Dungeons & Dragons - The Temple Of The Thing

Tierim walked apart from the Naztharunes, feeling the changes taking place within him, as they always did every evening. The light of day slowly faded away as the red sun sunk behind the long mountain ranges off to the west. His white skin wavered, as if it was insubstantial, and slowly turned dark and smoky. Pain gripped his body, and he writhed about as he walked, as if he was being pierced by a hundred spears of ice. He felt like his heart was being encased in a block of solid ice, and he shuddered. Suddenly the land around him became brighter, as his vision increased ten-fold, and the transformation from Human to Shade was over.
Reapyr watched Tierim warily, still very unsure of what was going on and how they had landed up with the Shade. The last few days had gone terribly wrong. What was supposed to be a simple retrieval mission had turned into an inconceivable disaster. They hadn't even found what they were looking for before they were attacked by a bunch of Shades. And then Tierim turned up out of no-where and saved them from their quandary. Most of the humans under their command had died, the rest had fled. Through no fault of the Shades', Tierim included. But Reapyr still thought that Tierim was the ulterior cause of their tribulation. Why else would Jarx send him along with them? They had been nonplussed when Tierim turned up at Jarx's side. If Jarx had been angry when Reapyr and Adorno had returned to Waterdeep without the artefact, or any of his soldiers for that matter, then he was livid when Reapyr lied to him about Shades stealing the artefact. Reapyr could still remember the Rakshasa sitting upon his bronze throne, his furry tiger-like face contorted in fury. His voice, on the other hand, had been utterly calm as he called Tierim out from an adjoining room. "Are you sure you don't want to change that statement?" he had asked. And then he had sent them back without any soldiers, but with Tierim, instead, to watch over them.
The temple is up ahead, beyond the rise. Three orcs patrolling outside, pulsed his raven, shaking him out of his reverie. It circled above them as they stealthily topped the rise, weapons in hand. The temple stood before them, a dilapidated ruin of stone structures and pillars from the outside. It was surrounded by trees and foliage, creepers covering every inch of it. It was all but invisible if you didn't look hard enough. Reapyr and Adorno, with two arrows nocked in his bow, waited till Tierim could get closer to the orcs. Adorno let his arrows fly just as Tierim flung a knife under-arm into the eye of an orc. The three orcs dropped like logs, making no noise as they died. Beyond the orcs was the entrance to the temple, barely discernable amidst the greenery, and the darkness of night.
Cloz swooped inside to take a better look. With it's enhanced vision it could see the entrance clearly even though the sun had set. Inside though, the level of light was considerably higher. A long hallway extended in front of Cloz, lit up by fires burning in sconces along the stone walls. Orcs lined the walls, bows in hand, and at the end of the corridor were giant bronze double-doors, gleaming softly. The doors were guarded by two orc sentries. Suddenly an arrow flew past Cloz, scraping past it's right wing, shot by a startled orc. Letting out a short shriek, Cloz flew back outside to inform Reapyr.
"So how do we do this?" queried Adorno, as they stood outside the entrance, aware that even though they were facing only orcs, the odds were still very much against them.
"We will need to use stealth. There's no need to kill them all. We just have to find a way to get through unseen," replied Reapyr, carefully peering into the corridor beyond. Standing at an angle to the entry, he could only see part of one wall of the hallway.
Suddenly the light inside dropped drastically, the fires along the walls diminishing into mere pinpricks of yellow. Intense coldness wracked his body as a figure of thick, swilrling smoke walked straight through Reapyr and into the corridor, it's pale white eyes emphasized by the blackness of the figure. Reapyr spun around and stared at Tierim, who was standing absolutely still, white light glowing under the hood of his blue cloak. The Shade had reduced the intensity of light and had formed a replica of itself. Reapyr turned to watch the wraith walked down the length of the hallway. The orcs standing guard exchanged furtive glances with each other, wondering at the sudden drop in light intensity. They didn't notice the wraith at all, as it headed straight to the doors on the other side and disintegrated as it hit them.
"Neat trick you got there," admired Adorno
"We can go through now. We'll have to be fast and quiet. The orcs have realized that something is amiss, so we will have to get through those doors before they react,"said Tierim.
The three sprinted across the corridor, making absolutely no noise, with Cloz flying overhead. The orcs were beginning to panic, and the two that stood sentinel at the doors began moving forward blindly. Tierim flung two knives at them, taking one in the eye, and the other in the throat. He grabbed them by their leather armour as they fell, and slowly laid them on the floor. Dimming the light in the room beyond, the Shade opened the great doors slightly, and they quickly slipped through.
They found themselves in a large circular room, tiny pinpricks of light along its curved wall signalling where the fires burnt in their brackets. Right across the room from them stood a small wooden door, brand new and polished. All around the room were huge statues, of heroes past, and creatures unknown. In the centre of the room was the largest of them all, a creature with legs sprouting out of it from every possible part of its body. It seemed to be carved to perfection, almost as if it was real. The three slowly moved towards it, as Cloz circled the room, and the subtle changes in light reflecting off the behemoth made it look as if it was moving.
And then they froze.
It was moving.
"Ortyugh!" exclaimed Tierim as it turned slowly, making noises.
"Shut up, you idiot," hissed Reapyr. "It'll hear us."
The sounds coming from the creature were similar to sniffing sounds.
"Oh don't worry. It can't hear us, or see us," said Tierim casually.
The creature stopped turning, and it's legs spread revealing a hideous maw, flanked by giant pincers.
"But there is something else that i can't quite recollect." Tierim rubbed his head, trying to remember what it was. "Oh yeah, it has an extraordinary sense of smell."
And then the thing charged at them.
Reapyr and Tierim dived to either side as the thing collided head-on with Adorno, sending him flying back towards the double doors. Bolts of crimson fire leapt from Reapyr's fingers, peppering the creature's legs and burning holes into them. Shying away from the deadly barrage, the thing turned towards Tierim, pincers clacking, and a few of it's feet being consumed by fire. But Tierim was ready with two knives in his hand. The first one plunged straight into the creature's mouth, stopping it in it's tracks. The second found an exposed part of it's flesh, and buried itself there, extracting thick green blood. Mortally wounded now, it's vulnerable body exposing itself from the sudden lack of legs, the creature slumped to the floor. Four arrows, in quick succesion from a furious Adorno, put paid to it's slim hopes of survival.
"Cloz says there is a box over there." Reapyr pointed to a huge, stone likeness of a legendary warrior, holding a massive, double-edged battle axe over it's head. A small box lay under it's spread feet, it's gilted edged glowing dully.
"Well, even a bat can see that," growled Adorno, squinting at it. "Stupid, talking bird," he grumbled as he stalked off towards the statue. "Let's see it shoot arrows."
"Wait," shouted Tierim, just as Adorno bent down to pick up the box. "Step aside." Adorno edged back as Tierim stood to the side of the statue. Bending down, he stretched his hand around the foot of the statue, his fingers just about getting hold of the box.
Suddenly the giant axe crashed downwards, lodging itself hard into the stony floor with a resounding crash, exactly where Adorno's head was moments ago.
Adorno stared in shock, his jaw dropping low, while Tierim calmly pulled out the box.
"There's a trap on this too," he said as he procured a few tools from his cloak, and started working on the catch. "It looks like som-"
Tchakk
Long and thin spikes sprung out from the box, puncturing Tierim's hands, and then fires lit up the box, consuming it entirely within moments. Holes riddled Tierim's palms, and the Naztharunes could see light filtering through the holes, from one side of the palm to the other. They stared in awe as the holes slowly reduced in size, giving out thin wisps of black smoke.
"Maybe we should just stick to doors," Adorno said pointing to the small, polished wooden door. And then he looked at Tierim. "Unless that has a trap too."
Tierim walked upto it and examined it carefully. "No."
Then they entered.
A small antechamber greeted them, the only light in the room radiating softly from a blue crystal suspended in air a few paces in front of them. Its beauty and brilliance captivated the three adventurers, holding their gaze. Soft pale blue light pulsated within, giving it a depth that mesmerised. Immense power emanated from it, so much that the three could feel it's magic within them. Unable to tear their eyes away from the gem, they didn't notice the two huge minotaur statues that stood sentinel on either side of it. And then a screech from Cloz pierced the air.
The minotaurs weren't statues.
They were alive.
And they had weapons.
Adorno and Reapyr jumped backwards, avoiding the swinging axes that the minotaurs heaved. Clinging to the shadows, Tierim circled the minotaur on the left, wicked knives at ready, while Adorno strung two arrows and aimed at it. They left Reapyr to deal with the other minotaur.
Two arrows struck the minotaur on the left, in the chest, while knives collided into the back of it's head. Simultaneously, brilliant blue light lit up the room, as a bolt of lightning leapt from Reapyr's fingers, melting the flesh of the other minotaur. Both minotaurs staggering in pain, they turned on Tierim, who was closest to them. Barely being able to lift their axes, they advanced menacingly onto Tierim. Reapyr watched helplessly, as Tierim backed away, hesitating to finish off the minotaurs with another bolt of lightning for fear that it might melt through them and strike Tierim.
But an arrow in the back of each of their necks, from Adorno, was enough to drop them dead in their tracks.
"Now we are square," Adorno said with a grin, walking towards the suspended crystal. His hand reached out to pluck it out of the air, and then he hesitated. The ball hung there, teasing him and enticing him to grab it. "It's rigged. I think i can handle this one though. Wait."
Reapyr, Cloz and Tierim watched as Adorno closed his eyes and stretched his hands out towards the gem. His palms were just inches from the crystal, not touching it even slightly.
Then suddenly his eyes sprang open. "INCOMING!"
With a puff he disappeared in a cloud of curling smoke, just as thick spears of crystal shot out of the ball. Reapyr dived to a side, one of the spears grazing his shoulder, extracting thick, viscous blood. Adorno apppeared at his side, as suddenly as he had disappeared.
"It's off now," he said as he reached out and held it. It glowed brighter, responding to his touch.
"Now i know why Jarx is so keen on obtaining this." Cradling it carefully, they walked back into the circular chamber.
"Those orcs are still out there. The crystal will give us away," warned Reapyr, just as they reached the huge double-doors.
Then they stopped.
Right in front of them, the air wavered slightly, and then a thin column of light appeared, like as if there was a tear in the fabric of the air. Slowly the column thickened, becoming a hole and growing larger. Dazzling white light came from it, blinding the adventurers.
Then a shadow fell across their faces, as a figure stepped out of the portal.
"Well, well. Where do you think you are going with that?"

