MQ: Blood Red Blossoms 2 - The Reach of the Tower

-Closed to Kahlina(Rumplegrumblepuss), Lillian(Ataraxis), and Godhand-

Xem'Zund's contingent sat a mere quarter mile from the Obsidian Tower. While there were a mere hundred undead soldiers that came, there were three commanders to lead them, and three commanders to disagree about what to do about the warriors in the tower.

"Three heroes are nothing. We should pass by and continue towards the place our Lord expects us to be." An impatient woman's voice was the loudest of the three. She wasn't beautiful, but her presence commanded attention nonetheless. A squared face and jaw were well for the rest of her. Her shoulders were too wide, her chest too flat. Were it not for the long lashes and full lips, the delicate curve of her hips and the way she wore long, curled tresses in braids that were threaded through with jewels, she would have been nearly manly. She wore the dress of the Bladesinger's Guild and the right side of her face was scarred from the bottom of her chin to her spired ear, where the cartilage of the edge had been split. Red hues cast her pale skin with the setting sun falling across the red foliage above them. Her blue eyes were the color of glaciers, her aura just as cold. They kept moving towards the sunset, where the fiery orb would fall below the horizon within the hour. When she looked at the next speaker, it was clear that if looks could kill, he would be her first victim.

"The mahsster would want all to fall into hiss glory," the quiet voice said. There were hissing qualities about it, as if it were a serpent's tongue that spoke. He was a ragged thing, a jigsaw puzzle where none of the pieces quite fit right. He hunched over, his legs strong and stubby like a dwarf's, his arms long and spindly. The elbows were on the same level as his knees, and the hunched form didn't help much. He never walked, but seemed to crawl along, his eyes wide. He had no way of seeing straight forward. Instead his right blue eye was frozen in an upward direction, the brown left one swirling madly to make up for it. "Idril MÃ*riel, I will tell him tha you ssay 'passss by, they are nothing to tha mahsster.' And he will punissshoo for dissobeying."

The tension was enough to be cut with a knife, and Idril moved forward as if she would slap the wretched thing. Her hand was stopped short by a strong, gloved fist. She looked over, cold fire in her eyes at the third, though the rage was soon replaced by revulsion. It was uncertain just when Braeden Devondre had died, but he'd been something other than just a mere corpse when Xem'Zund had laid his will upon him. He carried a form now, of a tall man - nearly eight feet - with hands and feet that seemed to be large even on his enormous frame. He was built like a behemoth, and the charcoal gray skin that was more like moving ash than any real pigmentation only made him seem more frightening. His eyes were blank, mere whites as if they'd rolled up into his head and decided to stay there. His teeth were sharp as broken glass, stained brown. His breath was like the opening of a crypt too long sealed, and his words were firm.

"We wait here and when the sun sets, we will march. All will fall into the path of Xem'Zund. Be they three or three hundred, they will see the dawn as one of the horde." Neither of his comrades argued against it.

Glimmering like poisoned silk in the light, the black threads spilled from Lillian's hands to the floor as I watched. A myriad of thoughts and plans ran through my mind, among them was the thought to simply turn and run. Let the others survive if they could. Shoving the petty, selfish thoughts back into the depths of my mind I forced myself to look back out, to watch the Scourge approach.

How does one stop something that seems as powerful as a force of nature? Simple, you can’t. All you can do is prepare, ride it out and hope that your soul and body are still intact when it’s all done and over with.

The wind carried the over whelming stench of decaying flesh and corruption, my stomach clenched in upon itself and I was glad I had not eaten recently. Figures, the stuff of nightmares, began peeking through the red stained foliage as their march brought them closer. For a second I thought the Red Forest itself let me see what was coming, letting me view my death. If I survive this I am so going to find a way to either purify the forest or burn it down.

The soft sound, much like silk sliding against silk, ceased. A moment later the thump of someone falling reached me. Turning, I half expected to find another traitor in our midst, another person being taken from our small group. Instead Lillian, sweet Lillian, whom had more than proved her worth this day knelt, blood pouring from her in a torrent. Worried that Cydonia had somehow injured the girl I knelt by her, ignoring the sticky, still warm blood that soaked into my pants. Lightly probing her body I checked for wounds that had gone unnoticed, broken bones or any other swelling that would indicate internal bleeding. Something that would account for the blood she had spilled on the ground. Finding nothing I sat back on my heels and looked down at the girl, more than a little puzzled.

“Pick her up and move her. Keep her away from the windows and keep an eye on her and let me or Godhand know if she wakes up.” First wiping the blood of my hands I grabbed the dark threads Lillian had produced. Of the three students that approached one stayed standing beside me.

“I can help.” He sounded nervous, skeptically I looked up at the young elf. He looked like a child no more than 16 or so. A brow rose of its own accord when he actually looked me in the eye despite the tremors that shook his body. Standing I nodded and turned for the stairs.

“Alright, come with me. We need to set up several webs between the entrance and the group to buy us some time.” At the first step I froze and looked back. The remaining students huddled together almost silently near where Lillian now lay. My gaze skipped to Godhand and I wondered if the man would be able to continue to fight given his condition. Of course he will. I doubt he’ll fight to save us, he’ll fight until he’s ripped to pieces to save his own skin.

“If you have any strategies now would be a good time to get them set up if you need the time.” Giving him a salute I headed down the stairs. Now that I was alone or rather as alone as I was going to get I felt the arctic chill of the magic embedded into the stone of the Spire. A spike of anger warmed me and I wished I had the knowledge to use the magic around me.

Light gleamed off of the obsidian walls and floor from the light spilling in. Yards away the trees and vines shifted in the wind as if they too wished to advance upon the Spire and take the lives with in. Nerves getting the better of me I began humming the soothing song once more. I projected my voice up and out so it rang up the stair well to the rest of the group. I hoped that it would give them a rest from their worries as I worked, stringing the sticky dark threads in a loose web across the door. Backing up I started another web a yard into the room. Backing up once more I gestured for the boy to back up to then frowned as he shook his head.

“I’m staying, I can help.”

“By doing what? Dying for no reason?” I snapped, annoyed with this child that seemed as if he had a death wish.

“I’ll cast a illusion over the door way when the Scourge arrive. It will hold for only a few minutes but I have to do it from here.” He looked determined, terrified and young. So very young. I looked away and tacked the first strand of the dark thread up.

“You’re going to die there.” I whispered, I almost asked for his name then decided against it. I can't mourn for thoes whom have no name.

“I know. Please, keep singing that song. It helps to chase my fears away.”

I looked away from those pleading eyes, nodded and began working on the webbing once more. The soothing song spilled from my lips once more but this time it did nothing to help me.

What a Goddamn disaster. He had that guy, Kross, he had him. One bullet to the brainstem was all it would have taken and it would have been over. But dumb fucking luck, his gun jammed. It was the Red Forest. Maybe even Raiaera itself. It had just as much resentment for the elves as the necromancer did, it seemed. So now, with Skie getting flown off by the turncoat and surrounded by lethal flora and fauna, they had to also deal with a horde of incoming zombies. The only thing going for them in that God forsaken hellhole was the tower, and that wouldn't last long. The mercenary was good, damn good if he said so himself, but he couldn't handle that many undead. There had to be hundreds, maybe thousands. No way on his own, but with these kids slowing him down? No chance at all. That, plus his ribs. They'd gotten pretty banged up in the fight with the zombie broad. Any fighter will tell you that a rib is probably the worst place to get an injury. I mean you can fight on if one of your arms is broken, use the other arm, you know? But if someone manages to get to your ribs, they basically shut you down. Big chest pains and you couldn't breathe to save your life. A warrior's worst nightmare. Without your air, you were nothing.

Lillian, the kid, she'd done something. Godhand couldn't say what, but it had done the trick. I mean it still hurt like Hell, but he could breathe, and that was all he needed. Plus, I don't know...It was getting better. The librarian's magic worked even now, despite her unconscious state. Damn impressive, and she may have just saved them all.

Godhand recoiled when Kahlina saluted him. That was new. Then again, with Kross and their de facto leader Skie gone, it was only natural that they look to whoever made the strongest showing in the previous battle. And since Lillian was sleeping it off, that meant it fell to the mercenary. He ran a hand through his greying hair and drew in a ragged breath, considering their situation. The kids around the room were looking at him like he was some sort of messiah. The girls especially, looking at him with those big doe eyes. Save us, Godhand, save us! If it'd been three months ago and they were in Eluriand, these broads wouldn't have given him the sweat off their tits if he was dying of thirst. And, even though it was something of a weird segue, he had an idea. The mercenary walked hurriedly down the stairs to where Kahlina and the elf kid was. He had more guts than the rest of 'em, anyway. He clasped the boy on the shoulder as he passed; nothing needed to be said. Godhand walked up to the threads Kahlina had placed and with one swift movement pulled them all of. He ignored the girl's white-hot, incredulous glare when he placed the bundle of magical silk in her hands.

"Put these on the windows in the second floor. I'll handle this."

They were lucky. The double doors of the Obsidian Spire were the kind you had to push to open if you were outside. If they had been any other kind then his plan wouldn't have worked and they'd have been doomed. He pulled them open and walked out into the Red Forest, proud to have found a use for the plant life that had been so problematic before. The swordsman looked at the large tree he had climbed to Frog Splash Cydonia. It was an ancient looking oak, about thirty feet tall and five feet wide. It was perfect.

The titan placed his shoulder against the trunk and with one measured thrust, uprooted the enormous thing. It lurched forward sickeningly, but the fall itself was rather slow given that the base was so large. Godhand walked to the end and wrapped his arms around the top of it, effectively strangling off the section with most of the branches. Pleased with himself, Goddamn this was a good plan, he pushed the tremendous tree past the double doors, the last few branches getting snapped off at the entryway. Into the main hall as far as it could go before one end hit the wall. It fit perfectly, giving them just enough room to close the doors again. Once that was done, he pushed the rooted base against the doors, effectively barring them. No way in Hell they'd get through that.

With the door barred shut by the massive oak, something else was bid welcome into the Spire. The wind came in from the upper windows, whistling as it was born down the spiral stairs and through the rooms. From the top floors, rustles of canvas tarps were whipping. They were everywhere, making a symphony of shuffles. They covered several cases of siege bolts, heavy artillery bows, and piles of shields. From walls hung chains that danced in the breeze, clanking loudly against the obsidian walls. In rooms torches burned, as if they had burned for years and would never go out. In more ways than one, that was the truth. And in a room near the top, where an empty dias stood and spattered stains could barely be seen on the dark floor, a small case of the oldest Raiaeran wines was locked away.

In the Red Forest, General Devondre lifted a ram's horn to his lips. He blew, a low sorrowful sound bringing his troops to attention. "We march!" he shouted, "Ready thyselves! We cast upon the Black Tower in an hour's time!"

There was something ominous in the bellow of the blowhorn, a tone better fit for a dark and dismal elegy than a call to the warpath. Those trapped in the spire were overwhelmed with a strange feeling, inconsistent, illogical, as if their would-be-killers had mourned their forthcoming deaths, as if the undead legion had sung a funeral hymn for those still living. ‘Not for long,’ the cynics thought grimly, hearing instead a crooning of celebration, rising from the dark and bloody lungs of Lindequalmë. The students would be a quick slaughter, and for each slain, a fresh corpse would fatten the ranks of the festering: why wouldn’t they rejoice?

Not all, however, were touched by this spreading plague of despair. The cry of the horn, the wails of the dead, the qualms of the students: nothing could reach the unfathomable depths in which Lillian had fallen. It seemed only moments before that she was hard at work, spinning webs as thick as ropes strung with steel wires for whatever defensive plan Kahlina had devised. Only moments, yet now she was adrift in a black sea, lightless, formless, soundless – timeless. With eyes closed or open, she could only see the same expanse of nothingness, to the point where she realized she could neither see her body, nor feel it. Unnerving.

