Origins Azrael

by Azrael Heavenblade

The history of the legendary paladin, Azrael! Here revealed is the story of his life, starting from when he arrived on Norrath, from an as of yet undisclosed realm. The important people in his life begin to appear...but who/what is the mysterious Chthon?

2. Origins Azrael Part 2: Enter Aelyena

Azrael shivered unconsciously as he stepped out of the tunnel into the eternal night that seemed to surround the estate of Unrest. Eerie sounds echoed from every corner, the cackling of skeletons, the moans of ghouls, and the screeching of hags. In addition to that din, the clang of weapons and crackle of magic could be heard as well, as the paladin could see a great number of adventurers plying their trade on the undead creatures. "Impressive, isn't it?" Zelphanus muttered, puffing on a pipe beside him. Getting down to the dregs of the tobacco, he dumped the embers out and stamped on them to extinguish the remaining flame. The dwarven cleric surveyed the area and sighed. "There's not as many folks 'ere as I had 'oped, we'll need at least two more blokes t'join us, as despite havin' that sword of your'n lad, I cannae help ye if ye get too many of the bloody things on ye," he grumbled, and started walking towards a pair of bickering casters. One was a high elven magician, and the other a dark elven necromancer. Their pets stood off to the side in a huff as the men shouted back and forth. The two men were an unlikely combination to be sure, as evidenced by their argument. The mage was shouting, "If not for my pet's magic and endurance, along with my spells, we'd have been finished before we even started!" The necro had been listening patiently, stroking his short-trimmed goatee and moustache, but he responded to his comrade's tirade by saying hotly, "Oh? If I recall, my pet was the one holding them all at bay from slaying yours, and even then, it would have taken forever if not for my degenerative magic, I think I'm shouldering much of the burden here."

"So, how 'bout we make th' burden a little less, eh, lads?" Zelphanus interjected, looking up at them with the patience of granite. Both men's heads swiveled towards him in surprise. Each had long white hair, except that the mage's was slightly wavy instead of straight, and had to be held back at his shoulders. As Azrael walked up, he was surprised that the necromancer didn't glare at him like most dark elves did, but what really surprised him is when he took a closer look at the magician's face. "Your name wouldn't happen to be Zektoll, would it?" he asked, extending a hand. As the mage took it, he got a wild-eyed look and exclaimed, "How did you know my name?" Rather than answering his question directly, the human man took a few steps back, regarded him once more, and remarked, "You look just like your sister, did you know that?" Zektoll winced, and the necromancer looked over in amusement. "Did I miss something 'ere?" Zelphanus asked, confused, pulling on his long rust-colored beard.

The dark elf barked a laugh, and explained with great pleasure, "His older sister is something of a man-eater." "Don't say that about her, Daimonic!" Zektoll complained, wringing his hands frantically. The dark elf raised and eyebrow and smirked, replying, "Why not? It's exactly true . . . and this man can confirm it, if he's met her . . . and likely slept with her too." Two pairs of astonished eyes swept to Azrael's face as Zektoll and Zelphanus both stared at him in shock. "Is . . . is there anything I need t'know, laddie buck?" Zelphanus coughed, causing the paladin's cheeks to redden, but he shook his head. "He didn't deny it," Daimonic added, drawing Zektoll's attention back to him, as Bolero, his fire pet, and Charon, Daimonic's pet both shook their heads in exasperation. But before he could say anything, he heard a deep voice bellow, "Ho, we meet again, good sir!" The mage nearly leapt up ten feet into the air in fright, and whipped around to find himself staring at the abdomen of a humongous barbarian warrior, and behind him was a shaman who was looking around with a look of deep concentration. "Ursus, Mistii, its good to see the two of you again, got fed up with the orcs?" Azrael asked them with a smile. "Er, no, not exactly..." the barbarian began, but his sister joined in, explaining, "We were driven out of there after three groups settled into the area, forcing us out. We had just barely earned our surnames when this happened, so we thought we'd come here. While it is good to see you once more, you didn't tell us your name the last time." After a hurried introduction, and a strategy meeting, the group ventured over to the side of the mansion.

Zelphanus had a map of the entire area, and after memorizing it, Azrael had gone in to draw out the fiends within. Zektoll had been complaining that Ursus was not up to the task of fighting the monsters the paladin drew, but the warrior's size and strength made up for what he lost in skill, which he quickly gained. Despite having to run out of the estate many times because of poorly skilled pulls by the other groups, they spent several weeks there. Azrael and Zelphanus had both reached their thirty-second and thirty- first seasons respectively, and Zektoll and Daimonic now both rested comfortably in their twenty-ninth season, but unfortunately for the barbarian siblings, the lions share of the experience had gone to the older members of the group, as they had only risen to their twenty-third season. Azrael was talking about leaving, when suddenly Daimonic remarked, "It's quiet . . . too quiet. What happened to the din that was all around here moments before?" Indeed, there was an unsettling silence about the estate, and only the pounding of boots and confused calls echoed off the walls. Then, without warning, a loud rumbling sound emanated from underneath the mansion, followed by a louder booming noise. Screams and more thudding booms could be heard from the basement, as many of the adventurers who had been in the house cleared out onto the lawn, where not even a death beetle crawled. The cries of pain and shock were always cut off quickly after a boom, and a great disquiet settled on those gathered outside. Suddenly, the side doors opened, and a bloodied half-elven bard was revealed, leaning heavily against the frame. "Help! Something came out of the ground down there! Something huge, we can't fight it, please, help us!" he cried, but another boom sounded and he was flung out of the doorway at a great speed to crash lifeless into the wall on the side of the estate.

At first, nobody could see what had caused his unexpected flight, but something shambled out of the darkness of the great house, a massive skeleton with blackened bones, clutching a rusty but cruel-looking sword in its right fist. A thick plum-colored mist bubbled slowly out of its eye- sockets, yawning holes that were deep-sunken into a skull of a demonic beast that had not been seen on this planet. But the most shocking thing about the creature was a mysterious emblem carved into the forehead of its skull, a upside-down heptagon formed of seven triangles, with the center- most triangle made of black crystal. "Impossible! It found me! I thought it couldn't break through the barrier between worlds!" Azrael gasped, and Zelphanus looked at him curiously, tightening his grip on his Bloodforge Hammer. "Lad, do ye know what this beastie be?" he demanded, keeping one eye on the paladin and the other on the slowly advancing skeleton. "Yes," Azrael replied grimly, "Its called a bone-eater, it exists in the twilight realm between life and death, preying on other undead creatures, but typically it cannot move out of that space between the planes, something or someone has summoned it here." The bone-eater was indeed carrying a discarded leg bone of a greater dark-boned skeleton in its left fist, and proceeded to crunch the sturdy bone in its teeth and swallow the shards, which traveled into the twisted decaying innards of the creature visible through its rotting ribcage.

"Well then, we're a hearty bunch o' lads n' lassies, why don't we just send this bony thing back to where it came from?" the dwarf snorted, and had started to move forward when Azrael laid his hand on the dwarf's shoulder, and he shook his head, saying softly, "Watch." A wood elven warrior had been creeping close to the apparently disinterested bone-eater, but when he struck the creature with his two-handed axe, the blade bounced off the creature's bone with a ringing sound. The bone-eater's head creaked and turned towards the would-be hero, and without warning, backhanded the elf with a blow swift as the wind. The warrior flew the length of the courtyard and into the tunnel, digging a furrow of ground when he hit. Two wizards immediately started casting magic, as it was common knowledge that creatures invulnerable to mundane weapons can be damaged by magic. Fire and ice coalesced as the magic rushed at the undead creature, but each in turn fizzled on the bone-eater's frame. The bone-eater's head turned towards the two wizards and started limping off in their direction.

"Oi've got t'do somethin'!" Zelphanus cried, and started casting a Dismiss Undead spell. The gathered fighters held their breath as the holy energy surrounded the skeleton, and impacted! The skeleton shuddered and groaned, but appeared only slightly damaged, but it had been wounded, that was clear. Now that the way was clear, cleric and paladin alike began casting their spells. A wave of divine magic assaulted the beast, and it groaned in agony, but it still stayed up. "What is that thing? Daimonic, can you possess it?" Zektoll cried, looking at the necromancer desperately. "I can try . . . its not the same as a pet, but I can give it a shot," the dark elf returned, and began concentrating, placing his fingertips on his temples. The bone-eater froze, and turned its head towards the dark elf, but it had stopped acting . . . for the moment. The sigil on its head began to glow, and the brighter it got, the tougher Daimonic strained, until he gave a howl of agony and collapsed to the ground, groaning, "Too strong . . . whoever is controlling it . . . its too strong!" Mustering up his courage, Zektoll rolled up his sleeves and began chanting, a summoning portal opening up in front of him. A festering hag leapt through it, and with an unspoken mental command, leapt to attack the bone-eater. The hag pounded ineffectually on the creature's heavy-plated bones, and was seized by a hefty arm. Unexpectedly, rather than throwing the summoned monster away, the bone-eater bit deeply into the hag's neck and started devouring the creature. Azrael shook his head, and muttered, "Didn't I say it was a bone-eater? It eats the undead." "How can we kill it, then? Why isn't anything doing any damage to it?" Ursus shouted over the awful crunching and slobbering sounds of the bone-eater's meal. "Weapons and regular magic can't hurt it, its bones have been hardened by living in that lifeless vacuum for too long. Holy magic works against it, but there's something that damages it even more . . . and its the only thing that will banish it forever," Azrael said, almost to himself, and started walking towards the bone-eater. Ursus lunged forwards to help, but was restrained by Mistii.

