Curse

Unreal Cyn · Mar 16, 2006, 04:46 AM // 04:46

Hey everyone, I decided to try my hand at a fan fic and here it is - the first chapter. It is based around characters of some of the members of the guilds I've been in over the months. I wasn't sure which site I should post it, but I'm trying here for now

Comments and crits are most welcome. Now sit back and I hope you enjoy!

Copyright Stuff: All the writing below is original where everything is concerned save for the GuildWars world of Tyria and their related characters. Please don't distribute this story or make any other copies without my express written permission. Feel free to save it to your computer, once you give due credit please. Please read the terms and regulations of Guru on respecting the posts of others. I still retain all the intellectual property for the writing, as the terms of Guru allow.

Crystal

And as, in sparkling majesty, a star
Gilds the bright summit of some gloomy cloud;
Brightening the half-veiled face of heaven afar:
So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud,
Sweet Hope, celestial influence round me shred,
Waving thy silver pinions o’er my head.
~ John Keats ‘To Hope’

Khamsin

Light burst through cloud, great arms of luminescence reaching towards the earth. He raised his arm and shielded his eyes from the glare and prepared himself for the onslaught of heat that would soon follow. The air was dry and windswept sand gnawed at his face and bit its way through to his elbows, fingers and toes. He stepped back under the cool haven of his shelter. The palm and fingers of the great hand now above him protected him from the sun – ever it reached skywards – vainly grasping for the home of the gods.

Sighing, he stooped down low and once again examined his small collection of treasures as they rested in orderly piles near the base of the great hand. His gloved hand moved through them swiftly, pieces of gold and silver, odd artefacts and an assortment of large jaws. They were all useless, save for the cash, but he liked to have them with him, they reminded him of battles fought, and the reason why he was here. There was nothing on the horizon, nothing but empty, barren hills of sand and the half-imagined apparitions of men that seemed to trail him.

Moaning he rose and stretched, looking out once more towards the horizon. As usual, nothing met his eyes. This was odd. Cursing, he sat down next to his treasures and took one of the artefacts into his hands. The egg-shaped item rolled in his palm, and the eye looked at him beneath a cover of glass.

“Strange little thing,” he murmured, “An eye in the desert.”

A gentle, arid breeze swept through his little haven, sending irritating amounts of sand flying onto him, forcing him to wrap his cloak about his face. On it laid the Red Phoenix, soaring from the midst of a storm. It was on the reverse side, so that it would not reveal him against the canvas of golden sand. The thought of it brought back memories of green fields and flowing rivers, fruit trees blossoming in fine spring and cool breezes in summer. But that place lay far away, in the distant past of his mind’s eye.

Suddenly his eye whipped to the east, and he beheld her again, as she moved deftly over the sands, heading for the large mesa that lay some ways north. Shorter but longer than Augury Rock, the mesa was the only thing besides the fallen statues of great men and women that broke the scenery of endless, rolling desert. Ruined buildings, riven rock, smoothed by sands and time, and fallen statues littered the area around the mesa. In centuries past this place must have been the centre of some ancient civilization. A small, almost indistinguishable doorway led into the depths of the mesa; leading to places he had no immediate intention of seeing.

“Ah, there you are, stranger. You won’t long escape me,” he breathed dryly.

Deftly he packed his possessions, gathering them in his small backpack. After taking a quick draught of water from his canteen, he was off, darting down the hillock. His feet hardly made impressions of the sand, and it looked as though his prey left none at all. Curse her! She was moving impossibly fast, making him feel as though he were running backwards. The shifting sands and the searing heat did nothing for him.

Gods, I wish I were a couple shades darker. Then I would be able to stand this cursed heat.

In a matter of minutes his prey had neared the mesa, and already she was beginning to enter into the pool of shadow that it cast before it. He was gaining ground, just one more blasted dune and he would be within stone’s throw of her. He rounded it and found himself in an empty land, totally devoid of sand dunes and free of statues. He suddenly realised that he was as exposed as a naked man in Lion’s Arch. Oh shit. He grabbed his cloak. Suddenly she stopped and spun around, as though she heard a noise, her eyes sweeping the entire landscape behind her. After a while she turned and continued towards the mesa, disappearing into the small, ruined doorway.
He sighed and cast his cloak from about him, staring after her as she vanished from sight. “Thank Melandru for this cloak!” He rose and scooted across the clearing towards the small door.

“Why did you have to go into this dark place, woman?” he muttered, looking inside at the semi-darkness. The door revealed a narrow hallway that cut deep into the mesa, running for what he hoped would not be a long distance.

The wind was really beginning to pick up, now. As he turned his face skywards, his body was pelted with fine grains of sand, each a minute crystal. A large, red-orange cloud was billowing in the west – the wind driving it towards the mesa. His clothes whipped about him viciously and the sand dunes disappeared into fierce waves of dense cloud. A storm was coming.

“Well, there’s no way back, now. Onwards then!” he said to himself. Breathing a prayer to Melandru, he turned and headed into the darkness.

~ * ~

“He isn’t here? What do you mean he isn’t here?”

“I’ve looked all over this accursed camp and I haven’t found a sign of him, Karak. No one seems to have seen him either.”

“The fool!” Karak grunted, stretching his legs and taking another long draught of beer. “He had better not be dead, or else I’ll kill him!” he swallowed and sighed, “By the benevolent gods of bad luck, what next, Farrion?”

Farrion studied Karak darkly and then threw himself on a patch of grass beside him. He glanced up at the sky and realised that evening was quickly approaching. Many travellers were bustling about the oasis, most coming with the hope of transforming the old port into a thriving city, some looking for lost treasure and game and a few seeking Ascension. He was there for neither – he came to rescue a friend.

Karak belched and swore next to him. “Our lives are quite a mess, aren’t they?”

“How so?”

“Ascalon’s in shambles and civil unrest in Kryta – both in which we played a part – our guild is fallen, and now Cyn is gone. Vanished without a damn word. By Balthazaar! What next? Eh Mister Neightswift?”

Farrion sighed slowly and fetched a cigar from his pants pocket. Lighting it, he settled to inhaling the richly flavoured smoke; reminding him of the frigid wastes of the Shiverpeaks, despite the warmth. They had come far, he and Karak, through much…much more than he was ready to think about. Why had Cyn run off so suddenly? Where was he headed? And most importantly, how by Lyssa did he manage to traverse four realms spanning the entire continent so damn quickly?

A gentle breeze stirred in the south, bringing with it a scattering of fine stones and sand. Heat was slipping away into the cloudless sky, and as darkness settled deeper around the oasis, the grasping fingers of cold stroked his face. Suddenly Farrion realised that nearly an hour had passed – his cigar lay spent on the grass beside him, torches were burning brightly on posts dotting the oasis and Karak was snoring loudly on his other side. The Mesmer stood and dug his foot into the large warrior.

“What the fuh ––.”

“Come on Karak, lets find somewhere proper to stay for the night. Something’s not right.”

“I’m quite fine where I am, prissy-man,” Karak snorted, massaging his eyes.

“Any other time I would have left you, but…something’s not right. There something like arcane power in the air, but I can’t put my finger on it!”

“Arcane what?” Karak sat up and considered his companion. “They’re lots of arcane people around here – Eles, Mezzes, Monkies, you know, even those ghost-men. Maybe you’re just picking them up.”

“I think not. I would know if it were them,” Farrion gazed skywards once again. Upon the ever darkening tapestry of ink tiny freckles of stars were appearing, and the dying moon in the east glowed a deep yellow. Mingled voices filled his ears, and the air felt cold and arid…yet…something seemed out of place. Being an avid student of deception and domination, Farrion knew when things went out of control. And tonight something is definitely out of control.

Three sharp gusts drove through the oasis, whipping the open flaps of the tents and the clothes of adventurers like flags. Men and ghosts rushed to secure the flimsy shelters, whilst others gathered their clothes about them and hurried into the growing darkness as torches wavered and failed.
Karak rose, his massive bulk towering over the Mesmer, and picked up his battle-axe from the ground beside him. Grabbing Farrion with a large, meaty hand he spoke quickly, “Let’s get the heck inside the main tent. There’s a storm coming.”

“Yes. One hell of a storm.”

Unreal Cyn · Mar 18, 2006, 08:00 AM // 08:00

Ok let me take the time out to thank all those guys that allowed me to use their characters in my story - Farrion Neightswift, Karak of Egilos, Pvt Habib and Heavens Hurricane. They're more and I will credit them as they appear, but those are the four prominent ones for now (of course there's Cyn Eaver, but that's my char

). Well everyone here it is, Chapter 2. This one is pretty lengthy, but I hope it keeps your interest. I plan to post a new chapter at least once a week from now on, probably bring the entire story to about ten or so chapters.

Lidless Watcher

The main tent hummed with activity as Men bustled to and fro like mindless ants. Light flickered madly as torches were abused by the harsh wind that found its way inside. Amidst the confusion that met his eyes, Karak saw a mostly unoccupied table near to the centre. The four central posts supporting the roof of this massive tent surrounded it on all sides.

He and Farrion started towards the table, with him leading and ploughing through the crowds, parting them like steel through flesh. Most of the faces he passed were blurs save for those of the strikingly beautiful women. They were not many of them this end of the world, but enough to have him grinning to himself when they eventually reached the central table. Farrion took a seat immediately, but Karak remained standing and deeply inspected his environs.

Besides the women, no one else stood out from the crowd. Warriors in intricately crafted armour walked about aimlessly, talking and laughing drunkenly. Elementalists of every type mingled at the tables, sharing thoughts and creating small examples of their element for sport. Small flares jumped and fizzled, ice suddenly formed from thin air and a tiny lodestone formed at the fingertips of a dark-skinned elementalist, drawing nearby forks and spoons towards it. A beady-eyed Necromancer brushed past him, hunched-back and hobbling more than walking to chat with a colleague at a nearby table. The Rangers were few, and none even bore a passing resemblance to Cyn Eaver. Not that Karak would have even had a chance to find him in a place such as this.

“That’s a really cool axe! May I see it?” Came a soft voice to his immediate right.

Karak whirled around – maybe a tad bit too fiercely – for the young elementalist that stood at his side bounded backwards in shock, and would have tripped over his own feet had he not grabbed onto the main post close at hand.

“Sorry, kid. Didn’t mean to scare ya’.” Karak said.

“Oh, um, it’s ok, fool,” the elementalist replied as he regained his vertical balance, “I just wanted to take a look at your axe there. Never seen any like it before!”

“You just called me a fool?” Karak’s eyebrow rose as he rested his right hand on the pure gold hilt of his axe.

“Yes…I mean, no! I didn’t mean like that, I just say it. It means nothing!” the young man stared at the axe as though any moment it would go tearing into his bowels.

“Then don’t say it if you don’t mean it, kid.” Karak unclipped his axe and held it out in both hands for the elementalist to see.

“That’s so tight, man! Where did you get it?”

“A very lovely demon-lady gave it to me as gift in the Fissure of Woe. It’s a long story so don’t bother to ask about it.”

The young man’s mouth hung open and he stared wide eyed at the massive warrior, whose arm was easily the size of three of his. Karak smiled and replaced his axe.

“What brings you to the desert boy?” he asked, turning his gaze towards the main entrance. The half open flaps shook violently, as though Balthazzar himself was trying to wrench them from their supports. The wind howled and screamed outside, and only swirling sand met his eyes as they strayed to the open space between the flaps. The storm was getting worse. And here I am, in a bloody tent.

“I’m searching for the Vixen’s Heart,” the young man replied, trying ineffectively to hide his excitement.

“The what?” Karak replied, bringing his gaze back upon the boy. He seemed closer, as did everything in the vicinity. The roof seemed lower – the ground closer. For some reason he felt claustrophobic, as though someone was scrying him.

“Well, we don’t know what it looks like exactly, but it’s legendary! Do you want to hear the story?”

Not really. Karak thought. “Umm, yeah, why not?” he said disinterestedly. His eyes went to the far corners of the tent. His feeling of claustrophobia was growing!

“Well, one day long ago there was a Forgotten. You know, those snake-things? Well, she fell in love with a human who was seeking in vain for Ascension. She won his heart and together they travelled the desert, looking for a way into Augury Rock. Then one day ––.”

“Shush!” Karak interrupted suddenly. He surprised himself, for his voice sounded muffled and far away, as though the words he just spoke came from another mouth. There was a noise, growing at the back of his mind, just out of the reach of consciousness. He could almost discern it if only…if only…. Suddenly it was gone. He grabbed the hilt of his axe and turned around full circle, casting wary glances on everyone around him.

