Well, hullo guys! :D

I think I'll stick with an update every other week...how does that sound to you guys? Because that gives me time so it's not quite so crappy, and it's not like my usual six-moth hiatuses :)

Soooo...anyway, I actually put up a site, dedicated to my fanfics. You can find Blood Knights on there, as well as a few character profiles. There might be a few extra things on there, but I don't really know. If you do decide to check it out, keep in mind that it's still in the works, and I stilll have to fix A LOT of things. I'm pretty sure its my homepage, unless I haven't changed it from Google

And, I'll put my DeviantArt account link on my profile. I'm hoping to put some of my crappy sketches for BK up there, although they're not up yet :D

Once, again, thanks to my super awesome reviewers!

Kaedwen

SassyOMG2282 (dude...I'm not quite sure why I'm friends with you...:D)

Kenakamatsu

WarWolf95

Hint

and, last but definitely not least, Xoroth!

And I've realized I've been forgetting the disclaimer! Oh Noes! Anyways, I don't own Warcraft :)

Blood Knights

Chapter III

"Welcome to the Tranquillian."

Aleinia shivered, pulling her cloak tighter around herself as she glanced around the god-forsaken place. This region had been aptly renamed the 'Ghostlands'. No longer did it hold any of the Quel'Dorei's former glory. The buildings, which had once been elegant and beautiful, now were covered with what seemed to be a permanent layer of mold and grime, shadows of what they once were. She retreated closer to Sereno, and he placed his heavy chocolate-colored head on her shoulder, his muscles tenser than they should be.

Forsaken leered at their group from the buildings, cackling and pointing. Aleinia felt her face heat up, knowing she was being mocked, and didn't even notice that she had clenched her left fist until Itheal laid a gentle, warning hand on her shoulder. Unclenching the hand, she took a deep breath, making an obvious effort to relax her muscles. He nodded, returning to his position in front of her and behind Vandril. The Arcanist seemed to make a show of parading them through the desolate town, smirking as if he had the Crown Jewels of Stormwind on a silver platter for the Dame.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Sanaden stepping proud, over the mold growing through the cracks of the cobblestone path, looking splendid and almost as intimidating as Itheal in his radiant golden armor. Itheal himself was a sight to behold; his crimson and black armor gleamed menacingly, and he wore his Blood Knight tabard with pride, announcing to the world who he was and what he served. He had removed his ebony colored helm and held it by his side, revealing his well-chiseled face and narrowed jade eyes. At sound of laughter his head would swing towards the source, and his glare was more than enough to silence the perpetrator.

Looking behind her, she saw Mathus and Nalannai standing close to each other, though whether for protection or the comfort of another living creature, she didn't know. For a moment, Mathus gazed at the ground dejectedly, all humor gone from his form, and his raven hair covered his eyes. Then, quite abruptly, his head snapped up, and he stared forward determinedly, refusing to be daunted by these creatures. Nalannai discreetly squeezed his hand, before releasing it, fingering the hilt of her claymore.

Why do they mock us so? She wondered to herself, gazing around in confusion at the twisted beings. Are we not the reinforcement that they so often ask for?

As if reading her mind, Itheal fell in step with her for a moment; "They believe that we are inexperienced and untried whelps that will turn tail and run at the first sight of Scourge." A smirk lit his handsome face for a brief instant. "We'll show 'em eh?" She grinned back.

"Aye," Sanaden's smirk was more than a little feral looking. "Do not let them cow you, Alei. Once they see how well we drive back those abominations of the Lich King, they will give us the respect we deserve.

A few blood elves were starting to emerge from the dank structures, and thankfully, they met the Blood Knight group with a much warmer reception. As Itheal passed, they smiled, and a few even bowed.