The paladins which had tried to attack it thus far had been able to do some damage to the creature, but had usually been flung away like dolls once the creature's sluggish attention had been gained. {Ok, Chthon, I'll need you to cooperate for this...} he thought inwardly as he drew closer to the undead creature. ^^Why should I?^^ came the immediate response. {Look, at the moment, this is your body too, I die, you die, get it?} Azrael thought back, bringing only silence. Finished with its dinner, the bone-eater lashed out with surprising speed at the few warriors who remained around it and then turned in Azrael's direction. It lumbered slowly up to the human man and began to lift him with one great bony hand. As if he had planned it, Azrael continued to stare at the bone-eater as he was lifted up to eye- level. As the undead monster began to regard him, Azrael uncovered a hidden hatch on his breastplate, revealing a sigil somewhat similar to the bone- eater's, only it was an upside-down triangle made of seven triangles, with the one in the center crafted from the purest white diamond. The bone-eater flinched back from it, then raised its great sword to slash at its catch. Azrael met the blade in mid-air, and held, but strained mightily against the weight. {Here goes nothing, one's already here, so its not like I'm going to attract another by doing this . . . } Azrael thought to himself as emerald lightning suddenly flashed from within Azrael's arm and lanced up the blade, shocking the bone-eater through its own sword, causing it to drop the paladin as it roared in pain. {That's it?!} Azrael inwardly shouted at Chthon, and received no answer, but more power flowed into him. {Ok, now we're talking . . . }

Azrael dashed towards the bone-eater and had to duck under a slash as swift as the wind, and attacked the bone-eater with his Ghoulbane. In addition to the mysterious green electricity, the normal anti-undead spell of the blade in conjunction with Azrael's own Expulse Undead spells, the creature was starting to break apart. On one pass however, the bone-eater caught Azrael in a back-hand, and was sent flying towards a wall at break-neck speed. Azrael twisted desperately in the air, and managed to hit the stone with his feet instead of his back, but the crunch of bone was easily audible as his legs were swiftly broken. As the paladin dropped to the ground, the bone-eater, in one last desperate attack, started sprinting towards Azrael. A quick healing spell regained him his mobility, and Azrael stood up again and regarded the bone-eater with confidence. "This has gone on long enough, say good-bye, void creature!" With those words, the sigil on his breastplate glowed with a bright light, and bright green lighting surged around his Ghoulbane. As the skeleton reached him, he leapt into the air and struck the sigil on the creature's forehead solidly with the blade. The black crystal that was hit by the edge of the blade cracked, then split and fell off, falling to the ground and shattering into a thousand pieces, which then burst into black mist and faded away. The bone-eater gave a keening wheeze, and crumpled to the ground, its bones coming unjointed. But before the crowd could celebrate, the bones decayed into a choking purple mist, which dropped each person one by one to the ground.

Azrael woke up later, and couldn't remember a thing that had happened in the past day, it was as if a fog had settled over his mind. He looked around, and saw that everyone else was alive, but as confused as he was. The estate looked like a war zone, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember why. He was about to ask what had occurred when a bard ran in through the tunnel excitedly, carrying a rolled-up parchment. "My friends, listen!" he shouted, unrolled the message, and read aloud, "Elvish sailors have rediscovered the ancient Elven settlement of Firiona Vie on the continent of Kunark! This as of yet unexplored land is rife with riches for the taking! The league of Antonican and Faydweran bards urge you to take this opportunity to stake your claims before others rush there before you!" "That sounds great, are you guys going?" Azrael asked his companions, but each shook their heads. "We have to go all the way back to Halas again, however long that'll take us," Mistii groaned, bemoaning her lack of spells. Zektoll and Daimonic both opted to stay in the area for a while longer, while Zelphanus wanted to go on to another mansion filled with the undead, Castle Mistmoore. {Oh well, it's their loss! If I know anything, people are going to be coming there from all over, I might just meet up with some old friends!} Azrael thought to himself happily as he joined up with the crowd that was following the bard out, feeling inwardly worried, but for a reason he couldn't fathom.

Azrael stood on the shore near the Butcherblock docks, absently tracing patterns in the sand, as the shuttles had left just a minute before he arrived, and he would have to wait for them to return. Many people were gathered there, making him wonder if when the shuttles returned, he would even get a chance to get on one of them. He looked out to sea briefly, squinting, trying to see through the mist, but no sign of the small boats could be seen. His eyes drifted down again, and were suddenly drawn to one of the patterns he had been tracing. It was a heptagon made up of seven triangles, with a dark piece of stone placed in the center. Frowning, he knocked the stone out and replaced it with a bit of white shell, and felt more comfortable with it. After studying the odd sigil, he recognized what it was. {Hmm, that's the Seventh Power . . . but why did I carve it with a dark piece of rock for its Focus? Unlike the Fifth or Eighth, its one of the holy powers, it should only have a dark stone there if one of the former took control of it . . . } he pondered, but eventually shook his head and crossed the pattern out.

He looked out towards the ocean again, but there wasn't a trace of the shuttles. He sighed, and started pacing around the marina again. After he had completed two circuits, he was about to try taking up fishing when he heard a person shout off from his right, "New Imbued Field Plate armor! All good deities covered! The finest plate from a master smith at low rates, get yours today!" Intrigued, Azrael walked over, thumbing the still heavy purse at his belt, and he had much more in the bank. There were a few sample pieces up for display, and as he looked over them, the paladin in charge of the sales noticed his amulet of a small silver sword rising out of a sun and grinned, remarking, "You're a follower of Mithaniel, are you not?" The question surprised Azrael, but he still nodded very quickly so as to not disappoint the auctioneer. "Well, I've got a full set for you if you'd like, plus a new shield found on Kunark, where is where you're likely headed, since I've seen you pacing around here ever since you came in. "How much?" Azrael asked, a little wary of how much this would cost, as he heard that the process to make them was very expensive, and took a great deal of practice to gain the skill to make them successfully. "The whole deal? A full set plus a Sarnak Battle Shield . . . that's near to twelve thousand platinum, took me a bit of work that did," he told Azrael, and while Azrael winced at the price, he replied, "I'll buy it."

A few minutes, and a trip to the bank later, Azrael was standing at the docks in new suit of shining golden armor, with diamonds faintly glowing with holy power set into the metal. After all that running around, finally the shuttles had come back, and Azrael was one of the first ones on, but many were still left behind, as even four shuttles couldn't hold all of them. It was extremely uncomfortable going, as people crammed together on the deck of the tiny shuttle, trying desperately not to fall off with the rocking of the water. Eventually they entered the Timorous Deep, and Azrael was struck as he spotted the Maiden's Voyage came into view. A thought came unbidden into Azrael's mind as he gazed at the gigantic vessel, {There she is again . . . looking as impressive as ever . . . Wait, I've never seen this boat before in my life! Right . . . one of them must have been on the original voyage. That would explain it . . . } He shivered as the memories flitted around in his head, while he clambered up the ramp onto the boat.

It was late afternoon when the boat left, and they arrived in the middle of the night. A couple people had tried to sleep on the way there, but the light rolling motion of the boat kept them all awake. Azrael stepped off the boat to a torch-lit dock, where the only people moving were a few watchmen and the people who had just gotten off the boat. Yawning tiredly, he caught the attention of one of the watch and asked, "So, where's a good place to get a bed for the night?" The wood elven man chuckled, and responded, "The ground, unless you'd like to fill out the paperwork right now to get into one of the boarding houses as this hour, the inns are all full to capacity." Sleeping on cold grass didn't seem all that appealing to the paladin, so he pressed further, remembering that some of his former comrades may have arrived here as well, "Are any residents allowed to have guests in their houses, at least briefly?" The guard scratched his head, and replied, "Yeah, sure, but you'd have to find one of them who's awake; as you're not allowed to go around pounding on people's doorways at two in the morning, right?" Azrael thought for a moment, then asked, "Do you have a list of current residents?" The guard nodded, and started reading them off, " . . . Mmya . . . Nillazilla . . . Obelisk . . . "

After hearing the last name, Azrael's eyes widened, and he stopped the guard, demanding, "The last guy you mentioned, do you know where he lives, what he looks like?" The guard frowned at first, annoyed at the other man for delaying him so much, but as he thought about what the human had asked him, he started to smile. "Right, yeah, great fellow, tall human guy with long black hair . . . A monk I think . . . Always smiling, heck, I feel like grinning myself whenever he passes. The lucky bastard got himself a house all to himself after the casters decided it was too big for their tastes, so if you know him, he'd probably have plenty of room for you!" Azrael smirked as the description matched that of his old friend. He thanked the guard after he gave him directions and headed off to the row of houses on the far end of the town, the sound of the sea carrying everywhere, and since it was night, it seemed far more prevalent. He thought he heard singing, and realized it was coming from the house that the guard had indicated. As he neared the house, the song ended, and he could hear some arguing within, what sounded like Obelisk's voice and two different women's voices. Azrael smirked as he imagined what reason the monk would have to have two women in his house this late at night, but as the talking faded, he judged that this would be a good time to see if it was truly his friend's house, and removed his helmet, held it in one hand, and with the other knocked once on the door. He heard some movement and quiet talking, but nobody came to the door. He knocked again, but still no response, and the noises inside ended. Undaunted, Azrael knocked a third time. He was about to knock again when a very tired looking Obelisk, dressed in a bathrobe opened the door and gasped at the sight of the paladin standing there. Azrael almost laughed out loud at the raven-haired man's expression, but he managed to keep it to a grin as he asked, "I know it's late, but can I come in?"