Farrion was still at the table, trying to flirt with a nearby Mesmer, who blushed but only met his gaze occasionally. Others were around them, but their faces did not matter. Someone had to stand out…someone who was watching him, inspecting him. He unclipped the axe and held it in stance, throwing his gaze on anything that moved. There a sitting monk, whose long robes blew just a tad too irregularly…a Necro suddenly jumping in her seat as though bitten…a silent ranger stroking his Stalker’s fur in the wrong direction…. Karak gripped his axe tighter.

“By the gods! Where are you? What’s happening?” a salty river of sweat passed over his lips, and Karak realised that he was trembling and sweating profusely. Those at the nearby tables were looking at him queerly.

Take it easy, Karak. Calm yourself. No one’s watching me. There’s nothing strange here…only the storm.

Slowly, fighting against his own will, he took his hand off of his axe and turned to the young elementalist, who had paled noticeably. “Sorry, little man. I…I need a drink.” With that Karak took a seat opposite Farrion and drowned his uneasiness with a large mug of someone else’s dwarven ale.

~ * ~

Darkness enveloped the corridor before him, and it trailed behind him, consuming the ground inches from his feet. Cyn held his torch high, but ever the dark of the narrow corridor that he had found himself in from the doorway crept close to him, seemingly growing with every step. The corridor was silent and still, with the crackling of the torch and the throbbing of his heart the only exceptions. There was no roof here, or maybe there was, but he could not see it, or even feel the presence of one. If not for the floor beneath him and the close, sheer walls on either side he would have felt totally exposed; suspended.

He had been walking for hours, but ever the corridor wound on. He could not tell if it descended into the earth, but he assumed that it must have considering that this mesa was not that immense. I must be one hundred feet below the surface now! Lovely Melandru! When will I reach the end? But he did not even know if there was an end. He had simply followed a pretty young woman into a dark corridor.

“Damn fool!” he cursed under his breath. “Look at how I’m going to get myself killed over some woman I haven’t even met! By all the ––.”

In the blink of an eye, the corridor changed. The darkness around him evaporated like water in the desert and Cyn abruptly found himself in a dimly lit room – though what light there was seemed like sunlight compared to the darkness from which he had just emerged. For a moment he stood, perplexed. Before him stretched an immense cavern, larger than even his wild imaginings could have created.

The walls were gradually curving; meeting eventually at the roof so far above that it was lost to his eye, blanketed by mist that hung like clouds. Four huge, curved stalactites punctured the mist, like the brown teeth of a Rotscale. They seemed to form a pattern, but for now Cyn was at a loss. The great floor of the cavern was as smooth and black as obsidian, reflecting the roof like some ocean of glass. Formations like giant veins protruded from the cavern walls, crisscrossing in calculated design.
Several tall obelisks of varying designs rose from the ground, like menacing sentinels. They seemed to form a pattern also, but Cyn’s eyes were drawn to a lithe figure standing almost at the centre of the cavern, where a huge stalagmite broke the ground – the only one on the cavern’s floor. It was the young woman, and with his keen eyes, Cyn realised that she was manipulating the stalagmite in some way. She was too far away to see exactly what by Melandru she was doing.

Shoot her.

Cyn jumped and almost reached for his bow when he caught himself. What did I just think? Who said that?

Nothing replied to his mental question.

Cyn settled himself and tried to think logically, even though he had left that path behind years ago, on the day the sky rained fire and consumed the land, on the day when a man came back from the dead to destroy the world. Think Cyn, think! There is no one talking to me, it’s just my imagination! It always was overactive. Go down the path, keep silent, find out what she’s doing. Be calm, like an eagle.

Like a shadow, Cyn ventured into the cavern…and he froze, realising in shock where the dim light was actually coming from. Each obelisk was crafted from pure diamond and tanzanite, and they glowed faintly with some light of their own. The reflective obsidian floor captured the light and released it into the wide expanse of the cavern in tantalizing shades of silver and blue. So much jewels and precious stones lines the cavern walls themselves, that if Cyn could even get a bag full of them out of the desert, he would be able to purchase most of Lion’s Arch.

Kill her, while her back is to you. Do it!

Cyn kept his hand fixed onto the torch and his right rigid at his side. Those were not his thoughts.

He turned and rested the torch on the corridor floor behind him, in a small nook that would shield its dying light from searching eyes in the cavern. Then he made sure that his rare dagger was well strapped to his left waist. Upon its hallmark silver pommel cap laid the embossed figure of Melandru, lined with white gold. The pommel cap covered the blade, giving the impression of a long tooth, but removed would reveal a rich, glowing steel blade. Cyn gripped the dark hardwood handle and felt strength and vigour rush into his body.

“Into your hands, Goddess.”

Swiftly he descended the meandering footpath onto the cavern floor, his eyes fixed on the young woman some one hundred feet away. She was still focused on that strange stalagmite, oblivious to his presence. Now that he was at the bottom, he could see the jewels all too clearly. There were much more than tanzanite and diamond. Emeralds of a quality he had never seen, ammolite, pearls, topaz, amethyst, virtually every jewel on the face of Tyria had been crafted and blended with expert intricacy upon each obelisk.
Mother of Melandru! He almost reached out to try to pry the jewels from their place. He stopped himself when he realised that his hand was resting on the obelisk in front of him.

First things, first.

Cyn moved away from the jewelled obelisk and started for the central stalagmite. The sheer brilliance of the obelisks he passed almost froze him in wonder and awe. If this place was built by the same folk whose ruins now lay half buried in the sands of the Crystal Desert, they must have been great indeed.

In seconds he found himself behind a particularly exquisite obelisk, some twenty feet behind the woman. Her hair was in long, brown locks, so thin that they shifted and swayed like natural hair. She carried a green Ithas bow on her back and was dressed in similar garb as Cyn, but she was no ranger.
She was taking small articles from a bag at her side and seemingly placing them on the stalagmite. Upon the stalagmite was a small indentation, and there rested already several articles – golden bones and teeth, ectoplasms, swords from various places – but three spots were empty. From his position Cyn could make them out as a handprint, an irregularly shaped spot, for a pendant perhaps, and a small oval hole. This hole was in the centre of them all, and lined with the flowing script of some ancient tongue. Each letter seemed to have been formed with the utmost of care, and together they seemed to form a picture in his mind.

Cyn shook his head vigorously. How did I see that? She’s twenty feet away!
His eyesight was not at all bad, but to be able to pick out the small, individual letters on a cave formation from twenty feet away startled him. He was not an eagle. He could not have seen that.

Leaving speculation to some other time, Cyn went over his approach to the woman. He could not simply walk up to her and say hello. She would most likely have weapons on her and stab him out of shock – he probably would do the same in her position. He could make a noise, draw her attention, and then act like a lost drunk who had wandered into the mesa to shelter from the storm.

Or you could shoot her.

“No goddamit!” Cyn realised his mistake as the last word left his mouth in a frenzied shout.

Saox · Mar 19, 2006, 12:38 AM // 00:38

Impressive. This is the first Fan Fiction I have come across which didn't result in me saying "You suck," of course leaving that comment in my head.

There are a few writing errors (at least to me), that I have come across, and I'm pretty sure the proper spelling is "artifact," rather than "artefact."

Anyhow, I actually read this and whole-heartedly (is that the proper spelling?o.0) enjoyed it, which is rare. A decent fan-fic!!111? ohemefgee!!111one!!1

Also, as for replies, good luck on that, seeing as every story here tends to get many views, and zero or so responses.

But, other than that, this was very entertaining (yet Cyn has a very..corny way of talking), and I look forward to the third chapter.

Goats17 · Mar 19, 2006, 02:39 AM // 02:39

wow, you have an interesting way of writing. It's not bad............just.......different. I like it.

Unreal Cyn · Mar 21, 2006, 02:54 AM // 02:54

Alright everyone, thank you very much for the 100 or so views and thanks to Saox and Goats17 and my online crew for their comments! They're very much appreciated

For everyone's info, I use the British way of spelling, so you'll be seeing words such as 'colour' and 'artefact' and the like. But I hope that doesn't bother anyone

Now onto Chapter 3. It's very short - and I apologize - but tomorrow or so look out for the lengthy Chapter 4. Hope you enjoy it!

The Wind Carries Warnings

Farrion’s eyes had been locked onto him from the time he saw him sitting in a corner of the large tent where much light did not reach. Persons moved hurriedly to and fro in front of him, but none stopped. He was a warrior by the looks of his huge arms and legs, but his armour was covered by a dark cloak that was clasped at his neck, and his head and face were hidden in a pool of shadow.

The howling storm ripped at the tent, pulling hard at its supports. Still, it was amazing how the sand blasted, sun burned tent could last this long in the wild storm. Every now and then, the sound of tearing fabric filled the tent, sending Men and ghosts to repair the damage.

Besides the obvious mystery surrounding him, Farrion had noticed the man, for amidst all the building panic and bustling within the tent, this man seemed at total peace. Almost like a ranger, though without the quiet anticipation. This man looked so unbothered, that the storm raging just inches behind the thin tent at his back could have been nothing more than his imagination.
But something else seemed out of place about this man.

No hexes or ambient magics swirled in the air, but Farrion felt a very real pressure on his sensitive mind. It was not, however, the work of a Mesmer – he was sure – it was something else. In his gut he felt that this man had something to do with it. Even though he could not see his eyes, Farrion also knew that this man was looking at them – him and Karak.

Surely Karak’s minor episode attracted some stares, but those had all disappeared and Karak had fallen asleep. This man continued to look in their direction, so bold that even his chair was turned towards them. He wants us to know that he’s watching us.

“So you’ve been to the Forge?”

Farrion pried his eyes off of the dark corner and returned them on the pretty woman to his right. Flirting with her had paid off so far, though at first she really was not paying him any mind. It was hard to keep his mind off her, as it was equally hard to keep his imagination off of the man in the corner. Was he some sort of assassin? Someone with a grudge? Farrion swallowed his fears and locked eyes once again with the woman.

“Yeah, about a year ago. I passed through on my way to the desert,” he sighed and smiled, “How about you? You don’t look like a Krytan, far less a Dwarf.” He was drawn to her striking sea-blue eyes, even though some of her long, jet-black hair cascaded about her face.

“True,” she giggled, brushing away strands of hair, “I’m from Ascalon – what used to be Ascalon. I lived in Rin, but after its fall, I left with the Prince when he was exiled.”

“Oh really? It’s been a long time between the ruins and the desert.”

“Most certainly,” she sighed and rested her hand on her elaborate mask that laid on the table before her. In “It’s been much too long. I miss Ascalon.” Her voice quietened…and a shrill cry tore through the tent.

All chatter suddenly ceased and every eye swept towards the flapping entrance, behind which the storm raged. For a second it seemed that the utter silence reigned, but the howls and wails of the storm returned with fierce vengeance.

“What by Balthazaar was that?” Karak asked suddenly, all sleep gone from his face. He looked about almost frantically, hand on the butt of his axe.

Everyone else in the large tent stirred as well, and nervous chatter filled the air. People exchanged terrified glances, and those close to the entrance collectively backed away from it. The sound of steel being drawn from leather scabbards came from several places in the tent. A warm gust of air rushed into the tent, thrusting the flaps aside and revealing the pitch black outside.

But for some reason, Farrion’s blood ran cold. To him, that scream was not merely a scream. Recognition froze him in his chair, and even the loud beats of his heart were muted in his ears. That was Cyn’s voice.

Goats17 · Mar 22, 2006, 12:35 AM // 00:35

No matter with the british spelling, I'm in Canada. We spell that way too.

heavens hurricane · Mar 22, 2006, 09:21 PM // 21:21

sup cyn just wanted to post so you know at least one of us is actually reading this lol

Unreal Cyn · Mar 24, 2006, 03:59 AM // 03:59

Well everyone, I'm back with the latest chapter. I was going to post this last night, but these past few days have been very hectic, including several project deadlines and the failure of my internet access for one day. *sighs* Anyway, I'm still alive and its soon going to be the weekend. (Can't wait for the Preview Event

) Thanks for all your views and thanks Heavens for reminding me that you guys are reading this

So with no further ado, here is Chapter 4. I hope you enjoy it

The Weavings of Sand

For a light skinned guy, Karak did not think that Farrion could grow any paler. But there he sat, sickly white almost like snow, trembling as if seeing a ghost other than those that milled about around him. He looked dishevelled, quite unlike the powerful Mesmer he had grown up with.

“Farrion, talk to me man. Snap out of it.” Karak said, waving his hand before Farrion's face.

Farrion blinked and focused his eyes not on Karak, but past him. Slowly Karak followed his companion’s gaze, and saw nothing but a dark corner of the tent. There were no tables there, no persons standing and talking…there was nothing but the empty corner. Nothing interesting at all. He looked back. Farrion looked like a man stricken with pain, and his breaths came in quick bursts.

