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Azrael followed the curator through the hall, feigning attention as the old man prattled on about various items he had acquired over the years. Most of the mentioned items Azrael had seen first hand and scoffed at the fools who had carried them. As he looked about disinterestedly at the cases through which they were walking, the curator's voice began to dissipate as though he were moving far too fast for Azrael to keep up. He blinks and begins trying to pay closer attention, but the voice continues to fade. Looking about himself in an attempt to catch an glimpse at what might be causing this effect, he notices the world about him melting away.

Casting about for a possible illusionist, Azrael feels a chill pass through his body before settling on him. His face drains of blood as he remembers the last time he felt this unending freeze in his blood. The emptiness about Azrael crushes close on him. Panic rises until he notices others in the distant nothingness. Approaching, he remains a bit to the side, to remain out of sight until he could determine just who, or what exactly, was there.

Kiana was sitting in her throne, relaxing, when she felt the tug. She hissed, having exacted the same feeling on many of her minions, the pull from another dimension. The dead around her twisted and turned, trying to find whatever was causing Kiana's discomfort. She stood, also doing the same.
"Who dares to enter my domain?" She called, her voice carrying around her castle and across the land. Rage filled her, and she lost control of her anger. The tugging continued, weakening her. She assumed the guardian or another enemy had entered Belluvier and was trying to summon or banish her. But she was wrong.
Using her magic, she resisted. Instead of ebbing off, the tugging became rougher. She fell to her knees and screamed, the pull now painful. Everything around her started to dissipate, and the last thing she saw was her dead running to hold her.
She was surrounded by dark. She waved one hand in front her face, but there was nothing. Kiana tried to calm her breathing, the sound of her own exhaling lungs filling her ears. Reaching for her whip, she checked to assure herself it was still there. Her sword was back at the castle.
"Where am I?" She asked herself aloud. She didn't recognize the dimension, but she felt a cold fear in her chest. Garthox had brought her here, for some kind of punishment. She shivered, and curled into a ball.

The small town of Al’sheer stood upon the western lands of Hisbanl, and had resided there for many a millennia. For decades, it had been a peaceful place, devoid of strife, or anything extraordinary. Yet this night was to be different. For if one saw what could not be seen, they would see a shadow that passed through the gates of Al’sheer in the dead of night, unseen by all that would be called “Mortals”. If one could hear that which could not be heard they would hear a chuckle pass the thin lips of the dark, looming figure as it passed the border guards, leaving them completely unaware. And if one could feel that which could not be felt they would feel a force, a ripple, slip across the world of Hisbanl, turning the lone hunter to the hunted.

Yet one would not need to see that which could not be seen, hear that which could not be heard, or feel that which could not be felt, to see the cloaked figure thrashing as it slipped from existence, to hear the screams that rent the air, or to feel the anger and confusion, as the one called Grim, Minion, Assassin, of he who should not be, was ripped from the mortal plain and dragged to the place of horrors, to the place of nightmares, to the plain of fear itself. As the world split asunder into swirls of darkening chaos there came a time where at last all was still, all was peaceful, all was silent. It was at this time that the lone figure stood before the infinite darkness.

As the one called Grim stood before the limitless darkness of a realm darker than that of his own soul many things came to his mind. What was this place? Why am I here? Can he know? Was I found out? Yes as the Minion known as the Assassin stood before the darkness his own strengths, his own powers, the very things that made him what he was told him this place was not of his master’s make, yet bore an age equally, if not greater, in age. Standing tall in defiance he carefully watched, and listened, and waited, for any sign of what was to come. Grim found knew there was no point in provoking a power as old as Garthox’s, if such a thing existed save for God himself.

It was a small pull that left her slightly confused. Placing her hand over her shirt, Ash looked behind her to see if they was anyone but no movement met her eyes. Slowly turning her head back, Ash looked at the stone structure that stood as a obstacle that she needed to overcome. The chains were just in her reach. They were right there within the structure and Ash could feel the energy of each chain. Narrowing her eyes, she peered closer, trying to find for a crack, a hole, anything that would even give her a clue how to retrieve the chains. She took a step forward with the intention of taking a closer look but she felt something tug her back.

Spinning around, Ash glared at the space behind her. This time she felt the pull, she had not been imagining it. She felt it again, this time on her arm. Reacting instinctively, Ash pulled her arm towards her and looked about her once again. The next pull was harder and she almost stumbled backwards because of it. Before she could even catch herself, there was another tug in a different direction. Ash felt like a rag doll being prodded and tugged at. It was as though some invisible hand was controlling her. She wanted to shout in agitation but did not want to call attention to herself as she was not even supposed to be here.

