Aeverlest: Legend of the Crystal Flames

That red mage girl was proving to be quite a capable ally in this battle, as opposed to her betrothed, the assassin, Trucido. She had taken out a large number of the brigand's team, and then hurled a fireball at the mage Morius had been keeping an eye on.

Aali collapsed by his side, completely paralyzed, not even being able to blink. Poor girl, thought Morius, this happens to her a lot.

He suddenly reeled to face the woman who had done this to his companion. There was no debate about her looking threatening as their gazes met. She had her weapons at the ready, and was already advancing. Morius threw his hands by his sides, accumulating the dark energy in the center of his palms, almost instantly immersing them with fierce black flames. He projected his hands forward, and sent the two ebony fireballs twirling around each other towards the woman.

 

The green elf was down, but Scarlet was still fighting impressively. The raised hairs on the back of Rainin's neck told him that the dark elf was still working his magic somewhere near where Aali had fallen behind him. The rest of the team seemed to be trapped like he was, surrounded by the horde and fighting furiously.

Rainin had had enough, he knew he couldn't maintain the magic he was using for long. A smile spread across his lips; desperate times call for desperate measures.

He'd been watching Scarlet closely.

"Shin!" Rainin shouted as he leapt upward. He rose high into the air as the orb of fire began to form below his feet. he gloated as he imagined the destruction he was about to bring on his enemies.

The numbness began in his feet and quickly the fatigue spread through his body. The orb of fire flickered and extinguished.

As Rainin's body, drained from the use of such high magic, fell to the earth he knew he would certainly die. His life passed before him; the misery and death he had experienced, none of which had been made right. He watched as he wasted his life in bar fights and petty raids, seeking to drown the grief in his spirit. He saw all of the life he had wasted, and now he would die.

"No," cried out Rainin, now only seconds from impact. "I am Rainin! I will not die this way!"

Energy surged through his body as his mind rejected its own fate. His muscles seemed to pulse with energy. The staff that once glowed with red runes began to crackle with pure white fire.

Rainin felt more alive than he ever had. Flipping as he fell he positioned his feet for the impact. But his staff slid beneath him, its tip touching the ground first and his feet bracing along its length, below his hand. As he made contact a flash of brilliant flame spread along the ground knocking his surrounding assailants off their feet.

The staff flexed under his weight as it braced his fall. Without warning it sprung back vaulting Rainin over the crowds. Landing amongst a group of marauders Rainin immediately began to fight. His staff crackled with white energy. It felt lighter now and seemed to react to his thoughts, moving with blinding speed almost of its own accord. Quickly knocking unconscious the first four assailants Rainin faked a jab at the fifth, expecting to come up short and follow with a second hit. To his surprise however, the staff extended forward and struck the man in the chest pushing him backward and knocking over three other men.

A loud cry alerted Rainin and he spun around to find the blade of the tall warrior bearing down on him.

 

Name= Misteria Jessin
Sex = Male.. i think?
Age = eternal
Height = 5ft. 3in.
Likes to kill innocent bystanders everytime he gets into a fight and always cracks a joke when its time to be serious.

 

Scarlet looked around and saw an important looking man wielding a staff. He must be a leader she thought. So she sent a withering blast of heat and flame at the staff wielding mage.

The fireball made contact, knocking the man, swearing, to the ground. He quickly stood up again, extinguishing his burning clothes and hair with a quick counterspell. Looking around, he quickly noticed Scarlet hovering overhead and scowled at her then, yelling various obscenities involving her and her fireballs, swung his staff at her. A bolt of blue fire streamed from it, which Scarlet quickly dodged. Several more followed, each of which Scarlet easily evaded or counterspelled. His face now red from screaming, the mage threw his staff like a javelin. As it flew, a cloud of tiny fires surrounded it, spreading out into a thin blue wall. When they contacted, and contact they did from sheer number and area, they quickly caught and spread, engulfing her in a freezing inferno. The staff itself did not hit her body, but managed to make contact with the fireball on which she stood, dissipating it instantly. She fell to the earth coated in inches of ice, unable to move, barely able to breathe. The man retrieved his staff and walked up to her, grinning. "You lose, b****." With a swing of his staff into her head, she was knocked unconscious.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morius suddenly reeled to face the woman who had done this to his companion. There was no debate about her looking threatening as their gazes met. She had her weapons at the ready, and was already advancing. Morius threw his hands by his sides, accumulating the dark energy in the center of his palms, almost instantly immersing them with fierce black flames. He projected his hands forward, and sent the two ebony fireballs twirling around each other towards the woman.

