Jivven Noda'Razzr's Story

Jivven Noda'Razzr

"Dammit!" Jivven barked as he cradled his injured hand. His dagger was lost the instant the axe severed the finger, most likely never to be seen again. It wasn't worrying to be honest, it wasn't like it was personally his. Besides, there were worse things happening than the misplacement of a simple blade. Such as the loss of the appendage and the offending harpy. The blood ran freely from the stump of a finger and further stained his scorched orange robes. After a moment of indecipherable cursing the the Dark Elf's native tongue. Then Jivven's head shot up and glared into the eyes of the Harpy. "You. You will die, with my boot on your neck," Jivven threatened. It wasn't the words which were frightening, it was the delivery. His tone was empty, dry, foreboding. Dark. All sarcasm or anger was squeezed and only left a cold nothingness. Probably something all Assassins probably did once in a while.

As his tone suggestion, all emotion drained from Jivven. Emotions got in the way of the killing blow. Become angry, and you lose control. Become sad, and you weaken yourself. Become happy, and you lose sight of the kill. Jivven didn't like this state, a state of complete emptiness, of utter and complete control. Yet, as an assassin, he knew the worth of the ability to empty one's mind and to be able to flow like the shadows. It was the difference between life and death. And he would avenge his finger.

The Harpy came in low and quick, looking to bash him with her shield. "Fool," Jivven mono-toned. The harpy had the advantage of height and distance, and she chose to engage him close-quarters? At his diminutive height too? There was no other way to describe the harpy, other than fool. Still hunched over his bloody hand, Jivven waited for the exact moment to evade and counter. Things seemed to slow down for the elf. A mix of pain and adrenaline could do that to a person. One... Two... Three... Now.

He quickly tossed all of his weight on on foot and agilely pivoted counter clockwise. He came once he had made a half circle he could see that the harpy would miss her attack and harmlessly fly passed him. She had no time to direct her moment and smash into him with his little maneuver, and he would be safe. Yet, he didn't just want to be safe. He wanted to punish her. As had his back turned towards the harpy, the leg he didn't pivot on began to stretch out and rise until it was was head height, with Jivven's trunk parallel to the ground. And that's when he struck.

He felt the satisfying thunk as his heel made contact with the back of the harpy's head, and a mirthless grin spread across his face. The harpy fell from the contact and Jivven finished his circle staring at the ground harpy. "Stand up. We aren't done with this dance," He commanded, wrapping his hand with a torn piece of his cloak. He couldn't care less about the state of his wardrobe now.

---

Liliana Bloodleaf

"Ah," Lily said, looking over the short halfling at the way she had indicating. Though Sid's warning had brought the elf's eyes back down the to halfling, a flash of sadness in them. Only flash however, and just like that they hardened back into their dull blue selves, "Yeah, of course. Thanks," She said, nodding and pushing past Sid. As she walked, she wondered how Turha was doing today... Some days were better than others, some worse. It was true for her as well. Some days she felt like they were fighting a losing battle, the odds stacked against them, and stacking everyday. As if everything was hopeless and they were all just going to die anyway.

However, she always remembered why she was fighting. To end it all. To put an end to a war that had already cost too much, and would probably cost more yet. She was tired of seeing friends die, of watching new soldiers come and go. She just wanted it all to be over, despite the allure of the Gift. ANd she would fight to see it come to fruition, whether she lived or died. It, she didn't matter anyone. She was just another cog in the machine of war. She was tired.

She was brought out of her thoughts upon re-entering the prison. Lily was positive Sid had pointed her this way... This was just another corridor lined with cells. She began to slowly make her way down the hall, checking the cells at her left and right until the very end when she found what she was looking for.

Turha. The tall lanky human with the dark skin. One of two twins, the other of whom was slain in the battle for Herrick, as well a many other comrades. Lily missed Gurgen, as well as both of the brother's bright smiles and electric personalities. Every time she saw Turha, she couldn't help but think of Gurgen. She was sure it was the same for him as well. Now, it was all she could do to even coax a grin from the man. So much loss...

"We did good today," She said softly, the gentlest her voice had been all day. "I didn't lose many, if any, and that's always a good thing," She continued, entering the cell and leaning against the wall across for Turha. "Still think we should had slaughtered the rest of the children though..." She added darkly. She let the silence fill the air for a moment before asking her question, "How are you holding up today?"

---

Shasarra had launched herself into the air as soon as she’d become aware that her attacks had not done quite the damage she would have preferred. Fine. If he wished to behave like a fish in a stream, slick and dodgy, she would hunt him like one. Two powerful, if painful, wing-strokes lifted her into the air, and the proud hawk-woman scooped another shield from a dead man, still maintaining her clawed grip on her one-handed battleaxe. Her golden-eyed predator’s gaze locked on to Jivven, in enough time to widen in shock before the little bastard (no smaller than her, but who was keeping track?) was launched right at her.

Frantically, Shasarra tried to gain altitude, the better to avoid those weapons aimed right for her, and though her maneuverability in open space was easily superior to this wingless hack, she found herself with two choices: let something hit her, or…

Clawed hands latched onto Jivven’s forearms, and she braced herself as well as she could for the extra weight she was about to assume. They were both lucky he was so light; she wasn’t the strongest herself, and if he’d weighed any more, they’d both be plummeting for the ground right about now. “Stop struggling, you little shit!” she hissed at him, “unless you want us both to die!” As if to emphasize her point, she moved still further upwards, hoping to get her encumbered self out of arrow-range. She did not particularly care if he got hit, but her wings were sore enough already without wooden projectiles sticking out of them. She considered simply dropping him from sufficient height, but chances were he’d catch on and drag her down with him, a not-particularly-nice option. For now, then, it seemed the best chance they had of staying alive was finding somewhere safe to land.

Sweat beaded across the harpy’s fair brow as her wings worked overtime to keep them both from their deaths, but it seemed someone had a much more powerful bow than she was accustomed to, for she saw the arrow headed for them just a bit too late. For the briefest moment, she contemplated swinging her burden in front of the oncoming projectile to take the hit, but that was dishonorable and beneath her, more fitting of scavengers than any true sky-hunter.

A pained hiss was the only reaction she gave when the arrowhead punctured her unarmored side, but it knocked her off-balance, and suddenly they were tilting very swiftly sideways, headed for a solid-looking stone wall. The still air whistled past her ears with all the sharpness of dwarven steel, but she would not lose her presence of mind over something so minor as impending death. Looking down at her accursed passenger, she spoke through gritted teeth. “As soon as we get close enough to the ground, I’m dropping you. If you’re smart, you’ll let me.”

True to her word, she released her hold on Jivven about fifteen feet from the floor, but her momentum was too much to correct, and the stone wall rushed to meet her much faster than she had expected. There was a crunch, and Shasarra felt one or two of her ribs give way beneath the press of stone. She slid the rest of the way down, barely maintaining her hold on consciousness through the black haze that fogged her vision.

“Cease.” The voice, though not overly impressive in volume, carried all the weight of a life-or-death order, and without being able to see from whence it had issued, Shasarra knew the dragon had spoken. So, it seemed, did everyone else, for all motion halted instantly. Between ragged, short breaths, the harpy heard the elf-Thane issuing further commands, and at once, the room was flooded with other Children, these ones immediately setting about the business of removing corpses. Several red-robed Silenced began attending to the injured, and the harpy sighed her relief, though the exertion required brought on a lung-wracking cough. One of the mages was at her side immediately, and the pain slowly abated.

It would seem that all those still standing had passed. The treble hum of Ethne’s voice failed to break the haze over Shasarra, but doubtless most of the rest would have heard her tell them that they were now free to use the novitiates’ quarters, bathe, eat, and select new weapons and armor, the latter of which would be worn over or under the white robes as necessity dictated.

“Welcome, Children, to the fold. Fight well.”

Vortigern shook his head, clearing the red haze of controlled fury from his vision and looking about. Everywhere, battle had ceased, for even the most violent among them did not dare disobey the orders of Nihalistrix herself; that much had been clearly impressed upon them by the fates of the unchosen in the hellish stone bowl-pit. Shrugging, he holstered his weapons and offered a hand to the human woman he’d been a hairsbreadth from decapitating. She took it shakily, and he lifted her to her feet without much discernible effort.

When they were told they were free to clean up and eat, he wasn’t really sure which way to go, but the Captain oh-so-helpfully pulled open a door at the right side, looking over the bloodied mess of recruits that remained. Like the rest, the towering elf filed into line to receive minor medical treatment from those freakish red-robes with their mouths sewn shut, and then passed through the doorway into what looked to be a barracks-like stone hallway. Several opened doors held simple lodgings, all with fresh linens piled on the ends of beds. Differences in species had been accounted for, as a few rooms contained places for harpies to roost and so forth. Shrugging, he walked into the first one and looked around. Nothing too special, but perhaps a bit nicer than he’d been expecting. Such things hardly mattered to him, though, so he figured he’d set about finding something to clean his weapons with and then the baths, in that order.

---

The recruits were given the rest of the day and the night that followed to rest and recuperate as they chose. It was early the next morning when they were awakened, and dawn was only just painting her rosy hues across the sky.

Shasarra, who had been enjoying a nice roost, grumbled several unpleasant things when the sergeants came to rally the troops, and she found herself forming up into a semi-orderly queue with the majority of the other surviving hopefuls. They were shuffled out into the same hall that they’d fought in but the day before, only now it was pristine and without the slightest trace of the carnage that had taken place the day before. Captain Tao was leaning against one of the room’s many pillars, arms folded in his sleeves, and appeared to be asleep standing up, not that she was fooled.

The harpy found herself situated between a purple-skinned nightmarian woman and the dark elf from yesterday. She was ultimately a pragmatic soul, and so did her best to ignore the fact that they’d been trying to kill each other the day before, sparing him a nod before her attention was drawn forward.

A Thane was at the front of the room, though it was not the same elvish woman who’d done the speaking yesterday. This one was male, and human of all things from the look of it. There were flecks of gray dusting his already-light hair, and for this she suspected that he was somewhat into his middle years. Humans grew so slowly and died so quickly that it was hard to tell, though. There was something about him that made her feel distinctly uncomfortable, and she shifted her tawny wings with traces of unease. The man was flanked by seven of those red-robed magekin, all of varying shapes and sizes, but none looked anywhere but at the Thane himself, and his attention was focused solely on Aesr, who had taken up a spot on the dais where her mother had resided the day before.

---

Vortigern thought she looked kind of silly like that, as the platform had clearly been made for a creature of a different size, but of course he wasn’t going to say such a thing out loud. Fearless berserker or not, there was only so far he was willing to go. Fortunately, his caution did not extend to the sadistic witch-doctor beside him, and he shot her a friendly grin, a bit wild due to the fact that one of his eyeteeth was chipped, not really mindful of the vehemence of whatever response she should choose to give. When he wasn’t busy hacking into things with horrendous ease, he was quite the mellow sort, after all.

“What d’ya reckon? Summat in me bones tells me this’ll be magic, but I kinnae say I know much about it.” He was asking her, of course, as she seemed to be the only magical sort without her mouth sewn shut. His brain put two and two together, and he grimaced slightly. Hopefully that was a volunteer thing; it seemed rather gratuitous otherwise.

---

Maratharn, the present Thane, cleared his throat, and allowed silence to descend upon the room before he turned to the Captain. Seeing that the man’s eyes were closed and posture relaxed, he scowled and coughed again, less discreetly. When that didn’t work, either, he huffed impatiently, and gestured to one of the Silenced, who nodded and lit a small flame, sending it flying toward the errant officer without a word of warning.

The captain’s eyes snapped open, and for a second, there was an expression of startlingly-clear anger on his face, before it clouded over into his usual haze and he mildly sidestepped, gesturing to the troops to follow him and approach the dais as though nothing had just happened. The flame guttered out on the stone of the pillar, leaving the gray stone blackened. The group moved forward until they stood before Aesr, who appeared to be inspecting them with an air of appraisal before nodding to herelf. Upon closer examination, it would now be evident to all those present that she stood before a raised stone pillar about the height of a man, upon which rested an enormous earthen bowl.

The Silenced fanned out until they, Aesr, Feng, and Maratharn formed a rough circle around the recruits. Aesr was in front, the captain to the left right angle and the Thane to the right. As one, all removed some form of pointed object from their clothing or immediate surroundings, save the dragonling. Not one broke the moratorium on sound, not even when they collectively raised the blades to their wrists and made a ritual incision, allowing the universally-red liquid to drip with the barest of whispers to the stone below.

The seven were not idle, however, and each was working the same spell: the initiation. The liquid pooling on the floor resolved itself into a perfect circle by a collective effort of their wills, and flared with some unholy internal light before bursting into flame, impossible as it seemed. The licking tongues of fire seemed to signal something, for at last Aesr herself moved, raising her foreleg to her own great jaws and biting down. It would seem that dragons bled black, as the ichor that dripped into the bowl was devoid of any color whatsoever. Reacting with whatever ingredients had been placed in the receptacle beforehand, it took on an eerie green hue and a faint radiance, throwing her scaly visage into sharp relief.

“Drink of it, and understand our strength.” She said simply, and then silence fell once more.

One by one, they did as she ordered, and the effects were immediate. There was an internal shift in the very constitution of their being, as though some new connection existed, an internal pull in the direction if Aesr, and through her, Nihalistrix. So, too, was there some inward understanding of camaraderie, as though each were not quite his or her own anymore. Indeed, the connection wound through them all, channeled through Feng and Maratharn and Aesr all the way to the Lord herself. Nothing more than a tickle in the back of the mind, but recognizable as foreign all the same. With it came what felt much like a surge of adrenaline, and the unwary would soon find that the same muscular efforts produced much more force now than they had before. An errant sweep of Shasarra’s wing knocked a nearby orc to the ground, and his feet actually left the ground as he pushed himself back upward, the look of surprise on both faces almost comical.

Gradually, a hum of voices overtook the room, and all but Feng and the recruits left it as silently as they had come. For his part, the captain watched his troops, something akin to pity crossing his face, though he doubted that any of them were paying enough attention to notice. Right now, they would be discovering that their physical strength had almost doubled, and it would be a difficult adjustment to make. He’d wait for it to sink in before he did his job and gave them the resources they needed to deal with it. Luckily, none of them would yet be able to breathe fire, else he really would have some work on his hands.

---

Talae Shanir approached the Paragon encampment, insofar as it could be called such a thing, feeling strangely out-of-place under the oppressive sun. Her detachment was not one of those known for their affinity for those places in which they could be seen, being more inclined to the dark and dank corners of the world. Still, even for them, travelling by night was not always an option.

It scarcely seemed like she’d bathed that morning anymore, what with the heat seeping into her skin. She glared up at the offending celestial body as though that would convince it to let up, but in the end simply snorted derisively. If she did that for too long, she’d end up as blind as-

“Fak’ir.” The word was intoned softly, but with an unmistakable air of command. The man in question, a curiously dark-skinned halfling with white-blond hair, straightened immediately despite the oppressive heat.

“Yes, Captain Shanir?” The lieutenant inquired sharply.

“Make our report to the general. The rest of you, be at ease. Rest for now, and try to stay out of the sun if at all possible. I’ll resupply and then go retrieve our orders.” There were precious few opportunities for her platoon to rest, experienced as they were at going those places an entire army could not. A palpable collective sigh of relief ran through the soldiers, and she smiled slightly to herself. They worked impossibly hard sometimes; it was no stretch to say that they deserved a break.

It seemed as though she were not the only ranking officer inclined to make a trip into town at this point; she spotted quite a few people she knew making much the same route. Glancing up at the sky she was unsurprised to see a large golem, far enough aloft to be mistaken for a bird by anyone without sufficient experience. That would be Lily, doubtless.

The dark elf’s eyes dropped earthwards and leveled out in front of her, mapping the most likely course to her destination. She’d prefer to make this quick, so as to arrive back in enough time to… a retreating figure caught her attention, and Talae immediately moved without really bothering to consider it, drawing up next to perhaps the most familiar face of them all. “Supply run, Koni?” she asked flatly, casually. Of course, that was far from the question she really wanted to ask, but that answer was something he had to decide to give. It ate at her, that she had no idea what happened to him when he fought, moreso now that she was no longer around to watch his back should the repercussions prove too much to handle at some point.

---

Neira sifted through the goods on the weapons cart with distaste, taking inventory as she went. As a rule, she disliked weapons made of wood and steel, and personally never used them. The same could not be said of all the members of her division, however, and she acknowledged that it was better to give them exactly what they needed to be as efficient as possible at killing things. To this end, she had developed a rather discerning eye, and was entrusted with the funds required to restock the Paragon from local smiths. They were short on maces, it seemed, and bows, mostly. Swords were always around, though they might need a few more of the two-handed kind… it was also useful that she was capable of carrying all these things at once.

Someone else was rummaging around, and she spared a sideways glance, only to see the orc that had completely ignored her three days before. She sneered without bothering to hide it, but decided it didn’t really matter and dropped the expression. “What are you looking for?” she asked, though her tone admittedly contained a bite that a neutral question would not have. “If it’s something too special, we probably don’t have it, but I am making a trip into town shortly, so if you have a request, I will hear it.” No other promises, of course. The nightmarian woman promptly went back to what she was doing, as she really didn’t care whether he answered or not, chitin-encased hands picking swords up by the blade without noticeable reaction, sorting them into more distinct piles by type. Few people bothered, but it made playing at quartermaster a bit easier.

---

For a few more minutes, Tao let the recruits get some sense of what was going on with their bodies. A few cracked bones in their overzealousness and lack of familiarity, and he recalled with a distant kind of fondness that much the same thing had happened upon his initiation. As if on cue, a single silenced appeared at his shoulder. He knew who she was without having to look, and spoke with his eyes still fixed ahead.

“Carmen, please see to the injured ones.” The youthful woman, one of the few true Clerics (and few true humans) in the ranks of the children, nodded and stepped forward, scanning the group and first picking out a man wearing armor who appeared to have broken one of his hands. Tao, not being the sort of person who could remember names most of the time, immediately labeled him Big-Shiny-Target, Shiny for short.

The effectively-mute Carmen approached Safir and gestured for him to relinquish his injured limb to her. As soon as he did so, she prayed. Now, the reason there were so few clerics left in the world was fairly obvious: the gods that they prayed to were long-dead. Nevertheless, whether it was because she had some command of holy magic on her own or for some other inscrutable reason, she was still able to do exactly what her father and grandfather had done before her. Safir’s more delicate bones rearranged themselves with only slight discomfort, set into place, and were good as new within seconds. She smiled at the knight (having been taught that such people were usually of a good kind), and moved on to the next. There would be many more before her day was over.

As soon as everyone was patched up, Tao spoke. “Not very nice, at first. That’s what the rest of today is for, though.” Glancing at Jivven, he nodded slightly. “Short-Snarky has anticipated how to handle it. If any of you know martial forms or katas, now is the time to use them. If you don’t, I’ll teach you some. Call Carmen if you accidentally wound yourselves.”

Speech quite thankfully over with, he proceeded to teach those that did not know a series of basic, smooth movements, designed to flow from one right to the other. Understandably, the pace was to be slow, since it was all an exercise in control. They really just had to get used to their own muscles again, and gain a consciousness of where they were in relation to other things. It wasn’t physically taxing, so he did not stop them from speaking to one another. Occasionally, someone got a bit too ambitious, and Carmen would again flit through the crowd, healing an injury and returning to her place a short distance behind him and to his left.




Hm. The orc complained of steel-melting fire. This much, she could understand; it melted arc-shell as well. Much as she liked to pride herself on the fact that her natural armor was as much weapon as defense, she was no better off than any other in this regard. Pausing for a moment in her motions, she glanced sideways at him. “Generally, nothing does. The easiest way to deal with a fire-breathing Child is to slit the throat before they can exhale. It backs up and immolates them.” She shrugged. “Otherwise, stay out of the way.”

She scanned the steel he was holding, and thought about it for a moment. There were precious few smiths willing to do work for the Paragon, and even fewer still who would do so on the move. “Take it to Mialee. If he can’t do anything about it, he might know someone else who can.” Turha was mostly an artificer of golems, but that required a wide knowledge of how to work materials, and there might be some kind of enchantment that could fix the thing.

His lingering inability to make a decision was vexing her, though, and she gave a small exasperated sigh. “If it is effectiveness you seek, versatility is important.” If he couldn’t figure out that she was suggesting he not carry two weapons of the same kind, that was his loss, and she wasn’t going to do anything about it.

A familiar voice broke into her mind before she could say anything else, and her red eyes flickered to the opposite side, her face cracking into a not-entirely-healthy smile when she caught the characteristic twang of a crossbow being fired. The arrow stopped in midair inches from her left eye, and she sent it flying back at the offending orc, still trying to look nonchalant so as to (presumably) escape notice as soon as she died. He’d have to try a little harder than that. Though Neira desired to lodge his own projectile into his throat, she embedded it within his shoulder instead, causing his grip on the crossbow to slacken.

“You. You can do earth magic, yes? How about stopping this one from going anywhere, hm?” Technically, she could have bound his limbs herself, but that would require constant upkeep, whereas a spell would be a simple matter of cast-and-leave. Though killing the fool was an attractive option, the chances were slim-to-none that there was only one traitorous moron in their midst. They were like cockroaches that way, but the talking ones could be painfully interrogated.

Check on the general. Technically, she couldn’t really order Xeron around, but this was about as close to a polite request as Neira ever got, and he was unlikely to refuse to do something that actually made sense when it mattered.

---

The tone of Kisikoni’s words immediately set Talae on edge. She had never known him to inflect anything for dramatic effect alone, which meant that whatever it was was of grave important. She listened quietly, without response until he’d concluded. Even then, it took her a moment to process everything, and she hadn’t realized she’d stopped walking until he was continuing ahead of her.

The revelation hadn’t been turning over in her mind for more than ten seconds before her sensitive ears picked up a sound that did not belong here, and she immediately dropped to the ground. “Kisikoni!” she shouted, but any further words would be useless as a warning. The bolt intended for her embedded itself in the wooden side of a nearby building, and she was back on her feet in seconds, drawing the sword from her back, eyes tracing the trajectory of the quarrel, only to see nothing.

Puzzled, she looked around, and determined that the moving cart had to be the target. Gritting her teeth, the dark elf woman bounded after it, launching herself into the bed of the cart and immediately shoving one of its occupants off with her foot, leaving two. One was too shocked to react quickly enough, and the business end of Abel was shoved into his throat for his trouble. The other was quicker on the uptake, though, and drew a one-handed sword. The close quarters meant that the advantage was his, for the smaller, more maneuverable weapon would work within the confines much better than her hand-and-a-half.

She’d never stepped down from a challenge, though, and she wasn’t about to start now.

---

Fak’ir, having been raised in an arid desert climate, was not particularly bothered by the heat that seemed to have everyone else moving sluggishly. So instead of attempting to sleep it off after his little check-in with the general and Captain Sid, he figured taking a walk couldn’t hurt.

Squinting and looking upwards, he gauged it to have just hit the middle of the day, not that the time was of any particular consequence. It was just one of many habits he’d picked up and retained over the years. Glancing back down, he passed a couple of villagers in what appeared to be the summer clothing of this region. Suspicion being another of those things he’d never bothered to lose, he wondered what they were doing so close to this section of the camp, anyway. This wasn’t where the Paragon conducted business- this was where the soldiers slept.

With a deft flick of his wrist, the halfling pulled and twisted the shadows immediately around himself, slipping into the shade of a tent and disappearing from view. For now, he would simply follow, and watch. If they moved on, he’d perhaps berate himself for being too cautious, but if they didn’t… they’d have a surprise on their hands, now wouldn’t they?

Jumping from shadow to shadow, quietly enough to be concealed from all but the most acute eye, he waited. They seemed to be moving further into the camp, but his immediate inclination to kill them was tempered by his Captain’s voice in his head, reminding him that taking life was often necessary but never ideal. When she’d decided such a thing, he had no idea, but he respected her enough to heed her advice.

When the two figures drew knives and sprang upon a single tent, though, he felt quite justified in blinding both of them with his command with darkness. They were making enough noise on their own to alert whomever was inside that tent, so he decided for the moment that remaining hidden was to the best advantage of both himself and whomever he was inadvertently assisting here.

Neira watched without the slightest hint of pity as the terramancer encased his foe in an earthen fist, following up with blows from his own, much fleshier ones. If he was in danger of killing the fool, she supposed she would intervene, as dead men told very few tales, at least to anyone but that Darenthi bastard.

A series of wet cracks and pops were all Torga received for his trouble as it seemed the brigand was not speaking. With a whispered sigh, she approached and placed an hand on the orc’s shoulder. “This is accomplishing nothing.” She squeezed a bit, and her facial expression, mostly neutral but quite serious, made clear the double-intention of the gesture. She was at present standing with her hand over a vital pressure point, which she could manipulate at her leisure, and he would stop his assault on the prisoner. “I recommend you save your vengeance for those against whom you need the edge, not the hapless souls already at your mercy.”

With a shrug, she released him as soon as he backed off and oversaw the transport of the fool, now thoroughly subdued, to where Xeron was working his psionics on a few more prisoners. Interesting; not an isolated incident, then. That made sense, as while quite confident in her skill, Neira was not terribly important in the grand scheme of this army, and targeting her alone would have been beyond stupid.

Xeron’s verdict surprised her somewhat, but she did not question it. If that was what he’d seen in their minds, then that’s all that was there. She knew well enough that he was skilled in his trade, and no such folk as these would be hiding anything from him. The fact that they had yet to capture the captain was somewhat disheartening, or it would have been if she considered herself to have a heart at all.

“Chances are, he’s around somewhere, though… I think there might be bigger problems to deal with.” She eyed the group of approaching civilians speculatively, then turned to the general. “Might want to use your words here, Captain. Unless you’d rather I talk to them?”

Dead gods knew that wouldn’t go over well.



Talae, thrown from the moving cart, landed rather less jarringly than she’d been expecting. Her vision swam for a bit, though she was acutely aware that the only injuries she’d actually suffered were blunt traumas, and she wasn’t bleeding anywhere. Still, she lingered on the cusp of consciousness, scarcely able to make out the swirling shapes of the black tattoos that moved as if alive across the fair skin of Beelzes’s face.

As soon as her breath was once again properly situated in her lungs, Talae squirmed out of the warlock’s grasp, feet alighting on the ground without difficulty. When she attempted to support her weight, however, she lurched forward, only able to compensate with years of training in balance and fluidity. She wasn’t doing herself much credit right now, but that was a matter to be ashamed of later, not now.

She cast her glance to the side, noting her unconscious opponent. “Thanks. That one… back to General Wrath,” she garbled, then shook her head slightly. “Koni. Where is he? I think he was shot. I need to tell him…” she’d forgotten what, exactly, but she’d remember soon enough. Right now, her priorities were to reassure herself that he was alive, then drag the prisoner back to camp. Then, maybe, she’d actually go get those supplies she needed.



Chaos had erupted inside the tent, and Fak’ir could only surmise that the blinded assassins were being roundly dealt with. He wasn’t exactly sure whose dwelling this was, but as soon as one of the former combatants was ejected from the premises covered in spider silk, he had a pretty good guess. Of all the targets… the fool should count himself lucky to be alive.

Not that this would necessarily remain the case for long. Relinquishing his cover of darkness, the sun-darkened halfling approached the confined man, who had taken up shouting while trying to free himself from his bonds. Unamused, the desert-dweller dealt him a measured blow to the temple with a knife-hilt, rolling his viridian eyes when silence at last reigned once again.

Were he a different kind of man, Fak’ir might have complained about doing janitorial duties for someone else, but as it was he was a soldier till his last breath, and so he saluted the tent (or rather the half-sane nightmarian inside it) and set about moving the gift-wrapped assailant to the center of camp without protest, figuring that Captain Yan’vega was unlikely to bother doing so herself. For someone of his diminutive stature, he was no pushover, and transport was more a matter of finding the leverage than the strength. Eventually, though, muttering a string of colorful oaths in a lilting language quite different from the common tongue, he was able to roll the unconscious man into a line of similarly-indisposed individuals awaiting mental examination by the weird dark elf man who had apparently defected from the Children.

He caught the nightmarian’s words and scowled. “Probably won’t make a difference,” he pointed out pragmatically. “You ever known the populace to listen to reason once they have it in their heads to lynch a body?” He spoke from bitter experience, but masked it with general gruffness.

---

Three days after their powers were bestowed upon them, the Aesr were deployed for the first time, transported to a location just outside what was once a thriving trade center in the Imperian, and an early conquest of Nihalistrix. Aesr herself, presently shaped much like a dark elven woman, had been at the forefront of this conquering army, and had expected the sight of the town to bring her much satisfaction.

As it was, she was screaming like a banshee and like to tear someone’s eyes out. They’d arrived at the periphery of the town before she’d known that anything was wrong, but when her suspicions had been confirmed, she’d been positively incensed.

There was nobody here. The entire town, still intact and standing, bore not one trace of mortal life, and it was as if they’d all spontaneously vanished. Doors to buildings hung open, swinging eerily on their hinges in the westbound breeze, and though her eyes darted back and forth over the landscape, Aesr could not pick out the reason for the desertion.

“What is the meaning of this?” she shrieked to nobody in particular. This was not how her first solo command was supposed to go. They were supposed to march in, crush the small Paragon resistance that resided here, reestablish their hold on this place, and leave again, blooded and ready for greater things. Glaring about at all of her soldiers, she grew increasingly frustrated when none was able to provide her with a satisfactory answer. Not even that idiot- wait. Where was her Captain? “Tao!” She grit her teeth when there was no immediate response, and rounded on Carmen. “Where is he?”

The Silenced’s ridiculously-blue eyes went wide, and she shook her head emphatically, holding both hands up and in front of her in an attempt to placate the angry dragon. Aesr realized that a trail of smoke was coiling from her nostrils and took a deep breath. Turning back around, she bumped right into the object of her search, who’d apparently heard her summons and appeared. Aesr’s hands curled into fists; she was surrounded by imbeciles. Her angry tirade was forestalled when the deep human pointed at something. Following the trajectory of his arm, she noted scorch marks on the ground not too far from where they were.

“The rest of the city is likewise marked,” he informed her, and he sounded so inappropriately chipper about that that she considered tearing one of his arms off. No, no, he’s more useful to me whole. They all are. It was a few moments before she realized exactly how humiliating this particular revelation was.

Her mouth worked for a few seconds with no resultant sound before it caught up with her brain. “Of course,” she said, covering her shame with arrogance. “Magical interference. Fine; we march further, then. We’ll find who was responsible for this, and punish them.” Her words were firm, but the Captain raised a speculative eyebrow. This was directly contradictory to her mother’s orders; they were supposed to avoid no man’s land. But, untested as her soldiers might be, Aesr was approaching desperation to prove herself, and beyond the tactical repercussions, she cared not how many she had to lose to do it.

Tao himself shrugged and motioned to the rest of the troops, setting out at the front of the group. Ordinary march pace, problematic only to those who weren’t used to it. Carmen fell back to mingle with the others, allowing her presence to soothe in the way it sometimes tended to. Besides, she was not much of a combatant: though holy magic did have destructive capabilities, she was not accustomed to using them, given the rarity of proper healers. She wound up beside the knight from the other day and the pretty purple moth-woman.

