Text notes: When a ^ is placed on either side of a sentence, that indicates
speech by the shadow knight Chthon, whose voice is demonic in nature, the
sound of flame always in the background. ^^ indicates his thoughts in
relation to Azrael's.
It was early morning on Saturday in North Freeport, and the Hall of Truth was just starting to come alive with activity, as every paladin rose early as part of tradition, an aspect that the Militia regarded with ridicule, they themselves preferring to sleep in on weekends. Valeron Dushire was tallying up the number of recruits for the week, yawning occasionally. Five recruits thus far, and its not even Tuesday! How many more will we get this week? Eighty-six recruits alone throughout the entire city in just two days! We're running out of quality tunics and swords to give to the novices! I swear, if we get another recruit this early in the morning, I'm jumping from the top floor of the Marr Temple! This is just too much, he thought tiredly, his shoulders aching with exhaustion. He went up to the balcony where he usually welcomed and trained novices and looked down upon the classes just beginning. As if to confirm his worst fears, he heard Sir Xantille shouting, "Lord Dushire! Lord Dushire! We have another novice!" The guard strode up leading a young man who followed closely behind him. He was about to look away when his eyes snapped back towards the recruit. Instead of coming in the typical shirt, vest, pants, and boots typical of young men, he was fully outfitted in leather armor, which gleamed from polish, and he held a Minotaur Axe clenched in his fist. "Are you sure he is a novice? He looks like a finely trained warrior to me," he asked Xantille incredulously. "I beg your pardon, Father Dushire, but this is my first season," the young man volunteered staring at him with piercing green eyes. Dushire yawned again, covering his mouth so as to not be rude. "I'm sorry, could you come back in a few hours? I'm not ready to begin the initiation this early . . . " he said, and started to walk off when Sir Xantille seized him by the shoulder. "My lord, I'm sorry, I'm tired too, but you really need to see this guy in action!" he told him excitably. Yawning wide again, Dushire took one longer look at the young man before nodding.
Theron Rolius looked up from his class down near the aqueduct/river as Dushire ushered the young man in. "One more*yawn* novice for you, Theron," he remarked. "Already? All right, over there with the other beginners . . . " the assistant guild master began, but Xantille cut him off. "No, start him with one of the more experienced squires, trust me!" he exclaimed, almost bouncing from foot to foot. Theron blinked, but nodded, and motioned for an older boy teaching some of the beginners. "Joordan here will spar with you, so we can accurately determine your starting level . . . what was your name again?" he told the young man. "Its . . . Azrael, sir," the young man replied. Joordan had walked over and was looking Azrael up and down scornfully. He was tall, blond, and very well built, in his seventeenth season. "Why am I bothering to do this? I'll likely knock him flat on his back in less than two blows, send him to the novice class like you usually do," Joordan scoffed. "Just do it, Sir Xantille is vouching for him," Theron told the squire, and the boy sniffed, but readied his sword anyways. Theron cleared a space as the novices broke off from their lesson and gathered around. "All right . . . begin!" he called, and clapped his hands three times. This'll be easy . . . Joordan thought to himself, and feinted, then swung the flat of the blade towards the other man's head. However, he hit nothing but air. The next thing he knew, Azrael's practice sword connected with his chin and sent him stumbling back a few feet. Glaring at the brown-haired boy, Joordan revised his strategy and attacked full force. Each blow was dodged, parried, or riposted, and Joordan found himself sweating and bruised as he was forced to switch to the defensive. What is with this guy? he thought in disbelief, but his lack of concentration resulted in getting smacked on the side of the head and sent to the ground. The novices stared for a second before clapping and cheering uproariously. Theron gaped and Dushire's mouth hung open. Gathering his wits, Theron stepped into the circle, and said, "Now, boy, let's see how good you really are." Azrael gulped, but nonetheless put up his sword. The other novices pressed in eagerly.
"If that boy wins, I'm going to have apoplexy," Dushire muttered in a strangled voice. Nonetheless, he clapped three times to start the match. Theron didn't attack, but rather began circling. Azrael circled as well, and after a moment's hesitation, rushed in to attack. Theron dodged his first blow, caught his arm on the second, and slammed his practice sword into the younger man's stomach. The wind knocked out of him, Azrael crumpled to the ground. As Joordan limped away, he chuckled under his breath as he whispered to himself, "At least the twerp isn't invincible," Theron helped Azrael up and patted him on the back, grinning. Dushire walked up and handed him the amulet that signified that he was a member of the Knights of Truth. "Good job, son, you'll do us proud, now, do you mind if I ask how you came to be so skilled when you've never adventured out into the world before?" he asked the younger paladin. Azrael hesitated strangely, then began, "I . . . err, came not from Freeport, but from a settlement called Marr, out in the West Commonlands. My father was a paladin himself, and a tanner, so he fitted me out with these clothes and a spare axe and sent me off to train here. But, as you might expect, he had trained me some before I came here." "Well, it certainly did the trick! Let's get you started with the other squires," Theron remarked. None of the three noticed a shadowy figure gazing down at them from the roof of the balcony, who leapt away shortly thereafter.
Sir Lucan Dlere was not pleased. For every three young warriors he drew in, the paladins and clerics got seven. He knew that a large number of the young men and women in Freeport had brawn as well as brains for magic, but that shouldn't prevent them from becoming warriors, now would it? And even then, more went to the Steel Bunker rather than the Militia. He heard a rustle from behind him, and without turning around, he bellowed, "Report!" The voice that came from behind him was as oily as the man, "There's another new apprentice at the Hall of Truth, sir." Under his helmet, Dlere's eyes bulged in outrage. "This early?" he growled. He removed his helmet and took a swig from the flask that he always kept on his desk. As the fiery liquor cascaded into his stomach, he continued, "Well, is there anything special about him, or is he another panty-waist, lily-livered page boy?" The rogue smoothed his filthy black hair back from his forehead before going on. "He has shown exceptional skill with a sword, despite the fact that he hasn't much endurance, as befits a novice. In his first match he defeated a man sixteen seasons older," he started, then stopped and waited for Dlere's reaction. The head of the Freeport Militia eyes grew cold, but he waved for him to go on. "That's not the thing that interests me the most though," the rogue remarked. "And what is it that does interest you, sewer rat?" Dlere replied sarcastically, taking another swallow. "When I checked his bank account, it was empty, as to be expected, but it had just been opened the day before," he said, and Dlere actually turned around for that. "What?! Every citizen of Freeport and the Commonlands, indeed the whole world registers for an account when they turn five! How could he have just opened it yesterday?" Dlere almost shouted. "And that's not all," the thief continued, beginning to grin in spite of himself. "He says he came from a town called Marr, out in the Commons. There indeed is a city there, but it's only inhabited by retirees, people too old to have children of any age," he said, and Dlere just stared. "And this means, logically, without beating around the bush like you usually do?" he asked, in a low, dangerous voice. "He just appeared."
"Just.appeared?" Sir Lucan Dlere repeated. "Yes, sir," the rogue responded, a gap-toothed grin nearly splitting his face in two. "How is that possible?" Lucan asked himself, pacing around the room, unconsciously picking at the hem of his red tabard, a nervous habit he always had. He stopped and pointed directly at the rogue, a determined look on his face. "Sir?" The rogue asked hesitantly, the grin disappearing. "I want you to trail this young man, see if you can find any information at all, where he's staying, who has seen him thus far, how far back he started walking around, all of it! Also, watch his progress, if he becomes too much of a threat, I may ask you to eliminate him. Consider this my decree; if you fail in this task, your "pardon" won't last much longer. Do I make myself clear?" he told the rogue. The other man's bleary eyes narrowed, but he nodded, bowed, and then disappeared almost as silently as he arrived. This is something out of fairy tales.men just don't appear out of thin air, they must be hiding their past if there is nothing discovered about them. It will just take time to figure out is all, that's it . . . Dlere thought to himself as he returned to his desk and placed on his helmet, but it didn't make him feel as secure as it usually did.
Krystin Charcoal was just taking up her usual corner near the ramp to North Freeport when a voice came from behind her. "Have you seen this man?" She tensed her jaw, and her back became rigid with outrage. "I thought I told you not to bother me any more Matrem," she called back over her shoulder, trying to avoid being seen with the rogue. He didn't answer, but instead thrust a paper in front of her face, and repeated the question, "Have you seen him, and when?" Angrily, she pushed it away from her face and looked at it critically. Sketched on there was an artist's rendition of a young man, tall, with straight and short brown hair, piercing green eyes, and clothed in leather armor, holding a Minotaur Axe. At the top of the sketch was the title, "Azrael." Hurriedly, she responded, "Yes, just a couple of days ago. In fact, he asked directions to a good inn in North Freeport, which was rather odd, as he was a paladin, and they should know North Freeport better than anyone, right?" Matrem rubbed the stubble on his chin and muttered, "That is odd, isn't it? Do you remember which inn you told him to go to?" "It was the Jade Tiger, I think, right across from the bank, now go away!" she muttered, and finally whipped around, but he wasn't there anymore. Tossing her hair irritably, she went back to preparing her wares.
Innkeeper Rille at the Jade Tiger was washing a shot glass left by a recent customer when a voice spoke up from under the counter. "Has a man named Azrael rented out a room here?" Rille stiffened, and looked around hurriedly, but there was nobody there yet, despite it being nearly noon. Without looking down, he remarked, "We run a respectable inn, you know. While we turn few away with the exception of some of the darker races, people of ill repute are not welcome if they ask after the past or nature of the people staying here. I'm not sure how you managed to get in here, but I advise you to get out, before I call the guard on you." A low chuckle answered, and a second question followed, "Yes or no, that's all I ask." The innkeeper's eyebrow's furrowed together, and he began counting down from five. When he reached one, he looked under the counter. Nothing but cobwebs greeted his eyes. Matrem stood on the arbors outside the inn, keeping absolutely motionless to avoid detection, thinking hard. That innkeeper was less than helpful, but his reluctance certainly indicates I hit a nerve. However, I can't report this back to Dlere without concrete evidence . . . better just follow my original objective to watch him until I can establish where he's staying. he thought to himself, and he leapt off the arbor.
Several seasons later . . .
Azrael walked into the Temple of Marr, carrying a bag filled with the carcasses of four piranhas that had somehow found their way into the waters near the Hall of Truth. He began stepping up towards the second floor where he would find the man that had given him this task, but he turned instead downwards, where he would train for his newly acquired spell-casting skills. After he was done, he stepped into the shallow pool in the center of the Temple to wash off the sweat from the hot summer day. Abruptly, he heard someone shout, "Look out beloooooowwwwww!" Azrael looked up to see someone falling towards him from the second floor, twisting in mid-air as if trying to break his fall. Before he could move, the person landed on him, sending them both crashing down into the fountain. Groaning and coughing, Azrael sat up and glared at the other man, who was thrusting his long black hair away from his face. "What did you think you were doing? You could have injured yourself far more had I not been there for you to land on!" he told the other man, but he stopped when the younger man laughed out loud. "I doubt either of us would have been hurt if you hadn't been standing there. Trust me, I'm a monk, I can break my fall . . . or at least I was trying to practice that skill when I was unduly interrupted," he exclaimed, his face open and smiling. Only then did Azrael recognize the harness and sash the man was wearing, and he was sure he would see more fine silk clothes should he stand up. His laughter subsiding, the raven- haired man stood up, and offered a hand to Azrael. "I'm really very sorry about that, my name's Obelisk, a monk of the Ashen Order, here in Freeport. You're a paladin, I take it?" he asked, as he pulled Azrael to his feet. "Yes, my name's Azrael. Just what were you doing, leaping from the balcony of the Temple of Marr, though?" the paladin answered. A wide grin split the monk's face as he responded, "Well, this place is the best for miles around to practice my safe falling technique, as there are no mountains or wizard spires to leap from. And yes, there is no other way to practice it than actually putting it to the test. And, the more weight the better." Azrael saw that the monk's purse was full to bursting with coins, which strained all the more from being wet. "I see, how about we go back to my place to dry off?" Azrael asked Obelisk, motioning for him to follow. "Why not?" he replied, still grinning, making Azrael wonder if the smile ever left his face.
"So, are you from around here? You seemed like you knew where you were going," Obelisk remarked as he toweled off his long black hair, which hung nearly to the middle of his shoulders. Azrael froze, stopping from drying his own, much shorter brown hair. "Well, I've been here for a while, but I'm really from out in the Commonlands," he responded after a while. "Oh, a country boy, eh?" the monk responded, giving him a wide grin. "Do you ever stop smiling?" Azrael asked, beginning to smile in spite of himself. "Not really," Obelisk replied, his grin spreading wider. After finishing finally, he walked over to the table and picked up his purse, which he then upended on the table. A flood of copper coins came out. "This really isn't that much money, maybe about fifty platinum, but when you convert it to copper . . . the perfect solution for more weight to practice safe fall," he explained as he shoveled them back into the purse. "Say, do you want to tag along back to my house after I stop off at the bank? You look like you have some stuff to drop off too," the raven-haired man asked, hefting the purse back onto his belt. "Well, I do have to exchange some coins," the paladin responded truthfully.
It was getting towards sunset when the two men stepped out of the Jade Tiger, and they were laughing and joking as they walked. They had taken no more than three steps when Obelisk stopped Azrael silently with a hand to his shoulder. "There's someone watching us," he declared, his eyes scanning the area. "Where?" Azrael whispered, attempting to follow the other man's eyes. Before Obelisk could respond, a shady looking man pulled his cloak's hood up and hustled off, but he was too slow to hide his face, that of a greasy-looking man with long, stringy black hair. "I don't like the looks of that guy, keep an eye out for him," Obelisk said after a while, watching the direction the man had taken. "Forget about it," Azrael told him, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go switch out our coins and head off to your parent's place." Obelisk brightened up at that, and as they went to the bank, he chatted up a storm. "You'll love my mom's pasta, she always makes more than even me and my dad can eat, and we always welcome guests. When you're in the house, she treats anyone like family! Course, since I'm an only child, she has reason to do so . . . " Azrael only half listened, lost in thought. How much longer can I keep up this story? So long as nobody asks any more questions and I should be fine.
"Ma, I'm home!" "Welcome back, dear! Oh, and I see you've brought a friend home! That's wonderful! Company always makes a meal that much more enjoyable. Make yourselves at home in the sitting room, your father should be down shortly, dinner won't be more than a few minutes away, so don't go gallivanting off anywhere, you hear?" "Yes, ma!" Azrael looked around the small, but cozy building with lessening anxiety. The entire house had a pleasant, frugal appeal to it. While simple, it had various homey touches, like a miniature tree growing in a pot on a stand, and a couple wall scrolls hanging around, depicting scenes of mountains, rivers, lakes, and other nature scenes. "This way is the 'sitting room', it really isn't large enough to qualify as the huge salons it's modeled after, but it can hold at least a dozen people," Obelisk told Azrael, waving him into another room. The sitting room had even more artwork, and even a few statues lying around. Several chairs were placed around the room in various positions, and Obelisk plopped down nonchalantly in one, seemingly at random. Azrael smirked, but sat down more gracefully in a high-backed chair not far from his new companion. "Oh, another new friend? You seem to be getting quite a collection, son," a low voice called from the stairwell in the foyer. A lean but muscular older man was stepping down and turning into the room, looking very much like Obelisk, but with long, thin, gray moustaches hanging down past his chin. His hair was about as long as his son's, only salt-and-pepper in color, and his complexion was ruddy as opposed to his son's tanned look. "Well now, hello, lad, my name's Soun, how'd you happen to meet my son?" he asked the paladin, easing himself into the largest chair in the room, which though large enough to fit another person, seemed filled by his presence. "He sort of fell into my lap, sir," Azrael replied with a smirk, and Obelisk's face turned red, which he disguised by coughing as if to clear his throat. "Did he now? HA hahaha, that's the way he seems to make friends, they just seem attracted to his smile and winning personality, I'm afraid I had to work a bit more actively to socialize with my peers in my youth," Soun exclaimed with a hearty laugh, pulling a pipe from his pocket and filling it with tobacco, lighting it with a piece of straw dipped into a nearby candle. "Dinner's ready!" came the call from the kitchen. "Has that much time passed already? Come on, best food you ever tasted! Just don't eat too much, or they'll have to cart you back to North Freeport in a wheelbarrow!" Obelisk remarked with a chuckle, already dashing off to the table in the corner of the sitting room.
Azrael stared at his plate of dessert, which held just one more bite of blackberry pie, and forced himself to eat it. To his left, Soun was picking his teeth with a sharpened piece of wood, and Obelisk was snoring, already asleep from too much food. Soun finished picking his teeth and looked out the window. The moon had risen high into the sky, and its position indicated it was close to nine o'clock at night. "My, it has gotten late! Why don't you stay the night? You won't be bothered much by my son's snoring, he only does it after he eats, he'll wake up shortly anyways," Soun asked Azrael. Azrael cast a longing look towards the door and responded, "I really should be getting back . . . " "Nonsense, it's no bother, plus, the streets can be a little dangerous at night, even for experienced warriors!" Soun told him, clapping him on the back. Remembering the cloaked man, Azrael nodded.
That morning, Azrael was walking back with Obelisk to the Jade Tiger when they heard music coming from the inn, broken occasionally by an odd rumbling noise. Curious, Azrael walked in slowly and peered around the corner into the common room. Two wood elves were sitting at a central table with a large crowd gathered around them. One of them was strumming a lute, playing a complex melody on it, his fine, almost feminine features radiant in the joy of the music. His companion was rather mysterious-looking for a wood elf. His shoulder length gray hair didn't match his youthful face, but what drew Azrael's attention the most were his eyes, which glimmered like burnished gold, wolf's eyes. The rumbling noise was him growling at the patrons, who would occasionally attempt to start a brawl in their drunken state, but his growls and a carefully hidden harmony spell would calm them down again. "That song . . . " Azrael said to himself, listening carefully. Obelisk also tuned his ear to it, but shook his head. "Its nothing I've ever heard before, and I've heard a lot hanging out at Marsheart's. Sounds like something from another planet," he said, shrugging. Azrael started to say something, but stopped himself, shaking his head.
After the song was done, the bar patrons tossed coins onto the table, much of it gold and platinum, obviously, the concert had been going on for a while. After the crowd cleared out, Azrael and Obelisk approached the pair. The bard looked up from tuning his lute through his hickory-hued bangs and grinned attractively. "Is there something we can do for you, gentlemen?" he asked, in a silvery, almost contralto voice. "That song, where'd you pick it up?" Azrael asked him, scratching his chin again, making it seem to Obelisk as if it was a nervous habit. The wood elf shrugged, saying, "Dunno, just pulled it out of my head I guess. I'm Nixxius, and this is my druidic partner, and sometimes bouncer, Lupin." The aforementioned druid looked up from counting the coins, and said in a voice as cold and as calm as a mountain lake, "We're still short a few platinum to get our next round of spells. Plus, our concert lease from Marsheart's just expired, we're going to have to go exploring again." Nixxius sighed, and placed his lute away. Then, as if noticing the two men for the first time, looked them in the eyes and asked, "Say, since you two look close to us in experience, how about we set out later today to do some adventuring? The more the merrier, I always say, plus it'd be advantageous to have more warriors along, so we can take on greater challenges." "Sure, I guess," Obelisk replied with a shrug and a smile. Lupin's mouth twisted itself to match Obelisk's grin, and Azrael found himself smiling as well. Lupin however, didn't smile with his mouth, but his golden eyes did take on a slightly warmer glow.
Matrem rubbed his jaw from where Dlere had struck him. While appreciative of finding out where Azrael was staying, he was clearly growing impatient with his slowness. Warrior numbskull . . . true intelligence does take time, especially when infiltrating a hostile area . . . I need someone who can follow him around with impunity wherever he goes, but who? He thought to himself, as he pulled his cloak up over his long, black, stringy, greasy hair as he splashed off into the sewers.
"Azrael, where are you going?" Nixxius asked, looking up from his lute, his healing melody ending as his concentration was broken. The paladin looked back with an embarrassed grin, and replied, "I'm way too overloaded with the rusty weapons these Dervishes have been dropping. If I don't sell them soon, I'll be slower than a high elf wizard wrapped in lead!" The bard grinned at the reply, and Obelisk snickered, rubbing at his upper lip where he was trying to grow a moustache like his father's, but Lupin didn't so much as bat an eye, only keeping wary watch on both their camp and for any wandering bears. He looked briefly at Azrael in a sidelong glance, then returned to his sentry duty with a sniff. Azrael still felt uncomfortable around him, but was beginning to respect him, for although he was very cold in personality, he was very professional and respectful, though you had to work hard to earn his respect. Sometimes Azrael thought he was more comfortable around animals than he was around people, it almost made him believe that story Nixxius had told him about Lupin being raised by wolves in the Faydark forests.
His purse now swollen from the coins that had been added from his sales, Azrael stepped out of the inn, and was starting to walk back towards the Dervish Cutthroat camp when he felt a dagger poke at his back through his leather tunic. A low, oily voice hissed, "Come this way, without a struggle, and we'll let you and your friends live," Without a choice, Azrael let himself be lead off towards the desert, which still glittered in the moonlight. {Getting careless, should have noticed him right away,} Azrael thought ruefully. {Too late for that now . . . } Now that he was out in the middle of a pair of dunes, he felt the pressure of the dagger point ease from his back, and he turned to face his assailant. He quickly discovered that there were more than one assassin, five men were spread out, all watching him warily, their faces hidden by voluminous hoods and veils covered their mouths.
The same one that had led him here spoke again. "Sir Lucan Dlere is not very pleased with your apparent support of the Knights of Truth, boy. He also wishes to know why you claim to be of this place when you are truly not of our world. You will tell him, face to face, and if he wishes it, you may join the Militia. Other wise, you will die swiftly," he told the paladin, and he lowered his veil and threw back his hood. Azrael's green eyes widened in surprise as he recognized the shady looking man from before. "So, you figured it out, not that it will help you. Now, who are you, before I decide to get going?" Azrael asked carefully, placing his hand on his Minotaur axe, which hung from a loop on his belt. "I am Matrem Couthon. I and my companions shall be your 'escort', as well as your executioners should you try to escape. Be warned though, even if you break free, you cannot avoid us forever, and neither can your allies," the rogue continued. Azrael's eyes now darkened and narrowed. "What do you mean?" he demanded, his voice going dangerously low. Matrem grinned, showing his blackened teeth, several of which were missing. "Simple, boy. If you prove your unnatural skills tonight, and slay us, you'll never be able to return to your friends again, now that we know who they are. If we do not return, our guild will send out our best assassins to watch over your companions, so that if you try to contact them, both their lives and yours will be forfeit," he told him, and started to laugh, but a choking fit of coughing broke it off. "That's true . . . but it's a risk I'm willing to take in exchange for my freedom. So, take me, if you can," Azrael replied, and drew his axe.
The rogue's eyes lost their haze and snapped fully open in rage. "Kill him! I'll invent some excuse for Dlere!" he yelled. The other rogues leapt to obey, two darting for the young paladin's back, the other pair going to his front. Without looking, Azrael thrust his kite shield behind his back, and heard the satisfying clang of blades on metal, telling him his back, as well as his heart were fine. Simultaneously, he swept the shield backwards, smashing it against the chins of the rear two rogues while blocking the attack of the third one, and tearing open the throat of the fourth on his riposte. The man toppled to the ground, his hood falling off his head, revealing the ordinary face of a peasant man, one you would not recognize in a crowd, up right until he slit your wallet.
The other three backed up, uneasily eyeing the cooling body of their comrade, his blood staining the sand black as the night around it. With a smirk, one reached into his coat, and there was a brief glint of silver before his arm whipped out, and a dagger flew from his outstretched hand, straight towards Azrael's throat. Azrael swung his axe almost at the same time, and with an upwards swipe, sent the dagger flying skywards. His attack diverted, the rogue wasted no time trying to make up for the lapse and leaped forwards. Azrael grabbed onto his knife arm as it was thrusted forwards, and stepped to the side, yanking hard. The rogue, taken off balance, met a swift end via an axe to his spine.
The pair that had originally made their strike from the back looked at each other, then again at the man who had single-handedly killed nearly half their team. Fear rather than confidence filled their faces now, as they warily edged towards the younger man, who watched calmly as they approached, his axe held at the ready. With a yell filled with hatred, they both charged him. Azrael reached his shield arm upwards and snatched at something as he parried the first one's dagger and buried his axe between his ribs.
The last remaining rogue unexpectedly shoved his dead brother backwards, causing the axe to be wrenched out of Azrael's grasp. "So, now what shall you do, lad?" the man asked, the deadly confidence back. "Improvise," Azrael responded, and within the blink of an eye, pulled the thing he had grabbed from the air out of his left fist and into his right, and thrust it at the rogue's ribs. The older man looked down in surprise at the dagger imbedded in his side. "Y . . you caught it . . . " he gasped, as his coat began to darken with blood. "Yes, mighty impressive, no?" Azrael remarked with a smirk, and twisted forcefully with the dagger, and the rogue's eyes rolled up into his head and he too sagged to the desert sands.
Now, Matrem was the only one left, standing there, quivering, as Azrael retrieved his axe. "What now?" Azrael asked, advancing even as the rogue retreated, hiding a bout of coughing behind his hand. "You don't seem to be in as good a state of health as the other's...meaning you'll stand less of a chance than they did. Still want to fight?" Matrem glowered at Azrael, and with astonishing agility, executed a series of backwards handsprings away from the paladin, and once he was a safe distance away, he shouted back, "This isn't over boy! You watch your back, y'hear?" With that, he seemed to melt into the night, his black cloak blending in perfectly.
Azrael stood silently, wiping the blood off his axe. {While those rogues weren't so tough, they're sure not to make the same mistake twice. Next, it'll be sure to be their most experienced members. However, if I make my guess correctly, none of them will want to attempt to capture me again any time soon, or make an assault on my life. But . . . Obelisk and the others might not be so lucky. I may not like it, but I can't go back to them, not yet at least. I have to find some way to tell them of this, but how?} he thought morosely.
Lupin looked at the dying embers of the breakfast fire and said quietly in his cold, calm voice, "Azrael isn't back yet. Its been a long time." Obelisk finished wiping the crumbs out of the stubble on his face, and shrugged, remarking, "Well, maybe he got attacked by one of those bears, and had to stop at the inns to rest up. I bet if we check over there, we'll find him. We honestly can't continue to hold this camp without at least some kind of warrior." Nixxius nodded and doused the fire, and Lupin stood up silently, absently kicking dirt over the remains. When they got to the inn though, the innkeeper said he hadn't seen him since last night, when he sold his things. The trio exited the inn, and were about to try another building when Lupin stopped them, his nose sniffing. "I smell his scent...he or something he's handled is close by," he said quietly, and started running off towards the other set of inns. "The nose knows . . . c'mon, let's follow him," Nixxius told Obelisk, and the two men followed after the druid. They found him standing next to the main inn building not far from the lake, holding a scrap of paper in his hands, and frown on his face.
"What's wrong?" Nixxius asked hesitantly, worried about what might be so terrible as to merit such emotion from his wolfish friend. Without a word, Lupin thrust the note at the bard. Taking it in his slender fingers, he looked it over. In Azrael's short, choppy hand, there was written this message: "Can't stay. Something is not right, Militia and rogues are involved. Don't try to contact me, you'll be in terrible danger if you do. I'm in my fifteenth season now, I'll hunt somewhere else, maybe the Oasis. I'll try to find some way to send word, but you don't get any, don't try to search for me. Sorry I can't say more, have to run. -Azrael" Below his signature, an odd emblem was embossed into the paper, that of seven triangles, three within the space created by the largest, and the smallest in the gap created by them. "What does he mean by that?" Obelisk asked, a worried look on his normally cheery face. "What it means, is that we can't afford to be so optimistic from now on," Lupin remarked coolly.
Some weeks later . . .
Matrem was not feeling well at all. His entire life had now been devoted to following Azrael, and his health had been steadily suffering from it. He had been unable to get any of his comrades, even the ones in their fiftieth season to go and capture him, and therefore had to continue to observe him solo once more. Dlere had been unwilling to extend the deadline, but after hearing about the death of Peerin, Sillk, Damaskk, and Absinthe, he gave him an unlimited span of time in which to complete his task. It gave him very small comfort to see that the warrior himself was troubled, and perhaps even frightened of the paladin.
He slunk through the city, hidden from prying eyes, as silent and steady as he had ever been, but his insides were churning. He had still been unable to pursue him to some locations, like North Freeport, and Innothule Swamp, where he was reportedly killing Froglocks. He needed someone who could go all these places, but who? As he neared the Academy of Science, he saw something remarkable. A young human woman clad in a Robe of the Oracle was standing outside the entrance arch, concentrating. Before his eyes, her appearance shimmered, and her visage became that of a high elf, indicating that she had resumed her natural form. {An enchantress! How could I have been so foolish? They are masters of disguise, she could follow that fool boy anywhere! And, as an added bonus, she could easily use her feminine wiles to get information out of him . . . for the right incentive of course . . . this platinum should do it...} he thought excitedly, and scurried after her.
Nedra plopped down on an unfinished section of wall and looked over her recent purchases. "Man, this is so unfair!" she groaned, her violet eyes regarding the scrolls sadly, her wavy blond hair cascading over her shoulders. "Why, even with my human illusion, and my Benevolence spell, do they continue to hike the price of spell scrolls higher? They should have been able to accommodate for the increased demand for them by now, shouldn't they?" she asked herself, regarding the few copper and silver coins left in her hand. "Not even enough for a decent meal," she grumbled, and stuffed them back in her purse. She was just about to leave, when an oily voice spoke from behind her back, "Having money troubles?" She gave a small yelp of surprise and darted off the wall, whirling around, her Staff of Writhing at the ready.
Matrem crouched where she had just been sitting on the wall, his hair hastily pulled back in a stylish fashion, and his face cleaned up somewhat. He made a careful attempt not to show his teeth as she asked her, "A charming, attractive lady such as yourself, not able to even afford some of her spells? Which are essential to her very well being? Well, I have a proposition for you." "Oh?" she retorted, a pale eyebrow arched. "And who might you be?" Matrem gave a deep bow with a flourish and replied, "Why, I'm the great Velvet, the headmaster of an elegant escort service, right here in Freeport!" She relaxed some, but she eyed him warily, his clothes were fine, if more than a bit dirty, and he definitely looked under the weather, but he seemed genuine.
"Well, Mr. Velvet, what is this 'proposition' of yours?" she asked him finally. Hiding a crooked smile, he told her, "Well, most of my ladies are engaged these days, and I'm unable to fulfill some requests as a result. Most I can let go, but not this particular young man." With that, he pulled out a fresh sketch, and showed it to her. On it was Azrael, though wearing some pieces of banded mail armor now, it had been drawn but days ago. She looked at the drawing with interest as he continued. "This fine young man needs a lady escort within a few weeks, and he is willing to pay handsomely for the best. Unfortunately, most of my appointments are still full for months yet. I would be willing to let you have a greater share of the commission if you would stand in for one of my girls, all you have to do is find him. I would also be curious as to what he does for a living, as such riches could only be acquired by a remarkable young man," he told her, letting her have the sketch.
"So, all I have to do is find this guy, wine and dine him a bit, and see what he coughs up as far as his social life?" she asked incredulously. "Well, yes, but it sort of needs to be a surprise, which is why I need your special talents," Velvet/Matrem admitted. "How so? Why?" Nedra asked, confused. "Well, I had originally told him that nobody was available, so I felt that a girl dropping right into his lap would be a pleasant surprise, rather than literally having to beg him to accept our services again. So, will you do it?" he told her, rubbing his hands together eagerly. "Gladly," she replied. "Excellent. A little advance first for your trouble . . . " and Nedra watched astonished as a dozen platinum coins were poured into her hands.