As they approached, the woman did not flinch, striding confidently directly at Morius, directly at the fireballs. Then, just before they made contact, she executed a quick, fluid pirouette. The flames immediately changed their directory, entering an orbit around her and, as she exited the spin and entered a sprawled pose, rocketed back at their caster. As they struck, Morius felt his life draining away. He fell, barely conscious, to the ground. The woman looked on disappointed. "Is that it? Pity, I was hoping for a good fight for once."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A loud cry alerted Rainin and he spun around to find the blade of the tall warrior bearing down on him.

Instinctively, Rainin raised his staff in defense. The tall man's massive blade sliced cleanly through and embedded itself in his shoulder. With his other hand the man grabbed Rainin by the neck, kicked him hard in the stomach, and raised him high over his head, holding him there until he was too asphyxiated to struggle.

He loosed his grip on Rainin and looked around, confirming that the entire party had been incapacitated. "Collect the prisoners, horses, and the bodies of the fallen. We make for the Cellar."

 

The gang of bandits bound the party, even those unconscious, and carried them deep into the wood. Eventually they came to a small cluster of dilapidated stone huts encircled on three sides by a steep wooded hill, an ancient farming hamlet long since claimed by the forest. From the hill, a thin waterfall trickled into a small pool, bricked up along the sides to increase its volume. At one side of the village stood an old stable to which four steeds were tethered, grazing in the trees nearby: a proud white horse, well groomed and fit for royalty, a powerful black stallion, a swiftly built dappled gray mare, and a sickly old flea-bitten mule. Beside the stable, crouched on the hillside, was the entrance to an old root cellar. Curiously, a plank has been drawn across the front the doors, as if to prevent them being opened from the inside.

At the hamlets other end, a spitted animal slowly spun over a roaring bonfire, surrounded by several copper and lead pots stewing in the coals.A man stood next to the blaze, tending the fire and occasionally sampling and spicing the meat and pots. Throughout the camp, several more men are hard at work. One was mending a shirt. Another was sharpening a spear. Two more were re-thatching a roof on one of the buildings which seemed to have been recently repaired -- it was in starkly better condition than the others. Despite their menial tasks all were armed in some way and as they worked they occasionally glanced about, watching for any sign of danger. When they first spotted the approaching group their hands flew to their weapons, but upon recognition of their companions they re-sheathed them. A few dropped their tasks and sought to assist the newcomers with their burdens of corpses, captives, and stolen goods and to lead the newly-acquired horses to the stable.

"Lads," the tall man, who was apparently the leader, announced solemnly, "I am afraid this has not been the cheapest of hauls. We have lost many a noble gentleman of fortune. But," he added cheerfully, gesturing toward the captives, "The greatest hauls are rarely free! We have collected the greatest lot today in many a day. Tonight, we shall feast well in the memory of our fallen comrades!"

The prisoners were set in a line in the open center of the camp, many of them still unconscious, all still well bound, and quickly relieved of their belongings. Swords, knives, amulets, gems, shoes, capes; everything they owned save for their most basic garments was quickly removed from them by the bandits' dexterous hands and arranged in piles well out of their reach. As this is occurring the leader stood off to the side, speaking with a teenage girl whom you had noticed returning with the group but who was not among the attacking party. She clutched a stick -- too short to be a true staff, too thin to be an effective club, but too long and thick to be a wand -- which she twisted in her hands nervously as she spoke.

"So, uh, did I do good, Boss?"

"Good?" The brigand laughed and slapped her on the back. "Lass, you near saved my hide with that disorientation spell of yours! You're certainly well worth what I paid for you!"

"So does that mean..."

The leader cut her off. "You're fine with the stave, but you're still a new acquisition. The chain stays on while in the camp until I am sure I can trust you not to run off."

