Naramira grimaced as she rolled the zombie's corpse onto its back, careful not to let any of the gory bits touch her new green silken robe. It had cost quite a few platinum pieces and, although it was perhaps a little indecently tight across the hips and bodice, she loved every inch of it. She finally thought she might look just a little bit like one of those great coercers from Master Jusathorn's tales. And now that she had also attained the fifth spell circle, she felt every inch the grand enchantress too. But even though she now looked and felt the part, she wondered if anyone from those tales ever had to rifle through a zombie's pockets while the hot desert wind blew sand down their cleavage. 'Oh well, even enchanters have to make a living somehow,' she thought as she pocketed twenty silver pieces.
She wiped the sweat from her brow and looked up at the sun beating relentlessly down upon the Oasis of Marr. Her gaze wandered to where the moon was also visible in the clear blue sky. 'Luclin, as it's called these days,' she mused. 'And somewhere up there Jaldore and Lyise are keeping the new settlements safe from bandits in a place called Paludal.' She frowned at the unfamiliar word. The thought of adventuring on the moon was very strange to her. She couldn't even begin to imagine what it must be like.
An undead cackle was all warning she had before she fell to the ground with a cry of pain that turned into a wheezing gasp for breath, the dry bones skeleton's rusty shiv still embedded in her back where it had punctured one of her lungs. Jabober sprang to life at her side, the animated daggers ardently trying to protect their mistress who could feel herself slowly dying, her life's blood seeping into the sand as if trying to quench its insatiable thirst.
The skeleton clattered to the ground in a pile of bones, but Naramira hardly noticed. Her vision was starting to blur and the world was spinning around her. Through the nausea, she could make out an indistinct figure silhouetted against the sun. She knew the desert heat could cause hallucinations, so she was doubly surprised to hear the figure reciting words in an unfamiliar language. The pain as the shiv was wrenched from her body made her black out and she knew no more.
ooooooooooooooooooooo
Naramira awoke feeling a little groggy, but otherwise remarkably healthy. She sat up and realised she was still lying in the sand where she had fallen, Jabober hovering protectively over her. A glance at the sky confirmed that the sun was still pretty much in the same place, so she couldn't have been unconscious for too long. There was no one else in sight, however.
'Could I have imagined it?' she wondered. Then she noticed the pile of bones lying at her feet. She jumped up and started looking for tracks in the sand. 'If I hurry, perhaps I can find whoever had healed me and thank him.' She had no idea who had saved her, but for some reason she had a vague sense of purple when she tried to remember what he had looked like. 'Probably a touch too much sun…'
Although there were no footprints in the sand, her search didn't take very long. Just as she was about to climb up the second sand dune she heard a scuffle and an inhuman screeching. Calves aching from exertion, she rushed to the top of the dune and stumbled headlong into the fight.
A figure in purple plate armour was surrounded by five or six gigantic dune spiders, the venom from their fangs sizzling as it dropped on the hot desert sand. Even though the man was putting up a good fight, his iron morning-star whistling as he kept the arachnids at bay, Naramira knew it was only a matter of time before one of them managed to penetrate his defences. She could hear the man invoking his power in a strange archaic language, but his spells did not seem to have much visible effect on his attackers.
The enchantress took a deep breath, then started mesmerising the spiders one by one. Soon her mind was filled with their cries and she had to concentrate to keep from losing focus. As purple rings of magic surrounded each arachnid under her control, the man shifted his target and, like a seasoned fighter, concentrated on killing the spiders as she freed them. It wasn't long before the last one fell to the ground, its dying shriek cut short as the spiked club crushed its skull.
"I didn't need your help, woman," the man said as he bent down and wiped his morning-star clean.
Naramira blinked in surprise. Not quite the response she had expected. She was about to retort when surprise snatched the words from her mouth. The man had taken off his gauntlets and she watched with growing horror as he removed his helmet and wiped the sweat from his brow. His straight black hair fell down to his waist, but what was most disturbing was his dark indigo skin and the purple eyes that watched her appalled expression with growing humour.
"But I'll admit I knew you would come in handy when I healed you."
Naramira could feel the blood draining from her face. "Who… who do you worship?" she stammered, dreading the answer she knew was coming.
The dark-elf smiled viciously, enjoying her discomfort. "I serve the Prince of Hate. His power flows through my veins."
Her knees buckling beneath her, it was almost all the enchantress could do to keep her composure. She had been healed by the power of Innoruuk! Her head spinning with revulsion, she cast a shield upon herself and reached for her dirk.
The dark-elf immediately raised his morning-star, his eyes suddenly wary. "You have nothing to fear from me, human," he said through clenched teeth. "If I wanted you dead I would have left you to die by the hands of that skeleton."
"Perhaps," Naramira replied. "But now that I know what you are, how can I possibly let you live?" A red glow emanated from her hands as she prepared to assail his mind with a Sanity Warp.
"Wait!" her enemy shouted, his eyes widening in fear just as she realised the earth was trembling beneath her feet. A huge shadow loomed over her, blocking the blistering sun's heat. She risked turning her back to the dark-elf and gaped in awe at the sand giant facing her.
"Cazel smash!" it bellowed as it lifted its foot.
"Run!" the dark-elf shouted. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of reach just as the giant's enormous foot stomped down where she had stood not seconds before.
