Obsidian

Copyright Stuff: All the writing below is original where everything is concerned save for the GuildWars world of Tyria and their related characters. Please don't distribute this story or make any other copies without my express written permission. Feel free to save it to your computer, once you give due credit please. Please read the terms and regulations of Guru on respecting the posts of others. I still retain all the intellectual property for the writing, as the terms of Guru allow.

Good now that's hopefully out of the way :-D

Hello again everyone! As promised I have begun a sequel to Crystal. As I'm just about to write my first set of exams at university I can't really write as much, but I did manage to finish the first 2 chapters. I thank everyone yet again who took the time out to read and comment that fic and hope that you'll like this continuation!

Being that Crystal was pretty long I'll first give a brief idea of what went on and where things now stand.

Synopsis

Warned that their former guildmate Cyn Eaver, was trailing a young woman whose intentions were to release a formidable demon using a strange artefact called the Vixen's Heart, the two brothers - Farrion and Karak Neightswift - embarked on a desperate rescue operation.

Helped by the mysterious guild - the Wraiths, the Neightswifts eventually reached the demon's prison many miles below the Arid Sea in the Crystal Desert.

However, Karak was being slowly possessed by his former lover - Diana - who was on the run from her evil lord Pister. Pister bound her spirit to him when she had perished in the Searing, and she was forced to do his bidding. And before long, half of their company, including Farrion, were lost in the Gallery of Crystal.

Meanwhile, Cyn realises that the woman he was trailing - Karissa - was more than she seemed. He also realises that it is he who has the Vixen's Heart, and not Karissa. And to make matters worse, he finds that he is not truly human, rather exiled to Tyria for his insubordination.

Normire Darkwind, a long time friend and ally to both the Neightswifts and Cyn, finds that he, too is not human. Before he arrived on Tyria, he was Cyn's mortal enemy. However, they both lost their memories during the Searing and became the best of friends. But he was being pursued by evil things, and is eventually killed by Diana in Lion's Arch and bound to Pister.

Crystal ended with the remnants of the Wraiths - Habib and Big Charr - Karak, Normire, Karissa and the mysterious yet powerful Heather finding that Cyn had opened the door to the demon's prison. Karak goes on a killing spree - cutting down Cyn and Normire both and threatening the others before he was stopped by Big Charr.

A strange woman calling herself Jala makes her appearance and seemingly resurrects Cyn using dark magics. She reveals herself as the demon Ja'al and then they both vanish from the area, leaving the others to their own devices.

I have to thank Leon_Ux-ixen for allowing me to use his fantastic poem - “Unspoken Truth of My Heart” for this fic. It inspired me as did John Keats "To Hope" before and I hope that I can do that inspiration justice. I hope that you folks enjoy this first installment! Chapter 1!

Obsidian

The blue skies covered by dark clouds,
The sun eclipsed by the dark moon,
The glistening ocean gone from my view:
The glow of the stars no longer shines through my eyes.

The unsung pain in my heart,
The silence a horrible opera in my ears,
The tears running down my face;
I feel so alone.
~ Leon_Ux-ixen 'Unspoken Truth of My Heart'


Rebirth

“I just told you – Rin has fallen man!”

“When?! Answer me, damn you! When?!” the younger man pressed.

“Not two days ago.” The bedraggled man sighed with despair, “The Charr…I think they killed everyone.”

“Oh…Goddess!” the younger man sobbed, clutching his brother. All of his limbs suddenly became jelly, and his vision blurred. Rin has fallen…Ma, Dad…no…!

In his mind’s eye he could see them still, as they were before the Searing, before the war. Back when flowers still blossomed on green trees and the lands smelled of the perfume of daffodils and pine. But that was many months ago. How did they look now? The images of his mother and father suddenly – horribly – changed, burning, rotting, melting.

He should never have left them…but…how could he have known?

“Thanks.” His brother replied after a while. His grief-ridden eyes were filled with tears and steamed with anger. “That settles it, Farrion,” he said, turning to face his younger brother as the messenger ambled off, “We’re going to Rin. We’re going to kill these f**king Charr!”

Farrion stared long at his brother. For a monk, he was a strong man; thick muscles curled about his shoulders and neck, and even as he clenched his fists in fury, large veins popped across the surface of his tanned and half-burnt skin. But his face…it was drawn and gaunt; haunted. It seemed that in only a few short weeks the gods had taken everything from him.

“Karak, it is suicide.” Farrion said numbly. Vengeance hollered for a bold march west, to free Rin, but Farrion tried to let his cooler head prevail. It would be foolishness if the two last Neightswifts perished. Whatever they did would never bring their parents, their cousins, or anyone else that they had lost, back.

“What the f**k are you saying?!” Karak hissed back, “We have nothing to lose! Nothing!”

In that moment Farrion realised that his brother had grown despairingly desperate. The big monk was bordering on sheer insanity – a man with nothing to lose was society’s greatest bane.

“Karak, listen to me. Ma and Dad would not want us to throw our lives away…like that. We are but two and none of us is even so much as a ranger. How do you expect us to survive this devastated country and the tens of thousands of Charr out there?”

His older brother grabbed him by the collar fiercely, “I can heal, damn you. I…I can…we can….”

Farrion held his brother’s arms and tugged them from his stranglehold. “We can’t do anything right now. We….” He glanced around at the tumbling shells of buildings around him; at the panic-stricken men and women that walked aimlessly about the dead earth, like zombies. “We are too weak.”

“I am not weak!!” Karak cursed, looking around like a madman. He found a thick length of charred wood close at hand and broke it in two. He cast the shards to the dusty earth in a rage.

“The Charr are not that easy, man. If we rush out there, we would share the same fate as that piece of wood.” Farrion’s head began to ache, but he had to make Karak listen to reason. “We’re not alone…others…lost somebody at…Rin. Maybe we…could…join a guild?”

“Damn the guilds to hell! They’re the reason for all this shit!” Karak was screaming now, “Why did you take every RED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GOing thing from me!” He hollered at the blackened sky, “Why Diana?! Why Rin?! Why Ascalon?!”

Farrion clasped his hand against Karak’s shoulder, “You still have me, brother.”

The tall monk broke down completely then. “I still have you.” He sobbed, grabbing Farrion in one giant bear hug, “We’re all that’s left.”



Farrion’s head ached. Why was it still hurting so badly? His eyes burnt, yet he could see nothing. He was alone with his pain and his darkness. Was he dreaming?

We’re all that’s left.

That sounded familiar. Where had he heard that before? Who had said it?

Clink.

Clop.

What was that noise? Why did that sound familiar? Why was his head hurting so f**king bad?

Clink.

A ripple of pain pulsed through his extremities; from his legs and flowing up into his shoulders and arms. Fire seemed to burn in every sinew, banishing the sense of cold numbness. His head throbbed as though each thought caused him pain.

Clop.

Was that a rumbling against his back? He could not be sure. All he could feel was the fire in his veins and the pain in his head. There was nothing else; only the void. There was no light, no feeling, no hope of return. His thoughts, erratic as they were, coalesced into a single, coherent sentence, which somehow escaped his lips:

“Is this death?”

Only more pain answered him, intense pain that continued to assault every last fibre of his being. Is this death? Is this death? Is this… Suddenly a wave of freezing cold washed over him, like the crisp waters from the snowmelt of the Shiverpeaks. A liquid – searing cold – poured into his mouth and it filled every orifice on his body. He cough-choked, and felt the insides of his body churn and spasm like the waves of the sea.

At that instant he felt no pain, and heard nothing. For a moment, he regained all sense of feeling and thought, so acute that it was agonizing. He was suddenly aware that he was standing at the edge of a colossal precipice. Before him yawned a pit so vast and deep that its terminus was lost in impenetrable darkness. The darkness tugged on him with a gravity of its own. Farrion stood transfixed at the very edge, staring in.

Then from the darkness came a voice, quiet yet clear.

“Farrion.”

The Mesmer stared long and hard into the darkness. From its depths there arose a pale figure, its form translucent and shimmering. It floated on nothing, and its cold black eyes bore into Farrion like an iron drill. Farrion recognised the apparition, but he looked different. The rough mask was gone, as were the gloves and the drab rangers-wear. He stopped some ways from the precipice and beckoned to Farrion.

“Bones.” Farrion said. Yes. That sounds familiar. Memory lingered on the edge of Farrion’s grasp, but he could not reach it.

“Come.” The shade of Bones replied, “There is something that you must see.”

Unthinkingly, Farrion stepped across the threshold and into the vast pit. With a gasp he hurtled headfirst through the darkness, cold wind whipping at his face. He grabbed out in every direction, hoping to catch something, anything that would break his fall, but there was nothing but the darkness.

Then, the darkness melted away. On every side and below him, Farrion could see a landscape taking shape, from formless dark masses to trees and grassland, rivers and seas, villages and giant cities. He was rushing over the landscape, as quick as a gale, seeing everything. Burning deserts and petrified seas passed in seconds. Then suddenly he slowed, hovering over a sparse forest that was broken by large statues of grim faced men.

Off to his right a city bustled at the water’s edge. A cacophony of voices filled his ears, and the smell of fish and earth and fruit filled his nostrils. A massive fleet was making port at the harbour; hundreds of main sails billowed in the stiff western breeze. The ships, more resembling giant swans or krackens, glided through the calm waters like wraiths. It was a breathtakingly beautiful sight, but Farrion could not help but feel that something was wrong.

At the helm of the flagship stood two figures. Farrion was carried closer, and their faces became strikingly clear. One was a man, clad in a white robe, embroidered in gold. A bejewelled white-gold crown sat on his head. In his right hand he clutched something, but Farrion could not make out what. Beside him stood a striking, bombshell of a woman. Just looking at her made every organ in Farrion’s body jump and tremble with primal desire. Her body was perfect. The way her jet-black hair curled about her neck and fell about her back was perfect. Her sinuous lips and every other feature of her perfect face were…perfect.

But her eyes…her eyes held Farrion the longest. They were slanted and ravishing, but they were queer. They shimmered like orbs of fire.

The scene was swept away, and in a few seconds replaced with a burning and tortured landscape. Two massive armies collided on that vista, even as burning ash and meteors rained down from the heavens. Voices once again filled his ears, but now they were screaming in agony and chanting powerful spells the likes of which Farrion had never before seen. Again Farrion saw the man and the woman, in the thick of battle. The man wielded a black longsword, but it was from his bare hands that his damage came. Tongues of black flame stretched from them, consuming entire legions. The woman was a weapon entirely of her own. Nothing but death rained from her hands and eyes. Huge, blackened shapes rose from the battered earth, falling upon men and women without prejudice.

Again the scene changed, another one taking its place. There again was the man, surrounded by unspeakable destruction, but he was bound in chains. Darkness and evil itself radiated from his body like heat. He held his head between his hands, but Farrion could still feel his gaze – sharp and disturbing. Suddenly he looked up, directly at the Mesmer.

“Farrion?” He said.

And then he was gone. Darkness returned in an instant and again Farrion stood facing Bones at the edge of the precipice.

“You have to stop them.”

“How?”

“You will know. I could not guide you to them, but this much I can do.”

“Bones. What…what happened to you?”

“I failed.”

Pain returned as Bones and the gaping pit vanished from Farrion’s vision. The fire scorched away all his flesh and muscle, leaving him bare and in utter agony. Just when he thought that he would forever burn, he opened his eyes, and a youthful face filled his vision.

“Oh, thank the gods!” the young man gasped, embracing Farrion weakly. The faint glimmer of the resurrection signet hanging from a chain around his neck cast a pale light on the area close at hand. “I’m so glad this worked! I thought you were too far gone, but…but I just had to try!”

Farrion sputtered incoherently for a short while before he was able to speak, “Hea…Heavens?”

“Yes! Farrion, it’s me!” the elementalist sounded ecstatic, but his face was drawn and tired, and his flesh was as pale as milk.

A multitude of thoughts crammed into Farrion’s head at that point, making coherent thought impossible. He could not assess the situation, could not explain what had just happened, and he could not remember what had happened before. The vision of the man, at the helm of that beautiful flagship still lingered before his eyes.

“I…I think we’re all that’s left, Farrion! All that’s left!” Heavens broke down in heart-wrenching sobs of despair. “I…I…couldn’t find the others! What are we…gonna do?!”

Farrion could not answer him. He had finally recognised the man, as memory flooded back in a cascade of terrible sounds and images. Cyn. Oh gods. What happened?

It was too much to think about. Farrion’s head hurt so badly that he thought that it was splitting open at the seams. He collapsed back to the ground, falling once more into the welcoming arms of unconsciousness.

We’re all that’s left.

Last week of exams and here's Chapter 2! Thank you all for your views!

Erudite’s Hill

Thin, misty rain blanketed the shallow ravine in a still, white soup. The relentless raindrops gently ground the hard earth into rivers of swirling mud and ash. Dark clouds hung low in the permanently crimson sky, like vultures. The rain doused the fire gutted ruins beneath; the fallen towers and burnt out shells of houses and storerooms, the charred and broken remains of bones.

One thing moved. A long, burgundy flag affixed to a tall pole at the highest point in the bowl-shaped ravine furled and curled in the occasional wind. Even drenched with rain and disfigured by ash and blood, the flag still flew; defiant, rising above the layer of mist – like a singular ‘f**k you’ to a cruel world.

“Don’t let the flag fall on Erudite’s Hill.” His guild-leader’s voice echoed in his head for the umpteenth time. As foolish as that command was, he quietly prayed that it would not be for the last time.

His guild had long ago broken up into many groups of four or six, scattering about the burning remnants of their Guildhall and the tiny surrounding settlement to try to stave off the invading armada. He had not seen anyone from the other groups in days. Probably dead, or dying; burned alive by the Charr.

He cast the sky a furtive glance, taking in the crimson-coloured expanse, dressed in several layers of black, churning clouds. The sun failed to shine here, but a hazy-red glow permeated to the twisted earth below. Acrid smoke choked his lungs and, mingling with the slow drizzle, filled his mouth with a vile taste.

“Something’s coming! Quickly, take cover!” Vinessa whispered frantically from somewhere in the gloomy mist.

He and his two companions bounded into a ruined storeroom close at hand, taking up defensive positions behind fallen, blackened walls. Vinessa squeezed into a corner with him. She was drenched and shivering and in need of a bath – as was everyone – but he felt immediately at ease as her warm body pressed against his.

“What’re they?” he breathed, gripping his dagger. Arrows had long ago been spent, recovered and re-spent.

“I’m not sure. Charr, I think. Now shush, Heli!” she replied, wrapping both hands around her longsword. It was a fantastic sword, lined with runes and counter-runes of power and luck, but it was a shame that Vinessa had no expertise with them.

Heli sighed and glanced across at the other members of his four-part company. Here, in the laughable shelter of a half-blasted storeroom, he could see everyone more or less clearly; Chris, the assassin, held his daggers professionally, though his frantic eyes exposed the fear that consumed him. Harclyde, the pot-bellied elementalist, regarded their hideout with disdain, through his one eye. The other had been gouged out during a desperate battle not so long ago. A bloody wad of cloth was stuffed into the gaping hole, and though it dripped blood and liquid ash and must have hurt like hell, Harclyde took it with balls that must have been at least as big as the tallest Shiverpeaks.

Everyone was weak and tired; energy spent, and it was only through sheer will, could most of them stand. As a ranger Heli was the fittest of the four, and most times it was only him that stood between the raging Charr bands and his company. But he too was weakening, and as much as he tried, he could not push away the memories of that night four days ago, when the Charr had suddenly appeared and put his friends and guildmates to the sword.

Now all was still.

The rain seemed muted and appeared not to fall, like frozen pikes of water suspended over the earth.

The crunch of wet, burned grass beneath boots abruptly sounded close by, and it grew louder and louder until suddenly, seven massive shapes lumbered past the crumbled window close to where Heli and Vinessa hid. Charr Blade-Warriors. One stopped and sniffed the air, tentatively. Heli could not see the beast in its entirety, but he could make out thick drops of mucus and water pouring from its flared nostrils. Heli’s breath caught in his lungs.

Melandru. Is this finally the end?

Then the Charr grunted, and they moved on, trudging through the mud, ash and bones. A watery silence returned, ushered in with loud, thick thunderclaps that rocked the sky.

“What’s the next move, Vin?” His eyes roved about the storeroom, scoping their virtually non-existent defence.

“I…I don’t know.” She sounded exasperated, “We’re the only ones left, Heli!”

That’s been the case for the past couple ah days. “Then I suggest we leave this place. Ain’t no use dying fuh nuttin’.”

“But we can’t let the flag fall! Reinforcements will come only if they see the flag! We have to keep the Charr at bay!” Vinessa continued to shiver, and she frantically groped the hilt of her sword, as if seeking solace in its touch.

“The Charr’ve won here, Vin.”

She gazed up at him, then. Her eyes were so full of stark horror and desperation that it cut Heli down to his soul. Despite what she said and even with all of the encouragements that she gave, he knew that Vinessa knew the truth. No reinforcements are coming. Yet they must keep hope alive somehow. For what indeed was Man without hope?

“Gods!” Vinessa cursed, small tears trickling down her bloodied face.

She seemed so small in her battered and mismatched armour. For a moment it seemed as though she was nothing more but skin, bones and steel plate; rotting away into nothingness. Heli massaged his tired and bloodshot eyes and rested an aching arm around her shoulders. He surely smelled like a bear himself, and his armour was barely more than leather strips hanging over over-worked muscles.

“Don’t let’em see you cry, Vin. You’re our leader – you’ve gotta be strong.” Heli gently grasped her face. She’s so beautiful. Gods, this shouldn’t have to be her end! But the world was cruel. The evil, the stupid and even the sacrilegious all seemed to get their way, while the humble, the poor, the frail and even the gifted got nothing but pain and suffering.

“You know I suck at leading people, Heli,” she whispered, “You were always better than me at this – it’s only because of you that were still alive.”

“Then listen to me then. Let’s haul ass outta hey.”

“What about all those Charr, Heli?! We can’t possibly get past them! Even if we do, we’re in the middle of nowhere! Without supplies we’ll die before we see the Wall again!”

Heli cursed silently. Somewhere, deep down inside, he knew that she was right. What chance did four half-dead guildmates have against an army of bloodthirsty Charr? What were the odds of survival some hundred miles north of the Wall?

“How did it come to this? How did it come to this!?” Vinessa sobbed, hugging herself, “I don’t want to die, Heli.” She added softly. But her whispers spoke volumes upon volumes.

The tired ranger looked back up at the other men in his team. They could not hear what was being said, but even though they only had three eyes between them, they were not blind. Vinessa was not going to lead them anywhere anytime soon.

Maybe in his mind he had always known that this would happen. That he would have to take up that mantle of leadership that he had hoped never to wield again. A sardonic smile almost touched his lips. I get to lead the way to my death.

How did it ever come to this?

Two years as part of a suicidal attempt to rout the Charr from their breeding grounds past the Wall. Two thousand of the most foolhardy men ever to live had volunteered to go north, splitting into two factions and heading into different areas. Sure his faction had stumbled across a small human-slave settlement – one of the places where the Charr brought their live victims. The surrounding hills were rich in iron and gems; ripe for slaves to mine. And sure they had managed a few hard-won victories against the Charr. But what was it all worth in the end?

His parents had been fried in the Searing, and the brothers he had never known had vanished. He had heard rumours about them, tall tales of how they had saved Tyria, how they threw down the White Mantle and stopped undead from roaming unchecked in the lands. Heli did not want such glories. All he wanted was revenge, on those that had killed his family – albeit the family that probably did not even know he existed.

My revenge was never complete.

“Charr coming from the west!” Harclyde whispered frantically, “They’ll see us!”

Heli peered through the fallen western wall, and could barely make out large, moving shapes, dark against the reddish and mist-filled environs. They were close, too damn close for comfort.

“What’ll we do?” Vinessa asked him. She had stopped shivering, but her eyes were hollow; like the gaze of someone going to the gallows.

He glanced at her, and then at the others. Their shoulders sagged and their breaths came in long, slow draughts. Their eyes were distant, and hopelessness wafted from them like body odour. They had nothing left in them. Regardless of which path he took, it really was the end.

“We keep that flag flying.” For what is Man without hope? “We’ll defend it until help comes. Erudite’s Hill isn’t that far away.” He rose and peered through the crumbled window. He could not exactly see the flag, but the pole still stood tall and could be seen through the mist.

With surges of fresh adrenaline, the company raced away from the storeroom and made their way to the Hill. Ironically, the same mist that had shielded the Charr advance just four days ago shielded them now from the beasts’ sight.

Through the ruins and past the broken and rusting armour of dead guildmates they went, ever upwards, to the tall pole on Erudite’s Hill. Eventually they made it, and for just a moment, they could see the entire mist-filled ravine – like a bowl of curdled milk – stretching out below and around them. The flag still blew in the quickening breeze, but all around lay the mangled bodies of several of Heli’s guildmates.

There had been a slaughter here, and it was recent.

“Dwayna have mercy! No wonder this flag is still flying! It’s a deathtra––.” Harclyde’s words were cut short as arrows pierced his throat and cranium. His suddenly lifeless body squirmed to the mushy ground, like some giant, one-eyed earthworm.

In a moment, scores of Charr clustered around the Hill, advancing. Arrows suddenly rained from the sky, turning Chris into a pin-cushion and sending Heli and Vinessa to the ground. The ranger covered them with a large oval shield close at hand, even as the realisation of the utter cunning of the Charr crashed down upon him like a physical blow.

They kept the flag flying. Lure all of us here – and kill us.

Heli grabbed hold of Vinessa and the wooden flag-post with his free arm on the way down, even as Charr closed in. The dead gazed at them in mute pity; their eyes frozen open and the gaping mouths forever locked in desperate screams. Screams that the mist and the rain were sure to have smothered.

The ranger glanced up at the water-drenched body of the first Charr that reached them and held Vinessa close to his chest. The beast raised its massive sword with expert prowess, and from underneath its steel helm Heli could make out two blazing eyes that regarded them with nothing but the starkest of hate.

He did not hear Vinessa whimper or feel her shiver.

“What is Man without hope?” He spat. Darkness came with the fall of the Charr’s sword.

Great job! Although i'm extremely fond of books, your writing sometimes confuses me. However, it's so good that I don't mind reading it over and over again. Don't make your story less complicated because of me though!

If i had to give it a rating out of 10, it would have to be 10/10

Keep going!

Excellent job!!! The sequel is just as good as Crystal so far. I can't wait to find out what part Farrion plays in this one. He's one of my favorite characters.

Excellent! I'm definitely hooked. Keep up the good work.

I look forward to reading this one

However, I do oppose the usage of a ressurection signet in your story =/
IMO if mhenlo had a rez sig, im sure he would shrug when togo is murdered by shiro, and proceed to rez him.
Or ruik, when he dies: rez him XD
i dunno, maybe you'll suprise me again: i could be wrong

Hey again everyone and belated happy new year's greetings from the Caribbean! I hope everyone enjoyed the holidays, and I trust that you cricket-lovers out there have your tickets for the World Cup coming this year right here in my home! Thanks everyone for your comments, views and crits so far, and I'm glad that you're enjoying this. I couldn't spend much time on this fic as I would have liked, for I was working on other important writing projects that I've been delaying. Anyway, I did pretty well in my exams and now I'm back with Chapter 3 and I hope you like it!

Embers


He blinked, yet tears, sweat and blood still clouded his vision. He struggled to breathe; his lungs seemed almost too weary to take in air. His muscles burned with exhaustion – every movement ignited a new tendon with pain. Yet he forced himself to stand. His right arm dangled like a loose vine at his side; numb, bloody and almost useless.

In the light of all that had happened; the utter silence of the cavern was unnerving. Just minutes ago every rock had trembled under a vicious earthquake, but now all was still. And all was quiet. The sharp intake of breath before a dive? Or the final sigh at the end of all things? He did not know. He could not think clearly anymore.

He ambled over to a grizzled beast not too far away, whose horror-filled eyes reflected his own.

“Habib…did…did you just see what happened?” Big Charr exclaimed.