Azrael was walking back towards the Southern Ro desert in the Innothule swamp when he felt a pair of eyes on his back. He spun around carefully, on the lookout for rogues. A distance aways, what appeared to be a young troll female was watching him warily, but with interest keen in her eyes. Azrael shuddered, remembering the carnivorous tendencies of trolls, and hurried onwards. Just as he was nearing the valley leading towards the desert, he got the feeling again. This time, it was an ogress watching him. Curiously, she also had blond hair, and violet eyes, as the troll had. The same hunger was evident in that gaze. {Maybe this close to Grobb and Oggok isn't such a good place to hunt . . . back to Highpass I guess . . . } Azrael thought as he ran down the valley floor.
Several points later in the day, he noticed a half elf, a gnome, a halfling, a wood elf, an erudite, a dark elf, and a barbarian all watching him from a distance. Either he was attracting some sort of a strange female fan club of sorts, or something odd was going on, for all of the women had violet eyes, and with the exception of the dark elf, all had blond hair. Another thing he noticed was that the gnome, erudite, and dark elf were all wearing the same robe. Suspicion began to grow in his mind, and when he saw a human woman following him as he entered the tunnel to the East Commons, he decided to find out who was following him and why. When he got near the shady swashbuckler that had set up an impromptu kiosk in a cave in the tunnel, he crouched behind a pillar in the darkness and waited, silently. As expected, the human woman followed his steps almost exactly, but when she came to the cavern, she stopped uncertainly, and looked around to see where he had gone. {Closer . . . wait for it...} he thought to himself as she walked slowly towards the pillar where he was hidden. As she stepped past him, he seized her by the front of her robe and slammed her up against the pillar, and demanded, "All right, who are you and who sent you?"
"Uh, *gulp*, is this how you treat a lady?" the enchantress coughed, her eyes wide and shocked. "Why were you following me?!" Azrael shouted at her, veins standing out on his neck. "Whoa, calm down, I'll explain if you'll let me up," she told him, sweat starting to run down her face. "Why should I?" Azrael demanded in a low, dangerous tone, and Nedra stared in mixed shock and horror as the iris of his left eye began to turn from green to red...blood red. "What's happening to your eye?" she cried, and she squealed in fright as Azrael's left arm began to shake. Looking down at his arm, Azrael abruptly let go of her robe and instead clutched at his arm, sagging against the pillar as the spasms grew more violent, and his left eye glowed with an unholy light. After a while, the vibrating stopped, and the glow in Azrael's left eye faded, and the iris returned to its normal emerald hue.
Panting, Azrael turned his head to look at the human woman who held onto the hem of her robe at her neck worriedly, as if she would run off any second. " . . . Sorry about that, I've been under a lot of stress lately . . . " he managed to say after a while. "You're telling me?" she exclaimed. Hesitantly, she moved closer, and placed a delicate, porcelain-hued hand on his arm. "Are you all right now, darling?" she asked him in a somewhat shaky voice. "Yes . . . provided you answer my question," Azrael replied, forcing himself upright, his face now more sweaty than his new companion's was. "Well, my name is Nedra . . . and as you might have guessed, I am an enchantress. I was sent out here to act as an escort by a Mr. Velvet, who said you had been asking for one for a while and was afraid he'd lose your business. You looked so handsome in the drawing her provided, and I was looking forwards to meeting you, not quite the greeting I expected, but these are odd times . . . . " she started to explain, but the look of suspicion and hatred on Azrael's face stopped her. His green eyes turned to meet her violet ones, and he asked, "Wait, what did this 'Velvet' person look like?"
Swallowing hard, her heart leaping, {He's so gorgeous!} she thought for a second, but remembering herself, she responded, "Well . . . he was finely dressed, short and slender though sickly looking, long black hair that was greased back . . . though his garments appeared very worn, he did seem to have a good deal of wealth as he paid me quite handsomely to come and find you . . . And, well, he asked me to report back to him any information you told me about yourself . . . to find about the dealings of his clientele . . . or so he said." She leapt backwards as Azrael's fist slammed into the rock pillar, breaking off a small chunk of stone. "Damn, its Matrem," he growled, then remembering the enchantress, he stood up and looked her in the eye again, causing her to go a bit weak in the knees. "The man that sent you on this fool's errand is not really an 'escort master', but rather rogue named Matrem, a man after my life. I don't know who he's working for, but I think it may be the message. Most likely, if you'd given him all the information he needed he'd have killed you shortly afterwards, in fact, I'm surprised he paid you in advance, he must be really desperate," he told her, his eyes flashing in anger.
Suddenly, it struck her. At the bank in Freeport, it was there, a drawing of a man's face on the marble wall, though he was dressed differently and somewhat cleaner, it was the exact same man. "By the Goddess of Love . . . what have I been doing? I've let my passions cloud my mind!" she choked, the mental image of the thief slipping a dagger into her spine chilling her to the bone. She looked up as Azrael spoke again, "I'm getting real tired of this guy, I'd get rid of him myself, but I can't get too close to Freeport, you understand." He looked tired to her, as if carrying a huge, heavy, lonely burden. Her heart went out to him, but the principles of Erollissi Marr told her what needed to be done. "I'll take care of it, it is the least I can do to take revenge on he who tricked me!" she told him, a little more forcefully than she intended, but she was rewarded by having him clasp her hands in his. She didn't have time to revel in the warm hardness of them as he told her, "Be careful all right? With your magic you could easily outdo him, but if you get caught, not even illusion can save you. Now I must get going, I'm too close as it is." Breaking their gaze, he dashed off in the tunnel towards the Commonlands, his cloak flowing behind him. {I'll do it, you don't worry about that, my darling}, she thought as she went the same way, at least until the entrance where she headed towards Freeport, her form fading into nothingness as an invisible spell wrapped itself around her.
Matrem coughed and hacked violently, and was not surprised to see blood when he pulled his hand away. {My health is giving out . . . I just hope that elf woman gets back with the information soon, I want to die as a free man, not as a criminal!} he thought weakly, as another bout of coughing wracked him. He was lying on a pallet in one of the local sick houses, where he could trust the attendants not to reveal his identity to the paladins and clerics. Unable to lift his head, he saw the white apron of an attendant moving close, probably with his evening gruel. He coughed again, and attempted to thank her, but he felt a piercing pain in his side and was unable to speak. The pain faded almost immediately, but there was still a faint pressure in his lungs. Looking down, he saw the silver glint of a dagger imbedded in his ribs. Looking up, he saw the high elf woman, who grinned sweetly, and kissed his cheek as she moved off calmly, and out the door. As his vision faded to black, one thought crossed his mind, {At least now the pain will end . . . }
"He's dead then?" Dlere asked of the paladin who had reported to him, barely keeping his disgust down. "Yes, he died to a knife wound, so we think that most likely his rogue allies found him no longer useful," Joordan replied. Now a fully-grown man, Joordan had not forgotten his humiliation at Azrael's hands. An Adonis, he had statuesque beauty, and his well-built frame had attracted many a woman to him, but the fact that he had been shown up by a man three years and seventeen seasons younger than he was too much to bear, and had worn on his mind for the second seventeen seasons he had trained through. It was hearing that Sir Lucan Dlere was looking for Azrael that had caused him to forsake the Hall of Truth and sell his sword to the Militia. "Very unfortunate . . . now I suppose you'll be wanting to take after him now?" Dlere asked, taking a long pull from his flask. Joordan didn't answer, but a glint in his deep blue eyes revealed his response.
Azrael trudged through the hot desert sands of the Oasis, occasionally pausing to remove his helm to wipe away the sweat. {This would be a good area to hunt in if not for the crowds and the heat . . . } he thought miserably as he took a drink from one of his water flasks, his second in at least as many minutes. Working his way through all the adventurers, he finally spots a deepwater caiman plodding his way. Smiling, he puts away the flask and draws his axe. As he draws near the caiman, he hears distant shouts as people recognize him and gather around to watch the spectacle, but he ignores them as all his concentration is focused on the reptile.
Drawing deep breaths, Azrael focuses his energy, seeking the emotions of honor, valor, courage, and the desire to do right, letting the positive emotions to fill him to the core. As if sensing the massive amounts of energy building up in the paladin, the deepwater caiman halts and glowers at him dubiously, looking even more suspiciously at the crowd gathering. Set off with unease, the caiman surges forward at the human, bellowing with rage. Azrael's emerald green eyes snap open as the caiman approaches, and with a leap he flings himself over the caiman's lunge and twists in midair to face himself towards the enraged animal as it whips around finding its target vanished. It snaps at Azrael's legs, but he moves them out and back in depending on where the caiman's head is, infuriating it to no end. After toying with it some more, Azrael ends the game with one mighty swing, giving off a great yaulp, slamming the minotaur axe into the caiman's skull.
The adventurers gathered around clap wildly, cheering his performance. Azrael isn't impressed, as he sighs dejectedly. {How on earth am I supposed to get any hunting done when I'm followed around everywhere I go?} he thinks as he fishes out the water flask yet again. Drinking deeply, he sighs contentedly as the cool liquid splashes down his dry throat. But as he puts it back, he finds himself looking into a pair of amethyst eyes. "Hello, darling!" Nedra chirps, giving him a cute smile. With a cry of surprise, Azrael stumbles backwards and falls to the ground, to the amusement of the onlookers. "Where'd you come from?" he yells, his face red with embarrassment. She giggles and taps her cheek with a perfectly manicured finger, telling him, "I am an Enchantress you know." "Hey, who are you babe?" somebody calls out, and several whistles are blown from nearly a dozen men. Basking in the attention, she smiles flirtatiously for their benefit, but she then proclaims, "Why, I'm his lover of course!" Nedra chuckled as the faces of not only the men in the crowd but Azrael's face fell. "Wh . . . wha . . . no, we're not, she's . . . just my friend, that's all!" he stammered, looking around at the sea of faces desperately. "Oh ho ho ho! That's not what you said last night in bed, dear!" Nedra chortled, putting a delicate hand beside her ruby lips as she laughed.
The crowd roared with laughter and started to disperse, some offering congratulations to Azrael as they departed. Azrael tried to work his lips, to form some sort of coherent denial, but he couldn't. Frustrated, he turned to the high elven woman, and demanded, "Why did you tell them such an outrageous lie?" "Why darling, do you mean to say it wasn't the truth? she replied with a sarcastic wink. "Come off it!" Azrael growled, though not entirely angry at the beautiful woman's attention. "Oh come on, I'm just having some fun!" she said, fluttering her hand in a dismissive gesture, smoothing her wavy hair back with her other hand.
Exhaling forcibly in a huff, Azrael moved off, but Nedra followed him. "I took care of that rogue, you know," she told him after a while, resisting his efforts to lose her. Azrael stopped, and looked right at her. "You . . . weren't kidding were you? I thought that followers of Erollissi Marr weren't that violent!" he remarked, aghast. "On the contrary, we desire to protect the ones we love, and as they say, 'all's fair in love and war'!" she replied, giving him a flirtatious smile. He scoffed again, muttering, "Are you still going to insist upon that?" She opened her violet eyes open wide innocently, and said, "Hey, I'm just kidding! Plus, you're so cute when you're mad!" Azrael's face turned into a scowl and she giggled, remarking, "There you go!" As they started off again, neither noticed the tall blond man looking at them from on top of a faraway dune . . . his eyes filled with hatred.
"Eldest child bit, huh?" Azrael remarked, as he and Nedra walked along the edge of the dune. "Indeed, my father wasn't too pleased that I was heading out before my brother would, but my mother was ecstatic, being an enchantress herself. My brother is a magician, so my father had hopes that his son could follow in his footsteps, but unfortunately for him, I was born a few years earlier than my brother. Still, we are both keepers of the Art, so he was contented that at least both of us would be going out into the world, discovering new magic and all that...showing just how powerful the bloodline of our family is. To be quite honest, I think he's just doing this to live vicariously through us, since all he got to do was study books for most of his life, never any excitement," she told him as they stepped quickly over the hot sand. "And what do you want?" Azrael asked unexpectedly, stopping in place, forcing her to halt and turn and look at him to keep up the conversation.
"To be honest . . . I was always the most popular girl in all of Felwithe, I was so good at changing before all the others so I could set trends rather than follow them. What I want outside of my clique is . . . quite simply to become even more adaptable. I want to be able to change into everything! Enchanters can make their forms fluid, mold them like clay, and reshape them into just about anything! However, magic can only go so far . . . there are only established spells for very few of the races of this planet . . . and while you can change into objects, you cannot move around while sitting there as a candlestick, right? That's my goal...to discover some way to change at will to anything, anyone!" she exclaimed excitedly, casting a spell, so that her form swirled back into the human form that she had finally approached him in, with the long blond braid hanging over her shoulder. However, her violet eyes were still there as an additional marker of her identity, twinkling just as vibrantly as the talisman of Erollissi Marr at her neck.
"What about your own identity, then? If you can become anything...what happens to your sense of self, who would you be anymore?" Azrael asked her, scratching his chin thoughtfully, staring her right back in the eye. Nedra shook her head, still smiling. "That's not it . . . I'm thinking more along the lines of diplomacy . . . people get along better with people of their own race, right? That way, I can get closer to people than they would ordinarily allow, learn how they feel, and eventually, I want to find a way so that all of us can live in peace and love each other, just like the Goddess wants us to do!" she explained, punctuating her statements with waves of her hand, the heat and magic radiating off of it creating illusionary swirls in the air.
Azrael buried his face in his hands, muttering, "There you go again . . . can't you think of anything but love?" Nedra's face went serious for a change, and she quoted, "Love is the key to the soul, without it, intimacy is impossible. When you love someone, you can share your soul with them, become closer to being one. When all people love each other, we all will be one, in bonds stronger than race, stronger than nationality, than religion. For it is love that motivates us to exceed what we perceive our boundaries, we will do the impossible for the sake of those we love." A smaller smile returned to her face, as she continued, "I just want everyone to feel as loved as I have been, when we can all get along is when there will be no longer any need for conflict. In the meantime, I just want to love this world, and live my life to the fullest, whatever means to that end. Passion is power, after all."
"You do have a point, but what about faith? To keep one sane and true through difficult times without love? And what when love ends, or when lovers betray each other because of the throes of passion, would you not need justice?" Azrael asked, but he was silenced by a feminine finger to his lips. Nedra laughed as a surprised look crossed his face. "You're absolutely right. That's why our patron deities are brother and sister, right? Truth and love, justice and passion, its what drives all virtuous men and women, right? I got enough of this from my brother, and I don't need you preaching to me either, no matter how much the paladins tell you to proselytize," she whispered in his ear, making sure to breath a puff of hot air seductively against his earlobe before she danced away laughing throatily. Azrael blushed, but steeled himself and followed after her.
"But, why are you here? And more importantly, why are you following me?" Azrael called after her as she scrambled up the ruins of a wizard's teleportation pad at the edge of the Southern portion of the Desert of Ro. "I got bored of the island at home . . . I wanted to see the world, remember? As for why I'm following you . . . you are handsome, and an interesting fellow to boot . . . otherwise I would've left after the 'job' was completed," she told him, gazing over at the setting sun, sinking crimson over the horizon. A cold wind swept across the desert, signaling the onset of night. Nedra shivered, and waved for Azrael to come over. Sighing heavily, he strode up the pyramid and sat down next to her. Immediately, she sagged against him, curling her arms around his waist as she snuggled closer to him for warmth. "Mmm, you ARE warm. I can always tell when a man is good for embracing," she said softly, shutting her eyes and exhaling softly in satisfaction.
Relieved that the ball of energy had quieted down for a change, Azrael surveyed the land around him. {Why is all this happening to me? Things aren't simple, wherever I go, that's for sure, whether its Norrath or...huh?} he thought to himself, as he noticed someone moving towards him in the fading light of day. Nedra had fallen asleep at this point, so he laid her down on the still-warm stone and laid his cloak over her quickly before turning to face the approaching visitor. Wary of previous encounters with 'strangers', he carefully hefted his Minotaur Axe. He wasn't disappointed, for the approaching figure lifted both a glowing lightstone and a silvery war axe, revealing a cruel, statuesque face. Joordan. {Then again, some things never change. There is always the hero . . . and then there is the nemesis,} Azrael thought in determination as the other paladin drew closer.
"So, I finally found you, Azrael." The two paladins stared each other in the eye, the twilight glow on the horizon just barely illuminating the men in a crimson tint, like that of blood. "Yeah, great, so what?" Azrael responded, deciding to play dumb for now. "I never did forgive you for defeating me that day . . . you made a total fool out of me! I was always the best, until you came along, dropping out of the sky onto our world, then you take the position of most favored student away from me in a single match . . . But I've changed since then. I've realized that the only way to be the best is to play both sides, work for whoever will give you the most money . . . or power," Joordan told Azrael, his face remaining eerily passive, as if his features were made of marble. Azrael's emerald eyes widened as he guessed what the older man was implying. "You've betrayed the Knights, you're working with the Militia!" he exclaimed in dismay. The corners of Joordan's mouth turned up ever so slightly as he continued, "Shocking, but not so shocking as finding out that you're not really of this plane of existence, right, Azrael? Real citizens of Norrath register for a bank account when they're very young, and unless they've been living in the woods all their lives, don't open it a few days right before they begin training. Your cover story didn't hold up for long after that, I'll admit."
Azrael's eyes narrowed as he tensed into a ready position. "Hmph, so you figured that out, where do you think I'm from then?" he asked, adjusting his grip on his axe. "I have a few ideas, but we've more 'important' matters to discuss, eh?" Joordan replied, tightening his grip on his own axe almost unnoticeably. They stared at each other stock-still, neither moving an inch . . . but then, Joordan's left boot moved a fraction of an inch forward...
Without further hesitation, Azrael darted forward, and swung his axe in an upward curving slash, just barely blocked by Joordan's shield, which he brought immediately down on Azrael's elbow before he could pull away. Not allowing Joordan to press his newfound advantage, Azrael swung his own shield upward into the blond man's forehead, stunning him. As he stumbled back, shaking his head to clear it, feeling returned to Azrael's axe arm and he charged the other man again. He elbowed Joordan in the stomach, followed by smashing him on the side of the head with the head of his axe, then finishing it off with a side kick to his solar plexus. Joordan went flying backwards, but managed to regain his concentration, and he planted his hands on the ground, turning the fall into a handspring back into a standing position.
Now, it was his turn to make an attack. In a flash, he was right in front of Azrael's face, and his silvery war axe poised to split Azrael's skull open. The younger man brought his own axe up with both hands, catching the downward stroke, though with great difficulty. Immediately, Joordan switched tactics and swept Azrael's feet out from under him with his right leg. He raised his left to stomp on Azrael, but the wanderer had recovered, gathered his arms under him, and hurled his legs upward, using his arm strength to get his body off the ground, and kicked Joordan on the underside of the jaw, then coming upright after he finished the maneuver.
Not giving him a chance to recover, Azrael ran over and started attacking him again, thrusting the butt of the axe into Joordan's throat, then another slam to the side of the head with the reverse side of the axe, a knee to the stomach, and then he shoved him into the sand dunes. Joordan spots him running towards him again, and trips him, so both men were now down in the sand, grappling for the upper hand. A careful jab to a pressure point on Joordan's shoulder, and he lost his silvery war axe. However, Azrael's would-be victory slash only caught Joordan's purse and sand as the other man rolled out of the way. Before Azrael could yank it out, Joordan flung him away and onto another dune. The madmen and zombies who usually roamed the desert abandoned their roaming as they watched the unusual spectacle as the fight continued across the desert.
All the paladins were using now were fists, feet, arms, legs, and any part of their body that could be considered a weapon. It was here that both were equally matched. Though Azrael had greater skill, he was hindered by the choking sand, and Joordan's greater strength. They continued rolling, until they came up against something large, wrinkled, green, and hard. Both men stopped what they were doing, and looked up . . . and up . . . .
"RAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!" The Ancient Cyclops screamed his rage as he plunged his mighty fist downward at the two insects that had irked him. Joordan dashed like mad for the shimmering barrier that indicated the edge of the monster zone for the Southern Desert of Ro as the monster of old chased after him. Azrael split the other way, hoping he could at least reach his weapon before the Cyclops lost interest in pursuing his rival. He reached the spot where he had lost his axe; only he was unable to find it. He found Joordan's bulging purse however, and a few meters away, his silvery war axe glittered. Azrael shrugged, and picked it up. {To the winner go the spoils, I guess . . . } he thought to himself as he tucked the weapon into his belt loop, but further reverie was broken off as the enraged howl of the Cyclops, having lost his prey reached his ears.
Azrael raced back over to where he had left Nedra and started shaking her, trying to get her to wake up, shouting, "Nedra! Wake up! We've got to move now or we're in deep trouble!!" She opened one violet eye and sat up slowly, totally not worried at all, and mumbled, "What's the problem?" "That," Azrael deadpanned as the Ancient Cyclops loomed up over the nearest sand dune as it rushed towards them. Not needing any further explanation, Nedra's hands and eyes glowed as she hurriedly muttered an incantation and cast it on the raging giant. The Cyclops skidded to a halt as his eyes flashed then went blank, staring at Nedra totally still. Fright mixed with awe on Nedra's face as she admitted, "I didn't think that would work . . . we better run! It won't likely last long!" Without further ado, both adventurers dashed between the monster's legs and headed back towards the Oasis. As they neared the shimmering barrier, they heard the pounding footsteps of the Cyclops coming up fast behind them. With one last desperate boost of energy, Azrael and Nedra hurled themselves through the barrier, disappearing from the Cyclops' view.
In the Oasis, later...
Azrael sat down on the sand dune overlooking the inn, gasping for breath, as Nedra raised her arms above her head in order to try and get some more oxygen into her lungs. "So, are you going to tell me how you managed to get an Ancient Cyclops pissed off at you and wander off, leaving me alone while you were at it?" Nedra asked finally, in a huff, her cheeks more flushed now from displeasure rather than exertion. "Long story," Azrael grumbled sarcastically, but before he could say anything more, a blackened, decaying fist struck him from behind, rolling him down the sand dune. A ghoul had somehow crept up behind them while they were talking, and was now rushing down the hill towards Azrael, hooting. Azrael had never been able to damage one of these before, but as he swung his 'borrowed' silvery war axe at the undead creature, it bit deeply into the rotting flesh. {I get it! This weapon must be magic!} he thought in wonderment, but his joy faded as the ghoul cast a spell, causing his legs to lose all strength, preventing him from getting up. As he tried to fend off the ghoul's blows, Nedra was casting another spell from on top of the dune. As she finished, red light burst around the ghoul, and the monster clutched its head in agony as its world went all topsy-turvy. Not waiting for another opportunity to present itself, Azrael cleaved the foul creature's head from its shoulders with the axe. Panting, he removed the coins from the creature's corpse as feeling returned to his legs. Nedra skidded down the slope towards him as he stood up and looked at him, concerned, and asked, "Are you all right?" "Fine and dandy," Azrael muttered, resulting in Nedra getting a confused look at the unfamiliar expression. She shook it off and blushed, but composed herself and asked him, "Well . . . with that last monster I reached my twentieth season . . . do you mind if I leave you now to go and get my new spells?" Azrael shook his head, and Nedra nodded and cast a gate spell, vanishing into a burst of shimmering bubbles before him. Groaning, Azrael staggered up the embankment as he realized that he too now had money to buy things with.
A few hours later in the East Commonlands, he was admiring the new suit of banded mail he had just purchased from another human paladin, but his smile faded when it dawned on him that he had just spent most of the money he had gotten from taking Joordan's purse, and all he had succeeded in buying was new armor, and not the most powerful that was on the market either. But at the moment, this was all he could afford. He checked his bags for items to sell, and found precious little there. "Now what am I going to do to get more money?" he thought bitterly as he started walking off in the direction of Freeport.
Azrael smiled and thanked Innkeep Juno, and pocketed the few gold, silver, and copper coins he had gotten for selling his loot. He stepped out of the Inn, jangled his nearly empty purse and sighed. Even with the addition of the new coins, he estimated he didn't have enough to buy anything for himself that would be an improvement over what he had. He looked at his banded armor, and silvery war axe and felt disgusted. He had seen others walking around in bronze and even steel armor, with very expensive jewelry and the best weapons money could buy, only because they had older brothers, sisters, or friends that had given them the items themselves, or the money to buy them.
A halfling a good number of years younger than him ran past waving a Short Sword of the Ykesha, making Azrael want to knock the amateur warrior out and take the weapon, but he knew that the guards in the East Commonlands would be alerted and would take rather...direct...action. He had been adventuring for a quite some time now, and was close to earning a surname, one he hadn't decided upon yet, but had several good ideas. But in order to get there, he would need a good deal of money to get better equipment, perhaps a better weapon before more armor . . . maybe one of those Ghoulbanes he had seen older paladins with, or even, dare he dream of it, a Fiery Avenger. He knew of extremely few paladins who had earned the fabled weapon, but he desperately wanted to be one of them. But unfortunately, he didn't know of where he could get his hands on that kind of money quickly, and earning it the traditional way was taking too long.
Strolling through the streets of Freeport, Giantt, a rather young ogre, was a strange sight. Few ogres had ever earned the trust of most cities of light, but he had, and he was proud of it. He had earned much in the process of earning their trust, too. A full set of large bronze and steel armor and a fine steel two-handed sword, as well as many platinum pieces. Giantt, however, was not satisfied. Ambitious as he was then, he envied the older adventurers sporting full steel armor or even fabled Red Dragonscale Breastplates, cloaks seemingly woven from flames and mithril two-handed swords. He had vowed not to rest till every man, woman and child envied his equipment and skills as a Warrior and the bards sung tales of his exploits. He wondered what this day would be like. Perhaps a trip to the depths of Guk? Or pay the Kobolds of Solusek a visit, mayhaps? He knew not, and was not about to decide till he got some food, so he went to the nearest tavern, where he bellowed at the shopkeeper, "Gib mez fewd! Mez pay gud!" He then sat down at a table, and waited for his food, trying to decide where to go . . .
As he finished off his hundredth orc pawn out of pure boredom, Azrael's stomach began to grumble. As he reached into one of his backpacks, he found he only had a few muffins and milk bottles left. {Oh great! More expenses!} Azrael thought unhappily as he made his way back towards Freeport. He wandered into the inn and nearly ran into the backside of a very large ogre, all decked out in plate armor, and holding a large fine steel sword. He had not seen many ogres, but he could tell that this one was fairly young, most likely his equivalent in development, though the paladin had no idea what age ogres could live to. "The usual, innkeep," Azrael commented, attempting to slip in beside the ogre, and having him not notice. The innkeep handed him his set of ten muffins and ten milk bottles, and then turned back to the ogre.
The Ogre downed his Ogre Swill in one pull, then basically threw the ten muffins given to him down his throat. He wiped the crumbs and remnants of the alcohol off his mouth with his arm, then just sat there for a while, as if thinking. Finally, he decided to poke the human in the banded armor, who promptly spun around to face him. "Hey yuz!" he rumbled in greeting, but his intentions didn't appear at all friendly to Azrael, who said, "Um, hi...nice armor?" He backed off slowly, looking back and forth for an escape route should the ogre decided that he was the main course after the appetizer of the muffins. "Uhhhh, I wish I was able to afford something at least half as nice . . . . " he stuttered, backing into an old man seated at the table behind him, who gave a coughing wheeze in complaint. He whipped around and was about to apologize when the old man cleared his throat and said in a clear and strong voice, "So, down on your luck eh? Strong young man like yourself ought to have the best armor and weapons money can buy right? Heh, I know what you're thinking, all those other youngsters with their rich relatives have all the luck, you first-timers can't keep up right? Well, I have a proposition for you, and the ogre as well, if he's interested that is." Giantt grinned wide, then sat back in his chair, nodding slowly, proclaiming, "Mez alwez interezted . . . 'spezially when zumting infolves loot ta be hoarded."
"Well then, it's a very special loot I have for you to retrieve, which I'll reimburse you for of course! Ahem, my grandson was adventuring around in the Innothule swamp, and had followed some of his friends deep into the Guk caves where those nasty frog-things live. Anyhow, he and his group discovered something extraordinary when they were down there. In one of the rooms, there's a pile of valuable metals and gems, hundreds of thousands of platinum pieces worth!" the old man explained as a hungry look appeared on both Giantt and Azrael's faces. "Now, before they could walk off with it, a bunch of undead frog-things appeared, and drove them off! Now, I heard of these frog-things before, but undead ones? From what I heard, they can be bypassed with a simple invisibility to undead spell, you have that right?" Azrael nodded and motioned for him to continue. "Well, if you take these bags, you should be able to cart out all of it between the two of you, and then you bring it back to me at the temple of the Marr twins, and I'll pay you for them in hard currency!" From somewhere in his rich brocaded robe, the old man produced two strange-looking bags, and handed one to Giantt, and the other to Azrael. As they stood inspecting the bags, the old man waved his hand and cried shrilly, "Well, what are you two pups doing? Get going already!" Aental sat facing away from the small group at a table a few feet away. His black cloak hid his Dark Elven features and concealed the katanas on his belt as well as the chain mail armor. Having overheard the conversation, he stood and left. He would need to beat the group to that treasure . . .
The two young adventurers stepped out into the noon-day sun, and stood around briefly before Azrael turned to Giantt and asked, "So, um, where's the Innothule Swamp anyways?" The ogre replied, "Innotoole Swampy iz neer Grobb, but wez no want ta go dere . . . mez nod exactly deir best friend and a hooman sissy wud nod be veby welcome eiter. Just jusd folow mez and we be gud, okez?" Giantt muttered a word and was enveloped by a red aura, then looked back at Azrael, chuckling, and remarked, "Yuz coming or whut?" "Yeah, yeah," Azrael muttered, falling in behind the ogre as he lumbered off. {Human sissy my ass . . . }
Passing through the Deserts of Ro and Oasis, they finally made it to the entrance to the swamp. "Well, this is it . . . " Azrael murmured half to himself, and had begun to walk forwards when a voice called from up in a tree, "You're not planning to go into the swamp are you?" The paladin swiveled his neck upwards and caught a glimpse of something moving up there, but before he could act, a wood elf female appeared right in front of his face, causing him to yelp in surprise and fall over backwards. "Oh boy, you're not going to make it two feet into the swamp if a little girl like me can cause that kind of reaction," she said with a grin, rocking back and forth on her heels.
Azrael glared backwards at Giantt, who was roaring with laughter, his plate- mail covered belly shaking and clanking. He got up and dusted himself off, and looked at the elf, who looked right back with a false innocent look covering her face. "Ok, who are you, and what do you mean, I shouldn't go into the swamp? I'm nearing earning my surname you know, there's nothing in there on the path I'm taking that I can't handle," he said with a growl. "The name's Hillodania, and do you really think you can take on a full squad of Troll Bashers?" she remarked, leaning back against the tree she had leapt down from, pulling a serrated dirk which looked like bone from her belt and began polishing it.
"Bashers? What would they be doing so far from the city?" Azrael asked, removing his banded helm and scratching his head. "Something's got them all spooked, supposedly there's been raids by undead Froglocks into Grobb itself, but I can't trust my informant as far as I can throw him. I followed them back in on one raid, and that's where I picked this up," Hillodania replied, holding the dirk out slightly for the paladin to look at, before sticking it back in her belt. "Well, that's precisely where we intend to go, we could probably take care of any live Froglocks, and I have an invisibility to undead spell for the undead ones...but we really need a guide, would you be willing to help us?" Azrael asked, coming forwards to stand beside her.
"What's in it for me? It's either love or money, and you're probably too inexperienced to fully satisfy me, or so I take it since you seem to have never even seen a girl before, and I'd sooner walk naked into Neriak than make love to an ogre, so it's gotta be a rather hefty payment," she said with a smirk, causing the young paladin to blush indignantly, and Giantt stopped laughing. "Well, I think you'd be rather surprised at just how good I am, but that's not the point. The point is, me and Giantt here are going to retrieve a hoard of gems from inside Guk, and in return for your services, we'll let you take a share, how's that sound?" Azrael told her, and at the mention of gems, Hillodania's eyes lit up. She stuck her hand out and exclaimed, "Hillodania, Scout of Tunare at your service!" After a quick haggling over the share of the hoard, the trio of adventurers moved into the hazy swamp. As they walked along, Giantt leaned down next to Azrael and whispered, "Heee . . . yuz almozt tought yuz got lucky dere eh?" Azrael elbowed the warrior ineffectually in the gut and Giantt once again roared with laughter, as they followed the wood elf into the swamp.
