The Epic of Ordaelas Volensai

by Mikos

A mortal born of the darkness rises from the ashes of his charred homeland, the vision of his parents' last smiles branding itself into his eyes. Anguish and sorrow fills his blood with fire and ice as he gazes to the heavens. Pale fingers of the tormented child's hand rake the soil as he gazes upward, eyes burning with rage. "I will slay you all" He whispers. "I will slay you all"

One man ascended to the heavens

One mortal threw down heaven's kings

One blade of light to cleave the darkness

One hand of steel to guide the way

One flame to calm mankind

One banner to unite them all

One cry to draw them close

One blow to slay them.

Chapter 1

Ordaelas Venosar lay upon the gently shifting tendrils of vast, emerald meadow, his starlight eyes fixed on the dark heavens above, wonder and awe warring on his angular face as often they did. He lay with fingers interwoven behind his shaven head, a single dark braid coiling past his fingers some ten inches beyond; his powerful muscles flexing and rising like cords of iron beneath his flesh with each calm breath.

Long had he battled the armies of men; visions of blood dancing so merrily before his sapphire eyes and the harsh song of steel filling his ears even now so far removed from those battles of times past. To be certain, he had not allowed himself to grow slack in these times beyond war, his might with the blade and affinity to steel not in the slightest diminished as time barreled past.

Exhaling again, he swept eyes of forged starlight across the bleak heavens; a starless night having stolen even the soft glimmer of distant star from this vast canvas. Eternal were these specks of light; unfading at least to the human eye; how he envied them.

How many battles had he dominated? How many times had rage shrouded his eyes in veil of scarlet and soaked the earth with the warmth of his foes? Not nearly enough. He grinned, his bronze skin shining softly in the gentle strands of light drifting from shattered moon like so many pale, translucent wraiths drifting to the earth in sorrow and despair. Steel plates hissed softly upon his powerful legs as he stood, his eyes of sapphire orienting once more upon the vale before him; almonds of starlight shining within his skull as he regarded the curving plane; struck again by how much it resembled a sea of jade; great swells frozen above long troughs and surrounded by many smaller peaks that extended to the dark horizon, blending into a thin line the hue of which not even his sharp eyes could discern from a distance so vast.

Many considered him a man without fear. Many, were wrong. True enough, he feared no mortal, his blade cleaving flesh and armor with a strange mixture of grace and the immense, brutish strength that came of berserker's wrath. Yet all the same, he had witnessed the calm, tranquil warmth of forty summers, and could no longer deny the chill frailty that touched his bones with fingers of ice, nor the slender fjord of silver that creased his once raven braid.

"Time stands alone; the single foe undeterred by steel or flame. Pity that, I would rather like to pay back in kind, the pain he has graven deep into my bones" Untouched by age, his strong baritone shattered the peaceful silence, rolling across the star touched field like the distant bellow of thunder reeling from great tempest.

One day, he vowed: one day, he would find heaven's gate, and with cry of wrath and blade of steel he would slay the cruel gods that dared cut short the life of even warrior most powerful. Tendons stood like cords of iron along his massive forearm as he clenched fist of steel, unclad fingers pressing into the rough callous of his palm. That day, would not long elude him.

Like the harsh cries of wounded beast, the grating song of steel rang out with each powerful stride as armored sole grated across path of uneven stone; the cobbled road bellowing in protest as Ordaelas strode; and had the path indeed felt his weight, its complaints would not be without reason: the massive warrior towered of his fellow men, his broad chest standing nearly two paces above the scalp of many a warrior. Far greater was his discordant stature among the common folk, men of many summers appearing mere children as they hastily scurried past the giant of a man.

Shimmering with gentle radiance, his massive sword lay strapped across his back; its three pace blade with some reluctance contained by his steel plated sheath; pommel of braided steel jutting over his right shoulder in easy reach of his dominant hand, a precaution in the unlikely event that some poor fool tried to rob him.

In near deafening volume, the natural clamor of midday market split the air like the many voiced bellow of vengeful god ringing out over the subject of his displeasure; yet all grew muted around the hulking warrior as he strode, masses of bespeckled scholars or leather clad warriors parting before him, all shrinking back lest they earn his rage.

Across the writhing sea of putrid odor and fear drunken men, placed atop fragile stage, stood a simple three legged table of rough hewn timber upon which many faded parchments writhed, held in place with single nails of impure iron that often splintered or left a great deal of its body behind when a poster was removed; frail constructs, yet ones that if purified, would all the stronger become. So much like mankind depended on the gods, these splinters of iron could be annealed by craftsman's hand; yet none cared enough to spare the effort or coin. This thought lanced across his mind; a single flash of light that swiftly faded into the stygian depths of his largely unused brain; his was an affinity to steel and the ways of combat; beyond that, little found definite foothold in his consciousness. So be it.

Stretching a massive arm across his sun kissed and battle scarred chest, he exhaled in a loud hiss that drew the attention of cautious passerby, and all the more widened the rather large berth they afforded him. Many called him the Son of Dragons, yet many were wrong. The blood pulsing through his many veins, was human and naught aside; a freak was he, and happily so, for such immense natural power combined with undying will gave him an undeniably sharp edge in the field of battle. When most his allies fell with blood touched lips and the chill of death permeating their eyes, with strands of chill lightning, he battled on; never had he lost a single battle and failed to return the favor many times over; never had he required the service of a healer, and never had he longed for it.

Perhaps it was merely the stature of this man that parted the crowd; perhaps the intensity of his bearing; yet regardless of the cause, he was alone in this world: all feared him whether ally or foe; and with good reason: a bellowing titan howling with tempestuous breath and fiery wrath, cleaving a path amid the seething fray, was only by the suicidal approached. Rough sawn planks of oak bowed greatly beneath his armored frame as he ascended the stage, his star touched eyes flitting over the many tasks so feebly staked to the age warped cedar. Merchant's half bellowed cries and the clamor of so many creatures striding about or engaging in all but shouted conversation, faded as he absorbed the details so clumsily inscribed upon these handwritten requests.

Basic requests all, most demanded only the repair of one's window or the addition of fresh thatch to one's weather beaten roof; warrior's tasks, these were not.

"Perhaps I will attack another kingdom; that typically offers a great deal of riches and glory" The man's words caused no small panic to spread like plague most vile as the commoners realized his words; this kingdom, was among the sparse nations that dotted this vale plagued region of timber and dirt; no wealthy nation to be sure, yet gold, was a far stride behind his true motivation of battle and the glorious triumph to come.

Deriving great mirth from the fear of his neighbors, Ordaelas coughed out a rasping laugh, before bellowing: "Do not fear, peasants and imbeciles: there is no glorious battle to be had amid this wretched sty!" Arrogance. Arrogance filled the void left in his intelligence, yet none dared raise their voice against him; most prefered their arms where god placed them, and would very much detest the chore of retrieving their limbs from wherever the hulking brute saw fit to hurl them.

Yet his words, were composed of quite false bravado: true enough he sought battle wherever it stood, his godlike strength easily tipping even most unbalanced of scales; yet his words, merely an act, a statement he knew they would accept. Intelligent he was not; yet from a blustering fool, he was equally far removed. His tone had never borne the cultured words of an erudite, yet all the same, he was a man of notable compassion, and for all their fear, many knew this, merely retreating in fear of that which his strength and blind rage might do under even most minor of provocation.

Ordaelas could not hope to contain his rage, could not command the fires of his heart, and for it many had suffered. For it, he had long suffered. Yet if such torment, was the only undesired effect of the incredible might with which the gods cursed him, none would hear protest. How many nights had he gazed to the stars? How many nights had he mourned those slain by his ignorance? Far too many. He fought with such godlike power to protect those who could not survive, standing over the wounded and charging to aid those most overwhelmed; yet all the same they died; all the same, his actions never saved them. This, he could not shrug off, could not dispel with false laugh or arrogant words; these were the visions that tormented his slumber. These were the visions that fueled his fire. Even if death himself loomed on high with scythe raised and eyes locked on his soul, Ordaelas would fight on for the sake of those he lost.

Shaking his massive head as if to dislodge the painful visions, to mute the anguished cries that yet rang in his ears despite the many decades that found their death between those days of blood and steel, and these times of mouldering peace. Like weathered banner, an armistice hung so perilously between the nations of this realm and so many across the chill sea; a fragile shield of cloth to hold back the greedy hands that would see these folk enslaved. Pitiful, yet such often came of men's decisions, a mere document to quell the masses' fear as those accustomed to the way of war all too clearly discerned the raging tempest darkening the horizon and the promise of utter devastation it foretold.

Yet he could hold back the dire squall, could light the heavens when most the veil of darkness fell; his fires could guide mankind through the shadows to come. Perhaps then, he could forget the cries, forget the pleading eyes, forget his many failures.

Armored sole left broad, ragged gash as he shifted, raising eyes of murky starlight to the cloudless heaven, as if seeking some answer hidden in the cloth of azure draped over this world. Yet even upon a plane so tranquil, only visions of blood kissed breath and star touched blade reigned.

Exhaling, he glanced back to the ragged table, calloused fingers clattering against the uneven surface.

"A Dendroeth Ring could answer my prayers; pity that none have emerged in recent times" The half whispered words hissed from parted lips as he straightened, frustration and resignation warring upon his brutish, angular features of sun beaten amber. The ring he spoke of was an artifact long known to form immense labyrinths of flawless steel and polished stone of ashen grey; a network massive and lethal to the unwary; a means by which it would test those who sought to wield its awesome power. Among the few wishes this construct of godlike might refused to acknowledge, were those demanding additional rings, or wishes; both would result in the bearer's death, a horrid affair as magma filled his veins and molten glass burst from his eyes, tracing anguished features like thick, viscous tears of ash and blood. When last the vessel emerged: thirteen concentric ovals of blackened steel encircling a single pedestal of pale ivory about which six serpents of notched obsidian curled; the thorned ring of darkness itself held fast in their many jaws, none succeeded its trials; all fell many a pace before the malignant artifact. Displeased, the device vanished, immense labyrinth curling upon itself and retreating into the depths of earth like some massive viper of bloodied steel, its slender frame gleaming with a dull yet no less malign fury as amid the resonant crack of shattered stone, ring and vessel plunged deep into the earth, and therein remained.

Many a rumor had blazed across the lands following its disappearance, scores of able bodied men scouring the catacombs forged in this foul beast's wake; yet none had emerged from the lightless depths; their cries of madness filling the air and driving back any that neared the ragged threshold. Like phantoms unseen in the soft darkness of starless night, wailing in helpless fury, the cries drifted from the earth's depths. Whether of fifteen summers or fifty, none dared follow the path these adventurers had forged on that fateful day.

Tilting back weathered head, the warrior of old exhaled again; thin strands of flame hissing from his jaws like the languid breath of slumbering drake; steam and ember filling the air as he closed eyes of starlight, lost in thought and vision of battles long since past. Human he was, yet a quest of no great ease many a decade before, had rewarded him these powers: the soul of dragon massive and powerful lay curled within his chest; wings, talons, its very breath was his to command. Along his craggy flesh, the shining scales of polished brass lay; a thousand thousand gemstones crafted with such care; a thousand thousand coins of gold lain upon his hulking frame. Yet far stronger than shining gold or radiant jewel, were these hexagonal splinters of the coming dawn; expertly fashioned steel clattering aside as if striking mortal in flesh's stead, and even the arrow of master archer, failing to pierce his armored hide.

Like the angel of death itself, he surged through the fray, fist of steel or blade of twilight cleaving a path into which his allies swept like long swollen stream finally overcoming its aged and worn barriers.

How glorious those battles were; a pity that their memory brought only torment.

"Sighted: the Fanged Drake goblin clan sweeps across the eastward hills; a reward of fifty thousand Tempest Stones to any capable warrior who brings back the chieftain's head" Quoting the weather beaten parchment so wearily drifting in the gentle warmth of summer's breath, Ordaelas shrugged, resigning himself to yet another battle. Such was his curse: the vast strength any warrior envied, and the heart of some daft maiden, at least in his eyes. Tempest Stones were rather uncommon these days, a relic of wartime forged of pure magic: payment that could all the more empower his mystic strength, or simply fill his bloated coffers.

As if the weight of this world itself rested upon his massive shoulders, he crossed again the putrid sea, eyes closed as if in thought; none would ever imagine that his eyes were closed against the pain.

Chapter 2

Splinters of wood and the song of steel on flesh filled the air; scarlet vapor streaming along his unclad torso and trailing thin rivers of dark crimson along plated legs as Ordaelas swept his massive blade in devastating arc, severing legs and punching through ribs with the bone chilling scream of metal on bone.

Arrows hissed past as he charged; thin tendrils of grass writhing in his bloodied wake as each thunderous footfall carried him along the vast sea of emerald. Several paces beyond, the hunched, yellowed frames of three goblins fled in abject terror; the final warriors of a clan once ten thousand strong; so many of their kin now lain upon the gentle slope with blood touched breath and death's chill slowly sweeping out from severed limb or ragged wound.

Teeth clenched against memory's pain, he lunged onward, a single blow painting the air with scarlet mist and flash of starlight; a lifeless adversary launched back several paces so great was the force of the blow that robbed him of life. Even as the icy blade of terror speared his foe's hearts, Ordaelas was upon them: flash of dawn lighting throats with an arc of silver fire as his weapon swept past, flesh easily parting before his mighty blade as if only long weathered parchment lay across the goblins' bones. Slumping to the soft grass, each shuddered beneath the raking talons of death as roughly, he tore reluctant soul from horrifically mangled body, and extinguished the last spark from jaundiced eyes.

Strangled gasps faded across the once tranquil land as he sheathed blade of steel amid soft hiss, cursing his luck: the chieftain had fled at the battle's advent, and despite his immeasurable power, even he could not give chase through such a cluttered sea of leather clad bodies and harshly glinting steel.

"Where could he possibly hide?" Ordaelas pivoted slowly, surveying the sea of ankle height grass whose soft tendrils swayed with such languor, shifting in harmony with the wind's murmured chorus. From his position atop gently sloping knoll, much of the vale was quite easily beheld, yet for it he only all the more unnerved became.

"Wait..." Ordaelas trained his exceptionally keen eyes of murky starlight on a single patch of this living sea, some fifteen paces east: a patch that did not move in time with the wind's gentle breath. The target of this monster's rage, knowing all too well the futility of fleeing across such vast expanse, had instead plunged deep into the emerald tendrils, and allowed their sinuous forms to cover his own; yet his own haggard, terrified breathing may as well have been a flaming beacon to the battle hardened eyes of Ordaelas: the grass seemingly reviled his breath, and with each quavering burst, reeled back and lost their sinuous cadence with the wind's silent song.

Grinning, he again unsheathed blade of starlight, then reconsidering, unwound calloused fingers from braided pommel, his powerful legs carrying him across the expanse before his foe's next, furtive breath hissed from parted lips.

One massive hand closed over the man's hairless scalp, lifting him easily to eye level with the towering behemoth.

"Futile or not, perhaps running would have earned you a painless death" The harsh words rang out, rolling across vast plain like the clashing of thunder echoing from distant tempest. Still grinning, he closed his free hand upon the trembling beast's calves, the harsh squeals of shattering bone and thick rivers of blood escaping his hand as tendon rose like banded iron along his forearm; fingers crushing the hapless beast's legs as he pulled the creature in opposing directions; the moist, resonant cracks of bone filling the starlight darkness as its howls suddenly subsided.

Expertly fashioned hexagons of silver festooned with a single marble of starlight mere millimeters wide, fifty score of these relics clattered about amid the loose confines of Ordaelas' many pouches. He grinned as the disgusted expression of this land's steward drifted from the deep sea of his mind; the revolted steward gingerly handling Ordaelas' gruesome trophy as the hulking warrior enjoyed great mirth at this man's expense.

Revulsion clear on his bespeckled face, the slender, dark robed man had readily proffered the reward, if only to be rid of the fetid stench rising like vengeful wraiths from every centimeter of Ordaelas' blood marbled armor.

War, battle, glory, these were the tenets of his soul, it would seem; the calling for which he was born, and the calling for which he would perish. Many an errant soul had praised his feats, had declared that he would perish with song of battle on his lips and steel clasped in strong hand. How he wished they were wrong.

"Perhaps if I became a god, perhaps then I might no longer battle without cause" These words died in his throat even as he considered them; withering like once vibrant bloom shuddering and recoiling from the chill touch of winter.

Exhaling softly, he crossed the now barren marketplace, his armored soles clattering across cobblestone amid spray of shards and squealing clamor, yet as the sprawling market neared vast, starlit sea, stone gave before plains of gently gleaming sand: a thousand thousand pearls ground beneath countless boots and scattered across this plain like strands of alabaster fire. Yet as he gazed across the tranquil plane of short crests and calm sea, his powerful eyes discerned many shadows dotting the horizon; clots of darkness even the setting Sun could not pierce with its radiant glory. Invasion! The long slumbering beast of war had finally reached its many jointed arms to the distant shores of Caero'conase, a land renowned for its feats of architecture and vast plains of unspoilt timber; this, was a nation without warriors to guard its coasts; a nation barren of fighters, save for himself.

Eyes of starlight blazed like twin beacons slicing the soft darkness of star touched night, as Ordaelas gazed upon the rapidly advancing vessels; wind swollen sails hissing in distant storm's breath as the dark frames ever nearer drew. Smouldering breath caressed the air before him with tendril of ashen steam as he bellowed a warning, praying that these artisans would not be so daft as to stand against this threat.

Calloused fingers closed upon icy, star touched steel as in a single fluid motion, he drew the massive weapon, arms flexing with familiar weight as he hefted the blade of titans into diagonal guard, a single breath hissing from his jaws and coagulating into many armed wraith amid the lingering chill of night. Amid a harsh, resonant crack of shattered bone, and the sickening cries of tearing skin, four wings of marbled crimson erupted from his back, bending along two joints and gleaming with translucent beads of blood and mucus as the moon's silver fingers drifted across his massive frame, setting his armor ablaze with dim flames of sterling.

So many visions leapt from the stygian depths of his mind: the orphans always weaving through crowded market, deft hands seizing wealth from the unwary; children hugging tight to their mother's legs as he thundered past; the gleamings of awe that set alight their small eyes as each beheld his hulking frame.

Unclad fingers tightened upon pommel of braided steel as the images shifted to blood touched cobblestone and the clamor of steel replaced merchant's cries. Shaking his massive head as if to physically dislodge the troubling scene, Ordaelas bellowed a challenge: his powerful voice lancing across the vast, star touched sea even as his wings lashed, armored soles gliding mere centimeters above the tranquil water with each airborne stride as he charged; tendrils of fire drifting from his lips with each even, measured breath, his wake lined with thin banners of light that cast shards of ash and glowing embers to the wind's soft arms.

Like the moaning cries of long tormented spectre, the anguished groan of splintering timber split once calm air as his blade crashed home; the massive ship of bowed planks and great, wind swollen canvas, cleaved in two before the force of his rage, as Ordaelas punched through hull and leapt on into the wind scorched night.

Across the pale, starless heavens, fiery bolts crashed home like hailstones of molten iron, the invading fleet unleashing magic and conventional weapons to consume all in a hellish inferno that like vengeful specter reached with many hands, to slay all before it.

Ordaelas bellowed in rage, surging across the sea with marbled wing and shimmering blade of steel, heat washing over him as the city burned.

Behind the demonic warrior, flames leapt to the heavens: Caero'conase like the planes of hell itself blazed, filling the air with children's high pitched wails and the bellows of anguished men. Like freed souls, motes of light drifted from the inferno, touching the heavens with gentle beads of light as Ordaelas split the night with cones of flame and song of steel.

Teeth gritted against the cries of innocence lost, tears of rage drifting like almonds of glass from his vengeful eyes, Ordaelas leapt aside, wings lashing with deafening power, as the massive shaft of ballista's bolt creased the night; his blade bathing the smouldering darkness with arc of sterling as steel punched through timber, and shattered bolt spiraled into the lightless abyss below. Like the deafening howl of thunder rolling from powerful tempest, his bellow split the night, raking the icy talons of fear across the hearts of his foes as again he belched forth a blinding cone of flame.

Twisting upon his leading foot and bending forward, the vengeful titan deftly evaded another bolt that streaked across soft night like banner of ash; immediately lashing his wings and lunging backward as a fresh volley cleaved the darkness; each biting deep into the ocean's flesh amid resonant crack as timber shattered beneath the force of its own impact.

