Here's another story for you guys! Very combat heavy, so have a good time with it!!!
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"ASSAULT"

Arius sat alone.

The hectic atmosphere of the Inn of the Dancing Lark had simply become too much for him to deal with over the past few days, and, above all else, a personality like his required a great amount of solitude. He stared absently into the fire, his mind wandering as a soft night breeze ruffled the trees around him. The forest was silent tonight, and that fact both comforted and worried the elven mercenary: the quiet isolation was exactly what Arius needed, but the lack of even the most commonplace woodland sounds struck him as unusual. Pushing that disquieting thought aside, the black-cloaked adventurer returned his attention to the crackling fire before him.

A twig snapped.

Immediately Arius leapt to his feet, spinning around to face the direction that the sound had come from, his bone-hilted rapier--Daerist--sliding soundlessly from the scabbard at his hip. His amethyst eyes narrowed for a moment, seeking out any sign of whoever—or whatever—it was that had caused the disturbance.

Damn, he realized after a moment of staring almost blankly into the ominous darkness. What a rookie mistake, staring into the fire like that… My night vision is ruined! Further introspection was interrupted as a fast-moving orb of black power glistening with purple highlights shot at him from the darkness. Gasping in shock, Arius leapt aside and, finally coming to his senses, fired an eldritch blast into the heart of the fire, destroying it with a flash of purple-blue light. Now, at least, I’m not silhouetted against the light; maybe that will make me a little bit less of a target…

Another thought, more of a realization really, sprang suddenly to the cursed elf’s spinning mind:

I was just attacked… by an eldritch blast?

“Well met, Prince of Galdria,” an amused-sounding, male voice spoke from the all-concealing darkness. “I was told to be wary of your logic more than your power; one as weak as yourself could never be a threat to me… Or my master.”

Without warning, a black-clad figure dashed forward from the shadowy forest, a flash of light in his left hand the only warning that Arius was given. Another blast of eldritch power, much larger than anything that he himself was yet able to muster, tore through the air, streaking straight toward the startled elf. Again, only his nearly precognitive reflexes saved him as he dove to the ground, springing to his feet again with his empty left hand as he bounded toward the mysterious attacker, Daerist snapping forward with a speed that bordered on the supernatural. He smiled cruelly as this sudden attack elicited a sharp cry of pain from his unseen opponent.

Calm settled now over the combatants, each apparently wary of the other. Slowly, so as not to appear overtly threatening, Arius generated a sphere of eldritch power in the palm of his left hand, holding it up to provide at least some illumination to study his adversary. In the dim, purple-tinged light provided by the arcane energy, Arius was finally able to see the foe that had attacked him unprovoked.

The mysterious stranger was nearly as tall as Arius himself, though he was much larger in build. Shoulders that spoke of years of hard physical labor were covered by a long, night-dark cloak very similar to Arius’s own; in fact, in the area of similarities, this unknown assailant resembled his elvish opponent in a number of startling ways: both combatants shared dark, shoulder length hair, pale skin, and an affinity for black armor. The attacker’s armor, though, was made of interlocked plates of ebony steel, while Arius wore his standard suit of studded leather. A shallow slash along his left cheek showed where Arius’s rapier had found its mark.

“Satisfied?” the stranger asked, narrowing his dark eyes. “Or would you care to stare at me a bit longer? Personally, I’m ready to continue where we left off…”

“Who sent you?” Arius asked, clenching his fist and dispersing the sphere of arcane energy. “You mentioned a master, after all…” A chill ran down the elf’s spine as he considered the possibility that this man had been sent by— Impossible, he mentally interrupted himself.

The unknown warrior—who Arius assumed was a warlock—merely smiled, calling upon his dark powers yet again. His hands, which Arius noticed were bare, began to shimmer with eldritch power. Menacingly, ignoring the ready stance that his opponent had assumed with his rapier, the dark fighter made his way around the decimated camp fire, walking slowly toward Arius.

“Why ask, friend?” he teased, noticing his opponent’s discomfort. “Don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out already… I was sent here by a mutual acquaintance of ours.” The look of shock that crossed Arius’s face caused a ripple of laughter to emanate from his sinister foe. “That’s right, Prince of Galdria… He sent me.”

Tempest…

The name was never spoken, by Arius knew. Somehow, he just knew. A fount of rage boiled up and out of the seemingly-young elven warrior, who channeled this rage-fueled energy directly into his open left hand. With a cry of hatred, Arius let fly with a bolt of concentrated eldritch power that would have turned any other opponent into little more than a pile of ash. Effortlessly, a smile upon his lips the entire time, the nameless warlock thrust both of his arms forward, countering Arius’s discharge with two of his own. The blasts crashed into one another, creating a roaring inferno of dark power that sent a pillar of scintillating purple and blue light shooting high into the sky. When the conflagration died down, the warlock was still unharmed on his feet.

Arius lay several feet away, his clothes charred and smoking.

“What did you hope to accomplish by that, elf?” the warlock taunted, absently picking at some unseen speck upon his flowing black cloak. “My powers are far greater than your own, you wretch. Honestly, I am quite disappointed with you. How do you honestly hope to defeat our master when you can’t even stand up to me?” Crossing the distance that separated them, the warlock knelt down beside the unmoving form of Arius. “I should tell you, my power is not even one-hundredth of his. You would do well to—”

His warning went unfinished as, without warning, Arius shot high into the sky, the massive, bat-like wings that had sprung from his back creating a stunning silhouette against the night’s full moon. A cloud of dust generated from his sudden ascent cloaked the ground below him, obscuring any view he may have had of his powerful enemy. Relief flooded through the cursed elf as he realized that he may now be able to escape the mysterious warlock, at least long enough to find some help.

“Going somewhere?” an all too familiar voice asked from above.

Crying out in shock, Arius spun around, only to find his vision blocked by a large, dark shape. There, floating only feet above him, the warlock waited, his eyes glimmering with dark power as a pair of wings nearly twice as large as the elf’s own held the mysterious, malevolent warrior aloft. Unsure of what else to do, Arius focused as much eldritch power as he could muster into the blade of Daerist, lashing out with lightning speed, trying in vain to force his opponent back. With a blood-chilling laugh, the warlock took hold of Arius’s blade, wrenching it from the black-clad elf’s grip and tossing it down to the distant forest.