"All right," Obelisk agreed, though somewhat reluctantly it seemed, and Azrael stepped into what he could see was a decently sized house, as wood- elven structures went. Sighing in relief, he removed his backpacks out from under his cape and set them aside on the floor, and rotated his arms to stretch his shoulders. He was about to ask how the other man had been doing when Hillodania stepped out of the bedroom at the back, and the words froze in his mouth as he gaped in shock in seeing her again for the first time in ages. The last contact he had gotten from her was a note she had left inside one of his packs, along with the crown of the Froglocks, saying that while she did like him, he wasn't her type, and she hoped that they could work together in the future, signing it, Hillodania Lacoquette. Due to her being a rogue, plus her somewhat slippery nature, he hadn't expected to see her ever again, much less here. Memories of that adventure returned to him in a flash as he stared at her, and she at him. He looked back to Obelisk to ask him what she was doing here, but then he noticed something peculiar. Under his robe, the monk was wearing only a pair of light pants, and when he looked back at Hillodania, the wood-elven woman was clad in a silk robe . . . only a silk robe.

As he looked back and forth between them, it came to him the only possibility of what they could have been doing only minutes before. He gave a sly wink to Obelisk, and was pleasantly pleased to see Hillodania blush as red as her hair and Obelisk start spluttering, his moustache twitching like crazy. He laughed inwardly, thinking, {Bingo! You lucky dog, you.} "It wasn't like that at all!" Obelisk exclaimed, but it was a poor lie in Azrael's opinion, judging from his reaction, so he brushed it aside, grinning even wider. Calming himself down, the monk looked over to Hillodania and finally asked Azrael, "So, you two know each other? Hillodania blushed even further as she looked at Azrael, gave him a knowing look, and remarked, "We've met." Azrael snorted lightly, at a volume only she could hear, and her cheeks reddened even further. {Ooh boy, this definitely got pretty heavy here, why else would she be acting this way?} Azrael thought to himself, becoming more amused by the second, despite his exhaustion.

Obelisk shrugged, then shut the door carefully, looking around outside briefly before doing so, causing the paladin to raise an eyebrow at his unusual caution. The monk leaned against the door, and shook his head, obviously thinking. An idea seemed to pop into his head, and he called into the back room, "Drakana, its all right, its a friend." Azrael looked in that direction, and at first all he saw as a darkened bedroom, where Hillodania had emerged from only minutes before. Then a face started to appear out of the shadows, followed by a black armor clad torso. Azrael reeled back in surprise, but it wasn't the fact that the woman now revealed was a dark elf, but her appearance that shocked him. Grayish white scars traced over her entire face and neck, and probably the rest of her body by the look. He briefly noticed the silver amulet at her neck, a silver skull with a blade rising out of it, signifying that she was a Shadowknight, but the crest representing her religion and guild was strangely missing. His eyes returned to her scars, but before he could wonder how she had gotten them, she saw his own amulet and crest as a paladin of the Hall of Truth, and yelped in surprise and dodged behind Obelisk, hiding from his gaze, holding onto the monk's waist for dear life. {She's . . . afraid of me?} Azrael thought incredulously as he saw her trembling, while Obelisk tried to dislodge her arms from his body. "I told you, he's a friend! It's all right; he won't try to kill you. He, unlike most other people, at least gives people a chance to prove their good nature before he makes judgments," Obelisk exclaimed, a grin beginning to form again on his face, as he forced Drakana in front of him.

Azrael smiled gently as he realized what his friend was trying to do. He decided to be as formal and unthreatening as possible, so he stepped slowly over to her and kneeled, taking a scarred hand into his, and told her, "Pleased to meet you, milady; any friend of Obelisk is a friend of mine." Seeming to calm down a bit, she placed her other hand on top of his, completing the formal greeting. As she did so, he winced once again as he looked at the network of scars on her slender but powerful fingers. {They're on her hands as well . . . my lord, what if they cover her entire body? My god . . . the pain! How could she have survived the pain?} he thought to himself, but before he could say anything else, the dark elf suddenly yawned widely, and she lifted one hand to cover her mouth. As the hand dropped, Azrael could see the tiredness in her red-hued eyes, similar to that in his own. Across from them, Hillodania yawned too. Obelisk clapped his hands once briefly, and said to the women, "You two should get some rest, we still have a bit of catching up to do." They nodded, as Hillodania took Drakana's hand and went back into the bedroom, closing the door behind them, and a few seconds later the men could hear the creak of wood as the bed was occupied and the clank of armor being set down on the group, as well as a sleeping bag being laid out.

"That reminds me," Azrael remarked, realizing how hot it really was, as the spring heat was far more advanced here than up north. He removed his armor, and put it away, and sat down in a chair at a table wearing the light tunic and pants he had under his armor. "So," Obelisk began, sitting down at the other end of the table, "How did you meet Hillodania?" Pulling a water flask from one of his bags, the paladin cracked it open and took a few sips before replying, "Long story. Basically, a short time ago, when we were just novices, both short of earning our surnames, we had a little adventure together in Lower Guk. There, we recovered some treasure that has paid for both our equipment, apparently. I saved her life in there, when we were almost over-run by Froglocks, and I very nearly lost mine as well. If not for a raid of trolls we both might have perished." Obelisk nodded thoughtfully, then added, "But was there anything between you two other than that?" Azrael blinked in surprise, then laughed, clapping his friend on the back. "What, are you jealous?" he asked giving him a wink, and Obelisk grinned sheepishly and replied, "Well, if I am going to marry her, I have to know if she had any previous relationships." Azrael's grin widened further, and he exclaimed, "You do move fast!" It was Obelisk's turn to give him a wink, and the two men laughed out loud together. After some more small talk, Azrael finally asked, "So, what are you doing here?" "Well, we have both been training here so far just to get more experience, but we are at a sort of standstill right now. We want to go to a strange place further into the continent called Karnor's Castle, but we have been told we're not ready to go there quite yet. Hillodania had heard of some armor specifically for rogues being found there, and I was going to oblige her by a trip there until I heard of how dangerous the monsters were. We've been trying to find ways to stay fairly close in to this area, but we don't know of any more monsters that would provide sufficient experience for us. We're both nearing our fortieth season, so much of the monsters in the Lake of Ill Omen area are too easy, and while there are some goblins and giants in the Frontier Mountains, they won't get us much further," Obelisk told the other man, and he shrugged, and replied, "Well, I can't help you much there, except for a rumor I heard a while back." When Obelisk leaned forward interestedly, Azrael continued, "There's been strange stories about people disappearing near the lake edge in the Lake of Ill Omen area, so all the evidence points to some powerful monster or monsters living in the lake." The monk knuckled his moustache, thinking over what had been said, and then remarked with a yawn, "We'll investigate it tomorrow morning, best use what's left of the night to get some sleep." Azrael nodded, and within a few minutes, both men were sleeping on the ground in sleeping bags.

The next day . . .

Hillodania covered her mouth as she yawned widely, and Drakana echoed it shortly afterwards, though a scar near her lips gave her the impression of yawning even wider than humanly possible. Obelisk was studying a map that Azrael had given him, and the paladin was busily scanning the coast of the lake, looking for anything odd. As he watched the light waves across the lake, Azrael found himself reflecting on how Obelisk and Hillodania had so quickly fallen for each other. {I would have never imagined it possible, as Obelisk is even more strict than I am, but somehow, she must like that . . . his gregarious nature must make up for that though. Hmph, and to think that only a few months earlier I was kissing her in the Innothule swamp,} he thought to himself, as he saw something splash off in the distance, but realized it was only a fish. "I'm bored," the aforementioned rogue complained, taking off her banded mail boots to dab her feet in the cool water, splashing around. "Maybe you shouldn't be doing that," Obelisk warned, looking up from the map, which gave the locations of the attacks. She tossed her auburn hair irritably and retorted, "We haven't found the slightest sign in hours, and so putting my feet into the water should be the least dangerous thing I can do!" The monk just shrugged and went back to studying the map. "I concur with Hilly, we should try moving to another location, or just simply go back," Drakana commented, managing to end her yawn finally, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "Hilly, huh?" Azrael remarked with an eyebrow raised, and Drakana blushed, making her scars stand out even more. {Was sleeping the only thing you two did in the bedroom while we were out in the common room?} he thought to himself, amused.

After a few more minutes, Azrael said, "Well, there's nothing here, so lets just move on," and started to walk off, Obelisk and Drakana right behind him when they heard a startled yelp and a splash. All three whirled around to see wild water and no sign of Hillodania other than her abandoned boots. Before they could do anything, Hillodania surfaced a long ways out into the lake, stabbing furiously at a light blue shape that clung to her, pounding at her face and head while trying to drown her at the same time. Without hesitation, Azrael and Obelisk dashed over to the lake and dove in, swimming frantically towards her with Drakana paddling after them. Obelisk, not weighted down by heavy armor was the first to reach her, and he began attacking the cerulean humanoid figure, which hissed and released the wood elf to attack him. This was a bad move as Hillodania immediately plunged her dagger into it's back, and sword slashes from both Azrael and Drakana nearly cleaved it in half.