In this ocean of shadows, even her mind seemed to whittle away, each flake carrying with it a fragment of her memory, a parcel of her thoughts. She was forgetting, for the first time in her life: forgetting Raiaera and her beautiful countryside, soaking in the golden hues of each sunrise and sunset; forgetting Istien University, in which she’d spent the last few months finding her voice as well as finding herself; forgetting the morning of the Necromancer’s attack, the ensuing escape into the Red Forest, the following fight against the blight that was Cydonia.

All she could remember was the fury, the storm of violence that had wrought her heart and wracked her body when she murdered the undead bitch. ‘And you’d do well to remember it, Lillian Sesthal.’

From the void came the voice, like a tempestuous wind through the winding tunnels of a cavern, like whimsical whispers and stentorian roars after the strike of midnight. What struck her most, however, was its familiarity. ‘Four years ago, we met. You helped me in Scara Brae, you… you gave me my powers. You’re the… the Welkin Body.’

‘The strain has spared more of your memory than I first expected,’ the voice continued, pensive. ‘Recovery may be possible, then.’ Somehow, it could feel her surprise at these words, feel her sudden rise of apprehension. ‘What did you expect would happen, going beyond your limits like that? That man let you drink his blood, but you forced the change. You forced your body to take in the full brunt of his strength, and now you’ve lost it.’

‘I don’t mourn the loss. I never asked mister Godhand so that I could keep his power, I just wanted to help him save everyone – and I did.’ Lillian fell silent, chewing her words as if in fear of putting them to her thoughts. ‘It made me feel angry, cheated by life. It made me… made me want revenge. I hated that feeling, and I’m glad to be rid of it.’

‘As I said, you’d do well to remember it.’ More likely than not, it could hear her confusion just as well, but made no effort to enlighten the girl. ‘Be wary of repeating this – you were blessed by luck today, but there is only so much left in this world.’ With that, it fell silent. Only seconds later did Lillian realize that it had vanished as suddenly as it did, all those years ago. Guilt clasped her chest, the librarian recalling how it had fallen into a deep slumber to recuperate; she had most likely awakened it before its time, weakening it even further. ‘Will it be four more years till we speak again?’

Before the black ocean was lit afire, before it was submerged by light, she thought she heard it answer.

The stone against her arms and legs was a cold gloss, sending shivers into her waking body. Lillian shuddered, slightly shifting to the side; the motion caused water to slick, and only then did she realize she’d been sat in a lukewarm puddle. The watery blur in her eyes filtered a dim light, but as they dried, she could see black shapes become clearer against similarly black walls. Then their voices came like a tempest, nattering at her ears, wracking her with a sour headache. “The students… if I’d known helping them would give me a chronic migraine…” Trying to stand up, she nudged herself to rest her weight on the left hand, only to slip and fumble. Eyes wide from the surprise, she looked down, and it dawned on her that she was sitting in a pool of her own blood.

“She’s awake!” a shrill voice rang from the packed mass of students, and the subsequent rise of gladness and alarm sent a fresher pang of pain to travel round and round her skull. “We’ve taken turns to heal you with the Lissilin songs we know,” said a young man with a voice full of hope. It was an accent she’d heard in Corone – Radasanth, most likely – in one of those areas usually frequented by nobility. Tea shop? Lounges? Burlesque cabarets? She couldn’t remember. “How are you feeling?”

“I... I’m feeling…” she began tentatively, too distracted by the noisy commotion that had somehow made her its center. “Groggy… and I have a headache, so if you could…” The boy nodded embarrassedly in that self-chiding way, then told everyone to move away and let her breathe. She did just that, and found a strong enough wind within her to heave herself halfway up. The boy quickly stepped up to take her hand, pulling the wobbly girl to a complete stand. “Thank you. Can… can anyone tell me what’s happened while I was out?”

At that, they all became mute, but the look in their eyes told more than Lillian wanted to know. She dragged her feet beneath her with an effort, aligning them step by step while wary of her poise and making headway to the stone-carved window. What she saw, peering through it, made her physically ill. They were hidden by the vermillion copse of the forest, but in bald patches she could see withered corpses, standing in place but far from still. She found dozens upon dozens, until she estimated from their position in the forest and the spacing between each undead about a hundred of the zombies. “I see.”

“Damn it, and I left all of my weapons down there in that witch’s ashes.” To make things bleaker, Godhand was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Kahlina. With each thought, things seemed to take a turn for the worst. The only thing that kept her from collapsing right there, right then, hoping that her second awakening would be from a bad dream, was the last thing she’d heard the Welkin Body say.

“Sooner than you think,” she murmured listlessly, the endless blue of her eyes riveted on something beyond the forest, beyond the horizon. Without a warning, she turned to face the students, voicing a polite query – all of them knew, however, that it was nothing short of an order. “Anyone have a sword I can borrow?”

My mouth opened and closed a few times in confused indignation as the dark threads I had been working with suddenly were forced into my grasp once more. Crap, I hate untangling knots. Once my brain finally caught up to speed and found itself with a lack of words, my mouth snapped shut. Clutching the tangled mass I watched Godhand, thinking him a fool for leaving the tower. As he tore the tree down and began to drag it towards the Spire I just shrugged. Leave it to the leviathan to jump to a unique way of helping. He's going to aggravate those wounds, I doubt they are healed properly yet.

“Right. Come on puppy. You may get to live for another day, then again who knows?” I had to turn away quickly to hide the sadistic grin that was beginning to form. Behind me, echoing up the stairs, rose the loud wooden crunch and scrape of the tree being lodged into place . For a moment I thought I heard the clatter of metal mixed in. I entertained the thought of placing a student or three in the dark threads I carried and hanging them out on the walls as a peace offering, but only for a second or two. Does the good of the many out weigh the good of the few or the one? I shook my head, Star Trek quotes would do no good nor would offering up a few students as sacrificial lambs. Xem’zund and his generals would undoubtedly prefer something, someone a lot tastier. Like Godhand for instance.

The noise of the groaning crunch subsided and I glanced back down the dark stairwell and wondered. He’s probably not even enough. Xem'zund and his generals seem like the greedy type. Why have the main course only when you can have the appetizer and desert too? Feeling a little like an emotional top, and resenting the fact that I most likely was considered and appetizer. I leaned against the gleaming black stone and let the coldness of it seep into my clothing and reach into my body. I blamed the stress of the day. After all, flitting from utter seriousness to vaguely homicidal to sarcastic was enough to knock anyone off their balance for a moment or three.

The fact that Lillian was awake let alone standing, was a bit of a miracle. I had to admit I was more than a little surprised to see her up and about. I wouldn’t have been surprised is she slept until all of us were freshly recruited undead and munching on her or what ever it was the undead did. Rampaging and pillaging I guess. Do the undead gnaw on the living or is that just a movie myth? I stayed on the landing and watched them for a moment until the brush of cloth against my hand startled me out of the vivid images of every zombie movie I had ever watched.

“Still here Puppy?”

“What now?” Shrugging at his question, I kept my gaze and dark, unflattering thoughts to myself. I seriously doubted that he wanted to chat about what the undead ate or how they went about their day. Touching the whips resting on my hips I glanced at the stairs that continued up.

“Well…what we do should do is try to survive. Talk to a few of the others, get them to look around. There’s a whole lot more to the Spire than just the little bit we’ve been invaded. Find weapons, or heavy things to throw, make traps what ever you can do to help. Come on Puppy, lets explore.”

Godhand felt pretty good about himself right then, looking at that big, ridiculous barricade he'd made. He'd gotten a few dumbstruck glances by the students present, and really, that made him feel pretty good. Call him shallow or a hypocrite or whatever, but it felt good to be the hero, the showstopper, the one they couldn't do without. Usually he was put up against such a backdrop of freaks and madmen that his own powers seemed almost ordinary. I mean you had Johnny B. Badd over there, who'd just betrayed them, and he could turn into a monster. James could morph into a dragon, Seth Dahlios was basically a living cadaver...Like I said, just a lot of weird, wild stuff going on around him. He rarely got the chance to steal the show. Still, now that he had, he wished it had been in a different situation. Those animals were still circling around them, waiting for their chance.

Godhand felt someone staring at him, and turned to see a group of young schoolgirls. Or the closest thing elf land had to them. Call him a freak, but the warrior had a thing for schoolgirls. I don't know, maybe it was because he'd never really gotten an education. On the other hand, it was probably just the plaid skirts. Being on the interior of the Obsidian Spire had relaxed the girls considerable. Something about being inside an armory made you feel safe, I guess. Now they were casting appreciative glances at him. It was good to be the showstopper. He approached them with a swagger and a small smile, but just as he did a small, bookish type of girl with glasses and at the back of the group blurted it out.

"We're sixteen!"

"Heyo!"

Godhand turned on his heel and walked back over to Lillian, ignoring the hissing going on behind him as the girls turned on their bookworm friend. The swordsman beamed at the resuscitated librarian, assuming a boxing position and playfully swiping at her. He grabbed her by the ears and shook her head a bit, before chuckling and leaning in for an embrace. When he finally released her, he pinched her cheeks. Godhand didn't know why, but he was really starting to grow fond of the girl. Maybe it was just that he had a thing for the shy ones, but she was starting to grow on him.

"How's my little slugger doing!? I'm glad to see you woke up!"

Out of Character:

Bunnies approved, Godhand wrote his dialogue and actions.

The students nattered amongst each other, groping their hips and backsides in case they’d strapped a weapon on this morning without noticing. The few that had were quick to move up the crowd, extending daggers and some sort of rapier to the girl, their young and hopeful faces lit with pride. With an appraising eye, Lillian had quickly guessed that the only things those knives would ever cut open were letters, while she noted that the highly-ornate rapier was blunt-tipped and dull-edged – a mere foil. “Goodness, I…” she began, stopping as she felt the rising hope of several dig under her skin. “Thank you, but I’ll just take one from the armory… these look so costly, I’m afraid I’d nick them.” The boys paused, then nodded, stowing their toys away. ‘Rich kids… but at least they meant well.’

It was then that a boulder-sized fist swept across her vision; she’d expected a head-lopping impact, but the knuckles simply rested lightly against her cheek. There was a sharp tug at her ear that rattled the insides of her head, and then a pair of arms wrapping about her frame, an image akin to hulking bear arms around a wee sapling. A whiff of the woodland animal’s neck, and she knew it was Godhand. That smell of his had ignited the strangest of feelings in the girl, only a few hours ago, a kind of devilry that drove her wild – or at least, as wild as an introverted librarian could get. Ever since he’d allowed her to drink his blood and thus borrow his power, however, that feeling had vanished, replaced only by one of familiarity and a certain amount of giddiness she couldn’t quite explain.

The kind weight on her bones was removed soon enough, but Godhand had not wasted the opportunity to pinch her cheeks, giving them a pink blush once more. Lillian rubbed her face to shoo away the pain, shooting the titan a look of woe that shifted to mischief. “Just so you know, I’m also sixteen.”

Godhand began to snap his fingers and tap his heels, a big grin plastered all over his face. “She's only sixteen, but she'll show me love like I've never seen! Only sixteen!”

“Oh god. Well… in any case.” Lillian looked aside, hiding her momentous smile as she coughed into a cupped hand. “The fact that half my blood is on the floor and the other half on my dress notwithstanding… I’m fine.” She couldn’t help but lie today, it seemed. It was a miracle she was still standing, as if some strange remnant of the mercenary’s vigor still traveled through her veins, feeding her muscles with time and delay.

A thought crossed her mind, the boldness of the idea turning her expression into a blank slate. “Mister Godhand, you used a sword before, at Carnelost – against the undead. Can I borrow it?”