The last thing that Arius saw before colliding with the ground far below was the flash of dark light that exploded around him.
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AMdG

OOC: Do you guys think it would work if the person posting the next installment could add a post to that effect while they're writing it? It's been over 12 hours since this thread was started, and at this point, I don't want to start anything if someone else is almost ready to post. A heads-up would be great, if someone is planning to post next. Thanks!

"First come, first served..."

lol

AMdG

Arius' assailant hovered him, a wicked grin on his face as he looked down at his fallen prey. His head then turned slightly as he heard the ruffling of tree leaves. "Hm?" After a moment of silence, he simply shrugged. "Probably just a bird flying off..." "I've got'cher bird RIGHT HERE!", he suddenly heard as he looked up, only for his forehead to meet with someone's heel. He dropped slightly, but caught himself in mid-air, in pain, but nowhere near as much as Arius was. "What the hell!?" he exclaimed as his new opponent landed before him.

Hayato stood up, a big smile on his face as he shifts into a fighting stance. "Oh yeah! The champion of justice has arrived to kick evil's ass!" The warlock simply smirked, laughing slightly. "Oh is he now? Well, where is he? I'd love to meet him." Hayato grimaced abit as he mocked him. " Har har... let's see you joke after this!" Hayato rushed towards him, pulling one of his fists back as a thin aura of blue energy formed around it. "Kiiiii... STRIKE!" Hayato threw his ki-charged fist forward, only for the warlock to evade it with ease. Seeing an opening in Hayato's attack, he acted. Gathering a palmful of eldrich energy, he simply shoved it into Hayato's torso, sending him flying back into a tree. After slamming into said tree with a loud thud, Hayato slumped down abit, wincing in pain. "Ngh... that didn't quite go as planned..." , he said as he slowly rose to his feet, regaining his stance and studying his enemy, hoping to either find a weakness... or that someone would come to lend a hand.

Febrien lounged on her back upon a great oaken limb, her mind wandering among the million tiny points of light arrayed above her. The wind gently rocked the towering canopy, setting the trees to motion and the leaves to murmuring. Tree frogs sang all around, and lightning bugs filled the air with their darting glow. The elf had almost drifted into sleep, when her head snapped up in alarm as a column of eldritch energy blossomed on the horizon.

Arius!

The panicked thought streaked across her consciousness as she leaped gracefully to the ground and whistled for Kiera. The black warhorse crashed through the underbrush and raced past at full speed, dirt flying up in great clods from under her churning hooves. The ranger grabbed a fistful of mane and swung onto her back, the mare never slowing. Clinging with her knees to Kiera’s bare hide, Febrien drew her longsword, Imbri, with her left hand while grabbing for the flying reins with her right. Trees loomed out of the blackness on either side as the mare ran, trusting her rider and the light of the full moon to guide her safely. Easily vaulting a deadfall, the horse raced on, nearly invisible as she sliced through the shadows.

Under normal circumstances, the ranger would have enjoyed such a thrilling ride – the night birds calling, the wind brushing the hair from her face – but now terror fueled every step and an urgent alarm bell rang ceaselessly through her skull. As she bore down upon the blast site, the pounding of hooves drumming through her body, a winged form shot into the air, backlit by the moon’s silver glow. Charging to the edge of the trees, Febrien pulled the mare to a halt as her eyes rose to search the starry sky. As she looked on, a second form dropped from the heavens to hover before her companion.

The woman stifled a gasp as the dark foe wrested the rapier from Arius’ hand and flung it to the ground, and it was all she could do not to cry out as her friend’s unconscious body followed. With a dull thud, the cursed elf plunged to earth, causing Kiera to rear back in surprise. Steadying the animal and dismounting, Febrien crept through the trees to the still, black form. As she approached, she saw that the man was still breathing, but was bleeding from several wounds. Febrien looked to the sky in time to see Hayato launch himself into space, aiming a kick at the suspended warlock. Taking advantage of the distraction, she pulled a potion from her bag and cradled the elf’s head in his cloak, wary of his exposed skin. Tilting the vial to his lips, she carefully poured the iridescent liquid down his throat.

Come on, you stubborn fool, she pleaded, willing the fallen elf to give her any sign of returning health. Don’t you dare give up that easily.

With a cough, the wounded man opened his purple eyes, shutting them again almost immediately as he winced in pain. A wave of relief rippled through the ranger’s body. She drew out another potion, but nearly dropped it as Hayato tumbled suddenly to the ground, several feet away. The dark opponent gracefully mimicked his prey’s descent, his back to the unnoticed woman. Turning quickly back to Arius, she emptied the contents of a second vial into his mouth, praying that he would revive quickly. A groan wracked the man’s body after a moment, but his wounds knit, and he rolled shakily onto his side.

“Daerist…” he exclaimed, his eyes searching the surrounding wood in a panic.

“Shh, we’ll find it,” Febrien assured him, glancing back to the battling pair. The evil warlock had backed Hayato into a large tree, and was now leisurely advancing on his cornered foe. Febrien picked up Imbri and dropped into a fighting stance as Arius drew his dagger, a doubtful look flitting across his features.

With a look, the two elves silently separated, moving in opposite directions to flank their unsuspecting adversary. Hayato stood as the warlock arrived in front of him. The dark man was so entranced in his gloating that he failed to notice the purple glow from the eldritch blast generating in Arius’ palm, or hear Febrien’s silent approach as she raised her weapon. The battle would have ended there, had the unfortunate monk been able to keep a straight face. Seeing his comrades advancing to defend him, Hayato’s face broke into an expression of sheer joy.

The warlock turned to look just as Imbri pierced the air his body had inhabited a moment ago. Arius’ eldritch blast glanced off his cheek, leaving a line of singed flesh from cheekbone to ear. Roaring with fury, the evil man drew power into his hands and sent it spiraling outward, knocking his opponents back a step.

Advancing with Imbri held at the ready, Febrien heard the thudding of many footsteps approaching from the direction of the inn.

They’ve heard us, she thought desperately, letting a grin break across her striking features. Now he shall truly know what he stands against...

