A/N: School sucks, nothing new.

Witchwolf: Thanks for your compliments! Glad you love the story (at least I've got one!) I like the idea of selling a Darkness scroll in the Underdark...Yeah, the lack of reviews is kind of depressing. Seeing another story with fewer chapters and less words, but with 100 reviews, does that to you. But don't worry. Reviews alone can't stop me (but don't you stop reviewing! It's gonna be winter soon, and feedback feels warm.)

Charlie: There's a fine line between telling too much and telling too little of the story. Glad I've found the balance. As for Valen and Alain… you find friends in the strangest places, don't you?

Reviews are always welcome. I know a good amount of people at least glance at this, (thanks to the hit counter). Feel free to give me something, even if it's only "I like this!" Feedback isn't my bread and butter, but… I am getting kind of hungry.

Chapter 14

Alain and Valen walked to opposite sides of the rocky field, just as they had several mornings before. It was becoming a ritual to them, necessary in its own way. Their sparring served two purposes. First, Alain wanted to try and teach Valen how to use his weapon's Ki at will. Second, it gave Alain a welcome distraction from his worries about Trey, and his duties around the camp. He's surprising me more and more every day, Valen mused, his mind recalling the events of the past two weeks.

They had returned to the camp by means of a strange magical device Alain held. Valen disliked it on sight. It smelled of devilry, more capable of harm than aid. But the young monk had held out the twisted metallic apparatus, and Valen had heard a faint voice speak. The next moment, they had appeared in the Seer's camp.'

There was no time to dwell on Alain's magic, however. The Seer was standing in front of them, her eyes not surprised, but expectant. Valen guessed that she had seen them in one of her visions. That could be the only reason that there were no guards about. If I find out someone's slacking off… heads will roll.

"It is good that you have returned. There is much that has happened," the Seer said calmly, her eyes hovering over Valen with concern, eyeing the slash in his armor. "Valen, what…?"

"It is nothing." Valen dismissed the gash with a careless flick of his hand. "Consider it a parting gift of our newest ally. Please, tell us what has happened."

The Seer nodded. She would get an explanation later. But for now… her eyes turned to Alain, and softened. "Trey has disappeared from the camp."

"I know," Alain said. "I could sense it. Have you heard anything about his whereabouts?"

A shadow passed over the Seer's face. "A group of Drow came to the gates of Lith My'athar a few days ago. They claimed they had came from Zorvak'mur."

"Zorvak'mur?" Alain asked curiously.

"An illithid slaving post," Valen explained. He looked back at the Seer. "How is that possible? Escaped thralls are-"

"Rare, I know, Valen," the Seer interjected gently. The tiefling was obviously concerned with her safety. Strange Drow seeking help were even more rare than an escaped thrall. "But these Drow spoke the truth. Zorvak'mur has been destroyed, they say… with the help of a human monk."

Trey! Alain's eyes lit up. "Where is he? I can't wait to hear how he got there in the first place!"

The Seer shook her head slowly. "He had not returned with the Drow. And to answer your second question… The Drow were told to pass on a message. It was Matron Myrune who gave Trey to the illithids."

"Myrune!" Valen explained, while Alain looked mystified. "How could she do such a thing?"

"It is not uncommon for matrons to threaten an unruly servant with slavery. Most likely, Trey was hit with some sort of teleportation spell. On the day Trey disappeared, he questioned me about the loyalty of our ally. I can only conclude that he found some sort of proof of her treachery."

"We can't let her get away with that," Valen said angrily. "How long did she think she could hide this?"

"Wait a moment, Valen," Alain said quietly. "Let's not do anything too hasty."

"What do you mean, 'wait'?" Valen turned on Alain quickly. "He was your friend! How can you not want to set things right?"

"Trey's fine. Besides, we have a golden opportunity." Alain explained. Both the Seer and Valen stared at him with puzzled looks on their faces, so he went on. "We know that Mae'vir will try to reach out to the Valsharess, and set themselves up as spies in our base. But we know what they are now. So, we can decide what they see."

"I understand now…" Valen said. "By passing false information, we might as well be designing the Valsharess' strategy! Instead of fortifying the ramparts…"

"You could instead say that your leftmost gate is thin, and draw the attack there. Then, you hit the enemy with some well-placed traps."

"A good plan," the Seer said, allowing a smile to light up her features. "It is only right. I have had a vision of you, Alain, leading our troops to victory!"

But to both Valen and the Seer's surprise, Alain burst out laughing. "I'm sorry, but I won't lead your army."

"Why not?" Valen protested. Part of him still resented Alain for how much importance the Seer had placed in him. But he couldn't deny the monk's skill in battle, or the incredible power of Ki, which he had witnessed himself.

Alain shook his head. "I'm not suited to the job. Valen, you be General. You have more experience. I'll be…" he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Tactician! After all, how would your troops trust me, over Valen?"

It was decided. The Seer relented with little protest, too little, and Valen suspected that she had known what would come out of Alain's mouth before he even thought of it. Since that day, Valen had been in charge of drilling the troops. Being the most experienced in battle, he taught the Drow techniques in dealing with any fiendish allies the Valsharess might summon (such as keeping a vial of holy water handy, which was enough to distract a Balor, if nothing else.)

Alain was placed in charge of camp defenses. Whenever officers of the Mae'vir house were present, he would be quick to share the Seer's battle plan. The Valsharess' army would rush to the gate, but the Seer's forces would be waiting in a secret underground passage below the battlefield. When the opponent was grouped in one place, the Seer's army would burst from behind them like a swarm of ants, and pin them between the gates in a pincer movement. The exit to the passageway was located near the leftmost mountain, just a little bit away from the gates. Of course, whoever Alain happened to relate this information always nodded with a serious look on their face and agreed completely, which pleased him.