“Yes and no.” He replied, “I saw it, but I don’t believe what I saw. That’s not true seeing is it?”

The Charr shook his head. “I’m not one for all those technical philosophies, Habib.” He motioned to the man sprawled out on the ground before him, “Something’s seriously wrong with this one.”

Habib realised that it was Karak who lay at the tip of the Charr’s sword. The young warrior’s breaths were fast, and his eyes gazed around at the darkling environs with hatred. Those finally came to rest on Habib, and Karak smiled.

“So, you have failed.” Karak said.

Habib was startled, for he not only heard Karak’s voice, but at least two others. And as he looked at the warrior, his countenance seemed to shift, to blur and melt. Where there was only one face, Habib could make out three – two in apparent torment and one grinning as pure fire burnt in its eyeballs.

“Something’s definitely wrong with him. Shackle him if you can Charr. I’ll see how the women are doing. Maybe they can explain just what the hell happened to Cyn.”

Leaving the Charr to his work, Habib made his way to the centre of their campsite, where Heather and Karissa sat silently, still staring at the spot where Cyn and that striking woman had just been moments ago. He stooped next to Heather and rested his left hand around her shoulders.

“Are you alright?”

It took her a while to realise that he was next to her, and far more time to actually respond. “The demon took him.” Her voice was soft, and her shoulders slumped; defeated.

“Ja’al? But that thing was supposed to be male, wasn’t it? And huge and ugly.”
“All just different faces of the same monster. You just assumed it was male.”

“Then why would it…she…want Cyn? I think there’s something here that you’re not telling me, Heather.”

She glanced up at him then, and her eyes were running with tears. “It doesn’t matter any more, does it? Everything’s gone wrong, Habib! He’s gone. Ja’al won!”

Habib remembered the dying words of the only man he had ever looked to as a leader. Before he had been ordered to leave him, Bones had told him not to fail. That he could not fail – too much was at stake. I don’t think I’ve failed even now. Tyria had not been destroyed just yet, and there was still breath in his lungs – and so there was still time enough to succeed.

“Tell me everything, Heather. The cat is out of the bag, and secrecy is no longer an option. We were all brought together for this, I feel, and we can only get through this with information.”

Suddenly she rose to her feet and glared down at him. “It’s all pointless Habib, all pointless. Bones, Tsuki, Heavens and…and Farrion,” her voice caught, “all died for nothing. What is there to get through? All hope is gone, man. There’s nothing stopping Ja’al now that she has Cyn.”

“All hope is not lost. We ––.”

“Can do what, eh?” Heather clenched her fists and raised her voice, “We’re not gods! We can’t kill demons!”

Habib slowly got to his feet. The pain in his arm sought to consume him, but with great effort he pushed it out of his psyche. Why is Heather acting like this? He studied her intently, silently. She’s not regressing to a vampire again, is she? My arm still burns from her bite. But whatever the reason, there was truth in what she said. No mortal could actually kill a demon. Or at least Habib believed so. And to imprison Ja’al again might only delay the inevitable.

So that means…we have to destroy the Key.

“She lies.” A soft voice said from off to Habib’s left.

He turned thence and saw Karissa stooping over the dead figure of Normire. She held something in her hands, but Habib could not tell what. A strange, pale light grew from between her clasped fingers. Her gaze was fixed on Normire’s pale face.

“We can get rid of Ja’al once and for all.” She continued.

“Shut the f**k up, you!” Heather screamed. A blind rage seemed to suddenly consume her. Drawing a dagger she dashed to Karissa with murderous intent. Habib barely had enough presence of mind to grab her and clutch the cursing, struggling woman to his chest.

“Let me go! Every word she says is a lie!” Heather screamed. Her voice resounded through the now quiet cavern with a sharp, uncanny quality. Habib flinched at the breaking of the almost complete silence.

“Give her a chance. Since you don’t want to say anything, let her have her turn.” The big warrior was suddenly overcome by a strange feeling of nostalgia as the words left his mouth. He felt his age again, and for just a moment, his mind imagined that he was back amidst the wheat and barley fields, straining joyously in the summer-sun, with his children frolicking and playing around him.
Still now he could hear their voices, if he listened close and long enough. Such innocence. Such bright futures. Such fear as the sky went red and death rained from the heavens.

No time for memories. The future is at hand. Painfully, he pushed such thoughts to the back of his mind.

Karissa’s focus never left Normire, and when she spoke it seemed that she was reciting a tale long rehearsed, “Cyn is from the Mists. There he was tasked with the imprisonment of the Ja’al demon, who resided on a plane parallel to our own. He took his best team, of which Heather was a part. They were barely victorious, and Cyn took something of Ja’al’s to act as a key to her prison. It was one of her eyes.”

She glanced across at Habib’s concern-creased face, as he tried to no avail to make sense of what she had just said. Karissa did not deign to explain, she simply continued, “But what no one knows is that Ja’al also took something of Cyn’s.”

To Habib, it seemed as though Karissa was fighting some massive will – one that was indomitable in its strength, yet invited contest. She fought against truth. But the truth of what?

“What did she take?”

“His heart.” Those two words had the effect of the final nail in a coffin, before it is thrust six feet below the earth. Karissa slumped and sighed despairingly.

“She wants him, and she loves him deeply. I don’t know how or why. And it doesn’t matter. Cyn himself is the key. When Ja’al was imprisoned, she left a lot of her…darkness in Cyn, as a parting gift, but poisonous like venom. They’re connected now, and their bond will only get deeper and deeper.”

“So, you’re trying to say that Cyn is making Ja’al stronger.”

“Yes, but Ja’al is fresh from her prison is not yet that strong. She will depend on Cyn greatly for now. But if we…if we take…Cyn out of the picture….”

Heather’s struggling grew more desperate as Habib’s one-handed hold on her quickly failed. Oh Gods! I can’t hold her!

“Easy, Heather! Easy! Let her speak!”

Karissa’s hands began to move over Normire’s body, her fingers glowing with a pale light. What the hell is she doing to the man?

“I love him, you know,” Karissa continued, oblivious to Heather, “But he’s too far gone now. Too far. He was always so preoccupied with her…always making plans to prevent her escape. I thought…that maybe if I freed the demon, some brave Tyrian would somehow manage to slay her. And I could have Cyn to myself.” She smiled weakly, as tears coursed down her face onto the battered corpse of Normire below her. “Stupid, I know. I was desperate, and he was one of the few who showed me genuine kindness. I could see the poison in him, driving him. But I’m so hollow, now. So hollow.”

Her voice fell to a whisper of garbled words as Heather violently broke free from Habib and charged like a mad thing at her prone form.

In that instant Habib felt a shiver surge through his body, and suddenly it looked as though Heather was trudging through the thickest clay; the very air around her seemed to solidify. Karissa turned to glare at the vampire, but she did nothing to escape or to defend herself.

A vision flashed before Habib’s eyes; Karissa was a marble statue, unmoving, but with eyes of fire, and Heather was a charging beast, large and grey.

Then the vision passed and Heather bounded into Karissa in fury, ripped her head back with the locks of her hair and jabbed the dagger against her throat.
“To the Underworld with you, abomination!”

But a pale hand, with a grip the strength of the jaws of a sandworm, flew out and caught Heather’s blade. All eyes turned to the ground, to the corpse of Normire.

He was on his side, trying to rise to his feet. A pale light lingered around him, like tendrils of protecting arms reluctant to let him go. What the hell did she do to him? Karissa has more than arms up her sleeves it seems.

From the first time Habib had laid eyes on him he assumed that Normire was indeed a necromancer, but now the man seemed that and so much more. It seemed that, coming now from the bloody clutches of Death, Grenth himself had imprinted some cold and evil brand on his soul. As though summoned with a thought, a chill settled on the cavern. Mist gathered at Habib’s flared nostrils.

With a gaze that froze her breath, Normire looked upon Heather. His hand still clutched that sharp blade, and bled, but it seemed that the necromancer felt nothing.

“Stop.” Mist streamed from his mouth like smoke from the gut of a volcano. “Do not kill the messenger. Cyn must die.”

Awsome job...........next chapter please XD

Woah, very nice Cyn. The only problem I can find is that these don't show up fast enough. The time it takes me to read a chapter is too fast compared to the time it takes you to write one. This one is amazing. Thanks for wanting to write this story.

Thanks for your comments shadow and Goats! I'm truly sorry that I can't write as fast as I'd like to, but the story itself seems to coming to me in only fits and starts at the moment . However, thank you all for still reading and here's Chapter 4. Please enjoy!

Many Masques

Light climbed through the long, narrow windows of the hall; thin, misty beams of cold light that faded in and out with the passage of clouds. Tall colonnades hugged the walls on either side, and through their midst there ran a quick stream, quiet and clear. Strange plants grew here: crawling mosses, thorny, slimy bushes and drooping roses, bobbing in the still air. In some parts, where the stream rushed over large stones, one could see the reflection of the roof far off; a roof that was at times lost in a thick mist that hung in the air.

Cyn did not know where the hell he was.

An overwhelming sense of displacement overcame him, and he looked about for something, anything that his memory could latch onto. But there was nothing. He was all alone, in a long hall, standing ankle deep in a quick stream.

Maybe I should check the windows? Cyn strolled out of the stream, his bare feet leaving thin, watery prints on the cold hall floor. When he reached the window closest at hand, he gazed through and saw only light; shifting, swirling light. Light so pure that it banished even the notion of darkness.

He came away from the window, breathless. “What is this, for Melandru’s sake?”

Desperate, Cyn brought his attention on the stream. Now I have a choice, I guess? He wondered, Follow the stream’s current to its end, or go the other way to its source.

He glanced both ways and realised that they all seemed to go on forever. Where was he in relation to the stream anyway? Midway? Close to the end, or close to the source? But either way, he still could not come up with the answers to the two million-gold questions: Where am I? How did I get here?

As he thought this he found that his throat had become parched, so dry that swallowing was quickly becoming impossible. What the f**k?

He fell to his knees and cupped out some of the rushing water into his hands. He gulped it down and then, still parched; he ducked his whole head in the water and drank deeply.

The liquid felt good as it rushed down his throat. It tasted sweet, almost like cane-juice, but rich like red wine. It seemed to curl and uncoil as it hit his stomach, like it was alive. What sort of water is this? Cyn realised, as he took his head from the water that he was coming up with plenty questions, but no damn answers.

Finally satisfied, he sat down at the edge of the stream in dismay. He was lost, and the feeling of it permeated deep into his being. Never before had he been this lost. He was a ranger, for the gods’ sake, he knew how to get around.

“But how did I get here?” he found himself asking. His voice sounded gruff to him, tired. “How did I get here?”

It never occurred to him that he might be dead. Trapped in some endless hall for all eternity.

He sighed and buried his face in his hands and for the first time in his life, he sat motionless, waiting for something to happen. Some memory to come back to him, some clue, some sort of help.

The he glanced up and there was a wooden door across the stream before him, unadorned and closed. The wood was a deep ash colour, shot with red streaks that looked disturbingly like large, lidless eyes. As far as he could see, there was no handle or keyhole. Yet, despite this, Cyn had a sudden urge to jump across the stream and open the door. What lay behind it he did not know and could not guess, but the impulse was almost like a physical pull.

Unthinkingly, Cyn stepped into the stream and waded across. Waded, for suddenly it seemed that the water ran deeper and swifter. But then he was across it, gaping at the door without a handle. He almost reached out a hand and touched it.

“Wouldn’t you rather a walk?” said a voice from his immediate left.

Cyn’s concentration on the door was shattered like a crystal orb, and turning, he beheld a diminutive woman standing across the stream. She studied him with an air of suspicion, and what looked like nervousness.

“Who the hell are you?” It was not one of his ideal questions, but seeing as to nothing right seemed to be going on here, Cyn could not have cared less at the moment.

“I saw you staring at the door…I thought maybe you’d rather a walk for a bit, to clear your head.”

“I don’t want to walk. I want to get…out…of…here.”

She seemed to shiver and her eyes darted towards the door in what could have only been fear. What’s behind that door that’s she so afraid of? Cyn thought, Do I really want to know?

“Just a walk, Cyn. That’s all I’m asking.” The woman responded.

“How do you know my name?” Another answerless question.

She shrugged, “I don’t know. I can’t remember. I just want you to take a walk with me. Please.”

At that point she sounded so desperate that Cyn almost thought that she was asking for something else. And it was not any walk. But what do I have to lose? Maybe she’ll get me out of here, wherever here is.


“Alright. Whatever you want – I just need to get out of here.”

“Step back across the stream, then.” She offered her right hand to him, beckoning.

But Cyn could not move. All of a sudden he felt transfixed before the door; as though he were at the threshold of something so massive that he was not sure he had the guts or the balls to face. The stream, which had just minutes before been shallow and swift, now seemed as deep and unforgiving as the ocean. Before his very eyes foam-capped waves began to grow on the surface of the water, rising – hundreds? – of feet into the sky.

A storm was bristling. Loud thunder reverberated throughout the hall and everything was plunged into an uncanny sort of blue twilight. Beyond the churning stream…ocean….Cyn could still see the woman, hand outstretched, beckoning him to come across.

He felt a tug at his feet, and looking down he saw – clutching his foot – a pale hand, growing from the hall floor. All about his feet these hands were slipping upwards from the ground, grasping for him. There must have been scores of them, some pale, others jet black, many charred as if burnt. Many had no flesh at all. The whole scene reminded him of something…something he could not put his finger on, and Cyn shivered.

“I must be dreaming. Or I must be hallucinating.”

Even as the words left his mouth he felt an icy chill upon his back, and when he glanced over his shoulder he realised that the door had opened.

Behind it lay softly rolling hills and pastures, all speckled with bright flowers. Tall grasses and lofty oaks waved in the fragrant afternoon breeze, and the summer sun blazed happily in a crystal clear sky.

“Cyn, just cross the stream.” The woman said again.

Cyn turned back to face her, but her visage had changed dramatically. Flesh peeled from her face like melting wax, revealing a horrible obsidian skull that grinned at the ranger. Red orbs of fire burnt its hollow eye-sockets.

“Just cross the stream. A walk is all I ask.” It said.

On that side of the hall smoke began to settle. Horrible, nameless things flicked through that grey shroud, all about the melting, twisting figure of what had been the woman.

Cyn had never considered himself to be the sharpest arrowhead in the quiver, but he was not stupid enough to go through a churning length of water into the arms of what was evidently a demonic figure.

The door revealed a way out of this accursed hall, and Cyn was taking it.
Pulling free from the desperate hands that were clutching at his feet Cyn turned and virtually threw himself over the threshold of the door.

“Cyn, what are you doing? Don’t go through the door!”

For a moment he hung there, floating through space. He blinked and suddenly his vision changed. Blackened earth spilled over what had just been fields of flowers and grass. Flies swarmed over the sky, and horrible folk shambled on the desolate ground. Fluids trickled from their swollen limbs and heads, puss oozed from their bursting mouths. But behind them came a massive horde of…things. Tall they were, and fleshless. They had no eyes yet they saw all, no life, yet they moved, and shreds of clothes whipped about their thin frames.

They flocked over the waste, consuming even the sickening souls that trudged about before them. On they came. On and on. Endless hordes of those long dead. And Cyn was flying towards them.

“What the f**k have I just done?” Cyn cursed, but one cannot turn back around in midair, and as he passed the threshold, the door closed behind him.
And then he was gone.

The woman stood on the far side of the river, staring after him. The stream glistened like a thread of a spider’s web; shallow and swift. All was quiet and still, and the black door frowned at everything.

“There’s Death behind that door.” She said, even though Cyn would never hear it.


~ * ~


He woke to the sound of quiet singing close at hand. There was a shivering against his back, jarring his teeth every now and then. Crisp air filled his nostrils; air so pure that it seemed that any impurities had been burnt out in the hottest furnace.

Cyn opened his eyes and a low, wooden roof filled his vision. It appeared roughly made, unvarnished, yet the beams seemed strong enough and strangely flexible. He rose and found that he was covered in a thin, pale sheet, which seemed colder to the touch than warm. As his senses adjusted to the environs, Cyn thought that he was alone in this new place.

“Gave me quite a scare there, my dear,” She said, sitting next to him on the narrow seat and pressing a soft kiss upon his cheek.

Her lips burnt as though glossed with acid and suddenly Cyn’s senses came rushing back to him in a torrential flood. He jerked away from her and found himself hugging the wooden wall off to the side, heart racing and head exploding.

“Try and stay calm, your body hasn’t caught itself yet,” she said again, moving closer and playing with his hair.

Cyn felt as though his insides were all freezing, then melting, then growing now shrinking. A patchwork of unrecognisable images flashed across his eyes and memories of voices from people he once knew sounded in his ears like the echoes of ghosts on a breeze. He could not think anymore – all he could do was hug the wall and shiver as his very body seemed to shift and rearrange, creating a new creature from the inside out.

She resumed her singing. Soft it was and soothing, even though the words were foreign. She was holding and massaging his hands in hers, but it barely registered to Cyn.

And then, it passed.

With one final jerk, the sensation of his changing interior dissipated and his senses sharpened once again. He could hear the groans of wood all around him, and in the distance he could make out the howling of wind. Every now and anon he could hear the neighing of horses and the curses of men. The woman’s body now felt warm to him, and the tension in his muscles flowed away.

He turned and regarded her perfect features, exquisitely sculptured body and flawless complexion. Cyn kissed her on her brow and breathed deeply of her inviting aroma.

“How long was I out?” he asked.

“Three days.”

“How did you manage?”

“Well enough, I suppose.” She glanced up at him, through dark eyes, which seemed to shimmer as though concealing some inner fire, “I got some lads to escort us to the nearest camp – Thirsty River – I think they call it.”

He sighed and gently squeezed her hands. There was something in the back of his mind that he just could not grab hold of. It lay there, taunting his memory, but evaded his grasp. Was it some dream? A song even? No matter. I have a new life now. Past memories have no place in my new self.

“Have we been followed?” He asked as he tried to get up.

“Of course not. Do you expect them to follow us? To try to…hinder us?”

“Karak of Egilos drove a sword through my heart. But he’s not as dangerous as his brother, and surely he must have been there even though I didn’t see him. I know them, I fought beside them. And there’s Normire to worry about as well.”

She shrugged carelessly, “Let them try, sweetheart. We need to make examples out of someone, after all.”

Cyn felt like an entirely new being, less of a man and more of something larger and better. He was above remorse now, or even pity. Yet even so, that tingling at the back of his mind whispered that something was vastly amiss. Strangely enough, the whispering seemed to come from someone standing at the edge of a deep cliff, shouting warnings of danger down to him as he climbed – ever so slowly – down, into a churning, fiery sea. An irrational thought. The only place I’m going is to the Top.

“After the River, where do you have in mind?”

“The world’s changed since I’ve seen it last, my love,” she sighed. “But I’ve always wanted to see the pyramids.” A warm smile split her doll-perfect face.

Hey everyone, I finally managed to finish this next chapter! It's quite in keeping with the theme for this fic and I hope that you enjoy it. Thanks once again for reading! Onto Chapter 5, man!

Sliced


It was still dark when Farrion opened his eyes again. He reached out around him, to get a feel as to where he was. There was a wall behind him and as his hands roved to his sides, he grasped a warm cloth figure close at hand. The figure jumped and a bolt of lightning flashed from its arms, revealing the narrow room in blinding detail, if only for a second.

“Heavens?” Farrion croaked. The memory of his dream came fluttering back to him now, and he shivered.

“Farrion, oh gods! I’m so glad you woke up!” The young elementalist’s voice still quivered, and in the utter dark Farrion could not see his face.

The Mesmer continued feeling around himself, and found that he was covered in a long cloth blanket, which itched but still provided some measure of warmth. It was dry and something was caked on it in some places, but Farrion could not tell what.

“What happened back there, Heavens?” He remembered the portal room all too well. The flashes of lightning, the smell of charred flesh, the voices of his companions moaning in agony – suddenly cut off as sharp teeth found their marks. He remembered the shimmering space that was the portal, as it flashed so brightly as to light up the whole room, with Habib standing before it, ordering everyone to retreat. Then came the…pain to the back of his neck, and to his chest, and Farrion’s world had gone completely black.

The Mesmer closed his eyes, massaged them and reopened them. It made no difference. Wherever they were was darker than the tar that now bubbled out of the streams and lakes of Ascalon.

“It…it was…I can’t remember.” Heavens sighed. “But when I woke up, I could barely breathe. There was blood all around me…so much blood. And then I found you.”

So far, nothing Heavens had said made any sense whatsoever to Farrion. He’s scared nearly out of his wits. He would have gone mad if he hadn’t found anyone else. I guess in his situation I would be in the same boat.

“You….” Heavens’ voice fell to a whisper, as if speaking forbidden things, “You were staring at me, covered in lots and lots of blood. And grinning. When I checked your pulse, there was nothing. But…but you still looked at me.”

Farrion felt colder, and the darkness seemed to press in around him like the silken folds of a dress, suffocating. “I don’t understand.” He’s frightened. He can’t know what he’s saying. “You’re trying to say that I was dead?”

“Yes.” A soft sigh filled the darkness, “Then this woman came along and gave me this signet. She went away so quickly…too quickly. She was so nice.”

Farrion’s eyebrows shot up. A woman? Heather? But there was something odd in the elementalist’s voice. Despair and fear had worked on the young man like salts, and Farrion was sure that he neither knew where he was, nor cared. Hopelessness leaked from every word that left his mouth.

Farrion reached out a hand to where he thought Heavens was and grasped his shoulder. “Stay together man. Don’t worry about how we got here. We’re alive, and that’s what matters.” Alive? Four miles beneath a desert in utter darkness! For a moment fear tried to grasp his thoughts, but Farrion pushed it aside, as he had before. To be sure, he had never been in a situation like this before, but he could not let himself be taken by fear and hopelessness. Not while someone still depended on him. Gods, I hope Karak got out! I’m sure he did. He was always stronger than me, and he doesn’t know how to fail. Did anyone else get out? I hope so too. They have to help Cyn now.

Heavens shuffled closer and placed his back against the wall. “Man, you should have seen her. She was so pretty.” His voice sounded as if he were in a marijuana-induced daze. “So pretty and so nice.”

Pretty woman? In here? “Did she give her name, Heavens?”

“Name? No. She knew ours, though. She seemed to know everything. But she was gone so fast, almost like…almost like a…ghost.”

“Heavens, is there anyone else with us? Anyone else?”

“Who would be, man? We’re in hell. We sinned. We’re dead.”

Farrion restrained a sigh of despair. That’s the anguish talking. He realised that for every minute they remained here, Heavens continued his descent into chronic depression. Farrion had always studied to be a Mesmer and government official, since his family had noble blood, but Karak often told him of the monk ways, so long ago now, it seemed. At the Sanatorium, after the Searing, he had also met a cute young Sister who had discussed with him all the effects of disaster on the mind. It had been enlightening, despite the situation, but Farrion never thought he would witness madness setting in first hand.

“It’s in the air, Farrion.” Heavens said suddenly, breathlessly.

He felt something snap against his mind – a powerful surge that sent him reeling. The mesmer jumped and almost tore his eyelids straining to see something in the dark. But there was nothing, nothing that he could see. No noises reached his ears save for Heavens’ frenzied wheezing and he felt nothing except for the pounding of his heart through his chest.

Do I have a weapon? Where is that axe? His eyes darted about, looking for what he did not know, as he racked his brain for some spell that he could release without a visual target. It’s in the air! He felt himself drawing up against the wall, subconsciously trying to get through the solid stone. The darkness seemed to slither past his eyes, as though trailing some moving thing. Farrion was petrified.

“It’s coming for us!” Heavens cried, pressing against Farrion’s side as deep shivers racked his body. “Gods! Save us!”

A cold breeze suddenly ruffled his clothes and hair, setting his nerves on edge. It brought with it a strikingly familiar scent – one of death and decay. As soon as it filled his nostrils, Farrion’s mind was taken back to that long hall the company had passed through, where men with melted faces and gaping mouths stared out at them; statues that held zombies within.

I need a weapon! Oh shit! Frantically, Farrion grasped about the environs, hoping against fate to butt up on some physical tool to defend himself with. But there was nothing but bare floor, and the scent grew stronger.