“Man, Farrion, what the hell is wrong with you?” Karak snapped his fingers, "Farrion?"

“Are you alright?” the pretty woman next to Farrion asked. Her face looked genuinely concerned, but her eyes were unreadable.

“Farrion!”

“Yes!” the Mesmer suddenly snapped out of his trance and his eyes focused on Karak, “I’m fine; just…shocked from hearing that scream.”

“What could have made it, I wonder?” the woman mused, glancing in Karak’s direction.

He gave her a smile and a wink. “Probably just the wind or one of those ghosts. They’re lots of things out here that can scream like that.” He glanced back at Farrion, who was frowning, “Don’t think so, Mister Neightswift?”

“It’s possible,” the Mesmer turned in his seat, sweeping his gaze towards the door. His right hand lay on the table, but it was trembling.

Poor guy’s scared half out of his wits. It was only a scream! We’ve gone through much, much worse than that.

Karak stretched and rose from his seat. “I’m taking a walk. You two care to join me? It’s better than just sitting here waiting for this tent to get ripped to shreds over our heads.”

“I’ll come, I need to stretch my legs,” the lady Mesmer replied, easing out of her seat. When she stood, her eyes came level to Karak’s. She was easily his height and would have probably made one hell of a warrior if she were a bit thicker. Damn, woman, you have some long legs to stretch. Her fine dress hugged her snugly, but it looked rugged, better suited to travel than most of the other Mesmer clothes he had ever seen.

“Coming Farrion?”

Farrion did not reply at once. His eyes had strayed to another shadowy corner of the tent far away. It was almost pitch black, for the nearest torch was barely burning, hanging on a post some ten feet away. The corner seemed to be devoid of any life or activity, but Men and ghosts did not go near it for some reason. Maybe because it was dark and had no tables or pretty women, or maybe it was something else.

“Farrion!”

The Mesmer snapped out of his trance and turned reluctantly back to Karak. “No, I’m…I’m going to stay here and relax. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Alright man. Are you sure that everything’s okay?”

“No. I’m not.”

Karak sighed and rounded the table, settling into a casual stroll towards the entrance. Outside would most likely be too dark to see anything, but he just wanted to try to see if the other tents had been buried in the sand yet. The woman joined him quickly, staying close and glancing at those that passed her with just a hint of aloofness. He noticed that she had left her mask at the table.

“Are you seeking Ascension? And oh yeah, I’m Dana,” the lady Mesmer said, grinning at Karak, “I should have introduced myself earlier.”

“The name’s Karak, beautiful, and no, I’m not seeking Ascension this time around. I’m looking for someone.”

“Are you now?” something flashed in her eyes, and a sudden feeling of dread washed over Karak. As quickly as it had come, it was gone.

Where the hell did that come from? He shook his head dismissively and eyed a necromancer that quickly passed in front of him. Must be that bastard trying some new spell.

Karak followed the darkly-attired necromancer of indeterminate sex until it stopped at a table some ways off. It laid several archaic idols and pendants on the table, all of which were greedily taken up and examined by the surrounding necromancers. Suddenly, as though Karak had thrown a rock at it, the necromancer turned on its heels, eyes locking onto Karak’s.

The warrior had a fleeting thought of looking away, but Karak met the necromancer’s gaze, until the scrawny thing turned away dejectedly. You don’t scare me, whatever the hell you are.

Karak soon stopped some feet away from the entrance, stooping and shaking the sand out of his boots. He gazed at the entrance. The storm was still raging outside in the blackness of the night. No stars or the moon could be seen – as though a giant, black screen covered the sky.

“I’ve never seen such a storm out here before. It’s almost unnatural.” Dana said from next to him. She was gazing outside as well, but for some reason Karak had the feeling that her attention was not on the storm at all.

“Me neither. I’d hate to be out there, and I’d rather be sheltering in someplace sturdy, like a fort.” He replied, replacing his boots and standing.

Dana laughed and stepped closer to him, “Well, tents are all we have here.” Something flashed in her eyes again – a distant look – but piercing. Karak suddenly froze, his attention glued on the captivating sea-blue eyes of the lady Mesmer. He felt his mind gradually going numb; his limbs refusing to respond to his will. He felt his heart slow, each beat resonating throughout his body like the pounding of a drum. Dana eased even closer, pressed her face against his and whispered into his ear.

“Looking for someone are you? So am I. But I’m all alone out here…I could use your company.” She brought her hand to his face and massaged his cheek and the two weeks worth of stubble that covered his chin and neck. As her arm moved, Karak’s eyes were drawn to the small, almost invisible tattoos that crisscrossed her lower neck, like tiny veins. They seemed to run all the way down from her neck, disappearing beneath the V of her high-opened necked dress.

“Wuh…what…are…you doing to…me…?” Karak struggled to speak, his very mouth felt numb, his mind; empty. He wanted to look away, to blink, but his eyes seemed only to widen and bulge.

“Who is he? This Cyn Eaver? Why is he here? Do you know of that which he follows?” Her lips failed to move, but her voice filled every space in Karak’s mind, displacing his very thoughts.

“No…I…don’t…know…him…why…no….” Dana’s eyes tore into his and he felt as helpless as a Charr in deep water. The warmth of her skin was more like a fire, searing the flesh on his face.

Karak willed his hand to go for his axe, but it kept still. Every course of action that he could try to think of vanished before his mind’s eye before he could take hold of them. This lady Mesmer was taking them all…she was reading his mind…she was controlling his mind. All around him travellers walked, giving the two of them nothing more but a mere glance. To them, Karak and Dana were nothing more than young lovers, caught in a passionate embrace.

“I need your aid, Karak…I need you.”

“Stuh…stop it! Let…me…go!”

“No Karak. You will lead me to him. You will lead me to them!” A small stiletto suddenly appeared in Dana’s grasp, its blade radiating a pale yellow glow. She reached up to his neck and rested the blade against the left side. The blade was cold – extremely cold – in stark contrast to Dana’s warmth. “You will help me, Karak.”

In one swift motion she sliced Karak’s neck, severing veins and arteries like hot butter. He recoiled mechanically, but only a soft gasp came from his mouth. As though time itself were mired in clay, Dana brought the blade to her left hand and cut deep into her wrist, blood spouting from it immediately. Quickly she grasped his neck, and, holding open his bleeding wound, covered it with her sliced wrist.

Liquid fire coursed through Karak’s jugular. The minute tendrils of flame reached up his neck and into his head. His vision immediately grew blurry, and his head burned like the lighted butt of a torch. He felt his body descending into fits of violent spasm, as though his very insides wanted to wrench free of his body. He wanted to scream…but all that came forth was a quiet sigh.

“Drink it, Karak! I will make you mine!” Dana whispered. She was pressed against him, pinning him onto the wooden pillar, but for all his massive strength, Karak could not budge her. Rich red blood all but covered her wrist, streaming down her hand towards her elbow. Yet her face was ecstatic, and a burning desire filled her eyes.

By Balthazar! I have to stop whatever this is! Oh my god! I –––

All thought fled from Karak’s mind, for at that instant, several things happened.

From the blindness at the corner of his eye a shape sped, and a bloody rose, cradling an arrow head, blossomed on Dana’s exposed chest. Her expression turned quickly from ecstasy to surprise…and from surprise to stark horror. She fell off of him, crashing to the sand in a crumbled heap.

Karak grabbed his neck and fell to his knees. He could feel blood trickling through his fingers, over his trembling hand, running down his chest. She had cut a major vein – his life-blood was draining from the wound. Dying. His vision swirled and suddenly it felt as though he were weightless, slowly rising out of the tent. He saw his own body, in throes of spasm and Dana lying not too far away. His sight of them vanished as masses of rushing feet kicked dust into the air. Floating upwards he saw the tent itself grow smaller and smaller, soon to be consumed by the raging storm.

With his last ounce of consciousness, Karak knew that he would be dead soon. Still the fire burnt at his innards, tearing at his muscles, ripping away his last hold on reality. So, even as two more blazing arrows sped from the darkness, he collapsed to the ground; vision failing, feelings numbing, hearing muting – his blood staining the bright golden sand of the desert.

Unreal Cyn · Mar 30, 2006, 01:50 AM // 01:50

Well I'm back after about a week of stress. My apologies for the wait, but I got this chapter to a good length, and I hope that it keeps your interest. Thanks again to everyone for reading my story, and for the 200 or so views so far

How was Cantha by the way? My stay there was wonderful

Darker Shifts

Karak talking. Karak rising. Karak walking away.

Everything flashed before Farrion’s eyes in still frames, as his mind reeled from sudden shock and uncanny fear. Cyn screaming…but from where? He slowly looked towards the dark corner again. The red light of the nearest torch glinted off of steel armour, like a staring eye peering from the darkness. Farrion swallowed hard and averted his eyes. There sat the man, who blended so well with shadow. He had moved – from one end of the tent to the other – but how by Lyssa he did it Farrion could not fathom. Maybe he ran there after the scream…but no, I didn’t see anyone moving quickly.

Farrion took a deep breath. Whoever he is, I doubt that he would do anything in this place. He’s just watching us. He can’t be a threat…at least not yet.

Reaching into his small pouch, Farrion took out a rolled sheet of paper and spread it before him on the table. Under the wavering light of the overhead lamps, an aged map of the Crystal Desert dimly came into view. The Mesmer placed a finger on the marked location of the Amnoon Oasis and traced a path towards Augury Rock.

“Seven miles.” He muttered. His voice quivered, but Farrion had to restrain himself from taking another wary glance at the man in the corner.

Cautiously bringing his head closer to the map he studied the intended course through the desert, following in what he hoped was Cyn’s footsteps.

“I hope to Lyssa that he isn’t out in this storm. Hell, he’s a ranger, most likely he would be in some cave sheltering somewhere.” Then something struck him. It was an unlikely sign, and he did not know why at first it caught his eye. The small design of the cardinal points at the fringed corner of the map seemed to stand out; beckoning to him.

The storm had blown in from the south-southeast, bringing with it the voice of Cyn. Augury lay more to the east. He cannot then be at Augury…but then where? This desert is huge and merciless for both the hunter and the hunted. And that scream was indeed unnerving. I have to get to him quickly! What the hell could he have gotten himself into?

Farrion tapped his finger on every marked location southeast of the Oasis, until the map came to an end. There were only two – Hero’s Audience and the Dunes of Despair. Dunes was the farther away, and surrounded on all sides by twisted Enchanted armours, Elementals, griffons and terrible sand wyrms. If Cyn was on his way there, he would surely have to have one hell of a reason. Or a death wish.

“Hero’s may be more likely I hope.” Farrion mused. A snort brought his attention quickly back to his companions at the table. A small-built ranger had just taken Karak’s seat, and he was staring intently at Farrion. Clad in all shades of brown, the only exposed parts of his body were his eyes.

“Travelling, sir?” he asked coolly.

Farrion did not reply. He could not feel any energies emitting from the ranger, no pressure, no anxiety. This man was only a ranger.

“Yes,” he said eventually, starting to re-roll the map.

“Good luck to you. This weather’s not going to change much for the next couple of days.”

Farrion paused and stared at the ranger. Those dark brown eyes revealed nothing of his thoughts. It seemed that he was speaking simple fact, in the cool, collected manner of his profession.

“I see. Well, I just have to adjust to suit then.”

The ranger let out a soft snort and clasped his hands on the table. “I can guide you through the desert in times like these.”

“They’re hundreds of other travellers here, why would you be interested in me?”

“Because you’re the only one I saw with a map. That says that your quest is urgent, for even in this tense hour you must think of it.”

“You sure as hell assume a lot.”

The ranger’s lips curved into a tight smile, “Are my assumptions wrong, then? Surely you do not need my talents?”

“Why are you so eager?”

“Eager?” In a lower tone he continued, “I need gold, Mesmer. For gold I would be eager to do almost anything. You cannot know the trials through which I have persevered, and from which must now recover.”

“Care to elaborate?”

The ranger snorted again, and slowly took of the glove of his right hand. Farrion tensed immediately and a Migraine incantation came to his lips in seconds. Before he could utter a word, the ranger’s glove was off. Farrion’s breath suddenly caught in his lungs. Fleshless fingers wiggled from the butt of the ranger’s arm, with only small wisps of blackened tendons keeping the bones together. Forming a fist, the ranger brought the hand slowly down onto the table, and smiled at Farrion.

“This is only a small part of my troubles.” He sighed and put the glove back on, “Most of my body is like this, the result of some…mistakes…in my past. With circumstances as they are, I need to get some gold, and work for it.”

Farrion let his hold of the Migraine slip away and managed to pry his eyes off the ranger’s hand. “You have to work for your gold eh? Can’t steal it?”

“No. That was the arrangement.”

“Arrangement with whom?”