Striding on, he weaved through the lethal tempest of timber and magic, his blade lighting the darkness with crescent of alabaster and filling the air with the thunderous wail of diffused magic and fractured shaft. Tears now freely coursed from molten eyes as the distant cries slowly faded; anguished screams quickly silenced by the scythe of death.

Like crescent bolt of silver lightning arcing from tempest on high, his blade cleaved through timber and shaft, scattering both to the blood touched depths below. How heavily did those cries settle upon his shoulders, raking icy claws across his weary heart as helpless, he could only behold their anguished demise.

"They would not have raised arms against you!" He bellowed the hate filled words, lowering his voice as he murmured: "Death's arms need not have carried their untarnished souls from such a hellish blaze; he need not have halted the fervor of their hearts with chill hand; not so soon, not while most enjoyed the prime of their lives" Rage again blazed like long aged timber igniting beneath the touch of oil and torch; his massive blade lancing upward in dazzling starlight arc that cleaved asunder a ballista's shaft, and even as the resonant crash of timber spearing the sea's depths touched his ears, Ordaelas lunged on, blade of the coming morn leaving pale wake of light as ship's plated hull caved beneath the force of his vengeance fueled blow. Broad chains like bands of molten iron, streamed out, trailing his armored joints as wrath took his soul in searing hand, and amid fingers of steel, crushed the sanity from it.

Like angel of fire, he punched through the bloodstained night, iron hull and timber mast groaning as mighty blade cleaved the darkness and steam shrouded breath of fire slashed the heavens themselves with its vengeful torch.

Like titanic carcasses bloated and dark, a thousand thousand ships lay amid the gentle waves; thin tendrils of water trailing across the drifting masses of splintered timber and bowed iron strands; flame rising in smouldering wisps from damp oak as these sundered vessels slowly fell into the waiting arms of blood touched sea.

Ordaelas knelt upon shore of marbled scarlet, fists and jaw clenched against the tendrils of bile and rage that filled his chest as he surveyed the blackened corpses littering earthen paths scorched with the fires that stilled the hand of their creators. Once artfully crafted, the elaborately woven paths of stone and steel now lay mangled and torn, shot through with vines of coagulating blood.

As if scored by the Reaper's scythe, the hunched leviathans of ashen homes collapsed in the gentle breath of summer, cleaved along invisible wounds and scattered in Death's bloodsoaked wake. Stained with the darkness of his weary soul, the calm wind drifted past, swollen and gorged upon motes of ash and glowing of rage pooled like beads of glass on his weathered cheeks; slender bands of moisture that traced his unshaven jaw as he knelt amid the dying flames.

"What foul god allowed this? What heartless beast failed to intervene?" Ordaelas drove blade of starlight into cracked earth, sending ash and blood spraying upward to stain hilt and unclad fingers with lingering touch of darkness. "The gods have sinned. Those we thought perfect; they watch our quarrels with amused grins, never leaving their wretched plane to aid the innocent, never standing against the forces of darkness that so rapidly consume our world." Bitter tears pooled upon ragged earth as he raised his eyes to the heavens; rage sweeping across his heart like vast tempest of flame. "The gods deserve to rule no longer!" Powerful fist crashed into the stony earth as he rose, a drifting cloud of glowing amber and dull ash rising about his wrist like curious spectre of many eyes and gentle hand. "The gods do not know fear; the gods believe themselves invincible, divine beings to which we gather against the growing chill, only to be cast back into the darkness that they may hoard the warmth. No longer. Gods may yet be unacquainted with fear; yet soon, they will know it all too well. Every tormented cry they ignored; every plea for mercy they cast aside; they will suffer as we have, and before death takes their immortal souls, they will fall to their knees, pleading for mercy. Fitting. Their last cries will fall upon deaf ears as well"

Chapter 3

Banners of ash hissed from parted lips as Ordaelas strode across barren plain; singed grass and scorched earth crunching beneath armored soles with each vast stride. Steam rose from ruined earth; thin tongues of flame still dancing amid smouldering glade and warming the calm breath of summer as it washed over his haggard frame.

Yet only chill permeated his bones, the cries of so many echoing in his ears and drowning his thoughts amid the deafening clamor. Like mantle of lead, their cries fell upon his shoulders; each stride burdened and weary with the weight of a thousand souls pleading to be heard. Stumbling on, steel clattering softly against his joints with each haggard motion, he gazed to the starless heavens, and again cursed the foul beings from realm so far above.

Many leagues beneath his armored feet, lay the Dendroeth ring, an artifact of impossible power, an artifact over which many had warred and none had claimed. Amid song of steel and cry of rage, armies had fallen, all seeking the ring of braided metal thorns, none ever laying hand upon it.

Fingers of steel closed about chill pommel as he strode on, eyes awash with starlight flames that pierced the night before him and cast all in distorted, wavering shapes lost to the starless world; alien shadows stretching and writhing along craggy earth like wrathful sprites recoiling from the searing touch of his rage filled eyes.

Like serpents of ash, thin tongues of flame and cinder drifted from his maw as he exhaled, each heated breath filling the air with steam and drifting embers as he strode; the Catacombs lay ahead, the ancient tomb of Dendroeth ring and countless men. In the darkness below only demons reigned, amid the corpses of men, only monsters stood, yet even if death himself was Ordaelas' foe, he would not yield. The gods had far too often stood idle, gazing in amusement upon the wars of Men. Their pleas, would silence the cries weighing on his mind, and their blood would cleanse these torn lands. To his blade the gods would fall, and the barren halls of heaven, stained with gods' blood and shattered by mortal hand, evermore empty would remain.

Reaching heavenward like the desperate hands of tormented souls, a thousand thousand spires of pale obsidian reached heavenward, each half again the height of most mortals. Amid the embrace of such unnatural stones, lay massive chasm capable of swallowing whole many a city: the dark threshold to darker realm.

Like the gaping maw of ancient beast, the ragged Gate yawned wide, spires of darkness jutting from its lightless throat as if yearning to escape the desolation within. Great scythes of light cleaved the darkness as Ordaelas' starlight blade forged a path amid the spires of ash and shadow; shuddering blows echoing like the peals of thunder along this barren plane. Spiral tendrils of flame coiled outward from armored sole with each stride as he advanced; the lightless night itself rent asunder with the song of steel and fire. Rage filled his heart with hand of ice and breath of fire, a tempest raging inside him with each pace as he closed upon the maw of darkness.

Gazing into the darkness below, Ordaelas felt only rage consume his soul, banishing fear, banishing sorrow, scattering all save for madness and leaving him barren save for the molten touch of wrath. So be it. Marbled wings burst from his spine amid glistening mucus and the sickening cries of tearing flesh, and without hesitation, he leapt into the bleak abyss, bands of fire cloaking his form as like bolt of thunder from god's own hand, he struck the ragged earth below, waves of fire rippling from his body and striking the distant walls before fading into ashen veil of steam and ember that slowly descended like silt caught in the watery hand of languid stream. Having fallen to his knees, one leg tucked beneath his body as its sibling braced against the earth, Ordaelas rose amid tempest of fire, the earth itself blackening and crumpling beneath his searing touch.

Eyes of murky starlight blazed within veil of ember and flame; twin beacons shining forth amid city lost to fire, his wrathful gaze noting a single path before him; massive vein carved amid the stone and littered with the now charred cadavers of countless warriors before him. Knotted tendrils of stone shattered beneath armored soles as he advanced, blade awash with dancing specters of fire that cast writhing, unnatural shadows across the vast cavern.

Like the stars themselves, his blade and armor shimmered with a calm radiance as he strode, shattering long ancient bones beneath powerful boots. Magic energy rippled across the city sized chasm, bands of power lancing toward him, yet all fell short as the almond of flame within which he stood, expanded to meet bolt of light with wall of searing fire. Like the strands of elaborate web, lances of gold and sterling hissed toward him, yet all vanished amid the touch of molten tempest or the chill crescent of his blade. Amid the dancing inferno and song of steel on magic, he advanced, the flames of rage sweeping across his heart, and with every breath, he cursed the gods. Breath of the mighty forge parted the darkness, revealing only a seemingly endless stretch of rock and bone, yet all the same, he charged on, never shuddering even beneath the incredible force with which the Dendroeth ring assailed him, his blade creasing the air to parry the lethal hail beneath whose searing touch so many had fallen.

Gone were the pleading cries, banished were the chains that held him to the earth, and in their absence, only madness reigned. Yet Ordaelas welcomed its touch.

Parting themselves from stony grave, countless beasts of grey, notched flesh and uneven stride, burst from the arching walls of immense cavern, filling the air with drifting dust and the screech of cracking stone. Yet Ordaelas heard not, the grating cracks or unearthly cries; his ears still rang with the plaintive howls of men abandoned by god. Rage again welled like fire within his heart, a hellish inferno raging inside his body as he lunged on, crescent of starlight punching through the feeble beasts with which the Dendroeth ring sought to challenge him. Dust and silt filled the air as steel crashed through stone, ragged tendrils of earth falling to the knotted, uneven ground amid the grating song of steel on rock.

Scores of these beasts shambled from the darkness; three eyes gleaming like beacons of molten iron amid armored skull, talons of iron shimmering gently amid the serpents of fire that with such affection encircled his massive frame. Beasts of the darkness, children of chaos, not even the gods themselves could stand against the vengeful man. Despite his efforts, Caero'conase had fallen amid the flames of hell and cries of innocence lost; despite his strength, man failed that day, and gods refused to intervene.

In perfect cadence to the devastating impacts of steel, his armored feet shifted onward, twisting his frame beyond lifeless foe even as his blurred strand of light again lashed upward and descended upon the powerless beasts, steel shattering rock amid the grating harmony of fractured earth and hissing flame. Wrath filled the void left in sanity's wake as he lunged forth, leaving in his wake only charred, blackened earth and the twitching cadavers of elemental beasts.

Amid hail storm of magic and forces of chaos, only all the more powerful did he become, weariness evaporating from his massive limbs as the tormenting vision of Caero'conase wrapped in the arms of fire; incandescent strands of light shot through with ash filtering upward amid the meager light of shattered moon. Notched limbs and ragged stone filled the air as his blade creased the darkness, each blow carrying him onward as wings lashed and armored soles grated upon stone. Splinters of earth drifted before his searing eyes of twilight as he twisted beneath scrabbling hands, and freed stony wrists of their burden.

Raising high his starlight blade, both eyes shining out from fiery veil, he swung earthward, steel clattering against rock as a massive cone of flame surged outward, a tidal wave of writhing fire that reduced foes and cavern to a glowing mass of heated rock; his adversaries collapsing like marionettes whose ill crafted strings simply could not bear the construct's weight any longer, guiding hand vanishing as the creature folded upon itself and crumpled to the earth.

Uneven, haggard breath hissed between parted lips as Ordaelas slowly lowered his starlight blade; shimmering tip carving a slender gash in the flame hardened earth. Slender vipers of steam curled upward, filling the air with drifting embers that like playful sprites danced before his murky starlight eyes.

All too clearly did he recall the scent of blood and song of steel, the cries of wounded that seared air and nearly drowned the deafening chorus of hissing blade and clattering armor. No longer, would man demolish his own cities, no longer would mortals pray to careless gods whose sadistic amusement many times drowned any feeble wellspring of pity that dared touch their vile souls.

Broad tendrils of flame curled like incandescent serpents before him, sinuous forms writhing across scorched earth as his endless power split the darkness like thunderbolt from god's own hand; banners of light drifting from his massive frame and trembling with each thunderous stride.

"Man will answer to the gods no longer!" Gritted teeth parted with some reluctance to allow past the damning words; each punctuated with the screech of metal clattering across stone as his starlight blade scored the charred earth. Like wavering mirage, visions of battles long since past blazed across his eyes, endless scenes of man's torment filling him with evermore rage at his own helplessness. Only by slaughtering men, had he prevented further death, only be perpetuating the very genocide against which he battled, could he hold back the tides of darkness. No longer. Heaven's vain kings would know true fear, and his blade would finally taste the blood of those responsible for his torment.

Another breath of flame cleaved the darkness, another flash of starlight vanquished a straggling beast; the Denroeth ring could assail him with armies of chaos to rival even the vast realm of men, could unleash the wrath of hell's planes and send forth the titans of darkness. Yet all would collapse before him. Another screeching howl of metal on stone, another deafening crash of wings on air, and again the cavern fell silent, a smouldering wasteland of ragged, glowing stone and flame touched corpses.

Many a valiant soul had fallen before the Ring, his pitiful dreams of wealth, of glory, unable to drive him past this gauntlet of pain. Many had staggered weary and slow like the knotted roots of ancient grove, many had drifted weary and lifeless through the dark, and for their beleaguered mind, suffered the pain of death's scythe. Like terrified rats aimless and weak they had swept across these plains of tattered earth; yet Ordaelas, was far the mightier.

Like angel of fire, he stood among the darkness, steel plate shining like frosted glass lit from within by the flames curling across his skin and leaking from armored joints with each ponderous stride. Spirals of flame curled upward from steel clad soles, tongues of incandescent flame caressing his ankles and fading into drifting embers that faded several centimeters beyond flexing knee.

As if in terror of the monster in their midst, the darkness parted into writhing strands that thinned and vanished as he approached, then met in foul harmony to blacken his scorched wake. Tattered columns of earth rose where stronger ores had liquified beneath his tempest of fire, only to again solidify in ragged tendrils like the gnarled roots of ancient elm erupting from windswept hillside.

Tears of ice streamed from starlit eyes as he advanced; the cavern was long and profoundly vast; yet he would stride until time found its death, if doing so, would halt the everlasting slaughter.

Youthful hands tremble as they close about the braided pommel of a sword far too large for comfort. Ordaelas has with quivering eyes, beheld the dawnlit birth and chill touched death of a mere sixteen summers, yet all the same, he now stands among the ranks of men. To his rear lies the hunched city of poorly thatched roof and rough hewn timber lain into unattractive constructs that all the same hold no small allure; for his home, however impoverished, is his home no less, and for it, he will battle aside those many decades his elder. Before his trembling eyes, the vast sea shimmers beneath the golden half circle of setting sun, the faded hand of twilight painting heavens and lands with tones of ash.

As if to eclipse the setting sun, numberless ships of dark timber surge onward, wind swollen canvas undulating wildly in the force of magically conjured gale that stings his eyes and rakes invisible talons across his ruddy face. Many centuries after the spellplague that ravaged mankind, new nations had risen in the wake of their Fathers; twelve phoenixes rising in blinding triumph from the ashes of days long past. Raedalus, was the greatest among them, renowned across the lands for its acts of great strength, and feared for its greater acts of war.

Now the vessels of Raedalus came to the shores of Feiraes, and with it came the torment of a ruined Faerun. Armed with the might of Legion slayer magic, and the wrath even gods might fear, Raedalus had systematically consumed all before it like immense tidal wave washing over the land, leaving only blood drenched ruin in its wake. An empire of fear they forged, and an empire of fear they would command until time found its death; many had risen against the vile clan, yet none had so much as annoyed the beings of immense power.

"Don't worry, lad. Take an old soldier's advice: every storm is heralded by a moment of calm, catch your breath then, that you may weather the tempest to come" Kneeling at his side, a man easily thirty summers his elder, murmured the reassuring words, his rasping tone hissing from veiled helm of pale iron fashioned into an unornamented relic more akin to those of days long former, than the TempestForged armor of incandescent light with which their foe's were clad. "Stand by me, son. I'll see to it that no harm comes your way" Gloved hand rested upon Ordaelas' trembling shoulders as he nodded, knuckles paling as his fingers closed heartily along heavy sword.

"My parents-"

"Are perfectly safe; they like the other elders, are guarded by us, and I'll not let anyone harm them. Take heart, lad: the Raedalus seek only glory; we have something to fight for. With fire in our hearts and iron in our arms, we shall never fall"

Nodding grimly, Ordaelas drew a mud smeared forearm across his face, streaking sediment and tears across his cherubic features. Despite the tempest of fear raging inside his chest, Ordaelas steeled himself, raising the massive blade into the poor semblance of diagonal guard that his weak child's limbs could accommodate.

"Fire in my heart, iron in my limbs" He whispered. "Fire in my heart, iron in my limbs"

Ordaelas still recalled the warrior who stood at his side, the man many times his elder who no less battled with such desperation to guard a weak, fear branded child. His blade hand faded into a single wavering band of starlight as he battled with such primal ferocity. Ordaelas still remembered the sorrow in this warrior's eyes when TempestForged blade finally cleaved his chest and sent him spiraling to the earth with ribbon of scarlet leaking from ruined armor. All too clearly, Ordaelas remembered falling to his knees, sword clattering to the earth, hands covering his face yet doing little to muffle his wailing cries, or stem the flow of tears.

Fist of iridescent light had silenced his convulsing sobs, and in pain blinded stupor, he woke, his entire frame covered in ash scattered in the chill breath of winter's evening. With such pure sorrow had he gazed to the stars, tears pooling in his starlight eyes as bitterly, he wept. The gods had not intervened that day, nor any of those following, and for it, only all the more bitter had Ordaelas become.

Fresh rage filled his veins, a searing river of molten iron showering his heart with the fires of bitter wrath; a great tidal wave of flame leaping outward like terrified beasts fleeing lest they suffer his vengeance; stony walls and ragged floor again glowing with searing heat that scrabbled and raged unnoticed beneath his armored soles.

As if the planes of hell had torn free of ancient shackles and bathed the world in their ageless fury, shadow evaporated from once lightless chasm, molten ores leaking from walls and ceiling like the pale blood of dying warrior flowing between parted lips in stuttering bursts; a foul harmony of rattling breath and scarlet fluid. So to, did with a seemingly pained air, these tendrils of metal writhed free and fell upon flame touched earth, hardening like spilt blood as motionless, it lay.

Many paces beyond, many leagues from the vengeful warrior, the Dendroeth ring felt the searing fire of his wrath, discerned the true depth of his bitterness, and in his endless sorrow, rejoiced. This was the beast of mindless rage whose hand would wield its vile power to great effect; this child of darkness, this tormented soul, would be the first to touch the foul ring, the hand for which it had long thirsted. All would be lost to fire, and amid the depths of hellish inferno, the Dendroeth ring, would evermore reign; in the depths of this fiery tempest, the Dendroeth ring, would finally unleash the spite of a thousand planes, and for the vision of this world consumed in flame and civilizations lost to ash, the ring of ultimate corruption, relented its attack. This, was the man who would finally wield its unholy power, and it would not see him damaged.

With no meager reluctance, did Ordaelas lower his starlight blade, gazing warily about the yawning cavern before sheathing his weapon amid the soft hiss of metal on hide. Marbled wings curled upon knobbed joints, resting against his back as he strode onward, his mind yet trapped in that battle of days that had long since found their demise.

Holding fast to the searing heat of his breath, the ragged stone yet glowed with a radiance to rival that of the sun itself, molten ores still trickling from ridged ceiling, and pooling in tranquil ovals of radiant starlight upon the pitted floor. Thus, he found no need to exhale flames onto the torch he carried, instead merely striding on amid the hellish glow, stone bending and flexing beneath the weight of his massive frame, relenting eagerly to the force of his grief burdened stride.

So heavily did the souls of those he failed rest upon his broad shoulders, so plaintively did they yet cry to him for salvation that he simply could not grant. Torment filled his eyes of murky starlight like the ashen pallor that consumes the heavens in setting sun's chill wake. Thin bands of ash escaped his dark maw as he exhaled; pale shards of his sordid soul drifting from his throat.

Wrath and sorrow warred for control of his weary heart; a tempest of ice and fire that raged inside his chest as if to tear his body in two; perhaps then, perhaps if death finally claimed him, perhaps then his torment would end.

"No, it would not be so simple" Murmuring the desolate words, Ordaelas lowered unarmored head to regard the fading earth beneath his feet; each step engulfed in pale clouds of ash; curious sprites pale and weary yet no less inquisitive as they scoured his legs, yet lost interest and faded as they neared his chest.

Like the knotted limbs of ancient elm swaying so gently in the chill winter's breath, tendrils of steam hissed from his nostrils and rose heavenward, his breath measured and calm despite the tempest that raged within.

