Death's Pariah

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen felt his lip quivering as he the electricity at last poured out his body and back to the floor. William Arcus, hated enemy and eternal rival, had saved his life. Normally that didn’t mean much to the immortal. If anything, it was usually something he frowned upon, but the fact that The Revenant saved his life meant something that continued to make the lower lip of Jensen quiver.

“We don’t stand a chance,” Jensen’s voice was ghostly in it’s forming, barely crossing the void to William who was looking all over for the Storm Herald. His coal like eyes tracked each inch of darkness, frantically as his chest heaved up and down. When the words took time to sink in he looked back to Jensen and his eyes belied the anger his tone would speak in.

“Coward?” William panted heavily.

“No, thinking realistically. We don’t stand a chance. Sorry but your stumpy arm isn’t going to bludgeon him to death. You kicked the bastard so hard it destroyed ribs, hell Willie that kick would have killed even Sei or Ta’gaz!” Jensen stressed his point as he turned behind him swiftly, but seeing only the soft glow of the rune upon the sarcophagus. Jensen turned back to William.

They looked to one another for a long time, as if silently weighing the options and explaining them to the other. In a few short moments The Revenants head softly began to bob up and down, his breaths still short and pained.

“Let’s get out of here,” He grumbled moving quickly towards the exit. Jensen turned with him and moved towards the exit of the tomb. They would find the Citadel door, rip it off its hinges, and never mention the Storm Herald again. It would be nothing more than just a nightmare on stormy nights, and for possibly the next three weeks Jensen would be spooked by the merest shadow. At least, though, they would be gone of him.

They moved in silence down the twisting hall of the tomb, and when they entered the outer cloister Jensen noticed several of the soldier’s eyes were glowing with the same baleful green tone that was illuminating the glow on their chests. As he was about to hit the exit into that mass William’s one good hand gripped his jacket and pulled him back in time for the immortal to watch two war axes swing downwards and nearly cleave him two. Skeletal bodies stood forwards, scraping their obsidian weapons along the ground and making white lines in the smooth surface as they silently marched forwards. The shuffling sounds were not like a zombie or undead, but focused and just as coordinated as a fully functional human being. Though slower in their gait, they were all the mor imposing for their stoic advance.

Jensen pushed off William, laughing wildly as he pulled his punch knife out along with his other throwing dagger, digging both forwards into the chest plate cleaving through the material and slamming one of the constructs upon the floor. Their stone like bones fissured and snapped as he pushed them down, glee fully laughing all his pent up frustrations as he took the knives and stabbed them repeatedly into the creatures face over and over.

When the warrior’s partner moved forward to attack Jensen William’s bulky frame body checked the creature into the wall, the obsidian stone spider webbing with cracks as the light in the tomb guardians eyes phased out. A third warrior began to approach, but Jensen’s quick arm left his dagger lodged into the eye socket of the beast, quickly throwing out a glaive that bounced off the creatures collar bone and upwards into its cranium. It flew out the back of the head into the abyss of stone guardians, and the warrior collapsed to his knees, then to his chest as it died.

“We gotta run, Willie!” Jensen shouted in joy, bubbling with energy as he giggled ripping the knife free and standing upwards. William nodded as his demonic body charged forwards, a roar of defiance as the entire tomb pulsed with the green energy. The ribbons of eldritch power lanced across the floor and up the stone like guardians, and eyes shifted as heads turned towards the intruders. The elite warriors all held a war staff similar to the Storm Herald, but a bit smaller and without the large rune imprinted upon the midnight black blade. They began to march forwards, weapons held in a halberd position as they began to move forwards, their trot as implacable as the march of death. Jensen felt all his joy siphoning out, as if they were pariah’s of joy and he noticed even William was having toruble keeping his rage up, but the demonkin wasn’t bowed by them like the Storm Herald. He lifted up the two handed axe single handedly from a fallen warrior, cleaving it into the skull of one of the elite, where it crumbled and collapsed looking to him with cold eyes of the void.

Jensen cart wheeled forward, flipping upwards and coming down with a fierce over head kick slamming an elite warrior into the ground. His hands lifted upon the haft of their war staff and Jensen began to pull when he realized the things weighed as much as he did. Giving up on the idea of a makeshift weapon he did what he did best, and laughed like a hyena as his body turned and pirouetted to a rhythm of music that only the pulsing blood in his system could create.

The two moved, carving or dancing away from the hordes of the Storm Herald’s legion, both either laughing or roaring as they fought. Jensen kicked, William punched, they slammed warrior’s into other warrior’s, but as they fell the eldritch energy in the tomb pulsed and slowly their deathless eyes glowed once more. The immortal and the Revenant were half way through the parade ranks when they all closed and attacked, and Jensen felt his mind weaken to see such numbers against them.

There was a wail of terror, a scream of primal rage and power all in one that echoed in the outer cloister. Jensen turned back to the entrance of the Storm Herald’s resting place watching the shadows swirl and out the Eternal warrior, the Storm Herald, Death’s Pariah, came. He looked to Jensen and William and lifted his hand out, stretched like a general of a mighty army as his fore fingers hovered before him. The warrior’s they killed at the entrance began to shift, bones snapping back into place and the stone smoothing over as they were reanimated the same way the Storm Herald had been. One was crawling forwards, torso still reconstructing as it paced angrily forwards. The other two lifted upwards awkwardly before they turned, joining their brethren in the fight.

Jensen turned in time to avoid a spear thrust, hand whipping out and cracking the jaw of a warrior then turning in a half spin, kicking the beast into a group of its partners. He turned again, body being slammed down to the obsidian earth where the lightening washed over him, draining all his will to even live. The endless advance, the endless march, the drone of the lights that sucked away his very soul. They were never even meant to step within the halls of this tomb. The two of them were never meant to witness such horrors.

Jensen felt his body being lifted as William roughly dropped him, both men back to back as the army surrounded them. There was not even an illusion of hope anymore, they were dead. The Storm Herald began to march forwards, his army closing in on them.

“Hey William,” Jensen said softly, his arm nudging the demon. William nudged his back, gently as well. “Before we die, I just want you to know, I hate you…” Jensen said with all the love and affection he could muster.

There was a silence.

“I hate you too.” William said back, a little less edge to his gruff tone.

Both warrior’s screamed savagely, a radial call of defiance and insanity as Jensen laughed and William roared. They never stopped as they charged, pushing off the other and meeting their doom head on. The Storm Herald paused, looking to them quizzically, before it stopped completely in it’s march, instead merely watching Jensen and William fight.