Dungeons & Dragons - Ambush

The low crackling of the fire broke through the silence of the cave, it's tiny flames producing little light and barely any heat. The humans huddled together, at the back of the cave, oppresive cold seeping through their breastplates and biting into their skin. They watched the two Naztharunes sitting around the fire, at the mouth of the caves, staring into it's depths, their fearsome leonine faces giving away no emotions. Their gaunt shadows, thrown by the flickering flames onto the cave walls, were accenuated by the blackness outside. A black raven sat atop the broad shoulder of one of the Naztharunes, ruffling it's feathers. Then suddenly the bird took flight, the Naztharune sitting up and exchanging glances.
Reapyr's ears pricked up, and he looked towards Adorno. The look on Adorno's face told him he had heard it too. Clutching his spear, Reapyr stood up and nodded to his bird. Adorno, with bow at ready, came up beside him at the mouth of the cave, watching Cloz fly out into the night. Clouds covered the sky, dark and threatening, and there was no moon. Darkness shrouded everything, and the Naztharunes, even with their prodigious eye-sight, were hard-pressed to see anything past 30 feet.
"Where is that damn bird?" growled Adorno, tensing.
"Right here," replied Reapyr, as the bird emerged from the darkness. Suddenly the fire flickered out of existence, and the darkness was complete. "We have got company. Pikemen, form up on the flanks. Archers behind me. Fire at will on my command," ordered Reapyr, tiny crimson flames dancing on his fingertips. Adorno melted into the shadows, two arrows notched in his yew bow. Reapyr waited at the mouth of the cave, straining his eyes, searching for signs of movement. Sounds of creaking bows and drawn strings broke the eerie silence. And then another sound floated through, cold and remorseless - Now how about that artefact you stole.
Reapyr spun around...
... and the ten archers stood in front of him, notched bows trained on him. A humanoid figure stood behind them, cloaked in black, it's face a misty shadow.
"Well. I don't have all day, or night," it rasped.
"You are too late. We sent the artefact ahead of us, with a battalion of human soldiers," said Reapyr, unsure of what to do under the sudden turn of events.
"We?" asked the creature.
"That includes me, Shade." Adorno appeared out of the shadows behind the Shade, holding an arrow up to the Shade's neck like a dagger.
The Shade laughed softly. "Did you really think i would come alone?".
The darkness behind Adorno slowly condensed and curled, materializing into five more cloaked figures, all carrying swords. The Shade turned around to Adorno, daggers flashing into it's hands. "Naztharunes always act without thinking."
"I'm not just any Naztharune," Adorno replied with a smirk.
And then everything seemed to happen at once.
Puff. A column of thick smoke dissipated into nothingness where Adorno had been.
Five objects flew past Reapyr, plunging into the cloaked figures at the back of the cave, dropping them instantly. The Shade spun around, and six bolts of crimson fire collided with it, burning holes into it. It screamed execrably, it's shadowy face taking the form of a human's, and then smouldering. The flames on it's scorching body lit up the cave, alleviating the darkness, and illuminating the archers, their bows still trained on Reapyr. Six more fire bolts leapt from Reapyr's hand, consuming six archers. The remaining archers stood transfixed, staring in horror at their burning companions, before four arrows soared from the shadows, piercing their throats.
"Never trust humans," said Adorno with a shake of his head, as he appeared from the shadows, nocking two arrows into his bow. "What should we do with those?" He pointed at the pikemen with his bow.
The pikemen stood across the cave mouth, shaking visibly, pikes levelled towards the Naztharunes. Completely unaware of what had happened, and driven by fear and trepidation, they advanced on the Naztharunes. Twenty humans taking on two Naztharunes. The humans didn't stand a chance.
Adorno let fly his two arrows, and before they even reached their targets, nocked and released two more. Reapyr extended his free hand, and a streak of lightning exploded from it, hitting the pikemen on their breastplates, boiling it and frying the men alive. Sense and pure logic prevailed in the remaining pikemen, and they fled into the night.
The two Naztharunes surveyed the carnage in front of them. Twelve human lay sprawled in front of them, some bristling with arrows, others burnt beyond recognition. And then they noticed the lone figure standing outside the cave, throwing knives in it's hand, and its blue cloak flapping in the wind.
"You Shades do enjoy appearing out of nowhere, don't you," said Adorno through gritted teeth, ready to loose two more arrows.
Reapyr held out his hand, stopping Adorno. "It was you who killed the other Shades wasn't it?"
The Shade nodded slowly.
"Why? Who are you and what do you want from us?"
"My name is Tierim. That's all you need to know. I don't want anything from you. I just came here to kill them, for my own reasons," he nodded towards the Shades at the back of the cave.
"Well, you're not wanted here. Leave now and don't return." said Adorno gruffly.
The crimson flames on the archers slowly died down as Tierim slipped into the night, leaving the Naztharunes alone in total darkness and deathly silence.