Lashing across the vast cavern like the blows of knotted scourge, his every stride left smouldering impressions in the half molten stone of this now hellish scene, his dull mind failing to comprehend the implications of once fierce attack's sudden slackening.

Charred flesh shatters beneath trembling hands like castle of sand falling before the tides' siege, as Ordaelas gazes in horror upon the ruined frame of his mother, her once gentle features now fallen into disrepair like great wall spanning the nations left untouched and unguarded from the savage fury of time. Almond shaped eyes shone with tears yet unshed as slender fingers traced ruined jawline and rested atop ashen brow. Tears cleaved thin paths across seared corpse, the chill hands of sorrow closing atop his heart.

Her eyes, once so brilliant as like pools of molten emerald both shone from her gently weathered features, now lay in twin pits of pale darkness unseeing and barren much like the ruins of his homeland amid whose steaming corpse he knelt.

Trembling fists clenched against the searing vines of anguish that pierced his heart and filled his veins with tendrils of molten steel, rage welling inside him as he gazed to the heavens with accusing eyes of murky starlight.

"In your name we sacrificed, in your name we fought; could you not be troubled to guard us when most the darkness closed upon us?" Wrath filled his slender limbs with unholy strength as upon legs that trembled no longer, he stood. "There is no god!" The damning words cleaved the veil of silence like blade of master's steel cleaving the dark cloth of adversary's feeble gauntlet.

Harsh, resonant and thunderous his vengeful bellow lanced across the charred vale, yet only his own ears felt their presence.

"There is no god" he murmured, sinking again to his knees, eyes raised to the heavens and anguish clear upon his face.

"There is no god"

Ordaelas felt again the rage of old swell within his breast, spirals of flame curling outward with each step as the tempest within his body thrashed about like caged beast raging at those who dared hold it captive.

"Soon enough, there will be no gods" Harsh and grating, his tone rasped like iron file across rough steel. Wrath surged within his veins like tendrils of molten iron piercing his heart and searing his body, yet through the agony empowering him. Broad muscles writhed across his immense frame as Ordaelas broke into a sprint, soles of iron crashing against molten floor with each vast stride; the scent of ash and vision of homeland damned by the gods and lost to fire banishing the weariness from his heart.

Serpents of pale grey shot through with veins of glittering ember, writhed from his jaws with each haggard breath as he charged across searing, hellish land, twin glittering banners of sparks trailing from armored heels and rapidly arching to the heavens with each thunderous stride. Yet even now, amid the clatter of steel on earth, beneath the veil of steam and rancid stench of mouldering bone, only with all the more clarity, did the visions consume him.

Ordaelas glances over his shoulder, eyes of murky starlight fixing upon the smouldering ruins of his homeland. He stands atop charred knoll, his bare feet leaving thin bands of crimson in their shambling wake as Ordaelas turns back to the flame touched path across which he strides. Where once stood a simple path beaten into the earth, a serpent of chestnut-brown writhing across grass cloaked plain, now only a banner of ash amid scorched plain lay. No longer do tears leak from his pale, starlight eyes as he strides on, numb to the chill air and lost to the world.

Thin strands of light drift from his eyes as in painless torment, he advances, ragged earth shattering beneath his bare soles, and the chill hands of agony, closed tight about his weary heart.

Shaking his massive, head, Ordaelas tore himself from the doleful rapture of times long past, the pain of loss still grating upon his heart like thin dagger splitting his ribs and driving all the deeper with every burdened stride. Darkness shrouded the beast of anguish; the soft glow of molten rock having faded like frail candle beneath child's breath; wavering many times before abandoning the harrowed mortal to the darkness.

Melancholy filled his beleaguered mind, a darkness to rival even the lightless cavern amid which he stood; a profound sorrow like blade of ice grating upon his ribs with each haggard breath. Yet all the same, he charged onward, breath hissing like tendrils of molten iron from his parted jaws, laboring heart protesting every stride, yet its desperate pleas fell unheard upon the warrior of old. Breath of flame seared forth; vast serpents of incandescent scale and smouldering breath that pierced the darkness, and scorched ragged earth.

Like the spectre of death himself, the beast of flame and wrath crossed field of ancient war, armored soles shattering long scattered bones as if mere vessels of ill forged glass were they; littered plain and scattered armor a testament to the power they simply could not match, a power that had not touched Ordaelas. As if streaming from a forge resting inside him, breath of cinder and ash fills the air with drifting motes of dull shades; a solemn veil that covers all in thin shroud.

"How many of his children, does A.O allow to perish forgotten? How many pleas hall unheard upon him? How many plead for salvation that simply will not come?" Ordaelas gently swept armored foot across the craggy earth, plated boot clattering against the pale skull of long slain warrior; a cry of anguish unheard, frozen upon its withered lips.

"Why, A.O? Why do you damn your own children to such desolation? Why do you abandon us to the searing pain of life without offering slightest touch to numb our agony?!" Ordaelas gazed expectantly to the rock clad heavens, strands of ash drifting from his jaws like winged serpents of coal arching upward as if some unseen salvation waited, yet only death with chill arms closed upon them.

So much like the deeds of men, Ordaelas mused: how often man reached to the heavens, and found only desolation in his wake, with death's arms waiting before him, longing to drag him through the sky's star touched veil, and to a godless hell beyond. Vengeance filled his heart with its searing flames, a thousand thousand daggers cleaving him with each breath, as the tempest within raged with all the more fury. Primal hatred drove him on, shrugged off the touch of sorrow, cast aside the chill of anguish, and in its wake only madness left, and its foul touch, Ordaelas would not refuse.

For in the bleak depths of sorrow, amid the tumultuous grasp of rage, Ordaelas no longer felt the leaden mantle of grief, and as the cavern narrowed, as his starlight eyes fixed upon the stony dias within, only rage filled his heart. With hands that trembled no longer, he wrenched free the vile ring from stone viper's jaws, the many thorned band of twisted darkness biting deep into his weathered flesh, and sending thin strands of scarlet along his arm, tracing the many grooves thereupon with soft finger of crimson. Blackened like his soul, the veins of his finger pulsed with unholy magic, as the taint of darkness spread through him, the artifact of ultimate evil rejoicing as its host spoke the long awaited words.

"Grant me the power to cleave the heavens and bring the gods themselves to their

knees! Let the heavens tremble and the kings of folly know true pain at my hand, grant me the strength, to slay the gods themselves!"

Gleaming with a sentient malice, the ring was all too pleased to comply: how it had longed for a beast of such rage, for the touch of destruction's harbinger. The gods would be brought to their knees, and amid tempest of chaos, amid sea of blood, only one would stand, and on his finger, the ring would gaze upon the death of all, and in ultimate elation rejoice.

Molten iron filled his veins. Searing, writhing, immolating his body, strands of heat coursed through his massive frame as Ordaelas fell to his knees, veins pulsing with an unnatural darkness as age vanished from him, his weathered features regenerating like rough hewn wood so meticulously sanded into new and near perfect form. Sloughing from his body like the discarded flesh of massive serpent, his scalp peeled away and collapsed to the earth, notched plates of metal erupting from his trembling frame and covering his body in almond shaped plates that overlapped like the intricate scales of mighty drake. Pinpoints of light shone within his murky eyes of starlight, vines of darkness covering his pupils like the barren arms of so many trees reaching in anger to wintry heavens, every heartbeat causing the darkness to evermore consume him.

Tilting his head to the heavens, Ordaelas howled in agony, tendrils of blood erupting from his maw like geyser of scarlet jetting from the earth's depths with such fervor. Rolling back, his eyes stared sightlessly toward the darkness inside him as dark veins pulsed within, scaled plate rapidly spreading across his features and bulging dangerously outward as his muscles expanded far beyond that which nature deemed proper. Like almonds of steel, strands of powerful muscle coiled and writhed beneath his armored flesh as again he bellowed, blood pooling at his feet and leaking between the arcing plates that curled across his body. Slowly, tendons standing like bands of iron along his features, Ordaelas clenched tight, his blood filled jaws, a metallic clang pealing across the vast cavern as armored lips met.

Glowing through even the broad plates of his new body, his beating heart filled his chest with a sickening orange light as if a powerful lantern rested within his body, pouring its mighty radiance through his veins. Both hands closed over his armored skull amid an audible clang as he drew ever tighter, his powerful jaws against the tides of agony that cleaved his frame like searing blade of half molten steel grinding against his spine, as every notched vertebra erupted from his back, swells of darker metal rising along steel clad body as he writhed in purest agony. Strands of heat pulsed through his veins as if the inferno of his heart and leaked into his body; a vile toxin surging through him with each swift beat of his wildly throbbing heart.

Screeching across his armored scalp, the ragged talons of his fingers traced shallow grooves across glittering skull as he fought back the urge to give the torment voice and thereby rid himself of it. Instead, he embraced the searing agony, a maddened grin crossing his plated features as amid indescribable pain, and heralded by the sharp tearing of flesh; a sound not unlike damp bedsheet torn in two, his wings burst forth, marbled flesh shimmering gently in the light of his own fiery breath as considerably lighter plates of silver burst forth like the plumage of mighty dragon; a thousand thousand branching limbs of darkness creasing his armored frame and pulsing in time with his laboring heart as the ring itself sank all the deeper into him, many thorned features protruding from the armor along his knuckles, a malign glee shimmering along its arched frame as he writhed.

Resonant and deafening like the pealing of thunderbolt lancing across advancing tempest, a sickening crack rang out as his spine shattered and formed anew, expanding to accommodate his newfound power as four wings permanently jutted from his harrowed frame and plated steel covered his body.

Ordaelas sinks to his knees, his once young features hardened by the winds of so many foreign realms as he fled the godborn Raedalus, dragging behind him the starlight blade of the last mortal with whom he conferred: a nameless warrior who offered false reassurance despite the fear that chilled his own blood. Tears stream along his features, carving thin paths across his features like long hardened soil cracked and shattered beneath the thousand thousand blows of summer's gentle rain: cracks forming elaborate network across his bloodstained features as he gazes heavenward with tormented eyes of murky starlight.

Glancing back, he again discerns the fleets of darkness filling the horizon, and again, rises upon trembling legs, staggering across amber dune and filling his lungs with searing air, blades of sand biting deep into his ragged flesh with each stride. Fear spurs him on when most strength fails, yet for his endurance, in spite of his efforts, the Raedalus yet close upon him. Flames reach to the heavens like the trembling, desperate hands of so many damned souls, scorching his wake and filling his lungs with ash. Thirty cities he warned. Thirty cities prepared for war. Thirty cities fell like fortress of sand crumpling before the tides' unyielding siege.

Tears streamed freely from starlight eyes, thin banners of moisture gleaming like twin rivers of sterling along his armored features, clenched jaw trembling as he falls forward, armored hands slamming into ragged stone as he arched his spine and forced down a cry of agony. Steeling himself, Ordaelas swept his armored legs beneath massive frame, and despite the chains of torment anchoring him to the earth, Ordaelas rose, trembling and unsteady, yet no less did he surge to his feet, scaled fist punching deep into stone wall as he leans heavily against knotted earth.

Bellowing in equal parts rage and pain, he forced himself back, armored soles screeching across scorched earth as flame pours from his jaws, setting alight the once dark cavern with touch of pale orange and tidal wave of searing heat. Agony yet coursed through him, carried along the pulsing channels of his dark veins, yet with fist clenched and jaw straining against the torment, Ordaelas staggered along the uneven path from whence he came, yet far too great was his agony, and collapsing again to his knees, the warrior of old bellowed in measureless rage, a searing, blinding font of flame pouring from his jaws, and lashing his wings, Ordaelas plunged into the softened earth, its heat lost on him as stone parted like finest silk before his unholy strength, Faerun heaving and trembling as its flesh shattered, and Ordaelas punched forth like bolt of crimson lightning fired from God's own bow; shards of earth and stone filling the air with a choking mist as he seared a path into the heavens, agony rapidly fading as his transformation completed.

Hatred filled him, and extending his will, Ordaelas levitated motionless like bird of prey frozen in time's stream. Eyes of glowing scarlet; almond shaped lanterns embedded in his skull, oriented upon the west, the Raedalus' fleets darkening the horizon once more. This time, they would find neither victory nor retreat, only death waited with open arms, and to them, Ordaelas' unholy blade would readily send these vile souls.

Taking a deep breath; air hissing between parted lips and expanding armored stomach, Ordaelas called upon newfound powers, heat welling inside him and filling him with strength as reaching over his shoulder to draw sword of star's radiant light, he exhaled. Like the inferno of dragon's lungs, Ordaelas' breath washed over the once calm ocean, filling the air with choking, blinding veil of steam, and punching through the center of his foe's fleet, timber shattering and canvas blazing with light as ruined ships spiraled into the chill, lightless depths below.

Thunder rang forth like god's blade clanging upon his shield in exuberant frenzy, Ordaelas' wings slashing the air as he plunged earthward, his armored frame punching through timber and metal with unnerving ease, flame trailing from maw and setting alight the hapless vessels as sea took them in chill arms. Elastic and powerful, the twang of balista unleashing its shaft rang forth, yet a swipe of mighty hand cleaved the bolt in two, filling the air with wooden hail and the resonant crack of shattered timber.

Slashing metal clad hand across the air, Ordaelas willed forth a scythe of flame, cleaving many a helpless vessel in two even as he ducked beneath another bolt, his free hand tossing bead of flame onto the nearby deck, flames cascading across sodden timber as if oil had spread across the timber in water's stead.

"Where is your foul god now?!" Armored fist crashed into the watery flesh of this realm's jagged coast, enveloping all in curtain of flame that rapidly swept across the vast sea, consuming all amid its searing embrace.

"Pray, fall to your knees and plead for salvation!" Scaled fist slashed across the air, condensing a segment of fiery waters into blinding scythe which lashed forth to sever mast and scatter timber amid deafening crack.

"No aid will come! The gods care not for the fate of men" Amid shower of timber, a ballista bolt crashed into his chest, clattering harmlessly across armored flesh as he exhaled again, the tempest of flame swelling as if to consume the heavens themselves with molten blade and searing touch.

"Death, life, we are ever damned! Commit acts of valor, or of greatest sin, the gods will ignore your pitiful souls all the same!" Thunderous tone rang across the flaming waves as he leapt to the heavens, twisting beneath a hastily aimed volley that filled the air with sporadic hail of timber and iron as a slash of metal hand smote all with massive scythe of flame.

Visions of his parents motionless and charred assailed his madness shrouded mind, his blade cleaving great arcs of starlight through the smouldering veil, timber shattering beneath the force of his blows as he lunged on, sweeping blade of the coming dawn across bowed hull or iron plated shaft. Magic bolts seared forth like strands of lightning creasing the flesh of mounting tempest, yet none pierced his armored hide, banners of light curling harmlessly into the dark veins along almond shaped scales, blinding light rapidly vanishing into the vile darkness of his soul. With sordid clarity, the grief of old, the helpless rage, the agony of times long past flooded him, and exhaling like bellowing drake, he coughed forth a hurricane of molten iron, igniting all before him with terrifying power, screams of anguish fading amid the crackling and hissing of so much flame; tendrils of scarlet reaching heavenward like damned souls straining against torment, supplicant souls pleading to gods that simply would not hear their agony.

Rage swept through his body, and slashing armored fist across the air, thick tendrils of molten steel leapt from the inferno where once calm sea lay; vengeful beast of the depths reaching forth to capture its troublesome prey; a thousand thousand ships shattering. Lashing his wings of star's gentle light, he lunged into the fray, blade and fist hurling aside countless blows, breath of flame filling the smouldering night with vast tendrils of the Sun's own flesh; fallen stars leaping from his maw to punch through offending vessel and send all to the depths of molten sea.

Tendrils of ash filled the air like the chill breath of mighty blizzard; an uncanny silence cloaking the scene of ultimate destruction. Death's arms carried nearly fifty score from that hellish inferno, his gentle touch silencing their pained cries even as Ordaelas' fiery breath and blade of the heavens cleaved the life from weary body.

Inclining head of shimmering scale to the heavens, he inhaled, a sharp hissing shattering the silence like angered cry of vengeful drake; his chest swelling outward as he drew in the smouldering veil, throat bulging and heart of fire all the more brilliantly shining out from metal prison as he exhaled: tempest of fire cleaving the darkness, an eternal flame setting alight the oceans themselves, filling the air with choking veil of steam and silencing the final cries of anguished souls.

"There is no god!" The damning words cleaved silence like flame touched blade piercing flesh; ashen tendrils scattering as if in fear as he bellowed.

Raising hands of metal to the heavens, Ordaelas again roared in measureless rage; the resonant bellow of outraged titan sweeping from his metal lips.

"There is no god!"

As if smote by the hand of A.O himself, the world below lay in smouldering ruin; coasts once so calm now blazing as if the sun itself had risen from sea's chill depths; tongues of flame and ash reaching to the heavens like supplicant men begging forgiveness that nonetheless would never come. Vast tendrils of flame consumed all, the world itself smouldering with the heat of his rage as Ordaelas screamed again, the wrath of so many years pouring from his jaws.

"There is no god!"

Chapter 4

Even such wrath, went unnoticed by the blind, cruel gods; to be certain, A.O turned earthward, his bronze features contorting in portrait of minor and brief concern, yet all the same, he merely returned to his musings, and again was Ordaelas ignored; vengeful or supplicant, mortals were no more able to vent their fury or touch with trembling, pleading hand, the gods; and thus, A.O gave no second thought, to the hatred of this single mortal: a mistake that was to be his greatest the callous apathy that would damn the gods themselves, a single mistake that was to be his last...

Flames reached to the heavens. Veil of steam and breath of cinder rose from smouldering ocean, the watery depths themselves blazing with the hellish inferno of Ordaelas' immortal fury. Each pulsing spasm of molten heart sent tendrils of unearthly light spiraling outward from metal chest as the warrior even gods need fear gazed upon the product of his wrath. Armored sole screeched across ragged, scorched earth as he turned, his shimmering eyes raised to the heavens, vines of lightning sweeping through their murky depths.

Gentle fingers of light reached to the cardinal points as he raised high his blade of starlight, a cry of valor touching his lips as scaled wings send forth the pealing of thunder, and scattered the nearby earth like so many leaves drifting helpless and feeble amid the soft breath of autumn.

In the days that followed, his wrath painted the earth in tones of crimson and ash; Faerun itself split asunder with the force of his rage, and only gleaming sea of ember, a single ribbon of light amid the dark canvas of charred earth, lay in his wake. Before his blade of starlight, beneath tongues of flame, the Raedalus fell. Like the angel of death himself, Ordaelas slew the children of nightmare, staining red the tattered stone and piercing the heavens with mighty breath of flame.

Steam rose from his hulking frame as the gentle strands of a midsummer's tears fell upon him; Faerun itself mourning those slaughtered by his vengeful blade or fallen to the searing heat of his unnatural breath. Earth reeled outward beneath his feet; waves of sediment reeling as fearing his touch, the heat of his passing hardening and charring the path he strode, eyes eyes like almonds of molten glass shining outward from plated helm as he moved onward.

Several meters beyond lay another squat city of stone and terror; the capital of this bitter realm, yet no less safe from his rage.

They feared him. Whether Raedalus warriors, or the citizens they swore to protect, all fell to the hellish inferno of his dark soul, and as he advanced upon the walled city, their cries rang forth, borne upon soft breath of summer. Inclining his armored head, the hellish beast gazed upon wall of stone, hissing in distaste as he drew in an unnaturally long breath.

"You will find no shelter from your sin whether in castle of stone or of glass!" Like the Sun's own blinding gaze washing over the dark world, so to did his thunderous bellow ignite even the stone itself with tendril of light; walls folding upon themselves and collapsing amid the horrid, grating screech of metal on stone as gates crumpled and glowing stone, in vast serpents of light; molten tongues that seared the ground beneath and filled the air with veil of steam, flowed to the earth.

Like the harsh cacophony of a thousand thousand birds fleeing in terror, the cries of blended into a single melody that pierced even the grinding of steel and stone as Ordaelas advanced. Yet even as armored sole shattered hardening stone, and breath of ember creased the torchlit darkness, he paused: eyes of scarlet fixing upon the quivering, sobbing form of a child hunched and weeping upon the path before him, kneeling in a pool of warm crimson which trailed from ragged edge of fallen stone. Tears of sorrow and innocence lost joined the soft lament of Faerun as the youth collapsed to hands and knees, sobbing in earnest as the ashes of his homeland fell like gentle snow upon him.