The ranger chuckled softly, “It doesn’t matter. Now, seeing that you are in urgent need to travel – even in times such as these – will you hire me as your guide?”

Farrion stared at the ranger intently, trying hard to decipher his thoughts. He was not easily deceived, but the times that he was were unforgiving and near-fatal. This ranger seems honest, even though his arm is nothing but bone and he seems to be recovering from one hell of a past. A guide eh? Well Karak is good enough, even though he hasn’t a good sense of direction…but we can’t afford to get lost tonight. Or any night.

“Well, Mesmer? I am nothing more than what you see. No gimmicks, no deception. So don’t worry. I’m not a bandit either – I plan to work for my gold.”

Deception.

Farrion rested his hand on the hilt of the small, short sword that was strapped on his shirt beneath his jacket. He took a quick, wary glance at the far, dark corner of the tent. Still, the red eye peered out at him, studying his every move. Turning back to the ranger, he took out a small leather bag from his backpack and rested it on the table. The shock jarred the contents, and a soft jingle of gold coins reached his ears.

“Five hundred gold, if you can get my companion and I to Hero’s Ascent safely and within two days.”

The ranger’s smile broadened. “Your companion? Do you mean the big drunk, or the lady? Or both perhaps?”

“The drunk.” Speaking of which, where is he? I hope he didn’t try to head outside.

Farrion turned in his seat, scanning the grounds near the entrance. Not seeing the imposing warrior, he brought his gaze back on the ranger and relaxed. The brown clad man was rising from his seat, collecting his gear from next to him.

“How soon are you planning to leave, Mesmer?” he asked as one of his bags dropped from the table onto the sand.

“As soon as humanly possible. As you correctly said, my quest is urgent.” Farrion replied, returning his sack of gold to his backpack.

“Indeed.” The ranger bent to pick up his bag and as he rose he froze suddenly, his gaze fixed behind Farrion.

In a heartbeat the tent erupted in chaos. Shrill screams and shouts filled Farrion’s ears, temporarily deafening him. Two explosions sounded some ways behind him, throwing pounds of sand into the air. The Mesmer whirled around and bounded off of his seat, the words of a Phantasm on his lips. His hand went swiftly back to his sword as he took in the scene near the entrance.
Dust shrouded virtually everything, but through that sheen he could make out several dark figures moving about in a state of mass confusion. He could start to feel ambient energies about him – several threads accessing numerous powers, from Earth to the healing touch of Dwayna. Something was happening, but he had no clue what. Drawing his blade he backed towards the table, strafing around it, looking for any sign of Karak and or the beautiful lady Mesmer.

An arrow suddenly whizzed past his head. He ducked after the fact and turning, saw a short ranger about to draw his bow and fire another arrow. At him. Farrion just had the time to utter a defensive spell when the arrow tore through dusty air towards his face. The iron tipped shaft froze inches from his face, slowly bent around it and went hurtling into the sand behind him. As quickly as that arrow had come, three more followed. Farrion threw himself to the sand, grabbing up handfuls and throwing them in the direction of the ranger. Sand could not stop arrows, but he could hope to be unseen for a few seconds at least. Rising to a pouncing position he bounded into the sheen of dust and confusion just before him, as two more arrows buried themselves in the spot where he had just been.

Flying sand burnt his eyes and choked him. He could make out several shadowed figures moving around him, but none materialised as Karak. At any moment he felt that another arrow would come tearing into his back. Good goddess! Where the hell is Karak? Why did that blasted ranger shoot at ––

Farrion’s thoughts were shattered as a large figure crashed into him, sending him flailing into the ground. His short sword slipped from his grasp and was lost in the haze of sand. He turned onto his back, gasping for air, and tried to focus on the man that stood behind him. The sound of steel sliding against leather gently touched his ear, and the shadowed figure raised his arms, clutching the hilt of a massive broadsword. Its blade seemed to be glowing, radiating a pale yellow hue.

“Lyssa’en ik’ – Conjuré Phantasm!” Farrion hollered, trying to push himself away from the man.

A glowing figure suddenly appeared around the man, coiling its many ghastly arms around him, draining the very essence of his life. The man screamed and dropped his sword, trying to get his hands on the parasite around him. Farrion rose and bounded away from them both. That spell isn’t going to last much longer. We have to get the hell out of here!

He kept stumbling forwards, not really seeing what was before him, and feeling the strain of several interwoven energies upon his mind. Suddenly he stumbled over something hard and fell flat on his face, taking mouthfuls of sand. He got up slowly, exhausted. His heart was racing and hammering on the inside of his chest, and his breath was coming in short, painful gasps. His back still trembled from the large man’s blow. Gods! That must have been the man from the corner! Shit! Karak, you bastard! Where the hell are you?!

The Mesmer groped about blindly as sand continued to bite into his eyes. Then it occurred to him, slowly, that all this sand could not simply stay airborne for this long. Someone was commanding it.

“Karak!” he screamed, “Karak!”

His hand clutched something sharp. He drew back quickly, but nothing came after him. Cautiously he extended his hand again, and gingerly touched the tool before him. This feels like a sword or something. Good. Something I can defend myself with. Finding the hilt he grabbed up the weapon and brought it closer to his red, watering eyes.

It was not a sword at all, but a fine axe. He was gripping the golden hilt of one of the most priceless weapons he had ever seen. Shock rippled through his body as his eyes went back to the large obstacle he had fallen over. Below the haze of sand it was surprisingly clear – steel armour crafted in the Fissure, covering a large body bred for war. There lay Karak.

“Oh shit!” Farrion crawled over to his companion, and stiffened in shock. Blood saturated the sand beneath his neck, and still more trickled from a deep slice in his throat.

Pulling one of his thick gloves from their place beneath his jacket, he pressed it against Karak’s wound.

“Karak! Talk to me man!” the warrior’s eyes remained closed, and his mouth hung slightly agape. “Oh f**k! Karak!” a large knot gripped Farrion’s throat, and his breathing descending into painful wheezes.

The sound of shaking steel met his ears. Farrion turned and saw the shadowed warrior rushing towards him, broadsword in hand, the blade of which seemed to repel the very sand that hung in the air. Farrion stood rooted to the sand, the words of his incantations frozen in his throat.

The first swipe sent Farrion crashing backwards into the sand. He staggered to his feet, feeling the hilt of Karak’s axe in his hands. The shadowed figure was nowhere to be seen. Still Farrion kept his ground, looking about him quickly, even though his head felt like a balloon about to burst and his eyes felt as though they were entirely covered with coarse sand. He felt a trickle of warm liquid running down his chest. He glanced down briefly, knowing already what it was. His own blood. The warrior’s broadsword sliced the skin of his chest apart. Any deeper and it would have ripped his very chest plate asunder.

The wound burned him, but he had little time to consider it for there was the warrior again, his broadsword leading the way towards Farrion. The Mesmer brought the axe into the one defensive stance that Karak had taught him. In the back of his mind, he knew it virtually no use. He had no experience in melee and his voice was suddenly lost. The ambient energies continued to assault his mind, numbing it into submission.

In an instant the warrior was two feet from Farrion, his eyes blazing through the sheen of sand, his sword slicing through air and sand alike. He seemed to slow just as he reached Farrion, his sword sweeping even slower into his chest, tearing through clothes, flesh and bone alike, ripping Farrion in two.

But that was just an illusion, a figment of the Mesmer’s desperate imaginings.

A blazing arrow darted past his ear, burying itself in the charging warrior’s forehead. A sudden explosion ripped the man’s head apart like a bursting watermelon. Shards of bone and blood erupted from the gash of what remained of his head, and the massive body tumbled to the sand, the tip of his glowing broadsword falling upon the tip of Farrion’s sand covered boot.

Xceran · Mar 30, 2006, 02:48 PM // 14:48

I take a bow.

Great writing dude, look forward to the next chapter!!

Minus Sign · Apr 01, 2006, 06:09 PM // 18:09

Remember: your characters are the situation. And when your characters become the situation—become the story—for your reader, you’ve created a bond between them. Then we worry with their fear, love with their passion, and rage in sympathy to their anger.

Particularly in the early chapters, you create vivid pictures that catch the reader’s eye. But in doing so the characters shift into the background. You ride a raged edge between too much exposition and just enough. But you pull it off marvelously.

Unreal Cyn · Apr 04, 2006, 03:49 AM // 03:49

Time is surely flying isn't it? Just a while ago it was December, and now it's what, April? Well, anyway, my sincerest thanks to your comments and your views! I'm glad that you folk are enjoying the story

. Now its been a few days and I'm now able to post another chapter. It's not as lenghty as the previous one, but I hope that it keeps your interest all the same. Enough of the intro already! Onto chapter six!

The Storm’s Anxiety

He just had enough to time to swear before a psionic wave ripped through the protective obelisk and sent him reeling backwards, rolling like a wooden doll over the obsidian floor. He staggered to his hands and knees, gasping for breath. The wave had knocked more out of him than just his balance. Slowly he turned his gaze back towards the stalagmite, and found that the woman was no longer there. She had vanished like an imagined oasis in the desert.

Fool! You had your chance!

He shook his head again. Those thoughts were coming to him with ever increasing fervour, with an urgency that sent chills jack-knifing down his spine. The thoughts made out this woman to be some sort of monster, some sort of enemy, some thing that had to be destroyed. Yet only one problem remained. Those were not his thoughts.

“Calm Cyn, just remain calm,” the ranger reminded himself, stumbling to his feet and drawing his fine dagger.

He surveyed the utterly silent cavern, from black floor to misty roof, and all of the strange obelisks in between. There was nothing at the entrance cavern, and nothing at all moved about between the ranks of the obelisks. It seemed that everything around him waited tensely for his next move as much as he waited for theirs. I won’t keep you waiting for long.

Gripping his dagger tighter, Cyn made his way, step by step, towards the giant stalagmite at the centre of the cavern. Nothing assailed him, nothing made a sound. However a presence hovered in the air, like some omnipotent eye, piercing everything with its gaze. The lithe woman seemed to have merged with one of the obelisks nearby, studying him. For some reason Cyn did not like the idea of being scrutinized so. It was a foolish notion, thinking that someone could merge with stone…but what if? What if this beautiful woman was not a woman at all, but some demon straight from the halls of the Underworld? What if this was some sort of trap? What if –– I’ve gotta stop thinking. It really isn’t helping my peace of mind right now.

The presence seemed to grow with every step he took towards the stalagmite, so overpowering that he could almost reach out and touch it. But there was something else that seemed to grow. A sense of beckoning, a sense of invitation, pulling Cyn gently towards the stalagmite. He felt it like a tangible pull on his hand, guiding him closer, closer…. He stopped himself abruptly. I don’t like this.

He threw himself onto the floor before the second psionic blast crashed into the stalagmite, inches away from his head. Flipping quickly to his side he saw a figure dash from behind an obelisk not too far off, moving with the speed and grace of a serpent. Do for do, pretty woman. Casting his right hand towards the speeding figure, he drew upon the raw fury of the elements.

“Pheonerzhul, Nix en Balthazar!” A raging phoenix soared from his outstretched fingers, spreading its fiery wings, and made a bee-line towards the woman. She was just about to get behind the shelter of a nearby obelisk when the phoenix caught her and swept her in flames onto a large monument further back. Screaming, she hit with a dull thud and a hiss, and lay motionless.

Cyn sighed and slowly got back to his feet, his gaze fixed on the strange woman. He made his way to her quickly, his footfalls quick and noiseless. That phoenix was not powerful enough to kill her, I hope.

It should have been – will save you a lot of trouble. Rasped a mental reply.

He stopped some ways off from her, studying her motionless body. She had landed in a sprawled fashion, her back to him and her body hugging the obelisk. The acrid smell of singed cloths tickled Cyn’s nostrils. He waited by the stalagmite for a few moments, yet she did not move a muscle. Even the rise and fall of her chest, which would be visible from his position, was not evident.

Congrats. You killed her. Finally.

Cyn fought back the thought and focused on the woman’s body. He continued towards her until he was standing directly over her. Still she did not move. He bent down closer, holding his dagger in a pensive grip. Another thought bounded into his mind’s ear, but it was overshadowed by a shocking sensation of being watched. His imagination conjured up an image of a huge eye, bearing into his back with a crippling gaze.

Holy Melandru! Something’s watching me…. He glanced back swiftly, and all that met his gaze were the silent obelisks and the ominous stalagmite.
He turned back to the woman and rested his hand on her shoulder. His heart leapt into his throat, but the woman did not respond. Gods! She’s probably unconscious…she has to be. Gently he turned her onto her back, and gasped.

