Completed The Battle of Ninagal

[Zelx the Dreamer]

Djana freezes for a split seconds a metal rods began to protrude from the ground. Her eyes widen in astonishment. She broke out of her surprises state and attempted to evade the metal rods, but the rods grew too quickly and she stepped back, observing the now completed cage. The rods which constructed it were bent and twisted like vines, wrapping into a spiraling knot at the top. Djana grabs the twisted bars and tries to bend them, but to no avail. The bars then began to emit a purple glow.

Djana then is suddenly stuck with a flurry of violet bolts of energy! She falls to the ground, screeching with pain as she feels herself becoming weaker with each bolt fired. She tries to shield herself, but is immediately punished with another bolt.

“N-No... I cannot die here. Please!” Djana whimpers as she is quickly struck again. The cage creaks with otherworldly screeches as she begins to lose consciousness.

“Thank you for your... Contribution ,” Djana hears a whisper in her head as she lets out her final breath. The cage stoped sparking and glowing as she did so.

Then from her corpse came a ball of glowing essence, her soul. The soul itself was in rapid flux in shape and crimson in color, as if it was fighting the air around it. The cage then retreats back into the ground, unwinding it’s shape. The soul then levitates towards Zelx as he grins in glee at his quarry. He then turns to Willis, still smiling, as if he had already recognized his presence. The violent soul floated in front of Zelx, as Zelx opens his maw to speak.

“And you are?”

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

It was a blur.
​

The next five minutes of his life went by in a blink. The only time he felt lucid during the experience was when he was finally carried into the Stable, and leant up on the hay bales. He could feel his life slipping from his body, like rain from a cloud. He could feel a tear come from his eye. He felt it fall down his cheek, it's sensation the only thing he could focus on.

Until, that is, Alistair decided to cauterise his wound. He thought his immunity to fire was still in affect, and the magic would be useless.

He was wrong.

As the flame touched his skin, he screamed in pain. It was excruciating, the spiteful prickle of the embers searing his skin. It was concerning. Not so much for the pain, but for the simple fact he was no longe invulnerable to fire. He knew the disconnection between him and Imamu had not written off the contract, but it had clearly affected the abilities he had bestowed him.

"You taught us some neat tricks in those pyromancy lectures of yours,"

"Listen... Alistair..." He felt very woozy. He felt like he could've passed out at any moment.

"You're..."

"You've got... so much to do... so much potential..." He could feel his eyes closing. He kept forcing them open, making sure he didn't let his condition get to him.

"If I don't die here... i'll be taken prisoner." He looked down towards his body, shifting his shoulders as if to signal to look at him.

"My bag has a map... it shows a road that'll take you to Baal-Duru. There's money for a boat fair... it'll take you to Elbion..." He felt himself drifting.

"My staff... take it... Please. The College will know what to do with it." His eyes shut.

He focussed himself. He felt his blood boiling for a fight. He felt his veins pulse, his heart pace, and his soul scream. As he reopened his eyes, they faintly glowed with a faint red, and his throat took on the same crimson hue. He stood himself up, almost falling, his legs weak under him.

"Run. I'll be fine." A lie.

But he wasn't going out without a fight.

 

[Gerra]

Gerra and his cadre of soldiers crossed the plain quickly, avoiding other knots of troops embroiled in conflict until they entered the camp proper, where they had to weave in and out through burning tents, smokes, and frantic enemies.

Their pace slowed now as they searched for the royal pavilion.

The dragon above them, it seemed, had retreated. So, they pushed further into the camp. Jars of flaming naptha continued to rain down from Gerra’s artillery, shattering and splashing a burning substance that stuck to all it touched.

They ran into a retinue of lightly armed troops and joined combat swiftly.

The tip of Gerra’s spear drove easily through the leather jerkin of a frantic man who dropped his sword when the spearhead entered his belly. He coughed violently and blood spattered across Gerra’s hands. The half-giant drew the spear out, then struck the man in the skull with the shaft. He fell limp.

Gerra dispatched two more, then lost count as the thrusting of the spear became repetitive and the dead piled around them. Sweaty bodies bumped together, trying to avoid sharp edges and falling blows. Blood sprayed as the ogre Grozkalla shoved a soldier backward to make room, then beheaded him with a single swing. Grunting with effort, Gerra mirrored the ogre, shoving a group of soldiers backward with the haft of his spear and into the burning canvas of the tent behind them. Panicked, they tried to flee, but most were cut down by the Bronze Claws or the Werewolf Achates.

One man dropped his sword in terror and fled into a nearby stable. Gerra followed after him, long strides catching up with him quickly. The man looked over his shoulder just as Gerra caught up to him and impaled him through the back. He screamed horribly, fingers scrabbling at the spear protruding through his stomach that was entangled in his guts. The screams turned to choking sobs, then nothing as Gerra hurled him to the floor.

Breathing heavily, Gerra looked around and saw four other figures, two of them huddled in the corner. One of them was missing his hands. As their gazes met, Gerra felt his heart lurch.

It couldn’t be.

A name formed on his lips.

Suddenly, he heard movement behind him.

“Die, you swine,” cried one of the Bronze Claws who had followed him into the stables, cocking back her arm and hurling a javelin at the man with the hay hook.

Gerra watched it, numb, unable to bring himself to speak the name.