The inn was too crowded with sweaty, musky bodies for the comfort of Alaya. She had already been propositioned a few times by burly, drunken men thinking she was one of the bar wenches. All in all, the atmosphere was just too much for her. This is just one part of the humans I don’t think I’ll ever get used to, she thought to herself. She rose from the table she and her fellow adventurers had been sitting at and wove her way through the packed building to reach the outside. The cool, salty sea air hit her face and played with her hair for a moment before it receded with the waves that partnered with it. She closed her eyes, allowing the sounds and smells envelope her, ridding her nose and skin of the pollutants the bar deposited there.

A sudden echo bouncing off the buildings jolted her back to the present reality, and a second later came the realization as to what it belonged to. Arius. She knew that the elf enjoyed his quiet time, but he, the ranger and the other one had been gone for some time. And if the eldritch blast sounding off was any clue, they were presently in trouble.

Never one to part with her trusty bow or flail, the human darted off in the direction in which she was certain the blast had come from prepared for battle. Already she was notching an arrow into the long bow, hoping she had no real need to use it, but not wanting to take a possibly fatal chance.

Alaya exited the town, treading quickly but quietly through the forest. Another blast resounded, confirming that she was indeed headed in the right direction. Finally, she could see the flash of a blade through the foliage. Slowing down and rounding a large tree trunk, Alaya brought the bow up and prepared to aim. She was not entirely prepared for what she saw.

In the little clearing, the remnants of a fire smoldered on the ground. The only light the ranger had to work with was from the moon above them, which the trees did an excellent job of trying to hide. She could make out the forms of 4 people, 3 of which she had seen spill the blood of many foes onto the ground which numbered greater then they …surely her comrades could take out one opponent? It was clear then, that this was no ordinary adversary. She decided to shoot first and ask questions later.

The unknown man was darkly clad, making him a hard target to hit in the low light. If only I hadn’t run off and had grabbed the bard, she thought; he always has some clever spell to use in situations like this! This was no time to tally up regrets, however, and as Alaya’s eyes adjusted further to the moon’s light, she let loose an arrow. It sang as it pushed past the still air and buried itself into the folds of the unknown mans robes. Unfortunately, the robes appeared to be the only purchase the projectile found. The warlock, as she soon discovered without a doubt that he was, simply laughed at her attempt; the trees around her shimmered purple just before the eldritch blast she was used to Arius wielding struck her full force in the chest, knocking her to the ground. Her bow bounced out of her hand as she hit, landing just out of reach. This was apparently a satisfactory result for the man who had hit her, because he turned his attention back to those who he had been dealing with prior to her arrival.

Jeyld was having a merry time in the bar. He was in his element. Singing songs with the drunks (though careful not to get too drunk himself) and telling stories to tall women that seemed to adore him. He was just finishing up a round when he noticed he was alone in the tavern. Well, alone save for the many strangers surrounding him. Where were his companions? He felt a little uneasy and, making sure Baritone, his greatsword, was strapped to his back, he headed outside.

It was a dark night. But the moon and stars gave him plenty of light to see by. He looked around the streets and saw nothing. But a flash of dim light on a nearby building made him turn around, towards the forest. He recognized that light, it was Arius' main attack. And if he was using it, then he was in trouble. Jeyld ran towards the area the light came from and saw it flash again, brighter this time. Running through the trees he watched as Alaya fell to the ground. He saw Febrien and Hayato being taken down with a dual blast. What's going on? Why would Arius attack us? What's going-... Jeyld stopped as he noticed that the figure in the air wasn't wearing gloves. That's not Arius. His suspicion was confirmed as an eldritch blast screamed past the figure, originating just out of sight of the bard. But the blast was reciprocated and Jeyld faintly heard the thud of a body hitting the earth. The figured turned to regard Jeyld as he finally reached the battle.

"Ah! A gnome! And with a lute no less! Have you come to play a song, gnome? Perhaps a dirge for your friends?" The warlock laughed, confident in his superiority. Jeyld grinned widely. He was terrified for his friends but he had never been one to panic. He let his confidence take over and pushed the fear to the back of his mind.

"Why yes. Why not? Do you have a request?" He pulled his lute from his back and strummed a few strings. A simple tune, not nearly his best work, but he put a bit of power into it. This usually left him quite drained but he had recently learned how to minimize the effect, allowing him to use it more frequently. A ripple passed through his friends, a new gleam in their eyes, their resolves hardened just a bit. The effect was minimal, they were still in no condition to fight but it gave them slight strength. The warlock noticed.

"What was that, gnome? A trick? It will do you no good." He flew a little higher, not yet sure about attacking the small bard. This suited Jeyld just fine. He slung Baritone off his back and gave the warlock a calculating look. The black clad figure laughed, "Do you plan to throw that thing at me!? It's as large as you!"

The gnome gave a nod and reciting a short stanza to focus himself he felt the power rush to his arms and to the blade. It became lighter and as soon as Jeyld eyed the warlock it gave a tug, wishing to be free from his grasp. "Why yes, I do in fact!" And he whipped the blade full circle, letting go as he spun around. Lightning quick it whistled toward the foe. The warlock attempted to duck under the blade but was caught and received a gash upon his back. The wound wasn't nearly enough to truly hurt the man but the blade's other properties came into effect as soon as blood was drawn. A sonic boom wracked the man's body and slammed him to the ground.

Coughing and sputtering the warlock looked up at the advancing gnome and choked out a laugh. "Neat trick, shorty, but you lost your blade!" His laugh ended as his left hand was pierced and pinned to the ground by the very blade that was thrown at him.

"Not exactly. Tis a neat trick, isn't it? Learned it not too long ago. Been dying to use it in true battle." Jeyld grinned down at the seemingly helpless foe. A grin which was met by the purple energy of an eldritch blast. He flew backward, slamming into a tree and knocking him senseless.

The warlock wrenched the blade free from his now useless hand and stood up. Grasping the hilt he stalked toward the gnome and with a snarl he thrust the blade into Jeyld's gut, straight to the hilt, and left him hanging by the blade, pinned to the tree.

"Dying indeed, gnome." He turned his gaze to Arius, and limp hand hanging at his side, gave one last snarl. "Enough playing with your friends! It's time I finished what I came here for!" He stalked towards the prone elf and the last thing Jeyld saw before he blacked out was the one warlock standing over the other.

