Curse

Unreal Cyn · Aug 29, 2007, 06:38 AM // 06:38

Well folks it's been some time. I've been very busy lately working on other things but that's past now and I should be able to continue Obsidian regularly! One of the things I have been working on is a small website project; rivenCrystal.com mainly intended to help me pratice web development. You will find Crystal and my other fanfics there as well as some additional content. Check it out and tell me what you think! On another note, I have a new chapter for your reading pleasure...Chapter 20!

Old Friends

Cyn found the room unnaturally warm, with not a stitch of breeze to drive away the sweat that trickled down his forehead in narrow rivulets. A torch burned fitfully in one corner of the place, but for all its exuberance, not much of its light spilled out into the room. There seemed to be a lurking presence in the air; one that sucked up the light and excreted gloom. Still, the trickling water from the revitalised Thirsty River whispered in the air – even down here – but that was not nearly enough to calm him down or drive away the strange sensation that fluttered in his belly.

Before him, not seven feet away, was a large man. He was not bound in any visible way, but it seemed that he could not move at all. His eyes stared out into space – not really seeing – and his arms lay outstretched and palms up, as though he were waiting on some blessing from the gods.

Cyn glanced behind him and found that the door was still closed. All was quiet and still, and save for the man lying on the ground; he could have been the only man alive in the entire world.

Drawing a deep breath, Cyn moved forwards. He went a ways and stooped down before the man, waving his hand before his unfocused eyes.

“Cyn?” The man groaned, “So it is you.”

“Yes. Karak...what the hell did they do to you, man?” There was something in his mind – a voice, a presence, a something – that was asking him why he should give a shit about the condition of a lowly human. He was destined to be a god – the something said – one to unseat all other gods and powers and rule with an iron fist.

“I...is this even real? I...you...you should be dead, Cyn. I killed you. We killed you.”

The warrior’s voice sounded strange, not entirely garbled, but as though it was interspersed with many other voices. His eyes were more focused, now, but Cyn could see something within those blue irises that emitted nothing but unease and wrongness.

“Yeah. You killed me all right. Well at least I think so. I’m back now, so that does not matter. What matters is this: how did you get here?”

Karak moved his head from side to side, slowly, surveying the room. When he brought his gaze back upon Cyn, his features seemed harder, his attitude fiercer.

“You are working with demons, Cyn. I thought you could save me. I thought you could save us. But you’re nothing but a fraud. This is what he wanted all along. You’re nothing but a pawn in his f***ing game.” Karak snapped. The man’s voice had suddenly changed. There was still a whispering of many voices in the background, but the foremost voice was obviously very husky and female.

Cyn sat back on his buttocks. What the hell is this? How did Karak’s voice change like that? What happened to him? Was it something I did? A slither of guilt wormed through his stomach, up into his throat and mouth, and then it was gone, replaced by steel-cold emptiness.

“Answer my question, Karak.”

The warrior swallowed heavily and his eyes danced in their sockets for a moment. “I hate you, Cyn.” His voice sounded normal again, but angry. “Because of you Farrion is dead. Because of you I have nothing left. And because of you now the world will come to an end, and everyone else will die. I hate you, Cyn! Why have you come here? To look down on me and pity my ass? f*** you Cyn, and all your new friends. Grenth take you all!”

For a moment Cyn thought that Karak would jump from his spot, crashing into him like a bull and sending heavy fists into his unprotected face. But nothing of the sort happened. The big warrior remained on the ground, unmoving but his eyes burning as though with some inner flame. Muscles bulged and quivered all over his shirtless chest; straining against unseen bonds.

Farrion is dead?! No! Impossible! Not...how? How in all of Tyria could Farrion be dead! And because of me? Me! Melandru ––

It doesn’t matter. That’s past. All that matters is the future. My future. My glorious future.

Cyn inched closer. The cold emptiness in his body seemed to be spreading, dousing the flames of emotion. The ranger felt nothing – not the heat, not the sand beneath his feet, not the clothes against his skin – only the emptiness. Emotions and old values remained on the fringes of his psyche, yet they were ants compared with the mountains of the new Cyn. The new god.

“I don’t think you answered me. I didn’t come here to pity you. I didn’t come here to listen to you berating me, either. I came here for answers, and you will give them to me.”

Karak looked at Cyn long and hard for what felt like hours. Cyn did not know what the hell he was looking for, but after a time Karak crossed his arms and sat with his back against the wall.

“Your new friend was inside my head. Controlling me. Led me out into the desert by myself, where I was caught by his well-armed goons. They trussed me up with some shit I can’t even see, and brought me here. Is that good enough for you?”

“Pister was in your head?”

“Like a voice, then like more of a will.” He sighed, but Karak’s eyes still did not blink. “He wasn’t the only thing in there. There was also a woman. It all started when we came to Amnoon to look for your cursed ass.”

Cyn blinked. He had not realised that Karak and Farrion had been following him. Why should they? The old guild had dissolved months before, and everyone had mostly gone their own ways. The last he had seen of them was about two months ago in Droknar’s Forge, where they had enjoyed some drinks and numerous memories. When Cyn decided to leave that night, he did not think that anyone would have followed him.

“Why did you come to look for me?”

“Why? Well I really don’t know. Could it be that we all thought you were our friend? No, of course not. Could it then be that we were trying to look out for you, seeing as to how strange you were acting? Nah. That’s probably bullshit too.”

Cyn sighed and massaged his chin. “So you followed me to Amnoon. Then what?”

“We met some guys who said that a demon was about to re-enter the world. Said that some crazy bitch was going to perform all sorts of magic to get it out of its prison; using something called the Vixen’s Heart. They also said that you were following this bitch, and that quite possibly you would be there to witness the demon’s rebirth firsthand.” Karak finally blinked, but his face remained as animated as granite. “Farrion was determined to find you – no – to save you from the demon. So we grouped with the guys – called the Wraiths, by the way – and trekked across the desert. Most of them and Farrion died along the way. When the rest of us got there I found you about to free the very same demon we were supposed to save you from. So I killed you. Obviously, I didn’t do a good job.”

“Well, thank you for being honest with me.” Cyn said. Then this isn’t my fault, not my concern. They brought this upon themselves. I never asked to be saved, never asked to be followed. They should have left me alone.

“So, Cyn, my good and faithful friend. What are you going to do to me now, eh? I’ll make a suggestion. Kill me. ‘Cause if I ever get out of here alive, I will kill you, and by all the gods I will make sure that you’re dead.”

Cyn looked across at the warrior he used to fight beside on numerous battlefields throughout Tyria. In his old life he had not many friends, not many people he could or would trust, but this man and his brother were among the best and closest of his companions. Even now, and even though he tried to dismiss it, Cyn could remember that final battle at the Doors of Komalie; a battle for the very life of the world. He could remember Farrion’s frantic spellcasting, wondering if he was making any difference at all with his mesmerising, and Karak’s brave and sometimes cocky fighting, as the big man laid waste to wave after wave of undead.

Probably the only two men in the world Cyn would think of dying for.

Normire had always led them, but he was another matter for another time.

“I’m a changed man, Karak. Changed in ways you will never understand.” Cyn managed to say after a while. His voice sounded choked to his ears; unnatural emotion filtering through the emptiness.

“Really? I don’t think so. I think you’ve been the same way all along, only waiting to free your bitch-demon friend and damn us all to the Underworld.”

Cyn stood and turned to leave. I’ve heard enough. Karak’s not my concern. I didn’t kill anyone. But he should not be here. I will not have him preventing me from reaching my destiny. He strode back to the door and opened it. That strange feeling fluttered in his belly once again and he glanced over his shoulder at the man huddled in the back of the room.

“I’m sorry about Farrion.”

“Get the f*** away from me, Cyn.”

Cyn shut the door and the clang it made reverberated throughout this underground complex like a drumbeat of doom. If, of course, you believed in such things. He stood for a moment just before the door and composed himself. The place felt claustrophobic all of a sudden and the heat seemed to be rising out of his collar in long clouds of steam. His innards wrenched as though a fist had wrapped around them, and Cyn collapsed against the far wall, barely supporting himself as pain exploded within him.

Shit! What is this?

Every muscle beneath his flesh seemed to be shifting, changing, growing and shrinking. His blood turned to ice and then to liquid fire and then back again; changing state and temperature ferociously fast. His fingers cracked and bent backwards at the joints; the nails jack-knifing three feet from the tips, like claws, only to retract far back into the skin at the fingertips.

Cyn fell to his knees and tried to calm down. He hugged himself but his ribs seemed to be rearranging beneath his very flesh and muscle, and his clothes were so hot that they burnt his hands. Melandru’s grace! What is…! What is…! Something seemed to be pulling his teeth out of his mouth, and that same something seemed to be tugging out his eyeballs.

Cyn’s back arced backwards and he wailed in silent agony.

And then the sensation passed. Cyn collapsed on all fours, breathing hard and wanting to vomit, but only retching out nothing but air.

He jerked when a hand rested on his back. He flung himself around with what little strength remained from that terrible episode and saw that Jala had come to stand behind him. Dressed in a knee-length and close-fitting dress of pure black, she seemed almost like a pretty ghost back from the dead. She knelt before him and gently rested a hand over his cheek.

“It is only a side-effect. They will not last, my love.” She said sweetly. Her voice carried with it a rather calming effect, one that immediately set about to dulling the pain in Cyn’s innermost regions.

“Suh…Side-effect?” Of what?

“You’re changing, my love. You know this already. You are becoming something else – a god among all these insects we have to walk amongst. What is a little pain when all you can have is glory and power? Come on, let’s go back upstairs. It’s still night, and the stars are lovely.”

A myriad of thoughts swirled in Cyn’s mind like the wheels of an out-of-control carriage. All were questions, and in his state Cyn could not figure out which one was the most important, or which one he should really ask. His vision of Jala blurred to indistinct shapes and smooth angles, and he blinked furiously to no avail.

He could feel heat burning into his flesh from Jala’s touch; feel her heartbeat, her breath. He was suddenly acutely aware of everything around him; every fine detail of the sand below him, of the straight walls and flat roof above and around. Still something seemed to be rearranging in his guts, like dwarven gears and cogs whirring into place.

Jala moved closer to him, her voice now a calming whisper, “Did the warrior tell you something you did not like? He is nothing. I can deal with him, if you want it.”

Cyn was somewhat surprised to find that he really had to think hard about the decision. “No. Leave him to me. He’s my responsibility.”

“He doesn’t have to be, my love,” Jala replied, “Why do you have to care? He doesn’t matter. Only us.”

She’s right. Karak’s nothing but a waste of space now. A hindrance. I should just kill him now and send him to the Underworld with his brother. I can’t have him around trying to kill me.

Cyn thought that sounded logical, but long ago the ranger had realised that he was no mere logical thinker. For some reason he could not yet identify, he was not prepared to kill or hurt Karak in any way. Not yet, at any rate.

Grunting, he ambled to his feet as Jala rose beside him. Her diamond-like eyes reflected and refracted the wavering torchlight in brilliant hues of deep red and gold, but the rest of her face seemed dark and foreboding. A thin crease of worry lined her forehead, but anger was there as well, lurking just beneath the brown flesh of her face, like a vicious jungle troll beneath a cover of leaves and vines.

Despite her calm, her hand was gripped tightly around Cyn’s arm, and her body was rigid; almost like a panther about to pounce. And in that black dress she does look very much like one. Cyn could not guess her thoughts, but somehow he reasoned that they were of death, destruction and power. Three things that were soon to be on his own mind.

“Can you walk?” She asked.

“Yeah.” Cyn swallowed mucus that had eased up into his throat and rubbed his eyes. “You said it was still night? I thought it would be morning by now.”

“No. No morning for us, dear Cyn. Forever night.”

“What?”

Her features softening into a broad smile, “Oh, the sun has risen, but we are in a perpetual eclipse. That is a side-effect also – of the vast armies that are now coming to our beck and call.”

Somehow, with all the other thoughts fighting for dominance in his mind, Cyn had forgotten about that. Pister’s giving us whole armies of bound undead to do with what we wish. Once we give him free rein in Tyria. Gods! Perpetual night!

That strange feeling again, slimy like the taste of guilt had been, but more fleeting. Cyn straightened and glanced back at the door to Karak’s cell. Darkness hung close there; the dappled light of the torches did not extend that far, even out here.

I’ll get you out of my hair, Karak. I at least owe Farrion that much.

Unreal Cyn · Sep 01, 2007, 02:35 AM // 02:35

Chapter 21! Enjoy!

The Rising Dead

The night was deep, and the wide vista of ink black sky that stretched overhead from horizon to horizon was gently freckled with small pinpricks of light; far distant stars and spirits of heroes in the Mists. The sea was calm tonight, its waves breaking almost noiselessly against the thick hull of the merchant ship. Old wood boards creaked and groaned listlessly, and the ship bobbed on the waves almost in tandem with the rhythm.

The snores of men were a quiet ambient chorus to the world of night, and given the stillness and the cool zephyr that eased across the seas, the man at the hull should have been at peace. On this night, however, peace was a far off state; a distant presence of mind that the man thought he would neither achieve on this nor any other night.

The moon had long ago sunk below the western horizon like a falling mango, carrying with it much light that he could have viewed the world by. The stars still burned brilliantly, but they seemed wrong somehow, wrong in a way the man could not express. In fact the whole damn world felt wrong, and quite suddenly the man realised that he was afraid. This fear was not a fear he had ever experienced before; this was more an impression of fear – a fear of fear. And he was too old too attribute this feeling to any lack of sleep or imagination.

He took his hands off the railing before him and rubbed them together. He had not realised the cold before and he looked at the breath that misted before his mouth and nostrils in curious wonder. His vessel dealt in trade along the popular route from Lion’s Arch to Witman’s Folly and Amnoon. Sometimes he would even go as far as Cantha, but never beyond. They had dropped anchor off a small isle south of Kryta, just to the north of where Orr had once been, so the air should still have been relatively warm, even at night.

Tonight the seas were devoid of maritime vessels save for his own. On other nights the old man might have considered this a blessing, but tonight he felt a weird sense of implacable loneliness, even amongst his sleeping crew of thirty men. He buried his hands in the deep pockets of his baggy long pants and looked about. He felt exposed out here, like a naked mermaid beaching upon some rock amidst a horde of horny men.

It was an inexplicable feeling, of course, but he did not think he was being paranoid. No. I’m too old for paranoia. I need to get my hands on a weapon. I don’t like this at all. Only twice in his life had he felt much the same way; once, a few weeks ago if so long, he had sighted a massive storm heading east to the Crystal Desert, and long before that he had ferried a group of young men – a ranger, a warrior, a necromancer and a Mesmer – to the obsidian isles of Perdition Rock.

Maybe all these events were unrelated – maybe not – but that was that. He was not a philosopher, not a man who wasted his hours pondering on the mysteries of life; he just accepted them and moved on. But tonight, amidst the dual-bladed feelings of fear and anxiety, the old man pondered.
Something dropped, shattered, and a muffled curse and grunt broke the glass silence.

The old man’s heart nearly gave out at the sound, but he steadied himself and walked over to the spot where he had heard it. When he got there, he saw a whip-thin man sweeping the remains of an inexpensive crystal vase into a barrel close at hand. The man saw him and froze instantly.

“Night, Captain. Just cleaning up a mess. My mess. I’m very sorry.”

The old man glanced down at the vase and then back up at the sailor’s face. He was one of his oldest crewmembers; he had been with him on several rounds up and down the Lion’s Arch – Cantha route. Ascalonian, if the old man remembered rightly. The thin man might appear malnourished, but he was one of the finest shipmates around. And he’s fine with a sword as well. The old man could still remember the massacre when a small set of brigands had thought to board them.

“And you’re up because? You should be below-decks. You’re part of the first shift tomorrow.” The old man grunted.

“Yeah…umm, well to tell yuh the truth – I can’t sleep, Captain.” He rested the broom off to a side, clasped his hands behind his back and gazed up at the sky.

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know, Captain. A feeling, I guess. Maybe nothing more.” He sighed, “It’s pretty damn still tonight though, don’t you find?”

“Yes it is. And remarkably so.” The old captain folded his arms, “Tell me something, mate. Have you ever felt like this before? This anxiety?”

The man brought his gaze back upon him. “Once. Back home just at the onset of the Searing. I was going through the forest back then and all the while, in the back of my head I was feeling so strange. Then I came to this spot – a clearing – and I think I saw two men fighting. I can’t be sure. What I’m sure of was that one of those giant crystals fell from the sky and blew up everything.” He shuddered. “I don’t know how I managed to get out of the resulting forest fire alive, Captain.”

The old Captain drew a deep breath. So, it’s not only me then. He looked around. “Tell me, does it feel cold to you?”

“Yes, Captain. Unusual for this time of year.” The man paused, “Unusual for any time of the year.”

The Captain’s feelings of anxiety and fear were mounting now, like the vast expanses of the Shiverpeaks. He could not allow himself to be slave to those emotions; could not make himself appear mad to his crew, but right now he did not care about looks. Something bad was happening here, something that should not be. He had to get ready. I must get ready!

“Lance, my old shipmate, wake the crew. Tell them to prepare for imminent attack.”

The man’s eyes widened, “Imminent attack, Captain?”

“Yes, now move, man!”

Lance turned and went straight to the main mast of the ship. A small, loud cow-bell hung there – one of many that the Captain had placed around the ship to form a rather effective warning system. When Lance grabbed hold of the chain and rang it like a madman, its near ear-shattering cuh-clang-cuh-clang split the silence into several riven strands of noise.

“To your feet!” Lance cried, “We’re under attack!”

After a moment, replying bells tolled throughout the ship. And in seconds the Captain could hear men bounding from their sleeping mats and bunks, throwing on clothes and arming themselves. The entire vessel came alive in a cacophony of voices and noise. Torches and lamps were lit and doors were flung open to admit men onto the upper deck.

“Where are they, Cap’n?” A giant of a man asked breathlessly as he strode up to the old man. The burly, thick-chested son-of-bitch looked ready for any disaster, maybe even the end of the world, which might actually be taking place.

