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Part 1- Stolen Iron
"I want my son back!" the indignant, unearthly voice roared shaking the fragile masonry walls.
A powerful bat-winged lieutenant stepped forward, his imposing nine foot, scaled, muscular frame criss crossed by the scars of hundreds of successful campaigns. "Why?" he asked sincerely in his reptilian rasp.
It had been a simple question in the fiend's mind, the value of the liberated mortal was insignificant in light of the great victory it had brought to their very doorstep. The prestige he, and by extension his lord, had gained through the disastrous attempt by the celestials to rescue the hunter far outweighed the fact that the hound had escaped... to his thinking at least.
The presiding demon's massive red arm shot out with inhuman speed and grasped the impressive lieutenant by the throat lifting his immense bulk from the floor with childish ease. The larger demon hauled his loyal follower to within inches of his fanged maw and glared at him with unbridled contempt. Without another word he threw his arm out wide dashing the lieutenant's head against the nearby wall and letting the body drop unceremoniously to the ground.
Several smaller demons moved immediately to savage the body and clean away the splattered blood and brain matter. Many of the other fiends present, who had stood in battle against some of the most powerful creatures in the multiverse, bowed respectfully and took a step back as the huge creature turned his baleful gaze over the assembled warriors and repeated in a calm, much too calm for their comfort, commanding voice, "I want my son back."
Aalarphu stepped forward, he was another imposing bat winged demon. He confidently approached his master, knowing that he could not be dispatched so out of hand. After all it was he who was the commander of his lord's personal elite guard, the architect of the humiliating defeat of the celestials encroachment upon this place. He reverently dropped to one knee before his dread lord, still taller than the average man. "I am not expendable", he reminded himself before he spoke with all confidence in his personal security. Then a terrifying thought struck him, Golgonus had been valuable too. He cast his green eyes toward the gory splotch on the wall. He looked back to the huge creature that he had served for many centuries. Generally his master was reasonable, but this whole affront with his son's kidnapping seemed to have made him more unpredictable and unsteady in his role of leadership. Aalarphu didn't like that. He wanted things more militaristic and predictable, the way things usually ran within the aura of his lord's command. He spoke quickly realizing that his master's gaze had been lingering on him for some time while he had been lost in his thoughts and the hate filled eyes were narrowing dangerously and the thick red scales were beginning to smolder. "The ones we did not slaughter outright , we drove back decisively my lord...", Aalarphu smiled widely at his own cunning that had made such a grand victory possible, "... we killed a larger share of celestials than any in recent memory. It is a sting that the Heavens will not soon forget!"
"I don't care about the death toll!" the thunderous voice rolled out.
The sentiment rocked the cocky general, not for the power or volume of the words, but for the dismissive quality of them. How could his fearsome master not care about their legendary victory over the forces of ultimate goodness and freedom? It was inconceivable! "A score of celestials, twice that in crusaders of the Usurper...", he reminded his liege as he tried to reassure himself of the greatness of his recent victory.
"Was she among them?" He roared back angrily.
Tentatively the general answered. "No. But she is not a celestia...."
"She is!" the massive demon bellowed coming forward in the piled bones of his victims that he used as a throne.
The blow came faster than Aalarphu could follow. It shattered his collarbone and upper arm with a frightening strength. The general fell to the floor in agony and shock. The huge red scaled demon, now awash in flames and crackling lightning, regained his composure quickly as Aalarphu convulsed on the floor. "If she is not celestial in form then she certainly shares their soul."
He reclined again in his sprawling throne of death quelling the tempest he radiated. "... and she stole my son."
He watched patiently for several minutes as Aalarphu's body knitted itself back together from the terrible crushing wound and when the demon was finally able to right himself on the stones he replied in gasping breaths, "We can steal him back."
"How do you propose to do that?" the large fiend questioned suspiciously.
Aalrphu smiled slightly. "He is your son. Therefore the celestial powers will not want his taint among them. They will not give him refuge and even were they tempted to do so, her leading so many of their kin to death here on account of the hound will surely excommunicate her from their ranks. There is no sanctuary for them in the heavens and there is no crusader outpost where we cannot reach."
The great demon nodded his approval. "See that you get him back."
"And her?" Aalarphu asked expectantly.
His lord pondered for a few moments rubbing his massive red claws together. "Yes, drag his worthless sister back here as well and we shall teach her the meaning of the word suffering."
Aalarphu jumped up, giddy at the command, and signaled to his nearby subordinates to follow him post haste. He stopped short near the door and turned back to his fearsome leader. "I almost forgot the matter of the captive. One of the crusaders survived. A human... Yaniel I believe they called her. What would you like done with her?"
"Torture her." came the simple reply.
"For information?"
"Simple fool." The great fiend replied, "We already know what the witch was here to take and doubtless her panicked flight was unplanned beyond chaotic flight. We will learn nothing new from your captive. Just have her tortured."
A wide smile spread across Aalarphu's face. This is why he loved serving his master. "Certainly my lord. How long would you like us to take?"
Again the great beast sat in contemplation for many moments. "Years."
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Part 2- The Pacifist
The abbot approached the kneeling figure who scrubbed the marble floor vigorously with the brush. From the back his long white hair blended in well with the simple white cotton robe he wore, secured at the waist with only a simple rope. The abbot slowed his pace slightly as he approached and took in the figure hard at work at the menial task. This chore was beneath him, the abbot knew, but this man insisted on doing it and doing it well. He would scrub the chapel for endless hours until it sparkled like it was the first day it had been opened. "Daliyon." The abbot called to the kneeling man.
Slowly the worker stood leaving the brush on the floor and turned towards the leader of the monastery. "Lanolar." he acknowledged and bowed deeply.
For a number of reasons the abbot was bothered, as he always was when dealing with this man, by the fact that Daliyon never addressed anyone, even their goddess, with a title. It did not seem to be arrogance or condescension, he would have run the man out the abbey long before this had he believed that to be the case. It truly seemed that he was sincere in his belief that all sentient creatures were equal. Abbot Lanolar noticed that Daliyon was staring at him quizzically waiting to be addressed and the abbot found himself strangely unnerved by the stare. Daliyon's eyes possessed irises that were a sparkling gold, sparkling like the electricity in a lightning bolt. "You are requested by Prelate Hulrun."
Daliyon still looked at him questioningly. "I know of Hulrun, but how is it that he knows of me?"
"He requested our best healer to join a group that he is tasking with a mission."
Daliyon looked at his empty hands and simple robes. "I am not our best healer. Alitar Moveras has that honor."
Lanolar sighed. Alitar was, of course, the most experienced healer in the House of the Comforting Light, but Daliyon had displayed an innate skill that had dwarfed anything that the general clergy could produce. He was a natural healer, and he did not worship or pray for his abilities as the priests did, his ability just came to him when he needed them, soon, perhaps very soon, he would surpass them all. "He says that he needs our best healer who is not well known."