“Heavens! Fire up some lightning for me man!” Farrion cried. If he could only get a moment’s light, he could see clearly enough to target, “Come on! Snap out of it!”

“I can’t! I can’t! The nails! They’re scratching me!”

“Keep your head on and just gimmie one f**king blast, Heavens!” Farrion gripped the young man by the shoulders and shook him violently, “One f**king blast!”

The room lit up with white light as a lightning bolt careened from Heavens’ hand into the far wall. The place was revealed to Farrion in negative, bare, empty, windowless and free of any doors. But right before him, not five feet away, stood a starkly naked woman. Her outstretched right hand groped down towards his face, her glazed eyes staring hard at him but seeing nothing.

For a moment, Farrion thought that she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. But that was only for a moment. Her entire body was pitted as though long gashes of her flesh had whittled away; lengths of it still trailed behind her on the floor. Rot and decay marred her face revealing muscles that pussed and throbbed beneath. Her chest stood flayed open, and Farrion could see through her, to the wall behind. He could almost see maggots being birthed in that dead flesh; feasting and breeding behind those glazed eyes.

And then darkness returned.

And panic set in.

Farrion knew the woman, and so did Heavens, even though his eyes were sealed shut. There stood what had once been Tsuki. Not five feet away and drawing closer in the utter gloom.

Oh–my–goddess. A spell was on Farrion’s lips before he realised what was happening, but before he could get out the last word; the final incantation, a wet, oily hand clamped his jaw shut and the stench of rot overwhelmed him. All other stratagems fled his mind in an instant.
She fell upon him, with one hand over his mouth and the other wrapping around his head in a strange embrace. Through the blanket he could feel her clamminess, as though it seeped through the cloth onto his own body. Then she brought her head down, lifted her hand and kissed him full on the lips. Her tongue felt like raw meat in his shell-shocked mouth, and he could feel the burrowing movements of maggots beneath the flesh of her cold lips.

“I looked all over for you. They said you were here, but I did not believe them.” Despite how she looked, Tsuki’s voice was the same quiet tone. “I do not want you to leave without me.”

Farrion had a childhood friend who was the unluckiest guy in Rin. But whenever something bad ever happened to him, he always seemed unfazed, as though immune to the pain. When Farrion had asked him how he did it, the guy had simply told him that he knew of a special, ‘happy’ place in his mind, where he would go and be safe from the world.

Farrion thought he was crazy, but he was a friend. The next year though, his family had him admitted.

Now Farrion sought some ‘happy’ place for himself, for obviously this could not be happening. For what seemed like a terrible eternity he felt as though his hold on reality was slipping; leaching into the darkness.

“Look Farrion, there’s the pretty woman!” Heavens giggled beside him.

Gods, he’s gone mad. I’ve gone mad.

From the depths of his mind came a command – the only clear thought amongst a myriad of confusing agendas; eerily familiar.

Stay alive. When in Kryta, do as the Krytans do.

Farrion lips were dry, but he dared not lick them. He could not even bring himself to swallow. The stench of decaying flesh, worse and more stomach-curdling than any other single smell he had ever encountered, flowed through his nostrils like sinuous arms, confusing his mind.

“I…I thought you had died.” Farrion tried to keep his voice steady, but failed miserably. He tried to close his eyes, to imagine that he was talking to the monk as she had once been, but failed equally miserably. Though in pitch-black, the image of that pale, lifeless face, that bulged from the crawling things deep within filled his vision.

“I thought so too.” She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes, “Isn’t Dwayna ever merciful?”

Farrion had the urge to spit. After all, a maggot ridden tongue had just been in his mouth. But he dared not – it was all he could do from starting a hysterical laughter like the elementalist beside him.

“Yes, she is. I love her immensely – her gifts are like honey.” Farrion knew he was beginning to ramble, but it was either that or let the madness take him. “Now, tell me. Where are we? How did we get here? How do we get out?”

“Sooo many questions. Sooo many things to do. Do you never tire?”

“I’m excited!” Heavens bubbled with laughter.

Farrion ignored him. “Answer my questions. We need to get out of here. Cyn might still be in trouble. We have to help Karak, and Heather and the others!”

She laughed and nipped at his throat. “Farrion, Farrion. Farrion. Farrion. Farrion. Even at Death’s door you worry about others. Why don’t you just enjoy it? Like Heavens?”

“F**k Heavens. I’m not going to stay here any longer. Not with him, and certainly not with you!” With a sudden surge of fear-induced adrenaline, Farrion pushed Tsuki from off of him and stood in the darkness. “I’m getting out of here. Karak needs all the support he can get!”

Tsuki laughed, and Farrion could hear the wet, sticky sound as her body moved along the floor, “Brave words. But, Farrion, you see, you can’t go anywhere, and neither can we. We’re the same in here. We’re all dead.”
“Heavens pulled me back with a resurrection signet ––.”

“ –– That I gave him. I used it first, then used it on him. Now we’re all here. Ironic isn’t it?”

“By Lyssa, why are you doing this Tsuki? I thought you wanted to stop Ja’al like the rest of us?”

“I wanted to save Bones.” She snapped, “But he’s dead now. So it doesn’t matter. You’re dead too, so why should you care about the living? This is our home now.”

“No.” Farrion shook his head. I’m dead? No, that is impossible. Not like this. Death cannot be like this. The mesmer backed away from the sound of Tsuki’s voice and Heavens maniacal laughter. There has to be a way out of here!

Farrion back-peddled until his back struck the opposite wall. There’s always a way out. We got in after all. He moved along the wall, running his hand along the smooth surface, hoping against hope that there was something there, something he could manipulate; something he could open.

“Join us Far-Far!” Heavens shouted, “I’m gonna tell jokes in little while!”

His hand brushed against something. Farrion froze and rested his hand over the spot. It felt like a small bump in the otherwise flat wall; a button. Could escape actually be this simple? No. Maybe it’s a trap, like those razors, or like that passageway. But, Gods, I have to try something! Farrion pushed the button.

And nothing happened. But then, as if coming from a thousand miles away, Farrion heard a deep rumbling and rumour of noise. He pressed himself against the wall, and waited.

He heard the wet noises of Tsuki’s flesh against stone from close at hand, but he hoped that like him, she could not see in the dark. Then, as her stench became stifling, he felt a strange shudder, and his hand fell away into a space as the wall slid from behind him.

Tsuki’s soggy hands suddenly grasped his waist, and she pulled herself up on him, ripping open his tunic and licking him with a tongue that felt like day old skinned lamb might against the flesh.

Without waiting to think, Farrion burrowed his fingernails in her hands, feeling his fingers slide almost effortlessly into her pest ridden flesh. Puss gushed out around his fingers.

“Conjuré Phantasm!” He screamed, ripping free of the dead woman’s grasp.

A purple image suddenly appeared inches from him – a swirling cloud of purple gas. From it came a horrible skull, trailed by mist that burned and drained. A phantasm. One of his favourite conjurations.

But instead of settling upon Tsuki, it came for him. A madness was it its eyes, and Farrion suddenly knew that something about his energy and his spells was very wrong. Long arms reached out from the thing, grasping towards him with lustful desire, even as the purple cloud grew in intensity.

“Different rules, Farrion.” Tsuki muttered from somewhere in the dark.

Farrion cursed, turned, and darted through the newly revealed doorway. The phantasm followed him on his heels, and Heavens’ incessant laughter mocked his flight.

The passage immediately began to slant upwards, but everything remained utterly dark. He had no idea what he was heading into, but he had to move. He had to get away! Suddenly he bolted into something and it gave way, splintering like wood. Light blinded him for a moment, and he staggered onto the ground, gasping for air.

The phantasm came right out after him, and fell upon him.

Farrion felt his skin peel away, and such a fire ripped through his insides. Then the phantasm suddenly dissipated, like mist under the heat of the sun.

He staggered to his feet and gazed about him. Before his eyes rolled fields upon fields of grey landscape. The sky above roiled with black clouds, keeping everything in a silvery twilight. To his right lay a small, still lake, which seemed like clear glass under that dark sky. Behind him was a cave entrance, and the thing he had crashed through was a brittle wooden door. And it was cold. Very cold, even though no wind blew at all.

He massaged his burning arms and continued to look around for any sign of life. What is this place?

“There you are, Far-Far!” Heavens giggled, skipping out of the cave entrance. “You didn’t even hear my best tale!”

The mesmer turned and saw the elementalist, trailing Tsuki. She had the itchy blanket thrown over her shoulders, hiding the gaping hole through her chest. In this twilight, he could make out the corpse all too well. Those glazed eyes studied him with uncanny thought.

As though he had been struck by a dolyak, Farrion’s eyes whipped back to Heavens. The young man’s clothes were torn and ragged, but it was his face that kept Farrion riveted to the ground. The flesh of his left cheek was completely gone, revealing only rotting muscle. His mad smile did not touch his hollow eyes. Only once before had he seen such things – in the backwater swamps of Kryta, where the Jade Empire had turned back scores upon scores of shambling undead.

“Oh my Gods.” Farrion gasped, rising and shuffling away from the two of them, “Oh Gods. Oh Dwayna, hear me, preserve me!”

“Farrion, Farrion, Farrion. Why are you running from us? You have been saved from certain death. You were brought back from the brink with the signet.” Her smile tightened, “But there is always a price to pay.”

Her words hammered into him like an axe. “Oh Gods. No! Stay away from me!” He wanted to cast another incantation; something stronger should hold them off. No! Something’s wrong with my spells!

He turned and darted for the lake. It filled the small ravine in which they stood, with sheer dark cliffs on either side. Surely they could not follow him if he swam across. They might even be afraid of water. Water, yes. Water is good. It was becoming increasingly harder for Farrion to think clearly.

Suddenly he reached it, and he realised that indeed the lake reflected the dark sky so well that he could not even see the bottom of it. Still it lay; an unmoving, obsidian mirror. Tsuki’s and Heavens’ footsteps sounded on the hard ground just behind him, but Farrion did not cross. He sank to his knees, staring into the water in horror.

The Wraiths stood beside him, Heavens still giggling, Tsuki saying nothing.

Farrion ran his hand along his face, over the gash where his nose should have been, over the bare muscle where his bottom lip should have been, over the larynx that muscle and flesh should have covered. He glanced down at his abdomen, revealed through his torn tunic. It was deathly pale, and as he ran his hand along it, thin strips of his flesh curled away, like cheese.

His eyes, once a vibrant black, now seemed a pale grey.

“The glow of the stars no longer shines through our eyes, do they Farrion?” Tsuki finally said, sadly.

Farrion did not reply. Stay alive. Stay alive. Stay. Alive. Stay. Sta…st….

He was exactly like them.

Hey man, nice work there. I really like the story Keep going :P. I'm sorry, I can't write much more now, I have to go but I hope to see more.

I liked the 4th chapter, but the 5th was a little weird but still pretty good. I hope that they get their skin back though. XD

ohhh a rez sig with a price. Disease: what fun

Greetings again everyone! I do apologize for taking forever to post this next chapter, but my pc was down for a spell and other projects needed some work. Thanks for your comments and views once again! This chapter is not long; more of breather and a collection of thoughts. I hope you enjoy and I hope that you won't have to wait for so long for another installment. Onto Chapter 6, man!

Into the Sun


Heather darted back from the necromancer, eyes wide, mouth agape. Blood rushed from her face, and despite the massive power Habib knew that she was capable of wielding, she seemed completely petrified of the man. She clutched her dagger as though it were her only defence.

Normire staggered to his feet and glanced around at the environs. Then his gaze settled on Habib, and though the two men were a good ten paces apart, Habib felt a tug as though someone had suddenly grasped his arm.
Now that he was standing, the necromancer seemed much larger than he had first appeared, commanding a sense of dark awe about his person. Blood trickled from his hand and pooled on the floor, but still he seemed to ignore it, oblivious to all else save Habib.

“Ja’al has Cyn, doesn’t she?” he asked, but to Habib, it sounded like a rhetorical question.

“I believe so. I’m also of the belief that you had died.”

Normire shrugged, and it looked to Habib that the rise and fall of his shoulders were the rise and fall of something as shifting as mist. “Then that means that I don’t have that much time left. We need to stop Cyn, now.”

“I don’t understand what’s going on here, but this isn’t the place for such discussion anyway. We’ve lost too much already in this place. Let us leave.”
He held out a hand to Heather, and she slapped it away, content to rise on her own. Her eyes were still fixed on Normire, and she looked just about as tense as a cobra about to spring.

“Where will we go?” Karissa asked. Her voice, so soft, sounded desperate and weak.

“Augury Rock is the closest on the path to civilisation. We have no food, no supplies – we left them all in that Gallery of Crystal. I don’t know how the hunting is in the desert, but I assume that it’s hard, if not nonexistent.”

“Whatever you say, Habib.” Normire said. He turned and helped Karissa to her feet, and then moved away to Big Charr and Karak without as much as a word.

Not even a thank you, for whatever she did to him. Habib massaged his numb arm through the leather joints of his armour, wishing for a hot bath and some Epsom salts. For a moment he wished his life had been different, that he had chosen to stay in Ascalon, doing what he had been born to do. Now I do what I must.

“Come on,” he said, taking in both Heather and Karissa.

With that he followed Normire to the Charr and Karak. Big Charr had effectively subdued the large warrior; several thin wires bound his hands and feet. Every movement Karak made caused the wires to slice deeper into the weaker joints of his armour, cutting against his skin. Habib had no idea where the Charr came by such wire.

Normire was bending over Karak, and though no one was saying anything, it seemed to Habib that some form of communication was passing between the two of them. He stood and watched. Karak was really acting strange. What the hell has gotten into him? Why did he attack Big Charr and me? Why did he really kill Cyn?

“He’s possessed.” Normire said suddenly, straightening and glancing at Habib. “Just as I feared, before he tried to gut me.”

“Possessed? Bloody hell!” Big Charr cursed, “How in blazes did that happen?”

“I don’t know,” Normire glanced down at Karak and for a moment it seemed that he grew paler, “I don’t know. Whatever is in him is in deep. It’s almost rooted itself.”

Habib followed the necromancer’s gaze down to Karak. The warrior sat there almost serenely, his lips curving into a gentle half-smirk. But his eyes pulsed as though independently alive, each glassy orb holding a different entity. And if Habib looked harder, or suddenly shifted his gaze, it seemed that Karak’s countenance changed; a slightly different face replacing the earlier one.

“F**k.” Habib spat. “If it isn’t one thing, it’s a next. Can you help him?”

“Not here, Habib.”

“All the more reason to get moving then.”

The remainder of the company gathered themselves and left the cavern. Habib took up the rear, and stood at the threshold of the entrance cavern, giving the place one last good look before he left it forever. Jewels and fine metals glittered in the ghostly light, but he had no desire for them. Here was the prison of a demon, and he would be damned if he took anything from it.
As he turned and followed the company out, the soft beam of blue light that towered above the central stalagmite glimmered and petered out. Darkness swept over everything, eternally sealing the cavern from the eyes of the world.

The cavern they now followed had been battered by all of the recent quakes; walls had crumbled, revealing new, darker passageways and bottomless abysses. Debris covered the way ahead several times, but ever the cavern wound on. Not as much as a breath disturbed the utter silence of the dark place. Only Heather’s glowing mist provided any illumination.

And then suddenly, as though the darkness had been swept back by some enormous hand, blinding light consumed them.

Habib froze, momentarily blinded. Slowly he opened his eyes, and all about him and the company stretched rolling desert. The tops of ruined towers and crumbling statues peeked out at the sky close at hand, but everything else had been covered by many layers of deep sand. The storm that had sent them flying into the cavern had blown over, leaving miles of pristine sand in its wake.

A breeze was picking up from the north, so fresh it was, so pure, that Habib felt immediately refreshed. The sky above was clear and remarkably blue, and the sun burned down upon the landscape with a relentless fury. Gods, it must be noon.

“Gods, it must be noon!” Big Charr sighed, echoing Habib’s thoughts, “We can’t travel in this, Habib. It is suicide. You humans might be hairless, but we Charr were made for the cold, not blistering heat.”

“Then you should consider shaving, my friend. It makes a whole lot of things easier – especially bathing.”

Big Charr growled in protest, and even though Habib knew that this Charr was benign, the growl sent shivers through his body and he almost drew his sword. Years of despising and eventually fighting Big Charr’s kind had engrained a sort of hatred towards all Charr in Habib, a hatred that he tried without fail to keep in check.

Now that he was outside again, and the light was good, Habib got a chance to finally examine his surroundings. They were standing just outside the entrance cave of a large, low mesa, which stretched some miles to the north and south. It was the only thing that broke the endless scenery of sand. Before them should have laid the remnants of some ancient city, but most of it now lay buried in the fresh sand.

“What would possess a man to come all the way out here in the first place?” Habib muttered to himself. He was talking about Cyn, of course, and that was a question he had not had the chance to ask the Neightswifts. And now that Farrion was dead and Karak was practically possessed, he doubted if ever he would get that chance again.

Farrion’s dead. As well as Heavens and Tsuki. Poor children. I should have been there for them. Gods! The old linger as the young are swept away.

“We have to wait here then,” Habib said finally, stepping back into the relative cool of the cave. “We’ll travel at sunset.”


A blazing-red sun, dripping with rippling halos of heat, heralded the onset of evening. The golden sand was now burnished lava, and the sky a crimson dome across the desert. Habib rested against the stone mouth of the cave, staring out across the sands. His helmet and gauntlets were at his side, but his sword was across his lap. The desert was fantastic at these times, as light almost literally bled into the night with such a kaleidoscopic fanfare.

About him the rest of the company sat or lounged. Karak had not said a word since coming from the cavern, and Big Charr still kept his guard. Karissa and Heather sat as far away from each other as they could, with Normire casting thoughtful glances in everyone’s direction.

Musing on all that had happened, Habib wondered if he was the only human being amongst them. Surely Tyria was a place where even one’s most amazing fantasizes usually were truth, but Habib had never for a moment considered being in the company of such strange personas. The Wraiths had been one thing, but this had been another. The Wraiths. Ah, Bones, old boy. Everything has gone to hell, hasn’t it? Only Big Charr and I am left now. I wonder what will become of us.

“You look restless.” Normire said as he sat down beside the warrior. His hand had been firmly wrapped in a bandage, but still a red smear showed through.

To Habib, the air suddenly felt that much colder. “I’ve a lot on my mind, necromancer.”

“Don’t we all?” He folded his arms and looked out across the petrified ocean of sand, “Wonderful sunset, isn’t it? The Desert is such a beautiful place.”

“That sounds strange coming from a necromancer.”

Normire sighed, “There’s beauty all around us. Beauty in the architecture, in the sea and sky, and even here. Especially here, where it’s so pure. Some even believe that there’s beauty in death.”

“You don’t think so?”

“I love life. I only became a necromancer through circumstance. The Searing affected several people in several different ways. We survived how we could.”

“Who are you really, Normire? I don’t trust you, but I feel that feeling might be misplaced seeing as to I know nothing but rumours about you.” Habib said bluntly.

“Once I was a rich guild-leader; brave, maybe foolhardy. Now I’m a man with many regrets, Habib. Nothing more. I only hope to redeem myself.”

Habib glanced across at the man’s pale face. We’ve more in common than I first thought.

“I hope that eventually you can trust me, Habib. With what little time I have left I could do with a good friend.” And with that he was rising to his feet, heading outside to bask in the fading light of the sunset. Silhouetted against the light, Habib thought that he looked like an impossibly dark figure, yearning for just a bit of the light, but never once catching it.

I just read chapter one... very well written. I'm excited to get brought up to speed (although I sort of want to savor each chapter). Keep up the great work!

Greetings once again everyone! I apologize for my near month hiatus. I hope everyone is doing well and I trust that all you cricket fans are ready for World Cup in about 8 days right here in the West Indies! I've been struggling with some other work for a while, but mid-semester break is upon me so now I can relax and finally get my shit together. Thanks for all of your comments and views, and here is Chapter 7. Please enjoy!


The Reach of a God


A severe itching drove him back to his senses. His eyes opened, but all he could make out was darkness, tinged with crimson light like blood. His hearing was muffled, but distantly he thought he heard the sounds of…nothing. It seemed like wads of cloth had suddenly been shoved down his ears. He tried to move but found that that was impossible. Either something heavy was on him, or he was strapped against something. Or his body was too damned hurt to move. He could not tell, for even though his senses were there, they seemed like someone else’s, and he could not tell for sure what anything was.

By Dwayna’s mercy, I must be dead. Memory trickled back into his waking mind, dispelling the visions of dreams. He remembered the smell of wet fur, the feel of cold rain washing over his battered body, the touch of the woman he loved as he tried to protect her for one last time. He remembered seeing the salivating fangs of the beast, feeling the bite of cold steel as a blade slid between his ribs.

Presently he felt something cold and wet slide along what could be his back; his senses were all over the place so he could not really tell up from down from sideways. For a moment he had the awful feeling that it was a tongue; licking him, tasting his flesh, preparing him for a worse fate than stabbing. At least dying from that would have been relatively quick, clean.

The hand (or what he really hoped was a hand), massaged what was probably his face, and soon he felt something even softer and moister touching his lips. Possibly it was raindrops, or maybe it was the sauce and dressing. Got to think straight. Got to get back in control of myself. Easier said than done.

He settled to working out mathematical problems in his mind. That always brought him closer to his senses, as he saw each number in his mind’s eye, felt them, touched them, hell he even smelled the bastards. Once there, usually he could feel every fibre in his body, and his instincts became as sharp as the bite of sin.

And surely enough, after what must have been hours of interacting with the numbers, he thought that he could hear again, though barely. Someone was humming beside him. Someone or some thing.

He discarded the numbers and tried to focus on that humming. It was familiar, and there was something else about it that pulled him from the fog of unconsciousness like a rope. Feeling crawled back into his extremities with a burning sensation as of pins and needles marching along the length of his flesh.

His vision finally cleared, and slowly his environs coalesced from shifting darkness. Blurry figures lay all around him, tinged by that same crimson light. He was sitting up, his back to a wall. Besides that, he could make out nothing else. He could not even see his own itching body. He moved his hand to where his chest was and it came away sticky. The wound there burned and itched like hell. F**k! What the f**k?!

Something suddenly moved beside him, that cold – hand? – returned, grabbing his own and pulling him close.

“Oh Heli! Are you still alive, Heli?”

That voice. Sounds so much like…Vinessa? But that’s not possible. We both were slaughtered, along with the rest of them. Then how can I be thinking to myself? Do dead people reason?

“Heli!” The woman’s voice bordered on cracking; the brink of hysteria and tears. “Please, please be alive. Please, please, please….” Muffled sobs shook her body.

Gods…?

“Vin…Vinessa?” Heli croaked in disbelief. That has to be her, but how? How?

“Oh Heli!” She grabbed him even tighter, and Heli could even feel her sense of relief wash over him. Whatever happened between now and then, she must have thought me dead.

Still no discernable elements of his environs came clearly into view, so Heli turned his face and beheld Vinessa, tinged by that same crimson light. Dried blood and grime marred her face. Her armour was gone, leaving her in barely her underclothes. Ugly bruises crisscrossed her bare arms and legs. But that haunted look that he had last seen in her eyes was gone, replaced by something harder, deeper.

Looking at her, Heli knew that he could not be in any better condition. His nerves were beginning to wake and sharpen, and his entire body throbbed and burned.

“Are yuh…you alright? Wuh happen?” he croaked again. His tongue felt like a dry log against a sandy palette. Even his lips felt as though someone had taken a razor to them.

“I am now,” she said, almost to herself. “I…I thought you had died. I had to hope, Heli. I would die without you here.”

Surely she meant that she needed his ranger skills to survive, not that she only yearned for his presence. Surely. But the way she looked at him….

“How we could still be alive? Last ting I rememba’ was de Charr lighting his sword in my ass.”