As the warlock readied to strike down Arius, Hayato appeared behind him. "Stop right there, jerk off!" The warlock sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, slowly turning to what seemed to be a foolish monk. "Didn't I already send you packing?" Hayato laughed, his hands on his hips. "Oh, please! It'll take more than a stupid eldritch blast to take me out! And speaking of taking out, you look like the kind of guy who has a glass jaw. And I'm here to shatter it!" The warlock blinked a couple times, dumbfounded by Hayato's dialogue. "Do you listen to yourself?" "Eh, I drift in and out.", was all Hayato responded with before leaping forward, bringing his left leg forward to do a flying spin kick, which the warlock evaded by simply leaping backwards. Hayato followed up witha jumping knee strike, which was also evaded. Hayato leapt back, bashing his fists together, then jumped forward again and unleashed a flurry of blows. The warlock simply knocked his fists aside as they came flying, but totally missed seeing the leg come up, striking him in the chin and sending him flying as Hayato flipped backwards, shouting "Somersault!" for some odd reason. The warlock went flying over Arius and landing on his back, rolling away at the last second as Hayato came down, slamming his fist into the earth below.

The warlock jumped to his feet, readying another blast in his good hand and firing it at Hayato. Hayato leaped into the air, his fist once again charging with ki, and brought it down towards him, only to have his ki-charged fist strike another eldritch blast. The resulting explosion sent both combatants flying in opposite directions. With dumb luck, Hayato hit the same tree he was knocked into earlier.

Arius felt his stomach twist as he saw Jeyld impaled upon the tree.

Slowly, his battered body protesting the entire way, the cursed elf made his way toward his unconscious—and probably dying—friend. Thankfully, the warlock’s undivided attention was focused on Hayato at the moment.

I never thought I’d be so glad to have him around, Arius thought with a humorless smile.

Finally reaching Jeyld, Arius grabbed tightly a hold of Baritone’s hilt, clenching his teeth as he thought about the tremendous pain that his small friend must be in. Sorry about this, Jeyld, he thought as he unceremoniously pulled the great sword out of his companion, catching him carefully as he slid to the ground. Laying the gnome gently on the forest floor, Arius tore a long strip from his cloak, using it to bind Jeyld’s wounds as well as possible under the circumstances. Then, reaching into the pouch at his belt, Arius withdrew a small vial, carefully pouring its contents into the bard’s mouth. After a moment, Jeyld’s labored breathing returned to normal, though he remained unconscious and his wound still bled profusely.

An explosion of ki and eldritch power from the ongoing battle drew Arius’s attention, and he found himself torn about what to do. Finally he decided…

I’m sorry, my friend, he thought, standing to his feet. I’ve done what I can for you, but the others need me now… Please, please just live through this…

Staggering to his feet, the warlock grinned maniacally.

“You should have left well enough alone, monk,” he said, raising his good hand before him, aiming his open palm directly at Hayato. “Honestly, why go through all of the trouble of trying to save this wretched elf anyway? From all that I’ve heard, he isn’t exactly fond of humans, you know?”

“Doesn’t… matter,” Hayato stammered, out of breath and in no small amount of pain. “We’ve got something of an understanding, Arius and me… He’s already honored his part a few times, and I figured it was my turn. Still,” he continued, tilting his head to the side for a moment, “I never thought I’d get myself killed protecting him.”

“Enough!” the mysterious warlock shouted, his hand beginning to glow with a new, dark power. “You said it yourself, a simple eldritch blast is no match a for ‘great’ warrior such as yourself, so let’s see how you like this one!”

With a scream of exertion, the warlock—who now stood barely ten feet away from Hayato—fired off a devastating blast of eldritch energy, shot through with burning fire and brimstone. The combined attack coursed through the air, making straight for the monk who, battered as he was, was unable to put up even the most basic of defenses. Just before the attack struck, however, a form interposed itself between the quickly oncoming discharge and the fatigued warrior.

“Arius, no!” Hayato shouted, trying his hardest to move.

The cursed elf ignored Hayato’s yell, and he remained standing firm before him. Raising his crossed arms over his face, Arius prepared to take the full force of the warlock’s brimstone blast head on. Clenching his teeth and mentally preparing himself did nothing to prepare Arius for the searing agony that suddenly crashed against his hasty defense, and the black-clad elf screamed in pain as body was engulfed by eldritch fire.

A blinding flash exploded outward from the detonation, forcing everyone present to shield their eyes. Miraculously, when the conflagration died down, Arius remained standing, much to everyone’s amazement. It was obvious, though, that the elf had seen better days: his cloak had been completely obliterated by the attack, leaving not even a single shred left, and his arms—which remained crossed before his face—were now bare from the shoulders down, and covered in terrible burns. His body trembled as he lowered his guard, his purple eyes clouded with pain.

The warlock was actually speechless for a moment, an expression of naked shock twisting his features. Finally he spoke.

“Im… Impressive, Prince of Galdria,” the sad, his voice quiet and subdued. “But all you’ve done in your defense of this human is make my job that much easier: you are now at death’s door, my friend, with no one to stand between us.” As he spoke that last sentence, two arrows sped out of the night, striking him in the right shoulder and lower back. Due to his heavy armor, of course, both projectiles failed to find their mark. The warlock turned, a smile of amusement playing across his lips as he noted the two rangers—one human and the other elven—who had attacked him. It was smart of them, he had to admit, to keep their distance rather than risk engaging him in melee combat, but their arrows would have no affect upon him.

“Ladies, ladies,” he taunted, raising his hand and summoning the energy to fire off another arcane attack. “Must we continue this foolish battle? I’m only here for him,” he said, gesturing toward Arius, who remained standing trembling before Hayato. “But… If you truly wish to die so badly, then so be it!” With a shriek of rage, the warlock thrust his hand forward, prepared to unleash his blast…

Only to stagger forward, a slight cry of pain escaping his lips.

“You got careless,” Arius said with a pain-laced chuckle as he drove his dryad dagger deeper into the back of the dark warlock. “It’s a good thing Jeyld managed to break your armor back here,” he continued, wincing in pain as the warlock struggled to free himself. “Otherwise, this wouldn’t have ever worked.” He thrust the blade deeper, using all of his strength to raise his opponent just a few inches off the ground. Still, though, the warlock fought, ready to finish his interrupted attack. His arm trembling the whole time, the black-armored stranger once again prepared to blast Febrien and Alaya into dust.

