willing to wager that is exactly what he wants.” She dug through her satchel and pulled out the cream-colored envelope, and tossed it at Jensen. “Read it. If I am right, then you have to stop insulting me with your various elf euphemisms. You are still free to insult him, though, as much and as often as you like.” Jensen chuckled at her, entertained by her theatrics.

“Fine. But if you're wrong, what do I get?” he asked, a grin on his face. “I can think of something.”

“Jensen! Just read it!” Erissa said, blushing. “I was making a point, not... Will you just read it?” Laughing harder, the immortal unceremoniously ripped the envelope open, discarding it on the road behind.

“Dearest Daughter,” he began, reading the beautiful script and translating from Elvish to Common as he read. “I am overlooking the disrespect you have shown me by not responding to my previous letters, and I am extending a good faith offer to you. A position with the Bards has become available, and I have secured it for you once you complete the necessary academy training. I am willing to forgive you for your behavior with that man, and for abandoning your mother and me, but this is not an offer that will last. This is your last chance to be welcome in Caedron Hall, and if you do not take it, then you are no daughter of mine. Yours, Ellear Caedron.” Jensen looked over at Erissa, who shook her head, fuming with intense anger. “What's this? Innocent little Erissa Caedron, misbehaving and disobeying her daddy? That's rich!” He threw his head back and laughed, but the jubilation faded quickly when he looked at her again. “What?”

“I win the wager. And I do not want to talk about it, Jensen,” she said quietly. He eyed Erissa, intrigued.

“So there is a man in your life?”

“I do not know, and I said I do not want to talk about it,” she reasserted, glaring at him.

“You don't know?” he asked, throwing his hands in the air. “That's not right. Now you gotta tell me. We got a long road ahead and I'm bored.”

“Why?” Erissa spat. “So you can add this to your arsenal of things about which you can make fun of me?” He chuckled again, shaking his head.

“Nah. Knight's honor,” he promised. “Come on! I hardly know anything about you.” She sighed heavily, scrutinizing him.

“Very well,” Erissa said finally. “All my life, my father has manipulated every part of my existence, always looking for his own gain. He was not pleased I was a tailor, even though I was very accomplished. I met a man, Virlas, who helped me in a time of great need. He also reminded me of someone I lost; I was not always an only child. I had an older brother, a soldier who died in battle, when I was still very young. I found a small piece of happiness again in Virlas' company. It was the treachery of my servant, Arienne, that caused my father to place a bounty on his head, believing that I was having an illicit relationship with him. I was not, but Virlas left, for fear of losing his life. You see, my father seethes at the thought of his daughter diluting his pure, elven bloodline. You hate elves, and my father has a hatred for humans to rival it.

“After my servant's treachery, my latent power - telekenesis, energy manipulation, healing - was awakened. My father latched on to that immediately, realizing that he could make better use of me. So I left. Let me see... his last words to me were something along the lines of 'Now I will not have to wait for your children; you will train under the best tutors, and I will see to it you become the High Priestess.'” Erissa slumped in her saddle, and Jensen narrowed his eyes.

“So that guy, Virlas, just up and left? Didn't even put up a fight?” he asked. “What a pussy.”

“I wish it had been you,” Erissa said, frowning. “A bounty on your head is about as worthless as the paper it is written on, and there would not have been a single thing he could have.... Oh!” Erissa's eyes widened; her hand covered her mouth, before dropping to the saddle horn. “I mean, not you, but... I, ahem. You know what I mean,” she sputtered, completely flustered.

“That'd be the fucking day,” Jensen said, rolling his eyes. “Still, I hope I meet your father one day. He sounds fun.” A mischievous grin flickered on his face; mirth danced in his eyes.

“Promise?” Erissa asked, an uncharacteristically wicked laugh escaping her lips. They rode on, each lost in thought and the Combe Mountains looming ever closer. Erissa abruptly broke the silence. “To tell you the truth, I wonder about what I actually felt for Virlas. Troyas warned me that my affection for him was misplaced, that I was attached to how he reminded me of my brother. Perhaps he is right. I know it was not my brother trapped in that tree in the Red Forest, but seeing Tanus die, well, it seemed to bring some closure for me, at least as far as my sorrow for his loss.” Jensen did not respond, instead he looked away from her, hiding the sadness in his eyes. His own memory of the event replayed in his mind, and the image of a very different person was trapped in the cursed tree as he drove his dagger into the heart of it.

“We should leave the road now,” he said, changing the subject. “We can't take the road through the mountains; it's a choke point that's easily watched.”

“You want to climb through the mountains?” Erissa asked, eyebrows high. “I'm not sure...”

“That's exactly what I want to do,” Jensen interrupted. “I know this land better than you, and I know a way we can get the horses through as well. Can you lift them?”

“I do not know,” Erissa said. “I have not yet tried anything that heavy.” Jensen scratched the stubble on his chin.

“We'll make do. Worst case, we just leave the horses behind. They're smart enough to find their way home, right?” he asked, and Erissa nodded. Jensen guided Magnus off the road, and Erissa's horse followed closely. Within a half hour, the quartet arrived at the rolling foundations of the mountains. Jensen pointed at a game trail. “We'll follow that. It winds around a lot, but it's the best way.”

“Alright,” Erissa said, nodding. “I trust you.” The Knights slipped from their mounts, and Jensen led, guiding his horse by the reins among the worn and broken rocks that barred the way. Erissa yawned loudly, her eyelids heavy for lack of sleep. The usually graceful elf tripped on a tuft of grass and tumbled to the ground. Jensen whipped around, and, taking her hand, helped her to her feet; he looked at her with concern in his eyes.

“Just a little farther, Erissa. We need to get where we can't be seen, then we'll rest. Can you make it?” he asked. His own body screamed from the tumble he took earlier and the hours of being on horseback. The high elf wiped her eyes and nodded, squinting against the late-morning sun. “You gotta pay attention,” he warned. “This is the easy part.” She nodded again, then shook her hands and jumped in place, trying to fight the sleepiness.

“I can make it,” she assured him; Jensen sighed worriedly, his eyes scanning the trail as it wound along the ever-heightening ground. The great crowns of the mountains were capped in pure white, and if it were any indication of the temperature, they would have a frigid evening. They silently followed the trail, moving slowly and leaping across small chasms and broken rocks; and Jensen scratched the back of his head absently as he looked at the incredibly narrow ledge they would be forced to manage.

“Here,” he said, exhausted, pointing to a small, somewhat flat area. “Let's rest here and get some food. You can sleep for a little while, but we gotta make it out of here before nightfall, if it's at all possible.” Erissa gave a grateful nod and removed a saddlebag bearing some of the food Troyas had packed for them.

“Troyas, you are the best,” she said as she removed sandwiches of roasted meat and cheese from the bag. “Look, Jensen; they are still hot.” Erissa laughed tiredly. “Enchanted sandwiches for lunch, and – yes. A side of stuffed mushrooms. Next time you feel like insulting him, maybe you should reconsider.”

“Nope,” he said, grabbing a sandwich and greedily stuffing his mouth. “But they are pretty good. I'll give him that.” He swallowed without much chewing, then popped a few mushrooms in his mouth. Erissa shook her head at him as she struggled to spread a large linen cloth on the ground, fighting with the chilly, howling breeze as it caught the blanket on the scrubby bushes ringing the clearing.

“I suppose it is time I tend to your wounds,” Erissa said, “and then I will rest.” She motioned for Jensen to join her, and he grimaced as he sat. “What, no complaints?” she asked, shifting to her knees behind him. He shrugged non-nonchalantly in response, but immediately stiffened as her hands worked against his neck and shoulders, massaging his aching muscles. “Relax!” she commanded. “Your muscles are in knots, and I need to loosen them. It is better this way - it uses less of my energy.” As she repaired his body by both her magical means and a bit of elbow grease, Jensen felt the warmth and strength leave her hands. When she yawned loudly, he turned to her; Erissa was pale and shivering in the cool, mountain air.

“Get some rest,” he said, easily rising to his feet. He swung his arms back and forth, stretching his back.

“Jensen?” Erissa asked, curling up on the wide cloth and pulling her cloak over her.

“Yeah?”

“What do you think Oblivion wants with the ambrosia essence? The fruit was as corrupt as the tree and the Red Forest itself. It cannot be anything good.”

“You don't say,” he retorted sarcastically. “What do all bad guys want?”

“Hmmm,” Erissa said, laughing weakly as she closed her eyes. “Power, control. My father taught me all about that.”

“Yep. They just go about getting it differently.” As he spoke, Erissa wrestled with the cloth as the wind tugged at it.

“It frightens me to think that he could become more powerful. He already has his vial, which is an endless source of magical power. What could be more than that...” Erissa trailed off, her soft snore an indicator of just how exhausted she was. The elf's shivering was apparent and the midday sun did little to warm her.

Jensen had his back turned to the elf for a moment, just a mere second, and when her voice trailed off he spun quickly around, his jacket whipping in the breeze of his turn. His head already swarmed with dark thoughts; a hand went to his daggers, but when he saw the shivering elf snoozing sweetly, he lowered his guard and chuckled to himself, rubbing the back of his head.

“Tired yourself out,” Jensen taunted, releasing a low whistle. He rotated his ex-broken shoulder and grimaced, but not in pain. A certain guilt washed over him knowing he was pushing her too far. She was, after all, just a tailor. She was not used to the stress Jensen endured to be able to function like he was now. His limbs were tired, that wasn’t even a question, but he was in control of his mind and he had the discipline to keep moving.

With a gentle tug from the wind he felt his jacket flap behind him, a warmth emanating from the names on the back he had stitched in the lining long ago. He looked to Erissa, seeing her flesh spawn fresh little bumps from the cold, and he groaned in annoyance as he smoothly lifted his coat up and off in a practiced motion. He dusted it once or twice, the weapons he had stowed in it clattering to the ground. He walked towards the woman and wrapped her body in the fabric. Her hands instantly crawled up to the edges and pulled it around her, making a cute little sound before softly snoring again.

Jensen returned to his weapons and flipped each one up in the air before placing it on his belt or in a holster, pulling out his leather fighting gloves to make room for one of his throwing glaives. He let the leather creak as he pulled the gloves onto his fingers, wiggling them to get the maximum comfort. He looked over the ledge of the mountain, eyes casting a worried glance at the forest, and with a grim shake of his head he knew they should keep moving. Regardless of how tired Erissa was, they couldn’t waste any time resting. He turned back to her, and let out a sigh of annoyance.

The elf was out for the count, and it was partly his fault for injuring himself.

He looked to Magnus and Lucious, both grazing not far off and he spotted a rather decent sized boulder he could climb. He headed towards his companion, and with a bit of a strain he carefully lifted Erissa in his arms and walked her towards the boulder.

“Magnus,” Jensen said sternly. “<Hold still by the boulder. We are mounting for two. Lucious, you follow behind us, and run further ahead if you detect trouble. Understood, my friends?>” he asked. They both whinnied and tossed their heads, Magnus trotting towards the rock where Jensen could use it as a platform to get situated on his mount, and Lucious not more than a few paces behind. The two watched as Jensen carefully jumped onto the boulder with Erissa in arms, his limbs protesting the sudden need to lift anything more than his hands. He struggled as he managed to find a good footing, and with a wince of anticipation jumped into the saddle. Magnus stirred a bit as the immortal adjusted in his seat, letting out a silent cry of pain from his nether regions and juggling Erissa in his arms until she sat side saddle, but rested against the inside of his arms.

With a slash of the reigns Magnus was off again, Lucious in tow, as the trio rode up the mountain pass. Erissa’s eyes opened for a brief moment, but with a thwack on her nose and a whisper for her to shut up and sleep she found no will power to argue, her head careening and nuzzling until she rested comfortably in his arms.

“Freaking elf,” Jensen muttered. “Knew she was getting fresh with me…” Jensen mumbled more obscenities as he tightened his grip on the reigns, and used a free hand to keep the jacket tight around her.

~*~*~

For the remainder of the day Erissa slept, her eyes opening once or twice before she nudged herself back into comfort and slept some more. Jensen’s eyes began to sag as red lines pieced the whites of them, his breathing ragged and head bobbing on its own in time with the horses. He urged them to keep a steady trot in the mountain pass. If there was ever a good time to keep themselves ahead of would be trackers, now was it. Magnus carried them both flawlessly as he offered no signs of discomfort, but when the sun began to fall and the crescent moon shown brighter, his pace slowed.

Jensen looked to the purple sky, his eyes filled with silent wonder. Long ago, back when he was twelve, his first lover Chanele Kim-Hotep had dragged him out of his bedroom to come and see the first signs of the night. She led him all the way up to the tallest tower, giggling as she held his hand tightly. He laughed with her, wondering what was up as she urged him higher and higher, until at last they reached the top of tower. There she rolled out a barrel and pulled out a supply blanket and pillow from it, clearly something she stashed earlier, and set it up for them to rest under.

That night they both sat looking up at the stars, her head resting on his chest as he stroked her raven black hair, pointing to new stars and watching the constellations birth into the new night. It was a memory that carried him a bit further, and when the gentleness of the night took over the duty of the sky so the sun could rest, he felt the weariness of his eyes start to take over.

Jensen felt his chin fall to his chest, soft hair nuzzled against his stubble as he was too tired to care. He let a bit of drool escape his lips, a small dabble that sent him deep into his own sleep. His free hand gripped his jacket across Erissa’s waist, keeping it shut and also stabilizing her. His hand on the reigns slipped low enough for him to cup Erissa’s slender frame. He had no idea how long he had traveled like that until he felt his body start to slide to one side. He woke with a start, and a graceful, silk soft hand pressed against his chest neatly.

“It is okay,” Erissa whispered. “You should rest, Jensen. You have more than earned it.” The immortal felt his eyes grow heavy again, but with a snap of his head back and a quick shake he jumped to the ground and walked, stretching his muscles.

“I’ll take first watch tonight,” Jensen yawned loudly as he covered his mouth with one hand, the other half way to the moon as he let out a sigh of pleasure. Erissa slipped from the horse and placed her hands firmly on her hips.

“If I remember last time, you had spent all night watching me. You are exhausted Jensen, and I am well rested. You are weary; I am wide awake. There is nothing to be gained with you being up so much. Magnus and Lucious are winded as well, and they need to rest.”

“I’ll be fine, leaf licker,” Jensen sassed. “You know you just want to watch me sleep like a creepy stalker. Admit it.” Jensen mumbled. Erissa opened her mouth to speak, but instead kept it shut, a patronizing smile snagging her as she looked back to Lucious. The horse stamped his foot once as Erissa giggled, clearly having finished reading his memories.

“He thinks otherwise, but I will not argue the point,” she once again stepped forwards. “I have enough meal for us to last another day, and if we ride all night like yesterday we will be in Akashima. Rest for that trip, Jensen. You have already been awake for over seventy-two hours. You have strained your body enough.”

“I have not been up that long,” Jensen yawned again, cursing himself. Erissa stepped forwards slowly in an entrancing manner.

“You have,” she asserted softly.” I know you have not slept since you arrived in Underwood with little Azza. Now Jensen, do me a favor,” she was nearly in his face, lifting one hand to his chest. “Go. To. Sleep.” She pushed gently on his flesh with a smile, and Jensen felt his will crumble.

“Fine, just don’t let anyone sneak up on us. Go ahead and keep the jacket tonight, it’s supposed to be cold and you’re a lightweight,” he mumbled tiredly as he collapsed on the spot in a dramatic fashion, curling upon himself as he easily zoned out and felt the darkness grip his vision. He looked to the inside of his eyelids and took a deep breath.

True he cared for the safety of his charge, but there was one teeny problem with his sleep as of late, and the notion of going back to the hell that awaited him in his dreams gave the immortal no comfort as the screams began to grow upon his thoughts.

Erissa gazed to the south; she shook her head in awe at the ground Jensen had covered while she slept securely in his arms, wrapped in the warmth of his jacket. The bulk of the mountains were behind them, with but a stone's throw left to surmount. The elf's face weighed with concern for her companion; his sleep was deep but troubled. Jensen groaned, his arms weakly twitching as if he were trying to fend off something only he could see. Erissa's own dreams had been strange: of night, of stars, and of a smiling dark-haired girl she had never met. A piercing cry pulled the high elf from her reflections, and she crawled on her knees toward the man. Ever so gently, she raised the immortal's head as she sat and rested it on her lap. Erissa began to softly sing his song, the Heartsong of Jensen Ambrose, as she stroked his hair, trying to calm him.

~------------------------------------------------------~

Barrum will roll the drum at the morrow's first light
Barrum will come the call, a thundering war to fight
So sleep weary soldier; rest weary knight
Barrum the call will come at the morrow's first light

Washed away is the blood from the edge of your blade
But to forget what was spilled, your noble heart forbade
If you find the sharp edge of your soul has decayed
Remember, my knight, all the helpless ones you aid

At the morrow's first light, like a lion you will rise,
Roaring with laughter and malice in your eyes
From you shall they flee, or shall meet their own demise
But now, worthy knight, rest before the grand reprise

Barrum will roll the drum at the morrow's first light
Barrum will come the call, a thundering war to fight
So sleep weary soldier; rest weary knight
Barrum the call will come at the morrow's first light

Come rest your head on your lover's offered breast
Reap the gentle peace you have sown in your gest
For a moment forget tomorrow's sure unrest
And remember what it means to be truly blessed

~------------------------------------------------------~

As the magic of her song caused Jensen's heartbeat to reverberate within her, she almost panicked at its frantic pace; Erissa had never heart his heart beat so quickly, even in battle. The elf continued her song, however, and within a few moments, the beating slowed. She brushed the hair from his brow; in spite of the frigid night, sweat dappled his face. Erissa wiped it away, smiling softly.

“Would it make a difference if I told you?” she whispered gently, stroking his hair. “Or would you complain that you would have to endure my scent for an eternity?” The elf smiled sadly, shaking her head. “You do not have to be alone; is that not what frightens you the most?”

With a sigh, she scanned the rocky terrain around them; the silence was so thick it felt as though her ears were plugged. The horses slept nose to tail, huddled for warmth and weary from their exertion. Erissa rummaged through Jensen's open bag and rested her hand against the small, perfectly round stone, filled with the essence of the corrupt ambrosia fruit. As the night wore on, Erissa thought of Akashima; she had never seen the wonder of the small empire, though she had seen the artwork of and produced by its people. The elf was intrigued by the oddness of it all, the clothing, the design, the ceremonious culture, and she understood why Oblivion would choose this, of all places, from which to operate - if indeed he did. Akashima was an extremely xenophobic nation, suspicious of outsiders, and it was no easy task to work across its borders. One had to be very resourceful, or very well connected, to do any sort of business in Akashima, and Erissa wondered how she and Jensen would manage.

Before the sun crept above the edge of the world, Jensen's eyes popped open, and he stared up at the distracted elf for a moment.

“Ummmm... is there any particular reason I'm in your lap?” he asked, a confused look on his face. Erissa's head snapped down, eyes wide and mouth agape. “And why is your hand there?” he asked, the confused visage giving way to a frown. Erissa recoiled her hand from his satchel and scooted away, leaving his head to plop down on the ground.

“Well,” Erissa said nervously, “you were having a nightmare. And I was not pilfering your things; I kept my hand on the essence in case I dozed off myself.”

“Mmmkay,” he said suspiciously, rising from the ground. He glanced down at his body, as if he were making sure it was still there, then back at Erissa as she fidgeted for a long moment, his eyes narrowed all the while. “Let's get moving,” the immortal finally said, laughing as he scratched the back of his head. “And I'll take my jacket back now. Too much longer and I won't be able to get the smell out.” She quickly nodded as she tossed him the jacket, and Erissa trotted over to rouse the horses. Within minutes, the Knights were on the trail again, navigating the last few rocky obstacles in the descent that would place them north of the Combe Mountains. Akashima was a little more than a day's ride away, and they would travel across the country, avoiding main roads.

“How are we actually going to get into Akashima?” Erissa asked Jensen as they cut twin swaths through the undergrowth beneath the forest that dressed the land north of the mountains to the border.

“We're Ixian Knights, remember? There's not many problems that name won't solve,” he said, shrugging, the typical grin stretched across his face.

“We shall see,” Erissa said, a smile-veiled warning in her voice.

The midday sun robbed the air of its morning chill, and the Knights continued on, comfortably making small talk between longer silences. By afternoon, Erissa began to feel the effects of another sleepless night; her body made known its contempt for the conditions under which she pressed it. Jensen's stomach rumbled like a bear, and she laughed at him before tossing him the last of the food in her bag.

“We can eat while we ride,” she said, smiling. “How much longer until we get there?” Jensen rasped at her.

“Don't you dare start that,” he said, taking a bite out of a hunk of bread.

“Start what?” she asked innocently, staring up into the canopy of branch and leaf, trying to discern the sun's position. “How much longer?”

“That,” he said, pointing at her, bread still in hand. Erissa frowned at him as he chewed contentedly.

“Well? Are you going to tell me?” she asked several minutes later, and the immortal tossed a crumpled paper wrapper at her, and she rolled her eyes in annoyance. “I guess that is a 'no.'” Late afternoon gave way to cool evening, until the light of the sun could no longer be seen, and the pregnant moon was the only source to guide the Ixians. Erissa clapped her hands happily as she spied lights in the distance through the ever more sparse trees.

“Look! There it is: Akashima!” she said excitedly, her weariness temporarily forgotten. Jensen perked up in his saddle, straining to see what the elf did, but his eyes were not as sharp. “I suppose it is time to find out just how much influence the name of the Ixian Knights actually has.” Jensen smirked at her, still scanning the lands north of them, until finally, he, too, could see the tiny points of light that marked the border.

“<Here we are, gentlemen!> Jensen said to the horses. <“Well done!”> He patted Magnus' neck, and urged the horse forward; the group quickly covered the last bit of ground between them and their destination. Erissa and Jensen angled themselves to a road and followed it to the Akashima's more civilized entrance.

“Mmmmm, I cannot wait for a real bed and a warm bath!” Erissa said with palpable anticipation and an extravagant yawn.

Jensen looked to the walls of Akashima with weary, tired eyes that held open out of stubborn resistance to collapse into a coma of sleep. He did relish the idea of a warm bath to sooth his aching muscles, and the promise of a fresh bed would send his spirits soaring. Yet even though they had arrived at their expected location, the immortal knew only half the battle was over.

The horses trotted forwards to the main gates, their wooden walls reaching to the heavens to keep would be aggressors out. A twinge of sea salt entered his nose as he took in the air of the city, the sound of many torches swirling in the breeze and soldiers working behind the walls. He found himself in line and showed his papers as one of Sei’s Ixian Knights. There was a moment of pause as the guardsman at the door barked in their silly language, but with a groan a wheel was cranked and the two were allowed passage within the confines of the outer city for the night to rest. They dismounted, stretching and groaning from their long trek, and allowed a small child to take the horses to the stables. Another servant boy showed them to their room, eyes flashing with concern as he stopped at a doorway, removing his sandals.

“It custom, please take off feet,” were the child’s words. Broken common... Jensen hated broken common. Instead he pushed the kid forwards, and kept walking with his boots on. Erissa had her back turned, removing her boots and carrying them with her as she trotted after them. The boy seemed very uncomfortable with what Jensen was doing, but the Knight frankly didn’t care.

He did not really care for Akashima or their silly customs, way of life, or morals for that matter as he thought back to Benjiro Taka, the Ronin general of Sei’s legion. It was too many years ago, when Jensen was new to the Ixian Knights and he was asked to help Taka train. Stephanie had it in for Jensen, because if Jensen hated Elves, she had hated Akashimans more. He supposed it could be because some so called honorable samurai warriors permitted a drunk bastard to rape her because she was not someone’s property. If not for the loudmouth immortal she would have lost more than her temper in Akashima.

When they reached the door the boy knelt and shifted it open, revealing one large roll-out futon with a rolled cylinder, silk pillow for the two to sleep. Jensen passed the kid, letting his coat flap in his face as he entered into the room; his bag was gently tossed to the right side of the bed. Erissa thanked the boy, paid him a gold coin, and walked in before she let out a little groan.

“Why,” she muttered. “Why does everyone assume we want only one bed…” Jensen passed her a glance and winked to her, her lips forming into a smile as she mouthed the word incorrigible.

The elf instinctively moved towards the bathing room, moving the wall panel and finding that a lion’s mouth was already pouring hot, steaming water into a large bath that could fit five people comfortably. She found a heady rose scented vial next to the bath, and she brought it to her nose, sniffing it like a bouquet before dropping it into the bath. Bubbles began to form under the fountain of water. Jensen walked forwards, removing his jacket and folding it neatly, placing it on the edge of the futon. He walked to the bath as he stripped his shirt off. Erissa turned from her joy at touching the bubbles, giggling until she let out a yelp of shock.

“Jensen!”

“What? You going to hog the bath too? Last time we shared a bed you and Osher got all freaky cuddly with me. Not to mention every time I go to sleep I wake up with you in some pretty awkward positions, elf.” Erissa’s face turned beet red, despite the efforts of the low lighting to hide out. He thumbed his pants, popped his belt, and gestured to his abs and chest. “Come on, you know you want some of this, leaf licker.”

“It is cute how you dream,” she sassed. Jensen looked to her as she eyed him, her gorgeous eyes lifting up and down in fluttering sparks. Jensen toyed with the idea of stripping fully, but he turned his back to her and sat down on the edge of the bath, giving her a grin as he thumbed the porcelain.

“Go ahead, you can go first.”

“With you in the room?” her tone lifted in confusion. Jensen shrugged.

“I won’t peak, scout's honor.”

“Do scouts have honor?”

“Not really, they run forwards, see the enemy, and run back. I’d imagine they are creepy pervs more than anything,” Jensen joked as he shrugged again. “Okay Ms. Prude, I promise on Azza’s cute little head not to peep. Not that you filthy elves got much going for you.”

“Not good enough,” Erissa smiled as she stepped to the door and held it in her hand, foot tapping. Jensen snapped his fingers and stood, walking out the door as she shut it behind him. However, the paper thin wall revealed her silhouette. He watched her shadowy form strip as he collapsed on the futon. He attempted to think about what they should do in Akashima next, but the immortal didn’t get far before his thoughts were interrupted.

“Thank you, Jensen,” the Elf said teasingly. He could hear her splash as she dipped in, the sound of running water over her head as she let out a long, loud sigh of pleasure. “This water is the perfect temperature.”

“Then stop wasting the heat and hurry it up. We’ve a long day ahead of us tomorrow and we have to get up early.” Erissa’s movements hastened, her bare skin making loud noises against the porcelain. “I want to get up an hour after dawn, let civilization wake up before us, but get in before the markets become too thick with people.” He could see Erissa’s head nodding as the form of her breasts popped out. He knew he was staring at her, and he found he couldn’t look away. So, Jensen did what he did best.

Oh damn, those are bigger than I thought… He watched as she fanned her hair out, the length of it making it look like a cape as she continued to pour the water on her. He watched her tilt and whirl as she began to brush her hair. She does look a little stalky though… how do I feel about that? Hmmm… Jensen looked down to the expert on the matter, judging everything to the companion who never intentionally steered him wrong when the blood ran in the other direction. I seem to have no strong feelings one way or another about this. He continued to watch her.

“I suppose that is a wise choice, but it does not leave us much time to sleep. I guess the fact we will actually have something comfortable to sleep on will make up for that. Oops!” She stood up in the water, bending over the edge of the bath, searching for the brush she had dropped.

Attention on deck! Jensen’s mind raced as he observed her. I swear to all the Thaynes I have found a new respect for her legs right now. And that blocky rump area isn’t too shabby in the shadows. “Just don’t get all bummed if it turns out the information won’t pull out in time.”

“What?” Erissa asked.

“Come up in time!” Jensen shouted. “Uh… Open your freaking ears, bush humper.” Nice save, Jensen, he thought.

“Well, that goes without saying, Jensen. It is difficult enough to find information on Oblivion, so whatever you are looking for will be no easy task. But I trust you have a plan.” Her hand glided up and out of the water, splashing the floor as she exited the bath and bent over to grab something. Her breasts hung in the image and Jensen actually clenched his fist as his mind went dumb.

“Taka!” Jensen said. Erissa’s body paused long enough for him to gauge their size. Much bigger, he smiled. “Taka is the one who gave me the tip. This place has some pretty old scrolls, and a lot of his power seems to be a form of magic that was once done during the dynasties in this empire. Worth a peek, and it’s also the best access point to get to where the Bastion of the Apocalypse is. Now hurry up already, I got things to play with in there.”

Erissa’s body stopped moving with the sound of something abruptly coming to a halt.

“Mind outta the gutter, Leaf Licker,” Jensen called back to her quickly.

“Right,” she giggled. “Let me lotion my legs and I’ll-"

“Fuck’s sake woman, I don’t need a play by play!” Erissa laughed to Jensen’s mockery as she extended one leg, her flexibility on display as she raised it, massaging her calf and thigh gently. Now he was curious who was putting on the show…

Several long moments passed, and he heard the Elf sigh as she continued grooming herself.

“I was wondering if,” Erissa said softly. “If perhaps you could tell me a story of you and Stephanie…” Jensen looked to her, awkwardly. “I know, it is like opening old wounds, but when you speak of her… I cannot explain it but it’s rather calming.” Jensen gave her body one last glance before he shrugged, kicking his boots off into the corner.

“Well, it’s not like I go into elaborate plans for dates and what not. She and I were always too busy, so I dunno what you want.”

“You have no fond moments with her?” Erissa asked, her tone skeptical. Jensen shrugged again, not considering that she couldn’t see him. He took in a deep breath, recalling one memory and he exhaled in a chuckle.

“Well, yeah, I do.” Jensen recalled the memory with vividness, smiling as he did so. “You see,” his tone getting softer.

“I had just had a really bad day back in the Knights, right? Well she came into our room, grabbed my hand, and ran me to the tallest tower in the building of the castle. We went up and up and up, giggling and laughing as she led me, and I would have followed her anywhere, Erissa, anywhere.” He felt his head ache a little, but he smiled broader. “It was a mage’s tower, the one they used to look up at the stars. The sun was just about to set, and the purple and orange sky looked like fire on the horizon. God it was gorgeous. She pulled out a blanket and pillow from behind a barrel of supplies; she probably stashed it there earlier in the day,” he chuckled, recalling her love. “We laid down and watched the stars come. We pointed out each one as I stroked her hair, her hand gripping my chest so tightly she tugged my shirt. I could feel our hearts beat as one…god that’s a great memory.”