But Ash could not help but give out a small shout as she was picked of from the ground. Levitating in mid air, her body in an awkward position, Ash twisted as if trying to get herself out of the tight grasp but nothing was working. Fighting with all her might, Ash could not even get herself free as her body was pushed and pulled upawards until she saw that she was going to hit the high ceiling of the museum. "No!" she screamed, closing her eyes at the sight of her body coming in contact with the hard surface.

But the pain never came and Ash opened her eyes, peering about almost in fear what she would see. Darkness; that was all she could see. Pitch black space that seemed to go on forever. Picking herself up, Ash tested the ground she was standing on and found that the floor was not solid but made of some soft substance that shifted with her step but as soon as she shifted her foot away from the spot, the black substance returned back. "Where in the world..." but she stopped as she soon begin to see other forms around her. "Azrael," she whispered spotting him first. She soon began to see others; Anila and two others she did not know. One was on the ground shaking violently, she was a female- a driegn. The other was a Karnog.

Walking over quickly, Ash made her way over to Anila. She was not sure where they were and she was not liking it at all. Something about this place was familiar as though she had been here before.

Still in the battle suit of that soldier Moira appeared in a dark place, not able to recognise or see anything except for some dark figures. She didn't really try to approach them, but rather walked towards them as if she had visited this place many times in her life. She was lucky to still be wearing that armor, but she couldn't reach her dagger or release the ones she had in her bracers. She coughed lightly to announce her existense and hoped that she wouldn't get attacked by those silluetes.

Josh was overwhelmed with all the sights and sounds that greeted him as he entered the great city. It was as if there was no time in the world and everything had to be done fast. People were hustling here and there while tallying their checklists. Marketers were shouting out the prices of their items, hoping to get a good loads worth, and Mothers were calling for their children as they were released from school. Josh smiled as he saw the doors to the Elemental School open on the 5th level and the kids pouring out like syrup on pancakes.

As he walked down the main pathway, many of the elves stopped to watch him. Josh had changed a lot since the last time he had been to Aldarith. His hair had grown out near his shoulders and was now the tallest elf other than the High King. He took his staff from inside his cloak and stamped on the ground twice. Out of nowhere, sweets and gifts appeared out of the air and showered the elves throughout the city. The children jumped with joy rushing to retrieve all of the gifts laying out for them around the school. The adults were still staring in wonder. They had still not realized who this magical being was. He had a different aura about him that made him unlike all the rest.

At the very top of Aldarrith, the Queen stood looking out at the scene from above. She shook her head disapprovingly. She knew Josh had a habit of being generous, but that was a lot of magic. Josh had better things to do then be a clown for the people of Aldarrith. She walked away from the window and sighed. This would be interesting… Josh had always had a strict tone with the Queen. It was as if the Elf didn’t respect the Queen’s decisions. That was another matter all together. There was no time for that.. Josh would have to be in and out of Aldarrith before he had too much of a chance to interfere.

Josh smiled at all of the people who were looking out at him. Some of them graciously smiled back and others fixed him with a glare that could burn through metal. He looked out at them… and simply held out his Crest. Almost in an instant, there was a roar of encouragement. Everyone knew who it was simply by the Crest. There were still a few men out there who were still glaring due to their jealousy, but Josh ignored it.

He continued towards the center of the city where transportation to higher levels were. There were several more guards standing around the elevator-like contraption. The contraption was different to an elevator in the fact that it was circular… and instead of moving in a vertical motion, it went diagonal. This was because the city was in a pyramid form therefore the bases of each were smaller than the ones below.

There was one statue that Josh watched carefully as he made his way in. It was of his great uncle. Theosus,. Theosus had saved the Elves from impending doom several decades before, and now it was Josh’s turn. Theosus was shown holding his classic staff in a Magyk position. The orb appeared to be flashing, but everyone knew it was just a trick of light.

The guards had seen the commotion caused earlier, but had not seen its cause. They held their ground as the tall Elf made his way toward them. The elemental crest shining across the pathway and lit the direction he was walking. Josh usually was not one to show off, but it had bee n some time since he had seen any of his own kind and he was definitely in a good mood.

The guards watched as he stopped in front of him. They looked at him and nodded as he entered the elevator like contraption. As the door closed, Josh looked out at the city, the crowds cheering, the guards smiling for the first time since the beginning of the Shadow Elves, and finally, the point where Theosus’s orb rested on his staff. He knew that he was here for business, but he couldn’t not admit that he had missed his home.