Homecoming

Sunlight glinted off the huge spires that stood atop the palace, making it look like it was made of gold. The marble walls of the palace had yellowed a bit, and the South Tower was crumbling, but the rest was as it had been when she was last there. The memories came rushing back again, flooding her mind. She saw the Royal Gardens and she remembered how she had run about there when she was a child. The careless laughter rang in her ears. She thought of her pony when she saw the stables beyond, and how many times she had ridden it, cool wind whipping her red hair. The streets outside the palace compounds were deserted, the shops empty. She remembered trying to make her way through those streets when they were crowded, visiting shops, and talking to the different people that thronged the area. After all, a princess needed to know the people she was going to rule over. And now those people cowered in fear, hiding behind their pitifull wooden structures.
Hadn't they seen her power? The Outer City lay in ruins, people lying bloodied and dismembered amongst pieces of jagged rocks and splintered wood, remnants of their homes. Craters dotted the land, grim reminders of the annihilation that had occured. Fires still burned from the structures that had mysteriously survived the devastation. The Outer Wall had been completely levelled, it's very foundation torn apart and flung miles across the surrounding land. But the people of Drede were as proud and haughty as the city had been. They wouldn't run. Not while the men of the city stood outside, garbed in burnished breastplates and plumed helmets. They had been arranged hastily in battle formations, following the destruction of the Outer City. Archers stood at the back of the formations holding longbows nocked with feathered arrows, ready to let fly when the signal came. Pikemen surrounded them, conical helmets on their heads, and long shafted pike at the ready by their side. Then came the legendary Dredean Centurions, resplendant in their golden breastplates and billowing cloaks, huge broadswords in their hands. Her eyes scanned their gritty faces, resolute and emotionless, like as if they were carved from stone. Then she saw her father, standing in the middle of the Centurions, a jewelled crown on his head. His face was stern, just as it had always been.
The harsh words came back stonger than ever. You are supposed to be a princess. Not some servant to a priest. How he had ridiculed her after all the hard work she had put in being an apprentice to a priestess. And now it had paid off. The power she had, it was exhilerating. And she wanted her father to see her wield it, and demolish his army. She wanted to see the look on his face when her father realized it was her. I am so ashamed of you. Why can't you be like your sisters? Why...
The list went on, his words repeating over and over again in her head. And then a new set of words made their way into her head, from a different voice. She turned to see Krodar, standing beside her in a richly decorated black tunic, poining towards the army confronting them, and more importantly the huge rock trolls that stood amongst the Black Cavalry. The trolls wore boiled leather, but she knew that their skin was as strong as any metal. Standing over 30 feet tall, the rock trolls were undoubtedly the finest fighting unit in the entire world. She could handle one, maybe even two, but three rock trolls along with an entire army would be a challenge. Possibly the toughest she had ever faced, compounded by the fact that she had no one to fight beside her, except 20 riders, wielding worthless swords, that Krodar had brought with him.
"It's time," he whispered in her ears. "Show them the error of their ways, the penalty for standing against Helyna. Kill them all."
Kill them all.
The words stood out in her head. Yes, she would kill them all, she would destroy them, hear them scream. And yet a part inside her screamed out, trying to stop her. The ground trembled slightly, and up ahead her father's army had begun their march. The Black Cavalry separated from the main army, soaring ahead, warriors in black armour and plumed helmets urging their war-horses on. Closer and closer they came, and she waited.
"Now," said Krodar, fear showing in his eyes.
The Cavalry kept approaching, faster. The voice inside her head grew louder. Stop this madness. Then the memories came back again. She was running across the lawns.
"Kill them, quickly." Krodar's voice was fraught with fear.
The cavalry were 400 feet away, trolls following just behind, cradling massive spiked clubs.
Kill them. NO. She was running, careless laughter in the air.
300 feet. Sweat streamed down Krodak's face. She could feel his heart fluttering like a candle in the wind.
She was running, and someone was running with her, laughing as well.
200 feet. Tiny stones on the ground jumped about as the trembling grew. "What are you doing," screamed Krodak.
The person running with her caught her and lifted her up. She looked at him, at her father's smiling face. More memories followed, like water breaking through a dam, flooding her, overwhelming her.
100 feet. A barrage of arrows shot up into the air from the archers, turning the sky dark. "Kill them, foolish woman. NOW", roared Krodak, shaking visibly.
And then a new entity entered her mind, clouding every other sense. Anger. It grew inside her like a huge beast, breaking free from it's chains.
And all hell broke loose.
A wave of pure energy burst out from her, slamming into everything around her, flinging them back like particles of sand. The arrows reached the pinnacle of their arc, and then disintegrated. The earth around her shook, and then ruptured. Huge walls of fire exploded from the fissures, instantly burning everything that passed through it. The cavalry was torn apart, their screams piercing the air, and their chargers running madly, flames dancing on them. Beyond them, Centurions lay writhing about on the fragmented earth, breastplates melted over them, slowly burning them alive. Their hideous screams filled the air, giving Helyna a sense of satisfaction. The pikemen and archers were motionless, their skin burnt to a crisp. Huge, black clouds of smoke rose ominously in the sky, permeated with the sickening stench of burnt flesh.
Helyna dropped to her knees, exhaustion taking over her. She covered her eyes against the stinging smoke, waiting for it to clear. And then she saw them.
The three rock trolls stood amidst the carnage, tendrils of smoke curling upwards from their thick skins. They charged at her, clubs raised over their heads. It was time for more drastic measures, but Helyna hesitated for a moment, not sure if she had the energy for another onslaught. Krodar's body lay mangled beside her, and her father lay amongst the Centurions, his body encased in a metal cuccoon. Anger flared inside her again, more than it ever had. Dark clouds formed in the sky. Then the storm followed.
Lightning rained down from the heavens, striking randomly, destroying everything it hit. Almost everything. A troll lay unconscious on the earth, struck on his back by the lightning. Twisters followed, massive columns of twirling air, sucking everything under it into the air, tearing them apart. It picked up two trolls, including the unconscious one, lifting them high up, contorting their bodies into grotesque shapes, and then hurling them miles away.
Helyna was sprawled against the earth, unable to control her powers. Her energy had been used up, and now her life slowly drained away, being used up in sustaining the massacre. Meteors were called down from the sky, against her will, peppering the earth, annihilating everything, including the ravaged city beyond. Her breathing came in short gasps, and her sight was dimming. She saw the third troll batting away a meteor with his club, only to be pummeled into a pulp by two others. The entire city was razed now, and everything around it had vanished, replaced by large craters. Helyna's breathing stopped, her lungs collapsing, pain wracking her body. She thought of her father hugging her in the lawns.
And then darkness finally came.