They were a ragtag group of elves; while some of their clothing might have been high-quality once, now most seemed to be stained with blood and encrusted with grime. Most had simply abandoned such garments in favor of sturdy britches, and tough woolen shirts. Some of the better-equipped citizens had donned leather, and some even had gotten a hold of some poor-quality chain-mail. A good number had weak daggers, hammers, or even feeble swords strapped to their belts. Aleinia's hand rested on the hilt of her Blood Knight war-blade self-consciously.

The blood red steel blade, enchanted with powerful spells, a sword sent to her from the Blood Knight trainers, was fitted to her fighting style perfectly. Itheal had made sure of this when he had blades made for his group; hers was tailored to a quick slash-bash-and-duck style, while Sanaden's broadsword made sure he could catch any blow. Mathus carried a shorter than average sword, which, once again, fitted his style of twisting and turning, as a longer blade would have slowed him down and surely caused his demise. Nalannai, surprisingly enough, carried a shield and longsword, for beneath her frail-looking exterior, she was incredibly strong, and fury only powered her even more. Any of their weapons would have easily sliced through those flimsy needles. And Silvermoon expected them to fend off the Scourge with them? It couldn't be done. The only truly well-equipped ones seemed to be the Ghostlands Guardians and the odd ranger here and there.

After what seemed like an eternity, Vandril, delivered them to the front of a dome-shaped building, putting on a respectful face and bowing. Turning his blond head, he swiftly walked down the path, before a young Ranger caught him, glowering at the Blood Knights with smoldering green eyes. As they passed through the arch of an entrance, his complaint could be clearly heard.

"Vandril," the young man hissed, "How could you deliver those…those snotty, conceited light-lobbers to the Dame before me? She needs to know about Ranger Valanna!"

Vandril glared at him down the bridge of his nose, before straightening his grubby robes. "Take care, Lethvalin not to insult those 'light-lobbers' as you so chose to call them. Lady Liadrin has sent us competent ones this time. Not like that other group, the ones that were killed during the first ambush…fools. The lot of them were utter fools, putting themselves out in the open and waving around their swords like that." He chuckled coolly. "Perhaps these Knights will survive for more than a day. Angering them would only, in turn, anger Lady Liadrin. She would pull these paladins out, and not only would you have lost us our back-up, but you would also bring the wrath of Dame Auforious and the entire Tranquillian upon you."

Lethvalin resigned himself to a grudging silence, leaning against the wall of the dome.

Aleinia gasped, hearing his words, and turned to Itheal, her eyes wide. He sighed, shaking his head.

"I didn't want you guys to find out about that…" He murmured. Mathus gave him a level stare until he began to speak again. "The last group that was sent here- Dawnbough's trainees- they decided to charge right into Deatholme, without Knight Dawnbough nor Dame Auforious's permission. They were dead within minutes. I'm sure you four saw her wandering around Silvermoon after…" His soft sounded bitter, Aleinia noticed. "She was out of her mind with grief." Shaking his head, he walked into the building.

Aleinia's breath caught in her throat, and her large emerald eyes met Nalannai's almond-shaped ones. Her shock was reflected there, along with a measure of fear. Eliani Dawnbough; she was always so bright and happy…and her group! Nyolan, he was an arrogant ass, but he certainly didn't deserve to die like that. And Onealia! She was such a sweetheart, always offering tarts and sweets to the orphans…

For a moment, Nalannai, Aleinia, Mathus and Sanaden simply stared at each other, dreading walking through the door that might lead to their downfall. Sanaden was the first to move, gritting his jaw.

"Fate is indeed a cruel master," He quoted, but smirked. "But fate is not our master. We will not die." He sounded so sure, so confident, that it reassured his teammates. The four took deep breaths, straightened their shoulders and set their jaws, striding into the room.

At its center stood a tiny, slender woman, wearing surprisingly clean crimson robes, embroidered with gold thread. Red hair was held back by a red ornament that matched her fine clothes. Her face though, was anything but that. Her eyebrows her hawk like, her eyes calculating. Her jaw was strong, leading to a stubborn chin, and as she performed a traditional Sin'dorei greeting, they could see her hands were callused from work. They bowed back, before spreading out behind Itheal, as was supposedly expected.