Jensen felt his eyes water as he shook the memory away, lifting himself up. “Anyway, can’t live in the past and all that crap.” Erissa was at the door, and she opened it silently, her body wrapped in a towel. She looked to Jensen, preparing to offer him something, but he just walked past her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Jensen stopped, hesitating for a brief moment, then turning to the elf, smiling.

“It’s ok to remember the good times, I suppose,” Jensen said casually. Then, in typical Jensen fashion, he winked to her, and thumbed his pants off in one fluid motion, his body naked to the elf.

“Jensen!” Erissa shrieked, slamming the shutter. Jensen giggled as he jumped in the now luke warm water, diving under the water and coming up, giggling as he let his hair slap his back. He bathed quickly, taking a little pleasure in it before he stood and grabbed the towel. He dried hastily with thoughts of changing back into his clothes. Before he did, he looked to his garments and wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out. Erissa was already under the covers, and smiled at him as he emerged. He grabbed his jacket, turned back away from her and went to the water. He dunked it in and began to hand wash it as best he could, ringing it out and snapping it several times. The immortal hung his jacket on the lion’s mouth to dry overnight.

“Night guys,” Jensen muttered to his coat as he slipped into something more comfortable. He dived into the sheets on his side and turned to Erissa. “You freaking sleep on me, I’ll cut your ears off.” Jensen wagged a warning finger, to which the Elf grinned back, laying deeper onto the futon. Jensen grabbed his satchel and pulled the copy of his favorite book out, opening it the dog ear paged, though several of them looked like they were eared.

“What is this?” Erissa prepared to retort with several witty remarks about his intelligence and book reading, but Jensen lifted a hand to her lips, clamping them shut.

“This is my favorite book, given to me by a dear friend. Ruin it and I’ll ruin you.” He lowered his hand and growled as he heard her giggle. He was being serious!

“Night, Jensen,” she whispered, turning her back and softly falling into the bliss of sleep. Jensen looked to her still form with envy, going back to his book in an attempt to fight off the perils of the night once more.

“Night, elf,” Jensen whispered, long after he thought she was asleep. He turned another page.

Erissa awoke, groggy; Jensen was mumbling in his sleep, his face touched by nightmare. He lay on his side, face to her, and a single tear slipped from his eye, trailing down the bridge of his nose, and dripping from the end of it onto the silken pillow, joining its fellows to darken the cloth.

The high elf gazed at the window on the wall near her, and the bottom half of the waning moon made a curved triangle at the top of the window. She sighed as she rolled to face her companion. The dog-eared book he clutched to his chest she coaxed gently from his hands, and rose from the mattress. She padded silently around the futon in the dark and placed it back into his satchel.

As Erissa gazed around the room, the subtle light of the moon glinted upon the gilded lion's head faucet in the restroom, where Jensen's jacket hung. She looked at it thoughtfully; a new purpose guided her steps to her own satchel, and she retrieved a needle and thread. With a final look at the man in his troubled sleep, she slipped quietly into the restroom and sat on the edge of the porcelain tub, using a match to light a candle, its flickering light softly touching the room.

The leather was still moist to the touch, and Erissa quietly held the jacket aloft, telekenetically removing the last molecules of water mixed with dirt, sweat, and blood, cleaning the material. The grime streamed down the drain, and the elf nodded with satisfaction. She gazed at the many cuts and wounds in the leather, an attestation to the life of endless battle the immortal had lived. As she gingerly brushed her fingers against the names stitched clumsily in the lining, she thought of the grief-stricken boy who had put them there, his fingers trembling. The high elf's heart broke for him; she wondered which fate awaited her. Would she be like the boy, or like his loved ones who would never again see the light of day?

She shook her head at the sad thought and turned her attention to the jacket once again. For being so old, Erissa could only surmise that the jacket had lasted so long because of Jensen's fierce will to remember those whose names were immortalized there. His determination had condensed and crystallized, forming a deep magic that preserved it across the eons. Still, the jacket showed wear, and while she could not make it new, she could, at least, restore it to good condition.

The master tailor threaded her needle and prepared to mend the wounds in the jacket, but realized she did not need her tools to do so; after all, what was leather but the flesh of a beast? If Erissa could knit together the flesh of her comrades, leather should prove to be an even easier task. She focused her attention, and to her delight, the rips and slashes in the leather closed seamlessly as the arcanist willed it. The high elf smiled brightly as she turned the jacket to and fro. After a moment of thought, she picked up the needle and re-threaded it with a lighter color from her small set.

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

Light.

A brilliant shaft of it erupted from a slit in the dainty curtains that covered the single window in the room, unapologeticlly glaring across the immortal's face. Jensen groaned, squeezing his eyes tightly. He grasped a handful of nearby hair and draped it over his face to repel the bright assault on his vision; with his discomfort relieved, he wrapped his arm tightly around the warm body he spooned in his own and snuggled closely. He took a deep breath, and sighed contentedly.

The immortal paused; something was not right. He popped one eye open, and the light filtering through was not its normal fiery hue; sparkling silver and the smell of elf quickly reminded him exactly who it was he embraced. Not wanting to wake her, Jensen rolled away easily and lifted himself from the mattress. He stretched and yawned, rubbing his eyes tiredly, and began readying his things.

The high elf thought it wise to continue feigning sleep for a few moments more; she had been stiff as a board since waking as dawn emerged from the edge of the world. There was no way Erissa would be blamed again for awkward positions; after all, she was on her side of the bed. But still, the warmth and smell of him lingered in her mind, and she closed her eyes tightly, savoring it, the medley of exotic woods and spiced fruits, with underlying notes of musky, luscious vanilla, crashing over her like waves of allure.

“What the fuck...” His angry yell exploded from the restroom. Jensen stormed through the doorway into the bedroom, glaring into Erissa's widened eyes, his jacket in hand. “Didn't your fairy parents teach you not to touch other people's stuff? Look what you did to it! You know how many years it took to give it that nice flair that says 'don't fuck with me?' And now,” he said holding it up by its shoulders, “you've...” The man closed his mouth and swallowed with difficulty. Slowly, he lay the jacket on the small, ornate table in the corner and opened the front of it where he'd seen a flash of new thread.

“Jensen, I am sorry,” Erissa said softly. “I thought...” The immortal's arm raised, palm to her, commanding silence; the elf's gaze dropped to the floor. He ran trembling fingers over a new name embroidered alongside the others in a beautiful and flowing script.

Stephanie Odara Ambrose

“I...” he cleared his throat, “I'll go get breakfast,” he said softly, lifting the jacket reverently before pulling it around himself. Without a word, he yanked his boots on and swept out the door. Erissa was left to herself, alone in the foreign room. She looked around her, the grandeur of Akashima prevalent in the clear, morning light that shone into the room; there were tomes in a bookcase, the intricate text preserving the memory of the struggling of an entire race of people, their titles upon spines stiff as stone. She rose from the mattress and dressed, her burgundy leathers a second skin. Erissa pulled on her heavy boots, carefully latching the many straps to her mid-calf.

The high elf sighed as she sat at the table, eyes downcast and face saddened, and she chided herself for being so bold as to alter Jensen's jacket. She should have known better than to do such a thing, but it was too late to take it back, and Erissa knew she would simply have to deal with the consequences. The elf thumbed through the pamphlets on the table to pass the time, the language common, and read of how one should behave themselves in Akashima. Her stomach was in knots as she awaited Jensen's return.

The elf almost jumped out of her skin as the door banged open, the immortal's arms filled with bags. Erissa was beside him in an instant, relieving him of some of the load he carried. She was very intrigued by the many smells wafting from the goods, some foreign, some oddly familiar. The Knights unpacked the wares on the small table, filled it with a cornucopia of foods. Erissa shook her head, smiling and relieved her companion was again his normal, boisterous self, the jacket unmentioned.

“You really do have quite an appetite,” she said, gesturing at the overabundance. Jensen shrugged.

“I got some of everything. Didn't know what you'd like,” he said, chuckling to himself at first, then releasing a series of guffaws.

“What? Why are you laughing?” Erissa asked, grinning suspiciously. “What did you do?”

“Heh, I charged it all to Sei. Eat up!” Erissa dropped her head into her palm, laughing at Jensen as he mirthfully giggled. The two dined on rice, pastries, odd little dumplings dipped in all manner of sauces, various soups, and an array of egg preparations. Jensen leaned back in his chair, rubbing his stomach and grunting with gratification. A knock at the door summoned Erissa; as she opened it, a little servant boy looked disapprovingly at her boots.

“What you need now?” he asked. “I get you aminals to ride if ready.” Erissa nodded,

“Yes, please,” she said, and as the boy trotted away, she spun around to face Jensen, leaving the door wide open. “Time to go,” Erissa said, a curious smile on her face as she regarded her companion. Her eyes sparkled as she sauntered across the room to him, her boots tapping on the bamboo floor, mouth pulling into a grin as she licked the tip of her finger. Jensen eyed her uncertainly. The high elf's smile broadened as she smudged away a bit of sauce from Jensen's cheek with her wet finger.

“Hey!” he shouted slapping her hand away. “That's friggen gross!” Erissa could not restrain another smile as she once again wiped at the smear; Jensen jumped up from the table, his arms flailing, fending off her offending finger. “Stop that!” he yelled as he grabbed her arm; the elf nimbly spun away from him, laughing so hard she let loose an unintentional snort. Jensen wiped his face with his arm, giggling at the blushing elf. “Don't to that again,” he said, trying to be serious.

“And what if I do,” Erissa said mockingly, a sinister grin creeping across her face. “I will infect you with elf!” she threatened. She took a playful step forward, pointing at him.

“Oh no you won't,” he said; with incredible quickness he closed the gap and grabbed her arm, pinning it behind her in one fluid motion. When Erissa grappled him with her free hand, he snatched it as well, chuckling at her feeble attempts to free herself. He leaned in very close to her ear, close enough for her to catch another whiff of his intoxicating scent. “Don't bite off more than you can chew, Erissa.” Her flesh prickled in goosebumps and a tingle raced down her spine.

At the open door, the small servant boy's jaw dropped in shock as he saw the two of them. Jensen winked and waggled his eyebrows at the boy before releasing the elf's arms; Erissa cleared her throat and straightened her jacket.

“Hores,” he said, giving them both another disapproving glance as he pointed at their steeds. He refused the gold Erissa offered, instead running back to the main building of the inn. She shrugged, looking at Jensen as he gathered his things.

“Did you just put that towel in your...” Erissa began, but gave in before he said a word; Jensen happily swung his bag over his shoulder. The elf did the same, still shaking her head, smiling resignedly. The companions went out into the morning light; the faint tang of salty air was refreshing, and Erissa breathed it deeply.

Akashima, she thought as she gazed out across the land, delighted by the red, frilly triangles that topped the buildings; it was a wonderland of intricacy, golds and verdant greens, sunshine yellow and rich purple decorated lovely tapestries, dragons of every shape and size were honored in various mediums. Stone statues of odd, vicious creatures stood like guardians throughout the various districts, side by side with ornamental petal-leaf trees that pocked the streets.

Jensen ventured away from the inn atop Magnus, and Erissa followed closely behind upon Lucious; they struck out for the heart of the city, following the tip given them by Taka.

By midday the activity in the streets had peaked. Venders, merchants, and all manner of Akashiman people were in a frenzy of motion as the two mounted individuals paced through the market. Thoughts of his little brother and sister, Arden Janelle and Lilith Kazumi, both Tantalus members that Duffy Bracken commanded, crossed his mind in a merry fashion. Needlessly they droned on and on about their culture they loved so much, harping on about the food, the sites, and the history that fell into legend.

Jensen never really put much into the joint of Corone. The people there were culturally way behind the times, but if given enough inspiration Coronians could give the Aleran Drow a run for their money when it came to technology. Probably the only thing that made this spot of earth worth coming to was that their artisans were master crafters of weapons. Jensen fingered the pocket that held his throwing glaives, knowing he had purchased them in Akashima long, long ago.

“So where will we go to find information?” Erissa’s voice entered his thoughts like a pleasant song, and he adjusted to look at her, feeling a tug in his coat that he hadn’t in a long time. The previous hole never gave him trouble, but now that it was repaired he had to get readjusted. The Elf, seeing his pause in his normally free flowing movements giggled silently to herself. Jensen managed to twist and turn himself to face her, a sly smile on his face.

“Yanbo Port,” the immortal replied casually. “A place of great significance…or something like that.” Jensen shrugged to emphasize how little he cared. “There’s a temple there that should have some records. Taka wasn’t sounding very helpful when he muttered it, and because of his stupid mask I couldn’t see his expression, but the guy is a stickler for his tainted honor. It is worth, if nothing else, a look.”

Erissa nodded to his reply as she guided her horse through the throng of peasants moving on in their lives. The two knights rode at a slow gait, the horses’ heads bobbing up and down as if they wished to move faster. The armored samurai of the city guard to the magistrate were dressed in full uniforms, twin blades holstered to their hips. One was supposedly a long blade, the katana. Jensen never got the hang of those blades, as they did require a certain elegance, but also a heavy handed brute force. A yin-yang mentality, he mused looking to those around him as he felt a familiar weight in his satchel strapped on his back.

The other was a smaller blade, the wakazashi. It was very rare for the blade to come out in battle. It held some holy significance to these warriors and while Jensen was more than positive he could take them in a fight, his confidence wasn’t so hot when they were grouped like they were. They eyed him as he passed, and he let his tongue stick out at them and sneered like a child. Erissa rode quickly to block the immortal’s vision, her face covered with a stern look.

“I know you hate elves, but also these people? Pray tell, is there a rational explanation for this one, or should I just assume, Jensen, you have a fine hate for all life?” The knight could tell she was serious, but the side of her lips twisted as if she withheld the grin she yearned to show. That was a bit odd, all things considered, but the immortal lifted his hand and scratched his head as he urged Magnus closer to the elf. She did likewise and soon they strode side by side.

“Yeah, this time I do,” Jensen spoke bitterly. “Long ago, back before I was in the Ixian Knights, I was in the Knights of Apocalypse doing a mission. Kill some Yakuza lord,” Jensen looked back to the samurai and fought back the urge to taunt them forwards. “Long story short, these people and their so called honorable ways were going to let Stephanie get raped by a Ronin merely based on the fact she wasn’t a lord’s property.”

“Oh my,” Erissa’s hand lifted to her mouth in shock. “I… I never heard that before,” she whispered, leaning forwards, her fingers grasping Lucious’ mane. Jensen shook his head with angst, snorting in a half laugh. As the crowd thickened, Jensen dismounted and grabbed both horses’ reigns and led them forwards towards Yanbo Port’s entrance.

“Yeah, some people can’t get enough of this place. But me?” Jensen asked coyly. “They can suck my-“

“Understood,” Erissa said quickly cutting him off. Jensen chuckled as he continued down the path, pulling the elf aside to avoid a cart whose driver wasn’t paying attention to the road. The people kept walking forwards in a dangerously close fashion, and the immortal did not mind if he rammed the horse into one of these xenophobic morons.

“For a society based solely on honor, you’ll learn quickly they lose the basic foundations of being a decent human being. People wed for property or sealing alliances, wealth or other reasons that don’t make much sense to me. Their cultural rules that contradict themselves so terribly their courts last for seasons, not days. Hell, you grow up a peasant in this place; you are doomed to always be one. A piece of property,” Jensen actually kicked a rock out of his way with much more anger than he thought he had building up within him. “These people don’t understand the tenants of freedom,” Jensen muttered sourly. “And if you were to give it to them, they’d cry you took away their slave collars.” Erissa’s eyes he could feel boring into his soul, and Jensen let the matter drop. The immortal felt another headache creep within his mind and he shook his head. It felt like a soft knife was gently gliding through his brain, separating the two halves of his thought process.

“Soko ni iku teishi?”

Jensen lifted his head to see three blue armored samurai approach him, their faces hiding behind leering masks. Erissa gave them a quizzical look as Jensen let out a snort of irritation.

“I am Jensen Ambrose,” the knight replied casually. The guards looked to him with confusion. One stepped forwards and held his hand near his weapon.

“I speak common in little,” the guard attempted. There was nothing that Jensen really despised more than broken common. Something about the way it made him have to think about his own language triggered a deep seed of hatred.

“Baka!” Jensen shouted with a giggle. “I speak common in little too!” The guards all seemed to stiffen at the word 'Baka,' but the man who stepped forwards called them down with one short command. They bowed to him, and held themselves back. The two looked to each other before Jensen stepped forwards. “Ixian Knights,” Jensen shouted to the man obnoxiously as he placed his hands on his chest, then pointed to Erissa. “Business in holy temple!”

“Not permitted,” the guard replied at once. “Temple sacred ground. Need more than Ixian Knight to get in.”

“What if I just kicked the crap out you three?” Jensen replied hotly, preparing to step forwards when he felt something tug on his jacket. The immortal whipped around to see Erissa's gentle eyes shining at him.

“I know you are angry, Jensen,” she said sagely. “But unlike in New Aurient, I will not have much sway to release you from prison…” Jensen could see the sensibility in her pleading. He nodded slowly and turned his back, ignoring the guards.

“What now?” Jensen asked, smacking his lips as they advanced back into the influx of citizens. The elf shrugged distractedly. The people stirred around them with such order that Erissa could see the truth in her companion's earlier words. These people were broken, not in a readily visible way, but in spirit; they did not see, did not hear, and most certainly did not ask questions. They simply did as they were told, worshiping their captors as gods of men.

There was a marked difference of appearance that separated the classes; there were the poor, whose clothing was rough and homespun. These souls often had no shoes, and labored to bring their wares to sell to the markets, at what Erissa could only assume were cutthroat prices that barely kept them fed and sheltered. Their dirty faces never lifted from the burdens they bore.

On the other side, there was a class that dressed in the finest of silk and design, who were carried upon intricate carts instead of walking themselves, and who dined on the finest wares that could be procured. These people either coldly ignored the suffering of their fellow beings, or showed outright hostility toward those that ventured too close. The high elf's fascination for Akashima ebbed; she had viewed the charming country scenes as 'quaint,' being a child of wealth herself, but upon actually seeing it, Erissa was quickly disillusioned. The grandeur of Akashima was little more than a mask, much like those it produced in bulk.

“I could have taken them, you know,” Jensen said, elbowing her and laughing. Erissa felt a bubbling anger well from her throat as she shoved him away.

“You know, that would be just like you. Hot-headed Jensen Ambrose, always making enemies: you cannot help it, can you?” the high elf seethed, her face twisted into a mask of loathing. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, if you made friends instead enemies, the friends you already have would not be moving targets?” The high elf frowned, shaking her head. What am I saying? she asked herself silently, and yet, she could not help but continue.

“Erissa?” Jensen asked, the stunned hurt in his eyes apparent.

“No! Do not! Some 'blessed immortal' you are,” she ranted, her words dripping with venom, one hand balled into a fist and the other poking her companion in the chest. “You are nothing but a damned eternal parasite, sucking the life from everything and everyone around you!” Pure anger stirred in the immortal's eyes then, yet he restrained himself; something was not right. His jaw clenched as he rooted himself in place; this was not the Erissa Caedron he knew currently taunting him. “You know what, Jensen? I am finished. Done! I want nothing to do with you, ever again!” she yelled before rearing back and slapping his face. She turned to leave.

The next few seconds were a blur as Jensen growled in anger, a giggle escaping; he leaped forward and caught her arm, whipping her back around to face him. The weaker elf could not free herself as she flailed against him, and he pinned her arms behind her back. With one of his own he held both of her hands in place, and with the other he pressed Erissa's head against his chest. He held her as still as possible, not wanting to attract the attention of the Akashiman authorities.

“This is not you, Erissa,” he whispered fiercely. She arched her back, thrusting her stomach and chest against him, trying to free herself, but the man did not relent. “Remember what Troyas said! Remember!” he commanded, and for a split second she calmed, long enough to consider his words. Everything she thought she knew whirred around her, but there was one source of strength in the storm that was adamantly unwavering.

Thump-thum... thump-thum... thump-thum...

Erissa crumpled against Jensen, sobbing as she regained control of herself.

“I am so sorry!” she cried. “Those words were not my own! I did not mean...”

“Shhhhh,” he said gently, releasing her arms. She threw them around him, burying her face in his chest. “I know,” he said as he circled his arms around her protectively, scanning the crowds warily for the only one with the power to do what he had just witnessed. All the heads were down; there were no gawkers. In fact, the scene that had just played out appeared to have never happened, except a foreigner eyed them from some ten yards away. Jensen's gaze fell upon him and the immortal scowled; he released Erissa and begin pacing toward the pudgy, well-dressed man, who was taken aback for a brief moment before speaking.

“You... you are the legendary Jensen Ambrose, are you not?” he asked, the excitement in his eyes growing. “I know of you – the Ixian Knights! Personal bodyguard to Sei Orlouge!” Jensen's stride did not waver, and the man looked nervously to his greasy little scribe boy who was as pale as the ghost he might have just seen. Erissa wiped her eyes and started forward across the thoroughfare; focusing her will she read the stranger's memories.

“Jensen, it is not him,” she called. “He only recently saw me crying, and he was concerned since we are foreigners here as well. In fact, he is a diplomat, and knows you from previous Radasanth engagements.”

“Astounding!” the man said. “I can only assume you are also an Ixian Knight, my good elf,” the man called, mopping a bit of sweat from his brow. His eyes darted nervously between the two of them. Jensen checked his forward gait, halfway between the elf and the man, and looked back at Erissa. He could not risk a confrontation; to leave her alone was asking for trouble.

He regarded the elf with softening eyes, but she plainly saw he was not convinced. Erissa could only guess at what was going through his mind, but she assumed that Jensen thought the man had something to do with her outburst. If there were one thing she had learned, it was that she could trust Jensen Ambrose, unbelievable as it may have seemed to her less than a year ago. She turned to the horses, taking their reigns in hand.

<”Be alert,”> she breathed, wiping the remainder of her tears from her eyes; Lucious nickered and Magnus pawed the ground. Erissa led them behind her, and she smiled at the large man as the two approached him.

“So what are two members of the vaunted Ixian Knights doing in Akashima? Looking for someone, I assume?” he asked as they approached. “Ah, but perhaps I shouldn't ask that.”

“You're a diplomat?” Jensen asked, a veil of relaxation permeating his appearance as he brushed off the man's question.

“Yes!” the man blurted too cheerily. “In fact I am!” His scribe's color was returning, and the boy began busying himself, fiddling with the man's many bags and satchels he bore.

“Think you can get us in there?” Jensen retorted, gesturing to the temple behind him.

“Well,” the man replied, his pasty jowls wobbling, “it just so happens I have business in Yanbo Port today, with the Benjiro family, no less. My nephew is in the Ixian army under General Dracosius, so anything I can do to help is my honor! The name's Clauson, Clauson Granger.” He extended a hand to Jensen; the immortal chuckled as he turned on his heel, walking away from the man. The diplomat cleared his throat nervously, his extended hand unmet and hanging in the air.

“That's convenient,” Jensen said, his mind whirring as he sauntered toward the men guarding Yanbo Port.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Granger,” Erissa said, stepping into the void Jensen had left. She shook the man's hand firmly, her other closing over the union of the two. Clauson visibly relaxed, and as he followed Jensen, he shrugged half-heartedly to his bumbling scribe. Jensen waited for them near the guards, and Erissa padded to his side, her hand brushing his as she shifted to watch the diplomat. She grabbed it and squeezed, her eyes meeting his. The elf's lips formed a silent 'sorry,' then she quickly released his hand again. The immortal smirked at her and rolled his eyes.

“Whatever,” Jensen said, waving her off and crossing his arms, though the thought had entered his mind to instead wrap one of them around her, a thought he pushed aside. He looked down at her intently focused face; she watched the diplomat and listened to the conversation among the man and the guards. Clauson's scribed shuffled papers and presented a number of them to the Port officials.

Erissa warily peeked up at Jensen, feeling the weight of his stare. When their eyes met, she quickly dropped her gaze, immediately finding her boots very interesting as she toed a small pebble on the flagstone. The elf's glinting silver hair hung free, and it hid her shy, blushing smile from the man at her side, or at least she hoped it did. Erissa ventured another glance at him, and her heart clenched when Jensen smiled at her.

It was not a smirk; no sarcasm tinged the edges of it, but an honest, radiant smile as refreshing as a cool, mountain stream. His smile left her without words, without place, without time, and Erissa could have stood in the light of it for lifetimes. There was no will she possessed to look away from him at that moment, until he himself looked away, his attention drawn to the diplomat and his scribe.

Clauson, glistening strangely like a dollup of whipped cream in his white silk, turned to them, smiling victoriously. He waved them forward.

“Come, friends!” he called. “You are my personal guests for the day in Yanbo Port!” Pulled from her stupor, Erissa looked worriedly at the horses that stood a few yards away. She had her doubts the steeds would be allowed in Yanbo Port.

<"Lucious, Magnus, come,"> she called, and the pair clip-clopped to her. She took their muzzles in her hands and stroked their cheekbones. <"Take to the forest! Be safe, and await us there. At any sign of trouble, flee back to your home!"> The horses chuffed and galloped through the populated streets; Erissa hoped they would make it out of Akashima without incident. The elf sighed and followed Jensen as he strode forward into the rarely seen center of livelihood of Akashima.

Jensen let the elf do the talking for him as they entered Yanbo Port, doing his best to drown out the words of the dignitary that helped them in. He rambled on and on about the Ixian Knights and his full support of the private army that had helped in numerous, boring ways the immortal had no care to learn. Instead, he kept his focus upon the people around him as he searched for Oblivion. Erissa had actually slapped him, and swore.

Though with a grin he rubbed his jaw pondering how much he liked that…

Jensen’s eyes flashed with red as he shook the thought out of his mind. There he was thinking about some smelly, bush humping elf when his wife died not weeks before. Jensen shook his head again as he pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shut tight as he fought the headache that had been plaguing him since last night. He knew he was tired, knew he wasn’t sleeping, and his judgment was getting worse for the wear as he continued to refuse rest. The immortal also noted he was getting shorter tempered as of late, and grouchy.

He yawned just as the Diplomat of Radansath finished another long winded story, and the scribe and the fat pig looked to Jensen with hesitant eyes. Erissa even turned her head to look to him. She cast her eyes out to the two, making sure they couldn’t see her, and grinned from the side of her mouth and winked. Jensen looked behind him to see who she was winking to, his jacket whipping the air as he made a show of trying to find out who she was looking at. She giggled into the salty tang of the sea air.

He grinned back to her as she resumed her diplomatic role for the sake of Jensen’s troubled mind, and his eyes rested on her back side as they hit a set of wooden planks and networks. The wet wood was scored from several years of boots and cargo dragged over it. The immortal looked to the riggings of the Akashiman ships that loaded trade goods and spotted a few ferrys that would lead out. He mentally made a note to find one that would head to the north.

“It just so happens I have a bit of trade heading out to Salvar, and I am here to finish the details of if,” the pudgy man laughed, as if this was, by some sick twisted trickery of the gods, a great joke of happenstance. How, Jensen didn’t know, and frankly didn’t care. But it was enough to grab his attention; he noticed a large group of rough looking Akashimans heading in their direction. Jensen stepped forwards, almost brushing against Erissa as he kept a hand near the bloodstained dagger in his left pocket. His right hand instinctively went to her hip; a warning sign of danger he used to give to Stephanie when they were on missions together. The elf’s breath inhaled sharply at the touch, and she leaned back in shock, hitting Jensen in the chest. Quickly she regained herself, looking to see if the two companions who led them in noticed anything, but to their luck the man was still rambling about what he was getting for this deal.

“Sorry,” Jensen whispered in her ear lightly so only her elven heritage could detect. “I see-“ Jensen looked to find her hand near her own dagger she had hidden well in her leather garments. “You already noticed them as well,” he chuckled.

“Traveling with you,” she teased lightly, looking back to him again with soft eyes that made him melt. “One gets used to danger.”

“Rule number one…” Jensen teased back, both giving a light laugh of the time they were in the Red Forest. Jensen watched the group of warriors head towards them in a direct line, and just as they crossed the imaginary line Jensen’s hand was already three-quarters of the way completed drawing his weapon when the diplomat lifted a hand.

“Ah, boys, good to see you are as prompt as you claimed to be.” Jensen gave the man a confused look as the leader of the group, a heavily tattooed man with a sailor’s vest and shorts stepped forwards.

“We are not like the other mercenaries,” he said respectively, bowing to the man. “When we are assigned a mission, we do it with all haste to complete it. It’s just…good business.” His accent was thick, though flawless for an Akashiman and Jensen figured the man was probably somebody who broke the mold that was forced upon his life, along with his rag tag group of friends.

“I see you hired mercenaries,” Jensen spoke loudly. “I would assume, considering how great you claim to have respect for the Ixian Knights that you would take them up to hire mercenaries from Taka’s company.” The leader of the mercenaries gave out a shrill chuckle, knowing the name of Benjiro Taka well. The dignitary’s puffy face began to sweat.

“Not all mercenaries are comfortable doing some things,” the leader replied. “I know Taka is one of them. He’s all work,” With a flick of his wrist two weapons were in his hands rotating with ease and speed. He stopped spinning them, locking the curved weapons of the Kunai together, “and no play.”

“I agree to that,” Jensen muttered. “But despite how much a stale fish he is,” he turned his attention to the diplomat. “His rates are pretty cheap.” Jensen scratched his chin, and grinned as if in deep thought. “So naturally, you must be trading something you don’t want Sei Orlouge to know about.”

“Now, let’s not be too hasty.” He rubbed a pocket handkerchief to his forehead, removing the beads of sweat as the grouping stood off. Erissa took a few cautious steps to stand next to Jensen.

“Fifteen gold coins,” Jensen said to the leader, fishing the money out. He let each one clink into the other as they fell for him to see. “What’s the goods?”

“Drugs,” the leader said with no compassion to the secrecy of his charge. The coins flew up in the air and landed at the man’s feet. With a snap of his fingers one of his minions retrieved the gold. If the sweat was beady before, now it was flowing from Mr. Granger’s head. Jensen laughed out loud to put pressure on the man as he stepped forwards.

“Drugs? Oh my,” Jensen looked back to Erissa, and winked to her. Her face flushed, but she still looked too confused at what exactly Jensen was doing. He gave her a confidant look, and in the span of a second she nodded to him, her trust absolute in him. Jensen felt his heart take a twinge of pain, seeing a shadowy form of Stephanie mirror her as he turned quickly back to the man he was roasting alive. “I do think that is one of Sei’s big no-no’s, Mr. Granger,” Jensen clucked his tongue, wagging a finger.