The Captain shook his head. “Don’t worry about that, Gordon – just be ready, I beg you. I think we might be facing something very alien here. Nothing so simple as brigands or pirates.” He had to shout to be heard above the racket of Lance’s bell-ringing, and was surprised to find that his voice was still strong, even at this age.

“Right, Cap’n. Whatever they be, them can’t face we and live.” Gordon laughed.

The old Captain hoped more than ever that that would be the case, but across his mind there hovered the shadow of a doubt.

He made his way towards the helm and ordered some other men to raise the anchor. To another group he ordered the sails to be unfurled. But nothing he did, or even thought for that matter, could abate the sense of fear shivering through his bones. Something was coming, something his old mind could not comprehend, something that was large and inescapable.

A horn sounded in the distance.

One moment the ship was buzzing with the activities of men, and the next, utter silence. All froze, and even the Captain himself cast a gaze southwards, from whence the sound of the horn had come. He thought that it sounded muffled; drowned, as though it were partially submerged in water.

Dwayna’s Light shine on us this night. He prayed silently. He had no family left these days, but many of the other men onboard did; wives and several children far away in the port-cities and villages. And since he almost felt that these men were his sons, their families were his families too. Help us survive this night, I pray.

Another horn sounded, clearer this time, though no closer. It came from out to the east, but nothing presented itself when the Captain turned his sights thence. He shivered and found that even though the breeze had died, there remained an insidious chill that seeped far down through his flesh and muscles to the bone beneath.

“Almost like Kryta.” A sailor whispered from beside him.

“Say again?”

“Almost like Kryta, Cap’. I came from Bergen. Some nights we’d hear these horns, not unlike these ones tonight.”

“Horns from who?” the old Captain asked, even though he already knew the answer.

“The undead, Cap’.” Yet another horn sounded, clearer and closer than the rest. “The dead are coming here tonight.”

A troubled wave rocked the vessel – a gentle wave – but the Captain felt the damn ship was about to capsize.

“Anchor’s up, Captain!” someone called from the stern. And above him he could hear the fabric of the main sails puffing and groaning. His ship was almost ready to move, yet even so the old Captain felt that everything had been done far too late.

“Get some men below decks to the rows. We’ve got no wind yet, but I don’t want to wait for it. Move!” he shouted to the man next to him, the man from Bergen.

“Captain!” a man hollered.

The old Captain followed the sound of the man’s voice, but froze in mid-turn. Just before them, not twenty feet away from the hull of the vessel, it appeared as though something was rising.

The Captain rushed to the rails once more and looked over. Down below, the water churned and frothed, as though fighting against whatever was about to be birthed from the depths. A long shaft of wood finally broke the surface, rising and rising. Lengths of cord wound from it back into the ocean, and soon there followed more shafts of wood…not shafts of wood. Gods…they’re masts. The masts of a ship. The rotted and pockmarked remains of sails were drawn between them. He could not be absolutely certain, but the structure of the masts and the way the sails were arranged reminded him of Orrian ships, back when he was a lad and there still was an Orr.

The sound of creaking wood drew the Captain’s gaze from the sight below him. To his horror, he suddenly realised that many more of these ships were rising from the depths, and that his vessel was utterly surrounded.

Several more horns sounded, clear, mournful and frightening. And the sun rose, a giant, obsidian ball in the eastern sky.

Unreal Cyn · Sep 05, 2007, 03:48 AM // 03:48

Yes. That's right. Another chapter. Made some updates to my site as well. Check em all out. That is all. Chapter 22.

Wraiths Reborn

Habib drew his hand across his face and looked at his fingers as the sweat glistened there in the torchlight. No longer could he hear the sound of soaring arrows from outside, and the hissing of the Forgotten had long ago faded away. Even now he wondered if what he had experienced over an hour ago had been real, or just fantasy.

But the fact that everyone else had a similar experience…. Gods, what have I gotten us all into? Everyone else was reticent to speak about what they had experienced – even Normire and Heather – but Habib assumed that they hadn’t been in any fairytales either. He had struck a deal with the Forgotten, and even though he had no idea how he was going to achieve his end of the bargain, he knew that he had no more choice in the matter. He had to achieve it. If he ever wanted to see the daughter that he had thought dead for so long again, he had no other choice.

They had remained in the abandoned building ever since regaining consciousness; the feeling of shock and displacement still lingered heavily, like alcohol on the breath. But they had to leave some time, and to Habib, the sooner the better.

Cyn and that demon could be anywhere in the Desert by now, even if they’re still here. Dwayna have mercy on us, but the longer we wait, the deeper in hell I think we’ll sink; the harder it’ll become for us to kill Ja’al.

“So what are we going to do?” Heather asked quietly as she sat down on the wooden bench beside him. Once it had been polished and lined with cushions, but now all decoration was gone, leaving only hard, sand-blasted wood. “No one else seems to give a shit, so I’m hoping you’re a clearer thinker.”

Habib breathed a chuckle and looked up. Karissa was laying some ways off on the remains of a sofa and Big Charr sat opposite her on a sturdy pouf. His hairy face was buried in his thick hands, and the big guy seemed to be thinking deeply. Normire had gone off exploring the rest of the place.

“Well,” Habib said after a time, “We have to leave in here obviously. I don’t think there’s anything trying to keep us in, now. They did what they wanted to do to us; got out of us what they wanted.”

Heather scowled. “What about Karak? What did they do to him?”

“I can’t imagine. This is the only place he seemed to have gone, but we haven’t found a trace of him since coming in here. It’s as though he just vanished into the desert air like water.” Habib sighed and traced the curving emblem emblazoned on his knee guard. It was in the shape of a mollusc; some sea-animal that was said to live just to the south of Droknar’s Bay. Fanciful creatures. Habib reasoned that they were probably the imagination of some designer.

Heather eased closer and brought her face nearer his ear. “I don’t trust them. Neither Normire nor Karissa. They’re not of this world – they’re evil.”

“I don’t think you’re of this world, either, Heather.”

“But I’m not like them, man!” she whispered fiercely, “I’m good, they’re not. We’re from opposite factions – guilds, if you may – and we’re incompatible! They will turn on us, I’m sure, if we continue to travel with them.”

Habib liked Heather for the short time since he had met her. Which was rare as it usually took him several months to like or trust anyone. But she seemed rather intelligent, with a good grasp of her wits and a good team player to boot. To top it all off she was very easy on the eyes and knew how to handle herself in pitched battles. But her constant paranoia was beginning to grate on his steel nerves. Just a week ago he had been the second-in-command of a guild whose members trusted one another completely, whose members fought as a disciplined unit and gave no time to petty squabbles. Now look at me. ‘Cept for Big Charr I’m the only Wraith left. We’re a dead guild, now. Bones must be turning in his grave… if he had had a grave. Gods! When did things start to go so wrong?

A pinch on his neck snapped Habib from his thoughts.

“Were you listening to me?” Heather hissed.

“No. I’m sorry. I was elsewhere.”

From the corner of his eye he could see Heather studying him silently. The dim light did strange things to her face and eyes; they seemed to glow faintly, even though the curling mist she had control of was absent. Across the room Big Charr stirred to grunt and give a few guttural curses.

“I was saying that we could go off together. You, me and Big Charr. We could find Karak on our own, and destroy Ja’al while we’re at it. We could rebuild your guild. Wouldn’t that be great? None of us would have anything else to do.”

Habib sat back and looked across at her in barely disguised shock. We could rebuild your guild. He had worked with the Wraiths for a long time, but never before had he referred to it as his guild. Looking at the woman a strange glimmer of purpose seemed to form in his mind. Maybe they had all been brought together to accomplish something; something larger and greater than any one of them could achieve on their own. Was not this the reason the original Wraiths had been formed in the first place?

“You really mean that?”

Her eyes brightened, “Yes. Yes I do. What do you think of it?”

“Hey.” Normire said as he walked back into the room. Habib looked up at the necromancer and thought about how unnaturally pale he seemed in the dim light, even for one of his profession.

“What?” Habib asked.

Normire shrugged. “It’s morning, people. Seems like we’ve been here all night.”

Heather made a show at looking around, studying the darkened, half-shuttered windows and listening to the far off screeches of nocturnal beasts. “Really? I must be blind then. And deaf. And totally out of tune with the environment.”

“Say what you like – none of in here is a ranger anyway. But I’m telling you – its morning. The sun is out and all.”

Heather was about to reply but Habib spoke over her words, “The sun is up?”
“Yeah. You can see it from the second-floor window.”

With that Habib stood and followed Normire up the short stair at the back of the room to a small landing. Heather was close behind, her eyes burning into the necromancer’s back like a furnace. The room they found themselves in was sparsely decorated, and like everywhere else was drenched with sand. A window was set into the wall close at hand, and with the exception of a few broken boards, it was clear to see through.

Habib rested his hands on the sill and looked outside. The window gave him a good view of the northern end of the sand-blasted town and the wide plains of sand beyond. Above him the sky was dark and the stars just as bright as he had left them. He could not find the moon, but in its place was a much larger sphere, entirely black and only separated from the sky by a thin, shimmering outline of gold.

“It’s an eclipse.” The warrior muttered.

“I guessed as much.” Normire sighed. But his voice sounded shaky; almost fearful.

“Are we due for one?”

“Dunno.”

“How long has it been like this?”

“Probably some hours. I have no idea of the time.”

“Damn.” Habib had no happy feelings about the turn of events. He could still vividly remember meeting that demon in the dream-world, how she had laughed at him and how the world around her had shifted horribly – from bright and sunny to a dead wasteland where no sun shone. He was no ranger, but he had known many rangers and even without their experience he could tell that something unnatural was happening out here in the wide wastes of the desert.

He glanced back at Heather and Normire, and for the first time it appeared as though all of them were sharing the same thoughts.

“Ja’al is greater than all of us. We can’t hope to beat it alone. Not yet, at any rate.” Habib sighed and gave the black sun another searching glance. For a strange moment it looked like a giant eyeball, surveying the lands with malicious intent. “I am the leader of the Wraiths. Our doctrines insist that we fight against evil powers that threaten Tyria in secret, and right now I think that all of us in this building have that same goal. So I’m inviting both of you to join. In this life we all need a purpose.”

Normire opened his mouth to reply, closed it and then tried again. “I’ll gladly accept, if you’ll have me. My days of leading guilds are over anyway. I feel you’ll do a better job than me.”

“You know I’m with you, man. But him? We can’t trust him!” Heather hissed.

Normire turned to her. “You don’t have to trust me.” He motioned to Habib, “Just trust him.” And with that he left the room; his footsteps ringing out on the wooden stairs.

Unreal Cyn · Sep 10, 2007, 09:57 AM // 09:57

Another week and another chapter! Please enjoy Chapter 23!

Meeting of the Tides

Just when Heli thought the darkness could grow no deeper, it did, and every thought of light fled far away from his waking mind. He could still feel Vinessa’s warm body against his, and wondered fleetingly just how in hell she could remain so warm while he was shivering to his core. A wind curled about the top of the pyramid, carrying with it a deathly chill that Heli was sure was colder than the blizzards of the Shiverpeaks.

All around him and in the distance he could hear the growls and murmurs of the Charr; slow deep rumbles that rose and fell almost like choral music, and for a terrifying moment he thought that the beasts were actually singing… or chanting.

“They come, Heli.” Vinessa whispered.

“Who, goddamnit? Who?!” Heli could not keep the panic from his voice. The dead? She said that the dead were coming before… but how can they be coming? Gods! Are you still sane, Vinessa? Am I still sane??

“Shush!”

‘Shush’, woman? We’re both going to die and all you’re going to tell me now is ‘shush’?! Heli never felt so utterly afraid since he had known himself. Surely he had faced Charr and the Searing as bravely as he could, and of course they were frightening; but they were nothing like this. Fear seemed to saturate the air like some invisible mist, filtering into his nostrils and the pores on his skin.

Dhum. Duum. Dhuuum. Duuuum. Drums thudded in the air, filling the silence with a slow, monotonous rhythm that grew ever more forbidding with each stroke.

“Gods!” Heli could find nothing else to say. Fear cloyed in his mouth like dwarven putty.

The world vibrated beneath the pyramid, even as the darkness grew ever deeper and the wind blew ever colder. A strange sizzling sound, like frying oil, whispered over the pyramid and into Heli’s ears. He could not guess what it was, but the ranger was completely sure that whatever it was; it could not bode well for them in the least.

Vinessa’s face came dimly into view, illuminated by a ghastly bluish light. Heli glanced across at her in shock, and met her gaze. A look at the sun showed that the eclipse was still in full swing; the light was not coming from there. Wordlessly, and against all his common sense and instincts, Heli crouched and slowly rose to his feet to peer over the top of the dark altar.

All of the remaining Charr on the top of the pyramid were now standing at the forward end of the place, arms outstretched towards where he had last seen the moving statue of the man called Cyn. He could still see the statue, silhouetted as it was in the dark. In the dimness Heli could not be sure of distance, but he was pretty sure that the statue had moved back to its original position after. The Charr below were arrayed around it in forms and ranks, dark hairy masses almost indistinguishable in the dark; they seemed to form one giant, death-bringing beast that only seemed to be sleeping at the feet of the pyramid.

As his eyes strayed, Heli suddenly found the source of the light. From the corner of his eye, he could almost make out a thin vertical line of blue light off to the west, in a section of the Charr city that was devoid of anything. When he refocused on it again, it vanished, but as soon as he moved his eyes it always returned in the same place, just on the fringes of his vision. The wind did funny things to the sounds around him, but it seemed as though the sizzling noise that he was hearing was also coming from the strange blue light hovering in space.

Heli dropped back down beside Vinessa. He could see her a little better now; the blue light was steadily growing brighter.

“What did you see?” she whispered.

“A thin blue light in midair. The light’s coming from there and so is the sizzling noise.” The ranger could taste alkaline bile in his throat, and for a moment he had to resist the urge to retch out every last thing still stored in his guts. “All those Charr are to de front of de place. We have a clear way of escape, Vinessa… they ain’t paying us no mind.”

“Then let’s go.”

“Vinessa, can’t you see? We can escape now, for Melandru’s sake! They’ll kill us for sure, or worse, when whatever it is comes through that godforsaken line in the sky!”

“I said let’s go, man.”

Heli let his mouth hang open. He had not really expected Vinessa to agree with this, not at least without some kind of argument. Now that that was done, Heli realised that he really had no plan of action. Saying you should escape was a lot easier than actually escaping. But we’ve no f**king time for plans. Not now. We have to move!

“Do you feel strong enough to move?”

“Yes.”

“Then let we haul some serious ass.”

Heli eased to his feet once more and surveyed the top of the pyramid. None of the Charr had moved. The only things that he now saw that he had not before were the torn and mutilated bodies of their fellow prisoners, strewn about the ground like faeces. The platform from which they had come onto the pyramid was still there, and it was unguarded.

He reached back for Vinessa. She grabbed his hand with a strength that he had not expected and flashed him a hopeful smile. With another look around, they made for the platform. The light off to the west was growing brighter still, and the sizzling noise grew in intensity, but nothing assailed them when they reached the wooden ramp. Gods! Maybe we’ll make it out of this after all.

Down the first ramp they went; not running for fear of slipping in the unnatural twilight, and certainly not strolling, but they made relatively good pace and Heli felt his heart begin to soar in his chest at the fact that they were actually going somewhere. But an opposing feeling of anxiety buffered his emotions – he could almost see an hourglass, its sand draining away as time slipped far away from the two of them.

The next ramp came and went, and still they were safe, still nothing stirred.
By the fifth ramp they were still some one hundred feet above the ground, and Heli’s breath was burning like acid in his throat and nostrils. All his limbs felt wobbly, and at times his vision would blur ever so slightly. He felt faint. No time for fainting. Please, body, just hold out for a little more. A look back at Vinessa showed that she was in much the same condition. Heli’s heart sank once again, and now he could feel it throbbing in his groin.

A flash of light enveloped everything for a moment, so completely and utterly that Heli thought that the sun had exploded. The two of them froze on the ramp, looking about and seeing nothing but the light. Then it was gone, and the world slipped back into darkness as their vision returned.

“What was that?” Heli hissed. His breath seemed to not want to stay in his damn lungs, his feet burned and his stomach growled and churned as it began to digest itself for lack of proper food.

“I don’t know Heli! Can we still make it?” there was a sudden urgency in her voice that Heli had never heard before, an urgency that was completely opposite to the sense of detachment she had shown only moments before.
Heli looked around at the gathering dark. The blue light was fading and doing so quickly, as though it too was fleeing from disaster. Very soon utter dark would be upon them once again, making flight impossible. He glanced down, over the rough rails of the ramp. Only fifty more feet left to go – only two more ramps to go. Then they would be near to the walls of the prison complex they had come from. He had no idea what to do next, but the thin tendrils of a desperate plan was beginning to form in his mind.

“We can make it. We have to try goddamnit!” Not waiting for her reply, Heli grabbed Vinessa’s arm and began anew down the ramps.

Light continued to drain away, and Heli missed his step often as vision faded. Goosebumps emerged all along the length of his body and shivers rippled down his spine in a continuous stream. Just one more to go. Only one more!

The Charr started a wild chanting from the other side of the pyramid; their mingled throaty voices rising in deafeningly loud choruses that were both terrifying and exhilarating. A scent as of many strange spices filled the air, curling its way through his nostrils and into his psyche. We’re soon there! Gods, just keep the light for just a few more minutes!

As the light vanished entirely Heli something struck Heli hard in the head and for a moment the light did return; stars and sparks that glittered before his mind’s eye. His hand slipped from Vinessa as something else struck him across the abdomen and then he was falling, grabbing at nothing in the air.

Divine Freak · Sep 11, 2007, 12:51 AM // 00:51

Stumbled across this a few days back. Read it from the very begining. I must say, its very good work. I'm looking forward to the rest of the story

Unreal Cyn · Sep 23, 2007, 02:09 AM // 02:09

Thanks a lot Divine! Here's another chapter for you folks. It's been posted already on rivencrystal, so you can check it out (as well as some other things) over there if you wish. Now, onto Chapter 24, man!

Emergence

The wind blew cold and sharp against his face, but this wind came from far up and so did not bring with it any fine sand or debris. Silence lay across the desert like a massive, sleeping leviathan, muffling voices, hushing the River, stilling the beating of men’s hearts. And like a great black eye, the sun hung in the east, surveying all the stillness and quiet with a stillness of its own.