"You are Sir Itheal Bloodstriker?" Itheal dipped his head in acknowledgement.

"Yes, my lady. What are your orders?" He asked and she shook her head. For the first time, Aleinia noticed a forsaken behind her. This must be…High Executer Malvren? Like all Forsaken, he was sinister looking, but maybe less so than others. His skin, thankfully, seemed to be mostly intact, and both eyes remained in their sockets, although they seemed to roll around a bit. He was clothed in black leathers, and held a menacing looking sword in his hand.

"For now, I simply wish for you to assimilate yourself with the people, so you become a familiar face, and they trust you. In one week's time, though, I wish for you return to me." Barely concealed relief flashed across Mathus's face. "Dismissed."

/0/0/0

Itheal glowered slightly, glancing the hand he had been dealt. It had been a week already, yet the Dame hadn't called for them.

So here he was, playing what must be his thousandth game of cards with Mathus, the Cook, a Forsaken Blacksmith, a Forsaken Deathstalker, and the innkeeper. They were all hopeless cases when it came to poker and gin, even by Itheal's standards, which were, in fact, not very high, if you take his own skill into consideration. Mathus had won about ninety-five percent of the rounds, with the other five percent being the rounds in which he took pity on Itheal and the Tranquillian citizens. Somehow, Mathus confided in him, he had to work to lose, rather than win. He would have thought that, with barely anything else to do, the people would be legendary car players. He guessed wrong.

Sanaden was taking his job of befriending the inhabitants quite seriously, and had memorized the name of almost every resident on the first night. In particular, he had taken an interest in the Flightmaster, Gloaming's counterpart, the Innkeeper, Deathstalker Maltendis, and a graceless huntress around his own age who was obviously infatuated with him. For the moment, though, he was locked in conversation with Kelliria Brightwing, the sister of Halduron Brightwing, and the mentor of the very huntress who was smitten with him.

Nalannai had turned on all the wit and charm she had been taught in her younger years by private tutors on manners. Soon, almost every occupant of the Tranquillian had taken a liking for the friendly, sweet, soft-spoken girl. She had made a point of going around the town and helping wherever she was needed. You needed help killing murlocs? Need supplies for the Dame's meal? She was your girl. The only thing she had refused, to the best of his knowledge, was to hold a Forsaken's detached hand while he put his shoulder back in its socket.

He had been suspecting relationship of some type budding between Nalannai and Mathus; he would often catch Mathus gazing at the pale young woman, looking like a love-struck puppy. Every so often Nalannai would look up, and, catching him staring, turn a bright red. Mathus, responding as only Mathus would normally, would blow her a kiss and wink, making her blush even deeper. What had really confirmed his suspicions, though, was when he walked in on the two on a darker than usual night. He had been making his way towards his room in the inn when his sharp ears caught a murmuring. It was Mathus's voice, yet he was talking so quietly that he couldn't figure out what the boy was saying. Pinpointing its source, he had found a room, light only by a small flickering candle in the center, judging by the dim light seeping out. Creaking open the door, he saw Mathus and Nalannai sitting across from each other, separated by a worn table. He was saying something that made her smile, and stroking her cheek softly. She had giggled quietly, and then leaned forward, her eyes closed. Their faces were scant centimeters apart when Itheal cleared his throat.

The two sprung apart as if struck by lightning, Mathus even falling out of his chair. Itheal had smirked at them, holding back a laugh, before waving.

"Just wanted to say g'night." He had said, grinning like a fiend. "Have fun with whatever you were doing." He had then walked out, chuckling. The next day, the two avoided Itheal like the plague. He knew it was only a matter of time until they got together though; the saying 'opposites attract' had never been truer. Mathus was extroverted and blunt, while Nalannai was a little more…tactful.

