Curse

Unreal Cyn · Apr 26, 2006, 01:58 AM // 01:58

End of semester is upon me and I'm working hard to keep all the deadlines for projects and whatnot, so, these posts may not come as frequently. I really don't know if I can bring it to a respectable finish before Factions comes out, but here goes! Don't forget to leave a comment or crit, so I can improve or if you just like the story. Here's Chapter 12.

Dead End

Farrion watched as Karak rounded the flames. There was nothing there that he could see, save the scattered remains of a fallen pillar. But his brother had seemed intent. Maybe the warrior had an interest in archaeology after all.

The Mesmer’s feet were still aching after the hard race towards the Elonian ruin. All night they had pressed on, almost never stopping. He was amazed at the hardiness of the Wraiths, from their mysterious leader to the thin monk. There was still a lot he did not know about them, but all that could wait. The fate of the world hung in the balance, and to him that was much more important than learning the life stories of each Wraith. Even though the warrior who called himself Habib seemed an interesting character. He did not speak much, but when he did, everyone listened. The warrior had apparently translated several ancient documents, a feat that Farrion, with all of his high education, could not match. That made Habib even more interesting. Educated warriors were few and far between.

A sudden shriek snapped Farrion out of his musings.

“Karak!” he shouted, starting for the other side of the fire. The Wraiths heard his cry, and came back swiftly.

He saw the large warrior looking down at a broken piece of the pillar, his eyes open in horror. He gripped his axe in a death-grip. Farrion glanced about quickly, and seeing nothing strange, he approached Karak and grabbed his arm.

“Karak, what’s the matter?”

The warrior looked at him, “Dana! She’s here!”

“Dana?! But she’s dead! I saw here in the tent!” Farrion replied.

“No, dammit! She’s here! She was right there!” Karak shouted angrily. He wrenched free of Farrion’s grasp and stalked about the area, searching behind every fallen pillar.

“Snap out of it, Karak,” Bones said as he approached the warrior, “You’re still freshly recovered – you were hallucinating.”

“I wasn’t! I swear to ––!”

“Then where is she?”

Karak paused and sighed deeply. He clipped his axe back on his belt and crossed his arms, “I…I don’t know.” He glanced at Farrion, “I need a damn beer.”

Everyone gave him a queer look, except Farrion and Tsuki. She didn’t see him, but Farrion saw the expression on the monk’s face, not one of puzzlement, but a distant look – something the Mesmer could not put his finger on. She pursed her lips to speak, but then her eyes flashed across at Farrion’s intent stare and she actually blushed and turned away. Farrion raised an eyebrow, but a sudden tingling jolted him. A feeling akin to static rippled through the air, and a presence weighed down on them like a physical burden. Everyone in the ancient chamber stumbled, and gazed upwards as if their gaze could pierce the roof and look into the raging storm above.

“Tsuki, get the hex breaker off Farrion – I don’t like the feeling of that,” Bones said quickly, arming his bow and notching an arrow, “Let’s get moving.”

“Wait – you had a hex breaker on me?” Farrion asked in disbelief. So that’s what that knot in my throat was! “Why the hell did you do that for? I could have been killed back in Amnoon!”

“According to Habib, you were being attacked on all sides by some rangers. Seeing Habib rushing at you in that state would have been detrimental to his health – we didn’t want him, or us, being hurt needlessly. You are the best Mesmer out there. Plus,” Bones paused, turning to face Farrion, “we had you covered.”

Those rangers. Bones never did say who they were and just why the hell they attacked me…he never explained Dana either. Maybe Karak just got her angry? All I know is that these guys are possibly taking me to Cyn. Their story sounds crazy for sure, but I really don’t have much else to go on. This is our only lead, and we have to follow it to its end. Hopefully not our end. Now get this blasted hex breaker off of me monk.

“Helluva risk, Bones. Please don’t do that again,” Farrion said as the knot in his throat suddenly melted. He sighed and turned to a nearby ruin.

“Storm’chai,” he whispered. Swirling energies erupted from the earth surround the pillar, weaving around in circular fashion. Anyone standing in the midst of that small storm would have the very essence of their life drained. Good. My spells are back.

“Thanks, Tsuki. Being without my spells and hexes are like having a limb cut off,” he smiled.

“You are most welcome,” the monk replied, returning the smile.

With that the company moved forward, Habib leading with torch in hand, and Karak and Farrion at the back. Bones stalked just behind them, searching the environs under the light of a torch held aloft by the Mesmer. Habib took one of the several square-cut passageways that delved into the rock. The roof was zigzagged with curious cuts, and the walls were absolutely featureless and monotonous, so much so that after a long time of almost silent walking, Farrion felt that he had not moved an inch since entering the passage. What he did feel, however, was that the passage was gently sloping, so slight that anyone not as bored stiff as he was would have missed it.

“I wonder how Normire is doing?” Farrion turned to Karak, hoping to break the silence, “It has been a while since we left him back in the Forge.”

“Heh.” Karak replied staring about at the walls on either side as though at any moment something would jump out at him, “I suppose it wasn’t a great loss. I hate necros.”

“Don’t forget that he’s still family,” Farrion smiled, “and that he’s very talented.”

“Talented at getting himself killed you mean – rushing into battles with a sorry excuse for a sword and getting pumped full of arrows like a pin cushion.”

“Well, necromancers are sadists.”

“Well, I’m glad he’s not here. You’re enough trouble to keep alive by yourself,” he glanced at the small back of Tsuki just before him as she walked beside Heavens, and his rugged expression appeared to soften. When he turned back to Farrion is returned to its harsh state, “At least Cyn can keep alive for more than ten seconds.”

“You always have something nice to say,” Farrion passed the torch to his other arm and let it rest at his side, “What exactly happened between you and Dana in the tent? Did you rub her the wrong way or something?”

Farrion did not know exactly why it happened, but everyone around him seemed to slow down at the instant he spoke, even as Karak turned to stare at him. His eyes nailed Farrion. Blazing, sea-blue eyes.

“She was a sadist. She went crazy.” He rasped, almost as though forced.
Then as soon as it had begun, pace returned to normal and Farrion half-stumbled into the back of the elementalist in front of him. Both he and Heavens tumbled unduly onto the ground, and the torch dropped from his hand.

“Hey!” Heavens grumbled, “Watch where you’re going!”

“Suh…Sorry,” Farrion replied as he slowly rose to his feet. Karak helped him up as Bones reclaimed the torch. The Mesmer glanced across at his brother’s face, and found that his eyes were the dark brown colour that they should be.

“Karak, what the hell just happened?” he whispered so only the warrior could hear.

Karak was taken aback, “What do you mean? You stumbled and fell over that kid. What do you think happened?”

Farrion sought for an answer, but just then Habib raised his hand and ordered everyone to be silent. Casting his gaze forwards he found that the company had reached the end of the passage. Literally. Before them the light of the torches were swallowed in an immense, gaping pit, which stretched beyond the vision of even the best amongst them. Farrion suddenly grew very wary. Frig; they led us to a pit! It’s a trap! He glanced over at Karak, and watched as his hand moved quickly to his axe.

“What’s the meaning of this?” the warrior ordered, eyeing the Wraiths as a cornered cat would a dog.

Habib turned to look at them, upon his face a look of disbelief. “This was not here two hours ago.”

“Then where did it come from? A meteor or something?” Karak replied in a harsh tone.

Bones walked to the very edge and peered into the blackness all around. “Blast, this is endless. A boundless chasm.”

“Maybe you took the wrong way? All these passages look the same anyways.” Tsuki offered quietly.

Habib shook his head. “No, impossible. I marked this passage on the walls every six feet. We only had a few more metres and we would have come upon the teleporter.”

“Heavens! Give us some light out here, see how far this really goes.” Bones ordered, stepping lightly away from the edge.

Heavens acknowledged him, walked to some feet away from the edge and raised his hand in the air, whispering a chant. “It’s hard to hold onto Air in here…like something’s blocking me.”

The look on Bone’s exposed face showed that he did not like the sound of that. “Keep trying, Heavens.”

The small elementalist went back to his chants, until sweat broke on his brow, and he almost collapsed from exhaustion. Habib and Bones rushed to support him, and rested him against the wall.

“Take it easy for now, Heavens.” Bones said softly, passing the torch to the elementalist, “I will light some of my arrows, but we have to go back. There’s no way we’re getting through here.”

Habib replied, but Farrion did not hear a word he said, for his ears and his mind alike were drawn to a soft noise, almost imperceptible at first, but growing, getting louder, getting closer. He glanced behind quickly, and strained his eyes to perceive anything in the darkness. Seconds passed like molasses draining into a cup, and ever the sound grew closer, until it suddenly struck him what it was. It was a mechanical sound, reminding him of the giant furnaces and tramways of the Dwarves.

He did not realise it, but all of the company now turned backwards, conversation ceasing, in silent anticipation of whatever was trailing behind them. He heard a shifting close by and turned quickly to see what it was. There stooped Bones, feverishly pouring oil on an arrow and lighting it. He rose deftly and fired it into the darkness behind.

The passageway lit up brightly in the wake of the burning arrow. The arrow continued its flight until it struck something, which reflected its light as polished metal would. The arrow rebounded and fell – its fire going out – to the floor. But the party had clearly seen what it was that followed them.

A moving wall of nothing but whirling, serrated, steel blades.

“Oh goddess!” Farrion gasped. The blades were no more than thirty feet away. In ten seconds they would be upon them.

“Quickly!” Bones cried as he lit and notched another arrow, “Into the pit!”

“Are you f**king kidding me?” Karak and Heavens asked simultaneously, the young elementalist no longer exhausted.

Bones launched the arrow into the gaping jaws of the dark pit. Turning back he hollered, “Follow my lead! It’s not far down!”

The blades had closed the gap by twenty feet. Farrion turned towards the edge and started for it. He caught a glimpse of Tsuki standing like a rock, staring wide eyed at the instruments of death. Shock rooted her to the ground. He reached out and grabbed her small frame, even as Karak grabbed them both and carried both of them into the pit. And darkness swallowed everything.

Unreal Cyn · Apr 28, 2006, 04:30 PM // 16:30

Factions is finally out and I have to say that it's pretty good - the music is great and the locale is memorable! Well, it's pretty obvious that I'm not finishing this today, but anyway here is Chapter 13! I hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think - my writing can't be that flawless that no one has any suggestions

The Gallery of Crystal

Falling.

“Karak! My love! Where are you?!”

Falling. Darkness.

“Karak!”

Memory.

It seemed that heat itself rained from the tortured sky, trailing the giant, hell-wrought crystals that shattered the landscape. With his once fresh clothes tattered and burnt around him, and his breaths coming in painful wheezes, Karak crawled to his feet and gazed around.

The land was twisted, burned and cast about as though the earth itself had gone into fits of spasm. Ash showered from burning clouds, obliterating much of the landscape. Karak wheezed again, his mind not yet fully comprehending the event that had just happened.

“Diana!” he shouted, “Diana!” he collapsed on his belly, the ash of Ascalon clawing its way into his eyes. He tried in vain to clean them out, but his entire body felt weak, drained. As though the very air he breathed leeched away what little energy he had left.

“Dwayna! Merciful…Goddess!” he prayed, rolling onto his side. What lay next to him forced his breath to catch in his lungs.

A giant, pulsating crystal marked where it had fallen just minutes ago. Mere feet from where Karak lay.

He struggled to his feet and backed away, before he collapsed again. Then he saw her. Apparently the large crystal had tips akin to a pitchfork, and had fallen at a slight angle. But there, lying precariously and unmoving between the forks of the crystal, was Diana. Her long, black hair was singed almost to ash, and the thin monk cloths that she wore were no more – burnt completely by the intense heat of the crystal.

“Oh…oh my goddess!” Karak gasped, struggling once again to his feet and making his way painfully back to the crystal. Heat radiated out towards him, suddenly searing his flesh, and singing the hair off his face. He had to stop just out of arms reach of her…shocking heat and weakening body would not permit him to go any further.

“Diana!” he cried, “Diana! Please, answer me!” he stretched out his hand towards her, but still he was out of reach. He drew back his half-burnt hand, trying to cry, but tears would not come. Diana lay just there, unmoving, virtually naked, beneath a giant, burning crystal. Logic screamed that she was dead, but Karak’s heart screamed for her to still be alive.

“Diana!”

At that moment, his lovely monk raised her head; just enough that her seared and bloodied face could be seen. Confusion masked her deformed face…confusion and fear. She found him with her eyes, and slowly mouthed the words, “Help me?”

Karak rushed forward, but the heat was too much, he was too weak. Just to touch her hand, just to hold her…that’s all I need to do…Goddess! Dwayna! Help her! Just let me get to her! Tears came finally, streaming down his face like a small brook. He tried to infuse her – to heal her – but to no avail. He was too weak. He stretched out his hand again, but still he was too far…she was slipping!

Suddenly the crystal shifted, throwing its weight on the nook where Diana lay. There was a loud scraping noise as the crystal readjusted itself, but rising above that racket was a bloodcurdling scream, so sheer and so desperate, so final.

“Karak, are you alright?”

The warrior opened his eyes suddenly, and a lean face materialised just before him. It was blurry, but it looked like…, “Diana?”

The young monk smiled and rested a hand on his forehead. Turning to someone beside her she said, “He seems okay, Farrion, maybe he just hit his head on the way down. He’s groggy.”

“Thank the goddess his head is so thick and hard then,” Farrion replied, chuckling.

Karak shook off his grogginess with one shake of his head. His vision cleared quickly and in seconds he realised where he was. Immediately before him sat Farrion and Tsuki, both gazing at him with broad smiles on their faces. The elementalist lay in a sprawled fashion beyond them, as Habib tended to the young man’s possibly broken foot. Bones tended a small fire not too far away.

Besides that, nothing met his eyes but utter darkness. Neither above him nor to his sides at the far end of his vision could he see anything else. It was as though they sat in a small bubble of light, floating in a vast space of black. He could hear nothing else either, besides the sounds of life around him – the breathing of Farrion and Tsuki, the crackle of the flames, the sighs and curses of Heavens, and the beating of his own heart. Karak relaxed. He always felt at peace, surrounded by life.

“Guh…good to see you,” he began, smiling, “Is everyone okay? Was it really as far down as I thought?”

“I’m glad as hell to know that you’re alright, Karak!” Farrion said happily, “If it weren’t for you, both of us might be dead right now. Your thick hide broke the fall considerably!”

“As I guessed,” Karak sighed as he remembered grabbing Farrion and the monk in his arms. Who were you really going for? Your brother? Or the woman that reminds you so much of her?

Karak jumped and looked around quickly, “Did you hear that?!”

“What?” Farrion replied, suddenly tense. In his mind Karak knew that the Mesmer was weaving together hexes to be cast in an instant.

“A…uh…um…never mind. It was just my imagination.” Karak replied eventually. He massaged his head, trying hard to think away the memory, and Dana’s voice that had filled his mind. I know that I’m still sane. Something happened to me back in Amnoon. She not only sliced my neck…she put her bleeding wrist over it. Blood transfer? Shit! I hate necromancers! But no, that couldn’t have been it. Normire’s done it before and it did not work like that. Whatever the hell she did, I can hear her voice! I have to get her out!

“I think you need some more rest, Karak,” Tsuki began, “It was a long way down.” She gazed into his eyes for an awkward moment, and then turned and went to check on Heavens.

“Nice one isn’t she?” Farrion chuckled.

“I guess so,” Karak sighed, “Where are we exactly?”

“I imagine it’s obvious that we fell into this chasm. We ambled along from the wall some ways, using a couple of Bone’s arrows for light. We met absolutely nothing so far – almost as though this entire place is empty.”

“Why don’t we go back and climb the wall? Those blades must be gone by now.”

“The walls are too sheer. We have no other choice now.”

Karak was just about to reply when he thought he heard another noise. Not a voice, but more of an ambient noise than a particular sound. In the back of his mind he thought that it sounded like many small feet running, coming towards them, surrounding them.

“Everyone to the fire!” Bones commanded, in a tone no less controlled than anxious.

Karak, Farrion and the Wraiths responded swiftly, and in seconds they stood, backs to the fire, facing the darkness.

“Ready your weapons,” Bones whispered, “I feel…strange things. Not of Melandru.” With that he drew his bow and fitted an oiled arrow. In his bow-hand was a piece of flint, which would strike against the launching arrow, causing it to burn.

Karak drew his axe, but his eyes were curiously drawn to a sword, wrapped in dark cloths by his feet. The hilt of it glimmered in the firelight. Must be Habib’s spare blade…I wonder if push comes to shove he would use it. It looks expensive.

Suddenly a purple beam lashed out from the darkness, striking Farrion straight in the chest and sending him doubling over, screaming in pain. At that instant, scores of many legged, black coloured monsters leapt into the pool of light, and raced hungrily towards the humans at the fire. Dryders sweetheart. Black Dryders.

It happened quickly. Farrion had not too long fallen before one of the dryders was upon Karak, its salivating maw biting at his face. The eight legs wrapped around him like a bed sheet, and the frenzied chittering drowned out most other sounds.

A change came over the warrior. Fearlessness replaced shock, and lust for death suddenly replaced the desire for life. I am weak no more! As adrenaline burned through his veins he forced his axe between him and the dryder, ripping the beast away. With one powerful slash, he cleaved through the dryder, burying the axe in the ground. All around him the Wraiths engaged the dryders; all of them reverting to melee, for the beasts were too close for anything else. Farrion grunted next to him and tried to get to his feet. At that instant another five dryders rushed Karak and he tugged on the axe. It did not budge.

“What the ––.” Karak glanced down at the weapon and realised that he had buried the entire breadth of the blade in the floor. He tugged on it again, and still it did not move. Gotta get another weapon! He cursed as he remembered Habib’s spare blade. Going behind him he grabbled up the broadsword and revealed its naked blade. It suddenly lit up in a pale yellow glow. The dryders were suddenly upon him, and he met them with cold, unforgiving steel. Karak felt suddenly invigorated with every stroke and he lost himself in the killing.

The next few moments were a blur as the pale blade leapt amongst the dryders, severing limbs and slicing through them as though there were nothing but empty air.

Suddenly he heard a voice, “This way! There’s too many of them! Get back here Egilos! Tsuki cannot keep healing you!”

Karak blinked and realised where he was. He was surrounded and up to his shins in hewn dryder corpses, about twenty yards from the fire. Still the beasts attacked, hoping to overwhelm him with sheer numbers.

“How the hell did I get all the way out here?” Karak whispered to himself. He did not have any time to think of an answer, for at that moment, the camp fire suddenly went out, and his vision was plunged into darkness.

Then a loud, fierce breathing echoed throughout the expanse of black, and heavy footsteps jolted the ground. A terrible grumbling saturated the air, and a monstrous voice came from seemingly everywhere.

“I come…Ja’al rises….”

“Balthazar’s strength! What the f**k is that?!” Karak cursed. A deep terror settled over him like a poisonous miasma, and the darkness seemed to deepen just before him. The only light was that of the strange blade that he wielded. He focused on the blade and slowly backed over the dryder corpses towards where he remembered the campfire to be.

Gods I hope I’m going in the right direction! But what the hell was that! Have the dryders stopped attacking?

A bright streak of light erupted from a few ways behind him. He turned around swiftly and quickly realised that it was a lightning bolt. In the sudden after-light he saw the elementalist half-suspended in the air with arms upraised. Heavens was calling forth lightning! A second bolt lit up the chasm, and for the first time Karak beheld where he was. All around him, as far as the eye could see during the lightning, rose immense pillars, shaved off at the top to resemble obelisks. They glinted and shone in the light, many faces of pure crystal. Crystal statues of every shape and size lined the space between the obelisks.

Karak pelted towards the others. He met no other dryders on his way back, but he had the feeling that something much worse was going to be soon upon them. Another flash struck and he could see dryders, still attacking the Wraiths! Suddenly he realised that Heaven’s lightning was not for illumination. Quickly Karak jumped into the fray, splitting the dryder ranks like that wooden table against Habib’s fist. The acrid scent of burnt dryder flesh choked him.

