Adventure Loves Company, Too

Chapter 29: Climax

A/N: Well, sorry for the hiatus, but I guess that it is only to be expected from me. Also, story covers, woo! I'm not certain if there is a way to see the big image, though.
In more recent news, I wrote a good deal of this chapter, but unfortunately lost it due to FF not logging me in for three days. Round two.


Galazheg raced along the salt flats of Desolace, his claws scoring the hardened earth underneath him, but not raising a cloud of dust. His tendrils whipped back and forth, feeling for the scant trail of residual magic he was following. He had found it a few miles away from his master's camp, and was not a magic he was expecting to find. Whatever fel magics had been used by the attacker, it was not enough to leave a trail to follow after twelve hours. However, the felhunter picked up on another magic; a deeper, more permanent magic.

Necromancy.

Not like someone raised a bunch of minions, but there was a light stench of undeath lingering in one sheltered ravine, as though someone had used it to store a variety of well-aged cheeses. Whoever it was, he had stayed in that ravine for a goodly amount of time before moving on. Undead did not have a strong enough magic reanimating their corpses for Galazheg to worry himself with most of the time, but considering the circumstances, it was suspicious. He also figured that whoever it was also had a reanimated mount, as the amount of residue was too great for one individual. There may even have been two or more.

He continued following the trail, growing closer to the Coven. The trail soon became muddy, at times being totally lost in the criss-cross of well-patrolled routes. He didn't need the trail anymore, though. It was obvious where the attacker originated from, and he made a beeline for the ruins ahead. He slowed his pace, expertly dodging around patrols and demons. He could feel the tethers some of the demons had to their masters, but they were very few. Most of the demons in the Coven were free-roaming, having been summoned by weak-willed "faux-locks," as his master liked to call them. In turn, the demons turned on their hapless masters, and turned them into thralls, obeying the demon's orders completely.

He twisted and turned, catching more smells and feels of magic. The abundance of fel energy was almost overwhelming, but it was set off wonderfully by the light dusting of fire, arcane, and unholy magic. He picked his way around altars and fallen arches, being careful not to be seen. If he were spotted by the wrong demon, his presence would alert the whole camp and he would probably die. He made his way towards the center plaza, following his instincts that if anything was happening, it would be happening in the center of it all. He quickly found a fallen pillar and wiggled his way underneath it to get a front-row seat on what was happening.

The area in front of him was mostly round, with a few cauldrons and desks spattered here and there with warlocks of greater and lesser value working on alchemy and magic experiments. In the center, there was a kind of raised dias with a chaise lounge on it, as though it were made for royalty. The blood elf that sat on the lounge had the air of one who was royal, so he supposed it fit. A sudden shock of recognition flowed through Galazheg as he caught a whiff of the elf's magic and scent. He knew this elf! He stifled a growl and waited. Sure enough, within a few minutes, something happened. Two female undead were escorted to the front of the platform by two terrorguards. They pushed the undead to their knees and withdrew a few paces. They were both warlocks, although only one could really be described using the word. The other was a thrall, a slave to the demons' will.

"My dears," the elf on the couch purred. "You are back later than I expected." The blood elf's voice was cloying, and stuck in the felhunter's brain like so much honey. It was revolting.

"My Lord," the two undead women intoned formally.

"Is there any explanation whatsoever of this?" He leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee and his chin on his wrist. He gazed at the two in front of him, a slight smile on his face.

"My Lord," the warlock among the two spoke, her voice shaky, "the weather got very bad. We had to wait it out."

"But you are undead, are you not?" the elf asked, his face and his voice never breaking. "Why would the weather hinder you?"

"The wind was too hard, Lord Xanrius," the thrall piped up. "It blew our mounts' feet right from underneath them, and we had to wait until the wind let up a bit."

"I see," Xanrius replied, leaning back as though he were satisfied with this answer. "So, how did it go?"

"It went well, my Lord," the warlock answered again. "The spell went exactly as anticipated, and the whole inside of the tent was displaced."

"And the target?"

"My Lord?" the warlock questioned, a confused look on her face.

"Did you succeed in getting the target in the blast?"

"I would assume so, sir," she replied slowly, suspiciously. "At the very least, I would assume there was someone in the tent at the time of the detonation."

"Are you absolutely sure that there was?"

"Of course we are!" the second one said before the first could open her mouth. Galazheg shuddered. He had sensed more intelligence come from a latrine.

"I see." The elf sat back against the raised back of the lounge, tapping his fingertips together. "Then perhaps you can explain to me why they are all accounted for?"

There was an uncomfortable silence in the plaza. All hands had stopped working and all eyes were on the exchange, wondering if they should run or not. The edge in Xanrius' voice was unsettling, and even the terrorguards wavered slightly.

"My Lord?" the warlock asked, her voice incredulous.