[Revenant]

Every nation, every tribe, had stories of legendary warriors who persevered through futile situations and triumphed over overwhelming odds. Real warriors, legendary or not, listen to those storied and smile pleasantly, knowing them to be fabrications of fantasy and yet unwilling to break the façade in the hopes that, should they be faced with such a situation, the impossible could become possible. This was one of those situations, two capable and experienced warriors against a legion of undying foes, and both William and Jensen knew that there would be no legendary stories told about their final, defiant charge.

The two men fought back to back like gods of war incarnate, felling elite obsidian warriors in waves, bringing the duo step-by-step closer to where the Storm Herald watched with silent interest. But no matter how many warriors the two of them felled, the green aura of the Herald’s power resurrected them no more than a second after they dropped. Exhaustion wrapped chains of steel around William and Jensen’s limbs, and countless slashes wet their entire bodies with their own sanguine fluid.

Jensen was the first to go down, the immortal’s madness causing him to leap away from William to confront a trio of obsidian soldiers. Dulled blades caught the light from the pulsing green energy as they swirled expertly into and around the warriors, but even though Jensen had no problems claiming another three undead lives, it was the claw of a shattered enemy that proved to be the immortal’s undoing.

William caught the movement from the corner of his eye but was unable to yell a warning before bony obsidian fingers, pointed as his own talons, bit into the back of Jensen’s ankle, neatly severing the tendons that allowed the immortal to remain standing. Jensen fell with a startled scream and was instantly buried under a pile of undying bodies. Even still, the last sound that William heard from under the press of blades and claws was the rising madness of Jensen’s laughter.

Well that’s it, the words rang through William’s mind with a hollow finality. As much as he hated the idiotic immortal, there was no one he would have rather had at his back in this situation. Now, with Jensen gone, it would only be a matter of seconds before Jensen’s end caught up with William.

Frantically, William lashed out at everything around him. There was no longer any precision to his strikes, just mindless fury and a desire to inflict as much damage as he could before the end came. Somehow, through all the frenzy, William found his burning eyes drawn to where the Storm Herald stood watching the deaths of the first people to dare to challenge him in untold years. The sight of the Herald, pristine and confident in his supremacy, filled William with a dreadful rage. Bolstered by his newfound surge of emotion, William burst out of the clustered soldiers around him, knocking bodies aside like chaff before the flail as he swung his stolen war axe around him.

Even that rage couldn’t sustain him forever though, and with only a moment of freedom, William decided that he needed to at least let the Storm Herald know that he wasn’t untouchable. Summoning all of his rage, all of the hate and fury that fueled him as Ta’Gaz had taught, William tossed his weapon aside with a snarl and thrust his remaining hand towards the Storm Herald. A sharp pain stabbed into his back, just below his ribs, and tore forward until the tip of the obsidian blade protruded in front of him, steaming with the Revenant’s molten blood. Knowing that it was now or never, William pushed the last bits of himself into his hand and let the magma shot fire outwards. Darkness filled William’s once again human eyes, but it didn’t claim him before he had the satisfaction of seeing the surprised look on the Storm Herald’s face as the explosive shot erupted just in front of him.

“Choke on it,” he muttered, coughing blood with every syllable. A wave of fire and force washed over him from the explosive magma shot, carrying shards of living stone with it. The warriors around William were hurled bodily away by the powerful blast and William, now unsupported, collapsed onto the glowing obsidian floor. The only sound in the tomb following the explosion was the rough, sputtering gasp of William’s dying breaths. He had to have hurt the Storm Herald with that attack, he thought, but when his head was jerked up in the cold grip of iron hard fingers, William knew that he had failed. The black pits of the Storm Herald’s gaze washed unmercifully over him, and William didn’t even have a chance to sputter one last defiant word before the glowing blade of the scythe came down on him.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen felt the world swirling around his body, aches and pains rattling his bones as his body twisted side to side. The feeling was like walking into a vortex of power, being carried by the rift of energy and spit upon the ground at high velocity. As his eyes opened he shot right up, letting out a quick gasp of air as his lungs felt like they took in breath for the first time. They burned, but in a good way.

He took several breaths to steady himself as he looked left and right quickly, but all he saw was the sun and a feeling of familiarity. When he looked forwards he found a robed monk of the Citadel smiling to him, and Jensen sighed in relief as he collapsed backwards onto his pillow. The monk walked to the side of his bed, sitting on a stool and pouring a glass of water. Something strange the immortal noted was that whenever he came back to life the thing that hit the spot the most was a cold glass of water.

“You had us worried for a moment,” The monk said softly. Jensen took the glass and adjusted to rest against the backboard of the bed he rested in. He looked to see Belsavius’ eyes warmly gaze upon him and Jensen nodded to the man gulping the liquid down. He let out a sigh and smacked his lips before looking to the Ai’Bron bonk and tossed him the empty glass.

“You guys, by the way, suck!” Jensen said bluntly. “I mean, suck!” Belsavius merely smiled to him as if he had no idea what Jensen was talking about. “I have never been in a room so huge before! Not to mention the sand pits and bridges and the tomb! What was all that about? Usually you plop us right into the thick of it!”

“And what the hell was with the wait? We said screw this and wanted out! Where the hell was the door, Bel? We ended up getting surrounded by the Storm Herald’s goons! I thought for safety reasons you guys always have exits ready for when someone wants out?” Jensen looked to Belsavius for answers and the monk only shrugged in his response.

“We do, but their was some feedback interfering with the magic. I can get technical with it, should you want me to, Jensen Ambrose.” The immortal looked to him, saw he wasn’t bluffing, and instead looked around the room.

“Where’s Willie?” Jensen asked. “I wanna know how he went down. I got dog piled something fierce after having the tendons in my leg cut like choice beef.” Jensen saw Belsavius flinch at the details as he stood up and pointed to the corner of the room. Jensen tested his feet, wiggling them around and noticing he had no tendon damage anymore, but the wound was still tender. Carefully he placed his feet upon the floor and with careful, painful steps he began to walk over to William.

When he approached the man he noticed the first rather out of place and disturbing looking thing. His hand, which had been cut off, was halfway done with regenerating. That made Jensen wonder how long they had been in the hospital wing of the Citadel. He had heard that some people take weeks to recover from serious injuries, but not he. The immortal had always returned the next day without fail. Was he really out for that long? Or was William’s regeneration that fast? He thought a bit more and concluded with a final question: Did he really care?