After they swam back to shore, panting with exhaustion, they took a good look at what they had killed. It resembled a Kunark goblin, only light aquamarine in color, and it had gills on the side of its neck, along with longer, sharper teeth than usual. "This explains it then, a Kunark variant of aqua goblins. I guess there's no end to different subspecies of goblin, but this is good news for us," Azrael muttered to himself as he paced around it, blood slowly leaking out of it's gills, but Hillodania interrupted him. "How so?" she asked sarcastically, coughing the water out of her lungs. "Well, here's the monsters which we can train on to go to Karnor's Castle," he replied, and the others' eyes widened as it dawned on them. After looting the dead goblin's corpse, Azrael pulled out four water stones. "Wear these, and you'll be able to breathe underwater, it's time to hunt us some goblins!" he told them, and they strung the stones about their necks as they dove in again. The water stones, once held in a person's mouth, took water and transformed it into air for as long as it lasted, but once the stone dissolved, you had to pop another in or go up for air. The four adventurers swam through the murky water, looking around for more goblins, but every shadow that they rushed after turned up nothing. The stones were starting to give out when a large, underwater structure appeared in front of them. A domed building, with four pillars rising from each of the corners. And there, gathered at each pillar, were several goblins.

Weeks later . . .

Karnor's Castle loomed up in the Dreadlands, an immense stone structure dominating the plains extending back from the ocean, whose distant roar could still be heard despite the howls of yetis, the odd barking and yelping of Drolvargs, and the clicking of Drachnid legs. "We're going in there?" Hillodania asked, half unbelieving, half eager. "Yeah, I'm not sure if we can survive just by ourselves, so we may have to find some other adventurers attempting to get in there," Azrael said, looking warily at a Drolvarg which had been slinking around them. "Well then, my lord, why not join us? Our guild is headed the same way," a light, lilting voice asked from off to their side, and suddenly Azrael's heart leapt into his throat, and he whirled to face the voice.

There, sitting on a rock, was a young woman clad in similar armor to Azrael, wielding a fire-sheathed blade, her golden hair cascading down her shoulders, she was the very vision of Erollissi Marr come down to Norrath. Her sapphire eyes regarded the young man appraisingly yet with respect, her rosebud mouth spread in a warm smile, her cheeks just barely touched with a rosy tint that was far from needing rouge to enhance. Her laugh at the other paladin's shock was without derision, light and silvery, filled with mirth. Azrael was unable to get out an answer, his mouth suddenly dry and his hands shaking, his heart pounding. It seemed to Azrael that a hoard of drixies had taken up residence in his stomach, and everything in his vision faded out besides her, her radiance drawing him in like a magnet. All thoughts fled his mind, and even Chthon's endless grumbling faded out. Everything about her seemed . . . right to him. { . . . Who?} was the only word that resonated in his head as her eyes seemed to draw him in, drowning in that deep blue like the ocean. The only thing he could be sure of as his world turned upside down, that as long as she was around, nothing would ever be the same again.

*Ahem!*

Azrael was broken out of his trance as he turned to face the speaker, and immediately wished he hadn't. In front of his eyes was quite possibly the ugliest halfling he had ever met. The squat man was gnarled and twisted, filthy and grimy, and had an undisguised look of contempt on his face for seemingly anything and everything around him. In his brief stay in Rivervale on his way to Highpass, Azrael had come to a few conclusions about the Halfling race. Though mischievous and occasionally suspicious of outsiders, they were extremely pleasant if you earned their trust, enjoying fine food, company, and music. This one however, could likely turn grape juice into vinegar just by looking at it. He had probably never washed his tangled black hair, washed his dirt-and grass stained feet, which had a thick pad of hair on them as dark as the hair on his head, and they were the most foul-smelling part of him. His face looked roughly humanoid, but more like a poor interpretation of a gargoyle's face, carved out of faulty granite. The nails on both his hands and feet were yellowed, cracked, and twisted, with who knows what under them.

He took an instant dislike to this druid, for that's what he was, the cracked and stained leather armor and moldy staff was a dead giveaway, and apparently, the halfling was only too happy to dislike him right back. They glared at each other for nearly a minute before his attention was again drawn by the blond woman introducing herself and this tiny grotesque troll. "I am Aelyena, my lord, and this is Brochk, my druidic partner," she told them, smiling down at the halfling, who returned her grin with a sour look and he turned his gaze aside and spat, muttering a half-hearted 'hail'. Azrael felt like drifting away again, but every time he looked towards her the experience was spoiled by the presence of Brochk at her side. The paladin thought to himself, {Why the hell is a woman like this hanging out with a goblin like this freaking hobbit? How can she stand being near him for a few seconds?} But she seemed to enjoy his companionship as much as she did theirs.

Getting over his distaste, he responded to her greeting. "Well met, my lady, I am Azrael Heavenblade of the Knights of Truth, serving the Lightbringer; and my companions are Obelisk, a monk of the Ashen Order, Hillodania, a Scout of Tunare, and Drakana, formerly a devotee of the Lodge of the Dead in Neriak, but she has since embraced the light," he proclaimed with a bow. Each bowed in turn when he mentioned them, but Drakana flashed him a worried look, and he waved his hand to let her know it was ok. As he turned his head back, he noticed Brochk leering at someone, and he followed his gaze to notice him looking at Hillodania, who was nervously pulling on her ponytail. Obelisk had a grimace on his face matching Azrael's from earlier, but his had the added effect of his lower lip nearly disappearing into the dark storm cloud of his moustache. The monk clearly didn't like the halfling either.

However, their attention was once again drawn back to Aelyena pointed behind her at a large group of people massing outside the gates to the castle, coming from all directions. "The Army of Light has been looking for new recruits, so if you are currently unattached, we would very much like you to join us. In any case, we could use a few more warriors to join us in this raid, so if you would offer your assistance, we would be much obliged," she told them. Though she was speaking to all of them, her eyes were locked with Azrael's. Trying to not let his cheeks burn, Azrael was on the verge of accepting then and there, but Obelisk spoke up before him and replied, "We'll have to think on it, thanks, but we will join in on the raid of that's all right." Though she looked mildly disappointed, Aelyena clapped her hands delightedly and exclaimed, "No problem at all! If you will follow me, I'll take you to the guildmaster who will sort you into a group, and I hope that you will be assigned to our squad! We would have an even balance then, of warriors and healers, and thus be able to handle a front guard position."

She leapt down off the rock with a light clank, and started walking off, with Brochk following close behind, looking distrustfully behind his back every few seconds. But Azrael wasn't looking at him to be quite truthful. Instead, his eyes traced the roll of Aelyena's hips as she strode towards her guildmates. Breaking off his stare, Azrael shook his head and tried to put on a calm, professional look. People waved to the human woman as they started walking through the crowd, but they tended to ignore the halfling walking alongside her or frown when he wasn't looking. But another person drew their attention as the group passed through. Drakana was looking even more panicked as the guild stared at her, whether from her scars or her race she wasn't sure. Eventually they came to a small clearing in the press of the crowd where an aging human paladin stood talking to a high elven cleric. As they walked up, Aelyena explained, he was Aegisius, officially the oldest human adventurer out there, but despite his age he was still active. She sometimes worried after his health, but the man was as tough as weathered stone, and had made it through every campaign they went through together. She was an officer, so she was connected with all the decisions made by him.

As they neared, Aegisius immediately noticed them coming, and dismissed the cleric who briefly smiled at Aelyena, but then made a rude gesture behind his back at Brochk. The golden-haired woman introduced her new acquaintances, but when she got to Azrael, Aegisius' eyes widened in hearing that he was from the Hall of Truth. "I have longed for another knight of the Lightbringer to join us, your assistance will bring me much courage, and hope that more of our order shall be venturing out into the world, spreading the words of truth!" he exclaimed while shaking Azrael's hand vigorously. Azrael returned the handshake, but his eyes tightened a bit before relaxing. As the older man went to fetch the roster of groups for the raid, Azrael thought to himself, {While I am a member of the Knights of Truth, its not like I grew up with the doctrine . . . In fact, I'm surprised they let me in. I just don't know what to make of the religion either, before coming here I was agnostic . . . I think the only way I can use magic at all is from some sort of arrangement from 'The Council' with Mithaniel Marr. But of course I'd rather not say that to the old guy.}

"All right, let's see . . . . A rogue, a monk, a paladin, and a . . . " Aegisius began to say, but he trailed off without reading the last part and instead looked towards the back of the group, where Drakana was hunkered down, trying not to be noticed. Blowing out his moustaches, he instead returned to the list, though he pulled on his beard occasionally. "We're still in need of more physical types, along with hybrids, so you can join up with Aelyena and Brochk here, as you'll need a solid healer type as well . . . If that's suitable for you, of course," he said after checking some of the groups already written down. Azrael's eyes twinkled as he replied, "Very suitable, thank you, my lord." Leaving him, Aelyena started introducing them to the rest of the guild, though particularly to her friends. As the last few people were coming in, they came upon two half- elven bards who were playing the flute and drums. Azrael and the others found that their names were Ulic and Cay, fraternal twins, although they did look a great deal alike, but Ulic had dark hair while his brother had light sandy blond hair.

"Well, look who's here, brother!" Ulic said to Cay, tapping him lightly on the shoulder as the group approached. Cay looked up and exclaimed, "Ah! It's Aelyena, and unfortunately . . . " " . . . Brochk as well. But look, they have guests!" Ulic finished. They both stood up and bowed, Cay starting, "It's a pleasure to meet new people . . . " " . . . Always. I'm sure . . . " " . . . We'll have a good time together. Are you going to introduce us, or . . . " " . . . Are we going to have to do so ourselves?" They said, switching off, each completing the other's sentence. Azrael rolled his eyes and Obelisk coughed, while Hillodania asked sarcastically, "So, do you guys do this normally, or are you just trying to imitate a tired old stereotype?" The two bards chortled in unison, and Ulic shook his head, responding, "No, we just do it to whoever we meet, just to see their reaction. Usually they never get it that we can and do speak normally." They sat and chatted for a while, but soon, with a call from a horn, it was announced that it was time for the groups to move in.