Aleinia though…she had shown a completely different side of her in the Tranquillian, and he didn't quite know what to think of it. Currently, she was seated at a table against the wall with a flirtatious ranger that was passing through. He was leaning in towards her, witty things just dripping off his lips, as she blushed and giggled, covering her mouth with calloused, pale hands. Feeling slightly irritated, for unknown reasons, he averted his gaze to his cards. Or at least he tried, but hearing the Ranger compliment every aspect of Aleinia's eyes every five seconds wasn't the best thing to help him concentrate.

Gritting his teeth, he glared at the two. What in Azeroth was Aleinia doing? What had happened to the sometimes-clumsy, down-to-earth, fighter he had trained? He hadn't realized he was crushing his cards until the Deathstalker plucked them from his hands, grinning.

"Let's take the 'Don't hate the player, hate the game' sentiment down a notch." He said, in his guttural voice, typical of a Forsaken. Startled, Itheal jumped, taking his gaze off Aleinia.

"Ehm…yeah. Right. Sorry." He stumbled over the words, embarrassed. The Forsaken chuckled, turning to see what Itheal had been looking at, and whistled.

"She's a pretty one, eh?" He asked, and Itheal's eyes widened.

"She's my student." He said bluntly, and The Deathstalker shrugged. It occurred to Itheal that he had never bothered to learn the man's name, simply referring to him as 'The Forsaken', or 'The Deathstalker'.

"So? Student teacher relationships aren't uncommon, last time I checked. Back when I was human, I married my student." The Forsaken said, and grinned at Aleinia when she realized he was looking at her. The elf flushed, turning away. Itheal shook his head stubbornly.

"I don't think I could do something like that; I know her too well, and I bet she'd feel odd with someone ten years older than her…" He sighed, sipping his cup of water, as the Forsaken looked at him curiously.

"But you're not totally against courting her." He stated, and Itheal shook his head, realizing he had put his foot in his mouth. Instead of responding, he asked another question.

"How much older were you than your wife?" He asked, and the Deathstalker had to think for a moment.

"I believe….I think Rose was fifteen years younger than me," He whispered, his golden eyes wistful.

"Is she…" He hesitated, not knowing how to phrase such a question.

"No. She was part of the Scourge. I had to cut her down myself." He said brusquely, and Itheal nodded.

"I'm sorry…" He muttered, but the Deathstalker waved him off, and gulped his ale. Itheal was slightly perturbed by the fact he could see it sliding down the man's throat, through a gap of skin.

"Don't. It was necessary; time moves on, you get over it." The Forsaken's eyes said otherwise. They sat in companionable silence for a moment, before Itheal looked up.

"What was your name again?"

"Aric Chadwick, at your service." He responded, and Itheal raised an eyebrow.

"You're that Forsaken that's involved with Kelliria Brightwing?" He asked, and Aric nodded.

"Yeah…like I said, you can get over loss," Grinning, he looked over to the hunter. She was animated, emphasizing her point by waving her arms, her green eyes bright in her tan face. They lapsed into silence, and Itheal mulled over Aric's words. 'She's a pretty one, eh?' 'But you're not against courting her'

He ran his eyes down her body for a moment; true, she was pretty. She wasn't quite beautiful though; her features would be considered nice-looking rather than gorgeous, cute rather than sexy. Her glowing green eyes were large, and stood out against her milky white skin. Her nose was tiny, and sharp, though not unattractively so. Her jaw was fine, her chin stubborn, and she had slim shoulders. His eyes traveling downwards, he took in her figure. As a result of three years of training, her back was straight almost all the time when she was standing or sitting. While her bosom wasn't particularly large, her waist was tiny, before flaring out into her hips, and then elongated leg. Legs that always seem to be tripping, he thought, a small smile lighting his lips.