But that was all about to change….

Nestled between a cluster of four trees, whos' barks were cradled with massive fungi that protruded from the shafts of the trees, creating a basin for water to gather, was a small, windowless shack cast in vicious disarray. The exterior boards were overgrown with moss and thin, leafless vines that dug its roots into the rotted wood; the door's hinges had rusted and fallen from the aged, warped frame, replaced by only a tattered animal fur; and, the roof was collapsing on the eastern corner. The building should have collapsed centuries earlier, when it was freshly erected, but its inhabitants--present and previous--simply would not let it crumble. Nature did not wish to see the building collapse either, because it gave four trees to protect and stabilize the ancient homestead.

Of course, for one to even see their surroundings at the exterior of the building, they would either have to be Elven or have some spell: The darkness pulsated in unaugmented eyes, providing no ability for sight to be constructed as a tangible quantity. The canopy above--a ceiling of massive, thick leaves, each the size of a tanker ship--shunned the existence of the sun. In this magical place, however, life still stirred. The crackle of leaves here, the brush of shrubbery there: The darkest region of Jagantha breathed eternal life, offering only magnificience to those that could grasp its beauty.

Elves of the past had come to the core of the forest to meditate, adventure, and die: Many unmarked graves marred the forest floor, the bones long having returned to the earth, and the remains plundered for personal gain. But now, in the dark times that Jagantha faced, the most ancient place in Jagantha was considered forbidden amongst the common-folk of the magical community.

And for good reason. Beyond the fact that many Shadow Elves occupied the perimeter of the forest, The Prophet rested idly, awaiting orders of action.

They had come, certainly, but Garthox's Elven cohert found himself lazily mingling with Elven silk. The oversized bed was carved from the trees surrounding the shanty, and presently took up more than half of the one room home. A desk sat perpendicular to the bed, on top of which sat hundreds of bottles of ink, three massive stacks of parchment, and a small lantern. The rest of the floor spaced was covered in chin-high stacks of books: All of which were stolen from the Imperial Library in the realm of Ayen. Many were unmarked, while other's shared their intent in many variations of the Elven languages and runes.

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My minions…those who oppose my will, the Guardians, are gathering strength even now. Crush them…shred their flesh from their bones. Drink deeply of their sorrow; blacken their worlds with the spread of my will. Trample their fragile hopes and allow the mourning of their dead to caress you and give you strength. This time we shall win…

Though the air was still cool, Vastus' body was covered in a thick sheen of sweat that beaded and ran clear of the young man's body. He was nude, clasped beneath the loving care of his favorite sheets. He twitched now and again, his expressions mocking horror, anger, and pain as the master's words called to the young elf. They screached in his mind, tearing at the fabric of Vastus' sleep. His eyes fluttered back and forth beneath their lids, before they snapped open, lighting the darkness with deep hues of glowing azure. They replicated quintessence, the beauty of which was unsurpassed by the most perplexing of combinations.

Breaths came as short gasps as Vastus erupted from sleep, sitting straight up out of the comfort his cocoon. The elf looked further into the world than was provided behind the guise of the shanty's walls; Vastus watched events that occurred far from Jagantha, coddled by safety due to their distance from Jagantha. The events froze into a stillframe before Vastus' eyes: Joshua's golden eyes glared inward from behind Vastus' eyes. The image was seared within his mind. Jagantha's guardian came searching for his weapon. And, quite honestly, Vastus believed that he may know its location.

The elf blinked away the residue of the images that were still encoded into his vision. The words flowed from between Vastus' lips, encased in liquid coolness and stolid emotionless, "I must have the orb."

Though The Prophet was reluctant to aid his hand to any entity, the alliance and servitude he compelled himself into under Garthox was mutually beneficial. Through the entirety of Vastus' life he was a hunted being, cursed by the lineage of his blood. And now, with the grace of power behind him, revenge would be his. Vastus' visage stetched to a queer smile who's corners were curled to the canopy above.

Shooing the sheets from his nude from, the elf stood and wound his way between the narrow pathway carved between the volumes of magical scriptures. He made his way to the chair that sat tucked under the desk. From its back, the elf took a vast shroud of cloth, which he slung overtop his naked form. Beneath, the body was instantly clothed in the ornamental armor of the Nun-Sta legion. It clothed the elf from neck to toe in a soft fabric which clung to every curve and corner of The Prophet's form. Vastus extended his right hand and pulled out the chair so he could sit at the desk.

