"Bluffing, you say."

The Mordrem creature slowly advanced, her silhouetted swords glinting in the light of the dancing flames behind her. "I am Diarmid," she said. "In a previous life, I would have been your ally. But it was Mordremoth who deemed me worthy, who rebirthed me into what you see now."

Diarmid then stopped closely in front of the motley crew, towering over them and gazing down at them coldly. Her singular slit eye scanned each member, but when she locked sight with Asterix, it struck an especially uncomfortable feeling in him. Like he realized she had just then and there decided that she would kill him last. The Mordrem commander smiled eerily.

"He has already done it once. He can do it again."

Rytlock hissed angrily, "Just means you can also die again."

"Your witty little comebacks are adorable," the Mordrem overseer cooed and taunted, looking down at Rytlock like he were a cute kitten. This angered the charr further, and he started by lashing out at her with his sword, roaring furiously. She hopped back effortlessly, avoiding contact with the sword's fire. Rytlock swung his blade again with fury in his eyes. She deflected it with one of her own.

Rytlock continued his assault restlessly. But it was like Diarmid could predict every move he made, countering them each with her blades. Asterix understood her tactic. She waited for an opening. The right moment to strike back. He couldn't let her have that opportunity. With his arrow still set on his bow, he drew it further back on his bowstring until he felt it wouldn't go further, and aimed for her head. She was a lone and moving target. He had difficulty with moving targets. But she was much taller than his teammates. He could safely fire high without risking hitting them.

He let his arrow fly. It flew in front of her surprised face, a mere few inches away. She took a short pause to see where it came from. Just as Rytlock leaped and raised his sword over his head to bring it down on her, she crossed her blades together and deflected it, sending the charr to catch himself on his feet to the ground like a cat.

"Cheeky little thing, aren't you," Diarmid commented at the Gaul. "Didn't your parents teach you it's rude to interrupt?"

Asterix didn't bother to reply, already reaching out for the next arrow from his quiver. In his head he reminded himself there were few formalities in war. Braham joined Rytlock as well, mace and shield at the ready, while Diarmid pushed Rytlock backwards with a forceful shove. Bohan glanced around at the corpses of Pact allies strewn underneath the burning tree, and one by one they slowly lifted themselves up through his will. The bodies were fresh and showed hardly any signs of decomposition. Only their eyes were dry and milky, and their skins were pale. Some had suffered fresh burn marks from the flames. Finally, about a dozen managed to respond to the necromancer, and they each began to shamble towards their target.

The Gaul saw Rytlock howl out as the charr's arm received a cut from Diarmid's blade, then, when Braham rushed to help, he was kicked aside. Diarmid laughed. She wasn't waiting for any openings at all. She was toying with them. From the corner of his eye, Bobbo advanced, rushing to sink his teeth into the Mordrem. But she dodged the bear's fury, and suddenly she was in front of Asterix. She knocked him off balance before he could react, and he felt one of her blades brush his arm. Startled, he dropped his bow, and the arrow he was holding was sliced in half by Diarmid's other sword. Then, a kick to his chest sent him toppling.

Asterix fell backwards, landing painfully against his backpack. He groaned as he pushed himself up as quick as he could, and noticed the weight of the bag was gone. Its straps had been ripped by Diarmid's swords. Its contents had spilled across the ground; a small assortment of items and provisions. As well as the paper with the signet spell he had stored inside it, and the bottle of blood whiskey. Before the hot wind could blow the paper away, he crawled towards it and snatched it from the ground.

For a short moment, he stared at it, crumpled in his balled fist. Then he shook his head. Not the time, he thought to himself. He didn't know what sort of spell it may be. It could backfire and put his teammates at risk. He sloppily pocketed it instead and moved to pick up his bow again. Diarmid was already off pestering the rest of his team with her taunting and dodging. Bohan ordered his minions to give chase, but they lagged after her, unable to catch the monster. The small warrior raised his hand back to reach for another arrow in his quiver, but all he grasped was thin air. Surprised, his hand searched and came back empty. Crud, he thought to himself, then he set his bow back in its holder. It was time to bring out his sword.

Then the creature stood in front of him once more. Asterix staggered back in surprise before he could unsheathe his blade and cried out in a panic. It was his turn to play again. Diarmid grinned wickedly and playfully lashed her sword at the unarmed victim, only missing him because it wasn't her intention to kill him…yet. The Gaul crawled back, the destroyed backpack's inventory strewn around him. His hand searching desperately for something, anything.

Diarmid bent forward over him, smiling something dark and sadistic. She was going to do it – she was going to kill him. But that moment, the moment she stood still, finally. Looming so close to him that he could feel her breath. Determined, Asterix blindly snatched the closest object he could grab off the ground, and struck her face with it.