Cyn pulled his coat closer around him and stepped back into the tent. It was warmer in here, though not by very much. The light from the single fire danced and weaved along the inside of the tent like shifting whorls in wood; a kaleidoscope of frenetic colours and shapes. Cyn stood there, for a moment entranced by the display, and then he went over to a small desk and stool in one of the corners.

He had returned to the tent they had pitched earlier in the night to retrieve his things. Alone. He wanted to think. Needed to think. And ever since he had known himself, he could not think straight with others around him. He could not build a sensible plan with the conflicting presences of strangers around him. Even Jala’s presence.

He sat on the stool, found his backpack and rummaged through it. Jala had mentioned that she had teleported all of his things out of the cave when they had left, which was a great thing in his opinion. His backpack held things he did not wish to part with.

Some jaws, some fossils here and there, lots of sand and finally what he was looking for. The book. His book.

Cyn was always a man plagued by many dreams. Some beautiful in their settings and their characters, but most others were not. Vistas of the Underworld they were, or visions of a place deeper, darker and more twisted than even Grenth’s domain. He never dreamt of himself. He never saw himself in those dreams. Like in the waking world he saw everything through his own eyes – did things as though he were still trapped in his body.

Dreams like those deserve to be remembered.

Cyn opened the book to the first page, blowing away a fine layer of sand that had gathered in the nook of the binding. The black ink of the text was still as deep as when he had first written it; the images it invoked still as clear as the night he had first dreamt it.

September 19th

The stars are so bright here. So bright. They are the only things giving off light here – everything else is in shadows. I’m in shadow. Deep shadow… I can’t even see my own hands.

I feel so strange. Like I’m part of this darkness…. It’s so strange.

A woman appears before me. I don’t know her, but I think I should… have I seen her before? Why is she so familiar? It doesn’t matter. She tells me something in a language I do not understand. I can’t remember the words now, everything is fading so fast.

All I can make out is the word ‘choice’. She seems desperate to make me understand… but then she fades away, back into the darkness. I’m alone again. I’ve never felt this alone before. I’m so afraid…

Cyn looked up from the book and glanced around the tent. He was still alone in here. The darkness beneath the tent flap seemed to darken for a moment, as though someone was standing there, but as Cyn listened, he could hear nothing. Maybe it was only a shifting of the shadows fleeing the light of the fire.

He looked back to the page. He could almost remember writing these words so many years ago; could almost feel the pen in his hands once again.

September 23rd

That woman again. Who the f**k is she? What is she trying to say? I was standing in darker section of Regent Valley forest, the place where no one much else goes. Not even the Grawls. She was right there before me, and for a moment I thought I recognised her… but the notion passed so quickly.

She told me some more in that strange language of hers. The only word I picked up on this time was ‘free’ or was it ‘free me’? I can’t f**king be sure! Why is it so hard to remember the dreams with her in them? She’s beautiful though. Sweet Melandru, all I can remember of her is that she’s so beautiful.

A shiver passed through Cyn. Even though he knew what he had written so long ago, knew to the last word, reading it over right here and now after all that had happened was unnerving. Now he knew who this woman was; who she had been. From day one she’s always been in my head. From the time I sent her to prison. From the time she left me her eye.

A strange feeling welled up inside him, something like anger, fear and awe all mixed into a bubbling cauldron. The images of him betraying his own team to the devices of Jala so long ago came hurtling back to his waking mind, each like an accusatory jab of the finger of some celestial judge. A deep and frightening realisation hung just within Cyn’s grasp in that moment, but he resisted the urge to grab it. Right now, he did not want to realise anything. Right now he did not want to feel guilty about anything. His mind was made up. Being a ranger had its perks, but being the lord and master of entire realms was much more desirable.

I’ve betrayed them once again. A voice whispered in his mind, much like his own. That’s all I ever do.

“No.” he answered, slamming the book shut, “No.”

I know why I betray them, time and time again. I know why I cause the deaths of those who call me their friend.

“Shut the f**k up, man. Just shut the f**k up!”

It’s because I’m not like them at all. No, no, no. I’m like her. Pretty, dark and sexy Jala. I’m like her alright. I’m a…

Cyn jumped to his feet, kicking over the desk so hard that it nearly fell headlong into the fire. Blood was simmering in his veins like over-boiled chicken-soup, and his heart was thrumming violently against the inside of his chest-plate. His mind suddenly felt like an arena hosting the ferocious clash between multitudes of thoughts. For a moment he thought that the internal war raging beneath his skin would rip him apart, but a slither of steel sliding against his throat banished such thoughts.

Suddenly he felt a presence materialise out of thin air behind him, and the slither of steel – a fine dagger, perhaps – was pressed even closer to his neck.

“I know what you are.” The person holding him at knifepoint proclaimed. “I know what it is you want to do.”

The voice was masculine, and the accent sounded mildly Krytan, spiced with something else; probably a touch of Canthan. Maybe the guy was a trader operating between Lion’s Arch and Kaineng. Maybe one of his parents had been from that southern continent. Maybe, maybe. Cyn wondered just why the hell he was thinking about such things.

“You know what I am?” Despite himself, Cyn found that he was surprised at the calmness in his voice, considering the struggle going on in his body and mind. “Humour me, please.”

Cyn felt the dagger – or maybe it was a dirk? – pierce his skin. The man gave a little chuckle. “You think you’re such a smartass, don’t you?”

“I don’t think you should be whispering into my ear from behind like that. With the knife and all… I’m starting to get uncomfortable here.”

“You’re one bullshit statement away from a decapitated head, Cyn.”

“And you know my name. I find that interesting, man. Have we met before somewhere?”

He chuckled again. “Doesn’t matter. With your death I’m going to save the world, and there’s nothing that demon-bitch-girlfriend of yours can do to change that.” The man paused, but whether for dramatic effect or a quick intake of breath, Cyn could not determine, “You know I’ve been tracking you for months and months. Ever since that night, you know? That night when you f**ked us all in the ass. Heather wouldn’t believe me, but I saw you. I saw what really happened. I saw you link with her – Jaal, Jala, whatever she calls herself now – I saw you betray us all. I watched our comrades die as you simply looked on and watched with that shit-eating grin on your accursed face.” The man’s breath grew deeper, more violent. “Just one question before you die. Why? Why did you do it, goddamnit? You were the head man fighting to get her destroyed, and at the last moment you just f**king capitulated!”

Now Cyn understood. Here behind him stood one of the surviving members of that elite force he had led to Jaal’s lair on a night so very long ago, when all hell had almost broken loose, when he had sent the demon to prison. After watching his team-mates get butchered.

“It has nowhere to go. We have him.” The voice of one of his team-mates from that night came echoing back to him. The same voice as the man who was now about to kill him.

“Shit, Theophilus. Never knew you had these feelings towards me.”

“You remember my name? I’m flattered. But not swayed. Unlike you mere words can’t shake my resolve.”

“Maybe I can shake them for you.” Cyn hissed. In a flash his right hand was up, grabbing the man’s knife hand and wrenching it away from his throat.

Cyn tried to turn but the man landed a kick high up in the ranger’s back that sent him sprawling forwards onto the table – inches away from the fire. As soon as he landed, Cyn flipped to the left got to his feet and back-pedalled fast, putting the blazing fire between him and Theophilus.

The man was dressed like one of Pister’s Scarabs, and Cyn realised that he was the same one whose gaze had lingered on Jala for so long when his party had come into the camp. The blade he held was a very thin assassin’s dagger, curved and about a foot long. He was taller than Cyn, lither, but it seemed that he held no other weapons. Cyn, on the other hand, held no weapons to begin with. His ivory-hilt dagger was strapped to the inside of his boot, and down there it made for little aid.

“You’d do just about anything to live for another few moments, wouldn’t you, Cyn?”

The insides of the ranger’s body felt like a churning mass of worms and machinery. To say he felt sick was an understatement. Vertigo settled in, and sweat broke all over his body and face; dripping into his eyes and making matters that much worse.

“I always knew you were a chickenshit. Never could understand how you got so much authority. Never could fathom why Heather worshipped you so damn much.” The man approached the fire, and Cyn could almost see the muscles in the man’s legs tensing to pounce.

A moment of stillness passed and then suddenly the man was leaping over the fire, dagger thrust forwards, right at Cyn.

Like an explosion in a dwarven mine, Cyn felt something surge inside him, surge against his chest, abdomen and stomach. It was like something he had never before felt in his entire existence, as though everything within him just rushed to the front of his body. His vision darkened, and only barely did he register his feet leaving the ground, jumping at Theophilus even as he jumped at him.

They met over the fire.

The dagger found its mark, and both men fell headlong into the flames, which roared up to meet them like a thousand angry phoenixes.

Theophilus landed first in the flames, with Cyn on top him, with his hands tight around his throat. Fire consumed both men, but only Theophilus screamed, as the fire seared away his clothes, hair and flesh quicker and more completely than any fire should. Only he screamed and screamed and screamed until the fire left nothing else but his charred bones and teeth. And the steel dagger.

Cyn released his grasp around the blackened bones of what once been Theophilus’ throat. He stood up out of the ruin, as the fire still raged around him. At that instant in time, he did not fully realise what had just happened, but the shifting and surging and growing within his body had finally ceased.

…Demon. The whispering voice in his head finished at last.

Divine Freak · Oct 10, 2007, 12:14 AM // 00:14

Hehe, I love internal conflict Cyn. Especially the dark, twisted and painful kind

I'll be waiting for the next installment

Unreal Cyn · Oct 11, 2007, 05:19 PM // 17:19

Another chapter for you guys! I've also posted a short music video on the website so you can check that out and let me know what you think. Please enjoy!

Titan Unveiled

A tingling along the spine.

Burning beneath the skin.

Farrion’s body rematerialised quickly, but to the Mesmer it felt like an age before his ethereal form condensed back into reality. His senses rushed in about him, and he was suddenly aware of the environment around him; the pure, empty smell, the ice-cold and the cemetery silence. For a moment he wondered yet again how he could feel all of these sensations if he was really dead, but then his vision sharpened and grew accustomed to the gloom and he saw what lay before him.

The hugest single structure he had ever seen stood some hundred feet before him – a pyramid – rising up and up and up in large wide steps to fill the sky. Thick pillars buttressed the top of the pyramid, but Farrion could not see well enough in the gloom to make out what exactly stood there. His eyes fell to the area close at hand, and a bolus of bile froze in his throat.

Thousands of Charr stood, rank upon godforsaken rank, around the pyramid. They were all facing him and the army coming from the portal, and from what Farrion could immediately tell, they were all armed to the teeth. Or fang. The closest one was not ten feet away, and suddenly Farrion pulled together the threads of a domination incantation – he was not sure what it was – and was about to release them when Lucretia lightly grasped his arm.

“Relax. These are our allies. We all serve the Master.” She said. Her voice barely seemed to rise above a whisper, but it carried like a loud shout, cleaving through the silence like a frenzied warrior through a cluster of monks.

“Charr?” Farrion really did not know what he had expected to find, but Charr had been the last thing on his mind. But if there’s an undead army massing in the world, and Cyn is in the clutches of a dangerous demon, and I’m no longer really alive… why not the Charr? Why not Balthazar himself?

Farrion relaxed, but he did not release the incantation. For too long he had been fighting these beasts. Too long to trust them now, even under the circumstances.

Lucretia seemed to sense his continued unease, and her grip tightened. “Be at peace, Farrion. Their flamethrowers can sense your spells, as they can mine. We must give off auras of camaraderie, or we will spoil the Master’s plan. We do not want this, Farrion!”

“Alright. See? It’s gone. I’m totally cool now.”

She smiled in that sweet, disarming way and turned towards the Charr before them. Farrion followed her gaze and saw a sizeable beast walking towards them, flanked on either side by well-armed Charr that reminded him of the toughs he used to see outside of the Ascalonian bars.

The Charr at the forefront seemed to be an important guy in these parts. His fur was jet-black, mottled in some parts with bright crimson. He was a huge sonofabitch, about thrice the size of Karak in his full armour, with wide deep eyes that were as rich and red as the patches on his coat. He came to a stop about a foot away from Lucretia and Farrion, and he snorted a greeting that the Mesmer did not quite catch.

“Greetings of the Master, Redeye.” Lucretia said, curtsying.

“Not our Master,” the Charr replied in gruff and heavily accented Ascalonian, “We do this for the Titan. But greetings nevertheless.”

The Titan? I thought all of those had been… destroyed? There’s one left? By all the gods, there’s always one left!

“Is everything in place?”

“It is.”

Farrion glanced around yet again. In a moment he realised why the place was so dark; the sun was going through one of the darkest eclipses he had ever seen. Long ago his parents had advised him never to stare directly at a solar eclipse, but now he did so and found that nothing happened. The sun seemed to be absorbing all the light around it, like some massive black void hanging in the sky. That can’t be right. Oh gods, will I be too late?

Strange energies were bristling in the air; strange, complex incantations the like of which Farrion would have never associated with Charr. As a matter of fact, he had never encountered any one Charr that was even remotely capable of what he was now witnessing.

“Follow me to the War Chamber.” Redeye continued, turning and heading west away from the pyramid.

Lucretia glanced over at Farrion and inclined her head in the Charr’s direction. “He’s the boss around here, yes? Come with me.” She turned and signalled to some of the robed individuals that Farrion had seen back at her castle. And with that she went off after the beast. Farrion followed close at her side, throwing stony glances at the Charr all around.

Redeye, flanked by his cronies, led them to a complex of buildings some yards away from the central courtyard and the pyramid. Built from stone, they were the only permanent structures Farrion had ever seen a Charr occupy. The Charr built all this? F**k! As he drew closer, he realised that the doors were much too tall and wide, even for Charr. They passed into the complex and Farrion let his suspicions lie.

The corridor in which they now stood was sparsely furnished, with only fitfully burning torches to break the monotony of the walls and floor. The party of undead and sentient beast carried on in silence until it came to a huge and wide double door wrought from cast iron. Embedded in it were weird designs and shapes of people or things doing the impossible; men with wings flying, what looked to be a woman falling from the sky to a waiting pit below. A man holding a large eye in his right hand.

Redeye threw open the doors and they walked inside. Two of his cronies stood at the door. Farrion gave the room a careful inspection and was amazed yet again at the masonry work. The walls of the chamber were curved inwards, forming a wide dome that ended at a huge chandelier above the centre of the room. Huge pillars arced towards the roof, curved like the walls and featuring all manner of designs and scripts etched into them. A wide window looked back onto the courtyard outside. There was no furniture save for the seats at the table, but even so Farrion could tell that this chamber was very important. But he once again found it hard to believe that the Charr could have constructed something like this. It just did not seem to their taste.

As the door swung shut behind them, Redeye indicated to the wide oval table in the centre of the room. “Sit. There is much to discuss.”

They were thirteen seats, and the party members occupied them all. For some reason Farrion doubted very much that that was mere coincidence. He found himself to Lucretia’s right, staring across the table at the dark eyes of a greying Charr. Farrion was no mind-reader, neither could he could read Charr expressions, but there was no doubt in his mind that the Charr across from him wanted him dead. Again.

“First let me clear up a few things.” Redeye began, “We do not work for your Master. We do not give one ass about your Master. The Titan is our lord, and it is in his interests – and his interests alone – that we are working alongside you dead humans.”

“Good to know where you stand, friend.” Lucretia replied daintily.

Redeye snarled, but it was a gentle snarl. Farrion half-thought that it was a playful snarl, like the growl a cat might manage to make while playing with its friends. Or maybe the growl was more like a dogs? But hey. I’ve never had a cat. I hate the little bastards.

“Now, what is next on the agenda?” Redeye continued, “Your army is here. Your Master is in the Desert. All of Tyria in the between.”

“My Master wants us to capture and hold Ascalon. Do it right, this time.”

“Why the hell for?” A grizzled old Charr asked.

Lucretia shrugged. “I know not, yes? He makes the plans. I follow them, eh?”

Now you’ve piqued my interest. Farrion tried to relax. Here he was, at a meeting of what looked to be the leaders of this massive Charr army, combined with the leader of the undead force. Of everyone who was seeking to defeat Ja’al, Farrion realised that he was in the best position to do something. I have got to play this carefully. Listen to their plans, wait and be patient.

“Alright. So we take the damned city and kill those human beasts. What would be next?” Redeye asked.

“There is another undead army waiting for us in Kryta. We meet up with them and strike for Lion’s Arch. You, on the other hand, will remain in Ascalon.” Lucretia replied, resting her hands on the table. “Besides that, I have no more orders.”

“Very well.”

“How did the sacrifices go, by the way?”

Sacrifices? Farrion glanced at Lucretia with an eyebrow raised. She was not looking at him.

“Quite well, actually.” Redeye half-growled. “We didn’t even need all of the prisoners. Fear is a great power when harnessed properly.”

“Very true.” Lucretia smiled, but from Farrion’s vantage the image of a vulture waiting for a half-dead beast to finally give up the ghost jumped into his mind’s eye. “What did you do to the others?”

“Nothing, yet. I think two managed to get out of their manacles. I’m thinking I could play some hunting games with them.” Redeye snarled ferociously.

Lucretia leaned forward. “Hunting games? I believe I have something much more… cultured in mind, dear Charr.”

The woman seemed so very malevolent in that one moment. The sensation passed quickly, but for a moment Farrion thought that she gave a potent aura of fear and despair, like heat radiating from the belly of a forge. The Mesmer’s heart hammered inside his chest so hard that he thought everyone at the table must have heard it, and sweat beaded on his clammy forehead. I’ve… I’ve gotta get a hold of myself. Take a look through the window, maybe? Seeing all those Charr again might get me back in one piece.

“May I be excused for a moment?” Farrion asked suddenly.

“Why?” Redeye asked.

“Just want to look at our army. Can’t remember the last time I saw such a great force amassed in one place.” Farrion glanced at Lucretia and found that she was smiling sweetly at him.

“Go ahead. Don’t gape now, undead human.”

Farrion half-bolted from the table to the window. The glass seemed dwarven and it was rather thick, but he could see through it clearly into the premature night. Gods. They’re going to attack Ascalon and Kryta. None of those nations are in any condition to stop them, or even put up a decent fight. It will be a slaughter! What will I do, for Lyssa’s sake!