Sighing, he rested his chin on his hand. Would he truly be willing to court her? Probably not. He knew she was infatuated with him, but he was desperately hoped it was simply a girlhood crush, for her sake. He wouldn't want to hurt her, for even if he did court her, it would end up with broken hearts. He was a player at heart, and that would only cause heartache for her. He sighed again. He couldn't hurt her like that; he was too close to her, and, well, he did have a conscience. Besides, he was involved with Tashia.

"Master Bloodstriker?" It was the Arcanist again. Raising his head, Itheal cocked an eyebrow at the frail-looking mage. Vandril had proven himself to be a little more pleasant than he was on their impression, but Itheal and his students didn't particularly take a liking to him. He tended to love the spotlight, although he generally cared for the Tranquillian.

"Yes, Bamanlinie?" He asked, purposely using Vandril's first name just to irk him. He succeeded and smirked upon seeing the Arcanist flinch unintentionally.

"I recall telling you, Master Bloostriker," He growled through gritted teeth, "to call me Vandril." He spun around and glared at Aric as a chuckle escaped the Forsaken's chapped lips. Standing up, Aric grabbed the Arcanist's shoulder.

"Is that any way to treat old friends?" Aric inquired politely, "See here, we're all buddies. I call you Bamanlinie, we call him Itheal, and you call me Aric, eh?" Vandril glowered, shaking off the two men's grip.

"We are comrades," He hissed, "But certainly not friends, Deathstalker Chadwick." Itheal held back a chuckle as Aric sighed.

"And now I got myself thinkin' you were nice. Thanks for breaking my heart." He said sarcastically. Vandril ignored him, turning to Itheal.

"Please, gather your group. The Dame requests your presence." He clenched his teeth for a moment before turning back to Aric. "She also wishes for you and Lady Brightwing to accompany them." He added frostily before striding out with as much dignity as he could muster. Still laughing, Itheal surveyed the room for his trainees.

"Oi! Mathus, San, Nala, Alei! Time to go!" He shouted and the four slowly disentangled themselves from whomever they were speaking to, making their way to the Knight as Aric caught Kelliria's attention. Catching up with Sanaden at the door, Mathus raised his eyebrows.

"I do believe," He muttered, "That Itheal tends to go crazy when cooped up."

/0/0/0/0/

Dame Auforious looked over the group before her, consisting of the four trainees, the Blood Knight Master, Ranger Brightwing and Deathstalker Chadwick. Surely they would be enough to handle the task she had set for them? Clearing her throat, she blinked her incredibly bright sea green eyes.

"I wish for you seven to travel to the Dead Scar. There has been a group of Scourge coming dangerously close to the Andilian Estate, where one of our Magisters plans to set up a 'base', so to speak. I would simply have you drive them back." She paused, motioning for her advisor to hand her a quill. "You have a map, I assume?" She asked, and Itheal unhooked it from a rather nifty pouch on his belt. Rolling it out on the table in front of them, she tucked a strand of hand behind an elongated ear, before tracing a road downward from the Tranquillian. She marked a spot in red, right off the road near the Andilian Estate, before handing back to Itheal.

"Our scouts say the group is mid-sized, and ill-equipped, so it should pose no threat to you." She stated, and Itheal nodded, walking outside, mounting his charger, Phantom.

/0/0/0/

The light from the sun, which barely penetrated the thick fog of the Ghostlands in the northern end, grew even weaker the farther south they traveled. He could see Aleinia visibly trembling in Sereno's saddle, even under her armor and thick woolen cloak. He had taken the lead in their pack. Nalannai and Mathus had positioned themselves in the middle, Aleinia and Sanaden on the rear, and Kelliria and Aric flanking the group.

Glancing around in the dim light, Itheal wet his lips apprehensively, shifting his grip on his stallion's reins. There was something…something off. He couldn't quite place it though, but his neck prickled, as if he was being watched. Looking around at his comrades, he noticed the same sort of expressions on their faces, and that Phantom was prancing nervously, his breath making puffs of vapor in the bone-chilling cold of the air.