“Karak! Thank the Goddess you’re alright!” Farrion said breathlessly as Karak worked his way towards him. The Mesmer clutched his chest, but Karak could see nothing wrong with it as another lightning bolt lit up the chamber. Farrion was wielding the warrior’s golden axe, trying his best to fend off the dryders. How he wrenched it from the floor Karak could not begin to guess.

“Are you hurt?” Karak asked.

“No, Tsuki fixed me up. I’m very tired though – it wasn’t easy work here, and my hexes and spells seem to have no blasted effect on these bastards!”

“I…come!” the voice bellowed once again.

All eyes turned in the direction of the words, and as another lighting bolt exploded amongst the dryders the huge figure of some thing materialised from the darkness. Karak thought it to be a man, about as tall as, if not taller than the lighthouse in Lion’s Arch, clad in armour, and wielding a large sword with a waved blade. The man seemed to be some sort of apparition, for he was not entirely opaque – shifting in and out of nothingness. One thing was clear, however. He was striding straight towards them.

“Ja’al…rises!”

anubis_master · Apr 28, 2006, 08:27 PM // 20:27

good story alot better plot than others iv read

Unreal Cyn · May 01, 2006, 03:04 AM // 03:04

Greetings once again folks, thanks for your support so far! This chapter is not as thick as the previous two or so, I just decided to lay off the throttle a bit and ease down on the word count. I didn't add in alot of lamb, pork, sweet potato or cou-cou in this one, but I still hope you will enjoy it and feel free to post any crits and or comments. Now here is Chapter 14 in all its simple glory!

Mistress of the Four

Farrion lashed out at the snarling face of the dryder just before him, sending the beast cringing back into the darkness as the light of Heaven’s latest bolt vanished. Another flash lit up the cavern and the back of Karak appeared in his line of sight – the warrior tearing into the dryders with more than a reckless abandon. On the other side of the circle of humans surrounding the dead fire fought Habib, moving with military precision against the dryders.
Bones completed the defence, fighting tooth and nail with anything he could get his deft hands on. Altogether, nothing could work its way past them.

But nothing lasts forever, and there was the issue of that huge thing lumbering towards them. Farrion guessed that they were nothing but mere flies to that thing, flies to be stepped upon without remorse. We have to get the hell out of here!

“Bones!” the Mesmer hollered, “There’s something coming towards us! Something big! We have to move!”

“Melandru’s grace, I know! But we’re being swamped by these bastards! We need a miracle!” Bones hollered back, grunting as a dryder glided past his defences and sank its teeth into his shoulder. Tsuki sent a healing breeze his way as the ranger pried the beast off him and gouged out its face with his hunting dagger.

Darkness returned as the lightning bolt passed, but light returned as another struck. In that light the far wall of the cavern was revealed in an instant. A massive doorway burrowed deep into the wall. The doorway beckoned, and Farrion would have gone straight for it if five hundred dryders from hell did not stand between him and it.

For years the Mesmer had trained as a strategist. He knew the inner workings of battles, and the minds of both beast and man. But he left most of the decision-making to Karak, or Cyn, or whoever else had become the leader. Only in the most desperate times did his true talents show themselves. His actions were subtle and may very well be forgotten, but he did not care for recognition. He wanted to stay alive.

“Heavens!” he cried, backing towards the elementalist, “We need something…explosive! What have you got?”

“I…I don’t know! I can’t make anything explode!” Heavens replied anxiously as he called forth yet another lightning bolt that ripped into the dryder ranks.

Lightning bolt. Ripping.

“Heavens! Listen to me quickly! I need you to stop with this lightning for a few seconds ––.”

“What?!”

“ –– Listen! Build up your energy and send one massive bolt – a series of bolts, a chain – straight through the dryders! Aim in that direction!” Farrion pointed towards the wall, hidden in darkness.

“I don’t know if I can! I’ve never ––.”

“For the love of all the gods! Throw everything you have in that direction!”

Heavens cursed and sighed. The lightning ceased abruptly, and darkness swept in like a rushing wind. The curses and cries of Karak, Bones and Habib filled Farrion’s ears. They were fighting blind. Only for a few seconds.

“I…come!” the voice cried again, this time so close that Farrion could imagine the speaker’s breath on his neck.

“Now Heavens! For the love of the goddess, do it now!” Farrion screamed, making towards the wall. In his mind he grasped a spell, hoping against hope that it would work. His voice took on another tone, little used, but very effective. “Everyone to me!”

As the last syllable left his lips, a powerful electric shock surged through his body. In the instant that followed the cavern was lit up as by daylight. A series of massive lightning bolts tore through the dryders, frying the beasts to crisps as they travelled towards the wall. In awe Farrion gaped around at the sheer immensity of the cavern, with pillars and statues of many coloured crystal. His eyes were drawn to the thing that marched towards them, and he cursed. It was mere feet away.

“To me!” the Mesmer cried, making a mad dash past Bones and into the wake of the massive electrical surge. Dryder bodies crumbled to ash as he passed them, but more were clambering to fill the void, and the thing was almost upon them. With one mind Karak and the Wraiths raced after Farrion.
With inches and seconds to spare the thing landed on the campsite, crushing the dryders. Loud, sickly gasps went up from the slain creatures, but Farrion did not look back. He was moving like a flash through the crumbling bodies. It was as though only he moved, and the world stood at a permanent halt.

A heavy footstep jolted the floor and sent the frenzied Mesmer careening through the dark doorway as Heaven’s lightning surge evaporated like mist. Karak and the Wraiths were still many feet behind.

Farrion kept running, more out of the fact that he could not stop rather than his desire to live. Darkness lay all around him, and utter silence. Where am I going? Shit, I have to stop! The Mesmer reached out his arms to catch anything that would slow him down, but his arm crashed into something cold and rough and he lost his footing, crashing onto the ground – his head smashing onto the cold floor. It may not have been possible, but his vision went even darker and his body went suddenly numb.

Consciousness. Pain.

Farrion opened his eyes slowly, and squinted as a brilliant light – though dim – caressed his pupils. His body was even slower to respond than his eyes. He tried to move and speak, but all he managed to do was mumble something incoherent.

A figure shifted to his left, turned, and crawled over to him. For a fleeting moment Farrion thought the worse. The figure was darkly clad, and moved in a most…inhuman…way. He sought for a hex as a clammy hand was pressed against his temple.

“Well, you’re a most interesting present, or snack, depending on what you are,” a voice said. It was female, and light, as though the speaker was young.

“Wha ––.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to eat you. You’re handsome, but you don’t look tasty.”

Farrion’s eyes finally put his world back into focus. A half-dressed figure crouched over him, and a kindly face peered out between long hair. Farrion placed the woman’s age at somewhere around the late teens, although the eyes that gazed at him suggested a much older age. What struck him, even in his numbed state, was the woman’s subtle accent. It was strikingly akin to a certain ranger who had found his way into the desert, blindly chasing after some young woman.

He was lying flat on the hard ground, and although strange light illuminated the room, he could not find its source. To his left and right were curving walls close by, bordered by the mangled bodies of several dryders. Their dark and distorted features contrasted sharply with the bright, warm atmosphere of the small room. Four figures were carved into the wall on his right, images that he recognised to be Grenth, Dwayna and Balthazar. The three gods were holding hands, and seemed to be simultaneously blessing another figure that knelt before them – an act that the Mesmer thought inconceivable. Someone receiving the blessing of three gods? Farrion locked eyes with the woman and tried to form words.

“Who are you?” he managed, licking his lips.

The woman smiled broadly, revealing a set of beautiful teeth, bordered by two canines that hung much farther from the top row of teeth than should have been. “Just call me Heather, Mesmer. It’s quick and easy to remember, isn’t it?”

“Heather…where am I?”

“You fell into my lair. I was busy helping myself to some of those dryders that were swarming all over the place and you popped in to pay me a visit. Forgive me if you find some…bites…on your legs and arms. It was a little while before I realised that you were not a dryder.”

“You were eating the dryders?!” Pain spiked into his head and Farrion tried to calm down, under the circumstances. Stay alive.

“A girl’s gotta live.” Heather sighed, “But enough about me. Who might you be? Are you the reason for all those fat, juicy dryders? If so we could become very close friends.” She smiled deviously.

“I’m Farrion, missus. And you could say that I’m partly responsible for those dryders. I was with a group of people, those beasts attacked us all of a sudden, and then some thing walked over us.”

Heather’s eyes lit up and then went very sullen. “There’s more of you – that’s good news. But this thing you speak of…that is not a good sign. I have seen it before, and I heard its passage – that demon. For what it’s worth, I even helped to imprison it. I do not have the strength or the desire to confront it again. My time is over. My last years to be spent wandering dark caverns and feasting on mindless animals.”

Farrion grimaced at Heather's final words. She looks human, but then again, I’m not so sure…there’s something…odd about her. She’s knows of this demon-thing! By Dwayna’s grace was that really what that thing was back in the cavern? Shit!

“The group I’m with – we intend to stop this thing. But we have little time.” Farrion said eventually.

Heather’s eyes lit up once again, “You? You little humans intend to stop Ja’al?” She sat back on her legs and laughed, “I must say, Cyn was right about you – the race of the two extremes. Blind bravery coupled with amazing feats of cowardice and selfishness. Heh, you are noble nonetheless.”

Farrion shook his head quickly, as his heart suddenly thumped in his chest, “Who? Did you say Cyn?”

Heather looked at him queerly, “Yes.”

“Cyn who? Cyn Eaver? The ranger?”

She shrugged. “He was Cyn to me. Only you humans have the pleasure of last names.”

Farrion breathed hard. What were the odds of meeting some woman in the depths of the earth, who might have knowledge of the man he was looking for? One thousand to one? One million? A couple trillion?

“What was he to you? How did you know him?”

Heather gave him a sidelong glance, “Why are you so interested? Do you worship him or something?”

Farrion almost choked on his tongue, “No! Worship? He’s a friend of mine, and he’s in trouble! I’m looking for him!”

She jumped back in shock, “You know Cyn? Well that’s amazing. He actually took the time to make friends with humans. He really does like you guys.”

“What the hell are you talking about? You have it seem as though Cyn isn’t human!”

“Well, that’s because he isn’t. But enough of that. You said he was in trouble? What has that crazy bastard done to himself this time?”

Farrion swallowed back a bundle of questions that worked its way into his throat. There was so much about Cyn that he did not know…. “I…I think that demon is heading straight for him.”

Unreal Cyn · May 07, 2006, 11:37 PM // 23:37

It really has been one helluva week, with all of the rushing to get work finished and what not. Sorry to say I haven't had any time to work on another chapter. This week is going to be pretty much the same, but hey, its my last of the semester!

Now I managed to finish up this chapter today so I decided to post it up. Right off the bat lemme thank Normire for letting me use his character! I wanted to have a little fun with this chapter so I threw in a character I had not planned for (I really didn't plan for anything so I guess that doesn't matter does it?) So here's Chapter 15! I hope you enjoy and as always thanks for all your views!

Relic from the North

Cyn drew two arrows and loaded them onto his Ithas bow. Strafing around the obelisk put him in range of the Charr. To his right he could see the figure of Karissa, still crying and searching her things for an item she did not have. Apparently she had not heard the Charr’s growl, or maybe she just did not care. He pulled back on the bowstring, but his hand trembled and the pain from his wounded hand jack-knifed up his arm, jolting his aim.

I have to fire now! She hasn’t seen it…and that beast will be upon her in no time!

His hand trembled vigorously, but he forced it to remain steady. He waited until the Charr bounded into the direct path of his aim…and he released the arrows. Off they flew, spinning through air, straight into an obelisk. As he swore, Cyn drew two more arrows and took aim. Without waiting to aim properly, he fired. This time the arrows flew true, catching the sword-arm of the Charr. The beast grunted and flew around, its eyes finding Cyn in an instant. It cried what Cyn guessed to be a battle chant and started for him, bearing its long fangs.

“Damn,” Cyn cursed, notching another duet of arrows and launching them at the Charr. The heavy beast surprisingly dodged every volley, while not even breaking stride.

Cyn continued to fire, missing every time, until his hand went numb with pain. His whole hand burned and went into a shocked spasm. Cyn ground his teeth and dropped the bow. With his left hand he drew his dagger, and stared defiantly at the advancing Charr.

“Bring it you bastard! I’ve hunted and killed hundreds of your kind before! You will be nothing but a smear beneath my heel!” he shouted. His eyes went ablaze as he wove together the element of fire.

The beast closed the distance swiftly, but then halted abruptly ten feet from the ranger. The two races eyed one another, both of them breathing hard, adrenaline rushing through their veins. Cyn was just about to release his fireball when just then, the Charr did something strange. It suddenly bowed, sheathed its sword and approached the ranger.

“Well, it’s about time I found you, old chap!” It said, in a sprightly yet deep voice.

Other men would have been genuinely shocked. Other men would not expect a mindless beast to open a mouth not built for anything but snarling and biting to speak.

“You, lad, had me running through that bloody desert for a long time! Blimey! It was a helluva run.” The Charr spoke between snarls of pleasure, with a rich accent to boot. “Do you still want to do battle with me, for I apologize for getting you so worked up just now? I’m quite overeager, and the thrill of jumping from the cavern entrance really got me going.”

Cyn blinked long and hard. When he opened his eyes the Charr still stood there, as he expected. Only crazy men could meet a talking Charr, who spoke fluently and had such diction that defied the very structure of its biology. The ranger looked over the beast, at its finely crafted armour, and at the smooth silk cloak clasped at its neck that covered its back and hung over its shoulders. Besides the obvious fact of it speaking, this Charr was not any ordinary Charr.

“What the f**k are you?” Cyn found himself saying, not sheathing his blade. He had met enemies before that tried to kill him under the guise of friendship – human enemies. He would be damned if he would let down his guard on one of the beasts that had been responsible for the decimation of two human kingdoms.

“Why, my good lad, I’m Sir Big Charr, of the Hairy Council.” The beast’s nose twitched in pride, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I hope you didn’t really mean to make me into a smear beneath your heel, my good fellow. I bruise easily.” With that he pulled the two arrows from his large, hairy arm and cast them to the ground without flinching. “Take all the time you need to reply – I have that effect on people.”

“The Hairy Council?! Do you know how foolish that sounds? How is it that you are talking to me? And where the hell did you come from – this is the Crystal Desert!”

The Charr frowned, “Well it is a rough translation, but I learned your language in the finest university in my land, lad. Jolly old language is it not? Although the only way to properly express oneself is called cursing.” It sighed, “I travel a lot, and I came here on a quest to save the world, believe it or not.”

Cyn struggled to find a reply. All these years he had thought Charr to be nothing but animals, albeit animals that could wear armour and wield magic and weapons. How is it that none of them had talked to him before? Had talked to anyone before?

“That lass that you were trailing, now she’s an interesting human. I hear that she is up to something rather naughty.”

“Who sent you…how do you know this?”

“I am in a fine old guild – we’re called the Wraiths and we have access to naughty information. I’m not sure what in blazes she’s up to, but all I know is that it’s quite naughty.” The Charr’s small eyes jumped on Cyn’s bandaged hand, and suddenly his voice took on a much more serious tone, “Did she attack you, lad?”

“Well, not exactly,” Cyn replied, his senses trained for any sudden movements of the Charr, “There’s something else in here – watching us. It attacked me I think, but I attacked her, thinking she had attacked me. Obviously she retaliated.”

“Something else you say?” he turned and studied the jagged teeth far above, “I indeed felt something on my way through that long entrance corridor. It was a powerful presence I’m sure. But enough chatter, sport, I need to speak with that lass.”

Cyn was just about to answer the Charr when a question slipped into his mouth, “Why did you destroy Ascalon, Charr?”

Big Charr looked back at Cyn quickly. The ranger thought that a shadow of regret and shame passed over his small eyes, but he couldn’t be sure, “I did not attack your country, lad, but for your answer – your guess is as good as mine. My folk lived far in the north, far away from the factions that invaded your country.” He stepped closer to the ranger, “But now is not the time to discuss such matters! Where is the lass?”

Tell him. Maybe he will kill her for you.

Something was happening. He could feel it. The atmosphere was charged, and even though he felt that he should be very surprised and unnerved at meeting this Charr at this time, he was not. Everything felt…right. The earth itself, the very cavern in which he stood, waited in silent anticipation for the culmination of…something. I’m back at square one!

“I’ll lead you to her, but if you try anything funny, I will make you into a smear under my heel, Big Charr. She’s under my protection.” Cyn never took his gaze from the Charr, and his dagger was still poised to strike, a spell never far from his mind.

“I understand your terms, sir; I shall even walk before you, so that you can always see my back.” Big Charr replied with a bemused look on his long face.

“Good. That way, back towards that giant stalagmite over there.” Cyn replied, pointing with his dagger. He had so many questions to ask…. A talking Charr? An image of him on a stalagmite in a place he was sure he had never seen before? That familiar man who he had apparently killed? Some presence lingering, growing stronger in this place…? No time!
The fallen figure of Karissa was still there, but she was unmoving, sitting on her legs and looking blankly into space. Her bag was torn into shreds all around her. Melandru!

Big Charr stopped suddenly before Cyn. In that instant the Charr’s sword was out, and the huge beast lunged backwards at Cyn, driving the steel through flesh, muscle and bone. All Cyn could do was gasp, as his world was plunged into sudden darkness.

Cyn blinked. Big Charr had stopped, but his weapon was still sheathed, and he was staring quizzically at Karissa. Cyn shook the vision out of his head. He was unscathed. Big Charr had not suddenly attacked him. So what the hell just happened?

Suddenly his eyes were drawn to a glint of metal in Karissa’s hand. It took the ranger mere seconds to determine what it was. A small, sharp stiletto! From where Cyn stood, it seemed that the blade of the weapon was iridescent – glimmering pale yellow. His stomach lurched as he suddenly recognised the blade…but suddenly the memory slipped away. Melandru’s grace! Where have I seen that before?! Even as he tried to remember, the sudden memory fled from the grasping fingers of his mind.

“Bloody hell?!” Big Charr exclaimed.

Cyn snapped back to things close at hand. His eyes went back to Karissa, and at the stiletto in her hand that was flying towards her neck. Let her do it, Cyn Eaver, let her take her own life. In an instant, the world seemed to freeze as Cyn sheathed his dagger and leapt towards the young woman. A breath escaped his lungs as he grasped her hand, pulling it firmly away from her neck. The stiletto trembled a hair’s breadth away from her flesh. She opened her tear-moistened eyes suddenly, and they locked onto his. In a heartbeat he was consumed, falling into the vertical slits of her pupils.

~ * ~

He was standing in a dark room, but dim light hung like mist in the wide expanse. Features were obscured by darkness. His focus was on the person before him, on the conversation he was having. The young woman was a relative, and younger than he – he knew – but how he knew, he did not know. Elongated canines were revealed as she spoke quickly.

“…to Tyria. There was an agreement. They’re planning for something big there, and they sent along the scapegoat. Your scapegoat.”

“She isn’t a scapegoat, Heather.”

“An abomination all the same. Created for this one purpose. Tyria will fall if she completes it.”

“If. There’s still time to stop her, to reason with her, to tell her the truth.”

“There’s no time, my lord! There isn’t a way you can get there without danger!”

“The danger I must face. I have to stop her.” He replied, massaging his crossed arms.

The young woman paused and gasped, “No. Not that way. It’s too risky! You will go against all the accords of the gods – more than you have already! You will run the risk of becoming ––.”

“Partially insane?” he finished, “I care not for risks. Tyria must be preserved.”

“They’re only humans!”

“Humans aren’t that lower than us, Heather. If they fall, who next will these so-called gods target?”

“What happens if you don’t return? What if you cannot stop her? She is powerful!”

“She is also mine.” He went and embraced the young woman, “Sweet Hope, celestial influence round me shred, crystal forms lie forever in dread, waving thy silver pinions o’er my head.”

~ * ~

Charr surrounded him on all sides, weapons drawn, and standing in the violently wavering light of their effigy. A tall, black haired commander addressed him.

“…from the north. Unexpected.” The Charr said in a gruff voice, large locks of thick hair dangling from his head as he spoke.

“Do what you must. Root her out.”

“Use the burning crystals?”

“Do it, Charr. But no more. You will wait for further instruction….”