Aental sat hiding near the entrance to Guk. He figured he'd have to follow the group to the treasure and jump them when the time was right. The ground rumbled slightly. He looked to the left to see the huge ogre following two smaller figures: The Paladin and a female Wood Elf . . . probably a rogue. "Damn . . . " he said to himself. He had not been counting on there being a rogue. The rogue would definitely be more aware of her surroundings than any ogre or paladin. He would have to be very careful not to attract attention . . . "This is the entrance . . . " Hillodania whispered back, squatting a small ways from the dark tunnel, where two bored looking Froglock guards stood watch. "Ok, so what are we waiting for?" Azrael replied quietly, hefting his axe and sliding his Qeynos Guard Kite Shield onto his left arm. "Nothing, walk along that wall, but keep out of sight until I get the first one, if we do this right, we can down both of them before they can sound the alarm. From that point on, we'll have to rely on stealth, which is going to be extremely difficult because our large friend here hasn't bathed for days, and sounds like a drunk hill giant when he walks," she replied, ignoring the glare sent her way by Giantt. Without a word, she somehow faded away from sight, and although Azrael couldn't hear her, he felt the wind of her passing.
One of the Froglock guards shifted from the leg he was resting on to the other. He reached into a pouch on his waist and pulled a live cricket from it absently and popped it into his mouth, giving a small rabbit of satiety. He was about to go in for the change of the guards when he felt a ripping pain erupt in his back, near his left shoulder, and his vision went dim as he collapsed to the ground soundlessly, his blood fading quickly into the wet ground. His comrade looked up at the soft thud the corpse created, and a swell of alarm grew in his chest, but before he could croak an alarm, the silvery war axe of the paladin beheaded him smoothly.
"That was easy," Azrael commented, picking up several coins off of the guard he had slain, while Hillodania appeared from thin air to loot her own kill. As she pocketed the coins, her ears perked up and she hissed back to the paladin, "Get into the mangroves, now! Take the ogre with you!" He didn't pause to ask why, but simply dived into the water and swam under the roots of one of the trees. Behind him, Giantt pulled his bronze cloak over him, and since it was caked with mud from the dirty travel, he appeared to be nothing more than another bulge on the hillside. Azrael peered out from under the mangrove and was amazed to see Hillodania wearing a strange and beautiful mask, and greenish light coming from her hands. Moments later, a flash of greenish light surrounded her, and when it faded, a dark elf stood in her place. She replaced the mask in her bag, and donned the silver ruby veil she had worn before. Azrael was about to call to her to ask how she had changed her appearance when four trolls rumbled around the corner, eliminating all doubt in his mind as to why he was hiding.
"Look, itsa one of da dark elfie wimmen! Heya toots!" one of the trolls called out, leering lustfully at her. "Try it, and I'll have your ears for bra straps dimwit!" Hillodania replied coldly, her former mischievous tone replaced by a deadly contempt typical of the Teir'Dal. The troll's grin faltered, and he broke his gaze and looked towards the two dead Froglocks. "Well, we no be needin yuz to help wit killin de froggies, so unless you want to be dancin for us laters youz best be movin along now hey?" he muttered, and with a wave, he and his companions lumbered off, with a round of flatulence announcing their departure.
Azrael got up, clenching a wet rag over his mouth and nose to block the stench. "Told you we'd run into a patrol sooner or later," Hillodania commented, her usual voice sounding strange coming from her new throat, making it seem unusually musical. "Let's just get in there before I die from the smell," the paladin mumbled through the rag and practically ran into the tunnel, followed by Hillodania and Giantt.
As they entered the dimly lit hallways of Guk, they tensed, anticipating more guards, but surprisingly, the posts were empty. From somewhere in the depths, they heard happy croaking and the clink of steins as evidently, the Froglocks were celebrating the fruits of their conquest. They wandered through the slick maze, until they heard the sound of footsteps. A very drunken Froglock came around the corner, his webbed feet flapping on the damp stone. Without a sound, Hillodania grabbed him and pulled him into an alcove. {{Where's the treasure?}} Hillodania asked him in Froglock. {{Eh, wha tre sur?}} he replied, his voice slurred by drink. {{The gems fool! The gold, the platinum, that's what!}} she replied heatedly. {{Oh*hic* tha trezur, iz in ded sid, *hic* in da as asin room,}} the Froglock hiccupped, and he then began hiccupping very loudly, prompting the wood elf to slit his throat before they were discovered. "Well, now we know where it is, good thing I 'disposed' of the assassin, otherwise I wouldn't have my dirk, or my mask. I don't like it here, things are too quiet, I'll kiss you if you can really get us through this alive," she murmured, her normally glacial calm broken, her voice quivering, looking less like the siren she had first appeared, and Azrael saw it all in her eyes...the loneliness, the abandoned, aching feeling that he knew so well. She was no temptress, just a lost little girl attempting to play the part of Jezebel. Azrael squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, and she looked up at him surprised. He smiled gently at her, and something else seemed to shift in her, as her smile slipped further, but she seemed somehow comforted, so they moved off again.
As they moved into a room made up of many small stone pinnacles with boards laid between them, Hillodania waved for them to stop, her ears twitching. Azrael looked around warily, but couldn't see anything threatening. The rogue moved her hand slowly around the room, her ears moving constantly. Then, without warning or preamble, she pulled a throwing knife out her serpentine bracer and threw it in the direction of a darkened hallway, where they heard a gasp of surprise, but the knife never reached its target. Aental flung a katana out of its sheath to knock the dagger out of the way. The small knife clanked against the wall then fell to the ground. Aental pulled out his other katana and moved into the room. "I'm impressed. There aren't many who would have seen me there," he remarked as he moved further into the torchlight. He kept his katanas ready to block additional daggers, but kept his distance so as to not appear threatening.
Azrael tightened his grip on his axe, but Hillodania pushed it down with her left hand, keeping her right on her dirk, her emerald eyes warning him off from any further action, but his own green eyes told her that he could handle it. Nevertheless, she turned back to the dark elf and asked, "Ok, what are you doing lurking around here? I'm pretty certain it's not for the beer and girls right? You want the treasure, you're going to have to do it without us, cause the paladin here is our only means of getting through there unnoticed, because even if you are a rogue, there's still the vampire bats to consider," Hillodania told the dark elf, her ears still twitching. Suddenly, they focused sharply on a side corridor. She, and everyone else turned to look down the corridor as the flapping of a dozen webbed feet carried down to where they were standing. "Oh, great! Just what we didn't want!" Azrael grumbled as the first of the Froglocks ran into the pinnacle room and threw itself at him, but missed because it was obviously still very drunk, and fell into the depths. "That's it! They can't hardly stand up straight, keep at it!" he called over his shoulder as several more came at him. With a couple trips and bashings with his shield, the other Froglocks fell to their deaths. Only two made it to Hillodania, who just stepped aside as they charged her and fell off.
As they moved past the room into the next hall, the wood elven woman looked around, confused. "Now where were we?" Hillodania remarked as she turned back towards Aental. "Being killed, intruder, frooooaaakkk," came a voice from behind them. All four sets of eyes turned to where a Froglock commander stood with eighteen Froglock knights, all stone cold sober. "This isn't good . . . . " Hillodania muttered, pulling her dirk and stiletto silently. "Well, we were expecting this right? Let's have at em!" Azrael whispered, as the first knight ran up to him, only to be met by Azrael's axe. With a chorus of angry 'Froooaaakkk's', the battle was joined.
Giantt, having not bothered to do anything yet, suddenly drew his two- handed sword that was strapped to his back and grinned wide, looking rather mad. Rushing forward towards the commanding Froglock, he stopped briefly to kick off two frogs, causing them to fall to their deaths. He resumed his run towards the commander that stood there with a horrified look on his face. He died with that very look on his face as Giantt's sword cleaved him in two. However, more Froglocks rushed in to join the battle, and whenever one died, another one appeared to take his place . . . Aental charged the huge group of Froglocks, jumping at the last moment to land with his katanas buried in a Froglock's shoulders. He pulled the blades out to block the attacks of two more, fighting each with one sword. At the same time, both Froglocks went down with a katana in their chests. He turned to face the next attacker . . .
Azrael was pressed back to back with Hillodania as the remaining six Froglocks stood staring at them, as if not sure who to attack first. "Three on left, three on right?" Azrael asked, pointing first to himself and then to Hillodania. "Sounds good to me!" she replied, vaulting into some handsprings which landed her directly behind the Froglock knight second from right. With a quick stab from her dirk, the Froglock went down with a limp grab at her, which missed and latched onto his comrade's arm instead, pulling the croaking Froglock after his corpse. She ducked under the third knight's sword as it whished past her head, and just for spite, jabbed her stiletto directly into the crotch of the chain mail. With a extremely high "froooaaaakkkkk" it went up on its tiptoes, keeled over, and fell into the abyss.
Azrael had charged his three knights, not allowing them any time to gang up on the wood elf. His swing with his axe dug deeply into the first knight's neck; too deeply however, as he was unable to pull it back out. The other two Froglocks ribbited with ill-disguised glee as they advanced on him. Letting the dead Froglock sag to the ground with his axe still protruding from the spraying jugular, he pulled his last resort weapon from his backpack, the short sword he had been given as he entered his guild. The first of the two knights made a rather clumsy charge and swing maneuver, and Azrael blocked it easily with his shield, then bashed the off-balance Froglock with it, sending him bellowing into the pit. The only remaining Froglock stared at his dead comrades as four pairs of eyes focused on him. Rather than fleeing, he made seemingly the same charge at Azrael, but instead of swinging madly like the paladin expected, he feinted, then swung his sword in low, narrowly being blocked by the paladin's shield. The knight parried Azrael's riposte and bashed the human with his own shield in an attempt to exact poetic justice for his fallen friend, but Azrael recovered without teetering over the edge, and came back swinging furiously, and with a huge 'Yaulp!' he swung the short sword downwards in an arc which cleaved through the wooden shield of the knight and into it's skull.
Hillodania looked up from where she was looting her sole remaining kill and remarked in amazement, "I didn't know you could do that with your novice weapon!" Then she walked over to where Azrael was wrenching at his axe and looted his own kill without asking, earning a feeble whine from the paladin, which she shrugged off, grinning, but with less mischievousness that before, so Azrael just shrugged and forgave her, which somehow seemed to hurt her pride. The three adventurers met up in the center of the room, and with some quick heals, they were ready to go again. "Thanks for the help, even though it wasn't needed, have a nice day!" Hillodania called back at Aental as they walked towards the Dead Side entrance.
Aental pulled his katanas out of the corpses of the fallen Froglocks and wiped the blades clean. He then continued after the group, not bothering to conceal himself. They would know he was there anyway. Hillodania pulled them up short before they entered another hallway and looked at Azrael expectantly. With sparkles of light coming from his hands, Azrael cast the Invisibility to Undead spell on all three of them, causing them to fade slightly. "Oooh, tingly!" Hillodania commented quietly, a giggle escaping her mouth as she gazed at her semi-transparent hand, looking rather girlish and innocent. "Let's go, Hill, you lead the way." Azrael whispered. She blushed slightly at the nickname, but rather than letting it get to her, she accepted it.
After passing several decaying Froglocks, they passed through several corridors until Hillodania brought them to a halt again. With a point, she alerted them to the vampire bats which hovered inside a open area ahead of them. Carefully and quickly, they ducked into a side tunnel without evoking any notice. Azrael shuddered involuntarily as they passed another undead knight, inwardly hoping that the spell wouldn't wear off before they reached the treasure. As they entered a series of narrow hallways, Hillodania went over to a ladder coming down from a ledge and began climbing, and Azrael and Giantt came up after her, but unlike her light step, the ladder creaked and groaned under their weight, but luckily the undead Froglocks took no notice. Hillodania pulled herself over the lip of the ledge and peered into the torch-lit room. "Oh my . . . . " she murmured.
As Azrael clambered up onto the edge, he saw what had rendered the outspoken elf speechless. In a pile at the back of the keg-filled storeroom, there was thousands of gems, and beside it, dozens of gold and platinum bars stacked in haphazard fashion. Hillodania raced over to it, her eyes glittering with equal brightness, and she pulled the same odd backpack out from under her cloak and began shoveling the gems and bars into it. Not wanting to be left out, Azrael dashed over to take his share, as did Giantt. As he scooped the riches into the bag, he finally could stand it no longer and whispered over to the rogue, "What kind of bags are these?" "The ones we all have? They're bags of sewn Evil Eye, y'know, the weird eye creatures that wander through Runnyeye Citadel and the Beholder's Maze? They make carrying things a whole lot easier, only mages can summon bags that make things totally weightless," she commented, sealing her own shut as it was filled to the brim, and began to fill a trio over very large bags seemingly made from bear skin. Azrael nodded, and fastened the clasp on his own bulging sack, and pulled out a couple of his own backpacks. A few minutes afterwards, the pile had shrunken to nothing, and Hillodania was still searching around on the floor, finding gems that had been shoved into corners or cracks in the floor.
"Come on! We got all that we'll ever need, let's just get out of here!" Azrael hissed, coming over to grab her shoulder, a sense of dread beginning to grow in his mind. {{Oh, I'm afraid it's a little too late for that, human,}} came a hollow voice from behind them. Whirling around, they saw a undead Froglock wearing a crown, and several more standing guard. "How can they see us?" Hillodania asked, looking at the paladin, only to answer her own question by noticing that Azrael was very solid looking, the spell had worn off while they were busy gathering their hoard.
*SLAM* The rusty gate closed with a bang, sealing the three would-be millionaires in cages too small to hold an ogre comfortably, but Azrael and Hillodania had a reasonable amount of room, if they stood up that was. The Ghoul Lord stood outside their cages, looking through their weapons and gear, which had been taken from them. They had been stripped down to the bare essentials, with the exception of Hillodania, whose undergarments had been brutally torn from her as if in extra punishment. He gazed over Giantt's and Azrael's equipment disinterestedly, but when he came to Hillodania's things, he stopped cold. Lifting up her dirk and her mask, he stared at them with his hands shaking, then he turned and marched straight up to the bars of the wood elf's cage, and gazed in at the stark naked rogue with a look of utter hatred, his reeking breath causing her to gag in between attempts to cover herself. {{So, it was you who did in my Assassin . . . that takes skill, elf. Since you seem to covet these so much, you'll be in charge of training his replacement, and he can have his way with you any time he wants as part of your punishment,}} he croaked, spitting a rotten piece of meat that had fallen off of the roof of his mouth at her feet. He looked back towards the other two adventurers, who glared at him with even greater intensity than the gaze he had fixed Hillodania with.
{{Rather poor choice of mates if I do say so myself,}} he muttered, before flapping off. Azrael pulled at the bars, but it was no use, even Giantt couldn't budge them. The human collapsed to the floor, looking over at the blushing Hillodania, "Sorry about your clothes, they let us keep our basic stuff at least," he said quietly. She didn't seem to mind it as much as he had thought, but while she didn't flinch under Giantt's stare, when Azrael looked at her she seemed uncomfortable. "Well, we'll just have to figure a way out of here I guess, got any plans?" he asked after a while, but he knew few would be forthcoming.
A few hours after the shambling remains departed, whispers of a chanted spell began to fill the air. A horde of tiny, phantasmal humanoid forms, each no larger than three or four inches and clearly recognizable as pixies, shimmered into existence. They swarmed the room, quickly overcoming the guards before they can make a significant amount of noise and begin gathering around the cages. A High Elf stepped quietly into the room and signals to the pixies, who quickly weaved webs of magical silk around the cages and begin to exert their might, straining against the weight of the cold metal. With their combined strength they lift the cages just high enough that their occupants can escape, then set them gently to the floor again. The high elf covered his nose with a white handkerchief, and exclaimed, "That rotting, undead fool really ought to have stayed dead." He turned a speculative eye toward the former prisoners. "Greetings, I am Constellation. I came here originally seeking a magical robe rumored to be in the possession of a particular shaman inhabiting these caves. Perhaps you would be willing to assist me in exchange for my aid?" he proclaimed, looking at them hopefully.
"You're going after the Arch Magi? That takes some guts, but first, you have to help us get our stuff back," Hillodania said, standing up and keeping an arm over her private areas. Azrael walked over to where she was standing and removed his shirt and handed it to her, and she put it on with a look of genuine gratitude. It was big enough to cover the necessary parts, but she would have to find her gear sooner or later if she was to engage in anything more vigorous than walking to maintain her decency.
Hillodania peered around the corner into the Ghoul Lord's room, and saw their bags and equipment lying near his throne, which was occupied by the undead Froglock himself. "I can go in and get our stuff unseen, but it's going to look weird if things just start vanishing, Constellation, can you create a distraction?" she whispered back to their growing party. "A distraction?" the mage murmured, thinking for a moment before he grinned, and told them, "Get ready."
The High Elf begins to chant and gesture. Suddenly large balls of mud come slinging out of the darkness on the far side of the cave, splattering the face of the undead Froglock, followed by insults, more mud, and a few rocks. A trio of halflings step out into the cave, smile brightly, and take off running in the opposite direction of the party. The Ghoul Lord heaved himself to his feet and chased after the halflings, followed by all of his guards, leaving the bags unattended. Hillodania rushed immediately over, picked her pants and halter out of the pile and slipped them on under Azrael's shirt, and when she was decent, she pulled it off and tossed it back to the paladin, where he was busily pulling on his banded boots. After a few minutes, all three were completely dressed, and had the bags of treasure tucked securely under their cloaks. "All right, now let's go find the Arch Magi," Hillodania said, stretching slightly before heading off into a side hallway.
Azrael peered into the room, and saw a Froglock wearing a strange purple robe studying a few books, weaving spells occasionally. "Ok, I'm afraid you're pretty much on your own in the case of the battle here, I don't think any of us are skilled enough in comparison to defeat him; but we'll stay outside in case you get into a tight spot," Azrael whispered back to Constellation. Giantt set himself up to one side of the hallway as lookout, and Hillodania took the other while Azrael stood immediately outside the room, waiting.
"Thanks. He shouldn't be too much trouble, it was simply finding him without having to search the entire city of Guk that was the problem," Constellation responded, briefly consulting his spellbook, then began to cast his spell. Mist flowed outward from the walls, forming into a massive, vaguely humanoid figure. The Arch Magi only had time to scream once before he is crushed by the mist walker's titanic fist. Constellation quickly retrieved the robe from the body, placed it into a satchel, and smiles with satisfaction before turning to Azrael. "Ready when you are," the mage told the human paladin, the need for silence no longer necessary. Or so they thought, because right then Aental strolled into the room casually, katanas still in hand and staring straight at Hillodania.
"So here you are. I lost you for a while back there." He paused for a few seconds. "So where's that treasure? You've got it, don't you?" He pointed his katana toward the group, and demanded, "Give it to me." Before any of them could give their reply, a croaking voice shouted, {{Wrong! She shall give it to us!}} All four of them whirled around to see the Ghoul Lord with no less than thirty undead knights and shamans accompanying him. {{You should be a little more quiet if you're going to be killing my servants, froak! We could hear you from across the entire catacombs!}} he croaked, his eyes glowing with yellow fire. "This . . . . isn't . . . . good," Azrael muttered, taking a few steps back. {{Attack!!!}}
Azrael fought through the wave of undead Froglocks in an attempt to get to Hillodania, who was gradually being swept under a wave of fine steel weapons and decaying fists. All he could see were her eyes, which gleamed golden, seeming more a metal sheen than that of reflected torchlight, but he paid it little mind. "Hill! I'm coming!" he shouted, as he cleaved another Froglocks head open, but several blows impacted his side, causing him to cough up blood as he forced his way past. "I can't hold on much longer . . . " came the reply over the din of the battle. There was no chance for them to win, Azrael realized, but he was going to be damned if he was going to let any of his comrades die before he did. If they had any chance at escaping . . . he would give up his life. Before he had a chance to do that however, he heard a rambunctious shout, "It's da dark elfie lady! Charge!" from somewhere beyond the crowd, and the rumble of many heavy feet filled the corridor. The same troll commander that he had seen earlier rounded the corner with seemingly all the guards from Grobb.
The Froglocks, their most recent quarry forgotten against the more familiar one, charged the trolls, freeing Hillodania to slump to the ground blood pouring out of her mouth and her faced bruised almost beyond recognition, and allowing Giantt to lift himself out of the press of the undead bodies, himself not much better. However, Aental was carried along with the crowd of Froglocks and was lost in the chaos of the renewed battle. "Run!" Azrael yelled, and his companions needed no instructions.
"Whew, dat was ruff," puffed Giantt, sagging to the ground outside of the entrance to live side in the Innothule swamp. What little mana Azrael had left he spent on healing his and the others' wounds, and after a long time, Hillodania managed to say, "Um, thanks for your help," between gasps, looking over at Constellation. Constellation nodded and smiled his most gracious and charming smile. He told her, "My Lady, it was a pleasure. However, other matters needs must claim my attention. I wish you and your companions well!" He then began to cast a spell, and moments later there was only a set of footprints to indicate that he once stood there.
"So, I guess it's back to Freeport we go to find that gem merchant," Azrael said after he had caught his breath, casting an aside look to Giantt, who nodded at first, but then scratched his head and commented, "Ey, wut was dat guy who sell shinie tings name?" Azrael began to reply when he realized he didn't know either. Behind them, her beauty restored by Azrael's healing spells, Hillodania was going through one of her gem bags, her eyes aglitter as she sorted through them, whispering their names under her breath, "Topaz, Peridot, Ruby, Sapphire, Jade, Pearl, Pearl . . . ooh! Black Pearl! Star Rose Quartz, Malachite . . . gravel? What's that doing in there? Oh well, Hematite, Lapis Lazuli, Lambent, Emerald . . . "
Shaking his head, Azrael wandered over to where she was sitting, and squatted down next to her and asked, "We're going back to Freeport to sell these gems to a merchant, who'll repay us in platinum and gold, you want to come? We'll make sure you get your gems at the proper price." The rogue looked up, grinned and shrugged, remarking, "I can get a lot more for these in certain . . . less than legit circles, if you know what I mean. Thanks for the offer though!" "Ok, we're off then!" Azrael called to Giantt, who stood up, grinning ear to ear, and they started to walk off into the mist.
Back down in Lower Guk...
As Aental pulled his katana out of the last Froglocks corpse, he looked around. Corpses were strewn about the room, covering the ground in a sea of green. Mostly Froglock, but a few trolls as well. Azrael and his companions were nowhere to be seen. His eyes scanned the corpses for them . . . nothing. He turned to one of the trolls, who was mourning the loss of a fellow troll, "Terribly sorry about your loss, but I do thank you for your help. Unfortunately, I must go."
{I can't believe they ran away...those cowards!} he thought to himself, wiping blood off his chin. {No matter, I should be able to catch them on their way back} he thought to himself as he dashed up through the now abandoned halls of Guk. As he came out into the open air, he looked up to see the gray skies of Innothule Swamp looming down at him. He looked northward into the fog and saw nothing, but something caught his ear . . . conversation. He began a quiet run to catch up. Staying out of sight, he began listening in. " . . . Yeah, and not only that, I'll have earned my armor, unlike those with rich . . . " It was Azrael. Aental crept up behind Hillodania and Azrael with his katanas out. Hillodania was too busy with her conversation to be watching for attackers, or for her sensitive ears to pick out his movement, he figured.
He stuck a katana around each of their throats. "You cowards . . . Give me the gems!" Azrael was about to make a reply when a two-handed sword looped in front of Aental's own neck. "Dat wusn't bery nice . . . Youz callin us cowards? If da trollie guards no shown up, we be dedder den last week's dorf stew, youz too!" Giantt growled from behind the dark elf, and gradually stepped back, forcing him to pull his katanas back into a relaxed position at his sides. "Tenacious, isn't he?" Hillodania muttered, rubbing her throat. "Wut says we barsh him rite now?" Giantt remarked, inching the sword closer to Aental's throat, drawing a thin line of blood.
Azrael thought for a moment, then said, "No, he did help us out in the initial battle, plus, we did leave him behind after the Ghoul Lord's ambush, so he deserves some share in this, if only to leave us alone." The paladin walked over to Giantt and waved for him to put his sword away. He then reached into his backpack and pulled out a handful of gems and a few platinum bars and handed them to Aental, who looked very confused as to the human's apparent charity, but it slowly shifted into a dark look. Giantt pulled out two very large handfuls from his own bag and placed them into a bag on the dark elf's back. Azrael looked at Hillodania who shook her head, holding tightly onto her own bags and she replied coldly, "Why should we give this bastard anything?"
"Because, as Mithaniel Marr said, 'He who affords effort to aid those who follows the path of truth, even if he does not follow it himself, does deserve even recompense, for it will serve to later turn him to the light.'" Azrael quoted, looking at the rogue expectantly. With a pained look, she removed some of her gems and placed them in Aental's fist, then withdrew to a safe distance.
However, it seemed, the dark elf didn't want their riches, as Aental dropped the gems to the ground, eying the group with contempt. "You ran away to count your riches while those trolls fought for their lives. You left them to die in that hole while you ran off to line your own pockets. Have you no honor? Have you no shame?" Aental pointed to Azrael, "You call yourself a Paladin, but I've known Shadow Knights with more honor than you. Several of them died to protect you just so you could run off to save your precious gems. Is your wealth somehow more important than their lives? You have no honor. You are cowards."
"No honor? Cowards?! If we had stayed and fought, we would have surely joined those trolls that died! All three of us are at the point of just barely earning our surnames, and you expect us to defeat a superior number of Froglocks fifteen to thirty seasons more experienced? To stay would have been tantamount to suicide, even Constellation, obviously a very powerful mage, fled! The troll guards only 'saved' us because of a ruse employed by Hillodania to save us earlier. Had they seen us, they would have surely killed us on sight! They attacked the Froglocks because of their longstanding feud, not because of any alliance with us! You dare compare me to a Shadow knight? A Shadow knight would have surely crippled his companions and left them to stay as bait as he made his escape! I would have left all of my gems if it meant escaping with my life. There is a saying from the book of Marr, 'Know thy limits, ye who fights when the battle is already lost is a madman.'" Azrael shouted indignantly, and he took a deep breath to continue, but Hillodania interrupted him, her face crimson with rage.
"We gave you a share of the take and you still harass us? I wouldn't have given you anything, and Giantt would've surely killed you had Azrael not stopped him! For reasons I'm not sure I agree with, he saved your life, gave you part of his hard-earned reward, and this is how you repay him?" she growled, her dirk and stiletto slipping into her hands.
Aental shook his head. "You act as if the battle was lost. The trolls did defeat the Froglocks, but their losses were great. I can be sure that if you had stayed, they would not have lost so many." He paused for a moment, "Your ignorance does not become you, Paladin. Do you think Shadow knights have no honor? Do you truly think they would kill their friends to escape? You know nothing of the ways of the Teir'Dal." He then turned to Hillodania, "If you were the one who got the trolls to go down there, then perhaps you are more to blame than the others. You tricked the trolls into going down there to defend you so you could escape with your money and your lives, which are apparently more valuable than theirs. He spread his arms wide, and asked them, "Am I not entitled to a share of the gems? I fought down there as well, and have saved each of you from swords in the back a number of times. More proof of how you treat your saviors."
Azrael looked at the dark elven warrior, and said in a strangely chilled voice, "I know one Shadow Knight far better than I can stand, thank you . . . And you could have been sure that he'd have laughed as his former group members would have been slaughtered as he made his getaway. Your points do have some validity but . . . " Before he could go on, Aental interrupted him. "It is no matter. I have long known the stubbornness of humans and can see that you will not see your error, no matter what argument I offer. For this I will offer you a deal."
Aental pulled out his swords and kept them at his sides, standing more stiff than before. "I am Aental Ebonsoul, Black Dragoon of the Indigo Brotherhood of Neriak and Master of Myojinsoga Swordsmanship, and I offer you a challenge. You three will fight me until either you hit me once or until you are all on the ground. If I lose, your honor is restored as are your gems. I win, you admit to being the honorless cowards you are, as well as giving me all the gems. Death is no price to pay. He then stood back and waited for a replay from the group . . . Giantt grinned wide, then drew his sword, exclaiming, "Mez alwez ub for a chalenze. An' no seezy dark elb iz gunna kick my arse." He then turned to the others and asked them, "Wut doz yuz sey?"
"Hmph, I may be inexperienced, but that does not mean my skills are less than yours, I am ready, brash one," Azrael said, drawing his axe, and held it steady; his eyes did not betray nervousness, but rather solid intent. Hillodania fell in beside him and nodded her agreement. She made one last comment before anyone could start the battle, "Those trolls didn't do it for me, they did it to kill the Froglocks, I only appeared to them once as a dark elf, and that was to prevent them from finding and killing Azrael and the ogre, they in fact took no interest in me whatsoever. They said they'd be back to take out the Froglocks, so it was only coincidence that they encountered us is all . . . meanie!"
"Very well," Aental said calmly, raising his katanas, "You may assume any position four yards or more from me." The group surrounded Aental, Giantt behind, Hillodania to the left, and Azrael in front. "Begin!" Aental shouted. The three lunged toward the Dark Elf, who had a look of extreme concentration on his face. He jumped into the air, over the ogre's huge sword, kicking Hillodania in the face and launched himself onto Giantt's head as he blocked a swing from Azrael's axe with crossed swords. He kicked the ogre in the face as he moonsaulted to the ground, facing the group. Giantt charged, swinging his huge sword downward at Aental's head. Aental brushed the attack aside with a flick from his katana and reached up to strike Giantt at the base of his neck with the blunt side of his katana, then followed up with a kick in the stomach. The ogre began stumbling backwards as Azrael's axe slashed toward Aental's chest. Aental parried the blow and flicked the blunt side of his other sword into Azrael's head, then groin, then head again. The paladin tried to dodge, but he was tangled up with Giantt's flailing limbs. They tumbled down together, the ogre toppling on top of the human, sending them both into unconsciousness.
Hillodania hissed in anger and moved stealthily up behind the dark elf, but he was ready for her. Aental's other katana arced downward and behind him to knock Hillodania's backstab aside. He front flipped with one leg extended to catch Hillodania's chin on the way up. Her whole body went upward briefly and then back onto the ground. Aental landed and looked around to see his foes fallen before him. Then something caught his eye. Black fire erupted around Azrael's body, engulfing it completely. The paladin was convulsing horribly, his entire body arching in agony. It was Darkfire, an element of pure evil. Absurdly, the paladin somehow managed to gain his feet and slowly stand up, the black flame almost entirely obscuring his body. On the surface of the flames, a blur of images reflected back at Aental, far too fast for him to catch, but many skeletal and demonic shapes were in the flames as well. The flames faded to reveal Azrael once again, but much different than before. His eyes glowed red, and he was surrounded by an aura of pure evil.
It wasn't Azrael at all. "Who are you?" Aental called at Chthon with an uncomprehending stare, realizing that the man's injuries had been mysteriously healed by the ebon flame. ^Your worst nightmare . . . ^the Shadow Knight growled, and charged Aental. As Aental dodged to the side, Chthon brought the axe around his side to catch him in the neck, stunning him and leaving him open for a kick which sent him stumbling backwards. Darkness leapt from his hands and flew to the dark elf, clinging onto his limbs and further slowing him down. A cloud of green particles lanced from Chthon as he ran forwards again, and swung the shield in an over and downwards arc, but it was touched aside by Aental even as the disease spell hit. Now, Aental was on the offensive, quick even with the strands of darkness engulphing him. A flick from each of his katanas and two red lines appeared on Chthon's face. Instead of flinching, he simply wiped some of the blood off of his face, stared at it for a second, then grinned and licked it off. He performed a handspring up to Aental then backflipped over him, but Aental whirled and parried his swing before he could plunge the blade into the back of his neck.