Cyn had thought her to be beautiful from afar, but from this close her features were mesmerising, enchanting. Her locks were intricate examples of pure talent, as they gently hugged her face and danced about her neck. Even her body seemed to have been accentuated by the rough gear she was wearing. She was very beautiful no doubt, even though her strange grey eyes would seem out of place with her rich, olive skin. A split-second passed before Cyn realised the oddity of her eyes. Where there should be a pupil lay only a thin slit, like the eyes of a snake. But that was only part of the reason he had gasped. Her eyes were open – staring at him – and she was breathing calmly, as though she had just awoken from a blissful slumber.

The ranger jumped back, and she went after him, drawing a dagger from the proverbial nowhere. With the ease and grace of a lynx on the run, she brushed aside Cyn’s blade and drove her dagger into the palm of his right hand, impaling it on the cold obsidian floor.

“Ahh! Gods!” Cyn screamed, the sudden pain sending a fierce shock through his body.

“Now!” the woman hissed, “Why were you following me for the past seven weeks?!” She was not heavy, but her elbows and knees had quickly found Cyn’s pressure points – effectively pinning him to the ground.

“Ahhh! Shit!” He had taken blows and chops in many places before, but somehow, the pain in his hand was quickly becoming unbearable.

“Answer me, human!” She screamed, as her grey eyes blazed through dangling locks.

“How about…first…you take this damn knife out of my arm!”

She pressed down harder, and pressed her knees and elbows into Cyn’s chest, abdomen and legs, “No! You followed me to kill me! Are you some sort of assassin?”

“No, no. I…was…defending myself.”

“From what?”

“From you – you attacked me not too long…ago!”

“What?!” Bewilderment flashed across her grey eyes, but she did not ease up on Cyn’s hand. “I was running from you, in case you hadn’t noticed! How, by the gods, could I have attacked you?”

“You struck me with some sort of force…twice you aimed for me.”

“Bullshit! Force? I can’t do that sort of thing!”

“Then how do you explain that shattered obelisk over there?” Cyn asked, motioning with his head.

The woman glanced across at it briefly, and returned her gaze on Cyn. “There is no shattered obelisk, man, but the stalagmite looks as though it took a massive blow.” Cyn took a quick glance back at the way he had come. The woman was right. There was no shattered obelisk. She paused, “So, either you have some creditability, or one of us is as mad as a hatter. And I’m sure as hell it isn’t me.”

For a moment, Cyn forgot the pain in his hand. He had journeyed through many lands with many people over the years, and had studied the eyes of most. Not only could he tell what they were thinking, he could also almost always ponder on his answer before they worded their question. Now, however, he was at a loss. Staring into her alien eyes, he could tell clearly that she really did not know what the hell he was talking about – that she honestly was running away from him.

Something else had attacked him.

“You look puzzled, human, are you only now realising that you’re an insane, relentless stalker?! I should kill you right now!”

“Wait, wait, by the Goddess give me a second to explain,” Cyn ground his teeth together as the pain came back in a fury.

“Make it quick, I’m losing my patience!”

“You…have something of mine. Stole it a while…back. Goddess! Ah, umm, you stole it from me at the Temple of Ages. You left before I could get to you, so I have tracking you ever since.”

“What the hell! Do you expect me to believe that foolishness?!”

“Then…wuh…where did you get that Ithas bow strapped to your back, eh?”

The woman blinked in shock, “I took it from some poor fool…in the…Temple…. By the gods! How could you have followed me from there all the way here? And for what? A virtually useless bow? It can’t even kill a scarab! I only brought it with me because I thought I would need it.”

“That bow is important to me. We go far back.”

“You are insane Ranger! Have you nothing else to do? Shouldn’t you be fighting with your guild?”

“I have none, and I need none. Plus, you’re one of the most beautiful – though in a queer way – women I have ever laid eyes upon. Damn!" He swore again, "Nuh…now, if you don’t mind – seeing as to I’m not really here to hurt or kill you – please take this dagger out of my hand.”

The woman hesitated, staring long and searchingly into his eyes. Then suddenly she ripped the dagger from his hand and bounded backwards onto her buttocks.

“Ahhh! F*ck!” Cyn swore, “Did you really have to do that?!”

The woman was staring at him with her mouth hanging open, eyes wide, “What…are…you?”

For a second time, Cyn forgot the pain in his hand.

An indescribable sensation crawled up his spine, tingling his mind like the burning sensation of peppermint. In an instant, all of his senses were razor sharp, like at those rare times when one feels truly alive – he felt every breath, caught every scent on the air, felt every pulse of his veins, and a strange clarity heightened his vision. He felt something else – subtle tugs at his eyes and his insides. Something was changing.

You are going to regret not killing her, Cyn Eaver.

Unreal Cyn · Apr 07, 2006, 01:43 AM // 01:43

I actually had some free time this week, so I was able to finish not one, but two chapters...sweeet! Even though one of them is quite short. Oh and remember when I mentioned this story ending in about 10 chapters? Well...forget that for now

However, I hope everyone enjoys this and once again I thank you readers for you comments and your views! It has truly been an honour writing this! Now, forward through the gates of Chapter 7!

Into the Tempest

Farrion’s heart skipped so many beats that he felt that it had stopped, permanently. Sand still hung in the air and burned his eyes to near blindness, yet he felt no pain. He was too shocked, frightened and unexpectedly glad, to feel anything else. Just seconds ago he was evading death – now he was staring down at the dead, former bringer of his doom.

“Oh Dwayna, thank you, thank you!” he whispered reverently. Immediately he went back to Karak’s side, and covered his still bleeding wound with his remaining glove. Then, slowly, he turned in the direction the arrows had come, looking for the person with the perfect aim.

Out of the sand strode a huge beast of a man, with a dark cloak clasped at his neck. He met Farrion’s gaze with one of steel. For a gut-wrenching moment, Farrion’s legs gave way and he fell prostrate over Karak.

“Lyssa’en ik’… Lyssa’en ik’…” Farrion stuttered, but none of the words of his spells came to his lips. Nothing worthwhile could get past the growing knot in his throat.

“Come, Mesmer,” a sharp voice called, “We have to get out of here, as unlikely as that prospect seems.”

Pure confusion kept Farrion from replying immediately.

“Are you still alive down there? We have to move!”

Farrion snapped out of his stupor and slowly rose to his feet. The dark cloak marked this man as the one from the corner – the one who had studied them from the darkness. So that’s not him dead on the floor then. Oh hell! He looked up at the man, all six feet ten inches of him, and struggled to keep his gaze. He looked up at the man, all six feet ten inches of him, and struggled to keep his gaze. To say that the man’s stare was piercing was an understatement. Farrion felt impaled.

“Thuh…Thank you,” he said finally.

“Maybe some other time, Mesmer. Things are growing ill.” The huge man strapped his bow to his back and, stooping, grabbed the broadsword from the dead man’s grasp. He rose and studied it with a bemused look on his face and then returned his gaze to Farrion, “This is bad, Mesmer.” He held the sword, hilt first at Farrion, “I think you should take this, while I get your friend back on his feet. There’s a monk waiting outside.”

Farrion stared at the man, “Just who are you?” Strange energies were swirling about the huge warrior, energies Farrion could not recognise. He felt no anxiety, just a deep sense of urgency. Gradually his breaths returned to normal, but the knot in his throat was still there.

“Trust me now. Talk to me later,” he held out the sword again.

“I’m going nowhere with you unless you introduce yourself, man!”

“Didn’t you hear me? There’s a monk outside. Your friend has lost a lot of blood, and he’ll continue to lose it unless he gets some attention.”

“How do I know that you didn’t do this to him?”

“Look just behind you. You shall see the culprit, with weapon in hand.”

Farrion glared at the man, but then cautiously glanced behind him. Shock gripped him again as his eyes rested upon the lady mesmer who just moments ago had been sitting next to him, listening to his sweet talk. Her captivating eyes were open, but they saw nothing. Upon her sand drizzled face was a look of shock and fear, as though she had died quickly and unexpectedly. Rich blood streamed from her chest and her wrist, and in her right hand she clutched a bloody stiletto.

“Oh Lyssa!”

“All that glitters isn’t gold, eh? Now come. We must go.” The warrior rested the sword on the sand. He lifted the large mass of Karak with ease, placing him over his back like a sack of sugar. Without a look back, he was off.

Farrion grabbled up the broadsword, fumbled with it and the large axe in his grip, and then followed quickly. All about him the sounds of confusion and panic still kept strong, but he could not see anyone. Above all the racket came the cries of the storm, like the last, desperate cries of a man condemned to endless torture. Like Cyn’s cry. Farrion broke into a jog until he was side by side with the man.

“Damn! I’ve got to go back for my gear!” he cursed.

“Forget them. They have been taken care of already. Now hurry Mesmer! We haven’t much time.” With that, the man eased into a sprint, and moved like a breeze towards the sand draped entrance of the tent.

Farrion kept up the pace for a few strides, but eventually slowed. Endurance was not his area of expertise. Glancing over his shoulder he took in the inside of the tent for the last time. Wind pulled violently at every square inch, shredding the tent at its supports and ripping gaping holes in the roof. Screams and curses erupted from the masses all about, and Farrion knew that they must be trying hard to keep the tent standing, even though they were completely hidden by the airborne sand.

He wiped the sand and sweat from his face with his forearm, and turned back to the entrance…and to the storm that raged outside. “We’re coming Cyn. Somehow.” Then he ventured forward, through the door, and into the tempest.

Unreal Cyn · Apr 10, 2006, 03:12 AM // 03:12

Well folks I've been having a little free time lately and I have been reflecting on the advice directed my way so far. I've reached a turning point and chapter nine is already finished, so I think that I'm on track to finish this soon. Well lemme thank those guys who i based these characters on once again - you've been a great inspiration. Thanks again for you folks at this forum for reading this story and I hope you enjoy this latest instalment - Chapter 8!

Living Wraiths

Wind-powered sand raked into Farrion’s face as soon as he stepped into the cold night. He squinted and looked for the man, but he saw no one. The night sky was obliterated by soaring sand, and the tent whipped about frantically behind him. He started forward slowly, trying to pick out the man in the gloom, even though he was dressed in black. He stumbled forward in the strong gale, and then backwards, and then he lost all sense of direction. Oh my god! Where is this ––.

Suddenly a large arm grabbed him and unduly pulled him into the shelter of a small, wooden building. The door was closed behind him. Before he could think of hexes to cast, he realised the hand belonged to the man in the dark cloak, as he materialised under the dim light of a lone lamp hanging from the roof. Karak lay on a bedroll on the floor, and a small woman, wearing a similar dark cloak, bent over him. There was another person in the room, but he wore no cloak. Farrion immediately recognised him as the ranger who had offered him his services.

“Glad you could make it, Mister Neightswift.” He began, “I brought your gear – seems like you’re going to be needing it,” he motioned to a gathering of bags on the floor at his feet, “Now. You must be wondering what the hell just happened?”

“Yes. Yes I am,” Farrion swallowed hard when he realised suddenly that both the ranger and the woman by Karak carried wicked blades at their waists. He, on the other hand, was virtually defenceless – even with two weapons in his grasp. He sought for a spell, but still that damn knot prevented any from coming forth.

“Let’s start things off with a quick introduction, shall we? We are called the Wraiths,” he stretched the fingers of his right hand, fingers that, beneath the leather glove, were fleshless and scorched, “The girl is Tsuki, the warrior is Habib, and I’m…well, I don’t really have a name. Just call me…Bones,” he smiled beneath his mask. “We have a fourth member of our little group, but he’s…busy, at the moment.”

Again, Farrion tried to read the energies that saturated the air in the small room, emanating from all three persons, intertwining, forming intricate patterns of power all about. There was nothing familiar, but they’re sure as hell powerful. He moved his gaze upon the young girl, as she moved about deftly over Karak, uttering quiet incantations. From here, Farrion could not tell if his wound was still bleeding. However the large warrior looked deathly pale in the face, and he did not seem to be breathing.

He started for him, “Kara ––!”

The warrior’s gauntleted hand stopped him, “Easy, Mesmer. Let the monk do her work. Your friend will be fine.”

“He’s just not my friend, man, he’s my brother!”

“Relax for now. He’ll be fine soon.” The warrior replied, his dark eyes staring hard at Farrion. They showed no emotion, no feeling, almost no life at all.

“Now, Mister Neightswift.” Bones began again, “As fanciful as this may sound, we know the exact whereabouts of the one who you seek. Your guess of Hero’s Ascent is far off. He’s deeper in the desert than even I would imagine.”

Farrion slowly returned his gaze on the ranger, “How do you know? Where is he?”

“He passed through Amnoon four days ago. We only noticed him because we realised that he was doing the same thing as we were – following a strange young woman. One of our number went after them, and we stayed here to gather our thoughts and formulate plans. For you see, this woman – and I use the term rather loosely – is heading to do something that will shatter Tyria. We realised this just a few hours ago, the results of deep discussion.”