Vinessa huddled closer, if at all that was possible, and sighed deeply. “They beat us – unconscious, as I don’t remember anything for a while. When I came to they were dragging us in here. They were beating you still, even though you weren’t awake. I tried to fight them off, but they…they hurt me. But I couldn’t watch them do that to you…. Then they put us in this moving prison. There are others here, Heli, others humans. Civilians. I don’t know where they came from or how they managed to get here. No one has talked to me.”

“De Charr…captured us? This is amazing.”

“I rather we had died together,” Vinessa responded softly, “They are going to hurt us so badly now. So badly. I don’t know ––.”

Heli stopped her with a kiss. Short, dry and painful, but somehow sweet nevertheless. She returned the favour without hesitation, but when he finally pulled away, her eyes were wide; her expression awestruck.

So close to the brink of death. The Charr killed everyone in the guild except us two. Only us two. There are no such things as coincidences…we were saved for something. Even if it’s to see the final days of this dying kingdom together.

“I think I love you, Vinessa,” Heli found himself saying, the words flowing unbidden, “I just…I just wanna say dat. I don’t wish that we had died togethered – I’m glad we lived. And I hope dat we live some more.” Maybe someday he would look back at what he had just said and think it pathetic, but right now he could care less.

“I know. Thank you, Heli.” Vinessa replied, half-amused. For a moment Heli wished that none of this had happened – that the two of them were still somewhere safe.

Well, can’t go back now.

Heli glanced back around the prison. The blurry figures on the fringes of the place were, in fact, people; staring blankly into space as though robbed of their souls. Many looked on the very verge of death – gaunt, half-naked and riddled with still bleeding scars.

“What are we going to do now, Heli?” Vinessa pressed a torn piece of her blouse against his bleeding chest and abdomen.

“We can’t do anything but wait and see what happens.” Heli grimaced as he put an arm around Vinessa’s shoulders. Whatever happens from now on, I’m going to have to depend on this little woman to do some big things. If the Charr took the time to take us alive, then maybe we’re just on our way to a Flame Temple to be sacrificed. Just on our way to a Flame Temple to be sacrificed! On any other day that would have really bothered me.

“I don’t think anything good is waiting for us.” Vinessa sighed.

Heli agreed with her, but said nothing. No use in getting her too anxious. Vinessa had never campaigned this hard against the Charr, and knew little about their ways. In fact, much of his guild was ignorant of the deeper intricacies of Charr civilisation. Not that it really mattered. But Heli knew several things, all passed on from a very strange, talking Charr Blade-Warrior he had met a few years ago under strange circumstances.

Suddenly, the carriage jolted to a stop and a few moments later, the back door was thrust open. Crimson light spilled into the prison, washing over the bodies of the captives. Three large Charr stood at the doorway, their massive frames silhouetted by the light. Wordlessly, they began hauling out the prisoners like they were bags of sugar.

Heli pressed a finger to his lips, motioning Vinessa to be quiet and to act as blank as their fellow captives. She nodded curtly as the Charr approached them and hauled them outside into a frigid waste. Clouds still blanketed the sun and sky, but unlike in Ascalon proper, these clouds were thinner and had a slightly lighter hue to them. The landscape about the carriage was as twisted as Ascalon, however, but it did not look as though the Searing had reached this far – Heli could see no sign of the telltale giant crystals that dotted his homeland.

The wind blew sharp and chill from the north, carrying with it the scent of smoke and stirring debris about the grey rocks. Foliage grew in the clefts and nooks nearby; strangled copses of thorns of weeds. There was nothing especially outstanding about the place, except for the tall stone pyramid that rose out of the tumbled mass of hills to the northeast.

Built from the same grey rock that covered the land, the pyramid almost seemed like a giant rock itself. A small track wound its way past the carriage up through narrow clefts in the stone on its way to the pyramid. And telling from the hard-packed nature of the track, Heli figured that it was well-used. They had come to one of those narrow clefts in the rock, and the carriage was apparently too wide to pass through. So we have to hoof it.

The Charr brandished long, thick quarterstaffs and poked and prodded the prisoners to get them moving up the narrow path. Heli kept close to Vinessa near the back of the group. A giant of a Charr led the prisoners up the winding path, flanked by much smaller ones. Heli scanned the environs again and again, looking for some means of escape. Not that he was seriously pondering escape, considering the condition he and Vinessa were in that would be looking to commit suicide. He didn’t think that he had been saved just to throw both his and Vinessa’s life away.

But there was no way out of this place. When they were not passing through narrow tunnels that burrowed through the stone or flanked by tall wall-like cliffs, the area on either side of the path fell away many hundred feet into jagged hills below.

No wonder the Charr seem so carefree about all of this.

They plodded up and on for what seemed like hours on end without rest. Heli’s calves burned from the exhaustion and his breath was becoming ragged. Vinessa took the hike gamely; offering him smiles and brief, quiet words of encouragement. Heli wondered where in hell she found the energy to do all that. He felt like dying at any moment.

Soon, two wooden effigies peeked out at them from their spots in large crevices to either side of the path. Heli gave them a good, long look, for the effigies were much better crafted than any of those he had seen back in Ascalon. These were much more than pieces of wood lashed together. Heli could make out fingers on the hands, eyes in the faces and even bears pelt that worked as hair on the heads.

This place must have some importance then? Heli wondered. That talking Charr had not told him of any place such as this.

The path widened after it passed the effigies; fading away onto a wide valley bordered on every side by tall, sheer cliffs, like the caldera of some ancient volcano. In its midst was the large pyramid, surrounded by even more effigies. A score of tall wooden buildings were scattered about, and several hairy Charr milled around, sharpening weapons, chanting, or working on spells.

Gods. It’s a f**king city. Despite all he had learned of these beasts, Heli’s realisation came as a shock to him. He did not think that the Charr were of the mindset of building permanent habitats.

None of the Charr paid them any mind as the prisoners were herded towards a collection of closely packed buildings off to the west of the town. There, dominating the area was a tall statue, wrought from iron. What shocked Heli was not the fact of its presence, but that it was in the image of a man.

He was dressed in flowing robes, and in his right hand was a small orb which looked eerily like an eyeball. His features were sharp and intent and the statue seemed to radiate fear and despair. The leading Charr made deep bows and loud growls to the statue as they passed. They’re paying respects to a man?!

As they passed it Heli saw that a name had been embedded into the man’s dark forehead.

It read Cyn.

Underworld

Farrion felt his sanity begin to crumble around him like a matchstick fortress in a storm. For the umpteenth time in the last thirty seconds he gazed back into the water before him in utter disbelief, stroking his pallid, dead flesh. The world was still about him, and through the very blackened earth he sat upon he could feel the presence of death. It seemed to permeate this land like water after a rainstorm; draining into every crevice, every fissure.

He brought his eyes to the sky and the horizon. The sky was a mix of dark grey, with the occasional patches of silver that marked thunderless lightning. At first he had thought that he was back somewhere in Ascalon, among the burnt out shell of some homestead or the other. But that first impression had faded as quickly as his hope.

There were none of the telltale giant crystals peeking out from their burrows in the earth, no crimson sky, no tar pits, and no signs of life. The air felt heavy and stagnant, as if no breeze ever blew here; no breath ever taken. It was a dead and dying land; all life leaching out of it.

He sensed Tsuki take a seat next to him and heard her sigh. Farrion could not bring himself to glance across at her. The shock of that pale, maggot-ridden face and gaping chest still rippled through his psyche. He closed his eyes and drew his feet up to his chest, trying to block out the nightmare around him. Hoping against hope that he would wake up, and everything would go back to normal.

“It’s not so bad, Farrion,” Tsuki was saying, “We’re not in the grave – we can still think, and move about.”

He wanted her to go away. He needed her to go away. Every word she said was like another chip in the crumbling walls of his peace of mind.

“Do you want to go back down into the cave, Farrion? It’s warmer there and we can talk if you’d like.”

Why the hell is she talking to me like this? Doesn’t she realise how she looks? How I look?

“Farrion. Farrion, look at me.” She rested a hand on his leg.

Farrion flinched away violently, jumping to his feet. “Don’t touch me!” He screamed. “What’s wrong with you? Don’t you find anything the least bit odd about all of this?! Where the hell are we, eh? How did we get here? Why do I look like this, and feel like this?”

In his anger Farrion had the terrible feeling that he knew the answers to all of his questions. But he pushed his reasoning out of his mind, hoping there was some other explanation.

Tsuki frowned and licked her lips. A slow, deliberate motion as though she was sizing up Farrion for a meal. From the corner of his eye Farrion could see Heavens, playing some strange game amongst the boulders close at hand.

“I just want to be here, Farrion. Why don’t you want to stay with us? You shouldn’t hate us!” She sounded very desperate and forlorn.

Over by the boulders Heavens was laughing and talking with himself whilst chasing after shadows. The whole scene was deeply unnerving to witness, and it was only then that Farrion realised that both Heavens and Tsuki were insane. They had to be. They just had to be. I have to get away from them.

But get away from them and go where? He had no idea where he was. He could be anywhere between the Mists and the Fissure for all he knew. He could even be a little crazed himself.

No. I’m sane. I’m thinking rationally.

“Look. Listen to me,” Farrion started anew, still keeping his distance from Tsuki. “You said you gave Heavens a resurrection signet. Where did you get it?”

She shrugged. “It was there.”

Farrion cursed under his breath. This was going nowhere. But he was, and soon.

“You know what? I’m getting out of this place. You can go back down into that cave if you want to. I’m going to find help.” With that he turned and started off past the lake. He had no idea of what direction he was heading in, but once it was somewhere away from these two, he could care less.

“Farrion…there’s no help to be had here. We’re dead.” Tsuki’s voice came as she followed him; chill and clear.

That again. We’re dead. Again Farrion tried to reason past Tsuki’s words, but found it impossible to do this time. Of all the reasons Farron could come up with, none came closer to home than Tsuki’s simple statement. We’re dead.

The bloodless flesh, the hollow eyes, the fact that they were walking and talking while bearing fatal wounds could all now be explained. But Farrion shuddered at the ramifications.

We can’t be dead. How? How in the world can dead people walk and talk and… Farrion pulled up short. His mind went racing back to the days he had trekked through the poisonous swamps of Kryta with the Jade Empire. The visions of the rotting inhabitants of those swamps came back with such a searing intensity that he lost all sense of where he was. All he could see before him were those haunted, glowing eyes, all he could feel were those bony, slimy arms, slithering over his body, seeking purchase.

By Lyssa. We’re undead.

The shock of the realisation barely had time to settle in before Farrion saw the flash of light rush them.

A bolt of lightning tore into his chest, sending Farrion flailing backwards, crashing to the ground in a heap. The hell…? He heard Tsuki shout something incomprehensible from next to him and in moments she too was flying backwards from the sudden onslaught of lightning. Farrion struggled to his feet and had just enough time to get a glance at who was firing at them before another blast ripped through his abdomen.

Three armed men, all clad in glistening steel only partially dulled by age, blood and grime stood not ten feet away. In their midst was a woman, suspended in the air, eyes closed, blonde hair fanning and fingertips bristling with electrical power.

Sweet, sweet Lyssa. Who the hell are these people now?

“Finish them Mara.” One of the men grunted, motioning to Farrion and Tsuki with his steel hammer. “Just three more of the bastards and we’ve got our gold for sure!”

Farrion’s head was spinning. The pain and burning of the lightning bolts that had torn into his body was quickly dissipating, which would have been odd if he had been alive. The skin remained unbroken at the points of impact, only blackened like grilled fish. Over to his left Tsuki was still struggling to get vertical and the lightning bolts seemed to have almost no effect on her dead body either.

But Farrion knew that both he and Tsuki were in deep trouble.

“Are you sure that you boys don’t want a little action before I clean ‘em up?” the woman asked, settling back to her feet and opening a pair of intense emerald eyes.

The men shrugged. “I hate the smell of them,” the one off to the right started. In his hands he wielded a massive battleaxe, no smaller than even Karak’s golden one. “And the sight of them. Roast them from afar, Mara. No sense in dirtying up my new armour.”

Farrion did not know who these people were, but one thing was clear. They wanted him and Tsuki dead. And he could not allow that. Tsuki and Heavens might both be a lost cause, but he had to get out of this place. Cyn had to be stopped from whatever madness he was going to do; he still needed saving from that demon, and Karak might need help in doing so.

Something was wrong with his spells, but Farrion did not think he had much more of a choice. Quickly, he began to weave a new spell. His trademark phantasms were turning on him; not working as they should, so he tried a different branch of power. One that he seldom used, but that was just as dangerous as Illusion.

“Alright then boys, how would you like them? Roasted or fried?” The elementalist laughed as she lifted back into the air. The space around her sparked and sizzled with live electricity. Farrion could not tell what spell she was about to cast, but whatever it was, it was going to be huge.

“Pertarde ik b’ckfire!” Farrion hissed.

The deep twilight lit up like the eve of the Searing as a violent thunderbolt pummelled back through the elementalist, frying her until she was nothing more than a smouldering husk on the blackened earth.

The three men suddenly froze, gazing in pure disbelief at the remains of their lady-friend. The suddenness and ferocity of her death spiked through them like nails.

Holy shit! Farrion’s mouth hung open. How did that happen? Either she was casting something really, really powerful, or… He remembered how powerful and big that phantasm he had summoned had been. That had only been a simple spell, but what actually resulted from it was way more than he expected.

That had been the case here, too.

In a moment the shock had passed, and the three men, newly pissed off, turned towards Farrion and Tsuki.

“F**king, f**king undead! You killed her! You ––.” The central warrior was cut short by a stone that crashed into his exposed face and sent him reeling and dropping his axe.

Farrion glanced over at Tsuki and found her in the process of throwing another stone.

And when he glanced back to the men, he found two of them almost on top of him, swinging sword and hammer.

He was struck hard and careened backwards, ramming his head on a boulder close at hand. His vision blurred painfully for a moment and then cleared to show the men still there, readying another barrage of blows.

“Ne attack!” Farrion hollered as the blunt and sharp edges of the weapons came crashing into him yet again.

This time, as he flew backwards, so did the men. They dropped their weapons and scratched at their flesh, as something slithered and boiled from beneath it. Their wails climaxed at a blood-chilling crescendo as the two men simply exploded, raining blood, puss and the remains of their steel armour all over the environs.

“Oh f**k! Dwayna have mercy!” the last remaining warrior screamed, staring in horror at the remains of his comrades.

Didn’t see that one coming did you? Farrion though grimly. Should’ve finished us off before we saw it coming. Never play with your prey. Now to join them, you fool!

Farrion gasped. What was he thinking? It must be this place. The dreariness of it is getting to me.

The warrior held his shield before him defensively, and Farrion reasoned that he must have balls the size of Tyria to not turn tail and run for his life. Tsuki was aiming another stone at him when Farrion grabbed her hand.

“Leave him to me.” He said.

Tsuki smiled darkly and let the stone fall.

“Sorry about your mates,” Farrion began, approaching the warrior, “But we had to defend ourselves, you see.”

The warrior froze in shock. “You…you things can talk?!”

Farrion remembered how he had looked. Certainly he looked like a monster to these people. An undead monster no less. No wonder they attacked us.

“Yes, but we don’t want to hurt anyone. We just want to get out of here.”

“You just killed all my friends!”

“They didn’t give us any chance to explain ourselves. So they had to die. Good riddance to such fools. Had they any idea of the power I wield and they would have instead been bowing down and worshipping m––.” What the hell am I talking about?

Farrion shook his head, thought he heard something rattling in there, and tried again. “Look, man. Sorry about your friends. We just need to get out of this place – we have been cursed, you see, and we need to break it by getting free of this place. Wherever this place is.”

“You must be f**ing kidding me!” the warrior cried, still slowly retreating, “There’s no way I can do that! And I wouldn’t even if I could! This is the Underworld! Nothing in here gets out that wasn’t meant to get out!”

Farrion felt his heart stop, which was strange as it was not really beating in the first place. We’re in the… Underworld!? Gods! How in blazes did we get here? Farrion massaged his face. No time for such questions. Need to get the hell out of this place and reverse whatever that signet Tsuki found did to us. I need to help Karak, and to stop Ja’al.

“We helped save Tyria from the Lich. The least you can do is help us out of here.” Farrion reasoned.

“No f**king way! No ––.” Farrion was on the man before he had time to finish his sentence far less react.

The Mesmer grabbed the warrior’s head, speaking the words of a Migraine as the both of them collapsed onto the ground. The warrior screamed in bone-splitting agony as the unbearable domination magic hammered into his very mind.

“Now you listen to me, mother f**ker. There’s no way I’m staying in here any longer. Either you help us get out, or I shall peel the very flesh off your bones and wear it like a f**ing coat. I will flay you like meat.” Farrion pressed his fingernails deep into the flesh of the warrior’s face until they drew blood, “Do I make myself clear?”

The warrior squealed his understanding and his willingness to obey, his eyes fixed open in a stare of purest horror. For in the Mesmer’s eyes he had seen something that was worse than death itself.

Well, here it is then, Chapter 9! Please enjoy!

Many Paths to Madness

The warrior trudged on before them, unarmed and moving as though each step brought him ever closer to some terrible doom. Farrion walked beside him, carrying the warrior’s heavy sword, his arm muscles straining from the effort. Farrion’s state of mind was more composed now, his thinking clearer, and the threads of a desperate plan were beginning to weave in his mind like the spells that he was so accustomed to casting.

Tsuki and Heavens – somehow able to leave behind his very strange game – brought up the rear, their shuffling footsteps and ragged breaths an ever reminder of the condition that they and Farrion were in.

Undead. The Mesmer could hardly believe it, even now that the proof was comprehensive. Undead and in the Underworld. Where did Tsuki find that damn signet? How could it do this to us? Farrion shook his head and sighed. Questions for another time. The one thing that he had to keep in the forefront of his mind was getting out of this bleak vista, back into Tyria, back to Karak and Cyn.

“How much farther. Far-Far?” Heavens cried from behind.

Farrion did not answer him. After all, he had no idea himself. He nudged the warrior with the hilt of the sword, “You heard him.”

“I…um…about four, five miles, I guess. I’m not sure. We were hunting in here for a long time!” he replied nervously.

Farrion gave the man a good long look. Like the landscape around him, the warrior’s face seemed drained of colour and life, and his eyes were small pools of horror and pain. With his round face and slight features, Farrion thought that the man would have made a better monk than a life-stealing warrior.

“I hope you’re right.”

The warrior shuddered and quickened his pace.

They had been moving for the better part of an hour, and in all that time the landscape had changed little. There was a low rising of tumbled hills far to the east, sweeping across the landscape and branching out towards the north and south like a crescent. Every now and then short mesas and weathered ravines split the landscape, but still there was no life to be seen.

“What do you plan to do?” Tsuki asked as she walked up beside him.

“It’s a gamble, but this warrior’s group came in here through the avatar of Grenth’s portal. It’ll still be open.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“I’ve never been here before, but I’ve been to the Fissure, and the same principle works in both places. You come in through a portal and leave through that portal, unless everyone in the group that came in dies. If that happens the portal closes.”

“Can we leave if we find this portal?”

Farrion glanced across at Tsuki and sighed, “Hopefully.” I don’t know what I’ll do if we can’t get out of here.

They passed another crumbling mesa and the loud sound of marching feet swept down on them upon a rare breeze. They stopped suddenly. What?

“What was that, man?” Farrion asked the warrior, poking him with the sword.

“I…I’m not sure! Sounds like an army…but I’m not sure!”

“An army? In here? An army of what?”

The warrior finally looked around to meet Farrion’s dead gaze, “An army of things like you.”

A slight shiver rippled through Farrion’s body, but he tried to dismiss it. They stood in a wide open plain, with the only feasible hiding places being the cracked mesas. And hiding seemed the best option for them – at least in Farrion’s opinion. He was not eager to meet anymore undead, especially if they were all as unpredictably insane as Heavens and Tsuki.

“Back behind this mesa,” Farrion whispered fervently, “Out of sight, and keep quiet! Come on!” He manhandled the warrior as best he could as he turned him around, back towards the mesa. The warrior was still the bigger man, and it was only abject fear that kept him in check. In a world of illusions, that will have to be enough.

The mesa shielded them from the roving eyes of the oncoming armada, and they hid themselves amongst the crumbled rocks and debris. Farrion kept the sword resting on the nape of the warrior’s neck, and kept his eye on Heavens, who seemed calmer, but still distant and possibly prone to further madness.

And they waited.

The racket of the marching rose ever steadier, sending tremors through the bleak earth that shook Farrion down to his bones. Drum…drum…drum…drum… Farrion guessed that the army approaching and now passing them numbered in the thousands, or at the very least, the many hundreds.

“I think we should go out to them!” Heavens whispered suddenly to Farrion.

“Are you out of your mind?” It was a rhetorical question, but Farrion felt the need to ask it anyway.

“They are like us! They can help us!” Heavens was suddenly becoming very agitated. His manic eyes jumped as though disconnected from his head, and his entire body shook with barely restrained anxiety. He seemed ready to jump out from the mesa at any moment, giving them all away.

The sound of the marching filled the whole stagnant air, drowning out Farrion’s voice as he tried desperately to calm the disconcerted elementalist using every method he knew short of murder.

“We have to go, Far-Far! We have to!”

Farrion moved across next to the elementalist and grabbed his arm, “Relax, Heavens. For Dwayna’s sake, relax. We’re not going anywhere. Just sit tight. I beg you, man. Take it easy!”

“No!” the boy screamed, so loudly that if the sound of the marching boots hadn’t muffled it, the whole army would have heard the noise.

Farrion let go of Heavens and then struck him across the head with the hilt of the sword before he realised what he was doing. He struck him again, and then a third time, in rapid succession; oblivious to all else. A mad rage blinded his vision, and all he cared to hear was the splintering of cranium bone beneath the steel hilt. He would have hit him yet again if Tsuki had not grabbed his sword arm in a fierce grip.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

Farrion caught himself and realised what he had done. Heavens lay sprawled in a heap just before him, shivering and weeping. The side of his head had been bashed in, and liquid puss oozed from the rift in his undead flesh.

Grenth take me, what have I done? What the hell am I becoming? I didn’t mean to do that!

“Oh gods, Heavens! I’m so sorry!” Farrion dropped the sword and moved to help the elementalist, but Tsuki held him back.

“Don’t go any nearer to him, Farrion.” Her quiet voice, one that could be lost and forgotten amongst a sea of other more pronounced vocals, now epitomised a queer, ice-cold authority. Her dark eyes glittered with anger. “You don’t want us, so we’re going to them. You can’t accept what you are. For a moment I thought you really cared about our state, but look at what you did to him! Look! We don’t need this from you!”

Farrion could feel the blood boiling in his veins. Never in his life had he been able to get this angry so quickly, but it felt strangely good. He wanted more of it. Needed more. The sensation made him feel uniquely powerful, more out of control than he had ever been. Even now the tendrils of a massive spell wove together in his mind with more speed than he had ever been capable of before.

Oh gods. Dear Lyssa, what is ––

“We stick to my plan.” Farrion brought himself to say, his teeth grinding out each word like a machine. “It is the only way.”

“What’s the matter with you? What has gotten into you? You’ve never been like this since I’ve met you!”

Farrion’s vision swirled for a moment as every sense in his being trembled with rage. Why could they not see that he was the leader? Their only hope of getting out of this barren Hell? What in Dwayna’s name did they expect him to do? Just lie around waiting for something to happen? To go mad like Heavens? Couldn’t they see that Karak needed his help? Couldn’t they damn well see?

“What’s gotten into me?!” Farrion jumped to his feet and such mesmeric energy bristled from him that both the warrior and Tsuki backed away from him, staring at him through eyes as wide as a dolyak’s nostrils. “I’m dead, you bitch, and you ask me that! Well let me just show you what has gotten into me!!”

Farrion flashed out his arms towards the monk, the final weavings of that massive domination spell – elaborate in its construction, barbaric in its power – upon his lips. And a bony, gauntleted fist hammered into his neck from behind, sending the whole world into nothingness.

Great work, I can't wait for the next chapter.