His eyes wandered to a tall statue many yards away from the chamber. It was kneeling on one knee, and its face was turned towards him. It was a giant statue, and in what light there was Farrion assumed that it was wrought from some sort of iron. He jumped when he felt the presence of someone standing next to him.

He looked across and found Lucretia at his side, gazing through the window. “Come to look at the Charr’s Titan?”

“What? Where?”

“That giant statue over there. He has an interesting story too. I have to tell you it sometime. I wonder ––”

She went on saying something else, but Farrion heard nothing more. Eyes fixed on the statue; he could finally make out its face in the gloom. And as multiple shivers jumped to and fro along his spine and his skin burst into sweat, Farrion realised that he recognised that face.

“–– Cyn the Titan. Some say he used to kill demons. Don’t you wish you could meet someone like that?” Lucretia giggled.

I already have.

Unreal Cyn · Dec 30, 2007, 07:05 PM // 19:05

Yeah folks, wha going on? It's been a hell of a while, and I hope that everyone has had an amazing Christmas! With just one more day left in '07 I decided to start back some writing after recovering from my battle with exams this month. I also did some work on rivenCrystal, so if you want to read some more stories or watch some videos head over there and check them out. (it's optimized for IE7 at the moment, though). And here you go, Chapter 26! Please enjoy.

An Obsidian Day

It was a quiet party that left the sand-blasted town under the dark gaze of a black sun. All about was still, but no longer was there the feeling of watchfulness; of anxiety. Only dead and inanimate buildings and debris remained in the town; the things that had given them life long gone. But to Habib all was immaterial. Now he was guild-leader of the Wraiths, now he had a purpose, now he had a reward, and by Balthazar he was going for it.

“Does anyone know where we are, really?” Big Charr growled in exasperation. He held a torch aloft in the gloom, and under the shifting light his features looked strangely frightening. “If not, I might as well dig a hole right now and die in it. We Charr don’t take too kindly to dying of hunger and thirst. Especially thirst!”

“I figure we’re still in the Central Arid Sea. The closest outpost west would be the Dunes of Despair and to our east the Thirsty River.” Habib replied pausing in mid-stride to get his bearings.

“Bloody hell, Habib, but those names don’t sound too reassuring to me!” the Charr snarled.

“He’s right, Habib.” Heather said, “We don’t have any food or water. Thank the gods there’s no sun, but if we don’t get some nourishment soon, we’re not going to last very long.”

The way she said ‘nourishment’ caused Habib to raise his eyebrows, but Heather frowned at him and shook her head. I don’t really relish the idea of her feeding off my blood anytime soon.

“If I’m right there should be another portal some few miles to the east of here, in the direction of the Thirsty River. We should be able to make it in about a half a day or so of steady walking, give or take some hours if we come across griffins and hydras.” Habib explained. It was his turn to carry the sled, but as much as he hated it, he liked the exercise it gave his upper body, and plus, with Karak gone missing, the sled was that much lighter.

“Gods! Somebody get me out of this f**king desert!” Big Charr growled once again. “I don’t know now much more of this I can take!”

“Settle down, big guy. I need you in one piece, especially considering all that we have before us, now.”

“Where does this portal lead, by the way?” Normire asked in his quiet manner. He was off to the side of the group, holding another torch and peering into the darkness as though looking for gold.

“If my sources are to be believed, all portals in the Arid desert above ground take you further east. We might end up at Thirsty River.”

“Or Elonia, if our luck holds.” Normire replied. Habib could not be sure if that was sarcasm he detected in the necromancer’s voice, but there was no smirk or smile on his face to suggest it.

Heather certainly believed it was sarcasm, for she opened her mouth to say something but was cut short by the sound of a horn that carried loudly over the sands. The party stopped as one, and every eye turned west, almost back the way they had come. From whence the horn had sounded.

“What was that?” Normire breathed.

“A horn, obviously.” Heather hissed, resting both hands on the hilts of her daggers, “We’ve been followed!”

“Maybe so… but it pays to be prepared. Arm yourselves, and douse those lights!” Habib barked, darting behind the sled to put on his armour. In moments Big Charr was at his side, all indications of despair gone from his hairy face.

As he was clasping the helmet over his face, Habib scanned the area close at hand. Everywhere he looked was featureless sand; not even the suggestion of cover presented itself. All except that hole Big Charr was talking about. They would have to face whatever blew that horn head on, and more exposed than Habib would have liked.

Normire grabbed his staff in both hands and gazed out into the gloom west. Habib could not see his face properly, but to him it seemed as though a pale light glinted off the necromancer’s eyes.

“We’re not being followed, ladies and gentlemen, but something is out there, and that something is heading in this very direction.” He swallowed hard and glanced across at Heather, “Can’t you feel it, Heather? That chill in the bones?”

“Yes.” For the first time the woman sounded dead serious in a conversation with Normire. Habib blinked and drew his sword.

“What’s out there?” he asked.

“Undead, my dear Habib.” Normire replied, his voice falling to a whisper. “Seems like hundreds of them. Thousands.”

“Thousands!” Hundreds was impossible enough, but thousands was utterly unimaginable. Nowhere, not even in Kryta, had Habib seen a thousand undead in one place. Why would they be here, of all places? In the desert where nothing is and no one lives? In a moment Habib realised that he had somehow answered his own question. But the how of things remained elusive.

“Shit! Thousands of undead! What the hell brought them here? Was it us?” Big Charr voiced Habib’s thoughts as he reached into the sled and brought out the sword Karak had left behind.

“They have come to serve a new master,” Karissa said in a voice that was strangely devoid of emotion. “A demon rises, and the dead wake to greet it.”
Habib headed towards Karissa’s shape in the darkness and looked at her gravely. “How do we stop this?”

“We can’t.” She glanced around at the rest of the party. “This may be a new guild, but there’s no way the five of us can stop thousands of undead. And this is only one battalion. If I am right, there’s plenty more where that came from, down in the Underworld. We would have to destroy the source; I guess there’re being ported here from the Underworld, and to port such massive amounts of matter they would need a great source of power to act as a link between realms. But even if we do that, we would still have to contend with the tens of thousands of undead that are already in the world, which just can’t be done!”

“Don’t listen to her, Habib; she’s only trying to discourage us!” Heather whispered fiercely as she came to stand beside the older warrior. “Her kind never had any hope for the future.”

“How can there be hope when there’s none to be found? I know how the Underworld works and I know that we cannot beat the undead. Not now, maybe not ever!”

“What would you suggest, Karissa?” Habib asked, interrupting whatever retort Heather had to offer.

The strange woman paused a moment, her expression unreadable. For a while it seemed as though she was done talking, but Habib was not going to move until he got some more out of her. She had not spoken often, but it seemed that anything out of her mouth was worth listening to. “I say we try to run away.” She said eventually, “That portal you spoke of. Maybe it still works, and maybe it will take us far away from here.”

“Good.” Another horn blast reverberated over the sands, this one closer, and in the distance from the west there arose more horns in reply to the first. Habib glanced back, and then brought his gaze on Karissa once more. “Is Cyn the source?”

“Cyn? No.” he thought Karissa almost chuckled. “Only the dead can power the acts of the dead. And it would take a powerful undead indeed to hold open a link between realms. The most powerful.”

“Are we talking about Grenth here?”

This time, she actually did laugh. “Have you realised nothing in all your long life, Habib? The Gods do nothing. They take part in nothing. I’m talking about someone who was once mortal. Someone who has great power at their command, but is now dead. But getting to them is impossible right now. We would have to go into the Underworld for them, and that is not our mission.”

Early preconceptions notwithstanding, Habib began to think that Heather’s idea of a reborn guild of Wraiths would actually be a success. There was a lot of knowledge and power here, and if Habib could figure out way to harness it all effectively, he was sure they would be a force to be reckoned with in their own right. If we can all reach the end of this day alive.

“What’s the final word, Habib?” Normire asked. Sometime in the proceedings he had positioned himself on the other side of the warrior, with his face still turned to the west and the sound of the horns. “’Cause I figure we’ve got less than a half hour before those things break the horizon. There’s about a mile gap between us and them, I reason, but I can feel death in the wind, moving fast. These undead must be killing themselves at the rate they’re going at.”

Habib was sure that pun was intended on Normire’s part, but no one so much as smiled.

But even without Normire’s input, Habib could smell the stench of rotting meat in the air; a stench that was getting ever more prevalent in the breeze that was beginning to rise from the west. “Let’s head to that portal. A couple miles dead west if I remember rightly and I’m sure I do. Leave that goddamned sled to whoever finds it. Let’s move!”

Lurio Mystras · Jan 02, 2008, 06:31 PM // 18:31

Just wanted to say that this is an amazing piece; I just found it and read through the entire thing. Great work encompassing so much but keeping it so together; I look forward to the next installment!

Unreal Cyn · Jan 12, 2008, 06:43 AM // 06:43

Hey thanks for the support Lurio, and Happy belated New Year to everyone! Here's Chapter 27 - please enjoy!

This is Where They Sleep

“A very nice place to stay, do you not think so, Farrion?” Lucretia said from the door. Her voice was low, almost a whisper, but it carried with surprising clarity.

The Mesmer was looking about the wide bed-chamber with open disdain, though it was not targeted on his environs. Farrion’s mind was still on that giant statue of Cyn, and on the man himself. Cyn a Titan! Never in his wildest dreams had he suspected as much. Soft-spoken and somewhat crazy Cyn, revered by Charr! The same Cyn who took great pleasure in killing the beasts! Titans, the very same demons Cyn and himself had tried to seal in at Komalie. Surely there was a large chunk of information that Farrion was never exposed to. Him and Cyn.

But does he really know what he is? By all the Gods I bet that demon Ja’al does.

“It’s really not that bad, Farrion. Are you really accustomed to all the finery?”

Farrion blinked and looked at Lucretia, for the first time really acknowledging her presence. “Uh… it’s not that. I’m accustomed to sleeping on floors and in bushes and in shoddy inns. So this place is quite fine, actually. I have something on my mind that’s bothering me, is all. This bed is great, too.”

Lucretia entered and perched on the bed. “Care to share it with me? What’s on your mind, I mean. There’re these wide gaps in my memory that would do well with some filler.”

Farrion sighed and looked about the room. Besides the bed and some chairs, it was utterly Spartan. So Spartan, in fact, that he half-expected to see King Leonidas himself standing in the corner. The walls were a deep grey, hewn from the living rock of the mountain, and the draped windows looked back onto the giant pyramid that dominated the central courtyard, though from the opposite end to where the Charr and undead armies stood. Lucretia and the council of Charr leaders had agreed on a few hours rest to gather intelligence of the surrounding area and to wait on any fresh orders from higher authorities that Farrion could not name.

“I don’t know if you would understand,” Actually, I’m not sure I should tell you, but what the hell. “That statue out there. That Titan.”

“What of it?”

“The guy looks familiar. I just can’t place where I’ve seen him before.”

Lucretia smiled. “He’s a Titan. I don’t know his whole story, but I’m sure one of the less uptight Charr would tell you. He’s much respected around here. Chances are you saw another one of his statues or effigies in Ascalon when you were fighting the Charr.”

“I don’t think so. I have this feeling I’ve seen him in the flesh before. Even met him.”

She rested on her side on the bed and yawned. “That would be impossible. Titans don’t have flesh, do they, eh? And plus, you would hardly still exist if you met one in person. Last time I checked, Titans care little for humans of any persuasion.”

Farrion crossed his arms. “Where is he now?”

Lucretia shrugged. “I don’t know, Farrion. You must talk with one of the Charr when you get the chance if this matter is on your mind so much. You’re weird though, you know that? Of all the things that could possibly worry you… a statue?”

Heh. You don’t know the half of it. In a way, the guy this statue represents is the reason why I’m here. The reason all this started.

“Ah, it doesn’t really matter.” Farrion said as he took a seat beside Lucretia. “Tell me, what’s the next step from here? We go directly to Ascalon?”

“Yes, more or less. We’ve ported into this world preeety far north, so we’ve got a ways to go before we even get to the borders of what used to be Ascalon, yes? Lots of time to spend together. Lots of time to talk and play fun games with witless humans.”

“Witless humans.” Farrion repeated, although he really did not mean to.

“Yes. That is a fine name. When this is all over, we must start a band called the ‘Witless Humans’, aye? What instruments can you play?”

“None. I was never gifted by Lyssa to play anything. I used to sing in a choir when I was a little man, though.” The sudden shifts in conversation with Lucretia were unusual, but Farrion was beginning to get accustomed to them.

“How wonderful! You will sing something for me?” she turned onto her belly and gazed up at him through strangely bright eyes. She tossed her feet in the air behind, the bangles on them clinking together like her very own instrument.
At first the Mesmer could not think of anything to hum far less sing, but then a song came to him, first the tune and then the words, spilling out of his mouth in a slightly baritone way that resonated off the bare walls.

“The blue skies covered by dark clouds
The sun eclipsed by the dark moon
The glistening ocean gone from my view
The glow of the stars no longer shines through my eyes

The unsung pain in my heart
The silence a horrible opera in my ears
The tears running down my face
I feel so alone

The memories flicker in my mind
Tormenting me with your face
Those golden days so distance
I cry out in pain

My heart so empty without you
All those days we spent together
A distance dream I wish to live again
I'm dead inside
I wish you were here to revive my dieing heart

To hold you one more time is my dearest dream
The years we've been apart feel like centuries
Each day I feel a new cut in soul
I wish you were here to help cure my wounds

Your loving embrace made my day
I'd give you the world just for one smile
Just to hold you in my arms
Now that you are gone I have nothing to give
But my silent tears as I bury my self in my bed

All the long nights I cried in silence
My sorrow unknown to all
Those memories stored in my heart
You once held the key
Now that key sits on the dusty table of my lost soul

A rose for you
Another smile
A sweet poem
Your kiss
Our song
A cheerful dance

The love songs cleanse my heart
Draw the tears and memories of you
A painting of pain and sweet memories
Though you are gone in body but in heart you are still there
In the glistening ocean
In the dawning sun
Within the starry skies
In my heart

To you I say in soul and prayer
I'll never forget those golden days
Even with tear filled eyes I'll smile
In hope to see you once more
To hold you once more
To say I love you
Once more.”

With the last word out of his mouth, Farrion felt strangely out of breath. Silence eased in after his moment of a cappella and he looked back at Lucretia. She was still lying on the bed, but there was a distant look in her eyes that Farrion could not place.

“That was amazing, Farrion. Wonderful voice, yes? Wonderful lyrics.” The Mesmer said, getting off of her belly and sitting up on her legs. “Where did you learn that?”

“In…uh…I…I can’t…seem to remember.” Farrion paused and shook his head. The memory of the place where he had first heard that song seemed to linger just on the fringes of his mind, but it slipped away. “By Lyssa, I can’t remember where!”

“You’ll get used to it, my dear.” Lucretia said in a quiet voice. “You’ll get used to the forgetting of things. But don’t you worry, now, Farrion. The future is going to much greater than anything that could have happened in the past.”

Farrion gently touched his forehead. Gods, it’s begun. I’m starting to forget. My mind is going. Soon I’ll be just another mindless zombie. So be it, then. Before I go I still have got some work to finish!

Farrion was suddenly drawn from his thoughts by a sound a tapping on the window close at hand. He turned back to it, moved aside the drapes and glanced through. The day had grown no brighter, but a light was about; foggy and ethereal. And then he saw it, just there by the bottom right corner of the windowpane. At first he thought it must be his imagination, but then as his vision focused on it he realised that it was a hand. A hand knocking against the window.

“So here there are, yes? Our playmates.” Lucretia’s voice, coming from next to him, nearly sent Farrion jumping out his skin. He turned to her a little too sharply and found her indeed standing next to him, in the act of moving closer to the windowpane.

“Playmates? What are you talking about?”

She pressed herself against the window and stared out into the gloom as the hand’s knocking intensified; desperate. “Playmates, dear Farrion. Let us open the window and let them in! Let us show them where we sleep.”

The hell? Farrion grasped the middle of the sash-window and eased it up, letting in a rushing, cold breeze that stole the very warmth of his blood away. He knew that two armies stood out there in the gloom, but they could as well have been statues for all the noise that was to be heard. Outside was as silent as Piken Square after the Charr had finally broken down the defences and slaughtered everyone inside.

Farrion grabbed the hand and pulled for all he was worth. And out of the gloom came a roughly clad figure, bloodied and in need of a bath and at least two nights of good sleep. It took a moment for him to realise that it was a woman, face drawn and haggard, shivering like a blade of grass caught in a hurricane.

“Ah.” Lucretia sighed, easing closer to the woman. “Pretty isn’t she? What fun we will have, yes?”

Farrion looked at Lucretia, and then looked at her again. Upon her face was that same mischievous – no, malevolent – look, with her eyes fixed on the woman almost like a rabid wolf seeking flesh. An alarm went off in his mind.
“What’s your name, dear?” he asked, holding the woman around the shoulders and so putting himself between her and Lucretia.

“Vuh…Vuhnessa…Vinessa. Please…you must help him.” Her words were choked almost to intelligibility, and it seemed that to speak each one was a great strain on her body.

“Alright, Vinessa, you take it easy, now. Help who?”

“Him…my…Heli. He’s out there…I tried to cah…carry him. Too weak…too dark. Are you human? There…there are undead about…but…but I felt…humans…in here. Friends.”

Humans. Friends. Farrion stared at the woman for a moment and then glanced back at Lucretia. Her face was unreadable, but the stare she targeted at the woman was intense and thoughtful.

“Are you…are you…friends?”

How can I? I’m dead. I’m not human anymore.

“We are your friends, my dear little human. We are your friends, yes? Tell us where the other one is, and you can join us here where it is warm.” Even though Lucretia’s words were reassuring, Farrion detect a hint of something else with them, something he did not particularly like.

Whatever happens I cannot afford to lose this connection to Lucretia. She’s my key to Cyn and whoever is running these armies. I can’t afford to get in her bad books just…just on account of some…woman. Gods, what am I saying? What am I going to do?