“By Lyssa, do you mean that she’s another Lich?”

“No. You see, she’s something a lot subtler than that.” Bones sighed and took a seat on the sandy floor, “Have a seat, Mister Neightswift.” As Farrion and the warrior joined the ranger on the floor, Bones continued, “For years our organization has been researching the legend of the Vixen’s Heart, have you heard of it?”

“No. I can’t say that I do.”

“Well, the name is very misleading, for this artefact is not a heart, neither does it belong to a Vixen. No one knows exactly what it is, but engravings in the oldest and most remote locales of the desert depict it as being an eye, about the size of a human eye, covered in glass or some similar material.”

“What does it do?”

“Apparently, nothing by itself. However, when grouped with certain other elements…it creates something that this world can do without.” Bones turned to a backpack near him and took out a thin book. Tossing it to Farrion, he continued in an easy tone, “Habib penned this from drawings at a desert ruin only yesterday. It was only when we delved into it that we realised our true predicament. They’re drawings, done by ancient desert-dwellers, in that book. Copied exactly. The last one is the thing, and a short description in an ancient tongue of what it is and where it came from. Habib translated that also.”

“The thing?” Farrion opened the book and leafed through the pages. Several drawings of a strange-looking eye, snakes, and other unnamed things with elaborate descriptions met his eyes, until he reached the final page. He gasped and slammed the book shut.

“Ah, my sentiments exactly. Too evil even for description. A demon, bred by the gods, raised by the Forgotten, ready for an entrance into our world.”

“The gods made that? And the Forgotten played a part? What? Why?” Farrion asked quickly. The image of the beast seemed to have been etched into the back of his eyelids, always appearing whenever he blinked.

“Yes, to create balance in the world, or maybe just to destroy the world for them. Then again, no one knows how they think. What I do know, is that we must prevent that girl from arranging the elements and activating that
Heart.”

“Do you know where it is? This eye…heart thing?” Farrion asked, suddenly, as a cold fear gripped his throat.

“Not exactly. But we believe that this woman is in possession of it. When she passed through Amnoon, with your ranger friend hot on her heels, a powerful energy rent the atmosphere. An energy that could only have come from the Heart.” He paused thoughtfully, and then leaned forward, “Our agent in the desert could get to her before she uses it, but it may be too late, especially with this unnatural storm. There is only one person now who is there to stop her ––.”

“Cyn!”

“–– But he has no clue as to what’s going on.”

“Oh my god! He’s the only one who could prevent this…thing…and he’s entirely clueless!” A deep shiver shook Farrion. The fate of the world rested in the hands of a lone ranger, whose sanity was questionable, and who had no idea that the fate of the world rested in his hands. “We need to rescue him!”

“Yes, that’s the idea. I’m very glad to stumble upon you two, as coincidence would have it. We would have left already had this storm not arisen, and missed you. For what we may face, we will need the aid of one of the greatest Mesmers of this age, and the most fearless warrior.”

“Maybe the Gods do not yet wish to destroy the world. They gave us a chance,” a sharp voice said from Farrion’s right. He turned quickly and met the steel stare of the warrior. It was the first time he had said anything in a while, but it felt as though he had not spoken in ages. A deep feeling of wisdom and self-confidence radiated from him, even as he sat coolly on the floor.

A tense silence followed. It shattered when a small figure bounded into the room, wrapped in a sand laden cloak. The character quickly cast off the cloak and sighed loudly.

“Ah, Heavens. Are we good to go?” Bones asked.

Farrion realised that the small character was in fact a young man, without even so much as stubble growing on his boyish face. His eyes looked frantic, but he moved with an evident weariness.

“I’m not going to do that again. No. Not anytime soon!” he said after searching for a spot to sit. He took a glance at Farrion and Karak and sighed again.

“Mister Neightswift, let me introduce Heavens, our little elementalist. He specialises in air, as was evidenced in the tent.”

“So you’re the idiot responsible for all of that damn sand!” Farrion growled, rubbing his eyes.

Heavens scowled at him as he sat down by the far wall of the room. “Don’t go crying now.”

Farrion automatically sought for a hex, but again that knot shut him off from the powers of Lyssa. I can’t understand this! A selective knot? One that allows me to talk but not cast spells!?

The monk rose from Karak’s side and took a seat beside Bones. She wrapped the dark cloak about her snugly and eyed Farrion suspiciously, “He’ll pull through. Lost a lot of blood…but not as much as should have been. It’s almost like, some of it…was replaced somehow…ahh, the point is, he’ll be alright. Back on his feet very soon, if not sooner.”

“Thank you,” Farrion’s words came straight from his heart. He and Karak had gone through too much for him just to be killed by some unknown – albeit very pretty – Mesmer. And they had gone through too much with Cyn to just be destroyed by some demon from the gods. As the storm raged around the small room, Farrion had the nagging feeling that everything was just about to get much, much worse.

“It’s up to you Cyn, someway or the other. Dwayna help him put a stop to it before it starts.” He muttered under his breath, “Or at least help us get there while there’s still a Cyn to save.”

Cygnus_Zero · Apr 10, 2006, 03:55 PM // 15:55

Nice work Cyn.

lordruss · Apr 11, 2006, 12:16 AM // 00:16

Quote:

Originally Posted by Saox

There are a few writing errors (at least to me), that I have come across, and I'm pretty sure the proper spelling is "artifact," rather than "artefact."

I actually think they are both acceptable

Unreal Cyn · Apr 12, 2006, 06:30 AM // 06:30

Well here is the second chapter that I managed to finish three days ago. I now got to polishing it, and its finally ready to be revealed. I'm going to be up to my neck in work for the rest of this week, but since chapter 10 is soon done I think I could ease that into a post sometime at the weekend. I left my guild recently and am looking to join another(the one where most of the folks whose characters I'm using are in), but so far no invite. *Sits back and sighs loudly*, at least I'm able to use the keyboard for typing instead of trying kill four KD warriors

. Chapter 9 awaits! I hope you enjoy it!

Of Men and Snakes

Cyn deftly smeared some herbs and hastily prepared oils on the gaping tear in his hand. He then firmly bandaged it with a rag from his small backpack, cursing as pain spiked through his arm. I’m such a fool! How could I just approach her and not think that she would attack me? Completely focused on his task he moved quicker and more efficiently than normal, but he did not notice it. Amidst his vulnerable actions, the grey-eyed woman never moved. She simply sat there, gazing at him as though he were some sort of beast from another world.

Cyn took a long draught of his troll ungent and then turned his gaze on the woman. “Again I ask, was that really necessary?”

“You haven’t answered my question either.”

“I told you before; I’m just here for my bow!”

“Not that question.”

Cyn took a deep breath and released it in a long sigh. What am I? What the hell does she think I am? “I am a ranger, born and bred in Ascalon, before its fall. I dabble in the Elements as well. That’s all there is to me.”

“Liar!” she hissed fiercely. For a moment Cyn thought that she would pounce on him again, but she kept herself seated tensely, as though she were fighting against some unseen will.

“Then what the hell would you have me say?!”

“The truth. You’re not telling me the truth!”

“Then tell me this – why by the gods are you even doing here? It’s remote, no one lives here, and I’m sure as hell you weren’t following someone who stole your bow!”

The woman sat back as if struck, her eyes fading into a distant look. Then she brought her gaze back fully upon Cyn, piercing and cold, “I am here to save the world.”

Cyn chuckled. Isn’t that what they always say? “And why would the world need saving?”

The woman rose and looked down at him, “I think you should just leave.”

“And go where? Outside? Into that storm?”

She flinched and her eyes whipped to the stalagmite. “I have a job to do…and it’s not yours. You should not be here.”

Right. Now I’m very confused. “Look, missus. I just came for my bow. So if you don’t mind, I’ll take it and leave.” He approached her warily, extending his left hand. “And good luck with saving the world.”

But she did not move a muscle. She simply stared at him, with conflicting expressions in her eyes. Gods, just let me leave!

“You really don’t remember, don’t you?” she asked, in a surprisingly meek tone.

“Remember wha––? Look, just give me back my bow and I’ll be on my way. Never mind the killer storm out there, I’ll be real fine.” Cyn replied, not bothering to disguise his blatant sarcasm.

“It’s very convenient isn’t it? Not remembering this now?” Still she did not reach for his bow; content to just stare at him. For a moment it seemed that a flicker of a smile passed across her lips.

Cyn’s heart lurched, but he masked his sudden feeling of disorientation with a shrug and a sigh. “I’m not ready to play any games here. I already apologized about attacking you.”

“You’re so oblivious, aren’t you?” she asked, as she turned away entirely from him and started for the stalagmite.

Just turn and walk away. Forget her and forget the bow. Just…get…out!

Cyn’s vision swirled for a moment as the strange thought came rushing through his head. This one sounded the most urgent, the most pressing. There’s no way I’m turning away from this. Something’s going on here, and I’ll be damned if I don’t find out what. Beautiful women don’t trek across half the continent for nothing.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he started behind her, fingering the hilt of his dagger with his left hand. As they reached the stalagmite, there again was that feeling of scrutiny, as though something large and wary was watching their every move. Maybe that’s what attacked me? Goddess I really hope I don’t regret this.

The woman went back to the stalagmite, moving with an almost serpentine grace and agility, smoothly manoeuvring her hands over the apparatus. She was acting as though the last twenty minutes had never happened.

“Umm, yeah though. Just let me have what’s mine, and I’ll be out of your hair forever, okay?” Cyn posed, rolling his eyes.

The woman turned around, her strange eyes locking onto his; grey against dark brown. “What’s yours? Look around you, it’s already here.”

“I tire of this, missus.”

“Then answer my question – what are you?”

What the heck do I look like? Cyn sighed. “Tell me, then, what I look like to you. Tell me what you think I am.”

She crossed her arms, and a queer expression washed over her face. “Let me ask you another question first. Do people really know you? Do you even know yourself?”

“Just what are you getting at here?”

“What of your childhood? Do remember playing as a child?”

A quick reply died on Cyn’s lips. In all honesty, he did not quite remember large stretches of his childhood. All of the images that now flashed past his mind’s eye were just that – images. Stills. Checkpoints between the vast darkness of his past. Others were a blur, shifting images coming to him while he slept…. It was almost as though life had started for him, wandering in Regent’s Valley at sixteen. Indeed the first day had been queer – as though waking from a dream, but not lost, just trying to remember a clear purpose. His youth had been confusing, but Cyn had long accepted it and moved on. Time and the Searing drove much from his mind.

“Who were your parents?”

“Merchants. They were killed by bandits outside of Ascalon City. I was adopted by a woodland family.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Yes.”

The woman smiled again, “How did you get here, ranger?”

“Think of the path you took. I used the same one, due to the fact that I followed you!”

“You’re still the same after all these years, even though your face has changed. I didn’t recognise you at first, but now I do. You’ve changed so much, yet, so little. However, it’s pretty obvious that you don’t recognise me.”

“Have we met before or something?” Cyn asked. It was possible. He had met several women before, but then again, he could not have forgotten such a beauty with such odd eyes.

“Ah, the one question I’ve been waiting for! Yes, I know you.” She smiled, and again a distant look filled her eyes. She was no longer focusing on him, but on images from the past, “Well, I knew you, back before there was a Searing, before there was even Ascalon. Before even Tyria….” Her eyes fell from his as she finished, and her face took on a pained look, as though she remembered hurtful experiences. She turned back to the stalagmite and continued her strange work of arranging the foreign items on the rock. “This is my task. Yours is yet to come. You should leave.”

This was almost too much. He had never known his parents, and never even remembered just what the hell had happened to him as a child. Here was someone who had a clue, who seemed to know him! Cyn had many friends, but none from childhood. Were this woman and he acquaintances at one time? Could the gods actually have allowed her to steal his bow in order to eventually meet and fill in the blanks in his memory?

Cyn went to her side and gently rested his hand on her shoulder. She looked around at him, unsurprised as though she fully expected his action. She gazed at him with an unreadable expression.

“I know nothing of my past. Everyone I know I met in my teens or recently. Who are you? Did you know my parents?”

The woman’s expression softened, as though finally seeing the truth she had been seeking. Here stood a rugged ranger, sent through the furnace of the Searing, the undead invasion, Ascension and the Titans, and had come out as pure gold. Yes she had known him, and known him well. Where was he all these years? None of it should have happened…he had changed oh too much. She continued to gaze into his dark eyes – those familiar pools of shadow that she was so accustomed to, yet had forgotten. Here stood the man she had never expected to see, ever again.