 

[Ashieron]

Ash listened in as to what the two of them were saying within the shed as he looked at the man next to him. Scanning the items he has on him, Trahaearn. He’d look at his sword and took a deep breath, a warning for him and little Alzros. He felt sick. The little dragon was still too young to have the ability to speak with him like their friend Orisnand his rider, Freya.

But the little one had enough of being inside the cloth and nipped Ash’s collar bone scratching up his chest, leaving little scratches along with it and jumping out, running into the stables. “Alzros!” He’d snap listening to the small dragon’s chirp and barks like noises as it reaches Maho and Alistair. He’d sniff the two of them being ready to jump back from them if needed, before jumping up the hay and licking Maho’s cheek a few times.

Ashieron ran in and witnessed the event, “By the stars. You want us to help him?” He’d say rubbing his temples looking at Maho and Alistair. “I’m not sure if they would like that little one.” He’d walk over to pick Alzros up, who now had a bit of blood on him, the little one looks at them tilting his head as if asking if they could help them. Now Ashieron was scared of what the hunter would do outside now, but as he peeked back outside he’d see a group of enemies coming toward their way, “Damn it!” He’d yell. He would look at Alistair and hand his small baby-sized dragon over to him, “Take Alzros with you please, if you run. He is too young for combat, send a message to The Spine on a bluebird for me. Or throw Alzros into the air if you decide to fight, he’ll have to fend for himself.”

He’d tell the young man with urgency in his voice giving Alzros a little kiss on his nose. The dragon licked his nose and forehead, healing the scratch blinding the elf with his own blood. Little Alzros whimpered as he summoned one of his weapons, a sword that can fold into a bow and vice versa.

"I'll stay with your teacher." He'd tell the young man. Giving him s nod notching an arrow keeping an eye on outside looking at the group approaching them. Aiming at the wolf and firing through the door.

 

[Trahaearn]

He could hear fighting nearby, mingling with the panic that was occurring inside the tent. The hook found purchase in the enemies eye socket before Trahaearn pulled him to the ground and dislodged it. Fireballs were being launched into the air, and the red haired man decided his chances were better inside, slipping in to avoid becoming a victim like the rest of the Shah's troops.

He turned once inside, spotting the dragonling as the fight outside came in behind him. He turned and put himself between what entered, watching a giant finish off a man before looking to the mage with no hands. His gaze fell to the mercenary that entered beside the large being and made an instinctive sweep with his sword at their motion. The hay hook pushed the sword against metal as he swept the javelin aside with the distinct ring of metal on metal.

It sang with anger as the blade in his hand vibrated with the intensity of the throw, gritting his teeth and keeping an uncomfortable grip on the weapon. Raking the hook along the blade took with it some sharpness, but also rid it of the severe shaking, not nearly as concerned now about losing his grip as he prepared for a fight.

Focusing on the mercenary that came forward, he raised the sword into a defensive stance while the hook skated up and down the backside of the blade. The Bronze Claw swung while dodging forward preemptively as Trahaearn swung with the sword first, feigning an overpowered swing as the other fighter moved into the false opening. The other hand with the hook had gone to his waist, the hook was pointed towards the floor and away from the Bronze Claw.

The ones the Bronze Claw had fought before had been simply trained men for the most part. Swinging a sword in wide predictable patterns and had swept them aside with ease. Their smirk and confidence was short lived however, thinking that they had caught an equally unskilled swordsman unaware.

The trap snapped shut as Trahaearn dropped his sword hand, momentum taking him into a twist just beyond the other mercenary as the hook came around and swung back with a crack. The Bronze Claw shuddered a moment as the hook opened the back of their skull.

He continued the twisting motion, throwing the other to the floor before stepping on their head and stabbing them in the neck. The hook had rotated slightly while he sent them to the floor with momentum, not having the same harsh curve as a conventional hay hook. Their brains were a swirled mush now, and he finished them before they slowly suffocated to death.

He retrieved the hook and turned his back to the injured mage and two others while keeping his attention on the enemy before him. The urge to retreat fading now at the thought of the dragonling or handler being harmed, never mind the disarmed mage and what seemed like apprentice.

 

[Smiling One]

An Oracle..... also known as a Beholder have existed for thousands of years possibly predating the Age of Urogosh. Scholars and Grandmasters have theorized that the Oracles were the creators of magic, villagers have told stories that the Oracles were the creators of magic who also helped build the city of Alliria who every year celebrate and revere the Beholders for having a creating the city.

"I-I am Willis Reede great Oracle," the young man answered. "I am honored to be you presence," He felt fear before but never like this he was paralyzed from head to toe unable to move. It wasn't magic but the young man felt trapped in the gaze of the Oracle.

Something happened to all of the Oracles which twisted them into ravening beasts. They still maintained their high intelligence but the Oracles became unpredictable and dangerous. "Your majesty," Willis said holding his Rapier towards the multi eyed Oracle. "What have you done?"

Oracles can be summoned, but they are known to kill everything on sight included the mage who summoned them. The fact that the woman had her soul taken away by him was disturbing and now he has his eyes directed towards Willis. "Great Oracle," he said choosing his words carefully. "I must apologize for his majesty's oversight he did not know what he was doing."

 

[Alistair Wren]

As he held the flame above his teacher's wounds, Maho screamed in agony. Alistair held his stump, while muttering to him to hold still. His life was slipping away, and despite how much Alistair tried to convince himself, he couldn't protect him. Cauterizing the last of Maho's stumps, Alistair held it firmly as he seared the flesh, the lyrics of his chant broken by tears.