Before he could get an answer he saw the Revenant’s coal like eyes flutter open, the fire inside only at a simmer instead of intense heat. The two looked to each other, not saying a word as they merely noted the other’s existence. There was an awkwardness forming between them, for to have experienced the events they had was not something to people could just gloss over and ignore. Especially considering their history. If anything they seemed to have bonded over the fight, but to call each other friends was still an idea that didn’t cross Jensen’s mind. William Arcus was still the bastard he couldn’t fully break, and Jensen Ambrose was still the prick the Revenant couldn’t kill.

They just liked killing things together, that was all.

When he saw the chest wound on William he decided that the Revenant wouldn’t be saying much, and probably needed his rest more than anything. He flashed a grin to the man, that same sardonic, overly flashy smile that he was known for, and merrily flipped the demonkin off.

“Be seeing you, Willie,” Jensen said warmly. “Been a blast.” With that said he turned around and started laughing, obnoxiously loud just for William, and without even looking he could feel the intense heat emanating from the Revenant as he walked away. If ever there was a way to describe the two warriors, it would be William as the pilot light, and Jensen the match to set the light ablaze.

~*~*~

Days had passed, a few weeks and rumors had finished spreading around the Ixian Castle about William’s fight with Jensen. The immortal learned that they had spent two days in the infirmary passed out, and the Revenant checked out later the same day Jensen had. He stumbled home, ignoring the gossip that spread around him, and went to his chambers. Jensen didn’t mention much about their fight as a whole, but mentioned he got the fight he had searched for.

He was sitting in the bar he frequented, sipping at his beer when he found the bartender waving him over. Ashley was a cute tender who usually offered the immortal free drinks in exchange for his ear, letting the woman rant about this and that. He didn’t mind the trade off at all, cause he ignored her words and instead looked at her cleavage. But the urgency in her wave made him pause as he went to the bar and found a letter.

Not uncommon to receive mail Jensen at first lowered his suspicions, but a nagging feeling began to burn within his mind. The letter, which usually is mailed in an envelope, was instead a thick, leathery scroll bound by ancient thread that looked frail, yet sturdy.

“Everytime I touch it, it feels like I’m being struck by little bits of lightening. It’s weird. Try it.” Jensen shrugged, opening the letter and finding no such feeling, but as he looked to the words his eyes scanned he began to furrow his brow in confusion.

Letters, or pictures, or runes, whatever they were he didn’t exactly know, was displayed in a fading black ink, written by no doubt some brush or feather of some kind. The complexity of the script was like nothing he had ever seen before, and the leather in his hands felt rough and cured by the hands of time. He sniffed the ink and wretched, realizing it wasn’t written with traditional ink, but some sort of blood, like an insect of some sort.

“That’s pretty writing,” Ashley peaked over the top of the letter. “It looks like one of those Fallien scrolls!” Jensen felt his heart skip when he heard the word Fallien. The archaic words, the letters, made no sense to him. “I wonder what it says,” Ashley mumbled loudly, as a hint for Jensen to elaborate.

“I have no clue…” Jensen rolled the scroll up quickly and grabbed the band that tied it together, looping over the rolled up leather three times. He dropped off the gold, patted Ashley on the head and ran towards Sei’s Tomb. Usually the tomb was guarded, but he had known of the more secret entrances that Sei had yet to block off.

It took a half hour to cross Radansath park and find the hole to the tomb covered by thick brush. He slid down the dirt, kicking up his heels as he landed on the spot he usually did and followed a set path he had learned that led to Ixian Castle. It paid to go out for walks, he thought happily as he began to break into the very place Sei swore him to never be allowed.

After twenty more minutes of walking he climbed a makeshit ladder and pushed a few stones aside, finding the latch that moved the faux stone wall portion. A large portrait of some great leader swung open, and Jensen hopped into the Library of Ixian castle. The three story building was huge and this particular portrait was in the sub level located by the books about cooking. Why a portrait of some great warrior was watching over cookbooks was anyone’s guess but Sei Orlouge’s, but it was a convenient place for Jensen to feel confident to walk without being seen.

He moved quickly towards the medical wing using the shadows and the secret paths he discovered when he snuck in to see Azza during her school time recess. It was only a final ten minutes and he waited five more to make sure the Mystic was by herself.

Wait a second! a familiar voice broke into his mind and Jensen froze. Two guards walked by the area he was about to reveal himself, and Jensen clung to the shadows tighter as he took in a deep breath. When the guards were gone he heard the softest rumbling of a purr, and something heavy brush up against his knees. Jensen knelt down and began to pet the cat Felicity, Aislinn’s sister, and the creature darted over to Aislinn’s room to ensure nobody was inside.

We missed you, Felicity thought to Jensen. He ran to the door and opened it, letting the cat inside first as Jensen twirled into the room. Felicity jumped upon a table of plants and purred again, meowing to get Aislinn’s attention. Company sis. It took a moment for the Chief Medical Officer to look up from her paperwork, but when she did they flew upwards in a flurry as she picked herself up and ran to Jensen, hugging him tightly. Jensen smiled as he twirled her with him, laughing gently before he put her down.

“What do we owe the pleasure of the scourge of the Ixian Knights?” Aislinn asked. Jensen cleared his throat and stood tall and Aislinn took that as a cue he was being serious. She already knew it wouldn’t be long before Sei’s mental tracer would locate Jensen’s exact location and call his guards.

“Buisness today, I need you to give me information on a nasty hunch I got. It’s a letter, I need how old it is, and what the hell it says.” Aislinn looked to the scroll and carefully placed a hand to her chin in thought.

“At least a hundred at first guess, but let me do a quick once over. I may need the winds to aid me on this,” She said absently as she took the scroll. She was about halfway to her desk when she tossed it onto it, shaking her hand as if she had been electrocuted. “Odd that, it’s got some sort of enchantment on it…” she mumbled to nobody in particular. Jensen looked to Felicity and the cat jumped into his arms, where he held her up and she crossed to his shoulders, nuzzling him before purring as he scratched her chin.

As he expected, Aislinn’s office was a mess of paperwork, medical herbs, and folders and reports with one bed in the corner that looked always unkempt and rarely ever used. He knew the girl to be a workaholic and he had been trying his best to break her of that habit. Though the thought of her new found guardian spirit did bring a sense of joy to Jensen.

“How’s Loki?” Jensen teased, as he knew the guardian spirit of Aislinn was a koala bear that was a total pervert. Aislinn’s gave him a shut up look before curving a finger for him to come to her.