“Please, you are taking this all wrong,” he exclaimed. “He can’t speak perfect common, he’s Akashiman, you know these people confuse words!” Jensen had to admit that when this man dug his own grave, he spared no expense on the depth. The leader growled to him, making him wince away in terror. His scribe, who Jensen had ignored through all of it, was a lighter shade of pale than before and shaking at the confrontation. “Medical drugs!”

“Oh,” the leader said hotly. “Is that what Absinthe is! I thought it was a hallucinogen. Huh, forgive my confused words.” Jensen chuckled loudly as he waltzed forwards. However, despite how mad the mercenary leader was, he had known his meal ticket was dangerously close to backing out of the deal. He stepped forwards in line with Jensen, blocking him. He was a head smaller, so Jensen enjoyed looking down on him. “Regardless, it’s our deal, little Knight. You aren’t pulling the plug on this.”

“Hmm,” Jensen thought loudly as he twisted his wrist up in the air in a flourish. In one moment, there was nothing, and when the leader blinked and opened them he saw a dagger pointed at his right eye and heard a lot of gasps from the assembly. “I think this is the part where you realize how shit deep this is over your head. Shut up, and let me do my thing.” Jensen gave him a friendly look, still filled with hostility, but the leader mirrored his lunatic grin. There was an understanding going on between the two, and with a show of tough guy attitude, he gestured for Jensen to walk forwards, stepping aside.

He knew that Jensen wasn’t going to screw him.

“I’m a practical man,” Jensen said, the knife vanishing in the blink of an eye. “I live in practical times,” he continued. “I have practical ideas,” he gestured to the heavens. “And a practical family and a practical predicament. So I suppose you could say with all that’s going on, you practically owe me, and big,” Jensen mused with a lingering smile.

“Are… are you blackmailing me?” The words flowed from Clauson’s lips like they were poison.

“Catch on quick, don’t ya Clouse.”

“Clauson,” he corrected angrily, but still in a defeated tone. “I suppose you already had an idea what you wanted.”

“Indeed. Rule number one of being a good dirty dealer is never let your friends see you sweat. Rule number two, well…shit I thought this was basic, but…” Jensen looked to the mercenary leader, who grinned.

“Never bring you allies to the deals you’re pulling over them,” the mercenary finished, his crew chuckling.

“Yeah… that’s pretty basic… well, business if you ask me. Still, I can tell you what Mr. Ganger. I don’t care what you do, or how you do it. At least, that’s what I’ll say when Sei is asking how you’ve been. It won’t bother me at all to rat you out, but why bother? It’s nothing harmful as I see it. In fact, you are creating jobs for underprivileged workmen.” The mercenaries all chuckled at that as Erissa stepped behind Jensen, staying close to him.

“<And Sei said you have no skills in diplomacy,>” Erissa whispered in elven, giggling.

“Here’s the deal. For my silence, I want two all expense paid First Class Ferry tickets to Horogen Island and one thousand gold coins to go to Azza Ambrose’s piggy bank. You do that,” Jensen shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll forget a few things in the first class drinking lounge.”

“But, but,” his four chins all rolled as one tide, much like the sea behind him. “That’s going to cost me more than this deal!”

“Sure it will,” Jensen said. “But then again, how much it will it cost you squelch a trade deal, and be raided by the Ixian Knights. Hell, to make it interesting I’ll toss your nephew in the assault group so he can bag you himself!” Jensen and the mercenaries laughed as the man squirmed. He finally nodded and turned to his scribe.

“Get it done!” he snapped impatiently as he rubbed his eyes and moaned like he drank too much. Jensen patted him on the back and walked with him towards the temple. “You are not an average Ixian Knight,” he muttered angrily. “Usually I can appease you folks with a few donations to the orphans and your cause.”

“Yeah, I know…” Jensen winked to him, patting him on the back. The diplomat and the mercenaries began to waltz forwards as one toward the crates on the salt crusted pier, and Jensen looked back to see Erissa smiling to him. Jensen gave her a weak smile, waving his fingers awkwardly.

“That was masterfully done,” she said softly, one graceful foot moving in a sauntering way in front of the other as she approached. It was painfully seductive, Jensen noticed, but he shook his head and looked again. No, it was just a normal gait. He tapped his head with his palm to get the thoughts out before he looked back to Erissa and smiled. “How did you know your plan would work?” she asked.

“You think I planned that?” Jensen gave her a straight look. When he saw her face softly contort to confusion he let out a riotous laugh, his hand lifting to her chin and holding it up, snapping his fingers under her in a teasing manner. As she shook her head at the immortal, he turned around and laughed harder.

Erissa watched the men haggle over innocently marked crates further out on the pier, the cries of gulls obscuring their words. The elf rested against a tall support pole plunged deep into the shore and tapped her graceful fingers on the weathered wooden railing that was secured to it.

“So,” Jensen said, leaning on the rail near her, the sunlight spilling down over his shoulders and casting a shadow directly beneath him on the sea-eroded wood.

“So?” Erissa asked, watching her companion eye her with interest, the gentle lapping of water marking the moments as they passed.

"So what about you?" he asked, and the elf looked at him with confusion. "Tell me a memory you have with that guy. Hell, I told you the best one I had with Steph." Erissa was very careful not to betray her calm demeanor with a look of shock; instead, she glanced out to the sea. She knew better than to tease Jensen for asking a personal question.

"Well, it is nothing so special as what you shared..." she mumbled, pulling a splinter from the railing and casting it away. "But," she said through a smile, looking up at him, "Virlas and I were having dinner with my parents. At my father's table, he...” she began, the sparkle of mirth in her eye giving an edge to her subdued laughter. “He told a joke. I don't remember the first part, but," Erissa closed her eyes as she shook her head, "the punch line was 'and then he realized, the dwarf wasn't wearing pants.'" The high elf's laugh burst forth like sunlight at the break of day. "At my father's table he said that! He was so... wonderfully rough around the edges. Not like the others." Her eyes met Jensen's and she laughed again, blushing. "I told you, nothing so special as what you had."

"Wait a minute..." Jensen said, scratching his stubble. "The others?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes," Erissa said, giggling. "Father paraded a cadre of Raiaera's finest before me; so many stuffy sons of nobles who were prettier than me!" Jensen's eyes widened. "And sooooo proper," she added, brushing a lock of silver hair behind her ear, her eyes shyly stealing a glance at the man beside her as he bent down to grab an empty shell. He looked at it intently as he thought.

"Fucker still turned tail and ran though," he said, chucking it far across the water. Erissa sighed and nodded as she watched the mother of pearl glimmer against a blue backdrop and disappear in a distant splash, her smile fading. “Shows how much he cared.”

“No need to rub it in,” Erissa said quietly. “I know I am not exactly-” Jensen grabbed her shoulder with one hand and lay a finger across her lips with the other, shaking his head.

“He was stupid for doing that,” he said, his hand moving softly to her cheek. No other words were forthcoming, and the immortal blinked a few times before backing away quickly and turning to face the sea. “Grade A fuck up,” he said with an odd laugh Erissa could not discern. She cleared her throat.

“Back to business,” she said, attempting to fill the uncomfortable silence between them. “What should we look for in the temple?”

“Hell if I know,” Jensen said, a smirk on his handsome face. He leaned against the rail, either arm stretched back, gripping it. The immortal crossed one booted foot over the other and stared up at the sky. “I guess we'll just look for what's not there.” Erissa squinted at him.

“What do you mean?” she asked innocently.

“Well, it's not like we're gonna find the guy's life and times laid out nicely for us,” he said, chuckling. “But I've got a hunch that the events he's involved with will all have a general lack of information.”

“Ah,” Erissa said, curiously watching money change hands between the diplomat and the leader of mercenaries. The diplomat shot Jensen a brief, yet dark, glare, to which the immortal gave an exaggerated wave and thumb's up gesture.

“But it doesn't really matter anyway,” Jensen said, laughing light-heartedly, much to Erissa's confusion; her head snapped back to him.

“How does it not matter?” the elf asked.

“Oblivion knows we're here; how else do you explain your little outburst? And we have what he wants – the corrupted ambrosia essence. He'll come to us, just like we planned before we left the forest. It'd be nice to have some information, but like I said... it doesn't matter. He's just biding his time right now, sizing us up, and probably toying with us.” Jensen rasped his lips impatiently as they waited for the diplomat to finish his business; a few moments later the rough Akashimans boarded their vessel, crates in hand, presumably on their way to Salvar. Clausen and his scribe approached the Knights once again, the diplomat mopping his brow with a kerchief.

“Shall we?” Clausen asked as he neared them. “Daylight is burning, and I've got my meeting to make.”

“Waiting on you, Clouse,” Jensen said with a sneering laugh and an exaggerated yawn. The diplomat's beady eyes flashed at the comment, but his demeanor remained the same as he led the trio to the doors of the beautiful temple.

“What you are about to experience is rarely allowed to outsiders, so you should feel honored,” Clausen said reverently.

“Now that you mention it, I do feel something,” Jensen said with faux sincerity, “deep down.” The man placed his hand over his chest as he bowed his head, then released a rank, noisome burp. “Nope, it was just the eggs,” he said, giggling wildly, much to Erissa's chagrin.

“Jensen!” she said sharply before dropping her head into her hand. With a sigh, she turned to the diplomat. “My apologies, Mr. Granger, and we are most honored.” The diplomat simply nodded, wondering why in the world he had decided not only to help the two Knights, but also to bring them to an illicit deal on the docks.

“...just not myself today...” Clausen mumbled as he led them through the gilded doors of the temple. The diplomat turned to his scribe. “Stay with them and help them in any way they need. And,” he dropped his volume, “don't let that one out of your sight.” He motioned to Jensen who was already making his presence known, clashing against the serenity and elegance of the holy site. The immortal stuck his finger into the mouth of a golden dragon statue, testing the sharpness of the finger-long teeth. A crimson bead of blood welled forth from the tip of his index finger, and Jensen whimpered, sticking it in his mouth and sucking on it. Erissa rolled her eyes at him, her boots clacking against the marble floor as she walked to him. The elf yanked his hand out of his mouth.

“Baby,” she said pertly, a smirk of her own playing across her features, and Erissa healed the tiny puncture. “That is what you get for sticking your hand in a dragon's mouth.” Jensen shrugged, smiling mirthfully at her.

“Can't help it,” he said playfully.

“What?” the elf asked, laughing softly. “Always managing to stick your hand right in the middle of trouble? You are a bad influence, Jensen Ambrose.” The immortal found her comment hilarious and barked with laughter, the temple keepers obviously annoyed.

“Admit it, elf,” he said, his dark eyes smoldering, giving her butterflies. “You love it.”

“And so what if I do,” Erissa replied, her lips pursed. Her own tinkling laughter decorated the stuffy air of the temple. She batted her eyes at Jensen.

“E-excuse m-m-me,” the scribe said, his stutter troublesome. “M-mr. Granger said I sh-sh-should stay and help. I speak f-f-f-fluent Akashiman, a-and the stuff here i-i-is alll...”

“Fuck's sakes, spit it out, man!” Jensen said, slapping his forehead with his palm. The squirrely boy squirmed under the Knight's glare.

“It's n-n-not in cuh-cuh... c-common,” the boys said, his stutter worse under Jensen's scrutiny. Quick to set the boy at ease, Erissa stepped between him and her companion.

“What is your name?” she asked, smiling sweetly.

“P-P-Percy,” he said shyly.

“Percy,” Erissa repeated, “we need to look at the major events in Akashiman history.” He nodded quickly, leading them through the ornate cases filled with scrolls neatly stacked on their shelves. Several hours passed, and the three poured through parchment after parchment. Erissa rubbed her eyes, sitting back tiredly in the chair. On the other sides of the table piled with what they had studied, Jensen and Percy did likewise.

“Well that was a grand waste of time,” Jensen complained, kicking his legs up and crossing them on the desktop.

“Nothing,” Erissa agreed. “But if you ask me, I think this history is doctored. Everything lines up entirely too neatly.”

“Let's get out of here,” Jensen said, bored out of his mind.

“W-w-wait,” Percy said, a nervous look on his face. “You're supposed t-t-to stay here until-” His gaze went to the large man in the white silk who approached them, considerably more jolly than when he had left the trio. “Mr. Granger!”

“I trust the boy was helpful?” the diplomat asked, his cheeks blushed and the smell of alcohol heavy on him.

“Yes,” Erissa said, rising from the table to greet him. Jensen grated his chair back, pushing with his legs against the side of the desk.

“Well, I do hate to cut short the pleasure of your company, but I must be off. I will happily escort you back to the port gate,” Clausen said, obviously ready to be rid of the Knights.

“No need,” Erissa said, we have business elsewhere as well and can see ourselves to the gate. Thank you for your help,” she added, shaking his hand. As the four weaved their way through the temple, Erissa noticed Jensen's eyes darting around and his posture wary. Worried, she touched his arm and asked with her eyes why he was on alert. He returned her gesture with a serious nod, and they passed through the gilded doors into the afternoon light.

“It has been a pleasure,” the diplomat said quickly, offering no handshake. “If you will excuse me, duty calls!”

“Sure,” Jensen retorted sarcastically. “The pleasure was all yours.” The diplomat's face twisted momentarily, but he sighed and turned to leave, motioning for the scribe to follow. Erissa and Jensen were left on the massive stairway that cascaded down from the elevated temple down to the road below.

“You still do not trust the diplomat. What is on your mind?” Erissa asked softly.

“Can't shake a bad feeling,” Jensen said shrugging as he scanned the cityscape. “Come on,” he commanded, and the elf obliged, following him down the stairs. She stayed very close to him as they made for the gate that separated Yanbo Port from Akashima proper. The sun crept ever lower as they walked, and Erissa regretted sending the horses away. The elf nursed an uneasy feeling as Jensen glanced constantly behind them; her heart sank when she saw him stiffen mid-gait and whirl to face the group of about ten men that emerged from the lengthening shadows. Jensen stepped protectively in front of her as his hands went to his weapons.

“Looks like our new friend isn't so diplomatic,” Jensen said, his laugh humorless. The leader of the mercenaries grinned wickedly as he brandished his curved blades. His crew donned their own various weapons as they slowly strode toward the Knights. “You wouldn't mind pointing us to where a guy can get a decent drink in this town, would you?” Jensen called. His giggles echoed through the empty street just as the sun slipped beyond the rim of the horizon.

“That is the least of your worries, little Knight,” the leader called back.

“So how much is he paying you?” Jensen asked, his blood boiling as the leader laughed mysteriously.

“A small bit of property,” the leader said, “to do with what I please.” The elf drew her dagger.

“What do you think you're going to do with that little thing?” the sailor to the leader's right asked, and the group laughed. Erissa's gaze hardened, her determination steely. The little dagger left her hand, and quick as a bullet, sailed through the air into the man's thigh, her telekenesis guiding it. Her aim had been poor; the elf was aiming for the leader, but the wound was a perfect distraction for Jensen to spring into action.

The immortal's strike was that of a coiled wire as the sailor reeled in shock. His jacket whipping in the flurry of his movements, Jensen spun in a feint attack, directly at the leader at the center of the group. As the Knight expected, the other sailors moved from their rough line to collapse in on him. With a word of wind, the Knight leaped and corkscrewed over the men to his right, aided by a gust, and like a leather-winged bird of prey, swooped down on the wounded sailor who had stumbled to the back. His blades like wicked talons, Jensen gutted the man while bringing his other blade just beside the nape of his neck. The sailor fell to the ground without a scream before the rest of his fellows could discern what was happening.

Erissa, despite her elven heritage, lacked the quickness of her companion, but she grasped the momentary advantage they had, however slight. She raised her voice, and her song gripped them like a terror, demanded their immediate attention, and their confusion was only increased when they saw the diminutive source of such a wicked song of death and destruction.

Jensen, having landed on his feet, was on the next of them in a flash as they stood stupefied by the spell-singer's song. His lightening-quick blade etched a dripping, red line into the man's throat, awakening the rest of the crew from their entrancement. Their angry yells echoed in the darkening, empty thoroughfare as they turned to face the greatest and closest threat, his giggles piercing the muddiness of their cries.

Weapons drawn, they advanced on Jensen; Erissa would have levitated him above the chaos, but it would have made him an easy, suspended target for thrown weapons, and also suppressing his formidable prowess. Instead, she focused on their feet; two of the men tripped, knocking three of their comrades to the ground.

However valiant the man who spun like a dervish among them, or the elf who cast into them bolts of crackling energy and tossed them about with her will, the Knights were still outnumbered eight to two. An opening and a flash of steel further evened the odds and another of the sailors fell to the ground.

“Get the elf! You heard the boss... keep her alive!” the leader called, parrying a blow of the battle-lusting Knight before him. Two of the men broke away from the spiked circle surrounding Jensen and advanced on Erissa, the rest readjusting like grains of sand. She backpedaled, taken unawares as she focused on deflecting the blows Jensen could not. As her concentration was broken, her stream of energy and telekenesis was halted, and a cruel sword found its way through Jensen's hamstring, crippling him.

It was a fast growing concern with Jensen Ambrose exactly how much the universe hated him at the moment. His arms, fingers, and fists flew outwards in a methodical beat that kept several of the bastards away. Normally not one to worry about the consequences of an exposed side, he had left his mind far too distracted with thoughts of protecting the elf. When she broke away from him he took a quick glance he shouldn’t have, and he had paid.

Now with five men remaining on him and his greatest strength removed, the immortal had very little in offense to summon to his side. He lashed out with a fist, and felt a blade cut along his rib cage, pain slithering around his exposed flesh as he snarled and cut another arm that came for his life. He knew in mere seconds he was going to die again.

With a splatter of blood, a blade burst through the face of one of the people surrounding the immortal. His mouth had been distended, jaw clearly snapped as his stained red teeth cracked and chipped. With a muffled cry the blade was pulled out to the side and down, felling the warrior and cleaving half his skull open as his jaw hung loosely to one side.

A body dressed in heavy leather, black as a raven’s feather and studded with crimson, stepped into the fray, half turning with long sword in hand and bringing it down on the next closest aggressor. The blade cut along the enemies neck, a mist like spray sending freckles of blood into the air. The follow up attack was a shove with the boot into the enemy hitting a third.

Jensen took no time to loose a throwing glaive forwards, the triangular bladed weapon catching along another warrior’s cheek shredding it as it rolled upwards, piercing into his eye and leaving a bloody trail. The remaining two mercenaries were upon the warrior that had joined the immortal, his blade lifting in swift strikes to repel and parry blade after blade. Jensen hobbled over, leg on fire with pain as he seethed, lifting out another throwing glaive and preparing to loose it.

“Uragirimono!” both warriors shouted over and over, matching the foreign cries of their enemies, eyes filled with hate and malice. The leather clad warrior stepped in and shoved his blade upwards, cleanly passing through the ribs and exploding the heart of yet another of the sailors. With a heave he pressed the blade deeper, twisting so the dead body became a shield as he went to attack.

“Don’t just stand there, kill him!” the voice of Jensen’s savior was gruff and full of agitation, and with little thought the throwing weapon was impaled deep into the temple of the final foe. He twisted his arms to pop the tension, looking as the man with the longsword tilted his wrists and let the body fall off his blade. He stomped the body off turning to the immortal and saluting him in a familiar manner.

“Hey, you’re a Kni-“ The warrior was off before Jenen could finish, chasing after the two who went for Erissa. The immortal hobbled after him, leaning to grab his weapons and letting out a yelp of shock as his hamstring made every nerve in his leg be aware it was injured, dropping to one knee.

In a split second the warrior was upon the two who chased the elf, blade glittering in an arc of shed blood, tiny remains floating off to the temple wall as the weapon was parried by the leader’s kunai. The two tussled with one another, the two weapons of the mercenary keeping the new comer at bay as his partner made to stab him in the back. Jensen fought with all his mental capability to toss the throwing glaive in his hand, hitting the arm of the sneaking mercenary. The weapon traveled up and was caught in his neck; the man twirled in a dramatic fashion, cursing in Akashiman as he looked for the source of his pain.

In moments the elf slammed her shielded body into him, tossing him to the ground in a sprawl and Jensen let out a gurgling cry of boiling laughter that he had stomached all battle, eyes alight with a sudden frenzy. His mind felt a sharp pain from the wound in his leg, yet in the blink of an eye the knife in Jensen’s hand was tossed, slamming to the hilt into the warrior’s cranium.

A similar cry of pain was silenced with a quick slash, the sound of leather creaking as the mercenary flipped over the hip of the warrior onto the ground, followed by a two handed thrust of the sword into his chest. There was a silence that prevailed over the three, save for heavy breathing and the occasional chuckle, before Jensen stood on one leg, leaning against the wall.

“You’re half past dead with a wound like that,” the knight murmured. Jensen narrowed his eyes and lifted a hand to one of his throwing knives, but the Knight lowered his blade and adopted a more open stance. “I could have killed you earlier, or left you for dead.”

“Or waiting for another opportunity to strike. Two birds with one stone.”

“Theoretical,” the knight blurted angrily. “Why bother hitting you both later when in the swarm of battle your lives could have easily ended and none here the wiser to think I had done it?”

“Practical,” Jensen replied hotly. “Swoop in to make the kills, assess the fighting strength of the foe, then handle as deemed necessary by the Tome of War.” The two glared at one another while Erissa looked to each one carefully, her hands in front of her defensively. “If you truly say you are no foe, drop the weapon.”

“No can do,” the man said earnestly, wiping a hand through his black hair and shaking it. “And you know damn well why I won’t.” Another starring contest ensued as the warriors fought with their eyes, both making no subtle movements until at last the knight turned to look at Erissa. “En Passe, two knights meet in the middle of a hostile situation, and either one unsure of the other. Theoretical states that the most senior officer who commands them has the priority to dictate negotiation.”

“So then, who is your superior?” Jensen grinned. The knight shook his head.

“You know as well as I do why I won’t answer that.”

“Because it’s a trick question,” Jensen replied. “We take our orders from the Council, we have no other superiors. Alright, so you confirmed you’re a member of the Apocalypse, but I still don’t trust you. Theoretical dictates one of us needs to show the other our truest intent.”

“Very well,” the man sighed heavily and looked to Erissa before nodding politely. “Go to him, that gives you both a two to one advantage. I also have only assessed one warrior’s skills, not the other's. So you still have an unknown variable, in this scenario, all the cards are stacked against me. Thus it’s only fair I keep a weapon in hand while satisfying your need to calm me down. Do you accept this practical?”

Jensen stroked his chin, deep in thought as he felt the stubble of his unshaven skin, a desire within him to strike the man now, but a small nagging doubt hit his mind, and with a shot of pain in his leg where he was wounded, he shook his head clear of any thoughts and made a quick decision.

“Practical situation, terms agreed.” Jensen held his hand out to Erissa. The elf took it, and swooped behind him quickly looking to Jensen’s leg. She leaned into him, her scent awfully familiar now as she whispered in elvish.

<“I can heal your leg, but do you want me to? I have no idea what you two are even saying. It sounds like gibberish.”> Erissa looked to the knight who grinned to her before he spoke, in perfect elven, a reply for Jensen.

<“Oh, go ahead. If anything it will help the practical of the situation. And no need to use such hoity-toity language my dear. Common was created so none of us had to think so hard about the words they are saying.”>

Jensen let out a giggle as Erissa’s cheeks turned a light shade of red; she nodded and dropped to one knee, concentrating on his wound. Jensen kept his hands ready to throw more weapons, but spoke in a causal manner back to the elf.

“It’s the lingo of the Knights of Apocalypse. We’ve got a lot of security in our system to prevent infiltrators. Some of it is stuff we’re taught since we were born, to really weed out those who would want to prevent the End Times. So in short,” Jensen paused for a breath and the knight spoke up.

“We were just feeling the other out. No Knight would ever let go of a weapon. Not even in the direst of circumstances. Also, a Knight wouldn’t ask more than one trick question,”

“It’s a dodge meant to confuse the opponent, which isn’t the point of what we were doing,” Jensen continued. “All we were doing was assessing the practicality of the situation, the practical. The theories involved in our situation had to be eliminated until a proper course of action could be taken. Now we are there.”

“I think I understand,” Erissa said. She stood up and gently tapped Jensen’s shoulders twice. He winked back to her and touched his wounded foot to the ground. Now that he had a vertical base he could assault from, he stepped forwards.

“So the question becomes now…what are you doing here?” The knight gave Jensen a passive stare before he shrugged and answered.

“I was dispatched by the council about four years ago to hunt down and kill the man known as Oblivion, the Fallen One. I have come close, about two times now, to finding him and killing him. But each time the worm escaped my grasp. Mind games leading me to a false shadow and throwing me off the trail when I was too near. My hunt was put on hold when Vladimir Sigma, the End Bringer, came to our order and trashed it for his own selfish desires. By the time I had received the recall notice, it was far too late. The Bastion of the Apocalypse was already broken and thousands lay dead. The Council was killed, and I was devastated.” He looked to his sword like it was an old friend, and lifted it up to his shoulder, a finger tapping the pommel as he shook a bad vision away. “It’s not easy, living your life the way we have, warrior, and then finding out it has been uprooted and destroyed. You can’t recreate what has been made before…no, our time has finally come. The End Bringer’s prophecy manifested. I had never thought it would be in my time. So…so I did what any sane man who lost everything would do in my boots. I will finish my mission.” Jensen nodded to him as he gestured to the walls around him.

“So why are you in Akashima then?”

“A tip. I was told that there would be scrolls of dark magic, or soul spells and that sort of nonsense. An archive of the most powerful arcane arts, but that wasn’t why I came. It was the archives of who studied them. It would have the name of the man who would have studied the manipulations of the mind using the power of magic. Magic specifically unique to one man, Oblivion.” Jensen and Erissa passed each other a knowing glance, the elf maiden nodding in agreement as Jensen spoke softly.

“Then our mission is one and the same, knight. We were dispatched by the Ixian Knights to find and kill Oblivion ourselves. My last standing orders from the Knights of Apocalypse were to serve Sei Orlouge until further notice. You can imagine how long that is going to be.” The two laughed at the morbid joke as the knight stepped forwards, hand extended.

“Geoffry Hullihan,” he said softly.

“Jensen Ambrose,” the immortal replied. The two clasped hands with a loud clap before breaking it off. “And our search brings us to you. Did you find a name?”

“No,” Geoffry shook his head bitterly. “But I've been dealing with misdirection from day one, so it's no surprise. It's also no surprise I spent several days here trying to remember what I was looking for, which means-”

“He’s following us. We had a few mental run-ins with him; been screwing with our brains. I think a third party member would really benefit at this stage. Someone with the same mental conditioning I have been through.”

“My sentiments exactly,” the knight sighed heavily. “More than once I was led astray by his machinations. I’d feel more comfortable with another member of the Knights to keep me on track. Which brings me to the topic at hand. Why did you want his name?”

“Hmm,” Jensen looked to him with a grimace. “Well…I think I have a way to track him, but it involves a device only the Knights of Apocalypse could use.” Geoffry looked to Jensen with confusion, before he suddenly widened his eyes.

“Of course!” the knight said slapping his forehead. His boots creaked the wood floor beneath him as he walked around in the blood of the fallen. “Of course, how could I have not thought of it sooner!” he turned back to Jensen with a new vigor. “The Chamber of Fate! Concentrate on the name of the one you seek and it will show you where they are! I had thought by finding his name I could somehow communicate it to a sage for the same purposes, but the Chamber is far less likely to be wrong! So do you have it?”

“Have what?” Jensen blurted, and Erissa's hand went to her mouth as she cast her gaze downward, deep in thought at the Knight's words.

“His name!” Geoffry said in a rush as he stepped up to Jensen, looking down on him with excitement. “The name of Oblivion!” Jensen gave him a serious look of expectancy. “Oh, no, no don’t say it, of course. Don’t want anyone’s brain to go fuzzy. But do you know it?” Jensen looked back to Erissa, then to Geoffry.

“No,” Jensen replied. “That’s why we came here.” The two men let out a defeated sigh. Geoffry shook his head and slammed his sword back into its scabbard.

“That was why?” Erissa said loudly as she stepped forwards. Her hands touched Jensen’s shoulder, and he felt a tingle of excitement as she looked to him with gorgeous eyes. “Jensen, was that why we came here? For Oblivion’s name?”

“Yeah…that was the whole part of the plan.” Erissa lips parted into an abashed smile as she quietly chuckled. “Why are you laughing?” Jensen said with a sly smile returning to his face.

Erissa smiled again, sheepishly, taking a moment to clear her throat and formulate her next words carefully.

Everything happens for a reason, she reassured herself. And now we have a third to help us. She absently hoped Jensen would not be too hard on her as she studied his face and the way his stubble appealed to her.

“I have known his name all along,” she finally admitted. Geoffry's mouth was agape, and the edges of Jensen's smile twitched as he processed the information.

“But... what? How?” her companion demanded, throwing his hands in the air. “You're not even old enough-” Jensen began, but fell silent as Erissa held her hand up, nodding.

“Troyas,” the elf said matter-of-factly. “Jensen, I told you in Sei's office before we ever left for the forest that he knew Oblivion's name,” she began, and Jensen nodded sarcastically, making a winding motion for her to hurry with her tale, knowing she was prone to long-winded speeches. “What you did not know is that in addition to reading memories, he can also share them, by way of touch. When we went to him for the horses, just before we left, he shared the memory of when he learned the Memory Eater's name, neither speaking nor writing it. That is the only way it could be done. But you never told me how the Chamber of Fate actually worked!”

Erissa left out the part about how Troyas would not share the name with Jensen, because he was convinced the immortal would use it in most devious and naughty ways.

The silence was thick as muck as Erissa waited for the backlash, which never came. Instead, when she looked back up at him, a pensive smile on her face, she was met with Jensen's laughter. He slapped his forehead.

“Fucking figures,” he giggled, poking the elf in her ticklish ribs. She swatted him away. “Fairy magic.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Geoffry roared, his excitement renewed with his goal so close at hand. Spinning on his heel, he clapped Jensen on the back as one brother would another, and led the walking charge back to Yanbo Port.

The clear night was bespeckled with stars whose vigil was only slightly more constant than the guards Jensen and Erissa had encountered earlier in the day. They bowed respectfully to Geoffry, questioning neither him nor his companions as they breezed through into Yanbo proper. With a wily grin, he looked back at the Ixians.