Infiltration

Serpak dropped onto the ledge beneath his window, trying hard not to look down. He could manage a height of two stories, maybe even three, but four was a little too scary. He edged along the ledge, towards the corner where the wall he was on met with the wall facing the palace, hugging the rough wall of the inn. It would have been much easier if he had been in the room facing the palace, instead of the one adjacent. That way he wouldn't have had to walk on this treacherous ledge as much as he was doing now. Reaching the corner, he placed a tentative foot on the ledge attached to that wall, and gently tested it for strength. Satisfied, he transfered his weight onto it, and pulled himself fully onto the ledge. His back was facing the palace now, the palace walls running just a few feet behind him. He continued along the ledge, so that he was directly across the royal stables. He could hear noises floating out through an open window ahead of him. Peering slowly into the room, he could see a man sitting on a bed with his back to him, and a woman in front of him, slowly removing her bodice. Serpak paused, and watched with interest. The palace guards would be patrolling the walls on the inside soon, and he had to time his jump across so that they didn't see him, but he decided a few seconds wouldn't hurt. A knock on the door of the room sent the girl scurrying away, out of sight, and the man and Serpak cursed softly. He pulled his mind back to his mission and the ledge in front of him. He needed to get across the window to be directly across the stables, but it was too wide and he didn't want to be seen by the people inside the room. Bending his knees slightly, he turned to face the ledge, holding the edge of the window with one hand, and then he jumped. He landed on the other side of the window, on his toes, paused, and heaved a sigh of relief.
Then he fell, the fragile ledge crumbling under the force of his impact. His arms flailed about, desperately trying to latch onto something, anything. The third-storey window flashed past him to his right. Then his fingers hooked onto the ledge that ran under the third-storey window. His fall stopped abruptly, feet dangling wildly, and his heart pounding against his chest. Making a mental note never to stay in that inn ever again, he hauled himself onto the ledge. He was in level with the top of the palace wall now. The ledge he was on before would have given him the height he needed to reach the wall, but now he wasn't sure if he would make it across. He would need an extra push to propell him forwards...
Or backwards. Turning around so that his back was to the palace wall again, he placed one foot on the wall of the inn, keeping the other firmly on the ledge. He bent his legs, readying himself for another jump, and then pushed hard with all his strength. He flew backwards, rotating at the same time. The world spun around him, and one moment, he was upside down, looking at the palace and the roof of the stables, and in the next he was on the palace wall, facing the inn. He turned, his arms spread out to balance himself, and saw the tiled roof of the stables directly in front of him. Beyond it, he could see the palace lawns, and past that sat the palace, grim and daunting in the darkness of night. He heard a pair of guards coming on their rounds, and he leapt quickly to stable's roof. He ran to the other side and plunged softly into a bush beneath.
Now was the hard part. The lawns were expansive, and at the far end were bushes and trees surrounding the palace. Between, there was nothing but grass. And patrolling guards. Serpak held his breath as two guards, in conical helmets, and breastplates with the royal sigil stamped on them, swords hanging from their sides, walked by. They were on time. He had been watching the guards every night, for five nights, from the top of a tower in the city, and their routine was always the same. Four pairs of guards patrolled the lawns, their paths parallel to each other, spanning the length of the lawns. While two pairs reached opposite ends of the lawns, the other two were at the centre, walking in different directions. That was when he had to cross.
He waited for two pairs to reach the ends, and just before they turned he sprinted across the lawns, passing behind the guards at the centre, a whisper's distance from their backs. His footfalls barely made a sound as he flew across the grounds. Just 20 feet to the bushes and trees.
The guards reached the ends and stopped.
10 feet.
The guards started turning.
And then he reached the bushes, diving into them, his heart in his mouth. Crouching low behind the bushes, Serpak made his way to the kitchens. The kitchen door was sunken into wall, shrouded in darkness, and the guards that stood sentinel beside it were barely visibly. Serpak reached the door, and paused behind a bush next to it, just in time to see the guards walk out to greet the next shift. He was just in time. A few minutes late and he would have had to wait six hours for the next shift and his chance to get in. He slipped quietly into the doorway as the guards conversed with each other, and without making a sound, he let himself into the kitchens.
Long tables occupied most of the kitchens, with pots and pans, goblets and glasses, spoons and ladels, and other utensils Serpak wasn't bothered to identify. Flickering light from a candle flame made the knives and other cutting tools, hanging from hooks, look eery and foreboding. Serpak cautiously made his way to a door at the other end of the room, unsure about his surroundings. He had visited the palace many times in the past few days, under the pretense of being a petitioner to the king. He had explored the entire palace, pretending to be lost when guards approached him, but he had never been allowed to enter the kitchens.
The door opened into a dark and empty hallway which Serpak recognized instantly. It led to the servants' quarters on the right, but Serpak headed left, towards the dining hall.
The dining hall was richly decorated, a sudden contrast to the dreary hallway Serpak emerged from. The stony walls were festooned with thick tapestries, with intricate designs on them, and long silk curtains. Dining tables were arranged head-to-head along the walls, interrupted in three places by doors. One set of doors led to the main atrium, where the king held his audiences, and another led to the private quarters of the royal family and their guests. The third set, to which Serpak headed, led to the trophy room. They were large, iron double-doors, inlaid with bronze. Just as Serpak started to push them open, he heard voices. They came from the other side of the doors, and they were coming closer. Without thinking, Serpak dived behind a tapestry next to him, just as the doors opened, letting a pair of guards out. He waited till the guards left the room before slipping into the trophy room. Then, he froze.
The throne room was a large, elongated hall. The wall to Serpak's right was adorned with stuffed heads of wild animals, decorated masks, and shields with sigils printed on them, and sconces with fires burning in them. Against the wall to his left stood a row of statues, marble likenesses of past kings and monsters, and armour suits. But Serpak hadn't noticed any of it, his eyes rivetted, instead, on the two soldiers at the other end of the room, guarding a door, chatting idly.