How can he still be fighting? Arius thought frantically, sensing the build up of arcane energy within his foe. Twisting the dagger, the cursed elf drove its blade deeper yet. But still, the warlock prepared his blast. Fine then, I’ll end this once and for all… Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention as Hayato made his way to where Jeyld laid and carefully picked him up, the gnome looking like nothing so much as a child in the monk’s arms. The bard’s eyes were open, barely, but it was obvious that he had yet to fully recover from the warlock’s earlier assault. The two companions locked gazes for a moment, and in that instant Jeyld understood what Arius intended to do.

Oh no…

Driving the blade as deep as it would go, Arius then reached around, his bare hand grabbing the warlock by the face, his fingernails digging themselves into his flesh. The obvious pain of such a move caused the black-clad enemy to cry out, but it wasn’t until he realized what was happening that he truly began to scream.

The forest grew cold, much colder than was normal for this time of year. Everyone present felt a deep chill run down their spine, almost freezing their blood, and as they gasped in shock, they were amazed to see the clouds of breath that left their bodies. The wind picked up, carrying with it the scent of death, and the howling cries of spirits who were not at rest, attracted to this sudden influx of killing energy. The trees overhead shook and twisted, their roots bursting suddenly from the ground, as if they were attempting to distance themselves from the two grappling combatants below. The warlock let out an even shriller scream than before, and Febrien, Jeyld, Alaya, and Hayato all found their attention focused back upon the two fighters. What they saw was gruesome.

The warlock’s eyes were bloodshot, bulging from a shriveled face of rotting black flesh. His body was convulsing, and it was unbelievable that Arius was able to maintain his death-grip upon him. From between Arius’s fingers, which covered the man’s mouth, vomit could be seen seeping though, and blood began to flow from the stranger’s quickly deteriorating nose. The dark wind picked up in ferocity, and wisps of malevolent power began to emanate from the battle, whether from the warlock or Arius, the others couldn’t tell.

Then, it was just over.

The warlock fell to the ground, his body no more than a withered shell, the powerful wind already whisking it way as it turned to dust. Arius remained standing, though barely. One look at the battered and beaten elf was all it took to see how terrible his curse truly was. His eyes had taken on a glimmer of darkness, and a thick, black liquid ran from them, scorching the flesh of his cheeks as they cut paths through the grime and blood that had built up over the course of the savage battle. This same viscous fluid began to trickle from the corners of his mouth, and he coughed as it nearly gagged him coming up. His legs began to tremble, and he fell to his knees, a low growl of agony building up within him as his body began to quake uncontrollably. His skin took on a nearly transparent appearance, the stark blue of his veins standing out against his ghostly flesh as his muscles began to shudder, expanding and retracting with lightning speed, over and over again, causing Arius to scream in pain. To control the spasms that wracked his body, the cursed elf wrapped his arms around himself, his hands grasping firmly to his shoulders as he hunched over, wisps of dark power drifting up from his tortured body.

The ground began to shake, and Arius’s companions found themselves hard pressed to remain standing. Then, with a scream of rage and anguish, a pillar of jet black power shot high into the sky, cutting effortlessly through the trees above, forming a perfect circle to the sky. As this final display died down, Arius could be seen crouching trembling on the ground, his eyes once again back to normal, though filled with pain, and his fingers dug deeply into his shoulders as blood ran down his scorched arms. Around him, a perfect circle of dead, blackened earth could be seen, still smoking.

“Arius!” Febrien called out, rushing toward him, only to be restrained by a weak protest from Jeyld, who remained in Hayato’s arms.

“Just keep your distance,” he said softly, his mind clouded with pain, never taking his eyes away from his suffering friend. “That’s all we can do for him right now…” If I didn’t know better, Jeyld thought, I’d say that his curse has actually gotten worse… Is that even possible? He remembered the first time that he’d seen this happen, back on Tenshiir, just after Tempest had bestowed this “gift” upon Arius. The elf had come running back to the village, fear etched onto his features. He had found Jeyld and Nanethiel—the elven woman who had saved him at Galdria and had raised him as her own—at the home that the two elves had shared. Still unaware of the circumstances of his curse, Arius had clung to Nanethiel and had wept hysterically, unable to even explain what had happened…

Nanethiel had died without ever knowing why, or how…

Finally the atmosphere of the forest returned to normal, and Arius collapsed onto his side in the scorched earth, his eyes closed and his body finally at peace, though still in a tremendous amount of pain.

“Hayato,” Jeyld said, looking down at the unmoving form of his friend, ignoring his own agony for a just a moment. “Wrap him in that warlock’s cloak, quickly. Let’s get him back to the inn.” A fit of coughing wracked Jeyld’s broken body, accompanied by a thin trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. Instantly, the two rangers were at Hayato’s side, with Febrien preparing to load the bard onto Kiera’s back in order to get him safely and quickly back to the Dancing Lark.

Leaving the mortally wounded gnome bard to the care of Febrien and Alaya, Hayato did as instructed, his mind still reeling from the spectacle that they had all just witnessed…

-----------------------------------------------

Well, we can end it there or we can go on with a little bit of aftermath stuff, reactions and what not, if you want to. Either way, this was a sweet story, and a lot of fun to write. I couldn't quite get down Arius's curse the way I imagine it, but I hope you get the idea!

AMdG

Jeyld was tired. Ha! An understatement. He'd laugh out loud if it wouldn't probably kill him out right. He hurt, so much, and he realized just how lucky he was. As Hayato picked him up he saw what Baritone did to the tree behind him. It had been hollowed out by the sonic blast from the blade. If the warlock had simply stabbed him then he would be dead, but putting the blade in all the way to the hilt had, ironically, saved his life. He lay on the ground, watching as Febrien picked him up and Hayato walked towards Arius to do as he instructed. He felt weak, he just wanted... to... sleep... NO! No passing out. Finally it dawned on him.

"Put me down, Febrien." He said weakly.

The ranger looked down at him. "You are not well, little one."

"Do... NOT... call me that." Jeyld gasped and struggled out of the elf's arms. He lay on the ground, breathing and bleeding. The blood did not stop. The potion he tasted on his lips was not adequate. He had to do this himself. He placed a hand upon his breast and called upon his inner power. It tingled, and it writhed within him. His very blood felt... felt like... it felt electric. And he tapped into that power to tell his wounds to heal, his blood to clot, the muscle to knit. He felt better, much better, and he could walk and stand once more.