What's the deal with this guy? He fights like someone twice as experienced as he should be! Azrael shouldn't be this tough, he wasn't before . . . but was it only because he had to work around the other two? Aental thought to himself as he parried and riposted a bash from Chthon's shield, only to be caught in the swordbreak loop of Chthon's axe, but he pulled the katana out before the shadow knight could begin to twist. He leapt up into one of the mangroves and used its springy wood to fling himself back at the Shadow Knight, but Chthon simply bent back over backwards and to the right, almost in half, letting Aental fly right past, slamming his shield down on the dark elf's back. Aental got back up and began twirling rapidly, expertly pivoting and attacked with a whirl of blades at the demonic man, but each was blocked, a horrid laugh emanating from deep in Chthon's throat as he abruptly slammed his axe and shield together, momentarily trapping Aental's katanas there. Before the warrior could withdraw the blades, the Shadow Knight yanked himself backwards, pulling Aental with him. Aental half wondered what the man was doing for a split second before Chthon's foot came up and braced itself against his solar plexus. As he hit the ground, he rolled and shoved hard with both his feet, flinging Aental into a tree.
Feeling the darkness beginning to slip from his body, Aental charged forwards at Chthon, and attacked in a berserker rage. The Shadow Knight couldn't entirely block all of them, but showed no concern at the loss of blood from some very deep wounds as the battle turned deadly serious. Aental was taking hits as well, but he was breathing fast in anxiety, in a burst of strength, he kicked Chthon backwards, and the Shadowknight rolled to his feet and immediately cast a life-tap spell to partially heal his wounds. Wanting to end this quickly, Aental charged the man, who was standing there with one hand behind his back. {Cocky little bastard . . . unless he's . . . oh shit!} Aental wondered until he saw the black and red glow of a Harm Touch spell building on the banded mail of Chthon's tunic and tried to backpedal, but Chthon whipped the hand forwards and planted it squarely on Aental's chest.
Searing agony poured through the dark elf's body, and he slumped to one knee, while Chthon leered at him in contempt. ^Pity, Mr. Goody Two-shoes was taken out by this loser? Time to say goodnight . . . ^ Chthon rumbled and raised his axe high for a killing blow. "No!" Aental screamed, and with the last bit of his strength, kicked Chthon in the solar plexus, slamming him back into a tree, where he too went down on one knee.
Aental got up slowly, still feeling the Harm Touch spell's effects blazing through his nerves, and staggered forwards, but noticed sparkles of golden light swirling around Chthon, and when they faded, the human stood up and looked at the dark elf with Azrael's green eyes once more. The paladin got up, holding onto his stomach, took a few gasping breaths, and remarked, "Well, he certainly hit you a few times, didn't he?" "That...wasn't you before, was it?" Aental said, leaning back against the tree as Azrael scooped the gems back into their packs. "No, and I won't say anything beyond the fact that his name is Chthon Ebonshadow, he's like me, in my twenty-second season," Azrael called over his shoulder as he tightened the strap on his back and went over to revive Hillodania, who was still lying on the ground unconscious.
Aental stood as the pain began to subside. "I am still the victor, regardless of what this Chthon did. You were fallen before he rose. Nevertheless, as I was hit quite a few times by him, I will call it a draw" he announced, though Azrael could clearly see that he was bluffing. He paused for a breath, then asked, "But I'm curious. Where did he come from...How did he possess you like that?" "Possess? You're thinking about in the wrong way, it's more like two personas inhabiting the same mindscape. As to where he came from...it's a rather long story, not one I'd prefer to discuss," Azrael said, his eyes full of half-hidden pain and exhaustion . . . and something far more ancient as Hillodania began to come around in his arms. "I see . . . " Aental looked around. "We should move away from here soon. We are awfully close to Guk." he remarked, as he walked over to Giantt and poured a flask of cold water onto his face. The ogre woke with a start.
"Gaah! Wut dat?!" Giantt's eyes focused on Aental, "Oh, it just you. You fight gud, dark elb." Aental turned to Azrael, "Well?"
"You're right, I guess its time we parted ways, you were a worthy adversary, maybe we shall meet again in the future?" Azrael admitted, and suddenly Hillodania was fully conscious in his arms. She stared at the paladin incomprehensibly for a second, realized where she was and blushed furiously. "Guess now's a good time for that kiss I promised you, huh?" she asked him, and kissed him full on the lips, and withdrew after a long time had passed, leaving Azrael breathless in more ways than one. She grinned, and hugged him briefly, patting his only remaining backpack under his cloak, before getting up and walked over to her bags, gathered them up, and blew Azrael a kiss before she leapt up into the treetops and disappeared. "I'll never get used to her doing that," Azrael muttered as he gazed up into the treetops, absently touching his lips where she had kissed him. Giantt rumbled over to where he and Aental were standing and grumbled, "Hmm, mebbe you did getz lucky after allz . . . Uz leave and gets monie nows?" "Yes, we shall leave now, until we meet again," Azrael told Aental, shaking his hand before running off in the direction of the desert of Ro, Giantt following closely behind him.
Later . . .
"My goodness! I can't possibly sell this all at once! You've done me an incredible service with this! How can I ever repay you?" the gem merchant exclaimed, staring at the huge pile of gems and precious metals covering the floor of his shop in North Freeport. "Well, we certainly went through a whole lot of trouble to get this, the money would be nice," Azrael said, briefly explaining their ordeal to the older man. The merchant shook his head in disbelief, but said nothing, instead, he walked over to a large chest near his wardrobe closet. He opened it up, and from inside, bags filled with platinum coins glittered up at Azrael and Giantt. "Money talks, or so they say . . . There's sixteen bags total, each should have around three thousand coins in it, both of you should get eight right? That's twenty-four thousand platinum at your disposal, you've earned it! Oh yes, keep the bags as well, you'll need them to carry all the things you'll buy!" the merchant told them, turning back to the pile, rubbing his hands with glee. As Giantt and Azrael left the shop and headed for the bank, they heard an exuberant shout coming from the gem shop, "Wahooo! Buy low, sell high! I'll make a fortune, oh yes!"
After unloading their newfound wealth in their respective bank accounts, the two adventurers turned to face each other. "Dat wuz hard goin, but it wuz fun rite? Wut u going to do now?" Giantt asked, a tusked grin covering his face. "Buy things, what else?" Azrael commented with a wink. Giantt nodded, and they shook hands before saying good-bye. As Giantt passed the Temple of Marr, he heard footsteps coming from behind, he turned and saw Azrael running towards him. The paladin skidded to a halt in front of the ogre, caught his breath and said, "Since I reached my twenty second season in Guk, I finally found a surname! It's Heavenblade." "Hmm, Azrael Heavenblade . . . sounds gud! Soots you well! Gud luck!" Giantt said, before leaving.
"Another day . . . another couple dozen orcs . . . I wonder where they come from if I've never seen any female ones?" Azrael mused as he sat down to rest a ways away from the gate into the interior of Highhold Pass. So far, he had been able to get a decent amount of faction raising in by turning in the couple hundred orc scalps he had been taking from his kills, but he doubted that would make the Militia forget all about him just yet, he still had no clue what Dlere wanted with him . . . other than the fact that he had joined the Hall of Truth rather than the Militia, but he had skill with magic, why should he give that up to be a warrior? He broke out of his thinking to see yet another volunteer walk out to the gate and stand there enthusiastically, holding his rusty short sword with all the pride of a seasoned warrior, despite being only in what was likely his fourth season. {Honestly . . . They get a little farther than novices and think they can take on an invading force of orcs and gnolls . . . } Azrael thought to himself in disgust, but decided to humor the young man, and stood up with a groan, his exhausted muscles complaining. "So, how's it going today, Volunteer?" he asked, tapping the unarmored man on the shoulder. "Just fine, sir!" he responded immediately, bright and chipper, apparently amazed that a surnamed adventurer would even bother talking to him, much less giving him the time of day. The younger man, barely older than a boy stood there admiring Azrael's silver-and-gold Armor of Ro, and the Ghoulbane he held in his right hand, his Shiny Brass Shield hanging over his left shoulder. "Shouldn't you be out working on raising your experience than on the front, soldier? Think you can take on an orc warrior?" Azrael asked as gently as he could, trying to keep a condescending tone out of his voice. If the Volunteer had noticed, he didn't voice it as he exclaimed, "I'm ready to go as I am, sir! Going to do my home and family proud, no orc's going to make it past here, no way!" "Sure, keep up the good work," Azrael replied, a slight smirk on his face as he walked back to his resting place, thinking to himself, {If you really were able to live up to your boasts, why would they need to have so many guards wandering around in here?}
He had polished off just about all the orcs of that day's expeditionary force, so he could take a breather until the next wave showed up. None of the gnolls at the other end of the pass would have merited fighting even when he arrived. Now he was in his twenty-fifth season, and barely finding much to fight any more, only the most experienced orc warriors and fanatics could suffice to keep him amused for now. He was half-tempted to go into the keep to help out with the infestation of Pickclaw goblins, but he felt that he could get at least one more season out of the orcs before he left. After all, he could use the faction.
He looked up into the afternoon sky and inhaled deeply, reveling in the fresh air of the mountains, and the scent of burning wood that seemed omnipresent. {Always did like the mountains . . . even before . . . . here,} he thought to himself, but the light was suddenly blocked out by an enormous figure stepping up right behind him. Azrael tensed up, and was starting to slide his shield back onto his arm when a female voice asked him, "Um, we're sorry to trouble you sir, but could you move aside a little so we can fit past, please?" He got up and turned around to look at who had spoken to him, his apprehension fading, figuring that someone so polite would not be likely to attack him. He had to look up, as the speaker was a barbarian woman, and the moving mountain that had blocked out the sun was also a barbarian. Azrael was pretty tall for a human, six feet at least, but he knew that only a short barbarian would be at his height, and then usually only a female one! However, neither of them would even be thought of as short, even by the standards of their own race. The woman was at least six and a half feet tall, honey blond pigtails pulled back behind her shoulders, scarlet sigils on her cheeks. The man however . . . he could not be any less than eight feet tall, his arms were almost as thick around as Azrael's waist, and his legs were like tree trunks. All that prevented him from looking like an ogre was the lack of tusks and the hair of course . . . he had a muttonchops beard as an x-shaped scar marked a hairless chin. He was also rather unkempt and dirty, but Azrael could see that under all the grime, he could have been almost handsome if he just cleaned up.
"I'm Mistii, and this is Ursus," the woman, apparently a shamaness introduced herself. "Got anything to eat?" Ursus asked hopefully, his bushy eyebrows rising in interest. "Brother, what did you do with all the bread and water I summoned for you an hour ago?" Mistii demanded, annoyed at him for interrupting her protocol. Ursus grinned sheepishly, and Azrael laughed despite himself as the warrior revealed nothing but empty packs to his sister. "Honestly . . . " she growled, but Azrael pulled out some extra Iron Rations he had and the warrior accepted them gratefully, immediately tearing into the first one. Shaking her head vigorously, blond pigtails flailing, Mistii asked the paladin, "Are there many orcs ahead? We were planning to fight some after our group split apart back near Qeynos after I purchased my newest spells." Azrael grinned, and replied, "Afraid not, I cleaned all of them out just a few minutes ago, there should be none left . . . " but a sudden shout from behind them interrupted his explanation.
"Stand and deliver!" the volunteer shrieked as a raging Orc Scout bore down on him, waving a splintering club. The hapless volunteer swung his sword bravely at the orc, but with a single swing to the skull, he was dead, and the orc plowed his way towards the three adventurers. "Guess I missed one . . . " Azrael muttered, and shrugged, as a sword, an axe, and a staff all collided with the orc's own head, rectifying that situation. As Azrael looted the scout's body, he remarked over his shoulder, "It could be that this guy was the first of a new party to show up, get there fast and you might be able to take them one by one." The siblings nodded and dashed past him towards the part of the pass leading towards Kithicor Forest. "Was I ever that enthusiastic?" Azrael mused, despite the fact that he was not much more than seven or eight seasons more experienced than them. Nonetheless, he now had competition for that spot, and they would make far better use of it than he had been. He had heard that in South Karana there was a city of Aviaks that adventurers had been attacking recently, people close to his level of experience, and that there were also gnolls of the Splitpaw clan as well as Treants that he could exercise his skill on, so he started walking slowly towards the keep, taking time to take in the lovely day.
After the adventure in Guk, he had tried to find any of his old companions, but Nedra had disappeared off to parts unknown, he still didn't trust that it was safe to get near Obelisk and the others again...if he knew where they were that is. Giantt had gone on his own way, and Azrael hadn't seen Hillodania around, but in truth, he didn't expect to. Though he had long ago learned self-reliance, he so hated being alone. Loneliness...he knew its icy bite well, he felt it even now, but the frosty edge was thawed a bit by his brief interaction with the Barbarians, so he felt slightly better at least. He was anticipating working with new groups out on the plains when he decided he should sell and switch out his coins before making the trip across the grasslands. As he neared the old stone castle of the Keep, he noticed a bunch of guards swarming in and out, worried eyes peering out of the slots of their helmets. Wondering what could be bothering the usually steadfast guards, he stopped one and asked, "What's going on?"
The guard started to pull away from the paladin, but Azrael kept a tight grip on the chain mail of the guard's uniform, so he gave a hurried answer, "Some maniac paladin named Joordan has kidnapped a bunch of citizens and is holding them captive near the chasm out in the canyon to the plains! He says that if he don't find another paladin named Azrael and bring him to him, he'll start dropping them into the chasm one by one each hour! Might you know where we could find this guy?" Azrael's face twisted into a grimace as he responded, "He's closer than you think . . . " and he let go of the guard to start working his way towards the western gate.
A mass of guards was standing at the mouth of the pass, looking down at the statuesque man poised in front of a tied-up mass of people, looking in fear at the stone-faced man. Two guards already lay dead at the man's feet, and his Blackened Alloy Bastard Sword gleamed with blood. "I told you, there is no point in trying to defeat me! I know Azrael is hunting somewhere within your boundaries . . . all you have to do is bring him here and I'll let the hostages go!" the blond man shouted up to the guards, but unable to comply, they just shifted nervously, occasionally urging one another to attack, but none moved an inch. Abruptly, the guards felt themselves being pushed aside as Azrael jostled his way through the crowd.
"Ah, excellent! See what happens when you follow demands? No hostages were harmed, and they're now free to go!" Joordan exclaimed, and moved off to the side. The frightened citizens stared at him for a second before hurrying towards the guards, swarming past Azrael, who stood there with clenched fists. Joordan had obviously had nearly as good fortune in armor and weapons as Azrael had experienced, Deepwater armor glittered along with Armor of Ro as well. However, instead of following along with one-handed weapons, the other paladin had chosen to go with a two-handed sword.
"What's this about? You could have just walked in there and found me if you wanted to duel, Joordan!" Azrael shouted in anger at the light-haired man, but he shrugged it off as he wiped his sword clean on the bodies of the slain guards. "Ah, but I'm afraid that I'm not welcome in Highpass any longer, if I ever was, and you have proven to be rather . . . elusive even when I am in the same area as you, so I went for a more straightforward method." "By kidnapping innocent people?!" Azrael demanded in anger as the shaking men and sobbing women were having their bonds cut by the guardsmen. "Call it what you will, you are here now, aren't you? Shall we get on with it?" Joordan asked, the afternoon sun blazing right in his face, lending almost blinding luminescence to his hair before he placed his helm on. Azrael also grimly placed on his helm as he readied his Ghoulbane. The great black sword that Joordan wielded might do just as much damage as his holy blade, but since the undead-slaying blade was one-handed, it was lighter, and Azrael hoped that would give him an advantage, as Joordan now appeared to be close to his forty-second season, all it would come down to would be who could outlast whom.
Apparently, Joordan wasn't holding back this time, as a burst of light ignited in front of Azrael's eyes, blinding him. However, his hearing was still sharp enough to hear Joordan bearing down on him, even his sword whistling through the air, which he managed to block with his shield. By listening to the air rushing around him, Azrael was barely able to keep up with Joordan, both of them were releasing loud yaulps to raise their strength. Joordan's was more powerful, having reached the next level of spell, so already Azrael was feeling the effects of his improved strength.
As if that wasn't bad enough, just as his sight was clearing, he was blown backwards with a stun spell, being blown backwards a few feet. He was able to shake it off quickly, but not before Joordan had opened a deep gash in his neck, a hair's breadth away from some very important blood vessels. Azrael had no such spell of his own, but he did have a shield, so he made sure to keep smashing Joordan in the head repeatedly, keeping him off- balance so he couldn't keep focus long enough to cast another spell. Still, it was swiftly becoming a losing battle, the older paladin was overwhelming Azrael, and he was bleeding from several deep cuts at varying points on his body. With an especially strong yaulp, Joordan slammed Azrael into the stone wall of the canyon hard. The younger man slumped to the ground, on the verge of unconsciousness.
Joordan paused to look up at the setting sun . . . their duel had lasted a couple of hours now, and the sky was lit up the color of blood. "Why is it that whenever we fight, its on the verge of dusk? Dramatic, isn't it? Too bad it's the last sunset you'll ever see, Azrael. Time to say goodnight . . . forever," Joordan said to himself, as he turned back to the paladin. As he raised his sword high, he noted absently that the paladin's armor and sword were now strangely missing, only his shield remained, shining brightly on his left arm. He brought the dark gray blade down, and without warning, the younger man's hands flew up and caught the blade as it neared his throat, and held it tight, and strain as he might, Joordan could force it no closer. His rival's eyes popped open, and crimson irises locked gaze with his, the whites turned black as midnight.
With seemingly little effort, the man stood up, still holding the Blackened Alloy Bastard Sword tight in his grip, though blood was seeping out of his palms from the edge digging into the skin. "What?!" Joordan exclaimed, his own eyes widening, the only sign of emotion he had shown in a long time. With a heave, his changed dueling partner flung him backwards, sending him stumbling perilously close to the edge of the chasm. The man dug what he recognized as his own Silvery War Axe out of his packs, and faced him, unarmored, but a look of absolute confidence in those eyes as red as the blood seeping out of his wounds.
Having fought several times, Joordan had developed the keen knowledge of his opponent's habits and tactics, the man facing him had a totally different stance, a facial expression that would have never appeared on Azrael's face . . . somehow his adversary had changed into an entirely different person. "Who are you?" he asked, now truly afraid, too uneasy to chide himself for letting that emotion slip past his normally glacial calm. ^You may call me Chthon Ebonshadow, since our mutual acquaintance has found a surname for himself . . . we've never met, but I've breathed the air of Norrath once before, and let me tell you, it is good to be free once more! While I'd ordinarily be happy as sin to let you do away with Azrael, until I get myself a body of my own, I can't let you do anything to this one . . . unless you'd be willing to offer me your own?^
Joordan sidestepped to a different position, revealing silently what he thought of that proposition. Chthon shook his head in mock disappointment, and smirked as the paladin charged him, yelling. Darkness leapt from the shadowknight's hands, engulphing the paladin in dark energy that sapped his strength, hindering his movements. He was unable to believe that the spell had even taken effect, but his disquieted feeling grew stronger as he could see Chthon's axe briefly glowing red, signifying that he was going to use Vampiric Embrace on him. Struggling against the unusually strong dark bonds, he slashed at the Shadowknight furiously, but the man paid no regard to the wounds he received, only draining more life-force out of him with his spells and the random effect of the enchanted axe. Joordan grew truly afraid now, since he could barely concentrate as Chthon had maintained the same policy of bashing him repeatedly, and though he had his Lay Hands ability ready, he was no longer certain he could get it off. And unlike Azrael's policy of letting his dueling opponents live, this man was out for blood. Something still seemed to be restraining the evil man, but he attacked viciously, letting no opportunity be wasted.
However, their battle was forcing them ever closer to the edge, and suddenly, under Chthon's foot, a large rock gave way, causing the man to stumble, swaying, and in pure terror, Joordan shoved him backwards. With a cry, Chthon toppled over into the chasm. Casting several Greater Healing spells on himself, Joordan peered through the swiftly dimming light for any sign of the man. Despite his tenacity, the shadow knight was nowhere to be found. Though a nagging feeling lurked at the back of his mind, Joordan muttered, "Good riddance," relief flooding him.
Azrael floated in darkness, he couldn't tell if he was upright or sitting, all that was around him were endless shadows, and a great coldness. He couldn't feel anyone around him...he was all alone in this void. {Alone again . . . why am I alone again? I did my best to make friends in this world . . . why must everyone always leave me?} he thought to himself. He choked back tears as loneliness fully set in, freezing his soul. It was if everyone in his life . . . all his lives . . . had abandoned him. Though he couldn't feel much beyond the deathly chill, he could tell that he was crying now, despite the fact that he had thought that he had spent up his last tears ages ago . . . that he had gotten used to this feeling. He had no clue how he had gotten here . . . he couldn't remember anything beyond the pain and the darkness. As if thinking of pain summoned it, agony stabbed at him from all sides, as if every wound he had ever suffered was now back to haunt him. He tried to look down at himself, but found that he was unable to even see anything beyond the shadows that he floated in. Still, he was thankful for the eerie silence of this void.
As if on cue, a cacophony of laughing, jeering voices came into being, taunting him from all sides. The shadows coalesced into a crowd of distorted figures, grinning and leering at him as if mocking his misfortune. Every tormentor he had in life seemed to be embodied in these figures who edged ever closer to him. Pain, shame, and anger conflicted in Azrael's mind as he tried to ignore their comments, but he was unable to shut them out, as he couldn't even clasp his hands over his ears. )(worthlessloserwimpfreaksuckerstupidspazdorkfagnerdchumpfaithlessweakfoolgi rly . . . )( The words cut him as if hearing them for the first time, and burning anger replaced all his shame, and he found himself somehow forming limbs out of black flame, somehow distinguished from the shadows that surrounded him. But the figures didn't seem at all disturbed, they still surrounded him, moving closer, and as Azrael felt one of them place a murky hand-like shape on his newfound shoulder, he lashed out in rage. In raw joy, he saw the shape spin away, severed from the rest of the creature by a blade-like shape created from the obsidian fire his new body was made of. Feeling a sense of release he had not known, he charged the creature and slashed at it again and again with the fire-blade, reveling in its cries. As it fell, he whirled and faced the other creatures that stood there, stunned. Despite a feeling at the back of his mind that something was terribly wrong, that he should be realizing something was lost in the red haze that had settled over Azrael's consciousness as he hacked at the other forms, which wailed in pain and terror. He felt . . . vindicated somehow, as he blasted all the forms with the dark fire, devising a new use for the odd substance, not noting what significance it should have had.
As he gloated over the fallen figures, which started to crumble and dissolve, something seemed to click in his brain and the shadows sloughed off of his vision, revealing a night sky out on the Karanas . . . how he had gotten there from the canyon he had no idea, as memories returned to him in a rush. He had been fighting Joordan . . . losing badly . . . he had gotten knocked unconscious . . . But then an acrid smell wafted past his nose . . . a stench that reminded him of burnt pork somehow...and he looked down, and immediately wished he hadn't. Scattered around him were several burnt figures . . . mostly unrecognizable since they were nearly charred into ash, but he could still identify several items near them . . . a farmwife's bonnet . . . a bucket . . . and several rolls of . . . bandages? He looked down at himself and saw that he was covered in blood, how much was his he could not tell.
Then it came to him as if struck with a war hammer. Chthon. It had happened again, so soon after his initial release. Despite ages of planning, of training, of discipline, he had managed to break free of his psychic prison not once, but twice! These poor people around him . . . they had fallen to Chthon's flames . . . but they had been guided by his own hand . . . no, not his own hand, but it might as well have been, no matter if Chthon had been manipulating him. Even if it was only done to torment him, it bore down on Azrael heavily. He knew that even if he could find a cleric, these people were beyond help now. "Hey, Azrael! Where have you been, buddy? We've been looking for you!" he heard someone shout, and he turned his neck painfully to the right to see a couple figures approaching him from out of the night. It was Obelisk, Nixxius, and Lupin . . . they had met in the worst of all possible times for a reunion. Lupin had almost immediately began casting a healing spell on him along with a Spirit of Wolf spell as they began moving closer, but they stopped a short distance away as they managed to distinguish the burnt figures lying about the area. Obelisk's grin faded as he looked around in stunned confusion. "What happened here?" he started to ask, but with a choking noise, Azrael turned and ran back towards the canyon. Lupin pursued him a bit, but having gotten added fleetness of foot due to his need to avoid the other men, Azrael soon outpaced the wood elf, and disappeared into the pass. A short while later, Obelisk and Nixxius arrived, having spent a few seconds for the bard to dig his drum out of his pack. "Where'd he go?" Nixxius asked the druid, but the silver-haired young man could only shake his head, disturbed at why their former companion had fled from them. "What happened to him? To those farmers?" Obelisk repeated, but none of the trio had any answers . . .
"His scent ends here . . . he must have escaped into the water . . . but why would he run?" Lupin muttered to himself, getting up from the crouch where he had been sniffing close to the ground. Yellow eyes searched the river under and past the bridge, but a night wind was kicking up the water more so than usual, and the tell-tale ripples of a person swimming would be hidden. Behind him, Nixxius and Obelisk ran up, the staccato beats of the bard's song fading. "Did you find him?" Obelisk asked, but Nixxius could already tell in the frustrated look on the druid's face that he had lost the trail. "No," he supplied for Lupin's sake, "Like all animals, water cancels out a scent trail, Azrael must have known that, and swam to somewhere to ensure his escape . . . something must have happened back there that made him want to get as far away from us as possible . . . the only reason I can think of is that whoever or whatever attacked him might have been threatening to us as well." Shaking his silver-haired head, Lupin replied quietly, "Let us hope you are right . . . "
{Be quiet, don't make a sound . . . They'll hear me!} Azrael thought, as he lay exhausted on the ground in the smuggler's cove, hearing his friends' voices shout out his name. He had not gone as far as the others had suspected, his energy mostly spent from the fight hours earlier. In the dead of night, the rogues who did their business here were either not present, or did not care, either of which he was glad for. He heard the voices fade away into the distance, but he did not get up just yet, but instead he rolled over onto his back, now letting his gasps for breath come freely, relieving his burning lungs. { . . . whatever had attacked me would be dangerous to you? You are partly right . . . but now I'm worried that I would be the greater threat . . . I can't let my life threaten yours anymore . . . I have to confront my pursuers, get this death threat lifted, and then maybe get off this continent, somewhere where I and you will be safe,} he thought to himself, gazing up at the clear night skies.
Sir Lucan Dlere was filing away some reports when he heard a knock at the door, and a worried, "Sir?" The head of the Militia growled at being disturbed, but recognizing one of the guards, he got up and unlocked the door and opened it. What he saw on the other side made his breath catch in his throat. Down the hall, two guards lay dead, and the third that was supposed to be guarding his office was held in a submissive stance thanks to a Ghoulbane held to his throat by the man that he had been pursuing for nearly a year now. "We have some things to discuss, Dlere," Azrael said, returning the hateful gaze the former paladin gave him. Dlere nodded, but demanded, "If we're going to talk, first, release guard Fralldo, he has no part in this." Azrael complied, and the guard was released. He stared at his commander for orders, but a simple nod of the head indicated that he should just wait outside until business was concluded. As the guard walked out and closed the door, Dlere walked over to his cabinet and got out his flask of liquor and took a long pull from it, then offered a swig to the paladin, who shook his head no. "I spend a year, dozens of men, much coin and time to catch you . . . and today you turn up on my doorstep . . . why?" the warrior asked, looking at Azrael curiously, keeping one hand on the sword at his side. "The death contract on my comrades . . . I want it removed," Azrael said bluntly, his voice betraying only distrust and more than a bit of anger. Dlere stared in surprise for a few seconds, then chuckled. "You come all this way, into what any sane man would consider a death trap, only to ask for the safety of a few friends? You are a paladin through and through, just as I thought," he remarked, taking another sip. Azrael was getting annoyed, so he finally asked, "Why do you even want me so badly that you were willing to risk so many resources on me?!" Dlere looked down at the near empty flask, and thought for a long time. After a lengthy pause, he admitted, "To tell the truth, I don't really know. I guess I was afraid for the future of my . . . this city. I have spent so much time and effort to bring it under my control and keep it safe. Even though many do not think it, I truly love this city, and I find the conflict between us and the Knights more frightening than anything else. I wanted more good men willing to support the Militia, and to hear a man of your caliber joining the Knights, who have sworn to fight against me . . . I was afraid for my own future. You're not the only man killing my guards, you know. Even though I could never train you, being a paladin, I wanted to have you either on my side or out of the picture all together . . . and apparently I can have neither."
He looked up at Azrael, and asked, "So, what would you have me do?" Without pause, the younger man replied, "I want you to let my friends go . . . it will only cost the lives of more of your men. Two, allow me to pass unmolested through the eastern and western parts of the city. If you truly want me dead, claim me yourself, don't send half-assed lackeys after me." Amazed and partly-amused by the man's audacious answer, Dlere stood there flabbergasted for a second, then roared with laughter. "Done, then!" he proclaimed, still laughing. Azrael started to leave, when he heard the hiss of steel being drawn. "Don't," he said simply, and he heard Dlere's sword going back into its sheath. "I guess I should have suspected it . . . Go then, but know that we will still always be on the opposite side, and that not all my men will share my viewpoint," Dlere sighed, sitting back down at the table. "Point . . . taken," Azrael called over his shoulder as he left.
The boat rocked as it traveled across the Ocean of Tears, as a chill autumn breeze ghosted across the deck, where Azrael stood. Dlere had been true to his word, no further guards dared to attack him as he made his way through western Freeport, all the way to the docks. He wasn't sure how long it would take for Dlere's orders to reach the men tracking Obelisk and the others, but he hoped that it would reach them sooner than any warnings from his being sighted back in the city limits of Freeport. Still, it was a good idea to stay as far away from them as he could until he was certain that they were safe. As the boat passed between two gigantic pinnacles of rock stabbing out of the water like twin daggers, he was suddenly reminded of where he was headed. {So many of my friends have come from this place . . . Nedra, Hillodania, Nixxius, Lupin, I'll have to visit their home towns, just as a point of interest,} he thought to himself, as the boat rolled on in the misty sea.
Finally, the shores of Faydwer came into view, and Azrael was shocked as he looked on the strange land, which had a scent of ancient magic drifting off from it, where no human had stepped in ages until a year ago. Now, plenty of races walked the quay, even Erudites, all the way from Odus! He stopped to look out on all the activity, seeing high elves, wood elves, half elves, dwarves, barbarians, dwarves, and many other races go about their business. Minus dark races of course. He felt someone tapping at his back plate, and a gravelly voice spoke up from behind him, "Do ye mind, laddie? Other people would like ta use th' dock too, ye know?" Azrael looked over his shoulder, but he didn't see anyone, and he was sure that he had been the last off the boat. The voice spoke again, this time clearly irritated, "Down here, lad!" Azrael turned around and looked down, and sure enough, an incensed dwarf glared up at him from under bushy and rust-colored eyebrows. "Sorry," he remarked sheepishly, and let the dwarf pass. The cleric, for a spell-book hung from his belt, took a few steps away, then stopped. "Ye know, I don't think I've been ever apologized t'before, join me fer a drink, lad?" A short while later in Kaladim, the dwarf, Zelphanus, was draining his eighth tankard while Azrael asked him another question, "So, you say you had left Faydwer to come to Antonica a while ago?" "Yeh, a few months ago, by my mark. Too little t'hunt 'round 'ere for a strappin' young dwarf in his eleventh season, so I headed t'Antonica to try my luck there. Now that I'm an experienced old boy of my twenty-fourth season, I figgered tha' th' Estate of Unrest would be a good place t'try," Zelphanus explained, wiping the foam out of his beard. "Unrest?" Azrael queried, hoping to stall him before ordering another ale. "Big ole mansion, use ta be owned by some big-shot elven noble, high or dark elf, I cannae remember, but now its filled ta th' brim with all sorts of undead beasties. Th' sorta place yerself and I would enjoy," the dwarf went on, then paused. "Say, wouldja like ta come with me? I'd bet my beard tha we'd find a group of like-minded individuals, roight away, whadda ye say?" he asked, his eyes still bright despite his mildly drunken state. "Sure, it sounds fun," Azrael said with genuine warmth.