When they weren't busy with strategy, Alain and Valen tried to spar as often as possible. Alain had insisted that Valen attempt to gain some control over his new ability, and Valen had agreed readily. Anything that could give them an edge in the coming battle sounded good to him.

"You'll have to give in to your demonic self, and concentrate on your weapon, if you want to trigger your "sight." Alain explained beforehand, unusually serious. Valen started, surprised. "Yes, I know I shouldn't be able to know that you resist your fiendish side almost constantly. But I do, so just leave it at that." Alain still hadn't forgotten the sight of Valen's "other," while he was still trapped in the mirror. What if, while trying to help Valen in using his Ki attacks, his fiendish blood got the better of him. What if he began to enjoy it?

No more 'if's.' Valen should know better than anyone that too much of a good thing can be harmful. We don't have to worry.

Valen had steadily gotten better in each of their practices. Now Alain wanted to see how good he was after two weeks of sparring. How quick could he use his newfound power?

Alain bowed slightly to Valen, who mimicked him, before assuming a defensive stance. The familiar, almost psychic, " blink" in his head triggered, and the world grew brighter. Valen's aura was a mix of blue and red, his human and fiendish side, respectably. Now, as he watched, the Ki flickered, dissipated, and blazed even higher, now a greenish color. At the same time, Valen blinked, his once blue eyes now a smoldering crimson. His flail's aura burned brighter in response.

Fast, Alain thought, as the auras began to fade from sight. He's made leaps and bounds in his concentration. Valen charged forward and swung hard from his right. Alain, anticipating the angle, stepped backwards out of range, before moving forward and chopping at Valen's ribs.

Valen recovered quickly from his missed blow, bringing his flail up again in time to block Alain's attack. Clang! Hand met metal, and Alain leapt backwards, rubbing his fingers slightly. He quickly took the offensive, though. With Valen's flail up above his head, the monk rushed in, leading with his shoulder and trying to knock the tiefling off balance. Valen sidestepped him, and Alain turned the charge into a somersault, turning to face Valen again.

Valen was already swooping in, his flail held over his shoulder in a wind-up. He swung hard at the monk's side, but Alain blocked with a palm. Quickly, the weapon master whirled on the spot, using his momentum to attack from Alain's right. This time, Alain blocked the blow with a forearm, just in time.

Valen kept up the attack, pushing the monk back. The two fighters moved intuitively, striking and parrying quicker than lightning. The fight itself wasn't so important to Alain as the strength of Valen's Ki. And every blow seemed to be a little stronger than the next. Each strike took a little more Ki from Alain in order to block it.

Suddenly, Valen faked a swing, before moving in and butting Alain with a shoulder, sending him to the ground. Alain rolled up on his back, and looked up at a triumphant Valen, the head of his flail leaning on his shoulder. Oh no. Not that easy. Alain kicked out with one leg, connecting with Valen's right shin, then hooked his foot around the back of Valen's other leg. The tiefling lost his balance, his expression changing so fast it was comical, and came down in a heap in front of him. Alain pushed himself up with his forearms.

"Well, I think that's enough for right now," Alain said, mock-seriously.

Valen sat up, his eyes still hinting at the smirk that had been on his mouth before. "I would've had you, and you know it. What's wrong? Nervous?"

Alain laughed, standing up, and offered a hand to Valen. "You've got a long way to go before you can compare to me, my horned friend. Practice for another hundred years, and maybe you'll have a chance."

Valen rolled his eyes, taking his hand and getting up. He brushed off the dirt which had collected on his armor unconsciously. "You wouldn't last a hundred hours in the Abyss."

"Probably," Alain agreed. "But I got to say: you've definitely improved. Even adamantine golems couldn't withstand too many of your Ki attacks now."

Valen nodded slowly, his mind already on another set of thoughts. "I don't have too many worries about the battle. I only hope that your friend gets back here in time."

"Don't worry," Alain said, after a slight pause. "I'm sure he's fine." But Valen wasn't so sure. Maybe it was because of that Ki-link thing Alain had mentioned before, but he could definitely sense some unease coming from Alain right now. He was more worried than he let on, and that was disturbing. The fact that he chose to hide this worry was even more distressing. But he chose to let it pass.

"I have no problem using this weapon's Ki. But when you charged it before our fight with Aghaaz, it looked like it hurt you somehow. Why?"

Alain looked happy to answer the question. Anything to get away from thinking about Trey. "Ki is an inward force, not an outward one. Its effects are most obvious on the body, because that is Ki's container. If you try to put the Ki into a different container… it's like trying to squeeze a boulder into a jar. The only reason I was able to do that with your flail is because it carries Ki of its own."

"That's another thing. Why does my flail have an aura? It's not alive, is it?" Valen looked down at his flail, suddenly suspicious.

"I don't think so, though you never can be sure. More likely, it's as a result of the enemies you've fought, and your travel through different planes. Something might have rubbed off. How did you get that flail, anyway?"

"That was given to me," Valen answered, waving a hand as if to dismiss the question. "There was one special enemy I fought, though…"

"War story? Let's hear it." Alain flopped back onto the ground in a sitting position, like a young boy waiting for his bedtime story. Valen laughed at the thought, provoking a curious look from the monk.

"Alright, since you insist. This happened many years ago. It was my first fight in the Abyss… at least, against devils…"

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Time can be compared to a mirror, of sorts. But it is a cruel mirror, a mirror in which your image begins to twist and shift constantly, until you barely recognize what you were in your youth.