“He’s…not too far.” Vinessa took a deep breath and paused for a moment, staring off into space, “I left him by a couple…of trees. In the bushes where he wouldn’t be seen. Will you help me?”

Lucretia glanced up at him, with a weird half-smile upon her lips. “Of course we will.”

Unreal Cyn · Feb 05, 2008, 04:55 PM // 16:55

Hello again folks! Here's another chapter, fresh and still hot from the bakery. I've also uploaded a new music video over at rivencrystal, so feel free to check it out! Now onto Chapter 28!

The Dash

Habib, for one, did not know how much longer he could keep running.
Certainly the others were going just as fast as he was, but by all the Gods and their mothers, they did not have pounds of steel lashed to almost every square inch of their bodies. This is not the time to complain. By Balthazar, we need to find cover!

Suddenly, Heather’s glowing mist revealed something directly up ahead, and as the party neared Habib realised that it was a collection of wagons, seemingly abandoned. He called for them to stop and most of the party collapsed right there on the sand.

“Man, I know I really shouldn’t be complaining here, but I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.” Normire gasped, staring about in the gloom. “It’s a damn shame we don’t have any horses to lash to these wagons. They look in good repair.”

“That they do.” Habib agreed. “How much time do we have on them?”

“I’d say about a half an hour.” The necromancer replied.

“By the Gods!” Big Charr snarled. “You said that a half an hour ago!”

“I know. Sucks to be us right now, doesn’t it?”

“What do we do from here, then, Habib?” Heather asked. She did not look fatigued in the least; in fact she looked absolutely sprightly. The old warrior hoped that she could keep it up without having to make another withdrawal from the human blood-bank.

Habib gazed about. As far as he could see, the desert still stretched for miles and miles around with absolutely no defensible positions. They had gone about a mile and a half on foot, which should have brought them within the vicinity of the portal, but as Habib looked, he could make out nothing of the sort out here. Gods. I hope this portal isn’t underground like the other ones.

“Are we close to the portal?” Karissa asked the one question Habib really and truly had no definite answer to.

“It can’t be too far from here.” He sighed deeply and tried to ignore the pain that was spiking up through his feet. “Take a breather, everyone. Two minutes.”

“I’ll take a look at these wagons.” Normire offered, moving off to the vehicles. After a moment, Habib joined him.

The wagons were parked in a rough circle around the remains of a burnt out campfire. And although sand had buried the wagons up to their underbellies, the vehicles did not look ancient. The wood was still in very good condition, and the cloth of the covers were not pitted and torn.

“Looks like someone left in a hurry.” Normire said. Suddenly he pulled up short and grabbed Habib’s arm.

“What’s the matter?”

“Wait. I can feel death here.”

“Do you mean the undead following us?”

“No. Something is dead here. Very dead. Many of them.”

“Where?”

Normire inclined his head at the wagon on the far side of the circle. Habib drew his sword – he did not want to face any surprises unarmed – and led the way. Silence was only broken by the intermittent flapping of the wagon covers and the quiet creaking of Habib’s sand-filled armour.

A quick look of the outskirts of the wagon turned up nothing dead or alive, so the two men went to the back to check inside. Habib took Normire’s torch and opened the back, while Normire looked on with staff in hand.

The first thing that struck Habib was the smell. Seven bodies lay crumpled and crammed in the wagon, their limbs broken at unnatural angles. There was no sign of blood, no sign of any fighting for that matter, and Habib suddenly found it strange that the face of each corpse was staring in his direction. Their glazed eyes glittered in the torchlight, and as the light passed over them it played at the shadows in their mouths, making it almost seem as though they were speaking.

Their flesh was rotting; already it had lost whatever colour it had and was degrading to a sickly greyish-green hue. And as Habib surveyed the scene with a growing sense of disgust he realised that wires crisscrossed the inside of the wagon, joining each corpse to another like a string of lights.

“May Grenth have mercy on their souls.” Normire whispered from the doorway. Habib glanced back at the necromancer and saw that his gaze was fixed on the bodies, like a man who has seen something he never thought he would see again.

Habib eased out of the wagon and closed the door. Turning to Normire he said: “Do you know the meaning of that?”

“No.” Normire sighed, “But I have a theory.”

“Speak your mind, man.”

“When I was in Lion’s Arch… some time ago, I came across a dead man that was strung up in a room much like those bodies. He had been used to create an intelligent bone-fiend doppelganger the likes of which I had never before met.”

“Gods. Was ––.” Habib trailed off when the sound of laboured breathing met his ears. Looking suddenly up he was just able to make out the humanoid shape that was now throwing itself at him from the roof of the wagon close at hand. And in the light he could tell that the thing was not human.

Dropping the torch and grabbing the sword with both hands, Habib back-pedalled, saw the thing land on its feet before him, and then slashed into its head with cold steel. The cleave took off the top of the thing’s head, but still on it came, teeth bared like rapiers and arms as thick as his legs outstretched.

Habib pressed forward, slashing again and again – taking off limb after limb after limb, until the thing was nothing more than a torso that still wriggled to get him.

Suddenly he heard Normire chanting something arcane beside him and as he turned he saw a large shape lunge at the necromancer. Normire raised his staff and a negative spike of power ripped through the monster, stopping it dead in its tracks. A moment passed and the dead thing’s body exploded in a burst of dim light and energy, which reinvigorated the two men. Habib backed towards the necromancer, his eyes searching the area for any more of the monsters. By all the Gods, what could have done this to these people?

“Something very powerful passed through here recently.” Normire whispered, almost as if he had heard Habib’s thoughts. “Something proficient in the necromantic arts. We killed two of these things. May I suggest we flee, now? Five more of them could be anywhere.”

“Yes. We’ve tarried here for too long anyway.”

“Oh shit! What’s the matter?” Heather cried. “I felt someone casting necromancer spells.” Her stared at Normire with open suspicion. And then her gaze shifted to the two already decomposing bodies on the sand.

Habib turned and saw her running towards them, leading Karissa and Big Charr. Her lighted mist swept in about them, dispelling the shadow, yet it could not drive away the darkness that lurked beneath the carriages.

“We found seven dead and defiled bodies in there.” Habib said inclining his head to the carriage whilst still surveying the area. “Then we were attacked by….”

“Bone fiends. Of a powerful stock.” Normire finished, glancing down at the fiend Habib had chopped to pieces. Its severed torso was still trying to get at them, even as its muscle and flesh chaffed away in an unfelt breeze.

“It had to be Ja’al.” Heather said with one look at the things. “It was here.”

“So was Cyn.” Karissa added.

“Then we are on the right track.” Habib said, even though he felt little reassured. They still had an army of undead at their back, after all. “We need to carry on now. Keep your eyes about you and fear no darkness!”

The big warrior turned to lead the way from the abandoned campsite and the others crowded about him in defensive position.

“Wait!” A raspy voice suddenly hissed from close at hand.

And before their eyes crawled a misshapen shape from beneath the carriage with the dead bodies. Habib could not make out what it was clearly, for Heather’s light seemed repelled by it. But in the darkness there glowed a pair of pale yellow eyes, which regarded him with unsettling scrutiny.

Heather drew her daggers. “Stay back, demon!” she snapped, every muscle tensing in her body like that of a Melandru’s Stalker.

“Hear me, warriors. I shall not be myself for much longer. The demon couple passed through here not two nights gone, heading east. They took some of my friends to serve them in brainless stupor. And now the demons call the undead unto themselves. Beware the Mesmers, warriors!”

The loud bellow of a ghastly horn ripped the quiet of the desert asunder. My Gods that sounded too close!

“Gods save your soul, friend.” Habib said to the dark shape, “Now we must be off. We will heed your advice.”

“Let us kill it, Habib!” Heather whispered fiercely.

“Wraiths!” Habib shouted, ignoring the girl. “To the portal!”

And with that he was leading them from the campsite and back into the expanse of the desert, moving as quickly as their feet would take them.
They had not gotten far when a tower of flame suddenly burst from the sands directly before them, and out from the depths tore the massive, lumbering shape of a desert hydra. Such a stench accompanied it that Habib choked and gagged. It was the stench of death and decay that swirled around the beast like its very own miasma of poison.

Everyone was thrown to the ground at the hydra’s onset, and its screeching-roar sent them reeling in pain.

Habib barely had time to blink before the hydra hurled a burning meteor in his direction. He dodged it at the last minute; dislodged sand and debris crashing into his armour, and the heat of its passage singed the flesh on his exposed face.

“Keep moving!” he hollered at the others. “We have no time for this fight!”

Again the horns sounded, now closer than ever, and Habib could feel the very earth beneath his feet quake under the marching of thousands of decaying feet.

“We can take this!” Heather shouted back at him, jumping to her feet and chanting the words of a spell. Fire blazed about her fingertips and then shot out at the hydra, catching it on its underbelly but causing no effect except making it times angrier.

I don’t have time for this! Habib was not going to let anyone else under his command die stupidly.

“Wraiths! To me!” he screamed, scrambling to his feet as he sheathed his sword and raced towards Heather.

He grabbed the small woman in his arms, lifted her off the ground and made for it. The hydra sent large amounts of dust into the air in an attempt to get at them, and for many moments Habib could not see a thing. All around him he could feel the air grow hotter and hotter, and feel the eruption of meteors striking the ground just a few feet behind.

“Put me down, man! What are you doing?” Heather screamed, trying to claw her way out of Habib’s grasp.

Habib had the urge to give her a very hard knock along the back of her head just to keep her quiet, but all such thoughts vanished when the dust cleared and he suddenly stood before the barely standing remains of a portal. It was set in the face of a partially buried bolder with cracks all about its surface. Habib stared at the portal for no more than a couple of seconds, but each one felt like a full hour, and his heart sank.

In moments the other Wraiths were there, stumbling out of the dust. Habib set Heather back on her feet and almost held his head.

“F**k. Someone destroyed it.” Normire said in the calm voice of a man who had seen enough not to be surprised any longer. “We’re shafted.”

“It can still work.” Karissa spoke up kneeling before the portal and running her deft hands over its structure. She said something the palms of her hands shone a deep blue and suddenly the portal burst into life, its transparent oval disc shimmering in and out of sight weakly.

“It will hold up, but only barely… and it might take us anywhere. It will collapse after we use it; I don’t think it will hold up after more than our number has gone through. But it might… it might even kill us. Half of our bodies could end up on the other side of the world.”

“Good Gods, what use is this?” Heather asked. As much as she tried to hide it, Habib could hear the panic in her voice. He could understand her. The last time she went through a portal almost everyone else she had been with had perished.

The hydra screeched-snarled from almost at their heels, and the heat of a fire seared their backs. And from all around them came the howl of more horns and the stench of death saturated the air.

“I would damn well rather half of me surviving than none at all. See you on the other side of the world.” Normire said as he jumped headfirst into the portal. The shimmering disc swallowed him up like a gaping maw.

Karissa took one look past Habib and her face paled. The old warrior did not have to guess at what she was seeing there. Her eyes found his again. “Trust me, please.” And then she turned and bounded into the portal.

“Shall we follow?” Big Charr asked gruffly, never averting his gaze from the portal.

“Yes we shall.” Habib replied.

He watched as the Charr disappeared into the portal and then turned to Heather. “After you.”

“I had better see you on the other side.” She said as she too was swallowed by the portal.

Habib glanced behind him and saw the hydra standing there, seemingly studying him with eyes much older than his. Behind it, still rendered blurry by distance and dust, approached the battalions of the undead army. But how long the beast was standing there Habib could not guess, even though no more than a few moments had passed.

“Flee all you want, but Death shall find you eventually, old man.” Habib thought he heard the hydra say. Its mouth did not move, but those ancient eyes of it bore into Habib like a dwarven drill.

“And I shall be ready when it comes, old beast.” Habib said as he slipped into the decaying portal. There was a falling sensation and then a burning that consumed his entire being and seemed to carry on forever and ever.

Unreal Cyn · Feb 14, 2008, 02:56 PM // 14:56

Greetings everyone! I hope everyone's enjoying Valentine's Day. Here's a little something to balance out all that love and happiness. Chapter 29!

Confrontation

“Do you understand what it is you are to do?” the man with the dry voice asked.

“Yes, I do. Let me just say what a pleasure it has been working with you so far.” The woman with the clear eyes replied.

“Same here.” The man smiled; an action that made his face seem like the friendliest one in the world. “It is not often I get to work with someone who understands the essence of and need for risk.”

“Risk is what drives the world. I only do what comes naturally.”

“As you say, my dear. Now, when can I expect returns on this investment? The market is soon going to crash, I think, and I want to reap my shares before the implosion.” The man’s smile widened. He enjoyed playing these word-games.

“Very soon. Very soon.” She winked at him, “Have you ever played chess before?”

“Of course. I invented the game.”

She giggled gamely and finally took a seat. She was always such a fine sport. “Then why is your queen wide open? You must be getting old. You’ve been playing carelessly all night.”

“Games are a reflection of life.” He said as he took a hold of his knight and made his move. The piece landed at a right angle to the woman’s queen, completing the box of pieces he had placed all around her. His smile broke into a full grown grin. “And I always win.”

~ * ~

Cyn opened his eyes and regarded the pale roof above him. He eased his hands underneath his head and crossed his legs on the bed. Cool wind streamed in from the open door close at hand, beyond which lay a gloomy world devoid of sunlight.

The ranger lay in the ancient and petrified remains of a ship, which strangely enough had been drawn up onto a rock embankment in the armpit of a desert. It was much too large and much too old to have navigated the Thirsty River even in its current, watery state, so obviously it had been brought here possibly centuries ago when the entire area had been wetter and livelier.

But all things change. Change was the engine of growth, it was said, and Cyn was beginning to realise the truth in that. He could have remained a simple ranger carrying out thankless deeds across Tyria, but instead of that he chose change. Change to become something more, something so much more than he had ever thought he could become.

The feeling was fantastic. His body had never before felt this alive, even through all his time as a ranger of Melandru; a servant of nature itself. He had felt confused and torn between all sorts of minds, but now he was focused. More focused than ever. Even now he could feel all of his thoughts, all of his priorities, coalescing into one large goal that loomed before him like the greatest prize.

I am Cyn. And I will be a God.

It was his destiny.

It had always been, he had just been too blind to see it. Amnesia not withstanding, he had been blinded and muddled by emotion, by a sense of duty, by all things totally against the nature of his kind.

No more though.

I wonder how Theophilus managed to get linked up with Pister, though. Heh. I wonder if any of those other idiots are still out there, picking peas outta shit. My team. Greatest the Mists had to offer. Ha! I was always the best, the One. It was always me out there. I should never have let them hold me back.

“Is there something you need, master?” a voice called suddenly from the doorway.

Cyn eased over to his side and regarded the well-built woman that stood there. She was one of the five adventurers Jala had convinced to travel with them, looking at him as she always did with a distant gaze through very clear grey eyes. They were set in a face that was not too hard on the eyes, and her tanned complexion suggested a heritage from Kryta. She was a hammer warrior with the size and build to support such a profession. The woman was as tall as he was – even in the flat boots she was wearing – and Cyn imagined that she made one hell of a hardcore fighter. But she carried no weapons now, and was dressed in simple clothes that really did not suit her.

“No.” Cyn said. He thought of something and then changed his mind. “On second thought, yes. I’ve been meaning to take a walk for the longest while now. I was interrupted twice before. I say we take a walk, you and me, down towards the river. I haven’t been in this place for a while.”

“As you wish.”

Cyn got to his feet and ducked outside the ship back into the gloomy day. Still no sun was to be seen, and a quiet breeze wormed its way over the sands. Tents flapped in the distance amidst the sound of rushing water, but no voices could be heard anywhere. It was almost as though everyone was holding his or her breath for some great plunge.

The ranger led the way away from the petrified boat down a short slope that led, in a series of rocky steps, to the bank of the river. For as far as he could make out, no one else seemed to be in the area. Many of the adventurers they had found here when he and Jala had first entered the camp had left, seeing the dark sky as a bad omen and seeking to get back to civilisation before the worst had happened. Several of them were from Ascalon, after all.

He could hear the warrior’s footsteps behind him, as well as the deep breaths she was taking. She sounded perfectly at peace, as though everything around her was nothing but a dream. And maybe it was, after what Jala must have done to her.

They reached the riverbank soon enough and the Thirsty river rushed along before them, frothing at the rocks just up ahead. Cyn yawned and started approaching the water leisurely.

“I don’t think I caught your name.” he said, glancing at the woman.

“Call me Yasmin.”

“Yasmin, eh? Sounds lovely. Means Jasmine, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.” She replied in that dull tone. “How did you know?”

“Lucky guess.”

They reached the very edge of the river and Cyn stood there a while, watching the waters rush past and churn themselves into a foamy oblivion against the rocks. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes. He had had a proper bath not too long ago, but suddenly the urge to take a dip in the resurrected waters of a long dead river built inside him almost like a tangible force.

He opened his eyes and found Yasmin standing beside him; fists clenched and look off into the murk beyond the river.

“Do you hear that?” she asked, somehow managing to make a question sound like a statement.

Cyn caught his breath and listened. Then he heard it. At first he thought that it must be part of the noise that the rushing water was making, but the longer he listened the more convinced he became that this new noise was not something natural. It was a low sizzling noise, and just for a moment the scent of ozone touched his nostrils. The noise and the sound were strangely familiar, but Cyn could not remember where he had encountered them before.

Cyn strained his eyes, but he could make out nothing but tumbled rocks that rose to a steep cliff on the other side. Something was out there, though, and Cyn drew his dagger.

“Shall I go for my mistress and the others?” Yasmin asked.

“No. Come along; let’s see what this is.” Cyn replied.

He started off into the water and Yasmin kept up with him, her features unchanging. The water was colder than he had expected, but it felt great, and the feel of sand beneath his feet brought back memories that seemed to come from another person’s mind.

And then they were on the other side, where the sizzling noise continued; louder now. The area up ahead was a maze of boulders of every sort and size, hiding whatever was making that noise.

Cyn focused himself in a stance, and felt his reflexes begin to quicken. And with that he was moving into the maze, Yasmin directly behind him. For many moments he followed the winding path through the rocks, seeing nothing but more remnants of ancient habitation. A section of a collapsed ship here, the remains of a hollowed out house over there. Nothing lived here now, and all was quiet save for the incessant sizzling.