“Sometimes it's all about knowing which palm to grease,” he chuckled, “but other times, it's knowing which hand to bite.” Geoffry smiled winningly, pearl-white teeth behind a face of mildly aged experience. He nimbly side-stepped, offered the crook of his elbow to Erissa. She took it hesitantly, eyes flashing worriedly to Jensen as she left him Jensen alone in tow. “An unmarried lady shouldn't walk the streets of Akashima without an escort,” he said.

“She has one,” Jensen asserted, an uneasy sensation in his tightening chest. The immortal quickened his pace, coming easily abreast with them, to the elf's left. In minutes the trio were clacking boot heels on the wooden docks, and Geoffry led them to the only ferry that made a late night run north.

"There's the boat that travels north," Geoffry said matter-of-factly.

“You have been here a while, I take it?” Erissa asked suggestively. “You seem to know quite a lot.” Geoffry laughed and patted the delicate hand that was intertwined in his arm and answered with a grunt.

“Longer than the two of you, I'd guess,” he said finally, shrugging. “I just make it a point to know things like this.” He gestured at the enormous, multi-decked ferry moored near the center of the collection of piers, not far from where Jensen and Erissa had followed the diplomat. “They'll depart in about an hour, so we need to make arrangements.

“Already done,” Jensen said with a challenging grin. “For the el– for Erissa and me,” he corrected himself. “You know the ploy,” he continued. “Blackmail a rich bastard,” he said, giggling. Geoffry laughed with a knowing nod. “Erissa,” Jensen said, offering his hand to her, “let's go make sure ol' Clouse made good on his promise.” Erissa quickly set her hand in his, the other slipping easily from Geoffry's arm as Jensen pulled her toward him. The immortal grinned as he wrapped an arm protectively around her shoulders. Geoffry smirked, shaking his head.

The Ixians hurried to the office on the docks that handled scheduling and charters, Geoffry following a distance behind them. The area boasted a smattering of people, mostly foreigners who were departing for their homes, and a few Akashimans slipping away in the dead of the night. Jensen and Erissa found that they were, indeed, on the boarding list for the vessel of their choice. And what was more, a small deposit slip had been left for them, which Erissa assumed was the other part of the bargain. Blackmail, she corrected herself mentally, rolling her eyes. As the two walked away, Geoffry stepped up and made his own arrangements.

A welcome change, the clearing of her senses brought on by the brisk, ocean wind, lightened the elf as she boarded the vessel. Jensen studied the key set in his hand, deciphering the Akashiman etching upon the wooden plaque attached to it by a fine chain. Nodding, he took Erissa's satchel from her and led the elf into their quarters. Jensen's eyes widened, and he blew out a long, soft whistle.

“Boy, ol' Clouse spared no expense,” he said. Erissa smiled broadly as she rushed into the room, twirling as she took in the rich, dark woods and fine furniture, but her smile faltered when she noticed the sleeping arrangements.

“Oh, well,” she said with an almost imperceptible twinge of disappointment. “At least we have two beds this time.” She shrugged and glanced at Jensen, her smile unreadable. “You will not have to worry about waking up with me in an odd position again, I suppose.” Jensen smirked and scratched the back of his head, looking as though he wanted to say something. Instead, he tossed their luggage in the corner of the room and changed the subject.

“Hear that?” he asked.

“What?” Erissa replied, curious.

“Music,” Jensen said suggestively, and Erissa nodded, a curious smile on her face. “Where there's music like that, there's dancing, and where there's dancing, there's alcohol. C'mon!” He strode to the doorway, and whirled around when the elf did not follow. “What?”

“Do you really think we should be-” Erissa began, and Jensen rasped at her before she had a chance to finish.

“Seriously, can you stop being a goodie-two-shoes for even an hour?” he said, his voice full of annoyance.

“I did not think people were allowed to drink and dance in Akashima.”

“Well this isn't Akashima. Their laws don't apply to open water ferries. Captain's law trumps it. Come on and stop worrying!” he said. “It'll be fun!”

“Well, at least let me freshen up a bit,” Erissa said with a weary smile, knowing full well she should not go, but not really caring.

“Fine. I'll meet you there,” Jensen said, rolling his eyes and turning into the hallway. Erissa heard him greet Geoffry, and the two of them headed for the source of the music together.

“Wish I had a change of clothes,” Erissa mumbled, but her eyes brightened with hope as she caught sight of a massive, hand-carved armoire. The elf stepped quickly across the polished wooden floor and yanked the doors of it open; to her great pleasure, there was a selection of evening wear in all sizes, with a ludicrous collection of shoes to match.

Clausen Granger certainly knew how to travel in style. Biting the hand had not worked for him, and now as a fail-safe, he must have hoped greasing the palm would make amends with the Knights he had tried to assassinate.

After an hour, Jensen was well into his third drink and recollecting his times with the Knights of Apocalypse with Geoffry when Erissa finally arrived. The master tailor was feeling like herself again, luxurious in a floor-length purple satin gown, although the slit went clear to her hip and the top was little more than a halter that boasted a plunging neckline and bare back. She had pulled her hair up into an elegant, twirled bun, and the elf nervously brushed the freshly curled strands of hair away from her cheekbone as she drew stares from those near her.

From across the wide, private deck, filled with people who could afford such luxury, Erissa recognized Jensen's jacket and unmistakable black, red-tipped hair, and she weaved through the gathering of people to join him.

To say she looked beautiful was an insult. To say she looked gorgeous was a falsehood. To say she looked like the radiance of the sun was a polite comment. To think she was the spitting image of perfection, personified in the form of a slender elf maiden, was starting to scratch the surface.

Needless to say, Jensen couldn’t find the words to say about how Erissa looked. His mind felt foggy as Geoffry kept touching his arm and lifting a finger to the woman, muttering drunken slurs that he couldn’t comprehend because he was in another place.

Jensen gawked at Erissa as Geoffry leaned onto him, placing his arm around the immortal and pointing to her. “That’s a bonafide keeper,” he whispered into his ear with a drunken chuckle. “Perhaps, if I am lucky and you’re too stupid to see that, maybe tonight I won’t be alone.” Both adults fell into the other and laughed as they watched Erissa looking to them with a curious eye. The immortal laughed louder as he clapped, before ushering her over to them. She took a seat next to Jensen and smiled politely as she lifted her dress to get more comfortable.

“Looking good, Elf, but I can still smell your musk!” Jensen teased as he lifted up his drink and took a large gulp, feeling the burning sensation deep within his chest as he giggled some more.

“If you call that musk, then let her stink away! Roses would have fist fights just to smell as heavenly as you, fair Erissa,” Geoff leaned forwards to take her hand, planting a gentlemanly kiss.

“Ass sucker,” Jensen whispered rudely to the knight. “I told you, she’s taken.” Geoff leaned to him with a flowery, if not drunken induced, motion and planted his palm firmly beneath his chin.

“That so, Jensen?” He lifted his hand and gestured to her. “Then as a gentleman, you have all rights to go first.” The immortal nodded to him, twisting in his chair to look at Erissa.

“You got dressed up nice just to sit,” Jensen commented as he tipped his glass back and let the liquid drain down his gullet.

“To sit?” Erissa replied, confused. She looked at her attire. “I picked this out so I could dance tonight, but...” She fearfully looked to the floor, seeing the rather vulgar displays the people did with one another. Steeling her nerves, however, she nodded and spoke, slowly turning back to the immortal. “Besides, it’s not like you could actually dance.”

“Oh is that so?” Jensen stood up and dusted himself off. “I bet you don’t even have the guts to step out on that floor, let alone dance with anybody. This isn’t some fancy ball room elf dance.” With that said Jensen drained the last of his drink, patted Geoff on the back to move him aside and went towards the floor. “I’ll show you, leaf licker, how this works,” Jensen chuckled again. Geoffry shook his head and stood up, dismissing himself with a yawn and a flattering remark to Erissa before he stalked drunkenly to his bedroom. The elf waved goodnight; she turned back to find the immortal heading towards the center of the dance floor, and watched with curious eyes.

Jensen spotted a nice group of young women, dancing together with a klutz and looking like they needed a better partner. Without even asking Jensen moved forwards, feeling the drums beat in time with his heart, feeling his blood run with the rhythm of the music, becoming a slave to the beat that entranced him. In seconds he began to twirl and lucidly move, as if in his favored fighting stance of caeiporiea, but instead of thrashing out violent kicks, he moved with a grace that made many on the floor stop to watch. The ladies who were less than thrilled with their dance partner flocked over to him, joining the immortal’s enslaving dance as he guided them with his body to move around him like an idol of worship.

He snapped a quick peek to the elf and noticed she was gone, which made him rather confused, until he noticed another group of dancers moving to someone’s whim. Jensen happened to take notice they were all men, and in the center was…

“That fucking leaf licker,” Jensen curled his lips into a grin and pondered the situation as he found Erissa moving the men around her body like obedient slaves, her chest brushing against their backs as she bent at the knee to go lower, her hands shadowing their bodies as she crawled back up.

Not to be outdone, Jensen snapped his fingers once and pointed to the enemy, his harem of dancing harlots obeying as they moved with him. He let one hand out, as if to hold someone’s hand, and his entourage moved with him. He kept each girl moving around his body in an artful display, pushing their limits to match his insane design of dance. One girl longingly brushed against his back, another grinding into him as the other two pulled down his arms, turned, and ran their backs along his body, winking to the men in the other group.

Erissa’s face turned red, but she lifted one hand up and felt two men move against her, and her body draped across them as she cupped faces, sculpted her hand around their chest and abs, and slowly, painfully, drifted herself lower and lower to her knees where she left her hand gripping two of the men’s belts. One moved behind her, ghosting her movements as she enticed her men into a frenzy.

Jensen let out a laugh and moved forwards, the two groups at last mixing as Jensen approached the elf. Both sides stood aloft as the ones who ran the music held their break to create a nice tension, before artfully hitting the next stage of the dance. The men and women mixed as one, each moving their bodies in ways that were lustful, but also sinfully engaging to onlookers. Jensen and Erissa, however, stole the show, their bodies moving against the other in a dance routine the gods themselves would be envious of.

Erissa felt Jensen’s body glide against hers, her chest moving against his while her arms wrapped around his back. She dipped back and Jensen held her as she wrapped one foot around his waist line. Jensen carried her a bit in a twirl as she released herself, spinning to her knee and coming back up with her back against his chest, feeling his hands move up and down the sides of her body. She tilted her head against his, nuzzling his stubble with her cheek. He pushed her away and caught her, twirling himself into her and holding her hand up, pushing down. She caught his intent, grinned mischievously and knelt down before him, looking up into his eyes with her brilliant orbs. Jensen cupped her face and brought her back up.

As he felt the beat in his soul start to violently crash around, he noticed the band was getting more into it, preparing for a climax. Jensen grabbed Erissa, tripped her so she fell into his arm, and he dipped her deeply, just as the song hit the final notes, lasting extra long for the people on the dance floor.

Jensen felt Erissa’s hand grip his neck, the other grab the back of his head and she leaned forwards, both noses touching as they looked to the other. Then, without any warning, both at the same exact moment pressed into the other and kissed.

Just a kiss, just one little... she trailed in thought.

One common belief among many of those with very long lives, specifically elves with their thousands of years, was that one should not do what he or she might live a very long time to regret. And this, this 'one little kiss,' could be the end of a friendship that had just begun, that she had worked so diligently to achieve.

Erissa Caedron had thrown caution to the wind, goaded on by her companion's tendency to do just that. Not a drop of alcohol had passed her lips, and yet she was drunken in the moment, forgetting everything before and encapsulating that juncture where her lips met his for the very first time, and not giving a thought to the snowball of events that could possibly follow.

It was fortunate that moment had come as he dipped her in their seemingly choreographed dance, for it was very likely her knees would not have supported her if she bore her own weight. Jensen's kiss penetrated her, parting her willing lips as the advent of dawn does the petals of a flower.

As he slowly guided her back to standing, Jensen ran his hands along Erissa's sides to the small of her back, and she wrapped her arms around his midsection, first pulling away and staring earnestly into his eyes, then finally resting her head against his chest as they continued their dance, slow and close, to the beat of a new song the band had begun.

“What are you thinking about?” she whispered, craning her neck upward, her breath tickling his neck. Jensen laughed as he took a step back, his eyes searching the tallest parts of the ferry.

“Come on,” he said, taking her by the hand and leading her as they snaked through the socialites on the dance floor. Erissa giggled, hiking her dress so she could jog behind him, the other hand clamped firmly on his.

“Where are we going?” she asked breathlessly, her heart racing and stomach fluttering.

“Remember that time at the Ixian Castle?” he asked, laughing, as he swept her into his arms and began up the outside stairs, two by two, that led up the side of the cabins to the roof of the multi-decked ferry. “It was one of those days where nothing went right. But, you grabbed me by the hand...” Erissa's eyes danced as she remembered leading him, without telling him what they were doing, to the very top of the highest tower, where she had hidden a pillow and blanket in a supply barrel.

“How could I forget?” she said softly, her eyes sparkling as she relished in his retelling of the fond memory.

“Erissa, I would have followed you anywhere that night. You led me there, and...” he sighed, smiling as he set her down and threw his head back, looking up at the stars.

A steady breeze rushed as the ferry sliced through the water, and Jensen pulled her close, wrapping his jacket around the elf's bare arms. With a giggle and a flourish, he grabbed the open sides and yanked; as she crashed into him, he burrowed his face into her neck, kissing her urgently as his hands wandered downward along her back.

“There is something I have not told you, Jensen,” she said softly, to which he gave a muffled response she could not understand as he continued kissing toward her ear. “This is... serious,” Erissa said, bringing her hand to the back of his head and hugging him tightly. The immortal backed away slightly, a curious smile on his lips.

“Okay,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “I guess, if you gotta kill the mood...”

“Sit,” Erissa said, lowering herself to the floor and extending an arm in invitation. Jensen flopped down beside her, unabashed in the way he hoped the halter-top of her dress were just a little more loose as he teased it to the side in a caress. She giggled as she slapped his hand away, and cleared her throat. “You recall what I said about Troyas, that he will never die of old age?”

“Yes,” Jensen said warily, giving his full attention. “Don't fucking tell me he's treating you like one of his horses, keeping you-” he growled, his temper instantly rising.

“No!” Erissa said soothingly, her hand on his forehead, lightly moving to his jaw. “Nothing like that.” The elf took a deep breath, preparing to continue.

“Hey!” an angry voice called from the stairwell where the two had entered. “You're not supposed to be up here!”

“Says who?” Jensen challenged, rising to his feet.

“Says the captain,” the man said with finality. Erissa caught the glimmer in Jensen's eye, one with which she was very familiar, and she was by his side in an instant.

“We have a room, and more privacy there, you know,” she said softly, her lips brushing against his ear. Jensen smirked at the man who was approaching them menacingly.

“If you'll excuse me,” the immortal said to him with great sarcasm, “I have something to... attend to.” He wrapped his arm around the beautiful elf who, in the moonlight, could have been a statue dedicated to a goddess of beauty, expertly carved of flawless marble, and upon which he had hung a too-large jacket.

“I apologize for our intrusion,” Erissa said, smiling sweetly, “and I assure you we will not be of any further trouble to you.” The pot-bellied sailor nodded stupidly, cowed by Jensen's imposing physique and the elf's entrancing appearance, and the Knight made sure he firmly butted against the sailor's shoulder as they passed. With a laugh and wide gesture, Jensen guided Erissa to the stairs and followed her back down to their posh cabin.

Jensen quickly unlocked the door and confirmed their travel-worn satchels were in the place he had left them. Erissa shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to him, kissing his cheek; she retreated to the restroom to change. Her courage to tell him her secret was gone with the moment. Jensen kicked off his boots and flopped down one of the two beds, his hands behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. With a second thought, the man rose from the bed, stripped his shirt and pants off, and followed after her.

“Oh!” Erissa said, shocked as he burst through the door. She grabbed the towel she had used earlier to cover herself and tossed the gown on the porcelain counter, blushing and giggling at him. Jensen stalked across the tile toward her, drinking in her barely obscured body with the voracity of a man dying of thirst. Her eyes greedily took in his near-nudity with an abandonment of prudence. “When was the last time you bathed?” Erissa asked pertly. “I can still smell blood on you.” Inwardly, she cringed, expecting a snark reply, though she could not quite remember why.

“You gonna bathe me?” Jensen asked suggestively, his chuckle rumbling like the muted crash of waves against the ferry. The elf regarded him for a moment, weighing what few apprehensions she had remaining against... well, the gorgeous man standing before her.

The elf turned away from him, carefully wrapping the fluffy towel around her and securing it so it would not fall. With a coy glance over her shoulder, Erissa padded to the bathtub and began filling it with comfortably warm water. Without hesitation, Jensen slipped out of his undergarment before her, a picture of masculinity. Erissa cleared her throat, blinking several times through the haze of desire that clouded her mind.

Jensen sauntered to her, cocky in his self-assurance, knowing she was overcome with him. The blush in Erissa's cheeks deepened as his physical longing was on display, then pressed against her stomach as he held her close and kissed her deeply. The immortal carefully removed the clip from her hair, and the silver bundle cascaded down around her shoulders; he buried his hand in it, against the back of her head. She pressed herself, as closely as the physical body she possessed could manage, against him.

They stayed in that embrace, oblivious to the world around them, until a warm sensation on their feet demanded their immediate attention; the bathtub's water was spilling out onto the fine, wooden flooring. Laughing, Jensen turned the faucet off and Erissa retrieved several towels to sop up the mess.

“You missed a little, over here,” Jensen asserted, using his prowess against her as he snatched away her covering towel to soak up an imaginary puddle.

Erissa was beside herself as she hunched over, trying to cover herself with her arms before him. Jensen frowned with confusion as he stood without inhibition before her.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

“I – no one – I have never...” she stammered, her eyes full of apprehension.

“Erissa,” he said, remembering that though she was an elf, she was young, and he embraced her and kissed the top of her head. Jensen could not, for the lives of him, recall why he had ever hated her for her heritage. “Go on,” he said, swatting her backside. “I'll be out in a minute.” He returned the towel he had snatched away from her back to its place, but not without a poorly masked glace at her as she adjusted it. Erissa smiled, her eyes filled with emotion, before grabbing her nightclothes and stepping through the door. Jensen sighed and giggled as he shook his head, then plopped himself into the water, the mass of his body sending another wave to the ground as he bathed.

Outside, Erissa snuggled into her bed, a short nightgown replacing the towel. She glanced at the closed bathroom door, hearing Jensen's sloshing and wishing she had more nerve.

However, she thought, he is a gentleman, more than I ever thought he was...

Erissa stuttered in her thought, wondering why she had ever thought him ungentlemanly in the first place. He had always protected her, and his actions in the Red Forest spoke loudly.

He said that a Knight would never let go of his weapon, no matter what. For me, he dropped his in the forest... Of course, he had several others hidden, but that was beside the point.

Moments later, Jensen emerged, a towel wrapped around his waist and a playful grin on his face. Erissa smiled warmly at him and pulled back the edge of the covers.

“Lay with me?” she asked softly, her inviting green-blue eyes locked onto his. With a ravishing smile, he tossed the towel at her and pulled on his shorts.

“Told you, didn't I? You can't get enough of this,” he said, laughing as he joined her, leaving the second bed empty. Erissa sighed contentedly as she snuggled into the crook of his arm, her head resting gently on Jensen's chest.

“Eventually,” she said, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his torso, “we will have to visit my parents again.”

“Can't wait,” he said with a yawn.

“What was the first part of that dwarf joke anyway? I cannot remember for the life of me,” she said, giggling.

“Fuck if I remember. How long ago was that?” he asked, and she simply shrugged and nuzzled against him, more comfortable than she had ever felt in her life.

“I love you, Jensen Ambrose,” Erissa said in the last, fleeting moment of hazy awareness before slumber. “Just as you are...” She was asleep as the last word left her lips.

Jensen’s world had neatly been picked up, taken carefully to a cliff that overlooked an abyss, and tossed without care into the void. Everything he knew was rewritten, every experience, every sensation. With Erissa, it was like he had died, and was reborn into a new, happy life. Erissa was always with him, through every hard time.

Yet his brain was wracked with pain, a horrible throbbing that threatened to consume him. He pinched the bridge of his nose to try to alleviate it, but to no avail. The only relief he felt was in his arms as Erissa’s little nose tucked into his chest, her white hair tickling his chin as she held onto him like the world would end if she didn’t. When Jensen lifted his hand up he saw a flash of red, but with a blink and a shooting pain behind his eye, it was replaced with white - white that was always there, that never left him.

Erissa...heh, how could he have been so blind, he mused. She was a woman with all the goodness of a orphan, the spunk of an adventurer, and the wisdom of a sage. And she was long lived! There was no fear with her. Everything felt right to sink into her arms, holding her tightly, kissing the top of her head and whispering those immortalized words of ‘I love you’ back. When he closed his eyes, however, something in his world was shifted.

Something was wrong. Very wrong. Nightmares plagued Jensen, painful emotions struck him near his heart, and he was running in the tombs under the Ixian castle. Somebody, somebody he loved was in danger. But who? His love was in his arms. Even in his dream addled state he could comprehend that Erissa was in his arms. And there she was in the dream, smiling and offering to take him away. But it was wrong. The pain didn’t fade just by her touch. Tangles of red hair flashed before his eyes, and with a silent scream Jensen woke up, his mind feeling like a knife was cleaved into his skull. Erissa was still with him, and the morning sun crept into the window.

There was a soft knock on the door, and Erissa’s eyes opened, looking up to Jensen with a soft smile and a playful kiss on his lips. He returned it, holding it for a moment until the knocking got more insistent. “Coming!” Erissa said loudly, before giggling and kissing Jensen one more time. The immortal watched the Elf rush to the bathroom, and he lifted himself up and towards the door. He opened it to see Geoffry standing there, a welcome sight, as the two knights gave a friendly nod as he stepped into the room.

“The hold is the next stop,” Geoffry said plainly. “I made arrangements for us to arrive at a small dock north of the major hub.” Jensen gave him a soft nod and shook his head. “You alright, Ambrose? You look hung-over as all hell.”

“Didn’t sleep last night…” Jensen mused loudly, his head pains slowly receding. Geoffry stepped forwards, leaning over with a knowing smile. He patted Jensen on the back in a friendly manner, but the immortal fought him off. “I didn’t sleep with that Elf,” Jensen blurted angrily, his blood running hot for a moment, and he had to admit the sudden rush of adrenaline gave his headache soothing balms. The Knight rose his hands in the universal sign of apology.

“No offense was intended, Jensen,” Geoffry whispered with a grin. “I just wouldn’t be so caught up on racial relations when you got a smoking body like that to cuddle with in the morning.”

Jensen knew the man was correct on that. Erissa was, to be fair, as stunning a goddess, and he really shouldn’t have blurted out such intolerant things in their quests together. Beautiful women were a dime a dozen, he once mused, but he realized to take one home that wasn’t some floozy or some psychopathic bitch, but an understanding and caring soul who loved, and loved unconditionally, well, that was the trick. Jensen slapped Geoffry on the back with a nod.

“Yeah, well maybe I was just defaulting to old habits, I’ve been having these killer headaches. Knife splitting headaches.”

“Knife splitting you say?” Geoffry asked with a measure of secrecy, his finger curling to offer Jensen an audience privately outside the room. The two warriors moved into the hallway of the room, where for the moment they were alone. They shut the door only a quarter of the way, and Geoffry looked to the immortal with an expectant face. “How frequent do they come?”

“Frequent enough to be a pain in my ass,” Jensen replied crassly, leaning against the wall. “But mostly… mostly when I’m trying to remember something.”

“Remember specific things?” Geoffry pressed on, his eyes flashing urgently. He stood forwards, hands firmly clasped on the side of his arms as if he was hugging himself for a measure of comfort. The two peered at each other for a moment, and Jensen saw genuine concern in the man’s eyes; that thought itself unsettled Jensen as he weakly nodded. Geoffry turned his back on the opening to the room.

“It is as I feared,” Geoffry mumbled. “I had experienced the same pains and agonies you are now. It’s an assault by Oblivion. Every time I tried to remember something, something important to me, I would get migraines that would sink a battleship. Images and moments would flash that made no sense, because the ties to them were severed and lost in the abyss of my mind.”

“What did you lose?” Jensen pondered loudly. Geoffry’s face remained stoic. He dared not look directly at Jensen, but the immortal could see the weight of ages pass onto his face as his eyes watered in silent painful regret. With a half hearted, dry, sarcastic motion he shrugged, snorting air out his nose.

“If I knew that, Jensen,” Geoffry said painfully. “I wouldn’t be having this conversation.” The two men stood in silent contemplation before Jensen spoke up, a nagging thought biting at his heels.

“If I am being assaulted by Oblivion, would that not mean he was near?” Geoffry slowly drew his gaze away from the wall before he nodded, but only half way. He looked to be thinking of the proper way to explain the situation.

“I can’t figure out for sure how far Oblivion’s power reaches. Nor can I say where the line is drawn for what he can exactly do. But I do know this,” Geoffry said with fierce determination. “Whatever it is, whatever power he has, it ends. By my vow to the Horsemen, Oblivion will meet his own!” Geoffry nodded to Jensen, and headed away as the immortal gazed back into the room, seeing Erissa’s half naked form dressing herself as she hummed a tune. It was rather pleasant and melodic in nature, and Jensen found himself being enraptured by it.

“Jensen,” Geoffry softly called to him. “I should note, to help me through that pain, I found it helpful to focus myself on something he wasn’t stripping away. Find an anchor in that storm, and focus on those memories, so that you can build a strong foundation to resist our erstwhile mage.”

Jensen watched as Geoffry went, and thought about his words, looking back to the Elf and sighing as he pondered what she would think to know she had just become his foundation. “Twenty minutes, Erissa! Then we got to go!”

“Very well, Jensen!” the elf giggled to him. Jensen smiled to her before lifting up his feet and heading after Geoffry.

Is this what it is like, the elf wondered to herself, to fall in love?

Erissa’s mind spun in the whirlwind of events that had followed her hasty ride to Underwood to find Jensen Ambrose at an old, seedy tavern. She had been afraid then, though for what reason she could not recall. The two Ixians had come through the forest, the mountains, through Akashiman society, and here they were, on a ferry with their goal so close at hand. But to be perfectly honest, the last two years of Erissa’s life had seen her tossed about from one unfamiliar situation to another, first her confrontation with her former servant and a demon-possessed drake, then in Radasanth with a pyromaniac, then the Red Forest and its cursed denizens. Somewhere along the way, the elf had lost control of her bridled heart, and it currently chased with abandoned thundering after the cocksure footfalls that marked the departure of the object of her attention.

Granted, Jensen and she had not exactly seen eye to eye in the beginning, something Erissa recalled about leaves, bushes, and fairies. Erissa laughed at the silliness of it, her breathy voice echoing as the rocking of the ferry soothed her. The elf rummaged through her satchel in search of a hairbrush, and came across the crumpled paper that bore the message from her father. She sneered at the vileness of it as she recalled his words.

‘I am willing to forgive you for your behavior with that man, and for abandoning your mother and me, but this is not an offer that will last,’ Ellear had written in his pretentious script upon the finest medium one could acquire short of the very skin of a god.

That man, Erissa snorted as she retrieved her brush and paced back to the restroom. As the elf smoothed her long, silver hair, she thought of how many times over her life was owed to that man, and she laughed softly. If he only knew what he meant to her. Sure, Jensen must understand some part of it; she had said the three little words, though he had not returned them. But to the elf, it did not matter. Jensen could have hated her and she would have loved him regardless; few and far between were the people in Erissa's life that had not betrayed her in some way. Her heart beat and bled for the man. He had lost his fiancee...

A wracking headache struck Erissa, slicing down into the core of her mind, which then went numb. She shook her head, silver tresses tumbling, and in a moment, it was gone.

“What an odd thought,” Erissa mumbled. “He was never engaged.” The elf shrugged as she brushed her teeth. Jensen was waiting for her, and she should hurry to him.

Erissa decided to wear her hair down, the large, loose curls formed by the twisted bun from the previous night still holding in cascading spirals. Her hand darted quickly toward a crystal container resting on a silver tray near the artisan porcelain sink, but she hesitated. With a second thought, the elf grabbed a vial of the complementary perfume, and after sniffing it for quality, dabbed some on her wrists, chest and behind her ears. With a light sigh, Erissa smiled at her reflection wistfully as her eyes sparkled.

A quick glance at the clock revealed she had spent a paltry ten minutes preening, and Erissa gathered her things and whisked out of the room without looking back. The narrow hallway outside her room yawned into the open-air deck where she and Jensen had danced the night before. The maiden blushed at the thought of him sweeping her feet from below her, and the kiss they had shared. Erissa shyly laughed, looking down to avoid drawing the attention of random, bleary-eyed passengers near her, her mind filled with a tickling warmness as she recalled Jensen taking her by the hand and leading her to the top of the ferry, as she had once done for him at the Ixian Castle.

Erissa scanned the deck for Jensen and Geoffry, half expecting to find them near the bar, but instead the two were at the edge of the boat, staring out across the wave-tossed waters at the large island veiled by the haze of morning. The elf adjusted the strap on her satchel and, dressed once again in her maroon leathers, hurried across the polished, wooden deck and took her place at Jensen’s side.

Erissa felt her face flush, as it so often did when he looked at her, yet there was something different in the immortal’s gaze. To the elf, it seemed to be an earnestness, a look of vulnerability in Jensen’s eyes that caused the very core of her being to strengthen. She said nothing, instead placing a hand atop his on the railing.

“Good morning, fair Erissa,” Geoffry said, breaking the silence and smiling as he took in a deep breath of sea air.

“Good morning, Geoffry,” the elf replied sweetly with a nod to him. “Horogen Island,” she mused, staring out across the dark waters again. “I assume once we land, we shall make our way to the Bastion and the Chamber?” Jensen snickered as he looked down at her.

“Since when,” he asked coyly, “has it ever been that easy?” The trio laughed as the ferry labored through the water, bringing them to the small port village. The mountainous center of the island was wreathed in clouds, and not even Erissa with her superior vision could spy the tops of them.

“Geoffry,” Erissa said, glancing at the weathered Knight to her left, “when this is finished, you should consider a place with the Ixian Knights. You would be among friends.”

“Perhaps,” Geoffry said quietly, his expression a mix of thoughtfulness and amusement. “Although I tend to keep to myself these days."