Shasarra marched a distance behind, being one of the only people comfortable walking within ten feet of Zulii, though she hadn’t tried making conversation since the second day of training, and that hadn’t gone too well. Instead, she spoke to Jivven. “Something tells me this wasn’t the original plan,” she drawled with a hint of sarcasm. That much was obvious from the fit Aesr had been throwing, but she wasn’t exactly sure what they were supposed to do now.

Jivven Noda'Razzr

"Yep. The first plan no doubt had us thrown headfirst into battle," Jivven answered Shasarra. His eyelids lazily closed half of his eye, and he was marching in rhythm to everyone else. He was aware of everything and everyone around him thanks to that swill he had drank three days past. It was a lot easier marching in step with the army when you all shared a connection, even if it was just a nag at the base of his skull. That feeling never went away, nor did the feeling of strength.

While he had been luckier than most in that he didn't break (many) bones, thanks in no small part the conditioning his vocation demanded, the sudden spike in ability and strength managed to throw him off balance. He had just recently managed to gain an acceptable amount of control back. In fact, the past three days, it would look like Jivven did nothing but dance, and at times even managed to garner a crowd. To the untrained eye, the dance would look elegant, agile, and light, but to Jivven it was ugly, off-balance, and random. It was more flopping of limbs than something a shadowdancer could call a "dance". Though now it was less flopping and more grace, but still. Jivven wasn't proud of it.

As such, they had transported out of the tower and to near this empty town. The fact that they transported out of the tower, but not to it irked him. He knew the reasoning probably dealt with testing the fortitude of the recruits or some inane reason. The triple timed march was still a sore memory. As such, he found himself marching a distance from the front line with Shasarra, considering the assassin's job description, it wasn't difficult to see the purpose of his location.

"And considering that I don't have a blade in my skull, I'd say something is amiss," Jivven finished, finally opening both eyes to their fullest, exposing his crimson eyes. "At least we're not up front, Lady Aesr seems... Frustrated. I'd rather not get eaten today," He said, having heard her earlier tirade. He did not want to be anywhere near an angry dragon, being one of her soldiers or not. That's just not good sense. Jivven's eyes surveyed their surroundings, like an animal checking it's perimeter to make sure it was safe. "It's quiet," Jivven noted to himself. While he liked the quiet personally, such silence usually meant no good in a place like a town.

From where he could see, the town was scarred with a number of scorch marks, which more than once he got to step over as they marched forward. "Wasn't the plan to take this city?" Jivven mused, "It seems to me that we have taken it, no? Mission accomplished? We won and the bad guys lost, let's go home?" Jivven chattered with a smirk. Nothing was ever that easy. He had a feeling that Aesr wouldn't give up until she had found something for them to kill. And to be honest, despite his keen survival instinct, Jivven wouldn't mind the opportunity. Jivven unloosened the top button on his robes, just in case.

---

Liliana Bloodleaf

"Yeah... Camp... Well. Now I'll have to find another one," Lily grimaced, staring at the broken bow in her hand, the broken end hanging by the bowstring, she shrugged and tossed the shattered weapon. Not like she had any use for it now aside from a flail. Even then, she'd hurt herself rather than anyone else. Leaning on the saber, Lily finally comprehended what Turha had said. "Ah, right. Toss them on back on the Mark II. He might not can fly with them, but he can walk. I'd rather not carry anyone," she said rubbing the sweat off of her brow. Now that she had stopped flying in the cool air, she felt the wrath of the intense heat, "Especially not her," She said, pointing at the shopkeeper.

Back at the town square, Lily faced the two elves they had brought with a hand on her hip and the tip of her saber digging in the ground. The three members of her own personal unit, Zyn, Landion, and Adel had an arrow nocked, yet not drawn and looked for any hostile movement from any of the prisoners. "Yet another broken bow, ma'am?" Adel had teased upon their return. Lily had frowned and murmured something about her Ashwood bow. The only thing that managed to break that bow was a Hatchling dragon. She missed that bow.

The "interrogation" process was... Gruesome to say the least. Having one's mind defiled and having secrets ripped away was probably not the most comfortable experience and more than once Lily had to avert her gaze, yet her eyes always returned. They had to know what they knew. Someone was trying to kill them... They needed to kill them first. A tenet she first learned in the forest among her Bloodleaf brothers and sisters. She never really took the lesson to heart until then. She rolled her neck, and just like that Xeron was done with his interrogation. "Mercenaries?" Of course mercenaries. Horrible ones, but mercenaries all the same.

And with that, there was a dull thump as an arrow lodged itself at the feet of an Orc. Torga, a relatively new recruit from what she remembered. She had heard the whispers of his violent response to one of the mercenaries. An overly violent and bloody response from what she heard and could tell from the Orc's body language. Almost like a certain berserker she had known. She'd have to find the time to talk to the orc at some point. "Easy Zyn. It was only a warning shot," She said, catching the dark elf's immediate response to swing his own bow around and aim at the archer.

Then she caught the sight of the citizens approaching them at all sides. Her unit had a tight grip on her bowstrings, ready for any evidence of hostility. "Easy," She repeated, "Don't do anything rash and listen to Wrath," She ordered

Free! Finally free! Zulii swooped and dived around the group for a good twenty minutes as they left the tower, exhilarated that she could finally stretch her aching wings without breaking anything else. She'd frustrated more than one healer after she tried to smash a stone pillar with her bare hands, then spending the remainder of that day breaking anything she could get her hands on, and more often than not, failing. The second and third days saw Zulii simply exercising like Tao had shown the group, so she could be in full control of her own limbs.

Finally, the witchdoctor landed and marched alongside the group, though more to the rear of the contingent than most. She could sense the others' distrust or suspicion of her, and for the first time in her short life, she wanted to be a part of the group. Something bigger than her urged for conformity, and she wasn't going to disobey. After all, her feral mind could barely handle speech, let alone thinking on the nature of a metaphysical connection to the group around her. No, she decided, her time was better spent smashing things and killing on command.

Speaking of command, the biggest presence making itself known to Zulii was that of their leader, one Aesr, and it was unnerving to the harpy to feel the hugeness of that mind. As the army approached their destination, the dragon's mind lashed out in anger and confusion, raising Zulii's hackles. She quickly dashed around the group in front of her, but kept her distance from the raging Aesr. It didn't look like she needed anyone killed, but that could change in a moment's notice. Something about the state of the city was causing her leader to be distressed, but for the life of her Zulii couldn't figure it out.

They set out again, past the city and onwards, with Aesr angrily leading the march and Tao at her side. Shrugging slightly to herself, Zulii fell back until she was even with the only other harpy that had tried to talk to her. Sharsa...Shisaara...Shasarra...Something like that. Zulii never really had to pay attention to names before. If anyone introduced themselves to her, and she didn't kill them, they soon found out that she wasn't the kind of person to talk to anyways.

"Urr..uhm...Shsra? Shasarra? I have forgetting. Know you what wrongness has happen? I am confusing why we no have attacked meat yet." As far as conversations went, it wasn't much, but it was more than many have heard from Zulii before, and if she was to turn over a new leaf, she might as well start in comfortable ground. She noticed a dark elf next to her, and gave him a hesitant nod, unsure of how the whole greeting thing worked still.

Neira moved silently alongside Xeron, both rendered invisible by his psionics. There was a magic-dampening field around this place, and the sounds of battle from downstairs indicated that some of their number were discovering this quite quickly. Psionics were only magic in the loosest sense, and besides that, the dark elf beside her was a bit better at it than your average fool.

Not that she would ever tell him so, of course. Indeed, even as they continued their search, they were volleying back and forth telepathically, with she as usual content to shred at his invincible ego in a futile, though valiant effort to humble him.

Since she wasn’t exactly sure what they were supposed to be looking for, and would much rather be fighting downstairs with the others, her remarks had a bit more bite than they usually did. He didn’t much seem to mind.

---

Talae cursed under her breath, a string of the vilest oaths she knew in her native tongue. When Sid and Koni had gone below, her instinct had been to follow them into that unknown (and probably highly dangerous) situation, but her orders were clear.

As it was, her indecision had enabled the escape of her prisoner (Salim, she was told, though she hadn’t really wanted to know), and now she had been forced to follow the bastard. His path had taken him through several winding corridors, and a few wrong turns had forced her to take the time to slay some undead along the way. She had far too much experience with exactly that, and though her breaths came with a bit less regularity than normal and her hand-and-a-half dripped with ichor and gore, she was unmaimed.

Her last turn had put her at a dead-end, though she noted that the window at the terminus of the hallway was open, which prompted another vicious string of expletives. Of all the damn stupid things to-

Gritting her teeth, she padded along the hallway, sheathing her blade across her back. Leaping onto the windowsill, she looked out and saw her suspicions confirmed. Salim, apparently trying to chew through his bindings, was precariously-balanced on a ledge of stonework about four inches wide, above several slavering ghouls. “Ast’va, you fool!” she yelled, shaking her head. Without hesitation, Talae was out the window, but her race was much more accustomed to this sort of situation than humans were, and her natural grip was such that she was in no danger of falling… herself.

“Stay there if you still want to be alive at the end of this,” she grumbled, picking her way over to his location with deliberateness. She could probably move a bit faster, but she really didn’t want to spook him into doing something else fatally-stupid, like jumping, for instance.

---

Pylarea, who’d been lost in thought, noted that she was being spoken to and turned to the tin-man who’d issued the words. The proclamation of new strength evoked a nod in the moth-woman. It had been a trying few days, and she still was no soldier in the conventional sense- she’d never had to be, until she left Ecclavaria- she was feeling more assured in her capabilities, at least a little.

The blonde woman, Carmen, was covering a smile with her hand, apparently genuinely pleased that they were all now able to move without breaking things. The moth was about to respond in words, but was cut off by a particularly enraged shriek from Aesr, which caused her to flinch a bit. “We might need that soon, I think,” she replied, blinking slowly. Pylarea liked to consider herself pretty intelligent, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that their leader wanted to smash something to bits. Which meant they’d all probably be following her into confrontation quite shortly.

Indeed, the entire group was soon on the march again, and the hours they spent covering ground (or, in her case, the air slightly above the ground) passed in relatively-pleasant conversation. Though Aesr would occasionally shoot a glare at anyone who dared to speak too loudly, Captain Tao apparently wasn’t bothered in the least by any of his soldiers socializing.

---

Once she’d concluded her jaunt into her native language, Shasarra smiled (somewhat nervously) at Zulii. The other woman actually reminded her of her older sister, who was also among the most traditional and fiercest of the harpies. Of course, Hatskar was dead now, slain in a battle against the Civil. It was the entire reason Shasarra had joined the draconian army in the first place.

Turning to Jivven, who she realized she’d forgotten to answer earlier, she shrugged diffidently. “Oh, yes, battle won. No losses, either. How glorious for all of us.” She scratched the shell of one slightly-pointed ear with a claw, a habit she had when she was considering something, then allowed one blond eyebrow to ascend her head. “But surely, the real glory is only there when your hands are bathed in the blood of your foes and the smell of it clings to your skin, no?” Her smile stretched over keenly-pointed canines. She may not dive into battle and feast on the fallen, but she was still of true harpy stock, after all.

---

The general chatter ended several miles from their destination, when Tao gestured for silence. Given that it was backed up by Aesr’s now-patented death glare, most complied immediately. Those that didn’t were quickly elbowed into submission by their compatriots, not desirous of a petulant dragon’s wrath upon them.

The second town they entered at first seemed like a replica of the first, empty save for the whistling air and dust. Ahead of them, though, the captain’s eyes narrowed, and he signaled something to Aesr, who nodded curtly, at which point he peeled off from the group and ran ahead while the dragon signaled a halt. Carmen, who had worked with both before, knew exactly what this meant, and placed her finger to her lips as an added plea for as much quiet as possible. When she lowered her hands, she clasped them together and closed her eyes, not even opening them again when the soft luminescence of holy magic started to seep from her skin.

Ten very tense and utterly quiet moments followed, during which a few dared not even breathe, and then Tao appeared once more, locking eyes with Aesr. The dragon’s voice over the mental connection that they all shared soon followed. “We’ve run into the Civil.” The last two words were almost spat, dripping with derision. “They’re sacrificing citizens to make more undead for Darenthi’s army. It is our task to stop them. Remember: undead can only be killed by beheading, fire, and holy magic. There will also be a necromancer in the area, and be careful of it.” Despite the note of warning in the words, she didn’t sound particularly concerned.

Carmen was a different story, though, and the cleric swallowed, at last releasing her hold on the spell that had begun to build. All of the members of the Aesr would then feel a boost in resilience, though the true potency of the spell would only be evident were they injured. There would still be pain, but a pain greatly reduced, so that they might fight more evenly with fell creatures that knew no agony at all.

As the procession started forward, she stopped Safir and Pylarea with a hand to each shoulder. Patting her hip with a hand, she stood as if holding a sword, then gestured to herself, indicating that she needed to examine their weapons for a moment. Pylarea handed hers over first, and Carmen smiled, praying over the thing for a few seconds, until it too, glowed with a radiant aura. If Safir would relinquish his, she did the same again, and both temporarily had divine magic with which to smite their undead foes. Such spells were difficult and draining, and probably not worth it in so small a quantity, but Carmen had been enjoying their company all morning, and wanted very much for them to survive.

Nodding, she gave them up to the battle, and then went about finding herself a strategic point from which to observe the battle and intervene as she was needed. If need-be, she could participate, but it was more strategically valuable to save her energy for healing the injured.

---

At the head of his company, Tao led the Aesr towards the center of the city. The dragon for whom they had been named had disappeared, but he had a vague sense of where she was, a privilege afforded to those of his rank.

Upon entering the town square, they were met with a grim sight: plainclothes villagers, tied into long chains of people, were being ritually executed by soldiers wearing the regalia of Nihil Darenthi’s Civil army. In most cases, it wasn’t long before the dozens of corpses rose again, taking up weapons as the undead. The necromancer himself was not immediately visible, but that meant nothing. He or she was present, and that was obvious.

At the moment, the element of surprise was on their side, but it wouldn’t be long until they were noticed. Tao gestured to those soldiers nearest himself and gestured for the others to divide in half and flank, cresting the rise that led to the square proper and laying into the first soldier he saw, the unnatural strength of the Children of fire ensuring that the elegant horizontal slice of his slightly-curved sword was enough to part the woman’s head from her shoulders smoothly as water.

After that, the alarm went up, and he surrendered himself to the battle.

Jivven Noda'Razzr

"Oh yeah, just switch tongues, leave me out of the conversation," Jivven said with hints of a smirk. He didn't really care, harpies were going to be harpies, and it'd be nice not to let the feral one drop into a blood rage and kill him too. Might as well try and build a repertoire with his allies right? He's a lot likely to survive engagements if his allies like him enough to help out. Or maybe that was their recent connection talking. It's not as though Jivven was introverted or unlikable, and could be quite friendly if his life wasn't on the line. Just because he was an Assassin didn't mean he had to be hateful and conniving all the time after all.

Jivven did manage to catch the last part of the conversation. A name really. Gurthenemon. "The reds? Would certainly explain the scorch marks," Jivven mused, hand rising and scratching his chin. This must have reminded Shasarra that Jivven was still there, as she answered him immediately after. "Ah, we've got a true warrior then. Blood, guts, and glory. I'll tell you the best sense of satisfaction. Slitting a target's throat without him or his friends knowing. Then leaving the premises none the wiser," A job, no doubt. Probably one done under Children before he was an official enlistee. Now those days were gone it seemed. Being thrown head first into the battle. Maybe the Harpy had a point, surely it'd be easy to fight if he was warrior. To bad he wasn't. The war had two sides, The living and the dead. He preferred to be on the living side. Being an assassin suited that desire.

That was the last Jivven spoke aloud to Shasarra. They were ordered to comply by Tao, and Jivven had to pop the bald head of a man next to him to get him to hush. The man looked at Jivven irritated, but the dark elf only held a finger to his lips, indicating to be quiet. Or shut the hell up, you're going to get us all killed... If that could be translated into a signal. The mental connection with the dragon rang loud and clear, making Jivven freeze. It was a new experience all together, to be spoke to in one's mind. He doubted he was going to get used to that. Undead? Well damn, he wasn't going to be decapitating foes anytime soon with his meager weaponry... Unless. He had forgotten about his increase in strength, so it was a possibility. Still though, he hoped that a poisoned blade into the brain stem would be enough. A lot more precise, a lot less messy.

He was one of the soldiers who broke off from the main force and flanked, naturally. When the attack was on fully, Jivven let the army surge past him. As the army surpassed him, nothing stood where Jivven once was, except for a discarded white cloak. Somewhere on the battlefield, there was a dark elf in a black hooded cloak. The first so succumb to the Shadowdancer was already engaged with another child, and finished off with a knife jerked through the entirety of it's neck. And just like that, the assassin was gone, blending into the battle and finding his next prey. And the next.

And the next.

---

Liliana Bloodleaf

"Damn, damn, damn, damn-"

"Less cursing, Adel, and more shooting. You act like this is the first time shit like this has happened to us."

"Maybe not for you ma'am, but I haven't been attacked by fucking zombies recently!"

"Noted, now keep firing!"

Each sentence were punctuated by a swish as an arrow was flung towards a ghoul, impaling itself in the dead flesh. "Remember, aim for the head!" Lily called to Adel at her back. "Reeally?!" was her sarcastic answer. Lily sighed before loosing another arrow. Why did She have to get stuck with Adel? Either Zyn or Landion would have taken this whole thing a lot better. A lot more shooting and trying to get out of this mess alive rather than complaining. A twang and resulting thud of a dead (deader?) ghoul falling down the stairs was her answer. Because Adel was the better archer.

How did she always manage to find herself in these situations. She and Adel were a strike team who managed to find themselves on the second floor in a creepy castle that was now crawling with ghouls... Magnificent. Both archers were covering an individual set of of stairs that led up to the second floor looking over the parlor. Obviously, they went up stairs for support while Sid and Koni were on the ground floor parlor. That went to hell as Koni found himself falling through the floor and Sid following close behind, while Talae darted after Mercenary.Ugh, Koni... The nerve of that man, always finding a way to make Lily worry. She'd have to make him pay for that when they got out.

While Lily and Adel were part of the team sent to the castle, Zyn and Landion were with the main body of the Paragon with Wrath, so they probably weren't going to rescue them anytime soon. The last battle was relatively simple. It made sense that karma bit them in the ass and made the next mission difficult. "What's the plan, Cap'n?" Adel asked. Lily ran the options through her head and shrugged, the movement felt on the back of Adel. "First? Find the others, if they're alive. Second? Survive," Lily stated grimly. "Perfect..." Adel answered. "Hey, you're a damn Sunwing. Act like it," She bit back. She could feel the woman sigh. "Ma'am."

Despite having choke points and their expertise in archery, they couldn't hold back the dead forever. They would run out of arrows sooner rather than later at this rate. "You still got that short sword? We may need to switch to close quarters eventually," Lily asked. "Of course. Only a fool would only carry a bow," She replied. Lily smirked and patted the saber at her side. "I'll get you taught yet," Lily murmured. She then looked over the railing and to the floor below. The ground was relatively clean of the ghouls, as most of them were trying to ascend the stairs to get the archers. Only a handful were downstairs feeding on fallen comrades who had accompanied Sid and Koni. "Can you make the drop?" Lily asked. As an elf, Lily had no worries about hurting herself in the fall, what with her race's hard bones and strong muscles. The human on the other hand... "If I tuck and roll..." She said, loosing another arrow.

"Good, this is how it's going to work. I'm going to hop the railing, land, shoot as many ghouls by the entrance as possible," To give breathing room for Thanaros and Mercy, but there weren't much time to explain that bit, "When you land, we'll break for the stairs down. We need to find Sid and Koni," It was risky, but they needed to find Koni and Sid alive. Trying to regroup with Mercy and Thanaros, if they were alive (Lily believed they were) would eat up precious moments Koni and Sid may not have. Knowing that Deep Human, he's already injured. Besides, they were the closest to aid them, and she would not see another friend fall today. Besides, she bet that Talae would appreciate it. She just hoped the dark elf roughed up the merc a little.

Lily let one last arrow fly catching the closest, who was spitting distance now, ghoul in the eye before hopping the railing in one fluid movement. Within what felt like seconds, Lily sent three arrows down range towards the entrance before the felt the air from Adel landing nearby. Adel rose with her short sword in hand, skewering one of those feeding ghouls before they could take a bit out of Lily. "Ma'am," was the only thing she said before both archer took off towards the stairs leading down. Neither were going to risk dropping down the hole in the floor and landing in a pack of ghouls. Hell, if Koni and Sid were smart, they'd try to be making their way up. They may as well meet in the guts of the castle.

As they ran, Lily had her saber in hand, decapitating any ghoul who was within range.

Jivven Noda'Razzr

Jivven had been causing merry havoc among the ranks of the undead Civil. Cannon fodder as far as he could tell. No real fight, no grit, no instinct. Just husks to be thrown into the heat of battle as an after thought. Great shock troops, terrible soldiers in general. They don't have the spark a living soldier would have. The instinct to fight for survival because, hey, they were already dead. What's the worst that could happen to them now? Die again? Pah. Though, the assassin had to admit, they were a lot more resilient than your average flesh and blood soldier. An extra effort was required to insure that his blade separated the spinal cord from the skull at the base of the neck, or precisely dig into the grey matter at the base of the brain. A facet only a true assassin could appreciate.

A lot of good the title assassin did in their foray though. Numerous times already, he had found himself engaged with a risen soldier. Their movements were sluggish though and Jivven's quick. Dodge that mace like air, flow around the sword like water, heel kick to the side of the knee bringing the damn zombie to his height, and decapitate with the shortsword while jabbing the dagger into another's throat, ripping and tearing. He always managed to get the advantage, no doubt thanks to the swill's increase to his strength and his training as a shadowdancer on the battlefield. Without that boost, he would have been dead by now, but the survivalist in the back of his skull managed to hide this fact from him. As it was, the dark elf was riding the ecstasy that was the battle. He never let his joy overpower his instincts though and managed to whittle it down to a mere grin every now and then.

Another attack. Sword thrust towards his heart. Use dagger to guide the sword away from trunk, press advantage and get inside the attackers reach. Jab dagger inside sword arm, removing immediate threat of retaliation and slide foot between attacker's legs. Hook leg with opponents, and push. When opponent's back meets ground, jam short sword into throat and twist. Threat neutralized. And without a sound, Jivven bounded into a nearby knot of allies and enemies, effectively vanishing. The adrenaline in battle made everything seem so slow. It was a rush, to say the least. The assassin in him reveled in the kill, in the moment, yet the survivalist was always there, pulling him back and making him seem rational. He could not lose control, else he would lose everything.

Jivven found himself near a couple of houses and hovels, escaping from another kill and getting a quick breather before he would dive back into the fray. Yet his plans was delayed as he heard a familiar harpy, and looked to see Shasarra plummet into a nearby house. "H-hey! Are you alright?" He called. He felt his heart jump a little, to see someone like the warrior harpy thrown out of the sky like that by, "What the hell is that?" Jivven asked himself as he looked up. A mass of.. Pests really. Surprisingly, Jivven found himself wishing for the harpy's safety. Strangely enough, he found himself rather fond of the harpy, despite them trying to kill each other only days ago. Perhaps it was good fight she had put up. Perhaps it was the fact that she was able to maim him. It wasn't often he was touched, much less be altered. Though his thoughts of the harpy was quickly dropped as he felt a... Presence.

Instincts had always saved him, and today was no different. Without waiting for whatever it was to make itself known and end the fight before it even began, the assassin's automatic response was to move, to dodge, and to get the hell out of the way. Jivven leaned and spun, followed by a series of quick leaps out of the way, and pulled his blades up in defense with trained hands. And what it was he dodged? To be honest, he hadn't the faintest idea. It was... Gross, disgusting. A warped being with razor sharp talons, and sickenling slender. Almost like a cruel caricature of what a dark elf should be. "What..." Was all that Jivven could sputter. That was when he noticed the four tears into the black cloak on his shoulder, and the inkling of blood from the grazed skin. "Fuck," Jivven added. He wasn't as smooth as he thought. If he survived, he needed to get that checked out. It'd be a shame for him to die of infection. And infected it would be, judging nasty appearance of the creature.

Jivven stood his ground, but kept loose. He would not strike blatantly. He wouldn't lose control to this.. Mockery.

---

Liliana Bloodleaf

"Hey I got an idea! Let's find Kisikoni and Sid in the motherfucking heart of zombie-fucking-castle!"

"If you keep complaining, I swear, I'll let them eat you."

"Too late! They've already got a head start! Fucking. Zombies!"

Adel's last sentence was punctuated by wet squelch of a blade cutting into flesh, the neck to be specific. Lily followed up with one of her own, digging deep into the spinal column of her own ghoul. Both archers had a film of sweat, grease, and blood. Small lacerations and flesh wounds crisscrossed both bodies, yet none were near deep enough to slow either warrior down, thanks to their quick reflexes (a perk of being an archer by trade). If they kept accumulating though... Things were not looking bright for the Sunwings. Down the hallways, a trail of gore and bodies (some still moving slightly, they didn't have the time to be thorough) traced a path where they had came from. A bread trail. A very bloody, and gory one, but one none the less. If they weren't beset on all sides, Lily would see this as humorous. As it stood, she couldn't find it funny. No time to laugh.

At least if they managed to find Koni and Sid, they'd be able to find their way back. Beezles was sure to enjoy this anecdote, if they survived. Finally, an opening in the onslaught of ghouls. "Let's go! Let's find Koni, and let's get the hell out!" She said. With no smarmy comeback, Adel nodded and dashed after Lily. Corridors and halls passed in a flash until she took a sharp turn into another and came face to face with what she was searching. The same object caused both Lily and Adel to freeze in fear however. Lily had just enough willpower to avert her gaze from Koni's frightening visage, yet she could still feel it's presence. She hated that feeling, though she couldn't deny it's usefulness in battle. Adel, was not faring as good, her mouth shut, eyes wide, and her heart racing in fear.

"Found you," Lily said, finally able to push the words out of her mouth. "How's Sid-" She asked, trying her best to look at Koni. Her eyes didn't drift to him however, but to Sid on his back. She looked in rough shape, and the sight brought her out of her fear. It still nagged her in the base of her skull, but the well being of their lieutenant came first. They needed to save Sid. She would not see her die now. Not after all they had been through. Lily backhanded Adel in the chest roughly to snap her out of her fear and barked, "Give me your arrows and get collect Sid. Me and Koni will clear your path." She ordered. Adel looked her hesitantly for a moment. Lily's eyes widened, nostrils flared, and she pointed, "Now. We need to help." She ordered. Adel gave a subdued nod and went to do as Lily asked, handing her what was left of her arrows.

Lily approached Koni from the side (careful not to look into his eyes), nodding her head. She replaced her bloody saber and nocked an arrow, "Shall we?" She asked, pulling her bowstring taut. She wasn't about to mention the irony that it was Sid who was hurt this time and not him. It wasn't the time for that.

She gazed at the tortured half-corpse without much visible expression, but that fact that she had fallen silent mid-sentence conveyed just as much as Xeron’s breathily-exhaled oath, and Neira closed her jaws with a faint click, nodding curtly and about-facing to stand in the doorframe, a tall if not massive shadow in the ebony leathers and cloth of the Paragon.

The conversation happening between the two minds behind her registered as a faint murmur in the back of her own mind, but because she was not consciously making psionic contact, the images and residual glimpses of memory made next to no sense to her. The mantra, though, she understood that, and subconsciously, she ground her teeth together, wishing right along with the poor soul he would just hurry up and end that miserable existence already. She could not call it a life, not really, for it was more mercy to die than experience it.

Her companion’s comment was curt, and even as she followed him back down the twisting hallways and staircases, her eyes narrowed to slits. “How, exactly, do you propose we do that?” There were scores of undead in this place, and she was not so stupid as to believe the Paragon’s force of a mere thirty had managed to chew through them yet.

Quite the opposite, likely: unless they were very lucky or very smart, it would soon be they who were spat out like so much rotten meat.

---

Talae, dead gods help her, actually growled at the man, a small frustrated noise at the back of her throat. He’d nearly cost himself his life, which would mean costing her her commission, and possibly her own life as well. It figured that she was both stuck guarding the hopelessly-lucky idiot and also that he was important.

Her jaw clenched as she jumped down from her spot on the wall and landed soundlessly beside him. “If you’re done making stupid jokes, we’re going back inside.” Her tone was flat, without much in the way of inflection, but it was a bluff and both of them likely knew it. She wasn’t precisely tall, but he was a good head higher than she was, which meant the fact that intimidating stares required eye contact rather counterproductive. In close quarters, he had her cold, as he’d demonstrated once already, but she was not one of the Paragon’s finest fencers for nothing, and the extra room here might make such a contest a bit more even.

Now, however, was neither the time nor the place to be having it, which meant she had to attempt something she hated almost as much as being beaten: negotiations.

“Look, I don’t know why the general insists that you live, and I’m going to be honest and say that I personally wouldn’t care if you dropped dead right now. But- you’ve seen what your employers like to do to the people they hire. Seems the logical thing to do might be to find new employment, and we just so happen to be hiring. Now, shall we move before more ghouls find us or do I have to knock you unconscious first?”

---

---

Dark saw the blood it had drawn from the little-fast-thing, and something that might once have been a smile spread across its face. Unfortunately, this only made it look all the more twisted and terrifying, its teeth, slightly pointed in the canines like all its underground ancestors, caked in some reddish-brown muck that flaked slightly, dry due to the lack of saliva and other such living-creature functions.

As the little-fast-thing drew back, Dark grinned more widely, grey-fleshed lips drawing back so far they split and tore. Dark didn’t mind, for Dark felt no pain any longer. No pain, no fear… all of it was gone beneath the fuzzy haze of pleasant fight-lust-hunger. It cracked its knuckles, the bones shifting unnaturally, and Dark blurred, moving quickly enough that most would not track the movement easily. His patterns were erratic, but quick-fast-thing seemed to anticipate, and Dark knew that they were much the same, and both knew not to show their backs to each other.

A wet, gurgling hiss bubbled up from its throat, and Dark continued to circle, much more closely this time. The Swarm was keeping away air-flying-pain-bringers, and the Brethren occupied the painful-light-weapons and the shining-quiet-woman. Right now, the contest between Dark and the little-fast-thing was a draw, and Dark searched its surprisingly-cunning mind for a solution.

The answer had just presented itself when Dark staggered forward, confused. Looking down, it noticed that a hand-axe had embedded itself in one leg, severing the tendons and crippling even Dark. With a bestial howl, Dark rounded on this new threat, a grounded-flying-thing with numerous small-bleeding-wounds, and forgot the cardinal rule of combat.

Never show the enemy your back.

---

White lights exploded behind Shasarra’s vision as she impacted the roof, tumbling sideways and eventually falling from that, too, hitting the ground with a sickening crunch. Carmen’s spell numbed the pain, but she knew without looking that her wing was bent at an awkward angle, and it still hurt so badly that she lost her breath for a good five seconds, unable to gather the strength to force air into her lungs.