He rounded a corner and suddenly found himself in the ruin of what looked like a three storey apartment complex, built entirely from stone and set into the walls of the cliff as if it was grown there. Dark, windowless eyes gazed down at him in the gloom, but nothing immediately presented itself. But as he looked around he caught a light in one of the lowest rooms. It was a glow, on and off, pulsing.

Cyn moved quickly towards the apartments and entered through the front doorway. Nothing but sand greeted him and Yasmin, and as he turned to his left he could make out the glow through a series of doorways in that direction.

“Set your skin.” He whispered to the warrior as he started for the glow.
They passed through four long rooms that wound back and forth through the cliff, as though their builders were following the natural contours of the stone. No noise but that of the sizzling reached Cyn’s ears, but the ozone scent was so thick in the air that it began to burn his nostrils.

And then they were there, in a roughly oval room the floor of which was adorned with a well-crafted mosaic inlaid with the fossils of dead, sea creatures. But Cyn’s eyes were drawn immediately to the centrepiece of the room, which was a thin, glowing portal that sat upon a dais.

“A portal.” Yasmin said tonelessly.

“Yes. I wonder where it leads… and how it managed to stay activated through all these years.” Cyn replied. “But things in the desert seem to have a longevity about them, I guess.”

“Do you want me to find out where it leads, master?”

Cyn glanced at Yasmin briefly. “No.” he shrugged. “We’ve got other things to do. I’ve got a world to conquer; can’t be running around adventuring anymore. Let’s head back.”

The ranger turned and began to head back outside when suddenly there was a loud ripping noise, like steel itself ripping asunder, and a powerful energy burst into the room, setting every hair on his body on edge.
Suddenly Cyn turned back and saw the portal glimmer brightly. It bent inwards, and then it imploded with a fury Cyn had never before seen. He closed his eyes against the glare and yet still for many moments he stood there, blinded. Shit! Did the portal just self-destruct? Man, it must have just gotten too old.

He opened his eyes and found that amidst the still smouldering remains of the portal now lay three persons. They were moving, getting to their feet with various senses of confidence. They looked much shaken and their gear looked worn and battered. Two women and one man now stood in the middle of the room across from where Cyn and Yasmin stood, and for the moment they had not noticed him. They seemed to have been fighting something, for their weapons were drawn.

Then the man in the middle looked around and suddenly froze. His and Cyn’s eyes locked for no more than a moment, and a flash of recognition dawned on the man’s granite face. The other two women took sudden notice of Cyn as well and froze in their movements.

Holy shit. Is this real? Am I seeing straight?

Cyn did not recognise the man, but the two women seemed to come out of his past memories like ghosts that would just not stay exorcised.

“Cyn.” The smaller woman said. She did not look much older than her teens, but Cyn knew that she was far older than that.

“Is it really him?” the other woman gasped, as if seeing something straight from a dream. She was all too familiar to Cyn. Just by seeing her all sorts of distant memories became clear. No. No. I left this all behind. This cannot be happening!

“Cyn Eaver.” The big man in the middle began, standing straight and settling himself into a battle stance. “We have unfinished business to conduct.”

Unreal Cyn · Mar 12, 2008, 06:07 PM // 18:07

Greetings again folks, here's Chapter 30 for your reading pleasure!

Thinking with Portals

“I left you all back in that prison. You should not have come here.” Cyn snarled, raising his dagger and settling into a stance of his own. “I’ve no more time for these little inconveniences!”

“What are you saying, Cyn? Don’t you recognise me?” the younger-looking woman asked. “It’s me, Heather.”

“I recognise you, goddamnit.” Cyn hissed, “I recognise you well enough. Why did you come here, what did you hope to achieve?”

“We’ve come for the demon Ja’al. Her time has come.” The big warrior declared.

“Are you out of your mind, old man? You three cannot stop us. No one can. I will be the god of this earth, ruling as I see fit. You think to stop me? It is folly to do so.”

“Why are you talking like this?” Heather screamed suddenly, a large vein popping in her neck. “What has that bitch done to you?”

“The only thing she did was help me to see the light; the truth. Helped put my whole existence into focus. Do you know how long I wandered this life aimlessly? Searching for my purpose? And now that I’ve found it you mean for me to throw it all away? You are insane to even suggest such a thing!” Cyn barked back. Anger flushed through his body like some unholy fire; suffusing his soul.

They purpose to try to hurt Jala. Well, I’ll show them who’s the more dangerous.

“Cyn… listen. This isn’t you. Snap out of it, please?” the other woman, Karissa, pleaded. “She’s a demon. You pledged your whole life to eradicating her kind.”

“No, no, no, no. You three listen. This is me. Have no doubt about that. And I intend to stay this way forever. Never have I felt so complete. This is finally my time. I’m done running around behind lesser men!”

“Then it seems as though we have no other choice but to dispatch you too, Cyn.” The old warrior said again, just as coolly as the first time he spoke.

“Just who the hell are you, old man? Shouldn’t you be home smoking your pipe?”

“I am Private Habib, of the Wraiths. And I cannot rest when the spawn of evil runs rampant in the lands.”

“Illusions of grandeur! Pompous words, you fool.”

Habib advanced then, slowly, his dark eyes fixed on Cyn like a Melandru’s Stalker sizing up its prey. The other two women hesitated, but it was only for a moment, and then they too were approaching, flanking Habib on either side.

From the corner of his eye Cyn could see Yasmin settling into a stance herself, even though she was only armed with her fists and legs. Cyn hoped that she could hold her own. None could stand before him, but he could not guarantee that she could survive a direct encounter with either Heather or Karissa. Oh well. She’s only chattel anyway.

Just then Heather began to chant an incantation. Cyn immediately recognised it as Mesmer, and knew that it could not be anything good.

“Yasmin! Take the girl on the right.” He whispered fiercely, motioning to Karissa. “I shall handle the others!”

And with that he was rushing towards Heather, raising his weapon and with an incantation of his own on his lips. Four feet away from them the air around Cyn burst into liquid flame. The wave of fire slammed into Heather and Habib directly, but on they still came. Another burst of fire exploded around Cyn and then he was there, slashing out at Heather with the speed of lightning.

Heather must not have expected it, for she threw herself out of the way late and took the strike right across her left arm, sundering her armour and drawing blood. She staggered out of his sight as Cyn quickly turned to his right and lunged at the warrior called Habib.

The massive man parried his first blow with his shield and made a brilliant riposte that caught Cyn across the belly, opening his armour like paper. Cyn struck again and again in a flurry of quick motions, but ever the old man parried, always returning a blow of his own.

Someone screamed, but all of Cyn’s attention was now focused on the warrior. The old man was fast and sturdy, but Cyn had ultimate depth in the pool of energy reserves. I can wear the old fool down. He cannot handle me!

A blow to the back of his head sent his world spinning for a moment, and he only barely deflected a sharp thrust from Habib. In the next moment the words of a Phoenix incantation was upon his lips and as he turned he released it.

Fire exploded around him in a massive burst, so bright that it blinded him for a moment, so hot that it seared his armour and his exposed flesh. The burst engulfed both Habib and Heather, who was standing behind Cyn in the act of casting a spell. And the fiery phoenix itself hurtled towards Heather, hammering into her and sending her sprawling out towards the far wall.

But as Cyn turned again there Habib still stood. Smoke billowed about his armoured frame and small tongues of fire danced about his cloak, but still he stood, eyes a fathomless black. Without a warning, the old man drove the hilt of his sword straight between Cyn’s eyes. The shock jarred the ranger down to his core, and he shuddered and then fell to his knees. What…? Why is this happening? I am ––.

Habib back-handed him so hard across the face that he nearly decapitated him, and Cyn suddenly found himself lying flat across the ground.

“I will get rid of that demon, Cyn, whether or not you stand in my way.” Cyn heard the warrior growl.

Cyn rolled over to his side, blinking out the blood that now trickled down his forehead. I am really bleeding? Habib must have struck him so hard that it split flesh. That old f**king bastard! Cyn started to move again but Habib’s foot fell into his chest, pinning the ranger where he lay. The old warrior rested the blade of his rapier against Cyn’s neck.

“Tell me, Cyn. When I kill you this time, will you come back again?”

“I’m never going to die again, you old fool.” Cyn hissed as his eyes focused on Yasmin.

Karissa was not in his line of vision, but Yasmin, bloodied and battered, was standing just within reach of Habib. She looked completely frenetic, what with a wild look in her once dull eyes and a brick in her hands like some barbarian. The old warrior had not noticed her yet, as all of his mal-intent was focused on Cyn.

A grim smile touched the ranger’s lips. “But you… you I cannot be so sure about.”

The brick crashed into the back of Habib’s head with a crack that resounded off his helmet and echoed throughout the room.

The old warrior stood still for a moment, shuddered and then collapsed to his knees. Heather screamed from off to Cyn’s left and then very suddenly the air around him sizzled with Mesmeric energy. And before Cyn could do anything, a spike of colossal power jack-knifed through his entire body, driving sight from his eyes and feeling from his body.

And then Cyn blinked and the world returned to him in a blurry half-image. He must have only been blinded for a moment, for Yasmin still stood where Habib had fallen and off to his left Heather was now quickly approaching, the words of another spell upon her lips.

Cyn struggled to his feet and locked gazes with Heather. There was only fury in those blue eyes, focused on him as though through a magnifying glass. He tried to settle into some kind of stance, but his incantations fluttered out of his reach like misty butterflies.

The first chain of lightning tore into him like a thousand arrows, knocking him senseless and blinding him. The second swept him off his feet, throwing him clear across the room and into the far wall. Through the slits of his eyelids he could see Heather still approaching, lightning sizzling about her body like a thundercloud.

And then the strangest thing happened.

Heather extended her hands to Cyn and chanted the words of binding. The same words they had used against Ja’al on that night so long ago.
And it took only a moment for Cyn to feel the intangible become tangible; to feel chains close about him from the very air itself.

“You betray your own friends, Cyn? You will get what you deserve!” she screamed at him.

Slowly, as though time itself began to churn to a stop, Cyn felt the bonds tighten around him. They pressed in through his armour, through his flesh, through his bones and on towards his soul.

This cannot be happening! I will not allow this! But try as he might, he could not move. Once the binding started, only an outside source could have a chance of interrupting it.

Yasmin darted across his line of vision at Heather, moving as though each footstep was a step through mud. In her hands was Habib’s sword and at four steps away she was already brining it to bear against Heather.

For some reason, Heather noticed her a moment too late and had only enough time to barely evade the strike. Yasmin kicked her feet from underneath her, but Heather landed on her arms, pushing herself back up. Lightning flashed from Heather’s hands once again, striking Yasmin full in the chest. But on the woman still came, as though the pain was nothing more but an illusion.
Another bolt of lightning flashed through the place, hurtling Yasmin into the wall adjacent to where Cyn was. A moment passed and then Heather threw her hands to the roof and began to scream.

“You will get what you deserve, Cyn!” And with that she spoke the words of a spell that Cyn immediately recognised. “Khamsin el fiego!”

Heat filled the room as though it was an oven and the smell of ash burned in his nostrils. Heather finished the spell and a burst of flame ignited around her upraised arms, and the entire building began to shake.

A meteor ripped through the roof above, crashing into the ground inches away from Cyn and creating a deep crater that revealed the dark room beneath. The heat of it stunned him and he backed up against the wall in a growing fear. A triad of meteors followed the first, slamming through the roof and peppering the room with burning debris. All of a sudden, the place was lost to a screen of dust and ash; obscuring sight.

“We need to get out of here. She is destroying the entire place.” Yasmin said from right next to Cyn.

“Damn, woman, you can move quickly.”

And then the heat worsened, and Cyn felt a massive object crash into him. He must have been thrown through the wall close at hand, but all he felt was the initial impact and the terrible heat. And the falling sensation before he struck solid earth. A moment passed. He thought he heard someone saying something to him, but then the strangest of all sensations passed through his body; as though it was being ripped to pieces by some powerful force.

shadow-violet · Apr 30, 2008, 08:38 PM // 20:38

You sure know where to leave things off >.< Great chapter as always, hope the next one comes out soon =)

Unreal Cyn · May 09, 2008, 05:25 AM // 05:25

Wow, almost two months and nothing new from me. I apologize everyone! I had to drop almost every writing project so I could focus on some important deadlines during the year so far. Well, now that those things have been met, I'm back with a new site design and new updates over at rivenCrystal.com as well - of course - a brand new Obsidian! Karak is finally back in this Chapter 31, as the story draws to a close!

Atonement

Habib blinked the blood out of his eyes painfully as he tried to get his wits about him. A breeze blew about him, stiff and cold. The air smelled thickly of ash and smoke; so thick that he could taste in upon his tongue. He snorted and spat out a mouthful of blood. By all the Gods, I had that bastard. One minute he was about to plunge his rapier deep into Cyn’s throat and the next he was watching the world spin away into deep oblivion.

“Are you alright, Habib?” A voice said from his left.

The old warrior cast his gaze thence and rubbed his eyes. Heather materialised in his vision as though she was made of smoke. She was smiling, but there was an anger in her eyes that unsettled him. Habib looked around and saw that Karissa was sitting on a boulder not too far away, staring at the smoking remains of a large building that had once been chiselled into the walls of a rock face.

“I think I’ll live. But what happened, Heather? What is our status?”

“We teleported into this place. Seems like it was some sort of teleportation centre, if you can believe that. I assume it had portals linking it to almost every other portal in the Desert.” She sighed and massaged her forehead. She was bleeding. “I…I attacked Cyn after that friend of his got you. I called for a meteor storm. I was so angry, Habib. One of the meteors hit him…and then the whole place started to collapse. I had to get you two out of there!” She sighed and crossed her arms, “I’ve healed all of our wounds, so I guess we’re in pretty good shape once again.”

“So he’s dead, then?”

“I’d be surprised if he isn’t.” Karissa said as she came to stand beside Heather. “If he still lives he would be buried by tonnes of stone. A stone coffin.”

“He would deserve it!” Heather hissed.

Habib flexed his arms and legs and continued looking around. “He’s out of our hands, now. Can it possibly be by chance that we stumbled across him out in the middle of nowhere? However, if Cyn was here, where was the demon? I think I remember him calling that woman he was with Yasmin. But wherever she is, she must be close.”

“I agree. I say we look around, not that we have much choice. All of those portals in there must be destroyed.”

“Habib gave the area another survey. “By the Gods, where are the others? Where are Normire and Big Charr? Did they teleport into that building too?”

“Oh shit!” Heather gasped.

It’s obvious she didn’t think of that before she torched the place.

“It’s possible that they didn’t end up here like we did. They could have ended up anywhere at all….” Karissa said slowly.

“You don’t sound so sure.” Goddamnit, woman. I trusted you with our lives on that one. I can’t afford to lose any more friends! Especially not Big Charr! By Balthazar!

“It’s highly possible that they could have ended up in a different region, alive and well.”

“Highly possible? We trusted you!” Heather hissed.

“I wasn’t the one who destroyed the whole damned place.” Karissa retorted, “I’m trying to convince Habib that maybe Normire and Big Charr are still alive somewhere else because your actions destroyed any hope at all of them being alive in that place now.”

For the first time since he knew her, Heather had no reply. She folded her arms and turned to look in the other direction.

Habib got to his feet. Gods, I hope they’re all right. But there’s nothing we can do now. We have to find that demon.

He gave the area another look and saw that a path wound away west from the burning site. Amidst the crackling noise of the fire he thought he could hear the rushing of water. But telling from the whole look of the place, they were still somewhere in the Desert.

“If you all are up to it, let’s get out of here. Prepare yourselves, though. That demon might be near.” Habib said as he went down the path.

In moments the party found itself before a rushing river that frothed about large stones right before the path. The opposite bank was featureless save for the petrified remains of an ancient ship that rested atop a short hillock. The path continued past the ship, and in the distance Habib thought he could see the smoke fires curling into the sky.

“This has to be the Thirsty River.” He said.

“Doesn’t look all that thirsty to me.” Heather said, more to herself than anything.

Habib continued up the path slowly, sweeping his gaze to and fro often. Eventually they reached the ship, which a quick scan revealed to be unoccupied. On the other side of the slope, however, lay a camp that spread out amongst the sand dunes and rock formations below the hillock like a sleeping beast. Lights were on down there, and the sound of a few voices carried up to Habib’s ears.

The camp was dominated by a large tent that was set on a hill at the centre. The flaps of its entrance were wide open, and in the yellow light that spilled out, Habib could make out at least three guards standing outside.

“It would appear as though the camp is being controlled by a successful guild.” Karissa said, keeping her voice low, even though no one was near. “Possibly it knows of Cyn and Ja’al.”

“And possible they’re in cahoots with them!” Heather replied, though not with as much fire as was usual.

“We don’t know that.” Karissa whispered back, “Why would Ja’al flaunt itself as a demon in human form in a camp controlled by guild that might be hostile to it?”

“Were you not listening? Because they’re in cahoots with them!”

“By the Gods, look.” Habib gasped.

Down by the central tent a figure was standing by the open flaps. From where Habib stood the person’s features were not all that clear, but suddenly Habib had the feeling that he knew the person. Had the feeling that the person was the one he had come to kill.

“Who is it?” Heather asked quickly.

“The demon.” As soon as he said it the person seemed to look in their direction. A moment passed and then they turned and vanished inside the tent.

“By Grenth, see? Ja’al is in cahoots with this guild. And you wanted us to go down there and get ourselves killed right out!” Heather hissed at Karissa.
“Heather, let’s stop blaming one another. This isn’t about us; it’s about destroying that demon. We all make mistakes.” Habib said.

“Why are you taking her side?” Heather asked, her face falling.

“It’s not about sides, for the love of Dwayna. We have to work together here.” The old man sighed deeply. “Come on, Heather. Help me out here. I’ve lost almost everyone I cared about. I don’t want to lose anymore.”

Heather said nothing for a little while and then she rested a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I... I won’t behave like that again.”

Down below, three figures left the central tent. Two were guards but the one in the middle seemed bound at the hand and the foot. He was a big man, bigger than his two guards, but it seemed as though he was either unconscious or heavily sedated. The trio followed the path down from the tent and disappeared from view behind a series of tents.