The captain’s whistle blared out across the ship, alerting the crew to the close proximity of land, and the sailors bustled to and fro preparing to dock at the single, long pier jutting out from Horogen Island. Jensen, Erissa, and Geoffry were the only passengers to disembark, and they were met with apprehensive stares from both the crew and their fares. Erissa looked from face to face with curious interest as Jensen tugged at her hand, guiding her down the solid ramp onto the sand-blown wood of the village’s pier.

“Come on,” he urged impatiently, grimacing. “The sooner we get this done the better.” Jensen pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Are you alright?” Erissa asked, her attention focused on him again.

“I’m fine,” he said, raising an eyebrow before sniffing the air dramatically. “That perfume is too strong,” the immortal said, chuckling. The elf levelled her gaze at him before rolling her eyes.

“Sometimes I think there is no pleasing you, Jensen Ambrose,” Erissa laughed lightly.

“There was no pleasing me last night, but that sure as hell wasn’t my fault!” he giggled, and Erissa’s mouth hung open at his brazenness for a split second before she shoved his shoulder and grinned.

“Your familiar pillow talk is done in the bedroom, yes?” Geoffry called from behind them, and the tree strode into the small collection of shanties its residents called North Porton. Several small boats dotted the horizon as the fisherman cast their nets, their wives and families awaiting them as they went about their own daily tasks in the town.

“How charming,” Erissa said curtly as she crinkled her nose at the cords strung from eave to eave, bearing a mix of drying garments and fish. Dirty children chased each other through the mazes of debris and broken boats. A single merchant operated in the town, a crudely-painted sign advertising its wares; the owner sat on a makeshift porch chair, sucking his stained teeth and regarding the foreigners with open hostility and suspicion. “I cringe to mention it, but we do need supplies, Jensen. How far is the Bastion from here?”

“Not far at all,” Geoffry cut in, “but the terrain is a nightmare. There’s no one to keep the roads in good repair, which is the way the Knights of Apocalypse liked it. I’d say it’s a day easy to get there. If we’re lucky, we’ll make it by nightfall.” Jensen’s head snapped up at his fellow Knight’s response, but as he was about to speak, an empty, stunned expression was plastered on his face.

“Jensen?” Erissa asked, and when he did not respond, she stepped in front of him. “Jensen...” The immortal blinked a few times, his eyes refocusing on the elf before him, and he regained himself. “What was that?” she pressed.

“Nothing,” he said, and gently flicked her nose before planting a kiss on it. Erissa looked at him worriedly. “Supplies!” Jensen interjected before she could speak again, not wanting to alarm her with the knowledge that he was being assaulted by Oblivion.

“Go on ahead. Erissa and I will meet you outside of town,” Geoffry said, handing Jensen a small leather sack, the distinctive clink of gold causing the business-owner’s ears to perk. The immortal spun on his heel, waving an arm at them as he paced toward the shop. Geoffry escorted Erissa down the main road, keeping his head down and moving quickly between the two rows of poorly constructed buildings, and he was visibly relieved when they passed the last of them. As the two waited under the sparse branches of young evergreens that marked the beginnings of an uncivilized forest, Erissa sighed.

“I am worried about Jensen,” she said finally, her eyes filled with concern as she looked at Geoffry. He smiled and nodded, taking her hand and patting it.

“I was in love once, just like he is now,” he said gently. “Couldn’t think straight to save my life! Don’t worry, Erissa. Jensen’s fine; he’s just worried about you. Can’t say I blame him, and no offense meant to you, my dear, but Oblivion isn’t an easy target. I would know!”

“I cannot think of anyone I would rather be here with,” Erissa mused, a girlish smile on her face. Geoffry chuckled.

“I don’t think you could be in better hands,” he said, eyebrows wagging. “Unless of course, they were my hands,” he jibed.

“Geoffry!” Erissa shrieked, laughing at him. He cackled again, waving his hand at her in defeat.

“I jest!” Geoffry bowed lowly. “I’ll be a gentleman,” he said, “and admit you belong to the better man. But what I really want to know is why you haven’t told him your little secret?”

“What do you mean?” Erissa asked, eyes narrowed.

“That you don’t age,” Geoffry said knowingly, and the elf shifted uncomfortably. “And that you won’t die of natural causes.”

“How did you-” Erissa stammered.

“Did you think you two were the only ones with special abilities?” he interrupted, snickering. “I can sense magic. So, why haven’t you told him?”

“I...” Erissa began, peering curiously at Geoffry; he had surprised her deeply. “Well, I do not want-” The elf searched for the proper words as he waited patiently. “I want him to accept me, not just to settle for someone who will not die and leave him.” Geoffry nodded sagely.

“Makes sense,” he said. “But you could still die. He can’t. I suspect he’d do just about anything to protect you.” Geoffry leaned against a boulder that had, ages ago, loosed itself from the mountains and tumbled to the very spot it rested. Erissa cast her glance wistfully down the road as she waited for Jensen.

“A thirty-foot rope please, three canteens filled with water, no make that four…” Jensen rambled as he kept dumping more and more gold out of his coin purse. “A hook, a shovel, three blankets, sized small, and seven bags of trail mix…love trail mix…” Jensen mused as he thought back to his time with Seth Dahlios.

“So…a standard adventurer’s kit huh? Going to climb up the Horogen Mountains? Suicide, boy. Suicide. You’d think by now someone would have already done it. But no. Nobody has. An idiot captain of the nation Emprea tried and broke her foot. Almost died. A dumb struck Carthage noble declared he would do it, and he is still missing.”

“What’s to say he didn’t make it?” Jensen narrowed his eyes warily.

“We found an arm and half a leg, but that’s about it,” the owner shrugged as he spoke. Jensen rose an eyebrow to that. “A Benzer noble and a Dukedom of Florence merchant had both tried to see if they could make faster trade routes. The answer was no, by the way, but at least they lived without much damage. Each broke an arm and a leg. Cute story about team work in there, I suppose.”

“I got the memo, sir,” Jensen mumbled. “Yeah, it’s dangerous. Who cares what you think, right? I pay you, you get your money. End of story, right?”

“A living customer is always worth more than a dead one, but hey, it's your life, jackass. I was just trying to be friendly.”

“Yeah,” Jensen replied rolling his eyes. “Your morbid warnings were great.” The owner gave another impassive shrug and began to separate the order, at Jensen’s insistence. If all was right, Jensen’s load would weigh roughly thirty pounds, Erissa’s only twenty, and Geoffry’s fifty. He knew the man was stronger than he was; he witnessed it himself, but it was also more practical to keep himself more readily available in the event the wards caused problems among them.

He carried all three bags out with difficulty, and Erissa had run to help him, but instead he launched her bag at the elf, obnoxiously expecting to hit her square in the chest. Yet while Geoffry grabbed his bag one handed and hefted it up, Erissa merely stood her ground, the bag hanging in mid–air without even a solitary thought that could have denoted stress.

“Oh come on, leaf licker, it’s only twenty pounds!” Erissa unleashed a victorious grin, her eyes looking to him with a shimmering glow that made him feel warm inside, even after she had turned away. Yet something in his vision flashed red and the headache returned with such force he dropped to one knee.

“I can easily use my powers to hold it aloft,” she giggled, her back turned to Jensen. Geoffry rushed to his side. Jensen grabbed his offered hand, trying to stand and taking a big breath. The pain slowly faded as he looked back to the woman his heart pined for. Erissa was busy talking about how her powers were becoming stronger since the last time they adventured, but Geoffry merely kept a concerned look on Jensen as the immortal tried to shake the pain away, doing as Geoffry suggested and focusing on Erissa.

“It’d be better, Erissa,” Jensen said, his voice a little ragged, “if you carried it. Save your strength for when we need it. This place isn’t that hard to scale, but that’s not the problem.”

“Oh, what is it then?” Erissa asked, a winning smile on her face. “Cursed trees that breed only red leaves? Or maybe vampiric squirrels? Perhaps even a soul blossom?” Each danger was met with a mocking chuckle as she stepped forwards, close to Jensen, her hand reaching out to his. He grinned as he grabbed it and twirled her close, the pain in his head subsiding instantly.

“No, there could be perverted immortals looking to get at that tender body!” Jensen quipped, his fingers dancing up and down her sides making her squeal. Geoffry shook his head and rubbed his brow.

“Look, you two love birds,” he said irritably. “As much as I am happy you are getting on so nicely, we got a long, and despite what you may think, dangerous road ahead of us today. Jensen and I know the safest routes, as well as the quickest, but the biggest threat is the Enchantments. They wouldn’t have stopped working just because the order of the Apocalypse is trashed. We’ve got work to do.”

“Party pooper,” Jensen whispered into Erissa’s ear making the elf giggle. Geoffry took point as he began to head upwards. Jensen nodded as he gripped Erissa’s hand, his voice lowering so only she could hear. “Don’t worry, Erissa,” Jensen whispered to her as they began to walk. “I’ll protect you. I promised you I would, and I won’t lose you.”

Erissa’s head lowered to his shoulder as they walked, a content smile on her face. The first leg of the journey was met without much resistance. The only trouble they had was Geoffry and Jensen arguing over where the hidden trail began. Erissa at first thought the two were discussing the same trail, but when Geoffry swore that they were going to hit an enchantment that would disorient them, she understood what he meant. The trails, it seemed, had a very narrow and specific path that would not trigger the magical defenses of the Bastion of the Apocalypse.

The natural defenses were in the mountain itself. She could tell already by looking that the castle proper was most likely embedded within the mountain itself, as opposed to the top layer. Jensen confirmed this with no more than a nod, and Geoffry didn’t speak much of it.

“Why do you hold these secrets? Not to sound rude, but if there are traps or danger, I would prefer to know of them,” Erissa spoke politely. Jensen shrugged as Geoffry rubbed a hand on the back of his scalp, tugging at his curls.

“I suppose it’s been bred into us not to blather on about the bastion. Or any hold. We were a secretive order, with that mindset built into us from birth. There was no sweet release of death for those who spilled the secrets,” he said ominously.

“They were fed to the Avatars, and later the Champions, for whatever punishment they deemed suitable. Fates worse than death. A threat so profound even I, with my immortality, dared not cross the line,” Jensen said morbidly, looking up. “That level of training, that level of secrecy, it’s not something you wash away. They’d get you drunk just to see your lips turn loose. I’ve watched a couple knights get dragged away, their lives ruined or worse.” Both men shuddered at the same moment.

“Better you just stick close to us,” Geoffry mumbled.

“You do realize the council cannot harm either of you, right?” Erissa said, a bit of indignation in her tone to be left out of something rather critical. The immortal lifted a hand to her cheek, cupping her face and drinking in her innocence as he smiled to her.

“Would you break a promise, Erissa?” The elf instantly shook her head.

“Of course not,” she said.

“Neither do we,” Geoffry said firmly. There was a slowly mounting tension in the group, and Jensen felt a spark in his heart to see the Elf’s nose wrinkle and prepare for another wave of rational versus irrational thinking.

“This is different. Your order, no disrespect intended,” she insisted this point by lifting both her hands to calm them, “has been completely destroyed by the End Bringer. You should not fear that which no longer exists.”

“It’s not fear,” Jensen replied earnestly, his hands digging into his pockets as he shrugged. “You, my dear, simple Erissa,” Jensen smiled, “are a tailor. You are not like us.”

“And just what does that mean?” Erissa said, her hands falling to her hips in hurt. She leaned forwards into Jensen’s face. He gave her a sardonic grin, feeling the shadow of Geoffry loom behind him.

“We are warriors,” Geoffry gruffly mumbled. “We follow a different code of honor than another. Say no more of this Erissa Caedron, we don’t like being poked on the subject.” Geoffry gazed to her with stern eyes to end the matter, the immortal hoping she would drop it. The elf looked around to the path ahead of them, and sighed, nodding in defeat.

“It is your way, I suppose,” she said, taking his hand. The immortal smiled back to her. “I shall trust you,” she said to him, leaning in and kissing him. She then pulled back and nodded to Geoffry. “I shall trust both of you. Not sure why I was so pushy. I apologize.” Jensen let out a laugh of mirth that made her eyes narrow in mock anger.

“It’s quite alright,” he giggled. “You didn’t really know, because your inquisitive nature was magically induced.” To that Erissa rose an eyebrow as Geoffry grinned with enthusiasm. “You gotta understand how it works. When you’re in the area, you suddenly feel a desire to question everything. Right?” Erissa at first was about to deny it, but felt she had more questions to ask. This in itself was a revelation she wasn’t expecting.

“Oh my, you two were not kidding about the wards.”

“Yup,” Geoffry chuckled. “It’s quite alright though, Erissa. All it’s designed to do is make people so curious, they ask so many questions that they either argue and forget the expedition into the mountains, or just plain create thick enough tension to divide them and weaken them. It’s really a great, easy charm and you’d be surprised how many people it works on. Several thousand individuals all stopped their journey because, much like Jensen and I were arguing earlier, they can’t agree on which path to take.” The two chuckled as Geoffry turned to the path and clapped his hands together, running them over each other as he began to think out loud. After a moment he spoke a few words to himself, deep and full of power as the air grew hot for a moment, popped, and a shimmer flowed between two points like a rainbow railing.

“I told you, Immortal,” Geoffry laughed. “Off to the left, not the right. When will you learn to just trust me?” he patted the immortal on the back, the elf heading ahead as she listened to Geoffry talk about the particular time he learned that trick. Jensen looked to him with wonderment.

“I didn’t say right…” Jensen felt a slight ache in his head before, with a soft rub, it vanished. “Yeah, I did say right,” Jensen mused with a grin. As he walked he smiled, hands lifting to the back of his head, looking up at the sky as they headed towards the rocky cliffs, preparing for the actual difficult part of the journey.

It seemed to the elf that the mountains, upon whose toes they crawled, were much larger than she had first thought. However, that perception did not bother Erissa in the slightest, nor did the odd feeling of being watched. She shrugged it off as she would a light jacket on a warm fall day. Geoffry mentioned something about another ward, but the elf merely laughed at the warning as the three walked single file up the narrowing path.

“Come, now, Geoffry. Since I know how they work, it will not be a problem,” Erissa chirped, her hand lifted over her eyes to block the midday sun that filtered liberally through the tall, straight trees. Their evergreen branches formed a natural barrier, and she peered through a break in them, surveying the shoulder of the looming mountain where she expected the entrance to the Bastion to be. “And, judging from the looks of it, we will make much better time than we expected.”

“Feeling confident, are we?” Geoffry asked, his eyebrows raised as he looked back at her.

“Well,” the elf laughed, “it is difficult to feel afraid with two such warriors as yourselves, whether I am simple tailor or not.” Erissa cut her gaze back to Jensen, smirking as she chided him playfully with her eyes. He said nothing, swooping forward and pinching her posterior instead. “Jensen!” she screeched, slapping at his hand. Geoffry sighed and rolled his eyes, finding the displays increasingly annoying.

“Remind me to book you two a room when we get back, and this time, I’m getting the both of you good and drunk. My treat. Then, I’m going to lock you in that room until you get it out of your system... and I don’t mean the booze,” he growled. Jensen clapped and howled with laughter, and Erissa blushed as she cleared her throat self-consciously.

“I’ll hold you to that,” the immortal insisted as his chuckles subsided, his eyes glued to the demure elf’s figure as she straddled and shimmied over a fallen, dead evergreen that barred their path. The Knight shook his head, not bothering to look back at them.

Erissa knew that, despite his occasionally gruff exterior, she and Jensen had been fortunate to have met Geoffry. By his weathered face, he could be old enough to be her father, if she were human. Yet from behind, the Knight could have been easily mistaken for a man her own age, given his physique. To add to the peculiar disparity, Geoffry almost seemed grandfatherly to her, or even ageless, as Troyas, her teacher, appeared to be. Just as she was about to ask him his age, Erissa was struck silent.

She felt the sudden, powerful urge to vomit, then and there, and the elf swayed on her feet, her hand gripping her stomach. Jensen’s face went sour next, and Geoffry gave a strained laugh.

“What the fuck,” Jensen spat, grimacing through the nausea that wracked his insides. The elf paled, all the color draining from her face, and she bolted to the nearest tree. Realization dawned on Jensen’s face as he recalled his own brief stay at the Bastion; they were facing the second ward. “You coulda warned us, asshole,” he said accusingly to his fellow Knight, who had also taken on a sallow color from the nausea.

“What, and interrupt all the groping?” Geoffry snarked, doubling over with his hands on his knees. “But actually, I did. You just didn’t hear me over the pitter-patter of your little heartbeats. Let’s get moving. The faster we get through this, the better. Erissa?” The elf mumbled something unintelligible as she leaned against the tree, choking back the bile and mush that threatened to erupt from her throat. With a laborious swallow, she nodded and dragged herself forward after Geoffry, with Jensen bringing up the rear.

As they traveled, the intensity of the ward increased, and the three barely managed to stumble along the increasingly broken trail. However, to their relief, the path widened as the trees became more sparse, and they walked abreast. They rounded the trail that led steadily upward, hacked ages ago into the face of a steep cliff that jutted out from the mountainside, blocking their view of the path ahead. Only the peak and base of the second mountain were visible to them as they crawled onward, until, finally, the second mountain and the valley nestled between them came into view.

Jensen’s groan broke the momentary silence, but it was not the nausea that caused it. Shoulder to shoulder, both of the men looked across a series of chasms cut into the sloped land, where the watershed had steadily flayed the steep land beyond the cliff, stripping away the loose soil and weak rocks to expose the jagged bones of the mountain. Very few scraggly trees, rooted in the transient soil left by errant pools, pocked the otherwise barren mountain face.

“We can climb the first one,” Jensen said weakly, and Geoffry quickly nodded. Her stomach gurgled, yet Erissa pressed her lips together, absolutely determined that she would not, could not, MUST NOT give in to the urge her body forced upon her. The very thought of regurgitating in another’s presence horrified the proper elf, and as her mouth watered she swallowed repeatedly, taking deep breaths as she could.

As Geoffry stepped toward the sharply sloping ground, Jensen planted a hand on the other man’s chest and shook his head, an acerbic chuckle escaping.

“Rope,” he croaked, and Geoffry nodded without question, removing from his bag the length that Jensen had purchased in North Porton. He turned to Erissa, and without her consent, wrapped an end of it around her, securing the sturdy fibers with a tight knot.

“Jensen, this is not necess-” she began, but he placed a finger across her lips.

“No fairy magic. Save your strength.” He planted a kiss on her forehead and turned to Geoffry. “Rope’s 30 feet. That’s more than enough to reach the bottom. Make sure she makes it. I’ll test the way first.” With a less-than-brisk nod, Geoffry affirmed, the noise of his gurgling stomach loud in the ambient buzz of nature.

The immortal descended sideways, his outside leg extended and the other in a crouch. Bracing himself against the ground with a hand, Jensen slid and sidestepped, finding whatever footholds he could to support his weight, and laying against the ground when one gave way, slowing himself with the friction of his body against the ground. With a heft, he leaped the last few feet to the relatively solid bottom and waved to his companions who waited above.

“Your turn,” Geoffry said to Erissa, grabbing the rope near where it was knotted around her waist. The elf smiled through another wave of stomach spasms, then climbed down over the smooth edge. The vertigo gripped her immediately, and the elf crouched much as she had seen Jensen do, her left side hugging the land and her right arm balancing in the air. As she inched lower, Geoffry fed more of the rope to her while keeping the line taut, and a short time later, Erissa was at the bottom. Jensen grabbed the rope and wound it to himself in a neat coil, one of the ends still tied to the elf, and he pulled her to him with it.

“I think I might enjoy having you on a leash,” he grinned at her, relieved she was near again. Erissa smirked at him, shaking her head.

“Oh really?” she asked. “I am not your pet, Jensen Ambrose.”

“No?” he laughed, reaching out to tweak her pointed ear. “You look like a cute little kitten to me.” The elf raised an eyebrow at him.

“Hah!” she chided. “Since when do cats tolerate leashes?” Jensen’s snicker grew to a laugh, and he wrapped an arm around the elf, kissing the top of her head.

“If he’s about to fall, use your magic to stop him. But that’s it,” Jensen said, still grinning.

“Aaaah,” Erissa said, understanding his logic. “You cannot die, not for long anyway, so you test the path. Geoffry makes sure I make it with the rope, and I look after Geoffry. No unnecessary... expenditure that way.” Jensen giggled at her, tapping her forehead. The two watched the man as he snaked down the steep grade.

“He knows you are immortal, by the way,” Erissa said. “There is no need to hide it.”

“Why did you tell him?” Jensen complained in a harsh whisper.

“I did not tell him. He told me he senses magic,” she said, shrugging, “so I assume he knows.”

“Huh,” Jensen grunted, looking as though he were trying to remember something, but with a grimace his attention turned to the present.

“You know, Jensen, I am already feeling better. The ward’s effect is fading. How about you?” the maiden asked, casting her eyes upward and studying the stubble that was more than threatening to become a beard, and the dark, brooding eyes below a strong brow that seemed, to her, heavy with a worry she did not know. It would be so easy, she thought, to simply read his memories. But Erissa did not. Only once before had the elf intruded, when the ability was first awakened in her, and after careful consideration, she had decided to respect his privacy.

“It’s not so bad now,” the immortal answered softly, staring into her blue-green eyes until Erissa blushed and grabbed his arm, pulling herself close to him. As she lay her head against Jensen’s shoulder, she raised her free arm, steadying Geoffry and preventing a near-fall. Jensen clucked his tongue with disappointment. “He could have made that!”

“Probably,” Erissa said with a pensive smile. “But just in case...” A few minutes later, Geoffry strode up to the duo, mildly winded but far from exhausted.

“Now, for the climb up,” Geoffry said, hands on his hips. “I assume you want to go first?”

“Yes,” Jensen said, taking the free end of the rope and securing it around his own waist. With a crass wink, the immortal began scaling the opposite side of the chasm, his technique altered to allow for freedom of movement for both legs, posing his body out more into the open air. Like a spider, Jensen was up the chasm side; he crawled over the weathered lip and took a deep breath as he stood. The Ixian whipped his arm around the slack of the rope at his waist, looping it twice; he pulled Erisa toward the incline as she laughingly protested.

“Here, kitty, kitty,” came Jensen’s mocking call. Unable to resist his strength as he pulled her, Erissa scrambled up the incline on all fours, threatening him the entire way as his laughter drifted down. Somewhat flustered, the elf dusted herself off and glared at Jensen.

“I ought to-” she began.

“Ought to what?” Jensen giggled. “Thank me for making sure you made it up all safe and sound?” She set her jaw.

“My hero,” Erissa offered provocatively, her eyes smoldering at the immortal. “And how would you have me thank you, Jensen?”

“That a trick question?” Jensen asked, chuckling. “Because I-” She grabbed the collar of his jacket as he spoke, pulling him down to whisper in his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

“Because what, Jensen?” she purred breathily. “Because you can think of few ways?”

“Uh huh,” the man said plaintively, eyes drooping closed against the afternoon sun. Laughing, the elf took a few steps back.

“Oh, I bet you can,” Erissa said teasingly. “But as for me, I cannot think of a single one.” Jensen’s eyes popped open, and he growled, whipping around to walk to the edge of the chasm.

“Tease!” he yelled back at her, and the elf giggled wickedly. Geoffry’s head peaked over the lip of the incline, a look of pure disgust and annoyance plastered across it.

“N’jal’s diseased tits,” he exclaimed, eying Jensen, “if I have to hear any more of this, I’m gonna impale myself on my own sword!” Geoffry grunted as he pulled himself up and dusted the powdery dirt from his own black, crimson accented jacket. “You realize who we’re tracking, or have you forgotten? Oblivion. The Fifth of the Forgotten... the man who became a god, whose magic is so powerful, just saying his true name will erase your memory completely.”

“Yes, of course,” Erissa said, clearing her throat and taking a few steps forward and folding her hands together. “You are right, Geoffry. We really should focus more on the goal at hand. My apologies.”

The three pressed onward, scaling each of the four chasms in much the same way. The sun sank low in the sky as they slowly progressed.

The travel had been arduous at best, but the hidden trails, despite having to go through the wards, were designed to be the quickest to the summit of the mountain. After Geoffry’s reminder pep talk the trip turned to all business as the trio of adventurers moved through the last of the watershed terrain.

Jensen couldn’t place his emotions as he continued to flirt with Erissa. He loved her. It was fast becoming a known fact. Yet something about the love was off to him. He had always felt an attraction to her and her silver tresses, pondering what it would be like to feel her silky body against his. Yet he had assumed it was a thought that any other being on Althanas who could appreciate beauty would have. Now? Now they were holding hands, kissing, and coming very, very close to activities that were forbidden territory to the two.

He didn’t think it was wrong, necessarily, but there was a piece to the puzzle he couldn’t account for. Something made the picture incomplete and un-whole in his mind’s eye. The more he looked into the hole, the more the splitting headache came. Geoffry had seen him wince once or twice, and he was there, holding Jensen steady. He encouraged him to try, try so very hard to remember that which Oblivion was clearly trying to block, but the more Jensen fought to remember, the worse his pain. Eventually Jensen gave up altogether, unable to recall the event, and Geoffry gave him a concerned look. Erissa rested around the corner, unaware of his suffering.

Night was fast approaching and the winds of the mountain were billowing more swiftly. Geoffry had tied up the loose end of his clothing, so as not to be blown away, but Jensen’s coat whipped the air and tugged at him. Wind, to him, was nothing more than a relaxing breath of life, and he curved his hand to ease the flow and direct it around them in a swirling melee. Geoffry could feel that the magic Jensen performed had a more primal nature to it, much like shamans, he observed out loud to the elf, who looked with awe. Jensen giggled into the gale force wind, cutting it aside and letting it lift him off his feet a few steps.

It was the elf first who heard the snapping of a twig above them. Her gentle eyes looked upwards, her gaze tightening as Jensen whirled his head around. Geoffry pulled his longsword out, the metal sliding off the oil leather with a deadly sound. Jensen felt his blood start to boil and a soft chuckle escaped his wheezing lips just before a forced mirthful wail.

Erissa instantly lifted her hands up, first to spot the boulders toppling over the ledge above them. A bubble like mist formed over them, and the rocks hit her telepathic shield, ebbing the barrier before with a groan of effort she shoved the rocks aside. Over the ledge ropes descended as bodies began to pile over, climbing down them swiftly as bandits with nocked arrows took aim and prepared to fire to cover their repelling brethren. Jensen took all his energy and twirled, the wind whipping around him and cupping his face like a lover before he launched the torrent of force upwards, the loosed missiles getting lost in the updraft as they went wildly off course into the abyss below.

The first of the bandits let himself free fall for a safe distance and reached the ground in a hunch. He pulled out twin axes, clattering them together, the clang echoing. Geoffry stepped forwards, his sword feinting high and darting in a horizontal swing that disemboweled the bandit. His arms clutched his escaping guts, panic on his face as Geoffry lifted his foot and kicked him in his groin. He stepped inwards and kneed the foe in the face to flatten him out of the fight. The next two bandits to land pulled out curved scimitars. The weapons danced between them as the Fallien natives cursed in their tongue, golden teeth glinting as they spoke. Geoffry roared a cry of war and battled with them, their blades moving and twirling about in a deadly dance.

The immortal rose forwards as two more men prepared to loose arrows, arrows nocked and ready as they took aim. With ease born from unending practice, Jensen launched two daggers at them, the blades digging to the hilt in their throats. The weapons they held snapped as they hit the ground, and their bodies slowly tumbled down the edge of the ledge they used for a vantage point. With a thud they landed as the last four remaining bandits repelled downwards. Erissa lifted her weapon, but Jensen was already before her, dagger in hand as he laughed with nihilistic glee, his body rushing them as they fought head on.

He twirled his blade to block an axe, kicking a sword aside and cartwheeling away from another swipe of a blade. The edge of another axe looked to claim his head, but he pirouetted quickly, bending backwards to let the blade roll over his torso with enough room to catch his shirt and leave a small hole. Jensen rose back up to block a kick, his fist punching the aggressor in the face. He twisted backwards in a ballet like step as he loosed a throwing glaive and watched the weapon of death rip into the meat of one of the bandit’s arms. His shredded muscles hung out, exposed as he un-flexed his arm in an agonizing scream.

Jensen caught his dagger underneath the curve of an axe against the shaft, giggling insanely as he lifted his foot up to kick the enemy in the shin, then leaned into him and hip tossing the bandit over a ledge. His wails were enough to enrage the largest bandit in the group, who let out a scream of vengeance. The thief body checked Jensen and sent the immortal flying towards the end of the ledge and over the cliff.

Prepared to suffer one of his least favorite ways to die, Jensen had closed his eyes. Instead of meeting the wind in his ears however he felt what seemed like a rubber band catching and flinging him back onto the ledge. Bright white flashed in his vision and he woozily opened his eyes to see the elf. Erissa’s outstretched arm dropped to her side as her chest heaved in spent energy. She nodded and flashed a weary smile.

Unsure of what had happened, the larger bandit growled and swung a club back and forth at Jensen, keeping him from his agile fighting style. Jensen made to feint with the dagger, only to be outmaneuvered as the lumbering warrior grabbed Jensen’s exposed arm and lifted him in a half assed throw. He had bent his knee and Jensen collided and tripped over it. The immortal slammed onto the rock once again.

Geoffry, meanwhile, had a series of cuts on his arms as the two Fallien bandits grinned from ear to ear, tossing their weapons to each other to strike at Geoffry while he made to advance on the unarmed foe. They moved in tandem, clearly a fraternal bond between the sword dancers as they taunted Geoffry in their Fallien language. He even had tried to swipe their twirling scimitar aside only to have them both kick at him, nearly felling him as they knocked his wind out. Like a whirling dervish he swung his blade to keep them at bay, always moving with them to ensure no easy prey for their blades.

Erissa watched the two dancers, and with a bit of quick thinking, managed to stop both blades in midair, a gasp of breath escaping her lips as Geoffry seized the moment, clipping one of the brothers in the throat. The knight finished his three hundred and sixty degree swing by cleaving into the brother behind him, a diagonal cut that went from left shoulder to right hip. Both brothers turned into the swing and collapsed, their eyes rolling into the back of their heads.

Jensen had managed to snake his way back to his feet. The immortal's hands were covered with leather gloves, the steel studs shining in the dimming sunlight as he boxed with the larger man. The bandit had an uncanny intelligence about him, something that his brutish appearance belied; he rationally dealt with Jensen's unorthodox fighting style. He had managed to learn that Jensen needed room to do his fancy twisting and turning, and so ensured his swings kept Jensen locked in position. The immortal was clearly faster, and every time Jensen had tried to misdirect him, the warrior replied with an overwhelming show of force, running into him or swinging his club in a close proximity. Now that Jensen switched to a boxing style, the warrior swung his club to keep Jensen away, purposely trying to hit the club against Jensen’s knuckles and break them.