Eventually, he finished talking with her and, accompanied by the gap-toothed wizard and the dancing wizardess, approached the line of captives. The wizard immediately began poking through the piles of goods, chuckling to himself and occasionally, when he thought no one was looking (which was never actually the case), pocketing a trinket he found interesting. The other two surveyed the captives, bluntly asking pointed questions about name and lineage which would be followed by them mumbling to each other. When arriving at Trucido, the leader gave a little chuckle.

"Well, what do you know. Looks like the b*****d who got the drop on me was a pine-ear! Go figure that the only man to get the better of me would be less than human." He chuckled at his own joke. "Still, he'll fetch a fine price."

When he came to Morius he laughed again. "Looks like the pineys are just crawling out of the woodwork today!"

When they reached Scarlet the woman, who had previously looked on in a silent act of placid disdain, froze, a look of horror on her face. She glanced at her pile of belongings, then back at Scarlet.

"Grainyn!" she called out. The wizard looked up from his work, dropping Zeb's staff, loudly declaring that he had touched nothing. She ignored him. "Among my belongings is a vial of black tarlike balm and a coarse robe with shackles at the wrists and ankles. Bring them here, strip this girl, apply the balm to any tattoos, scars, or birthmarks, then put her in the robe." A lecherous grin spread across the wizards crooked face, but she quickly rebuked him. "Don't even think about it. She is going to be the handsomest ransom we have seen perhaps ever, and the last thing we need is you violating her and ruining her price."

The leader gave her a quizzical look, but she quickly explained, "This girl is an Ignis. They are a mighty family, powerful both politically and magically and very, very skilled with patterns. We can't take any chances with this one."

"So the robe..."

"A new trinket of mine I picked up in our last trip through Wytchmere. It's a complex patchwork of several difficult weaves, inscribed with runes and asymmetrical patterns to restrict magical flow, and..."

"Sounds like a piece of junk to me. But then, you're the witch and you know your craft, so I trust you know what you're doing." He wandered over to the piles of loot and picked up Llyagi's map. "Peira, what do you make of this?"

She peered over his shoulder. "I'm not sure. It doesn't appear to be any sort of magical pattern, it's far too poorly constructed. Those markings seem to be some sort of writing, but it's not any language I'm familiar with..."

The leader grabbed the nearest prisoner by the collar and shoved the paper in his face. "You! Tell me! What is this?"

 

"..." Trucido said nothing while glaring at the man.

"Don't you dare touch Scarlet. If you lay a hair on her, if a single hair in out of place. I swear by the gods. You will not live through the night. None of you will." With that Trucido gathered a little green fire in his mouth and spat in the man's face. The saliva connected with a satisfying splat and a crackle of electricity.

"And that's a map. Any illiterate fool can figure that out. A map to hell."

 

Morius had very little strength after being hit by his own shadow bolts; if only they'd hit the female wizard. But, her reflexes were quick, and that counterspell was extraordinary. Morius now heavily regretted misjudging this opponent. His eyes were closed as the bandits threw him to the cold earth, bound with rope and stripped of his accessories - such valuable accessories, if only he had had them now, he might have been able to untie himself. But what then? He had heard so many people speaking upon entering the camp, and knew he couldn't take out all of them by himself... not with such dry liveliness.

Then suddenly, he heard a familiar voice.

"So, uh, did I do good, Boss?"

Without thinking, he opened his eyes, and inspected the scene before him. A girl of about sixteen stood chained next to the heavily armored, tall man. She had long, straight brown hair, and green eyes, with pupils almost like a cat's - a gift of the dark fire, some would say. She was a lot taller than when Morius had last seen her, and certainly more, well, womanly, but it was definitely her - Lynne; the little girl he encountered and helped shortly after his exile from the Alfar lands. He taught her about the dark fire, but hadn't seen her for three years. What was she doing here? And was she actually in league with these bandits?

The saliva connected with a satisfying splat and a crackle of electricity.

"And that's a map. Any illiterate fool can figure that out. A map to hell."

There was going to be trouble.

 

The bandit leader punched Trucido hard in the eye then wiped the spittle off his face. "Let me tell you something, pine-ear. The only reason you are alive right now, and I do mean the only, is because I will find greater pleasure in the profits from your sale than in snuffing your life out with my bare hands. Don't tip the balance the other way. You may have gotten the better of me once, but rest assured that will never happen again."