“Karak!” Heather gasped, jumping up from where she was crouching. She would have run down the hills towards the man as well if Habib had not grabbed her by the arm.

“Wait, Heather. You said that was Karak?”

“Yes! I would recognise him anywhere! They’ve taken him prisoner, Habib! We have to help him!”

Habib exchanged a glance with Karissa, who seemed indifferent on the most part. How did they get Karak here? Doesn’t matter. Killing that demon is what’s important, but we need Karak to tell us anything he knows about the situation here.

“We’ll get to him. But we have to move cautiously. If we stumble upon any guards, let me do the talking.”

The women agreed and Habib led the way down the path. The air grew chillier on the way down, doing nothing for Habib’s state of mind. But then they were amongst the tents and he had to focus on matters besides the breeze.

~ * ~

They had come for him about two hours after Cyn had left.

He did not know where they were taking him, but, the farther they went he began to realise that he actually did not care. The voices in his head had grown silent, now. Dana had finally ceased her whining. Perhaps she had gone to sleep. That was the hopeful assumption. The other voice... now, he had not heard that for quite a while.

“Where are you bastards... taking me?” he managed to say. His tongue felt like lead in a mouth of rubber.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” One of the men replied. He could not place the accent, but he did not sound Tyrian.

“You know, you guys should be glad that I’m not my old self right now.”

“Yeah? Why is this?”

“I would rip you all limb from limb without remorse. Then I’d rip your leader’s limbs off and beat everyone in this camp to death.” He snarled.

“Brave words.” Was all the reply he got.

To be honest, he was hoping for something more. Perhaps a little cussing to reinvigorate the fire in his soul. The cold breeze was refreshing, and in truth it did seem as though his mind was clearing, but he dared not let on to it. He did not want any more of that drug that had been forced down his mouth.

I wonder if that old man Habib knows where I’m at. Damn. I probably just took off, no use to myself or anyone else. By the Gods I wonder if I’ll ever see them again. Well, Karak, most likely not. I’m entirely on my own now. A man with nothing more to lose but his life.

It was the very dead of night and no one else was about. Silence hung like a blanket over the place and the only smell was that of his own sweat drying about his face.

“You’ve been this guy’s bitches for long?” Karak said again.

“Not as long as you’re going to be, man.” The guard on his right replied, keeping his gaze forwards. He was built smaller than the other guard, but the hilt of a scimitar poked out from beneath his robes, and he looked as though he could use it well.

“Really? Care to tell me why?”

“No. I don’t.”

The path in front narrowed at a point between two sun-blasted outcrops of rock. Karak blinked, and suddenly there was a movement and then the shadows immediately before coalesced into a wide human shape with piercing eyes. It looked like a man, but his entire body was covered with a dark, long cape. Even with the flickering light of a nearby torch, Karak could not make out his face.

Whoever he was, he blocked the space between the rocks, and it seemed as though he was not about to move anytime soon.

Karak’s guards pulled up short. “Out of our way.” The one on his left said briskly.

From the corner of his eye, Karak could see the guard on his right reaching for the hilt of his scimitar.

“Isn’t my right to stand where I like in this place anymore? This used to be a free camp.” The stranger said.

“Your right? You have no goddamned rights. The Scarabs run this place, so be gone before we have to dirty our fresh sand with your blood.” Left-Guard hissed, grabbing the hilt of his scimitar.

But before either guard could act, another two figures exploded from the darkness, crashing into them with as much disturbance as falling leaves. The guards shivered for a moment, and then they both fell in crumpled heaps on the sand.

Karak’s knees felt weak and he fell to them the instant his guards struck the ground. What... what just happened? Who are these people?

“Karak!” gasped one of the shadows in a familiar voice. The person grabbed him in a powerful embrace. “Karak! I’m so glad you’re alright!”

For a moment Karak wondered if the drugs had additional side-effects. They had to have been. How could this be happening?

“Karak? Karak! Say something! It’s me, Heather.”

The warrior licked his lips. “Heather?” It sure as hell sounds like her. Gods. It has to be her. But how? “Heather... oh Gods, I hope you’re not sizing me up for another bite.”

“It’s you alright!” Heather said again, squeezing him tighter. “We thought we had lost you!”

“I may have gone a bit crazy for a bit, but that doesn’t make me a weak puppy. I could still take anyone in this godforsaken camp. That’s looking at you too, Habib.” Surely that ox of a shape has to be that old man.

The man in the dark cloak walked into the light proper and Karak realised that it was indeed Habib. A semblance of a smile was upon that granite face, but even if it had been skewed in some scowl of disgust, Karak would have still been glad as hell to see it.

“Glad you’re still alive. We used a portal to get here, though we had no idea where we were going.”

Karak looked around. “So... where are the others? Big Charr, Norm, that other woman?”

“The name’s Karissa.” The last shadow said as she stepped into the light. “Now we have been properly introduced.”

“Right, pretty lady. Tell me about the others. Are there here in the shadows too?”

There was a moment of silence and then Heather spoke up, her whispered drenched with fury. “We lost them. The portal we went through was unstable, Karak, and we lost them. We don’t know where they ended up, far less if they ended up!”

“There are more pressing matters at hand, Karak.” Habib said giving Karak a hand to his feet. “First we have to get you out of these bonds, and then you must tell us what you know about the situation in this camp.”

“Riust est dons.” Heather whispered as she grasped his chains. The irons vibrated for a moment and then dissolved into small flecks of rust that wafted away on the dying breeze.

Karak sighed. “Well, Habib. From what I gather, this world is pretty much screwed.”

Unreal Cyn · May 16, 2008, 07:22 PM // 19:22

Hey again everyone! Now that I'm off for the summer you can expect to see new Obsidians every Monday and Friday! Now onto Chapter 32!!

Victory is Mine

“So, Ja’al is calling itself Jala, and it’s a she, not a he. And she managed to cut a deal with this guy called Pister who happens to be in charge of a great amount of resources. And Cyn is no longer the man you once knew.” Habib said slowly as he and the others crouched in the darkness cast by a hollow building close at hand.

They had left the scene of the guards’ murder in a hurry – after taking their garb and weapons and stashing the bodies in a split crevice of rock nearby – but even in the time it took them to get where they were they had still not seen another person.

“Yeah. That’s pretty much it, man.” Karak said.

He looked one hundred percent better than he did back at Ja’al’s prison – in Habib’s opinion – and the old warrior was immensely relieved. This Karak is a good warrior. Headstrong and egotistical, but good nevertheless. We’re going to need him for this. Already he had a plan in mind. With Cyn gone and only Jala to deal with, things might become infinitely easier than he could have ever hoped.

Karak massaged his forehead and looked back across at Habib. “Tell me man. You said Cyn was dead?” For some reason there was little emotion in the man’s voice. But it was not as though he was being sincere; it was almost as though he was hiding it.

“Yes, Karak,” Heather answered, doing nothing to hide her distaste. “He betrayed us and paid for it. I trusted him. He was like kin to me. And he betrayed us for some bitch!”

Karak sat back on his haunches and grabbed Heather around the waist. “I can’t believe it. He was one tough ranger to kill back in the day.” He grinned, “And, sorry to spoil your fun, but I hope he’s still alive. If he’s going to die, it’s going to be by my hand.”

“Enough about Cyn. We have a demon to deal with.” Habib spoke up. He was getting anxious now. So close to the completion of this mission, so close to saving his daughter. He held out his stolen sabre and a pouch of mixed herbs from his backpack. “From what you tell us it appears as though this camp is crawling with armed Scarabs ––.”

“–– and their women.” Karak interjected.

“And their women.” Habib continued, opening the pouch and smearing on the solution inside along the length of the sabre. “So the only real option open to us is stealth, or at least enough stealth to get to Jala and Pister, as they’re the big dogs in this camp.”

“I say we just bomb the place and charge right in, man.” Karak pressed. “They have a lot to pay for what they put me through, I swear to all the Gods!”

“No. Your retribution will come. But it cannot be swift. We did not come this far to throw our lives away. Even Heather gets tired and who’s to say that these Scarabs don’t have elementalists of their own? Now is everything clear?” They all agreed, however reluctantly. “Make sure that hood covers your face, Karak. Can’t have them recognising you.” Habib pulled the hood up over his head as Karak did the same and passed his rapier to Heather.

“You two be careful. We will wait here for your sign of success.” Karissa said coolly. Habib could not see her eyes in the gloom, but he had the feeling that she was watching him more closely than she had to.

“Sabres. These are girly-man’s weapons, if you ask me.” Karak sighed as he got to his feet and adjusted his sword-belt. “I can’t wait to get an axe back in my hand.”

“Enough chatter. Now we make our move.”

~ * ~

The trip back towards the central tent was uneventful. Silence still reigned, only tempered by the occasional breeze from out of the west. At one time Habib thought that he suddenly smelled the stench of rotting flesh, but in an instant the smell was gone. That undead army is still out there, still marching in this very direction, but I can’t focus on them now. Have to take out the source.

And then they were marching up the hillock to the tent.

The sound of voices and of raucous merriment met them about halfway up, and the light from inside the tent spilled a good ways out past the flaps. The two guards that Habib had seen earlier were still here, their eyes fixed on him and Karak as they ascended the hill like dogs picking up a scent. When they at last came to the tent, one of the guards stepped to the side to block them.

“What do you have to report?” he hissed in a voice that was so dry that for a moment Habib wondered if he had been the muse when the Thirsty River was named.

“Quiet. Too quiet. I feel as though something’s out there.” Habib replied calmly. He kept his face at an angle, so that most of it was lost in shadow despite the bright light from the tent.

“By the Gods, man. I feel the same way.” The guard replied. “You seen Dereck and Yousef, by the way?”

“We saw no one. That’s the reason why we’re here. Something ain’t right.” Habib hoped that the man would not press for more details.

“Go straight to the man, then.”

“We will.”

“Hey.” Karak suddenly spoke up just as the guard was moving out of the way, “That bitch still in there?”

A crooked smile broke the guard’s otherwise emotionless face. “Yeah. Can’t find her man, so I hear. Seems as though he’s out in the camp somewhere having some prime fun with another woman.”

Karak snorted but did not reply.

The guard moved aside and Habib and Karak strode forwards and into the tent. It was an opulent place, more luxurious than anyplace Habib had ever been in all his life. About two score men and women lounged about, drinking, smoking and fondling one another; all seemingly totally unconcerned about whether or not Monday came on a Tuesday.

He gave the place one rapid sweep and found her. Jala was standing at the back of the place, before a taller man of medium build and a bald head. The woman really was gorgeous, so much so that Habib could have almost forgiven Cyn, had he not known what she really was. She and the bald man seemed to have been arguing, but as one they turned to Habib and Karak. All noise died at that instant, as though the entry of the two undercover warriors signalled some stroke of doom.

“You two. Escort the lady here to the River. Make it quick.” The bald man said curtly and loudly.

And before either Habib or Karak could react, Jala was striding towards them and then past them without so much as looking at them properly. Habib paused for a moment, nodded at Karak and then followed the demon-woman outside.

With another nod and a feigned sigh to the guards outside, Habib and Karak continued back down the hillock and eventually caught up with Jala a little ways past the foot of the hill.

“This way.” Habib said, trying to make his voice deeper. He could still remember his experience back in the abandoned town in the desert, and he was sure that if Jala saw his face or heard his voice, she would recognise him immediately.

“You heard your master, boy. Make it quick.” She hissed, folding her arms and settling into a quick walk between them.

Habib stole a glance at the younger warrior, hoping desperately that the fool boy would not do anything rash. They virtually had their quarry in their hands, and Habib would not have this opportunity slip out of his grasp.

The trio passed through the remainder of the camp between the hillock and the River unmolested by all except a feeling of building tension. Still no one presented themselves out of the darkness, and when they eventually reached the bank Habib stopped and looked around quickly. The place was empty, save for them. Habib took a glance at Karak, realised that the man was watching him also, and grasped the hilt of the sabre.

“He isn’t here.” Jala cursed, looking out towards the far shore. “They’ve taken him, haven’t they? That man will see why it is not wise to double-cross me.”

She would have continued, Habib thought, had not the blade of his sabre been suddenly pressed against her neck. He held her around the waist in a death-grip, forcing her body tightly against the armour that encased his. She stopped breathing for a moment, as Karak rounded on her, pressing his sabre dead into her chest.

“Your time has come, demon. Now is your time of reckoning.” Habib hissed.
Jala let out a breath, but did not try to move. “So you are real. I dreamt of you. You want to kill me? Why?”

“You’re one of the reasons why my brother is dead.” Karak said in a strangely even tone. “You’re the reason why Bones, Heavens and Tsuki are all gone. You. A goddamned demon.”

“What would you do if I was to tell you that I was powerless? And that there existed a threat right here in this camp that, if left unchecked, would bring about the destruction of Tyria?”

“I would say that you are only buying time.”

“Do not think so highly of yourself!” Jala chuckled. “I would have killed you all already if I could. But I can’t, so I must sue for my life, which is oh so much more valuable than yours.”

Karak pressed his sabre deeper, which brought a pained grunt from Jala. “I don’t need to hear anymore of your bullshit, woman. Now, make peace with whatever evil made you.” Karak pulled back his hand for one final strike.

“The one who calls himself Pister has your brother.” Jala said quickly. Karak froze as though turned suddenly to stone. “His name is Farrion, isn’t it? I’ve heard Pister speak to a woman who says that Farrion is in her control. He is raising an undead army throughout the world, and not for Cyn. He has plans of his own.” When no one replied she continued hurriedly. “Cyn has the real power. I was only able to draw it from him; refine it and use it. Pister somehow realised this, I fear.”

Raising an undead army? By all the Gods, that is what we saw! Can it be that this demon is telling the truth?

“You have met a part of this army, have you not? I can smell the scent of death upon you, old man. And I can sense the touch of Pister in you, Karak of Egilos. You aren’t the only occupant in that body, aren’t you?”

Karak set his jaw. “Where is my brother?”

Jala shifted against Habib’s body as though she was only trying to get comfortable. “He died, did he not? And passed through the Underworld. From what I could tell, he is in northern Ascalon, amongst a mustering of a huge undead army. I think he may even be one of the commanding officers. Death can change a man in many ways, I’m afraid, as I’m sure you understand.”

Gods! “Tell me more of this, now.” I have to get rid of this woman. That much is clear. But what about this threat she’s speaking of?

“She’s full of lies, Habib. Let’s just cut this flow of crap right now!” Karak hissed, raising his voice dangerously high.

“Don’t be naive. You will need me if you desire to stop this Pister fellow. I do not know what he is, but believe me when I say that eventually I will find out. There are two seats reserved for those that are to rule this world, and Pister’s name isn’t on any of them.” Jala replied in that quick tone of hers. She sounded sincere enough, but coming from a demon that meant absolutely nothing. “Don’t you want to see your dear brother again?” she cooed at Karak, suddenly changing her tone. “Don’t you want to wrestle him from Grenth himself?” When Karak did not reply she continued. “I’ll make a deal with you both. Spare my life and I will not only help you regain Farrion, but I swear that I will make you great men when our time to rule comes to pass.”

Habib looked across at Karak. The big warrior seemed to thinking deeply, though his eyes were fixed on Jala’s.

“Farrion gave his life so we could stop you. Letting you live would be like cursing his memory!”

“Why bother with memories when you could have him here in the flesh? Why leave him to rot as a mindless servant of Grenth when he could be here standing at your side?” Jala was openly pleading now; all bets were off and the look in Karak’s eyes was one of murder. “Listen! Cyn doesn’t know just how powerful he is. I awoke the fire within him, but he needs me around to keep it in check. With us separated he is a walking weapon, a danger to himself and everyone around him!”

“I agree with Karak, demon. We don’t need you. We’ve handled threats to this world before, and we will again.”

“You f**king idiots!” Jala screamed as Habib’s sabre slid across her neck.

Unreal Cyn · May 20, 2008, 05:02 AM // 05:02

Onto the next chapter! Also, feel free to check out the new music video over at rivencrystal! Chapter 33.

Face to Face to Face

It was the coldest night he had ever felt, so cold that it was a wonder that snow or hail was not raining down around his body. The area was much quieter than it had been a few hours ago, but still the grunts of the Charr echoed back and forth ever so often, reminding him that this was not just a walk in the park, but a walk in a park filled with Charr and undead.

Farrion glanced at Lucretia on his left. The woman was holding a torch aloft, dispersing the darkness, even as her eyes pierced the way in front. She moved coolly but there again the Mesmer detected a hint of maliciousness that belied her appearance.

“He fell down here,” Vinessa was saying, motioning to the dark backside of the pyramid they were approaching. “He fell so far... but he was still alive. Barely.” She sounded as though she were on the verge of giving up hope.

“Do not fear, my dear,” Lucretia said, smiling and resting a hand around Vinessa’s shoulders, “We shall find him and nurse him back to health, won’t we, Farrion?”

“Of course.” Farrion replied, almost too quickly. Lyssa, guide my eyesight. Save me from all illusions! When I find this man... this Heli, what will she plan to do with them? She’s undead, more than me. And Death changes people. Gods. Tsuki and Heavens. What did this woman do to them?

The area was bushy and peppered with rocks. Farrion gave the place a good look in the light of his torch, but he could not see any sign of anyone or anything. The bush over to his left a little ways from where he stood seemed to have been disturbed recently, but nothing was there now.

“Where did you say he was, Vinessa?” Farrion asked as he turned towards the woman.

But suddenly something sharp and hot was pressed against his back, forcing him to stop. A rasping, sickly voice came over his shoulder:

“I wouldn’t move, if I did you.”

Farrion’s muscles froze and he glanced across at Lucretia. In the time he had taken to give the place a cursory glance, the woman Vinessa had rounded on the other Mesmer and had a wicked-looking dagger pressed deeply into her neck. Farrion could not be sure, but Lucretia did not look particularly bothered by it at all.

“Who are you people?” Farrion asked. Gods!

“Doesn’t matter. We know what you two are. And we know that whatever wunna up to it ain’t no good. We ain’t got nuttin left but to avenge our slain guildmates.” The man’s voice was cold; like a man who has truly lost everything and with no hope that he was going to remain alive for anytime longer.