“The winds tell me this has a foul taint to it. The magic in this scroll is not born from the winds, but is eldritch in power. We are talking pre demon wars magic, a magic that is very rare to find today. It also seems this parchment is ancient, and I would logically deduce the same period of time I mentioned prior would produce this old of a leather. The writing upon it is written in what I believe to be a scarabs blood. The dung beetles have a bluish tint to their color and it was quite popular in ancient Fallien times. Usually a pot was reserved only for a king or a very influential noble.”

“The winds told you all that?” Jensen asked.

“Well, no to be perfectly honest. Some of that just happens to be from the knowledge I picked up in my travels. Fallien was helpful in my medical education. This dialect, I unfortunately can’t decipher. It is an ancient Fallien glyph that is just beyond my comprehension. I would need something to aid me in learning what it says.”

“Don’t bother…” Jensen said. “I can read it just fine.” The immortal shivered as he heard her speak, and he didn’t lie. Those words he had absolutely no right to understand or interpret, were clear as day to him. His suspicions were turning to darker and darker thoughts.

Cavalry is coming, you better amscray Jensen! Felicity’s ears perked up as she gave off the warning. Jensen could hear the trod of several boots all marching in time to his, seeing the shadows of several men walking to the door. Jensen felt a panic but before he could act upon his base instincts another, taller shadow pushed the men aside before a gruff voice ordered them to take a hike. Jensen knew that voice and he grinned, beginning to chuckle softly. It only made sense, the more he thought about it.

William’s hand appeared as the door opened, the Revenant’s coal like eyes flashing to Jensen and in his repaired hand was the same scroll Jensen held. He looked to the one in Jensen’s hand and despite himself he smiled.

“Want to go for another trip?” Jensen said in a taunting manner, waving his scroll to William.

[Revenant]

By the end of the fifth day of their wallowing travel from Corone to Fallien, there were few people on board the luxury vessel Decadent Radiance who were surprised at the sight of William's gloomy countenance brooding at the stern of the massive yacht. It had surprised them at the outset, to be sure, for a cruise on the Decadent Radiance was one of the most luxurious and pampering trips that could be found to ferry passengers between the two island nations. That meant it was also one of the most expensive, and the high-born aristocracy wasn't used to the sight of so obvious a ruffian as the Revenant aboard their cruise. And yet, despite the multiple complaints and the paranoid ramblings that the effete passengers made to the ship’s crew, William had perfectly minded himself and was thus, himself a paying customer, afforded the exact same rights and privileges that they were.

Not that this had been William's first choice of travel however. Being slightly less festive and debaucherous than the rest of the vessel's normal passengers, William vastly preferred to take a less social vessel. But Jensen had been very insistent that the two of them make their travel in style, and while William wasn't exactly known for his tolerance of the immortal's wilder flights of fancy, Jensen had offered to pay both fares in full out of his own pocket. That the money used to pay for said tickets was doubtless connected to the rash of art disappearance from Sei's personal gallery wasn't something that William really wanted to worry about.

And so William maintained vigil over the same reclining spot at the back of the Decadent Radiance, watching the gentle rolling of the waves and feeling the warm trade winds lightly caress his skin. Strangely enough, he found that he had gone the entire trip so far without having felt the urge to kill anyone on the vessel outside of Jensen, something that was slightly marvelous in his opinion. Apparently his encounter with the Storm Herald had been enough to quell his baser instincts for a good while.

"No I tell you it's absolutely true," a voice interrupted William's silent vigil. Idly, the Revenant shifted his attention to the speaker, a portly middle aged man currently doing his exercise rounds above decks with a slightly less portly friend. Though William had never felt the need to make either man's acquaintance during the cruise, the sight of them was familiar to him as the two men maintained a very rigid walking schedule and passed him by at least twice a day.

"If that's really the case," the man's friend said, "then you're guaranteed to make a killing from your holdings in Kalapesh."

"I know, right," the first man beamed, incredibly enthused about whatever topic the two of them were discoursing. "Who would have expected the largest storm to hit Fallien in over a thousand years to be so fortuitous? It might as well have been raining gold."

The two men disappeared around the other side of the vessel, merrily puffing from the exertion of their exercise. William had all but taken to completely ignoring the various conversations that had passed him by throughout the trip. After all, he didn't want people prying in on his business so the feeling had to be mutual. But the mention of a freak storm over Fallien was something he couldn't ignore, and the comparisons to his recent encounter made it all but impossible to forget.

"What the hell happened out there," he whispered, his fingers unconsciously falling to caress the ancient parchment that he, like Jensen, had received. He wasn't sure, but he knew that it was something that Jensen would want to hear about. It only took William a moment to move from the relaxation deck on the Decadent Radiance to the spot most likely to find Jensen at any given time, day or night; the gambling hall.

“By all the Thayne’s holy shit, it’s William Arcus,” Jensen roared as soon as William entered the gambling room. A variety of card and dice games filled the sprawling room, games designed to part the more foolhardy passengers from their money with the aid of the well stocked bar that maintained a steady flow of fluid lubrication. From the sound of Jensen’s slurred outburst, he was about as lubricated as one could be without having to worry about alcohol poisoning.

Not that the immortal had anything to fear from alcohol poisoning.

“What you doing in here Willie,” the roguish warrior said as William approached, “aren’t you s’possed to be guarding the rear end or something?”

“I think you’re actually funnier when you’re incoherent,” William grunted, looking questioningly at the three voluptuous women who looked surprisingly unlike Stephanie and who were as draped over Jensen as the money from Sei’s pawned ‘To the Savior of Alerar War Trophy’ could make them. William thought about shooing the ladies from the table so that he could speak to Jensen in private, all it would take was a stern scowl to send the shallow bimbos running, but realized that their presence made no difference in the long run. “I just heard something that you might find interesting?”

“I don’t see what’s so important unless you finally decided to pull the stick out of your ass,” Jensen giggled, eliciting a round of giggles from his hangers-on.

“How about the fact that a massive storm appeared over Fallien about two weeks ago?”

“So?” Jensen took a gulp from the nearest drink and wound up with most of it in his lap.

“So it was the biggest storm to hit Fallien in a thousand years and it happened,” William leaned forward and punctuated his last words with all the sternness he could muster, “two weeks ago.”

A light, distant and dull, flickered to life in the animal hindquarters of Jensen’s brain.