She was riddled with small abrasions, many of them oozing blood, but that was scarcely of concern to her. Her left wing was broken, probably shattered, and she was confined to the ground, where she was both slower and weaker, graceless as any creature who did not know the sky. It at once shamed her and inflamed her proud rage, and as soon as she could move again, she pushed aside all thoughts of agony and lifted herself from the ground, talons scrabbling for purchase on the cobblestones of the square.

The first undead who sought to take advantage of her condition received a crushed skull for his trouble, courtesy of her enhanced strength and roundshield. He crumpled to the ground, the spike on the shield having gone right through his eye.

What she saw next evoked an automatic reaction: Jivven was being circled by another undead soldier, and the muscles in that one’s legs were tensed and coiled to spring. Without thought, Shasarra hurled her axe, spinning it end over end until it embedded itself firmly in the back of the creature’s knee, staggering it for a moment. Unceasing, she picked up a nearby fallen pike and readied it as the thing turned, but she knew well enough that this particular foe was good as dead already, and smirked over its shoulder at the dark elf she’d been trying to kill less than a week ago.

---

Their holy weapons making quick work of the undead before them, it wasn’t long before Safir and Pylarea would find that they were able to cut a swath into the center of the fray, at about the same time as Carmen reversed the putrefaction process placed upon Oraun. The stammering necromancer Quwall was saved from the retribution of the enraged elf by the timely intervention of her partner, Knossus. The unusually-massive deep human man lowered the spell when Oraun’s steel rebounded off of it, sending the elf sprawling.

“Get a hold of yourself!” he barked at Quwall, and she straightened up immediately, shamed by her superior officer. He glanced over at the red-robed woman, little more than a wisp compared to his own bulk, but then magic was the great equalizer in that sense. The human girl could well have more power in her little finger than most possessed in every fibre of sinew and musculature.

That in mind, he called up the last resort, choosing to play all of his cards at once. A fell light set his eyes aglow with crimson malevolence, and he chanted low, in a tone ominous as much for the corrupted words it spoke as for the intended mood.

At first, the earth simply shook, trembling from within, its echoing murmurs cascading outward. The tremors drew the attention of Vortigern and Tao, and both approached, the latter tilting his head sideways, though looking only at Carmen. The cleric, Knossus noticed, was still smiling serenely, and nodded gently, which the red-haired man with the robes trimmed in charcoal seemed to accept with equanimity.

Well, things would soon be different. Slowly, sundering the cobblestones and wrenching a great hole in the ground, a skeletal body rose from the ground, the empty sockets where its eyes should be emitting that same unholy red light. The beast, once a dragon of size equal to a greater hatchling, opened its fleshless maw, its roar silent and almost parodic. With bones harder than steel and an animation not of its own making, it would not fall easily.

“Privates Pylarea and Weylin,” Tao began, and the tall, savage-looking elf nodded in reply, “the female necromancer. The other is mine. Carmen, Privates Garethson and Oraun, this beast.” It was not his desire to leave three soldiers to take care of such a creature by themselves, but he was probably the only one with sufficient training to kill a necromancer on his own, and he had not missed the glow of Carmen’s magic emanating from the weapons belonging to Safir and the nightmarian moth. The cleric, he trusted unconditionally, and that was not something he could say for most people.

They would have to be enough for now.

Jivven circled in tune with the creature he may have once call kin. He would not be caught off guard by this thing. How would it look if he was surprised by an affront to his ancestors? Sure, the dark elf may have put survival ahead of honor and reason most of the time, but that... Thing was a different story. It'd be like spitting on his mother's feet if he allowed this thing to kill him. Heh, looked like the dark elf did have some sort of honor after all. A twisted kind, but hey, there it was. As it stood, everything else around him faded out, and the sounds of battle became just a dull hum in his head. There were only two, him, and the creature.

The assassin glared at the creature over his hands wielding his dagger and short sword, pulled up close to his chest in an preparation for anything the mockery should do. The thing was fast... Faster than he was. That seemed to be a theme recently, him being able to be outpaced by anything with legs (or talons, in the case of Shasarra). Still though, he clung to the belief he was more agile and graceful than them all. If the thing was to advance, he felt confidence in his abilities to dodge around the thing and counter attack. If he couldn't outrun his enemies, then he sure as hell wasn't going to be there when they struck.

As they circled each other, both approaching ever so slowly, a thought struck Jivven. They were doing much of the same thing. Looking for an opening, a weakness to strike at. The very idea made Jivven want to curse and attack the monstrosity. The fact that they were even slightly similar sickened Jivven. Yet he kept himself in check. Rushing now would give the thing the advantage. However much he hated it, he circled along with the creature, waiting for an opening.

When the thing seemed to make out to attack him, Jivven braced himself and awaited the attack and readied the inevitable counter-attack. Instead of commiting though, he turned and let out a howl. For whatever reason he did it for, it provided Jivven the advantage he needed. He had managed to forget the cardinal rule in a fight. He turned away from his opponent. You can bet Jivven would take this chance. Without waiting for anymore response from the creature, Jivven darted. His stride was long, graceful, and light, and in mere moments was soundlessly at the back of the creature. With little fanfare or warning, the assassin's short sword shot forward in an attempt to skewer the creature through spine, cutting it in half like butter. In the same motion, the dagger whipped up to the creature's neck and waited to sink it's teeth into the vulnerable flesh of the neck. The forward moment of the short sword through the spine would force the creatures neck into the dagger.

However, Jivven refused to believe this would be the end of the affront. With the aclarity he used to appear, Jivven wondered if the same could be used to disappear. Like the survivalist he was, he wouldn't believe the creature was dead until it lay bled out at his feet. Over the creatures shoulder, Jivven caught sight of Shasarra smirking. Later, he would put two and two together and realized why the creature had turned around, and would have to thank the harpy. He wasn't above using these underhanded tactics after all. As it stood, as he plunged the short sword forward, he gave a curt nod at the Harpy.

---

For once during the entire castle excursion, Adel was quiet. Though, Lily was quite unnerved as well. When Koni charged ahead slaughtering everything that managed to get in his way, some of the pressure his fear had brought on alleviated. In fact, being in such close proximity with Koni in this state had set Lily's hands to shaking. She tried her best to hide it away from Adel, though the girl herself was trying to get over her own fear of Koni. She took it a lot harder than Lily did. An aside glance proved the girl's eyes still wide in fear and her breathing ragged. The motion of Lily's head though brought their eyes together. Lily put on a shaky smile- the first one she managed that night- and said, "At least he's on our side, yeah?" No verbal response, just a sharp dip of the head.

"Follow," Lily managed to eek out before following (well behind) Koni's swath of destruction. Her bowstring was kept taut in case something sought to intercept them, but Koni was so thorough, they didn't meet much resistance. She only had to plant an arrow into the odd skull of a Ghoul Koni didn't completely eviscerate. Thankfully, this didn't require the trained steady hands of the Huntress, as she still was affected by Koni's fear.

Before long, they made it to the group of Mercy, 'Ros, Jack, and Torga- When did he get here? Whenever he did, Lily was happy to get another hand in the fight. "Get behind them. Protect Sid at all costs," She said, slowing down and turning sending an arrow downrange into some poor ghoul's eyesocket. Before she had time to pull another arrow, She was face to face with another ghoul. There was... Hesitation though. It didn't seem focused on her, but at something behind her. Lily took this time to grab an arrow, and instead of nocking it, looked to jam it in the ghoul's skull barehanded. There was no impact however, as the arrow passed through a grimy dust where the ghoul stood. "The hell?" She asked. Instead of relishing the moment of quiet, the roof groaned in defiance. That's when Jack said something about the roof.

"You've got to be kidding me... Dead gods blast it all!" She said, irritated. She looked back. Neira had arrived and at some point had abducted the Sunwing's second, with Sid in tow, and was already grabbing Koni as well. Lily looked at Adel before they departed, "You get a free trip out. Keep Sid and Koni safe, and tell the others I'll be there soon." Before Adel had time to open her big mouth, she was zipped out of the hall. She looked to the others, "Now that we don't have to drag anyone- Let's get the hell out, yeah? Torga. Behind you," She said, giving a soft glance to the orc. That man reminded her of Caine, jumping headfirst into a situation like this. She liked him.

Back at the camp, Sid was lifted off of Adel's back and was taken to the medics along with Kisikoni. She looked at her savior, a miss Captain Neira. She nodded her appreciation and said, "Thanks for that. I owe you one," and began walking in the direction of the medics. Lily did say look after Sid and Koni, and she wasn't about to disregard her captain's wishes. "And if you see either Lyn or Landion, tell them to meet me where the medics are stationed. And to bring an extra quiver," She said taking her leave.

Bastard was hiding something from her, and she had no doubts about that. The only problem was, she wasn’t exactly invited to the party wherein he’d be likely to deliver that piece of information, whatever it was, and so she was presently trying to find something else to do.

It was easier if she convinced herself that she didn’t care, but that took considerably more effort these days than it used to. Nevertheless, Xeron and Wrath and that snotty dragon wench could keep their secrets if they wished to; Neira was going to give them some berth until she became convinced that she wasn’t going to be tempted to assault on sight. Impulse control had never been her strong suit, mostly because in her early years, that sort of thing had been done for her, and after that, maintaining functioning relationships with comrades hadn’t really been necessary.

Scanning the back of a particular cart, she ran her chitinous hands over several of the glass bottles in quick succession, producing a series of audible clinks. Tilting her head to one side, she spent a single moment later in contemplation and then grabbed two, tucking them away in a small sack of her personal items. The march began in a matter of minutes, and she intended to find a certain spider before then.

As it was, she managed to catch up to Mercy no more than a half-hour in. Holding one of the bottles out by the neck, she offered it to her fellow nightmarian with a sly grin. “Ecclavarain vintage, almost a good century ago. It’d burn a human’s hair off, but I thought you might like it.” Neira shrugged nonchalantly, as if to indicate that it didn’t matter much if she didn’t.

---

Talae’s eyes were unfocused, most uncharacteristically off somewhere in the middle distance. She was fairly certain that Salim had been attempting to make conversation, but she frankly didn’t care. This, she had been told, was the face she wore most often when her sister was on her mind, but presently Fae was about as far from the dark elf’s thoughts as she ever got these days.

The object of her worry was someone else entirely, but then it would be foolish not to concern oneself when one’s closest comrade was possessed by something that frequently injured him. Subconsciously, she grit her teeth together. She’d have to tell him she didn’t like it. Of course, it wasn’t her choice to make, and she respected that a good deal more than most people would. But if he valued her opinion like she valued his, he’d want to know.

Attuned ears picked up on the General’s approach, and she was mildly surprised to find that he indeed seemed to be seeking her out. Though she had no more against him than she did the average person, he had never seemed keen on her line of work, which wasn’t exactly uncommon. Perhaps it was for this reason that it took her a moment to respond to his words.

“The irritating one is mildly correct; all tools have a use. All the same, I can see why you might not wish to utilize my particular sort. Do not concern yourself with it.” A pause, and something that sounded suspiciously like her sister’s voice reprimanded her in the back of her mind. “But thank you, even so.”

She sent a curious look in Salim’s direction, rather nonplussed by his interjection, but ignored him, sinking back into her thoughts and entirely unaware of the exchange between the general and the mercenary.

---

---

This was getting ridiculous. Knossus, before he’d apprenticed himself to a Civil necromancer, had been one of the best brawlers in his village, but this entire exchange was proving to be the most frustrating thing he’d ever endured. Not because of the condition of his body: while he was bleeding unceasingly from a broken nose and nursing several swelling bruises elsewhere, he had endured far worse before. No, the reason he was so increasingly enraged was because of the mental war that his opponent was waging on him and clearly winning. The smaller man before him had yet to lose an exchange, had no visible injuries and what was more refused to attack except exactly as far as was necessary to fend him off.

It was more than he could handle, used to winning as he was. It was time to break the rules, then. Quickly forming a plan, Knossus lunged forward, feinting a kick with one foot before abruptly shifting his weight and using the other. Tao, as expected, knocked it to the side with the judicious placement of a forearm, moving back and the shifting in to strike at Knossus’s chest with an elbow, which positioned his hand in such a way as to aim at the man’s already-injured face.

Rather than trying to avoid or block the fist, Knossus took a moment to summon the necrotic magics to his hands, ready to use their proximity to rot away the little fool’s body from the inside out. Just as he was reaching for Tao’s abdomen, though, he was brought up short by a fierce sensation of tearing flesh. Looking down, he saw the other man’s sword, somehow unsheathed in the time it took him to summon the spell, had found a new home in his belly.

Glancing back up, he saw the redheaded Child regarding him with something akin to infantile curiosity. “You, too… always too slow…”

Knossus didn’t have the vitality left to respond, instead collapsing to the ground in a crumpled heap.

---

At around the same time, Dark fell at Jivven’s hand, half-living body no longer able to respond to his commands. He was saved from the questionable dignity of being raised as an undead by Shasarra’s axe, which cleaved his head wholly from his body. The injured harpy glanced up at Jivven, gesturing to the enemies still about them.

“I’m not going to be much help with these wings, friend. But you might make a difference yet.” They were probably the nicest words she’d yet used on him, and she had to admit to herself that even if he was a groundwalking little slip-fish, he was rather good at it.

---

Easkr lumbered forward with surprising speed towards the cleric, ready to rip into her with his skeletal jaws, but was frustrated by the shield she had erected against him. He knew, though, that it could not stand forever, and while the dragon thundered away against it with single-minded determination, he felt something prick the back of his consciousness.

It sounded like a gastly wail, though a minor annoyance more than anything, and he might have dismissed it, had he in his distraction not missed the approach of two elven men, both armed with dual weapons apiece.

Oraun smashed bodily into the dragon’s ribcage, hacking away ferociously, though without much efficacy, at the massive curved bones that had once protected Easkr’s heart. Even as the dragon turned from the cleric, now pinned under one massive forepaw and struggling to breathe, he felt a weight bear down on his neck, forcing his jaw and face closer to the ground. Vortigern’s momentum was such that he’d recovered well enough from his toss at the grace of Pylarea, caught on to what the others were doing, and directed himself as well as he could to fall atop the dragon, landing in a crouch at about the middle of the series of vertebrae that made up its neck.

He was not so heavy that the pin would last forever, though, and fortunately, Safir made it just in time, the sword still imbued with holy light puncturing Easkr’s glowing eye-socket with what sounded suspiciously like a crack as it cleaved the bone beneath. The knight’s blow, not the fastest or the most graceful, did what speed and grace would not have been able: from the bottom of the eye socket and down through the cheekbones, Easkr’s skull was cracked and shattered, part of it crumbling away to the ground.

Without his necromancer to lend him the necessary force, it was enough to do the undead dragon in, and he went rigid, unable to move, even as the unlife left his stark-white body and dissipated under the force of the purification. The skeleton gave a great shudder, then crumbled into nothing more than the pile of bones it had once been under the ground.

Carmen, more than a little enfeebled from her exertions, struggled to free herself from underneath the still-heavy claws of the dragon, at last managing to wriggle free with a fair amount of creative contortion. Standing on shaking legs, she gave her rescuers a weak smile and set about examining the Children immediately closest to her. Most were all right and would not require immediate attention, but a few did need a bit of patching up. The magic of her earlier enchantments faded as she drew the light back into herself in order to heal where needed. Pain would slowly return to her comrades, and enchanted weapons would lose their extra properties, but if they took but a moment to look about them, they would know that such things were no longer necessary.

A few stragglers remained, but were quickly being finished off. The undead had fallen, and the Children of Fire were victorious, for the moment.

Tao stood, directing those of his troops that were still sufficiently able to draw the bodies, friends and foe alike, into a great pile for a funeral pyre. For those in the service of the dragons, burning was the only fit way to be sent off, and it had the added bonus of preventing the reanimation of corpses, something that they were all more wary of now that their greatest foe was capable of raising armies of the once-living for his own purposes.

Aesr reappeared at some point in this process and informed everyone that they would be setting camp in this village for the night, and that they were permitted to take any salvageable supplies they could find from the surviving buildings. She then ordered Tao to set up a watch and vanished again, presumably to sulk.

This wasn’t supposed to have happened.

Jivven stood over the twisted creature, arms crossed, as Shasarra kindly removed his skull from his body. He watched the head roll with mild amusement and intended to gloat over the dead thing. Though gloating would waste too much time, Jivven opted for something just as humiliating. "Hey buddy... Don't lose your head," He said grinning. Sure, it was a horrible joke, but no less than the horrible creature deserved. It had hurt what little honor and pride Jivven had even being vaguely similar to the creature. Luckily, the battlefield was saved from more horrid jokes as Shasarra gestured. Seemed like there were still some others that needed to die. Fair enough, he could easily comply.

"You gave me enough hell on the ground for me to know you're not completely helpless, Shar," He said, flashing her the hand with the missing appendage. "Besides, If all else fails, you could always throw me at them," He said, chuckling. He then shifted the blade in his left hand to his right, and reached in his cloak, withdrawing a set of three throwing knives and threw them into the knot of enemies. The blades were coating in a deadly toxin, made from milking the spiders of his homeland, so that even if the knife itself wasn't a killing blow, the venom would seal the fate.

He then grabbed his displaced blade, and went on, rather strangely, on the defensive. While he still merely danced around the attacks the undead fools attempted on him, he never ventured far from Shasarra. In fact, it could have been said he danced around her, though it wasn't obvious but to those who were specifically watching the pair. Even so, Jivven managed to show off his interpersonal workplace skills as he opened up many of the assailants' defenses for the injured harpy to take a strike at, allowing her to earn her honor if she so wished. One could guess that the Assassin worked just as good in pairs as he did solo.

Before long, they had found themselves being attacked less and less often, until they were victorious. Once victory was assured, his blades vanished from his hand and into the folds of his black cloak. He had found his Children's white robes before he committed to drag bodies to the funeral pyre. Though he wasn't doing as much work as the others (He was an assassin, not a gravedigger!) they managed to gather most of them. Jivven even spared a moment to gawk at the once alive (undead? Un-alive?) undead dragon skeleton. He was equal parts hurt and glad that he didn't participate in that scuffle. However, he would make a note to shake the hands of those who slayed the undead beast (Except perhaps Oraun).

Then, word got to him that they were to camp there, and they were able to loot what remained of the houses. Instead of looting like a graverobber, Jivven opted to try and find a house that he could occupy. He didn't like the idea of resting on the blood soaked ground within wafting distance of the funeral pyre.

---

Liliana Bloodleaf

It was nothing for the light elf to vault out of the nearest window and drop to the soft earth below. A dagger flashed in her hand and dug deep into the aging mortar of the wall behind, slowing her descent enough so as to not break both legs. She hit the ground with a thud and was off in a blink, trying to escape the collapsing castle. As she ran, Lily gave a high pitch whistle and awaited for her command to be heard. Once far enough away from the castle to be out of the immediate danger of getting her pretty little head dashed by a stray rock, she allowed herself to look around for comrades. While most had made it out relatively unscathed, Torga gripped a poor soldier and said something to him, before collapsing. She approached the orc and scanned the skies, finally the Mark II making it's way towards her.

"You look exhausted," Lily said, trying to hide her own fatigue. As she spoke, the Mark II touched down next to her. Lily then pointed to the soldier who Torga had been speaking to. "Here, help me get him on the back," She said, grabbing one of the truck like arms of the orc and with their combined strength managed to situate Torga on the back of the Mark II without jostling him too much. She nodded her appreciating at the bewildered soldier and jumped on the Mark II herself. Weighed down like that, it would be able to take flight... But it was still a hell of a lot better than walking.

Lily rushed back to the camp, and the medical tent in particular, disregarding the other soldiers. She had to get Torga to the medical tent as well. Once she arrived, Zyn and Landion stood above a sitting Adel (who was already bandaged), who stood at the approach of her captain. "What happened to him?" she asked. Lily sighed and shook her head, "Not now, Adel. Later. Just help me get him inside," She said. The Sunwings then helped Lily drag Torga off of the Mark II, into the tent, and to an unoccupied bed. Having done what she needed to, Lily took a heavy seat in an empty chair, finally allowing the fatigue to overwhelm her.

"Need anything ma'am?" Landion asked. Lily responded by taking off her quiver and shortbow, handing it to the dark elf, "Just need to rest, put that someplace safe, yeah. You do too Adel. Go find a bed and relax, I'll stay here for a bit and see how everyone's doing. Zyn and Landy can flip a coin for the next mission, how's that sound?" She asked. "Great, Lily. I guess I'm out," Adel said, taking her quick leave, followed by the rest of the Sunwings. The elf didn't even feel the tendrils of the elven dreamless trance take hold until she woke up.

And she was awakened by the sound of a familiar halfling cursing at a familar warlock. She couldn't help but smile through her closed eyes. "Easy Bee," She said, "We worked hard to save her. Would hate for you to choke her now." Truth be told, she was just happy that Sid had managed to survive. She wondered about Koni and Torga though, but what Beezles said next made her open her eyes. Looks like checking on them would have to wait. "We're moving out? Argh, couldWrath let us rest for a little bit?" She said, rising from the chair that had been her bed. Looking down, she found all of her wounds had been bound and bandaged, and there was one she could just see on her cheek. Huh, how deep of a trance was she in?

Either way, she made for the exit of the tent, but before leaving- "I've got errands to run before we head out. Look after the Lieutenant for me, Beezles. Oh, and Sid? Good to see that you're alive," She said bluntly and left.

---

Mid-morning

The "errand" Lily had to do was to collect Turha and obtain a horse drawn cart by persuading the quarter master. However, instead of having horses draw the cart, she instead substituted the Mark II. With a little help from Turha, they had managed to convert the cart to allow the larger golem to carry it with ease. Like hell she was going to walk anymore. She was going to get her rest one way or another. She then allowed Turha to take his leave and do what he could to ease the burden of the Legion with his golems while Lily gathered the Sunwings and assigned orders.

Once on the road, Turha and Lily leaned against the side of the interior of the cart as the Mark II pulled it in front of the golems Turha had bid to carry equipment. Zyn, who had won the coin toss over Landion, sat in the drivers seat, but turned around to the interior of the cart to better speak to the riders better. The Mark II could guide itself among the procession either way. Adel had volunteered Landion and herself to scout ahead and report back to Wrath and the mages smoothing out the road. Aside from the trio, a number of other soldiers had also hitched a ride with the archers and artificer.

"Hey, Lil, have I mentioned how awesome Marky is lately?" Zyn said, to the unanimous agreement of the other soldiers in the cart. "When can I get one?" he asked in jest. Joking or not, this drew an angry glare from Turha. Lily placed a hand on the artificer's knee and smiled, saving Zyn from the tongue lashing.

"Just enjoy the ride Zyn, else I'll have you pull the cart with Marky."

Jivven cursed and kicked the door, finishing it off for good in a shower of splinters. This was the third damn house along the main road that was ruined far beyond being used as a decent enough shelter. The entire second floor was missing, as in it was now part of the ground floor, the roof was nonexistent, and the walls had so many hole he could swear that if a strong wind came through, he would hear it whistle. He gave up and threw his hands up in the air and left the entrance, cursing all the while under his breath. There had to be a decent house in this place, they all couldn't be destroyed, could they?

He sighed, cursing about it wasn't going to magically rebuild it. He'd just have to keep trying, as before, they all couldn't be destroyed. On his journey to find the one house that wasn't more firewood than house, he pondered on things. He wondered if Shasarra was okay. She'd probably be with the medics, getting her wings looked at. Heh, would have thought he'd actually come to like the harpy. Sure, she was a bit stuffy but she more than proved her worth. He'd just have to conveniently forget that he was one finger short because of her. Besides, it never hurt to have a friend in the skies.

The forth house wasn't completely destroyed, but had already been claimed by some of the other Children. It was too crowded for the dark elf's tastes and decided to look elsewhere. But it did prove that there were still intact houses around. He gave the men and women in the house a wave and went on. His next thought was about the creature he had fought today. The darkling fellow. Could Jivven actually end up like that creature if he died? The thought sent shivers down his spine. If he died, he'd have to make sure that he goes out with a bang. Don't want to end up like that poor sod.

As he approached the next house, his trained dark elven ears heard a strange sound. It sounded like someones ragged breathing. The dagger flew from somewhere in his robes and to his hand in mere moments. Breathing like that reminded him of the zombies they just fought. Perhaps there were stragglers they didn't catch. The houses would make a perfect hide out for the foul creatures.

Jivven silently pressed against the outside of the house and slowly made his way to the door, a throwing knife appearing in his left hand. He had the element of surprise, the bastards would never see him coming. He didn't even need to take off his robes for this. He counted steadily down from three, and on one suddenly appeared in front of the door. However, instead of zombies, he was greeted by comrades. Injured comrades. The blades in his hands disappeared as he ran to the nearest injured man, the human Safir. He was admist a pile of splintered wood and his breathing was the ragged sound he had mistaken for a ghoul.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Jivven cursed in rapid succession, "What happened?" He asked, oblivious to the fact that the human may not be able to answer him. Jivven's eyes were wide and he felt worried for his comrade. "Uh- I'll go get help! Yeah I'll- Dammit! What happened to you?!" He asked, skirting across the room to Pylarea. He quickly tried to assess the damage, but he was no medic. As far as he could tell he could tell, she was bruised and missing part of her antennae. But they both were still alive. "I'll go get help! Don't move or- Fuck!" He said, running out of the house and yelling for a medic.

He happened upon Carmen during his mad sprint, and remembered she was some sort of cleric, mage or something like that. A medic in essence. He went to grab her hand to drag her to Pylarea and Safir while speaking in fragmented sentences, "Come on! Safir, Pylarea! Hurt! House! Over there! Fuck!"

---

Liliana Bloodleaf

"Guess." Lily replied poking her head through the tent flaps with a coy smile. The elf's voice easily identified her despite the dim light in the tent. Lily could see just fine in the low light though, thanks to her elven eyes. Something about evolving to hunt in the dim light of the forests? "Try to be a little bit more polite though, else I'll have to stop visiting," She said jokingly. Lily always seemed to be more comfortable around Turha than anyone else in the Paragon, and though not the bright paragon of innocence she once was, he was the only one who saw the closest thing to it.

"You're not busy, are you?" She asked. Despite his answer, she stepped into the tent, allowing the flap to slide back behind her. She looked... Different. She wasn't wearing her patched live leathers, or even the rough travel-stained clothing she wore into battle. Surprisingly, she actually was wearing a simple but elegant white dress that flowed all the way down to her bare feet. The dress fit her just right in all the right spots and was spotless. Dead gods only knew where she found something like that. Her head was no longer obscured by her hood , and actually looked combed for once. As combed as her golden wavy locks could be anyway. Her bow and quiver were left in her own tent. She actually looked like a woman now, instead of some rag-tag soldier.

The airy girl blushed as she caught Turha's eyes, then she smiled. "The Sunwings actually bought this for me at the last town," She said, spinning allowing Turha to get a full view of the dress. That explained the mystery as to where the dress came from. She must have had it stowed away in a pack somewhere during the traveling. "I tried to yell at them for it, but I just couldn't. They said I deserved something nice for once," She said. Despite how much she tried to play it off, it was obvious to everyone she cared about those three. "May I?" She asked, pointing at the bed. Turha nodded, letting Lily take a seat beside him.

"How are they?" Turha asked about the Sunwings. Lily sighed and looked shrugged. "Fine. They're out on patrol now. Adel said something about actually getting one of the reds to give her a ride. Zyn and Landion each took a ground patrol. I'm proud of them. Even despite Adel's huge mouth," She said, adding to the hyperbole with hand motions, "Between her and Zyn, it's like trying to herd cats," she added, laughing. Her laughter was infectious and had Turha chuckling as well. As the laughter died down Lily still smiled. "Still though. We're family, and I love them like family," She said sighing.

"You know... I never really felt like I had a family before," She said, her smile finally leaving her face. She leaned against Turha for support as she spoke "Back before the Paragon, before the Blackguard. Back with my clan, the Bloodleaf, I never felt like I truly belonged. I was cheerful- optimistic- while everyone else was serious. Survival, that was what mattered back then. Not happiness. Happiness and optimism blinded you to what the world was really like," She said, laying her head on Turha's lap. "Still though, I clung to it. Perhaps I didn't really want to know what the world was like. How we had to fight every day just to stay alive. I heard stories about how the clan fended off the Children, and the Primah before that. But they we're just stories back then."

She sighed, but continued talking. This had been a burden on her shoulders for a long time now, and this talk was a long time coming. "I don't know if my clan was the ones who left me, or I was the one who left. When I got separated from them in the Ashwoods, I don't know if they looked for me or if I just ran and never looked back. I just don't know any more," She said, taking one of Turha's hands and holding it against her chest. "I don't hold a grudge against them anymore. They had to do what they thought they needed to do to survive, as did I. I don't know if it was the right choice or not, but I do know if I didn't leave I wouldn't have found the Paragon," She said, looking up at Turha with a smile. Her eyes blue eyes once again were bright- even in the dim light of the tent. "I wouldn't have met Wrath, or Kisikoni, or Sid, or Faera, Caine, Talae, Alistair, and everybody else in the Paragon. You all mean so much to me and are more of a family to me than anyone in the Bloodleaf ever was, and I would gladly follow you all anywhere."

Then she reached up and cupped Turha's face with a soft hand, "Especially you, Turha Mialee. You mean the most to me," She said, pulling him in for a long kiss.

With that, what little light in the tent was extinguished.

A soft grunt escaped the dragonfly as she was engulfed in spiderly affection, if you could call it that. She considered a (comparatively) good-natured crack about addictions, but in the end declined.

“Hm… don’t say things like that. I’ve been known to actually take people up on debts,” Neira replied dryly, working the cork from her own bottle with a single pointed digit. She didn’t drink nearly as quickly as Mercy, though, mostly sipping on the brew sporadically throughout the day. Not that it mattered; the stuff was so potent that she spent the majority of the afternoon pleasantly buzzed. Made marching considerably more tolerable. Once, she would have been able to waste away her days in this manner if she so wished, for people of her stature were not required to assist in manual labor. It was amusing, in a bitter sort of way: she’d always wanted to be a soldier, but that had never been allowed. Now she was, and she was almost nostalgic for the old days when slaughtering things wasn’t a daily reality.

Wait… what? She looked down at the bottle in her hand and shook her head, causing the world to tilt slightly. That was a passing fancy of incredibly stupid proportions. She wasn’t good at anything else, so why bother to long for days when she had to pretend to have a head for diplomacy and the graceful arts of conversation?

“Do you ever miss it? The Hive?” she asked suddenly, though her words were enunciated clearly still. After that slip, though, she clamped her mouth shut and said nothing for the rest of the trip, though she would admit to being interested in the answer.

---

“Hm. Pretty,” Her voice was a drawl, laced with something approaching disdain. “But does it have a use?” Neira hopped down over the ledge and into the crater Wrath currently occupied, able to avoid falling off-balance by sheer dent of practice and muscle memory. The body remembers what even the mind forgets, an old man had once told her.