“You mean this?” Godhand pulled his coat back to reveal the sheathed Muramasa. It was a glorious thing; perfect in everyway. Just looking at it made you think of math. Geometry. All the same, it was a little big for her. And again, this was a thing of beauty. You weren't supposed to swing it around like a bat. “Actually, I think I have something that might suit you better.” It was a good thing Godhand had been carrying it. Normally it was the sort of thing he left at home, but a fancy thing like that seemed like just the sort of thing to take to elf land. He reached over to his right hip, unstrapping it and presenting it to Lillian. It was a beautiful masterwork Delyn rapier, with silver inlays on the hilt and guard and just...Mouah! It was magnifique. He handed it to her gingerly, almost reverently.

The girl unwittingly fell into his game, shakily accepting the present with both hands held out, palm upward and with a slight, awkward bow. She felt its light weight set on her arms, barely pulling them down; felt the coolness of its blade spread over her skin like water from a shard of melting ice. She stepped back, clearing enough space in front of her to twirl the thing: she was surprised to hear the clean ring of metal and swooshing air. “This is perfect, thank you. I’ll return it to you without a scuff.” With that, she spun the blade once more, resting its tapered tip against the inner noose of her rope belt, sheathing it thus.

“Everyone should be armed as well,” she suddenly announced, turning toward the mass of students, nervous boys, giggling girls, somber men and gloomy women alike. “Take up shields, ready bows, grip your swords, I don’t care, just do, please. Those who need to, take station at the windows and be ready to let loose a rain of arrows – or of whatever you’ve learned in the school of Ost’Dagorlin.”

There were all kinds of people in the world that weren’t very trustworthy. Cheats, liars, clergymen were among the worst, but if there was one group of people Tom doubted more than any other, it was people who trusted him. He didn’t know what he had ever done in his life to make someone look up to him, the most honorable things he’d ever done were the ones that had almost got him killed. As he read the note, delivered to him by carrier pigeon despite his lack of permanent address, he had extreme misgivings.

“This person wants me in Raiaera?” he wondered, bemused. “The hell? No one in their right mind goes to Raiaera now… not that I would really go there any time, damn self righteous singing elves… it’s not my problem if they get what someone says they got coming to them.” Tom knew the situation with Xem’zund was far more complicated than that, but he didn’t care. The note was signed with a name that Tom didn’t know. It vaguely resembled one of the Raiaeran noble houses, but the Istraloth native had no idea how they would have heard of him, let alone have the faith to call on him specifically to aid them in their time of need.

“If they could have bought a single damn arrow with the money they used to send me this letter, it would have been better spent…” Tom declared, crumbling up the letter and throwing it at the pigeon as it flew away. The letter settled benignly in a puddle of water left over from a rain storm a few nights ago.

For a moment, the former convict wondered what it would have taken to get him to agree to come to Raiaera. He abandoned the task almost immediately. Imagination was often a dangerous liability in prison, and Tom had not grown accustomed to using his again. Instead he snorted and continued on his way, figuring he’d get a drink at Brady’s Pub before settling for another night of stowing away in a farmer’s barn.

Suddenly, Tom felt as though he was being followed. He turned behind him, his good right hand reaching for the handle of his crossbow before turning to see an elven priest. Tom relaxed, he doubted she was much of a threat. Then, Tom realized she was Raiaeran, and probably wanted to drag him into her war. He reconsidered using the crossbow.

“You shouldn’t have disregarded my letter,” she said. “Raiaera needs you.”

“I don’t need Raiaera,” Tom replied coldly.

The elf smiled. “You need work and money though, and Raiaera can provide both?”

Tom’s scowl grew harder. “Yes but I also want to live,” he said. “Why do you want me for this anyways? I have nothing to do with your country, nothing to do with your people, I couldn’t tell General Findelfin from a Forgotten One until I saw them in the Radasanthian Reader…”

As if regretting the level she had to go to persuade a stranger, the elf shook her head in disbelief. “A man named Enabrim wants you,” she said. “He said you were the only honorable man he could trust to get supplies in and out to people who need them.”

Tom didn’t know what to say to that. He was speechless. There were few names that had power over him, and his former teacher was one on that select list. He didn’t know how Enabrim could have found him, or what he would have been doing outside of Istraloth, but he didn’t care. That was a name that he couldn’t refuse, at least easily. He remained silent, hoping that the elf might give him something to help him make a decision.

“We just need you to supervise transports,” the elf continued. “Once the supplies get to Treynce, they’re someone else’s responsibility. The danger to you is minimal. We just need someone we can trust, not a strapping warrior.”

Now, Tom didn’t know what to say. He genuinely wanted to refuse, but he didn’t have a choice. “No danger?” he asked.

The elf nodded.

“Fine,” he agreed, certain he would regret his decision.

-x-

It took less than one trip for Tom to regret his decision. The ship never reached Treynce, within hours of their destination, the ship had begun to take on water and Tom was the only one who had managed to swim to shore successfully. A few people more quick witted than him had found life boats, but Tom was the only one who had the determination to swim over an hour to reach the shore of Raiaera. Once he’d stumbled onto the land, he promptly fell asleep.

After what seemed to be an entire day’s rest, Tom woke to find himself on the shores of the Red Forest. The sand extended only another fifty feet, after which the fronds of blood red trees extended out to him. Though his first instinct was to ignore the forest, Tom realized that the beach was likely the only place more conspicuous in a time of war.

With his clothes dried stiff onto his body, Tom trudged into the forest. He saw nothing, but there were unnerving sounds all around him. Unrequited mating calls of wolves, the slow rustling in the trees of thick, meaty vines, and the waxy blood red leaves all seemed to be telling Tom to leave but he continued deeper into the forest.

Soon, Tom heard the cries of the undead. He couldn’t place them with any certainty, all he knew was that they were behind him. Shaking his head in disbelief, he began to run. He moved in the direction of a tall black building, unsure of anything about it other than that he hoped it would be able to find a place to hide in it. As he grew closer, he could tell the bottom had already been barricaded. He wasn’t sure whether to panic or be relieved. It meant there were others, but that he might not have a way in.

Panic had not yet set in when he noticed a window still open and a branch that lead up to it. Tom knew that it wouldn’t be easy, and that his lungs were already about to explode, but it would be his only chance at salvation. Tom climbed, the lack of a thumb never more conspicuous, but still made it from up the tree and into the window. It took a last breath grasp for desperation once he was out on the limb. It was narrow and creaked with his weight and if he had any other options, Tom would have taken them gratefully.
Still, by luck and stamina, Tom had survived. Panting for breath as he fell into the Spire, the sweat soaked ex-convict felt his pulse racing as he leaned back against the cool Obsidian and thanked gods he didn’t even believe in for his good fortune. When he looked back out the window, he could only stare in shock that the branch had managed to support him. Knowing that he’d have to close this pathway before the undead took it, he pulled the branch to him and sliced it off as far as he could reach.

Summoning his last bits of strength and will, Tom pushed a book case over to barricade the door. It wasn’t a particularly sturdy barricade, but it was the best he could do, considering his fatigue. Between cutting the branch and the effort he put in, he was willing to accept it was good enough. “Don’t even know if those damned creatures can climb,” he thought contentedly.

As Tom escaped into the clutch of stone and strength, there were eyes upon him. Braedan's scouts had been watching him for some time, staying hidden as they could. However, when they had returned word to him that yet another had joined the small force defending the Tower, their master was apathetic. After all, everyone knew that they would fall soon.

When the army had at last come to a pause outside of the ancient stronghold, Braedan stepped forward. He watched the empty windows for some time, his eyes sliding across shadowed nooks and openings. Finally, he drew in a breath, and forced his voice loud and echoing through the empty forest.

"Come forward and give yourselves to the mercy of Xem'Zund and you shall see battle another day! Glory and Power are gifts the necromancer gives freely! Raiaera has fallen - will you follow her or rise above into the next morrow!?"

Stepping back, all the army strained to hear if there would be an answer from those they knew to be blockaded in the tower. Idril pursed her lips, glancing sideways to the other generals. She knew the answer, but still she had to ask, "Shall the archers fire if they show their faces?"

Subtly, Braedan nodded. Under the whisper of the wind, the creak of pulled bowstrings was no more audible than the creak of the cursed branches in Pode's forest.

Looking up the spiral of the staircase, I could only see to the next door before the staircase curved, blocking sight of anything further up. I wasted a long moment, tapping a foot and chewing on my lower lip, hesitating and thinking of the wisdom or foolishness of heading up to explore the Spire. My current companion did little to reassure me of my relative safety. The most Puppy would have done or could do is run screaming for help. What in the world is his name, anyway? I wondered, glancing back at the pale young man.

“Umm, what do I call you? I can’t keep calling you Puppy. Well, I could but that's a little demeaning… unless you’re into that kind of stuff and this most certainly is not the place or time for it.” I smiled slightly, just to show I was joking. I kind of hoped the fear-induced grey tone to his pallor would dissipate if I lightened up a little.

“Ki…Kiyeth Anamolei, that’s my name.” I shook my head at the gaze that darted about, reminding me of a rabbit trapped in a room with a wolf or three.

“Chill for a moment. You’re going to give yourself a heart attack if you don’t calm down, Ki. Can I call you Ki? Look, I’m going to keep heading up to check out what’s in the Spire and places that would be good for a defense. Undoubtedly, there are weapons or items that can be used as a weapon up there. If you want, you can go back and stay with the other students. With Lillian awake and Godhand there it should be safe for the time being.” A scrabbling noise echoed down the staircase and, for a moment, I cocked my head, frowning as I listened. A sneak attack?

Hugging the wall, I crept forward up to the room where the noise came from. The sound of furniture being moved and heavy breathing was enough to soothe my jumpy nerves. If they are breathing, then I guess it’s fine. I feel a little sorry for the poor bastard that was wandering through the forest. I held my breath and prayed that the door wouldn’t make a noise as I nudged it open just a crack. Thankfully it moved smoothly and silently as if it has been oiled just yesterday. That’s a little creepy.

My first glimpse of the person inside left me with a less than impressed impression. In fact the older man reminded me much of a used-car salesman. Shaking my head, I pulled the door shut and hurried up the stairs. The second set of footsteps behind me freaked me out for a moment.

“Decided to stick around, Ki?” I asked, trying to keep the heartbeat I felt in my throat from being audible in my voice. Frowning at the sheepish smile sent my way, I ignored Kiyeth and contuined past the room with the snake oil salesman. Behind me, Ki disappeared and reappeared as he checked the rooms I passed. By the time I reached the top of the Spire, he held a blade and had pressed another into my hand. I glanced at the pretty dagger; black crystals glittered prettily in old metal that badly needed a good polish. I’m better off with my whips, I know squat about using a sword. This room seems vaguely familiar…I think.

Dusty chairs ringed a table and on a dais, a pedestal rested. A dark patch marred the gleaming obsidian stone. Curious, and blaming my curiousity on the cat parts in me, I got within a few feet of it before I realized that is was blood, probably very old blood. Wrinkling my nose, I stepped away from the blood on the floor. The shouting from outside drew my attention. Cautious, but not foolish, I headed for the nearest window. Give ourselves up to Xem’zund? Yeeeah, I’ve always wanted to be a zombie. That’s what every little girl dreams of being.

“Here’s your answer to that proposition. Sit and spin!” I held a hand out the window in a one-fingered salute. Snorting in derisive amusement, I peeked out the window then promptly pulled back as an arrow struck the stone inches from my face.

“Goddamn son of a bitch.” I whispered to myself. “Go rot in hell you freaks! No one is coming out there.”

"Goddamnit, quit being so fuckin' tacky! You're making the rest of us look bad! 'Sit and spin'. Jesus."