"Please don't die, please don't die," he muttered.

Sparhawk spoke to Alistair as he seared the remainder of his wound. The reality of their situation started to hit the young man, and he knew very well that Maho would be taken prisoner by Gerra if he was found. As for Alistair? He would probably be killed.

Holding Maho's stumps, Alistair sputtered, his heart racing in panic. He wanted to stay, to protect his master, but he knew the thought of him facing Gerra was ridiculous. He was twenty years old and hadn't finished his degree. He wasn't ready to die, but he wanted so desperately to stay and protect his master, even though he knew it was fruitless. Maho nodded towards his bag, where there was a map that would take him to Baal-Daru. It was his only chance of escape, but not one he could accept.

"No!" Alistair cried, "I have to stay here! I have to protect you!" His voice started to break up. Alistair had seen many conflicts on his travels, but nothing could have prepared him for having to choose between leaving his master to save his own life or being killed.

The man with the baby dragons emerged and knelt down. One of the dragons chirped and licked Maho's cheeks, which brought a bout of tearful laughter from Alistair. The man then handed one of the baby dragons to Alistair, who looked up at him, knowing what he had to do. If he stayed, the college would never find out what happened to Maho, so he would do him more good if he got word to them like Ashieron ordered. Sniffing, Alistair wiped his face on his sleeve and took the baby dragon on his arm.

He stood at his full height and nodded, "thank you."

Tears welled in the corners of both his eyes and fell down his cheeks. A pang weighed on his chest, pulling down his features with despair. He grabbed Maho's bag, slugged it around his shoulder and took his staff, then knelt down beside him.

"I'll find you, I promise, I swear to the stars, I'll find you," stroking Maho's hair, he looked into his eyes and nodded, then stood.

He walked past the dragon keeper, "keep him safe."

As he turned to leave, one of the hands working in the stables was eviscerated, followed by a crash as the back of the stables was caved in. Eyes wide, the young mage backed away frantically, when a towering visage came into view. Alzros chirped and growled. He ran up to Alistair's shoulder and sat behind his neck.

Gerra.

"Oh god, he's here," Alistair swallowed the thought. Reaching around, he stroked Alzros' head as he walked backwards.

Maho's staff in hand and his bag over his shoulder, he backed away, cowering beneath the shadow of the giant. His heart beat like the wings of a bird in flight and he thought about his master, slumped up against the hay bales. Hand wrapped around Maho's staff, Alistair held it to his chest and uttered a prayer to the stars, then opened his eyes, turned around and ran out the stables. Ducking beneath swords and dodging blows, he sprinted across the length of the camp with the entrance in sight.

 

[Zelx the Dreamer]

"Your majesty," Willis said holding his Rapier towards the multi eyed Oracle. "What have you done?"

Zelx squints his central eye at Willis, observing his weapon with confusion and amusement. Zelx is flattered by the man’s reverence of him.

“Isn’t it obvious?” The beholder spoke slowly, “I took her soul as payment. I sensed a strange aura you could say. This soul will be of great value studying.” The beholder floats the crimson soul into the air as he speaks, observing it’s ebb

"Great Oracle," he said choosing his words carefully. "I must apologize for his majesty's oversight he did not know what he was doing."

“I do not mind his foolishness, but he will get what is coming to him soon enough,” Zelx comments as he grins mischievously. “I am an Oracle, as you say, of my word however unlike my brothers. I must be off to complete my task.” Zelx begins to float towards Willis. “Now get out of my way and PLEASE lower your weapon, it makes me uncomfortable.”

Suddenly, Willis’ rapier slips out of his hand and is cast aside by some force! Zelx laughs as he moves past Willis.

 

[Gerra]

Gerra watched without feeling as the Bronze Claw died quickly in a flurry exchanges with the swordsman. A young man grabbed a staff and a satchel and fled. Gerra did not give pursuit. He could only stare at the man with no hands.

The man he had thought was dead.

A man who had been his fr-... his ally once.

He had so many questions. Why hadn’t he come to see Gerra? Why was he in the camp of his enemy? What happened to his hands? So many. A weight pressed down on Gerra. A truth he did not want to see.

Had he-... had he betrayed Gerra?

Had he been working against Gerra this entire time?

Gerra had to know the truth. He opened his mouth, words again forming on his lips.

But Iasimu, goddess of storms and might, so capricious in her whims, had grown tired of this mortal. Her brother Annuk might love him, but he needed to be reminded who the true gods of Amol-Kalit were... and he seemed to care about this handless man.

He should have made greater offerings.

The entire stable shook as an enormous jar of naptha hurled from one of Gerra’s mangonels struck the roof of the stable and exploded. The roof buckled from the impact and burning, sticky oil sprayed down into the stable, dripping and viscous, like fiery honey that brought with it a sweetness - a sweetness of relief from the woes of life.

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

It was like a dream.​

A figure entered the Stable, a baby dragon with him. It all seemed like some strange joke, some odd-opera revolving around his life. It all seemed so surreal. He couldn't even tell if it was all real or not; whether what he was seeing was due to the massive amount of blood he lost, or if he'd already died, and these were all visions of his past.

No matter, he thought.

"Thank you..." He almost whispered, his voice weak.

"I'll find you, I promise, I swear to the stars, I'll find you," stroking Maho's hair, he looked into his eyes and nodded, then stood.