She glanced again at the stone, but whatever fascination it held for him wasn’t hers. She blinked slowly, and a silence stretched over the space, until she broke it again, handing the general the remnants of the liquor, still a good quarter-full. “If you’ve ever had a mind to learn about the other half of your culture, I’m in a foul enough mood to talk about it. You can start with this. Keep it to a couple swallows, though, because I don’t know how inoculated you’d be against it.” The fact that she could still use the word ‘inoculated’ was perhaps overridden by the fact that she was offering to talk about Nightmarians.

Truthfully, she didn’t know if he was even interested, but what the hell? It wasn’t like she had anything better to do at the moment. Maybe she’d just talk at him for a while, and see how long he’d listen before he up and left.

She’d always been called insufferable, after all; might as well make an effort to live up to expectations every once in a while.

---

Fak’ir and Talae entered the tent together, though they were there for quite different reasons. The halfling with the desert complexion was running supplies for the healers, being without an active assignment at the moment. His captain was there on a more personal matter, but of course he wasn’t about to ask her about it. Captain Shanir was known for two things: her swordplay and her reticence. As far as he could tell, she spoke easily with about three people, and of those, one was dead and one was off marshaling a force of harpies to aid the Paragon. The third was presently unconscious in this tent, as he’d told her when she asked.

The shadowmage passed the cot where that earth-rending orc had been earlier in the day, only to find it empty. Shame; he’d been interested in bringing up elemental theory with a fellow practitioner. Maybe he’d catch him later.

He saluted Sid when he walked by, which should have been awkward with his hands full of blankets and apothecary’s supplies, but wasn’t because of his balance and training. Being taught to move fluidly through and with dark spaces had the occasional fringe benefit. “Captain,” he offered, and nodded to Beelzes not too far away. Unlike his superior officer, the Lieutenant was rather social for a wetboy. He didn’t see the correlation between killing for a living and ignoring the living.

The supplies were dropped carefully onto a table slightly further back, and he fastidiously checked the labels on everything before he let them be. It wouldn’t do to mistake wort for nightshade, or vice-versa. Especially vice-versa.

He caught a brief glimpse of the captain at her old partner’s bedside, but if he registered anything more than this barest of details, he would never mention it.

---

Due to what was quickly being recognized as a ‘special condition,’ Kisikoni was somewhat removed from the rest of the patients. No need to provoke suspicion among the other soldiers if he accidentally sprouted extra limbs during a particularly bad dream or something. To Talae’s knowledge, this had never occurred, but she supposed it was worth being paranoid about.

She’d hoped to find him awake, but it seemed that he’d been out for most of the afternoon. The attendant nurse was sparing with the details, and she didn’t seek after them. There was a stool by his bedside, though, and she took it, perching on the edge like she might at any moment have to flee or fight.

“I’m leaving,” she said aloud, then halted, a bit surprised at herself. Nevertheless, she saw no harm in it, so she kept speaking. “I’d wait until later to tell you as much, but that time is a luxury I don’t have. Solo mission this time though, so… well, I should be back shortly at any rate.” And you’d better not be in this state when I get back.

“About the other thing… I understand why you didn’t say anything. I’m… glad you did, though, eventually. I’d match a secret with a secret, but the point would be moot right now, so… later.” If you die, I won’t forgive either of us.

Sighing softly, Talae rose slowly, slipping her fingers across Koni’s palm and squeezing briefly, touching the knuckles of his hand to her forehead. It was an old gesture of familiarity, one used often among the people of her village to bestow luck. “Fortune be with you, partner. We shall need it.”

---

---

Carmen gently touched the tawny feathers and flesh that comprised Shasarra’s wings, barely grazing the surface. Even so, the harpy hissed and cursed low in her native tongue, causing the healer to send her an apologetic look. For some time now, Camen had been in the peculiar Zen-like haze that characterized one of her healing trances. Her teacher had called them a special gift from the gods themselves, but of course the gods had been dead by the time Carmen was born.

Godsent or not, it allowed her to stave off the weaknesses and frailties of her own body long enough to complete her tasks. The soft, aureate glow of her holy magic seeped into the harpy’s bones, rearranging the shattered fragments like a series of puzzle pieces, and slowly, so slowly, knitting them together. The flesh followed, but Carmen knew not how to reattach feathers, so a few of those would have to regrow on their own. It shouldn’t interfere with flight, though, so she wasn’t too worried about it.

Shasarra flexed the limbs with surprising ease, and shot a glance at the blond woman. To all appearance, the healer did not belong in an army: she carried no weapons, had little musculature, and though her stature was relatively tall, it was not sturdy. Her hands were without callus, her hair and clothing free of battle-debris, which frankly perturbed the harpy, so used to being neck-deep in the gore of her foes. Nevertheless, she grudgingly acknowledged her respect for the cleric with a nod, taking off to stretch her sore muscles.

Carmen was just thinking about how nice it would be to sit down with a cup of tea, and perhaps play a signing-game with the Captain, when she was approached by a panicked-looking dark elf she recognized as Jivven. Unlike her superior officer, she was very good with names, even if she never got to say them. As soon as the words ‘Safir’ and ‘Pylarea’ were out of his mouth, she was running as close after him as she could, scarcely needing to be pulled along.

They came upon a standing structure of about two stories in height, and she was ushered in the front door without any further ado. The scene that met her eyes confused her, but she did not bother to hesitate. By now, she was completely exhausted from the exertions of the day, but she would not give that more than a passing consideration. Pylarea seemed to be bleeding from the head, but she was still conscious. Safir looked to have been tossed like a rag doll, and his neck was displaying a very worrisome injury, so it was to him that she went first.

His breath was shallow, and a closer examination of the wound revealed a pattern that she had never seen left by a physical weapon, blunt or sharp. This caused her brows to furrow, but right now the important thing was not what had happened, but how to fix it. Breathing deeply, Carmen closed her eyes and laid the pads of her fingers over his windpipe. Normally, contact was not essential, but because the wound was as much internal as external, it would be easier this way. Her own magic circulated around her lungs and heart, an unusual center for something that was usually found in either the head or the belly. Drawing it out in threads, she willed it to repair the damage, but it was slow going. A solid five minutes later, Safir’s throat was once again fully functional.

Attempting to stand, Carmen staggered, catching herself on Jivven’s shoulder, and tried to smile reassuringly at a rather traumatized-looking Pylarea. Motioning for the Nightmarian to lower her head, Carmen placed an index and middle finger on each temple. This was more delicate work, because she was working with anatomy around the brain, though it was far enough away from the vital functions that she felt comfortable healing it in this state.

The wound was jagged, and Carmen had to resist the urge to shiver. It looked like it had been torn off, not merely sliced. Stopping the bleeding was simple enough, but she didn’t know if the psychological implications would be as easy to cope with. That wasn’t really her area of expertise.

Cutting off the flow of magic, Carmen lowered her hands with that same mysterious smile and managed to conduct herself to an unused corner of the room, where she promptly curled up on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest and falling asleep.

Pylarea

Safir, Pylarea’s chosen company for the moment, was still choosing not to speak with the moth, and it seemed he did not even acknowledge her presence for all the Nightmarian could tell. Have I upset him in some fashion? Maybe I should not have bothered him after all. What could I do to cheer him up? Maybe nothing… The woman always fretted over such things, being raised as a noble, even if a minor one at that, forced a person to carefully examine every action and reaction to judge what it reflected upon the other’s inner-most thoughts and feelings concerning the environment around them. This was indoctrinated all the much more so in the female Nightmarians. By the looks of things it would just be best to wait for the human to open up in his own time, he was probably as exhausted as she was from the previous battle.

The time passed slowly as the two sat in their quiet little building, Safir feasting on his salvaged meal and Pylarea merely watching him and observing the building around her. Their solitude was interrupted though by the sounds of footsteps approaching. It is probably no more than just another Child coming to seek shelter for the night. I wonder if they will be more willing to converse than Safir. The man, or at least he looked like a man, approached them somewhat tentatively, but not strangely enough like he knew exactly what and who to suspect to find in the larder, and greeted them apologetically. Strange, I do not remember seeing him around before. Where was he while we fought the Civil?

He started to speak of smelling something, but quickly drifted off in mid-sentence when his eyes began to wander around Pylarea’s direction, it was probably the food located behind her. After regaining his composure he glanced at the moth again, which did not really register, it was not the first nor would it be the last time someone had taken notice of her looks, but what soon followed far from what Pylarea would have suspected. Some unknown force struck Safir and hurled the man across the room like a child would a rag-doll when throwing a tantrum. “By the Hive Mother, Did you just hit him with telekinesis?”

What… Before Pylarea could even finish her thought a force, what probably was the same one which had hit Safir, made contact with her skull. Her Arc Shell had proven much more capable of negating the blow than the human’s body, but it could not manage against the next three blows which slammed into her within a quick succession of the first. A darkness began descending over the girl’s eyes, enveloping her consciousness and awareness. The only thing that kept her from passing out completely was the fear which gripped her very soul. It was bone-chilling, something she had not felt since she was a child in Ecclavaria, this was a feeling the Nightmarian was very familiar with, and somehow she knew what was happening.

Hive…Mother? As the thought crossed her mind another blow cracked her skull yet again, forcing her to lose whatever ideas began connecting and the little grip she had left on staying awake. Even the fear could not keep her aware now as darkness enveloped her. The next four blows across her stomach and thighs barely even registered with her psyche, they seemed like illusions sent from some horrid nightmare would from long ago. This would soon change though. A blinding pain like none other seared through the Nightmarian, starting from her left antenna and coursing through her entire body like waves of fire. This brought her back to a semi-conscious state of being.

It seemed like an eternity passed before anyone else came. She could not keep track of the time from when the assailant left and whoever it was who found them started screaming. Who was that man? No, he cannot be a man….Hive Mother? How….why? It would take time before the woman could connect all the dots, right now all she could understand the pain, washing over her in waves of agony. Was it days before the others came? No, it could not have possibly been that long. Hours then? That still seems too unlikely. How could such a small span of time seem like an unending cycle? She lost count of the number of times her body throbbed with agony or shivered with an uncontrollable fear.

When it did start to dissipate though the moth could feel a warm presence near her, and whoever it could be was a kind and generous soul, but she could feel how tired they were. Pylarea did not know if she could maintain to same level of strength this person…no this woman was managing. It must be… It had to be the cleric Carmen. The presence seemed too familiar, caring, and exhausted to be anyone but Carmen. The Nightmarian finally regained some level of awareness of the situation around her, the screaming one form earlier must have been Jivven, and it was so strange to think of him doing something like that. Safir seemed to be alive at least, which was a miracle in and of itself, but Carmen was huddled up and sleeping on the floor like a newborn would.

The wounded moth crawled over slowly and lay next to the sleeping cleric, thankful that there were still kind people left in the world. It was always and miracle to find someone so kind in this time of hatred and evil. What could a weakling like herself do at a time like this? Things were no different than when she lived in Ecclavaria, a prisoner to her own brood. Tears began flowing as a powerfully as a river swollen with flood waters, but she refused to make a sound. Something had to change. She refused to be helpless anymore.

--

---

"Nonsense, Nonsense!" Mercy bubbled, lightly punching the conservative dragonfly. "Call me up on that favor any time!" She shared the pleasure of the Vintage with Neira silently afterward. The stuff was far more potent than she recalled, but her extremely high tolerance to alcohol she built up over the years allowed her to down three-quarters of the bottle before the buzz started to set in. Once it did, it didn't take long for her to reach the boiling point. The rigid pace she set for herself never faltered, Mercy was quite used to drinking herself into a stupor while on the move. The concentration it took, however, killed some of the pleasantness of the vintage. However, she wasn't too far gone to ignore the company Neira provided her. Though she remained quiet for most of the journey, it was by no means awkward as Mercy constantly supplied a stream of inane rambling.

When Neira finally interjected with a question, Mercy had opened her mouth to reply, but surprisingly, had no answer. Scratching her head lazily, Mercy's face tilted toward the sky as she pondered about how to answer. Humming in unfocused thought, she took a swig of the near-empty bottle. "I'd say I think about it, but I don't miss it." She began, "This life and my past life are separate." Blushing slightly at the coherent poetry, she continued. "All my friends back there are probably dead now; A century is far too long to be gone when you live in the moment." Sighing, she took another long draught of liquid. "Even under these circumstances, I'm quite sure I can never return anyways."

The sun had set once more, but vision still came poorly to the drunken Nightmarian. Her voluminous red eyes winked erratically, and she let out a loud exclamation of relief when they finally stopped for the night. With the empty bottle swinging haphazardly from her hands, she stumbled over to the crater where she slumped over the edge, looking down at Neira and Wrath. "Hmm. Hmm." She hummed contentedly, observing their exchange with more interest in Neira's attempt at small talk than anything else. She had no real plans to conceal herself, She was far too inebriated to even try to do so. Just as well, She was far too exhausted to bother moving toward her tent, which she had very clumsily set up. In the end, one of her men had to help her, and though he said it was no trouble, the Nightmarian thought she sensed an irritable air from him.

---

Still reveling over the triumph earlier, He did not notice Pylarea come in. It was only when she offered to take the bed nearest that he raised his head, and gestured for her to do so. There was no need to be selfish, even such a small bed was enough for the big Knight. Setting down the food, he gestured for Pylarea to help herself while he quietly thought about what would happen next. However, Pylarea seemed a bit more talkactive than she was before all this. He wanted to answer, but her questions, unlike his own, were complex. The civil, as he knew it were not evil in the past. However, this begs the question "What truly is evil?" That was something Safir didn't know. Perhaps he spent too long formulating an answer, as Pylarea lost interest when Gatan entered. The human pugilist seemed like he wanted to crash or otherwise. However, before he could react, the man had gone for the food he had scrounged up.

Suddenly, a foreign impact sent Safir flying into the shelf nearest to him, and he was suddenly in a world of pain. The last thing he could hear before everything collapsed into a blur of pain and ragged breathing was Gatan. Did Pylarea do that? Why would she? Even as Safir's eyes squeezed shut and his face wrinkled to express his distress, he could not help but feel so betrayed. The rest of whatever happened next was lost to the Knight, as he struggled to merely continue breathing and trying not to die from suffocation.

As time passed, eventually he heard a voice break through the buzz of pain, an unfamiliar voice. Not too long afterward, he felt relief from an unknown comrade, and when he finally could breathe comfortably once more he opened his eyes. The dark elf, Jivven was present, as was Carmen. Massaging his throat, he felt that all was in order. As expected of the healer to perform her role so well. However, looking around he saw Pylarea. Before his rage could swell up, he noticed something off. She was on the ground, and one of her mandibles were missing. The way Carmen and Jivven fretted about her immediately stopped Safir from punching her in the face. He directed his ire toward Gatan instead, who had disappeared. He was about to say something about it, but his logical nature spoke to him. Why would Gatan attack so suddenly? It was more than likely he had created an alibi. He noted that Carmen had finished her duties, and decided to sleep in the corner.

"We all are equal, my ass." He grunted, picking her up and tossing her lightly onto the bed he claimed. Soon after he strode toward Jivven. "Thanks for calling for help." He said, raising his fist and lightly tapping him in the shoulder. As grateful as the Knight was, his visage was alive with anger and thoughts of revenge. However, going up to Gatan and slicing his head off would prove to be a bad idea. He would have to wait. His eyes finally turned toward the pitiful-looking Pylarea.

Safir could not possibly know what was going on in her head, but by the dead gods did she seem broken. He knelt down in front of her, trying to catch her gaze- but it proved to be an impossible venture. "It was my fault. I let my guard down around that bastard." He said after a minute. "Later, I request that you tell me what happened.. I could not see after the bout of telepathy. This won't happen again." He rose. Safir was far too angry and restless to sleep now. "I'm going out for a bit." A walk would do him better than lying awake and allowing his hateful thoughts to get the better of him.

"Well, I couldn't quite let you choke to death, now could I? What if I need a meat shield later on down the line?" Jivven asked Safir in jest. A bit too late as then he realized the livid stare the knight held. Jivven hoped Safir wouldn't take offense and pop his head like a bloody bubble. Truth be told, after the joining under Nihalistrix and becoming one of many of her Children, Jivven found himself rather attached to the members of Aesr's squad. What with them fighting and surviving their first battle against the Civil undead and seemed to further that bond. Of course, he'd rather die than let them know that explicitly and he didn't feel quite like dying anytime soon.

Then the knight spoke to the moth Pylarea and stated he was going for a walk. In a low voice, Jivven warned, "Don't do anything reckless." True Jivven had no idea what had transpired nor how the pair ended up in such a condition. It did serve as a reminder though, to never let his guard down, even near friends. Though he felt a connection with the unit, it didn't mean he had to trust them fully. "Anyway, if you're going out, I suppose I'll stay in here and keep an eye on our Cleric and Moth," he said as if he was doing Safir a favor. As Safir stormed out of the house Jivven strode to the darkest corner of the house and sat, shedding his white robes for the black cloak underneath. He was almost invisible in the low light if not for his white hair screaming, 'here I am'.

Before long, the Moth left the house as well. Jivven opted to not say anything to her, as she had the look of a woman on a mission. Besides, he wasn't her babysitter, she could do whatever she wanted. He just wacthed as she strode out of the house, and like that it, it was quite once more except for the rhythmic breathing of Carmen. So peaceful, so serene, so... Pure. It was almost precious. Still, it was at this point Jivven began to slip into sleep himself. Later, Jivven's light slumber was broken by a sound of an approaching entity. His hand tightened around a throwing knife as his assassin conditioning dictated, but was proved unnecessary. It was only the returning Pylarea. That was good, she seemed to not gotten herself killed. Jivven couldn't help but grin when Pylarae chose to sleep in the bed with Carmen. Feeling a tad bit awkward, he grabbed his white robes and walked over to the window.

"Sweet dreams," he muttered as he took a step out of the window and grabbed onto the lip of the roof- easily pulling himself up to the roof. He made his way to the middle of the roof and sat crossed-legged, watching over the interior of the camp from his perch. His natural balance and control ensured he wouldn't fall off anytime soon. So he closed his eyes and listened to the inner workings of the camp until he drifted off to sleep himself.

---

Liliana Bloodleaf

"I believe in the compelling power of love. I do not understand it. I believe it to be the most fragrant blossom of all this thorny existence."
~Theodore Dreiser

Kisikoni wasn't too sure when he became aware of it, but when he did, he was aware of a very heavy cloud in his head. It numbed all coherent thoughts, and deadened his limbs. The fogginess persisted, attempting to relax him back to nothingness, but Kisikoni had the desire to know where he was. Incidentally, he finally found out how to open his eyes with that thought. Lifting his heavy eyelids slowly, his sight slowly adjusted to the new environment. He lethargically became aware of the fact that he was in the medical tent. After some extremely sluggish deductive reasoning, he came to the conclusion that he was drugged. He must have been in a lot of pain. Nobody was around, he was secluded. Confused as why he would wake up in the middle of a drug session, he was even more perplexed at why he felt like he couldn't fall asleep again. With half-lidded eyes, he let his head lie back after having it move around to ascertain his location. Perhaps this was a good time to reflect.

It felt like an eternity since he became a part of the ostracized legion and cooperated with the Reds. It felt like multiple eternities since his quiet life in the tunnels. The darkness, the dampness, and the lack of space seemed almost hostile to him now, after spending so much time above ground. If Kisikoni had figured out how to work the muscles in his jaw, he would have sighed. His thoughts eventually drifted to more mundane things, such as life, death, friends, and foes. He had almost forgotten the snide voice in his head, but eventually it wormed it's way through the fog in his mind. It began talking in a mocking tone, but in his half-conscious state, he couldn't comprehend anything it was saying. Instead, he began chuckling foolishly at the buzzing in his ear, and the voice fell silent. The laughing continued well after the voice stopped talking to him, but eventually his thoughts allowed him to focus on his situation, and what he actually was. At the moment, he was half-inclined not to care. There was so much death and sadness that he almost wanted it to overtake him, and leave him completely and blissfully ignorant to everything. On the other hand, he met so many unforgettable characters. It was a mental back-and-forth that happened almost every time Kisikoni was alone now, and what tipped the balance in the favor of staying in control was one thing. His one anchor.

His expressionless gaze sparked slightly, but he continued to lie in his bed, unable to move.

---

Before long, Mercy was utterly bored of the exchange. She was quite amused when she saw Wrath readily accept the liquor, seemingly for the first time, but when Neira started rattling off about things she already knew, Mercy realized that nothing that would keep her interest would come up. The rock that both Wrath and Neira were examining was interesting, to be honest, but in what way would a simple meteorite help or hurt them? It was a bloody clump of minerals. She was, to some degree, aware of another presence. One that wasn't of the drunken three hanging out in a bloody crater. She turned and took note of a robed person, who almost immediately thereafter wiped himself from view.

"That doesn't work on me, hon." She sang in soft tone, turning her gaze back toward Wrath. Struggling to focus in her drunken stupor, she could have sworn she saw Wrath's pocket shift slightly and a soft glow emanating from the pocket suddenly vanish. Blinking erratically, she decided to question the General later, if she could even remember. Either way, it was very surprising that whoever-it-was hadn't noticed her rather promiscuous form. Maybe it was her ark shell. She always did take care to dull the pieces so it blended perfectly with the darkness.

There wasn't much to do here anymore, so she decided to turn her voluminous red eyes away and stumble back toward camp. Passing along the rows of mostly dark canvases, she heard some rather revealing noises every now and then. Mercy allowed herself a silly grin, regretting the fact that she had no clue which tent was which and therefore could not tease them later on. Staggering along, she finally reached what was believed to be her tent. Peeping inside, she saw her pack of belongings, and sighed in relief. Settling herself right down, she tried to drink from her bottle before she realized it was empty. Pouting, she chose to go to sleep instead.

---

The night air was refreshing as Safir stomped his way around the outskirts of the camp, taking unconscious care not to disturb anybody in their sleep. To be honest, the thought of revenge at this stage wasn't considered in total seriousness. His sword, unbuckled and prepped to be maintained was left back on his bed, and the straps on his armor were loosened to allow some comfort and easier breathing. He was fuming quite badly over the events despite the cool air and calming atmosphere, so much so that he wondered if he could beat the Nightmarian in a fistfight now and teach him a lesson. However, in a straight beat-down, Gatan surely had the advantage.

After making a lap around the city, an impressive feat with an entire suit of armor and a fatigued body, he made back for the building. If he wasn't so tired, he would have noticed Jivven, dozing lightly on the roof of the building. An amusing sight indeed, though unnoticed by everyone nearest to him. Entering the building, he noted the irregularly large form on his bed. Carmen wasn't that fat. Apparently, Pylarea had decided to snuggle up with the healer, and now retrieving his sword was just that much harded. Slipping it carefully out from under Pylarea and Carmen, he unsheathed it and inspected it. Safir took the sword and exited the building once more, where he re-sharpened the blade with deft strokes of the grindstone he carried around. While he did have his blade enchanted, slashing dragon bones was still a pretty dumb idea. When he was finally satisfied, he sheathed the blade and walked into the room. He undid most of his armor, and placed it on another bed. How funny it would have been if he decided to flop down with Carmen and Pylarea. How short his lifespan would be when they woke up and saw him like that.

Throwing himself there on the unoccupied bed, he drifted off into an uneasy slumber.

Bound and gagged though she was, Neira was imprisoned voluntarily, and bore it with all the dignity of a queen, albeit a particularly angry one. Currently, she stood unmoving in the middle of her cell, posture more flawless than it ever was on an ordinary day, and the look conveyed through her narrowed eyes was nothing short of perfect disdain. It was making her cell guards incredibly uncomfortable, but she did not care. Did they not understand that her greatest weapon was still available to her? That if she wished, she could be free of these chains, free of all of them, with a mere thought?

As it was, she had closed off her mind, too, sealed it tightly against the intervention of anyone. Xeron could try all he wanted, but she wasn’t stupid. You didn’t work for so long beside such a powerful psion without accounting for the possibility that you might one day be on a different side from him again.

When Wrath had collapsed, she had known it wasn’t the alcohol. Despite her jabs to the contrary, there simply wasn’t enough there to kill anyone, much less someone with a half-dose of Nightmarian blood. Hell, she could have given the stuff to Sid and the worst that would have happened was a vomiting captain who then passed out for a few hours and woke up with the mother of all hangovers. No, something else was going on here.

Of course, she hadn’t helped her case when the dragons had landed. True to form, instead of trying to explain the circumstances, she’d drawn herself up to her full height and stared Iridinias down. “What, afraid your most important little pawn won’t be so useful to you anymore?” Come on, you scaly bitch, I dare you. Just try something. The thought had not been projected, though she had been sorely tempted. She did not take kindly to being treated like some yellow-blooded coward, the kind who would use poison and insidious treachery to take down an opponent. Her pride was far too great for that. Even when she herself had played the Game, her methods had always been direct, her intentions known. It was perhaps a miracle that she had survived where her opponents had not.

They had been much rougher than necessary when chaining her, but she had let them without dignifying the measure with a fight. It was a token restraint upon a creature who could teleport, anyway. Now, the bindings pulled uncomfortably at her limbs, and she was bleeding in a few places, but if there was one thing she understood, it was how to put mind over matter, and right now, the only things she felt were the indignant rage slithering over her skin- burning cold, not heated like her usual demeanor would have suggested- and the calmer, frostier-still knowledge that she would endure whatever farcical trial they put her through, because she had too much pride to run away anymore. She had run from Ecclavaria, she would not run from this. The blood, then, could seep ichor-blue from her wounds and pool at her feet on the floor with the eerie sound of regular drips, her muscles could protest her rigid vigil, but she would not stoop to acknowledge these things. She had endured much worse.

She was also quite certain that one day, she was going to kill that scarlet-scaled bitch. A contemplation over the methods for this was her meditative mantra, and the unholy fever-light it brought to her otherwise icy external demeanor was causing anyone who looked at her quite the measure of discomfort. She was using it to push back her actual concern over what had happened to the general and who had engineered it, because there was nothing she could do about that right now.

So for once, Neira would call upon the person she used to be, the dignified, regal Queenspawn buried under years of hatred and crass affectation and mercenary work, and though she wouldn’t like it, they would enjoy it much, much less.

The only murderer in the history of Ecclevaria would watch, and wait.

---

With Talae still away on a mission, Lieutenant Fak’ir Kethyrian was left in charge of the special operations unit of the Paragon. They’d been ordered to muster up and face battle with the rest this time, but he wasn’t about to have them form up in ordinary ranks. Their strength would be better spent doing what they always did, just in a different setting. Besides, just because the captain had trained herself to be versatile enough to fight with the heavy units if need-be didn’t mean they all had. Fak’ir’s command of shadow and illusion magics made it possible for him, but most of the rest of them were trained for sabotage and assassination only, and that was what he fully intended on having them do.

Upon seeking out his captain’s tent to take it down for the march, he’d discovered an impressive cache of resources, most of which had been labeled for squad use. He wasn’t sure when Talae had found the time to brew all of these, as several took weeks to mature properly, but the discovery gave his squad a real chance to make a serious difference in this battle. Along with vial after vial of corrosive acid, designed to melt the heads off the undead, there were various muscle-degenerative poisons and stealth and diversion devices. It seemed she planned on the possibility of an undead-heavy battle, though everything here would work on the living just as well.

There was a small bandoleer of other substances set aside from the rest, with a separate note attached.

Fak’ir-

Most of these are for the squad. Make sure everyone knows what’s what. Even an undead soldier can’t keep moving if his muscles lock up. Trust me, I’ve tested it. The rest are for Captain Ayalen. The blue substance is the same neurotoxin I gave the rest of you, enough for both knives, if he sees fit to use it. The red ones are basic restoratives, which should provide an energy boost. Tell him it might help deal with the issue he was telling me about, but only for a little while. Devil’s own luck to all of you.

-Talae

Fak’ir had no idea what issue that was, but apparently keeping Captain Ayalen from keeling over in exhaustion would help. Frankly, the halfling Lieutenant wasn’t sure what kind of fool worked himself to exhaustion often enough to have developed an “issue,” but he supposed it wasn’t any of his business. Shrugging, he tucked the note into the bandoleer and grabbed the rest of the supplies.

By the time he reached the med tent, Captain Sid was already up and about, along with Captain Beelzes. Like the good soldier he was, Fak’ir saluted the both before inquiring. “Pardon me, ma’am, but I’m also looking for Captain Ayalen. Special delivery, apparently.” He hefted the bandoleer and shrugged. As soon as he saw Kisikoni, he was passing this off with instructions to read the note, since he had his own squad to muster in the meantime.

---

The next morning saw all the Children roused at a relatively early hour, though it seemed that someone had taken enough mercy on them that at least the sun was already out before they were wakened.

Carmen, having slept heavily since the previous evening, was awake long before that, pleasantly surprised to discover that Pylarea, Safir, and Jivven were all in her immediate proximity, though she might not have known about the last if she hadn’t decided to throw open the window for some fresh air. Shasarra had roosted a rooftop over, and Carmen waved to the harpy, who returned the gesture with the languidness of half-sleep. Smiling to herself, and more than a little cheered that she seemed to have found herself some friends, she checked each for persistent injuries using magic alone. Finding none, she nodded to herself. That was good; she had worried she might have passed out before everyone was taken care of.

How she’d wound up on the bed was something of a mystery, but not a very large one. She was touched that they’d care so much, and watching the sleeping forms for a moment, she swore to herself that she’d do everything she could to ensure they survived this. They and the Captain were the only friends she had now, and she wasn’t much worried about Tao. That man had an uncanny ability to take care of himself.

Turning, she exited the house they were in, walking to the well to see if there might be any water to draw. Pleasantly surprised to find that there was, she hummed in the back of her throat and carried a basin of it back to the house, which was quite the labor. Nevertheless, she was able to split it into several buckets and step into another room to use one to clean the worst of yesterday’s grime off herself and wash her hair, which was a luxury they would not have often in the days to come. When that was done, she emptied her bucket into the garden outside and headed to the mess tent to gather everyone supplies for breakfast.

They were awakened with only time to dress and eat, but by bringing food to them, she hoped to give them the luxury of a bit of time. Indeed, by the time each was officially wakened, Carmen was gone, but extra food was beside the supplies they’d found in the house yesterday, and the fresh water was still there, for whatever purpose they deemed it best.

---

No more and no less than an hour after wake-up call, the Children of Fire were on the march once again, following direction from Aesr, though from whence the dragon herself pulled it, none but she could say. Well, Tao had a feeling he knew, but it was more like an itch somewhere in the back of his consciousness, and frankly he was too bored with it already to puzzle through the implications. In his experience, what dragons did was usually based on the opinion that they knew better than anyone else, and truthfully, he could say the same for any military leader.

When the smoke of cooking fires became visible on the horizon three days later, Aesr signaled for a stop, and turned with a flourish to address the troops. “Over that hill lies an encampment of Civil soldiers. The advantage of surprise is ours, and we’re going to take it. The captain will split you into two teams. One will lead the charge and attack from the west side.” That way, the dying sun would be on their side and interfere with the enemy’s visibility. “The other will wait until all the forces have been turned to engage with the main force, then use the crest of the hill for a height advantage and initiate a flanking maneuver.”