Daliyon raised a white eyebrow skeptically. "I do not travel, as you know. Wandering is for the others. I prefer to stay here and serve Shelyn. This you know as well. So why would you ask this thing of me?"
Lanolar sighed again. Daliyon was always difficult to deal with, mostly because he cut to the heart of every issue. He spoke his mind freely and expected others to do so as well. He did not flatter others and flattery did not work on him. He was utterly devoid of pride and, as pious as he was, it was a characteristic that truly made the abbot uncomfortable. "We owe a debt to Prelate Hulrun and I would have it paid."
"And I am to be your bargaining chip?" The young man stated with a firm tone of accusation.
Lanolar waved his hands before himself in denial and self defense. "No, no. I thought to offer this assignment to you first because your sister has been assigned by the church of the Dawnflower as well. I thought you might want to be the one standing by her side."
Daliyon stared piercingly at him for a moment that discomforted the older priest greatly and then closed his golden eyes and took several deep, controlled breaths. Then he opened his eyes again staring through the abbot. "Why would Hulrun need me if my sister had answered the call? I don't see how someone who requires her skills would have any need of mine."
The abbot raised his hands helplessly. "I do not know. I only thought to do you the courtesy of being asked first. I can assign one of the apprentices instead."
Again Daliyon closed his brilliant eyes as the abbot turned away from him to leave the chapel. "I'll go." he somberly replied before Lanolar had crossed the threshold.
Lanolar looked back at him, not entirely surprised, and smiled. "The Eternal Rose shall bless you."
"She always has."
"And Daliyon requisition some armor before you go."
"Lanolar, you know how I feel about weapons and armor."
"Your disdain of the weapons of death is commendable in its own way, but I would like to have you come back to us intact. I think you have value."
"Still I cannot. To don armor invites combat and I'll not invite conflict."
"It's an order. You will not leave this abbey without armor and, I suspect, before all is said and done that your sister will need your healing caress. Get the armor." Lanolar stated firmly.
Daliyon grimaced noticeably, but conceded. "As you command."
The abbot watched him leave, surprised that he had accepted the command with so little fight. Lanolar realized how reprehensible armor, and especially weapons, were to Daliyon, but then again his sister was always the only thing that had ever made him compromise his entrenched beliefs. He was equally surprised by how relatively easy it had been to convince him to go. He wondered what would happen when the young healer realized with whom he was dealing, but he thanked the Lady of Love silently, for he felt deeply in his old bones that Daliyon's sister truly would need him by her side before all was said and done. he shuddered slightly at the thought, something about this request struck him as being out of the ordinary. Daliyon had been specifically requested. Hulrun had been very specific in wanting his services above all others, even those with much more skill. Lanolar did not like being manipulated and he had the nagging feeling that his strings were being pulled in this instance. Silently he prayed to Shelyn to forgive him and withdrew to his own room for contemplation.
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Part 3- The Lost Children
Kyra looked across the dying campfire to her listless companion. He was darkly attractive. His hair was pulled back in a dull black ponytail revealing his pointed elvish ears. His body was lean and toned, obviously he had kept himself in great physical condition. His skin was ashen gray and his eyes, the eyes of his father, were dead black and pupiless. She sighed sadly as she watched him shiver in the fall evening, he could not feel the warmth of the bonfire. he could bed down right in the center of it and never even be stirred. He could wade through lava as if it were water. Flame and heat held no fear for him, but neither could he be comforted by any warmth. Warmth, and she wondered, perhaps comfort, was something that simply did not exist for him. The thought saddened her immensely.
She pitied him. He had not asked for his heritage, and doubtless had not wanted it. She watched him closely, as she had for months, keeping vigil on his obsidian eyes, wondering what he thought of his liberation. As her eyes lingered over the three jagged linear scars running down the left side of his face, she was reminded that the demonic were not kind to half-breeds. She sighed deeply, vainly wishing that the stirred embers of the fire could provide him with some solace from the cold, but he continued to shiver in the dark, his body encased in the wicked iron armor inches from the remaining flames.
His strange eyes flickered open slowly and he stared back at her with an unnatural piercing gaze. "He won't let me go so easily you must realize."
His voice was like one long resigned sigh. She nodded her head resolutely in the affirmative. She had known well the price of freeing this one from the depths of the Worldwound. It had already cost her a terrible price, she had watched her friends die around her. She did not, however, doubt her course of action. That was one of her strengths, or weaknesses. She never doubted, could never doubt or deny, her convictions whatever the cost to herself. She looked directly into his eyes and realized suddenly that he was the exact opposite, he was unsure of everything. It had no value to him. This life that he had suddenly been given had no worth in his mind. The very thought of it staggered her, but she reminded herself not to judge him too harshly, he had never known freedom before. "Talongaard where do you want to go?" she asked gently.
He shrugged. she had found that he often did. He didn't care, perhaps he couldn't care. One place was as good as the next from what he could tell. The end was inevitable in his mind. He would be returned to his father eventually, probably punished horribly, and then put back on the hunt. "Someplace warmer than this." He muttered, half wishing to be back in the Worldwound away from this dreadful cold.
She removed her sparkling golden cloak, walked around the fire and calmly laid it across his shoulders. He stared blankly up at her taking in her equally radiant golden chain armor and smiled slightly at the unsolicited kindness. Then he ruefully asked, "Kyra why did you come to get me?"
She threw back her long golden hair and shook her head incredulously. "How many years did you think I could leave my brother suffering so?"
He averted his gaze momentarily as the guilt he bore regarding his freedom weighed heavily upon him. When he looked back up at her, her features were virtually sparkling with righteousness despite the rising darkness. "So many more dead for only me?"
The idea of it seemed completely obscene to him. He could still see the score of pure heavenly souls falling at the wicked blades of his father's troops, they did not die cleanly. His gaze was more judgmental than he intended. "How could you?"
She stood unflinching, her features tightening resolutely. "How could I not?"
He nodded slowly, almost understanding. He remembered her heritage. she could not have chosen any differently had she wanted to, eventually her blood would have compelled her to his rescue. Her path was as defined, and almost as tragic, as his own. "He will come for me." he repeated, resigning himself to his horrible fate.
she nodded, an edge of sadness creeping across her features, knowing full well that this next time she would not be backed by an army of celestials. She had used all that remained of her father's influence in freeing her brother and, after what would only be regarded as a disastrous failure, she could not expect any more aid from those heavenly beings. She cast another glance at her brother. They were undeniably alone... but she had finally rescued him. She did not doubt that the sacrifice had been worth it. That was her strength, she never doubted.