Ordaelas kneels at his parents' side, trembling hand tracing slender groove along blackened features as frost closes on his heart.

Shaking his armored head, Ordaelas strode on, a second bellow cleaving the world in two, the tears of Faerun erupting into gentle veil of steam as silence replaced pained cries, save for those of the child, who with trembling hands of ash stained bronze, caressed the ragged stone, beneath which lay his lifeless parents. The nameless boy trembled as visions of his mother's smile assailed him, and fresh tears traced slender, forked paths along ash streaked features. Shards of earth fell from the heavens like hailstorm of rock and cinder, the last city of the Raedalus lying in flames around the two figures.

Steam trailed the child's anguished wail like curious sprites drifting toward his parted lips, only to recoil in surprise at the sharpness of his adolescent voice; tears fleeing the edges of almond shaped eyes as head inclined to the heavens, and sorrow closed fist of iron and ice upon young heart.

"This is what I fought for?" Ordaelas did not speak the words, yet no less did they haunt the beast of flame and fury as with slow, lumbering gait, he advanced: charred cobblestone erupting in jagged tendrils that surrounded his armored feet with each ponderous stride.

"A world where justice still brings tears?" Soft tendrils of grey settled upon his massive shoulders as Ordaelas slowed, standing several paces behind the weeping child.

"A world where the innocent must suffer?" Iron fists clenched tight, a sharp metallic squeal piercing the air as his own taloned fingers carved shallow scores across segmented palm.

"A world where the innocent must forever languish, forgotten by the gods?" Ordaelas sank to his knees, armored knuckles shattering the earth in helpless fury.

Lightless and blind, the child's eyes gazed upon starless heavens as silently, tears trailed from anguished eyes and heart strained beneath the weight of grief. No longer did he cry out in sorrow, yet no less did its molten brand sear him.

"The gods will never find him, will never proffer hand when most he stumbles, will never guard him from the torment, will never dull the anguish" Ordaelas slumped forward, hands resting several paces from his knees as impossibly, a single tear fled his molten crimson eye, tracing a gleaming path along features of steel, and falling to join the charred blood of his foes. Ash settled deep in the grooves of his armor, weaving cloak of pale grey across his gleaming form.

"Never once did the gods intercede, never raised their blade to halt mine. Never stood to protect their own subjects who for so many years labored to please them" Madness receded like foul tides sweeping back from the shores of his mind, leaving only desolation in their wake as he crouched disconsolate and weary, gazing in helpless agony upon the torment born of his own vengeance.

"I will end your suffering" Ordaelas promised as he stood amid the groaning squeal of chill metal. "And that of all mortals" Iron hands closed around the child's slim, helpless frame, and finding no resistance in the limp form, lifted his prey from the earth.

"No longer shall innocent souls languish forgotten amid the foul darkness of the abyss; no longer shall the foul gods dictate our destiny" Ordaelas held aloft the motionless prize, tears streaming from the depths of his molten eyes.

"I will end your suffering, and when I cast down the gods, when heaven's unworthy kings fall to my blade, you will find again the love of your parents; I will bring all to everlasting peace, and empty the abyss of its forgotten charges; on this, you have my word"

Bone and tendon grated in protest as massive hands of steel turned in opposite directions, a damp tearing of flesh and the deep, resonant crack of bone ringing forth as he whispered: "On this, you have my word"

Like the ashen wisps of lost souls, fingers of ember and cinder reached to the heavens, staining grey the once clear sky as Ordaelas strode from smouldering ruin. Like hapless, ignorant cattle he corralled them, and with a similar ease did they fall. Yet his bloodlust was far from sated. Long had the Raedalus stood; their impossible prowess with the wand, rune, and blade easily domineering any realm upon which foul gaze fell, yet all the same, his unholy might reduced all to ashes, and scattered the drifting strands to soft, chill arms of autumn.

Muted and vague like the cries of long tormented souls, the winter's scathing breath hissed across ashen ruins, carrying on in gentle arms, pale tendrils of ash shot through with gleaming embers; a thousand thousand accusing eyes whose hatred was not lost upon Ordaelas. With each stride, motes of ash drifted from his frame; once curious sprites grown weary of his presence, thin streams of snowy darkness alighting upon arms of frost touched wind. Each limb trailed these solemn banners, spat forth the pallid children of hellish inferno, his languid, pained motions filling the air with vines of ash and the biting, piercing screech of grinding metal.

Fires of ice swept across his scorched heart, the ragged blades of grief driven ever deeper with each haggard step. Metallic groans rolled forth like the haunting wails of tortured souls as he inclined armored head, gazing wearily to the darkening heavens, a slim crescent of light slowly fading as the Sun descended beyond smouldering horizon, uncertain tendrils of light glittering across his back and shifting with each movement as if recoiling in fear of his wrath.

Steam hissed beyond metal lips; trembling sprites fleeing the sordid darkness of his blackened soul, and exhaling softly, Ordaelas ground to a halt, metallic soles leaving broad, if shallow trenches in his wake.

"The gods will not come to face me" Grating and harsh, the words drifted from armored jaws as he closed scarlet eyes and exhaled again, the unshakable chill of sorrow robbing him of vitality's warmth.

"Would that this vile ring offered more than a single wish. I may have the power to battle gods, yet it is worthless if I cannot face them"

"Ah, but I shall" Many voices blended into a sonorous hiss that filled his mind as the ring glowed with anticipation, casting a pale orange light upon his features as he raised the artifact to his eyes: concerned, yet unsurprised at the sentience of such a foul construct.

"What would you have me do?"

"In the name of chaos, cast down the realms of men, set aflame the world itself and sunder all beneath your might; only in death of mortals, will you find the power to open a Gate..."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you shall be damned to this earth forevermore, cursed with eternal life that condemns you to ever gaze helplessly on the folly of men"

"Better that mankind survives in servitude than to in its name fall"

"Gaze into your soul, child of wrath. You know those words have not your faith"

"Perhaps" Ordaelas lowered his armored hand, allowing the filtered light of his curse to shine across now dark realm of bleak stone and smouldering ruin. "Yet if this, is the price of casting down the gods, then I refuse"

"So soon do you forget your promises, dark one 'on that, I give you my word'? Would you leave that child, and so many before him, to suffer endlessly in the darkness of the abyss?"

"You ask me to consign a thousand more"

"Is mankind's freedom not worth the price?"

"Not if the price is man's demise. Elves, Orcs, Goblins, all deserve to know true bliss in the realm beyond, yet all will find only suffering. How ironic that you ask me to condemn this world to a hell worse than that which waits"

"Perhaps. Yet without darkness, man would never need light"

"And damning the world to darkness, would extinguish his torch. Look upon the ashes, gaze deep into the flaming horizon, and tell me what hope can possibly lay therein"

"The promise of new life. From the inferno that takes the world in searing arms, only new radiance will spring from ashen ruin. Like massive glade born from the ashes of its former glory, so to will the realm of mortals rise again. Deliver me their souls, and you will forge a new future in which Men will never bow to the gods"

"You ask too much! You demand that I slaughter all in my path! Too heavily does the blood of so many cloak my hands, I will not foul them again"

"If that is your wish; yet know this: man will never free himself from the gods; you are the first warrior to so readily defy the gods, and none will rise in your passing. Refuse me, and mankind will know only suffering in this realm, and that which lies beyond: your parents, your friends of old, every warrior alongside whom you have battled, will know only desolation in that barren abyss that lies beyond death's veil. Stand against the foul deities that rule this world, stand against the beasts that damn mankind. Slay thousands that the rest may survive, slay a continent that the world will never fall! The darkness comes, Ordaelas, and only you can light the torch to hold it back"

Ordaelas bowed his armored head, vertebrae creaking and howling in protest as metallic scales grated and arched. Fresh tears welled in his eyes of molten light, sorrow closing fingers of ice upon his heart as the final, damning words hissed between his lips.

"I will do as you ask" Armored hands closed upon his face, gleaming tears leaking like rivers of starlight between his scaled fingers as with trembling breath, he spoke.

"I will do as you ask"

Like hailstorm of fire, Ordaelas fell upon the realm of men. Faerun trembled beneath the force of his wrath as rivers molten and searing creased her body, and the in smouldering ruin, so many cities collapsed. Her tears filled the air with veil of steam as tongues of fire hissed and recoiled, the branching streams of fire immolating her grief and splitting the darkness with tendrils of foul light.

Amid this maelstrom of fear and death, the Dendroeth ring feasted, vines of light glowing across his massive frame as if his veins themselves pulsed with molten iron. For each child's tear he shed, the ring rejoiced, for every scream of agony that rang forth, the ring praised him. Grief had long since faded, and no longer did Ordaelas feel with such clarity, the chill hand of sorrow.

Like cornered beast, the realm of mortals had surged to meet him: with such blistering rage did they clash, yet all the same, they fell before his rain of flame and reel, and in terror, they recoiled. Song of steel and pain split the air, and amid the dark harmony, Ordaelas felt his own mortality draining away; a grave wound leaking his vitality into the void, yet his senses fell blind to it all the same. So to did he briefly notice the new madness with which his steps trembled, and so to did he ignore it.

Tears of anguish no longer fled his eyes, his blackened soul far too dark, his heart far too weary for these foul deeds to draw his attention. Breath of flame split the world, and blade of steel cleaved its heart. All fell before him, his armored hide ringing with the dark chorus of clattering metal, yet never had their rage fueled blows pierced him.

As if the wrath of the gods themselves had fallen upon these lands, only realms cracked and barren, shattered beneath the force of unearthly rage, lay in his smouldering wake, painting the horizon with brush of pale ash.

Like the filthy light shining from blood fouled lantern, the uneven luminance of the Dendroeth ring shone with ever mounting pleasure, its praise only deepening his sorrow as Faerun burned. Shimmering blade of steel gleamed like scythe of starlight amid his dark hand, its searing glory reborn on every scaled facet of his hulking frame as he sheathed again, the stained weapon.

Fury filled the void left in sorrow's wake, a searing river of molten iron that poured through his veins as each battle passed, his introspection always settling upon the foul gods who yet defied him, who yet refused to stand over their burning world and smite the beast who dared defile their realm. No less did they gaze on in seeming amusement, no less did they allow Faerun to bathe in river of flame and hear its own voice drowned in battle's dark song of steel and agony.

All too clearly, he remembered the desperation on his opponent's features, the primal hatred with which they fought, and the astonished fear with which they fell. Grating against his sanity, the sweeping winds of madness ever eroded his mind, ever filled him with an unnatural thrill as steel clashed and blood stained the earth. Yet never did he revile its foul touch, never did he refuse the numbing madness, for in its sordid depths, he could forget his own sins, could ignore the young features and equally adolescent cries, could cast aside sorrow, fear, regret, and lunge into the fray with arms of bowed plate and breath of searing fire.

Chill like the biting winds of winter's breath, hatred faded as he knelt amid the devastation, feeling the ashes of Faerun settle like the pale flesh of mighty blizzard upon him, his metallic hands clenching tight as he leaned back, accusing eyes gazing to the heavens as steam hissed between his plated jaws.

"Why, cruel ones? Why do you not end my rain of fire, why do you stand idle as Faerun burns?" He raised the thorned ring to his smouldering eyes, gazing upon its new brilliance and feeling its strength pulsing through his veins.

"They care not for the realm of men; each has their own squabbles, and even now, they place bids upon the most able warrior, none wishing to end this most amusing game"

Nodding, Ordaelas lowered his arm, metal groaning like the cries that haunted him, and staggering on, he murmured: "Their deaths will not be in vain; heaven's kings will fall to my blade, and the souls of the innocent, will suffer no longer"

No meager distaste had the elves displayed as they fled to the realm of men, cowering behind walls of stone and assailed by the incessant howling of merchants despite the beast of chaos against which they battled. Twenty battles had their kings entered, twenty bloodied days had claimed their souls. Fieor'Loscala, the last king of a once mighty empire now quarreled with the final lords of Orcs and Men, the two final races to survive Ordaelas' madness; or rather, the final to stand against him: many had fled this doomed continent, seeking asylum amid the soft embrace of the ocean rather than certain death in the face of this unholy monster.

"Perhaps... Perhaps we should leave as well" Thaeloc, the king of men stood hunched and weary, both hands clutching the rough hewn table above which he stood, his young features indicating that in times far too recent, had the Lords of Men fallen, leaving only the youngest of their line amid these dire times.

"And leave our homeland to this beast?!" Fieor'Loscala slammed unclad palm into the hastily carved oak, the dull slap of flesh on wood punctuating his frenzied words. Despite centuries of age, his won bronze skin bore little signs of time's eroding winds, yet all too clearly did his once brilliant eyes of the shattered moon, now display his mounting sorrow.

"Our warriors cannot vanquish him; I have lost all to that beast, believe that my fury rivals your own, king of the elves, yet unless your magics or steel can pierce his armored hide, all is lost; this land has seen the rise and collapse of so many centuries; I shudder to think that this may be its last. As if oil rather than water lays at our shores, his breath has set alight the very seas, his sword shattering the stone; neither engines of the siege, nor the feeble steel of our swords can pierce his hide. I can offer no recourse, much as it pains me"

Exhaling softly, the elf inclined his pale head, slender neck bending gracefully as he gazed upon the arching columns of stone that stooped like weary titans long tasked with the burden of holding aloft this massive ceiling.

"Then all is lost?"

"No. We shall rally a new army and return to free this realm!"

"And they to, will be destroyed. How many souls has the Almighty Reaper taken? With what ease have they been delivered to his arms?"

"Nothing is immortal; the gods themselves have perished once, have fallen to earth and despite their unnatural might, they bled like men-"

"Yet this beast is no god!" Placing both hands on the rough hewn oak, the elf stood, his piercing eyes meeting the young king's wavering gaze. "It is far worse"

"Worse?"

"Gods seared a path through our realm; their wake stained and tainted with the blood of slaughtered races, yet no less did they shudder beneath our steel or fall beneath our blows, this creature, is a god among gods, and mortals will never defeat it"

"Then you would surrender the lands of your ancestors?"

"What would you have me do? How many souls will death carry from this bitter realm before we surrender to the inevitable, and flee. You were right. We have no men that can stand against this child of darkness, and fury alone, cannot slay it"

"Perhaps I was all too convincing. We require a plan, not blind rage, if we are to survive these dire times"

"A plan?!" Harsh and mocking, the elf laughed as he focused eyes of starlight upon the murky emeralds of his companion's own trembling gaze. "No plan, however intricate, can possibly slay this beast!"

"Yet perhaps, we need not slay it"

"You would attempt to capture it?"

"In combat we have failed; yet no beast, however vengeful, is immune to being caged. With each breath that passes our lips, my sorcerers fashion a realm from which this monster can never emerge; lend me the magic of the elves, and we can bring this maelstrom to a grinding and permanent halt"

"So readily do the weak men and weaker elves surrender the will to fight" Gru'mios, the king of orcs, rose to stand above both kings, his towering height and imposing frame sending both sinking deep into their seats. "You would cage the monster that sundered your walls? Would forge a prison in blade's stead? Concentrate your magics into a holy blade, and I will bring back the monster's head!" Grating and harsh, the creature's voice hissed from grey lips, his craggy features lit from within by the searing thrill of battle to come.

"A sword. You wish us to forge a sword." Echoing the thoughts of Mankind's final king, the Lord of Elves rose, undeterred by the brute standing before him. "You think a sword will slay such a beast? You think a sword, will pierce the hide that halted a thousand thousand arrows, and shattered even the finest steel? You think a sword will cleave the flesh of a monster that charged through our greatest barriers of magic and stone as if mere homespun cloth stood before him? His every breath is the inferno of hell, his every stride the thunderous blow of God's lance striking the earth, and you would stand against him, with an enchanted sword"

"Aye!" Gru'mios heartily slammed his powerful fist into the uneven wood, filling the air with a suffocating hailstorm of timber as amid a resonant groan, oak shattered like glass beneath his unnatural strength.

"Brilliant, you've slain our table, well done" Fieor'Loscala swept unclad palm across his pale robes, the soft clattering of wood on stone ringing forth as streams of shattered wood flowed like river of ice, to the polished floor.

"Peace, Fieor'Loscala, for all his crudity, our companion brings with him a point that cannot in good taste be ignored: the child of darkness has sliced our magic and mail with similar, terrifying ease. Even with the vast precautions and elaborate runes by which the prison is forged, an insurmountable barrier, it is not"

"If he shrugs off magic and steel, what use is a sword laden with all our remaining strength, should even a master's hand prove unable to strike him?"

"I cannot say, only that neither plan is without flaw is clear to me, and the minute details of both, will determine their outcome"

"Ah yes, the swinging of a blade, no doubt there lies many a minute detail in such an intellectual task" Fieor'Loscala slowly returned to his seat, pale robes swirling around his body and filling the silence with the soft hiss of cloth on timber as he reclined.

Poorly oiled plate groaned like the cries of tormented souls as the Lord of Orcs shifted, his dark plate shot through with scarlet runes that shimmered like vines of fresh spilt blood curling across his frame. "Mine is a plan far more likely to succeed, star drunk elf. Where cages fail, blade stands true"

"And where intelligence fails, idiocy stands true" Fieor'Loscala met the smouldering gaze of the final lord to stand before orc's last clan. "We haven't the power to commit equally to both causes; one and one alone can we support, and 'star drunk' or not, the elves have raised our blades against that unholy monster, and only failure have we met"

"Perhaps if you learned to wield a blade, the problem would resolve itself"

"I surmise that to mean your orcs have damaged the monster? Have forced it back? The reports must be wrong then, for I heard only retreat from all corners of Faerun, and you, my empty-headed companion, are no exception"

Grinning, the last orc lord reached to a mottled pouch of elf hide, from which he drew a single gleaming scale of purest darkness shot through with veins of smouldering light.

"Strength and skill, two things elves are without, it would seem. One well placed strike wedged my blade beneath his armor, and a mighty wrench tore free, a splinter of his hide. You were righter than you know when you spoke of gods' mortality. Even this beast, is not immune to strong blade and master's hand" Certainly the longest sentence ever voiced by the brute, each grating word fell upon Fieor'Loscala like the veangeful fists of wronged men.

Filling his ears, the shrill rasp of steel grating against this monster's armor, the cries of fallen and screams of wounded tormented him as Fieor'Loscala collapsed to his waiting seat, gazing in equal parts disbelief and fear, upon the beast he dared ridicule.

"Build the sword" Hissing past clenched teeth, the elf's words brought a triumphant grin to the Lord of Orcs, and far less certain expression, to the Lord of Men.

"Are you certain?"

"Build. The. Sword" Bronze hands covered the elf's face as he spoke, muffling his words. Tears welled in the depths of his once brilliant eyes, the cries of so many damned souls lost to his folly, tormenting him with their screeching wails as he spoke.

"Build the sword"

Shrill, the wailing of metal cleaved the silence, as Ordaelas drew armored hand across metal brow, smearing a ribbon of scarlet across his features. At his feet, lay the last of the goblins, its pale frame twitching and convulsing on the end of his blade; a speared trout writhing in futile attempt at escape.

Phantom and beyond hope of relief, like the haunting pain of amputated limb, Ordaelas' heart protested his every motion, his soul crying out with each slash as he cleaved flesh and sundered bone, drenching the earth with the crimson vitality of its children. Faerun wept, her tears cloaking him in veil of steam as his searing flesh filled the air with choking heat. Soft and sibilant like the hiss of hidden viper, blade of steel glided into its weathered sheath as he stepped back, gazing in pity and sorrow upon the last of Faerun's goblins as coughing, it vomited the last of its life into the stony arms of Faerun, and collapsed limp to her embrace.

"When shall the storm of blood finally abate?" Ordaelas trudged on, each step heavily burdened with the weight of so many innocent souls.

"Once it passes the kings of heaven"

"But how many innocents shall lie in its wake?"

"Enough"

"Enough has long since passed"

"Any amount of blood spilt to reach the lords of heaven is adequate, and no more"

Ordaelas sighed, his breath shot through with embers; a thousand thousand lightning bugs escaping his lungs as he gazed upward, the coppery stench of Faerun's lifeless children tormenting him with every breath.