Jesus, just what kind of a grabass unit had he been railroaded into protecting? Most of these kids weren't even old enough to grow facial hair, and even his so-called comrade was nothing but a foul mouthed cretin and, he suspected, a dominatrix. And the rest of 'em? Hell...You had the kid from before, the one who tried to get in on ground zero of the zombie attack. He had balls but not much to back it up. The rest of them? Who the Hell were they? The only one in the tower besides Godhand that was worth her weight in, well, zombie meat was Lillian. She was still spent from taking down that Queen Demon though, so he certainly couldn't count on her to get them out of this jam.

Godhand walked up the stone stairs, supressing a smile when the cat woman barely managed to dodge an arrow. They'd gotten the kids to go up. As high as they could go. Treat the tower like a sinking ship, which was basically what it was. The idea was that whatever enemies that made it past the Godhand/Lillian meatgrinder would be too beat up to do any real damage. Still, the tower apparently held many treasures. It'd been protected from looting thanks to the extremely hostile flora that surrounded it, and that meant that it was still filled with useful items. It was as he was contemplating this that that girl from earlier, the "We're all sixteen!" kid came running down the stairs. She was a pretty girl; glasses and smock and everything. She reminded him of Lillian.

"Mr. Godhand, Mr. Godhand, come quick!"

"What can I do for you, sweetheart?"

"There's something you need to see!"

She grabbed him by the hand and practically dragged him up the stairs, her shyness discarded in favor of self-preservation. When they made it to the top floor, that's where it was. The most beautiful Goddamn armor he'd ever seen. It was made of some kind of glassy dark metal, probably Delyn or black diamond or something. It was a full plate, so black it almost hurt your eyes. Horns on the helmet, too. Every piece fit together perfectly so that there wouldn't be an inch of flesh exposed for whoever was wearing it. It obviously belonged to the long departed master of the tower, and it was held in place by stark white chains coiled around it. He had no idea what they were made of, but he was certainly not going to walk away from there without that armor. The mercenary's hands gripped the chains, the young students watching with bated breath. Godhand began to pull, his forearms bulging and his face fearsome. There were a couple of steps back from the children when he bared his teeth, but finally there was a loud snap and the chain dissipated into this air. The gunman stumbled backwards, falling on his ass and looking up at the fearsome armor much like a child would at his father.

It was his, now.

Before she had seen the rows of decrepit archers nock their black-tinted arrows, Lillian had moved away, her attention drawn by the ruckus that came from above. It was strange, like the snapping of massive chains that had restrained some unearthly beast. The librarian swallowed a lump in her throat, feeling a vile darkness that escaped from the upper floor on unseen waves. Perhaps not a chthonian monster, but something had been unleashed, and there was no denying it.

“Steer clear of the windows for as long as you can,” she said to one of the students after making three steps on the stairway, her tone one of precaution. “If you need to look out the window, ask the girls to lend you some mirrors. Never look out directly, unless you enjoy the idea of being riddled with arrows.” With that she resumed her ascent, crouching low every time she saw dim lights coming from the outer world, where the dead besieged the living.

Soon, she was upon a room of the same unliving obsidian, yet here there were lines through the stone, more like veins than the crackling of thunder. It might have been a hallucination, an illusion brought by the damage she’d sustained in her previous battle or the grand headache that had suddenly seized her mind in a vice grip, but she could have sworn that the walls had pulsed. ‘Not so unliving, perhaps?’ When she saw the mercenary on his hindquarters among a pool of bone-white shards, however, all her questions had vanished as one. “Oh, no… what have you done?”

If he even answered, she could not hear. The black armour had taken the whole of her attention, had made her breathless. Yet it was not its fine craft and obvious quality that had stolen her eyes, but the onyx stone that had been fused into the chestplate. All sound had been buried behind its thrumming voice, one that filled her mind to the brim. Her body answered by approaching, by extending a hand to touch the sorcerous stone.

Black chains lashed out, wrapping around her like a swarm of snakes. A second later, and not even the smallest fold of her white dress could be seen under the shroud. Then, without a warning, the caliginous mass burst into a storm, then vanished through a window, a dark wave that resembled a murder of crows.

Lillian was gone.

(Temporarily hopping from this FQ quest to another. Link forthcoming.)

Tom groaned. This was the kind of scenario a young warrior would have dreamed about. One tower, only a few people left inside, the fall of Eluriand saturating the air and hanging heavy within the heads of all Raiaera. If Tom survived, he would become a legend, the kind of person whose name or alias was told to children so that they too would have the courage should they ever end up in an impossible situation.

That was why Tom knew that he was doomed. Legendary heroics only happened in fairy tales, and no fairy tale started with a tired and sweaty survivor of a shipwreck.

A woman who may have been better cast as the leader of that fairy tale offered a refusal for them. Tom tried to smile, but he couldn’t. It felt comforting knowing that there was someone out there willing to defy Xem’zund, even if the words were hollow. More likely than not, they were.

With his lungs still weary just from running to the tower, Tom didn’t move to the windows. He didn’t want to reveal his position. Certain that there was someone in the tower of greater interest than himself, he secretly hoped that Xem’zund’s army might find the people that revealed themselves, kill them and leave. The Obsidian Spire seemed full enough that it would have been easy to hide, just so long as the forgotten one’s minions had no sense of smell. If they did, no amount of hiding would be enough, Tom’s living blood would be all but a homing beacon for them.

The only problem was, Tom wasn’t sure if they could sense the living.

“They would have had to,” he figured. “They knew there were people in here… but then, they would have guessed that from the barricade, either that or they saw me try and get in.” Tom sighed. “If I can’t scare them out of here, then I’m zombie fodder…” he realized.

“No fucking way out but through,” he said out loud, either in a vain attempt at a little sympathy from whatever celestial beings might be watching or to convince himself of this unfortunate truth.

Not knowing what else to do, Tom made his way towards the sound of the voice. He found it in a room with dusty chairs and a dias. As he entered, the woman had just moved out of the way of one of the zombie’s arrows. Tom nodded solemnly. “I expected as much,” he thought pityingly. “Damn rot-lungs would have shot her even if she’d wanted to surrender.”

“I’m Tom,” he offered, knowing the situation was one in which niceties weren’t needed and that a stranger, as long as he was still breathing, wouldn’t be treated as unwelcome. “If you go near a window again, make sure you go at it hard. Even those damn decay brains don’t miss twice too often…”

The tower shook once, then twice, and then a final time. From the sloped roof, debris that had been caught there came cascading down. The doors rumbled, and shouts of derision floated up to the ears of those at the top. At the bottom, with a fallen tree supported between them, Akashiman soldiers with small features and solid armor were pounding at the door. Desperately trying to undo what Godhand had done, they weren't making much headway.

Behind them, Lady Idril stood, watching, yelling. She had taken a cat of nines, corded seemingly innocently around her wrist now. However, every single one of the men that stood, their eyes glued to the higher reaches of the Spire, knew how wrong that assumption was. The Lady turned, her azure eyes searching those of Braedan's.

"Sure, there is a faster way to infiltrate?" she asked. The commander nodded, his eyes sweeping up to where a pale flash of skin against the obsidian had come under siege by a flurry of arrows.

"They will not come to meet us again." He turned, as if to walk away, and then paused, looking over his shoulder at his general. "Send five of the Archaos. That should be enough."

After a few moments, there came a rumbling in the ranks, as a handful of the patchwork creatures came skittering to the base of the tower. The torsos of men, the faces of spiders with eight black beaded eyes and crushing mandibles, they were every bit as sickening as the furry, seeking length of their eight legs. They reared up, shouting a battle cry as their feet found purchase on the side of the tower and slowly, they began to ascend.

In the room our heroes occupied, small holes in the wall were carved, large enough for a bolt to slip through and for a peek above that. It was as if this room were designed to be used for the managers of the large bolt bows to do battle against archers below. In the room directly underneath them, a kitchen, ethereal fires lit the hearth, pots full of stagnant rainwater that had seeped down through the well concealed chimneys began to steam and bubble.

A moment of insanity. At least, that’s what I was claiming. I cast an acid etched grin at Godhand and shook my head. Jeez, the people of Althanas have no sense of humor. I’m glad I only look the part. I could swear that the stress was getting to me and I was splintering into a thousand Jennifer non-friendly pieces. Then again, I wasn’t completely Jennifer anymore, so hey, what was the problem? Sure, I did some odd things, but I was still me. Wasn’t I? If I question my sanity, then I must still be sane, unlike a few people nearby. The googly eyes Godhand and Lillian had been sending back and forth were a little sickening. The undead are attacking and Lillian looks like she wants to be picking out drapes for a cozy little nest. Jeez, get a room people. I changed my mind as I saw the flock of starry-eyed students following Godhand. I wondered if I pushed him out the window, would they follow the jerk? I almost hoped so.

“So, how did you manage to run through an undead-infested forest without becoming lunch? I’m sure we’re all dying to know. Excuse the pun.� I smiled nastily at Tom as I rounded on him to give an oh-so-polite response to his greeting, letting my fangs drop into the toothy smile for a moment before snapping them back up into place.

“The hulk over there is Godhand, I’m Kahlina, and the little cute librarian… Lillian!� My hand pointed out Lillian just as she vanished into the shadows. Just great, perfect. What’s next? Waldo is finally found? Some where in the back of my mind a once cute song was ringing through my head. There were five in the bed and the little one said. Roll over! Roll over! So they all rolled over and one fell off. Then, there were… I wonder if I should just skip to two in the bed, or does Tom count?. Disgruntled and more than a little angry, I turned on Godhand. Pieces of the broken chains flew and ricocheted off the walls with tiny high-pitched pings as I viciously kicked at them.

“This is all your fault. If you weren’t so gung-ho about acquiring your shiny new armor, Lillian would still be here, and we need her abilities a whole hell of a lot more than we need some muscle bound, would-be hero. Especially one that prefers brute force to using their brain! I so miss guns. It was so much easier on Earth. Grab a gun, aim, fire and presto! They’re dead. Also, the dead stayed nice and dead. If I ever get a hold of a gun, I’m going to shoot you.� A gauntlet, part the damned suit of armor, gleaming almost wetly in the light, was within toeing reach. Despite what had happened to Lillian, I kicked at it too, sending it skittering across the floor. With something between a snort and a huff, I turned away and headed for the stairs.

“Stay with the sheep and chicks. Someone needs to baby-sit and you’re just the man, Godhand. Call me a bitch all you want, it doesn’t make it an un-truth. Kai, follow or stay but help someone none the less.� From the cool stone beneath my thin-soled shoes, I faintly picked up the vibrations from the blows to the tree blocking the entrance and the walls around it. I set out to find something that would help me take out my anger on someone else. As snarky as I wanted to be, and could be, it would do us little good for me to keep snipping away at egos. Even if it was badly needed.

A single curve of the poorly lit stairwell, and I came to the first door. Peeking into the room, I saw a kitchen. Well, actually I saw dust, a table covered in dust, a shelf with a few decaying books on it and dust, and a half dozen simmering cauldrons. I drew back, then froze. Simmering cauldrons? I had a moment where I was confused. Boiling hot water would be handy as would the hot metal of the cauldron itself, but how had it appeared? Not willing to look a gift horse in the mouth, I opened the door again and looked in just to make sure I wasn’t seeing stuff. Seven cauldrons filled with boiling liquid, check. One nervous break down…nope.

“Kai! Come… oh, you’re already here. Umm, okay. Help me drag these up the stairs to where everyone else is waiting.� Studying one of the cauldrons, I glanced over to see if he could move one of the heavy cauldrons himself only to see him singing quietly over it. Huh, must be casting a spell of some sort. Resisting the urge to start humming ‘A hunting we will go’, I hurried out to check the next room.