With the sounds of the sand giant's frustrated roar ringing in their ears, the two unlikely allies ran across the dunes. Naramira's thoughts were in a turmoil. Twice the dark-elf had saved her life now. She didn't know what to make of him. He was undoubtedly evil, he worshipped Innoruuk, for Marr's sake, and yet he was unlike anything she had ever heard or experienced of his race before. As a follower of the Goddess of Love, she was honour bound to rid Norrath of his evil kind, but somehow, she wasn't quite sure if this particular dark-elf deserved it. It was a puzzle that she didn't have the answer to as yet.
A cluster of tents was visible in the distance. The dark-elf beckoned to her and said: "Come, let's see if we can impose upon their hospitality for a drink of water." They were no longer running, the sand giant a long-forgotten speck in the distance, but were wearily trudging ahead, keeping a respectable distance from each other, eyes warily watching for any suspicious movement.
The enchantress followed willingly. She was hot, she was tired and dusty and she wanted nothing more than to sit down and quench her thirst. Perhaps these people would even be so kind as to offer some shade as well.
With these pleasant thoughts now foremost in her mind, it came as a shock when they were met with drawn swords and sombre expressions as they staggered into the camp. Naramira grudgingly put her hands in the air, a quick headcount confirming that the two adventurers were outnumbered by the grim group of men and women surrounding them.
A leather-faced woman armed with a notched scimitar came forward and took the dirk from its sheath on Naramira's belt. She looked significantly at the animated daggers floating by the enchantress' side, but Naramira only shrugged innocently and the woman decided to ignore them. She tied the enchantress' hands behind her back and Naramira winced as the rope bit into her flesh. She heard the dark-elf protest as he received similar treatment from a man with a wicked-looking scar across his left eye.
"We only wanted some water," he explained as he was shoved roughly to the ground.
"A likely story," a burly man said as he pushed his way to the centre of the ring of warriors. He strode arrogantly towards the two captives and, without a moment's hesitation, viciously kicked the dark-elf in his side. "Who sent you?" he demanded roughly.
Naramira eyed their captors. They were a mismatched group of people – humans, half-elves, and even a small ogre was glaring at them from the back. Their weapons showed signs of regular use and their leather armour was patched and well-worn. Most of them had scars and here and there an eye or a tooth was missing. This was a group of fighters, but they were not an organised contingent from Freeport, since neither the Militia nor the Truth banners were flying in their camp.
"Bandits," Naramira said out loud as the realisation suddenly dawned on her.
The man turned towards her and struck her across the face. "What do you know?" he shouted.
Jabober sprang to life at her side. With a ferocity born from its fervent desire to protect its mistress, the two daggers attacked her assailant, hacking and slashing with magical precision at the man's face and arms. All hell broke loose as the rest of the bandits came to their leader's defence.
"Human," the dark-elf said urgently. Naramira turned to see him shaking a knife out from inside one of his greaves. In the confusion, no one noticed her rushing to his side. She dropped to her knees, and with her hands still tied behind her back, awkwardly picked up the knife and started slashing through his bonds. Seconds later the dark-elf was free and he grabbed the knife from her and severed her bindings as well.
A cry went up as someone detected what they were doing. Naramira wasted no time and mesmerised the bandits one by one. In the corner of her eye she saw the dark-elf punching the scarred man that had tied him up previously, sending the bandit sprawling to the sand. He grabbed his iron morning-star and started calling bolts of lightning from the sky as he hacked at the next man to come at him.
While mesmerising as many as she could, the fight was tinged in green and red as her foes choked on her magic or ran around madly, eyes bulging insanely. She cast Ebbing Strength on a man sneaking up behind the dark-elf and grinned as he let his heavy iron mace fall to the sand, its weight suddenly too much to bear. Noticing the lightning bolts coming less frequently, she cast a gentle breeze that regenerated her ally, the dark-elf smiling grimly at her while beating off another opponent.
And then the ogre was suddenly in front of her. He stabbed at her with his short spear and Naramira looked down to see blood soaking into her new green robe as the ogre wrenched his weapon from her stomach. Almost immediately the ghostly image of a sinister skull appeared above the ogre's head and the creature's eyes went mad with fear. He turned around and ran, dropping the spear in his haste to get away. A wave of healing power spilled over the enchantress, who gasped as she felt her internal organs knit back together. She smiled gratefully at the dark-elf, trying her best to ignore the fact that it was with Innoruuk's blessing that she was still alive.
And then the battle was over. The sands were littered with bodies and the few survivors were all under her control. Naramira saw the leather-faced woman standing frozen at the edge of the clearing, a ring of purple magic keeping her mesmerised. She snatched her dirk back from the woman's grasp and winced at her captive's sudden surge of fear in the corner of her mind.
"Don't worry," the enchantress said. "I won't harm you."
"Why not?" the dark-elf replied, coming up to her. He was splattered with blood, but seemed otherwise unharmed. "After all, she would kill you in a heartbeat if you were to let down your guard now."
Naramira nodded. "True. But the battle is over now and they have lost. There's been enough killing for one day."
"Then what do you want to do with them if you're not planning on killing them?" the dark-elf asked, clearly a little disappointed.
"I will open a gate to Freeport and alert the Militia. Don't worry, they will get what they deserve."
The dark-elf nodded. "Then here we part our ways, human."
Naramira hesitated as he opened his own gate, the blue lights of what must be the city of Neriak twinkling in the darkness of an ancient wood visible through the magical portal. "My name is Naramira," she said just before he stepped through. "Thank you for saving my life."
As the gate closed behind him, she heard him reply: "Azic. We will meet again..."