“You’re not bad for a bandit,” Jensen muttered.

“You learn how to survive quickly in a lifestyle filled with blood.” The big man turned for a moment, his fist coming out in a haymaker that caught Geoffry right in his chin, interrupting his longsword’s swing and flattening the warrior on his back. As he was sprawled out full eagle, moaning in pain, crimson fluid leaked into his mouth, leaving a coppery taste. Jensen had moved to take advantage of his enemy’s exposed back, only to meet a stiff boot in his gut from a stubborn mule kick. With all the brute force the bandit warlord could muster he swung the club with two hands, hitting Jensen in the ribs. The immortal felt the distinct breaking of bones and fell to his knees with a wheeze, blood and bile flowing from his lips in a telltale sign of punctured lungs. He collapsed on his face, his body still.

“Your turn, pretty boy,” the warlord muttered angrily. “Don’t know much about you, but got a lot of my men killed. That wasn’t part of the plan,” he sneered as his agitation grew. He lifted the club, preparing to drop it down on Geoffry’s face when the club collided with another shield like barrier. Erissa was breathing heavily off to the side as the warlord looked to Geoffry, before with a smug, arrogant grin he lobbed a wad of spit out of his blood flecked lips onto Geoffry’s face, stepping forwards towards the elf maiden.

She clutched her knife to her chest in a ready position, but the warlord’s contemptuous ease in the manner he swaggered towards her gave her little doubt that the warlord knew she absolutely outmatched. With her two guardians out of the fight he lifted the club to his shoulder, a sick, perverted grin of malicious intent on his face. “I am going to rip those pretty clothes off, and then I’ll make your cry. I’ll beat you and rape you, and make you pay for killing my gang. Then, I’ll rip your hair out and use it to choke your life out. How does that sound?” Erissa’s eyes narrowed in grim determination, but the warlord laughed at her display. “You quake, little elf. You’re out of breath, overexerted! You know I can easily dominate your body. Perhaps if you willingly give yourself to me I could find a merciful side to go gentle with you…Your beauty, now that I look at it, has a certain appeal.”

“You’re a monster,” Erissa murmured, the word like venom on her lips. “You have no honor or decency.”

“And you have no chance. Besides, I’m a thief. My standards, surprisingly, aren’t that high.” With the conversation over now that he was paces away, Erissa coiled with all her elven grace and legendary agility, the wicked looking dagger digging deep into the warrior’s chest. She felt the hilt resist against his flesh; blood trickled and pooled, creating a stain on his leather tunic.

He never even made a peep.

He slapped Erissa in the face with the back of his hand, her body crumbling from the impact. The man casually ripped the blade out of his flesh like it were a splinter in his finger. He tossed the dagger aside, the weapon clattering as he stalked to the downed elf. Erissa looked to him with horror as he lowered a hand to grab her. He was inches from her shirt when he stumbled forwards, a wild cry of wrath that Erissa had never heard before coming from Jensen’s lips, a wild look of rage released in his eyes. His laughter was haunted with madness born from a sick joke made manifest.

The immortal held two of his smaller knives in his hand, and he wrapped his legs around the man’s torso, holding himself to him screaming in rage. It took her several moments to realize he was in a mantra, screeching the same words over and over again in a sick melody of cruel, murderous delight.

“Die die die die die die die die die die!” Jensen repeated with each stab of his blade, the warlord’s back littered in cuts as the immortal stabbed at him. At last the warrior was able to gain some semblance of order and jumped forwards, rolling to the side to slam the immortal on the ground. Jensen let go, in pain and wheezing as he stood up. “You will never, ever touch her again, you sick, sick fuck! I’ll gut your liver out, feed it to you through your stomach, and then make you slurp your intestines like a noodle!” The warlord slowly got up, anger in his own eyes as he looked to the immortal, seeing fresh vigor inside his body.

“I killed you!” he roared angrily, eyes filled with confusion as he pulled out a dagger from his belt. The weapon was as long as the man’s forearm and would have been a short sword in Erissa’s hands.

“Heh…you aren’t as smart as I thought,” Jensen giggled. The man arched an eyebrow in challenge to that statement as he bled freely from the many wounds, gaping like small, red mouths across his chest and back.

“I killed you once, this time I’ll make sure you’re fully dead.” Jensen fell to a knee in laughter, eyes watering as he slammed a fist over and over uncontrollably into the ground with maddened hysterics. The warlord narrowed his eyes before he roared with rage. “What is so damn funny, you fool!”

“Because you never made sure the other guy was dead!”

In a mere second, he realized what the immortal meant, but that moment was ill spent; Geoffry’s blade claimed the Bandit Warlord’s head from his shoulders. The surprised face held its silent ‘O’ in death and even as it flew over the cliff, the haunted look of confusion the last image Jensen saw as it disappeared into the abyss.

Instantly Jensen turned to Erissa, dropping to a knee and grabbing her shoulders. “Are you okay?” he shouted, his blood still running hot. Erissa’s reply was a tight embrace, a few tears falling down her face as she nodded into his body. The immortal nuzzled her and held her tightly, whispering into her ear as she responded. Geoffry stood vigil in silence, his own eyes transfixed on the dead body as if it was a sign of deep failure.

In five minutes Jensen and Erissa separated, a deep passionate kiss passing between them before Jensen looked back to Geoffry. “The Jester and the Warrior,” the immortal mumbled. Geoffry nodded.

“You fought valiantly, Jensen. You held his attention long enough for me to finish him off. Alone, I dare say he may have been able to overpower us. I detected magic in his blood. No doubt an augmentation to his strength or endurance, but his mind…he was a sharp one.”

“I do not care to admire anything of that man,” Erissa choked. Geoffry nodded to her in apology, which she waved off. “I will not let that man unnerve me. Yes, he was strong, and yes he was frightening, but all I could think was that my knight would not even let death stop him.” Erissa smiled looking to Jensen, who let out a snort of mirth and grabbed her hand, squeezing it tightly.

“I keep my promises, Erissa,” Jensen whispered to her. “I vowed to protect you.”

“And protect me you did,” she said smiling brighter. “Besides, compared to the Red Forest, this was just a stretch,” she joked, mimicking the motions which caused the two knights to groan but grin. Geoffry let out a cough and mumbled.

“Yup, didn’t do a thing over here…just watched. Yup…” he looked to the sky, before grinning as Erissa opened her hand to him, which he took, bent at the knee, and kissed softly. They moved onwards towards their goal, and in moments, the entire event passed from memory.

Almost as if, in their minds, it had never even happened.

The call of cicadas rang hollowly from within the enormous, shallow bowl of highlands, nestled within the shared bosom of the two mountains of Horogan Isle. Geoffry looked worriedly into the fertile valley area, then at the final sliver of sun as it winked over the shoulder of the western mountain. Deepening shadows encroached, with only the ambient light of the horizon to hold them temporarily at bay.

“Torches,” he rasped. “What did you bring for torches?” Geoffry faced Jensen squarely, hands on his hips. He knew full well Jensen had not prepared for night travel.

“One of those bandits must have knocked a screw loose,” Jensen asserted, laughing sarcastically. “'Cause in case you forgot, this is gonna be bad enough in the daylight, let alone the at night.”

“Another ward?” Erissa asked, flicking a silver ribbon of hair from her high cheekbone.

“Jensen, we have to move! Why the hells do you think there are bandits on this mountain in the first place? They found another way up! Can you imagine what would happen if the Bastion were to fall into the wrong hands, if the Chamber of Fate were to be at some mercenary lord's whim? And not to mention that there may well be others within scouting distance of us already?” Geoffry threw his satchel down in the windswept dust in his obvious frustration.

“There is another ward, right?” the high elf asked again.

“We're not going on tonight,” Jensen said, his eyes twitching to and from Erissa, a strange confidence and knowing gripping him. “We're both worse for the wear, and she needs to rest. She wasn't trained for this like we were.” Geoffry gripped his lengthening, curly locks in agitation. “And, in case you forgot, she's the one with the information we need. What happens if one of us loses focus, and she gets hurt?” Or worse... he thought.

“Fine,” Geoffry said with a scowl-tainted relent. He knew this was not a battle he would win. “But as soon as I can see my fingers in front of my face on the morrow, we press on into the Cauldron.” He heaved a forced sigh of calm. “We are this close,” he said, holding his index finger and thumb less than an inch apart, “this close, to meeting the goal, the very goal I have spent the latter half of my life chasing!”

“Cauldron?” Erissa interrupted, flabbergasted by their utter disregard of her previous questioning. “Gentlemen! Is. There. Another. Ward?” She regretted her patronizing tone immediately.

“Yes!” both men turned to her and yelled with frustration, and the elf recoiled.

“Two of them,” Jensen said, releasing a harsh sigh, but as he turned to Erissa, he brushed a breeze-swept tress from her brow, his leather gloves embracing his fingertips. He removed them absently, to feel the smoothness of her skin as he reached out again, his fingers brushing against her collarbone and down toward the cleavage of her pert breasts. The zippered leather there thwarted him, to his dismay. “The two wards we came through so far had us fighting, then sick. War and Disease,” he explained. The elf nodded as she listened intently. “So that means there are two more. Four Horsemen, four wards. We still have Famine and Death.”

Honor be damned, he wanted to take her then and there, her innocent eyes wholly reliant on him, everything behind them his and seemingly pleading for such a thing. Jensen fought it for her sake and looked away; they had a job to do, and his distractions only placed her in danger.

“How bad are they?” Erissa asked, looking from Jensen to Geoffry and back again. “The wards... how bad?”

“Let's just say a rest stop would be permanent,” Jensen said, smirking as he finally was able to tear himself from her. “You keep moving or you die, and don't eat or drink anything. Anything. Not even what we brought. The Famine ward makes you hungry and thirsty as you've even been in your life, and then the Death ward turns all food and drink to poison.”

“Jensen,” Geoffry called, “you're forgetting the bonechewers.”

“I was getting to that!” he chided, flinging his ball-fisted arms to his sides. “Bonechewers.” He scratched the back of his head and cursed, at a loss for words.

“How lovely,” Erissa half-mocked, shaking her head as she peered into the inky black of the highland valley.

Geoffry scoffed. “Your lovelies, my dear, were imported from the Thaynes know where for their distinct immunity to the Death ward. However, the ward of Famine makes them ravenous and exceptionally ferocious.” As the refracted daylight waned, the insistence of the cicadas grew, threatening to engulf the conversation completely.

“What are they?” Erissa asked, feeling a slight apprehension grip her.

“Giant, armored bugs,” Jensen replied flatly before unslinging his bag to retrieve his night’s needs. The elf shuddered, but quickly righted herself.

“So,” she said, as a good pupil should, “do not stop, eat, or drink, and avoid becoming bug food.”

Jensen came to a dead stop as he was unpacking his thin bedroll for the night's sleep. After a moment, he snarked with light-hearted laughter, shaking his head as he regarded Erissa.

“I'm starting to think you don't know what's good for you, elf. I've seen grown men – Knights – piss their pants at the mention of Horogen’s Cauldron,” Jensen said, eyeing the demure arcanist. When she shrugged merrily, unpacking her own satchel, he worried she put too much faith in Geoffry and himself.

In himself, especially. There was a wildness in her eyes he had never seen.

“If anything,” Jensen continued, “anything, happens to separate us, don't try to save me. Get to the entrance at the northeast and wait there till sunrise. If I don't come, Erissa, run. Run like hell to the port, take a boat to wherever and don't look back. Fly or float or whatever then hell you do, off this mountain, and go. Not even death can stop me from finding you. Just don't,” he choked, jaw clenched as he swallowed hard, “don't die on me,” he whispered painfully, the last words a mournful grunt only he could understand, as if her were clearing his throat. He turned back to the valley. The shadows from the vanguard of the valley trees cast long shadows, pointing toward the coming sunrise like a clock foreshadowing doom.

“Geoffry, may I heal your wounds?” Erissa asked. “It has become a routine of sorts for me, but I will require a full night's sleep afterward.”

“That's not a good idea, my dear,” he said softly, his foreboding tone leeching the healer of any resistance. “Jensen is worse off than I am, and if push comes to shove in the middle of the night, you will need to be able to protect yourself. Just heal whatever's broken on him. If you can, that is.” The man chuckled softly, shaking his head, as he lay himself down to sleep. Erissa went to work on Jensen' chest, healing the ribs that had been cracked, her eyes never leaving his as she gave of herself.

Jensen took first watch during the uneventful night, often staring at the softly sleeping elf. His headaches came and went as his gaze was cast here and there, fishing for thoughts between the star-flecked, ultramarine sea of night and elf-maiden who slept beneath it. After the moon emulated its counterpart's ascent and apex, Jensen awakened Geoffry with a booted nudge to the shoulder. As his fellow Knight nodded and rubbed his face tiredly, Jensen happily collapsed beside Erissa and curled his body around hers. She was warm and welcoming, murmuring softly to greet him in the deepness of her sleep.

What more could a man ask after his duty was done each day but for a woman, gentle and kind, to welcome him into her arms, wherever home might be that night? Erissa was that, and more, and Jensen an unacknowledged lord in her eyes, his holdings with Sei, Lord of the Ixian Knights, but a mummer's farce of what he truly was.

She dreamed deeply that night, of golden wreaths, of ruin and chaos, and of true love.

Before dawn had quickened her world-awakening hues, Geoffry firmly planted his booted toe between Jensen' shoulder-blades.

“Time to go,” he said impatiently, as if the very sun that was making good on its threat to rise had kept him waiting too long. Jensen grunted his acquiescence before he squeezed Erissa, who slept peacefully on his pinned right arm, which had fallen asleep. “The Cauldron awaits.” Geoffry's ominous words awakened the elf at once, and she snapped upward to face him. She rubbed sleep-laden eyes as they broke what meager camp they had made for themselves.

The Cauldron.

There it was, the collection of trees and wards that made grown men piss themselves, roiling with a witch’s brew of pre-dawn mist. Erissa raised an eyebrow, scoffing at it. What were trees to her, or bugs, bones, or wards?

Nothing.

She had come through much worse, the elf assured herself. This was but a trifle, a knee-high hurdle on the road to Oblivion. As the trio passed north to the far end of the valley unscathed, enduring but a few skirmishes with overgrown beetles, Erissa giggled. She laughed as her dagger was plunged deep into the eye of one of them, a miserable creature begging for death and release. The next was no better, during the jaunt east around the rim of the Cauldron, a horse-sized monstrosity that could not see unless it was perfectly still. As Jensen leaped from behind onto its olive green carapace, she stood before it boldly as a mouse with cheese before a lame cat, and inserted the tiny, unnamed elvish knife between the armored plates of its mandibles, into tender flesh that oozed green as she ripped it out again. Its rainbow-sheened wings beat feebly it tried, and failed, to flee by air.

There had been a few close calls, Erissa admitted, thinking back to the giant horned beetle that had her pinned between its dual lances, but, as she expected, the immortal’s dagger sank deeply among the beast's myriad eyes, and with a prodigious quaking, it died. The elf had sprung lightly over the barbed skewer, which was buried in a tree trunk and glinting as though it were oiled. She flitted on to the next foe, unconcerned by the carcasses and piles of bones scattered about, Jensen ever in her wake.

The immortal was a terrible sight to behold, his battle-lusting giggles carrying through the valley. The man was hardly recognizable, splattered with the filth of the beasts he slew. Erissa regarded him with every ounce of respect he deserved as he finished off a formidable tiger beetle the size of a small house.

It was thirsty work, she mused, as she pulled the cork from her waterskin, wishing it were wine, so she could call a toast in her warrior's honor. Water would have to suffice, she thought, and in fact, the elf could not recall a time when she was so utterly thirsty. For some reason, Erissa hesitated before taking a drink, something tickling the edges of her memory. Geoffry, heaving from his exhaustion, saw her shrug and draw the drink to her mouth, and he backhanded the waterskin from her grasp.

“By the Thaynes, I am as parched as a desert!” she cried, reaching for the leather pouch that lay leaking on the ground near the bones of a large bird. “Let me drink!”

“No!” Geoffry growled, grabbing the skin from her.

“What is wrong with you?” she seethed. “Can a lady not get a drink in this accursed place?”

“No, in fact,” he said, snatching the cork from her and slamming it into the neck, “you may not.”

“And you are my keeper now?” the elf asked incredulously.

“It would seem I am needed as such,” he said sullenly. “Jensen!”

The immortal wiped his blades against the hairy forelimb of another dying bug as he looked questioningly at Geoffry. His voice echoed through the valley, bouncing from the rocky outcroppings where the forest met the mountain immediately behind them.

“What?”

“See to your elf! She seems to think she is as unbreakable as you!” he called.

There was a throaty growl that emanated from the immortal as the husk of the enlarged Tiger beetle slipped down the cliff off the edge into the abyss. He turned, drenched in the ichor of the fallen Bonechewers, and he eyed Erissa with a look that made her eyes widen in silent apprehension. He approached her, body sluggishly and painfully walking forwards as he gripped one of her hands in his, and held the appendage tightly. Her warmth felt gentle to the immortal, and he was pleased to be so near the woman, but Geoffry would not have spoken so callously unless there was good warrant.

"No. Water," Jensen said in a deadpan voice, the heralding of calamity and doom in his tone. He kept his eyes locked to the fair elf's, making sure there was no way to argue the point.

"I understand," Erissa whispered, her voice tiny as shame painted her beautiful face with red blush marks. Jensen was satisfied with her self admonishment and leaned forwards with the gentlest of kisses against her forehead. As if a spell was cast her smile returned, face beaming as she bravely trode onwards, and Geoffry let out a wet leopard like growl of his own to Jensen.

"She thinks she is one of us," he sneered. "At first it was endearing, cute at best. But now? Now it is an affront to all those who have died on this journey before us! I will not suffer her ignorance much longer," Geoffry's tone was filled with intent, and though he also fought against the Bonechewers, he was not covered head to toe in the vitale of the enemy creatures. This gave Jensen a measure of confidence as he spoke his next words.

"You will suffer it as long as necessary. She is the key to this whole plan, and I will see her safe. She has endured hardships much like this, and has come out stronger for it. I'd expect no less from this situation."

"Her hardiness is born from the deeds of our courage! She would see herself put into danger, immortal, danger you will not always be ready for because her false bravado will think she can handle it." The words Geoffry spoke struck a dangerous chord inside Jensen as he looked back to her, watching her every move. He had taken in a deep breath, holding it for several seconds before releasing it in a controlled manner. The two Knights looked to one another and Geoffry bowed his head in slight apology. "My words were harsh," he muttered.

"Though not necessarily wrong. She is diving head first into danger, but that is not her fault, Geoffry. That fault lies with me. I promised her safety, a knight's oath to protect her. She is bolstered by that knowledge."

"I see," Geoffry said. "Her love for you will get her killed, Jensen. You know that as well as I. She is riding the emotional high of your current affair. Perhaps," Geoffry said, stroking his chin, but shook his head after a few moments.

The remainder of the journey was met with few problems. Aside from a few crumbling steps, the trio had made it to the small inward pocket of the cave that led out to the base of the mountain pass that the Knight's stronghold was part of. Jensen was the first out, and he had to shield his eyes from the setting sun to see the majesty of the enormous estate, followed by Erissa whose mouth dropped into a wide, shocked look. Geoffry stepped in next, straightening himself to a more proper height as the three looked to the final, strongest Bastion of the End Times. There was a momentary silence before a shriek filled the air similar in nature to a drake. Erissa ducked instantly, causing the immortal and the knight to laugh.

"Why do you mock me? And why do you not run for cover? Is this another ward?" Erissa shouted to them with utter confusion, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. Jensen shook his head, still giggling as Geoffry spoke up.

"No more wards, Erissa," he said gently. "But there is a dragon in this area. Well...dragons," he mumbled off hand. Erissa lifted herself up slowly.

"How many?" she asked cautiously. "Two, three?" Jensen shrugged.

"The eastern wing of the castle is home to sixteen hundred dragons," Jensen said matter of factly. Erissa's eyes widened again.

"S-s-sixteen...Hundred? As in over a thousand?" Jensen nodded to her disbelief. "How, pray tell, are there so many of these beasts?"

"About, oh...twenty seven or so years ago, maybe longer," Geoffry muttered as an aside. "There was an order that opposed ours. The Order of Saint Bartholomew. This order had struck an accord with a titanic beast, the Sky Dragon, and promised it a nesting home in exchange for destruction of the Knights of Apocalypse. As you can tell, a massive army cannot simply march up to the Castle hold. It must first pass through the multitude of tunnels. So the order had ridden the dragons."

"It was the bloodiest battle this Castle had ever seen. The might of the knights were clearly outclassed and out numbered, but we fought with the grim determination to settle things once and for all. It was at that moment, Xavier Sigma, the Avatar Slayer," Jensen said, a measure of pride in his voice as they began to cross the mile long stone bridge. "Had arrived and used a relic of lost times. An orb that could actually control the dragons. He fought a battle of wills with the colossal Sky Dragon, and won, putting the beast to sleep. The other dragons he corralled and the rest was history. Though a heavy hand of fate intervened, the strongest opposer to the Apocalypse was defeated."

"But it was not an any history books I read. How is it..."

"Nobody know this ever took place?" Jensen mused, finishing her question. Erissa nodded frantically.

"Because not until about five years ago was this island inhabited by anyone other than the Knights. We were everywhere. Town guards, governors, shopkeepers, bar keepers. Not a proud moment, but a necessary moment. They killed many people for the price of silence." Geoffry shrugged, as if this was fact and not that strange an option. Erissa looked to them, and nodded sadly.

"I suppose I have much to learn of this place," she said. Jensen once again shrugged his shoulders, the blood of the Bonechewers flaking off his face as it dried.

"We'll rest tonight, no point rushing into the Chamber of Fate. We're gonna have to spend the night anyway, if Erissa is to be at her best.” Geoffry turned to the elf. “Perhaps I can show you around. The library is stuffy and full of books. You'd have an orgasm in there." The elf blushed as Geoffry let out a chuckle. Jensen was silent but the slight smile and glazed look in his eye suggested he was enjoying the mental image.

"I don't think the idea is all that bad," Erissa acknowledged. "At least... to rest that is." Geoffry yawned loudly his assent on the matter as the trio headed forwards. Jensen kept an eye on the surrounding area as they walked, watching the tall, twin doors that reached for the heavens ajar as if left open after years of neglect. The splendor of the castle at range was majestic and noble, but as they grew closer, Erissa's eyes began to scan the terrain, and learn something that made Jensen and Geoffry tense up just to remember.

"Oh my, by the Thaynes," Erissa whispered covering her mouth as they were within distance of the doors. Geoffry lowered his gaze in solemn respect as Jensen cursed loudly to witness what they saw. No less than seven or more bodies were splayed on the ground, dead and rotting from many years of neglectful ignorance. Their armor was rusted over, weapons notched and pitted from the weathering of time. Skeletal faces looked upwards, eyeballs missing or hidden by the corpse pale flesh of the eyelid. Some looked like they died a warrior's death, head on with weapon in hand. Others looked like they were struck down from behind, backs split open as the ground was stained crimson.

"The End Bringer," Jensen whispered as they entered into the Bastion. The main courtyard was once a large, glorious expanse of green grass, a large fountain in the center with a prominent display of the first Lord of the End Times. Now the grass was all but gone, patches of green weeds in place of the healthy blades. The statue was toppled, severed into seven on the ground, the fountain emptied and crushed. Patches of black soot from explosive magic and traps scorched the earth, and the dead lay in droves. From heavily armoured Senior Knights to barely clad Squires, none were spared. One of the walkways that was once lined by shrubbery made in the likeness of animals had overgrown into giant plants that engulfed most of the walkway, the dead looked to have been in the process of being eaten by the overgrowth.

"This is a massacre," Geoffry said in awe. "One man...one man could do this damage? Could bring about such force of destruction?" Geoffry looked appalled. "All of our training, all of our skills...did it truly mean nothing in the face of the End Bringer?"

"It would seem so," Jensen grimly replied. The three remained silent as they walked, Erissa staying extra close to the immortal for fear the dead may rise up and grab her. Jensen held her tightly as they passed through.

"There are nearly seventy bodies here alone...over seven hundred knights were stationed here, of which nearly five hundred were Senior Knights. The End Bringer must be a god of war!" Geoffry shook his head looking to his companions. "He is the embodiment of the End Times; the Apocalypse. He bares the aspects of all four horsemen. Truly he was capable of this," he quickly said, bringing stoicism to the front as he grabbed control of all their wandering imaginations. "Regardless," he said sternly. "We have a mission to do. Let us rest, and then move out to our destiny!" Jensen and Erissa nodded as one.

The immortal did his best not to think of the deaths around him, and didn't dwell on the thoughts of what he could have done if he could have opposed the End Bringer.

Two long-dead guards sat back to back near the broken doors, heads lolled to the side as one stared eyelessly at the late afternoon sun. Geoffry grumbled unintelligibly as he took a pair of cold, soot-stained sconces from the ground nearby, stuffing one into his waistband and tossing the other to Jensen. The immortal nimbly caught it and twirled the torch like a baton as he regarded the black beyond the gaping entrance to the castle.

Erissa smacked her lips softly, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. Without water since the morning, she was beginning to wilt. The elf sighed, walking to Jensen and and laying her head against his shoulder. Her stomach growled fiercely and the man laughed at her.

“Go on,” Jensen said to Erissa. “It’s okay to take a drink now. We’ll eat when we get settled inside.” She nodded, but as the elf looked for her waterskin, it was nowhere to be found. Jensen rolled his eyes and handed his own to her after taking a draught for himself.

“Time to move,” Geoffry said. “The shafts in the upper levels should let enough light in that we won’t need the torches, so let’s make use of it.” He turned on his heel, and Erissa shuddered as the castle swallowed him. She followed closely behind, with Jensen determinedly following, ever watchful.

The Bastion was a tomb, a stone mausoleum in the belly of a mountain. Preserved within was the unexpected fulfillment of a prophecy, the tatters of flesh parchment upon which the horror was written. In one corner of cold stone, Erissa saw what could only have been a unarmed, unarmored servant slumped in a circle of long-dried black, still clutching the decaying handle of a broom.

The high elf wondered if there were any children in the keep, but any of the answers she expected filled her with dread and kept her lips pinned tightly together on the subject.

“So many bodies,” Erissa said sadly, breaking the tension-filled silence.

“No one left to clean up,” Jensen said dryly as he knelt down to wrench a masterwork sword from the bony grasp of a guard in gilded armor. “Looks like the bandits never made it in,” he remarked to Geoffry. The immortal seemed to loath touching the weapon; he tossed the sword aside, the metallic clang ringing a toll for all the dead who lay rotting.

“No one has,” Geoffry agreed, glancing around the entrance hall, across the carved long table still graced with silver candelabras. Stairs on either side of the table led to a tall dais behind it, and doorways like black teeth lined the raised floor. Three great standards hung from the ceiling, against the wall, white, red, and black. A fourth had fallen, pale green and pooling on the dais with its end cascading down over the table. According the the ominous and distinct artwork of the other three, Erissa could only surmise it was the ensign of Famine.

“We need to find a good place to make camp,” Jensen remarked.

“The barracks,” Geoffry said. “Beds and all, though you might not want to share your sheets with the dead.” The three took to the stairs, and the black and crimson clad Knight shoved the bodies aside with his boot. The whispering and grating was unnerving, but the clattering as they crashed across the table and floor below was downright chilling. The sound of the battle that must have raged there echoed in Erissa’s mind, the screams of the dead and dying never reaching the ears of any who could, or would, help.

Geoffry navigated the hallways with ease, his memory of the place as fresh as if he had been there a day ago. Erissa trailed a hand along the smooth stone of the wall, her fingers tracing the grooves of the mortar and grasping into nothingness with every passageway. Ahead, Geoffry cut a hard left and, at the top of a flight of stairs, huddled over his torch. With a small amount of oil, he saturated part of it and ignited the end with the flame of a silver-encased wick lighter. As the yellow and orange flame flickered, Geoffry thrust the torch into its twin that Jensen held aloft, and in a matter of moments, the immortal’s blazed to life.

“If we’re lucky,” Jensen said, “there will be lamps and plenty of oil in the barracks.” As he and Erissa descended into the darker level of the Bastion, she tangled her arm with his, seeking his hand. The elf was quickly lost in the massive castle, the gloom negating her ability to pick out unique architecture by which she could navigate.

“This air stinks like a crypt,” she said sourly, wrinkling her nose, but as the elf breathed again, she caught a very familiar, and very comforting scent. “Parchment!” said excitedly, squeezing Jensen’s hand, breathing in the dry musk of ink and paper and age. “I smell books!”

“Indeed you do,” Geoffry laughed. “Come. I will show you the library. Somehow I doubt Jensen ever gave it a second glance, but I can answer just about any question you might have.” Jensen grinned and flipped his middle finger straight and tall, but on a second thought, nodded.

“I’ll go ahead and find a decent room,” the immortal said, his eyes resting on the elf. “One without any bodies.” Erissa gave him a sheepish smile and a peck on the cheek before rushing excitedly through the large, arched doorway where Geoffry awaited, torch in hand. The flickering light illuminated only a part of the massive store of knowledge, and the elf almost squealed when she estimated the age of several nearby tomes. Jensen chuckled as he paced away, his light more faint with every echoing footstep until he had disappeared completely.

“Is there anything to be found here concerning Oblivion?” Erissa asked as Geoffry lit several small lamps at a table.

“I searched extensively, years ago,” the man said heavily, “but didn’t find a whisper or shadow of him.”

“It figures,” Erisa replied as her eyes greedily scanned the spines of books, flitting from title to title upward, until her head was craned back and she could not see for sheer distance. The particular bookcase had to be at least thirty feet tall, complete with its own attached sliding ladder system. The arcanist excitedly hoisted herself up the rungs, to a section titled ‘Magic of the Mind.’ She bit her lip, her fingers twitching as she considered pulling it down. “I wonder if anyone would mind if I...”

“Who’s left to care?” Geoffry laughed. “I don’t think the librarian will have any objections!” he called to her, gesturing at the well-dressed remains of a woman at a desk, slumped over a cart filled with books.