He stood up, kicked Trucido in the teeth, and walked off, waving dismissively towards the captives. "Throw them in the Cellar." A handful of soldiers obliged. For a moment, the leader studied the parchment again. "A map, eh? Well," he decided, "if it's just a map it's completely useless."

He crumpled it up and tossed it at the fire, but just as it hit the flame a black-robed figure snatched it out of the air. "Do not be so hasty." It spoke in a strange clicking accent, similar to Alaz's. "What is useless to one may be of infinite value to another."

"If you want it, fine Kizalk, but don't expect to me to let you just leave the band on some foolhardy..."

"Tut tut, leaving was hardly in my intentions. When I am through explaining, you may change your plans on our mode of operation. You see, these adventurers, they are rather stupid. I came across them in Tekka, and one of them divulged what I needed to know. By the way, Alzidden!" he called to the group as they were being tossed into the cellar, "Many thanks for the intelligence! A shvvaklacarr should know better than any that another should not be trusted simply because he is of the same clan!"

That was the last of the conversation the party heard before being sealed into the Cellar.

The inside of the cellar was completely dark and smelled of old roots and wet earth. It seemed fairly large, large enough to accommodate the entire group lying on the floor with plenty room to spare, though exact dimensions could not be determined without light.

A shuffling noise. Someone, something, was in there with them.

 

He sat in the cellar. It was hot and muggy and smelled of rotten wood. It was humid and sticky. Antice had gotten use to it by now. No matter what these people wanted Antice wouldn't give into to them. He would stare directly at him with his fiery nature. He looked like a Prince. His rich embroidered clothes were now dirty. And his cape was now a ragged and torn thing hanging from his clothes. The pin that pinned the cape had the family crest on it. And this was what they wanted. To them he was Prince Remulus. And they wanted Remulus to speak of the kingdom's secret ways in, the black markets, the richest. Antice wasn't like that prince. He wasn't a coward and he would protect every secret, even if he died. Which came to the fact that his pale, fair skin was marked by bruises from the rough handling of the people. He may have not been here long, but the wear of his clothes was showing.
The cellar door opened and Antice held his bitter and dark expression. His eyes had become adjusted to the lack of light down here. So he was surprised to see what the men were bringing in this time. New people. Other people who had gotten entrapped by the men. Slavers, is what Antice called them. He moved in the darken cellar a bit to get a better look at a large group. Antice felt hot eyes from one of the slavers and Antice gave him dark eyes back. Antice wouldn't let go of the look till the man left. And when he did Antice stared at the group. Their eyes hadn't yet adjusted to the lack of light down here. Antice wondered if he should speak or shouldn't. So instead he gave out a loud sigh and cleared his throat. The first sign.

 

"Tut tut, leaving was hardly in my intentions. When I am through explaining, you may change your plans on our mode of operation. You see, these adventurers, they are rather stupid. I came across them in Tekka, and one of them divulged what I needed to know. By the way, Alzidden!" he called to the group as they were being tossed into the cellar, "Many thanks for the intelligence! A shvvaklacarr should know better than any that another should not be trusted simply because he is of the same clan!"

Morius had followed Alaz from the desert, curious about the quest he was on. He knew that the Shvvaklacarr had sent him to represent them for Mon Ich's cause. But, he had always thought that it would be Alaz who betrayed the Shvvaklacarr, not the other way around. It was an interesting dilemma, but also an extremely dangerous one; now the map containing the location of the Crimson Flame was in the wrong hands. Not that it had been in the right ones to begin with, but they weren't in his hands anymore.

They were moved underground, and Morius was growing more aware of his consciousness - the wound on his shoulder had stopped bleeding, but the arm was terribly numb again. Their surroundings began to darken. The darkness was Morius' friend, and suddenly he felt cold; a warm, and fuzzy feeling.

The bandits pushed their group in a holding cell, and closed the door with a loud clanging noise. Morius assumed nobody else was able to see anything, but there was someone the room. It was a boy. It wasn't noticeably clear, but the boy was dressed like someone who descended from nobility, and judging from the pin which held his now completely tattered cape, possibly even royalty; like a prince. His face was bruised from beatings he had probably received from the slave traders, but he looked fierce in the eyes of potential danger. Fierce, and frightened. It was kind of cute.