With that she fell silent, leaving the mundane details to Tao, who suppressed the urge to drag a hand down his face. He understood that Aesr, more than others of her kind, believed herself invincible, but this was reckless. Granted, the strategy was sound enough, but the Children of Fire had been marching for most of the day, and she hadn’t sent ahead any reconnaissance units to see just what they were dealing with. She seemed unbothered by the fact that they were fighting blind, though, which only served to further perturb the Captain. Unlike some, he did not have absolute faith in those he worked for, but that didn’t mean he was going to defy his orders… often.

He split the group, putting most of the heavy hitters in the first group to soak up the initial damage. Here went Safir, Oraun, Vortigern, Shasarra, himself, and anyone else with more in the way of armor and close-range weapons than their lighter counterparts. In the flanking squad, he put Carmen in charge, followed by Jivven, Pylarea, Zulii, and anyone who made primary use of a ranged weapon.

As quietly as they were able, the flanking squad took position, and he led the assault squad in a much less stealthy formation, though one rapid enough that being spotted wouldn’t matter. Raising one hand into the air, he dropped it with finality, signaling the charge.

The first wave of the assault squad hit the outer ring of tents with thundering force, and dozens were dead before the Civil had time to react. They recovered with admirable swiftness, however, and it was not more than a few minutes before alarms were sounding all over camp, forcing the soldiers from their tents and the mess hall and back into battle, some without time to replace armor, and some only able to grab the weapon or object nearest-to-hand. The Children needed to press their advantage as much as possible, though, for as Tao had feared, they were outnumbered nearly two-to-one.

He’d do whatever he could to get them through this, but that didn’t mean he was happy about it.

A day ago, the order was issued that the army would be mobilizing, and healers were distributed to accelerate the healing of the wounded. A day ago, a healer watched in horror as her healing magic seemed to cause her patient, Kisikoni Ayalen, much pain and distress. When that healer left for some assistance that day, she came back to a perfectly healthy deep human, who dismissed her "ridiculous" assumptions that she wronged him in some way. How she handled the situation was known only to herself, as that day for Kisikoni was spent in rehabilitation. And perhaps, some more bedtime in that tent. Since he had been wounded and unconscious, nobody felt the need to erect a personal tent for the deep human, as the medical tent has become his own. This is the most likely reason why his was one of the last to be taken down a day later.

Walking back toward that medical tent was not at all easy, as it stood ominously with the scents of sterility about it. It gave him the worst thoughts, and the time to mull them over. As he approached the entrance, he took note of a few people around it. His eyes squinted slightly, but all the same entered right after them. "I'm right here, Captain." He said, catching her words directed at the nurse. A dark elf appeared, handing him a set of vials and a note. Before Kisikoni could ask for the specifics, he disappeared. Before Grimsmirk could respond to his arrival, he popped open the note and gave it a scan. So the man's name was Fak'ir. He smiled slightly at Talae's gift, wondering if they would have any effect on him at all, despite her effort. He redirected his attention at the halfling. "What is it do you want?" He asked, moving past her to gather his belongings.

---

There wasn't much to say about how Mercy spent her two days. She woke up with a bad hangover, washed it down with lots of hot tea and water, and proceeded to look for Neira. When this endeavor was unsuccessful, she was thoroughly suspicious. Not a single soul knew where she was, and unlike most characters, she wasn't very secretive. In a rare, sober state, she did try to recall memories of the night before. She remembered drinking, watching, and noticing something very strange. She slapped the bottom of her left fist into her right hand when she remembered, humming contentedly at her impeccable memory, even when blindingly drunk. She wasn't senile yet, at the very least.

There was some mentions of a confrontation last night, but they were mostly rumors, visions of drunkards like herself that had spent the night partying away with their comrades. Unfounded, and with no real reason to believe them. That is, of course, if there were other sources to consult. While Mercy was nothing if not lewd, cunning did play a factor into the spider's tricky way of manipulating others with her personality. She didn't even have to act to get the gears grinding for many to recall the events of the night before. As it turned out, nothing useful could be gleaned, and the day before the day of mobilization passed without much event.

She had already packed her things, and with much difficulty, figured out how to tear down her tent without breaking important structural pieces along the way. She still hadn't heard a thing from Neira, which was odd considering how they were supposed to be drinking buddies. Mercy had secretly been hoping she would bring more of that Ecclavarian vintage. Good stuff, that was. Asking around once more, she got the same response. Deciding she had nothing better to do, she decided to ask Redscales about it. She soon found out that the lusty draconian maiden was out preparing for battle.

"Drat. Out of options." She muttered, blowing a loose lock of hair out of her face.

---

The rousing wake-up call brought Safir up from his uneasy rest. Bolting awake, he made sure he was still in one piece before allowing exhaustion to overwhelm his senses. Perhaps staying up to sharpen his sword wasn't the greatest idea, but when he found out they were moving out right after, he debated about becoming a psychic afterward. He quickly changed , wolfed down some of the food, and geared up. Carmen had gone, but apparently he was one of the first to be awake. He had no idea if Jivven, who had rested outside (the fool), was up and about yet. Looking outside quickly, he assumed he already was. That man did have a tendency to be on top of things.

He paid no mind to Pylarea while he was preparing, mostly because of the time crunch. If she was still sleeping by the time half of the hour had passed, he would have given her a sharp slap on the shoulder. Whether it was necessary or not, he had finished on time and was just strolling out the door when the army had begun forming up to begin it's march.

Safir was quickly reminded on why he hated marching. The mindless jarring as his feet moved in tune with the man in front and away from the man behind got on his nerves. What was worse, was when they showed no hesitation at the smoke that billowed out in the distance. When he realized the commander intended to attack when she voiced that opinion, it was all he could do to hold back a sigh. While he wasn't exhausted, the march had left him winded. And he was put on the front lines. Well, at least he had his sword, sharpened fresh last night. Donning his helmet, he flexed and stretched slightly as he got into position.

And then, as one would say, they were off. Safir was still amazed at the speed the dragon's blessed him with, flying up toward the Civil encampment with a speed many sprinters could only dream of. And he was by no means a sprinter himself. He hadn't been able to see Dresinil in a while, and when he saw him running a little bit away, it heartened Safir far more than words could have. Smashing into a guard with his shield, he felt very little resistance as the man dropped aside like a ragdoll and was trampled by the initial assault. A poor way to die. His blade sang as it cut through the unprepared Civil, who reacted faster than the strike of a whip. It was quite impressive, and judging by their numbers, very bad news for them. Letting loose his own war cry to combat the Civil, he knew that with his augmentations, his comrades, and his armor, these ants stood no chance. Somewhere back in his mind, Safir wished he had the ability to shoot fire- it would have made his life far easier.

For the first few hours of the night sleep had come relatively easy to the Pylarea, but that was probably only due to her complete and utter exhaustion from the battle, attack, and retaliation of the day before. She soon found herself unable to rest peacefully, despite the quiet, cool night air embracing her body, keeping her cool even with the body of Carmen adding its own heat to hers. How could she have done what she did the night before? It was…vicious and cruel of her to do such a thing. You could almost say another person had taken over her mind and body, someone hidden deep inside the recesses of her mind. Whoever that person was, the Nightmarian was uncertain, but she was terrified of them.

All she could do was lie still with her eyes opening and closing every now and again, but she dare not wake anyone else to bother them with her troubles. She was too unfamiliar with Jivven and she had noticed the way Safir had looked at her the day before, with a look in his eyes that said he might just blame her for what had happened. There was always Carmen, the sweet girl seemed so nice and caring amidst this posse of thugs and ruffians, but the poor girl was so exhausted and needed her sleep. Several hours later she felt a pair of hands reach out and grasp her right arm, like the girl was desperately trying to stay rooted in this world. If only she could do something to ease her troubles, but interfering with dreams was a dangerous business, they were best left to their own devices.

It was strange how time passed at night when you had naught to do but think and ponder. Minutes seemed to drag by hours and vice versa, time did not flow as a liquid in steady streams, but more like the wind in bursts and calms. One cannot truly tell if they have slept or not during these periods, all they can do is hope that they closed their eyes long enough to steal a dreamless sleep. Before much longer, or it could have been the majority of the night for all she knew without the moon to serve as a teller of time, the healer awoke and began to stir. It was then that Pylarea decided it best to keep her eyes closed for some time, hoping the girl would take no heed of her fake slumber and busy herself with her own devices.

The cleric had proven to be a very busy bee in the early hours before the rest of the beast that was their camp stirred itself. She flitted about bringing both fresh water and food before anyone else had even twitched a muscle. Everyone except Pylarea that is, she had dared to flicker and eyelid open every now and again to steal a glimpse of the cleric and she dashed to and fro, spending some time washing the dirt and grime from her body. That would be a more than welcome comfort after what had happened. One might wonder why she did not rouse herself to begin the morning rituals of awakening with the sweet girl, but she could not bring herself to look her in the eyes, not after what she…no what the other one had done last night. She felt soiled, like a stain had settled upon her soul, and no amount of water would be able to wash away this feeling.

The time for refreshment and preparation had come and pass with little of import. No words were whispered nor considered between the human, elf, or Nightmarian. They merely went about doing what needed to be done for the day’s journey. It was time to march again, and that could only mean there would be battle. She could sense the exhaustion permeating through the anxiety and excitement, but nothing too serious to worry about. No one was nearly as one edge as they had been the day before with their first battle with the Civil. Confidence could be felt in the group, but maybe it was too much confidence, hubris always reared its ugly head before the fall.

Things were to progress differently this day though, for there was some strategy to be had in this attack. Admittedly it did not seem like the wisest of strategies, seeing as they were to attack a group of unknown size and makeup, but then again she was merely a servant of the Dragons, a Child of Fire. Who was she to question the judgment of her masters who had more experience than she at such matters? In the end her qualms matter naught. She was sent with the cleric, the elf Jivven, and the strange harpy Zulii, and others who did not specialize in close combat. They crept quietly into position and waited for the most opportune moment to attack.

Clouds of smoke billowed up and tents collapsed into themselves as the Children began their attack. Things seemed to be going somewhat smoothly, but for a surprise attack the enemy displayed an amazing level of calm and assurance. What was worse was that they began to form a counter defense with a rapidity she could only admire. Very good energy could be felt coming from the enemy camp, and that was always bad news for a smaller force such as theirs. Tensions began to mount as they waited for their moment. It was Carmen’s call for when they were to attack.

Talae moved completely soundlessly, firmly at home in the darkness that was her element as surely as it was Fak’ir’s, never mind that the swarthy halfling could actually magick it. She knew that, somewhere, he and Kisikoni and the General were waging a large-scale battle with the Civil, and though part of her worried over the outcome, she knew better than most that she was making a greater difference here than she would be elsewhere.

It had been a while since she’d had wetwork to do by herself, but then leading a squad of like-skilled killers had only made her better at it, not worse, and she laced the area with poison, moving with efficiency and a worthy absence of noise. Several dragon corpses lay between now and her initial joining of the Blackguard, and she’d made a careful study of their anatomy in that interim: treating battles like experiments, testing acids and toxins on flesh samples and merely observing her scalier allies. All of this had been honed for such uses as to which she now put it, such as killing dragons before they hatched.

She had discovered last time she tried this that the effects would not even be immediately visible; useful, when the mouth of this cave was periodically flown over, and the inside inspected. The dragons dared not risk keeping all of their eggs in one place, not even one so well-guarded as a keep, and she wagered that Astara thought herself cunning for minimizing the guard. For surely, who would think to look where so little attention was paid?

Perhaps it would have worked, if Talae’s mind did not move in similar patterns. The infinitesimal hiss of corrosive acid burning a hole of a centimeter’s diameter in an egg almost as tall as she was greeted her sensitive hearing, and Talae lowered a string into the new gap. From there, she extracted a vial of poison and a dropper from her bandoleer, letting the fluid run down the string and into the embryonic liquids drop by lingering drop. Luckily, it did not take many, even to kill a developing dragon, and the entire clutch of twenty was likewise poisoned in about half an hour.

Just in time for her to make it out before the next patrol flew by, then.

Straining her ears for any incoming wingbeats, Talae proceeded as quickly as stealth would allow to the mouth of the cave, flattening herself against a wall when the noise was suddenly apparent to her. The sound of flapping grew heavier, and it was with a dull twist to her stomach that she realized the dragon was going to land. Chewing her tongue, she made a quick decision, ascending the wall of the cave with the peculiar grip afforded to her kind and wedging herself in between a stalactite and the wall.

Her breath went still in her chest as an enormous draconian head pushed into the cave, followed by a serpentine neck covered in white scales so pale they were almost translucent. The dragon looked over everything carefully, then drew in a deep breath. The hitch at the end almost convinced her that she had been detected by scent, and she loosened the dagger at her thigh. It wouldn’t do much, but she couldn’t draw her bastardsword in this position.

She was surprised when the creature exhaled, bathing the eggs in flames from its gaping maw. The heat was uncomfortable, and she felt the very edges of her clothing beginning to singe. Her skin, she was sure, had taken on a pink tinge to the grey, equivalent perhaps to a nasty sunburn, perhaps even a blistering one. She wouldn’t know until she could look, though, for she could barely feel such trivialities anymore.

The revelation that she was losing all ability to know pain was not as comforting as it might have been. She had fought enemies like that before, and all of them had been undead. The thought that she would soon have something so uncannily in common with a walking corpse made her feel ill, but unfortunately that fact that she was not in agony right now was forcing her to think of it.

The flames abated and the head and neck disappeared, but she waited until all noise had once again ceased before she dropped to the ground. She had not known that dragons incubated their eggs in such a way; a touch was enough to tell her that they were slightly too warm for ordinary comfort. She had little time to study, though; with the Paragon’s recent luck, she might yet return to them to see a siege still raging.

Hopefully, those she cared for would still be alive when she got there. She was no fool, and knew quite well there was one whose health concerned her more than the rest, but… now was hardly the time.

So it was that Talae Shanir slipped into the forest beyond the cave, leaving twenty unborn dragons dead in her wake.

---

There was little to do but wait, really, though what precisely Neira Valtegan waited for was anyone’s guess. It was not as though she could speak past her gag, and even though she could have perhaps thought things at people, she had thus far chosen not to.

Her vigil had not ceased, and even now she stood in the center of her makeshift prison, a closed-off cart. Unlike before, however, she did not glare at her guards but instead remained still with her eyes shut. For all the world, she could have been sleeping, but at present she was much more interested in keeping track of the goings-on not too distanced from her location.

There were many minds on the battlefield, but even more shells where minds had once been, now capable only of the barest thoughts. Undead, then, most of them the lower-class kind that served largely as padding, fodder for the blades, cannons, and sorcery of the Paragon. So much fodder, however, would take a while to chew through.

A few of the undead were higher-class, still retaining enough presence of mind for things like independent ideas and personality. When a nightmarian became such, they were universally referred to as mosquitos, regardless of what they had been before. The metaphor was perhaps appropriate, given their taste for blood. They moved though the field, stopping to engage only when absolutely necessary, and for this reason, they were obviously looking for something, or perhaps someone, specific.

As of yet, they had not found what they were seeking, but she decided to keep tabs, in case they did. Though for all she cared everyone in the army could believe otherwise, she was no traitor, and if she had to break her chains and defy her orders to prove that, then she would have absolutely no qualms about doing so. She had made no secret of the fact that she was nobody’s lapdog, and stupid orders weren’t worth following.

---

---

For a while, Tao’s plan had succeeded admirably, and the flanking maneuver had been timed so well that almost the entire rear guard was destroyed under the onslaught of the Children of Fire. As he’d feared, of course, things were rarely what they seemed, and it looked as though they had indeed sprung the jaws of a mighty trap.

In a way, this was annoying to him, for he had known better. In another way, that strange way he had about him sometimes, he was inordinately pleased. Worthy challenges were rare things, and each new battle was an opportunity to find one.

So, when Aesr decided to finally start being a commander, he demurred and set about the tasks she put to them, organizing the troops with surprising effectiveness for one so seemingly daft. Nevertheless, it was hard to prepare oneself for what he knew to be coming, and he was only glad that Carmen had seen fit to enchant his own blade this time around. Of course, she knew without a word from him that Aesr’s handling of the command left Tao free to do what he was really suited for: priority assassination of particularly dangerous hostiles.

As the two squads formed back up into one army, he observed Carmen bestowing her odd sort of favor (in the magical sense, anyway, though he found that it usually correlated to the personal one as well) upon weapons belonging to Pylarea, Safir, Jivven, and the harpy Shasarra. Given that she could only do so many, he found the choices to be wise, both in variety and in the fact that each possessed a measure of skill beyond the common soldier, though he was not oblivious to the fact that some of them had yet to fully realize their potential.

At this point, Aesr mounted the battlements and bestowed upon them at last their fire. The resulting conflagration was impressive, if indeed a bit amateur in the way first efforts invariably were. Luckily, the mastery of the flame generally came a bit easier than the first struggles with enhanced bodies. They’d acquit themselves well, he thought idly, something approaching pride coloring the inward musing.

The battle proper was on shortly thereafter, and Tao first moved to the side of the battlements where Tellion was working, shoving his sword almost absently into the neck area of some undead thing trying to rise from the ground. “I wonder if they get bored…” he mused idly to himself. All of the rising from the ground and eating flesh wasn’t exactly a varied routine, after all.

Darkness had always been a friend of Jivvens. He felt safe and secure in the shadows, where no one but the keenest of eyes could see him. He had spent much of his life in the darkness of sublands, and to him, darkness and shadows felt more comforting that sunlight. However, when the sun was blocked out by some queer storm, the shadows that followed did not feel like the friend he knew. They were cold and menacing and Jivven hated the perversion of this unnatural darkness Jivven stood, mouth open staring as the sun was veiled. "I don't like this," he stated plainly.

Jivven was called out of his grief by Shasarra, who beckoned him to come help push a wagon into place. He shrugged, tossing his white cloak over the wagon, and lent his back to the cause as Shasarra, him, and a couple of other faithful pushed and pulled the wagon. "First we march for days on end," He began after a moment of silence, "Then we charge an encampment without resting," He continued in a low voice. He didn't want Aesr to hear him complaining, "Now we have to break our backs putting up walls? I know it's important and all but... Damn," he finished. There really was nothing he could do about the situation but complain- and he'd gotten pretty good at complaining.

Once the wagon was in place, Jivven wandered the camp, aiding where he was needing, helping other Children plug holes in the defense he himself would use if he was on the other side, and just generally being a good little soldier. His work had him near Oraun- damn, he wasn't dead yet? Jivven was there when Oraun questioned Aesr's tactics. He had a point. Jivven did enjoy the hit and run tactics more than the "hold and survive" method they seemed to be opting for this time. Not that Jivven would have been brave enough to question the temperamental dragon. He couldn't help but chuckle- audibly- as Oraun was admonished. Other than that, he listened quietly to Aesr's explanation and watch as she left.

Jivven glanced at Oraun and noted the same confusion he felt on his face. Before he could snark at him, a roar ripped through the dark air and Aesr gave a speech. Jivven was never one for speeches or grand gestures, he was the get the job done quietly type of fellow, but still he listened. He held raised his hands like a good little soldier and continued to listen with disinterest. However, when he felt the heat coarse through his body and felt the sparks of flame lick at his hands he became extremely interested in what she was saying. With her final words, the gift of dragon fire was bestowed upon them.

Then it was bestowed upon the undead.

The normally cool and collected Jivven melted as flame spewed forth from his hands. His face was a mixture of surprise and supreme delight. Once the fire had died down, Jivven looked at his hands in awe. "That was.. Flashy," Jivven stated. The assassin inside him told him that it was silly for a creature of the dark to skip around blasting gouts of flame from his palm like a fool. Jivven the man however did not heed the assassin, as he found the ability to be grand fun. With the firelight gone, a battle lust filled him and adrenaline flooded his veins. He wanted to fight. He would probably note his actions as foolish later, but then, he didn't care.

He looked up and noticed that Oraun had already leaped to the battlements and was fighting the undead. Not to be out done by the like of him, Jivven took his blades (he'd have to thank Carmen later for the enchantment he noted) in hand and rolled his arms, sending the long arms of his dark sleeves back and scaled the battlements as well. He spared a competitive glare at Oraun before setting upon the undead skeletons and wraiths with enthusiasm. He moved with almost supernatural grace and flexibility. His movements were fast paced, but seamless. Strike followed strike, blow followed blow in effortless rhythm as a short sword or dagger bit from an impossible angle. His blades sang in the haunting dark air as he spun, dipped, and pirouetted seemingly to a deadly rhythm and beat only he heard. The fervor of battle and memories of dragon flame fresh in his mind, Jivven no longer kept to the shadows. His white hair flashed as he danced, grin firmly affixed on his face.

Jivven had earned his title of Shadowdancer. And while Oraun was a good warrior...

He was an artist.

---

Liliana Bloodleaf

"I told you-" hesitation as an arrow flew from the bow and impaled the closest hostile in the head, "-I bloody won!" Adel argued as she nocked another arrow. "And I told you I won! Your silly human eyes were playing tricks on you, who knows what you saw!" Zyn barked as an arrow shot from his bow and took out another. Landion as ever kept his silence and merely chuckled. He knew that he really won it. Lily on the other hand, was not so amused, "... Is now really the best time?" She asked as she loosed an arrow herself.

The Sunwings were situated in a wedge formation, Lily at the tip, Adel to her right and Zyn and Landion to her left. Their effectiveness was severely affected by the dark haze, especially for the human Adel who had to hold off and fire at those who approached within her range. Their kill count wasn't rising as rapidly as it could, but the Sunwings managed to keep their efficiency. Every shot was gauged and calculated to ensure a killing blow, and each member was methodical in their approach. No arrow was wasted, each shot had a purpose, and they displayed the utmost discipline that Lily had instilled in them even despite their bickering between themselves. They were slower than they would have been if it wasn't dark, and Adel had thrown a fit when it had descended, but once something stumbled within their range, it was only a matter of time before they fell.

They were one unit and moved as one.

Instead of picking an easily defensible position and raining hell down on those who would approach like many other ranged users would have, the Sunwings took an advanced position on the front line. They were not foolish enough to spearhead the advance, as Paragon soldiers often moved around their slow and measured pace. They had been engaged in close combat- as Zyn's scimitar and Lily's saber each had a healthy sheen on crimson on the blade, but nothing they couldn't handle in their formation. They were just another part of the army- a dangerous part, but a part nonetheless. Lily knew that they were advancing in the wake of Thanaros even if the psionic was well out of their range under the curtain of darkness.

"It's the only time Lil. We might not live this one out and I want to make damn sure wide-shot over there knows who the better archer is," Zyn replied grinning as his bow string rested on his cheek, scanning for his next unlucky victim. Adel scoffed, "Wide-shot? I do know who the better archer is limp staff, You're talking to her," She said, waiting on her next target as well. From the corner of the formation, Landion made his displeasure know with a simple, "Pfffft." Lily couldn't help but feel like she was listening to children and she had had enough.

"Dammit, all three of you are wrong!" She barked, withdrawing three arrows from her quiver. She nocked all three arrows on her bowstring between her fingers and drew her bow. Her temper had managed to get the better of her and out went the caution and measured strikes. "I'll tell you who the best damn archer is!" Ahead of them, three enemies approached and Adel, Zyn, and Landion picked their targets. However, before they could get their shot off, an arrow planted itself in the head of all three of their targets while Lily flashed a grin at them. "Any questions?" She asked. "No ma'am," was her reply.

Her grin was wiped off her face as she realized that the line was falling back a couple of paces. Damn, the unit was slow in this state, and if the line fell back faster than they could, they very well could find themselves cut off from the army. They could break formation and run back, but that would leave them open for any opportune undead. The only thing Lily could do was hope that Thanaros was okay and would soon press once more. "Keep formation! Shift back! We've got to stay with the line!" She ordered.

"What the hell was that?" Zyn asked. Lily had seen it too... Some pale creature streaking across the battlefield. It was only a passing sight and just as fast as it appeared it was gone again. Lily had no idea.

She suddenly felt very worried...

Northern Front

Moving as one, the band of pale women made their way across the battlefield. Each moved with disturbing unity with the next, the image of one being in separate bodies made real. Lesser undead parted before them like a gust of wind parting a field of wheat. Before long, the steel-eyed maidens stood face to face with the one black dragon that remained at the wall the cultist had hastily erected. The foremost of them, a gray-skinned human, waved for the others to spread out. All twenty-four of them surrounded the hatchling before it was even aware of their presence. The great wyrm loosed a throaty laugh and bowled over another group of skeletons as it advanced on a gray halfling.

The halfling, as well as the other maidens stood stark still as the beast moved within striking distance of the girl. The dragon, Vewenthras, snaked forward with blinding speed to snap the the undead maiden in half with his jaws. He caught a slight movement out of the corner of his eye before the world flashed white.

The shards of Vewenthras's consciousness fell back together to reveal the halfling standing directly in front of his nose. Vewenthras found that his bulk was spread on the ground, and he could barely move. The world still spun and the organs that served as his ears bled profusely. It was all the dragon could do to keep himself from slipping under again. He watched feebly as the halfling opened her mouth. Although he could hear nothing, Vewenthras's snout crunched as some invisible force smashed in to his face. He could tell that the other maidens were doing the same as other parts of his body were beaten and bones were splintered.

In seconds, the hatchling Vewenthras was nothing more than a slumped mass of pulped scales and powdered bone. He was distantly aware that the lesser undead, the zombies and skeletons, were swarming his body and gorging themselves on his prone form, but Vewenthras could not muster the strength to shake the pests off. It was then that Vewenthras met his end as a moth covered by ants.

The last he saw of his assailants before his eyes were torn out was the group moving closer to the wall.

'Ware, 'ware, the eyes so pale,
Their crushing melody,
They'll fell ye with a single wail,
Deathly scream o' the-

---

Northern Front

"Banshee!" Oraun clutched his bleeding ear with one hand and slashed at the nearest undead with the other. He was still reeling from the cacophonous screams the colorless maidens had released when the undead horde came on with the next wave. Those Children closest to the site of Vewenthras's death were affected the most, falling to the ground with ruptured eardrums and retching at the deadly waves of sound. In mere seconds an entire section of the wall was overrun. He looked to Jivven who was just outside of range of the banshee's wails and nodded his head towards the pale women. "We need to stop them, they're letting in too many undead!"

Oraun gritted his teeth. He could still see many of his brethren still fighting despite the wails, and he refused to watch them die. The dark elf swept his blade forward, beating back several zombies in the process. He hooked the toe of his boot under his sword and flipped it up in to the air, snatching the weapon up before the undead could regroup. Two more Children leaped down from the wall to aid Oraun. It gave him the perfect excuse to launch off towards the banshees. Fifteen were already jumping down on the inside of the perimeter when Oraun skewered the halfling that had stunned Vewenthras. "Get the other four!" Oraun roared to Jivven, indicating the five banshees guiding their lesser kin over the unprotected section of wall.

Oraun kicked the lifeless banshee off of his sword and swept around to gut a zombie that was creeping up behind him. four more banshees turned their gazes, filled with cold hate, on the darkling that dared to attack one of their number. Oraun bare his teeth and raised his swords in challenge. The other Children that were on this side of the wall were tearing through the horde like sharks gliding through a school of mackerel, but he was the only one that was close enough to deal with the banshees.

The first opened its mouth to scream, but Oraun was already on her. The deep human banshee whipped around, but too late. Oraun sprang and thrust. The cruel steel burst out of the back of the banshee's neck. Oraun swiped at another banshee that tried to step around her sister, then wrenched his short sword from her mouth. A gush of blood erupted from her mouth, eliciting a satisfied grunt as Oraun kept up his momentum. The warrior flowed past the falling banshee and sliced at the one that had tried to get at him moments before. His blade bit in to opaque flesh once, twice, three times before the banshee sank to the ground. Two more, Oraun thought confidently, a wild hope burning in his breast.

The last two banshees used the time he spent dealing with their sisters to put some distance between themselves and the murderous darkling. Both opened their mouths and screamed as one. A Child that appeared to have feigned death cut the feet out from under one just as she wailed, slamming her jaw shut in the dirt and allowing her only a surprised grunt, foiling the sonic attack. Still, it was a slight reprieve against the wall of sound that slammed in to Oraun. The darkling turned his left side to the banshee and braced himself as the destructive meldoy washed over him.

Several of the darkling's teeth shattered, his left eardrum was completely destroyed, and Oraun screamed in agony as the eye on the left side of his face burst with a gory pop. Oraun formed another scream of his own, exhaling fire as well as pain. Both banshees recoiled and fell as their bodies were consumed by the dragonfire. The brother that had saved him before was rising to his feet, as were a few others that had fought their way clear of the zombies and skeletons.

Seven out of the ten Children that had been attacked by the banshees stood once more to fight. Oraun's chest swelled with pride at his daring rescue. He turned to Jivven, expecting his fellow darkling to have finished his own foes, and graced him with a brotherly smile. "Nice work."

The other Children rushed towards, or away from Oraun with wide eyes. Before Oraun could determine what was going on, all sound disappeared from his world as well as sight. Oraun slumped to the ground in a boneless heap, his bones powdered and his organs reduced to pulp. Oraun died instantly. The banshee that he'd first attacked, the spitted halfling, grinned at her kill as the other cultists stabbed her to true death.

---

Tellion jumped slightly as both captain Tao and a brawny Child saved hum from a threat he had not even noticed. The elf nodded sagely at Safir, as if he was expecting nothing less out of the warrior, and allowed Tao a stitched smile. His question was innocent enough. By nature, the undead were indefatigable and without any sense of joy or boredom. The greater undead, such as vampires and liches, were capable of the full spectrum of mortal emotion, but that was-

Tellion abruptly raised both hands and launched a pair of howling vortexes of wind at a banshee. The silenced cursed and hoped the big fellow was still nearby, as well as the captain. Nearby Children rallied around Tao as the banshees that managed to scale the wall advanced alongside a sizable host of zombies. Tellion snapped his fingers and an orb of shimmering heat formed in his delicate hand. He sincerely wished that their reinforcements would arrive already.

---

South? No...North. Northeast. Yes, yes, that's good. No, you can't rest yet, my little prophet. Xeron wiped the blood that began to run from Wrath's nostrils and continued to probe the general's mind. He clutched a dimly glowing shard of crystal and maps coalesced in the psion's mind. Good, Wrath. Excellent. How far? No. That' won't do. That's much too far, boy! We need to arrive before the Pale One or the Dragon. Xeron snarled and slapped Wrath's unconscious face, achieving nothing more than bruising his pale flesh. What do you mean they already know?

Xeron broke contact with Wrath. His chest heaved with the effort of maintaining the spell for so long, and his own nose bled freely. The darkling shook his head and stomped off in to the embattled camp. He had to prepare, and quickly.

---

He dodged right with incredible speed, but was still had to backpedal desperately to avoid having his throat torn out. Cristophe stared incredulously at the hellish mockery of mortality before him, forgetting the half-orc entirely. Amaryliss could handle that one anyway. Whatever this thing was, it was powerful. The scent of divinity and fel taint wafted from its blood in nauseating waves. Cristophe almost wretched, his vampiric senses overwhelmed by the stench.

Instead, the vampire bared his fangs and came on in a rush of claws and kicks. Cristophe's blade-like claws were in Kisikoni's face in an instant.