Aalarphu stood amid his troops, a small strike force of perhaps twenty demons, all battle hardened and eager to venture to the world of men. Arueshalae, a beautiful seductress, sauntered up to him making no attempt to hide her naked features. Almost despite himself, Aalarphu found himself licking his scaled lips with his forked tongue. It took great force of will for him to refocus himself on the task of preparing supplies as she drew nearer. To Aalarphu warfare was all. His dedication to the carnage of battle was paramount and that was what saved him, barely, from the influence of demons such as Arueshalae. She touched him lightly on his muscular shoulder and his desire for anything besides her almost buckled his massive knees. He spun quickly away from her and called forth his magic, electricity crackling around his talons. Instantly she disappeared, his bolt of lightning tearing through the empty, smoke filled air. He spun around quickly, knowing this tactic well. There she was! Her living ropes spiraling up and around her outstretched arms, reaching towards him.
Aalarphu had no doubts that he could shred through the animated cords easily enough, but he wondered how long he would be able to resist her unearthly charms. With a thought he summoned a ball of fire and cast it in her direction. The explosion rocked the stones beneath his scaled feet and bathed him in the conflagration, but he had no trouble maintaining his balance. He waited calmly for the smoke to dissipate. Arueshalae laid flat on the earth smoking, her ropes burned to ashes, her body unmoving. Casually the large demon walked over to her body and gave her a rough kick. "Get up woman! I know the fire did you no permanent harm!"
With a sigh the beautiful demon extended her bat-like wings , flapped them once and rose to her feet. When she was upright she smiled widely. "You treat me most unkindly Commander Aalarphu."
The massive demon chuckled deeply. "That's because I know not to trust you demon-witch. Why are you here?"
She shrugged. "Have I not always watched the powerful? You have the master's eye now. Is it so unusual that I seek you out when you have demonstrated an ability to earn his favor?"
"It is unusual that you want any part of me considering what my mission is." The crafty commander replied, fully aware of her past.
Arueshalae batted her eyes coyly and inched towards him, making sure every inch of her sensuous body remained exposed. His massive spiked arm darted out catching her by the throat before she had the chance to react and he lifted her into the air. "I should kill you!" he growled.
"No." she rasped, struggling for breath, kicking her feet and beating her wings helplessly.
He drew her face close to his fanged maw. "Why are you here Arueshalae? I will not ask you again."
His clawed fist began to crush her fragile neck. "I want to go with you!" she finally cried out.
His maw drew wide in a mocking smile. "You want to see your lover one last time? How sweet for a demon to express such sentiments."
Aalarphu threw her roughly to the rocky earth. "Get away from here slut! I need none of Talongaard's whores to help me."
Arueshalae drew herself up resolutely, ignoring the dirt and bruises that covered her immaculate form. "I can help you. I know him. I know mortals. I can gather information that none of your other minions can."
Aalarphu looked at her skeptically. "Vorgal'neys can torture a human for years without killing him. He can remove all of their skin and still not allow them to die. Amputate every limb and keep them sentient. What can you possibly offer that he cannot get me?"
The beautiful demon smiled, revealing her slight fangs. "Expediency. You do not have years to wait for Vorgal'nyeys to extract information only to then find out that your quarry has moved on. No mortal talks like one bedded by me. I can find one information in a single night that would take him weeks to extract. Additionally, I can offer myself to you."
"Why would I want to share a mortal's mate?" Aalarphu asked contemptuously, although his interest was obviously peaked by the gorgeous demon.
Arueshalae threw her arms wide, making certain to reveal all of her charms, "Because I can deliver to you all that you desire."
Part 4- The Mutinous Mercenary
“The report is that he was sliced to ribbons! Do you know how this must look? Almost every mercenary company except ours has lost a member to this… this stalker. He claimed four from the Rising Knights! There are already accusations that we are some sort of traitors.”
The powerful half-orc stalked from corner to corner of the room. His rich red cloak was covered with protective runes that leaked a silver fire. He had a bad habit of working his hands in defensive parries reflexively, even when he was unarmed, when he was nervous. The elf looked at him archly, “Do stop pacing before you cause my carpet to ignite.”
The elf was working on a well crafted dwarven lock and frowned as his slender pick bent inside the clever device. Carelessly he tossed the thing aside and looked at the other fuming figure. “Are you even listening to me Jareth?” the pacing figure asked irritably.
Jareth reclined on his bed and crossed his arms over his bare ebony chest. “I hear you. The tortured souls in the Abyss could hear you. But I’m not certain what the point is of your ranting.”
“Ranting? Doesn’t it worry you in the least that the other crusaders suspect us of treachery? This is Kenabres home of the famous witch burnings. Being Cloaked Crusaders doesn’t help our cause much either, it seems they accept half-orcs openly enough, but I shudder to think what they would make of you. Probably put our whole company to death. Not to mention that any of us could be left dying on the street next by this demonic creature.”
“Argan, you have restricted us to the grounds of Defender’s Heart for the last two weeks. We don’t go on the streets, and I’m hardly afraid of a shadow no one has ever seen.” Jareth mocked waving a dismissive hand.
The half-orc’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “It has killed fifteen crusaders and you brush it off as a figment of our collective imaginations?”
The statement had brought the cleric of Gorum to a halt for the first time in the last hour. “Assassins.” Jared replied simply as he pulled on a light black silken boot, he knew how much distain Gorum’s religion had for those who struck from the shadows, “It is plainly a matter of assassins.”
“Assassins do not chop people to pieces and rend armor like paper or fail to loot a victim. There is nothing plain about these killings and all fingers are going to point to us! It will be another set of burnings!”
Jareth pulled on his second boot and looked into the bloodshot eyes of his commander. “Argan, we are surrounded by paladins who can detect evil intentions and I’m certain not more than a few clerics who can ascertain if a person is telling the truth. No one is going to burn you. Not when they need our power.”
“Our power? What power? I have magic and men, what you brought to the company I am still waiting to see. The Cloaked Crusaders took you on in good faith, but our handful of warriors won’t save us if any group of mercenaries decide to turn their ire on us and I’m sure Hulrun will look the other way and then claim the assassin problem solved when we are all dead. This beast, whatever it is, will surely lead to our demise as well as that of the rest of the mercenaries. Our preservation depends on this slaughter being brought to an end.”
Jareth pulled on his sheer jerkin and shot his leader a poisoned glance, “I thought a worshipper of Gorum would appreciate such carnage.”
“What in the Hells is that supposed to mean?” Argan roared, but he knew full well what it meant, it always came down to action with this one.
“Why are we hiding here? Cowering behind these walls? Didn’t we come to slay demons? And here we sit fretting about murders that happen while we sleep safely and drink ourselves to oblivion.”
The half-orc scoffed. “Pretty words from one who has shown little knowledge of which end of his sword to hold when danger arises, now the little boy is ready to lead us all into the Wound to slay demons.”
“You brought me to get you into the places we find that the demons do not want us to be. You claim to lead this company, in the name of the Lord in Iron no less, and yet we cower here in this tavern. How can you cringe every time the thought of battle crosses your mind for fear of what some other mercenary company or paladin lord might think! If we actually did something of note they would praise us. We did not come here to ask their permission to save their stoic lives or cower in a cocoon of cowardice and fear! How proud your god must be.”