He walked over to Arius, looking frail and stark white, as Hayato finished wrapping him in the enemies cloak. He knelt down and went to do the same to Arius as he did to himself, but stopped. "Hayato, give me a glove. Any glove."

Hayato looked at him, suprised. "You called me by name. Thats the first time you've used my name, shorty."

"You've earned your name in defense of a friend. Now, please, hand me a glove, Fumblefist." Hayato smirked at him and handed him a glove from his backpack. It was large and decidedly feminine. Jeyld deigned not to ask after seeing the human try to hide an embarrassed expression in the half-light of the moon.

"Why do you need the glove?" Alaya asked him.

"Because in order to heal him, I need to touch him. It will work through a glove but not through as much as he has covering him right now." Jeyld placed his hand upon Arius' forehead and the warlock flinched in response, some instinct to keep away all those who come close. He muttered as Jeyld forced him to sit still and he used his power. He frequently caught her name; Nanetheil. He had never forgotten that day, and neither did Arius, but Jeyld had never blamed his friend for what had happened.

Jeyld struggled, the healing was difficult, was taking longer then it should. Suddenly he felt his chest tighten, felt his breathing get easier. He sat up and staggered backward.

"What's the matter?" Febrien came running up and checked Arius to see what was wrong. He seemed the same as before. "What is wrong, Jeyld?"

Jeyld sat up, shaken and white. "The... the spell. It... it worked... but... something... it... it healed me... and... and he is unchanged!" The spell had backfired. Healing the gnome instead of the elf. Jeyld forced himself to calm down. He recalled what happened after Nanethiel died. A powerful cleric had tried to cleanse the curse from Arius. Only to have the spell backfire upon the entire village. Luckily it was a harmless spell, one that healed instead of harmed, but the effect was the same. Arius was unchanged.

"What should we do?" Hayato looked confused.

"He's fine, for now. I believe it's just the backlash of his curse. It has happened before and it dispersed within hours. I have no way of knowing how long this will take, however. Load him on to the horse. I'm fine enough to walk on my own." They picked up their wounded companion and placed him gently upon Kiera's back. Jeyld picked up Baritone and started to follow his friends when something caught his eye.

He bent down over the corpse of their fallen enemy and poked around his belongings. The warlock had traveled light, a simple bouch upon his belt. He wondered what caught his attention when he noticed the pouch looked strange. There was a scroll sticking out of it. It must have been cut in half to fit inside. He pulled it out and was amazed to find it was whole, and twice as long as the pouch was deep! He quickly unbuckled the pouch from the belt, amazed at his discovery. He had heard of Bags of Holding from the scholars in the tower of Pelor. Judging by what they said this was a very minor one, the lowest quality, but it was still a wonderful magical tool for adventuring. He looked inside and found a few small gems and a couple of potions of healing. He nodded to himself and buckled the pouch onto his own belt.

Remembering the scroll just in time, he unfurled it and began to read. What was written made his skin turn pale once more and filled him with fear. He quickly rolled it back up and stashed it inside the pouch. Arius would see that as soon as he woke up. Jeyld then ran after the rest of the group, and just as he was leaving the clearing he stopped, bent down once more, and ran after the group again, with Daerist clutched in his hands.

Febrien led Kiera slowly through the trees, careful to choose the easiest path; she dared not jostle the horse’s fragile burden overmuch. She flinched at every groan from the bundled figure, praying he would survive the trek back to town. For all his grievous injuries, his condition seemed to remain stable enough. The journey stretched on, one companion following another in silence. Not even the night sounds invaded on their privacy, the gruesome spectacle seeming to have driven the forest creatures from the area. As the five figures neared the edge of town, the noise of the living slowly returned to their ears, the low murmur of activity and the glow of the streetlamps welcome after their isolation.

I never thought I’d be relieved to feel cobblestones under my boots instead of soft dirt, the ranger thought as she stepped onto the main road.

Kiera’s hoof beats echoed from the dark buildings as the exhausted party made their way toward the Inn of the Dancing Lark. Those few townsfolk who still roamed the streets at such a late hour stopped and gawked at their passing. While Jeyld now looked barely the worse for wear, his clothes were torn and bloodied, and the monk and rangers suffered from several scrapes and burns. And this was saying nothing of the ruined elf secured to Kiera’s back, mumbling and moaning, barely recognizable from his injuries. Febrien eyed them warily, but they merely gazed at the group with fear and gave them no trouble as they approached the inn.

Halting her warhorse in front of the locked doors, the elf forcefully pounded on the thick wood until the elderly innkeeper raised the latch. Pushing the door open, his eyes widened at the sight before him, and he quickly stepped aside as Hayato and Alaya gently lifted their companion down. The pair carried him through the doors with Jeyld following close behind. Febrien anxiously watched them go, and then turned toward the stable to settle Kiera in for the night.

“I’ll take care of her,” the man offered, stepping forward.

“Thank you, but she doesn’t take kindly to strangers,” Febrien replied with a weary smile to soften the refusal. Since rescuing the mare, the ranger had made a point of seeing to her loyal companion’s needs personally whenever possible. She was about to start out again when a hand fell on her arm.

“You can entrust her to another for one night,” the kindly man insisted, gently taking the reins from her shaking hands. “Your friend has a greater need of your attention this night. Go. I will treat her with the utmost care.” Her decision was made as the mare laid her nose against her friend’s shoulder and whickered deep in her throat, giving her a push before stepping away after the stooped man. Looking after her, the exhausted woman turned and followed her party’s path to Arius’ room.

With Jeyld’s supervision, the two humans had managed to strip away the remnants of the warlock’s burned clothing and settle him into bed. Febrien rounded the corner into the doorway as Hayato left to fetch a poultice for the worst of the burns. Alaya expertly stacked wood in the large fireplace, and soon a hearty blaze threw flickering light upon the subdued forms. Hayato soon returned to the room carrying a rag and a foul smelling bowl filled with medicinal paste. The two women and the monk left Jeyld in privacy as he carefully applied the salve to his friend’s battered body.