---

A stone cracked Lyle on the side of the head as he danced around the ponderous swing of a golem. The vampire stumbled, almost tripping as he caught on his own feet. Lyle scanned for the source of such a barbaric attack and met the gaze of a predatory beauty. Lyle immediately straightened, slicked back his hair and sketched a bow, heedless of the already healing wound on his temple. "Well good day, mien fraulein."

A huge fist tore off Lyle's head as he arose from his show of courtesy. From beyond the squad of golems, Turha nodded at Mercy and began ordering his constructs elsewhere.

"Lyle!" the piercing shriek was almost unintelligible amid the chaos, but it was obviously intended to mourn the death of the male vampire. A female, sporting a bob-style cut that was popular several decades ago, tore through a dozen Paragon soldiers to kneel by Lyle's headless corpse. She sobbed as Lyle's body shriveled and turned to dust as the ages caught up with him. As if forgetting it immediately, the woman turned her scornful gaze on Mercy. "Bitch!"

Getrude raised both arms in Mercy's direction, hands gnarled in to vicious claws. Thin blades of ice shot forth, expanding as the went. Four in all, the first demonstrated their power by shearing straight through a pair of soldiers that leapt to Mercy's defense. What appeared to be a writhing mass of sludge surged upwards off of the floor near another group of soldiers nearby, reforming as a trio of human-like goliaths. The golems of roiling flesh and bone engulfed entire men and women as they attacked, leaving behind neatly stripped skeletons in their wake.

---

"This is it." Gertz pushed his way past the tent flap and entered the general's quarters. Two more vampires followed him in, glancing around warily.

"Someone has been here recently." the first said.

"They aren't here now, Petrice." the second retorted, sneering.

"Enough." Gertz shoved Petrice and Kallen aside and approached the motionless figure in the bed. He was unimpressed. The man's blood-scent was interesting enough, but it was obvious that the general was suffering from some sort of serious malady. He would not be leading anyone any time soon. The fact that no one guarded him in such a vulnerable state attested to this. Gertz snorted derisively and motioned for Kallen. "Kill him and let us get to the real fun."

---

Hundreds of feet above the squirming, embattled masses, Iridanias and four of her kin soared. Iridanias twisted her sinuous ruby body and dodged a blast of fire that caught her brother, Qualion, full in the face. Qualion screeched and lurched, falling from the sky in a blinded, writhing heap. Iridanias scanned the murk for the source of the attack. Analistacles roared in pain and began a rapid descent, his right wing a torn and bloody stump. The remaining three reds were hovering back to back now, roaring in to the darkness. What was picking them off? They were the proud sons and daughters of Gurthenemon the Red, and nothing in the skies was their equal.

Wingbeats from above was the only warning they received. Iridanias and Jormundir pulsed their powerful wings and rolled away, but Otullia was not so lucky. The smallest red was torn almost in half as a pair of black dragons pulled her in opposite directions. Iridanias and Jormundir roared their fury and dove at their dark kin, fangs and claws bared, but they were not fast enough. Aesr and Lalaliki disappeared in to the darkness once more. Iridanias could here the black's mocking laughter.

"Why hello there, red." it called out from the mists, "Fancy meeting you here."

Iridanias's mind raced. The cultists were here too? What could that possibly mean? Were they aware of Nhil's purpose as well? How many had they brought to bare? Her thoughts ended abruptly as Aesr streaked out of the mist and raked bloody furrows down Iridanias's back. She would have lost a wing had she not evaded in time. This was not good. A black was no match for a red in a straight up fight, but the dark kin were not one's to fight fairly. If this kept on, she would die an honorless death. So she waited. "Come then, burnt bitch."

A loud buzzing rose in her ears as the battle lust intensified.

"Dead Gods alive! What in the hells is that bloody noise!?" Jivven screamed using his elbows to cover his ears. Though the wailing was still powerful enough to distract him, he had seemingly fared a lot better than his darkling kin. While relatively still close to Oraun, Jivven had been just past the threshold of the range of the Banshees' wail. Still, he managed to acquire a splitting headache for his trouble. Would have acquired more than that if he wasn't the skilled assassin that he was. Instead of being cut down by an undead, Jivven managed to only escape with a rake across his chest. The assaulting party however, did not fare as good. He and those undead behind him received a gout of dragonfire as punishment. Jivven couldn't help but smile wildly at the feeling of empowerment dragonfire provided.

"We need to stop them, they're letting in too many undead!"

For once, Jivven didn't provide snide commentary or a quip for his darkling brethren, only simply nodding his understanding. Now was not the time to butt heads, and they could measure kill counts after the battle. Now was the time to act as one, and survive. And survival was the one thing Jivven understood. Oraun darted off to obviously take out a banshee, and when Jivven arrived close behind, he was ordered to take out the other four, whom were guiding the undead against their shoddy fortifications. Jivven hesitated for a moment, he wanted to yell, "All by myself!?" But held his tongue. Whining now wouldn't kill the banshees. Instead, he flipped up his hood, and stuck his hands into his robes. A flutter movement and his hands popped back out holding a number of throwing knives. He sighed heavily and set off to do his job.

He didn't like the position he was in, the assassin was beginning to take back his mind. There was no way he could assault the banshees with any semblance of stealth. As soon as he struck, all the banshees' attentions would be drawn to him like moths to a flame. As Jivven strode, the gears inside the mind of the Assassin began to churn. Unlike the quick warrior Oraun, Jivven neither had the speed nor the power to mimic his assault. He had to use his finesse, his grace. He had to get close, and stay close, dance around them. He can't let them gain distance on him once engaged, or be wailed to death. He also couldn't stay in front of them, he had to stick to the sides and back, else be assaulted by that damning wail...

In essence, he'd have to be their shadow.

Jivven inhaled and allowed the assassin to take full control. The battle all around him began to drown out. Allies and enemies all began to dissappear. Soon, there were only him and his targets. He sent a prayer down to his matriach, dug his heels into the ground, and he was off.

---

Taking a page from Safir's book, the assassin bathed his throwing knives in dragonfire- whether it would hurt the blades or not was irrelevant, he wasn't getting them back anyway. Three in his left hand and one in his right (due to his missing digit, he'd have to ask someone if they could make a prosthetic) shot forward in a volley and slammed into the four banshees. A distraction as flame licked at their clothing. He didn't want to have to worry about being yelled to death on approach. As they ripped the flaming knives out of their flesh and batted the licking flames off of the cloths, the assassin injected himself in the middle of their group, both blades flashing in his hand. They couldn't wail at risk of crushing one of their number in this position.

Obviously, they would try to shift and try to position themselves to give them an angle at which to blast the poor assassin. This did not escape the sharp assassin's mind. He had never danced with four women before, and he hoped with a grin they would find his footwork... Adequate. His shortsword flash, catching a banshee- human- across the chest. A nonlethal blow, but still yelp escaped her and taking no chance Jivven spun around to her side, giving her a sharp elbow to the back of the head. Another banshee- elf- had shifted so that she had an an angle on him. Not for long as he performed another half-circle sending a viscous kick to her midsection. This left him wide open to the other banshees- an orc and a deep human- to wail him to death. He had managed to complete this circle and bring him face to face with the elf banshee. He grabbed her in an embrace thanks to their height difference (She had at least a half-a-foot on him giving him a great view of her... assets) brought him just under her wail. The wailing managed to catch his hood and tear it to pieces, not to mention a tuft of white hair, but he was relatively safe. Her shout was cut short as the assassin jumped, slamming the top of his head into her chin, shutting her up and dazing her.

He came up with his dagger, this time biting deep. She was still alive, but if the fight dragged out, she wouldn't be long for this world. A gauged action by the assassin, as if he outright killed her, he'd have no protection from the other banshees. Of course, this had certain risks, such as her throwing a feral hook right into his chin. He was seeing stars for a minute as her staggered. The assassin gained his wits quickly, as he was now being targeted by three of the four Banshees- the orc at the apex of her the wind up for her wail. He must have struck a nerve as they going all out with their shouting.

Jivven didn't give her time to finish, he chucked his dagger- nailing the woman in the chest, probably puncturing a lung. Try to wail with a hole in your lung, see how it works. Jivven then jumped straight into a cartwheel, giving no one the time to breath- because here a breath meant death for him. As his hands connected with the dirt, he grabbed a handful and once he was vertical again, chucked it into the open mouths of the two other banshees. They managed a ragged wail, which slammed into the assassin and disoriented him before they devolved into choking fits. His ears were ringing and his balance was off while a bead of blood dripped down an ear. Still, he couldn't stop.

He staggered forward and slammed a shortsword up the deep human's chin and out her skull, while he held out his free hand and belted the human with a gout a dragonfire. Two down two to go. Then, he felt a sharp pain in side. His eyes darted over, and realized the orc had used his own dagger to stab him. Cheeky bitch, he didn't even hear her coming. Probably because of the wail. Still, he had a job to do, he couldn't give up and die and give Oraun the satisfaction. He intertwined her arm with his and jerked visciously jerked, snapping her arm. She dropped the dagger still embedded in his side- he didn't hear her scream. The assassin then spun, ripping the shortsword out of the deep human's skull and ran it across the orc's throat. A spray of crimson dyed his hair pink as she slumped.

That left one. A ragged Jivven looked over and saw that the elf had regained her footing a looked at him with murder in her eyes. She took a deep breath and Jivven ripped the dagger out of his side. They attacked at the same time, the dagger cutting through the force of the wail. The dagger impaled the elf in the throat at the same time the wail threw Jivven to the ground. It was over

While the banshees were dead, Jivven had survived- if barely. All he heard was the ringing in his ears, his eyes darted around erratically, confused, and he was bloodied but he was alive.

That was a hell of a dance. A couple Children cut their way through the zombies to Jivven and hoisted him up onto their shoulders. He couldn't tell what they were saying, whether it was admiration, worry, or what. He shook his head as if it would help (it didn't) and violently pushed a child off. However, his stumbling indicated a need for help. He needed a bloody cleric. "Get me... To.. Carmen. NOW!" He yelled. The assassin wasn't done. If he could get her to restore some hearing, he'd be fine. He glanced over and saw Oraun yelling something at him with a smile. Whether it was pride or a jest, Jivven didn't know, but he needed to find out. He needed to get back into the fight. Why should he have to be tended after while Oraun was still out kicking ass.

He would not be outdone by Oraun, though he couldn't help but feel a pang of pride for his brethren.

---

Liliana Bloodleaf

"Vampires?! The hell do you mean vampires!?"

"Hah, it's like a badly written story..."

"Welcome to the story of my life, there is always room for things to get worse," Lily sighed. If there were vampires frittering about, that means their formation was obsolete, though it did explain the magical nightshade enveloping the battlefield. If one came upon them in this formation, they'd be too slow to be any effective against the thing They'd maybe get a shot off before getting overrun, not to mention the constant threat of lesser undead... So much for the Civil being civil... Who uses the dead as tools of war? Lily shook the agitation from her head and she began to issue orders, "Break formation, and hunt these vampires down. Stay close together and watch each others' back- as always. I want to see your pretty faces alive by the end of this," Lily said with a sweet smile... It managed to catch to Sunwings off-guard. Though the next words snapped them out of it, "Well?! Get on it!" She barked. "Ma'am!" Adel and Zyn yelped, skittering off with Landion in tow.

Lily turned toward where she believed Thanaros was located. Normally she'd take to the skies on the back of the Mark II, but thanks to the shade, that plan of action bordered on suicidal. Nope, she'd stick to the ground this time around. She approached Thanaros while loosing arrows at any zombie that dared approach. One could follow the path she took by following the line of ghouls with an arrow planted in their head. Before long she arrived at her destination, Thanaros- plus others.

Thanaros was busily engaged in combat with what she believed a vampire. A pale woman in finery- fit the bill. Plus, Kisikoni was their- or he wasn't. He was that... Thing he was when he was in battle. He was frightening and creepy as all hell when he was like that, and he seemed to be engaged with another vampire. Still, it was comforting to know she was close enough to aid if anything went awry. It appeared as if the Thing That Was Kisikoni had his vampire in hand, so she turned her attention to the vampire that Thanaros was dealing with. Then the elf had an idea. A fable from children's stories about vampires. She took and arrow in hand and snapped the steel tip off, leaving a sharp shaft of wood in it's place- a stake. She then nocked the stake-arrow and aimed at the vampire- letting go.

She watched in morbid curiosity as the arrow darted towards it's target. She wondered how the vampire would react to the flying stake.

---

The Sunwings set upon their task as impromptu vampire hunters quickly. Adel chuckled at the fact that the Sunwings were tasked with aiding the destruction of vampires. Zyn allowed himself a smile. Landion kept his silence. Their first stop was Turha. Once there, Zyn spoke to the group, "You guys hunt go find the vampires, I'll aid him," as if Turha needed help with his legion of golems. Adel narrowed her eyes and glared at him, "You just want to ride one of those golems." Zyn smiled and was off. Adel figured it was a decent enough plan. While Turha had close combat down pat, place Zyn on the shoulders of one of the golems, and they would be nigh unstoppable.

She shook her head in disappointed... She wanted to ride one too. Her saddness was erased with a rough hand from Landion, who pointed in another direction. In the distance, Adel could see something that looked like Mercy fighting something. Adel nodded and the pair was off. They were greeted by the Nightmarian fighting a thin pale woman- vampire probably- and a couple of statues made of flesh. Delicious.

A pair of arrows fired off from either side of Mercy towards the vampire as she lashed out with her whip. "You don't mind a little help, do you lovely?" Adel chimed in sweetly as she nocked another arrow.

Neira hissed when the male vampire dissolved, and were it not for extenuating circumstances, she would have pursued him, torn down his pathetic excuse for a mental barrier, and fed him his own rotting intestines, just for fun.

As it was, Wrath’s mind was stirring, and she still had two vampires to deal with. Well, one and a half, anyway. Still, she attached a nice little mental tag to the retreating one, not invasive but useful, and blinked languidly when the one still hale and whole attempted to wrap her sticklike fingers around the general’s pale neck. She received a blade to the heart for her trouble, and Neira stepped in smoothly towards the other, who scrabbled backwards with all the futility of the three-legged doe.

“Now, now, dear, try not to struggle. It’ll only hurt worse,” she singsonged, then nearly grimaced when she realized how similar that sounded to a certain arachnoid friend of hers. Bloody Mercy. Next thing you know, I’ll be hitting on anything that moves.

The remaining vampire gasped her last even as Neira drove her hand the rest of the way through her chest, snapping the limb with several wet cracks for good measure. The flaxen-haired thing lay unmoving thereafter, well and truly dead- for good this time.

Wiping her bloodied hands on her robe, Neira turned to Wrath, sweeping her eyes down over him exactly once before she sighed. She was at his side almost immediately, fingertips at his temples, siphoning off his pain. This was a trick she’d learned long ago but never seen much use for. Of late, it had become regular to split agony with Xeron such, though he most often refused now, as there was some inevitable psionic bleed. She could only assume she was no longer allowed to share in his plans, but she wasn’t about to ask this one’s permission when he clearly required the assistance.

His comment, such as it was, met its answer with the entrance of a healer, screaming her fool head off and making rather a spectacle of herself. Once the ungodly racket had died down and the necessary deductions had been made, Neira responded by raising a single eyebrow. “The pale one? I could find him, and transport us there, but you’re not dying on my watch without a better plan than that, Captain.” She didn’t mention what was obvious to the both of them: that he was hardly in the best shape, and the two of them, while formidable on their worst day, did not an army make.

---

---

Carmen had the palms of her hands resting softly on the temples of an injured orc when she heard a crash too close behind her for comfort. Pressing her bound lips together in a thin line, the cleric finished off the process and rose, turning fluidly in time to see Safir and Dresinil engaging two Wights and three or so lesser undead.

Biting her tongue, the young woman was forced to watch as, immediately after felling one of the creatures, Dresinil’s head was bashed in by a blind-side hammer blow from another, and he crumpled to the ground, dead. When Safir fell, too, the healer knew a sensation she had not felt in what seemed a lifetime: a cold tendril wound its way around her stomach and her heart, warming until it burned, creeping up her throat to settle in her mouth with the metallic tang of blood where she’d bitten the soft flesh inside her mouth.

Slowly, her left hand ascended to her lips, the threads there burned away with the touch of holy magic. With it, her bindings, her reservations, wore away, and her chains were loosed. Her skin took on a warm glow, and the area immediately around her was flooded with magic, healing the injured over a wide area. The elf who had obeyed Jivven’s order for conveyance found that his injured knee, an old wound form a battle long ago, had returned to complete function, and Jivven himself was good as new, perhaps better.

Vortigern, still fighting beside Pylarea and the one called Gatan, grinned broadly at the rush of adrenaline, cleaving into the hand grasping for the Nightmarian with giddy abandon, lost to the red berserker haze. The same orc Carmen had just healed nudged Jivven in the shoulder. “I’m a pretty big distraction, buddy. You look like a guy who could take advantage of that.” Gorthax, for so he was called, turned and headed back for the field of battle, intent on causing as much carnage as possible.

Fortunately, the burst of life-energy from Carmen was timed with the arrival of the reinforcements, and at about the same time as a peeved Aesr, chased by a screeching Iridinias, dove downward to order her unit captain to take what men he could recover and lead the vanguard, that number of salvageable soldiers nearly doubled.

For her own part, Carmen crouched, touching a gentle hand to Safir’s forehead. “Rise, my friend,” she implored him, her voice husky from disuse but fairly thrumming with music, “for now is not your time. I will not see you lost to the likes of these.”

Just ahead, Tao bellowed, a sharp rallying cry heard even over the din of arriving reinforcements. Aesr did not want to be outdone by her brothers, and it was their job to ensure she would not be. Though he was certain by now that few fought for her whim, he knew that in the end, each individual purpose would be served in the same way.

The troops answered him, gathering about their oddball captain like the trained soldiers most of them were not. Several now lay dead, and when all was said and done, several more bodies would join the dust, but the reinforcement and recharge had done most of them a service to morale as well. He watched those that could still answer his call gather about him: Carmen, Shasarra, Gorthax, Tellion and Vortigern among them, and the Captain gave them all a savage grin.

“Back to hell with them all!” The shout was Vortigern’s, but several more picked it up, and in a v-formation with Tao at the point, they charged forward to meet the Civil lines, now augmented with both the living and fresh undead. The formations crashed against one another, several falling in the immediate contact. Tellion was hit with a javelin and went down, another dark elf and halfling behind him, but by far the majority of the loss impacted the undead. It was not long before the freshened Children reached the ranks of the living among their foes, and here the battle began in earnest. These were no mindless zombies, but thinking, feeling, strategizing soldiers.

Carmen had summoned a light-formed glaive, which she swung with all the ferocity of a shieldmaiden of yore, occasionally punctuating her assaults with pure notes of spellsong, their effects differentiated by pitch and tone. Tao moved like water, flowing around opponents, leaving many dead or re-dead before they registered the damage. Gorthax was a rough, shouting mess with a mace, the perfect distraction for those who worked without so much noise.

“Now this is more like it, in’it, ‘Rea?” Vortigern asked the moth beside him, cleaving a zombie’s skull with one of his axes. Shasarra, wielding a sword and shield in tandem, was already streaked with the blood of her foes, macabre lines painting the canvas of her face in a history of vicious victories. She stepped in to take what was once Dresinil’s place in the line, though she held it more with swooping, diving, and dodging motions than sheer strength and endurance.

The Children of Fire were making a push, and there was no mistaking that the Civil were now on the defensive.

With a rush of satisfaction, it watched the vampire clutch at his face and scream as it's hand sheared off a good portion of his visage. Before it could rush in for the kill, Cristophe all but vanished, retreating into the line of fighting paragon soldiers. He returned with two corpses and a refreshed countenance. With a smart remark, he dropped the husks in his hands. Suddenly, two blights rushed Kisikoni, but it made no inclination to move as they closed in. While these skeletal horrors were unnatural, they were but a candle in a gale compared to the vampire and Kisikoni's speed at this point. They were nothing but a nuisance. With a explosion of movement, the blights stumbled past Kisikoni as their ribs and organs were sliced clean through. The graveworms made to attack it Kisikoni, latching themselves onto the deep human's armor and attempting to tunnel through. Another blast of air and fell energy, and the simple monsters were thrown off, left squirming on the ground as the taint quickly overwhelmed their instincts and they fell still.

With a brief pause, it felt nothing but amusement. Cristophe made to attack but paused confidently as it loosed a keening laugh, clawing the air with it's fell notes. "So it is true! You nightworms are the cowardly maggots the stories make you out to be!" It screeched in hysterical mirth, as fleshy growths similar to roots began to sprout over Kisikoni's arms and body. Insulted, Cristophe made to respond but was cut off as Kisikoni rushed the pale maggot, jumping and scoring a brutal kick to it's chest. The vampire flew back several feet before regaining balance and twisting to divert the momentum back to his side, attacking once more with two swipes of his clawed hands. The deep human easily dodged left, attempting a wild swing that would have cleaved the vampire in two if he had not jump and scored a spinning kick to the deep human's jaw. Spinning away, it quickly grabbed it's dislocated mouth and snapped it back into place once it got up, in time to see Cristophe nearly on top of it. Bringing it's arms up in defense, it felt the vampire's claws rake across it's arms, causing a release of a vile stench and liquid, presumed to be blood. Flinging it into Cristophe's face as he recoiled, it attempted another kill, attempting to cleave the vampire into multiple pieces with two devastating swipes.

---

Squealing in delight when the web managed to successfully ensnare the vampire, she took notice of the Sunwing that appeared next to her. Mercy couldn't be assed to remember her name, but smiled when she interrupted with her question. "Aren't you cute, helping old ladies finish off hellspawn." She cooed, resisting the urge to take her eyes off the vampire and give the adorable elf a squeeze. Suddenly, four blights appeared, covering Getrude from further attacks as she made her escape. A soldier jumped in, ramming his sword through one of the blights and causing it to collapse. Mercy had to quickly wonder what was so special about these things as she kept them at bay with her whip before the graveworms started eating the soldier that had slain one of the blights.

"Oh. How unsightly." Mercy muttered, stomping the face of the unfortunate soldier in as he fell to the ground. Surviving graveworms attempted to attack her, but her ark shell was finally useful for something as they drilled and gnawed to no avail and simply fell off. "Watch your shoes honey, I don't want to have to see that happen to you too." She warned Adel, using her whip to easily crack the ribs that protected the blight's organs that contained the parasitic worms. Eventually, they were defeated, and the worms were left to rot. Mercy coated the organs with her webbing for good measure, as the viscous substance would not tear easily and cause the worms to suffocate.

However, her problems were not over. That vampire had escaped into the camp once more, and the Blights were causing paragon soldiers to rise up and attack their lines from behind. At this rate, even Wrath's army of powerful misfits would rout and become a thing of the past. She ground her teeth, deciding to forego pursuing Getrude and decided to work on the undead Paragon Troops that rose to attack their former comrades from behind.

---

Barely conscious, Safir was unable to register that next to him lay his dead friend, Dresinil. He was unable to see Carmen go through some invisible change. He was oblivious to the world in it's entirety as he waited for a wight to stroll in and take his life. However, with a flash of light that he couldn't see, Safir suddenly find himself invigorated, able to breathe once more. Opening his eyes, he managed to see Carmen bend over and touch his forehead. His bloodlust was completely gone, and he could only look up in wonder as his limbs were refreshed and he felt vigorous and eager once more. Her request was interpreted as an order by the awestruck human, immediately scrambling to his feet.

His head turned as his heightened senses caught his air-headed captain screaming a rally cry, which was very rare for the calculating and quiet officer to do. Safir instantly followed behind Carmen, who seemed to have changed entirely. The entire scene and general ambiance had changed- what was hopeless was now hopeful as the true children arrived, the faithful beserkers who were the cream of the crop. Roaring his own battle-cry, he raised his sword. It had miraculously escaped damage so far from the dragonfire on quick inspection. Charging with his comrades, he would never have felt such a strong sense of camaraderie if he continued to lie near death from his fight with a wight. Crashing into the line of the undead, his shield immediately threw two of the undead back with it's sheer force, another sweep of his sword killed several more as heads rolled, Once the initial charge's effect had worn off, he continued his wrath, blocking blows with his shield and tanking lighter strikes in his sturdy suit of armor. His destructive slices were calculated this time, unlike the bloodlust that had overcome him earlier in that desperate situation and most of the undead could not stand up to him. Making much further progress was the undeniable aura of Carmen, and not too far away was Pylarea, which was a sight that relieved Safir. Jivven, being the man that he was was nowhere in sight. The jolly co-operation that existed between the children as they pushed the Civil back was astonishing.

The jarring sense of hearing suddenly being restored is a strange one. Equilibrium, balance, everything returned to Jivven in mere seconds. He knew Carmen was good, but... Damn, that was something else entirely. It literally catapulted Jivven from the hands of the elf back to his feet, with his shortsword shining instantly in his hand. He felt good, no, He felt great if confused. The deep cut in his side hadboiled away, leaving only the torn cloth as evidence. His jaw was no longer sore from the hook he had received. Hell, even the knot on top of his head where he headbutted right into the jaw of the elven banshee was gone. "What in the bloody hell was that!?" Jivven called waving his hands frantically. It was a hell of a pick-me-up.

A glance over at Carmen revealed his answer. She was awash in a golden glow, and everyone in her vicinity had received the massive regeneration. Jivven sighed deeply as he looked at the silenced- rather silenced no more. "I think I'm in love," he said before shaking his head. Now was not the time for puppy love, they were in the middle of a battle! He was then nudged in the shoulder by the orc, Gorthax, and implied he'd make a fine distraction for the assassin. Jivven grinned in response, waving the shortsword in his hand. "Good eye, I do believe- Shit! That bitch still has my dagger in her throat," he realized when his dagger wasn't in his other hand.

A moment passed to collect himself as the other Children of the fanatical zealot flavor poured from a portal and washed over the battlefield. While he was healthy as a horse, he certainly didn't seem that way. His black cloak was ripped, revealing the leather plates underneath. His hair was a sickening pink color from where crimson blood had sprayed his bone white hair. Flecks of dried blood trailed the corners of his mouth and hung onto the black clothing. He was a mess, but he was alive. Something the assassin was proud of.

A rallying cry brought Jivven out of his personal assessment. "I didn't think he had it in him," Jivven mused as he realized the cry had come from the normally reserved and not-all-there Tao. They all gathered around their captain where Jivven finally caught sight of Shasarra. However, he did not see Oraun. Where did he get to? Surely he wouldn't be the one to miss a rally. Jivven ignored the empty spot in the base of his mind and asked, "Where's Oraun," as he continued to survey his brethren. Brethren? When had that happened? He shrugged as Vortigern cried something about hell. He wasn't the one to get caught up in war cries and such. Though, he did allow his companions theirs without adding a snide remark.

Then they were off. This was their fight after all. They were here first and it was their battle to fight, though Jivven didn't necessarily dismiss the zealots. He was proud, not stupid. Aesr's children had formed up in a V, with Tao leading the charge. Organized, neat, and tidy. Jivven however, preferred a more.. Chaotic approach. Instead of particpating in the V formation, Jivven had positioned himself off to the side of the V, near Gorthax. When there was a V ripping through your lines with a large and dangerous orc cracking skulls with a mace, who would see a short dark elf slitting throats and arteries behind them?

The assassin did not have the speed and quickness of Tao, but he certainly had an equivalent amount, if not more, of grace. While attention was drawn to the V, Jivven punctured hearts, slit throats, pierced lungs all from behind. Even for those unfortunate enough to see the assassin and raise a weapon against him, would find their own weapon turned against them as he slid under their defenses and used his free hand to jam their sword or axe in them. The first time his shortsword elicited a very live yell, he grinned evilly. "Now we're getting to the good part," he told Gorthax as his assassinations brought him near the formation.

Who knew working with others could be so fun?

---

Liliana Bloodleaf

"Oh, that's interesting," Lily mused as her stake struck true. The ensuing paralysis and subsequent beheading answered her question. Vampires do not like stakes. She nocked another arrow, this time opting to keep the steel tip, and fired into the front lines. Thanaros was looking to make a push on the frontlines again, and while she was there, why not aid the charge the only way she knew how? She nocked another arrow and sent it flying into some poor undead sod. Then something else entirely appeared.

Undead canine like creatures. "Nasty little doggies," Lily quipped as she took aim on one and fired. They were quick too, making Lily actually work at trying to hit one. The had wasted a couple arrows before her bloated target finally bit the dust in a spray of disgusting giblets. She made a mental note to not get too close when they exploded, else get showered by innards... No telling what was in it, or how long it would take to get out of her hair. She took out a count of three arrows, dropped one into the ground, broke the steel tip of the next one, and nocked the last. She was preparing for more of those things and vampires, just in case.

She glanced over at Kisikoni and realized the vampire he was facing had returned, looking a lot better for wear. The dried husks in his hands answered her unasked question. "You damned hellspawn..." She muttered. They were her allies, not some kind of meal. However, what caught her eye was the undead canines rushing Kisikoni on either side of the vampire. She aimed for one, but was too late as Koni ripped through both of them. She made addition note not to get close to those things as disgusting worms tried to burrow into Koni. To no avail luckily. Koni's body began to shift and grow ever more gruesome. Then the vampire attack.

Lily dropped the arrow in her bow, substituted it for the stake, and aimed for the vampires head. Whether or not Koni managed to dice the creature, Lily planned on sending a stake directly into the forehead of the creature. Just to be sure. She had a tea date with that man, monster or no, and she was determined to see it through- on both of their ends.

---

Zyn

The normally composed Zyn had let the power get to his head. Atop the largest golem he could find, he was raining a veritable hell down upon those unfortunate enough to be within his range. All accompanied by a maniacal laughter and over-the-top boasts. "Run! It doesn't matter! You're dead anyway! You can't escape my reach! Haha! Know the name of your destruction! I am Zyn Reznal! Flee in terror!" Lily would be so disappointed, but she too was excited when she rode her first golem. However she wasn't near as blood happy as Zyn was. In the distance, Turha shook his head, wondering why he agreed to this, and wondered why elves always wanted to ride on his constructs...

Zyn managed to reign himself in when he realized a new flavor had arrived. Little dog things attacking various knots of troops. Instead of the maniac, Zyn shifted to the disciplined archer Lily had chosen for the Sunwings and began to target the quick dog-things. Before long, he would find out this new flavor had a surprise for them, as fallen allies became risen enemies. They would also become targets as Zyn hesitated minimally at firing upon their own troops. They had to cut the cancer out before it grew and threatened the entire army. He didn't know if these... Abominations had the ability to infect other troops nor did he want to find out.

The blood happy darkling had become quite somber as he set about his work.

---

Adel & Landion

"Well, we couldn't let you have all the fun, sweetheart," Adel answered. Landion on the other hand, made gagging noises. All of this gooey word talk was making him sick. Their target had shifted from a singular vampire to a number of blights. "Eww, nasty things, aren't they?" Adel asked no one in particular. A soldier managed to slay one, and his reward was becoming entangled by the worms within the blight. A disgusting sight- but what hadn't been nasty during this new development? Both archers made extra sure not to get close to one of those things an allowed Mercy to finish of the soldier. She had built in armor after all.