“Wait, you don’t think,” Jensen started, stopping slack-jawed in the middle of his sentence. An annoyed glance was the only reply he got from his companion. “Shit, Willie, I am too drunk for this.”

“My condolences,” William said, rolling his eyes sarcastically.

“No man, I’ve drank enough to drown Steppenwolf’s stupid pink afro,” Jensen shifted forward, attempting to push his new friends off of him only to succeed at planting his face on the wet table. “I need to get this out of my system so I can think straight. I need you to kill me.”

There wasn’t much about the two warrior’s conversation that reached the dim, alcohol addled brains of the three bimbos, but that pronouncement was one of them. All three scrambled back, looking alternately quizzical and horrified as they turned their attentions from Jensen to William and back. William sighed and reached over the table, bodily hauling Jensen over it. “Obviously he’s had too much to drink ladies.” William pulled Jensen’s fat coin purse from off his belt and tossed it onto the table. “Why don’t you have a couple more drinks on him while I tuck him in.” Most of the women’s hesitance was overcome by the sounds of the heavy coin purse jingling on the table, though they still glanced warily at William. “He’ll see you bright and early first thing tomorrow, I promise,” William grunted and heaved Jensen across the gambling hall and out the door.

“You’re sure you want me to kill you?” William asked as he dumped Jensen onto his bed. William certainly had no problems with killing Jensen as many times as it took to sober the man, though he had a gloomy feeling it would only be necessary once. Still, he didn’t want to draw any attention by having someone randomly stumble upon the corpse before Jensen recovered.

“Sure as Sei’s a fairy faggot,” Jensen laughed, flashing a thumb at the Revenant. “I won’t be hung over when I come back because it wasn’t the alcohol that killed me.” It was a close thing though, as William could tell that Jensen’s speech bordered on the dangerously slurry. “Just promise me one thing,” Jensen said as William reached for the immortal’s neck.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t rape me while I’m dead.”

“I’ll try to restrain myself.” William rolled his eyes and then, with a savage jerk, snapped Jensen’s skinny bird neck.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

It was like clockwork, the way Jensen regenerated. Simple injuries normally didn’t take long to re-heal, and a neck snapping wasn’t very creative in the death department. Terribly efficient, all things considered, but not really thought provoking. Either way one thought about snapping another’s neck, it did the trick.

Jensen awoke when the ship was in its sixth and final day of voyage. Jensen tested his neck, turning it around and rolling it and finding satisfaction in his newly knit bones. His feet swung to the end of his bed and Jensen found something lurking in the shadows in the corner of his room. He groggily swung his legs over and found William peering out his window, and the immortal stood, recalling something about yesterday that sounded important.

“Why did you kill me again?” Jensen asked with a loud yawn. William, who hadn’t noticed Jensen awoke, turned his head softly and pointed out the window. Jensen took a moment to regain his sea legs, and then moved to the spot where the Revenant watched.

Though far inland it was like a blotch of black ink on a white canvas. Several miles into the desert land of Fallien was the unmistakable grey clouds of a monstrous storm. Jensen watched the swirling clouds and could see the bright flashes of lightening striking the earth. He turned back to William, who merely shrugged.

“We hit port in an hour. You got our papers,” William said gruffly pushing past the immortal to the door. Jensen nodded patting his side.

“I got them in the form of gold, Willie. Bribe money, it’s why I sold one of Sei’s Gisela trophies.” William paused. Jensen, who was still patting his hip, began to pat harder, and more frantically as he began to panic. His money! His precious money was missing! Jensen freaked out as he began to search his bed. “Willie! I need that money! We have nothing without that gold! I set up the whole thing in advance, it’s going to cost us hundreds of gold to get through with this.” William sheepishly looked to his own gold purse.

“Dammit, Willie!” Jensen shouted. “I said thousands, not pittance!” William’s coal like eyes scanned the immortal as he growled lowly.

“You said hundreds, and we need to find those idiot wenches you were schmoozing with. I tossed them your money since I thought you didn’t need it!” He defended his actions as he ripped the door open, his feet pounding against the yacht floor boards making them creak. Jensen rolled his eyes chasing after him.

“The one time you use your brain Willie and it fucks up the whole operation!” Jensen shouted after the Revenant. The first place they stopped was the gambling hall, but they found no trace of them. They checked the bar, split up, and searched each deck of tenants. At last it was Jensen who spotted his money as he walked hurriedly towards the relaxation deck and found two of the woman sunbathing with their bikini tops un-strapped on their back.

When they saw him approach the tallest of the two grabbed the coin purse. The other’s face contorted into a giggle as Jensen held his hand out, looking to them for his money. The taller one gave him a mischievous smile, and Jensen lowered his head, smiling back.

“We really got two ways this can go down,” Jensen whispered. “You can hand it over, and I’ll buy ya something nice to go with that ugly ass face of yours, ya know, spruce it up so it hides the bruises daddy gave you, and be on my way. Or…”

Jensen didn’t even have to speak, for William stepped up behind the immortal, his palpable wave of heat brushing past the immortal and into the two woman as they cowed in fear. Within seconds the coin purse was tossed to the two knights, and Jensen smiled bowing and tossing two gold coins at them.

“Go buy yourself some make up, ya whores.” Jensen smiled as he passed by William, walking below the decks as the tourists began to prepare for docking at the Kim’lad port. He waited a while until he found someone wearing a red bandanna, and Jensen began to bounce the bag up and down in his hand as he whistled a child’s song about stars and how they twinkled. As the bag was tossed up the man with the red bandanna walked by, tossing up another bag, this one bigger like a satchel, and Jensen walked forward grabbing the bag as the gold coins vanished behind him, the man with the red bandanna opening it. Jensen lowered his tune, and waited for a brief moment, the man with the bandanna whistling the same tune Jensen had been not moment’s prior. He went back above decks and William noticed the lack of money, but the procurement of the satchel.

Jensen tossed the flap open, and pulled out two pre-stamped and official notations for travel and passage to the land of Fallien for one month. William pulled out his papers and held them ready as the yacht made way to anchor, not bothering to ask just what the hell happened.

~*~*~

As would be expected from the desert, the heat was unbearable to all but William. A small guide had pointed them in the direction they wanted to go based off the directions the immortal gave off the scroll, but the guide stopped at a certain point, claiming that the land was filled with dark magic. It was all the two warrior’s needed to hear to move forward into the blistering heat to find out what exactly the hell was going on.