If time is a mirror though, then memory is one as well. And though some memories can change shape over time, some remain just as clear as the day the event occurred. For Valen, this memory was the latter.

He, along with some 500 other demons, had been transported to some distant plane called Translexia. Translexia was a barren place, with few inhabitants and even less natural resources. The planet had three suns; when night finally did fall, it only lasted for three minutes. But for some reason, a large legion of devils had been suspected to be in the area.

Of course, Valen didn't care for such things. He was little more than a wind-up soldier, point him in a direction and watch him kill.

Demon met Devil, and the inevitable happened: the battle was joined. As usual, the fight was bloody, unrestrained, and dirty. Pit fiends and balors urged their respective sides on, with a combination of verbal threats, and physical harm, when needed. Valen killed many devils that day, smashing skulls open with ease, and loving every second of it. That was nothing special. He would behave exactly the same, in the countless battles ahead.

What was really special that day, that battle, (even by planar standards) was the creature that wandered on the field. It was a dark gray color all over its body, (the same hue a petrified monk might take, for instance.) It was a quadruped, about the size of a juvenile dragon, though it looked nothing like one. Yes, it had talons. Yes, it had sharp teeth, even a short, thick tail. But it had short, stubby wings on its back, which Valen doubted would allow it to lift into the air. Small eyes squinted out at the world from its face, and small holes on the back of the head passed for ears. Its hide was tough, similar to stone and hard to wound; experts believe that the creature was some sort of earth elemental. But its most distinctive feature was its long, serpentine nose tipped with a point, which wandered this way and that, like a blind man with a cane.

This creature was called an ely'thaxas, or more commonly, the elethax, though Valen did not know it at the time. All Valen knew was that this fearsome predator had been awakened by the din of the field, and had proceeded to attack, slaughtering devils and demons alike.

The elethax is an odd hunter, even by planar standards. Its eyes are weak, along with its hearing, but its roar! That is something else. As Valen watched in fascination (which should never be done in a battle, but perhaps fate saved him) the beast lumbered towards a Balor Lord. Balors are fearsome opponents, but notoriously proud. The Balor raised its flaming sword high, expecting to slice the creature in two with one swipe. WHOOSH! The devil's blade came down with a resounding CRACK on the elethax's backside, but just as quickly, bounced back, repelled. The elethax snorted angrily, its nose lifting towards the Balor like a third eye regarding him, before bellowing an ear-shattering screech. The Balor tensed, then dropped his sword to cover his ringing ears. The elethax's nose whipped forward, deviously quick, plunging into the Balor's chest and puncturing his chest cavity. The Balor bellowed in pain, its entrails spilling from its chest, which the elethax greedily began to shove in its mouth. With a start, Valen realized the obvious. Balors don't have ears!

Several demons and devils rushed forward, momentarily united in their purpose to kill. Destroying a creature strong enough to kill a Balor was the same as killing the Balor yourself, which meant glory, and rewards for one lucky devil/demon. The elethax paused from its kill, just long enough to let out another chilling howl. The planar inhabitants froze on the spot, just as the Balor did. Instead of attacking as it had before however, the elethax sprung forward, past the group, slamming away devils and demons alike with its long nose. In doing so, it ended up close to Valen, who began to creep toward the creature slowly.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"Wait a minute!" Alain interrupted. "You saw what this thing did and still you wanted to kill it?"

"Keep in mind: this was my first battle, and I was little more than a slave at the time. All I cared about was pleasing my master; if I could not, I might as well have been dead. So, risking my life didn't mean so much at the time."

Alain didn't respond, accepting Valen's explanation. He leaned back on his forearms, and nodded.

"I'll continue then…"

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Valen sprang atop the creature, his face turned into a fiendish leer. He swung his flail hard at the creature's neck, but he might as well have been using a plank of wood. The flail rebounded harmlessly, and the elethax snorted in annoyance. Instead of roaring, it used its nose to pluck Valen off its back like a piece of fruit from a tree.

"Hnnh!" Valen grunted, upside-down, as the elethax peered at him curiously. His eyes widened as the elethax's mouth yawned open, revealing a set of crooked, razor-sharp teeth. His fingers pried at the elethax's nose, trying to loosen its grip, but he was inexorably lowered towards that gaping maw. With no other option, Valen swung his flail at the elethax's pink tongue, hoping desperately that he wouldn't lose his weapon in his first battle to this freakish animal. The elethax yowled as the flail connected with its soft, fleshy tongue, and Valen fell with a crash to the ground as it released him. Immediately, he sprang up and retreated, while the elethax spat and sneezed, trying to soothe its bruised tongue.

Sadly, it takes a great deal to make a tiefling give up, once one has made up his mind to do something. Valen swung his flail at the elethax's squinted left eye, hoping to blind it. The metal snapped into the sensitive nerves at base of its eye, and this time the elethax yelped, feeling real pain for the first time in its long life. It swung its long nose instinctively, striking Valen in the side and sending him flying. The tiefling crashed into the ground, feeling a bitter snap as two of his ribs fractured. The elethax sprawled out on the ground, burying its head into the rocks in a vain attempt to relieve its pain. Valen saw that its neck was exposed, and that was all the motivation he needed to swallow his pain and take his feet.

The elethax's neck is its one weak point. But, setting it apart from virtually all other creatures that share this weakness, it takes a great amount of force to damage the neck. Valen knew none of this. The stabbing pain in his left side, combined with the rage boiling inside his chest and the bloodlust of the kill, was enough to draw out the flail's true power.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"What's wrong?" Alain asked. Valen had broken off in the middle of the story, and was now staring fixedly into space, deep in thought. "Forget what happened next?"