"When you two did not return as planned, I sent out an Eye to search for you." He waved his hand to the side, and an Eye of Kilrogg manifested itself in his palm. "It got there as they were leaving, and I counted all seven of the group alive and well." He wiggled his fingers slightly and the eye danced around his hand. "What say you to that?"

"I...I don't know. I know that the redheaded troll was in that tent, but perhaps he left to use the restroom before I did it. I wasn't able to keep an Eye watching the camp and complete the spell at the same time," the warlock said, her nervousness evident in her voice.

"Then why did Malikrys not send one in?"

"You know as well as I do that she is absolutely useless," the warlock replied, switching to demonic for her answer. Obviously the thrall Malikrys did not understand the language. The elf grunted in agreement.

"Well, perhaps we will get another chance. They are passing very close to the Coven soon. We will have to test the spell again," the blood elf paused to stand up. His sickening half-smile was back on his face and his voice became sweet again, "and bring back the others for real test subjects."

"Just us? We won't stand a chance," the warlock said.

"No, you idiot. I am going with you. Along with a few friends." Xanrius grinned. He then spun and pointed directly where Galazheg was hiding. "You, hound! Run back to your master and tell him we are coming." He grinned wickedly. "It has been such a long time since I have seen him, I do so look forward to catching up with him." He paused, waiting for the felhunter to move. "Go! Before I change my mind and destroy you on the spot!"

Galazheg fled.


As the day wore on, Bhazrael got increasingly agitated. He would frequently look towards the foreboding southern horizon. Claryssa did her best to try to keep the elf from worrying, but she found that his distress was seeping into everyone's thoughts. They moved quickly through the desert.

Somewhere around three or four in the afternoon, Galazheg came rushing back. The party stopped, and the warlock jumped down off of his hawkstrider. The demon whined and pranced around his master, his tendrils whipping back and forth in a panicked frenzy. The elf wobbled and tried to maintain his balance as his minion bumped into his legs and nipped at his robes, trying feverishly to convey what he had found. As Bhazrael was able to decipher what had happened, he began to pale.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered under his breath. He ran a nervous hand through his hair. "Are you sure?" he demanded of the felhunter, who whined at him. The elf began to swear under his breath in Thalassian. Everyone else watched him, their eyes wary. He finally sighed and ran his hand along his mount's feathered neck. "Well, we're screwed," he announced simply.

"Screwed, eh?" Jen'Zin crossed his arms. "What type o' screwed we be talkin' 'bout here?"

"The arrogant asshole type," Bhaz muttered sourly.

"Can we outrun this type of screwed?" Gelt asked.

"Nope. He's already on his way. He should be here soon." For emphasis, Bhazrael pointed toward where his minion had run from. There was a quickly advancing cloud of dust headed toward them. He then pointed skyward, where a small green eye was staring balefully down at them.

Gat let out his breath in a hiss. There was a sort of sigh of resignation that went through the party. As a whole, they dismounted and got themselves ready for a fight. Thal strapped daggers to various parts of her clothing, and Gat rummaged through the cart to pull out a pair of cruel-looking swords. The only exception to this was Jen'Zin, who sat solemnly atop Issa, his arms crossed and brows knitted as he stared at the growing cloud and the small army beneath it. For once, Issa was calm, staring with her master at their impending doom. It was actually kind of frightening.

They lined up on either side of Issa and the shaman, waiting. Eventually, a horde of warlocks and demons came up in line with them, a distance of a mere thirty feet separating them. A mass of gnashing teeth, flapping wings, and stomping hooves roared jeers at them. Gat twirled his swords calmly, snapping them up into a tight grip. From the mass, three people rode up to them, mounted on felsteeds. A regal-looking blood elf flanked by two undead women, one of whom looked as though she wished for all the world that she was anywhere else.

"My dear Bhaz," the blood elf began expansively, his arm swinging out in a grandiose greeting. Bhazrael's expression darkened considerably.

"Xan. It's been a while," the elf's voice sounded cordial despite his glare. "You seem to have found your niche."

"Yes, it has been working out magnificently here," the other elf replied, his expression not faltering. "How long has it been since you ran away? Ten years?"

"Something like that. What do you want, Xanrius? What could we possibly have done to merit such a reception?" Bhazrael crossed his arms.

"Why, you came within my reach, my dear boy." The elf tossed a stray lock of hair over his shoulder. "We have been so sorely in need of subjects."

"Subjects, huh? In the form of little human girls?"

"That is optimal, yes," Xanrius muttered, scratching at his cheek. "They're less likely to be able to strike back should something go awry, as something obviously did. You're lucky you're still here, sweetheart." He practically purred the last line to Claryssa, who bristled. He laughed and spun his hand. The two undead behind him returned to the pack behind them, passing through to the other side. "Perhaps we shall try a second test? A test in which I can see it for myself instead of relying on idiots to do their jobs right." His eyes flashed a foul green fire, and the priest could feel her skin crawl. Today was not going to end well.