The half-orc’s fists clenched tightly and his dark countenance seemed to darken even further. Motes of raw magical power came into being and sizzled the air around him. “And what of you? You have done nothing for anyone in this company. Your heritage, your pride, your conviction does little to earn us coin or protect the lives of your fellows. My magic! My magic alone protected you when your hunters came for you, a magic given by the god you now scorn! When those killers came you ran and hid like some peasant maid. You owe me your life!”
Jareth’s eyes slanted dangerously and the slight red glow there flickered. “I owe you nothing!” he hissed, “I give you my allegiance, and at times, I wonder if that is more than you deserve.”
The cleric spun on his heel, trailing streamers of eldritch energy, and slammed the door behind him. Jareth distinctly heard the order given to the other mercenaries through the door. “Kill him if he tries to leave.”
Jareth kicked a scabbard into the air from the end of his bed, deftly twirled it across the length of his arm and buckled it tightly to his hip. He dropped to a knee and hauled his footlocker from under the bed. Quickly he picked the ingenious dwarven forged lock and tossed the lid open. Inside was a cascade of locks of every make, size, and description. The finest elven locks, sturdy dwarven locks, and the diabolic cunning devices of the nether realms. Jareth jammed his hands down into the sea of metal mechanisms searching beneath the mass. He wrenched loose a bundle of dark cloth amid a cascade of padlocks. He cast a cursory glance over his shoulder to see if his guards had taken notice. When his fears were assuaged, he gingerly began unwrapping the folds of the magical cloak, revealing a sword he had acquired from a tomb long ago. Quickly he fastened the weapon to the hip opposite his other blade. He clasped the dark cloak at his neck with a non-descript lead clasp and grabbed the six razor sharp rings, a unique weapon here, from the table at the base of his bed. With a deft flick of his wrists the black hood went over the top of his head casting an obscuring shadow over his face. He threw open the shuttered windows of his room and starred down at the courtyard below and the walls of the city beyond that. He cast a forlorn glance at the sealed wooden door of his room and sighed. “If only you had the slightest idea of what is really going on.”
He vaulted out the window and seemed to flutter to the ground like an injured bat. Never looking back at the inn, he sprinted towards the walls, easily leaping a fence in his path, and melting into the shadows of the city beyond.
Part 5- Home of the Hopeless
Analia looked ruefully at the dangling sign in the driving rain. Rain of all things! She did not take the weather as an omen of good fortune for this endeavor. She looked again at the sign still unable to comprehend that she had been dispatched to this place. The wooden sign showed a pair of demonic eyes, one covered with a patch. "The Demon's Wink" was written prominently underneath. This was a tavern that attracted the worst of the low Templars. A rough and tumble crowd of hopeless individuals that had found themselves conscripted or exonerated from heinous crimes if they agreed to serve in this battle against evil. It made her wonder, for about the thousandth time, why she was standing here in this downpour before this forsaken place. The answer gave her no comfort. She was here because the bastard who was assigned charge of Kenabres, Prelate Hulrun had called in a favor from her church. Rumor had it that he had requested her by name and that made her even more uneasy. She held a respect for the goddess Iomedae, but could not fathom how she would allow this man to speak for her and she deeply resented his willingness to use the flames of Sarenae to punish his perceived enemies. She sighed and tapped two fingers against the hilt of her scimitar hanging at her waist, if trouble came she was more than prepared. Reluctantly she pushed her way into the tavern.
To her golden eyes the inside was far worst then the ramshackle outside. Human misery and hopelessness permeated every inch of the place. Drunk or nearly drunk sailors and porters from the Riverlands filled half the tap room and desperate, broken crusaders completed the rest. It was difficult for her to see through the heavy smoke from various fires. Many of the patrons scanned her with a lecherous gaze, others, displaying more wisdom, recognized the flaming angel on her tabard and respectfully averted their eyes. A large bouncer, she assumed from his build he was half-orcish, approached her. "No trouble Paladin!" he growled, "We run a lawful business."
She swung her golden glance fully upon him showing clearly that she saw the unlawful vices that littered the common room of this tavern of faithless. The brute shrank from her beneath the severity of the gaze. "If anyone lays their hands upon me you will all wish I was merely a paladin of the Dawnflower, but as of this moment I am not here to judge you or anyone in your establishment. I have an appointment with Maritas Toleman, representative of Prelate Hulrun."
The half-orc cowered away from her even further at the mention of the Prelate's name and Analia was not particularly pleased that he showed more fear of the Iomedaean than of her. The muscular bouncer raised an massive arm and pointed towards a shadowy booth in a back corner of the common room. "She is there waiting for you," he grunted before turning his attention elsewhere.
Analia gave a courteous nod to the bouncer as he retreated and made directly for the rear table dodging bar maids and drunken patrons. As she approached the table she was surprised to see that the individual who sat at the head of the table was an older Halfling flanked by two larger individuals cloaked in crimson. "Lady Anaria, please take a seat. We have task of utmost importance to discuss."
She looked over the three with great scrutiny, something about the stances of the two flankers struck her as wrong. Shed had little time to contemplate the situation before a ruckus at the door drew her attention. As she turned to look she was surprised to see her twin brother, looking thoroughly miserable, at the threshold. He was clad in an exceptional suit of leather armor, obscured by his pure white robe. She wondered again at the strangeness of the emissaries, the location and the presence of her brother who never left his monastery. How could anything that required her skills also demand the presence of her brother?
The Halfling steepled her fingers before her. "Ah.. now the brother has arrived, please kill them."
Part 6- Foreign Siblings
"Kyra", he muttered forlornly as the forest rose in the distance, "What of our mother?"
She could barely hear the question and reluctantly turned her stalwart gaze to her own golden boots, yet somehow remained radiant despite her solemn reply, "She is dead."
"Because of me. He has told me the story many times. He enjoys telling it." Talongaard responded resolutely. "She is dead because of me."
Kyra initially shifted unsteadily, but then raised her sparkling eyes to meet his dead black ones. "It was not because of you."
The gray tracker raised his vicious spiked gauntlets before him as if warding off an attack and the balled them both into dangerous thorny fists. "Of course it was, what else..."
"No!" Kyra protested defiantly with a conviction that froze him, "It was your father! Your father, the murderer, who posed as my father!"
Talongaard looked mournfully at the lush ground beneath his feet, "But I am my father's child."
"Why can you not be your mother's child?"
The dark creature shrugged in despondence, "Because I never knew her. I know pain. I know suffering. I know pride. I know reward, but I do not know a mother's love."
Kyra cocked her head to the side. He was abducted young, the monastery was razed and their mother slain while he was still a baby, this much she knew from her research for she had been too young at the time to recall from her own memory- the horrendous memory of what his father had done would never leave her mind. Even still his comments disturbed her. "How could you ever doubt..."
Talongaard focused on her with his dead black glare. "Doubt what? That she loved me? I was a demon child begat by a fiend who posed as your loving father. How could she love me? I am not something to be proud of! I am a damned bastard child!"