He sighed lightly, and took the first piece of parchment from the top of the closest pile, only to set it before himself. His left hand grasped the thin tipped brush while his right busily reached for numerous bottles of ink. Uncorking each bottle, he set it to the leftside of the parchment. The elf, in the years he spent within the solitude of the shack, studied and memorized the encantations to hundreds of spells, each catergorized in Vastus' brain under many different headings.

The elf dipped the brush and went to work on the first spell, scrawling runes across the page with a careful, precise hand. After five minutes, perhaps, the elf set the brush atop a jar of ink, and looked at his work. The ink was barely dry when the elf snatched the parchment from the desk. It was held between Vastus' thumb, index, and middle fingers, with the runes faced away from his sight. With only the slightest concentration, the thin material burst into golden flames.

Vastus' next movements were only a blur, figment of imagery as the elf snatched both the brush and the next parchment. The blur of movement would have forced many to close their eyes for fear of nausea. The elf continued unhindered, plunging his quill into the depths of the ink, only to scrawl a new encantation with the power of a brushstroke. And that was all. The elf sat, hunched beneath the hooded spance of cloth, authoring spell after spell.

Hours hurtled into the past, and true darkness set on the forest floor. Finally, Vastus set the brush to rest, and sat back in his chair. All three stacks of parchment had shifted sides, and become many overlapping piles of individual spell sets. Three and a half bottles of ink set empty before the elf, and a sigh emanated from within Vastus' chest. The digits of the man's left hand continuously stretched and constricted as they tried to work the ache free of themselves.

Vastus pushed the chair only a slight bit further from the desk, and stood to collect the spells he prepared. The man clustered the spells together with one another, and shoved all but one into the folds of the robe. The Prophet took the parchment into his fingers--it was identical to the first--and left the humble abode he called home. Vastus' oculars provided him with a blue hued representation of the actual world. The individual lifeforms hummed with an intense concentration of light, signifing their essence. With the speed spell loosely held between his fingers, Vastus made the trip--by foot--to a small clearing in the forestry maybe half a mile from the shack. Surrounded on three sides by dense forest and a severely steep rockface, the clearing glistened with magical power, and struck awe into the souls of even the Ancients.

For nearly a decade the elf had found solace in this clearing, and the item it possessed. A bow lay at the center of the clearing--hoisted in the air for all to see. It rested on a natural altar: Obsidian rock jutted from the earth, forming a smooth, table-like surface for the bow to lay on. Many a time Vastus had ventured so far as to touch the rock; but, under Dartha's caution, and his own desire for self-preserverance, The Prophet never laid a hand against the runed, ornate surface of the bow.

Even from nearly thirty feet away, Vastus could feel and hear the hymn that the weapon sang, sweet devastation was its voice. Jagantha's guardian would come for the bow, this much Vastus felt to be certain. With a satisfied smirk, Vastus turned his back to the weapon and scanned the rockface and trees above the ledges. Then the parchment rose and burst to flames before Vastus' eyes. The elf's body disintegrated within the shadows of the forest, flowing freely around the rockface. With every third or fourth step, Vastus' left hand shot from within the interior of the robe to slam another piece of parchment against the cold, black surface. The end of the rockface came quickly, and Vastus' body sprang into the air, flowing through the great divide between the horse shoe of land. The Prophet's back arched out and he thrusted his body further through the air. With feet beneath him, the earthen ground met the soles of this armor, and Vastus became still. From his crouch, the man sprang forth into another trail of unseen footsteps that ventured around the entire exterior of trees, his left hand always in motion, always striking more parchment into place.

Vastus came to the edge of the rockface--where the entrance to the glade resided--and slid off of its edge. The man's body plummetted to the ground and struck foot first. Debris, fungus, and molded leaves splattered the night air in plumes of chaos around the elf's form. Vastus dismissed the spell, and turned to face the obsidian altar. With steps that emitted no sound, Vastus removed a bundle of five spell parchments from his robe. The man circled the altar and placed four of them on the sides... Then came the test of fate.

The azure orbs stared contently at the golden bow while Vastus' teeth ground together. The fifth seal lay in his long-fingered hand awaiting its placement against the mythical weapon. Garthox's minion took a deep breath and held it while his fingers stretched to attach the seal: The fingers barely touched the metal before releasing the parchment, which adhered automatically. The weapon was bound, but no pain arose within The Prophet. Nothing, at all, for that matter, felt changed. The power of the weapon, perhaps, was only a fable.