The trip itself had taken them another four days of nonstop travel, the immortal and William stopping only to eat and then move onwards. The sun cast down on them heavily, but as they neared their destination a powerful wind began to urge them forwards. The breeze was nice, a pleasant feeling on their sun kissed skin as they wondered further into the sea of sand. They climbed over several dunes, mostly keeping to themselves as they focused on their prize, a light conversation about the training methods of Hotorui and Ta’gaz.

On the fourth day they had walked into a valley that looked recently unearthed, a powerful wind blasting away the dunes that threatened to swallow it once more. Dark clouds cast a grey lighting over the desert, and the heat that was once almost unbearable now was a distant memory both men longed to embrace one more time. Jensen looked along the statues of mighty god like beings, their poses very dramatic and with flair. He could easily discern which were warrior gods, and which were tricksters. One statue, made of bure Obsidian and graphite depicted what most people envisioned the specter of death to look like. Another looked like a humanoid dragon, with silver wings and talons that could cut even the strongest metal to pieces with ease, but these statues, these beings, were nothing but guardians of the tomb that was stretched before them.

They looked to their scrolls one last time, both reading the print. They looked to each other, and both knew they were thinking the same thing. It was Jensen who spoke first his fears.

“If we go in there, William,” Jensen said with a straight face. “It’s not going to be the citadel. It’s going to be the real thing. We’re going to walk into potentially something that will kill us, for good.” Jensen took a moment and decided to make sure he got all his concerns out. “Hell, even I am actually afraid if I walk in there I will never leave again. But…” Jensen looked to the entrance of the tomb, a bright green rune blazing with eldritch fire similar to the one that burned upon the chest of the Storm Herald. “I won’t let Stormo Heraldo dictate what I fear.” He took a few steps forwards and then flashed a smile to William. “But if ya get scared, I can always hold your hand…” Jensen laughed as he turned back to the entrance.

Jensen moved forwards without saying much more. He let the Revenant make up his own mind. Inside were the answers Jensen seeked. He wanted to know them. He had to know if his hunches were right. Did he fight the real Storm Herald before? Was he really in the citadel? Was it all fake or true? He had to know, and with that he found his courage once again.

“Wakey wakey, hands of snakey!” Jensen shouted into the abyss.

[Revenant]

Entering the tomb sent a shudder down William’s spine which, involuntary as it was, annoyed the Revenant. All signs of light faded within a few feet of the entrance, requiring the two warriors to pull torches from their packs lest they be reduced to wandering in the lightless abyss. Even as callous as Jensen’s attitude was towards their journey, William doubted the braggadocios young man was willing to go that far.

Despite being well equipped to traverse such environs, it took them several minutes to get their torches lit to the point that they would remain burning in the face of the whipping wind that surged out of the tunnel. It was that wind that had kept the tunnel’s entrance relatively free of obstructing sand. But as frustrating as it was to have to fight against the wind to keep their torches aflame, William had to admit that the frustration was somewhat calming to his nerves. Unlike here, the air in the Storm Herald’s tomb has been unnaturally still.

“You still waiting for me to hold your hand?” Jensen laughed, though even his usual mocking tone was somewhat subdued in these closed-in environs. William moved past the giggling Knight, doing his best to ignore the man until he was needed.

Firelight from the torches provided the two men with a much better view of the tunnel than they had had during their excursion into the tomb. Softly flickering light illuminated the sectioned floor tiles revealing their obsidian makeup. That gave William another momentary pause, but again there was a difference to the tiles that filled the Revenant with relief. Instead of smooth, polished obsidian intricately etched with complex runes and sigils, this stone was old, grooved, and pitted with the ravages of thousands of years of weathering. The howling winds that came down the passage kept the passage free and clear of dust, but William was certain that if it hadn’t, the layer of dust would be thick enough to show that they were the first beings to traverse this corridor in a long, long time.

“Uh, Willie,” Jensen prodded, “not to interrupt your doubtlessly fascinating study of the floor or anything, but you might want to see this.” William pulled himself from his rumination and looked down the corridor at the spot Jensen’s torch was currently illuminating. It was a grouping of the same alcoves that he and Jensen had first encountered as they approached the main area of the Storm Herald’s tomb, though this one was as old and faded as the obsidian floor and was unoccupied. Still, the sight of it erased all doubt from William’s mind. They were in the same tomb where they had so recently died.

“Damn,” William murmured, suddenly filled with the alternating desires to run away and to run forward. But William was a warrior at heart, and chose to forge forward with renewed purpose. He knew full well, as did Jensen, the likely outcome of their journey. But why would someone go to all the trouble of bringing them to Fallien with the ancient letters without a specific purpose.

Emptiness leered at the two warriors from hundreds of shadowy alcoves. There was no sign at all of the army that that the two of them had faced in the Citadel, the Storm Herald’s undying legion of obsidian warriors. If anything had ever occupied them however, they had long ago been removed. Assuming everything in the tomb was as old and worn as it appeared, that is.

But there was only one catacomb that William was interested in, the sealed obsidian block that lay at the center of the tomb’s deepest room. The sight of the Storm Herald’s sarcophagus filled both warrior’s with a sense of trepidation, but there was no turning back at this point. William moved carefully, examining every facet of the Herald’s resting place in intricate detail.

“Hey Willie,” Jensen yelled from across the room. His booming laughter seemed forced, something William attributed to the tenseness of the situation. “You know how I told you can hold my hand if you get scared?”

“What, you’re scared now so you want me to reciprocate?” William rolled his eyes at the frustration he felt that Jensen couldn’t even manage to be serious for one minute. “Not going to happen.”

Jensen held something up in his outstretched hand. “Too late,” he giggled. William’s eyes widened in surprise as Jensen’s offering came into focus. It was, without a doubt, the most disturbing thing that William had seen since this trip started, because it was the hand that the Storm Herald had cut from William.

“No that’s not possible,” William whispered, glancing from the severed hand to the sarcophagus. Even Jensen’s tittering seemed to have petered out. “We were here? That bastard monk actually sent us here?”

“Then what’s in there?” Jensen pointed to the sarcophagus with a single outstretched finger from William’s hand.

“Give me that!” William snapped, grabbing his hand back from the immortal. “What do you think is in there?”

“Let’s find out, shall we,” Jensen said, surging past William before the Revenant could stop him. Laughing hysterically in the moment, Jensen shoved the lid from the sarcophagus with a single kick to release what lay within.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

When Jensen shoved his foot onto the lid of the stone sarcophagus, he didn’t know what to expect, but he was tired of waiting. To many things were adding up in his brain creating whole new questions he never thought to ask. If they had been in this tomb, and they fought the real Storm Herald, then why was his legion no longer here? Why was everything inside the tomb wore down, empty, and aged as if touched by the kiss of time? And how the hell did Belsavius, a monk who never left the Citadel, know all about a legend such as the Herald?