It was early morning on Saturday in North Freeport, and the Hall of Truth was just starting to come alive with activity, as every paladin rose early as part of tradition, an aspect that the Militia regarded with ridicule, they themselves preferring to sleep in on weekends. Valeron Dushire was tallying up the number of recruits for the week, yawning occasionally. Five recruits thus far, and its not even Tuesday! How many more will we get this week? Eighty-six recruits alone throughout the entire city in just two days! We're running out of quality tunics and swords to give to the novices! I swear, if we get another recruit this early in the morning, I'm jumping from the top floor of the Marr Temple! This is just too much, he thought tiredly, his shoulders aching with exhaustion. He went up to the balcony where he usually welcomed and trained novices and looked down upon the classes just beginning. As if to confirm his worst fears, he heard Sir Xantille shouting, "Lord Dushire! Lord Dushire! We have another novice!" The guard strode up leading a young man who followed closely behind him. He was about to look away when his eyes snapped back towards the recruit. Instead of coming in the typical shirt, vest, pants, and boots typical of young men, he was fully outfitted in leather armor, which gleamed from polish, and he held a Minotaur Axe clenched in his fist. "Are you sure he is a novice? He looks like a finely trained warrior to me," he asked Xantille incredulously. "I beg your pardon, Father Dushire, but this is my first season," the young man volunteered staring at him with piercing green eyes. Dushire yawned again, covering his mouth so as to not be rude. "I'm sorry, could you come back in a few hours? I'm not ready to begin the initiation this early . . . " he said, and started to walk off when Sir Xantille seized him by the shoulder. "My lord, I'm sorry, I'm tired too, but you really need to see this guy in action!" he told him excitably. Yawning wide again, Dushire took one longer look at the young man before nodding.
Theron Rolius looked up from his class down near the aqueduct/river as Dushire ushered the young man in. "One more*yawn* novice for you, Theron," he remarked. "Already? All right, over there with the other beginners . . . " the assistant guild master began, but Xantille cut him off. "No, start him with one of the more experienced squires, trust me!" he exclaimed, almost bouncing from foot to foot. Theron blinked, but nodded, and motioned for an older boy teaching some of the beginners. "Joordan here will spar with you, so we can accurately determine your starting level . . . what was your name again?" he told the young man. "Its . . . Azrael, sir," the young man replied. Joordan had walked over and was looking Azrael up and down scornfully. He was tall, blond, and very well built, in his seventeenth season. "Why am I bothering to do this? I'll likely knock him flat on his back in less than two blows, send him to the novice class like you usually do," Joordan scoffed. "Just do it, Sir Xantille is vouching for him," Theron told the squire, and the boy sniffed, but readied his sword anyways. Theron cleared a space as the novices broke off from their lesson and gathered around. "All right . . . begin!" he called, and clapped his hands three times. This'll be easy . . . Joordan thought to himself, and feinted, then swung the flat of the blade towards the other man's head. However, he hit nothing but air. The next thing he knew, Azrael's practice sword connected with his chin and sent him stumbling back a few feet. Glaring at the brown-haired boy, Joordan revised his strategy and attacked full force. Each blow was dodged, parried, or riposted, and Joordan found himself sweating and bruised as he was forced to switch to the defensive. What is with this guy? he thought in disbelief, but his lack of concentration resulted in getting smacked on the side of the head and sent to the ground. The novices stared for a second before clapping and cheering uproariously. Theron gaped and Dushire's mouth hung open. Gathering his wits, Theron stepped into the circle, and said, "Now, boy, let's see how good you really are." Azrael gulped, but nonetheless put up his sword. The other novices pressed in eagerly.
"If that boy wins, I'm going to have apoplexy," Dushire muttered in a strangled voice. Nonetheless, he clapped three times to start the match. Theron didn't attack, but rather began circling. Azrael circled as well, and after a moment's hesitation, rushed in to attack. Theron dodged his first blow, caught his arm on the second, and slammed his practice sword into the younger man's stomach. The wind knocked out of him, Azrael crumpled to the ground. As Joordan limped away, he chuckled under his breath as he whispered to himself, "At least the twerp isn't invincible," Theron helped Azrael up and patted him on the back, grinning. Dushire walked up and handed him the amulet that signified that he was a member of the Knights of Truth. "Good job, son, you'll do us proud, now, do you mind if I ask how you came to be so skilled when you've never adventured out into the world before?" he asked the younger paladin. Azrael hesitated strangely, then began, "I . . . err, came not from Freeport, but from a settlement called Marr, out in the West Commonlands. My father was a paladin himself, and a tanner, so he fitted me out with these clothes and a spare axe and sent me off to train here. But, as you might expect, he had trained me some before I came here." "Well, it certainly did the trick! Let's get you started with the other squires," Theron remarked. None of the three noticed a shadowy figure gazing down at them from the roof of the balcony, who leapt away shortly thereafter.
Sir Lucan Dlere was not pleased. For every three young warriors he drew in, the paladins and clerics got seven. He knew that a large number of the young men and women in Freeport had brawn as well as brains for magic, but that shouldn't prevent them from becoming warriors, now would it? And even then, more went to the Steel Bunker rather than the Militia. He heard a rustle from behind him, and without turning around, he bellowed, "Report!" The voice that came from behind him was as oily as the man, "There's another new apprentice at the Hall of Truth, sir." Under his helmet, Dlere's eyes bulged in outrage. "This early?" he growled. He removed his helmet and took a swig from the flask that he always kept on his desk. As the fiery liquor cascaded into his stomach, he continued, "Well, is there anything special about him, or is he another panty-waist, lily-livered page boy?" The rogue smoothed his filthy black hair back from his forehead before going on. "He has shown exceptional skill with a sword, despite the fact that he hasn't much endurance, as befits a novice. In his first match he defeated a man sixteen seasons older," he started, then stopped and waited for Dlere's reaction. The head of the Freeport Militia eyes grew cold, but he waved for him to go on. "That's not the thing that interests me the most though," the rogue remarked. "And what is it that does interest you, sewer rat?" Dlere replied sarcastically, taking another swallow. "When I checked his bank account, it was empty, as to be expected, but it had just been opened the day before," he said, and Dlere actually turned around for that. "What?! Every citizen of Freeport and the Commonlands, indeed the whole world registers for an account when they turn five! How could he have just opened it yesterday?" Dlere almost shouted. "And that's not all," the thief continued, beginning to grin in spite of himself. "He says he came from a town called Marr, out in the Commons. There indeed is a city there, but it's only inhabited by retirees, people too old to have children of any age," he said, and Dlere just stared. "And this means, logically, without beating around the bush like you usually do?" he asked, in a low, dangerous voice. "He just appeared."
"Just.appeared?" Sir Lucan Dlere repeated. "Yes, sir," the rogue responded, a gap-toothed grin nearly splitting his face in two. "How is that possible?" Lucan asked himself, pacing around the room, unconsciously picking at the hem of his red tabard, a nervous habit he always had. He stopped and pointed directly at the rogue, a determined look on his face. "Sir?" The rogue asked hesitantly, the grin disappearing. "I want you to trail this young man, see if you can find any information at all, where he's staying, who has seen him thus far, how far back he started walking around, all of it! Also, watch his progress, if he becomes too much of a threat, I may ask you to eliminate him. Consider this my decree; if you fail in this task, your "pardon" won't last much longer. Do I make myself clear?" he told the rogue. The other man's bleary eyes narrowed, but he nodded, bowed, and then disappeared almost as silently as he arrived. This is something out of fairy tales.men just don't appear out of thin air, they must be hiding their past if there is nothing discovered about them. It will just take time to figure out is all, that's it . . . Dlere thought to himself as he returned to his desk and placed on his helmet, but it didn't make him feel as secure as it usually did.
Krystin Charcoal was just taking up her usual corner near the ramp to North Freeport when a voice came from behind her. "Have you seen this man?" She tensed her jaw, and her back became rigid with outrage. "I thought I told you not to bother me any more Matrem," she called back over her shoulder, trying to avoid being seen with the rogue. He didn't answer, but instead thrust a paper in front of her face, and repeated the question, "Have you seen him, and when?" Angrily, she pushed it away from her face and looked at it critically. Sketched on there was an artist's rendition of a young man, tall, with straight and short brown hair, piercing green eyes, and clothed in leather armor, holding a Minotaur Axe. At the top of the sketch was the title, "Azrael." Hurriedly, she responded, "Yes, just a couple of days ago. In fact, he asked directions to a good inn in North Freeport, which was rather odd, as he was a paladin, and they should know North Freeport better than anyone, right?" Matrem rubbed the stubble on his chin and muttered, "That is odd, isn't it? Do you remember which inn you told him to go to?" "It was the Jade Tiger, I think, right across from the bank, now go away!" she muttered, and finally whipped around, but he wasn't there anymore. Tossing her hair irritably, she went back to preparing her wares.
Innkeeper Rille at the Jade Tiger was washing a shot glass left by a recent customer when a voice spoke up from under the counter. "Has a man named Azrael rented out a room here?" Rille stiffened, and looked around hurriedly, but there was nobody there yet, despite it being nearly noon. Without looking down, he remarked, "We run a respectable inn, you know. While we turn few away with the exception of some of the darker races, people of ill repute are not welcome if they ask after the past or nature of the people staying here. I'm not sure how you managed to get in here, but I advise you to get out, before I call the guard on you." A low chuckle answered, and a second question followed, "Yes or no, that's all I ask." The innkeeper's eyebrow's furrowed together, and he began counting down from five. When he reached one, he looked under the counter. Nothing but cobwebs greeted his eyes. Matrem stood on the arbors outside the inn, keeping absolutely motionless to avoid detection, thinking hard. That innkeeper was less than helpful, but his reluctance certainly indicates I hit a nerve. However, I can't report this back to Dlere without concrete evidence . . . better just follow my original objective to watch him until I can establish where he's staying. he thought to himself, and he leapt off the arbor.
Several seasons later . . .
Azrael walked into the Temple of Marr, carrying a bag filled with the carcasses of four piranhas that had somehow found their way into the waters near the Hall of Truth. He began stepping up towards the second floor where he would find the man that had given him this task, but he turned instead downwards, where he would train for his newly acquired spell-casting skills. After he was done, he stepped into the shallow pool in the center of the Temple to wash off the sweat from the hot summer day. Abruptly, he heard someone shout, "Look out beloooooowwwwww!" Azrael looked up to see someone falling towards him from the second floor, twisting in mid-air as if trying to break his fall. Before he could move, the person landed on him, sending them both crashing down into the fountain. Groaning and coughing, Azrael sat up and glared at the other man, who was thrusting his long black hair away from his face. "What did you think you were doing? You could have injured yourself far more had I not been there for you to land on!" he told the other man, but he stopped when the younger man laughed out loud. "I doubt either of us would have been hurt if you hadn't been standing there. Trust me, I'm a monk, I can break my fall . . . or at least I was trying to practice that skill when I was unduly interrupted," he exclaimed, his face open and smiling. Only then did Azrael recognize the harness and sash the man was wearing, and he was sure he would see more fine silk clothes should he stand up. His laughter subsiding, the raven- haired man stood up, and offered a hand to Azrael. "I'm really very sorry about that, my name's Obelisk, a monk of the Ashen Order, here in Freeport. You're a paladin, I take it?" he asked, as he pulled Azrael to his feet. "Yes, my name's Azrael. Just what were you doing, leaping from the balcony of the Temple of Marr, though?" the paladin answered. A wide grin split the monk's face as he responded, "Well, this place is the best for miles around to practice my safe falling technique, as there are no mountains or wizard spires to leap from. And yes, there is no other way to practice it than actually putting it to the test. And, the more weight the better." Azrael saw that the monk's purse was full to bursting with coins, which strained all the more from being wet. "I see, how about we go back to my place to dry off?" Azrael asked Obelisk, motioning for him to follow. "Why not?" he replied, still grinning, making Azrael wonder if the smile ever left his face.
"So, are you from around here? You seemed like you knew where you were going," Obelisk remarked as he toweled off his long black hair, which hung nearly to the middle of his shoulders. Azrael froze, stopping from drying his own, much shorter brown hair. "Well, I've been here for a while, but I'm really from out in the Commonlands," he responded after a while. "Oh, a country boy, eh?" the monk responded, giving him a wide grin. "Do you ever stop smiling?" Azrael asked, beginning to smile in spite of himself. "Not really," Obelisk replied, his grin spreading wider. After finishing finally, he walked over to the table and picked up his purse, which he then upended on the table. A flood of copper coins came out. "This really isn't that much money, maybe about fifty platinum, but when you convert it to copper . . . the perfect solution for more weight to practice safe fall," he explained as he shoveled them back into the purse. "Say, do you want to tag along back to my house after I stop off at the bank? You look like you have some stuff to drop off too," the raven-haired man asked, hefting the purse back onto his belt. "Well, I do have to exchange some coins," the paladin responded truthfully.
It was getting towards sunset when the two men stepped out of the Jade Tiger, and they were laughing and joking as they walked. They had taken no more than three steps when Obelisk stopped Azrael silently with a hand to his shoulder. "There's someone watching us," he declared, his eyes scanning the area. "Where?" Azrael whispered, attempting to follow the other man's eyes. Before Obelisk could respond, a shady looking man pulled his cloak's hood up and hustled off, but he was too slow to hide his face, that of a greasy-looking man with long, stringy black hair. "I don't like the looks of that guy, keep an eye out for him," Obelisk said after a while, watching the direction the man had taken. "Forget about it," Azrael told him, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go switch out our coins and head off to your parent's place." Obelisk brightened up at that, and as they went to the bank, he chatted up a storm. "You'll love my mom's pasta, she always makes more than even me and my dad can eat, and we always welcome guests. When you're in the house, she treats anyone like family! Course, since I'm an only child, she has reason to do so . . . " Azrael only half listened, lost in thought. How much longer can I keep up this story? So long as nobody asks any more questions and I should be fine.
"Ma, I'm home!" "Welcome back, dear! Oh, and I see you've brought a friend home! That's wonderful! Company always makes a meal that much more enjoyable. Make yourselves at home in the sitting room, your father should be down shortly, dinner won't be more than a few minutes away, so don't go gallivanting off anywhere, you hear?" "Yes, ma!" Azrael looked around the small, but cozy building with lessening anxiety. The entire house had a pleasant, frugal appeal to it. While simple, it had various homey touches, like a miniature tree growing in a pot on a stand, and a couple wall scrolls hanging around, depicting scenes of mountains, rivers, lakes, and other nature scenes. "This way is the 'sitting room', it really isn't large enough to qualify as the huge salons it's modeled after, but it can hold at least a dozen people," Obelisk told Azrael, waving him into another room. The sitting room had even more artwork, and even a few statues lying around. Several chairs were placed around the room in various positions, and Obelisk plopped down nonchalantly in one, seemingly at random. Azrael smirked, but sat down more gracefully in a high-backed chair not far from his new companion. "Oh, another new friend? You seem to be getting quite a collection, son," a low voice called from the stairwell in the foyer. A lean but muscular older man was stepping down and turning into the room, looking very much like Obelisk, but with long, thin, gray moustaches hanging down past his chin. His hair was about as long as his son's, only salt-and-pepper in color, and his complexion was ruddy as opposed to his son's tanned look. "Well now, hello, lad, my name's Soun, how'd you happen to meet my son?" he asked the paladin, easing himself into the largest chair in the room, which though large enough to fit another person, seemed filled by his presence. "He sort of fell into my lap, sir," Azrael replied with a smirk, and Obelisk's face turned red, which he disguised by coughing as if to clear his throat. "Did he now? HA hahaha, that's the way he seems to make friends, they just seem attracted to his smile and winning personality, I'm afraid I had to work a bit more actively to socialize with my peers in my youth," Soun exclaimed with a hearty laugh, pulling a pipe from his pocket and filling it with tobacco, lighting it with a piece of straw dipped into a nearby candle. "Dinner's ready!" came the call from the kitchen. "Has that much time passed already? Come on, best food you ever tasted! Just don't eat too much, or they'll have to cart you back to North Freeport in a wheelbarrow!" Obelisk remarked with a chuckle, already dashing off to the table in the corner of the sitting room.
Azrael stared at his plate of dessert, which held just one more bite of blackberry pie, and forced himself to eat it. To his left, Soun was picking his teeth with a sharpened piece of wood, and Obelisk was snoring, already asleep from too much food. Soun finished picking his teeth and looked out the window. The moon had risen high into the sky, and its position indicated it was close to nine o'clock at night. "My, it has gotten late! Why don't you stay the night? You won't be bothered much by my son's snoring, he only does it after he eats, he'll wake up shortly anyways," Soun asked Azrael. Azrael cast a longing look towards the door and responded, "I really should be getting back . . . " "Nonsense, it's no bother, plus, the streets can be a little dangerous at night, even for experienced warriors!" Soun told him, clapping him on the back. Remembering the cloaked man, Azrael nodded.
That morning, Azrael was walking back with Obelisk to the Jade Tiger when they heard music coming from the inn, broken occasionally by an odd rumbling noise. Curious, Azrael walked in slowly and peered around the corner into the common room. Two wood elves were sitting at a central table with a large crowd gathered around them. One of them was strumming a lute, playing a complex melody on it, his fine, almost feminine features radiant in the joy of the music. His companion was rather mysterious-looking for a wood elf. His shoulder length gray hair didn't match his youthful face, but what drew Azrael's attention the most were his eyes, which glimmered like burnished gold, wolf's eyes. The rumbling noise was him growling at the patrons, who would occasionally attempt to start a brawl in their drunken state, but his growls and a carefully hidden harmony spell would calm them down again. "That song . . . " Azrael said to himself, listening carefully. Obelisk also tuned his ear to it, but shook his head. "Its nothing I've ever heard before, and I've heard a lot hanging out at Marsheart's. Sounds like something from another planet," he said, shrugging. Azrael started to say something, but stopped himself, shaking his head.
After the song was done, the bar patrons tossed coins onto the table, much of it gold and platinum, obviously, the concert had been going on for a while. After the crowd cleared out, Azrael and Obelisk approached the pair. The bard looked up from tuning his lute through his hickory-hued bangs and grinned attractively. "Is there something we can do for you, gentlemen?" he asked, in a silvery, almost contralto voice. "That song, where'd you pick it up?" Azrael asked him, scratching his chin again, making it seem to Obelisk as if it was a nervous habit. The wood elf shrugged, saying, "Dunno, just pulled it out of my head I guess. I'm Nixxius, and this is my druidic partner, and sometimes bouncer, Lupin." The aforementioned druid looked up from counting the coins, and said in a voice as cold and as calm as a mountain lake, "We're still short a few platinum to get our next round of spells. Plus, our concert lease from Marsheart's just expired, we're going to have to go exploring again." Nixxius sighed, and placed his lute away. Then, as if noticing the two men for the first time, looked them in the eyes and asked, "Say, since you two look close to us in experience, how about we set out later today to do some adventuring? The more the merrier, I always say, plus it'd be advantageous to have more warriors along, so we can take on greater challenges." "Sure, I guess," Obelisk replied with a shrug and a smile. Lupin's mouth twisted itself to match Obelisk's grin, and Azrael found himself smiling as well. Lupin however, didn't smile with his mouth, but his golden eyes did take on a slightly warmer glow.
Matrem rubbed his jaw from where Dlere had struck him. While appreciative of finding out where Azrael was staying, he was clearly growing impatient with his slowness. Warrior numbskull . . . true intelligence does take time, especially when infiltrating a hostile area . . . I need someone who can follow him around with impunity wherever he goes, but who? He thought to himself, as he pulled his cloak up over his long, black, stringy, greasy hair as he splashed off into the sewers.
"Azrael, where are you going?" Nixxius asked, looking up from his lute, his healing melody ending as his concentration was broken. The paladin looked back with an embarrassed grin, and replied, "I'm way too overloaded with the rusty weapons these Dervishes have been dropping. If I don't sell them soon, I'll be slower than a high elf wizard wrapped in lead!" The bard grinned at the reply, and Obelisk snickered, rubbing at his upper lip where he was trying to grow a moustache like his father's, but Lupin didn't so much as bat an eye, only keeping wary watch on both their camp and for any wandering bears. He looked briefly at Azrael in a sidelong glance, then returned to his sentry duty with a sniff. Azrael still felt uncomfortable around him, but was beginning to respect him, for although he was very cold in personality, he was very professional and respectful, though you had to work hard to earn his respect. Sometimes Azrael thought he was more comfortable around animals than he was around people, it almost made him believe that story Nixxius had told him about Lupin being raised by wolves in the Faydark forests.
His purse now swollen from the coins that had been added from his sales, Azrael stepped out of the inn, and was starting to walk back towards the Dervish Cutthroat camp when he felt a dagger poke at his back through his leather tunic. A low, oily voice hissed, "Come this way, without a struggle, and we'll let you and your friends live," Without a choice, Azrael let himself be lead off towards the desert, which still glittered in the moonlight. {Getting careless, should have noticed him right away,} Azrael thought ruefully. {Too late for that now . . . } Now that he was out in the middle of a pair of dunes, he felt the pressure of the dagger point ease from his back, and he turned to face his assailant. He quickly discovered that there were more than one assassin, five men were spread out, all watching him warily, their faces hidden by voluminous hoods and veils covered their mouths.
The same one that had led him here spoke again. "Sir Lucan Dlere is not very pleased with your apparent support of the Knights of Truth, boy. He also wishes to know why you claim to be of this place when you are truly not of our world. You will tell him, face to face, and if he wishes it, you may join the Militia. Other wise, you will die swiftly," he told the paladin, and he lowered his veil and threw back his hood. Azrael's green eyes widened in surprise as he recognized the shady looking man from before. "So, you figured it out, not that it will help you. Now, who are you, before I decide to get going?" Azrael asked carefully, placing his hand on his Minotaur axe, which hung from a loop on his belt. "I am Matrem Couthon. I and my companions shall be your 'escort', as well as your executioners should you try to escape. Be warned though, even if you break free, you cannot avoid us forever, and neither can your allies," the rogue continued. Azrael's eyes now darkened and narrowed. "What do you mean?" he demanded, his voice going dangerously low. Matrem grinned, showing his blackened teeth, several of which were missing. "Simple, boy. If you prove your unnatural skills tonight, and slay us, you'll never be able to return to your friends again, now that we know who they are. If we do not return, our guild will send out our best assassins to watch over your companions, so that if you try to contact them, both their lives and yours will be forfeit," he told him, and started to laugh, but a choking fit of coughing broke it off. "That's true . . . but it's a risk I'm willing to take in exchange for my freedom. So, take me, if you can," Azrael replied, and drew his axe.
The rogue's eyes lost their haze and snapped fully open in rage. "Kill him! I'll invent some excuse for Dlere!" he yelled. The other rogues leapt to obey, two darting for the young paladin's back, the other pair going to his front. Without looking, Azrael thrust his kite shield behind his back, and heard the satisfying clang of blades on metal, telling him his back, as well as his heart were fine. Simultaneously, he swept the shield backwards, smashing it against the chins of the rear two rogues while blocking the attack of the third one, and tearing open the throat of the fourth on his riposte. The man toppled to the ground, his hood falling off his head, revealing the ordinary face of a peasant man, one you would not recognize in a crowd, up right until he slit your wallet.
The other three backed up, uneasily eyeing the cooling body of their comrade, his blood staining the sand black as the night around it. With a smirk, one reached into his coat, and there was a brief glint of silver before his arm whipped out, and a dagger flew from his outstretched hand, straight towards Azrael's throat. Azrael swung his axe almost at the same time, and with an upwards swipe, sent the dagger flying skywards. His attack diverted, the rogue wasted no time trying to make up for the lapse and leaped forwards. Azrael grabbed onto his knife arm as it was thrusted forwards, and stepped to the side, yanking hard. The rogue, taken off balance, met a swift end via an axe to his spine.
The pair that had originally made their strike from the back looked at each other, then again at the man who had single-handedly killed nearly half their team. Fear rather than confidence filled their faces now, as they warily edged towards the younger man, who watched calmly as they approached, his axe held at the ready. With a yell filled with hatred, they both charged him. Azrael reached his shield arm upwards and snatched at something as he parried the first one's dagger and buried his axe between his ribs.
The last remaining rogue unexpectedly shoved his dead brother backwards, causing the axe to be wrenched out of Azrael's grasp. "So, now what shall you do, lad?" the man asked, the deadly confidence back. "Improvise," Azrael responded, and within the blink of an eye, pulled the thing he had grabbed from the air out of his left fist and into his right, and thrust it at the rogue's ribs. The older man looked down in surprise at the dagger imbedded in his side. "Y . . you caught it . . . " he gasped, as his coat began to darken with blood. "Yes, mighty impressive, no?" Azrael remarked with a smirk, and twisted forcefully with the dagger, and the rogue's eyes rolled up into his head and he too sagged to the desert sands.
Now, Matrem was the only one left, standing there, quivering, as Azrael retrieved his axe. "What now?" Azrael asked, advancing even as the rogue retreated, hiding a bout of coughing behind his hand. "You don't seem to be in as good a state of health as the other's...meaning you'll stand less of a chance than they did. Still want to fight?" Matrem glowered at Azrael, and with astonishing agility, executed a series of backwards handsprings away from the paladin, and once he was a safe distance away, he shouted back, "This isn't over boy! You watch your back, y'hear?" With that, he seemed to melt into the night, his black cloak blending in perfectly.
Azrael stood silently, wiping the blood off his axe. {While those rogues weren't so tough, they're sure not to make the same mistake twice. Next, it'll be sure to be their most experienced members. However, if I make my guess correctly, none of them will want to attempt to capture me again any time soon, or make an assault on my life. But . . . Obelisk and the others might not be so lucky. I may not like it, but I can't go back to them, not yet at least. I have to find some way to tell them of this, but how?} he thought morosely.
Lupin looked at the dying embers of the breakfast fire and said quietly in his cold, calm voice, "Azrael isn't back yet. Its been a long time." Obelisk finished wiping the crumbs out of the stubble on his face, and shrugged, remarking, "Well, maybe he got attacked by one of those bears, and had to stop at the inns to rest up. I bet if we check over there, we'll find him. We honestly can't continue to hold this camp without at least some kind of warrior." Nixxius nodded and doused the fire, and Lupin stood up silently, absently kicking dirt over the remains. When they got to the inn though, the innkeeper said he hadn't seen him since last night, when he sold his things. The trio exited the inn, and were about to try another building when Lupin stopped them, his nose sniffing. "I smell his scent...he or something he's handled is close by," he said quietly, and started running off towards the other set of inns. "The nose knows . . . c'mon, let's follow him," Nixxius told Obelisk, and the two men followed after the druid. They found him standing next to the main inn building not far from the lake, holding a scrap of paper in his hands, and frown on his face.
"What's wrong?" Nixxius asked hesitantly, worried about what might be so terrible as to merit such emotion from his wolfish friend. Without a word, Lupin thrust the note at the bard. Taking it in his slender fingers, he looked it over. In Azrael's short, choppy hand, there was written this message: "Can't stay. Something is not right, Militia and rogues are involved. Don't try to contact me, you'll be in terrible danger if you do. I'm in my fifteenth season now, I'll hunt somewhere else, maybe the Oasis. I'll try to find some way to send word, but you don't get any, don't try to search for me. Sorry I can't say more, have to run. -Azrael" Below his signature, an odd emblem was embossed into the paper, that of seven triangles, three within the space created by the largest, and the smallest in the gap created by them. "What does he mean by that?" Obelisk asked, a worried look on his normally cheery face. "What it means, is that we can't afford to be so optimistic from now on," Lupin remarked coolly.
Some weeks later . . .
Matrem was not feeling well at all. His entire life had now been devoted to following Azrael, and his health had been steadily suffering from it. He had been unable to get any of his comrades, even the ones in their fiftieth season to go and capture him, and therefore had to continue to observe him solo once more. Dlere had been unwilling to extend the deadline, but after hearing about the death of Peerin, Sillk, Damaskk, and Absinthe, he gave him an unlimited span of time in which to complete his task. It gave him very small comfort to see that the warrior himself was troubled, and perhaps even frightened of the paladin.
He slunk through the city, hidden from prying eyes, as silent and steady as he had ever been, but his insides were churning. He had still been unable to pursue him to some locations, like North Freeport, and Innothule Swamp, where he was reportedly killing Froglocks. He needed someone who could go all these places, but who? As he neared the Academy of Science, he saw something remarkable. A young human woman clad in a Robe of the Oracle was standing outside the entrance arch, concentrating. Before his eyes, her appearance shimmered, and her visage became that of a high elf, indicating that she had resumed her natural form. {An enchantress! How could I have been so foolish? They are masters of disguise, she could follow that fool boy anywhere! And, as an added bonus, she could easily use her feminine wiles to get information out of him . . . for the right incentive of course . . . this platinum should do it...} he thought excitedly, and scurried after her.
Nedra plopped down on an unfinished section of wall and looked over her recent purchases. "Man, this is so unfair!" she groaned, her violet eyes regarding the scrolls sadly, her wavy blond hair cascading over her shoulders. "Why, even with my human illusion, and my Benevolence spell, do they continue to hike the price of spell scrolls higher? They should have been able to accommodate for the increased demand for them by now, shouldn't they?" she asked herself, regarding the few copper and silver coins left in her hand. "Not even enough for a decent meal," she grumbled, and stuffed them back in her purse. She was just about to leave, when an oily voice spoke from behind her back, "Having money troubles?" She gave a small yelp of surprise and darted off the wall, whirling around, her Staff of Writhing at the ready.
Matrem crouched where she had just been sitting on the wall, his hair hastily pulled back in a stylish fashion, and his face cleaned up somewhat. He made a careful attempt not to show his teeth as she asked her, "A charming, attractive lady such as yourself, not able to even afford some of her spells? Which are essential to her very well being? Well, I have a proposition for you." "Oh?" she retorted, a pale eyebrow arched. "And who might you be?" Matrem gave a deep bow with a flourish and replied, "Why, I'm the great Velvet, the headmaster of an elegant escort service, right here in Freeport!" She relaxed some, but she eyed him warily, his clothes were fine, if more than a bit dirty, and he definitely looked under the weather, but he seemed genuine.
"Well, Mr. Velvet, what is this 'proposition' of yours?" she asked him finally. Hiding a crooked smile, he told her, "Well, most of my ladies are engaged these days, and I'm unable to fulfill some requests as a result. Most I can let go, but not this particular young man." With that, he pulled out a fresh sketch, and showed it to her. On it was Azrael, though wearing some pieces of banded mail armor now, it had been drawn but days ago. She looked at the drawing with interest as he continued. "This fine young man needs a lady escort within a few weeks, and he is willing to pay handsomely for the best. Unfortunately, most of my appointments are still full for months yet. I would be willing to let you have a greater share of the commission if you would stand in for one of my girls, all you have to do is find him. I would also be curious as to what he does for a living, as such riches could only be acquired by a remarkable young man," he told her, letting her have the sketch.
"So, all I have to do is find this guy, wine and dine him a bit, and see what he coughs up as far as his social life?" she asked incredulously. "Well, yes, but it sort of needs to be a surprise, which is why I need your special talents," Velvet/Matrem admitted. "How so? Why?" Nedra asked, confused. "Well, I had originally told him that nobody was available, so I felt that a girl dropping right into his lap would be a pleasant surprise, rather than literally having to beg him to accept our services again. So, will you do it?" he told her, rubbing his hands together eagerly. "Gladly," she replied. "Excellent. A little advance first for your trouble . . . " and Nedra watched astonished as a dozen platinum coins were poured into her hands.
Azrael was walking back towards the Southern Ro desert in the Innothule swamp when he felt a pair of eyes on his back. He spun around carefully, on the lookout for rogues. A distance aways, what appeared to be a young troll female was watching him warily, but with interest keen in her eyes. Azrael shuddered, remembering the carnivorous tendencies of trolls, and hurried onwards. Just as he was nearing the valley leading towards the desert, he got the feeling again. This time, it was an ogress watching him. Curiously, she also had blond hair, and violet eyes, as the troll had. The same hunger was evident in that gaze. {Maybe this close to Grobb and Oggok isn't such a good place to hunt . . . back to Highpass I guess . . . } Azrael thought as he ran down the valley floor.