From then, Vastus retreated back to his shack, enthused with how quickly the perimeter had been secured. The elf returned to his homestead, and sat back at the desk. Vastus searched the third drawer on the left side briefly before removing a large roll of parchment. It was wound ten thousand times around the central spindle Six thousand feet of parchment. From within his robe, Vastus retrieved the final four speed spells he'd made. They erupted within flames, and the man set into his task: He spread out the first sheet of parchment and twisted some around the new spool (its already attached to the edge of the parchment). Runes materialized on the parchment, entertwined with the Elven language and Draconic dialects. A vast pleothra of magic flowed free of Vastus, illuminating the air with bright spirals of light and banners of energy that sparked and threw showers--which faded quickly--of color skyward.

This was his Dimension, his Realm, his dark Abode. A place that an outsider would not like to live in as it was a manifestation of a strong emotion. There was no place to hide from him or his puppets; he could see all and none could see him. No one could control the violent shadows that dwell here save for him and that was just the way it had been for thousands and thousands of years. This dimension was his playground and the darkness his toy. He could do whatever he pleased and no one could stop him.

But despite the control he had over the dimension, it was not enough for him. He had managed to spread a little of this darkness of his beyond the realm into the minds of the living. Snickering, he thought of the being that had summoned him to manage this dimension. Trusting him with so much power assuming that he would not abuse them. Oh that great divinity had ensured that he would not be able to leave the realm but he had found a way to infiltrate the minds of the living that walked the eight worlds. In the day, he slept and at night, he reigned their dreams, picking on their deepest darkest secret, weaving dreams that now have come to be called Nightmares.

The small figure clapped his hands in delight, pleased at the new toys he had to play with. From where he stood, he could see all their faces but none could see him. It had been so long that he had visitors and it had become boring with no new puppets to play with. But things have changed and here they were again. From the looks on their faces, none remembered in detail the first and only time they had been here. It was at the beginning of the great battle between good and evil when they had first been brought into his realm. It had been a decision by the High Kings and Queen of the eight planes to use his dimension as a way to test the Guardians.

But something had happened and it was not only the eight Guardians that had arrived in his realm but along with them came the five minions of the evil being that threatened the peace of the Universe. To him, it had been but a glitch in the plan. Either way, he had more minds to toy with and that was what mattered the most. And once a person arrived here in the realm, they were bonded to this dimension till the end of eternity and whenever his home was opened, they would be sucked into it where they will remain until they overcame their test. But something had happened that first time that no one had counted on. Two souls of opposite ends had been intertwined by fate and only Gurasa had seen it as he could predict what was to come. So a deal had been struck between him and the two and the same would happen once again only now, Gurasa had to discover who the two was. But that aside, he had a work to do, a task that was too much fun to be considered a job.

The gleeful look that spread across his pudgy face was irritating to those who knew what was to come next. Gurasa took great pleasure in the task that came now and his gray eyes sparkled in excitement. Looking down into the pit of darkness where his new playmates were standing, Gurasa thought about who he wanted to play with first. There were still some missing but they would soon arrive. He could smell the their deepest darkest secret the one thing they tried to hide from all but it was no use here as this was his ground. This was the Realm of Fears.

He decided who he wanted to play with first so he whispered the name. It would be fun to watch the man squirm so he would go first. "I choose....Azrael."

Obeying his words, the darkness complied, twisting and wrapping around the minion of Earth, completely covering him as the others watched. Gurasa laughed as they were all powerless here and no matter how hard they fought, his word here was law...unless ofcourse they conquered their fears.


He laughed at his plan, a devious one indeed. "Soon Azrael shall crumble and one of you will be next." His child- like chuckle echoed in the dark realm where the others still stood. He allowed them to hear his plans for Azrael and warned them that each one would have their turn.

Everything around Earro suddenly went dark, at first he thought he had somehow died, but realized that he could see others. Looking around for Rabe he realized that he must have just fallen asleep from the exhausting exercise and that he was just dreaming. Sitting down he watched the other move about in his dream, they looked like the guardians, but it was hard to tell from the distance they were spread out from.

The darkness continued for what felt like some time to Anila. It would be to say it was only a few moments, and so the true amount of time that passed will remain unsaid, not that it was known. In such a realm, time is merely infinity, and there would be no set way to calculate how much of it has passed. Except, perhaps, by what the victims felt had been the space in infinity they had been in such a place.