The stone grated against itself, a gravely like moan in the tomb as it shunted aside violently, then teetered before collapsing upon the floor. The impact made a loud, obnoxious noise as Jensen cart wheeled backwards to stand next to William, the demon’s hands lifted into a defensive position. The energies of the tomb pulsed, and his blood raced as he felt the storm overhead turn even more violent, strikes of the lightening making the bellowing thunder echo to deafening noises in a crescendo.

The immortal was prepared now, ready to meet once again with the Storm Herald, but nothing ever happened. The wind above slowly died back to it’s baleful saunter, and the tomb continued to lie in dead silence. A soft green glow emanated in the dimly lit room, casting long shadows over the Revenant’s face. The two stalked forwards, never lowering their guard. Jensen elbowed the other knight softly, stepping in front of him. William nodded, letting the immortal take point.

He peered inside and wrinkled his nose, before turning back to the demonkin. “You’ll never believe this,” Jensen said with a strait face. “A note is in here, from Sei. He wanted us to learn how to be a team and set the whole thing up. Turns out the Storm Herald and he are buddies.”

“You’re lying,” William grunted angrily, pushing Jensen aside with barely contained fury. He stepped into the light of the sarcophagus and peered into the void. “Nothing, there’s,” He waited a moment. “Nothing at all.” Jensen nodded his head.

“At least my alternative scenario would have made sense,” Jensen peeved. He was growing more and more irritated with the Storm Herald and his games as of late, but he kept his patience for the moment. “Well, more sense than this crock of shit game of tag.”

“It still doesn’t add up,” William turned to Jensen, the full fury of his demonic impatience baring down upon the Knight of Apocalypse. He turned his head back to the coffin, and placed his hand inside feeling around. “Why the storms? The ancient letters? All these tricks and charades?” William pounded his fist against the side of the stone, denting it as flakes of dust fell to the earth like a tiny shower. “Damnation, it makes no sense at all!”

William slammed his fist inside the casket once more, and this time he tripped forwards, stumbling as the sound of stone shattering filled the air. The Revenant quickly pulled his arm out, and Jensen moved forwards, looking to the inside of the sarcophagus and his eyes went wide. He put his hand into the coffin, pulling out shards of the stone and the demonkin next to him began to help until they both lifted out a rather huge slab of stone the size of the inside of the casket. With a grunt of effort they ditched it to the side, and peered inside once more. A tingling sensation made Jensen’s hairs raise as his hip muscles twitched.

Without even thinking of it Jensen pulled out his scroll, dark lines of green energy pulsing over the waving script. The storm above once again waxed strongly, creating a tornado like sound as wind shoved sand all over the place outside the small room they lived in. William looked to his scroll, watching the ink slowly fade away and reshape itself to the image of the energy coursing around the pages. Jensen saw his do the same, taking the shape of the Rune emblem of the Storm Herald, the rune bleeding droplets below itself, creating an image of a orb.

William’s page bled into the shape of a powerful war scythe, the very same one the Storm Herald had used to lop his hand off. Inside the casket, the energy quaked the stone, until it shattered falling to the side as debris and dust, an alter lifting up from below it. This alter was made of the purest white marble, a stark contrast to the Obsidian stone pillars that shimmered with energy. The immortal and the Revenant took a step back as the alter finished raising, a golden top slowly peaking upwards in the shape of golden wings, unfurling with a sigh like one who breathed for the first time after holding their breath for eternity.

Jensen and William didn’t move, eyes cast around in awe and suspicion. The shadows swirled before the alter, forming into the shape of powerfully built man, easily taller and more toned than Ta’gaz. His sandaled feet took shape first, his bronze body forming up as the veil of shadows created a fluttering cape behind him. A skin tight black armor plate formed next, etching out every detailed muscle on the god like being, almost as if it was a suit of leather armor, but the immortal knew it to be made of the same Obsidianite that was everywhere. A shaved head tilted upwards, a silver rune dangling from a leather strap falling onto his chest plate. Piercing green eyes that lit up like small flashes of lightening made his grin all the more sinister.

“The Storm Herald,” William breathed, paralyzed by those eyes that devoured his soul. Jensen looked into them, seeing past the green glow and witnessing the infiniteness of death and the ages of time that hid behind them, all trapped within a well of eternity that was his pupils. Jensen felt horrors unable to be given thought, saw tragedy unable to be given form, and smelled the rot of mortality unable to be given sight. He knew that he was all but dead, and that could change within moments.

The Herald of Storm stepped before them, looking to each and smiled, a vile, sinister smile as he gestured towards the alter, and then stepped past them. Jensen turned quickly, the Revenant already in his demonic form turning as well, but what they saw was the wisps of darkness as the Storm Herald was eaten alive by the shadows, a haunting chuckle that put even Cassandra Remi’s to heel.

Both warriors stood still, neither making a move until Jensen at last sighed, turning to the alter. He took a second take, eyes blinking as he saw wings form at the edges into two talons. One held an orb that pulsed with the eldritch energy, small lines of power flashing back and forth. The other held the Storm Herald’s war scythe, the weapon’s blade looking as deadly as ever.

Jensen went to lift his hand up at the same time William did, the immortal taking the Revenant took the war scythe. The orb crackled at his touch, the power within it exploding outwards and into his chest. Jensen fell to his knees in agony, torments beyond his imagination making him wish for the kiss of the grave. Every image of his many deaths filtered into his mind, making his lips part in a silent scream, until he rolled on the floor, the orb vanishing from his hands.

William looked to Jensen as the immortal slowly got to his feet, cradling his stomach. He took in deep, panting breaths as his eyes looked upon the demon, sunken and full of eldritch energy. “What do you think this means, Jensen?” William asked.

“That, that he wanted to thank us for bringing him back.” Jensen closed his eyes and tried to gain his breath.

“Then it would be safe to say that the man has some way to take them back when he wanted them. Still, I wonder how they work…” William let the thought linger as he turned to the immortal.

One hand lifted upwards, and without hesitation the Revenant lifted his scythe upwards, then slashed across Jensen’s chest. The knight’s collar bone, ribs, and lung all were easily cut through, hot crimson blood flying outwards in a gushing spray, the lips of the immortal trembling as it dribbled down his face. Collapsed into a heap, Jensen died.