He was so strong. He couldn't believe how much he had grown. He knew Alistair would become a true Sorcerer. If there were, one day, to be an Archmage in Elbion, it would no doubt he him.

I wonder what he'll get up to. What adventures he'll go on, people he'll meet. People he'll love...

At least, from this, he is spared.

At least-

He heard a painful scream from outside the Stable. He felt his heart race, his blood pulsing even faster. He felt the ground shake, and sweat bead down his forehead. Something was terribly wrong. He had a sensation of clarity, cutting through all his confusion, and - in this moment - he saw doom incarnate.

Gerra of Molthal.

Though he could not express it to lack of energy, his body surged with fear. Though the red glow stayed with him, he wasn't surprised the shock to his system made him collapse all together. It was like staring into the bright, clarifying fire of a star, and it staring back at you, with all it's monumental power and strength.

"One day we will realize our dream, Sparhawk. A place of commerce and unshackled learning, for all peoples. But every dream has a price." He looked away, eyes reflecting torchlight in the dark. "Ours is blood."

No.

He could feel a build-up within him. Like a million angry warriors crying for a battle. Like an army or orcs crying for fresh meat. Like the warlords of ages long dead fighting for what they thought was rightfully theirs. In that moment, in that small, minute second, he could have sworn he felt smoke rising from his being, as - for the first time in a long time - he heard Imamu's words enter his subconcious once more;

Today, Maho Jerik Sparhawk, You are once again, And will always be, Mine.
​

"NO!!!" He madly screamed, feeling the words rip through his throat, the vibrations echoing through the stable, his words rocketing towards Gerra fiercely.

But, once again, he remembered Imamu did not speak lightly.

For he was a God.

And a God knows all.

He heard a mad shattering come from the roof above him. The whole stable shook violently on it's foundations, like a giant had slammed his vengeful hand on the ground beneath them. As he turned upwards, looking above him, a beam came crashing down onto the back of his head, slamming and trapping him onto the floor.

But words could not describe the horror of what followed.

The artificial fire that struck the roof of the stable created a sticky, hot sap that rained violently on top of him. Although the beam had likely fractured his skull, the sticky magma that dripped onto him did far worse; his screams could only partially muffle the sound of the scorching liquid searing his skin. Sparhawk sparatically and madly struggled beneath the beam in vain, his movements being futile. He could only suffer in excruciation as the horrific mixture ravaged at his skin, melting the very clothes that covered his body, and cooking his torso.

His screaming began to distort however, as the fumes produced from the Naptha entered his lungs, burning the inside of his voice-box, and working it's way into Sparhawk's extremities, blurring his vision. The liquid then burst into flames on Sparhawk's skin, his hair violently catching alight, his robes all but burnt and wasted away. All he could stifle was an uncomfortably numb and suffered wretch from his voice, unable to form the words 'help' or 'please'. His mind had no place for sense anymore, as his body was laid waste to.

Droplets of the body-melting concoction swam through his right arm, visible holes being made in his fingers and forearm. All he could do was perilously quake on the ground, unable to say a spell to relief himself.

As he suffered on the ground, his face slowly became an indescribable mess. His scar that he'd carried for most of his life was emphasised incredibly, the reddish glow permanently etched into his face. It was a scary site to behold.

His resistance to fire could do little to help him now, the Naptha not killing him due to his abilities, but bringing him to such a horrified state, that he might as well have been.

He stopped moving on the floor, collapsing from the immense amount of pain surging through his body.

If Sparhawk could have formed words in that terrible, terrible moment, he would have begged for death.

Alistair, Why did this happen?

Why didn't I stay home?

Why didn't I stay with my family?

Why...

Why...

Just let me die.
​

Though he was collapsed, and his mind maddened, his eyes opened whilst he laid there, the glow in them incredible, and stared straight at Gerra, as if nothing else in the world existed but him. Then, and only then, he finally let go.

 

[White Swallow]

Hacking between rows of the last units, one of the orcs that still faced towards the fires heaved his heavy pommel onto the horse of The White Swallow.
Mayyadah tripped across the rough sand and slid across before picking herself up in a hasty manner. Some of the force turned around in the disturbance of a steed this deep within their ranks and already planned chop off the horse's head in a single swimming motion. Yet she, Hariq as the sand elves called her, was already in the air and kicking her way back onto the open.
The swallow could barely hold onto, but it went for dear life if he were to be unmounted and either trampled to death by his men in an ever-forward moving army or hacked by an ogre on the spot.

Nariman charged his section of the cavalry into the fray and The Swallow was quick to regroup with his men in this brief opening.

 

[Niyu Temuha]

Their plan on enraging the elephants seemed to be working just as planned, with several of the great lumbering beasts raging in a mixture of anger and fright. One such elephant charged into another, crashing sideways, impaling it with one of its tusks. Similar incidents like these happened across the battlefield as the Steppe warriors carried out similar tactics against the Shah’s war elephants. If the elephants could not be neutralised, they settled for getting rid of its riders and the warriors on top of it.

A sudden cry from comrade nearby caught her attention. He gestured in the direction of the enemy camp indicating that the Sultan was last seen heading that way. Her brother, the young prince gave the order to move forward and the steppe warriors started to move towards the Shah’s camp without much difficulty. The Sultan’s army and other mercenaries has done a fine job working their way in. As they approached the camp, it was only then that Niyu realised the absence of the dragon. Scanning the sky, there was no sight of the mythical creature. It must have retreated, having completed its part in the battle. The sounds of fighting close by got the group’s attention and young prince Jerha and his warriors rushed through the confines of the tents clustered about the camp, arrows seeking their targets as they approached.