Standing up in the stirrups, he gazed around, spotting a small round building ahead. This must be the Andilian Estate…but who is this? He wondered, eyeing the red-robed blood elf suspiciously. The elf waved them over anxiously, looking nervous, before wiping his hands on his robe as the seven pulled to a stop in front of him.

"Oh, thank the Light you are here! You are the Blood Knights that the Dame sent?" He asked, and Itheal eyed him suspiciously.

"Yes. What is it to you?" He asked, noticing how the man's hands trembled with what he assumed to be nervous energy.

"I…I am Vekor, Master Kaendris's apprentice," He declared, stuttering. Itheal dismounted Phantom, not to be polite, but more so, should the elf prove to be a foe, he would have an easier grip on his sword.

"I am Sir Bloodstriker," Itheal muttered, observing his surroundings. As his gaze passed over the building, a splash of color caught his eyes. It was a ruby-red puddle, obviously of blood, which stood out against the drab atmosphere of the Ghostlands. Looking towards the wall, he saw there were fresh scorches marking it.

"Why, Vekor, is there blood in your building?" He inquired, narrowing his eyes.

"I…well, you know how wild those Ghostclaws are," he gulped nervously. "One attacked me, in the building, and I had no choice but to kill it." If possible, Itheal's eyes narrowed further.

"With magic? And fire spells? Weren't t you worried about burning your house?" He asked, and Vekor fiddled with the hem of his sleeve.

"I…well, it was one of those heat of the moment things, you know? I was reacting on instinct." He flinched under the unwavering stare of the mounted warriors, before Itheal sighed.

"Why did you call us over, whelp?" He asked, and Vekor recoiled, insulted upon being called a whelp, before remembering his apparent purpose of waving the group over.

"I…Sunwell, there's a whole group of undead on the road a little ways down, and I fear they're going to attack the Sanctum of the Sun!" He cried, his eyes bugging out of his face. Without so much as a word to Vorken, Itheal remounted Phantom, motioning for his companions to follow him down the disintegrating path, towards the Sanctum of the Sun.

Aleinia, though, remained for a moment longer, staring curiously at the Apprentice. He certainly didn't have the look or feel of someone who worked with arcane arts; the aura of his power was weak and wavered often, nothing impressive, perhaps typical of a rogue who didn't use their arcane gift. And Master Kaendris, as it had been proven, only accepted the best into his teaching. Kaendris also often worked his Apprentices to death (figuratively), yet this elf was healthy, with no sign of dark-circles or any other such things. Biting her lip worriedly, she trotted up to Sanaden, tensing and relaxing the muscles in her thigh, as she tended to do when she was nervous.

As they rode, she could have sworn she heard him speaking, but passed it off as her imagination.

/0/0/

"There!" Kelliria called, pointing to mass of rotting abominations milling along the edge of the Dead Scar.

All thoughts Aleinia had ever had about the Forsaken being ugly vanished. In fact, Aric looked rather handsome, compared to these beats. They lumbered about the apes, some missing arms, others missing legs. Mold grew upon their fetid skin, or at least what remained of it. She could only assume they were communicating with those grunts and roars. As the putrid smell of putrid flesh reached her nose, she gagged, before attempting to hold back her vomit. Nalannai, unfortunately, wasn't able to, and leaned over the side of Camarata's saddle, retching, as Sanaden rubbed her back sympathetically.

Kelliria had already strung her bow, and had an arrow nocked, as she looked to Itheal for a command. Aric had pulled twin axes from his belt, while Itheal himself pulled out a deadly-looking glimmering broadsword. He nodded to Kelliria and she let the arrow loose, and it sank into the nearest ghoul's throat, before exploding in a small burst of arcane energy. The undead was torn in all directions, his limbs splattering his companions, as they all spun to face their assaulters.