And as, in sparkling majesty, a star, a crystal…

Suddenly he was swept away, a forest growing from the empty plains around him. The light of the fire dimmed to the half-light of a false dawn, lessened even more by the foliage above him. He was lying on his side, bleeding profusely, with a bloodied sword in his hand, and facing another man in like condition. The man staggered towards him and under the dim light, the man’s face was revealed, hatred burning in his eyes. In his hands he wielded a long black staff. A raven staff of a necromancer. Green mists enveloped him as he tried to land the final blow to the man on the forest floor.

“Grenth shall take you now, fool. Like he did me. And he will feast on your rotting soul, the soul you traded for this cursed world!” the necromancer rasped, staggering.

“Fuh…f**k you. You hadn’t the balls to release the demon yourself, and you don’t have the balls to kill me. Your head should still be rolling about the obsidian floor, you waste.” The man replied.

There was a sudden flash, as though everything around them had lit up in white fire, and a feeling of burning and disorientation quickly set in. The man dropped his sword and grabbed his head as his body was wracked with pain. The necromancer fell to ground, screaming.

~ * ~

Cyn blinked and breathed again. Still gripping Karissa’s hand, he collapsed to his knees, his mind reeling from the memories and the questions they brought. That was me…talking to the woman…Heather? But I’ve never met her before…have I? That was me, talking to the Charr…what were we talking about? Burning crystals? The Searing! Me…fighting that necromancer. He looks so much like….

A myriad of names jumped into his mind, flicking past his mind’s eye as quickly as a speeding arrow, yet he could read each one. Only one name froze, standing out among the rest like a mesa among endless, unbroken plains. He knew that name. He knew that person. He had known him for the better part of his adult life.

Normire Darkwind.

Unreal Cyn · May 16, 2006, 03:04 AM // 03:04

Whoa. I'm back after a while, and I'm glad to say that I'm on vacation! That's right, no more stress or project deadlines for a while, until at least I decide what I'm gonna do with myself for another year

Well, here is the much delayed finale to the story! Just kidding, but it is the much delayed Chapter 16. I hope you enjoy!

The Demon Within

He awoke suddenly, throwing the bed sheet from over his shivering body. Moonlight cascaded through the light curtains off to his right, casting confusing images of half-dark about the room. He tried to control his frenzied breathing, sighing and drawing his legs close to his chest. He buried his face in his knees and tried to fight back tears. What was happening to him? What was he turning into?

Things had happened to him. Strange things followed him during the day, wicked beasts waited for him at night. It was as though his life had descended into a downward spiral of decay and rot. He had not eaten for days, and the water that touched his lips burned like hot coals. Something was definitely after him. It did not let him rest for more than an hour. It did not grant him even the illusion of peace of mind. Not even for a minute.

When had it all started? I can’t even remember…everything has been a blur…an endless nightmare! When was the last good night’s rest he had? That night at the Forge. That’s when it started, when…when…when It began to hunt me….

He sniffled, pulling the bed sheet back around his shoulders as a cold breeze swept in from the open window. Maybe I should shut that. It might come through the window! The man glanced at the rippling curtains, and shook his head.

“I can take no more. I need one night of peace, just one night.” He said, half-crying, “By Grenth what have I done to deserve this?! I’m sick – I feel myself dying every goddamned day! I can’t take anymore…!” his words turned into deep tears.

Amidst his sobbing he did not hear the wooden door off to his left open, swinging inwards almost with a mind of its own. A silent figure crept into the room with as much disturbance as a breath. Quickly, noiselessly, it crossed the room and stopped in the bleeding darkness beside his bed.

The man in the bed looked around to see the flash of steel, and feel the bite of pain as he was flung carelessly out of bed, towards the window. In seconds the intruder was upon him again, driving twin daggers through his stomach and chest. The man screamed, half-crying, and tried to fling the intruder away, whilst reaching around aimlessly in the dark for something to defend himself.

His hand came upon a small satchel just in time to diminish a powerful blow from the intruder. The man fell back anyway, dazed, his head swimming with confusion, pain, and the reek of death. The last thing he felt was a glowing, pale yellow blade, which impaled his neck to the floor.

Blood welled up in his throat and as he coughed and spat, squirming against the blade in his neck, the intruder crawled over him, and bent over his face. He tried to grab at the figure, to do something, but life and energy were slipping away. The cold, subtle chains of death were already wrapping around him. A bright pair of sea-blue eyes, stark against the dark, stared down at him.

“Die, necromancer. It is the only way to remember.” The figure said, in a melodic, sensual voice. She lowered herself on him until their lips locked, her tongue feverishly lapping up the blood that spilled from his throat.

Die. Rot. Remember.

And then a spasm took him, and bloody fingers crept from the sides of his eyes, taking away his vision.

He found himself standing alone in a narrow passage. Strange statues lined either side, gazing at him through dark, hollow eyes. The faces were stark images of people, misshapen and twisted in agony. They seemed to be melting, deforming as though in intense heat.

The man averted his eyes quickly as a deep sense of fear settled about him.

“What the hell? Where am I?” he asked himself, feeling his neck where the glowing blade had linked him to the floor. To his surprise, there was no wound. Suddenly his eyes were riveted to the far end of the passage before him as a person materialised from the darkness. He could not tell exactly, but it seemed as though the person was beckoning to him.

“Hello! Is that someone out there?” the man shouted down the corridor.

The figure did not respond, but kept beckoning towards him. Then it turned quickly, and merged once again with the dark.

“Hey!” The man shouted, breaking into a run after the figure, “Hey! Wait! Stop!” the twisted figures on the corridor walls flew past him briskly, so fast that they appeared to be only one face – turning, melting, twisting.

He kept his face forward. What is this place? It feels evil! Just then he felt a harsh tug on his right arm. He stopped and glanced backwards, where nothing but empty passage lay. He focused on his right arm, and gasped. There was a long tear on his arm, as if sliced by a sword, but the wound was…expanding. Decayed, rotting muscle lay beneath the retreating skin, and his head swum as the sickening smell of dead meat filled his nostrils.

“Oh…f**k! Dwayna’s light!” he screamed, falling to his knees. “My hand! Oh god, my hand!” he picked at the decaying flesh, hoping to rip it away, to stop it from spreading, but it was no use. What was more, he did not feel a thing. It was as though the nerves in his entire body had gone dead.

Die. Rot.

“The Crystal Desert, my friend, that’s where the Tower is, where Ja’al lays dormant at the loins of this barren earth.” Said a voice, eerily familiar.

The man staggered to his feet, and gazed up at the man who had just spoken. This man was dressed in fine, flowing black robes and in his left hand he held what seemed to be an eye, encased in glass. But it was this man’s face that held his attention. He knew that face.

“Cyn! What are doing here?” he gasped, clutching the rotting wound.

“I came looking for you, Normire. You weren’t at the Meeting tonight. Is something the matter?” Cyn’s eyes studied the man intently, “I’m looking for Karissa, have you seen her?”

“Who? Look…what are you doing here? What am I doing here? Where is here?!” Normire replied feverishly. He could feel the muscle beneath his fingers withering.

Cyn looked surprised, “Are you sleepwalking or something, bossman? You’re in the Hall, remember?”

The Hall? The Hall of what?! Normire shook his head. “Cyn…I was sleeping! Someone came into my room and…and…killed me! Now I find myself here…and my arm! Look at my arm!” the necromancer held his decaying arm for Cyn to see.

Cyn gasped and covered his nose, “By Melandru’s grace, Normire! What have you done to yourself?” he put the strange eye away in a pocket on his robe and fetched a small flask from another. Unscrewing the top, he poured a clear fluid over Normire’s arm. “I don’t know what the hell is causing this, but this potion should help. It will burn.”

The fluid saturated his arm, but Normire felt no burning. And the decay continued to spread.

“What the hell?” Cyn asked, startled. He took out a small hunting knife, with a hilt of ivory inlaid with jewels. He grabbed Normire’s other arm, “Keep still, man, I’m going to try something.” He made a small incision on the necromancer’s arm, and gasped and cursed as a sickening smell swept out of the slice.

“Normire! You’re rotting from the inside out all over your body!” Cyn screamed.

The man fell back to the ground, clutching his arm and screaming. Darkness took him as his breath suddenly caught in his throat.

Remember.

Normire found himself grabbing the arms of a lithe, beautiful woman, whose sleeveless blouse revealed smooth, brown skin. Her eyes were wide with fear and confusion. The necromancer realised that he was speaking to her, even though the voice that came from his mouth sounded so…alien.

“…do you understand what you have to do woman?”

“Yes, my lord, but…but…why? I need a reason before I could do such a thing!”

“You question me?!” Normire found himself screaming. He wanted to calm down, to find out just who he was talking to, but his body was not his to control. The back of his hand crashed into the woman’s face, sending her staggering to the floor.

“You will not question me you freak! I am the reason you’re still alive! I am the reason you managed to live here amongst beings higher than yourself! Me! Now, you will go to Tyria, to the Arid Sea, and release the demon…release him! And you shall need this,” he tossed a glass covered eye at her, “The key.”

“But…this is Cyn’s key,” the woman said, rising slowly and eyeing Normire like a viper.

“Correct. Release the demon with that, and he will never be stopped.”
“Why would Cyn approve of this? I thought he loved humans…I thought he loved…me….”

“I told you already that he is a monster, Karissa. He cares nothing for you or for the inhabitants of Tyria.” Normire said, approaching the woman and gently caressing her face, “He is f**ked up.” Normire replied quickly. “Now get along, and please don’t you fail, for if you do, I swear upon Grenth’s throne that I will punish you!”

Remember…

“Where is she, Normire? Where is Karissa?”

Normire shook his head. Before him stood Cyn Eaver, dressed in another elaborate robe, but this time he wielded a strange sword. Malice filled his eyes.

He didn't want to reply, but his mouth moved under another will.

“Did you check under your bed sheets? Perhaps you lost her under ––.” The necromancer did not have the opportunity to finish his sentence, for Cyn’s blade ripped through his neck, severing it from his body in an instant.

“Sir?” Called a voice, “Sir? Sir! Oh shit!” Footsteps, running, “Someone get the Guard, quickly!”

Normire opened his eyes slowly and was met by the rippling curtain over his face. He was lying in a pool of his own blood. A fly lighted on his forehead. And then another. Soon he was covered with flies, and between them hung a sickly green mist. But that did not matter. All he felt was a pure hatred for one being. One Cyn Eaver.

Unreal Cyn · May 23, 2006, 01:54 AM // 01:54

Well I'm happy to say that this tale has reached 60 pages in MSWord! I hope that everyone is still enjoying it and I thank you all once again for your many views. Plus, I would like to thank Heather for allowing me to use her character (sorry for the awkward introduction

) but I hope that this chapter makes up for it. I've learned quite a bit about writing from working on this fanfic and I'd like to thank all those who supported me on the project and kept asking me when it was coming out. I'd also like to thank...wait. What am I doing? I haven't even finished the story yet! Just Chapter 17!

Necrotic Traversal

Heather sat back and sighed. She grumbled to herself and studied the floor. Farrion took the opportunity to find out exactly where he was, and if there was an exit. The room was indeed small, with a low roof and the floor was littered with Dryder corpses. Behind him some ways stood a wooden door, made from what looked like thick cedar. A small stone desk rested behind Heather, and upon it laid a strange assortment of items. Again his eyes were drawn to the walls. Several images were engraved on them, but the stranger ones depicted a small figure apparently being blessed by a multitude of the Old gods.

I wonder where the others are. I hope they got away from that demon!

“You look worried, Farrion,” Heather said, bringing her eyes back upon him.

Farrion could not help but reveal a smile. He always did in the company of beautiful women, albeit those that relied on dryders for nourishment. “The monks used to tell me that I’m a chronic worrier. But who can blame me? I always get thrown in some situation to save the world.”

She chuckled and found a thin, grey robe to throw over her shoulders, “Maybe someday we can all sit back and relax.” She sighed and returned his smile, “It’s nice to have some company – I was beginning to get bored in here.”

“It’s a pleasure to comply,” Farrion replied, studying the apparently young woman’s face and body. It occurred to him that she was similar in appearance to the strange figure chiselled into the wall face, being blessed by several different gods. “I have to get back to my company,” he continued, “They must be worried sick about me.”

“Then let’s not keep them waiting, shall we?” Heather replied, getting to her feet. As she rose the robe fell around her shoulders and back, reaching her feet in wide cuffs. Her pale arms extended from the short sleeves, which looked like they belonged on a snow-coat. Through the gap of the button-less robe, her inside clothes were revealed, seeming very fragile and quite incapable of turning back any blow. She turned and reached for the stash of items on the desk – two daggers, a featureless staff, several multicoloured flasks, jaws, legs and a whole set of oddities. Then she found a small bag and dropped them all in, save for the daggers, which she hung in sheaths at her waist, and the staff which she carried in her right hand.

Throwing the bag around her shoulder she glanced back at the Mesmer. “Shall we go?”

“Certainly,” Farrion said as Heather helped him to his feet. He was surprised at the strength in her grip, and at the sleek way that she carried herself. There’s something more than strange about her. Obviously. She’s about five miles below the Arid Sea, in an Elonian ruin, who apparently imprisoned a demon and knows Cyn. Of course there’s something strange about her.

“Are you coming? Or are you just going to stand there and smile at me?”

Farrion shook himself. He was not only smiling, he was grinning like a fool. “Um, just a joke I remembered, dear.”

Heather chuckled, “You Mesmer’s are all weird.”

“Indeed, but so are you.”

“I have reason to.”

“That’s you on the walls, isn’t it? Being blessed by all those gods?”

“Yes. I have an interesting background…and several talents. But they came at a price.”

Farrion tilted his head. Several talents. Blessed by many gods. Several professions? Impossible! He scanned the engravings one more time, Dwayna for monks and air elementalists. Balthazar for warriors and fire elementalists. Grenth for necromancers and assassins…

“Price?”

“It’s why I like dryders so much. You see,” she kicked a dryder corpse from the doorway, “I don’t actually eat the critters. I feed on their life essence – their blood.”

“Like a damn vampire.” Farrion offered, hoping to Lyssa that Heather did not suddenly have a craving for humans.

Heather laughed, revealing her long, sharp canines. Farrion finally realised what they were used for, and it was not only tearing through flesh. “Like a damn vampire. I can see why Cyn likes you – you have a sense of humour.”

Farrion began to smile again, but at the instant, his attention was riveted to the door. A booted foot burst through the solid cedar, sending splintered wood flying like mosquitoes from a dragonfly. A giant of a man bounded inside, dark cloak soaring, and followed by another armoured man, who, though smaller in stature, was just as eager.

When the two intruders realised that the only beings in the room were a man, a woman and several dead dryders, they sighed.

“Karak, Habib!” Farrion shouted gleefully.

Heather stared at the men in disbelief. “You could have just knocked, boys!”

As one the three men turned towards her, confusion masking Karak’s face.
“How did you manage to meet a pretty girl in this place, Farrion?” he asked in disbelief.

“I’m talented,” the Mesmer replied, giving Heather a wink.

The other Wraiths bounded into the room, weapons drawn, and kept them drawn even though they were sure that all the dryders were dead. Bones examined the room closely, and the look in his eyes told Farrion that he did not particularly like what he was seeing. He soon brought his gaze upon Heather and managed a smile beneath his mask.

“Well, greetings, ma’am. Might I ask how you got here? And why this place is stacked full of dead dryders?” He asked quickly, breathlessly.

“You’re rather forward, Mister Ranger. Well, to answer your bevy of questions – this is my home in exile, and my home for the simple fact that I can’t find a decent way out, and I was tasked with the job of keeping that demon here. About the dryders…I kill them for fun.” Heather smiled and returned Farrion’s wink.

“Well, I’m glad that you’re safe, man,” Karak said, turning back to Farrion, “That was some quick thinking back there, even though no one is quite sure what you did.”

“As per usual. Mesmers are so underappreciated.”

“So what do we do now?” Tsuki asked, gently poking a nearby dryder with her rapier. It jumped from rigor mortis, and she almost flew out of her skin.

Silence answered her.

“Farrion here filled me in on your plan,” Heather spoke into the silence, “You're lost, and this place is really, really dark. I might be able to lead you to the teleporter that zaps you out of here.”

“I thought you couldn’t get out,” Bones retorted.

“I couldn’t leave my post, which was to keep that demon imprisoned. I really don’t have the strength to do that anymore, and someone up there is summoning it, which makes keeping it imprisoned even harder. When he eventually gets out of this maze, I will have no obligation to stay here, see? I couldn’t get out for I wasn’t allowed to. Now I can.”

Bones sighed, “We haven’t much choice now. We’re almost out of time. I can feel it.”

“Then let’s get the hell out of here, eh?” Heather laughed, locking arms with Farrion and striding outside.

~ * ~

The low hallway in which they stood was pitch black, save for the light of the single remaining torch, and the strange, glowing mist that had apparently followed Heather from her lair. Farrion thought that the place carried the term ‘claustrophobic’ to new levels, with narrow, straight walls with strange, disfigured statues gazing out at them through hollow, twisted eyes. The roof hung like a bird of prey above them, lurking. And like all of the other passages in this accursed ruin, the hallway was bloody long. It seemed to go on and on and on, without even so much as a side corridor.

The disfigured statues caused Farrion to pray for smooth featureless walls. I’d rather have monotony than these…things looking at me. By Lyssa! They look as though their faces were melted in some unholy fire! Well at least I’m next to a lovely, weird lady. If these statues decide to attack us, I’m sure she’ll protect us!

“Dwayna, have mercy!” Heavens cried, exhaustedly, “How much farther?”

“Shush!” Heather said suddenly, raising her pale hand, “There’s something out there, in the darkness. Waiting for us.”

Bones stooped low and prepared a burning arrow. When it blazed alight he drew on his bow and fired the shot into the waiting darkness. The light revealed nothing but empty hallway, with statues silently guarding either side.

“There’s nothing there that I can see,” Bones said eventually, rising to his feet. “Did you hear something?”

“Whispering. The whispering of many voices. There’s something ahead of us, alright.” Heather replied, strapping the staff to her back and drawing her twin daggers.

That action brought several raised eyebrows, but the tension was broken by a shrill voice that cried out of the darkness.

“So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud, beware of he who comes before the dawn.” The voice sounded tortured, desperate, hollow.

Everyone shivered. Cold settled on the hallway like a swordsman’s grip, and a sudden feeling of anxiety enveloped the company. Farrion’s heart lurched in his chest, but he quickly regained his composure. That was only a voice…a riddle? Then why the hell am I so damn frightened?

Bones drew a barrage of arrows as the two warriors worked their way to the two ends of the group – Habib to the front with Bones, and Karak to the back. Tsuki and Heavens kept close to Farrion and Heather in the middle. All without a word.

“What the heck does that mean,” Bones asked Heather in a whisper.

“Your guess is as good as mine. I’ve been through here before, but a long time ago, and I was never one for deciphering poems.”

“Poems?”

“It sounds like a part of one of Cyn’s favourite poems. Except the part with beware of the guy who comes before the dawn…I don’t remember that verse.”

“Balthazar! Are we supposed to answer it?”

“I don’t think so,” Habib whispered suddenly. “It was a command, a warning, not a question. Something’s giving us a warning – preparing us for something.”

Bones nodded, “Let’s get moving then. Slowly now, one step at a time. Keep close together.”

With that, he and Habib inched forward, with the rest of the company close behind. A warning? Farrion thought, Beware of he who comes before the dawn…beware he who comes at night! What comes at night? Assassins? Undead? Necromancers! But why should we beware of a necromancer?

The company continued forward, assailed only by a gripping feeling of anxiety. Just when Farrion was beginning to think that he could not possibly get more anxious, the feeling suddenly disappeared. Out of the darkness came a pinprick of light, quickly growing, shifting, coalescing into a shimmering figure that hung like a dying man on the gallows. Dead, glassy eyes stared at the company, and a sickening stench of rotting flesh streamed from the many decaying wounds on the apparition’s body. Farrion’s heart skipped several beats when he looked upon the apparition’s face. With the exception of eyes, the thing really had no face. Only saggy flesh, pockmarked by some disease, covered the area where the nose and mouth should have been.