Let’s see, door… needs a fresh coat of varnish. Wow, a nearly dust free room. I bet the brownies have been hitting up most of the tower. Mmm, I wonder who has been paying them all these years for their hard work. Faced with a empty room, I returned to the kitchen to help with moving the cauldrons. Promptly, I found it to be heavy, far too heavy to lift and almost too heavy to drag on my own. Feet slipping across the smooth stone, I slowly forced the water-filled cauldron to scoot across the floor with a headache-inducing shriek of tortured metal on stone.

“I’ll do that. I have a feather weight spell I can cast.� Between jumping in surprise and slipping once more, I found myself sitting on a backside that smarted from the sudden impact. Biting my tongue on a curse I glared at Kai, daring him to laugh at me. Other than a quirk of his lips, he seemed wise enough to not laugh, so with my bruised dignity drawn around me like a cloak, I got up and flounced indignantly over to the books to check them out. It took a lot of effort to not rub at the abused muscles.

“You’re lucky I like you. I’m going to check the books. Perhaps there is something usefull in them.� Even if it’s a recipie for zombie stew. Badly moldered, the books had to be handled with caution, and rather than hold one in my hands, I laid it on the table and turned the pages with the tip of a claw. The faint ticking of something hard against stone halfway caught my attention as I studied a recipie that had to do with vegation. Perhaps it was a spell, I’d never heard of a recpie that called for the person to say something to the veggies. Saying ‘obey me’ or sorry that I’m going to make you into lunch to a head of broccoli just sounds odd, after all. Some of the words were faded and hard to read. I really needed more light to make them out. The clicking on the other side of the wall reached the level of the window. An appendage, encased in chitin and black fuzz, reached into the room. Cross-eyed, I watched the hooked end wave an inch from my nose. Higher up in the slit of the narrow window, in an inscet’s face too many glittering eyes stared at me, burning with hunger but with little intelligence behind them.

I screamed when the second leg was forced into the room and flailed about, trying undoubted to snag something on me and pull me closer. The dagger found earlier was suddenly in my hand though I had no memory of drawing it. I lashed out at the legs. The blade skipped across the hard casing of the legs and lodged itself in a joint. Another shrill shriek was torn from me when the other leg brushed against my cheek, the sharp end of it scoring a line across my face. My face? The semi-coherent thought that the overgrown spider had cut my face flashed for a moment along with the first sting of pain and blossom of liquid warmth.

“Hey!� I yelled and yanked on the dagger. Putrid fluid oozed from the partly broken joint. Snatching up a book I hadn’t read from yet, I threw it at the spider-like creature and scrambled up on the table. I stabbed at the creature, aiming for the eyes and chest of it.

“Don’t you know it’s not nice to mar a lady’s face, you over grown pest.� The surprised, hissing chitter from it made me feel a little better. I felt even better when it fell away from the window, and a moment later I heard a satisfying thud from outside. Ignoring the tickle of blood tricking down my cheek, I raced to reach the others in the upper room and warn them. I started shouting even before I reached the landing.

Tom was fairly surprised by how much the woman named Kahlina liked to talk. He had rarely seen anyone talk so much in a such a situation. “I’d have thought she’d have covered everything important with sit and spin,” Tom thought, readying his crossbow. He always made sure to load the weapon with its first bolt before he started, since he lacked a thumb on his left hand, it was difficult for him to reload quickly when he needed. Now, with the foundation beginning to rattle with a new attack, Tom began to follow Kahlina, hoping that she had a plan.

Once Tom saw the cauldrons, he realized exactly what Kahlina was thinking. He smiled, leaving her to that business. Impressed with her foresight, he knew that as currently constituted, the cauldrons wouldn’t be weapons for long.

Quickly, Tom began to gaze around the kitchen. There were fire pits for roasting, but there was nothing of use there, just firewood. Unless it came to the point where they needed to bludgeon the undead for security, then firewood was of no use. If it came to that point, they might as well have used the firewood to bludgeon themselves, because it would have been a much more human death.

There wasn’t much else to look at. There was a table in the center of the room, a small basin over in the corner, but despite the well kept nature of the room, Tom couldn’t find any cooking oil or other liquid that might have served as an adequate replacement when the cauldron water ran out.

“I’ll go look for some more liquid,” Tom said, beginning to run back up the stairs right before the spider-like creatures descended on Kahlina. By the time they had attacked her, Tom was back up on the floor where they had originally meant, pushing over empty crates, debris and whatever furniture stood in his way as he searched for something that might help them with the cauldrons. He could hear the pitter patter of long chitinous legs as they moved their way up the side of the building, and as they grew closer, Tom feared that they might have already reached Kahlina.

“Lose her and there goes our weapons…” Tom realized solemnly, more concerned with holding their position than the welfare of the woman.

Seconds later, Tom saw the first of the creatures. It was insect like, long mandibles clicking eagerly as it pushed a barricade out of the way with two long arachnid legs. Large compound eyes surveyed the room, as the creature looked for something to attack. Tom cringed. It might have been insect like and undead, but it seemed smarter than the mindless hordes Tom had expected to fight.

His nerves taking control, Tom fired his bolt, his impulse dictating it even though he knew it would be his only shot against the creature. Luckily, it hit. The spider-like creature hissed, puss and green fluids oozing from its punctured compound eye. Before it could recover, it lost its grip and fell back down.

Tom gulped, shocked and humbled by his luck. Quickly, he began to reload his crossbow. He knew there was more where that creature came from.

God, she was insufferable. Godhand did the old 'yak yak' motion with his hand as the catgirl went on and on about how he was a moron and an idiot and what have you. Still, coming from someone who if she had one more synapse fired in her brain she'd be in a coma, the warrior didn't think too much about that. He was more worried about Lillian; much as he didn't like to admit, he'd been depending on her. Everybody in the tower was...Weak.

He understood how egotistical that sounded, but it was true. The only ones who could really hold their own were Godhand and Lillian, and now she was gone. Things were starting to look pretty grim. He could not as one man defeat an entire army. Plus, his interest in the librarian wasn't entirely a selfish one. That is, he wasn't just worried about her because she gave him better odds of surviving. He liked the kid; she had class. She was classy.

Now he had that on his mind, plus the barbarians at the gates plus some catwoman bimbo yelling at him for being an asshole, and who knew wether Kross would be back. He needed an edge; that's where the armor would come in. Godhand picked up the gauntlet his female comrade had kicked with such scorn, inspecting the material. He still couldn't quite get a bead on what it was. He'd heard somewhere that black diamond had been mined into non-existance, but then again the armor looked so ancient and otherworldly that he assumed it was crafted by some monstrous God before mankind even knew about mining. It was dark inside the metal; he couldn't get a look inside the gauntlet even when holding it up to a lantern. It was black like a hole in the ground. The swordsman paused for a moment, hesitated, then remembered his situation. With a tense sigh, he pulled it over his hand.

Next came the boots, the greaves and the chest plate. It was a bad feeling, getting helped into that armor by the students. It felt like a prison. He started to look at the helmet with dread; he knew it'd have to go on eventually. The spiked pauldrons were next. The whole suit left no part of him exposed; whatever the obsidian metal didn't protect, some dark leather stretched over. Black dragon skin, and it'd been a truly ancient dragon to boot. He started getting a bad case of claustrophobia inside the goddamn suit, but he couldn't wuss out now. Not with those bright-eyed student girls looking at him. He grit his teeth as the helmet was pulled over his head and fastened. He could hear the dull hiss of his own breath inside the obsidian; it was deafening.

One of the students shakingly offered him his Muramasa, and he slowly accepted it. He gripped the handle in his hand; it felt good. He was starting to get used to the Necromancer's armor. The clawed gauntlet tightened around the blade, and the warrior smiled.

He was ready.

When the body of one of the Archaos fell to the ground before Idril, she was more startled and possibly more angry than their own creator was. Why would any of Xem'Zund's army fall before mere children and four warriors? With her jaw clenched and her eyes hard, she walked past the Akashiman conscripts who were still trying to break down the door, ignoring the splintering of the wood with each pound they gave it. It was, after all, a far slower process for the destruction of the lives inside than she had in mind. She did what she never thought she'd do in such an insignificant scuffle as this; she walked up to the tower, and melted into the wall. Coming out the other side was the only part of her power that ever even stung, but despite the pain, she stood at the bottom of the spiral staircase smiling. Lady Idril unrolled the whip around her arm as she began to make her way up the staircase and a waiting kitchen.

In the room with the armor, Kahlina had disrupted more than just the tension in the room. The fragments of chain she'd kicked struck a wall, and let a filtering of black dust come down. This was quite unusual in the Tower, where the obsidian was nigh unbreakable by such a paltry blow as this. In fact, if one would look close enough, the dust flaked off in such a way that a square furrow could barely be seen on a place in the wall. A rather large square at that.

On the edge of Raiaera and Alerar, in a large building that belonged to no town or city, there was a great cheer. The roof of the place was nothing more than a tarp, and it was let loose from it's tethers on the outside walls as a great shadow began to rise upwards. From the moment the seige began, an ally of Raiaera, in the guise of a diminutive Dr. Kehron Elendrie had been feverishly working to perfect the machine that had stalwartly refused to do a damn thing he said for the last fifteen years. Now, the airship, made from plans bought in Ettermire for great price, was finally rising to the air.

"Where shall we head?" asked an assistant, who had finished loading the last crate of coal that would help power the furnace for the steamer to keep air in the great balloon.

"Anywhere we can help!" the man said as he took his place at the wheel of thing. As his workshop became a mere speck underneath them, Dr. Elendrie pointed his device south.

The spell book. It could be useful. Halfway up the stairs the thought froze the near panicked shouting in my throat. I stumbled a little, my toes slipping off the end of a stair as I halted my mad dash up the stairs. For a long agonizing minute I hesitated, torn between the idea of wanting to join the group and needing to head back for the damned book. Cursing a storm under my breath I turned back. Everyone will be okay, I hope.

Light, stained a faint red from the forest surrounding the Spire, lit the kitchen in an almost depressing manner. I bee-lined for the tome that rested on the table and quickly skimmed the book until I found the spell from earlier. My lips moved silently as I pieced together the spell. The echo of footsteps behind me caught my attention.

Shutting the book, I shoved it into a deep pocket and crept forward. At the door I listened to the footsteps. Both whips were loosened as the sound creeped me out slightly, they sound confident as if who ever were walking up the stairs had no need to hide. If I were the religious type, I’d be praying by now. Hail Mary or something like that.

Straightening from my defensive crouch in the doorway, I took both whips in hand and slapped some steel into my spine before stepping out into the hall to meet whomever was so graciously coming to visit us. On the next landing, only a half dozen steps away an unknown woman appeared, whip in hand. A smile, more a baring of teeth than an actual smile quickly tugged at my mouth. Slowly I stepped down the last few stairs as I studied her. Damn near ugly for a woman. Must be a peacock with the jewels she wears in her hair, definitely over compensating for that face and lack of chest. I finished my snap judgement and did a slow, blatant once over starting from her feet and ending with her face. Oddly enough, I was half hoping to make her feel self-conscious and to make her angry.

If I’m going to be praying perhaps ‘though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil. Would a better one to recite. I pasted a smile on, one as bright and shiny as a 60 watt light bulb and fake as a three dollar bill.

“Hi! Wanna be friends? Let’s play!” I chirped in my best brainless blonde fashion. After all, I had once been blonde by both bottle and by birth.

He could already feel the armor take a strange root in him. The helmet, in particular; he could feel it's dark tendrils snaking their way into his mind. Suddenly, Godhand bellowed. The students all jumped back in surprise. It was a strange sound, like the moan of a dying whale. The mobster shook his head and began the trek down the tower's stairs, small pebbles and dust jumping lightly into the air with each ponderous step. Suddenly, he heard a loud crack from downstairs he didn't know quite what to make of. It was only when he stepped unto the fifth floor and noticed the undead pouring in from the stairwell that he realized they must have gotten past his barrier. He couldn't imagine how; it probably would have been easier to break the walls down than budge that enormous oak. It was only as the swordsman swatted away the undead hand from one of the approaching horde that he realized it'd be wiser to focus on the enemies before him than whatever battering rams were at the base of the tower.