Just as Nalannai straightened up, wiping her mouth, there was a roar as the Scourge charged forward. The elves and Aric bunched together, swords pointing outward, slashing and stabbing at any corpse within sight. This is almost too easy! Aleinia thought, detaching an undead's head from its body distractedly. Within mere moments, the undead were simply lifeless bodies, rather than animated ones. Glancing around, she noted that Kelliria, Sanaden, Aric, and Itheal still looked on edge, tighteining their grips on the hilts of their weapons.

"Itheal," She whispered softly, attempting to still Sereno as he danced nervously underneath her, away from the dead Scourge. "Are…are they suppose to go down that easily?" He frowned, nudging a carcass with his foot.

"No. Not at all." He muttered, and shivered involuntarily, remembering the invasion of Silvermoon. Then, it took several decapitating blows to even hinder the beasts, but here, they went down with little resistance. Biting his lip, painful memories assailed his mind; his neighbors being slaughtered, his home burned, his brother viciously cutting down all Scourge in his path, his eldest sister's death… He was jolted from his memories by Aric.

"Nor were they this easily defeated when attacked my farm…" he rasped, dismounting his skeletal steed and kneeling by the Scourge. "If anything, they were unstoppable. Perhaps…a distraction perhaps? Have we been duped?" The possibility had occurred to Itheal, who furrowed his brow.

"A possibility, to make us feel safe, and to underestimate the Scourge. But why? This group was obviously mindless, but someone obviously knew we were coming here…" He pondered aloud, and looked sharply at Aleinia as she gasped. She had immediately paled, and her burning eyes grew wide as she covered her mouth with her gauntleted hands.

"Yes, Alei?" He asked, and she swallowed visibly.

"Back at the Estate…that apprentice, there was something off about him. And when we left, I thought I heard him speaking, but there wasn't anyone accompanying him…I think that, maybe he notified someone of our position." She whispered and Itheal's own eyes widened.

"You're sure, Alei?" Kelliria asked gently, and Aleinia nodded vigorously.

"I saw his shadow…" She remembered. "He had lifted up and object near his face. I assume that is what he was speaking to." Itheal cursed loudly.

"Be on your guard!" He called, and Mathus jumped, reaching for the hilt of his shortsword. "By the Sunwell, when I get my hands on that filthy piece of…" He was cut off by Mathus's shout.

"Large group of Scourge approaching from the south!" He yelled, backing up, almost bumping into Sanaden. "Covering ground fast, approximately thirty of them." Kelliria swore, fumbling in her pack for a few small explosives she carried with her at all times. Finding them, she cursed again, unable to find her flint, until Aric tossed her his own flint. She nodded her thanks, and waited, poised to throw, until the Scourge was in range. They were in a few moments, converging upon the armored group with a ferocity rarely seen, tearing and ripping at anything they could reach, before Kelliria could set ff her explosives. The ranger leaned back, losing her balance for a instant as a clawed hand swung towards at her neck, missing by a hairsbreadth. Settling back into her saddle, she whistled for her lynx companion, drawing her deadly daggers from their sheaths, stabbing around in a frenzy.

The Scourge had driven a wedge between the elves, and were slowly separating them further, so each warrior was on their own, to face their foe.

Sereno screamed and reared in a panic, leaving Aleinia to cling to his neck for her life, until he returned to the ground, smashing the head of an opponent with his hooves. Unsteadily, she tried to look around for her compatriots, and paled, realizing how far apart they had been driven. What she didn't notice was the skeletal warrior coming up on her left side, rasing the his axe, and slamming its hilt into Sereno's side. The stallion reared again, making Aleinia scream as she was thrown to the ground. She lay there stunned, mentally screaming in pain. Instinct prompted her to ignore it, wipe away the blood running into her eyes from a cut on her forehead, and avoid being, well, killed.