She cried out in anger and pain, glass shards digging deep into her skin and the alcohol stinging at her eye and her freshly made wounds. Staggering back, she began to curse. It had all been a blur to him, the flash of a glimmering vial that he held, swiping past the woman's face and breaking when it made contact. But he was starting to connect the dots. The object he took was the bottle of charr-made blood whiskey. The brew had been left to rest in a smokehouse; he could smell both the smoke and the meat infused into it, but the alcohol smelled the strongest. His tunic felt soaked and cold, which he could only assume was from the same stuff he doused Diarmid with.

With the creature finally distracted, Bohan took his opportunity and focused. Responding to his will, his undead minions stared at her, then all began to make a run for her. The first one to reach her grabbed Diarmid's wrist. The mordrem could not be bothered with it until she felt many more undead creatures swarm up to her, grabbing hold of each of her limbs and hanging on like dead weights until it was too difficult to even stand.

She struggled, making angry and desperate cries, as Bohan's minions overpowered her and locked her in place. When she was finally completely immobilized, Rytlock picked his sword off the ground and stood up, breathing loudly and with strain. He did not say anything. Not a single word. He ran towards her, roaring, and he allowed the flames of his sword to finish the deed. Diarmid burned. Together with those clinging on to her. The smell of alcohol quickly became that of cooked flesh and smoldering bark.

She burned, together with the tree. And she screamed on until the flames died and she died with them. All Asterix could do was watch, uncomfortably close to the scene, until Braham grasped him by the collar and pulled him away from the fire across the dirt.

"Be careful! You're a fire hazard," the norn warned. The Gaul scrambled to his feet again, taking a few extra steps back from the pile. Braham was right. A small spark could still set him ablaze, being covered in such a volatile liquid.

When Bohan relaxed from his tensed pose, his remaining minions each gave up the life force they were gifted, returning to peace once more. Diarmid's body was not hard to find between the smoldering pile. Frozen in time, she was turned to a screaming statue of coal. The stench… Asterix felt like he was going to gag. He had seen someone die in front of him before. The Icebrood norn, a dragon minion just like Diarmid. But dragon minion or not, he knew he was never going to get used to it. Whoever Diarmid was in that previous life, didn't deserve being Mordremoth's slave. He sincerely hoped that what she was wrong about what she had claimed, that she would come back.

She didn't deserve to die this way either. It should have been quicker. The Icebrood died instantly, a single arrow right between his eyes. It was merciful, and he would have felt the tip make contact for only a split second. But Diarmid died horribly. It took a full minute before she stopped screaming. Would it even have been possible to kill her faster?

Yes, Asterix confirmed for himself. He shouldn't have missed his mark.

The tree Diarmid guarded had blackened in the fire, the last of its life finally taken, as well. The putrid pods hanging from its branches had popped in the boiling heat. It was silent, safe for the crackle of embers.

It was done. He suddenly heard Braham laughing and cheering. Bobbo joined in the norn's joyous chimes, circling him like an excited dog, tongue lolling and feet stomping. Rytlock was smiling, satisfied with the job. Asterix felt a bit proud too, knowing that they did the Pact army a big favor today by taking out one of Mordremoth's minion factories. But Diarmid was another story entirely. Then he noticed that Bohan was different as well. He looked upset, despite the victory. The sylvari took a sad glance towards the dead and blackened blighting tree, and back again at Diarmid's body. Blackened too. A breeze would turn her to ash.

It wasn't strange at all, when he thought about it. Diarmid was probably the only one who had shown this much personality, even after being claimed by the dragon. She was a sylvari, like him. She was a person. And Asterix saw the pain in Bohan's eyes.

Then, a paw dropped on his shoulder, and Rytlock took a deep breath nearby the Gaul. First it made him a bit uncomfortable, until he realized the charr was merely smelling the air around him.

"Shouldn't have broken that bottle," Rytlock mumbled, disappointed. "It was the good kind too. Would have been great to toast a victory to."

"Thanks, but no thanks," Asterix said, wringing the alcohol out of his tunic as best he could. "I can tell just by how it smells that I won't like it. She probably would have been toasting to our deaths too, if I didn't use it."

Bohan, after collecting his senses, stood up. Still not daring to come near Rytlock, he instead decided to stow his weapons to hang from his belt. "Besides, we don't have time," the sylvari said.

Rytlock nodded slowly. "Right, your little rescue mission. I guess we shouldn't keep each other up anymore." Suddenly, the charr perked up his head, ears twitching as if listening. "I sense something."

"What is it?" Braham asked. "Your spirit powers?"

Rytlock growled lowly at the remark, his head gazing at the direction he felt a presence despite his blindfold. "It's one of them. They're nearby. Let's regroup with the Commander first."

"Right." Braham stowed his shield to his back and hung his mace back in his belt. "Good luck you two," the red-haired norn said to the three remaining team members. He ran after Rytlock, crossing the vine bridge and leaving their sight.