Niyu brought up the rear, and reached for an arrow in her quiver as one of the Shah’s soldiers with a spear appeared from her left. Her fingers grasped at air. A quick glance as all it took for her to realise that her quivers were completely depleted. A devious smile crept onto the soldier’s face as he realised her plight. He wasted no time. Throwing the javelin he had in his hand, he impaled her horse which sent the animal falling off faster than she could react. Niyu fell onto the hard wet ground with a crash, her ears ringing and her head hurting as her helmet absorbed most of the impact, leaving her slightly concussed. As the soldier approached her with a knife, it took all out of her to draw her blade and keep the ringing of her ears away.

The inexperienced soldier lunged at her with his knife, thinking her incapacitated, but she parried the strike and counterattacked with one of her own. Her long blade found purchase with the soldier's lightly armoured leather vest and sank in easily. The man's look of shock and pain remained frozen on his face as life left him. Luck was on her side this day. Or so she thought. Dismounted and alone, Niyu glanced around trying to find a way to regroup with the others. As her hearing returned to her, it was once again flooded with the cacophony of war. Running forward, she could only hope she was going in the right way when a unexpected obstacle crashed onto her, or she crashed onto it. It took her a while to realise that it was in fact, actually a person, a young boy who looked around her age carrying a staff held closely to his chest.

Alistair Wren

 

[Achates]

They continued to come at her, more and more men and women attacked. She didn’t have many choices when she fought in this form, but they were enough to make quick work of the attackers. Strong jaws ripped through armor and flesh tossing aside each of them. Ones that she didn’t want to waste time with found blunt attacks from large paws tossing them aside. Achates kept pace with Gerra as he moved, she whined and made quick barks as she followed. It was the best way she could communicate at the moment. As he moved ahead, he entered the stables. For some reason the werewolf stayed back a moment to make sure no one followed them in.

The scent of others was overwhelming, and it caused her to quickly rush forward pushing her way through. Something stopped the large black dire wolf from entering and it was the arrow that forced her to pause. The arrow landed a few inches from striking her front leg. It was a distraction that came as a blessing and a curse, Achates was able to avoid the collapse of the stable, but it also meant she couldn’t protect the Sultan.

Panic surged through her transformed frame as she quickly forgot the arrow that had been shot at her. As the stable shook and buckled, Achates continued in catching a moment of Gerra’s scent. She was able to find him and another whine and a bark of warning towards the man – hoping to get his attention. A head nudged him as she continued to call to him the best she could. It was time to go, time to get out of this place – but it seemed he was focused on something, someone - the man with no hands.

Gerra Ashieron Alistair Wren Trahaearn Traecon Maxwell @anyone else at the stables

 

[VREILAR THE NECROMANCER]

Vreilar blinked slowly behind the motionless eyes of his mask. His outstretched arm burned with countless pinpricks of pain, and the sensation soon spread across his entire body. Even as the holy symbol fell to his side held only by his limp fingered grasp, the man couldn't tear his eyes away from the abomination he'd momentarily bested.

So this was his power.
​

Pain drew VREILAR, THE NECROMANCER! from his trance, pain like he had never experienced before. An arrow cut its way through the air, slashing across his bicep and tearing away the already burned material of his robe. It was only thanks to the darkness and his target's dark attire that the Shadow Hand had missed his mark, but the necromancer knew that such a mistake was seldom made twice. Another arrow struck him across the cheek before he had time to react, shattering the burned portion of his mask and cutting a deep, gory groove across his cheekbone. He turned and ran, an unsightly mass of arms and legs too long and spindly. Even as his own blood fell down his forearm and stained the symbol still clutched tightly in his gauntlet, the man continued his courseless marathon, fleeing for a life he'd forgotten to fear losing.

The Hands were fast, but VREILAR, THE NECROMANCER! was not entirely a fool. He fled east among the Shah's forces, many of whom were still awed to silence by the brilliant scuffling of the two mages. Countless soldiers fell in VREILAR's wake as the Hands cut their way after him, though the droves of dead were only countless for the sake that the necromancer didn't care to number them. Every stride drained another grain of vitality from the necromancer, and he was operating on little more than fumes by the time the Hands had lost him amidst the chaos.

Still, he ran, carried on by a fervent vigor to live. It was a desire Vreilar couldn't remember feeling before, but some small, sequestered part of his mind continued to push him forward. The battle continued to rage, though the front lines were now distant and only growing further with every stride. All around him, the bodies of dead and dying men laid in disarray, and each one sought the same thing. Whether it was a loved one's parting company or a melody half forgotten amidst the deserts of time, each and every person on that field wished for comfort and the strength to carry on.

Is this how they all feel, the man wondered as he ran. Do all dying men wish for nothing more than to go on living?

The thought stuck with him even as he left the war far behind, and his stride finally slowed to a stumbling, bleeding gait. Fieravene; The name rang out through his clouded thoughts. He had to find Fieravene.

 

[Trahaearn]

The roof collapsed and the mercenary was caught under a flame covered pillar. Screams filled his ears as he heard another person catch fire he presumed. His concern however was helping himself as much as the other person seemed to be in pain. The hook had buried itself in his left thigh, having mistakenly kept it low and ready for another attack, pushed deep by the pillar that kept him pinned.