"No, any amount of blood spilt in such a cause, is far too much"

"Where is the conviction of days not so long since past, Ordaelas? You fought with such vigor, with such madness, why do you surrender now?"

"Rest assured, the gods are no less vile in my eyes, rather all the more foul are they for allowing my rampage to proceed unfettered, for allowing the tempest of fire and blood to sweep across Faerun, without raising a hand to stop it."

"Then why?"

"Sorrow. Each breath and every step is heavy with sorrow. I mourn the countless beings that have fallen to my blade"

"Surrender now, and their souls will have been sacrificed for nought; yield now and their deaths will mean nothing. Yet if you stand amid the chaos, if you charge through heaven's gates, and slay the foul kings of the realms beyond, know that all fallen to your blade and those of others, will suffer in the vast emptiness no longer. Your torch will light the way, Ordaelas, your sins certify their salvation, surely you would not allow that to dissolve?"

"Of course not"

"Then continue on, Ordaelas; only one city of men yet stands, and within its walls cower the last of the final races to stand against the chaos that consumes Faerun. Harvest their blood, spill their warmth, and the stairs to heaven will be yours to ascend"

Shuddering as if winter's breath washed over him, Ordaelas murmured his pained reply.

"As you wish"

Concern furrowed his brow as the Lord of Men gazed toward the weathered parchment before him, a map of Faerun creased many times with strands of crimson ink; markings of the demon's trail, and testaments to the final breaths of so many.

"You think a sword can stop him?" Fatigue cracked his voice as mallet splinters glass, his weary eyes straying from those of his fellow kings.

"No cage can hold him, no magic can pierce his scale; a sword forged of strongest steel and laden with mighty enchantments, stands the greatest chance of slaying him; steel to wrench back his hide, magic to punch deep into the flesh beneath. A skillful blow can bring a halt to the tides of blood that stain Faerun." Elven king directed his own beleaguered eyes to the damning portrait of a world in flames as he spoke, his exhausted words hissing softly from parted lips.

"Those are valid points indeed; yet what are your feelings on the matter?" Raising his head, the Lord of Men cast his blurred gaze onto the perfect features of elves' final king.

"My heart is heavy with sorrow, my lands scorched and silent. The image of my children with rage marring their features and spurring on, their weary blades, is burned into the depths of my dreams and the darkness that rises when my eyelids meet. What are my feelings on the matter? So many have perished already, so many dead at his hand, if anything can halt, can delay the death of Faerun, I will devote all toward it"

"Aye, the elf speaks true! My own clans have fallen, my once vast empire has collapsed, and now I sit in conference with elves and men!" Growing somber, the Lord of Orcs continued: "Faerun's time runs short, if anything can hold off her last breath, I will commit"

Nodding slowly, Thaeloc murmured: "The very seas blaze with flame that no ship can pierce, the last of our races now hides behind these walls. I will not see any more dead at his hand" Shaking, the young king of mankind raised gloved hand to cover his face, the vision of his father's last smile seared into his eyes.

"I will not see any more dead at his hand"

Chapter 5

Faerun was cloaked in veil of ash and cinder; a glowing mantle draped across quivering shoulders as the realm wept for its fallen children. Bitter tears of men and nature pooled amid the vast stains of blood and carved thin paths across blackened earth. Ordaelas felt not the chill of autumn's breath, felt not the stone beneath his armored soles, felt not the steel of his foes nor impact of his mighty blade, for sorrow had long since hollowed his soul. Flames of ice had filled his veins, and in their wake, lay only bitter nothingness. Lain bare to the world, his soul had suffered: a city of glass forced to weather the might of deafening gale, and from the ashes of it, only ruin stood.

Thus, it was with a sordid emptiness that he advanced, his jaws coughing the fires of hell across the world, his blade spilling the life of Faerun's children with each broad stroke. Once, he sought glory, the shrill cry of steel a siren's call that could not be refused, yet now, he advanced without conviction, armor and reflex holding back death's scythe. Yet the smouldering ashes of his soul, still carried in their molten womb, the embers of purpose, the visions of foul gods seated upon heaven's throne in various postures of mirth, spurring him on as diluted passion filled his heart and dulled his everlasting pain. It was these embers that held back the darkness; the torches of men held aloft against the darkening sky, yet for its futility, Ordaelas grasped tight this last spark in the shadow of his soul, and with every breath, ignited its fury.

Metal screamed with a pained, haunting cry to rival the wailing souls that pursued him, as jaws opened wide, and the inferno of his troubled heart rolled forth, a tidal wave of flame washing over the land like river of molten glass. Steam covered all in cloak of pale grey; a mourning shroud to mimic the sorrow Faerun as her children's anguished howls faded, blackened arms reaching to the heavens in one last plea for salvation, and still longing for it, they gazed with blind eyes on death's face as reverently, he took them.

Ordaelas glanced downward, sorrow touching his eyes as the charred frames collapsed before him, steam shrouding their features of ash and cinder even as the chill breath of autumn gathered the dust of men, and carried them to the darkening heavens. Near unblemished darkness reigned inside him, as Ordaelas closed his eyes against the haunting sight, knowing all too well the emptiness these souls would face in the realm beyond death's veil. Again, the embers of purpose flared to life: a dwindling torch lowered to pool of oil, and sheathing his mighty blade, Ordaelas strode past the fires of hell and ashes of men, shrugged off the mantle of sorrow that settled on his broad shoulders like cloak of wrought iron, and with each hissing breath, ignored the suffocating veil of cinders that spiraled upward with each burdened stride, like dark sprites fleeing his heel.

Like the warmth of summer's calm breath, the Dendroeth ring bathed in his bitterness and all the stronger became, its endless hunger demanding the sacrifice of Faerun's children, crying out with each breath for the blood of mortals. Ordaelas felt all too clearly, the growing darkness inside him, and glancing to the setting sun, realized he could never feel its warmth.

Elaborate runes formed thin bands of frost which twined and writhed across pale steel; a thousand thousand beetles nearly frozen in place, shifting idly with each breath, yet unable to shatter their unseen bonds. Slender cords of braided gold tapered along starlight pommel; shimmering banners of silver leaking between their folds as the Lord of Men raised it to the heavens, a gloved hand closed tight about massive pommel, yet his small hand and trembling arm could only with great effort hold this divine blade aloft.

Rage filled his tormented heart as Thaeloc gazed upon the blade of dappled starlight, and clenching tight, his gloved fist, the Lord of Men raised high shimmering sword, muscle standing like bands of iron beneath his flesh as he swept blade of coming dawn in broad arc, painting the air with glittering scythe of blinding afterimage and piercing even the vast clamor of the forge. Carving a path through the choking cinder, steel met iron, cleaving anvil and floor like homespun cloth before the unholy might of this enchanted blade; tongues of lightning crackling across the cobbled stone and painting grey tile with ribbons of ash that spiraled out from the point of impact like the network of cracks that punches through sundered glass.

Grimacing against the fires sweeping across his heart, Thaeloc rammed the blade between shattered stone, releasing his grip and striding back, gazing in equal parts awe and fear at the incandescent shard of the heavens themselves trembling slightly as it stood among the smouldering ruin.

"If ever a blade was forged that might slay the gods themselves, this construct of our combined rage and power, comes dangerously close" He turned slowly, hate filled eyes meeting the emerald almonds of Fieor'Loscala, the elf's haunted gaze burning into his own.

"You don't think it is enough?"

"No, my race has fallen to his hand, and I will know revenge before this month finds its death, yet I still fear him, fear that which he represents" Fieor'Loscala glanced to the cracked earth, refusing to meet Thaeloc's eager gaze.

"Their souls still haunt you"

"Of course! Their cries still ring in my ears, their pleading faces turn towards mine whenever I close my eyes!"

"Then why do you still seem unsure? You demanded we build this weapon, do you regret your words?"

"Have faith, the words of elves are not rashly spoken, yet that monster, he has cleaved walls of stone and magical barriers, has stood calm in the face of our arrows, has not stumbled when struck with the strongest of our magic. Now we stand against the prophet of chaos, with a sword. Only one has triumphed in battle with the child of darkness, and even he was forced to retreat as his clans fell in tendrils of ash and pools of blood!"

"Aye. But I'll not be vanquished again! I lost my comrades that day, those with whom I shared my youth, with whom my innermost thoughts were easily read, with whom I never knew fear. He slaughtered them all like cattle fattened for the harvest!" Gru'mios strode to the embedded sword, cracked earth screaming with each footfall as he wrapped massive hand around the great sword's pommel, and with one arm, wrenched it from its tomb, showering those assembled with splinters of charred earth. Gleaming like the arched edge of solar eclipse, the blade of titans shimmered like pool of dark blood recoiling from adventurer's lowered torch: rippling bands of light flowed across its frame, amplified with each motion as Gru'mios inspected the mighty weapon, tilting and pivoting the shard of starlight and nodding with satisfaction.

"Rest assured, Lord of Men, Lord of Elves, I will slay this unholy beast, and avenge our fallen races. This, is a war for our survival, and it is not one that I intend to lose"

Like a thousand thousand insects fleeing the heat of fallen torch, the armies of men, orcs, and elves swept forth; the midday sun glittering along their armored frames with each stride. Before the tides of warriors, strode a single figure of bronze and amber, sword of starlight raised high and shining like the molten edge of solar eclipse beneath the sun's warm gaze. To the cadence of footfalls they marched, a dark harmony of clattering metal and grating stone filling air and hearts as the last mortals advanced upon the prophet of darkness.

Three paces behind and to either side, the last kings drew their own swords of master's steel, a soft hiss ringing forth amid the clamor as they to raised high blades of shining dawn, and bellowed with rage born of loss and torment. Many leagues yet stood between hateful mortals and god among men, yet all the same, they broke into a charge, the force of their wrath spurring them on, for the child of darkness would soon stand before them, and the races of Faerun, would soon know revenge.

"They come for you with blades of ice and fire. Will you rise to the challenge, or let all the souls of those you vanquished, rot forgotten amid the abyss" Shining bands of light rose from the foul ring as it spoke, its words pealing within his skull like the blows of a hammer striking his armored scalp.

"You already know the answer"

"And yet, you still harbor regret."

"I have slaughtered a thousand thousand mortals, whether they raised blade against me, or turned to flee my blade. Surely you do not question my regret"

"Question? Hardly. Yet I know all too well, the power of regret to rob even the mightiest of warriors, of the will to press on. Now more than ever, your death will curse all to an afterlife of sordid nothingness"

Ordaelas sighed, his breath filled with shining embers that gazed on him like the ravenous eyes of hidden predator, fitting, given the conflict of his soul upon whose inferno they fed. Far past its midday summit, the Sun shone behind him, night's veil settling over the scarred lands as slowly, he trudged onward, warring against the urge to turn back, to spare the last races from death, even if in so doing, many more would suffer.

"I cannot turn back now"

"Your reason is intact"

"If corrupt"

"Corrupt? To turn back now, is to consign the souls of so many, both slain by your hand, and those of warriors far before you, to emptiness. It is far from corrupt, to ensure an eternity in which they will not languish forgotten"

"Corrupt, since to do so, I must slaughter their ancestors, must cleanse Faerun and sunder her womb that none shall ever spring forth"

"Ah, how deeply you are mistaken"

Breath of cinder drifted from parted lips as Ordaelas exhaled, a soft hiss escaping his jaws as he spoke.

"You would insist that I suffer no sin from taking the lives of Faerun's children? From scarring her flesh with the fires of hell? From crushing all seeds from which life might rise again?"

"Darkness would be without meaning, had light not sundered its veil. Before the stars and before the torches, all was dark, and none longed for light. So to, will your actions, however dark, be necessary to recognize the new age of afterlife."

"All the same, I can feel the darkness consuming my soul"

"Better yours than theirs"

At this, Ordaelas nodded, the shrill cries of his metal scales ringing forth as he paused, regarding the Dendroeth ring with smouldering eyes.

"Yes, it is"

Chapter 6

Gru'mios' blazing eyes of molten steel and harsh ember sweep across the cracked plain as he stumbles back, armored soles wailing with shrill cries as rough iron grates across stone. Before him stands the demon of flame and metal, its hide screeching like a thousand thousand tormented souls as it raises high an armored hand, tracing a blinding scythe of light across the air as stiffened fingers cleave the neck of his last kinsman. Gurgling and choked, the orc's last breaths hiss from blood kissed lips as slowly, he folds to the earth, limp and unmoving.

Rage fills the last king of orcs, and standing amid the tempest of fire, blood, and ash, he brandishes his curved blade, the weathered and beaten steel glittering like a shard of the heavens themselves as he lunges onward. Tears streak along his features, his eyes of glowing embers shining all the more with the glassy tendrils of purest sorrow. Visions of his clans gathered upon the dying plain, yellow grass bending and crumbling beneath their uneasy feet as they shift and gaze toward their last king. Like blade of ice, guilt cleaves his heart as he remembers those words of valor, those empowering cries that sent his clans charging on with song of valor and grip of iron.

They fell like cattle ripened for the harvest before this unearthly beast, his metal fingers easily shattering their crudely fashioned blades as if they swung pillars of cracked glass in steel's stead. Three meters stand between him and the prophet of darkness, his rough shod feet slipping helplessly upon the blood sodden earth, sending him his knees as the monster's foul gaze washes over him. Yet as he gazes up, his eyes meeting those starlight orbs of his foe, he sees- no, it cannot be, not in the face of this demon!- regret. Regret? He leaps backward as the monster exhales its breath of hellfire, scorching the earth and filling blood thick air with the foul scent of scorched flesh and melting armor.

Gru'mios rolls aside as the child of shadow exhales again, thick banners of fire lancing across the ruined plain like ravenous serpents with scale of flame and fang of cinder. Leaping to his feet, the last king of the orcs, closes his trembling hands upon blood slick pommel, his forearms leaking warm tendrils of crimson with each pulse of his shuddering heart; the monster's hands having raked across his limbs and driven him to the earth as his clans swarmed over it.

Tears of helpless rage leak from the corners of his crimson eyes, the last cries of his clans washing over him in and drowning in their clamor, the wailing shriek of his adversary's metal flesh.

"Why?" His voice is haggard and flecked with blood as he falls back, leaning heavily upon the charred corpse of a fallen orc.

"Why do you slay us?!" Wrath pulses through his veins, coursing through his body like river of molten iron as he struggles to his feet, leaping back as the monster's iron hand traces a blinding scythe through the air, streaking mere centimeters from his face as he stumbles back, each pace sending fresh rivers of blood trailing along his ravaged arms.

"Because I have no choice" Metal grated and squealed as the monster's jaw worked, his tormented eyes meeting those of his opponent, as Ordaelas again raises high his mighty arm, swiping across the single meter that stands between the warriors, yet striking only air as his foe again shambles back.

"No choice? You have no choice?! You send my clans to oblivion, because you have no choice?!" Steel screams in anguish as Gru'mios' blade clatters harmlessly along his opponent's chest, tracing a diagonal path from shoulder to waist, yet leaving no sign of its passing upon the veined armor.

"You could never understand" Fist of steel lances past, arcing over Gru'mios' shoulder as he ducks, and burying itself deep in the stony outcropping beyond, toppling the strange pillar of earth amid a sonorous groan.

"You could never, understand" Ordaelas pivots upon planted foot, eliciting a deafening squeal of metal on stone.

"You willnever understand!" Armored fist crashed into the upraised blade of his foe, bending the weathered steel over his arm as if it were forged only of cloth.

Gru'mios staggered back, his bleeding hands vibrating from the force of Ordaelas' unholy blow, his strength shattering metal and bone with equal and terrifying ease. Pain coursed through him, a network of molten glass shooting through his body as he collapsed to his knees, tears trailing along pale jaundiced features, his yellowed flesh gleaming like polished amber as the prophet of darkness advanced.

Metal clanged in protest as he dropped the ruined sword to blood sodden earth, his fists clenched in rage as Ordaelas' fist swept downward, armored knuckles meeting flesh amid a damp tearing like sodden cloth shorn in two, and the sonorous bellow of shattered bone. Like a child's plaything hurled in distaste, Gru'mios slid across the earth, shards of rock and ash swarming about him like cloud of maddened insects seeking revenge for hive trodden beneath unwary foot. Blood filled his jaws with warm coppery tendrils as coughing, he lay upon the charred earth, the cries of his clansmen pealing in his ears and the vision of their last breaths, seared into his eyes.

"I am sorry" he whispered, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth with each rasped word.

"As am I" Pain shot through his body as Ordaelas' fist cleaved through his body, metal fingers punching through his back and writhing outward from his chest like five bloodied parasites grown weary of their poor host. Slowly, the child of shadow lifted the last king of orcs to eye level, his blazing orbs of dying stars shining like pools of molten steel as he met the terrified gaze of his adversary.

Tears cloud his vision as Gru'mios gazes helplessly into the face of his foe, afterimage consuming his sight as the blinding almonds of Ordaelas' tormented eyes bore into his own. Rage fades like the light of molten iron cast into icy basin, as the last lord of orcs struggles no longer, Ordaelas' iron hand sending vines of agony spiraling outward with each haggard breath that hisses between his quarry's parted lips.

Gru'mios remembers the cries of agony that rose above the clamor of steel, the tears of helpless rage upon the features of his clansmen as breath of hell and fist of metal claimed their souls, and a sudden burst of strength, drives back the icy hand of fear, and closes his fingers tight upon the armored face of his opponent.

"No, I will not understand. I can never understand why you would slay the innocent, why you would slaughter the children of Faerun until her mourning covers the lands with veil of mist, can never understand why you would stand against the realm of mortals with all your godlike strength; yet I do not need to!" Muscle rose like cords of iron beneath his sallow flesh as amid the groan of bending metal, he pulled back the armored plate of his foe's flesh, dark ichor pulsing outward as with a slow certainty, his limbs hauled upon the beast's face.

Screaming in unaccustomed agony, the monster drew back its hand, dropping the wounded orc as if his hand had closed about rod of molten iron, and even as Ordaelas stumbled back, Gru'mios slowly rose with fire and lightning filling his eyes.

"I will never understand why you slay us, but I will end your conquest all the same!" Blood erupted from his maw with each word, staining his teeth with shroud of scarlet and filling his lungs with tides of choking warmth. Yet agony was forgotten, was shrugged aside, was cleaved in two by the force of his rage as ducking beneath his foe's sweeping arm, Gru'mios closed his bare fingers around a jutting scale between its ribs, and twisted past, filling the air with the deafening squeal of metal's fury, as the unholy armor came off in his hand, trailing dark ichor like banner of ash held aloft amid the warm breath of Faerun.

Faint wisps of steam and cinder hissed from Ordaelas' jaws as he reeled, one massive arm swiping at his foe as the other raised metallic hand to his face, smouldering eye glittering between fingers splayed in agony.

Rage surged through his torn veins as Gru'mios howled with the fury of Gruumish himself and turning the almond shaped scale in his palm, surged toward his foe, brandishing the prophet's own dark hide against him. Shrill screams of steel on stone rang forth as he more slumbled than ran toward his foe, ducking clumsily beneath a sweeping arm, and gathering the last of his strength, Gru'mios leapt beyond his opponent's reaching hands, momentum and fading vigor driving the scale between his foe's fingers, and extinguishing his scarlet eye.

Reeling back, Ordaelas howled in agony, both hands closing around damaged face as spray of dark ichor painted his fingers with its gleaming brush. Slowly, the monster sank to its knees, tendrils of steam and blood bathing the scorched earth as he knelt, body slumped against the stone as waves of agony shot through his body.

Yet Gru'mios' victory, was fleeting, and served only to outrage the child of darkness: metal hands closed about the buried scale, a harsh screech filling blood sodden air as he wrenched it free, and in disgust, cast it aside, his eye instantly flaring to life like dying ember doused in oil. Metal crawled along his body, covering his dark skin in shroud of pulsing steel, and again, Ordaelas advanced, his eyes boring into the terrified face of Gru'mios.

Desperation replaced rage and strength with river of frost, and sliding the bloodied scale into the sheath where once his sword had rested, the last king of orcs fell to his knees, and raising upturned face to the heavens, murmured one final plea to the god of orcs, offering his body to the divine lord, in exchange for the strength to slay his foe.

Gruumish agreed.