Greetings once again everyone! I do apologize for not posting anything for the past three weeks or so, but man, I had quite a few assignments to code and tests to write that I barely had time to sleep far less write anything worthwhile. It's so bad that I swear if I see another If-Else statement I'm going to do something rash, the details of which I'm not going to post here . I've been seeing some fresh new stories on the forum and I'm hoping that we'll see more of them this coming summer. Anyhow, where was I? Right. Chapter 10!

The Forlorn Sands

The sky was a dark ocean of black ink; glittering stars rippling along its surface like waves. An ever present easterly wind still held, though weakly, bathing the travellers in what felt like icy water. Before them, as far as the eyes could see, lay miles upon miles of unbroken, featureless desert.

To Habib, the desert reminded him of an ocean as well, a calm firmament undisturbed by time, yet changing with every breeze, every storm. A place of contradictions, the desert – so beautiful, yet so deceptively deadly. The heat of the day had long since leached into the night sky, remaining only deep down beneath the sands where the lizards lay.

Habib and Big Charr had shed their armour before starting out, packing up whatever supplies they still had in a few large bundles and strapping them to a makeshift sled they had created from the bleached bones of some huge desert minotaur. They had been taking turns between pulling it and guarding Karak ever since, and Habib despised both jobs.

The only sound now was the soft crunching of crystalline sand beneath boots and sled. The calm and quiet let him think and reminisce like never before. And for the second time in as many days, his mind went back to the acres of tall corn amidst freshly ploughed earth, and the modest homestead that lay at their centre.

How he could never forget that place. The place he had built with his own sweat, blood and tears, the place he had settled down to raise a family.
Habib had been a young man then, big and strong as the wildest bull. Unafraid of anything and so determined to make things work that he could have even made crops grow in the desert. And full of love. People used to say that his wife had tamed him, kept him in check for all those years. Him and eventually their two sons and daughters.

All of their faces coalesced before his waking vision, laughing, smiling, and calling his name. Coalescing like mist, but never really solidifying into distinct pictures. Gods, my memory’s going. Those years had been the best times of his entire life; years he thought would never end.

But end they did.

“Habib.” Whispered Heather as she fell back to walk beside him, “Do you want help with that sled?”

It had been the first time she had said anything since leaving the cave, and her sudden friendliness along with his musings did much to catch Habib off-guard. He blinked and looked across at her pale face, illuminated in a ghastly radiance by her swirling cloud of misty light.

“No. I’m quite alright.”

A short, uneasy silence passed between them, as though Heather were struggling with herself to say something.

“Look,” she started finally, “I just wanted to say sorry for acting the way I did.” She sighed, “I…I know you were trying to keep the peace, and I let my emotions take over. Will you forgive me?”

To say that he was shocked would be an understatement. Heather had never struck him as one who would forgive anyone, far less ask for it. But this would not be the first time he had been wrong about someone, and most certainly it would not be the last.

“It’s alright. I forgive you.” He grabbled up the ropes for the sled in one hand and hugged her with the other one. It was an impulsive move, but he felt that he had to do it.

The young woman did not flinch or pull away as he though she would; rather, she hugged him back with even more gusto. “Thank you, Habib.” She whispered again. “I don’t want you to be angry with me. I feel that we share something, you know. You, me and Karak. I don’t know why, but I don’t want anything to get between us, okay?”

You feel that we share something, eh? You’re a strange young lady, Heather. Are maybe you’re a strange old lady? I wonder how long you have existed.

“Alright.” Habib replied finally, squeezing her small shoulder.

“I heard Normire saying that Karak was possessed.” She didn’t sound too surprised.

“Yes. You knew this already?”

She shrugged, “Before we blasted our way into the cavern I felt this other presence coming from his body. Each person’s body acts as a container for their soul you see, and usually there should only be one soul per body. I’ve never known it to be different. But Karak now… I felt this other presence, this other soul, in him. His was still there, but this other one….” She sighed and shrugged again, “It was the soul of a woman. One that I felt he knew. But he said that he was alright and we never spoke of it again.”

Habib frowned deeply. There was much he did not know, but there was something about what Heather was saying that unsettled him greatly.

“How the hell did it happen?”

“I’m not sure. You were with him longer than I was.”

Habib thought on that. Karak had not been all that strange when he had first met him, lying half-dead in a bed of bloodied sand back in Amnoon. Habib remembered the long-legged Mesmer woman, whom Karak had been talking to pull a knife on him, slicing his neck. He did not know why she did it, but Habib had not waited around to ask questions. An arrow through the chest was conversation enough.

But as his memory cleared and came back to him, he realised that he was missing something very important. The Mesmer woman was doing something to Karak back then; her wrist pressed against his bleeding neck. Did that have anything to do with the warrior’s current state?

Habib doubted it. He needed more time to think that theory through.

“I don’t know either. We may have to ask him when he comes back around.”

Heather shook her head, “He might not have the chance to come back around, Habib. With every passing moment, whatever is inside him is rooting itself even deeper. Soon there won’t be any Karak left.”

“Oh, Gods, there’s always something isn’t there?” Habib said, glancing back at Karak on the sled. The big warrior suddenly pulled up short and almost tripped over his own feet.

Karak was gone.


~ * ~


Have to get out. Need to get out.

He pushed himself harder and harder, falling over his feet as much as over the sand dunes in the silvery night. His breath was erupting from his chest in painful, shallow gasps, and his every muscle and sinew felt frozen. Yet his shirt was soaked with sweat, and rivulets of the salty fluid streamed down his forehead and legs.

“Have to get out. Need to get out.” He croaked, each word burning his throat as though laced with pepper. “Have to get out. Need to ––.” His legs gave way once again, throwing him flat on his face in the blinding sand.

Slowly, painfully, as though his very limbs were trying to refuse his commands, he crawled back to his knees. For a moment he looked out across the barren waste, seeing nothing moving. He must have finally lost them after all.

He grabbed his head between his hands and squeezed as hard as he could. Nothing he did could quieten the bloody voices shouting in his mind; arguing, fighting to take over. He thought he knew how they came to be there, but with every passing second what he thought was usually the thoughts of one of the voices in his head.

“Why are you doing this to me?!” he screamed, his voice echoing over the lifeless plains like the shriek of a ghost.

“I’m sorry, my love, I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen.” He screamed again, this time in a voice not his own. “We must keep fighting…we have to ––.”

“Silence, bitch. He is mine. Now and evermore.” Spoke another voice that was as harsh as sandpaper on the ears.

Karak could not remember when he had started hearing that other voice, that harsh voice. He did not know why and or how any of those voices came to be in head. All he wanted was for them to go to get out. Strapped to that sled had been torture, those voices confusing him and Karak powerless to do anything about it.

Not that what he was doing now was making any bloody impact either, but it felt better than doing nothing at all.

In the distance some miles away towards the eastern horizon there exploded a plume of bright blue light, which bathed the desert like the light of a false dawn. It rose far into the night sky, almost like a beacon to folk on another world. But as suddenly as it had erupted, it was gone, sinking back into the sands like a mirage.

In that brief light Karak saw the remains of a village far to the east; in the direction of the source of the blue light. The roofs and walls of the place were clear to him, but no fires burned within its walls.

“A city! Maybe they can help me, maybe they can help me!” Karak could not think straight. The cold air felt like many fingers grasping his arms and legs and his sight fluttered between light and dark. “The city-folk will help me. I know they can.”

“You’re soon mine, Karak. Just like all the rest. All the rest. For all the world’s a stage, and all men and women, merely players; puppets. I shall be master!”

That voice spiked through his head like a hammer-driven nail, and Karak grabbed his head anew and screamed from his gut. His wail echoed back and forth across the void of the desert night, until it slipped into silence.

Thanks for the comment shadow, and I hope that I won't take that long to get the rest of these chapters finished. Here's Chapter 11, please enjoy!


Not Only the River Thirsts


Their carriage pulled into the sparsely populated camp on the brink of nightfall, with the stars already out and glittering on the clear desert sky. The voices of the merchants, peddlers and adventurers mingled in the air; coming and going like the ghosts that walked amongst them. The River gurgled to the east, so quiet was the night that the sound of barely moving water was as clear to the ear as a scream.

Cyn stepped out the wood coffin that they called a carriage and gave the camp a quick evaluation. There were less people here than the last time he had been through; trade routes had opened to Elonia and Cantha, drawing thousands across the seas. Now the only thing that kept the small camp at Thirsty River alive was the River itself. It was the only source of water in the western Crystal Desert, and so drew many to its banks.

Which was another thing that was different since the last time Cyn had been through here. Back when he was seeking ascension and killing minotaurs, the Thirsty River had been just that – thirsty. A contradiction. Barren. He was wondering where the locals had found the water when a soft but steady hand grabbed his arm and the woman it belonged to stumbled unduly out of the carriage.

“Frig, that first step is a motherf**ker isn’t it?” Jala said as she steadied herself. She looked around at the darkening camp and sighed, “Ah, well we finally made it sweetheart.”

“Yeah.” Cyn wrapped an arm around her as a biting breeze clutched past them, “This place has changed a lot since the last time I visited. The River’s running again, but the camp feels so…dead.”

“Well, you know how it is. Times change, people move on or get crushed.”
Cyn shrugged. There was that feeling of wrongness about again, but he ignored it. “Let’s get down there and get something to eat.”

When he was still in the throes of his transformation into the new being he had become, Jala had managed to get a hold of a band of five desert-going adventurers. Cyn had no idea how she had convinced them to escort her and Cyn to the nearest camp, in a carriage too no less. But it would be difficult for lesser men to resist the compulsions of Jala.

Those adventurers now…. Cyn had found that they moved as silently as ghosts themselves, and in their eyes was a distant, almost lost look. They had not complained or objected to anything he had asked of any of them, and their answers to his questions about their pasts were evasive at best. And the way they looked at Jala, almost with expectation.

That feeling again worming his way into his system. This time he found it impossible to ignore. He tried anyway, biting his lip and sucking on the blood as he inadvertently sliced the flesh. Jala asked two of the adventurers to stay with the carriage as the rest of them went towards the camp.

The five of them attracted many glances as they entered the camp; Cyn and Jala strolling hand in hand with the three adventurers trailing behind and carrying a few items of trade like furs and bones and teeth and of course sleeping bags for when they decided to hit the hay, or the sand in this case.

The dusty path beneath them widened into a courtyard of sorts just up ahead, where the light of the bonfires crept out towards them. On either side of the path rose the half-crumbled remnants of sun-blasted buildings, buried in sand and with their wooden beams and steel infrastructures piercing upwards from the brick flesh like the bones of a hydra long dead. Shadows clung deep within the ruins, and the whisper of an occasional breeze shook the shutters of the old windows.

They passed through a narrow passage in the cleft of the desert rock, where the remains of a wooden ship hung on its side above them.

“Greetings, young master!” cried a man who half-leapt out at them from his perch on top a short shelf of bleached stone, which lay just above the path. The man was dressed in a long, rugged travellers’ cloak and bore a smile that covered nearly half his face. “I can see that you’re the travelling sort. Might I interest you in something? I have artefacts from all over Tyria and even some from the far, exotic realms of Echovald Forest and Istan!”

“I’m good, thanks.” Cyn replied as he moved on.

“But, my good man!” the peddler hollered after him, “Perhaps some jewellery for the lady? Or some clothes for the servants?”

Servants?

Cyn stopped so suddenly that he tugged backwards on Jala’s hand. Servants? He turned and glanced back at the three adventurers. By Melandru, they do look like servants.

“What’s wrong?” Jala asked, massaging her wrist, “Finding it hard to ignore that peddler’s adolescent voice? I’m sure that our friends here can deal with him.”

With not so much as a nod of the head, or even a flick of the hand, one of the adventurers – Jeremy, Cyn thought he called himself – dropped his things, drew his sword and moved against the peddler. The whip-thin peddler back-peddled so fast from Jeremy that he tripped over his own feet and went down sprawling onto the sand.

Cyn blinked and shook himself. “It’s alright. Leave him alone. Let’s go and find something to eat.”

And with that, Jeremy was sheathing his sword and once again shouldering his packs. The man never uttered a word, not even a grunt during the whole scenario. The peddler lay on his haunches, eyes wide open and panting. He had surely seen his own death in the eyes of Jeremy.

But Cyn’s mind was not on the peddler, but on Jala. In the deepening shadows it could only have been a trick of the light, but he thought that her eyes glistened for a moment, like cat eyes, or those of a snake. Her lips were compressed in a tight smile, barely revealed in the shadows, and her gaze was fixed on Jeremy and the others.

“Jala.” Cyn grabbed her shoulder and shook it gently.

She looked back at him and her smile broadened, “What?”

What the hell did you just do? “I said let’s get something to eat.”

She shrugged and took his hand in hers, “Then what are we waiting for then? Let’s not bother ourselves with these lesser animals. They’re only good for carrying our luggage and worshipping at our feet.”

Cyn raised an eyebrow at the adventurers behind them. They were within earshot of what Jala had just said, but they seemed unfazed. In fact it seemed as though they had not heard her at all. He could not read their eyes in the darkness.

Three large bonfires illuminated the place, throwing jagged tongues of light into the liquid of shadow that pooled around the camp. The scent of roast Minotaur flesh hung thick in the air; the smokes of several spits spiralling towards the heavens. At each fire Cyn could make out a band of ragged travellers – brown and beige-clad adventurers and merchants who sat playing dominos, drinking beer or chatting. By their faces and accents the ranger guessed that many, if not all of them hailed from Tyria.

A tall man dressed in the flowing beige robes of a desert dweller approached them as they passed the first bonfire. Only his eyes peeked out at them from between the slit in his linen headgear and the light played at the dark lines and angles that creased his forehead. At his flanks were two similarly dressed men, both shorter, but with their hands on the hilts of the swords strapped to their waists.

“Welcome to the River, travellers.”

Cyn and Jala stopped, the ranger looking over the three men. They seemed like hardened adventurers, refined and burnished by many years in the desert sun. The robes did not reveal much about their physique, but the way they carried themselves suggested that each man was powerful and deadly in his own right.

“Is there a problem here?” Cyn asked.

“Hopefully not. Just a warning, traveller. This camp is under the protection of the Scarabs. By coming here you will agree to follow our rules: no fighting, no murder, and no abuse of our environs. We have done a lot of work here when no one else would, and we do not wish to see our investments drain into the sands.”

“We agree. We won’t be here for too long in any case.”

The man nodded, and his gaze settled on Jala. To Cyn it seemed that it lingered there for many moments too long. “Enjoy your stay.” He said finally. The three men turned and headed back past the bonfire, towards a large, low tent that occupied a rocky outcrop higher than the rest of the camp.

“That was interesting.” Jala said, more to herself than to him.

Cyn thought so too and glanced once more at that low tent. There was a fire burning within its thin-minotaur and hydra hide, and at its doors stood two armed men, garbed in the same fashion as the three desert men. And although he could not be entirely sure, Cyn thought that the eyes of those men were fixed on him, studying his every move.

Scarabs they call themselves. Cyn thought to himself. Yet another guild I’ve never heard of. Wonder why they would bother with this place anyway?

Jala directed the three adventurers in setting up their camp, not too far away from the furthest bonfire, but still far enough away to give a sense of privacy. It was in the shadow of a well-preserved ship, which looked ready to sail just given water. In moments they had a small fire going and were off looking to buy foodstuffs with the tradable items.

Cyn found himself alone with Jala yet again, who had made her way up a short dune and now stood staring off into the desert waste to the west.

“Homesick?” He asked as he walked up beside her.

She sniffed, “I know you’re kidding, sweetheart. I would never miss leaving that prison.” She turned and gave him another one of her broad smiles, one that matched her perfect features like a hand in glove. “I’m glad to be with you, now that you’ve come round to your senses.”

“Me too. It was my destiny to be at your side, even from the beginning. I now realise that. Things have a way of catching up with you. But now that we’re together and we more or less know where we want to be, how do we get there?”

Jala sighed and eased closer to him, “It’s simple, really. I’ve thought about it for a long time. There’s something big stirring in the world, it’s on the air even. I could feel it through the walls of that prison. Coming from over there,” she turned and pointed east, where the desert ended at a series of steadily rising mesas beyond the River, “in Elonia. I’m not entirely sure what it is, but we have to be a part of it. Chaos will erupt soon enough and we must be there to take advantage of it.”

Cyn realised that Jala had answered his question without really answering it. She wanted to go to Elonia. She told me that before. This is nothing new. But Cyn let the matter pass. One step at a time. The world shall be ours soon enough.

“But there’s something else, Cyn.” Jala whispered. Her voice took on a chill edge, and when Cyn looked at her he found that she was staring back off into the desert like before.

“What?”

A blue light suddenly shot up out of the horizon, rising hundreds of feet into the air like a towering pillar of diamond, shimmering with light of its own. The desert lit up for miles in a ghastly blue twilight, and a cold wind rushed towards them, engulfing Cyn and Jala momentarily in a blinding cloud of dust. When Cyn blinked and rubbed the dust from his eyes the tower of light was gone; sinking back into the desert.

“What by Melandru was that?”

“A beacon.”

“A beacon? For whom?”

“For fools.”

Hey again everyone, hope things are cool with you guys. Middle of exams over here for me but there's still a story to be written. I hope you continue to enjoy it!


Calling to the Night


“How in blazes could he have gotten loose?” Big Charr grunted hysterically, “I tied those cords my bloody self! There’s no way he could have gotten loose!”

“Settle down, Charr,” Habib sighed. When it ain’t one thing, it’s another. “We can’t worry about how he managed to get loose right now. We have to focus on getting him back.”

“Any idea where he went?” Normire asked.

Habib glanced at him, strangely relieved that the necromancer had a calm presence of mind and a forward thinking attitude. He hoped that he was not making a mistake by allowing him to come along, for like Cyn, Habib had seen Normire dead. But Karissa had somehow managed to resurrect him. And resurrections always have their price. I wonder what Normire had to pay. Or has to pay, eventually.

“We didn’t find any tracks in the sand.” Heather replied, clipping each word. Despite whatever she had said about her emotions, they still seemed very raw towards Normire. Habib wished that he had the time to find out just how far those two went, but he dismissed the idea.

“No tracks? How is that bloody-well possible? Are you trying to tell me that he what, untied himself even though his arms and legs were bound three and four times, and what, floated away?!” Big Charr settled into cursing and grunting.

Heather shrugged, “Your nose is bigger than mine; maybe you can sniff him out.”

She had obviously never spoken to a Charr before, so Habib realised that Heather would not know that telling a Charr anything about his nose was derogatory at best.

“Do I look like a f**king dog to you?” Big Charr snarled in that unnerving way that sent shivers up Habib’s spine.

“She meant nothing by it, Charr,” Habib interjected, resting a hand on the Charr’s hariy shoulder, “take it easy, big fella.”

“That’s true. I apologize.” Heather added quickly.

Big Charr sighed deeply and massaged his long snout and floppy ears. “What…what’s the plan, Habib?”

Habib gazed around at the dark landscape, seeing nothing but rolling sands. “He couldn’t have gotten far, not in the state he was in. I think we all know that something’s very wrong with him, so we have to be careful now that he’s loose.” For some reason, Habib’s eyes were drawn to the eastern horizon. It looked no different than anywhere else in this gloom, but something felt strange over there.

“What the hell is that?” Heather whispered as she turned and followed his gaze. “Where is that coming from?”

“What?” Habib asked.

“Can’t you hear it?” she looked back at him and raised her eyebrows. “It’s calling your name.”

“My name?”

There was a sudden flash of blue light and when Habib looked back towards the east he could see a giant pillar of light arcing into the sky. For a moment he thought that it was the result of some aeromancer’s spell, but that blue light looked too solid to be any lightning bolt.

“What in blazes?” Big Charr cursed.

The pillar of light reached its zenith and suddenly dissolved, vanishing back towards the desert. In seconds, only the memory of it remained.

A bout of silence passed amongst the company. Habib’s throat felt dry and his muscles shivered of their own accord. He had not heard anything calling his name, but the fact that Heather did was enough to further unsettle him. Why would something be calling my name out here?

“I don’t think anyone answered my question just now,” Big Charr snarled, “What in blazes was that?”

“Looked like a pillar of light to me,” Karissa offered, which got her a nasty glare from Heather and a raised eyebrow from Normire.

“There’s a town down there,” Heather began, stepping away from the company and looking out towards the east, “I saw it in the light. Looks deserted…but maybe that’s where Karak is headed. It’s the only feature around here for miles.”

I didn’t see any town. Maybe that’s because I was so focused on the light itself. A town eh? I don’t ever recall a town being out this far into the Arid Sea. Must really be a ruin.

“We’ve still got many hours of night left. Let’s investigate it. Does anyone object to that?” Habib said.

No one objected, but maybe that was due to the way Heather glared at them. Without another word she was moving down the slope of the sand dune, heading towards the seemingly dead town. Her glowing mist moved with her, and again Habib wondered if everyone’s choice to come along stemmed from the fact that if they didn’t they would be left alone without light.

The silence held until the dark shapes of what could be walls and buildings materialised out of the gloom up ahead. The breeze that had held from the west dropped to a whisper, and as the party drew closer to the town, it died altogether. Habib had no good feelings about this place, and he did not need to hear the several alarms that went off in his mind to tell that something was not right here either.

“Look,” Heather whispered to him, “Boot-prints.” She motioned to the sand just before them, where a pair of boot-prints abruptly began, as though the owner of those boots had fallen out of the sky.

“Stop here,” he commanded, rummaging through the supplies on the sled, “Big Charr, let’s suit up before we head in there. I have no happy feelings about this place.” I still can’t forget that hall with the zombies, or that portal room with the dryders. Both death-traps.

Big Charr nodded and grabbed for his armour and sword. In moments the two warriors were dressed, Habib wielding his rapier in one hand and his heavy buckler in the other. He watched as Big Charr clasped the cape of the Wraiths about his neck and smiled. He hasn’t given up on the Wraiths yet, eh? Even with Bones, Heavens and Tsuki dead. We’re all that’s left, now. Tears sought to well up in his eyes, but Habib fought them back. Now was not the time for regrets and sorrow. Before he moved away from the sled he found his own cape and clasped it on. He was not going to mourn the guild. He was going to cherish its memory.

“Keep on your guard, ladies and gentlemen.” He turned to Heather, “I want a lot of light in there – as much as you can give us. And keep an eye out for anything, people! I’ve lost too many group members for my entire lifetime. I won’t lose anymore.”

Normire fetched his staff from the sled and nodded at Habib. “You won’t.” There was a strange glitter in his dark eyes and chilling note of finality in his voice that for some reason gave Habib a measure of confidence. Maybe he had been one hell of a guild leader after all.

It was decided to leave the sled outside, with all of the supplies not needed for any sort of assault. Habib took the lead, with Heather and Karissa at the centre and Big Charr and Normire holding the rear. The curling lighted mist of the mutli-talented Heather spread out for many yards around the party, illuminating a bright white circle in the gloom. Even so, the rearguard held aloft a torch each, which burned fitfully in the still air.

From what Habib could see as they passed the crumbling walls to either side of the main road into the town, the place really was a ruin. Abandoned buildings two and three floors high bracketed the road, their roofs long gone and their windows gaping open blindly.

The sand beneath their feet gradually faded to bleached cobblestone, and the remains of once lush gardens and towering trees were revealed in the passing light; memories of a time that was no more. Wash-lines still hung between posts in the old backyards, and here and there Habib could make out the decaying remains of what used to be merchant stalls and shops by the side of the road.

The party kept moving and no one said a word. The shuffling of their feet and the crackling of the torch-fire seemed muted; swallowed up by the silence of this place. The silence had an almost living quality to it, actively hushing everything that made a sound. After a time, Habib had the unsettling feeling that many eyes were upon him, staring at him from a doorway over there, or a dark window up there, but whenever Heather’s light reached the place, nothing revealed itself.

It was then that the warrior realised that this place was not just an abandoned town. It was a graveyard. Almost immediately after that thought passed through his head did Habib regret having set foot in this place. It’s another death-trap. Oh Balthazar! I walked right into it! Karak! Did he set us up somehow?

But it seemed as though his fears were misplaced, for nothing assailed them as they worked their way even deeper into the gut of the town. Nothing but the eyes of the hidden watchers.