She rolled to the side, the axe that had previously slammed into Sereno thudding into the ground where her head just was, before gritting her teeth and thrusting her sword upward, slicing at its neck. The flesh and bone gave way easier than she would have thought, and the ghoul's head rolled off its body, as black blood dripped onto Aleinia. Holding back a gag, she ignored it, attempting to stand upright. Another skeleton charged at her, and she barely threw up her blade in time to block him, before kicking him in the ribs, her steel-clad foot breaking the ribs easily, and continued on, snapping the undead's spine. Bone fragments bounced off her chain-mail as she struggled to remove her foot, seeing a Nerubis heading her way. Before she could slay it, though, Sanaden stood protectively in front of her, easily killing the spider-like creature.

"Heard you scream," He panted, and Aleinia noted a shallow cut across his face, his helm probably knocked off at some point. He too, was without his stallion.

"Thanks," She murmured, attempting to still her shaking limbs. Taking a deep breath, she shook the last of the bones from her boot, before raising her sword again, about to begin eradicate the Scourge again, when Sanaden's shout stopped her.

A pale, sickly looking, human warlock had emerged from the ranks of undead, and had stopped in front of Sanaden, who had raised his broadsword, looking unsure. He had never fought a magic-user before, Aleinia realized, none of them had. With a battle-cry, the young man charged forward, leveling his sword at the human's chest, looking to carve his heart out. The man simply cackled, and waved his hand, saying some strange words in a sinister tongue. Biting her tongue, she had to turn away when to put her blade through the throat of another Nerubis, before attempting to run to Sanaden's aid.

The human had put him in some sort of magical prison, leaving Sanaden to thrash wildly at his dark bindings to no avail. The Warlock leered horribly, before raising his other hand, dark energy swirling around his fingers. With a single demonic word, the energy had transferred to Sanaden, making him screech in pain. Aleinia stared, revulsion rising in her throat in the form of bile, as the life was siphoned out of her friend, every second was leaving him looking less like a muscular young paladin and more like a shriveled husk. In less than a few moments, the warlock had released him, allowing the paladin to drop to the ground, dead.

Her hands trembling, she hefted her warblade, charging at the warlock with a scream of anger. She cleaved the sword in a downward arc, aiming to slice the Scourge warlock in half, but he simply laughed, and with a twitch of his fingers, knocked the blade to the side. In less than a second, he had her in the same dark prison than Sanaden had been in moments before. She stared in horror, realizing what he was about to do, and closed her eyes, ready to die. And she thought she would, with the pain that beset her body and mind, feeling like a thousand rusty daggers in her gut, being twisted and turned.

Death did not come however, and she was dropped unceremoniously onto the blood soaked ground, her left leg landing at an awkward angle. She gritted her teeth, disregarding the pain, already knowing it was broken. She open her eyes to see what the warlock was doing, and saw instead a mounted Itheal, a snarl on his face. He had come behind the warlock, slicing the monstrosity's head clean from its shoulders. Riding forward, he quickly swept her up in front of him, wrapping an arm around her waist, holding her in place. Everything began to dim, and she shook her head to clear her mind.

"Itheal!" She whispered foggily, her eyes blurring with tears. "They killed Sanaden. They killed him," She repeated the fact, over and over, her own mind not registering it. She didn't notice the tears running down his face, dripping onto her hair.

"I know, Alei," he murmured, his voice shaking, "I know."

The wind whipped past her face as Phantom ran towards the Tranquillian, retreating from the skirmish, and she vaguely noticed Nalannai, Mathus, Kelliria, and Aric riding beside them, with Nalannai leading Sereno. Every few moments, her friend would gaze at her worriedly, before glancing backwards, seeing if they were being pursued.

And then everything went black.

I have realized that action/fighting scenes are definitely not my forte. And my fingers hurt. A lot. I've neer written a chapter this long in my life, and it's not quite great... Mein Gott! I almost cried when I realized I just killed off San. He was actually one of my favorites (though I love Mathus and Aric :3)

Reviews are appreciated, cherished, and loved by Itheal, Mathus, Nala, Alei, Aric, and, post-humously, San.

-Feareth