Strength flooded through him, his wounds rapidly scarring as he rolled aside, Ordaelas' steel fist shattering the bloodied stone upon which the lord of orcs had crouched. No longer did Gru'mios retreat, his trailing foot grinding into the stone as both hands raised before him, and with the strength of gods, he met fist of iron with forearm of steel, the unholy force washing over him, yet no longer, did he feel its touch. Lunging beyond, he swept his palm in open handed thrust that filled the air with the sonorous moan of steel, his opponent's face caving beneath the strength of Gruumish's fury. Yet Ordaelas battered through his foe's defense, stiffened fingers or mighty fist spilling the last orc's blood to the ragged stone upon which they fought, rage along holding this last foe aloft.

Agony soon replaced the river of fire in his veins, and Gru'mios sagged beneath the force of his opponent's blows, Gruumish's fury driving his own fists home, shattering steel and caving plate, yet all the same, Ordaelas closed his fingers of steel over the orc's face, and lifted him overhead amid the shrill scream of metal.

"You will never understand" Ordaelas hurled the last orc, flesh and bone torn away as the warrior collided with the earth below, dust and stone rising in choking cloud as the warrior lay still, and did not rise again.

"You will never understand."

Gru'mios shook his head as the vision faded, remembering all too well, the paralyzing agony that filled him, when his remaining clansmen arrived, bearing him in stunned silence, from the field of blood and ash.

Teeth of pale amber grated like uneven sabers beneath the curtains of his lips, as he ground his jaws in rage, the humiliation of helplessness again filling him. Fear. Fear had stolen his strength that day, yet no longer. The child of darkness would fall, and even death himself, would not rob him of that victory.

Fieor'Loscala regarded the horizon with no meager apprehension etched upon his amber features. Pealing in his ears, the cries of his last warriors drowned the clamor of their new forces, his pale eyes searching the heavens as if some answer might lay therein.

Fieor'Loscala stumbles back, his blade of the dawn raised against his dark foe, bronze armor shining like the radiant Sun itself with each uneven breath and trembling step. The earth itself smoulders around him, bathing his armor of bronze ivy in tendrils of searing light, the heavy scent of charred flesh rising in choking cloud to arrest his breath and fill his eyes with tears of equal parts sorrow and pain.

Steam hisses like the specters of his prey from Ordaelas' jaws as he releases the mangled corpse of a last elf to the earth, pale flesh gleaming beneath ruined armor as bronze clatters against stone, and blood spills across Faerun in rivers of blackening scarlet. Yet the warriors of Fieor'Loscala have not yet fallen: twelve yet remain, and standing before him, they brandish blades of starlight against the child of darkness.

"I am sorry" The grating words rasp from metal lips as Ordaelas draws in a long, hissing breath, flame igniting within his jaws.

"But I cannot permit you to live" Flame washes over the battered elf, and darkness takes him in its chill arms.

Fieor'Loscala grimaced as the memory left him, the coppery scent of his warriors' vitality as it spilled across the stone, still haunting him as they advance upon the prophet of darkness. Exhaling, he returns his gaze to the uneven plain across which the last mortals charge, his breath even and measured, despite the sorrow whose icy hand, closes so tightly upon his heart.

"What doom awaits us beyond the horizon" he murmured.

"Have faith, king of elves. The last races of Faerun stand at our backs"

"But they are not warriors, king of men. Our women and children have attempted to sail past the veil of fire that takes our seas, yet none have pierced it. The last races of Faerun, are a battered lot, untrained and young. Do you honestly have faith that they will stand where seasoned warriors fell?"

Considering this a moment, the Lord of Men fell silent, then raised his voice again, certainty banishing his fear.

"Yes"

Fieor'Loscala turned in disbelief, nearly losing his balance as he offered a quizzical glance, before returning his gaze to the plains extending like vast sea of emerald and jade before them.

"The warriors beside which you stood, were seasoned indeed, were mighty in heart and mind, yet that could not save them"

"And ignorance can?"

"Consider this, Lord of Elves: what did you fight for when you first stood against the monster?"

"Our homes, our past, our future..."

"More than that, why did you stand before the demon rather than fall back to the shores?"

"He threatened our homeland, why else?"

"I suppose that is as satisfying a reason as any, yet hear me on this: what did you fight for? Was it personal gain, was it protection of your lands, or was it survival?"

Digesting his words, the last king of elves paused, then after a brief silence, continued:

"When first we stood, it was in protection of our lands; we stood in the name of all those who protected it before us, that our descendants might live to do the same."

"And what has changed?"

"Our situation grows ever more dire"

"Then what do we fight for?"

"Survival." Fieor'Loscala nodded in understanding as he spoke.

"Exactly, king of elves. We will win this battle, since we have no choice. We will win this time, because we cannot lose"

"Wait!" Thaeloc charged across the tattered path of weathered soil and shattered rock, his leather boots hissing softly with each impact as he surges on. Clad in shining mail and gleaming plate, the warriors of men stand ready, gates of wrought iron yawning wide as the last urges his steed across the threshold, leaving Father and Son alone amid choking veil of dust and steam.

Fuuroennn, the Lord of Men, gazes upon his exuberant son with eyes of shining steel, his haggard features brightening as his last child approaches, pausing several paces from the armored steed, whose nostrils filled the air with wisps of steam and soft grunts as it less than eagerly anticipated the long trek before mount and rider.

"What is it, my son?"

"The others, they tell me you will not return?" Tears fill Thaeloc's eyes with tendrils of glass, shining all the brighter beneath his Father's torch as the weary king leans closer, his gold plate groaning in protest, and silver mail of woven Mithral, clattering softly against his powerful frame.

"They are wrong" He offers a broad, if strained grin, its warmth easily spreading to his eyes as the unshaven warrior places an armored hand atop his Son's blonde curls. "I will slay this beast, as I have many others. Have you no faith in your old man?"

"Of course I do, Father!"

"Then trust me, Thaeloc, I will return in three days' time"

"And if you do not?"

"I will return, have no doubt"

Thaeloc nodded, the chill fangs of winter biting deep into his small frame, filling his veins with river of ice and igniting the air before him with thin banners of steam.

Unclasping his scarlet cloak, the Lord of Men dismounted, sliding gracefully from this armored steed and kneeling at his child's side.

"Keep this safe for me, I'll expect it when I return" Gently, he fastened the clasp around his son's trembling shoulders, a smile igniting his eyes with warmth as the weary king of men spoke.

Thaeloc returned his Father's smile, yet he could not know, that it would be his last.

Shaking himself, the last king of men surged on, rage filling his veins with rivers of molten steel, hate glowing like smouldering embers behind the ashen veil of vengeful eyes. Shrill and reverberating, the harsh cry of steel on rock echoed forth as mortals' last armies, charged into the darkness with torches raised and song of valor on their lips. Yet despite himself, Thaeloc realized all too well, that the last children of Faerun, might fall this day, and with them, the last sparks of life, would forever be extinguished, and Faerun would remain cold, until death took her.

Chapter 7

How furious, was the blaze of the last torch held against the darkness, and how futile was its wrath. The last mortals charged on with rage more than strength holding aloft their shining blades, yet all the same, fear closed on their hearts with fingers of ice and palm of fire. Ordaelas strode to meet the last children of Faerun, the darkness ever smouldering around his tormented frame, the earth itself charred and blackened by the force of his wrath.

Such beautiful sorrow filled him, vines of ice and molten steel in alternating fashion, flowing through his veins with each burdened step. Deep within the morass of torment and helplessness that fell upon his mind in eternal night, some spark of his soul yet lay, yet far too deeply as it ensnared, all too weak and all too dim.

No longer did he revile the Dendroeth ring's foul touch, for no longer did he feel its chill hand. He was lost to the darkness, yet longed not, for the light.

Shining like pool of oil ignited by unwary traveler's flame, the last mortals lay amid the warmth of torchlight, fearing no discovery in these dire times. Rising around their torches, a massive glade encircled the warriors with branching arms of oak and elm, a thousand thousand shields against the darkness, as if Faerun herself stood guard over her last children.

Thaeloc gazed into the depths of his torch, lost to the world as spellbound, its light held him, reaching out like the seductive warmth of flame, that draws moth to death's arms. Yet it was not to the light that his mind drifted, for only darkness clouded his soul, visions of his Father's last words pealing like the shrill song of steel in his ears, and driving back his sanity which with each breath grew all the more distant. Slowly, he lowered the flame to the stone rimmed pit at his feet, igniting oil sodden boughs with tongues of blinding inferno, and tossing his torch into the hellish depths, the last king of men sank to his knees, feeling the heat wash over him, yet even such mighty flame, could not thaw his soul.

"Prophet of darkness, you have stolen all from me" Thaeloc whispered these damning words, an epithet that sent fresh strength and rage coursing through his weary frame. Gingerly, he reclined against the earth, every muscle screaming in protest.

"Prophet of darkness, you have stolen all from me" His breath hissed between parted lips, filling the air with tendrils of steam that writhed and convulsed before his unseeing eyes like the ethereal wisps of tormented souls.

"A fine evening to you as well, king of men" Fieor'Loscala placed a gloved hand on the young Lord's shoulder as he approached, lowering himself gently to the ragged earth as he continued. "He stole your Father, did he not?"

"Aye." Thaeloc refused to meet the elf's gaze, instead directing his tormented eyes into the flame's searing depths. "The Prophet of Darkness, slew my family, and all that ever I knew. I was abandoned, alone amid a crumbling empire with thousands pleading for me to solve their woes, to ensure their safety when that of Faerun itself was uncertain"

Fieor'Loscala nodded grimly, his words hissing softly in the breath of winter. "I lost all to him as well. As did the Orc"

"I know, do not chastise me, elf"

"Peace, king of men, I do not seek to chastise you. Your words rang true, young lord, our cause is indeed, survival. Yet how can we survive if we cannot band together against the child of darkness? I mean no ill, Thaeloc, merely: the darkness inside you, can draw the last mortals under a single banner, or it can scatter them to the winds."

"Reassuring"

"I am not as skilled with words as I would like"

"Neither am I, Loscala. We are both young in our own right, and ill at ease with the concept of ruling"

"Aye. What yet troubles me, is the creation of this monster? Is this beast some fallen god? A demon from planes yet unknown?"

"Does it matter?"

"No, all that truly matters, is whether it can die" Fieor'Loscala gazed to the starlight heavens filtered and splintered by the knotted limbs of this ancient glade, yet no less inspiring for it.

"Nothing is immortal, even the gods themselves can be brought down with enough arrows. The Dark Prophet will perish, and Faerun will recover"

"I am not so certain, king of men. Three races yet survive, and among them, most are male"

"We will find a way, Fieor'Loscala, that much, I can promise you. Once the monster breathes its last, Faerun will recover, the fallen races will be replaced, in due time. Such is the way of life: always, will it maintain a balance so long as it is able."

"All the same, our combined sorcery, may not be able to vanquish the child of darkness"

"What of the Dendroeth ring? Perhaps it might grant us the strength"

"The Dendroeth ring" Fieor'Loscala mused, then realization dawned upon him, a branching cord of lightning coursing across his eyes as he understood the depths of their doom.

"It has already been found"

"What? By whom?" Even as the words crossed his lips, Thaeloc exhaled sharply in comprehension.

"The very beast against which we stand"

Faerun wept. Bitter tears fled the heavens, shrouding all in veil of frost as winter's sharp breath, bathed all in rivers of crystal. Orcs, Men, and elves strode on, three distinct tendrils all maintaining great distance between their companions of circumstance, yet all oriented upon a single point to the north where their vengeance might finally be sated. Fear dragged its talons of ice and fire across mortals' weary hearts with each burdened stride, yet no less, did they surge on, into the depths of unholy darkness.

Gru'mios gazed with smouldering eyes upon the snow kissed plains before him, winter's chill breath washing over him, bathing his frame in steam as he advanced. Ordaelas strode to meet his foes, the mere kilometers standing between light and shadow evaporating as each day found its death; only five days remained before the last mortals would strike out against the darkness in one final attempt at survival, so much the gasping breath of drowning man before he vanishes into ocean's depths, so much a futile effort, yet one taken regardless.

None had pierced the veil of flame that danced across Faerun's seas, filling the air with endless rains and shrouding all in blanket of choking steam: the last mortals of Faerun, now marched on the prophet of darkness.

Their terror delighted the Dendroeth ring, its pulsing vines of scarlet now glowing like tendrils of molten glass that blazed all the brighter with each tormented stride as Ordaelas slowly advanced, each step heralded by a grating scream of metal that split the air and rang outward for all to hear: a warning cry that so many failed to heed.

Grim resolve hardened their features as the children of light approached the Father of Darkness, wielding a blade of strongest magic and mightiest steel, yet feeling no safer for it. Only Gru'mios bore the true blade, yet those that clattered against the hips of Elves, Men, and Orcs, each shone with half their power of their Father, a power that could cleave strongest plate and melt hardest iron, yet all the same, many felt as if a child's toy lay at their side, and their doubts, were not misplaced.

"They are not ready" Gru'mios lay against a frost clad outcropping, his craggy armor gleaming softly in the dying light light of dusk that bathed all in hues of orange and gold.

"Neither are we" Thaeloc stood with arms folded, several paces across the clearing, occasionally adding timber to the smouldering flames at their feet, a miserable fire dying like the hopes of their warriors, fading all the more with each breath and casting all further into darkness.

Nodding, the last king of Orcs gazed to his feet, studying the leather clasps on his hobnailed boots with uncanny interest.

"We will succeed" Thaeloc assured him, yet his own wavering, trembling voice, betrayed his doubt.

"I know: we have no choice, king of men. Even if Death's arms close around me, I will shrug them off until the darkness is no more; yet, I feel strange, my heart no longer seems quite so true, nor does my will stand with such valor"

"You are afraid"

"Bah! Only weak Men and star drunk Elves know fear! Yet, I am uncertain in my path. It seems simple: slay the monster before it slays us, yet all the same, I waver"

Thaeloc spread his hands in helpless gesture, his breath shrouding his features in veil of steam as each word hissed past his lips:

"Perhaps, Orcs are less immune to fear than they would like"

"Once, I would have flayed you where you stood, yet now, now I cannot so easily deny the truth of your words. What is this beast toward which we march? What is this creature that stole the life of so many?"

Again, Thaeloc spread his hands helplessly, offering only silence as he prompted the Orc to continue.

"Human, you are not as wrong as I would once have believed. My heart betrays me, as do those of my last clan"

"The Elves are no different, if that gives you solace" Fieor'Loscala emerged from the snow kissed arms of Evergreen and the spindly blades of Elm, dropping a meager stack of kindling into the ice at his feet as he turned to address the pair.

"That is less helpful than a brick applied to my skull, Lord of Elves. If the dainty star lovers are as afraid as my hardened warriors, these are dire times indeed"

"And times in which we cannot afford to stand alone. We have all stood against the monster, have all beheld its fury and might, have known firsthand the power it turns against us, yet alone, we can never vanquish it. My sword, and that of Fieor'Loscala may be but a fraction of yours, however, if you deny us, the monster will slay us all" Thaeloc glanced up as the words hissed between his lips, filling the air with sprites of ash, yet his eyes avoided those of his comrades: he knew not, the power of this beast, only that it stole from him his Father, and so many mortals at his side.

Yet his comrades did not contradict him, only nodded or murmured their assent.

"What do you recommend?"

"My soldiers and the Orcs, will never cooperate, my warriors fear yours all too much for any such effort. I propose that Men and Elves join forces, training as one in these last days before the conflict"

"And what of the Orcs?" Gru'mios fixed eyes of smouldering crimson on the wavering orbs of mankind's last king, who quickly looked away.

"I do not know"

"To train as one, will accomplish nothing, without a plan, we will fall as little more than insects harrying the monster as it strides across Faerun. Men and Elves will seize its attention, for ours are vastly the swifter. As the child of shadow becomes lost amid our arrows, the Orcs will sweep in to strike hard at its flank, and surrounded by our armies, even this vile creature, will be helpless" Fieor'Loscala measured his words with care, knowing all too well that Orcs might not with ready acceptance take to a subversive role.

"Clustering tight around the monster, will only amplify the effect of its flaming breath, good Elf." Noting the rage mounting on Gru'mios' face, Thaeloc quickly interjected the placating words, pausing to draw a deep breath before continuing. "True enough, we are the swifter races, yet the Orcs can strike hard and close, if we remain back, launching our arrows to hold its attention. As we hold the most powerful blades, to stand behind our archers, would be a foolish endeavor indeed: Myself and Fieor'Loscala will accompany you in a charge toward the monster. Select as few warriors as possible, that its flaming breath will with less ease touch us, and that our blades do not see themselves entangled in the chaos of melee."

Gru'mios nodded slowly, rising to meet Thaeloc's wandering eyes with his own piercing gaze of molten copper.

"An excellent plan; you have my blade, king of Men"

"And mine, young Lord" Fieor'Loscala turned on his heel, a sharp scream of steel on stone pealing forth as he retreated into the welcoming embrace of Evergreen.

"Good Orc, why did you deceive us?" Thaeloc gestured to the monster's hands. "Anyone can easily discern the scars along your fingers and palms; you did not wedge a sword beneath its flesh to procure that scale; you tore its armored hide apart with your unclad hands!"

"That I did; your discerning eyes serve you well."

"Why not display such a feat of strength for all to see?"

"Consider this, Lord of Men: were I to stand before you that day, raise high these puckered scars, and bellowed of my valor, would you believe it possible to slay the monster?"

Thaeloc nodded, digesting his comrade's words as he slowly returned to their dwindling fire's side, a hobnailed boot scattering Fieor'Loscala's harvested timber into the wavering, trembling arms of dying inferno.

"You are smarter than you appear, Lord of Orcs. True, had you displayed that it was an unearthly act of physical strength rather than ingenuity, I would feel ill equipped to battle the titan of armor and darkness without such might flowing through my veins. To enchant one's body presents great hazard to one's health, and that is the path I would have taken to avenge my Father. Never before have I thought an Orc wise, consider yourself above your peers, Lord of Orcs"

"Bah, the thickheaded lot were already several paces beneath me. Worry not, Last of Men, my strength will tear an opening for that blades of my fellow kings, simply coordinate your attacks with mine, and the prophet of darkness will fall"

"I pray that you are correct"

Exuberance faded from the King of Orcs' features as next he spoke, a grave expression settling upon him as each word hissed past his lips into the vast emptiness beyond.

"As do I"

Hell in all its flame and all its fury, was no match for the smouldering heart of Ordaelas as with burdened stride, he advanced. Faerun's icy tears shrouded his body in wavering veil of steam amid which his torchlight eyes shone like pools of oil ignited beneath unwary adventurer's torch. Each breath sent thin sprites of cinder and steam hissing outward, scales of veined darkness glittering briefly as the mist retreated.

Slowly, he advanced: a single day's travel stood before him, one last day of blood, and the torment would finally abate, one last day of fire, and Faerun would perish, one last day of torment, and the gods, would be no more.

Broad tendrils of amber light groped their blind path across the snow laden plain, forming long, sweeping walls of knotted timber and gleaming steel in their wake. Beyond these new walls, stood a mighty grove ancient and vast, a leviathan of many limbs that moaned in protest as winter's chill breath washed over it.

Thaeloc stood hunched and weary upon outcropping of enchanted stone, gazing upon the efforts of the last mages, as like the dark mandibles of massive insect, arching walls closed around them: a curtain of darkness standing against the Sun's dying light as it sank beyond the horizon in scythe of blinding glory.

"It will never hold against such a monster" He exhaled softly, his breath sending thin cords of vapor hissing outward like playful sprites dancing upon summer's gentle breeze. Tormented eyes of faded slate fixed upon the mages below, taking in the great sea of bodies churning beneath him, with no small air of unrest.

Faded and weak, the wavering screech of chalk on stone rang forth as runes blazed to life across the dark barrier, driving back the sinuous shadows of twilight with a silver glow to rival that of the shattered moon itself. Force runes lay in scaled plates across the notched wall, yet no less, did the wraiths of sorrow drag their icy talons across his heart, as he beheld the desperate efforts of a dying world, the last shuddering breath of Faerun, before the darkness took her in its foul arms.

"Perhaps" Fieor'Loscala rested his hand upon the young human's shoulder as he strode to stand at his side. "Yet it gives them hope"

"Of what worth is a false hope?" So heavily did the cowl of sorrow bow his shoulders and cast his face into shadow, as Thaeloc spoke, his words no longer traveling in the company of faith that once they so closely maintained.