Kyra shook her head. Her long golden hair spiraled around her head in a vortex of denial. "You were her son. Your father was not your choice. For that matter neither was mine."
Talongaard smirked revealing his pointed white teeth, he specialized in uncomfortable situations. "Your father loved our mother. Mine abused her in the worst possible way, how dare you ever compare the two!"
Kyra drew herself to her full height, just under six feet, strengthened with dignity and fortified by conviction she fingered the silver sword strapped across her back. "In my father's name I lead dozens of divine creatures into the Worldwound and to their deaths. I disgraced his name. I murdered his allies, I killed my friend Yaniel. You had no choice for your fate. You father is vile, that is not contested, but that is not your burden to bear."
Talongaard could no longer bear to look at her confident stare. "All those people... and mother.... your mother..."
"Our mother." She gently corrected.
"Killed. Burned."
"It was not you who committed the slaughter."
"It was because of me. He wanted me back."
Lightly, Kyra turned his ashen chin with her soft gloved hand so that he faced her again. She smiled at him sincerely. "It was for you she gave her life. Mother fled to the monastery to protect you. She knew who, what, you were. Your father came to damn you and I came to save you. You are now free, if you choose to be. Please let this unjust guilty burden fall from you."
Talongaard again clenched the spiked, cold gauntlets of his wicked armor and wondered if it could be true as he looked upon the deep deathly gray iron. Could it be that his mother's blood was not on his hands? He was willing to briefly entertain the fact that perhaps it wasn't, but he had plenty of blood on those hands over the years that he had willingly served as a hound to his father hunting down the righteous and consigning them to a fate worst than death.
No... he was a damned creature and he knew it in his soul.
Part 7- Lost Dreams
Arueshalae slapped the priest harshly again. "You said you could find him! You pray to a goddess of travelers."
The enthralled cleric wiped the blood from her lip. The wicked succubi had shattered her will a week ago. This cleric had been no novice, but Arueshalae had so desired this information that the priest withered before her will- her desires often had that effect. "I am trying." The beautiful cleric whimpered and the demon struck her again for no other reason than frustrated contempt.
Aalarphu would not be forgiving if she could not deliver on her promise. This priestess was worthless. She had hoped that the charming and seduction of a Desnan would have given her the information she needed, but it was obvious that her quarry had left the Worldwound and this priestess was ill suited to find him. "Can you do anything to help me you worthless caterpillar?" and purely for spite she struck her again.
"I can dream of him."
"Dreams!" Arueshalae snorted in derision, these fantasies mortals had while they lay defenseless and insensate.
"This is what you offer your true love?" The demon condemned with a disapproving smirk.
"It may reveal..."
"Fine." Arueshalae waved her off in disgust, "Do your dreaming."
The succubi had already decided that she would kill this one and try again. As the priest slipped into sleep she placed her lips on the cleric's lips and sipped deeply of her soul claiming it for her infernal patron and feeling the invigorating bliss of her power.
But she did not dream, no demons did. What was this frail mortal thinking of as her life seeped away? Arueshalae wondered as she drained the soul away. Knowledge of these things tended to be as deadly a weapon for her as her demonic abilities were. She had the ability to slip into a mortal's mind and could not resist her own temptation. She allowed herself to slip into the mind of the priestess as she slowly ended her life.
Part 8- The Hidden Conspiracy
"Greetings Lord Ashton!"
The nervous wizard clutched his red cloak even tighter around his body and turned to face the unexpected voice. "Who...?"
"Don't you know it is not suppose to be safe for us on the streets in numbers?" the voice chuckled light-heartedly.
Ashton quickly pulled an enchanted dagger from his belt and shook it in warning towards the rubbish filled alleyway from which the voice emanated. He did not need to be discovered by a crusader in the middle of his negotiations for the forbidden spell components that would allow him to seduce a priestess of the Inheritor. "Who are you?"
The lean figure stepped forward, as if out of the very shadows and held out the bronze icon of a bull's head. "A fellow piece being moved along the board by our master, also on an intrigue."
Ashton laughed heartily at his own jumpiness, although it was wise for his kind to be on guard in this city, and relaxed his grip on the magical dagger slightly. "I recognize you. You have infiltrated the Cloaked Crusaders? Argan is a fool. I thought you were that thing, whatever it is that is killing our agents. The creature everyone is accusing you company of summoning, but I know that half-orc bastard doesn't have that kind of mastery of magic."
The shadowy figure moved closer and laughed again. "I've been imbedded for a while and you are right. He does not have that kind of magical skill, but he does know things."
The wizard arched an eyebrow with sinister interest, "What kinds of things?"
"He knows that your cult wants to butcher this city!"
A flap of the dark cloak flew open to reveal a gleaming sword in a tense grip. Faster than the startled wizard could react the sword slipped through his gut. He gasped harshly, perhaps trying to form a spell, but he could summon no power through the veil of intense pain. Jareth's red eyes blazed into him, burning with hatred, as he snarled in barely decipherable Elvish, "At least you are awake to meet death! You would murder these sheep while they sleep! Rot in the Abyss you Blackfire bastard!"
Another slim sword flashed from the opposite side of his cloak and sliced into the slim neck. The blood sputtered from the wound and life oozed out of the wizard's shocked eyes. The Stalker wrenched his sword free of the man's abdomen and let the corpse slump to his feet. For a moment he watched the crimson blood eddy and spiral into little puddles near the tips of his dark boots. "Don't worry Ashton, where you are going I intend to send plenty of company."
Casually, Jareth turned and walked back into the alley swallowed quickly by the shadows.
Part 9- The Alehouse Ambush
When the two men in crimson lunged at her with longswords, Analia was not surprised. Indeed, she was suspicious from the moment she was summoned to this place. She twirled in a full spiral shaking her silver sunburst shaped shield into one arm while yanking her scimitar hilt from her belt. As she spun she caught sight of her brother alone an unarmed near the door, she hoped this was a poorly planned assassination and that no extra men were close to the door for her pacifist brother had no defense save her.
Coming around to face her attackers she muttered "Mother of Light" in Celestial and the ray like beam of sunlight erupted from her scimitar handle slicing through the chain armor of the closest man- without leaving a mark- although he staggered away howling blood seeping from the undamaged links of his armor. Her shield deflected the second sword strike.
Daliyon watched his sister spin into combat and winced. This is exactly what he hated about the world beyond his abbey walls. Although he wondered why Hulrun would summon him into this trap, or his sister for that matter. They both were of little note and virtually ostracized by their own religious orders, neither of which conflicted with his own. It made little sense to his scholarly mind, unless of course he was the bait to get his sister here, as she had be the lure that had drawn him from behind closed cloistered walls. Even still, why would he an his sister be targeted for execution, or more purposefully who had his sister upset this time with her aggression.
He barely noticed the danger from the man closing in on him from the side. Lost in his contemplations he barely turned enough to avoid a fatal injury as the longsword ripped into his side just below his ribs. One hand clutched his bleeding side and the other stretched forward. "Stop!"