“Well, this looks like a central plaza,” Normire said from behind as the party stopped where the main road merged into a large square. “If Karak is in here, he’s being amazingly quiet, which would be totally out of character for him. It’s so quiet here I could even hear an ant fart.”

“There’s something up ahead, Habib.” Heather said, pointing towards where the front-most edge of her circle of light dissolved into darkness. “It’s not moving.”

Habib tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword. “Together, company. Ready now!” he whispered fiercely.

They inched forwards, and the silhouette of a person came into view. Whoever it was sat backing them, huddled on the ground with their knees drawn up to their chest. The person was bareback; unlike Karak was when he left the party. And that, coupled with the rake-like quality of the person led Habib to realise that whoever this person was, it wasn’t Karak of Egilos.

The company came within two feet of the huddled man and still he made no move. Habib signalled for them to keep an eye on their environs and moved closer.

“Hey, sir. What are you doing here? Are you in some sort of difficulty?” the warrior asked, stopping an arm’s length away from the man.

Still, there was no reply.

“Sir?” Habib nudged the man’s shoulder with his buckler and he suddenly jumped, and rolled onto his side.

Habib back-peddled instantly, but froze as the lighted mist settled about the features of the man. In that washed glow the man’s face was chillingly clear; gaunt, all lines and creases of thin, leathery flesh that just seemed to be tightly stretched over bare bone. His mouth was frozen in a silent wail, and his eye-sockets held nothing but pools of shadow.

The man was dead, and rigor mortis had long since set in; his stature frozen in the foetal position as though the last thing he did was to hide from something horrible. Habib glanced over his shoulder at the rest of his company, noting the shock on their faces.

“It’s fresh.” Normire was the first to speak, easing next to Habib and staring down at the dried husk of a corpse. “This man was alive not less than two nights ago.”

“How can you be sure of that? He’s got rigor for the gods’ sake.”

Normire shrugged, “I’m a necromancer.”

That was not the answer Habib had sought, but he let that pass as well. The corpse before him was too much of a reminder of those zombies in that hallway, but at least this corpse was not moving. Not yet at any rate.

“Do you know what killed him?” Habib asked again as he stared out past the corpse into the darkness. He could still feel many eyes on him; of invisible watchers keeping silent vigil in the night.

The necromancer bent down low over the corpse and laid a hand on the head. After a moment he looked up and sighed, “I don’t know. Fear, most likely. There’s nothing else but fear radiating from him – an echo of the thing that was possibly pursuing him.” He turned back to the corpse and fingered the dark holes where the man’s eyeballs should have been, “I can’t really tell, but it looks as though these wounds were self-inflicted.”

“He gouged out his own eyes?” Habib’s voice fell to a whisper, “You’re trying to say that he gouged out his own goddamn eyes?”

Normire rose to his feet and shrugged. “Fear, Habib. Fear would make a man do anything. But for him to blind himself – I’d hate to meet the thing that frightened him so.”

Normire continued talking, but Habib suddenly realised that he could not hear what the necromancer was saying. All around him the little sounds died, and filling the void came the cries of many voices, some clear, others far distant, every one gaining in intensity. They reached a crescendo, then fell away, back and forth until one voice dominated the rest, filling his ears as though the speaker was right there standing next to him.

“Daddy.”

Habib twirled round, assuming a defensive stance automatically. There was a rummaging of feet and shuffling of armour as Big Charr, Normire and Heather followed suit in a protective circle around Karissa.

“What is it big man?” Big Charr snarled.

Habib’s heart was hammering on the inside of his chest plate, as though seeking freedom from the heat that was rushing through his veins. The warrior was breathing frantically, and he tried desperately to regain control, to settle down. But that voice echoed through the long caverns of his mind, calling and answering itself; a voice he had never hoped to hear again in this world or the next.

The voice of his daughter.

Great stuff, can't wait for the next chapter.

It's good to see you're still writing, man. Keep it up! Your writing just keeps getting better.

Oh btw, as you probably know by now, I have given up on GW for the time being. College is killing me with work and, well, I just don't have time anymore. Hope everything is still going well over there at hop.

Well guys exams are finally over for me and I can finally enjoy a couple weeks of rest! Been a hectic time but I thank you for your views and for your comments Sk8t and Pister! Man, I'm not even sure how things are going with hop either - I haven't actually played GW seriously for months now . But don't let the work kill you Pister - school-work isn't worth losing your life over, if you catch my drift. But on another note, here's hoping that I can catch back up, both in-game and with the story. Please enjoy Chapter 13!


Second Passage


“What’s the matter, Habib?” Heather asked again, shifting her stance slightly to look over her shoulder at him. “Did you hear something?”

Habib said nothing but trained his ears on the environs, trying – possibly even hoping – hard to hear the voice again. But there was nothing now but the empty void of silence and the soft drumming of his heart. The warrior sighed, but the tension did not drain from his muscles.

“It was nothing. Just my imagination.”

Heather holstered her daggers and moved over to him, “What did you hear?”
“I told you – it was nothing important.”

Her blue eyes scanned him intently and she looked about to speak, but she only nodded and moved onto the dried corpse. For a moment Habib thought that she could read his own thoughts; know exactly what he had heard. It was only my imagination, though. That could not have been her. Not out here.

The big warrior shivered when Big Charr’s large, meaty paw rested on his shoulder. “You’re crying, big man.”

Habib straightened and rubbed the end of his cape over his face, erasing the traces of tears that were gently streaming down his chiselled face. Gods in the Mists. Why did you have to take them? He nodded at the Charr, “Thanks. Now take up your positions, everyone. We move on to the northern walls of this place, but please be careful. Enter no building alone, not even if you see an orgy of beautiful women through a window.”

Normire laughed heartily – a strange sound coming from a necromancer – and leaned on his staff for support. “By the Gods, Habib, you’re one hell of a comedian.”

Habib frowned. He did not see any mirth in what he just said. “Just stay close people.”

Leaving the corpse behind, the company moved on through the plaza. The now mostly-bleached stones beneath their feet still held traces of colour; reds and blues and gold, which, in this town’s prime must have made for a spectacular sight. Dead trees, petrified and bleached by the sun, grasped towards the sky like jagged splinters of bone, and further back, out of the range of Heather’s stable light, Habib could still feel the eyes of a thousand watchers.

“Something is coming.” Karissa said suddenly as soon as the company reached the terminus of the plaza.

Before them stood a massive building complex, built from large, heavy blocks of what looked oddly enough like limestone. Large windows with wrought-iron grills stared down at them from three floors up and the main door hung slightly open. That feeling of being watched intently was the most prevalent here, and for a moment Habib had a mind to turn and get the hell out of this place.

The company formed a tight defensive circle and stared out into the darkness all around. “What is it?” Habib asked.

“I don’t know. Forget it. I’m sorry I spoke.”

“Say what you have to say goddamn it. This isn’t one of your f**king games!” Heather hissed, turning on Karissa with daggers in hand.

Habib grabbed the small woman and locked her arms behind her in a vice-grip. “And this is no time for murder either, Heather!”

“Maybe it is, friend Habib.” Normire said, so casually that Habib thought that the man was talking about the weather.

And that was when the night erupted in chaos.

A score of crystal-bladed arrows swept out of the night, drizzling the company in a rain of death. Habib barely had time to raise his shield, shove Heather behind him and stoop closer to the ground before the arrows pummelled into it. Crystal slammed into wood with such an increasing fervour that the warrior felt himself being pushed back, and his shield-arm growing numb.

In moments he felt Big Charr’s hairy mass beside him, his tower shield before him like a wall of steel. Normire and the ladies were pressed behind them both, sheltering desperately under the shields. Heather chanted something intelligible and suddenly the air around them bristled with invisible energy. Habib sighed in relief and allowed his mind to settle down and focus. Balthazar lend me strength. We have to get out of here. We should never have come here!

“How long will your protective shield last, Heather?” he cried over his shoulder. The arrows had stopped raining down on them – the protective shield above them resisted them instead.

“As long as we need it.” Her voice sounded unsettled and steady as though the shield was not really in fact anything major.

“What the hell is firing at as, Habib? I can’t see a thing out there.” Big Charr growled.

“Death, dear Charr. Whatever those things are out there, they have not drawn breath in many an age.” Normire said in his easy-going manner. Habib could not help but feel that nothing could surprise the man.

“Undead? Out here?” Big Charr sounded mildly scandalised. He had never been to the desert prior to this, and he always associated undeath with the swamps of Kryta.

“Forgotten.” Karissa whispered, “I don’t think we should enter this building!”

“Do you see somewhere else to bloody-well go?” Heather hissed.

“We must stand and fight. We must not do as they want.”

“We? You mean us. You do nothing but stand and stare, you useless bit ––.”

“Enough Heather!” Habib shouted impatiently. The wheels of his mind were spinning violently, now. Could they dare stand and fight the Forgotten? How many were there? If that feeling of being watched by a thousand unseen things was any indication, then they did not have much of a chance, if any. And this building behind them…. Habib turned and beheld the complex once again.

No windows on the lower floors. Door virtually wide open. Walled fence surrounding the environs, vanishing into the darkness from whence more arrows still erupted. The company was surrounded, and the only escape really was through that building.

The straight, narrow corridor filled with zombies and dryders came back to Habib’s mind, and for a moment his heart sank. I’ve led these people from one death to another. I’m too old for this, now. My senses are failing.

“I think we should haul some serious ass through that building, Habib.” Normire said from behind him. The necromancer was now rising to his feet and straining to see whatever had massed in the darkness before them.

Habib and the others rose and the warrior went over to him. In the necromancer’s eyes burned a cold fire. “It is a trap. You must know this.”

Normire turned to look at him, “Yes, it is. But sometimes the only way to escape a trap is to walk right through it with eyes wide open.”

Maybe he really was one hell of a guild leader.

“Very well.” Habib sighed, “Back now, everyone! Towards that building behind us! It must have a back exit.”

They formed up another defensive circle, Habib taking the lead with the others pressed close around him. Slowly they retreated to the building, with Heather’s light illuminating more of the place and its bleached environs. The barrage of arrows from the darkness intensified as they neared the building, striking and fizzling on the invisible protective shield like a million buzzing insects.

Habib eased through what remained of the door and as Heather’s light swept through the room, he sought for a barricade. He and Big Charr found an old cupboard near the door, empty now except for a few antique plates and wares, and slid it snugly into the doorway. It worked better than Habib had expected, but something in the back of his mind told him that the door would not need any barricade.

He could hear the arrows still raining down on the front of the building, effectively pinning the company inside and forcing them to find another way out. He turned and scanned the room.

It was wide, broken by tall doorways and sparsely furnished. A thin layer of sand draped everything and there was an intangible feeling of emptiness that lurked in the air. Old paintings of faded scenes lined the walls, but to Habib they felt more like staring eyes, watching and considering. A circular staircase wound up to the second floor, and on a brighter day Habib would have thought that the staircase was a spectacular work of design.

“We shouldn’t be here. We shouldn’t!” Karissa moaned, wrapping her arms around herself and staring about the place furtively.

“There was nowhere else to ––.” Normire trailed off and turned to look behind him, eyebrows raised. “Did anyone else hear that?”

“No.” Heather snapped.

“What was it?” Habib asked. He had not heard anything else either, but something suddenly felt more out pf place than things usually were.

“Nothing. My imagination. I thought I heard the voice of my…. It was nothing.” The necromancer replied, but when he looked at Habib their eyes locked for a short moment and the old warrior suddenly realised what was going on.

And like fog dissipating in the sunlight, Heather’s light vanished entirely and Habib felt darkness itself wrap around him like so many cloaks, choking and blinding. There were muffled sounds of curses and struggle from all about him, and just there beneath the racket Habib thought he could hear the gentle hiss of many snakes.

Forgotten!

He sought to lash out with his sword but felt his arms being thrust behind him and bound with wire. He could not breathe. It seemed as though the darkness stole into his lungs like some poisonous gas, displacing his air and filling it with a void.

“Gods!” Habib cursed with his failing breath, “Gods!”

Before his lungs gave out and his muscles failed Habib thought he could hear the gentle laughter of many voices. “Fools,” they said, “Debt must be paid.”

A long installment to hopefully keep you busy for a while. I'll be bringing these myriad plotlines together in short order. Enjoy Chapter 14!


For Tomorrow


“I wonder who this Cyn was?” Vinessa murmured beside him.

“Probably a demon.” Heli replied, although he doubted it.

The two of them sat together in a small, windowless room; the only light coming from a few sputtering torches that only had a few more hours left in them. The place was as quiet as a tomb, but it was warm and there were only five other hapless souls in the room with them.

Vinessa leaned closer to him and pressed her lips against his ear, “Are you planning to escape?”

“If we get de chance. And even eff we get de chance….” Heli whispered and shrugged. He did not think that they were going to get that chance, and even if they did, there was no where else to go in this barren waste all around them. But hey, what’s the point in being depressed?

They had not left the room save for short walks through narrow corridors to the bathrooms, and with the lack of windows Heli had no idea what time of day it was, far less how much time had passed since they had been here. But the Charr had not starved them at any rate, and if Heli did not know that they were prisoners probably waiting to be sacrificed, he would have thought that they were actual guests at a one star Charr hotel.

“Well, as my dad used to say ‘if it ain’t one thing, it’s a next’. But what do you really think is going to happen to us if we don’t get that chance?” Vinessa whispered again, glancing across at their nearest roommate.

The woman’s eyes were open, but they were unfocused and mostly unseeing. The poor lady had already given up the will to live and only now waited for the inevitable. She was a crumpled heap of rags and flesh, lying unmoving save for the rise and fall of her chest, by the door. Heli averted his eyes from her and sat back against the wall.

“The truth of de matter is dat we might be sacrificed. Dat’s the only reason I can see fuh why dem spare we in the first place. But I’m not sure. Dem could be planning something else.”

She squeezed his arm and rested her head on his chest. “It really doesn’t matter.” Her breathing slowed and deepened and within moments she was fast asleep.

Heli held her close and sighed. I feel damn tired myself. But he could not bring himself to fall asleep. Vinessa had not realised it yet, but Heli had not slept for more than two hours a day (as far as he could reckon) and then not deeply. There was something about this place that offset him; something about the way the Charr treated them that suggested something other than sacrifice.

He searched through his memories for anything that strange Charr he had met years ago might have said. Anything that could lend some light to this predicament. But there was nothing. Why would they keep us alive if not for sacrifice? Why would they keep us alive at all?

“She’s a pretty girl.” Whispered a voice.

Heli turned to his left and found a small man leaning over him, his dark eyes fixed on Vinessa’s sleeping form. The man was balding, with scars all over his palish, weathered body. Heli could not remember hearing him speak before.
“Yes she is.” Heli replied, “And she’s trying to get some rest.”

The man grinned and sat back on his haunches, “I need a woman before I die. Don’t you? We can share her, if you like?”

Heli’s eyes strayed around the room and he found that the eyes of the other men – three of them – were staring at him. They looked steadier than he had remembered seeing them before, and for a moment they reminded him of a pack of wolves perusing its prey.

“She,” the man motioned to the woman by the door, “She’s too far gone for my liking. I need some warmth. Now her.” He motioned to Vinessa with a spindly arm, “She’s only a woman, and we’re all going to die anyway. Let’s have us some pleasure before the end, eh? The Charr are going to get us all eventually!”

Heli smiled. “How about this? You get the f**k away from me.”

The man reared up onto his feet like a wolf onto its hind legs and actually bared his teeth. “Fool! The bitch’s not worth it!”

He flung himself headlong at Heli, who caught him by the throat and snapped his neck like a twig. He crumpled into Heli like a broken doll and with his free arm Heli chucked the body off to the side.

The men at the back of the room were gaping at him now, all of their resolve and plans evaporating into nothingness. One of them was about to speak but Heli cut him off.

“Don’t be afraid of the Charr, gentlemen. Them does kill to please them gods. I kill to please meself.”

Vinessa squirmed in her sleep and muttered, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, go back to sleep.” Heli whispered back, his eyes never straying from the other men.




The Charr came for them the very next afternoon.

Heli and Vinessa were strung together by cold chains that dug into the flesh of their wrists, with their remaining four cellmates linked behind them. The body of the dead man brought nothing more out of the Charr guards than a mere grunt, and after prodding him and eventually throwing him into a corner of the room, they seemed to forget about him entirely.

Vinessa had wondered how he had died, and Heli had told her that he had died in his sleep. That did not explain the broken neck though, but Vinessa did not press the matter so Heli did not bring it up. No need to bother with all the unimportant little details.

As they trudged through the close but tall corridors, Heli tried to form a mental map of the place. But try as he might, every cell they passed looked almost the same, and all the branching corridors that their guards led them through were enough to throw his every sense of direction off completely.

Eventually the maze of corridors gave way to a long courtyard on the outside. Pristine breeze whipped into them as they emerged from the underground, both chilling and refreshing Heli’s senses. The sun was nearing noon, and the light it cast was very nearly blinding to his eyes that had become accustomed to the twilight of the cell. Hundreds of Charr were about the caldera, many dressed in colourful sashes and the headgear of large skulls. And a cacophony of voices beat into the air; growls and chants from a hundred throats that at once chilled and awed.

But his attention was riveted to the large, flat-top pyramid that dominated the caldera. At its summit stood a dozen or so Charr shamans – identified by their tall staves – and at their feet knelt five of the other prisoners Heli and Vinessa had been brought here with. Their hands were bound and their eyes seemed blindfolded, but Heli was too far away to make anything out clearly. Ah, we’ll soon be up there in any case.

He saw Vinessa shiver before him. He knew what had to be going through her head – it was never easy to face your death, even if you knew it was coming from one hundred miles off. Gods. I wish I could hold her again. I wish I could tell her that I would get us out of here. The ranger sighed and tried to look around the area, anywhere but up at that pyramid.

Listen to me though. Wishing things could be different. Ah, the folly of it all. Why should I go on hoping, eh? We were lucky to get here in the first place. It would take more than luck to get us any further. A miracle, perhaps. Shit, it would take Dwayna herself.

The guards led them up a series of rising wooden ramps to the top of the pyramid. Below them the Charr and the entire mountainous vista spread out like features of a chess board; the Charr seemed like so many ants. Their voices deafened Heli even from at this height, and the thin air did nothing to help his presence of mind.

The other prisoners already on their knees really were blindfolded. And they were shivering too, though not entirely from the chilling breeze that blew at this altitude. The Charr, on the other hand, were absolutely trembling with exuberant pleasure and an almost insane zeal. A shaman was chanting – or he could be speaking, Heli could not tell the difference with all of those grunts and curses – at the crowd, which responded with a massive roar that shook the pyramid down to its very foundations.

“Oh gods, Heli.” Vinessa whispered as she looked out over the crowd. “It’s almost like a dream. Some horrible nightmare. But…but I don’t feel afraid anymore. It’s strange, don’t you think?”

“No.” Gods, just to hold her this one last time. “It’s being brave. There’s a place in the Mists for you, Vinessa.”

She tried to turn around to face him, but the chain went taut and kept her facing forwards. “There’s a place for both of us, my love.”

Heli wanted to say something more, something firm and brave, but found that he could not. There was nothing else he could say. There was nothing else he could do for her. For a moment he wondered how they would go. Would the Charr torch them alive? Impale them on stakes? Behead them? Images of Vinessa’s suddenly headless corpse bounded unbidden before his waking vision, and Heli snapped his eyes shut. Yet still the image remained, Vinessa being pinned up on a stake, being set ablaze, screaming her heart out as the fire tore off her flesh….

Screaming. Screaming. Screaming. All other sound seemed to have vanished when Heli opened his eyes again.

Two of the earlier prisoners had been driven against two long sharp pikes – one on either side of the platform – and now the frenetic Charr shamans were dousing them with hot oil. The oil seared off hair and flesh, but even that was only a prelude. With a sharp, guttural cry and before Heli could avert his eyes, one of the shamans caught fire to the two men with a torch and watched them burn.

Raucous music of a sort Heli had never before heard lifted up out of the crowd below, and as he looked down on them in horror he realised for the first time that the statue of the strange man called Cyn stared straight at the pyramid, facing the sacrifices. By the gods, the Charr were sacrificing to the man. If man he was. The only Charr gods Heli knew about were Titans, and he had never come face to face with one before.

With the two prisoners screaming, even as their flesh popped and sizzled, the shamans called for another pair. This pair was of two women, who had to be dragged like worms before the crowd.

The shamans chanted some other verse at the crowd, before each lifting blood stained daggers and slitting the women’s throats, letting their lifeblood spill out down the stepped sides of the pyramid. With more grunts and curses, the shamans flung the still convulsing bodies down the pyramid. Bouncing and splintering against the stone steps they disappeared amongst the mass of Charr hair and flesh at the foot of the pyramid.

“Oh f**k.” Heli gasped to himself. He had seen many things in his life, but never had he witnessed Charr sacrifice firsthand. It was not an opportunity he relished.

The shamans grabbed the last of the first set of prisoners to his feet and held him over a pedestal of sorts, which rose to his midsection. They unceremoniously beheaded him right there and then, blindfold and all.

Heli felt nothing. His senses were numbing to the grisly scene around him; even the sounds and music from below, so loud only seconds ago, felt like nothing but mere whispers. All of the sacrifices before had just been an introduction. Mere foreplay to arouse the crowd. As one the shamans turned to Vinessa and released her chains.

“No.” Heli gasped. His voice suddenly felt very hoarse and very swollen. “No, take your hands off her, goddamnit!” He tried to move but the chain went taut behind him, keeping him fixed in place.

She glanced at him as they led her to the edge of the platform overlooking the crowd. There was no fear in her eyes, this time. No look of despair.

Racket saturated the air, but when she spoke it seemed as though her lips were pressed against Heli’s ears. “The blue skies covered by dark clouds. The sun eclipsed by the dark moon. Hope is still alive.”

The shamans thrust her over the pedestal, chanting a different set of verse directly at the statue of Cyn. Another shaman unbound Heli and pushed him behind her, queuing up to die. And even though Heli had expected it to end this way, suddenly he felt different. Not this way. My brothers fought valiantly and saved Tyria. And now all I’m to do is to die as a sacrifice to this Cyn?

Dark clouds, pregnant with fresh rain, were gliding across the sun, draping the environs in an ever-darkening haze of gloom. The Charr had unbound him from the others, but still Heli’s arms were bound together and so were his feet. But he could still do something…couldn’t he? I have to stop this. We don’t deserve to die like this. Not Vinessa.

He jumped when a freezing droplet of water slithered down his face. He glanced at the sky even as one of the shamans raised his sword over Vinessa’s neck. The entire sky was a patchwork of black and grey, with the sun itself dimming with each passing second. The sun was not full as Heli had last seen it, but something seemed to be eating away at its eastern edge, slimming the sun to a crescent and then to only a slither.

It’s an eclipse. By all the gods that should still be months away!

He had not realised that the Charr all round had fallen silent. He looked back to where Vinessa lay over the pedestal, fearing for a moment that she had already been forced into the Mists. But there she still stood, with the Charr’s blade hanging over her neck.

All eyes were on the statue of the man called Cyn. And on his arms as they reached towards the pyramid. Towards his sacrifice.

I must know what happens next, the story just keeps getting better.

Awesome story telling man. At first I was confused with the events entertwining and being told in different chapters but as it progressed, I started to understand the general direction.

Again, awesome story telling. Now, the next chapter please.

Greetings folks! Thanks for the kind comments Koross and Sk8tborderx! It's nice to hear a little feedback and I'm glad you're enjoying the fic so far. I was going to finish and post this chapter a while ago, but a lot of work suddenly came up and shafted me and my weekend plans. Anyways here is Chapter 15, please enjoy!


A Quest


“Daddy, why is the sun so dark?” the little girl asked. A small thing she was, moving about on spindly legs with the speed of a will-o-the-wisp.

“Don’t look at it sweetheart.” Daddy replied, turning her away from the sky. “It’s a solar eclipse. Happens when Grenth gains a little advantage and overpowers Dwayna in the Heavens. Doesn’t happen too often or for too long. The Goddess quickly regains her power.”