His hands wrapped around the pillar and found it to be covered in fire. Fingers flew away but still burned, had stuck into something that had covered them in a substance that burned and sent rational thought out of his head.

Fuck it he thought as his hands grabbed the pillar once more, doing his best to ignore that searing pain that it brought with it. His muscles cried their exhaustion as he managed to slide the beam off of himself with a snorting grunt of pain and anger.

"Come here to save a dragon, end up in a burning barn." He muttered to himself, dragging himself against a pile of debris not currently aflame. He winced as he rubbed his hands in the dirt and sand, some of the substance wearing off as he continued in his attempt.

 

[Ashieron]

Watching the young man and Alzros disappear into the fray Ash wiped his eye some, he never wanted tomoeave the dragon in the hands of a stranger but the way he acted with his teacher, the elf had a feeling that he would take care of him. “Gods guide them please.”

Ash grumbled as he noticed that he missed the wolf, “Stupid.” He would look at the giant, with a glare saying, You do not scare me you giant fire worm. Ash’s attention would be brought to the jar flying towards the stables in the air, he’d have a bad feeling, before it became a gut wrenching one as it exploded. Causing the stables to collapse with the others inside already, You really have a bloody needless agenda Giant!

He’d think as he’d say, “Frigidus aer igni.” And the air around him would be formed with an icy mist, before he would rush into the flames. “Fucking insane people these days...” He’d cover his mouth with his cloak feeling the heat of the flames engulf him. He’d look over at the armless man, who was stuck under rubble and was being burnt, but he soon laid still. Ash tried to find a way to him, even trying to put out the fire and try to lift the pillars but he only ended up burning himself.

Ash’s attention went to the man whom had the hooked sword, which was now in his leg. Ash would grab him and would drag him out of the stables, whispering spells along the way. “If you know any magic, use it.” After dropping the man he would run back in and try to lift the pillars, they were heavy so Ash tried to look for a way around them, “Shit!” Ash had to give up, the chemicals and smoke was suffocating him making him feel dizzy. Not only that but the spell did not last as long as he had hoped so his back and side was burnt.

He would run back outside with Trahe, cast a short spell that would help to cool his burns, “We need to.... either try ......and run.” He’d say in between gasps, “And abandon.... the kid’s....teacher, or we need.....to fight.....these beasts.” He’d say looking at them, not wanting to give up his promise to the young man. He thought of how they would even be able to run with their conditions, Trahe’s leg was basically impaled by his own sword and Ash couldn’t breath well enough to even cast a spell of use.

 

[Alistair Wren]

Alistair ran for his life.

Leaving the stable block behind, he darted between soldiers as they clashed their swords together, the entrance to the camp in sight. He didn't think, didn't even breathe as he dodged blows and flames. He could see the rolling dunes of Amol-Kalit outside of the Shah's camp and held his breath as he ran, stopping only when the sky lit up like a star going nova.

Alzros on his shoulder, he turned around.

The stable where he had left Maho, erupted, incinerating the life of Alistair's favourite teacher, along with the innocence of the young mage. He froze, a hand on Alzros back as he watched the stable burn.

"No, no, this isn't real," he tried to tell himself.

But it was.

Alistair shook his head, tears pouring down his cheeks as he refused to reconcile with what he had seen. A weight, heavy like iron, pulled down on his chest, drawing his features back in despair. Maho's staff fell from his hands and onto the ground as he collapsed, Alzros in his arms. He hugged the baby dragon as he watched the stable burn, taking with it the life of his master. His empathetic senses were surging out of control, unable to pinpoint Maho's emotions in the tidal wave of death that engulfed the camp.

Amidst the fire, Alistair heard a voice cry out to him, but it was too confused and distorted for him to hear what it said.

He sat on his knees, the baby dragon in his arms, and wept, alone and totally unable to do anything to help. Alzros licked the tears off his face, chirping and growling in an effort to cheer him up. Eyes shut, Alistair breathed in, unable to recognize the torrent of feeling overwhelming his mind. He needed to get to the harbor and send word to Elbion about Maho, he just hadn't the willpower to pull himself off the ground. Sniffing, he hung his head and released his arms from around Alzros, who darted over to Maho's staff, picked it up in his mouth and carried it over to Alistair.

His eyes fluttered. In the sea of death that drowned the camp, only the baby dragon seemed to know what to do.

"I know, I know," Alistair whimpered. Raising a hand, he wiped his face on his sleeve and took Maho's staff.

Alzros climbed up his arm and sat behind his neck. Breathing in, Alistair pulled himself to his feet, when a soldier came tumbling off her horse and landed almost on top of him. Eyes wide, he jumped up, to see a warrior who looked like she came from the Steppes, stumbling to find her feet. She looked about his age, just another young person caught in the chaos of the world.

Alistair didn't even care if she was an enemy or not, she just was somebody to keep him company. Face stained with tears, he extended a shaking hand and offered for her to take it, then helped her stand.

"What's your name?" He asked.

 

[Smiling One]

Willis' Rapier came flying out from his hand the young man yelled pain as the hilt rubbed hard against his already injured palm spilling out more blood. Grimacing, Willis held on to his bloodied hand and slowly sidestepped making way for the Oracle to float over. Oracles are magic made flesh, even if the stories about them creating magic in Arethril aren't true, they are phenomally powerful magic users to the point where they were worshipped as Gods. Of course Alliria reveres the Oracles and throws annual festivals honoring them for helping the early Allirians build the great city. One of Willis few good childhood memories was attending the festivals with his old friend: Achates.