William looked to the body, then smugly grinned as he stepped over the body heading out. With his pass to leave Fallien in his pockets and his gift from the Storm Herald in his hands he headed towards the path of divine judgment, but before he even got one foot out the tomb of the Storm Herald, a bubbling, dark and sinister laughter built from behind him. With a growl William turned, finding Jensen standing tall, wounds cleared as if they never happened, and the immortal laughed with sadistic glee.

“You can’t kill me that easily,” Jensen taunted. “I can feel this power! Ha, HA HA!” Jensen charged forwards, and William easily gutted the immortal as he ran past. His innards were easily spilt upon the ground, and Jensen fell into the wall, wheezing in laughter before he died once again. William waited, looking at Jensen, before he walked on again. Two steps past the immortal and he felt a wind pass by him, a shudder of life, and the breath of the undying immortal take root once again. Turning he found Jensen rise to his feet, cackling with insanity as he rose again.

“How utterly irritating,” Was William’s words to the laughing jackass, turning and heading back to the port. The whole time Jensen couldn’t stop laughing as he followed behind the Revenant.

~*~*~

There was still one thing William and Jensen didn’t know. They knew within ten minutes of hitting the sea port that beyond the shadow of a doubt, the Storm Herald had risen. Unnatural weather and violent thunder storms plagued the land, and whatever settlement was in the path of the storm inevitably was found barren and empty. Though none of the major or even minorly significant settlements of the desert continent were affected, the smaller, tribal like homes were vanishing without a trace and none of the Fallien people knew why. Yet the two knights did, and Jensen felt a twinge of guilt for unleashing the biggest danger know to the world. As for William Arcus, he merely smiled, wholly satisfied to know he had a hand in the destruction of so many.

That still left, however, the one thing. The key that linked everything together. Belsavius the monk. How did a Citadel monk know of the Storm Herald, and furthermore his resting place, and further still the way to awaken him? The voyage back to Corone was long, but William and Jensen agreed to one more thing before they parted ways again. They had to ask the monk for answers.

They entered the marbled halls of the ancient fighting arena, walking to the desk where they both knew their quarry would be seen. They carried stone faced masks of intent, their looks causing others to step away as they made their way towards the counter. There, in the swiveling chair they found the robes and when they reached the counter William grunted loudly, and Jensen tapped the polished wooden countertop.

“Welcome to the citadel,” A friendly, female voice spoke. “Oh, Mr. Ambrose and Mr. Arcus, a pleasure to see you again!” Jensen’s eyes narrowed in confusion, and William even looked a bit surprised. Jensen recalled seeing the face before, and it was the same doctor who had aided Jensen after his very first fight with William. He assumed the woman had aided the demon as well, but still, sitting in the chair that belonged to the their query was rather odd.

“Belsavious,” Jensen said to the woman, seeing her pointed ears behind her white hair and mentally forcing down the tidal waves of racial intolerance towards them. Business before pleasure. “Where is he?”

“I am afraid to inform you that Belsavious has left the Citadel about two weeks ago,” The elf said. “He mentioned something about a terrible mistake and righting a wrong. He gathered his weapons and gear and left without saying much more. The grandmaster was sad to see him go, as am I. Did you want me to, well, uh, you both look like you want to punch me,” She said sheepishly. And she was right. William’s face was filled with rage as was Jensen’s. They turned to each other with a growl, standing before the elf and talking freely.

“So no answers,” Jensen huffed.

“Nope,” William replied. They sighed before they started to walk away.

“Um, Mr. Jensen?” The elf piped up. The immortal turned, feeling the heat of the Revenant walk away, ignoring the woman. “I do happen to have the files Belsavious left marked for you and your usual festivities. If you wish to resume them, you can always ask me.” Jensen just flipped her off, making her pout as Jensen caught up to William.

“Hey, jackass immortal,” William said looking over the sky towards fallien, making out the smallest black dot of a storm cloud over the seas. “No more level tens.”

“Tch,” the immortal placed his hands behind his head as he walked. “Don’t have to tell me twice.” They walked in silence, heading for the door, but before long the immortal cracked a small grin. “Though I do know of this one level ten Belsavious was talking about…”

[Enigmatic Immortal]

The Enigmatic Immortal requests the following Spoils:

Breath of the Undying: Jensen fused with the eldritch orb that once belonged to the Storm Herald, fusing his ancient necromantic power with the immortality in his soul. This gives Jensen the ability to speed up his regenerating power, allowing him to come back to life even faster. In game terms, Jensen only needs one post to come back from minor deaths: Neck Snapping, impaling, stabbed in the eye, anything that would kill him, but NOT INCAPACITATE HIM. He will not get back up if he’s beheaded, or he’s cut into two pieces, or any other Overkill situation and will take the normal one day’s worth of regenerating time as usual.

Canon: The Storm Herald has arisen! This ancient warrior had once plagued the lands of Fallien and harvested souls and used eldritch magic to crush his enemies. Defeated once before and entombed, the warriors Jensen Ambrose and William Arcus had unknowingly awoken him. He commands an undying Legion of warriors and monsters that number 1,000 strong, and sticks to the outskirts of Fallien. He never invades densely populated areas…yet…

[Revenant]

Requested Spoil:

Warscythe of the Storm Herald - A single blade runs down the top third of this obsidian weapon which, despite its appearance, is composed of the same living stone that the Storm Herald himself is and is as light and strong as mythril. A potent weapon in its own right, the true power of this scythe becomes apparent when the wielder activates it, causing small discharges of green electrical power to arc from the weapon as the blade glows with a sickly green light. At that point the blade of the scythe can cut through any barrier; living, armor, or magical; in its path. The warscythe can be activated for up to three attacks per day (regardless of whether they hit or not) at which point it reverts back to its normal mythril state until the next day.

[Silence Sei]

Judging this as a quest because, well, that’s what it was.

STORY ~ 23/30

CHARACTER ~ 25/30

WRITING STYLE ~ 18/30

Wild Card ~ 8/10

Total: 74/100

EI gets his spoils as requested, 3400 Exp, and 100 GP

Rev gets his spoil, however, I am not going to say it can break any barrier three times a day. I’ll allow twice for minor guards (wooden shields, iron armor, etc) and once for more advance stuff (Higher up glass, Livol wood, anything about Mythril, etc etc). He also gains 2650 exp, and 100 GP.

200 GP deducted from Silence Sei to pay for the broken citadel room.