Azrael offered his hand to Aelyena, and she to his pleasure, took it. This did not go unnoticed by Brochk, who almost unnoticeably clenched his fists. As they walked into the castle, Azrael's euphoria started to wear off as he began thinking seriously on what he was doing. He tried to plan ahead for the raid, the first he'd been on, but his thoughts kept returning to Aelyena. {What am I thinking? Sure, I don't know how long I'm going to be here, but should I really get involved with a woman who's not even from the same planet, and probably not even the same universe? If I'm here for the rest of my life, it would make sense, but what if I get ripped away from her, like relationships in my past?} he thought unhappily. But when he turned his head to his right and looked down at Aelyena, and she smiled up at him, he mentally added, { . . . You know, at this point, I don't really care.}

As he walked through the corridor leading into the main courtyard of the castle, Azrael kept hearing grumbling noises from behind him. But every time he looked, they would stop. Though more than a few of the guild were mildly arguing amongst each other, his prime suspect was Brochk, who would glare at him every time he looked over his shoulder. In truth, the paladin doubted he had ever stopped. The only thing that kept him from taking it up with the gnarled gremlin was the smaller feminine armored hand firmly grasping his own right hand. If only the halfling could have stood further away, he might have been able to smell the perfume of the woman in question, who in nearly twenty minutes had changed his life more than in his nearly twenty years.

He had experienced crushes before, but this was way beyond that. Every time she looked into his eyes it was as if a fire had been quelled in his chest, she filled him with such calm and peace that it was like the calm after a storm. That particular metaphor reminded him of her eyes, such a deep vivid blue, like a cloudless sky. And her hair . . . golden strands like the sun shining, conveying a sense of warm and hope . . . everything about her seemed to strike a cord within him. As it stood, it seemed to him that he was having a similar impact on her . . . but he knew that would be wishful thinking, given his past.

But to tell the truth, as much as Azrael couldn't take his eyes off her, Aelyena could have sooner toppled this castle by herself than remove her own from him. Every so often they would catch each other staring, and look away, Aelyena with a light blush, Azrael with a nervous scratch of the head. But their hands never separated once, not until they were in the interior of the castle. Even then, they parted unwillingly, Aelyena casting a regretful glance back to her companion, her mouth in a moue of anxiousness, but she had to meet with the other officers. Azrael stood there almost as uneasily, but shook himself to focus on the task at hand. {My god, I can't even think straight when she's around! This is serious all right . . . } Azrael thought to himself as he looked up to the twilight sky, taking deep breathes to clear his head. Unfortunately, the clear, clean evening air was fouled by a stench that made the young man cough.

His face twisting into a frown, he cast an angry look at the perpetrator. Brochk had a small twist to his mouth, as if hiding a smile. Azrael attempted to covertly kick the hobgoblin, but he capered away a short distance and the smirk grew, if only a little bit. Azrael's fist started to clench, and he took one clanking step towards the druid when Aelyena came back and all violent thoughts fled his mind. She explained the plan to him and the others, though simplistic, it was fairly efficient and reasonably thought out. The guild would split in two, retreating to the 'right' and 'left' corners of the moat walls, then, after the monsters were all cleared, they would move into the first major section of the castle via a bridge across the moat, then from that into the rest of the castle. Azrael didn't think it was a bad plan, but he grew slightly concerned when he saw Obelisk wince a couple times during her explanation. That thought however, was soon lost as they were swiftly caught up in a series of battles.

After killing what was one in what had come to be a horde of Drolvargs, Azrael found his hand caught in its gnashing jaws as it toppled to the floor. "Damn mutt!!!" he cursed, wringing the aforementioned appendage, looking at the rents in the metal. Someone snickered from his left, but that wasn't his main concern at this time. He yanked the gauntlet off to see the wounds reddening and swelling; something in the beast's saliva must have been tainted, causing this kind of reaction. Aelyena came over with a look on her face that indicated far more concern for it than he was feeling himself. "He needs to have someone cast Cure Disease on him, quickly! Brochk?" she called out, and the druid looked up from his spell book, harrumphed, and his head sank back down. Azrael was about to protest, saying he could do it on his own, but sighing, she did it herself, clasping her hand to his. After she was done, she made no move to remove her hand, instead gazing into Azrael's eyes. Though he faintly heard people laughing about them, all Azrael wanted to do was look into her relieved gaze. But they had to break it off, as it was time to move on.

As the guild began moving down the torch-lit hallway again, Azrael looked over to Aelyena and asked her, "Why is the 'Army of Light' here anyways? Is there some treasure or something here to find?" The woman's cerulean eyes widened in shock. "You don't know? This castle is where Venril Sathir's tomb is reputed to lie," she told him incredulously. Azrael scratched his chin, then added, "So?" Her jaw dropped. Azrael smiled behind a hand, as he was fully aware of the history of this place, but this kind of innocent mischief was worth it just to hear her explain.

"He was the leader of the Iksar for many years, in fact, he managed to unite the five tribes of old! His power was so great that the Ring of Scale took notice, and tried to wipe him out! He was a male skilled in the dark arts, who held many artifacts of power, including much armor and weapons which we intend for our use," she replied. "Hmm, so he managed to gather just about all of the Iksar underneath his banner? Definitely someone to worry about, dead or alive," Azrael said after a moment, allowing enough time to make her think he was mulling it over. Aelyena smiled warmly, and told him, "It is no matter, the Army of Light shall not be denied its prize, there is no foe that has yet to stand up against us!" with great confidence. The tone of her voice made him believe it too, his heart swelling in pride. However, there was one person not impressed.

Behind them, Obelisk winced. His moustache had been bristling ever since they took out the Drolvarg captains in the rooms behind them. A two-pronged attack, they split into half randomly to clear each room. It was without any clear distinction as far as groups went, but their naked power more than made up for any imbalances the lack of certain classes presented. {If they keep this up . . . If we get divided again, we'll be wiped out! We should have executed a unified attack on one room at a time, that was taking far too much risk,} he thought bitterly, but the scowl on his face went unnoticed by his old friend.

The first tower behind them, the Army of Light proceeded across a long bridge to the main castle. As they entered into a wide courtyard, they heard unearthly moaning and howls around them. A couple ghostly Iksar, and a Sarnak skeleton shambled towards them. Without waiting for a cue, the various clerics in the group all released anti-undead spells, and the courtyard was filled with lavender-blue light as the spells wracked the frames of the Sentries and Callers of Sathir, as well as the skeletal berserker. When they still came forwards, a mass of bodies piled themselves on top of the monsters. What the warriors lacked in finesse, they made up in sheer strength.

Azrael and Aelyena were both in the crowd, Azrael's Ghoulbane doing almost as much damage as Aelyena's Fiery Avenger, mainly because at times the woman simply couldn't reach in. Finally, the adventurers withdrew, revealing the crushed corpses of the monsters. The lack of wounds on the guild mates was not because they were very skilled or invulnerable, the undead simply hadn't had the time or space needed to counter-attack, they were simply swarmed under. The spoils carried by each were swiftly removed, and the inexorable wave of conquest continued. The skeletal captains were similarly dispatched, and their few numbers countered their more advanced power.

The Skeletal Warlord was next, and he proved more difficult, but the rewards were well worth it. In sifting among the bone chips, Obelisk lifted out a Tranquil Staff, and the rest of the monks accompanying the guild stood around him in amazement, their eyes bulging in envy. One of them, a large and belligerent man with short flaming red hair marched up to Aegisius and demanded, "The outsider should give that staff to me! I am the oldest of us here by far, and the monk with the longest member history in the guild! By all rights, it should be mine!" The old man regarded him with weary eyes, and responded in a tired but patient voice, "Then you should remember our rule: Those rare artifacts discovered in guild raids should go to the first person who finds it, or the oldest of able to utilize it. Since he was first and is able to use it, it is his."

The red-haired man stood there, flabbergasted, but when he opened his mouth to raise a complaint, the guild leader cut him off with a sarcastic grin, "It's not as if you need more equipment, Raned. No arguments, move to the back, we're about to advance on to the Drolvarg Warlord." Raned walked off with his fists clenched, and aimed a glare every bit as fiery as his hair at Obelisk. The younger monk sighed heavily and hefted the coveted staff. Azrael however sidled up next to the monk and stood in between him and the other man. Already, he was gaining a reputation, and the impetuous monk looked the other way, though occasionally sneaking glances back at the pair of friends.

Apparently, their luck held as the room with the Warlord was cleared out as quickly as before, and a new round of impressive items were visited on Azrael's companions. As the only Shadow Knight there, Drakana was handed the Noctivigant Blade that was found on him. As she placed it away for later use, she smirked at Brochk, who shrugged and tugged his new Kunzar cloak tighter around him, muttering, "Eh, I needed a new one." Ulic had received a Harmonic Dagger that Hillodania had pulled out of the Warlord's belt in the midst of the battle, and was proceeding to use it to gloat over Cay, who promised that he would soon get something that would far outshine his brother's prize.

As they walked back down the stairs, Azrael was feeling sort of left out, as most of the others were getting some kind of fancy items, so far all he had a chance to take was money and occasionally some random gems. In the next room, they found huge, nightmarish versions of animated hands, their flesh twisted and green, with black, cracked nails, and a huge band of spiked metal around the 'wrist'. With them was a gargoyle-like statue that could startlingly use dark magic. Drakana's ruby eyes widened in shock when a second item was presented to her after the battle, blood red gauntlets, which she hurriedly switched for her old ones. The Blood Ember gauntlets gleamed in the eerie light of the room as she held them up. Though he was happy for her, it seemed to Azrael that there should be some paladin- specific armor around here. But before he could muse further on his lack of riches, the guild leader clanged a shield on a wall to gather everyone's attention.