Jin stifled a yawn, and nodded vigorously at his friend, barely hearing what he was saying. His eyes wandered to the statues lining the wall behind his friend. The life sized figure of King Gorn V held his interest more than his friend's quips about how to bake buns, or some such thing. A fleeting movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention.
"Did you see that, Tag?" he asked his friend, interrupting his narrative on how to date mums.
"What?" said Tag, looking at the door leading to the dining hall. "I don't see anything. I think the drink has gotten to you. So as i was saying, a -"
"I could have sworn i saw something dart into the statues," Jin cut him off, slowly advancing towards the door and the statues.
"You must cut down on that ale. Wait, let me lock this door, and then i will bring a torch."
The two men proceeded slowly, Tag holding the torch high in the air. Shadows shrunk away as they reached the door.
"See. Nothing here. It was pro-"
Tag was cut off, yet again, this time by a dull thud coming from the cellar door. Running towards the door, they found the source of the sound, a rounded padlock.
"Guess i didn't lock it properly," Tag said with a shrug.

Serpak found himself inside the cellar, breathing deeply. That had been too close, and he berated himself for the slip-up. The cellar was dark, and Serpak could barely see the giant silhoutes of wine and ale barrels. He had been down here once before, and he knew that there was a door at the other end leading to the dungeons below. This time he was more cautious as he made his way down the winding steps into a circular room. A fat guard was sleeping on a rotten chair, snoring loudly. The candle light cast gaunt shadows on the rough walls as Serpak crawled towards the guard. A bundle of rings hung from his belt, along with a short sword. Gently, Serpak tried to ease the bundle out of the belt. The guard grunted and shifted in his seat, and Serpak snatched his hand back. He gave it another shot, but this time the guard turned over, and the keys were lost under the copious amounts of fat.
Deciding he could continue without them, Serpak made his way towards a hallway, with prison cells on either side of it. His shadow preceded him as he entered the hallway, and then he noticed the shadow was growing steadily larger. He dropped himself, spinning around at the same time, to see a short sword slicing through the air his head had occupied moments ago. Knives flashed into his hands, and he flung them underarm, towards the guard's face. The guard crashed into a heap, hilts sticking out from his eyes, blood bubbling out from them. Retrieving the knives, Serpak continued into the hallway. He found the cell he was searching for. He drew out a knife with a long sinuous blade, and with it he picked the lock of the cell.
"Who's there?" came a trembling voice.
"It's me, Vidyrk. How could you forget so quickly?" Serpak rasped.
"Oh. Bless you, Serpak. Quick, get me out of these chains. This place makes me sick."
If it was cold in the dungeon, then Serpak's laugh was freezing. "I don't think you understand, my friend. I don't do rescues."
The look of confusion on Vidyrk's face slowly contorted into a look of pure trepidation when he noticed the curved blade still in Serpak's hands.
"No. Please no. I tried, i swear. You can't do this to me," Vidyrk pleaded, the pitch of his voice steadily rising.
"Watch me." The blade found his heart.

Birth of the Dead

He watched them from the shadows, saw them run around and play. The sweet sound of their laughter filled his head, and a sense of melancholy washed over him. He longed to go out there, to be among them, to be part of them. He wanted to jump, and hide, and shout, and do everything that they did, with them. Slowly, his feet started shuffling forward, dragging him out from his dark sanctuary, towards the cavorting boys and girls. He brought his hand up to shield his face from the sunlight, suddenly realizing he had gone too far. Quickly, he turned around and started scuttling back to his refuge.
"Look, everyone. Look who decided to join us," a shout came from behind. "Do you want to join us?"
He turned around slowly, a smile growing on his pale, white face, and nodded. Then sharp pain lanced through his head, and he fell down hard on the stony earth. A bloodied stone glistened next to him. He looked up and saw them, pointing at him, laughing haughtily. Anger welled up inside him, and his eyes burned red. He tried sitting up, but a shadow fell across him, and a shiny boot pressed down on his chest, pinning him to the ground. He looked up and saw a boy in a black tunic, worked with silver lace, standing over him, staring smugly.
The boy bent down, and grabbed him roughly by his torn, patched coat. "Did we hurt you?" he asked with feigned concern. More laughter filled the air, mocking him, chafing him. His blood boiled and suddenly he hated them. He hated all of them, standing there in their fancy clothes, deriving pleasure out of his humiliation. He wanted them to suffer for putting him through all this shit. He wanted them to burn alive. He wanted their skin to melt and scald their bones. And he wanted to hear them screaming, begging for death.
The boy hauled him to his feet, jerking him back to reality. "You are not wanted here, street rat. Go back to the sty where you come from."

It was the words, and not the cold look that the boy had given him, that hurt him most. Tears
stung his eyes, and he stumbled as he made his way back to his home. He remembered the happy times he had had with the boy, how many years they had spent playing together. And then the boy's parents had hit upon a fortune, and they had shifted into a large house, next to other rich families. Even then they had remained best of friends, the boy confiding in him, seeking advice about his problems, when he had everything but problems. Over the days, the visits had grown rarer, and the boy had made new friends. And now the boy had completely forgotten who he was. He wiped his eyes, and his home came into view, a medium-sized wooden structure, with a thatched roof, and a shaded porch. He rushed in, calling out to his mother, but no reply came. Then he heard a scream originating from his parents' room. Pulling back the thin sheet that served as a screen to their room, he stepped inside.
"Mother!" he shrieked, when he saw her lying on the floor, blood issuing from her multiple wounds in waves.
"Get out of here, you little freak," his father roared, swinging a broken bottle of ale, it's sharp edges wet with blood.
"What have you done?" he said, fists clenched.
"She got what was coming to her, and so will you," the man growled, advancing towards the boy menacingly.
Without warning, the boy charged into the man, and with all his strength, drove his fist into the man's stomach. Man and boy stared in horror, as the white fist sank slowly into the man's belly. He couldn't feel his father's flesh, or blood, or muscle, or organs, but he could feel the bones, calling out to him, asking to be realeased. Then his prying fingers felt something else, cold, yet at the same time, radiating power. His palm curled around it, and slowly, he pulled his hand out. His father tensed, and stood rigidly, eyes losing focus. He looked at his clenched fist and saw a smoky, insubstantial figure struggled to break free from his grip. And suddenly he knew he was looking at his father's soul. He looked at his father, knowing what would come next, as if he had known it his entire life. The colour drained from his father's face, the skin become cold and hard. Then the skin cracked, like glass, and blood seeped out through the cracks. The soul started shaking vigorously now, and the skin fell away like dust, revealing the bloodied bone structure beneath, along with muscles and organs. The soul was vivaciously trying to escape, but he knew that if he let it go, it would enter him. Organs and muscle detached themselves from the bones, leaving behind the standing skeleton of his father. It stood there dully, like a sentinel, without life. He raised his clenched fist towards the skeleton, and released the soul. Suddenly, the skeleton came to life, red light glowing in it's eye sockets, as the soul entered it. He could feel a new entity in his mind. He could see through it's eyes. He could control it.
"Fayne," his mother's voice whispered softly from behind. "Where are you my son?"
"I hate that name," he growled, irritated at being interrupted from his revelation. He bent down beside her, and noted, with satisfaction, the incomprehension on her face. Her breathing was shallow and her vision was blurring. She strained her eyes and looked at her son's face. It was dead, and cold, and his eyes burned red. She couldn't recognize him anymore. The blurring became worse, and it started becoming dark. She couldn't see her son's emotionless face, but his rasping voice floated in her head.
"My name is Ghost."