And so, eventually, the darkness seemed to lessen, though it was still there. The young Fae took a step, and stumbled on the shifting surface. If she had taken the time to think about it, Anila would have come to the conclusion that darkness itself had taken on a somewhat physical form. As if the particles of infinity, time, and darkness had compressed to create a surface that would shift with every movement. Alas, Anila did not take the time to think about it. Instead, she took the time to stare at the forms that were materializing from the darkness around her.

Very few were recognized by her, though the approaching Ash was. Very familiar. It would have seemed contradictory to smile in such a deceitful, dreadful place, and so the delicate being merely reached out as Ash neared to touch the humans arm. Loss and heartache was seen in Anila's gaze, feelings that she struggled to hide, afraid of causing such feelings to rise and dwell within her sister. Fear was the easiest to hide - though that did not last for long.

The childish voice sent chills down Anila's spine that racked her body. The words filling her mind with a probing fear, despite them being directed at Azreal. Coming close to digging her nails into Ash's arm, Anila pulled her arm away to let it drop and hang by her side. If the voice which echoed throughout the darkness had not been, perhaps, so childish and eerily... well, we cant say human, but that at the moment would be the best possible word to use to describe it, the fear would probably not be so severe. Nor would it be so severe if Anila had not had the inkling that the fear would merely increase one hundred fold when her time came.

Her time.

Kiana unraveled and climbed to her feet. The rippling darkness around her moved like suspended liquid. She reached out as if to coax it to her will, but found it slipping through her fingers. She called up a binding spell, and commanded the substance to obey. She didn't feel the magic leave her. It got stuck in her throat, choking her. She coughed it up, but she had no power in her words.
To reassure herself, she reached back and felt her whip. It was still against her side. Her ebony swords were back in the castle, she hadn't expected an attack. She raised herself to her feet and looked out. There was nothing but dark. When the booming voice came she gave a surprised squeal and twisted around. Behind her were guardians. And minions.
She stood, ready for battle. The voice beckoned for the one named Azrael, and spoke to him a poem. That's when Kiana knew what the dimension was. Garthox wasn't punishing her! But the circumstances did not call for celebration. Instead, she stood in her battle-ready stance to watch the events unfold.

The brush collapsed from The Prophet's fingers, lolling lazily to the side without rolling away: It must have been as fatigued as the man who used it. The scroll laid in a tightly fashioned roll, with the spine neatly clipped and tied to a piece of thick leather Vastus would use as a carrying strap. The scroll was four feet tall, three feet thick, and weighed nearly a hundred and twenty pounds.

The elf sat erect and brushed his robe's hood away from his fair hair, letting the long braid collapse around his left shoulder and chest. Reaching for the scroll, the man lifted it with both hands, grunting along the way, and collapsed back into his chair. It was heavy, but could never leave the man's side. With a soft, tired visage, Vastus stood and teetered, before lunging overtop the books to his bed. Of course, he missed every stack, and landed rather gracelessly: Belly flopping onto feather mattress, and bouncing into the shack's wall, which shuddered and vibrated back and forth against the trees. Vastus rolled onto his stomach and searched along the wall he'd just slammed into, grasping for both of his babies.

"Ah!" The young elf exclaimed and retrieved both gunblades from the crevace between the bed and the wall. The dusty blades still gleamed from beneath the grime, and the leather still felt soft against Vastus' fingers. The chakra cannons would rest with Vastus now, instead of stored with the elf's other archaic devices. With the scroll tucked under one arm beneath the robe--the cannons beneath the other--Vastus slept.

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Nightmares came to dwell in Vastus' sleep more often than not, each filled with its own quirky fog and deep shadows; but, nothing compared to the reality, the beauty, the absolute brilliance that was bestowed upon the elf during his sleep.

Caught in the grasp of the mist, the elf waded through the sticky moisture that clawed at his skin, trying to permiate it. It only took a few seconds of wondering for Vastus' eyes to alight in recognition: It was reality. What was this? Where was he? The elf searched all around him, his eyes focussing and drawing the image closer when it was necessary. There were others! Other faces and bodies in the mist, perhaps closer than he may have thought. They were distinguishable, to an extent, and Vastus searched valiantly, looking for any recognition.

Good and evil was only a figment of society in Vastus' eyes, such demeanors held no faith when tested. Survival was bred into every race, passive or not; and, when the Nun-Sta elf saw any other race of elf, no matter how far or near, he feared for his survival.