After they gathered around, Aegisius spoke up above the excited chatter, "All right, everyone! We've cleared this level of the keep with the exception of Sathir's tomb! Now, we shall save that for last, and instead eliminate the denizens of the catacombs!" Rather than groaning at such an ominous proclamation, the gathered men and women cheered. Azrael was among them, adding his voice to Aelyena's as they roared with enthusiasm for the upcoming successes that were sure to be awaiting them. Beside him however, Obelisk had a troubled look, as if something was nagging at him, but he couldn't quite give voice to it. Azrael noticed this, and asked him what was wrong as they moved down into the darkness, but the monk refused to tell him what was wrong.

One might not think of the catacombs of a hostile, ancient castle would be a place to find much mirth, but today, the stone corridors echoed with talk and laughter. Karnor's Castle now had new occupants; the skeletons, spirits, and Drolvargs had been evicted by the guild of adventurers calling themselves the Army of Light! Though they did not intend to stay long, it was now a time to rest before their most important battle . . . against the master of this keep himself, Venril Sathir. But before that, it was time to rest. They had been working hard, fighting through the lower levels, and had earned this brief respite. Sitting in impromptu circles in the halls, the adventurers quenched their thirsts with various beverages, some alcoholic, most not, wounds were healed, armor fixed, music played, and conversation shared. It was in one of those circles that Azrael and his companions commiserated.

While the others caught their breath and talked, Azrael and Aelyena were sharing a bit more intimate moment. Though unpracticed, Azrael was swiftly learning to braid the other paladin's golden tresses. Aelyena was trying to talk to him while she leaned back into him, but found words slipping away, unable to keep her focus while so close to him. Azrael himself wasn't sure which he could concentrate on more, Aelyena, or her hair. He loved the feel of it, warm silky golden strands that slipped smoothly over his fingers as he weaved them together. That, and her wonderful fragrance seemed to be especially concentrated within the hair itself. {I could do this for hours,} Azrael thought to himself, humming under his breath. Abruptly, his left hand began to shake where it was threading a bunch of hair in between two others. {Oh crap,} Azrael groaned mentally. Soon, the entire arm was vibrating, and Azrael had to release Aelyena's hair and grasp the arm. Perturbed, she turned towards him with a worried look on her face, but before she could ask what was wrong, he dashed off, and after leaping to her feet, she attempted to follow him. Twisting and turning through the passageways, after sine distance, he found an empty hallway and darted into an abandoned room. Peeking through a crack in the door, he watched her race past. Closing the door, he clenched his left arm as it struggled to lash out, whether at him or at Aelyena he couldn't tell, but it was definitely not him controlling it.

He stood swaying, as he fought desperately with the unseen force, the muscles flexing and contorting of their own will. Though he could not command it to be still, he could feel the straining of the tendons, the ache of the lactic acid being released, as surely as if he had been fighting with a shield against a superior enemy. And it was not just the arm...an inferno of barely contained rage roiled in his gut, though it had no cause to be there. If there were a mirror in the room, he would have been able to see his left eye's iris turning red. Finally, after several minutes of exertion, the arm became still once more, the anger faded from his chest, and his eye returned to normal. Shaking it experimentally, Azrael sighed in relief, sinking to the floor. As he wiped sweat off his forehead, he reflected, {These attacks have been getting worse, and more frequent. Ever since Chthon got free in Innothule Swamp, even if it was only for a few minutes, he's been trying to re-exert control. The incident in the Karanas too . . . It is all I can do to keep him caged up. As if it wasn't bad enough having him howling inside my head . . . } As if it was a signal, Chthon's voice bubbled up from deep within Azrael's consciousness, ^^You're wondering why I'm so "upset", aren't you? It's that bitch! I can barely keep from emptying my 'stomach' every time you so much as look at her! Its agony like nothing else! Do you know how many times I've had to deal with one of you doing something like . . . ^^but Azrael cut him off, forcing him down with a new determination and strength he didn't know he had.

Confidently, he pushed deeper, and suddenly broke through into . . . somewhere. It was like he was adrift in a sea of floating blue mists. Whispers of familiar voices wafted through the air. Feelings . . . memories . . . from his own life, and those alien, yet somehow part of him as well. This time, he was aware of his own form . . . girded in some kind of armor faintly resembling his own, but one major difference was immediately apparent. The plate covering the amulet was gone, and it was blazing with emerald light. The voices grew louder, and he looked up to see a cloud of faces, misty, indistinct, but somehow known to him. He strained trying to place them, but without even trying, one ghosted towards him. Was it a man's face? A woman's? A child's? Yes, it was a man . . . bearded, though he could not tell the age yet. It's mouth opened, as if to speak, but abruptly the mists grew dark and a roar like that of a tidal wave could be heard, and without warning he was shoved back to reality.

"What . . . was that?" he wondered aloud, placing his hand on his feverish brow. The room spun, but was slowly returning to normal. He was still in Karnor's Castle, in that room he had rushed into. The dust had not even settled yet, so the entire...experience...could only have taken but moments. "That was like before . . . coming here, only different. Why can't I remember?" he wondered aloud, growling softly in frustration. All he could remember was the tunnel of light . . . the memories flooding his mind, but then a strange darkness flooding through it before he found himself staring up at the night sky of the strange world called Norrath. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but though the room came to a halt, the feeling of displacement would not fade, at least not yet. Despite his best efforts, things still hadn't come under control, quite the opposite, spinning further into chaos. How was he to do what he was sent here to do, if he could not even remember the instructions? "I . . . I have to get back to the guild . . . " he muttered, and staggered to his feet, pushed open the door, and retraced his steps on unsteady feet.

What he saw when he got back returned some sense of order to his life, allowing him to smile again, if briefly. Unwilling to let a job go unfinished, Aelyena had recruited Drakana to finish her own braid, while she worked on Hillodania's auburn locks, leaving the rogue to thread the pearlescent waves of the dark elf's hair together, forming a small circle. He stood there, unsure of how to approach them, whether or not he should speak, but they finished as he drew closer, and immediately Aelyena spotted him. She bounded to her feet and ran over to him, not mad for him running off, but rather worried about him. But before she could ask him what was wrong, Aegisius' horn sounded, announcing that it was time to move on. Without a word, they both hurried up to where the officers were gathering for the assault on Sathir, temporarily putting this behind them, but it was far from being forgotten.

Minutes later, they stood in a large chamber where a single Iksar skeleton stood without moving, paying no attention to the dozens of warriors moving into it's domicile. Azrael listened absently to the strategy discussions, still trying to pull his head together. He had experienced some kind of backlash for sure, but he had to get his concentration back in a hurry, given what they were about to face. Plus, he knew it would be the same thing as before . . . all melee rush, every caster empty their mana reserves, and clerics keep a watchful eye on their group mates . . . or use their most damaging spells for the heck of it if they wanted. Had this been a raid of merely sixty people, he would have spoken up, but he was sure that two hundred could easily take down a god! Still, he had other concerns. Finally, he managed to pull himself back into a state of full coherence, and just in time, for Aegisius and a few other officers had started to approach the skeleton as the others took their positions.

As Azrael strode towards the skeleton, something nagged at the back of his mind...an inkling as if he should know what to expect, but whatever it was, it refused to fully surface, so instead he turned to the person he knew would have answers, Aegisius. "So, what is it that we have to do? This skeleton doesn't seem interested in us at all," he asked the older man. The guild leader pulled on his long gray moustaches thoughtfully before replying in his quiet, but excited voice, "Ah, your comrade Brochk has a special part in the first phase . . . Brochk, if you will?" Azrael grimaced as he looked towards the halfling, as he thought, "What could he of all people do that nobody or at least a few other people here could not?" as the druid hocked up a wad of yellow-green mucus and spat it onto the floor. But the druid's gruff demeanor shifted to something of determination as he began casting a spell . . . and a touch of pride? Fireflies began flitting into the room from outside, and swarmed towards the druid's outstretched hand. Then, a clear bubble popped into existence around them, forming a makeshift lightstone. The skeleton looked towards him and rumbled, "The living fire. I seek the fires of life. Bring them."

Taking a strong stride forwards despite his legs' short reach, he carefully handed the orb off to the skeleton. The undead creature gazed with its empty sockets at the glowing insects, then unexpectedly shoved the globe into its bony maw. Rather than thudding through to its empty ribcage, ectoplasm gushed out and began flowing over the bones, spiritual energy flooding back into the frame, until the ghostly image of Venril Sathir levitated before them. {{So mortals, you seek to end the tainting of Tunare's children? So be it, I have no cares. My death has been caused by this foolishness and I want no more to do with it. Bring me a scroll with the knowledge of resurrection so that I may once again live. I will hand you that which you seek.}} it groaned. "Now what?" Azrael asked carefully, tightening his grip on his Ghoulbane. Off to his left, Aelyena did the same with her Fiery Avenger. "Now, we give him exactly what he wants . . . " Aegisius replied enigmatically, stepping forward in his worn, but well maintained golden armor. Removing a scroll from a sack, bearing the clerical emblem, he handed it carefully to the spirit, then leapt back nimbly, totally unlike a man of his age should be able to, and raised his hand to signal the attack. All around the room, the clang and hiss of weapons being drawn and wielded could be heard, along with the crackling of spell casting. The eyes of the spirit widened in pleasure as it laughed, a horrible sound, like snakes rustling through dry, dead leaves. The scroll began to glow brightly, and a nimbus of light surrounded the figure, and soul was made flesh, and soon, Venril Sathir stood before them, revived.