Troubled Waters - Part III

COMING TO A BLOG SITE NEAR YOU!!
This June look out for the thrilling conclusion to the epic series "Troubled Waters".

Troubled Waters - Part II

Kahl watched The Water Fist lurch upwards, it's bow in the air, pause for a brief instant, and then with a sickening groan that carried all the way to him, fall hard, impaling itself on the jagged rock before it. The hull shattered under the impact, and shock waves emanated outwards from it, carrying with it splinters of wood and drops of water. He could feel the deck under his boots vibrate softly, water and wood striking his breastplate. He cursed softly, wiping his breastplate clean. The plate was heavy enough to drag him to a watery grave, should he fall into the sea. He hated it, hated the mere sight of it, and what it symbolized. Some said that the plates were not red with paint, but with blood. Kahl knew it to be partly true. The Blood Knights were called so because of their bloody armour, and that was why, against pure logic, he wore it today. It was what instilled fear into their opponents, a trademark of the indomitable Blood Knights. He wondered, though, if there was anyone left to instill fear into, after what he had just seen. Through the fog, he could see shapes sprawled across the deck of The Water Fist, but he was unable to tell if they were moving.
"Looks like our job is already done, general", Jorr grinned, coming up to stand beside him.
The look of pure loathing and disgust that Kahl shot at him wiped the grin of his face.
"Do you find it amusing that some of the best warriors in the world may have died in a ship wreck that we just caused, lieutenant?"" Kahl's voice robbed Jorr of every bit of warmth he had in him. "Terwyn and his group do not deserve to die like this. In fact i'll place a wager that they are still alive. And if they are, i would like to keep it that way. If they attack, then defend yourselves, but do not initite an attack. Is that understood, lieutenant?"
"As you say", Jorr said gruffly, saluting, clenched fist touching his right eye. Almost as an after-thought, he added a "General". Then with the flick of his hand, he signaled the advance. Fifty Blood Knights followed.

Of all the parts of the deck of The Water Fist, the helm was the most protected. It was here that Katryn and Haadro had braced themselves for the collision. Haadro was still dizzy and disoriented from his fall. His deck hadn't ruptured, but he couldn't even begin to think about what had happened below it.
Katryn picked up her quarterstaff and watched the first of the Blood Knights board the ship, throwing grappling hooks onto the gunwale and crossing over. Tears stung her eyes, as her thoughts kept going to Terwyn, possibly lying dead in his room two decks below. She saw a lieutenant stand in front of her, with Blood Knights milling around behind him, and a corporal next to him, reading a declaration from the Emperor. His words didn't register in her mind, rage filling her head instead. For too long she had been running, but now she didn't care. Now she was going to show them her true power. Her eyes glowed, a soft blue light, and she stretched her hands outwards, palms facing the corporal. A blood-curling shriek interrupted his speech, as his head burst into flames. He clawed at his face, running about madly, blindly. The nauseating smell of burnt flesh filled the air, but no one took notice, eyes instead rivetted on the flailing man. The corporal stumbled, and fell headlong into the main-mast, and flames instantly sprung up along the polished mast. It teetered slowly, it's base consumed by the fire, then it fell, right into the midst of the Blood Knights, scattering them like flies. The crash and the oppresive heat from the spreading fire brought Katryn back to her senses. A line of fire cut the helm and bow off from the stern. To her left, on the bow, Ghost stood up groggily, recovering from the collision with the rock. And in front of her stood the Blood Knights, in no mood to negotiate, ready to kill.

The twins had regained consciousness just in time to see Katryn set a Blood Knight's face ablaze. They had lost almost all their arrows. Evandred had two left, Elandred one. It wasn't enough though. Ten Blood Knights had dived onto the stern, trying to escape the falling main-mast. The knights advanced on the twins and the two sailors with them, drawing out their swords. The sailors ran forward, pulling out short swords, and engaged the knights. Simultaneously, the twins nocked arrows, pulled back the drawstrings to their cheeks, and let fly. Two knights dropped dead, feathered shafts sticking out from their necks.
I'm out, pulsed Elandred.
Evandred felled another knight. Time to improvise. He pointed towards the railing, and in particular, it's wooden props.
I like your style. Elandred grabbed a prop, yanked hard, and broke it loose. It was heavier and thicker than a normal arrow, but the length was right, and it's ends were splintered. And it did a satisfactory job of killing knights.
The sailors were dead now, and the remaining six knights charged towards the twins, looking like demons with the fire raging behind them. They dropped two, but the rest were closing in fast, too fast to nock and fire. Their minds combined, pulling in energy from their bodies, concentrating it, and lashing out hard at the minds of the incoming knights. The knights stopped suddenly in mid-stride, momentarily stunned. The delay gave the twins all the time they needed to dispatch them.

Rom, with a sword in one hand, and a dagger in the other, stormed into the approaching Blood Knights. Eight were just too many for him, though, and he was cut down instantaneously. Eight pairs of eyes looked down on the mangled body with satisfaction, then up at Ghost and the five sailors with him, watched Ghost raise his hands, palms facing the sky, and then opened wide in horror as the dead body in front of them started writhing about vigorously. Fissures formed, on the skin along the centre of the face, torso and limbs. Then, as if by some unseen force, the flesh on either side of the fissures burst apart, spewing out blood and an assortment of organs, revealing the bones beneath. Slowly, the skull raised itself up, the scalp falling down like loose cloth. The rib-cage and backbone moved upwards, into a sitting position, shoulder blades shrugging off the skin. Bony appendages picked up the sword and dagger, and then, like some hideous monster rising up to earth from the Hells, it stood in front of the petrified Blood Knights. Crimson, coagulated blood stuck to it, nerves and arteries embedded in the sticky, semi-solid blood. The diaphragm separated from the ribs and fell to the ground, lungs and heart following immediately after, making abhorrent sounds as it slapped to the deck. The eye sockets glowed red, and the horror-stricken Blood Knights could see the brains beyond it, part of it slowly leaking out through the hollow nose. Lifting the sword up, it calmly decapitated the knight in front of it.

