Sorry it has been a while! I am pretty sure there has to be a grammar error somewhere in here, so if you spot one of any kind, please tell me! I've been working on and off on this.

Also to Necromancer and Sorcerer: The Priestesses(sp?) are still there. Those were simply of the "High Council" of Clan Tichondrius. As you said yourself, the clan was pretty large, so there are varying ranks, as you will see in this chapter.

"Cease your murderous acts!" demanded a robed figure on a hill.

The walking mass of terror stood before him in a defiant manner. It itched to taste his blood. It longed to rip his skull straight off his body. Blinded by a deep hatred, the demon had no intentions of submitting to his mystic adversary.

Slowly it advanced, grinning with what some may call a face. There was no sign of flesh on the thing. It seemed merely constructed of metallic armor, awkward chains dangling from niches, and bones and bloody weapons which dangled from the chains as trophies from those who resisted his onslaught.

"If you strike me now, you will lose whatever chance you would have to remain in existence. This realm is not like your old home. You will fade here as a mortal, dying slowly. Only I harbor the key to this small salvation. So, hear my proposition, or may your petty vengeance be for naught!"

Merely the jumbled images of a forgotten past.

Standing aboard the vessel, Dakron foresaw the fall of the division accompanying him.

"(They have no chance. They have entirely no idea what they are fighting against. Vivec has sent his die-hard believers to the meat-grinder. What a waste, Hmph.)"

Suddenly one of the crew called to dock at a nearby port. The squad was to pick up a couple soldiers on the way. "(A few extra to kill off. Perhaps he believes I will save them, redeeming myself?)"

"All aboard!"

The remaining ordinators climbed on the ship, changing posts from missionary work to assault. ("He honestly can't believe I can protect this many…")

"Where is the last one?" inquired the head ordinator.

"He must be late," responded the second in command.

"I'm here! I'm here! Please, let me on!" screamed a very young adventurer.

"I didn't know we were hiring mercenaries, too. Get on quickly, ere we part!"

Dakron was further disgusted. ("By the Gods, this is ludicrous.")

"So you brought us the girl?" questioned Tichondrius.

"Yes, here she is," replied the cloaked figure heading his gang.

"Now where's our pay?" asked another.

Tichondrius laughed as his followers grabbed them and feasted to the very last drop…

Time passed, moving at a snail's pace for the ardent warriors. It mattered not to the dark one. Events would occur in proper order. There was no point in wishing for the inevitable.

"You there," Dakron addressed the mercenary in what seemed to be a menacing tone.

He walked closer to the Imperial. The fearful one's first instinct was to back away, but he was frozen by the terrifying gaze. The dark knight stood mere inches away from the horrified man.

"Do not fight this battle. You will stand no chance," declared Dakron in a whisper that seemed vaguely telepathic.

Soon after, the party had arrived at the docks. It would take a little marching before they confronted their adversaries. As the ordinators began to gather their weapons and armor and organize a battle formation, a strange feeling hit Dakron. He fell to his knees. Then the guardian let out a deep inhuman roar.

"(Contain it! Contain it! Damnation,)" he told himself.

He rose to see his entire company staring at him. Grunting, he simply joined in their ranks, at the back of the party alongside the mercenary.

"What is your name?" whispered Dakron.

"Sir Harris" replied the young fighter.

"Sir? You do not dress like a knight," said Dakron, referring to Harris' leather armor.

"My father was of the occupation. I had planned to join the legion, but wanted to get some training with freelance work," explained Sir Harris.

"You picked the wrong job," commented the dark knight. "Your father didn't simply teach you and allow you to inherit his position?"

"Oh he did, but he also wanted me to work for my strength as well," said the mercenary.

The conversation ended abruptly. They had reached Arkanmathet.

And standing about the now-haunted ruins were soldiers. The foot-soldiers of the Clan Tichondrius. They were mostly armed in bonemold, some glass, bearing silver swords. The dark one stood evaluating his adversaries. They were by far not the best the clan had. No doubt they knew he was coming. They amounted simply to free kills for his own pleasure. His chance to have some fun. Like long ago…

"Enjoy my offering…" whispered a voice in Dakron's head.

Despite the amazing fact that something had penetrated his mind, he remained as still and emotionless as a rock, much unlike the ordinators charging at the undead enemies. Harris began to follow their lead, but Dakron grabbed his shoulder. He remembered his words.

As the locking of maces and swords ringed out, the ordinators were but slightly outnumbered. However, the outcasts of the outcasts were far better at maneuvering than the fiery followers. Familiar with the chinks in their armor, the holy warriors fell quickly, stabbed in vital parts. Harris couldn't take watching them die. He charged angered, drawing his custom-forged sword. One vampire quickly cut his in the stomach, and he fell too. He was barely conscious, but not dead.

"Hmph," grunted Dakron. "How pathetic."

"Indeed, and you're next!" replied one of the undead.

"Do you realize why you were all sent out? You decimated those forces so quickly, it seems odd that your leader would give that many for such an easy job."

"You cannot fool us!" answered another. "We are proof that the Temple nor any clan nor any faction can penetrate our invincible forces!"

"I am neither the Temple, nor clan, nor faction," responded Dakron.

"Then prove it!" yelled three vampires as they charged at the dark knight.

In less than a second the tips of their swords and heads had been severed. They all fell to the ground, and there stood Dakron, bloody dai-katana drawn, grinning with pleasure.

The rest came quickly. One strike fell, severing a limb, then another, tearing two in half. A thrust through the head sent one more to his final death.

But in this position he had left himself open. Five more stabbed, thrusting blades into the dark one at different parts of his figure: through the leg, one in near the heart, another in the left side, two in his arms, and yet another in the neck, all blows penetrating his armor.

Sir Harris watched in horror as his last ally endured such pain. He began to despair, eyes closing slowly…

And what followed before he had given up completely was a crimson vortex of suffering, a hellish might ripping the vampires to mere shreds.

At demonic speed a lethal blur ripped across the mountain terrain to the remaining few vampires. They all faced a quick death by a violent spinning blade wielded by a fierce being.

The dark figure ripped out the blades protruding in his limbs following his massacre, and then licked the blood off his own, with deep enjoyment. But upon realizing what he was becoming, he stopped instantly and held his forehead, eyes bulging at his regression to beast state.

"(I must contain it, or chaos will ensue.)"

He walked slowly over to his wounded friend, and casually dropped a healing potion from a compartment in his armor.

He looked at the ruin itself. On a higher level, a Dark Elven vampire stood, looking down upon him.

As I said earlier, there are probably some grammar errors lingering around somewhere, but I don't know where they are.

Please read, review, and submit! (Yes, you can give me another one Necromancer and Sorcerer)