Godhand swiped at one of the zombies with a snarl, a good portion of it's face getting ripped off by the clawed gauntlets of his armor. The surrounding undead lunged forward and tried to get a grip on the warrior, but he shrugged them off without much trouble. Now that he was protected from the rot, he could crush them at his leisure. It was with this thought that he chose to add a little flair to the fight, purely for the sake of his own vanity and any hypothetical observers. With a small hop he belly-slammed one of the zombies, sending him tumbling into the milling horde of undeath behind him. He forgot all about his blade and instead chose to bully his way through their numbers with sheer brute strength. By the time he'd made his way to the stair case there was nothing left behind him but crushed bones and blind, flailing limbs.

The fourth and third floors were more of the same. It was only when he got to the second floor that anyone really interesting showed up. It was a patchwork man of disturbing quality; he looked like a failed experiment in either taxidermy or necromancy. Maybe both.

"Mahsster!"

Godhand tried to reply, but the only sound that came out was a loud exclamation that sounded something like 'bawoo!'. He stabbed his Muramasa into the ground before lunging forward in an attempt to crush the abomination, but suddenly felt a great force slam into him. The mobster was knocked off his feet and collided against the wall. He fruitlessly attempted to regain his bearings as the behemoth Braeden Devondre bared down on him. His enormous hands wrapped around Godhand's neck, strangling him through the dragon skin protecting it. The gunman's knees went weak for a moment but then his hand shot out and applied the mandible claw to the monster. Each one vainly tried to prove dominance over the other, until finally Godhand punched Braeden in the stomach and tore off his jaw in one sickening motion. Then he reared back and began whipping the creature across the head and shoulders with it's own disembodied mandible. Braeden brought it's arms over it's head in an attempt to protect itself and turned away from the gunman. That was when he dropped his makeshift weapon and locked his hands across the monster's abdomen. Godhand straightened himself out in an attempt to maximize his attack's power before delivering a perfect german suplex to the general, shattering his neck in the process.

The mobster picked himself up, much to the horror of the room's only other occupant. He could hear the moans of the undead as they struggled to make their way up the staircase; the mindless things had been to anxious and ended up getting themselves stuck. Godhand lifted up Braeden's now permanently dead body and hurled it into the narrow staircase, aggravating the congestion. He finally turned back to the abomination and in a flash grabbed it by the skull. The monster produced a shrill, nasal whine from it's rotting airway, but Godhand paid it no heed. He got it in a side headlock and with a small flourish hit a corkscrew neckbreaker on the creature. The beast's stitches weren't as resilient as normal human skin, however, and he ended up twisting it's head clean off. The swordsman picked himself up and viewed it's disembodied head with chagrin before plucking his Muramasa out of the ground and delivering one final, spire-shaking roar.

"BAWOO!!!"

While Godhand made so much raw meat out of their enemies, Idril stalked closer still to the transformed Earthian that stood above her. With each step, the whip that she carried unraveled, trailing behind her.

"What's a pretty little girl like you doing in a place like this?" Idril asked, bearing a grin that displayed every tooth. It was a shark's smile, and it was perfectly in place in the dim hallway. Her footsteps slowed, the final one scraping to a stop a whip's length from Kahlina.

"You'd be much better suited to a lighter place. Perhaps the afterlife?" A whip snapped as Idril threw her arm forward, it's leather as dangerous as a razor as it flew towards Kahlina's face.

From the glass-fronted bridge of the dirigible, the assistant peered towards the horizon. After a moment, he paled, and turned quckly to where Dr. Elendrie was stooped over controls, watching whirring gauges intently.

"My boy, we've done it!" he exclaimed, looking up with a triumphant grin. "Pressure is holding steady, we'll make it after all!" He paused, looking at the elf's frightened features. "What's wrong, son?"

"Doctor....we're coming up on a small army. They've surrounded the Spire."

This troubled the old elf, and he sat back, stroking his chin for a moment. The silver curl of hair that resided there curled around his fingers, as if the motion was so familiar that it charmed the goatee to life.

"There's nothing left in that tower since the end of the last attack. Why would they be gathered there?" he asked himself, his voice quiet and searching. "Unless there's life inside..." Standing, the good doctor strolled to the helm of the bridge, and took the wheel in his hand. Reaching over, he began to pull cranks and twist the wheel ever so slightly. Despite his fluid motions, the zeppelin lurched and tipped before beginning to descend through the clouds.

"What are you doing!?" several assistants shouted at once as they held on to counters and railings to keep from being pitched to the floor.

"Getting closer, of course..." he stated, shrugging off their fear like a light tap on the shoulder.

Out of Character:

Godhand, if you don't want to post this round, let me know. If you do, well, have fun. Jenn, fully bunny your little fight with Idril. Kill her with your post if you feel like it. Rescue and conclusions in two rounds.

The swordsman placed a hand against the obsidian walls of the spire to support himself. It was strange; normally he could have gone ten rounds with either of those monsters and wouldn't have thought anything of it, but now after only a few short moments of battle he was exhausted. He felt...Heavy. Tired; he breathed in air and breathed out smoke. On the other end of the barricaded corridor they had finally stopped pressing against Braeden's body. They seemed to understand somehow that their leader had been vanquished, and all across the tower the moans of the undead began to fall silent. He slowly ambled his way over to the stairs, thinking to get back to the students, but tripped against the first stair and tumbled to the ground unceremoniously. Laying on his back, it was almost humorous. He felt like a turtle that had been toppled over, his arms flailing uselessly at his side. But he knew it was no joke. His breath was starting to grow short, and he suddenly understood.

It was the armor! It was sapping his strength; using his life to fuel whatever engine of terror granted it it's terrible powers. Instantly his hands shot over the chestplate and dug into whatever grooves he could find, futilely attempting to rip off the infernal exoskeleton. No use; the Goddamn thing was definitely built to last. He shouted for help, but through whatever monstrous filter the helmet sported he ended up sounding like a beached whale. Finally, with whatever presence of mind he had left, he curled his fingers around the helmet's horns and began to pull. They didn't budge at first, and Godhand quickly grew desperate. But soon enough, he felt the thing give a little. He pressed on with renewed vigor and just as he felt he was about to expire, he gave one last mighty tug and the flew off his head.

The swordsman took grateful gasps of air. It was only know that the fiendish thing had been removed that he could truly feel the pressure it exerted on it's user; wearing it had been like trying to walk and breathe underwater. He could feel something sticky around his ears and head, and slowly brought a gloved hand to his brow. Pulling it back, he noticed it was covered in some thick dark fluid. Like the blood of a demon. It had mixed with his sweat and turned into some foul smelling concoction. He started feeling trapped in the rest of the suit, feeling like it was snaking under his skin. But he was too tired to deal with the rest of the armor. At this point he'd need those kids upstairs to help him out. He laid his head on the spire's floor and tried to conserve his energy.

All the while the sinister helmet sat in the opposite corner of the room, it's empty eye-holes viewing it's former wearer with a quiet indifference.

Out of Character:

Spoils: none

I guess she doesn’t want to be bussom buddies, what a pity. Instinct drew my arm up to protect my face from the weapon Idril held. Pain blossomed across my forearm where the end of the Idril’s whip wrapped around it in the tender embrace of a boa constrictor having a bad day. Hissing softly at the pain, I flicked the whip in my free hand, catching Idril across the tip of her nose. Lucky shot.

Clothing tore with a quiet wet sound as I jerked back and side stepped, warily circling Idril. If I were more willing to lose a bit of skin I could easily flail away with my whips.

“You know, it’s funny I was just thinking of the same thing. Well, I was actually thinking anyone as unfortunate as you in the appearance department should be put out of their misery.� I skipped to the side just in time to avoid the lashing end of the whip. “Oh, did I strike a nerve? Sorry about that.� Ignoring the warm, tickling trickle of blood as it crept it’s way down and across my hand, I struck out with one whip, driving the woman a step back.

“For a mousy little girl you sure have a tongue in your boring little mouth. I’m sure, if given enough time, I can beat it out of you.�

Chuckling quietly, I stuck my tongue out at her as we matched steps. Within only a few minutes we had exchanged places. Flicking both whips, I halted our slow circling. Lazily, I shifted my weight to one hip and tapped my foot on the smooth black stone.

“Which is it? Pretty or mousy? You seem to be rather divided on the subject.� For a moment my attention shifted, my gaze drawn up to the stairs behind Idril as Kai appeared. Tsking at the woman, I shook my head, my eyes still on Kai. I wanted to fight on my own. As Kai withdrew, I put away one whip and rested my hand on the black jeweled dagger hidden in the back of my waistband.

I had to side step the bloodied end of Idril’s whip when she lunged suddenly. The whip slapped at the ground close enough for me to feel the displaced air ruffle the leg of my pants. The thought that I was too slow rang through my head as I tried to stomp on the whip and pin it down. Born of my nervous habit, I started humming softly, just loud enough to carry across the room. Once I realized it, I shifted the aimless melody to the soothing song, hoping for an edge.

“This is not a choir little girl,� Idril sneered as she steeped close enough to strike again. I stepped into the attack, taking the hit and gasping as a sharp pain lanced around my waist and thrust the dagger into Idril’s stomach.

Idril’s surprised gasp registered before the sickening jar of metal sliding through flesh and grating against bone did. I stared into Idril’s shocked and fever-bright eyes. For the first time, I noticed that she had beautiful eyes. I looked down as her warm, rough hand covered the hand that still held onto the hilt.

“If I pull it out, you die faster.�

“You, you little bitch. I’ll kill you.� Her free hand raised up to claw weakly at my throat. It was the easiest thing in the world to use the weak movements my tail was capable of to brush the hand aside. I guess mercy is out of the question. Stepping back, I pulled the dagger with me and backed away a few paces. A low moaning sound rattled in the back of her throat and she clutched at the wound as she fell to her knees.

With an almost clinical detachment I watched her waver and fell back against the wall before sliding down to sit on the cold floor. The blood that dripped from between her fingers disappeared onto the midnight floor as if the Tower were greedily sucking up precious fluid. For a moment, I almost thought I heard the walls around me make a soft, ugly noise of satisfaction. I knelt on the floor and peered with the morbid cousin of curiosity at her and began comparing the length of the blade to what I remembered of human anatomy. Fatty tissue, muscles, small intestine and if I were lucky, I nicked the liver or kidney. Yeah, if only.

“You’re dead. It might take five minutes or you might live for the next three days, go septic, then finally die. Not a good way to go, and I really don’t want to wait that long.� I shook my head at the foamy glob of spit that barely made it past her chin. “Either way, after you’re dead, I’ll bash your brain in just so Xem’ zund can’t bring you back. So… fast or are we going to wait?�

“Go to hell.�

I watched her feet push uselessly at the floor in pain for only a moment. Unthinkingly, I placed the dagger back into my waistband and drew one of my whips. A blink later, I found myself kneeling beside Idril. Almost tenderly, I wrapped my whip around her throat and began to pull it tight. My stomach tightened in rebellion to my actions. Swallowing hard, I focused on the matte black stone of the floor just beyond Idril’s kicking feet.

“Just die.� I whispered as she bucked against the tight, biting grasp of the whip. A moment or an eternity later, she finally went limp and still I held on until I was sure she was dead and gone. Bracing her body, I unwound my whip and drew the dagger once more.