"Ah, don't worry. I wasn't planning on getting had closer than I had to," Adel answered. Suddenly, she was extremely grateful that she had chosen archer as her profession and a look from Landion said he was thinking the same thing. From a distance, Adel and Landion along with Mercy finished off the remaining blights, and they happily allowed her to coat the corpses with webbing. Both archers looked back to camp where the vampire had escaped and then looked to each other. Landion raised an eyebrow while Adel nodded. "Lily ordered us to hunt the vampires down," Then she looked back to their comrade and realized Mercy had a lot more on her mind than a singular vampire. Such as risen paragon soldiers turning against them. "Don't worry Merce' we'll get her for you," Adel spoke, "We'll get it done and come back to help out. We'll tell her you said hi too," She finished with a grin as both archers pursued the vampire, firing at the risen paragon the whole way.

Mercy had been fighting longer than the entire Sunwing unit combined, she would be fine.

Neira’s nose wrinkled with distaste as Wrath downed several vials of a vaguely plurplish draught. She’d nearly laid into the last fool who’d tried to convince her to drink anything medicinal. Perhaps it was fortunate that her injuries were usually the kind that could be treated without them. Natural armor did wonders, she reflected, tapping her fingers lightly together.

At the mention of Xeron, her eyes narrowed. “So that’s what he was after. It figures.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Keeping her own mind closed off for the duration of her imprisonment had left her blind to any psionic manipulations he’d been using on the general, and so it was impossible for her to know the extent of the damage without checking herself, something they currently lacked the time for. She’d never show it, but this concerned her. A muscle in her jaw tightened, but she forced it to relax and followed the halfblood out of the tent. If she noted his use of her given name, she chose not to comment upon it.

---

She’d opened her mind to the rushing tide of thoughts among her comrades, feeding Wrath the assessment she was able to produce from the tangled jumble of panic, resolve, and hasty observation. It was hard to keep an organized stream of consciousness in the rush of battle, and losing made that worse. So she sorted through flashes of images and distorted fragments of language, piecing together a picture of the state of things, and this was what she reported, keeping her own words as succinct as possible.

She maintained an unusually-grim expression, nodding her acknowledgement to his order and pushing past the panicked or feral thought patterns of the soldiers to plant the order firmly where they would recognize it in their minds. Northern end of camp, as soon as possible. General’s orders. The last was not a strictly-necessary portion of the message, but she gave it careful emphasis. That draconian bitch was not in charge here, and the men needed to know it, else any victory they earned would be in the name of Gurthenemon the Red, and not the Paragon. She may have detested politics, but she well knew what an advantage that would be. Even their defeats must be in their own name, lest they all lose sight of why they continued.

---

The demons and golems charged, the Paragon soldiers right behind them. Neira moved in at the front of the line, still shadowing Wrath. It was not where she’d most like to be, as the frown etched into her face presently showed, but it was what was necessary, and she had never hesitated to do just that.

She moved to the side when the earth erupted into massive whips of dirt and stone, temporarily losing track of her charge. Unbothered, she ducked under an incoming swing and used her momentum on the way back up to slam the heel of her hand painfully into the chin of her assailant, snapping his neck. The earth crumbled back to unmoving dust shortly thereafter, and she noted Sid’s reappearance with a sardonic smile. That Halfling had a damn uncanny sense of timing.

She knew the face of the dead woman, for it was one she had seen many times in the minds of prisoners or opponents. Miralight Duff, arcanist, wizard, and rumored second-in-command to Nhil himself. If she had to take a guess, she’d say they’d just invited the necromancer’s fury.

Excellent.

---

Talae Shanir came upon the battlefield at last when the Paragon were making their reinvigorated charge. Setting her jaw, the dark elf spurred her horse, who charged obediently. She could make out her squad on the periphery of the battle, laying traps and sabotaging the Civil behind their lines and without their knowledge. On another day, she might have joined them, but a sweeping glance across the field was enough to inform her that right now, melee combatants were needed more.

With balance only a darkling could possess, she kicked her feet out of her stirrups and drew them underneath her, crouching on the back of the galloping stallion and drawing Abel from the sheath on her back. It was freed with a soft, metallic ringing, the sound of things beginning and things about to end.

When the horse reached the front line, she yanked his reins to the side, ensuring he did not die needlessly by crashing into an oncoming pike or something of the sort. She, however, sprang from his back, somersaulting in midair and landing behind the first line of Civil soldiers.

Her blade cut into the unprotected neck-joint of the first man’s armor before any of them had a chance to react. By the time the rest had regained their bearings, Talae had a flash-bomb in hand, and, striking the flint on her index and middle fingers together, produced enough of a spark to light it. A deft toss placed it in the middle of a group of oncoming fighters, and several staggered backwards, blinded by the detonated result.

By now, the rest of the Paragon were through the initial defenses also, and she fell in with the rest, following the scent of abject fear to find the man she sought. It would not, after all, be a true battle for her unless she was fighting it beside him, regardless of the form he chose for the purpose.

---

---

Perhaps most people would have been bothered by the warped nature of Pylarea’s demeanor as compared to what she had previously been. Vortigern Weylin, a man with more scars than years of his life, understood exactly what was happening, and did not bother wasting the time to be concerned about it. Battle changed people. It had made him different, too, forged an unhealthy, twig-limbed elven boy from the forest into an axe-slinging, towering combatant with a dangerous battle-lust and a savage grin.

So instead of asking her if she was all right, instead of letting his mouth twist downward with concern or his brows furrow, he laughed, a deep baritone rumble that should have sounded out-of-place but really didn’t. “Atta girl! You’ll be a story to scare Civil children yet.”

But the time for talking was past, and he sank back into his battle-haze, hacking and slashing in a graceless, efficient art that might yet make him such a tale himself.

---

Carmen was free. How long had it been since she was so? Longer, perhaps, than she wanted to remember. What should have been elation was conveyed upon her features as grave sorrow, frozen into place by the uncanny fierceness that shone only from her eyes. She knew she shouldn’t have done it, that she needed to conserve energy, for she could feel the spellpower massing in the Civil camp, and knew that if she was to stand any chance of cancelling it when it triggered, she would need nearly everything she had, if not more.

But… she could not sit by and watch her comrades, her friends, fall. For so long, Tao had been the only friend she knew, the only one willing to sit beside the woman who could not speak, who was a freak of nature even amidst the other crimson-robed Silenced, and communicate in hesitant gestures, building a language that belonged to them and nobody else. Since her reassignment, she’d been able to make other friends, those who seemed to look upon her and see nothing to hate. Jivven, Shasarra, Pylarea, and Safir… only four, but so many more than she’d ever known before.

They would not die. She would not allow it.

Her desperation to reach the Civil encampment infused her motions, truncating the graceful swings of her glaive and forcing her to backpedal several times when an attempted blow she normally would have been aware of took her by surprise. She quite nearly stepped forward to take on the dark-haired human who held so many of her comrades at bay, that familiar hot sensation driving her toward such action, but when Shasarra tumbled backward, she was rent by conflict. She needed to heal her friend, she needed to avenge the others, and she still needed to save her energy.

Tao, as he always seemed to, solved her dilemma by stepping forward himself. His single glance in her direction reminded her of something he said once. Protecting people…that is noble, perhaps. But what if people can protect themselves? It had seemed an honest inquiry, asked with an almost childlike innocence, but she’d realized that he’d pointed out something she failed to consider. She couldn’t do everything she wanted to, but she didn’t have to either.

She flitted backwards, down the hill after Shasarra, intent on treating the worst of her friend’s injuries. Fortunately, it seemed that the exchange, though brutal, had not lasted long enough to deal the harpy any singularly life-threatening wounds, though the sum total of everything she had endured, the shallow cuts that littered her body, was dangerous enough on its own.

---

---

Skali watched as the next taker stepped up, a man who looked to be barely out of his boyhood. She was expecting a group; that would have made much more sense, and eventually, they would have been able to overwhelm her with sheer numbers. Many would have died in the process, but so would she, eventually. But no, this youngling was all on his own, exchanging glances with the red-robed cleric and holding up a hand diffidently to deter any of his men from following him to this.

Curious… if Skali had her guess, she’d say that even despite his youth, he had most of the men and women on the field beat for years of combat experience. It was in the way he moved, gliding around fallen bodies and terrain hazards without appearing to even notice them. She was much the same, and a small, secretive smile played across her features. If she could take this one down, her subsequent death at the hands of the masses would all be worth it.

“I am Hurin Skali,” she announced again, as had been customary when she was taught to fight. A worthy opponent deserved to know the name of the one who would be his end.

He cocked his head sideways, the purpose with which he had locked eyes with the mage replaced by what appeared to be a vague, dreamlike quality, as though he were both present and not at the same time. Though his hair was a red-brown, she took him to be a deep human; he was shorter than she, and more lightly-built. It made no difference when facing down the Children of Fire, of course, but it spoke to how he’d been trained, what kinds of tactics he was likely to use. A single-edged sword, presently covered in crimson rivulets of blood which dripped languidly to the earth below, rested in his left hand, his right entirely empty.

One eye was scarred, and the other sported a tattoo she vaguely knew to be familiar. “Feng Tao,” he returned at last, and Skali blinked. It was not a well-known name among common soldiers, perhaps, but she knew it. Not an assassin in the conventional sense, but something of a… problem-solver, sent to intercept and dispatch targets of particular importance in the heat of battle. Perhaps I should feel honored. I will certainly deserve it if I get rid of him.

Knowing better than to underestimate him, she already had the advantage over most of Tao’s opponents, and when she first charged, swinging her left sword in a wide arc, he ducked with speed she had not been expecting. Still, she was able to compensate a bit, and a few reddish hairs floated to the ground. Stepping in, she moved her right sword to slice at his hip, but his own blade blocked crosswise, and he jumped backward, swinging his arm in a tight circle that locked her blade into its motion, forcing her to drop it.

The whole thing took less than two seconds, and already she was without one of her swords. Skali exhaled, realizing she’d been holding her breath the entire time. Shifting her remaining blade to her dominant hand, she chuckled, low and dangerous. She was going to die today no matter what she did, but oh, how the challenge called to her.

Tao stood five feet from her, unmoving and apparently willing to wait until she attacked again. Their confrontation had already gained the attention of a few of the nearby soldiers, well aware that the captains of the squads of Civil and the Children were dueling. Maybe it was a bit superstitious, but such things had the tendency to portend the fate of the greater conflict, did they not?

Skali side-eyed her troops. “If you’re going to watch, make sure you learn,” she deadpanned, and strafed forward with considerable velocity. Tao sidestepped, their swords meeting when they drew alongside each other. Carefully avoiding a deadlock he was sure to win, Skali moved past it, whirling around to face him even as Tao echoed the movement in perfect unison. He was quicker in the recovery though, and she had to backpedal to keep up with his next round of strikes, parrying furiously and delivering a solid kick to his shin just as he shifted weight to step forward again. The slight hitch in his movement allowed her an opportunity, and she righted herself, slashing for his midsection whip-quick. He was faster, and what would have been a fatal blow was reduced to a nick, his blood slightly darker than the red brigandine it seeped into. She’d hit him right where the armor was laced, as he did not wear the complete set of mirror-mail, presumably for lightness.

She reversed direction and crouched into her next blow, aimed for his feet. He jumped, and she used the time to advance, windmilling her arms alternately as she drove him back with three successive upward slices. None hit, but she had him off-balance now.

He launched himself backward, drawing the pommel of his sword to his chest, thrusting outward with it as he moved forward again. Skali’s eyes went wide, and it was all she could do to dive out of the way, rolling to her feet in time to meet his next downward blow with her sword. The kick he delivered to her midsection was backed with a great deal of centripedal force, though, and his wooden sandal collided hard with her sternum. She felt the bone crack and splinter with the force of his supernatural strength, but that blow had been placed well enough that it probably would have broken either way. She had to admire that.

Pushing past the agony, Skali shoved backward on their joined blades with everything she had, which must have been considerably more than he was expecting, for he gave enough ground for her to stand properly, wincing as she attempted to pull more air into her lungs. It was a nearly-unbearable sensation, like her lungs were being rent with splinters of her bone, which they probably were.

Spitting out a mouthful of blood, Skali knew that she had one more pass left in her at most, and she needed to make it count. She had one thing going for her, though: this man was not aware of the fact that she knew she was going to be dead by the end of today. Her self-preservation instinct was all that stopped her from something suicidal until now, but all of that was slowly wearing away to be replaced with the grim certainty of death.

“I’ve always wondered,” his voice, strangely hollow- though his eyes had sparked to life after she drew his blood- broke her from her reverie. “What it felt like to die.”

Skali laughed, a sound that turned into a cough. She ignored the blood that dribbled down her chin and smirked at him. “I’ll make you a deal, Tao. I make it to hell first, and I’ll be sure to tell you when you arrive. Just in case they get you with poison or something stupid like old age.”

A barely-perceptible tilt graced the edges of his lips, and she thought idly that if it were an expression more common to him, he might be considered attractive. She put this down to blood loss and shook her head to clear it. “I’ll take you up on that,” he agreed, flicking his wrist sharply so that most of the ichor left his liuyedao.

The scarred woman said no more, rushing forward in a reckless move that left her defenses wide open. His face registered nothing further, even as her blade cleaved into his right shoulder, the force of desperation separating the limb from its stump even as his sword slid smoothly into the exposed flesh of her neck, parting her head from her shoulders. The arterial spray coated his face and chest, but he scarcely even blinked.

Tao bent, picking his severed arm up off the ground, showing no external sign of what must have been agonizing pain. Blood welled freely from his shoulder, flooding copiously onto the ground. Looking over at the watchers, who had grown in number to encompass just about everybody he could see, he blinked slowly. “Best finish as soon as we can,” he told his troops, slipping into the ranks of children to seek out Carmen before he could faint from the loss of blood.

Jivven tried his best to avoid the rolling ball of feathers and steel that was Shasarra, but she still managed to clip him and bring him to the ground. He jerked his head violently to the side to avoid the spear that was looking to turn his head into a kebab. Following up, Jivven grabbed the shaft of the spear and dug his sword into the ground as leverage to bring his legs and torso off of the ground, up, and over Jivven, delivering a massive mule kick to the deep human lady wielding the spear. The sudden reversal and contortion (made all that more impressive by the fact that they were on a hill) of the assassin's entire body caught the woman off guard and likewise brought her to the ground with Jivven now perched on top of her chest like a bird of prey. He brought his shortsword down, digging deep into her belly and ending her existence.

Jivven popped up and regained his bearings before he caught the eyes a nearby woman. He winked and added, "Impressed? Imagine me in bed!" he cackled, picking up the spear and chucking it into the Civil forces. Now that the present was wrapped up, he should go check on Shasarra. He followed the path of her rolling and came upon the sight of the injured harpy being tended to by Carmen. She must have gotten there while Jivven performed his acrobat trick. Still, she'd be a lot more useful than he was. Jivven looked back to where Shasarra had come from and saw that Tao had challenged the offending captain.

He patted the shoulder of Carmen and said, "I'll go see what I can do for the Captain. Keep safe, hmm?" Jivven said before striding off back up the hill. With a sudden surge of soldiers' bodies, the assassin vanished. The only hint of the assassin's path was the odd soldier falling down dead with his throat slit or pierced. The fallen soldiers painted a dotted line towards the battle between captains.

That air headed craven of a captain Tao might not have been interested about the world, but the world surely took interest in him. All that better for the assassin. Sure, Jivven could have struck out and aided the Captain, but the assassin didn't want to rob the man of his chosen mark. It's never good sport to steal another's kill. However, taking out those that watched the spectacle? That was fair game. As Tao fought his battle in the light, Jivven fought his in the dark. The circle around the contestants proved easy prey.

“If you’re going to watch, make sure you learn.”

A shame that they some wouldn't be able to implement what they learned. The assassin ducked low on and skulked between the shadows cast by the watchers. He took out a soldier, a shortsword separating the vertebrae of the neck and streaking into the brain stem. He didn't even know he was dead. His companions looked for the assailant, but none was there-- only shadows. More dropped in likewise fashion around the circle, up until the end of the battle. Tao had won, but at great cost. His arm. That signaled the end of the assassin's excursion as well, and he began to drop back to his lines.

The way back had been more difficult than the way in. It took every ounce of guile, as well as a couple of gouts of fire, the assassin possessed to dance back to his lines. He flowed under swords, blew past spears, ducked under axes, lashing out when he could. He managed to return to his lines, with a deep cut on his shoulder, a bruised cheek, and the bottom half of the leather plates on his chest cut away.

He'd need a new outfit soon, but he was alive. That much couldn't be said of his victims

---

Liliana Bloodleaf

"Bloody fuck!" Lily vehemently swore. She knew where she had shot, she had timed it perfectly. The last thing she expected was the damned thing catching her bloody arrow. She reached down picked up another, the first of her last two arrows, and readied it, completely ignoring the thing's insults and promises. She was killing the thing for making the huntress look like a simple green archer. Oh, the vampire had managed to rouse the elf's fury. One didn't tend to live long after that. She had the arrow nocked and drew as the vampire continued to talk, but if she had listened to his words, she would have realized the futility of her next actions. As it was, when the vampire vanished in the crimson veil, Lily's arrow soared right through the spot he had been, tearing into an undead whose vast misfortune had placed it in the errant path of the white fletched arrow.

Lily's vision erupted in a red haze. "What?! Are you serious! That's not even fair!" She yelled at no one in particular, snatching her last arrow from the ground and nocking it. Anger guided the normally composed hands of the huntress as she overdrew the bow, causing it dangerously protest, and let loose on the closest creature she could find. Her arrow buried itself up to the fletching in the eye of a Civil scout. A shame she couldn't hear his screams, it might have taken the edge off of her anger. Instead, she drew her saber and prepared for close-combat.

---

Adel & Landion

Adel and Landion was the first to see the General. Their search of the vampire had brought them into the camp camp. Both archers weren't stupid, they knew the outlook was grim back there. Once their vampire hunt became futile, they had began to put arrows into trying to help and quell the issue. But upon sight of Wrath, both felt a sense of relief and optmism. If the General was up and about, it wouldn't be long before they brought the fight to the Civil dogs. "Landion, get some quivers of arrows. We're going to need them," She grinned.

Landion returned the grin and set off about his task. Their day wasn't done yet, things were just about to become fun.

---

Zyn

"Yo, Turha! Is that the General? He's a damn sight for sore eyes," Zyn called between shots. He still had a golem mounted, unwilling to relinquish his mighty position. In a pause between arrows Zyn managed a salute off towards the general before nocking the next arrow. As he reached back, he became increasingly aware of his dwindling supply. "Damn it," he uttered. At a rate like this, he'd have to dismount the golem and engage in hand-to-hand. He didn't like the thought of that with those dogs running around.

"Hey, Zyn! Catch!" He turned just in time to catch a bundle of arrows held together by twine. "Adel? What are-" He had just placed the arrows back into his quiver when the golem lurched forward behind their general. It seemed like he was getting a free ride to the front lines... His lips curled dangerously around the corners, as he muttered, "Know us and fear."

---

Lily had slung her bow across her back and had engaged into close-combat with her saber. She was in no way rivalling Thanaros's level of destruction but she managed to hold her own. Her blade was slick from the blood of her enemies, but she had taken a couple of shots herself. Her right sleeve was entirely gone, a thin cut reveled flesh on her belly and a line of red, and blood flowed freely from a cut on her cheek. But she wasn't giving up just yet. She had her saber angled for an assault when something stopped her.

It the golems. What were they doing up here? And was that Zyn? She turned back for answers just in time to catch the bundle of arrows thrown at her. Adel beamed and surged forward behind the golems with Landion in tow. Even the silent elf seemed to have brightened at the sudden turn of events. Lily hesitated, confused as to what transpired. Then Wrath appeared. She returned his nod, adding, "About time." Then her gaze flew past Wrath and behind, "Oh, I see you brought me a present," She said looking at Turha.

As she approached him, Wrath stated how "It was their turn."

Lily couldn't agree more. She sheathed her saber and gave Turha a peck on the cheek, saying, "So nice of you to join us, love." She then drew her bow once more and nocked the first of many arrows and settled into a stance beside Turha. She had never been more comfortable on a battlefield.

Alistair Razoredge was the kind of man who used to be considered a fool among fools. A white-winged royal, he’d run away from his life as warlord and his choice of consorts to join a mercenary band. He was, despite his extensive weapons training and considerable skill, not a violent individual at heart but a peaceful one, almost a scholar, if the idea of a harpy scholar was not so ridiculous. He was also aware, and repeatedly reminded, that with the right disguise, he could easily pass for a woman, between the fine-boned features and the unusually clean snowy hair.

It had been nearly impossible to unite the scattered harpy clans into a single fighting force, much less under his own banner, and yet somehow, he’d managed to do it. The dozens of duels he’d fought with his territorial kinsmen were evident in the scars which seemed now to crosshatch his porcelain complexion, from sword-cuts to blunt wounds from maces and old burns from near-miss flame spells. He’d endured them all, and each one had been well worth it for this moment alone.

For all that he had been born and raised upon craggy cliffs over the sea, it was here that he could at last say he was coming home, for it was the people that made it so. His sharp vision picked out Sid below, and beside her Thanaros, the once-captain Wrath, and Neira the nightmarian. Another area held dear Lily, arrows flying from her bow with customary speed and accuracy, and he was certain that the surviving Shanir sister, Talae, was atop a horse, riding tandem with a man he did not recognize. He could not, unfortunately, spot Kisikoni, and he hoped his old friend was not dead.

The other half of his forces, led by a warlady called Keshiryn, would be coming up behind the lines of the Children of Fire, but from up here, it was easy to tell that the servants of the Black formed the second half of an impressive pincer maneuver, and so his orders were to prioritize the success of the attack on the Civil.

It was then that chaos needled its way into his carefully-organized lines. Were he not so well-educated, he might not have recognized gravewurms when he saw them, but as it was, he needed to control the damage. “Shamans! Burn anything infected with those wurms, including our own! Do not hesitate! We are lost the moment they infect us. Everyone else, get clear of the area! Ranged weapons only- you will not be the tools of necromancers today!”

The response was immediate: the infected parties went up in flames, those still enough in their own minds dropped their weapons to accept it. Loss was necessary, and honor to the clan more important than pain, than life-the militant nature of harpy upbringing instilled this early. The rest took to the skies, drawing bows or magic where necessary, and Alistair extracted as many of his people as he could, but there was no mistaking that many were too far away to heed his calls. Salvaging who he was able, he directed anyone still hale and whole to join the Paragon lines, leaving the rest to the command of their own captains. Warlord he might be now, but loyalty was still first and foremost to one’s own local leaders.

It was with heavy heart that he as well took wing, but there was no time to worry about the others now. If they could get out, he had to believe that they would, but he could not risk everyone else falling victim to the wurms.

Drawing his own bow, he swooped into the fray, firing and puncturing a Civil soldier right through the eye. Alighting near an old friend, he gave her a gentle smile. “Long has it been, Miss Lily,” he said by way of greeting, drawing the end of another arrow back to his cheek and releasing. “Though-” he fired- “I hear it’s Captain now.”

---

Neira only understood some of what was going on, but all the same, her eyes narrowed. She’d lingered behind with the general and the captain, and even now glanced between them, suspicion lighting her gaze. She would not plunder his mind for the information, but that didn’t stop her from knowing that he told the truth.

Pleading with Sid was useless, though; the halfling was a little too emotional and bullheaded for that to work. So, she tried Thanaros instead. Don’t.

I must, he replied simply, shooting the captain a glance. So he sensed what she sensed then.

Neira’s lips curled in something between a snarl and a grimace, and she glared at him for several seconds. There is no must. There is always more than one option. Always.

The half-orc gave her a sad sort of smile, and she scoffed. But he was apparently just as immovable as Sid on this point, and she grit her teeth, smoothing her face into impassivity. Fine. If it’s really what you want. Try not to die, Thanaros. He nodded sagely, and Neira heaved a sigh. Useless sentiment, that she couldn’t help but be angry with him.

Snapping off her first real salute in decades, she turned away from the two departing officers and to the general. “Come on. Five minutes isn’t long, and you and I have a lot of killing to do in between now and then.”

---

Talae drew in a deep breath. Nothing. At least one of her ribs was cracked, and several shallow wounds were bleeding sluggishly, but she felt nothing. A slight twinge in her side when she inhaled, but no pain. Shaking her head, she drew a red substance from her bandoleer and took out the cork of the vial with her teeth, downing the substance in a quick draught. Hypercoagulant, to slow the bleeding even further, outright stop it if she were lucky. She might feel no more pain from her wounds, but that wouldn’t stop blood loss from killing her.

Where was he? She’d lost track of the folk suffering from the unique panic Kisikoni could induce because by this point, a large number of people were panicking, and her odds of finding him now were unpleasantly low.

As if in answer to her thoughts, Salim rode up next to her, and she paused to consider his offer for only a brief second before leaping astride his horse. She nodded to his men, though not without wondering when and where he’d acquired them, and they were about to ride off when Fak’ir and Asera appeared at her side.

“We ride in your shadow, captain,” the halfling pronounced, and Asera nodded eagerly.

Talae was torn, but did not show it. “Fine. But make sure you stay in it. All of you.” The last was directed pointedly at Asera, the youngest and most impulsive member of her squad. With almost all of the fighting head-on at the moment, they wouldn’t be as much use as normal to the frontal charge, but this sort of thing was what they were trained for. Both nodded, and disappeared with a flick of Fak’ir’s wrist, pulled into his shadow magic and rendered invisible.

“Let’s go.” Salim grinned and spurred his horse forward, the ten cavalry units skirted the edges of the field, delayed only once to deal with a small group of Civil that had become separated from the main line. Fak’ir and other members of her team flickered in and out of visibility, and her heart, or what little was left of it, swelled with pride. Yes, they would be fine when she- now is not the time, Shanir. Keep your head on straight.

Within minutes, they’d reached the pocket of Death Knight resistance, the fighting here much more pitched than it was elsewhere, though Paragon soldiers were dropping like insects. An uncanny aura of foreboding hung over the area, and she reflected that Kisikoni’s more questionable abilities seemed to have amplified considerably since the last time they were on the same field.

“Thank you,” she murmured to Salim, leaping from his horse the moment she was close enough to see him. Or rather, what was left of him. The sight of the transformation was not what bothered her, though she would not hesitate to admit that she was afraid. What frightened her most, though, was that she had no idea how much of this being was even her partner anymore. Some of it had to be, though, and that was what allowed her to continue forward resolutely, pulling a smoke bomb from one of the pouches at her belt. She doubted darkness would be a problem for whatever the creature was, and she knew that deep humans were well-adapted to it. It would only be an advantage for herself and her squad, and she tossed the thing into the fray without hesitation, hefting Abel in one hand and drawing a long, serrated blade with the other.

Charging forward, she managed to get the attention of Kil, drawing him away from his rush towards Koni. Faki’ir, Asera, and Merin, an elven skirmisher with a flamberge, intercepted Ruv, the three of them moving in perfect concert, knowing that to attempt a full-on brawl with someone so heavily-armored would be a mistake for saboteurs like themselves.

Talae had no such reservations. Spinning her knife in one hand, she advanced, utterly silent but unmistakably angry.

---

---

Carmen inhaled sharply, the blood gushing from Tao’s arm a direct shot to her chest cavity. Running forward without the slightest heed for herself, she murmured soothing platitudes- though more for herself than he- as she examined the wound. Yes, she should be able to reattach the-

Suddenly, her oldest friend was torn from her grasp, Aesr cauterizing the wound beyond her ability to repair, and Carmen nearly wept from her new position in the dirt, where the dragon had shoved her. Tao would be forever a cripple, and she could have stopped it. Smiling darkly, in a way that sent shudders down the healer’s spine, the Captain simply nodded to Aesr and about-faced to rejoin the fray.

The dragon spread her arms wide- attend to me, for I am all that counts- and Carmen’s facial expression hardened, closing off until none of her customary gentleness or openness remained. She found, with dismay, that she hated Aesr in that moment, and one of her hands curled into a fist beneath her sleeve. Tao would only have one of those now, all because of… the cleric’s shoulders slumped. Not yet; everything was too soon, and she couldn’t ruin it. Her friends still needed her.

Carmen rose with all the dignity she could muster, brushed herself off, and stepped forward, casting silently, watching with baleful eyes as the dragon’s wounds closed up and she hissed with satisfaction, probably from the refreshed and warm feeling the magic tended to produce. Carmen’s eyes fell to the ground, and she did not move them from there until Aesr was off, back into the fight with renewed vigor, screeching her defiance at her foes.

A tiny seed of self-loathing bloomed in the healer’s breast right then, and it was all she could do not to vomit. Forgive me.

---

The Wraiths were wreaking havoc on the Children’s lines, but what Aesr had not realized was that the fact that her troops had been slowed with his duel and then his temporary disappearance was now proving to be an advantage. They were able to take their pick of situations, swoop in, deal heavy damage, and get out.

This was the way of things for several rounds, but at last it came time to make their final push for Nhil Darenthi’s encampment. Tao, the right side of his robe burned off when Aesr so helpfully cauterized his wound with her breath weapon, looked at once like a man worn down and one entirely unfazed. His body was battered, there was no mistaking that, but his rate had not faltered. Adjusting for the lack of an arm was unexpected, but since it was his non-dominant one anyway, it simply required more cross-blocking and a bit of balance adjustment. The first few who’d thought to kill the cripple had met slightly sloppier ends for it, but besides that, he appeared unchanged.

He was not, but the difference was less physical than mental.

Rallying the troops he had left (which was still quite he substantial number and managed to include most of the best soldiers in his division), he led the group forward, stressing that speed was of great importance. The less opportunity the Civil had to regroup or unleash the next wave of horror, the better. They were through most of the undead muck now, though there were still Wraths in the area, and the path to the Civil encampment was a straight shot, as an arrow flies.

“Hold formation, keep each other alive, and kill anything that stands in your way.” Tao’s orders were soft and curt, relayed down the line with precision. They charged, met by Civil who picked their targets carefully. One man went right for Pylarea, and another two closed on Jivven. One of these was met with the business end of a mace from the orc standing beside the darkling, but the other danced out of the way without difficulty. Daesino Alfangor was an old man, even by the standards of dark elves, but he had seen the youngling claiming to understand his art from a distance a way, and resolved to show him exactly what shadowdancing was supposed to look like before he was killed in this mad rush. Passing the art on to the enemy was better than letting it die, especially since battle was the only way to do so.

Safir and Shasarra were targeted by what appeared to be a team of slash-and-dash fighters, their speed and agility far outstripping their strength, and their cunning beating both of those traits by a hair. The four-person team were grinning like madmen as they rushed the knight and the harpy.

This Civil was proving quite the troublemaker. Somehow, Jivven found himself on the honest frontlines at the head of the charge. He was too busy dodging lethal blows and dancing out of the way of an errant mace of blade to get out a curse or even question his luck. He was irritated, to say the least. The assassin had been pushed to the front-- Again, he found himself wondering where Oraun was. The proud warrior would have been useful in a situation such as this. Alas, all he had in the ways of a partner was the Orc, Gorthax. Not that Jivven didn't like the warrior. He sure did manage to attract attention away from the diminutive dark elf.