Sheer pride and the fact that he had not eaten since morning were what kept Farrion from emptying his stomach contents on the floor. Tsuki and Heavens were not so fortunate. Amidst their frenzied vomiting and Heaven’s cursing, Farrion heard Heather whisper some sort of incantation. Farrion could tell exactly which incantation it was, but he gasped as he immediately recognised the type.

Necromancer…

The glowing mist surrounding Heather swirled around her and lashed out, settling on Habib. Suddenly her eyes were aflame with a demonic, green flame as more mist drained into her daggers.

“Attack!” she hissed, “Before it has chance to cast a spell!”

Everyone except Habib remained shell-shocked. In a heartbeat he was charging towards the solid apparition, and just when the dead thing raised a misshapen arm towards the company, the warrior’s rapier was slashing into its chest. The zombie-apparition jumped as if startled, and a sickly green mist enveloped it, rushing out towards Habib.

“Attack it, for Grenth’s sake!” Heather screamed, as the mist around her changed suddenly from palish green to a bright white. It descended upon Habib like a cloak just as the green mist from the zombie struck him and dissipated.

Farrion recognised both the exact spell and its type. Heather had just cast a powerful healing breeze on Habib. The most powerful healing breeze he had ever seen. She continued casting – enchantments, curses, hexes of a type he had never before witnessed, like a card player dealing out a fresh deck. Farrion Neightswift stood there in awe. Oblivious to the fact that Heather and Habib were the only ones fighting.

He snapped out of his trance when Heather grabbed his arm, “Do something, Farrion!” With that she was gone, simply vanishing.

Beware the necromancer…

“Oh shit.”

Suddenly Heather reappeared at Habib’s side, daggers flying like lightning bolts into the zombie’s flesh. Nasal cries erupted from the zombie’s throat, muffled due to its lack of a mouth. But still cold steel rained down into it, both Habib and Heather moving like partners in some ballroom dance, until the zombie was nothing more than a heap of broken, decaying flesh.

Farrion summoned a phantasm just for the hell of it.

“Melandru’s grace!” Bones whispered reverently, “I’ve seen some strange things in my life, but ––.”

“There’s no time for talk, Bones!” Habib interjected suddenly, “Can’t you smell? There’re more of them!”

Just then Karak hollered and cursed. Every eye darted back to where he stood, gazing in restrained horror at the misshapen zombie that was pulling-squeezing itself out of one of the nearby statues. The stone had cracked open, like the metamorphic shell of a butterfly, but what was easing out of it was not a beautiful, two winged insect.

The sound of cracking stone filled the hallway, as more twisted zombies worked their way free, and it was at that moment that Farrion realised the reason for the claustrophobic design of the place. It’s another trap. A death-trap. Dwayna help us all.

Unreal Cyn · May 30, 2006, 04:56 PM // 16:56

8 days later and here's the next chapter! This one gave me some trouble, but I hope that you guys still enjoy it. Thanks again for your continued viewership...(is that even a word?)...and I look forward to finishing this story and hearing more of your comments! Here's Chapter 18 for ya!

The Choice to end All Things

His body throbbed with anxiety, but at the same time, it shook with unsettling cold and fear. No less that a dozen zombies were clamouring towards the company, and he was the only thing that stood between them and the spellcasters. But that was not the reason Karak shook.

When Farrion had run like a madman into the pitch-black labyrinth, it was Karak who knew exactly where to lead the group, right to the door of the strange but interesting woman who called herself Heather. He had tried to make it seem like he was following the Mesmer’s trail, but in fact, he was following a voice in his head – the voice of the woman he had seen die in the main tent at Amnoon. But even that was not the whole reason why guilt worked its way up his throat like bile.

Minutes after crashing through Heather’s door, he had had a vision, almost a foresight, of this exact situation. He half-recognised every step of the way Heather was leading them, and to what end, but he could not bring himself to say anything. She did not want him to.

And now she laughed bitterly, as he stood clutching a sword of unknown origin as though it were his only grip on life, and tried bravely to stand against the swarm of undead. The walls and the roof seemed to close in on all sides, trying to trap the company with a malevolence of their own.

Ah Karak…do you honestly believe that you can survive without me?

“I have been for twenty-seven years, bitch. Get out of my head!” he whispered fiercely.

But you were as helpless as a baby for the last two days…you would be dead already without me, both you and your friends.

“Leave me alone! I don’t need you!”

You know that’s not true…

Suddenly his muscles stiffened up so tightly that he thought that he had turned completely to stone. He could not move. The nearest zombie raised a hand towards him, and a black miasma curled off its fingers, swirling towards him.

The sound of cursing and frenzied spellcasting sounded from behind him. The zombies must have reached Habib and Heather at front. They would soon reach Karak, too, and he could not do a thing.

The death gas inched closer, travelling slowly, as though the zombie spellcaster knew that Karak could not get away from it.

I control you Karak. You need me because I am part of you, like two peas in a pod. Or a vine around a tree.

Through stone-like numbness Karak felt a grip on his shoulder. He could not move his head to see who it was, but he recognised the touch – the gentleness in it, and the quiet peace. Almost at the same time, Tsuki peered over his shoulder and stared straight into his eyes.

“Diana….” He found himself saying.

Just then he felt a pain rip at his innards, as though something was biting and clawing its way through Karak – trying to get out. He doubled over and lost his footing. Unknowingly he had grabbed the little monk’s hand, bring her down with him.

“Karak, what’s the matter?” Tsuki asked quickly, fearfully. In her eyes Karak thought he saw a deep hollowness, as though there was nothing behind her brown irises, nothing beneath her pretty face.

“I…I can’t move!” he grumbled as the numbness worked its way to his face.

“Bones!” the monk screamed, “Karak’s down!”

There was the sound of frenzied cursing, and then a blazing arrow soared over the monk’s head, exploding in the chest of the nearest zombie. Charred strips of undead flesh spun through the air, and a nasty smell assaulted Karak’s nostrils. Bones jumped over his fallen body, launching barrage upon barrage of arrows into the dense undead army. Some collapsed, but most still approached – walking pin cushions of undeath.

“Heavens!” Bones shouted.

The young elementalist responded with a series of lightning bolts, which seemed to rip from the walls in jagged frenzy, slicing and jumping from one zombie to the other. The sudden light was blinding and Karak quickly closed his eyes, but even then the brightness pushed its way into his rolled-back pupils.

You can’t survive without me, Karak. We’re in this together…forever….

Suddenly Diana’s face appeared in his mind’s eye, bright and lovely; just like it was on the day he met her, standing alone on the balcony overlooking the central square of Rin. To his eye it had seemed that, even though it was a very sunny summer day – the light of the blazing ball of nuclear energy one hundred thousand miles away fell only upon her, caressing her features like that of a goddess.

Then, in an instant, it was gone.

Fire whipped about behind her, and consumed her. Strips of her flesh came away like chaff from her face, revealing muscle that burned and boiled with pus. She was screaming, so loud that Karak’s ear was deaf to all else. A strange hand reached out from the fire just above her head, and reaching down, clutched her forehead in a death grip, pulling her head backwards. The claws of the hand ripped into her eyes, wrenching them straight out of her sockets. Still she screamed, even as the fire peeled off the remaining strands of flesh and charred her gaping skull.

Karak opened his eyes viciously and realised that it was not Diana screaming, but he. His throat was burning and he choked back tears. Tsuki was still above him, gazing intently at him…at his eyes.

“Oh my god….” Karak heard the monk whisper, “Karak, what’s happening to you?”

Karak struggled to a sitting position. All around him intense battle raged – the very air he breathed was saturated with the acrid scent of diffused spellcasting, the stench of undead and necromancy burned at his nostrils. Shouts and curses were being thrown like discuses through the air, punctuated by screams of pain and mindless desire.

The small circle of defenders was getting smaller.

Bones had resorted to melee just in front of the warrior, and it seemed that everyone else had as well. Although Farrion, Heavens and Heather still threw whatever spells they still had energy to cast, each wielded weapons – Farrion with Karak’s golden axe, Heavens with his fine rapier, and Heather with her twin daggers.

And Karak, limbs splayed on the floor like a forlorn sack of sugar.

Desperate to rise to his feet, Karak willed his body to move so strongly that, with a little redirection; he would have moved a mountain easily. Yet he remained fixed to the floor.

The shimmering glow of a protective barrier suddenly appeared around Bones as he fought more or less alone at the back of the group. It was Tsuki’s doing, even though she sat on the ground, with Karak’s head in her lap.

Move goddamit! Karak, move! Karak commanded himself.

You need me, you big fool. I’m here to stay. Want me. A voice rasped back from all the corners of his mind.

Never!

At that instant, Bones cried out. And the next instant, he was flung like cricket ball towards the roof, where he cracked his head against the merciless, solid granite and fell back amidst the group. He cried no more.

Time seemed suddenly slowed, cloying together like too many dumplings in the mouth.

Bones’ swords returned to the floor as slowly and softly as rose petals, glimmering in the torch light and gracefully slicing arcs through the ambient mist. An uncountable horde of zombies approached the group’s exposed back, walking gracefully like monks in the temple of Dwayna, their arms upraised as if in supplication.

Tsuki’s expression changed from repressed horror to stark shock all too quickly.

He had to do something. He was a warrior for God’s sake, and he had not even taken a single blow. He had been crippled from the inside, by a woman who he saw die in Amnoon. How and why she got inside his head Karak could not and, more likely, did not want to know. Possibly he could not fathom it. What mattered was now, at this moment – how in Balthazar’s name he was going to get back on his feet before he and everyone else were nothing more than corpses soiling the floor.

He felt Tsuki’s arms tighten around his neck. He could almost feel her thoughts, willing him to rise to his feet like some armoured Phoenix and charge into the ripe field of undead, swinging his sword like a scythe, harvesting their rotted souls.

A zombie was right before them, right upon them, preparing to fire a spell at point blank range, even as more of its brethren closed in from behind. Karak felt Tsuki resting his head on the ground. She rose like a cat, rapier gleaming, slicing off the zombie’s out stretched arm and half its head with a single stroke. She uttered a word and holy fire suddenly consumed another reanimated corpse.

But onwards the undead came, pressing and pushing past one another in a perverse lust to get at and slaughter the monk. As one they came, passing over Karak’s frozen body as though he did not even exist. The sight of their undersides was enough to make Karak vomit. He closed his eyes and wept bitterly. Tsuki’s cries echoed throughout the caverns of his mind, half occupied by an insane woman he did not even know.

Want me!

Farrion’s cries and curses filled his ears keenly, magnified as though by shock, fear, or some wicked taunt. The Mesmer sounded pained, desperate, overpowered. He was fighting death, but he knew that he could not defeat it. Maybe there was hope in his voice as well. Hope that Karak would somehow get to his feet and keep his promise of protecting his brother.

The image of Diana, her broken figure, still beautiful though trapped under a burning crystal, jumped into Karak’s mind. She had asked desperately for help. The desire to be saved by the only one she knew who could actually do it was on her lips even as the crystal crushed her, burying her forever in the bleak soil of Ascalon.

Karak had not been able to save her.

And now he could not even save the woman that looked so much like Diana that they would have passed for sisters.

He could not even save his own brother.

He could not now attempt to rescue Cyn.

Help me, Karak…

Want me.

Anguish and primal despair ravaged Karak. In a hoarse voice that was almost like a growl, he screamed so loud and so desperately, that for a moment, every creature took pause.

Give me back my body! Give me back control! Let me save my friends! Take whatever else you want!

In that small moment of decision, just as the thought was formed, Karak knew that he had somehow condemned himself to the abyss. Somehow, he felt as though he had made a pact with Grenth himself. Or something worse than Grenth.

Vigour and strength poured back into his veins and he leapt to his feet, drawing the pale broadsword in one seamless motion. Bringing his sword upwards he halved the zombie standing above him, and the two halves of the undead parted as he stood. His Underworld-wrought steel armour absorbed the ambient light and reflected it in a strange, almost holy glow. Zombies reeled back from just the sight of him, and the reckless hate that shone in his eyes like two blazing furnaces was as tangible as cold steel. His eyes were afire. His very flesh burned. His blood boiled from head to smallest toe, and with every breath, every swell of his lungs and beat of his heart, he felt more power surge through him.

He felt as powerful as Balthazar himself.

He felt acutely alive.

He felt…unreal.

Unreal Cyn · Jun 11, 2006, 05:24 AM // 05:24

Whoa. A little over a week and still no advice from ya'll. What's up with that, lol? I honestly feel that viewers should take the time out to leave a brisk comment at least on any story in the forum, for the writer's sake. I mean, many of the writers here give of their best and would like a little feedback. You know what I'm saying? Anyhow I thank everyone for the continued views and I hope to bring this story to a close real soon, as I got some other upcoming commitments to meet. Got some new characters on the way, so here's Chapter 19!

No Way Out

A weak blue light broke over the horizon, capping the tallest buildings with hazy halos in the mist. Seagulls cried from far off and cocks crowed, almost as if in reply. The air was cold, blowing inland from the Sea. It brought with it a fresh smell – scents of salt, fish, and an unnameable smell that reminded one of life and inspiration. The harbour was mostly deserted, with the bobbing naval vessels the only activity, the creaking and groaning of wood the only other sounds.

Most of Lion’s Arch was still asleep, dreaming, preparing their bodies for another day. Soon, however the city folk would wake from their slumber and bustle, making Lion’s Arch the central hub of human civilization that it was. The last bastion of human power left in the world.

Surf broke on the pier, sending wide fans of foam over the wooden structure, and gently washing the figure that stood there, staring out across the waters.

Normire blinked the water out of his eyes and tightened the black robe around his shoulders. The robe covered all except his finger tips and face. Even though it was supposed to keep him warm, he still felt as cold as ice, as though the robe sucked the heat out of him.

He tried to forget the night before. He tried to convince himself that it was all one bad nightmare. One hell of a nightmare. What else could it have been? He had woken to the sight of several Lionguard soldiers in his room, with a monk gazing down into his face. Granted, he was lying in a pool of dried blood, but the monk had found nothing wrong with Normire. So he tried to tell himself that Cyn had not…could not have attacked and killed him. If the ranger had done that, how the hell would Normire be standing on the pier? Logic, ever the necromancer’s friend and ally, was failing him. Within him boiled an almost insane anger towards Cyn. But what had the ranger done?! They were in the same guild for years for God’s sake, through it all, from before the Searing to even after the events at Komalie. They had remained in contact even after the fall of the Jade Empire.

Cyn was a friend. Surely he had his secrets, and Normire was never actually sure of his past, but the ranger was a good man, loyal and patriotic. He was a master with the bow and doubled as a fine elementalist to boot. But in none of those years had Cyn raised a finger against him.

Then why did those dreams feel so real? Why did they feel so much like memories more so than simple images woven together by an active yet tired mind? Normire thought.

“Enjoying the surf ol’ fella?” came a voice from the necromancer’s left.

Normire spun around and came face to face with a small-built man. He was bald and tanned arms bulged from his short sleeved shirt. He wore baggy work pants and was barefoot. In his hand he grasped a length of thick rope and seemed to be untying it from the pier. He looked like an experienced sailor, and Normire was sure that he would have had flecks of grey in his hair, if he had any hair to begin with.

“Um, yeah. It’s a nice morning.”

“Indeed skippa. Most morns are clear, but not nearly as peaceful as this. It’s almost as though something great is going to happen. You know what I’m sayin’?”

Normire sighed and the image of the strange, bright sea-blue eyes from the night before jumped into his mind’s eye. Who was that? A woman by the sound of the voice, but what was she talking about? What did she mean about me remembering?

“Travelling today, skippa?” the bald sailor asked.

Travelling. Gods, now I know something is chasing me. Last night had to be a dream. I can’t let whatever’s chasing me get me for real!

“Yes. I think I’m going to be travelling today.” Normire said finally.

“Aye. Today’s a good day for sailing. Calm waters and gentle breeze. Where might a man like yourself be headed? If I may ask?”

“Somewhere far. Do you have a ship? Do you take passengers?”

The sailor finished untying the rope and cast it onto the deck of the small ship at the pier. “Aye, skippa. I’m sailing. And hard too. I’m in a hurry to get from Tyria, and by the looks of ya, I’d have to say you were in the same boat.”

“How far are you sailing?”

“I’m making two ports. I’ve got some folk to drop off at Amnoon, and then I’m off to Cantha.”

Cantha. By Grenth’s grace whatever’s following me won’t reach me there. Or at least I’ll have some more time to hide.

“What’s your fare, sailor? I wish to get to Cantha.”

The sailor smiled. The pier was now beginning to bustle with life as scores of sailors and merchants swarmed to their ships, off-loading supplies and readying the vessels.

“Five hundred gold, skippa. Half here, half there. Are you still interested?”

“Hell yes.” Normire replied quickly. He suddenly had a sense of urgency, and even if the cost of his trip had been all of the monies he had saved from his guild and his inheritance, he was sure that he would not have given pause.

“Aye. You had better get all your things together – complete any business. I leave in the hour.”

“I’m all there is. I have no other luggage.”

Normire realised that the sailors eyes had strayed past him. When he spoke his voice was quick and quiet, “There’s someone watching you, partner. Don’t look! Don’t draw their attention. Now listen carefully to me. I’ve dealt with your sort before – folks running from their pasts. If you board this ship you’re follower will undoubtedly trail you. You have to lose him in the city crowd. There’s a bartender there on the market street who serves at a pub called the ‘Dread’. Tell him Pister sent you. He will sort you out. Then get back here as quickly as possible. Go now, son. But walk away slowly. I will start to hum if the person starts to follow you. Now go!” with that the sailor climbed aboard his vessel and continued making preparations.

Normire stood there for a few seconds in disbelief. Something in him wanted to turn around and face the person trailing him, but logic and common sense drove him back into the city, walking at an easy pace. He did not have to hear the sailor’s musical humming to know that the person was trailing him. Their eyes seemed to be boring holes in his back.

By Grenth! Does this nightmare ever end?

The stone arms of the city clasped around him as the necromancer fell into the bustling semi-chaos that was the market district of Lion’s Arch. Peddlers and merchants of all sizes and demeanours, fronted by squabbling customers of various backgrounds, choked the main artery that flowed into the heart of the District. Buildings two and three floors high, built from large blocks of greyed limestone and coral, hugged the road, seemingly bending towards the necromancer.

Scents of perfumes, meats cooking on a grill, fruit and earth-caked ground vegetables filled Normire’s nostrils. The smells were so powerful that he could almost taste the foods in his mouth. He would have stopped and just savoured the flavours in the air, if this day was any day but this day. He always knew that he was being pursued, ever since the frozen landscape of the Shiverpeaks, but even here, in the dense human jungle of Lion’s Arch, he had not gotten away. Maybe last night had been a dream after all – foreshadow of worse horrors. Normire shuddered uncontrollably.

Slowly shouldering past the city folk, he had to resist the almost insane feeling of breaking into a mad dash, shoving people out of his way like an enraged Minotaur. Crowded as the road was, he felt his pursuer’s gaze so strongly that the street could as well have been empty.

A sign drew his attention to his far right. On it was a brightly coloured image of a dark-skinned man shaking his dreadlocks. Above the face was the word ‘Dread’. The urge to push folk out of his way on a mad dash to apparent safety grew suddenly stronger.

Easy Normire. Easy goddamit! I can’t let whoever’s chasing me see me going into that bar…Gods! How the heck am I to do that?

City folk crowded around him at all sides, yet he could still feel that piercing gaze. He looked around quickly, trying to pick out some wicked face, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Every face looked almost alike, as if they were printed on some epic tapestry. Logic told him that he was simply suffering from paranoia. It told him that the bald sailor was just playing with his mind, that there was not really anyone trailing him. Logic told him that everyone was in on it – some plan to kill him.

Sometimes Logic and Paranoia are indistinguishable.

Fighting back his urges, Normire worked his way steadily to his right, deviating on purpose to some merchant stall or the other. But everyone else was wearing dull colours, or went about bareback. He was wearing a jet black robe, with a hood for added conspicuousness. He did not attract many stares, but someone could definitely see him if they wanted to. Normire cursed his bloody ignorance. He probably stood out from the crowd like a middle finger.