“Fighting you once was more than enough for me,� I muttered to myself, gathering courage even as I avoided looking at the bulbous, blood shot eyes that stared at me accusingly and the discolored tongue that protruded between purpled lips like a worm. Eager to be done, I thrust the dagger into the back of her neck and yanked it to the side, breaking the spine.

“I wonder if this is going to come back and bite me on the ass later? I’ve always read that your first murder is the hardest.� Musing on that distressing thought, I dragged Idril’s body over to the nearest window. Just before I pushed her body out the window, it jerked in my grasp. Careful, I peeked over her shoulder and spotted two arrows sticking out of her chest. It was the easiest thing in the world to tip the body out the window. A nasty smirk stretched the corners of my mouth as the wet, meaty sound of the body hitting the ground below reached my ears. Use that body if you can Xem’ zund.

Out of Character:

Get on the zeppelin with these posts, kiddos. State at the end of your posts if you want this to be your last post. If everyone decides they're square, I'll put up the thread conclusion and we'll get this submitted. If you need two posts to get to your conclusion, that's cool too. Just let me know and we'll get this all worked out. Full reign to kill anything that's left, by the way. And feel free to bunny anyone on the airship.

From the clouds, the great metal dirigible descended. With the winds, it tipped and swayed. The men within, with one exception, stared out the windows of the chambers with jaws dropped and sweat sheening on their heads. Now, they could see the masses of undead that piled and squirmed around the sides of the tower. There were a few crawling up the sides, flesh that was twisted and bloated and seemed more arachnid than human. One of the boys in the flying contraption, who'd been sheltered from everything but gears and steam his whole life, was sick. Only the good doctor stayed fast.

"I...I thought they were people..." one assistant managed to stammer. Dr. Elendrie's eyes rolled and he leaned over to where a row of throttles and pulleys clanked with the shuddering of the ship. He wrapped his hand around a red bar, wrapped up and down with veins of Adamantine. Slowly he pulled it back, every few inches bringing with it a loud clank and grinding from underneath the ship.

"We're losing pressure!" a voice floated from the back. The echo of boots on steel flooring behind the doctor didn't discourage him. He let go of the red pipe and took hold of another, this one gleaming with a prevalida trigger. Shoving it forwards, his finger shot around and jammed down the trigger as if it were high noon and his speed with the switch was all that stood between him and the Reaper. The moaning began, metallic and booming. It was as if the airship were crying out, and a sudden explosion of wind send scrolls flying through the air. The doctor's mantle was fluttering around, whipping up to touch at his face, his hair sent wild. His assistant was at once at his side.

"What are you doing? The hatch came open..." the assistant's green eyes slid from his mentor's manic grin to the levers before him, particularly the blue one. "Are you intent on killing us all!?"

"No my boy," came the wisened and manic tone, "I'm intent on the rescue!"

The dirigible, it's loading hatch open in the back, the plate of metal screeching and shaking in the wind, came down on the tower like a particularly awkward bird of prey. The wind was trying to shove it off course, and as the doctor rushed to the back and threw down rope ladders that rolled and flapped against the side of the tower, the hatch scraped and screamed against the roof of the Spire. Finally, it stood still in the air with a buck, sending the elves within stumbling to their knees. One assistant looked out, his face falling as he saw the dent in the hatch.

"We're caught sir!" he exclaimed.

"All the better to wait for the successful rescue!" came the only reply. When one elf spotted one of the strange stitched zombies grab hold of one of the three rescue ladders and begin to haul itself upwards, the senior assistant began to seriously contemplate murdering the elderly professor if not for their sanity then for their lives.

“Foolss.” At the foot of the spire was the creature hunched, his cockeyed gaze of brown and blue riveted on the crest of structure’s unliving black. Through the heatless stone had he felt the gutter of two life-sparks, those of his so-called peers locked in their own duels. A flash, smokeless, soundless, then nothing. “They ha’ sslain Ssydonia, and now they ha’ sslain you.”

He had seen the mound of flakes and ashes not far from the tower’s base, struck through by an array of knives and daggers. Idril and Braeden had bent so easily to his suggestions, to his lies and his threats. “Idril MÃ*riel, you ha’ passsed by indeed, and sso sshall I tell mahsster.” Selksis Farghast was now the sole commander of the Dark’s contingent, and would now lead his army away to meet the Necromancer. A dissension, he would tell him, had led the three to part ways before entering the blood-cursed forest. Arrogance and idiocy, however, had led the two to their deaths.

“And fire, fire hass conssumed it all, mahsster!” He laughed, the sound seeming to hiss from various punctures in his lungs. Lit torch in hand, he went to stand over uprooted tree that had once barred the entryway, the rough bark cutting bloodless furrows in his bare feet. A low sizzle as the torchwood struck oak, then a vigorous burst. If only he could smell that redolence of burning wood, the caress of rising smoke, the feisty prick of golden embers. “At leassst… at leassst I can sstill ssee.” The laugh again, like a deflated sack of air.

Corpses neatly lined up the stairway to form a bloated, rotten serpent. Apparently, a brute had mowed down the first wave from the top floors down, unwittingly paving the way for beauteous fireworks. One hop backwards and he was out the doors, patchwork hands landing in the same thump as his feet. Selksis moved away as jerkily as would a lame ape, though also twisting from side to side like the snake that he was.

Then the most peculiar thing happened. Though he was years into undeath, though he had gone ages without fluid in his veins, he felt a blood rush take to his head. The world spun away, more and more askew until he saw a vast stretch of wild grass. Then, a thud. A crunch as a booted foot stepped before his eyes. His left eye darted downward, to see a hunched mass a few feet away. His other rolled to the right, to see a white-clad figure standing over him. “Ekssecuted?”

The girl merely smiled, wiping her rapier on a rag. “Considering you’re still talking – without lungs, the gods know how – I’d say: not yet, but soon enough.”

::::::::::::

“Sselkssisss will need sstitchesss.” His whisper was slow, his tilted smile mad. Lillian quirked her eyebrows, wondering what could make a man so giddy after being decapitated. When she saw his headless body twitch and twist, realization dawned upon her face. She jumped away cursing, eyes even wilder as two arrows fled past her. One hand swung to the back, aiming for the pile of ash that once was the Queen of Undeath; at once, the weapons jammed there quavered to life and sprung out, trailing ash until they hovered inches away from her palm.

Lillian grasped the glass dirk and pitched it high toward the topmost window, its pommel striking the lintel stone – where it remained stuck, dangling as if by some powerful adhesive. Just then, Selksis’ body, bloated with gas, exploded into slivers of fetid flesh, closely followed by… “Guts? No… no! Snakes!” Hundreds of snakes, in advanced decay and plump with dried feces, dull eyes the color of bile, all swarming and slithering toward the librarian. Overwhelmed by fear, she had to tug several times on the thread attached to her thrown dagger before her body was sent reeling up as if hooked on a fisherman’s line. Yet the monstrosities, they were relentless. Already were they crawling up the wall like viscous, gruesome daisy chains.

Within moments she was upon the crack of a window, though not without avoiding half a dozen arrows during her swift ascent. In a maddened haste, she flung herself through, narrowly evading the flurry of quarrels that broke upon the obsidian ceiling. Screams came from the quailing students. Makeshift weapons were raised, but there was a palpable wave of relief when they saw Lillian’s face. “You’re alive! Where? Where did you go?” asked the voice of a familiar boy. “I saw you vanish in a flight of crows!”

Lillian froze, memories clouting her like stiff slug from behind. Could they possibly believe what had happened since? “They… dropped me off in nearby ruins. One of Xem’Zûnd’s lairs. I… ran back.” A simple gander at their faces told her no. Just as well. In fact, she might have judged anyone dim enough to fall for the tall tale she was feeding them. “Let’s just save this for the campfire, shall we? And, speaking of fires, there’s one snaking its way up the stairs, so if we could hurry…”

“Hurry where?” one of the girls enquired, her tone devoid of hope and brimming with cynicism. “There’s nowhere to run. Our only choices are to be mauled by a legion of undead or to be finely roasted, just in time for their triumphant feast.”

“I know I said to avoid windows unless you wanted to breathe through your forehead, but there’s a rather conspicuous, um...”

“What? What is it?” their breaths were bated as one, all hope dangling on the words she held back.

“There’s a flying boat on our heads.”

“The girl’s daft,” the skeptic continued in a scoff. “A flying boat?” Murmurs rose from the chorus of Istien students, their glee upon seeing the teenager crumbling so fast it was insulting.

“A flying boat, an airship, a blasted chariot that runs on cherub kisses, call it whatever you want!” The smoke was already licking the ceiling, and she could see a roaring gleam down the winding stairs. Lillian stuck out her hand from the window, winced as an arrow grazed her forearm, but still managed to draw in what seemed to be a ladder of ropes. “It’s up there, and it’s waiting!”

She could almost hear the hope rush back in like a tidal wave. One of them, however, still clung on to his wits. “But the arrows– “

“I’ll deal with the archers.” Saying no more, she spun on her heels and made for the canvas-wrapped cases sitting not far from the window. Clouds of smoke were now thinning her breath, beginning to shroud her vision, but she did not have to look long. There it was, one small case of Raiaeran wine bottles, weaved with a sorcery that would allow them to age beyond a millennia. Quickly she tore pieces of canvas with her dirk, then uncorked six of the bottles. There was comfort in the woody aroma, but still she promptly stoppered them with long rolls of the cutaway tarp. The last four, she tightly swathed in what remained of the fabric, affixing them to firmly her belt by the neck with the same sticky, sorcerous webbings she had used to ascend the spire.

Plucking one of the sempiternal torches that lit the winding stairway, she ignited a canvas corks. Crouching below the window, she bided her time, timing her breaths until she sprung halfway up, turned to face the killing field below and hurled the bottle into the unholy masses. An arrow wooshed, but she was already on her knees and out of sight. And astounding explosion flared when the glass shattered, the flame alighting the enchanted alcohol into an unexpectedly powerful incendiary. With the same timing, dexterity and accuracy, she flung each flaming cocktail one by one, drawing a line of blinding flames and smoke that was no doubt devouring flesh and rot, cutting swaths through the enemy ranks. “Quick, before the surviving archers clear their line of sight!”

One by one they hopped onto the ladder, doing their best to ignore the numbing height. They sped away like ducklings on a bustling road, quickly reaching the crown of the Obsidian Spire where the zeppelin’s metal hatch had splintered stone. However, mother goose remained behind. “Kahlina! Mister Godhand! Top window, there’s a ladder!” Unsure if she had been heard, she reiterated several times, each scream more piercing than the previous.

No answer. Nervously, she looked over the window’s ledge, saw the inferno rage wilder than she had imagined it would. Then heard a squirm. The gut-snakes, inches away. She struck the outer wall with one of the bottles at her waist, squashing the leading abomination and leaving nothing but a husk hanging from a brown smudge. The wine poured down, and she did the only thing she could think of: strike the wall with a burning torch. They hissed as they were caught in the conflagration, writhing before falling away in festive streamers.

“Damn it.” There was no more time. She vaulted over the ledge, catching one of the rope rungs and clambered all the way up, all of her weapons clattering behind her on the wall. She could see the hatchway cramped with faces full of worry. Men crewing the ship were looking at her as one would a revenant, though she could not tell why. One of those who lifted her from the brim enlightened her at last. “Gods, lass, if you weren’t still pretty under all that blood and grime, I’d have thought you one of them zombies!”

‘And he would’ve pushed me over the ledge.’ In all honesty, she was far too worn and shaken to take the crewman's statement as a thinly-veiled compliment, though she was still alert enough to count her blessings - he hadn't made the mistake, after all. “There are two more inside the tower. Please… wait for them.” Upon these few words, she felt a great numbness sweep through her muscles, and knew that she had reached her limits. ‘Just like last time… I never hang on long enough to see the end unfold.’