“I’m Karissa.” She paused, seemingly expecting the name to ring a bell in Cyn’s memory. It didn’t, but she continued in an awkward tone, “All of Tyria knew your parents at sometime…. Look, you should just leave. I really don’t have much time.” She turned back to the stalagmite, but her actions were hesitant, as though she were forcing herself to do it.

Cyn let his eyes stray to the items. All of them were in their places, but one was missing. The central hole was empty, and it seemed that this Karissa character did not have the item that belonged there. Still she searched her empty bag, as though in disbelief.

“My name is Cyn.”

She stopped suddenly and whipped her head back to him. A semblance of a smile was upon her full lips. “Cyn is it? With just one ‘n’?”

“Yes. I was told that it was the male version that only has one ‘n’.”

She seemed amused at that and rested her hands akimbo. “Cyn, you should have left. But you always were persistent. Even though you have no idea what you’re doing. Didn’t ever occur to you that I could have stabbed you again?”

Hell yeah. “No. The thought never crossed my mind. You only attacked me out of defence. But look, Karissa, all I need is a little information, and then I’ll be out of your way. I’ll leave you to your…task.”

“I think that you’ve been staying out of my way for long enough, Cyn,” she smiled gently, soft lips parting to reveal white enamel. “I’ve had this for a long time. You gave it to me back before you were…years ago.” With that, she opened her jacket some ways down, took out a small pendant that was held around her neck by a sturdy chain and held it for Cyn to see.

The pendant was finely crafted and small. The material looked like glass, but it was the actual figure that made Cyn’s breath catch in his lungs. A snake wound its way around the entire length of the character’s body, and he immediately remembered the Forgotten race of the desert. The character itself was humanoid, and was dressed in long flowing robes, accentuated by elaborate jewels. In its hand was a small, but incredibly clear eye. Cyn could even make out the pupil. In fact he could make out every fine detail, from individual hairs on the character’s face to the threads of the clothes’ fabric. As Cyn’s eyes focused on the character’s face, his heart seemed to freeze from disbelief. Aside from a few peculiarities, the character in Karissa’s hand was a spitting image…of himself.

Your time is running out, Cyn.

ShnarfBaby · Apr 17, 2006, 09:58 PM // 21:58

Excellent work Cyn. This story is really good

Im so very glad that my character is the cool one

Unreal Cyn · Apr 19, 2006, 01:44 AM // 01:44

Thanks for the comment Shnarf - of course your character would be cool, was there any doubt?

Well again I wish to thank you readers for the many views! Don't forget to leave a comment so I can know what areas I could improve in my writing. Now, onto to business. 10 seems to be a pretty important number today - the 10th chapter, 10 more days to the release of Factions, 10 more minutes and I'll be jumping headfirst into bed. Hehe, well, for all you lovers of 10 out there, here is Chapter 10. Let me apologize for its length...it's the longest chapter so far...but I hope it's enjoyable and keeps your interest!

Mingled Blood

Karak remembered it like it was a few moments ago.

Strolling along the sun-kissed shore of the Ascalon River, just outside the mighty walls of the impenetrable Ascalon City, bordered by the Great Wall. She was there with him then. Smiling, laughing, caressing his face; always speaking the praises of Dwayna. Her goddess, his goddess. Nothing could have separated them; their whole future had been set, just waiting for them to grab hold of it.

But some things change.

He awoke to the howls of the storm and a light smoke tickled his nostrils. Above him was dark, but sprinkled with light from far off. He realised that he was lying on his back upon a soft but sturdy bed roll. All he wore were his boxers. Where am I? Then suddenly, a cold shock gripped him as memory flooded back. By Balthazar! Dana! My neck! Farrion! He flew out of the bed, grasping his neck and looking for his axe.

To his shock, he found that his neck was not bleeding. Not even a scar remained from the wound. He swallowed his sudden panic and tried to remember exactly what happened.

“She cut my throat…and then…cut her own wrists!” he sighed and buried his head in his hands. “God, I’m no use to myself here, I gotta find out where I am.”

He rose, slowly, trying to fight back the queasiness that arose in his stomach, and the dizziness that caused his head to swirl. Looking around cautiously, he realised that he was in a small cave, with uncharacteristic flat walls, as though the room itself had been built into the rock. A doorway opened onto a narrow hallway a few yards away from where he stood. The smoke was coming from that direction.

He turned back to the area close at hand. His armour was nowhere to be seen, and the only furniture besides the bedroll was a small end table upon which sat a single candle. It was lit and gave out a respectable level of light. Apparently he was alone, yet Karak had a nagging feeling of another presence in the room. He whipped back to the doorway, but no one was there.

“Looking for someone, ‘hon?”

He turned back to the bedroll and stiffened. Karak was sure that he had lain alone on the small bedroll, but now there was a rising beneath the sheet – something now lay there, completely covered.

Karak looked for a weapon, but the only thing that came to his mind was the end table. But that lay within arms reach of the bedroll. Letting out pent up breath, he slowly approached the bedroll – he was not afraid of anything that he did not know.

“Who’s there?” he asked, easing his large left hand towards the table. If he could get that in his grasp, anything that lay in wait for him beneath that bedroll would get one swift blow with a blunt weapon.

Nothing replied. All that filled his ears was a dead silence. Under the wavering light and beneath the thick sheet nothing moved. Karak grasped the end of the sheet with one hand, and gripped the foot of the end table with another. If I see anything under here, I’m going to smash open its skull!

Quickly he cast aside the sheet and was about to send the table crashing into the bedroll when he suddenly realised that the bed was empty. There was nothing lying beneath the sheets.

“By Balthazar! Am I going crazy? I was sure that something spoke to me, and that something was underneath here!” Karak shook his head and turned back towards the doorway. As his eyes swept past the far corner of the room he thought he saw a figure standing in the shadows.

He stopped suddenly and stared wide eyed at the figure. It was so shrouded in darkness that he could not make out the features of the person, but for some reason, a deep sense of dread grasped his mind.

“Who are you? Reveal yourself!” He demanded, about to throw the table. He remembered that the only light in the room came from the candle that rested on the table and he quickly thought against using the table as a weapon. With unwavering gaze, he took the candle off the table and held it out in front of him.

“Are you afraid?” the voice rasped. The dark figure had spoken!

Karak slowly lifted the table off of the ground with his free hand, “Who…are…you…? Why am I doing here? Did you help me in some way?” Karak struggled to keep down his natural hostility, despite the several alarms that went off in his mind’s ear. Maybe this person helped Farrion and me somehow….

A small laugh came from the figure, “Yes, I helped you. You owe me everything. You could have died.”

More alarms went off in his mind. “Then I must thank you – I…I’m not really sure what happened back in the tent. Speaking of which, just where am I? Do you know where the guy I was travelling with is?”

The person approached, but remained just out of the reach of the candle. “You are in a cave, a few miles from the Oasis, ‘hon. As for your friend, I imagine that he’s in the outer cave, waiting for you…waiting for us.”

Waiting for us?

“Well, thanks. Will you give me the honour of seeing the face of the one that saved my life?” Sounds like a woman, maybe she looks good too.

The figure approached and entered the light.

Karak gasped and blinked in shock. There was no one there. Nothing but empty air met his eyes…but someone had just been there! He was having a conversation with someone! Dropping the candle he grabbed his face and massaged his aching head. I was talking to someone, I was talking to someone! I’m not crazy…I’m not Cyn!

“Ah, you’re finally conscious.” Came a sharp voice from the direction of the doorway.

Not waiting to see another darkness-shrouded figure, Karak turned swiftly, chucking the end table at whatever stood at the door. In mid flight he realised that the person at the door was carrying a torch, and a dark cloak covered his body. In an instant the table was upon him, but a loud splintering echoed through the room as the table fell to the ground as shards of wood.

“Nightmares, son?” the person asked as he withdrew an outstretched fist.
Karak sought for words other than curses. That guy just split a table in mid air with one fist? Balthazar! That wood had to have been rotted.

The person stepped into the small room and looked about warily. The light revealed the chiselled features of a large man, whose silver armour peeked out through the folds of his black cloak. A wicked rapier hung at his waist. A warrior by the looks of him. And one hell of a warrior too. Damn it, I bet I could take him, even without my armour and axe!

“Well, there aren’t any ghosts about,” he extended a gloved hand, “I’m Habib, Private Habib. It’s good to see that you’re finally awake, Karak of Egilos. Your brother is anxious as hell. He was in here up until a few moments ago, but he was wrenched away from your bedside to meet with my leader.”

Easy, cool. The man that called himself Habib spoke with a quiet authority and purpose, as though the table that had flown towards him had done nothing but bruise his knuckles. Karak shook his hand reluctantly, and only out of politeness.

“Farrion, where is he? Is he alright?”

“He’s fine. A tad frantic, but fine nevertheless.”

Karak paused, glad to hear that his brother was alright, but also trying to fight back the one question that pulled at his mind. Resisting it no longer he looked Habib right in the eye and spoke, “Was there something else in here? Someone else?”

The large man frowned, and, shaking his head, looked about the room yet again. “Not that I know of. Everyone else is out front.” He brought his steely stare back upon Karak, “Did you see something?”

Karak’s heart thumped in his chest. He wanted to tell him that he had indeed seen something strange, but somehow, he could not bring himself to do it. His own words froze in his throat, and another set came from his lips.

“No. I didn’t see anything. I think I was dreaming or something.”

“Good, then. I’d hate to think that other things reside in these caves besides us.”

Karak found himself smiling. He shook his head and set his mouth in a stone frown. “I’d hate to think that I have to walk around in nothing but my boxers.”

“There’s some fresh clothes right over there,” Habib replied, with just a tad bit of impatience in his voice, “In that chest. Your armour’s out front. I’ll be outside.” With that Habib turned and left, the light following him outside.

“Balthazar give me strength,” Karak sighed. He went to the previously unseen chest in the corner and retrieved some well made and rugged articles of clothing. He slipped into the baggy cloth pants and threw on a leather vest. Taking one last quick glance at the darkling room, he went outside and joined Habib in the hallway.

Like the room, the walls of the hallway were square-cut, so expertly done that he was sure that this cave was not a mere natural formation. Master stone-wrights had been through this place at one time. Habib acknowledged his presence with a nod and led the way down the hall, in the direction of the thin smoke. There was a brighter and bigger fire up ahead.

If this guy turns on me, I will paralyze his ass with one swift kick to his jaw. He better not have Farrion out there in captivity – I will go so bloody mad ––

“You look like a warrior, son. What is your weapon of choice?” Habib asked, catching Karak a little off-guard.

“Umm, the axe. A very valuable, golden axe.” Karak replied.

Karak thought the man actually chuckled, “You should teach your brother to use it. I have a feeling that you’re not going to be using that axe again in a long time.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Habib only smiled in reply. A cold smile.

The hallway opened up into a large room, about one third, if not half of the size of the tent back at the Oasis. A large bonfire raged within the confines of a circle of stone, throwing bright light on the thin pillars and fallen statues of men that surrounded it. Four figures sat not very far from the fire, sitting in a circle and not facing the flames. One of them jumped to his feet when Karak appeared in the room.

“Karak! Oh bless Lyssa! You’re awake! How are you feeling?” Farrion cried, making his way towards the warrior.

Karak grasped his forearm in a manner of greeting and smiled broadly, “But of course I’m awake, and I’m as cool as a cucumber. Glad to see that you’re alright! Now, I have some questions of my own. Where are we? Who are these people?”

“These folks are part of a guild called The Wraiths. They’re looking for some artefact known as the Vixen’s Heart, and they know where Cyn is.” Farrion explained.

“The Vixen’s Heart eh? Sounds familiar.” Karak massaged his head and looked about the large room. “What of Cyn? Where is that crazy bastard?”

The others in the room were now looking in his direction. As his eyes adjusted to the new light, he could make out the others backing the fire. There were two men and one woman; ranger, elementalist and monk respectively, by the looks of their dress. The elementalist he recognised. Ah so that’s where I got that Vixen thing from.

“They tell me he’s in the Arid Sea, but they’re not sure exactly.”

“The Arid Sea? Balthazar, how far away are we from there?”

“We’re about seven miles from Amnoon, just north north-west of Audience. We’re making a straight line towards the Sea if possible. We have a serious situation on our hands.”

Karak took another look at the other folk in the cave, at the worry that creased their foreheads, and the weariness in their eyes. “I can tell that something’s going on. What’s up?”

“Join us in the circle, bro, Bones will explain.”

“Who the hell is Bones?”

“The ranger,” Farrion laughed, leading the way back to the small circle.

As they and Habib took their seats, the monk’s eyes locked onto Karak, and she smiled faintly. She was pretty, and Karak felt immediately attracted to her, even though she appeared somewhat older than the warrior.

“Nice to see that you made a great recovery, Karak,” she said.