Unbuttoning the robe he ducked under a yet-to-be-occupied stall table, leaving the robe beneath it. When he re-emerged on the other side, all he wore was a simple shirt and long cloth pants, albeit woven from fine materials.

The gaze suddenly seemed to have shifted, and Normire found himself sighing with relief. He made a bee-line for the ‘Dread’.

In moments he was at the door, and as he passed it a voice called out to him from just outside the doorway. It was undoubtedly feminine, and almost musically mesmerising. He stopped dead in his tracks and sought the owner of the voice. A tall woman stood with arms crossed at the right of the doorway, dressed in non-descript clothes suited for work at the harbour. Despite her clothes, she was remarkably beautiful and almost sensual. The sort of woman that makes a man want to undress and get things started urgently.

She perused his body with bright sea-blue eyes. A gentle half-smile was upon her lips.

“I like your new outfit.” She said.

Normire’s heart and stomach held hands and both lurched into his throat. This woman was fine for sure, but something strange emanated from her as well, like some taint on a delicious set of ice-cream straight from the Shiverpeaks.

“Do I know you?” he asked.

The woman pursed her lips and ran a hand through her long, jet black hair, “I’m sure you’ll remember.”

The piercing gaze knifed Normire in his back. He glanced back towards the street quickly, and saw no one looking at him. He glanced back at the woman. She was gone, vanishing like mist in a warm breeze.

Normire lunged into the pub and walked towards the bar. Who the hell was that woman? Why did she like my new outfit? Does she…. Realisation struck the necromancer like a lightning bolt sent from the hand of Dwayna herself. Grenth preserve your servant. Was she the one following me? I recognise those eyes of hers…my god! Last night in that dream! That person who…killed me…with the daggers, told me something about remembering! That person had blue eyes!

Was he still asleep in the bedroom? Or can characters from dreams and nightmares jump between worlds? Or was last night real?

Normire stopped that train of thought. He knew that he was getting ahead of himself. He was freaking out. The woman at the door was just that – a woman. Probably a harlot. Or something. Maybe even a Lionguard. Now that made sense, there were a couple of the Guard in his room last night. She could have recognised his face and just decided to compliment him on his new attire.

The gaze suddenly returned, this time burning into his back like a fire.

Two fists landed into the bar and a panicked man leaned over the counter at the bartender. The latter walked up to the counter and finished polishing a glass.

“Can I help a brother?” the bartender said.

“Oh shit! F**k!”

“Mon, you insane? You don’t step to me like dat! Where’s the good morning, eh?”

“Suh…sorry.” Normire struggled to get himself back under control, “I…I’m…. Pister sent me.”

“Did he now?” the bartender gave Normire a long search with his eyes, and then glanced at the door and the environs. “Afweeh got something for you then.”

With that, the dreadlocked bartender replaced the now polished glass and motioned for Normire to join him on the other side of the bar. The necromancer quickly obliged, following the bartender out a well-concealed side door and onto a stairwell that cut into the earth beneath the shop.

“Ah, I know folk like you. Pister always sends them up my way. On the run are yuh?”

“Yes!”

“Cool mon. Chill bossman. Not a boy coming through dat door. It warded and trapped and thing, you site? Now. We’ve got some quick work to do. I’m ah gonna make you disappear.”

After a few moments of tense silence, Normire glanced back up the stairs, despite the bartender’s assurance. The stairwell was quiet, and building paranoia sharpened his hearing. The sound of a door, softly being opened, reached his ears.

Unreal Cyn · Jun 11, 2006, 05:25 AM // 05:25

Whoa. A little over a week and still no advice from ya'll. What's up with that, lol? I honestly feel that viewers should take the time out to leave a brisk comment at least on any story in the forum, for the writer's sake. I mean, many of the writers here give of their best and would like a little feedback. You know what I'm saying? Anyhow I thank everyone for the continued views and I hope to bring this story to a close real soon, as I got some other upcoming commitments to meet. Got some new characters on the way, so here's Chapter 19!

No Way Out

A weak blue light broke over the horizon, capping the tallest buildings with hazy halos in the mist. Seagulls cried from far off and cocks crowed, almost as if in reply. The air was cold, blowing inland from the Sea. It brought with it a fresh smell – scents of salt, fish, and an unnameable smell that reminded one of life and inspiration. The harbour was mostly deserted, with the bobbing naval vessels the only activity, the creaking and groaning of wood the only other sounds.

Most of Lion’s Arch was still asleep, dreaming, preparing their bodies for another day. Soon, however the city folk would wake from their slumber and bustle, making Lion’s Arch the central hub of human civilization that it was. The last bastion of human power left in the world.

Surf broke on the pier, sending wide fans of foam over the wooden structure, and gently washing the figure that stood there, staring out across the waters.

Normire blinked the water out of his eyes and tightened the black robe around his shoulders. The robe covered all except his finger tips and face. Even though it was supposed to keep him warm, he still felt as cold as ice, as though the robe sucked the heat out of him.

He tried to forget the night before. He tried to convince himself that it was all one bad nightmare. One hell of a nightmare. What else could it have been? He had woken to the sight of several Lionguard soldiers in his room, with a monk gazing down into his face. Granted, he was lying in a pool of dried blood, but the monk had found nothing wrong with Normire. So he tried to tell himself that Cyn had not…could not have attacked and killed him. If the ranger had done that, how the hell would Normire be standing on the pier? Logic, ever the necromancer’s friend and ally, was failing him. Within him boiled an almost insane anger towards Cyn. But what had the ranger done?! They were in the same guild for years for God’s sake, through it all, from before the Searing to even after the events at Komalie. They had remained in contact even after the fall of the Jade Empire.

Cyn was a friend. Surely he had his secrets, and Normire was never actually sure of his past, but the ranger was a good man, loyal and patriotic. He was a master with the bow and doubled as a fine elementalist to boot. But in none of those years had Cyn raised a finger against him.

Then why did those dreams feel so real? Why did they feel so much like memories more so than simple images woven together by an active yet tired mind? Normire thought.

“Enjoying the surf ol’ fella?” came a voice from the necromancer’s left.

Normire spun around and came face to face with a small-built man. He was bald and tanned arms bulged from his short sleeved shirt. He wore baggy work pants and was barefoot. In his hand he grasped a length of thick rope and seemed to be untying it from the pier. He looked like an experienced sailor, and Normire was sure that he would have had flecks of grey in his hair, if he had any hair to begin with.

“Um, yeah. It’s a nice morning.”

“Indeed skippa. Most morns are clear, but not nearly as peaceful as this. It’s almost as though something great is going to happen. You know what I’m sayin’?”

Normire sighed and the image of the strange, bright sea-blue eyes from the night before jumped into his mind’s eye. Who was that? A woman by the sound of the voice, but what was she talking about? What did she mean about me remembering?

“Travelling today, skippa?” the bald sailor asked.

Travelling. Gods, now I know something is chasing me. Last night had to be a dream. I can’t let whatever’s chasing me get me for real!

“Yes. I think I’m going to be travelling today.” Normire said finally.

“Aye. Today’s a good day for sailing. Calm waters and gentle breeze. Where might a man like yourself be headed? If I may ask?”

“Somewhere far. Do you have a ship? Do you take passengers?”

The sailor finished untying the rope and cast it onto the deck of the small ship at the pier. “Aye, skippa. I’m sailing. And hard too. I’m in a hurry to get from Tyria, and by the looks of ya, I’d have to say you were in the same boat.”

“How far are you sailing?”

“I’m making two ports. I’ve got some folk to drop off at Amnoon, and then I’m off to Cantha.”

Cantha. By Grenth’s grace whatever’s following me won’t reach me there. Or at least I’ll have some more time to hide.

“What’s your fare, sailor? I wish to get to Cantha.”

The sailor smiled. The pier was now beginning to bustle with life as scores of sailors and merchants swarmed to their ships, off-loading supplies and readying the vessels.

“Five hundred gold, skippa. Half here, half there. Are you still interested?”

“Hell yes.” Normire replied quickly. He suddenly had a sense of urgency, and even if the cost of his trip had been all of the monies he had saved from his guild and his inheritance, he was sure that he would not have given pause.

“Aye. You had better get all your things together – complete any business. I leave in the hour.”

“I’m all there is. I have no other luggage.”

Normire realised that the sailors eyes had strayed past him. When he spoke his voice was quick and quiet, “There’s someone watching you, partner. Don’t look! Don’t draw their attention. Now listen carefully to me. I’ve dealt with your sort before – folks running from their pasts. If you board this ship you’re follower will undoubtedly trail you. You have to lose him in the city crowd. There’s a bartender there on the market street who serves at a pub called the ‘Dread’. Tell him Pister sent you. He will sort you out. Then get back here as quickly as possible. Go now, son. But walk away slowly. I will start to hum if the person starts to follow you. Now go!” with that the sailor climbed aboard his vessel and continued making preparations.

Normire stood there for a few seconds in disbelief. Something in him wanted to turn around and face the person trailing him, but logic and common sense drove him back into the city, walking at an easy pace. He did not have to hear the sailor’s musical humming to know that the person was trailing him. Their eyes seemed to be boring holes in his back.

By Grenth! Does this nightmare ever end?

The stone arms of the city clasped around him as the necromancer fell into the bustling semi-chaos that was the market district of Lion’s Arch. Peddlers and merchants of all sizes and demeanours, fronted by squabbling customers of various backgrounds, choked the main artery that flowed into the heart of the District. Buildings two and three floors high, built from large blocks of greyed limestone and coral, hugged the road, seemingly bending towards the necromancer.

Scents of perfumes, meats cooking on a grill, fruit and earth-caked ground vegetables filled Normire’s nostrils. The smells were so powerful that he could almost taste the foods in his mouth. He would have stopped and just savoured the flavours in the air, if this day was any day but this day. He always knew that he was being pursued, ever since the frozen landscape of the Shiverpeaks, but even here, in the dense human jungle of Lion’s Arch, he had not gotten away. Maybe last night had been a dream after all – foreshadow of worse horrors. Normire shuddered uncontrollably.

Slowly shouldering past the city folk, he had to resist the almost insane feeling of breaking into a mad dash, shoving people out of his way like an enraged Minotaur. Crowded as the road was, he felt his pursuer’s gaze so strongly that the street could as well have been empty.

A sign drew his attention to his far right. On it was a brightly coloured image of a dark-skinned man shaking his dreadlocks. Above the face was the word ‘Dread’. The urge to push folk out of his way on a mad dash to apparent safety grew suddenly stronger.

Easy Normire. Easy goddamit! I can’t let whoever’s chasing me see me going into that bar…Gods! How the heck am I to do that?

City folk crowded around him at all sides, yet he could still feel that piercing gaze. He looked around quickly, trying to pick out some wicked face, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Every face looked almost alike, as if they were printed on some epic tapestry. Logic told him that he was simply suffering from paranoia. It told him that the bald sailor was just playing with his mind, that there was not really anyone trailing him. Logic told him that everyone was in on it – some plan to kill him.

Sometimes Logic and Paranoia are indistinguishable.

Fighting back his urges, Normire worked his way steadily to his right, deviating on purpose to some merchant stall or the other. But everyone else was wearing dull colours, or went about bareback. He was wearing a jet black robe, with a hood for added conspicuousness. He did not attract many stares, but someone could definitely see him if they wanted to. Normire cursed his bloody ignorance. He probably stood out from the crowd like a middle finger.

Unbuttoning the robe he ducked under a yet-to-be-occupied stall table, leaving the robe beneath it. When he re-emerged on the other side, all he wore was a simple shirt and long cloth pants, albeit woven from fine materials.

The gaze suddenly seemed to have shifted, and Normire found himself sighing with relief. He made a bee-line for the ‘Dread’.

In moments he was at the door, and as he passed it a voice called out to him from just outside the doorway. It was undoubtedly feminine, and almost musically mesmerising. He stopped dead in his tracks and sought the owner of the voice. A tall woman stood with arms crossed at the right of the doorway, dressed in non-descript clothes suited for work at the harbour. Despite her clothes, she was remarkably beautiful and almost sensual. The sort of woman that makes a man want to undress and get things started urgently.

She perused his body with bright sea-blue eyes. A gentle half-smile was upon her lips.

“I like your new outfit.” She said.

Normire’s heart and stomach held hands and both lurched into his throat. This woman was fine for sure, but something strange emanated from her as well, like some taint on a delicious set of ice-cream straight from the Shiverpeaks.

“Do I know you?” he asked.

The woman pursed her lips and ran a hand through her long, jet black hair, “I’m sure you’ll remember.”

The piercing gaze knifed Normire in his back. He glanced back towards the street quickly, and saw no one looking at him. He glanced back at the woman. She was gone, vanishing like mist in a warm breeze.

Normire lunged into the pub and walked towards the bar. Who the hell was that woman? Why did she like my new outfit? Does she…. Realisation struck the necromancer like a lightning bolt sent from the hand of Dwayna herself. Grenth preserve your servant. Was she the one following me? I recognise those eyes of hers…my god! Last night in that dream! That person who…killed me…with the daggers, told me something about remembering! That person had blue eyes!

Was he still asleep in the bedroom? Or can characters from dreams and nightmares jump between worlds? Or was last night real?

Normire stopped that train of thought. He knew that he was getting ahead of himself. He was freaking out. The woman at the door was just that – a woman. Probably a harlot. Or something. Maybe even a Lionguard. Now that made sense, there were a couple of the Guard in his room last night. She could have recognised his face and just decided to compliment him on his new attire.

The gaze suddenly returned, this time burning into his back like a fire.

Two fists landed into the bar and a panicked man leaned over the counter at the bartender. The latter walked up to the counter and finished polishing a glass.

“Can I help a brother?” the bartender said.

“Oh shit! F**k!”

“Mon, you insane? You don’t step to me like dat! Where’s the good morning, eh?”

“Suh…sorry.” Normire struggled to get himself back under control, “I…I’m…. Pister sent me.”

“Did he now?” the bartender gave Normire a long search with his eyes, and then glanced at the door and the environs. “Afweeh got something for you then.”

With that, the dreadlocked bartender replaced the now polished glass and motioned for Normire to join him on the other side of the bar. The necromancer quickly obliged, following the bartender out a well-concealed side door and onto a stairwell that cut into the earth beneath the shop.

“Ah, I know folk like you. Pister always sends them up my way. On the run are yuh?”

“Yes!”

“Cool mon. Chill bossman. Not a boy coming through dat door. It warded and trapped and thing, you site? Now. We’ve got some quick work to do. I’m ah gonna make you disappear.”

After a few moments of tense silence, Normire glanced back up the stairs, despite the bartender’s assurance. The stairwell was quiet, and building paranoia sharpened his hearing. The sound of a door, softly being opened, reached his ears.

mister pister · Jun 11, 2006, 06:13 PM // 18:13

Hey Cyn, just wanted to let you know that I've been keeping up with this. It's great so far, and thanks for adding my mes.

Unreal Cyn · Jun 17, 2006, 01:48 AM // 01:48

Thanks again for the views everyone and thanks Mister P. for allowing me to use your character! I'm glad that you folks are (hopefully) enjoying this, so here is the next chapter. The story is soon going to be over, as you're probably going to surmise from Chapter 20!

Taken

Another zombie, now limbless and headless, collapsed to the floor as Karak’s pale sword careened to the next one. The zombie back-peddled like a madman, but was trapped when it found its back to the wall as it stood beside a misshapen statue. Karak went for it and dismembered it with the passion of a footballer.

Karak blinked, and realised that all around him, zombies lay hewn and dead, their limbs scattered as though by a hurricane. He turned and found the others staring at him. Except for the shocked and frightened look on their faces, they looked generally unharmed. Farrion was gripping the battle-axe for dear life, his entire posture like that of an exhausted, energy-deprived man. Heather and Habib looked completely exhausted themselves, and strips of torn undead flesh hung from their blades and clung to their armour.

“Oh my goddess! Sweet Dwayna! Sweet Dwayna!” Heavens moaned, gasping for breath. Of all the company, he seemed the least exhausted. Surely he was not low on energy, but maybe he was just too frightened to do anything, or perhaps he did not have a clear shot on many of the zombies.

“We must get from here quickly.” Habib said, sheathing his sword and moving to Bones. “I don’t know if we can hold off another assault like that.”

Karak sighed and brought the pale sword to his side. For some strange reason, he knew that they had seen the last of the zombies. The undead had finished what they had come to do.

Tsuki joined Habib at Bone’s side and her fingers moved gracefully over the ranger’s body – hovering inches above it. A soft blue glow radiated from her finger tips. To Karak, the ranger seemed unconscious. The man had taken quite a blow to the cranium, so if he was as hard headed as Karak, he should not have suffered terrible injury. But the looks on Tsuki’s and Habib’s faces said otherwise.

“Are you alright, bro?” Farrion asked weakly, as he made his way to Karak’s side.

“Yes,” and no, “I’m…I’m glad we survived that one.”

Farrion sighed and followed his brother’s gaze to the fallen ranger, “I don’t know how much longer I could have fought. There were so many of the bastards! So fast! Even Heather was getting tired.”

“They’re gone now.”

“Thank the gods,” Heather said as she joined the brothers. Karak looked up at her and realised that she, too, had sheathed her weapons and was leaning on her staff. For a split-second, she looked much, much older than she had first appeared.

“That was quick work back here, Karak,” she continued, managing a smile, “You’re a good warrior.”

“I’m the best there is,” Karak replied.

Now you are, that is.

That voice again. Dana. Why was she doing this to him? What was her plan, for the love of Dwayna? She had done nothing but help him up until now, even if she had attacked him back in Amnoon. Was she some sort of demented guardian angel?

For some reason Karak doubted that possibility very much.

“I agree with Habib, though. We should get moving.” Heather continued, “How’s Bones?”

Tsuki glanced up at the three of them. Slowly she spoke, “Not good. He was knocked unconscious, but he suffers from internal bleeding. I patched him up best I could, but I don’t know…I just don’t…know….” She buried her face in her hands, crying.

Karak had to subdue the sudden urge to run to her, hold her in his arms and comfort her. She looked so much like Diana, and seeing her like this was almost too much to bear. She felt the sting of failure just as keenly as he would in her situation. She looked so much like Diana, before the crystal came and ended her life.

Habib rested his armoured hand around Tsuki, gently cradling her in his bear-like grasp and spoke soothingly to her. Karak did not think it possible that the huge, chiselled man could even be remotely capable of being a cuddly confidant, but there he was, looking as though ‘comforting’ was his part-time job. Maybe those two have something together. Dwayna’s grace, what was I thinking?

A loud noise, like the sound of confused chatter, snapped everyone back to matters close at hand. The noise came from the way they had come, far away, but it was getting closer.

“Alright everyone, let’s go! I’ll carry Bones. Heather – you take the lead. Karak will bring up our rear. Let’s go!” Habib commanded. In a flash he was back on his feet, gently lifting Bones in his great arms like a father would a child. The man seemed able to merge cold, hard professionalism with gentleness with perfect ease.

In a matter of moments the company was moving. Heather’s glowing mist encircled the group and many metres ahead and behind it, revealing nothing either trailing them or lying in wait for them. The pace was swift, yet careful, and after many moments they were still unmolested. And the passage still went on and on. Statues, split and cracked from the birthing of the zombies, continued to glare at the group as it ran past. Silently cursing their every step.

Furious bloodlust ceased to run through Karak’s veins, but he could still feel its presence, lurking behind some barrier, waiting to be released again.

Whatever it is, Dana somehow gave it to me. But why? Why do I feel so…guilty?

“Look there!” Heather said suddenly. Karak snapped out of his musings and focused on what lay ahead.

The narrow passage finally opened onto a small square, walled on either side. Near the far wall rose four monuments, carved like curving teeth. In the midst of those teeth stood a glimmering portal. Through it Karak could see shifting images of what looked like endless desert.

“Thank Dwayna! The portal! Now we can get the hell out of here!” Heavens shouted with relief.

Heather ran over to the portal and stared into it. She then turned back to the group, smiling jubilantly, “Who wants to be first?”