Fieor'Loscala merely shrugged, the dismissive motion filling the silence standing between mortals' last kings, with the soft hissing of cloth on steel. "Perhaps it is not but a waste of resources and time, in the mind of men, Lord Thaeloc, yet as you gaze upon them, what do you believe fills their hearts?"

"Fear: the very same rancid taste that fills our mouths would taint theirs no less, king of elves" Exhaustion tinged his words with leaden edge, dragging them earthward like shield hurled in bitter rage: a mighty effort propelling them forth, yet for it, only feebly did they ascend, and readily, did they fall.

"Precisely. They are afraid, King of Men, terrified of a fate over which they have no command. Yet tasks, even futile ones, distract from that dark path, and prevent their souls from straying along it"

"You would distract them from the truth?"

"I would allow them the chance to ignore it"

Thaeloc nodded, a single curt motion that filled the air with the soft clamor of mail on plate. "Perhaps you are right, Lord of Elves"

"Perhaps I am wrong, Lord of Men, all that matters, is the hearts of our warriors. Whether they survive the battle to come, matters little"

"I would disagree, as would they"

"You misunderstand, Thaeloc: to survive a battle, is possible not through strength of arm alone, nor will steel and iron carry us beyond the night to see the Sun once more. We must first banish the darkness from their hearts, lest helplessness rob their strength, and fear, replace their valor"

"If you believe those words, so be it"

"How would you see these tense days passed?"

Thaeloc opened his mouth, yet whatever words he sought to project, merely died in his throat, producing only the low hiss of released breath.

"I have no better plan. Training in these dire times would accomplish little: a beast whose very breath can slay the strongest of men, is one training alone cannot vanquish."

"You seem unconvinced"

"I am lost, Fieor'Loscala. Adrift in sea of sorrow and torment. I cannot think clearly, for my thoughts always drift to the image of my Father astride his mighty horse; breath misting before him as warmth fills his eyes and a smile quirks across mustached lips. I grieve for him, Loscala. My heart is shattered like glass, ground beneath that monster's heel. I will do anything to slay the beast who stole my Father"

"You and how many others" Fieor'Loscala gripped the young king's shoulder in what he hoped was comforting gesture. "Darkness cannot be denied in these times, yet neither, should you let it consume all that you know. I too, have lost all to that monster; yet know this, young king of Men: darkness can give you strength, so long as you do not surrender to it"

"What does that mean?"

"Whatever you take it to"

Thaeloc sighed, his breath forming a wavering veil of steam that briefly his his face amid its soft caress.

"You are strange indeed, Lord of Elves. Yet in these dire times, I cannot deny your wisdom"

"In these times, can we deny the wisdom of anyone?"

Sharp and piercing, the rhythmic clang of alarms split the twilit silence as a single figure crested the horizon, the descending sun framing him upon molten orange canvas, reducing him to a silhouette of darkness awash in blinding light. Smouldering embers drifted between his armored lips and Faerun herself trembled in terror with each footfall. Howling of metal on stone filled the air, yet even the scream of pained metal, could not drown the low, sibilant hiss of his breath, nor almond scale's ominous creak, as chest expanded with his long breath.

"I am sorry" He whispered, his words lost amid the screams of terror and the raucous clamor of assembling warriors.

"I am so sorry" His voice cracked as thin tears leaked from his blazing eyes, and a cone of flame burst from his maw. Magical barriers and physical walls shattered beneath the burst of fire and force that hissed between armored lips, washing over the realm of men like font of magma. Hellish flame blazed across the now pitted ruin; ancient trees groaned in purest agony as amid a long, creaking scream, all collapsed into the inferno of Ordaelas' hate and sorrow.

Yet he heard not, the wavering cries of agony, nor the screams of helpless rage, as the fires of his torment slowly faded, revealing a thousand thousand warriors standing unharmed, amid the smouldering ruin of Faerun. Gleaming swords shone like splinters of starlight within their gloved hands, igniting dull plate and boiled leather with its silvery flame. As one, the warriors of Men, charged. Three figures surging to their head with blades held high, and songs of valor thundering from their lips like the many voiced words of God himself.

"I wish you had the sense to die" Ordaelas slowly raised his fists of steel, tendrils of flame erupting in dazzling strands that wrapped tight about his forearms and flowed over his armored knuckles.

"Now, you will suffer" Sorrow rang clear in his words as Ordaelas the GodSlayer, shifted his weight, and prepared to smash through the last warriors of men.

Our planning was for naught, it would seem. Like tormenting wraiths, the words flitted about inside his skull, as Thaeloc charged, yet all the same, he joined the thunderous song of his comrades as he surged on, stone crunching underfoot, and a choking veil of ash settled over the last children of Faerun.

"Foul monster, you have stolen all from me!" He bellowed, the words ringing like the sharp song of steel, yet were lost amid the deafening clamor all the same.

"For my clansmen!" Gru'Mios startled the Lord of Men as he to, gave voice to his wrath.

"For the future of Faerun!" Fieor'Loscala offered one last reassuring grin to the last king of men. Then the monstrous foe, was upon them.

Light danced so merrily upon Ordaelas' fist as he swung, a single blow hurling back his foes, and slaying many; bones shattering and armor caving beneath the might of his hands. Harshly, the song of steel rang in his ears, as the blades of his foes clattered harmlessly against his flesh, and murmuring his sorrow, he swung again, spilling their blood and sending the tides of warriors stumbling back, armored soles unable to find purchase upon the corpses of their lifeless fellows.

Metal creaked and moaned as another breath filled his lungs, yet the last mortals, merely stood their ground, raising high their shining blades, and staring defiantly upon their unslayable foe. Light welled in tendrils of molten heat within the depths of his metal throat, as dark wings unfurled, and the wind's hollow, moaning breath, bore him to the heavens.

Hell vomited its rage across the realm of men, yet standing with starlight blades raised like torches against the coming night, his flames merely parted around the warriors, punching deep into the earth with sonorous crack, and choking spray of earth. Tongues of ash and cinder warred for control of his breath, as he exhaled a suffocating mist, across the plain; darkness taking him all the deeper into its black abyss, as their strangled cries reached him.

Metallic splinters rang harshly against his armored throat, as another breath expanded his mighty chest, and closing his eyes against the torment, he exhaled a hailstorm of steel upon those who dared stand against the flames of hell and fumes of darkness. Moist and foul, a sickening wave of crunching bone and tearing flesh rang across the emptiness, dragging icy talons across his weary heart, as the guardians of Faerun, slumped to the earth. Another breath hissed past armored lips, and steel rang loudly within his chest, as he prepared to sow death among the living once more.

Thaeloc stumbled back, cursing furiously as finger sized bands of metal punched through the smouldering veil, and buried themselves deep within the flesh of the unwary. His blade weaved strands of radiant light amid the darkness as he parried the lethal hail storm, upon its shining edge, filling the air with the screaming howls of steel on steel.

Thaeloc's Father slowly fastens the ornate clasp around his son's throat, warmth igniting his eyes as a genuine smile quirks across his lips.

"Keep it safe for me" His strong words resonate within the child's mind, and even as Thaeloc nods, his Father turns, mail clattering against plate as he vaults atop his armored steed. One last smile burns itself into the child's eyes, as his Father rides on, into the blinding canvas of setting Sun, with hand raised in farewell.

Wrath fills his heart, and forced a bellowing wail of purest hatred from his lungs, as Thaeloc surged on, his armored soles clattering against inclined plane of fallen warriors, muscle flexing and bulging beneath shining plate, as he launched himself toward the beast who stole his Father.

Fieor'Loscala stumbles back, gazing in shock upon the corpses of his fellows, recalling all too clearly, the grins upon their angular features as he cheered them on the night before, rallying their strength to his cause, before charging against the Child of Darkness. Tears leak between the lids of his eyes and traces his haggard features with its glassen fingers, as the screams of his companions, rakes talons of ice and fire across his heart.

"Damn you!" He screams one last time, before the darkness takes him.

Fieor'Loscala bellowed in rage, his weapon shimmering like tendril of the heavens as he battered aside the tempest of steel, and charged along inclined plain of his fallen warriors, his leather armor hissing gently, as the last king of elves, launched himself toward the beast, who stole his friends.

Helplessness drags its foul claws across the heart of Gru'Mios as he stumbles over the corpses of his clan, and falls to the earth. Steam leaks between bloodied lips; tracing thin tendrils of smouldering grey across the air before him as a single tear traces his sallow features.

Wrath filled his veins of with cords of molten iron, as Gru'Mios screamed his rage and torment, surging along the plain littered with his comrades, his boiled hide armor creaking beneath the force of his strength, as he launched himself toward the beast who stole his valor.

Steel clashed amid tempest of light and thunderous wail. Ordaelas slammed into the earth as three foes advanced upon him; the Lords of Orcs, Elves, and Men. Like serpents of starlight, their blades weaved beneath his guard and bit deep into his plated hide, sending tendrils of warm agony curling along arched spine.

Slowly, he lumbered back, fist of the rising dawn smashing into the blades of his opponents, sweeping in a vast arc that carried the enchanted blades hopelessly wide; yet before he could lunge in, before he could strike down Faerun's last Lords, their guard swiftly recovered, and each charged him again. Strands of pale afterimage danced across his vision as their weapons struck his armored hide, filling the air with their clanging wails and high pitched screams.

Faerun's last armies stepped back, raising their voices in solemn chant punctuated by the clang of steel on timber as in dark cadence, their weapons slammed into upraised shields. Flame and cinder leapt from parted lips, yet scarred only earth as the warriors advanced, their blades cleaving deep into his hide, and sending rivers of agony lancing through his massive frame.

Ordaelas gazes over his shoulder, boyish features marred with terror and rage. Ash and ember drift from the smouldering shadows of his homeland; a foul veil shrouding the realm he once called home.

"There is no God" He whispers, sinking to his knees as tears trace his young cheeks, carving thin paths through the remains of his homeland that yet cling to his features.

"There is no God!" Head tilts to the heavens as he screams in beautiful hatred, darkness closing fast around his heart like the jaws of ravenous serpent consuming its hapless prey. Tears of pain and innocence lost collect on his slender chin like trembling bead of glass as he slams his unclad fist into the stone.

Ordaelas bellowed in rage, a single sweep of his mighty arm driving his foes back, his eyes of molten copper alighting upon the Lord of Men, and lunging forth, he closes iron fingers around the slender blade.

Visions of his parents' last smiles, brand themselves into his eyes, the scent of his home

slowly fading from his memory as hatred consumes his soul. Bone splinters as Ordaelas drives his fist into the cracked earth, the pain lost to his maddened mind.

Steel groaned as he pressed on, forcing the Lord of Men to his knees. The remaining Lords assail him, their weapons biting deep into his armored flesh, yet he feels only the dark void that closed around his heart on that bitter day so many decades past.

Thaeloc closes his eyes, tears welling against the pale lids, and leaking along his features as his Father vanishes across the vast plain, swallowed by the Sun's orange maw. He remembers the low whispers and guarded voices of his Father's advisors as they stood around gnarled table, and spoke of the monster that closed upon Faerun. Somehow, he knew. His Father, would never return.

Thaeloc screamed in rage, muscle straining and bulging beneath his shining plate as slowly, he rises to his feet, blade squealing beneath the armored fingers of Ordaelas.

"You stole my Father!" Thaeloc screamed these words as he twisted the weapon, yet was unable to wrench it free.

"The gods stole mine" Ordaelas' voice trembles no longer. He is lost to the void, and for it, he will waver no longer.

Shrill and piercing, the enchanted blade screams its agony one last time, then shatters into a fine mist like glass ground underfoot and cast to the winds.

Bone crunched and flesh tore asunder with a lingering snap like sail raised to the unyielding arms of mighty hurricane, as Ordaelas' fist passed through the last human's face, and lifelessly, the last Lord of Men, slumped to the earth, pained no longer.

No longer, did Ordaelas stay his hand: both arms lashed outward with blinding speed, fingers of iron closing tight upon the blades of his foes, and with a single jerk, snapping them in two.

Tears of sorrow leak between soot darkened fingers as Ordaelas falls to his knees, the vision of his homeland in flames seared into his eyes. Torment fills his young heart with rivers of ice and fire, as he sobs in bitter sorrow, his gasping cries echoing across the darkness, as shadow closes upon his soul.

Flame burst from his jaws, forcing the last kings of Faerun back, lest their armor melt and flesh slough away. Armored soles screeched across the earth as he twisted past his foe's outstretched hand -still grasping feebly for a blade that no longer waited its touch- with hand of iron and fire leading the way.

Fieor'Loscala wakes to the gentle ministrations of elven maiden, her whispered cadence restoring vitality to his deadened limbs.

"I failed them" He whispers.

"I let them die in my place" Sorrow cleaves his words and fills his veins with ice.

"Why did you save me?" Uneven breath wheezes beyond parted lips.

"You should have let me join them" Tears again trace his bronze features with fingers of shining glass.

"You should have let me die"

Fieor'Loscala's eyes widened in fear as the demon pivoted close, its blinding hand consuming his field of vision. His lips parted, yet that which escaped, was not a cry of rage, nor song of valor.

"I'm sorry. I failed you again, may I find a hell deserving of me beyond death's threshold" Solemn and pale, a single tear caresses his cheek, before darkness closes its foul arms over him, and all fades to ash.

Ordaelas whirled, his upraised forearm parrying the fist of his last foe with a sonorous

clang that pealed across the snow kissed plain as he lunged past, flaming hand closing into molten fist, as tears of rage and sorrow ignite his cheeks with comets of fire.

Gru'Mios sits alone at the head of gnarled table, his sallow features buried in calloused palms. Sorrow rakes its talons of fire and ice across his leaden heart. Haggard and wheezing, his bloodied breath hisses between parted lips and collects upon the rough hewn timber against which his chin rests. Orcs were not known to cry; yet Gru'Mios, wept all the same.

Yellowed nails rang against metal as Gru'Mios screamed in anguish and sorrow, his powerful hands raking across Ordaelas' face, tearing his scales like parchment, and scattering the dark almonds to scarred earth amid deafening screech and squeal. Hatred burned deep in his eyes as he gazed upon the dissipating mist, and beheld the corpses of his clansmen, of the last mortals ever to leap from Faerun's scarred womb. Blood leaked beneath clasped fingers as he tore away the plates of his foe's hide, wisps of steam and smoke hissing into his face with every breath hissing through Ordaelas' armored lips.

Ribs crunched and shattered, caving beneath the force of this Dark Prophet's blows as his iron fists rang home, punching through the Orc's armor, and caving his body with unholy strength. Tears streamed along his face as Faerun's last Orc tore free great writhing strands of his foe's armor, freeing pale flesh to the Sun's hateful gaze.

Fear, rancid and foul, surged through Ordaelas' body as Gru'Mios battered his armored frame, driving mighty blows home amid the soft crunch of splintering cartilage and bone, sending Ordaelas to his knees with thick scarlet tendrils leaking from his ruined face. Torchlight eyes met the hateful gaze of the last king of Orcs, whose fists rained their iron hailstorm upon the monster who stole his valor, knuckles splintering and shattering, fingers slickened and gleaming with blood both his and the foul ichor of the God Slayer. Great, jagged scars arched across the monster's face, every blow shuddering his entire body, and whipping his armored head aside, with the sheer might of this last Orc's measureless wrath.

Metal splintered, driving ragged spears deep into his flaming eye as Ordaelas reared, his jaws gaping wide in deafening scream.

Helplessly, a child gazes upon the fires of his homeland, the last smiles of his parents branded into his pale eyes. Tears carve thin paths along ashen features as he leans back, inclining his head to the heavens as a scream of rage and pain bursts from his lips. Pale fingers close around his bloodied knees as he screams again, sorrow closing its icy fist tight around his weary heart. Darkness fills his veins with molten iron as he gazes heavenward with plaintive eyes.

"There is no God" he whispers.

"There is no God!" Screaming the blasphemous words, he surrenders to grief, and the darkness closes fully upon his once innocent soul. Ordaelas is no more, for only darkness inhabits his body, and only sorrow, surges through his veins.

Ordaelas' eyes blazed with fresh hate as he surged to his feet, iron fingers closing tight around the Orc's fist, a single motion causing the steel threads of tendons to erupt along his entire arm, as with sonorous moan, his adversary's fist shattered, flattening within the cage of his steel palm and notched fingers. Flame burst from his lips, washing over Gru'Mios with the hissing of a thousand thousand serpents to herald its approach; a single blow peeling back the Orc's flesh, and blackening his bones, yet still, Gru'Mios would not fall.

Gruumish's wrath filled the dying Orc with impossible strength, and even as Ordaelas' molten breath cascaded over him, he lunged onward: fist of adamantite crashing against his foe's iron jaw, wrenching his head aside, and spraying the cone of fire across pale earth. Stiffened fingers clattered against the monster's throat, finding the edges of an almond plate, and

tearing it aside, spilling the foul blood of Ordaelas across the scarred plain of ash and stone.

Screams of agony ring sharp and piercing in his ears, as Gru'Mios raises his head from the rough hewn table, its tattered fingerprints marring sallow features with raised marks. Tears stream along his features as he gazes to the heavens, fists of iron clenching tight against the pain of sorrow that threatens to extinguish the last sparks of light. Timber groans and squeals as a single blow cleaves the massive table in two, raining splinters and iron fastenings upon the shuddering Orc as steam hisses between his lips, and pain fills his eyes.

Lightning pulses and branches across the scarlet depths of murky pupils as he screams again in utter hatred, turning his gaze to the heavens once more as he howls in purest fury.

"Give me strength, Gruumish. Steel me against the monster who vanquished my clans, who scattered Faerun in ashes to the winds! Give me your strength, that I may assail the creature with the hate of all my fallen brothers. Wrap my fists in thy mail, my shoulders in thy plate, and I will slay the Prophet of Shadow!"

Slowly, he sinks to his knees amid the devastation, his eyes boring into the arched ceiling as if some answer waited hidden upon its rough hewn surface.

"This I promise you, my brothers, my clans, my God. I will slay him, even if I must fall to carry him with me"

"You stole my children! My Brothers! My Clans!" Each word was punctuated by a mighty blow that rocked Ordaelas back, staggering him beneath its uncanny force. Shattered bone screamed in protest, yet its cries fell upon deaf ears as the last Orc stumbled on, dragging lifeless leg and coughing his life onto the dark stone with every breath.

"The Gods-" Ordaelas caught another blow upon his metal forearm, splitting the air with a foul shriek.

"-stole" Armored fist crashed between the orc's ribs, lancing between their calcified fingers and driving the air from his lungs amid thin stream of crimson.

"-mine!" The last word burst from Ordaelas' lips as he lunged onward, armored knuckles shattering the Orc's protectively raised arm, and caving his last intact ribs beneath great sweeping blows that hurled him like child's doll cast in anger, sending him limply across the ragged stone, painting vast streaks of crimson across Faerun's dying body.

Ordaelas claws at the stone, his pale fingers spilling his life upon the stone as he screams in rage, fires smouldering in the dark pits of his eyes as he howls the last of his light into the darkness.

"By the ice in my soul" He staggers to his feet.

"By the iron in my bones" He gazes to the heavens, fists clenched in anger.

"By the steel of my hands" Ordaelas' breath fills the air with ashen veil of steam as hate shatters his voice.

"I swear I will kill you all!"

Ordaelas leapt upon the last Orc, his fists lancing downward with all of his hate.

Gru'Mios' cries faded silent into the dying light.

Chapter 8

"I have done as you asked" Ordaelas' words hissed and clattered past armored lips, veiling the air with steam and cinder.

"And you shall be rewarded. Your wish, is granted" Even as the Ring's words pealed in his skull like the blow of hammer on shield, a low hum filled the silence; tendrils of crimson power leaking outward from the glowing ring on his iron finger.

"Steel thyself, my haggard prize. The kings of heavens await" Almond of darkness ringed in electric blue, burst to life before Ordaelas: a man sized portal through which he strode without hesitation. The Kings of Heaven were finally within his reach, and he would not stay his blade now.

Many days passed amid shower of blood and pain, Ordaelas' blade cleaving the flesh of Gods as the gates of their realms yawned wide, his darkness becoming all the blacker with each god whose soul he claimed. Golden ichor stained armored lips as he consumed their hearts, claiming the strength of his foes, as his own.