“Thank you for everything. I could have died, right?” Karak replied, smiling broadly.

“Yes, you could have.” Karak thought that a semblance of confusion swept over the monk’s face, but it was gone so fast that he was not entirely sure if he saw it, or why she should be confused at all.

Bones made quick business of introducing the Wraiths and explaining the matters surrounding the strange woman, the Vixen’s Heart, the demon from the Gods and the predicament that they and Cyn now found themselves in.

“Sweet Dwayna!” Karak muttered, fingering the blade of his axe, “There’s no way we’re going to reach him in time.”

“Finally, someone with sense.” The elementalist said, crossing his arms, “I’ve been trying to tell them that for the longest while – but why should I even try? No one ever listens to me anyway.”

“We can reach him, but we have to hurry. It’s not that far now.” The ranger who called himself Bones said, not even glancing towards the young elementalist. Habib and Tsuki nodded in silent agreement.

“How, Bones? None of us here can move that fast through a storm. Unless you propose to use some sort of teleporter?” Karak laughed, “Of which, according to this map you showed me, they aren’t for miles around, and none that will transport us directly to the Arid Sea.”

Bones snorted, and probably smiled, but Karak could not tell as the ranger’s mouth was covered with his mask. “We are in an Elonian ruin, one of several in the desert. They’re all linked, my friend, by ancient teleporters. All they need are a source of power, and off we go.”

Karak sat back and massaged his arms. Even now he felt the presence of something near to him. Of course there’s something near to me – I’m surrounded by five people. But he had the nagging feeling that this presence belonged to something else.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me this before?” Heavens complained, “And just how do you propose we charge these things, if ever we actually find one?”

“And how do you know that they will link to the one where Cyn’s at?” Farrion added.

Bones snorted again. “Only one way to find that out eh? Private? Lead the way to the teleporter you found – it’s the same one that the woman and your ranger friend used on their way through here, I imagine.”

The huge warrior stood and turned to one of the many square-cut doors that lined the walls. “This way, gentlemen and lady.”

The party rose and gathered their belongings and started behind Habib, but as Karak got to his feet, trying to slip into his breastplate, he saw someone sitting on the far end of the fire, staring into the darkness behind. Who is that? Bones didn’t introduce anyone else did he? Slipping away from the group, Karak headed for the figure.

“Where are you going?” Farrion asked, grasping his arm.

“Gotta check something out, I’ll be right along,” Karak replied, shrugging out of his brother’s grasp and continuing on his way.

Karak rounded the flames and came abruptly upon the back of the figure. The bright light of the fire showed that a jet black cloak covered the person, and equally dark, long hair cascaded about her back. The soft sound of humming reached his ears, a mesmerising melody, from an obviously practiced throat.

Alarms suddenly went off in Karak’s mind, and he froze just as his lips were about to part in speech. Dread pulsed from the figure just inches away from him…but that feeling vied strongly with the sense of peace and happiness that also seemed to come from the person.

“Excuse me…are you one of these guys? Are you a Wraith?” Karak forced himself to speak.

“You could say that.” Came the reply. Karak shook his head. He could not be sure if the beautiful voice came from the figure before him, or from his own mind.

“Well, some leader you have. He forgot about you! Come on, we’re leaving.”

The person turned, and Karak’s heart halted, his mind descending into a sudden spasm of shock.

Bright, sea-blue eyes burned into him with uncanny fire, and a wide smile lifted the thin lips of the woman. Beneath the dark cloak was revealed a rugged dress, with a V-neck that dipped to just above her breasts. But her familiar exposed chest, crisscrossed by small veins, was unscathed. Karak felt his own mind numbing once again, this time overwhelmed by shock and confusion. Blood tingled and boiled in his veins. Dana…alive…here… All thought fled from his mind.

The lady Mesmer’s smile widened, “Thank you for your help, love.”

Unreal Cyn · Apr 22, 2006, 08:34 PM // 20:34

Greetings again from the heat of the Caribbean! That's right, it's cooking out here, and coupled with some serious cramming and project-work, I've had no time to work on a new chapter, and I'm behind in posting this one. Fortunately I did this one before the work caught up to me so here it is for your reading pleasure! And if, when you're reading, you get the urge to comment - there's a nifty Post Reply button on the left hand corner of the page

Chapter 11!

Wicked Design

Cyn took two steps backwards and drew his dagger, eyes fixed on Karissa and the pendant that she clutched.

“What by Melandru is this? Some joke or hoax?”

“Put away your weapon, Cyn. This is no joke. What I’m holding is real – you gave it to me.”

“How the hell could I have given you that?”

Karissa sighed, and a flash of pain passed across her face. She put away the pendant slowly, and sighed again. “Even that didn’t spark your memory, did it?”

“Karissa, I am really lost here. Why don’t you tell me exactly what’s going on?” Cyn pleaded. Suddenly it felt as though the omnipotent presence returned with greater force, and the ranger could feel tiny threads of energy being woven all around the stalagmite like a quilt.

Karissa seemed to feel it too, for she paused in her reply and glanced towards the cloud-covered roof. When she looked back at Cyn, her expression was one of stark desperation.

“What, by the gods, is that?” Cyn asked quickly.

“My time is running short, I…I have to finish this!” With that she turned back frantically to the stalagmite. Again she searched her bag and her person.
“What are you looking for?”

“The last element – the Vixen’s Heart. Where is it?” she cursed.

“The Vixen’s Heart?” Why does that sound so familiar? “Why would you want it? What exactly are you trying to do?”

“I’m…I’m….” She sighed and collapsed on the ground, burying her face in her hands. “Cyn, I don’t know what happened to you…why you don’t remember me, why you changed so much. But none of it should have happened, like the Flameseeker Prophecies. You weren’t supposed to be a part of that. Such things pass us by. We are involved in other, deeper matters.” She looked up and motioned to the stalagmite and the surrounding obelisks. “Such as this.” She stopped, seemingly reluctant to continue.

“Please, go on.” Cyn pressed. A part of him wanted to go down and comfort her, to be there for her, but another part resented the notion. She was simply a stranger. However she knew of his past, and she could tell him who his parents really were, where he had come from, what he had been.

“The…world has become a cesspool of sin and violence. Humans have scarred the planet, corrupting it, violating the gods, and they must be destroyed.” She spoke as one in a trance, “Ja’al will fix that.”

“Who?”

“He’s a mighty warrior – a champion – birthed from the gods, and nurtured by my mother’s people. He will wage war against the Masters of this world and destroy them, cleansing the plane of their filth.”

For some reason besides the obvious threat of destroying Mankind, Cyn did not like the sound of that.

“I have to release him. Evil follows me at my heels – for a while I mistook you for it – but still it comes.”

“So, you want to wipe out the human race, and you need this Heart to do it?” Cyn asked. By all logic he should have attacked Karissa right then and there, but his heart resisted, and his mind was no longer bound by the shackles of simple logic. Something deeper was going on here.

“Not destroy it. Cleanse it, Cyn.”

“But wouldn’t that mean you plan on committing suicide? Are you not human? And what of me? I’m human! Do you think that after learning this I won’t try to stop you?”

“I’m not human entirely, neither by decent or affiliation. Neither are you.” She sniffed, “My father was an Elonian and my mother was a Forgotten. Their union was special, though considered an abomination by their separate peoples. But the gods blessed it and provided them with a child, which is me.”

Cyn could not believe what he was hearing. Surely he had experienced phenomenal acts before, but the thought of a human and a snake producing offspring was not only an abomination, but an impossibility. But her eyes are strange…and she does move with a…serpentine grace…Melandru!

“If I’m not human, then what the hell am I? A centaur?” Cyn asked incredulously.

Karissa sniffled, “You are not a centaur! You are of the gods, created when the Mists themselves were forged. No, Cyn, you are most definitely not a centaur.”

Cyn let his jaw drop ever so slightly, “I’ve heard enough. If you don’t wish to tell me of my past, you could have just said so, not go telling long tales.”

“You don’t believe me?!”

“No. As a matter of fact, I don’t believe anything. I’ve lived so far not knowing about my past – I might as well go on. I thought that you knew me somehow, but now I see that my hopes were misplaced. Let me have my bow and I’m gone.” Cyn said firmly, approaching Karissa and holding out his hand.

She looked up at him slowly, pain gripping her face and eyes. A sudden anger took her, “You don’t care! How could you?!” she took the Ithas bow from her back and literally threw it at Cyn. “You will be destroyed along with all the others!”

The ranger grabbed the bow out of the air and turned towards the cavern entrance. “For years I thought that I was the only crazy one. It’s good to know that I’m not alone.” He started for the entrance, not casting a backward glance.

Karissa screamed in a frustrated rage behind him, which eventually subsided into muted wails. Cyn, unable to ignore her cries anymore, stopped by a fat obelisk on the way back to the entrance and glanced back at her. She was still on the floor, frantically searching through her bag. But what she was looking for was not there. In that moment Cyn realised just how helpless she looked, how fragile, how desperate. What the hell am I doing? I shouldn’t just leave her here in the middle of nowhere. She’s crazy, that’s for sure – she really could not be serious about destroying Mankind – but what the hell so am I.

He turned and his eyes were immediately drawn to the curious designs on the fat obelisk. Unlike the others, this obelisk was not entirely encrusted with fine jewels. In fact, a wide expanse was devoid of any ornament, but upon it was drawn a very detailed picture, lined with a flowing script not dissimilar to the one surrounding the central hole of the stalagmite. The picture seemed to be telling a story, beginning at the middle, continuing around the breadth of the obelisk and finishing back at the middle.

A man stood upon the black rock, gripping the head of another man, violently wrenching it backwards. Cyn thought he recognised both men, but at that instant, the vision of the obelisk and the entire cavern was suddenly swept away….

...

He stalked up to the dark man at the door. Framed in silvery darkness the man’s face lit up with a smug smile, “Greetings, sir. And how may I be of service this evening?”

“Enough shit – where is she? Where is Karissa?!”

“Heh. Lost your pet? I don’t know where she is,” the doorman replied in a sweet tone, as though he were trying to sing, “Perhaps still in your bed?”

That smirk and his beady eyes deny his ignorance. He had played a part. He must die.

He struck out, his hand pummelling against the man’s head. His fingers closed around the man’s forehead like a steel vice and he wrenched the head back, exposing the bulging neck. “You son of a bitch! I will make an example of you!”

He kicked open the door and marched into the wide auditorium, the curving walls of which rose and met at a domed roof far off. Mist gathered at the roof, obscuring the massive painting that stared down at the floor. Four white pillars, shaped in the fashion of teeth, descended from the roof and protruded the mist. Other, much smaller pillars lined the inside of the auditorium, rank upon rank of pure marble. Armed men stood in the central auditorium, chatting feverishly amongst themselves until they saw the two men enter, one being dragged along like a bag of garbage, cursing and pleading for his puny, inferior life, the other staring at them coldly.

Casting the man to the obsidian floor he drew his blade. All actions in the auditorium that had continued even after the two men entered now ceased abruptly. A collective gasp went up from men and god alike as eyes swept towards the entrance.

I have their attention. The Filth. Now they shall learn!

With quick, flowing movement, he drove his blade into the doorman’s neck and severed his head from his torso. Blood gushed from the remains of the neck, forming a fountain of blood that quickly settled into a large pool around his feet. “Now!” he growled, “Where…is…she?!”

...

Cyn gasped and blinked. The obelisk faced him, and the man carved into its black rock stared out at him with a cold fury. Recognition struck him like a brick. He was looking at himself on the obelisk. And the man at his feet, he looked like…he was…. Cyn drew his gaze upwards, and took in the four teeth that hung from the roof, puncturing the blanket of cloud. Slowly he returned his gaze on the environs close at hand, at the obelisks – rank upon rank of jewelled obsidian.

As though functioning under some other will, his hand went for his dagger, and he scraped off small flecks of the surface of the obelisk. Beneath was a layer of marble. Pure white marble. Cyn’s heart began to throb as he brought his gaze back upon the carving of himself. The man on the rock continued to stare at him, but now with an accusing glare.

Where is she? Where is Karissa?!

Cyn turned back to the stalagmite. His right hand began to spasm.

Just leave Cyn. Go now.

That voice again.

Cyn’s head pounded, as though his very brain was beating upon the inside of his cranium. His breathing quickened as he suddenly realised that maybe, just maybe, this woman Karissa was telling the truth. But…but…what the ––

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a fierce growl that resonated throughout the cavern. He turned swiftly to the source of the growl at the entrance, and he gasped and cursed. There, jumping from the ramp to the floor, heading like an enraged bull to where Karissa lay, was a huge Charr blade warrior. A jet black cape trailed from its neck, spreading like the tail feathers of a raven as the beast leapt into the air.