“Wow. Do the gods really fight like that?”

Daddy shrugged and smiled at the little girl. I guess we all have mortal origins. Even the gods. “Nah, it’s not really fighting. Just friendly sport and banter. Like how you play with your brothers.”

“Oh. But they are so unfair!”

He laughed and lifted her up into his arms. Her bright eyes were like the sun itself, illuminating his existence, “All’s fair in love and war, sweetie.”

“Why don’t you two come inside, eh?” A woman called from the door of the cottage.

Daddy turned and his smile broadened. “We just were, dear. Just answering some deep questions.”

With that Daddy and the little girl headed back inside, out of the gloomy twilight of the eclipse and into the bright light of many lamps. The kitchen smelled of baked lamb and stew, with just a hint of the aroma of pineapple sweet potato pie.

“Listen to this mommy!” the little girl laughed, “Did you know that Grenth is beating Dwayna?”

“Is he now?” Mommy shook her head, “Go and find your brothers. Time for lunch.”

“Okay.” She replied as she bounded away and into another room.

“Filling her head with that nonsense again?” Mommy smiled at Daddy.

His eyes lit up with mock surprise. “Nonsense? What nonsense?”

“Come here you buffoon.” She said as she embraced and kissed him. “It’s pretty early this year, don’t you think?”

“I’m not the ranger, sweetheart. You have to tell me.”

“Well…it should be weeks away. But hey, maybe Grenth couldn’t wait that long to get at Dwayna.”

“You’re such a good sport. Did you know that I love you?”

“Of course I do. You never let me forget.” She laughed; the air filling with the sweet, melodic notes of her voice.

“How does the lamb look? Smells good enough to die for and that pie…goddamn.”

“See for yourself!” Mommy said triumphantly, opening the oven door.

Daddy bent to look at the meat and as his eyes came upon the juicy, cooked flesh he licked his lips. “Gods in heaven. That looks almost as good as you do.”

Daddy started to grin and say something else when suddenly the lamb flew out of the oven at him, latching onto his face like a hand and burning his flesh. All feeling vanished from his senses as he tried to get a hold of the damn thing and tumbled onto his back. The heated flesh burnt his face, and the tasty gravy seared and blinded him.

Daddy. He heard a voice say. He did not know whether it came from his head or from the lamb that was assaulting him. Daddy…Daddy…Daddy…Dad…dy…


“Dwayna’s grace!” Habib cried; bolting upright on a hard floor shrouded in darkness. His voice echoed cavernously and answered itself several times before fading to silence.

He glanced about, to his right, his left and behind him, seeing nothing and hearing less. His heart thrummed behind his chest-plate, knocking against the bone as if trying to wake him up from some deep slumber. Habib’s muscles felt tight and sore, and when he touched himself he realised that his armour was gone.

He sat in only his boxers in a place devoid of light. What in hell happened? He quickly remembered being beset by unseen but not unheard Forgotten in the front room of the abandoned building. After that was anybody’s guess. Balthazar give me strength. Am I still alive?

He certainly felt alive, and until he saw Grenth himself smiling at him he would keep thinking that he was so. Have to find out where I am in this place. He staggered to his feet, still looking around and still seeing nothing. Where are the others? By all the gods! Don’t let them be dead! Not again!

“Art thou afraid to die, human?” Whispered a voice from the darkness.

Habib glanced about, straining his eyes to make out any strange form in the void around him but failing miserably. “Who am I speaking to?” he answered.

“Art thou afraid to die, human?” The voice whispered again, tonelessly.

Habib ambled to his feet and assumed a defensive position, more out of habit than practicality. He could see nothing, negating any defence he could muster. What sort of place is this?

“Art thou afraid to die, human?” The voice whispered once more.

“No.” Habib replied, still straining to see.

The old warrior waited for a reply, but none came. Silence caved in upon his psyche like an avalanche and suddenly Habib felt more alone than he had ever been in his long life. And then the moment passed and he sensed a presence near at hand, hidden in the darkness.

“We have a task for thee. One of our…experiments…has been released. We need it back. Dost thou agree?”

Habib turned slowly on his heels, still seeing absolutely nothing in the dark. The voice sounded close – very close – yet nothing materialised before his eyes. Who the hell is this talking to me? I can’t place the voice…I can’t even tell the gender!

“Dost thou agree?” the voice pressed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, goddamnit.”

Suddenly the world before him changed, the black void erupting into many shades of colour and sound. Habib blinked and turned around and all about him spread bountiful grassland, sprinkled with blooming daffodils and dandelions. Scented breeze fondled his bare flesh and stirred his boxers and the soft cries and warnings of faraway birds nipped his ears. The sun hung near high noon, yet no heat radiated from it, only soft light. Everything seemed so natural, so right, but Habib sensed something deeper and darker at work.

The sound of humming came abruptly from his right and when Habib turned he found a striking woman sauntering towards him. Her long flowing robes seemed woven from water, spilling over her breasts and about her feet as though alive. It seemed to capture the light of the environment, shifting between hues of orange, green and brown.

Her beautiful sienna flesh was completely unblemished, and her face seemed to have been moulded by Lyssa herself. But it was her eyes that held Habib rooted to the earth like a tree. They shimmered almost like jewels capturing sunlight.

Habib recognised her. After all, how could he forget? Suddenly appearing and vanishing into nowhere with the man he had tried to save like some nightmare.

“Ah, oh my.” She started in that husky voice of hers, “You seem familiar. What are you doing here?” Although her full lips were curved into a curious smile, Habib thought that she looked surprised.

Habib did not know what to say. He did not know how, why or even when he got here. Maybe he could bullshit his way through the conversation. Maybe he could learn something.

“We know where you are. We are coming for you.” He said evenly, meeting the woman’s gaze unflinchingly.

She cocked her head and her eyes seemed to darken. “Are you now? What a pity. I was just enjoying myself with my man. You want to spoil our pleasure? You? An ignorant human worm?”

“I see you’ve never learnt your histories. Humans multiply and rule wherever we go. Demons may rise from the depths, but they are found and banished. Mostly by those same humans. And we humans continue to rule.”

The woman placed a finger against the side of her lips and her smile tightened. “Such pretentiousness. I like that. You will serve me well.”

“I don’t think so. The only thing I’m going to do to you is kill you.”

“You speak like a fool, boy.” She stretched out her arms, “Does this deceive you? Give you false hope? You should know to whom you speak!”

The grassland vanished in an instant, and about Habib spilled a barren waste straight out of a nightmare. Twisted corpses filled the grey, fire-blasted plains, their moans and guttural weeping churning in the air under a sunless sky swirling in impossible colours. The woman before him had also changed. She stood as tall as a small mountain, but all beauty was gone.

What stood before Habib was a horrible creature – indescribable, blazing with hate – the one right from the pages of that book he had compiled for Bones back in Amnoon. Such a fear gripped the old warrior that he threw himself to the ground and before he could stop himself he was shivering and praying to all seven gods.

“Know who you threaten, worm! Know who ––!”

Silence.

Habib opened his eyes and realised that the darkness had returned. He was alone yet again. He rose to a seated position and buried his face in his hands. Shame consumed him. Gods. I fell on my face before a demon. I’m not fit for this. Maybe I never was!

“We need it back. Dost thou understand? Dost thou agree?” spoke that hidden voice once again.

“How can I possibly get to her, far less capture her? It is not possible! You must have seen how powerful she is…. I cannot stand up to that!” Habib shouted. He felt angry – not at the voice – but at just how inadequate that woman had made him feel. He felt his age.

“Thou shall try. Thou shall capture her and thou shall deliver her to us at a place of our choosing. Thine method shall not matter, so long as the end is achieved.”

“Who the hell do you think you are? If I ever live long enough to get to that demon, the only place she’s going is straight to Hell.”

“Thou dost not understand. Thine companions are in peril. Thine daughter even more so.”

Habib’s heart skipped a beat, and then another. “My daughter!? You have my daughter? She made it…? Where is she, you bastards?!”

“We have not your daughter. She is in peril. But we shall save her, if you agree. Dost thou agree?”

They know where she is. Gods, can she still be alive? Can these people be playing with me? Can it all be just another trick?

“I would do anything to see my daughter again. Anything you bastards!”

“Then we shall bring her hence, once thine task is complete.”

Before Habib could reply, he felt the presence close to him shift and suddenly vanish. There was a tingling on his skin, and the darkness fell away.

When he blinked again, he was staring into Heather’s panic stricken face. She helped him to his feet wordlessly and after he got his bearings he realised that he was back in the front room of the abandoned building. He was dressed once more, but the armour felt heavier. No sound of arrows came from outside now.

Everyone else was staring at him and one another with expressions of fear riddling their countenances.

“Alright, since we all seem to be on the same page, I have a question. What in bloody blazes just happened?!” Big Charr growled. Habib had never before seen a perturbed Charr, but he was seeing one now. And it was not as amusing as he thought it would look.

“I told you we should not have come here! Now we are bound to this place! Bound to them!” Karissa shrieked, collapsing. Normire grabbed her before she met with the floor.

“I had the strangest experience.” The necromancer said, looking across at Habib.

Habib had no explanation for anything. My daughter is still alive! Or was it all a dream? “So did I, Normire.” He said at last, “So did I.”

Hey everyone, I'm back (finally) with the next chapter. Some things came up these past few weeks that I had to sort out and only yesterday was I able to write anything worthwhile. So, here is Chapter 16! Please enjoy.

Demon Dreams

He felt as though he were falling through space. Wind rushed past him, brushing against his skin like a thousand tiny fingers. He thought that he would fall forever; consumed by the nothingness for all eternity. At that moment his mind fluttered and his senses almost failed. Suddenly he found himself in a happy place, bursting with flowers and dense trees deep in the forest of Regent Valley. He drifted through the forest, visiting old haunts that now no longer existed. It was all so good; he wanted to stay here forever. Worries and thoughts from life did not touch him here.

And then he woke up. For a moment he felt displaced; out of sorts, but then the warmness and stillness of the room brought back the memory of where he was.

Cyn sat up on his wide, deep bedroll and glanced around the inside of the gloomy tent. The minotaur-hide roof hung low, seemingly pressing down on him. It was thick, and little wind disturbed the half-open entrance flap before Cyn. A light scent of something like incense hung in the air, just teasing the ranger’s nostrils.

A soft grunt and movement brought his attention on Jala as she slept fitfully beside him, half-naked under the thick blanket. He gazed down at her, remembering vividly the passion they had shared a few hours ago. From here she still looked flushed, and small beads of sweat glistened on her forehead. Cyn shuddered at what she could be thinking. She’s like an animal. He thought to himself. A perfect, limitless animal.

He drew his hand through his hair and over his face and it came away slick with sweat. He did not feel the warmness of the tent that keenly; he felt ice cold, in fact, so cold that it felt as though his innards were buried in Shiverpeak snow.

What’s happening to me? What am I doing? Strange thoughts whispered into his ears from unseen throats. Cyn shook himself and pushed their voices out of his mind.

“I am Cyn Eaver,” he whispered to himself, “Soon to be god of this world.”

Murmured voices from beyond the thick tent walls drew his attention to matters outside. As abruptly as the voices started they were gone, now only memories. But they had sounded close and somewhat strained.

Cyn slid out from under the blanket, trying not to disturb Jala, and eased over to the entrance flap. A draught of cold wind rushed in at him, but the immediate environs were devoid of life and movement.

The bonfires had been extinguished hours ago, but a slither of moon in the ink sky washed the camp in a silvery twilight. In that light Cyn could make out the shapes of the other tents, and of the ancient bones and bleached ships that adorned the sands. Even now the soft trickling of water caressed his ears. But other than that, no other noise could now be heard.

Still feeling warm, Cyn sighed and rose to his feet. Maybe I need a walk to clear my head. With a last glance behind at Jala, the ranger strode out into the silvery camp, seeing nothing moving and hearing nothing speaking.

Outside was colder than the tent, so Cyn went back for a blanket and swept it over his shoulders. Walking down a sandy path past the two tents of his camp, he made his way up a stone hillock that overlooked most of the Thirsty River camp. Strangely enough, his memories ventured back to that dark day when he and his guild-mates had finally breached the defences of Komalie and rid the world of the Lich.

Back then, Cyn had thought that he could never meet anyone as evil or as twisted as that magician. Back then, of course, he had not known that he had once met Jala, or that Normire was who he really was.

A movement of shadows snapped Cyn from his memories and sent his eyes flicking over to the main camp tent on its perch on the other side of camp. Light still glowed from within, but the flap had momentarily opened and what looked like a pair of darkly-clad persons had darted out, into the camp proper like wraiths.

He was not sure why, but a sense of anxiety and wariness settled about Cyn, heightening his senses. Quickly he went back to the tent and found that Jala was awake.

“Taking a walk?” she asked huskily, rising unsteadily to her feet and picking up some clothes.

“I was.”

“What’s the matter, my love?” she asked again, as she slipped into a vest and a light pair of long pants, “Seeing ghosts?”

“Maybe.” The ranger grabbed up his dagger from his bundle of supplies. “I saw two men fly out of that main tent. They had an ill-look about them.”

“An ill-look?” Jala chuckled, “They looked sick, you mean?” she laughed again, “No, no, I get what you mean, my dear. Why all the vagueness though?”

Cyn was about to reply when a cold wind rushed into the tent and the two persons he had seen earlier appeared in the place. They were armed and before either Cyn or Jala could do anything, long blades were at their necks.

“Is this a robbery?” Jala laughed, not seeming to feel the gravity of the situation. “For I can see no other reason why you two would disturb us.”

“You are to come with us, now.” One of the persons commanded. The voice sounded male.

“Why?” Cyn asked.

“You will find out when you get there.”

“Is that a fact?” Cyn swallowed the bile that slithered up his throat, “I don’t think so.”

The man exchanged a glance with his partner and the other person began to speak. “You have been summoned by our lord. He demands audience with you.” This person also sounded male, though somewhat younger than the other man.

Cyn raised his eyebrow and glanced at Jala. The woman was actually smiling now, as though the sword against the side of her neck was nothing but a feather.

“Let’s find out what he wants, then.” She glanced over at Cyn and winked at him.

The two men escorted Cyn and Jala from their tent and up the hill to the main tent. They had not sheathed their blades, but they did not keep them pressed against their backs either. Eventually the sandy path gave way to hard rock, and the main tent opened up before them. Guards posted at the entrance opened the flap for them, and they were ushered inside.

At first Cyn thought that he had walked into some palace. Trinkets of gold and platinum adorned every wall and even the roof. Tall, exotic lamps spewed clear light from their posts in the corners of the tent, and about them stood small statues of foreign creatures. A blood-red carpet spilled over the sand, printed with esoteric designs and symbols. Groups of lavish couches were scattered throughout the place. At the back of the tent was an ornate oak desk, behind which sat a tall man with round features and a bald head. About him to his right and left stood or lounged about two score men and women, all silently perusing Cyn and Jala.

The pair approached the man behind the table and he smiled deeply. His hard face was softened by a solemn gaze. Cyn detected something wrong about him almost immediately; the way he smiled, the way his eyes moved, even the scent of his flesh smelled strange. It smelled like burning ash.

But he was very well-dressed, in a shirt with wide, baggy cuffs and pants that bagged around the tops of his boots. A golden chain wound its way thrice around his tanned neck. Whoever he was, he looked to be very important. Possibly even the leader of the Scarab guild.

“Welcome, guests of the camp. Here I am called Sultan, but you may address me as Pister, if that strikes your fancy.”

“Pister? What the hell is the meaning of this, man?” Cyn commanded.

The older man’s smile deepened, if at all that was possible, and he rose to his feet. “I am a man with many connections. You two seem as though you’re running from someone…something. I can give you the aid you need to flee the continent.”

“Why would we need your help, servant?” Jala asked. Cyn grimaced at her lack of deference and glanced about, hoping that they would not be beset by the whole godforsaken army in here.

But the man seemed unfazed. “Let me just say that we have things in common. Similar interests, if you may. I am looking to enter into a partnership with you two, one that is sure to profit both sides.”

“I don’t think you’ve answered my question. And quite honestly,” she turned and gazed around the tent, “I would rather have all these trinkets and charms for myself than bandy words with the likes of you.”

That brought a grunt from their escorts and a creasing of the forehead from the man called Pister. This is going to degenerate to fighting very soon if Jala does not control her f**king tongue!

“You misinterpret me.” Pister pressed, “I said we have things in common. Would you like to know what?”

“Tell us, goddamnit. I grow weary of all this.” Jala sighed.

“Does this man look familiar to any of you?” Pister snapped his fingers and two men who had been lounging in the arms of a triad of voluptuous women darted to their feet and out of the back entrance of the tent.

In a moment they were back, dragging a bound prisoner with a beige crocus bag over his head. The man was dressed in only his boxers, and scars and crusted blood zigzagged across his chest and abdomen. They threw him down on the floor at Cyn’s feet and took off the bag.

Cyn almost dropped in surprise. The man’s face was bloodied and bruised; he looked out at the ranger through dazed, half-open eyes. But even so, Cyn still recognised him. Years of fighting alongside someone had a way of etching their faces in your mind.

He was about to say something when Jala coughed. He glanced at her and met her frown. Then he turned his gaze back to the Pister man. He was still smiling.

“Isn’t he familiar?”

“Not to me, he isn’t.” Jala snapped. “May we leave, now? You are useless to us.”

Pister locked gazes with Cyn and the ranger realised that the question was meant for him. Damn. How did this man get a hold of…Karak? Does that mean he also has Farrion? F**k! What’s all this about?

“Why should he be?” Cyn asked finally. He thought he heard Jala grunt in displeasure, but for now all his attention was riveted on Pister.

“Ah. That’s strange. Well you see – we found him wandering through the desert. He attacked one of our caravans, and we had to…subdue him. He said that Cyn Eaver would save him from us, that Cyn Eaver was his god.”

That strange feeling suddenly spiked through his system, but this time Cyn knew what it was. Fear.

“Suh…Cyn?” Karak croaked, hawking and spitting blood. “I’m…I’m so sorry.”

Cyn’s heart and stomach sank. He did not know what game this Pister man wanted to play, but on his journey to deification he had not wanted those he had known in his past life to become involved. Such hopes were now out through the damn window.

Jala laughed. But it was less of a laugh and more of a banshee-like shriek; which rent the air like a knife. All eyes swept to her and for a moment Pister himself took a couple steps back. When she stopped she smiled and sat on the man’s desk.

“You are a terrible negotiator, Pister. And a horrible liar. You don’t want any partnership with us – you want some thing from us. Now, name it quickly before I kill you.”

The sound of swords being drawn throughout the tent shoved Cyn’s heart further down towards his boots. Karak. What the hell is wrong with you?

Pister’s smile had vanished. Anger hardened his features and his muscles throbbed with barely restrained rage. “I want this continent of Tyria for my own. For that, I will give you access to fleets and armies for your passage to Elonia.”

Cyn was shocked. How does this man know what we’re about? How could he know? Just who the hell is he?!

“You make such interesting boasts. Fleets and armies? RED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GOing amazing.” She turned to Cyn, “See, sweetie? These human dogs even throw themselves in servitude at our feet. Our divine presence compels them to worship.”

Cyn probably should have been happy, but all he felt was deep, sinking sorrow. Destiny was calling his name, but he did not like how things were turning out. Now that he would have armies and men to fight and kill in his name, he would make his mark on the world soon. Soon he would be Cyn the Conqueror, Cyn the God.

But deep down inside he wished that he was still dreaming.

Talk about slow going, eh? My apologies, had other more pressing demands this last fortnight. Anyway, I hope everyone is enjoying their summer, and here is Chapter 17. 13 more to go. Or is it, really?


Godforsaken


When Farrion came to he almost wished that he had fainted again. His back was shuddering against something; his teeth jarring and his bones shivering. And as his senses sharpened around him he could begin to hear the sound of marching boots and a cacophony of loud grunts and hollow curses. The smell of sweat and decay hung thick in the air, cloying in the Mesmer’s nostrils like wet clay.

What the f**k just happened?

The last thing on his mind was the intricate weaves of a massive domination spell, aimed at the monk. Aimed at Tsuki. What the hell was I thinking? What’s getting into me? Farrion blinked, saw nothing and blinked again.

This time the unchanging grey sky of the Underworld came into focus, obscured somewhat by airborne dust and gravel. Farrion realised that he really was lying on his back, and when he turned his head to the side he could see wooden rails like those of a flat-bed carriage.

Grunting, Farrion attempted to rise to a seated position and was thrust backwards by a skeletal foot. A tall silhouette of a half-rotted man came into view before his vision, and two gleaming pink eyes shone down on him.
“Ah, the Mesmer wakes. Keep very quiet now, sonny boy. Wouldn’t want the Mistress getting a banged up piece of merchandise, aye?” The thing’s voice was hollow and of a rasping quality, like sandpaper grinding against hard wood.

“Who the heck are you?” Farrion grunted, glancing around the carriage. There was no sign of Tsuki, Heavens, or that warrior.

“I suppose you deserve at least one question. Well, I am dead. I used to be a soldier, once. For Kryta, I think. Maybe even for Orr. So long ago now the memory fades. Doesn’t matter now. I serve the Mistress, and she will be most pleased with my find.”

“Mistress? What’s going on here? Who’s the Mistress?”

The dead man waved a finger down at Farrion. “Your one question is up. Can’t say you used it too wisely aye?”

Farrion eased up onto his elbows and hardened his gaze. His blood suddenly felt hot, and spells of intricate mesmeric power swirled through his mind, unorganized though they were. “Answer my f**king question, prick.”

“Ah, feisty, are you?” The man pulled a long-sword and drove it through Farrion’s belly all in one smooth motion.

The attack brought a gasp from the Mesmer, and he lost his focus. Spells slipped through his fingers, but he was still dead and still had feet.

Farrion rocked onto his back and brought his leg soaring up between the legs of the man above him. With the other leg he caught the man’s left foot in a vice and hurled him to the floor.

The Mesmer pulled the sword from his belly and jumped to his feet. Vertigo caught him for a moment, and through swirling vision he saw the man rising to his bony legs with a steel glare masking his features. But Farrion’s gaze did not remain on the man for long.

Around him on both sides rose the sheer walls of a massive fortified complex, and above him yawned the iron teeth of a great portcullis. He and the carriage were in the midst of a sizeable army, and they were streaming into the main courtyard of this fort. In front of them some ways off was what Farrion could only consider to be a castle; all bedecked with massive colonnades, towers and spires that seemed to pierce the clouds above.

Besides that, the castle was built in no clear order. Wrought from dreary grey limestone and flint, it seemed as though insane architects had come together to build a stone masterpiece in madness. Rising towers suddenly gave way to spiralling walkways leading to nowhere, and Farrion could make out several doors that opened into space no less than thirty feet above the ground.

Farrion did not notice the man driving a fist towards his face. The Mesmer took it right in the nose, and he heard the snapping of gristle as he was thrust backwards and almost over the damn rails. Farrion flailed the sword at the man, but his line was far off and the dead man brushed away the strike and sent another fist into the Mesmer’s belly.

The loud racket of grinding machinery filled the air, and the portcullis began a laborious fall to the earth. Farrion gasped for breath and struck out yet again with the sword.

The blade caught the dead man unawares, slicing off his right hand just above the wrist. He recoiled like a snake and actually hissed at Farrion. His eyes were windows to a blazing furnace. From the belt pouch around his decaying waist he drew a long dagger; glowing with a pale incandescence not unlike the moon.

“Mynde wracke de la memm!” Farrion hissed, releasing his rage in the form of domination magic.

The spell grabbed the man before he could react and his eyes bulged as the sound of splitting bone reached Farrion’s ears.

He had no idea what to expect, but when the dead man’s head split open like a ripe walnut, spilling maggot-infested brains about the carriage floor, Farrion felt a strange sense of satisfaction.

Mailed arms grabbed him from behind, breaking his grasp of the sword, and a black bag was thrust over his head. Farrion felt himself being hauled off the carriage before he could fully understand what was happening, and for a moment he lost all sense of direction.

Can’t target what I can’t see! Dammit! Where are these bastards taking me? What did they do to the others?