At that instant, a tremor jolted the ground, followed by the deafening noise of chattering. Before Karak could think or turn around, he felt something grab him and throw him across the room like a stone. He saw the glimmering portal beneath him as he soared over it, shifting in and out of the room like a dream. He struck the far wall hard and for a moment, everything went black, and he could feel nothing.

When dark thoughts my spirit shroud…beware of he who comes before the dawn.

Get up, sweetheart. You will live.

Suddenly Karak opened his eyes. Lightning bolts ripped through the air with such a fury that for a moment, he thought that he had fallen into a thunderstorm. The very air was singed by frenzied spellcasting. The warrior rose unsteadily to his feet and gasped as he surveyed the small portal room.

Dryders, twice as large as those before, were swarming inside like flies. They raced along the walls and the roof, and the desperate efforts of the Wraiths were almost as useless as a paper sword. The dryder swarm was so thick that he could only tell where some of the others were from the glow of their spells. Karak could not now understand how the dryders could have gained upon them so quickly, but he knew what had to be done about them. They had to be dispatched.

Grabbing the pale sword he bounded into the first huddle of dryders before him, cutting the beasts down without pause. As he worked his way through the mass of hairy flesh, he looked about desperately for a clear view of Farrion.

“Farrion! Where are you for the love of Balthazar?!” he screamed. A pained cry answered him from off to his left, close to the doorway.

It was definitely Farrion – Karak had gotten more than accustomed to his cries of agony – but something was wrong. There was something in the mesmer’s voice that just oozed of oddity. It seemed as though the mesmer’s cry was more than a simple cry. It sounded as though he were saying…. Karak ignored all thought as the power rushed back through his veins.

“I’m coming Farrion!” Karak screamed. He raised his blade and crouched as the dryders – now realising the threat he posed – swarmed in around him.

With a flash of pale steel, the sword lashed out, striking one hundred places at once; severing tendons, muscles, and slicing through dryder bone. Two dozen dryders suddenly dropped around the warrior, and with each death it seemed that the fire, which burned beneath his flesh, grew even hotter. Each death was like coal to an already blazing furnace.

But they still pressed towards him, innumerable dryders that seemed to just appear out of the darkness. Karak spun and continued his assault – a score fell before him, two score, three…but still he could get no closer to Farrion.

“Gods!” Karak screamed in frustration. It was then he realised something that he had overlooked in his frenzy. They’re just standing there. Blocking me…none of them have really attacked me…oh shit!

A powerful hand gripped his shoulder and Karak spun around to see Heather, daggers in hand. She looked on the verge of collapse. Her robes were torn and stained with the blood of dryders, yet the woman herself was virtually unharmed. She was no use to herself and yet….

“Heather, where are the others?”

The strange woman just stood there, gazing at him blankly. She looked drained – and she seemed to have aged even more. Yet nothing struck her down – no claw or tooth arced into her head or chest.

The portal stood ten feet away, glimmering. A desert lay beyond it. Cyn stood alone against the fate of the world, just beyond that shimmering pane.

A bright light suddenly filled the room, followed by the sound of gentle humming. Karak glanced towards the portal. At its mouth stood Habib, sword in hand.

“To the portal!” he bellowed. “Tsuki! Heavens! Farrion! Karak! Heather! To the portal! Don’t ––.” A large dryder suddenly cracked its foot across Habib’s head and shoved the huge man through the portal. The room was illuminated yet again, and the sound of gentle humming filled Karak’s ears.

Karak realised that his mouth was hanging open. He closed it.

Get out Karak. Forget the others. You alone are important. You alone are mine!

The way to the portal seemed to open as dryders pushed to the sides of the room. There was a yelp, and suddenly the lightning bolts ceased. Karak was torn between minds. On his right lay the portal to save the world, and on his left lay his brother, in mortal danger.

He did not take long to make up his mind.

“Go through the portal, Heather!” he shouted at the dazed woman. When she did not move, he grabbed her and shook her roughly, “Go goddamn you!”

With that he turned and charged back into the dryders.

“Farrion! Tsuki! I’m coming! I’m coming! Diana, I’m coming!” he screamed as he clambered through the dryders.

Suddenly a pained cry ripped through his ears, “Karak!”

The warrior’s heart stopped. The pale sword seemed to pause in mid-strike; the hewn dryder before him splitting as though in a dream.

“Karak!” Farrion cried again, “Get…Cyn! Stop….End….sorry…. Go ––!” his final words were suddenly cut off. The sound of gurgling, like that of a man choking on his own blood, filled Karak’s ears above all other noise.

There was laughter. If it came from one of the dryders or from the person in Karak’s head he did not know. At that instant, all strength faded from his body. Karak fell to his knees.

“Farrion!” he screamed.

His brother did not answer him again.

Suddenly he caught sight of torn white robes, being passed through the dryder ranks. Struggling to his feet, Karak dived towards it, grabbing blindly through the dark of the close-serried dryders. He grabbed what felt like a hand, and he held fast, pulling. The dryders pulled against him, but they gave way, and a body fell towards Karak.

It was Tsuki. Large gashes wound their way across her body, and most of her clothes had been ripped off.

Karak brought the monk into his arms and screamed her name. Amazingly, her eyes fluttered open, and when she recognised Karak, her mouth moved, but no words came. Karak knew how to read lips, however, ever since the days after the Searing.

“Get out,” she mouthed, “Stop the demon.” She pressed something into Karak’s left hand.

As soon as the last breath left her lips, a searing pain jack-knifed through Karak’s right shoulder. From the corner of his eye he saw a long, bloodied claw protruding from his flesh. The dryder behind him ripped out its arm and drove it into Karak’s other shoulder.

He reeled back, releasing his grasp of Tsuki. There was a flurry of movement as the beast jumped over him, falling body but Karak caught himself and in seconds he jumped back up. Tsuki was gone. He looked about frantically for her, and the last sight he caught of the monk was of her being dragged off into the darkness, with two claws thrust through her chest.

Karak screamed, and forgetting all pain, grabbed up the pale sword, and bolted after her. Before he could make two steps, he was knocked off his feet, and several clawed feet were pinning him to the ground, with their claws driving through his body. He had struck his head hard, jarring his jaw and breaking bone. His vision blurred.

No! Dwayna, no! Gods, no! Help me! Help me!

He felt the dryders lift off of him, and heard their frenzied cries. Then he felt arms around him – human arms, with a powerful grip. He was being dragged away from the dark doorway. A weak blue light brightened the ground around him. Someone was helping him towards the portal. But who? He did not care. His body felt weak, and he was now feeling the pain of all of his wounds.

He was squeezing something hard in his hand. Opening it slowly, he saw a jade ring. Immediately he remembered it. It was Farrion’s ring, an heirloom given to him by their parents when they had left home on a mission of vengeance. The mesmer had never worn it openly. Despite being a mesmer, Farrion never took too much of an interest in material things.

Karak wondered how Tsuki got hold of it, but it did not matter.

Heavens was dead. Tsuki was dead. Farrion was dead. He had failed them all.

There was a burning sensation, then sudden cooling, and his body was ripped to its smallest units. The portal room faded into nothingness.

Unreal Cyn · Jun 27, 2006, 11:30 PM // 23:30

Greetings again everyone! I managed to do up a small chapter during some scarce free time - now that I'm on a summer job and all - so forgive me if it isn't as meaty and salty as it should be.

Yeah, I'm in a pretty good mood, and its not beacuse Brazil beat Ghana today. Go West Indies!! Now I hope you enjoy Chapter 21! (It is 21 is it?)

Darkest Dawn

Normire grabbed the bartender’s hand.

“Grenth preserve us! I heard the door open!” he gasped.

“Impossible, mon. That door is sealed.”

“Be that as it may, but I know I heard that frigging door open!”

The bartender looked at Normire hard, and then sighed and glanced back up the stairs.

“I’m thinking you’re just paranoid, bossman. But,” he sighed deeply, “I trust instincts more than my brains. Let’s get the hell out of here. Come on! Pick up the pace!”

Normire did not need to be told twice. Both he and the bartender pelted down the stairs, turning right, left – following the sometimes confusing descent of the stairs. In the back of the necromancer’s mind, he could hear footsteps – quick, light footfalls – pursuing them. There was no doubt in his mind that they belonged to the alluring woman who complimented him at the door. The woman from the night before.

They suddenly came upon a thick oak door, set in a reinforced frame amidst three feet thick limestone. There was no keyhole.

“Grenth’s grace!” Normire gasped. His heart was racing, and his entire body was shivering with anxiety. Whatever was pursuing them seemed to be sending some manner of…thing…feeling…ahead of them.

“Chill bossman!” the bartender replied, resting his hands on the door. He uttered what sounded like a spell, and the door creaked once and fell into the floor.

Without another word the bartender bounded into the wide room beyond, with Normire at his heels. The door rose seconds after they passed, sealing the way behind them.

“Okay mon.” the man paused, glancing back at the necromancer, “This is my workshop, where ah help make people like you vanish.”

Normire stopped to catch his breath and gazed around at the contents of the room. Large tables were scattered everywhere, and all manner of mechanical equipment. Several lamps illuminated the place, ensuring that any grasping shadows remained tolerably imprisoned. The necromancer could not identify any of the machines at all, but they seemed remotely akin to dwarven makes.

“Is that door sealed as well?” Normire glanced at the bartender.

“Yeah mon. If something managed to get through the first one, I ensure you that they won’t be able to get through this one.”

Normire sighed in relief, but for some reason, he just could not bring himself to relax. Maybe he had grown too accustomed to being on the run from hidden enemies, or maybe his paranoia had become permanent. Whatever it is, something here just ain’t right. He examined the room again, and suddenly realised that there seemed to be no exit than the door they had just come through. Shit. Could this be a….

“Come, bossman, let’s get this done with quickly,” the bartender said, interrupting Normire’s thoughts.

He nodded, and followed the dreadlocked man to a nearby chair. Steel fingers and small, strange tubes wound their way around and over it. Normire could not understand the machinery, or its purpose, but he did realise that the chair boasted straps. It was designed to keep someone locked into it.

“Wait one minute,” Normire said, stopping and grabbing the bartender. He quickly pulled his hand away – the man’s flesh was so cold that it burned.

The bartender smiled at him. “What’s the problem, bossman?”

Normire shook his head to clear his thoughts. I’ve gotta calm down, dammit! Even my senses deceive me now…no one can be that cold.

“Um, what’s the process here?” the necromancer replied finally.

“It’s simple. You sit down here, I throw some switches, and a powerful enchantment is cast on you, making you seem like someone else for a given time. It’s a genius invention, using the best of technology and magic.” The bartender said, resting his hand on one of the Byzantine mass of tubes and pipes.

“I see.” I wish Farrion were here, he would sure as hell know if this man was telling the truth. But by Grenth something just doesn’t feel right!

“Into the chair please,” the bartender insisted.

Normire moved to the chair, then halted and turned back to the bartender. He needed time to think. He did not like this place – it all felt like…. “Is there a bathroom about? I can’t hold this any longer.”

The bartender seemed to jump in shock. He regained his composure quickly however. “Are you serious? You ah want to use de toilet at this time? Someone could be chasing you man!”

“Well, they’ll have to wait. I really need to use the bathroom.” Normire bit his lip, “Or I’ll have to do it right here.”

The bartender sighed and directed him to a small room in the far wall of the room. Normire followed the man’s outstretched hand quickly, making sure to scan the apparatus that enveloped the chair. He rounded a thin wall of galvanize and saw the small bathroom door before him. It was closed. To the right of that door was another small wooden door. It was slightly ajar, and a weak yellow light spilled out from the crack. From the look, it could have been a storeroom of some sort.

Being a necromancer, Normire could sense death – he could feel it like a tangible pull. At times he resented his profession, for to think of death as sweet and and be attracted to it like a bee to pollen was logically sick. Exploiting the dead was a sin. Draining one’s own blood for energy and to use in healing was to become the embodiment of a vampire.

Yet, the feel of death called out to him from behind the storeroom door. Something was very dead in there.

Normire glanced back and around him to make sure that no one or nothing had followed him. Steeling himself, he pushed open the door and came face to face with the dreadlocked bartender.

The man was hanging from the roof by several thin lengths of steel wire. Wire pierced his feet and arms, suspending him in midair as though he were on a cross. His throat had been slit, and with a quick inspection, Normire realised that every major vein and artery had been torn open. It looked as though someone had dug their very nails into his flesh. His eyes stared blankly at the floor below, seeing nothing. Bile seeped up into Normire’s throat.

“Oh f**k.” He gasped.

It was then that he realised that no blood stained or pooled underneath the poor dead man. It was also then that he realised that for a dark skinned man, the bartender was incredibly pale. It was as though something had drained every pint of blood from him. And then that something had strung him up like a bloody Wintersday light.

Normire closed the door behind him and started to hyperventilate.

Oh Gods! Oh Gods! Tell me I’m still dreaming! Tell me I’m still RED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GOing dreaming! Oh Gods! The bartender’s dead! Who…? How could he have gotten in here and killed before I came?

That thought snapped Normire back to his senses. Unless the murderer had teleported into the room, grabbed the bartender, teleported into the bathroom, killed and sucked the man dry, strung him up with the wire, all within under thirty seconds, the dreadlocked man he now gazed at and the dreadlocked man back outside were two completely different people. Maybe it was that the man outside was not a man at all, but something else.

Normire focused his trembling energies and tried to place the time of the man’s death.

The sent of death was very weak. The man had been slaughtered very recently. Normire guessed it at no more than two hours ago. Where was he two hours ago? At the docks…watching the sunrise.

Something snapped in his mind. Maybe it was his sanity. Maybe he had just realised that things don’t happen logically in Tyria, or that if they did, he was out of touch. But the snapping noise he heard sounded so akin to a puzzle piece snapping into place. Why he would hear such a thing at a murder scene unnerved him.

If he had nothing else going for him, Normire was logical and cunning. It was one of the reasons he had been a guildleader in the first place, and the main reason he had managed to stay one step ahead of whatever malice pursued him. If they think they’re going to catch me now…if that blue-eyed woman feels that she can get me now!

Drawing his shortsword, he moved towards the hanging man, and cut him down. He gently rested his body by the door and sheathed his weapon. He closed the man’s gaping eyes and uttered a prayer. He may be a necromancer, but such sadistic disrespect of the innocent disgusted him.

“Rest easy, brother. May Grenth preserve your soul.” He said.

He should have used the corpse to create a minion. He should have used it for something. Maybe that was its purpose, placed as it was in a most unlikely place. But the man had been killed by whoever was chasing Normire. By circumstance, Normire had been indirectly responsible for his death. That was what he thought anyway. And for some reason, Normire figured that Cyn was even more responsible. That insane anger burned within him once again.
Although logic told him differently, Normire knew that he was intended to find the dead man. However unlikely that concept seemed. Another look around the room and Normire found that it was stacked high with crates and barrels.

It was a storeroom after all, built a quarter of a mile beneath Lion’s Arch.

There was no way out.

Die. Rot. Remember.

Normire opened the door, walked back outside and left the door open behind him. He was literally shaking in his boots, and for a moment he really felt like relieving himself in the bathroom. But he grew wary of running from some unseen foe.

Whoever you are, you going to see what Normire Darkwind does when his back is to a wall. I’m going to make you die, rot, and remember who killed you!

He headed back towards the bartender. Or the thing that appeared to be the bartender.

Unreal Cyn · Jul 10, 2006, 02:12 AM // 02:12

Hey again everyone, it's been a while! I've been rather busy lately, and have really spent alot of my free time thinking about my future, working on some other projects and what not. To tell you the truth, I did up this chapter a few days ago, but never really got around to posting it until now. Thanks again for your continued readership and I hope you enjoy this next piece! Here's Chapter 22!

By Design

Normire strode back past the thin metal wall, leaving the feel of death and slow decay behind him. If he managed to get out of this place, he would make sure that some Guard or the other knew of the dead man that lay hidden in the storeroom. The time he had been away should not be too much of a concern – he was supposed to be indisposed anyway.

The fake, dreadlocked bartender was still standing at the chair, gazing disinterestedly at the vague equipment around him. He was backing the necromancer – facing the door. His arms were crossed behind his back and he seemed very intent on the door…or what was happening to the door. Normire could not see the thick door from where he stood.

Normire drew back behind the wall shield, out of the man’s line of sight. He did not really have a plan. Just several fragmented courses of action he could take if certain things happened. Most of these certain things were terrible outcomes, including not in the least Normire being strung up and drained like some water balloon. The option that made the most sense to him was to go up to the man, unnoticed if possible, and stab him in the back. Make a minion out of him before his body even touched the ground, and face whatever else was waiting at the exit.

He took a dramatic deep breath and strode back into the main room before he think of changing his mind. He kept his hands loose at his sides, but his right hand itched – yearning to grip the hilt of his shortsword. The bartender turned to face him as Normire approached.

“Finally. Now, have a seat bossman,” he motioned to the empty chair.
The necromancer took a quick glance at the door. Nothing met his eyes but crafted wood. A swift look around the room revealed nothing else besides the stationary machinery. Nothing but wavering shadows spied out at him. The room was silent, and the tendrils of tension fingered Normire’s mind. He had no more time. Now he was at the decisive point – the place where his action might mean his death, or his escape.

Maybe you need to speak another spell to reopen the door…if I kill this man, how the hell would I be able to get back out?

He was tarrying too long. The bartender-that-was-not-a-bartender would realise this very soon, if he had not already. Normire hoped that he would just assume that the necromancer was a little unsure, if not terrified, of the apparatus.

“It only take a sec, man. Nothing to be scared of,” the bartender insisted yet again, this time smiling broadly. If Normire had not seen the real, dead bartender in the storeroom, he would have jumped right into the chair at that very moment. So much passion, conviction and sincerity were in the man’s voice, and faced with the situation as Normire was; any help would be a godsend.

But he did see the molested corpse of the bartender.

“Why is your skin so cold?” Normire asked, moving his fingers over the hilt of his sword, “You feel as dead as a bone minion.”

The necromancer watched as the man’s face twitched, moving from quiet indifference to near-rabidity. Suddenly it seemed as though he grew to thrice his size, swelling with muscle and bulging veins – towering over the necromancer. Then the vision passed as quickly as it had appeared, and all that remained was the bartender, laughing heartily.

“A bone minion, my friend? What are you talking about, mon?” he continued laughing. “I’m just a man. One with a talent in the art of disappearances. A man you can trust.”

Normire almost believed him this time. A strange feeling of happiness and security captured his mind, and against what little will he had left in the euphoria, he began to move towards the chair.

He was almost upon it when a dark figure flitted past his line of sight from behind a small collection of crates close at hand. The figure jumped into the light like a cat, and a long, wicked dagger appeared in its hand. Normire froze instantly. He was right in the path of the person’s aim, but at that moment, his muscles locked up like the steering of a dwarven carriage.

The dreadlocked man behind him let out an amused laugh, even as the dagger left the person’s hand and darted towards Normire face.

Normire’s heart failed to beat as the dagger sliced the skin on his nose and soared into the bartender’s head. The laughter stopped abruptly, punctuated by the soft thud of the dagger’s hilt slamming into the man’s forehead. From the corner of his eye, he saw the man’s body shiver, and then collapse to the ground with a strange sigh.

The person rose from their crouched stance and strolled over to the bartender’s body. Normire could not move an inch. He felt as though the muscles in his body had been replaced with cast iron.

What the hell is happening to me? What the hell just happened?

The person rounded Normire and gazed into his face. He shivered when he realised who had just killed the bartender. There before him stood the blue-eyed woman from his dreams.

“What…the…hell?” Normire gasped.

The woman smiled, and stepped closer to him. “Why are you here, Normire? What exactly did you expect to achieve?”

“How…how do you know my name? Who are you?”

“Why, I am the proprietor of this bar. I was expecting you. One of my good friends is a Guard, and told me all about how they found you last night. I recognised you after Pister described you to me.”

“What?”

She smiled again, and suddenly Normire felt all warm inside. He was quickly beginning to feel very comfortable around this woman, even though anxiety still tickled his mind.

“I was out on an errand, and that man there,” she motioned to the dead bartender on the floor, “He killed my assistant and took his place. I don’t know how he did it.” She moved even closer, gazing into Normire’s dark eyes, “I saw him leading you down here, and I followed. There is another entrance that he does not know about.”