Troubled Waters - Part I

Kahl stood in front of the long mirror attached to the wooden wall, checking himself in it, adjusting his purple cape and it's claw shaped clasps on his shoulders. He searched for unwanted marks on his polished, red breastplate, and found none to his satisfaction. The face that looked back at him from the mirror wore a strict look, accentuated by the black, trident shaped beard on his chin. He lifted his sabre, testing it's edge with his thumb. It pricked him, causing a bud of blood to well up, reminding him of the amount of bloodshed he had caused, and how much more he would cause. A knock on his door broke him from his reverie.
"Enter"
The door opened to let in a burly man with a bald head. His attire was similar to Kahl's.
"I trust you have good news for me, Jorr", said Kahl, still looking into the mirror.
"Yes, General", said the Liutenant. "We have found them. They are in front of us, sailing south along the Verdian coast."
"Excellent, get the men ready. And tell me, Jorr, why are we slowing down?"
"Because, sir, we might collide with them."

Terwyn stood on the bow, clutching the gunwale, letting the sea water spray onto his face. The wind had picked up, making his clothes flutter, and his shoulder lenght hair fly in different directions. He peered out of the port side, into the curling mists, trying hard to make out the distant coastline.
"Ter, good man, there you are", a voice hailed him from behind. Terwyn turned around to see the large shape of the captain waddling towards him.
"Fine weather we are having, don't you think, Haadro", said Terwyn, sardonically.
"Eh, don't give me none of that," Haadro grumbled. "It could be worse, even with this blasted fog. Besides, we are making better time than i expected. We may even reach Kos Verda by tomorrow evening."
"Splendid", said Terwyn, admiring the large fore mast, it's sail bulging outward with the force of the wind. It had a blue fist on a sea of green worked on it, Haadro's personal sigil, and was identical to the twin mainsails. A large crossbar extended from the centre of the main mast, forming a triangle with the booms of the two mainsails. "Tell me Haadro, why do you call your ship The Water Fist?"
"I think it resembles a clenched fist. Because, you see, the beam is a little longer than in most ships. But since i'm such a prosperous merchant, i need more space for my cargo. The three decks of the ship are an added bonus", he boasted.
"Indeed. Well, just to let you know, it's been a pleasure riding on your fine vessel. And i speak for my whole group."
"Really?". Haadro pointed at the man standing just behind the pulpit, holding his black cloak close to his body, with pale white hands. He was facing the wind, but his red eyes were wide open, pale white face unfliching, silver hair flowing down in waves till the small of his back, unmoving.
"Oh, you mean Ghost? He doesn't say much, or do much, for that matter. Statues resemble him sometimes", quipped Terwyn. "But he has his uses", he added with a glint in his eye.

Elandred and Evandred stood out on the stern of The Water Fist, eyes closed, their sharp Elven features mirror images of each other's. Their loose woollen cloaks flapped loosely, but they didn't bother about it, concentrating, instead, on the different life forms in the ocean beneath. Images floated in their minds, random thoughts from the creatures below, and the twins shared it between themselves. They could feel the presence of people behind them, sailors going about different chores, but they pushed them out, creating place for a lamprey, and behind it a dolphin, little points of pulsating light in their heads.
And then a whole set of entities entered their minds, larger points of light, coming from starboard. The twins jerked their heads around, simultaneously, their sharp Elven eyes instantaneously spotting the gigantic shape bearing down on them, like a monster emerging from the mists.

Garon pulled his shawl around him tighter, clutching a mug of warm ale and sipping slowly in intervals. The wind was harshest up on the crow's nest, and The Water Fist's nest wasn't protected from the elements at all. Garon cursed his luck softly, for being sent up there on that day of all days. He thought he heard his name being called out, and a flicker of movement down on the deck caught his eye. He looked down and saw the two Elves waving frantically at him, and pointing out to the sea. Frowning, he turned around and peered out, but there was only the fog. And then he saw it, his mug fell from nerveless fingers.
"Gods!"

"All hands on deck!" screamed Haadro, running to the tiller, and snatching control of it from the helmsman. He pulled hard trying to turn the ship to port. "Furl the mainsails", he bellowed, "and rotate the foresail forty-five degrees to port".
Men immediately jumped to his calls. Ten sailors ran towards the mainsails, desperately trying to control them against the vicious wind and fold them up. The sailors had undone the foot of the sail, but now it was flapping wildly and they couldn't tie it up.

Terwyn surveyed the scene from the helm, watching Ghost help Rom, the first mate, and five other sailors turn the foresail succesfully. The twins were at the mainsails. They had decided to cut loose the entire sail, after several futile attempts at tying them up.
"What a waste of good sail, but atleast we are turning", said Haadro, with a hint of dismay in his voice. Terwyn grunted, turning around to get another look at the trireme that almost collided with them. It was slightly behind them now, but closer, it's massive mainsail coming into view, a bloodied sword painted across it.
His jaw dropped.

"Go away Ter. Let me sleep", grumbled Katryn, hugging her pillow closer.
"The Blood Knights are here. I don't know how they found us, but they almost collided with us", said Terwyn in a gruff note, hauling Katryn up. "Go to the deck. Take your quarterstaff with you. I am going to get my swords."
Katryn looked at the black, dragon-bone quarterstaff propped up against the wall. "Time to get back to work", she sighed. She smoothened the wrinkles on her green robe, picked up the staff, and ran up the stairs to the deck.

Evandred and Elandred, yew longbows in their hands, and quivers, filled with arrows, hanging across their backs, watched the trireme draw closer. Even through the fog, they could see the Blood Knights, the finest fighting unit in the world, forming ordered ranks on the deck, looking powerful in their red breastplates and billowing purple capes, ready for war. The twins immediately recognized the man standing in front of the ranks, a long spear in one hand, and a curved sword in the other, the legendary Kahl. They weren't surprised to see that he was the general of the Blood Knights. Tales of his valour and courage were told in every town, every village, men talking of how they had once fought alongside the great man, children telling their friends how they were going to grow up to be just like him. The twins had seen displays of exquisite swordplay from many people, Terwyn included, but Kahl was of a different league altogether, the league of some of the greatest heroes ever. Their minds raced, planning strategies, sharing them with each other, forming possibilites and countering them. Then a sudden sense of panic filled their minds, but it didn't originate from them, it came instead from everyone else on board. Turning around, they looked towards the bow. The ship was heading straight towards a rock.