Several points later in the day, he noticed a half elf, a gnome, a halfling, a wood elf, an erudite, a dark elf, and a barbarian all watching him from a distance. Either he was attracting some sort of a strange female fan club of sorts, or something odd was going on, for all of the women had violet eyes, and with the exception of the dark elf, all had blond hair. Another thing he noticed was that the gnome, erudite, and dark elf were all wearing the same robe. Suspicion began to grow in his mind, and when he saw a human woman following him as he entered the tunnel to the East Commons, he decided to find out who was following him and why. When he got near the shady swashbuckler that had set up an impromptu kiosk in a cave in the tunnel, he crouched behind a pillar in the darkness and waited, silently. As expected, the human woman followed his steps almost exactly, but when she came to the cavern, she stopped uncertainly, and looked around to see where he had gone. {Closer . . . wait for it...} he thought to himself as she walked slowly towards the pillar where he was hidden. As she stepped past him, he seized her by the front of her robe and slammed her up against the pillar, and demanded, "All right, who are you and who sent you?"
"Uh, *gulp*, is this how you treat a lady?" the enchantress coughed, her eyes wide and shocked. "Why were you following me?!" Azrael shouted at her, veins standing out on his neck. "Whoa, calm down, I'll explain if you'll let me up," she told him, sweat starting to run down her face. "Why should I?" Azrael demanded in a low, dangerous tone, and Nedra stared in mixed shock and horror as the iris of his left eye began to turn from green to red...blood red. "What's happening to your eye?" she cried, and she squealed in fright as Azrael's left arm began to shake. Looking down at his arm, Azrael abruptly let go of her robe and instead clutched at his arm, sagging against the pillar as the spasms grew more violent, and his left eye glowed with an unholy light. After a while, the vibrating stopped, and the glow in Azrael's left eye faded, and the iris returned to its normal emerald hue.
Panting, Azrael turned his head to look at the human woman who held onto the hem of her robe at her neck worriedly, as if she would run off any second. " . . . Sorry about that, I've been under a lot of stress lately . . . " he managed to say after a while. "You're telling me?" she exclaimed. Hesitantly, she moved closer, and placed a delicate, porcelain-hued hand on his arm. "Are you all right now, darling?" she asked him in a somewhat shaky voice. "Yes . . . provided you answer my question," Azrael replied, forcing himself upright, his face now more sweaty than his new companion's was. "Well, my name is Nedra . . . and as you might have guessed, I am an enchantress. I was sent out here to act as an escort by a Mr. Velvet, who said you had been asking for one for a while and was afraid he'd lose your business. You looked so handsome in the drawing her provided, and I was looking forwards to meeting you, not quite the greeting I expected, but these are odd times . . . . " she started to explain, but the look of suspicion and hatred on Azrael's face stopped her. His green eyes turned to meet her violet ones, and he asked, "Wait, what did this 'Velvet' person look like?"
Swallowing hard, her heart leaping, {He's so gorgeous!} she thought for a second, but remembering herself, she responded, "Well . . . he was finely dressed, short and slender though sickly looking, long black hair that was greased back . . . though his garments appeared very worn, he did seem to have a good deal of wealth as he paid me quite handsomely to come and find you . . . And, well, he asked me to report back to him any information you told me about yourself . . . to find about the dealings of his clientele . . . or so he said." She leapt backwards as Azrael's fist slammed into the rock pillar, breaking off a small chunk of stone. "Damn, its Matrem," he growled, then remembering the enchantress, he stood up and looked her in the eye again, causing her to go a bit weak in the knees. "The man that sent you on this fool's errand is not really an 'escort master', but rather rogue named Matrem, a man after my life. I don't know who he's working for, but I think it may be the message. Most likely, if you'd given him all the information he needed he'd have killed you shortly afterwards, in fact, I'm surprised he paid you in advance, he must be really desperate," he told her, his eyes flashing in anger.
Suddenly, it struck her. At the bank in Freeport, it was there, a drawing of a man's face on the marble wall, though he was dressed differently and somewhat cleaner, it was the exact same man. "By the Goddess of Love . . . what have I been doing? I've let my passions cloud my mind!" she choked, the mental image of the thief slipping a dagger into her spine chilling her to the bone. She looked up as Azrael spoke again, "I'm getting real tired of this guy, I'd get rid of him myself, but I can't get too close to Freeport, you understand." He looked tired to her, as if carrying a huge, heavy, lonely burden. Her heart went out to him, but the principles of Erollissi Marr told her what needed to be done. "I'll take care of it, it is the least I can do to take revenge on he who tricked me!" she told him, a little more forcefully than she intended, but she was rewarded by having him clasp her hands in his. She didn't have time to revel in the warm hardness of them as he told her, "Be careful all right? With your magic you could easily outdo him, but if you get caught, not even illusion can save you. Now I must get going, I'm too close as it is." Breaking their gaze, he dashed off in the tunnel towards the Commonlands, his cloak flowing behind him. {I'll do it, you don't worry about that, my darling}, she thought as she went the same way, at least until the entrance where she headed towards Freeport, her form fading into nothingness as an invisible spell wrapped itself around her.
Matrem coughed and hacked violently, and was not surprised to see blood when he pulled his hand away. {My health is giving out . . . I just hope that elf woman gets back with the information soon, I want to die as a free man, not as a criminal!} he thought weakly, as another bout of coughing wracked him. He was lying on a pallet in one of the local sick houses, where he could trust the attendants not to reveal his identity to the paladins and clerics. Unable to lift his head, he saw the white apron of an attendant moving close, probably with his evening gruel. He coughed again, and attempted to thank her, but he felt a piercing pain in his side and was unable to speak. The pain faded almost immediately, but there was still a faint pressure in his lungs. Looking down, he saw the silver glint of a dagger imbedded in his ribs. Looking up, he saw the high elf woman, who grinned sweetly, and kissed his cheek as she moved off calmly, and out the door. As his vision faded to black, one thought crossed his mind, {At least now the pain will end . . . }
"He's dead then?" Dlere asked of the paladin who had reported to him, barely keeping his disgust down. "Yes, he died to a knife wound, so we think that most likely his rogue allies found him no longer useful," Joordan replied. Now a fully-grown man, Joordan had not forgotten his humiliation at Azrael's hands. An Adonis, he had statuesque beauty, and his well-built frame had attracted many a woman to him, but the fact that he had been shown up by a man three years and seventeen seasons younger than he was too much to bear, and had worn on his mind for the second seventeen seasons he had trained through. It was hearing that Sir Lucan Dlere was looking for Azrael that had caused him to forsake the Hall of Truth and sell his sword to the Militia. "Very unfortunate . . . now I suppose you'll be wanting to take after him now?" Dlere asked, taking a long pull from his flask. Joordan didn't answer, but a glint in his deep blue eyes revealed his response.
Azrael trudged through the hot desert sands of the Oasis, occasionally pausing to remove his helm to wipe away the sweat. {This would be a good area to hunt in if not for the crowds and the heat . . . } he thought miserably as he took a drink from one of his water flasks, his second in at least as many minutes. Working his way through all the adventurers, he finally spots a deepwater caiman plodding his way. Smiling, he puts away the flask and draws his axe. As he draws near the caiman, he hears distant shouts as people recognize him and gather around to watch the spectacle, but he ignores them as all his concentration is focused on the reptile.
Drawing deep breaths, Azrael focuses his energy, seeking the emotions of honor, valor, courage, and the desire to do right, letting the positive emotions to fill him to the core. As if sensing the massive amounts of energy building up in the paladin, the deepwater caiman halts and glowers at him dubiously, looking even more suspiciously at the crowd gathering. Set off with unease, the caiman surges forward at the human, bellowing with rage. Azrael's emerald green eyes snap open as the caiman approaches, and with a leap he flings himself over the caiman's lunge and twists in midair to face himself towards the enraged animal as it whips around finding its target vanished. It snaps at Azrael's legs, but he moves them out and back in depending on where the caiman's head is, infuriating it to no end. After toying with it some more, Azrael ends the game with one mighty swing, giving off a great yaulp, slamming the minotaur axe into the caiman's skull.
The adventurers gathered around clap wildly, cheering his performance. Azrael isn't impressed, as he sighs dejectedly. {How on earth am I supposed to get any hunting done when I'm followed around everywhere I go?} he thinks as he fishes out the water flask yet again. Drinking deeply, he sighs contentedly as the cool liquid splashes down his dry throat. But as he puts it back, he finds himself looking into a pair of amethyst eyes. "Hello, darling!" Nedra chirps, giving him a cute smile. With a cry of surprise, Azrael stumbles backwards and falls to the ground, to the amusement of the onlookers. "Where'd you come from?" he yells, his face red with embarrassment. She giggles and taps her cheek with a perfectly manicured finger, telling him, "I am an Enchantress you know." "Hey, who are you babe?" somebody calls out, and several whistles are blown from nearly a dozen men. Basking in the attention, she smiles flirtatiously for their benefit, but she then proclaims, "Why, I'm his lover of course!" Nedra chuckled as the faces of not only the men in the crowd but Azrael's face fell. "Wh . . . wha . . . no, we're not, she's . . . just my friend, that's all!" he stammered, looking around at the sea of faces desperately. "Oh ho ho ho! That's not what you said last night in bed, dear!" Nedra chortled, putting a delicate hand beside her ruby lips as she laughed.
The crowd roared with laughter and started to disperse, some offering congratulations to Azrael as they departed. Azrael tried to work his lips, to form some sort of coherent denial, but he couldn't. Frustrated, he turned to the high elven woman, and demanded, "Why did you tell them such an outrageous lie?" "Why darling, do you mean to say it wasn't the truth? she replied with a sarcastic wink. "Come off it!" Azrael growled, though not entirely angry at the beautiful woman's attention. "Oh come on, I'm just having some fun!" she said, fluttering her hand in a dismissive gesture, smoothing her wavy hair back with her other hand.
Exhaling forcibly in a huff, Azrael moved off, but Nedra followed him. "I took care of that rogue, you know," she told him after a while, resisting his efforts to lose her. Azrael stopped, and looked right at her. "You . . . weren't kidding were you? I thought that followers of Erollissi Marr weren't that violent!" he remarked, aghast. "On the contrary, we desire to protect the ones we love, and as they say, 'all's fair in love and war'!" she replied, giving him a flirtatious smile. He scoffed again, muttering, "Are you still going to insist upon that?" She opened her violet eyes open wide innocently, and said, "Hey, I'm just kidding! Plus, you're so cute when you're mad!" Azrael's face turned into a scowl and she giggled, remarking, "There you go!" As they started off again, neither noticed the tall blond man looking at them from on top of a faraway dune . . . his eyes filled with hatred.
"Eldest child bit, huh?" Azrael remarked, as he and Nedra walked along the edge of the dune. "Indeed, my father wasn't too pleased that I was heading out before my brother would, but my mother was ecstatic, being an enchantress herself. My brother is a magician, so my father had hopes that his son could follow in his footsteps, but unfortunately for him, I was born a few years earlier than my brother. Still, we are both keepers of the Art, so he was contented that at least both of us would be going out into the world, discovering new magic and all that...showing just how powerful the bloodline of our family is. To be quite honest, I think he's just doing this to live vicariously through us, since all he got to do was study books for most of his life, never any excitement," she told him as they stepped quickly over the hot sand. "And what do you want?" Azrael asked unexpectedly, stopping in place, forcing her to halt and turn and look at him to keep up the conversation.
"To be honest . . . I was always the most popular girl in all of Felwithe, I was so good at changing before all the others so I could set trends rather than follow them. What I want outside of my clique is . . . quite simply to become even more adaptable. I want to be able to change into everything! Enchanters can make their forms fluid, mold them like clay, and reshape them into just about anything! However, magic can only go so far . . . there are only established spells for very few of the races of this planet . . . and while you can change into objects, you cannot move around while sitting there as a candlestick, right? That's my goal...to discover some way to change at will to anything, anyone!" she exclaimed excitedly, casting a spell, so that her form swirled back into the human form that she had finally approached him in, with the long blond braid hanging over her shoulder. However, her violet eyes were still there as an additional marker of her identity, twinkling just as vibrantly as the talisman of Erollissi Marr at her neck.
"What about your own identity, then? If you can become anything...what happens to your sense of self, who would you be anymore?" Azrael asked her, scratching his chin thoughtfully, staring her right back in the eye. Nedra shook her head, still smiling. "That's not it . . . I'm thinking more along the lines of diplomacy . . . people get along better with people of their own race, right? That way, I can get closer to people than they would ordinarily allow, learn how they feel, and eventually, I want to find a way so that all of us can live in peace and love each other, just like the Goddess wants us to do!" she explained, punctuating her statements with waves of her hand, the heat and magic radiating off of it creating illusionary swirls in the air.
Azrael buried his face in his hands, muttering, "There you go again . . . can't you think of anything but love?" Nedra's face went serious for a change, and she quoted, "Love is the key to the soul, without it, intimacy is impossible. When you love someone, you can share your soul with them, become closer to being one. When all people love each other, we all will be one, in bonds stronger than race, stronger than nationality, than religion. For it is love that motivates us to exceed what we perceive our boundaries, we will do the impossible for the sake of those we love." A smaller smile returned to her face, as she continued, "I just want everyone to feel as loved as I have been, when we can all get along is when there will be no longer any need for conflict. In the meantime, I just want to love this world, and live my life to the fullest, whatever means to that end. Passion is power, after all."
"You do have a point, but what about faith? To keep one sane and true through difficult times without love? And what when love ends, or when lovers betray each other because of the throes of passion, would you not need justice?" Azrael asked, but he was silenced by a feminine finger to his lips. Nedra laughed as a surprised look crossed his face. "You're absolutely right. That's why our patron deities are brother and sister, right? Truth and love, justice and passion, its what drives all virtuous men and women, right? I got enough of this from my brother, and I don't need you preaching to me either, no matter how much the paladins tell you to proselytize," she whispered in his ear, making sure to breath a puff of hot air seductively against his earlobe before she danced away laughing throatily. Azrael blushed, but steeled himself and followed after her.
"But, why are you here? And more importantly, why are you following me?" Azrael called after her as she scrambled up the ruins of a wizard's teleportation pad at the edge of the Southern portion of the Desert of Ro. "I got bored of the island at home . . . I wanted to see the world, remember? As for why I'm following you . . . you are handsome, and an interesting fellow to boot . . . otherwise I would've left after the 'job' was completed," she told him, gazing over at the setting sun, sinking crimson over the horizon. A cold wind swept across the desert, signaling the onset of night. Nedra shivered, and waved for Azrael to come over. Sighing heavily, he strode up the pyramid and sat down next to her. Immediately, she sagged against him, curling her arms around his waist as she snuggled closer to him for warmth. "Mmm, you ARE warm. I can always tell when a man is good for embracing," she said softly, shutting her eyes and exhaling softly in satisfaction.
Relieved that the ball of energy had quieted down for a change, Azrael surveyed the land around him. {Why is all this happening to me? Things aren't simple, wherever I go, that's for sure, whether its Norrath or...huh?} he thought to himself, as he noticed someone moving towards him in the fading light of day. Nedra had fallen asleep at this point, so he laid her down on the still-warm stone and laid his cloak over her quickly before turning to face the approaching visitor. Wary of previous encounters with 'strangers', he carefully hefted his Minotaur Axe. He wasn't disappointed, for the approaching figure lifted both a glowing lightstone and a silvery war axe, revealing a cruel, statuesque face. Joordan. {Then again, some things never change. There is always the hero . . . and then there is the nemesis,} Azrael thought in determination as the other paladin drew closer.
"So, I finally found you, Azrael." The two paladins stared each other in the eye, the twilight glow on the horizon just barely illuminating the men in a crimson tint, like that of blood. "Yeah, great, so what?" Azrael responded, deciding to play dumb for now. "I never did forgive you for defeating me that day . . . you made a total fool out of me! I was always the best, until you came along, dropping out of the sky onto our world, then you take the position of most favored student away from me in a single match . . . But I've changed since then. I've realized that the only way to be the best is to play both sides, work for whoever will give you the most money . . . or power," Joordan told Azrael, his face remaining eerily passive, as if his features were made of marble. Azrael's emerald eyes widened as he guessed what the older man was implying. "You've betrayed the Knights, you're working with the Militia!" he exclaimed in dismay. The corners of Joordan's mouth turned up ever so slightly as he continued, "Shocking, but not so shocking as finding out that you're not really of this plane of existence, right, Azrael? Real citizens of Norrath register for a bank account when they're very young, and unless they've been living in the woods all their lives, don't open it a few days right before they begin training. Your cover story didn't hold up for long after that, I'll admit."
Azrael's eyes narrowed as he tensed into a ready position. "Hmph, so you figured that out, where do you think I'm from then?" he asked, adjusting his grip on his axe. "I have a few ideas, but we've more 'important' matters to discuss, eh?" Joordan replied, tightening his grip on his own axe almost unnoticeably. They stared at each other stock-still, neither moving an inch . . . but then, Joordan's left boot moved a fraction of an inch forward...
Without further hesitation, Azrael darted forward, and swung his axe in an upward curving slash, just barely blocked by Joordan's shield, which he brought immediately down on Azrael's elbow before he could pull away. Not allowing Joordan to press his newfound advantage, Azrael swung his own shield upward into the blond man's forehead, stunning him. As he stumbled back, shaking his head to clear it, feeling returned to Azrael's axe arm and he charged the other man again. He elbowed Joordan in the stomach, followed by smashing him on the side of the head with the head of his axe, then finishing it off with a side kick to his solar plexus. Joordan went flying backwards, but managed to regain his concentration, and he planted his hands on the ground, turning the fall into a handspring back into a standing position.
Now, it was his turn to make an attack. In a flash, he was right in front of Azrael's face, and his silvery war axe poised to split Azrael's skull open. The younger man brought his own axe up with both hands, catching the downward stroke, though with great difficulty. Immediately, Joordan switched tactics and swept Azrael's feet out from under him with his right leg. He raised his left to stomp on Azrael, but the wanderer had recovered, gathered his arms under him, and hurled his legs upward, using his arm strength to get his body off the ground, and kicked Joordan on the underside of the jaw, then coming upright after he finished the maneuver.
Not giving him a chance to recover, Azrael ran over and started attacking him again, thrusting the butt of the axe into Joordan's throat, then another slam to the side of the head with the reverse side of the axe, a knee to the stomach, and then he shoved him into the sand dunes. Joordan spots him running towards him again, and trips him, so both men were now down in the sand, grappling for the upper hand. A careful jab to a pressure point on Joordan's shoulder, and he lost his silvery war axe. However, Azrael's would-be victory slash only caught Joordan's purse and sand as the other man rolled out of the way. Before Azrael could yank it out, Joordan flung him away and onto another dune. The madmen and zombies who usually roamed the desert abandoned their roaming as they watched the unusual spectacle as the fight continued across the desert.
All the paladins were using now were fists, feet, arms, legs, and any part of their body that could be considered a weapon. It was here that both were equally matched. Though Azrael had greater skill, he was hindered by the choking sand, and Joordan's greater strength. They continued rolling, until they came up against something large, wrinkled, green, and hard. Both men stopped what they were doing, and looked up . . . and up . . . .
"RAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!" The Ancient Cyclops screamed his rage as he plunged his mighty fist downward at the two insects that had irked him. Joordan dashed like mad for the shimmering barrier that indicated the edge of the monster zone for the Southern Desert of Ro as the monster of old chased after him. Azrael split the other way, hoping he could at least reach his weapon before the Cyclops lost interest in pursuing his rival. He reached the spot where he had lost his axe; only he was unable to find it. He found Joordan's bulging purse however, and a few meters away, his silvery war axe glittered. Azrael shrugged, and picked it up. {To the winner go the spoils, I guess . . . } he thought to himself as he tucked the weapon into his belt loop, but further reverie was broken off as the enraged howl of the Cyclops, having lost his prey reached his ears.
Azrael raced back over to where he had left Nedra and started shaking her, trying to get her to wake up, shouting, "Nedra! Wake up! We've got to move now or we're in deep trouble!!" She opened one violet eye and sat up slowly, totally not worried at all, and mumbled, "What's the problem?" "That," Azrael deadpanned as the Ancient Cyclops loomed up over the nearest sand dune as it rushed towards them. Not needing any further explanation, Nedra's hands and eyes glowed as she hurriedly muttered an incantation and cast it on the raging giant. The Cyclops skidded to a halt as his eyes flashed then went blank, staring at Nedra totally still. Fright mixed with awe on Nedra's face as she admitted, "I didn't think that would work . . . we better run! It won't likely last long!" Without further ado, both adventurers dashed between the monster's legs and headed back towards the Oasis. As they neared the shimmering barrier, they heard the pounding footsteps of the Cyclops coming up fast behind them. With one last desperate boost of energy, Azrael and Nedra hurled themselves through the barrier, disappearing from the Cyclops' view.
In the Oasis, later...
Azrael sat down on the sand dune overlooking the inn, gasping for breath, as Nedra raised her arms above her head in order to try and get some more oxygen into her lungs. "So, are you going to tell me how you managed to get an Ancient Cyclops pissed off at you and wander off, leaving me alone while you were at it?" Nedra asked finally, in a huff, her cheeks more flushed now from displeasure rather than exertion. "Long story," Azrael grumbled sarcastically, but before he could say anything more, a blackened, decaying fist struck him from behind, rolling him down the sand dune. A ghoul had somehow crept up behind them while they were talking, and was now rushing down the hill towards Azrael, hooting. Azrael had never been able to damage one of these before, but as he swung his 'borrowed' silvery war axe at the undead creature, it bit deeply into the rotting flesh. {I get it! This weapon must be magic!} he thought in wonderment, but his joy faded as the ghoul cast a spell, causing his legs to lose all strength, preventing him from getting up. As he tried to fend off the ghoul's blows, Nedra was casting another spell from on top of the dune. As she finished, red light burst around the ghoul, and the monster clutched its head in agony as its world went all topsy-turvy. Not waiting for another opportunity to present itself, Azrael cleaved the foul creature's head from its shoulders with the axe. Panting, he removed the coins from the creature's corpse as feeling returned to his legs. Nedra skidded down the slope towards him as he stood up and looked at him, concerned, and asked, "Are you all right?" "Fine and dandy," Azrael muttered, resulting in Nedra getting a confused look at the unfamiliar expression. She shook it off and blushed, but composed herself and asked him, "Well . . . with that last monster I reached my twentieth season . . . do you mind if I leave you now to go and get my new spells?" Azrael shook his head, and Nedra nodded and cast a gate spell, vanishing into a burst of shimmering bubbles before him. Groaning, Azrael staggered up the embankment as he realized that he too now had money to buy things with.
A few hours later in the East Commonlands, he was admiring the new suit of banded mail he had just purchased from another human paladin, but his smile faded when it dawned on him that he had just spent most of the money he had gotten from taking Joordan's purse, and all he had succeeded in buying was new armor, and not the most powerful that was on the market either. But at the moment, this was all he could afford. He checked his bags for items to sell, and found precious little there. "Now what am I going to do to get more money?" he thought bitterly as he started walking off in the direction of Freeport.
Azrael smiled and thanked Innkeep Juno, and pocketed the few gold, silver, and copper coins he had gotten for selling his loot. He stepped out of the Inn, jangled his nearly empty purse and sighed. Even with the addition of the new coins, he estimated he didn't have enough to buy anything for himself that would be an improvement over what he had. He looked at his banded armor, and silvery war axe and felt disgusted. He had seen others walking around in bronze and even steel armor, with very expensive jewelry and the best weapons money could buy, only because they had older brothers, sisters, or friends that had given them the items themselves, or the money to buy them.
A halfling a good number of years younger than him ran past waving a Short Sword of the Ykesha, making Azrael want to knock the amateur warrior out and take the weapon, but he knew that the guards in the East Commonlands would be alerted and would take rather...direct...action. He had been adventuring for a quite some time now, and was close to earning a surname, one he hadn't decided upon yet, but had several good ideas. But in order to get there, he would need a good deal of money to get better equipment, perhaps a better weapon before more armor . . . maybe one of those Ghoulbanes he had seen older paladins with, or even, dare he dream of it, a Fiery Avenger. He knew of extremely few paladins who had earned the fabled weapon, but he desperately wanted to be one of them. But unfortunately, he didn't know of where he could get his hands on that kind of money quickly, and earning it the traditional way was taking too long.
Strolling through the streets of Freeport, Giantt, a rather young ogre, was a strange sight. Few ogres had ever earned the trust of most cities of light, but he had, and he was proud of it. He had earned much in the process of earning their trust, too. A full set of large bronze and steel armor and a fine steel two-handed sword, as well as many platinum pieces. Giantt, however, was not satisfied. Ambitious as he was then, he envied the older adventurers sporting full steel armor or even fabled Red Dragonscale Breastplates, cloaks seemingly woven from flames and mithril two-handed swords. He had vowed not to rest till every man, woman and child envied his equipment and skills as a Warrior and the bards sung tales of his exploits. He wondered what this day would be like. Perhaps a trip to the depths of Guk? Or pay the Kobolds of Solusek a visit, mayhaps? He knew not, and was not about to decide till he got some food, so he went to the nearest tavern, where he bellowed at the shopkeeper, "Gib mez fewd! Mez pay gud!" He then sat down at a table, and waited for his food, trying to decide where to go . . .
As he finished off his hundredth orc pawn out of pure boredom, Azrael's stomach began to grumble. As he reached into one of his backpacks, he found he only had a few muffins and milk bottles left. {Oh great! More expenses!} Azrael thought unhappily as he made his way back towards Freeport. He wandered into the inn and nearly ran into the backside of a very large ogre, all decked out in plate armor, and holding a large fine steel sword. He had not seen many ogres, but he could tell that this one was fairly young, most likely his equivalent in development, though the paladin had no idea what age ogres could live to. "The usual, innkeep," Azrael commented, attempting to slip in beside the ogre, and having him not notice. The innkeep handed him his set of ten muffins and ten milk bottles, and then turned back to the ogre.
The Ogre downed his Ogre Swill in one pull, then basically threw the ten muffins given to him down his throat. He wiped the crumbs and remnants of the alcohol off his mouth with his arm, then just sat there for a while, as if thinking. Finally, he decided to poke the human in the banded armor, who promptly spun around to face him. "Hey yuz!" he rumbled in greeting, but his intentions didn't appear at all friendly to Azrael, who said, "Um, hi...nice armor?" He backed off slowly, looking back and forth for an escape route should the ogre decided that he was the main course after the appetizer of the muffins. "Uhhhh, I wish I was able to afford something at least half as nice . . . . " he stuttered, backing into an old man seated at the table behind him, who gave a coughing wheeze in complaint. He whipped around and was about to apologize when the old man cleared his throat and said in a clear and strong voice, "So, down on your luck eh? Strong young man like yourself ought to have the best armor and weapons money can buy right? Heh, I know what you're thinking, all those other youngsters with their rich relatives have all the luck, you first-timers can't keep up right? Well, I have a proposition for you, and the ogre as well, if he's interested that is." Giantt grinned wide, then sat back in his chair, nodding slowly, proclaiming, "Mez alwez interezted . . . 'spezially when zumting infolves loot ta be hoarded."
"Well then, it's a very special loot I have for you to retrieve, which I'll reimburse you for of course! Ahem, my grandson was adventuring around in the Innothule swamp, and had followed some of his friends deep into the Guk caves where those nasty frog-things live. Anyhow, he and his group discovered something extraordinary when they were down there. In one of the rooms, there's a pile of valuable metals and gems, hundreds of thousands of platinum pieces worth!" the old man explained as a hungry look appeared on both Giantt and Azrael's faces. "Now, before they could walk off with it, a bunch of undead frog-things appeared, and drove them off! Now, I heard of these frog-things before, but undead ones? From what I heard, they can be bypassed with a simple invisibility to undead spell, you have that right?" Azrael nodded and motioned for him to continue. "Well, if you take these bags, you should be able to cart out all of it between the two of you, and then you bring it back to me at the temple of the Marr twins, and I'll pay you for them in hard currency!" From somewhere in his rich brocaded robe, the old man produced two strange-looking bags, and handed one to Giantt, and the other to Azrael. As they stood inspecting the bags, the old man waved his hand and cried shrilly, "Well, what are you two pups doing? Get going already!" Aental sat facing away from the small group at a table a few feet away. His black cloak hid his Dark Elven features and concealed the katanas on his belt as well as the chain mail armor. Having overheard the conversation, he stood and left. He would need to beat the group to that treasure . . .
The two young adventurers stepped out into the noon-day sun, and stood around briefly before Azrael turned to Giantt and asked, "So, um, where's the Innothule Swamp anyways?" The ogre replied, "Innotoole Swampy iz neer Grobb, but wez no want ta go dere . . . mez nod exactly deir best friend and a hooman sissy wud nod be veby welcome eiter. Just jusd folow mez and we be gud, okez?" Giantt muttered a word and was enveloped by a red aura, then looked back at Azrael, chuckling, and remarked, "Yuz coming or whut?" "Yeah, yeah," Azrael muttered, falling in behind the ogre as he lumbered off. {Human sissy my ass . . . }
Passing through the Deserts of Ro and Oasis, they finally made it to the entrance to the swamp. "Well, this is it . . . " Azrael murmured half to himself, and had begun to walk forwards when a voice called from up in a tree, "You're not planning to go into the swamp are you?" The paladin swiveled his neck upwards and caught a glimpse of something moving up there, but before he could act, a wood elf female appeared right in front of his face, causing him to yelp in surprise and fall over backwards. "Oh boy, you're not going to make it two feet into the swamp if a little girl like me can cause that kind of reaction," she said with a grin, rocking back and forth on her heels.
Azrael glared backwards at Giantt, who was roaring with laughter, his plate- mail covered belly shaking and clanking. He got up and dusted himself off, and looked at the elf, who looked right back with a false innocent look covering her face. "Ok, who are you, and what do you mean, I shouldn't go into the swamp? I'm nearing earning my surname you know, there's nothing in there on the path I'm taking that I can't handle," he said with a growl. "The name's Hillodania, and do you really think you can take on a full squad of Troll Bashers?" she remarked, leaning back against the tree she had leapt down from, pulling a serrated dirk which looked like bone from her belt and began polishing it.
"Bashers? What would they be doing so far from the city?" Azrael asked, removing his banded helm and scratching his head. "Something's got them all spooked, supposedly there's been raids by undead Froglocks into Grobb itself, but I can't trust my informant as far as I can throw him. I followed them back in on one raid, and that's where I picked this up," Hillodania replied, holding the dirk out slightly for the paladin to look at, before sticking it back in her belt. "Well, that's precisely where we intend to go, we could probably take care of any live Froglocks, and I have an invisibility to undead spell for the undead ones...but we really need a guide, would you be willing to help us?" Azrael asked, coming forwards to stand beside her.
"What's in it for me? It's either love or money, and you're probably too inexperienced to fully satisfy me, or so I take it since you seem to have never even seen a girl before, and I'd sooner walk naked into Neriak than make love to an ogre, so it's gotta be a rather hefty payment," she said with a smirk, causing the young paladin to blush indignantly, and Giantt stopped laughing. "Well, I think you'd be rather surprised at just how good I am, but that's not the point. The point is, me and Giantt here are going to retrieve a hoard of gems from inside Guk, and in return for your services, we'll let you take a share, how's that sound?" Azrael told her, and at the mention of gems, Hillodania's eyes lit up. She stuck her hand out and exclaimed, "Hillodania, Scout of Tunare at your service!" After a quick haggling over the share of the hoard, the trio of adventurers moved into the hazy swamp. As they walked along, Giantt leaned down next to Azrael and whispered, "Heee . . . yuz almozt tought yuz got lucky dere eh?" Azrael elbowed the warrior ineffectually in the gut and Giantt once again roared with laughter, as they followed the wood elf into the swamp.