The man frozen caught in the middle of his follow through swing and Daliyon took two steps away from him and looked for any other aggressors. It was difficult to see as most of the patrons had retreated in a ring to cheer on one side or the other.
Analia noticed the crimson streak running down the side of her brother's white robe and focused her anger on the lone remaining Iomedaen facing her. He was a proficient fighter, but he was awkward with the longsword, as if this was not his weapon of choice. It was a subtle discomfort, but one a trained warrior would notice. She swung her sunlight blade at him and smiled as he tried to parry the razor of energy that cleaved the length of his arm. The chain links of the armor was all that held the destroyed limb together. With a follow up lunge she plowed the sunbeam edge of her shield under the seam of his helmet plunging the dagger-like rays into his chin and jaw.
She then turned and stalked towards the man frozen mid-swing. "Don't." her brother implored, "We can question him."
With a single swing of her light blade his head fell to the ground. "We will ask Prelate Hulrun our questions!"
Analia looked closely at the weapon in the hands of the still standing headless body and noticed the oily film. She then looked at her brother's wound. "The weapon that struck you was poisoned."
Daliyon looked to the weapon and then at his side. "Probably. It doesn't matter."
Analia stared at her brother. He had changed in the years they had been apart. How was it that he could be unconcerned about being poisoned? For that matter how had he learned to stop a man in his tracks with a word? Even as she pondered it the body slumped to the ground beside its head. But one thing tugged at her mind, where was the Halfling? She had lost track of the wee one during the brief battle and as she scanned the crowd the person was nowhere to be seen.
Nurah ran as quickly as her small legs would carry her. This was suppose to be easy. She had been assured the silver haired boy could not fight and that the three tieflings would be able to dispatch the woman, but she had easily cleaved them apart as if she were slicing a loaf of bread and the boy, Daliyon, he had magic... holy magic. She cursed herself for believing this would have been easy, although she had the foresight to disguise herself magically and felt the chances of them having identifying her was slim. Even still Minagho would not be pleased with her failure in this endeavor. Nurah wondered why she was sent to kill these two insignificants, among the crusaders no one had ever heard of them, but her superiors had insisted on their assassination in preparation for the master plan. She had failed though and her "bodyguards" were dead. It was more likely she would be executed instead of reinforced of she admitted her failure. No, Analia had fumed about asking Prelate Hulrun for answers, so they would be heading to Kenebras and their she could try again... she knew who to contact there.
Part 10- Curse of the Tracker
It was the shriek that drew his morbid attention away from his fatalistic musing. It was a heart rending sound, he had heard it once before in his life and it lingered on the edge of his mind like an unwelcome shadow. It was the same sound his mother had made before died, when his father tore him from her smoldering grasp. He felt the wail in what was left of his soul, more than he actually recalled the moment itself in his memory. Instantly he fell inside himself, seeking the source with his mind as he had been ruthlessly taught. He easily pinpointed the panicked thoughts. Desperation, hunger, lust, murder, hopelessness... base thoughts. The fear was evident in his mind. She expected to die and it was easily confirmed as he sorted through the bestial thoughts that spun and clung to hers. They were going to kill her, but not before they.... it was becoming too much like his mother and he closed off most of that part of his mind holding only the trail of the thoughts.
His great iron bow was in his hands instantly as he tore through the undergrowth with reckless abandon. Even encumbered in his heavy iron armor he moved swiftly like a great dark storm cloud. Kyra followed closely without asking a single question. Her brother had wakened from days of complete malaise into this sudden frenetic energy and she was quietly thankful that something had stirred the life that remained in him. Following her brother's lead she pulled forth her own exquisitely carved bow, the shimmering amber wood was said to have been carved from a branch of the Tree of Life by her fallen father. They both ran virtually soundlessly with perfectly placed steps. Talongaard with the driven, merciless pace of a carnivore that scented prey and Kyra dancing with the measured grace of one who was harmonious with nature. Once the pace had been set she dared ask quietly, "What is it?"
His dead eyes were focused ahead and his brow remained creased in concentration, but he still hissed back venomously, "Orcs... and elves. Blood has been spilled. Depraved acts will be committed."
Two dozen rapid paces later he skidded to a halt behind a massive oak and drew forth a wicked steel arrow that bristled from head to tail feathers with spindly metal barbs. As he drew the great bow back he gestured with his chin towards the clearing that lay slightly below them. Kyra shuddered as she surveyed the scene. Four elves already laid dead, mutilated by orcish axes. A dozen or so of the hulking ape-like humanoids stalked in on the lone remaining elf who backed herself against the trunk of a great tree. The sparkling Kyra squinted , trying to make out whether it was a male or female elf, but the form was so slender and the distance too much for her to be certain. Slowly and deliberately the orcs stalked in encircling her. "What should we do?" Kyra asked her brother even as she nocked an arrow.
She knew what her duty was, but she held a morbid curiosity for what had seized her brother's attention about this situation. He stared at her with his disconcerting dark gaze for a brief moment and then closed his eyes falling back into his mind for a few seconds as if lost in a daydream. "They intend to sever her sword arm and then have their way with her... before they kill her."
"Her?" Kyra asked as if unconvinced.
"Yes." Talongaard sighed with resignation, "I can read their thoughts. It is not pleasant."
The string of his bow was a fine mithril strand and he drew it back to his ear anxiously taking deadly aim at the closest orc. "And the elf has a child cradled in her shield arm, so be careful with your aim."
Kyra took a third glance over the unfolding scene. She had thought that the elf was merely holding her cloak aside to free up her blade, but indeed she held a bundle. Occasionally, the bundle kicked and it was obvious that her stance was shielding it from the brutes. Kyra shook with rage as the orcs continued to close in. What savages these creatures were completely undeserving of mercy in their disregard for the life of a helpless infant. The sparkle in her features seemed to coalesce into a brilliant anger that centered on her arrowhead causing it to gleam slightly with a prismatic radiance.
"Do not hit the child." Talongaard hissed a second time and then he released his wicked shaft.
Kyra gave a slight nod as her own arrow flew. He did not need to remind her. The two arrows fell in perfect harmony, his tearing into orc flesh letting the victim linger briefly in excruciating pain before perishing. Hers tailing sunlight and exploding upon impact. The female elf dodged quickly behind the trunk of the tree at the momentary distraction with a dancer's grace. The orcs turned in confusion raising their axes in a more defensive posture. Four more were dead before they even registered the direction of the attack's origin. One of the savage humanoids immediately took flight as it realized that half the warband was dead in the span of seconds. Four others charged recklessly towards the archers enraged that their moment of conquest had been interrupted. The last, sensing an opportunity, stalked after the cowering elf and her baby.