“Geoffry!” Erissa chastised, but she quickly grabbed the thick and scholarly tome on psionics. Eager to read it, she leaped from the ladder and gently floated down to the floor. The wooden chair whined as she pulled it from beneath the heavy table and, drawing the flickering lamp near, unlatched the brass clasp and poured herself into the words. Geoffry sauntered to the elf.

“Well, that’s some heavy reading,” he said. “Are you sure now is the best time to start a book like that?”

“Mmmhmm,” the elf said distractedly, flashing him a quick, tight smile. Erissa thumbed through the pages, stopping when a certain chapter caught her eye.

Shielding the Mind

“Jensen is a good guy, Erissa,” Geoffry said, staring off into the dark recesses of the lofty room. Annoyed, her eyes flashed to him.

“But?” she asked sharply, divining from his tone that he harbored uncertainties. He chuckled as he ran a hand along the stubble on his chin.

“But...” the Knight echoed, choosing his words wisely, “he’s been through more than any man should. I don’t know much about his past, but behind the jackass jester, there’s a lot of pain and sorrow.” Erissa sighed, turning her attention fully to the man who sat casually on the table across from her, studying his back intently.

“Yes,” Erissa said, “I am aware.”

“And you, young elf, you’re a ray of sunshine and hope. I would hate to see that destroyed.”

“What are you suggesting, Geoffry?” Erissa asked, eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly. The man shook his head slowly. “Enough with the nuances. Say it plainly.”

“I am only suggesting that misery loves company. I fear what the years will bring for the two of you, and what if, please forgive me this, but what if you were to die? What would that do to him?” His words hung electric in the air, demanding an answer, yet Erissa struggled to retort. “You rely on him completely, put him to an impossible task as you traipse about, thrusting yourself into every danger you can find.”

“I do not!” Erissa said, her anger beginning to rise. Geoffry stood and turned to her, hands before him in a deflecting manner.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this - guess I’m getting soft - but I care about the two of you. I don’t want to see either of you hurt.” Geoffry sighed. “Come on... there are far too many books in this library to spend all your time on one. I’ll show you around.” The elf sighed and closed her book. He led her through the expanse of the library, playing the role of librarian very well.

Jensen had little trouble moving along the inner sanctum to the Bastion, his time within the Labyrinth of Pestilence giving him a unique insight into the castle structure. While mostly different, aesthetically the layout didn’t change much from the norm. It was a simple matter of finding a room, and he was pleased to find an acceptable one after the fourth door he opened. It had two beds, one a larger size that he could use to sleep with Erissa. At this point in their journey Jensen felt little need for a lookout, as now they could lock the door behind them when they slept.

The posts upon the bed were riddled with dust along the long, liviol wood. He moved the drapes on the banister of the master bed aside, and slammed his clenched fist upon the mattress. A soft layer of resting debris lifted upwards like tiny particles, causing the immortal to sneeze as he fanned the air around him. With a nod, he went to the window and found the lock, sliding it open and pushing the windows outwards with a rusty sigh. Clapping his hands together and rubbing them, he looked to the bed. With all the force he could concentrate on he pushed a gale of wind through the room, the drapes and window shades bustling and clattering against their bonds as the dust moved up and out by Jensen’s flowing hands.

When he was finished he looked to the less dusty room and found it to be a Senior Knights mate quarters. It was a room for a husband and wife and one child. He looked to find a small black ledger upon a crooked oak desk, and with a flip he began to read about the man’s concerns for his family in regards to the End Bringer. The brutality of the man was apparently enough to cause the writer great concern that he contemplated fleeing the castle. Yet the final entry was his firm, stubborn resolve to stay in the fight and protect what he loved.

Now, that man was probably dead.

Jensen tossed the ledger back on the desk and headed out of the room, shutting the door behind him and marking a big X mark in the dust that rested upon the door so he wouldn’t forget it. When he turned he felt a shift in the air, and heard the pitter-patter of boots drifting away at a rapid pace. He craned his neck just to hear it and when he located the sound he pulled out his poisoned knife from the Red Forest and chased after it in a silent trot.

The red carpeted floor was stained brown like dried blood, and crunchy in places. The noise was faint by the time he turned the corner. Jensen moved down the walkway, looking to the bodies of the dead that lined the halls on either side like they were chopped down in quick, efficient strokes. Most likely the End Bringer had killed so many of their comrades the warriors had lost their heart for the fight. Jensen wasn’t sure the outcome, but the way the dead’s eyes seemed to trail him made him much more uncomfortable.

He continued down the walkway, hitting a set of wide spiral steps. He stayed close to the narrow end, skipping down two steps at a time out into an opening. He heard the rustle of dead leaves being touched and narrowed his sights on the far end, where a bush bobbled up and down. In a dead sprint, Jensen crossed the gap in no time, rounding the corner, and he jumped backwards in surprise.

A skeleton stood before him with mouth open in a silent shriek, revealing rotted teeth. Its broadsword was raised above its head, the weapon caught in the wood. The wind rustled the dead’s clothing and Jensen found two small owls moving around in the dead man’s leg area, a tiny nest at his feet. When the owls spotted him they hooted loudly, flapping in his face as they retreated into the sky. Jensen rubbed his chin and turned his back to look to the fleeing fowl. He felt an unearthly wind pass by him, but his thoughts wandered too much in the games his mind was playing to notice deeply.

He did notice the sudden sharp pain of a rusted blade striking his shoulders, gouging his jacket, cutting his flesh in ragged lines from the rusting weapon. The skeleton had lurched forwards, as if pushing him in a tripping maneuver. The immortal rolled, turned with knife in hand and let the weapon fly from his fingertips, hitting the skull in the right eye socket, knocking the head off. The skeleton crumbled forwards, as if falling slowly through time as the bones clattered on the ground. Jensen felt the wind in his lungs shift in a gasp as he studied the dead body further.

He shook his head again slowly, bending down to retrieve his knife. As he picked it up he muttered how the skeleton ‘must have fallen’ on him when the owls fled, their mad ascent to be free of Jensen’s intrusions knocking it loose. The immortal pocketed his weapon, and looked around the courtyard. He sighed as he ran back towards his group of comrades.

In little time he reached the library, and found Erissa and Geoffry looking over a pile of books. The elf lifted her head, eyes wide as a child who found a candy store. Jensen let out a snort of amusement. Geoffry offered him a simple nod in greeting which Jensen ignored as he walked to them.

“Oh, Jensen, there is a treasure trove of knowledge here! Books about events historians only speculated, written by those who were actually there!”

“Kinda turned on, ain’t ya kitten?” Jensen teased flicking her ears again as she purred to him, lifting herself up and wrapping her arms around his neck. A quick kiss passed their lips as Jensen slid his grip to her waist, looking to Geoffry. “Found a nice place, marked the thick dust with an X. That’ll be home base for the evening.” Geoffry and Erissa both nodded to the plan, but soon the knight lifted a hand in deference.

“If it’s all the same to you, I doubt I’d get much sleep being in the same room with you two groping each other all night. I’ll give ya a peace of mind for the evening and cart blanche to get your feelings out of your systems.” Geoffry laughed as he lifted a couple of books. Erissa looked to Jensen, smiling before she snapped her fingers and turned to the desk.

“Oh, good grief! I lost the one book I was really interested in!” Erissa said looking around for the tome she had read earlier. Jensen looked to see Geoffry tuck one of his books away, but when he saw the immortal, he shrugged and lifted it out with no resistance. “Oh, thank you Geoffry!” Erissa squeaked.

“It’s no problem,” the knight replied sincerely. “It’s just a book that I think would help us on our hunt against Oblivion, and I got a little carried away to learn all about it. But I do have this to keep me busy!” He patted a book on heroes in a different era and Erissa smiled as she placed the book into her satchel. Jensen shrugged as he headed with the elf out the door towards the hallway.

“Meet back here around dawn?” Jensen suggested to his fellow knight. With a nod Geoffry passed him and headed towards the barracks’ lower level. Jensen waved him off and turned to Erissa, his fingers linking with hers as he smiled to her. “So...we’re all alone....”

Out of Character:

Some graphic descriptions. You’ve been warned. ^^ Skip to the dashes below if you prefer to avoid tastefully done sexy-time.

“So it would seem,” she replied with a coy grin, and let him lead her hurriedly from the library to the room he had prepared for them. He swung open the door for her, and the maiden padded inside the room. Jensen lagged behind to scuff away the ‘X’ and secure the door, giving it a good shake to test the lock and the hinges. Erissa shrugged out of her jacket, watching him from of the corner of her eye to see if he was watching her as well, and of course, he was. She giggled shyly as she tossed the leather at him, which he slapped aside, looking somewhat like a wolf stalking a lamb as he paced toward her.

Indeed, Jensen was stalking her.

His own jacket dropped to the floor, a crumpled pile cast aside and forgotten. The immortal kicked his boots off, and with a mischievous grin, slipped his shirt over his head and tossed it on the arm of a sturdy, wooden chair. Jensen stripped off his pants, with naught but his shorts left on.

“Your turn,” he said, laughing as the elf gaped and oogled him, all in the same look. Erissa fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, her blue-green eyes wide and heart racing. Jensen closed the gap between them. His practiced hands caressed her, resting finally at the small of her back. He kissed her neck, sending thrills through her body. The immortal pulled away, staring deeply into Erissa’s eyes as he lifted her shirt, and she raised her arms willingly as he removed it.

Jensen bent forward and kissed the creamy, silken skin just below the high elf’s neck, down to the swell of her ample breasts. He felt her breath catch in pleasure and apprehension, and her hands went to the back of his head, keeping him close. Erissa felt his face tighten in a wide smile, but she had neither the time nor the presence of mind to anticipate what he was about to do.

With a quick snap of his fingers, she felt the snugness of her brassiere immediately released. Before she could even think about bringing her hands up to hold it in place, Jensen had slipped the dainty straps down her smooth shoulders. The immortal’s gut clenched and he sighed as Erissa was revealed before him, blushing and beautiful.

“I love that shade of pink on you,” Jensen said, chuckling, and his rough fingers traced diminishing circles around her breast until they brushed against her pert nipple. Erissa flushed and trembled with tingling sensations, never having known the touch of a lover. A moan escaped her lips as she cast her head back and closed her eyes. Her back arched as he bent downward and took her breast in his mouth, his tongue flicking and teeth gently tugging at the rosy flesh. The elf’s lithe body shivered as Jensen gave the other equally as much attention, and then kissed his way down to the button of her leather pants, coming to rest on his knees before her.

“Please,” Erissa said huskily, unsure if she were begging him to stop or to continue. Jensen looked at her questioningly, and she bit her bottom lip as her hands went to the button, unfastening it. She gingerly slid the pants down her hips and to the floor. Jensen agilely stood and took Erissa by the hand; he led her to the bed. The immortal yanked back the blankets hastily, and she slipped between the sheets, her eyes timidly inviting him to join her. Jensen tossed himself down beside the elf, resting on his side, propping his head up with his hand; Erissa lay likewise, facing him.

“Touch me like that again, Jensen,” she said quietly, her eyes shining as they focused on the man before her. She could not remember exactly what had frightened her so badly before finding the library, but Erissa convinced herself it must have been the story of End Bringer that Jensen had told. The thought was washed away as the immortal drew closer, his eyes smoldering.

“Liked that, did ya, kitten?” He put pressure against her shoulder, urging her to lay on her back, and she quickly obliged. Jensen braced his top half over her, his black, red-tipped hair hanging along the line of his jaw and framing his dark, intense eyes.

“Well,” Erissa said bashfully, staring up at him and filled with wonder, “it is different than I thought, and better. Books do not exactly-” As he interrupted her with his kiss, he fondled her body more urgently, along her hips and thighs, and back up to her bare breasts.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen such a perfect pair of tits,” he mumbled before filling his mouth with them again.

“Such a sweet-talker,” Erissa murmured absently. The warm ache between her legs intensified, and she shuddered as Jensen’s fingers tickled her fluttering stomach, searching their way down past her navel. There was but a thin layer of cotton between him and her ache, and Jensen growled like a man stricken as his fingers brushed against her warmth. His vision briefly faded to white when he felt the raw, wet longing Erissa harbored for him, and an adrenaline-fed giggle bubbled up from his chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and her nails dug into his flesh at the sensation of his experienced fingers, her gasping moans further inciting the immortal’s desire.

Erissa Caedron could not, would not, say no to him.

“I love you,” Jensen whispered, nuzzling against her neck.

“I love you, too,” she said breathily. Jensen reluctantly stopped before sighing heavily. “What?” Erissa softly demanded.

“It’s just that you’re.....”

“Pristine?” Erissa asked.

“Yeah, prissy. And a virgin,” he said moodily.

“It would seem to me that you have just the tool to solve at least one of those little problems, Mr. Ambrose,” she challenged. Her grin faded as she watched Jensen’s face, each breath preparing a reply, lips struggling to form words that would never pass them. “Well?” Erissa finally asked.

“Well,” Jensen said slowly, knowing within his core that something was off about the situation, “now isn’t the right time. This isn’t the right place. It’s the fucking Bastion of the Apocalypse, and this is a dead man’s bed.” He regretted the statement immediately, expecting Erissa to recoil. Instead, she smiled wistfully.

“I would give myself to you because I love you, and you will not have me because you love me,” the elf said with a bittersweet laugh. She kissed his cheek, his stubble tickling her lips and nose. “Very well, Jensen. That can wait. But please, I need release,” she whispered in his ear, “and so do you.” Erissa bit down roughly on his neck, her breath sending chills down his spine, and she gripped his manhood. “For the sake of the mission, of course,” she added lightly.

A mischievous grin quickly found its way to Jensen’s face after he had recovered from the shock of her forwardness.

“If you insist,” he rumbled, and set to ravishing her.

A few rooms over, Geoffry shook his head as he set aside a heavy tome.

“For a castle, this place has thin walls,” he grumbled. No secrets in the Bastion, he thought.

- - - - - -

One waggly-eyebrowed look from Geoffry was all it took for Erissa to know the privacy she thought they had enjoyed had been an illusion. He was surrounded by a growing wall of books, stacked neatly on the table before him, his eager face barely visible in the lamplight. The Knight rose from the table to greet them.

“You’re looking rather relaxed, Jensen,” he said, jutting an elbow into the immortal’s side. Jensen shrugged, scratching the back of his head as he chuckled, yet the incredibly embarrassed look on Erissa’s face elicited more guffaws from both Jensen and Geoffry.

“Men,” the elf said curtly, the wounding of her pride lessening as she gazed again at the wonders of the library. She clutched the book on psionics tightly against her chest. “I could spend a lifetime in here,” the arcanist mused.

“But you can’t, my dear,” Geoffry said, patting her on the shoulder. “It’s time, finally. Jensen will go and scout the way to the Chamber of Fate, and we’ll follow behind him.” The man’s excitement was palpable.

“Why don’t you scout,” Jensen smirked, crossing his arms.

“Because,” Geoffry replied sharply, “you do your job better when you’re not staring at her. And I’m so close after so many years that I’ll be damned if I’m going to get ambushed and killed by grave robber trash.” Jensen pouted for a moment but threw his hands in the air.

“Fine. Ten minutes, then follow!” the immortal whined. “It’s always the same story,” he grumbled as he swatted Erissa’s posterior. “Send Jensen; it doesn’t matter if he dies. Well, no one ever asks me if I mind.” The elf coughed into her hand, covering a riotous smile as the immortal strode away, his complaints still echoing through the library when he was out of sight. He threaded his way through the last of the bookshelves and into a long, stone hallway with a series of stairs descending into the belly of the Bastion.

Erissa laughed again, shaking her head. Geoffry eyed her closely.

“We did not-” she began, at once aware of his attention.

“I don’t care!” Geoffry cut in, his eyebrows high on his forehead. “Really, it’s not my business.”

“Of course not,” the elf stuttered, the uncomfortable weight of the silence that followed almost unbearable.

“Did you have a chance to read any of that book?” Geoffry finally asked as he leaned back on the table, gazing out across the shadows that plagued the vaulted ceilings.

“Just a few pages, honestly,” Erissa replied. “Perhaps I should have left it with you after all. I have it here in my--” her face paled as she realized she carried the book in her arms, and had no idea where her satchel was. She did not recall seeing Jensen with his backpack, either.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” Geoffry laughed, “the two of you left in quite a rush last night, I imagine. I came back here for another book, and both of your bags were laying by the table.” The warrior shifted and nudged two packs resting on a chair near him. “I’d have taken them to your room, but you two were... indisposed. So I held on to them.”

“Oh, Geoffry,” Erissa cried, “thank you!” Her memory of why the packs were so important was hazy, but she knew they were. “As for the book,” she said softly. “I only made it a few pages in before I fell asleep, not that I could concentrate very well with Jensen’s snoring. However, I think I learned a thing or two,” she said slowly, nodding.

“What did you learn?” he asked, his gaze intense.

“Shielding,” Erissa said with a heavy sigh, “from basic assaults only. For example, if you had my ability to read memories, I could make it very difficult for you by concentrating on other powerful memories combined with a very basic mental ward. I suppose it is more like redirecting the course of a river than damming it.” Geoffry nodded thoughtfully as Erissa thumbed through a few more pages. Suddenly, her head snapped up as she heard something no human ear could have caught. “What was that?” the high elf said softly.

The immortal moved between the halls of the establishment with little in the way of bandits, thieves, or even a stray mouse. The halls of the Bastion were emptied save the dead, and Jensen felt a yawn come over him. In lieu of better things, he reflected on the elf and her willingness to try new things. He had to admit she had surprised him as of late, but then again, he was racially blind to her beauty and charm. How, how could he have been so blind?

Nothing in his life ever made him feel so good. Nothing at all. Erissa was like the rock in the storm he could cling to, and her grip was unbreakable. She was a tether of joy that made him sane again from his immortal life. She took his hand; she carried him forwards. The woman was nothing but pure bliss.

He grinned stupidly at the memories of their behavior in the moonlit hours before a knife splitting headache stripped into his mind and cut him deeply. Unlike any time before this time Jensen felt the memory force its way. The power of this memory was breaking through a dam, and he couldn’t focus at all as he woozily dropped to one knee. Flashes of red painfully teased the corners of his eyes as he let out a silent scream, the jacket he wore burning on his back. He clung to the memory, intently gripping fiercely on the vision he was seeing; trying to understand something of the memory fighting to break away from his conscious thought.

Jensen…there’s been an attack… Jensen stumbled forwards as he heard Sei’s voice in his mind, but it had that ancient twinge of the past to it, almost smoky in the manner it flitted into and out of existence. Jensen felt his right eye twitch as blood pooled down his nostrils, lifting a shaky hand up to wipe the crimson away as the memory continued to push deeper. He fought to hold onto it, knowing it was something too important to lose.

We tried Jensen…Dammit I tried, but we were too late…” Zerith’s voice, usually stoic and calm to the immortal, was upset and in grieving. But why? Why was his comrade grieving? Jensen fought to chase the memory, determined not to lose it in his mind as the headache burned so badly he felt a case of vertigo overcome him. Just as he felt the memory in his grips, ready to review the full memory, something emerged around the corner of the hallway he occupied. He tried his best to ignore for the moment, but it was bright and bothered his concentration, and more importantly, it was the oddest thing in the world he had seen inside the castle.

Jensen had seen so much in his life that to say something fazed him was a huge accomplishment. So, when he saw a golden ball of light, mischievous malevolence emanating from it and taunting him onwards, he stood confused, but complied to see it through with his usual gusto and lack of grace. He whooped as he charged after it, eyes lit with madness at the cruelty of life and the pointlessness of battle from the perspective of one who could not die. He never once thought to stop and wait for Geoffry or Erissa. He just chased after the orb that taunted him, heedless of danger that was coming for him as he followed it out into a training courtyard under the morning sun. It zipped back and forth over the terrain, as if searching for something, before it spun in the air upwards.

Then the orb flashed over the open courtyard that Jensen followed it to, an ancient magic that Jensen knew well; the necromantic orb within his own body pulsed with the same energy over his body. His eyes and laughter hit a fevered pitch as he began to giggle uncontrollably, the sensation tingling. The immortal watched undead skeletons of the past rise up, lifting weapons in skeletal digits and mouths opening in a mocking manner to the immortal. They stumbled forwards as a horde, and Jensen felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to rise. He leapt forwards into battle with his weapons, hands whipping against the air and wrapping upon the craniums of the undead Knights of Apocalypse. Their shambling mentality was a feeble joke compared to Jensen’s speed and agility, and with ease he dodged their clumsy strikes, moving in a pattern that kept him always at arm’s length from the foe.

Then, his mouth dropped in a stupor. Jensen’s eyes filled with tears and he crashed to his knees, the pain racking his body so intense that, for once in his life, he couldn’t laugh. The eldritch energy of the Breath of the Undying within him pulsed continuously over and over his body, but instead of regenerating him of wounds that would have seen him felled, it was flaying his flesh one layer at a time. The immortal stumbled into a small fetal ball, crying out in agony as the orb furiously pulsed within him. The more it took away, the more it seemed to try and repair. It saw his living shell as a deadly disease, and Jensen was beside himself with white hot pain.

The shambling horde continued forwards, their soulless eyes and gaping mouths still open in mockery of the immortal.

“We should get moving,” Geoffry said as he grabbed the lantern he had been using, straining to hear what the elf had heard moments before. “I’ve had a bad feeling all morning.” Erissa closed her book and shoved it in her satchel; after hoisting it on her shoulders she took up Jensen’s backpack.

“I will take both,” she said. “You will be free to draw your sword, and I can still concentrate my energy as needed.” Geoffry gave a brisk nod and began walking swiftly in the direction Jensen had taken not five minutes prior, and Erissa jogged after him, trying to keep his pace through the bookshelves and down the first hall. “Geoffry, slower!” she whispered urgently, and with a frown, the man motioned for her silence as she leapt down the stairs and caught up to him.

Erissa’s heart dropped into her stomach when she heard the sounds of footsteps echoing through the bend leading to the second, long hallway. She opened her mouth to insist they go and help Jensen, but Geoffry slapped a hand against her mouth, shaking his head ominously. He leaned very close to her ear.

“He should have been on his way back and met us by now. We don’t know who that is,” he said, his words no more than a sigh only she could hear. Shielding the light of the lamp, he peeked around the corner, and, confirming it was clear, stepped in the next passage. Erissa followed silently.

The pair moved quickly through the Order’s halls, passing by several large oaken doors, eerily ajar and with the sightless eyes of skeletons marking the trespass of the living. Not a single room was left shut, not a single life unextinguished. Geoffry released a sigh of relief when he brought her to a set of double doors, a wrought iron mural of the seal of the Apocalypse and the four Horsemen adorning it. With a strong shove, Geoffry opened the way, the iron protesting in its age with a shrill screech. The sound echoed through the hallway, making the duo grimace.

Geoffry pointed deliberately to a doorway several yards ahead of them, ignoring all else in the hall, and he leaned close to her again. “The Chamber of Fate. He’ll catch up and find us there.” Several eternities passed in the guise of seconds, and they finally entered through the small, nondescript arch. He closed the door behind them and gestured to the room, lifting his lamp so the light would better show the scape of the room. The light was very poor, but it flickered and revealed the perfectly still surface of water in the center of the room. Four large statues of armored warriors surrounded it, contemplating the unbroken surface of water which they guarded.

The first, Erissa noted, shone with the hues of bronze, the chiseled body of it decorated with armor that looked more like a second skin, marking each emphasis of the mighty physique. The statue bore many weapons, from hammers to knives, and even a long broadsword like Geoffry carried.

The second statue was made of pure, flawless marble, and oddly enough, rotting flora and fauna accentuated the armor, though it seemed the vegetation had grown there by accident instead of being planted and forgotten. This warrior held a long, curved blade, reminiscent of a sickle, and the face mask upon the head of it leered with impurity.

The next figure was made of pure wrought iron, with a heavy cloak over the armor platings. A sickly hand gripped the wooden shaft of a scythe. Erissa could not see the eyes, but she knew without doubt they lay behind a cowl of darkness that was not brought upon by mortal hand.

The fourth statue was of a scrawny looking warrior, the steel armor plates rusted almost beyond recognition. Everything about the warrior’s weaponry and demeanor seemed withered, decayed, as if time were eroding the very willpower of the elements with which the figure had been created, and moreso than the other statues that ringed the pool that kept their silent vigils for ages. Erissa shuddered as she looked upon the figure, instinctively knowing the very presence of it as an anathema to life, a bane to everything for which she stood.

“What do I do?” Erissa asked Geoffry, tearing her gaze from the withered guardian and staring entranced at the faintly glowing pool before her. Her soft, timid voice echoed against the aged, gritty stone around her in the tall chamber.

“Just step into the water, and think of the name of the one you seek,” Geoffry replied, his eyes never leaving the elf. Erissa's gaze flashed to him briefly, the intensity in his eyes startling her. She shrugged away the dread that sought to wrap its cowardly fingers around her resolve, and stepped forward over the low, polished lip of the pool. To her surprise, there was none of the expected resistance that water would normally present; instead, whatever substance filled the basin milled around her ankles with weightless ease as she walked. Where it came in contact with Erissa's feet, the substance glowed brilliantly blue, though when her foot floated out of the water in her gait, no trace of it remained on her boot.

Hesitantly, she looked over her shoulder at Geoffry, who urged her on with great impatience. Erissa nodded as she closed her eyes, recalling the memory Troyas had shared with her. The images were crystal clear, the voices perfect as her teacher and a mysterious man exchanged words, and as the man spoke a name, he fell stricken as his every memory was ripped from him. Erissa repeated that name in her mind, and felt the water gain substance and weight as the waves lapped inward against her ankles. The elf opened her eyes slowly, expecting to see a ley line of energy as Jensen had explained, visible only to her, directing her toward her target. However, there was none, and she looked around in confusion.

“I must have done something wrong,” the arcanist said, hanging her head with disappointment. “Why did it not work, Geoffry?” Erissa turned to look at him and realized her mistake immediately; the line was behind her, not in front, and it led directly to the man who stood in the chamber with her.

“You,” she choked, backing slowly away and tripping over the lip of the pool behind her, at the feet of the withered statue. She scrambled to her feet again, her eyes never leaving the man. Every repressed and manipulated memory flooded back to Erissa with a crystalline clarity that stripped her of the will to move. Her knees became weak, barely supporting her when she blindingly considered all the implications.

“Yes, naïve little elf,” Oblivion purred. “Me.” Her eyes wide, Erissa stared at the Fifth of the Forgotten, the Man of Shadows and Eater of Memories, in the guise of a Knight of the Apocalypse and a trusted friend. “At a loss for words?” he asked, giddy with glee. “What,” he laughed maliciously, ”kitten got your tongue?” His shrill giggle was a rusty saw, cutting through her mind.

“I would call you a monster,” Erissa said, a tear slipping from her eye, “but that would be a compliment. What now?” the elf asked, straightening her back and facing Oblivion squarely.

“Oh, how noble,” Oblivion said as he chuckled. “I’ll be taking Jensen’s backpack now.”

The essence, Erissa thought in a rush of panic. The small, circular stone rested in the pack, containing the essence of the last ambrosia fruits, corrupted by Pode in the Red Forest. Jensen and Erissa had heard rumors of the Man of Shadows there, that he had been collecting the fruit, though to what end they had no clue. Jensen had destroyed the tree that bore the fruit and freed the spirit of a demi-goddess, who had then taken control of Erissa’s body and gathered the fruits’ essence for them, warning the Ixians of impending danger.

The very enemy about whom the shield-maiden spoke stood before the high elf, and Oblivion had played Jensen and her like two tightly strung lutes, his strategy flawless at every turn. He had Erissa, the essence, and Jensen was missing in action. The warrior in black and crimson smirked, knowing her thoughts. The one she knew as Geoffry strode forward through the pool, pausing briefly in the center. He approached her cautiously, and snatched Jensen’s pack from her trembling hands.

“You, Erissa Alanorah Tarsul-Caedron, have a choice to make,” he said heavily.

“And what is that?” the elf asked, her hope dwindling with every second that passed as Oblivion’s trap closed around her. He was a spider, had lured them into his web, and there was no escape.

“Will you defy me and meet your death, or will you say my name and live?” the Fifth asked. Erissa went pale, her lips quivering as she fought back her grief.

“Why?” Erissa asked weakly.

“Because, my dear,” Oblivion said, “you have talents that I find very useful. I will teach you the kind of power your master Troyas wouldn't dare. He called you a tree, didn't he? Talked about natural limits?” Oblivion let loose a cackle that bounced from wall to wall. “His natural limits are the walls of his library, until recently, that is. He’s taken the final vial into hiding, as I understand it.”

“And there it is,” Erissa said, her understanding creeping as slowly as early morning fog. “How foolish I have been.” Should she choose life and forgetfulness, Oblivion would use her, no doubt, to get to Troyas and the other vial of the Forgotten, the captured, corrupted rip in the fabric of the veil that served to separate the mortal realm from the reservoir of the Eternal Tap. That, in addition to the essence and his own vial, threatened the very existence of Althanas.

“Indeed,” Oblivion mocked. “Quite foolish.”

“Then the answer is simple,” the elf sighed, Jensen’s face flashing before her eyes. She wondered how much of what existed between them was real, and how much had been Oblivion’s doing. “I choose death.” For the immortal’s sake, she hoped he would not feel the same burning in his heart for her that she still felt for him, despite knowing the truth. She hoped he did not truly love her, so he would not mourn her as he did Stephanie. Stephanie. The remembrance of that name brought white-hot shame to the elf.

“I thought you might say that,” the man said, making a show to roll his eyes and sigh heavily. Erissa knew at once there was more to his game. “But I never said when you’d die. I have a few other matters to which I must first attend.”

This was it. Jensen could tell he was dearly close to the dreaded overkill limit his body couldn’t tolerate. He was going down for the count, and whatever this orb was that was reacting negatively to his Breath of the Undying would keep his body in a state of constant agony. The skeletons shambled forwards with weapons dragging along the ground, as if they knew there was nothing Jensen could do to stop them. The orb that animated them continued to spin, moving towards Jensen, making the necromantic power within him speed up and cause even more pain.

The immortal had never felt so useless in his life. He had never once felt the helplessness of not being able to fight back. Yet even as he tried to feebly, definitely laugh in the face of death he could only manage an excruciating moan of pain. The orb flew a little closer, floating towards him like an ominous portent. To be laid low by something he couldn’t even describe properly...Jensen felt his world shatter as his muscles locked into tightness. Jensen rolled to face it, at least determined to face death head on.