Golden eyes...Golden eyes. The image pieced itself together, the contour of Joshua's face, the distinct glow of his eyes. It revealed its entire -self- to Vastus. "Him..." (Waiting for chewy's post before going any further)

Gurasa laughed at the looks on their faces, their fears feeding his powers, exciting him to no extent. It was what he thrived on, it was what pleased him. Rocking on the heels of his feet, the being grinned in a manner that would have been found on that of a child on the morning of Christmas. However, the look on his face was nothing but joyous. A sickening look that made one's eyes widen in shock was how anyone would have described it- that is if they could even see Gurasa.

"Who to play with next?" he let his childish voice echo in the dark plane for all who remained to hear. "How about you?" His stubby fingers curled in excitement at the prospect of drinking on the fear of another. "I have a special place for you," his child like yet evil laughter washed over all who were trapped in his realm.



He watched as the darkness did his bidding and engulfed the Guardian, pulling him down into the ground where he would face darkness. "One by one, you shall be mine. Earro your turn has come."
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Ash held onto Anila's hand as the fairy held onto hers. This was not a plane familiar to either one of them and from the looks of it, neither was it to the others. Ash was about to ask Anila if she knew where they were when a voice spoke high above them. Startled, she let go off Anila's hand just as she did hers. It spoke a rhyme that told of Azrael's fear. Ash looked about and soon spotted her companion to Earth. He too had been pulled into this realm. But why? Before anything could be done, the very darkness around him pulled him away before anyone could react. It was not long before the voice spoke again. Now contemplating who to pick on next.

As it churned out the next rhyme telling of one of their fears, Ash could not help but sigh in relief that it was not her fear that it spoke of. But she looked about wondering whose it was until the voice uttered the name...Earro. Her eyes widened as her fellow Guardian was pulled away. Ash took a step backwards, her eyes darting about, wondering from where the being was watching them or even who it was. Flashes of memories kept coming back. She was absolutely sure she had been here before but she still did not know why. It was obvious that this place was a manifestation of fears but...why were THEY here?i

Confused at first, his eye began to widen as realization came over him. His cheeks grew hot with first fear then embarrassment as the voice from the shadows began to slowly polish away the stone wall he had built up around his
fear. No one knew he was afraid of darkness, the darkness…

"One by one, you shall be mine. Earro your turn has come."
A sinking feeling grew in his stomach, but he soon realized it was actually the feeling of him falling through the floor into his fears. The consumption of him into the ground was swift and relatively painless. Not realizing he was still falling he landed on his legs with sickening crunch. “Err” he said painfully, restraining a full roar of pain; that he knew the pain deserved. Attempting to push himself up, he fell down sending another rush of sharp pain. Feeling around in the impenetrable darkness, he tried to feel around for where the fracture was. Running his hands right in front of his chest, he felt a wet sticky substance. Pulling his hand away he sniffed it. “Blood....my blood” his voice running up to a high wine, he felt disparately around...”I can’t find my legs” panicking he began to scratch his arms. Rocking back and forth, he looked for any small liver of light so he could figure out what had actually happened. Pupils dilated as far as they could go, he found nothing. Quivering he tried to think of the logical possibilities as to why he couldn’t feel his legs. Earro tried in vain, his Nyctophobia getting the best of him.

Without his eyes, his mind began to formulate horrific idea, monsters, and disasters that could happen to him while he lay disabled and blind. Earro is still very young, his spirit still not formed or manifested. On top of that he had always had the gift of a vivid imagination which could only be reasoned with, with a calm explanation and a hug from someone dear; usually his mom. None of those things being there he was left alone with Pandora’s Box, his mind making him see silver angry eyes on the edge of his vision. Shuffling around he winced every so often when he though he felt something crawl over his nonexistent legs.

"What now, what now?" Gurasa considered the toys he had to play with. He fiddled with his shoulder length blond hair, thinking hard about who he wanted to play with next. His crystal blue eyes followed each of their movements, wondering whose fear he would manipulate with next. "So much fears, so little time," he droned in a sadistic manner. "Come out and play my puppets," his whisper was followed by another of his rhymes.



He clapped his pudgy hands in delight at the work he was doing. "Anila your time has come!"
The darkness did his bidding, grabbing her feet and her hands pulling her into the walls, seperating her from the rest. In her space, she will find the graves of those she loved and lost. But to agitate the fear she had kept deep inside, Gurasa would make her witness the death of her loved ones again and again and again.