Several thoughts swirled inside Normire’s head. Logic told him that the woman was telling the truth. Everything seemed to make sense…yet everything seemed so out of place. He had seen the real, dead bartender, and she had killed the fake one, apparently saving his life. Still….

She gripped his hands gently and looked him over; her gaze was like a tangible hand moving over the necromancer’s body. His eyes fell to her barely exposed chest and neck, and he noticed a rather strange thing. Several tiny veins, brighter in complexion to the rest of her skin, criss-crossed her flesh.

Another snap of the puzzle filled Normire’s mind’s ear. There was revelation to be grasped, there was satori. Yet, even as he reached for it, the revelation was swept away. Suddenly she gazed back into his eyes.

“He damaged my machine. I do not know if it will still work, but you must still leave this place – whatever is after you might be very close.” Her voice fell to a whisper at the last words. “Let me help you.”

Normire closed his eyes as two opposing thoughts erupted in his mind.

But…that dream…that experience back at the inn. Someone with blue eyes killed me! It was her! Paranoia screamed.

Impossible Normire. You’re in Lion’s Arch for the gods’ sake. There must be scores of blue-eyed assassins around. What’s more, that was only a dream. You could not have died. Did you not hear what she said? Her friend told you of her. One of the Lionguard. That’s why she recognised you and liked your new look. Believe her. Logic replied calmly.

Normire opened his eyes, “How do you plan on helping me?”

“I can change your dress, and give you some things that will protect you. I will see you to Pister’s ship. You will be safe, if only you let me help you out.” Normire had not realised that he held the woman in his arms. Her skin was warm and inviting – she embodied the only sense of security he had felt ever since the Shiverpeaks. No matter what his paranoia said, he was going to believe her.

“Anything. Anything that you can do to help me…please.” The necromancer said softly. “Even though I don’t know who you are.”

The woman grinned, “You may call me Diana…of Egilos. Egilos was the name of the monastery I studied at before the Searing. Now,” her eyes strayed past Normire, “let us be off.”

Egilos.

Another puzzle piece snapped into place.

Tera · Jul 14, 2006, 01:37 PM // 13:37

Wow, just wow. Gr8 story! kinda confusing though, but thats probably just me

cant w8 for your next chapter

keep up the gr8 work

Unreal Cyn · Jul 20, 2006, 06:32 PM // 18:32

Thanks very much for the comment Tera! I'm sorry that it's all been a tad confusing, but as I wrap it all up I will try to clear up everything nicely. Thanks to everyone who continue to read my story - it's even reached 1000 views

! I wrote this chapter a few days back, but I never got a chance to post it. Now I'm dedicating this chapter to two of the folks that helped make this story possible, with their suggestions, support, allowing me to use their characters and just taking the time to chat with me. It's chapter 23, just for them!

Satori

Sand tore into his armour like razors with the strength of meteors. Screaming wind drowned all other sound, and pain numbed all other senses. The sky was an evil mix of red and black – with the veiled sun glaring like some wicked eye through the sheen. He could not see exactly where he was, for his tears and the prying sand blinded him.

He was still being dragged along, as he lay helpless and unwilling to do anything. He continued to clutch Farrion’s ring in his left hand, so much so that it bit into his flesh.

Gods! Dwayna! Why? Why have you ignored me yet again?! Why? I swore to protect him! I swore to protect her! I swore! I failed!

Suddenly, the gnawing sand gave way to gentle breeze, and the sight of the churning sky faded into soft semi-dark. The large warrior felt his body being laid upon soft sand. Through his tears he could see a small figure kneeling over him.

“Karak! Please say something…don’t leave me!”

He blinked, and the blurred image came into focus. It was Heather. She carried a desperate look on her face, and her body was scarred by the howling sand.

Karak looked about. All around and behind him was dark, but before him was an opening, made small by intrusive sand. Beyond that the storm raged. He tried to move, but pain tore into him from several places. He even found it hard to speak.

“Shu…shit. Farrion!” he cried eventually. “Oh, god!”

“Yes, Karak,” Heather started, fighting back tears. She clutched the large warrior closer, “He’s gone…but…please don’t freak out on me. I can’t find the others!”

Pain and failure fought to overwhelm Karak. It seemed as though the very insides of his heart had been ripped out. In just a few short moments, his world had crumbled yet again. The only person that he would die for without a thought was gone. Yet again.

But looking up at the dishevelled figure of Heather he realised that he still had a job to do. He did not know the woman, but somehow they were in this together. Whatever powers she held seemed severely weakened, and the sudden loss of half of their company while under her leadership must have taken a drastic toll on her mind.

Farrion was gone. He could not change that. But there was still Cyn and the rest of the world to save.

F**king Cyn! F**king demons! You are the reason Farrion’s dead, goddamn you all!

Anger thrust agony and sadness into a corner as Karak rose to a seated position, holding Heather close to him. She was trembling like a thin coconut tree in a storm, and suddenly she did not look nearly half as strong as she had seemed just some hours ago.

“Good,” she said, straining to speak, “I’m not sure where we are – so we must keep our heads on.”

Karak tried to stand, but a searing pain jack-knifed up through his legs and thighs. He cursed, remembering the claws of the dryders that had pierced his body. He checked his armour, and although it was ripped open in places, his skin beneath it was whole, though incredibly tender.

“I tried healing our wounds, but I’m too tired to do more than that,” Heather said, watching Karak closely.

Why is she staring at me so? Karak wondered. But the answer to that question would have to wait for another time. He did not know how much time had passed since they met Ja’al in the underground cavern, but an educated guess placed it at no less than five or six hours. How much time would it take for a demon to get to where Cyn was at? That, Karak could not guess. But time is short now. By the gods Farrion would not die for nothing!

“Heather,” he croaked. His jaw ached terribly, “How far are we from the teleporter? Have you any idea?”

“No,” she sighed and looked away from Karak’s face, “We teleported into the worst desert storm I’ve seen in ages. I had no sense of direction. It was by luck that we stumbled in here.”

“You carried me along through all that, huh? Thanks.”

She managed a weak smile, and her countenance brightened, “We kinda helped each other…you weren’t entirely unconscious, until you got here.” Her face took on an expression of bemusement, “In fact, you were very conscious. Just that you weren’t saying anything.”

Karak could not suppress a jump. He was sure that he had fainted after they had teleported out of that dark room of death. Maybe he did, maybe he did not. Maybe he had been conscious but had not remembered anything…or maybe…. Maybe she had taken control of me.

The warrior sighed and massaged his throbbing head. He then turned and took in his surroundings yet again. Darkness yawned from the corridor behind them, which seemed to stretch forever into the rock. Where he lay was wide, but as the corridor wound on, it seemed to get narrower. A chill breeze issued from the gloom.

They had to find a way to reach Cyn. But the storm hemmed them inside the darkly passage, and Bones and Habib were missing-in-action. And the clock was ticking. The fat lady was clearing her throat.

“I’m sorry about Farrion.” Heather said softly as she rose stiffly to her feet and walked towards the sand-blasted entrance.

A pang of pain pierced Karak’s heart yet again. No matter how hard he tried, he could not fight back the tears, the anger and the sense of loss that sought to overwhelm him. He clenched his fist, and shivered. I’m alone now. There’s no one else left in this world that I care about…. Gods! Gods? I hate you all! You’ve taken everything from me!!

You still have me. Came another voice, soft and sensual, And I’m not done yet. Neither are you. The time is near, and you will be there to meet it, even though you’re a monumental failure. You couldn’t save your brother…and you left your precious girlfriend to die and rot in hell.

“Shut up! I loved Diana! I loved them both!” Karak cursed.

“Hmm?” Heather started, turning back from the storm, “Who’s Diana?”

Karak sighed. So Dana was still in his head, carrying out some strange agenda. He did not want to hear anything else from her.

“Diana…we were together a long time ago in Ascalon. We studied at the Egilos Monastery before the Searing.”

“What happened to her?”

“She’s….” Images of Diana’s tortured face jumped into his mind’s eye – burning, melting, and rotting in the depths of Grenth’s cold embrace. “She’s dead.” He massaged his eyes and clutched his chest as he failed to subdue a heart-wrenching sob. Not only for Diana, but for Farrion, and for everything else he had lost.

If good old Cyn hadn’t come all the way out here, none of this wouldn’t have happened, now wouldn’t it?

That was Dana again, but this time Karak listened, this time the warrior agreed with her. If not for Cyn’s bullshit antics, Farrion would not be dead miles beneath the desert, being feasted upon beasts that had never seen the light of the sun. Karak tried to restrain his anger, and focused on the power he had neglected ever since failing to bring Diana back from the brink of death.

“Piel menda,” he whispered. He suddenly felt the tendons and tissue beneath his flesh knit together, finishing the job that Heather had started. He was about to stand and see to the woman’s wounds, when Heather pointed a finger behind him and exclaimed:

“Look at that, Karak!”

The warrior flung himself around, expecting to see some other malicious thing crawling out from the gloom. However, he saw nothing.

“What am I looking at, again?” he asked, rising to his feet.

“In the sand. Footprints.”

Karak looked again, and indeed there were footprints. From the amount that lay there, he estimated at least two sets of booted feet, one walking, and the other half-stumbling along. They appeared to have been made recently.
Karak fetched his sword off of the ground and glanced back at Heather.

“Those could have been made by Habib and Bones.” Or some other monster, “Maybe they made it here before we did.”

“Maybe.” She agreed, grabbing her staff from off of the ground. “Let’s find them before it’s too late.”

Karak slipped Farrion's ring on his middle finger as he placed his best healing prayer over Heather, and she smiled in appreciation. Then the glowing mist surrounded her again, and they entered the narrow passage of darkness.

The passage seemed to stretch for miles. Heather’s mist encapsulated them in a moving orb of light, but beyond them lay what seemed to be an endless plain of black. No wind was blowing, and not even the sounds of the massive storm outside touched Karak’s ears. The passage was simply dead silent, and cold.

The warrior had learnt much from Heather as they had walked, talking to one another so as to keep away the fear of the darkness. She had apparently grown up in Ascalon, and had seen it all – from the Searing to the Titans. When he had asked her how the hell she had gotten from Ascalon to some Elonian ruin below the desert sands, she had simply smiled and told him that she had had a job to finish.

Karak glanced at her again in the dim light. The woman was mysterious, but in an intriguing manner. Yet she seemed so familiar, as though reminding him of someone he had met before in his life. The way she spoke, and the way she seemed to gaze into his soul with just a glance…. Cyn. She’s everything like him. Shit, she could be his sister.

It was probably because Karak was thinking so hard and looking at Heather that he did not see what lay before him. Before he could react, a strong arm grasped his leg, sending him careening forward – landing face-front on the ground.

He drew his sword and flew around. He saw the dark form, rising off of the ground, and lunging at Heather. The woman seemed to be transfixed by the thing rushing at her.

“Goddamit! Heather, move!” Karak cried desperately as he jumped towards the dark thing.

At that instant, and to Karak’s horror, Heather dropped her staff, and firmly grabbed hold of the dark thing. “Wait, Karak! Wait! It’s Bones!”

Karak sent his sword crashing down, inches from the ranger’s feet.

“Bones?” Karak gasped.

Torn cloths were all that was left of the ranger’s armour, and his skin was the colour of ink, and it was cracking and flaking in many places. For the first time Karak saw underneath his mask. Where they should have been a mouth, was a large maw, packed with teeth the size of his pinkie finger. Thin, bleeding lips bordered the maw. The only thing recognisable about the ranger were his eyes – dark and hollow.

“Bones! What the f**k happened to you?” Karak gasped, helping the ranger into a sitting position.

The ranger shivered, and his decaying maw moved several times before he uttered a word. “I…I guess…that I won’t be getting that antidote…after all.” He coughed and spat blood onto the cold floor, “Listen, Karak. I…sent Habib on…he wouldn’t have left me otherwise. He’s…still blaming himself for what happened…. Are you two all that’s left?”

“Yes,” Heather answered. Karak thought that her face was calm and condescending, quite unlike the stark horror that surely masked his own face.

“I’m…so sorry….” He spat blood again, this time the cough shook him to his very core. “I’m…sorry…about everything! It shouldn’t…be…this way.” Dark tears trickled from his eyes, “You don’t have that far to go…now. Please. Hurry…can’t you feel it? It’s…it’s….” Another cough took him, shaking him violently. He screamed in mute agony as his muscles and bones seemed to twist and spasm beneath his flesh.

Then suddenly he stiffened, his bleeding eyes frozen in shock.

“Bones?” Karak whispered, gently shaking the ranger.

But Bones could hear no more.

Heather closed his gaping eyes and helped rest his body on the ground. “May Grenth preserve your soul.”

Karak struggled to speak. “What…what was wrong with him?”

“I don’t know. It was surely a disease…I’ve never seen it before.”

But he was suffering from it even before he met Farrion and me. Yet still he went on this journey to stop a demon. Gods, such a selfless man doesn’t deserve to die. Not like this.

A quiet rumbling shook the passage, sending small pebbles and grit falling upon the ground from heights unimaginable in the dark. The first breeze that Karak had felt since he had entered the passage swept down past them.
Karak looked across at Heather, and she returned the look. Again they armed their weapons and continued onwards, leaving Bones to rest forever in the cold darkness.

Welcome to the end of it all, Karak my dear. Dana laughed.

Unreal Cyn · Jul 27, 2006, 12:39 AM // 00:39

Whoa, had to catch my post before it fell off of the main page

! It's good to see so many new stuff being posted. Well, things are winding down for this story, as I try to pull everything together so that I can make a decent end to it. Thanks for bearing with me on this and hope that everyone enjoys this next chapter, which goes out to a certain necromancer whose guild was the first I ever joined way back in Pre-Searing. Here's Chapter 24 for ya bossman.

The Final Horizon

“The essence of life is strange, complex. Each thought we think, each action we do, is somehow definitive of our character and our future. But what if we lived once, thinking and doing evil, but then forgot it all? Do we now have an opportunity to change? And if so, in what way? Are we still accountable for what we did before? Are our final destinies still governed by those past thoughts and actions?” The wiry sailor said as he turned back to watch the sea.

“Interesting philosophy, although it sounds strange coming from a man such as yourself, Pister.” Normire replied, grinning.

“Ah,” the sailor replied, “When you’re travelling for months at a time, with no women around to distract you, a man’s got a lot of time to think.”

The two men shared a laugh and turned to watch the horizon from the bow.

It had been three days since Pister’s ship – the somewhat aptly named ‘Fate’ – left port at Lion’s Arch, and though an amalgam of storm clouds hung in the eastern skies for all that time, each day had been a day in heaven for Normire. Unlike most of the stories he had heard about living on the sea, the food was good here, and he had what was arguably the best cabin on the ship.

Then there was the added bonus of having Diana around. Much to his surprise and sudden joy, she had insisted on joining him to Cantha. She said that she needed the trip, and wanted to be sure that Normire would be alright. She had even taken it upon herself to alert the Lionguard to the two dead men in her basement. If he did not have the money to cover his trip, Normire was sure that Diana would have paid for his passage as well as her own.

Well, there surely was not two of her around. Satori tickled the back of his mind for the entire journey. Some hidden truth – or some hidden anxiety – lurked just beneath the surface…but Normire was so damned happy that he ignored it completely. Whatever was following me won’t get to me now.

“What are you two laughing at this time?” Came a voice from behind the two men.

Normire turned from the rails and beheld Diana. She was clad in her rugged dress, which clung to her shapely body like a second skin. The neck of the dress lay open, revealing yet again those curious veins on her upper chest. She squeezed between Normire and Pister like nobody’s business and leaned over the rails.

“Just philosophy, Miss Diana.” Pister replied, managing to take his eyes off her and return them to the horizon.

“Really, now? Then what do you think of this – is it possible for one to be alive, yet dead; dying, yet live?”

The necromancer thought that Pister stiffened, but if in tension or anger, he could not tell. The sailor kept his gaze fixed on the horizon.

Normire shook his head and smiled, “Where do you people get these things? Don’t you mesmers have anything else to do with your time?”

“Oh, I do quite a lot with my time, dear Normire,” Diana retorted, feigning shock, “like helping certain necromancers traverse the ocean.”

Normire found himself smiling again. It seemed that wherever Diana went she brought with her such peace and happiness that Normire had no doubt whatsoever that she was a monk, or had been a monk in years past.

“By the way, Diana, since you studied at this Egilos Monastery, do you happen to know a man by the name of Karak Neightswift? He used to go under the name of Karak Tomo.” he asked.

Diana glanced up at the necromancer, and a strange, distant look came over her piercing blue eyes. For a moment it seemed that her face began to contort, that her flesh burned and boiled, and stripped off of her face in bloody ribbons. But it was her eyes that kept Normire spellbound. They were still blue and bright, but they seemed so hollow, so empty with loss that the necromancer could almost feel himself falling into them, like some void. Then Normire blinked in shock, and there was Diana, looking as usual, smiling at him.

“I don’t think I ever met him,” she said.

For the first time since meeting her, Normire doubted her words. Diana must have seen the doubt in his face, for she rested a warm hand on his face and continued, “I really haven’t met him, Normire. Is he a friend of yours?”

“Yes. He was one of my most trusted guild officers. He and his brother used to fight with me, but they went their separate paths. The last I saw of them was in the Shiverpeaks.”

“Oh, alright.” She looked back across the calm ocean. “Is he a monk?”

“No, something happened to him after the Searing. He lost everything except his brother. He’s now a warrior – out to take his revenge – and a damn good one at that.”

“Is he brave?” Diana said softly, her voice almost not reaching Normire’s ears. Did she sound regretful? Normire could not place the expression.

“Yeah, very brave. He’s got a big heart.”

“Good, then,” she began, “I’m going to fetch something to snack on. I’ll leave you two to your crazy philosophies.” With that, she flashed both of them a warm smile and went towards the aft of the ship.

Normire followed her with his eyes and realised that she stopped some ways behind and was chatting quickly with two men. Telling from their dress, they looked like experienced rangers, with fine bows strapped to their backs. Both listened intently at what Diana was saying, and then left her side without a word. Diana disappeared below deck and the rangers went swiftly towards the aft.

“Interesting.” Pister said.

Normire turned and realised that the sailor had been watching Diana as well, “What’s interesting?”

“Diana, of course. She always has been.” Pister turned back and exclaimed, “Ah, land! Look over younduh Master Darkwind! There’s the Oasis.”

Normire followed his outstretched arm, watching as the golden shore slowly crept up from beneath the horizon like some leviathan. The sun was falling behind the shore, throwing crimson-gold arms outwards over the ocean. To the southeast the massive storm continued to build in the sky, and the occasional gust of drizzled wind washed over the ship.

Pister sighed, “Ah, lad. There’s a storm coming.”

“Yes,” Normire agreed, “One hell of a storm.”

~ * ~

Night had already fallen by the time the Fate made port at Amnoon. Although folk bustled in the upcoming port-city, Normire had no intention of leaving the ship and exploring the environs. It was the only place that he felt safe in, and he was not about to leave and probably jump back into the arms of the thing that wanted to torture and kill him.

So he had gone into his cabin, and there now he lay, half-awake, allowing the gentle waves to rock him to sleep.

Just four more days and we will be at Kaneing City. From what I’ve heard from the sailors, that place is home to about half a billion people, and it’s built like a maze. Nothing from Tyria will find me there. Nothing!

He turned on his side and watched the wooden door. And Diana. She’s so beautiful, and I know that she’s attracted to me. I sure as hell am attracted to her! I wonder if she’ll stay with me in Cantha? Who knows? This is a new start for me.

He closed his eyes, letting sleep take him.

The earth opened up beneath him like the petals of a flower – dense trees giving way to a clearing of ankle-high grass. He felt his feet crash to the ground and he rolled many metres before coming to an abrupt stop in the dead centre of clearing. Waiting until the vertigo slipped away, he rose to his feet and took in his surroundings.

A gentle breeze was blowing, causing the trees to shiver and bringing with it all the fresh scents of spring; mingled smells of pine, flowers and dewed grass. The sun was low in the western sky – already the trees cast long shadows over the grass, like dark fingers creeping towards him. An owl screeched from the nearby forest and thunder clapped in the distance. He pulled his coat closer to his neck and gripped his staff tighter. He seemed to be alone here, but suddenly there was another presence.