"Who are you?" Morius asked, speaking for the first time in a while. His voice came out raspy and almost as a whisper.

 

Antice bit his lip. No word was to come out of lost nobility. He had to keep the disguise up for a while. At least till he found the real Remulus. At least till he didn't need to fill the throne himself. Antice feared the death of Remulus and never gaining his identity back. But now wasn't the time. He kept his eyes, his face, and everything strong. He had learned all the ways of speech and looks from taking courses of etiquette.
"I am Prince Remulus Asbin of the Kingdom of Rundiamiea," he said he kept his words stern, bold and tough, "I am here because the slavers know this and ask for the secrets of Rundiamiea...and I will tell you what I told them, I will not tell anyone the secrets of Rundiamiea as the prince I must protect the secrets...so stop talking to me if you are to ask the same questions."
He paused, gave them another bold and princely look. And softened his expression slightly.
"But if you do not seek the secrets of my kingdom," Antice said with a smile, "I propose we find a way to escape. I'm needed in the world. To protect it. If you are to propose allyship."

 

Well isn't this just bloody brilliant Aali thought to herself, as they were shoved into a black cellar. She had now lost both her new sword (which she was really becoming attached to) and her dagger, she was tied up, and the map had been stolen from them; today really wasn't shaping up to be a good day. The lost use of her hands was very irritating. Being in this cellar reminded her of all the times her father and brothers had locked her up in their cellar when she misbehaved, which was far to often. It had forever given her a hatred of dark, confined spaces. The door slammed shut on them and all their light was instantly cut off. Teh darkness pressed against her eyes and she tensed, listening instead. She heard a strange rustling in the corner, and she sensed they were not alone. Apparantly Morius sensed it too because a moment later he spoke.

"Who are you?"

The noise in the corner got louder, and Aali could feel her eyes becoming more accustomed to the dark. Dimly in the corner she could make out the shape of a boy.

"I am Prince Remulus Asbin of the Kingdom of Rundiamiea," he said he kept his words stern, bold and tough, "I am here because the slavers know this and ask for the secrets of Rundiamiea...and I will tell you what I told them, I will not tell anyone the secrets of Rundiamiea as the prince I must protect the secrets...so stop talking to me if you are to ask the same questions. But if you do not seek the secrets of my kingdom, I propose we find a way to escape. I'm needed in the world. To protect it. If you are to propose allyship."

Her eyebrows raised, a prince? But she didn't dwell on that fact, it didn't seem particularly important at the moment.

"Well I'm much more interested in getting out of here rather than finding out the secrets of Rundiamiea, so I accept your allyship." She paused for a moment and ran her fingers alongst the ropes tying her hands, they didn't feel particularly complicated. With a small jump she pulled her hand under her feet so that they were now infront of her, rather than behind. "And I think the best place to start would be with freeing our hands. So if someone would like to scoot next to me I bet I could untie them."

 

Through the fog Rainin heard voices. His mind began to clear and he opened his eyes to the darkness that surounded all of them. Whether from loss of blood or the extraordinary magic that had come upon him he was terribly weak and felt nauseous.

Trying to move Rainin instantly felt a surge of pain shoot from his wounded shoulder. Even if the pain hadn't been overwhelming, the ropes that bound him would have prevented him.

"Ugghh." Rainin managed to roll over into the nearest person before falling unconscious again.

 

"Get off of me." Trucido grunted as he pushed someone off of him. Normally, Scarlet would have objected to his harsh treatment, but she didn't. She didn't say anything. She didn't do anything.

She felt violated. She had been stripped of her clothes, stripped of her magic, stripped of her dignity. She felt horrible. All she did was sit, and stare ahead.

Trucido on the other hand, he was furious. They had insulted Trucido, insulted his family in the process, insulted his race, and they had insulted his betrothed. He had to get out of here. He had to kill them. Kill them all. It was the only way. But first, he had to make sure Scarlet wouldn't find out.

"Scarlet," Trucido said as he moved over closer to her. She merely looked up at him with sad eyes on the verge of tears. "Sleep," He said as he kissed her on the forehead and placed a bound hand on the base of her neck. With a squeeze he knocked her out and laid her down.

"Hey, Princy. Do you have a rock or something? Something hard or sharp. Anything.