At last, he finally parted with his shortsword as gift to an elven woman's spine. The thrashing she did trying to dislodge the blade only managed to dislodge it from Jivven's hand. As she fell, she fell on top of the blade, driving it further in but snapping it off at the hilt. Finally, Jivven found the time to curse. It was a symphony of swears, cursing the dead gods, cursing his luck, and cursing the mother and father of the now dead elf. He picked up the next weapon he could find which was a spear jammed into a dead zealot. Jivven didn't feel the slight bit of guilt as he ripped the spear free. The zealot wasn't part of Tao's unit, why would he feel guilty?

There was a silver lining to his change of weaponry. Now instead of being purely defensive, he actually had the reach to deal some damage. Though, he didn't wield the spear as a normal spearman (thrusting at everything that moved), but instead using his fleet-feet to his advantage and swung the spear in wide arcs. If he was to fight on the frontlines, then he would do it on his terms. A memory flashed back to when he was just a mere initiate. In the first fight in which they had to prove themselves against each other and the gnolls. When he first fought Oraun. He still remembered the haft of his kinsman's spear rising to meet his chin. He'd have to make him proud.

Jivven found himself covering his partner's back while the orc did the same for him. Fighting with a partner. He'd almost forgotten what that felt like. Fighting without having to look over your own back, a single, impervious unit. Jivven wondered what Kazhir was doing. Bah, now was not the time to wonder about family, now was the time to fight with family. His spear pierced the chest of a man, quickly retracting the weapon, and finishing the Civil off with a bash from the haft of the spear. He quickly reversed the spear and slammed the blunt end of the spear into the gut of another, and then followed by tearing through the skull with the bladed end. Jivven found himself enjoying the spear. Then orders from Tao relayed in.

“Hold formation, keep each other alive, and kill anything that stands in your way.”

"As if we weren't?" Jivven mused to Gorthax, a grin painted on his face. It was then they were approached by two Civil soldiers. They both seemed to converge on Jivven, though one forgot about his large friend. The other... Danced out of the way. He was an older man, the same race as Jivven. He held his spear behind his back, at the ready as he strode forward away from the protective reach of Gorthax. Jivven knew those movements, he knew that they shared more than ancestory.

"Leave him to me," Jivven told his orc companion. Sure, Jivven was proud, but he never let it cloud his judgement. If dismissing his pride meant an easy kill, he'd always go for the kill. Pride was a foolish thing, and only served to weaken those slaved to it... But here he was, standing off against another dark elf, alone. The man surely had centuries of experience over him and had probably killed many more than Jivven could hope to count. He knew this would be no easy fight. Jivven ripped what little cloak he had left and exposed the naked leather plates underneath. They were worn and torn in places, revealing ashen flesh underneath.

Jivven settled into a stance, Spear still waiting behind his back. "My name is Jivven Noda'Razzr, youngest of the Noda'Razzr family. I am a Shadowdancer," He stated.

He struck first-- sending the spear spinning around his torso and out, trying to rake the chest of the older darkling.

This was to be his finest dance yet.

---

Liliana Bloodleaf

The force of the blow knocked even Lily to the ground. She was on her back in seconds, but too late. She looked up to the undead knight standing over her with his warhammer raised, looking to crush the elf like an ant. Though, no fear played on Lily's face. She was defiant still and glared, jaw set, at the knight above her-- daring him to bring the hammer down. She did not fear death, she never feared death, an she would meet her death screaming defiance the whole way. Lily would not give this abomination the satisfaction of fear.

For the second time in her life, a lucky time saved her life. Instead of a human tackling a dragon, it was a a dragon construct tackling the knight. Lily could hear the construct bladed talons ripped the knight to pieces. She too a deep breath, realizing she hadn't breathed at all. Then she was on her feet in moments, and to Turha's side. As she helped him to his feet, she heard what he relayed to the captain via golem. Again, she found herself impressed by these metallic constructs.

"I don't think I've told you how much I love these golems," Lily told Turha. He replied with a smile and, "I could guess." She gave him another peck on the check before Wrath called for a charge. Lily nodded, taking another arrow from her quiver. "Shall we?" She asked. "Let's," was her answer.

Not far into the charge an odd sight caused her to look back. A cloud of harpies descended over their camp, led by none other than Alistair himself. Lily's face beamed as she realized that Alistair had returned, "He did it!" She cheered for her old friend. Now, a ferocious drive propelled her arrows. With friends at her back and side, there was no way they could lose. She smiled as she fought.

A number of arrows later, a swooping noise came to her attention. The voice that followed was one she had missed. “Long has it been, Miss Lily,” She looked up to the harpy with a friendly smile. He paused to nock an arrow before he continued. “Though-” he fired- “I hear it’s Captain now.”

"Yes, I suppose it is, Alistair. Or is it Warlord Alistair now?" She teased, firing one of her own arrows. "After this, after we take the Civil camp. You, Koni, and I have some catching up to do over tea," she said, catching a glance from Turha. "You have a tea date?" He asked. Lily answered only with a coy smile.

Certainly, if the fist had been a sword, there would have been no coming back from such a blow. Regaining his balance, Kisikoni roughly grabbed his dislocated jaw, and snapped it back into place while it healed. Death Knights were something he had never heard of, but the armor they wore would certainly present the biggest problem yet in this battle. What was worse was that they were trapped, the Knights had the small unit of Paragon surrounded. To top it all off, Kisikoni was granted the pleasure of fighting three at once. It was impossible, not even with this unnatural regeneration and strength could he fight three large, armored opponents and hope to come out on top. Staring at the largest, Hul, he merely only readied himself for his fate, attempting to imagine all the possibilities to even stand a chance. Nothing, he could barely think in his bitter bloodrage, and could only see his body being cut to pieces. He readied himself for the first titanic blow, ripping another small bottle from his belt and downing the contents as the knights reached within range.

The sky, which had rapidly begun to lighten due to the dissipation of the dark mist suddenly became dull again as smoke covered the area. The Death Knights paused in their lumbering stride briefly, just as surprised as he was. However, that didn't stop them from raising their blades. It was only a flash of movement, but his heightened senses caught it. Reinforcements? At this grim time? Kisikoni was scarce for coherent thought as a couple of figures joined the fray out of his peripherals, taking on Kil and Ruv before he could. It didn't take long before his flayed brain could recognize his saviors. It was the best, and worse realization he had today.

Talae had returned from her mission. Assisted by her group of assassins, she staved off the biggest problem the deep human had- watching his flanks. Seeing her alive, well, and willing to take on a Death Knight made him happy, but at the same time dread that she may fail loomed on his mind. He didn't know how exhausted she was from her duties, but now he was forced to trust her, as she always did him as he turned away from her to look at Hul. He had finally closed the distance, and raised his large sword for a crushing blow. Catching up could be put on hold, this could not.

Side-stepping the overhand chop, he rushed in and attempted to test the armor the Death Knight wore against his strength and sword. The sword screeched as it skated off the chestplate, but the Death Knight did not react toward the blow, pushing forward and shoving the Deep Human away with his weight. Stumbling back, he regained his balance at the last moment, using his mace to meet the horizontal cut. The force of the blow was enormous, causing the Deep Human's wrist to shatter and the mace to fall from his hands. Resisting the urge to stop everything and screech in the following explosion of pain, he only congratulated himself that he managed to stop the blow. Even as his wrist slowly reformed, the Deep Human continued to exchange blows with the knight, this time with Kisikoni parrying or outright dodging the moves. It didn't allow him to close the distance as much as he'd like, but it was better than getting completely bisected. However, the drain on his strength was adding up, and Kisikoni could feel his vision blurring at certain points. He needed to end it, and end it all. If not, he was going to die.

Your pitiful performance was starting to grate on me anyways. It sneered, halting the regeneration of his wrist as his arm took on a strange, grey hue. I hoped to save this for when your body could take it, but it does appear this war won't be progressing any slower.

Kisikoni couldn't respond, only twist in shock as his arm began to flex and snap like a banner in the wind. The bones seemed to liquefy as Kisikoni stopped questioning what other unholy tricks it had up it's sleeve, and used it to attack. The snapping tentacle-like arm whipped forward, attempting to punch straight through the chain mail that protected Hul's neck.

---

All this running was beginning to irritate Mercy greatly. This was certainly dragging on more than she had dared suspect, and her reserves of webbing were running low. Her whip and claw were continually darkening with blood, cutting their way through the Civil with an almost monotonous feel to it all. That was the most dangerous part of the battle- once it starts becoming the same, the surprises always hit the hardest. It all came to the thundering last stretch, as she finished off another Civil soldier the defensive line finally parted. Blinking her luminous red eyes, she listened and heard the call of her general, Wrath Liu-Wen to charge and risk becoming surrounded- much like what was happening BEFORE this tumultuous event. However, it was then that the sky contained the presence of not the Whites, Reds, and Blacks, but the harpies en masse. They had finally dared show their plumage, but luckily it was right where they needed it the most, cleaning out the back lines that threatened to destroy them from the rear. Unfortunately, this intervention caused many to deviate from the General's orders.

She may have fallen back as well to assist the Harpies in cleaning up the gravewurm menace, but at this point the battle in front was vastly more important. She didn't know the reason behind her boy's incredibly irrational tactical decisions, and she did intend to find out after this damnable battle. Undead, Vampies, even the wails of what may have been banshees a good distance away. Nhil of the Civil had not held back in his offensive-defense. Licking her lips, she seized a nightmarian Paragon soldier as he rushed back to assist the Harpies. Recognizing him, she roughly turned him to face the Nightmarian Spider. "Jack, you wouldn't go back on your orders and leave me behind, would you?"

"I, uh, what?" Was his confused reply, but his determination quickly crumbled under the peevish gaze of her red eyes. "Right. General's orders." He mumbled inaudibly, following the Spider back to charge the Civil camp.

After much running, she was surprised to see Wrath in the middle of his troops, instead of leading the charge against the deranged necromancer. She remembered hearing from a war cry that Miralight may have been killed. A damn shame that was, she was a nice girl. However, that was not the reason she managed to sidle up to the saddened General and grab him from the side as he ran. Planting a big kiss on his cheek, she released him soon after for him to take a seat on her abdomen so he could regain his momentum from there. "Dear, now is not the time for your melodramatic shenanigans." She admonished, raising a finger to wag as the soldiers in front of her cleared the way. She really wasn't sure if there were any shenanigans to begin with, but they needed a strong general to lead this crazy attack, and she saw quite the opposite when she laid eyes on him.

---

In the heat of battle, Safir lost sight of all his comrades. Pylarea had been somewhere to his far left, Jivven had only moments ago flicked past his vision, sinking his blades into the neck of an enemy before dancing away. Carmen and Tao were back healing, Dresinil had been killed, much to his sorrow. The elven beserker had been Safir's first comrade in the Children's recruits. His subconscious grieving was cut off as wraiths were summoned by the necromancers to aid the crumbling Civil defensive line. Their sudden appearance and what they did surprised Safir to the point where he nearly retreated with his comrades, unable to figure out a way to deal with them. The wraiths were doing many things- cutting the soul with their vicious strikes, and raising the dead to fight for their cause. They were huge- the size of monsters unheard of where he lived.

His indecision to run was broken when a group of children blasted one of the ghostly soul-spirits into oblivion with a concentrated blast of dragonfire. Safir readied his own gout of fire, but the corpses continued to shudder and return to life a mindless revenants. Safir hacked his way through two of his comrades in desperation, trying to figure out some way to defeat this new foe. Aesr certainly would not enjoy it if her units routed, and Tao's wrath seemed much less of a threat compared to the black dragon's. Raising his shield instinctively as one of the soul-wraiths swung at him, he was surprised when he didn't feel some sort of internal coldness overtake him. He opened his eyes, realized he had squeezed them shut in fear of the blow and saw his mother's enchanted kite shield glowing as it repelled the attack with powerful vigor. Safir fervently thanked whatever muse that was responsible for his mother's inspirational shield enchantments. Feeling confidence rise up in him once more, he threw himself at the soul wraith, cloaking his sword in fire and landing a couple blows against the gigantic wraith. His kite shield repelled all the undead's soul attacks. His adrenaline faded as he felled the wraith, the last of it's ethereal energy fading into the sky. Safir realized now that the kite shield had absorbed quite a lot of his strength, and he very nearly collapsed from the sudden weakness in his legs. He looked toward the thirteen other wraiths scattered across Children lines, and decided that he wasn't strong enough to take it.

Shasarra was near him when he finally noticed several fighters surrounded them. Panting heavily, he watched them dance around the two eagerly, wielding their short weapons. Malice and cunning flashed in their eyes as they rushed Safir. The knight soon realized as the fighters attacked at the weak points in his armor that they were too smart for their own good. His armor had small weak points, but as long as they attacked them, Safir had a good idea of where they were going to attack. And that made them predictable, even if they were masters of cunning. However, taking on two or more at once was a big problem. As he cut at one, another attacked his open knee joints. As he attacked the other, the first would strike at his exposed neck. It infuriated Safir, whose movements are already sluggish and slow due to his fight with the wraith.

"Shasarra. You still alive?" The knight called, his breathing ragged and his vision focused solely on the two grinning fighters he faced.

The harpy replied with an enraged screech as her dirk missed it's mark once more and she was forced on the defensive, her buckler taking several blows before her pair backed off to eye her warily.

"Need to work together." The knight said once carefully. The harpy could hardly believe she had to deign to work with a human. A male human. However, if they didn't they'd eventually be worn down and skinned alive by the malicious team of fighters. She grunted in grudging affirmation. Casting a brief glance behind her, she watched the human parry one skirmisher's strike, and saw the other moving in on the knight's flank. Striking like a whip, the harpy's dagger flitted out in an attempt to intercept the second skirmisher while Safir turned in almost perfect synchronization to bash one of Shasarra's opponents with his shield.

---

“My name is Daesino Alfangor, and my family invented your art. I have been a master since before you were a thought in your mother’s head, youngling.” The tones of the return greeting were far from accusatory or arrogant; indeed, there seemed almost to be a wistful sadness in them. I am also old, older than I should be, and ready to leave this world. Still, the last Alfangor could not slough off his mortal coil without knowing for certain that at last one remained who knew his techniques truly. If this child were to have that knowledge, that intuitive understanding of shadow that could not be taught, then Daesino would be only too happy to fall by his hand.

Still, there were a few things he could impart first, in the only way he’d been taught: in blood-lines, scored into flesh, reminders of every errant folly. He was covered in innumerable small scars, as would this young Noda’Razzr be, if he was worthy of them.

Jivven’s first swing met with only empty air, Daesino flowing away from it as though he’ known exactly where it would be. Flickering, the dark elf seemed to vanish from sight, the only mark of his passage a new, light nick on his opponent’s spear arm. Perhaps surprisingly, he did not press his advantage or try to cut any deeper.

“Again, only as though you mean it this time.”

---

Shasarra’s last throwing dagger buried itself in the arm of the encroaching skirmisher, and the one opposite him fell under the weight of Safir’s shield-bash, her nose shattered and blood pooling in her mouth. Spitting it, she tried to recover and scramble to her feet, but a heavy blow from a mace caved her skull in, and she crumpled like a week-dead leaf underfoot.

Gorthax grimaced appreciatively, nodding to Safir, Shasarra, and Vortigern, who, approaching from the other end, had finished off the harpy’s opponent with a savage grin and a swift axe-blow to the back. “We’re forgin’ ahead,” the too-tall elf volunteered, “but we’re supposed ta stay well clear o’ that.” He pointed to where the lich was unleashing its fel magic over wide swaths of Children less pragmatic than they. “Orders are to make a push for the camp, as soon as we can.”

That, of course, would be easier said than done. With the lich making a chaotic mess of the field, getting around it would mean walking into a pocket of Civil resistance fortified by the late-game appearance of a creature from draconian legend. Indeed, even as the group turned to meet their oncoming assailants, a fair mix of magi and elite physical combatants, there was no mistaking that these were not mindless undead or frightened rookies. Many of them were once members of Nhil’s personal honor guard alongside Daesino, though in his state he had precious little use for them anymore, and now they marched to battle like the rest.

“Come on, ladies and gents, let’s get while the gettin’s still good!” Vortigern at least seemed unfazed by the caliber of their new opponents, focused only on the next move, the next breath and swing and strike, and making it to their destination.

---

The man without a right arm soon found himself in the rather interesting company of a semicircle of magi, dodging spells with a rare alacrity that presented itself as careless abandon. At his back, the red-robed cleric shot off spells of her own, eying the lich with the air of someone driven quite nearly to distraction.

It felt so wrong to her every sense, but her loyalty was to these people here, and she would not allow herself to fail them any worse than she already had. A hand gesture forced holy magic into the very pores of the nearest magician, and the light seared him from the inside out, as though rending his soul before his body. Their advance had slowed, too slow now for comfort, but at the very least the lich had not reached them, and she would ensure that it did not, even if it managed to work through the swarms of Children that rushed it now.

Slow their progress might be, she reflected as Tao sliced through the last mage, but it was still inexorable. She had faith, real faith, that her friends were strong enough to make it, and she could not help but feel that the emphasis the captain always placed on supporting each other in his orders and his strategies was the right one. She had known groups of Children unable to take advantage of the bonds their initiations created, who were still competitive and individualistic even when they were supposed to be working together.

But not them. Not this squad. She could not bring herself to call them the Aesr, for the hatchling had nothing to do with it. They were many, and they were mightier than the sum of their parts. Somehow, she knew with certainty that only this would save them, in the end.

---

Thereafter, Captain Tao took his first step within the bounds of the Civil camp, and his squad with him. They had reached their goal, and now all that remained was to see what awaited them there.

---

Alistair chuckled as he slung his bow over his back, donating half his remaining white-fletched arrows to Lily’s quiver in a smooth motion. The other ten, he kept simply to ensure that he would not be caught flat-footed at any time during the battle, but his true skill had always been with polearms, and his wickedly-pronged trident was in his hand momentarily, a wide arcing swing tearing a Civil soldier from navel to sternum, leather armor entirely notwithstanding.

“I am ever and always just Alistair to my friends. Rest assured that I wouldn’t miss it for The Gift itself,” he replied sagely, rotating his body and plunging the spear into the next woman’s neck.

It was then that the call came for the Blackguard to form up near Wrath, and for the barest of seconds, Alistair hesitated, looking to the sky. His kith and kin were being devastated by what appeared to be a siege weapon, fueled by unholy magic. He knew with grim certainty that there was nothing he could do for them, though each life snuffed was another weight on his shoulders. But, if Wrath and his legion could reach the camp, than their deaths would not be for nothing, and those that remained could be saved.

Alistair was in the air again like a shot, joining the formation and standing beside his old comrades once more. Time away from them had only made their continued fight more imperative in his eyes. Not all of his people agreed, and many were more inclined towards the elusive forces of the Savage.

He would show them that they were wrong.

---

Neira stifled a full-throated laugh at the spectacle of Wrath being treated entirely like a child by his mother, cracking a rare smile and waving at Mercy as the spider took off. Neira flanked the both of them, and it was not long before they and a few others managed to break free of the fighting and head into the camp.

Her consciousness alighted upon something most strange, then- a mind made like water or slick glass, one that she would not be able to manipulate without significant effort, if then. At first he wondered if this was Nhil, but the vampire she’d tagged, Gertz, was nowhere in his vicinity. Instead, she sensed that there were dozens of soldiers at his back, and at least one psychic.

“The Children have reached the edge of the camp,” she warned, even as the white-winged harpy arrived, a figure familiar to her as one of the few decent sparring partners she’d had back before her promotion. They were soon joined by three others, including Shanir and Ayalen, but she paid them small heed as they continued their march for Nhil’s tent, through the strangely-empty camp. Oh hell. This is going to go badly, isn’t it?

---

“I abandoned any notion of honor long ago, and the only sovereigns who hold my loyalty are the people I care for,” Talae replied to the Death Knight, uninterested in his hangups or his prejudice. Men who would be still corpses clung to all manner of foolish things, she knew that.

Before she could strike, Salim stepped in, and her tongue was halfway to forming the words of a harsh rebuke when he was struck, and they left her in a muted hiss. Before she could properly formulate a reaction to the new circumstances, she as pulled into a circle of teleportation, and attempted to hold onto her last meal as she, Koni, and Asera were pulled through time-space and deposited, rather unceremoniously, somewhere a short distance behind Wrath and the small squad he now led toward the center of the Civil encampment. Salim was not present, and she gritted her teeth, shaking her head and pulling herself to her feet-

-and finding herself in Kisikoni’s grip. Was the fact that she could actually feel that, feel the hands about her upper arms, psychosomatic? It hardly mattered, but the realization left her unable to properly formulate any kind of response. Then he kissed her, and Talae’s hands gently cupped either side of his face, and how she wished that were enough. She caught his wrist as he turned, and her words were nearly whispered. She had been keeping two very important things from him, but at least one of them was secret no longer.

“I… I love you too. Stay alive, Koni, please. Stay you, regardless of what your body becomes.” The other thing would have to wait, assuming they both came out of this alive. “I couldn’t bear to lose you as well.” And there it was, her greatest fear laid bare: that everything she ever loved would be torn from her in the same violent manner. Her parents, her best friend and erstwhile teacher Caine, her sister Fae. Talae had always tried to be realistic about what she could achieve and what she could not, and she knew with fatalistic certainty that she would not be able to withstand the weight of another loss. Especially not him.

The dark elf's lips tilted in a small, sad smile, and she released him, taking up her weapons and gesturing for Asera to follow her once more into the shadows of the battle, striking the few foes that thought to flank the main party as they progressed inexorably towards whatever awaited them at the center.

Jivven knew. He knew that his spear would only hit air. He expected the counter attack, and he knew he could do nothing about it. What he didn't expect was how shallow the cut was. He knew that if the man had wanted to, he could have taken his arm off. The man had stated that it was his family who invented his art, Shadowdancing. Yet this was the real thing. Not some moniker placed upon the his fluid steps, or even the pale facsimile that Jivven practiced. This was the real thing, and Jivven respected that deeply.

The cut on his arm was shallow, a test, a challenge. His arm quivered at the skin-deep pain, but he kept hold upon his spear. He would not show pain, of weakness, in front of this man. The man was what Jivven aspired to be. A true master of the shadows, and not in name only. To dance with the shadows, not inside or through. To be as quick and agile as the shadows themselves and to flicker between the twilight. To be of the twilight itself. Had times been different, Jivven would have happily went under this Daesino Alfangor's wing and learned his art. Yet, they had met during war, on opposite sides. And Jivven lamented this. In order to survive, in order to win and live to see his own art become mastered, he'd have to defeat this man.

He'd have to defeat a man he would have happily called master.

Jivven turned to face the man, now holding the spear with both hands. This was a lesson. Daesino was leading him, and he felt appreciation. He was to learn a fraction of this man's art despite them being on opposite sides of the line. For once since joining the Children, Jivven did not complain, he did not whine, and he listened. Jivven nodded once more at the man's words and added his own.

"Yes. I will," he said as a student speaking to a master.



Jivven struck with his spear, tip pointed at Daesino's heart. Unsurprisingly, the old darkling easily sidestepped out of the way and strode forward towards him. He then jerked the spear looking to strike him with the shaft. Without breaking stride, he merely ducked under the shaft with a spin and he was upon Jivven. Using a trick that Oraun had used against him during their first meeting, Jivven swung the spear to the side to bash Daesino with the butt of the spear. The master flickered and he was gone, the butt connecting with only air. Knowing that his shadow lay behind him, Jivven stabbed backwards with the spear under his arm. He felt no resistance of skin, only a sudden jerk indicating that the target had grabbed the spear. Instincts telling him what was to come next if he stayed still, he pivoted around the spear without letting go, ending up switching sides of the spear.

Just in time as a blade swiped and cut a piece of leather from his plates. But he never saw the blade, only the blur of shadows. "Good," the master said without letting go of the spear, "You know how to anticipate the shadows." Without waiting, Jivven jammed the spear again, hoping to at least touch Daesino once. Only air as the Shadowdancer flashed from view. Now he wasn't sure where he would come from, only that it would be nearby. Jivven slipped into a crouch and swung his spear in a circle. About a quarter of a way through the spin, the target jumped effortlessly and kicked out, catching Jivven on the chin. The young darkling fell back where he quickly rolled back to his feet. Daesino merely waited for Jivven to rise to his feet with a look of disappointment on his face.

The disappointment stung more than the kick and Jivven cursed himself. He stood back up to his full height-- as miniscule as that was-- and settled into a stance. He allowed the assassin's instincts to take control. He could not afford to play it safe. He had to fight to his fullest. Jivven inhaled on last time before the assassin struck. He surged forward with the spear tip again, and again the shadowdancer flashed from view. However, the assassin knew where he would appear next and had his spear up in order to block the blade. Now he could see the weapon, a short, curved blade of ebon black. The face of the master now showed approval.

"Shall we dance?" Daesino asked.

"We shall," Jivven answered.

And with that, the two shadowdancers began their ballot. Jivven pivoted on his heel and swung with the butt of the spear while Daesino spun the opposite way, flowing around the spear with less than an inch between skin and wood. Jivven allowed the momentum to carry him into another full spin dodging the blade by a hair. Jivven followe up with a slap from his spear, but was caught by the man's ebon blade where they locked for a moment. Instead of exchanging words this time, they exchanged blows. They disengaged and continuing their ballot. Both master and student were a spinning dervish of blade and spear. The master was just that, a master of the art. He would vanish from sight and appear in one of Jivven's blindspot. Before long, Jivven began to accumulate numerous cuts, but none life threatening. He wouldn't have let them stop him anyway. He would not show weakness in front of the Shadowdancer.

To Jivven's credit and Daesino approval, the young Shadowdancer quickly became adept at knowing where the master would strike from and knew which shadow he would appear from next. During their dance, in the whirlwind of blade and spear, every now and then, one of Jivven's limbs would flicker from view for only a moment. Jivven didn't notice this, but Daesino did. Even if he didn't know it, he was learning. Quickly.

During their dance, a cut had been opened up on Jivven's right temple, dying a lock of his hair deep crimson. He did not notice this, only the dance was on his mind. Another spin and a clash, both master and student maintained eye contact for a moment before breaking. Both spun opposite of eachother, but equally. For a moment their backs were together as they spun. But this time Jivven was faster and finished his spin first, sending his spear tip towards the belly of the master. And for once, he ripped through skin. It was a shallow cut, but it was a cut nonetheless. A look of what could be called pride flashed across Daesino's face before he too flashed.

And they begun again. This time though, Jivven stopped taking hits and began to deal them. Before long, both shadowdancers began to sport the same number of injuries. Another clash, though this time both shadowdancers broke off and backstepped. Jivven had began to show much of Daesino's mentality, if a bit more raw.

"You are progressing," Daesino stated, "However, the climax is near. Whether you shall survive to further hone my-- our art... Is up to you."

Jivven was breathing heavily, but listened to every word he said, hanging on each syllable. It pained him that their dance had to end, but it was the way of things. They were on the opposite sides of a line drawn in the sand. One of the Children, one of the Civil. One had to die. They began to approach each other, first slowly, then quickly. Once close, Daesino vanished from view as he had many times before... But.

But this time he wasn't the only one. Jivven had vanished as well. Both Shadowdancers had slipped into each others shadow at the same time. Their battlefield, their stage was empty for a fraction of second. Then both appeared as one. Blood dripped from both of their forms and soaked the ground beneath. Daesino's ebon blade was dug deep into Jivven's shoulder. The pain of the injury wracked Jivven's entire body, he felt his knees weaken from the shock, and blood ran freely down the shaft of Jivven's spear. However, the blood on the spear was not his. The blood was Daesino's. Jivven's spear was impaled through the master's belly and shined on the other side with blood.

Daesino Alfangor's face was not contorted from pain. In fact, the aged shadowdancer wore a smile. "You.. Will become a fine Shadowdancer... Take my blade as a token... Of our art," He told Jivven as the spark began to fade from his eyes. He began to slink to the earth, but Jivven guided his body down. He placed him on his back and shook his head, "I wish... I could have... If only.." He trailed off. He would not show weakness nor regret in front of this man. Instead, he merely nodded, "Thank you," Jivven said.

And with that, Daesino was gone. A thousand and more years of artistry, passed down on another Generation. Jivven removed his spear from the darkling's belly and took the blade out of his shoulder and placed it in a loop on his belt. He crossed the hands of the dark elf over his chest and spoke, "Kyorl phor nindol quortek lu' grant ukta gre'as'anto wun l' huthin dro." The words was that of an old dark elven funeral ritual. "Watch over this soul and grant him peace in the next life." And with that Jivven turned, drew the Shadowdancer's ebon blade and walked toward's the location of his allies. Then he flickered and vanished...

And reappeared in the shadow of Carmen.

"Hello," was all that he said as he fought by her side.

---

Liliana Bloodleaf

Lily's grinned as she let another arrow fly. She felt the Alistair gift of arrows and she nodded her thanks. "We will end this," She said to Alistair, more confident than she had been in a long while. She then turned her attention to Turha. "Nhil will fall today," she said with conviction. "He will pay for those we lost in Herrick. He will pay for all those we have lost before and then," she stated as pure fact. Then her eyes narrowed and fury danced on her brow. The huntress was speaking now. "He will pay for Gurgen," she said with cold intent.

Five years ago, at Herrick, Gurgen had fallen. Nhil had ordered his army to retreat and leave Wrath's army to the mercy of the dragons. It was Nhil's fault Gurgen had died. Then, Liliana could not cry for him, for her friend. Her tears had dried long before she realized he had fallen. And she had been worse off for it. It pained her, pained her far more than anyone could have thought. The guilt at not being able to mourn, to not remember his sacrifice, to not cry for him had eaten away at her soul. She had hardened. She could hardly feel anymore. Happiness was only a faded memory.

Lily the bubbly and cheerful elf had died. Her optimism was dash upon walls of Herrick. She no longer skipped, she rarely smiled, and she was cold. Everyone saw this hardened huntress. All but Turha. He was the only one who could see Lily under the layer of the huntress. He was the only one who could see her smile any more. He was the only one who could hear her laugh. Five years... Five long years. Today, that pale son of a bitch would die even if she had to personally shove an arrow down his throat herself.

Lily stayed on Turha's flank. She would not lose another Mialee today. She would not lose another family. She would not lose him. She would not lose her love. Turha, Bane, and herself followed on the heels of Wrath, Lily still pelting any she could find with arrows. She ventured a glance around. It was like an old memory come to life. Wrath was leading them personally. Turha, Alistair, Kisikoni, Talae, Neira, Mercy. A pale shadow of the Blackguard of old, but there they were in formation and assaulting the Civil camp. Turha pointed to a tent with the emblem of Nhil on it. They were so close. It would end today. Each had someone to avenge.

Nhil would die not only for Gurgen, but for all those lost in Herrick. For Faera, for Caine, for Pel, for Sarish, for Ferka, and for many more.

Lily nocked and arrow and pulled the bowstring taut.

Nhil. Would. Die.

Funny. So much death. Yet among all the death...

The spark of life could be found.

That spark was found within Lily...

In more than just her eyes.