"Maybe I did…" Valen replied, more to himself than Alain.

"Huh?"

"I did forget," Valen snapped out of his reverie, looking at Alain again. "I had used Ki- just once, that first battle. I must have forgotten it."

"So what happened next?"

"I killed it, of course," Valen said simply, with a shrug of his broad shoulders. "My swing felt stronger than usual- the Ki, of course- snapped the thing's neck like a batwing."

"…"

"What?"

"Valen…" Alain shook his head sadly. "You need more work on your endings. That was pretty anti-climatic."

"You think you can do better? I 'd like to hear it." Now it was Valen's turn to sit down. Alain sprung to his feet, quick to take the challenge.

"Hmmm… this happened on the surface, some years ago. I know you've never seen the surface, but use your imagination…"

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A few years ago, during our travels, Trey and Alain happened to stumble upon a little village called Breakwood, not too far away from Athlatka. The two had chosen to travel through the country by foot, and they needed to re-supply. But before the monks could leave, the mayor of the town stopped them. He recognized them by their robes as monks of the Way of the Open Palm.

The mayor explained his reasons for stopping them. Breakwood had recently been besieged by a group of orc bandits, from the surrounding wood. These orcs had been raiding their supply carts and injuring their loggers for about two weeks. Breakwood had sent a request for help to Athlatka, but their reply had not yet been received. To make things worse, just a few days before our arrival, the orc bandit-king, Nezzorach, had issued a demand to the mayor: 10,000 gold pieces, or their lives. Breakwood was a modest village, whose economic growth relied on logging. They didn't have the money, and in three days, the orcs would ride to town. The mayor begged the monks anxiously to aid the village in their plight.

There was no need to beg, of course. The Way of the Open Palm demanded that the monks help, and they were happy to oblige. There were several able-bodied men to fight, but there was a shortage of actual weapons; logging doesn't call for maces and swords. All we had were about twenty dull axes, along with whatever else we scrounge up. Armor was almost nonexistent, and of poor quality, mostly leather and a few half-plates. But of course, it didn't matter. After all, Trey and Alain needed neither armor nor weapon.

Breakwood was fairly fortified, considering. Gates (made of wood, of course) surrounded the village, with two main gates as the standard entrances. The village was in the middle of a small clearing in the forest, which meant that the attackers could come from all sides.

The defenders were split into two groups, one for each gate. The rest of the village, all woman and children, were armed with buckets of water and stationed around the perimeter. Fire is always the biggest danger to a logging community. One blazing arrow could finish a town quicker than any war.

In three days, the orcs arrived in the clearing. There were about twenty-five in all. Typical orc arrogance! Their pride swells with their number. Luckily, their equipment wasn't much better than what the town had. Some orcs carried bows. Others carried blades. The leader, Nezzorach, wore an iron helm decorated with the skull of a bear.

A herald detached himself from the main company and ran up to the village gates, which were closed. "Send out the gold!" the herald cried in a screechy tone that hurt Alain's ears. "Or we'll come in and take it!"

There was no reply from the village towers. But, just as planned, two soldiers opened the gates wide, carefully staying out of sight. The horde of orcs began to rush forward, eager, but Nezzorach stayed the crowd with a shout. He feared an ambush, or some sort of trick. They were used to getting their way quickly, but it had never been done like this.

Trey and Alain, along with some men, had been hiding back in the glade outside the village, watching from the trees. Now, simultaneously, the two groups left the woods, charging the group of orcs in a pincer movement, hoping to catch them in the middle. The orcs outnumbered their attackers, and if they had met the men in close combat, then the battle would have turned for the worse. But Nezzorach had been first confused by the opening gates, and now surprised by the ambush of men from the woods. Suddenly, the open gates seemed less foreboding and more welcoming. Foolishly, he urged his troops onward, to the relative safety of the village.

The orcs ran on into the village, surprisingly quick, and slammed the gates behind them. To their surprise and horror, however, the men of the village, who sprang from behind every house and building, met them. By now, Nezzorach was thoroughly confused. This was his second bad move. If he had attacked here, he would have had a good chance of driving the men back, and the village would have been in real danger. Instead, he ordered a retreat, and the group of marauders ran past the men towards the other gate. Of course, by the time they reached the other gate, they found Trey, Alain, and the ambushers. And so, the raiders found themselves in the pincer movement again: men behind, men ahead, and women and children safely away from the fight.

Of course, the orcs were still formidable. Nezzorach, enraged, bellowed "Gruz'nak! Attack!" Orc soldiers leapt forward to do battle with the loggers, while orc sharpshooters fired into the attackers. Trey moved to deflect the projectiles, protecting our men from the worst of the attack, while Alain moved to confront the warriors.

An orc pulled a short sword of dubious quality from his sheath and stabbed at Alain, hoping to kill him quickly and moved on. Alain sidestepped, warned by his opponent's threatening aura, and chopped down on the bandit's arm, knocking the sword from his grasp. Another beast attacked from behind, but Trey was already there. With an almost relaxed swipe, he knocked the blade from the orc's hands, shattering the blade in the process. Trey wiped the shards of iron from his knuckles coolly, before driving a fist in the orc's nose with the force of a warhammer. The orc went down with a grunt, blood streaming from his broken nose. A logger swung his axe into the back of the orc Alain had been fighting, and this marauder fell, much more noisily.