Yet the orb in the air suddenly stopped spinning, growing a sickly green as it dipped in the air like the wind beneath it was lost. Jensen felt a cold breeze over the air, an unnatural force that blew through the ribcages of the undead and wisped their life force away like a candle being blown out. They crumbled to the floor in heaps, weapons clattering as the orb began to hover away, slowly, as if something was pushing it away. Jensen couldn’t understand what had happened, but the orb managed to regain light as it zipped away.

Silence ruled the courtyard once more.

Jensen heaved and groaned, unable to move as tears dripped down his face. However he did notice his orb hadn’t stripped him of all his flesh. Yet with a bright green flash he let out another yelp of agony as the Breath of the Undying returned, repairing the flesh that was flayed. Hs muscles were shocked once, before the current of the regenerating energy soothed them like a soft, quick massage. Jensen felt his blood simmer down as he stretched for what felt like the first time in aeons. His body numb, he tried to stand, feeling the sensation of life returning to his limbs as he fought through the needle like shooting pain all through his body. By the time he reached his feet he was no longer inhibited, the orb within his chest still once more.

Jensen looked around, beginning to head out when his jacket tore upon something. He stopped and whipped around to see it had been caught on a fallen spear. He shrugged the jacket off, removing the spear from the new hole it had made. Lifting his jacket up, he looked to the stitching inside, about to apologize to the names etched in it when he froze in terror. His eyes looked to the lovingly, if not amatuer names embroidered in the lining, knowing them all full well, but it was the name that was carefully stitched and well tailored that shook the core of Jensen. Red hair flashed in his vision and suddenly with a rush of emotions Jensen let out an ear piercing screech of betrayal and rage when he remembered the name of his dead lover, Stephanie Odara.

The memories flooded him, starting first way back in Akashima, a crystal clear moment in time when he and the elf were in the room together. He had told her a story about Stephanie, but the memory, it was wrong and it was the first headache he felt. Chanelle, she was the one who guided him up the stairs, it was never Stephanie or Erissa!

A memory of when the sailors that assaulted them came to the fore, when they were attacked by Geoffry. They shouted in Akashiman, words Jensen recalled with clarity and made him cringe with hatred. Betrayer, traitor! They were hired by him, and he used their lives to get an in with the elf and the immortal.

Then on the boat, Geoffry had been insisting on Jensen pairing up with Erissa. It was then that the memories began to get hazy, that his migraines started in full. He insisted to focus on Erissa, and let go of the memories fighting to break through. Jensen let the man touch him like a brother! But that thought spawned several instances of when Geoffry had touched him, the contact of their brotherhood erasing memories, planting false ones. The encounter on the mountain edges! Jensen had forgotten all about it until now! What a fool he was...a fool to trust someone once again.

He screamed to the sky with hatred and loss, damning the Horsemen as he thought back to Geoffry, and the time upon the boat he mentioned to cling to something. It all made sense in a cruel, fatalistic way. Oblivion had pushed him away from his memories, supplanting them with new ones involving Erissa and erasing away the true lost love he had for Stephanie. Bitterness dwelled within Jensen as he flipped the jacket onto his shoulders, feeling the names burn in a supportive fashion. The memory Oblivion was stealing was actually a memory trying to break through. The whole time Jensen fought against himself, his own immortal memories refusing to be silenced. He felt used, and with that he became angry.

“Erissa,” Jensen whispered loudly as he rushed down the hallway towards the Chamber of Fate, the promise he made to protect her burning in his mind. Oblivion purposely set them up so he could move amongst them without any problems. Jensen chastised himself as he ran, hopping over the dead and other obstacles as he rushed into the amphitheater of the Council waiting room.

The marbled floor was stained red with the inner circle knights who had fallen to the End Bringer, the murals of the four horsemen the only portraits that actually stood any longer without defilement. The twin vaulted doors leading to the council room hung open, as if someone just passed by them.

In moments Jensen was inside the Council room, seeing the two large sectional podiums to fit six people on each respective side of a thirteenth podium higher than the others. Lord Ragnarok’s seat of power, the will of the Horsemen in the flesh would sit there. Yet Jensen ignored those memories as he reached into his pocket for a throwing glaive.

When he arrived inside the Chamber of Fate Jensen saw Oblivion by Erissa, holding a knife to her neck and smiling a bastard’s smile. His whole demeanor had changed, and Jensen chastised himself as the man put the elf between himself and the enraged immortal. There was a momentary standoff as Jensen glared to The Fifth, the man’s smugness mocking the immortal’s.

“No laughter, no haunting giggles for me?” Oblivion said after a tense moment, feigning a shrug. “I suppose that means I really got the immortal,” he mused.

“Let her go,” Jensen ordered.

“You know, I poked inside your mind Jensen Ambrose, and if there is one consistent thing you excelled at, it was botching hostage situations. And as you failed to learn with Lady Cassandra Remi with your precious daughter back in the citadel some time ago, I will have to remind how this whole thing works,” Oblivion snidely jeered as he lifted up a dagger, dragging it along Erissa’s back. She let out a whimper of pain, then a small yelp as he dug the blade in deeper. Jensen instantly dropped his weapon with a roar of irritation and helplessness.

“Dammit, let her go!”

“Yes, let the one who knows my name go. I only allowed her to use the Chamber so I could be sure she knew it, and now she has a ley line to me. What would you do, Jensen, if you were in my position?” Oblivion’s taunts made the immortal angry, but the forgotten one merely shrugged and moved the conversation along. “Funny a name,” Oblivion muttered. “The Forgotten One. I lived a very long time in that shadow. Truly I was the forgotten one. But you see, in the dark...oh how did Xavier Sigma say it to you? Hold on, let me think that for you...”

Jensen felt a knife cut into his mind, and he screamed as Oblivion pulled the memory to the immortal’s surface.

“Ah, that’s right,” he mused. “The Light may be all powerful, but it must always reveal itself to the Darkness...the Darkness though has no such compulsions to show itself to the Light.”

“What do you want, Oblivion?” Jensen seethed as his nose ran with blood again to have a memory so violently ripped up in his mind. The Forgotten nodded his head with a damning smile, placing his dagger under Erissa’s neck and leaning heavily on her shoulder like a lover.

“Well, for starters, I’m taking the elf. You had your fun with her, now it’s time to be a good boy and share your toys. Not like you really loved her. For god’s sake you hated the race of Elves, but well, with my guidance, I can make all things possible,” Oblivion chuckled. Jensen for the first time looked into Erissa’s eyes, and they both felt a shiver pass over their hearts as Jensen quickly looked away, shame coming to the fore.

“She’s more insurance than anything else, really,” he went on. “To keep you in check. You are her knight, sworn to protect her as you so violently made clear to me. With her, I’ll keep you chained onto the leash like the dog you really are, Jensen. Secondly...” Oblivion looked over Jensen’s shoulder, and the immortal turned to see the bright golden orb of light behind him. The malevolence was there once more, and with a spark of light formed into a fist, talons digging into the immortal’s chest and grabbing the Breath of the Undying.

Erissa let out a helpless cry of shock, covering her mouth as Jensen’s eyes fluttered. He dropped to both his knees as the green eldritch orb clashed against the light of the other orb. It floated to Oblivion, and dropped Jensen’s regenerative tool into the sack with the ambrosia.

“Immortality will come in handy in the next phase. Thank you for this prize. I had to see it in action, make sure it worked properly and wasn’t melded into your soul. When that bandit I augmented killed you I was able to see the power for myself. The Thaynes know I tried to do it the easy way and have you die on the stupid trip, hitting every single ward I could to kill you. But your stubbornness impressed me, and much more drastic measures were needed. Yet in the guise of a comrade I was able to learn how your power worked, and I’ll take it for myself when the time is right.”

“What...the...hell....” Jensen felt his heart explode in his chest as blood ran rickshaw through his body, nerves causing him to twitch as the regenerative gift of the storm herald was gone. He could feel the coldness of the stone floor beneath him, woozily swaying back and forth as he fought to keep it all together. Oblivion looked to the immortal like some kind of test subject he was unsatisfied with, and began to drag Erissa with him.

He lifted a free hand up to the air, and with a snap of his fingers the orb lifted upwards, and began to spin wildly in the air, golden light hitting corpses in the corner as Jensen felt bile lift into his throat. He purged as the undead shambled forwards in a death march, ready to kill the immortal by hacking him into tiny pieces.

“You are a thorn in my side Jensen, but at least with your death I’ll be on my merry way. And while you are dying, I’ll erase your memory of me, and of Erissa. At least, the Erissa you knew. See for her...well I’m going to make you guess what I have in store. And for my ultimate plans, with the help of an old friend of mine, I’ll make the world beg at my feet.” Oblivion lifted up the satchel of the essence, and Jensen looked to it with confusion. he tried to move to stop him, but his body had given up after the trauma he endured. “I suppose you want to know what the fruit is all about? Sorry, Ambrose, but a magician never reveals all his...” Oblivion stopped as the room suddenly grew unnaturally cold, and Jensen felt the kiss of dark magic in the air. The orb had stopped spinning, retreating behind Oblivion.

Eyes watering, the immortal turned to see the shadows in the room suddenly begin to shimmer and crawl. His eyes followed the procession all the way to front door, and Oblivion lifted his knife to Erissa, scowling as his undead horde suddenly fell apart and collapsed. The shadows in the room lifted to a solitary, short curved blade, where a man with long black hair stood, dressed in fine black boots, khaki colored denim pants and a tight black vlince shirt. From his shoulders hung a tattered robe that looked more like a cape. The man stepped forwards into the room, flashing a vile smile that would give even Cassandra Remi pause.

“Who are you?” Oblivion hissed, looking to the newcomer like he were some ant. Jensen also felt curiosity overcome him as he looked to whom it was.

“My name is Vladimir Sigma,” the warrior said with a dark, leering grin. “But you would better know me as the End Bringer.”

If it came down to a choice between her life and protecting the vial, for the sakes of all who live in Althanas, I would choose the vial.

Those had been his words to Jensen before the three of them set off on their respective journeys. The old elf moved among the crew of the schooner as one of them, his skin and recently-cropped hair stained with the filth and grime of poor upkeep and harried travel. Troyas lugged rope, swabbed decks, scrubbed latrines, and did everything required of him until his hands were once again rough. How eager he had been to set out into the world once more, to taste again the adventure of his youth. Yet as he lay in his hammock at night, exhausted and sore, he questioned his sanity in taking on with a privateering ship out of Gisela.

“I got a hunch you’re more than you seem,” the sea-wizened old sailor remarked to Troyas as the elf buried his nose in a tome, his day's work complete.

“Is that so?” Troyas replied, not removing his eyes from the faded and cracking pages.

“It is,” the man said, straining to sit up in his hammock. “You elves, never can tell your age, but you walk around like you know a thing or two you shouldn’t.” He spat on the floor, knowing it would be Troyas who would clean it up on the morrow.

“And what is it, exactly, that I know?” Troyas asked, raising his eyes to meet the sailor’s scrutiny.

“If I knew that,” the man snorted, “I wouldn’t be asking, now would I? A healthy lot of us are hiding from something in these ships, as the captains are more forgiving than the landlubbers. But you? You ain’t like us. You ain’t bringing trouble down on us, are you?” The question caught the elf off guard, and a barely perceptible smile touched his lips.

“Trouble indeed,” Troyas replied cryptically, “but not to you, not now.” The old man grumbled as he leaned back in his stained, cloth hammock, the calm of night’s waves and gentle creaking of the ship beginning its lullaby.

“I met somebody like you before,” he said, a yawn gripping him. He closed his eyes. “Almost got us killed. He musta stole a mermaid’s heart for all the hellfury that followed him, clear across the sea. Wanna know what we did with him?”

“And what is that?” Troyas asked with a detached sigh, studying his book once again.

“Threw him overboard an’ never looked back.”

“Charming.” The old elf’s subtle sarcasm was not lost on the sailor, who snorted with a chuckle before rolling to his side. Troyas thought of Erissa and Jensen as his mind went to the ornately carved wooden box in his stow that held something far more valuable than a mermaid’s heart. So far there had been no word of them, and Troyas dared not use powerful magic to track them. He could be easily tracked himself with such a display. He had, as it were, been relegated to simple question-asking.

His ship had docked in Akashima not a day ago, his questions had turned up some information, or rather the lack thereof, that caught his attention. An entire crew, one of the most notable out of Yanbo Port, had been murdered in the streets, though no one had heard nor seen anything, and the deaths remained an unsolved memory. The dead crew's ship had still been moored there, and Troyas had witnessed the auctioning of it. It was the odd lack of details that tortured him, as he knew that Jensen and Erissa had planned to travel there first. The old elf realized, as he searched the memories of any who were around, that many had been tampered with, and it reeked of Oblivion.

“Not to worry, friend,” Troyas said softly to the snoring man. “I will be on my way at the next port, and you will have no need to throw me overboard.” From Akashima, their current load of cargo was bound for Corone. He would disembark, and with all haste, make for the Ixian Castle. He had to risk the trip to speak with Sei, and to see if the Lord of the Ixian Knights had heard from or could contact Jensen and Erissa.

If it came down to a choice between her life and protecting the vial, for the sakes of all who live in Althanas, I would choose the vial. Troyas remembered those words again as he considered the other option he had not mentioned.

The room suddenly tensed as Oblivion, Erissa, and Jensen all stiffened to the title laid before them. The End Bringer. Here in the flesh, before them now, was the man who singlehandedly destroyed the entire order of the Apocalypse. He stood aloft of Jensen, but not in a manner to show he supported him, and lifted his blade to Oblivion.

“So it is true,” Oblivion muttered. “You were the Child of Destiny to destroy all of us.”

“Weakness need not be spared,” Vladimir said, his hand moving behind his blade. Oblivion nodded to his comment.

“Too true, Mr. Sigma, but I can tell you are using Shadow Magic to detain my magic. A powerful ploy, but a ploy is still another word for excuse. And this is a sad one. You can’t hold that power forever. It’s stronger than you and most assuredly more ancient than you, and the second you make an attack I get my power back. All you did was simply shut off magic in the area until you are ready to let go.”

“I should expect a member of the Forgotten to be a studious one,” Vladimir arrogantly nodded to Oblivion, confirming the man’s suspicions.

“So you side with the immortal?” Oblivion asked, the question obviously on everyone’s mind. There was a long pause as the End Bringer gave a once over to Jensen. Vladamir lowed himself into a combat ready stance. The immortal, using the last of his might and adrenaline, stood, lifting his stained crimson dagger. Oblivion narrowed his eyes, placing his own dagger in a manner so Jensen could see he held Erissa’s life in the balance of his patience.

“I side with myself, and I want to know why you are in my castle.” Vladimir said evenly. “And more importantly, why you are disturbing the dead?”

“Oh it’s not me,” Oblivion laughed as if he was being complimented, and humbly shook his head. “It’s the shade of the Great Lich Lord, Xem’Zund who is playing with your gravestones.” Vladimir’s eyes narrowed as the orb rose up again, and with a bright flash that made everyone blink, the orb flowed its essence into the rotting bones of a dead carcass in the room, the body lifting up as the spirit of the great Lich Lord began to infuse the body with magic, making the already dead flesh rip as it grew in mass. It stepped in front of its master protectively. “Ambrosia greatly enhances one’s powers, and I used it to fuel the shade I called hither from Xem’Zund’s corpse. I fed him the essence of the fruit, powering him back to a semblance of his original state, but with a unique twist in the ritual. I will control him!”

“Whatever on earth for?” Vladimir blurted. “The second word is spread you brought him back, the world will march to destroy you. An evil such as that will not live long.”

“No, not by myself. But you see, I happen to know of four bastions of the finest warriors ever trained. With this essence, I can distill the power and give the High King of the Undead the power to return their prowess of fighting, but remain undead thralls of my will! An unstoppable army, tireless and peerless to any other, and I can use them to crush the pathetic armies of the world. And with the greatest ease, Xem’Zund will raise the dead, causing a never ending supply of horrors and terror to blight the world until they acknowledge, me, Oblivion the Fifth of the Forgotten, as master of the world! I will show Pode her Red Forest is but child's play in comparison to myself!”

“Erissa,” Jensen suddenly blurted. “You need her because she knows Troyas...”

“Catch on quick immortal,” Oblivion stated as Xem’Zund brought the undead back to life before the two warriors of the Apocalypse. The horrors of the undead lifted themselves up with eery silence, the weapons they wielded scraping the ground as they began to saunter forwards with a hellish vigor. The spirit of the Lich King grabbed one, shattering it and lifting the head up, and the bones repaired themselves into the shape of a spinal scythe. With a twirl the Lich King slammed the weapon down, prepared to fight if need be. “With the power of the Tap, I’ll have unlimited power to fuel Xem’Zund to my will, and keep him in my thrall. Soon, I will no longer be forgotten! I will be remembered throughout history as the Emperor of the world! And so bloody will my eternal reign be!” Oblivion felt himself gibbering with madness, but with a composing breath he merely grinned as he began to tug Erissa with him.

Jensen moved to stop him, but in a blink the weapon Xem’Zund’s spirit wielded crashed into the Knight, knocking him down and out. The immortal coughed up blood, the clavicle bone sticking deep in his upper torso. Vladimir moved next to stop Oblivion, but a wall of Skeletons moved around him, hoarding upon him with greater speed than he had first thought they were capable of. The elf screamed for Jensen as Oblivion tugged on her, and Jensen fought to stand as the weapon was ripped violently out of his wound.

Vladimir’s blade cut across throats and stomachs, but the undead had no such care for fatal wounds. Soon two managed to grab one of his arms, and the End Bringer cursed as he tossed one over his hip, punching the hilt of his blade into the face of the other. Three more shambling skeletons gripped his shoulders, dragging him down onto the ground with all their undead might.

The shade jumped forwards, high into the air. It hit the earth with such shattering force the stone laid under Jensen popped upwards, his body moving like a rag doll. The spirit grabbed his hair and lifted him up. With ease it tossed him into the wall, and the immortal felt his hip snap as he collapsed. Jensen gasped in pain as he rolled to his knees; unable to stand with his injury, he collapsed again, holding his injured body. The spirit walked towards him as more skeletons began to pile upon Vladimir, the warrior’s Wo Dao blade severing neck bones from head bones, but the abominations never stopped. He tried biting finger bones off, thrashing around wildly until one set of skeletal teeth clamped onto his wrist. He cried out in pain as his blade clattered on the ground, weapon kicked away thoughtlessly as the shade of Xem’Zund stooped to grab Jensen.

He felt his back press against his shirt as he was lifted, his body unresponsive as Jensen seethed in pain. The creature regarded him like it would an insect, and with a casual flick of its wrist the spirit of the Lich Lord tossed Jensen towards the pool. He was going to impact and shatter it when he felt something break his fall. He landed in a heap atop someone, who rolled him to the side with a snarl, and footsteps rushed before him. There was a loud bang, so loud it nearly made Jensen deaf just to hear it, and Xem’Zund’s ghost spat a hissing curse. Steel was drawn from sheaths and Vladimir was saved by someone in a white robe. A man standing tall next to the savior of the End Bringer, holding two pistols out, let off another shot. Xem’Zund blocked the bullet with his makeshift weapon, but it shattered in the process.

At last a womanly set of legs appeared before Jensen, bending as one hand touched his pulse along his neck. With a pat on his chest she stood. The woman mumbled a few words and the shadows in the room began to crawl towards her. Xem’Zund’s shade shifted in defiance of the incantation before, with a screech, it diminished back into an orb and zipped out the window at high speed.

“Erissa...” Jensen mumbled, pointing towards Oblivion’s escape.

“Later Jensen,” a familiar voice said to him. He looked up into the eyes of the gunslinger, and saw a caring look that made the immortal feel at peace. “I’ll explain later. But for now, rest.” He lifted one pistol up to Jensen’s head, and with a nod Jensen gave him his blessing.

One gunshot later and Jensen Ambrose died.

A single gunshot...

The tears spilled forth as though the storm raging in Erissa’s mind were finding its way out. If one so powerful as the End Bringer desired it, perhaps he could kill an immortal, especially one so weakened with his Breath of the Undying resting in the pack slung over Oblivion’s shoulder.

“Stop snivelling, Erissa,” Oblivion said harshly. “It will all be over soon, one way or the other.” He held her by the forearm and dragged her through the maze of hallways and chambers, deeper into the belly of the Bastion. “I really can’t believe the two of you were arrogant enough to think you could take me on,” he chided. “And Jensen Ambrose, to be so bold as to scrawl his name on the gates at Opassa... idiot. Not that I wouldn’t have found out it was him anyway, but regardless. You certainly bit off more than you could chew.”

Erissa refused to speak to him, instead steeling herself for what she knew she had to do. With a quick move, she removed the small, elven dagger from its sheath and lunged at Oblivion. She never expected the blow to land; her hope was that she could provoke the monster into killing her. The high elf would not allow herself to be used as bait and leverage against those she loved.

Oblivion had read her mind and seen it coming, and he sidestepped in the narrow hall. He grabbed Erissa’s wrist and flung her against the wall, sending her bouncing as a rag doll to the ground. She was up in a second, lunging at him yet again, and he was ready for her. Oblivion ducked beneath the path of the dagger and charged into the elf’s body, pinning her against the wall and knocking the breath from her. Still, she held onto the knife, and with a downward arc, meant to bury it in the traitor’s back. However, just as the tip touched the leather of his jacket, she froze. No matter how hard Erissa struggled to move, her body was frozen in place. Oblivion backed away laughing as he gripped his vial, attached to a sturdy chain around his neck. She had seen that chain often in talking with Geoffry, but the vial on it had always been concealed beneath his shirt.

“So close, only to fail,” he mocked, grabbing the dagger from her and letting it clatter to the ground. “Behave yourself, Erissa.” She felt her body respond to his will, her back straightening to mimic his posture. She frantically tried to search his memories, for anything she could use against him. “‘Ouu, I’m Erissa Caedron. I can read minds; bow and worship my mighty telepathic powers,’” he said, and her own voice emanated from her throat as she spoke the same words, Jensen’s words. “Or better yet, ‘you are nothing but a damned eternal parasite, sucking the life from everything and everyone around you!’” Her heart raced as Erissa remembered the words she had said to Jensen in Akashima, knowing they were not her own, and she had slapped him. “Yes, that was me,” Oblivion said, giggling with glee, “well, the second one. Jensen actually said that little gem on his own. You ridiculous woman, why in the world would you think he could ever love you?”

With that, Oblivion turned and continued his foray into the Bastion, Erissa mimicking his every every step with perfect execution. He led her to a large portal, and with a flick of his wrist, it came to life and crackled with energy.

“Shall we?” he asked her, extending his free hand. “After you, brave knight,” he answered, Erissa’s voice matching his own on the response. With another bout of shrill laughter, he led her through the portal to a place she had never before seen, but it was very similar to the Bastion from which she had just come. “Hmmm, time to leave a little present for our immortal friend and his allies.” Oblivion produced a small device and dropped it through the portal. Several seconds later, the portal went dead and all the energy faded from it. “They won’t be using [I]that]/I] any time soon,” he told the elf as she watched helplessly. “Oh, I’m sure there will be a rescue attempt sooner or later, and they’ll try feebly to stop the inevitable, but if you think my victory today was something, wait until you see what happens when I actually try. You and Jensen were but child's play, amusing at best and generally annoying.”

With that, the Fifth of the Forgotten dragged Erissa Caedron to the place he had prepared, yet another web, another trap, in which all who came to confront Oblivion would be snared.

He had a plan for each of them, a role scripted in bloody ink, and the Forgotten would be remembered for all the ages of the world.

Quote:

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Spoils requested: single shot pistol to Enigmatic Immortal

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Thread Title: In The Shadows of Oblivion
Judgement Type: Full Rubric, Light Commentary
Participants: Enigmatic Immortal, Sagequeen

Plot ~ 23/30

Story ~ 10/10 – You used a standard structure to tell a non-standard story. Every part of the rubric was complimented by the graceful rise and fall of drama and emotion through every scene. Erissa’s reflections on her past, Jensen’s brawling, and the effluent progression of revelation built on the back of Althanas Canon was a tour de force. It stood the test of being read alone, separate from its prequel, and complimented it well at the same time. My only critique here is to consider the reader as a layman – he or she is not likely to be intuitively involved with the background not just of the characters, but the countries you’re working with.

Setting ~ 7/10 – confident description of the setting, and the location of the characters within it was present through the thread. It was lost to the wayside in the ‘mature’ scene which begins in post 31, but given the nature of any sort of erotic writing, it is understandable. This change in tempo, coupled with a tendency to allow rapid dialogue to break up description gave you your score here. Considering these both will polish an already gleaming diamond.

Pacing ~ 6/10 – scene transitions badly timed, or the much forlorn several changes per post caused the pacing to languish in many places. Sadly these came around the set pieces, be they sexual, action, or both. Give consideration to the ‘note’ of your story, much like meter in rhyme. Decide, if you can, on the structure at the start of the thread and do all you can to not deviate off that path. Wavering, or steady, hammer blow and triumphant – perhaps even river like Sunday afternoon gentility, which works for you.

Character ~ 27/30

Communication ~ 8/10 – posts 10-15, and the finale, were good running dialogue sections, where each character fluidically responded and rolled into and out of one another’s thoughts. Jensen and Erissa naturally is leaf licker and fool throwing philanderers, and they talk as if they were connected on a spiritual level, but you slip into conditioning when they talk to others. Be careful to distinguish their nuances when conversing with everyone from Vladimir to Troyas, and the villain himself, Oblivion.

Action ~ 9.5/10 – Please refer to the commentary from Two Peas in a Pode, and indeed, any thread I’ve judged belonging to either party. Whilst every writer has his or her flaw, the utilisation of motion, violence, and even emotion in a scene is certainly neither of yours. On the edge of my seat throughout, and compelled to read even in the lull between ‘set pieces’, you have both delivered a thriller with a fist full of, what is it they call them…dollars? Whilst this might sound like a perfect appraisal, because this score, and persona, were so strong, the writing overall felt unbalanced. With the improving of other areas of writing, you will naturally clip into the much sought after full marks, though as it stands, a terrific achievement.

Persona ~ 9.5/10 – you both have an advanced grasp of your character’s identity. I only implore you both to look at what you have, and learn to avoid pitfalls common to all mainstays of literature – clichés. That’s not to say you have them yet, but if you continue to create perfection in X way, persona as strong as this will become detrimental.

Prose ~ 23/30

Mechanics ~ 8/10 – the rubric defines the score bracket for mechanics in more detail than the other areas of feedback, because mechanics are typically the mistakes and weaknesses people notice first, if not the most. You have both made scrupulous effort to eradicate careless typographical errors, and you have formatted, for the most part, both dialogue and paragraph correctly. To obtain a 10, naturally, you must be nigh flawless in execution, and possess a good grammatical understanding of sentence structure and clarity. Here, you made so few mistakes I had to scrutinise to find them, but the careless ones were there. Everything from [I*] [/i] errors to the hard to correct without eagle eyes additional. in an ellipsis. (This should universally be three in length, no more, no less).

Clarity~ 7/10 – I afforded a 7 here on the merit of familiarity with the characters from the opening scenes. To improve, I would consider attempting to follow three rules (these are suggested rules, and not standardised laws within the writing process, so feel free to take on board or disregard as you deem fit).

1. Scene Transition – if your post reaches 700+ words, in a thread of this length at least, and a scene transition occurs to another character, then consider avoiding ~*~ moments and simply posting a new post. A reader, on a forum at least, subconiously treats a post break as a new entity. You can use this to your advantage to improve upon clarity with considerably less effort than balancing scene switches within a larger, clumsier body.

2. Tense Rehearsal – if a scene does not make much sense to you, or you are bouncing back and forth, attempt to utilise the correct tense, or switch tenses to represent time instead of simply starting a new scene or page break. You lost focus of respective tenses repeatedly, and I feel you could benefit more discussing with one another which of the menagerie of forms you’d be comfortable with most, even if this means a concession one of your parts.

3. Proof Reading – you’ve heard this a thousand times, but irrespective of that, read aloud and proud read. Sagequeen, as you work in production, perhaps consider ‘broadcasting’ you’re writing to yourself. If you deliver it in a way that would be well received over a real radio, then clarity is understood, tight, and polished enough to improve the writing here on Althanas. Enigmatic, utilise retail skills to think in the customer’s shoes more – you might know who the Emperor is, but the reader just sees a shiny suit of golden armour and a bad perm.

Technique ~ 8/10 – I would feel trite listing off the numerous techniques used here, everything from enjambment, form change (excellent use of songs and sparingly, too), and the foreshadowing and role-reversal within the dialogue and structure of the action scenes. You both know how to write, and I would assume improvements here once clarity, mechanics, and pacing are resolved would be of the certain kind.

Wildcard: 8/10 – I would like to offer my congratulations for yet another strong thread. You crafted a tale worth reading, offered up an enticing, nay, irresistible cliff-hanger, and kept on developing an already strong suit of characters and NCPs in your universe. I feel as if you got lost in the moment, and where the thread scored lower overall, I see enjoyment, as well as perhaps overconfidence. I truly enjoy both your work, and how you engage with the characters that, I can see, are extensions of yourselves is admirable. I would love you to both work on the small areas of improvement, to nail, hook line and sinker, and smash the planned trilogy (or a saga, mayhap?) Either way, I will be there, enthralled to the last, because you to be both my wild card any day of the week.

I appreciate that the brevity of this rubric analysis might perturb you. I can honestly say I have both read as it was being written, and contributed eight hours minimum to the proof reading process. I would be happy to develop on the points above, or provide more in depth examples based on those notes if requested. cydneyoliver@gmail.com, or my Mordelain inbox are both appropriate avenues to do.

If you have any concerns, doubts, and worries, and don’t wish to speak to me directly for whatever reason, then I am sure another member of staff will resolve the matter on your behalf. I am perfectly amenable and open to feedback, as the judge has to develop, as much as the writer put under the scrutiny of the rubric!

Total ~ 81/100

Quote:

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XP, and gold, are to be awarded upon the deliberation of the spoil you requested:

Jensen would like a single shot pistol.

In addition, this thread, in representing everything a Judge's Choice should be, has been put forwards for nomination into the JC forum.

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Sagequeen receives 1975 experience and 300 gold.

Enigmatic Immortal receives 3000 experience, and 0 gold.

Spoils:

A single, flintlock, one-shot pistol is gifted to Jensen. It's material, and the strength of the shot, must be discussed in the next level update. Gold and experience adjusted accordingly.

EXP/GP added.