Even though Willis is a Monster Hunter, he has no chance against the Beholder. Even if Willis came crazy prepared with anti-magic weaponry and drank the most potent potions, but even armed to the teeth, he'll still be very weak against an Oracle who has the ability to make reality their bitch. Few Monster Hunters in history have successfully killed an Oracle. The last person who did so was Julian Mahor the latest Grandmaster and head of the Monster Hunter Organization.

All the young man could do was step aside and let the Oracle go and pray that he won't eviscerate him. What was this Shah thinking? Oracles are not creatures that can chained up as pets they've become twisted and mad a fall from grace from the gentle and curious creators of magic. "Great Oracle," Willis said gulping. "Forgive my intrusion, I shall retreat to the battlefield. Shall I join you?"

Zelx the Dreamer

 

[Gerra]

Sparhawk disappeared beneath a burning beam as the stables caught fire all around them. Glowing embers filled searing air choked by smoke.

"No," Gerra said again in disbelief.

How could he die like this? Disbelief turned to a rage more sweltering than the fires around them, fed by doubt and fear. Doubt that Sparhawk had betrayed him. Fear that he would never know the answer. How could he die like this?

Something pushed at his leg and he heard a whine. Gerra looked, saw the werewolf Achates, her fur smoldering where embers floating through the air landed on her.

"Go," he rumbled, a command, his eyes suffusing with a volcanic light as he felt the fury within him began to boil over.

A shape moved through the fire, blasting a spell of ice, then struggling with the body of Sparhawk.

Gerra's rage erupted.

He shoved aside Achates and strode through the fire, heedless of the burning naphtha oil that clung to him. Smoke wrapped about him like a cloak. Glowing motes danced upon his head like a crown. He saw nothing but the shape of the enemies before him in the midst of a roaring inferno. The urge to reach out and break them surged within him, overwhelming. Images flooded his mind and his body trembled with the unrestrained caldera as he imagined shattering their bodies with his bare hands. His lungs filled with searing ash and the bellow that he roared forth shook the very air.

"DO NOT"​

The half-giant seized the burning beam atop Maho. Hideous might suffused him as he lifted it, so effortless in his rage. It hissed in his hands as his finger sank into flaking, charcoaled wood. He flung it at the shapes of his enemies.

"TOUCH HIM"
​

Gerra sank to his knees beside Sparhawk's crumpled form. Cinders fell like rain around them.

"You cannot die," rumbled the ruler, wrapping his hands around the body. "I do not permit it."

He picked Maho up and carried him in his arms out of the raging inferno.

 

[Niyu Temuha]

It took her a while to realise that the boy she crashed into was talking to her. Somehow in all of this confusion, the fact that someone she didn’t know bothered to talk to her felt unreal. She’d just escaped certain death after all. She still clutched her sword in her hand, the blade covered in the blood of the fallen soldier who came at her with the knife. That fact didn’t seem to bother the boy, or perhaps it was just that they were both shell shocked from the events of the battle.The discovery of the relative ages of each other could have also played a part in the surprise and interest in each other.

Niyu had no idea who this boy is, and which side he was on. In this moment, he didn’t seem to be hostile, and that was all that mattered at the moment.

His eyes were red, as though he had been crying and for some reason that intrigued her further. Why was he crying? Was he afraid of the battle, or did he lose someone? He surprised her once more when he stretched out a hand to her to help her up. She ignored the gesture for accepting such would be a blatant display of weakness on her part. He spoke then, asking for her name. She did not provide him with an answer, instead replying with questions of her own. “Who are you? What do you do here?”

He did not look like a warrior or a soldier and did not seem armed.

Alistair Wren

 

[Trahaearn]

The other that dragged him out, and questioned him about magic. "Nothing useful at the moment. Mine is for my trade, not for...this." he hissed, his leg screaming in defiance of his attempt to stand.

"We need to get away from here. I can't hold a sword and I can't run well, and the giant seems interested in the man beneath the rubble. I don't think he will die, right away." Trahaearn spoke the last words quietly. He was entirely unsure about the giant's intention with the mage, but the intensity of the digging made him think either revenge, or something more personal.

"I am not staying here to die. We need to gather some horses and leave." He told the mage, his hands half cupped in front of him as he scanned around for horses that weren't dead or dying. His palms were red and raw, muscle rather skin showing on them. His leg had a strap around the thigh now, the bleeding relatively slowed for now.

 

[Alistair Wren]

The young warrior refused Alistair's hand, and instead pulled herself up. He withdrew his wrist and recoiled into the collar of his singed capelet, the front of his robes stained with the blood of his master. Hugging Maho's staff to his chest, he beheld the girl plainly as he struggled to identify who she was or who she fought for.

But it didn't matter.

She was just somebody to keep him company, and as long as he did not attack her or show any outward hostility, she did not seem to care. She asked him who he was, to which Alistair forced a smile, whimpering slightly as he nodded.

"My name is Alistair Wren, I'm a mage from the Elbion College," He said, his voice quiet and fearful, still shaking from distress, "I was sent here on a mission with my master and he..." his voice trailed off. Breathing in, Alistair collected himself, thoughts whirring around in his head.

He looked up at the young woman, "what about you?"