Febrien returned to her room and quickly slid out of her armor, piece by excruciating piece. Bruises were already darkening her fair skin in several places, and numerous burns and small gashes dripped blood when she moved too quickly. Crossing slowly to the washbasin, the elf picked up a clean rag and a cake of soap and washed herself off as best she could. Toweling herself dry, she pulled on her soft breeches and a cotton shirt, and strapped Imbri to her hip before exiting once more.

Jeyld had finished his doctoring, and Febrien slipped quietly into the room and to his side.

“Do you think he’ll recover?” she asked with apprehension, gazing at the unconscious man.

“I told you in the clearing that he’d be alright,” the gnome snapped brusquely, working to cover the faintest twinge of doubt from flashing across his face. His mood softened slightly as he noted the raw concern emanating from the elf’s tired eyes.

Noticing his distress and the rapidly deteriorating mood of her short friend, Febrien refrained from questioning him further. Instead, she pulled a chair into the middle of the room and lowered herself into it. Drawing her sword, she positioned herself so that she could see both her friend and the door at once.

“Get some sleep,” she suggested kindly. “I’ll guard him and call you if he wakes.”

“The only way you’re getting me out of here, Sword Elf, is in pieces, so unless you’re prepared to use that on me…” he gestured at the longsword resting across her knees.

“Suit yourself,” she replied as he settled himself in front of the fire. Gazing furtively upon his prone companion’s form once more, Jeyld prayed he would survive his curse a second time. Sighing, he settled himself against the brick hearth and settled in for the night.

The inn descended into stillness once more. The fire crackled quietly in the fireplace, throwing heat into the small room. Patrons snored from their rooms, the hour so late that even the staunchest of drunkards had retired to bed. Outside, bats fluttered to and fro, feasting on the insects drawn to the windowpane by the firelight. The elf’s keen ears heard the tread of the old innkeeper as he returned to the commonroom and bolted the door behind him. Several minutes passed, and soon he was snoring as well.

Febrien sat quietly, listening and watching, with Imbri resting across her knees. Though she tried not to look, her eyes were drawn again and again to her friend’s still form. His skin still held a deathly pallor, but his muscles no longer contracted spasmodically, and his breathing had grown easier. His rest, however, was punctuated by frequent periods of feverish tossing and turning, and the muttering continued. The woman ran her eyes down his burned face and what was visible of his arms, an involuntary shudder rippling through her body.

I knew what the curse was capable of, she thought grimly, but I never imagined it would be like this…

Shifting in her chair, the elf worked to clear her mind and focus on something else, anything else. Jeyld gazed into space by the fire, his eyes returning periodically to Arius. Unmoving, the two companions continued their vigil.

After helping his comrades move Arius to a more comfortable place, he went off to tend to his own wounds, knowing he was in good hands. Having washed off the dried blood and applying some ointment and bandages, he now sat by the window in the inn downstairs, sans shirt. Alaya walked in, also having finished making herself look decent, and grimaced at Hayato's lack of manners. "Hey, Fumblefist! (God, I can't believe I typed that...) This is an inn, not a brothel! Put a shirt on already!" Hayato simply rolled his eyes and moved his mouth open and closed to mock her, then he turned to her. But before he could reply, his face was met with a clean, white cotton shirt. He yanked it off as Alaya marched upstairs, then he sighed, putting it on just to humor her.

Minutes later, he headed upstairs, passing by the room where Febrian and Jeyld were keeping an eye over Arius. He simply smiled, then headed over to a nearby window, climbing out onto the ledge and using his amazing (at least to him) acrobatic feats to leap onto the roof. The air felt cool, a slight gust of wind blowing through his blue hair. He smiled, taking a seat. He loved sitting on roof tops, for many reasons. It was a great place to be alone when needed, it gave a great view of his surroundings, but overall, it was just... nice. He sighed, glancing up at the night sky, the stars shining down upon the town. His thoughts constantly trailed back to the fearsome battle he and his allies participated in just now, and of the frightening spectacle Arius showed off. Just what was that, he wondered. And could Arius have done it to Hayato at any time he mouthed off to him before their alliance? Hayato laughed weakly, scratching his head. "I guess I should be lucky he hasn't done that to me yet." He stood up, stretching abit, then he swung down, and leapt right through the same window he had left open.

“Jeyld?”

The soft question caught both the gnome and Febrien, who continued their vigil over their fallen companion, completely off guard. Almost two full days had passed since the battle against the mysterious warlock, and in that time neither of the two adventurers had left Arius’ side. Slowly, cautiously, Jeyld and Febrien made their way toward the bed, gazing down upon their battered and weary friend.

Arius, surprisingly, looked fairly good. Any of the physical effects of the curse seemed to have completely healed, though one could still see two trails of slightly burnt flesh originating at the corners of his purple eyes and running down his pale cheeks to meet just below his chin. His color—what little he’d possessed to begin with—had returned, and other than the wounds that he’d suffered at the hands of the warlock, Arius seemed alright. His scorched arms were healing much slower, though, and remained tightly wrapped in clean white bandages.

“You’re alright,” Arius said as he saw his small friend standing beside the bed, his voice sounding frail. “I didn’t think you were going to make it.” Moving as slowly as possible, Arius attempted to sit up, only find his entire body still awash in pain. He gasped in shock before settling back down. “Did everyone else make it?” he asked, noticing Febrien’s look of concern and flashing her a ghost of a smile.

“Everyone’s fine,” Jeyld replied, his voice full of relief. “You gave us all quite a scare, you know, pulling a stunt like that.” He grinned broadly at his exhausted companion as he continued. “You know, there really wasn’t any need for you to go and do that; I had everything completely under control.” Febrien snorted, rolling her eyes as Arius let loose with a quiet laugh, instantly regretting it as a jolt of agony tore through his broken body.