“Ah, Normire. What an unexpected surprise.” Came a voice from behind him.

The necromancer turned around slowly, knowing already the person who had spoken.

“I’ve always tired of your sarcasm, Cyn.” He began, “It’s time that you atone for your sins.”

“My sins?” Cyn laughed as he approached. A wicked dagger hung at his waist, and his gloved hand hovered very close to it, “I know all about your plans. I know how you intend to use Karissa.”

“You think that you know. Cyn, you know nothing. And now you will be destroyed for your bullshit theories and your outright rebellion to the gods!”

Cyn rounded Normire, keeping his gaze fixed on the necromancer, “You want to release Ja’al from his prison in Tyria, using the Vixen’s Heart. You want to destroy humanity.” Cyn paused and smiled, “But there was a catch. No one among us can come to Tyria without dire consequences, unless we’re given permission from the gods. So you decided to coerce Karissa into your plan, for she isn’t one of us and cannot be bound by our rules.”

Normire felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He suddenly felt very hot, as though all of the chill in the breeze had suddenly been extracted. Another thunder clap sounded in the distance, but this time it sounded closer.

“You have no way of proving any of this, fool. I was sent from the gods to bring you back for punishment,” he smiled, “You will be executed once you get back. That killing of yours in the Hall surely did not go unnoticed. So, even if you decide to charge me, it’s your tainted word against mine.”

Cyn stroked his goatee, as if in thought, “Heather knows all about it too, lest we forget. Even as we speak, she’s telling them all about your plans, which she learned from the horse’s mouth itself, in one of your drunken stupors. If you decide to go back, it’s you who’s going to be executed.”

Blood boiled in Normire’s veins. He suddenly realised that Cyn was not the stupid, naïve fool that he had always appeared. Heather is on his side?! Shit, I told her everything! I can’t go back now, they’ll kill me! I’m trapped on this god-forsaken world! But he was cunning. He still had one more ace up his sleeve.

“It doesn’t matter. Karissa’s here, in Ascalon. She’s just waiting until I discover the exact location of Ja’al’s prison, and then it’s the end for these humans.”

“Ah. So you don’t know where it is.” Cyn smiled broadly, “And I’m afraid that you’ll never get the opportunity to find out, either.”

Normire jumped as a third thunder clap rent the air. Not only could he hear it down to his soul, he could feel it. And outside was getting even hotter. By the gods, it seemed as if the very sky were giving off heat. What the hell?

“You look confused, Normire,” Cyn said slyly as he drew his dagger, “I will teach you not to mess with those I love.”

Cyn rushed at the necromancer like an enraged pit-bull. Normire just had enough time to raise his staff, and in moments the men clashed. Hungry steel tore into fashioned wood as Normire was flung back by the sheer force of Cyn’s attack.

The bastard! He plans to kill me!

Normire parried Cyn’s next attack and flung an unholy curse upon him. The necromancer smiled as Cyn fell to his knees, a green miasma choking the breath out of him. In seconds Normire raised his staff, and rushed towards the fallen Cyn. One thrust with the staff sent him reeling backwards, spitting blood from his mouth. Normire continued the assault, with each blow filling him with a euphoria that he had never before experienced. It was not until Cyn lay at his feet, bleeding profusely and reaching desperately for his dagger, that Normire paused.

Green mists suddenly enveloped him as he raised his staff for the last, crushing blow. Here now was the man who wanted to foil his plans, who wanted to save humanity from the demonic purge that was soon to come. Here was the man who had been nothing but a pest; a thorn in his side. Here was the man who had killed him in the Hall – the man who had sent him to Grenth’s domain. You have nothing left now, Cyn. You burned all your bridges back to the mists. And Karissa is mine. You’re nothing! Normire smiled, Gods! I’m going to enjoy this!

A shaft of pale yellow steel flashed from the bottom of the staff, effectively turning it into a spear, aimed at Cyn’s head.

“Grenth shall take you now, fool. Like he did me. And he will feast on your rotting soul, the soul you traded for this cursed world!” the necromancer rasped, staggering with restrained anger.

“Fuh…f**k you.” Cyn replied, coughing blood and gazing at Normire through blood-filled eyes, “You hadn’t the balls to release the demon yourself, and you don’t have the balls to kill me. Your head should still be rolling about the obsidian floor, you waste.”

“Die Cyn!!” Normire screamed as he plunged the spear downwards.
Thunder clapped in the sky above, and the air was rent by something massive and burning.

There was a sudden flash, as though everything around them had lit up in white fire, and a feeling of burning and disorientation quickly set in. Cyn disappeared from Normire’s view, even as he lost the feeling in all of his limbs and his vision was filled with an uncanny white light. The spear slipped out of his grasp, and he fell to ground, screaming. He could feel flesh ripping off of bone, and he could smell it burning, burning.

There was a strange sound of a puzzle piece snapping into place.

He jumped up when he felt his bed depress. In his clouded mind, he saw a small devil staring at him, reaching towards his neck with a clawed hand. He screamed, but when the hand reached him he realised that it belonged to Diana.

“Take it easy, Norm, it’s only me.” She smiled. The former monk seemed happy, but lines of worry creased her forehead.

Normire got the better of himself and sat up in his bed. Diana was sitting next to him, but for how long he could not tell. How long was I asleep? An hour? A couple seconds?

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

She leaned closer to him and sighed, “I’ve done all I can, Nomire. I…I can only hope now…. But, but…. It’s been a long time between the forest and the desert.”

Normire raised an eyebrow, but suddenly the final words Diana spoke had meaning for him. In a flash, his dream rushed back to him – of him and Cyn in the woods, trying to kill each other. Then his vision from Lion’s Arch filled his mind eye, and a cold shock gripped his throat.

That was no dream at Lion’s Arch. I remember that blade in my neck; those blue eyes gazing at me… Suddenly his mind was taken even farther back, to a place where spirits walked under the eyes of gods, and to a dark place where he had hatched a plan to wipe humanity from the face of the world, under the watchful eyes of something else.

It all rushed back to him now, so clearly that he knew that he was in a place such as that, doing such things. Names filled his mind’s ear – Karissa, Cyn, Heather, Ja’al…. He knew them all. Normire felt his grasp on his body slip, as memories and stratagems filled his psyche. Desperately, he cast the bed-sheet from off him and flung himself off of the bed. He half-ran, half-stumbled towards the door, and tried in vain to claw his way up the steps.

What is this madness filling my head?! I have to get away from Diana! I have to….

“It makes no sense running, Normire.” Diana called after him. Her voice was cold and lifeless, “You’re his now. You died in Lion’s Arch that night, just as I died in Ascalon. It makes no sense running, for the devil you flee is the one within.”

Normire fled up the stairs, with his head bursting with pain. It barely registered that outside was dark, and that cold desert air bit into his body. He fell to his knees, no longer able to feel them. Before he collapsed onto the deck, he thought he saw Pister standing over him. It seemed that every square inch of the sailor’s flesh boiled, and such heat radiated from him as though he were the sun itself. Gone were the solemn gaze and raucous smile. A demonic gleam was in his eyes, and he grinned darkly, even as Normire fainted at his feet.

The necromancer thought that he heard him speak, “You’re mine now!”

And then reality and memory fluttered far away as cool darkness took him.

tramssii · Jul 30, 2006, 01:36 AM // 01:36

Hey man all i have to say is that you have done a great job with this story. I have not had time to read it all but what i have read is fantastic. Keep up the good work, i look forward to your next chapter.

On a side note, i think that you should get this out to other forums for different reviews other then just this one. Even if its a lot of copy past, i think its worth it.

Tera · Jul 30, 2006, 08:39 PM // 20:39

hehe, still confused, might have to read this afew times

still very good stroy

cant w8 for the next chapter

Unreal Cyn · Aug 01, 2006, 08:52 PM // 20:52

Thanks for your comments transmii and Tera! I'm very glad that you guys are enjoying the story, and your support is very inspiring. I am still in the process of tying up the events in the story, so I'm hoping that by the end things would be much clearer

As for posting the fic on another site...I have been thinking about it and I love the idea. I just want to wrap things up here first. Thanks again to all those who continue to read the story! This chapter goes out to another very talented warrior who I haven't done a guild battle with for ages. Chapter 25 for ya, man. Peace. (P.S. I really dig these new emoticons

)

Undying

“Do you remember the last time we were here?” the girl asked.

“Yeah,” he answered, “You were talking your philosophical nonsense.” He smiled and pressed his head against hers, looking over the windswept ocean of grass from their perch on the hillock.

The sun was high in the morning sky, but it was paned by large white clouds that seemed to cover the entire breadth of the heavens. The breeze was cool and gentle, fondling their clothes, and making her warmth so much more inviting.

“It seemed like so long ago. I never thought I’d ever see this place again,” the girl continued, pulling herself even closer to him.

“Well, we were at a monastery. I don’t think they give out vacations or anything.” He laughed as the girl punched him playfully.

“I’m glad it’s over, to tell you the truth. But I don’t know what I want to do with the rest of my life. I know I’ve been a Monk apprentice for a while…but I just don’t know if that’s where I’m supposed to be. You know? What if it doesn’t turn out the way I wanted? What if I can’t find a decent job? Or what if I completely suck at what I do?”

“You worry too much.” He wrapped his arms around her and leaned back against the burr oak behind him, “Take life in stride. The world is your oyster…or something like that. Just look at this place – there’s so much to do, so much places to see.”

She smiled up at him, and followed his gaze over the grassy sea. Thunder clapped in the distance.

“The world’s my oyster,” she repeated quietly, closing her bright blue eyes. “For some reason I don’t think you came up with that by yourself.”

Now it was his turn to give her a playful punch. “I beg your pardon! But yeah, I got that one from my brother.”

“He’s on his way here, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. We’re going to see our parents in Rin…so I won’t be letting you out of my sight anytime soon.”

She giggled, “Thanks, Karak.”

“What did you expect, Diana? You know I’ve gotten to love you too much to let you go now.”

“I love you.” She smiled.

Another thunder clap throbbed in the sky, this one much closer than the last. Karak glanced up at the sky, and through the bushy branches of the oak, saw that the clouds were beginning to darken.

“Seems like a storm is upon us, let’s get the hell back into the City before we get soaked.” He said.

“Yes. It’s going to be one hell of a storm. Just look at those clouds!” Diana replied, taking her time as she rose to her feet.

The sun appeared to be turning into a red dot in the sky, as the clouds began to darken before it. A light haze spread all over the plains, covering everything with a soft reddish hue. Thunder clapped again, so loudly this time that Karak could even feel it down to his soul.

“Let’s move, I don’t like the look of this at all,” Diana said. She looked visibly shaken.

“Yeah.”

Karak grabbed her hand and they struck out from underneath the eaves of the oak. They moved quickly, but for the first time in his life, Karak was beginning to feel terribly anxious. He cast another wary glance skyward. The clouds were continuing to darken, and faint flashes of thunderless lightning danced from within them. It seemed that the clouds were swirling – ever so imperceptibly – as though something was rushing through them, about to be birthed into the open sky.

The breeze suddenly died, and heat followed immediately, as though the sky was some celestial oven. At that same instant, there was not a sound to be heard, save for the throbbing of Karak’s own heart.

“Sweet Dwayna, what the f**k is going on?” Karak spoke into the sudden stillness.

The last thing he remembered before his world fell away from his sight was feeling Diana’s warm body pressed against him and hearing her scream.

“Karak! Karak!”

The large warrior felt himself being shaken. He opened his eyes, “Yes, Heather.”

“Were you just sleeping on your feet? I’ve been talking to you for the past two minutes or so!” Heather replied, frustrated. “If you weren’t going to listen you could have said something!”

Karak raised an eyebrow, “Well you’re damn touchy all of a sudden.”

She sighed deeply and massaged her forehead, “Sorry. It’s just that I’m still feeling weak, and I haven’t had any nourishment for a while.”

“Nourishment? Well I haven’t exactly had three square meals today either.”

“It’s not like that. I was telling you, but you weren’t listening.”

“I’m like all ears now.”

Heather came to a stop and glanced up at Karak. In that split-second, the warrior saw a strange gleam in her eyes. He could not place the expression, but suddenly he was very afraid. Fear cut through to his core like a spear. He could clearly feel every throb of his heart, and he was sure that every vein in his body shivered. His blood was racing.

Then she closed her eyes and looked away. The feeling of fear was swept aside like chaff.

“What the hell was that?” Karak asked as he raised his sword into a defensive stance, “Answer me!”

“You’re not a man for long-winded explanations, so I’m just gonna tell you.” She continued to stare into the darkness, “I can draw strength from three gods, allowing me to master four of the human professions. But…everything comes at a price.” She paused and glanced back at the warrior, but glanced away before he could lock onto her eyes, “I need blood to sustain myself. Karak, I’m the closest thing to a vampire that you’ll ever meet.”

Karak felt his jaw slacken. Well that explains how she managed to survive down in the dryder-infested hellhole. She was feeding off of those bastards…but now that she’s out….

“I used up a lot of my energy in that last fight. If I don’t find a proper source of blood soon…I don’t know what’ll happen to me. It’s already started. Don’t look me in the eyes, Karak.”

“Did you tell Farrion this?” Karak asked quietly. If Farrion trusted her…then I’m willing to do the same.

“Not all of it. He doesn’t…he didn’t know about what would happen to me if I went without blood for too long.”

“How much would you need? I don’t know what’s up ahead, and I’d hate to kill you if you decide to attack me out of bloodlust or something like that.”

She shook her head, “I’m not sure,” her breathing grew harsher, deeper, “Maybe a pint, or two. Three would be best.”

“Shit, three pints?” How the hell is she going to get three pints of…? An idea suddenly formed in Karak’s mind. How much of Dana’s blood got into me? Had to be less than a pint. If I let Heather drink it out of me….

No Karak. Came Dana’s voice, You’re not going to ever get rid of me that easily. She laughed bitterly, But you’re free to try.

Karak shook his head and stared at Farrion’s ring on his finger. What would his brother have done? Gods…I wish he was here. Why? Why did you have to die like that?!

Karak closed his eyes and fought back tears yet again. Farrion would have gone for Habib, if he’s still alive in here. He would have asked his opinion. Karak hated the idea, but he was almost out of options. The fat lady was already on the stage, and now Heather was quickly turning into something he would rather not meet.

“Let’s move. We gotta find Habib – he’ll know what to do about this.” Karak said reluctantly.

“If you say so.” Heather replied. Her words came out harshly, almost like a snarl, “I’ll lead this time, so that if the worst happens, at least you’ll be able to see me at all times.”

Karak nodded as she walked past him and continued along the passage. They moved in complete silence.

You’re such a wimp, Karak. Do you even think that you’ll be able to kill her when she loses control? You’ve failed in everything else. Farrion must be glad that he doesn’t have to bail you out anymore. Dana’s voice came through the silence.

“Shut the f**k up.” Karak cursed under his breath. “I’m going to be damn glad when Heather drains you from my body.”

And naive too.

Suddenly, a small ball of light up ahead caught Karak’s attention. It was only a few metres away, but it was moving quickly.

“Habib!” Karak shouted, “Man, wait!”

The light stopped moving. For a split-second the image of some hideous beast filled Karak’s mind’s eye, with a small ball of light as its lure. He froze.

“Who’s that? Is that you, Egilos?” Came Habib’s voice, dispelling all fear.

Karak and Heather crossed the gap in moments and soon all three of them were standing in the revolving, glowing mist.

Habib’s features were set in concrete, his eyes still piercing, yet hollow with grief. Long, bleeding scars crisscrossed his face and his armour, but still he stood tall, as though they were nothing but decorations. A heavy shield was strapped to his left arm, and he gripped his torch in the other.

Karak cursed as he cast a healing breeze on the warrior, knitting most of his wounds, and seeming to invigorate him.

“Thank you,” Habib sighed, “So you’re all that’s left of our company?” He closed his eyes as a sob shook him, “I…I feel so empty, now. I failed everyone!”

“Easy, Habib, it’s not over yet, man.”

Habib locked eyes with Karak, “Did…did you…where’s…Bones?”

“Bones is dead.” Heather said flatly.

Both warriors looked at her in surprise, for in her tone there was something akin to rabidity. She did not return the look, content to continue gazing at the floor.

“He’s dead, then?” Habib sighed again, turning away from Karak, “It’s my fault. We could have gotten the gold for his antidote some other way.” He shivered with restrained anger, “The bastard insisted on stopping this thing…he knew it would have been a one way journey.”

Karak rested a hand on Habib’s shoulder. Now is not the time for regrets. “He would have wanted us to finish this. Those were his dying words, Habib.”

The larger warrior turned back, “And your brother?”

Grief clutched Karak’s throat, and for a moment, he could not speak.

“He’s dead too. They’re all dead. As doornails.” Heather said.

Before he could stop himself, Karak launched his hand backwards at Heather’s face. In a flash, the woman grabbed his arm, and wrenched it towards the ground so hard that he was sure that it was broken in three places. He glanced up at her – her eyes were afire with an insane hunger. She opened her mouth wide, revealing her fangs, which seemed suddenly much longer and sharper.

She wrestled Karak’s massive bulk to the floor with utmost ease – almost as though the very strength of Balthazar himself energized her muscles. In seconds he was pressed against his back, staring into Heather’s hypnotic eyes. The only thing he could feel was his blood pumping through his veins.
Heather seemed to slow as she arced her head backwards and then brought her teeth flying towards Karak’s exposed neck.

Now we’ll see, my dear.

Karak’s vision suddenly blurred and darkened just as Heather reached him, but he did not feel the sharp impact of her teeth. He could hear her bite into something, and then heard her drinking – almost gleefully – yet he could not feel a thing. Maybe she had paralyzed him?

Just then his vision cleared, and he realised that something was being lifted off of his face. He also realised that nothing was keeping him pinned to the floor. Karak jumped up quickly, his hand going to his neck. It was unscathed. What the hell just happened?

On the ground sat Heather and stooping next to her was Habib – with his right arm exposed. Heather was almost literally wrapped around his arm, drinking from the blood vessels that merged at Habib’s wrist.

Gods! He just caught a bullet for me. Why?

“So, she really is a vampire.” Habib said, some of the coolness returning to his voice as he gazed at the scene before him.

“Did you guess that before?” Karak said, approaching only out of curiosity.

“Yes. You didn’t see them, but some of the engravings inside and outside of where we found her with Farrion showed some woman draining blood from dryders. The likeness was too uncanny.”

“But she’s drinking your blood, man!”

“She’s the only spellcaster we have left, and she’s very strong.” He turned and regarded Karak with a practised eye, “And if anything happens to me, I know that you two will see this through. If I’m good at nothing else, I want to be able to give you a fighting chance.”

Karak was stunned into silence. He stood and watched Heather drink what seemed to be more than three pints of blood from Habib before she released his arm and sat back against the passageway hall. She seemed strangely satisfied. Habib, on the other hand, looked as pale as an apparition.

As Karak helped Habib to his feet, Heather opened her eyes and covered both of them in a powerful healing breeze. Habib’s wrist wounds closed up instantly and even Karak felt suddenly refreshed.

“Thanks, Habib,” she said, “I feel so much better now. How are you feeling?”

“Like a bottle of beer,” Habib said. It was probably meant to be a joke, but no one laughed.

“I’m sorry that I attacked you, Karak…I…I lost control.”

Whatever. “That’s alright. How long will that hold you?” Karak replied.

“Till the end, I hope.” She said as she stood and helped support Habib. “I hope you’re not too weak.”

“I’ll be fine.” Habib smiled, “We don’t know what we’re going to find when we get to the end of this passageway, but I just want to let you know…that if this is a one way trip…or if we fail…it was a pleasure fighting with you.”

“We won’t fail.” Karak found himself saying. We damn well can't afford to.

The passageway suddenly rumbled, jolting the trio from their feet, and sending boulders crashing down upon the floor from above. The sound of a deep growling filled Karak’s ears, and the unmistakable throb of large footsteps resonated through his body.

“I…come!”

The fat lady was about to start the first verse.