 

"Hey, Princy. Do you have a rock or something? Something hard or sharp. Anything."

Morius was watching Trucido as he put Scarlet to sleep. "Well now, that wasn't very nice... although, I assume she could use the rest. Maybe you should calm it too, assassin. Unless you have some extremely elaborate plan for getting out of here, I don't think we can do much..."

Morius was standing in the centre of the room, close to Aali, he inspected the scene; a useless Prince, a weaponless girl who knew no magic, a knocked-out fire mage, an unconcious warrior, several others, and him and Trucido, who were jaded and wounded.

"...not at the moment anyway." Morius threw his hair out of his face - it was wet, and sticky with sweat, and unkempt. "As much as I hate to admit it, we all need to rest. But, these damned ropes are doing my head in... literally!"

He stepped closer to Aali, feeling his hands against hers, "Can you undo it?"

Morius then turned his attention to the Prince in the corner. "You're from a royal family - you must know some magic, what do you specialise in?"

 

"Can you undo it?"

What did I just say? Aali refrained from saying the sarcastic retort, she already knew that some of them didn't believe she held much worth due to her lack of magic; sounding like a sarcastic brat wouldn't help that.

"Yeah, I can undo it" she said instead. Her fingers began to work at the knots. They were difficult knots, but her nimble fingers still made quick work of them. "Now if you could return the favor that would be great."

 

"Hey, Princy. Do you have a rock or something? Something hard or sharp. Anything."

Antice stared at the person who asked him this question. He kept his bold expression and rubbed his two fingers together. He had been pretending to be tied up for a while.
"Yes," Antice said.
Antice ran his hands along behind him, where a sharp rock he had once used was behind him. He took it out from behind him and handed the rock to the person who talked.
"I'm not sure how you're going to use it if your hands aren't freed," Antice said.
He stared at the other person untying herself. She said she'd be his ally, perfect. At least now he had some protection.
"You're from a royal family - you must know some magic, what do you specialise in?"
"I only heal wounds," Antice said, "But you never stated your intentions, are you after the secrets of my kingdom?"

 

"I only heal wounds," Antice said, "But you never stated your intentions, are you after the secrets of my kingdom?"

"You're not very smart are you? You just handed an assassin a sharp rock and then asked his group of their intentions. It's a wonder you aren't dead."

Despite his hands being tied, Trucido could still hold the rock, and that was all he needed. He walked over to the door and started scraping between the door and the frame. In a minute or two he would have scraped a big enough cut to let in some moon light. That was just what he needed.

"And we're not after your secrets. We would have already put a knife, or sharp rock, to your throat and busted your face up if we wanted your secrets. If you can heal than you ought to heal the injured. And keep an eye on Scarlet" He said with a nod back at where his betrothed laid.

"Oh, and if any of you touch her..." Trucido stopped scraping for a second to look back at the other prisoners with savage eyes. Inhumanly savage eyes. In fact, they weren't even human. They had slitted pupils like the eyes of a beast.

"I'll tear out your hearts. Just like I'm going to do to our captors."

 

"Now if you could return the favor that would be great."

Now that his hands were free, Morius grabbed the rope tied around Aali's wrists. A dark energy, invisible amidst the black enshrouding the room, swelled up in his palms, and the ropes disintegrated as if they were decaying fruit. Morius pulled his hands away, feeling the magic throb through the tissue and muscles.

"That's more like it."

"I only heal wounds," Antice said, "But you never stated your intentions, are you after the secrets of my kingdom?"

Morius looked the Prince up and down tastefully, what are my intentions indeed?. "Well, that's perfect, right now I could use some healing on my arm, and I doubt the fellow to my right would be ungrateful for some of your aid as well," Morius motioned towards Rainin, apprehensive to the fact of whether the Prince could see him or not, "...and as for my intentions, let's just say they're on a much grander scale than the secrets of Rundiamiea."

..."Oh, and if any of you touch her..." Trucido stopped scraping for a second to look back at the other prisoners with savage eyes. Inhumanly savage eyes. In fact, they weren't even human. They had slitted pupils like the eyes of a beast.

"I'll tear out your hearts. Just like I'm going to do to our captors."