Terror shrouded their hearts in ice and minds in ash as the Gods retreated, falling back as their realms collapsed beneath his power: a scythe of crimson trailing from his blade with each strike, and painting the heavens in broad slashes where once stars gleamed.

Yet he charged not into their dark midst as with A.O himself standing at their head, the once arrogant gods, coalesced into a mighty army, all the stronger than any man had ever birthed, and thrice so vast. Instead, the Slayer of Gods turned on his armored heel, sheathing his blade of the dying morn across his plated back, as he strode with downturned eyes and creaking joints, into the abyss' foul darkness.

"How many wishes will you grant?" He hissed, directing his voice inward.

"Until my corruption darkens your soul to the foulest of shades, until madness takes your sanity, and ice courses through your veins, I will give shape to your desires"

"Then spread fresh life across Faerun"

"Such a monumental task, and futile. Mortals are so feeble, so helpless, so fragile, able to be slain by a wayward breath from careless god. Are you certain?"

"In your name I slew them. In my name, raise them" Grimly, Ordaelas' features hardened as he spoke, steeling himself against the agony sure to follow.

"As you wish"

Fresh scales tore from his body, darkness fouling his heart as plated lips and iron teeth ground together in desperate attempt to silence the cry welling in his chest. Almond plate and scythelike talons cloaked his body, and pain shot through his body with every haggard breath, as ribs bulged. Flesh tore with a sickly howl like dampened bedsheet rent in two with poorly sharpened blade, and now, Ordaelas did cry out.

New light blazed amid the darkness of Faerun.

New darkness welled inside his soul.

One Mortal's last mortality fled his body.

And only darkness reigned.

Mist curled in tendrils of soot along his armored frame as Ordaelas strode across the abyss; the pained cries of tormented souls falling heavy upon him.

"Summon them to me" He whispered.

"Lest my message reach the ears of few, and its words fall leaden in vain."

"As you wish"

All the brighter, did the tendrils of light blaze along his frame, as Ordaelas reeled in

agony, stumbling back a pace as several fresh scales erupted from his body, lying in gleaming plates along his mighty frame as the mist around him grew thin.

Amid sea of mist and pain, stood the endless forms of a thousand thousand races brought down by time or steel across all of Faerun's life. Feeling their eyes upon him, Ordaelas straightened, metal groaning and creaking with each motion, as his plated frame slowly rose to its towering height, the steel spears of his backbone grating loudly against the almond plates that framed it.

"Let my words and image reach them all" He murmured, stiffening against a sudden burst of pain, as ragged scales clinked free, and new, longer scythes shrouded his body with glittering edge and starlight plane.

"The gods rule you no longer!" Bellowing, his words easily reached all gazing upon him, despite the vast distance between.

"They ignore their mortal children, leave them to suffer, to plead, to perish without ever knowing whether their Lord will accept them, or leave their souls to rot forgotten amid the abyss' foul darkness. No more. With these hands, I have slain the gods themselves! With this blade, I have sliced your bonds, with the torch of my rage, I have banished the darkness!"

"You killed the gods?" One man whispered, sinking to his knees amid the soft creak of leather. "You've doomed us all to an eternity of nothingness!"

"No. They did that much themselves. Come with me, seek revenge upon those who dared cast you here, and leave forgotten, their faithful servants, seek revenge upon those who with arrogance gazed upon the dedication of their followers, and left them to suffer in squalor all the same!"

"Fool!" Vermillion robes swirled around the man's calves as he vaulted to his feet, lightning sparking and writhing amid the chestnut depths of his eyes.

"Expect praise? Expect our love? Our adoration? You just killed the very beings to which we pledged our souls, for which we spent our lives!"

"You spent your lives in futile search for love they would not give!" Ordaelas spat, ash and flames hissing between his armored lips.

"You've killed us all, monstrous fool"

"Hear me, faithless and faithful! The Gods do not care for you. They harvest you. They use you, harness the strength of your will, and feed upon it. If they were the loving deities to which you pledged your souls, would they have left you to suffer? Would they have let a child's homeland burn? I killed the children of Faerun, and many of those that fell to my blade now stand before me, or suffer in the living wall forged of the Faithless. What almighty lord, what sympathetic entity, would let their children suffer? Would let their children be forgotten?"

"The kind busy stopping those like you"

"You would die forgotten! You would rot alone in the darkness! They advance upon this place. Their siege will destroy us all! Stand with me, unless you wish to be destroyed by those you worship"

"I would rather die forgotten"

Ordaelas grated his teeth in rage, cinders and ash drifting between his lips as he screamed in purest hate.

"Will you all fade silent beneath their heel? WIll none of you take up arms against your oppressors? WIll none of you stand with me against the foul gods?!"

In response, the mass dissipated, the lost souls scattering like ashes to the winds as Ordaelas fell to his knees.

"I can make them agree with you. Say the word, and their will, is yours to command"

"I will not commit the same sin as those I fight against. Their will is their own. I will not

usurp it."

"Then you have failed."

"Not quite. I have yet to stand before those abandoned by the gods evermore: bring me to the Living Wall of the Faithless."

"As you desire"

Like the wind's mournful cries, all was shrouded in the moans of utter despair, as Ordaelas emerged from mist shrouded lands, standing before a vast wall forged of writhing bodies who with every breath voiced their all consuming lament.

"Augment my voice, let them see my image"

Pain shot through his body as the Ring's hissing words filled his weary mind with their foul sibilance.

"As you command, so to shall it be done"

Steeling himself, Ordaelas raised his voice, a thunderous bellow rolling from his broad chest as he addressed the faithless of Faerun.

"The gods despise you. They care not for the fate of their wayward children, care not for the anguish their errors cause, care not for the torment of every breath that rattles past your lips. Now, they advance upon this realm in a divine army to rival any upon which your eyes have ever lain. Take arms against the gods! Stand with me, or be ground beneath their heels like the insects for which they see you!"

Ordaelas paced across the mist shrouded earth, his armored soles grating and screaming across the uneven stone with each burdened stride.

"I beg you. Rise up against them, lest you perish forgotten"

Among the writhing limbs and moaning throats, a single voice rose, a wavering tone thin and frail, worn like river stone, and similarly haggard.

"My sword is yours. I owe the gods nothing; they left me to rot amid this rancid darkness! Cut me from this seething mass, and I will pay back every torment they left me to suffer"

Ordaelas grinned, raising his voice to a thunderous peal as he all but screamed in response:

"Is he alone?! Will you stand with me?!"

Their response deafened him.

From the heart of darkness a thousand thousand torches gleamed; rage in every eye and hate in every blade. An army to rival all man had ever forged strode across the craggy land, a shining figure of steel and crimson at their head with blade raised to the heavens and steam veiling his entire body in strands of pale ash.

Ordaelas raised an iron clad hand, gesturing for his comrades to halt as their neared the peak of a mist cloaked rise; a summit nearly thrice again the height of any mortal outcropping, yet only half so debilitating an ascent.

"Steel yourselves. Death comes for us now"

"Death has had us, death had grown weary of our poor company. The gods deserve only the torment to which they dared consign their children. Our steel is yours, Ordaelas. Lead us to victory"

Smiling despite the fear whose icy fist closes fast about his heart, a warrior leans down, placing his armored hand upon the trembling Ordaelas' shoulder, gazing into his young features with warm smile quirked across his lips.

"Why are you afraid, young one?"

"Death comes for us all!" Ordaelas drags a leather bound forearm across his eyes, angrily brushing away the tears that well amid their starlight depths.

"Does he now? Well let's give him a grand show then!" The soldier strokes his greying beard in thought, then reaching some silent conclusion, draws his slender dirk from his sheath amid the soft hiss of steel on leather.

"Lead us to victory, young one." He kneels, offering the finely crafted blade to the trembling child, who gathers himself, and blushing a fiery shade of scarlet, accepts the weapon.

"I cannot lead us, you know that" Ordaelas whispers, gazing to the earth with a remarkable interest.

"Bah! Anyone can lead regardless of his age. All that matters is the steel of his heart and the iron of his bones. Do not fear, child. You are stronger than any of us. Lead us to victory"

Ordaelas remembered the man's parting words, his promise to protect this trembling child, when he still trembled as if the winter's breath washed over him in summer's stead.

"Aye" Scarlet tears escaped his eyes as he remembered the fear in that warrior's eyes when he fell, the blood staining his lips as Faerun's tears stain the earth; the unspoken sorrow that flickered across his face, before death took him.

"I'll lead you to victory"

Chapter 9

A.O twirled his bronze scimitar expertly as he stood upon golden outcropping, gazing into the darkness of the abyss. Yet his confidence, was untrue: within the mighty plate of amber veined in starlight, within broad chest and behind mighty lung, his heart trembled with an emotion he had never felt in all his time: fear. Its rancid taste filled his maw as he gazed downward, his shimmering eyes glittering as he took in the steel clad monster who dared slay his own gods.

"How foolish I was. When my children fell to their knees before me, I looked away. When they screamed for a blade to save them, mine lay rusting in its sheath, and now, my children have fallen. So many stars now lay dark and lifeless; pits of ash amid the worn heavens."

Sorrow filled his veins with tendrils of ice as he gazed onward, a single tear arching along his bronze cheek like fallen star creasing the heavens.

"Now the mortals stand at his side. This may well be the end of the gods" He turned, eyes of glistening starlight, sweeping over the endless ranks lain before him, the kneeling frames of his remaining children as numerous as Faerun's many stars, struggling to quell the fear that seethed through their veins, and with taloned fist, closed upon their grieving hearts.

"The next dawn, may never greet you, my children. This is one monster, that may stand against us until we fall"

Ordaelas gazed upward, a ribbon of gold drifting across the ashen sky; a portal through which the gods would surge with death on every blade and hate in every eye. Like tide of molten iron they would sweep across this realm, and only charred nothingness would remain in their foul wake.

A child falls to his knees, a sob welling in his chest as his parents' last smiles brand their image upon his starlight eyes, and darkness closes its chill fist upon weary heart.

Clenching his fist amid the squeal of metal on metal, Ordaelas: Slayer of Gods, gazed to the heavens with lighting coursing through his eyes.

"Cast off thy fear, my children. Rise against this threat, or it will consume you. Stand, gods of Faerun, or you shall never rise again"

A.O returned his fiery gaze to the ribbon of blackness amid the veil of light, his lips moving in unison to those of his foe, as both spoke in a dark harmony.

"By the ice in my blood" Both warriors tensed, preparing for the battle to come.

"By the iron of my bones" Blades hissed across the air as both raised their weapons to the sky.

"By the steel of my hands" Steam pulsed between parted lips as one last phrase burst forth.

"I swear: I will kill you all"

Chapter 10

Thunder rolled across the abyss, driving deep, the frigid stake of fear, into the hearts of all. Shattering like poorly forged iron splintering against blade of steel, the heavens burst apart, cascading downward in a thousand thousand arrows of shining amber.

With a bellow of purest hate on his lips, and the demonic strength of the gods' own stolen blood, pulsing through his veins, Ordaelas charged, his warriors spilling along the mighty descent at his back.

Tendrils of blinding light curled and lashed across the air as gods and mortals clashed, screams of agony rolling like the great pealing cries of thunder, and the murky earth was soon littered in mortal corpses, as gods exhaled death and pain into the ranks of bastard kin.

Ordaelas saw only the blinding flash of his blade as it parried and thrust, cleaving outstretched hands and shattering upraised sword amid shower of amber dust. Many times, he cleaved in two, their terrified features, leaving tongue lolling mindlessly from maw that closed no more, as the monster collapsed limp to the earth; many times, he swept dazzling blade across broad waist or massive chest, filling his wake with steaming ichor and cooling bodies.

Yet so to, did A.O carve a path deep into the fray, his blade of amber flashing briefly across the air as the weapons of his foes bent and distorted against his body, leaving his adversaries astonished and helpless before his divine sword.

Scythes of light and darkness cleaved across the morass of blood and pain, the last mortals forming a shining arrowhead around the sterling frame of Ordaelas, as with broad, sweeping blow, and crescent band of dusk, he surged onward: each stride filling the tempest of screams and bellows with the harsh squeal of steel on stone.

Each scream of his newfound comrades, veiled his thoughts all the more in rage's thick, all consuming mist. Scarlet light blazed from his almond eyes in a blinding cone as breath of fire and blade of the dying twilight swept forth.

Every wailing howl of agony, dredged the image of that aging soldier from the depths of his mind, and once more branded it upon his bloodstained vision. Around light's single pinpoint, closed the dark maw of his foes, extinguishing his comrades amid the crunch of steel on bone, and the hissing call that rang forth with every impact of magic upon mortal flesh.

Six men remained at his side, as Ordaelas ground to a halt, his weapon held in diagonal guard as the last of his great army gazed upon him with plaintive eyes and tear streaked features.

"All is lost, is it not" Clad in blood darkened leather, a man faced outward with his fellows, blade pointed against the seething morass beyond.

"Aye. I have failed you again" Ordaelas lowered his steel head, steam hissing between his lips.

"The hell you have! Stand tall, beast of darkness: you've given us the chance to strike back! Save us now or let us fall, you've given us a reason to die"

Tears streamed along Ordaelas' face as he screamed in rage and helplessness, his cry striking flint to the timbers of fear lain amid his foe's hearts, igniting a cold fire that filled their veins.

"Strike true, my friends!" Ordaelas crashed through the barrier of darkness, his blade sweeping across the darkness. "Strike true"

No more, did the warriors scream as death took them, and as the last of his comrades fell, a smile quirked across his lips.

"I never thought we might slay our gods, Ordaelas. I never thought we could strike back at those who abandoned us to this foul plane. In whatever realm lies beyond, I will await you."

Death stole the last words from his lips, his breath dying in his throat as with lopsided grin frozen upon his features, the warrior slumped to the earth. Vines of molten iron filled Ordaelas' frame as he inclined his head to the heavens, and screamed purest rage. Blade of the dying morn clattered to the earth as he inhaled sharply.

"Give me the power to vanquish them all"

Pain filled his body, yet he clung to sanity by the anchor of hate, his iron fingers twitching and convulsing as branches of lightning coursed between them, his maw glittering with filaments of magic and sea of flame as a great sonorous hiss filled the air, a low wail like the breath of mighty drake, terrifying in its length, and the great blow it foretold.

Blades clanged against his hide, yet all simply warped and shattered upon his body as he leaned back, inclining his head and arching plated neck as breath hissed through ashen teeth, a low hum of power filling the air as every element of Faerun collected in the depths of his gullet, and rose to his call.

His breath did not shudder, when the hailstorm of power smote him, did not falter when fist and axe crashed home, did not cease even when thick beam of magic burrowed through his chest, and carried great tendrils of scarlet writhing into the night.

"Lead us to victory, child"

"I can't! I am afraid!"

The aged warrior nodded, expecting this.

"Do not fear. I will let no harm come to you"

Ordaelas lowered himself into a crouch, chest swelling as impossibly, breath continued to fill his straining lungs, iron ribs bending and warping to accept their new volume. In dark harmony, the blades of his foes clanged against his body, tearing away almond scale, and rending apart the flesh beneath.

Bellowing, the aging man lunged beneath sweeping blade, his weapon diving between the man's ribs, trailing a scythe of crimson as he pivoted beyond, blade of shining steel leaping up to parry another broad stroke. Yet as he rises, blood erupts from his mouth, and collapsing amid the creaking moan of leather, he reveals the triumphant warrior standing behind him with bloodstained blade raised to the heavens, and gleeful cry upon his lips.

Yet all the same, the nameless man offers one last smile as he falls, then death robs the light from his eyes, and trembling, a child stands amid the corpses of men.

Slowly, the child sinks to his knees, dropping a finely crafted dagger to the earth as tears leak between his fingers. Ordaelas opens his mouth in silent cry, as an armored boot crashes against his temple, and darkness takes him in its soft, warm arms.

Slowly, Ordaelas rose, his body leaking foul ichor from every crescent gash, his scales lay discarded at his feet like the leaves of iron tree fallen to the earth as the spectre of spring, slips past with an apology silent on her lips. Hate fills his eyes as his breath tapers off, tendrils of pure magic filling his maw with electric blue as he gazes upon the heartless gods.

Hell spilled from his lips.

SIlently, the gods folded to the earth, their essence scattered like ashes in the wind, as his breath washed over them, burning all to cinders, save for one figure alone in the maelstrom of light and darkness. Like beast of ash hunched and pained against the Sun, a frame of obsidian stands against the canvas of blinding light.

A.O brandished his weapon of dusk, each stride pained as he stumbled onward, his blade shining like the shattered moon, as with the grating of steel on stone, he shambled toward the Godslayer.

"I failed them. I failed them all" Unable to speak, the words merely echo in his skull, as A.O strained against the fire, his bronze flesh peeling back, and ichor hardening in his veins.

"They begged me to save them" Stark emerald light coiled around his body in sweeping plates shot through with veins of a shade all the darker.

"They pleaded for a shield to block that lethal stroke, a sword to parry his. Yet mine lay at my side, mine simply decorated my throne" Rage filled the God of gods as he lunged onward, striding against the tempest of magic that seared his body and filled his lungs with pain.

"I am sorry, my children. I could not save you, I did not save you. Now, I can only-" Steam burst from his lips as the warrior lowered himself upon his left leg, bracing his heel against the craggy earth as eyes of sapphire and amber glowed with purest hatred stoked and heated for anguish's touch.

"-avenge you"

Magic plate screamed against stone as he launched himself onward, blade of amber slicing upward to cleave the gale of blinding sapphire amid arc of dawn's heavenly gold. His fist arched forth, crashing against his jaw, and forcing closed, the aperture through which the hell of gods escaped amid a sharp crack.

Ordaelas stumbled back, yet his eyes still blazed with endless fury, electric blue tendrils leaking between his lips and coiling from his nostrils as he pivoted closer, his ragged scales hammering a foul cadence against his exposed bones as he thrust and slashed, his forearms and fists battering the amber blade of his foe.

"You stole my homeland!" Knuckles of ragged steel, howled and moaned as his fist arched past, slamming into the diagonal blade.

"You killed my parents, my comrades, everyone that ever I knew!" Hatred filled his coarse voice as Ordaelas charged near, battering his opponent's weaving blade.

"You stole my humanity" A.O's blade shattered into a thousand thousand motes of amber silt.

"And for that, you will die" Darkness fell upon A.O, terror crossing his face as Ordaelas surged onward, one stride sending him past the god as his trailing fist shone with a blinding aura of stark blue.

Faerun lies in flames, her children curl at his feet. Rage fills Ordaelas as he gazes to the heavens.

"Why do you not stop me?! Why do you let me slay the world?!" He recalls the fires of his homeland, the sorrow of days so long past.

"In this life or the next" He drives blade of dusk into the ashen soil, emitting a sharp hiss that rolls into the night.

"In this body or another" Steam hisses between his lips upon river of fire, his trembling hands clattering against the weapon's pommel.

"I will never let thy sins go unpunished" Ordaelas reared back, his jaws gaping as a tendril of fire lanced upward to herald his last, rasping words.

"You will know our hell"

Bone splintered and armor tore like parchment as gleaming with a blinding fury to rival that of the Sun itself, Ordaelas' fist plunged through A.O's stomach, spilling his pale ichor into the ashen void as he passed. Slowly, A.O folded to the earth, his flesh dissipating in wisps of amber that writhed and danced upon unheard breeze as the last god of Faerun, shattered.

Ordaelas sank to his knees, fresh scales forming along his weary frame as he gazed upon the ruin before him.

"By the ice of my heart" He coughed a thin tendril of blood, settling back on his haunches as steam and life flowed between his lips.

"By the iron of my bones" Slowly, Ordaelas' eyes closed, peace filling the void in his soul.

"By the steel of my fists" Visions of his homeland in flames faded from his eyes, the image of his parents' last smiles filling him with warmth.

"I have slain you all"

Author's note

I am a freelance writer, who has of yet found none willing to publish my work. If any of you enjoyed the story, and would like to see more, please put in a good word to a literary agent, or a publisher you know. I want to make epic tales for a living, but I cannot do it without your help. Thank you for reading my work, and I look forward to producing another...

Comments? Concerns? Just have a message to pass along? You can contact me any time at 11970

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