Aegisius' hand swung downwards, and Sathir found a massive wave of people rushing at him. Azrael was among those in the first charge, but soon found that he could barely swing his sword with all those people crowding around. Luckily, people were thrown back by the mighty strikes of Sathir's fists, allowing him a chance to strike, but that only served to earn him a cross to the jaw. Though the battle had barely just begun, already their nemesis was weakening. Perhaps he had been weak after his rebirth, but who truly could have withstood such an assault? With a final gasping cry, Venril Sathir was dead once again. As he healed his bruised jaw, Azrael heard some woman say off to the side, "That WAS easy!" and smirked. Trust them to be overconfident, but he too was surprised at how little effort it had taken. "They toldja so, didn't they wench?" Brochk muttered to the woman in such a tone that made Azrael realize it must have been Hillodania, and clambered on top of the corpse, and started rustling through its body. The adventurers gathered around eagerly, all ready to make claim to the treasure that surely awaited them, but low cries of surprise and disappointment arose as Brochk lifted aloft two stones, pulsing in green light. "Where is it? Where is all the treasure?" someone demanded, and shouts of agreement echoed off the walls. In disgust, Brochk tossed one stone to a ranger standing nearby, and the other over his shoulder. It landed near Azrael's feet, and he picked it up, dusted it off, and stuffed it in one of his bags, sure that it might have some worth in the future. Suddenly, the cries of outrage were silenced by a low, long laugh, like that of snakes slithering through dry, dead leaves.

All heads turned to the room in the halls beyond, the very end of the Castle. The laugh grew louder, to a deep, ululating cackle, then fading away, leaving a tense, uneasy stillness. Even Aegisius seemed to be feeling the unease, sweating and trembling. The old man shook himself, and with a hard look in his gray eyes, he drew himself upright, and motioned for the others to follow him, in the sign language used for the raid. Hesitantly, the group wandered off into a situation they had not anticipated. All but one that is. As Azrael heard the laugh, a terrible knowledge grew in his mind . . . that of an adventurer who had faced this peril before, perhaps in a past life . . . In that last room, with braziers glowing brightly, they saw with a shock, that Venril Sathir was floating in the center, very much alive, his eyes glowing with power. {{Idiotsss . . . Thou hast destroyed but a simulacrum, a shadow of my former remains animated for my amusement. Now, thou dost face the real thing, thinkest thou capable of defeating he who had united the myriad tribes of Iksar with solely my magical might? Flee now mortals, or face my renewed fury!}} he rumbled, a grim rictus of a grin etched across his scaly face. "This . . . this is not supposed to happen . . . " Aegisius stammered, shaking for real now. This was the true Sathir, how Azrael knew, he couldn't figure out, but he had to warn the others to expect the Iksar's magic and improved strength, but before he could act . . .

"Get with it old fool, we improvise!" Brochk growled to Aegisius, spat, then leapt at Sathir. With a gesture of contempt, the warlord swung his arm around and smashed the halfling across the face, spinning him around in mid- air, and with a sickening crunch, landed with his neck twisted at an odd angle, his eyes glazed and blank. "Brochk!" Aelyena cried, her voice breaking the stillness as effectively as had Sathir done the druid's neck. Galvanized by that anguished scream, the guild surged forwards. Venril Sathir roared with laughter, and floated forwards, and the battle was joined. The former incarnation they had faced seemed to pale in comparison to that of the true lord necromantic power. This time, Azrael had no trouble finding room to fight, as not only he but many others were hit with the Necromancer's powerful magic. His stomach lurched as disease wracked his frame, but he struggled past it, keeping his Ghoulbane swinging. Many times he felt his life-force being sucked away, something that terrified him for some inexplicable reason, but he could not concentrate on that for now, he had to worry about bringing this demon down! Though hastily organized and ill prepared, the battle began to turn in favor of the guild if for only their sheer numbers attacking, making up for any loss their strategy presented. Sathir's eyes began to fill with fright as it dawned on him for that every attacker he flung away, two replaced him. {{No! I don't want to die again!}} he screeched, but it was too late. Venril Sathir was again, now and forever, dead.

"Whew, that was rough . . . " Azrael gasped, going to one knee briefly in exhaustion, taking only a brief pause to dispel the remnants of the disease spell in his system. Suddenly, his head came up, and he looked around swiftly. "Aelyena?" he called, concerned. If he had been hurt, might she have been? Any reprehension he had felt earlier faded in favor of his worry now. He found her kneeling next to the fallen body of Brochk. The high elven cleric next to her was chanting a resurrection spell, and soon enough, in her arms, Brochk's corpse stiffened, and his head swung back around to its normal position, though with a sickening cracking noise. His pale skin regained some color, and his eyes shot open. Rather than regarding Aelyena's concerned eyes first, he found himself looking up at a disappointed Azrael. {Crap . . . can't we just leave this bastard where he was?} the paladin thought bitterly, looking into those dark, hateful eyes. With a look equally as sour, he stood up, kicked Azrael in the knee, and he tottered off to get his pipe, which had fallen off to the side.

"Ow! That little . . . " Azrael growled, his pride hurt more than his shin. "Easy, hero. We won, didn't we? Come on, I've got to oversee the distribution of the treasure as a senior officer of the guild. You can help me if you want," she told him, laughing, her long blond braid pulled over her shoulder. Looking into her sapphire eyes, Azrael found his cheeks flaming again, and he nodded. She had apparently forgotten about what had happened earlier today in her relief, and he wasn't about to remind her. He again felt himself being drawn to her, and apparently, she to him, for without even realizing it, their faces were now scant inches apart, and growing ever closer. As the space closed, her eyelids grew heavy, then closed, her lips parting slightly. Instinctively Azrael lowered his head to her, but before their lips could meet, Aegisius' horn blew again to announce their victory, as well as the procession to the celebrations outside the castle. Aelyena leapt up, blushed briefly, but as she walked off, she winked at him. Azrael was hauled to his feet and clapped on the back as he was carried off too with the crowd, but his mind was not on that. {Maybe later . . . } he thought with a smile.

Tired after the revelries following the raid, Azrael was sleeping soundly, holding Aelyena in his arms. Most of the campfires had gone out, the only people not yet asleep were the few sentries posted around, and Drakana. The dark elf had returned after the party had ended, carrying dreadful knowledge. While she was out avoiding the rest of the guild, especially Aegisius, she had run into Brochk, who unwittingly revealed his inner anger towards Azrael as he walked along, unaware of her hiding out of sight. She had just returned to find him safe, at least to her knowledge. Though she had attempted to be silent in entering and armoring up, the clank of steel and creaking of leather had disturbed Azrael from his rest. He cracked his eyes open to slits, and watched her prepare uneasily. He still was unsure about her . . . she had not seemed comfortable around him despite most of his attempts to befriend her. He had thought that recently she was opening up to him, but why would she be arming herself in the middle of the night? His breath quickened as she made her way over to where he lay. He carefully starting sliding his arm out towards the bundle where his Ghoulbane lay, trying to make it look like he was just readjusting his position in his sleep. But what she did next was far from hostile.

She placed her Dark Reaver on the ground and moved her yet ungauntleted hand cautiously in front of his mouth, testing his breath, then she extended two fingers and placed them on his neck, pressing lightly. {She's checking my pulse?} Azrael wondered, as she gave a small sigh of relief, and unexpectedly traced his jawline in a gentle caress before picking up her sword and moving to the edge of the camp and started looking out towards the hills in the Dreadlands. {What was that about? She was checking my vitals . . . such as she can, but why? Why wouldn't I be all right?} the paladin thought to himself, watching her head turn to scan all directions. What was even more odd was the fact that she had smiled when she had seen he was ok. And here he thought she didn't like him, but her worried state made him think about what could have disturbed her. He was about to pretend to wake up, but before he could, a thick fog abruptly appeared on the peripherals of his vision. The mist drifted over him swiftly and poured over the unsuspecting Drakana, but she didn't react.

Aware that fog was not a normal occurrence on Norrath except when it was raining, Azrael carefully extricated himself from his sleeping bag, making sure Aelyena was comfortable before getting up and looking around. One thing that surprised him was that his head was unusually clear, despite being near drunk earlier, but it was what else he noticed that disturbed him. He looked out from the camp and saw several still forms. Drolvargs and one brute were standing as if frozen in motion, some even with one foot raised as if to take a next step. Quickly, he checked the members of the guild that he could see in the now omnipresent fog, which strangely only covered a few feet of the ground. They were all still sleeping soundly, chests rising and falling, so nothing seemed wrong, but a chill ran up the human man's spine as he looked further. Though they were still breathing, they weren't moving. Cay had raised a hand to scratch his face in his sleep, but his fingers were now frozen in their pose. A wood elven man a short ways away had stopped motionless midway through rolling over, his arm still flung out to the side.

It was then that he heard it. 'Azrael . . . the Champion . . . come . . . Keeper of the Third Power . . . you are needed . . .' Ethereal voices came to him across the now supernatural still that had settled over the hills. He detected power in their timbre, these were not mortal voices. {The gods beckon, eh?} he thought to himself, as he walked over to where his equipment lay ready. It took only a few minutes to armor himself, but he was now prepared. As an afterthought, he removed the plate covering the Amulet he had hidden in his breastplate, and left the piece of metal on the ground. Those who had summoned him would need to see that he did indeed have the Third Medallion. The seven gold and silver triangles twinkled, though there was little light penetrating the fog. Before he left, he checked on Drakana. She was still staring ahead, eyes alert, but her head was no longer turning. When he waved his hand in front of her face, she gave no response. {Ah well, she's safe at least. Better hurry. Depending on which of the gods these are, they may not be the most patient of folks,} he thought silently as he carefully made his way out, trying not to stumble over any of the slumbering adventurers.