The last episode of The Black Eagle

Illiad ignored the cold sweat dripping down from his matted hair and into his eyes, stinging them. He held the slim quarterstaff erect in front of him, his feet apart and well grounded, concentrating hard on the lean figure in front of him. The very sight of it standing there with its twin scimitars in each hand sent shivers down his spine. The battle hadn't yet started, neither had made a move, yet Illiad felt exhausted, drained. He was dizzy and his head was pounding from the blow to it. The staff seemed heavy in his hand, and he felt naked without his helm and bronze breastplate, and above all, without his broadsword. All he wore was a thin chain mail shirt under a plain woolen tunic, and leather leggings covered till the knees by riding boots.
Now are you convinced that you are a fool? Or do you need the Dragonspawn's scimitars in your lungs to be entirely sure?, he thought to himself. He shook his head, cursing himself, trying hard to remember why he had travelled so far, past scorching deserts, treacherous mountain passes, forests riddled with pitfalls and into the perilous grottos of the Underverse, to end up facing death. His answer came instantly - Kyanna. She lay there beyond the ring of the loathsome Dragonspawn, torn and bloodied, her limp body chained to the cold stone walls.
Kyanna, i have come, he wanted to call out. He had traversed the whole world to get to her, fighting wars, battering through obstacles, killing mercilessly and destroying everything that came in his way. Illiad the Unstoppable, people called him. Illiad Blooddrinker, Deathbringer, Black Eagle, all were him. His achievements had carried far and wide, he was a hero, a living legend.
How brave and gallant they thought he was as he rode by on his black stallion, caparisoned with exquisite silk. They pointed at his bronze breastplate, a soaring black eagle emblazoned on it, its extended wings making up the shoulder guard. His helm was black too, shaped as the head of an eagle, edged with gold. The gauntlets and greaves were bronze, with black runes engraved on them. But the thing that inspired most awe was the two foot broadsword that hung from the scabbard on his back. The hilt was black, the knuckle guard in the shape of wings, but the blade, the blade was blue, molded from the purest Lorantium. It was unbreakable, and could cut through the toughest of substances, almost magical.
And how brave and gallant he had thought he was when he finally beheld Kyanna lying helplessly, awaiting him, in the moist cavern. He had run towards her, screaming her name, ignoring all the warning bells pealing in his head, not even pausing to wonder why the cavern seemed so empty. Then he found himself pitching head-first onto the rocky floor. Twenty figures stood around him, one of them carrying a wicked looking club. Down the club had come, banging into his helm, and then darkness followed.
They had relieved him of his sword, removed all his armour, save for the chain mail. And now he found himself facing one of them, the rest forming a circle around him, all ready for their little entertainment. They all looked the same to him, bipeds, with reptilian features including long tails emerging from behind. Their faces had snouts, sharp teeth protruding from them at odd angles. The scales covering their bodies made up for their lack of armour, green sometimes, or purple, or blood red, always changing with their every move.
"Come on human", the one in front of him hissed. "Defeat me and we will give that back to you", it hissed tauntingly, pointing a clawed finger at Kyanna.
Anger welled up within him, filling him with energy, giving him renewed hope. Talon, lying amidst his armour, just beyond the ring of Dragonspawn, glowed softly in the dim, eerie light of the Underverse. He needed only that to kill the Dragonspawn in front of him, to kill all the Dragonspawn, here and anywhere else, in all the realms, wherever they might be lurking. "Lets be done with this", he snarled.
He leapt forward suddenly, quarterstaff held high above him, with both hands, taking the Dragonspawn by surprise. With a grunt, he brought it down hard on the thing's skull. A loud crack filled the air...
...and the quarterstaff splintered, sending tiny pieces of wood flying into the air. The Dragonspawn stood there, unblinking, and then with amazing speed, spun on its heels, bringing its heavy tail around to crash into Illiad. He flew back and pitched into the floor, headfirst, a few feet away. Without thinking he rolled to his left, just in time to see the twin scimitars plunging into the floor where his head had been moments ago. Clutching the Dragonspawn's wrist, he hauled himself up and shoulder-charged the creature. Both went rolling, a tangle of limbs. The Dragonspawn had lost one scimitar, but the other slashed at Illiad's face. He pulled back immediately, as the creature started to swing. It overbalanced and fell forward into Illiad. Grabbing it's hand, he bent it at the elbow so that the scimitar pointed towards it's body. The creature's momentum carried it straight into the blade. It stopped, and looked down, unbelieving, at the hilt protruding from its ruined chest. Slowly it collapsed to it's knees, teetering, blood pouring freely from it, splattering onto Illiad's legs and then it fell forward, dead.
It took a while for the rest of the Dragonspawn to grasp the situation at hand. Then, the ring converged on him. Illiad swiftly extracted the scimitar from the dead creature at his feet, and ran towards Talon. The blade felt light in his hands, he was unused to it. Three of the Dragonspawn blocked his path, the rest advanced slowly on his flanks. Illiad aimed for the one the right, looking to skewer it with the scimitar. It brought its sabre up in defence, but Illiard pulled out in the last instant, spinning quickly with his sword hand out, savaging the middle creature's neck, causing a fountain of crimson blood to erupt from it's easophagus. The creature dropped and beyond it he could see Talon clearly, waiting for him, waiting to re-unite with him. He leapt forward, narrowly avoiding a swinging club, landed on the greatsword, and rolled back to his feet, the sword held firmly in his hands.
"Now i'm going to have my share of fun", he snarled at the milling Dragonspawn. With exaggerated vigour he layed about them, swinging visciously at everything moving, his eyes wide open with bloodlust. The sword was an extension of him, slicing through solid with ease, making everything it came in touch with seem insubstantial. When seen from a side-on view, it was almost invisible. It moved instinctively, anticipating attacks from all directions, cutting them off facilely. A spiked truncheon bore down on him from the left, and Illiad brought the sword up to meet it, cleave it, and in the same motion, decapitate it's wielder. He bludgeoned through the Dragonspawn, blocking, parrying, and then thrusting, hacking, and shredding them. A Dragonspawn, having lost it's weapon to Illiad's mighty blade, spun quickly, it's tail lashing out at him, cutting into his unprotected shoulder, drawing blood. Illiad roared, not out of pain, but out of anger, and savagely lopped off the whip-like extension.
Now only three Dragonspawn remained, nervously edging back, uncertain looks on their faces. "Fight, you vile creatures", he yelled. "let's see what you can do against Illiad the Unstoppable".
And then he stopped,
At the far end of the cavern, a Dragonspawn held Kyanna up by the hair in one hand, and with the other hand brought a dagger to her pale neck...
To be continued... (keep visiting)