“Forgive me, Jeyld,” Arius said, once again attempting to sit up, aided this time by Febrien. “The last thing I remember seeing you doing was bleeding out on the ground. Had I known that you had some grand plan in mind, I’d of simply left the situation in your capable hands.” After a moment, the mirth in Arius’ shimmering amethyst eyes died down, replaced by a look of distant loss. “I saw her…”

“Oh?” was all that Jeyld could think of to say in response, never once even wondering who it was that Arius was speaking of…

Nanethiel…

“As the warlock was dying, I looked past him, toward Alaya and Febrien, and there she was, standing between the rangers and I…” He said nothing else for a moment, and his two friends remained silent as well, knowing that Arius would finish when he was ready. “She looked so sad, just like that day…” Shaking his head to clear it of old memories best left buried, Arius continued, “She spoke to me, Jeyld. She said: ‘Dwell not on the sorrows of the past. Instead, turn your attention to the future, for it’s sorrows shall eclipse all that you’ve known.’ Then, she was gone…”

A somber atmosphere filled the room, and a silence broken only by the crackling of the fire descended. For some reason, Arius found himself suddenly unable to look his companions in the eye. What must they think of me? he wondered, turning his gaze the window and the dimming twilight sky beyond. Another thought sprang to his pain-clouded mind: What’s happening to me? Twice now I’ve broken the personal vows that I swore to myself… Is it possible that I’m beginning to accept these cursed powers that have been bestowed upon me? There was a time when Arius had swore to himself that he would never, under any circumstances, use the eldritch powers of a warlock that he had foolishly accepted, yet now used them without a second though. But even worse than that, he had made a vow never to touch another living thing ever again, not until he was cured of this curse, at least. That he had broken that promise hurt him more than anything, for he had made it on Nanethiel’s grave.

Dwell not on the sorrows of the past. Instead, turn your attention to the future, for it’s sorrows shall eclipse all that you’ve known…

The words came unbidden to his mind, snapping him out of his brooding.

“Arius?” Jeyld spoke, sitting on the side of the bed and placing his hand upon his friend’s shoulder. “I think maybe you dropped this back there.” Arius looked down, smiling slightly as he saw Daerist held in the gnome bard’s other hand. The cursed elf reached out, taking hold of the bone-hilted rapier, his burned fingers protesting the entire time. “Now heal up, my friend,” Jeyld continued, patting Arius lightly on the shoulder. “We have a long, dangerous road ahead of us, after all.”

“The bard’s right, Arius,” Febrien put in, smiling at Arius as she stood and made her way toward the door. “We’ll all need to be at our best if we’re still intending to journey to Galdria.” Just before leaving, the elf ranger turned, looking slightly over her shoulder at Jeyld and Arius. “Now that I’m convinced that you’ll be alright, I suppose I should go and see to Kiera. I doubt she’ll be pleased at all the time I’ve spent up here with you two.” With a smile of relief upon her face, the elven woman left Arius and Jeyld alone.

“Jeyld,” Arius said, shifting positions and flinching slightly in pain. “Where the hell was Brude during all of this mess? Why does it seem like every time we need him he vanishes?” The injured elf shook his head, exasperated by the sorcerous elf’s knack for never being in the right place at the right time. “Had he been there for that battle, then maybe we could have…” Maybe we could have found another way to defeat that warlock… he mentally finished.

Jeyld simply shrugged. “You know how he can be,” was all he said, as if that explained everything. It was obvious that something unspoken was troubling the sword-wielding bard.

“What aren’t you telling me, Jeyld?”

Without a word, the gnome reached into the enchanted pouch at his belt, pulling out the warlock’s scroll. Handing the rolled parchment to Arius, Jeyld hopped nimbly down from the bed, moving to stand before the fire, gazing intently into the flames as he spoke a single, hardly discernable word:

“Read.”
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OOC: Josh, I didn't know if you wanted the scroll's contents to be public knowledge or not, so I figured you could just send it to me in a PM. You'll probably have to send it to dan as well.

AMdG

Jeyld handed Arius the scroll and told him to simply read. His watched as the elf unfurled the parchment and just as he started reading, Jeyld cried out. A thousand screaming voices filled his head. In an instant he was brought to his knees, clutching at his temples. And in that instant, it was over. The gnome simply did not have the energy to move.

"Jeyld! What is the matter?" Arius' wrapped hand settled on his shoulder. Jeyld could feel his eyes on him. Could feel them searching him for any sign of injury.

"I... I am fine. Just... just tired... yes... tired. I have not slept much." He tried to lift his head to grin at his friend but could not.

"You cried out. Are you sure you are just tired?" His concern was evident in the tone of his voice and the gnome found it humorous that the elf was worried about him. Slowly his energy came back and he felt a little more like himself. He pushed himself up off the ground and rubbed his tired eyes. He opened them and grinned at Arius but the warlock jumped back.

"What is the matter, old friend? I am not so hideous as our good monk's mate!" Jeyld tried to laugh but it trailed off as Arius' face drained of color.

"Jeyld... your eyes. Are you... are you alright? Your... your eyes."

"What's the matter with my eyes? They feel fine. A little tired perhaps." He stopped as Arius pointed to Baritone. The enchanted blade was kept mirror bright by it's own power and would serve as a looking glass for the gnome. Jeyld walked over to the greatsword and peered at his reflection. He too lost all color. Where once his eyes had been a deep blue they now shone with an amber glow. Peering closer, the gnome noticed that his pupils had elongated as well. They looked... alien, and unfamiliar. More akin to a cat's eye then any persons.

"This is your father's doing." It wasn't a question.

"You know about the stone. You know what the scholars at the tower told me. There is a connection. But I do not what he could gain from changing me so!" Jeyld almost threw the blade but thought better of it. The damage it could cause would be far too costly, and would attract too much attention. He took a deep breath and calmed himself down. "Do not worry about me, Arius. Despite the... cosmetic changes. It has not done any damage. I see just as well as before and I feel no presence inside my mind besides my own. I worry more about the contents of that scroll then the color of my eyes." He gave the elf a forced grin.

"The others will wonder about the change-" Arius started.

"Eyes be damned! Read that scroll!" Jeyld took another deep breath. He immiediately felt bad about snapping at the elf. He was merely concerned, and as he should be. They had been together longer then any of the other companions. Been through more then all their recent travels combined. Jeyld would trust Arius with his very soul, and he was merely looking out for him. "I am sorry, old friend. I... I will deal with this. I may have to tell them the truth. But for now, please, just read the scroll."

The warlock looked as if he wanted to protest but just nodded and unfurled the scroll once more.

OOC: This topic is now officially closed. I will write up a conclusion (hopefully tonite) and Dan said that our next session will pick up where this one left off. Thanks for making it a great story, everyone!

AMdG