The Grand Army of Gorthax was pulling out from Solas in a dramatic manner. With the war losing, and the damn Merman on the offensive, there was nothing else to do...

It was an amazing sight onboard the vessels that made up the Solas Naval Force; People seemed to phase in and out of reality, before disappearing with a flash of black light

They were shorn from the fabric of reality by the monolithic, inky black Twin Pylons that adorned the "Portal-1" Base(As it was now called), and planted firmly on their feet back in the world of their origin; they were gone from Solas, their massive ships left to rust and sink in the open seas, and their hulking base of Iron and Concrete left to slowly collapsed upon itself with the ravages of time.

These 'Twin Pylons' were of Dark Elf construction, along with so many others of the magic items that the Grand Army possessed. They were the contractors of Gorthax in a sense, suppling equipment and magical weapons to the much more skilled Caluxs that made up the army, but whose magical powers were almost null, but for a select few who could conjure the horrid spectrum of Death and Violence with merely a thought.

But why, you might ask?

The war was assumed lost, with no hope for the forces of Mar-San and it's massive but weak army, and so far, most forms of Chemical Warfare had been useless against those with power over water.

~~~~

Ah, Fuck!

Exclaimed Claudius as a wall of inky blackness enveloped him. In the distance, he could hear the whine of Anti-Magic runes overloading as the 'Field' of Dark Magic forced through their defensive measures. This was not going good, but Claudius had one trick left....

Reaching into the void, he pulled into existence one of the many templates that made up his power to summon troops, and pulled into existence an Assault Knight; It was a hulking figure, perhaps 12 feet tall, and made of enchanted steel that burnt the eyes with the signature soul-rendering paint job of the Gorthax Elven Contractor Works. Claudius liked those elves, as they provided most of his equipment, and they also gave a nice trapped soul to everyone on the companies 1500th Anniversary....

Fieht finally reached the palace, her horse was stabled at the inn she would spend the night at, and she was following a strange mist she had noticed once she had entered the town. Now there was a new problem, she would not be allowed to enter the palace unless the king had requested her to, or if she requested it beforehand, and the king actually agreed. Fieht had guessed by now that the odd mist was leading her to the ring, so it had been true that the king had it in his palace, now she just had to figure out how to get in.

Joshua waited as the elevator rose above the city. The elevator was made of a material that was similiar to that of a crystal. All could be seen as he rose through the levels of the city. Many of the citizens even watched as he went up after seeing the celebration in the main square. Josh smiled to himself as he spoke words of strong Magyk. "Dareth Symbio Lantara".

Outside, a bright flash appeared in the sky as everyone looked up. A chorus of oohs and ahs were heard as he continued towards the top of the city. The symbol that was a mirror image of the elemental crest appeared in the sky flashing different colors. Josh laughed as several of the Elemental Chiefs even flew up into the sky and created their own messages.

He turned as he heard the musical tone that meant he had reached the top level. The Queen's palace. As the doors opened, a sharp Screech was heard through the air and everything was plunged into darkness as Josh fell to his knees and lost his vision. He tried to calm himself but nothing worked. After several minutes of the darkness, he used a technique that would simply put him to sleep.
---
Several minutes later he woke with a start. What had happened. He noticed that there were several other people there including the Guardians. What was happening. Josh closed his eyes and opened them which brightened the golden shine from his eyes. A face was nearer to him. It had the features of an elf. But not one of the common ones.

"How could there be... one of you? Here...?" Josh said in amazement. He had been one of the main contributors who voiced his opinion about banishing that race of elves.

It was a sight to behold, the fear written on each of their faces. Gurasa grinned ina fashion that betold the evil that dwelled in his heart. Earro was expereincing the first stage of his fear. The darkness seemingly closed about him, trapping the young Guardian in his own mind. Azure eyes sparkled in twisted joy at the sight of the pain Earro was going through. Turning his head, the young being made to select his next victim. His eyes fell upon the minion who had been the first to arrive.

"Kiana..." the name rolled of his tongue as he felt her fear.



The child like voice echoed once again the endless black plane where the rest stood. Vines and darkness shot out and binded Kiana at her hands, waist and legs. The young boy giggled manically at the thought of where she was being taken. It would be a barren land with a orange sky tinged with black. The groud would be a vast stretch of brown nothingness and no matter how much she shouted, no one would respond to her. But what plesaed him the most that made him clap in sickening delight was the knowledge that those she controlled with her powers would be there. Their rotted hands and skull faces would grab her and pull her, taking her down into her own grave.