"But perhaps the banter can be skipped, yes?" The elf spun his mount around, and the wall of hell opened up for him to pass through. "Do what you will," he said to his small army. "Just keep the human alive."

A roar rose up and the wall began to advance. Suddenly, Jen'Zin raised his arms up level with his shoulders, and the earth beneath them shook violently. A low, deafening rumble came simultaneously from the earth and sky as clouds began to roll in, lightning sparking ominously. The shaman's eyes seemed to glow, and the tattoos that arced over his skin seemed to shift slightly and give off a similar glow. The advancing wall of demons faltered momentarily, but it was momentary enough.

Gelt let out a roar and raised his arms up to the clouds that had gathered. There was a crack of lightning, and giant tornados began to slowly reach down toward the earth like the fingers of some giant. The darkening ceiling was perforated by bright flashes of light, and Claryssa made out arcane stars before they slammed into the earth and bodies of their attackers at full speed. Howls of pain and rage mingled with the bloodlust roar.

The group charged forward again. This time, Zalgash stepped forward. He gave his axe a few swings before charging forward into the advancing mass at full speed. He ran into a giant terrorguard and sent the demon reeling. He pivoted, set his stance and began to spin. The priest supposed it would have been slightly comical, watching the rather stately orc doing such a maneuver, but the spray of blood and viscera banished any amusement. The orc stopped after a few seconds, and paused to recover equilibrium. The group of demons roared in triumph and dove towards him. Claryssa raised her hand and pulled a shield around him, which gave Gat and Thal enough time to get to where he was and jump into the fray.

Claryssa had to be impressed with the two rogues. They had very different combat styles. Gat was face-to-face, parrying swords and using swift strikes to incapacitate his opponents before systematically dispatching them, as though he were in the middle of an intricate and bloody dance. Thal on the other hand slid through the ranks like a weasel, slicing strategic points on her victim's bodies and at times finishing off enemies the others had wounded. It was hard to keep track of her.

Jen'Zin swung himself off of Issa, who charged into the battle with a shriek. The shaman pulled on a pair of gloves with long blades coming off of them. The blades sparked and burned with elemental power. He regarded the battle for a few moments before he threw his head back and let out a long, piercing wolf howl. It was obviously just a gesture of show, but it was impressive nonetheless. In response, a pair of whirlwinds kicked up on either side of him and coalesced into two enormous, ghostly wolves. They snarled and snapped toward the melee.

All the while this was going on, Bhazrael was once again going through the efforts of summoning up an infernal. As Jen'Zin swung down from his mount, the clouds were pierced by the telltale meteor burning with green fire. It struck the earth with a shattering impact, shooting out a wave of green fire and debris before unfolding and adding to the carnage.

Jen'Zin's eyes flashed red, and he threw his head back again and let out a primal roar. The sound was electrifying, and Claryssa felt a surge of power flow through her. The shaman ran forward, his wolves howling and snarling behind him. His movement seemed to be unnaturally fast, and he sliced easily into the fray, a literal whirlwind of movement. His wolves cut into the flesh of the demons, whose weapons passed through them as though they were not really there.

The empowering roar that the shaman had let loose had also apparently affected her allies, as they seemed to move with renewed fervor, Gat's blades and Thal's daggers flashing red, and Zalgash's axe swinging in broad and swift strikes that sent blood flying.

The tornadoes touched down, and the rumbling of the earth jumped a level. They tore through the ranks, and the small army seemed to flinch. Bhazrael and Gelt began to pelt the demoralized army with spells, raining felfire and arcane bolts down upon their heads.

A broad, bloody swath was cut through the center of the army, and the group split into two, fighting back the the leftovers with support from Claryssa's spells and shields. She looked across the battlefield and made eye contact with the undead woman who looked miserable. She was busy with an intricate and involved spell cast. In a sudden fit of dismay, Claryssa realized that she had not moved an inch since the battle had started, which was probably making the warlock's job that much easier. She took a step backward, but it was too late.


The battle was thrilling, but easy. It was actually somewhat pathetic and a little disappointing how easily these demons fell beneath his blades, but their volume made up for it. Being outnumbered ten to one was enough to make it enjoyable at least. Gat felt that his brother had gone a little bit overboard with the wolves and bloodlust, but he was always a fan of melodrama.

He spun and easily decapitated a human warlock. He glanced over to where Claryssa was standing, throwing out a shield every now and then, a smite here and there. The small army was quickly thinning out, and he started to get an uneasy feeling that it was all just a distraction. He happened a glance over to where the elf named Xanrius and the two undead had retreated to. One of the lesser warlocks was in the middle of something. He felt the hair on his arms and the back of his neck rise. He turned to shout to Claryssa to move, to do something.

An ear-splitting crack that shattered the mind-numbing roar of the earth and tornadoes. A blinding flash of light enveloped the girl, and bright green fire swirled around her. Just as suddenly, it was gone, as was she.

For a split instant, Gat felt his heart stop.