Smash, strike stab, as my hands grow numb on the hilt of Masamune. Wrenching it from the cultists ribs in a spray of sparks, I swing backwards, deflecting an overhand strike from behind by ramming the hilt into the Monkee's hand, knocking the cutlass to the earth. Another strike and I shatter the mask.

The shards fall to earth, and the creature shakes its head, chittering at me thankfully before launching itself after its enslaved comrades. Once, this would have brought a smile to my heart, but now it will have to wait. There is no time for such things in the heat of battle, as even now darkness elemental falls to shreds around the light element blade.

Greyor trips past me, the momentum of his fall sending him cartwheeling past, shattering masks left and right, before coming to a halt, SoulClaws firmly buried in a zombie's throat. I shake my head at his antics, as he heaves the zombie into a knot of foes and lashes out with his tail.

Whirling, numb from countless battles, I strike off the head of a skeleton, before a purple werewolf leaps past me to close her jaws on another cultist's throat, tearing it open in a spray of blood and gore. Turning to avoid being blinded by the blood, I intercept another blade aimed for Raven's back. She doesn't spare the time to thank me, simply lunging for her next target.

Once, there would have been a dragon by my side. Now there is no counterpoint to my steps, and I leave myself open when I should not, the habits of partnered battle.

Wading through the mud formed of the blood of my foes, I seize a moment to breathe and down a potion, my gloved hands numb from griping the blade so tightly.

I freed the monkees, and they freed other monkees. If they can be freed, surely my dragon can as well, though there is no mask to shatter.

My respite is over. If I rest too long, the exhaustion of countless battles will catch up, and then I will save no one. Drawing my sword, I leap back into the fray.

I recite the words of the Guardian's Oath in my mind, a litany against despair as the world around me dissolves once more into a whirl of battle, of struggle unending.

We fight for the dawn, the new day that will come, no matter how long the night. We are those who challenge the darkness, again and again and again. We are those who will bring about the dawn that has yet to be. We carry with us the memories of those who have died along the way, every fallen comrade. We are those who pledge our lives to the defense of the innocent, the helpless. We are the Guardians of light and hope, heroes of lore.
I am the Hero of Lore. So long as I can prevent it, darkness will never win.

Not while I draw breath, or while Vayle lives to bar my death and hold me to life for the moglins to heal. I will not allow myself to fall until the wars are done, and the Doom weapons of the ShadowScythe are no more.

I will Battle On.

A.N.: Greyor is a friend of mine who requested an appearance in the story. His character is kind of a clumsy kook, and anyone wondering about the tail has only to go look on his character page. The DF Id is 22561653