Aental sat hiding near the entrance to Guk. He figured he'd have to follow the group to the treasure and jump them when the time was right. The ground rumbled slightly. He looked to the left to see the huge ogre following two smaller figures: The Paladin and a female Wood Elf . . . probably a rogue. "Damn . . . " he said to himself. He had not been counting on there being a rogue. The rogue would definitely be more aware of her surroundings than any ogre or paladin. He would have to be very careful not to attract attention . . . "This is the entrance . . . " Hillodania whispered back, squatting a small ways from the dark tunnel, where two bored looking Froglock guards stood watch. "Ok, so what are we waiting for?" Azrael replied quietly, hefting his axe and sliding his Qeynos Guard Kite Shield onto his left arm. "Nothing, walk along that wall, but keep out of sight until I get the first one, if we do this right, we can down both of them before they can sound the alarm. From that point on, we'll have to rely on stealth, which is going to be extremely difficult because our large friend here hasn't bathed for days, and sounds like a drunk hill giant when he walks," she replied, ignoring the glare sent her way by Giantt. Without a word, she somehow faded away from sight, and although Azrael couldn't hear her, he felt the wind of her passing.
One of the Froglock guards shifted from the leg he was resting on to the other. He reached into a pouch on his waist and pulled a live cricket from it absently and popped it into his mouth, giving a small rabbit of satiety. He was about to go in for the change of the guards when he felt a ripping pain erupt in his back, near his left shoulder, and his vision went dim as he collapsed to the ground soundlessly, his blood fading quickly into the wet ground. His comrade looked up at the soft thud the corpse created, and a swell of alarm grew in his chest, but before he could croak an alarm, the silvery war axe of the paladin beheaded him smoothly.
"That was easy," Azrael commented, picking up several coins off of the guard he had slain, while Hillodania appeared from thin air to loot her own kill. As she pocketed the coins, her ears perked up and she hissed back to the paladin, "Get into the mangroves, now! Take the ogre with you!" He didn't pause to ask why, but simply dived into the water and swam under the roots of one of the trees. Behind him, Giantt pulled his bronze cloak over him, and since it was caked with mud from the dirty travel, he appeared to be nothing more than another bulge on the hillside. Azrael peered out from under the mangrove and was amazed to see Hillodania wearing a strange and beautiful mask, and greenish light coming from her hands. Moments later, a flash of greenish light surrounded her, and when it faded, a dark elf stood in her place. She replaced the mask in her bag, and donned the silver ruby veil she had worn before. Azrael was about to call to her to ask how she had changed her appearance when four trolls rumbled around the corner, eliminating all doubt in his mind as to why he was hiding.
"Look, itsa one of da dark elfie wimmen! Heya toots!" one of the trolls called out, leering lustfully at her. "Try it, and I'll have your ears for bra straps dimwit!" Hillodania replied coldly, her former mischievous tone replaced by a deadly contempt typical of the Teir'Dal. The troll's grin faltered, and he broke his gaze and looked towards the two dead Froglocks. "Well, we no be needin yuz to help wit killin de froggies, so unless you want to be dancin for us laters youz best be movin along now hey?" he muttered, and with a wave, he and his companions lumbered off, with a round of flatulence announcing their departure.
Azrael got up, clenching a wet rag over his mouth and nose to block the stench. "Told you we'd run into a patrol sooner or later," Hillodania commented, her usual voice sounding strange coming from her new throat, making it seem unusually musical. "Let's just get in there before I die from the smell," the paladin mumbled through the rag and practically ran into the tunnel, followed by Hillodania and Giantt.
As they entered the dimly lit hallways of Guk, they tensed, anticipating more guards, but surprisingly, the posts were empty. From somewhere in the depths, they heard happy croaking and the clink of steins as evidently, the Froglocks were celebrating the fruits of their conquest. They wandered through the slick maze, until they heard the sound of footsteps. A very drunken Froglock came around the corner, his webbed feet flapping on the damp stone. Without a sound, Hillodania grabbed him and pulled him into an alcove. {{Where's the treasure?}} Hillodania asked him in Froglock. {{Eh, wha tre sur?}} he replied, his voice slurred by drink. {{The gems fool! The gold, the platinum, that's what!}} she replied heatedly. {{Oh*hic* tha trezur, iz in ded sid, *hic* in da as asin room,}} the Froglock hiccupped, and he then began hiccupping very loudly, prompting the wood elf to slit his throat before they were discovered. "Well, now we know where it is, good thing I 'disposed' of the assassin, otherwise I wouldn't have my dirk, or my mask. I don't like it here, things are too quiet, I'll kiss you if you can really get us through this alive," she murmured, her normally glacial calm broken, her voice quivering, looking less like the siren she had first appeared, and Azrael saw it all in her eyes...the loneliness, the abandoned, aching feeling that he knew so well. She was no temptress, just a lost little girl attempting to play the part of Jezebel. Azrael squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, and she looked up at him surprised. He smiled gently at her, and something else seemed to shift in her, as her smile slipped further, but she seemed somehow comforted, so they moved off again.
As they moved into a room made up of many small stone pinnacles with boards laid between them, Hillodania waved for them to stop, her ears twitching. Azrael looked around warily, but couldn't see anything threatening. The rogue moved her hand slowly around the room, her ears moving constantly. Then, without warning or preamble, she pulled a throwing knife out her serpentine bracer and threw it in the direction of a darkened hallway, where they heard a gasp of surprise, but the knife never reached its target. Aental flung a katana out of its sheath to knock the dagger out of the way. The small knife clanked against the wall then fell to the ground. Aental pulled out his other katana and moved into the room. "I'm impressed. There aren't many who would have seen me there," he remarked as he moved further into the torchlight. He kept his katanas ready to block additional daggers, but kept his distance so as to not appear threatening.
Azrael tightened his grip on his axe, but Hillodania pushed it down with her left hand, keeping her right on her dirk, her emerald eyes warning him off from any further action, but his own green eyes told her that he could handle it. Nevertheless, she turned back to the dark elf and asked, "Ok, what are you doing lurking around here? I'm pretty certain it's not for the beer and girls right? You want the treasure, you're going to have to do it without us, cause the paladin here is our only means of getting through there unnoticed, because even if you are a rogue, there's still the vampire bats to consider," Hillodania told the dark elf, her ears still twitching. Suddenly, they focused sharply on a side corridor. She, and everyone else turned to look down the corridor as the flapping of a dozen webbed feet carried down to where they were standing. "Oh, great! Just what we didn't want!" Azrael grumbled as the first of the Froglocks ran into the pinnacle room and threw itself at him, but missed because it was obviously still very drunk, and fell into the depths. "That's it! They can't hardly stand up straight, keep at it!" he called over his shoulder as several more came at him. With a couple trips and bashings with his shield, the other Froglocks fell to their deaths. Only two made it to Hillodania, who just stepped aside as they charged her and fell off.
As they moved past the room into the next hall, the wood elven woman looked around, confused. "Now where were we?" Hillodania remarked as she turned back towards Aental. "Being killed, intruder, frooooaaakkk," came a voice from behind them. All four sets of eyes turned to where a Froglock commander stood with eighteen Froglock knights, all stone cold sober. "This isn't good . . . . " Hillodania muttered, pulling her dirk and stiletto silently. "Well, we were expecting this right? Let's have at em!" Azrael whispered, as the first knight ran up to him, only to be met by Azrael's axe. With a chorus of angry 'Froooaaakkk's', the battle was joined.
Giantt, having not bothered to do anything yet, suddenly drew his two- handed sword that was strapped to his back and grinned wide, looking rather mad. Rushing forward towards the commanding Froglock, he stopped briefly to kick off two frogs, causing them to fall to their deaths. He resumed his run towards the commander that stood there with a horrified look on his face. He died with that very look on his face as Giantt's sword cleaved him in two. However, more Froglocks rushed in to join the battle, and whenever one died, another one appeared to take his place . . . Aental charged the huge group of Froglocks, jumping at the last moment to land with his katanas buried in a Froglock's shoulders. He pulled the blades out to block the attacks of two more, fighting each with one sword. At the same time, both Froglocks went down with a katana in their chests. He turned to face the next attacker . . .
Azrael was pressed back to back with Hillodania as the remaining six Froglocks stood staring at them, as if not sure who to attack first. "Three on left, three on right?" Azrael asked, pointing first to himself and then to Hillodania. "Sounds good to me!" she replied, vaulting into some handsprings which landed her directly behind the Froglock knight second from right. With a quick stab from her dirk, the Froglock went down with a limp grab at her, which missed and latched onto his comrade's arm instead, pulling the croaking Froglock after his corpse. She ducked under the third knight's sword as it whished past her head, and just for spite, jabbed her stiletto directly into the crotch of the chain mail. With a extremely high "froooaaaakkkkk" it went up on its tiptoes, keeled over, and fell into the abyss.
Azrael had charged his three knights, not allowing them any time to gang up on the wood elf. His swing with his axe dug deeply into the first knight's neck; too deeply however, as he was unable to pull it back out. The other two Froglocks ribbited with ill-disguised glee as they advanced on him. Letting the dead Froglock sag to the ground with his axe still protruding from the spraying jugular, he pulled his last resort weapon from his backpack, the short sword he had been given as he entered his guild. The first of the two knights made a rather clumsy charge and swing maneuver, and Azrael blocked it easily with his shield, then bashed the off-balance Froglock with it, sending him bellowing into the pit. The only remaining Froglock stared at his dead comrades as four pairs of eyes focused on him. Rather than fleeing, he made seemingly the same charge at Azrael, but instead of swinging madly like the paladin expected, he feinted, then swung his sword in low, narrowly being blocked by the paladin's shield. The knight parried Azrael's riposte and bashed the human with his own shield in an attempt to exact poetic justice for his fallen friend, but Azrael recovered without teetering over the edge, and came back swinging furiously, and with a huge 'Yaulp!' he swung the short sword downwards in an arc which cleaved through the wooden shield of the knight and into it's skull.
Hillodania looked up from where she was looting her sole remaining kill and remarked in amazement, "I didn't know you could do that with your novice weapon!" Then she walked over to where Azrael was wrenching at his axe and looted his own kill without asking, earning a feeble whine from the paladin, which she shrugged off, grinning, but with less mischievousness that before, so Azrael just shrugged and forgave her, which somehow seemed to hurt her pride. The three adventurers met up in the center of the room, and with some quick heals, they were ready to go again. "Thanks for the help, even though it wasn't needed, have a nice day!" Hillodania called back at Aental as they walked towards the Dead Side entrance.
Aental pulled his katanas out of the corpses of the fallen Froglocks and wiped the blades clean. He then continued after the group, not bothering to conceal himself. They would know he was there anyway. Hillodania pulled them up short before they entered another hallway and looked at Azrael expectantly. With sparkles of light coming from his hands, Azrael cast the Invisibility to Undead spell on all three of them, causing them to fade slightly. "Oooh, tingly!" Hillodania commented quietly, a giggle escaping her mouth as she gazed at her semi-transparent hand, looking rather girlish and innocent. "Let's go, Hill, you lead the way." Azrael whispered. She blushed slightly at the nickname, but rather than letting it get to her, she accepted it.
After passing several decaying Froglocks, they passed through several corridors until Hillodania brought them to a halt again. With a point, she alerted them to the vampire bats which hovered inside a open area ahead of them. Carefully and quickly, they ducked into a side tunnel without evoking any notice. Azrael shuddered involuntarily as they passed another undead knight, inwardly hoping that the spell wouldn't wear off before they reached the treasure. As they entered a series of narrow hallways, Hillodania went over to a ladder coming down from a ledge and began climbing, and Azrael and Giantt came up after her, but unlike her light step, the ladder creaked and groaned under their weight, but luckily the undead Froglocks took no notice. Hillodania pulled herself over the lip of the ledge and peered into the torch-lit room. "Oh my . . . . " she murmured.
As Azrael clambered up onto the edge, he saw what had rendered the outspoken elf speechless. In a pile at the back of the keg-filled storeroom, there was thousands of gems, and beside it, dozens of gold and platinum bars stacked in haphazard fashion. Hillodania raced over to it, her eyes glittering with equal brightness, and she pulled the same odd backpack out from under her cloak and began shoveling the gems and bars into it. Not wanting to be left out, Azrael dashed over to take his share, as did Giantt. As he scooped the riches into the bag, he finally could stand it no longer and whispered over to the rogue, "What kind of bags are these?" "The ones we all have? They're bags of sewn Evil Eye, y'know, the weird eye creatures that wander through Runnyeye Citadel and the Beholder's Maze? They make carrying things a whole lot easier, only mages can summon bags that make things totally weightless," she commented, sealing her own shut as it was filled to the brim, and began to fill a trio over very large bags seemingly made from bear skin. Azrael nodded, and fastened the clasp on his own bulging sack, and pulled out a couple of his own backpacks. A few minutes afterwards, the pile had shrunken to nothing, and Hillodania was still searching around on the floor, finding gems that had been shoved into corners or cracks in the floor.
"Come on! We got all that we'll ever need, let's just get out of here!" Azrael hissed, coming over to grab her shoulder, a sense of dread beginning to grow in his mind. {{Oh, I'm afraid it's a little too late for that, human,}} came a hollow voice from behind them. Whirling around, they saw a undead Froglock wearing a crown, and several more standing guard. "How can they see us?" Hillodania asked, looking at the paladin, only to answer her own question by noticing that Azrael was very solid looking, the spell had worn off while they were busy gathering their hoard.
*SLAM* The rusty gate closed with a bang, sealing the three would-be millionaires in cages too small to hold an ogre comfortably, but Azrael and Hillodania had a reasonable amount of room, if they stood up that was. The Ghoul Lord stood outside their cages, looking through their weapons and gear, which had been taken from them. They had been stripped down to the bare essentials, with the exception of Hillodania, whose undergarments had been brutally torn from her as if in extra punishment. He gazed over Giantt's and Azrael's equipment disinterestedly, but when he came to Hillodania's things, he stopped cold. Lifting up her dirk and her mask, he stared at them with his hands shaking, then he turned and marched straight up to the bars of the wood elf's cage, and gazed in at the stark naked rogue with a look of utter hatred, his reeking breath causing her to gag in between attempts to cover herself. {{So, it was you who did in my Assassin . . . that takes skill, elf. Since you seem to covet these so much, you'll be in charge of training his replacement, and he can have his way with you any time he wants as part of your punishment,}} he croaked, spitting a rotten piece of meat that had fallen off of the roof of his mouth at her feet. He looked back towards the other two adventurers, who glared at him with even greater intensity than the gaze he had fixed Hillodania with.
{{Rather poor choice of mates if I do say so myself,}} he muttered, before flapping off. Azrael pulled at the bars, but it was no use, even Giantt couldn't budge them. The human collapsed to the floor, looking over at the blushing Hillodania, "Sorry about your clothes, they let us keep our basic stuff at least," he said quietly. She didn't seem to mind it as much as he had thought, but while she didn't flinch under Giantt's stare, when Azrael looked at her she seemed uncomfortable. "Well, we'll just have to figure a way out of here I guess, got any plans?" he asked after a while, but he knew few would be forthcoming.
A few hours after the shambling remains departed, whispers of a chanted spell began to fill the air. A horde of tiny, phantasmal humanoid forms, each no larger than three or four inches and clearly recognizable as pixies, shimmered into existence. They swarmed the room, quickly overcoming the guards before they can make a significant amount of noise and begin gathering around the cages. A High Elf stepped quietly into the room and signals to the pixies, who quickly weaved webs of magical silk around the cages and begin to exert their might, straining against the weight of the cold metal. With their combined strength they lift the cages just high enough that their occupants can escape, then set them gently to the floor again. The high elf covered his nose with a white handkerchief, and exclaimed, "That rotting, undead fool really ought to have stayed dead." He turned a speculative eye toward the former prisoners. "Greetings, I am Constellation. I came here originally seeking a magical robe rumored to be in the possession of a particular shaman inhabiting these caves. Perhaps you would be willing to assist me in exchange for my aid?" he proclaimed, looking at them hopefully.
"You're going after the Arch Magi? That takes some guts, but first, you have to help us get our stuff back," Hillodania said, standing up and keeping an arm over her private areas. Azrael walked over to where she was standing and removed his shirt and handed it to her, and she put it on with a look of genuine gratitude. It was big enough to cover the necessary parts, but she would have to find her gear sooner or later if she was to engage in anything more vigorous than walking to maintain her decency.
Hillodania peered around the corner into the Ghoul Lord's room, and saw their bags and equipment lying near his throne, which was occupied by the undead Froglock himself. "I can go in and get our stuff unseen, but it's going to look weird if things just start vanishing, Constellation, can you create a distraction?" she whispered back to their growing party. "A distraction?" the mage murmured, thinking for a moment before he grinned, and told them, "Get ready."
The High Elf begins to chant and gesture. Suddenly large balls of mud come slinging out of the darkness on the far side of the cave, splattering the face of the undead Froglock, followed by insults, more mud, and a few rocks. A trio of halflings step out into the cave, smile brightly, and take off running in the opposite direction of the party. The Ghoul Lord heaved himself to his feet and chased after the halflings, followed by all of his guards, leaving the bags unattended. Hillodania rushed immediately over, picked her pants and halter out of the pile and slipped them on under Azrael's shirt, and when she was decent, she pulled it off and tossed it back to the paladin, where he was busily pulling on his banded boots. After a few minutes, all three were completely dressed, and had the bags of treasure tucked securely under their cloaks. "All right, now let's go find the Arch Magi," Hillodania said, stretching slightly before heading off into a side hallway.
Azrael peered into the room, and saw a Froglock wearing a strange purple robe studying a few books, weaving spells occasionally. "Ok, I'm afraid you're pretty much on your own in the case of the battle here, I don't think any of us are skilled enough in comparison to defeat him; but we'll stay outside in case you get into a tight spot," Azrael whispered back to Constellation. Giantt set himself up to one side of the hallway as lookout, and Hillodania took the other while Azrael stood immediately outside the room, waiting.
"Thanks. He shouldn't be too much trouble, it was simply finding him without having to search the entire city of Guk that was the problem," Constellation responded, briefly consulting his spellbook, then began to cast his spell. Mist flowed outward from the walls, forming into a massive, vaguely humanoid figure. The Arch Magi only had time to scream once before he is crushed by the mist walker's titanic fist. Constellation quickly retrieved the robe from the body, placed it into a satchel, and smiles with satisfaction before turning to Azrael. "Ready when you are," the mage told the human paladin, the need for silence no longer necessary. Or so they thought, because right then Aental strolled into the room casually, katanas still in hand and staring straight at Hillodania.
"So here you are. I lost you for a while back there." He paused for a few seconds. "So where's that treasure? You've got it, don't you?" He pointed his katana toward the group, and demanded, "Give it to me." Before any of them could give their reply, a croaking voice shouted, {{Wrong! She shall give it to us!}} All four of them whirled around to see the Ghoul Lord with no less than thirty undead knights and shamans accompanying him. {{You should be a little more quiet if you're going to be killing my servants, froak! We could hear you from across the entire catacombs!}} he croaked, his eyes glowing with yellow fire. "This . . . . isn't . . . . good," Azrael muttered, taking a few steps back. {{Attack!!!}}
Azrael fought through the wave of undead Froglocks in an attempt to get to Hillodania, who was gradually being swept under a wave of fine steel weapons and decaying fists. All he could see were her eyes, which gleamed golden, seeming more a metal sheen than that of reflected torchlight, but he paid it little mind. "Hill! I'm coming!" he shouted, as he cleaved another Froglocks head open, but several blows impacted his side, causing him to cough up blood as he forced his way past. "I can't hold on much longer . . . " came the reply over the din of the battle. There was no chance for them to win, Azrael realized, but he was going to be damned if he was going to let any of his comrades die before he did. If they had any chance at escaping . . . he would give up his life. Before he had a chance to do that however, he heard a rambunctious shout, "It's da dark elfie lady! Charge!" from somewhere beyond the crowd, and the rumble of many heavy feet filled the corridor. The same troll commander that he had seen earlier rounded the corner with seemingly all the guards from Grobb.
The Froglocks, their most recent quarry forgotten against the more familiar one, charged the trolls, freeing Hillodania to slump to the ground blood pouring out of her mouth and her faced bruised almost beyond recognition, and allowing Giantt to lift himself out of the press of the undead bodies, himself not much better. However, Aental was carried along with the crowd of Froglocks and was lost in the chaos of the renewed battle. "Run!" Azrael yelled, and his companions needed no instructions.
"Whew, dat was ruff," puffed Giantt, sagging to the ground outside of the entrance to live side in the Innothule swamp. What little mana Azrael had left he spent on healing his and the others' wounds, and after a long time, Hillodania managed to say, "Um, thanks for your help," between gasps, looking over at Constellation. Constellation nodded and smiled his most gracious and charming smile. He told her, "My Lady, it was a pleasure. However, other matters needs must claim my attention. I wish you and your companions well!" He then began to cast a spell, and moments later there was only a set of footprints to indicate that he once stood there.
"So, I guess it's back to Freeport we go to find that gem merchant," Azrael said after he had caught his breath, casting an aside look to Giantt, who nodded at first, but then scratched his head and commented, "Ey, wut was dat guy who sell shinie tings name?" Azrael began to reply when he realized he didn't know either. Behind them, her beauty restored by Azrael's healing spells, Hillodania was going through one of her gem bags, her eyes aglitter as she sorted through them, whispering their names under her breath, "Topaz, Peridot, Ruby, Sapphire, Jade, Pearl, Pearl . . . ooh! Black Pearl! Star Rose Quartz, Malachite . . . gravel? What's that doing in there? Oh well, Hematite, Lapis Lazuli, Lambent, Emerald . . . "
Shaking his head, Azrael wandered over to where she was sitting, and squatted down next to her and asked, "We're going back to Freeport to sell these gems to a merchant, who'll repay us in platinum and gold, you want to come? We'll make sure you get your gems at the proper price." The rogue looked up, grinned and shrugged, remarking, "I can get a lot more for these in certain . . . less than legit circles, if you know what I mean. Thanks for the offer though!" "Ok, we're off then!" Azrael called to Giantt, who stood up, grinning ear to ear, and they started to walk off into the mist.
Back down in Lower Guk...
As Aental pulled his katana out of the last Froglocks corpse, he looked around. Corpses were strewn about the room, covering the ground in a sea of green. Mostly Froglock, but a few trolls as well. Azrael and his companions were nowhere to be seen. His eyes scanned the corpses for them . . . nothing. He turned to one of the trolls, who was mourning the loss of a fellow troll, "Terribly sorry about your loss, but I do thank you for your help. Unfortunately, I must go."
{I can't believe they ran away...those cowards!} he thought to himself, wiping blood off his chin. {No matter, I should be able to catch them on their way back} he thought to himself as he dashed up through the now abandoned halls of Guk. As he came out into the open air, he looked up to see the gray skies of Innothule Swamp looming down at him. He looked northward into the fog and saw nothing, but something caught his ear . . . conversation. He began a quiet run to catch up. Staying out of sight, he began listening in. " . . . Yeah, and not only that, I'll have earned my armor, unlike those with rich . . . " It was Azrael. Aental crept up behind Hillodania and Azrael with his katanas out. Hillodania was too busy with her conversation to be watching for attackers, or for her sensitive ears to pick out his movement, he figured.
He stuck a katana around each of their throats. "You cowards . . . Give me the gems!" Azrael was about to make a reply when a two-handed sword looped in front of Aental's own neck. "Dat wusn't bery nice . . . Youz callin us cowards? If da trollie guards no shown up, we be dedder den last week's dorf stew, youz too!" Giantt growled from behind the dark elf, and gradually stepped back, forcing him to pull his katanas back into a relaxed position at his sides. "Tenacious, isn't he?" Hillodania muttered, rubbing her throat. "Wut says we barsh him rite now?" Giantt remarked, inching the sword closer to Aental's throat, drawing a thin line of blood.
Azrael thought for a moment, then said, "No, he did help us out in the initial battle, plus, we did leave him behind after the Ghoul Lord's ambush, so he deserves some share in this, if only to leave us alone." The paladin walked over to Giantt and waved for him to put his sword away. He then reached into his backpack and pulled out a handful of gems and a few platinum bars and handed them to Aental, who looked very confused as to the human's apparent charity, but it slowly shifted into a dark look. Giantt pulled out two very large handfuls from his own bag and placed them into a bag on the dark elf's back. Azrael looked at Hillodania who shook her head, holding tightly onto her own bags and she replied coldly, "Why should we give this bastard anything?"
"Because, as Mithaniel Marr said, 'He who affords effort to aid those who follows the path of truth, even if he does not follow it himself, does deserve even recompense, for it will serve to later turn him to the light.'" Azrael quoted, looking at the rogue expectantly. With a pained look, she removed some of her gems and placed them in Aental's fist, then withdrew to a safe distance.
However, it seemed, the dark elf didn't want their riches, as Aental dropped the gems to the ground, eying the group with contempt. "You ran away to count your riches while those trolls fought for their lives. You left them to die in that hole while you ran off to line your own pockets. Have you no honor? Have you no shame?" Aental pointed to Azrael, "You call yourself a Paladin, but I've known Shadow Knights with more honor than you. Several of them died to protect you just so you could run off to save your precious gems. Is your wealth somehow more important than their lives? You have no honor. You are cowards."
"No honor? Cowards?! If we had stayed and fought, we would have surely joined those trolls that died! All three of us are at the point of just barely earning our surnames, and you expect us to defeat a superior number of Froglocks fifteen to thirty seasons more experienced? To stay would have been tantamount to suicide, even Constellation, obviously a very powerful mage, fled! The troll guards only 'saved' us because of a ruse employed by Hillodania to save us earlier. Had they seen us, they would have surely killed us on sight! They attacked the Froglocks because of their longstanding feud, not because of any alliance with us! You dare compare me to a Shadow knight? A Shadow knight would have surely crippled his companions and left them to stay as bait as he made his escape! I would have left all of my gems if it meant escaping with my life. There is a saying from the book of Marr, 'Know thy limits, ye who fights when the battle is already lost is a madman.'" Azrael shouted indignantly, and he took a deep breath to continue, but Hillodania interrupted him, her face crimson with rage.
"We gave you a share of the take and you still harass us? I wouldn't have given you anything, and Giantt would've surely killed you had Azrael not stopped him! For reasons I'm not sure I agree with, he saved your life, gave you part of his hard-earned reward, and this is how you repay him?" she growled, her dirk and stiletto slipping into her hands.
Aental shook his head. "You act as if the battle was lost. The trolls did defeat the Froglocks, but their losses were great. I can be sure that if you had stayed, they would not have lost so many." He paused for a moment, "Your ignorance does not become you, Paladin. Do you think Shadow knights have no honor? Do you truly think they would kill their friends to escape? You know nothing of the ways of the Teir'Dal." He then turned to Hillodania, "If you were the one who got the trolls to go down there, then perhaps you are more to blame than the others. You tricked the trolls into going down there to defend you so you could escape with your money and your lives, which are apparently more valuable than theirs. He spread his arms wide, and asked them, "Am I not entitled to a share of the gems? I fought down there as well, and have saved each of you from swords in the back a number of times. More proof of how you treat your saviors."
Azrael looked at the dark elven warrior, and said in a strangely chilled voice, "I know one Shadow Knight far better than I can stand, thank you . . . And you could have been sure that he'd have laughed as his former group members would have been slaughtered as he made his getaway. Your points do have some validity but . . . " Before he could go on, Aental interrupted him. "It is no matter. I have long known the stubbornness of humans and can see that you will not see your error, no matter what argument I offer. For this I will offer you a deal."
Aental pulled out his swords and kept them at his sides, standing more stiff than before. "I am Aental Ebonsoul, Black Dragoon of the Indigo Brotherhood of Neriak and Master of Myojinsoga Swordsmanship, and I offer you a challenge. You three will fight me until either you hit me once or until you are all on the ground. If I lose, your honor is restored as are your gems. I win, you admit to being the honorless cowards you are, as well as giving me all the gems. Death is no price to pay. He then stood back and waited for a replay from the group . . . Giantt grinned wide, then drew his sword, exclaiming, "Mez alwez ub for a chalenze. An' no seezy dark elb iz gunna kick my arse." He then turned to the others and asked them, "Wut doz yuz sey?"
"Hmph, I may be inexperienced, but that does not mean my skills are less than yours, I am ready, brash one," Azrael said, drawing his axe, and held it steady; his eyes did not betray nervousness, but rather solid intent. Hillodania fell in beside him and nodded her agreement. She made one last comment before anyone could start the battle, "Those trolls didn't do it for me, they did it to kill the Froglocks, I only appeared to them once as a dark elf, and that was to prevent them from finding and killing Azrael and the ogre, they in fact took no interest in me whatsoever. They said they'd be back to take out the Froglocks, so it was only coincidence that they encountered us is all . . . meanie!"
"Very well," Aental said calmly, raising his katanas, "You may assume any position four yards or more from me." The group surrounded Aental, Giantt behind, Hillodania to the left, and Azrael in front. "Begin!" Aental shouted. The three lunged toward the Dark Elf, who had a look of extreme concentration on his face. He jumped into the air, over the ogre's huge sword, kicking Hillodania in the face and launched himself onto Giantt's head as he blocked a swing from Azrael's axe with crossed swords. He kicked the ogre in the face as he moonsaulted to the ground, facing the group. Giantt charged, swinging his huge sword downward at Aental's head. Aental brushed the attack aside with a flick from his katana and reached up to strike Giantt at the base of his neck with the blunt side of his katana, then followed up with a kick in the stomach. The ogre began stumbling backwards as Azrael's axe slashed toward Aental's chest. Aental parried the blow and flicked the blunt side of his other sword into Azrael's head, then groin, then head again. The paladin tried to dodge, but he was tangled up with Giantt's flailing limbs. They tumbled down together, the ogre toppling on top of the human, sending them both into unconsciousness.
Hillodania hissed in anger and moved stealthily up behind the dark elf, but he was ready for her. Aental's other katana arced downward and behind him to knock Hillodania's backstab aside. He front flipped with one leg extended to catch Hillodania's chin on the way up. Her whole body went upward briefly and then back onto the ground. Aental landed and looked around to see his foes fallen before him. Then something caught his eye. Black fire erupted around Azrael's body, engulfing it completely. The paladin was convulsing horribly, his entire body arching in agony. It was Darkfire, an element of pure evil. Absurdly, the paladin somehow managed to gain his feet and slowly stand up, the black flame almost entirely obscuring his body. On the surface of the flames, a blur of images reflected back at Aental, far too fast for him to catch, but many skeletal and demonic shapes were in the flames as well. The flames faded to reveal Azrael once again, but much different than before. His eyes glowed red, and he was surrounded by an aura of pure evil.
It wasn't Azrael at all. "Who are you?" Aental called at Chthon with an uncomprehending stare, realizing that the man's injuries had been mysteriously healed by the ebon flame. ^Your worst nightmare . . . ^the Shadow Knight growled, and charged Aental. As Aental dodged to the side, Chthon brought the axe around his side to catch him in the neck, stunning him and leaving him open for a kick which sent him stumbling backwards. Darkness leapt from his hands and flew to the dark elf, clinging onto his limbs and further slowing him down. A cloud of green particles lanced from Chthon as he ran forwards again, and swung the shield in an over and downwards arc, but it was touched aside by Aental even as the disease spell hit. Now, Aental was on the offensive, quick even with the strands of darkness engulphing him. A flick from each of his katanas and two red lines appeared on Chthon's face. Instead of flinching, he simply wiped some of the blood off of his face, stared at it for a second, then grinned and licked it off. He performed a handspring up to Aental then backflipped over him, but Aental whirled and parried his swing before he could plunge the blade into the back of his neck.