A pause followed. Alzros chirped and growled on his shoulder, blowing a puff of smoke out his nose as the young woman approached.

Alistair reached around and patted him on the head, "hey, shh, it's okay," he said to the baby dragon.

The fighting continued to rage around them. Swords clashed against each other and body parts were thrown against walls. Another fireball flew overhead and crashed into the camp, causing Alistair to duck. Grabbing Maho's staff, he nodded towards the entrance of the camp.

"We should get out of here," he said to the young woman. Nodding, he walked past her and headed towards the entrance of the camp, the desert looming beyond, "come on," he said with a tilt of his head.

Niyu Temuha

 

[Smiling One]

Willis allowed the Oracle to move towards the battlefield, he didn't know what was his intent but it was definitely not what the Shah would want. Oracles operate on their own terms, they are not bound to magical connections or contracts. How can they be? They're the ones who created magic according to the legends. The young man then shot a dirty look at the Shah. "You were a fucking fool to unleash an Oracle on to the battle," he said. "If he's in a pissed off mood then he'll carve us up like a fucking cake!"

Perhaps it was an Allirian thing, but Willis has a reverence for the Oracles. He understood their power and also feared it. The Shah was fucking dumb to think that a Beholder would help him reverse the tide of the battle, stuff like that doesn't interest and now everyone is at the mercy of the Oracle. In a fit of rage, Willis punched the Shah in the face with all of his strength. A few teeth came flying out from his mouth along with some blood. The Shah fell down face first onto the ground knocked out.

Yeah it was stupid thing to do, but Willis was bloodied, wounded and upset. Summoning an Oracle was the worst option available and it already cost him that pretty woman Willis saw get her soul absorbed. The young man turned on his heel and ran back to the battle, grabbing longsword from a fallen Sand Elf. There was smoke rising from the stables. It was burning for some time which made Willis suspect It was some special sort of flames.

There were some Blue Orc stragglers in Willis' way though he managed to cut them down easily. An Elven blade is the fastest weapon of them all. However an Orc stabbed Willis in the thigh causing the young man to growl in pain and to decapitate the Orc. On his knees and grabbing his side, Willis shook his head and tried to ignore it. "Gotta rendezvous back to the main force," he muttered and limped to the stables.

 

[Halul]

What happened within the stable was much too fast for Uvogin to act. Upon seeing one of his comrades fall to some mercenary of sorts, he swiftly moved toward the man with the hook. His charge forward was interrupted as fire and wood fell from above. Part of a large beam above fell down at Uvogin, which he avoided by stepping back. The stable became a hellscape, the interior quickly lighting aflame. Wood crushed some unfortunate. Haystacks were ablaze. Smoke quickly attacked Uvogin's eyes and lungs. It was absolute chaos.

He ignored the screams and clamor of those inside, instead continuing forward. In a single, large bound, Uvogin dashed over the flaming pillar that had stopped him before and scanned his surroundings. The one with the hook wasn't there, but the masked mercenary spotted a small trail of blood, droplets, that led outside of the stable.

Sword in hand, he followed and stepped out to see his target and one other, an elf. Without speaking and hesitation, Uvogin dashed forward. The point of his sword thrust out towards the elf's neck, for he was closer than the other.

 

[Achates]

Before she could attempt to pull Gerra out of the burning stable, the man looked at her and gave her an order. She whined once more, but was soon shoved aside. The beast shifted against his strength. It was a good thing for her that she was large, if she was smaller or even her usual form, Achates would have found herself tossed a few feet aside. Still, she was caught off guard and felt the shove fueled by a budding rage. Paws gripped the ground as she slides aside and found herself now dodging the collapsing ceiling. A yelp echoed a few times as she watched him dig through the pile that fell upon the man before them.

Who was this man to Gerra? She had not seen this side of the Sultan. Running forward, she started to help pull the wood off of the man the best she could. Gerra lifted the man and left. Despite him telling her to go, she stayed and made sure he would leave safely from the stables. As she moved to leave herself one last snap of the ceiling echoed in the back of her ears. Looking up with ears folded back the stable finally collapsed into a burning pile of rubble. A final yelp was muffled by the crashing and roar of the flames.

After a few moments, a paw reached out and pulled as it started to lose the shaggy black fur – revealing the skin of the girl within the beast. It was a good thing the transformation took so long to happen; the large frame of the wolf was able to shake off the rubble allowing Achates to be able to pull herself out. Painful cries echoed and mixed with deep howls as she freed herself. Everything was on fire and fur continued to fall off her in tuffs of flames. As one hand reached out and dragged her, the other clutched her bag. Achates knew the bag was her salvation in this moment.

Finally, she was free. Anyone who caught glimpse of the rubble would see a half nude elven girl, half wolf trying to crawl into one of the few tents that hadn’t caught fire. When she was safely inside she curled up, laying on her side. Pain surged through her as she finished the transformation and gasped for air in her humanoid lungs. A few long moments passed, but Achates kept herself from passing out and sat up. Her skin burned, but she was okay. The healing boost she received from her lycanthropy was a blessing in times like this.

Quickly, the girl dressed herself in her usual light leather armor and strapped the hand crossbows to her thighs. The bolts hung in their quiver at her lower back as she exhaled trying to find the strength to continue. Once she stood, she pulled her long dark hair back into a ponytail and moved from the tent and tried to figure out how to get out of the situation she was currently in, she pulled one of the hand crossbows and loaded a bolt into its chamber.