An orc archer was taking aim at a swarthy logger, busy struggling with an orc. Trey spotted the potential sniper, and instantly went for his shurikens. He was nearly too late. As he looked up, the orc loosed his deadly missile. Quick as lightning, Trey's hand flicked out, moving of its accord. There was a harsh SNAP as the arrow was knocked out of the air by a flying shuriken, inches away from its mark. A second later, another shuriken struck home in the soft flesh of the archer's neck. The logger who had been its target gave Trey a grateful grin, and was nearly run through by the orc he had been fighting.

The people of Breakwood had been afraid at first; daunted at the task of resisting the orcs. But now, with their lives (and the lives of their families) on the line, righteous anger replaced that fear. Driven into a corner, the townspeople were fighting with relentless vigor, and startling ferocity.

But a desperate opponent is the most dangerous to fight. As the orcs' numbers thinned, Nezzorach, who had yet to enter the fight, roared in anger. Grasping an enormous double-axe in his hands, he charged into battle like a berserker, wounding two men at once and killing a third. Trey slapped Alain's arm with a hand urgently, motioning towards the bandit-king. The two were so in synch that words were not needed to convey understanding. If the leader is allowed to go on like this, and rally his troops, the orcs will escape. Victory is not assured, but there will be less of a chance if they get away.

The monks rushed the king as one, side by side. Nezzorach whipped around, quick as a snake, and swung the end of his axe at them. Alain concentrated, summoning his Ki, and caught the blade with both hands, pinning it mid-air. Trey kept moving, hitting Nezzorach in the lower belly with his right knee. The raider-king was wearing armor, but it might has well have been cotton if you're using Ki. Nezzorach wheezed, but didn't loosen his grip on the weapon. Instead, he pulled the axe away from Alain, reversing his momentum and trying to behead the two monks. Alain threw himself to the ground, but he needn't have worried. With a cry, Trey had lashed out, snapping the double-headed axe down the middle with a fist. The broken end of the axe went flying away, coming to rest close to Alain's head.

Nezzorach stared blankly at then broken half of his double-axe, unbelieving. Trey watched him warily, ready to attack again if need be. But the orc had had enough. He was not used to all this excitement. All he had wanted was the gold, then the pure joy in reneging on his deal and destroying the village. Now look: troops scattered, axe broken, humiliation sure to follow him as long he stayed in this forest. "Gruz'nush sha'yth haruk!" he cried, before tossing his helmet to the ground and making a break past the fighting men towards the forest. The other orcs, their courage waning at seeing their leader turning tail, quickly followed suit. Before long, only the sound of retreating footsteps and cheering voices could be heard throughout the forest.

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"And so it is said: the perfect victory is achieved without violence," Alain concluded.

Valen grunted in assent, despite himself. "I have to admit: that was a fairly good story."

"Only fairly?"

"Don't push your luck."

"Hmm, I'll take what I can get. Two out of three?"

Valen's only answer was a ferocious grin. In minutes, the two were sparring yet again.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"You're right, Delion: this place is des'tai."

"Yeah, you don't have to- look out, Trey!" Delion cried, as the two reached the third floor. Trey was looking over his shoulder at the Drow, and hadn't noticed the Doom Knight looming over him in the dimly lit antechamber. Delion threw himself forward, already loosing his swords from his belt.

Trey turned about quickly, alarmed. The ring of metal on metal echoed down the stairway as Delion parried a blow from the Knight's greatsword. The vibration ran down his blades into his arms like a tuning fork; it was taking all his strength just to hold his blade there! Delion cursed mentally

(faer'red!)

resisting the urge to shake his head ever so slightly, where a drop of sweat threatened to enter his eye.

"Move back, Trey!" he grunted, as he called upon the natural powers of his race. A sphere of perfect blackness fell over the two swordsmen as Trey retreated to a safe distance. Delion exhaled in relief, his eyes shifting to a indigo color. Now he was in his element while his opponent was in the dark (literally). He pushed off hard, breaking the sword-lock and sliding back into the shadows.

He circled the Knight slowly, his footsteps barely audible. The Doom Knight stayed perfectly still, keeping his sword held aloft in front of him, as rigid as a statue. No way he can hear me, Delion thought confidently, and lunged in with both blades at a vulnerable crack in the Knight's armor. To his surprise, the Knight pivoted on heel and parried the blow perfectly, sweeping Delion's short swords to the side with a swing of his blade before lunging, aiming for Delion's exposed midsection. Delion just barely recovered in time, leaning to his right side just out of the blade's path and nearly falling to the ground. Before the Knight could attempt another attack, Delion leapt back out of range. Incredible! How did he…

Then, he saw the reason for the Knight's seemingly miraculous counterattack. The Knight turned to face him, and Delion could see the purplish gleam in his eyes. Not perfect hearing, or a mistake of mine,Delion thought. He has darkvision too. Tried to bait me into attacking him, so he could finish me off while I was surprised.

Armed with his knowledge, the Drow no longer needed to worry about his noise. He struck again with a right-hand sweep of his sword. The Knight blocked the blow expertly and lunged again, trying to pierce the dark elf's shoulder. But Delion recognized the tactic and parried the blow with his left blade an inch before his shoulder bone.

For Trey, the experience was nerve-racking. All he could see was darkness, and all he could hear were the discordant clashes of steel and the grunts of effort from the two opponents. But he dared not make a sound, lest Delion be distracted from the battle. Why did he do that? In that darkness, I can't help at all! He thought angrily. What if that was the whole point? a small voice from the back of his mind said. He could ignore the voice, but not the doubts it had arose.