What's the deal with this guy? He fights like someone twice as experienced as he should be! Azrael shouldn't be this tough, he wasn't before . . . but was it only because he had to work around the other two? Aental thought to himself as he parried and riposted a bash from Chthon's shield, only to be caught in the swordbreak loop of Chthon's axe, but he pulled the katana out before the shadow knight could begin to twist. He leapt up into one of the mangroves and used its springy wood to fling himself back at the Shadow Knight, but Chthon simply bent back over backwards and to the right, almost in half, letting Aental fly right past, slamming his shield down on the dark elf's back. Aental got back up and began twirling rapidly, expertly pivoting and attacked with a whirl of blades at the demonic man, but each was blocked, a horrid laugh emanating from deep in Chthon's throat as he abruptly slammed his axe and shield together, momentarily trapping Aental's katanas there. Before the warrior could withdraw the blades, the Shadow Knight yanked himself backwards, pulling Aental with him. Aental half wondered what the man was doing for a split second before Chthon's foot came up and braced itself against his solar plexus. As he hit the ground, he rolled and shoved hard with both his feet, flinging Aental into a tree.
Feeling the darkness beginning to slip from his body, Aental charged forwards at Chthon, and attacked in a berserker rage. The Shadow Knight couldn't entirely block all of them, but showed no concern at the loss of blood from some very deep wounds as the battle turned deadly serious. Aental was taking hits as well, but he was breathing fast in anxiety, in a burst of strength, he kicked Chthon backwards, and the Shadowknight rolled to his feet and immediately cast a life-tap spell to partially heal his wounds. Wanting to end this quickly, Aental charged the man, who was standing there with one hand behind his back. {Cocky little bastard . . . unless he's . . . oh shit!} Aental wondered until he saw the black and red glow of a Harm Touch spell building on the banded mail of Chthon's tunic and tried to backpedal, but Chthon whipped the hand forwards and planted it squarely on Aental's chest.
Searing agony poured through the dark elf's body, and he slumped to one knee, while Chthon leered at him in contempt. ^Pity, Mr. Goody Two-shoes was taken out by this loser? Time to say goodnight . . . ^ Chthon rumbled and raised his axe high for a killing blow. "No!" Aental screamed, and with the last bit of his strength, kicked Chthon in the solar plexus, slamming him back into a tree, where he too went down on one knee.
Aental got up slowly, still feeling the Harm Touch spell's effects blazing through his nerves, and staggered forwards, but noticed sparkles of golden light swirling around Chthon, and when they faded, the human stood up and looked at the dark elf with Azrael's green eyes once more. The paladin got up, holding onto his stomach, took a few gasping breaths, and remarked, "Well, he certainly hit you a few times, didn't he?" "That...wasn't you before, was it?" Aental said, leaning back against the tree as Azrael scooped the gems back into their packs. "No, and I won't say anything beyond the fact that his name is Chthon Ebonshadow, he's like me, in my twenty-second season," Azrael called over his shoulder as he tightened the strap on his back and went over to revive Hillodania, who was still lying on the ground unconscious.
Aental stood as the pain began to subside. "I am still the victor, regardless of what this Chthon did. You were fallen before he rose. Nevertheless, as I was hit quite a few times by him, I will call it a draw" he announced, though Azrael could clearly see that he was bluffing. He paused for a breath, then asked, "But I'm curious. Where did he come from...How did he possess you like that?" "Possess? You're thinking about in the wrong way, it's more like two personas inhabiting the same mindscape. As to where he came from...it's a rather long story, not one I'd prefer to discuss," Azrael said, his eyes full of half-hidden pain and exhaustion . . . and something far more ancient as Hillodania began to come around in his arms. "I see . . . " Aental looked around. "We should move away from here soon. We are awfully close to Guk." he remarked, as he walked over to Giantt and poured a flask of cold water onto his face. The ogre woke with a start.
"Gaah! Wut dat?!" Giantt's eyes focused on Aental, "Oh, it just you. You fight gud, dark elb." Aental turned to Azrael, "Well?"
"You're right, I guess its time we parted ways, you were a worthy adversary, maybe we shall meet again in the future?" Azrael admitted, and suddenly Hillodania was fully conscious in his arms. She stared at the paladin incomprehensibly for a second, realized where she was and blushed furiously. "Guess now's a good time for that kiss I promised you, huh?" she asked him, and kissed him full on the lips, and withdrew after a long time had passed, leaving Azrael breathless in more ways than one. She grinned, and hugged him briefly, patting his only remaining backpack under his cloak, before getting up and walked over to her bags, gathered them up, and blew Azrael a kiss before she leapt up into the treetops and disappeared. "I'll never get used to her doing that," Azrael muttered as he gazed up into the treetops, absently touching his lips where she had kissed him. Giantt rumbled over to where he and Aental were standing and grumbled, "Hmm, mebbe you did getz lucky after allz . . . Uz leave and gets monie nows?" "Yes, we shall leave now, until we meet again," Azrael told Aental, shaking his hand before running off in the direction of the desert of Ro, Giantt following closely behind him.
Later . . .
"My goodness! I can't possibly sell this all at once! You've done me an incredible service with this! How can I ever repay you?" the gem merchant exclaimed, staring at the huge pile of gems and precious metals covering the floor of his shop in North Freeport. "Well, we certainly went through a whole lot of trouble to get this, the money would be nice," Azrael said, briefly explaining their ordeal to the older man. The merchant shook his head in disbelief, but said nothing, instead, he walked over to a large chest near his wardrobe closet. He opened it up, and from inside, bags filled with platinum coins glittered up at Azrael and Giantt. "Money talks, or so they say . . . There's sixteen bags total, each should have around three thousand coins in it, both of you should get eight right? That's twenty-four thousand platinum at your disposal, you've earned it! Oh yes, keep the bags as well, you'll need them to carry all the things you'll buy!" the merchant told them, turning back to the pile, rubbing his hands with glee. As Giantt and Azrael left the shop and headed for the bank, they heard an exuberant shout coming from the gem shop, "Wahooo! Buy low, sell high! I'll make a fortune, oh yes!"
After unloading their newfound wealth in their respective bank accounts, the two adventurers turned to face each other. "Dat wuz hard goin, but it wuz fun rite? Wut u going to do now?" Giantt asked, a tusked grin covering his face. "Buy things, what else?" Azrael commented with a wink. Giantt nodded, and they shook hands before saying good-bye. As Giantt passed the Temple of Marr, he heard footsteps coming from behind, he turned and saw Azrael running towards him. The paladin skidded to a halt in front of the ogre, caught his breath and said, "Since I reached my twenty second season in Guk, I finally found a surname! It's Heavenblade." "Hmm, Azrael Heavenblade . . . sounds gud! Soots you well! Gud luck!" Giantt said, before leaving.
"Another day . . . another couple dozen orcs . . . I wonder where they come from if I've never seen any female ones?" Azrael mused as he sat down to rest a ways away from the gate into the interior of Highhold Pass. So far, he had been able to get a decent amount of faction raising in by turning in the couple hundred orc scalps he had been taking from his kills, but he doubted that would make the Militia forget all about him just yet, he still had no clue what Dlere wanted with him . . . other than the fact that he had joined the Hall of Truth rather than the Militia, but he had skill with magic, why should he give that up to be a warrior? He broke out of his thinking to see yet another volunteer walk out to the gate and stand there enthusiastically, holding his rusty short sword with all the pride of a seasoned warrior, despite being only in what was likely his fourth season. {Honestly . . . They get a little farther than novices and think they can take on an invading force of orcs and gnolls . . . } Azrael thought to himself in disgust, but decided to humor the young man, and stood up with a groan, his exhausted muscles complaining. "So, how's it going today, Volunteer?" he asked, tapping the unarmored man on the shoulder. "Just fine, sir!" he responded immediately, bright and chipper, apparently amazed that a surnamed adventurer would even bother talking to him, much less giving him the time of day. The younger man, barely older than a boy stood there admiring Azrael's silver-and-gold Armor of Ro, and the Ghoulbane he held in his right hand, his Shiny Brass Shield hanging over his left shoulder. "Shouldn't you be out working on raising your experience than on the front, soldier? Think you can take on an orc warrior?" Azrael asked as gently as he could, trying to keep a condescending tone out of his voice. If the Volunteer had noticed, he didn't voice it as he exclaimed, "I'm ready to go as I am, sir! Going to do my home and family proud, no orc's going to make it past here, no way!" "Sure, keep up the good work," Azrael replied, a slight smirk on his face as he walked back to his resting place, thinking to himself, {If you really were able to live up to your boasts, why would they need to have so many guards wandering around in here?}
He had polished off just about all the orcs of that day's expeditionary force, so he could take a breather until the next wave showed up. None of the gnolls at the other end of the pass would have merited fighting even when he arrived. Now he was in his twenty-fifth season, and barely finding much to fight any more, only the most experienced orc warriors and fanatics could suffice to keep him amused for now. He was half-tempted to go into the keep to help out with the infestation of Pickclaw goblins, but he felt that he could get at least one more season out of the orcs before he left. After all, he could use the faction.
He looked up into the afternoon sky and inhaled deeply, reveling in the fresh air of the mountains, and the scent of burning wood that seemed omnipresent. {Always did like the mountains . . . even before . . . . here,} he thought to himself, but the light was suddenly blocked out by an enormous figure stepping up right behind him. Azrael tensed up, and was starting to slide his shield back onto his arm when a female voice asked him, "Um, we're sorry to trouble you sir, but could you move aside a little so we can fit past, please?" He got up and turned around to look at who had spoken to him, his apprehension fading, figuring that someone so polite would not be likely to attack him. He had to look up, as the speaker was a barbarian woman, and the moving mountain that had blocked out the sun was also a barbarian. Azrael was pretty tall for a human, six feet at least, but he knew that only a short barbarian would be at his height, and then usually only a female one! However, neither of them would even be thought of as short, even by the standards of their own race. The woman was at least six and a half feet tall, honey blond pigtails pulled back behind her shoulders, scarlet sigils on her cheeks. The man however . . . he could not be any less than eight feet tall, his arms were almost as thick around as Azrael's waist, and his legs were like tree trunks. All that prevented him from looking like an ogre was the lack of tusks and the hair of course . . . he had a muttonchops beard as an x-shaped scar marked a hairless chin. He was also rather unkempt and dirty, but Azrael could see that under all the grime, he could have been almost handsome if he just cleaned up.
"I'm Mistii, and this is Ursus," the woman, apparently a shamaness introduced herself. "Got anything to eat?" Ursus asked hopefully, his bushy eyebrows rising in interest. "Brother, what did you do with all the bread and water I summoned for you an hour ago?" Mistii demanded, annoyed at him for interrupting her protocol. Ursus grinned sheepishly, and Azrael laughed despite himself as the warrior revealed nothing but empty packs to his sister. "Honestly . . . " she growled, but Azrael pulled out some extra Iron Rations he had and the warrior accepted them gratefully, immediately tearing into the first one. Shaking her head vigorously, blond pigtails flailing, Mistii asked the paladin, "Are there many orcs ahead? We were planning to fight some after our group split apart back near Qeynos after I purchased my newest spells." Azrael grinned, and replied, "Afraid not, I cleaned all of them out just a few minutes ago, there should be none left . . . " but a sudden shout from behind them interrupted his explanation.
"Stand and deliver!" the volunteer shrieked as a raging Orc Scout bore down on him, waving a splintering club. The hapless volunteer swung his sword bravely at the orc, but with a single swing to the skull, he was dead, and the orc plowed his way towards the three adventurers. "Guess I missed one . . . " Azrael muttered, and shrugged, as a sword, an axe, and a staff all collided with the orc's own head, rectifying that situation. As Azrael looted the scout's body, he remarked over his shoulder, "It could be that this guy was the first of a new party to show up, get there fast and you might be able to take them one by one." The siblings nodded and dashed past him towards the part of the pass leading towards Kithicor Forest. "Was I ever that enthusiastic?" Azrael mused, despite the fact that he was not much more than seven or eight seasons more experienced than them. Nonetheless, he now had competition for that spot, and they would make far better use of it than he had been. He had heard that in South Karana there was a city of Aviaks that adventurers had been attacking recently, people close to his level of experience, and that there were also gnolls of the Splitpaw clan as well as Treants that he could exercise his skill on, so he started walking slowly towards the keep, taking time to take in the lovely day.
After the adventure in Guk, he had tried to find any of his old companions, but Nedra had disappeared off to parts unknown, he still didn't trust that it was safe to get near Obelisk and the others again...if he knew where they were that is. Giantt had gone on his own way, and Azrael hadn't seen Hillodania around, but in truth, he didn't expect to. Though he had long ago learned self-reliance, he so hated being alone. Loneliness...he knew its icy bite well, he felt it even now, but the frosty edge was thawed a bit by his brief interaction with the Barbarians, so he felt slightly better at least. He was anticipating working with new groups out on the plains when he decided he should sell and switch out his coins before making the trip across the grasslands. As he neared the old stone castle of the Keep, he noticed a bunch of guards swarming in and out, worried eyes peering out of the slots of their helmets. Wondering what could be bothering the usually steadfast guards, he stopped one and asked, "What's going on?"
The guard started to pull away from the paladin, but Azrael kept a tight grip on the chain mail of the guard's uniform, so he gave a hurried answer, "Some maniac paladin named Joordan has kidnapped a bunch of citizens and is holding them captive near the chasm out in the canyon to the plains! He says that if he don't find another paladin named Azrael and bring him to him, he'll start dropping them into the chasm one by one each hour! Might you know where we could find this guy?" Azrael's face twisted into a grimace as he responded, "He's closer than you think . . . " and he let go of the guard to start working his way towards the western gate.
A mass of guards was standing at the mouth of the pass, looking down at the statuesque man poised in front of a tied-up mass of people, looking in fear at the stone-faced man. Two guards already lay dead at the man's feet, and his Blackened Alloy Bastard Sword gleamed with blood. "I told you, there is no point in trying to defeat me! I know Azrael is hunting somewhere within your boundaries . . . all you have to do is bring him here and I'll let the hostages go!" the blond man shouted up to the guards, but unable to comply, they just shifted nervously, occasionally urging one another to attack, but none moved an inch. Abruptly, the guards felt themselves being pushed aside as Azrael jostled his way through the crowd.
"Ah, excellent! See what happens when you follow demands? No hostages were harmed, and they're now free to go!" Joordan exclaimed, and moved off to the side. The frightened citizens stared at him for a second before hurrying towards the guards, swarming past Azrael, who stood there with clenched fists. Joordan had obviously had nearly as good fortune in armor and weapons as Azrael had experienced, Deepwater armor glittered along with Armor of Ro as well. However, instead of following along with one-handed weapons, the other paladin had chosen to go with a two-handed sword.
"What's this about? You could have just walked in there and found me if you wanted to duel, Joordan!" Azrael shouted in anger at the light-haired man, but he shrugged it off as he wiped his sword clean on the bodies of the slain guards. "Ah, but I'm afraid that I'm not welcome in Highpass any longer, if I ever was, and you have proven to be rather . . . elusive even when I am in the same area as you, so I went for a more straightforward method." "By kidnapping innocent people?!" Azrael demanded in anger as the shaking men and sobbing women were having their bonds cut by the guardsmen. "Call it what you will, you are here now, aren't you? Shall we get on with it?" Joordan asked, the afternoon sun blazing right in his face, lending almost blinding luminescence to his hair before he placed his helm on. Azrael also grimly placed on his helm as he readied his Ghoulbane. The great black sword that Joordan wielded might do just as much damage as his holy blade, but since the undead-slaying blade was one-handed, it was lighter, and Azrael hoped that would give him an advantage, as Joordan now appeared to be close to his forty-second season, all it would come down to would be who could outlast whom.
Apparently, Joordan wasn't holding back this time, as a burst of light ignited in front of Azrael's eyes, blinding him. However, his hearing was still sharp enough to hear Joordan bearing down on him, even his sword whistling through the air, which he managed to block with his shield. By listening to the air rushing around him, Azrael was barely able to keep up with Joordan, both of them were releasing loud yaulps to raise their strength. Joordan's was more powerful, having reached the next level of spell, so already Azrael was feeling the effects of his improved strength.
As if that wasn't bad enough, just as his sight was clearing, he was blown backwards with a stun spell, being blown backwards a few feet. He was able to shake it off quickly, but not before Joordan had opened a deep gash in his neck, a hair's breadth away from some very important blood vessels. Azrael had no such spell of his own, but he did have a shield, so he made sure to keep smashing Joordan in the head repeatedly, keeping him off- balance so he couldn't keep focus long enough to cast another spell. Still, it was swiftly becoming a losing battle, the older paladin was overwhelming Azrael, and he was bleeding from several deep cuts at varying points on his body. With an especially strong yaulp, Joordan slammed Azrael into the stone wall of the canyon hard. The younger man slumped to the ground, on the verge of unconsciousness.
Joordan paused to look up at the setting sun . . . their duel had lasted a couple of hours now, and the sky was lit up the color of blood. "Why is it that whenever we fight, its on the verge of dusk? Dramatic, isn't it? Too bad it's the last sunset you'll ever see, Azrael. Time to say goodnight . . . forever," Joordan said to himself, as he turned back to the paladin. As he raised his sword high, he noted absently that the paladin's armor and sword were now strangely missing, only his shield remained, shining brightly on his left arm. He brought the dark gray blade down, and without warning, the younger man's hands flew up and caught the blade as it neared his throat, and held it tight, and strain as he might, Joordan could force it no closer. His rival's eyes popped open, and crimson irises locked gaze with his, the whites turned black as midnight.
With seemingly little effort, the man stood up, still holding the Blackened Alloy Bastard Sword tight in his grip, though blood was seeping out of his palms from the edge digging into the skin. "What?!" Joordan exclaimed, his own eyes widening, the only sign of emotion he had shown in a long time. With a heave, his changed dueling partner flung him backwards, sending him stumbling perilously close to the edge of the chasm. The man dug what he recognized as his own Silvery War Axe out of his packs, and faced him, unarmored, but a look of absolute confidence in those eyes as red as the blood seeping out of his wounds.
Having fought several times, Joordan had developed the keen knowledge of his opponent's habits and tactics, the man facing him had a totally different stance, a facial expression that would have never appeared on Azrael's face . . . somehow his adversary had changed into an entirely different person. "Who are you?" he asked, now truly afraid, too uneasy to chide himself for letting that emotion slip past his normally glacial calm. ^You may call me Chthon Ebonshadow, since our mutual acquaintance has found a surname for himself . . . we've never met, but I've breathed the air of Norrath once before, and let me tell you, it is good to be free once more! While I'd ordinarily be happy as sin to let you do away with Azrael, until I get myself a body of my own, I can't let you do anything to this one . . . unless you'd be willing to offer me your own?^
Joordan sidestepped to a different position, revealing silently what he thought of that proposition. Chthon shook his head in mock disappointment, and smirked as the paladin charged him, yelling. Darkness leapt from the shadowknight's hands, engulphing the paladin in dark energy that sapped his strength, hindering his movements. He was unable to believe that the spell had even taken effect, but his disquieted feeling grew stronger as he could see Chthon's axe briefly glowing red, signifying that he was going to use Vampiric Embrace on him. Struggling against the unusually strong dark bonds, he slashed at the Shadowknight furiously, but the man paid no regard to the wounds he received, only draining more life-force out of him with his spells and the random effect of the enchanted axe. Joordan grew truly afraid now, since he could barely concentrate as Chthon had maintained the same policy of bashing him repeatedly, and though he had his Lay Hands ability ready, he was no longer certain he could get it off. And unlike Azrael's policy of letting his dueling opponents live, this man was out for blood. Something still seemed to be restraining the evil man, but he attacked viciously, letting no opportunity be wasted.
However, their battle was forcing them ever closer to the edge, and suddenly, under Chthon's foot, a large rock gave way, causing the man to stumble, swaying, and in pure terror, Joordan shoved him backwards. With a cry, Chthon toppled over into the chasm. Casting several Greater Healing spells on himself, Joordan peered through the swiftly dimming light for any sign of the man. Despite his tenacity, the shadow knight was nowhere to be found. Though a nagging feeling lurked at the back of his mind, Joordan muttered, "Good riddance," relief flooding him.
Azrael floated in darkness, he couldn't tell if he was upright or sitting, all that was around him were endless shadows, and a great coldness. He couldn't feel anyone around him...he was all alone in this void. {Alone again . . . why am I alone again? I did my best to make friends in this world . . . why must everyone always leave me?} he thought to himself. He choked back tears as loneliness fully set in, freezing his soul. It was if everyone in his life . . . all his lives . . . had abandoned him. Though he couldn't feel much beyond the deathly chill, he could tell that he was crying now, despite the fact that he had thought that he had spent up his last tears ages ago . . . that he had gotten used to this feeling. He had no clue how he had gotten here . . . he couldn't remember anything beyond the pain and the darkness. As if thinking of pain summoned it, agony stabbed at him from all sides, as if every wound he had ever suffered was now back to haunt him. He tried to look down at himself, but found that he was unable to even see anything beyond the shadows that he floated in. Still, he was thankful for the eerie silence of this void.
As if on cue, a cacophony of laughing, jeering voices came into being, taunting him from all sides. The shadows coalesced into a crowd of distorted figures, grinning and leering at him as if mocking his misfortune. Every tormentor he had in life seemed to be embodied in these figures who edged ever closer to him. Pain, shame, and anger conflicted in Azrael's mind as he tried to ignore their comments, but he was unable to shut them out, as he couldn't even clasp his hands over his ears. )(worthlessloserwimpfreaksuckerstupidspazdorkfagnerdchumpfaithlessweakfoolgi rly . . . )( The words cut him as if hearing them for the first time, and burning anger replaced all his shame, and he found himself somehow forming limbs out of black flame, somehow distinguished from the shadows that surrounded him. But the figures didn't seem at all disturbed, they still surrounded him, moving closer, and as Azrael felt one of them place a murky hand-like shape on his newfound shoulder, he lashed out in rage. In raw joy, he saw the shape spin away, severed from the rest of the creature by a blade-like shape created from the obsidian fire his new body was made of. Feeling a sense of release he had not known, he charged the creature and slashed at it again and again with the fire-blade, reveling in its cries. As it fell, he whirled and faced the other creatures that stood there, stunned. Despite a feeling at the back of his mind that something was terribly wrong, that he should be realizing something was lost in the red haze that had settled over Azrael's consciousness as he hacked at the other forms, which wailed in pain and terror. He felt . . . vindicated somehow, as he blasted all the forms with the dark fire, devising a new use for the odd substance, not noting what significance it should have had.
As he gloated over the fallen figures, which started to crumble and dissolve, something seemed to click in his brain and the shadows sloughed off of his vision, revealing a night sky out on the Karanas . . . how he had gotten there from the canyon he had no idea, as memories returned to him in a rush. He had been fighting Joordan . . . losing badly . . . he had gotten knocked unconscious . . . But then an acrid smell wafted past his nose . . . a stench that reminded him of burnt pork somehow...and he looked down, and immediately wished he hadn't. Scattered around him were several burnt figures . . . mostly unrecognizable since they were nearly charred into ash, but he could still identify several items near them . . . a farmwife's bonnet . . . a bucket . . . and several rolls of . . . bandages? He looked down at himself and saw that he was covered in blood, how much was his he could not tell.
Then it came to him as if struck with a war hammer. Chthon. It had happened again, so soon after his initial release. Despite ages of planning, of training, of discipline, he had managed to break free of his psychic prison not once, but twice! These poor people around him . . . they had fallen to Chthon's flames . . . but they had been guided by his own hand . . . no, not his own hand, but it might as well have been, no matter if Chthon had been manipulating him. Even if it was only done to torment him, it bore down on Azrael heavily. He knew that even if he could find a cleric, these people were beyond help now. "Hey, Azrael! Where have you been, buddy? We've been looking for you!" he heard someone shout, and he turned his neck painfully to the right to see a couple figures approaching him from out of the night. It was Obelisk, Nixxius, and Lupin . . . they had met in the worst of all possible times for a reunion. Lupin had almost immediately began casting a healing spell on him along with a Spirit of Wolf spell as they began moving closer, but they stopped a short distance away as they managed to distinguish the burnt figures lying about the area. Obelisk's grin faded as he looked around in stunned confusion. "What happened here?" he started to ask, but with a choking noise, Azrael turned and ran back towards the canyon. Lupin pursued him a bit, but having gotten added fleetness of foot due to his need to avoid the other men, Azrael soon outpaced the wood elf, and disappeared into the pass. A short while later, Obelisk and Nixxius arrived, having spent a few seconds for the bard to dig his drum out of his pack. "Where'd he go?" Nixxius asked the druid, but the silver-haired young man could only shake his head, disturbed at why their former companion had fled from them. "What happened to him? To those farmers?" Obelisk repeated, but none of the trio had any answers . . .
"His scent ends here . . . he must have escaped into the water . . . but why would he run?" Lupin muttered to himself, getting up from the crouch where he had been sniffing close to the ground. Yellow eyes searched the river under and past the bridge, but a night wind was kicking up the water more so than usual, and the tell-tale ripples of a person swimming would be hidden. Behind him, Nixxius and Obelisk ran up, the staccato beats of the bard's song fading. "Did you find him?" Obelisk asked, but Nixxius could already tell in the frustrated look on the druid's face that he had lost the trail. "No," he supplied for Lupin's sake, "Like all animals, water cancels out a scent trail, Azrael must have known that, and swam to somewhere to ensure his escape . . . something must have happened back there that made him want to get as far away from us as possible . . . the only reason I can think of is that whoever or whatever attacked him might have been threatening to us as well." Shaking his silver-haired head, Lupin replied quietly, "Let us hope you are right . . . "
{Be quiet, don't make a sound . . . They'll hear me!} Azrael thought, as he lay exhausted on the ground in the smuggler's cove, hearing his friends' voices shout out his name. He had not gone as far as the others had suspected, his energy mostly spent from the fight hours earlier. In the dead of night, the rogues who did their business here were either not present, or did not care, either of which he was glad for. He heard the voices fade away into the distance, but he did not get up just yet, but instead he rolled over onto his back, now letting his gasps for breath come freely, relieving his burning lungs. { . . . whatever had attacked me would be dangerous to you? You are partly right . . . but now I'm worried that I would be the greater threat . . . I can't let my life threaten yours anymore . . . I have to confront my pursuers, get this death threat lifted, and then maybe get off this continent, somewhere where I and you will be safe,} he thought to himself, gazing up at the clear night skies.
Sir Lucan Dlere was filing away some reports when he heard a knock at the door, and a worried, "Sir?" The head of the Militia growled at being disturbed, but recognizing one of the guards, he got up and unlocked the door and opened it. What he saw on the other side made his breath catch in his throat. Down the hall, two guards lay dead, and the third that was supposed to be guarding his office was held in a submissive stance thanks to a Ghoulbane held to his throat by the man that he had been pursuing for nearly a year now. "We have some things to discuss, Dlere," Azrael said, returning the hateful gaze the former paladin gave him. Dlere nodded, but demanded, "If we're going to talk, first, release guard Fralldo, he has no part in this." Azrael complied, and the guard was released. He stared at his commander for orders, but a simple nod of the head indicated that he should just wait outside until business was concluded. As the guard walked out and closed the door, Dlere walked over to his cabinet and got out his flask of liquor and took a long pull from it, then offered a swig to the paladin, who shook his head no. "I spend a year, dozens of men, much coin and time to catch you . . . and today you turn up on my doorstep . . . why?" the warrior asked, looking at Azrael curiously, keeping one hand on the sword at his side. "The death contract on my comrades . . . I want it removed," Azrael said bluntly, his voice betraying only distrust and more than a bit of anger. Dlere stared in surprise for a few seconds, then chuckled. "You come all this way, into what any sane man would consider a death trap, only to ask for the safety of a few friends? You are a paladin through and through, just as I thought," he remarked, taking another sip. Azrael was getting annoyed, so he finally asked, "Why do you even want me so badly that you were willing to risk so many resources on me?!" Dlere looked down at the near empty flask, and thought for a long time. After a lengthy pause, he admitted, "To tell the truth, I don't really know. I guess I was afraid for the future of my . . . this city. I have spent so much time and effort to bring it under my control and keep it safe. Even though many do not think it, I truly love this city, and I find the conflict between us and the Knights more frightening than anything else. I wanted more good men willing to support the Militia, and to hear a man of your caliber joining the Knights, who have sworn to fight against me . . . I was afraid for my own future. You're not the only man killing my guards, you know. Even though I could never train you, being a paladin, I wanted to have you either on my side or out of the picture all together . . . and apparently I can have neither."
He looked up at Azrael, and asked, "So, what would you have me do?" Without pause, the younger man replied, "I want you to let my friends go . . . it will only cost the lives of more of your men. Two, allow me to pass unmolested through the eastern and western parts of the city. If you truly want me dead, claim me yourself, don't send half-assed lackeys after me." Amazed and partly-amused by the man's audacious answer, Dlere stood there flabbergasted for a second, then roared with laughter. "Done, then!" he proclaimed, still laughing. Azrael started to leave, when he heard the hiss of steel being drawn. "Don't," he said simply, and he heard Dlere's sword going back into its sheath. "I guess I should have suspected it . . . Go then, but know that we will still always be on the opposite side, and that not all my men will share my viewpoint," Dlere sighed, sitting back down at the table. "Point . . . taken," Azrael called over his shoulder as he left.
The boat rocked as it traveled across the Ocean of Tears, as a chill autumn breeze ghosted across the deck, where Azrael stood. Dlere had been true to his word, no further guards dared to attack him as he made his way through western Freeport, all the way to the docks. He wasn't sure how long it would take for Dlere's orders to reach the men tracking Obelisk and the others, but he hoped that it would reach them sooner than any warnings from his being sighted back in the city limits of Freeport. Still, it was a good idea to stay as far away from them as he could until he was certain that they were safe. As the boat passed between two gigantic pinnacles of rock stabbing out of the water like twin daggers, he was suddenly reminded of where he was headed. {So many of my friends have come from this place . . . Nedra, Hillodania, Nixxius, Lupin, I'll have to visit their home towns, just as a point of interest,} he thought to himself, as the boat rolled on in the misty sea.
Finally, the shores of Faydwer came into view, and Azrael was shocked as he looked on the strange land, which had a scent of ancient magic drifting off from it, where no human had stepped in ages until a year ago. Now, plenty of races walked the quay, even Erudites, all the way from Odus! He stopped to look out on all the activity, seeing high elves, wood elves, half elves, dwarves, barbarians, dwarves, and many other races go about their business. Minus dark races of course. He felt someone tapping at his back plate, and a gravelly voice spoke up from behind him, "Do ye mind, laddie? Other people would like ta use th' dock too, ye know?" Azrael looked over his shoulder, but he didn't see anyone, and he was sure that he had been the last off the boat. The voice spoke again, this time clearly irritated, "Down here, lad!" Azrael turned around and looked down, and sure enough, an incensed dwarf glared up at him from under bushy and rust-colored eyebrows. "Sorry," he remarked sheepishly, and let the dwarf pass. The cleric, for a spell-book hung from his belt, took a few steps away, then stopped. "Ye know, I don't think I've been ever apologized t'before, join me fer a drink, lad?" A short while later in Kaladim, the dwarf, Zelphanus, was draining his eighth tankard while Azrael asked him another question, "So, you say you had left Faydwer to come to Antonica a while ago?" "Yeh, a few months ago, by my mark. Too little t'hunt 'round 'ere for a strappin' young dwarf in his eleventh season, so I headed t'Antonica to try my luck there. Now that I'm an experienced old boy of my twenty-fourth season, I figgered tha' th' Estate of Unrest would be a good place t'try," Zelphanus explained, wiping the foam out of his beard. "Unrest?" Azrael queried, hoping to stall him before ordering another ale. "Big ole mansion, use ta be owned by some big-shot elven noble, high or dark elf, I cannae remember, but now its filled ta th' brim with all sorts of undead beasties. Th' sorta place yerself and I would enjoy," the dwarf went on, then paused. "Say, wouldja like ta come with me? I'd bet my beard tha we'd find a group of like-minded individuals, roight away, whadda ye say?" he asked, his eyes still bright despite his mildly drunken state. "Sure, it sounds fun," Azrael said with genuine warmth.