Three once more. The eerie silence of a battle's aftermath surrounded them.

"Wow," Bohan finally sighed, breaking that silence. "Rytlock Brimstone almost killed me."

"Brimstone?" Asterix perked up. Nobody had mentioned any 'Brimstone'. "You know him?"

Bohan then looked back at Asterix, looking even more confused than him. "You don't?"

No, he did not, he thought to himself. He was then blinded by a sparkling light, forcing him to raise his hand to his eyes to block some of it. The sun was hanging low between the trees in the distance. Night was going to set in soon. They had to find shelter. And if he had any say in the matter, it was not going to be here, between the smolder and coal. Some Mordrem would probably come to investigate. "Let's talk about it more after we find a safe place to set up camp," he suggested. The sylvari agreed.

The sun went down quickly, and there wasn't much time. They had chosen a cavern to spend the night, not very far from the dead blighting tree, but it was as far as the group could go. It may not have been very safe, but at least they weren't out in the open. Asterix had washed his tunic and himself in a nearby stream, and left the piece of clothing to dry on a stone. But even though he washed it until it no longer felt sticky, the odor still hung. The smell of the campfire – and the everlasting stench of the smoky charr whiskey – at least kept lurking predators at bay. The Gaul would not be comfortable for long though, and chose to stay huddled, keeping the blanket of his sleeping bag around him and once again using a restful bear as his support, while they planned their next searching route.

A makeshift map was drawn by Bohan, using a piece of charcoal collected from the tree. They had gone a fair distance to the west, or so Asterix could only assume. Their track was like a snake; slithering from side to side to cover as much ground as they could. Bohan used the sun as his anchor, following it as it settled. North was a dead end, a freshly made crevice that was too wide to cross and too deep to survive the drop. East led back to the desert. Which then left them with south.

South… South was where Mordremoth lived. And the Pact was heading that way to kill it. Liliwen had to have gone south. On the upside, they would have an army at their side if they followed. On the other hand, there was a dragon there. A dragon with an army of its own.

He hated the idea of giving up, and he figured that if Bohan wanted to continue the search, he wouldn't leave his side. But Asterix could already tell from the sylvari's irritated expression that things were not looking bright. The Gaul waited for a few more minutes, to see if the sylvari could make up his mind. Then Bohan let out a frustrated grunt, and threw the map aside. Much to the sylvari's disappointment, but not surprisingly, the shred of paper didn't go far.

"You okay?" Asterix asked.

"I don't know…" the sylvari sighed, looking visibly upset, almost on the verge of tears. He stared at the crumpled map from the corner of his eye, considering his only two options. Continue or go back. He was torn between them. He wanted Liliwen back, so badly. He had no idea what she was doing, or what was to become of her.

"I'm with you if you want to continue," Asterix assured.

"No… Perhaps…perhaps we should give up," Bohan answered, eventually.

Asterix was disappointed. But not in Bohan. For as short as he knew her, Liliwen was a great and helpful, charitable friend. It was not right to leave her to her fate. Then again, she knew how to get around. She may even be fine, for all they knew.

With that thought in mind, he wanted to perhaps share some positivity. "She's probably with the Pact herself already. She'll be safer with them."

But the sylvari's face sunk. "They might kill her…"

"Only if she attacks first." Of course the Pact wouldn't trust a sylvari at first. Not after what happened. But they would never outright kill her. After a while, he searched into his backpack, and out came two ration bars, wrapped tightly in thick paper. He tried to simply distract Bohan a little by tossing one of the ration bars his way. "Let's try to eat. We'll need the energy for tomorrow." He then took the remaining one to himself. Bohan stared at the bar, not bothering to pick it up yet.

Asterix started fiddling with the wrapping of his ration bar for a bit. When it finally came off, he was presented with a hard grayish-brown block, that was supposed to be full of nutrients. But when he bit down, he could not discern the taste, which he could only describe as boring, or what was put inside of it. It would have to do. These things were worth a single meal each, and skipping lunch while traveling and fighting all day did not do a body well. By the time they had found this small hideout, hunger began to nag at him. Unfortunately, the bar was small and gone fast. It didn't fill particularly well.

He leaned back into Bobbo, feeling disappointed. It was quiet here, but occasionally they would overhear the firing of guns, clash of swords, and shouts and cries of warriors outside. Bohan seemed more stable after a while, and then finally ate as well. Asterix eventually dug into his pocket, revealing the crumpled paper with the spell in his hand once again. He carefully folded it open and looked at the drawing. Slightly stained with that nasty drink, but he could still tell what it was.

"What do you make of this?" Asterix asked while showing the uncrumpled paper at Bohan. The sylvari, visibly disturbed, leaned in and inspected the drawing presented to him carefully.