Morius' runic tattoos began to reverberate, all of them, on his entire body. He normally thrived in the pain, but now had to fight back an urge to wince, and regarded Trucido intently as the elf looked as if he was about to suddenly explode out of his own body - the darkness of this place was the only thing holding him back. Morius had never felt this kind of pain, there was definitely some sort of magic at work; but what could it be, a curse?

 

"You're not very smart are you? You just handed an assassin a sharp rock and then asked his group of their intentions. It's a wonder you aren't dead."
Antice bit his lip and gave a dark look to the man.
"I didn't ask you, now did I," Antice said, "I asked the person who I didn't trust much the question."
"And we're not after your secrets. We would have already put a knife, or sharp rock, to your throat and busted your face up if we wanted your secrets. If you can heal than you ought to heal the injured. And keep an eye on Scarlet"
"Well, that's perfect, right now I could use some healing on my arm, and I doubt the fellow to my right would be ungrateful for some of your aid as well," Morius motioned towards Rainin, apprehensive to the fact of whether the Prince could see him or not, "...and as for my intentions, let's just say they're on a much grander scale than the secrets of Rundiamiea."
Antice stared.
"Give me my rock back," Antice said.

 

"Give me my rock back," Antice said.

Morius' head snapped to glare at the Prince, and he held his arm out to block the path between and Trucido himself. "Stay back and heal us, something is about to happen!"

The pain from the tattoos was getting to his head now, invading his mind. He went numb all over, and black ooze fell from his tear ducts, coursing down his neck, around his arms, and gathering at his palms. He no longer felt anything, and the darkness no longer existed in the room, he could see everything clearly. Trucido was scratching at the door with the Prince's rock with fierce determination.

"Fabre?" Morius' voice echoed.

 

Fabre?

Fabre

A massive conglomeration of scales, fangs, and fire. No pity, no mercy, no feelings. Just death, violence, murder.

Fabre

An entire family. Strewn across an island, burning, torn, mutilated. Dead. Bodies littered the island and the surrounding sea. Some people were never found, some corpses were never identified. Body parts never found their owners. And the blood.

Fabre

Blood. Everywhere. Blood. Burnt blood crusted onto the ground. Liquid blood running across the ground. Vaporized blood clouding the air. Blood tainting the ocean. Everywhere.

Fabre

Only one Fabre remained. Only one. Left with a vicious power. The only one the dragon didn't kill.

Trucido
Dragon

Because he was one of them.

Light. Just a glimmer. Moonlight. The light from the moon Lasaur. Trucido had done it. His body spasmed as the light seeped down into him. Through his skin, through his flesh, through his soul.

Stay Back

Trucido growled out a command to the group. But it wasn't his voice. It was a deep, resonant growl. Inhuman, vicious, brutal, violent.

The assassins body bulged and twisted as he beat at the door. With every hit his body became less and less human. His muscles bulged, his skin tore, his voice roared.

Trucido beat at the door, punching a hole through the solid wood. Moonlight flooded the cave bathing the group in the creamy light of the moon. And then he changed.

Green fire. Wind and lightning burst from Trucido's body and enveloped him as his body changed. His body grew to a ridiculous size, great wings sprouted out from his back, his skin gave way to iridescent green scales, a long spiked tail extended from his posterior, his face twisted into a vile head of teeth and horns.

Trucido was Wyredraki. An incredibly rare breed of Alfar that changed when hit with the rays of the moon, Lasaur. Trucido had become a dragon.

A savage roar shook the very earth of the camp. The beast that had once been called Trucido surged up through the building, tearing away the entire roof. Wind surged through the camp and thunder bellowed over head. At the same time, wind and lightning whirled around the dragon. A single sweep of its tail tore the top of the building away, revealing the prisoners within. They were free.

Their captors wouldn't be so lucky.

"Grainyn!"

The dragon called out after its prey. The prey that had hurt its love. The pray that it had made a promise to. The pray whose heart it was going to tear out. No mercy, no leniency, no pity. Only death, slaughter, massacre.

 

"I only heal wounds," Antice said.

"You're a healer?" Neil asked. "Do you happen to know anything about setting broken bones?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Trucido had become a dragon.

The guard at the cellar door stood stunned, unable to mentally reconcile the inexplicable appearance of a dragon. Before he was able to recover, Trucido had dispatched him with a mighty claw.