Talongaard cursed as Kyra discarded her bow and jumped forward blocking his next shot. He stared at her armored back contemptuously for a moment and then allowed the anger to slowly turn to concern. He knew of his sister's heritage, as well as the fact that she must have some skill with the weapon she carried. She had, after all, fought her way into the depths of the Worldwound to rescue him, but even still he looked at her slight frame and wondered how she could hope to hold her own in combat against the larger, stronger, and more numerous orcs.
Then the thought rang across the part of his mind he had left open. The sadistic, brutal thought of the orc pursuing the elf. Talongaard wanted desperately to cast the thoughts from his head, but instead latched onto it focusing his entire will on it and turning to find the depraved creature's location in the undergrowth. It was upset, this barbaric creature. It blamed the elf for the death of the warband and it was going to hurt her. It recognized finally that she held a baby and he was going to eat it alive while it made her watch. Talongaard had been use to torture, pain, and suffering, but for the most part, in his experiences, such things had been delivered upon demons who had existed for eons, or the deserving souls of those who had made poor life choices, not children. He could not, in fact, recall ever having seen a child before and barely remembered having been one himself.
He reached across with his hand and touched the ring on his opposite pointed finger and coiled his legs. He sprang forth in a mighty leap that carried him over his sister's head and those of the charging orcs. He landed in a sprint behind them charging towards the surrounding trees, deftly swapping his iron bow for his wickedly spiked flail. One of the charging orcs spun about to pursue him while the others continued the charge on his unarmed sister.
As they drew closer to Kyra, the largest of the orcs waved the others back and cast his lecherous gaze over her near perfect form. Her anger created a glowing halo around her that stung their sensitive orcish eyes, but still the leader licked his cracked lips and tusks in anticipation of ravaging her after he had disabled her. He stepped forward with the confidence of a battle tested warrior, raised his double bladed great axe and the muscles in his arms bulged thicker than Kyra's waist. Kyra stalked forward as if the orcs in her way were merely fog to be passed through. The orc leader brought down the great axe in a mighty two handed swing aimed at Kyra's right shoulder. The orc gasped in disbelief as the female half-elf reached up with a single hand and stopped the mighty cleave mid stroke so solidly and completely that the sudden end of momentum almost sent the axe flying from his sure grasp. He fingers closed in an irresistible iron grip on his massive wrist. Her form was so slight that her fingers could not encircle his entire wrist, but still she forced his arms apart and continued to squeeze with all her might until she drew blood from his olive colored skin and heard the bones crack. The pair of orcish onlookers watched in stunned disbelief as they heard their battle leader cry out in pain for the first time to this slight, unarmed, half-breed girl.
Kyra had the strength of her father in her, not the frailty of an elf. Often others had underestimated her lithe form, for while she displayed the musculature of any other half-elven warrior, her limbs were not oversized or bulging and in no way conveyed the titanic strength that flowed through her. At the sound of the shattering wrist, she balled up her other hand into a fist and launched it into the trapped orc's face shattering teeth, tusks, and skull. She felt it go limp in her grasp and let him drop to the forest floor and then glared at the other two. They stared back at her in slack jawed amazement, still not believing what their beady, bloodshot eyes had just witnessed. Slowly they advanced on her again with their waraxes and as they did she reached over her shoulder drawing her greatsword and gave it a menacing swing in front of her as if she were waving a sheaf of paper, despite the weapon seeming impossibly large for her to handle easily.
The orcs took a stutter step as they watched her weave the gigantic blade expertly, but ultimately restored their pace to flank her sides in a predictable tactical fashion. She noted how often her enemies eyes wandered to the groaning heap that was their war leader bleeding at her feet. "This is folly." she growled at the in the Common tongue.
Part 11- Change of Heart
Arueshalae was mildly disoriented at first. She was use to travelling between the planes but to see so many thoughts and possibilities swimming around her all at once could be confusing. But she was use to sifting through mortal minds to find information, so the vertigo faded quickly. She watched from inside the mind as color bled from the images as her physical form drew the life from this pathetic wretch. Bled almost all of the color from the thoughts, except for one small corner where the color was brilliant... so vibrant she had trouble looking directly at it. The succubus sensed something amiss, the priestess should be dead by now. The thoughts should have faded to black, not this hazy frozen gray. She sensed danger and let go of her telepathic bond looking to tumble back into her own mind, but something grabbed her and yanked her back. It shook her viciously like a dog shaking a rag toy and as her psyche shook all of the defenses of her demonic rebirth tumbled away... the sins and debauchery of her mortal life ages before was laid bare in her thoughts. The road she travelled partially by choice and partly by circumstances that she eventually embraced and used to exert power over others, stealing from them, humiliating them, using them, and even killing them. All these memories had been cloaked from her...until now. It dropped her to her knees and tears she no longer knew she could cry came unwanted to her eyes. But that was not the worst of it, another path was shown to her... the way her life could have been had she chosen the strength to resist the base temptations and had not surrendered to despair and evil. A path that could have lead her to love, success, happiness. She wanted to tear the bat-like wings from her own shoulders, wrench the horns from her skull, but found she could not... it was what she had become. It was what she had embraced during her mortal life. She managed to raise her eyes to the force that refused to let her leave this place. A shining form with two delicate blue wings decorated with star motes. "I'm sorry." she whispered, "Please kill me."
The response was another violent mental shake that let her know that she would not get such an easy reprieve. Another image, another dream became clear in the ether. This was not a dream from the mind of the dying priest, but one yanked from the forefront of her own demonic mind. It was the image of the fearsome creature clad in the dull gray spiked armor she was hunting now. He would come back to the Worldwound she knew... and she knew the terrible fate that awaited him there. I can save him she thought...but she knew it wasn't her thought... and only he can save me!
It was then that she was released and fell back into her mortal form. She crashed harshly back to reality, shattered not in body but in mind. She knew who she was and she knew what she had the potential to be. Aalarphu would kill her! She had to run... and hope that in running she did not cost Talongaard his life.
Part 12- The Revealed Shadow
Jareth cursed himself for the thousandth time. He had been far too effective in rooting out these demon worshippers. They had gone underground and now his nights were filled with avoiding patrols of alert crusaders or Eagle Watch knights, who in his opinion did little to live up to their name. But even still it gnawed at him, they had something planned. The demon worshippers were too numerous, even in their absence the last few evenings. He knew a demon incursion was unlikely. He had studied the human Wardstones, studied them intently. These humanoid worshippers that he had been slaying, who scurried from the light like roaches, they bothered him simply because he could not connect the pieces and figure out their grand scheme while he knew there was a grand scheme.
He skidded to a stop near an alleyway adjacent to one of the libraries... Black Wing he thought this one was called. "...and Xanthir wants them killed to a man."