"Looks like a signet to me," the leafy man nodded. "The jagged lines in the center make me think of some kind of thunderbolt. An air spell, perhaps?" He then went on with his meal.

Asterix took the paper to himself and looked down at it. It looked done in a mad rush, but he could definitely see the thunderbolt scribbled in between the lines. He tried to imagine what the spell would do. His best guess was that it could call lightning from the sky to strike the ground, or a target.

"How do you activate it?" he asked.

Bohan halted with his ration bar clenched between his teeth, just barely not biting down on it, and looked up at Asterix. "Huh?" he muffled an unflattering sound with the bar still in his mouth.

"I know, I know," Asterix laughed awkwardly. "You wonder, 'how do I not know this?'"

The young sylvari blinked and nodded, staring at the Gaul with his pale eyes wide like a curious child.

"Well… I just don't." He sheepishly scratched the back of his head, still looking at the signet. He stopped himself from mentioning that Liliwen told him about them.

Then, Bohan took the bar out of his mouth and used his other hand to point at the drawing. "All you do is tap the center. It only responds to the touch of your fingers. Easy."

Asterix shifted his sight to the bolt of lightning inside. It was much less difficult than he'd thought it would be. Perhaps risky, even. But usually they were small; people had them sewn on their clothes, sometimes even as tattoos. "I suppose you wouldn't know what it does, huh?"

Bohan grinned. It was a welcome sight to see the sylvari smile again. "Something shocking, I'm sure." Amused, Asterix smiled at the fully intended pun as well, and watched Bohan bite down on his bar again.

"We probably shouldn't try it now, then." Asterix then sighed, and he carefully tried to fold the drawing up again, rather than crushing it like he did last time, and reached for his backpack to pocket it.

"Save it for if you're in a pinch. Air spells are commonly offensive ones," the sylvari suggested.

Again the faint noise of battle. A light shake of a distant explosion forced the cavernous ceiling to shed a bit of dirt and sand. Roots trembled and creaked. A low moan from deep in the earth… Bohan was captivated by the noise, listening to the sounds like they were speaking to him. Suddenly Asterix realized that this wasn't really another skirmish. He tried to listen harder, holding his own breath. There was a strange sound rumbling harmoniously between the noise. It was like a voice, but he couldn't understand it.

"Yes," Bohan suddenly agreed in a whisper after the noise had stopped.

The Gaul shifted to look at Bohan. "What was that?"

"What?" Bohan repeated after him.

Asterix didn't like that. But Bohan stared back at the map on the ground beside him. He took it, and looked at it. "We're going south at dawn."

The Gaul's helm-wings lowered with suspicion. "Are you sure we should?"

"I changed my mind," Bohan said. "We shouldn't give up. We've already wasted so much time. And I have a good feeling about south. She must be there."

"If you say so," the Gaul answered a bit nervously. He was going to keep a closer eye on Bohan for sure. He reached back and gave Bobbo a few pats on the head. The fuzzy deep brown of the bear's fur reminded him of Rytlock. Bobbo was certainly a lot friendlier though.

"So where exactly do you know Rytlock from?" he decided to ask.

"He's famous," the sylvari answered. "Rytlock Brimstone is part of Destiny's Edge. Dragon killers."

"Really? How many?"

"Well, just one so far. But they were also the first to ever try it. They even almost killed Kralkatorrik."

Kralkatorrik … that was a new name. Asterix could only assume how many of these beasts existed. Each time he heard the name of another one, the more dread he felt building up in his gut. This one sounded particularly menacing.

"What's Kralkatorrik like?" he asked.

"Well…" Bohan started, scratching the back of his head. "I've never seen it myself, but they say it's so big, its wings blot out the sun when it flies. And everything in its path turns to crystal. Even the air becomes corrupt."

"What happened when they tried to kill it?"

"Destiny's Edge? They lost. One of the members got called away, and another died because of it. Kralkatorrik got away. Then they disbanded, and reformed again years later."

Asterix tried to play out the scene in his head. A band of warriors, facing a giant dragon of crystal. That was all he had. How would they have done it? What was their strategy? Could one person's failure to attend have really doomed their mission?

"If Rytlock is here, do you think the other members are too?"

"Probably, yes."

Asterix thought about it for a moment. If they eventually reunited, then surely they must all be here to fight Mordremoth. "All out to defeat another. Hope they succeed."

Bohan agreed. "Me too."

"It's time to sleep." Asterix yawned and stretched. "If we want to be awake and aware at dawn."

The sylvari nodded. "Thanks for not leaving my side." He slowly began to shuffle his body into his sleeping bag. "You don't know how much it means to me."

"We'll find her…" he yawned again, sinking his weight into Bobbo's soft belly. He didn't care about bad dreams this time; he just wanted to be rested for the search. Gods knowing, he was going to need it.