"Grainyn!"

From his cozy seat by the fire, where a moment before he had been chatting merrily and munching on a joint of mutton, the short wizard whirled around. As soon as he laid eyes on the furious Wyrdrakkus, he bolted into the nearest dilapidated building, slamming and barricading the door behind him.

The leader was less cowardly.

"TO ARMS!" he cried. "EVERY MAN AMONG YOU TO ARMS! Piera, what the bloody blazes is going on?"

"Wyrdrakkus," she spat. "One of them turned themselves into a dragon. Probably one of the alfar."

The leader nodded. "Archers, aim for the eyes and face! Swordsmen, keep your distance but when the time comes, don't hold back; cowardice will not be tolerated! Piera, Lynne, Kilzak, you know what to do. AND GRAINYN! YOU GET YOUR PASTY ASS OUT HERE OR I WILL PERSONALLY SEE TO IT THAT YOU DON'T SURVIVE THE NIGHT!"

 

"Holy ****" Aali's eyes were wide with shock as Trucido transformed into a giant dragon infront of them. The whole camp shook as he roared, and she felt intense relief at the fact that they were of the same group.

"Grainyn!" He started towards wizard who immediately fled for cover.

"TO ARMS! EVERY MAN AMONG YOU TO ARMS! Piera, what the bloody blazes is going on?" The leader obviously had a braver spirt than Grainyn.

"Wyrdrakkus," she spat. "One of them turned themselves into a dragon. Probably one of the alfar."

The leader nodded. "Archers, aim for the eyes and face! Swordsmen, keep your distance but when the time comes, don't hold back; cowardice will not be tolerated! Piera, Lynne, Kilzak, you know what to do. AND GRAINYN! YOU GET YOUR PASTY ASS OUT HERE OR I WILL PERSONALLY SEE TO IT THAT YOU DON'T SURVIVE THE NIGHT!"

Wyrdrakkus, of course. She remembered hearing about them as she eavesdropped on her older brothers magic lessons, not that they had magic ability. Her father thought it was important for them to understand magic, even if they didn't possess it; however this belief hadn't extended to her, so she eavesdropped.

She shot a quick glance behind her at her companions, most of them were injured and in no fit state to fight. It appeared to be only Trucido, Morious, and herself. Well the first thing was she needed a weapon. Sliding behind the large dragon she took advantage of the temporary cover to find the best way to get a weapon. She spotted a man off to the side, still gathering his weapons.

"Perfect" she mutttered, then darted to side and up behind him. He turned around to feel her fist in his face. He stumbled, blood gushing from his nose. Taking advantage of this, Aali aimed a kick at his stomach which caused him to double over in pain. Grabbing his sword from beside him she hit his head with the handle, either killing him or knocking him out. She didn't bother to check, instead she turned to face the force intent on killing Trucido, sword in hand.

 

Arrows flew up at the dragons face, attempting to impale his eyes, but the effort was futile. The wind swirling around the dragon blew any incoming arrows of course. The worst they did was clatter of his scales. Foolish. They didn't know the full force of a dragon. They didn't know how to fight one. They could only die.

"Fools!"

The dragon bellowed out at his attackers, swiping out at them. But each time they took a step farther back. At the very least they were intelligent. But they can only dodge what they they can see. So the dragon vanished.

A swirl of green fire and a crackle of static and the dragon vanished. With the wind like it was, it was impossible to tell where it had gone. Had it flown away? Backed up? Stayed still?

The answer came to the captors like a bolt of divine lightning. For just a second later a searing blast of lightning crashed down through the ranks of the archers. At the same time an invisible force crashed down upon the soldiers who had amassed to face the dragon. Blood flew through the air, bodies torn open by invisible claws and teeth.

A vicious blast of air knocked back any other attackers as the dragon turned to face the man who had barked the orders. This was the leader. The man who was the cause of all of this. He was why they were captured. He was why Scarlet had been dishonored. It was his fault.

Bodies crushed under his feet as the dragon turned his whole body to face the leader. It snarled as it revealed it's form, no covered with the sweet blood of it's enemies.

"You"

It snarled.

"You!"

The dragon roared as it reared up and released a surging blast of green fire upon the place where the man stood.