“Oh dear. And I was just about to enjoy the night.” Lucretia sighed. She licked her lips, “Cryp’angishe.”

Farrion felt Mesmeric energy suddenly spike from the woman and before he could react Vinessa hollered out in abject pain and crumpled to the ground in throes of spasm. While she was still falling, Lucretia turned and spoke more arcane words. As the last syllable left her lips a huge dark shape fell upon the man behind Farrion, and as the Mesmer jumped clear of him, the shape enveloped him entirely, muffling his screams.

And then the screaming stopped.

“Interesting assassination attempt, yes?” Lucretia said as she moved to stand beside Farrion and look down upon the still shaking bodies. “Shall we kill them, or keep them as pets, my dear Farrion?”

The man called Heli had fallen within the sputtering circle of light from the torch that Lucretia was still holding. Farrion could see his face clearly, and for an instant, recognition washed through his psyche. For an instant the man on the ground almost looked like the spitting image of Karak, albeit a little darker in complexion.

“Is something the matter?” Lucretia asked. She was studying his face closely, as though searching for some lurking trace of humanity.

By all the Gods. Who is this man? It could have been coincidence. After all, Farrion had lost count on the number of men that had almost looked like him throughout his travels. But try as he might, he could not shake that feeling of recognition; that feeling of déjà vu. He had met this man before. But where?

He bent down over the man and took a closer look. His clothes were more rags than anything else, and the rest of his body were free of any devices save for a small, non-descript ring on his left middle finger. Farrion took a breath and lifted the man’s hand for a closer look.

The ring was gold, and on its face was the image of an axe. It was a House image, remnants of the noble families that had at one time prospered throughout Ascalon. Such rings were not easy to come by. Farrion let go of the hand and got back to his feet. He recognised that symbol. He recognised it because the same symbol that was upon his jade ring, the ring he had given to Karak before Death had taken him away.

Lyssa. He’s from my House. He’s from my family. He looks like Karak and wears the House ring. What else could he be?

“Well, Farrion? Shall we kill them? I think they will serve us better as servants, yes?” Lucretia pressed.

“Servants. Yes.”

“There you two are.” A gruff, non-human voice said out of the darkness.

Farrion looked in the direction of the voice and saw a knot of Charr approaching them. At its front was Redeye, fully armed and looking just about as vicious as a canine could look. His guard-complement surrounded him, carrying torches.

“Just out having fun. We caught some of your prisoners. They tried to kill us, if you can believe that.” Lucretia said, giggling. “Why do you seek us, Redeye?”

“Orders from the Master. We march tonight.”

“Tonight?” Farrion repeated. By Dwayna, how can I stop an army like this? I need time to think!

“Yes. We head directly for Ascalon City, killing everything in between.” Redeye explained.

“Was there any reason given for the swift march?”

“No.”

She took Farrion’s arm. “Then let us prepare for the journey, Farrion. You are eager, yes?”

Farrion glanced at Heli once again. Then man was still unconscious; his body and mind still reeling from the Nightmare that Lucretia had conjured upon him.

“Of course I’m eager, Lucretia. Let’s show this world just how powerful Death can really be.”

Lucretia smiled and was just about to reply when a loud sizzling noise filled the air. Everyone looked up and before Farrion’s eyes a thin line opened in the air many feet above them.

Slowly it widened into an oval pool of shimmering light and suddenly two shapes – two persons – fell from it. One of them landed flat on the ground, but the other landed feet first. His eyes were wide and staring, his hands clenched at his sides as though looking to do battle. Blood soaked his face and clothes and the snarl upon his face made him look like a beast straight out of the fires of nightmare.

Everyone took a few steps away from the two people, even as the portal closed shut above them.

“I am Cyn.” The man rasped in a voice so warped as to be almost unintelligible, “God of this world. Now bow and receive me!”

Shock whipped into Farrion like a physical blow to the groin. Such power radiated from the man that Farrion could hardly think straight. He tried to form spells in his mind, but he could not bring himself to focus. Cyn! By every God, Cyn! Oh, Dwayna, what happened to him? How did he get here? What…what…? Distantly Farrion realised that he had fallen upon his knees. And as he looked around in disbelief he saw that he was not alone.

“Good.” Cyn laughed in a voice that was not his own. “You shall serve me well enough, after this world is cleansed of the pestilence of humanity that rots it to its very core.”

Farrion felt himself falling onto his face as Cyn’s maniacal laughter drowned out all other sound.

Unreal Cyn · May 24, 2008, 06:55 AM // 06:55

Another chapter more or less right on time. Hope you enjoy it! Chapter 33!

Revealed Hex

It had been so goddamned easy.

All the luxury, all the guilds, all the lives lost; they had all been worth it and more. All the manipulation, all the spells and feigned worship had all had their benefits. This life was like one giant game of chess, and he was the master player. He invented the game, after all.

The noise all around him had died down to a murmur, intermingled with the slow plucking of a lyre and the soft sighing of a flute close at hand. The musicians looked to be completely absorbed with his art, so much so that it seemed that nothing else existed for the men save for the strings and the octaves.

Around inside the tent everyone listened in rapt attention to the music; to the crescendos and cantos, losing themselves on a journey that whisked a listener from the Desert to Kryta and beyond. It was truly a wonderful piece these two men were playing. A masterpiece.

Just like all of his plans.

The necromancer had been one of the most rewarding of his fruits. Each day playing at the man’s fear had brought him ultimate satisfaction, each day teasing him with the beauty of a woman who had died long ago giving added benefits. But the satisfaction had been bittersweet. Everything had wanted to go wrong out there in the Desert, when Ja’al – now Jala – had been released. Even now he could not fully understand what happened out there, but it did not matter now. Everything was as he wanted it.

Cyn was gone and Jala was powerless. Beautiful but powerless. Just as he liked it.

A movement at the entrance flap brought his mind back to matters close at hand. Looking up from his desk he saw Jala enter the place, walking unhurriedly. It was about fifteen minutes since she had been gone – she must have given those two guards gripe searching all over the place for Cyn – but for some reason she did not look angry. Either she was really unbothered, or she was hiding her feelings exceptionally well.

“Did you find him?” he asked, trying to keep the disgust out of his tone. He had been planning this night for too long, now. Too long to be interrupted by some woman, demon or not.

“I found something else.” She said coolly, approaching him at an easy pace.
The musicians did not change their melody or their pace, but at that moment it seemed as though the music itself changed; deeper, slower, moodier.

She stopped before his desk and dropped a pair of shackles onto the polished wooden surface. They jingled and rattled like iron bones and sent a strange shiver down his spine.

“Looks like Karak managed to escape, Pister.” The demon-bitch said. Her tone remained calm and virtually expressionless, but her eyes spoke volumes enough.

“What? Where did you find these?” Now the music stopped playing. “Speak!”

“The middle of the camp. The bodies of the guards you sent with Karak are there too, hidden behind some boulders. I reason the warrior had assistance.”

“Am I to assume that this assistance was you?” Pister hollered, rising out of his chair like a sand-wyrm.

Jala frowned and rested her hands on her hips. “Look at the chains, you fool. Someone worked a rust incantation on them. That’s an elementalist spell, if you didn’t know. And why would I free Karak? He is nothing to me.”

Pister stared across at the woman for the better part of a minute. Is she lying to me? He thought to himself. Demons always lie. But in every lie there is a kernel of truth. He knew this because he had been practicing lying from the day he had been conceived. She’s powerless now, anyhow. Can’t hurt to cover all of my bases.

“You!” he shouted at a group of about seven men to his right. “Muster the others and execute a full-scale search throughout the camp. I want Karak found and beaten. Is this clear?”

“Yes, Master.” The men responded in one voice as they rushed out of the tent. Ah, Master. It still felt good to be called that.

“Do you know where Cyn is, Pister?” Jala said moments after the men had left. She had not stopped staring at him. He was sure that she did not even blink.

“I told you already – I don’t know. He’s his own man, apparently, and does not report to me.”

“I have another question for you, Pister.”

“What now, woman?”

“Do you fear Death?”

Pister halted in his reply. Do I fear Death? “No, woman. Why should I?”

Only when the last words left his mouth did Pister suddenly realise that something was very wrong. At that instant his very flesh seemed to burn, his clothes charring to black ash. The desk before him ignited into a brilliant and searing flame, driving him backwards over his chair and into the carpeted floor. He rolled and jumped to his feet as quickly as he could and immediately realised that the entire tent was on fire.

The women and the remaining Scarab guards were all screaming as flames surrounded them on all sides; engulfing them with a voracious eagerness. All the furniture, the carpets, the musical instruments and priceless artefacts were burning. He was burning.

Jala was still looking at him with an unconcerned expression on her face but then her countenance melted into a smile. “We’re both going to die, Pister,” she said. “But you go before me.”

“How?” Pister hissed as he stared incredulously at his charring hands. You’re powerless! How is this happening?!

Jala snorted, turned and hurried out of the burning tent.

Pister fell once again to his knees, driving his fists into the ground on either side of him. No one attacks me. The Ritualist opened his mouth and began chanting the words that would give him his revenge, even as the tent collapsed inwards, killing everything and everyone still alive in the inferno.

Unreal Cyn · May 31, 2008, 03:38 AM // 03:38

Don't worry folks, this story is soon coming to an end! In the meantime, here is Chapter 35! Please enjoy!

Vengeful Was Karak

The burning tent lit up the night sky as the unnatural flames towered and curled over the camp. The silence was banished by frenetic screaming and loud shouts echoing through the night, as men hurried to regroup and extinguish the flames.

Karak could feel the heat even from where he stood, a good ways down the hill and standing behind an outcropping of rock. The others stood around him in the immediate area, all of their attention riveted on the burning tent and its environs.

Damn, that Habib’s plan went better than I thought it would. He thought to himself, flexing his arms. His muscles still felt partially numb and somewhat weak, but that was not going to stop him, not now.

“Such a beautiful fire, isn’t it, my love? Doesn’t it remind you of that day in Ascalon?”

Dana. I was beginning to think you weren’t there.

“I am. And I’m not going anywhere. We’re together now. That’s all I ever wanted.”

And Pister dying is just an added bonus, right? Distantly, Karak could almost not believe that he was talking to someone lurking in his very mind – or some such like – but he was beginning to not question things and just accept them as they were. When one lived in Tyria, there were some things one just did not question.

“Pister, dead? Can’t you still feel him, Karak, pulling at our strings? He’s not dead. Fire can’t kill him.”

That fire is Heather’s doing. She said that only the sun itself was hotter than it. Very soon no one would even guess that something existed up there on that hill. There’s no goddamn way anyone could survive that!

“Watch and see, my love.”

“You poisoned her?” Heather’s voice snapped Karak out of his musings. She was talking to the old man, leaning forward as though he was telling her some bedtime story.

“Got it from a sample of Bones’ blood. He contracted a disease in Cantha. Terminal. No known cure.”

“By the Gods, Habib. You gave her a poison to which there’s no cure? I thought you told her that you would cure her when all this is over?” Karissa said.

The old warrior shrugged. “Kill two birds with one stone.”

Man, he is one serious son-of-a-bitch. I think I’m actually staring to like the guy. Karak thought to himself.

“I’m glad that you’re feeling better.” Karissa said, walking up to him with an unreadable expression on her dark face.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Karak replied curtly. He had never spoken to the woman before and barely knew anything about her save for the fact that she was some sort of abominable offspring between humans and Forgotten.

“Many who get lost in the Desert never return with their minds intact.” She continued, keeping her voice low and casting a glance in Habib’s direction. “I don’t think any one of us will leave this place in the same condition we came in.”

Karak took a seat and leaned back against the boulder behind him, running his hand slowly in the sand beside him. “That’s for sure.”

Karissa joined him on the ground, keeping her billowing clothes wrapped closely about her body. “I think that there is something that I need to tell you, Karak.”

Her voice had taken on a sudden urgent tone that drew Karak’s attention. “What?”

“The Forgotten left many places of power throughout this Desert. Many areas where their ancient arts still exist. Many places where they can still intervene in human affairs. We stumbled upon one – an abandoned town – when we were looking for you.” She paused and licked her lips; slowly and deliberately. “I had a vision there. One that only one of my profession and my... mixed heritage... can have.”

She paused this time for so long that Karak thought that she had finished speaking altogether. “What vision is this?” Don’t leave me hanging, here.

She took a deep breath. “I saw your brother dying.”

“He’s already dead.” Karak snapped violently.

Karissa shrugged. “So you say. There are other domains than life and Tyria, Karak. In my vision there was a Resurrection Signet.”

Karak cocked an eyebrow and sucked his teeth. “Those things are myths, woman. They do not exist.” Resurrection Signets. Fabled things to draw someone back from the grave. Blasted Old Wives tales.

“So were Forgotten, at one time. Many myths were once truths, Karak. But you must pay heed to me. Your brother did not die a regular death. Something called him back for some purpose, and even now he exists somewhere as a different entity with different desires. I saw him die... again. By the hand of someone you know. I could not see the person’s face, but it is someone you know very well.”

Although Karak wanted to tell Karissa that she was talking utter bullshit, some part of him whispered to him that her words held some kernel of truth, if not entirely true altogether. But Farrion is dead. I... saw him... die. That was not entirely true either. The last things he remembered of that terrible time underground were the writhing masses of dryders and Farrion’s distraught voice telling him to flee. Could he have survived? With a Resurrection Signet? Where would he get one from? Does that mean that Heavens and Tsuki could have made it, too? By the Gods, was Jala telling the truth?!

The warrior turned to look at Karissa fully. “You’re trying to tell me that Farrion is still alive and that there’s no way I can save him from some fate you saw in a vision?”

Karissa lowered her gaze and looked back towards the burning hillock. “I’m telling you what I saw, Karak. The Forgotten forced us into certain deals when we were in that town. They want Ja’al dead – as do we all – but for their own reasons. They created her, after all. They know what she may be capable of.”

Farrion is still alive. Sweet Dwayna. Still alive. To the Underworld with the Forgotten! I want to see my brother again! “Did you see where he was? I need to get to him.”

“I don’t know where he is, Karak. But if you remember nothing else, remember this: everything comes with a price, even knowledge.”

Karak’s senses perked up as Jala finally reached the others. Karissa fell into silence as both of them looked up towards her. Strangely enough, the dark demon-woman looked terrified, as though she expected the very earth itself to rise up and suddenly swallow her whole.

“Well done.” Habib said curtly. “For a moment there I did not think you would return.”

“What did you expect, you asshole?” Jala snapped, “You poisoned me when you cut my neck. Even now I can still feel it working its way through my body. Do you think I want to die before I fulfil my purpose? Not likely!”

“Good to hear it.”

The demon-woman crossed her arms beneath her breasts and looked back over at the burning tent. The unnatural fire still blazed as powerfully as it did when it had started, and all the attempts of the Scarabs to extinguish it were failing miserably. There was a sudden burst of flame, towering high into the night sky like a beam of light, and then all the fire vanished, plunging the hill and most of the camp into the darkness.

Karak grabbed his scimitar as a chill shivered down his spine. What the hell? A look at Karissa told him that she was thinking pretty much the same thing.

“Watch and see.”

A low moaning suddenly came to Karak’s ears. At first it sounded as though it came from just beside him; just next to his left ear, but slowly the moaning grew until the sound came from all around – everywhere at once. The air died and the temperature dropped, even as Karak could hear Habib whispering out orders.

In seconds Heather’s glowing mist had surrounded them, pulsing with light but still not as bright as it used to be. The sudden darkness that had taken over the camp seemed to be dampening the light, gnawing on it as with malicious intent. But in what light there was Karak could see fear plastered on everyone’s faces, save for Habib who looked as grim as ever. And save for his own face, of course. A little darkness can’t scare me.

The moaning continued to whisper across the camp, for a moment reminding Karak of that narrow corridor back under the desert, where they had been attacked by zombies. The memory unsettled the big man greatly and his eyes darted about the environs, fully expecting to catch sight of the undead bastards yet again.

“By Melandru.” Karissa whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

“Afraid, aren’t you?” Jala said suddenly from right beside Karak.

Karak turned to look at her with weapon in hand. How the heck did she get there so fast?

“It’s good to be afraid.” She continued. “Afraid of Death himself.”

From out in the distance across the Desert a thin beam of blue light shot up into the night sky, for a moment illuminating the camp with crystal-clear clarity. Karak studied the beam for a moment, and then the stench of rotting flesh slammed into his nostrils like a physical blow. The muffled sounds of marching footsteps crunching dried earth drowned out the moaning and suddenly Karak realised what was happening.

“Wraiths! To me!” Habib whispered-hissed, raising his sword in the gloom.
Everyone clustered around the old man, weapons drawn, including Jala. She looked very nearly scared out of her wits, and Karak could not blame her. If he was someone else – someone less than a born warrior – he might have been afraid as well.

“Zombies, Habib?” he asked the old warrior.

“Worse, Karak. We have an entire undead army on our hands.”

“Shit on a biscuit. So what’s the plan?”

“We must destroy the source.” Karissa said, inclining her head towards the general direction of the hillock.

“He can’t still be alive!” Heather replied. “Nothing could survive phoenix fire. Nothing!”

The earth rumbled beneath their feet and then from the hillock there burst several twisting arms of chain, curling and whipping about in the air. They carried a ghastly, bluish hue, like that beam of light across the Desert, and each one seemed to be moving of its own accord.

“Did you honestly think that you would get away from me, Karak? Did you think that Dana would get away? Did you think that any of you would?” A terrible voice sounded in Karak’s mind.

For a moment the warrior’s vision blurred, and his head ached with the pain of a thousand needles.

“Every sheep returns to the fold. Those that refuse will die. The entire world will die. I am the Master!”

The hillock erupted into riven shards of earth and stone, and a huge, dark shape rose from the ruin, towering over the camp like one of the gods of old. Karak gritted his teeth against the pain as he rested his gaze on the large figure and realised with a growing sense of horror how uncannily similar the thing looked to the giant demon the Wraiths had faced down beneath the Desert.

But then as the stench of the undead grew, as the pain in his head intensified, fire once again burned in his veins. I’m coming for you, Farrion. Wherever the hell you are. Nothing will stop me!