Delion had no time to think. The Doom Knight must have been the reanimated corpse of a skilled swordsman, because this was undoubtedly the toughest fight of his life. He was pushed to his limits, striking, parrying, and countering as quick as he could blink, and sweating with exertion. The Knight wasn't pulling any punches though. He was working Delion backward, maneuvering the Drow towards the stairs through a succession of lunges, cross-swipes, and footwork. Despite his efforts, Delion knew that they were too evenly matched. Worse, by using the Darkness spell, he had denied his only ally.

The Doom Knight rushed forward suddenly, knocking Delion's blade aside and smashing into the Drow with his shoulder blade and knocking him backwards. Delion cried out in surprise, stepping back reflexively and teetering on the edge of the top step of the stairway. I'm going to fall!

"Trey!" Delion cried, with just a hint of panic. As he spoke, his mind relaxed, unconsciously releasing the Darkness spell that had been effect. Both the Knight, poised to strike, and Delion, poised to fall, were thrown into harsh relief before Trey's straining eyes. The Drow swordsman finally lost his balance and fell backward, crashing onto the steps, but (thankfully) not continuing to roll all the way down to the bottom.

But as the Doom Knight lunged forward, steeling himself for the kill, Trey was there, deflecting the blow with an outstretched palm. Delion quickly regained his footing, standing up with no trace of embarrassment. He had a new found respect of his enemy, even if it was undead. There is no denying skill.

Now the Doom Knight was put to his paces, as the combined might of Trey and Delion washed over him like a tidal wave. As soon as he blocked a swing from one of Delion's blades, Trey moved in to block his swing with one of his gleaming bracers. When he turned his blade on the monk, the Drow was there, his blades like a miniature hurricane. At last, Trey trapped the Knight's blade between his palms, giving Delion time to shove a blade into the undead's throat. The ancient warrior collapsed to the ground, still clutching his weapon. Delion wiped the sweat out of his eyes with a hand and sighed heavily.

"And that was just his guard," Trey said, turning to the door and listening intently for any sounds of movement inside. Sodalis was just beyond, they hoped. Obviously, he would have some warning that they were approaching; they hadn't bothered to fight with the Knight quietly. Delion had just stepped up behind him when a hand seized his ankle with a grip of iron. The two turned around to see the Knight, his black eyes gleaming with silver in his skull and a gaping hole in his neck, looking up at them.

The warriors moved quickly and decisively, independent and yet sharing the same plan. Delion's sword arm shot out, and in one fluid swipe sliced off the Knight's arm. The hand squeezed a second longer before falling to the ground like a dead spider. Trey pivoted on the spot, gathering his Ki in the center of his right foot, and punted the Knight's head right off of his shoulders, like a child playing a game of kickball. His foot hooked under the Knight's chin, parting sinew and muscle with an audible SNAP. The head flew down the stairs into the darkness below. Delion looked at Trey with a mixture of disgust and awe. Trey had told him a bit about his fighting style, but he had no idea that that was possible. How strong did you have to be to decapitate a man with your bare… foot?

The first room behind the door was large and empty. Bookcases lined the far wall, filled with undecipherable books, and the air smelled like burning flesh and pig dung. Delion cracked open a red book titled "The Book of V'ix," but quickly closed it again. The text was alien to him, and seemed to swim on the page, giving him a headache. Vials filled with strange, murky liquids covered the top of a nearby desk, which was stationed close to a small cell. Inside the cell was a deformed skeleton, with an arm growing awkwardly out its skull and several of the bones were missing. The remaining structure was stained with a reddish liquid, which seemed to have eaten holes into the marrow.

"He's experimenting with humans?" Trey asked aloud, unable to tear his eyes away from the misshapen carcass.

"Or Drow," Delion corrected. "I don't know why they would, but… we've got to put an end to it." Trey nodded in assent. If there was any doubts left in his mind, the skeleton definitely erased them. Whatever other crimes this unholy priesthood may have committed against Cordigan and the others, Trey did not know. But what kind of priests take prisoners? Or was this to be my fate? He shuddered, even though the room was stiflingly warm.

A few minutes later, he discovered the reason for the strange warmth. Delion crossed the room cautiously, fearing some hidden trap, and opened the door to an adjoining room. But he had no sooner pulled the metal door open than there was a great whooshing sound from the next room and a harsh intake of air. The Drow reacted instinctively, throwing himself out of the line of fire, just before a explosion of fire erupted, the backdraft escaping out of the open door in a rush of flame. The door slammed shut with almost comical speed.

"Delayed fire trap," Delion explained, as he got to his feet. "The priest must have prepared for visitors. The good thing is, I don't think it will reset."

"But Sodalis definitely knows we're here. He's probably preparing worst things." Trey said, musing.

"Then let's not give him the chance!" Delion cried, approaching the door again.

"Wait a second!" Trey said, extending a hand, and Delion looked at him confused. "At least let me go first. These bracers," he tapped the small silver bracers around his wrists together twice, "give me a little protection against spells. If he throws another spell at us, I've got a better chance of resisting it."

"But I've got a better chance of avoiding it," Delion argued. "I've handled my share of wizards. Vampire wizards shouldn't be too different."

"Fine, fine!" Trey said, irritable. "We'll both go on together, let's just go!"

Shooting dirty looks at each other, the two opened the door and proceeded down the corridor. The hall was full of cobwebs, which they pushed past with no trouble, and at the end of the hall was a similar door. When they reached it, Delion stopped Trey from passing through.

"Hang on- trapped door." Delion stepped in front of Trey, kneeling down in front of the door and unsheathing one of his short swords. Delicately, he felt along near the bottom of the door, until, as if following some hidden sign, he leaned forward and sliced through something. When he stood up, Trey saw that a hidden wire in front of the door had been cut. The wire had been cleverly painted black, so as to better conceal it in the dark. Close. Ki wouldn't have helped me at all. Delion stood, sheathing his blade, and pushed the door open.