In the arms of a stranger, she fell to a world of darkness. Her last thoughts pertained to the tale she had spun to those impressionable students, to the lies she had weighed to inconvenient truths. In her defense, however, she had been truthful with one detail.

‘Bloody did run all the way back.’

Out of Character:

If everyone chooses to end this, then so will I. If not, I'm okay with that too. But just in case: Spoils: 3 bottles of the enchanted Raiaeran wine. Also, two spools of Lillian's trademark silk threads (near-Dehlar strength). That's half of what her Seamstress skill produces per quest, by the by. Godhand also gave Lillian his Delyn Rapier, so if you still want to deduce from the number of spools, I'll understand.

And he must've been losing it by then because he thought he heard Lillian telling him to...Go to the light. Or something like that. Christ, he could barely process what was going on. But, as he felt the ghouls attack the makeshift barricade he'd made out of Braeden's corpse with renewed vigor, he knew had to move. He tried get up a few times, but it was like someone had placed an anvil on his chest; like a fat man trying to do sit-ups. But he dug his clawed gauntlet into the tower's wall and finally managed to hoist himself up to his feet. And not a moment to soon, either, because right then one of the zombies had the bright idea to hack his way through Braeden instead of impotently pressing against him and now the floor was quickly filling with the Necromancer's troops.

The mercenary scrambled up the stairs as well he could with the armor sapping his energy, but it was like walking through molasses. He soon fell back into using the Spire's ill-fitting bricks as hooks to pull himself up the staircase. Still, as slow as he was, the zombies weren't much quicker. Also, they seemed to have a problem with stairs and soon degenerated into crawling upon the backs of their fallen brethren in their haste to reach him.

This went on until about the third floor, where he found a remnant of the initial assault wave. Apparently he hadn't killed this one with the finality he thought. One of the creatures stumbled over to attack him but he wasn't having any of that. He reared back and leveled it with a big boot to the head. It was good to know that even though his energy and speed were gone, he still had plenty of power.

He heard the reinforcements clambering couldn't spend any more Goddamn time screwing around with these monsters; they'd overwhelm him soon. One man cannot defeat an army. The gunman understood then he'd never get away with the Necromancer's armor slowing him down. With new determination he got a grip on the chestplate, grit his teeth, and pulled with all of his strength.

He was comfortable saying right then that that had been the most excrutiation pain he'd ever felt. He quite nearly soiled himself. In tearing off the chestplate, it felt like he had genuinely been tearing off his chestplate. The adamantine stubbornly attempted tried to remain affixed to the dragonskin, a few strange tendrils of inky blackness holding the two together. But he persisted, and after a bit more token resistance, the adamantine finally relented and dropped to the floor. The anvil was off his chest, and Godhand let out a sigh of relief. He quickly ran up the stairs, his hands racing to find another piece of the armor with an edge he could get a grip on. They found one of his shoulder plates and, bracing for pain, the warrior tore it off. Once more the pain was agonizing, but he felt himself getting lighter and continued until by about the fifth floor all that remained was the gauntlet on his right hand.

He had dashed all the way up the tower not knowing what to expect; something he couldn't quite understand was pushing him to reach higher ground. It was just a feeling. Nevertheless, he thanked the heavens he'd trusted his instincts when he came upon the large airship at the top of the Spire. He didn't know why the Hell they were flying over the Red Forest, and quite frankly he didn't really care. Godhand gratefully took hold of the ladder and pulled himself up to the deck, collapsing almost the moment he got up. With the entirety of his energy expended, he joined Lillian.

With the adrenaline rush fading, the sting of abused flesh made itself known with a vengeance. Mental note to self; wait for an opening and don’t take any more hits. It’s a dumb idea. I wanted to cradle and baby the flesh around my waist, but my fingers were raw from the rough touch of my whip as I had strangled Idril.

Heavy, metallic footsteps came up the stairwell. I stayed kneeling against the floor despite the potential threat. If it’s a zombie, I hope it chokes on me, I thought tiredly with more than a little spitefulness. It was a horrible day, a really and truly bad day. If I had to give it a number on the 1 to 10 list of crappy days, it would definitely hit a 12.

“Too bad Althanas doesn’t employ psychiatrist at temples, I’ll be needed one when the war is over.� Still kneeling, I began chuckling quietly to myself. Even to my own ears the laugh sounded, off, too low and bitter sounding compared to what I was used to hearing. I thought I heard Lillian shouting for a moment, yelling for Godhand and me. Jeez, even gone and potentially dead she’s still a pushy librarian.

When Godhand, ripping at what was left of his armor and covered in a foul looking substance, finally emerged from the stair well and darted across the landing before running full tilt up the next flight, I still knelt there and laughed. What the hell, if Godhand is running away then so can I. Lurching to my feet, I staggered up the stairs, half expecting the undead I could hear in the tower to catch up to me.

Surprise finally killed the last traces of laughter in my throat as I just barely caught sight of Godhand’s feet vanishing as he scaled the ladder hanging outside one of the windows. Lest I be left behind to contend with the undead in and outside of the tower, I hurried to the ladder and threw myself out the window to scrabble up it. Flashbacks of elementary school and trying to climb up the stupid rope ladders in gym class warred with the thought that we were being saved by the Hindenburg. I just hoped history wouldn’t repeat itself.

Holy shit, what a cynic I’ve become… oh well, whatever keeps me alive.

In a manner more becoming to a fish on land, I heaved myself up into the airship and flopped on my back. Rolling off of my kinked tail, I patted myself down, checking for my whips, knife and spell-book before I bothered to try and stand up. I was glad to see the remaining students that huddled together, crowding around Lillian and Godhand. I quirked a brow at her unconscious figure, then shook my head. I’ll ask later, when she’s awake.

“Up and away. Tell the captain of this boat that we should the hell out of here now that we’ve over stayed our welcome.� I half muttered to one of the crewmen in the area.

Out of Character:

Spoils: Rusted damascus dagger with small black crystals embedded in hilt. Spellbook – only readable spell in the book is a low level earth manipulation spell.

The heros that had been brought up out of the tower were ushered into the holds to rest and mend themselves. The airship rumbled and shook as it fought to escape the reach of the black tower. It was as if the very stone of the place refused to let go. When it seemed as if there would be no escape, undead fingers prying at the hatch as the crew hacked away at them, the ship shuddered for a final time. With the creak and scream of bending metal, she came free and flew high into the air. Cables moaned as the ship was turned and soon the howl of the small army that had been attacking died away.

"Where are we going, sir?" one of the assistants asked the old mechanic, who was steadily turning the airship back to where they had come from. The elves looked nervous, their minds wondering why they'd possibly be moving away from the hoardes they'd been ready to fight, from more heroes they'd been ready to assist.

"We're taking this lot to the border, where they can move for safety or Anebrilith, whatever they choose." he said. No one said anything afterwards. The weight of combat was already upon them, short as it had been.

<Submitted>

Overall:

One thing I want to say straight out. You know you have a good quest premise, when your judge felt like he was cheated for not getting invited aboard. That having been said, I find this a rather good premise that was well carried out. However, a few things kept you out of the above 80 category.

That said...onto the judging!

STORY

Continuity ~ 8/10. I have to say here and now, thank you. Thank you so much. I got enough of what had happened I didn't have to seek out the other half of this quest. I got that Skie Dan Sabriel had been stolen away, that Godhand was pissed his guns weren't working so he could have killed the traitor that kidnapped Skie. That Ataraxis had taken on some Godhand traits temporarily, and pushed herself to the upper limits and defeated a undead bitch of a creature. I even got that Kahlina had been trying valiantly to help and taken on a motherly role to the students, who were from the Bard's School.

Setting ~ 8/10. I had a very good feel of the area, I felt like I knew more about the tower than had ever been described to me previously. I knew where you were and what you were doing.

Pacing ~ 7/10. Well paced, you guys didn't leave me hanging. The only time I felt like things had dragged on was towards the end, when everyone was making their exit. Especially with the tower crumbling about them, the amount of time it seemed for people to get upstairs seemed off.

CHARACTER

Dialogue ~ 7/10. Sit and Spin? It took me awhile to get what you were going for there. Other than the few awkward bits of dialogue that didn't seem to fit in to the story it was all true to character. That's not to say that the dialogue that was awkward wasn't true to character, but it would be like...If a character were to order a burger a fries while in the middle of an epic fight. Hardly the right place for such a thing. I felt that the awkward bits while functional in their position lacked the flow you guys had developed on this one.

Action ~ 6/10. I’m sorry, but once again, there was a slight problem with the action. I hadn't fully grasped what was going on with the tower. I got the idea Kahlina had done something when she was kicking around the pieces of Godhand's armor, but it hardly clicked what had occurred. Even if someone had explained what happened I didn't know what occurred. Also, the whole thing about the Armor just didn't seem to flow well. It was like, "IM A JUGGERNAUT!" Then, "WHOA THIS ARMOR IS A PLAGUE I GOTTA GETS IT OFF!" Perhaps it’s the brevity of the thread, but the armor that Godhand played around with, hardly seemed to fit, and was more of a lulz. This and Godhand's wrestling references, which while not unheeded were slowing down the action. I know what a German Suplex is; I get a spinning neckbreaker, and a Moonlight Driver, but seriously Godhand? Just describe it, don't just name drop and expect it to click.

Persona ~ 8/10. Persona was here in bucketfuls. From Ignition's reluctance, to Godhand's butting heads with Kahlina everything was delightful, and I got the feeling of a distinct personality. However, where as the PC's shined with persona, the NPC's lacked a quite bit of it. Idril was the only one I got any feeling of personality from. Even Selkis didn't bridge the gap beyond what I felt was an Igor clone. I get the feeling, each PC was supposed to write up a different NPC and work on developing them, but it didn't show unfortunately.

WRITING STYLE

Technique ~ 8/10. You gripped me, you kept me reading on, and I THANK YOU again for this. Threads like this can break the monotony of Character A with plucky Character B take on Bad Guy C and get Loot D that can be very formulaic. The writing was varied and impressive, however once again I felt a few shortcuts were taken here and there, which hurt the writing as a whole.

Mechanics ~ 8/10. You guys get high marks, however there was a few mistakes I found in here. One of the biggest problems was with Rumple Grumble Puss. Apparently Kiyeth was forgotten about. Now I don't mean to sound snarky, but Rumple, you changed his name within a post of telling the reader it. What had begun as Ki had become Kai when it became your turn to post next round of posting.

Clarity ~ 8/10. Tower Destruction not withstanding, you were pretty clear about what was going on. Otherwise you did a good job of keeping me posted as to what was occurring.

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~ 10/10. You guys deserve this. You gave me something worth reading, and I truly enjoyed the thread. I hope the story can continue despite Manda having left the site not too long ago. Best of luck on future endeavors!

TOTAL ~ 78/100.

Any questions regarding what was said can be addressed to me via PM or AIM SethDahlios.

Spoils:

Godhand: 7500 EXP + 750 GP - Delyn Rapier

Ataraxis: 4000 EXP + 250 GP + 3 Bottles of Enchanted Elven Wine + 1 Spool of Thread + Godhand's Delyn Rapier

Skie and Avery: 6000 EXP + 750 GP + A photograph of the Black Tower crumbling apart scrawled across it in black ink "Wish you were here."

RumpleGrumblePuss: 2500 EXP + 750 GP + Rusted damascus dagger with small black crystals embedded in hilt + Spellbook – only readable spell in the book is a low level earth manipulation spell, this spell must be fleshed out more by the ROG before use

Ignition: 1200 EXP + 250 GP + A T-Shirt that says "I was nearly killed by Zombies and all I got was this stupid t-shirt"

EXP and GP added!

Godhand reaches level 9!
RumpleGrumblePuss reaches level 2!
Ataraxis reaches level 6!