Grunts and guttural curses filled his ears, all underscored with a light, maniacal laughter that reminded him of that one time he had been to the Sardelac Sanatorium back in desolated Ascalon. He had been with Karak then. He had been younger, fresher, more intent on exacting revenge for the deaths of those he loved. Time and experience had tempered his desires, and even though the world had changed, Farrion felt no closer in achieving that goal to avenge his family.

And now he was dead. But still he intended to fight on.

A jarring shock threw tiny sparks of colour before his vision, and he felt his feet giving way beneath him as he was dropped unceremoniously to what felt like a marble floor. Someone or something was binding his arms behind his back and all around him Farrion could hear the whispered chants of hollow voices.

He felt a solid shield of energy descend upon his mind, and all spells froze in his throat. Gods, not again! Not again! I can’t let these things take me…I’ve got to get out! The Mesmer tried to continue casting, tried to break the spell-breaker, but still it remained and grew ever more powerful. He convulsed with sudden panic and tried to get to his feet.

Strong arms held him pinned to his knees, and the binds around his arms were so tight that he could no longer feel anything in his fingers. Like the dissolution of mist at the onset of morning, someone removed the bag from over his head, and the inside of a small round chamber materialised before his vision.

The first thing Farrion noticed was that the curving walls were lined with hooded individuals, two lines deep. Their hands were clasped around long staffs held before them, and each one was muttering a strange chorus that resonated throughout the room. The air here smelled relatively fresher, but sickly, like the inside of some infirmary. He tried to look over his shoulder at the things restraining him, but all he could see were the giant, steel-plated boots of his captors. And if they were any indication, the things they belonged to were enormous. He looked back around.

Diffused light filtered through tall, barred windows set in the walls, throwing multiple shadows of everyone across the floor at impossible angles. Farrion could not be sure, but he felt an ethereal quality about this place, almost as though it was a dream from which he should soon wake.

The sound of heeled boots, ringing out purposefully against the marble floor, brought Farrion’s attention to the area directly before him. In the far wall now stood a door where there had not been one before, and after a moment it opened inwards, rocking on hinges that puffed dust and squealed like a dying man.

Two thickset individuals strode out through the open doorway, and at a glance Farrion could not determine what they were, far less their gender or race. But the Mesmer’s eyes were drawn to the person whom they escorted; it looked to be a woman, but as she neared Farrion realised that she was nubile, yet more of girl, fresh out of her teenage years. Or she should be fresh out of her teens. If she weren’t dead.

Her long, flowing pants hid her feet in drooping pools of silk, and it rested low on her abundant hips. Her diving neckline should have revealed more than an ample amount of cleavage, but several colourful scarves were wrapped about her person, only leaving patches of her flesh exposed. Her brown braids were also tied up in a tall scarf, and in her eyes Farrion could make out colours that almost could not have been natural.

She halted just before him, and the scent of spiced jasmine and what Farrion figured to be incense rushed into his nostrils. Then, to his surprise, she sat down before him, crossing her legs underneath her body and resting olive hands that were covered in small nets of jewels on her lap.

“I am the Mistress.” She said simply. Her accent sounded strange in Farrion’s ears – not Canthan and certainly not Ascalonian, but there was a hint of Krytan pronunciation. But the girl looked like no Krytan Farrion had ever seen.

“What the hell is this?” Farrion breathed. He tried to jerk free an arm and almost ended up snapping his wrists. “Why are you doing this to me? What are you doing to me?”

The Mistress considered him for a long moment before replying, “I think this must be Fate. And,” she motioned to the hooded persons lining the room, “they are here as a precautionary force. You almost decimated one third of this army. I don’t think I should take many risks with you.”

What the heck is she talking about?

“You’ve got the wrong man. I did nothing to your damn army.”

“That’s why I said ‘almost’. We felt your…spell-weaving, and my brave general managed to stop you from causing harm.” She looked at someone behind him and smiled darkly.

That cheap blow to the back of my head! They felt my spell-weaving?!

“Just what the hell are you talking about?” Farrion growled. Beads of sweat slid into his eyes and he blinked them out furiously. He was growing more impatient by the minute; even desperate. He had to get out of this place. He had no time for anymore delays!

“Calm yourself. And tell me what you’re doing in this place.” For a dead person the Mistress looked quite healthy, and Farrion was almost tempted to think that she looked pretty as well.

“Calm myself? Calm myself! I wake up in some shit-hole to realise that I’m dead, along with two of my companions. They’ve both gone crazy and I’m here trussed up like some Winterseve turkey!” He took a deep breath and tried to steady himself under the woman’s constant, unblinking stare. “I don’t know what’s going on. I just want to get out of here.”

She sat there for a moment, seemingly considering what he had just said. “Then it would seem as though the both of us have the same goal for now.” She clasped her bejewelled hands, “My master requires us to leave this domain. And I think I would like you to come along, fellow Mesmer.”

Shock kept Farrion from replying immediately. He knelt there blinking in that ethereal place for what felt like hours before his senses returned and he snapped out of the daze.

“What did you say?” he replied finally.

The Mistress smiled, motioned to someone behind Farrion and rose to her feet. The Mesmer felt himself being pulled to his feet and the presence of whatever was holding him step away. The binds remained on his arms, but he was free to move his feet. For a fleeting moment he considered glancing back at the thing behind him, but reasoned that he would sleep better if he did not.

“I honestly don’t know how you died, but the power I sense coming from you is amazing.” She licked her lips slowly and rolled her eyes, “Like brown sugar, man. Never felt anything like it before.”

Farrion could still feel the shield of the spellbreaker on his mind, and although no one made a move, he was beginning to feel increasingly threatened.

“Something about this place is affecting my spells. Affecting me goddamnit.”

“Aye. That. Yes, so it makes sense then.”

“Not to me.” Farrion took a deep breath, “Now, I demand to know where my friends are.”

“You are in no position to demand things of me, man.” Her tone did not change, but Farrion felt a feeling about her that refused disrespect.

“Alright then. Sorry. But look – I need to know where they are. I’m…I don’t think I can leave without them.”

The Mistress shrugged easily and frowned. “It’s ironic you’d say that. Your so-called friends left you behind when my general got to you. A squadron was sent after them, but no news yet of their trail. Some friends you have, aye?”

They…left…me?! Farrion breath caught and he almost fell to his knees in despair. He remembered with a sinking heart the cold look in Tuski's eyes and her angry words after he had attacked Heavens. Why won’t this horrible nightmare end?!

Just barely, almost on the periphery of his senses, Farrion could feel the gentle weaves of a Mesmer spell probing his mind. It was not unlike what he used to do back in the Jade Empire to his enemies, just before he unleashed an illusion on their minds.

But he was powerless against whatever this new power was. But the way the Mistress was staring at him…

He was about to lash out at the Mistress with everything he still had when a sweet sensation spiked through his mind, filling it so completely that it spilled out into his outermost parts. In moments he was enveloped in such a bath of euphoric energy that he fleetingly thought that he was on another world.

“Feels sweet, doesn't it? Not many Inspiration Mesmers back home now, aye? No, they wouldn’t be. Only bones now. Drowned souls.” The Mistress began thoughtfully. But in his daze Farrion could barely hear what she was saying, “Now, Master Mesmer, it is time we re-enter the realm of the living.”

Keep up the great work.

Another one for ya. Please enjoy chapter 18!


Flowers for Lucretia


Farrion sighed very deeply as the giant doors that had appeared from nowhere slammed closed behind him with a reverberating clang of finality. A little to his left and right stood two of those hooded, darkly clad and staff-wielding individuals, whose scent of decay was beginning to upset Farrion’s stomach. A little ways before him walked the Mistress – as she had called herself. Her aroma was a welcome relief to the Mesmer’s nostrils.

Whether by luck or design, the big thing that had bound him in the rotunda before had not been asked to accompany them to wherever it was that they were going. For some reason Farrion could not bring himself to look at the individual. It could have been fear, but the Mesmer figured that it had to be something more complex than that. I can’t put my finger on it.

But at least there was a sense of happiness and satisfaction that he was going somewhere. Just a few hours ago – or it could have been days, he was not sure of the time that had passed since he had been laid flat and woken up – Farrion was worrying himself about getting out of this hellhole of a dimension, but now he was getting a free ticket.

But why would an army be leaving the Underworld? Whatever the reason it can’t be good for Tyria. Who was this master this Mistress was talking about? Are they rallying to Ja’al? Oh gods, am I too late to stop the demon and save Cyn?

He shivered at the thought and realised that the Mistress had turned to look at him.

“You look dishevelled. You would like some tea, aye?” Her curiously coloured eyes travelled across Farrion’s undead body slowly, taking in every detail. “In fact, you look like hell. Terrible, even. Ghastly.”

Farrion did not deign to reply.

“We have a spell-breaker on you, man, not a word-breaker. You are not one for conversation?”

“As my brother would say, this is no time for talk. Only action.”

“Then you brother is a crazy man. There’s always time for talk.”

“Don’t diss my brother.”

“Easy, Mesma’.” She flashed a smile at him and Farrion realised that it was probably the first genuine sign of joy he had seen since…since a long time ago.

She motioned to their escorts and the small company was off, walking casually down a long, wide hall lined with strange statues and twisted paintings that hauntingly reminded Farrion of the picture of Ja’al in Habib’s book.

A curving stair jumped out of nowhere to materialise before them, and the Mistress, seemingly unfazed by its appearance, started climbing. Farrion took one look at the escorts, tested the spell-breaker and found it still in tact, and followed. After two landings they arrived in another rotunda, smaller than the last. The Mistress turned abruptly to her left, opened a door that seemed to have no substance, and walked through into a spacious and lavish room with walls that were embellished with gold and platinum.

Farrion followed her inside tentatively and gazed around. The place was bedecked with every sort of ornament the Mesmer could think of, from statuettes to strange, long masks and ceremonial weapons. Flowers were everywhere, in pots hanging from the roof, bursting out of holes in the walls, and growing out of the ground as though it were soil. They were of every kind imaginable; daffodils, purple and white vincas, red hibiscuses and rich honey-suckle. They were the first splashes of colour Farrion had seen since waking up in the Underworld.

On the walls were etched pictures and arcane hieroglyphs which brought back images of the room where Farrion had met Heather.

For a moment his other thoughts halted, and the images of that eccentric woman flooded his vision; a stream of moving pictures whose flow Farrion did not want to stop. Heather. I wonder what’s become of her. His heart thudded strangely for a moment, and then the sensation passed.

“Mesmer.” The Mistress’s voice snapped Farrion from his thoughts, breaking the stream of images. Farrion almost became angry at that.

“What?” he found her relaxing in a double recliner, staring hard at him.

“Sit with me awhile. We must talk of these friends of yours.”

The hooded escorts remained at the door as he went and sat down on the recliner attached to hers and backed her. Then, thinking otherwise, he turned and put his feet up and looked across at her. The smell of exotic spices was thick in this room and coupled with the fragrance of all the flowers Farrion found it rather intoxicating. And being this close to the Mistress meant being entirely enveloped in her unique aroma, and for some reason Farrion was finding it increasingly harder to focus.

“We here base position on power and ability. Since you’re quite gifted – seemingly – in both respects, it would put you rather high among us dead folk.” Her face softened, “And you’re the only Mesmer around here besides me. To tell you the truth I was beginning to get lonely.”

The change in subjects caught Farrion totally off-guard. He blinked at her in silence before trying to respond. “I thought you wanted to talk about my friends?”

“I did? Aye. Right.” She sat back and played with her bejewelled hands in her lap. “Who are they? And why were they travelling with you?”

“They’re my friends. They were travelling with me because they’re my friends.” Farrion snapped. He did not want to be here answering stupid questions. He wanted to get up and go – face the Ja’al creature, kill it, and be done with this shit.

The Mistress reached across and patted his leg. “Don’t become angry with me, man. Now let’s start this over. What’s your name?”

“Farrion Neightswift.”

“Well, my name is Lucretia. That is a beautiful name?”

Again the change in subject stilled a sudden response. Must be this spice aroma. It’s clouding my damn mind.

“Yeah, unusual, but I think it sounds very beautiful.” Farrion responded eventually. He was not sure he meant that, but at the moment he did not give a damn.

“Very pleasant of you to say so, Farrion.” Her smile brightened her entire face. It was a beautiful, yet ironic sight, really. Such a smile in such a dreary place.

It was then that Farrion realised just how badly the Underworld had been affecting him. I attacked and cursed my friends. I killed human beings…in bad ways. Gods…have I been going insane? Have I been going crazy and not even known it?

“My father named me, you know. I was born on the day of a solar eclipse, and he named me after the happy goddess of darkness. Ironic, aye?”

“Never heard of a goddess called Lucretia.”

“You wouldn’t. That was an ancient pagan cult practiced by a sect of misguided early humans. It perished when they did. My father did not practice it, but like many things he respected it. He always had an affinity for the arcane. We were poor growing up, me and my sibs, but our father taught us many things. Back then I used to think that he was the smartest man in the world.”

Farrion suddenly had the desire to know who her father was. He could not be sure where it came from – he just had to know.

“Who was your father?”

There was a pause. “I…I can’t remember. I can’t remember his name. I can barely remember how he looked.” She smiled weakly and gently knocked her head. “The good memories are all fading.”

For the first time Farrion allowed the tension to leave his body, and he fully relaxed on the recliner. He had felt no anxiety or fear radiating from this woman before, and he was not feeling them now. Yet he had considered her an enemy on sight. What was happening to me? When did I forget who I was? Merciful Dwayna, hear me. Don’t let my good memories fade. Then I shall surely go mad.

“So, Farrion. You would like to tell me what brought you to this godforsaken realm?”

The Mesmer massaged his face and tried to remember the events as they had played out in that dark portal-chamber beneath the desert. He remembered waking up to Heaven’s madness; his talk about meeting Tsuki and using some accursed Resurrection Signet on him. Farrion told the Mistress, and her eyes narrowed with interest.

“A Resurrection Signet? Indeed they are strange artefacts. When you die your soul hovers for some while in the ether, just between here and the Mists. Those Signets are designed to pull it back from there, and right back into your shell of a body.” She frowned and glanced over at a set of large black masks close at hand. “They all have their prices. Debt must be paid.”

Debt must be paid. Why does that sound so familiar?

“What do you think my debt is, Lucretia?”

She shrugged, and her captivating eyes locked onto his, “No one knows these things. Usually it’s something immaterial. Something you may end up doing in normal, everyday lif––existence. Like relieving yourself in the bushes, or combing your hair. In your case it might be something more complex. Aye?”

“Aye.”

“Mistress?” A soft voice called.

Farrion and Lucretia turned and the Mesmer saw a tall woman standing in the middle of the room with a grand bouquet of strange multicoloured roses in her arms. Farrion had no idea where she had come from or how she had gotten there so quickly. Lucretia, however, looked as though she were expecting the woman.

“Yes, dear?”

“You have flowers, sent to you by the Master. I must add that his taste in flowers is impeccable. I wonder where he managed to get a hold of these in that desert he’s in.”

“Bring them.” Lucretia ordered. She took the bouquet from the woman, studied them and took a deep breath of their aroma. “These are desert roses.”

“Of course. I shall leave now.”

“Thank you, dear.” Resting the roses on a small black-lacquered table close at hand, Lucretia turned back at Farrion. “He always sends me flowers. It’s good for him that I love them, aye?”

“Who, exactly, is this ‘Master’ of yours? What does he want with an army in the desert?”

She took a teacup from the air before her and began sipping gently, “There’s not much I can say about him. He is a Ritualist, very powerful. Not to be confronted on any terms. I won’t say any more. As for his army,” she shrugged and the teacup vanished, “it’s anyone’s guess. Possibly he’s ready to wage war in Tyria.”

Wage war! Farrion’s muscles tightened. By Lyssa I can’t let that happen! But…but this is the only way out for me now. I have to play along for now. Only long enough to get out of this godforsaken place.

Lucretia’s eyes had never left Farrion’s face, and for a nerve-wracking second the Mesmer thought that she could read his mind. She was a Mesmer, after all. And even though he had never before heard of any Mesmer reading someone else’s mind, he put the thoughts of his plans out of his mind.
Farrion looked back up to find Lucretia fingering the petals of the desert-roses on the table close at hand.

“Aye, but he does send me nice flowers.” She said.

Thanks everyone for your comments and views! I know its been a bit since I last posted something, but I've been busy with work and revising for this exam I got later tomorrow. But anyhow...here's Chapter 19! Please enjoy!


Through the Rift


Heli had only seconds to gape in awe before he lurched forwards towards Vinessa. The chains around his feet went taut at the last moment, and he crashed into the woman; sending them both careening onto the ground.

His senses swirled like a churning river, muddied by dirt and grit. He was a ranger, in tune with nature and with Melandru, and even down in the Charr prison he had felt close to her, and close to the land. Now, all sense of intimacy fled far away, and a strange sensation overcame him.

Something was not only wrong with the eclipse, something was wrong with the world.

Time itself seemed mired in clay as the massive hand of the strange statue glided past and over them. Heli turned and to his horror saw the hand close around a fellow prisoner, who was stiff and wild eyed with shock. The man screamed at the last minute, but his cries were cut abruptly short by the crushing hand.

The sound of splintering bone and bursting blood vessels whispered across the top of the pyramid.

Full eclipse had now descended, and to Heli it was the darkest eclipse the world had ever seen. The environs seemed drained of any colour; every contour and shape merging with the darkness that seemed to emanate from the sun itself. Only a faint light remained, which barely illuminated the dark outlines of buildings and individuals. The battered ranger had no clue of what was happening, but the only thing on his mind was escape. But with all those Charr out there…

“Stay calm, Heli. Everything will be alright.” Vinessa whispered from close at hand.

Heli turned to face her, unable to mask his outright shock at her words. Stay calm?! How the f**k can I stay calm? In the poor light her eyes seemed glazed and far away, as though she was watching the world through mystical glass-balls. Heli wondered fleetingly if the Charr had somehow slipped some marijuana into their drinking water.

“What are you saying? What’s going on?”

“A gate is opening, Heli. Can you feel it? The dead are coming.”

She’s gone off! She’s isn’t thinking straight anymore!

“Let’s get the hell from here, while that godforsaken, demon-infested statue is doing all sorts of shit.” Heli pressed. His nature senses continued to reel, throwing off even his basic notion of direction. No longer could he tell north by intuition. He was not even sure he could find a good tree to urinate by.
An agonizing screech of pain reverberated across the ravine as the massive hand of the statue found another victim.

“No. We must stay. The time for running will come soon enough.”

Full darkness rushed in after her words, and all vision was stripped from Heli’s eyes. The desperate plans and notions of escape died with the onset of the darkness, for now there was no way to see how to get away. And running around blindly on a pyramid almost three hundred feet in the air was suicide.

So Heli huddled close to Vinessa behind the evil altar and waited.


~ * ~


A rare breeze rushed past Farrion as he stood on the balcony overlooking the central square of the massive military complex. Before long the breeze faded to a zephyr and then faded utterly. It was not fresh, but brought the undead stench of rot and decay from miles away.

In the large central courtyard below there was amassed several battalions of undead soldiers, their spears and swords bristling in the unchanging twilight. A company of what Farrion assumed to be commanders inspected the battalions, shouting words of encouragement that sounded garbled from Farrion’s perch. Even louder and more garbled shouting came from the soldier’s throats in reply.

He heard Lucretia’s voice behind and when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw the strange woman about to join him on the balcony. Scarves of all sorts and colours rippled about her person in a nonexistent breeze. The silk and gossamer cloths covered her face from the nose to the chin, and some that were wound around her arms trailed behind her as far as three or four feet.
Farrion felt a weird feeling in his belly, as though some winged insect had taken flight and was fluttering about there, but it vanished quickly and he attributed it to some side effect of actually being undead.

“Farrion. You are enjoying the view?”

Of what? “Why, yes, Lucretia. Would be nice if you had a lake or a forested mountain though.”

Farrion could not see her smile, but the flesh around her eyes crinkled subtly and he could tell that she was amused.

Lucretia joined him at the rails and stared out across the compound, out towards the distant, bleak horizon.

“My necromancers are opening a gate, and they are being helped from the other side by willing – and maybe not so willing – associates.” She sighed disappointedly. “Looks like we’re not going to joining my Master in the desert after all. We have work to do in the North.”

Somehow, the notion of ending up in the Charr-infested lands in northern Tyria unsettled Farrion more than arriving in the desert. A bigger plan than he could now see was being unfurled, like some enormous flag about to cover the whole world. I have to find out what it is. I have to stop Ja’al!

“Have you found my friends, by the way?”

Lucretia’s eyes narrowed. “Not yet. We have searched far and wide and still no sign. Your friends are good at hiding, aye?”

There was something in her voice that told Farrion that she was keeping something rather important back from him. Was it in the way her accent changed, ever so subtly? Or how her eyes seemed to flit away from him for just a second? He was not sure, but the sign was there.

“Despite what may have happened before between me and them, I care for my friends. Please, I would not want any harm to come to them.”

Lucretia looked away and said nothing. For a time they remained so: Farrion staring at Lucretia, and she looking towards the horizon.

A loud sizzling noise broke Farrion from his stupor and he followed the woman’s gaze. About a quarter of a mile away from the castle stood a vertical line of light, shimmering in and out of reality like an apparition. My Goddess, that looks like the beginnings of a portal.

“Ah, here we go at last.” Lucretia said, confirming Farrion’s suspicion.

Far below a column of more darkly attired and staff wielding individuals streamed out of the main entrance, striding purposefully towards the birthing portal. The battalions of undead parted before them, and the shouting faded to an ethereal silence.

I wonder what it takes to create a portal from the Underworld. I didn’t even think that was possible. By Lyssa, imagine the power! What could have such authority to break through the Underworld into our world, if not a god? A demon? Dawyna have mercy.

The vertical line was beginning to widen now, as the staff-wielders took up positions along the castle battlements facing it. From his vantage, Farrion could hear their hollow chants; calling the portal into being from mere ambient energy.

His hair pricked along the length of his skin, and his sensitive mind become vividly aware of the massing energies forming at the portal. Most of the power seemed to be coming in through the portal; only to be formed and redirected by the undead necromancers. It was all a very elaborate synergy of talents, this weaving and redirecting, and for a moment a bout of fear settled upon the Mesmer.

If the undead can perform this sort of magic….

He half-jumped out of skin when Lucretia’s hand grabbed his arm.

“Let’s go down.” She said.

Farrion followed her down another eerie route to the castle’s courtyard. Undead battalions were presently streaming out through the main gates, heading towards the portal that was now widening exponentially. Through it Farrion could now see the shape of what appeared to be a flat-top mountain, with several narrow steps carved into its sides. A strange dark aura seemed to about that place, but the Mesmer attributed that to some trick of the light.

He blinked and where there was empty space before him now lay a tall, covered carriage, with supports on either side to be hefted by men. Lucretia headed into it, and with nowhere else to go, Farrion followed her.

“Where are we going?” he asked as he tried to figure out if the carriage was real or simply some illusion.

“North. Not sure exactly where.” Again the subtle change in voice. “We’ll soon see.”

Farrion sat back and did not press the matter. I’m finally leaving this godforsaken place. Oh, but Tsuki and Heavens… Dwayna protect them, wherever they are. I hope they got out with that warrior. But I can’t waste time worrying about them. I’ve got to stop this demon at all costs!

He felt the carriage being lifted and loud shouts filled the still air. A series of rocks and jerks and then the carriage was on its way, leading a mass of at least five thousand undead soldiers from the ravines of the Underworld.
Amidst the chants of the soldiers Farrion thought he could hear one distinct phrase being repeated again and again: The dead are come. The dead are come. The dead are come for the Master.

Farrion tested the spellbreaker and suddenly realised that it was gone. Energies that had felt muffled before now came to him clear and hard, grating against his senses like knives. He jumped involuntarily and cast his gaze upon Lucretia. The woman was staring at him curiously, and still her scarves rippled about her person like living things.

He was just about to ask her why she had freed him of the spellbreaker when he felt his body being ripped to its smallest units and time and space fled far away.