The room was similar in design to the previous one, except for two gargoyles perched forbiddingly near the exit. As they stepped into the room, the door closed shut behind them with a clicking sound. Trey turned the knob experimentally. Locked.

"Looks like we won't be going back that way," Delion said, tapping the door. "This one's a little too sturdy to knock down."

"And vhy vould you vant to leave?" questioned a voice behind them. The two whirled about, suddenly aware of a presence in the room, seeming to fill every corner of the room like frost on a windowpane. Sodalis stepped out from thin air, holding a strange-looking stave with a wyrmling's head attached to the top. The decapitated animal head somehow was alive, its tongue tasting the air and its horrible glassy eyes spinning. Sodalis grinned, his elongated canines causing his voice to sound different. Harsher, with an accent. "No one ever leaves my Church."

"Church!" Delion scoffed, spitting on the stone floor in defiance. "Faith is a choice, not a chain. If you're a priest, why do you need cells? Aren't your sermons enough?"

"The path of Vix'thra is not fit for mere mortals to tread!" Sodalis replied icily, and the wyrmling head hissed. "Becoming truly vorthy requires extra…aid. Some vere more villing than others."

"I don't believe any of them were willing. Not when they saw how you were playing with those bones back in that other room."

"That vas necessary!" Sodalis bellowed, and Trey saw the canines in his mouth grow another inch. "Some of my clergy reacted differently to my…treatment."

"Treatment? You mean, sucking the blood out of them!" Delion cried, and Trey tensed. Why is he getting so worked up? Is it a strategy, or is he really upset?

"I don't hoff to explain myself to you! Die, heretics!" Sodalis screamed, pointing a finger at Delion. A thin ray of light lanced out from the vampire's finger, but Delion was too quick. He crouched low, and the ray of negative energy collided harmlessly into the far wall.

"Split up!" Trey shouted, running to his right, hoping to draw Sodalis' attention. Delion went left, drawing his short swords, his mouth twisted into a snarl. Sodalis' eyes flicked quickly from left to right, unsure of which target to attack. Choosing Delion as the bigger threat, he leveled his staff at the Drow, muttering words of evocation rapidly. The wyrmling head atop the staff hissed, and a beam of crimson light shot out from the wand itself. But just as Sodalis fired the spell, one of Trey's shurikens nicked his shoulder, ripping his fine robes and throwing off his aim. The curse missed Delion by an inch, thundering into a stone pillar and dissipating. Sodalis hissed in disappointment, turning to Trey. But just as the vampire began to muster the concentration for another spell, Delion attacked, sliding his blade easily into Sodalis' left lung.

"Easy!" Delion crowed in victory, but Trey was struck with a sudden sense of foreboding: Sodalis hadn't sagged in defeat; he looked almost pleased. The next moment, a bright circle of red light flared around the two combatants. Sodalis felt no ill effects, only a strengthening of his undead spirit. Delion, on the other hand, reeled backwards, his head spinning and his breath catching in his throat. It felt like an iron band had just closed around his neck. Sodalis turned, pulling the sword out his back absently, and swung his staff expertly. There was a sharp CRACK as the butt of the staff collided with Delion's chin. The Drow fell onto his back, flat on the floor like a stone. Sodalis calmly raised his stave high, which took on a reddish glow.

"Delion!" Trey cried, trying to warn the Drow. But he was too late; Delion couldn't have moved if he wanted to. An ethereal light in the shape of a huge grasping hand reached from out of nowhere, squeezing Delion in its grip. There was no physical pain, but Delion paled visibly. There was a horrible darkness in his head, and all of the strength in his body seemed to have been sapped away. The whites of his eyes rolled backwards, the last sight before he blacked out was Sodalis, grinning down at him.

Sodalis didn't move to finish off the fallen Drow, though. Before Trey could reach him, the vampire fled, running into the next room like an ambushed deer. Trey bent down next to Delion, checking for a heartbeat. Still alive… steady heartbeat! But he looks so… Delion's vital signs were fine, but he looked every inch a corpse.

He must be cursed… Damn, this is bad. The monk retrieved Delion's blade, some of the vampire's congealed blood still on the steel, and set it beside him. Maybe Sodalis has something I can use to heal him. But how do I catch him?

The answer came to him suddenly. He closed his eyes, concentrating and taking slow, deep breaths, trying to gather all of his Ki into himself. Then he exhaled slowly, pushing all his Ki through his pores, emptying his body like a pitcher of water. He opened his eyes and blinked, feeling a little exhilarated. The second great technique: Vo-Ki.

He bent low, stretching out both his legs systematically, his eyes locked on the figure in the next room. Sodalis was attempting to lure him into a trap. It didn't take the village idiot to suspect the gargoyles near the door of being trapped. Without Delion, there was no way to be sure. But if he didn't pursue the undead wizard, then Delion could die.

I'll be back, Delion. He promised, looking down at the graying face of the Drow. He barely knew me, and he chose to help me. Is this what he gets? I won't allow it. I can't allow it.

Trey began to run forward, charging towards the exit. The effect of Vo-Ki was immediate and dramatic. Trey was pretty quick for a man his age, but his speed, through Vo-Ki, was heightened to that of the fastest stallions. His legs pumped like pistons, but his footsteps made as much as sound as a feather falling on stone. As he passed by the gargoyles, he heard a small click! from above him. Instinctively, Trey ducked low, not even slowing down. He was just in time to avoid being sliced in two by thick blades, which jutted out from the upper half of the doorway like dragon teeth.