As he cleared the edge of the camp, he became aware of a faint glow coming from the horizon towards the edge of the ice. "That's where they are, I guess . . . How do I know all of this, now that I think about it? Well . . . the Rathe did say that I would receive 'guidance', so I probably shouldn't be worried," Azrael muttered out loud as he began jogging in that direction. As he crunched through the snow-covered hills, he noticed that the giants and yetis normally wandering around even late at night were also frozen. Glad he didn't have to worry about fighting one, he made his way towards that tunnel that would guide him towards the only set of wizard spires and druid circle on the continent. Though it was cold going through the ice tunnel, he could feel it slowly getting warmer, and the mist which filled the beginning part of the twisting path began to dissipate. As he entered the hidden valley, he saw that there was no mist ahead of him, but off to the right, there was a huge funnel of it curling around the side of the mountain and into the tunnel. Peering around to the end of it, he was greeted by the blue-robed form of Karana, the god of storms, or at least an avatar of some sort, as he was no taller than Azrael at the moment. His glowing blue eyes twinkling, Karana waved Azrael on towards a clearing further into the valley, where the paladin could see several more 'people' standing, waiting for him.

{How should you react when you meet gods?} Azrael wondered, but simply nodded to the deity and continued down into the valley. As he got closer, he began to recognize who precisely it was waiting for him. As his eyes swept from left to right, he mentally listed them as if to somehow confirm that he was going to be face to face with them shortly. Brell Serilis stood on the outside of the group, nodding briefly as he held onto an intricate mining pick, a headband containing several lit candles on his head. Next to him was Tunare, the Mother of All, resembling a high elf in appearance, but clad in a long green robe, embroidered in gold, and a fantastic crown upon her brow, ivy tracing its way over her figure. Sitting lazily to her left was Bristlebane, looking like nothing more than a taller than average halfling, filthy but somehow dignified, a mischievous grin on his face. Azrael would have to check his pockets after he left, considering he was here, but he was sure that Quellious, kneeling next to the god of mischief would help prevent that. In the middle of the group were the Marr twins, Erolissi and Mithaniel. As his gaze switched to them, he was struck by how much the goddess resembled Aelyena, but as his eyes traveled to Mithaniel, he saw him watching expectantly. Suspecting what was required, Azrael kneeled to his 'host' deity, and Mithaniel smiled and bowed slightly, a grin looking odd on his bearded face, with his blue eyes shining out from the eyeholes in his helmet. Next was one of the Seven Hammers, red eyes gleaming darkly out from his hood, as he rested his large hammer on the ground. Finally, to his shock, Azrael saw Innoruuk hunched over at the very edge of the circle. The god of hate looked over at his shoulder at the paladin and sneered, but didn't do much more, probably out of respect to the other gods present.

Unsure of what to do next, Azrael simply stood in front of the massed deities, his arms crossed. Tunare was the first to speak, saying, "I assume you are wondering why we called you here, when usually we're uninvolved in your Duty, and for good reason." Mithaniel nodded, and added, "It is a trifle dangerous, considering that the combination of your presence and ours could easily draw a Fallen here, but the slowing mist being sent out by Karana should aid in the secrecy of this meeting." The member of the Tribunal then made a low noise and grumbled, "Get to the point. I have no wish to linger here speaking to this mortal when there is yet justice to be meted out to the guilty." Bristlebane snorted and said, "Never the patient one, eh? I could wait here all night." Serilis shook his head, but began to explain, "We are here because some of our followers have become part of your quest, and to make a request of you and your eventual Companions."

{Companions?} Azrael wondered, confused, but he didn't let them see his uneasiness and replied, "Go on . . . " The beautiful Erolissi was the next to speak, "Our request is that unless the Fallen are close to our domains, that you stay out of the Planes, so as to not draw them to us. You have faced and defeated one already, but there are yet five more, including the Abyssal." Innoruuk interrupted and growled, "You mortals are flooding my plane and that of Thule. Though the rabble haven't made it to the elemental planes, its only a matter of time. When and if they do, stay out! And don't visit Hate or Fear either!" Tunare frowned at the god of hate, and tried to smooth things over. "We don't say this out of disrespect for what you are doing for us, indeed, without you we would be in terrible danger, but just so that you will not have to deal not only with a Fallen at the same time as the creatures inhabiting our natural Planes," she told Azrael, making peaceable gestures. "Very well then, I promise to try and avoid the planes, but, may I ask a question?" Tunare looked surprised, but smiled, and replied, "Yes, what is it you inquire?" Azrael paused momentarily, but then asked, "You mentioned my Companions . . . are you all here because they follow each of you?" Mithaniel responded, "Just so. Tunare, my sister and I, the Tribunal, and even Innoruuk each have a large stake on you and more than one of your Companions, Serilis, Quellious, and Bristlebane have a lesser influence, but they want to see that you protect their servants as well." Azrael looked out to the entrance to the valley and asked, "Karana?" Quellious spoke up softly and told the mortal, "He is here to help us talk to you in private, but he has had dealings with previous Champions and their Companions. Ro, Prexus, Zek, and Nife aren't present, but they have supported champions in the past. Bertoxx and Thule have usually taken no interest in anything but their own welfare, so they are absent as well."

Though much had been answered, Azrael was left with more questions than he had started with. He had the feeling that he was expected to know far more than he did, and wondered why he did not. Now that business was concluded, the gods began leaving, but Tunare stayed. She walked over to him, flowers springing up where her feet touched the ground, and handed him a bundle, which contained a large bound book with one page marked, and a seemingly ordinary looking branch. "What's this?" Azrael asked, surprised at her gift. "Things seem different this time . . . while the others didn't want to mention it, the other reason for this meeting was to make sure you were in control of 'him'," she explained, looking back at the other gods as they either just dissipated on the spot or used the spires to get back to their own realms. "You . . . know? What is he, anyways? Where did Chthon come from?" Azrael asked eagerly, hoping to find some solution to the madman living inside his head. Tunare paused, regarding him, then proclaimed enigmatically, "You'd have to ask your predecessor that question, if you haven't already. To answer your earlier question, what you have is an ancient book of cleric magic dating back to the era when my children still lived in Tunaria, where you first arrived in this world. The branch is from my own Tree of Life. Using the spell I have marked, in conjunction with the limb from that holy tree, you can heal almost any injury. It was used mainly in a time when there was not always a healer you could count on, or to heal injuries done far in the past, like the loss of a limb, or paralysis. To face the Fallen is to risk much, and I fear we have not given each Champion the aid he required, so let this boon aid you should you require such healing that your own magic may not accomplish. But be warned, this spell was intended only for the races of Tunaria and the Combine Empire, those of the darker path would not find it very . . . beneficial."

"I . . . see," Azrael said, flipping open the book to the marked page. There was the spell, along with a list of reagents. He looked up to see Tunare gazing at him with a faint smile on her face. "What is it?" he asked, slightly perturbed at her expression, wondering if he had done or said something funny. "It's nothing," she replied, but her smile grew. Confused, Azrael composed himself and bowed, saying, "Thank you, my goddess, for your generosity. Though may I ask, why have you alone been so familiar and friendly?" Tunare giggled, not the sound you'd expect from a goddess, and told the paladin, "Oh, its just that three of my followers are to be your Companions, a larger number than usual. You've already met two of them, but the third . . . Ahhh, I think she'll be very . . . special to you." "Who?" Azrael asked, not really expecting an answer. But she did not give him one, just a wink that said he'd have to find out for himself, as she turned and walked away to a tree and walked into the wood, fading away in a green flash.

Azrael turned around, and saw that he was now totally alone in the valley. Even Karana had faded, but the mist was still lingering in the tunnel. He knew that he'd have to make it back to the camp before the mist wore off, or else he'd have to deal with the creatures of the night by his lonesome. His trek back to where the Army of the Light was camped was uneventful, but many questions raced through Azrael's mind. He knew there were previous Champions before him, but Companions? From what he had been told, a Champion was the only one capable of banishing a Fallen, but were these Companions to help him somehow? And what did they mean, he'd already defeated one? He could remember no such battle. They had also told him nothing about Chthon, yet they were worried about him. Ask his predecessor about him? How was he to do that? Though Mithaniel was the one he'd had the most contact with before, he was unsure of why Tunare had been so warm with him. Three of his 'Companions' were her worshippers. He had a sneaking suspicion who the two he had met were, but this woman, this third Companion, who was she? Certainly not Aelyena, she had told him she worshipped Erolissi. Erolissi had been amiable to him when they first met, but she seemed oddly quiet at this meeting. Such troubling thoughts, but when he thought about Aelyena, they seemed less important. Soon, he was back at the camp, where the mist still clung to the ground, though it was quickly fading. As quietly as he could, he removed his armor and replaced it back in his pack, being careful to cover up the amulet. He wiped his forehead off from the sweat from the run here, and then looked over at Aelyena. She was still sleeping where he had left her, with a peaceful look on her face. {She does look a lot like the goddess . . . Heh, she doesn't need that to make her divine to me,} he thought to himself as he cooled off a bit before climbing back into the sleeping bag with her. He soon found himself getting drowsy again, but before he went back to sleep, he kissed Aelyena softly on the cheek before closing his eyes. Had he opened them once more, he would have seen her smile in her sleep.