The words stopped him, not because he recognized a demon's name, but because of the inflection of massacre. That was not the crusader way, generally. He peered over the edge of the rooftop and watched the figures below him. Five. Could he kill five? More to the point, could he kill four and still have time to question the one giving orders before crusaders or guards arrived? He reached for his elven bow, a weapon he had taught himself to use, but then reconsidered. It would be quicker to use swords. He did another quick mental evaluation.... five. Could he take five? They were just talking so he had no way to evaluate their fighting skill. No demon worshippers he had encountered so far were masters, but all were trained warriors. He sighed and almost thought of turning away... almost, but his hatred always simmered barely controllable beneath the surface. He drew his shortswords and leapt from the roof.
"You cannot stalk into Kenabres and kill it's leader." Daliyon pleaded trailing behind his automaton-like sister who relentlessly stalked towards the city.
"He called for us. You said that he requested you specifically. He attacked us, our family. I want to know why."
"What is our family? Our father, some failed crusader, left us at two different monasteries. Maybe Hulrun held a grudge for a knight who abandoned his post. That sounds like him. Responding with violence will not change what has happened." And he knew full well what was coming next, even before his sister turned upon him.
"Who was our mother?" She roared as she turned with a visage lit by sunlight, a scorching heat.
He shrugged. No one had been able to tell him and his research into the matter had revealed nothing. He knew they were related and he knew a knight not worth the name had given each of them away to a temple of Shelyn, in his case, and the temple of the Dawnflower in her's. "The mysteries of our life are not this man's sin to bear."
She stared at him intently and if he were a lesser person he would fear that her focused gaze would burn a hole clear through him, but he had an unwavering sense of self. "Why else would they seek to kill us? Who our mother is, that is what this is about. Our deaths don't hurt the crusade. In many ways it helps... unless you harm someone more significant, more influential. They didn't attempt to kill us for any other reason than to harm our mother... who neither of us know."
Daliyon hesitated for a moment as the argument began to make sense. "But, if she were alive she would have found us years ago. Knights of Iomedae wouldn't have..."
"He was never a knight! What if she was never told? What if Hulrun lied? His fervor has ever been the forefront of every decision."
"How could a mother have no idea about her own children?" As many of his words this seemed to soothe her anger momentarily.
"I don't know." Analia stated with resignation, "But he does and he will tell me."
She pointed towards the barely visible gates of the city. "Somewhere in that city someone can tell us who our mother is and I will make them tell us."
Part 14- The Ungrateful Savior
Talongaard spun the flail above his head deftly, conjuring the wreath of flame- a legacy of his father. He was two steps away when the elven woman lost her step and tumbled to the ground. She nimbly fell and rolled so as to release her baby in a rolling bundle that caused it no harm and sent it spinning half hidden under a shrub. It was a desperate gambit he knew, one quite likely to fail under the scrutiny of an orc’s keen sense of smell, but she had a fading hope that it may succeed. The half-demon could see the doubt clearly in her mind, she hoped fervently that while the orc was doing it’s worst to her that it would completely forget about her child. She prayed briefly to the gods of her kind that it would not cry despite the horrific fate that was about to befall her and, thus, be saved. Talongaard knew what the orc intended and a last great stride landed him beside the despicable creature.
Unsurprised the orc turned it’s massive great axe on him in a wide destructive arc and Talongaard ducked beneath it with inhuman deftness despite his heavy armor. He did not have the massive strength of his sister and could not hope to block such ferocious blows, but he kept his flaming flail spinning and sent it in a retort towards the orc’s face. The beast drew his axe back defensively but far too slowly. The spiked ball exploded in a shower of fire and gore when it connected with his face and the orc dropped dead to the ground beside his intended victim.
Talongaard in his haste did not realize a second orc had pursued him until the axe cracked off of the back of his armor, deflecting from one of the sharp spikes. The force of the unexpected blow almost knocked him to his knees. His gray armor could not be breached by crude orcish iron he knew, but still he growled in personal shame at his carelessness. His father would have subjected him to several lashes for such a lapse. Just the thought of the punishments he endured in the past for such oversights lit a rage in him. He spun in a spiral to face his new enemy smashing the spikes prevalent along the forearm of his armor into the creatures wrist, impaling it and driving it wide. The orc howled in surprised alarm until a split second later when Talongaard had drawn his flail around in a lethal punishing strike to the foul creature’s head. In an instant the vile thoughts drained from the demon’s mind like an emptied bath tub.
He turned his black eyes to the elven woman he had saved and sensed that her fear had not yet subsided. She stared at him in horror taking in his iron clad, spiked, gray visage entirely as his father had intended. He sighed and lowered the bloody flail, willing the flames about it to flicker and fade to nothingness. Without even offering a hand, he knew she would not take, to help her up from the dirt, he turned his back on her and her child and walked back towards the diminishing sounds of battle and his sister.
Kyra was wiping the blood from her great sword with the remains of an orcish cloak when he returned to her. All the remaining orcs lay dead in a circle around her, including two corpse flanking her, one headless, the other nearly cut in half across the middle. When she cast her beaming eyes across his sad face she gasped in panic, “The woman and her child did we…”
He waved his spiked gauntlet at her dismissing the question. “They are saved. To what purpose I am unsure.”
She looked at him incredulously. “To what purpose? You can’t be serious.”
Talongaard stared at her with a seriousness that left little doubt and caused her to shudder briefly beneath his dead stare. “I saved her and the infant and she looked upon me with the same contempt that she had form them. I was no better than an orc in her eyes.” He kicked an orc corpse distastefully. “So for what I say? I had better treatment at the hands of my father’s fiends for a job well done.”
Kyra sheathed her sword in the great holster across her back trying to let the judgment fade from her own gaze. “Some times good deeds are their own reward.”
He snorted derisively. “What reward would that be? Contempt from creatures I try to help? Do you have any idea where she is now?”
Kyra shrugged, she had been startled when he had not brought the elves back with him. “Amongst the trees where our kind is most comfortable with her baby, still alive and no doubt grateful for the lives you have given her.”
He closed his dark eyes and his brow creased as he reached out with his mind once again. Without opening his eyes he pointed back to the trees from where he had come. “Three hundred yards that way, in full sprint, her intent is to gather archers of her people to slay me. How very appreciated I should feel for my efforts.”
Kyra was silent for a few moments before speaking. “Talon, she has been through a difficult time… look at her friends. Look at what happened here, what almost happened to her baby.”
His eyes flickered open as he let the thoughts go. “I did see what happened here and know cleared that either of you what was going to happen. I stopped it and now I am to be killed by the very person I thought to help.”
“I am certain that it will not come to that.” Kyra stated unconvincingly as she watched the trees closely. She knew well the prowess of elven archers, her mother’s people.
Her brother snarled viscerally, “I should have left her to her fate!”
“And the baby?”
Talongaard froze for a moment, for that was the crux of his dilemma, but then his pragmatism returned and his voice fell back to a whisper. “People die all the time. He would have been no different. I have seen even child souls in the Abyss. He would have been no different.”
Kyra suppressed her gasp, walked up behind him and with great caution found a place on his shoulder to place her hand between the infinite spikes of his armor. “Talon you are not like that.”
All the while she uttered a silent prayer to Iomedae that her brother was not like that.