Such speed! That's no ordinary human. Sodalis quickly recovered from his surprise at seeing his trap fail in catching his intended prey. He began murmuring incantations under his breath, his staff waving hypnotically. But when a bolt of lightning shot out from the tip of the wand, Trey was already out of the way.

"Too slow!" Trey taunted, leaping over a ray of negative energy. The monk turned on his heel, coming directly at the vampire, preparing to strike him down. But when his fist lashed out to attack, he only met air. Sodalis had disappeared in a cloud of white smoke just before impact, and reappeared on the other side of the room. The undead hurled magical daggers of frost at the monk, but Trey rolled to the side, sensing the attack.

Twice more he tried to attack Sodalis. But each time, just before he could hit him, Sodalis would teleport away to a different spot. Vo-Ki was a technique focusing on speed, unlike Ba-Ki, which focused on strength. But they were similar in that they required a great amount of Ki and focus to maintain, and Trey could feel his flagging. He's too fast. I've got one more shot…

Trey stopped short, breathing hard, desperation creating a plan on the spot, and dug a hand into his bag of holding on his belt. Sodalis stopped in the middle of his spell, thinking that his opponent had given up.

"Too vast for you?" Sodalis gloated. " Now you can see the true power that comes with vorshipping Vix'thra! It's not too late to change your mind, you know. Pervaps you vill be viser than your Drow friend."

The human didn't reply, but Sodalis saw his something in his eyes harden. This one would resist until the end; he would not see the light. Such a shame. Sodalis thought. These two did defeat my personal guard. They'll make an excellent gift to the Valsharess. Perhaps that will keep her from complaining over the lack of undead in her ranks. For a while, anyhow.

"Very well. Come then, see the power of Vix'thra!" Sodalis challenged. Already, he was mentally reciting the words of activation for another spell. The monk charged forward again, so fast that it was difficult for the vampire's eyes to keep up. But he was immortal, and his powers far exceeded that of a lowly human.

The monk faked left, then stepped smoothly to the right, waiting for his spell. It was no matter. I've got you! Vaxerai! He twirled his staff in a quick circle, before pointing it at the spot the monk would end up. And that was when it happened. The monk raised a hand that he had been hiding behind his back while he had ran. Sodalis recognized the item as a shuriken, but it was too late to do anything about it. The projectile was a silver blur as it flew through the air, almost perfect in its flight, until it sliced through the wyrmling head on the staff cleanly.

Trey grinned triumphantly, allowing his Ki to flow back into his body. "That was for my Drow friend. May you never stain the face of this earth again."

Oh…Sodalis thought, but that was as far as he got. The wyrmling head dropped to the floor like a limp rag, the necromantic spells keeping it alive unwinding. The staff head, exposed, sparked and sputtered like the fuse of a firecracker. The wyrmling head served to augment and direct whatever spell the user cast. Without the head, there was no place for the magic to exit. With no other place to go, the spell rebounded on the caster and imploded, shattering the staff in a blast of light and arcane flame.

Trey threw himself to the ground, and it was lucky he did. The resulting blast of light might have blinded him otherwise. But even over the cacophony of noise from the magical blast, he could hear the sound of Sodalis' high, echoing scream of pain. The spell was burning hair, shattering bone, warping the features of his face… it must have been agonizing beyond imagination.

Finally, the explosions ended, leaving his eardrums rattled and ringing. He raised his eyes cautiously, not knowing what to expect. A scorch mark in the shape of a stick was all that remained of the staff. And Sodalis…

Sodalis was gone. All that remained of him were the clothes he had been wearing, and a small silver key. The latter Trey pocketed without a second thought. The robes should have been incinerated in the blast. But instead… It was as if he had teleported right out of his clothes. Like he had just…

Gone up in smoke.

There was no time to ponder on the matter though. If Sodalis survived, then he would take him down again. He had to find a way to help Delion, and swiftly.

Trey searched the room in a frenzy, pulling thick manuscripts off of the bookcases and rummaging through desk cabinets. Finally, he came up with a tattered, but useable lesser restoration spell. The writing on the scroll was faded, and stained with a substance Trey didn't care to think about. He shoved it into his pocket and sprinted back the way he came.

"I'm back, Delion!" Trey cried, as he entered the room swiftly and came to Delion's side. "Lucky for you-" He cut off in midsentence, horrified by what he was seeing.

Delion looked nothing like the healthy, tattooed Drow he had first met. His skin had taken the gaunt, sallow look of a sickly man on his deathbed. The eyes that rolled up to his face were blank and bloodshot. He suddenly looked very small, and very weak. Even his aura had taken on a black-gray cast the color of pitch. Still alive, barely.

Trey didn't waste any more breath on comfort. Immediately, he pulled the scroll from his pocket and began to recite, slowly and carefully. He couldn't afford to make a mistake. His heart was pounding in his ears, threatening to come flying out of after every beat.

"…Resis el garai!" Trey finished, and stood back to watch the effects. There was no flash of light, or puff of smoke, but the color visibly returned to Delion's face. His skin no longer seemed so loose and wan, his eyes no longer so red and veined. Yet, even as Delion shakily stood up, refusing Trey's arm, it was obvious that he was not well.

"Trey," Delion rasped, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I can still feel something… working through me. I think…"

"Don't say it." Trey said, picking up one of Delion's blades and handing it to him. The Drow absently sheathed the sword, his heart not really in it. Trey had hushed him, but that didn't hide the truth. The spell Sodalis had cast upon him had a second effect, working even though he was alive.

He could feel himself becoming one of them. The vampires.

Hope you enjoyed it. This one took a while, but it's all good.